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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years

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Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 2

Thomas X Reader

4584

Summary: Reunions aren’t easy with dead people. Old feelings begin to stir in the privacy of The Garrison Pub but it’s hard to rebuild what time broke.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

Thomas groaned to himself. He’d been nursing a headache for the past three days since he’d asked Grace out to dance. He was pretty sure it was stress related, and the fact that he was witnessing Arthur get up in arms again only solidified the notion.

He was going on about retaliating against the police and being tired of all the harassment. Normally Thomas would agree, but something about this copper set him on edge and quite frankly this needed to be dealt with carefully. As he was leaning forward to voice his opinions, a loud banging startled the entirety of the Shlebys onto their feet.

“What in the blood blazes is that?” Arthur growled, his hand resting on a small pistol.

Danny’s muffled shouts filtered through the door, “Thomas she’s real this time! Get out here and see for yourself. She’s not a ghost.”

Aunt Pol’s eyes narrowed, “Isn’t that?”

Thomas waved her question aside , “I’ll handle this. John, brass knuckles on.”

A small flurry of activity happened over his shoulder as Thomas reached for the doorknob. Not much got Danny this worked up these days and even his affinity for chaos couldn’t handle everything Danny threw at him.

He swung the door open just as Danny’s hand was coming down to deliver another thunderous knock. It paused in the air mere inches from Thomas’ nose.

“Alright, what is it this time Danny.” Thomas’ voice was a bit gruffer than normal. While he hardly slept, it only seemed to be getting worse lately. Which probably also contributed to his throbbing headache. However even Thomas couldn’t deny that relief flooded him once he saw Danny’s ear splitting grin.

Danny practically shouted, “She’s back Thomas. Y/N was never dead, I...I found her on the street.”

Thomas felt his face fall, “Danny…”

That when he saw it. A mop of curls swiveling back and forth as the girl tucked under Danny’s arm tried to absorb her surroundings. Bullocks!

“Danny put her down for God’s sake.” Thomas reached out, prying the girl From Danny’s grip. “I’m so sorry miss. He was in the war, and he’s having a rough time of it.”

He had said the words a hundred times and a small part of him suspected he would say them a thousand more before his day came. But the thought went silent, along with a dozen others, as the girl righted herself and shoved her mass of curls out of her face. There before him stared back the wide eyes that haunted his dreams.

Thomas, no matter what happens, I want you to live. To go home to your Aunt Pol you’re always talking about. And raise those horses you love so much.

Only if you marry me.

“I… I know Thomas I was there.”

He barely heard the words. The whole world seemed to expand infinitely and then collapse all at once. Question after question assaulted him in a vain attempt to make some sense out of the impossibility before him.

Y/N was there, alive. She stood before him, not drained of color like it was in his dreams, with cheeks wind burned [is that what it’s called?] bright red. Small hands clutched an uncased violin. Eyes that sparkled even in the dimmest of light, searching for something in him he wasn’t sure he’d be able to give.

Thomas reached out, his fingertips barely brushing Y/N’s cheek. He didn’t know what he expected, but she didn’t pull away. When he came in contact with warm skin something inside him shattered. His world began to tilt and a small voice in the back of his head warned him he might faint. But he was Thomas Shelby, and Shelbys didn’t faint.

It wasn’t until Danny spoke that he realized he was shaking, “She’s real right? I...I didn’t grab some random girl off the street did I?”

“No, Danny.” Thomas’ voice was barely a whisper. “I see her too.”

A hand on his shoulder managed to drag Thomas back to earth, even if just a little.

Aunt Pol stood beside him, her eyes picking apart an untold story even as she spoke, “Thomas, I think you owe us an introduction to your friend here.”

Y/N glanced between the two. She had heard stories of Aunt Pol several times throughout her deployment and knew two things for certain. Aunt Pol respected a strong personality with conviction. However, there would be no disrespect shown towards her or her family and quite frankly Y/N had no idea what counted as disrespect here.

So she simply saluted, “Corporal Y/L/N. Reporting for duty.”

Aunt Pol raised her eyebrow, “You? A Corporal?”

“She served in the same company with Danny, Freddie, and I.” The words didn’t sound like they belonged to himself but Thomas didn’t see anyone else speak.

“How on earth did you convince anyone to let you join?” Aunt Pol stood a little straighter.

Y/N chuckled, “Oh, I absolutely fucked the physician.”

Arthur barking laughter suddenly filled the room, “Well I’ll be damned. Most people didn’t want to be there. I sure as hell know I didn’t. Why would you go and sneak in like that?”

“Well, we’ve all got idiot brothers to look after, so there’s that.” Y/N shrugged. Danny snickered over he should as Arthur’s face fell. Aunt Pol on the other hand was smiling.

Thomas glanced around, the situation having gotten quite out of control at this point, “Alright, either you two get in here or we need to go out there and quite frankly I’d rather have this conversation in here.”

Over the next several minutes Y/N told her story, or at least an abridged version of it. Of how she joined. Her job amongst Thomas’ company and her subsequent court martial when she was shot.

“And how is it you stand before us now instead of rotting away in some prison?” Aunt Pol had taken over the conversation. Or more accurately, interrogation.

Thomas was silently grateful that he wasn’t in charge for once. He was too shell-shocked to gather a single coherent thought let alone a line of questions that actually meant anything. Though there were those questions Aunt Pol didn’t ask. The more personal ones that burned his tongue even as he held it. But he would have for this what he forced himself to have in all things, patients.

“It was the price for my silence. It’s hard to convince the public they should support a war that irrevocably changes their lives on a good day. But how are you going to convince them you’re routing out German spies when they can’t even spot a woman right under their nose? It’d be a blow to their reputation they couldn’t afford to take.”

Aunt Pol’s eyes suddenly narrowed as she finally asked a question that had been eating at Thomas’ soul this whole time, “And you didn’t send a correspondence of any kind to inform your company that you were alive?”

Y/N looked down, “I sent several. Though after I didn’t hear back from anyone I suspected they weren’t getting through. I had to wait until everyone was out of an army camp at the very least, which meant the war had to end. And finding everyone afterwards? I’ve been traveling for almost a year now, and Danny is the first person I’ve bumped into.”

Thomas couldn’t look at her. All he could focus on were the grains on wood on the table. A part of him couldn’t quite wrap his head around that this was real.

A knock on the door suddenly broke the spell of hushed voices. Everyone glanced around before Danny reached behind him and cracked open the door. Grace stood there, two bottles on a tray full of glasses.

“H..Hello, I figured everyone could use some refreshments?”

Thomas’ eyes locked with hers. Something in his expression made Grace’s fragile smile fall. She knew something was wrong, but she had no idea just how sideways things had gone.

〜

Later that night, the Shelby family left the Garrison Pub, their new guest wrestling her luggage from Danny’s grasp.

Thomas glanced at Y/N. He’d barely said a word to her. He didn’t know what to say. But her easy smiles that she cast towards himself and Danny lifted a weight in his heart.

Finally he asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

She spun around, “Oh, well. I’ve got a job in a couple days at this fancy place. I was probably gonna go swindle a dress out of some high society idiot.”

A deep rumbling laughter escaped Thomas, “Grab a fancy cigar for me?”

“Always.” She waved as she disappeared into the night.

After she was gone Thomas glanced towards Aunt Pol, “So, what do you think?”

“I like her.”

〜

Later that night Grace slunk down the streets. She wore one of her better outfits but she still felt underdressed compared to the other patrons. This opera house meetup was Inspector Cambell’s idea. Grace wasn’t much of a fan. It was too open and while Thomas wasn’t inherently wealthy they didn’t know enough about him to guarantee he wouldn’t be here.

She let the concierge lead her to the booth. The whole conversation passed in a blur of nerves and paranoia.

Grace was so stressed had almost forgotten the entire reason she’d agreed to this, “I almost forgot. A new face has made an appearance. Danny Owen burst through the door carrying her under his arm and interrupted a family meeting. They were in there for a couple hours talking. I’m not sure what her name is but I’ll get that to you as soon as I can. Here's a sketch”

As she handed Inspector Campbell the small note the hairs stood up on the back of Grace’s neck as she spoke. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing around searching for a Peaky Blinder amongst the crowd. She didn’t see anyone. But that didn’t mean no one saw her.

Y/N leaned forward, her brow furrowed. Wasn’t that the barmaid from Thomas’s bar? And who was she talking to?

“Is everything ok?” the young man beside Y/N asked. His hand slid to her lower back, his fingertips brushing over the line her underwear created under the cloth.

Instead of slapping him Y/N flashed him her most charming smile, “It's nothing. You might want to keep your hands to yourself. The anticipation is part of the experience.”

He flashed her a wicked smile. Y/N silently debated on whether or not she should take all his money or simply steal his clothes while he was tied to a pole.

Y/N strolled home in the darkness of night. For such an industrious city, Birmingham was proving to be quite peaceful in the early hours of the morning. Nothing dared break the spell that had blanketed the region some time after midnight. Only the stars and mist were witness to her every step.

She silently congratulated herself on her new dress even as Y/N pulled her threadbare shawl closer around herself. She was in desperate need of several pieces of clothing. And housing. And food. As if on cue her stomach growled loud enough to nearly echo down the nearby alleyway.

Y/N glared down in the general direction, "Hush you."

Her words meant nothing in the face of hunger. It only gained power after she acknowledged its existence gnawing at her insistently. When Aunt Pol had been asking her questions earlier she'd answered them easily but they definitely danced around one of the most important ones. How long had she been in town?

The all too real answer was not long enough. Not long enough to find a job nor a place to stay. Currently her small pack of things were stashed in a hidey hole she'd carved out for herself the first night. Now all she had to do was make it all the way down there without ruining her dress.

Easy right?

She picked her way back carefully through the muddy streets. The air itself became cooler as she approached the river. The Cut, Thomas had called it back in the trenches. As the squat building that housed the Garrison Pub came into view she gave a soft sigh of relief.

While it was inconvenient to make it all the way back here from across town, she'd chosen to leave her stuff here because she was fairly certain she'd get it back even if it was stolen. Thomas just had that kind of way with people.

Unbidden, Y/N's mind slowly wandered back to their reunion this morning. She didn't know what she'd expected but that wasn't exactly it. She scowled at her own girlish inclinations.

She "died" in a man's arms and expected him to be completely fine with her showing up out of this air? Y/N's heart began to ache as she recalled the look Thomas had given her when he finally realized who it was. The pain that had etched itself deep into his features. The quiet resignation that came after dealing with heavy burdens day after day. Had her death done that to him? Or the war?

Again she kicked herself, the hubris she'd gained in the last three years sometimes even astounded her. Bending down to uncover her few possessions from behind a small mound of bricks.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her.

"Out a bit late, aren't you?"

She yelped, spinning around to confront her attacker. The light cast a shadow over the slim figure of a man, the only illumination coming from his lit cigarette. Despite the years she could still recognize that silhouette anywhere.

"Thomas? What the hell are you doing up this time of night? Scaring the shit out of me no less?" She huffed indignantly.

He stepped forward in the pale moonlight raising an eyebrow as he closed the distance between them. His eyes lingered on her, moving up and down slowly.

While Y/N didn't like the scrutiny, she knew he needed this so she waited. After a few moments he held out his hand.

"Come on Y/L/N. You haven't eaten all day and Harry usually leaves a little something in the back for us. Just in case."

Y/N smiled, "Been following me Shelby?"

He nodded unashamed as he gripped her luggage, "Saw that pretty boy you snagged. Good mark. Good dress."

Y/N prayed to whatever god still existed that he couldn't see her cheeks flush. She took a deep breath to steady her voice, "Think I can catch a few more in it?"

Thomas chuckled as he unlocked the Garrison Pub, "Aunt Pol always assumed that it was the war that honed my conman skills. Should I tell her it was you instead?"

"Only if it gets me on her good side. Though I don't think that I've done anything that's so bad." Y/N let out a sigh of relief as they entered the shelter of the pub.

Her nose and cheeks had long ago turned numb in the chill of the night. Her shawl barely held enough body heat to keep her from shivering but stepping inside was like returning to a warm bed with a sleepy lover. A welcome distraction from the future.

Thomas continued, “Not so bad? You convinced a whole regiment that if they drank vinegar with their food it would turn them blond.”

Y/N leaned against the wall, “Commander Hopper said he needed to get rid of it.”

Thomas turned towards her with the smallest smile on his face. Something about him had changed between this afternoon and now. His posture was less rigid, his features less guarded. Then the light hit his eyes. His pupils were blown out so far there was almost no color left between them and the bloodshot whites of his eyes.

“You smuggled in a whole crate of wine, right under Hopper’s nose.”

Y/N stiffened as he approached, “It was Christmas.”

“You stole the Acquisition Officer’s boots, wore them around yourself until he replaced Jerimiah’s.”

“Now, he was just being a prick.” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper as Thomas stopped barely an inch away.

His eyes were glazed over as they wandered over her features. Over and over they passed across the same area, an addled mind trying to remember every significant detail. The spell only came undone when he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers.

When he spoke again his voice was gravely, “If I kiss you will you taste like blood and dirt?”

“Thomas?”

“If I open my eyes again will your face be burned by the funeral pyre?” his voice cracked as he shuddered.

His hands were on either side of Y/N’s head, trapping her against his body. The heat that passed between them almost seemed to burn compared to the early autumn air outside. His body was a wall against hers, a bit softer than she remembered but that was probably due to the fact that he wasn’t being malnourished anymore.

Y/N knew she shouldn’t move right now. That she should let him overcome this on his own. It didn’t stop her from reaching up, letting her arms circle around him. “Thomas, it’s me. I’m here.”

His eyes slowly opened, traveling up her face, his jaw set in determination. Thomas shifted his weight, detaching one hand from the wall to cradle the back of her neck. Y/N froze at the gentle touch. Her skin was still cold beneath his fingers. His hot breath mingled with hers as the whole world came down to a single point.

“Say my name.”

“Wha… Tommy?"

His lips brushed against hers. So gentle it was as if Eurus himself had come down for a taste. Y/N gasped softly as she leaned just ever so slightly closer. That was all the hinting Thomas needed, his lips were suddenly crushed against hers. His hand tilting her head up just enough so he could taste her. His tongue brushed against her lips, asking for entry. Y/N answered by pressing her body against his, parting her lips.

Seconds later Thomas had her lifted into the air, his hands digging into her thighs as he pinned her against the wall. While he held her aloft, he wasn’t the one in control of the kiss. At some point Y/N returned the kiss. It was something wild born out of the fear and pain that had built up over the years.

It was a kiss that rent open the walls they’d built around themselves letting the shattered pieces of their souls lie bare for each other to see. It was need. It was desperation. It was a blossoming love stomped out by the heel of war.

After a long moment Y/N pulled away, gasping softly as he pressed his head into the curve of her shoulder. They stood there in the barest of light, catching their breath. Letting what had just happened sink in.

It was Thomas who broke the silence, “I...I guess you are real. FUCK.”

Fuck indeed.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut fighting back the tears. The want for Thomas was still there demanding attention. Close proximity made it all the harder to stop. However, a familiar taste lingered on her lips now. Opium. She could not in good conscience keep on going.

She almost didn’t recognize her own voice as she spoke, “Thomas, can you put me down please?” She hated herself for sounding weak, but the day had been a long one and quite frankly she wasn’t sure how much more she could give it.

He nodded, setting her down gently and taking a step back. Allowing her the space she needed to collect her thoughts. Y/N pressed her lips together in an attempt to figure out what to say, but caught herself wincing. Somewhere in their heated exchange they’d become bruised and sensitive. Thomas instinctively reached out to brush his thumb across her lower lip. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time. “I..I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath before yanking back his hand like it was on fire, “I’m so sorry.” He spun on his heel suddenly stalking toward the bar, “I promised you food.”

“That’s really not-”

“If you tell me not to again I’ll just have to go buy you enough groceries for a whole month. Now go sit down; I’ll have it out in a moment.” He disappeared into a back room Y/N hadn’t noticed earlier.

Y/N didn’t trust herself to stand especially after all the physical activity for the day. She stretched slightly, testing out her muscles while keeping most of her weight against the wall. After a distinct lack of pain, she stood and slowly made her way to a nearby table. After sitting down she arranged herself in the way she knew created the least amount of stress on her limbs. She’d be damned if she kissed Thomas and collapsed on him in the same five minutes.

A soft hum wafted towards her accompanied by the smell of food heating in an oven. The tune was one she recognized from her time in the trenches. It was one she’d made up for her company to bolster their spirits on a particularly gruesome day. She was surprised that Thomas still sang it at all.

A few minutes later Thomas returned with a bowl of soup and a fresh chunk of bread. Y/N could practically feel her jaw drop.

She grasped the hot bowl that was thrusted at her hoping to warm her hands, “What the hell is all this?”

Thomas shrugged sitting opposite of her, “I can’t feed my friends?”

“Fresh loaves of bread that feel like they came out of the oven five minutes ago? You know how much I love bread; this isn’t just feeding your friends. It’s handing me tasty gold.”

A chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest. “It’s a secret from my mum’s side of the family. Besides Aunt Pol would have a fit if I handed you anything less.”

Y/N was about to dig in when she registered the fact that there was only one bowl. “Aren’t you having any?”

He shook his head. “I ate. Plus your stomach has been growling non stop since I brought that in here. I’m starting to get concerned that you haven’t eaten in days.”

Rather than confirm his suspicions Y/N shrugged and dug in. Though she still split the bread in half and handed it to him.

He gave her a reluctant smile and ate with her, occasionally dipping the bread in the soup.

When Y/N was done eating Thomas whisked away her bowl before she could even think to stand and take care of it herself. Upon returning he found her grabbing her luggage.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Y/N shrugged, “Dunno, but this is a pub not a hotel. I can’t stay here”

“Don’t you have a place to stay?”

Y/N paused. She didn’t know the area well enough to make something up so she just opted for the truth, “I haven’t been in town long enough to find anything. I had enough time to get my first job set up but Danny dragged me away from getting enough money for a hotel tonight.”

Thomas’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have money for a place yet.”

Y/N shook her head despite the fact that it wasn’t a question.

“Well I’m not letting you go out there in the cold if that’s what you’re thinking.” He crossed the space between them in a fraction of a second, pilfering Y/N luggage directly from her grasp.

Y/N lunged for her case, “Hey! What exactly do you plan on doing then? Taking me back to your room? Because I can tell you right now that’s not a good idea.”

He hefted the case into the air with little effort. “You’ll be staying here. There’s rooms upstairs.”

“I won’t be some charity case, Thomas Shelby.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Y/F/N.” He walked back towards the door he’d disappeared in earlier, but instead of going in he began jogging up a flight of stairs.

Y/N stared after him in mild horror. She really didn’t think she could handle stairs tonight, but what choice did she have? If she didn’t follow him he’d be back wondering what on earth was keeping her so long. So she walked over to the stairs, her back stiff but not protesting. She thanked the gods for small miracles and began to climb.

After a minute or two she crested the last flight, letting out a slow breath to ease the tension that had gathered along her spine on the way up. Thomas was down a skinny hallway fumbling with a set of keys.

He spoke at the door refusing to look at her more than he had to, “This whole floor is typically meant for employees, but Harry’s got a family and Grace has her own place. So you’ll more often than not have the whole floor to yourself. I do sleep here sometimes, but that’s few and far between.”

Y/N thought back to earlier that night, “Does Grace live with her parents?”

Thomas shrugged, not really paying attention, “I don’t think she has parents anymore.”

Y/N slowly closed the distance between them, Thomas’s antics becoming down right jittery as she got closer. Finally the door opened.

Inside was a small room with a full bed taking up most of the space. There were no blankets or sheets to be seen but the layer of dust on everything signaled that no one had lived here in a long while. Two small doors were the only things that interrupted the dull wooden walls.

“It’s perfect.” Y/N grinned.

He looked at her like she was crazy but instead of answering he set her luggage beside the bed along with her violin. He disappeared as she wandered in. The air was musty and everything needed cleaning but it was more than she’d hoped for when she had gotten onto the train headed for Birmingham.

Thomas reappeared a couple minutes later and threw a pillow and sheets onto the bed. With a flourish he wrapped the duvet around Y/N’s shoulders, getting a startled yell in return. He smiled fondly as she struggled with the mass of cloth, his features returning to normal as she emerged.

“This is all too much, Thomas. I..How much is the rent?”

He answered.

Her cheeks flushed, “That’s way too low, even for living on this side of town.”

Thomas shrugged, “I expect you to play on Saturdays. Grace requested we allow singing and I think using your violin to draw in the customers will more than make up for the discount.”

Y/N raised her eyebrow, “You didn’t allow singing? In a pub?”

He shrugged before handing her the key and turning to leave. He was almost to the top of the stairs when he stopped.

“Again, I’m sorry about tonight.”

Y/N barely heard him and honestly she wasn’t sure she was supposed to. She didn’t reply and instead went about making her new bed.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #shelbys at somme #adventuresintooblivion #tommy

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years

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Irreverent Pt. 35 - The Fifth

Title: Irreverent Pt. 35 - The Fifth Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 5130

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's the middle of the night after a long case away involving a family annihilator, after which you and Aaron had picked up Jack and more or less collapsed into bed from sheer exhaustion. You're woken up suddenly and for a second you're not sure why until you feel Aaron shift erratically behind you. You turn slowly towards him to see his face contorted and a thin layer of sweat covering his brow. He's having a nightmare, and knowing everything he's been through, you can only imagine what it's about.

Reaching out slowly, so as to not startle him, you softly shake him. "Aaron, honey, wake up." It takes a bit more shaking to really get him out of his sleep. He wakes with a start and a shout and you worry he'll wake Jack. "Shh, it's okay, you're okay." Your hands are running over his chest and face, trying to help him calm down.

Aaron had been having the Foyet dream again. The dream where he's driving and driving and he hears Haley and he hears Jack, except now it's not just them, it's also you. He's driving and the car isn't moving fast enough and he hears that first gunshot that hits Haley. He hears yours voice - your voice asking him why he didn't make the deal, your voice telling him to hurry - and then a second gunshot.

He's shaking as he realizes that he's in bed, that you're there, and reasonably he knows that Jack is in his room down the hall. You're saying something and he's nodding but not sure what he's saying yes to. He feels cold and clammy and your hands are softly brushing back his hair as his breathing starts to become normal again. From the nightstand, you'd grabbed the glass of water and are handing it to him, your hand cupping his as he brings it up to his mouth.

"You're okay, you're alright. Everything's okay. Jack's alright. It's okay."

He nods, hearing you this time, and allows you to help him lay down, his head against your chest and your hands running over his arms and through his hair. It's helping. Reminding him. Grounding him. This is the first time he's had someone around for this nightmare. He's used to waking up alone and then getting up to check on Jack - just in case. But he has your voice in his ear, assuring him that Jack is alright.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the steady beat of your heart.

You're there.

*------------*

It had been a short case and it had ended relatively well all things considered - the Unsub was apprehended before he got his hands on his next victim. Sometimes you just take the wins you're handed, and so the team had flown out of Phoenix in good spirits, looking forward to a long weekend off. Rossi had already planned a barbeque at his place on Sunday and you and Aaron had plans to take Jack to the new Dinosaur exhibit at the Smithsonian on Saturday. Monday - if you all made it that far without a case - would be dedicated to introducing Jack to the Toy Story series. You'd ordered him a little Woody outfit and toy as a surprise and just received the notification that it was delivered, so it was perfect timing really.

"I'm just saying, he wasn't too far off the mark," you hear Spencer's voice as you're sitting sideways on the couch, your legs in his lap.

The latest Unsub had formed unhealthy attachments with women who he helped provide tech support to, so the conversation had turned to that again, as far as you could tell. JJ thought it was creepy how the guy had essentially used his access to the customer log to stalk his victims that fit his fantasy and the two of them had been talking it over as she was typing out her report. Her and Will had plans for tomorrow and you knew she wanted to get home early tonight so was doing her best to wrap up her work before you even landed.

You debated starting yours too as you saw that Hotch was working on some paper work as well. Emily and Derek however were sitting and chatting about something or the other and Rossi was reading a newspaper. Who did that anymore? You really needed to introduce him to a kindle or something. Maybe for Christmas. Then again he's a published author. He might take offense at having the feel of a real book be replaced with technology.

You decided to join JJ and Spencer's conversation - maybe you'd learn something to add to your report that you would type soon and not wait to do until after you landed. Of course not.

"What're you guys talking about, Spence?"

"I'm just trying to explain to JJ, that while the Unsub might have gone about it in an unorthodox manner," you hear JJ scoff at Spencer's description of the murders, "he wasn't wrong about the initial premise."

"Which is?" you prompted, trying to take mental notes at the least.

"That many people find love through work - be it a customer, client, or coworker. We spend at minimum, 40% of our waking hours at work. Add in the fact that many people tie their work to a facet of their identity, it makes sense that relationships formed in workplace settings have a high degree of success."

You nod along, taking a drink from the bottle of sparkling water you'd grabbed earlier.

"I mean, just look at you and Hotch - you two seem to be making it work."

You felt yourself choke on the water and cough, enough to get everyone's attention. No. You'd misheard. He hadn't said that. Why was it so quiet on the plane all of a sudden? They're all looking at you. You and Hotch. Emily and Derek had entirely stopped talking. Rossi had put down his paper. No one was saying anything really, as if they were waiting.

You meet Aaron's eyes and see the same question reflected there. Do they know?

You're about to contradict it, really, you are. You're going to ask Spencer what he's talking about. Because you and Hotch are not together - no sir. He must be mistaken. He must have you confused with someone else.

That option is taken from you, however, when Aaron straightens, putting down his pen, and asks Spencer, "How long have you known?"

It's JJ who answers however. "We didn't actually. Not for sure at least. Thanks for the confirmation." There's a smirk on her face and a knowing glint in her eye. You look around and see that they're all wearing pretty much identical smirks.

You can feel the incredulity building in your head. You'd been had. Actually no. You had not. Aaron had. You were all set to deny deny deny. He had to open his big mouth and ask a self-incriminating question. I should pull up the Virginia Bar records and check if he's still licensed because he's really losing his touch.

Aaron had the good grace to look a little ashamed at having been tricked so easily.

You're supposed to say something, but this isn't how you'd planned on telling everyone that you were sleeping with the boss. Well not just sleeping with, but still! There had been a plan. A carefully orchestrated plan involving dinner and copious amounts of expensive alcohol so that no one could be upset at having been lied to. It was very hard for people to be upset with you after you've fed them. Especially if you made your tiramisu. The tiramisu had been part of the plan!

You can feel your face heating up the longer the silence goes on. Realistically it's only a few seconds at most while both you and Aaron process that everyone knows now. But it feels like a very long stretch of quiet in which they're all just looking at you as if they expect you to start making out with one another any minute now.

"How'd you figure it out?" you finally ask, hoping that question would urge Spencer to talk and distract everyone from staring at you. You sneak a peak at Emily. She doesn't look mad or upset really. That's good.

"Well, I've suspected since Hotch got shot," Spencer explains. "I was pretty sure you made a large donation to the surgery department to get Dr. Kepner instead of Dr. Wilson, which didn't really make sense as something someone would do for a friend or a coworker. Though sometimes I do tend to misread those types of situations so I asked JJ and she agreed with my interpretation that it was unlikely you'd make a large donation for just anyone like that."

You look at Aaron and see him color just slightly. The two of you had had a bit of an argument about you throwing your money around to get your way, but you'd reminded him that his bullet wound had healed remarkably and there was barely a scar at all. Plus, it was your money and you could use it however you wanted and then you'd said something about how scared you'd been and how you didn't know how else to help and could he please just not be mad at you for doing something that was good for him. You weren't sure if it was what you said or the fact that you were sat in his lap pouting and upset when you'd done it, that had made him finally relent.

You still refused to tell him exactly how much you'd donated.

"We won't hold that against you, though," JJ says kindly. You can see the humor dancing in her eyes.

If the jet were to suddenly rip a hole and pull you clean through, you wouldn't be all too upset about it.

"You also said no to a date with Charlie," Derek adds. Detective Charles Bass was a friend of Derek's from the Chicago PD whom you'd met on the case prior. "You and I both know he's your type, princess." Derek has a teasing smile on his face that helps you calm down a little bit.

You rolled your eyes but didn't refute his claim. He wasn't wrong. Detective Bass was incredibly good looking and charming and exactly your type if you weren't already completely head over heels for a certain unit chief. Aaron had laughed when you told him and then proceeded to remind you exactly why you said no to dates with other men. You two were lucky no one had heard you with how thin hotel room walls could be. Though now you have to wonder if they had indeed heard you but were adding it to the pile of evidence they'd been collecting.

"And then," Emily decides to finally contribute, prompting you to really look at her, "when I was taking the lunch order, and Hotch was busy, you knew his sandwich order exactly. When I handed it to him he asked how I knew that he didn't like mayonnaise on his roast beef sandwiches. I didn't know that. But you sure did." Emily has a smug look on her face and there's a promise in her eyes that the two of you will be discussing this later. In detail.

You're just sitting there now, shaking your head. It was embarrassing to have your profiler coworkers point out things that you really should've known to be more careful about. You're sure Aaron feels similarly awkward because he's just silently looking at each person as they speak, a flush coloring his face and neck.

Rossi looks like the cat that ate the canary, however he is conspicuously quiet. You have to wonder how long he's known that the others suspect you and Hotch were together. However none of them seem upset really or even surprised so that has to be of some solace to Aaron. He'd had the ridiculous notion that Derek and Emily would think he was taking advantage of you or some nonsense. As if anyone could possibly think that of him.

"And finally, there was the case in LA a few weeks back when we got called in late and both you and Hotch arrived around the same time. Which in and of itself wouldn't be too odd, but you were wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with off the shoulder sleeves and Hotch was also dressed up and wearing a tie that matched your dress exactly. Hotch doesn't have green ties." Spencer relays all of this as though it's all oh so obvious and you really want to call him a weirdo for knowing what ties Hotch does and doesn't have - but he's right. You'd bought him that green tie because it was your favorite color and he'd matched your dress when the two of you had gone out to dinner on a rare night off. "Plus, the two of you often tend to match. Is that on purpose or subconscious - I've been wanting to ask."

You look down at your red blouse and then across to Aaron's red tie. Well, if any of them hadn't believed it before, they sure did now.

You might as well have been caught red-handed.

*------------*

Sunday was a nice and sunny day. You and Aaron had arrived at Rossi's together with Jack. In the same car. That was a definite perk of everyone knowing - the two of you had been growing tired of always bringing two cars to and from places and trying your best to arrive a few minutes after the other.

Jack had immediately found Henry and the two of them were playing in the shallow end of the pool with Aaron and Will keeping watch nearby, while Rossi and Reid manned the grill. Well Rossi was doing the grilling. Spencer was spouting facts about the origins of barbeque which Aaron had long since tuned out from.

He looks over as you lay in a deck chair near the girls and Derek. Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia had all opted for bikinis and were working on their tans. You'd taken off your coverup and were wearing a wine colored one piece swimsuit underneath, your hair tied up in a high ponytail reminiscent of some pop star whose name he could never remember. Last week, he had come home to you and Jack singing along to her teeny bopper tunes and when he'd complained you'd told him that music didn't stop with the Beatles and it was good to have balance. He'd had the song stuck in his head for days.

All in all the team had taken the two of you dating relatively well. They'd all said they were happy for the two of you and no one seemed too upset at having been kept in the dark about it. He supposed he was grateful given the group's history with secrets. He was also pretty sure he'd seen some money exchange hands afterwards, however had decided to not bring that up with you - he had a feeling you wouldn't be thrilled to know your coworkers were betting on your personal life.

On the other side of the pool, you were getting settled in and enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin. Emily's lying next to you on her stomach after you'd finished lathering her back with sunscreen.

"Derek, where's Savannah?" JJ asks, taking a sip from the giant margarita glass that Rossi had handed each of you as you entered. She's sitting up in her chair, sunglasses perched on her head and an eye on Henry the entire time.

"She's on call, but she says hello," Derek answers. You know it's been rough on them trying to see each other despite both of their busy schedules. That's one thing you're grateful for with you and Aaron working on the same team - you get to see him at home and at work. Though, you suppose you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. McKinney has been hinting at getting you working - part time at least - with some local task force groups to increase your exposure. You'd end up splitting your time between that and the BAU.

"Alright, let's talk about what we all really want to know more about!" Penelope turns to you, her face a mixture of curiosity and childlike glee. Heat and alcohol were not a good mix. "Y/N, tell us more about you and Hotch!"

You'd been dreading this. You'd told Aaron as much when the two of you were getting ready that morning and at this moment you resented him for being on the other side of the pool with Will. Will who wasn't nosey and minded his own business.

Sighing, you prop yourself up to take a sip of your own drink. "What do you guys want to know?"

"How long have you been together? Officially."

"A few months - since the career day conversation."

"That long?!" JJ's eyes widen in surprise.

"Didn't you hide Will from us for almost half a year?" Derek raises an eyebrow at her hypocrisy however she doesn't seem perturbed.

"Yes, but that was different. Hotch and Y/N are both around us practically 24/7. I'm surprised they managed to hide it that long."

You laugh. "Well we obviously weren't that good at the hiding if you guys figured it out."

"Don't sell yourself short, princess. If pretty boy hadn't told us all about the hospital thing we wouldn't have given it too much thought."

"He's right," Emily agrees. "You and Hotch being together isn't like a surprise, but it is also."

"What do you mean?" You're intrigued by that because that's something that's bothered you since you declared your relationship to Strauss. She hadn't been surprised and she'd said no one else would be either. You hadn't really taken her word for it.

"I mean, you guys were basically a couple already - all the stuff you did with Jack, always partnering up together, not to mention the fact that Hotch has been in love with you forever."

You roll your eyes. Everyone's said that - Emily, Rossi, even Aaron when he told you that he'd loved you for years. You couldn't help but be a bit skeptical. Years? Really? Deep down you knew the reason why you're bothered - it's because you can imagine how painful that must've been for him if it was true - you'd flirted with other men, you'd dated, and then there had been the time when you two were barely speaking. While that had been awful for you as well, you couldn't imagine how much worse it was for him knowing he was in love with you and you two were barely talking.

"But also it was a small surprise," JJ continues, drawing your attention back. "Like, none of us thought Hotch was your type - at least based on the other guys we've seen you date. We honestly thought about setting him up a few times just to help him get over it and move on."

That was news to you. No one had ever mentioned wanting to set Hotch up with anyone to you. "Why didn't you?"

You see JJ and Emily exchange a look. Emily's the one who answers, though she seems hesitant. "Well, we did. Once. We set him up on a blind date with my friend Sarah. Apparently all he did was talk about the team and Jack…and you."

You raised your eyebrows at that and looked over at Aaron, throwing Jack into the water. "He talked about me?"

"According to Sarah, it seemed like he was hung up on some girl named Y/N," JJ teases, "and she was pretty upset that we wasted her time."

You can't help the pleased smile or the slight color that comes to your face. You wanted to ask why none of them had told you, but you knew the answer. They wouldn't betray Aaron like that.

"So," and you can tell this is Emily's way of changing the subject back to what she really wants to talk about. "How's the sex?" Her mouth is twisted into a smirk, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Derek takes that as his cue to excuse himself from the girl talk and walks over to join Rossi at the grill. As if you'd talk about that with him there anyways.

You shake your head. "Emily he's your boss."

"He's your boss too, and you're sleeping with him. I just wanna know what it's like."

JJ and Penelope are also looking at you expectantly. You bite your lip, and with a sigh you admit, "It's the best sex of my life."

Their loud ooohs and teasing squeals catch the guys' attention and you meet Aaron's gaze as he's walking over.

Aaron can sense the girls' eyes on him as he walks over to you to grab the keys to the car. Jack wanted to grab the waterguns to play with.

"Hey, the keys still in your bag?"

You nod as he grabs the bag from the other side of your chair and looks for the car keys. You'd all become far too quiet the second he'd approached. Emily was stifling a dirty smirk very very poorly and both JJ and Penelope were still giggling behind their drinks.

"Were you talking about me?" he asks, a small smirk on his face as he fishes out the keys.

"Yes," Emily replies, flipping her sunglasses up to meet his eyes. "Now go away so we can continue."

Aaron chuckles and shakes his head. He's about to walk away, but as he passes the back of your chair, you suddenly feel a light tug at your ponytail, and before you can react he's pulled your head back and captured your lips in a sweet kiss that takes your breath away. Letting go, he throws a wink at your shocked face before strolling away.

You take a second before you look back at the girls and you're met with three identical faces of outright surprise.

Emily recovers first, fanning herself with her hand. "Has Hotch always been this hot?"

The four of you can't help but laugh again.

Yes he has.

*------------*

You'd changed out of your swimsuit and into a dress after playing waterguns with Jack and Henry in the afternoon. The food and drinks had flowed throughout the day, and everyone had moved into Rossi's large living room as the sun set. It was pretty much assumed that no one was in a state to drive back home that night.

Jack had eventually tuckered himself out and fallen asleep in your lap before Aaron picked him up and took him to the guest bedroom to lay him down next to Henry. You were feeling a little sleepy yourself, tucked into Emily's side on the large couch, lazily holding a glass of wine, and trying to follow the conversation.

"So, he just said you weren't good? Like, straight up?" JJ looks appalled that anyone could be so rude to someone's face.

"Yeah, can you believe it? I had an off day and still went down on him and he comes at me with that," Emily replies, the rage clear on her face. Her latest paramour had been less than appreciative of her skills and she had been filling you all in on the aftermath.

"You did dump him, didn't you sugar?" Penelope was equally worked up, her nostrils flaring.

"Of course," Emily assures her, "And then," she continues a bit hesitantly, "I did something…else."

That definitely caught your attention. "Oh God…what'd you do Em?"

"Well, I may have gone through my contacts and obtained more personal feedback." She's not looking at you and instead speaking into her wine glass. You're pretty sure it's her third and that was after margaritas all afternoon.

You blink as you process what she had said. However, Penelope beats you to it. "You called up your exes and ASKED?!"

"How else am I supposed to know? I was feeling insecure and I needed to know if he was right. There isn't exactly a Yelp to rate blowjob skills."

You groaned. Of course she had.

"Emily, you can't just call people and ask them that." You couldn't believe she'd done that. You could not even fathom.

"Why not? I feel better and I know he was wrong."

You just shook your head, smiling in spite of yourself. Suppose you do have to admire the confidence.

"Maybe I should do that," Penelope says, twirling her phone in her hands.

"Alright, you're cut off." You grabbed her glass from her hand and moved it to the table. "We can't all just go around asking men to rate us." This was an entirely alcohol fueled conversation at this point.

JJ agreed with you, making a grab for Emily's glass as well, which she dodged. Damn those undercover agent reflexes.

"I don't know Y/N," Emily teased, "you always like being the best. Wouldn't it be nice to know for sure."

You narrowed your eyes at her.

Before you could say anything else, however, she'd already called out. "Hotch!"

You watch Aaron turn from his conversation with Reid, beer bottle in hand. He looked a little flushed from the day drinking, his hair flopping adorably to his forehead. "Yes?"

"Does Y/N give good head?"

You feel your jaw drop and your eyes widen in horror. You're already shaking your head at Aaron. You're waiting for him to say that it wasn't appropriate. Waiting for him to ignore it and roll his eyes and turn away. Instead he looks at you and the look in his eyes tells you exactly what he's thinking about. You can feel yourself heat up under his gaze.

Aaron, in his defense, was a few beers in and his guard had been down. He'd spent the entire day watching you in your bathing suit and when Prentiss - blatantly - asked him if you gave good head, his mind went immediately to a few weeks back.

A few weeks back when you'd woken up before him - which you rarely did. He had woken to the feeling of little kitten licks on the tip of his cock and the sight of you knelt between his legs. He'd shifted, alerting you to the fact that he was awake, and you'd looked up at him with the cutest smile.

"Good morning." He'd raised an eyebrow, at your position.

You'd hummed in response, taking him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, and released him with a kiss on the tip.

His eyes darkened as he shifted to sit against the headboard and watched you move with him.

"What do I owe this wakeup call to?"

You'd appraised him, still knelt between his legs, as if debating exactly what to say. He knew you weren't incredibly experienced in this particular area and he'd been more than happy to forego it altogether in your time together thus far. You bit your lip, and spoke slowly. "You know that I haven't done this much."

He nods, watching you fidget with your hands.

"Will you teach me?"

He felt a jolt of need that went straight to his cock. He was about to imprint this image of you to his mind forever - kneeling between his legs, doe eyes looking up at him from under your lashes, mouth pouty and lips glossy from his precome coating them. This would be the image that he would forever bring to the forefront anytime he was unfortunate enough to spend a night without you.

He lets out a shaky breath before nodding yes.

You were an incredibly fast learner.

You watch as Aaron tips the head of the beer bottle to his mouth and takes another drag, before lowering it. He looks right at you when he finally speaks, deliberately slow. "I have no complaints."

You let out a breath of disbelief and the girls started laughing around you as he turned back around to his conversation amongst jostling from Derek and Rossi. Cocky little…

When you walked to the kitchen to grab some water, you could feel his eyes on you and you're not surprised when he joins you a moment later, arms circling your waist from behind.

"Hi." His breath is warm against your neck and you can tell he's just this side of drunk because he's very loosely holding himself to you.

You simply hummed as he pressed his lips to your neck. He had been very touchy today and to be honest, you hadn't expected this level of PDA from Aaron. You'd expected him to be much more reserved, though that's likely exactly what would happen once everyone was back at work.

"Was that the right answer?" He mumbles into your skin, leaving open mouth kisses along your neck.

You smile, rolling your eyes. "The right answer was I plead the fifth. I thought you were a lawyer."

His chest rumbles with laughter behind you and you can hear the teasing smile in his voice. "Well, your honor, I think I'm a few beers in and allowed to appreciate my girlfriend's skills. Any chance I could talk you into another demonstration?" Oh he was really pushing his luck.

You bite your lip to prevent the grin that's threatening to break out. "I thought you were drunk."

You try to turn to face him but he pushes you into the counter, grinding against you. "Not that drunk."

He moves his hand to cup your jaw, turning your face towards him, and capturing your lips in a wet, dirty kiss that leaves you moaning and grinding back into him.

You're grateful the kitchen is hidden from view of the living room and no one has walked in on you both yet.

"Aaron, we can't have sex in Rossi's house," you whisper urgently when he gives you a moment to breathe.

"You're kidding, right? He told me where the condoms are."

You scoff. As if the two of you even used condoms.

But he's looking at you earnestly and you chance another look in the direction of the living room. It sounded like everyone was talking and distracted. They probably wouldn't miss you.

He can see the wheels turning in your head, and he smiles triumphantly as he sees the acceptance in your eyes.

"You're a bad influence Agent Hotchner," you say as his lips meet yours again and the two of you start making your way down the hallway to the back of the house.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #irreverentseries

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Note

THE UNTAMED, YOUR CHOICE OF OURAN AU, SOUL EATER AU, S&S AU, OR CORPSE BRIDE AU

OKAYI’M GOING TO DO THE OURAN AU BECAUSE I THINK IT’S REALLY FUNNY AND I MADE THEBAD CHOICE™ OF READING A BUNCH OF NEWS TODAY. Uh. Mycomputer crashed halfway through this and I think somehow it got longer,so. Sorry about that one.

ONE

Wen Ning is a scholarship student. He’s more than ascholarship student, really, he’s a here by the grace of every godever and also his sister student who also, incidentally, is ona scholarship. The phenomenally wealthy Wen family recently went down ina blaze of indignity and political scandal, but newly-broke Wen Qing is not hearing any arguments about sending her babybrother to a less-than-top-of-the-line high school, especially since he acedthe tests and was given a full ride except for books and uniform. SinceWen Qing was halfway through med school at the time of the Wen scandal, they’reburning through their meager inheritance to get her degree and make ends meetfor food, on the gamble eventually they might be able to move out of their absolutelyshit one-bedroom apartment on a doctor’s salary and also because Wen Ning pointblank refused to let her drop out. Therefore, when Wen Ning tries to hideout in an empty music room and accidentally breaks a very expensive vase, he hasa moment of abject dread and–well, yeah, okay, he’ll work it off, he guesses.

TWO

WeiWuxian isn’t actually planning to charge this kid for a vase that is definitelyworth more than the entire apartment building he lives in! Wei Wuxian isnot an asshole! It’s just that he hasnever seen this scholarship kid with the secondhand clothes and the long hairhiding his face and the unfortunate name speak to anyone outside of absolutelymandatory conversation, and it’s kind of depressing. So, Wuxian has decided to adopt him, teachhim how to talk to people, and maybe buy him a ponytail holder. He has about five seconds to get all of thatout on the third day since recruiting Wen Ning, when a very petite woman in ared coat storms in like a hurricane and corners Wuxian alone (or rather, withonly Lan Wangji, which is as close as it gets) with apparently homicidal intentto snarl, “If you’re messing with my brother’s head, no one will ever find yourbody.”

(WenNing did not mention being low-key press-ganged into a host club on the firstday. On the second day, he came home ina real uniform that actually fit, with his hair cut into something thatresembled a style and pulled back from his face, and he had to spill hisguts because not even Wen Qing’s sleep schedule was going to make her miss thatone.)

Turnsout that the sister Wen Ning mentioned, implying that she was the same kind ofangelic creature as Jiang Yanli, is fucking terrifying. Wei Wuxian rambles through hisexplanation so fast that he kind of doubts Wen Qing gets all of it, and then hewaves his hands helplessly and says, “I don’t know, he just seemed kind oflonely?” Wen Qing narrows her eyes athim. “It’s true! I never see him talk to anyone!”

“A-Ningis a good kid,” she says, shoving a finger into Wuxian’s chestthreateningly. “Our family never likedhim because he’s too nice, and no one else likes him because of his name, so ifI hear you’re messing with him…”

“Iswear,” Wuxian says, raising his hand. “Ijust thought maybe it would be good for him, having some people to hang outwith.”

WenQing studies him for another moment, and then she steps back and nods and says,“It will be.”

Andthat’s how the host club gets a part-time manager in addition to its latestrecruit.

THREE

Thehosts are:

[rose_petal_animation.gif]

WeiWuxian, whois nominally in charge because he came up with this whole idea, on the argumentthat, quote, “Jiang Cheng needs to learn to be nicer.” It was also tacitly agreed that he and JiangCheng needed something that would keep them out of the house and therefore outof Madam Yu’s way after school, and they’d already been kicked out of themartial arts club after a slight incident involving Wei Wuxian’s fist, JinZixuan’s face, and Jiang Cheng’s unapologetic support. Wuxian went around and recruited some folks,and now he has a host club, which, in his opinion, is markedly more fun thanthe martial arts club. The Mischievoustype.

JiangCheng,who has spent three years in this circus and is not noticeably nicer. He’s likable enough with the guests, but nomatter what Wei Wuxian says, Jiang Cheng does know how to be civil whenthe situation calls for it. He spends mostof his time trying to reign in his brother’s more wild ideas, but his successrate isn’t great, because their sets-and-costumes guy is a horrible enablerwith family money who is more than willing to contribute to all kinds ofnonsense as long as he can show up with a fan and look mysterious while hewatches the chaos at their events. JiangCheng says he’s the Long-Suffering type but actually he’s the Bad Boy typebecause of his temper.

JinZixuan,who is only here because his mother said he’d be grounded until he graduatesunless he found a good extracurricular and he didn’t know who ran the host clubwhen he blurted out that he was planning to join it. Now he’s committed because his mother will notsupport him leaving and it’s been three years and also he still hasn’t gottenJiang Yanli’s phone number, which has become absolutely necessary because thethree minutes he sees her every Thursday when she comes to get her brothers fortheir weekly sibling dinner are the best of his week. There is a good chance Zixuan’s going to getpunched again when he finally gets his courage up to ask her out, but sometimesit be like that. The Princely type, althoughhe’s hopeless when he’s not playing a part.

LanWangji, treasurer,who is only here because Wei Wuxian asked him to be, and everyone (except WeiWuxian) knows it. He’s still remarkablypopular with the guests, despite the fact that most people are lucky to get fiveconsecutive words out of him and it’s a known fact that he’ll bow out of aconversation with nothing more than a brief apology and a nod the moment Wuxiancalls him. Somehow, three years later,Wuxian has not picked up on the fact that Wangji is really not here tolearn to talk to women. Save him. The Stoic type.

LanXichen, generalsource of stability if not necessarily common sense, who is here because hisbrother is here. He and Wen Qing bondimmediately over their shared Protective Older Sibling energies, although WenQing is very much here to beat up anyone who looks sideways at her brother andXichen is very much here to wingman his brother as hard as he can manage. He’s a year older than the others, graduatingthis year, and the most popular host by a long shot. The Chivalrous type.

WenNing, who,yeah, is wide-eyed and shy and tends to start stuttering if more than threeguests are looking at him at any given moment, but he has an apparently innatetalent for sweet and unassuming kindness that’s a big hit. The guests are charmed by his nervousness andthey’re always happy to listen to him talk about his favorite subjects (his sister,his friends, and archery, which he currently can’t afford to do but knowseverything about, in that order). The Natural type.

Honorablemention to Nie Mingjue, who graduated last year and was only partof the host club because Lan Xichen made him. Which is to say, Xichen smiled at him and talked about how gladhe was that Wangji was making friends and how good it would look onMingjue’s college applications as a complement to his more athleticextracurriculars and how happy Huaisang would be to do something withhis brother, and then Mingjue blinked and boom, host club. He doesn’t have any idea what happened. Xichen is like that. The Jock type.

FOUR

NieHuaisang has been Wei Wuxian’s top enabler and partner in chaos since they werein middle school and he also knows everyone and everything despite hisreputation as a top-notch dumbass. Hisentire rationale for not being part of the host club is that it wouldrequire him to admit to knowing things, and he Won’t, which—top student Wei “IHandle My Adequacy Issues By Being Smart But Also Have Guilt About It” Wuxiandoesn’t totally get that, but sure, okay, proceed. Huaisang does, however, have anexcellent grasp of how to acquire all manner of strange things, so he is theirone-man supply center for all manner of wild concepts. One time he got an entire apple treenext-day-shipped just to prove he could.

Also,Huaisang is personally responsible for making most of the host club’s money,because he has a camera and a good sense for the kind of pictures that peoplewill pay for. Even funneling most of the money back into funding the club activities, Huaisang is still managing to turn a decent profit all told. He takes a nice 7% cut for himself (friends and family discount), which is half the reason Mingjue didn’t kick up even more of a fuss about it.

Huaisang’svisceral hatred of the head editor of the school paper is the best kept secretin the school but on god Huaisang’s connections are better than that JinGuangyao asshole’s and he’s going to take him down before graduation.

FIVE

Halfwaythrough the school year, Wei Wuxian gets in a car wreck and the way Lan Wangjireacts to being the first number the paramedics find in Wuxian’s phone is informative. It’s taken five and a half years, four brokenribs, a punctured lung, a concussion, and a spirited yelling sessionfrom Jiang Cheng, among other things, but Wei Wuxian has finally managed to geta clue.

Anda boyfriend.

Nowall they need to do is resolve Huaisang’s vendetta, figure out how the hell afirst year like Xue Yang managed to so comprehensively destroy ex-teacher XiaoXingchen’s reputation, and try and make it to Wen Qing’s graduation on time,and they’re golden.

#the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #wen ning #ouran au #ask meme #headcanon meme #if you went 'hey where's mianmian' i'm sorry to inform you that she's too smart for this au!#mianmian is off living a completely sane life somewhere! she has a nice boyfriend and a healthy social life!#there is a HARD max of one truly sensible person in any ouran au and wen qing is already here!#'oh star lxc is sensible' no he's not. have you ever even glimpsed the source material. lxc is himbo supreme he's just quiet about it.#anyway i'm not sure how jgy wronged nmj in this au...but he did and nhs is out for BLOOD #this is a good au and it makes me happy but also i've been looking at it for So Long trying to remember what i wrote before #what else was i going to say about this au #oh! right! xy arranged to have xxc's reputation destroyed for 'inappropriate behavior on campus' with his bf song lan #and also implied although did not QUITE accuse outright that xxc came onto him #don't worry nhs has proof of that one also! this is a happy endings only au and that means that xxc gets his job back #after nhs has successfully orchestrated a LOT of disciplinary action #i sort of feel like wwx and lwj take more of a backseat in the host club after this year and jiang cheng (to his horror)#discovers that the nominal leadership has fallen on him #oh and also one time jzx made jyl cry and her brothers never forgave and they never forgot #the crying was after the punching though so it could be said that there was pre-existing resentment #asked and answered #cthulhu-with-a-fez

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justamessyreader-blog · 6 years

Text

So I hadn’t written anything in months, but my attempts to process my feelings on If We Were Villains resulted in my writing this weird and short one shot where previous Dellecher students find out about That Whole Mess(TM) and speculate about what happened. I don’t know.

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It’s the 26th of April 1999 when Lin, Andrew, Thomas, and Grace all sit down in a tiny coffee shop in New York city. It’s the first time they are all together in what, two years? After they’d all been cut out from Dellecher at the end of their second year, they’d kept on seeing each other fairly often at first, but as life went on and they all slowly started to find ways to keep going, with or without theatre, their meetings had become more and more sparse. Now, almost four years after their expulsion from Dellecher, Lin sits near the window with a cup of tea in her hand, watching Thomas across from her and wondering how their lives would have been different if they’d just made that cut. Grace and Andrew make their way over to the table, Grace quiet as always, Andrew’s eyes sparkling with excitement.

“You won’t believe what I found out last year,” he says, as he puts down his cup and takes a seat next to Lin.

“I’m sure you’re about to tell us,” Lin remarks before turning towards him, resting her face on her hand.

“I mean, this is old news. So like, you might know already.” Andrew back-pedals. He used to do the same thing when they were at Dellecher: volunteer for a scene, confident he would do fine, and then suddenly crumble under the weight of his audience’s expectations. If Lin had to pinpoint the reason why he didn’t make it to third year, it would be self-doubt.

“Just tell us, Andy.” Grace cuts in, raising her eyebrows at him. She’s still as regal as she was then, all sharp edges and focused gaze. She’s an English teacher now, and Lin really doesn’t wish to be in her students’ place.

Like compelled by an unstoppable force, Andrew swallows, and eventually says, “You remember that super clique-y group? Those seven who were always hanging out together?”

Lin has a vague idea of what Andrew is talking about. The hot red-head, and the tall guy, and the Disney Prince, and their other friends. Yeah, Lin remembers well enough, so she nods. Who knows what happened to them.

“They ended up killing each other,” Andrew continues, eyes wide, and okay, that wasn’t the answer that Lin was expecting. “Two years ago, during their last year.”

“Shit, do you mean that guy finally snapped?” Thomas asks, looking half amused and half horrified. “What was his name, Dick?”

“I think you mean Richard?” Grace contributes.

Lin remembers him well enough. Tall, dark, and lowkey terrifying. “Well, he was a real dick, though.” She says.

“No, that’s the thing. He’s the guy who got killed,” Andrew continues. He’s making small, contained gestures with his hands, that still betray his excitement.

“Oh, my money is on the redhead. I bet she killed him.” Thomas says.

Andrew shakes his head a second time. “No, no. You will never believe who it was.”

“Who?” Grace says. She’s doing her thing again.

Andrew looks at all of them, then says, dramatically, “Oliver Marks.”

“Who?” Grace repeats, this time more confused than compelling.

Lin is also at a loss. It’s not that the name Oliver Marks doesn’t ring any bells, it’s just that she really can’t quite place him. Oliver Marks, she thinks, trying to remember anything about the guy.

“No joke, I almost couldn’t remember who it was at first. Skinny, dark hair…” Andrew starts.

“Oh, wait, I remember him now.” Grace cuts him off. “He made it to fourth year? Yeah, I’m not surprised there was murder involved.”

Grace has always been quiet and attentive, but most importantly, well, savage. It was one of the reasons why Lin had spent most of their first year harbouring a painfully embarrassing crush on her, and she can still see how a comment like that would have made her heart flutter four years earlier. Now, as Lin thinks of Kelsey waiting for her at home, it just makes her laugh. Which is horrific, by the way. You don’t laugh about murder.

“I still don’t know who you’re talking about,” she says, raising an eyebrow at Grace.

“That one guy…” Grace says, furrowing her brow in concentration. “James Farrow’s sidekick, you know?”

And okay, Lin wonders what she’d been doing at Dellecher, because James Farrow doesn’t sound particularly familiar either.

Noticing her confused expression, Thomas bursts in with, “Oh, come on, you must remember James Farrow.” Lin’s face must remain blank, because he continues, “Blond? Beautiful? A literal Disney Prince?”

And maybe it’s Thomas’s dreamy eyes, or the epithet literal Disney Prince, because Lin finally associates a face to the name. And if she focuses a little…

A memory finally emerges in her mind: a sunny day, towards the end of their second year, when a bunch of theatre students had taken advantage of the wonderful weather to study at the lake, spending more time laying at the grass and studying the occasional cloud than looking at their books. Lin had been sitting with Grace and Andrew, while Thomas had disappeared with whoever his current boyfriend was. She remembered Richard, sitting with the attractive redhead – Meredith, Meredith was her name – and playing with a strand of her hair while her, with her head in his lap, read out loud from whatever book of critical theory they’d been assigned. They’d just started dating, then. Other students threw sideway glances at them, wishing for the most beautiful girl in their year to read out loud to them, instead. And on the dock, sitting with one leg pulled up and the other tucked under him, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight and making him look like a renaissance painting, was James Farrow, the dream of almost every girl and at least half of the boys at Dellecher. He was meticulously running through his notes, trying to ignore the awed glances that almost every single student couldn’t help but throw at him. Every once in a while he looked up, just to say something to someone sitting in front of him, with a half-smile on his face. And there, responding to or perhaps causing Farrow’s smile, Lin sees Oliver Marks, taller than James and yet somehow smaller. She remembers it clearly, the two of them basking in the sunlight, quietly studying their notes and each other, a perfect picture of friendship and devotion. Perhaps more, she’d thought then. Perhaps more, she thinks now.

The memory, so clear and peaceful, is disconcerting after Andrew’s words. Lin swallows. “Yeah, I remember them.” It’s all she says.

“I think I remember Marks too,” Thomas says. “He was cute.”

Grace rolls her eyes, and ignores him. “So what happened?” She asks Andrew.

“Well, they said Richard had gone kind of crazy after he didn’t get a part he wanted, and that it was self-defence.”

“That’s not that surprising,” Lin says, shrugging. She remembers Richard being temperamental, more than she remembers Marks being a potential murderer.

“But the thing is, Marks tried to hide it for months,” Andrew continues, “at first they thought Stiriling had just gotten drunk and fallen into the lake, and months later Marks confessed that he’d just, smashed his head in with a boat hook.”

“You said that this happened at the lake?” Lin asks, and Andrew nods. The memory comes back to her, Farrow and Marks sitting together on the dock, smiling at each other in the golden light. A moment of frozen perfection, so different from the tragedy that Andrew is talking about. Suddenly, Lin feels sick, and she downs a big gulp of tea, hoping that the warmth will unclench the tension in her chest. It doesn’t quite work.

“Fuck, Marks looked like such a chill guy. You don’t expect him to be the type of person who smashes someone’s head in.” Thomas says, looking down at his coffee.

“Some people think that maybe it wasn’t him,” Andrew says. “Apparently Marks was having an affair with Richard’s girlfriend, Meredith. And no one really knows what happened, so some people think Marks took the blame for her, or maybe for someone else. Rumour has it that when they arrested Marks, they’d planned to arrest someone else instead, and he just went out and confessed. It’s all real fishy, I tell you.”

“How do you know all this?” Grace asks. She’s talking to Andrew, but her gaze is fixed on Lin, perhaps having sensed her discomfort.

“I was writing a piece on theatre schools in America,” Andrew shrugs. Right, he writes theatre reviews now. “Thought I’d include Dellecher. I had no idea what happened, but my editor pulled up all our articles on the case when I showed her my draft. I spent an interesting afternoon.”

“I bet,” Thomas says. “Wow, that was dark. Does anyone know what happened to Farrow?”

Thomas used to have a crush on Farrow, Lin remembers. Which is understandable, it’s just that Lin was always too busy sneakily checking out Grace to even notice.

“There’s not much in the papers about him,” Andrew says with a shrug. “But it must have hit him hard, because he’s definitely not doing any work related to theatre, and we all know that he was too good of an actor to just fail.”

Thomas nods silently, before getting distracted by his phone. “It’s Matthew,” he says as an excuse before getting up to take the call. His boyfriend, the doctor who allows Thomas to still work in communal theatre without having to worry too much about money. It sounds bitchy, but Lin thinks that the truth is that, deep down, she’s a little jealous of Thomas.

“Well, ladies,” Andrew says, picking up his cup. From where she is, Lin can smell the strong aroma of black coffee. Strange, she thinks. Andrew only used to drink Latte. “After that cheerful note, why don’t you tell me how you guys have been doing?”

And after that, the conversation shifts, and Oliver Marks and Richard Stirling are forgotten.

***

It haunts Lin for days, and it’s stupid, because she barely knew them years ago. And yet. And yet she keeps thinking back to that day at the lake, and then about Richard Stirling floating in the cold waters, his head smashed in. Oliver Marks was a sweet boy, not with the potential of a lead actor, but with the kindness of a supporting characters. And Lin can’t see him hurting anyone. For a while, she considers showing up at the penitentiary, and shouting at Marks until he gives her the answers.

Instead, she settles on a letter. Just a few brief lines, explaining her confusion, and asking why. She doesn’t expect an answer.

***

Months later, Kelsey finds a brown envelope in the mail, and passes it to Lin, equally curious and confused. Lin only has to look at the first few lines to recognise the text inside: it’s a Shakespearean sonnet. And it’s signed, Oliver.

Lin reads through the lines again and again, memories of her days at Dellecher surfacing as she does. In the end, she doesn’t quite get what the sonnet is meant to answer. Perhaps, she thinks, she’s not supposed to.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done.

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;

Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,

And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

All men make faults, and even I in this,

Authórizing thy trespass with compare,

Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,

Excusing these sins more than these sins are.

For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense—

Thy adverse party is thy advocate—

And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence.

Such civil war is in my love and hate

That I an áccessory needs must be

To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

Sonnet is Sonnet 35, and I apologise for whatever the hell this was.

#my writing #ml rio #if we were villains #iwwv

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rauliskafan · 7 years

Text

The Doctor and His Doll

Authors’ Note: Better late than never!!! Here is my contribution to @yourtropegirl‘s Alternative Coffee Shop AU challenge!!! Originally I planned to have the good doctor meet someone at a thrift shop, and I went through several drafts. It just wasn’t clicking. But then this came to me!!! Hope that you enjoy (and this story might keep going)!!!

Tagging @yourtropegirl, @vintagemichelle91, @mrschiltoncat

At least it was only a seasonal job.

In two months’ time, the space would be transformed into Decked Halls, a store bursting with fiber optic trees, wreaths of every size, and stockings seemingly discarded by a series of giants. Once all the gifts were unwrapped and this year became the next, it would change into The Spirit of Spring. Which was always kind of a cruel joke given the grayest days of winter. Fun in the Sun would rear its head after that with so many sunglasses and towels and displays of sand that tended to stick in shoes and turn one off to the very idea of spending a day at the beach.

But for the moment, it was The Devil’s Den, a business bursting with costumes for men and women, boys and girls, dogs and cats of every size. Add to that decorations for front yards suggesting doors to other dimensions, kettles that brewed dried ice seeming like the misty home of Macbeth’s three witches. When filling out the application, it seemed like such a smart idea. Because autumn was and always had been your favorite time of year, and the hours fit like a glove around your current course load.

It only took one shift of rowdy high school boys who seemed twenty and not three years your junior making rude noises behind the many masks to lift the spell. Add to that the animatronic fortune teller speaking in a loop that only made you want to ask when the world would end, hoping that the answer was tomorrow. Just a few more weeks. You could hack it; you’d been through worse. At least this day was somewhat quiet save for the young mother wanting her daughter to be a butterfly. The lovely little lady kept gravitating to psycho clown. One more reason you were never having children. The two older girls in the back seemed harmless enough while debating which kind of princess they would portray. You could tell them some stories about the pink dress and the violet…

Trying to get lost in your homework, you heard the door open and close without looking up. Footsteps drew nearer… along with a tap that started to grate on your nerves. Lifting the eyes that began to roll in your head, you stopped short of scoffing when you saw him.

He was older. Like the professors that always caused you to lick your lips as they explained epistolary novels or the line from Socrates to Plato to Aristotle. Maybe it was the light passing through the windows, but this man was so much more. Wavy dark hair, a proud roman nose, green eyes that called you to kick off your shoes and run through a forest. Why the cane? It seemed an odd accessory. But then you saw the limp. Suddenly your heart felt heavy at the thought that something or someone horrible must have hurt him. Wanting to know the where and when and why and if there was a way that you could help, you let Richardson’s Pamela fall aside and left the counter to meet him up close.

“Anything I can help you with, sir?”

As soon as he heard your voice, the man stopped short in front of a display of multi-colored wigs and even wilder hats. Focusing of his face, your eyes drifted towards his left cheek. A mark... a blemish bordering on a scar… was the man already wearing makeup? Was he practicing for All Hollows’ Eve, or did he wear this mask the other three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year?

“Did I ask for your assistance?” he replied in a curt tone before you could ask even one of the questions bubbling on your tongue. You wanted to hide your head in an over-sized Stetson or Elvira’s discarded tresses. Swallowing hard, you stuffed your hands in the pockets of your khakis and shuffled your feet.

“I… sorry,” you muttered. “I get it.”

“You get what?” he inquired.

“I mean I always kind of hate it when I’m in a store and someone’s right on top of me. It’s a total turn off.”

“Then why did you approach me?”

Now his green gaze made you feel like you were drowning under water, the seaweed shimmering and strangling your speech despite its beauty.

“Uh… it’s my job,” you feebly replied. “And you looked like you needed... so I---”

“So you thought the best use of your time was to pester me,” he mocked.

Feeling your face flush and wishing that you had resigned yourself to admiring him from afar, you nearly slithered away.

But just as quickly recovered your words, ready to tell him a thing or two.

“Happy not to help you over there,” you said, pointing to the counter and starting to turn on your heel. The split second before you twisted around, you swore you saw his green gaze quiver like the glare from a traffic light catching on a piece of rain swept pavement. The angry line of his lips and the way his large hand curled around his cane still made it a signal to leave. You hurried back behind the register and buried your nose in your book. After ringing up the little girl who won the psycho clown battle, you were left with the tapping of his cane. A few stolen glances as his firm back, his lean legs, that haunted face that could be molded into a tortured mask all on its own still had the power to make you tremble. But his eyes stayed angry, frustrated, and you tried to tell yourself that he was best left to the realm of your fantasies.

…until your daydreams were broken by the sound of laughter.

Creeping out from behind the counter once more, you spied the two would-be princesses giggling quietly and pointing at your mystery man.

“Is he for real?” the blonde asked.

“My grandfather wears a tie pin or whatever like that.”

“Maybe he’s a promotional thing.”

“Sure scary enough.”

You froze, watching the man tense and look to the mean girls, expecting to see the fumes that eradicated the Great Sept of Baelor at Cersei’s command falling from his eyes. But despite the cane and the scar and the faint lines suggesting a life lived long if not well, he took on the shape of a little boy, scared and shy and shocked by so much abuse. It hurt to think that the passing of the years failed to quell that kind of fear, and he looked ready to run and hide.

Not like this… not on your watch.

“Hey!” you chirped in your best bubbly voice, standing strong in the face of the girls...

…and the stranger’s sad stare.

“Can I help you gals?” you asked, the last word stolen from your late grandmother.

“We’re good,” the blonde said, rolling her eyes at her friend. Looking to the stranger once more, you sensed that something could snap if the stars slid out of line… and while a small part of you was curious to see such a sight, you suddenly longed to protect him…

…and you also wanted your shot at these lousy ladies.

“Good?” you echoed, cracking the brightest of smiles that burned with a hollow light. “Great! Going for the scary sorceress look!”

“Excuse me?” the blonde challenged. “Are you crazy? That’s not even on the label.”

Cutting your eyes back to the man with the cane, you managed a small smirk, your stare willing, hoping that he would stay silent. The scarred man followed your lead, and your smile morphed malicious as you cracked your knuckles and grabbed the pink dress.

“Course not,” you continued. “But I can show you the secret…”

Your voice trailed off as you dug your fingers into the hem of the gown. The girls fell silent, and a sideways glance caught the stranger raising one eyebrow as you winked in his direction and sent a sea of spiders spilling to the floor.

“Holy fucking shit!”

The blonde screamed first and practically pushed her friend down as she fled the shop. You watched the other girl stumble behind her with arms flailing and saw your remaining customer slightly shocked as you grasped a bug and held it close to his face.

“What are you---?”

“They’re plastic!” you said with a sneaky smile. “Some kids were in here… thought it would be a good joke.”

Watching, hearing his breath calm, he took the toy spider from your hand, examining it carefully before emitting a low laugh.

“How would they be sure if they never saw the results of their efforts?” he queried, leaving you stumped.

“Um… good point,” you finally conceded. “Guess they didn’t see the plan through to the end.”

“Not at all,” he said, leaning closer so you caught a hit of his cologne and thought that you would swoon until his smile turned softer… sweeter. “But you picked up the cue and marched to the final curtain. To that I say bravo.”

Forgetting the plastic bugs, not caring if they truly came to life and crawled up and down your legs, you gestured towards the rest of the store.

“I’ll take a bow after I figure out what you need and how I can help you get it.”

Was that a mistake? He looked like he might turn cold or beat the crowd before the conclusion of the curtain call when he spoke fast.

“I have to attend a costume party,” he started. “On Halloween. It is not by choice. Certain people would rather I stay home. I do not wish to give them that sense of satisfaction.”

And now you liked him even more. A misanthrope wanting to beat the world at its own game. You could relate and lightly touched his arm, smiling at the electricity humming over your skin.

“Well then let’s make you the best-dressed man at the ball.

With his cane tapping again, he followed you down an aisle where capes made like curtains blocked out an unseen sun.

“I… I suppose that something like this makes the most sense,” he said, his voice even more sorrowful as he brought a white half mask to one side of his face. He concealed the scar, and you felt your lips curl into a frown.

“Why would you say that?” you asked. “Phantom of the Opera is so last century.”

“It’s timeless for me,” he sadly explained. “Come now; I promise it will not compromise your commission. Simply be straight with me.”

Understanding why he had a want to strike out, wondering how many times he had to endure cruel words muttered under cold breaths, you still thought him handsome and snatched the mask from his fingers before tossing it to the back of the shelf.

“Why hide the battle scar?” you asked.

“Excuse me? You do not know how---”

“Not important,” you cut in. “Whatever happened, you wear it well and…”

Your mind spun towards the next aisle.

“And what?” he asked. “Would you be so kind as to finish your thought?”

“I’d rather show you.”

Taking his free hand as his cane started tapping on the tiles again, you turned another corner and paused before a rack of feathers and pearls, wide-brimmed fedoras over pinstriped suits.

“Well… here we are,” he said. “I fail to understand your intentions.”

“Really?” you asked. “Come on! With the right hat and a snazzy jacket…”

You affixed said items of clothing to him quickly, basking in the feel of another one of his warm’s sighs hitting your neck and gently braiding through your hair. Fighting the urge to fall into him right then and there, you found a pocket square colored in crimson, placed it in his pocket, and smiled.

“Scarface!” you said.

“Excuse me!”

The emphasis on every syllable turned your blood to ice, and you wanted to kick yourself for saying too much when your reached for a plastic Tommy Gun and pressed it under his free arm.

“Who is like the toughest guy ever,” you said. “No one messes with him. He takes down empires. The world is his.”

“Until the final act,” the man said.

“You know it?” you asked.

“I have not been living under a rock, my dear.”

For that much you were glad; less so when he tossed the gun aside and looked ready to exit the shop.

“This is never going to work,” he grumbled.

“Why not?” you asked. “It looks so good on you.”

His eyes drifted towards a mirror, and for a second his smirk returned.

“I almost do not want to argue with that,” he began.

“Then don’t,” you said, surprised that you liked him a little vain when he lost the hat and hung his head.

“But I am hardly the type to shoot up a room… despite everything…”

What was the secret to his story? The tips of your fingers just grazed against his when he shot away and looked ready to rush to parts unknown that you never had any hope of finding.

“Or get the girl.”

Leaning on his cane, he aged in the span of your sight. You remembered an eighth-grade dance where you were Esmeralda only to lose your Quasimodo to a genie, your gypsy not standing a chance. No one deserved to feel that way.

And given the chance…

“You got her.”

His cane stopped and threatened to fall as you touched a strand of pearls.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m up for a party,” you said.

“I---”

“Look I know it sounds forward or whatever,” you continued. “But I clean up pretty nice. And I can dance. Bet you have a plus one, right?”

“Yes I---”

“So let’s do it! What’s a tough guy without his doll?”

You smiled brightly with wide eyes… and saw his face twist. Fuck. Why did you do that? Step over every line ever drawn in the sand. He wasn’t some eighteenth-century-styled brooding male just in need of the love of a good woman. Or you. You wanted to hide under every mask in the shop, bury your head in the smell of sweat and rubber until the sound of his cane faded into the distance. Even after that. Blushing while your palms began to sweat, you gasped ever so slightly and glanced up at the sound of rustling plastic…

…and you saw the chain of faux pearls in his hand, held just shy of your neck, and you blinked fast..

“Perhaps you are on to something,” he said. “I hardly want to go alone.”

The lines in the sand leftover from the summer became ropes pulling you through the seaweed, back to the forest and the first and best version of his gaze.

“You don’t have to,” you offered softly. “I don’t really have any plans.”

Oh Christ! That sounded so pathetic and---

“A pretty thing like you?” he said.

And your heart exploded in your chest. Because no one, not one family member or friend ever called you pretty… to the point that you believed the word was meant for puppies before it could fall on your shoulders. But here he was, calling you something close to lovely and smiling as you shook your head.

“Guess I was waiting for you to come calling,” you said, biting your lip at the end of the sentence.

And it worked when he blushed, highlighting his scar as he draped the boa over tour shoulders.

“We could make a handsome pair,” he reasoned, still blushing and moving just a few steps down the aisle when two red eyes and a low moan caught him off guard.

“What is that?” he asked as you hurried toward him and touched his shoulders.

“Fortune teller,” you said. “When you walk by it, it sets him off.”

“It… is it…?”

He shivered under your hands, and you steadied him until he stilled.

And spoke once more.

“Do the tea leaves tell the truth?”

Trailing your fingers down his arm and finding your fingers clasped in his, you looked to the skull with red eyes resting under a turban.

“Will… will I… will me and… what is your name?”

“Frederick,” he said. “Dr. Frederick Chilton.”

“Doctor?” you echoed. “Oh boy.”

“It is not all that it is cracked up to be,” he said. “I could tell you stories…”

And you were ready to read them cover to cover when you held his hand tighter and took a deep breath.

“Will the doctor and his doll have an absolutely astounding time at the masquerade ball?”

The silence didn’t bother you as your eyes locked, his green gaze seeming like the cover page of all those stories you were dying to dive into and puzzle over and over again.

“Doll,” Frederick said. “I think I like that.”

And before you could answer, the mechanized voice filled the aisle where you stood, the pair of you seeming like the only two people in this world or any other.

All signs point to yes.

#raúl esparza #frederick chilton #chilton x reader #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #yourtropegirl #altcoffeeshopau

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onemanandhismustang-com-blog · 5 years

Text

The Sweet (part 2)

Saturday morning arrived all to soon and this was going to be killer of a day, 9 to 6.30 I virtually never left the stand at all. Like a regimented soldier I stood on duty, One of the other exhibitors had a spare chair which they lent to me and was a real life saver. My feet were killing me and so was my throat. I went in via a different route and took more pictures of different cars.

Saturday evening I popped round to see the Mustang Owners Club Of Great Britain to say hello while they were resting after a busy day too.

The Super Sweet

Later in the day there was a little group of people following a lovely model around, and I thought to myself, “I hope that lot comes over here, otherwise I will miss them”. They did more than that. The photographer approached me and said they wanted to take some pictures of the model with my car. I wasn’t going to say no was I? It turned out the model was absolutely fantastic with a great sense of humour and she kindly allowed me to take pics as well looking at me rather than her official photographer. I took rather a lot of photo’s should we say, hoping to get that one great photo.

Thanks to this lovely lady and model who had time for me at my car, she was professional, funny and courteous. The only down side? I hade to wipe the finger prints of my car. Such was the sacrifice I made in the name of my car.

On the Sunday mornin’ we finished an hour earlier and was also the award day. A good friend of mine Chris Tilley came to replace me by the car so I could have a look around, which was very kind of thim, thank you Chris. I was off like a ferret on a scent looking for more pics. I found the Classic American stand and the car I like the most won it and well deserved, what an amazing car.

I found my friends at Meguiar’s

Then a random selection of some cars that took my eye.

Then a new Hyper car LM69 costing a huge £1m based on the Jaguar XJ13 body and engine.

And the driving position of this car was just mad, almost laying down, lower than a GT40.

Awards

The award was to be voted for by the public, there is a voting form with all the cars on from the stand. You picked your favourite car and you put your name on the back, posted and job done. These forms were on the voting booths with Lancaster staff manning them to help along with trying to also get people to win a car competition. The little white boxed stand had a letter box style opening in the middle that was regularly emptied during the show days. Here is that form;

Voting slip Front

Voting slip Back

There was a winner and two runners up which were to be announced at 2pm on the Sunday. The winner getting a year free insurance and a glass trophy, all very exciting. The pink Morris Minor (one million edition – not the one millionth car) won the show, with the MX5 in second and the BMW in third place. The fact that I didn’t place wasn’t a problem as I enjoyed my time there taking part in a great show – I MUST stress that point again and a superb experience weekend.

BUT – and a very big but…

The SOUR

I have seriously thought very long & hard about this next section and I need your help with it.

Do I leave it here or Remove it?

There was a covering email sent out to the entrants, for joining the show with this clause;

“It’s up to you if you stay with your car the whole weekend or not. Some owners like to stay and chat to visitors, even campaigning as visitors will be invited to vote for their favourite car of the 20 displayed. However, we have had issues with cheating and complaints in the past so please familiarise yourself with the attached terms of entry. Its important we all play nice and enter into the spirit of the event. Those who don’t and breach the T&Cs will be asked to leave the show.”

Those terms and conditions are as follows:

“Terms and Conditions: Votes will be counted and verified by Clarion Events Ltd and the organisers decision is final.

Clarion Events Ltd will not contribute to any transportation or accommodation costs for entrants.

A car can only be entered once in a three-year period

An owner can enter one car per year, but can enter a different car each year.

While the owners can engage and campaign with other entrants and visitors, any form of intimidation, cheating, derogatory remarks or bad mouthing is not tolerated and those involved will be disqualified and asked to leave.

This is not a concours competition. However, Concours winning cars are welcome to enter but should not expect to be judged in the same way.

The competition is presented in the spirit of like-minded enthusiasts coming together to celebrate their vehicles and entrants are asked to keep this in mind when joining the competition.”

Bearing in mind the above statements let me explain a little more, then you can make your own minds up. Perhaps I should just let it go, or try and expose what I saw and witnessed along with others on the stand. This is a true statement:

Friday morning the box of voting forms were brought down to the stand and placed on stand up tables. At which point things immediately started to go wrong. The owner of the Minor took a wad about an inch thick and literally run of with them to club stands, a little later on similar thing happened again. At this point it was mentioned in conversation to the organisers.

I will refer to the organisers as ‘They’ to protect their anonymity, I’m not out to embarrass them, but it was mainly one person in charge.

Then I saw the forms being pre filled in with his own car ticked, when he spoke to people he gave them his pre completed form to be posted at the same time as the person’s own vote. This was on the Friday when I sent messages to highlight the problem as They were not about to see it. Noted here on the Friday messages.

Saturday there was more incidents and there was a large wad of forms placed in the box. This was formally mentioned to the Lancaster people and They when we saw them. Not just by me complaining, but others as well who witnessed it.

Sunday morning I arrived early to catch the owner with a few voting slips taken from the stands an being filled in at a table. I took a photo as he was scrolling through his phone for contacts to fill in. Note; the sideways picture shows the back of the voting slip. The slips shouldn’t even be there.

voting form

Again They were notified by various entrants and complained bitterly. Another entrant was told around lunch time that he and another were going to be disqualified. Maybe told that to us to keep us quiet? I don’t just don’t know, we were then a lot happier that we were on a level playing field for all of us.

At 2pm a celeb who doesn’t need to be mentioned (who obviously had nothing to do with it), gave the usual speech, plugged his tv show etc and then gave the winning award to the Morris Minor. Immediately after the prize giving I showed the picture to Lancaster and told them we had complained about the cheating. The head of the Lancaster I spoke to wasn’t interested and said to me, “I know nothing about it and I just write the checks.” I showed him the photo and screen shots he walked away.

I immediately texted They and sent the picture to which the second screen shot of the messages shows you. They response was obvious this:

“We’ve discounted all the forms that we can see are clearly cheating, same handwriting etc.”

So They did know of the cheating yet allowed the entrants to continue. Thus, They condone cheating entries as They didn’t disqualify him or the other entrant that we didn’t have as much proof only witnesses and verbal communication.

We remained respectful for the presentations like good sports for the event. However after a number of complaints made after the awards I showed the Morris Minors Owner Club the evidence to which they denied it but didn’t look shocked. The Lancaster representative went over to the Morris Owners and apologise for the ‘confusion’.

After a little research on the Lancaster Website this can be found:

“Lancaster Insurance has announced that it will be widening its Morris Minor schemes, further strengthening its association with the marque. The scheme, which is now live, is available for all Morris Minor enthusiasts, of all ages, who use their Morris Minor as a second vehicle with limited mileage. Additionally Morris Minors Owners Club members will be able to take further advantage of the scheme with up to a 25% premium discount available for members as well as the option for multi vehicle, providing one is a Morris Minor. Andrew Evanson, Senior Operations Manager for Lancaster Insurance, comments: “Here at Lancaster we have a close affinity to Morris Minors, with our Car Club Manager even owning several over the years. We’re delighted to be able to arrange cover for all ages providing they are using it in a cherished way.”

Source:

https://www.lancasterinsurance.co.uk/news/2017/march/08/lancaster-insurance-to-arrange-cover-for-all-ages-of-morris-minor-drivers/?page=28

So perhaps this is a genuine misunderstanding for Lancaster, maybe they chose to ignore it not wanting bad publicity for a scheme they have.

I will never insure with a company that knowingly knew of cheating but didn’t take steps to follow their own terms and conditions. Remember;

“any form of intimidation, cheating, derogatory remarks or bad mouthing is not tolerated”

I hope this guy can live with himself for knowing that he won only because he cheated!

As this gets posted today, I have also sent an email to Richard Morley the Operations Director for Lancaster Insurance on 14 November 2019 at 13:47

As yet there has been no response from Lancaster Insurance. If I do get a response I will post my email and their response too.

So there you have it, the sting in the tail was deeply troubling and uncomfortable as he was the car next to mine. That’s how I KNOW what went on as he was only a few feet away from me. The atmosphere after the awards on the stand you could cut with a knife, the winning owner disappeared for a while too, perhaps he was busy doing things.

I didn’t enjoy typing that report at all, I take no pleasure from it. But, if he admits he cheated then he is better man than I thought. Not for one minute do I think that will ever be the case though.

Am I a bad person for bringing this up and maybe bringing the show into disrepute? I suspect I will now be black listed for any awards or magazine articles, Not that I care. I’m not in it for trophies (although I have three now but have never posted about them), I just enjoy my car. The Morris Minor club is one of the biggest in the country and that has a lot of weight behind it with all it’s members.

I will say that I am a man of principles – I played fair and I expect others to do the same, after all it’s in black and white that we had to play nice before the show started. I was going to frame my certificate (as we all did), I got for the show as a finalist, but now I when I see it I can’t help but think of the man that got away with cheating at the biggest car show in the country. That grates on me big time. That certificate is now in the bottom of a draw and I doubt it will come out again.

Sour grapes for not winning? Nope not at all, I don’t like cheats. I had a blast all weekend I even met an elderly chap (like me now) with the same surname as me, he also has a 1964 Mustang. What are the chances of that? 😀

Like I said a number of times, a fantastic weekend wonderful people, some great chats, I put faces to names I have often heard about. The Mustang Owners Club visited me, and for some it got better as I lost my voice!

I am also a bit upset that the lovely model is having to sit within the same post as such terrible reporting of the show’s last few hours.

Please vote and let me know what to do?

Take Our Poll

Sweet & Sour (part 2) The Sweet (part 2) Saturday morning arrived all to soon and this was going to be killer of a day, 9 to 6.30 I virtually never left the stand at all.

#cheating #classic car show #Lancaster Insurance Classic Car Show Pride of Ownership #Morris Minor 1.000.000 cheating #Morris minor pride of ownership 2019 cheat #Mustang #one man #trophy #voting

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junker-town · 7 years

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2007: The inside story of the greatest season in college football history

Les Miles and 2007 were made for each other all along

Hello. This is a project all about the 2007 college football season, the wildest season ever. We've included dozens of interviews, stories, and other fun stuff in this package (take a look around!), but first, let's talk about Les Miles.

Maybe the problem with every other team in 2007 was this: they insisted that things make sense, while Les Miles and LSU never did. In a season of gambles and black swans, Miles was wearing a ghillie suit at the roulette table. It’s not that he had planned it that way, mind you. It’s just what he always wore, and one day, the perfect moment would come along for the outfit.

Consider that LSU might have had another unfair advantage from the start: being three teams at once.

One was the LSU that destroyed Mississippi State and Virginia Tech to start the season, a physically superior crew of crowbar-wielding sprinters and trench monsters so frightening, they scared poor Michael Henig of Mississippi State into throwing six interceptions in a single game.*

*Full disclosure: by the time he threw his fifth, everyone watching wanted him to throw six, because ... well, his public failure had come full circle to a kind of valiant achievement, hadn’t it?

Another LSU was a defense-averse scoring machine bent on playing deep into triple overtime. That team lost twice — twice! in a national title year! — to Arkansas and Kentucky and roared to victory in a shootout with Alabama.

The final LSU was the one everyone remembers best, the LSU that passed with one second left against Auburn or pulled off fourth down conversion after fourth down conversion against Florida in a comeback win or called a bizarre fake field goal for a TD against South Carolina or needed a pick six to win the SEC Championship Game.

It’s hard to beat three teams, but it’s also hard to be three teams. Fortunately, Miles mostly won with all three, though it was clear which one he preferred, even if that version was the one that forced LSU fans to drink even more after victories, simply to take the edge off what they’d just seen.

***

Take a chunk out of the cult of coach by pointing out how many of LSU’s biggest plays of 2007 happened because of perfectly timed individual contributions, usually in well-portioned turns. Craig Steltz popped up with pass breakups and interceptions exactly when required. Trindon Holliday, all five-foot-nothing of him, would snap a game open with a kick return. Cornerback Jonathan Zenon turned into Erik Ainge’s best receiver at the worst possible time for Tennessee, returning an INT for a conference-winning score.

LSU was a team of five-star talent and two-star heart, and the peak example was running back Jacob Hester. With a corps of fearsome locals, LSU’s leading rusher would be a fullback with male pattern baldness at the age of 22. Hester wasn’t supposed to end up where he did, but when you keep ending up across the first down line, it’s hard to take you out of the lineup.

It was hard to say exactly who would fall from the rafters at exactly the right moment and save LSU’s ass.

It was easy to say who was fine with that and would openly dare probability not to cough up a positive return on a gamble, even when the gamble was mathematically insane. Whether it was because he was a bullshit artist too scared to ever admit it or so ebulliently confident he infected his whole team, he thrived in it.

And for one year, Miles turned up exactly where he was supposed to, every time, with exactly the right answer.

He was perfectly on time when he called the fake field goal.

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He did not just call a fake field goal. He called a flip toss by the starting QB over his shoulder to LSU’s kicker. The burn on trick play enthusiast Steve Spurrier, standing on the opposite sideline, was so precise, Miles made the noise "heheheheh" when watching a replay at Tiger Stadium.

heh

He could have made the same noise all five times he decided LSU was going for it on fourth down against Florida, a backbreaking series of gambles that completed LSU’s 28-24 comeback at home. Miles might have chuckled his way through that whole second half, for all we know. It was very loud in there, and I couldn’t hear my own heartbeat, much less a coach laughing several hundred yards away.

He was on time when LSU was tied with Auburn, with the clock burning down and everyone in the stadium assuming LSU would try to win 26-24 with a Colt David field goal.

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When Demetrius Byrd brings down the TD, listen to the crowd’s screams and hear everything all at once: that LSU passed up the obvious answer, nearly blew the last second it could’ve used to kick if the pass had fallen incomplete, and scored despite risking an interception.

You can read some inspired defenses of this play, if you want to go deep enough into the archives. Don’t. It makes no sense, never will, was late, and ... was right. This is a horseshit play, and it worked. Later in his career, Miles and LSU would get in serious trouble with clock management, and this would all seem less than cute, but in 2007, LSU was unstoppably lucky.

They pressed that luck, even when they became phenomenally unlucky. The Tigers spit the bit at Kentucky and at home to Arkansas. The Kentucky game seemed like enough of an anomaly, the kind voters could forgive. True to bizarro form, LSU outgained Kentucky in yardage, had fewer turnovers, and still lost in triple OT.

Arkansas was worse. A sleepy, 7-6 game at halftime caught fire in the second half, and the three-headed backfield with three future NFL starters — Peyton Hillis, Felix Jones, and Heisman finalist Darren McFadden — ate up yardage until another triple OT loss* surely destroyed LSU’s hopes for a title run.

* There is another achievement LSU can claim, in addition to being the first two-loss AP champ since 1960: the only title team to ever lose two games in overtime, let alone triple overtime. Not that anyone would ever want to claim that, knowing what it’s like to chug rubbing alcohol at 11:45 p.m. while watching your team do this again.

***

Miles showed up when he was supposed to show up, even when he wasn’t supposed to.

2007 was my first year covering college football for money, and the 2007 SEC Championship was just my second game as credentialed media. I still did not know how anything worked, so during pregame, when LSU informed the collected media that "Coach Miles wishes to make a statement," I assumed this was normal.

The SEC

Have a great day

I was informed it was not.

Set this all in context. LSU had just lost a shot at the BCS Championship and would be starting its backup QB in a conference title game against a dangerous, 9-3 Tennessee. The SEC title seemed like a consolation prize, and reports of Miles, a Michigan alum who played and coached under Bo Schembechler, talking to the Wolverines about their coaching vacancy were everywhere.

Whether it was ESPN’s Kirk Herbstreit reporting on TV that morning that Miles was as good as gone, or whether a fourth cup of coffee hit Miles sideways in the Georgia Dome locker rooms, or whether years of the accumulated WCW in the air possessed him, Miles felt the need to cut a wrestling promo live on the carpet in Atlanta.

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When Miles was done with his speech to a room of baffled and bemused reporters, he appeared again exactly where and when he was supposed to appear. He had told ESPN to kiss his ass and made ESPN show it live on ESPN. He proclaimed in what was suddenly the thickest of Ohio accents that he had a "damn strong football team." He did it for himself, he said, and I believe it; his team, sequestered in the locker room, didn’t see the speech live and couldn’t have used it as some kind of motivational tool.

Miles punctuated his speech with the most truculent "have a great day" ever. Later, after the national championship and grown men from the Bayou running naked down Bourbon Street, the Tigers would put the phrase on the back of their equipment truck, so the whole world could kiss their gear’s ass as it rolled down the highway.

Starting the backup QB in a mop-up game, LSU let Ainge throw the winning TD to LSU’s Zenon. Everyone kept showing up in the right place at the right time, even people who were on other teams.

So when West Virginia lost to "the shittiest fucking team in the fucking world," Oklahoma couldn’t muster the votes to overcome losses to Texas Tech and Colorado, Georgia couldn’t make the case because it didn’t even get to the SEC Championship, an undefeated Kansas lost to rival Mizzou at the worst imaginable time, and Mizzou lost again to Oklahoma in the Big 12 Championship, it only made sense that LSU would suddenly face its third chance at a national title.

Getting to do it in New Orleans might have been a little heavy-handed, but the script was the script.

***

There are people who cannot thrive in normal circumstances, who struggle to make basic schedules work and whose only optimal working environment would madden a normal person to the point of tears.

Those people, 90 percent of the time, barely manage to fit into a lane. The really gifted and adaptive ones might become functional, with enough coaching. Others find themselves in much worse situations, often flagrantly so.

Miles is one of those people. After 2007, it became clear that quiet order would do Miles no favors. He’d recruit brilliantly but squander talent, particularly on offense. His carefree approach to clock management would become a running gag, his fake field goals would eventually only work on Florida, and LSU would wane as Nick Saban categorized, analyzed, and systematized the SEC into little more than Bama’s strip mine.

2007 was Miles at his best, but the flip side was 2011, when a phenomenally talented LSU showed up to the BCS Championship without anything resembling an offensive game plan. What Miles could profit from in chaos, he could waste in order. The decline began in earnest; by the time Miles was fired in 2016, quirks that were endearing had become intractable frustrations, even when his teams were still competitive.

If chaos-compatible people are lucky, sometimes they fall into exactly the right, irregularly shaped spot at exactly the right time and work where few others would. Miles fell into the right spot not once, but twice.

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In 2005, after beating Auburn in OT

The first came after Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005, his first season as LSU’s head coach, when the chaos-compatible new guy helped steer an entire school through a natural disaster. Fats Domino was sleeping on QB JaMarcus Russell’s couch, Baton Rouge turned into a refugee camp overnight, and helicopters were flying over Tiger Stadium at all hours, but LSU managed not only to play a full season, but to thrive. In the year of Katrina, the Tigers somehow won 11 games. Almost everyone involved with that season agrees Miles was the person the program needed, when everything else fell apart.

There is a tendency to lionize coaches, overstate their importance, and diminish players in the name of using a single authority figure as a catch-all for a group of ever-changing faces.

That said, there was no one more suited to step into college football’s slipperiest, least predictable season. And once he and LSU stepped into it, they took everything, even well after reason said they were finished. In 2007, when throwing deep into the end zone with no time left made more sense than a field goal, Miles was the safest bet.

***

And at no point did that Ohio State team, or any Ohio State team coached by Jim Tressel, stand a chance in any universe’s 2007 title game, against any team.

2007 had already bit the Buckeyes once — losing to a Ron Zook-coached Illinois counts — but in a year of festive arson and freewheeling nonsense, Ohio State was doomed from the start. The Buckeyes didn’t understand the language on a spiritual level (and on a physical level, could not compete with LSU’s defense). Ohio State ran on a clock, and 2007 was too surreal for anything but melting pocket watches.

LSU won, but all I really remember was the aftermath, a French Quarter bursting at the seams with astronomically intoxicated LSU fans. Almost all of them were clothed.

Miles showed up at one point, too. I don’t remember exactly what time he appeared, but whatever time it was, I have to assume it was the right one.

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smallbigcities · 7 years

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ViewFinder: Framing Views In Augmented Reality

The promise of augmented reality

It is exciting to think about what AR can do to draw attention to details in our surroundings. We’re already interacting with and learning about locations in interesting ways through technology: a whole body of map-based data visualizations exist that marry location with other data to draw insights about that dataset’s relationship with place. AR promises software the ability to insert itself into a higher fidelity world, to call attention to more granular details of our surroundings. We get to go beyond working with locations on a 2D map, and actually interact with points within 3D space. Instead of just sensing that the noise level at a street corner is high, our applications can now pinpoint which particular source is contributing to the noise. Instead of detecting that there is heavy foot traffic at a park, our apps can drill down to a specific feature in that park that people visit.

Unfortunately, existing applications that annotate points in public space haven’t been compelling enough to see broad adoption. An example is the use of AR in local discovery, as seen in the Monocle feature in Yelp (below). An AR browser lets you scan your surroundings to view the details and ratings of businesses around you. While initially exciting to fiddle with, it hasn’t become an essential step in discovering local businesses. Users at a particular location can quickly spot surrounding businesses through their signage, without the help of AR, and refer to the details separately on the Yelp app.

Are there more compelling uses of AR annotations in public space?

Framing views in space

What if we pulled back from interacting with specific ‘points’ in space, and instead thought about ‘views’? Views are a widely-used concept. Tourists and photographers seek out good views. Birdwatchers have their favorite spots to catch wildlife in action, and military personnel are trained to pick locations that let them best surveil an area. A particular location has high land value because of the views it provides, and locals enact rules to keep those views unblocked. Unless you can permanently build a window so that others can enjoy it, a view is a fleeting thing that appears only to those who know or have someone to point it out. Beyond physical windows and lookout points with signage, there are no existing ways to permanently frame and label a view in public space. Can we build that permanent window with AR?

How would we represent a view in AR? In 3D modeling and game engines such as Unity, the view is a key component that gets set up through ‘cameras’ that are oriented in digital space. The field of vision is represented by a structure that looks like a sideways pyramid (the technical term is viewing frustum) projecting out from the camera location.

In the physical world, however, our devices are the actual cameras, with all the field of vision information already built in. What we need to track a view in space is an AR frame that we can easily align with our viewfinders. Here’s my hypothesis: by saving AR “frames” in space, we make it possible for users to discover and share good views.

Viewfinder: Helping photographers and location scouts save good shots

Photographers and locations scouts are always on the lookout for a good shot, so why not build something for them to save good views? There are two approaches to scouting for views today: onsite and remote. The onsite approach involves wandering around with your eyes wide open and a camera around your neck, hoping to find something shot-worthy. Or you could scout remotely by searching on sites such as Flickr and Instagram. These photos are geotagged, so you could save down a map of points where good photos have been taken. You then go on-site when you are ready to shoot, and consult your saved photos to find the views you are looking for.

What if we could make both processes even easier by saving the frames of exactly where the photos were taken in space? Applying the ‘frame’ approach above, I designed a Viewfinder, a conceptual app that lets serious photographers and location scouts save, track and discover good views. Let’s walk through two ways that Viewfinder could be used.

The first approach (UX flow below) caters to the onsite shot discovery behavior. Let’s say you’re a photography hobbyist, and you’re wandering around looking for a good shot. You pop open the Nearby tab of Viewfinder, where you see nearby photos that were taken. A blue ring around your location indicates the radius within which photos can be activated as augmented reality frames within your viewfinder. Tapping the shaded region, or the frame button at the bottom right, activates the viewfinder where you can see a group of popular views around you. The blue frames are views that can be captured from where you are standing; the lighter frames are further away but can be approached.

Tapping on each frame brings up more details on the views that have been captured through that frame. Having found a view you like, you orient your camera to the frame, and hit the red button to take the picture.

The second approach caters to the remote scouting behavior. Here, you are a location scout that doing some initial scouting remotely. You’ve heard that a particular location has good shots; you pull open Google Street View at that location to confirm. Spotting some interesting views, you click the view-saving plugin button to the right, drag a rectangle to frame the shot, and save it to a collection on Viewfinder.

After some more remote scouting, you’ve gathered a collection of views within Manhattan that you’ve called “Art Deco”. You now decide to visit the locations to confirm their suitability for your project. On arrival at one of your destinations, you open the Art Deco collection within Viewfinder. Blue circles indicate that two views that you had previously saved are in the vicinity. You tap on one of the blue circles, which enlarges into a button that lets you switch on the AR viewfinder for that particular view.

Switching on the AR viewfinder, you see only the frame for that particular view, along with your notes on that frame. You align your camera with the frame to inspect the view: it is exactly what you wanted. You’re happy with the Art Deco collection you’ve compiled, and share it with your colleagues.

That last action, sharing, highlights one area where these AR frames are very useful. Saving these frames empowers collaborators to asynchronously share good views. The location scout doesn’t have to be onsite to point things out to the director. A local doesn’t have to be there to call attention to where exactly people should be looking. Just save a collection of these views, share it, and the recipient can walk through these views in their own time.

The wonderful properties of the frame

I want to dwell a little on the location-based frame. While straightforward in form, the frame is anything but simple. Here are six properties of a frame:

Geolocation — Long-lat location. This is needed along with…

Altitude — … the altitude, to position the frame accurately in 3D space. Should the frame with its longitude, latitude, and altitude coordinates not fall within a sphere of a certain radius around the user, it should not be accessible by the user to avoid AR clutter.

Orientation/“pose” — In addition to the geolocation and the altitude, the frame requires information about its orientation to capture its true position. In Google Tango, they call this the pose. This is important since how you angle the device is going to result in a completely different view.

Size of frame — We move onto the characteristics of the view itself. The size is one such characteristic: is this a close up or a wide shot? The shape of the frame is also important, since you could take square photos, landscape photos, or even photos of any odd shape. For Viewfinder, I restrict it to rectangles to match how photos are traditionally framed.

Depth of camera (kept constant) — Since this is a mobile app, I assume that users are using cameras on their devices, which offer a constant depth of vision through a fixed aperture. The simple rectangular form of the frame works here: users merely have to align their viewfinders with the frame to ensure that they capture the view the frame is, uh, framing.

Resulting pictures — The frame is also associated with the pictures taken through it. This provides a reference for users to evaluate whether a frame is interesting without having to actually look through it, especially if the frame is some distance away. These pictures also capture the passage of time: different moments offer different views through the frame (e.g. nighttime versus winter).

These are properties of each frame. But what happens when you encounter many frames at once? Without adjustments, this would surely be an overwhelming experience. UX patterns are needed to reduce visual clutter, create hierarchy, and minimize confusion.

Only showing the frames that matter First, Viewfinder only surfaces frames within a certain radius from the user. The frames beyond that radius are of no importance: the user would not be able to capture those photos from such distance. Second, even within the vicinity, only popular frames are revealed. The user is shown the number of photos taken from the particular frame, and can tap into it to view the photos.

Vary opacity with distance For the frames in the vicinity, only the closest frames are the clearest, with more distant frames visible but faded. This indicates depth, and creates information hierarchy where the nearest frames are the most noticeable.

Indicate the right side of the frame A drawback of the planar rectangle form of the frame is that it is not easy to tell which side the user should be on. To make that obvious, the user encounters an opaque frame if they are on the wrong side. The user can also be shown an alert banner.

Combined, the above UX patterns alleviate the problem of visual clutter when there are multiple frames. Users now see at most 3 popular frames nearby within their viewfinder, with a few that can be discovered in the distance. They know when they are on the right side of the frames.

Beyond photography and location scouting

A common piece of feedback I’ve gotten about Viewfinder is that there may be more compelling use cases for this concept of frame-saving. Do photo enthusiasts and location scouts really need to overlay AR frames on their surroundings to find good views? Photographers pride themselves on seeking out views and moments when they are on location: they train their eyes to do so. They get improvisational. They seek out moments, which are hard to track with location-based frames. I am not a photography enthusiast myself, and I still have to test this idea out on location scouts, and so I do acknowledge this feedback.

One application I could see frames being more useful in is in travel. Unlike photographers and location scouts, travelers aren’t trained to look around and spot key views. Instead, they rely on guidebooks and people to point things out on location. There is some friction to using travel guides: you get to a particular location, and have to look around to find “that colonial building” or “the tiny statue” described in the guide. What if you could instantly scan your surroundings for points of interest? AR frames could be useful for that. A more particular form of travel that is relevant is nature travel. Saving views as AR frames could be useful for indicating good spots for birdwatching, or good views to catch certain natural phenomenons.

AR in public space

As mentioned at the beginning, Viewfinder is an exploration I’m doing as part of my thesis research on the discontents and opportunities of placing AR in public space. How does Viewfinder relate to this research?

When I started working on Viewfinder, I’d identified several imperfections of placing AR elements in public space. Many of these problems were made obvious by the widespread gameplay of Pokémon Go last summer. I’d found that interaction with public AR could lead to misinterpretation and misunderstanding, especially if user actions are similar to actions that mean something else, as shown by people attacking Pokémon Go players thinking the players were taking photos of them. AR elements could be placed in public locations that are undesirable either for the user or for surrounding people: threatening users’ personal safety, or encouraging trespassing, or even encouraging behavior deemed inappropriate at the particular location (e.g. gameplay in a place of worship.) AR experiences can also be a very individual, engrossing experience, not conducive to social interaction with others, nor to engagement with the surroundings.

With the above in mind, I set out to design Viewfinder in a way that would also mitigate these imperfections. Specifically, I wanted to take the follow principles into consideration:

1. Encourages user interaction with surrounding environment

Viewfinder draws the attention of users to interesting views around them, so that even after they put down their device, they can still appreciate the view in front of them. In fact, it could be argued that it increases appreciation of the surrounding environment.

2. Doesn’t clash w/ existing lexicon of gestures

Users of Viewfinder are searching for views to capture through their devices, which is in line with normal photography behavior.

3. Situated in locations that do not endanger users’ personal safety or encourage trespassing into private property

Since the AR frames in Viewfinder are generated from previously taken photos, these frames would be situated in locations that are most likely acceptable for users to linger in. These frames would also be less likely to put users in harm’s way e.g. be situated in the middle of a highway.

4. Situated in locations where user behavior isn’t deemed inappropriate

For similar reasons to the above, it is less likely that photo-taking will be problematic behavior where the frames are located.

5. Encourages social behavior where multiple users can interact with same element

With multiple users able to approach the same AR frames, and contribute to the database of frames by taking photos, Viewfinder encourages interaction between initial photographer and follower, or between multiple photographers on site interacting with the same frames.

Future applications of frame-saving

What I find most fascinating about saving frames in AR space is what can be built on this concept. When we begin tracking where every camera is pointed, where every view is captured, we start being able to measure what views people like to capture, and from where. By saving the views that people capture at scale, we could eye track the world. Knowing what people like to see in their environments could be interesting to the people who construct our environments — architects, urban designers, landscape designers. It would allow public advertising to track eyeballs and measure the ad performance in the same way digital advertising currently does.

And what if human users aren’t actually the target audience of these AR frames, but machines? Another area where views will be useful would be steering autonomous cameras rigged on drones or robots. Imagine a director of photography who composes a bunch of views for a particular scene, strings them together, and uploads them to a camera drone. The camera drone can then chart an autonomous path through these views, consistently capturing the same shot over and over again. Autonomous camera drones such as the Lily and the Hexo+ are already becoming popular: these drones are designed to track a single target subject right now (See 3DR’s description of how its SHIFT computer vision helps drones auto-frame shots), but could quickly be applied to filming other views if these frames can be saved.

#thesis #Augmented reality #public space #drones #frames

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