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auroracalisto · 2 years ago

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don't let them see you cry chapter three, dance with the devil | previous chapter — the handler—the very reason for your personal slice of hell. haunting your every move... in your sleep, during the slow hours of the day. the swedish brothers—should have been strangers who show up and show you that you are more than what she told you. you are more than your mind allows you to believe. and you—the very person who will end the misery that plagues your mind. word count: 2.6k words tw: bad mothers, anxious!reader, fem!reader, self-doubt, reader lost her only actual job oops, people being prejudiced, using religion to judge people, the reader isn't written with any particular religion in mind so it's up to interpretation (except one part where she goes to deny something, but it can be read as her trying not to be judged anymore than she already had been) a/n: man y'all are probably sick of me but there's more coming eventually. here's the link to the story on ao3

The next few days passed by quietly. The brothers stuck to themselves, and you did the same, cooking and cleaning like you normally did.

You stuck to the books you knew, the TV channels you memorized by heart—everything went by as normal as it possibly could, just with the new addition of these men.

Darla would come by as usual, excited by these strange and unusual looking men. She loved it when they talked to her, absolutely adoring their accent. You couldn’t blame her. Their accent was flattering, even if the words they said were short and conversations ending before they truly began.

Darla stuck to your side, however, not once leaving you even if they came out of the guest room.

You chalked it up to the girl just being a nervous child. You had been the same way, once a long time ago—hell, you weren’t sure you ever outgrew that.

On the days she was there, time dragging by slowly, you would have her help you in the kitchen, trying to perfect your strawberry muffin recipe. The ingredients she sometimes would bring always helped out—as long as she took some home for her mother, she would continue bringing them.

It helped you with your love for baking, and it helped keep Darla occupied

She got a kick out of your baking, finding it absolutely hilarious you were trying so hard to make it good. She already thought you were an amazing baker, so why were you trying so hard? She wouldn’t ever understand that.

Today was one of those days—this was the fourth recipe you had tried within the last two weeks. The Swedes had never known your house not to smell of sweets and baked goods.

Darla was getting tired of muffins, and she hoped you’d choose cookies to perfect next Her favorite was a snickerdoodle, but whatever you chose would be fine. She really just wanted the cookie dough more than anything.

It was a comfort unknown to the Swedes, but a welcomed feeling. It often reminded them of their own childhood home, during slow winter days—their mother making things and keeping the fire going to keep the farmhouse warm. Good smells would flow through the small home, warmth seeping up from their toes and to the rest of their body.

At the emergence of one of the said Swedes, Darla grabbed onto your dress, smiling all the while. That twinkle in her eye would be the death of you.

“Oscar!” she exclaimed, grabbing one of the warm muffins off of the plate you had set them up on. Brown sugar dusted the top, and she haphazardly rushed over to the tall man, holding it up to him. You made a mental note to check the floor for the sugar—you might just need to sweep anyway.

“This one’s strawberry,” she grinned, her toothy grin showing off a sweet little gap and a couple missing baby teeth.

“Strawberry, again?” Oscar raised an eyebrow, taking the muffin with a smirk. Darla nodded excitedly, her smile never once wavering.

It was always strawberry. He secretly hoped you would bake something different next time—maybe banana muffins or chocolate muffins. Or maybe you’d find an old Swedish recipe. He was tempted to have Axel write down one of his own and leave it to where you could find it in your recipe box.

He moved past the child, grabbing a mug of coffee before he glanced at you, not saying anything more. He left with the muffin in hand, returning to the sanctity of the guest room until their next mission—not that you were supposed to know about their missions. They had yet to let you in on that little part of their life.

Hell, if anything, all you were to them was a host. Just there when they needed to be home.

By that evening, however, little Darla home with her family and your kitchen spic and span, each muffin had been taken. You had only had one yourself, so you could only assume the Swedes had snuck the rest. You mentally made note that this specific recipe was a hit. And if you made it well enough, perhaps the gossiping housewives of the neighborhood would finally stop brooding over your singleness (and other less desirable things).

A deep part of you secretly hoped that if your mother ever showed, she would try the muffins and be astounded—her child was good at something! But they were just muffins. And despite how good they might have been, a muffin couldn’t ever fill the sinking hole you found yourself drowning in.

After another week or so of silence amongst the Swedes, they started to stay out more in the living room. You each did exactly what you had been, but the silent company of one of the brothers made things a little easier.

Day in and day out, there would always be a Swede near you. They might not have said much, other than allowing you a fleeting conversation, but they were still there.

When on a mission, it seemed far too quiet without them. Far too odd.

So you looked forward to Darla coming around, babysitting becoming a full time gig for you. It was easy money, and the universe knew that you needed it.

Even when they weren’t on mission, you still watched the little girl.

Eventually, Monday came about and Darla never showed. You worried—what was going on? Her mother never said anything. A part of you wanted to go by and check on her, wondering if something happened to her mother and father and no one had bothered to let you know.

You sat on the armchair, staring at the worn book in your hands. You had been staring at the same page for nearly thirty minutes, losing your spot, starting over again, getting distracted by your thoughts, pausing on each and every sentence. You were not in the right mindset to be reading right now.

A knock sounded at your door.

Axel glanced over at you, puzzled. He hadn’t said a word about your reading. The assassin had noticed, but he also knew you often got caught up in your head many times throughout the day.

Another knock came from the door

Axel knew at this point the spunky little girl would arrive from nine to ten—sometime just after her mother would have left for work. But it was noon, and the child was nowhere to be seen.

You stood, sitting your book down. You didn’t bother to mark your page as you came over, answering the door.

Darla’s mother stood there, looking down at you with a deep frown.

“Mrs. Marsh!” you softly exclaimed, standing up straight. Wide eyes looked up at hers as she stood there, jaw set and eyes narrowed. What was she doing here? Why was she angry?

“I’ve found a new sitter,” she said.

You paused, tilting your head as you watched her.

Axel sat in the living room, listening. He was hidden from the woman’s view. He saw his brothers in the corner of his eye, but he stayed quiet, not wanting to draw attention to either of them.

“I’m sorry? When did this happen?” Your voice was short and on the verge of trembling. You had been doing so well. What changed? What was wrong?

“I found one while I was shopping, but I thought I would let you know in person. I’m not a heathen, unlike some people in this neighborhood.”

Living in the sixties, you come to learn quite a few phrases—‘heathen’ was not one said out of the love of someone’s heart for others. Y ou found yourself facing prejudice that you otherwise had only read about. It could have been much worse, yes, but just knowing what you’ve dealt with made your heart clench in your chest. You did nothing to deserve the negative thoughts of your neighbors—you simply existed.

Reminded you of something—your mother. How she hated you for just existing, at times.

You took in a deep, labored breath, hoping that no one would hear. It’s the least you could do at the moment to keep yourself from freaking out.

“Mrs. Marsh?”

“I do not feel comfortable having my Darla around three foreign men,” she said, eyes filled with malice as she kept her voice level. She would have made an excellent actor. “You might be comfortable keeping them in your bed at night, but good Christian women, god-fearing Christian women, would never be okay with that. My Darla deserves better care. Someone who would never find themselves dancing with the devil.”

You stared at her for a moment, lips parted to speak but nothing ever left you. Is that really how people saw you?

You hardly knew these men. How in the hell was that sort of conclusion thought of?

“Oh, dear, you’re probably wondering how I know. Ms. Howard has been keeping a watchful eye on you, ever since she saw those men standing at your door. Sees them coming in at all hours of the night, like a bunch of cultists. But, what’s done is done!” she said, pulling on a cheery smile. Mrs. Marsh pulled out a small wad of cash from her horridly orange purse, placing it in your hands. “I am a woman of my word. Twenty for the last week. I do hope you find it within yourself to accept god. You surely want to protect yourself from the fire raging in hell, do you not?”

You pulled on a thin-lipped smile, nodding in response.

“Good, good. I hope to see you around. Church services are every Sunday morning, y/n. I hope to see you there.”

As she turned around, she glanced at you from over her shoulder. “Satanists will be the death of us all.”

You grimaced, waiting until she walked off your porch before you shut the door, locking it instantly in the process. You turned to look at the wad of cash in your hands, angry tears forming in your eyes.

How dare she? It shouldn’t have mattered what you did—who you were or what you believed. How dare she assume something like that?

It made your blood boil—but more importantly, it reminded you of that small little girl you once were, terrified to be anything more than a shell of herself to avoid the scrutiny of her own mother.

Axel stood up from his seat, a deep frown etched into his handsome features. Otto stood at the doorway to the kitchen, while Oscar stood by the hallway. Guilt festered in the pit of Oscar’s stomach as he watched you, while Otto’s face continued to be unreadable. They each heard—and they were each to blame.

People were just as nosy now as they had been, in any decade. But this was the first time they had ever seen it in its unabridged glory. Normally, the three kept to themselves, only dealing with their targets and the people over them at the Commission.

“What was that?” Axel asked.

“Don’t,” you quickly said, shaking your head as you looked up at him. You roughly wiped your a tear that escaped.

You hated it here. You hated yourself. And you knew you’d hate it even more if these three saw you cry over something so ridiculous. You sat the money on the coffee table, moving past each of the brothers to your bedroom.

A choked sob escaped you as you shut your door, pent up frustrations and anger leaving your body as you sunk down to your bed.

You cried yourself into a deep slumber—the kind that made your muscles ache and your heart pound out of your chest by the time you were to wake.

And when you did finally wake, your clock read six in the evening. You had practically slept the day away—something you hadn’t done since you were young and your mother was constantly breathing down your neck.

The smell of food wafting from the kitchen was enough to make your stomach angrily rumble.

You groaned softly, roughly rubbing your eyes as you pulled yourself off of your bed. You made a quick run to the bathroom adjoined to your bedroom, to check yourself in the mirror and make sure you weren’t a total mess.

You were… but there wasn’t much you could do other than wash the tears and sleep from your face before you straightened up your messy hair.

Your feet absentmindedly led you out to the kitchen, where Oscar and Otto were already sitting at the table. Four places were set, something you often found yourself doing for the others—even if you didn’t eat with them. You had always finished your meal before they ventured out for their own.

Oscar glanced back at you, sending you a faint smile as Axel brought over plates of food.

He sat the first one down in the seat between Otto and Oscar, glancing at you with a frown.

“Sit,” he said.

You blinked slowly at him, slowly doing as you were told. By the tone of his voice, you knew it wasn’t a request.

As you looked down at the plate of food, you realized that he had made your favorite meal. But when did he ever figure that out? You had never told them much of anything. You would talk to them and tell them small things, sure, but you never had a full blown conversation. When did he ever have the time to sit down and—

“—you make this a lot,” Axel said, almost as if he could sense your internal turmoil. “Recipe card was bent and worn. Assumed you would like it.”

Your cheeks burned at the confession and you let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said.

He just looked through your recipe cards. He wasn’t being weird—just kind and hopefully trying to make you feel better.

Axel gave a small nod, bringing the other two plates of food. He sat across from you, eyes boring into yours as he waited for you to eat.

“You… you didn’t have to make this, you know,” you said, hesitantly picking up your fork.

His lip quirked up as he leaned back in his seat, watching you.

“I was being childish, earlier. Really. This isn’t..”

“Eat,” Axel said, a short but definite demand. Or was he requesting? Could you leave right this minute if you wanted to? Return to your safe cocoon of blankets?

“If you’re not hungry, you do not have to stay,” he continued, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes widened a bit. “I… I am,” you said, nodding as you spoke.

“If you do not eat, we will assume you are satanist,” Oscar said, scrunching his nose as he watched you.

Your wide eyes darted to the man, who obviously held back a bit of laughter.

“I promise I’m—“

“—joking,” Oscar said, grinning all the while.

He could care less what you were. They all could.

Cheeks burning, you grabbed the glass of water sitting beside your plate.

“Rude,” you said, huffing softly.

Oscar let out a soft laugh, beginning to eat. He was no longer waiting for you to start.

Otto stared at his brother, an incredulous look on his face. But when he noticed how you loosened up with just a few small, albeit rude, words from Oscar, he began to relax as well.

Weeks of comfortable silence led up to yet another moment of the four of you sitting in your dining room. And yet, this silence was different. Perhaps a new understanding was blossoming amongst the brothers—you weren’t so different from them after all.

And in this timeline unfamiliar to the brothers (and to you, although they didn’t know it yet), they felt as if they had a reason to enjoy it for a little longer.

next chapter

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secret-engima · 3 years ago

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I got my second covid shot yesterday, and the side effects are happening. Got anything in any of your RWBY AUs that'll makr me feel less Generally Bad?

Awww, sorry the side effects are happening, anon. :( Lemme see what I can find that isn't horribly angsty.

...

Team Gremlin verse:

Hei Xiong —Junior to literally everyone because apparently Mistralen names were too much for Vale tongues to handle— knew his boys weren’t … the brightest or the best. That was fine. His father wouldn’t have given him the brightest and the best even if he hadn’t been the family disappointment. But he had expected his boys to at least know the basic rule of, say, not bringing children into a criminal operation. Semi-criminal. Far less criminal than his father wanted it to be.

It was an abandoned warehouse full of guys with guns. Not a child suitable environment.

“Boys,” he ground out past the budding headache he got just looking at the tiny child sitting politely on a random box —the kid was tiny, how old was he, four?—, “I’m pretty sure I said to ‘go get us some cash’. Not ‘steal a random child’. And if one of you bozos did this thinking about holding a toddler for ransom-.”

“I’m not a toddler!” Piped up the child in the indignant tone of the young.

Junior ignored that outburst for the moment, “Then I’m going to throw all of you in the river. I told you, we’re not resorting to kidnapping to get the funds for this! If I wanted to do that I’d just go back to the old man and lick his boots for more money.”

His men cringed, and the biggest of them —Tiny, and why his men all gave themselves the stupidest, least relevant nicknames was still a mystery to him— held up his hands defensively, “We didn’t kidnap him! … Not … intentionally?”

Junior pinched the bridge of his nose, “Did he wander inside on his own?”

“Well, no-.”

“Are any of you related to him?”

“Well, no, but-.”

“Do his parents or guardians know where he is right this second?”

“Uh- I don’t think so-.”

“Then it’s kidnapping, you idiots! I oughta-!”

A light but firm whap to his knee cut Junior off and he stared at the toddler in shock, because since when did toddlers have canes to whack people with? “Excuse me,” said the boy in a tone that was far too prim for this part of town, “Please stop yelling at your men.” The boy ducked his head a little, looking almost embarrassed, “They were just trying to help me. I got separated from my friends and I don’t … my leg isn’t very good. They let me come inside to catch my breath.”

…This kid was very articulate for a four year old, maybe he really was a bit older than he looked. Still, Junior felt another sigh building in his chest that he squashed down with effort —he was twenty two years old and sometimes he already felt like he was his old man’s age—, “What are you doing out here, kid? The docks is no place for a kid, especially one who needs a cane.”

The boy scowled at him, cheeks puffing and oh no, he was adorable, “I can handle myself! Besides, one of my friends works here. I was with her before I got. Um.” The boy blushed and looked down at the ground, “A little turned around.”

Hummer, the quietest and arguably most observant of his boys, leaned over to whisper in his ear, “He was having a panic attack on the sidewalk about a block from here. We think he lost track of his caretaker at one of the intersections. He’s definitely from out of the kingdoms, he was terrified of the cars. He probably panicked at the sight of so many of them and bolt- ow.”

The boy pointed his cane warningly at Hum as the man held his knee in pain, “I can hear you. I wasn’t scared of cars, I just- got startled. That’s all.”

“Sure kid,” muttered one of Junior’s boys and Junior grunted loudly, because they were getting off topic.

...

One in a Hundred verse

The familiar jolt of rising, of sliding into place, and the body snapped awake with a startled gasp. Ozpin flailed, accidentally rolling right out of bed and landing on the floor in a tangled, confused lump of limbs and blankets. His head ached with the remnants of tears and when he waggled his fingers, they were gloved. He was … in control? No. No-no-no-no that wasn’t right, he only took control when it was necessary. “Oscar,” he rasped hoarsely in a voice that wasn’t his —was far too young and soft to be his—, “Oscar, where are you?” He sat up, groping frantically for the sense of Oscar under the dangerous thrum of Old Kings. He finally found a sense of him, a glimmer of Oscar under the flow, but when he reached to pull it out, the boy just batted his mental hand away like a tired, cranky cat, sliding deeper under the flow instead. Ozpin tried four more times before a spiking headache and repeated flairs of exhausted-agitated magic made him stop for fear of injuring either himself or the boy.

It would seem that … whatever had happened, Ozpin was temporarily in control.

…He hoped it was temporary.

Well. Lying in this position wasn’t good for either of them, so Ozpin careful set about untangling the body and … taking care of things he supposed. He debated the merits of a shower, and normally wouldn’t have dared, but Oscar’s frame was shivering slightly and felt clammy from sweat —from the nightmares of reliving a past life as Ozpin walked through it, just as he had relived his past when Oscar walked through his—. He grimaced, but so long as he was in control he had to take responsibility and care, so he hastily stripped down and hurried his way through a cold shower.

He froze up briefly in front of the mirror, because Oscar —by habit it seemed— rarely looked in a mirror or down at his hands, and never without his gloves and bandages on. Ozpin swallowed hard and saw the thick, ugly scarring on a too-young neck ripple with the motion and felt queasy. Grimm attack. He knew the signs. He just- hadn’t expected to —had hoped never to— see them on a boy this young. Then he shook it off and rummaged around for clean bandages and gloves and clothes. Finding a proper brush was a little trickier, because just a hair brush wouldn’t suffice, at least if his foggy memories of past lives were to be believed.

He took his time getting himself sorted, meticulously brushing out all the kinks and trying not to twinge anything sensitive —he was out of practice with that—, before putting on clothes. A few failed tries at tucking everything away without pinching and he gave up —he was very out of practice, not that it could be helped—. If Oscar’s aunt was accepting of multiple personalities and body-hopping cursed wizards, she would no doubt have long ago accepted this part of Oscar’s own body.

Ozpin made his way downstairs carefully, grimacing past the phantom ache in a leg he knew was just fine but would never feel fine to him, hanging onto the stair railing and repeatedly reaching out to Oscar in the hopes the boy would wake up from whatever strange trance he seemed to be in and take back his rightful control.

Miss Pine looked up in open surprise when he skirted carefully into the kitchen, “Oscar? I thought you said you were going to have a Quiet Day. I was just about to come check on you.”

Ah. This was likely going to go poorly, “My apologies, Miss Pine,” Ozpin murmured and refused to flinch when she stiffened in realization, “I … I do not know what is going on. I woke up in control through no action or intent of my own. I have tried waking up Oscar multiple times but he- he doesn’t respond.”

For a moment, he thought she would accuse him of lying, of stealing control. She would hardly be the first. But after a moment of hard staring, the fight left her shoulders and she sighed heavily, “No, I don’t suppose he would. I should have realized a Quiet Day with … another person … in his head would lead to something like this. Sit down, you might as well eat. Oscar won’t otherwise.”

Ozpin tentatively sat down, careful of how he moved so nothing pinched or was pinned, “You and Oscar mentioned those before. Quiet … days?”

“That’s what we call it when Oscar loses control of the voices. He usually spends the day sleeping or drifting around the house in a daze, unresponsive, barely eating.” She looked pained, worried for a moment, then shook her head, “At least they don’t make him sick and feverish anymore.”

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #One in a Hundred verse #Team Gremlin verse

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nincompoopydoo · 4 years ago

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PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— PALM TO PALM IS HOLY PALMER’S KISS ; PART 3 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1846

SUMMARY: You’re back to teaching at Gotham High and you end up overlooking rehearsals for the GHS drama club’s upcoming annual play: Romeo and Juliet that no one ever attends. In the spirit of keeping your students’ hopes up, you decide to take it upon yourself to draft out a plan to drive more people to come to the play. The key is the man you’re in love with.

WARNINGS: Vague description of a nightmare, death and an annoying teenager.

A/N: This is really going slowly like a true slow burn. I hope yall like this one. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

In the light of your unemployment as a teacher, Gotham High miraculously offered your old job back after Mrs Wilson, one of the senior English Literature teachers, died of a heart attack unannounced. In all seriousness, apologies were made, admitting they had a mistake with firing you because well, you were clearly a passionate teacher. To your surprise, you were told your students even missed you. Hence, you accepted a job from GHS once again because you would do anything to avoid the smell of burgers and the sounds of hungry crying children. After the whole burglary incident, the Big Belly Burger at midtown was forever doomed as customers gradually decreased over time. It was Gotham after all, people should be used to these kinds of things by now. Including witnessing Batman saving you, the whole experience felt like a fever dream. As excited you were and weirdly unbothered by the whole near-death experience, you realized that if you were to talk about it, no one would genuinely believe you anyway. He was a myth to most citizens of Gotham, but you’re an exception because you’re well acquainted with the knowledge that Bruce definitely knows Batman.

And oh boy, do they talk.

It’s your secret to keep and so is the Batarang you stole. You’re also dying to tell Bruce.

So, you find yourself back in the hallways, crowded with sweaty teenagers, but you would choose this over anything else in a heartbeat. Apart from returning to teaching uninterested students about the works of Shakespeare and Harper Lee and forcing reading lists onto them, you are also replacing Mrs Wilson as the GHS Drama Club’s advisor. Stage performance may be personally foreign to you but plays were practically your forte. That was how you ended up spending your Tuesday afternoons, preparing the members for the club’s annual play. This time, they decided to perform the classic: Romeo and Juliet.

As an English teacher, you were frankly sick of the play, forbidden love was a tad overrated to you. Yet the kids were genuinely trying their best. Shaniqua and Oscar were currently rehearsing their lines as the two infamous star-crossed lovers; You watched them with pride. The two were quiet in your classes but they truly shone on the stage of the school theatre.

“And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss—teach, what does this whole scene even mean?” Shaniqua exclaims and you chuckle, “This scene is simply a metaphor where Romeo is a pilgrim wanting to erase his sins and Juliet is a saint. So, he is basically trying to convince her to kiss him so that he can truly be free of sin,” your explanation echoes through the room, and you notice Oscar turning red when you mention the word ‘kiss’. It was clear as day that the poor boy really liked the girl he’s currently hand in hand with but you don’t want him to feel nervous and uncomfortable about the thought of kissing her. “Now Oscar, you can kiss her on the cheek and that’s fine. Shaniqua, say it with more emotion, okay? Everyone got it?” The response you received was a sputter of hums and nods. Before you could continue, Josh, who plays Lord Capulet and is sitting lazily on the handmade throne, speaks up much to your dismay, “Why is it so important that we put so much effort into this. It’s not like anyone is going to come.” The kids around him began agreeing with his statement, and it was honestly completely expected of him but it was the truth. No one attends the drama club’s annual play. As you're trying to calm everyone down, your phone buzzes on the table in front of you. It’s a text from Bruce, asking if you could come over tonight, phrasing it like he’s a schoolboy sneaking from his parents to meet with a girl late at night. Then, like an epiphany you have an idea although there’s an eighty percent chance it wouldn’t go through. Nevertheless, you turn to the rest of the students with a hint of a smile on your lips. “I might have just the idea to solve that.”

A brief span seemed like an eternity when sleep doesn’t come easy to you. Tonight was a different case; thoughts were completely clear and concise. In much need of sleep, you steal the chance to savour in this clarity and serenity for as long as you could. To feel his warmth, arm gently resting on your abdomen and the occasional whiff of his deodorant from his ebony shirt you’re dressed in. If this was what bliss feels like, you never want it to go away. Your eyes grow heavy, flickering into darkness due to exhaustion from a long day of rehearsals. At once, you’re struck with the reminder of the idea you had this afternoon. It is more of a favour, involving none other than Bruce. There’s a tinge of guilt whenever favours are involved because you never liked asking for help. You were furiously independent and responsible, relying on others was out of the question. Yet, Bruce has always seemed to find a way to weave himself in your mistakes and problems, constantly there to help out. You have to remind yourself this isn’t about you. It’s for the kids. Special guest, Bruce Wayne, playboy and billionaire. Sounds awesome.

As your consciousness begins ebbing away, you feel Bruce shift from beside you, grasp tightening upon your waist. Before your dazed mind could even fully process that he was in the midst of a nightmare, his eyes are wide open, heart-pounding and it seizes him up instantly. With deep breaths, he closed his eyes once more, unable to shake the feeling of dread that rattles in him. Then, a sudden cold touch to his arm—he jumps and snaps his head to look over his shoulder.

It’s you, still laid in bed with a prominent frown upon your brows. Your hand squeezes his forearm and all he feels is instant relief. His heart still pounds, not in fear but with affection. “Are you okay?” you drawled as you watch his lingering hand, fingers weaved between the strands of hair. The silver ones glint under the low light, contrasting the deep brown ones. You notice how his hair had grown along with his five o’clock shadow becomes more evident by the days. His face away from you, finally nodding in response to your question. “Yeah, just... a bad dream. His voice is subdued as he shifts under the sheets, head leaning against the headboard. Despite your weakened state, you bring yourself to sit up, twisting your body to face him properly. "You wanna talk about it?” you say, patting his shoulder lightly in a comforting manner. You watch him rub his eyes, exhale tightly and shake his head. “No. Anything but that.”

His response comes out almost harsh but Bruce doesn’t mean for it to be perceived in that way. His dream was the usual, the normal ones he’s used to by now but in times of stress overwork, they have started to become more intense and violent. This time it involved you, for the first time, and he watched you vividly get shot in the forehead—trails of his memory as Batman when he encountered you at the burger restaurant with the muzzle of a gun inches away from you. It haunts him to think that if the circumstances were different if you hadn’t texted him those dreaded four words, you might be dead.

He certainly is not telling you about the dream. Never in a million years.

Bruce turns to you and you’re still staring at him, worry carved deep in your furrowed brows. Change of topic was merely necessary at this point. “So, how has school been? The kids still mean to you?” Classic Bruce, always sweeping his problems under the antique Persian rug. You don’t blame him because you wouldn’t know better.

It was your turn to sigh at the mention of school but since tonight’s pillow talk is heading towards your job as an English teacher at GHS, you might as well use the opportunity to pitch in your plan. “Still mean, but the drama club kids are really great,” You thumb the edge of the blanket, unable to hide your growing smile. “Speaking of which, the annual play is next Friday and they have been rehearsing all week but,” you paused as you watched his right brow gradually lift. “No one comes for it. Like, no one and I hate to see all their efforts just thrown out the window like that—”

“So, you want me to go for it.”

You blinked, wondering if your explanations were too obvious of its underlying intent or Bruce could just read you like an open book. You won’t be surprised if it’s the latter.

“If it’s no biggie. You don’t have to because I know you’re very busy but I don’t want the special guest to end up being the Big Belly Burger mascot.” Your smile widens and Bruce chuckles. Hell, it’s probably past midnight and you’re still able to find ways to be terribly funny. Literally terrible. After a beat of silence, he clears his throat. “I’ll clear my schedule.” It didn’t need much anticipation or thought because despite everything going on in his life, he knows he’ll do just about anything for you. You’re practically beaming at him and he finally sees it’s all worth it in the end. “Thank you, Bruce.” Your voice is sweet, and it makes his heart swell ever so slightly.

He sometimes wishes the two of you weren’t trapped in this loophole of unsaid confessions and hidden strong emotions for the other.

It almost comes naturally when he leans to you and presses a swift kiss to your forehead. Instead, it’s contradicting everything the two of you consider normal. He isn’t thinking straight and now your smile has disappeared, mouth agape and eyes very wide. Your brain stops.

Uh, what the hell just happened?

It hits him like a punch to the gut and the growing awkward silence is deafening. Yet, he doesn’t apologise because if he does, it doesn’t mean anything when in reality, it means so much more than just an accidental gesture. You don’t mention anything because you don’t objectify his actions. Kissing Bruce was fine when there are no strings attached but a peck to the forehead is way too affectionate for the man.

Before the both of you begin to overthink the events of a few moments ago, Bruce’s rational conscience kicks in and he clears his throat. “Get some sleep. You had a long day today.” He pats you on the shoulder awkwardly and you hum, shifting your head to lay back on the pillow. “Yesterday.” you correct him as it’s well past midnight. He chuckles, now laying flat on his back as he stares at the ceiling. Silently, the two of you agree to forget whatever happened a minute ago and to just...sleep it off.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #batman #batman x reader #batman imagine #justice league #pining bagels repeat

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commander-diomika · 3 years ago

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(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 6 - Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Word Count: 4700 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Opposites Attract, Trans Male Character, Forced Outing, Pining, Additional Warnings In Author's Note

Summary: New intel from Curie brings new rules about the quarantine process. This puts Zolf and Wilde in an awkward position. A/N - The forced outing depicted in this chapter isn’t through any malicious intent, but rather circumstances outside character control. There are no transphobic sentiments portrayed in this series, internalised or direct, but some of Wilde’s caution around disclosing indicates that this is a world where transphobia exists. These things could make for an uncomfortable experience for some readers.

The few times that Zolf went out on missions alone, usually on fruitless attempts to scout the Shoin Institute, it had been Barnes that welcomed him back and locked him in. Zolf didn’t mind isolation stretches, but he didn’t love that Wilde kept himself absent for the entire duration. He understood why, but there was something unsettling about coming home, and yet having to wait for what he felt like was the proper homecoming of being reunited with Wilde. But he coped with it just fine.

When the invitation from Curie came for a meeting, and specified that only one person was welcome, Zolf fought hard for it to be him.

“You’ve never even met Curie.” Wilde pointed out, voice level despite the heat in Zolf’s tone. “It makes far more sense for me to go, and someone needs to stay here.”

“At least take Barnes with you,” Zolf countered, knowing he was being ridiculous but unable to help it. He’d known that this time was coming but that didn’t make it come any easier. “He don’t have to come with you to meet her, but he can keep you safe.”

Wilde’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Zolf crossed his arms, stymied. It wasn’t that he was overprotective. But he couldn’t squash the memory of Wilde’s face, slippery with blood beneath frantic fingers, or the haunted look in Wilde’s eyes when he emerged from isolation.

“I won’t even be gone long, Zolf. Curie is going to meet me in Hiroshima.”

Zolf opened his mouth to argue further, and was stopped by Wilde closing his eyes, looking genuinely tired for a moment. Normally Wilde relished a bit of verbal sparring and the two of them fought as easily as they breathed. But something about the way he sighed gave Zolf pause.

When Wilde next spoke, his voice was soft, a rare pleading in his tone. “I know, Zolf. I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it, but I have been looking at these same four walls for months. I am sick of not being a productive member of this team.”

“WHAT!” Zolf exploded. “You are the most productive member! Me n’ Barnes n’ Carter would be nothin’ without-”

“You know what I mean!” Wilde said, frustrated. Zolf hardly ever saw him like this. Anger was an emotion that Wilde kept locked away, just like his fear. “I’m sick of people treating me like I’m some sort of china doll, just because I can’t cast anymore!”

Zolf spluttered. “You’re not- we don’- nobody said-”

Wilde raised his hand. “I appreciate your concern, Zolf, I really do. But I’m going on this mission. And I am asking you-” Wilde drew a deep breath in through his nose “-to trust me.”

Well. That had been played like a trump card. Zolf felt something in him release, the angry churn of his stomach dissipating. If there was any truth left in the world at this point, it was that Zolf trusted Wilde.

He nodded.

---

As was protocol, on the evening he returned, Zolf, Barnes and Carter made themselves scarce until Wilde was safely in the anti-magic chamber, not detouring to any other rooms of the inn. They had arrangements for how to handle if a returning party member didn’t head straight for what they’d all started calling “the box,” but thankfully it was yet to come up. Zolf headed in after, with the keys to the cell, fresh clothes, and a bowl of prawn gyoza in hand.

“How’s Hiroshima?” Zolf asked, locking up and passing through the food.

Wilde didn’t respond, just levelled Zolf with a flat glare.

Zolf shrugged. “You can talk to me, an’ if at the end of the week you’re compromised, I’ll just assume that anythin’ you said was false intel, yeah? Until then,” Zolf pulled up the chair that sat outside and cell and settled it. “There’s no harm in it going this way,” he swept his hand from Wilde’s direction toward himself. “I just won’t tell you anything you don’t already know.” He, quite simply, was not going to take no for an answer. He wasn’t leaving Wilde alone with his thoughts for a week.

Wilde managed to look disapproving for a moment more, then a little smirk slipped through the veneer. “I find it difficult to believe you know anything I don’t, Smith.”

“Oh, sod off.”

“I can’t help it if I just happen to be the brains of the operation.” Wilde gave a small, defeated chuckle, and sat on the cot. He started undoing the anti-magic cuffs and massaging his ankles. Sometimes when there was no one using the box, Wilde would come sleep down here just for a chance to take them off for a little while.

“Hiroshima is well enough, but Curie says Cairo is a mess. The sandstorms have been giving it absolute hell. Anyone who doesn’t still need to be there isn’t, though it’s still seeing a lot of refugee traffic.” He picked up the food Zolf had passed through.

“From Europe?”

Wilde nodded between popping gyoza into his mouth. “These are very good, you know.”

Zolf waved a hand. “Hiromi’s been giving me lessons. She’s much nicer about it than her husband.”

Wilde updated Zolf on Curie’s operation. When he mentioned that she had been gifted the old Tahan estate, Zolf’s gut squeezed. It had been… almost over a year since he’d seen Hamid, and months since they’d last heard from him and the others. It was almost impossible to think that they were still alive, but without bodies or news, there was no way forward. Both men were left lingering in ambivalence, hope laid thick and heavy over a grief that couldn’t surface.

Wilde finished his food and frowned. He spoke more hesitantly than before. “There is one more thing I should tell you. We need to update some of the protocols.”

“Yeh? Howso?”

“The blue vein rumours? About the infected? Confirmed. More importantly, Curie says in every instance of a double agent, the blue veins have appeared on the body first, not the face or hands.” Wilde was overexplaining in a way that was unlike him. “In addition to the quarantine, being on the lookout for behavioural changes, Curie also recommended we do,” Wilde hesitated, again in a most un-Wilde-like fashion, “…visual inspections of those in quarantine. Thorough ones.” He fluttered nervous hands up and down his torso to illustrate.

As Zolf slowly turned over the implications, Wilde turned to rummage through his bag and withdraw papers. He gestured for Zolf to come take them through the slot.

“Reports, signed and sealed, detailing it all.”

Zolf took them, still absorbing what Wilde had said. He didn’t look through the bars. If he had, he would have seen something cautious and watchful in Wilde’s eyes.

The silence stretched on too long between them.

“Anyway, if you don’t mind, I am going to get some sleep. The boat from here to the mainland isn’t exactly a luxury cruiser, and I am exhausted.” Wilde flumped down onto the cot to punctuate the point.

“I… yeh. I’ll go have a look through these reports.” As Zolf walked away from the box, he paused in the door. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. I’m glad you’re safe, he didn’t add.

“Of course you are,” Wilde replied without missing a beat. “This place must be dreadfully dull without me to liven it up for you.”

Zolf rolled his eyes and headed upstairs.

Having read through Curie’s reports, the next day Zolf went back to Wilde’s cell with his heart in his mouth.

Naked inspections. It’s just one thing after another in this brave new fucking world, isn’t it, he thought, agitated.

The whole situation was ridiculous. What was he so worried about? After everything they’d been through there was a certain trust, an ease between them now. What was a bit of nudity in the face of all that?

He was only feeling nervy about it because he was sure that Wilde was going to be a dick about it, in his usual style. Getting under Zolf’s skin hadn’t stopped being a hobby of Wilde’s, and this whole situation set the stage for his insufferable needling.

Wilde stood quickly as Zolf entered. He’d changed out of the clothes he’d travelled to Hiroshima in, and was now wearing long dark pants and his favourite yukata, the one with green and pink floral pattern.

“I read through all the reports,” Zolf began.

“We might as well get this over with,” Wilde said at the same time, and then laughed a little manically.

Zolf took his seat, waited for Wilde to quiet, then continued. “Curie also recommended we start askin’ people to tell us stories of things that only the other would know. Code words aren’t enough because it’s more about how you do the retellin’ than it is about the information.” Wilde’s face relaxed at the notion of delaying what came next.

“I’ll get you to tell me about… tell me how you remember our first meetin’, then.” Zolf said. Since all the other people who were there are either dead or presumed dead, he didn’t want to add.

Wilde launched into an explanation of flaming notepads, blood noses, slipping into his storyteller shoes with relief. It was nice to listen to him perform, even if thinking about Hamid and Sasha was depressing.

“And,” Wilde wound up, “I just happened to linger by the door and overhear you mention something about my bum, of all things. Now, if you’ll do me the favour of telling what that was, and we can all move forward assured of each other’s memory, though probably not their integrity.”

Oh, curses. He hadn’t thought Wilde had still been around for those comments. He crossed his arms and frowned loudly.

“Come now Zolf, you’ve already said it, you can’t take it back now.” Exactly as Zolf had suspected, Wilde seemed to be delighting in causing Zolf discomfort once again, whilst he slipped back into his old, familiar smarm. Wilde wrapped his hands around the bars of the cell and bounced slightly on his toes.

“I said,” Zolf pinched the bridge of his nose. “I said it was very nice.” And he stood by it, but Wilde didn’t need to know that.

Wilde laughed, free and throaty, running his hand through his hair in a way that Zolf knew, if he had access to his magic, would be accompanied by a bawdy shimmer of sparkles. For a moment, things felt bright.

The energy snapped back. Wilde wasn’t performing for a party, he wasn’t needling Zolf for a laugh, he was locked up in a cell waiting to find out if he had an infection that would turn him into something unrecognizable and dangerous… Wilde dropped his hands from the adamantine, and the two of them fell silent.

“I can go get Barnes, if you’d prefer,” Zolf said with a useless gesture. Wilde was already shaking his head.

“What’s a bit of nudity between… friends.” Wilde asked, with a quizzical tilt of his head. His eyes were asking does friends really cover it anymore? Zolf didn’t have an answer.

Zolf didn’t know how to get this whole awkward scenario started, so he just waited, his mouth dry. There was something so grim in Wilde’s face, and Zolf didn’t understand. His obvious discomfort with the notion of watching Wilde undress should’ve delighted the man. It should have been ammunition.

As Wilde started on the ties of his yukata, for the briefest of moments, Zolf’s discomfort was replaced by a blistering anger at the absurdity of it all. All those moments he had wanted to be closer to Wilde, to touch his bare skin or to hold him… but he hadn’t asked for this. Between the two of them hung a nascent possibility. A possibility that Zolf was only just starting to acknowledge, and that deserved a chance to blossom.

That instead it should be forced to happen like this, through cell bars, was perversely unfair. To him. To Wilde. To the pair of them and all the ways that this could have been different.

Wilde paused, as if seeing the flash of anger in Zolf’s eyes. He spoke quietly, almost to himself. “Thinking about… hmph. The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” With that non sequitur, he disrobed, turning his body to drape the cloth over the cot.

As he turned back, Zolf was struck by a sudden realisation; he’d never seen Wilde with his shirt off. Never swum together, never seen him coming back from bathing with a towel around his waist. Even in the heat, Wilde always wore his shirt buttoned, his yukata firmly tied. Zolf swore he could see Wilde’s chest in his mind’s eye. It just made sense. Wilde had certainly seen Zolf’s chest; they’d been living in each other’s pockets for almost a year now and Zolf didn’t think much of it.

But no, because if he’d seen Wilde without the shirt, he would know that Wilde had a smattering of dark chest hair. And more scars on his torso than seemed right. The wounds from Douglas had torn two messy gashes near the ribs, and those scars were present as expected. But there were two more - slightly crescent shaped, uniform and well-healed - swooping across his chest just beneath flat nipples.

Surgical scars.

The air was knocked out of Zolf’s lungs. His body had grasped answers before his mind did. His thoughts felt sluggish, crawling, gasping to catch up, and when they did it was with the lurching realisation of just how unfair it was that they had been brought here, to this cell, to this grotesque scenario, against their will.

Wilde undid the drawstring of his pants and stepped out of them. Dark hair ran in a soft line from his navel down, fanning out to the triangle that dipped between his legs. His face was carefully blank, as he lifted his hands, palms up, in a sardonic “ta-dah” gesture.

Zolf was frozen inside his mind, as Wilde turned slowly on the spot.

He did have a fantastic arse, the perfect balance of muscular and plush, and once again Zolf was furious that any hint of eros in this had been utterly perverted.

Wilde turned back to face Zolf and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Zolf nodded again, his mouth dry. Wilde dressed, not rushed but efficient.

They sat in silence for a time.

“You never told me,” was all Zolf could think of to say.

“Fantastically witty and incisive commentary from one Zolf Smith, yet again,” Wilde said, voice like acrid smoke. Nothing made Wilde bite like losing the upper hand.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I jus’, I’ll go-” Zolf tried to walk and turn at the same time and knocked into the stool, clanging it down to the floor. He righted it with hands that shook and headed for the stairs.

“Zolf!” Wilde called after him. “You don’t have to leave.”

Well. That was as close to begging as Wilde ever got.

Zolf returned to his stool, and re-joined the silence. Wilde sat on the cot, watching the close wall of the cell with a face that Zolf recognised; it was one of Wilde’s favourite expressions, deliberately mild, open, waiting. It gave away nothing and invited everything. For Wilde, it was safety.

Other people, people who didn’t know Wilde as well, might take that as an invitation to speak. Zolf wasn’t other people. He thought about all the times he’d stumbled through something awkward, with good intentions but clumsy words. He had no idea how to proceed, other than it was probably wise to wait, and let Wilde find words first.

“Don’t feel bad about me not telling you.” Wilde said eventually. “It usually doesn’t come up, unless I’m sleeping with someone. Even then you’d be impressed at what can be achieved with creative use of props, dim lighting and a bit of magic.” He trailed his hand wistfully through the air, an impotent somatic component.

Zolf continued to wait, to leave the man space. Zolf wasn’t the one who’d been stripped, forced into a deeply personal disclosure without plan or intent.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed, you see. It's more… it feels like handing over a weapon, and I try to avoid that if I can. And well, I’m usually not in someone’s acquaintance long enough to feel bad about keeping it a secret.” There was an apology tucked between the words, and Zolf nodded even though Wilde wasn’t watching

He paused to run his thumb over the facial scarring, once, twice. “Bosie knew.”

Wilde let the silence stretch on long enough that Zolf felt like he had to speak or he would never stop thinking about skidding through Wilde’s blood on a cold stone floor. “You… you used to use your magic for it, righ’?”

Wilde barked out a harsh laugh. “Oh yes, for practically all of it! It was the reason I got so good at glamours! Back in Cairo I… I suspected that an anti-magic chamber or cuffs might halt the hexing, but I couldn’t, you see? I’d been doing it for so long. Everyone knew me as a man.” He shrugged, saying obviously with his shoulders. “I couldn’t go back.”

Zolf examined Wilde’s face. He was still carefully keeping his gaze on the cell wall. He still had that mild expression on his face, as though they discussed what to have for lunch, not one of the lowest points of his life. But he didn’t seem upset, so Zolf pressed on. “What happened?”

“Oh I…” he huffed a small laugh. “I got lucky. Turns out Grizzop already knew. I don’t think I reacted quite right when he punched me in the crotch.” Now something like genuine fondness crept into Wilde’s voice. “He suspected what might happen if I had to stop casting; he helped smooth things over. I was in no position to be fending for myself at that juncture, I had let the curse go on too long.” Wilde looked at his hands. “I will always be grateful to him.”

Wilde sounded like a man who knew, without a doubt, that the object of his gratitude was dead.

“Once it became clear the cuffs were going to become a permanent accessory, he set things up with the Cult of Aphrodite for me to have surgery and for them to supply the right potions. They have all the gear and know-how, of course. Not everyone in my position is a caster.”

Something else clicked in place for Zolf as he pondered the technicalities of non-magical surgery.

“Wait a minute. You were still recovering from that when we joined back up, weren’t you?”

Wilde’s brow crinkled as he considered timelines. “That’s right. Scarring needs to heal with almost no magical intervention, otherwise it’s back to square one. So it was… quite painful, to be quite honest. And compared to magical healing, the process drags on and on.”

Wilde smoothed a hand over his robe-clad chest. “I like it better this way now. No more binding my chest just in case, though I try to be careful about who sees the scars.” His voice was light, that faux-levelness starting to fade and he just, talked. Wilde was relieved, Zolf realised with a start. He wanted to tell Zolf about these things.

“It’s nice to just … be myself. Even at the end of day when I’m tired and can’t cast anymore.” And he finally looked at Zolf and smiled. Not a smirk or grin, just a completely open smile that welcomed Zolf into his joy instead of belittling or declaring victory with it. Even with the scar, sitting in a dim cell, he looked radiant.

As Zolf went to smile back, he felt his face wobble. This - Wilde smiling, confiding, being easy and honest with him - it was a better outcome than he could have hoped for. He felt the sudden bloom of Wilde’s smile in his chest, the warmth of the man’s trust.

But this was merely day one of seven, and it was still terrifyingly possible that the man who sat across from him was not Wilde at all. So Zolf’s smile twisted as it appeared on his face, and he didn’t reply, allowing them to lapse back into silence.

Day 2

“Wouldn’ it be- well not easier but less, I dunno- to just wait and do one inspection on the last day?” Zolf asked. He’d brought down breakfast and the paper, and they’d sat quietly as they ate; Wilde had finished eating and was starting on the motions of undressing.

“Zolf. My dear.” Wilde cocked his head in that patronising way that he did when he thought Zolf had said something legitimately dumb. “If I am reading your intentions correctly, your plan for the week is to eschew all your other jobs to waste away at my door-” Zolf opened his mouth to argue and Wilde simply raised his voice and pressed on “-not that I am complaining, but if you truly are going to while away the days with me, and then on the final day, you find out I have been infected the whole time and have to kill me, how, pray tell, is that going to make you feel?”

Zolf snapped his mouth shut.

“Wouldn’t you rather know as soon as it comes up?” Wilde pointed out, frustratingly reasonable.

Zolf simply wanted to throw the cell doors open because there didn’t seem any possibility that the man behind the bars was anything other than 100% pure, vexatious Oscar Wilde, but he stilled his twitching hand. Wilde’s question was to remain unanswered as Zolf simply gestured go on then and Wilde, with a grim, self-satisfied nod, started to strip.

Day 3

“No, don’tcha see, if Jennifer had gone to Antony in the garden, her mother would have known from the get-go-”

“But I simply don’t see how Alianne knowing would have improved things for Jennifer-”

“She was supportive, she could’ve helped smooth things over when Antony’s sister started her meddlin’, and they could have wrapped the whole thing up before supper!”

“Yes, but where is the fun in that, Zolf?”

Day 4

As Wilde dispassionately disrobed for a fourth time, Zolf realised there was now a familiarity to Wilde’s naked body, and that was jarring.

He wasn’t lanky, not really, but Zolf couldn’t help but think of most humans that way. The truth was he was solid enough in build, surprisingly muscular for a man who mostly rode a desk. His legs and arse especially were firm with it. He does a lot of walking about the village, I s’pose.

Zolf watched Wilde turn on the spot and he longed to trace the shape of Wilde’s shoulders, cup his ass, rub my damn nose in that soft lookin’ chest hair and…

Zolf ground his teeth against the wrongness of it all.

He thought of slipping his hands between Wilde’s legs, and though the shape of the fantasy had changed, the intensity had not.

It had been a long time since Zolf had felt a physical or sexual attraction like this, and the fact that it was at the most inconvenient time, and the most unlikely person, was enough to make him think he’d made a mistake breaking ties with Poseidon. Maybe if he hadn’t eschewed divine favour, he would have been protected from whatever trickster god had decided to throw this at him.

He kept his hands in his pockets so that Wilde wouldn’t see him clench his fists.

Maybe I should offer to strip too. At least that would put us on an equally horrible footing, Zolf mused.

Wilde dressed and turned back to look at Zolf with careful, watchful eyes. Wilde was in the business of reading even the most inscrutable enemies like a book, and at this point he had a thorough translation guide for Zolf. He knew it bothered the dwarf. The fact that Wilde hadn’t made a bunch of lewd comments was probably his idea of a kindness, but the absence of Wilde’s typical peacocking it somehow made it worse.

When he looked at him like that, it made Zolf feel like he was the one in the cell.

Zolf cleared his throat. “Got a new crossword book if you like?”

Day 5

“Pawn to E4.”

A chess board sat on a small table just outside the cell. Zolf moved the white pawn for Wilde then took his own move.

“Knight to G3.” Wilde said in a bored tone. He’d voted for bridge, but Zolf had talked him out of it. Too difficult to wrangle cards between the cell’s bars and mesh, he’d pointed out. Which was true, but what was also true was that Wilde was surprisingly bad at chess (it was much easier to cheat in cards).

Whilst Zolf did feel sympathy for Wilde, things weren’t so bad that Zolf wasn’t going to relish the opportunity to beat him at something for a change.

Day 6

Each day Wilde got closer to being comfortable with the inspections. Closer but not there. Half a lifetime of needing to be guarded about who saw your body created some strong foundational habits. That foundation wasn’t going to be eroded in seven days, regardless of how much you trusted the person who saw you.

But still, it could have been worse. Zolf shuddered to think what would have happened if this situation had been thrust on them a year ago. Their friendship, tenuous as it was, might not have been able to survive.

Dressing again, Wilde stretched the kinks out of neck. “I cannot wait to get out of here and have a proper bath and a nice long walk.”

“Nearly there.” Zolf said absently. He’d stopped needing to worry every second moment that Wilde was infected. Even though they’d been dealing with it all with distractions, with laughter, with pretending like it wasn’t happening, Zolf felt the sudden urge to be honest.

“I’m sorry that… that it happened like this. That you didn’t get a choice in tellin’ me about...” Your past? Your journey? Your truth? “…Everythin’.”

Wilde made a face of surprise, but instead of deflecting the offer of an honest conversation, he accepted. “Me too. I intended to, but as I said. I’m rarely… close enough with someone that I feel they deserve it. I wish-” Wilde paused, considering his next words, and what other weapons he might be handing over, deeply. “I wish that the circumstances had been different.”

Zolf could just ask what he meant. He could. It was practically an invitation for him to press, to force Wilde to clarify exactly under what circumstance he’d envisioned sharing secrets about his body with Zolf… but he didn’t.

Inside Zolf, uneasy guilt gnawed at him. The circumstances they had were only these ones. Wilde was vulnerable, caged, and thoroughly without a choice; but Zolf knew there were moments he’d chosen to ignore those elements. He knew, deep in his guilty core, he had been inspecting far more than he had the right. It didn’t feel honourable to press Wilde any further after that.

“Yeah.” Zolf stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Wilde. Last day ‘n all.”

Day 7

“It would have been too much to hope that the bloody sun would come out for this, wouldn’t it,” Wilde grumbled.

Freshly released, he was pondering umbrella selection in the entry hall.

“I’m guessing you don’t want me to come with,” Zolf ventured. Wilde had come out of his quarantine cheerful enough, but there was something understandably off about him; something distant and a little contemplative. Zolf had been half-expecting, or even hoping for, one of Wilde’s warm shoulder-touches. But he had kept his hands firmly to himself.

Wilde looked up, mouth twisted wryly. “I think I’ll be fine.” He hesitated, as he always did before saying something sincere. “I do appreciate what you’ve done for me this week, Zolf, but I could use a little space.”

Zolf nodded. He’d expected as much.

Inside him, the guilt twisted a little, the word violator rising in his mind. No. Neither of them had chosen anything about this situation. If anything, their connection felt even stronger for having been through the wringer, yet again. Whatever liberties Zolf accused himself of taking, it wasn’t enough to dent that.

We’re alright. Zolf thought.

We’ll be alright. I think we both could use a little time, is all.

Wilde selected the green umbrella, gave Zolf a tentative smile, and headed out into the rain.

#hank writes #rusty quill gaming #rqg #zoscar #zolf smith #rqg oscar wilde #rusty quill fan fic #Additional notes; zolf IS looking disrespectfully #zolfwilde

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rwby-necro-au-archive · 3 years ago

Text

The difference between independency and isolation

Of course she had to show up. She always showed up when he was happy, just to ruin it all and make him feel like the scum of the earth. All with that fucking smile on her face. It always got to him, and she knew it.

Qrow swung the shadowy blade of his equally shadow-like scythe into another tree. Why could she just leave him alone? He couldn’t help but think about the comment the noirette said to him before she left, “How pathetic. You need someone else to save your ass because you can’t even do it yourself. You’re weak. And you’re too dependent on others.”

He wasn’t going to stay dependent, Raven had a point for once. And so he was going to change that, it’s true that he had been relying on Oz ever since they got together, and it was insulting to do that to him. Ozpin was a person too, a busy one at that, and he could always stop what he was doing to take care of Qrow. So she was right, he did need to grow up a little and get some independency.

Hence why he was out here in the forest fighting grimm and hitting trees, in order to have independency, he needed to get better at defending himself. As it stands, he was the weakest out of the 3 of them. Glynda kicked his ass on a regular basis, and Oz? Qrow was never a challenge or even a real fight against him. He was sick of being weak.

He swung the scythe into the tree one last time before it came crashing down onto the cerise forest floor in the opposite direction to his own.

“Impressive, that only took 3 hits from you.” Qrow jolted at the sudden, but familiar, accented voice.

Great.

Ozpin was here.

Qrow grimaced, back turned to the other “I thought I said I wanted to be alone.” “I guess you could say that I figured out why you’re out here.” God, sometimes he hated how Oz spoke.

He couldn’t tell if he was happy, concerned, or pissed at him. At this point he was expecting anger.

And at this point, he really didn’t want to be having this conversation.

Qrow scoffed as he looked for another tree to hit, “Oh yeah? And what would that be?” Emphasizing his words as he struck into the trunk and bark of another innocent tree. “…You want to be stronger, I understand that. But you’re irritated that I have refused to train with you.” He spoke quietly “That irritation went away when that tree fell” Qrow commented as he pointed at the former tree. “It’s for the better I don’t train with you.”

“And how’s that?” He could practically hear the eyebrow raise. Fuck he hated how well he knew Ozpin sometimes, just to know small things like that made things difficult. Qrow swallowed down a smartass comment and responded “Independency. You, are a busy man, and you don’t have time to constantly be cleaning up after my messes and mistakes. To constantly be taking care of me.”

He attempted to swing into the poor tree again but his arm was grabbed. Ow, that’s right, he’s injured, he almost forgot about the fact that the grimm had given him a new set of possible scars from the fight he had what seemed to be hours ago. Finally, for the first time throughout their conversation, he looked at Ozpin.

He didn’t look angry. He looked……sad? Concerned? Whatever the hell it was, it sure wasn’t anger. Qrow felt a pang of guilt shoot through him at Oz’s expression. He was feeling that way because of him.

Ozpin stared at him for a moment before speaking in his ever so iconic atlesian accent, “When did I ever say that? When did I ever tell you that I didn’t have time for you, that I didn’t want to take care of you? And where is this “independency” thing coming from? Qrow, you are already independent. You took care of yourself when you lived with your biological family, you looked out for yourself in prison, you did your best to make sure you got what you needed as a young adult, you fight alone, and you live alone. How much more independency do you think you need?”

Qrow thought for a moment before answered Oz’s final question, “I need the independency to not rely on those that I care about” he mumbled.

“No. You are not relying on me. Relying is what Oscar is doing, needing me to get him food, clothes, and a shelter, because he is not capable of doing that himself. You are capable of doing that yourself and you have.”

“This isn’t independency. This is isolation. And you know just as well as I do, that I know my fair share of isolation.” Ozpin spoke quietly, almost as if to not scare or anger Qrow anymore than he already was. Qrow didn’t even have the heart or nerve to respond, he always could never see the different between the two. The two were different words for the same thing in his mind. But he was too exhausted to argue, and it seemed the physical toll of what he did today was quickly catching up with him, as he couldn’t even keep the physical form of his scythe. It had faded away minutes ago.

Qrow once again avoided eye contact with Oz, which seemed to only worry the taller man even more. Ozpin very gently picked Qrow up, Qrow, being too tired to even be surprised at the action. “Let’s get you home and patched up, love.”

Qrow sat on the onyx colored velvet couch, taking note of how pricy it might’ve been due to the quality of the material. He also took note of Ozpin’s hands and the feeling of medication and bandages against his body. They had arrived about an hour ago at the Pine home, although the bubbly orange specter that was normally floating around was nowhere to be seen.

Qrow vaguely remembered his partner mentioning something about Glynda babysitting him, but had been too focused on Oz’s hands to hear the details. He always had a thing for Oz’s hands, how could you not? It was one of his most defining characteristics if you had a close relationship with him.

But it was less what they looked like, although they looked incredibly stunning, and more what they felt like. They were massive, similarly to Oz’s size, but they were gentle, rough but soft. They were well worn from years of being in undesirable situations and hard work. It always fascinated Qrow that he could hold something as fragile as a glass vase with such precision and care but also use something with such weight and force like long memory.

He could probably stare at him doing anything with his hands for hours if Oz would let him. But here he was, sitting on a velvet couch, with his back being carefully and meticulously patched up.

Luckily this was it before he could finally lay down and relax a little, he had plenty of time beforehand to admire Ozpin as his arms, legs, and face were patched up. Although his face was probably the hardest for Qrow due to how close Ozpin was to him at that point. It seemed easy for Ozpin though, he was too focused to notice Qrow’s expression or face heating up.

A voice shot through his thoughts “There we are, all finished love.” Qrow turned around and saw Ozpin smile. “Now then, I will be right back love, I am going to go change and grab us some blankets and a pillow.” He spoke before he gracefully left the room. Qrow rubbed the bridge of his nose, out of physical exhaustion, and emotional exhaustion.

God what a day. And fucking hell he was smitten with Ozpin. It’s a good thing they’re dating. Qrow carefully laid down on the velvet couch and thought about the events of the day, yeah, it had been a shitty day. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep before I could even give you something comfortable to lay on.” Ozpin huffed, heh, Qrow could hear the hands on his hips in that comment. He chuckled before opening an eye, low and behold, he did have a hand on his hip.

“Nah, just waiting.” Qrow smiled tiredly, “You gonna give me a pillow and a blanket so I can sleep? Or are ya just gonna stand there?” Ozpin tapped a finger to his chin and feigned thoughtfulness, “Actually, I had a better idea. Although you’ll have to sit up little bird.”, Qrow groaned at the command, he was already sore, c’mon “Fiiiiiine.” “Oh hush, you won’t be complaining when I show you what it is I’m talking about.” Ozpin shot back as he sat cross legged on the couch.

He placed the pillow he had grabbed in his lap and guided Qrow into laying down “So?” “You already know the answer smartass.” “I like it better when you say it.” “Fine, yes, this is better.” “Good!”

They sat there for a moment, silent. Qrow had closed his eyes and was already partially asleep when he heard Ozpin start singing a little bit. He opened his eyes and looked at Oz, who peered back at him with golden eyes.

Wait.

Golden eyes?

“Ah…..sorry love, I didn’t—“ Ozpin began to stutter out an apology before Qrow cut him off “I didn’t say stop, I just looked at you. Also, are you staring at me?” He mumbled the last part.

“….yes.” Ozpin mumbled back, “just how much do you love me?” He questioned, Ozpin raised an eyebrow “Why ask love?”. Right, Oz never really knew when his eyes changed colors. “Your eyes are gold right now…”

The revelation made Ozpin’s face heat up “O-oh… well, I love you more than enough if my eyes are doing that.” He laughed. Qrow thought for a moment as he stared at Oz, Ozpin tilted his head curiously, “What are you thinking about love?” Qrow shrugged “just about the fact that I know how much you love me, but you don’t know how much I love you. Sorta wish my eyes did the same.”

“Well, I am sure you love me just as much if not more.” Ozpin leaned down and kissed the others forehead. Ozpin proceeded to start singing gently again, to which Qrow closed his eyes at. Eventually, Qrow had been lulled to sleep and was snoring gently.

Ozpin himself was growing sleepy at the sight, but looking down at the shorter man with admiration and concern. He sighed gently to himself.

“What am I going to do with you love?”

#necromancer ozpin #necromancer qrow #cloqwork #ozqrow #headmaster ozpin #ozpin #professor ozpin #qrow branwen

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years ago

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/clementine/part 2: Ashton Irwin

Here is part 2! Thank you all for the love and kind words on part one of /clementine! Left it open ended, thinking of making this a series of dad!ashton so let me know if you’d like me to continue!🥰🧡

Read part one here

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, morning sex

Masterlist

• • • •

A few weeks have passed, and their garden grew with more flowers, a two-person double hanging egg swing chair, and three new koi friends in the pond that she rightfully named Felix, Oscar and Patricia.

“Patricia?” Ashton asked scrunching his nose when the fish were delivered.

“Yes, Patricia, it’s the perfect name for her,” she responded with an indignant pout. “Did you know koi fish represent good luck, abundance and perseverance?”

“I didn’t,” he shook his head and watched her happily as she twiddled her fingers in the water. The fish swam up to her fingers out of curiosity, one of them (Ashton can’t remember the name) kissed her finger and she giggled. “Which one was that?”

“Felix. He’s going to be the fun one, I can tell.”

Every day since they received the fish, she’s been out in the garden for hours watching them and recording videos of them swimming. While he was working on some more music or video chatting with the guys she’d send him a snapchat with one of the fish peering up at him.

Patricia misses you, come say hi.

“Sorry guys, I gotta head outside. Patricia misses me,” Ashton tells the guys with a dramatic sigh.

“Who’s Patricia?” Luke asks stopping his guitar playing.

“One of his fish,” Michael chortles cuddling his face into Moose’s neck.

“Is Patricia really a fish?” Calum clarifies.

“Yes, Patricia is a fish. As is Felix and Oscar that Y/N so rightfully named them.”

“Oh, well good. I was gonna come over there and kick your ass if you were two timing Y/N,” Calum defends in her honor. The other three join in on laughter. As if Ashton would ever think of cheating on her, the notion of it was ridiculous.

“I would never,” Ashton shakes his head solemnly.

“Well, I guess your lady and fish need you,” Luke says picking back up on the song he was playing.

“They’re more her fish than mine.”

“Nah, they’re both of yours. Don’t kill them like your damn lemon tree,” Calum reminds him with a shake of his head.

“Fuckin’ lemon tree,” Ashton mutters then gets another message from her that’s just a string of fish emojis. “All right, I’ll talk to you later.”

He exits the video call then heads outside to the flower oasis where he spots her sitting on the swing leaning over her legs so she can peer at the pond. Ashton added another small pond with sand around the edges and it had lily pads floating on the water’s surface. He joins her on the swing, his hand finding homage to the center of her back while hers rests on his leg.

“See! She missed you, look,” she points to Patricia (the golden yellow one) is swimming away from the edge of the pond.

“She’s swimming away!” Ashton laughs rubbing her back affectionately.

“She poked her head to the surface when you came, you just didn’t see. Right Patty? How was the call?” she leans back in the chair folding her legs beneath her. Ashton pushes his feet on the stones so the swing moves.

“Good, good. We were actually talking about getting together for Halloween at Michael’s. Just something small.”

“That’ll be fun,” she sighs resting her head on his shoulder then lets out a big yawn.

“You’re still pretty tired, huh?” he asks in mild concern. Since putting the flower oasis together, she’s been more sleepy than normal, and he’s worried she might be getting sick. Did he overwork her? Was she still in that murky space of being neither here nor there?

“Yeah, but I’m not getting sick, I promise. I usually get a sore throat if that happens. I should be getting my period soon so that could be why.”

“Still, let’s get you some vitamins and orange juice,” he kisses the top of her head.

“Yes, doctor.”

She wakes up to a mug of steaming coffee next to her side of the bed and Ashton playing guitar outside carries into their room through the cracked window. It’s a clear, sunny day and while she stretches her chest and lower belly ache at the pull. Thinking nothing of it, she grabs her cup and heads outside to join Ashton on the swing.

“Morning my pretties,” she says to the koi fish who splash excitedly at the surface. She turns to Ashton and smiles, “Morning my other pretty.”

“Good morning sleepy girl,” he smiles shifting a little to the left so she can fit in the space next to him. “How are we feeling today?”

“Well rested.”

“Yeah?” he raises his eyebrows as he plucks at the chords.

“Mhm,” she hums sipping at her coffee.

“So, you won’t be asleep on the couch in about an hour and a half?”

“Nope.”

After breakfast she was fast asleep on the couch and Ashton couldn’t help but laugh at his prediction being accurate. He feels something nagging at him in the back of his mind that something is going on with her. The Halloween party at Michael’s is this Friday and she’s been so lethargic for almost a month now. She swears she feels fine and says her body clock must be off or this is her body’s way of catching up on sleep she’s missed.

Ashton thinks it’s neither because they haven’t been anywhere apart from the grocery store and a restaurant here and there. Last week they went to the costume store to pick up their matching ringmaster outfits (The Greatest Showman was on repeat for a straight week) and she yawned throughout the whole shopping process. Then, she was snoozing on the drive home.

“It’s creepy to watch someone sleep,” she mumbles but her eyes are still closed.

“If you’re talking to me then you’re not asleep.”

“I felt your eyes and it woke me up,” she frowns then pats the back of the couch cushions. “Come sleep with me.”

“I already slept last night,” he laughs, “like normal people do. Are you turning into a vampire or something where you sleep during the day?”

“Come here and I’ll bite you,” she smiles peeking at him through one of her eyes.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” he situates himself behind her, his arms and legs pulling her against his body. She drags his hand to her mouth biting into the side of his hand. “Ow! Hey!”

“Told you I’d bite you,” she sighs snuggling into his chest. “Watch the show and I’ll sleep.”

“Are you sure you’re--?”

“I’m fine. No sore throat and no fever. Just sleepy.”

“I heard mono starts out like this…”

“It does and I had it when I was eighteen. I’m still eating so my appetite hasn’t disappeared. Who have you kissed that you think I’d get mono?” her tone turns sharp, but he knows she’s teasing.

“You know what I mean,” he nibbles at her earlobe and she squeals.

“It’s not mono or the flu or the bubonic plague. I’m just sleepy for some reason. Now shush, let me sleep or I’ll get cranky.”

He falls silent but his mind is still whirring trying to figure out what could be wrong with her. It’s not normal to be this tired and sleep all the time, is it? Is there some kind of sleep disorder that was onset somehow? Is she becoming narcoleptic?

Eventually, his 0-100 reeling thoughts make him tired and he joins her in a long nap on the couch. The next time he opens his eyes the sky is a dusty pink; his mouth is stale, and his joints are sore from laying in the same position. He feels something tickling his forearm, so he opens his eyes to see her finger circling over one of his moons.

“Are you awake now?” she asks softly.

“Yup,” he groans as he stretches his limbs and pulls her tighter against him. “You’re too comfy and your sleepiness is catching.”

“Welcome to the dark side,” she kisses inside the crook of his elbow. “I’m hungry, can we order pizza for dinner?”

“Sure angel, anything you want.”

She wakes up to two things: one of them being Ashton’s finger tickling designs up and down her thigh and the other being an insatiable desire for him. To be close to him, feel his breath on her skin and his fingers on her body.

She rolls over planting herself on top of him and presses her lips to his in a needy kiss.

“Well, good morning,” he groans when she rubs his morning wood with her hand. His own hands slip under his tank top she’s wearing to grasp at her breasts.

She moans at the contact, sucking on his lower lip and grinds herself on top of him. His thumbs and forefingers pinch her nipples and she lets out a gasp not usually feeling stimulated that way. Normally it’s his suckling and scrape of his teeth that get her aroused, she squeezes his shaft in reaction and Ashton huffs.

He removes his hands from her breasts to hook his fingers beneath her underwear.

“Get this off,” he sighs. She lifts her hips yanking the material down her legs then yelps in pleasure at his finger slipping between her folds. “Did you wake up this wet, pretty one?”

He holds her chin carefully with his fingers, loving the way her mouth opens in a small ‘o’ as he teases her lips but his actions make her retaliate by slipping her own hand below his boxers to circle her thumb over his tip. Ashton’s mouth falls open as well, their bodies curving into one another to feel more of each other’s touch.

“Ash…” she whines trying to tug off his own underwear.

It’s not normal for them to have morning sex, she’s self-conscious about her breath and bed head regardless of how many times Ashton tells her she’s perfect, he feels himself leak at the thought of slipping inside her now. They work together to get his boxers off and she holds herself up with one hand while the other gripped his warm, hard cock and nudged it between her folds.

She pushes herself down on him, his tip prodding against her opening, her slick acting as lubricant. She bites her lip in concentration as she pulls him into her the same time she pushes on.

“I got it, baby,” his hand replaces hers and he rubs his tip up and down her opening, gathering more of her arousal.

A small moan erupts from her as he coaxes himself inside her warm walls. It takes a few tries since they haven’t done foreplay but when he slips all the way in the moan she makes is sinfully delicious. She lowers herself the rest of the way, arching her back as she does and Ashton groans as he molds with her body.

She’s warm and snug around him as she rocks on top of him, her fingers twisting into his hair while his grip her ass and waist. He lifts his head the same moment she lowers hers, their tongues mingling together desperately.

Her hips dip and rotate as she rides him, Ashton’s hands guiding her movements as their kiss deepens. Starting at a steady rhythm to only increase his momentum with each thrust, her moans escaping into his mouth.

“Just like that, baby,” he praises on her lips, their hips smacking together.

“Right there,” she mewls breathlessly, their bodies rocking faster.

It’s intimate and sensual the way they’re making love, he needs her closer with each squeeze and roll of her body and she wants to feel every part of him. Their movements become jerky as they chase their release. He feels her clench around him, and he knows as her moans increase in volume that she’s close, that he’s making her feel good.

Ashton slides his legs up, so she’s angled as he fucks into her quickly, his hips snapping in quick succession against hers. She gasps as she comes on top of him loving how deep he is inside her. He transitions his hands to her face, holding her head so he can kiss her, his thrusts changing from quick snaps to a rolling pump so she can catch her breath.

“Have some more for me?” he mutters, fingers knotting in her hair. She nods and his long pulls shift to quick snaps yet again. Her hips meet his, her moans are louder than before and her pussy pulses around him in bursts.

This position, along with doggy style, makes her have multiple orgasms because he hits the perfect spot each time. She’s met with wave after wave of pleasure that rolls into one another, each one greater than the last. She peeks at him through half-lidded eyes and Ashton’s self-control falters.

Any time she makes eye contact while they have sex takes him to another level entirely. And now, seeing her in the morning sun, her face glowing and flushed has him reeling.

His strong arms hug her tight to his body as he fucks her relentlessly, her mouth sucking on his neck in his sweet spot. He’s giving her all he’s got, his body exerting his never-ending love and desire for her makes the bed rock.

“Mmm…come for me, babe,” she whines.

The sound of command in her voice has him stop mid-thrust as he reaches his climax, the lower half of his body suspended up in the air. She clenches with each release he gives her; his grunts tickle her toes as she’s filled with his warmth.

When he’s finished, he slowly lowers himself back onto the bed and she collapses on top of him so they can catch their breath. Their bodies are sticky, breaths hot on each other’s necks and she stamps kisses to his bare shoulder. His fingers move over the bumps of her spine that are sheened with a light layer of sweat. The tank top is damp and with a huff she rises off him to tug it off.

“Made me too hot,” she grumbles settling back on his chest.

“You are too hot,” he grins, and she rolls her eyes and attempts to lift her hips so he can pull out of her.

“Wait, wait,” he stills her movement by gripping her waist. His hands are hot on her skin and it makes her body shiver in the best way. With a groan he rolls over so he’s on top of her and still inside of her. The cool air on his sweaty back feels wonderful and the sight of her naked and pleasured in front of him is a sight for sore eyes. “Fuck, look at you.”

He cups her cheek and pulls a kiss from her, their bodies warm and electric in a post-sex haze.

“Why’d you flip us over?”

“So when I pulled out we wouldn’t make a mess,” he grins cheekily. Holding himself up he pulls out of her slowly but his release dribbles out onto the sheets anyway. “Ah fuck, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

She joins his giggles at his attempt of a no-clean-mess, then admires the way his necklaces dangle and his dark curls cling and frame to his face. There are small bite marks on his neck from her mouth and his chest shines from the sweat.

“Remind me why I don’t like morning sex?” she cocks her head to side as her eyes devour him once more. His body is glorious, and she feels like she has to pinch herself in reminder that he’s real every time she looks at him.

He slips off the bed to retrieve a towel from the bathroom, her eyes zero in on his bare ass as he walks away from her. When he returns he wipes at the inside of her thighs then folds the towel in half and places it beneath her hips to catch whatever else leaks out. Ashton lays next to her resting his palm on her stomach.

“Because you’re crazy in thinking I’ll be disgusted by your morning breath,” he rolls his eyes and pokes her nose.

“Oh…so how was it?”

“You really have to ask? That was one of the best sex experiences we’ve had.”

“No! I meant my morning breath!”

“Oh…it was tolerable,” he shrugs then busts out a loud laugh at the expression on her face. “I’m kidding! Your breath doesn’t smell, so please, if you ever want to have morning sex again don’t hesitate.”

For the rest of the week they started their days by having sex as soon as she woke up. She pulled him from his slumber in very intricate ways. She was still pretty sleepy throughout the day, but she was only napping once a day now instead of three times. When Halloween finally arrived and they were dressed for Michael’s Halloween party, Ashton couldn’t keep his eyes off her in her costume.

The ruffles of her skirt stopped at the perfect spot on her thighs and the corset she had on made him groan at the sight. Her lips were painted a desirable red and he reminded himself he had to behave while they were around their friends.

Upon their arrival they were ushered to the Halloween back drop to have their photos taken then she was whisked away from his arms by the girls for another slew of photos. The night is filled with good laughter and fun until Ashton saw Y/N sprint off towards the bathroom.

He follows her quickly and arrives in the bathroom just in time as she kneels over it. He holds her hair as he crouches next to her waiting for her to be finished. She doesn’t drink often but when she does she always has a good handle on what her limit is and stops before she has a chance to get sick.

He tears off a wad of toilet paper and wipes her mouth when she slumps against him, her black heels scraping against the tiled floor.

“One too many shots?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

“I haven’t had any alcohol,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from throwing up. “I don’t think the mini corn dogs agreed with me.” Her face twisted in disgust at the mention of the food, Ashton tilted her head up so he could look at her.

Her eyes aren’t glossy and completely focused on him.

“You haven’t drunk anything?”

“I had some 7up but that’s it, I wasn’t feeling that well on the way here and alcohol didn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“Because I was excited to see everyone and I thought it would pass,” she clears her throat then winces.

“How do you feel now?” he caresses her forehead, but she doesn’t feel feverish.

“Better now that I threw up,” she chuckles.

“Do you think you’ll be sick again?”

She sits up a little straighter then pushes herself off the floor. Ashton helps her stand, keeping a steady hold on her arms in case she’s wobbly but she’s sturdy enough.

“I don’t think so,” she rubs her stomach then looks up at him. She smooths his concern from his eyebrows smiling softly. “I’m fine now, I promise.”

“Maybe we should go home, let you rest—”

“No, we’ll stay until Luke will inevitably pass out on the kitchen floor. Let me rinse my mouth and I’ll meet you back out there.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” he stresses his concern for her well-being.

“I’m positive.” She takes his hands in hers.

“And you’ll tell me if you’re not feeling well and we’ll go home?”

“Yes.”

Ashton looks her over one more time, as if there will be a sign of an illness but she looks perfect in her get up aside from the pale in her face from getting sick. He sighs then brings her hands to his lips, kissing them. “Fine. I’ll be downstairs waiting.”

Ashton’s brainstorming all the possibilities of what’s going on with Y/N when he returns to the party. While he’s thinking of illnesses Y/N’s counting days in her head over and over as she gargles the mouthwash. It isn’t until she spits into the sink and stares at her reflection that she knows what’s going on with her.

Ashton had some errands to run and started rattling off all that he bought to Y/N while he pulled the items from the bags. He gives her a quick kiss while he continues, completely oblivious to how distracted she is and her constant glance towards the backyard.

“What’d you do today?” he asks when he’s finished his story.

“Uh, I decorated a little in the flower garden. Can I show you?”

“Sure, let’s go,” he smiles then follows her outside.

She steps carefully on the stones and sits on the swinging chair waiting for Ashton to approach. His eyes scan over the space, taking in the multitudes of colorful flowers then he stops on the fishpond. Felix, Oscar and Patricia are swimming lazily in a circle with a small orange rose floating in the center. He doesn’t really notice what she’s decorated then stops short when he’s at the middle of the path.

On top of the rocks where the water bubbles down are four white ceramic vases filled with orange and white baby’s breath and a light green ribbon tied around the neck. Each vase is perched on its own rock and Ashton loves the simplicity of the arrangement she’s done.

“They’re beautiful, angel,” he compliments.

“Did you see what’s on the vases?”

Below the ribbons on each vase is a letter painted in black. Ashton’s eyes scan over each one about five times before he gasps, his eyes widening as he looks at her. The vases spell out ‘baby.’

“You’re pregnant?” he rushes towards her falling in the space next to her on the swing, his hand flying to her stomach.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers nervously.

He lets out a ‘whoop’ of excitement jumping up from the swing so he can peer at the vases again. Then he lifts her in his arms spinning her around in joy.

“Careful! I’m feeling a little nauseous today,” she laughs, and he sets her down on her feet. He kisses her. “Are you happy?”

“Of course, I’m happy! When did you find out? How far are you? Do we need to go to the doctor?” he fires off, his hazel eyes alight.

“I found out after Halloween and I think I’m three months…since it’s December. I made an appointment for next week already,” she answers all of his questions. “That’s why I’ve been so tired, and sex crazed.”

“So, you aren’t sick, thank God. Instead you’re pregnant!” he kisses her feverishly again, his hand hovers over her stomach and he kneels once more. “There’s a baby in there,” he murmurs pressing a kiss to her lower belly. “Hi baby love, I’m so excited to meet you.”

She pulls him back to his feet so she can kiss him. All her worries and nerves float away in the wind because he wants this just as much as she does.

• • • •

Taglist: @galcalirwin @cashtonasff5sos @thecurlsofgod @myloverboyash @rotten-kandy @tea4sykes @jannimoeller3 @loveroflrh @iovehemmings @cxddlyash @princesslrh @here-for-the-uproars @katiaw2 @g-l-pierce @fairyintheglass @gosh-im-short @banditocth @dezzym17 @koalacal @lukeisbaby @spicycal @mysticalhood @notinthesameguey @wastedheartcth @atlcalm @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @babylon-corgis @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @lanternlover2 @istaywithmyjonas @calteahood @sarcastically-defensive17 @another-lonely-heart @devilatmydoor @frontmanash @philthepegacorn @mantlereid @lukedorkyhemmings @addietagglikesbands @kikixfandoms @sanrioluke @mayve-hems @morguelth @haikucal @thatscooibaby @meghanrose05 @idontneedanyone @dinosaursandsocks @haveufoundwhaturlooking4 @suchalonelysunflower @burstintocolor @zhangyixingxing1 @dead-and-golden @mymindwide @everyscarisahealingplace @stardust-galaxies @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @lovelybonesetc @karajaynetoday @quasighost @i-like-5sos @creampiecashton

#ashton iriwn fic #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin smut #ashton fluff #ashton smut #dad!ashton #dad!sos #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin one shot #ashton one shot #ashton 5sos #ashton 5sos writing #5sos writing

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dragonknightofsummerset · 4 years ago

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OTP Ask Game with Hayden and my mc, Amara Park

Tagging: @lizzybeth1986 @sazanes @thequeenchoices @cassiopeiacorvus @la-huerta @jaxsmutsuo (you don’t have to do it though) Not every question has to be answered but I plan on answering as many as I can.

Thought this would be fun for the 29th, Romance (and HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAYDEN!!) @haydenyoungappreciationweek

Disagreements:

Who’s more likely to raise their voice?

· Hayden has only raised her voice after her repressed feelings came out all at once. Otherwise, both Hayden and Amara only raise their voices when playing board/video games.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?

· Neither, they’re both there for each other through thick and thin

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?

· Neither

Who trashes the house?

· Again, neither

How often do they disagree/argue?

· Usually only on small things, like food. Amara likes pineapple on pizza and Hayden wonders how she can eat that. (this does not make them immune to arguments over serious topics but they usually talk things out)

Who apologizes first?

· If they argue or have a huge disagreement, they usually find each other and end up apologizing at the same time.

Sex:

Who is on top/bottom?

· It depends

Who has the strangest desires?

· Neither really

Who is dominant in bed?

· They take turns

Is head ever in the question?

· yea

If so, who is better at performing it?

· both

Ever had sex in public?

· Umm if you count the scene at the end of book 1 under the bridge…otherwise no

Who is more experienced of the two?

· I’d say they’re equally experienced

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?

· make love

How long do they usually last?

· normal amount

Rough or soft?

· soft

Is protection used?

Does it get boring?

· no

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?

· Probably under the bridge (if it counts) or in the backstage/dressing room of the opera house

Where did they not have sex?

· Usually not public places

Does it ever get boring?

· no

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/or have children?

· They’ve had long discussions about it and eventually agreed on adoption.

If so how many?

· Depends, if there are siblings they’d take them all in, otherwise they’d settle for two

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle?

· Both! Hayden likes it more though

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate places?

· Amara, Hayden scolds her but won’t discourage it if only adults are around

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

· A few hours, Amara can’t sit still for long. However, they can hold each other all night

What is their favorite non-sexual activity?

· They like going to philosophy lectures. Hayden enjoys the discussions and Amara loves to see her light up. Also, Amara enjoys her language lessons with Hayden. (Hayden’s teaching her Spanish since Damien did not have the patience to teach Amara)

Where is their favorite place to cuddle?

· The bed mostly but the couch works fine for movie nights

SLEEPING

Who snores?

· Amara snores lightly but it’s a comfort to Hayden

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?

· They share, it helps with Hayden’s nightmares, plus they’re together

What do they wear to bed?

· Amara sleeps in shorts and a tank top, Hayden used to sleep in pajama sets but now likes to sleep in Amara’s oversized college shirts and hoodies

Are either of them insomniacs

· Nope

Do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

· Cozy up together, Hayden is big on cuddling

Can sleeping pills be found by the bed?

· no

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

· Hayden usually holds Amara, or they fall asleep holding hands

Who wakes up with bed hair?

· Both but Hayden has an easier time fixing her hair

Who wakes up first?

· Amara, but she wakes Hayden up instantly so they can make breakfast together

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

· Technically neither since they like to cook together

What is their favorite sleeping position?

· Facing each other

Do they set an alarm each night?

· Nope, Amara always wakes up around the same time every morning

Who has nightmares?

· Hayden, they become less frequent as the years pass though

Can a television be found in their room?

· No, only in the living room

Who has ridiculous dreams?

· Amara, and Hayden loves to hear all about them

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

· Although they usually cuddle, Amara is the one that moves around the most. It doesn’t bother Hayden; and eventually her body moves on its own to accommodate Amara

Who makes the bed?

· They take turns

What time is bedtime?

· Depends on their plans but usually after midnight

Nighttime rituals?

· Discussing their day with each other, especially if they were apart for most of it. Also good night kisses

Who is the grumpiest when they wake up?

· Hayden, only because Amara always wakes her up instead of letting her wake up at her own leisure

WORK

Who is the busiest?

· I’d say Hayden for a while since she would be trying to figure out what she wants to do

What are their jobs?

· Amara works an everyday office job up until they adopt kids, then she gives her full time and attention to her family. Hayden tries out a few things from photographer, to professor before settling on architecture. She wants to leave her mark on the world.

Who takes in the highest income?

· Hayden

Are any of them unemployed?

· Amara, but only after they adopt

Who takes the most sick days?

· When they both had jobs, Amara. She didn’t really like her job to begin with.

Who sucks up to their boss?

· Neither of them

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?

· Again, Amara, but she didn’t make a habit out of it

Who stresses the most?

· Depends on the situation but usually Hayden because she wants to make sure she’s doing things right or that they come out good if not perfect

Do they enjoy their occupations?

· Hayden loves her job, especially since her first real project was designing a home for her and Amara

HOME

Who does the washing?

· They take turns

Who takes out the trash?

· Neither of them like to do it and will play a game to determine who takes it out

Who does the ironing?

· Hayden does. One time Amara set a shirt on fire, Hayden won’t let her near the iron since.

Who does the cooking?

· They like to cook together

Who’s more likely to burn the house down while trying?

· You would think Amara but neither of them

Who is messier?

· Neither really, they like keeping the place clean, although it becomes harder when their family grows

Who leaves dirty clothes on the floor?

· Sometimes Amara, but only if she’s in a hurry. She cleans it up as soon as she’s not busy anymore though

Who leaves the toilet paper roll empty?

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

· They don’t get a car until they adopt, and even then, Hayden has good memory

Who answers the telephone?

· No landline

Who mows the lawn?

· When they get a house, Hayden

Who does the vacuuming?

· Amara

Who does groceries?

· Both of them

Who takes the longest to shower?

· They take about the same amount

Who spends the longest in the bathroom?

· Amara sometimes

MISC.

Is money a problem?

· No

How many cars do they own?

· One suv after they adopt

What’s their song?

· Solo un Suspiro - Oscar Cruz y Alejandra Orozco

Do they live in the city or the country?

· City but then they move to the suburbs

Do they own their home or rent?

· At firs they rent, then buy plot when they start talking about having a family (this is when Hayden begins to design their home)

Do they enjoy their surroundings?

· Yes, Hayden thrived in the city but finds that she also enjoys the calm of the suburbs

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

· They text each other. Amara likes to send memes, and when they have kids, pictures of them

Where did they meet for the first time?

· At Amara’s apartment thanks to Eros

Who spends the most money when out shopping?

· They’re both good at only buying what they need. However, Hayden spoils their children much to Amara’s chagrin. (Sometimes Hayden catches Amara giving them extra snacks or desserts though, so they’re even)

Who’s more likely to flash their assets?

Any mental health issues?

· Lingering trauma for Hayden

Who finds it most amusing when the other trips over?

· Amara, although it’s rare for Hayden to trip.

Who’s terrified of bugs?

· Neither, but Amara appreciates when Hayden takes care of them

Who kills the spiders around the house?

· They catch them and release them instead, although Amara’s first instinct is to kill them still

Do they have any fears for the future?

· Hayden is terrified of outliving all her loved ones, but she always talks to Amara about it when the thoughts consume her.

Their favorite place?

· Their home, after being on the run they like having a place that is theirs

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

· Hayden

Who pays the bills?

· Hayden does by the time they have a family, but sometimes Amara finds side gigs to cover personal expenses

Who’s the tallest?

· Hayden is 5’7” and Amara is 5’5”

Who’s more likely to randomly hop in the shower w the other?

· They both do it

Who wanders around in their underwear?

· Neither of them

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

· Amara, which Hayden finds adorable since she is tone deaf

What do they tease each other about?

· Amara can’t stop herself from making puns which Hayden teases her about

Who’s more likely to cringe at the others fashion sense?

· Neither of them, Amara is very supportive of Hayden’s experimental fashion

Who crushed first?

· I’d say they fell for each other at the same time

Any alcohol or substance problems?

· No

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3 am?

· Neither of them

Who swears most?

· Amara, without a doubt. Sloane berates her when Hayden starts swearing more often

#haydenyoungappreciationweek #HYAW #hayden young #hayden x mc #perfect match #feel free to tag others participating!!#i thought this would be a good way to learn more about the dynamic/romance between Hayden and MC #lmk if a blank template is needed #i can share one on my sideblog for a bit #but i didnt come up with these questions fyi

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trashinaglass-archive · 5 years ago

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Movie Star

Y/n is sick of Tom thinking he’s the shit

Request: Hi can I request kinda an angsty imagine kinda based on when Tom said was talking about his dad and acting like a “movie star”, and basically he says something really pretentious to the reader about how important he is and he is taking the fame to his head, and she gets upset and he realizes he messed up. Thank you loads :)

A/n: I’m here for the angst. I hope it’s good bc this is a good concept

Tom was the best boyfriend you could’ve ever asked for. Kind, loving, understanding, and grounded- the latter being the most important to you. You felt the responsibility of keeping him grounded laid on you; you were the one he cared about most. The opinion he cared about the most.

You didn’t really worry with a few comments he made- he was hardworking in a career that didn’t allow him much privacy. Of course he’d get angry from time to time, act like an asshole every now and then, but it was when it turned from mean comments toward others to praiseful comments toward himself than you began to get really worried about him.

“I just want a girlfriend. I’m tired of being single,” Sam groaned as you and the brothers were sat in a bar.

“Look, bro- all we need is for someone to recognize me, and you’re golden,” Tom suggested.

You raised an eyebrow at the comment, “or you can be yourself and find a girl that likes you for who you are.”

“I’m just saying, I’m kind of a big deal,” he said, shrugging his shoulders making you roll your eyes.

“Calm down, movie star,” you told him, the word rolling off your tongue with disgust. Tom immediately shut down, sipping his beer quietly as you continued to talk to Sam.

Hearing the words come out of his mouth pissed you off endlessly. You wanted nothing more than for him to create something he’s proud of, to feel proud of himself, but you needed him to be humble about it as well. You were sure that he had brought himself back, no ridiculous comments to follow for a while, but lo and behold, amidst the recent film reviews, he found himself excited again.

You were currently driving home after a long meeting in London, answering the phone when Tom called.

“Hey, gorg,” you answered.

“Hey- how long are you going to be before you get back?” He asked, sounding excited about something.

“Um,” you said softly, glancing at the clock. “25 maybe? If traffic stays good. What’s up?”

“I was out today, shopping with Harrison and Tuwaine, and I saw something that I think you’ll really love,” he told you.

You let out a sigh hearing his words. “Tom, as much as I love you and your gifts, it’s getting to be a bit much,” you tried to break it to him gently. He’d ‘been out shopping and gotten something for you’ just about every day for a week and a half now. Maybe it would be okay if they were simple five dollar gifts, but they cost hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars. You never were the one to tell people how they should spend their money, but it was getting to be crazy.

“What do you mean?”

“Tom, you’re spending way to much money on gifts for me. I don’t need a new piece of jewelry every day,” you explained to him. “I appreciate that you think of me like that, but don’t waste your money on these gifts for me when you could use it for so many other things.”

“You’re not even going to ask what it is?” He replied, his voice sounding hurt or angry.

“No because I’m scared of what you’d tell me. For all I know it’ll be £10,000, and I can’t even fathom you spending that on me.” The line went quiet as the words came out of your mouth. The silence making your heart sink. “Tom, tell me you didn’t spend ten grand on a piece of jewelry.”

More silence, making your heart sink even further. “No,” he said quietly, causing your suspicion rise.

“How much did it cost?” You asked him, wanting to know the final verdict.

“Love, it’s not the price that matters,” he tried to reason.

“No, tell me, Tom. Stop fucking stalling.”

He let out a breath, knowing you were going to be upset, “thirty-five.”

“Grand?” You asked for confirmation, your jaw dropping. Tom let out a quiet ‘mhm’ to answer that your fear was indeed correct. “Thomas Stanley-“

“Y/n, it’s fine! I wouldn’t be buying you things if I couldn’t afford it,” he defended himself. Part of him wanted to be mad that you weren’t jumping for joy, but the other part of him just wanted you to understand it isn’t hurting him financially. “I’m fucking Spider-Man- I get paid more in a day than normal people get in an entire year. I have so much money, I could buy you the entire city if you wanted it. Have you seen the expensive fucking suits I’ve been wearing? The watches? I’m not broke- buying that £35,000 bracelet was nothing to me. I’m probably the richest person in Kingston right now, you ought to be happy about that.”

You bit your lip, not believing what he’d actually said. “No one gives a shit how much money you make, movie star. I sure as hell don’t, fucking dick.” You could hear Tom yell out as you hung up the phone, turning it off and throwing it in the floorboard of your car. You pulled the car off the side of the road, placing your head on the steering wheel and letting out a good, long cry.

You don’t know what happened to your sweet boyfriend, the one that wasn’t obsessed with money, but you wanted him back dearly. You weren’t sure what was going on in Tom’s thick skull, but you were certain. If he couldn’t get his act together, you weren’t going to stick around for it. You didn’t sign up for any of that.

Once your eyes dried, you started the car again and continued on your route home- going to your place rather than Tom’s like you two had originally planned. Sleeping and being by yourself was all you wanted at the moment.

When you woke up, you found yourself in your cold living room early in the morning. You decided to check your mailbox since you didn’t yesterday, finding a particularly heavy envelope, and hurried inside to open it.

Inside lay the bracelet, a receipt, and a note from Tom. It was a pretty bracelet, you had to admit. With diamonds surrounding the outside of it. It definitely was your taste in jewelry, but not £35k worth.

I wanted to say this all in person, but knowing you, I probably won’t see you in person for a while. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for being a dick. I’m sorry for being a ‘movie star’ and properly acting like one. I don’t mean to be obsessed with how much I get paid. I plan on working to keep myself grounded. I feel like you constantly do so much for me, I need you to know just how much I love you for it. I guess buying gifts is my love language, but you’re right. I’ll try to do better on what I get you and how much I spend.

As you’ve probably seen, I left the receipt in this envelope along with the bracelet. Keep it if you like, but I figure you’d want to return it. Do whatever you want with the money, you’re obviously the more responsible one and know how to handle it. I love you so much, y/n. I would trade all the money in the world for you to be happy. Nothing compares to what I feel when I see you smile, and I hope I didn’t just fuck up everything we have. Call me when you’re ready- and preferably not angry with me anymore :)

You bit your lip, looking at the bracelet and receipt. You almost didn’t even want to touch the thing, appalled by how expensive it was. Sure you liked pretty things every now and then, but you were a simple person and a bracelet that costs more than your flat and your car combined just didn’t belong on your wrist.

You put the receipt and the bracelet back in the envelope, slipping it in your purse and heading out the door.

. . .

“Y/n!” Tom exclaimed as he saw you walk through the front door. He didn’t expect to see you today, but he was more than excited by your presence. Without a word, you handed him a stack of papers. “What are these?” He asked, looking at them confused.

“Thank you letters for your generous donations- £7,000 to five different charities,” you told him. “I don’t care if you want to spend your money, but just keep in mind that there are people out there that aren’t as fortunate as you that can use that money for more productive reasons than looking pretty.

“Tom, I love you, and I hate to break it to you, but you are only special to so many people. Myself, your family, your fans, but that’s it. No cop thinks you’re special, no doctor or nurse thinks you’re special, no lawyer or judge thinks you’re special. That room full of actors at the Oscars could care less who you are because you aren’t them. I don’t give a shit how talented or hot or rich you are because that’s all superficial. Years from now, you won’t have that. But you will always have your heart. Don’t let it become corrupt because you can’t see past the pretty things.”

Tom nodded as you spoke, taking in every word like his life depended on it- which, to him, it probably did. It sucked having to be the person to say such harsh words to Tom, but it had to be done. The thought of losing your sweet boy to a fame driven and egotistical world was the biggest fear you’d ever felt.

“I don’t know what else to say other than I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“How about ‘I won’t act like vain, dickhole movie star again’? Or ‘I understand that I’m not the shit’? ‘I’m just as special as my ‘broke, normal’ girlfriend’?” You offered. Tom visibly sucked a breath, his jaw clinching. “You realize I’m that person you called out? That ‘normal person’ that makes in a year what you make in a single day? I’ve never been so insulted, and it was from my own boyfriend’s mouth that I had to hear that from. I’m sorry I’m not cool enough to be an actor and play pretend in a Spider-Man costume, but I can assure you that even though I make less than a quarter of what you make, I am still on your level. My broke ass is just as important as your arrogant, rich one. And I need you to pull that stick out of your ass so you can see who you’re dealing with because you are not going to belittle me like that again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, tears pooling in his eyes. He didn’t realize just how severe the situation was; he was so concerned about himself, he didn’t even realize he was insulting the love of his life. He could hear the hurt behind the anger in your voice, and it broke his heart knowing he was the cause of it. “I’m such an asshole,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you, running through his hair.

“Yeah you are,” you said with a humorless laugh, turning to walk away.

“Are you breaking up with me?” He asked, his voice pitiful.

“No,” you looked at him again. “But you need to take some time to realize some things, and I need some time to cool off. We have dinner plans with your parents tomorrow- fix your shit before then.” You turned again, walking out of his flat.

Taglist: @lucychg @yourwonderbelle @rageyoudamnednerd @maliburumofficial @cutiepiemimi13 @happywolves81 @lifeandloveandhappiness @madeinthemidnightmemories @castellandiangelo @meaganjm @spnobsessedmemes @h-oneyholland @babylsn @harrydesires @xxtomxo (add yourself here)

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader

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just-a-girl-and-her-books242 · 4 years ago

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Hey, everyone!! This is my first time sharing my work with others. It’s an original story, so I hope you like it. Please note that it’s about an abuse victim, so it may be triggering for some readers.

I would also like to thank @elailin for your support and encouragement to share this with the world!

-----------------

I watch the wheels in the recorder as they rotate.

Is this real or another scene? I need to be careful or he’ll strike me by surprise.

The man sitting across from me sips his coffee as he writes in his folder. He looks familiar but I can’t place him.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning.” He says with a soft voice like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he talks to loud. “Please state your name and tell us what happened.”

Inhaling, I wrap my jacket closer to me feeling cold through my bones.

The beginning… they want me to go to the beginning.

Clearing my throat, I start, “My name is Delta Pennway, and I have been his prisoner for four years.”

****

Without a doubt, spring is my favorite time of year. I love the way the air smells of flowers blooming and how the trees sprout. My favorite sent is the smell of roses, it’s calming… reassuring. My mom used to say that spring is the season for awakening. The trees sprout new leaves; The bugs come out of their homes to pollinate the plants, and people begin their journey for the perfect summer body. We rekindle friendships that went dormant during the cold months, while children play in the park no longer bundled in their layers.

As a little girl, me and my mom started a tradition where we go to the local pastry shop and pick out way too many sweets, then eat them in the park. I always picked these little pink cupcakes that had cream cheese frosting with slices of glazed strawberries on top. My mom always chose anything with lemon. Lemon tarts, or lemon meringue pie with more whipped cream than pie. Then we spend the day sitting on our little quilt that my mom made from old baby clothes and watch the people in the park.

Even now, with my mom being gone two years, I still keep to our tradition. That’s where I met William. He was one of those runners in the park.

I was eating a slice of my mom’s favorite pie and watching a little toddler play with his puppy. The little boy could not be older than 3 and shouldn’t be tending to the puppy on his own. His mom, on the phone a few feet away, wasn’t paying enough attention to them. The puppy had the attention span of a little butterfly, in fact, it was a little butterfly that he was running after, leaving the boy behind. But the little boy was determined he would not lose his puppy. He ran after the dog as fast as his stumbling steps could carry him, and like every little kid, he paid no attention to his surroundings. His puppy was now on the other side of the park, leading him across the runners’ path. Like any typical male, William was running but instead of watching where he was going, he was staring at the toddler’s mom who still wasn’t paying attention to her kid.

Shooting up without thinking, I sprint across the grass. In hindsight, there were a couple different ways I could have intercepted the toddler—Calling out to get his attention, or maybe running for the kid. Unfortunately, those ideas never occurred to me. Instead, I ran straight for the man and tackled him. He might have sued me for twisting his ankle if I hadn’t shared my pastries with him. He wasn’t strikingly handsome, but he had a softness about his eyes that drew me in, and I enjoyed his company.

Our relationship progressed typically from there. It started with the occasional coffee dates, which eventually turned into dinners. He was the guy that girls could only dream of meeting. He would often surprise me with flowers and picnics. He was easy to talk to and listened to anything without judging or getting board. He was even there for me the day I put my cat, Bugs, down. If I ever needed to cry, he would be there with a box of tissues and a gallon of ice cream.

But do men like that really exist? Everyone’s true colors have to come out… eventually.

After six months of dating, William started to get clingy. Anytime I tried to make plans with friends, William would override them claiming it would be better if we stay in that night, or surprise me with dinner plans that we can’t get out of. My friends tried talking to me about it frequently, saying that William was too demanding, and it isn’t healthy to spend all my time with one person. But before they could convince me they were right; William would show up. Even if they made a surprise visit, it was like William always knew what I was doing and who I was with.

It didn’t take long before I had ostracized myself from my friends. They became people that I saw by happenstance at the grocery. Texts were sporadic and the phone calls nonexistent. But I had the perfect man, and I thought that was enough.

****

I hear my name being called as if it is trying to reach me through water.

“Miss Pennway. Delta.”

I know that voice. It belongs to the kind policeman. But those eyes… I’m still in that room.

Panic rises through me. I have to get out.

“Delta.” The officer’s eyes are before me now. They’re kind, but I’m still freezing.

He speaks again in that soothing voice. “Delta, I know that this is hard for you, but I need you to recount everything that happened. How did he take you? What happened in that warehouse?”

I try to focus on his words to tether me to this moment.

You’re fine, Delta. He’s not here. You’re finally safe.

I take a sip of the water in front of me and try to focus on the buttons of the officer’s jacket.

Safe.

****

William’s greatest passion in life is his job as a screenwriter. He started out as a bank teller while doing screenwriting on the side. Until six years ago, he wrote a hit film called The Flame on Sunday. It was some kind of science fiction crap that I never understood and found boring. But I was the only one who held that opinion. That year, they awarded him the AACTA, Award for Best Adapted Screenplay, along with being nominated for the International Award for Best Screenplay and an Oscar nomination.

Despite his love for screenwriting, William never liked to talk about his job. But that doesn’t stop me from being curious. However, any time I ask how he writes his scripts, or where he gets his inspiration, all things I thought I should know being his girlfriend; William mumbles something about an interview, research, or visualization and changes the subject. I learn early on not to push the subject. If I did, it would end in some long argument with me feeling bad. Will always makes me feel guilty like everything is my fault… and maybe it is. If I don’t push him, we don’t fight.

Mid - October, I get a strange text from William asking me to come to a warehouse to help him with work. He says the girl who normally assists him is out of town and he needs someone he can trust to help him. Ever the dutiful girlfriend, I rush over without thinking twice. When I get there, I find William pacing outside. He has been working hard the last few months on a new story and is furious with his assistant. I think it odd that he has never mentioned having an assistant but push the thought to the back of my mind.

William quickly ushers me inside to what he calls the staging room. It could be the size of a studio apartment. The walls are plaster with a concrete floor. This is the room that he uses to visualize the scenes he writes. All writers have different ways of creating and the screenwriter’s job is to create the blueprint to a film. But William feels it’s important to visualize the scene before adding it to the script to decide if it’s worth having.

He is the screenwriter, so who am I to question his methods?

I start coming frequently to help. After the first week, it’s clear that Will’s assistant will not be returning and Will convinces me to quit my teller job and come work for him. At first, I’m heavily against quitting my job, but like always, Will gets his way and I help him full time. Besides, this is his dream, so why shouldn’t I help him chase it… right?

This is the worst job I’ve ever had, and I had some awful experiences as a store teller. Will always makes me feel uncomfortable. When we are working, he becomes a different person. He becomes cold and detached. I try not to think on it too much; Maybe he’s just trying to keep things professional. But his eyes, normally a warm brown color, become bleak. They make me feel like I’m floating, lost in space, cold and alone. This version of Will is not the one I fell in love with. This person scares me.

There are many characters I play; a school teacher, a mom, sometimes even playing a young girl and her best friend. But there are some parts that not even I am prepared for.

One evening, William walks in with a friend of his I’ve never seen before. Without so much as an introduction, Will tells me to take my clothes off and sleep with this man. Shocked is not the correct word to describe what goes through me. Confusion, rage, disbelief—all better ways to describe the storm inside me.

How could he possibly be okay with me sleeping with another man? This has to be some kind of sick joke.

The look that Will gives me clarifies that this is no joke. Those dark eyes stare me down, making me shiver. Finally, snapping into reality and the truth of what he’s asking, I turn and storm out of the room, with a seething Will at my heals. He spews something about me doing this for him because it’s his passion and if I really love him, I shouldn’t have a problem. But I’ve had enough of this Will. I’m tired of never seeing my friends, tired of Will making me feel inadequate, and tired of the person he is while in that room. Surly if he loves me, he wouldn’t ask this. I make the only decision he leaves me with; I decide it’s time for me to leave.

Turning slowly, I tell him I can’t take this anymore and that I’m leaving. We need to take some time apart, and I tell him he needs to find a new assistant because I can’t be around the man he is in that warehouse. I didn’t think it possible but Will’s eyes grew colder as the words came out of my mouth. This time they make me feel as though I’m stranded on Neptune, the coldest planet of our solar system.

Without saying a word, Will walks back inside. Turning away, I walk home using the time to think through what just happened. Even with the hour walk, I am no closer to understanding. By the time I reach my house, I’m still cold, despite the subtle warmth still in the air, and my mind whirls from what happened. Hoping to feel better in the morning, I settle into my bed and fall asleep.

Slowly, the corpse of sleep falls away. Still feeling cold, I pull the blanket closer to me, noticing for the first time that this blanket is scratchy. I hate scratchy blankets and refuse to buy them—this can’t be mine. Opening me eyes to examine further, I realize this is not my room. The walls, which are a light pink color, are now plaster white. The bed, normally soft and fluffy, is now two wood pallets with a thin pillow on top. And sitting in the corner are those eyes—eyes so cold, I feel like a corpse abandoned in the snowy streets.

“Hello, Delta.” His voice, which used to be like a warm blanket to my soul, now feels as though it immerses me in an icy bathtub.

“What’s going on? Where are we, Will?” my voice comes out as a child who thinks a monster lives in the closet.

The rat of a man stands and starts slowly making his way toward me. “You see, my love, you walked away from me… and we can’t have that right now.” He stops mere inches from touching the pallets. “I’ve thought about what you said, and frankly, I need you…” He pauses as if to consider his next words. “You are here because I need you to be my scene girl. But you treated me poorly by walking out on me. I needed you to do that scene so I can finish this script, but you left. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“Look, Will,” I try to whisper out, “I’m sorr—”

“Shh,” Will says as he places his finger on my lips. “If you’re sorry for your behavior, then you will do as I ask.”

“Will,” I try again to speak this time getting to my feet, forcing Will to take a step back. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Just let me go home and we can talk about this after I’ve had time to think.”

Rage blooms across his face. William grips my arm and throws me toward the door. Storming across the room, he says, “Do you honestly think that I’m going to let you go home?” Grabbing me by the hair, he forces me to my feet and drags me through the door. “You will finish the scene.”

As we walk down a hallway, I notice five doors with padlocks on them. Noticing my staring, Will tells me they are for the other people he will bring in. I can’t believe that there will be more!

How did you not see this coming, Delta? All the signs are there; convincing me to quit my job, ostracizing me from my friends, and I have no family that will come looking for me. I’m on my own… alone.

As we pass through another door, he leads me into his staging room with a makeshift bedroom. The room is sparsely decorated, but what I see shocks me further. This is my bedroom. There is a Queen-sized bed covered in my favorite duvet with tiny yellow lilies on it. The walls are a light pink color, and on the bedside table is a picture of me and my mom at the park the spring before she passed away.

Will continues to pull me toward the fake bedroom. Just as we reach it, a man turns the corner. It’s Will’s friend from last night. Nausea mixed with panic settles in my stomach.

I turn to Will to plead one last time, but before I can speak, Will pushes me into the arms of his friend.

Grabbing his laptop, Will sits in a chair on the edge of the makeshift room. “Proceed.”

This world quickly becomes my life. Each day is a new scene sometimes with a new stage. William puts together different makeshift rooms around the warehouse, and new people slowly become prisoners alongside me. I don’t try to learn their names anymore. Few people live long after getting here. Either they kill themselves, or Will gets sick of them and kills them. That’s what happened to the assistant before me. Will claims she wasn’t a good enough actress. Most of the time, I forget what the others look like ‘cause they aren’t here long. Whenever I’m around them, I focus more on making sure I’m being good. William has various ways of punishing us if he thinks we don’t do a scene well enough, and if we don’t improve, he doesn't waste any more time with us.

Punishments were usually by taking away food and water, but Will also enjoys beating us. If something breaks during a scene, he strikes. Usually with his fist, foot, or even a riding crop. Sometimes he’ll grab a prop, like a chair, or one dish, and use that.

After the first year, I started to lose hope of escaping. There are no windows in my room or in the staging room, so that option is out. I tried to pry the door open, but there are two padlocks on it. By the end of the second year, William had to start hand cuffing and blindfolding me when I’m escorted between rooms. The blindfold isn’t really necessary, but the handcuffs are. Once, and only once, I tried to strangle him when he came to collect me. But Will is too strong for my weakened state, and it ended with me being choked till I passed out. He took away my water for two days as punishment.

This is my life... void of hope. Empty.

****

The cold is back. It’s sweeping through the room as if in search of me. Will I ever be warm again?

“Miss Pennway, are you okay to continue?” It’s the voice of the officer again. “Are you cold? I could send for a blanket.”

I’m back with the officer.

Safe. You’re safe now, Delta.

“Um, no. Thank you.”

This has been harder than I thought it would be, but now they know he’s a monster.

“Then if you would, please explain how you escaped.”

Escaped?

“I… Um. Well…” I trail off.

I can’t remember. How did I get here? When did I make it out?

That cold feeling hits me as a wall enclosing around me and making the room smaller.

I didn’t… I didn’t escape!

The door behind the officer slams open and I’m hit by those cold dark eyes. This was another scene.

Will, stalks over to me clapping slowly. “Well done, Delta. You really made me believe this one. It was your best work yet.”

When he reaches me, he puts on my blindfold and handcuffs. Forcing me to stand, he leads me toward my room.

“I have a little surprise waiting in your room for doing such great work today.” He says leaning close to my ear.

My mind is racing. Why didn’t I notice that the officer looked like one of the others? I believed him to be truly caring. I was safe.

We reach my room and Will takes off the handcuffs and blindfold. Leaning in, he gives me a kiss on my cheek and without a word, turns and leaves, locking my door.

Stunned, I stand staring at the door for what must have been hours. I wanted it to be true… That’s why it was so believable. I want to be free and safe. I want to feel the sun coming out after a long winter. I want to smell the flowers as I pass by the flower shops. I want to taste one of those little strawberry cupcakes from the bakery. But I didn’t escape. I’m still his prisoner.

Turning to my bed I spot the present Will left for me. It’s a piece of lemon meringue pie and one rose… The mark of a new spring.

The start of the fifth year.

-----------------

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much!!! I know this is a pretty sad ending. If you would like to see it ended differently or maybe a part two, please comment below. Again, thank you for reading!

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ceaderblocks · 5 years ago

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The Devil’s in the Details Ch. 6

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five //

Read on A03

Created alongside @thematrixmutual

Join the discord here!

Cub knew it was wrong. He <em>knew</em> helping Scar carry the AFK Xisuma to the End was wrong (was he really AFK?), and he knew Scar shooing him away to hide Xisuma screamed bad. But he did it anyways, because Scar was his best friend.

Except Xisuma had been missing for three days now, and Scar was adamant he didn’t remember helping with the prank. Scar was also avoiding everyone, working at night and skipping social activities to work on the strange black tower in the shopping district.

He was still working on the large black pillar in the shopping district when Cub flew by, determined to catch him in person. It looked almost finished, imposing and dark against the other shops. Scar was at the base, humming as he dug through some chests. The sun was setting, and the torches began to let off some light.

“Scar,” Cub said, and the other builder jumped, smacking his head against the chest lid.

“Oh! Cub!” Scar said nervously, rubbing his head. He avoided eye contact, choosing to look at his scuffed shoes instead.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Cub said softly, placing a hand on Scar’s shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. “How’re you?”

“Busy as always,” Scar said, gesturing vaguely to the tower and still avoiding looking Cub in the eyes. Cub frowned.

“Are you okay, though?” Cub asked, concerned. Scar’s behavior was off.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Scar said, tugging on a pigtail nervously.

“You aren’t, though.” Cub said softly. “Scar, you’ve been acting strange lately.”

“Have I?” Scar frowned, looking concerned. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“Grian and False found both their bases aggressively terraformed, and they both said they hadn’t requested or paid for it. Black pillars have popped up all over the map. Jellie’s been sleeping at ConCorp. With me.” Cub said. Scar looked surprised at that final note, and finally looked at Cub.

Green eyes. Cub thought. Not blue.

“Is that where she’s been?” He asked, ignoring all the other points. “I was worried, I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Jellie never sleeps with me.” Cub continued. “Please Scar, tell me what’s wrong.”

Scar looked away again. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Cub.”

“Three days ago, you and I moved an AFK Xisuma from here to the End. He hasn’t returned, and you refused to let me know where you put him.” Cub said, and watched Scar turn from sadness to confusion to horror.

“Scar, something has been seriously wrong for a while, hasn’t it? Since we both fell into the Void a week ago?”

Scar bit his lip, on the verge of tears. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and nodded.

No jacket. Green eyes. Pigtails. Cub noted to himself.

“I’m really sorry Cub. Once I finish this build it’ll all go back to normal, I swear!” He said, and turned away, kneeling on the ground and re-opening the chest.

“Scar! Please!” Cub begged. He was so damn worried.

“Cub, I can’t-“ Scar suddenly fell quiet, doubling over and clutching his head for a moment before blinking rapidly and jerking upright, slamming the chest lid shut.

“Scar?” Cub asked, concerned. Scar turned to him, looking forlorn.

“Can we not talk about this?” He asked, an annoyed tone to his voice. He put a hand on Cub’s shoulder, leading him away from the tower. “Let’s do something else. Golf, maybe? We haven’t played golf in a while.”

“Scar-“ The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Cub fell silent, looking at his friend, panic leaping in his chest.

Blue eyes? Scar just had green eyes. What is going on?

“… Golf sounds great.” Cub finished, and Scar (this isn’t Scar) smiled, pulling his pigtails from his hair and re-arranging it into a ponytail.

“Super,” Scar said enthusiastically, pulling a rocket from his inventory. “Race you there?”

“Sure.” Cub said, hesitantly grabbing his own. “Should we invite some people to join us?”

“I think it’ll be a fun game between just you and I,” Scar said. “Besides, we haven’t gotten to have some quality time together in a while.”

“Right,” Cub said. “Of course.”

He needed to find out what was going on, and if he had to do it by being close to the enemy, so be it.

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The End was cold, as it usually was. Xisuma could usually spend lots of time in it just fine, but extended periods would even make the most well weathered Hermit a little chilly.

Xisuma was freezing.

Oscar had put him in Adventure mode, able to survive but not interact with most things. Xisuma had paced around the small cell, trying to get warm before realizing he was getting hungry and the Oscar hadn’t left him with food. He had then taken a few moments to figure out where he was. Xisuma came to the conclusion he was under an End Island, iron bars confining him to the small seven by seven block area. Oscar hadn’t left any food or water. Just Xisuma, his helmet and the emptiness of the Void. The doppelgänger had even taken his comm box.

“Bastard.” Xisuma had snarled, kicking an end stone through the bars and retreating to a corner to try and huddle and save body warmth.

That was a few days ago, now. Well, Xisuma thought it was a few days ago. Keeping track of time had never been a strong suit of his, and it was harder when there were no day cycles. It was also hard to focus when you were starving and freezing to death. He had stopped being nauseous from hunger a while back, the gnawing at the inside of his stomach taking second place to the violent shivers that wracked his body. He was exhausted but refused to fall asleep. Death had never bothered the Hermits before, but Xisuma was confident he wouldn’t wake up if he let his eyes shut.

A bright flash of white made Xisuma wince and weakly covered his eyes. Great. He was having hallucinations now. That’s cool.

“Finally.” A familiar voice said, and Xisuma uncovered his eyes, struggling to sit up. “It was terrible being banned. Nice of you to let me back.”

“Evil Xisuma?” Xisuma whispered, not willing to believe his eyes. There was his counterpart, dressed in red and stretching, seeming to not have taken notice of Xisuma quite yet.

“The one and only. Hey, where the fuck are we? The End??? God, you really didn’t want me to destroy the server if we’re all the way out here, huh.” EX said, touching his toes.

Xisuma was speechless. Evil X was banned. He shouldn’t be able to come back, let alone be summoned to him in this prison cell. This was definitely a hallucination. It had to be.

“Speechless, Xisuma? I know, it’s cause- oh shit,” EX said, finally looking at his counterpart. “Dude, you look terrible.”

Rushing to his side, EX helped Xisuma sit up and lean against him. Xisuma shut his eyes, dizzy from the lack of food and water.

“Fuck, Xisuma.” EX said. “You didn’t unban me, did you?”

“No,” Xisuma said. Evil X dug through his inventory for a moment before pulling out a water bottle and some bread.

“Here, start with this. Slowly.” EX cautioned. Xisuma tore a small chunk off the bread and nibbled on it. His stomach growled. He felt sick from eating.

“If you didn’t bring me here, who did?” EX frowned, looking around. “Are we in a prison cell?”

“I don’t know who brought you,” Xisuma admitted, swallowing some water. “And we are. Scar’s evil counterpart put me here.”

“Hey, he’s stealing my style.” EX said. “I’m supposed to be the only evil twin here.”

“He’s dangerous.” Xisuma cautioned.

“And I’m not?” EX said. Xisuma chose to take another bite of bread instead of answering.

“If you’re here, you’re probably stuck in adventure mode with me.” Xisuma said.

EX frowned, opening his inventory. “Uh, no. I��m in survival. I have some stuff from last time and- holy shit Xisuma!”

“What?”

“I have admin controls!” EX said, thrilled. Xisuma perked up.

“You do?”

“Yeah, look!”

Evil Xisuma threw open a command screen. Xisuma was shocked. How was this happening?

“I haven’t been able to access this shit since season one.” EX said, typing in some commands. /give <Xisuma> golden carrots [64].

Xisuma gaped in surprise as 64 golden carrots popped into his otherwise empty inventory.

“Hell yeah,” EX said. “Now I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“You need to help me,” Xisuma pleaded, grabbing onto Evil Xisuma’s arms. “Please, EX, the whole server is in danger.”

“You always say that when I’m around too,” EX snarled, looking unhappy.

“This is different.”

“How so?” EX asked.

“This evil version of Scar-“

“Oscar.” EX said.

“- right, Oscar, he's taking over the server by replacing Scar. He’s building towers everywhere and forcing the land in unnatural ways. You didn’t replace me, so- wait.” Xisuma stopped his explanation and struggled backwards, EX cocking an eyebrow.

“How do you know his name?”

“Because he spoke to me in the Void? Dude, we’re both results of Void death mis-happenings. He promised me admin powers if I came and helped him.”

Xisuma clenched his jaw. “And here you are with admin powers.”

“Yeah,” EX agreed, but he looked confused. “But I told him no. I thought you brought me back to help fuck him over or something. I’m not sure why I have admin abilities.”

“You gave that up?” Xisuma was rendered speechless for the second time.

“Hm?”

“You gave up being an admin and getting revenge on the server?”

“I’m not a dick,” EX snorted. “I just want a bit of mischief. Y'all are to uptight for your own good. Oscar’s a full-blown asshole. He wanted to ‘ruin everyones lives’ and ‘replace everything with death’ or whatever. Not my style. Anyways,” EX pulled up his command screens again.

/set gamemode creative <Xisuma> /give cheats <Xisuma>

Xisuma felt better instantly. The cold that had frozen his limbs dissipated, and the hunger gnawing at his insides left. He felt energized and alive for the first time in many days.

“Thank you,” Xisuma said. “Really, I mean it.”

“Can I ask a favour from you?” EX asked, suddenly looking very serious. Xisuma nodded, unsure once more.

“Let me live with you all- peacefully. And also let me kick Oscar’s ass.”

Xisuma snorted in laughter and smiled, sticking out his hand. Evil Xisuma took it, shaking it.

“Deal.”

#xisumavoid #xisuma #evil xisuma #scar #goodtimeswithscar #cub #cubfan135 #sorry for the late chapter yall #just started uni again lol #the devils in the details #ditd #we reaching that climax sooooon #olive writes

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creampuffqueen · 5 years ago

Text

The Anarchy Sisters- Chapter Four

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve actually posted any real writing! It may be midnight on a Sunday but I’ve had less sleep before and I was inspired enough to finish the chapter tonight.

Just a beware, it’s shorter than some of the others, because it just felt like a good place to end it. Either way, I hope you all enjoy it, and I know I would enjoy any feedback this gets :)

Yes, I have read Supernova and know this is definitely not canon compliant, but it was meant to be an AU anyway, so there.

Read this on Ao3 Here!

~~~~

“Adrian!” Ten-year-old Max Everhart stood on his tiptoes to wave to his older brother down in the lobby of HQ. Renegades milled about anxiously, as they had been doing ever since the parade had been aired on TV.

Adrian and his teammates made their way up to the quarantine as fast as they could; though it was more like a snail’s pace, with the amount of people they had to push through. Max noticed with a start that Danna was missing from the group.

“Hey there, Bandit. What’s up?” Adrian stood with his hands casually in his pockets, but Max could still see where his fingers were fiddling with his marker. He was nervous about something.

A thousand questions were burning in his mind, but Max shoved them all aside and brought up the most important one. “Are Dad and Pops okay?”

The question seemed to make Adrian relax a little, which made Max know his answer instantly. Still, it was nice to hear it from someone’s lips.

“Dad and Pops are fine. And so are the rest of the Council.” Even Ruby and Oscar seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at Adrian’s words.

“And what about everyone else? Civilians? Did the balloon damage any buildings?” Max couldn’t help the near-interrogation of his brother. The parade had been broadcasted live all over HQ, but after the assasination attempt of Captain Chromium and The Puppeteer’s balloon, the camera crew had instead rushed to help, leaving everyone in the dark about what was going on.

“The only injuries that we were told of were from people tripping over each other trying to get away. Nothing serious.” This time it was Oscar who answered, leaning on his cane as he spoke. Max wondered if that meant he was tired.

“Adrian, can you draw me the balloon?” Max made sure to use the certain smile that he reserved for things like this- asking for his older brother to draw him something he probably would say no to.

And sure enough, Adrian sighed, but pulled out his marker. His sketch of the balloon was rough, but with Adrian’s skills, even his rough drawings were better than the average person’s masterpiece.

The balloon was slowly pushed through the glass, and when Max reached over to grab it, he let out a soft gasp and a “woah”. The balloon was floating, despite the fact it was made of glass.

Max grinned at Adrian, holding the basket of the balloon delicately, so it wouldn’t float away, but so it wouldn’t shatter either.

“Thanks.” Adrian shrugged, like it was no big deal- like anyone could just casually make a drawing come to life and float through the air. It never failed to amaze Max how humble his brother was.

Max brought the balloon over to his ever-growing rendition of Gatlon City in glass. He put the balloon into the street that the parade had taken place in, where several miniature glass sculptures of the floats were. Adrian had drawn him some that morning, allowing him a sneak peak at the surprise floats.

He placed a few glass figurines inside the basket, weighing the balloon down enough that it hovered a few inches off the ground. Max turned around and gave a thumbs up. Adrian smiled back, and waved, and then walked off to join his teammates.

And though he was turned away, Max thought, for a split second, he had seen a concerned frown cross Adrian’s face. His brother was bothered by something- something he wasn’t telling anyone.

He felt a small pang in his chest, like he did every day. Every time he wished he could step outside his quarantine. He knew it was for everyone’s own good, but he still couldn’t help but feel slightly resentful, of everyone. Because anyone could go ask his brother what was bothering him, chase him down if need be, and anyone could go and hug his Pops, and Max couldn’t.

Max was aware, like he was every day, that he’d give up everything in an instant. All his powers, he’d lose them. If only he could be normal.

He trailed away from the glass city, feeling tired. Tired of hoping and wishing and feeling sad for himself. Adrian and his team didn’t look back, but Max did. And he wished that, for once, maybe they’d look back.

But of course, Max couldn’t begrudge them. He couldn’t. They were Renegades, true, working, Renegades. Not like him, his title only and honorary one. Adrian and his team had work to do. And with the assassination attempt on the Captain, it seemed their work would be cut out for them.

He sulked back to his bedroom; if one could call it that. Was a curtained off section in a glass quarantine a bedroom? The floor, like the rest of the room, was totally glass. The only area that was truly private was the restroom, and that was so small he was practically in the sink while he used the toilet.

Max was curled on his bed, still in his pajamas, ready to take a nap so maybe he wouldn’t feel quite so sorry for him, when a loud rap on the glass shocked him out of it.

He pulled himself off the bed and the comforter decorated with comic book panels, and trudged to the window.

When he saw who was awaiting him, he didn’t bother to hide his groan or eye roll. Maggie.

The girl was standing with her arms crossed, like she always did. Maggie could be a nice girl… every now and then. Max could count said instances on one hand.

“Magpie.” He started neutrally.

She sighed, not moving her arms. “Bandit.”

“Do you need something?” He asked, growing slightly annoyed.

Maggie sighed again, shaking her head. Her dark hair was cut to her collarbone, and it swayed with her head when she moved it. Max found it distracting.

“If there’s nothing you need, I’m going back.”

“No, don’t go. I do need something from you.” As Maggie spoke, her own teammates crept up to the quarantine, looking pityingly at Max.

Linette, alias Spitfire, made her way to Maggie to stand by her and look mildly threatening. Daniel, alias Worldwide, stood off to the side more, though he didn’t look any less upset.

“Great.” Max muttered under his breath. “What can I do for you, oh so mighty Magpie?”

“If you’re going to be annoying then I won’t ask.”

“Fine by me,” Max retorted, “I don’t really care if you talk to me or not.”

Linette elbowed Maggie sharply, earning a muffled curse from the other girl. Linette leaned in and whispered something, and Maggie groaned audibly, but uncrossed her arms.

“We want a favor. It’s not just for me, it’s for my team, too.”

“Hit me.” Max sighed. “What is it now?” It wasn’t like Maggie generally asked for things. In fact, she was typically very independent, and so was her fledgeling team. Max knew the trio was working hard to gain respect from the older Renegades. But even so, Maggie was being annoying, and he wasn’t going to just take it.

“We want you to talk to those dads of yours, and ask them to send different teams for the cleanup that’s bound to happen later. We’re sick of cleaning up messes. We want to be on patrols, or even just part of a night watch team.” Maggie bit her lip, then stopped and put her face in a scowl when she saw him notice.

Max felt a sudden burst of sympathy for the girl and her team. He thought about how he’d feel if he was on a team and only ever got to do cleanup, after all the action was over.

“Fine.” He conceded. “I can’t promise their response, but I will promise to ask them.” Maggie cracked something that was possibly akin to a smile, if you squinted hard enough. Next to her, Linette grinned unabashedly. And Daniel bumped his fist against the glass walls, like Adrian and Oscar sometimes did.

The girls of the team trailed off, Maggie practically dragging Linette away, as if she couldn’t stand to be near him any longer, but Daniel stayed for a moment longer.

“You know, Bandit, Maggie isn’t always like this. She’s cool, most of the time.” He brushed his turquoise-tipped hair out of his face, which gave Max the bizarre thought that maybe he should dye his hair.

“Well, I have yet to see any proof of that, so-”

Daniel snorted. “Fair enough. See you later.” The boy trailed off, humming something to himself in a foreign language, fiddling with a necklace on his throat.

And even though he didn’t specifically want those friends, Max couldn’t help but speculate that having friends his age, instead of people nearing adulthood, might be nice.

Yeah, he thought, watching Daniel and Linette and Maggie skirt through the crowds in the HQ, it might be nice.

~~~~

Later, when most everyone was in bed and most of the excitement of the day had died down, Max sat cross-legged on the floor of his quarantine and played cards with his dad.

They were playing Battle, which was Max’s current obsessive card game. His dad refused to teach him Poker or Blackjack, and Speed got boring after a few rounds. Battle was a game of pure luck, and Max could appreciate that.

“Battle!” He said with a grin, placing down a four of spades as Hugh placed down the same number, but in hearts. Hugh smiled back at him and placed three cards facedown.

Max locked eyes with his dad and counted down dramatically, “Three, two… one!” The cards were flipped over, and Max cackled as he saw he had the larger one. He swept Hugh’s pile over to his and sorted through them quickly, adding them to his deck as he went.

“A king! And a ten, and… an ace!” Hugh groaned, though the smile didn’t leave his face. The pair went back to slapping down cards and pushed them towards the other, Max’s deck increasing rapidly.

They had another battle, in which Max lost, but only gave away bad cards. They fell into comfortable silence in the almost-darkness of the Renegades HQ.

“Battle.” The cards were pulled, then they were flipped, and Max laughed again as his father gave away another ace. He showed off the card with a smirk, and Hugh chuckled.

“Damn, Max, you’re lucky tonight.” Then he slapped a hand over his mouth, before quickly correcting himself. “I mean, dang, Max.” The ten-year-old boy snorted.

“Dad, I’m not that innocent. You should hear the kind of things Adrian’s team says. Ruby has a really filthy mouth sometimes, you know.” Max placed down another card to keep the game going.

“Well,” Hugh said, “I’m going to have to talk with your brother. They shouldn’t be using that kind of language around you-”

“Dad, don’t. You’re being such a dad.” Hugh rolled his eyes.

“Max, I am your dad. This is my job.”

“Well, Dad, can I dye my hair?” Max asked, using the same endearing grin that had worked on Adrian earlier.

“What? Where did that come from?” Hugh sighed as he lost another card to his son.

“Daniel has his hair dyed blue. Just the tips.”

“No, you’re not dying your hair.” He stated firmly. “You’re ten years old, Max. Daniel is what, fifteen?”

“He’s twelve, Dad. And he’s the oldest of his team. Maggie and Linette are both eleven.”

“My answer is still no. And battle.” Max placed down three cards, noticing with a smirk that Hugh only had three cards left. He made sure to make a big show of removing one of his cards so he could rub it in his face that he was winning.

Hugh won the battle, much to Max’s dismay. Even so, he still had nearly the entire deck.

“Speaking of Daniel’s team, they asked me a favor today.” Max started out as nonchalantly as possible. He wanted to ask Simon, because he knew his Pops was a little more lenient with the younger teams, but Hugh was here now, and it needed to be asked.

“And what would that favor be?” Hugh won three rounds in a row, and Max had to hold back a curse. He had been so close to winning; he couldn’t let Hugh make a comeback now.

“Well, they wanted me to ask you if they could get another duty besides cleanup. They said they’re sick of cleaning up others’ messes and missing all the action.”

At that, Hugh stopped playing, pinning Max with a serious, Captain Chromium Look. Max gulped.

“Max.” Hugh started. “This isn’t okay. I don’t want people trying to get in with your dad, me, or the rest of the Council through you. You aren’t a go-between for complaints. I’m going to go talk to them.”

“But Dad,” Max countered, “Why do they have to be on cleanup all the time? They have really useful skills; I mean, Linette can breathe freaking fire, but you don’t want her on patrols?”

“It’s not a matter of abilities, Max. They’re kids, hardly older than you, and while it’s noble that they want to help the Renegades, I don’t want to risk their safety.” Max hated that he made sense.

“Alright. But don’t get them in too much trouble, please? They’re pretty nice- or at least some of them are.” Hugh nodded, the Look fading off his features as he reached out to ruffle Max’s shaggy hair.

“I promise I won’t. And now- can you beat that?” Max looked down to see Hugh slap a two of clubs onto the glass floor. The man snorted, obviously amused, until Max placed down another two, and the look changed to amazement.

“What are they odds?” He muttered, placing down cards for another battle. Max won with a ten, leaving Hugh with one card.

Max’s dad placed his final card, a six, and Max put down a jack. With a cackle, Max swept away the card and held it triumphantly over his head. Hugh groaned as his son danced away with the deck, holding up his win for the very few people still in HQ to see.

When he sat back down, panting from laughter, Hugh leaned in to give him a hug. “Gotta go, bud. It’s late, and you need to get to bed.”

“Yeah.” Max conceded, feeling a yawn coming on from the mere mention of sleep. “But Dad, can I ask you something first?”

“Of course, Max.”

The yawn happened, and his face scrunched for a moment, but when it was over he looked up to his dad. “Can you maybe consider giving the younger teams some other duties? Like, not all the time, but maybe every now and then? Just so they don’t get so bored?”

Hugh was silent for a moment, but he finally sighed and said, “I can’t promise, because it takes some work to rearrange the schedules, but I will consider it. That I can promise.”

“Thank you, Dad.” He let Hugh pull him into a tight, bone-crushing hug, and melted into him. It was so nice to be held.

“You go to bed, Max. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Cleaning up from the parade?”

Hugh grimaced. “That, but other things too. The Renegades Trials are coming up in a week.”

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #marissa meyer #the anarchy sisters #max everhart #adrian everhart #hugh everhart #simon westwood #nova artino #evie artino #fanfiction

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preface2adreamplay · 5 years ago

Text

Under Your Spell (Part 21) - Let Me Twist It A Little Deeper

Summary: A Jared Padalecki/OFC /Oscar Isaac fiction.

Stef is not having the best weekend at the con.

Chapter warnings: Flirting, swearing, infidelity. masturbation, angst.

Chapter WC: 3,554

Everything was packed and ready to go. Stef lay in bed, unable to switch off the noise of the day.

‘Come on, Stef, go asleep,’ she told herself. Pushing off the covers and pulling them back on again. Tossing and turning didn’t cover how much she had moved around.

Finally, she gave up. Grabbing her phone from her bedside table. 4am.

Claire was staying with Richard. Jared was with his family and who knows where Oscar was.

She scrolled through insta for a while, seeing all the photos fans had shared from the previous day. A headache was forming behind her eyes, it was gonna be one of the bad ones, she knew.

‘Fucking sleep!’ Stef cursed. Only one thing left to try. Reaching down under the sheets, Stef rolled her fingers around her clit, the first thought that came to her mind was Jared on stage, smiling and joking. The next thought was him shirtless, the last time he was in her bedroom, jeans hanging low on his hips, arm muscles bulging while he fished around on the floor for his clothes.

Breathing out a soft groan, Stef continued, fingers finding her opening hot and wet. She slid inside, one finger. Jared breathing on her neck, sucking soft kisses against her jaw, his voice in her ear, ‘c’mon Stef, give it to me.’

It was a phrase he liked to use when he was in a playful mood, she would relinquish control of her pleasure to him. When he took control of her, his hands, his mouth, his voice would be everywhere, all over her. His mouth humming against her in the most delicious way. And she would ride waves of pleasure.

Stef felt her walls contracting around her finger, her body trembling and finally stilled as she drifted into a disturbed and dream filled sleep.

Oscar had taken her by the hand, dragging her through the crowds, ‘look at them!’ he kept yelling over his shoulder. ‘Let go of me, I can’t go with you.’ Stef tried to twist her arm from his grip. They stopped at the stage where the Q&A had been. Jared sat with his wife in his lap, giggling with her between kisses. Instant fiery hot jealousy raged through her. ‘Look at them!’ Oscar said again. His dark eyes on the couple that were wrapped up in each other. Stef drew her gaze away, unable to look at them any longer. Oscar didn’t flinch when Stef waved her hand in front of his face, he was in a daze, his mouth open in a soft smile. ‘Help me get away.’ Stef shouted. Jared started, seeing Stef below him. ‘No wait, come back.’ He begged.

Stef was running, the carpet beneath her bare feet was turning into steps too high for her to climb, she couldn’t run hard enough to get away. An arm caught her as she tumbled.

Stef couldn’t hold back her tears, burying her face in the chest of the man holding her up.

Stef woke suddenly, throwing the blankets away. Running her hands down her face, she glanced at herself in the mirror across the room. She was perspiring, hair was clinging to her neck. ‘What the actual fuck?’

Stef didn’t dream much, but that one made her feel sick to her stomach.

Wiping the bathroom mirror clean after a hotter than hell shower, Stef looked at her face, wanting the woman looking back at her to settle her nerves, tell her she wasn’t being an idiot, it went with the territory.

Why are you really fucking surprised, was all she said.

Stef sat on the side of the bath tub and cried.

Claire had done her best to make up for not being around. When she finally got around to coming back to the hotel room they were sharing, Stef was dressed and fresh faced.

‘Did you sleep?’ Claire rummaged through her bag looking for clean clothes.

‘Not much. I bet it’s pointless to ask if you got sleep last night.’ Stef winked seeing Claire trying to hide a coy smile.

‘I have to shower but then we are definitely having breakfast. There is a thing on later that I wanna check out but I’ll be back before lunch and then we can head back to the airport, k?’

Claire was being overly nice, her voice raising a little higher with every sentence.

‘Richard wouldn’t happen to be doing the thing you’re interested in, is he?’ Stef finished applying a second layer of mascara.

‘Maybe,’ Claire elongated the word, disappearing into the bathroom.

Stef’s phone beeped. Picking it up she saw a message from Jared.

Jared: Good morning sweet thang. x

Stef put the phone back down and checked herself in the mirror. Heaving a sigh, she gathered herself, put on a smile and bent to put on her Nike’s. There would be more walking today, it called for comfortable footwear. Her jeans were loose around her waist, she hadn’t realised she had lost some weight. Not too much to be noticeable she thought.

Claire was singing in the shower. Stef chuckled, hearing it was one of her older songs, Claire loved the band Stef was taking a break from.

Shit, she thought, remembering one of the members had called her a couple of days previous to ask when she was available to meet up.

Every year or so they would meet, see what was going on with each other and decide if they would do new music or not.

Hitting the call button, her old friend answered straight away.

‘Hey, Stef! How are you?’

‘Sorry I kinda forgot to call you back, Nik, I’m in Toronto right now.’

‘Yeah, I was talking to Oscar yesterday he told me he ran into you over there. Having fun?’

‘The most fun,’ she lied.

‘We are meeting Friday night at that bar you hate.’ Nik blew smoke down the phone. Stef knew the sounds of him inhaling and exhaling like his life depended on that one cigarette.

‘I’ll be there.’

‘Great!’ He did sound excited. Stef smiled, excited to catch up with them.

‘Gotta go, I’ll get the details from you during the week.’

‘For sure. Later, Stef.’

‘Was that Jared?’ Claire peeked out from behind the bathroom door, steam billowing behind her. Strands of dark red hair plastered against her face.

‘Nah. Nik. Band meeting.’

‘Oh,’ Claire seemed a little disappointed. ‘Will you see Jared before we leave?’ Her voice kept on the side of casual/hopeful instead of the misery Stef felt creeping into her bones.

‘I’d like to think so, but, with his family showing up I don’t know if he can get away.’

Stef didn’t have to hear Claire tutting from the bathroom to know how she felt about it.

Stef looked at her phone as it pinged again.

Jared had sent a very close up selfie. Laughing, she replied.

Stef: Good morning, Jared. How are you today?

Jared: Tired. Glad this con is almost over. Photo ops at 12, you gonna be around?

Stef: Yep, can swing by before we leave.

Jared replied with a few celebratory emojis.

‘Claire, come on, I’m hungry.’

‘Go down without me, I’ll be right behind you.’ Claire was brushing her teeth furiously.

Ok, Stef shrugged.

Filling her plate with as much food as possible, Stef was trying to figure out how to use the coffee machine when someone brushed past her, nudging her elbow, sending a piece of toast sliding off into the mug she had managed to fill with a watery mix of milk and coffee.

‘Sorry,’ a soft voice came. Stef turned to say it was cool when she met the woman’s eyes.

‘It-it’s fine,’ Stef stammered, her eyes glued to the beautiful brown eyes staring up at her. It was Jared’s wife.

Fuck, Stef thought.

‘You’re uhm, you’re…’ Gen tried to find a way to say her name without owning that this was the woman her husband was fucking.

‘Yeah,’ was all Stef managed to say.

‘Well, you’ve made him a happier man. When he comes home to us.’ Gen said graciously, putting a hand on the shoulder of a boy standing next to her, gaping up at Stef.

He had Jered’s eyes and my god, he had Jared’s hair. Stef swallowed hard, what could she say to that?

’Nice to meet you, anyway.’

Gen gave Stef a smile and taking her son by the hand, led him away. Stef closed her eyes, her mouth dry like a fucking desert. Suddenly, the coffee didn’t seem so important. But, there was a queue building up behind her.

‘Go ahead, I can’t seem to work it,’ Stef moved away from the person waiting patiently next to her. Rubbing her nose with her hand, she cleared her throat, not sure where to look or what to do. Fearful of moving her eyes across the room in case she were to see Jared’s family again or worse, Jared himself. She couldn’t face him now.

Claire arrived, hair swinging, bosom bouncing, a huge grin on her face. ‘Hey did you get me coffee?’

Her smile turned to a horrified look, ‘you ok?’ Rubbing Stef’s shoulder. ‘You gonna puke?’

‘Maybe,’ Stef replied, ‘Can we grab a seat?’

Finding a small table hidden behind a huge, ugly plant, Stef told Claire what had just happened.

‘So she thanked you for sleeping with her husband? She’s a better woman than I would be.’

‘Claire!’ Stef pinched the bridge of her nose, the toast on her plate now finding its way to Claire’s mouth.

‘What?’ the redhead replied, ‘She could have ignored you, or punched you, or made a scene, but she didn’t. Sounds like she was just as shocked to bump into you.’

Stef nodded, her brow furrowed. ‘My life is not normal. This is getting awkward.’

‘This is probably the only time you will ever meet her or even see her, just chill.’

Stef blew out a breath, rubbing her sweaty hands against her jeans.

‘I’m gonna get you a coffee and a chocolate croissant, then we can go see Richard. He will make you laugh and forget your troubles.’

Stef groaned.

‘Now that was my attitude when I first came to the con, you changed my mind. C’mon.’

‘Is it bad that I want a Margarita for breakfast?’

‘Yes, it is, this situation is not that bad.’

***

Claire hadn’t let Stef hide away in the room, which was a good thing. The convention was so big, the chances of her running into Gen again were slim, but Stef kept looking over her shoulder anyway. She regretted agreeing to see Jared at the photo op’s, but bit the bullet - well, asking Richard to scope out the room first and waiting for him to come back and confirm it was mostly Padalecki-free.

Stef had never seen this section of a convention before, people lining up to take silly/well thought out pictures with Jared and Jensen.

Jensen smiled and nodded when he saw Stef waiting off to the side. He leaned in to say something to Jared, who turned his head so quickly in her direction, his hair flipped into Jensen’s face, hitting his friend in the eye. The people close enough to see roared with laughter. Jared was falling over himself apologising to Jensen, clapping him on the back with his huge hand, winking over at Stef.

‘I see why you like him,’ the familiar voice next to her made her smile. ’Tall, handsome, funny. I’d hit it.’

‘Oscar,’ Stef scolded softly. He was alone, standing with his hands in his pockets.

‘Where’s your date?’

Oscar made a dismissive sound, ’She bounced, I’m really good at making people feel unwanted, apparently. It’s a talent, it would seem.’

‘She left?’ Stef shook her head, laughing.

‘Yes, she did. She said I wasn’t emotionally available.’ Leaning in so that only Stef would hear. ‘I’m kinda glad, she was jealous about everything.’

‘You’re not into chicks that are fawning over you?’ Stef bit her lower lip.

‘Nah, maybe I just didn’t like her.’

‘You heading home today?’

‘Yeah, you?’

‘You don’t sound excited.’ Stef was watching a couple set up their photo, within seconds their experience was over. A fleeting moment that would stay with them forever.

Jared made eye contact with her and pulled one side of his mouth into a grin, looking over Oscar quickly and greeting the next in line.

‘Want me to get out of your hair?’ Oscar murmured.

‘No,’ Stef hooked her arm into his, changing the direction so she was walking away from Jared’s line of sight.

‘We haven’t had time to hang much at all.’

‘You want to hang with me?’

‘Yeah.’ Stef squeezed his arm. Oscar’s chest puffed out a little.

‘What’ll we do then.’

‘I saw a stall with some stuff that had your Star Wars guy, Darius specifically requested something with your face on it.’

Pushing his tongue between his teeth, Oscar threw his head back to laugh.

‘Why the fuck not, let’s buy my own merchandise.’

***

Jared: Where did you go? Photo ops just done.

Stef: Just grabbing a drink, you want one?

Jared: I’ll meet you in the bar, I’ll be about 5 minutes.

‘Is that him?’ Oscar eyed her over his drink, taking a long gulp and sighing.

‘Yes, he’ll be down here in a few minutes.’ Stef put a hand on his arm. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves. One fist resting on his hip and he cocked an eyebrow, glancing around the room, he looked too hot. Stef had to check herself.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ He said, not looking at her, his eyes resting on a pair of blondes sitting at the opposite end of the bar.

‘Like what? I don’t want you to go if that’s what you mean.’ Stef pouted.

‘No, you’re looking at me like I’m lunch.’

Stef opened her mouth to laugh, involuntarily spitting her drink across his lap.

‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry.’

Oscar brushed the droplets away, laughing too much to form a coherent sentence. ‘I didn’t think it would have that effect.’

Wiping her chin with a napkin, she eyed him curiously.’ What kind of reaction did you think you would get?’

‘I dunno, I thought it might make you argue with me.’

‘You want an argument?’

’Nah, I just wanted to wind you up a little before your dude gets here.’

‘My dude, as you say, is already here.’ Stef raised her eyebrows in greeting as Jared made his way toward them. Oscar turned his head, not bothering to adjust how he was sitting, legs splayed open, knees on the outside of Stef’s, keeping her sitting in place at the bar.

‘Hey,’ Jared said softly, tucking hair behind his ear.

‘Hi,’ Stef grinned up at him. He was nervous, shifty.

‘I guess I should formally introduce you both.’

They did that thing that men do when they don’t think women notice, they were eyeing each other, sizing each other up. Shaking hands and making pleasantries. Neither spoke, waiting for Stef to break the ice.

‘We will be leaving after lunch.’

‘Isn’t lunch, like, right now.’ Jared checked his watch.

‘Shit it is. Where the hell is Claire??’ Stef reached into her bag and checked her phone. No messages. Typical.

‘I cannot trust that woman around Richard, my god!’ Stef huffed, pressing the call button and listening to the tone on the other end, knowing Claire wouldn’t be picking up.

‘She could be back in the room.’

Oscar was half grinning, a knowing look on his face. ‘Better go check, you don’t wanna miss your flight again.’

‘Again?’ Jared was looking incredibly awkward now.

‘Oh, Claire has made Effie miss a couple of flights over the years. She almost missed a video shoot her band was doing in Italy.’

‘Oh don’t remind me, that woman causes me stress I could do without.’ Giving up on the idea of Claire picking up her damn phone.

‘I gotta head back up to the room anyway, we will be leaving soon too.’

Jared put a hand gently on Stef’s elbow, hoping to get her up off her seat and away from Oscar.

‘Yeah I’ll walk with you,’ turning to Oscar, placing a beer mat on top of her glass. ‘Mind my spot for a few minutes?’

Oscar nodded, turning his attention back to the blondes at the bar.

‘Nice to meet you, man.’ Jared offered Oscar his hand, the shorter man taking it, ‘You too, finally.’ Oscar winked at Stef as she walked away.

Stepping into the elevator, they were finally alone. Jared grabbed her waist, drawing her to him. ‘Damn, I’ve wanted to kiss you all fucking day.’ His teeth were nipping at her lips, teasing. Stef stood on her tip toes, trying to reach his mouth. ‘Kiss me then.’

Jared groaned when their lips met. It wasn’t long enough. The doors were opening on her floor. He took her hand in his, leading her down the hall. Stef was looking down at her small hand wrapped in his. ‘That ok?’ He squeezed her fingers.

‘Yeah, just surprising.’

Jared shrugged, stepping behind her as she slid the key card into the hotel room door. They were greeted with two naked bodies writhing on the bed.

‘Oh god!’ Stef covered her face, unable to tear her eyes away from Richard’s naked ass bouncing as he pummelled into Claire.

Pulling the door closed with a bang, she covered her face, eyes wide. ‘How can I un see that?’ She gasped, laughing so much she thought she would puke.

Jared was on his knees, unable to speak.

It took a few minutes for them to calm down, Richard’s frantic cries of ‘are you guys still out there?’ made the situation worse. Neither Stef nor Jared could answer him.

Jared had managed to drop his gum onto the carpet, causing him to laugh even more.

‘Don’t put that back in your mouth.’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘Oh Jared, please stop, I’m in pain from laughing.’

A large hand was on her back, her face was suddenly crushed into his chest. He was gasping for air like he had run a race.

‘Well that’s put a good ending to a rough weekend.’ Jared was wiping tears from his eyes.

Stef remembered running into Gen earlier in the day, her stomach twisting with guilt. Or maybe it was jealousy. Or a sickening mixture of both.

Swallowing, she looked up at Jared.

‘What’s up, babe?’

‘Nothing.’ She lied, kissing him gently on the mouth.

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, I’ll just miss you is all.’

‘You have good company downstairs, Oscar is keeping your seat for you at the bar.’

‘Jared…’ Stef wanted to explain what had happened earlier, but he cut her off with another kiss.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow, I’ll be back home. After the kids go to bed. Sound good?’

’Sounds good.’ Stef agreed, unable to hide the disappointment in her eyes at how this weekend had panned out.

Richard opened the door, having dressed himself in a hurry. ‘Come on, man.’ he said to Jared, pushing past them, his cheeks flushed, hair tossed from Claire’s fingers.

‘Gotta go.’ Jared kissed her quick and left, following Richard down the hall.

Stef stuck her head in the door, ‘you decent?’

‘Doesn’t matter, you saw everything just now.’ Claire wasn’t half as bashful as Richard.

‘Oscar is waiting for me at the bar. Meet us down there?’

‘Let me just fix my sex hair and I’ll be down.’

When Stef made it back down to the bar, she saw Oscar talking to a woman. She was hitting his arm and laughing. It was fake. Everything about her was. You can spot when someone wants someone because of their fame, and this was one of those vacuous women.

Stef put her arm between them to get her drink. ‘Oh hey, you’re back.’ Oscar looked happy at her reappearance.

She was one of the blondes he had been ogling. His face said ‘please help.’ And while Stef would usually have left him to it, she decided on this occasion to do a good deed.

’I’m Stef,’ she said, sticking her hand out for the stranger, who took it, gingerly.

‘Sorry, are you with him?’ She asked, pointing a talon at Oscar’s chest.

‘Yeah,’ Stef said simply.

The blonde looked her up and down, taking in the old Nike’s, loose jeans and band t-shirt.

‘Call me,’ she mouthed to Oscar, swaying back toward her friend.

‘Do not call her.’ Stef warned, sliding back onto the barstool, her legs fitting snuggly between Oscar’s again.

‘Just filling the time til you came back,’ Oscar sighed, leaning his torso toward her.

‘You look flushed, what’s up.’

‘I just caught Claire and Richard fucking.’ Stef looked at him, wide eyed and excited.

Oscar put a hand over his mouth, his nose scrunched up as he laughed. ‘No fucking way.’

Stef finished off her beer in one gulp. ‘Buy me another one and I’ll describe Richard’s ass to you.’

‘Oh fuck, please don’t. But, I’ll definitely buy you another drink.’ Oscar winked, turning to grab the barman’s attention.

Butterflies. He had given her butterflies with that look.

Fuck, she thought

#under your spell #uys #jared padalecki #angst #oscar isaac #jensen ackles #richard speight jr #rpf #spn rpf #real person fiction #jared x ofc #oscar x ofc

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billvsamerica · 6 years ago

Text

Sin City

We’ve all noticed the lingering stare of a pervert.

On the high street when you’re shopping for Christmas presents or in the cinema when you’re watching the late night showing of Toy Story on your own again. But imagine you’re in a city full of them. Tight polyester trousers with flared bottoms, beer bellys flowing over the top of cheap plastic belts, topped off with a nice scruffy pair of Reeboks from the late 90s. But enough about my dad, this is the story of our latest adventure west.

A savory couple in a far from savory place

I always thought Vegas was a debauched place. That’s where it gets the nickname - Naughty Little Town for Naughty People. Prostitution and weed are both legal, but somehow in a much less savoury way than Amsterdam. With all that being said, we could never have known that the most morally reprehensible act we would witness would take place on the connecting flight from Chicago to Vegas.

Some of the most exciting parts of a holiday go on in the walkway of the airplane. Thoughts flood your mind: ‘Where will we be sitting?’ ‘What are my chances of survival if this thing goes down?’ ‘Who will the “third” person be?’ ‘Hopefully, there isn’t a “third” person!’ ‘Oh God, this things coming down, I’ve had a premonition. I need to warn everybody else on board.’ ‘No, don’t ruin it. It’s fine. You’re being stupid.’ ‘Oh, Jesus Christ! I just signed our death warrant.’ ‘I wonder if they have a TV?!’ etc.

Shelby and I took our spots next to the "third" person in the window seat, who we immediately disliked just for existing in a space near us, and opened our books: Shelby was reading an interesting book about the Appalachian area of America and taking on a challenging Sudoku puzzle. I was reading a different kind of book, still just as challenging though, the instructions on how to work the TV.

After the internal struggle of whether it’s okay to ignore the air stewardesses safety announcements, the passengers settled into the flight. The aircraft was not quite Wright Brothers old, but it was missing the mod cons of a transatlantic flight, like being able to choose an individual movie. However, it did have DirectTV channels. Shelby and I stuck on the Oscar nominated Can You Ever Forgive Me?.

I glanced over at the "third" person's film choice. I couldn't recognise the show, but the vibrant colours and teenage actors led me to believe it was some sort of kid's show. I looked at the man. No, it wasn't a large child traveling alone. It was definitely a man - a man wearing a tight t shirt that accentuated his man breast. I poked Shelby, she grunted her usual response:

"What the fuck do you want, fuckwit?"

She said, in a loving way though.

“What show is that?”

She glanced across at his screen.

"i-Carly"

"No, you Shelby. Now, what show is that?"

"It's called i-Carly. Now will you shut the fuck up?"

Bit weird. Maybe he just put it on by mistake. Probably not watching it.

Fast forward three hours, I-Carly is still on his TV. And the man is inches from the screen. I looked at him intently. Does he not know we can see him? He's not in some sort of invisible perv’ chamber, although I'm sure those exist somewhere in Vegas.

I looked down to make sure nothing dodgy is... Unfortunately, the man was definitely touching himself. Now, I'll give him a bit of credit. His hand was outside the trousers, but that only made it slightly better. Suddenly, it dawned on me - Shelby was in the middle. I wasn’t worried about her, per say. He was clearly into much younger people, but she might accidentally be hit with his flailing elbow or something. She looked across at him then up and me and mouthed,

"What do we do?"

For the last thirty minutes I tried my hardest to put the man off. I gazed out the window and loudly said a range of off-putting phrases:

"Wow! Look at that skyline," "Can't believe we're flying in the sky right now!" "Do you know why they stopped serving peanuts on flights? What about the people allergic to pretzels? Nobody ever thought of them!"

If that lot didn’t put him off, nothing would.

As we walked from the airplane into Vegas airport, we discussed what we should do. I was going to confront him, and say what? Don't do that sort of thing, you sick freak. I was going to grab him by the scruff of the neck, shake him and say,

“That's digusting, you sweaty little cretin!”

I was going to be the hero and stop all bad things happening forever everywhere... I... I... I picked up our bags and we got in a cab to Caesar’s Palace.

The taxi from the airport into Vegas took us adjacent to the strip. Huge replica buildings designed to look like other things. It’s all smoke and mirrors, a mirage in the middle of the dessert like the magic shows that run every night of the week. After taking a detour we didn’t ask for and racking up a huge bill, we arrived at Caesar’s Palace.

Anybody fancy a crap? (That’s not my dad, but a man in a shirt)

We walked through the modern building designed to look like the Colosseum - a gaudy Rome rip off - and bumped into our own ancient relics in the form of my parents. We hugged. They were here again, but their bags weren’t.

That night, we had a quick go on the slot machines, or as cool locals call them, ‘the slotties’ (and lost a bit of money). My dad became slightly enamoured with the virtual blackjack game, and then we all headed to bed to recuperate for the next day. The city may never sleep, but we were certainly going to.

The next morning, we looked out through our curtains at the view of the famous Belagio Hotel’s dancing fountain show, the Eiffel Tower, and a giant poster of Donnie Osmond. We had a fat breakfast, then walked down the strip.

Along the way, we ducked into a casino for a cheeky lil dabble. Dad spotted the virtual blackjack, and I saw his eyes light up. He was straight on it. We watched eagerly with anticipation as he turned his $20 into $5 and then into $25 and then into $15 and then he cashed out. With his cashed out voucher, I jumped onto a huge slot machine that I had no idea as to the workings. I hit a few buttons, and it flashed on the screen “Extreme!”. The lights started strobing and the lines span like the slick tires on a Ford Escort. My cash started building along with my adrenalin.. 15-20-25... It kept going up and up and stopped, eventually, at $85. I took the money out and left the casino $85 richer because I didn’t give my dad his investment back.

What a start! Maybe I was a natural. Next stop, World Poker Tournament, but first, the off license for a can of beer that I could legally drink on the high street. It was like being back in Worcester on a Tuesday morning, I mean Wednesday afternoon, I mean Saturday evening.

The strip was packed with hen-dos, lad’s holidays, and waddling families who wanted a change from Disney. Me and my dad walked passed a man selling his hip-hop CD. I declined.

“Forget you then in your Bill Cosby sweater,” he said and laughed.

This drove me to grab another beer from a CVS. Inside, the cashier said,

“What a lovely sweater!”

Me and dad-livin’ it large Vegas

As you can imagine, I had very mixed emotions on the jumper and have not worn it since.

Shelby and mom stormed ahead up the strip, leaving me and dad to be awkwardly approached by dancing girls requesting a photo with us. It’s as if we looked like a couple of creepy blokes or something. We walked next to a bar where a man was strapped to a wooden chair and being forced to drink a strange green liquid by a woman in her underwear. Normally, this might be cause for alerting the authorities, but not in Vegas.

A group on a stag do walked passed us and my dad turned to me,

“Did you see that shirt? I need to get one of those!”

I had to tell him that it said “VAGITARIAN” not “VEGETARIAN”. He didn’t want one anymore.

After walking the equivalent of a half marathon up and down the strip, Shelby wanted us to recuperate at one of the West’s staple restaurants, In and Out Burger - a place known for juicy hamburgers. We’d heard that they also had veggie burgers for the three of us who don’t eat the carcasses of dead animals.

Our number came up and we sat down at a table that had just been vacated. The remnants of ravenous tub tubs lay around and an In and Out employee was kind enough to offer to clean it up for us. She picked up a tray with the remains of a sweaty burger on it. In slow motion, the burger, wrapper, and discarded sauce tumbled off the tray and down, down, down, onto my dad’s cream trousers, the only pair he had as his bag was currently somewhere in Uzbekistan.

Turned a corner in Nevada to see the New York Skyline (and a rollercoaster)

This hilarious event only slightly made up for the fact that the veggie burger was two pieces of lettuce and a tomato between a couple of soggy bits of bun. As the name suggests, we were in and out of there real quick.

The next day we went to Fremont Street, the second most famous street in Vegas after the strip. A biting wind whipped through the dimly lit passageway lined with souvenir stores, Irish bars and strip clubs. Grubby looking men stood along the street staring wildly at the tourists passing by. They held cardboard signs that read quite witty things like “I’ll look after your wife while you gamble” and some less witty - “Horny!”.

A woman danced on a huge stage with barely any clothes on while a bunch of homeless people rocked back and forwards in front of her, totally unaware, it seemed, that she was there. An abandoned car with red flashing lights moaned and groaned as a zombie popped out the top. In fairness, it was advertising a local Walking Dead Exhibit, but I wouldn’t have been that surprised if it was actually happening on this street.

Having survived Fremont Street, I decided another dabble was in order (I was continually having these dabbles the whole time, but I’m only going to tell you about the times I won). I selected my machine, one without a chair that looked very old, and put in my note. The machine started to freak out and I knew I was onto another winner - $160 coughed up this time. I was a genius. A genius I tell you and definitely did not spend all that money very quickly in other machines. Ahem.

Join me next time as I recount the next stage of the adventure, our journey to the grandest canyon of them all and beyond to the red rocks of Sedona, Arizona.

#lasvegas #comedy #lol #travelblog #travel #america #nevada #slots

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flowers-in-your-dustbin · 7 years ago

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All the numbers again (second tag reblog)

1: When you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? More milk than cereal cause I like to drink it!

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? Yeah, but when I can get into the warmth after that's even better!

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? I try to remember the page number instead so usually end on a multiple of 10 or 5.

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Tea: Two sugars, milk, hopefully brewed by the gal. Coffee: I don’t!

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Kinda!

6: do you keep plants? Nope!

7: do you name your plants? None to name!

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? Oils if I had the money for that so typically watercolours

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? I am right now.

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Typically side, but back is fine. Not stomach really!

11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? Oh My Gouda.

12: what's your favorite planet? Uranus ;)

13: what's something that made you smile today? My gal surprised me with a beautiful orchid

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? Edgy expose brick aesthetic

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! Uranus’ blue glow is due to an abundance of methane which filters out red light.

16: what's your favorite pasta dish? Spaghetti carbonara probs! Especially cooked by the best.

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? I don’t! I did want pastel pink in August.

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. I had a paddy fit in primary school because I used to always sabotage my meals so I didn't eat them but I spilt milk on something I legitimately didn’t mind having... I cried over spilt milk.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? I do! I write the days events and my feelings, I draw key points or little objects. Not all the time tho.

20: what's your favorite eye color? A nice hazel-y to chocolate amber brown woop

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. A grey Kanken Fjallraven, if Switzerland counts as hell, there you have it.

22: are you a morning person? Yeah! I’m straight too!

23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? Exactly that, nothing. With a side of music.

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? Only the one.

25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? An abandoned slaughterhouse. Soz vegans

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? Black old skool vans hehe original

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? Strawberry!

28: sunrise or sunset? Why not both in a day?

29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? I’m not sure!

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? I’m not sure, close calls/

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I like socks. Weird socks are fun. So are odd ones. I do not sleep with my socks, nor do I confine myself to white sock hell.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. We had deep convos for the time, we probs cried, then probs went to sleep.

33: what's your fave pastry? Uh choux just cause I can remember that is one. Hahahaha.

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? I had one called Baxter Bear which was the best, he was quite obviously a bear with a red scarf and his own passport. I threw up on him in the car and he was never the same again, he disappeared short after. Don’t ask about Scrubs the dog.

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? I do, I just don't use them often.

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? The xx

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? A healthy middle.

38: tell us about your pet peeves! Couldn’t possibly. There’s a fair few.

39: what color do you wear the most? Probably black? Emo ik.

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? I own a necklace I got for my 16th its very cute and only comes out when I have heterosexual days to masquerade it. It’s nice.

41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, it’s my favourite ever. I don’t read as much as I used to, sigh.

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! There’s a cute local one. They do unreal Nutella pancakes and its quite central and very aesthetic-y. Yum!

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? My gal, typically on the way to my car where I point out Orion or The Dipper. It’d be nice to do it properly sometime.

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? Two days ago.

45: do you trust your instincts a lot? When I need to.

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. Someone mentions a dog, then I normally incorporate the word ‘ruff’ as a homophone for ‘rough’ and get death stares. But I like it.

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? Gherkins.

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? Abandonment/loneliness hahahah yes it is.

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? I do like buying records yeah! I can’t say until April the 23rd but I’ll have bought another by then.

50: what's an odd thing you collect? I don’t think I do have anything odd!

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? Uncomfortable by Wallows, as well as Fast Food by D.I.D and many many more.

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? The new Patrick one is doing pretty good.

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? Nope, nope, nope and nope!

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? My dog. I didn't walk him.

55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? Hahahah you wouldn’t want to know.

56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Feeling secure with them, if you get me.

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? CAN YOU DO THE FANDANGO!?!?!

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? K is probs the wine mom bc I'd say A but she’s not as sensible, thus A gets the Aunt role.

59: what's your favorite myth? Bulls hate red, they’re actually colour blind lmao.

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? I don’t mind a bit of poetry! Marking Time by Owen Sheers is noice.

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? Me and mum put a fancy brooch in a pack of digestives for someone. I’ve received stupid spellings of my name on the birthday cards.

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? Nope

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? Rainbow order woop.

64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Black.

65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? Yep!

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? Cutesy and white and blue and stuff idk. But I wouldn't wear one haha.

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? Serene! Albeit Silent Hill-esque

68: what's winter like where you live? Fun! Cold! Disruptive!

69: what are your favorite board games? The Game of Life/Monopoly/Articulate!

70: have you ever used a ouija board? Nope!

71: what's your favorite kind of tea? English Breakfast, brewed by the girlfriend.

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? I've been known to be.

73: what are some of your worst habits? Overthinking. Nail biting.

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Ginger.

75: tell us about your pets! A doggo! A beagle! and a fish...

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? Revising!

77: pink or yellow lemonade? Yellow

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? anyone in the fanclub needs natural selection to do its thing.

79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? Surprised me at work with flowers.

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? White, because I’d like grey but we haven’t got there yet or painted the house since its still pretty new.

81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. I don't have the time for that shit.

82: are/were you good in school? I was! I still think I am! Who knows.

83: what's some of your favorite album art? Smithsmithsmithsmithsmiths

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? Yeah! Quite a few. All tonal, but above all a Venus sign and more importantly the great wave off Kanazawa by Hokusai

85: do you read comics? what are your faves? I don't fun fact I used to read them start to feel sick.

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? I feel stupid for not knowing what they are.

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Donnie Darko.

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? Not Gothic. Can’t go wrong with a bit of impressionism.

89: are you close to your parents? I think. Depends on the time of day.

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. Starts with E, ends in Dinburgh.

91: where do you plan on traveling this year? Nowhere abroad really, just a couple of good cities.

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? Barely sprinkles, but I have a drowner with me to compensate.

93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? Down. Full stop.

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My girlfriend’s. mum!

95: what are your plans for this weekend? Work, a party, a Harry Potter film, a sad Sunday.

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? I leave them for as long as possible

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? ENFJ/Pisces/Ravenclaw

98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? Hah idk.

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. Nude - Radiohead is the one I’m thinking at the mo’ and I can’t think past that.

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? Future. Don’t need to lament on the past when I hope I have a good one ahead of me. Then from there I'd click 5 back so I’m right back to where I am, cheers.

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jeremystrele · 5 years ago

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Times Like These…With Musician And Writer Clare Bowditch

Times Like These

by Sally Tabart

Singer and author Clare Bowditch at home in Melbourne’s inner North. Photo – Sarah Collins for The Design Files.

Clare with her husband Marty Brown, twin boys Oscar and Elijah, and daughter Asha. Photo – Sarah Collins for The Design Files.

Clare with her sons Oscar and Elijah in the kitchen at home. Photo – Sarah Collins for The Design Files.

Radiant Clare! Photo – Sarah Collins for The Design Files.

Beloved Australian musician, actress and author Clare Bowditch is reflective at the best of times. She is an expert at extracting gleaming kernels of truth from her life experiences – it’s what has fuelled her career as a writer and musician, after all. So it’s not surprising that she has found this period of isolation fertile ground for new ideas. And while this time has been devastating for creative Australians – many of whom fall through the cracks of JobSeeker and JobKeeper, and still have no clear path to accessing government support – Clare is confident that the work that will be produced by artists following this period of isolation and fear will be profound.

Clare has been bunkering down with her husband Marty Brown and their three high school-aged kids Oscar, Elijah and Asha in Melbourne’s inner-north. Last week, the morning after she won an Australian Book Industry Award for best new Australian writer (Clare published her autobiography, Your Own Kind of Girl, in October 2019), we spoke about the resilience of creative Australians, Clare’s outlook on the arts and entertainment industries, and her advice for artists feeling lost right now.

How are you today – and how have you been overall during COVID-19?

Today is an interesting day. There was a lot of beauty outside when I went for my walk this morning. It’s also the morning after I won my first ever writing award. It’s really odd because normally on a day like today – it’s such an honour to be noted by your peers – but to not be able to celebrate in person with them, there’s a sense of melancholy. It’s not an easy time for any creative arts industry. The reality is we are still waiting for our government to show up and announce how it’s going to support creative Australian businesses and individuals throughout this very difficult time, where there is a lot of loss of work and a lot of people volunteering to take pay cuts just to keep things going.

There’s a good sense in my bones that all of the industries I’m part of – music, writing and publishing – will very much survive and come through this time. There’s also this real sense of concern that I’ve got inside me. I woke up in a mixed mood.

What is the root of that concern?

I’m an established artist 20 years down the road on my arts career, I’m fine. I will be able to find a new creative project to do and I have an established audience. My real concern is for emerging artists or mid-career artists who can’t play live at the moment, they can’t connect with their audiences in the same way. So many of them fall through the JobSeeker and JobKeeper cracks. So my number one concern is how can we continue to support creative ideas, creative minds, during this time?

Now the beautiful thing about being creatively inclined is that we will always make gold from straw. We know how to perform alchemy. And I think in a year from now we’ll be in quite an interesting place. And guess what? Us in the arts also know how to make a good bean stew! We know how to live on a frugal budget.

What do you think the industry is going to look like in a year?

We are enjoying the way our artists are pivoting. We’re getting to see them in different lights. But the really interesting thing for me in a year from now – we’ll have had a bunch of artists who have been isolated and had time to reflect and work on new ideas. We need that longform support because in these industries we can’t just click our fingers and create a new work in five seconds. We need time to develop that work. So at best, I think this is a time of development for many people. It certainly is for me – I’ll be taking a little bit of long service leave for the next couple of months over the winter just to work on ideas.

Were you already planning to do that, or was this spurred on by COVID-19?

I’m one of the many thousands of Australians who have been caring for a sick family member during this time of COVID. My mother has pancreatic cancer. She hasn’t been well but I just want to take some time to really enjoy life and be present for my family in a different way, and to work on some quieter projects. That’s what I’m planning to do.

I’m a natural-born introvert and I haven’t had a chance to be introverted for about 10 years! I’m looking forward to a true winter where I get to have reflection and get my head around the year that has been. I was already leaning in this direction, but this time of COVID has reminded me that you can actually do it.

What has your family’s isolation situation been like?

I live at home with my partner Marty Brown and our three children. We’ve got two boys who are doing year 8 and our eldest daughter Asha is doing year 12. We also have two Burmese cats and one dog called Charlie. So our time here at home has been homeschooling. I’ve got to say I think we have an easier time than our friends with much younger children.

There are nights when we all just shut ourselves in our bedroom and nobody can talk anymore because we’ve hit our talking limit, but it’s been precious in a way to be playing board games and card games, watching movies together, it’s been a pretty precious time with the family.

How has your work been affected?

March and April are when I make about a third of my income for the year because of events. And I got a phone call on a day in March when the restrictions were starting to be put in place where I was told that 13 of my 15 events had been completely cancelled. So there was an initial time of panic and fear, but we reshuffled some things and settled into a quiet pace. I didn’t sleep for a while when it was first announced, but like many other sensitive creative types, I felt in my gut that being glued to media updates was not going to serve me. And now I just listen to Coronacast every morning and that’s how I get my updates.

What have you been reflecting on?

For me this time, and really the last year, has been a profound reminder of how little control we have over circumstances. But how ferociously important it is that we take care with the stories we tell ourselves, and the stories we choose to believe. So not catastrophising in an already catastrophic situation is one of the lessons I’ve been reminded of again and again. And for me, this has been an important reminder of how central and important is the writing of music, writing in my diary, creative conversations with friends, the reading of books, how they have relieved my deeper worries and questions during this time. They are the things I have gone back to.

What are you feeling hopeful for?

I feel enormously encouraged by the sense of local community that has sprung up in Australia. I live in the north [of Melbourne] – and to see the way the businesses have pivoted, to be able to support them and see that sense of camaraderie and how we’ve all checked in on each other – this has given me enormous hope. But I think most of all I look forward to how we rebuild Australia. We obviously care about each other in this country otherwise we wouldn’t have done what we’ve just done. That gift of social distancing has been profoundly disruptive and really important. I guess I feel hopeful about the Australian spirit in a way, which sounds like a song from an ad, but I really do!

I think the main point is perhaps the gift of this is simplicity – we don’t actually need heaps of things to be able to access pleasure and hope in these uncertain times, and I think that’s a profound lesson.

What would you say to an artist who is afraid of what their future might look like now?

Your future success as an artist is based on what you do with your feelings.

Last week, Clare was announced ‘New Australian Writer of the Year‘ by the Australian Book Industry Awards! Her first book, Your Own Kind Of Girl, is available from all good bookstores.

Clare and fellow creative/podcast co-host Jamila Rizvi have started a Facegroup group, Quarantine with Jam and Clare . Join for company, community and fun online events – including a book club hosted with Readings!

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