#jobs with bill graham presents

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about. 

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes. 

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened. 

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka. 

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.  

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat. 

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense. 

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out. 

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants. 

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time. 

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again. 

Over and over and over. 

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow. 

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent. 

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass. 

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!” 

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?” 

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes. 

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness. 

New arrivals? 

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order. 

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were. 

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already. 

But back to the current interest for the night. 

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all. 

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch. 

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up. 

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy. 

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney. 

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory. 

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head. 

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here. 

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too. 

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?” 

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone. 

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed. 

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person. 

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants. 

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy. 

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights. 

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment. 

A puff of breath from his nose. 

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders. 

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’. 

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again. 

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you. 

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff. 

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava. 

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head. 

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly. 

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip. 

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?” 

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs. 

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow. 

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter. 

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth. 

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.” 

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued. 

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg. 

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were. 

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for. 

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire. 

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either. 

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away. 

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up. 

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell. 

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause. 

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly. 

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted. 

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.” 

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender? 

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him. 

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.” 

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face. 

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?” 

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice. 

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.” 

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless. 

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated. 

The glass meets the bar top. 

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl. 

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him. 

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window. 

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared. 

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath. 

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep. 

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air. 

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel. 

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly. 

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening. 

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.” 

Blank stares are sent your way. 

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more. 

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though. 

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script. 

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile. 

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.” 

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.” 

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is. 

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.” 

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.” 

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.” 

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging. 

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings. 

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you. 

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you. 

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily. 

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names. 

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed. 

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues. 

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance. 

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.” 

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie. 

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles. 

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy. 

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort. 

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff. 

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. 

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb. 

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path. 

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can. 

“A cold one.” 

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke. 

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up. 

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem. 

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all. 

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service. 

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it. 

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered. 

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out. 

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion. 

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls. 

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly. 

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.” 

That was a surprise. 

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer. 

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question. 

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?” 

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind. 

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?” 

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.” 

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting. 

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens. 

“Thank you.” 

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat. 

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt. 

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer. 

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting. 

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service. 

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you. 

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone. 

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way. 

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching. 

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm. 

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower. 

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.” 

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath. 

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt. 

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy. 

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.” 

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man. 

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was. 

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down. 

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust. 

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm. 

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking. 

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment. 

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets. 

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement. 

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer. 

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes. 

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights. 

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.” 

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.  

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

TAGS:

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#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #cod mw22 #x female reader #call of duty x you #mw2 #mw2 2022 #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #mwii #mw x reader #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #female reader #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw ghost #cod simon riley

[ausetkmt]

Making ethnic studies illegal in Ohio: Even watered down, SB 83 requires teaching racism - Ohio Capital Journal

Timothy Messer-Kruse

COLUMBUS, OH — FEBRUARY 08: State Sen. Jerry Cirino, R-Kirtland, during the Ohio Senate session, February 8, 2023, in the Senate Chamber at the Statehouse in Columbus, Ohio. (Photo by Graham Stokes for Ohio Capital Journal. Republish photo only with original story.)

In 2006, I was hired by the state of Ohio to teach ethnic studies. Among the core concepts of this field that I was expected to impart to my students were the ideas that apparent human differences are more historical and cultural than natural, that what we call “race” is our own invention, and a key story of the U.S.A. is that people of color have had to struggle for the equal rights bestowed upon most white people at the time of the nation’s birth. When SB 83 passes it will be illegal for me to continue to do so. 

In the face of a historic outpouring of protest against his so-called, “Ohio Higher Education Enhancement Act,” state Sen. Jerry Cirino amended his bill and softened several of its restrictions on teaching. Nevertheless, what remains still creates a set of conflicting mandates and restrictions that place those, like myself, whose job it is to teach ethnic studies, in a legal bind. First, much of the core of ethnic studies content remains classified as a “controversial belief or policy,” specifically, “diversity, equity, and inclusion programs, immigration policy.” Such controversial concepts are required under this bill to be treated differently than other subjects. 

Under even the watered down version of SB 83, when teaching about these “controversial beliefs” faculty are specifically ordered to “encourage students to reach their own conclusions about” them and are prohibited from seeking to “inculcate any social [or] political” view about them. Additionally, instructors are required to present “multiple, divergent, and varied perspectives” on these and other controversial topics. 

I’ve long believed that good teaching is based on encouraging independent and critical thinking and have read enough history to understand that what appears as commonsensical and indisputably true today may turn out to be more complicated at some future time. But within ethnic studies what SB 83 terms a controversial concept are actually settled, core elements of the field. 

Because of the way it defines “controversial beliefs,” SB 83 does not require that geography professors describe flat earth theory to keep their jobs. It does, however, require me to teach the “divergent” theory of racial construction, which is that race is a biological, fixed, natural attribute of humankind.

It requires me to teach the “divergent” theory of civil rights, which is that the constitution allows for the legal separation of races and that this is a justifiable form of equality. It requires me to teach that the South seceded because it wished to defend states rights against the unlawful aggression of the Lincoln administration, not because it wanted to protect the principle that some humans can be treated as property.

The list of what constitutes the “divergent” version of an ethnic studies concept contains many other ugly, false, and dangerous ideas drawn from discredited nineteenth century scientific racists, American Eugenicists, Klansmen, and German Nazis.  

I refuse to give credence to these crackpot racist theories, because I and my peers in the field of ethnic studies have determined through decades of careful scholarship and research that these propositions are false. These propositions do not represent reality as we have come to understand it. These are not simply “beliefs” or “views,” they are empirically grounded conclusions about our world. I suppose in the final analysis they are still beliefs but there is a wide difference between any ordinary opinion and an informed belief. 

Cirino and his once grand old party are demanding that I teach the racist ideas ethnic studies have shown to be false in the name of “intellectual diversity.” According to SB 83, If I refuse, my university is required to discipline me. So be it. 

Send your ideological police to Bowling Green State University and investigate me for not properly teaching Murray and Herrnstein’s Bell Curve, which argues that black children are less intelligent than white ones. Or for not giving credit to some version of the Great Replacement Theory promoted by many Republicans. If this is your idea of ensuring more intellectual diversity and freedom of thought in Ohio’s great universities, I want no part of it. 

Timothy Messer-Kruse is a professor of ethnic studies at Bowling Green State University. The views expressed here are strictly and entirely his own. 

#Making ethnic studies illegal in Ohio: Even watered down #SB 83 requires teaching racism #systemic racism #us education #racism #american hate #white supremacy #ohio #education that is not helpful #hiding history

[perfectuu]

10 Ways to Live a Happier Life

Happiness is often elusive for an unfortunate reason: our brains aren't wired that way. Instead, our brains have evolved to help us survive, protect ourselves, and stay safe. Sure, we have our moments of elation, as well as our periods of contentment and bliss. However, many of us are plagued by persistent negative emotions – we are simply stuck in the "blahs."

How can we bring more joy into our lives? It takes practice, just like anything else, to cultivate ongoing happiness. In some ways, we need to reset our baseline. It won't happen overnight, but here are the top 20 things you can do every day to unlock the secrets to a happier life.

1. Focus on positive thinking.

To find long-term happiness, you must retrain your brain to shift from a negative to a positive mindset. Try the following: Spend one to two minutes focusing on the positive aspects of your life. If you do this three times a day for 45 days, your brain will begin to do it automatically.

2. Rejoice in small victories.

Life is full of ups and downs, but in between we have a lot of little victories that go unnoticed. Take a moment to celebrate these small wins.

Like doing all your daily tasks

3. Strive for a work-life balance.

Work consumes much of our time, but it should not be the only thing we do. It is critical to pursue activities and interests outside of our jobs. Do you have a pastime? Are you spending time with your friends and family? Are you getting enough exercise? Creating balance in your life will reduce stress and provide you with additional opportunities to express yourself and have fun.

4. Exercise mindfulness.

Mindfulness is a type of meditation in which you focus on being intensely aware of what you're sensing and feeling in the moment, without interpretation or judgment. Practicing mindfulness involves breathing methods, guided imagery, and other practices to relax the body and mind and help reduce stress.

5. Be creative.

The creative process is the evolution of an idea into its final form through a progression of thoughts and actions. The creative process involves critical thinking and problem-solving skills. From songwriters to television producers, creative individuals generally go through five steps to bring their ideas to fruition—preparation, incubation, illumination, evaluation, and verification. These stages were first articulated by Graham Wallas, a social psychologist and co-founder of the London School of Economics who outlined the primary stages of the creative process in his 1926 book on creativity called The Art of Thought.

6. Do what you love.

It's difficult to maintain overall happiness if you despise your job. Don't waste your best years in a job that isn't fun, even if it pays the bills. What piques your interest? What are your true interests? Focus on developing a career that motivates you and provides you with a high level of satisfaction, and your happiness mindset will skyrocket.

7. Live in the moment.

Yes, living in the moment is good. Some think that living in the moment is all about spontaneity and living life to the fullest. That’s only one perception. Living in the moment is about experiencing the world around you as it happens without injecting thought into it. The benefit of living in the moment is that there’s no stress. Stress comes from thinking. However, when we live in the present, we are free of the judgment of thoughts, allowing us to experience inner peace. There’s a sense of calm in living in the moment making life exciting, beautiful, and free. 

8. Give back.

Be giving with both your time and your money. Donate to those in need. Give to those you care about. Those who give back exhibit selflessness and humanitarianism. Those who are generous with their money tend to be in good health, possibly because giving has a feel-good effect that reduces blood pressure and stress.

9. Surprise yourself.

It's difficult to be happy if you're bored or dissatisfied with your life. Feeling stimulated, interested, and a little surprised by life is part of feeling happy. So, push yourself to achieve goals that are outside of your comfort zone. Place yourself in unfamiliar or unexpected situations. Make goals for yourself and work hard to achieve them. And don't forget to have fun!

10. Stop worrying.

Constantly worrying about everything leads to toxic anxiety, a state in which your mind is consumed by negative, spiraling thoughts. Worries plague your mind, making you fearful and apprehensive about things over which you frequently have no control. We sometimes believe that if we worry enough, we will be able to prevent bad things from happening. But the truth is that when you're consumed by worry, you can't experience joy or even contentment.

#mental health #mental heath support #coping #mental illness #therapy #boundaries #mental wellbeing #personal development #success #motivation #empowerment #personal growth #lifelessons #lifestyle #mindset #tools #skills #guide #practical #research #safety #tips #mindfulness #peace #bliss #patience #peaceofmind #inspiring #happiness #positive

[doctor-who-binge]

Starting at 12:54 this explains very well why I don't like Thasmin.

You can watch the rest of the critique of the episode but thats not my point in sharing; link should take you to timestamp. Commenting on some of the quotes.

This was something the Thasmin fans willed into existence because it wasn't planned and only started to become purposeful in the Haunting of Vella Diodati. Confirmed in the Eve of The Daleks allowing only 2 episodes to cram it in.

Okay so I'm not the only one who thought it came straight out of thin air. A different video proves this is true with interviews of writers and producers.

There was never any chemistry between these two characters [...] You never had any of this with Yaz because she always faded into the background competing with 3 other companions to share screen time with.

This. I always thought if there was going to be Yaz x 13, she needed to be solo for a decent chunk of time. Even if I would have preferred solo Graham

Yes this episode manages to confirm the doctors feelings towards Yaz whilst Chibnall still tries to sit on the fence and avoid committing to either side. It makes you wonder why they even bother acknowledging it.

Poor representation for diversity and especially fan service. Bill did an amazing job as did Jack with LGBTQ represention in the story; Yaz didn't nor did 13 (unless you count changing genders which thats established as something completely normal among time lords).... it just ... manifested suddenly.

She even compares her love for Yaz to her love for River her literal wife

Biggest fucking sin in this onscreen ship confirmation especially because she then dismissively says she wasn't going to mention having a wife.

The real worst moment of the legend of the sea devils is the moment when the 13th doctor tells Yaz shes the most amazing person she has ever met. What has Yaz ever done to warrant that kind of opinion. She hasn't had a huge brave moment proving her worth. Rose absorbed the time vortex. Martha saved the entirety of earth. Donna became part timelord. Clara jumped into the Doctors time stream to save his life.

The continuing rest of that quote explain things that I so agree with but that I won't transcribe.

"Can't we just live in the present" - The Doctor

Thasmin was only turned into a real thing because of the fans. So what do you gain from turning on those fans?

This was prior to their last ""date"" in Power of The Doctor, but its still a decently good point.

I'll admit I'm still re-watching through 13th doctor's run.

#13th doctor #Youtube #if you somehow found this in a ship tag sorry not my intention

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Michael B. Jordan

full name: Damien James Graham

pronouns & gender: he/him, cis man

sexuality: straight

birth date: August 10, 1985

birth place: Brooklyn, New York

time in town: 17 years

housing: townhouse, historical downtown

occupation: Owner/performer at Vibrations, performer at Belle Merde

family: Jonas (his french bulldog), Esther Atkins (maternal grandmother, in town), Diana Graham (younger sister, in town), Ellen Atkins Graham and Marcus Graham (parents, deceased)

personality: When people think of Damien, they usually think of someone outgoing, charming and fun to be around - to sum it up, the life of every party he's in. However, he can also be a bit stubborn, proud and sometimes even rude when someone or something annoys him too much. He likes to describe himself as a perfectly well-rounded guy - at least, to most people he knows.

BACKGROUND / BIO

Trigger warnings: death, mental health

On August 10th, 1985, the desperate screams of a twenty-four-year-old Ellen Graham were heard through every corridor of that already usually loud hospital as she gave birth to her first child. The little boy would be named Damien as a sweet tribute to his paternal grandfather, who had passed away the year before. In an almost ironic way, the boy would grow up to be the complete opposite of his grandfather. Friendly, charming, easily connected with everything and everyone around him… He made people around him smile at all times and they all loved him for that.

 Even though he was a bubbly boy, when it came to school the story was certainly different. He was strict with himself, consistently prioritizing his education. He knew right away life was not easy for someone like him, someone who wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father worked as a chef at the crappy restaurant two blocks away from their apartment and his mother was a kindergarten teacher. He didn’t have a choice other than to make the best out of what he had. He knew he had to strive to be someone, to not be stepped on like both his parents.

 In high school, he continued being one of the wonder kids, with excellent grades and a great demeanor; yet, he picked up two jobs to help his parents out – one of them during weekdays, at a grocery store, the other during weekends, at the movie theatre near his apartment.

 At 18, he graduated top of his class, and, unlike most of his friends, didn’t go to college. He always knew higher education was never something he could pursue. And Damien never really saw the use for it; in his mind, college was just a lot of money, work and time to, in the end, not get rewarded much. Instead, he continued working little jobs here and there, still helping with the bills.

 At the beginning of the 2005 summer, just before his 20th birthday, he gifted his parents a one-week stay at a good enough upstate resort, for their 22nd wedding anniversary. They loved it. Not being able to afford vacation had its perks – the ability to enjoy the little and simpler ones. While they were there, he would work and take care of his younger sister, Diana. She would joke and say those were the coolest days of her life, with the best scrambled eggs ever – at that age, Damien had zero cooking skills. It was at that time in the morning, while trying not to ruin that last batch of scrambled eggs he swore he would ever cook for her, that he received a phone call. In the mere minute that it lasted, his whole world shattered. Ellen and Marcus Graham had crashed their car on their way to Brooklyn and both were proclaimed dead on the scene.

 For the months that followed his parents’ death, Damien struggled with his mental health. After all, he was the one who gifted them that trip; in his mind, the entire thing was his fault. They wouldn’t have gone away if it weren’t for him and that stupid present. To this day, he still tries to work through his survivor’s guilt but, being known for his confident and fun personality, he usually avoids speaking about it.

 In the autumn of 2005, he and his younger sister moved to his maternal grandparents’ house, in Merrock. The first couple of months there were difficult for both of them; leaving their town, friends and routines behind was never easy for anyone, especially them. Now, a new town, new people and new chapters awaited them and all of those changes were certainly overwhelming. However, Damien was ready for those. All of that distracted him from his own mind - that was exactly what he needed, in some weird way. It did not take long for him to start establishing connections and branching out, soon taking on different little jobs and volunteering as much as he could.

 Some years later, just before the summer of 2011, he decided to open his first business, something the town needed, with some of the money his parents left him and the one he earned over the years. Vibrations was open to give people a chance to distract themselves in a fun way, with loud music and various themed parties. As he expected, the club was a very successful choice; people loved it, making sure to let him know that. After some time and hype, he finally gained the courage to start performing at the club. His music was everything to him, his refuge, and seeing everyone appreciating it meant a lot to him. He couldn’t be happier. After some time of performing in his own club, he started diverging a little, now performing occasionally at Belle Merde too.

 Now, Damien lives in his own house, in the Historical Downtown, with his sister and his dog, Jonas. However, after his grandfather’s passing, he still spends a lot of his free time with his granny, who, sharing the spot with Diana and Jonas, is his everything.

#merrockbio #damiengraham #death tw #parental death tw #mental health tw

[doubledash7]

The Sims 2: Uberhood Playthrough - Round 1 (Broke)

Hello all! Long time, no see! I've been very slack lately, but here I am with another part! The next Broke family!

Here we have Ruby and Trigger Broke, along with their dog, Duke (you may remember him from the last Broke part as the offspring of Danny and Sarah Broke). Ruby and Trigger are cousins, and have recently said goodbye to Trigger's sister, Susie (she got married to another family that we will see in a future part).

Ruby is Skip Broke's older sister. While not normally present in Pleasantview, I recreated the extended Broke family and added them in. After playing The Sims 3 Riverside, it just didn't seem right not to have them here. Ruby is a Pleasure sim and is looking for love!

And here is Trigger, Ruby's paternal cousin. He is a Fortune sim and looking to make the big bucks! He is also not opposed to finding love, especially since his younger sister got married.

Ruby and Trigger both work part-time, and they like to spend their days heading down to the local bar. Ruby found herself oddly attracted to the older Joe Graham. Things didn't get off to a great start though, with their first conversation turning sour very quickly!

Trigger didn't have much luck at the bar, but he did manage to catch the lovely Claire Wood walking past the house and struck up a conversation with her. Claire seemed very happy to meet some new! Meanwhile, Ruby tried to smooth things over with Joe on the phone.

Uh-oh! Ruby woke up this morning at the beginning of a midlife crisis! This means that her aspiration changes to Grow Up and her personality will be in regular mood swings! Watch out Trigger!

Having just aged up to an adult and wanting a bit more independence, Dustin Broke moved in. He would have to share a small room with Trigger, but that didn't bother him. Plus it was another Sim to help out with the bills.

Trigger decided to ask Claire out on a date at, you guessed it, the local bar. Trigger sure knows how to show a girl a good time, even toasting to her while waiting for their food. Maybe this tactic has worked before with other girls. They ended up having a good date, despite spending most of it on the "Okay" level.

Ruby decided to opt for a home cooked meal with Joe. Despite their age gap, Ruby couldn't help but see the youthful side of Joe. That bad initial conversation turned out to be a one time thing, and their relationship really began to take off from there.

This is one of the reasons I love ACR (Autonomous Casual Romance). Claire made the first move with Trigger, securing their first kiss together. Clearly Claire is a girl that likes the simple life of bar food and being toasted.

Now Trigger and Claire, when do you think your second date will...oh, never mind.

Enjoying a post woohoo meal, Trigger and Claire's early dinner was interrupted by a chance card for Ruby, who works as a Coffee Shop Sound Engineer. As always, I roll between one and three to pick an option. This seems to work very well with the midlife crisis too, as Ruby's actions would be very unpredictable at this stage.

And....she got fired. You should know better Ruby than to just hide damaged equipment, and now you pay the price! Luckily Ruby was able to find a job as Fish Chummer pretty quick. There are bills to be paid, and drinks at the bar to be paid for.

Ok, this is now just cruel. Not only did she get fired, but she also picked up the flu! Straight to bed with you! I take the flu very seriously with the more dangerous sickness mod being in my game. I've lost sims before, and it can happen in an instant!

Well Trigger is looking to put a ring on it! Looks like Claire Wood has been able to tame this bad boy!

And Ruby got immediate FOMO and decided she also wanted to get married. It's not a competition guys.

Joe said yes! Ruby and Joe happily embraced! It may seem quick, but you have to remember that each day in my game is one year in real life, so they have known each other for three years at this stage. Neither of them could afford to throw a big wedding, so they quickly went down to city hall and made it official. It may start to get a bit crowded in this trailer.

Oh Dustin! You too! At least yours was just a demotion. The last thing we need is two of you being fired.

Oof, maybe Claire wasn't ready for marriage after all. Or maybe she expected her engagement to be more thoughtful and grand than in the front yard of the trailer. Poor Trigger!

Ruby immediately wanted to try and have a baby. At this stage, Ruby is getting close to 50, so she knew it would be hard to fall pregnant. Luckily on her third go, we heard the sweet jingle of pregnancy.

One day (and one real life year) later, Claire was ready to say yes to Trigger. It's lucky she said yes, as Trigger may have started to question staying with her. They also had a quickie wedding at city hall.

Score! Finally a lucky chance card, this time for Trigger.

Ruby was soon ready to give birth. Little Kaylee soon arrived! Only Claire was available to help her with the birth.

They grow up so fast!! I think Kaylee has taken a little bit too much of her father's face. It will be interesting to see her as an adult. Being a Libra, she will also end up as a Romance sim.

Kaylee growing up to a toddler was also enough to knock Ruby out of her midlife crisis. No more mood swings! Yay!

Duke also grew up. This is the first time I have seen the offspring of Danny and Sarah grown up. They make cute dogs!!

And we ended the round with a surprise pregnancy with Trigger and Claire, resulting in Davey! He is a real cutie! With seven sims and a dog all living in a two bedroom, one bathroom trailer, it was time to split them up. Trigger and Claire moved out with Davey and Duke, along with Dustin into a new trailer, ready for the next round! Hope you liked this part! Please let me know what you think. :)

#the sims 2 #the sims 2 uberhood #the sims 2 broke #the sims 2 story

[spoilertv]

#SpoilerTV

[designedonchaos]

— BASICS

Name: Augustus “Gus” Amado Age / D.O.B.: 43, July 10, 1980 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis man, he/him, bisexual Hometown: New York City Affiliation: Brotherhood Job position: ASL Interpreter, adjunct professor Education: College for Criminal Justice, later schooling for ASL  Relationship status: Single, kind of widowed Children: One tiny yappy dog named Chili Positive traits: (5) Warm, giving, resourceful, humble, persevering  Negative traits: (5) Forgetful, depressed, solitary, spiteful, self-doubting

— BIOGRAPHY

Gus Amado was born into a big family as a middle child. His loving parents owned a deli in Queens and for much of his adolescent life he was one of the many Amados who were taking orders, wrapping up sandwiches, and sweeping up the checkered floors of the little hole-in-the-wall eatery that had been a staple since Gus’s oldest brother was born back in the 70s. He was often overlooked with a bigger family, but still he was often noted as one of the sweetest and softest-mannered of the group. When he decided to pursue criminal justice with the hopes of becoming an FBI agent, his whole family was confused- and assumed he’d drop it in a week or two. 

But Gus had always had an indomitable spirit, and whatever he set his mind to, he would do. Getting into the career he wanted, he found himself often delegated the cases others didn’t want. And while he’d been promised a partner, it took ages for him to finally get one. Graham entered his life as a last-minute replacement. A Deaf agent who the higher-ups ‘didn’t know what to do with’. But Gus and Graham formed a quick partnership, and Gus found a passion for learning ASL- both to communicate with his new partner and to develop seemingly whirlwind relationship as they began to date soon after.

They were together for 6 years, until a case went bad. Given the wrong information, Gus and Graham stepped right into the wrong place at the wrong time, and ended up held hostage for a 48 hour period. Gus was beaten within an inch of his life, and Graham was shot and killed in front of him. While Gus was thankfully saved, it was too little too late. His team had fucked him over and effectively put him and his now deceased partner in harm’s way. He never forgave them. After months in the hospital, he never returned to the FBI. Instead he began ASL tutoring to pay some bills, taking care of Graham’s old chihuahua Chili and living in a camper because he couldn’t deal with their old apartment without Graham in it. 

Eventually, Gus found himself working with colleges in NYC to improve accessibility for Deaf students, and became an on-call interpreter. But in his many nights of drinking his problems away and living in shady areas in his old camper, he began to meet others disillusioned with the justice system. Soon enough Gus was interpreting Spanish as well as ASL for the Brotherhood. He’s finally found an apartment in NYC with Chili and has began wondering if he wants to be more present within the Brotherhood. His knowledge and experience is an asset- but he also is afraid of the violence he and his partner endured. 

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

-Siblings of the Amado family, as well as nieces & nephews -His deceased partner Graham’s family/friends, who would’ve also lived in NY -students and other professors at nearby colleges & universities -Brotherhood members who have used his services or become friends -Those who have crossed him when he was in the FBI in the past -Exes from NYC from before Graham (would’ve had to be at least 10 years ago) -Flings - maybe Gus tried to date before he was ready to get back out there. Maybe they had a one night stand and Gus ghosted because of everything going on. Or maybe they just have a fling or a situationship or some casual sex -Old colleagues from the FBI/police force who Gus has a strained relationship with. 

#wb.intro #gusbio #gusintro #hES HERE

[rairhvac01]

How to Get the most effective Air Conditioning Repair in Graham

Trying to find somebody to epair air conditioning unit in Graham? This internet site details a dependable air conditioning unit repair service in Graham, GA. This air conditioningsolution is licensed in Georgia and services Cobb and also Cherokee regions. With such an excellent service area, you will certainly havethe ability to discover a regional service technician for your air conditioning unit, one who is reliable as well as that is accredited under the State of Georgia. There are certain inquiries that must be asked of any air conditioner repair work solution. Once these inquiries are responded to, then you will be able to choose a specialist that is suited to your needs.

Some of the concerns that you might ask of cooling repair Graham are as follows: Can my ac system be replaced or do I simply need solution? hvac service graham nc ? What is one of the most affordable configuration for my residence? Is the ductwork enhanced in my home? These as well as various other questions will certainly help to establish just what requirements to be done to your cooling system as well as what is the optimum system for you, if you are replacing your system or perhapsupgrading to a new one.

It is likewise good to understand exactly how an ac system operates in order to recognize when to call an air conditioning fixing Graham. This expertise will certainly also assist you understand when is the appropriate time to call somebody to repair your air conditioning system. Is it running poorly? Is it cooling efficiently? The answer to thosequestions will certainly lead you to call a fixing solution for your air conditioning. If these scenarios are not remedied, you will be facing an extremely massive expense for your cooling services. This can bring about some difficult monetary times.

By calling an a/c fixing solution in Graham, you will obtain a qualified repair service that is accredited by the state of Georgia. This repair service will additionally give you a price quote of what repair services will certainly cost as well as give it in creating. This will certainly give you the assurance that you have actually a certified professional that understands how to repair your cooling units appropriately and can additionally encourage you on upgrades or substitutes for your existing a/c system. This container be extremely inexpensive when changing your present cooling system. With a written estimate you will certainly be able to see how much the solution or fixing will certainly set you back.

When searching for an air conditioning fixing solution in Graham the website that has been detailed is an excellent source to find a good repair solution for this very vital part of your life. Air conditioning is an extremely integral part of our lives and we absolutely would miss it if it was no longer a part of our lives.

By keeping this machinery looked after, you will certainly bypass a hefty fixing bill and keep your home cool throughout the warm summertime with no trouble. So by searching for an air conditioning repair Graham, you will have a local serviceman that is experienced and also can get there rapidly to help you with repair work that you will need to keep your device running well. This service man or woman can likewise encourage you on upgrades to your a/c system while keeping your present cooling unit running efficiently. With licensing by the state of Georgia, you can be ensured of somebody that is certified and also understands exactly what they are doing and also you can be ensured of high quality job no matter what is done.

We are a team of seasoned authors, editors, SEO specialists and quality control workers who work in close association to create high quality, keyword-rich content. We have actually serviced web content, news release, e-books, blog sites, traveling overviews along with articles on a myriad of subjects. Our venture is to give you long-term assistance in your web content growth initiatives. Building websites became fun.

Read More…

#hvac service graham nc

[gigslist]

43 Event Jobs at Live Nation

The site did not allow me to grab individual job links. Link to main page of jobs at bottom of this list.

Lead Software Engineer -JR-32709 | Toronto, ON | Posted Today

Platform Engineer

JR-32452 | Toronto, ON | Posted Today

Product Designer

JR-32866 | Toronto, ON | Posted Today

Senior Software Engineer

JR-32456 | Toronto, ON | Posted Today

Software Developer

JR-32868 | Toronto, ON | Posted Today

Sr. Financial Analyst

JR-33133 | Beverly Hills, CA, USA | Posted Yesterday

Insomniac - Electric Mile Entertainer

JR-33198 | Los Angeles, CA, USA | Posted 3 Days Ago

Senior Business Analyst

JR-33214 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 3 Days Ago

Systems Engineer (Maternity Cover)

JR-33175 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 3 Days Ago

Digital Implementation Analyst

JR-32923 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 3 Days Ago

Project Portfolio Management (PPM) Analyst

JR-33157 | Hollywood, CA, USA | Posted 3 Days Ago

Program Coordinator, Privacy

JR-33193 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 4 Days Ago

Lead InfoSec Analyst - PSG

JR-33171 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 4 Days Ago

Systems Engineer, Information Security Operations

JR-33169 | New York, NY, USA | Posted 4 Days Ago

Employment Tax Manager (Part Time)

JR-33179 | London, Farmiloe Building, EC1 | Posted 5 Days Ago

Corporate Tax Manager

JR-33178 | London, Farmiloe Building, EC1 | Posted 5 Days Ago

Director of Analytics

JR-32811 | Beverly Hills, CA, USA | Posted 6 Days Ago

VP, Communications, Global Lead & Head of North America

JR-33007 | Hollywood, CA, USA | Posted 6 Days Ago

Sr. Manager, RNU Music Partnerships

JR-33158 | New York, NY, USA | Posted 7 Days Ago

Senior Product Designer

JR-32782 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 7 Days Ago

Security Analyst

JR-33100 | Hollywood, CA, USA | Posted 10 Days Ago

Technical Talent Sourcer

JR-33142 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 10 Days Ago

Analista Contable

JR-33117 | Buenos Aires, AR | Posted 10 Days Ago

Jefe Contable / Accounting Supervisor

JR-33115 | Buenos Aires, AR | Posted 10 Days Ago

Analista de Tesorería y Contabilidad / Treasury and Accounting Analyst

JR-33101 | Buenos Aires, AR | Posted 10 Days Ago

Busser- Restaurant

JR-33130 | Las Vegas, NV, USA | Posted 11 Days Ago

Sr. Manager, Business Intelligence

JR-33045 | Yreka, CA, USA | Posted 12 Days Ago

Director, Data Engineering

JR-33005 | Yreka, CA, USA | Posted 12 Days Ago

Director, Operations, Data Services

JR-33004 | Yreka, CA, USA | Posted 12 Days Ago

Software Engineer

JR-33103 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 14 Days Ago

Senior Software Engineer

JR-33102 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 14 Days Ago

Corporate Sales and Events Manager

JR-33048 | NZ Auckland - Mahuhu Cres (QPAM) | Posted 17 Days Ago

Insomniac - Production HR Generalist

JR-33012 | Beverly Hills, CA, USA | Posted 19 Days Ago

Birmingham 2022 Ticketing Systems Manager

JR-33055 | Stoke-on-Trent, Campbell Road, ST4 | Posted 20 Days Ago

Payroll Manager

JR-33052 | London, Pentonville Road, N1 | Posted 20 Days Ago

Senior Manager, Human Resources

JR-32791 | Toronto, ON, CA | Posted 20 Days Ago

Insomniac Head of Marketing

JR-33010 | Beverly Hills, CA, USA | Posted 25 Days Ago

Client Services, Tier 2 - Virtual Events Specialist

JR-32982 | Toronto, ON | Posted 25 Days Ago

Client Services, Tier 2

JR-32976 | Toronto, ON | Posted 26 Days Ago

Security

JR-32993 | West Palm Beach, FL, USA | Posted 26 Days Ago

Usher/Greeter/Ticket Taker

JR-32992 | West Palm Beach, FL, USA | Posted 26 Days Ago

Cleaning/Maintenance Services

JR-32991 | West Palm Beach, FL, USA | Posted 26 Days Ago

Client Services, Tier 1

JR-32921 | Toronto, ON, More... | Posted 28 Days Ago

https://livenation.wd1.myworkdayjobs.com/LNExternalSite

#music industry jobs near me #careers in live events #jobs with bill graham presents #jobs at life nation #jobs with another planet #entertainment jobs bay area #free gif animations #free giphy #free theatre gifs

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

"I thought I knew where he was going, and I didn't really know where he was going." - Senator Lindsey Graham

"Um...I don't think the lawyers did the most effective job," - Senator Ted Cruz

"I've seen a lot of lawyers and a lot of arguments. That was not one of the finest I've seen." - Senator John Cornyn

"President Trump's team [was] disorganized. They did everything they could but to talk about the question at hand and when they talked about it, they kind of glided over, almost as if they were embarrassed of their arguments. Now I'm an impartial juror, and one side is doing a great job. And the other side is doing a terrible job on the issue at hand...I'm going to vote for the side that did the good job." - Senator Bill Cassidy

"The House presented a... pretty good legal analysis. In fairness, I was really stunned at the first attorney who presented for former President Trump. I couldn't figure out where he was going, spent 45 minutes going somewhere, but I don't think he helped with us better understanding where he was coming from on the constitutionality of this." - Senator Lisa Murkowski

"The second attorney representing the president clearly did [make an argument) and did a competent job, but I'm puzzled by the presentation by the first attorney, so I don't know how they're gonna proceed from here on out." - Senator Susan Collins

#politics #us politics #donald trump #trump #fuck trump #anti trump #trump scandals #news #against trump #impeach45 #impeachment #bruce castor #lindsey graham #sen. lindsey graham #sen. ted cruz #ted cruz #john cornyn #sen. john cornyn #sen. bill cassidy #bill cassidy #sen. lisa murkowski #lisa murkowski #sen. susan collins #susan collins #gop #republican #republicans #us senate #time

[rockislandadultreads]

Horror Reads: new(ish) books to check out

The Unforgiven by Heather Graham

A tragic past. An uncertain future. Twelve years after the grisly murder of her parents, Kaitlyn Delaney has finally found peace. She has friends, a good job, a place to call home and a new life to live. But then a shadow creeps in from Katie’s past, reminding her that she will never completely escape its terrifying grip. When private investigator Dan Oliver is called to the scene of a gruesome crime in New Orleans, he can’t help but hear echoes of the Delaney case, the unsolved murder that made him leave law enforcement. As he digs deeper, he unearths more chilling similarities—including mysterious letters connecting the killer to a string of murders that terrorized the Big Easy in 1919. Now reunited after all this time, Dan and Katie scour the streets together, desperate to find answers before more lives are lost. But the otherworldly roots of this evil run far deeper than they ever imagined…and only the most precious of sacrifices will bring its twisted reign to an end.

Whisper Down the Lane by Clay McLeod Chapman

Inspired by the McMartin preschool trials and the Satanic Panic of the ‘80s, the critically acclaimed author of The Remaking delivers another pulse pounding, true-crime-based horror novel. Richard doesn’t have a past. For him, there is only the present: a new marriage to Tamara, a first chance at fatherhood to her son Elijah, and a quiet but pleasant life as an art teacher at Elijah’s elementary school in Danvers, Virginia. Then the body of a rabbit, ritualistically murdered, appears on the school grounds with a birthday card for Richard tucked beneath it. Richard doesn’t have a birthday—but Sean does . . . Sean is a five-year-old boy who has just moved to Greenfield, Virginia, with his mother. Like most mothers of the 1980s, she’s worried about bills, childcare, putting food on the table . . . and an encroaching threat to American life that can take the face of anyone: a politician, a friendly neighbor, or even a teacher. When Sean’s school sends a letter to the parents revealing that Sean’s favorite teacher is under investigation, a white lie from Sean lights a fire that engulfs the entire nation—and Sean and his mother are left holding the match. Now, thirty years later, someone is here to remind Richard that they remember what Sean did. And though Sean doesn’t exist anymore, someone needs to pay the price for his lies.

Smithy by Amanda Desiree

In 1972, renowned researcher Dr. Piers Preis-Herald brought together a group of collegiate researchers to study the inner lives of man's closest relative--primates. His team would undertake their study by raising a young chimpanzee and teaching him American Sign Language. The primate selected was born chimpanzee #710642 at the Kohlberg Center for Primate Research. He would eventually be known to the world as Smithy. Nearly fifty years after the Smithy Project ended in tragedy at Trevor Hall, the question remains: Was Smithy a hoax? A clever mimic? A Rorschach projection of humanity's greatest hopes and fears? Or was he indeed what devotees of metaphysics have claimed for so long: a link between our world and the next?

The Living Sea of Waking Dreams by Richard Flanagan

In a world of perennial fire and growing extinctions, Anna’s aged mother is dying—if her three children would just allow it. Condemned by their pity to living she increasingly escapes through her hospital window into visions of horror and delight. When Anna’s finger vanishes and a few months later her knee disappears, Anna too feels the pull of the window. She begins to see that all around her others are similarly vanishing, but no one else notices. All Anna can do is keep her mother alive. But the window keeps opening wider, taking Anna and the reader ever deeper into a strangely beautiful novel about hope and love and orange-bellied parrots.

#Horror #paranormal #paranormal fiction #to read #new books #reading recommendations #Book Recommendations #tbr #reading list #summer reading #booklr #library #public libraries #horror books #scary stories

[capybaraonabicycle]

A Family Wedding - Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Rating: Teen

Summary: Jenny meets her mums’ friends and the wedding is drawing to an end

Warnings: Some innuendo and the dagger makes another appearance, also consummation of alcohol

Words: ~3000

AO3

Eventually, they made their way back to the party. The Doctor wanted to introduce her daughter to some of her friends and the Ponds had agreed that her and River couldn’t completely ignore their duty as hosts. Thus, Jenny spent the rest of the very long night talking to an endless number of people who were important to her mum in one way or another.

__

Bill and Heather immediately decided they were basically cousins and had to get together for space trips some time. Bill wrote her number onto a napkin and made Jenny promise she would get a phone so they could stay in contact. She also talked a lot about the eyebrows-version of her mum, saying it was a shame Jenny missed him. But at least now she got two badass mums and according to Bill, that was pretty perfect when it came to parents.

__

Missy, her mum’s best woman, casually mentioned she should abduct Jenny, as it would be the perfect leverage over her mum. This remark made Amy threaten her with the cake knife while Rory protectively put his arms around Jenny. Missy made a point of ignoring Jenny’s grandparents, promising Jenny would meet one of her regenerations again soon.

“Your mum is obsessed with me, Honeybunch” she said, trailing her nails over the blade of Amy’s knife thoughtfully, “I’m sure she will come running again with you in tow to foil my next brilliant plan. She can’t let me be on my own for a second. It’s quite embarrassing, really.”

She gave a little dramatic sigh at this, pushing the knife away to move past Jenny. “She just loves me so much.”

__

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart and Petronella Osgood were luckily part of an earlier version of UNIT than the one, Jenny had enraged. They were fascinated by her and she had to describe in great detail how the machine worked that had birthed her.

“Now, Kate” the Doctor warned her when she walked by and overheard, “Don’t you dare try building that device. I will come and destroy it, I promise you.”

Prompted by Jenny’s heartbroken gaze she explained why she was against the machine, recounting how it had been used to produce soldiers, dispensable to die in a day.

“Maybe I should build one then, the next time you are not traceable, Doctor” Kate joked to the Doctor’s affront, “Just so you’ll come running.”

__

Clara tried teaching Jenny the names of her Gallifreyan relatives. Apparently, she had met some of the Doctor’s family when she had been something she called an ‘echo’. It was quite confusing, really, because the Doctor kept contradicting her and neither of them were really sure how many siblings, nieces and nephews Jenny had in total. It was still great fun to see them argue whether the people they remembered actually existed and how they were related to her.

__

Captain Jack Harkness got as far as introducing himself to Jenny, when the Doctor already shot in between them.

“Back off my daughter, Jack” she growled, pressing both her palms into his chest to physically keep him from touching Jenny.

“Your daughter?” Jack asked, his eyebrows wandering up to his hairline.

“My daughter, Jenny” her mum presented proudly, just to return to her strict voice the next second, “And you are not to flirt with her.”

“I was just saying ‘hello’!” Jack complained which made her almost strangle him.

“Ianto Jones” the man next to Jack presented himself to Jenny very softly, considering the wrestling couple with quiet confusion and some distress, “His boyfriend.”

“Ah” Jenny said, grimacing, “So sorry for this.”

That made Ianto smile.

“Right back at you” he murmured.

__

Martha and Mickey found Jenny, when she was sharing a piece of wedding cake with River, expressing their relief that Jenny seemed welcome in the family. They talked about Donna for a while and Jenny learned that their friend had lost her memories after saving the Earth from Daleks.

Her mum recounted how when the Doctor first met her, Donna had been there, too. They exchanged a few stories about her, unanimously deciding they would have loved to know her better. Martha and Mickey said they sometimes checked up on her.

"Only from afar, though" Martha sighed. "She can't see us or else her memories might get triggered."

She and Mickey then told Jenny about their job, how they were freelancers now, hunting hostile aliens.

"Sounds fun" River commented and Jenny had to agree.

"You could join us some time" Martha offered, "Both of you."

"Really?" Jenny asked delightedly, grabbing River's arm in excitement.

"Of course" Mickey grinned, "It always pays to have some backup."

They added their phone number to Bill’s on the napkin and promised to let Jenny know the next time they had an interesting assignment.

__

“How is everyone immediately adopting me?” Jenny asked Yaz, Ryan and Graham, when they had proclaimed her part of the ‘fam’ as soon as they heard she was the Doctor’s daughter.

She had already gotten the invite to travel with Bill and Heather, Clara and Me and to live with her grandparents, Martha and Mickey, Jack and Ianto, Sarah Jane Smith and even the Paternoster Gang, although she had tried to avoid them after the pudding incident.

"The Doctor is family" Ryan shrugged. "Which means you're family, too."

The other two nodded in agreement.

“And we all know you can use the support with her being your mother” Ryan continued with a low chuckle, and Jenny stared at him with wide eyes.

“It’s nothing bad” he hurried to appease, “The Doctor’s great, she’s just…”

“The Doctor” Graham finished, and Ryan nodded as if all was said now.

“She’s a little chaotic” Yaz tried to explain.

Graham snorted, “Yeah, right, a little.”

“And irresponsible” Yaz added, “And most of the time you can’t understand a thing of what she’s doing or saying. And the things she does…they tend to go wrong.”

“But she’s wonderful” Ryan said and the other two nodded again.

“‘Brilliant’” Graham said with a low chuckle.

“She’s the best person I know” Yaz ended with a smile and Jenny found herself returning it.

“And you’ll have River and me travelling with you” Yaz concluded, gently nudging her with her elbow, “We’ll take care of you and among the three of us, we’ll also manage to take care of her.”

__

Jenny was just talking to a head in a box and a nice couple owning an antiquarian bookstore, when her mums approached her. They were exchanging conspirative glances and the Doctor was hiding her hands behind her back, so Jenny immediately decided whatever they were up to was more interesting than the blonde guy’s obsession with easter eggs. She excused herself and made her way over to her mums.

“River said you might still feel insecure about whether the TARDIS is your home” the Doctor said without greeting, “So, I got you a gift.”

She revealed a tiny package from behind her back with great flourish. It wasn’t much bigger than her thumb, obviously wrapped in leftovers from her own wedding gifts. Without knowing what was inside, Jenny decided it couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Thank you” she beamed and hurried to open her present.

Unfortunately, that was almost impossible for the amount of tape her mum had used. Now that she paid attention to it, it became apparent the Doctor had fought quite the fight against the tape - strips of it were also sticking to her suit jacket and her forearms. One even made its way into River’s hair and Jenny dreaded the moment she would find out about it. Luckily, she missed it when she wordlessly reached into her hairdo upon seeing Jenny struggling. She pulled out the mini dagger again, handing it over to her. With its help, the tape and wrapping paper soon were torn, and a silver key fell into Jenny’s hand.

“It’s for the TARDIS” the Doctor explained. “Now you can come and go whenever you like and stay as long as you like.”

“And once I’ve shown you how to fly her you can also use it to take the TARDIS out on your own whenever you like” River supplemented, and the Doctor glared at her.

“Don’t you dare encourage Jenny to steal my TARDIS!” she grumbled, “It’s bad enough when you do it.”

Then she turned and beamed at Jenny again. “But yeah, pretty much: Welcome to the TARDIS!”

Jenny felt herself tear up a little, clutching the key tightly. It was real! She had a family and a home and she was welcome.

She pulled both her mums into a hug, smiling when they embraced her tightly.

“Thank you so much” she murmured.

Suddenly, an aggressive flash blinded her.

“Oops, sorry” Bill said, lowering a vintage looking camera from her face. “It wasn’t supposed to do that.”

She fumbled with the flash a little bit until Heather took over and switched it off. When Bill raised her gaze again and noticed the whole family was still staring at her, she blushed.

“Don’t mind me”, she said. “I’m just repaying a favour. Have been taking pictures all night. You will want something to remember this day by, Doctor. And yeah, I recalled what you did for me with my mum and thought…I should do that for you, too.”

She smiled sheepishly and the Doctor looked like she was about to melt.

“That is a lovely idea, Bill” River found, pulling Jenny and the Doctor close again to pose for another shot, “You know what? We should get my parents and do a proper family photo!”

“Did I hear family photo?” Jack said, miraculously turning up behind Bill with Ianto in tow. “Can’t do that without uncle Jack!”

“Oh, they most definitely can” Missy chuckled, appearing next to him. “This is not about you, puppy. It’s just for real family members. Like me.”

She pushed past him, positioning herself next to the Doctor and facing the camera with a thin but content smile. “I’m ready when you are, Loves.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s not happening” Jack decided, joining River’s side and slinging his arm around her waist, pulling Ianto with him into the frame.

While Bill shot the photo, Jenny could see more guests taking notice, some approaching them fairly quickly.

“Seems like everybody wants to have their picture taken with you” River whispered to her and Jenny chuckled.

“I am 100% certain it’s about you and mum” she answered although she couldn’t deny she felt important in the middle of the frame that more and more people crowded into.

“You should be in the picture, Bill” the Doctor called out when Sarah Jane was ushering a couple of teenagers and a metal dog to sit down in front of them. “If anyone’s family, it’s you! Just give the camera to Nardole.”

“Yeah, thank you, Ma’am” Nardole frowned. “Always a pleasure to know how much you appreciate me.”

He still took the camera from Bill and she and Heather hurried to the space the Doctor and Jenny cleared between them. It was a little tight now as Missy refused to budge but Jenny just threw one arm around River and the other around Bill and smiled for the photo Nardole shot of them.

It took a while until everybody who wanted to be in the photo had found their place and someone had tracked down a waitress to take the picture. In the meantime, a lot of quirky photos were shot by and of various combinations of the Doctor’s friends. Later they would be glued to the walls of the TARDIS hallways and Jenny would come back to them often to trail the faces of her mums’ loved ones and remember the night.

There would be a picture of Mickey and Martha kissing with Amy photobombing behind them, a picture of Wilf and Rory having exchanged their suit jackets and beaming like idiots and a picture of Jenny, Bill, Heather, Nardole, Yaz and Ryan in a group hug that Graham took as a very blurry selfie. There would be a picture of when Jack had decided to hoist Jenny onto his shoulders and another one of when Clara, Ryan and Yaz had followed suit, respectively carrying the Doctor, Graham and Bill on their backs with varying degrees of success.

Then there would be a picture of Jenny with her namesake which had made them giggle way too much, and another picture that the other Jenny had taken of her with Vastra and Strax, because ‘no-one would see the difference’. Which was an even sillier joke but made Jenny understand how much she liked the Paternoster gang after all. Especially because Vastra and Jenny had promised her fencing lessons between the shots.

There would be a picture of her mums kissing both of Missy’s cheeks simultaneously while Missy wore a decidedly unimpressed expression, a picture of Kate, Osgood, Martha and the Doctor trying to evoke an air of semi-professionalism as ‘UNIT-representatives’ that was completely ruined by the mess of people goofing around behind them and finally the Pond family picture River had asked for. They had to take three versions: one featuring Missy, one Jack and one on which both had begrudgingly left them alone.

But Jenny’s favourite photo would always be the one they took in the end, before everybody dispersed and went on to enjoy the party. The big group photo, with her mums in the focus and everyone surrounding them. The photo they took while she was standing right beside them, between her grandparents, Rory’s arm around her shoulder and Amy’s hand in hers and the happiest smiles possible on all their faces.

__

Then it was finally time to leave. Almost all the guests had gone and Clara and Ashildr were collecting the last of them in their diner-shaped TARDIS. All that was left now were Jenny, her parents and her grandparents.

“We’re taking…the kid…with us” Amy said. She was slurring and Jenny presumed she had found another bottle of vodka.

“No, why?” the Doctor complained, clutching at Jenny’s arm. She seemed a little drunk as well, although Jenny couldn’t fathom how. There had been next to no alcohol in the pink drinks. “I’ve let you have her the whole evening already.”

“Jenny will come visit us soon” Rory tried to reassure Amy. His ductus was considerably clearer than hers, but he was swaying a little as well. “She has promised, remember?”

Jenny’s hearts swell a little when she understood Amy must have recounted their discussion on the balcony to him. They’d been talking about her!

“We’re still -taking her” Amy decided, “Or do I needo…- do I need to remind you …what happened in our wedding night?”

“I did” River supplemented smirking. Rory went very pale while Jenny shrieked, hiding her face in River’s shoulder.

Her mum chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Go with your grandparents, Love” she advised, pulling her into a hug and kissing her cheek, when Jenny looked up at her, “Have a splendid night at their place and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, mum” she grinned, returning the kiss to the cheek. Then she turned around to the Doctor.

“We’ll come pick you up first thing in the morning” her mum said, holding her tightly, “I promise.”

“I know” Jenny murmured, amazed by how sure she was of that now, “Have a good night, mum.”

“Oh, she will” River said. The Doctror spluttered and Jenny tensed.

“Mu-um!” she complained, giving her a stern glance. Still, she couldn’t help smiling, when she added: “I hate you!”

River threw her head back laughing.

“No, you don’t” she said.

“We’ll be there tomorrow” the Doctor repeated when she let Jenny go.

“For once…-I am hoping, sh-she will be a month late” Amy murmured, pressing Jenny to her side and thus swaying her lightly.

“How about breakfast at the Ponds together? As a compromise?” the Doctor offered, and Jenny nodded quickly.

“That sounds perfect” she said, and her mum beamed at her.

“Breakfast it is, then” she decided, “Don’t you lot worry, I can bring the custard creams.”

“Yeah, give us till noon, though, Doctor” Rory mumbled, “I’ll need a lot of sleep now.”

“We’re not goingdo - going to sleep” Amy complained, “We’ll have an afda-afterparty. Movies,… facemasks, goss-gosspip.”

She pulled a face at her own slurring which made Jenny chuckle.

“Yeah, you don’t really b-believe that either” Rory commented, gently taking her arm and steering her towards Clara’s TARDIS. He stopped himself to yawn loudly and reach for Jenny’s hand. “Let’s get all of us to bed.”

They waved goodbye and then Jenny took Rory’s hand and followed her grandparents to the diner. Before they passed the TARDIS, she turned around one last time, seeing her mums standing in the ever-setting sun on Darillium. They were facing each other, River’s hand cupping the Doctor’s cheek, the Doctor’s hands on her shoulders and talking in quiet voices. They seemed perfectly comfortable with each other, exhausted, but happy, like they had finally arrived home after a very long journey.

‘We all have’ Jenny thought, when they started slowly kissing and she turned around to her grandparents again, ‘We’ve all come home now.’

Hey :) Thank you so much for reading this series! This is the end, at least of the wedding and of the story, but I’m sure Jenny is about to have many adventures with her mums. Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, you are all incredibly kind! <3

And thank you so much @elsaistherelifeonmars​ for letting me play with your story! <3

This fic is inspired by ‘The Wedding of River Song’. Go, check it out, if you haven’t already :)

#dw #doctor who #fanfiction #a family wedding #thirteen/river #the doctor/river song #thirteenth doctor #river song #jenny #the doctor's daughter #amy/rory #amy pond #rory williams #alcohol #daggers

[notrudejustshy]

sorry im back again with another hannibal post right after saying im not a hannibal blog but im just thinking about how Will Graham's narrative is an inherently queer one whether or not he himself as a man is queer (a debate for another time), and even past the homoerotic subtext (text?), because of the ever present motifs of repression and self-acceptance in his character arc. Will Graham in season 1 is a deeply repressed person, concealing a latent anomaly (whether that is mental illness, bloodlust or queerness) by almost compulsively performing (hetero)normative standards - wanting to be a cop to 'save lives', typical masculine hobbies such as fishing or mechanics, wanting to be a father, his compulsive attraction to Alana and her normalcy in S1 or even how he arranges his life, appearance and belongings (thinking about the scene where Hannibal opens one of his drawers and its full of identical neatly folded white t-shirts). Even Hannibal tried to play into that fantasy for him - the little pretend family he attempted to make with him and Abigail represents Hannibal trying to reach for Will's family-making sensibilities in that way - but by still probing Will's person suit: his partner would not be a wife but another man (queerness), and his daughter's very existence as Will's 'child' positions him as a killer, by having murdered and replaced Garrett Jacob Hobbs (bloodlust). MOREOVER I think the most obvious indicator of this narrative is when Hannibal tells Will in S3, 'you know better than to breed'.

SIMILARLY I feel like this perfectly mirrors the Buffalo Bill killer in Silence of The Lambs and how he, instead, appropriates a queer identity to justify his violent behaviour and cover his tracks in a society that already believes queer and transgender people to be abnormal freaks. However, Will Graham's and Buffalo Bill's made up identities, while they're both a cover for murderous impulses, have very different roots: Will's is rooted in latent queerness (wanting to give up his family, job, and morality to be another man's partner), while Bill's is in patriarchal misogyny (wanting to possess and defile women's bodies). Hannibal also pierces through Bill's and Clarice's person suits in the same way in SOTL, which is through their performed femininity (how he is able to fully understand Clarice on first meeting because of feminine indicators: her 'good bag' and her 'bad shoes' vs how he's able to figure out Bill's motivations because he is appropriating a transfeminine identity). Even without 'hannigram', these *are* queer stories.

Anyways. Food ;) for thought

#hannibal #sotl #sorry to infodump but once again this is my blog

[kaia-hood]

( SAMANTHA LOGAN. SHE/HER. CIS FEMALE ) Did I just see ( KAIA HOOD )? This ( TWENTY-SIX ) year old ( MASSAGE THERAPIST ) has been living in Chicago for ( THREE MONTHS ). Some say that they are ( CONFIDENT AND SHARP ) as well as ( RASH AND STUBBORN ). If they had a theme song, some might say that it would be ( HOME BY GABRIELLE APLIN ). All I know is that I can’t wait to see what they bring to the Windy City. - (S/26/est/she & her/none)

@hocstarters

Basics:

Name: Kaia Hood Nickname: K, Kai (Can someone please nickname her Little Red, as in little red riding hood?) Age: 26 Birthday: August 31, 1994 Gender: CIS Female Pronouns: She & Her City of Birth: Mercer, PA Hometown: Sandy Lake, PA Job Title: Massage Therapist Family: Matthew Hood (Father), Mary (Thomas) Hood (Mother), Joshua Hood & Eddie Hood (Brothers) Pets: N/A Relationship Status: Single Sexuality: Bisexual FC: Samantha Logan

Bio:

Trigger Warnings: Adoption, Divorce

Kaia was born Kaia Murphy, but took the Hood name when she was adopted at a few months old. Kaia doesn’t know much about her birth family and has never particularly wanted to, outside of general curiosities as a child. In her mind, they abandoned her, so she abandoned them right back.

The Hoods owned a farm, which is partially where Kaia got her wild side from. From the time she could walk, she was running. If someone took their eyes off of her, she was getting into something she shouldn’t, or trying to follow after one of her brothers or her father.

Despite the fact that she enjoyed adventures and exploring, she also had a very prominent feminine side, especially as she got older and realized that it could be used to her advantage. Heels and skirts could be a girl’s best friend.

Her family was by far the most important thing in her life. She loved her parents and her brothers. She was a bit of a daddy’s girl, but also enjoyed her mother’s company. She looked up to her brothers quite a bit and liked to do all the things that they did, just to prove she could.

 Her best friend Trevor was as good as family to her and also was of the utmost importance in her life. They grew up as neighbors and were thick as thieves by the time they were 5. They were in the same grade in school and were inseparable.

Trevor and Kaia shared their first kiss together when they were 8, because they were curious about all the hype. After, Kaia shoved him out of the tree they were sitting in, claiming it was gross. As they got older, they were a lot of firsts for one another, though, they didn’t date in school. They were more like best friends with benefits that also went to prom together.

Her brothers took on more responsibilities when it came to the farm than she did. She never worried about who would take it over, because she always assumed that her brothers would.

Kaia had different dreams. She and Trevor wanted to spend a year traveling after they graduated and see where the world took them. Still, when Eddie joined the military, she saw the toll that it took on Josh and worried about what her leaving might do.

People always teased Kaia and Trevor about how they were in love with one another. The two took it in stride and when they graduated, he pretended to propose to her at graduation with his class ring, but instead of proposing marriage, he asked her to ride shotgun across the country with him. By the time she graduated, it seemed like Josh was okay doing what he was doing okay in his role on the farm, so she took his ring and the two left to travel a few weeks later.

They ended up traveling the US for the majority of the year, but still came home for the holidays. They worked odd jobs along the way and had the time of their lives. Despite being inseparable and physically intimate, they never committed. Something inside of Kaia worried that if they tried, it would inevitably end and when it did, she’d lose her best friend forever. And that’s what she assumed Trevor felt as well.

They returned home for the next summer, but applied to college in California. They attended the same university for a year before Kaia dropped out and instead went to a vocational school for massage therapy.

Trevor and Kaia got an apartment together when she left college, but he continued to go to school. She began her career a year later and by working with some top massage therapists in the city, she quickly earned a name for herself.

Trevor graduated a few years later, Kaia considered going back to Sandy Lake at this time, with Trevor looking at jobs in other cities, but when news of her parents divorce came about, she decided to stay in San Francisco. Trevor also found a job in the city and helped her through what she felt was her family falling apart.

The two continued to live together and be best friends with benefits. They dated other people from time to time, but nothing ever stuck and it was their normal. Kaia stopped dating for the most part when she was 24, but would hook up with others in hopes of making Trevor jealous.

About six months before she left to move to Chicago, things changed. Trevor started seeing someone new. It wasn’t really a big deal, as they both dated, but this time, things didn’t end after a few months, like they always had before. Then, as the end of their lease came closer, Trevor told Kaia that he was thinking about moving out. Kaia felt like the world was ending. Her world was ending. And for the first time, she told Trevor how she felt. The way he looked at her was full of pity, something she’d never seen him direct at her before. He told her that he was sorry, he didn’t feel the same way. He thought she knew that they were just best friends and the physical part was nothing more than fun for him.

Kaia was heartbroken and Trevor left for the night to give her space. When he got home the next day, her things were gone and all that was left behind was the money to cover her part of the bills and rent until the lease was up in a month and a half and the class ring of his that she’d worn on a necklace since the day they graduated as a paperweight.

Kaia left the city that day. She changed her phone number, blocked Trevor on social media, and arrived in Chicago in hopes of leaving her heartbreak behind her and finding comfort in the presence of her family.

Connections & Plots:

Connections -

Roommate - Mia Friends - OPEN Hookups (Past & Present) - Graham, OPEN Massage Clients - OPEN

Plot Ideas - TBD

#divorce tw #adoption tw #hocintros #bio

[anteroom-of-death]

Life, for Dummies p1

a/n: plz love me and go easy. i haven’t written anything since dodos were alive....

You were new to the “fam”. The Doctor picked you up randomly like a stray. Not that you minded most days. It felt like transfering to a school in March: the middle of the semester. And much like high school, friends groups were already formed. Hell, you couldn’t believe that Yaz and the Doc weren’t slamming each other against the walls and making out running down corridors and such. 

Graham especially treated you well. Like a pottering but wicked smart granddad. Ryan too, you could bond over basketball and other fun stuff. But still. A second out of step. Any time you had these thoughts, you shoved it down and cursed not totally growing out of your middle school “I’m not like other girls!” mindset. Which, what the fuck? You were a grown ass woman. 

“Y/N?” the Doctor said waving a hand in front of you, snapping you from your reverie as you came to the present. You are on Gallifrey and there’s some psycho of the week- named the Master looking ferally at you all like he was planning what bathtub you’d wake up in with a kidney missing. You totally zoned out. The Wii Mii music might as well be what plays when you enter a room. 

Shaking yourself you tried to size up the current threat. So- this is where the Doctor’s from? No bad considering it looked like a mix between Dresden after the bombing and Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It had lots of open fields. Big skies. Plenty of sunlight from two burning suns so no “When the street lights kick on, you come back in!” The image of a tiny little blonde baby-Doc bobbing around chasing space fireflies was cute. 

Damn reveries. 

“Be afraid Doctor!” He said five minutes earlier. 

How could anyone be afraid of that. Sure when swapping past stories they told you he was crazy and killed people. The grunting he made coming through the portal was not something fearful. They were oddly sexual. The Doctor’s greatest enemy? Was right before you?

“I should have had more coffee!” You whined under your breath. Honestly. All this running, you didn’t know if you needed to mainline Folger’s or get one of those dorky water packs suburban white dads had for hiking.

This fucker grinned at that. “You’re funny!” He giggled pointing at you. Figures he had like, super sonic hearing. “You didn’t tell me you had funny little humans with you this time!” 

“Hilarious dude! Can you even reach the shelves in the grocery store?” It was a pithy attempt at humor. The man had no right calling humans small. 

He laughed and looked like he was debating killing you. He gave a resounding twirlin’ and then went onto monologue as if he were written by Joss Wheden. Mainly at the Doctor. But he kept glancing over at you. Yaz and Ryan were obviously acting on primal instinct of figuring how to take the Master down and Graham looked half bored. They’d met him before. Graham looked like he was just waiting for it to be done. Graham was chill. Reliable. He didn’t fly off the handle as much as the rest of you all. He was older. He was one margarita away from becoming a Parrothead. You liked that. 

The Master’s glances felt disarming. Like he’d already seen you without your clothing. Not that it felt like a bad thing. He wasn’t unattractive as far as aliens went. Actually, kind of hot. The kind of hot you’d go for if it wasn’t for the fact he was massively evil, tried to kill all humans, and is currently being a bastard to your close friends. Something unique about his clapping. You did that when you were over excited. 

He was dashing. 

His eyes were large and just drew you in, mentally you knew every time he glanced over. Like he wanted to let you know it was for you and you alone. And he was fit, still soft. Something about the soft jaw, slight roundness to thighs and slight slouch of the tummy. The swagger and toothy grins? His skin looked soft and nice too. Crazy fashion sense. Maybe the inability to dress yourself was a Time Lord thing? 

G-d, those lips, so round and full and a nice color. You shoved a thought about, other parts being that color away. Were you really here, having a team huddle, imagining the evil bad man’s cock? Desperation, party of one. You hadn’t been laid in a long time, but really?

“Y/N!” Yaz asked as you looked over and the Master smirked directly at you, like he knew you were trying to picture his cock at that moment. “What do you think?”

You groaned, “I don’t know!” your voice peaked a hoarse few octaves. The Master had you wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even touch you. 

“He seems mega powerful.” You throw your hands out to exaggerate. He turned and pointed you out, “You have no idea what powers I have.”

“Man, shut the fuck up, or I’m gunna hit you.” You said plainly. Your eyes rolled back into your skull. You were suddenly your normal self again. He was just some dude, like any you’d see on the streets trying to undermine your confidence or get you to give him the time of day.

“No you won’t.” And he was right. 

So you all just followed the lead of your fearless leader, the Doctor…

_________________________3 Weeks Later __________________________

You were back home. It was Corona Time. And definitely not the fun kind. You were worried absolutely sick. Was the Doctor alive? What about Gallifrey? What was all of that? So many questions raced through your quarantined mind. That and a few errant daydreams about the Master taking you with what you assumed had to be a massive cock. What was that overused phrase you’d seen the internet use? Big Dick Energy? The man had got to have had a set of cojones on him for the amount.

You couldn’t shake that son of a bitch from your mind. 

He was hauntingly attractive. But evil. You were in a moral panic 24/7. You felt like those soulfully pained eyes followed you around your house all the time. 

You were trying to focus on finding work from home jobs that were legitimate. You gave up your career to run around and play 5th wheel and now you were paying. Shelter inside? More like buying lots of unneeded skincare to fill a new void in you.

You were just ready to click “apply” on Indeed when those asthmatic engine noises started pounding in your yard. Was that the Doctor? Saving you from going insane and buying the 200 plus dollars in your cart on DHC’s webstore. 

No, you didn’t see a kitschy blue box, but a stately match for your shed, but nicer. 

Who should appear? But the rat bastard himself. 

Boy, you were so screwed.

Suddenly he smiled politely and waved at you through the window. He pointed at your back door and was asking to be let in. 

Cautiously you opened the window. “Go away, Master.” 

“Is that polite to say? I’m your first visitor in weeks and you shove me-” He faux-shocked put his hand over his mouth “away?” You couldn’t tell if he was faking being insulted or for reals.

“I’d shove Timmy down a well if he killed my best friend and all her people.”

“Let me in, I just want to talk.” He opened his hand like he was caught red handed. 

You slammed the window down harder than probably recommended. You felt the slam’s noise in your jaw. He’d get the message maybe. Or maybe you’d let him in and pin his ass to the living room carpet. Choices, choices. You went back and clicked ‘place order’, your bank account app dinged and said you had less than fifty dollars left. No one was going nowhere so it didn’t matter. You finished your tea in a few gulps. You made your choice. 

Opening up the window, you shouted “Take off your jacket and place all of your weapons and your TARDIS key on the patio. Shoes too. Toss them into the Rose of Sharon.” You’d be damned if he was gonna kill you in your own house, surrounded by your own possessions, in your own damn town. 

“What’s a Rose of Sharon Y/N?” He asked, genuinely confused. “It’s the dead bush that’s claimed the entire ramp up to my patio…” Sighing you pointed at it. 

He giggled and obliged. 

Always giggling. 

He knocked as you were rooting for your sharpest whatever you could find. You opened the door and ushered him in. Almost comically, you began patting him down and weidling your weapon of choice. Excellent ass, you had to admit. Soft, yet firm. 

“Having a good feel, love?” He asked as you were admiring it. 

“Hey, you never know…” You off-brand sighed. He was nice to touch. It was addictive. 

He paced around your home, looking at the photos of you and your family. The stack of bills in boxes, your life. Like he was examining art in a museum. 

“I don’t appreciate you fondling my fruit.” You said when he’d made his way into your kitchen. 

He grinned, “Isn’t it customary for you humans to offer a beverage or a snack to guests?” 

Massaging your temples you handed him one of those nutri grain granola bars that crumble everywhere and a can of Coke. 

“Not very much, huh?” 

“There's a pandemic out there you dense motherfucker!” You shouted almost singing the words “pandemic” and “motherfucker”, throwing your arms upwards for examples.

You felt like you could swear around him. With the rest of your current social circle you felt like there was a PG-13 limit to your speech. 

“Forgive me.” He rolled his eyes. Tit for tat matching you. He leaned heavy on his seat and opened up the can and drank politely. You almost believed him

“So why are you here?” sitting down across from him cracking your finger joints and wrists out of habit. “Run out of people to piss off in space?” 

“Oh, always plenty there.” 

You snorted. 

“You seem very sure of yourself. Different from her other little pets.” He said. “Or, is it just a show…” He bore directly into your soul. “I’d believe it.” You glared at him, still holding your weapon, sure it wasn’t much. But to quote a legend “That’s my purse, I don’t know you!”

“You know what they say when you assume…” You put it out there.

“I don’t know!” He fumed on a hairpin notice. “Something about a donkey!”

“Relax, Jeeze.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

He grinned that megawatt, perfectly white smile with teeth better than most Hollywood actors. 

“You’re bored.” He observed.

“I’ve been confined in my house for three weeks.” You stated.

“What if...you weren’t.” He weighed the words out. Almost physically with his hands. G-d those hands. How soaked in blood were they? But how dexterous were they? You swatted away thoughts of how nice they’d be buried in you, “Oy, gevalt!” You said. Noticing you had been staring at his fingertips for a second too long…

“You seem distracted...Is it me? Is the Doctor’s little pet wanting to try out some real leadership?” He mocked, but there was some other little tone to it. Care? Amusement? Yearning? A combination of all four? Who knows. You didn’t.

His eyes had the most whimsical gorgeous glow, and his eyelashes had the most attractive flutter.

“Ya caught me!” You barked with all the false sarcasm you could feign. 

“Oh, I promise that I won’t blow up any planets, kick any orphans, wreck a ship carrying puppies and kittens for adoption... I’ll just show you the real way to see the stars. None of that running through corridors and fighting for your life. The way it should be seen.” He said, his nice waistcoat coated in crumbs. 

“Or are you a coward? Afraid to see the other side of the coin? Y/N.” You were inherently a little bit of a coward. He crooked a crooked grin.

You pondered and helped yourself to an apple. Hoping that he’d see your teeth and that’d be another layer of “Don’t fuck with me, Please!” Though you desperately almost craved to be fucked with at this point.

You pause and consider this, is it betrayal? To follow your instincts and go off with a literal madman instead of your new “fam” because and called you on your self-sure bullshit?

“Is she alive? Is the Doctor alive?” You pleaded. A bit of tears threatening to come up.

“Yes, of course.” He assured you. It was very comforting. He slowly grabbed at your hand. “I may not be a man of a lot of truths, but I’ll tell you this. She always somehow comes out on top. It’s frustrating.” The warmth was real in his voice and in his eyes.

You closed your eyes and willed yourself sane. But the little nagging at your core said to. Give in, give up. Go with him. 

“‘Kay.” You nodded. Suddenly sullen. “I’ll go.” The smile you gave was tired and you got up. You were almost shaking. He touched you and you came undone. This was not healthy. You’d blame the self-isolation, but deep down you knew it went deeper. Your jaw was trembling a bit. Self-preservation was gone. 

You screwed yourself up again and poked a finger on his chest. “Try anything funny that gets me killed and I’m stabbing you.” 

“No, you won’t.” This time, it was an order. An order wrapped in velvet and coated in chocolate.

You turned to go pack and he grabbed at your wrist. “No, you don't need that. I got a wardrobe department worthy of choice.” He grabbed at his shirt and brandished his look. 

“Fine.” You said. So tired, but feeling more alive than you had in years at once. 

Grabbing your hand and all his stuff out of your yard he pulled you into his TARDIS and it left. Off to the next….

#personal #i wrote this #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #reader insert #doctor who #doctor who self insert fiction #fanfic #yes my life is a wreck #im a mess and i want to die a bit