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the-cosmic-ghost-18 · 3 years ago

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Family Time - Chapter 7 of Bacon Bits A William "Ironhead" Miller Fic

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader

Notes – So this is and the next chapter was originally one chapter but I have split it into two. The next one will come out on Friday. The next chapter is quite a heavy one so spiling the two made sense.

Warning - alludes to abuse and fighting.

Word Count: 2.7K

Masterlist

I had been dozing in and out of sleep for hours. The July heat was unbearable. It was hot and sticky. Just as I was about to finally fall asleep my phone went off beside me. Taking it from the charger I looked at the screen. Why is my mum ringing me at 2 in the morning?

“Mum why are you ringing me at 2 in the morning. I have work in the morning.” I said with a groggy voice.

“Ohh I am so sorry. I keep forgetting you are a few hours ahead of us. This wouldn’t be an issue if you hadn’t moved.” She never wanted me to move. She wished I had stayed with my last boyfriend. She loved him and chose to ignore how much he had hurt me during and after. “Anyway. Me and your father are flying down to see you.”

Great. Just want I needed.

“We are flying down Friday and will be heading home on Sunday evening.” God please no. “We will need you to pick us up from the airport. I will send you the flight details tomorrow. Get some sleep honey bye.”

“Mum!” she had hung up before I could stop her. I know the only reason she is coming is to try and get me to come home. I was supposed to be going out with everyone Saturday night. Guess that was not happening now.

Friday afternoon

The airport was heaving. I had only just found a parking space and was started walking to the arrivals area. They had already landed but I wanted to save my last bit of alone time for the weekend. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Mum: Where are you?

Mum: Me and your father have been here for over an hour.

Always the overdramatic. They had been there ten minutes at most. As I walked through the doors, I scanned the room. It wasn’t hard to miss them. She was wearing something you would wear to golf. Her hair was immaculate as always. She looked pissed.

“Where have you been? We have been sat in this airport for what feels like hours.” She said while handing over her bag to me.

“Hi, mum. Well unfortunately you decided to fly to Florida in the middle of the school holidays. Parking is a nightmare.” Turning from her I saw my dad. I and my mum have never gotten along but me and my dad on the other hand. We have always had a good relationship. He was the one that helped me get all of my stuff down here. He had always been there when she wasn’t. Pulling him into a hug I said. “Hi, dad. How was the flight?”

“It was good. Had a bit of turbulence halfway though.” We walked back to my car through the crowd of people. As we approached my jeep my mum stopped in her tracks.

“I am not getting into that.” She never likes my jeep. Said it was unsafe and I should buy a newer car. Me and my dad had spent the summer before I got my license fixing it up and repairing it. She would have to pull that car out of my cold dead hands

“Mum it's either get in the jeep or rent a car. Your choice. But looking at the queue of people we walked past in the rental area I think my jeep is the better option.” I opened the boot and placed the bags in. My dad jumped in the front with me while my mum reluctantly sat in the back. As we made our way out of the car park. Nearing town, it started to rain. Normal for this time of year.

“I thought it was sunny here.” My mother said while leaning over the centre console.

“Mum it's a summer thunderstorm. It will clear soon. Florida can never keep its mind up with the weather.” turning onto the main road I saw the Miller’s gym. I indicated to drive into the car park. “Wait here. I just need to drop something off.”

Jumping out of my car I went round to the boot to grab some tools. I had borrowed them from Will after my sink started leaking. He kept pushing for himself to fix it, but I assured him I could. And I did. Well after about five YouTube videos and a google search. But I still did it.

Pushing the doors open I head to the back office. Looking through the window I spotted the familiar crop of hair on the man sat on the couch. Leaning against the door I knock. It had been the first time I had been alone with him since the fourth of July. Every time we had seen it each other it had been with everyone else. As Will looked up he grew a huge smile.

“So, you fixed it then?” he asked. I flopped onto the couch and placed the toolbox on the floor. “I tell Benny off for that, I don’t want to have to tell you off too.”

“Will I weigh like nothing. I'm sure your couch can cope with me jumping onto it.”

“I thought you were picking up your parents from the airport.” He asked moving to sit next to me.

“They are in my car. I just needed five minutes away from my mother.” I said. “She might only be here for the weekend up even that’s too much time. The only saving grace is that my dad is here.”

“Well, if you need saving just give me a ring. I can always make something up to get you out of it.” He said while nudging my arm.

“William Miller, my knight in shining armour,” I said with a regal voice. My phone started to buzz in my pocket. It was a text from my mum telling me to hurry. “I should go before she throughs a hissy fit. Enjoy your evening.”

“Ohh I will. Benny is spending the night at some girl’s house. So, I might actually get some sleep.” He had walked me to the door where we could see it was still chucking it down. “Guess you are going to have to run.” He said with a smile.

“I guess so.” He pushed the door open for me and stepped out. I could see my mum and dad staring out of the windows at me. Will waved at them and only my dad waved back. “I will see you later then.”

“Yeah.” He said. “And if you need saving just text me.”

With that, I sprinted to my car and jumped in. I turned to see my mum glaring at me. Ignoring her I put the car in drive and started driving home.

“Who was he?” she asked.

“His name is Will. He’s a friend mum. It was his friend that fixed the starter motor.” I answered back. I kind of wished he was more than a friend in the back of my head.

“Well, you shouldn’t get comfy here. I’m sure you will be back home soon.” Bingo. That was the only reason she was here. To bring me home. Instead of engaging with her which I know will cause an argument I just continued to drive home. Looking over at my dad he mouths an “I sorry”.

It was another 10 silent and agonizing minutes before I pulled into the driveway. The rain had let up and stopped. We all jumped out of the car and my mum went straight into the house. Opening the boot my dad helped get all the stuff out of the car.

“The guy at the gym is he single?” I turned to face my dad after he asked that question. My mum and dad had very different opinions on my last boyfriend. My mum thought he was gods gift to women, dad on the other hand hated him. I really should have listened to him. “He watched to make sure you got into the car okay.”

“He a friend dad.” I said trying to brush it off.

“Well, you deserve someone who cares about you. Not everyone is Adam.” He said while walking into my house. No not everyone was Adam. They were lying, cheating assholes who have anger issues. Will was nothing like that. But in the back of my head, there is always that little voice that says that they are. Will did care about me, that was apparent. Maybe I was holding back because of him. Shaking off that though I walked to the house.

“I don’t like the kitchen. Who paints cabinets green?” She was critical of everything did. My job, moving here to name a few. “And why tile the walls.”

“Because it looks nice. You might not like it, but I do.” I walked over to one of the green cupboards (the colour Will had helped me choose) and took three cups out. “Anyone for coffee.”

God this was going to be a long weekend.

Later that Evening

Opening the oven, I pulled dinner out. My dad had said earlier in the day that he missed my mac and cheese, so I made some. We called about a lot. How I had made some new friends. My dad asked about Will. Mum went on about her friend at the country club missing me and how I should come back. Sat at the little round table in the kitchen we tucked in. Looking over at my dad he had a funny look on his face.

“Is there bacon in this?” I must have added it automatically without realising it. “Because it makes it so much better.”

“Yeah. Will recommended adding it in.” the thought brought a smile to my face.

“Well, I don’t like it.” My mum piped in as the smile on my face drops.

“You don’t like anything mum.”

“So are you and Will a thing because I have been talking to Adam and he really want another chance. I’m sure Will is nothing like Adam.” No, he isn’t. He is everything Adam wasn’t. I didn’t even hide the disgust on my face of comparing the two men. Dropping my fork on my plate I looked up at her.

“Is that the only reason you came down here? To get me and my asshole. No abusive ex-boyfriend back together. Guessing you little friend group at the country club are gossiping about your older daughter moving away.” She would not even look at me. As I continued my voice started to rise. “Just because I’m not Rosie. Popping out kids every year does not mean I, not a good daughter.”

“He never abused you, honey. You had the odd argument.” She said with a level voice.

“Seriously! He put a hole in my wall. Why do you think I moved across the county to get away from him?” I got up to move my plate. If I stayed looking at her it would end up being a huge fight.

“Honey. He just wanted the best for you. He was going to let you leave work and have kids. To do what a wife should do. To be the mother of his children”

I really tried to stop myself, but I had enough of her delusions and bullshit. She had a very old-fashioned way of looking at life. There is nothing wrong with leaving work and being a stay at home mum. But that is not what I want.

“Mum I can have a career and have kids. I can work full time and have kids. Yes, there is nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mum. But I do not want that. Especially with him. He hurt me, mum.” At this point, I was on the verge of tears. I was so done with her. I turned to look at my dad for help.

“Mary, why don’t we stay at the hotel tonight. I will call a taxi and leave her for the night.” God my dad was a god sent. He picks up his phone and moved to the living room to make some phone calls.

“I just want what’s best for you.” She said while walking over to me. “I want you home. He said he would not do it again. He loves you, honey.”

“If you truly wanted what was best for me you would leave me be here to get on with my life,” I said looking her straight in the eyes. Before we could get any further my dad comes back into the room.

“I got us somewhere to stay. Why don’t you wait outside Mary? The taxi should be here soon.” He said knowing if she stayed near me any longer it would get into a shouting match. As she got outside my dad envelope me in a hug.

“If I had known she would do this I wouldn’t have come down.” He pulled away and wiped the stray tear from my cheek. “He never deserved you. And what I heard you say this Will fella seems like a nice guy.”

“Dad we are just friends,” I said with a shy smile.

“You can try and convince yourself of that but the way you were talking about him earlier. I was right when I said Adam wasn’t the one before I even meet him. From what you have told me Will seems like it. Trust my gut. “He kissed my forehead and started to walk out. “I will call you in the morning. Hopefully, I can calm your mother down. And Tell Will that I like the bacon in the mac and cheese.”

Walking back into the house I collapsed onto the couch. Adam and I had dated for a few years. It was nice in the beginning. He was a lawyer and son of one of my mother’s county club friends. It all went wrong when I said I would not leave my job to raise any kids we had. He wanted me to have kids now and leave work. I wanted to wait a bit longer. It started with shouting and arguments. Then moved to breaking furniture. It all comes to blows one night when he hit the wall by my head and put a hole in it.

I came down here to escape my mother and him. My dad understood why. He helps me find a house, ship my thing, and move my car down here. He made sure that no one knows my address to keep me safe. He was the only one who cared how I felt. My mum was too concerned by her image to care about the wellbeing of her own daughter.

Thinking about what my dad said. He was always right about these things. Maybe Will was the person I needed. He was everything I wanted in a person. He was everything Adam wasn't. He was what I deserved. Speaking of Will I felt my phone buzz with a text from him

Will: How is it going?

Will: killed your mum yet?

Y/N: Nope.

Y/N: my dad said he like the recommendation of bacon in my mac and cheese

Will: Well, I like him already. How did it go then?

Looking down at my phone I debated asking him to come over and talk about it all. Maybe I could tell him how I feel. I know he would be over here in a heartbeat. As I went to text him back to ask if he would come over door dell went off. I looked around to see if my parents had missed anything. I saw nothing. As I walked to the door I wondered if Will has just come over anyway. Smiling at the thought of that I opened the door. But I did not see the ex-special forces soldier. I saw a man with a suit worth more than my car. His hair had gowned a bit since I last saw him. It was a lot longer than Will’s. He was clean-shaven. He never grew a beard, said it made his face itch. As I meet his eyes, he had a smug face on.

“How lovely to see you Y/N?” I recoiled at his voice. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

To be continued...

Taglist

@aimee-wildner

#will miller x reader #william miller x reader #will ironhead miller x reader #will ironhead miller x you #will miller #william ironhead miller #will ironhead miller #triple frontier #charlie hunnam

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shihalyfie · 3 years ago

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Takeru’s character song “Focus”

I alluded to this in a prior post (and, to be a bit honest about it, was a little concerned about how it would be received), but I had some friends ask about what I meant about this, so I decided to go more into detail with it! This is also partially in light of the occasion of the Best Partner albums also becoming a topic of interest again, so it feels like a good time as ever!

02 was a pretty prolific time for merchandising and side material as far as the franchise goes, and one of the many things that came out of it was the “Best Partner” series of character song albums (a whole 36 songs for all 12 Adventure and 02 kids plus their partners!). Of these, Takeru’s song “Focus” has been a particular topic of interest for many in the fanbase to its suspiciously loaded language and the fact that, well...it comes off as a romantic song, which is very unusual in a series that infamously didn’t touch on the topic of romance very much in terms of the actual series. Speculation has constantly abounded on what it’s supposed to imply, why it’s written this way, and what it could possibly mean...

But if you look at it closely? It’s probably not meant to be romantic, and it most likely refers to Patamon.

One thing that I do need to point out is context. Many who have been cynical about the song’s alleged romantic implications have generally put forth the idea that the music department was technically separate from the anime staff, so it’s possible that the music staff wanted to bait or provoke fanservice without much connection from the anime production. It is, undoubtedly, true that the music department isn’t necessarily fully tied in with the anime department, and has been fully willing to indulge in questionably-canon silliness (while 02′s Christmas Fantasy is certainly in-character, its placement in actual canon timeline has to be finagled with because of what we know about 02′s actual Christmas, and Tamers’s Christmas Illusion is far more comedic than the series itself actually permits), and, exacerbating this further is the fact that Hikari has her own extremely romantically loaded song, Reflection, which is often submitted as evidence that Focus must be made in the same vein, but tends to omit the fact that the album it comes from (Girls Festival) needs to be taken with a very heavy grain of salt given that it’s a notorious fanservice album that deliberately plays up the “maiden-like” characteristics of all of the girls involved for the sake of, ah, a certain subsection of the audience. (It was also made in 2002, long after 02′s production had ended.)

The notable thing about the Best Partner albums is that all of the material on it is extremely in-character, and this is especially notable because the song lyrics are significantly more obviously relevant to each character in 02 and their relationship with their partner than even the original Adventure character songs were (with said Adventure character songs often toeing into rather vague glosses that are only tangentially relevant to each character, and Mimi’s song on there pretty blatantly being an AiM single shoved onto the album for the sake of being called a Mimi song). Moreover, Focus isn’t just written by some random lyricist they grabbed for it, but regular Digimon lyricist Yamada Hiroshi himself, who was very involved in the anime production in terms of writing 02′s inserts Break up! and Beat Hit!, and, considering everything this series is about, you’d imagine he’d probably have been given some kind of details about what to do with Takeru’s representative song. It would be quite strange if, for some reason, Takeru’s song were the only one to go really off the rails about shipping bait instead of being, well, actually about his character arc.

I should emphasize that the fact that this song is so commonly read as romantic persists in Japan as well, so whether it was via mishap or not, undeniably, the way the lyrics are phrased definitely make the romantic reading a very reasonable one to pull. The language in the song is extremely “loaded”, and, if it weren’t for the unique circumstances I’m about to describe, most reasonable people can’t really be blamed for taking it this way. However, I will say that all of the most common English translations of various parts of the songs have tended to assume the romantic interpretation as well, and have thus followed up with it by definitively translating it in ways that make it near impossible to read otherwise. So what I’m saying here is that I don’t think it was unreasonable for people to have taken the romantic interpretation, and I don’t particularly intend to blame or criticize the translators who handled this song for also taking it this way, but I also want to make clear that this is not the only way to read the song, and that there’s a very high possibility that this wasn’t the case to begin with.

(Also, since I mentioned Yamada Hiroshi earlier: it’s actually not all that uncommon for him to use heavily-loaded language like this in songs he’s written for the series -- refer to Beat Hit! -- it’s just that people haven’t traditionally taken them as shipping because the context and identity of the songs’ topic matters were so obvious that there wasn’t much need to do speculation about it.)

Let’s take a look into all of the parts of the song that have been traditionally taken as romantic:

"We were together since we were little”

One thing that’s interesting about how this line is phrased in Japanese is that it doesn’t actually specify who was little. And, obviously, if you’re talking about a relationship between humans, you’d think that childhood friends would grow up together, so you’d default to “we”...but, actually, the Japanese text doesn’t rule out the possibility of reading this as “since I was little”. Which means that, yes, Patamon isn’t out of the ruling here -- because, indeed, they met when Takeru was young.

In fact, this actually is a line that arguably should rule out anyone else, especially including the most common speculated topic for this song, Hikari -- because he and Hikari weren’t actually that close during Adventure, and their time “together” was relatively short compared to the rest of the adventure. Remember that the Adventure kids weren’t very close to each other after the events of the series, and Hikari and Takeru didn’t keep close contact between Adventure and 02 -- contrast Patamon being close to Takeru during the entirety of the series, and, bar their periods of disconnect between Adventure and 02, you could say that he’s been the closest to Takeru since this time, especially since Yamato hadn’t been able to be as present for him as he’d wanted.

"Running, rolling around, and always laughing"

Again, this is a line that practically excludes nearly anyone else from consideration. Nobody ever did this with Takeru in Adventure but Patamon, especially since Takeru was trying to present himself as a well-behaved kid in the presence of his elders, and it’s entirely possible he wouldn’t have been willing to do this with anyone else but the outwardly childish Patamon. It definitely would not have been Hikari, who was arguably even more reserved than him during this time.

“It would have been better if I hadn’t realized”/“I have a lot of things I want to tell you, but I can’t really say it”/“I can’t ask that”

Sentiments like “I can’t admit it”, or difficulty with accepting one’s own feelings, is usually associated with developing romantic feelings for another person and being touchy about admitting them, but the thing is that this is intended to be a representative character song, and Takeru is actually abysmally bad at admitting anything in general. And yes, that includes not being able to be straightforward with Patamon himself about parsing his trauma over his death.

Takeru was never able to have a straightforward conversation with even Patamon about the whole issue, because of his nasty habit of never opening up about his problems and never being honest about them. That’s why Iori had to be the one to take matters into his own hands and go out of his way to understand Takeru, because Takeru sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to work through this on his own, or even with Patamon.

“I can’t get you off my mind”

This one’s actually a stock phrase in Japanese that can refer to “being interested” in someone (romantically), but can also refer to something just not really being able to leave your head in general (from being bothered by it, or being very worried). So yes, this could mean anything from a romantic fixation...to simply being constantly worried and concerned about one’s welfare.

“You were always crying”

As far as people around Takeru’s periphery who apparently cried a lot goes, there aren’t a lot! The description doesn’t seem to fit Hikari much, either (she had her moments, but it’s not the kind of thing you’d imagine this kind of extreme descriptor for). Hm, but there is someone who might fit that description...

Certainly, enough that Takeru would remember.

(By the way, Patamon gets sent on the verge of tears in the middle of his own solo song...)

"The door that I couldn't reach that day, no matter how far I stretched out"

Very important part here: that day. There was a very important “day” that seems to be on Takeru’s mind here. What’s repeatedly referred to in 02 as one of the most traumatic and impactful days of Takeru’s life?

Incidentally, Takeru and Patamon’s duet song for this album also just so happens to use “opening door” imagery...

“You’re now standing in the light”

That use of “light” is usually submitted as evidence that it’s referring to Hikari via a pun on her name, but, well, “light” does happen to just mean “light”, after all (and it’s used in many contexts that don’t necessarily have to refer to Hikari in 02 itself). And, well...

Pretty apt description there, no?

"We were always being protected"

It could refer to Hikari, or anyone else Takeru was with during Adventure, but remember that Patamon was always the slowest to evolve (especially given the many circumstances that happened with him in Adventure that kept him unable to actively join the fight effectively for a very, very long time), and Takeru himself also had a pretty nasty complex about holding everyone back.

So, in conclusion...

Despite how loaded the language is, in the end, it’s probably meant to be a song about Takeru handling his trauma regarding Patamon very poorly at the time of 02. Which is, well, what his character arc in 02 was about, so it tracks, doesn’t it?

Bear in mind that, again, this is basically “one readable interpretation of it”, which I also personally happen to back very strongly because I think the evidence simply tracks too much given context -- the details described in the song rule out almost every other candidate that would be relevant to Takeru’s character arc, also happen to describe the events of Adventure too well, and certainly would track much better with everything else in this particular album series mostly being relevant to everyone’s character as reflected in 02. Song lyrics are song lyrics, and interpretation might be in the eyes of the beholder...but, you know, food for thought.

#digimon #digimon adventure 02 #takaishi takeru #takeru takaishi #shihameta

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not-to-be-gay-but-holy-shit · 4 years ago

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The Barns in Sims 4

So I started this project on Sunday and spent all week working on it, finding every mention of The Barns in all the books and taking notes, drafting and redrafting the upstairs THREE TIMES >:( and getting as many details right as I could. It is a 4 bedroom, two and a half bath farmhouse with a basement and a shed (both shed and basement are empty, I was too fried to finish them!). The outside is based on a farmhouse that Maggie herself tweeted about, and, with a lot of advice from my mom as to what a farmhouse actually looks like, I made the interior (Disclaimer: I have the base game + City Living, Cats and Dogs, and Get Together, so I'm sure something from a different pack might have been better in some places but I am also broke! So I'm working with those three!)

The kitchen. Described as a mixture of decades and styles, with white cabinets, butcher block counters and grubby laminate. It has stools for the counter, and a door to the backyard, like in the books.

The living room. The living room has a black leather couch and a plaid couch (I didn't have plaid, so stripes have to suffice!), as well as a fireplace, coffee table, TV, and various games. The door leads to a half bath, not mentioned in the book, but something I thought it could use.

The dining room. The dining room has a round table with a variety of different chairs. There is something to play music, and CD's. The shield and sword above the window acts as a placeholder for the nightmare mask. It is also stated to be a separate room from the kitchen and living room.

The sitting room. The sitting room is described as being storage for everything that didn’t have a place elsewhere, hence a lot of clutter. Aurora’s chair sits in the middle, under the light that looks like planets. Across the room is a sitting area with three clashing chairs, as well as Niall’s desk, and two light fixtures that are also potted plants. In the books, there are rugs in the corner that Matthew and Ronan use to hide, but I don’t have that option in the game, so instead they are racks of paintings (which your sim can still hide in!) The door leads to the basement (which is empty, sorry). It also has no windows, because Ronan mentions in The Dream Thieves (?) that there are no windows in that room.

Next is Aurora and Niall’s bedroom. They have white bedding, picture frame on the nightstand, as well as plenty of room for storage across the room, like the boxes that Ronan goes through in Call Down the Hawk. There is also supposed to be a framed photo of Niall and Aurora above the dresser, which I took in game and put there, but it wouldn’t let me upload the build to the library as non-modded because their outfits/hair were mods :(

Declan’s room. We don’t get to see his room that often in the books (once, when Adam sleeps over), so I made it very clean and sparse.

Matthew’s room. My first version of Matthew’s room was a lot brighter and messier than Declan’s, but in Call Down the Hawk, Ronan mentions that his room is actually fairly empty and free of messes, so I gave him yellow wallpaper and green bedding and called it a day.

Ronan’s room. Ronan has a lot of clutter in his room, whether dirty laundry or dream objects, so I tried to capture some of that chaos. Although my version of The Sims 4 doesn’t have a skateboard or bagpipes, I managed to include the shelves of toy cars like in the Raven King, and, to the right of the top picture, there is a plant similar to the one Ronan describes briefly in Call Down the Hawk.

The backyard. Obviously I don’t have the acreage within The Sims to fully capture the expanse of The Barns, but I still tried to allude to its nature. The ground is slight bumpy, and the grass texture changes often. There is a pond like in the Opal short story, as well as a grill, and a shed. The shed is empty, but there is a staircase that leads to a part of the roof, where a miniature light show is, like the ORBMASTER scene in The Raven King. The paint stuff was my choice, I just thought it was a fun way to represent that constant state of change or improvement, like the house really is being lived in and worked on by the characters.

Not pictured (I hit the image limit on the post sadly) but I still want to talk about: There is a table with blue flowers in the hallway outside the kitchen, like the ones in The Dream Thieves. Also in the Dream Thieves, there is a mirror in the entryway. There are two staircases upstairs, and no hallway connecting the two wings from the second floor. This is because the boys’ rooms are described as being upstairs, yet Ronan also mentions fixing the wooden staircase that led to his parents’ room. Since there wasn’t room in the attic for the master bedroom, I elected to just make two different staircases. Additionally, there are two other bathrooms not mentioned, and a laundry room, like Opal talks about in the Opal short story. I also added a mudroom, that, while not mentioned within the novel, my mom mentioned that farmhouses usually have one, so I felt it fit with the house. No garage, because I didn’t have space, and I don’t have a pack that allows cars in the first place!

I have uploaded this house to the Origin gallery, if you want to download it! Once again, it has stuff from Cats and Dogs, Get Together, and City Living, although I believe (don’t quote me on this) it’s mostly just furniture that you could replace pretty easily, if you want to try it out anyways! Look for a residential lot named The Barns by semipeaceful. Thanks for reading all the way through, ily <3

#lmk if you want another picture of a room or at a different angle and i'll see what i can do!#the raven cycle #trc #call down the hawk #the dream thieves #blue lily lily blue #the raven king #the raven boys #the barns

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mego42 · 4 years ago

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author meme redux

HELLO I’M BACK tagged by @septiembur to talk about how swaying evergreens came about!

okay so the backstory goes like this:

A friend of mine and I love playing this game we call to the pain where we send each other songs with instructions to listen to them and think about this ship/scene/story/etc and sit back and watch the other one go completely unhinged and incoherent bc the right song and the right dynamic will Do That To You. she also introduced me to tow’rs and we share a fairly rabid obsession with that band.

fast forward to this past december, she kicks down the door of my messages (or texts me, i suppose, if you want to be boring about it) like hey so tow’rs dropped a christmas album and even though i don’t really go here, special edition of to the pain, listen to swaying evergreens and think of brio. so i did and, even though the song was not a vibe i would generally gravitate towards for them, it hooked me and all i could think about was soft, quiet, snowed in morning sex bc like, idk, have y’all listened to it???? literally what else am i supposed to think about.

ANYWAY so that song lowkey ruined my life and i started crying to @foxmagpie about it as i do. she went a touch feral over the concept and even though i kept saying stuff like but megan! how did they get snowed in? why are they soft with each other? how did they get there from s3? she kept saying stuff like WHO CARES MEG OH MY GOD JUST WRITE IT. it slowly took root in my head and one night i literally sat straight up in the middle of the night (being married to me is SO FUN) like OH WAIT WHAT ABOUT LISTENING VERSE and I decided to write it for megan as a present.

As far as the backstory stuff goes, I’ve alluded to it a bit on here but I’ve lost a bunch of people this year and without getting too into it, one of those losses was very fresh when I got serious about writing swaying evergreens. I’ve been thinking a lot about grief and memory and how it shapes you in ways that never unshape and how we carry pieces of the people we love with us inside ourselves. All of that was compounded by a lot of angst over not being able to be with my family this holiday season and thinking about our traditions throughout the year (shamelessly stole the its a wonderful life stuff from my dad). Additionally I’ve always been mmmm I guess extremely conscious of how little the show gives us with so many of the characters’ backstories (I know we like to point to Rio a lot and true!! extremely valid! but also like, what holidays do Beth and Annie celebrate, you know? they’re all pretty blank slate) and that’s something I haven’t really engaged with much in my fic but something I want to try and get into more.

idek where I’m going with any of this but all of that was on my mind and ended up mixing together with the quiet little romantic pwp I initially wanted to write and the result was swaying evergreens which, fun fact! i have not been able to go back and reread since I posted it because I’m still a touch raw over the whole thing tbh, hahaha.

tl;dr go listen to tow’rs christmas album the holly & the ivy bc even if you’re not into christmas music (which i am VEHEMENTLY AGAINST TBH) it’s beautiful and i love it a lot.

tagging @pynkhues to tell me in detail how fake dating is going to feature in the pirate au which is not at all the point of this meme but she dropped that grenade as i was getting ready to post this and now i can’t think about anything else

okay but also @riosnecktattoo to tell me about how she came to foist clown porn upon us all or heart and soul bc i’m obsessed (or both both is good)

and @bathroombreaks to tell me about the origin of the howl’s au that lives rent free in my head

meme questions

recently I have become really fascinated with fanfic authors and what exactly was rumbling around in their brain that inspired a fic?

Was it a line of dialogue you couldn’t get out of your head?

A scene you wrote WAY in advance and then crafted the whole story around?

An image in your mind?

Inspiration from another form of media?

Maybe someone suggested something to you and it just TOOK off from there?

What is the root of your fic? The cornerstone -what is it all built around? The idea that started it all?

Tag an author & their fic. Let’s hear about what sparked your story. What exactly got your booty movin’ shakin’ motivated and writin’

#i will probably not delete this later hahahahahaha #tag games #shut up meg #swaying evergreens #listening through the air shaft #my fic

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hopetofantasy · 4 years ago

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Culture, parallels & meta - S2 E5

Zaterdag 20:43

C is for culture:

“I think I saw him walking at the Gaypride in Brussels” - Belgium has been organizing versions of Pride since 1978, with a brief period of absence in the 80s. The original name was ‘Roze Zaterdag’ (= ‘Pink Saturday’). Nowadays, there are two versions: the ‘Belgian Pride’ in Brussels and the (smaller) ‘Antwerp Pride’ in Antwerp, both attracting at least 90,000 participants. Various parties and festivals surround the parade, which is filled with floats from different LGBT+ organizations.

“Because now it’s time for Eurovision” - Eurovision Song Contest is an annual international song competition and the longest running tv program since 1956. Only a country that’s part of the European Broadcasting Union can participate (with the exception of Australia). The contest includes various pre-selections, a specific voting system, broadcasting on other continents, a huge legacy of singers/bands - like ABBA, Céline Dion, Lordi - and massive popularity overall. Around a million Belgians watch the show live. It’s generally seen as something to make fun of (but people also secretly root for their country's act). Though, the only time Belgium won, was in 1986 with Sandra Kim’s ‘J’aime la vie’.

Lost in translation:

Milan saying: “Dan heb ik toch iets versierd vandaag” (= at least I decorated something today), this sentence has double meaning with ‘versieren’ (= ‘hitting on someone’ and ‘decorating’), so he’s alluding on the fact that he did the decorations, just not the ‘hitting on Robbe’-part.

“Waar is de zepper?” “Zapper!” - Milan is pronouncing the word for ‘remote’ in a Dutch way, instead of Flemish.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: This entire scene is just over-the-top. The girls gasping at the reveal of Robbe’s supposed kiss, assuming that it’s true, wondering if that’s why he doesn’t flirt back, even asking Milan if his gaydar is going off and giggling at him for wanting Robbe’s number.

Perfect parallel: Jana makes fun of Luca’s moves by licking her straw in S2, as Luca tried to flirt with Robbe by licking her spoon in S1.

Funny coincidence: Milan saying “I think the Netherlands are going to win”, lo and behold: the Netherlands won that night with Duncan Laurence’s ‘Arcade’.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Milan hung up a glitter chandelier in the living room. Luca’s phone has a unicorn case.

Maandag 08:14

Perfect parallel:

Jana saying “Amber would die” about her dating Senne in a previous episode, Zoë claiming the same thing in this episode.

Senne's “If that were the case, I would’ve already done that" about Zoë thinking he wants her as a fling in previous episode, Zoë responding the same as Senne jokes about being her ‘toy boy’ in this one.

Dinsdag 08:12

Perfect parallel: Senne's “Fock, you’re sexy” when Zoë wasn’t into him in S1 and his “Stop being so hot” during their make-out in S2.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Senne having a real - ahem - in his lower regions.

Dinsdag 08:26

Oopsie: In the previous clip, Zoë wasn’t wearing her red lipstick, yet it’s all smudged in this one.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jana's keychain changed to a blue stringy-thing and it’s dangling on her locker door this whole conversation.

Woensdag 12:23

C is for culture: “He’s underage and you’re of age, so that wouldn’t be allowed anyways” - According to Belgian law, the age of consent is 16. So even if, for example, both partners are younger than 16, it’s still technically punishable by law. Some political parties and sex-positive organizations are trying to lower the age of consent to 14, but it hasn’t been changed (yet).

Perfect parallel: Zoë stating “You’re not his type” to Milan about Robbe in S2, her assuming the boys are together after the coming out in S3.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Milan trying to find out if Robbe has a 'Grindr' account. Zoë still thinks he’s gay, because “Maybe he wasn’t online”.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: According to the cookbook, Milan is making ‘Pappere with rose-harissa, black olives and capers’. The 'Grindr' profiles are clearly made up of stock photos.

Woensdag 16:57

Perfect parallel:

Zoë laughing with the fireplace and guitar, claiming they’re Senne’s flirting tools, in a previous episode and him joking that he’s looking for “A fireplace. And a guitar” in her room in this episode.

Senne saying “I’m the one” to Zoë in S2 and Sander's “He’s the one” about Robbe in S3.

Zoë barging into Milan’s room, catching him in a sexual act, in the first episode and Milan opening her door without knocking, interrupting the make out, in this episode.

Senne flipping Zoë onto her bed to make out in S2, Sander doing the same to Robbe in S3.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The cookbook is called ‘SIMPEL’ by Yotam Ottolenghi. Zoë has a tiny, silver ring around her middle finger.

Woensdag 20:21

Perfect parallel: Milan barging in Zoë room, because “It was an emergency” in S2, him doing the same with Robbe, because “He urgently needs help” in S3.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The cards on the refrigerator include a pig and Nirvana’s ‘Nevermind’ album cover.

Donderdag 14:46

Perfect parallel: Jana reminding Zoë “Who thought that Robbe was in love with me?” in S2, because she said “That guy has a big crush on you” in S1.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The entire conversation about Robbe with the girlsquad, including: “His gaydar didn’t go off”, “I knew he was straight”, “And if he says no, you know what’s up”, “That Robbe is straight? We’ll find out tomorrow!” and “I’ll get into his pants in no time”. Plus, the plan about seducing him to check if he’s gay or not.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë isn’t wearing her signature lipstick here.

Vrijdag 22:18

Perfect parallel: Max asking if Zoë “watches Temptation Island” and that she “must be a Game of Thrones fan”, which denies in this episode, while we know she watched both with her roommate in an earlier episode.

Where is Wally? Britt is dancing with Jana in the background.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Jana trying to kiss an intoxicated Robbe to test if he’s gay and saying “This is clear. He’s so gay.” Resulting in this sad looking boy:

Oopsie:

When Senne smashes the bottle on the boy’s head, we can clearly see that it was fake glass: the tiny splinters are scattered all around, instead of bigger, jagged pieces falling to the ground.

Zoë leaves the party only with her handbag and suddenly, she's wearing a coat around her in the next shot.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The golden balloons behind Luka spell ‘party’.

#wtfock #wtfam #cpm rewatch #skam belgium #skam

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erudite-rebel · 4 years ago

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Title: Forced Offerings Summary: The recounts of Bartholomew Oobleck regarding an incident which took the lives of his parents when he was a child. Characters: Bartholomew Oobleck, Qrow Branwen, OC’s Notes: I’m posting a bit of writing I did. A few people who follow will be familiar with my Magnus Archives AU, or at the very least have seen me spam about it and draw art for the (3) other people who I know that listen to the podcast. I’m actually very proud of this little bit of writing, though I understand not everyone would want to read it. I’m trying to get myself back into properly writing, and though this is fanfic I think getting it out there and maybe receiving feedback could help?

It’s a horror story. One I kind of want to adapt, honestly, to a Creepypasta to submit to NoSleep, but for now it can remain like this.

Warnings for body horror, gore, and guts.

“There has to be some sort of rational explanation for-”

“For someone wearing someone else’s skin like a meat suit?” Qrow’s words were calm. Somehow he was always calm. Even after all of this.

Barty leaned against the chair, hands gripping the back of it until it was twisted and pressed against the table. He had dark bags under his eyes and was unsure of the last time he’d had a proper sleep. Every piece of him felt tired, from toes to fingertips, and he knew if he laid down there would be nothing to gain for it. Just wakefulness, watching, waiting.

“I always thought I wanted it to be real, Qrow,” he said. “All my life. Ever since the wanting to know dug its claws into my head for the first time. Even when we both should have run away after the incident. I- but now I’m here. And I really do know now, even if there’s so much more that I don’t. Hidden. Layers waiting for me to scrape away and dig down into them.”

When he looked back up Qrow’s face was near unreadable, as it always was. As though his old friend had at some point become a spy. “You can still get out, Bart. Quit. Forget.”

Barty laughed weakly. “You don’t… you don’t think I tried? I attempted to write up a letter of resignation, and it was as though the keys had transformed, like staring at some unknown machine as the cursor blinked. So I took up a pen, determined to write it, and I forgot how to write. And when I saw Ozpin I… the words. They wouldn’t be spoken. I don’t think I can quit.”

He sagged then and pulled out his chair, sitting heavily down. His head was laid in his arms, trying to think it through, but what was there to think of? To understand? He was trapped. A group of beings wearing skin suits had attempted to break into the archives. He’d looked at one of them wearing the face of a person he’d taken a statement from. Veronica Chase of Leeds.

“Everything I remembered pointed to… to the world being a very dark place, but I think I. I was too young to understand just how horrific.”

Cool fingers curled around his. Barty squeezed them on reflex, trying to convince himself not to do anything so childish as cry. There was so much going on. Too much going on. And he knew Ozpin, Qrow, perhaps some of the other assistants, he knew they knew more. And those secrets, that untold knowledge, burned like a hunger in him as much as recording statements had become. A part of him, one he didn’t yet know how loud it truly was, wanted to devour that knowledge.

Qrow’s voice broke into his thoughts. “...Have you ever spoken about it?”

Barty considered the question a moment before he lifted his head. Qrow was no longer unreadable. He was sad. Maybe angry as well.

“I haven’t.” He’d alluded to things to Qrow, when they were young and just a few stupid, desperate children, but he’d never told the full story. Perhaps not even to the police.

Qrow nodded to the tape recorder. “Maybe now’s the time.”

“You mean give a statement?” He sounded incredulous, as though that was the last thing he ought to be doing.

The other man shrugged, but thin fingers curled a little tighter. The gesture was soothing. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Barty sat up straighter, looking at the recorder waiting for him to merely press record. It called to him. With a sigh he picked up his glasses and placed them on his face, straightening his back. Qrow’s hands retreated over the table to his lap, and the other man was silent as he slouched and stared at Barty.

The record button depressed with a satisfying click, and the gears within ground softly with their age. The sound tingled along his spine like light, tickling fingers.

“Statement of Bartholomew Oobleck, regarding a series of deaths at Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities in 1996. Statement taken on November 22nd, 2020. Audio recording by Bartholomew Oobleck, Head Archivist of the Beacon Institute, London.” He paused a moment, as memories returned, like he’d merely opened a door. He remembered being a young and curious boy, and the scent of dust and paper and age in the museum’s storage. It was almost as if he were there, and he knew he’d be able to tell the story down to the deepest detail, and when he began to talk he wasn’t entirely sure who he was talking to - Qrow, the tape, or himself.

“Statement begins.”

I don’t suppose there are many people who would remember the Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities anymore. Or if they do, they might pretend not to. The galleries had originated from the private collection of Duke Francis Egerton, who had been the Duke of Eastwyke for perhaps a decade in the eighteen hundreds and primarily concerned himself with gathering rare and unusual antiquities. In the 1950’s several of his descendants saw fit to open it to the public, perhaps to use it to make a little money or invest. Despite that it didn’t see tourism. The patrons were mainly students from Oxford, or travelling academics. Anthropologists, archaeologists, Egyptologists… even had an entomologist come in weekly to just sit in the insect room and take it all in. No, not many people would remember it, but it was my childhood.

My parents, Pearl and Mathis Oobleck, were archaeologists. They were often abroad with work and digs. Sometimes I went with them, sometimes I stayed at home with my grandfather Tennyson, who had a little cottage on the grounds when he worked as curator. When he retired the mantle passed to my father and they were home a little more, unless going off to expand the collection. It was… a happy enough childhood. Maybe lonely sometimes, but I had an entire world of secret knowledge to explore, a library to devour and help curb my hyperactivity. I was content prowling those halls, which felt more like home to me than our cottage.

When I was nine the proprietors purchased a considerable number of artifacts from a private auction, something to do with a portion of Duke Egerton’s original collection that had made it into the hands of a branch of the royal family they’d had a rivalry with. The purchase caused quite a stir. All sorts of wild stories were told… not the least of which was that many of the artifacts there were once bought from grave robbers. I never heard the truth of it, though I suspect it was. Most private collections are just that. Stolen.

I was forbidden to go near the newest items. While it was next to impossible to keep me out of the storage rooms, I had learned early not to touch anything, and was not allowed in the room where they were held without an accompaniment to make sure I kept my hands well off. I remember standing in the middle of the room, hands stuck firm under my arms to resist the temptation to touch the pottery or old weapons. I must have looked like I had seen Father Christmas as I turned every which way trying to get a peek at it. I was a horrible annoyance, I suspect.

One part of the lot, though, I remember very well. It had been a beautifully preserved set of canopic jars. I recall being told they were from the eighteenth dynasty. They were made of black stone, each head carved with exquisite detail, the polish hanging on despite the millenia since. All over the surface of the jar were carved hieroglyphs, uncharacteristic of the usual designs. Several people believed the jars to be fake, as the material was wrong for the time, and the glyphs were unusual, but carbon dating seemed to suggest it was an immutable fact. I think there was a lot of discussion whether to open the jar and study the remains inside.

The largest advocate for their authenticity was Dr. Herbert Renshaw, a loud and corpulent man. I never knew him well. He was the sort of man who didn’t have patience for even a docile child, let alone a hyperactive boy with a million questions. He usually didn’t want me about so I didn’t hear much of them until he’d found me one day loitering near the entrance of the archive where they were being kept and he asked if I would like to come inside.

I remember finding that odd, chiefly because I knew he didn’t care for me, but also because of the look in his eyes. I was never much good at deciphering human emotions when I was younger, but even then I thought there was something of a gleam to them. I readily agreed, though, and darted inside the moment I was allowed to.

We didn’t have much in the way of conversation. He talked at length about the glyphs carved into the rock, and how they’d seemed to be in several different languages. His speech had been rapid, I remember, and I’d had difficulty following along. All the while I’d been edging closer to them, feeling captivated by the staring eyes of the figureheads atop the jars. I felt as though they were looking back at me, urging me in.

I hadn’t even been aware of reaching for them when Dr. Renshaw’s hand slapped down hard over my own, knocking it away. Knuckles stinging, I’d turned and fled as he glared. But even now I’m not sure if I ran from the slap, the look in his eyes, or the fact that there had seemed to be radiant, physical heat from those jars.

For the next few days I was kept busy with my homeschooling and hardly got a chance to go into the museum beyond writing a maths test in my mother's office. Whenever I was in, though, I happened to see Dr. Renshaw. Normally he was a neat and tidy sort of man, with expensive suits and his moustache waxed within an inch of its life, yet… it seemed as though he was keeping less care of himself. Hair unbrushed, buttons undone, bowtie lank or missing. And as he walked he’d mutter to himself and turn a wild sort of gaze on a person, something that made you feel less like a person and more like an object.

When I asked my mother about it she dismissed it as him being overworked and told me to concentrate harder on my studies. I tried, but the memory of the way he walked and stared wouldn’t be banished from my mind.

It was on a Monday that it truly started. I had left one of my science textbooks in my mother’s office and needed it for that day’s lesson, but it was on Monday’s the museum was closed, so I took my father’s key and let myself in the back entrance. I was hardly afraid. I knew these halls like the back of my hand.

As I was passing through one of the archives - it had been stuffy and hot with summer, without climate control - I heard an odd sound. A sort of whimpering coming from further in the dark. At first I rooted in place, wondering if I should run and get my father, too afraid to call out. When the sound came again I crept through the shelves, terrified of what I might find, when I came upon one of the librarians, Maggie Law. I’d always liked her. She let me read what I like and sometimes would sneak me toffee’s or other sweets. I’m certain she had a kind, round face, but now all I can remember is how she’d looked there in the shadows. Yellowing skin and eyes, soaked with sweat, hands clutched over her side. I remember her crying, her voice so broken and small as she said ‘he pulled it from me, he pulled it from me.’

I ran then, straight for my parents. It had taken them a good five minutes to get me to talk enough sense to call an ambulance. I remember watching from my window as she was taken away, staring through old warped glass at the blue lights.

I also remember something else, though. Dr. Renshaw. His face looking out from a window at the same scene. Even though I couldn’t see him clearly, my vision what it was, I felt sick just to look at him. I felt dread.

More attacks followed. The following day the groundskeeper, Kevin Rutherford, was found dead, torch in hand. I overheard the police telling my parents he seemed like he must have had a heart attack while patrolling the grounds that night. The day after that an archaeologist named Judith Churchill was found in a state of shock in the parking lot, having finished up late that night.

The museum closed. Everyone by that point was terrified, and the police were doing regular patrols. I was thirsty to know what was happening but my parents refused to tell me, so I’d taken to listening in on the telephone whenever someone rang. I eavesdropped on one such call and learned that Maggie Law had died. Hepatic encephalopathy, they’d said. I remember struggling an ancient medical textbook down from a shelf just to look it up. It’s a condition caused by acute liver failure.

I was in a right state after that. My parents were making sure to keep the doors locked. I remember my mother tucked me in and told me not to worry. I try to always remember that.

It was around ten pm that a knock came at the door. Unable to sleep I’d made a little tent of a blanket and was reading by torchlight when I heard it. Curious who it could be at that hour with so much going on, I crept from my bed to go to the stairs to watch the front hall. I thought perhaps it might be a policeman, that there’d be some news.

It was my father who answered the door. On the threshold stood Dr. Renshaw, and he looked haggard. Deep bags below his fever-bright eyes, cheeks almost sunken, hair a mess. I remember he had a hand tucked into his jacket.

My father invited him in, of course. There’d been concern in his voice as he shut the door and warned him he shouldn’t be out so late with such strangeness going on.

I remember the door swinging shut. I remember Dr. Renshaw pulling one of the jars from his jacket and noticing the eyes of Qebehsenuf, the falcon, somehow staring out from its black and smooth surface. And then Renshaw reached for my father.

Words do not feel as though they can describe. I watched as his hand seemed to sink through clothes and skin and flesh without a drop of blood. I remember my father’s face going stark white as my mother asked what was going on. And then Renshaw pulled his hand back.

It was like nothing I had yet seen. Pink, almost purplish, tubes were gripped in Renshaw’s hand. My father screamed then, falling to his knees, watching as this mass was pulled from him. There was too much even for Renshaw to hold and it slipped to the ground with a wet splat, and seemed to move like a languid snake.

My father fell over then, as my mother screamed hysterically. All I remember clearly was Renshaw looking up at me as he held my father's intestines like fleshy ropes, letting them drag on the ground and slap his clothing. Our eyes met. They were like I had never seen before. There was something mad there, but also elation or euphoria I couldn’t understand.

I ran then, bolting for my parent's room. I remember crawling under their bed and curling up beneath the headboard, hands over my ears as I listened to my mother scream before it just… ended. I waited to hear boots upon the stairs, for Renshaw to come and stick his hand into me, but he never came. All I heard was the door swing shut.

I didn’t leave until morning when the police arrived. The maid found my parents, and the police found me. Had had to drag me from under the bed, in fact. They didn’t let me see their bodies, and the funeral was closed casket. I told the police who I’d seen but Renshaw had disappeared along with those canopic jars. Jars I worry that had gotten full on what was stolen from his coworkers.

I went to go live with my grandfather after that. There was a lot of therapy. I was pushed harder than ever into my schoolwork, and I treated it like a drug to quiet my mind. Eventually I think I half convinced myself it was a hallucination by the time I went to high school. Now I know better.

Statement ends.

#rwby fanfic #bartholomew oobleck #qrow branwen #rwby oobleck #rwby qrow #horror fanfic #tma au #freeform; my writing #is anything really real anymore?; tma au

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opheliaoblonskya · 4 years ago

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hello hello hello everyone! i’m coco, this is my baby ophelia, and we’re both extremely happy to be part of the group!!! this is ophelia’s official intro post so feel free to check under the cut for more info on them! @westmerestarters

MAJOR TW FOR DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE

agender, goes by they/them pronouns, first discovered non binary identities a few years ago and went from “huh, that’s neat” to “it me” within a few months lmao

their father was originally from the soviet union, grew up poor, immigrated to the states, and made it big as a writer. poetry, essays, plays, short stories, and even full on novels, anton oblonsky was a literary darling, and married cleo harris, a celebrity stylist, rather young. after barely two years of marriage, ophelia was born. they were to be anton’s only child.

while both of ophelia’s parents doted on them, they were the apple of their father’s eye in particular. he spoiled ophelia rotten, showering them with things he could’ve never dreamed of having as a child, but now with his lucrative writing career at his side, he was able to fully provide for his family, so much so that cleo was able to quit her job.

naturally, ophelia adored their father for how much he spoiled and openly adored them, and never feared hearing the word ‘no’ from anton. cleo often had to step in to be the disciplinarian in the family, which created some tension between her and her overly indulged child, but for the most part, the oblonsky family home was a happy one.

this would fall apart when ophelia was only five.

understandably, cleo was growing tired of having to be the ‘bad guy parent’, and had grown to resent how easy going and frivolous anton was. this of course caused arguments, and whenever ophelia stepped in and it was clear that they had heard it, anton would try to remedy the situation by showering them with more gifts, which in turn lead to more arguments. it was like a cycle, and cleo was determined to put an end to it. she filed for divorce.

during the proceedings, the two agreed on shared custody of ophelia. they would spend one week with anton, and the other with cleo. of course, ophelia much preferred being with their father, who’s spoiling had gone into maximum overdrive as a way to make up for the divorce. cleo was nowhere near as indulgent, and the young ophelia grew to resent their mother, blaming her for the falling apart of the family and their father’s misery.

just months after ophelia’s sixth birthday, which had of course been a truly lavish affair, the divorce was finalized. by then ophelia was getting therapy, to help cope with the change, and despite the therapist’s best efforts, ophelia still laid the blame squarely at their mother’s feet. but the worst was still yet to come.

when ophelia was seven, during the week they were with anton, he woke them up, told them they had the day off school because he had called in, and that they were going to do whatever ophelia wanted. of course, they were utterly ecstatic, and the day was spent devouring ice cream and candy of all kinds, watching cartoons, and playing games. it truly was the best day of ophelia’s life.

but it would quickly become the worst.

anton told ophelia to play outside for a bit, while he cleaned up. still bouncing off the walls from the massive amount of sugar consumption, ophelia happily ran around in the yard, playing on the brand new play set that anton had bought just for that day. they were so preoccupied, that they almost didn’t hear the loud bang that came from inside.

they tried to get inside, but all of the doors were locked, and no matter how loudly they yelled, they were getting no response from anton. confused, and getting a little scared, ophelia went to the neighbor’s, and asked them for help. the neighbor’s called, but when they got response they called the police instead.

the rest of the day is a blur, perhaps an attempt of ophelia’s mind to shield them from it all. but one thing they remember clear as day is the body of their father, lying in a pool of his own blood, in the middle of the living room. they had managed to sneak past the police, wanting to see what was happening. and of course, they got their wish.

the death was ruled a suicide, thanks to the presence of a long letter that anton had left behind in his study. cleo was contacted immediately and rushed to her child’s side, weeping profusely. the last year of her marriage to anton had been tense, but she never doubted for a second that he was a good man who loved her and ophelia. and now he was gone.

ophelia was different after that. now in their mother’s care, they had become quiet, withdrawn, and despite how tense and strained their relationship with their mother had been before, they were now terrified of being separated from cleo. they got another therapist, one that specialized in helping grieving children, but it was very slow going. at the reading of the will, it had been revealed that anton had left everything, his wealth, his properties, even the rights to his numerous literary works, which at the time of his death was just shy of a hundred, to ophelia. it turned out that he had made the change the day before his death, and that half of his fortune, which included ongoing royalties, would be used for ophelia’s education and other parts of their care, a type of posthumous child support, while the rest would be put in a trust fund.

of the things that had been left to ophelia, what caught their attention the most, was their father’s journals. he would spend hours scribbling away in them, and no one, not even his precious ophelia, had been permitted to read them. they desperately wanted to do so now, but cleo got to them first, and had them placed in a safety deposit box, away from ophelia. this resulted in a screaming match, a tearful ophelia demanding to have what remained of their father’s essence, and cleo insisting that they were too young to see what was in those books, and that when they were older they could read them, but not now.

as time wore on, ophelia remained ever devoted to their father and his memory, lashing out at anyone who would dare besmirch his name and/or work. when cleo remarried, to anton’s lawyer no less, ophelia reacted very negatively, threatening to sabotage the wedding if they were made to go. they were made to go, but were under heavy surveillance by the bridesmaids (ophelia had been made the maid of honor, which made their stomach roil), and aside from having a generally negative attitude, did no harm to the event.

when ophelia’s first half sibling was born, they were determined to remain indifferent, if not totally icy and aloof, towards the child. it wasnt until after they had laid eyes on the newborn, that they felt their heart soften. in a hospital bathroom, ophelia cried for the first time since their father’s funeral. they were 12 years old.

with extensive therapy and family counselling, ophelia found themself able to let go of their previous animosity towards their mother. they began to see and understand why cleo was so frustrated with anton, and wrote an immense letter of apology to their mother. they were also fiercely protective of their half siblings, and thoroughly adored them.

but of course, there was still a hole that had been left behind by anton’s death. and part of the way they chose to cope was by consuming all of their father’s work. they would pour over his writing, studying it all endlessly. if there was an english assignment of some sort, then you can be sure that ophelia would write about something their father wrote. it wasn’t long before they too started to dream of becoming a writer.

after ophelia graduated, they were finally permitted to read the journals that their father wrote in and kept. after talking extensively with ophelia’s therapists, cleo finally opened that old safety deposit box, and gave ophelia everything they had dreamed of. they devoted every waking moment to reading those journals, desperate to further understand their father. and one of the first steps they took was going to russia.

they had of course heard many stories from their father about russia, and most of anton’s work was either set in russia, featured russian characters, or at least had russia in the background in some way. but of course the russia he had been most familiar with was the one of the soviet era, and even after a number of trips back, the shadow of the soviet union still clung to him and his work, and ophelia was determined to see modern day russia for themself.

they followed their father’s steps, hunting down every place mentioned or alluded to in his writings, trying to understand and feel what their father understood and felt about the place. it also inspired them to start journaling, chronicling their time in russia and the steps they were taking to understand the man their father was.

while in russia, they came up to the part in the journals where anton started to talk about his divorce and depression. he waxed lyrical about the intense, deep, gut wrenching misery that plagued him, and how the only way he could keep it at bay was by caring for ophelia. but as they started to grow up, he started to panic and worry more and more. his own father took his life when he was very young, and his mother never remarried. how was he supposed to know how to be a father from that point on? he had tried to give ophelia everything she could ever want, materially and emotionally, but there was still a part of him that felt that it would never be enough, because he had never seen what he was supposed to do next. the anxiety strangled him to the point where sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

his last entry was on the day before he died. “if nothing else, ophelia will know how much i love her.”

ophelia spent a week indoors, grieving their father all over again, and finally seeing why their mother had been so adamant in keeping these journals away from them. no child would be equipped to deal with everything that had been written in those notebooks, least of all one that had been as vulnerable as ophelia had been at the time.

when they returned home, they hugged their mother and cried.

another thing they did after they returned was go to college. despite his literary success, ophelia’s father never went to college, with his formal education stopping when he was 14 so that he could work and support his ailing mother. he would go on to teach himself, but the world of academia always gripped his imagination, and ophelia was determined to do what their father couldnt.

double majoring in english lit and russian lit, minoring in journalism, and applying with their mother’s new married name to avoid any awkwardness, ophelia dedicated themself to studying and writing, wanting to create the ‘perfect debut novel’. during this time they remained secretive about their father’s identity, particularly after they started to study his work in class. they would go on to get a masters in all of their subjects, and get a job at the new york times.

while in new york, ophelia was contacted by an established, and well-respected broadway producer and director, who wanted to adapt one of their father’s plays for broadway, but needed ophelia’s permission to do so. intrigued, ophelia agreed, provided that they be involved every step of the way. they were going to make sure that their father’s work was going to be well represented.

after countless long days going from the office to broadway then home, ophelia saw their father’s first ever play, which also happened to be the one that was the least adapted and staged for whatever reason, on broadway. it was set in a town called westmere, a place that ophelia’s father had mentioned in his journals, but that they had never gotten around to visiting. but after opening night, they knew that would change. once the play had it’s full run, ophelia resigned from their job, packed up, and went to westmere, to see what it was about the town that had so entranced their father.

and there you have it! didnt expect to write that much but oh well dfjignfdifjnfdij feel free to dm if you want to plot something!!!

#westmereintro

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secretsantasides · 5 years ago

Text

Gift #8: My Universe

Gift for @enby-fander

Prompt: Analogical High School AU

My Universe

Characters: Logan, Deceit (called Daniel), Virgil, mentions of Remus, mentions of Patton

Pairings: Romantic Analogical, Platonic Loceit, Brotherly Anxciet, implied Brotherly Logicality

Warnings: Alludes to homelessness and poverty, sad boi Virgil

Summary: Thank you to the two anons who showed up on @enby-fander's account and gave me major inspiration right when I needed it. Here you go, Trans Virgil and Nonbinary Logan that starts as angst and ends as fluff.

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As the rest of Kingston High School's sophomores rushed into the cafeteria, Daniel Hyde instead ducked through an out-of-the-way, yet familiar, pair of dark, wooden, though probably fake wood, double doors. His head was down as he stalked over to the Fiction section, deliberately searching. For what, bystanders had no clue.

They parted, anxious to induce the wrath of Dan, a boy rumoured to be in a gang. None of them would put such a thing past the punk boy. He wasn't someone to mess with.

He walked with such a determination that they knew he was on the hunt. His prey? Another, hidden from all but him.

Logan Jekyll was seated in the middle of the mystery section, shrouded in darkness. The junior knew these shelves well, so much so that they could traverse them without requiring sight. That way, they had no reason to flick the switches at the start of each row to the "on" position, which would illuminate the row of dim fluorescent bulbs dangling above. Logan liked it better in the dark, anyway. It hid the introvert from those pesky freshmen. The ones who liked to taunt Logan for some unknown reason.

"Oh look, it's genius Jekyll. Aren't you the one with the ridiculously high GPA? Highest in your year?"

They gave a quick, curt nod to both questions, not speaking. Instead, they continued to read their book, turning the page after a few seconds of silence.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was most definitely living up to the praise they had heard it received, primarily by the Hyde brothers. Daniel had always pressed them to read it, so they had finally began the novel.

As they read, laughs were heard. The rowdy students had become bored with the junior and had stampeded away towards the computers. Logan never understood what they seemed to find so funny.

"Hey, first chair Jekyll, heard you got the solo for the next concert."

When they nodded, quick and curt, the group started laughing yet again. All the way over to the doors. Probably after they walked out the doors, too.

Logan recognized someone in that mob as the sophomore who liked to raise hell during rehearsal, along with a few trumpet players, a bassoon, and half of percussion. He brought the baritone horn section down considerably, even with Logan there to counterbalance his pure idiocy. And to think, this kid is laughing at him. Sheer stupidity, all of it.

"Jekyll, my man, the reason our debate team isn't shit. You're captain, right? Who's second, in your book?"

At the first question, they nodded. At the second, they scowled and looked back at his book. They did have an opinion on who would fall second, but that opinion was not owed to a group of freshmen who loiter around and taunt others. Seeing the spectacle-wearing one's scowl, the boys laughed. Turning and walking away, they kept on snickering and joking about "perfect Jekyll."

'Our debate team? You mean, my debate team.' Logan recognized none of those dumbasses as members of debate, especially not the one who initiated the conversation. He would be debating things when pigs flew.

"I found Jekyll, man of the hour. Nice speech you gave, didn't realize you could do that. Thought only seniors could."

They shook their head "no" at the statement, causing them to… big surprise… laugh at them.

At least they're eloquent enough to make a speech. These people could barely string together simple sentences, let alone write with enough skill to compose a speech at the level Logan did so at.

"Hey guys, here's Dr. Jekyll. Heard you finally found your Mr. Hyde, and you're terribly in love."

They scowled, otherwise ignoring all of them. That narrative wasn't even fitting to Robert Louis Stevenson's original story. In the end, it was revealed that Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde were one and the same, a relationship they and their boyfriend do not possess.

"What, don't want to admit that you're gay as f*ck for Hyde?"

The scowl already adorning their features intensified some, but that was the only indicator of how pissed Logan truly was. Lacking a reaction, the group turned and walked away, laughing as they went.

Did they owe them an explanation of their love life? No, they should f*ck off. It's their damn significant other, not theirs. They were thinking of multiple profanities that could describe those idiots, but decidedly did not execute them aloud. Their choices would make probably Remus Kingston proud, a boy who has an alphabet of swear words, an alphabet that only skims the surface of his cursing dictionary.

As Logan sat there, reminiscing about how much of an asshole all of those freshmen were, Dan was slowly honing down his search radius.

He had visited most of Logan's normal rows, besides mystery and parts of nonfiction. As he walked to non-fiction, he stopped abruptly and turned to walk down the row of mystery novels. Logan truly adored the who-dunits covering these shelves, or so he's heard. He may have good luck looking here, as long as his brother knew Jekyll well. Dan was certain he did.

Don't fail me now, nerd, I need you, he thought, breathing deeply.

He strolled casually into the aisle, flicking the switch at the start of the row. The dim fluorescent lining the ceiling flickered on, revealing exactly what he was looking for. Exactly who he was looking for. Logan Jekyll.

Logan hissed at the sudden lights, sparking a chuckle from the sophomore stalking towards him. They looked up, blue-green eyes meeting grey.

There was an amused smirk adorning the boy's features. Logan did not mirror the expression, but they were nonetheless glad to see the sophomore.

"Didn't realize us Hyde's had made an impression on you. Not surprised, though, with how much you see my brother."

The one clad in blue blushed a deep red at the mention of their boyfriend. Daniel laughed at the sight, before offering out his hand. Logan looked down at the palm obscured by black, fingerless gloves, bewildered as to why the other was putting his hand out. Their confusion showed, causing Dan to roll his eyes and huff.

"Take my hand, Calculator Watch, I'm helping you up. That sorry excuse for carpeting is stale as f*ck, so we might as well go sit somewhere more comfortable."

Reliasition flashed before Logan's eyes as they muttered an, "Ah." Their hand took the other's gloved one, allowing the younger boy to hoist the older off of the matted, black carpet. They now were roughly at eye-level with each other, Logan with a solid height of 5'5" and Daniel being just a half or full inch shorter.

Daniel ran one hand through his slicked back black hair, shoving the other in one pocket of his faded leather jacket. The hand brushing the hair joined the other in the pocket opposite.

"Now, Jekyll, we have a pressing matter to discuss."

The two walked in silence for a while, Daniel leading them through the hallways. Suddenly, he took a left into a classroom, Logan following behind.

The classroom was abandoned, obviously having been used as a science room at one point. There were posters adorning two of the walls, saying things like "Eat, sleep, science, repeat."

"We need to talk about my brother."

Panic flashed in the eyes of Logan, who hid the emotion quickly. Dan wouldn't have noticed if Logan had not coughed directly afterwards, drawing attention to their still shell-shocked expression

The older of the two anxiously scuffed one of their NASA-themed Vans across the linoleum tiles, before looking back at the aforementioned boy.

"Go on."

"Well, he has refused to leave his room for the past 5 days, so I wanted to ask you for…"

He hesitated, but Logan pushed him on.

"For what? Spit it out, Hyde."

Daniel coughed, before regaining his composure.

"I need your help, Jeyll. I need your f*cking help. You're the only person I know that can do anything to get my brother out of his hiding space, and that's all I care about. I'm willing to put aside our indifferences if it helps my brother. Now, tell me, will you?"

"So, what am I supposed to do again?"

The two were walking to the apartment the Hyde brothers shared.

Daniel cleared his throat. "You're supposed to get that bastard to emerge from the cave he has made out of his room. This may be a habit of his, but it has gone on longer than normal, which concerns me."

Logan chuckled. "Sounds like him, alright. At least I now know for certain you and I are talking about the same person."

Dan burst out, "Finally! Someone understands how antisocial that motherf*cker can be!"

He gestured dramatically to emphasize the point.

The older's face morphed into a grin and they began to laugh.

"Hey!" they said, through their laughter, "That's my boyfriend you're talking about!"

Daniel snorted.

"He's my brother! I'm allowed to call him an antisocial bastard."

The pair's laughter tapered off as they continued their trek.

"May I ask how far away your apartment is?"

Daniel coughed, shifting a bit awkwardly.

"Um… it's still a few minutes away, but we're heading up on it."

Logan cocked an eyebrow.

"Y'all live in the downtown area?" they asked.

Dan stayed silent, but nodded.

"My apologies for pushing the subject."

The pair had arrived at the place Daniel pointed them towards, a run-down, dirty-looking, crowded apartment building. Dan stopped multiple times before they arrived, obviously completing a routine.

First, he stopped by an older woman, who was walking across the sparsely filled parking lot with a cart. In the cart, canned food resided, all of which had a small message written on them in Sharpie.

As he reached her, Daniel pressed a can of food he procured from the pocket of his black backpack into her hands.

Logan heard her murmur, "God bless you, honey. You and your brother stay safe, alright Danny?"

They saw Dan give a warm smile towards her. "We will. Stay safe, Mrs. Cunningham."

Secondly, he waved to a group of little boys running in the lot, kicking a ball around. The one who had the ball kicked it towards Daniel, grinning brightly.

"Mr. Hyde!" the other boys shouted, having just spotted the teenager.

"Now what have I always told y'all? Call me Dan."

"Okay, Mr. Dan!" the boys chorused.

Daniel rolled his eyes, ruffling the hair of one. "I give up, y'all obviously are gonna be respectful at all times."

He paused, before clearing his throat.

"That's a good thing, boys. Respect everyone, even if it doesn't seem like they deserve it. Just gotta respect everyone."

The last part was murmured.

The boys all nodded vigorously, before one shouted, "First one to the tree over there gets to pick teams!"

They all sprinted, leaving Dan and Logan to chuckle.

"Kids, right?"

Daniel gave a half-moon smile. "Yeah."

The last stop before the Hyde apartment was at the front desk of the lobby. It could barely be considered a lobby, more like a room with a desk shoved in the corner, some assorted furniture in the other, and stairs to the upper floors. Daniel stepped up to the desk, pulling a sheet of folded notebook paper out of his jacket pocket. He set it on the desk before turning around and smoothing the worn-leather of his jacket. He popped the collar, looking Logan in the eyes.

"Let's go, Jekyll."

"Apartment 7C, correct?"

The pair had just arrived at floor 7, both out of breath. Daniel hid it better, though.

"...Yes," he composed himself, looking at the junior with a look of annoyance.

They strolled down the hall, stopping just short of the end.

APARTMENT 7C read a small, dirty plaque mounted just above the doorknob.

Dan proccured an equally rusty key from his back jean pocket. He turned to Logan and said, "Let's go get my bastard of a brother out of his damn slump."

The pair walked into the mess of an apartment, Daniel shouting out a quick, "I'm home!" to ease the other Hyde's anxieties. Though, the shouting may be contradictory, as the older Hyde brother was not a fan of loud noises.

Daniel quickly dropped the key on a rickety table close by to the door. His combat boots were shed, as Logan kicked off his Vans.

Dan turned to Logan, directing him towards his brother.

"Down the hall, first door to the left. It'll be locked, so… here."

He grabbed a penny from the counter and threw it to Logan. They caught it with ease, studying the coin. They looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Our locks are garbage, so this should get it easy. I would've done it myself earlier this week, but I believe in the sanctitiy of one's room. That is, until you're in there for almost a week."

Logan nodded, turning to follow the instructions given.

Dan stopped them.

"I don't think he wants to see me, so I'll stay back. Jekyll, get my brother. Please."

He sounded almost desperate, so Logan obliged.

They found the door indicated easily, as there was a galaxy-patterned poster in blues and purples attached to the door with Scotch tape. It just seemed… right.

They jangled the knob a bit, discovering it was unsurprisingly locked. Logan took the penny, shoved it into the flat indentation on the rusty knob, turning slowly and carefully. It worked. The door was now unlocked.

Logan turned the handle, quickly entering the dark room. They heard a hoarse voice, dull due to lack of use, emitate from the corner.

"L-eave m-e the hell alon-e."

A throat was cleared, a few coughs ringing through the silence of the room.

"I'm fine."

Logan huffed, rumbling for the light switch mounted on the wall next to them.

Their hand knocked the switch up, prompting a hiss from the figure huddled in a corner.

"I thought you would be happier to see me. I assume I was wrong."

The figure looked up, revealing messy purple hair, tired and unfocused eyes, and a miserable expression adorning the features Logan would always find beautiful.

"Stella?"

"It's me, nebulosa."

Logan looked around the room.

It was very… Virgil.

He had a few band posters on the walls, hoodies with patches and stitching and a worn leather-jacket (much like Daniel's) hanging in the closet alongside his school-issued letterman's jacket, a black guitar propped up nicely in a corner, a chair that looked similar to those in the small dining room set with his low-quality music stand, band folder, and the large, bulky case of a euphonium put aside carefully, and a few trophies and certificates earned for track, for musical achievements, or for academic accomplishments were set on the dresser or hung on the wall above it. Everything was in black and deep purple, with subtle hints of navy.

They liked the color scheme a lot, as it was quite pleasing to the eye.

Much better than their brother's mixture of bright and pastel blues, all light in tone. Patton really didn't know how to mix colors.

Logan's attention was diverted, however, from the room surrounding them when they heard sniffles from Virgil's corner.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

Virgil wiped his eyes, acting as though he wasn't just crying.

"I'm just over-emotional, I guess. Damn it, peri-"

He stopped himself, a look of shock adorning his features. Logan looked upon him with a look of pity, sad-smile creeping onto their features.

"Is that why you've been isolating yourself, babe? Hey, hey, come here."

Virgil shook his head. "I'm fine," he said stubbornly.

Logan walked over to him, wrapping their arms around him.

"It's okay, stella. ...I love you."

Virgil gave a weak smile.

"I love you too, Logan."

#fanfic #secretsantasides #analogical #virgil sanders #ts virgil #logan sanders #ts logan #high school au #sanders sides

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infinitum-imaginaerum · 6 years ago

Note

hi could I ask for prompt 21 for SF9 Rowoon? can it be fluffy but a little spicy too? >.

21: “Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while” | Rowoon

This total honey needs more gifs! Anyway it’s got a menagerie of genres in here it’s definitely not just fluff with a tiny bit of spice I��m so sorry this is such a roller coaster lmao. But at any rate, I love me some Rowoon loving, so there’s that. Definitely some spicy mentions soooooo. Enjoy!

It’s Christmas time!

It was a stormy night that you were finishing up studying in the basement of the main campus library. It was getting later and later into the evening; you had prolonged going home for a while since you weren’t too keen on trying to make it home in the middle of the storm, so you thought about waiting it out, which turned out to be a complete disaster because if anything, the storm was raging harder than it was before.

Tentative eyes peered around for other patrons. There was only one other you recognized, but you hadn’t noticed he was there before. Rowoon was in two of your classes and you never saw him at the library, so it was strange running into him now, especially so late—you figured he’d be home or at the very least out with friends as there weren’t any serious exams coming up soon.

There were a few other students besides the two of you. A couple of kids were roaming the stacks, others buried in their books or computers. The attendant was about asleep at their desk, waiting for closing which was much later than they liked.

The time was nearing eleven and you figured it was best if you packed up and headed out, unknowing of just how long the storm was going to last—might as well take your chances. After all of your things were tucked nicely in the bag now slung over your shoulder, you headed for the elevator, too lazy to climb two flights of stairs. Mindlessly you entered the carriage, pressing the button for the ground floor.

Your daze in your own thoughts was interrupted when a strong hand peeked through the crack of the closing chrome doors to catch it, the racket of the doors rattling was quiet in reality, but so loud in your head as your eyes snapped up to see who the hand belonged to. A rather tall man strolled into the elevator after prying the doors open. You met his eyes first—deep brown and intense on yours before you recognized his other features.

“Rowoon,” you greeted, but there didn’t appear to be a sense of familiarity in your voice—it seemed as you were merely acknowledging his presence.

He gave you a charming smile, returning the greeting with your own name as the elevator doors slid closed. The two of you stood in silence, just waiting for the carriage to take you to the ground floor, but about half way through, the lights when out and the carriage jerked to a halt. The safety light flickered on, not having been used in quite some time, to barely illuminate the sizeable carriage. Your first instinct was to look to Rowoon for his reaction, but he seemed to be doing the same, gauging you just the same.

The both of you seemed to come to the same conclusion. The power had gone out and of course the generator wasn’t about to take you to a floor, but it would just as well give you some light. You couldn’t find anything to say as you wracked your brain for what you were going to do now. It was already late and who knew how long the two of you were going to be trapped in there—in the back of your mind, you were thankful that you were trapped with Rowoon because it could have easily been much more awkward if it had been someone you didn’t know.

“Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while,” he noted with a nervous laugh, an arm crossed over his body to collect the elbow of his other arm as he leaned against the wall of the carriage. All you could do was hum in agreement as your backpack slid off your shoulder and to the floor.

This time stuck in the elevator gave you the opportunity to get a good look at Rowoon while he was busying himself on his phone, probably looking at the weather or social media—something to pass the time. He was much taller than you remembered, but you always saw him sitting down, of course staring into the back of his head because he never failed to opt to sit right in front of you. His backpack had slumped to the floor, too, allowing his stance to be a little more casual as his hand unoccupied by his phone was now stuffed under the bicep of that arm. His tattered black jeans complimented his long legs nicely as you looked him bottom to top. Despite the cold weather, he wore a simple knitted sweater, surprisingly too long for his gangly arms, but it looked nice on him regardless. For just a little too long, you stared at his face, taking in the shape of his chin and nose, the curve of his lips and how they almost shimmered in the light from his phone, and you only had a moment to catch his gorgeous eyes before he was looking at you, catching you staring.

Your gaze shot away, but you swore that a tuft of his messy dark hair was hanging over one of his eyes and boy, was it just you or did he look stunning in that half a second you were allowed to look at him before you felt like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

“It doesn’t seem like the weather is going to be letting up any time soon; it’s probably better that we’re in here, anyway, instead of braving the elements,” he commented, making you feel a little less awkward about you being caught—maybe, though very unlikely, he thought you knew he was looking at the weather and you were looking at him in wait for a response.

Either way, you slumped to the floor with your bag in one corner of the carriage, adjacent to the corner Rowoon was leaning in. The elevator was flipping cold, and your flimsy jacket wasn’t enough to keep you warm as you tugged your knees to your chest. Silence filled the air for quite some time, so you occupied yourself with your phone, noticing it was about to die before tucking it away again. You sighed heavily before feeling Rowoon’s presence much closer than it was originally.

He slumped against the wall of the elevator essentially right next to you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been this close to him before, but you tended to keep your distance with him. Things were too interesting—his close friend was your close friend’s ex which was half the reason the two of you were already so acquainted, aside from the being in the same major thing. Since their breakup, you and Rowoon got pretty distant, not trying to step on anyone’s toes, but the breakup was long over being fresh and you knew this was going to happen eventually.

“You’re cold,” he muttered to you.

You and Rowoon had been in rather precarious situations before, so this wasn’t particularly new. If anything it just was less frowned upon now.

“Just a little bit,” you replied; although you couldn’t lie because it was pretty clear that you were cold, you didn’t particularly want to give him any ideas. You weren’t opposed to Rowoon, but you weren’t sure how he felt anymore after all this time. Was it even right? Maybe not right, but okay?

“I don’t want to overstep any boundaries…” he trailed off.

It wasn’t hard to guess what he was alluding to. It was kind of impossible to ignore him when the two of you shared so many classes every single semester, even though you did your best to ignore him. He was constantly asking you about the readings or what you got on the quizzes. You easily interacted with him daily which made it harder to push down the feelings you’d been trying to push down for well over two years now.

“You know I don’t have those types of boundaries with you, Rowoon,” you muttered back, but it was meant to stay in your head instead of actually come out verbally.

Rowoon didn’t have a verbal response; instead he reached out for you to tug you close to him, sharing his body heat with you as he wrapped a long arm around your shoulders. In the five years you’d known him, four of those involved him always offering up his jacket, or bringing you close to warm you up, doing anything he could to accommodate you if it was too cold for your liking, among other things. He was always going out of his way to take care of you, even if it meant inconveniencing himself. It was one of the biggest reasons you fell for him in the first place—and then things got complicated.

The shivers were eradicated from your body as you melted into Rowoon’s side and your head couldn’t help but loll onto his shoulder, tightening his grip around you. His warm exhale fanned your face as he leaned his head against yours, content with you in his arms the way you should have been the whole time.

“I miss you,” he said.

“Miss me? You see me every day,” you reminded him.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” His voice was rougher than you were ready for. “I mean, I miss the way we were, the way we could have been before things got stupid. I knew you way before they knew each other, and we really let it dictate us, and I’m bugged that I gave up the one—”

With one hand wrapped tightly in the front of his sweater and the other lifting you from the ground of the carriage, you had effectively pushed his head away from yours just enough to press your lips into his. The protest you half-expected never came as Rowoon melted into your kiss, his large hand gripping the round of your shoulder to tug you closer until you needed a breath, and he continued.

“—the one person that could make my heart beat hard against its cage; the one person who, no matter what, could put a huge smile on my face and melt away my worries; the one person whose affection I ever craved and begged for. I gave it all up for some nonsense,” he told you, tucking your hair behind your ear as he observed your face, every bit of it, the way he wished he could have every day.

“Things even got dumb between us, Rowoon; don’t forget—”

“I’d kill for the chance to do it all right,” he replied. Things got dumb between the two of you when you went home with him, drunk and angry, angry at him, angry at your friends, angry at the situation because you craved Rowoon the same way he did you, and he took you to bed.

“I wish I could take it back, that night—”

“I don’t regret it,” you tried to reassure him, tugging on his sweater.

“You may not regret what happened but I know you regret how it happened. I never wanted it to be like that. I wanted it to be consensual—”

“It was consensual!” you interjected, pushing your fist closed around his sweater into his chest.

“You know what I mean!” he fired back, removing your hand from his sweater to lace your fingers with his and topple the both of you over. He hovered over you as you lay on the cold carriage floor, staring up at him, almost bewildered as his labored breath pounded against your cheeks, his hand pinning yours just above your head. His gaze shifted between both your eyes, looking for something to say, the right thing to say.

“How do you want it to happen?” you asked quietly.

“I want the moment to be right,” he whispered back.

“Take me through the perfect scenario,” you almost begged, but really, you just wanted him to kiss you. It had been so long that the tension had just built and built and built. Now he had you pinned under him in the elevator of the school library without power in the middle of a thunderstorm after having just kissed him spontaneously.

“I’d take you on a date; your choice. I’d want to take you to dinner, have a nice meal, feed you desert, bring you home and if the moment was right, then it’s right. Maybe we get home and it’s early so we cuddle on the couch and watch a movie; things get going, I’d take you to my room and worship you like the queen you are. In a perfect world, I’d wake up and you’d still be there, sleeping soundly next to me—”

Your soft hand wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him down. His hand tangled with yours gripped tightly when your warm lips captured his again. He sighed into your kiss, his brow tugging together as he thought about the scenario the two of you were in now. You’d slyly maneuvered underneath him to wrap one of your legs on his hip, throwing him off balance to roll him onto his back.

The snarl hiding behind his lips as he looked at you, shocked, was satisfaction enough as you straddled his hips, pinning him down by the chest. His hands, unsure where to go, hovered, looking frantically for something to hold, before comfortably settling on your hips while your right hand reached out to push his dark locks away from his face, enough so you could lean over to kiss his forehead before moving your lips to his ear.

“Then let’s do it right,” you purred into his ear, chastely kissing his neck just below.

You squealed as he rolled the two of you back over to pin you underneath him like prey and predator as he kissed against your neck, causing your hands to weave into his hair and cradle his head into your sensitive skin.

“It’s safe to assume you’re mine then,” he growled into your skin; a statement, not a question.

“I’d be a fool to try and deny myself that absolute privilege.”

The lights of the carriage had flickered on, the sound of electricity buzzing through the walls again had you mentally sighing in relief if you weren’t so preoccupied with Rowoon who was looking at you like his next meal. The carriage was moving again.

“Let’s do it right,” he reminded you, allowing you some room to rise and dust yourself off as he grabbed your bag for you, letting you out of the elevator first, but not without fixing your hair to lay it nicely the way it was before. He’d barely caught up with you, both backpacks slung over his shoulder while the arm of his free hand took your waist to tug you into his side; the whole campus was going to know you were his before the week was over after two long years of absolute torture.

#rowoon #seokwoo #sf9 #rowoon scenarios #seokwoo scenarios #sf9 scenarios #fanfare was a superior look #though he's just handsome af always but I might be a tiny bit bias #that is my husband after all #*shrugs* what can I say #ailea stfu that's what I can say lol #Anonymous

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xxxthe-grammar-nazixxx · 6 years ago

Text

Like a Boss

Disclaimer: This is a Misfits fanfic. Any extra characters not originally on the show have been added by me. I do not own these characters (apart from Moira and Reg, her superior). Caution, some iffy language, sex scenes, and a heathy dose of wishful thinking. Set during season 2 after Nathan finds out he has a brother. A new PO turns up, but she has an ulterior motive. However, her plans don’t go quite the way she expected...

Part 1

Moira watched them from the safety of her new office. With the blinds drawn and the louvres open, she could see them, but she was pretty sure they couldn’t see her. Which was just the way she liked it. The word was stealth. She felt rather like the lioness who waits patiently in the long grass for the weakest antelope to separate from the herd.

And there he was.

At first glance, probably nobody would consider this guy the weakest link. He was loud, brassy, frequently crude, and clearly got off on being the center of attention. As a prison guard, and then a parole officer, she’d seen her fair share of his type. They were the class clowns, the ones who made it easier for the real threat to sneak under the radar and turn a relatively simple job into a complete and utter clusterfuck. It’d be a genius ploy - if these types actually had any idea what they were capable of. But too often, what was on the surface was the sum-total of its parts.

The rest of them … well, they pretty much made up your average group of ne’er-do-wells. There was the athlete, the pretty girl, the chav and the quiet kid. Moira fully intended to keep a sharp eye on the quiet kid. They usually turn out to be your garden-variety virgin weirdos but sometimes you find a diamond in the rough. Or a great big bloody thorn in your side. Moira wondered which this one would turn out to be.

Enough sizing up, she thought, I’d better get out there before Groucho Marx decides he’s going to take control of things in my absence. Knowing the paper-pushers in the department, they probably hadn’t even alerted these guys that their last probation officer had gone missing. That would explain why they turned up in the first place. If they knew, they’d have probably decided to skive off for a few days.

Grabbing a hair tie, she wrangled her bright red mop into a serviceable ponytail and checked the mirror in her handbag to make sure she didn’t have any of the poppy seeds from that morning’s breakfast muffin in her teeth. There was nothing worse than trying to assert your authority with a bunch of young people – especially delinquents like these – if you gave them even an inch of rope to hang you with.

The one she’d privately dubbed Groucho Marx because of his thick eyebrows and propensity to flirt with a light bulb was in the middle of a mock race call, as the group in the adjoining common room were put through their paces. She peered through the blinds at the scene, trying to make out what manner of creature was being forced to compete for the entertainment of humans.

It’s a crab race, she realized. Are they for real? Of all the things they could be using this place for, they decide to put on a time-trial for crustaceans. I’ve got to get out of this place, she thought, shaking her head, before they infect me with their craziness!

She approached the group quietly. Which wasn’t easy because Groucho was on a roll with his race-call, and she almost laughed out loud. They seemed to be egging on a small, speedy crab with better peripheral vision than his peers. While the others waddled sideways and backwards and all over the shop, the speedster had his eye on the prize – whatever that was.

‘Run, Forrest, run,’ urged Groucho.

Okay, I really should find out his name, Moira thought. Ditto to all of them. Time to break up this little shindig.

She cleared her throat and barked out an ‘Oi’ that was just a bit louder than she’d intended, because even the crab-wranglers looked up, temporarily taking their eyes off their charges. What ensued can only be described as utter mayhem as the crab-wranglers tried to work out whose shellfish was whose. A tubby, middle-aged man with a whistle around his neck glared at Moira. ‘Good work’, he called out. ‘Now how are we supposed to figure out who the winner is?’

‘That would generally be whoever’s in the lead,’ Moira replied, calmly, nodding in the direction of Speedy Gonzalez, who was mere inches from the finishing line while his fellow competitors were, well … not. But she couldn’t resist an extra jab at the referee’s expense. ‘Of course, you could have invested in some name tags. You know, put some stickers on their shells with numbers on them?’

The referee looked positively apoplectic. Either that or he was having a heart attack.

‘Lady’s got a point there,’ Groucho observed. ‘I mean, it’s not a very well-organized affair if you ask me.’

‘I’m not askin’ you; am I, Curly Sue?’

‘Hey hey,’ Groucho cut in, putting his hands up in surrender. ‘No need to get personal! I was just offering a bit of constructive criticism.’

‘I think we should leave them to it, don’t you?’ Moira pointed out. ‘They’ve got more than enough to handle without an audience.’

‘And you are?’ This was from the resident chav, a girl who wore her blonde hair scraped back from her face so tightly that it was frankly amazing she could move her forehead.

‘I’m Moira, your new probation officer.’

‘What happened to our last probation officer?’ asked the one she’d pegged as the dark horse of the group. He was mildly good-looking, with pale skin and a perpetually pained expression.

‘Oh, he quit. Said something like he’d rather be in Aruba than hang out with you rejects.’ Moira rolled her eyes. ‘Also, he said something about not wanting to be the “next cab off the rank”, whatever that means.’

The athlete – a tall, black kid – scoffed. ‘Yeah, that sounds like him.’

‘He must have heard about Sally,’ frowned the short, pretty one. ‘We never found out what happened to her, either.’

‘Well, apparently she’s also missing,’ Moira informed her. ‘Her and her fiancé, Tony. Remember him?’

She couldn’t miss the chorus of silent looks that passed between them.

‘What do you mean, she’s gone missing?’ The pretty girl asked. ‘Is Sally all right?’

‘I think what it means is, they don’t actually know where she is,’ Groucho explained, with more than an air of condescension.

‘Well, d’uh, Nathan! All I meant was … well, she was the best one yet. She actually seemed to care.’ The pretty girl gave Groucho – or, Nathan, rather - a look that could kill, and he took a step back in mock panic.

Moira blinked. ‘The best one yet … Hang on … how many PO’s have you guys had, exactly?’

‘Oh, just two,’ Nathan informed Moira. ‘Since the storm, I mean.’

This drew a chorus of warning glares from his peers. Wait a tic, Moira thought. What in the blue blazes is going on here? What are they hiding?

‘That would be the storm from a few weeks ago, right?’ she asked the room in general. ‘The one with the giant hailstones or whatever the hell they were?’

‘They were bits of meteor rock, actually. The council had them scientifically tested.’

‘Oh, shut up, Barry! No one wants to hear your theories about aliens.’ Nathan sniffed.

I’ve got him pegged, Moira thought. Take the attention from him for a millisecond and he can’t cope.

Barry bristled with resentment. ‘I don’t think it’s aliens. I think …’

‘’Look,’ Moira interrupted, ‘I think we’ve spent enough time getting in the way of the Crustacean Olympics here. I think we should move off somewhere a bit quieter, where we can all hear ourselves think, and introduce ourselves. How’s that for a plan?’

****

‘So,’ Moira said, in a low voice into the phone’s receiver so that her charges wouldn’t overhear her if they chose to eavesdrop at the door, ‘I think something is definitely rotten in Denmark. They alluded to the storm – or the tall, loudmouth did – and they all gave him what can only be described as a death-stare. I think he’s the weak link, and I think he can be broken.’

‘Moira, these kids need a firm hand, not Tomas Torquemada.’

‘Oh, come on, Reg!’ she countered, with a grin. ‘Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.’

‘You were just dying to drop that one, weren’t you?’ he laughed.

‘Excuse my French; but fuck yeah. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about employing any heavy-handed interrogation tactics. If you really want to know what happened to both Tony and Sally, leave it to me. I’ll get it out of him. Them,’ she corrected herself, quickly.

‘Hmmm… I’ll leave it in your capable hands, then,’ her boss decided. ‘But no rough stuff, Moira. You’re dealing with kids here. Not hardened criminals.’

‘That,’ Moira told him, ‘remains to be seen.’

****

She glided along a safe distance behind Nathan and the athlete – whose name was Curtis and who looked oddly familiar, although she couldn’t place him – and watched them, wishing she had the capabilities of the London Metropolitan police on her side, like she used to. She could have used a bug on one of these kids. Nathan was out, as he didn’t appear to enjoy the sensation of clothes against his skin for any length of time, so maintaining covert surveillance on him was going to be a challenge.

But any one of the others might have worked. Especially Simon, as unlike Nathan, he did like clothes. Multiple layers in fact. Plenty of places to pin a tiny little receiver …

Wait, why am I even thinking about this? Moira wondered. Like Reg said, I’m not in corrections anymore. Prison stings are a part of my past. I need to get that through my thick skull! What I can do, however, is keep a close eye on this bunch. Nice work, if you can get it! They’re all fairly decent looking, for amateur criminals. No missing teeth, overpowering BO, or tattooed knuckles with this lot!

Some twenty yards in front of her, Nathan jumped up onto a concrete pylon and mimicked the Karate Kid in that famous stance. He didn’t last long though, because Curtis gave him a playful push in the back. His sense of balance only just saved him from winding up in the river a few feet away. ‘You wanker!’ Nathan exclaimed, laughing. ‘You’ll keep.’

He’s the one, Moira decided. He’s the key to all of this. Now, how do I get him to do what I want?

****

She had her answer fairly early on. That very week, as a matter of fact. It was a Friday, and the kids were talking about what they were going to get up to once they hung up their coveralls for the weekend. There was the usual baiting of Simon, who, according to Nathan, was probably going to either play World of Warcraft non-stop for 72 hours or set something on fire; and some talk about Kelly getting back into a club she’d previously been banned from entering because of a catfight between her and her ex’s new girlfriend. One thing Moira could always say about her job – it was never boring.

Then she saw her opening. Or rather, Nathan handed it to her.

‘So, Miss,’ (which was the name he’d taken to calling her, for some reason known only to himself). ‘How do you let your hair down?’ He hung off the back of his chair, his green eyes glinting with mischief as usual. One thing she could say about Nathan Young: he was definitely easy on the eyes, if not the ears! (It wasn’t that she didn’t like his accent. He just never seemed to shut up).

She grinned despite herself. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, boyo.’

‘You’re Irish, aren’t you.’

‘Gee, whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Well, your name, for starters.’

‘I could be Scottish.’

‘Yeh, but you’re not.’

‘No, I’m not,’ she agreed.

‘Why don’t you have an accent, then?’

‘I do, I’ve just spent a really long time in England. Practically grew up here. But every now and then – especially when I get angry or … otherwise emotional, the Irish in me does come out.’

The dimple in his left cheek became deeper as his grin grew wider. ‘Otherwise emotional? Hm… what would that entail, exactly?’

Moira chuckled. ‘Does your mind ever leave the gutter, young man?’

‘On occasion. Not really.’ He leaned his chin in his hand. His intense stare was beginning to make her nervous. And Moira, by nature, was not a nervous person.

She sighed. ‘I think those sorts of things are best left for me to know and for you to wonder about. Don’t you?’

‘Probably, but I’m just curious.’

‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ she reminded him.

‘Ah Miss, you’re a mystery. Get it? A Miss …’

‘I get it,’ she said, smiling despite herself. Stay focused. Don’t let him sidetrack you, her inner voice warned. He’s surprisingly good at that. The kid could sell ice to the Eskimos. The dimple alone would close the deal.

He increased the wattage on his stare. Moira’s hands started to move of their own volition, playing with her watch; fidgeting with the amethyst ring on her right hand. What is this? she thought. I’m supposed to be putting him under the pump!

‘How old are you?’

She gaped at him. ‘Nathan Young, you know better than to ask any woman her age!’

‘Forty?’

‘Close enough. I’ll give you that.’

‘Fifty?’

‘Steady on! You’ll have me in a nursing home, soon enough.’

‘So older than forty, younger than fifty. I can work with that.’

‘Just what is that supposed to mean, exactly?’ She coughed. He was walking a line, now. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or turned off.

‘Well, see, thing is, my old man …’

‘You are not thinking what I think you’re thinking!’

He blinked, innocently. ‘What?’

‘Setting me up with your “old man.”’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

He burst into a gale of laughter. ‘No, no … that’s not it, at all.’

‘Then what? What are you getting at?’

He regained his composure and met her gaze fair and square. ‘I was going to say, my old man’s getting married next Saturday. I don’t … I was invited but … we don’t really get along. There’s a plus one on the invitation, and … I noticed you’re not married, and you don’t have any pictures of any gentlemen friends on your desk, so … I was wondering … well, if you would kinda, sorta … wanna go as my date.’

Moira stifled the almost explosive urge to giggle. ‘Me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What about Kelly or Alisha?’

‘I’ve …’

‘You’ve already asked them,’ she finished for him. ‘Nice to be first choice, I guess.’

He winced but didn’t apologize. At least, not right away. Instead he glanced warily in the direction of the others, who’d wandered off toward the vending machines, arguing about who was paying for the next round of crisps and sweets. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘Alisha’s kind of with Curtis at the moment, and Kelly said something, but I’m not sure what it was because I don’t speak … whatever language it is that she speaks. That girl really needs an interpreter.’

‘So, she could have said yes?’

‘Going by the expression on her face at the time, I’m gonna say no.’

Moira shook her head, amused. Nathan’s face fell, almost comically. ‘Oh, you’re not saying no, too?’

‘Surely there’s someone closer to your own age that you could ask?’

‘Not without being accused of in-breeding, no.’

Moira did laugh, then. And had to try and stop herself because he really did look dejected.

He sighed. ‘I guess I’ll have to give it a miss, then. I mean, what am I worried about, right? Dad’s not going to give a crap. He’s got his new family. The new missus is half his age, she’ll probably give him another sprog in about nine months’ time and then he won’t have to worry about this little black …’

Moira reached out and put her hand over his. ‘I’ll go.’

His face brightened. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, if it matters that much to you, I’ll go. I’ll probably regret it and you’re sure as hell not getting anything extra out of it, so don’t even think about it – but I’ll go. Happy?’

He grinned, the dimple making another appearance. ‘Ecstatic.’

****

‘So, how’s the subterfuge coming along?’ Her boss asked her, as they sat in a booth at their local, her cradling a G & T and he a Guinness.

‘Slowly.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘I’m biding my time. What’s the rush? They’ve got about six weeks ‘til they finish their community service. I’ll find out what’s going on by then. Slow and steady wins the race.’

‘Right’ Reg conceded. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying this more than you should?’

‘Come on Reg, when was the last time I got to play detective on the job? Bristol? You hired me for a reason. I’ll get it done.’

‘Oh, I have no qualms about that,’ he said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them for the third time in half an hour.

‘What do you have qualms about, then?’

‘Your methods.’

She was relieved then, that she hadn’t told him about her impending ‘date’. He might consider the idea a gross violation of her authority over these kids, and while it probably was, she was chuffed at the fact that she hadn’t even had to pull any stunts of her own to try and get closer to Nathan. He’d handed her the opportunity on a silver platter.

‘I told you, there will be no Good Cop/Bad Cop. I’m over that.’

‘Moira, with you it was never Good Cop/Bad Cop. It was only ever Bad Cop/Bad cop.’

‘Oh, hardy-har-har.’

‘I’m not joking.’

‘If you were that worried I’d cross some kind of line, why did you hire me?’ She stared him down, defiantly.

He sighed. ‘Because you’ve got a way with kids. Sorry – young adults. They’re not kids. They trust you. They like you. You’re like that youngish aunt with the cool hair that they can confide in. And believe me, there is something they’re hiding from everybody. Not just the fact that Tony and Sally are missing. Something else.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Something weird.’

‘Weird how? I haven’t noticed anything.’

‘I don’t know, but it’s got something to do with that storm. Everything’s connected to that storm.’

‘Reg, you sound like one of those nutjob conspiracy theorists.’

‘Just … keep your ear to the ground. That’s all I’m saying. And don’t overstep.’

She sighed and downed the rest of her gin and tonic in one gulp. ‘Well, you’ll be happy to know I’m making decent headway with the weakest link.’

‘In what sense?’

‘In the sense that he flirts with me now, probably more than with the girls his own age.’

‘Well, you still only look about 35.’

‘Thanks, Reg.’ Moira’s eyes skirted the bar across the aisle and stopped in their tracks. Oh fuck, she thought. That’s the last thing I need right now!

‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘Speak of the devil, and he appears,’ murmured Moira. ‘Do you want another drink?’

Reg lifted his glass. ‘I haven’t even finished my first one. But you owe me a round, anyway.’

‘Cheap bastard. I’ll be back.’

She set her glass down on the bar mat beside Nathan’s elbow and gave him a playful hip-bump. ‘What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?’

‘Miss!’ He grinned and threw an arm over her shoulders. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘No. Well … Mildly buzzed.’

She sniffed. ‘You smell like a distillery.’

‘Oh that. I spilled a Bourbon and Coke on myself earlier. Had to go to the men’s and clean up. Lucky I like dark colours or I woulda looked like I pissed myself.’

Moira couldn’t help but smile. ‘Some girl tipped her drink on you, didn’t they?’

He winced. ‘She dumped it in my lap, yeah.’

‘What did you say to her?’

‘Oh, I just gave her one of my standard lines. It’s usually a winner, but I don’t know what happened.’

‘Try me.’

‘What?’

‘What’s the line? I might be able to tell you where you went wrong.’

She ordered for herself and Reg; and gestured to Nathan. ‘It’s my shout.’

‘Oh, no I’m fine, thanks.’

‘So, what was the line?’

‘Oh … I don’t know … I’m really kind of second-guessing myself now.’

‘Nathan, pretend I’m some young thing you want to shag.’

It was relatively dim in the bar, but she could still see the glint in his eyes. ‘Miss, you are some young thing I want to shag.’

Moira felt her face grow hot. Don’t pay any attention. The guy would flirt with a doorknob. You know this. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m flattered. I really am. So … give us this line, already! I’m dead curious, now.’

‘Well … it’s … it’s nothing. It’s embarrassing. It’s kind of something I stole from … Austin Powers.’

Moira handed the bartender a tenner. ‘I’m sorry, what was that? You stole it from where?!’

‘Austin Powers’. If possible, he’d dropped the volume a few more notches until he was almost whispering. It was a good thing she was standing elbow to elbow with him.

‘Wait, that sounded like you said you got it from Austin Powers.’

He physically cringed. ‘Yeeeeah.’

Moira bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from laughing. ‘Not the suave spy I would have gone for but… horses for courses.’

‘I said …’ He leaned closer, so that his breath tickled her ear. ‘Those pants are really tight; how do I get into them? Then she was supposed to say …’

‘You can start by buying me a drink. I know it. It’s from The Spy who Shagged Me. Smooth, boyo.’ She chuckled. ‘Did you ever think of just walking up to a girl and saying “hi, I’m Nathan, can I buy you a drink?” You never know, it might actually work.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Why not?’

‘You mean, be myself?’

‘That’s the general idea, yeah.’

‘Sounds risky.’

Moira laughed. ‘I think you’ll survive.’

‘So … are you … here with anybody?’

‘My boss, actually,’ Moira nodded in Reg’s direction. When she turned back, Nathan had a quizzical eyebrow raised. ‘No, it’s not like that. We’ve been mates for years. He’s happily married.’

‘Oh.’ She could have sworn he looked relieved. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Wait – Moira thought. Why would I want him to be relieved that I’m not seeing someone?!

‘Can I ask you a favor?’ She said, lowering her voice and leaning closer.

‘Of course. I mean, you’re doing me a hell of a favor on Saturday. I mean … if you’re still …’

‘About that,’ she interrupted, ‘if you happen to get talking to my boss at all, don’t mention the wedding to him, all right? It will not go down well. It’s technically … overstepping.’

‘So, you’re still coming?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you! I could totally kiss you right now.’

She should have been used to this sort of talk from him by now, but it still caused a jolt of electricity to race up her spine. And I want to let you, she thought, but there’s no way on God’s green Earth I’m admitting to that!

‘Oh well … that’s sweet. Um … I have to get back to my boss now so … I’ll see you Monday?’

‘Monday,’ he agreed.

She took one quick glance back at him before she turned and walked away. He looked so hopeful, so happy. For the first time since he’d mentioned the wedding, she felt good about saying yes. And maybe even a tiny shiver of girlish anticipation; the kind she hadn’t experienced in years.

You’ve still got it, girl, she thought.

****

Moira gave herself the onceover in the standing mirror in her bedroom. After asking Nathan what the dress code was; and finding that it was fairly relaxed – just a smidge more ritzy than smart casual – she went for an olive-green cocktail dress that her ex always said made her look like a mermaid, with her red hair tumbling over her shoulders. A little bit of gold eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick and she was good to go. Not for the first time she was glad for her peaches and cream complexion. She didn’t need much foundation at all. Taking a deep breath, she slid on a pair of heels and grabbed her gold glow-mesh clutch. Rummaging around inside to make sure she had enough cash for the open bar, she hesitated, spotting the condom tucked in the folds of her purse. Her stomach clenched. She remembered why she’d left it there, months ago. The night she and Paul had gone out with friends and argued; and broke up. It had come completely out of the blue. She’d hoped the night was going to end another way, because she’d gotten a promotion, and wanted to celebrate, but that wasn’t on the cards.

She started to take the condom out – then had a change of heart. Always best to be prepared. She’d been a Brownie when she was a kid. They were always banging on about the Scouts’ motto.

Just as she’d popped two Mentos in her mouth and double-checked her hair, the doorbell rang. At least he’s on time, she thought. Now, this is not a real date, so stop thinking like it is! It’s a favour between two friends. Work colleagues, she reminded herself, quickly. In fact, not even that. In a weird way, I’m kind of his boss!

And as his boss, you have some information to gather, she could almost hear Reg say.

Swallowing the mints quickly, Moira opened the door.

Suddenly, the wad in her throat seemed twice as big and twice as hard going down. Was this the same guy who regularly make fart and sex jokes in the same breath?! It didn’t seem possible. He looked, well … frankly edible, really, in a casual pewter-grey suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. As was his fashion, the shirt was unbuttoned to just below his sternum, showing off a long, slim golden triangle of flawless skin. Moira found her eyes kept going to that strip of skin as if it was somehow magnetic. Finally, she dragged her eyes back up to his face. ‘Nice suit,’ she conceded.

He eyed her appreciatively. ‘Nice dress. You look like a …’

‘Mermaid?’

‘I was gonna go with Bond Girl, but yeah. Mermaid will do.’

‘Thanks. You’ve done something to your hair,’ she noticed. ‘Did you use a straightener?’

He ran a hand over it, as if the last however-long-it-took to get organized had slipped his mind. ‘Uh no, just some product. I mean … okay, not some. A lot.’

‘It looks nice.’

‘You mean, not like the usual bird’s nest,’ he joked.

‘I thought women were supposed to be bad at taking compliments.’

He chuckled but didn’t reply. Was it her imagination or did he seem nervous?

She slipped out the door and locked it behind her. ‘Sorry, I’d ask you in, but we should probably get going.’ She explained. Plus, the thought of you standing in my lounge wearing that suit … I’m not going to be held responsible for what I’m likely to do!

‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ he replied. A sly grin passed over his lips and was gone almost before she had the chance to register. ‘Maybe later.’

‘Yeah, buddy. Keep thinking that.’

The drive to the bowls club was quiet, and full of a strange tension. He tried to dissipate it by turning on the radio but wouldn’t settle for one station. Moira gritted her teeth. She wished he would just let them sit in silence for a few minutes. But it was as if he needed noise as a kind of … social lubricant, maybe? Which was odd in and of itself because he was the most sociable person she’d ever met.

At the club, he ran around the back of the car and opened her door for her. It was so sweet. At least she thought so, until he explained that he’d borrowed the car from his mum for the night and the passenger door doesn’t open from the inside. So much for chivalry not being dead, she thought, stifling a grin.

Retrieving a hastily wrapped gift from the boot of the car, Nathan offered her his arm. ‘Okay, now, the story is …’

‘There’s no story,’ she finished for him. ‘I’m just a friend. You can say you met me at the community center. You don’t have to tell them anything more than that.’ She took his arm. ‘Besides, you don’t owe them anything. He might be your dad, but as you said, he did run out on you and your mum.’

‘Right, right.’ He cleared his throat. ‘True enough.’

‘Just relax,’ she told him, with an amused smile. ‘You look like you’re trying hard not to have a case of explosive diarrhea.’

He laughed a funny, high-pitched laugh. ‘Sexy.’

‘You don’t have anything to prove to these people. Remember that.’

‘I’ll try.’

****

The bowls club had been decked out in white frothy tulle, with magenta trimming, for the ceremony. They took a seat toward the back, so as not to make a scene, and Nathan busied himself peering around as Moira sat quietly, strategizing. How was she going to bring up the whole missing PO issue – pardon, missing PO’s, plural – without clueing him in to what she was up to? She could hardly bring it up in polite conversation at the reception. Maybe later? Perhaps that whole idea of inviting him back to her place wasn’t such a bad one, after all. If she got him sufficiently plastered, the alcohol could work as a kind of truth serum … Would he stop shaking that bloody knee, she thought, interrupting her own train of thought. It’s distracting! She gave him another couple of minutes, then reached out and clamped a hand on the offending knee, which was, fortunately, the one closest to her (or to the casual observer, it would have looked super-iffy!)

Nathan spun around. ‘Huh? What?’

‘Your knee was jumping up and down like a bloody jackhammer,’ Moira whispered. ‘Do you need a Valium? I have some in my clutch.’ Good idea; said that voice in her head. Valium on top of alcohol. He’ll be like a lamb to the slaughter. If it doesn’t knock him out completely.

‘No, I’ll be fine.’

Damn.

He grinned. ‘As long as you keep that hand on my leg.’

She removed the hand.

The ceremony was blessedly short. Not on the level of the short, short version in Spaceballs (Do you? Do you? Good, you’re married; kiss her) but it left out all the boring, sentimental bullshit most wedding ceremonies are full of and just got down to business. Moira had to wonder if Nathan Snr’s wife was a blow-in looking for a visa. Not that Nathan’s dad couldn’t possibly find someone who wanted to marry him for himself, but the ceremony had that rushed quality of a marriage of convenience.

‘Where is your new stepmother from?’ she whispered to his son.

‘Hungary, why?’

‘Oh … just curious. She looks familiar,’ she lied. ‘How long had they been together?’

‘About half a year, I think. Maybe less.’ He turned toward her. ‘Why the interest?’

‘Like I said, just … making conversation.’

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You aren’t thinking of dobbing them into immigration, are you? Because frankly, I think that’d be a low blow. Even if my old man probably deserves it. He seems happy.’

‘No, I’m not thinking that at all,’ she assured him. ‘Just because I’m part of the system, doesn’t mean I am the system.’

‘Okay. I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.’

After the ceremony Nathan purposely dragged Moira to the front of the line to meet and greet the married couple. Now he’s showing off, she thought, and the idea made her smile. Even though they were supposed to be just friends, Nathan clearly wanted his father’s approval. She curled her arm around his and turned her body toward him as they reached the happy couple. He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I thought you said just friends? That you weren’t into pretending we were a couple?’

‘I did. And that’s still true,’ she whispered back. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with a little confusing body language. Don’t you want to make them talk?’

Nathan grinned widely. ‘You’re a woman after my own heart, Miss.’

‘You can drop the “Miss”, too, while you’re at it,’ she told him. ‘They’ll think you’re dating your teacher.’

‘Moira, then.’

She liked the way he said her name. She also liked the way he was looking at her now. Not in a sleazy, undress-her-with-his-eyes glaze, but a respectful, “we’re in this together” way. To quote the man himself, she thought, I could totally kiss him right now! Stop, her inner voice warned. Just stop. You’re heading into dangerous territory here. You’ve got to look at this like it’s an undercover operation. He’s the witness. And what do they tell you about witnesses in law enforcement? Never get too close. Especially not physically!

‘Nathan! So good you could come.’ The two men shared an awkward hug and parted swiftly.

Nathan leaned forward and kissed his new stepmother on the cheek. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, in a thick Eastern European accent. ‘I look forward to getting to know you, Nathan.’

‘Err … yeah, same here.’

‘Hopefully one day you will have a little brother or sister to look up to you.’

Nathan glanced at his old man. ‘So, you never told her, then?’

His father paled. ‘About what?’

‘About Jamie.’

‘Who’s Jamie?’

‘Yet another kid he abandoned,’ Nathan informed her. ‘My half-brother. See, he likes the idea of family, he just can’t deal with the reality of it.’

‘You little shit …’

And it was on for young and old.

God, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Moira thought, as Nathan and his father got into it, in front of the entire congregation. Yet she couldn’t help feeling a begrudging admiration for him. And had to wonder … had this been his plan all along? To humiliate his old man in front of everyone he’s ever known? Is that why he deliberately invited a woman at least twenty years older than him, to be his official date? Considering Nathan’s father’s new wife looked about 27 years old, Moira wouldn’t mind betting she’d hit the nail on the head. It was a stark comparison – the father with the much younger woman, facing off against his son, whose date who could have been his cool, classy aunt.

I have to do something about this, she thought, as the situation looked as if it was about to resort to fisticuffs. It’s a wedding, for fuck’s sake!

She’d broken up prison fights before. This should be a cinch. Putting herself between Nathan and his father, Moira pushed both men back to their corners, simultaneously.

‘Grow up, you two,’ she commanded. ‘Mr. Young, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he planned on making a scene. Nathan, you’re coming with me. Don’t argue.’

‘Who’s this?’ Mr. Young asked Nathan.

‘This is Moira,’ Nathan replied. ‘My date.’

‘His girlfriend, he means,’ Moira jumped in. ‘Aren’t I, Baby?’ She gave him a coy smile, and a secret wink.

Nathan blinked a couple of times and looked for all the world like a fish out of water. She didn’t wait for his reply. ‘Anyway, he’s sorry he ruined your wedding. Aren’t you, Nathan?’ She whipped around to glare at him. ‘Apologize.’

Nathan’s old man smirked. ‘By George, he’s finally found someone with a bigger set of balls than he has.’

Moira responded to this by knocking Mr. Young flat on his back, grabbed Nathan, and they both got the hell out of there before WWIII erupted.

****

‘Thank you for that. You saved the day,’ Nathan said, in between gasps for breath, as he collapsed against the side of his mum’s car.

‘I thought he was going to flatten you. You’re lucky he reined himself in.’ She shook her head. ‘What possessed you?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘Just the idea of him erasing the fact that my brother existed … it was just so him, you know? So typical of him.’

‘Maybe he’s hoping for a second chance. To be a real father, I mean.’

‘Make that third chance. Okay … can we just go home? I need to get out of this monkey-suit.’ He pulled at the cuff of his shirt, roughly. ‘Damn thing’s choking me.’

Moira laughed. ‘You’re not even wearing a tie.’

He gave her an impatient look. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

Moira bit her lip. ‘I’m probably gonna get fired for this if they find out, but … how about we go to my place, instead? I mean, considering you obviously live at the community center.’

He blinked. ‘You know about that?’

‘Honey,’ Moira said, ‘Everyone knows about that.’

The second they were inside her apartment door, Nathan threw off his jacket and began unbuttoning the cuffs on his shirt, as if they were like manacles around his wrists. Moira watched; amused. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘What have you got?’ he asked, pulling the tail of his shirt out of his pants and sighing with relief. ‘Anything single malt?’

‘Just gin, I’m afraid. But I do a wicked G and T.’

‘Okay. Thanks.’

In the kitchen, Moira poured their drinks then paused over his glass. Do I, or don’t I? Her conscience begged the question. But he did need calming down. He was much too wound up and suspicious of everything to spill his guts about the storm and Sally and Tony, and whatever other secret he and his fellow delinquents were keeping. A Valium would do the job just nicely.

Decision made.

When she returned with the drinks, Nathan was sitting on her sofa, shoes discarded on the polished floor and shirt unbuttoned, but still clinging fetchingly to his long, lean frame. The sliver of exposed skin had become a generous chunk, and Moira found herself thinking, but it’s not my birthday!

She joined him on the sofa and pressed a glass into her hand. ‘Drink up.’

And he did. Practically downed it in a few gulps. Made a face toward the end, and there was a scary second where Moira thought he’d noticed the bitter taste of the diazepam, but if he suspected he’d been drugged, he didn’t say anything.

She took the glass from him and set it on the coffee table. Leaned her cheek on the heel of her hand; her elbow on the back of the couch. She was grateful his eyes were closed at that point, because she felt a tiny speck of saliva at the corner of her mouth. Jesus Christ, I’m drooling, she thought, wiping it away quickly with her free hand. Any wonder, though. Look at him!

And she did. Taking advantage of the fact that he’d more than likely fallen asleep, her eyes followed the natural progression from his high cheekbones and full lips, down his throat to his collarbones. The open edges of his stark white shirt made his skin look golden in the muted light of her living room. She fought a compulsion to lean in and press her lips against his smooth chest. God he’s good-looking, she thought. Too bad he knows it! I’d better wake him up before I get caught doing something hideously embarrassing!

‘Nathan?’

No answer.

‘You two-pot screamer! Are you drunk already?’ she laughed.

His eyes remained closed. He hadn’t moved.

Moira frowned. ‘Nathan?’

He didn’t respond to that, either. She reached out and shook him by the shoulder. ‘Come on, lad. This isn’t funny. You’re freaking me out.’

She watched him, closely. Looking for any signs he was playing a prank on her. It would be just like him.

Wait, she thought. He’s not breathing!

She put a hand in front of his mouth and nose. Nothing. Not even the slightest puff of air. She grabbed the glass off the table and held it in front of his slightly open mouth.

No fog.

What the actual fuck?

Oh Christ, Moira thought, panic rising in her chest. I’ve killed him. He was allergic to Valium or something, and he didn’t know it, or he would have told me when I asked him if he wanted one earlier … and I drugged him without his knowledge and I’ve killed him!

‘Fuck … Nathan … you have to wake up. Please.’ She took him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Wake up!’

When that didn’t work, the panic really started to set in. But so did the first aid training she’d been taught in her work as a prison officer. She jumped up from the couch and pushed the coffee table out of the way. Grabbing his legs, she spun them to the side, up onto the cushions, arranging him in a lying position on her sofa. It wasn’t the floor, but it would do.

She didn’t want to risk trying to move him to the floor in case she caused more damage, like a neck or spinal injury. When he was flat out on his back, Moira hovered over him and took a deep breath.

‘Okay, here goes,’ she said, and began CPR. Pinching his nose shut, she covered his mouth with hers and blew, thinking, this is not the way I wanted to be kissing him! She gave him three quick breaths, like she was taught, then checked his pulse.

Nothing.

‘Oh God oh God oh God oh God.’ She wasn’t a religious person by any stretch of the imagination. It was more a case of panic getting the better of her than any kind of praying. ‘Please don’t be dead!’

She arranged her hands over his heart and began compressions. Fifteen in all and then two more breaths. She counted as she worked. Checked his pulse again. She almost sobbed with relief when she felt it – weak, but it was there. She leaned in again to see if he was breathing …

And that’s when his eyes snapped open.

‘Oh fuck! Oh, thank God!’ Moira gasped. ‘Nathan, can you hear me?’

‘Of course, I can,’ he whispered, in a husky voice. ‘I’m not deaf.’

‘No, but you were dead.’ She checked his pulse again. ‘You were dead! I should call an ambulance, have you checked out properly.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.’ He started to sit up, but Moira pushed him down again.

‘What are you doing? You were just revived, for fuck’s sake! Lie down, take the load off!’

‘I’m really okay, Moira. Honestly.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Look … don’t call an ambulance. I’m fine. Anyway, I have … I have something to tell you.’

Wow, she thought. And I didn’t even have to break out the paddle! Truthfully, she felt a bit cheated about that. She’d been looking forward to a little light … persuasion.

‘What do you have to tell me?’ she asked, only just curbing the compulsion to ask, and does it have anything to do with two probation officers going missing and a third – snarky piece of work that he was – giving his resignation only weeks after starting the job?

‘The storm … it changed us. All of us.’ Nathan almost whispered. ‘Gave us … powers.’

Powers?!

‘Powers?’ Moira repeated. ‘I think I better call 999. I think you’ve suffered hypoxia. That’s lack of oxygen to the brain.’

Then he said something she expected even less than his previous confession.

‘I’m immortal.’

‘What?’

He started to sit up. This time she didn’t try to stop him. In truth, she was too stunned to do much of anything except stare in disbelief. ‘What?’

‘I can’t die.’

‘But you did die.’

‘What I mean is, I can’t stay dead.’

‘You look terrible. Pale. You should lie down again. Rest.’

He ran a hand through his hair, which had finally resisted all the product and was standing on end. ‘I’m fine, really. Can I get a glass of water, though?’

‘Of course.’

He waited. And chuckled. ‘You can leave me alone in the room, Moira. I’m not going to keel over on you again.’

‘Just checking.’

‘Come to think of it, why did I keel over in the first place?’

‘I … I don’t know,’ Moira lied. ‘You should see a doctor about that. It could be a heart thing.’ She backed into the kitchen, not willing to take her eyes off him, but not for the same reason as before! ‘You know,’ she called from the other room, ‘I’ve heard of people just dropping dead from arrythmias and stuff like that. Or it could have been a stroke.’

‘Why would I have a stroke? I’m as fit as a horse. Bit lanky on it, but I’m healthy otherwise.’

‘Like I said, I have no idea.’

She hated lying to him. She really did. It was on the tip of her tongue to confess what she’d done but … what would he do, then? Would he hate her? Would he refuse to talk about what happened on the day of the storm? What had happened to Tony, or Sally? There were too many variables. It was safer to lie.

She gave him the glass and watched him drink the water, a lot slower and more careful than he’d downed the tainted gin and tonic. Does he suspect me? She wondered. Does he even remember the taste of the G&T? God, I should really shut up right now. What if one of his powers is that he can read my mind?

Wow, Moira, taunted her inner voice. Pretty quick to believe him about that, weren’t you? Don’t you know when someone’s taking the piss? He’s obviously playing some kind of game with you. Cat and mouse. He knows you’re lying, so he’s concocted this big fantasy about being a superhero. Don’t get sucked in! I know you fancy him, but …

Shut up, she thought to herself. Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!!!!

‘Moira?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I feel a bit … funny.’

‘I told you, you need to go to the hospital. You wouldn’t listen to me.’

He chuckled, loosely. ‘No, not like that.’

‘Like what then?’

His green eyes appraised her, slowly. ‘That is a really nice dress … did I mention that?’

‘Yes, you did, as a matter of fact.’ What was he getting at?

‘Good because you look smokin’ hot tonight. Like, seriously, if you weren’t my probation officer, I would have totally hit on you by now.’

She laughed, and felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘Well, thanks, that’s very sweet.’

‘But I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble, you know? That kind of thing, you could lose your job.’

He turned those gorgeous green eyes on her again. ‘And you’re the best one we’ve had yet. Haven’t even thought of killing you, once.’

What?!

‘What … sorry, what did you say?’

He burst out laughing. ‘I’m kidding!’ The laughing turned into a fit of coughing. He held a finger up as if to say wait, regrouped, and started again. ‘I really was just kidding. But … I think I should warn you … we know why you’re here.’

‘We?’

‘All of us. We know. You’re supposed to find out what’s going on. You know, with the first two PO’s.’

The jig, as they say, was up.

‘H-how … where did you get that information?’

‘Kelly.’

‘Kelly … what … so that’s her power? She can read minds?’

‘Yup.’

‘So … you’ve known all along.’ Sigh.

‘Yup.’

Moira sank into the couch beside him. ‘So that’s that, then.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you made me, didn’t you? I’m fucked. Any chance of finding out what happened now is … well, it never was, was it?’

He met her gaze, steadily. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I might be open to telling you some things.’ The corner of his mouth turned up in a sexy smirk.

‘Like what?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just … things.’

Moira stifled a grin, and narrowed her eyes at him, instead. ‘You’re gonna make me drag it out of you, aren’t you?’

He raised his eyebrows a little. ‘Sounds like fun.’

And before she knew what she was doing, Moira was kissing him. The compulsion had won out. She wanted him so badly it was like a fire in her belly. A fire she couldn’t control and didn’t want to. A fire that reached right down into her thighs and swept her away. He began kissing her back - after a few seconds of being struck dumb, she imagined. She barely felt his hand stroke her cheek; push her hair behind her ear. All she could focus on was his lips moving against hers; his tongue lightly flickering in her mouth; her heart pounding in her ears. A lightheadedness set in. I have to breathe, she thought, but I don’t want this to ever stop!

His hand slid down to her hip and coaxed her right leg over both of his. In one swift movement she was straddling him. She broke contact with his lips to get some much-needed oxygen and kissed her way over to his earlobe, which she took between her teeth and nibbled, gently. She felt him grow hard against her. ‘You like that, huh?’ she whispered, and bit down a tiny bit harder. His breath got uneven; raspy. She kissed him on the mouth again. His left hand, which had been resting on her hip, slid upward and cupped her breast through the slinky fabric of her dress and bra. His thumb grazed her nipple, and it was her turn to gasp and try and regroup. But she’d lost track of what his other hand was doing. Until she felt it against her inner thigh, and then between them. He started rubbing gently, and she sank into him, her will to dominate proceedings shrinking with each stroke. His fingers sought out the waistband of her underwear and slipped inside. Moira gasped into his mouth and kissed him harder still.

She didn’t know if it was because she hadn’t been with anyone in months – almost a year, in fact – or because he was particularly good at what he was doing, but he had her bent almost double, leaning over him, burying her face in his dark curls and practically panting in less than a minute.

‘Moira,’ he whispered, ‘Check my jacket pocket. Left side.’

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath, and reached over for his jacket. Little ratbag, she thought. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who came prepared!

She raked her hair back from her face. ‘I’ll just put this on then, will I?’

He grinned. ‘Well, you could but I don’t think it would last very long, after that. But it’s up to you.’

She unwrapped the condom and unfastened his pants. Slid a hand inside his jockey shorts and curled it around his shaft. He closed his eyes and bit down hard on his bottom lip. Catching him just below the head of his penis, she held him firmly until his face relaxed.

‘See,’ she said. ‘I have my ways. You won’t come until I want you to.’

He took a shuddery breath. ‘Yes, Miss.’

I think I like the sound of that, she thought. ‘Okay,’ she said, once the condom was in place, ‘Let’s get that shirt off.’

‘Well I think if I’m going to be practically naked here, it’s only fair that you lose an item of clothing.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah’.

‘You think that, do you?’

‘Damn straight.’

She climbed off his lap and stood up in front of him. Hiking up her dress, she caught the waistband of her underwear and tugged them down. They fell into a pool at her feet. ‘There. That better?’

He nodded. ‘It’s a start.’

‘Well, it’s all you’re getting, for now,’ she informed him.

He smirked and tilted his head. ‘You’re a tad bossy, you know that?’

‘Well, I was a prison guard.’

His eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘Yep. You guys can have your secrets and I can have mine.’

‘I don’t have any secrets from you. Not now. Not anymore. I’ve told you everything I know. Barry on the other hand …’

‘Simon is none of my concern right now,’ she said, kneeling between his legs. She leaned forward and grabbed the waistband of his pants. ‘Lift your butt.’

He did as he was told, and she tugged his pants down, pulling them off his legs and discarding them in the pile with his shoes. ‘Now for the shirt,’ she said.

‘Don’t you think this is awfully one-sided? I mean, here I am, naked, vulnerable …’

‘Shut up.’

‘Okay.’

When he was down to his jockey shorts, Moira stood up and looked him over, and for a brief moment, her bravado nearly slipped. He’s barely twenty-two years of age, she thought, and here I am, forty-three, closing in on menopause. What’s he going to think of me? I’m not all firm like girls his age. Things haven’t … stayed in the same place. They’ve moved. Gravity gets you eventually. What if he thinks I’m gross?

‘Are you okay?’

‘I just … yeah, I’m fine.’ She gulped and reached up, pushing the strap of her dress down her shoulder.

‘Hey, you know, I was only kidding. If you’re nervous about this, you can leave the dress on.’

‘That’s hardly fair though, is it?’

‘I just … don’t want you to be uncomfortable. That’s all. You look terrified.’

‘I do?’

He nodded. ‘You talk a good game, tough and all that, but you’re a softie inside. You care what people think.’

He’s right, she realized. Damn him, he’s figured me out.

‘And you wanna know what I think?’

She shrugged. ‘All right … what do you think?’

‘I think you’re beautiful. I think I’ve never been more turned on in my short, sad life.’

Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

She dropped the dress and watched him watch her. He didn’t lose his erection so that was something. Maybe he is telling the truth, she thought. She let the bra drop to the floor with the dress.

‘Sensational,’ he said, in a husky voice that didn’t sound quite like the cocky delinquent she knew.

‘Great,’ she said, with a nervous smile. ‘Now let’s get those jocks of yours off so I can shag you senseless.’

#misfits #nathan young #robert sheehan

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manireads · 6 years ago

Text

Freelancer III

Yay! Back at it again. I got lot of likes the last parts recently and it motivated me to really try to pick this up again. I’m switching up the idea for this but it’s quite similar to my original plan. It’s just a little more exciting for me to write. I don’t think it’s a good as the others but I still like it. Sorry for any typos and please enjoy!

WC: 1881

I.M. X Reader

Hacker AU / Heist AU

Parts I and II can be found on the master list in my bio.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Outside people are making their way around Seoul rushing to whatever destination they are heading to. It’s near the end of spring so people are dressed is light coats and and brighter colors to reflect the season. The sun is out in full force today but It feels like it didn’t quite hit the earth yet seeing how chilly and windy it is today.

With they weather being so nice, from the recent rainstorms, I felt like it was the perfect time for me to get out of the house with my friends. Hoping it would take my mind off the whole Changkyun ordeal. We had planned to spend the whole day out, shopping and eating, so that we wouldn’t get caught up watching dramas inside like we usually do. It was 12:30 pm and were sat in the little cafe that Soobin worked in, sipping on lattes and eating some sandwiches. It was very bohemian inspired with mismatched furniture and different patterns and loose hanging plants scattered all over the place. Somehow, it still flowed together nicely and gave off a very homey feel. Soobin was surprised to see us when we walked through the door earlier. We had promised to meet up after her shift but Sojung and I were complaining in the group chat about how hungry and we knew we could get some free food and drinks out of Soobin.

Halfway through brunch, that was turning into more of a lunch at this point, Sojung asked me about Changkyun. I tried to keep it light and casually but I was tired of keeping my thoughts in my head. I need someone to talk to about the secret calls and disappearing. I couldn't help but tell her anything and everything. Every little detail came spilling out of my mouth. After every question I asked her, hoping she’d tell me that I am over reacting, a little voice in my head answered for me. ‘No, it’s not normal. Yes, there is something wrong.’ I just couldn’t help but feel so helpless. After spilling my guts to her, I tried to pass it off as if it wasn't bothering me but she had no intentions of letting it go. She knew there was something deeper going on.

"All that and you haven't said a word to him?" Sojung asked me. I shook my head while I took a sip of my coffee.

"Nope. I just don't know where he is going and I don't want to be that type of girlfriend, you know?" I placed the cup down on the table.

She looked at me with wide eyes, completely surprised. I groaned out running my hands through my hair before letting my head hit the table. It was almost like I could hear what she was going to say to me, mainly because I've already been telling myself the same thing. 'You need to say something! You can't just let him walk all over you. If something is bothering you in your relationship, then you should speak up.' It wasn't long before our other friend joined us at the table. Soobin came over with a small tray with some pastries on it and more coffee.

"Alright," She placed the tray on the table and took a seat with us. "I'm finally off. I hate morning shifts with a passion but I make the most in tips. Also, if you too keep on coming here for free food, My boss is going to realize. Anyway, what did I miss?" I was going to tell her nothing but,

"Changkyun is cheating on Y/N!"

"He’s what?!"

"He is not!" I retort back, lifting my head looking at the two of them. Soobin looked at me with a similar surprised look that Sojung had earlier. "He's not," I say, looking at Sojung challenging her. She rolls her eyes and goes to take another sip from her own mug. "He would never. You know he's not that type of guy. He's just acting weird." I mumble. I didn't want to believe that Changkyun could possibly cheat on me. But no matter how much I tried my mind always ended up on that explanation for him constantly leaving our apartment in the middle of the night.

"Sure." Sojung placed her cup on the table. She pursed her lips. "Soobin," She turns to her, her body language show that she didn’t want me to input. "If Hyunjung was getting weird phone calls in the middle of the night and then after getting these calls, she jumped out of bed at 2am in the morning and just left the house, not waking you up to even tell you where she was going, then doesn't come home until after work, what would you think she was up to, huh?" The whole time while Sojung talked I wanted to interrupt but she wasn't embellishing the truth. That was everything that I was going through for the past three weeks.

"Well, I'd ..." She stopped talking, taking the moment to took over at me with sad eyes. " Oh honey," She started.

"Not you too!" I leaned back in my chair, my eyes meeting the ceiling.

"Y/N, it sounds like he's doing something he doesn't want to you know about. What else could it be?" She sounded so concerned for me but I didn't want to be pitied. I looked back at the two of them, fixing my posture in the chair.

"I don't know what it could be but I can't just come out and accuse him of something like that. I mean, what if he isn't. You wouldn't be happy if Hyunjung just came out and called you a cheater, right?"

"Yeah, but Soobin isn't giving Hyunjung a reason to worry, unlike Changkyun." Sojung budded in making another point that I couldn't refute. All I could do was look at her hoping she stop being so right about this.

"Have you even asked him about all of this?" From my expression, Soobin could tell what the answer was. Her mouth dropped open. I could understand the shock from my friends. It really wasn't like me to not say something when I was bothered. But this had to do with Changkyun. I'm always so afraid to lose him since we graduated. I always felt like we weren't supposed to make it past that last year of high school. All of it was borrowed time and eventually the two of us were going to be forced to separate ways. It feels inevitable but I just don't want it to be now. Not while I'm still so in love with him.

"Okay, I'll ask him about it tonight when he comes home. Until then can we please drop it, I came out with my friends to get away from all of that."

"You're really going to talk to him?" Soobin asked. Sojung was watching me intently. I nodded my head. I knew I really wasn't but I just wanted to let it go and enjoy the rest of my day. Soobin seemed to accept my answer but Sojung was still silent. We stared at each other until she finally broke.

"Fine. We'll drop it but I want an update after you do."

"Yes, mom." It was my turn to roll my eyes and Soobin giggled. From there, we ate the rest of our food and decided to roam around Hongdae seeing if there was place to do some shopping. we eventually came across this quaint boutique. We spent the afternoon trying outfits for the next time we would go out together. it'd be a nightclub so we wanted to look as good as possible. I ended up with a couple nice things, a few sweaters, t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and a nice party dress. They were a out of season but they were all on the clearance rack so I didn't break the bank. After all the shopping, we decided to grab something else to eat before parting way. Sojung was the first to go, leaving Soobin and I walking towards the train station.

"Don't punk out okay. Just ask him where's he's been going and let him know that it bothers you a lot." I nodded leaning in and giving her a hug.

"Tell Hyunjung I said hi okay. Love you." I said, releasing her from the hug.

"I love you too. Don't forget" She said pointing at me as she made her way to the steps of the station.

'"I won't, now go before you miss your train." I waved before she disappeared down the steps. It wasn't much a walk home from there. But I dreaded getting home more than anything. I stopped at the convenience store to waste time. Looking through the aisles picking up some chips, candy and even a bottle of soju.

An aisle over, I notice a man with wild brown picking out some bags of chips. I can't help but smile at his hairstyle thinking that he might have jumped out of bed and came to the convenience store. Knocking myself out my daydream, I pick up another bottle of soju and make my way to the counter.

"Is this all?" the cashier asks. I nodded as he starts to bag up my items. While he does that, I notice somebody beside me. It's the same man with wild hair. I take in his face quickly, the small cross tattoo by his eye and his overall outfit allude to the hair being more of a style choice than a circumstance. "That'll be ₩20,000." Immediately, I start rummaging through my bag. Each moment becoming more frantic because I can't find my wallet.

"I got it. I'll pay for both of them together.” He says, pushing his items closer to the cashier.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t put a dent in my pocket.” Pulling out a card from his wallet and holding it up for the cashier to see. He turned to me with a toothy grin and I smiled back politely. After paying for both his and my stuff, he handing me my bag.

"Thank you, that was really kind of you."

"No problem." He said simply and we both walked out of the store. "Welp, good night." He said making a small salute with his hands before walking the way I just came from.

"Good night." I say back to him and turn to walk in the opposite way. I let out a sigh when I deem we are far enough from each other. I didn’t want to have to explain to him why just because he brought my snacks, I didn’t owe him my phone number or my time, especially when I didn’t ask him to pay for it in the first place. But the fact that had just left me to go on my merry way made me smile. He really just wanted to be nice to someone.

The whole interaction almost made me forget what I had promised my friends earlier. It wasn't until I was a block away from my apartment complex that I could see the light on from the 5th apartment on the third floor. Changkyun was already home.

#monsta x #monsta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #monsta x texts #monsta x hacker au #monsta x i.m.#i.m.#changkyun #im changkyun #i.m. x reader #ssw freelancer

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allebeithloch · 6 years ago

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A Separate Branch

Books had been an escape when Alle was a child. Her mother would stack relevant titles up beside her daughter’s door, filling the girl’s head with stories from around the Eastern Kingdoms. Vilhelm Beithloch was the one to give his daughter the stories that were not of Azeroth. About creatures beyond the real they lived in. He had spoken in such a real way that the little girl believed them.

It was no wonder that as an adult Alle found herself in one of the many book laden rooms of her home. On the walls was almost every subject known to man, and as she looked around she smiled knowing many were never seen in the world. Her hands were touching one of the shelves, the sections of the house needed to be rearranged. Her mother had undertaken the endeavor to organize the Beithloch collection. What she found were books written for places she never heard of and in languages she couldn’t speak.

As Alle stopped in the middle of her collection she found a book that was suppose to be a tour guide for some city. But as she looked at the name it didn't belong to any records of Azeroth she knew of. It was no wonder the item was put into the families fiction section.

From the door a soft knock was issued. Dorjan stood dressed as her father, a small smile was drawing on his face. “How are the books?”

“Chaotic. I’ve lived too long with them like this. It just pains me to redo my mother’s work.” She said tracing her hand on one of the spines. “She called it her life’s work... Father called it her chaos in his world.”

“Sounds like a wonderful couple.” The demon said walking into a room, under his arm was the family bible Alle had located in The Forest. “I wanted to ask if you found anything in here. You’ve been spending whole nights pouring over it.”

Alle paused looking back at the book. “Yes.” It was an admittance that was followed by a long sigh. “I am learning that there is... something Grandmother might not know about.”

Dorjan placed the book on a near by table, his eyes were sharp and worried at the wording Alle had used. Both knew Grandmother knew everything that was inside The Forest, but outside, it was possible that something alluded her. “What did you find?”

“I always wondered why my family name was Beithloch. It doesn’t make any sense in Gilnean nor any of the languages of The Forest.” She picked the book up and stated to flip through the pages. “It seems before the Gilnean kings arrived we had a different name, Beithioch.”

That had taken the demon’s notice as the word came back to him. “That’s Beast in one of the old tongues.”

“Exactly. My family have always been Beasts, in one way or another.” Alle kept looking though the book, moving to sections she had marked. “While I was going through the book, I found strange passages of people marrying into the family, but they were not from The Forest or Gilneas. It was simply labeled as, an arrangement in blood... When I looked back, I found that it was my family remarrying a branch that had moved to Kul’Tiras, to Drustvar. The last known connection I could find, it was before my father was born. That’s why I never heard of this group.”

“And with all the unrest between the Alliance and Kul’Tiras, of course there was no way to reconnect the two branches.” Dorjan muttered his voice trying to be reassuring.

Exhailing a bit the Earlessa was almost shaking at what this all meant for her. For so long, she thought she was the last of her families bloodline. That if she had failed to produce and heir she would be destroying Grandmother’s need to keep the balance between the realms. But a separate branch of the family, one with kept the original name was somewhere else. That was, if they had survived.

“I need to call Karrista and Tara... Kul’Tiras is now open for envoys and ambassadors. If there are Beithiochs left, they should know that The Forest is still here, that we are here and we need each other now more than ever.” Alle closed the book looking around the familial home.

“You need them.” Dorjan said his expression worried. “What if they don’t need you?”

Alle let out a small breath and was stopped in her hopes of finding someone who would understand the trials of being removed form most of the world. But he was right, something had stopped the family from being in communication almost a hundred years ago. If they were worried about her side of the family, they should have sent word.

“I don’t know anything until I know where and who they are...” She admitted her grand dreams were rationalized around her and the amount of energy she felt to be reunited with family dwindled. “I need to call Karrista to my office. After she’s delivered the Silence Dogood author.”

The elder incubus nodded and moved closer to hug the smaller woman. She twitched and settled under his touch and when he spoke it was quiet. “Settle your mind. It will take a bit of time, but you have that. And for now, you still have family.”

A small bubble of guilt pulled at the Earlesa’s mind. While she was with out her blood family, the Sayaad had been as close to her family as any could be. “I didn’t want to discount you. I just, I’ve lived so much of my life away from blood family. It’s giving me hope I haven’t had in a long while.”

There was nothing but a look of understanding from the man. “I would do many things to get any of my own sons back. I am not offended, and I know you would never discount us.” Pulling away slightly he looked at the book. “Lets go and make you dinner, I believe we can bother Tristan a little about his ideas for clothing for when you take him to Stormwind.”

Alle put the book down on the table, while she had her adopted family, the idea of more of her blood out in the world was almost too good to be true. Maybe, just maybe she wasn’t utterly alone, that if Grandmother had been wrong, if she was not able to provide the children from the deal she had brokered, maybe she would bring the other branch in as her way to continue the family with out being with another man.

It was a path she hadn’t thought about, and even with the doubts that could come true, it was still something that deep down Alle felt she had to do. The Forest never forgot it’s children, and a rogue branch of her family was as much a child of the Forest as she.

(( @karrista (for mentions and her current work while away from fighting for the Alliance))

#Starter Story #Another Branch SL #Could there be others?#Could they be trusted

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jason-todd-deserved-better · 7 years ago

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Welcome to the DC Universe - Dick Grayson x Reader Headcanons

Summary: You suddenly drop into Dick’s, which means you are now suddenly stuck in the DC Universe.

A/N: Hey guys, sorry I haven’t posted in a while, had a lot going on this past week (and weekend general) so I didn’t have any time to write. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this because it’s way longer than it was originally was supposed to be. (Seriously, this is the longest headcanon I’ve done.) Love you all, let me know what you guys think, and please send in some requests, the inbox is open!

~It was an overly exhausting day for you, all you wanted to do was read fanfiction and take a nap three-hour nap.

~Well you were able to read the fanfic (On the one and only Nightwing, I might add.), the nap part well…

~Not so much.

~You were laying down in your bed nodding off when you hear something smash and break in the kitchens.

~Your eyes busted wide open, you were home alone, with not much to protect yourself from the intruder.

~Well you improvised on the weapon part with an overly heavy textbook that you had on your desk.

~You quietly walked out of your room, the book raised, and your mind screaming “THIS IS HOW PEOPLE DIE IN HORROR MOVIES!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING????”

~Let's just say that you weren’t all in control of your mind at the moment.

~Going around to the kitchen, you see nothing amiss, just the broken bowl in the middle of the floor.

~You were still shaken but you shook it off, looking for a broom to pick up the mess and seriously hoping that your house wasn’t haunted.

~You weren’t even able to leave the kitchen when a bright light literally blinds you, and then you were just falling.

~There wasn’t even enough time to get a good enough scream, just a really strong yelp, as you landed on a freaking couch face first.

~Groaning, you turn yourself over, letting out a little “Ow.”

~Now, when you noticed that it was pretty dark out, that’s when the shock wears off and you start panicking, BeCaUsE tHiS iS nOt WhErE i LiVe AnD wHy Is It DaRk OuT!!!

~Yeah, you were having a panic attack.

~Well it turns out that you appeared in your fav’s apartment, not that you really knew that, you were just too busy freaking out over the oddly familiar place...

~Anyway, Dick was just getting back from patrol, when as he opened a window to his apartment (Because they don’t know how to use a door apparently.), an extremely bright light shines throughout the apartment, a girl seemingly out of nowhere falls onto his couch.

~Dick gets clear of the window, back against the wall, and his brain processing what he just saw.

~Meanwhile, you didn’t know he was there so, you dashed over to the window and realized you had absolutely no clue as to where you were, but everything looked so familiar but you were pretty sure you had never seen this skyline anywhere.

~Literally screaming with your mouth closed because you didn’t know how to process this information.

~Dick was watching this, seriously trying to see if you truly were a threat or not because you seriously didn’t know what the hell was going on either.

~He decides to show himself while you were looking out the window.

~When your vision was covered by black and blue spandex, you screamed.

~Then proceeded to do a too quick of a backup into the couch, to then fall backward and just because the universe wants to have more of an excuse to laugh at you, you hit the back of your head with the coffee table on the way down to the floor.

~You let out a small “Ow…” yet again.

~You were seriously surprised that you didn’t have heart attack throughout the whole situation, but maybe a slight coma, or at least a good-sized bump on the back of your head.

~Low key, you were ready to cry (Tears were literally building up at the corners of your eyes, from either shock or the pain of hitting the table, you weren’t sure which.) seriously you thought you lost your mind.

~Dick winced as he heard the impact, and the opens the window, getting himself inside.

~The next thing you know you were sitting on his kitchen counter, an ice pack put on the back of your head and a Nightwing making a couple of calls to Batman and then the League.

~After a while, you had your head in your hands muttering questions like, “Why am I in the DC Universe?”, ”How do I make it home?”, and the one that got Dick’s attention “Why am I in Grayson’s apartment?”

~Cue an awkward conversation on how you know who he is, where you’re from and the story of getting there, even if there wasn’t much to tell.

~Either way, he could tell that you weren’t lying.

~”Look, I know this is all overly crazy for you so you can stay here till we can figure out what to do.”

~You let a small smile creep onto your lips, because hey, it could be way worse, plus you get to stay with your fav.

~He couldn’t stop himself from saying you had a pretty smile.

~Then you blush and that can be the situation that could describe the rest of your relationship.

~Literally no joke, he would compliment you on something and then the next thing you know, you’re all flustered because this situation seriously should have been impossible.

~Thankfully it was possible, otherwise you wouldn’t be hanging out with the Batfam.

~It’s to be expected though, because Dick is Dick and everyone at least tolerates (This mostly Jason (Even then, not so much), and Damian says he might not hate him but he does love his brother.) him.

~So since you were staying with him, you see a lot of the Batfam.

~At first almost everyone was wary, but after five minutes of talking to you, they seriously love you.

~Except Damian, he was another story all together, and you were expecting it but didn’t like it.

~Like the kid was raised to trust almost no one, so you couldn’t blame him.

~Dami was weirded out by how like understanding you were, and how you knew what he was like, almost to the T.

~Then one day he had to stay at the manor because of a seriously bad cold, and since this was the one day Alfred was out, you were the lucky person to babysit the sick assassin.

~To you, that kid was lowkey scary sick or not, but he seemed to have less of a cold shoulder throughout the first couple of hours, so that could be counted as a pretty good win.

~Later that night you went to check on him, finding him fast asleep, and actually looking his age and the most relaxed you had ever seen him.

~You walked over to him and felt his temperature with the back your hand, and he seemed not to have a high fever anymore.

~Seriously, you felt really bad for the kid, he never really even got the chance to be a kid.

~You move his hair from his face, then after a little bit, you turn around to walk away when his hand shot out of nowhere to grab your wrist.

~Crap crap crap, now he’s probably really annoyed that you were there.

~”Don’t go.” His eyes were still groggy, and he still wasn’t feeling to well.

~Cue your heartbreaking and melting all at the same time.

~”I’ll stay, Dami.” You were pretty sure that this was the only time you were able to use that nickname.

~Then in the way early hours of the morning that’s how Dick finds you guys, with you on the bed and Damian curled into your side.

~Seriously, his heart soared and it was one of the most cutest sights he had ever seen.

~He honestly was so happy, like his little brother finally opened up to the girl that he’s falling for. (Yeah, he’s not afraid to admit that only to himself.)

~May or may not have taken a picture for blackmail evidence that this actually even happened.

~Anyway that did not allude to him that this could be a problem in the future.

~Now that Damian is attached to the both of you guy's hip, then there was absolutely no time for you guys to be alone.

~Dick often gets paired with Damian the only one who actively gets along with him during patrol, and after the heart-to-heart you and Damian had, he started going to your guy’s apartment afterwards.

~He even has gone to the apartment after school.

~It confuses the hell out of you sometime because you guys are in Bludhaven, and he goes to school in Gotham???

~One time he brought Jon, and you again were dying because he’s so sweet.

~You are now the go-to babysitter for everyone, not that you really minded.

~So after a long day at the station (and even patrol), Dick just wants to chill while you tell him about your day he wants to tell you about his feelings in this scenario but he wants it to be special.

~But nope, you’ve got your focus on the always pissed off Wayne, and the super nice half Kryptonian.

~Like seriously, pay Dick some attention, he misses you.

~Well when he came back home after work, really sore from the night before and the apartment was way too quiet than normal while walking in.

~This got Dick on high alert, because Damian usually gets out at 2:45 and Jon usually gets there soon after, so something was seriously wrong.

~He went further in and he felt his blood drain, with his apartment in a complete wreck.

~Calling your guy’s names throughout the apartment, there was no response and he was trying his best to stay calm.

~He called Bruce, and soon enough he was in the Batcave looking through all the street cameras’ footage, and everything else to try and find you guys.

~Bruce at this time was getting Clark caught up in the whole drama, and getting him to look for you guys too.

~Meanwhile, in a empty warehouse by the docks, there you guys were, with you tied to a chair (Your mouth was duct taped too), Damian chained upside down (gagged also, plus unconscious), and Jon in a cage. (You were pretty sure that there was kryptonite in there because the poor boy was knocked out.)

~You were too busy worrying over them to notice the presence that there was a presence behind you, just watching with amusement.

~When an insane chuckle flows through the air to the left of you, you feel the blood drain out of your face, because now the situation really hit home.

~That’s when you realize that, maybe the others wouldn’t get there on time….

~(You’ve read Death in the Family, and even though you thought Jason was a cool dude, you didn’t want to die like that.)

~You kinda were hoping that Harley was there because she’s great and because maybe you would have had a higher chance of surviving??? Maybe???

~Either way, you’ll never know since she wasn’t there.

~The Joker started walking over to you, and well, you were scared.

~He was just laughing his eerie cackle the entire time, and when he made to right in front of you, there was no way in knowing what he was going to do.

~You looked away, not wanting to see him up close (Or at all, really.).

~So all you could do was yelp (Didn’t sound like much, your mouth was taped.) when he suddenly yanked you by the hair to face him.

~Little tears were starting to fill your eyes, making him laugh all the more harder as he then ripped the duct tape off.

~Seriously, not the way a person wants to get a wax, hence why you let out a small cry of pain.

~”So dearie, what’s a girl like you doing in Gotham? Or in this world in general?” You didn’t want to answer that for sooooooo many reasons, but that moment you were too petrified to answer.

~He didn’t seem to care because he kept on going, pulling out a knife and playing with it.

~”You know, I normally wouldn’t care when one of these twerps with powers come along asking about someone else who doesn’t belong here, well I wouldn’t give a damn!”

~You narrowed your eyes, but stayed quiet.

~Then he starts to circle you, ”But when I notice the Bat brats with a person who suddenly appears out of nowhere, well, it warms my heart to see them care about someone.”

~Oh shit. Did he see you with them while they were in costume???? (They normally are good at changing beforehand but sometimes you would walk to the store at night and Dick would join you if he was by. So you’d talk to “Nightwing” for a bit till you got home.) You were panicking, but you didn’t let it show.

~”So then I thought, well wouldn’t it just be so nice to have you die, and watch Bird Boy #1’s face to see you all,” You cry out when he slashes your arm deeply with the knife. “All broken and bloody.”

~Crap, you seriously hoped that Dick was close.

~Damian was beginning to stir back to life, your cry making him slam his eyes open.

~The Demon Child is now pissed, but is currently unable to do jack shit.

~The Joker keeps talking, while both Damian and you were trying to get out. (You were trying but your arm was hurting too much to move.)

~”Oh this is so much fun,” Another slash to the opposite arm, but this time so much slower. “Don’t you think so?”

~With either a burst of courage or maybe stupidity, you grit your teeth and tell him, “Go take a cactus and shove it up your-”

~All of a sudden a window breaks open, and in comes Nightwing, in all his amazing glory.

~You were so freaking relieved, but there was a whole lot of blood pooling out of you, and your vision was going fuzzy around the edges.

~By the time that they got the Joker uncapacitated, you were barely awake.

~While Bruce got Damian, and Clark got Jon, Dick went straight to you, cutting the ropes holding down your arms and legs.

~His worry was skyrocketed to the max when you fell forwards, him catching you instantly.

~”Nightwing….” You mutter out, feeling way too cold. “It wasn’t your fault….”

~In all honesty he was blaming himself for everything, he knew that and so did you.

~”Just hang on (Y/N), you’ll make it out of this.” He lifts you up, running out of there.

~”Dick, thank you for making my life so much brighter-”

~”No, don’t talk like that. I’m not going to let you die.” He was determined.

~”Love you, Dick…” And with that everything went black.

~In complete and utter honesty, you were seriously thought you were dead.

~Until you woke up in the Batcave infirmary.

~Especially when you see a certain Grayson brooding staring at the wall.

~He must of noticed, because his stare snapped back to you and you could see some of the stress melting off his shoulders.

~”Hey.” Is all you say, throat a little sore from lack of use.

~”Hi.” Is what he says back and there weren't any need for other words as he brought is lips to yours.

~You were pretty sure angels were singing in your mind.

~Same with Dick.

~When the rest of the Batfam found out everyone was like FINALLY

~Damian is the only one that had a straight face but he was seriously happy for you guys, was low key jealous though.

~Either way, from that day out you guys stuck together, through the good, the bad, and the ugly.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson headcanons #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson #nightwing x reader #nightwing headcanon #nightwing imagine #nightwing #robin x reader #robin headcanon #robin imagine #robin #dc #dc headcanon #dc comics imagine #DC comics

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heartlandhq · 7 years ago

Photo

❝ but in the cold night I can’t help but ask for more. ❞

INFORMATION,

full name ⋯ Johnathan Rhees age ⋯ 37 years old pronouns ⋯ He/Him/His origin ⋯ Lincoln, Nebraska affiliation ⋯ Charles B. Washington Library position ⋯ Leader

SURVIVABILITY,

advantages ⋯ intelligent & charismatic disadvantages ⋯ unpredictable & dependant preferred weapon ⋯ crowbar, sniper rifle

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warning ⋯ alcohol, alcoholism, gore, death, alluded physical abuse

BEFORE DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

There was an awful lot to be said for the American dream. The ideal tomorrow for the men of today, something about a white picket fence, lovely wife, and two point five kids. The genuine apple pie family that was plastered across nearly every billboard in the country. He couldn’t tell you what he wanted for his future, he couldn’t even begin to tell you what he wanted for the next day. A distinct lack of ambition might have raised half a dozen red flags in the parental handbook if ever said units were around to supervise. School work held little appeal, same with the boys and girls out in the fields, sports; any recreational activity he could think of. Any desire, squashed under the thumb of an apathetic outlook grossly out of place in middle suburbia Kokomo, Indiana.

He had a sister, two years his senior who spent more time than she cared for watching him while their parents juggled their jobs and own select vices. Moving more times than what professionals deemed healthy for the developing mind, while John may have simply rolled with the punches; Emma came forth with fists flying. Feeling distinctly situated within the lives of a pair of kids fresh off Hollywood’s screens she too wished for something more. Couldn’t fathom John’s simple acceptance and listless being. Lincoln, Nebraska had a ring of too good to be true, a sort of belief she just couldn’t swallow.

She ran away at sixteen. To a better tomorrow John – E. The note had read.

Time was funny for him, living a life with one foot in the ‘now’ and another in the ‘then’. He never saw his sister again, endured countless questions from both well-meaning adults and others who were not so. The images on the screen dictated that he take up a torch, hunt her down across the country and drag her back kicking and screaming if need be. But, he was fourteen and taking his first steps into high school in a month’s time. Even if he had the feeling deep inside that they’d be up and moving by this time four months down the line.

Aren’t you just being selfish? Some voice asked, shocked and awed. Repulsed. Something venomous twisting in his gut with the intent to sicken. But, he never found himself hugging the toilet bowl over this guilt. A mystery for the ages. A quiet young man with a lackluster academic performance simply content to let life pass him by. He took up an afterschool job flipping burgers because it was what was expected of him, though quietly he would admit aloud to his room that it made him feel a spark of something. His distinct neutrality during his high school years allowed him an outsider status, neither liked nor disliked. It netted a smattering of friendships he wouldn’t know what to name until far later in life, while he attended a sum of parties he continued to stay on the fringes. When pressed, would simply shrug and say he was there for the cheap, but free, booze.

By the time graduation began to roll around he soon found something entirely new twisting like an angry serpent within his chest. Fear. He found himself approaching the idea of his future with a whole new sense of dread, he had very few marketable skills he felt outside of the minimal customer service experience he’d netted during his time at the fast food joint on the south end of town. And even more so, he found himself loathing the very idea of leaving the school. An off the shoulder suggestion from his guidance counselor sealed the deal for him, he went on to study education at a post-secondary level. With his highest grades residing in the many literature focused courses he’d taken over the years, he opted for a major in English.

While he didn’t get into the field following graduation, he worked as a TA for a neighboring school’s Physical Education course. Took time to volunteer with local youth sports teams and even spent three years with the local scout chapter after meeting and befriending one scout leader at one of the many baseball games he coached. It was a different time, the world demanded more from him; lest he wish to simply take up space on the pavement and let life pass him by as he wasted away. Another body clogging the gutters of America.

He could boast exceptional time management skills when pressed but was just as likely to be found wasting his time with a drink in hand at the Irish pub down the way from his apartment. “What are ya’ doin’ with your time?” the barkeep asked, holding back the latest requested drink, and he could find no answer to give.

Looking upon his list of accomplishments. The lines dotting his resume or the photographs on his wall. Recalling mornings when the only thing pulling him out of bed being the faces of those he had waiting for him. He’d reached a boulder some time ago blocking his path and instead of going around, he’d sat down and called it a day. How long ago this had been, he’d had no idea. But, one didn’t frequent a bar day after day without having some kind of lingering problem to conquer. Maybe the universe got an itch one day, maybe a sneeze—for something good came his way one morning from his hometown two states over. His own English teacher had held onto his resume back when he’d sent it in four years ago, “I remember you,” he’d admitted over the phone— “How about that chance for tomorrow then, hey?”

At twenty-nine it was the chance of a lifetime, and while not entirely sober; he said yes the moment the other had paused for breath. Moving back home had never exactly been in his mind for the future, but his parents still owned the house in suburbia despite the memories that he felt rotted the place from the inside out. Renovation after renovation had done little to improve the place, but they’d opened the door to him all the same. His room had been converted into an office and study, the wall between his and sister’s previous room demolished for more space.

Time did little to lessen the burn, he found his balm in the bottle of jack at his bedside table and the nicotine in each pull. He couldn’t remember her face. Less so her voice. What few home videos he could find he devoured with an unhealthy obsession but felt ever more the outsider looking in as he couldn’t recognize the boy he saw on screen.

Whatever it was the students were expecting of the newest faculty member was anyone’s guess, but the relatively young and scruffy man with the crooked smile and tired but keen gaze had likely not been in the books. While not the youngest member of the faculty team, he held some lingering sour notes towards some of the administrative staff whom turned out to be a few of his fellow graduating classmates of ’96. His social circle boiled down to his fellow staff members, found a smattering of new bars to haunt; rekindled his love of the outdoors through a failed romance with a co-worker but kept up the hobby all the same.

His smiles came easier, his laughter fumbling; but each and every word was genuine. He got on easy with his students, made sure each and every student had their chance to shine. Just and fair and always likely to have a tale on hand with which to enrapture. Rumors followed his falling out with the P.E. teacher, boiled towards something dark when counting the bruises on both persons day in and day out. Forms pushed, and meetings called, answers not requested but demanded.

When the news broke, that some new epidemic was sweeping the nation, it demanded faculty meeting after faculty meeting, colorful fliers lining the hallways speaking of hand washing and proper hygiene. New sorts of whispers to silence in class, he could recognize their worry even if he didn’t feel himself sharing it. Frequent enough dive bars and you hear all manner of horror story about sickness; about some new way a man is driven mad or see enough troubled souls vomit their lunch on the sidewalk. His lackadaisical approach to life meant many a class period was spent addressing the concerns of his students, and every mad theory they brought to the table. Forum pages printed off and left on his desk kept him awake at night with more questions than he could name crowding his head. A lacking internet presence left him largely ignorant to the greater horrors circling the world. His Facebook page boasted an impressive friend list primarily of Lincoln East High alumni and a few fellow outdoorsmen, but its last status updated had been seven months prior.

By the time the student body began to dwindle in number, he was a little slow on the uptake. The military rolling in only brought more worry than not. The faculty meetings became sparse, but eventually had the added benefit of an armed escort. The school’s grounds turned to an impromptu relief center, refugees streaming in and bringing all manner of horror stories with them. Faced with the very real possibility of this being the newfound tomorrow, John found himself falling into second nature. His time spent occupying classes three time’s their regular size. Schooling them on subjects he’d had minimal experience in prior. His nights under lockdown due to an enforced curfew, turning to the only companion he could name: ol’ Jack Daniel.

AFTER DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

Lincoln East High School had become one of the many hubs of activity, a supposed safe haven and quarantine zone for refugees and survivors alike. As one of the few remaining faculty still within the halls, John pledged himself to assist in any way he could and took a comfortable seat at the principal’s abandoned desk. He offered his knowledge of the surrounding area to the sum of military personnel supplied to their individual zone, in return he was promised protection; he asked for a gun instead. Figured whatever was out there couldn’t be much harder to deal with than a spooked deer or bird in flight, this would all blow over. If one just ignored the haunted look in the eyes of those streaming through their gates. Everything would go back to being right as rain, something almost akin to nightly prayer with his lips wrapped around a bottle.

However, with the military’s crackdown on the town the well soon began to run dry. Not only on the alcohol front. On hope. As more and more lost souls poured through their doors, where the crying and screams just didn’t stop. The stench of the mob clings to him, makes him tug at the collar of his stained suit in dire need of laundry. They all are. Basic hygiene is all they have, at least they’re not in New York–he heard the soldiers talking about it going dark, and Hollywood had told him that meant nothing good. He’s running on fumes, there was only so much contraband and pilfered whisky he could find within the school’s halls and the stress of the world chased him to drink more and more. A balm to ease him to slumber, so he could pretend he would wake up and this would all be some god-awful dream. Going cold turkey was not the best of ways he thought to spend what might have been his last days if the military was to be believed anyway (and he’d never been the sort to strictly adhere to their doctrine).

The military was leaving. They had three available school busses alongside their own vehicles. School vehicles fit for a maximum 72 teenagers and children. And the safe zone had ballooned to upwards of 2000 individuals. Grim faces all around, and to mass disapproval, to mass hysteria: a lottery was drawn. Everyone got a number, the head of the school’s mascot housed over a thousand little slips of paper and generously each bus was stretched to accommodate eighty individuals each. Still, a gross fraction of the number hoping and praying for lady luck to be in their favour. Families separated, the numbers enraged; he never saw the outcome of such a system however simply because good ol’ John, owner of no less than twelve ‘World’s Best Teacher’ mugs; had won a seat on the very first bus going to the nearest safe zone.

Nursing a migraine, a violent tremor in his hands, and an itch he couldn’t hope to scratch he found himself unable to spare any sort of prayer for the folks back home. Their bus never made it to the fabled safe zone in Greenwood. The roads overrun, but it wasn’t the diseased that sent them over the rail. Raiders. Madmen. Murderers. Self-titled people of the Apocalypse. Either way waking up with blood in his mouth and glass in his hands, the screams of agony that reached his ears were inhuman. Impossible to be the sort to come from the mouth of his fellow man. Yet, he couldn’t tear himself away.

It was the first time he’d ever looked upon one of the supposed viral carriers. The once human but very much not a human anymore, as it tore into the meaty midsection of a passenger. Then to the small number that pulled what he could only hope to be an unconscious body out one of the broken windows. With gunfire rattling in the distance, the cries of the dying around him and the wet and terrible sounds of flesh hitting glass, of feeding. Like navigating a minefield, he pulled himself out of the wreckage—and ran.

The smell still lingers with him when he closes his eyes.

How he ended up at Washington Library had been a strike of pure luck. He’d found signs of another living soul two days and several towns over after the crash and observed them from a distance. He didn’t expect for one distant blip to multiply. He wasn’t the first to arrive, in fact several people were already within and uncomfortable welcoming someone who looked, truly as awful as he did. Initially mistaking him for one of the…diseased featured on the news, occasionally seen through their windows. They had limited supplies and too many mouths, with nothing to lose: he got down on his knees and begged. He gave them news of the closest city: Lincoln and everything in between. He brought news of the diseased, of the mad, of the hungry monsters that roamed his city. He stilled his hands stained from the crash; offered his hand–his rifle and all eight bullets he still had with it.

It was a lot more than some of them had. He promised to scavenge for his own food, he would go out first for supplies– “just you watch, ain’t nobody gonna volunteer faster than me I swear it.” wouldn’t touch a single crumb; he just wanted someplace he could truly call safe for one night to sleep without the fear of something awful coming for him full of teeth. They opened their doors and even showed him further kindness he thought he hardly deserved: a clean cup of cold water. He’d be the first to admit: he cried. Over water. Not booze. Not some pill. Water. One of the last Outsiders they’d admitted, he helped lock the place down; using similar tactics the military had utilized at his former school. And then he, along with the other couple dozen souls within hunkered down for the long run. The military will come. Someone will come. Like they did for Lincoln. They’ll come for Omaha. I tell ya’ they’ll come for us, we ain’t gonna rot.

Funny enough, it takes the end of the world to kick his apathy in the teeth; hands fisted in the pockets of his worn coat–trying not to shake, trying not to throw up what little food he’d been given. Trying not to look at his watch. Trying not to count the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds. We’ll get through it fine just you watch, when we open the doors–them good folk o’ Omaha are gonna be out there wonderin’ if ya’ can waive their late fees yeah? Gonna be askin’ to come in an’ study the history of Peru or somethin’ I tell ya’.

Attempts to force feed his beliefs to the masses were not wholly unwelcome. Nothing wrong with hope. Hope helped to fill the whole hunger left. Hope made one not really notice the sunken cheeks, the bones, the tears. When people started to die, a fissure opened within. Now what? Do they just sit and let everybody waste away–what he wouldn’t do for a drink, what he wouldn’t do for a drink–just a taste, even bathtub hooch. Somethin’ somethin’ SOMETHING. His watch continued to count town the time since he’d entered the doors, and nobody was doing anything.

I did not come this far to die. Not here. Not like this.

He went to the utility access, the heaviest and thusly least shored up of the entrances and he pulled the barricade apart. John didn’t know what he’d find outside, anything had to be better than this–was a death at the mouth of the dead preferable to a slow one to the teeth in his belly? To the hunger slowly eating him from the inside out? He wasn’t alone. There were other hands clawing at the barricade, they weren’t bloody–they didn’t claw for him, they clawed with him. It was afternoon, his watch said two twenty-six. He’d take it. He and the few who had followed him, who desired action but lacked direction were absent for four hours. It was worriedly debated if they would return with as much effort as the starving citizens could muster.

And John surprised even himself, he didn’t think: not once, of leaving them to their fate. They had granted him sanctuary when he had barely a thing to offer. And he wouldn’t let them forget that. They found a vending machine in the employee lounge of a nearby coffee shop. He chewed some of the expresso beans found within as he searched. The products in the display case long past their sell by date, they found some preserved baking supplies; nuts, dried fruit, the vending machine was half stocked with warm soda and chips. The tossed whatever they found into a large bag and continued their search, bottles of water in a supply closet alongside more soda, bottles of juice. Soured milk.

One of his companions struck out to find a better way to transport all this, and his screams of desperation soon chased all thought from his mind. He had almost forgotten about the diseased. Maybe they had overlooked their little hiding place, maybe the stench of so many unwashed bodies within simply rotting from the inside out hadn’t interested them. Or maybe they had just been too damn quiet, maybe maybe maybe–whatever the case: they were here. And they were hungry. Arriving too late to save his companion, he still felt the vindication of caving the head in of the monster who’d done it.

Hero. That’s what he’d been. Rifle smeared with gore. Thank you, thank you. He’d returned with enough to get them on their feet, to get them organized. For them to branch out and search for more, but the question was there: why hadn’t anyone come? Had they been left behind? Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it, pray they don’t look too closely–pray they don’t look at all. But look they did. For direction. For something. Anything. Before anything else, they needed supplies and they needed them now. Food, medicine, water, bedding, fresh clothes, cleaning products. They hoarded everything and anything they found, and then they turned to the books. Routine was made. Implemented. And he found himself in an office, with his own little door that he could lock if he so wished and a handsome desk that housed more paper and unsharpened pencils than anything useful but, it was his own.

Just holding him over.

He procures half a bottle of whisky on one supply run and nearly cries all over again, his hands shake–he’s so thirsty. He thinks of them, all their faces; all their expectations. And he tucks it away, for a rainy day he claims–for when their walls no longer hold. For when the dead bang at the door to his little office. Still, it calls for him every night like a siren’s song.

Instead, he forces himself to be someone else. To be for the people what they had been for him; hope. Sanctuary. Finding an overturned military convoy twelve days later though largely picked clean by people or the undead or the scavengers of nature but, they pull some supplies and more importantly: they pull a radio. It’s stupid he thinks, but he’s desperate. Someone’s gotta be out there. Someone’s gotta be coming for them. As a civilian leader to a largely civilian camp he feels out of his depth, but he’ll pretend otherwise even if he notices his hands don’t shake nearly so much anymore. Almost as if something is trying to tell him he’s found his place.

Even if all he gets is static. Day after day.

He falls back on routine of everyone else within the walls: the books. He devours any knowledge he can get his hands on, they squabble over desirable skills–try to ignore the shadows of the dead that dance by their windows. Try not to wonder too much if there is anyone else out there, he’s all too aware of the monsters the apocalypse made. Not the hungry ones. Not the undead. But people, people being people with no laws to govern them. They’re talking of fences, of trying to make this place…a forever place. But there’s also talks of leaving, of other camps out there–he can feel the itch in his bones, but this isn’t a prison. He’s so thirsty.

Their doors are open to their fellow man–he just hopes he doesn’t let the wrong one in.

CENSUS,

faceclaim ⋯ Dominic Cooper played by ⋯ Bigby

#dominic cooper #rp #rpg #apocalypse rp #literate rp #{ a. }#{ m. }#{ 30. }#{ washington library. }#{ leader. }#{ bigby. }#{ johnathan rhees. }#alcoholism tw #gore tw #death tw #physical abuse tw

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