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murswrites · 3 years

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One in The Same ⎯ Tobias Eaton Headcanon

Pairings: Tobias Eaton x Reader Fandom: Divergent MASTERLIST Warnings: Cursing? SUMMARY: [see request] Request from anon: hiii- so um, if requests are open, could i please request a fic or a headcanon for tobias eaton?? if not that’s totally fine! so- for a headcanon/fic i was thinking something along the lines of tobias slowly becoming comfortable with the reader? like, he’ll start to share small things about him the more they hangout, and eventually he tells the reader his feelings for them?? ahh i hope this makes sense- thank you!! <3

A/N I think I’ve forgotten how to write headcanons y’all... this is deadass 1k words. Also this request is so cute, I hope this is suitable <3 Can we please normalize calling guys pretty 🥺

It started off with little things that made Four intrigued by you

Firstly, you being a transfer from Amity to Dauntless of all factions

Secondly, despite being raised to be kind, you were the most ruthless of initiates

And lastly, you had a way of drawing attention to yourself; either intentional or not that made you seem magnetic to Four

You two didn’t really meet until after you were properly welcomed as a member of the Dauntless faction

The two of you both worked in security, you weren’t a good leader and you enjoyed technology even if Amity wasn’t the most “techy” faction

It was easy working beside Four, he wasn’t annoying or arrogant which you found to be very refreshing

“All of the others here think they’re better than me, it’s crazy.” (You)

Small talk wasn’t your forte but the silence in the room was deafening

“Tell me about it,” (Four)

He knew a thing or two about arrogant assholes, one always came to mind; Eric Coulter

After that, you two began hanging out together

Sitting beside each other during meals became routine, it was convenient especially when you had to tell him something in regards to work

“I was thinking of getting a tattoo, want to join me?” (You)

You skipped out on tattoos when the other initiates got them, it didn’t feel right at the time

“Sure, what’re you getting?” (Four)

“I dunno, it’ll be my first.” (You)

After that, Four looks at you differently

He honestly expected you to dive headfirst into “Dauntless life” to prove you were worthy because you came from Amity

The trip to the tattoo parlor was one of many times you two spent time together outside of work

“Being in Amity was so weird, I’ve always been sort of angry by nature so it was hell trying to be peaceful.” (You)

“You don’t seem angry,” (Four)

“Oh 16 years of standing in the corner will do that to a person.” (You)

Things never got that personal, but when the conversation felt too close to home (for either of you) one of you quickly switched topics

Your friendship worked well in that way

“One time I put a frog in my cousin’s bed and had to do like a hundred hours of community service. I was nine.” (You)

“My old faction as a whole wasn’t horrible. But I didn’t fit in well…” (Four)

“Same here, least we got each other right?” (You)

It became obvious to Four that you two were more alike than he originally realized

Two people from similar factions with similar upbringings… both having grown up feeling out of place

Four realized his feelings for you were turning into something more when you made him a cake for his birthday

Your bright smile and messy apron made him stop in his tracks, surprised

“Dauntless chocolate cake for my favorite person’s birthday!” (You)

“How’d you know?” (Four)

“You mentioned it when we first met, how’s it feel to be an old man, Four?” (You)

That night was something different, stargazing after watching a movie felt so intimate with Four, but so comfortable at the same time

“No one’s ever made me a cake before.” (Four)

“Not even your mom?” (You)

You found out she passed soon after and instead of asking more questions like usual, you just kept him company

“I never really considered leaving Amity until I got my aptitude test results,” (You)

“What’d you get?” (Four)

“Dauntless, duh.” (You)

Four had laughed at that, you always surprised him with your random sarcastic outbursts or remarks

“Bet it came as a surprise.” (Four)

“Not really, if anything I was thankful for a way out. Despite their appearance, Amity isn’t as beautiful as they claim to be.” (You)

Four genuinely recognized his feelings when you and some initiates from your group invited him to some shenanigans, he hadn’t done anything like that since he transferred, but you were adamant

“Come on, it’ll be fun! I did this on like my third night here and nearly died but it was so worth it!” (You)

It actually turned out to be fun, the same game of capture the flag but in a different area of the city

Four was on your team (luckily) and you two were taking people out left and right

When you saved him by taking down one of the enemies, he watched in awe at how good you were (man is WHIPPED)

That was the first night you crashed at his place because you were so tired

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow, mkay?” (You)

You made him breakfast in the morning, it wasn’t anything spectacular just something to repay him for giving up his bed

“Nobody’s made me breakfast in like ten years.” (Four)

“That sucks, but I’m glad I could be that person…” (You)

Neither of you spoke after that, it was like the energy in the air after the game of capture the flag completely changed

It wasn’t uncomfortable, just… heavy… with things unsaid

I feel like Four would keep himself from being nice all of a sudden since it would be weird if he suddenly changed up on you

But he found it hard because your company made him happy

At one point he told you his real name, out of the blue, he just asked if you’d start calling him it when it was just you two

“Call me Tobias,” (Four)

“Why would I call you that, your name’s Four-- Oh... that’s your real name isn’t it? Hmm, it’s nice, serious just like you.” (You)

He would often catch himself staring at you as you spoke or enjoying the sound of your voice

“Tobias? You there?” (You)

You’d caught him staring and it made him get really embarrassed

It was weird seeing Four flustered and struggling to find the right words, you were usually the less composed one

“Are you okay? You look like you’re having an allergic reaction, staring is normal. I do it all the time.” (You)

This would confuse Four, you stared at him? No… that couldn’t be true, could it?

“What I meant to say was--” (You)

“What?” (Four)

Now things felt awkward, those unsaid words were heavy in the air; both of you knew but didn’t want to ruin a nice thing (your friendship)

“I stare at you… because you’re pretty.” (You)

“Never been called pretty before,” (Four)

“Well… you are, very pretty.” (You)

“You’re prettier but I’ll take it.” (Four)

His sudden confidence came out of nowhere but he was definitely thankful for it

“You think I’m pretty?” (You)

“I think you’re great… in general… it’s weird but I feel comfortable to be myself around you,” (Four)

“That’s not weird, I feel the same.” (You)

Things didn’t change all too much after that, neither of you wanted to rush into things because your friendship was too beautiful to ruin by making a mistake

#tobias eaton #tobias eaton imagine #tobias eaton x reader #tobias eaton headcanon #divegrent #divergent imagine #divergent x reader #four x reader #four (divergent) x reader

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 32

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Summary: Stephen Strange being a grown-up. Reader being a grown-up. Kind of. Revenge plot starts now - don't be like the mercenary, don't threaten reader's family. Avengers being good.. bros? Good found family idk. More smut + plot coming soon.

The silence hung awkwardly over us. Stephen wasn't the one to wax poetics, usually, and I wasn't in the mood to do anything but curl up somewhere warm, chug a bottle of liquor and fall asleep. Sleep is like death without the committment and after my little outburst, I inwardly prayed and begged for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Instead, I was directed to sit and drink my tea by the sorcerer, who, by the way, was beginning to look like a kicked puppy.

It was starting to become unbearable. "I'm listening," I finally croaked out, shocked at how raspy my voice sounded. As if someone had forced me to choke on some nails - and I felt like it, too. My hands were shaking, all but spilling the hot tea onto them.

"Princess..." His mouth did the thing when he was worried, lips pursed, their corners upturned. "What we did was not... Right, you were drugged without your consent. I am sure Tony feels the same way."

My eyebrows rose, words bubbling up to the surface as I fought the urge to simply start calling Stephen some strong names. Had he been blind the whole time I flirted with him, had he not seen both me and Tony ogling him when we thought nobody could see? Every time I joked about the sexual tension between them - you know what they say, every joke has a little bit of truth in it.

Or maybe the sorcerer had used the incident as a convenient excuse for our little fuck-fest to be a one-time thing? I expected more, I won't lie, but I wouldn't put it above him. I knew all too well that some men tended to simply... Avoid.

I was angry, probably rightfully so, but it was not the time for me to comfort an adult man. My own life was going to shit, I had no mental energy to unburden his baseless guilt. It was selfish and it made me feel even more like shit, but it was as if someone had flipped a switch inside of me. I just didn't care about someone's heartbreak. I needed to solve another problem, a much bigger than a man that couldn't make up his mind.

I had to find that damn mercenary. It was the only real threat hanging over our heads; unlike any mission that I've seen the team go on before, they had thrown all the forces into catching the man that had gotten into their safe space, their home. That threatened to take what they thought as theirs. Long gone were the days of comfortable domesticity.

"Okay," I replied, nodding curtly. "I wanted it, if it helps any. I thought you were attractive the first day I saw you." I spoke bluntly, beginning to feel like myself more and more with each word that I spoke. "And again, no strings have to be attached. I'm sure Tony will understand it too, it's not his first rodeo."

Stephen's head shot up from where he was examining his clasped hands, to study me with furrowed brows. Cloaky moved where it was wrapped around me, attracting the sorcerer's attention - I, unfortunately, did not understand the Cloak's sign language and what it told Stephen remained a mystery to me. I was just delighted to be out of the cold and and wet clothes.

"I think you misunderstood me," Stephen eyed me with surprise. "I want more, but..." He trailed off, unsure. "I don't know. I'm surprised Banner hasn't gone green on me yet. I'm a doctor, I should have known..."

So, he was pulling a me and wallowing in pity. Is this really how pathetic I looked when I used to mope around the house earlier? No wonder my mother thinks I'm a baby. "Stephen, I'm really not in the mood to listen to bullshit. I wanted it, you wanted it, great, we can move on. Because with everything that has happened to me, I really have no energy to convince you I like you even while sober when you're sabotaging yourself." Sure, I might have ripped off the motivational speech from a self-help book my mother used to have laying around. My patience was wearing thinner with each second. "There, I said it. I like you, my boyfriends like you, you're welcome to the club if you decide to believe the fact that I am telling the truth." And if he wouldn't, well, I could get over it. I was planning to never act upon my feelings for both Tony and Bruce, it hadn't been as hard as I thought it would be. Especially with me being busy enough to just ignore the feelings.

At some point, I had grown attached to Stephen. Perhaps, if I and Tony hadn't decided to mess around with the sorcerer at the party, my feelings wouldn't have bloomed into anything more than physical attraction. Murphy's law had a particularly strong affinity on me, I noticed, because over and over I found myself falling head over heels for emotionally unavailable men. It worked out with Tony, which wasn't as surprising as one might expect, considering we're two halves of a whole idiot, but then Bruce also decided to pucker up - Stephen was bound to be the rock that I trip on.

Or not? Soft lips pressed against my forehead, beard hair softly tickling the tip of my nose. I was pressed against a solid chest, surrounded by warmth and comfort. "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot," Steph whispered, voice quivering.

"Well, it's not like this... Relationship... I've got going on is something commonplace," My arms wrapped around him, a deep sigh relaxing my body into his. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. It wasn't right."

Stephen chuckled, all but pulling me bodily into his lap. "Don't worry, Princess. I deserved it." As he spoke, the Cloak carefully unwrapped itself from me, drifting away with a parting pat on my back. "Now what happened with your parents?" Large palms pushed the hair out of my face, stormy blue eyes looking at me with worry.

"I should probably assemble all my significant others for this conversation," There was little enthusiasm in discussing the incident. I was an adult and had enough money to get by for a few months, at least until I could patent one of my inventions. I had plenty of knick-knacks that should be able to interest buyers, that much I knew, and while the legal side of the process was a blank slate to me, I knew I could be charismatic enough to have someone work it out for me.

"I don't think I'll be able to take Steve seriously when he says 'assemble', now," My third boyfriend chuckled, which - wow, I didn't have boyfriends and now I had three? Should I be considering opening a factory or something? Stephen adjusted his hold on me. "Let's go, I'll portal us in."

"My car's out there with all my stuff. I'll have to drive," I protested but made no move to get out of his lap.

"Tony is a billionaire, he can pay someone to retrieve it," Shrugging carelessly, he produced a golden circle of magic, the common room couch in plain sight at the other side of it. I heard voices and then Clint's head peaked through, a curiously tilted eyebrow morphing into full fledged face of confusion upon seeing the two of us.

Yikes. I had forgotten about the state of my dress and the bruise on my cheek. "Hey, bird. I need a drink," I said the first thing that popped into my mind, causing both Clint and Steph to laugh as the sorcerer carried me into the tower through the portal.

"I'm starting to think you go out there and look for trouble on purpose," The archer sighed, pulling out his phone and texting rapidly. Mine vibrated, too, once he was done, which meant he'd called for a family meeting. Blergh.

In no time, Tony appeared, dark circles under his eyes and yesterday's shirt on, towing a worried Bruce behind him. One after the other, the Avengers tickled in, looking restless and exhausted. Loki's frown was well on its way to becoming a full sneer.

"Talk, please," He requested, eyeing me with concern.

"Good news is I got our rogue wizard back," I poked Stephen in the chest. He was blushing. "Bad news is my mother threw me out and my father didn't pick up the phone, so technically I'm homeless and parent-less," I decided that spitting out straight facts was the easiest way to go about it. I mean, there was no good way to tell what I just told them.

The storm that I anticipated didn't appear. Just a lot of disappointed sighs all around, especially from Tony, who looked twenty years older after I'd confessed to the current state of my affairs. "You're not homeless, you live here," He pointed out, rubbing his face and muttering some very strong words under his nose. Particularly, the expressions involved my mother and various methods of fornication.

"We got your back, doll," Bucky nodded, coming over to wrap me in a gentle hug. He was like a brother from another mother to me at this point, kind and goofy and sensible. "I would propose to teaching that harpy a lesson but I think she's beyond it."

"Perhaps it's for the best," Loki mused suddenly. "If I recall correctly, your mother was against your career of choice, which is idiotic. Science is a noble and prospective path." The Asgardian, too, gave me a hug.

I wasn't crying! There were ninjas, in the vents, cutting onions! "Stop it guys, I'm gonna cry. I already look like shit!" The protest was silenced by Bruce's lips on mine, his tiny smile briefly covering my mouth with tenderness. After that, everybody somehow decided it was their job to try and make me cry; like a bad bitch, I resisted, but eventually broke and started sniffling when Tony began rambling about building me my own lab and Wanda offered to help me decorate my new apartment.

No matter how much my mind screamed at me to refuse, I forced that noise down. Fighting against myself, accepting help despite feeling unworthy of it - it was probably the hardest thing I've done in my whole life.

Bruce volunteered to carry my prone body to Tony's bedroom which was quickly becoming the master bedroom for the three of us - ever since the incident, both of my scientists stuck close to me whenever possible, aggressively cuddling me whenever they decided it was time to get some sleep. Which wasn't much these days, if I was being honest. Persuading Bruce to stay with me was a novelty - usually he didn't resist, but that time, I had to repeat myself multiple times that the team could handle business even without him being present.

I had my ulterior motives, of course. Tony and Stephen needed to talk. I only hoped their egos wouldn't clash without me to mediate - having two boyfriends start a fight wasn't something I wanted to experience. I had zero experience in those matters and had no idea how to manage all that. Are there handbooks for polyamorous relationships? I stuck a mental post-it note inside my brain to check it out.

I fell asleep with Bruce wrapped around me and woke up in the same position, having been too exhausted to move even in my sleep. Voices, rough and quiet, were the first thing I heard upon syncing my brain into a resemblance of a working order, instantly recognizing Stephen's deep baritone and Tony's teasing drawl.

"Expect either Reindeer Games or Kim Possible to come and terrify you," My engineer didn't sound particularly ecstatic. His voice came from somewhere around my feet; the hand wrapped around my ankle, thumb gently stroking the skin, must've been his.

"Duly noted," Stephen's reply was equally sarcastic, sounding a little closer. The warmth coming from my side was him. I could smell the faint spices that surrounded him, smell that I'd come to associate with the Sanctum.

Bruce snored away, not a care in the world.

My body, on the other hand, felt rested for what felt the first time in years. A pleasant ache in my muscles had me begrudgingly squirm out of Banner'd grasp, shamelessly pushing up into Stephen as I stretched with a juicy yawn. "What's poppin'?" I rubbed my eyes, finding the men awake looking at me with fond amusement.

"Just watching," Tony smiled, causing me to giggle at his accidental meme-ing. Was it even accidental? I refused to believe that a man well versed in IT was oblivious to meme culture.

Stephen, on the other hand... "We've discussed some things, wanted to talk to you too." His hand stroked my hair, face expression soft unlike anything I'd ever seen him have. "But you were sleeping. So cute."

Me, cute? There was a puddle of drool the size of a dollar bill on my pillow, I was pretty sure some of it had even gotten in Bruce's hair. Banner's sleep was quiet except for every five minutes when he'd let out a snore with a force somewhere between a Mack truck and a whale in mating season.

Cute, sure.

Bruce groaned, a tell-tale sign of him waking up. I met his eyes, brown, shiny, a narrow edge of green around his irises. Huh. Do I have three boyfriends or four?

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #stephen strange x you

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suituuup · 3 years

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pieces - chapter three

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rated: E for drug use and sex scenes

AO3 LINK

“Bec?”

Beca hummed absentmindedly, blinking out of her daze and twisting her head in the direction of the voice.

Sarah smiled gently as she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She cocked an eyebrow, giving a pointed look towards the sink. “I think the pan is clean.”

Beca glanced down, stilling her movements. She had been scrubbing that pan for probably ten minutes now, her thoughts completely consumed by Chloe and what she was supposed to do next.

Chloe clearly didn’t want to see her, and Beca wasn’t going to wait by the phone when it was clear that Chloe was far from okay. She was thinner than Beca remembered, and the look in her eye, the lack of light in those once bright blues, chilled Beca to the bone.

She looked… broken. As though her spirit had repeatedly been battered until all that was left were mere pieces of her old self.

If there were any left at all.

Beca couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything, and she needed to come up with a plan to help Chloe without driving her into a corner and risk losing her forever.

“What’s going on?” Sarah questioned, pushing off the doorframe and padding over. She rested her hand between Beca’s shoulder blades, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You’ve seemed off today.”

Beca released a sigh, setting the pan down into the sink and reaching for the dishtowel laying next to her on the counter to dry her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m just… worried about a friend.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sarah was unexpected, to say the least. Beca was a workaholic, and her career was too time-consuming for her to get into the whole dating thing. But Sarah, who happened to work as a barista in Beca’s favorite independent coffee shop, had somehow managed to convince Beca to go out with her. One dinner surprisingly turned into a second date, then a third, and it just like that, it had been almost a year since they officially got together.

Sarah was gentle, patient, understanding, overflowing with positivity, but most of all, incredibly kind. She reminded Beca of Chloe, sometimes. And maybe it was those similar personality traits that drew Beca to her in the first place.

They didn’t live together. Beca could feel that it was the next expected step on her girlfriend’s end, but she didn’t feel ready to commit, yet. She liked her own space, her solitude. So Sarah spent a few nights a week at Beca’s place, like tonight, and Beca was fine with that.

“Not really,” she replied, casting Sarah an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just-- complicated right now.”

“You need to stop apologizing,” Sarah murmured, her expression soft and loving. Beca let her shoulders sag, ready to apologize again. “I understand. But if you do change your mind and need to let something off your chest, I’m here.”

Beca nodded. “Thanks.”

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Not yet, I wanna get some work done, first.” She leaned in to peck Sarah’s lips. “You go ahead, I’ll join you soon.”

Walking across the living room and past the huge floor to ceiling windows looking over Central Park, Beca made her way to her home office, her happy place. She had bought the Manhattan condo two years ago, making it a requirement during her house-hunt to have a large room with plenty of light and enough space to store all her records and her music equipment. It was also where she kept her Grammys and other prizes, away from the attention as nobody really stepped into her office.

She usually popped a blues album on the record player, enjoying the soothing instrumentals while she replied to various emails, but not tonight. Tonight, she grabbed a yellow legal notepad and her headphones from her desk and curled up on the leather couch tucked in the far corner, then scrolled to her Spotify playlists until she found the one she was looking for.

she is magic

Beca couldn’t remember the last time she had listened to her Chloe playlist, one she had made back in Barden when she was hopelessly in love with her best friend. They were songs that reminded her of Chloe, or songs that Chloe liked. Or used to like, at least.

As lyrics she knew so well poured into her headphones, blocking out the rest of the world, different ones flowed out of Beca’s heart, materializing on the paper in front of her in black ink as she scribbled across the page. Lyrics about friendship, unrequited love, and regrets for listening to her brain and not her heart all these years ago.

It was pushing on two am by the time Beca called it a night. Her eyes burned, her mind felt mushy, but her soul felt a tiny bit lighter. Music had always been her therapy, and writing songs had always proved more efficient than paying a licensed professional, even though it had been years since Beca had last finished one, for lack of inspiration.

Or rather, because of the absence of her muse.

She woke up five hours later to a stiff neck and sore back, the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows lining one of her office walls drawing her from her sleep. She had meant to go to bed, before deciding to close her eyes for five minutes right on the couch.

Straightening with a groan, she grabbed her phone and turned it over, hoping to see a text from an unknown number on her screen.

Aubrey Posen [6:23am]

Any news?

Aubrey Posen [6:37am]

Should I come to New York?

Aubrey practiced family law up in Boston. She and Beca saw each other a few times a year, whenever Aubrey was in the city. Bella reunions were a bit more scarce now, with the girls being scattered all around the country. Their last one dated back to a year and a half ago, on the Fourth of July.

Beca ran a hand over her face and heaved out a sigh, swiping her thumb across the screen to unlock it.

Beca [7:16am]

No news yet. I think I’m gonna wait a few days before I head back to the club, if she doesn’t call in the meantime that is. The manager gave me serious sleazy vibes and I’m sure he could blacklist me if I’m too insistent. I don’t think there’s any need for you to come down for now. I’ll keep you posted.

Hitting send, Beca pushed to her feet and shuffled out of her office, hanging a left down the hall towards the kitchen. A note next to her coffee thermos sat on the island.

Missed you last night, but I hope you got whatever you needed done. I had to leave for my shift, you’re welcome to swing by for your second coffee of the day and your morning kiss ;) have a good day!

Sarah xx

Guilt swooped in over picking old feelings about an ex-almost over her girlfriend, and Beca let her head hang forward, releasing a grown. She was far from an expert at this relationship thing, but she cared about Sarah a lot and didn’t want to mess that up.

Beca shook off the sleepiness lingering in her bones and the stiffness in her muscles with a long, hot shower, then got ready for her day. She usually got to the office at 8 sharp, but it was already 7:54 by the time she was out the door, and her commute lasted about twenty minutes, so she wouldn’t get the chance to stop by Sarah’s workplace.

To: Sarah

I’m sorry, I got caught up in work last night and ended up falling asleep on the couch around 2. Come over tonight? I’ll cook dinner. Have a good shift.

Her morning was spent in the studio canning vocals for girl in red’s new album, a project Beca was stocked about as she was BMLJ’s most promising artist for this year’s Grammy Awards.

“That was awesome, Marie,” Beca spoke into the microphone, giving her a thumbs-up through the glass. “Let’s take a lunch break and resume in an hour?”

“Sounds good,” the younger woman agreed with a smile as she took off her headphones.

Beca headed back to her office down the hall and checked her phone for any new messages (finding none important), before shrugging on her thick winter coat and screwing her beanie over her head.

“I’ll be back in an hour, Gina!” She told her assistant on route to the elevator.

As Sarah’s workplace was just five blocks south from the label, Beca figured she would eat lunch there as she wasn’t able to stop by that morning. She stopped in the convenience store across the street from the coffee shop to buy Sarah her favorite magazine as she knew her break was coming up soon and she’d have something to read.

Beca was scanning the press stand for that specific magazine, not paying attention to the person walking into the store until they spoke.

“A pack of Marlboro, please.”

Beca would recognize that voice anywhere. Her head snapped up so fast she felt something in her neck pull, and she was rounding the stand before she even registered giving her feet the order to move. “Chloe?”

Chloe glanced over to her right and froze for a second, before fishing for a twenty in her jacket pocket and handing it to the cashier. “Are you following me or something?”

Given their last encounter, Beca wasn’t surprised by Chloe’s snark, so she gave as good as she got. “You came in after I did, so maybe I should ask you that question.”

Chloe stuffed the cigarette pack and the change into her pocket. “What do you want, Beca?”

“To talk,” she replied, softly. “One coffee, that’s it. And if you decide you really don’t want me in your life, then I won’t bother you again. I promise.”

Chloe seemed to ponder on that for a few beats. “One coffee.”

“There’s a shop right across the street.”

Taking her to the place her girlfriend worked at? Probably not the brightest idea, but she was afraid Chloe might go back on her decision if they spent too long finding someplace else.

When Chloe nodded, Beca took the lead and stepped outside, forgetting all about that magazine as she racked her brain about what she should say. Tactfulness wasn’t her greatest suit; Aubrey would be so much better at this.

They stepped inside Devocion and Beca picked a table in the corner, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair. Chloe kept her jacket and beanie on, a bit hunched on herself as she sat down in the chair opposite Beca’s.

“Beca?”

Beca glanced towards Sarah as she approached, wearing a waist apron with the café logo on it. Her dark blonde hair was woven back in a French braid, a few strands escaping, and curiosity swirled in her green eyes as they flickered to Chloe.

Okay, in hindsight, bringing Chloe here was a terrible idea.

“Hey, um, Sarah, this is Chloe, a friend from college.” She cleared her throat. “Chloe, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah replied brightly, her smile fading a little when all Chloe offered was a distant nod. Sarah met Beca’s gaze briefly, clearing her throat. “What can I get you guys?”

“My usual. You want anything to eat, Chlo?”

The nickname rolled off her tongue so naturally, Beca didn’t even catch it.

Chloe shook her head. “Just a black coffee.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks,” Beca said as Sarah spun around on her heels, her focus shifting to Chloe. “So um, I wanted to apologize for the other day and putting you on the spot at the club. I just… wasn’t sure how else to talk to you.”

“I can give you some of the money back if you need it.”

Beca furrowed her brow, not having expected that. “No, no. I… it’s fine. I don’t care about money.”

Something flashed in Chloe’s eyes at that, something Beca couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Sarah came back with two coffees before she could analyze it further, setting the mugs down on the table. “Your club sandwich will be here in a few, babe.”

Beca nodded, casting her a small, appreciative smile.

Chloe straightened a bit in her seat, cradling the mug with both hands. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say or do, Beca.”

Beca licked her lips. “I was hoping we could… hang out from time to time. I’ve missed you, Chlo. So has Aubrey.”

The mention of Aubrey made Chloe lookup. “Does she live in New York, too?”

“Um no, in Boston. She’s a lawyer. But she’d come down to have coffee, or lunch, or whatever you feel like doing. In a heartbeat.”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

What little hope flared in the pit of Beca’s belly upon Chloe showing interest in Aubrey’s life vanished. “Why not?”

“I told you. I’m not the same person anymore. I’m-- I’m not…”

Beca tilted her head to the side. “You’re not what?” She pressed gently.

Chloe’s gaze fleeted out the window as her rather calm demeanor now radiated agitation. Her knee started bouncing and her fingers tightened around the mug, and it was as though Chloe was battling against her own thoughts.

She was itching to reach across the table to rest her hand over her wrist in a sort of grounding gesture, but something told her that would have the opposite effect.

“Chloe?” Beca attempted once more, her voice as soft as she could muster, as it seemed like Chloe was on the brink of bolting.

The tear slipping out of Chloe’s eye tore her heart into two. “I-I have to go.”

Her chair screeched as she pushed it back roughly, and she was nearly out the door by the time Beca scrambled to her feet.

It was lunch-hour rush in one of the busiest avenues in Manhattan, and Chloe had already disappeared in the crowd when she reached the exit, leaving Beca to helplessly wonder how someone like Chloe, once the epitome of sunshine, got herself trapped in so much darkness.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pieces

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ganymedesclock · 3 years

Text

“A dragon! A dragon in the castle!”

As if it weren’t awful news, every gossip in town flocked to the well, chattering like so many birds before a tray of seeds.

“I heard it was a kitchen fire-”

“A kitchen fire up the royal tower? I pick berries up by the castle, that’s nowhere near the kitchens-”

“Daft girl, I thought I told you to leave that be! You remember what happened to the old millet picker!”

“The queen’s not going to cut my hands off over an apron full of blackberries, now, is she? They all fall to the ground, anyway, nobody minds them- sorry, what were you saying, Anna, about the dragon?”

Anna bobbed her head eagerly, pigtails flying half out of her cap. “Edie saw it. She was emptying the chamber pots, and looked up away from the smell, and there it was- big as a tree and white like milk, swept right over the castle and out to the hills, and next she knew it, half the tower was burning, they had to evacuate the prince and all the lords, the smoke was terrible-”

And she went on like this, in her squeaky voice, captivating everyone, so neatly and efficiently that they did not notice the washer-woman, whom everyone knew was a half-wit who could barely speak, put down her washing, stand up, and take off into the trees.

Distances for a dragon were not the same as distances for a human, even if the dragon happened to be using small human legs at the time. A human’s senses were, for the most part, bound by two axes; up and down were only of so much relevance to something whose ancestors had disavowed themselves from both trees and the ocean some time ago. Up was generally more important than down, but either way, these things were governed by the ground.

The average dragon had a lot more opinions about up and down, and Dethel, at this moment, was of the impression that she ought to be going up as fast as possible right now, but unfortunately, when the village was all full of noise because of SOMEONE, going up first required a great deal of forwards. So, forwards she went, pounding her sensible washer-woman shoes over small hills and across gullies and making quite a mess of her only set of clothes that she’d have to mend later, first well, and then badly, and it was really all going to be quite a mess, but finally there was the old stone wall that had meant quite another thing to the people who’d laid it originally, but right now it was just a convenient metric for how much forwards was enough forwards.

Dethel split her skin, and tossed it to a low tree as if it were a blanket she might have been washing, and took wing. Shedding a skin left the body uncomfortably wet, but the sun was warm and bright, particularly as she crossed over the trees, and it dried her off quickly, back to the burnt and gilded shades of red she was properly. Now, the going was easy, and she was home in a matter of minutes, through the narrow cracks in the rock that had, until very recently, done a lovely job convincing humans that there were absolutely no caves in these mountains. “ESMER!”

Esmer’s head snaked out, disrupting the curtains about her horns. “I thought you were still out,” she said, in the dreamy tone that was especially prominent when she had no idea she was in trouble.

“I was out! I was working a perfectly serviceable job and now I’m going to have to contrive some reason I wandered off, all on account of you!”

The rest of Esmer’s body trotted out to catch up with her head. Esmer was a very beautiful dragon. She was not, as Anna (or Edie) said, white as milk, but the pearly silver of twilight, ever so slightly violet along the ridge of her spine to moonstone colors along her smooth-scaled belly. Dethel was reasonably certain if there was a reason Esmer could be quite so dense, it was because she had been born beautiful enough that it distracted everyone from being mad at her. “Well, that’s fine. You should come, come see my treasure.”

“Treasure? You raided a castle about treasure?” Dethel followed, incredulous, still spitting mad she reassured herself, but the faintest spark of curious. Also, one had to take initiative catching up with Esmer; Dethel was a perfectly sized dragon, but if there was one way the villagers were right, it was that Esmer was in fact very large. Bounding along to keep up with Esmer’s great, languid strides, she kept up her questions: “We have plenty of nice treasures. More of them than anyone else I know, in fact, because you keep going off like this, and I told you that you should talk to me about this, so we can plan it out-”

“I remember!” And it was reassuring to see Esmer bob her head in faint sheepishness. “And I know. I didn’t mean to make any sort of trouble.”

Dethel sighed, long, and hard, but there weren’t any cinders to it. “I know. You never mean to.”

“And I’ll take responsibility for this, like always. I just… this is different, alright? You really have to come see.”

“I’m coming. I’m seeing.”

They moved past the lying room, Esmer making a short hop and Dethel a much longer one to reach the landing up to the observatory. That gave Dethel a bit of pause, internally if not externally; the observatory was Esmer’s most special room, besides the library.

Maybe it really was something special or different-

-Dethel snapped that thought up like it was a stray sheep on a cliff’s edge. No, absolutely not, she was being cross with Esmer first. She was not going to forgive her for everything, especially when this could create a horrible amount of trouble for the both of them…

And, yet, it was hard to be mad at Esmer in the observatory that they had painted together, below the great telescope that had been so much trouble and bartering and arguing to procure, that she had been so delighted that she’d pranced all about the room warbling about the stars-

-there were reasons aside from beauty, admittedly, that Dethel herself could not always stay mad at Esmer.

Now, Esmer swept aside, piling her great length in several coils all about a side alcove that she had clearly cleared in a great hurry, shuffling other precious things off to the side to take refuge on other shelves. From this angle, Dethel could not see what was in the little box there, only Esmer’s delighted expression, but she had a bad feeling when she realized that the bottom of the box was curved, and that a moment later Esmer hooked the dewclaw of one wing ever-so-gently over the edge and began rocking it.

Dethel climbed the shelf, and leaned her head over.

“This is what you set a castle on fire for.”

Esmer shushed her hurriedly. “You’ll wake it, it’s sleeping.”

Dethel looked back at the doughy, squash-faced little mound of thing that would someday be a fully grown human.

She looked back to Esmer, and lowered her voice accordingly. “This?”

“Isn’t it lovely?”

“Esmer-” a pause. Scrutiny. “Are you going broody over a baby human?”

“It gets lonely here, doesn’t it?”

“You are. You’re going broody. Blood of the earth, Esmer, you sound like my grandmother.”

She looked back at the cradle. “What are we even going to feed it?”

“Yes, yes, it doesn’t have any teeth yet, I checked. I’ll have to stew the meat, to make it soft enough-”

“It probably can’t even eat meat yet, it’s not like a hatchling.”

Esmer looked alarmed. “What? No, oh no, it’s- it’s biggish, isn’t it? Look, it’s the size of my claw-”

“That’s little. Little for a human.” Dethel sniffed it, and the creature squirmed in its sleep. “Might be brand new. I’d say a month or so.”

“What- but- how could they-” Esmer swallowed. “Dethel, you don’t understand, it was crying and crying- the room was cold! Cold enough for me to feel it, and they just left it there and locked the door!” Her eyes were wide and frantic.

Dethel looked closer, and realized that the baby was not, in fact, swaddled in a blanket, but in one of Esmer’s tapestries. “We’re going to have to fix that,” she said, more making the note for herself than anything, “it needs proper bedclothes. And something to wrap its bottom in, before it poops.”

Esmer blinked. “It’ll tell us, won’t it?”

Dethel laughed until Esmer shushed her, and the infant shifted and squalled. “It won’t know it has to go until it’s gone, Es! Humans are completely useless for at least a year. We’ll have to get milk to feed it, and something to put the coals in to keep it warm, because it can’t touch those, and something to wrap its bottom, and a lot of those, because it’ll keep going whenever it needs to wherever it is right then-”

She didn’t expect any of that would actually stop Esmer, but rather, Esmer’s resolve seemed to strengthen. “Alright. I can do that. We can do that. Better than leaving it there.”

There was something behind Esmer’s eyes that Dethel had seen before, and that betrayed a truth worse than she had been expecting: this was not, in fact, a flight of fancy about a pretty trinket.

Then the shadow was gone, and Esmer peered at her warily. “Er- what… kind of milk, do little humans need? Does it have to be human milk, or could we find a goat, or-”

At that precise moment, the baby pooped, and, as that woke it up, began crying.

It was going to be a very long year.

#original microfiction #readmore #dragons #unsanitary tw #Ganymede Fic Tag

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class1akids · 3 years

Note

(Please feel free to tell me to shut up and stop messaging you if you’re not interested in discussing this anymore, i just like presenting another side of this)

I think the fight with muscular is presented as a bad decision after the fact? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember deku himself acknowledging internally that he shouldn’t have engaged, he should’ve grabbed Kota and run back to aizawa and if he had then he wouldn’t have broken his arms and maybe he could’ve saved bakugou. Also, his win in deku vs kacchan doesn’t present him with any sort of high ground, he is technically the winner but nobody praises him for it bc it was foolish and doesn’t teach them anything about real world combat, where you can’t win on a technicality.

Yes, deku is noble and heroic, but he has to be in the context of this story. The main character has to be a character that embodies the most “pure” aspects of heroism and has the empathy to look at a villain and say “you look like you were asking to be saved” and because of the story being told, because the takeaway is meant to be that many so called villains are people that have been failed by society, that approach HAS to be right.

It’s interesting that you compared him to aang as an example of this sort of character done right, when a lot of people actually take issue with aang’s character for the very same reason you seem to with deku’s - he’s never actually wrong in any way that matters. Situations may challenge his worldview, but ultimately he’s always proven right. Aang refuses to kill Ozai despite everyone - friends, past avatars - telling him that was the right thing to do, because it went against his personal beliefs. And so the story handed him an out in the form of a lion turtle. In this story it would actually have made sense for there to be consequences for him choosing to remain rigid in his beliefs bc ozai was a one note power hungry villain. But it works out for him and the matter is not touched again (until the comics at least). Whereas with deku, in a story where the villains are supposed to be seen as victims of the system, it makes more sense to validate this than to discourage it, because deku needs to be able to see someone worth saving in shigaraki.

The point I’m trying to make is that morally, yes, deku is usually right where it matters because he has to be. He’s the driving force for the change that this society needs. If not him, who else is going to present the view that every life is worth reaching a hand out to? So if he can’t be “wrong” morally, the thing done to balance him out is consequences for his reckless, self sacrificial nature. He messed up his arms so badly that he had to develop a whole new fighting style to compensate with his shoot style. Sure, ultimately that was a growth opportunity but that’s the case for every character - failure begets growth.

As for whether I think he will lose use of his arms, I actually believe he will, at least partially. I don’t see why else the possibility would be brought up in the first place, with a very specific limit on the number of times he can take such damage, which he has now passed. And the easy out - Eri - has conveniently been taken out of the equation. And his self sacrificial nature seems to be set up to be addressed as a negative thing, at least by bakugou. I get the impression deku is going to be learning that he shouldn’t try to do everything on his own, the weight of the world doesn’t rest solely on his shoulders, which is in line with the criticism of people relying solely on all might to hold up hero society. Ofc this is speculation and remains to be seen in the upcoming arcs.

I’m personally not a huge fan of ofa being perfectly suited to quirkless ppl and deadly to those with quirks, but I don’t think that’s necessarily a fault with deku’s character, or that it takes anything away from the “anyone average person can be a hero” theme. after all, he was still quirkless when he ran in to save bakugou.

There were issues with Aang’s Book 3 writing and I’m definitely with those who criticize the Lion Turtle deus ex machina - not because I think Aang should have killed Ozai, but because I think he didn’t earn door No. 3.

But that doesn’t take away from the fact that Aang’s character had a lot of tension (between his own wants vs the world’s needs), an initial failure (running away), inherent flaws he had to overcome to learn his elements (like struggling with standing his ground needed for earthbending or his issues with firebending).

Deku’s struggle with OFA seems to be very much a purely physical one, with the power have grown too big for any person to contain. So far, his additional powers were also stuff he learnt pretty fast and they are all quirks that don’t seem to have any particular drawback or any psychological link. (Danger sense may be the exception, and I’m really hoping for that quirk to bring some tension to his character!).

Also, Aang is far from right every time. His attachment to his friends and especially Katara is both a strength and a weakness, and Aang makes mistakes like hiding Hakoda’s letter from his friends or fails to open his last chakra which costs the fall of Ba Sing Se.

This is for example an area Deku’s storyline could definitely explore more - especially in relation to Bakugou. He clearly loses control when it comes to Bakugou several times. For example, when he gets mad in the JTA and Black Whip manifests - but instead of learning how it feels like letting his teammates down, the story gives him a clean win.

Or now in the war arc, after Bakugou’s sacrifice play - Deku loses his mind again when AFO berates Kacchan. But instead of having some sort of consequence - Deku goes into rage-mode (upgrade), unlocks a quirk (upgrade) and gets bailed out by the OFA-holders (consequence averted) and even 100% praised by them.

So I think the opportunities would be there, but so far I’ve felt that Horikoshi was too timid to carry them to their full consequence.

I’m curious how he will handle the broken arms. I think unless it means Deku has to sit out some fights where he could normally have protected his friends and someone will get hurt, it’s not really the right consequence.

Like giving robotic arms that he can use just fine after minimal training or replacing it with Black Whip feels more like an aesthetic change than a consequence unless something gets lost in the process.

#c1a asks #deku aang comparisons #bnha manga spoilers #deku flaws discussion

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the--highlanders · 3 years

Text

The Clouds

Tense after their time in the Underground, Jamie takes to the TARDIS' gardens to unwind.

on ao3.

Flopping backwards onto the grass, Jamie stretched out his arms and legs as far as he could manage, relishing the feeling of empty space around him, the prickle of grass on his skin. The TARDIS was a funny thing, he mused. It ought to have been stiflingly small, but was far bigger on the inside – and yet sometimes even its infinite space grew too enclosed, too boxed-in. Now, more than ever, walking through the ship’s corridors had pressed on his throat so tightly that he could hardly breathe. The musty petrol smell of the Underground still clung to his clothes, and his eyes were slightly strained, like they had not yet adjusted to the light. After their last adventure, he was done with tunnels for quite a while.

And the TARDIS’ gardens were nice enough, anyway. There was something freeing about never encountering the same one twice. This one was little more than a great swathe of grass rolling off into the distance, broken by the occasional tree or unnaturally-placed pond. There was something not-quite-right about it, as there was with all of the TARDIS’ gardens – it was just a little too quiet, devoid of birds and insects, and there was a funny tang in the air, something that might have been metal. The door he had entered through seemed to stand alone, an oddity, and he had no doubt that if he walked far enough away from it, he would bump into some sort of forcefield. But there was a semblance of a sky above him, just enough for him to feel like he could breathe again after so long inside and underground. A lone cloud was drifting across the empty blueness, and he followed its slow motion curiously. He could not recall the TARDIS playing with clouds in her gardens before.

He had closed himself inside for winters, once. Not for the whole season – he had gone outside to cross from one house to another, or to take a walk away from the others, mend a fence or trudge over to fumble out a tune with frozen fingers for the laird. It had been a come-and-go way of being hunkered down inside. But now even the memory of those dark, smoke-choked days around the fire felt like someone had slipped ice down the back of his shirt.

The door behind him creaked open, and he tilted his head back to catch a glimpse of the corridor through it. That was something he would never get used to, he thought. The way a corridor could appear through a door that stood alone in a field. And framed in the middle was the Doctor, dipping from side to side like he could not decide whether or not to cross the threshold.

“May I come in?” he asked. “If I’m bothering you -”

“You’re not.” The words came out a bit short, and Jamie winced. “Here,” he added more gently, sitting up and patting the grass next to himself.

The Doctor ambled over, depositing himself placidly on the offered patch of grass. “Thank you,” he said as he arranged his coattails, like Jamie had just pushed his chair in at some fancy restaurant. “Ah – Victoria suggested that I talk to you.”

Of course she had. Jamie could not suppress the snort that rose in his throat. “She worries too much.”

The Doctor inclined his head. “Quite possibly. But, ah – I confess, I’ve been rather concerned about you myself, Jamie.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with me,” Jamie protested, perhaps just a little too quickly. The Doctor would not notice, he reassured himself. It was such a small thing – so small that he might even have imagined it himself. “I’m fine.”

He ought to know by now, of course, that the Doctor always noticed.

“You know, Jamie,” he said, in that airy, careless way that meant he was being deadly serious, “it seems to me that you think you’re rather good at hiding the fact that you’re upset.”

But you’re really rather terrible at it, was the unspoken conclusion. It was not one that Jamie could truthfully argue with. He had been stomping around the TARDIS’ corridors, grumbling if the Doctor or Victoria talked to him and expecting them not to notice that anything was wrong. He opened his mouth to argue, knowing full well that he would simply be digging a deeper hole for himself, but the Doctor spoke before he could.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “About earlier.” Jamie blinked at him. “Victoria – ah – well – I -”

For someone who could turn his hand to almost anything, Jamie thought, the Doctor was truly terrible at apologising. He might have found it endearing if he was not so confused about what exactly he was apologising for.

“I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you earlier,” the Doctor managed at last. “After, ah – after you pulled me out of the Intelligence’s machine.

Ah.

So that was what all this was about.

For some strange reason, he was almost disappointed that the Doctor had not guessed what was wrong correctly. This whole business had all but slipped out of his mind, but apparently it had not left the Doctor’s. “Is that what ye think I’m upset about?” he asked, forgetting that he was meant to be pretending to be fine.

The Doctor paused, one finger going to his lips. “Isn’t it?” he asked.

They had missed each other so completely that Jamie could do nothing but laugh. “No,” he said after a moment. “It’s no’. I mean – I’m no’ saying I liked it.”

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said again, so quietly it was almost inaudible. “You shouldn’t have to -”

“I didnae mean it like that,” Jamie interrupted, equally softly. “I just wish ye had’ve told me what ye were plannin’, that’s all.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I did wonder, ye know. What ye were thinkin’.” Hardly his proudest moment, crouched in that little box, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do – but the memory of it still sat heavy and bitter in his chest. “If ye told me tae hid an’ call our yeti ‘cause ye wanted me out of the way.”

“Now – now, Jamie -” The Doctor held his hands up, like he was trying to soothe him, but there was something unsettled in his voice. “Why would I do that, hm?”

Jamie shrugged. “’Cause ye knew I wouldnae like what ye were about tae do. An’ you’d have been right.”

“Jamie -”

“Don’t say ye wouldnae do it, ‘cause I know ye would.”

“Jamie.” The Doctor paused, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I don’t – I wouldn’t -” He sighed, then hung his head. “Oh, perhaps you’re right.”

“It’s alright,” Jamie said, reaching over to press his fingers against the Doctor’s thigh briefly. “I mean – it’s no’ that I like ye doin’ things like that, but I understand, ye know. It’s no’ like I don’t do things ye don’t like. I might’ve done the same, if it were me.”

“That was never my intention,” the Doctor said softly. “Perhaps – at another time – and, ah, it was rather convenient, I’ll admit.” He glanced up at Jamie, his one visible eyebrow vanishing into his fringe. “Up until you pulled me out of the machine.”

“I’m no’ going tae apologise for that,” Jamie said. “Ye don’t know what it would’ve done to ye, havin’ that thing swimmin’ around in your head. I’ll risk it still bein’ out in space over that.”

“Mm. Well, we’ll never know which of us was right, now.” The Doctor leant backwards, stretching his arms out behind him to prop himself up and tilting his face up to the light. He smiled, as if he were in an ordinary garden, or the fake sun comforted him. “But I really did send you off to help, you know. I knew what the Intelligence wanted to do, of course, but, ah – I couldn’t predict how it was going to do it. For all I knew, fighting our way through with our yeti was the only option.”

“Aye, I know, really. I just -”

“Wondered?”

“Aye.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry, Jamie.” The Doctor folded back in on himself again, like he thought he had said all he needed to say. “I can see that this has, ah – upset you, somewhat.”

He fell quiet when a bemused huff of laughter burst out of Jamie. “I said it’s no’about that, didn’t I?” he said. “I’m no’ worried about what ye did, or whether ye just wanted me tae be out of the way. Things are different, when we’re in danger like that. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” the Doctor mumbled, almost more to himself than to Jamie. Then - “What is it you’re upset about?”

“I’m no’ upset, exactly,” Jamie said. “I’m -” He paused. It was such a silly thing, to have felt so panicked, sitting in that box. Like being scared of the dark. He had seen far worse things, and not been frightened half so much by them. And to carry that fear back into the TARDIS was just plain ridiculous. But he could still remember the feeling, as clearly as if he were back in the box. His heart in his throat, his fingers trembling against the inside of the lid. The images crowding into his mind of not being able to open it again, crashing over his mind like waves wearing down a beach. No matter how silly he felt, the feeling was there, sharp and sour. “I didnae like bein’ in the box so much,” he said at last, shrugging. “That’s all.”

“Ah.” The Doctor nodded, like that explained everything. “Claustrophobia.”

“Claustro- what?”

“Claustrophobia. A fear of small spaces.”

“Oh.” The Doctor always seemed to have a word for everything, Jamie thought. Like it was all so obvious, and he understood what was going on in Jamie’s head better than Jamie did himself. “I wasnae scared,” he said, a little lamely. “I just didnae like it.”

“Mm.” To his relief, the Doctor seemed absorbed in something else. “You know, Jamie, if you had simply told me – I would never have asked you to hide in there.”

“It was the best place tae hide,” Jamie said simply. “I was alright.”

Alright was an odd way of putting it. Time had crept by so slowly, in that dark space. The air had grown thick and cloying almost immediately, and he had been so sure he was about to suffocate – and he had breathed all the faster in his panic. The lid would get jammed, and he would be stuck down there forever, he had thought. In his desperation, he had nearly thrown the thing open and tumbled out. But then he had imagined flinging himself into the waiting arms of a yeti, when there was nobody around to hear the sickening crunch of his neck being broken. And all the time he had been thinking about the Doctor, too, how he was probably handing himself over to the Intelligence at that very moment. All the terrible things that might be happening to him.

Had the Doctor really been so surprised that he had jumped straight to setting their last yeti on the Intelligence’s machine?

“You shouldn’t be so _” The Doctor huffed, like his words were not enough to contain his frustration. “Self-sacrificing.”

Lifting his head, Jamie met his eyes unwaveringly. “Neither should you.”

The Doctor stared down at him for a moment longer, but glanced away when a humourless laugh burst past his lips. “Perhaps you’re right. We’re even, then.”

“Aye, ‘spose we are.”

Lowering himself down onto the grass, the Doctor stretched out his arms behind him, just as Jamie had done. “It’s rather pleasant here, isn’t it? I really ought to come here more often.”

“Aye, it’s -” Jamie hesitated. “Nice. If ye need a wee bit of space.”

“Yes, I imagine it would be.”

Another cloud was drifting by, this one larger and wispier. If there was wind in the TARDIS’ gardens, then Jamie would have said that it had picked up, because this cloud was travelling much faster. Already it had hit some invisible barrier in the distance, turning blurrier, like he was seeing it through fogged-up glass. “Are the clouds new?”

“Mm?” Sitting up a little, the Doctor squinted up at the cloud. “Ye-es. Yes, I believe they are.” He patted the grass, like the TARDIS could feel it somehow. “Clever girl, isn’t she?”

The silliness of his affection for the ship never failed to make Jamie laugh. “If ye say so.”

“You know -” The Doctor did not seem to have noticed his fond jab, scrunching his face up and rolling his shoulders. “I think we all deserve a little holiday.”

“Aye.” A fresh smile twitched at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. “Victoria, ‘specially. She worries too much.”

“Well, perhaps.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Doctor’s eyebrow quirk up. “But you need worrying about, you know.”

Flopping back onto the grass behind him, Jamie grinned. “You’re one tae talk.”

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing

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sleephyjhs · 4 years

Text

Internal Tigress (Special Post)

pairing: cheater!yoongi x reader

genre: heavy angst

summary: he’d been disappearing for longer each time. your voicemails haunted his inbox. you were way past the point of return, but your suppressed emotions made it hard for you to confront him. however, an elastic band can only stretch so far before it snaps.

word count: 1.9k

notes: this is so late it’s past fashionable, but thank you for 500 followers! next time i’ll have a much better surprise, i promise. i’d also like to add that this au doesn’t reflect my actual beliefs of yoongi as a person

tw: heated arguments, cheating

rules | m.list | 500 followers special

For hours, melted candle wax had dripped from the stand onto the marble kitchen counter, and for hours, you had failed to stop it. Somehow, watching the candlestick melt was less tedious than waiting for him. The burning scent of jasmine and sandalwood hung bitter in the air, not too dissimilar from Yoongi’s earlier promise.

Three years of devoting your love to him had come to this; a one-person dinner date. On such a monumental day for you as a couple, announcing he was going out by himself was reasonably unexpected. It had become apparent to you within minutes of waking up that morning that Yoongi was in fact clueless over the sentiments of that day. Not a single romantic gesture had reached your vicinity. Not even a card.

And yet you still made the effort to celebrate for him. Earlier that week when he had questioned your extra, unusual groceries, it still didn’t prod the event in his mind. The lower the candlestick burned, the more you pondered on your idiocy. Why had you even bothered? You could have bet money on Yoongi being none the wiser.

Just as the wick curled into the ceramic stand, you reminded yourself just why you made the effort. He’d become more and more distant in the last weeks. Some nights, he walked out the door without a word and wouldn’t return until the early morning. But your efforts came from not wanting to believe he had fallen out of love with you. A small part of you refused to accept your romance was virtually over.

Too many nights ago, you’d wondered if you were unreasonable. Of course, he was a grown man and you were nobody to stop him from going out. But refusing to answer his phone, or even telling you where he’d be? It became too suspicious too quickly.

With only the light from the television, you ate your half of the anniversary meal you’d prepared in the familiar silence. Even the quiet was a better conversation than what you would have had anyway. Ironically, you were usually a fan on the meals you made for yourself, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy it.

To make a point, you left your used dish on the island counter opposite the full one meant for your partner. Your wine glass had stained red by the little residue left at the bottom; the wine in the other glass sat stale. Waiting for him to arrive home was a tedious couple of hours, but the saturday night shows managed to get you through it.

The monotonous beeping of the keypad outside your door led your heart to beat faster. Confrontation was a secret weapon you wielded well, but the few seconds that laid between you and Yoongi were too few to think of the right words. Really, you weren’t sure whether you were angry or disappointed, or both.

You focused your attention on the screen before you as he pushed the door open and sneaked through the gap. From the corner of your eye, you watched him glance at you before turning to the kitchen. An audible sigh echoed in your silence. Already, a few angry tears began to gather at your eyelids.

“I got you these.” Yoongi offered, walking closer to the couch. Your eyes glared to the side to see his outstretched arm holding a box of your favourite chocolates, “Listen, I’m really sorry. There’s been a lot on my mind lately and-“

“You aren’t sorry at all.” You replied bluntly, turning back to the screen. It was painful even just to be in the same room as him; there were no words you could say to him that could ever deliver your full anger in that moment, “If I hadn’t made you a whole anniversary meal then you wouldn’t have said anything to me when you walked through that door. You and I both know that.”

Another tense silence was broken by the box of chocolates landing next to your seat, “Fine. Take them or leave them.”

His blunt remark confirmed to you that he no longer cared for your relationship and prompted your growing distaste for his new character. You’d told yourself earlier that evening that a heartfelt apology might have changed your mind about your dead-end love, but all of your hope was lost. His feelings were clear enough, “I’ll leave them.”

You breathed sharply, rushing from the couch towards your shared bedroom. The tears wouldn’t stop themselves, and the last thing you needed was for him to see you so vulnerable, “Where are you going?” He asked sternly, grabbing a hold of your arm as you stormed away.

Without hesitating, you yanked your arm from his grip and swivelled to face him. Maybe seeing you so distraught would tell him a thing or two, “Get the fuck off of me. It’s obvious you don’t want to be near me, so why would I put you through it?” Raising your voice is something you hated doing, but targeting your anger at the man who caused it all was much needed.

“I just went out to get you those chocolates, I don’t see what the problem is.” But he knew what he’d done wrong. After however many years you’d known Yoongi, not once had he admitted he was wrong so quickly. If anything, he’d only confirmed what you first said; he wasn’t sorry at all.

“It doesn’t take four fucking hours to go to the convenience store. You disappear so much now, I never know where you are. I’d thought that on our anniversary you’d want to spend time with me for a change, but you didn’t remember.” He stuttered , fumbling for the words to defend himself with, “Dont bother. You’ve been done with me for a while, it was just never convenient for you to drop me.”

Salty tears burnt your throat as they smeared the mascara you’d applied generously earlier in the evening. Looking at Yoongi was torture. The man who you placed so much faith for your future in was stood before you, clearly unable to defend himself. For the second time, you headed for your bedroom, believing he wouldn’t follow.

When his hand reached your shoulder to turn you around again, the stretching elastic band in your brain snapped, “I told you to get the fuck off of me! All you had to do was be honest with me, and even that much is too hard for you? You’re unbelievable, Yoongi. Just unbelievable.”

“You do know that I’m an adult, right? You’re nobody to stop me from going anywhere, nor do you need to have tabs on me all the time.”

The ignorance of his statement dragged a scoff from your lips, “I never stopped you. You have no idea how worrying it is when I can’t get a hold of you. If there was an emergency you wouldn’t have known any better. You never used to be like this, I just don’t understand!”

Through your blurring tears, you caught Yoongi reaching for you for a third time, “Look, you’re just being hysterical now. Calm down, seriously.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You cut his speech from the beginning and leaned over your bed to reach one of his pillows, “Sleep on the couch, on the floor. Wherever, I don’t care. I’m too angry to even look at you. Wherever you were, I hope you had a better night than I did.”

The next morning, you walked out into the crispy air of your apartment to be greeted by a cleaned living space. The dishes from last night were gone, and the pillow you almost threw at Yoongi was rested on top of the folded blanket. A pounding headache had woken you from your disrupted slumber, and trying to remember what had been happened the night before was no remedy.

After you were sure he was gone once again, you thought ahead to reviving your willingness to socialise. In response to Yoongi’s disappearances, you organised a quiet night out with your best friend, on the town. Your attempts to equal his absence would be appreciated by nobody but yourself; perhaps a bit of self-care was what you needed.

Instead of sharing an anniversary meal with your ‘partner’, you treated your best friend to a bigger, more fulfilling meal just out of gratitude. She’d picked you up in your lowest points, and there she was doing it all over again.

Before you left the restaurant, you visited the bathrooms just to retouch your makeup. But in the midst of reapplying gentle blush, you caught your attention on the several jewellery items you were wearing that had been purchased by Yoongi. More coincidentally, the necklace he bought you for your first birthday as a couple and the promise ring he’d given you last year for your second anniversary.

In light of trying to bring yourself to a happier state of mind, you pushed any thoughts of him to the side and focused on the present. As hard as it was, the light humour your friend provided soon distracted you.

An activity both you and your friend enjoyed was walking through Seoul nature parks late at night. Cherry blossoms glowed humbly under moonlight, and the trickling of clear river water set the perfect atmosphere for evening strolls. Luckily, you were within walking distance. It wouldn’t have taken you long to get there.

Your friend had linked her arm with yours to guide you to the park; it was one of her ways of looking after you, making sure you couldn’t stray away from the given path. As you both giggled from another one of her lighthearted jokes, she paused in her track and gazed across the wide city road, “There’s no way that’s Yoongi over there.”

You lined your eyes parallel to hers to observe across the road, where a man and woman stood body to body in a close embrace illuminated by bright cafe lights. It was clear to see their fingers interlaced as the man leaned down to seemingly whisper in her ear. When he stood erect again, the cafe casted a light upon his face so perfect it was clear it was him. It was Yoongi.

“No, where are you going?” Before your friend could say anything to stop you, you turned back for the pedestrian crossing and stormed across with the ocean of moving citizens. In your sudden despair and anger blocked her calling for your name as you ploughed across the road. That’s where he’d been all these times. He’d been with some other woman.

As you approached Yoongi and his new fling, you unfastened the necklace that hung around your neck and slid his promise ring from the base of your finger. They were only bad omens anyway, “So this is where you’ve been? All these fucking times, you’ve been with somebody else?” You confronted him, watching in disgust as he made eye contact with you, “Here, have these back. They’re no use to me anymore.”

Without double-crossing yourself, you threw the jewellery at him, watching it fall the the dirty pavement below. You witnessed as his face fell void of thoughts. If you knew Yoongi, you knew there’d be nothing for him to say. He’d been caught by you, the worst person to be caught by, “Your shit will be outside the apartment. If it’s not gone in 3 days it’s going to charity. Thanks for the heartache, I appreciate it.”

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imaginepirates · 4 years

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Loving and Loved

A third part to Scarred and Scared! For @kay-maybe, who wanted some more Beckett. Well, here you have it. Featuring: an incredible amount of self-consciousness and some tender treatment.

~3000 words

@paljonkaikenlaista @emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official

~~~~~~~

The weeks following your capture were pleasant. Beckett had certainly found a new use for you, and you were enjoying yourself more than you’d like to admit. He always had a hand on yours, and he would press light kisses to your knuckles or the back of your hand. Occasionally, when he was feeling particularly bold, he’d ask you to guide one of his hands to your cheek so he could kiss you there. Only when you were alone did he let you kiss him on the lips, and you could feel him smile when you did so.

Currently, you were rubbing the sleep from your eyes, stretching in the morning sun that streamed through the curtains. You donned your usual robe; Beckett gave you robes of all colors and levels of scandal to wear around the house. You indulged him, even if he couldn’t see you. They were comfortable, and light in the Jamaican heat. You chose one of seafoam green with little white shells embroidered across it. Fitting, you thought, given your location.

Though Beckett owned a dining room, he hardly ever used it. You met him in his office during most mealtimes, unless he was meeting with somebody over food, which was the case more often than you might have liked.

You visited the kitchens to get a tray filled with breakfast foods before walking back to his office. You gave the door a little push with your hip and entered, setting the food on a table in the middle of the space. He hummed, acknowledging that you were there.

“I brought breakfast,” you told him.

He leaned back in his chair, looking up in your direction. “I can smell that. A good thing too, because all I’ve had is tea.”

“I figured as much.” He drank enough tea to fill an ocean. You walked over to him, helping him out of his chair and over to the table. He was getting better at walking, you noticed. It didn’t take him as long to move from place to place. Everything was slowly becoming easier for him, and you were glad to see it.

He yawned upon reaching his seat, and you handed him a pastry. “Will you keep me company this morning?” He asked.

“Of course.” You often did, simply sitting in a chair near him, reading a book, your hand over his. It was nice enough, and he always wore a small smile when you stayed.

“I’ve scheduled the servants to have tomorrow to themselves. They’ll be leaving this evening.” Beckett picked at his pastry, eating small chunks at a time.

It was the first time he’d scheduled a day off for his household servants, but you heard it wasn’t uncommon. Every month and a half or so, he’d give them a day entirely to themselves. That, of course, had been before his injury, when he��d been self-sufficient. You assumed you’d be staying with him, even if you didn’t consider yourself a servant.

“Will you be leaving as well?” he asked.

“Why would I? You need somebody to take care of you.”

“I’m sure I can find someone up to the task. Besides, you haven’t been able to properly explore the city since arriving here. It’s a beautiful city; don’t let me hinder you.”

You moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’re not a hindrance to me. Not you.”

He didn’t respond, nor did you expect him to. He was unused to your compliments and assurances, and you thought it possible that he didn’t quite believe them. Over the past few weeks, he’d been shocked by your kindness, and it had clearly shown. You pitied him a little for that. How he’d grown so unused to any kind of affection baffled you. Had it really been so long since somebody had cared for him?

You assumed, by the way things were now, that Beckett lived a solitary life. He was surrounded by his work and his domestics, but they weren’t people he shared his life with on a personal level. His thoughts and feelings were kept to himself, creating a lonely man.

You helped Beckett back to the chair at his desk. He’d have servants to read all the papers to him and write down his responses, so you could continue your regular routine of reading by his side. You sat with a copy of Macbeth, enjoying the soft sounds of the ocean from outside. Without his sight, Beckett was primarily concerned with sound, so he made sure windows were left open so he could hear things he couldn’t see. He was at his most calm when outside, listening to cicadas and birds during the early evening. You agreed that it was less stressful than the sounds of people, and less dull than the readings of documents.

Though you had learned, while reading, to block out the voices around you, you had a harder time ignoring your own thoughts. Lately, they had plagued you with nothing but worry and guilt. You’d been staying with Beckett for weeks with no knowledge of what was happening in the outside world. Sure, you could read the latest news from London and women’s fashion, but you wanted to know about your world. You wanted to know about piracy.

Every time you thought about it, a pang of guilt shot through your chest. You were living a life of luxury with Beckett to provide for you, the exact same luxury you’d so hated before. This sort of wealth went against your moral code. No one person should control so much, especially if they were controlling human lives in the process, one of the many things Beckett did on a daily basis. You worried that you were changing into a new person, somebody you shouldn’t be. You were getting accustomed to living with the enemy.

The enemy. Exactly what Beckett was, really. It hurt you to think so. You’d grown close with him- too close- and every minute with him drove you to insanity. You couldn’t decide if it was bad of you to love a person you knew was the enemy of your lifestyle. He was your opposite, and you’d been taught to hate his kind from a young age, but you found that his treatment of you was far better than most people’s. You were afraid of what this meant. If it meant giving up your old self, you weren’t sure you could stay, no matter how much you wanted to.

In truth, you were afraid of how close you were to him.

Evening came, and the servants were dismissed. You hadn’t been paying attention to the time, distracted with reading. Dinner came and went, and it came time to retire to your rooms. The house was strangely quiet with nobody but the two of you, and it felt entirely too big.

You took Beckett back to his room, unsure of what to do next. With no servants to help him, you weren’t sure he could do everything himself. You were a bit nervous about leaving him alone; he had a tendency to try doing things he shouldn’t, and you were afraid he would hurt himself. He was too stubborn to admit he needed help with things, so you weren’t sure if you should bother asking him if he wanted you to stay.

As if to prove your point, he fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, unsuccessfully struggling to rid himself of it. You pushed his hands aside, unbuttoning it yourself. He protested slightly, but you undid the waistcoat and set it on a chair.

“I can do that myself, you know,” he grumbled.

“I know you can, but I can help you. For convenience’s sake.”

“I have to be allowed to do something myself.”

You sighed. “I know it makes you feel better to do things yourself. I just want to help you. You’re taking care of me here, and I want to care for you in return.” So saying, you pulled at the ties on his undershirt, letting the top hang open.

“You’re rather eager to undress me, aren’t you?” A smirk played across his lips. “Shouldn’t you at least be taking your time with me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You had your fingers tucked around the bottom of his shirt, tugging it upwards to get it over his head.

Beckett’s fingers closed around your wrists, keeping your hands in place. You were startled by the quickness of his movements. He stared uncomfortably at the floor, lips pursed. You hadn’t thought he would mind your helping him, but his face said otherwise. You found yourself feeling a little hurt.

“I can do the rest myself,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t quite understand his reluctance. He’d just been flirting with you the moment before, even though you’d meant the act as being nothing but helpful. “I hope I didn’t overstep anything.”

“No, no,” he assured you. “I would just rather you not see.”

“See what?” You were thoroughly confused. You’d taken off his shirt before, in the lighthouse, to apply salve to his burns. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before.

“The burns. The scars. The obvious signs of age and the… eating habits of the upper class.” He continued to stare at the floor, as if he would see disappointment or horror on your face if he looked. As if he already could.

“Cutler.” You spoke softly, but he flinched as if you’d hit him. “I’ve seen it all before. There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about.”

“I was unconscious then, so I didn’t have to deal with your reaction. I admit, I care about your opinion of me too much now.”

His admission took you by surprise. “You don’t think I’m judging you, do you?”

“Everyone else has.”

“Well, I’m not everyone else.” You cupped his cheek, running your thumb across it lightly, tracing over his scars. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, pausing to whisper his name. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s said it, hasn’t it?”

He hummed his agreement. “It sounds sweeter on your tongue than it ever did on anyone else’s.”

You blushed a little. He still got to you, sometimes. Most of the time, actually, but you’d never admit it. “Do you trust me?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

You slipped a hand under his shirt, lightly tracing over his chest and stomach. He stiffened, and his breath hitched, making you smile. “Have you let someone do this to you before?”

“I was considerably younger.” One of his hands came to rest in your hair, his fingers tangled in it.

When you finally lifted his shirt over his head, he gasped faintly, just enough for you to hear. He crossed his arms over his chest in what you guessed was an attempt to hide himself.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” you whispered. You rested your hands on his chest as his arms fell to his sides. You stared for a moment at the burns covering his body before you kissed him. He let you do so eagerly, returning the kiss with a searing one of his own.

You both pulled away a moment later, and his hands came to rest on your waist. “Are you sure you want this?” He sounded more vulnerable and unsure than you’d ever heard him.

“I make it a point not to do things I don’t want to. As it stands, you have all my attention.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, you came together again, your mouths hungry for one another. He pulled you close, fingers pressing firmly into your sides, holding you in place. You smiled into your kisses; if he liked anything, he liked control.

He kissed you desperately, his body pressed flush against yours. The sensation was both overwhelming and delightful. You let your hands wander to his back, feeling his scars there. Your fingers found thin scars among them, clearly caused by something other than his burns.

“What happened?” you whispered between kisses, your fingers tracing the scar.

“Pirates.” Beckett took a shaky breath. “I was eighteen. My ship was taken by a pirate, and he had no trouble bestowing his gifts,” he said bitterly.

Things began to make sense. No wonder Beckett hated pirates so much. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your doing.” And, as if reading your mind, he added, “I don’t hate you for who you are. I know you’re still a pirate at heart. But you’ve shown me the most tenderness I’ve ever known.”

“I hope to continue doing so,” you answered. You lightly traced his burns with a finger. “You should get some sleep.”

“I suppose.” He made no move towards the bed, instead preferring to let your fingers wander over his skin. “Will you join me?” Too embarrassed to answer, you stood trying to form words that you couldn’t quite find. You knew your face must be burning red.

“I only mean to sleep.”

You gave an inward sigh of relief. Kissing him had been enough excitement for the evening. You weren’t sure you should do too many firsts at once. You agreed to stay, helping him to the bed and climbing in next to him. The experience was new to you, and you were unsure of what to do. Thankfully, Beckett answered your question by wrapping an arm around you when you laid down, pulling you closer to him. Your back was pressed against his chest. You considered, briefly, how indecent it was to wear nothing but a silk robe while in bed with him, but you ignored the intrusive thoughts, instead focusing on his arm around you.

“Sleep,” he mumbled.

You did, drifting off comfortably with Beckett next to you.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains when you woke, and you turned over to find Beckett still asleep against you. He rubbed his eyes as you rolled over, letting go of your waist. You stretched out on the bed, then turned your attention to your bedmate. Beckett sat up sleepily, his short hair sticking up from his head. Yours wasn’t any better, you knew, but you laughed all the same.

“And I’m sure your hair is perfectly styled,” he said after you explained your amusement.

“I’m sure mine’s a mess. Worse than yours, because it’s longer.”

“Shame I can’t see it. I suppose I could feel it, if I liked.” His fingers curled into your hair, and he tugged you forward suddenly, kissing you. You could feel his smirk against your lips.

“You’re wicked,” you breathed.

“So I’ve been told.” He pushed himself up to sit beside you and groped around his bedside table. “I don’t suppose you can see where my nightshirt went to.”

You rolled out of bed, snatching the shirt up from off the floor where you’d left it. You handed it to Beckett, who pulled it over his head, and you sat on the edge of the bed. “Should we go to breakfast? The servants will be back by now.” You were starving, having only picked at your dinner the night before. Then, in a more panicked tone, “should I leave before they find us together like this? They might think….”

“Oh, bugger what they think. And what of it? You’re no lady, no socially important woman. There would be no scandal anyway.”

“I am a pirate. A few of them know that, anyway.”

“All the better.” He stretched and patted the sheets next to him. “I don’t have to meet anyone until later this morning. Come back to bed for a while longer.”

You slid back under the sheets. You remained sitting, but found that the covers kept your legs warm while you were in your robe. Beckett’s hand found yours, intertwining your fingers. His hands were warm, and he rubbed little circles into the back of your hand with a thumb.

“Do you like it here?” He asked softly.

You hesitated. Of course you did, but your thoughts wouldn’t leave you. Somehow, this was wrong, no matter how much you enjoyed Beckett’s company. “I do,” you answered after a moment.

Beckett frowned. “Something’s bothering you.” He swallowed. “You can always tell me if my affection is uncomfortable.”

You almost rolled your eyes. Wasn’t I the one who took off his shirt? “It’s not you,” you assured him. “I just….miss my old life. I feel like I’m betraying it, somehow.”

“Listen to me.” He cupped your cheek, turning your face to look him in his milky eyes. “You owe that part of your life nothing. You’re allowed to grow, and change, and do new things. The old part of you doesn’t have to die for you to add more to yourself. You can be the same person you’ve always been, and you can have new things, too. You aren’t defined by one thing, and you can’t be blamed for staying with me. Why turn away comfort and security? It costs you nothing. I’m not asking for anything in return, so why leave? Nobody would blame you. You’re not doing the wrong thing.”

“It goes against everything I’ve ever known,” you admitted.

“Then learn something new. Learn that you aren’t betraying yourself by choosing a new path. And you don’t have to stay here, if you don’t wish to.”

“If I left, I’d be leaving you behind.”

“Yes. I’d rather you stay, of course.” Then, softly, “I do love you.”

You pulled him closer, giving him a light kiss. “I know. Don’t think I would have stayed here so long if I didn’t love you in return.”

His eyes went wide, and you couldn’t help finding his surprise to be adorable. “Oh.”

“Have I not made it obvious?”

“I didn’t want to assume.” A smile lit up his face. “You won’t mind staying in our current arrangement, then?”

“I’d like nothing better.”

You’d found a good life for yourself with him, you realized. Strange, but good.

#potc #pirate #pirates #pirates of the caribbean #beckett #cutler beckett #x reader #request #requests #writing #drabble #drabbles

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paralianprince · 4 years

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The Crown Prince of Sealand gives an exclusive glimpse into life on the off-shore platform

AS A principality, it doesn't quite have the glamour or style of Monte Carlo. There's no castle for the Royal Family and even basic luxuries, such as soap, are in short supply. Sealand is, in truth, a rather ugly, lonely pile of concrete and rusting metal which rises above the choppy waters of the North Sea some seven miles off the coast of Suffolk.

Yet the “hard as nails” Bates family have put their lives on the line on more than one occasion to remain the undisputed monarchs of their self-styled kingdom since 1966. For them it’s certainly not just two giant concrete legs rising out of the sea to support a thin metal platform measuring 120 feet by 60 feet – roughly the size of two tennis courts. “There is a very powerful family bond with Sealand which is difficult to explain but it won’t be broken,” says ruling monarch Crown Prince Michael Bates, 68, in a rare and exclusive interview.

He is currently involved in discussions with Hollywood filmmakers planning a movie about Sealand, and a book is published this week chronicling its fascinating history. Suddenly, Sealand is attracting an awful lot of attention, mainly because of a public yearning for wild tales of English eccentricity.

Built in 1942 by British engineer Guy Maunsell, it was one of a handful of his so-called Maunsell naval forts put up off the East Coast to stall a German invasion force which never arrived. Marines occupied the forts to pound enemy aircraft with 28lb anti-aircraft shells, destroying 22 planes, one submarine and 33 doodlebugs, a record which justified the cost of building them.

However, at the end of the war the forts were abandoned. Their purpose had been served and nobody knew what to do with them. For years, they lay empty and unloved, convenient rest stops for passing seagulls.

Then former soldier Roy Bates, Michael’s father, had a brainwave. Injured in fighting in Italy in 1944, Roy hadn’t adapted well to life in civvy street.

After literally hurling his bowler hat and briefcase into the sea near his home in Southend, Essex, he told his wife Joan, a former beauty queen he married in 1948 – six weeks after meeting her at a dance hall – he wanted to lead a more exciting life.

He bought a boat and adapted well to the rigours of North Sea fishing but found it difficult to make a good living. The couple also tried running a chain of butchers and an estate agents, but neither business satisfied Roy’s yearning for adventure.

While sailing off Essex, Roy became fascinated with the naval forts. When he learned that one, Knock John, was being used as a base for a pirate radio station he decided to set up his own.

With the help of some Southend musclemen, Roy turfed off Radio City and claimed Knock John as the base for his pirate station, Radio Essex, which began broadcasting on October 27, 1965.

As the listenership grew, advertisers started coming on board but the authorities took a dim view of his activities on Knock John Fort and successfully prosecuted him for broadcasting illegally.

Paying the £200 fine meant genuine hardship, so, undeterred, he decided to take over another fort, called Roughs Tower, which was further out in the sea and did not come under British jurisdiction.

The only problem was the pirate radio station Radio Caroline was using Roughs Tower as a base. But that issue was resolved when Roy and his mates arrived with iron bars on Christmas Day 1966. Unsurprisingly, the Radio Caroline crew agreed to share the platform.

However, the first chance he had, Roy took the opportunity to seize full control and ejected the competition.

“I was a 14-year-old lad at a private school in Wales at the time, but I loved visiting Roughs Tower in the holidays,” recalls Michael.

Roy certainly needed him to shore up their defences, especially when Radio Caroline unsuccessfully attempted to retake the tower. To deter them Michael tossed molotov cocktails down from above.

A later attempt was foiled when one of Michael’s petrol bombs started a fire on the invaders’ boat. His sister Penny, who was three years older, was also on hand to brandish weapons at any aggressor trying to land on what had now become the self-styled Principality of Sealand.

“One of the guns we had was taken from a German soldier my dad shot while he was fighting in Italy,” says Michael.

“The other was a 9mm Beretta Dad brought back from the war.”

There is a famous picture of Penny brandishing the weapons on Sealand, sending a clear signal to anyone else thinking of muscling in. Force would be met with force.

Other weapons in the Bates’ arsenal included a flamethrower and shotguns. Old gas canisters were strategically placed to drop on unwelcome vessels arriving with the intention of scaling the dangling rope ladder, the only way to get to the platform.

The defiance of 6ft 3in “hard as nails” Roy Bates was drawn to the attention of then Prime Minister Harold Wilson, who instructed the armed forces to switfly reclaim the fort.

But when Royal Marines arrived, Michael and his mother armed themselves with weapons and made it clear they would not leave without a fight. Rather than risk bloodshed, the Marines beat a retreat.

On another occasion, when the crew of a navigational installation boat came a bit too close and made cheeky remarks to a sunbathing Penny, then 19, Michael fired a couple of warning shots across their bow.

However, by then Penny was tired of holding the fort and wanted a more normal life back in Southend.

“My father was very demanding,” admits Michael. “I don’t blame my sister for not sticking with it. It was a strange kind of upbringing for sure.”

Penny told Dylan Taylor-Lehman, author of the new book, that life as a Princess was not all it was cracked up to be. Just getting to the principality was gruelling.

“It was hours and hours on the boat going chug, chug, chug. I used to sit there in a blanket and think, ‘For God’s sake will someone kill me please’. It was horrible, horrible.”

While Michael kept himself busy securing defences and fishing for lobsters over the side, Penny survived on rationed tin food and biscuits made from flour and distilled sea water. When the water tanks ran dry, they had to rely on rainfall.

In the late Sixties and Seventies, Sealand stamps, passports and coinage were produced to satisfy the curiosity of an increasing number of people.

There were also plans to go into business with some Germans who wanted to build a casino, a heliport and duty-free shops.

But while Roy and Joan were discussing the options in Salzburg, the crafty Germans teamed up with some Dutch allies and staged a coup. “I was on Sealand when I heard a helicopter approaching,” Michael recalls. “We had a big mast to stop helicopters landing but they came down on a winch and said my father had signed a contract with them to sign the fort over to them.

“I knew my dad would never do that. I kept telling them I needed to speak to my father. I was armed but I didn’t really know what to do.”

By now, effectively kidnapped, Michael was locked up in a room for several days. When he was finally let out there was a physical fight.

“They tied my ankles together and my wrists and I heard one say they were thinking of throwing me over the side.”

He was forced off the platform and dispatched back to land. But after regrouping with his father and friends, they vowed to take back Sealand and, appropriately, employed a helicopter pilot who had worked on James Bond films to assist them.

“When we took the fort back it was the biggest adrenaline rush in my life,” Michael says. “Sliding down a rope with a shotgun around your neck is very exciting.”

After he fired one shot in the air, order was restored and Sealand was back in the hands of the Prince of Sealand, Roy Bates, who died peacefully in 2012, aged 91.

After the death of his mother Joan in 2016, Sealand was pretty much run by Prince Michael, although Penny, now 70, takes a close interest. Michael’s grown-up sons Liam and James spend time on Sealand, along with caretakers to deter potential invaders.

Through the Sealand website, knighthoods can be purchased for £99.99 and dukedoms for £499. England cricketer Ben Stokes was given an honorary lordship, along with the singer Ed Sheeran. Founder Roy has become a revered figure among Sealand supporters who see him as a patriotic ex-serviceman who fearlessly realised his swashbuckling dream to create his own kingdom, complete with its own black, white and red flag.

When a journalist once asked him why he took over the fort, Roy replied: “I’ve asked myself that question many times and I’m damned if I know the answer. But it was a challenge, and I can’t resist a challenge.”

Michael spends most of his time in Southend with his Chinese wife Mei, who served in the Chinese army. Last year he faced the rather more pleasurable challenge of judging a beauty pageant in China, just one of the many perks of being a Prince.

“Life is a lot quieter now but we’ll never give up Sealand. You never know what will happen but we’re ready for anything,” he says with a laugh. If the movie version of Sealand is made, the scriptwriters certainly won’t be short of material.

#i have this book but havent read it yet im excited that there might be anything new in it!!#anyway i dont notice any fact errors in this article which is (rare) nice!!#sealand

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

Text

A Tale of Two Secrets

@stanuary Week 2 is Secrets! Stan's been keeping major secrets from his family for years, but he never stopped to think maybe his family was keeping secrets from him too.

Author’s note: This is a disjointed rambling mess and it ends up being more about Shermie towards the end, but hey, I need SOMETHING to post for week 2 of Stanuary, so here ya go!

To the people of Gravity Falls, Stan had been playing the part of his brother for almost a year. But now that he’d faked his own death, he was going to have to pull a much tougher con: posing as Ford to his own family. He’d already decided that he was not going to attend his own funeral, no matter how much flack he got from Ma about it. First of all, it would be way too depressing. Second of all, everyone who was most likely to see through his lie would be there. Ma, Shermie, maybe even Dad. No, better to play it off like he was too grief-stricken to show up, which, honestly, wasn’t that far from the truth.

He should have known that he wouldn’t get away with just a tear-stained letter explaining he couldn’t bear to sit through his own twin’s funeral. The same day the letter arrived in Glass Shard Beach, he got a call from Ma. As expected, she tried to convince Stan (Stanford, as far as she was concerned) to come to the funeral. Stan almost broke down and told her everything right then and there, and by the end of their phone conversation, he was sure she’d seen right through his imitation, sure she’d call back any minute demanding to know what happened to Ford, or worse, that she’d show up on his doorstep in the next few days. But instead, an hour later, he got a call he wasn’t expecting.

“Hello, this is Stanford Pines.” Stan recited. He’d heard it enough times in his own failures to reach out to Ford over the years that he could copy that answer flawlessly.

“Stanford, it’s… uh, it’s Sherman.” A deep voice answered.

“Shermie!?” Stan exclaimed before he could stop himself. Shermie’d been just a baby the last time Stan had seen him, just starting to walk, and now he sounded like a grown man! He hadn’t left home that long ago, had he?

Luckily, Shermie didn’t seem to notice how his voice changed, as he went right on talking “Ma wanted me to try and convince you to come to the funeral, but--but I get it if you don’t want to come. I know things were kinda… complicated between you two.”

Stan took a deep breath before returning to his Ford impression. “Thank you, Shermie, I appreciate it. You’re right, things were complicated, and that certainly doesn’t make his death any easier. Attending the funeral would be too much for me to handle while I’m still--still processing things.” Stan didn’t have to fake the waver in his voice.

“Then don’t come. We won’t think any less of you for it.”

Stan gave his best impression of Ford’s dry chuckle. “I doubt Mom would agree with that sentiment.”

“Yeah, well, give her some slack. She’s not taking it well. Probably doing even worse than you.”

Stan wanted to kick himself for doing this to his own mother. But, he reasoned, she’d probably take it even worse if she knew what really happened. That Ford had disappeared into some sci-fi portal thing and Stan, the leach and the failure, had taken his place.

“How are you doing, by the way?” Shermie asked, interrupting Stan’s thoughts.

“Uuuuh…” Stan hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Idiot, of course people would ask him that! What could he say that would sound convincing? What would Ford do if he was grieving? “I’m mostly just trying to concentrate on my work… sooo… so I don’t have to think about it.”

“Oh. Well, uh, I hope that works out for you…” Shermie said awkwardly. “There was something else Ma wanted me to tell you…”

Please don’t say you’re comin’ out to check on me, please don’t say you’re comin’ out to check on me!

“But… uh… You--you’ve already got so much on your plate right now. Don’t even worry about it.”

“What?” Stan asked, curious.

“It’s--it’s nothing really, I think she just wanted me to tell you because she thought it’d convince you to come.”

“Ok, I won’t ask then.” Stan said, and then instantly regretted it. Stanford “Curiosity killed the Cat but Satisfaction brought it back” Pines would never respond to Shermie’s cryptic statements with “Ok, I won’t ask then.” He knew he’d just blown his cover.

Except he hadn’t.

“OK well nice talking to you, Stanford, take care!” Shermie said quickly.

“Y-yeah, you too.” The word “too” wasn’t even halfway formed when Shermie hung up.

Well, that was weird. But if it meant Stan could pull off this con a little longer, just long enough to get that portal working and bring Ford back, then he wasn’t going to question it.

***

The next time Stan heard from Shermie was several years later, with news that almost gave him a heart attack.

“We’re moving to California.”

Crap, are they gonna want someplace to stay while they move in? Are they gonna want me to help them move in? They’re definitely gonna want to come visit, probably every major holiday. Mom’s gonna figure it out, for sure!

“That’s--that’s great news. Did Dad, uh… did Dad sell the pawn shop?”

“Oh, Mom and Dad aren’t moving!” Shermie clarified. “Just me… and Trudy and Micha.” he added two unfamiliar names at the end so quickly and quietly, Stan almost didn’t hear him.

“Who?”

Stan heard Shermie take a deep breath, like he was preparing to dive into the cold ocean. “Trudy and Micha. My wife and my son.”

“Wait, what!?” Stan exclaimed, completely forgetting his Ford voice. “Shermie, since when are you married?” He wanted to complain that he wasn’t invited to the wedding, but… he hadn’t invited anyone to his wedding to Marylyn, so he really wasn’t one to talk. Wait… no, that was what Stan would think. Ford would definitely complain about not being invited to the wedding. “Why didn’t I ever get a wedding invitation?”

“Nobody got a wedding invitation. We eloped.” Shermie explained. “It… it was right before we found out about Stanley, so… so it didn’t seem like the right time to tell you.”

That weird phone call with Shermie all those years ago suddenly made a lot more sense.

“And, what, it just slipped your mind for the next few years that you hadn’t informed your own brother? And you just conveniently forgot to tell me when you two were expecting? And you were just too busy to let me know when your son was born!?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Shermie apologize, and to his credit, he did sound sincerely remorseful. “It’s just… it got to the point where it had been so long that I didn’t know how to tell you. So I just kept putting it off, and the longer I waited, the harder it was to tell you, and it just became a vicious cycle. And it’s not like you ever come out to visit, so I thought I could get away with it.”

Stan felt a stab of guilt at that last comment. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. If he showed himself in Glass Shard Beach, his charade would be finished. How could he ever explain himself to his mother, much less his father?

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been very busy with, uh… with my research, and I probably couldn’t have made it anyway.”

“Oh, phew.” Shermied sighed with relief. “See Trudy, he said it’s fine.” Stan heard faintly, as though he had turned away from the receiver. Then there was an “Oof” that Stan imagined was the sound of Shermie getting elbowed in the ribs.

“But, uh, to make up for lost time, Trudy was thinking --oof-- Trudy and I were thinking maybe we could come up and visit you on our way out to Burbank?”

“No, I’m too busy.” Stan said automatically.

“Oh... yeah, that’s fair.”

Stan’s heart sank. It wasn’t like he was holding a grudge against Shermie for never mentioning the marriage or the kid. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to meet his little brother’s family. He just had a huge secret to keep, and his relatives were the people who were most likely to figure it out. But Shermie… Shermie had still been a toddler when Stan left home, and by all accounts, Ford hadn’t come back to visit much, if at all, after he graduated. Maybe he could pull this off.

“But, uh, hey, maybe I could come visit once you’ve all settled in. That’ll give me time to make room in my, uh, busy, busy schedule.”

“Oh, uh, are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure.” Stan said firmly. The last thing he wanted was for Shermie to feel cut off from his family like Stan had.

“Greaaaaaaat. Just. Great. When, uh, when’re you coming?”

“Uh…” Stan looked at his calendar. Tourist season was in full swing now, and he didn’t want to miss that, but maybe towards the end of the summer. “Is your kid in school yet?”

“... Y-nnnno. Nope. Well I mean-- yes, technically. Uh, Kindergarten? He’s in Kindergarten.”

“Alright, then how about the week before school starts?”

“Y-yeah! We will be ready for you. The week before school starts.”

“Great, and, uh, I’ll be ready too. To, uh, see you. For the first time in years.”

***

Stan didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. After going through the trouble of coming up with an elaborate backstory of why he, Stanford Pines, had decided to undergo surgery to remove his extra fingers. After going so far as to apply what Stan thought was pretty convincing effects make-up to look like scars along the sides of his hands. After all that, Shermie hadn’t even said anything. Hadn’t even glanced at his hands, as far as Stan could tell.

Maybe he had noticed, and was just being polite. Maybe he was waiting until his kid, Micha, had gone to bed. Maybe he was just really, really not paying attention.

Did Shermie even remember Ford had six fingers? It seemed unlikely that he would have forgotten. Sure, Ford hadn’t gone home to visit often, but a physical abnormality like that tended to stick in the memory. Maybe… maybe Shermie was misremembering which twin had the weird hands? Well, whatever the case, Stan certainly wasn’t going to draw attention to it.

“Uncle Stan, catch me!” Micha demanded as he sprung off his mini-trampoline, abruptly tearing Stan from his thoughts. The con man barely had time to raise his arms before the boy crashed into them, nearly knocking them both over. Stan was pretty sure he felt a joint pop.

“Huf! Geez, careful, kiddo!” He set the boy down as gently as he could with his arm feeling out-of-socket. “He’s pretty big for a kindergartener, isn’t he?” Stan asked.

Shermie laughed nervously. “Is-isn’t he though?”

“Mhmm. He’s our big boy!” Trudy scooped her son up in a big hug.

Stan realized with a pang of guilt he couldn’t remember if Shermie had told him exactly when the boy was born. “How old are you, Micha?”

The boy glanced at his father. “Five!?” His answer sounded more like a disbelieving question.

Stan looked over at Shermie, who had suddenly hidden one hand behind his back.The young father simply shrugged and smiled.

“Huh.” Stan didn’t know much about kids. They were bigger than he expected. He swore he’d felt smaller at that age.

"I thought you didn't like people to call you Stan." Shermie suddenly changed the topic.

"W-what?" Stan asked, a deer in the headlights.

"Just now, Micha called you Stan, and you didn't correct him."

"Well… I mean… he's just a kid."

"That didn't stop you when I was even y-- when I was his age."

Crap. "Yes, well… there's no longer a need to distinguish between two versions of the same name any more, is there?"

"I guess I you have a point." Shermie hummed.

***

The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful. Shermie still didn't ask about or comment on "Stanford's" hands, but this was honestly a relief. Stan was just miffed that he'd wasted all that fancy-pantsy make-up he'd stolen.

Meeting Shermie's family was like a breath of fresh air to Stan, after decades of being isolated from his family members. Trudy was quiet and unassuming, but also sweet and thoughtful. Stan could see why Shermie had married her. Micha was energetic as any small child, and had to be bigger than Stan had been at that age. He had the potential to grow up to be a great heavyweight boxer.

Now, Stan was facing a new dilemma. On the one hand, he didn't want to visit Shermie’s family too often, for fear of them figuring out he wasn’t who he said he was. On the other hand, he didn’t want to see them so infrequently that his visits seemed like a special event. If he did that, there’d be all the more chance that Shermie would call Ma about it, and they’d get to talking, and Ma would definitely figure it out. So, how to strike the right balance?

Once a year wasn’t enough. That made it seem like a holiday. Say, holidays! That could work! There were enough of those scattered throughout the year that Stan could drop by every so often without giving them enough time to really stop and start connecting all the dots. He’d just have to avoid the major family holidays, Passover, Thanksgiving and Hanukkah, because if he visited for those, Ma would absolutely ask Shermie all about it. And besides, he did decent business during the Christmas season and spring break. Speaking of which, Independence Day and Halloween were out too. Those were the Mystery Shack’s busiest days of the year. That left the likes of Labor Day and Presidents’ Day and all those other little 3-day weekend government holidays. Perfect!

***

With every year that passed, Stan felt a fresh new wave of guilt that he still hadn’t managed to reactivate the portal and bring Ford home. Every time he visited Shermie, every time he saw how fast Micha was growing, it was another reminder of what Ford was missing out on. The years just flew by. Stan swore the time between Micha starting Kindergarten and finishing 3rd grade felt like less than a year.

Before Stan knew it, he’d bluffed his way through both his parents’ funerals, he’d been running the Mystery Shack for almost two decades, and his rambunctious, chubby nephew had grown into a strapping young man.

Stan almost had a breakdown when he got the wedding invitation from Micha and his bride-to-be, a beautiful, button-nosed woman named Debborah. Time was slipping away too quickly. He’d already wasted so much of Ford’s life, and yet he was no closer to bringing his brother home now than he had been twelve years ago when he’d finished rebuilding the stupid machine from all the ruined scrap he’d been left with.

“Gettin’ mad at yourself isn’t gonna do anyone any good.” He scolded his reflection, and then picked up the phone. He had a nephew to congratulate.

***

It wasn’t quite two years later when Stan arrived at the maternity ward of a hospital in Oakland, California. He’d closed down the gift shop for the first time since that flock of Hawktopi descended on the Shack all those years ago. He’d briefly considered leaving tatoo guy there to watch over things, but honestly between him and that pasty, gangly teenager he’d recently hired on as a handy-man, he was pretty sure there wouldn’t be a Mystery Shack to return to if he did. He’d driven for seven hours straight to get here as soon as possible. He’d left the moment he got the phone call letting him know Debbs was going into labor. He’d been eagerly awaiting this moment from the time the ultrasound showed two tiny figures in the womb.

Another set of twins. Maybe there was something to the old wives’ tale of them skipping a generation after all.

He burst into the waiting room of the maternity ward, and everyone turned to stare at him. Stan vaguely recognized a short, skinny man standing next to the restrooms. Pretty sure he’d seen the guy at Micha and Debbs’ wedding. He was Debbs’ dad, if Stan remembered correctly.

“Are they here yet?” Stan asked him.

The skinny man nodded. Apparently he remembered Stan from the wedding too. “Yes, but the doctors have them at the moment. There was a bit of a complication with the boy.”

Stan paled. “I-is he alright?”

“Well, the umbilical cord got wrapped around his neck before he made it out the birth canal. He wasn’t breathing at first, but they cut the thing away and resuscitated him. Now they’re checking to make sure his brain didn’t go without oxygen long enough to do any lasting damage.” Stan’s worry must have shown on his face, because the skinny man continued. “But don’t worry! The doctor said this happens sometimes. He said it happened when his own daughter was born, and she’s grown up without a single hint that it ever happened.”

That, at least, gave Stan a bit of relief. “Where are Micha and Debbs?”

“Down that hall, third door on the left. It’s got a whiteboard with ‘Pines’ written on it.”

“Thanks!” Stan called over his shoulder, already moving down the hall.

He didn’t even bother to knock when he reached the door, just barged right in. The room was already a bit crowded, with Micha, Trudy, Debbs’ mother, a nurse, and Debbs herself. Stan had never seen someone look so tired and so peaceful at the same time. And in her arms was the loudest occupant in the room, an absolutely tiny baby with a pink bow stuck to her head, screaming louder than Stan thought possible with such small lungs.

“Uncle Stan?” Micha asked, barely audible above his daughter’s cries, “My dad isn’t even here yet! How’d you get here so fast from Oregon!?”

“I can’t answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

“Hey, coming through!” A voice whispered loudly behind Stan. He turned to see another nurse, with the doctor in tow, and a clear hospital bassinet between them. Inside was an itty-bitty baby boy. Stan quickly got out of the doorway to let them through.

“I’m happy to announce that he’ll be perfectly fine.” the Doctor said as he gently handed the second baby to Debbs. Miraculously, the girl in her arms stopped crying the second her brother was next to her.

“Oooh, did you just miss your brother?” Debbs cooed.

Stan couldn’t help it. He started crying.

By the time Stan got his emotions back under control, Micha had already had a chance to hold the babies, along with Debb’s mother and Trudy.

“Would you like to hold them, Stanford?” Trudy asked.

“M-me?” Stan asked in surprise. “But… what about Grandpa, out there?” He motioned back towards the waiting room, where he’d met Debb’s dad.

“Tyson’s got a cold. He can’t even be in the same room as the babies for the time being.” Tyson’s wife explained.

“I got a text from my dad a few hours ago. He’s driving up from Burbank, I’m sure he’s just stuck in traffic.” Micha explained.

And so Stan gently took the tiny twins, carefully cradling both their heads in either arm. They were squirmy, squishy little babies, their new-born skin as red as a sunburn. The girl grabbed one of his fingers with surprising strength, and the boy snuggled into his suit. Oh boy, here come the waterworks again…

“I’m here!” A voice called down the hall. Shermie burst in the door, breathless. “Is everything ok? Where are they?”

“Uncle Stan is holding them.” Micha gestured to his uncle.

Shermie stepped up to his brother and reached out to take the babies. Stan leaned back.

“I just barely got them! Wait your turn!”

“Come on, Stanford, they’re my grandkids!”

“It’s your own fault for bein’ late!”

“That’s not my fault, I was stuck in traffic!”

Stan ended up leading Shermie on a chase around the small room before the nurse put her foot down and insisted they both stop or she would call security.

“What are you going to name them?” Trudy asked after things had calmed down later that day.

“We were thinking of themed twin names…” Debbs said. Stan groaned loudly. “Oh, nothing too obvious. Mabel and Mason. What do you all think?”

Everyone hummed in agreement.

“Good, cuz even if you didn’t, we’re set on those.” Micha grinned.

Within a few days, Mabel and Mason’s red skin cleared up, except for a few interestingly shaped blotches on Mason’s head that seemed to get more defined every day. That’s when he got the nickname Dipper.

***

Years passed. Dipper and Mabel came to visit. Stan finally activated the Portal. Ford came home. The world ended. And now, finally, Stan had some explaining to do. At least things would be easier with Ford by his side.

Dipper had suggested they get it all over with in one go, like ripping off a band-aide. He’d set up a conference call with his Grunkles, his parents, and his grandparents.

Honestly, it went over way better than Stan had been expecting. The story sounded crazy, but Ford being there was proof enough that it was true. Everyone just looked at them in shock as they explained the portal, Ford’s disappearance, Stan faking his death, Dipper finding the third Journal, Stan getting the second Journal from Gideon, reactivating the portal, Ford’s return, and their continued fighting until a common threat made them put aside their differences to help the kids. Sure, they glossed over the more dangerous stuff, like Bill and the end of the world, but Stan was still worried Micha and Debbs would freak out because of what he’d done and never let him near the kids again. Luckily, they seemed to be understanding, especially seeing how much the kids loved him.

The other one Stan was worried about was Shermie. How would he react, knowing the brother he’d finally gotten to know over the last three decades had been lying to him the whole time? He and Trudy hadn’t acted quite as surprised as the others by the revelation of a portal to another world. Shermie just stared at his brothers through the screen the whole time, the gears turning in his brain. Stan was about to ask if he was alright when Ford asked his own question.

“Micha, how old are you?”

“Uh, 34, why?”

“That… shouldn’t be possible.” Ford looked at Shermie pointedly. “When I left this dimension just 30 years ago, your father wasn’t even 16 yet.”

“Wait, what?” Stan asked.

“Sherman, what on earth have you been up to for the last 30 years?” Ford asked curiously.

“For the last 30 years? I’ve just been living a normal life!” Shermie said defensively. “It was just one time back in 1982 that everything went crazy.”

“What!?” Everyone asked, except for Trudy, who looked smug, and Micha, who looked like he’d just uncovered a repressed memory.

“Well now you have to tell them what happened.” Trudy elbowed her husband.

Shermie sighed. “Yes dear. Thank you for not saying ‘I told you so’.

“One day, when I was walking to school back in Glass Shard Beach, I ran into this strange bald man in a jump-suit. He kept babbling on about stopping someone’s parents from meeting, but he couldn’t stop the parents from meeting because he’d already said that in front of law enforcement, so he was going after their grandparents. Obviously, I thought he was just a nut-job, so I ran. I was so busy tryin’ to get away from the whacko that I wasn’t looking where I was goin’ and ran smack into Trudy.”

“I’d just moved in that fall. I was a grade above him.” Trudy chimed in.

“The crash slowed me down enough that baldy showed up again, and when he saw me with Trudy, he freaked out even more, complaining about us meeting somehow ruining his plans. Then he pulled out this tape measurer type thing, pulled it back, and then grabbed a hold of both of us. There was a flash of light, and then BAM, we were in 1922.”

Mabel gasped, “Oh my gosh, Dipper, it was Blendin!”

Dipper slapped a hand to his forehead. “Grandpa Shermie, I’m so sorry, this is sort of our fault. We kind of accidentally cost that guy his job and he swore revenge on us.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you two know Blendin? As in Blendin Blandin?” Shermie asked incredulously.

“I mean, is there any other Blendin?” Mabel replied. “Yeah, I remember him saying something about going back in time and making it so our parents never met, but nothing happened, so we figured he forgot.” She laughed. “Looks like instead of stopping us from being born, he kinda did the opposite. That’s so funny!”

“If by funny, you mean seriously messed up.” Dipper groaned. “Just… starting to think about it makes my head hurt.”

“Wait, so if Micha’s 34…” Stan started to do the math he’d never bothered to even think about before “Shermie, how long were you in the past?”

“Long enough to get married and have a kid.” He answered.

“Just over ten years.” Trudy clarified. “First, Blendin zapped away and left us stranded. Luckily we had all our school supplies with us, so we were able to sell most of it for a little money to get by on at first. I’d been learning to knit and crochet from my mom for years, so I bought some supplies and started selling hats, gloves, and sweaters on the street. I gained enough of a reputation than a local seamstress took me on as an apprentice.”

Mabel gasped. “Is that why you started to teach me to knit when I was little?”

Trudy nodded. “I think it’s never too early to start learning skills you can use if you’re ever lost in time.”

“I, on the other hand, had absolutely no skills that were useful in the 1920’s.” Shermie continued. “I probably would have starved if it wasn’t for Trudy helping me. I tried so many jobs. Running carnie games on the boardwalk, selling light bulbs, I even tried being a photographer for the local newspaper. But nothing ever worked out long-term. Eventually I got a job as a bricklayer, and that, thankfully, turned out to be a steady job, even if it was rough work. It was around that time that Trudy and I decided to get married.”

“We were all the other had, it just made sense.” Trudy added.

“By that point, we’d kinda just resigned ourselves to living out the rest of our lives in the past. And honestly, it wasn’t bad. We were our own people, living our own lives in an exciting, prosperous part of history, no expectations from our parents. And a little knowledge from the future sure helped too. While everyone else was investing in the stock market, we were playing it safe and carefully saving up our money and non-perishable food.”

“It was mostly rice and hard crackers.” Trudy made a face like the memory still left a stale taste in her mouth.

“While the rest of the world was plunged into financial chaos by the Depression, we had a new baby and enough money to last us into the next decade.”

“But, the Depression lasted until the start of World War II.” Dipper recalled from his history lessons. “What did you guys do once your savings ran out?”

“Well, the same stuff most people did at the time. We grew as much of our own food as we could. We re-mended and repaired our clothes and furniture instead of buying new things. We both took whatever odd jobs we could find. When things got really tight, we ate at the nearest food kitchen.”

Stan and Ford both grimaced. They both had their own experiences with hunger and making clothes last way past the point of being threadbare. At least Shermie always had enough to keep a roof over his family’s heads.

“But how did you return back to our time?” Ford asked.

“It was 1933. Things were starting to get really bad. All our savings had dried up. Nobody was buying new clothes, so Trudy couldn’t find work. Nobody was building new houses, so I couldn’t find work. Micha was growing so fast, we could barely keep clothes on him, and he was… an active child, so a lot of things were breaking. Just when I wasn’t quite sure if we were going to keep a roof over our heads, Blendin showed up again, this time with hair.

“My first instinct was to punch him. Which I did. Then I tried to find that time travel tape he’d used on us before. The whole time he was blubbering on about how he was sorry, and he’d made his peace with the Pines family, and I was about to show him what I thought of his sorry and his peace when he said he wanted to put us back to the way things were before he stranded us.

“So I took him back home with me, and he explained to Trudy and I that he could go back in time and stop himself from ever taking us into the past in the first place. But the thing was… if he did that, we’d lose Micha. We’d lose all the time we’d spent together, the life we’d built together. And, well, we just weren’t willing to do that, even if it meant getting to go back to our own time.

“I asked him if we could go back to our own time the way we were,” Trudy picked up the story, “At first, he was really opposed to the idea. Said it was against all the rules and regulations of time travel. But then he stopped mid thought and muttered something like ‘Well, what does it matter? Time’s dead, baby!’ and he agreed to it.”

“Time Baby’s dead.” Ford muttered under his breath.

“What’s that?” Shermie asked.

“Oh, nothing, just… theorizing what his words could have meant. Continue.”

“Our troubles weren’t over when we returned to our own time.” Shermie proceeded. “We couldn’t just go home. From our parents’ perspective, we’d just been gone for a day of school. They wouldn’t recognize a couple of adults showing up on their doorsteps. It took a lot of convincing. Handwriting tests, palm readings. Luckily I have a distinctive birthmark of my own.” Shermie pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a reddish-brown splotch that looked a little bit like a crescent moon if you squinted. “That seemed to finally convince them.”

“My parents believed me when I showed them where I’d hidden my pet turtle under the floorboards.” Trudy added, “But that didn’t stop them from paying for a DNA test a few years later just to make sure.”

“Blendin warned us we couldn’t tell anyone outside our own immediate families, or else we could get in trouble with the Time Police or something. I’m sorry I never told you…” Shermie pointed at Stan, “But I was afraid you… Well, actually I was afraid you” he pointed to Ford, “Would take us away to try and learn the secrets of time travel or something.”

Ford blushed “30 years ago, I very well may have.” He admitted sheepishly. “But now I probably know more about time travel than the two of you do.”

“I can’t believe Ma never said anything to me about it!” Stan complained.

“She always said I should be the one to tell you about it.” Shermie clarified. “And I told her that I did, right before… before your fake funeral, I guess, but I don’t think she believed my lie.”

“I always said he should have told you.” Trudy said smugly.

“Hon, you ok?” Debbs asked her husband, who had been sitting quietly with a blank expression the whole time. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“...Yeah… I think I’m ok… it’s just… I guess I convinced myself the whole thing was a game we used to play that my 4 year old imagination embellished into what seemed to be reality. But now I’m learning it really was reality. It’s… weird. I think I’m gonna need therapy now.”

“Join the club.” Stan grunted.

Ford shook his head. “I just can’t believe the two of you were so busy keeping secrets from each other that you never even stopped to think the other was keeping secrets from you!”

“Hey, I don’t know nothin’ about kids or how fast they grow, ok?” Stan defended himself.

“Yeah, and if you’d actually been around while I was growing up, I probably would have had an easier time seeing through Stan’s act.” Shermie added.

“Guys, guys, there’s no need to argue!” Mabel interrupted them. “Don’t you see? We have a great opportunity here! It’s like our family is getting to know each other again for the very first time!”

Stan’s heart sank. Would the rest of the family even want to get to know each other after all these secrets and lies being brought into the open?

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea, sweetie.” Micha patted her shoulder. “Mom, I know you’ve got to visit your sister this Christmas, but how about we all get together for Thanksgiving?”

Trudy nodded.

“Absolutely!” Shermie agreed. “Oh, that is… as long as you two are free. I imagine you have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Well, Stanley and I are going to make an expedition to the Arctic Circle--”

“Ah, come on, Poindexter, we can delay it a little!” Stan insisted. “I’m gonna need time to train Soos on runnin’ the Shack anyway. And we’re gonna need time to find a boat and gather supplies and all that other stuff to get ready for an expedition.”

“Oh. Right. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“That’s cuz you’re brain’s too busy thinkin’ about nerd stuff, genius.” Stan threw an arm around his brother affectionately before turning back to the video call. “You can count on us being there!”

Shermie gave a relieved smile. Maybe Stan wasn’t the only one who’d been worried how everyone would react to his lies.

“Great. We’ll see you then.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanley Pines #Stanuary 2020 #My Writing

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strawbwrry · 5 years

Text

two ❥ under the rose

one

word count：3k

warnings：slight swearing (once again, literally 5 cuss words)

i am back!! so this chapter was interesting to write and maybe i finished it like 10 minutes ago, bUT ITS DONE AND I LIKE HOW IT CAME OUT :)

hope you enjoy and please feel free to talk about it with me cuties!!

song rec：wonderland ❥ dreamcatcher

❥❥❥❥

chapter two

❥❥❥❥

"Dongpyo, what the hell happened to Minhee?” I turned to the boy, and he himself had a look of utter shock. He stayed deadly silent, now I was absolutely positive something was wrong. He’d never just stay silent after seeing something like this. “Dongpyo, Dongpyo. Dongpyo!” His face went pale as his head turned to look at mine,

“Y/N, I have no idea what happened, but this is bad. We have to tell Yunseo.”

He swallowed nervously. I felt my body tense up as a chill creeped up my spine. My eyes wandered back to where he once stood. It seemed almost closed off, as if I went any more near it a more intensified feeling of worry and doubt would consume me. I took an anxious step back, my ankles and knees feeling weak. Dongpyo’s hand landed on my shoulder, “Y/N I jut called Yunseo, she told me she and her mom are going to pick us up. Let’s go wait by those benches.” I nodded softly, my legs moved sluggishly following closely behind Dongpyo.

We both fell onto the bench staying silent as what we had just seen truly dawned on us. Why the hell was Minhee a ghost? I pulled my lips closed tightly together before turning to Dongpyo. “Did nobody notice?” He looked confused for just a second before he realized what I was hinting at, “It was like he just disappeared. One day he was here the next he wasn’t. Not even Hyeongjun noticed.”

“Really? Hyeongjun didn’t notice? Haven’t they been friends for like, ever?” He nodded, then lifted his hands to rub at the skin of his eyelid. “I knew something was off but I wasn’t sure. I told Hyeongjun, he thought I was crazy. He mostly hangs out with Wonjin now. It’s like Minhee never existed.”

“That’s not right. Minhee and Hyeongjun were inseparable, now you’re telling me Hyeongjun doesn’t even have the slightest memory of him?” My voice came out more skeptical that intended, but did it really matter? His eyes widened suddenly with his eyes attached to the sidewalk across the street, “Y/N! Look.”

My head whipped around to find the boy stood, exactly where Minhee and I had our first date. He stood anxiously by a large oak tree before his eyes met mine for a second, when I came to blink, he was gone.

The anxious, shy, tall boy I had fallen for was gone. . In the blink of an eye he was gone. Each time I saw him, the more it hurt. The more it felt like if I had stayed, he’d still be here. I was losing Minhee all over again.

Dongpyo pulled me into a hug and I just laughed quietly to myself as my arms wrapped around his waist. My head rested on his shoulder as my eyes began to sting. My nose tingled, prompting me to sniffle. He pulled away and smiled at me cutely. His lips displayed in a pout and he pinched my cheeks.

“Awe, Y/N! Are you crying?” He pulled out the ending syllables of his words teasingly making me laugh, a tear just managing to escape my eye. I wiped it quickly and looked up, my hand coming to ruffle his hair, and his fingers pulled the corners of my lips up.

“Not anymore!”

❥❥❥❥

“Who’s Minhee?”

My head looked up to see her face, genuinely confused by the name. “Kang Minhee. Like my ex boyfriend.” She looked shocked. “Y/N you had a boyfriend? When? Why didn’t you tell me!” Dongpyo turned to look at me, he mouthed out, ‘What the hell?’

I shrugged but leaned my head back on the seat, and shut my eyes. My eyes sealed tightly as I continuously tried to convince myself I was making this up. I had to be. There’s no way Yunseo would forget Minhee. She was the one dealing with for for a few weeks as I cried about it.

“Yunseo you really don’t remember?”

My voice was weaker then I meant it to come out as. I hated that. I swallowed the small lump I felt growing in the back of my throat and rolled my eyes. No way in hell was I crying again today. My hands gripped at the hem of my sweater and I turned to look at the stars. Dongpyo and Yunseo’s voices sounded distant and far as my head was preoccupied with thoughts.

My eyes closed for just a second, just a brief moment, then a sudden loud screeching made me go deaf. For just a moment I saw our car swerving. I felt my body being pushed up against the door, my rib cage being roughly pressed up against the door so badly I swore I heard something crack. When my eyes opened, nothing. I saw Dongpyo and Yunseo staring at me, but nothing had really registered.

Nothing had happened. We were fine. The car was fine. My ribs were fine. But I wasn’t fine. I knew I wasn’t.

It was just starting to register in everyones mind, something wasn’t right with me. Something in me had changed, and certainly not in a good way.

❥❥❥❥

Sleepovers!

I used to love them. Over time though, it felt like each one kept getting considerably worse and less enjoyable. Yunseo’s bed was soft, her plush blankets were soft and welcoming. Dongpyo laid on an air mattress on the floor, another one of the soft blankets laid across his body.

“Y/N, you haven’t said anything since we were in the car. Are you alright?”

Dongpyo’s voice was sudden and unexpected. His upper body shot up and he turned to stare at my body. I laid flatly on my back looking up at the ceiling thinking about the events of the day. “I’m alright Dongpyo, just overwhelmed I guess.” My eyes were tired, but at the same time they were droopy. I felt like sleeping, but was aware I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep that night.

“Do you want to sleep Y/N?” Yunseo’s voice was small, she sounded unsure of what she was saying. I simply shook my head and turned to look at her. “Not yet Yunseo, lets do something. I want to get my mind off the shit storm that was today.”

She grinned and sat up, pulling me up along with her. “Let’s play some games! It’ll be like old times!”

I turned to look at Dongpyo and we grinned. Just like old times.

❥❥❥❥

It had been a few hours of playing games, and we had all grown quite tired of it. Yunseo moved and laid her head into my lap and sighed loudly, puffing her cheeks out and stretching her arms out.

“Y/N! Dongpyo! I’m bored. Let’s go do something. I’m so bored here. Can we go get food from somewhere I’m hungry.”

Dongpyo smirked as he laughed to himself, “I expect this behavior from me and probably Y/N honestly, but Yunseo? What have we done to her Y/N?” I laughed, then looked down to pinch her cheeks tightly. She let out squeals of disapproval desperately trying to get away from my hands. “Dongpyo I haven’t been with Yunseo in person for quite a while. I think you did this to her.” I looked up to make eye contact with him, winking at him.

His face flushed bright pink as he rolled his eyes, scoffing at me. I stuck my tongue out in return, which he did right after me. Yunseo, who was also blushing, giggled, “You two haven’t seen eachother in 6 months and already started fighting again.”

“How about we go get some snacks from the convenience store around the corner? I’m really hungry.” Dongpyo hummed in agreement, and I nodded, “Let’s go then.”

As Yunseo stood up I followed closely, adjusting my pajama pants and straightening up my shirt. My bones cracking slightly at the sudden movement. I walked out of her room followed closely by Dongpyo, who flicked the back of my head childishly. We scrambled down the stair, picked up our jackets that laid thrown across the couch messily and walked out to be met with the surprisingly cold air.

The air seared through my previously warm skin, leaving my face feeling uncomfortably fresh. I rubbed my hands together inside my pocket and walked next to Yunseo. I rolled my eyes at the sight of their hands interlocked together and finally spoke. “I wasn’t going to do anything for Halloween besides eat any candy I could find, but I think I might just have a costume in mind now.”

“What’s your costume idea Y/N?” Yunseo asked, her voice was trembling, it was oddly cold for an October evening. “I was thinking a wheel.” Dongpyo seemed taken aback, he squinted at me and let out a breathy laugh, “Why would you dress up as a wheel?”

I looked down at my hands, they felt slightly numb at the finger tips, but what did it matter? “Cause I can see into the future, and I can tell I’ll be third wheeling a lot.” I rubbed my old hands against my sweater in an attempt to warm them up. Minhee’s hands were always really warm. I missed that. Yunseo laughed, and Dongpyo’s stayed quiet, but tried his hardest to hide his snickers.

“No you won’t!”

“I’m third wheeling right now, I swear Dongpyo was just looking at you with hearts in his eyes.”

“Y/N!” He whined loudly, “I wasn’t not.” It was now my turn to roll my eyes and hide snickers under my breath as I watched their faces turn bright red. Except now it wasn’t due to the cold air. It was embarrassment, and if I was being honest I loved every second of making fun of them.

“Sure Dongpyo, if it makes you feel any better Yunseo was looking at you the same way.”

Yunseo’s small hand reached mine and slapped my arm, making me and Dongpyo laugh and she buried her head further into her hoodie.

“Am not.” She whined quietly. Dongpyo smiled cutely at the sight of this, making me scoff at them. They just proved my point. I smiled painfully, looking at them. They weren’t that disgusting to be with. Yet. If anything it was almost, dare I say, cute? I laughed at them before responding,

“Sure Yunseo.”

❥❥❥❥

My hand held tightly onto the warm drink in my hands as we walked out of the store. Dongpyo and Yunseo holding the bags as pay for making me third wheel. The October night was unsettlingly cold, as small gusts of wind occasionally blew by. The days earlier events continuously play in my head and Yunseo and Dongpyo’s shy nervous babbling continued.

Yunseo poked my shoulder, “Y/N why do you think it’s already really cold? It’s only October.”

I shrugged, a shiver racking through my whole body. My hands began to rub my arms gently trying to get any feeling of warmth. I came to a sudden halt, the plastic bag Yunseo held was now on the floor. I looked up at her, And I had never seen Yunseo’s face so pale.

“Yunseo what happened?”

She stayed silent, her face rosy, her mouth hung open, her eyes widened in fear. I looked around trying my hardest to find anything that’d warrant such a reaction.

Nothing. I had found absolutely nothing.

Dongpyo looked equally as confused. He gently shook her body, and I put my now warm hands on her cheeks, after handing Dongpyo my drink, trying to get her attention. Her jaw began trembling in the cold. I stood in front of her and put her arms around my neck, then pulled her up onto my back. Her arms tightened, her legs then moved to wrap around me as I picked her up fully. Dongpyo picked up the bag she had been carrying and we began to walk quickly.

At this point we weren’t even walking. We were running. It was difficult with her body weight over mine, but I had never ran as fast as I did that night ever. I was scared of something that lurked in the darkness. I wasn’t sure what of though.

We reached the doorstep and Dongpyo pulled the key Yunseo had dangling in her hand and opened the door. We hurried inside, locking the door once again as soon as we had entered.

She still hadn’t said a thing.

❥❥❥❥

Yunseo’s head laid comfortably on my shoulder, soundly asleep. After last night she hadn’t said anything about it, she seemed too scared to. I didn’t press further, when she felt okay with it, she would. The both of us sat in her mom’s car, we were going to be visiting her grandparents.

Her grandparents were the grandparents I never had, by now I was basically their 8th grandchild. They never treated me any different from their grandchildren.

With Yunseo alseep, my phone pretty much dead, I sat quietly looking out the window. Yunseo’s mom and my Aunt continuously talked about, pretty much anything. It wasn’t until I heard my name that my ears perked in.

“I don’t think where we live is good for Y/N. She hates it. She’s totally changed ever since she moved in with us. She used to be so talkative, she barely speaks full sentences back where we live. She seems so much happier here. The last thing her mom would’ve wanted for Y/N was this. Miyoung what do you think I should do?”

Yunseo’s mom hummed quietly, her lips pursed as she took a right turn. “She can always live with us, we sure wouldn’t mind having Y/N live here with us. But you should talk to Y/N about it. If you want what’s best for Y/N, then you have to ask her what she thinks is best for herself.”

I stopped listening there. I wasn’t sure what I thought was best for myself. Hell if I knew what I wanted anymore. Yunseo began to stir. Her head lifted up from my shoulder and she rubbed her eyes. “Y/N how long was I asleep?”

“The whole car ride Yun.”

She scrunched up her face slightly. “Sorry Y/N, didn’t mean to leave you for the car ride like that.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t sleep like at all last night.”

We got out of the car, Yunseo’s mom and my aunt stayed sat. “We’ll be back to pick you guys up in a few hours!”

We waved watching them drive off, then began to walk into the house. Their house was welcoming and warm, it smelled of fall spices, like warm food, and looked like the standard family home.

“Y/N! Yunseo! It’s nice to see you guys!”

Yunseo’s grandma came running up to us, her arms wrapping around us tenderly, she turned to focus on me and gasped. “Y/N you look so different! Your hair looks very pretty dear.” I smiled shyly, “Thanks Grandma!”

She turned to Yunseo and fixed her tousled hair before pinching her cheek playfully flicking her forehead.

Then her grandpa came in and smiled at us both. Following close behind him was Cocoa and Brownie. I giggled when they came to play with me. My hands gently running through Brownies fur. I straightened up to give him a hug. “Nice to see you Y/N. How have you been?”

“Pretty alright Grandpa. How have you and Grandma been?” Yunseo hugged him and he turned to look at the both of us, “We’ve been doing well. Your Grandma is finally feeling better after she hurt her arm.”

“Glad to hear that!” Yunseo said before she ran over to the table where food laid. “This looks so good!” They chuckled, “Yunseo, Y/N, feel free to get some! Junho, will you please bring some utensils dear?”

“On it.”

❥❥❥❥

My stomach was stuffed to the brim with food. I felt almost tired after the sheer amount of food I had just devoured. “So Yunseo, Y/N, I have a question for you two.” Grandma began as she walked around the kitchen with Grandpa cleaning up the table. I turned away from washing the forks replying with,

“What is it Grandma?”

“Have you two seen the ghosts around town?”

Yunseo came to an abrupt halt, “Yeah I’ve seen one.” I knew she had to have seen one last night. “What about you Y/N?”

“I’ve seen the male ghost twice and I might’ve seen the female once.”

Grandpa came up to me, quietly saying, “I’ll take it from here, your grandma wants to show you something.”

I wiped my hands across my pants drying them off before I went to sit on the couch next to Grandma. She pulled out a photo album, one looking very much familiar. “Grandma isn’t this the album with your first love’s picture?”

She nodded, “Pay him no mind, I just want to know if you’ve seen the same ghosts I’ve been seeing.”

She came to a certain page and stopped. She pulled out a photograph from a clear sleeve and handed it to me. “Hey that’s the woman I saw on the side of the road!”

I handed the photo to Yunseo, and she bit her lip harshly. She handed it back quietly before nodding, “Thats the ghost I saw last night. It has to be.”

Grandma smiled softly, “It’s Eunsang’s mom.”

She began flipping through pages once again, until she stopped moving them suddenly. She pulled out a photograph with roughly 5 people. But when my eyes landed on boy, I was shocked, “Grandma, what’s his name?”

She looked at who I was point and smiled gently, “Thats Kang Minhee. We haven’t seen him since 1980-“

“1982, Dear!” Grandpa said from the living room.

“Since 1982.” Yunseo’s eyes widened, her hand gripped my arm tightly as she whispered quietly, “I remember him now.”

Grandma looked at me oddly, “Why are you so interested in Minhee?” I looked even closer at the photo. It couldn’t be Minhee. Before I could say anything Yunseo responded for me,

“Because she dated someone who looked just like him, named Kang Minhee. And he disappeared when she left.”

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

Oh dear I forgot the passwords

It's a bit long, so apologies.

The owner seemed OK, but was a bit full on. He came down a couple of times a week to sort out the vehicles to be auctioned off and to manage the auctions themselves. He decided that it was going to be my job to photograph the vehicles for the online catalogue and leave my friend to do the office work. I wasn't happy about this as the whole idea of taking the job was to be in the office and not to be outside in all weathers. After I had taken the photos I had to transfer them onto the PC then email them to head office once a week. I also had to do all the online and email stuff as my friend was clueless about computers.

A couple months passed and my friend managed to get her husband a job as a driver. His hours were 07.00 to 19.00 and rather than come into work separately they decided to come in together then have her wait till he was finished before going home. This meant she was in work two and a half early, and didn't go home until 2 hours after she finished. The owner thought it was marvelous that she worked 4 hours plus extra a day without extra pay and was constantly on my back about me arriving five minutes before my start time and leaving dead on my finish time. He never realised that she didn't start work until after lunch and did nothing after 5pm. He didn't want someone who would only work the hours they were paid and threatened to sack me several times for not being more flexible.

After a short while the owner decided that I should do full vehicle damage assessments on each vehicle along with the photos. I'm not sure, but I believe it's supposed to be a proper trained mechanic who does the reports, not someone who doesn't even know the make and model without looking at the writing on the back. I explained all this to him and he told me that I'd do it or he'd sack me and find someone else to do it. I tried to do the reports but apart from obvious damage I don't know what I'm looking for. Apparently cars have something called a sub frame. I don't know what that is or why it's a problem if it's twisted. More threats of sacking.

As luck would have it, I rang a company I had previously worked for to chat to my ex boss there about his upcoming wedding. I casually mentioned I was looking for a new job and he said they were more than happy for me to return to them. He asked me when I could start (this was the Wednesday) and I told them I could start the following Monday. He sent me an email confirming my start date and as soon as I got it I started clearing my desk. My friend asked me what I was doing and I told her I quit. She then went off on a mad rant about how useless I was and how she didn't see her kids because she was at work so much and how I was going to destroy her family because she would have to take over all my work as well as her own so she would never get time to herself. I told her she was a useless cow who was too lazy to do any work and her kids were neglected because she didn't want to walk the mile or so home and would rather wait for a lift from her husband. It got pretty nasty. I stormed out with all my stuff and was so happy to leave.

What nobody realised was that I had password protected the computer I used. The log in and the files themselves were all password protected, as were the emails. They only had one internet enabled machine and I was the only one who used it. Nobody else knew the passwords as I had been told to keep them secret for security reasons. I had written them down and kept the notebook with the passwords locked in the filing cabinet.

That night I got a phone call from my ex friend demanding to know what the passwords were. She was really rude and was calling me some pretty horrible names. I told her to go fornicate with herself and stop calling me. I didn't mention the notebook or it's location at that point. I wasn't in the mood to help her out and just hung up on her. I got a voice mail a few weeks later from her abusing me again and telling me it had cost a fortune to pay an IT company to unlock the computer and reset the passwords. She told me they were going to sue me and she was going to be a witness against me, saying she had been nothing but nice and I was refusing to help out of spite.

I was unhappy so rang the transport manager who I was still friendly with. I told him I was sick of getting abusive phone calls from someone I had once considered my best friend. I also told him that she knew where the passwords were located and told him exactly where to look in the filing cabinet. He found them immediately and apologised for the trouble I had been put through. He told the owner who sacked my ex best friend on the spot. when her husband got in he found out she had been sacked and had a go at the owner, so he was sacked on the spot too. I found out later that they were presented with the IT bill and had it taken out of their final paycheck so their last month and holiday pay was eaten up by the cost of unlocking the PC.

The best part? A year later the company folded. I don't know why, but I assume it might have been because of the owners delight in sacking people.

(source) story by (/u/Peircedskin)

#prorevenge #by /u/Peircedskin #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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seeroftodayandtomorrow · 4 years

Text

A Musical Affair

Chapter 8

Read on AO3

“Would you call me a hypocrite,” Kurt asked, “for ranting against Rachel when she gives me money, but liking it very much when she gives me food?”

They had stopped kissing for the moment, but were still lying on the blanket, close together, legs intertwined. Kurt was nibbling on a slice of sweet pie, laughing as he tried to keep the filling from squishing out. Outside, the day was moving on, but in here, time seemed to stand still. Far too soon, Blaine would have to leave in order to get home in time for dinner, but for now, he was happy where he was.

“It's food,” he said, shrugging. “Most people like food.”

“Most people also like money,” Kurt pointed out. “And don't get me wrong, I do as well. Having money is very convenient.”

“Then-”

“Are you aware,” Kurt interrupted, “that more than half of London's population lives the way I do, or in far worse circumstances?”

“I...never really thought about it, to be honest.” Blaine was slightly ashamed; Kurt, however, looked like he hadn't expected anything else. Few of Blaine's social standing were aware they lived in a protective little bubble in which they met only people of their own class, and the craftsmen, merchants and servants that provided for them but were mostly ignored.

“I am not poor. A lot of my acquaintance consider me quite well-off. I have my own room with a window and a fireplace, I can afford to support my stepmother and still eat, and most of all, I earn my living doing something I love. It's only people like Rachel that consider me a charity case, when there are so many more worthy projects she could set her mind to.”

Blaine couldn't help thinking that Kurt was right. Watching him here, in his own space, he didn't seem like he was lacking something.

“I'm not out on the street or sleeping on the rope,” Kurt continued, “unlike some other people I know who grew up in quite similar circumstances. There are a lot who'd need Rachel's money much more than I do.”

Then he smiled again as he took another bite out of the pie. “Food, on the other hand, especially food like this - is just a gift from a friend.”

Blaine sat up and also took a slice of pie. “I happen to know,” he said after a little hesitation, “that Sir Jesse and Lady St. James donate a lot of money to a lot of causes. I think, maybe, that for Rachel, the money she gives to you is also just a gift from a friend.”

Kurt looked at him. After a while, he nodded. “You may be right. Still, I don't like it, and I have repeatedly told her so. But well, what do I expect—it was never her way to listen to somebody else when she thought she knew better.”

After a moment of silence, he shrugged, smiled, and pulled Blaine towards him. Blaine rather hurriedly put his slice of pie aside. A glance at the window showed him they had time for a few more kisses, at the very least.

“Now, what do you do to ask someone to dance?”

“I go to whatever lady I plan to dance with, bow, then ask her to honor me with the next. Then I will try not to look on the floor and count my steps while I step on her toes for a song or two. Afterwards, I escort her back to her parents or friends. But this will never happen. I've been excusing myself from dancing up to now, and I will keep doing that in the future. I don't know how to dance.”

“We'll come to that later. But as I told you, you can afford to be known as a bad dancer, but not as someone who doesn't know how to behave. Now, what else have I told you about dancing?”

Blaine was, by now, a little exasperated. Sebastian was not a bad student, but sometimes Blaine wished he would just take him at his word every now and then instead of questioning everything.

“Um—never exert myself to the point of sweating. Men who refuse to dance at all make themselves more unpopular than bad dancers—thank you, I understood that, you know—and—oh, never dance too many dances with the same young lady.”

“Right,” Blaine said and tried to come up with a way to teach Sebastian to dance without having to actually dance with him.

“But I don't understand that,” Sebastian said, causing Blaine to sigh. “Why can't I dance again with a girl I like, if we, say, talked about something interesting the moment the music ended?”

“Because people will think you want to marry her. You will raise hopes in her and her family, because, let's face it, you are a very eligible match.”

He remembered all too well the speculative glances and whispers if he happened to be more attentive to one girl than the others. It was one part of being an earl—or heir to one—he really didn't miss.

“What if I want to marry her?”

“You—you want to marry?”

“Well. I thought getting married and producing an heir was part of the whole thing of being an earl.”

Blaine couldn't help but nod. It was; there was no denying people would expect and even pressure Sebastian to marry, and soon.

“But—you don't like women.” Blaine wasn't quite sure why he was protesting; it was by no means unusual for men like him to get married—be it as camouflage, because they wanted children or for a thousand other reasons. It was even possible that Sebastian did like women as well as men.

But he was shaking his head.

“No, I don't. Not that way. What's your point?”

“I just thought -” It was stupid. He hadn't even made up his own mind about whether or not to marry, back when that was still an important question.

“You thought it'd be the honorable thing not to marry when I won't love my wife.”

Blaine nodded, somewhat sheepishly. His parents had not loved one another, and while their open loathing had been seen as somewhat indecent, like hating each other should be done behind closed doors, nobody had seen it as unusual.

“Well,” Sebastian continued, “I plan to make sure my wife won't love me either. I want to someone who will take me solely for my money and my title, and who, if possible, will tolerate me looking for entertainment somewhere else, and who will make a decent companion otherwise. I will treat her with respect, the need for discretion will make sure I don't flaunt my affairs, and I'm sure I will be able to give her a child or two. She'll have it better than a lot of other women. At least my wife won't die alone in a little room behind the kitchen while her relatives discuss if she's worth the cost of a doctor.”

Blaine could not think of anything to say in the face of Sebastian's bitterness. He guessed that his mother had died like this, and he felt a great deal of shame for his father, the late and unmissed earl, who had let his first wife die in poverty and loneliness.

“You're right,” he conceded in a low voice. He still thought it was dishonest somehow, especially since Sebastian's wife probably would not have the freedom to seek her pleasure elsewhere.

But that was the way their society worked, and in the end, there was no big difference if the husband strayed into the bed of another woman or into that of a man.

“Speaking of discretion,” he said, both to change the subject and because it was something he had meant to talk to Sebastian about. “You need to be more—well, discreet.”

“What?”

“You have been seen in the company of the same young man twice; a young man, I might add, who is—at least in certain circles—known for frequenting molly houses.”

“So?”

Again, Blaine was at a loss for words. He remembered his own first meeting with Sebastian, and the reasons he had listed for being able to be so...open in his solicitations. All of these still applied: Sebastian was an earl, and his wealth and title would protect him, if not his partners, from most of the consequences a discovery would have for most men. If he was indeed, as he had said, a good pugilist, this would protect him from most private hostilities.

But still, Blaine worried. He didn't know why he didn't want Sebastian to flaunt his proclivities; he hoped it didn't have anything to do with wanting to protect the reputation of the earldom. Maybe it was just that he didn't want to lose his half brother's company, which, while exasperating, was often a lot of fun and considerably widened his horizon. But should word get out that Sebastian was someone who, as it were, corrupted young men, his grandmother, unaware that he was far beyond corrupting, would certainly forbid Blaine to associate with him.

So he decided on a tactical approach, since he doubted that the desire alone to protect his maybe less affluent and influential prospective partners would be enough to convince Sebastian to be more cautious.

“Imagine one of the young men of our general acquaintance, many of whom are very handsome and might also be...amenable to your suggestions, catching your eye. If you continue like this, you will soon have a reputation, and no young man, how handsome and willing he might be, will be as much as seen with you, no less go anywhere alone, for fear of getting the same reputation.”

He could see he had made an impression on Sebastian, who seemed to seriously think about his words.

“Most people don't have the money and influence that allows you to ignore society's restrictions and even the law,” he continued. Most people also care what their families think about them, he thought, though he didn't say it. He was well aware that except for the unloved relatives of his mother, he was the only family Sebastian had. And considering, Sebastian could be pretty sure Blaine would not think any worse of him for whom he bedded.

“You make a good point,” Sebastian conceded. “I knew I would have to care about more things now than just where my next meal comes from, but I couldn't have foreseen anything like this.”

Blaine guessed that all the endless little rules of etiquette could be hard to remember when one hadn't grown up with them, but he thought that especially someone like Sebastian would consider other people's situation in life more than someone who had only ever moved in their own circle.

Then again, Sebastian had never claimed to be anything but selfish, and as an earl, he was at least in good company.

“So you will be more careful?” Blaine asked.

“I can try,” Sebastian replied,” but sometimes people get over-enthusiastic when they meet me. It's the charm, you know...”

He grinned, and Blaine couldn't help but smile. The charm was undeniably there, and if Sebastian managed to tone it down, he would be very successful in society.

“You must help my though.” Sebastian continued. “Maybe point me towards the right men. If I am to be discreet, I don't know how to find someone.”

Find someone you admire, Blaine thought, someone who is smart and funny and in whose arms you forget the time and the world around you.

“Someone for the night, I mean. I'm not asking for anything more,” Sebastian said. “I don't believe in love—see where it got my mother. And even if I did—men like us can hardly ask for love, can we?”

Blaine thought that maybe they could. Maybe he did.

#fic: a musical affair #klaine fanfiction

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faelapis · 6 years

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Lapis, Present, & Future

an empathetic hot take on why, while i love lapis, i don’t think her future character development should be a straightforward redemption arc.

lapis has always been one of my favorite characters. she is flawed, haughty, volatile, and can hurt others deeply, but those are things i like about her. i wouldn’t want her to become a truly heroic figure, or keep up the pretense of a perfect victim. i can’t relate to those things, and that’s not her.

her antagonistic moments are when she truly seems to be acting as she wants, no holds barred, which tells an interesting story. i love those parts of her.

meeting her like this was the coolest shit ever. you can feel her anger, boiling over as the sea rises... and yet, she’s directing it at all the wrong people. steven just freed her, and the crystal gems didn’t know she was alive. she just assumed they did. lapis has an awful habit of casting herself as judge, jury, & executioner, going with her initial worst impulse when she feels threatened.

and she still makes sense as a sympathetic character. she’s thrust into this brand new world, she can’t go back to the home she had before the war. she can’t even understand what homeworld is anymore. her worst actions are pretty extreme, yes... but she is in extraordinary circumstances. even if that’s not the fault of those she hurts for it.

the point is, you get her. even if she might be bad.

keyword might, she’s far from all bad. she’s traumatized, she deserves help for that, she’s grown to care for steven, and she harbors guilt for what she’s done. that guilt isn’t always altruistic - usually, the focus is “what consequences will i face for this” - but you get why. it is real. she knows she’s done genuinely bad things.

much like why she inflicts pain on others, her being flighty, emotionally volatile, and impulsive are all trauma responses. born out of her personality, as an ex-elite gem who - according to rebecca sugar - does know she deserves better, and the situation at hand.

however. the reason i can talk about this so succinctly and sympathetically is that the show has focused on her trauma quite a bit. it’s easy to feel bad for lapis. the show clearly wants you to. but... well, she has done terrible things to others. and steven, whose perspective we follow, is so used to seeing lapis as a victim that he can never bring himself to be mad at her.

neither can anyone else - peridot is so obsessed with pleasing her, she doesn’t realize when it’s gone way too far. she’s completely neglecting herself to make sure lapis is never, ever upset or challenged as a person. that’s just not healthy. and... i think that should have a genuine consequence for lapis’ arc.

because really, what it does is it prevents her from truly growing. and if that’s the point of it, then the crewniverse is writing a WAY more interesting story than a straightforward redemption arc - they’re writing what happens when everyone assumes she doesn’t need one, and just focus on her trauma, not her actions. that criticism would just upset her.

and that’s a story i wanna hear.

plenty has already been said about lapis in "reunited”, but one thing i don’t think is true is that this was the result of “off-screen development”. not really.

if lapis lazuli has a defining characteristic, it is the very idea emotional volatility. lashing out + making emotional snap decisions is kinda Her Thing.

i think this was that. we saw this in “same old world”, too. lapis is not on earth because she wants to, but because - in her words - how she feels about homeworld punishing her. that punishment feels inevitable after what she’s done, and that prompts her to act. “if they’re gonna punish me like a crystal gem, i might as well be one”. in other words, she feels she doesn’t have anything to lose anymore.

however... she isn’t in love with earth, or the CGs. she’s never shared a bonding scene with garnet, amethyst, or pearl. she’s always kinda forcing herself to get used to it. i think the show is aware of that, judging by “gem harvest”.

why don't you put that corn in a mirror for thousands of years, and then see how it feels about the table?! IT WOULD REALLY HATE THE TABLE!

this reminds the audience that the current status quo isn’t perfect. you’re meant to be uncomfortable with lapis’ place in all of this. heck, even if you stan her, she’s not happy. this is why her leaving was so effective. calling herself a CG may intentionally feel wrong, like she’s settling for a cause she’s not dedicated to, because she’s not dedicated to anything.

so where can this be headed? it’s framed like lapis facing the music, doing the right thing to earn forgiveness, but not, crucially, the end of her emotional volatility. it’s a part of it. if threatened, she’s prone to lash out again.

yes, things feel happy and settled now... but it might not last. which wouldn’t be fair, either. no one gets that easy an arc, as lapis pointed out when navy-ruby was pretending to be perfectly redeemed through friendship alone. “no one could be that well-adjusted”. lapis, too, is more interesting when her friends are faced with her faults - and sometimes, even lose her.

perhaps just as importantly - her “big damn hero moment” doesn’t address the pain she’s inflicted on the other characters. i want to believe that’s intentional.

if i’m right, as i was about her leaving, they’re not writing a redemption arc without accountability. they’re slowly letting the characters figure out that she’s not as perfect as they think, and only then will those she’s hurt find closure.

for one thing, nobody in the main cast knows her past. five seasons in, we got no idea! she was an elite in blue’s court, and the only gems who know that role are bismuth and blue diamond, who both tried to kill her... and we still don’t know why bismuth did so. just that lapis was “supposed to be there for a short time” (doing what exactly?), and that a lapis terraforms.

i think that’s meant to give us pause. her backstory was told so simply, so lacking in nuance, it reminds me of rose’s backstory in “your mother and mine”: what happened was real, yes, but different in context. it’s never that simple. i don’t think it’s an accident that bismuth is back now... and corruption is the focus of next episode’s promo, meaning jasper could return... meaning raid theory may get its day in court sooner than expected, and lapis with it.

in any case, lapis returning to “face the music” only works if there’s still music to face - and there should be. she’s hurt greg, peridot, jasper, almost drowned steven and connie... the show deliberately called the latter out, and dismissed connie in a way i think was, once again, intentionally avoiding lapis’ faults. connie went along with it, but not happily.

we shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking this is the “final lapis”. SU hot takes tend to assume the current situation is forever (see: bismuth), or the morally correct one (see: bismuth), and i don’t think that’s true. lapis has already pretended she’s “in retirement” at the barn, as rebecca put it. the stability of that appeals to her sense of self-preservation.

but in doing this, lapis kinda gets in her own way. earth is not her home, and her friends don’t know her. they excuse / ignore her flaws - like peridot did with the unhealthy parts of their relationship. how much lapis has been through became the default mindset she adapted, de-prioritizing how she felt. steven did the same. he knows reminders of the past upset lapis, and even dismissed his own dad’s trauma in “the message” once greg called lapis mean.

greg: well she’s a riptide queen and she’s super mean! steven: whoa, hold the phone, lapis was not mean! she was just trying to get back home!

those things don’t need to contradict each other, though. yes, she was trying to get back home, for good reason... but she still broke greg’s leg and almost drowned steven. which makes it a problem that he doesn’t just love lapis, but is dedicated to making sure others do, too.

this is reminiscent of a moment in “beta”: amethyst, while distressed, mentioned jasper. peridot took the liberty of being offended on lapis’ behalf. lapis herself did not have a bad reaction - steven and peridot were just deeply overprotective, to the point of ignoring what other people (in this case, amethyst, and indirectly jasper herself) were going through.

lapis is aware of this (can’t go back, alone at sea), but it’s in her favor to ignore it... the problem is, her perspective going unchallenged is kinda why she left. no one understood her enough to find a fault with the status quo. it was convenient. we don’t have to challenge her, cause she’s not killing us (anymore), so let’s just not. let’s just let bygones be bygones, even tho anyone else would face a mountain of criticism for doing the same.

it’s the same loneliness we saw in rose/pink - who was treated as infallible. no one knew all of her, they just saw the leader she let them see. in this context, lapis being treated as this badass hero and tortured victim without a hint of skepticism in “reunited” would almost feel insulting, if it wasn’t for one thing: this is still steven universe, and it’s never that simple.

lapis can’t just be “the traumatized one”. not with all the pain she’s inflicted on others. love can’t save the day, because that love is incomplete. it’s idolizing, without changing or even acknowledging flaws. the dedication to the image of lapis means it’s going to take an outside force - such as bismuth, or even jasper, who has plenty of legitimate beef and IS coming back someday - to put her into context.

everyone’s trauma should matter, including what she’s inflicted. thankfully, SU episodes contrast - they showcase different sides of each character, and that’s what keeps me going now. just as there’s an episode to show rose’s love for earth and pearl, there’s an “earthlings” and “bismuth” to show how she hurt others. we may just... have to wait for ours.

"reunited” showed us lapis at her strongest. now she’s back, the show’s got chance to explore her weaknesses, and put others’ feelings first.

not even steven or peridot can say they trust lapis to always be there for them. they just hope so. SU adores setting up tropes to subvert them, so i hope to see them challenging the “hero comes back last minute, so everything’s fine” thing. hopefully, the moments of self-awareness they’ve set up will serve a purpose: to address lapis’ discomfort with herself, and how she’s hurt others, in ways that can’t just be undone.

#steven universe #su spoilers #lapis lazuli #peridot #bismuth #steven #jasper #the crystal gems #su theory #gifs /#long post /

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