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sbrown82 · 1 year

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THE FULL HISTORY OF THE MICK JAGGER & MARSHA HUNT (A.K.A.”BROWN SUGAR”) RELATIONSHIP!!!

First, some background on the model, singer, actress, novelist, playwright, activist, icon, 60s goddess, and the woman who inspired one of the Rolling Stones’ greatest hits, “Brown Sugar”, Marsha Hunt. She is often described as London’s own Josephine Baker and is celebrating her 77th birthday today!:

Marsha Hunt was born on April 15, 1946 in Philadelphia, PA and is the youngest of 3 siblings. Her mother, Inez “Ikey” Hunt, worked in an airplane factory during World War II, and her father Blair Hunt Jr. graduated from Harvard and was one of America's first Black psychiatrists.

She was raised mostly by her mother, aunt and grandmother who had roots in the deep south (Mississippi delta) and who she’s described as an “extremely aggressive and ass-kicking independent woman.” Her father later committed suicide when she was 9 years old (but she never found out how or why).

After moving out west to California with her family, she graduated high school at the top of her class and later attended UC, Berkeley in the mid-60s where she wanted to study psychological anthropology.

While at Berkeley, she became friends with a slew of interesting people like activist Mario Savio and Huey P. Newton, who later became one of the founders of the Black Panther Party.

[TOP LEFT: Marsha’s mother Inez Hunt; TOP RIGHT: Marsha’s father, Blair Hunt Jr.; BOTTOM LEFT: Marsha at her home in Philly with her father & siblings, Pamala & Dennis; BOTTOM RIGHT: Marsha’s high school graduation photo in 1964.]

Even though she thrived academically and was very involved in student activities, she became bored with college life and wanted to experience life outside of the country and pursue her real passion – music. In early 1966, she sold her car and some books, and trailed off to London with only $1.83 in her pocket.

Around that time, London was THE city to be in, and was even dubbed “Swinging London” for being the epicenter of art, culture, fashion and of course music, especially due to the popularity of famous acts like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

When Marsha first arrived, she slept on the floors of mutual friends, took odd jobs (including one as an au pair), and even appeared as an extra in Michelangelo Antonioni's box office hit film, “Blow-Up,” which also featured the British rock band, the Yardbirds.

SHOCKINGLY, in that same year she actually saw the Rolling Stones for the first time during their UK tour at the Royal Albert Hall in London because she wanted to see Ike & Tina who were the supporting act on the bill. Girls were going crazy over the Stones, but of course, she was more impressed by Tina’s show-stopping performance! (Purrrrr 💅🏿)

[LEFT: Marsha in 1966; RIGHT: The Rolling Stones performing at the Royal Albert Hall in London with Marsha in attendance.]

After roaming the city, making new friends and trying to find steady work, Marsha ended up auditioning for a blues band fronted by British blues musician, Alexis Korner, who was looking for backup singers. Coincidentally, he was the exact same guy who gave the Rolling Stones their start back in 1962. Later on, she was offered another backing gig for Long John Baldry’s band, Bluesology. John is also a longtime friend of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

Though she loved music and worked really hard at it, Marsha always claimed that she was never a good singer. People in England just assumed she was because they thought all Black Americans had talent.

She then lived with English blues singer, John Mayall, who actually wrote a few songs about her including, “Marsha’s Mood” and another song coincidentally called “Brown Sugar”. Around this time, she also became good friends with the founding members of Fleetwood Mac, famed British artist Kaffe Fassett, and keyboard player for Bluesology, Reg Dwight (a.k.a Elton John).

[LEFT: 19 year old Marsha sporting a wig in London; RIGHT: Marsha with a young Elton John].

Around the time Marsha broke things off with John, he was also putting a new band together, which included a young guitarist named Mick Taylor, who showed up at the audition without a guitar. He later became another good friend of Marsha’s.

In late 1966, Marsha met musician Mike Ratledge from the British rock band, Soft Machine. She was having trouble getting a visa extension to stay in England, so they got married on her 21st birthday. She later claimed it was a marriage in name only as they “never held hands and never kissed".

[LEFT: Guitarist Mick Taylor & John Mayall in the mid-60s; RIGHT: Marsha’s “husband” Mike Ratledge of Soft Machine.]

That same year, Marsha’s hair started to fall out from using chemical relaxers, and after wearing wigs for a while, she finally cut it all off and vowed to never straighten it again. Hence, she started sporting her iconic afro hairstyle making her quite a showstopper in London.

In 1968, she found luck when she was cast in a buzzy new rock musical with an ensemble cast called “Hair.” The musical became an instant hit in London’s famed West End. And even though her character “Dionne” only had two lines, she became the face (or the hair) of “Hair”. The show was a huge success, and also became quite a sensation and social landmark because it highlighted controversial subjects like drugs, casual sex, cursing, nudity, and anti-war rhetoric. While there, she met another close friend, actor Tim Curry.

[BOTTOM: A poster of the hit musical “Hair” that debuted in the Shaftesbury Theatre in the West End, 1968.]

Her life completely changed overnight and she instantly became a PHENOMENON, attracting wide media attention. In fact, after the musical’s opening night, the editor of British Vogue sent her a huge bouquet of flowers and wanted her to pose for a photo session, which ended up being a 4-page spread with a written profile. Marsha was also the first Black woman to appear on the cover of Queen magazine as well.

[LEFT: Marsha pictured as the first Black woman on the cover of Queen magazine; RIGHT: Marsha photographed for British Vogue in 1969.]

She immediately became a sex symbol, celebrity, and the face of the “Black is Beautiful'' movement, which was already taking over America in the mid-60s. This helped her snag lots of modeling gigs and everyone wanted to photograph her. (I mean, sis was booked & busy!!!)

[BOTTOM: More of Marsha’s most iconic shots. *The melanin was melanating, 4C afro was on deck, eyelashes poppin’, lips bussin’...she was a *bad bitch*!!!]

In March 1969, she signed a contract with Track Records, the same independent label that also repped the British rock band, The Who and Jimi Hendrix, and later said, “There was one luxury that London celebrity afforded me: the freedom to be myself without a single apology for my gap, my freaked-out hair, my brown skin, my slave-class ancestors or my radical views.” Around this time, she also had a short love affair with Marc Bolan, the singer and founder of the English rock band, T-Rex (even though he was much shorter than her 😂.)

She scored a few minor hits during her underrated music career with singles like a cover of T-Rex’s “Desdemona” and her debut single, a cover of “Walk on Gilded Splinters”.

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing the T-Rex cover “Desdemona” live in 1970.]

The record soon went to the charts and that spring, she was asked to perform on various shows, including a popular British TV program called, “Top of the Pops” where during her live performance the tight bolero suede top she wore nearly came undone and partially exposed her breasts, giving her the reputation as a “bad girl.”

NOW…Here’s the part y’all have been waiting for. Get your popcorn. Y’all got it? Ready? Good!!! 🍿

After her performance aired, Marsha received a phone call out of the blue from Jo Bergman, the then secretary for the Rolling Stones on behalf of Mick Jagger who was actually watching live, asking her to pose semi–nude for a publicity photo to promote the band’s new single, “Honky Tonk Women”. She said, “The picture was going to be of a girl dressed like a sleaze bag standing in a bar with the Stones and they wanted me to be the girl.”

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing "Walk on Gilded Splinters” on ‘Top of the Pops’ in May 1969. This was also the exact moment Mick Jagger first laid eyes on her!]

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Marsha, who was not a Stones fan, was already established and didn’t really need the extra exposure. She declined because she had her reputation to think about and said she "didn't want to look like [she'd] just been had by all the Rolling Stones." She also claimed, “The last thing [Black women] needed was for me to denigrate us by dressing up like a whore” among a band of white men.

ENTER MICK JAGGER:

When she tried to get in touch with Mick to say, "thank you, but no thank you”, he later returned her call in an attempt to change her mind and suggested he come over as he was very intrigued that a girl would turn him down.

Mick then showed up at her apartment around midnight as she claims, “He was framed by the doorway as he stood grinning with a dark coat ... He drew one hand out of his pocket and pointed it at me like a pistol. His silly 'Bang' was precisely the icebreaker we needed to get over my ungracious hesitation before I invited him in, not sure how to salute a notorious rogue who rings me just before midnight and suggests he pop round on a pretext of loneliness.”

They talked for HOURS, well until the sun came up about any and everything from music to social issues and politics, and according to her, Mick “made me squeal whenever he used Melanigian slang (aka Black vernacular/AAVE)”. 🙄🤦🏾‍♀️

Marsha didn’t really find Mick physically attractive at first: “He wasn't beautiful or even striking” however, he was boyish, open, direct, yet seemed quite awkward and shy. She found it a relief that he was nothing like other musicians she’d known or the image the media had of him. He was charming, intelligent, funny, radical and straddled the racial line, much like she did. She also noticed that he had a penchant for Black women, as he claimed “they [Black women] just do something to me”.

The two of them just clicked right off the bat. And things eventually turned hot as they ended up having sex. From there, they embarked on a passionate, but very private, deep romance and year-long affair, at a time when interracial relationships weren’t widely accepted yet.

She didn’t expect to hear from him again, as he had a wide selection of women to choose from, but he wanted to see her and talk all the time because he could count on her. Marsha said, “He knew that I adored him and that he could depend on me…he realized I respected him as I respected myself.”

Mick’s friend and interior designer Christopher Gibbs once said often when he dined with Mick, women who had slept with him would come up to the table and “he’d have absolutely no idea who they were.”

[LEFT: Mick photographed at the Shaftesbury Theatre in London to see the new musical ‘Hair’ for the first time; RIGHT: Marsha performing in the show.]

1969 was a very rough year for Mick. He was having trouble with his band (which he was practically running by himself) because the founder and guitarist of the Rolling Stones, Brian Jones, was becoming increasingly unreliable and spiraling out of control due to his deep drug addiction and legal troubles which led to him having problems getting a US work visa to go on an upcoming tour. His personal life was also a mess because his long-term girlfriend at the time, pop singer Marianne Faithfull, was also a very serious (and sloppy) drug addict, who often embarrassed Mick and became more difficult to be around. Things had gotten so bad between them, their relationship grew strictly platonic by this time.

Mick and Marianne were quite destructive together and often found themselves in legal troubles due to drugs. Marianne was also quite messy as she previously slept with Mick’s bandmates Brian Jones, Keith Richards and even left her husband, John Dunbar, for Mick who was dating Black soul singer & former Ikette, P.P. Arnold, when they met. P.P. later became pregnant with Mick’s baby in 1967, but had an abortion due to his growing relationship with Marianne.

[BELOW: Mick arriving at a courthouse with his then girlfriend, singer Marianne Faithfull in 1969.]

Marsha on the other hand, was stone-cold sober and didn’t do any drugs (NOT ONE), which was like a breath of fresh air for Mick, though he dabbled himself. But unlike those around him, he was able to control his habit.

Even though their relationship quickly turned sexual, they were really, really close friends. Mick often retreated to her home to relax, he told her all his secrets, his troubles – he just trusted her. He was completely enamored of Marsha, who many describe as warm, intelligent, sensitive, funny and very easy to talk to. He liked that she didn’t go gooey-eyed and weak-kneed in his presence like most (white) women/female fans did. Instead she had a crisply forthright manner and was almost quite “butch”. The Rolling Stones then manager was even quoted as saying that Mick was “obsessed” with her as she was very exotic and even gave her the nickname “Miss Fuzzy” due to her afro hairstyle.

Ironically, Marsha enjoyed their well-kept relationship and is one of the only people who often calls him Michael instead of Mick, to distinguish him from his Rolling Stones persona.

Since Marsha was a fellow recording artist, they could also be seen together in public without any arousing suspicion—in any case, London still had almost no paparazzi. They would often go to the same parties or events, even with Mick’s girlfriend there, and no one questioned it.

Mick would often pop into some of Marsha’s studio sessions with her band White Trash, and everyone around would be in awe of him.

After officially firing Brian Jones from the band, Mick and the rest of the Stones needed a new guitarist. Marsha promptly suggested her good friend, Mick Taylor (Yes, Stones fans – thank Marsha Hunt for that one!), as a replacement for Brian just days before his mysterious death (he sadly drowned in a swimming pool at his home) on July 3, 1969.

Additionally, when Mick sought a replacement for Jo Bergman, the secretary who handled all the Rolling Stones affairs, Marsha also suggested her friend and tour manager, Peter Rudge - (The same guy responsible for getting the Stones all those huge tours in massive stadiums. Again, thank Marsha!)

Two days after Brian’s death, the Stones played a free concert before a crowd of over 250,000 people in Hyde Park, London, which was previously planned to debut their new guitarist, but turned into a memorial/funeral for Brian. Mick invited both Marianne (who looked to’ up and was in withdrawal from heroin at the time), and Marsha (who showed up looking sexy af with titties bustin’ out of her buckskin suit) to the concert, and rudely and distastefully opened the show with a song called, “I’m Yours and I’m Hers.”

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha at the Rolling Stones tribute concert to Brian Jones in Hyde Park, London on July 5, 1969.]

Marianne who sat on the other end of the stage with her 4-year old son Nicholas and the other Stones wives/girlfriends, actually saw Marsha that day as she was placed right above the stage in the scaffold VIP section so Mick could look at her while he performed. She later said, “I saw her [Marsha] you know. And she was stunning…If I’d been Mick in that situation, I might have done exactly the same thing.”

Mick arrived at the concert with Marianne, but left with Marsha and spent the night at her place.

A day after the concert, Mick kissed Marsha goodbye, and flew with Marianne to Australia to shoot a biographical film they were both cast in called “Ned Kelly,” based on the infamous bushranger. However, Marianne who was reeling from the recent death of Brian Jones and a horrible miscarriage just a few months earlier, overdosed on 150 Tuinal barbiturates while traveling with Mick and fell into a coma in their hotel room.

[LEFT & RIGHT: Mick & Marianne arriving in Australia to film “Ned Kelly.” Marianne slipped into a coma just hours later from an attempted suicide.]

At the last minute, Mick was forced to film the movie without her, but phoned and wrote to Marsha, who was extremely frantic and worried about his mental health and emotional well-being, almost everyday. She was scared that he didn’t have the stamina to deal with yet another crisis. He sent Marsha over 10 handwritten letters (some even written on the same headed stationery paper of Chevron Hotel where his girlfriend just tried to kill herself) about his deep feelings for her, his experience filming, being in the Australian outback, his interests, the historic day of the moon landing of 1969, future career plans, his regret at missing her performance at the famous Isle of Wight Festival and other aspects of pop culture (including “…John & Yoko boring everybody…”). The letters also reference the recent death of Brian Jones, Mick’s increasingly difficult relationship with Marianne, and another letter even had the full original lyrics for the Rolling Stones song “Monkey Man”, which was later rewritten.

Mick’s letters also went on to mention the foul Australian winter weather and an unpleasant virus that swept through the unit, a fire that destroyed most of the film’s costumes, along with various accidents – including a prop gun that backfired in his right hand. He was just having a real shitty time. So, he found solace writing to Marsha.

His letters to Marsha showed how pensive and romantic he was. He said things like,“... I feel with you something so unsung there is no need to sing it...” and “If I sailed with you around the world, all my sails would be unfurled”. He also thanked her for being “so nice to an evil old man like me”. And in another steamy note, Mick promises Marsha: "I will kiss you softly. And bite your mouth too."

[RIGHT & LEFT: Photos of Mick’s private letters sent to Marsha while filming in Australia in the late summer of 1969.]

Mick also celebrated his 26th birthday while filming in Australia and Marsha sent him a huge package of books (which he loves) and albums, including her friend John Mayall’s record “Brown Sugar.” Along with it was a note stating how she missed him desperately.

While still trying to rehabilitate his hand from the prop accident, Mick toyed with a new guitar and started work on a song, which was partly inspired by Marsha, that he initially titled “Black Pussy.” He decided that was a little too direct and changed it to “Brown Sugar” with the lyrics:

[Verse 1]

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields Sold in the market down in New Orleans Scarred old slaver knows he's doing alright Hear him whip the women just around midnight

[Chorus]

Brown sugar, how come you taste so good? Uh huh Brown sugar, just like a young girl should

[BOTTOM: Recording of “Brown Sugar” by The Rolling Stones later released on their Sticky Fingers album in 1971.]

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Mick later confirmed in a 1995 Rolling Stone magazine interview that the song is a double-entendre: “brown sugar” being the street name for unrefined heroin and of course – sex with a Black woman. The song was a huge commercial success and ended up becoming a #1 hit around the world, making it one of the Rolling Stones’ best-selling records.

[TOP: A movie poster of “Ned Kelly” which was released in June 1970; BOTTOM: Mick with his guitar composing “Brown Sugar” during filming.]

While Mick was still filming overseas, Marsha was booked to perform at the iconic 3-day outdoor concert, the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969. It was the biggest open-air concert in music history and she was the only female singer billed to perform. She was there alongside acts like The Who, Joe Cocker and even Bob Dylan who hadn’t been onstage in 3 years.

Mick told her in a letter that he was so proud of her and promised her that he was “there in my head and in my heart.” Charlie Watts and his wife Shirley, Keith Richards and Jo Bergman were also in the audience watching Marsha perform.

Marsha also wore custom-made leather shorts to which the press ran with it and by the next fashion season, short shorts were featured. She was the first person to popularize “hot pants”.

[BELOW: Marsha performing with her band White Trash at the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969 with members of the Rolling Stones looking on in the audience.]

After Mick came back from Australia, Marsha was offered a part in a film called “Welcome to the Club” which is a comedy about three Black USO performers sent to Hiroshima in the 1940s to entertain the troops on an all-white base. The film was being directed by Walter Shenson, who had produced the Beatles' films “A Hard Day's Night” and “Help” and shot it entirely in Copenhagen.

She was also asked to fly back to London to shoot another cover for American Vogue which was shot by photographer Patrick Litchfield. (They‘d never had a Black woman on the cover before.)

Mick began touring in America again, his first since 1966, and with the number of girls he had access to, she knew he was keeping himself busy on and off stage.

[LEFT: Mick on stage at Madison Square Garden during the Stones’ 1969 tour; RIGHT: Marsha filming “Welcome to the Club” in Copenhagen.]

He even started a short-lived relationship with singer and Ikette Claudia Lennear, as well sparking up a short fling with Devon Wilson, a notorious rock & roll groupie and the girlfriend of Jimi Hendrix who famously wrote the song “Dolly Dagger” about their affair.

[LEFT: Mick arriving at Madison Square Garden in November 1969 with Devon Wilson; RIGHT: Mick backstage at the same event with singer Claudia Lennear.]

But on December 6, 1969 - everything changed dramatically when an 18-year old concertgoer was stabbed and killed during the Stones’ free performance at the Altamont Speedway in California by the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club, who was the band’s security. Members of the Hell’s Angels blamed Mick for the incident and subsequent to the concert, put a hit out on him and threatened to murder him. This marked the third major tragedy to happen since they’d known each other.

[BELOW: A scared Mick looks on as 18-year old Meredith Hunter is stabbed to death by the Hell’s Angels in front of the stage while the Stones performed at Altamont Speedway.]

Marsha stayed with Mick after the chaos at Altamont, which the media dubbed “The Death of the 60s”. By this time, he had officially split up with Marianne and moved Marsha into his house on Cheyne Walk where she helped him to transition and readjust his life. It was then their relationship intensified!

This is around the time she got a chance to really know Mick’s friends who lived on the same road, Keith Richards and his girlfriend, actress Anita Pallenberg, who just had a son, but was hooked on heroin. She thought they were nice, but they’d visit or show up unannounced all the time. Their hard drug-taking also scared Marsha, so she kept her distance and didn’t voice her opinion.

She also met Mick’s parents, Eva and Joe Jagger, along with his little brother Chris who was a bit of a hippie and had just returned from India with his American girlfriend. They had no work, no money and nowhere to stay, so Marsha kindly gave them a job painting her new apartment.

That Christmas, Marsha got Mick a puppy and Mick, for the first time, told her that he loved her.

Marsha was in a good place. Opportunities were coming to her fast, she had a new apartment, and she was in love with Mick. She had newfound stability and independence.

In January 1970, they were having dinner at the celebrity hotspot restaurant Mr. Chow’s when Mick said that she’d be a good mother and that they should have a baby together. Prior to this Marsha thought she was just another girl he fancied, as he was a notorious womanizer. But the talk of having a baby made her feel special to him. Her feelings for him were so deep that she also claimed, “I would have died for him.”

She knew Marianne miscarried around the same time Keith Richards’ son Marlon was born. Mick also missed family life with Marianne’s son Nicholas, so wanted to give having a baby a second try.

This fool literally made her take out her IUD coil, they had sex like rabbits, and when she found out she was 3 weeks pregnant, she told Mick who was ecstatic.

Marsha literally said to him, “listen, if you’re not ready and you changed your mind about this, it’s okay.” She was totally ready to get an abortion. But he assured her that’s what he wanted and he was happy.

They had their first argument when it came to naming the baby. Mick wanted a boy who he could send to the prestigious Eton School (the all-boys school where Prince William & Prince Prince Harry went), and he proposed that they call the baby ‘Midnight Dream’. Marsha wasn’t having it and even said, “Imagine sticking your head out of a window to call your child home and yelling, 'Midnight. Midnight! Time for tea.’”

She'd known that he and the band were leaving England for tax reasons and moving to France in the coming year. The Stones were also gearing up for their upcoming European tour.

Even though she loved Mick, he was young and she claimed she was “all for Mick doing his own thing”. They were supposed to be the sophisticated embodiment of an alternative social ideal — parent-hood shared between loving friends living separate lives.

This was around the time of the sexual revolution and people were exploring different types of relationships. Marsha didn’t find gratification in being ‘Mr. So and So’s’ wife, plus Mick was the type of guy to get up at 2pm to start his day - so marriage was sort of off the table. She claimed their relationship “thrived off her being supportive” and she loved to see him “run free”. And since she grew up in a matriarchy, the ideal of a man and woman living together seemed nice but unnecessary. They agreed that Mick would be a good absent father while he toured with the Rolling Stones and Marsha could still have her own career. It was all very modern!

Marsha also feared that her association with Mick would crowd out her own identity. She didn’t like the limelight because it was a discomfort. She also never wanted to be known as Mick Jagger's girlfriend (can you blame her? Like two of his girlfriends tried to commit suicide). Like him, she wanted her own independence.

By June 1969, Marsha told her band and the press that she was pregnant, but did not give up the name of the father. Though one little clever reporter found out it was Mick and threatened to print it. She thought of suing but asked the Stones PR team to link him to another girl. She managed to get through her pregnancy without a media frenzy or being linked to Mick even though they had stepped out together many times and he was ready to have it reported.

While Mick was away touring in Europe, his phone calls got less frequent. The tour was a bit crazy, and although Mick invited her to go to Paris, he knew she'd refuse – she didn’t want to get caught up. But he told her he was lonely and had met someone in Paris that he was taking to Italy. Her name was Bianca. She was Nicaraguan and spoke little English. Mick didn't mention her again, but after the tour, Marsha knew that she moved to his house in England.

His publicist sent her an invite to the premiere of his corny movie, “Ned Kelly,” but he didn’t show up. He also invited his parents to the event and it was there she realized that he didn’t tell them that he had a baby on the way. Mick hardly lavished praise on his parents and even once told the press, “I owe them nothing. They are my parents, that is that…but there are no dues to be made by me to them!”

By her third trimester, having a baby became her whole reality and his passing fancy. He started to forget that the baby was HIS idea.

Despite Marsha carrying his child, practically all references to her and the baby were quickly airbrushed out of his life. Chris O'Dell, Mick’s PA in the early-70s was even quoted as saying, “I never remember him talking about their child. In fact, I wasn’t aware of a baby being around at all. It was almost like [his first child] didn’t exist.”

Marsha was put in a difficult position because it was too late to go back and sometimes he’d phone like nothing ever happened. She claimed his mood would change so quickly, he was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She also said, “I've discovered that he can burn hot and suddenly cool to below zero.“

She started to worry that he didn’t care anymore, so she tried to squeeze in any and every piece of work she possibly could to hold her up during and past her pregnancy (tv shows, photoshoots, etc.). She also volunteered at a local mental-care center in the autistic unit caring for a 12 year old boy to keep from feeling useless.

[BELOW: A heavily pregnant Marsha performing in late 1970.]

At the same time, Mick also did a lot of peculiar interviews, either stating he wasn’t interested in having children or flat out dissing Marsha. During a 1970 interview with London’s Daily Mail newspaper he even said, “For me, life has always got to be on the move and exciting. I love kids, I really do…but it’s not something I’m thinking about.” He of course failed to mention that Marsha was expecting their first child.

[BELOW: Mick during an interview referencing Marsha & his unborn child in 1970.]

Once it was time for her to give birth, a hard-up Marsha was ashamed and reluctant to ask him for any contribution because he never once offered. Mick ultimately gave her a measly £200 to get by, which came with a note saying “I know I haven’t done right by you” and he “loaned” her a ring he always wore.

She had initially planned a natural home delivery to keep the press at bay and because it was the “it” thing to do at the time, but was told by her OB-GYN that her baby was in danger and she had to go to the hospital the next day.

On November 3rd, she dragged her own luggage, and hailed a taxi to the hospital only to be told there weren’t enough beds. Panicked and scared, she went back home quite sure she was going to die from an unassisted childbirth.

When she went back to the hospital the next day for an induced labor, she checked in with her married name “Ratledge” to protect herself (and Mick). On November 4, 1970 after hours of labor, she gave birth to a girl she named Karis Hunt and phoned Mick first and then her mother. That day was the first time Mick actually told his now girlfriend Bianca that Marsha and a baby existed.

While waiting in the maternity ward, the nurses also forgot to feed her and she was so hungry. But being on The National Health, she didn’t complain.

When she checked out of the hospital, Mick sent a bouquet of red roses, a miniature muse figurine for the baby, a silver spoon, and some cheap Indian earrings for Marsha. He “dropped by” two days later to see his baby but was in a hurry to be somewhere else.

10 days later, he paid another rushed visit, but she took him to the side and was kinda like, “What’s up with you? Why don’t you call or come around more often for the baby” in which he snapped and yelled at her, “I never loved you” and that she was “mad to think that he had”. Of course Marsha, stitches still in, burning and all, started to cry which only made him more mad and he threatened to take Karis away from her if he chose. She stopped and said, “Try it! I’d blow your brains out!!”

In that moment, the loyalty she had for him was gone and she pushed forward and tried to find as much work as she could to support herself and her baby.

[BELOW: Marsha & Mick after the birth of their first child Karis Hunt in late 1970.]

READ ‘PART 2’ HERE!!! ☕️☕️☕️

#marsha hunt #mick jagger #the rolling stones #brown sugar #rolling stones #interracial couple #black women #karis jagger #music #history #rock history #rock & roll #musicians #thread #gossip #old school tea #1960s #1970s #sbrown82

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alixerkat · 2 months

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My little furby family (I have a few more furbys that are not in the photo :3)

Furby's names are: Encián, Darius,Camembert, Peewee, Gizmo, Fettuccine (furbos that are not in the photo are called Chonky, Zeff, Delta)

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wander-over-the-words · 6 months

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BioFluff Week 2023 Fic #1

Title: La Familia Sinclair.

Prompt: Photos/Memories

Summary: The one where Eleanor looks through Sinclair’s family photo album.

Characters: Augustus Sinclair, Subject Delta, Eleanor Lamb; mentions of Sofia Lamb, Grace Holloway, Stanley Poole, Gilbert Alexander, Little Sisters, Big Daddies.

Pairing: Some Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta, but mostly just Eleanor and Sinclair family fluff.

Warnings: mentions of deaths of family members, child neglect, child abuse via corporal punishment, murder.

Notes: First submission for a new BioFluff Week! Here’s the response to the prompt ‘Photos’! Shit ton of Sinclair headcanons in this one, alongside some progression of Sinclair and Eleanor’s familial relationship.

Side note: This works as a sequel to my seventh prompt from last year, It’s Not All Sunshine and Rainbows, but it’s not a necessity to read that first; would just help to explain a couple things, and the events of that fic are mentioned in this one.

All material belongs to Irrational Games.

Fic also available on AO3.

…

“Pretty sure I left the waterin’ can inside, sugar,” Sinclair calls to Delta as he steps up onto the porch in his back garden, pulling the soil-stained gardening gloves from his hands and leaving Delta standing by his freshly-planted rose bushes. “Be a lamb an’ wait here - I’ll go fetch it.”

Delta gives him a thumbs up as Sinclair tosses the gloves onto the ground by his foot, then turns and makes his way into the house, not bothering to fix his sleeves from where they’ve been rolled up to his elbows as he places his hands on his hips and ponders what he did with that darn watering can.

He retraces his steps back into the foyer of his lavish home, lifting a hand to his chin to tap at it with one finger.

This morning, at breakfast, he and Delta had been chatting about planting those roses Delta had wanted for the back garden, so Sinclair and Eleanor had gone into town to buy them from that gardening shop they’d gone to for the top soil (which had taken far longer than it’d needed to because he hadn’t had the heart to tell Eleanor to stop asking the employees more questions about plants and the sun and bees and rain and so on and so forth). When they’d brought the flowers home, Delta had taken them out back to start planting right away, and Sinclair had grabbed the watering can from where his gardener had left it in the basement prior to Sinclair’s ‘disappearance’. He’d filled it up at the kitchen sink, and then there’d been a knock at the door.

Door-to-door salesman, something he definitely hadn’t missed when he’d lived in Rapture. With expert charisma, Sinclair had cut the salespitch short and shooed the guy away from his property; when Eleanor had tried to say he’d been rude not to at least listen to what the man had to say, Sinclair had delivered to her a very valuable lesson about living on the surface.

“Honey, listen,” he’d said, pointing toward the doorway. “As someone who worked that job back in his days as a young entrepreneur, let me go ahead and tell you the truth: it’s a scam. They’re alllll scams. The aim of the game, sweet pea, is to either charm the homeowner into buyin’ or annoyin’ ‘em so much that they might as well be fish purchasin’ water - anythin’ to get you off their doorstep. And whether they wanted that product or not, it’ll either break or - well, they’ll never see it in the first place. Their money’s gone, and all they gots left is a hunk of junk. The only sellers goin’ door-to-door that you should ever say more’n two words to are the Girl Scouts when they come by sellin’ their cookies. When they come ta town, everybody wins.

“As for the sellers: they do the same thing, every day, with never a hitch in their schedules, and people get wise to their schemes. Eventually, either the boredom will get to ‘em, or the guilt will. Trust me, honey,” he’d held up his hands, flicking one dismissively toward the door, “that job is nothin’ but a soul-sucker, on both sides of the coin.”

After a moment, he’d smirked, shrugged a shoulder, then smugly adjusted his tie as he added, “But admittedly, it was how I made my first hundred.”

And then he’d gone to the back garden, to join Delta and help him to plant those roses - so that means that, unless it grew legs and ran away, the watering can is on the kitchen counter, next to the sink.

With a nod, Sinclair spins on his heel to start making his way to the kitchen, only to jump as he immediately sees Eleanor sitting on one of the sofas in the living room, quiet as a mouse.

Eleanor apparently hasn’t noticed him either, seated with her feet on the cushions and her knees pulled up; the only reason they aren’t touching her chest is because she has a large book open and propped against her legs. It’s got her full attention.

Starting the walk to the kitchen, Sinclair is about to leave her be when he does a double take at which book she’s holding, with its short-but-wide stature and its thick, brown leather cover with the gold-coloured plating on the corners and matching cursive on the front. He thought it’d just been one of the many books he’d treated her to when they were setting her up in one of the bedrooms upstairs, but now that he takes a second look at it…

“Hold on a moment - have you got my photo album?” he asks.

Eleanor flinches, then looks over at him. Her brow furrows and her shoulders hunch a little, concerned.

“I was only having a look, I swear,” she says.

Lifting a hand in the beginnings of a comforting gesture, Sinclair opens his mouth to reply, falters as something occurs to him, then he frowns disapprovingly and puts his hands on his hips instead.

“Well, I was about ta wax poetic about how you ain’t in trouble for lookin’,” he says, “but it occurs to me that the last I saw of that album, I was puttin’ it away - in my safe.”

Eleanor shrinks back guiltily.

While Sinclair’s office is open for anybody to look at (nothing of interest in there anymore anyways, until he gets his law firm up and running again), his safe is most certainly not. He’d cracked it open soon after returning to the house after so many years, having no problem remembering the code considering it was the number of letters for each of his names (eight-seven-eight-five). Inside had been his most important documents - such as his birth certificate and the deed to his house - but alongside those had been more personal items, like his mother’s handwritten recipes (that he has, of course, memorised), the pocket watch his grandfather had promised him when he’d been small, and that photo album Eleanor’s got in her hands - pretty much the only items that he’d had with him that weren’t clothing or cash when he’d moved away from Panama, the same ones he’d guarded with his life before he’d had a secure place to put them.

When they’d been cleaning the house, Sinclair had popped open the safe to give the inside a polish, just to ensure his belongings would remain pristine, and Eleanor and Delta had caught sight of the book. They’d been too excited for him to have the heart to deny them a peek, and so they’d all ended up flicking through it together. Delta and Eleanor reacted with pure fascination at the pictures of Sinclair’s family members, gotten a good few giggles in at the snapshots of him as a little boy, and Delta had fussed over his baby pictures in particular, making hand gestures to communicate how tiny and adorable Augustus used to be and letting out long croons that - with a more human voice - would’ve been coos.

When they’d finished their trip down memory lane, Sinclair had put the book back in the safe - and he’s certain that he’d locked it back up.

Bristling, he marches over to stand in front of her, reaching for the book with both hands, shutting it, and then passing it to his right hand to brandish it in the air.

“Now, it was one thing ta be sneakin’ around and keepin’ secrets ‘tween you and your daddy - that, I didn’t mind so much,” Sinclair goes on, “but if you’re really gonna be upgradin’ that ta stealin’ from me - especially somethin’ I hold near an’ dear - then we might hafta have a talk (with everybody present) about how you treat the fella lettin’ you live under his roof.”

Eleanor looks a lot more guilty now.

“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. “You’re right: I shouldn’t have taken it without your permission.”

“Well, no, you shouldn’t have.”

She peeks up at him from beneath her hair.

“I recognise I have no right to ask this of you, but please, don’t tell Father.”

He gets it, he does: she’s spent a lifetime sneaking around her mother - and even Auntie Grace and Uncle Stanley - and such habits are hard to kick.

Since arriving at this house, Sinclair’s caught her multiple times, nosing through his things like she was looking for something damning. He’s walked into a room before only to interrupt a hushed conversation with Delta, and she would turn and look at him like she’ll get in trouble just for chatting with her dad, and he’s previously come downstairs in the night to find her sneaking around his kitchen, taking something from the fridge or grabbing a glass of water or juice, and when she’d noticed him, she’d gotten defensive, as though ready to fight back against some punishment.

He doesn’t think she’s intentionally implying he’s anything like Lamb, though it was tricky not to feel like a third wheel in those early days, and he does approach the situation with understanding. She spent years imprisoned, having to ask for things and stealing when she couldn’t get permission, it’s simply taking some time for her to get comfortable in her new life. When she decided she wanted his photo album, she’d elected to take it while he wasn’t looking, just as she would if she were still locked up in Persephone, with Lamb.

He understands, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates it.

He can see that she feels bad, however, and he knows that she’s trying to get over bad habits, so some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

Really, of all the things she could’ve taken from his safe, his album is the option that makes him the least angry, if only by a fraction - if she’d taken his grandfather’s watch or his mother’s recipes, then she’d be in big trouble.

“Hm. Well.” He looks her up and down, then lowers the book. “Maybe we won’t hafta let your daddy know of my grievances, or your behaviour.” He wiggles the book to gesture to it. “What were you lookin’ at it for, anyway?”

Eleanor averts her eyes.

“I…I only wanted to have another look. That’s all,” she says, and Sinclair can tell that’s not the whole truth.

Sinclair gives a hum.

“That so,” he says rather than asks. “You find my past just that fascinatin’, do ya?”

“Is that…so unbelievable?” Eleanor asks, still not looking at him.

Sinclair doesn’t reply, just lifts his eyebrows up high and stares at her hard, cocking his head slowly to project just how much he doesn’t believe her. His free hand holds his hip, while the album is pressed against the other hip, in lieu of having his hand hold it as well. If she’s going to be stealing his belongings, he has a right to know what she wants with them, he feels.

When he doesn’t speak, Eleanor lifts her gaze to look at him, sees the expression on his face, then bunches up her shoulders even more and averts her eyes again. She’s the picture of a nervous teenager, despite how well she apparently thinks she’s keeping up the nonchalant act, but there is some familiarity in the way that she looks as though she’s trying to hide behind her own shoulders - her father does the same thing.

There’s silence between them for a few moments, Eleanor glances at him again and drops her gaze when she sees he’s still staring, then her brow furrows even more and she speaks.

“...When we were in town last,” Eleanor says, “getting Father’s roses for him…I overheard a conversation, on our way back from the shops. There were some people around the same age as myself, and they were…discussing things that their grandparents had told them. It just…made me realise that I…I can’t relate to that. I don’t have any grandparents to speak of. And any time I brought up such topics with Mother, she would find them ridiculous, so…I’m sorry for being so secretive.”

Hands falling from his hips at last, the rest of the tension leaves Sinclair’s body language, surprised at such a personal response. He almost feels a little guilty for getting upset with her like that, however justified he is.

For a moment, he doesn’t really know what to say, then he shrugs a shoulder.

“Well,” he says hesitantly. “Well, that all depends on…whether your momma’s momma an’ papa are still around. Might be that we could do some diggin’ into Lamb’s family history, be able to scoop up a lead.”

Eleanor hums in reply, but her frown deepens.

“I suppose…yes,” she says quietly, which isn’t the response Sinclair anticipated; for whatever reason, she doesn’t seem quite content with that option.

Sinclair opens his mouth to make another point, then closes it, hesitating.

He doesn’t know if he should mention Delta’s family because…well, it’s an unspoken topic between them all, but upon thinking about it, it’s very easy to work out that it’s nearly impossible for Eleanor to be Delta’s biological child. By the time ‘Johnny Topside’ had arrived in Rapture, Eleanor was already born, so unless Lamb went to extreme lengths to acquire the, ah, genetic material she needed from a man or somehow knew ‘Topside’ beforehand and already had it in her possession (Sinclair winces at the notion that she could have just, what, had it in her suitcase when she came to Rapture?), Eleanor can’t be his.

(Besides, Gil and the other folks who made Delta what he is would have had to have been supremely fucking lucky to have paired Eleanor with her real father, if that had been the case, and nobody in Rapture was that lucky.)

Then again, he knows it doesn’t matter in the long run because Eleanor will never see any man but Delta as her father, blood-related or not, and Delta feels much the same. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to be the one to breach that topic with her, but if there’s a chance it could make her feel better…

He steps lightly: giving another shrug of the shoulder, he adds, “There might…also be a chance of us, ah…findin’ somethin’ out about your daddy. Maybe find whoever raised him into the gentleman we know so well.”

It seems to work: Eleanor’s lips lift up in a hopeful little smile and she nods.

“That does sound lovely,” she says. “And it would be a treat for Father, as well, to get to know his family all over again. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Course he would,” Sinclair replies with a nod. “We’d just hafta go puttin’ in the hard work ta find out who it was he used to be.”

Eleanor hums again and says no more, so Sinclair rubs the back of his neck and then awkwardly holds out the book as a peace offering.

Eleanor looks up at him, her eyes silently questioning on whether he’s certain, and when he nods, she gratefully takes the album back and flips to the pages she was on before.

Still feeling a little awkward, Sinclair moves over to sit beside her on the couch, on the edge of the cushion, hands on his knees.

“Hm. An’ here I was, thinkin’ you mighta just been scopin’ out ideas fer your own shutterbuggin’,” Sinclair says, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Since arriving on the surface, Eleanor’s taken up photography, brought on by her fascination of the world around her. Sinclair bought her a camera once her interest had become known - since the camera he’d had here at the house was beyond old, she deserved to have the latest thing - and she’d been so thrilled that she’d thrown her arms around him in an excited hug. He’d been so startled, so unused to physical touch beyond what Delta does, that he’d just frozen up, then had cut the hug short with an uncomfortable laugh and shooing hands.

Ever since then, she’s been snapping all over the place. He doesn’t know if she’d gotten any such inspiration from watching her father using the genetic research camera down in Rapture - she doesn’t seem as interested in film as she does photography - but it seems like Delta’s got his own regular junior shutterbug.

Eleanor flashes a smile, then runs a finger over the page she’s got the book on.

“Could you tell me…what your grandparents were like?” she asks after a moment.

Sinclair is briefly caught off guard, thinking they’d moved past the topic, then he cocks his head and stares into space as he thinks.

“Well,” he says, “I don’t recall any of my time with my dear ol’ nana - she went an’ lost her health ta sickness and left us before I ever set my feet on the ground. I was told ‘bout her by my granddaddy, though, an’ he always said she was a…nice lady, if just a bit fiery with her temper.”

He titters, then goes on, “My granddaddy was a modest fella. He was stern, but he was fair, too. But most of all, he just enjoyed bein’ a granddaddy, an’ since we lived under his roof, he got ta spend all the time in the world gettin’ to know me - and I him. He had fun tellin’ me stories - both fictional and non - an’ did his best to help teach me right from wrong. He believed in helpin’ his fellow man, however much that message stuck itself in my mind.”

He looks to Eleanor as he adds, “And if I’m honest, honey: your daddy makes me think of him sometimes, when he’s bein’ especially noble.”

Eleanor smiles gratefully, then turns her attention back to the book.

Sinclair straightens his back and tilts himself to look at the pages she’s got the book flipped to, and just as it was when he first saw those pictures upon returning to Georgia, his heart feels heavier when he sees his late family members. Upon first glance at one of the pictures, he locks eyes with his mother.

These photos are from before Sinclair’s birth, so she looks a little younger than he remembers her, but still just as beautiful, with her brown skin and her wavy, dark hair that’s long enough to reach her chest, her soft face and kind eyes and loving smiles, and her dresses that he remembers as vibrant and colourful, even with these pictures being in black and white.

And even without colour in the photos, it’s clear from just a glance that Augustus got his hair and eyes from her.

Hola, Mama, he thinks with a smile, nostalgic, then his gaze drifts to the older man and woman on either side of her in the picture, taken at some party or event before Sinclair’s birth. Hola, Abuelo y Abuela.

And then his eyes find a photograph on the next page, of his parents on a date, embracing with happy, youthful grins on their faces, and he looks the younger image of his father in his eyes as his own face falls.

Papa, he regards him calmly and says no more than that.

His focus is broken when Eleanor starts flipping pages, startling him and making him look to her, surprised.

Most pictures of his grandparents are in the section of the album from before his birth, since his nana died so soon afterwards; he would’ve thought Eleanor would’ve wanted to look at those, to see the two of them together.

But no - Eleanor’s still flipping over several pages, skipping the time before Sinclair’s life had started and all of his baby pictures (and God knows, Mama and Abuelo made sure to take plenty), until she stops upon a page with a soft hum of amusement, then turns the pages much slower now, actually taking in what she’s seeing.

Sinclair sits back on the couch and picks up his glasses from where they’re dangling off his neck, putting them on to see better what she’s looking at.

Snapshots of his childhood, from age three, according to the writings on the slips of paper under each image. His mother and grandfather were dedicated to capturing practically every minute of his early years, being his biggest fans and all - and of course, for every image of him being the sole figure, there’s a picture of him with either or both of them. Not hard to capture, either - he’d spent all of his time together with them - but Abuelo was especially generous in letting his daughter be in the most photos with his grandson. Seemed to be more excited taking the pictures than being in them; Sinclair almost wishes there were more of he and his grandfather together.

Sinclair skims the photos whenever Eleanor stops on a page, looking at his child self: a poor but tidy little kid, young enough that his dark hair was still a little fluffy, even when combed as neatly as Mama could get it. He’s dressed in baggy, long-sleeved shirts and equally baggy trousers, in tiny little suits whenever they went to church, and he’s smiling and laughing in all of these pictures, with baby fat still in his cheeks and already getting round around the waist, a neat foreshadowing to his present day figure.

His brow furrows slightly at the earlier pictures of he and his mother, stopping at one where she’s crouching down to his height and hugging him tightly, captured amidst blowing a raspberry against his cheek, and Augustus’s past self is frozen mid-laughter, little hands holding the fabric of his mama’s bright dress.

All of his memories of his mother are like that, with her making him laugh and smile, and her smiling and laughing in return - because that was the kind of mother she was. He’d been mostly oblivious to familial situations - their lack of money, what was going on behind the scenes with his father - when he’d been young because his mother always made sure to shield him from the harsh realities, to block his view with her smile and her warm hugs and kisses and her baking. From the second she knew about him, Augustus was the light of her life, and she made sure he knew that.

He still thinks it’d been the worst day of his life, when she’d died.

Her baking is in the pictures too: there’s a photo of one of her pies on the current page, and then the picture next to it is little Augustus sitting in his mother’s lap with a plate resting atop his knees. A slice of the aforementioned pie sits upon the plate, a couple of bites taken from it, and Augustus is holding up a spoon toward his mother, offering the little wedge of pie on top to her. Judging by how she’s leaning in with her smile open and a proud, grateful look in her eyes, she’s accepted his offer.

To this day, he’s still never tasted a pie better than the ones his mama made, or even just as good. Not even when he’d tried to replicate them himself.

“Your mother…She seemed lovely,” Eleanor says quietly, reaching out and touching the picture with a finger delicately, careful not to smudge it.

“She was,” Sinclair says wistfully. “Nicest lady you’d ever meet, no matter where you’d go.”

“And she baked so often.” Eleanor observes, turning pages over in one group, then using her thumb to flick through those to prove how many pictures feature his mother’s food. “This first lot of pages are full of pictures of…pies and cakes and such.”

Sinclair gives a fond grin. “Yeah, that was her hobby. She liked stitchin’ together clothin’ for us too, but there was just that spark in her eyes and a spring in her step when it came to the kitchen. She loved it. Mostly cause she liked havin’ people stuffin’ themselves full of her food, made that spring in her step extra high ta see folks enjoyin’ the fruits of her labour, and I always got the first piece of whatever she made,” he prods himself in the chest with a finger, “cause what I thought was more important to her than anythin’, as her baby.”

He cocks his head and gives his tummy a pat as he adds, “Which, come ta think of it, was probably where I adopted my taste for the sweeter things in life…”

Glancing at him, Eleanor gives him a smile, then looks back to the photographs to turn the page.

More pictures of he and his grandfather and his mother together; Sinclair sees Eleanor’s attention go to the snapshot of he and his mother’s old tradition of dancing around the kitchen, little Augustus balanced on her feet. More grins and frozen laughter, more of the adoration in their eyes; the norm, for the two of them. Only person who’s ever gotten him to dance, too - well, until recently, since Delta did the impossible and got him to slow dance to some of his old records after Eleanor had gone to bed.

Seems poetic that way, considering he’s never loved anybody as much as he loved his mama until Delta came along, even if the types of love are different. Makes him a little sad to know she’ll never meet the fella that turned his life around, despite the knowledge that Mama probably wouldn’t look upon their relationship with ease. She was a woman of God, after all, and here her precious baby boy is, in love with another man, never mind Delta’s current appearance.

He wants to believe she could’ve gotten over it, though, if only after knowing how much Delta’s influence has changed him - because he also isn’t oblivious to the fact that if she had seen him to his adult years, she would be absolutely ashamed of him, as would Abuelo. Even without the events down in Rapture; the scamming, the lying, the lack of empathy for his clients - they would’ve disowned him, and he would have to beg them for forgiveness.

(Then again, if his mama had lived to see him as an adult, he wouldn’t be the man he is today because when Mama said “No”, he listened. She adored him, yes, but she knew when to put her foot down. She would’ve taught him right from wrong far better than Papa ever did - or didn’t, as it were.)

Doesn’t do him well to think about falling out with either of them, so Sinclair looks down at the pictures of them together and focuses on them instead.

There’s a photo of himself sitting on a stool with an arepa con queso, munching on it as he watches Abuelo putting up shelves in one of the rooms of their house; the picture’s snapped his grandfather smiling down at him amidst reaching up to hold one of the pieces in place before he nails it to the wall. He remembers Abuelo saying Augustus could help him, which basically amounted to being allowed to tell him to work harder while he sat on a stool and ate the snacks Mama brought for them, though he does remember Abuelo letting him choose what colour to paint the shelves and lifting him up on his shoulders to test them with one of his toys. See if Abuelo’s work got the Augustus Approval.

Underneath that, there’s a picture of his mama sitting in a chair in their living room, with his little self dressed in his pyjamas (he remembers they were powder blue) and pulled into her lap, his head against her heart as he slumbers. She’s smiling down at him warmly, and Augustus knows this is one of those times where she’d sung and rocked him to sleep. Probably comforting him; he used to be scared of the dark as a kid, and he recalls how he used to go scrambling out of bed at the slightest bump in the night, yelling for her, and then hiding his face in her shoulder when she inevitably came running and scooped him up into her arms.

“...She seemed to adore you,” Eleanor says quietly; when Sinclair looks over at her, he sees she’s looking at the same picture as he is.

“She did,” he replies, “and I her. See, she was a lot like my granddaddy, an’ not just cause both of ‘em had the same blood runnin’ through their veins: she was happy to be a momma, despite everythin’ that preceded and proceeded my birth.”

Eleanor stares silently, thoughtfully, then she hums with a small pout and hastily turns more pages.

Sinclair is perplexed by her behaviour, but leaves his questions in his head as he looks at the book, watching her flip through pages just slow enough that he can see the pictures (and there’s a cold stinging sensation in his blood when he sees the photos containing his grandfather come to a sudden end) until she stops on a seemingly random page.

On the rightmost page, there’s one, large photograph taking up the space. His mother is holding him in her arms, he’s bigger than he was in the previous pictures, and both of them are grinning at the camera - but the photo is one of the rare ones where his father is in it too.

He’s standing on the other side of Augustus, glass of something (probably booze, Sinclair thinks) in his hand. His father was a white man, tall and somewhat imposing (or maybe he just seemed that way, in Sinclair’s youth), with a head of black hair, clipped short compared to the mess it was in the photo from earlier, and a bushy moustache on his lip that had long convinced Sinclair not to grow his own facial hair out. Dressed in a suit that’s a little on the shabby side, a little ill-fitting, and he’s nowhere near as friendly-looking as Sinclair’s mother.

He’s looking at the camera, but he isn’t looking at it like his son and wife are, and instead of grinning, his expression is stony.

They’re in the living room, surrounded by balloons and a few wrapped presents, and on the table in front of them is a cake covered in white icing and topped with a ring of strawberry chunks. The banner above their heads proclaims Feliz cumpleaños!.

Eleanor points at it. “What does this translate to?”

“Happy birthday,” Augustus replies. “That looks to be my…” he trails off as he tilts himself to check the Spanish writing beneath the photograph, “...seventh birthday.”

Eleanor nods, then frowns confusedly.

“Your father isn’t smiling. Why isn’t he smiling?” she asks. “If it’s your birthday, then…he should be happy?”

Sinclair scoffs out a sarcastic laugh.

“He should be, shouldn’t he?” he says with fake amusement, then shakes his head. “He ain’t smilin’, honey, cause he doesn’t feel like it.”

Eleanor’s frown only tightens.

“But why wouldn’t he feel like it? Your joy should bring joy to him - you’re his child.”

“Mm-hm,” Sinclair replies, crossing one leg over the other’s knee to rest there. “Precisely.”

Eleanor turns her head to look at him then.

“I don’t…understand.”

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Sinclair sighs through his nose, thinks about how to word this, then taps his own knee casually and settles on what to say.

“Sweetheart,” he says, turning his head to look at Eleanor again, “I recognise that you hit the jackpot when it came ta fathers, but some of us other folk ain’t as lucky. Yours is more than happy to be your daddy, while mine rued the day he was told he was gonna be one - unlike my momma, who was fond o’ me the second she learned about the bun bakin’ in her belly. My daddy didn’t go into romancin’ my momma with the idea of settlin’ down, you see, and so when I came around, he decided ta let me know just how much he resented me bein’ in his space.”

He shakes his head, then looks her in the eye.

“What I’m sayin’, sweet pea, is that he didn’t want me - and he made sure I knew that.”

Eleanor’s eyes widen at him, then she turns to point her eyes down at the photo album again, staring at it without really staring at it. He can see her turning this over in her head; she looks distressed.

After all, her experience with fatherhood is much different, going from not having one to having one forced on her, but bonding with him all the same and loving him by choice. She acknowledged back in Persephone that Delta might’ve not wanted a daughter, might’ve not wanted her, but that she loved him anyway, and once they’d all had a chance to breathe after the lifeboat had burst out of the water, Delta had assured her the best he could that she was his girl, despite having been brought together by strangers in lab coats rather than blood or prior interaction.

By all accounts, Sinclair would say Delta’s a fantastic father, even without the whole plot of tearing through a hellhole of a city to get back to his girl. He encourages Eleanor’s interests, protects and comforts her when she’s frightened by something no matter how small, worries for her and won’t hesitate to tell her off if she pushes the limits (coming from him, it’s a growl and a wag of the finger, but it does the job just fine) - and of course, he’s as much a great, big cuddlebug to her as he is to Sinclair, so there’re hugs a-plenty.

Like Sinclair had said, she’s lucky to have a good father, someone who adores her and shows it in everything he does; Delta has made peace with the concept of Eleanor being his daughter - first when he was brainwashed and just as easily after he was cured - and he loves it.

Sinclair’s father, on the other hand, never got that far with him. To Sinclair’s mother and grandfather, he was a gift from God. To Sinclair’s father, he was a nuisance that ruined his father’s life.

There’s silence between them as Augustus lets Eleanor think on this, then her eyes widen.

“Made sure you knew it…” she mutters thoughtfully, then looks to him in rising worry. “Does that mean…?! Are…Are you implying that he harmed you?”

Ah.

Sinclair opens his mouth, closes it, then says, “Uh, well, now - see, he showed it in lots o’ ways, honey, like never feedin’ me or changin’ me when I was fresh out the oven, never came runnin’ when he heard me cryin’, never read to me or played with me, certainly wasn’t interested in talkin’ with me - come to think of it, I ain’t sure we ever had a proper conversation ‘til my momma -”

“Augustus,” Eleanor cuts in, turning some in her seat to look at him, still with elevating concern on her face, “did your father harm you?”

Sinclair falters, unsure of what to say.

He hadn’t meant to imply that in the first place, and he clearly hasn’t done well to sway her from the topic - she’s an observant girl and she’s onto him - but to be honest, he’s surprised to see her getting so suddenly worked up over this. He agrees, the notion is horrible, but…?

Sinclair hesitates, tries to think of how to delicately word this when he knows she’ll find it upsetting, then looks her in the face.

“...A handful o’ times,” he says, watching her worry turn into horror. “It was his idea of teachin’ me discipline.”

“Discipline? How is that discipline?! How could he possibly -” She cuts herself off to ask, “What - What would he even do to you?”

Sinclair can only sigh.

He supposes if he isn’t honest on the topic, as much as he doesn’t want to upset her, then her mind will conjure things up, and she’ll be under some wrong impression and theorise worse things than what really happened.

He hangs his head for a moment, hesitating, then lifts it to look at her as he says, “For the littler things - like botherin’ him when he was tryin’ to relax or speakin’ outta term - he would jus’ smack me upside the head (or - wherever he could reach at the time), just to let me know I was startin’ to cross a line there. And if I crossed that line, he would, ah…take a belt to the backs of my hands. Hit ‘em until they were sore all over, maybe even…left behind some marks.” He clears his throat. “An’ God forbid he heard me speakin’ in an ungentlemanly way - in that case, he would haul me over to the sink, push my head in the water an’ take a bar of soap to my mouth.”

He clicks his tongue distastefully as he mutters to himself, “Can still taste it sometimes,” before he remembers who he is in the presence of; he looks to her with wide eyes before hastily adding, “But that was all when I was bad, of course, and - Lord knows, I gave my teachers hell sometimes, but my daddy didn’t see it fit to do this sorta stuff on the regular.”

“So he only did it sometimes?” Eleanor nearly snaps, shooting down his attempt at making the situation just a little better, then scoffs in disgust and mutters bitterly, “That doesn’t make it right.”

“Trust me, honey, I ain’t sayin’ it was my preferred method when it came ta parentin’ (‘specially since I was the child in that scenario), just that my daddy didn’t fetch his belt over every little thing.”

She looks away to stare into space, scowling now, then looks back at him.

“Is…that why you refuse to use bad language? Because of what that man did to you?”

“Hm. No. I don’t like swearin’,” he says curtly, “because there’re a million words out there - treasure trove of language - and anybody who resorts ta cursin’ just to make their point heard is a person who ain’t mastered the art of speakin’ - either that, or their momma didn’t raise ‘em right. My preferences have got nothin’ ta do with my daddy. Fact is, the only reason I’ve ever cursed in my life was cause I was nearly your age and feelin’ rebellious.”

He looks to her. “And you’d surely know a thing or two about rebellin’, now, wouldn’t you?”

That was supposed to make her smile, but she’s too caught up with this new information to really take part in the amusement, still scowling.

“You were a teenager…Hardly younger than me…” she says thoughtfully, then asks, “What about when you were little? Did he harm you then?”

Sinclair hesitates - he really shouldn’t be talking about this sort of thing when he knows it’s upsetting her so much, but then he knows she’s not going to drop it if he doesn’t answer, or she’ll get the wrong idea and think he was black and blue his entire childhood - and holds up a finger.

“He only did it the once. Just the one time. I…don’t recall what it was I did that set ‘im off, but…he grabbed me by my arm, held me in place so’s that he could put a beat down on me. I cried loud enough that my momma came runnin’ and, well…”

He arches an eyebrow at her.

“You remember how your daddy would rip people apart for puttin’ their hands on you?”

Eleanor nods.

“Well, my momma didn’t have the strength for that, nor did she have a man-sized drill or an array of guns, but she put up the same kinda fight that your daddy did. I wasn’t audience to the whole thing, o’ course, since my granddaddy got me outta there in a second, but my daddy never tried ta lay a hand on me again, for as long as my momma lived.”

He gives a huff of a chuckle. “Ta be honest, that’s why I never understood why they elected ta make Big Daddies. People in charge o’ that project had obviously never heard nor seen a momma bear in action.”

Eleanor’s expression lets up just a little, momentarily comforted by the fact that Augustus didn’t suffer for his entire childhood, but then her scowl returns.

“That’s revolting,” she says angrily. “What a vile way to treat one’s child.”

Sinclair shrugs a shoulder. “That’s just how things were back in my day, honey. Was the regular to discipline yer children with a bit o’ pain - though, most folks favoured the traditional method of spanking. In some folks’s eyes, I was spoiled for not gettin’ disciplined ‘properly’. I certainly wasn’t the only child gettin’ smacked in the world, and I was most certainly not the last. Hell - I think you’ll find, sweetie pie, that some folks continue my daddy’s practises, both up here and in Rapture.”

“The last person I ever saw harming a child was soon ripped apart by a man just like Father,” Eleanor says bitterly, to which Sinclair gives an admitting shrug. “And anybody who would follow their example simply doesn’t deserve to have children.”

Sinclair gives a humourless chuckle, then rubs Eleanor’s shoulder comfortingly.

He says, “But don’t let yerself get worked up and upset about it. Nobody’s laid a hand on me in years - well, nobody but Splicers - and you can take some comfort in the fact that your daddy would never lay a finger on you.”

He takes his hand from her shoulder and, when he sees that Eleanor is still cross, he leans in and nudges her with his elbow.

“Strictly speakin’, you can also take some comfort, I suppose,” he says, “in the fact that my papa’s been dead an’ buried since before I could begin the path that he trod: with a bottle. Now,” he rubs his chin, “my granddaddy always said we should never celebrate the death of our fellow man, but, well, he ain’t here an’...you never met ‘im, so I reckon that entitles you ta feel however you’d like to feel - if you’re wantin’ to talk loopholes.”

Eleanor looks at him. “Is that the way you felt, when he finally passed away? Did you feel…relieved? Did you celebrate?”

Sinclair raises his eyebrows and looks her in the eye, fixing her with a serious look.

“Now, would you celebrate if you heard of your momma passin’ away?” he asks.

Eleanor’s face falls guiltily, clearly understanding that she’d gotten the wrong end of the stick, and shakes her head.

(They have no idea where Lamb is nowadays; she’d disappeared during the first night they were all on the surface, whilst they’d been asleep. Only Delta saw her go, but he’d communicated that she hadn’t said a word to him before leaving; they’d just shared a look, then she walked out the door and never looked back. For all intents and purposes, Sinclair considers that her officially surrendering custody of Eleanor to Delta - and himself, now. He’d offered to go look for her when they’d realised she was gone, but Eleanor had declined; she’d clearly been sad that her mother would just leave like that, but she made no effort to look for her or ask around for her, and she still hasn’t in all the time they’ve been in Georgia. Now, the topic of her mother is rarely brought up; he understands that Eleanor’s feelings toward her are…complicated, and Sinclair’s own feelings towards her are better left unsaid, for Eleanor’s sake.)

“Honey,” Sinclair goes on, “I understand how things sound from your point of view - but I was there, and I know how things really were between he and I. Sure, we were nothin’ like you and your daddy - Lord knows, we were somethin’ more like you an’ your momma - but the whole situation was…more complicated than it may have first seemed. Things weren’t all bad, and he did step up (if even a little) once my momma couldn’t take care of me anymore.

“And at the end of the day, sweetheart,” he says, nudging her with his elbow again, “he was still my daddy. An’ not only that, but he was also the only person I had left in the world, so…you gotta understand where I’m comin’ from. Got it?”

(He also doesn’t mention to her that he was the person to find his father’s body; this chat’s been serious enough already, she doesn’t need to hear about that.)

“...Yes. I understand,” Eleanor says with a nod, then chews her lip before adding, “I’m just…sorry. That you had to grow up in an environment like that.”

“D’aw, now,” Sinclair mutters, waving a hand dismissively. “Thank you for the kind words, sweet pea, but I’m just fine. Reckon I turned out,” he falters, then says, “at least a little on the good side of the line.”

Eleanor gives him a small smile, then replicates his elbow nudge.

“I think you turned out far more than a little on the good side of the line.”

Slightly taken aback, Sinclair gives her a smile.

They both look back to the book as Eleanor goes back to turning pages, going over Sinclair’s later childhood.

A muted sadness settles in Sinclair’s heart as he sees the photo of his ninth birthday, another one of himself and his mama and papa; when Eleanor turns the page, the first picture is of him, just him, smiling shyly at the camera, and then the next is his tenth birthday, and that photograph only contains himself and his father, standing side-by-side beneath the same banner from before. The writing beneath these photos is untidy and clearly a child’s handwriting.

And then the next picture is his eleventh birthday. Then his twelfth. Then his thirteenth. His fourteenth. Fifteenth. Sixteenth. Seventeenth. And then his eighteenth, where he is the lone figure, with his birthday cake.

And then Eleanor turns the page, and there’s a picture of Sinclair in a suit with a stripey blazer, white slacks and a Panama hat atop his head. Beneath it is an outdated dollar bill.

“Ah - there, ya see.” Sinclair leans over to point. “That there’s me back when I was goin’ door-to-door. If I recall rightly, I asked a fella on the street ta take my picture for me. An’ that there’s,” he points again, “my hundredth dollar.”

“You kept the dollar?” Eleanor asks incredulously, grinning in amusement.

“Course I did - it was my hundredth dollar, earned all by myself. Before that, the only money I had was left behind from my parents an’ my grandparents before ‘em, alongside the odd bit o’ change I got from trickin’ my fellow students back at school. But that dollar? I got that all by myself, through hard work. Believe I had a right ta be proud of that.”

“Didn’t you just earlier tell me that that job is just one, big scam and a ‘soul-sucker’?” Eleanor asks, turning her head to look at him and raising her eyebrow.

Sinclair stammers for a moment, then says, “Well, it was, it’s just - that didn’t seem like such an issue back then, heh.”

Eleanor smiles, amused, and looks to the right-most page: a picture of a slightly older Sinclair in a cap and gown, shaking hands with an older man, with his rolled diploma in his other hand (“Now, there’s me graduatin’ from law school,” Sinclair says to her), and underneath that, a wide shot of the house they currently reside in, with Sinclair standing on the porch, arms out at his sides and a grin just barely visible on his face from this distance.

She turns the page again and again and again, only to find the rest of the album empty. She gives a little frown as she turns the pages back to the collection of birthday photos, the only evidence left of Sinclair’s growth from child to teenager, compared to the vast collection of his earlier years.

(And Sinclair gives a little wince at seeing his teenaged self, now dressing in full suits; sixteen was the age he started experimenting with hair pomade, and Sinclair can only look disapprovingly at the way his younger self has practically plastered his hair to his scalp, rather than genuinely styling it. Gives a small shake of his head and thinks Boy, you had no idea what you were doin’, did you?)

“I suppose your father didn’t have as much interest in recording your ageing as your mother and grandfather did,” she says, somewhat bitterly.

Sinclair gives another admitting shrug.

Her frown deepens, glaring at the image of Sinclair’s father beside him in the pictures, then grabs a handful of pages to turn backwards.

It takes them back to Sinclair’s earlier childhood, his mother and grandfather alive and well again, back to coddling Sinclair’s child self. There’s a photograph of Augustus - about three years old - fast asleep in his grandfather’s lap, with his grandfather lulled to sleep against the head of his armchair, clearly a sneaky shot by Augustus’s mother (and Sinclair can tell it happened amidst story time, since that was generally the reason he’d be sat upon his granddad’s thigh like that).

Underneath it is his child self as the sole figure, proudly showing the camera a drawing he’s done with crayons; brings back the memory of excitedly showing Mama and Abuelo what he’d drawn and them acting like it was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen, gushing about how he’ll grow up to be an artist, for sure. Any attempts to show Papa had had him gruffly telling his son “Not now, Augustus,” and walking away.

Nowadays, Sinclair’s decent at drawing, though he’s better at drawing buildings and scenary than people.

On the next page, there’s Sinclair and his mother in the kitchen. The camera is behind them as they work at the counter, with Sinclair’s past self standing on a chair so that he can reach, but they’ve got their heads turned to look at each other, so Eleanor can see the way they’re smiling at each other with utter adoration.

She smiles at the pictures, but then her face falls into another thoughtful little frown and she once again raises a finger to carefully stroke over the image of Sinclair and his mum.

“I think I like these pictures better,” she says quietly.

“So do I, honey, so do I,” Sinclair replies.

All’s quiet between them, Eleanor even stops turning pages. Her brow is scrunched up more than before as she stares down at the photograph, brushing the bottom right corner with a finger like before.

Sinclair’s inclined to offer a penny for her thoughts, but she speaks before he can.

“About your mother...Do you…Do you suppose…Do you think she would have…liked me?”

Sinclair’s face falls in his surprise, eyes wide, as a jolt goes through his heart as a sudden understanding dawns on him.

All this obsession with the topic of grandparents, her apparent disinterest in the option of having Lamb’s parents around to be these grandparents she desires, even when they’re her actual biological family (though, he sympathises with not wanting to meet the people responsible for raising a woman like Lamb), and the fact that upon stealing his photo album, she didn’t fuss over the photos of his grandparents, but his parents…

Sinclair’s not oblivious. He’s always known what it would mean to get into a relationship with a man who is also a father: even when he and Eleanor had had their awkward camaraderie, Sinclair would still have to play the role of a…a guardian to her, especially so until Delta gets out of that suit and can (hopefully) show his face in public. Lord knows, it’s obviously not legal for he and Delta to marry (and it’s far too early for that sort of thing, anyway), but with his relationship with her dad being what it is anyway, he would technically be a sort of…step-father to her.

Hell, they’ve already described him as such to the people who have asked: a couple of cops had turned up on their first day in this house, suspicious after it’d been left for twenty-odd years, only for the homeowner - who had ‘mysteriously disappeared’ - to turn up out of the blue. No doubt they knew as well of Sinclair’s old reputation of being the town’s resident bad guy: with a distinct air of distrust toward him, they’d asked Eleanor if she knows ‘this man’.

The two of them had tried saying they were father and daughter, then hastily ‘corrected’ themselves when it dawned on them how unbelievable that is, considering not only do they have completely different accents, but they look absolutely nothing like each other.

(Sinclair had been inclined to sarcastically tell them to have a look at her real father, see how much like her he doesn’t look. Unfortunately, rather than saying that, he’d had to say he was married to her ‘late’ mother, the thought of which…still makes him feel nauseated.)

But that was for the sake of a lie, for the sake of Sinclair not being accused of anything unsavoury, for the sake of removing any suspicion from the fact that Augustus Sinclair has turned up after twenty-something years of being missing, now accompanied by a random teenager and a strange diving suit statue that had stood at the side of his living room.

(Questioning that last thing had had Sinclair sarcastically asking the coppers if he comes to their homes and insults their interior decorating - and he’d had to quickly distract them when a noise that kind of sounded like a whale laughing came from the statue.)

This right here, what he believes Eleanor to be implying, is…something different.

Sinclair’s never been a family man; even when he was a child, being told he would grow up to find a beautiful wife and have tons of babies, he would baulk at the idea and wonder if that was really his only option. It didn’t change when he was a teenager, where he was more obsessed with money, since he was learning the art of the scam (of course, back in those days, his prizes were measly amounts of pocket money and cigarettes), whilst all of his fellow male classmates were talking about girls - which, obviously, wasn’t his inclination anyway.

He’d been content living here before, by his lonesome. He’d had staff members, sure, but they didn’t sleep here and certainly didn’t live here, were never invited to. This huge house was his and his alone, and he’d been completely fine with that. No spouse, no children - the way he’d always seen his life going.

And now…there’s Delta, who he never wants to be without again.

And there’s…Eleanor, who he’s always thought of as a sweet girl, and he’d sympathised with her back in Rapture, but who had never been part of his plan upon getting to the surface.

He’d said as much, telling Delta about that private island of theirs - and very pointedly not mentioning Eleanor. Whether Delta had picked up on that, he’s not sure; the big guy was just so jazzed about the island and then Sinclair telling him about this house, over in Georgia. Could be he just assumed Sinclair forgot to mention her because - obviously, looking back on it now - Delta was never going to let Sinclair get away with leaving Eleanor behind, and not just because he’d needed her to live.

He’s aware they’ve grown closer over the time in this house - Eleanor had shown her growing fondness for him when she sought his comfort during that tornado last month and was evidently concerned for his safety, she’d shown it just earlier when she’d grown furious on his behalf over his father’s treatment of him, and he’d felt it back during that tornado’s visit, when he’d felt protective over her when she was frightened. The thought was still a little scary, but he’d embraced it and everything had turned out okay.

All in all, he’s accepted his role as her guardian.

But if Eleanor’s looking to have his parents be her grandparents posthumously, then that means she’s starting to look at him as a…a parent…and that’s a little more scary than the notion that they’re moving past their awkwardness toward each other. He’s spent his entire life being contently childfree, he can’t just change that in the blink of an eye.

And actually now, looking at it, he sees how she might’ve starting getting that impression, what with him buying her things that she’ll like, comforting her when she’s worried or scared, and even scolding her earlier when she’d crossed one of his lines (and, oh, God, that whole ‘stare until the child admits their wrong-doings’ is what his Abuelo used to do, oh, God). The realisation makes him feel…itchy.

Though, honestly? If one had explained this whole thing to him a few months ago, he would’ve laughed himself silly. But now that he’s here, in the moment…well. He isn’t sure about parent and child - Eleanor’s moving at a pace he can’t quite keep up with there - but to recognise Eleanor as…family, at least…

That doesn’t sound…so ridiculous anymore. Being considered a dad makes him blanche still, but family…that’s a start, that’s…comfortable.

(Although - his mind briefly drifts to the notion of her calling him, what? Other Father? Step-Father? The thought makes him sweat, and he genuinely hopes she won’t start calling him that any time soon. ‘Augustus’ is just fine, he thinks.)

Sinclair comes out of his head and focuses back on Eleanor, looking all shy as she tries to hide behind bunched up shoulders again, fiddling with the corner of the page she’s still got the book turned to.

Here it is again - seeing her like that gives him the urge to make her feel better, and the only way to do that is -

“Ya wanna know what I think, honey?” he says, nudging her with his elbow again. “I think my momma woulda liked you very much.”

In an instant, Eleanor drops her shy demeanour and turns her head to look at him fully, smiling wide with a hopeful look in her big, blue eyes - and the sight of her like that warms his heart.

“Really? Do you mean that?” she asks.

“Mm-hm. See, I’m bettin’ that if I took ya down to meet her, she’d start sayin’ ‘Augustus, why aren’t you feeding this girl?’, and then she’d go ahead and bake you one o’ her trusty old pies and serve you more slices than you can eat. Hell, she’d probably cook you a whole big dinner, with all the foods she used ta make for me, and then she’d probably take you aside and wanna measure you up for a dress or somethin’.”

Eleanor appears positively giddy at the thought, wiggling a little in her seat in excitement, then she asks, “Do you think she would have liked Father, as well?”

Sinclair cocks his head and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well…that’s another one of those complicated situations I was talkin’ about,” he says, then gives her a half-smile, “but…I like ta think she woulda liked him very much as well. Personally, I struggle ta think of anybody who can’t grow ta like your daddy (obvious options aside), and besides, he keeps me from gettin’ into trouble, which she’d be more’n grateful for, I’m sure.”

Eleanor giggles, then looks down at the pictures, chuffed to bits. After a moment, however, she frowns and looks back at him.

“And I’m guessing that your father wouldn’t have been a fan of mine?” she asks.

Sinclair gives a puff of a chuckle.

“I highly doubt it.”

Eleanor gives a “Hmph,” as she turns her nose up and shuts her eyes before haughtily saying, “Good. I wouldn’t have been a fan of his either. And I can’t imagine what Father would’ve done, had they had the chance to meet.”

Sinclair gives another humourless laugh.

Honestly, he wouldn’t have put it past his father to try to get physical with him even now, at his age; dear old Dad liked to be top dog around the place, enjoyed being the ‘man of the house’, and Augustus would always have been lower than him on the status ladder, in his eyes.

Brings to mind the notion of his father giving him a smack, only to unleash the beast that is Subject Delta. He can see it in his imagination: Delta suddenly roaring furiously like he had any time a Splicer got too close to Sinclair down in Persephone, throwing aside furniture to get to Sinclair’s dad, and Sinclair having to hurry to get between them before Delta reduced his father to paste on the floor.

(Though, to be honest, Sinclair’s not giving Delta enough credit there; he has self-control, after all. The criminal being Sinclair’s dad - worst Delta would’ve done was grab him and hoist him up in the air to frighten him. Make it clear that he is to never harm Augustus again, or he really would end up as paste on the floor.)

“Then we’ll say it’s a fortunate turn of events that your daddy will never meet mine,” Sinclair says with a smirk.

Eleanor looks at him, smiling now, then looks back down at the photo album delightedly.

Sinclair lets her think her thoughts before watching her turn back to the later photos in the book, until she gets to the last photo - and then she flips the page, to the blank spots.

“There’s so much space in here, still,” she says, then looks at him, turning slightly shy again. “Do you suppose we could…put our photographs in here as well?”

Their photos. In a family photo album. Alongside pictures of his parents and his grandparents.

There’s that feeling again.

He still feels hesitant in the face of this new title, but she’s looking at him all hopeful again, and he already feels sore at the mere thought of telling her no, so…

Sinclair opens his mouth to reply, only to stop and look over Eleanor’s shoulder as there comes the telltale thump-thump-thump of heavy footsteps coming closer, and Eleanor looks over too as Delta steps through the doors to the foyer, looks around, then sees them and gives a soft grunt. He starts making his way over.

“Oh!” Sinclair exclaims, sliding forward in his seat, unsure of whether he should meet Delta halfway. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I just went an’ ditched you by your roses, didn’t I?”

Delta shrugs. Doesn’t mind, he just came to make sure everything was okay. All’s forgiven.

He comes walking into the living room, over to Eleanor’s side of the couch, stops behind Eleanor’s shoulder, then tilts at the waist to appear curious, silently asking what’s going on.

“That’s my fault, I’m afraid, Father,” Eleanor says, smiling up at him. “I had him distracted. But look: we were having another look at Augustus’s family photo album.”

Delta gives a thoughtful rumble, then his shoulders perk upwards as he leans over and pokes at the top corner of the book’s cover, indicating that he wants Eleanor to turn to an earlier page.

Eleanor grins with amusement as she immediately knows what he’s referring to.

Sinclair knows what Delta’s referring to as well, judging by the way he shakes his head with a smile full of fake exasperation and says, “Oh, c’mon, now, chief…”

Eleanor turns back the pages in one massive group, all the way to the start of the book; she goes a little too far, to the time before Sinclair’s birth, and flips a couple of pages before finding an example of what Delta wants to see.

On the rightmost page, two large photographs take up the entire space: on the left is Sinclair’s mother, younger and still with pregnancy weight, her arms full with a little baby swaddled in a blanket, fast asleep against her heart. On the right is the same scene, only this time, the camera’s been moved to the side of her and closer for the sake of focusing specifically on the baby, his mother starting to get cropped out of frame. Her smile can still be seen, however, only now it’s less relaxed and proud and more amusedly exasperated - and it looks exactly like the one Sinclair’s currently wearing.

This close, it’s easier to see that the baby is chubby-cheeked and has a smattering of dark hair on their head the same colour as their mama’s, at peace in their mama’s hold. And underneath the photograph - in Sinclair’s grandfather’s handwriting - is Augustus Teodoro Sinclair Ortiz, tiene dos dias.

Delta immediately lets out a happy croon, then holds up a hand, his index finger and thumb pinching a small space between them. He then gestures towards his own covered face and pats his heart.

So small! So cute!

Eleanor giggles and turns the page, revealing a double-page spread of various pictures from Sinclair’s earliest days - Sinclair in his grandfather’s arms, then in his grandmother’s, then Sinclair being fed, then Sinclair being bathed, then Sinclair playing with his mama - which just makes Delta croon more.

Sinclair turns in his seat, leaning his elbow on the top of the couch and fixing Delta with a raised eyebrow and a strained smile. He’s appearing casual, but he’s got a faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, kid,” he says amusedly. “My family always reckoned I was a handsome baby, let’s just leave it at that. Though, you might wanna take it down a notch,” he points a finger at him, “cause if we end up findin’ a relative of yours, I’m gonna be askin’ for your baby pictures, and then we’ll see how you like bein’ held up like a showcase.”

Delta shrugs. He would also like to see his baby pictures, so he invites Augustus to ask for them. This threat doesn’t frighten him, Augustus.

“An’ as fer you, young lady,” Sinclair says to Eleanor before reaching over to shut the book, then he takes it and holds it close to his chest, turning away from her a little to jokingly protect the book from her, “I think you’ve had enough time eyeballin’ my pictures for today. Think I’ll be holdin’ onto this for a time, ‘til your daddy’s purged those snapshots from his mind.”

Eleanor giggles.

“That’s fair,” she says, before twisting in her seat to look up at Delta. “Father, we were just discussing up the possibility of adding our own photographs to the album as well. There’re plenty of empty pages to fill. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Delta’s shoulders only perk up higher, delighted with the notion, and just as always, seeing Delta look happy makes Augustus happy.

“Well, you know what, honey?” he says, smiling and turning back to her properly, before patting Eleanor’s knee, getting her attention. “It sounds like…a mighty good idea ta me.”

Eleanor gasps happily, then grins and excitedly looks up at Delta.

“Oh! We should start by taking pictures of your roses, Father!” she says, then starts scrambling up from the sofa. “Hold on - I’ll just go and fetch my camera!”

As she runs out of the living room and across the foyer, Sinclair calls out to her, brandishing the album up in the air, “An’ I’m settin’ the ground rule now: this album stays in my safe when you ain’t usin’ it!”

“Alright!” Eleanor calls back without looking, practically flying up the stairs to go to her room.

Sinclair watches her go, then gives a soft sigh and removes his glasses, letting them hang from the cord around his neck again. Photo album in hand, he rises from the sofa, then looks over at Delta, who’s watching him.

“Well. Reckon we oughta be gettin’ back to it, hey, chief?” he says, sounding tired, then holds up the book. “I’ll go put this away so that it’s secure, then you an’ I can go back ta twiddlin’ our green thumbs, hm?”

He starts to walk toward the stairs, but just as he goes to pass Delta, an arm comes down in front of him and blocks his way, startling him.

Sinclair whips his head around to look at Delta, raising an eyebrow in confusion, only for that arm Delta had put out to wrap around him and pull him in for a gentle hug.

“Aww,” Sinclair says with a chuckle, patting Delta’s chest. “Now, what’s this all about, pumpkin? Did ya miss me, or are you always jus’ feelin’ cuddly?”

Delta is silent; his response comes in pulling back from the hug a little to free up space between them, then prodding Sinclair in the chest and holding his finger there in his designated sign of asking Sinclair if he’s okay.

Sinclair’s mouth forms an ‘o’ in his surprise, but then he gives a puff of a laugh through his nose and shakes his head as he hangs it; should’ve known Delta would notice his demeanour, he’s even more observant than Eleanor. He’d dare to say, as well, that Delta knows him better than anybody, nowadays.

“You got eyes like microscopes, chief,” Sinclair says, glancing up at him, before patting the hand Delta’s got on him. “But no matter what you’re seein’, I’m alright. I just, uh…”

He’s not really sure how to talk about all these feelings he’s got churning inside of him right now, not sure if he even wants to, to be honest. But if he does end up chatting about it, it’s probably best to do so after Eleanor’s gone to bed; he doesn’t want to dash her hopes by having her hear about how he’s getting a little overwhelmed by everything.

He clears his throat, then reaches up to pat Delta’s chest again, giving him a smile as he says, “Forget it - I’m just fine, honey. Nothin’ to worry your head over, it’s just that, ah…this walk down memory lane was a li’l more like a trip and a fall this time.”

Delta gives a sympathetic croon, then pulls Sinclair in for a slightly tighter hug, not enough to hurt him but enough to make his point clear, using both arms this time and bending forward to try and encompass Sinclair’s body with his own.

“You are too good ta me, pumpkin pie. Didn’t I just say I was alright? You got eyes like microscopes but ears like dams, is that it?” Sinclair says with a laugh, humouring Delta by hugging him back and patting his side. “But like I said, I’m jus’ fine, so you stop your fussin’. Instead,” he pulls back and prods Delta’s chest with a finger, “you should be concernin’ yourself with the state of those roses of yours. Poor things must be gettin’ thirsty, waitin’ on us this whole time.”

Delta’s shoulders perk up again, eager to get back to work, and Sinclair chuckles before telling him he’ll just quickly put his album upstairs, out of the way, and he’ll join Delta afterwards.

As he walks up the stairs, Sinclair looks fondly down at the album in his hands, giving another soft sigh through his nose as the gold cursive on the cover catches the light, shining: La Familia.

#My writing #BioShock #BioShock 2 #biofluff 2023 #biofluff #Augustus Sinclair #Eleanor Lamb #Subject Delta #Deltaclair #Topclair

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ecto-stone · 1 year

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Friend From the Other Side AU?? or FFOS!AU for short

Is created originally as a One shot comic “ Biology Lesson” Base on the Idea of What if Vlad is a Teen and a Ghost that turn half Human ,the total opposite from Danny Human to Ghost.

Latter grow into a full AU as it some how gain a lots of attention.And as a result of it rapid unplanned growth it share alots of it lore with it brother AU My Blood. So thing like

-Hivemind Demons Spectra, Unworld Dimension, what is Elsewhereness,The Dark Dragon Family Drama, Evil Observants, ect ... ect ..Advance Rework of DP original power system is expected.

Main Protag

Danny (Daniel) James Fenton Age: 14 (when turn Halfa) , 15 (when AU story started) Height: 167 cm Personality: Shy and Quiet, stoic a bit of a Loner, but Quite Bold as Phantom

Core Element: Ice Soul Element: Water-Air Alias: Phantom, Inviso Bill, The White Haired One (by the Yeti), Ghost Boy. Backstory After the Portal didn’t activate. Mr and Mrs Fenton cut the power to the portal and go back to check the blue print and the calculation to see what could possibly be wrong. Mean while Danny and his friend who is over for a Sleep over ,coming down to the basement for some nice mad science theme photo shoot. Each of them coming down through the portal ladder to take a pic, Sam, Tucker, But when it Danny turn he jump down mid ladder to a loud thunk to look cool.

But then the portal Suddenly glow Bright, sound of electric hissing and buzzing through air, turn out Synth Ecto Plasm is a great Energy storage substant. There was a big Flash, and young Danny stuck in the portal hole unable to escape in time suffer the full blash.

Time of the accident Amity Park, Fenton House hold, 2:25 AM, 30/8/20xx Danny fall into a 4 month coma afterward, result in his social life get ruin. As his accident get on the new and while the fenton parent blame Sam for the Idea, Sam parent threatened to sue the Fenton for threatening their children life by letting them come into a Dangerous lab unspervised.

Result in Sam is Ban from ever coming close to the Fenton again. While the Foley stay quiet and avoid the issue entirely. After woken up from the coma, Danny start developing Ghost Power. And starting his work as a Ghost Hunter as he found out the portal open caused the entire town to suffer from a horrible ghost infestation.

Phantom first sighting is on May 5

CO-Protagonist

Vladimir Judy Plasmius/Fenton/Masters. Age: 13 (in ghost year when turn halfa), 14 (when AU started) Height: 159 cm Personality: Sassy,Mischevious and hyper, with a hint of abandonment issue

Core Element: Fire --evo-->Electric Soul Element: Earth --evo--> Metal Alias: Little Wisconsin Ghost, Plasmius, Fated Dark One (by the Observant council) Backstory After the great ghost and human war that ended back in the 20s with a truce thank to Agent W (Will Walker). The Portal and the GIW agency is dissolve. Until recently.

Time of the accident Wisconsin, GIW Omega Base, 2:25 AM, 30/8/20xx Portal Status: Destroyed Casualty: 143 Capture subject: P1-A5-M1115 Power rating: Extremely Dangerous (X) Tranfer to containment Base Delta 5 on Dec 12 Current Status: Escape (self contain) Recent Sighting: Dairy King Castle, May7 Amity park, July 13.

How they meet: Behind a Wisconsin Denny as Danny is on a Family visiting trip. As Danny encounter a rouge ghost and assume Vlad to be the rouge ghost Only to get his Ass toss like a Salad by this Feral looking Ghost that just eat trash straight from a dumster. To which Danny later offer a burger as a peace treaty and a deal to help capture the rouge ghost. Vlad later followed Danny back to Amity Park to play role as an annoyance, before actually teaming up to aid in ghost hunting to get more Snack from Danny per deal.

What the story about?

It’s about the forming friendship of two unded boi from two different world.

and their Adventure in Both Realm.

#Friend from the other side AU ??#this prob left you with more question then awnswer

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vomitdodger · 6 months

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Intentional.

Highly secretive and clandestine personnel and groups like this know the deal and when they see cameras they let it be known to not take pics of their faces (at the VERY least). So it’s either a fake photo op or intentionally leaked.

But it’s comrade Biden and there is a precedent he has set:

There are two embedded videos in the above article. One of Biden naming the team and one of parents relating their tragic story of their deceased Seal son to Tucker Carlson.

And as usual the propaganda “fact checkers” and usual suspects deny this. Reuters, BBC, MSN, AP…all the usual rags. They play word games on the “fact checking”. But the Tucker interview details the repercussions.

The argument has been made it was simply a tragic coincidence that Extortion 17 was shot down. This has its own rabbit hole but again…the Tucker interview details specific members warning their families of the repercussions.

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terrifique · 2 months

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Evergreen Fic Rec List (Winter Edition)

This is my little contribution to the fantastic A Meal 2 Remember amc+ IWTV fan event run by the lovely people at IWTV FAN EVENTS (@iwtvfanevents)!

I wanted to share some of the beautiful fan works that brought me comfort and kept me going during the past holiday season. They were all entries for the holiday themed fan bingo that was hosted last year and while they warmed me during those cold December nights (i live in a tropical country) they also stuck with me in a way that transcends their seasonal status. These are the sort of pieces you go back to again and again even after the snow melts and all the themed candy has disappeared from store shelves.

Like a specialty tea blend that you stock up on all year round or a festive decorative piece that stays up not because you're too lazy to take it down but because it ties in to the fabric of your home so seamlessly it makes the space feel that much cozier.

These pieces are evergreen.

in the delta breeze [dare to breathe] - @blueiight

feels like home and heartbreak all at once. like a hug so warm it makes you want to cry and never let go.

I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus - @meastyeyes

like the perfect snapshot captured in an old family photo that brings back warm memories even after it's faded and a little dogeared.

twelve days - @weather-mood & @devotiondroid

that comfort romcom that you always go back to, hits all the right beats, you know all the lines. spicy and soo sweet like a ginger cookie.

#a meal to remember #iwtvfanevents #fan fiction #fic #rec list #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #iwtv #so much love for these authors wow #btw i hope it's okay to tag the authors like this let me know if you wanna be untagged!#i should do this for every season actually

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captain-price-unofficially · 1 year

Photo

A "Family Photo" of the full compliment of USAF aircraft in operation in 1956 over Gulf Coast, FL.

From top to bottom of the pic, from left to right are: B-36 Peacemaker, B-47 Stratojet, KC-97 Stratofreighter, RC-121 Warning Star,

Second row: B-52 Stratofortress, C-131 Samaritan, C-119 Flying Boxcar, C-124 Globemaster II, B-57 Canberra, B-66 Destroyer, B-45 Tornado

Third Row: F-94 Starfire, F-89 Scorpion, F-86C Sabre, QF-80A Shooting Star Target, T-33 Shooting Star, F-84 Thunderjet, F-84 Thunderstreak, RF-84 Thunderflash, F-86H Sabre, F-102A Delta Dagger, F-100 Super Sabre.

#aviation #Cold War

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eranjayne · 15 days

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PWYC Mother's Day Minis!

They're back! It's the final year for Pay-What-You-Can Mother's Day Minis!

PWYC = Pay What You Can! And it’s the last year for these special Mother’s Day sessions….so get off the fence and make your booking! (don’t worry – Mother’s Day sessions will be back next year and they will still be affordable….just not pay-what-you-can) Hey Mama! You deserve it! I believe that every mom deserves a beautiful photo with her kids. So often, we’re behind the camera, capturing all…

View On WordPress

#Deas Island Park #Delta family photos #Delta photographer #Ladner family photos #Ladner photographer #mother & child sessions #Mother&039;s Day mini #Mother&039;s Day mini session #Pay What You can #South Delta family photos #South Delta photographer #Tsawwassen family photos #Tsawwassen photographer #Vancouver photographer

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edutainer2022 · 8 months

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I may... be slightly embarrassed by this story, but definitely NOT sorry. I had lots of fun writing. The FlashFiction "PORTAL" prompt @janetm74 brought up (https://www.tumblr.com/flashfictionfridayofficial/727887160802410496/stories-are-the-door-to-whole-new-worlds?source=share) was too good to pass up. I typically don't do OCs. I am nearly dialogue-impared and attempts at humor are admittedly not stellar. But hey... we all have that pet sandbox of headcanons about "Next Generation Thunderbirds" or "What if Timetravel", right? I was thoroughly entertained to play in mine with this piece. Hope, you're all somewhat amuzed reading too.

TIMEY-WIMEY

The young man and woman reached for the sidearms in unison, barely stepping through a hissing door, before freezing in wide-eyed wonder. About the same hight, blond, hazel eyes that belied an unmistakable resemblance of fraternal twins, they moved as one. Scott was faster, however, stepping to shield the rest of his brothers, hands thrown up, palms open in a universal gesture of "We mean no harm!" Before he could say a word, however, the young man had already holstered a gun - a glossy futuristic model they never saw GDF carry - and tutted them all to keep quiet. The woman next to him tapped her ear, activating a mic:

- Listen up, everyone! We have a situation! Butterfly effect. Repeat, possible butterfly effect.

They were obviously in some kind of crew quarters or an officer lounge - sleek, clean lines, but comfortable seats in different areas. The space was lived in too - the holo photos on the walls displayed young men and women laughing, hugging, leaning against unfamiliar sleek aircrafts. Some groups contained the pair present - both in civilian clothes and in uniform none of the Tracies could place. It would be fascinating to ponder, except they were supposed to be in a different lounge altogether. In fact, they were - a minute ago. On their own island, going through a mission debrief that was headed into a pleasant family evening all together, even John, once they wrapped up and changed out of uniform. There were no palm trees or the sky outside the huge port windows now. As far as the eye could see the view displayed only the infinite dark and the stars. They were in space.

Virgil and Alan were gawking, stunned by that realization. John was scanning the room for some clues or a comm. Their own comm units were, conspicuously, dead. Scott was still processing the fact that he was effectively shut up by a stranger with a gun. Gordon turned his attention back at the holo pictures on the wall for some suitable intel. Following his eyes movement, the woman by the door tapped a quick command on the wrist and the holos turned off simultaneously.

- Sorry about that. Mandatory Paradox protocol - the fewer details you know the better.

Five pairs of eyes were trained on her. John found his voice first:

- Paradox protocol?

The blond man shrugged noncommittaly in a manner unnervingly familiar:

- The butterfly effect. You know, Bradbury? How in time travel you can't interact with stuff or it'll change the timeline? Sometimes the Delta-drive gets the timey-wimey all confused and it creates a temporary paradox. Like a portal.

- But no worries! - his, sister (apparently), chimed in, clearly amused. - Our Brain Trust will sort it out and get you out of here in no time. See what I did here?

They shared a Look, sniggered, and high fived.

Of all the details and questions, snowballing around, Alan, for some reason, latched onto the term:

- The Delta-drive? Like the T-drive?

The blond siblings shared a confused look again, before the man answered:

-Yeah, kinda. But at some point B... they ran out of Latin alphabet.

At that moment Scott's indignation and thinly veiled worry breached containment and, fists clenched, he almost screamed:

- Where is HERE?! Who are you?! How did we get here?!!!

Virgil switched his own imploding anxiety from the twinkling unfamiliar stars to a more immediate target and placed a calming hand on his big brother's shoulder.

The young woman rolled her eyes in a manner that too, was unnervingly recognizable, if hard to place:

- In reverse order: 1) We don't know how you got here, but, hopefully, will figure it out soon. You can't stay long. 2) You can't have too much information on who we are, but if it helps - I'm Sally, this is Grant, my twin brother and the bane of my existence (Grant made a point to give her a Look with a dramatic flourish); 3) "Here" is in Oort Cloud, strictly speaking. Welcome to the Lighthouse.

The collective audible gasp was swallowed by another door hissing, at the opposite wall. A group of four walked in - all young, an age bracket indistinguishable from that of the Tracy brothers. Two guys and two girls. All looking rather disheveled and yawning, eyes bleary from lack of sleep. One of the girls had a screwdriver holding up a messy bun of black hair. A tattatered flannel shirt was wrapped around her waist - more oil stains and burn marks, than fabric. There were grease stains on her forearm too, over an elaborate wreathe of flowers and wings, tattooed there. The guy walking next to her, dark haired and broad, sported a similar state of attire, except his flannel shirt was on. There was soot smeared on his forehead and cheek, covered in overnight shadow. The taller young man in the party was poking at holograms of some specs on the go, paying little attention to his surroundings. Dark auburn hair was curling every which way, one lock falling on the forhead to his obvious annoyance. He was clad in a cardigan that would have promoted Brains to the fashion icon of the Nerd community. That made three of them looking in disarray. The fourth young woman was rather prim and put together, if pale, looking around stiffly. The gaze of green eyes landed on the Tracy brothers, still standing back to back in the middle of the room, and she froze.

The rest of the newcomers effectively bumped into her, shifting attention to the present party. More audible gasps passed around, from the hosts this time.

Scott took the opportunity to take the initiative again:

- Hi, I'm Scott Tracy, these are my brothers. We're International Rescue...

The flannel clad big guy heaved a sigh, but smiled warmly:

- We know who you are. How? - his question was directed at the blond duo, still guarding the other exit.

- We were kinda hoping you guys will shed some light on that. Timey-wimey is your area.

It was the tall guy's cue to huff in exasperation, a slight accent hard to place:

- For the thousand's time! It's not timey-wimey, it's quantum physics!

- You say tomAIto... - his blond counterpart was grinning sunnily. All Tracies had a distinct feeling they had already witnessed this conversation on multiple occasions.

- Technically, it was the eight hundred seventy fifth time.

All eyes were on the girl speaking, but she just smoothed a non existent wrinkle on a crisp pant leg and clasped her hands awkwardly. John's eyes widened. Gordon's squinted.

- Anyhow... - the bigger man coughed discretely, to switch the conversation back on track. - Nice to meet you! I'm Kip. (Virgil yelped from an unexpected elbow in the ribs from Gordon). Tweedledum and Tweedledee there yonder probably told you we can't volunteer too much information. This is my little sister Kyra (he gestured to the girl with a screwdriver, currently in a hushed conversation with the auburn nerd), that's Lee over there and... Dawn.

The visible stumble in introductions had John squint too, then hitch a breath.

- The Delta-drive is offline after the last... mission. - That was Lee speaking again, surrounded by even more holograms, Dawn at his side sifting through data streams with uncanny speed. - We spent the night cycle rewiring and reconnecting everything manually (that was supported by enthusiastic groans from Kip and Kyra, now busy distributing generous cups of coffee around). - So whatever caused the Paradox is, likely, on their side.

That shifted all gazes in the room back to the Tracies again. In the spotlight, they looked utterly baffled.

Clearly a self-appointed morale officer - Grant supplied a consolation:

- Could be worse, right?

Kip pinched his nose, in a familiar attempt to stave off a headache after an all-nighter with busted equipment:

- Speaking of things getting worse... Where's our Intrepid Leader?

The question was directed at the Twins. It was Sally's turn to shrug:

- We were on perimeter patrol when Phoenix One left. Skye is off planetside for a Joint Chiefs meeting with the World President. The... last mission report and debriefing.

There was a snort from the general direction of the coffee table:

- I'd sell tickets to THAT show. Do we have GDF on standby? International Rescue notified for the possible fallout? Do we even still HAVE a World President?

Another mechanical hiss of the doors was an answer to that. The Twins shifted to attention imperceptibly, as a young woman in black space grade uniform strode in with urgency and determination. Lithe, runway model tall and as beautiful, blue eyes intense and dark in fluorescent light, assessing the scene in fraction of seconds, dark curls sleeked back in a bun.

- As you were.

The next words were directed at Kip and Kyra, still beaming in astonishment:

- I'll let you know that yes, we, in fact, still have a World President. I may not be on speaking terms with the man, but I draw a line at patricide.

Blue eyes glanced over the Tracies, but pointedly didn't linger, directing the unvoiced question at, obviously, the science team of the group - Lee and Dawn. They shifted several holograms her way immediately. There was something harsh about the young commanding officer, a shadow of pain etched in every feature.

Kip gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee:

- I was thinking more along the lines of a heart attack or a stroke. But good to know. Why are you back so soon? Didn't you have a report to deliver?

- I did. I delivered the report, encrypted, for President's eyes only. Then I left.

Grant and Sally whistled in unison as they, apparently, did many things in life:

- Sooooo... how long till the cavalry arrives? And all the king's Thund...

An elbow to the ribs put a halt to Grant's babbling, just as Gordon sported a cartoonish light bulb expression - jaw dropping and all. The confused gargle at the back of his throat was, however, muffled by John's palm over his mouth. Scott stood uncharacteristically still, thunderstruck.

Kyra broke the precarious moment with a splash of another helping of coffee (third since they arrived) into the mug:

- No need to worry. We're all due at the Met tonight for Lucy's recital anyway. We're gonna get the full dressing down there. That's including Gramps. We're gonna get such an earful from... everyone - we might not hear her sing.

In that moment Lee punched the air and released what could only be described as a war cry:

- That's it! The recital! That's what triggered the Paradox!

The Tracies were mostly reduced to speechless perplexity by that point, but Virgil couldn't let that one go, brows furrowing:

- How can music trigger time travel?

Lee rolled his eyes again in a gesture that had Alan inch closer to the light bulb moment too. Kip took it upon himself to be the pillar of patience (maybe not for the first time in present company) and explained:

- Music doesn't trigger time travel. Space-time context does. You're all here. And you're all due to be present at one of my sister's recital at the Metropolitan Opera tonight. It's a memorial concert, the World President will be in attendance. Well, not the you you, but the other you. The today you. Does it make sense?

A cacophony of "no"s in all Tracy voices filled the room. Gordon chimed in, voicing general confusion:

- Why would we ALL attend with the President? And how many sisters do you have?

- As... International Rescue you're guests of honor and four. Val is a lead neurosurgeon at Tracy Memorial, Casey is currently Deputy Chief of Communications at the World President Office, Kyra here, is, obviously, an engineer of the Lighthouse, and the eldest one, Lucy, is a world class opera singer, mezzo soprano. Does that answer your question?

Gordon squinted again, not willing to let the bone go:

- Why are you attending then? You guests of honor too?

Kyra stepped forth, pointing at the mourning tattoo on her arm:

- It's a memorial recital for one of our own. We lost...Commander Skye's brother in an... experimental equipment test. A Cognitive drive malfunction. It is his birthday.

The Commander in question landed her scrutiny, finally, from the holograms and formulas back on the Tracies, deep in thought. Then to Lee again:

- This doesn't add up. There are all five of them pulled in by the Paradox. Only four would be present tonight.

This time the Tracies erupted in a more than worried "why"s.

Dawn, mostly quiet heretofore and engrossed in the datastream, spoke up:

- This may explain it. A dispatch from orbital patrol is just in: USS ZXL CJT made a Delta-drive jump back into the solar system.

Gasps of surprise were summarized by Skye's hoarse wisper:

- What happened? They were not due back another three years! Not after what happened to J... (under her breath). Can you rise the Captain?

- Negative. Not from this range.

Lee clicked his fingers and pumped the air again:

- That's our trigger! We'll have to jump the Lighthouse from Oort Cloud back to Earth now, to investigate. That's how the Paradox would assemble!

Alan snapped his head from one person talking to the other and finally burst out a question:

- What's ZXL CJT?

Dawn paused, seemingly, choosing words. Skye, suddenly grim and somber, gave her a slight nod to proceed:

- A Zero-XL class deep space recon and rescue vehicle "Colonel Jeff Tracy". Captain on board - Alan Sheppard Tracy.

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radishwizard · 1 year

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midnight breakfasts (lucy's burnt toast and tea mixtape)

listen on spotify / track listing under the cut

side A

itchy teeth - marika hackman

dreary moon - big black delta

breathe (in the air) - pink floyd

te quiero pero por otro lado... - savath & savalas

say you'll go - janelle monáe

anywhere out of the world - dead can dance

side B

beatrix - cocteau twins

mausoleum - rafferty

loomer - my bloody valentine

all we ever wanted was everything - bauhaus

agoraphobia - autoheart

flatlands - chelsea wolfe

photo credit and license / extended version of the playlist

and, some author commentary (if you will):

as you may notice, this is more of a ~vibes~ playlist than anything. i was going for a very particular mood/feeling, and i hope i captured it. along those lines, i'm not actually very familiar with a lot of these artists so there is likely nuance i'm missing in the meanings of these songs. apologies if anything is being sorely misused.

also, while the conceit of this is ostensibly "extremely lonesome and traumatized teen that spends her days straddling the boundary between life and death experiences the concepts of love and family for one of the first times in her life makes a tape to play when coming home after a long night of fighting ghosts", in practice my song choices don't align with the worldbuilding of lockwood & co. many apologies.

#i'm new to the world of fst-making but i think it's neat #radish fst #sorry folks i meant to have this just be a private post and link to it but it looks like it breaks #ALSO KIWI THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP. THIS WAS FUN #lockwood and co

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dollystuartwrites · 2 years

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THE BANGTAN ALPHA

To the person who requested this short story, thank you! I hope it's to your liking!

All kinks in this story have been requested and I've obeyed.

Pairing: Alpha!KimNamjoon x Omega!f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (like mostly), strangers to lovers, werewolf AU, soulmate AU, Omegaverse

Wordcount: 9215

Summary: Desperate for a mate you beg your parents to attend the Bangtan Gathering in hopes of finding one. Never did you expect to run into the Alpha of Alpha’s: Kim Namjoon of the Bangtan Clan…

Warnings: God there are so many I will probably forget some sorry - swearing, daddy kink, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, creampie, knotting, breeding kink, virgin reader, dom!Namjoon, sub!reader, fingering, size kink, oral (f receiving), a LOT of dirty talk, pregnancy/impregnation kink, possessive!Namjoon, praising, mating, marking

'What's wrong dear?' mom asked you.

'Nothing,' you lied as you quickly put your phone away.

Mom pressed her lips together and sighed.

'You saw Nabi's photo right?' she asked you. You knew there was no use lying. She could smell the sadness on you anyways.

'She's having twins,' you said jealous, your throat feeling like a lump had gotten stuck in it.

Mom got up from her chair and wrapped her arms around you in a comforting hug as you tried to hold back the tears.

'Your time will come,' she said soothingly. But her words didn't do anything for you.

Anytime you checked your social media feed there was always someone posting about how they finally got mated, or how they were with pups. You were sure you were the last one in your age group in your city to not have been mated.

'I doubt it,' you scoffed, trying hard to blink away the tears.

'Come on honey, I'm sure you will find your mate soon,' Mom said petting your hair as a way of comfort.

'What is she crying about this time?' your youngest brother growled as he walked into the dining room.

Your emotions got the better of you and you jumped up in rage.

'You have no idea what it's like being an omega! How hard it is!' you spat at him, your eyes filling with angry tears.

'Nope, I don't,' your brother simply shrugged, not caring at all.

Even though you were the oldest and only daughter of your family, all your younger brothers were born either Beta's or Delta's, which caused quite some friction between your family most of the time. You were the only Omega. And it sucked.

'Do you know what it's like seeing all your friends being mated or having their first pups? Have to watch their happy family pictures? Their new lives of freedom and love with their new packs? While I'm still fucking stuck here with 8 dimwits younger brothers who still somehow managed to be born Delta's or Beta's?!' you cried.

'Jeez are you in heat or something?' your youngest brother rolled his eyes at you.

You snapped.

The wolf inside you broke out and you instantly shifted, baring your teeth and charing at your youngest brother.

But your paws had barely touched the ground when another large grey wolf appeared in front of you. He growled. You skidded and came to a halt.

Your father, in his grey wolf form, stared you down angrily. You knew you had gone too far. Your tail instantly sagged between your legs and you lay down on the ground on your belly, averting your eyes and showing my submission.

Dad growled at you. It was clear, "we will talk about your punishment later" growl.

---

After being verbally smacked around the ears by your Alpha father and washing up, you went up to your bedroom, emotionally exhausted and ready for bed.

But when you passed your parent's bedroom you heard something that piqued your interest. You stopped and listened.

'But don't you understand dear? She's lonely! She feels left out. She's been of age for years and she still hasn't found a mate. How would you feel if you had to go to your heat alone every time, for years on end, with 8 brothers beneath you?' your mom spoke to your dad.

'I get that it's awkward for her, and I get that's she's having a hard time. But I can't let her shift and charge at her brother and get away with it,' dad objected.

'Oh, bullshit. You let the boys fight each other all the time without interference or punishment,' Mom said annoyed.

'That's because they're boys and Delta's and Beta's. We can't have our Omega daughter be known as someone who attacks Delta's or Beta's, even if they're her brothers and even if they deserve it, and even if she's older than them. I mean, who would want to mate her if they'd know she was this defiant?' dad explained.

Mom sighed.

'Fine, but I think it's time we send her to a gathering again,' she said after a short silence.

Your heart started to hammer in your chest at her words.

This time it was your dad's turn to sigh.

'Honey we've talked about this. She's been to thirteen gatherings in the past year. Thirteen! And still no mate! We won't be doing her a favor by sending her out again and having her come back unmated again. It'll only be discouraging,' dad sighed.

'But what if she doesn't come back unmated?' mom pleaded.

Dad scoffed. 'Honey, there aren't any new gatherings left for her to go to. She's been to all of them this year,'

'Well,' mom said slowly.

You were holding your breath. It sounded like your mom was finally going to ask permission for the favor you had asked her about a few weeks back.

'There is one... that she hasn't been to...' mom said carefully.

'If you're talking about the Bangtan gathering, forget it,' Dad said sharply.

Your muscles tensed up at his words.

'But honey,' mom started, but dad interrupted her.

'No. No, I won't allow it. I won't let my daughter go to a gathering with a pack that has seven Alphas in it. Seven Alphas!? Unmated too! How is that even legal? How have they not torn each other to shreds yet? No. No, it's far too dangerous. I will not let my daughter be mated with a man who is part of a pack with 6 other Alphas,' dad refused.

Your heart sank. It had been your last chance. Your last hope...

But now...

'Oh bullshit,' your mother said suddenly fierce.

Your ears instantly perked up.

'Excuse me?' dad said in his most Alpha tone.

'Bullshit!' mom repeated. 'Bullshit that it's too dangerous. If Y/n would be safe anywhere it is in a pack with seven alpha's who can all protect her and have a true mate of their own. The only reason you don't want it is because it'll mean you'll have to deal with not one but seven Alphas,' mom hissed. 'And how is that different from all the other gatherings she's been to before? There were at least 50 Alphas at each one of them,'

Dad growled annoyed.

'My dear, just let her go. Give her this one last chance to find her mate before she has to wait for another year again,' your mom pleaded.

'But what if she comes back unmated again?' your dad's voice was soft now. Concerned. 'Will she be able to handle the disappointment?'

'Not letting her go will leave her unmated either way. What's the difference?' mom said irritated.

'I just don't want my girl to get hurt,' dad sighed.

'I won't' you blurted out. The words had been spoken before you could stop them. You threw all care out of the window and went for it, opening the door and stepping inside their room, trying to look as strong as you could.

'I won't get hurt if I come back unmated. At least then I'd have tried everything right? Then waiting another year wouldn't be too bad, it might even be easier,' you lied.

Dad bit his lip. 'I don't know dear,' he hesitated.

'Please dad?' you begged him.

Dad's eyes went from you to your mother and back again. There was clear doubt in his eyes.

Then he sighed again.

'Fine. You can go to the Bangtan gathering,' he said defeated by his own Omega and Omega daughter.

XXXXXXXXXX

The gathering was similar to human mixers. Wolves of all ranks from all over the country would go there to find their mates. With human mixers, one would often go to a restaurant to eat and talk with each other. It would only last one day or evening and would often support small groups. Wolf gatherings however often consisted of 25 to 100 wolves which would gather at a completely rented out hotel. It would start around noon and all of the wolves would meet in the conference room. Most would dress up as nicely as they could, for who would know if you'd actually find your lifemate. Some people would just be there to find someone to spend their next heat or rut with. Others would find their mate. And for those, the stay at the hotel would sometimes last up to a week...

It was quite a drive from your home to the hotel where the gathering would take place. When you arrived most of the hallway was full of other Omega's. Alpha's always had to arrive a day before and would be confined to their top floor rooms to make sure no fights would break out. Omegas would arrive the day after early in the morning and would only go up to their rooms to dump their luggage and get themselves ready before going in that noon.

You could count at least 43 Omega's in the lobby. All of them looked quite a bit younger than you...

And what was it with their appearances? How could they all look like supermodels? With long legs, shapely hips and bosoms, and big eyes.

You felt uncomfortable next to them. They looked like their bodies were designed to catch.

And then there was you.

Small, thin, and with few roundings in either the back or the front.

"It's all about the scent, not about the looks" you tried to assure yourself nervously.

'Aren't you Y/n from the Lee pack from Busan?' a voice suddenly asked you.

You turned around to see a tall girl squinting down at you.

'Eh,' you said, not sure how to reply.

'You have seven younger brothers right?' she continued.

'Right,' you nodded, feeling a bit agitated that she seemed to know me though you didn't know her.

'Ah. Yes, I thought I recognized you. You were in my older sister's class, Soo-jin is her name. I thought you would've been mated by now since my sister has been mated for years already,' the girl said carelessly.

'Good for her,' you said trying to sound nice as her words felt like a dagger in you.

'Yes, she's currently on her second catch of twins you know,' the girl said proudly.

You tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace. Having twins was one of the most admirable and enviable things in our society as it showed fertility and a strong bloodline.

'Anyway, why haven't you mated yet? Just didn't find the right one or did you hold out for the Bangtan pack?' she continued shamelessly.

'Hold out...?' you puffed incredulously.

'Honestly, you wouldn't be the first one to do so. I've heard loads of girls not going to other gatherings because they were desperate to get mated with one of the Bangtan pack. Of course, I'm not one of them.' She said quickly flicking her hair over her shoulder.

'Why are they desperate to get mated to the Bangtan pack?' you asked surprised. You knew the Bangtang gathering was one of the most popular and well-visited ones of the year, but you didn't know about the popularity of the Bangtan pack itself.

The girl laughed.

'Uhm duh, because they're all hot as fuck, they're all rich as fuck, and they're all Alphas. Of course the Alpha of the Alpha's, Kim Namjoon, is the most wanted,' the girl said fluttering her long eyelashes. 'And if you gotta believe the stories of the girl they share their ruts with,' the girl shook her head and whistled between her teeth before smiling lustfully. 'Those stories are almost enough to start your heat,'

'So none of them are mated yet?' You asked surprised. Surely you had expected them when being so popular to be mated already.

The girl shook her head, her eyes glinting.

'Nope, it is said they only hold these gatherings to find girls to share their ruts with. Some say they don't want to be mated at all. But imagine, what if they suddenly realize they're your mate?! Imagine being so lucky as to carry their pups,' she said sighing deeply, her cheeks flushing slightly.

'Who are you talking about?' Another girl asked catching the end of your conversation.

'Bangtan pack,' the first girl said dreamily.

'Oh my god, yes! You know I skipped most gatherings to go to this one. Imagine being mated to Jimin!' The second girl exclaimed lustfully.

'Jimin? I'd rather have Taehyung, I've heard his voice sounds like a lion growling,' another girl said sighing deeply.

More and more girls started joining in the conversation.

They were talking about the Bangtan Pack as if they were some kind of celebrity group. And apparently, they kind of were to young Omegas.

The name I heard most was that of Kim Namjoon. He was supposed to be the Alpha of the Alpha group. He was also the tallest and according to some the hottest. But that was very much a point of debate.

You felt overwhelmed. It was clear to you now why the Bangtan gathering was so incredibly popular. You could imagine the Omegas being drawn in by the allure of the famous Bangtan-All-Alphas pack. This in turn would draw in many other Alphas as well, wanting a piece of the action.

But honestly, you didn't care much for the Bangtan pack in particular. It was interesting how they could manage to be an all-Alphas pack without killing each other, you had to admit that. But the way the girls talked about them made it clear to you that none of them stood a chance since all they were interested in were rut mates.

You did think it interesting to hear how much knowledge the girls had of the Bangtan pack even though none of them had ever met them. And the rumors that were going around... They were... spicy to say the least.

But you were just here in desperate want for a mate. And you were determined not to spend another agonizing heat alone nor another year of having to swipe through pictures of happily mated couples with their families.

Even though you knew very well that you couldn't just choose your mate.

It either happened...

Or it didn't...

XXXXXXXXXX

While you were getting ready in your room, the Bangtan pack was eagerly waiting together in their room.

Hoseok stuck his nose in the air and took a deep breath.

'Hmm I can smell them from here,' he said eagerly. The smell of the Omegas down in the hall was exciting to them.

'Bet I'll have one at my feet within 20 minutes,' Junkook said pacing up and down the floor.

'I was thinking of trying to get two at once this time,' Jimin said excitedly.

'Calm down boys,' the leader Alpha commanded. They all scowled but did as their leader said. 'If you continue talking like that you might incite your own rut,' Namjoon stated.

'I just hope to find my mate,' Taehyung said softly as he stared out of the window. All boys laughed at him.

'What?! Just because you're all in it for the sex doesn't mean I have to be. I just feel like I'm ready to settle down you know. Mate an Omega, have some pups. Five would be nice,' he said staring dreamily into the distance.

Namjoon scoffed, as did the other guys. None of them had an ounce of romance in their bodies. Especially the leader Namjoon. Because he was a rare dominant Alpha, most Omegas would instantly swoon at the scent of him. It wasn't unusual that simply his presence was enough to incite an Omegas heat. It was easy for him to get any girl he wanted, whenever he wanted it. And he loved it. Even though he had a breeding and daddy kink, he wasn't sure if he was ready to be a dad yet. Or ever for that matter.

Namjoon checked his watch.

'They'll almost be going in, guys. Remember, we will be going in later to give all of them a fair shot to get mated first before we,' Namjoon didn't get to finish his sentence as Yoongi interrupted him.

'Before we come in and make them soak their panties with slick and heat?' Yoongi grinned.

'Yoongi,' Namjoon said in a reprimanding tone, but he grinned too.

'Remember the other rules guys,' Namjoon continued in a more serious tone.

'No taking Omegas in their heat,' Jimin said rolling his eyes.

'Getting out as soon as we feel a rut coming,' Jin called out the second rule.

'No knotting unless you're mated,' Yoongi scowled.

'Make sure to ask for consent and check if they're on birth control,' Jungkook said pointedly.

Namjoon nodded at his pack.

Meanwhile, you had arrived in the conference room. You had decided to wear a black satin slip-on dress, which you hoped would be a slip-off dress by the end of the night...

You had also worn your hair up, a tip from your mom as to expose your scent glands as much as possible.

Alphas had finally started arriving and you could instantly see some of them find their mates within seconds. You had seen it happen so many times.

They would enter the room with their noses in the air. Sniffing out the alluring scent they had noticed and following it straight to the Omega. They would smile broadly at each other as they found each other and after a short introduction, they would be off, back to their hotel rooms together...

But this only happened to at most a quarter of the wolfs attending. Most wouldn't find their mate and instead would simply mingle, hoping to find a rut or heat mate or sometimes just to make some new friends.

You kept yourself apart from the talking and laughing groups of people. Hoping anxiously that it would help to keep your scent as pure as possible so that, if your possible mate was here, they couldn't miss it.

As the time ticked by and no more new people seemed to be entering the room, you grew hopeless again. More and more couples were leaving, either as mates or as friends.

You could feel the pain in your heart grow deeper and deeper as you stared out of the window at the sun getting lower and lower. It seemed like another failed gathering. Which would mean another year of agonizing heats, and hearing families talk proudly about their new catch.

Tears started to well up in your eyes as the hopelessness consumed you.

But a sudden chatter drew your attention and you turned around curiously.

'I heard they'll be coming down now,' a girl said.

'Finally! What took them so long? It's been hours,' another girl said.

And indeed the Bangtan pack was on its way down. All seven of them ran down the stairs, whooping and yelling, getting themselves riled up for the hunt they were about to undertake.

Namjoon could feel his wolf being awakened as the strong smell of a room full of Omegas entered his nostrils. It excited him. It excited all of them.

And suddenly he smelt it.

I very peculiar and hypnotizing scent set his wolf on high alert. He could feel a tingle down his spine as he ran to the door of the conference room, followed by his shouting and laughing companions.

All seven of them burst into the room excitedly and many Omega's started screaming as if they were fangirls watching their favorite celebrities pass by.

Suddenly you caught a strong whiff of a scent that seemed to light a fire in your lower belly. But before you could react to it, or before you could stand on your tiptoes to see what you expected to be the Bangtan pack bursting in, a man stepped in front of you. He was small and wore a crinkled suit.

'Hi, I'm Jack,' he said friendly. His scent somehow seemed off and it was clear to you that he wasn't an Alpha, nor your mate.

'Hi,' you spoke warily, not actually wanting to make conversation as you were sure he wasn't your mate. Besides, that scent... Not his, but another scent... the one that, it that fire in you.

Namjoons mind was racing as he followed his nose to that hypnotizing scent. His wolf was screaming at him to follow it and he was curious to see where it would lead him. Never before had he smelled something so... alluring.

He passed a few tables when...

There it was, the source of the smell.

He could see a small thin girl in a black satin slip-on dress, with her hair in a casual low bun. Her neck beautiful pale neck was exposed...

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

A princess, a goddess an angel.

For a second Namjoon imagined himself walking over to her, taking her into his arms and digging his teeth into her neck deeply, marking her.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

What the hell was he thinking?

Then suddenly he noticed the man that was talking to her. Clearly a Delta. He was holding his hand out for her to shake.

Namjoon could see the clear doubt in her eyes, your eyes. The wolf in him instantly woke again. It roared angrily. How dared that man touch his Omega? How dare he make you feel uncomfortable?

The frenzy overtook him and he charged, growling loudly. All of the other Alpha's in his pack instantly noticed and stopped what they were doing. Within seconds they had sped over, but it was already too late.

Namjoon was sitting on top of the Delta he had toppled over, punching him in the face with all his might. It took all six of the other Alphas in his pack to pull him off.

'NAMJOON!' Yoongi called at him. 'Namjoon!' he repeated, this time slapping Namjoon in the face. Namjoon who was just seconds ago all arms and legs trying his hardest to get loose from the grip of his pack members, desperate to hurt the Delta more, was now turned to Yoongi.

'NAMJOON CALM THE FUCK DOWN! WHAT THE FUCK DUDE?!' Yoongi growled at him. The wolf in Namjoon was still on high alert, but Yoongi's voice pulled him slightly back to earth.

Namjoon looked at the bleeding Delta on the ground. He stopped struggling and the six-pack members let go of him.

'GET OUT!' Namjoon growled at the bleeding Delta. The Delta was all too happy to instantly leave the room.

'Where is she?' Namjoon muttered more to himself, his jaws still clenched in anger. He spun around wildly as his friends were still on high alert, ready to grab Namjoon again immediately if needed.

But then he spotted you. You had cowered back into the corner of the nearest windowsill. If you had been in wolf form, your tail would've been between your legs and your ears flat against your head. But you were still human, which meant you were simply trembling on your feet, praying your knees wouldn't give out.

As soon as Namjoon spotted you his wolf calmed down. You were unharmed and untouched.

He took a few steps closer to you. The scent that had lit the fire in your lower parts was growing stronger. It was clear now it was coming from him. The Alpha of the Alpha pack.

But you were too scared.

You pressed your back against the cold glass wall as you watched the tall, broad, and muscled man inch closer to you.

Finally, your knees gave out and you sank down, your wolf making you whimper in submission.

Namjoons heart melted as he watched you cower and whimper in the corner.

'Are you okay baby?' he spoke in his husky low voice. Your scent intoxicated him and he wanted nothing more than to take your shivering silhouette into his arms.

The use of the pet name and his soft words took you by surprise. Still trembling like a chihuahua you slowly nodded in response.

Namjoon stuck out his hand to you.

'Let me help you up,' he said softly. The sound of his voice was so mesmerizing. You weren't sure if it was his voice alone, or his intoxicating scent, or maybe just the fact that he was a dominant Alpha, but you couldn't help but obey him.

You didn't even care that him touching you like that would make him scent you. You wanted him to scent you. You wanted to drown in the smell of him.

Carefully Namjoon helped you up.

'You're shivering' he stated worriedly. He quickly took off his jacket and put it around your bare shoulders. 'There,'

In the background, the six other pack members exchanged incredulous looks with each other. Had it really happened? To their leader even. Or was this a new weird tactic Namjoon hadn't told them about to lure in Omegas?

You looked around you. The whole of the conference room was looking at you and Namjoon breathlessly. You felt embarrassed and scared, unsure of what the hell had just happened, and still with that sizzling fire in you.

Namjoon noticed the change in your mood and looked up too. He too noticed all attendees staring at the two of you.

'Let's get some fresh air for a bit,' he quickly whispered into your ear. The proximity of his nose to your neck made his chest swell up and there was a second in which he had to fight the insane urge of marking you again.

The feeling of his hot breath on your ear and the scent of him made you unable to refuse him. Meekly you followed him as he guided you to the exit.

XXXXXXXXXX

Once outside Namjoon took you into the hotel gardens.

The fresh air and scent of the trees and earth helped you calm down a lot. However, the scent of him so close next to you, his jacket around your shoulders drenched in it...

While the panic was subsiding the fire in you started to rise slowly.

'Let's sit here,' Namjoon said, gesturing to a nearby bench.

You obeyed and he came to sit down next to you.

You didn't dare to make eye contact, let alone look at him, so you looked at your feet instead.

'What's your name?' Namjoon asked huskily. His voice wasn't helping the fire die down either...

'Lee Y/n from the Lee pack from Busan,' You answered.

'Hmm,' Namjoon sounded, his chest rumbling so deep that the bench seemed to vibrate beneath you.

'I'm Kim Namjoon from the Bangtan pack,' Namjoon introduced himself politely.

'I know,' you whispered. It had been clear to you from the moment he had walked in. His dominant Alpha aura and his scent were impossible to miss. The description the girls had given of him this morning had been accurate. To you, he indeed was the most handsome one in the pack.

For the first time in his life, Namjoon felt awkward. Your scent was so overwhelming to him now that you two were alone. The wolf inside him was screaming, crying, and clawing at him to hold you, touch you, kiss you, mark you, mate you...

But the sensation of it all had been so unexpected. Unwanted even. He was confused and in denial.

'So erm,' Namjoon started, unsure of where he was going with his sentence but desperate to keep talking to distract his wolf.

'So erm, what were you here for?' He asked. He wanted to punch himself in the face. Why on earth would anyone ask that? An Omega was at a gathering for only two reasons: find a mate or find a heat partner.

While cursing himself out silently he heard your soft voice answer.

'I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that?' he apologized.

You mumbled your answer again.

Your mumbling warmed his heart. It sounded cute and shy.

'You gotta speak up baby,' Namjoon said and unable to help himself he put his finger under your chin and directed your face to look at him.

Looking at you from up close made his heart skip a beat. Your soft skin, your perfectly shaped eyes, nose, and mouth. He wanted to look at that face for the rest of the time. To plant kisses on those pink cheeks and rose lips...

'I'm looking for a mate,' you admitted breathlessly. His stunning face silenced you. His dark almond eyes, his rounded cheeks, full soft-looking lips. You could feel the heat rising in you. This was bad. Very very bad. You shouldn't be having your heat right now. You had already been through one recently so it was extremely off-cycle.

Your words made Namjoon freeze, his finger still underneath your chin. His wolf was still clawing at him. He could smell it now. Your heat firing up. The slick that had formed between your legs. His wolf roared. He wanted to mate your right now. Dig his teeth into your neck. Thrust his cock into you, knot you, and unload himself over and over into you, until you'd catch.

His pants had become far too tight around his dick, which had grown into a fullfledged raging boner. His wolf roared louder and louder.

But he had locked his muscles in place. Frozen. Trying desperately to get a grip on the situation while your words echoed in his head:

"I'm looking for a mate,"

Namjoons wolf answered.

"You've found him,"

But Namjoon kept his jaws locked as he stared into your eyes.

And you stared back into his.

Meanwhile, you were falling deeper and deeper into your heat as you looked at him, smelled him.

Suddenly blind panic overtook Namjoon's mind.

'Good luck. Go straight back to your room,' he heard himself speak. His fingers slipped away from under your chin as he turned his back onto you.

Even though your heat was begging you to jump his bones, Namjoon's Alpha order weighed stronger than anything, causing you to stand up on wobbly legs. You could feel your drenched panties stick to your burning crotch while your legs moved on their own, walking you back to the hotel, leaving a heaving Namjoon behind.

As the distance between the two of you grew, Namjoon's mind started to become a little clearer. But instead of feeling better, as he had expected he only started to feel worse. The smell of you lessened and his wolf started crying and whimpering loudly for it.

You had disappeared out of his sight and entered the lobby. Your legs barely able to carry you but still executing the Alpha's order. As the elevator doors closed and you pressed the button it felt like your insides shattered. Your legs finally gave out as you dropped to the floor. The only thing you could think of was Namjoon's face. His scent that you were still carrying around your shoulders. But he was far away now. Too far away. And for some reason, it hurt.

And it hurt him too. It felt as if when you left him, a piece of his soul got ripped away from him. He felt incomplete. Empty. Agonizing.

Then he heard it. Even though soft and far away, he could hear your broken-hearted sobs in the elevator as it went up.

He snapped. Fuck not being ready for being a dad, he was ready. More than ready. Completely and utterly ready to tie himself down forever. As long as it was with you.

He had lied to himself. He could never send you away. Never leave your side. Never be without you.

Namjoon flew up, and raced into the hotel, running to the stairs as he followed your scent and sobs up as you went up in the elevator. He needed you. He needed to be with you. Needed your scent, your touch, your everything.

Panting he ran up the stairs until he finally heard the ding that notified him of the arrival of the elevator. He kicked open the door that led to the hallway and immediately noticed you on the floor in the elevator, which doors were opened.

Within seconds he was next to you, throwing all care completely out of the window and scooping you up from the ground into his strong arms.

'I'm sorry. I got you now baby. I'm sorry. I got you. I got you baby,' he coed into your ear as he pressed you close against his body.

You looked up into his dark and beautiful eyes. It was clear now. He was your mate.

And you were his.

XXXXXXXXXX

As Namjoon carried you to his room, you could feel his chest heaving as his breath got heavier and heavier.Not because carrying you took him a lot of effort, as he had carried grocery bags that had felt heavier than you. No, it was because of what you did to him. What your scent did to him. What your touch did to him.

There was no way he could hide the ever-growing massive boner in his pants. Nor could you hide your heat rising inside of you. Your panties getting drenched in your wet slick.By the time the both of you arrived in his room, your eyes were only half-open, your throat was dry and your cheeks were flushed. Namjoon softly placed you on the bed, but when he tried to get up you grabbed the front of his shirt, keeping him bend over you.'Don't leave,' you whispered, your voice slightly raspy. 'If I don't lock myself in the bathroom I will mate you,' Namjoon growled with clenched teeth, fighting hard to keep his wolf down.

'I want you to,' you breathed.Namjoons fingers curled.'You're in heat, you don't know what you're doing,' he said, gritting his teeth.'I do,' You mewed.'You don't even know me,' Namjoon tried one last time, only barely able to hold back now. 'Namjoon, mate me,' you purred, clenching the front of his shirt between your fingers.

Your words broke him. There was no way he could ever hold back now. No way he could hold any of it in.

He roared as he dove on top of you, planting kisses on every piece of bare skin he could find. You tangled your fingers into his hair as he licked every inch of you.

He pulled down the top of your dress, exposing your braless breasts. Namjoon groaned in agony at the sight of them. His large hands could easily cup your breast entirely and he tugged, twisted, and softly bit into your nipples. The feeling of it drove you insane.

'God your tits are so perfect,' he growled in your ear. You could feel him grinding his clothed hips into your side as he sucked on your nipples. You let out a long and high-pitched moan which made Namjoon's member twitch. He used his free hand to find the hem of your dress, pulling it up and starting to massage your inner tighs.Namjoon pulled his mouth from your nipple and smashed his lips into yours. His lips felt soft, warm, and wet. His sweet taste was almost addictive.

He parted his lips slightly more and let his tongue glide over your lips. You opened your mouth slightly to let him in.

Your tongues intertwined and the taste of him made electricity shoot through your body.

'Oh baby,' Namjoon groaned as he felt you twitch underneath him.He let his hand slide up in between your tighs, dragging a finger over your soaked panties.'You're such a good girl. All wet for me,' he hummed in your ear. Good shivers went down your spine.

'Hmm, you like that don't you baby? You like it when daddy talks dirty to you?' his low voice tickled your ear.'Yes,' you moaned.'Yes, what?' Namjoon growled as he softly pinched your clit. You moaned in ecstasy.'Yes daddy,' you purred.'That's my baby,' he said licking the soft spot beneath your ear. Namjoon suddenly tugged harshly at your panties, pulling them down in one movement and throwing them on the ground. 'You want daddy to satisfy his baby girl?' he whispered, kissing you again.'Please daddy,' you groaned onto his lips. You could feel his lips twist into a smile as he kissed you deeply before breaking the kiss and crawling down, between your legs.

You could feel his tongue lick from your slit to your pearl.'You're slick is so fucking sweet,' Namjoon groaned. The hot air of his words caressed your clit and made you squirm even more. He wrapped his lips around your bud and started flicking into it with his tongue and sucking it.

You were completely in ecstasy. The scent of him completely surrounding you, his hands roaming over your body, his tongue playing with your most sensitive spot.

You could feel your pussy clench around nothing and knew you needed more.'Namjoon please,' you moaned.'What is it baby?' he asked you between licks.

'Please, I need more,' you groaned.'Yeah? You need daddy to fill that tiny empty pussy of yours?' he grinned as he gave a big suck on your clit.'Please daddy,' you moaned desperately.

You could feel him shift his hands, one of his fingers now sliding up and down over your wet entrance.'Please daddy,' you repeated. He chuckled lowly and suddenly you felt the delicious feeling of pressure against your entrance. Slowly but surely Namjoon slipped his pinky finger into you.

'Fuck baby, you're so tight,' Namjoon groaned, his dick pulsing. The thought and feeling of your tight pussy around his smallest finger made him groan.

'How will daddy ever get his big knot in there if you're this tight baby?' Namjoon groaned.His dirty words made your pussy clench down even more.

'Fuck,' he moaned at the feeling of you tightening around his finger. He pulled it out and you immediately protested.'Gotta prepare you a little bit baby,' he said, before sticking his thumb into you. The size difference was clearly felt by you and you moaned happily. 'So you like it when I fill you up more huh?' Namjoon grinned. He instantly pulled out again and put his index finger and his middle finger into you. You squealed in pleasure as you could feel your eyes rolling back into your head.

'We're not done yet baby,' Namjoon coed into your ear. The dominance dripping of his words made you clench again which in turn caused him to moan again. 'You need to be able to fit at least three fingers for you to be able to fit me,' he murmured.

His two fingers were sliding in and out of you as he softly nipped at your clit. You were having the hardest time not to lose your fucking mind.

You felt so incredibly warm, wet, and soft around Namjoons's fingers that he was having the hardest time holding himself back. His wolf was screaming at him to just unleash his dick already.But he knew he needed you to get comfortable with three fingers for him to be able to fuck you in a pleasurable way.

He moved his fingers in and out of you for a while, picking up the pace slightly and spreading his two fingers slowly wider and wider until he finally felt like he could fit one more in.'You ready for number three baby?' Namjoon asked, his jaw now clenched again in an attempt to hold himself back.'Yes daddy, fill me up,' you groaned, squirming underneath him in pleasure.Grinding his teeth in anticipation, Namjoon pulled his hand back and inserted a third finger into you. The feeling of it was almost too much for you. You felt stretched, not in a painful way, but in a good way. Slowly Namjoon pushed his fingers further into you, then all of a sudden bending them.

You screamed out in pleasure. He had pressed your g-spot. Namjoon growled and started picking up the pace again, shoving his three fingers in you at an angle and pressing your g-spot hard over and over again.

'Namjoon, I'm- I'm gonna...' you moaned, squirming underneath him. 'Cum for daddy, baby. Come for me, let me taste you,' Namjoon commanded you. It was all you needed. The waves crashed over you as heat, electricity and a tingling sensation warmed your insides from your fingertips to your toes.

Namjoon sucked at your slit, making the orgasm even intenser, licking up your sweet tasting slick.

Gasping loudly, wave after wave rolled over you until Namjoon finally removed his fingers and face from your pussy.'Such a good baby girl,' he growled grinning.

XXXXXXXXXX

Although your orgasm was subsiding, your heat definitely wasn't. It was as if the orgasm had only thrown oil onto the fire. You wanted more. You needed more. You need him.

'Mate me,' you repeated the words you had said before, begging him almost.

But this time he was too far gone to object.

Within seconds he had taken off his shirt and pants. His hairless chest was muscular and broad, as were his arms. His legs were toned with muscles and the pink wet knob of his hard-on was poking out from under his underpants.

You could instantly see why he had been insisting on you taking his three fingers. He was bigger than any toy you had ever tried. But the sight of it didn't scare you. It only made your heat grow stronger.

'I'm yours,' you sighed as you stared at his features. He was like a real-life adonis. Never in a million years would you have dared to dream of such a handsome, stunning, and sexy mate.

'Oh baby I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't be able to walk tomorrow,' he growled before finally ripping of his underpants, completely revealing his massive dick.

In one smooth dive, he was back on top of you again, his tip instantly pressuring on your entrance.

'Wait, don't you want to do it traditionally?' you said quickly, a moment of clarity giving you a small window to actually think. Normally the mating would be done with the man behind the woman, literally doggy style.

Namjoon grinned at me.

'I wanna see my baby girl's face when I fuck you,' He said low, kissing your lips. You could feel the pressure on your slit increasing and slowly you could feel his massive girth sliding into you. You moaned.

'I wanna see your pretty face as you cum for me again,' Namjoon grinned as he slowly inserted himself into you. Your pussy had never been stretched this far. Luckily your slick made it bearable as he pressed on.

'I wanna see my mate's face as I knot you and fill you up with my pups,' Namjoon growled, his wolf now completely taking over. He suddenly thrust himself into you to his base. You cried out in shock as his tip deeply brushed your g-spot and then filled you up entirely.

He gave you a second to adjust before he pulled back again slightly. You groaned as the pressure against your walls lessened slightly.

Namjoon faced you again, hovering over you. His smile was dark, lustful. A sight enough to make you clench again. He bend down and kissed you passionately. You knew, were sure, that never in the rest of your life you would ever get sick of his taste.

Before you knew it he thrust his hips forward again, his dick stretching you once more. He started at a slow pace. Long deep slow strides of sliding in and out of you, your wetness making it easy for him. Every time hitting your g-spot hard and every time making you sigh deeply as you stared into his beautiful dark eyes.

But Namjoon's wolf was growing impatient. Spurring him on to pick up the pace, and so he did. Within minutes he was pounding into you harshly, looking down at your ecstasy-filled face and clenching his jaw hard.

You were totally losing it. Nothing in the world existed anymore. It was just you and him. The only thing you could feel was his magical massive dick pounding you, hitting you in all the right places. Your own wolf was howling too, begging for your own release, begging to be filled to the brim.

'Your tight pussy takes my dick so well baby,' Namjoon groaned into your neck. 'Your little cunt was made to satisfy me,'

His words made you burn and squirm as electricity ran through your veins

'Fill me,' you let slip out your thoughts in a sex-driven mind lapse.

'You want me to knot you, baby?' Namjoon growled. He bit his own lip as he started pounding you even harder and faster.

'Yes daddy!' you yelped getting completely fucked out of your mind. 'Knot me, daddy! Fill me with your pups, please!' you screamed as you dug your claws into his back, his pounding sending you over the edge.

You could feel the base of his cock swell, stretching you even further.

'I'm gonna fill you up so good baby. I will make you catch tonight. I'll make sure everyone knows your mine forever,' Namjoon growled lowly into your ear.

His words lubricated you more as you moaned loudly. You could feel his base still growing, expanding to the size that would've scared you out of your wits had you not been so far into your heat.

'I'm gonna-' Namjoon started to groan. 'I'm-I-I'm gonna cum!' he roared. He gave one hard pound, thrusting his knot fully into you. Your pussy instantly clenched down at its base as you reached your own orgasm.

You could feel his tip against your womb, could feel his hot thick cum pouring into you as you screamed his name in pleasure. At the same time, a sharp pain in your neck made you dig your nails into the sheets.

Namjoon was digging his teeth into your neck, marking you as his mate for life, while his dick still pulsed and poured more cum into you.

He softly licked the holes his teeth had made into your skin, easing the pain and healing up the small wounds.

Softly kissing you neck and whispering words you at first could hardly hear.

'I love you Y/n. I love you. I'll always love you. I'll take care of you forever,' he moaned into your neck, kissing your mark and wrapping his arms tightly around you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck

His knot was still stuck inside you as the last bit of his cum poured from his cock into you.

As the last few waves of your orgasm subsides you felt satisfied, stretched, and very full.

It felt so safe in his arms. Your mate's arms. The thought of it was almost surreal. You had waited so long for this. Hopedso long for this. And now it had finally happened.

And it felt better than you could've ever imagined.

'Are you comfortable baby?' Namjoon asked softly his words tickling your neck.

'Very much so,' you purred back.

'Good. It'll take a while for my knot to go down so just lean into me. Sleep if you're tired baby,' Namjoon told you, his chest vibrating nicely against you as he spoke in his low voice.

The mention of sleep suddenly made you realize how exhausted you actually were. You hummed into his chest and cuddled up closer to him. His strong big arms wrapped around you tighter, pulling you against his muscular chest.

You could hear his heartbeat. Steady and rhythmic. The warmth of his body was like a nice bath. The scent of him made you feel calm, happy, at home. You were at home.

When you woke up the following morning in Namjoon's arms he was already awake. His knot had finally gone down and he was able to remove himself from you painlessly.

The both of you spend the entire day in the bedroom, cuddling and talking about everything.

< < < < < < < THREE WEEKS LATER > > > > > > >

You and Namjoon had been inseparable the past two weeks. He had met your family, and you had met his pack and his parents. Most of the time you had spent in his house, together in his bed...

The two of you had conversed till deep in the night, so much so that your throats had become hoarse of all the talking.

The markings on your neck had healed up nicely by now and you carried them around proudly and on display whenever you had to leave the house. But never his side. You would never leave his side. Nor would Namjoon ever let you get further away from his than into another room in the same house.

When you woke up one morning in Namjoon's arms you noticed him looking down at you. There was a smile on his face but his eyes... You knew from his eyes instantly that something was up.

'What's wrong?' You asked as you sat up.

'Nothing, don't worry about it,' Namjoon said kissing your forehead sweetly.

'Joon,' you moaned into his neck, cuddling up closer to him. Namjoon's dick instantly started to perk up.

'If you don't stop that now, something bad will happen,' Namjoon groaned.

'Oh, yea? What will happen daddy?' you purred into his ear, turning around and rubbing you but against his front.

Namjoon growled.

'Stop it, I just got my knot out of you again,' he groaned.

'I know, but it makes me feel so empty daddy, won't you fill me up again like you did last night?' you mewed. You knew exactly what to say to get him hard instantly.

'Stop it!' Namjoon laughed rolling away from you and almost falling out of bed. You giggled.

Namjoon got up and walked around the bed, sitting on the edge and cupping your face lovingly in his hands.

'You know I would love nothing more than to knot you and fill you up again,' he said seductively, almost inciting your heat, 'however we made a promise to visit your family again and a certain sleepy baby, that I didn't wanted to wake because she looked so beautiful, has already made us late,' he grinned.

'Fuck, I forgot,' you swore, quickly glancing at the clock. Namjoon was right, you guys were late.

The both of you hurriedly got ready, both of you having a hard time keeping your hands off of each other as you did so.

An hour later you arrived at your parent's house. Your mom and dad were waiting for you on the porch. Your brothers were probably out, patrolling the borders of the land.

As you got out of the car, you hurried over to your mom as she opened her arms for you. You gave her a big happy hug as Namjoon followed you closely and bowed to your father.

When your mom let go of you you could instantly see something was wrong. Her eyes were narrowed as she glanced you up and down. She looked at Namjoon sharply who saw her look.

'You smell it on her too right?' Namjoon said his face grimaced in pain.

'What?!' you said shocked. 'You smell what?' you could feel your heart rate rise instantly in panic.

'I smell it too alright,' your mom said, her brows slightly furrowed.

'What!? What do you smell? What's wrong with me?' you cried out, desperate to know.

'I don't know baby,' Namjoon said, his voice worried, quickly taking you into his arms and hugging you as a way of comfort.

'I know that smell all too well,' your mom said darkly. Namjoon wrapped his arms around you tighter as if he was hoping to protect you from whatever your mom would say next.

She looked from you to Namjoon, to your father, and back again to you.

Then she suddenly smiled broadly.

'Your pregnant honey,' she grinned happily.

Your heart skipped a beat. Namjoon almost squished you in his arms but you could hear him sigh in relief.

'You're sure?' he asked his voice clearly dripping with excitement.

'A thousand percent sure,' your mom nodded confidently.

Namjoon laughed happily as did your father.

'And,' your mom continued, making Namjoon hold his breath behind you again, 'judging by the thickness of the smell,' your mom paused for effect.

'It's probably twins,' she said her face positively glowing proudly.

Namjoon let out a jubilant roar as he lifted you up in the air and spun you around.

You were unable to say anything. Thick tears of happiness were streaming down your face.

'At least twins,' your mom added. 'I remember when I was pregnant with my twins, Yongbok and Hyun Jin, the smell was similar to this, although I myself couldn't smell it at first either. But what I smell on you my dear daughter,' your mom nodded knowingly, 'certainly twins at least,'

Namjoon couldn't stop laughing, the sound of his happiness filling your ears and heart alongside your own happiness.

'I gotta call my sister,' your mom said, tears in her eyes now too. 'She's gonna be so jealous when she hears my daughter has mated the Alpha of the famous Bangtan Alpha pack and is carrying his pups. Twins! At least! The bitch has been nagging me for years about how her daughter mated the Alpha of the Exo pack. HA! That'll show her, running her mouth and all,' your mom chowed out.

Your father laughed loudly, following as your mother ran into the house to make the call.

Namjoon turned you around.

Happy tears were glistening in his eyes too.

'Twins! At least,' he smiled broadly.

You couldn't help but laugh and cry at the same time. Your heart felt like it was flying over the moon.

Namjoon crouched down to face your still flat tummy.

'Daddy's gonna be taking real good care of you little ones and your mom,' he spoke to your belly. You giggled.

He got up again and wrapped his arms around you tightly.

'I love you Y/n,' he whispered in your ear. He had said it a million times already over the past few weeks but you knew you could never ever get sick of that husky voice whispering them to you.

'And you're gonna look so fucking hot with your round pregnant belly as you carry my pups. I can hardly wait,' he added even softer.

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