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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

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When I Have You - Chapter 22

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Chapter 22

“I can’t believe I lived eleven years of my life without magic.” Harry smirked as he stared out the window of Ron and Hermione’s flat, watching the stragglers of the day making their way back home from Diagon Alley.

Despite the music raging, the lights flashing, and the ridiculous raucous that was coming from above, the people on the street below seemed not to notice. In fact, they would hear no sound at all.

“I mean, how great is this? Throwing a party and you don’t even upset the neighbours?”

“Yeah, well, lucky for us,” Ron said, glancing around at the small room filled with more people than Ron had ever anticipated. Having a few close friends over had turned into half of their year turning up, word of mouth spreading rapidly. It had been unexpected, though a pleasant surprise. Some of these people Ron hadn’t seen in over a year, having not caught up with them at the memorial service a few months prior.

There was Seamus, Dean and Neville by the kitchen, Butterbeers in hand, laughing at something Seamus had just said.

Beside them was Lavender, apparently her first big outing since the war. She was looking around very nervously at everyone, always touching her face, which was horribly scarred. Lavender, Ron had heard, had refused to come unless Parvati did, and Parvati had told Padma about it, who had invited her Ravenclaw buddies.

Neville had been invited, who was somehow in contact with the Hufflepuffs, so they’d all shown up, too. Then there was George and Percy, who’d brought Audrey along (who seemed very much at home being surrounded by a bunch of wizards and not at all put out by it), and even a few faces Ron didn’t recognise.

“Remind me to put some damn good privacy charms around this place afterwards,” Ron said to Harry, watching a tall, slightly older man skulk around the edge of the partiers.

Harry snorted into his half-drunk Butterbeer. “You’ll need some Ministry-level ones after this.”

“Well, at least everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.” Ron scanned the crowd, unable to stop himself from smiling. It was good to see everyone again, even if most of them he’d spent seven years never speaking to. It reminded him of the old times.

“There you are!”

Ron spun to find Hermione striding towards him. She was very pink in the face, her hair — which she had attempted to slick back — had slipped in parts, the curls escaping the magic. But she was wearing a large smile as she flung her arms around Ron’s neck and drew him into a deep kiss.

Her breath smelled of Firewhisky, and Ron suspected she may have helped herself to a few too many glasses of the potent drink that was being passed around freely.

He chuckled against her mouth, to which she pulled away, frowning. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Ron said, stifling a grin. He looked over her shoulder to where Harry had been standing with him by the window, but discovered that his friend had snuck away and was now talking to Dean, probably about Auror training.

He looked back at Hermione, whose cheeks had turned from pink to red. Her hair had slipped out even more, and Merlin, she was beautiful, even in a drunken state.

“You’re smiling,” Hermione said, her frown deepening. “Do I amuse you?”

“Yes, a little,” Ron said. “Found the Firewhisky, did you?”

“George was pouring everyone some glasses. I thought —”

Ron could no longer contain the laugh that had been desperate to escape ever since she’d kissed him in a manner that a sober Hermione never would have in the vicinity of so many people.

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“I’m not!”

“You are,” Ron said. “And it’s fantastic. Kiss me like that again. I liked it.” He set aside his own drink, wrapping her in his arms, but she pulled away, looking up at him with an offended look.

Ron grinned, and he guided her over to where Harry and Dean were talking.

“... Ron, Neville and I are doing a lot of work with Patronuses at the moment,” Harry was saying to Dean. “It’s the second year of training. So don’t worry too much. Neville didn’t master the talking Patronus until a few weeks back.”

The words seemed to ease Dean’s concern. He nodded, waving to Ron and Hermione as they joined him. A moment later, Ginny came over too, clutching a Butterbeer. Everyone was going to wake up with headaches in the morning, Ron thought.

“Excited about your NEWT results?” Dean asked, looking between Hermione and Ginny. “I hear they’ll be out soon…”

“Why do you think Hermione has had far too many Firewhiskies?” Ginny said, grinning.

“I’m not drunk!” Hermione said, though as she spoke, she somehow managed to stumble on her own feet and clutched Ron for support.

Ron, Harry and Ginny stifled laughs, while Dean looked at her, slightly taken aback.

“But now that you’ve reminded me… Dean, I think I might find George and see if he’s got anymore…” And she pushed her way through the crowd towards Ron’s brother.

Ron shook his head, watching her in amazement. He couldn’t contain the grin on his face, as thoughts wandered into his head — thoughts that he had so desperately tried to push aside for the year and a bit he’d been with her, but ones that had always lingered, threatening to burst through at any moment.

If he could love her like this, drunk and stumbling her way through a party, then he could love her always. Forever. No matter what.

I want to marry her.

He refrained from laughing when she crashed into Ernie MacMillan.

“Excuse me?”

Ron turned away from Hermione, and back to the others. They were all staring at him, eyes wide. “What?” he asked, looking between their bewildered expressions.

“What do you mean, what?” Harry said. “‘I want to marry her.’ Explain yourself.”

Ron opened his mouth, feeling heat creep up his neck and onto his ears. “I, er, I said that out loud, did I?”

“Yep,” Harry, Ginny and Dean all said together.

Ron flushed. “Well, I don’t mean now,” he said. “I just mean… one day.” He glanced over his shoulder again, where Hermione was talking to George and Lee, appearing much happier to be in their presence than she had ever been before.

“What a romantic,” Ginny said, her voice reeking of sarcasm. “She gets drunk for the first time in her life, and you decide you want to marry her.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go telling her that,” Ron said. “I don’t want her thinking…”

“No need, mate,” Harry said, who had had the clearest view of Hermione still across the room, apart from Ron. “Pretty sure she heard you.”

“It’s too noisy in here,” Ron said. “She can’t have.”

Harry shrugged, and Ron once again looked over at Hermione. She cast Ron a bright smile, which he returned. She couldn’t have heard him from all the way across there. He hoped not, at least. He didn’t want her thinking he was planning anything so soon into their relationship.

“Who do you think will be the next to get married?” Ginny asked.

“Ron and Hermione,” Harry said with a wry smile at Ron.

Ron went very red.

“Nah,” Ginny said. She scanned the room. “Percy and Audrey look fairly cosy over there, don’t they? And Audrey doesn’t look at all bothered by the whole magic business. In fact, I think they’re the perfect couple. She’s as pompous as he is.”

“What?” Ron said. “Audrey?” He followed his sister’s gaze. He’d met Audrey a few times now, and not at all gotten that impression.

“Well, yes. Have you heard her rambling on about how her ‘boyfriend leads a department’ or ‘her boyfriend did really well in his exams’. She’ll tell anyone who’ll listen. Doesn’t matter that she doesn’t understand half of what she’s talking about. The fact that he’s successful is what attracts her. He could have been You-Know-Who’s right hand man and she’d be proud of the fact that he got promoted so highly.”

Ron stared at Ginny for a moment, amazed that she seemed to find fault in all of her brothers’ girlfriends. “So, what’s wrong with Hermione then? Go on, tell me.”

“What are you talking about?” Ginny asked.

“Well, you take issue with Fleur, and now Audrey, so what’s wrong with Hermione?”

“Nothing,” Ginny said. “And I never said I didn’t like Audrey. Didn’t I just say they’re a perfect match? It’ll be a competition between you and Percy, though. Who will be the first to grow a pair and ask their respective girlfriends to marry them?”

Ron opened his mouth to argue, to ensure anyone who would listen that he was not planning to do that anytime soon, but Harry jumped in before he had the chance.

“And what about me?” Harry asked, looking at Ginny with a rather amused expression.

“Oh, I know you’ve got a pair,” Ginny said mildly. “And I know you’ll use them when the time comes.” She smiled to herself.

Ron balked at her, and Dean looked rather bemused at the casual exchange. Harry opened his mouth but didn’t respond, apparently not expecting that response.

“Well, if you must know,” Dean said, breaking the silence, “Seamus and Lavender are engaged.” He indicated behind him to where Lavender stood beside Seamus, still looking rather terrified. She spotted everyone looking at her and turned away.

“You know, I think that’s sweet,” Ginny said. “The fact that he’s stood by her after everything that happened. Good for them.”

Ron had to agree with Ginny, but more on the fact that Seamus had stayed with Lavender, even after her attack. She’d always been alright looking, but now, a lot of her prettiness was covered with scars. There was barely a patch on her face that didn’t have some kind of reminder of her injury.

Ron hated himself for thinking it, but if they’d still been together when she was attacked, he was fairly confident he would not have done the same. He drifted his eyes to Hermione, who was now speaking to Padma Patil. Although, if it had been Hermione who had been attacked… well, his feelings for her and his feelings for Lavender had always been very, very different. If it had been Hermione, he didn’t think one thousand scars across her face could have changed the fact that he’d fallen helplessly in love with her.

He supposed that was how Seamus felt, too.

Ron left the small group, having just spotted Hermione heading toward the bathroom. She appeared rather unsteady.

“You alright?” he asked, catching her arm. She was very flushed in the cheeks now.

“Yep,” Hermione said, beaming. “Perfectly fine. Perfectly happy. Great party, isn’t it?”

And it was then Ron decided that even if she had heard what he’d said, she wasn’t going to remember it anyway.

“It’s not bad,” Ron said, catching her as she swayed against him, “but maybe you should sit down. And no more Firewhisky for you, either. Since when do you like that stuff?” He guided her to the sofa, as two people Ron didn’t know the names of hopped up before Hermione collapsed on top of them.

“I think I’ve failed all my NEWTs,” Hermione said vaguely. “I’ll be jobless, and… and NEWT-less —” she giggled in a very unHermione-like way. “NEWT-less…”

“Apparently that’s why you drink,” Ron said, sitting down beside her. He Summoned a glass of cool water and passed it to her. “I’ll remember that for the future,” he said as she took a deep drink from the glass.

When she’d finished it, she looked at Ron with a slightly more sober expression. She smiled. “You know what?”

“Yeah?” Ron said, his thoughts running away from him again as she stared at him with her astray hair and pink cheeks. I do want to marry her. One day. Merlin, I really do.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at Firewhisky again after tonight. My mouth is numb from it.”

Ron grinned, and then laughed. “Yeah, well, you did drink an awful lot of it. And for the record, you’re not going to fail your NEWTs. And also for the record, I will never let you forget this. You, drinking too much Firewhisky… I’ll remember this forever.”

Hermione scowled.

“I’ll make sure you never forget it either,” he added, drawing her towards him so that he could kiss her. He could taste the burn of the Firewhisky on her lips, and it had never tasted better.

…

Two days after the party, Ron woke to sunlight blaring through the drawn window. It was one thing he hated about this place — the sun rose far too early and glared right at him at some ungodly hour in which he was forced to get up.

It had been most unpleasant the day before, where he (and Hermione, which Ron was still laughing about) had been attempting to sleep off a horrible hangover. Hermione, more so than Ron.

She had felt dreadful when she’d woken, groaning as the humming of the crowd below grew noisier the later it got. Shops began opening around nine on Sundays, but that had been far too early for her. She hadn’t even been able to get out of bed until Ron had gone to the apothecary and bought her a Pepper-Up potion, which she’d downed in one hit.

Ron had spent the day laughing at her every time she complained, which had resulted in her not speaking to him for most of the evening and night.

“Morning,” Ron said as he yawned and rolled over to kiss Hermione, only to find her not there. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. It was a Monday, and he’d have to get to training in an hour or two, but she had nothing to do.

Curious as to what, apart from the glaring light, had dragged her out of bed so early, he stumbled from the room and into the tiny living space, finding her sitting at the little kitchen table.

“Morning,” he said, coming over to kiss the top of her bushy head. “What’s got you up so early?” But the answer was laying in front of him the moment he asked it. Sitting on the table in front of her, spread out, were five official envelopes, all addressed to Hermione, with the Ministry symbol in the corner.

Hermione was staring at them, white-faced, her hands clasped together in her lap.

“Oh,” Ron said, “Your NEWT results have come.”

Hermione didn’t even look at him, but gave a short nod, her face very pale.

“Hermione,” Ron said, “why haven’t you opened them? You’re not seriously worried that you’ve failed, are you?”

Hermione said nothing.

“If you’d failed, you wouldn’t have these.” He indicated the four thinner envelopes as he took the other seat at the table.

This time, Hermione looked up at him, looking terrified. “What are those other ones?” she whispered. “I was just expecting one, but then the owl also had these…”

Ron chuckled. “They’re job offers, Hermione,” he said.

“What?”

“Well, the Ministry is aware of everyone’s results before you receive them, you see. They go through them and highlight who might be suited for particular jobs. The jobs aren’t always at the Ministry, either. Then, they send you offers along with your results.” He studied the envelopes for a moment, before smiling at her. “Four’s impressive. Percy only got two.”

This didn’t seem to ease her nerves at all. If possible, she looked even paler.

“Oh, come on,” Ron said, picking up the most formal of the five envelopes.

“You do it!” Hermione said. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

Shrugging, Ron tore open the results to Hermione’s NEWTs, and for a moment, considered telling her she’d failed everything, but thought better of it when he saw how anxious she appeared.

“An Outstanding in every damned thing,” he said, laying the parchment in front of her. “I could have told you that. In fact, I’m pretty sure I did.” He beamed. “You are honestly the smartest person I know.”

Relief flooded Hermione’s face as she read through her results. Her face grew some colour back in it, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth.

“Now, let’s see who wants the most brilliant witch to ever grace this world to work for them.” Ron opened the first envelope and read it. He snorted.

“What?” Hermione asked, snatching the letter from him.

“You’re not going to waste your talents working at the Menagerie,” Ron told her. “That’s actually insulting to send you that. I hope they’re not all like that.”

The next three were all Ministry offers — one in Magical Law, one in the Magical Creatures department and the third in the Magical Transportation department.

“Honestly, you’d be great in all of them,” Ron said, “but I’d say no to the transportation one. Percy would be your boss.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Hermione reasoned. “He’s a lot better now, and seeing a familiar face…”

She looked at the other two letters, her eyes darting between them. “Oh, there’s so much to think about. I never saw myself in Law, and Magical Creatures would be of interest, but…”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Ron said, and he tapped the letters with his wand. They folded neatly into a pile.

“Where’d you learn that spell?” Hermione asked.

“Training,” Ron said. “Well, kind of. Was more of a tip from one of the Aurors. Said it saved some time with the paperwork.”

“You’ll have to teach me it,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.

“Coffee?” Ron asked, waving his wand again to set the kettle on the stove and then a third time to light the stove.

“There’s no water in there, Ron,” Hermione said with amusement.

“Oh, right.” He got up from his chair and filled the kettle with water.

“I wonder how Ginny and Luna went,” Hermione said as Ron returned to the table. “Maybe I should Floo them and see —”

“Later,” Ron said, grabbing her arm to keep her in her seat. “Let’s have breakfast together. What do you want? Toast? I can make some eggs if you want.”

“Toast is fine,” Hermione said. “And I can make it.” She got up and made her way over to the bench. She took out some bread.

“At the party the other night, Luna said she didn’t think she’d take any job that resulted in a desk,” Hermione said as she began to prepare the bread for toasting.

“Well, that’s Luna, isn’t it?” Ron said. “What do you think she’ll do? Go searching for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?”

“Well… yes,” Hermione said. “She mentioned something like that… honestly, that’s very —”

“Luna,” Ron said. “She’ll never change.” He grinned. “So, you remember that conversation, do you? I would have thought the whole night would have been a blank. It seemed to be yesterday.”

“Well, things are coming back to me,” Hermione said in a very matter-of-fact way. “In fact, I think I remember most of what was said to me, or… about me.”

Ron froze. She had her back to him, but her voice had changed as she said the last part. He’d been quite comfortable in thinking that she hadn’t heard a single word of his slip of the tongue that night. That, worst case scenario, she had been too far away. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to her that he hadn’t meant right now. Just one day.

“Right…” he said slowly. “Well… everyone was really drunk, so whatever you heard, you probably shouldn’t take it seriously.”

“So, you don’t want to marry me, then?” Hermione turned around to face him, and to Ron’s surprise, she was smiling.

“Of course I do!” Ron replied, and he could have kicked himself with how quickly he’d said it. His stupid brain couldn’t even be bothered to pretend to hesitate on the matter. “But not right now!” he added hastily. Now that just sounded insulting. He grimaced.

Hermione didn’t say anything, but continued to watch him with a smile on her face.

Ron sighed, realising he had no choice but to address it now. “Listen, Hermione… I didn’t even realise I said it. It was a thought that popped into my head in the moment, and I accidentally spoke it out loud. I daresay the drinks loosened my tongue a little. I was hoping you hadn’t heard.”

“It was a nice thing to hear,” Hermione said. “I liked hearing it.”

Ron stared at her, rather taken aback by how easily she was taking this. He’d expected her to start listing all the reasons why they shouldn’t rush into it, why they should wait. Her cheerful silence caught him off guard.

“You really want to get married to me?” Hermione said after a moment.

“Yes,” Ron replied. “I do. Of course I do. If I get married, I want it to be to you. I love you. But… er… you don’t mean now, do you? Because I’d like to be able to do it properly. You know, ask you... with a ring and everything, and I simply cannot afford to get you a nice one right now…” He flushed. Why did his mouth have to speak?

Hermione looked as if she was trying to fight back a laugh. “I don’t mean now,” she assured him. “Don’t worry. But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about it. I’d like to marry you, too. One day.”

“Oh… well, that’s good to know,” Ron said, not quite believing what he was hearing. Were they really talking about getting married?

“What else do you see in the future?” Hermione asked, retaking her seat and staring at him intently.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked. “Like, with us? Our future… together? Well…” He thought about it for but a second, and suddenly an extremely clear picture flashed into his mind. It was as if it had always been there, but suppressed, not daring to be thought until the timing was right. And now, apparently, was the right time. “I can see us in a house that we own together. Not this tiny flat forever. I see us getting married. I see us… maybe we’ll have kids, too. One day. Two or three, or however many you want. Just not seven. I see us being pretty happy together, if you'll tolerate me for that long, and… well, I guess…"

"What?" Hermione asked, sounding as if he'd paused in the middle of an immensely captivating story.

"Er…" Ron looked away, unsure on whether he should continue or not. Just how far did she want him to go?

"I'm not going to freak out," Hermione said, as if reading his mind. "I promise."

Still not entirely convinced, Ron averted his eyes to the toast, which had begun smoking because Hermione had been distracted. Smiling slightly, he said, "Well, I guess I'll be taking care of the cooking if you can't even handle toast."

Hermione looked to where he was staring and jumped to her feet, swearing as she ran to get the now burnt toast. Muttering to herself, she tossed the toast in the bin and turned back to look at Ron, her eyes questioning.

"You really see us having children… and… and all that?"

Ron shrugged. "One day, I guess. If you want."

"I do want that," Hermione said quickly. "One day." She smiled.

"A long way away," Ron emphasised, for he could not picture himself with a child right now, or in the near future.

Hermione's smile widened, and she nodded. "Yes," she agreed, "many, many years away."

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talesofafangirlwithadvr · 5 years

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What to Binge Watch While in Quarantine

Do you feel yourself running out of things to watch on DVR or you don’t know which streaming platform to explore for your next watch? Or do you just find yourself with more time on your hands and don’t know what to do? If you answered yes to any of these questions I hope this thread helps you out. A lot of these picks are some of my top choices no matter what the case (which means I might have spoken about them before-possibly A LOT. Or they may be upcoming March picks, which just shows how great they really are). So without further a do here are some things you should consider bingeing as you maintain your social distancing and seek a form of escape...

Need a laugh?

Check out DERRY GIRLS

This half hour comedy (which honestly should be longer because the episodes go by too fast and there are not enough of them in the seasons) follows Erin Quinn as she navigates high school during the 1990s in Northern Ireland. She attends an all girl Catholic school along with her cousin Orla, and friends Michelle, Clare and James. (That’s right James also attends the all girls school. He’s a Brit and it would be too dangerous for him to attend the boys school during this time of civil unrest.) As the girls experience trivial problems like how to get to a concert or how to avoid people eating pot brownies at a funeral, the historic problems play out in the background. During the pandemic we’re experiencing we can take away living in the moment like these girls from Derry and not overly stressing on big world problems.

Streaming on Netflix

Wanting more of a ROM COM kind of escapism?

Then look no further than the Netflix original Set it Up.

Two assistants, Harper and Charlie, work in the same building and are experiencing a very “Devil wears Prada” relationship with each of their bosses. They meet one night at work after hours and believe they have the worse boss. A plan gets set in motion to set up their terrible bosses with each other. Then when they’re happy, the two assistants can have their lives back. You already see where this is probably going and who this love story is actually following: Harper and Charlie. I’ve been raving about this movie since 2018 when it first came out and it is still just as great as the first time I watched it. It honestly still gives hope for a great romantic comedy.

Streaming on Netflix.

Up for a good mystery?

Give Cw’s Nancy Drew a try.

One of the Cw’s latest new shows this season, Nancy Drew, re-invents the classic stories we all know and love with a more darker and supernatural spin. If you like Riverdale and the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina then this might be right up your alley. However, as someone who doesn’t watch Riverdale and didn’t fall in love with Sabrina, I am still a big fan of this new adaptation of Nancy Drew. I feel like I’ve experienced a roller coaster of reviews with this one, from really liking it to not so much (because there was too much of the supernatural involved and I just wanted a good mystery) to now really liking it again. I think I just needed some time to understand the vibe of it all and now that I really know the characters I’m liking it a lot. I’m also excited it has been renewed for a second season.

You can catch up with all 16 episodes now on the CW app or online cwtv.com. New episodes return in April.

Want more of a magical kind of mystery?

Then you gotta watch Locke and Key.

Thanks to Netflix’s new trending list I decided to check out Locke and Key and I am so happy I did. It was fantastic and I can’t wait for season two. Based on the graphic novel by the same name, the series follows the Locke siblings who have just witnessed their father’s murder before traveling cross-country with their mother to his ancestral home, Key house. The house is filled with these magical keys that all have different properties from getting into your mind and looking at your deepest thoughts and desires, a key that opens any door and can take you anywhere, or one that opens a music box that lets you control people. The kids get drawn to the keys and unlock a deeper mystery of the keys and how their dad was involved in it all. Plus, there’s a sinister presence that is after the keys and will stop at nothing to get what they want. Definitely worth checking out!

Streaming on Netflix.

Need some music in your life?

You must watch Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist

This show gets better and better each episode. After a freak accident, Zoey gets the ability to hear people’s innermost feelings through song and dance. She’s the only who can hear it, which means she needs to help the person get through the problem in their life. Each episode has a good amount of musical numbers from popular songs to classics and even musicals. Great cast. There is not one character I don’t like. If you are a fan of Glee I would highly suggest checking it out. It’s the show that often gets compared to it, but you don’t have to be a fan of Glee to enjoy it. I wasn’t a die-heart fan and I’m loving Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist. It’s a feel good watch that is just what we need at a difficult time like this.

Watch it on NBC on demand.

Did you love High School Musical?

Then why haven’t you watched High School Musical the Musical the Series?

This show has been promoted since Disney Plus was released back in November. There was a lot of hype over it, which made me unsure if it would be worth it, but I gotta say that I really enjoyed it overall. A cross between Glee and the Office, HSMTMTS follows students who attend the school the Disney Original Movie Series was filmed. When the new drama teacher comes to “East High” she is shocked that the drama department has never put on the musical for themselves. There’s a love triangle(s), a large cast of talented singers, drama and mystery. Great new songs that will get stuck in your head and the promise for a second season with a brand new musical to perform. (I’m just bummed it’s Beauty and the Beast and not HSM 2). The episodes are only about 25 minutes and you’ll find yourself finished with the 10 episode season in a matter of hours.

Now streaming on Disney+.

Feeling a telenovela musical?

Then Violetta is for you!

Drama, laughs, love, and music (with more catchy songs you won’t be able to get out of your head), this Disney original from Buenos Aires has it all. You will get sucked into the episodes just like I did and be shocked how far into the series you are in such a short amount of time. I watched all 80 episodes (that are about 40 minutes a piece) in a matter of 2 months. (And now I’m upset that Disney Plus hasn’t released season 2!!) The show follows Violetta Castillo who has just returned home after traveling the globe with her father for years. She wants to be like a regular kid and attend school rather than having a tutor, but her father forbids it. He’s over protective because her mother was a famous singer who then tragically died. He ties it back to the music and forbids Violetta from performing as well. Throughout the first season, she is exposed to a music school where she makes new friends, enemies, and becomes a part of a love triangle (naturally). In the process she rises to be one of the most talented performers, but constantly is worried her dad will find out the truth and make them move again.

Streaming now on Disney+.

Needing a Sci-Fi fix?

Tune into the Cw’s Pandora.

The show aired on the Cw this summer and needs more love and recognition. I was surprised over how much I enjoyed it. When each episode aired I wanted to watch it right away, which then made me upset because I had to wait a week, but you won’t have that problem! The show takes place in the future in the year 2199. Our main character Jax witnesses her family getting tragically killed and is forced back to Earth to live with her uncle who runs a training academy. Jax enrolls in the school and makes several friends a long the way (there are so many ships on this show that I often had trouble deciding who I liked with who). While at the academy she starts to piece together that her family’s death might not have been an accident and that more lies behind it as well as her own past. There were times when I was confused by how much time had passed from the last episode because characters would be very close or references would get made and I’d be like: Did I miss something? But despite all of that I really enjoyed it and am happy there will be a season 2. It feels very Cw in the best way possible, so if you already watch a lot of shows on the network then you should give this one a try.

Watch the entire first season on the CW app or online @ cwtv.com

Wanting an ironic watch in this difficult time?

Then add Daybreak to your queue.

This Netflix original had been on my list for a while and once the Corona virus was getting more and more serious I felt I needed something to take my mind off of it and also to have a good laugh. Daybreak is doing just that. (I am currently still watching the series so I don’t have a full review just yet.) This show takes place during the aftermath of a nuclear attack. In this apocalypse adults have turned into “zombie-like figures” who are muttering the last thought they had (often a very funny one). The kids are now in charge and each clique in high school has a territory. We follow social-outcast/new kid at school. Josh who is on the search for the love of his life, Sam, that he lost during the night of the explosion. Along the way he finds allies and they form their own tribe. This show is constantly breaking the fourth wall, having characters directly talk and look at us. I thought I would hate it, but I actually really like that feature and am kind of upset now that Josh has not narrated an episode in a while.

Now streaming on Netflix.

Still looking for more laughs?

Add Kelsey’s 100 Baby Challenge to your Watch Later

Throughout last year, Buzzfeed multiplayer’s Kelsey Immpicciche took up the 100 baby challenge in the Sims 4. What she thought would be a fun challenge and a couple videos blew up into a full series spanning 50 episodes, multiple spin-off series and even a line of clothing (which I am happy to say I own a sweatshirt). Who would have thought watching someone play the Sims and try to have 100 babies with all different parents would be so much fun? Kelsey has made me want to play the Sims and have my very own 100 baby challenge. This challenge is hilarious and fun. I loved all of Kelsey’s commentary as she plays as well as reading the comment section where everyone tries to give her tips. It’s so exciting to see how so many people got involved in this challenge. I hope she continues for season 2 soon!

You can watch all of season 1 on YouTube.

Need a change in location?

Venture back in time and to Prince Edward Island with Anne with an E.

L.M. Montgomery’s beloved series is adapted with a fresh new take on her classic characters and setting. Across Anne with an E’s three seasons we watch Anne Shirley come to Green Gables and form a family with Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert. We watch her shake up school and form life long friends. Something that I love about this series is that it is able to incorporate so many of the issues our society is facing today. While not always 100% accurate to the original novels, the show takes liberties with the source material and expands upon it to create something audiences can see as an echo of our conflicts. While this has been a problem for some, I think, once you realize this, you can enjoy the series even more. I know of so many people who have turned to the book after watching and falling in love with this series. Now, during this time, it is the perfect form of escapism. With each season spanning about 10 episodes you will be done and wanting more just like I am. I’m still upset the series has not been renewed.

Streaming now on Netflix.

Early Releases:

LITTLE WOMEN is now available on digital copy.

FROZEN 2 has been released early to Disney Plus.

Rumor is that EMMA will be released on digital copy as early as March 20th.

With so much to watch I hope that you can endure this quarantine happily. If there’s a show you’d like to add to the list make sure to attach it below in a comment or by sharing this post!

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doubledeaky · 6 years

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Save Me - Part One

Roger Taylor x Reader

A/N: Hi, everyone! First, thank you for over 100 followers! Second, this was requested by the lovely @strawberryfields-forever so go give them some love! I decided to break this up into two parts, hope that's okay! Part two should be out very soon. If you’d like to be tagged in the second part, let me know! Thank you all again for the love and support! Hope everyone enjoys this! Per usual, feedback and requests are very much appreciated! Much love!- m:)

Summary: Work sucked. Not because the hours were long or the pay was bad. No, you hated work because a certain coworker has yet to take a hint and get bent. You’ve been declining their advances for months now, but it seems they don't take no for an answer. One night, in a dark alley, this coworker takes their inappropriate actions a bit too far, like way too far. You try your best to hide this incident from Roger, but he knows you far too well. After his initial anger at the situation, Roger is quick to stick by your side and comfort you through the storm.

Word Count: 2,722 words

Warnings: mentions of assault and violence (not extremely graphic), blood, general angst ( if you are sensitive to these topics please be cautious reading this, I try to make my warnings very specific but I just like to make sure)

It was only supposed to be temporary work. Getting a degree was expensive and this job was supposed to alleviate some of the financial stress. Now, you were a semester away from completing your graduate program and you were still working your miserable job. You had every intention to quit months ago but when you were promoted to general manager you felt stuck. Your responsibilities doubled within moments and you didn't want to leave the owners high and dry. With some persuasion from Roger, however, you were finally in the process of writing your two-week notice. It wasn't that the shifts were long, or the pay was bad, it was one of your coworkers. Since you began your tenure at the little cafe down the street, you were constantly deflecting his advances and even informed your bosses of his behavior. He was scolded but continued his sick game within a few weeks. It was getting extremely hard for you to even be in the same area with him, you didn’t feel safe. It was only when you began the process of resigning that you started to breathe easy. Roger didn’t know this was the main reason you were quitting, you never told him about your coworker. You didn’t think it necessary, you were an adult and you could handle it. You didn't need Roger to fight your battles, he had his own. Roger was excited knowing you'd be home more often and would only be stressed by your coursework. You were excited to escape the piercing gaze of your pervy coworker. Your last week at the cafe was coming to a close and of course, your luck would have you working a night shift with him. He’d been peering at your backside all night, sparing sexual and degrading comments under his breath your way. Your face burned in a mixture of anger and embarrassment, but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t dealt with before, this was common of nearly every shift you worked with him. You never engaged, you never responded or retaliated, you didn't even allow your expression to shift. One more shift and you would never have to see his ugly face again. Closing came quicker than expected and you busied yourself cleaning tables, while one of your female coworkers mopped, and he goofed off in the back room. You rolled your eyes as you heard his loud, obnoxious singing. He swung the door open, key in hand to unlock and then count the tills. He noticed your staring and sent a smug glare your way. You looked down, depriving him of the disgusted look on your face. You continued to clean and make casual conversation with your female coworker as he retreated to the back room. The closing duties were tedious and a pain in the ass but today time seemed to fly by, much to your dismay. Your female coworker sent you a wave and a soft smile as she exited out of the back door, too quick to notice the pleading look you sent her way. “Great,” you thought, now you're alone with your creepy coworker. You quickly gathered your belongings and headed for the exit, not hanging around to watch the man close and lock the door. You headed down the alley towards your car, hearing his footsteps pick up pace behind you. Your heart raced, your car was just around the corner; you just needed to get to your car. You felt a hand on your shoulder and your feet left the ground, you were too shocked to scream out.

It was over in milliseconds, the moment so fleeting you wondered if it actually happened. The skin he touched burned with such a fiery intensity that you clawed violently at your clothes, attempting to alleviate the agony. You glanced around frantically, he was gone. You sunk to your knees as the circumstance bared its full weight on your delicate shoulders. A choked sob ripped through you and your fingertips bled as they flexed and twitched involuntarily atop the concrete. You felt your kneecaps bore into your skin and hot spurts of blood wet your pants as pieces of sharp gravel broke your skin. Your mouth was dry and tasted of metal. Your ears were ringing, and tears soaked your face. Finding the strength to stand was near impossible as your legs trembled violently with fear. So, you sat there, alone and bloodied, behind the building of your workplace. You cautiously brought your knees to your chest, smelling the foul odor of blood. You felt bile rise in your throat and you dry heaved for several minutes. Your ribs ached, and tears blurred your panicked eyes. You brought your hands close to your face to examine them in the dull light of the alley. Your knuckles were busted and bled with fervor. Your palms were scraped and covered in dirt. Your arms fell limply at your sides and you cried bitterly. This was real, it wasn't some sick nightmare created by your subconscious. You shifted slightly, and your entire body thrummed with a dull ache. You attempted to swallow but your dry throat scratched and chafed at the action. Your hands slowly skimmed the ground in search of your belongings, the dim light and tears that obscured your vision making it almost impossible to identify anything. You sobbed when your hands found the keys to your car. You brought the set of keys to your chest possessively as your other hand searched for your bag. When your hands finally skimmed the canvas of your bag you grit your teeth, attempting to stifle your cries. You tugged your bag to your side and let out a shaky breath. The challenge now was commanding your legs to stand. You felt that the signals connecting your brain to your lower extremities had been severed. Your toes refused to curl, your knees refused to bend, and your hips refused to shift and carry your weight. You felt an overwhelming sense of dread pervade your senses and you heard your heartbeat quicken in your ears. Like the Bride from “Kill Bill,” you focused on moving each toe, then your foot, then your knee, and then the entire leg. You repeated the process on your other leg and slowly you were able to bring yourself into a squat. Steadying your body on the brick wall behind you, you rose to your full height. Your nerves screamed in pain and you groaned, clenching your jaw to the point of fracture. Taking a shaky step forward, you kept your right hand glued to the wall to guide you in the dark despite the sharp sting of the open wounds present on your palms. After what felt like hours, you finally turned the corner out of the dark corridor, immediately greeted by your shiny black vehicle resting on the curb. Your legs carried you faster in its direction almost involuntarily, instinctively. You rushed to the driver side, fumbling frantically with the key. You unlocked the car and fell in, yelping in pain when your body collided with the leather seat. You yanked your legs into the car, closed and locked the door. Resting your head atop the steering wheel, you couldn't stop the scream that escaped your lungs. Sweat coated your figure and your mind raced uncontrollably. You wept into your dirty, bloody palms. You made every attempt to avoid looking into the rearview mirror when you finally turned the key in the ignition, afraid of what would be staring back if you chanced a look. You peeled out onto the empty street and glanced at the neon numbers of your car’s digital clock. It was almost midnight, you’d sat in that alley for over two hours. Your eyes widened in shock, the whole ordeal had felt like ten minutes, over and done within such a finite amount of time. You again felt your stomach lurch at the possibility of Roger being home early after his evening flight. Your hands trembled against the steering wheel and the car jerked, swerving slightly. Your brain could only focus on safety, adrenaline still fresh in your veins. The familiar driveway of your home soon entered your field of vision and you sped into its opening. You took note of the absence of Roger’s car and sighed in a sick sense of relief. You park and hastily exited your car, your legs carrying you as fast as they could manage. You stumbled up the porch steps, your hand on the doorknob bracing your anticipated fall. You unlocked the door and entered your home, placing your full weight on the door frame before slowly crossing the threshold. You sunk to the floor, closing the front door behind you with the weight of you falling back on it. You reached up and locked the door, something you rarely did but now, not even home felt safe. Now sat in the darkness of your living room, your mind reviewed the events of the last four hours. You felt nausea bubble in your throat for the third time this evening. You attempted to pinpoint when exactly his actions had adopted an aggressive tone. You couldn't prevent the paranoia that entrapped you. What did you do? What could you have done? Was this your fault? After paranoia emptied your mind, shame took its place. You felt dirty. Dirty beyond the blood caked onto your pallid skin or the mud beneath your cracked nails. It was a filth water couldn't wash away. You had lost a part of yourself, he'd taken something away from you. You didn't know exactly what, but you didn't want to live without it. You felt utterly empty, your entire being hollow and cold. Then, you thought of Roger. You chastised yourself for entertaining the idea that you'd betrayed him. Your heart ached and your longing for him grew, but the idea of telling him any detail of this entire ordeal wasn't a viable option in your mind. You couldn't, you wouldn't.

You got up from the floor and limply shuffled into the bathroom. Your fingers ghosted over the light switch, still apprehensive to view the figure in the mirror. You willed yourself to flick the switch, but your eyes immediately shut as light flooded the room, terrified. Your arms came around your middle, hugging yourself. You sobbed, despite feeling dehydration creep in your system. You slowly opened one eye, but it wouldn't focus without the aid of the other. You breathed in slowly, the expanding of your lungs reminding you of the pain in your ribs. You opened your other eye and squinted under the bright vanity lights. After blinking stray tears away, your eyes finally focused on the figure staring coldly back at you. Your heart fell to your stomach. The person in the mirror was nearly unrecognizable, your features buried under matted hair, dried blood, fresh bruises, and hot tears. Your upper lip was cut and pulsed painfully. Your hair was matted with sweat and dirt, sticking out in several directions. Purple splotches adorned your face and surrounded both eyes in deep, heavy rings. Coagulated blood was painted throughout your hair and stained your face and limbs. You couldn't stop the audible gasp and fresh tears that streaked the dried blood on your cheeks. You brought a shaky hand to your mouth and sobbed, shaking your head “no” frantically. Your butt hit the cold tile of the floor and the backs of your legs were set ablaze from the stimulus. You cried bitterly on the floor of your bathroom, your entire body racked with violent, noticeable tremors. After about ten minutes, you braced yourself on the edge of your bathtub and rose to your feet. You thought you might as well scrub this evening from your skin, and your memory. The hot water of the shower head clouded the mirror and your felt relived you wouldn't catch a glimpse of your body once you undressed. You didn't know if you could handle being witness to more damage etched into your skin.

You removed your shoes and stretched your toes, which had gone numb hours ago. Your rolled your ankles, hearing them crack and pop unnaturally. You then moved to your top, noticing a faint peeling sound as you removed it. You assumed it had been suctioned to your torso with sweat and blood. You bent down to remove your socks, the nerves in your spine sending violent shockwaves up all seven vertebrae. You grit your teeth and groaned in pain, feeling new tears spring to life. You carefully shimmied out of your pants, the material ripping the scabs from your raw knees. You grimaced but felt a wave of relief fill you. Now left in your underwear, you quickly stripped down to bare skin. You were naked now, everything left completely bare and you felt vulnerable under your lone gaze. You stepped into the shower cautiously, immediately feeling the intense sting of scalding hot water on your open wounds. You winced, but nevertheless brought your face under the stream of water, your hair falling under the weight of complete saturation. The water falling from your body was stained a dull copper and you watched it disappear down the drain until it ran clear. You used a washcloth to tend to your cuts and brush-burned joints. Your skin felt taut under the strain of it attempting to close and heal. You were overwhelmed by the discomfort and allowed yourself to sit on the shower floor, letting the water rush over you. You continued to scrub any uninjured skin, but the unclean feeling remained. You were scared, beyond scared now. The water eventually ran cold, but it soothed your red hot skin. You turned off the water and pulled yourself onto the edge of the tub, draping a towel over your front. You folded your hands in your lap and stared blankly at your reflection. If anything, the absence of blood and matted hair made your other injuries slightly less ghastly. You stood, fully surrounding yourself with the towel and walked into your shared bedroom. The bed sank under your weight as you sat. You didn't care about the delicate silk sheets as your slick body soaked them. Still wrapped in a towel, your eyes caught a glimpse of the blinking light of the receiver of your home’s landline, indicating you'd received a message. You reached over and pressed play. The mechanical voice first notified you of your one new message and then you heard Roger. Your chest heaved, and you drew in a heavy breath. His voice rang in your ears as he spoke, his words muffled and fuzzy over the phone.

“Hey, love! Just wanted to let you know our flight home was cancelled. Should be getting back tomorrow afternoon. I can't wait to see you! Hope work was good and everything’s rosy. I miss you. See you soon, sweets. Sleep well. I love you!”

The message cut out and you sobbed violently. You gripped the receiver and even considered calling, but you knew you couldn't. You knew if you heard his voice, your own would betray you. You needed time to compose yourself, to create an elaborate story to excuse your appearance. You needed time to work up the nerve to lie to him. You saved the message and got up to dress. Putting on clothes would be challenging for a while; any sharp movement was excruciating. You slowly climbed into bed around three o’clock in the morning. Laying your head to your pillow, the empty space next to you was daunting. You just wanted Roger here. The quiet was so intense you could hear your blood trailing throughout your body and the creaking of your tired joints. Now completely alone with your thoughts, they overwhelmed your senses. You could now fully register what had happened just five hours ago. The weight of guilt, shame, fear, and sadness weighed heavy on your chest and you gasped for air in-between sobs. You saw no relief from the thoughts coming soon, so you stared blankly at the ceiling. Tears gathering, falling, and then pooling on your pillow. Your body eventually gave in to fatigue, but your mind still raced. You thought of Roger until you slipped from consciousness. You dreamt of nothing.

A/N: Who doesn't love a good cliffhanger? Part two should be out very soon! Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in the second part, let me know! As always, feedback and request are appreciated! Much love! - m:)

Part Two is up now!

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #queen #queen imagines #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #borhap imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #breakthrubabywrites

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awake-not-today · 5 years

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Namkook The Gifted Hands / Psychometry au:

Detective Kim Namjoon is investigating the case of a child disappearance. When the child's body is found, Namjoon finds himself trailing a murderer.

During his investigation he remembers a run in he'd had with a graffiti artist one night, and the artwork he'd done depicting the scene in which the child's body was found.

The graffiti which had been painted a month before the discovery of the child's body.

Jeon Jungkook is a small time graffiti artist with a secret, the power to see the memories of any living thing he touches. He hides himself away from the world, ashamed of who he is, that is until he's thrown head first into a murder investigation and becomes the prime suspect.

Part 6 of ?

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Namjoon didn’t exactly have a lot to go on.

He couldn’t access the evidence, not while it was still being processed at least, and it’s not like he could ask for any details regarding the case. Gwon wouldn’t tell him shit, and Seokjin was determined Namjoon should let it go and take some time off. Anything that could be of help was off limits. Useless.

But what he did have was a paint can, some less than helpful pictures of the graffiti, and the knowledge that the killer had a gash on the back of his neck from the fight they'd had earlier. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something. Namjoon pondered on it, giving Taehyung a small wave as he left the apartment. What could he possibly gather from what he had?

The paint can seemed to be the most crucial thing he had so far, and the knowledge that the very brief time he'd seen the guy's face, at least partially, was that he was young. A student perhaps? There was an art school not too far from him. It would make sense. But then that posed another problem. How many students used spray paint? How many males? Namjoon groaned, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat. His head was fucking pounding. The hit he'd taken was pretty hard, but at least the ice had taken down most of the swelling. Small mercies.

Getting to his feet, Namjoon wandered to the bathroom, taking a couple of painkillers from the bathroom cabinet. He moved to the kitchen area, grabbing himself a glass of water to swallow them down. He kept his eyes on the paint can sat on his coffee table as he downed his water, debating the next step. He supposed he could go to the university and ask, but then they’d probably ask for a warrant and Namjoon had no way of getting one of those.

The other option he had was going to the art store the paint came from and hope the had a list of names on record. There was so many art stores in Seoul though, and it could have come from anywhere. He didn’t even know where to start, where do students buy their materials. Namjoon frowned and worried his bottom lip, a habit he had when he was deep in thought. Who would know where to go? Who knew the ins and outs of Seoul? Only one name came to mind.

Hoseok.

That little bastard knew everything about this city, constantly looking for new ways to make money. He lived for the hustle, of course he'd probably have some knowledge of the students in the city. Easy targets, young and dumb. Exactly what Hoseok liked. Namjoon moved quickly, grabbing the first shirt he could find that smelled vaguely clean, and threw it on before grabbing his jacket and the paint can to go find his roommate.

The streets were busy at this time, late afternoon. People leaving their jobs and stopping for food and drinks, exactly the right place for Hoseok to be with his latest venture. He heard Hoseok's laugh before he saw him, bright and cheerful as he joked with the customers at his food van. He stood in line, waiting until the customers dispersed, and approached quietly.

“Welcome to Hobi's food van!” Hoseok hadn’t looked up yet, tucking away the money he'd recieved. “What can I- oh! Namjoon!”

“Hoseok.” Namjoon smiled, leaning against the counter. “I need your help.”

“What’s up?” Hoseok handed Namjoon a fish cake, smiling. Namjoon took a bite and almost groaned, as much as Hobi was a little shit, he sure made some good food. Namjoon swallowed, setting the wooden stick down on the side, and looked at Hoseok again.

“I need you.” Namjoon thought for a moment. “And your van.”

Hoseok didn’t reply, instead laughing. Namjoon didn’t laugh, keeping his face serious. Hoseok blinked, mouth closing. “What? No! This is the busiest time, Joon-ah. I’m making money here!”

“Hoseok. You owe me.” Namjoon smiled now, or more grimaced. Hoseok just looked confused. “I sold my car for and put all of my life savings into that fucking pyramid scheme of yours.”

“Network marketing was a great opportunity, Namjoon.” Hoseok looked affronted. “It’s not my fault.”

“You can trust him, Joon-ah! He's a great guy!” Namjoon mocked Hoseok's voice, making the other swat at him. Namjoon took a step back to avoid it. “Give me your van, Hoseok.”

“No.”

“Fuck. Fine.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes as Namjoon walked away, turning to apologize to the customers who'd lined up behind his friend. He picked up a cloth, wiping down the counter, and opened his mouth to speak when the customers were suddenly moving away. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, the people looking smaller and smaller in the distance. The van was moving. Someone was driving it away. Fucking Namjoon.

Ten minutes and a busted nose later, Hoseok sat in the passenger side of the van, holding a napkin to his face. Namjoon shot him an apologetic glance, and Hoseok huffed.

“You know if you had just let me use the van this wouldn’t have happened.” Hoseok pouted, actually pouted like a petulant child, and slumped in his seat. “I’m sorry about your nose.”

“Yeah?” Hoseok glanced at him, tossing the bloody napkin down by his feet. “At least we match. Where are we going anyway?”

“Uh.” Namjoon chuckled nervously, not wanting to piss Hoseok off anymore than he already had. He suspected giving his friend a punch to the nose was a bad move. “Well. I was sort of hoping you could tell me?”

Namjoon reached into his jacket, pulling out the paint can and handing it to a very unimpressed and impatient Hoseok. Hoseok rolled it in his hands, looking at the label, before giving Namjoon a bewildered look.

“What am I supposed to do here? Paint arrows to direct you?”

“I need to know where it came from.”

“What am I? Fucking psychic? I’m losing profit here, Namjoon. And a friend if you don’t stop fucking around.”

“That paint can belongs to the murderer.” Namjoon mumbled as they stopped at a red light, he turned a little in his seat. “I think they're a student. I need to know where students from the art school get their shit.”

“And you just assume I know that?” Hoseok sighed heavily, passing the paint can back to Namjoon who slipped it back into his jacket pocket.

“I mean I thought you could help.” Namjoon faced front again, waiting for the light to change. “After all there’s a cash reward for the person who helps find him.”

“How much?” Hoseok was interested suddenly. He'd set up the van tomorrow.

“A half a million won.”

“Take a right here. I know the place.”

The store was small, tucked away in an alley. It made sense, it was right by campus and the prices were sufficiently lower than the larger chain stores nearby. Namjoon approached the counter, pushing Hoseok who seemed set on trying a good cop bad cop routine on this innocent store owner. Not happening. The owner was a stout man, late fifties. Thinning hair and round glasses. Friendly. A welcoming smile.

“Good evening, gentlemen. What can I do you for?”

“We need some information regarding a potential customer of yours.” Namjoon showed the man his badge, earning a curt nod. “We believe he's a student at the art school.”

“I’m sorry, detective. Students make up most of my clientele here.” The old man looked almost sad.

“He uses spray paint. He's a graffiti artist.” The old man opened his mouth again to speak when Namjoon handed him the paint can. “Can you tell us anything?”

The old man frowned a little, looking down at the can. His eyes lit up then, moving the can closer to his face to read the name of the shade on the lid. Namjoon looked at Hoseok, sharing the same hopeful expression. The man knew something.

“There’s only one person who uses this shade, I have to order it in.” The old man explained, grabbing a heavy book from under the counter. He opened it, flipping through the pages. “He has it delivered to his house. I sent the wrong shade once and he came by here. Real eerie kid. Made me nervous.”

“Do you have his name? His address?” The old man shook his head as he flipped through the book, squinting. Finally he stopped, running his finger down the page.

“The delivery boy has the address but he's visiting family back in Busan.” Namjoon's shoulders visually slumped, defeated. “What I do have is his name.”

Hoseok was practically vibrating in his seat as they drove away from the store, excitement brimming inside him. In another life Hoseok would have enjoyed being a detective, Namjoon thought to himself. But he chose the other side to get his kicks. Crime pays more. Namjoon held his phone to his ear as he drove, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. The second Taehyung answered he spoke, ignoring Taehyung's greeting.

“Taehyung, are you at the precinct? I need you to run a name for me.”

“What’s the name?” Namjoon could here the clicking of Taehyung’s mouse faintly.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Okay, hold on.” A clacking of his keyboard and a few moments of Taehyung’s breathing later he came back on the line. “Alright. Jeon Jungkook, twenty one years old. Pulled in on a misdemeanour a few years back. I’m sending his address to you now.”

“Thanks, Tae.” Namjoon beamed, Hoseok giving him a thumbs up. “When this is all over I'll make Seokjin hyung promote you.”

Namjoon ended the call and handed Hoseok his phone, telling him to pull up the address Taehyung had sent him. Hoseok was bouncing in his seat, thrilled with the turn of events, or more thrilled with the prospect of having a half million won in his wallet. Either way Namjoon was grateful for the enthusiasm. He set the GPS in Namjoon's phone and sat back, settling in for the drive.

“So. Taehyung.”

“No, Hoseok.”

“He’s got a nice voice.”

“He’s a nice guy.” Namjoon shit him a glare. “Too nice for you. And you are going to stay away from him.”

“We’ll see.”

The apartment block they pulled up to was empty. Not a single light on in any of the windows, the whole place vacant. Namjoon huffed in his seat, frustrated, pressing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Another dead end. Unsurprising. That was just Namjoon's luck. Hoseok stepped out of the van and backed away from the building, squinting. Namjoon watched him for a moment, quirking an eyebrow when Hoseok turned to him, pointing a finger toward the rooftop.

“There’s a light.”

Getting out of the van, Namjoon took a breath to calm his nerves. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, and the kid could be dangerous. He looked to Hoseok and motioned with his head, making his way toward the steps that led up to the roof. “You stay behind me, alright? Don’t do anything until I give the go ahead.”

The look on Hoseok's face let Namjoon know that Hoseok wasn’t about to try anything, he looked terrified. Probably because he was realizing that he was about to come face to face with a child killer. Namjoon was scared too.

The rooftop was empty, a small brick building standing in the centre of it. There was nobody around, and a quick glance through the window revealed the building was empty, lived in, but empty. Pressing a finger to his lips, Namjoon waved to Hoseok, telling him to stay put as Namjoon dared inside.

The place was a shack. A kitchen come living space with a small bedroom and a tiny bathroom. Someone had been there, or was still there, steam still rising from the kettle on the shitty stove. Namjoon kept low, creeping through the place with his hand on his gun, ready to pull it out if needed. There was nobody inside, but the sound of tins clashing together told Namjoon there was someone outside. Namjoon followed the sound, careful not to let his presence be known. Through a doorway, Namjoon could see him, or at least the back of him, messing with paint cans on a wooden shelf. Namjoon mentally prepared himself, reaching out to pull himself up, and knocked over a glass. Shattering it.

For a beat there was nothing. Namjoon stopped breathing, internally berating himself for being such a clumsy asshole. Footsteps headed toward him, getting closer and closer, and Namjoon made a snap decision. He stood upright and charged, gripping the guy's shirt and shoving him back hard. The guy stumbled back, rubbing his chest where Namjoon had slammed his hands against him, curling in on himself.

It was him, Namjoon told himself. Certain. He couldn’t forget those eyes.

“Remember me?” Namjoon dared a step closer, watching as the kid looked up at him curious. Confused.

“Pu-public urination?” Namjoon had forgotten about that, fighting the flush of embarrassment threatening to rush over his cheeks.

“Detective Kim Namjoon. You are Jeon Jungkook.” Namjoon moved closer still, Jungkook backing up. “And I've got some questions for you.”

Tag list: @yoongi-bearr @triheartedhero @doriadoo @rosybabytae @spookidema

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tysonrunningfox · 6 years

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Ripped: Part 10

This chapter is...so much, again, I...hope I didn’t mess a lot of things up but also I’m so excited for this to be out there

Ao3

Detective Eretson’s office isn’t roomy, but it looks bigger for the absolute lack of decoration. Snotlout has been complaining about him for a year, but there’s nothing on the walls except for a very official looking medal that Hiccup doesn’t recognize and the bookcase holds only a cardboard box neatly folded and marked “miscellaneous”. Hiccup can see Snotlout’s nametag on his desk out through the small vertical window, which is crosshatched with wire, the age old answer to bulletproof that actually makes it weaker.

Hiccup’s dad’s office had glass like that. They took it out after he died and replaced it with modern tempered glass, like there was no longer anything inside worth the falsely protecting.

Eretson brings Hiccup a cup of coffee from the breakroom, stale and obviously made that morning, but he accepts it anyway, taking the smallest sip he can while Eretson sits down and logs into his computer. The silence and clicking matches Hiccup’s speeding heartbeat and he clears his throat, fidgeting in the cold plastic chair. Something about the detective’s presence reminds him of his dad getting home after he’d done something wrong but it hadn’t been discovered yet. He learned young that confessing was easier than not, but his dad’s disappointment was heavier to carry than his own guilt.

“What? No bad cop routine this time?” He laughs, the sound echoing off of the undecorated walls, unwelcome.

“That was tired cop,” Eretson pushes his keyboard away and turns fully to Hiccup, eyebrows knit together in a heavy frown.

“What’s this then?”

“I’m good at my job, Mr. Haddock.” There’s swagger there but it’s buoyant, balancing. “And I’m good at reading people.”

“I’m guessing I say ‘won’t try to escape’?” Hiccup rubs one of his wrists and Eretson doesn’t flinch.

“This precinct lets you get away with a lot because of your father,” a jab that hurts worse than when Snotlout says it, “but not murder.” He flips through some photos from the crime scene and Hiccup swallows hard, trying to focus on anything but that flash of metal leg and regretting it. “People who do this don’t look at pictures of it like that.”

“I bet that’s true,” Hiccup remembers the guy who’d invited him over to see his collection.

“It is,” Eretson turns the photos over, “but that doesn’t explain why you keep finding the bodies.”

“So you think the cases are related?” It’s the only thing Hiccup has been able to think about for the last two hours. Or that’s not fair, it’s the only thing he’s been able to focus on.

He thought about his tour, and how it felt like the worst ever but he’s scared it’ll be his best reviewed. He thought about Astrid, one second blushing with her chin held high and the next pale and terrified, her shaky hand telling him to pull his foot out of his mouth and turn around. He thought about Dave and wondered if it hurt.

But he focused on all the reasons the murders can’t be related. Or all the reason, singular, and it doesn’t feel very reliable right now, sitting across the station from his dad’s old office, being lectured by strong, broad shoulders and an unshakeable scowl.

Lightning doesn’t strike twice until someone puts up a lightning pole.

“Your alibies check out. I talked to Gobber and he affirmed how you knew of the first victim. And I confirmed the tape—“

“What tape?” Hiccup can’t think of anywhere legal he’s been that would be taped and obtained by the cops.

“Right,” Eretson clears his throat and turns back to his computer, clicking again before turning the screen around. “This tape was recorded—“

“The back of the condos,” Hiccup nods to himself, watching grainy black and white footage of Astrid jumping and his arm curling her protectively into his chest. It’s a joke even here, she obviously doesn’t need his protection, but God he wanted to give it to her earlier as she shook, trying not to look into the alley and being unable to look anywhere else.

The memory twists his stomach, caught up in everything else. It was torture to see her scared after seeing her so passionate, defiant, happy. Embarrassed was his favorite, he liked it enough that he pulled off feigning confidence, even though the thought of her kissing him for revenge after trying to save his tour practically made him lightheaded.

Cameras. Astrid texted him that she’d talked to the police about cameras, this must have been why. He wonders what she thought when she saw it.

“This is approximately time of death, given the coroner’s statement and Miss Hofferson confirmed that you walked her home.”

“I did.”

“When does your first Viggo Grimborn tour begin?” He says Grimborn like an American idiom he finds deeply inferior and Hiccup wants to ask where he’s from, but the little Snotlout on his shoulder flicks him on the ear and reminds him not to yap without a lawyer present. He’s not sure when Snotlout got promoted to be both angel and devil, but now’s not the time to dwell on that.

“Seven or seven thirty, depending on the weather, and I try and get there half an hour before to let people know they’re in the right place.”

“Miss Hofferson says I can confirm with her coworker that you were at her job from five to six, approximately.”

“Sounds about right,” Hiccup wills his face not to move but Eretson’s eyes flash anyway, deadly like a predator that isn’t used to starving.

“So, the night of Jennifer Franklin’s murder, you’re attesting to the fact that you made it from 324 Harbor road to the alley behind the Ripped Tavern in less than half an hour, but you’re now claiming that being at the Berk Archives until six is enough evidence to say that you couldn’t have been killing this man at approximately six thirty, according to the coroner?”

Eretson isn’t flip-flopping or changing his mind, he’s trying to steer his investigational sailboat with a strong lean and Hiccup’s lower back throbs.

His doctor doesn’t like him walking eight miles a day on cobblestones and his hips agree. His back is usually willing to compromise but the last week avoiding shortcuts at Snotlout’s request has done a number on its resolve.

“I’ve been staying out of the alleys,” Hiccup realizes all at once that there’s no way to know that Dave was wearing his old spare leg and the angelic-devil Snotlout on his shoulder applauds him for keeping the secret, “Snotlout—Officer Jorgenson, I mean, said it wasn’t a good idea after the first murder.”

“He did?”

“He’s not particularly confident in my ability to take care of myself,” Hiccup flexes an arm and laughs, the self-depricating sound less welcome in the office than the awkward one. “Ask him yourself.”

“You can’t tell me about it?” There’s frustration there but not disbelief.

“I uh…don’t talk much.” He clears his throat, “I’m shy around authority figures, you know how it is, I’m sure.”

“That’s the first lie you’ve told,” Eretson stands up and opens the door to his office, “don’t—“

“Don’t leave town, I’ve got it.” Hiccup walks out into the lobby, freezing when he recognizes a man in a crisp grey uniform talking to a man in a suit that makes Eretson stop short.

“Detective Eretson, I’ve heard that you’ve met Mr. Grisly—“

“I have,” Eretson answers stiffly, holding out a tense hand at the end of a flexed arm.

“My pleasure,” the man in gray shakes it, everything about him mocking and superior for no externally discernible reason. His accent is Bond villain and he raises a charcoal eyebrow at Hiccup. “It’s good to see you again, Hiccup, it’s been too long.”

“Has it?” Hiccup never thought he’d feel like he was backed against the same wall as detective Eretson by the same force, “I thought you didn’t enjoy your private tour.”

“Enjoyment isn’t necessary for an experience to be…influential.” He laughs, “you didn’t get my joke, by the way.”

“Joke?”

“It hasn’t been a long time at all, I caught you with your hands full the other night.” He’s having as much fun as Hiccup isn’t currently and as much as Eretson has never had.

“With unsanctioned cameras,” Eretson crosses his arms, respectfully glaring at the man in the suit. “I’m close, Sir—“

“The approval just went through this morning, we can’t have the media buzz right now Eretson, I’m calling in all the help we can get.”

“Then talk to another precinct, don’t bring in a civilian organization—”

“Other precincts don’t have anyone to spare,” Eretson’s boss is conclusive, leaving no room to wedge an argument in before he continues, “and Mr. Grisly’s help has the additional benefit of being free, so you’ll take the information he gives you.”

“I’m sure it’s unbiased,” Hiccup mutters under his breath and Eretson scoffs, their momentary agreement lingering as Eretson’s boss walks away.

“I look forward to working together,” Mr. Grisly’s smile is predatory too, but starving. A lion under a gladiator arena starved to amp up its ferocity, but something about the gleam in his eye makes Hiccup think he bolted the lock himself. “This case so far is of particular interest to me.”

Everything impulsive in Hiccup’s body wants to say ‘Grimborn’ but his stomach twists against it, the ghost of a gag keeping the words in his throat. If it’s Grimborn, that means at least two more murders and he doesn’t even want to think about it, especially given his recent luck in stumbling across them.

“Great, more hobby detectives,” Eretson gripes, dismissing Hiccup with a look at the front door and yet another reminder not to leave town. Hiccup wishes that was more of an issue, but he wasn’t exactly planning a lavish vacation before a second murder shut down his tours.

00000

The shelter is busier than usual, and Gobber lets Hiccup eat if he works, so he finds plenty to keep himself occupied through the next week. Plus, people at the shelter are scared, getting there earlier, every day with new complaints about the Neighborhood Watch Force flaunting badges they’ve been told mean something now. Snotlout is furious but for once, as helpless as Eretson, even though the phenomenon doesn’t seem to be forcing any kind of bond. If anything, Snotlout is angrier, but that could just be the fact that he’s stuck on traffic duty during an important investigation.

Home is quiet though, and Hiccup is restless. As much as his back appreciates the break, he doesn’t need the extra time to think. He could research, given his renewed access and enthusiasm about the archives, but he can’t think about Grimborn without thinking ahead like a meteorologist tracking Hurricane Death. That and as much as he’d like to hang out with Astrid, he’s not sure she feels the same and if she doesn’t, he doesn’t know if he can blame her.

She’s been texting him, mostly pictures from the Berk Enquirer. She found some article from the summer of eighteen eighty-five suggesting an earthquake was actually caused by a dragon fighting ring in a giant arena under the bay and asked for his thoughts on the topic. He said it seemed plausible, given that no one actually knows what’s under the earth as it hurtles through space like a Frisbee and she sent back a string of angry emojis that made him laugh, but flat earth jokes aren’t necessarily communication.

“Oh my God, dude, what are you wearing?” He barely gets two steps in the door after helping Gobber check people into the shelter on Friday night before Snotlout’s outfit accosts him from across the living room. “Or should I say what aren’t you wearing?” Hiccup pulls down the collar of his tee-shirt to mimic the deep V of Snotlout’s shirt.

“What?”

“You left the part of your shirt that covers your lack of tan in your closet, you might want to check on that before you blind someone.”

“Very funny,” Snotlout grabs his jacket, “I’m going to go get a beer, want to come?”

“Even I know I shouldn’t spend my last five dollars on beer.”

“If you want me to cover you, just ask, don’t be so cryptic all the time,” he chides as he rolls his eyes, waving Hiccup along behind him.

“I wasn’t asking you to cover me.” Hiccup clarifies on the way downstairs and Snotlout shrugs.

“Whatever, dude, keep telling yourself that.” He looks both ways before continuing, voice low, “they still don’t know it’s your fake leg, by the way, have you heard anything from Eretson?”

“Nope, apparently I learned how to shut up at a really convenient time, I just needed some pressure.”

“Well keep the pressure on, I doubt your closed mouth is permanent, and they’re no closer to solving this, even with Mr. Creepy skulking around the station.” Snotlout shudders, “the guy isn’t even helpful, he just looms over everyone’s shoulders. He caught me online shopping the other day and he just watched.”

“It’s a good thing I’m sure you were shopping for totally work appropriate stuff, as you always do,” Hiccup raises an eyebrow and Snotlout glares at him.

“Shut up, Hiccup.”

Gruff’s is busy but not packed yet, and they’re lucky enough to get a booth along the wall. Snotlout sends Hiccup to the bar to get drinks and Gruffnut jokes about his growth spurt instead of asking for ID. That’s something that wouldn’t happen anywhere else in Berk these days, the bars down on the main street that charge ten dollars for some locally made shitty whiskey usually end up asking Hiccup for two IDs if he makes the mistake of shaving too close to going. It makes him want to ask how Gruffnut manages to pay rent if Heather is struggling, but he guesses this is a worse neighborhood.

Or was, maybe murders happening so close to the condos will equalize property values a little bit.

Who’s he kidding? They’ll probably skyrocket. He saw his first article relating the current duo of murders to Viggo Grimborn this morning and couldn’t help but read it. It got a lot wrong, even ascribing to the theory that the third victim’s fiancé did it to first scare her into staying off the street and then to cover his tracks, but Hiccup gets the feeling it did what it was supposed to. Someone at the shelter was complaining about motel prices doubling nearly overnight and Berserker Tours added a RSVP tab to the website that Hiccup told himself he wouldn’t check, but when he did it was scheduling three weeks out.

Snotlout dutifully doesn’t listen to Hiccup’s rant about it, staring idly around the room like if he looks bored enough Hiccup won’t know he’s looking for a target. It makes Hiccup think about texting Astrid for what must be the hundredth time this week, and he sets his phone on the table where his pocket can’t accidentally make that decision for him.

“…absolute lying, thieving sack of shit!” The insult rises above the noise of the crowd mid-sentence and a few heads turn towards the end of the bar by the door. Hiccup turns in the booth to investigate and thinks he recognizes the blonde woman yelling at Gruffnut, hands planted on the weathered counter. “Don’t play dumb with me, I know exactly how dumb you are and you aren’t going to get away with acting any dumber than that!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gruffnut whistles, cleaning a glass with a filthy rag, “must have been Tuff.”

“Is that?” Snotlout frowns, talking mostly to himself. “I think that’s—”

“Ruff!”

Hiccup recognizes Astrid’s voice instantly and jumps to his feet, but Snotlout is already across the room, holding Ruffnut back as she’s trying to claw her way over the counter.

“Let’s calm down here—”

“I don’t need a cop to protect me from my dweeby little girl cousin, Snotlout.”

Ruffnut’s yell is primal and she elbows Snotlout in the chest almost hard enough for him to lose his grip.

“You absolute piece of shit, if you don’t find my money I’m going to kill you and claim next of kin, you creepy body snatching—”

“Ruff, calm down,” Astrid tries again, catching Ruffnut’s arm before she can take another swing at Snotlout.

“I don’t even have to hide it, I can just disembowel it in the street at a specific location and—”

“Hey!” Astrid booms, shoving Snotlout and Ruffnut out of the way and evidently taking the problem into her own hands. “Just give her the money, Gruff. And while you’re at it, I’d like my fifty bucks back.”

“You never loaned me fifty bucks, that was Tuffnut.”

“How about a free round,” Hiccup inserts himself, leaning elbows on the bar next to her and waving sheepishly when she cocks her head, surprised but not unhappy to see him. “Or I’ll tell Snotlout to release the beast over there.”

“He doesn’t listen to you,” Gruffnut narrows his eyes but starts pouring four shitty beers anyway.

“I might not have a choice,” Snotlout grunts as Ruffnut flings herself back against him, trying to kick at the bar, “fuck, she’s strong.”

“Flattery won’t work on me,” she grunts, yanking Snotlout’s arm off of her waist and turning to face him. Her posture changes instantly, hip cocked as she twirls long hair around her finger, “oh, yours might.”

“This isn’t even the first situation this week that my good looks have diffused,” Snotlout grabs two beers off of the counter and hands one to Ruffnut, smiling smugly at Gruffnut, “you should be glad to have me around.”

“Yeah, I’ll be glad to have you around the day it’s legal to charge cops ten percent more.” He grumbles, walking to the other end of the bar to serve someone else, “can’t even have a bar fight with your cousin these days. Fucking nanny state.”

“So…” Hiccup looks at Astrid as Ruffnut and Snotlout head back to the booth, “there’s a story here.”

“Yeah,” she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear, ponytail slightly crooked, likely from her own attempt to hold Ruffnut back, “I should probably tell it, I doubt Ruffnut has the attention span right now.”

Of course Ruffnut and Snotlout are sharing one side of the booth and Hiccup tries to be casual as Astrid slides in next to him, accidentally bumping his shoulder as she takes off her jacket and sets it between them. It’s not much of a buffer because it smells like her shampoo, floral even above the cigarette smell ingrained decades deep into the wood paneling on the wall, and Hiccup tries to focus on anything but the memory of encyclopedias falling in tune with his pounding heart.

“Guess what?” Ruffnut is too pleased with herself to really look annoyed, “after all, it turns out that Snotlout wouldn’t have minded you giving me his number. All that arguing for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” Snotlout stretches an arm across the back of the booth, “I didn’t mind holding you back, babe.”

“I mean I’d rather you didn’t hold me back,” she grins, “and we were wearing less or it was strategically pushed aside—”

“Oh my God!” Astrid chugs about half of her beer in a single gulp, cheeks practically glowing and a stern expression on her face. “I’m sorry about her, Snotlout, thank you for helping me save my friend from assaulting someone.”

“Again, I don’t mind,” Snotlout winks and Hiccup usually asks him how he thinks anyone could think that looks cool, but now he’s just remembering how stupid he must have looked doing the same at Astrid and asking her to kiss him again.

And then they found a body.

That’s still a change in tone he hasn’t found a way to navigate.

“I kind of do,” Ruffnut puffs out her cheeks and releases the air in a small, deflated puff, “the holding me back part, I mean. Free beer is my favorite, but it takes a lot of free beer to add up to a thousand dollars.”

“Less to fifty,” Astrid snorts, “I might be up to it.”

“That would be like sixteen of these on happy hour,” Hiccup turns his glass between his hands, “I’m not doubting your power, but…”

“After the week I’ve had, I might be up to it,” she shakes her head, obviously tired. It looks different than the kind of tired he saw when he showed up at her door too late or too early, or the kind of tired she was when she just had to wait for his eleven o’clock tour to yell one last theory down at him. It’s deeper and he hates that he knows why she can’t sleep.

“So, how do you guys know Gruff?” Hiccup changes the subject before it can drift naturally into Grimborn and all the ways its meaning might be changing.

“Are you kidding me?” Ruffnut points at her face and then absently over her left shoulder with a habitual thumb. “Oh, shit, Tuff isn’t here right now, that would be confusing.”

“He’s Ruffnut’s cousin,” Astrid explains, “and her brother’s doppleganger, it’s a whole long confusing story.”

“Well, I don’t have anywhere to be.” Hiccup tries to feel natural but Snotlout’s easy arm on the back of the other side of the booth makes his heart race when he even thinks about doing the same to Astrid. He remembers what she felt like against him, the strong set of her shoulders under his hands, the curve of her waist, and his entire body itches to pull her into his side now.

Not that there’s any indication she’d let him. She might see him and remember an alley she never wants to see again with him presenting it like Vanna White happily revealing the prize behind door number three.

“He takes my twin brother’s clothes and asks for money or stuff and when he gets it, he falls off the face of the earth again. Last time it was Tuff owing tax money so of course I gave it to him,” Ruffnut rubs her temple, “I’m too good of a sister, that’s the whole problem.”

“How alike could they possibly look?” Snotlout asks, grinning when Ruffnut is apparently happy to be blinded by his chest.

“It’s…kind of creepy, actually,” Astrid sighs, “I didn’t believe it until Tuffnut didn’t pay back some money I loaned him. He’s usually good about that stuff but he just kept insisting I never loaned him anything, and then I met Gruffnut.” She waves her hand towards the bar, ponytail swinging for emphasis.

“You know, babe, if you had a case for identity theft,” Snotlout waggles his eyebrows and Ruffnut pouts, crumpling into his side, head dramatically on his shoulder. He wraps his arm easily around her waist and Astrid sits up straighter, so rigid if Hiccup didn’t know better he’d think she was a wax statue.

A wax statue that had its post-forming makeup touched up by someone red-green colorblind trying to make an absolutely gorgeous Wicked Witch of the West, but still.

“I wish,” Ruffnut groans, “Tuffnut worships the ground the guy walks on.”

“I get it,” Snotlout nods, “that’s how Hiccup feels about me, some cousins just have that energy.” He grins, looking pointedly at Hiccup’s awkward arm, setting limply in his lap like he forgot how to move it. “Some don’t.”

“I get that you’re pissed, Ruff, I am too, but maybe it’s not the time for the disemboweling threats,” Astrid says it like the words are likely to bounce back at her so she doesn’t want to sharpen them too much.

“Why not?” Ruffnut snorts and gestures at Hiccup, “I’m in the right company.”

“Right, that’s me,” Hiccup nods to himself, “the disemboweled body guy. It’s good to finally officially introduce myself.”

This is going great.

“Oh, we’ve met,” Ruffnut raises an eyebrow, “how’s the tour business? I bet it’s picking up with some crazy mimic on the loose.”

“Babe, I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I can’t help myself around you so I’ll just say that the police have no actual reason to link the murders,” Snotlout tries to steer the conversation and Astrid glares at him. “Aside from, you know, some obnoxious weirdos or whatever.”

“If you’re not supposed to talk about it, maybe don’t talk about it.”

“I didn’t,” he rolls his eyes, “I said what we haven’t found, which is not the same as saying what we have—”

“How about none of us talk about it?” Hiccup tries, drumming his hands on the edge of the table, “anyone read any good books lately?”

“Nope,” Astrid looks at him helplessly then, wide eyes begging him to keep a secret. A bookish secret, apparently.

Oh, their secret. It makes sense that what happened at the archives would get lost in the whirlwind of finding a body, but Hiccup can’t quite stop himself from assuming she regrets it.

“Right, like it’s possible to avoid talking about it,” Ruffnut points at the TV over the bar, where the news is showing a juxtaposition of a picture of the alley from the Grimborn file along with a modern picture.

“…police response has been sluggish, given the repeated nature of the murders and the plausible connection to the Viggo Grimborn case—”

“I’ll put it on Sports Center,” Snotlout stands up and Astrid follows.

“What? So we can watch more Superbowl reruns?”

Snotlout grins, “not a Pats fan?”

“Don’t talk to me,” she shoves him hard enough that he stumbles and makes a bee-line for the tv.

“Is it because you’re a sore loser or what?” Snotlout starts in on his favorite argument.

“Well, there goes his night,” Hiccup tries to joke with Ruffnut even as he watches Astrid’s furious, irritated expression. She takes the remote from Snotlout’s hand and changes the channel, ignoring a few complaints at the bar. “Especially because it looks like Astrid has an opinion on the topic.”

Ruffnut narrows her eyes and Hiccup clears his throat, unused to the position of Designated Normal Person and unsure if he’s doing it right.

“So umm, football?”

“Did you do it?” Ruffnut whispers, leaning close across the table.

“Football?” Hiccup laughs, “yeah, look at me. I was a championship kicker, won the big game for the whole town and—”

“No, the murders,” she clarifies, shrewd even as she tries to look casual. “I’m just saying, it’s a little suspicious that you were giving murder site tours to my best friend both times they happened.”

“No, I did not murder two people.”

“Because I mean it, Astrid is my absolute best friend, and if you’re getting her entangled in some weird serial killer cult, she won’t be the one getting blamed for it.” It’s too matter of fact to be a threat, like the sequence of events already exists in a universe Hiccup really doesn’t want to get to.

“I’m not introducing Astrid to a murderous cult.”

“Well, I know you guys aren’t hooking up because if you were, she’d probably have something more interesting to talk about than stupid Viggo Grimborn.” Ruffnut looks him up and down appraisingly, “maybe.”

“I’m not introducing Astrid to a murderous cult,” Hiccup repeats the truth, willing his expression flat.

“HGTV?” Snotlout scoffs over the crowd, “right, for all the renovating you do in your shitty apartment.”

“It’s aspirational,” Astrid jumps and neatly sets the remote on top of the tv where Snotlout can’t reach it. “Unlike the NFL’s stance that their system is really totally fine even if the competition has devolved into who gets cheated by a bunch of—”

“That’s my cue,” Ruffnut drains her beer and stands up, “she gets on me for threatening my dipshit cousin and then she starts dissing the Patriots in a bar in the middle of Downtown Berk. I don’t know what she’d do without me.”

“Always a pleasure, Ruff,” Hiccup waves before slumping forward, smacking his forehead on the table a couple of times for good measure.

Astrid regrets kissing him, her best friend thinks he’s more likely to be into ritualistic murder than to have a chance with her. He’s broke. Someone might be a ritualistic serial killer and their shared interest in Berk’s history is making him more broke.

He expects Snotlout to start right in on making fun of his absolutely disastrous performance with Astrid, so he’s shocked when someone quietly slides into the booth across from him. He doesn’t expect to look up and see Astrid biting her lip and staring pensively at her beer.

“Where—”

“They just left together,” she cuts him off with an awkward laugh, “just so you know.”

“Ah,” Hiccup pushes his hair back, half-relieved and half-jealous, unsure where the feelings overlap. He’d love to not be here, but Astrid seems committed to being exactly where she is, so he’s committed. “So I’m stuck here for a while then.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” she shrugs a stiff shoulder, “you’ve met Ruffnut, it’s not like she’s shy about…well, anything.”

“Oh no, not—It’s not about her, it’s for my own good.” He laughs, wishing she’d sat back next to him at the same time as he’s glad to be able to see her face, slowly relaxing away from it’s coiled, anxious expression. “Snotlout’s a screamer.”

She snorts mid-drink, clapping her hand over her nose and coughing.

“Sorry,” he shoves a crumpled napkin at her before re-thinking it, “never mind, I wouldn’t trust anything on this table—”

“I’m fine,” she wipes her nose on her sleeve and pointedly changes the subject, “how have you been? Usually I don’t have to ask because I see you every night outside my window.” She doesn’t mention why he’s not doing tours and that makes it more obvious.

Or maybe it’s obvious all on its own and he’s just skirting the issue by making her snort beer out of her nose.

“I’m good. Fine. You?” He wouldn’t try to deny that he’s asking how traumatized she is. In fact, he probably deserves an award for not tacking on a rating scale. One means she needs a ride to a licensed mental health professional immediately, ten means she’s smart enough to never want to see him again because he’s obviously a weirdo dragging her towards the macabre and it’s not good for her.

He’s hoping for like a six, meaning she’d take a hug but won’t necessarily make him talk about it.

“I just said I’m fine,” her half smile accuses him of being a little bit stupid and he can’t help but remember how soft her lips were. How weirdly sweet she was when she tried to save his tour. How adorably embarrassed she was when she impossibly let it slip that she thought he did something sexy, like that’s a word anyone has ever associated with him, least of all someone like Astrid.

And then they found a body.

“Good.” As bad as Hiccup is at performing the role of Designated Normal Person, he’s even worse at having nothing to say.

“Thanks, by the way,” Astrid clears her throat, sniffing like there’s still beer where it shouldn’t be, “for not telling Ruffnut about…you know, the other day.”

“Which part?” Hiccup scratches the back of his head, “because I think she knows about the whole umm…finding a body part, given she thinks I’m the killer.”

“She doesn’t seem to get that people can have a shared interest and nothing more.” Her words sting but her blush doesn’t.

“Right, shared interests always lead to ritualistic murder,” he nods, elbows on the table as he leans a little closer to not have to say murder so loud, “I don’t see the flaw in that logic.”

“Either murder or the inevitable ‘sex in a murder alley’ she keeps insisting is a thing.” Astrid is either very cruel or has no idea of her ability to short circuit minds.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty morbid and drafty,” Hiccup laughs, his heart slamming around his ribcage apparently untethered, “plus, if ritualistic murder alley sex was on the table, your apartment is already a murder site so…” He swallows hard, wishing the floor would do the same to him. “Not a new one—"

“Don’t remind me,” she says seriously, clearly choosing not to hear the worst of what he just said, and he’s an idiot who can’t take an out.

“So no point in risking the public indecency charge, I guess.” He gestures between them and shakes his head, “not that ‘murder alley sex’ is a thing that exists at all, let alone with—you know, you. Or me. Or—"

“Don’t you mean my apartment isn’t a new murder scene yet?” Her laugh is humorless and heavy as she cautiously meets his eyes. “I hate to even say it, but do you think it’s a Grimborn thing?”

Hiccup’s stomach twists and looking into her tired face, he wishes he was a better liar, “I guess we’ll find out.”

“If it is,” she looks at him carefully, her assessment entirely perpendicular to Ruffnut’s, “if someone is killing people like Viggo Grimborn did, how can we just sit there doing nothing? If this—what are you going to do about it?”

He knows the correct answer to that question. It’s been drilled into him again and again since before he can remember. Hell, probably since before he could walk.

The police are dealing with it. The system works. Getting in the way only slows down the process.

But he can’t say that because Astrid knows that means nothing. It’s an empty thing he’d say to tell her to move on with her life while people are getting hurt, to pretend that mental blinders do anything other than hide suffering. And she’s too smart for that. Too smart and too honest to go along with it.

And she doesn’t scare easy.

“Probably something stupid,” he shrugs and she nods, apparently satisfied with the answer.

“Sounds about right.”

#ripped #httyd fic #hiccstrid #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #rufflout #coplout

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clubpassim · 5 years

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Women In Folk - Cindy Howes

Hi there!

Katie here, thanks for tuning in for another entry in the Women in Folk Blog! Today’s interviewee is Cindy Howes!

Cindy works at 88.9 WERS at Emerson College in Boston as the Marketing and Promotions Manager. She hosts on Folk Alley, which is a 24-hour folk radio station, as well as Basic Folk, her folk-music podcast. Cindy actually grew up in the area and went to Emerson College for radio. When she first arrived there, she was told she had to pick a show she wanted to work on, and what she told me might come as a shock to some…

“In high school, I really liked 90’s alternative music, but unfortunately, they didn’t have any shows like that. I knew a little bit about folk music because my friend’s sister took us to Club Passim to see Mark Erelli, so I thought, ‘this is close to what I like, I’ll put this down as my second choice.’ My first choice was a metal show, but they ended up giving me my second. The two were very different!”

Metal. After which we mused about how different her life would have looked like if she had ended up as a metal radio host.

After graduating from Emerson she wound up in Pittsburgh working at public radio station WYEP for 11 years, but as fate would have it just this past February she moved back to Boston to rejoin the WERS team. Welcome back, Cindy!

Another fun fact about Cindy is that she worked at Club Passim as a night manager for 6 months after college, which further solidified her place in the folk world.

(The next part of the interview discusses her role as a woman in the radio industry)

[full interview under the cut]

Club Passim: Talk a little bit about your experiences as a female in a male-dominated profession/field.

Cindy Howes: I feel very lucky. When I was working at WYEP I had some really great co-workers, specifically Rosemary Welsch who has worked there for 38 years. Just having her presence on the programming staff and having her general influences was very inspiring to me and helpful in an immeasurable way. There are some really wonderful women in the industry, but...it is a lot of men, you know?

Most of the men I come across are professional, but occasionally you do cross paths with people who aren’t. Having to navigate those situations isn’t always the simplest. You have to ask yourself, ‘What is safe for me in those situations? What is appropriate to do, yet still makes me feel safe and comfortable?’ That’s the conversation we’re starting to have now.

I’m an older millennial, but still, in my generation, things were different from how they are today. Younger generations just won't tolerate unequal treatment and disrespect, and that’s awesome! It’s really exciting to see this cultural shift.

CP: Do you notice a difference in how you’re treated by artists, venues, audiences, and industry professionals before vs. after you interview them/they hear an interview you do?

CH: Yes, though I’m not so sure if it has to do with gender. I think it more so has to do with ego.

In public radio, you have to fight for recognition. Every little bit counts, and when someone misses something or gets your name wrong, that can be really upsetting. Musicians will sometimes underestimate the quality of the interview they’re going to get from me. They’re used to other radio stations asking them the same 10 questions, so when they do an interview with me, they’re usually pleasantly surprised by the substance and depth of the questions.

I will say though, I am frequently told when meeting someone in person that I don’t look the way I sound on the radio. I look different than what they expected I would sound like. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing! Usually, they assume me to be older than I really am.

CP: What do you do in a situation when you feel disrespected by the artists/co-workers you’re surrounded by?

CH: I have to weigh the situation. If it’s something where I don’t want to rock the boat, I’ll work through it and try not to take it personally. I’ve found that when that stuff happens, it’s usually more about the other person than it is about me. Also working in radio and the media industry, you have to learn to let a lot of stuff go, so it’s just a matter of figuring out what battles you want to fight.

I’m normally pretty calm; I usually won’t explode at someone. Although there have been times where something disrespectful or hurtful is said to me and I’m so affected by their comment that I’ve had to give up an interview I was about to do. If a situation like that arises, the first thing I do is remove myself from having to be in public so I’m not distracted and don’t misspeak.

CP: In your opinion, how can men be more aware or informed about their women peers and co-workers?

CH: By intently listening more. Try to put yourself in marginalized people's shoes to see what it’s like to give up your privilege. I definitely have privilege myself, and so I try to do it too. I imagine what it would be like if my appearance was different, my skin color was different, my country of origin was different. Everyone should try to think outside of themselves more.

CP: Do you find that your co-workers do a good job with this?

CH: I’ve seen progress for sure. All my co-workers are wonderful now. In the past, some have been better than others. Women radio hosts were usually on in the mid-day and evening, but never hosted the morning show or afternoon drive; the most popular show times. However, when I arrived in Pittsburgh in 2007 things were already better. In Pittsburgh, they now have 1-2 stations that have women on in the morning. While it’s still not ideal, it has gotten a lot better for women. I don’t know if I can say the same for people of color, though.

CP: What message do you want to display as a woman in the radio business?

CH: Treat women like people.

CP: What words of wisdom/encouragement do you have for aspiring women in this field?

CH: It is not your fault. Things will happen to you and you will feel like you’re being treated differently, treated lesser-than because of your gender. But know that it isn’t your fault and that things have been changing for the better.

CP: Any final remarks?

CH: I have a feeling that women who are in their late teens/early twenties right now are much smarter and more confident than before. There’s a lot more body-positivity these days which is beautiful to watch. They walk with confidence through this world. In my generation, we were very insecure, and it showed.

The more that young women realize their worth, the better off we all are going to be.

Powerful words, spoken by a powerful lady! Thank you, Cindy. What an inspiring and uplifting interview this was. While it is crucial to talk about our negative experiences, it is just as crucial to recognize how far we’ve come and the ground we’ve covered together. Conditions for women have definitely improved in the passing years, but there is still much to equalize across genders, color, and borders.

So remember to check your privilege; there are always folks who have it worse than you do.

Thanks again to Cindy, and thank you for reading! Stay tuned for the next installment of the ‘Women in Folk’ blog!

Katie

#womeninfolk #club passim #radio #radiohost #boston #feminism #womeninpower #folk music #folk

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moonlit-seren · 5 years

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For Dispatch || Heo Hyunjoon

Summary: Dispatch reporters have always been well known for their diligence and persistence no matter the situation. So when y/n gets thrown a potentially dangerous lead to follow, she finds herself face to face with Seoul’s biggest mob boss and a savory Inkigayo sandwich.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: This is my very first The Boyz fanfic, so I hope it’s alright. I feel like the Dispatch workers in the story were more like secret agents than reporters lol.

Credits to fall-out-bangtan for inspiring the plot~ <3

꧁Masterlist꧂

“Y/n L/n reporting for duty sir,” I stated, voice loud and proud as any reporter’s should be. My hands were planted firmly by my sides, with a clipboard wedged under one arm as I bowed to my superior respectfully.

“Yes, sit,” said my boss calmly, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk. I sat down, watching as he leaned forward so that his clasped hands rested on the polished wood.

A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes, sparkling brighter than it usually does when he finds a new story to cover.

Sangyeon had only been my boss for a couple of months, but our friendship had grown to the point where we could read each other like an open book.

And from what I could tell from his demeanor, I should be very, very concerned for my well being right now.

“So you know how I sent Sunwoo after that one fishy looking guy in the alley two days ago?” Asked Sangyeon, guilt flashing across his face at the harsh glare I sent him.

“Yes, and I distinctly remember seeing the handle of a knife on the person Sunwoo was pursuing, and advising you to call him off,” I replied coldly, not seeing the benefit of having risked the life of one of my coworkers just to follow a potential story.

Sangyeon dismissed my comment, waving it off as if it were nothing more than a bothersome fly. Both of us knew that Sunwoo was one of most diligent reporters at Dispatch, but I couldn’t help but worry about him.

“Don’t worry, he came back alive yesterday, with something that could completely blow our audience off of their feet,” exclaimed Sangyeon, eyes widening as he made overly excited hand gestures.

I rose an eyebrow at him, opening my mouth to ask what it was but he cut me to the chase. He slid a photo across the table, explaining that Sunwoo had taken it.

In the image was a blurry shot of three men. One had his hair dyed a dark orange, with soft doe eyes in contrast to a sharp gaze. The second had dark caramel colored hair, a slightly sturdier build than the first, and a cocky stance. But it was the third male who truly caught my attention.

He was a couple of centimeters shorter than the other two, but had beautifully striking fox eyes. Framing them was a curtain of sleek black bangs styled up in a quiff, giving him more of haughty, arrogant look.

Though his milky white skin didn’t appear to be marred with any tattoos, several piercing lined the cuffs of his ears including a dangling cross and he had on an long, expensive looking fur jacket. It didn’t take much to guess that the third person was the leader of the group, as he stood at a slightly larger distance from the other two.

“You’re ogling,” whispered Sangyeon, amused by how my eyes remained fixated on the gorgeous male.

I stuck my tongue out at him, crossing my arms defensively as a blush spread across the apples of my cheeks. “Whatever, I don’t believe that I came to your office to get teased.”

Sangyeon smiled knowingly, before shaking his head. Sinking back in his armchair, he launched into an animated explanation as he began to explain his findings.

“He’s probably the last person you’d want to date unless you want your head blown off,” started Sangyeon, causing you to raise your eyebrow once more. “I don’t recognize any of these people so I asked around the office and what do you know, Kevin came back with a report from last week saying that he had stumbled upon some underground meeting.”

“Apparently some sort of money exchange was made between the person he was following and another male with a black coat. Both were flanked with two companions. I think that the second party may have been these three,” Sangyeon pointed at the photo once more and you nodded along, unsure of what else to do.

“So you’re saying that this guy is some sort of gang leader?” I asked, pointing at guy who had caught my eye in the picture.

Sangyeon shrugged a little in a carefree response, taking a sip out of the beige mug on his desk before delving back into his story.

“Better actually. I went through our old records and that was when it hit me. I’m surprised I hadn’t recognized him right away,” Sangyeon continued, purposely pausing because he knew that the suspense was killing me on the inside.

“And?” I prompted, a little impatient as he intentionally reached over to straighten an already neat stack of papers resting on the corner of his desk.

“Several months ago, before I got promoted, our last boss sent me to go check out what was said to be a power switch ceremony. I managed to sneak in under the cover of a gang member and the CK was there,” narrated Sangyeon, pride swelling in his chest at the shocked expression on my face.

“CK? As in Seoul’s biggest mob boss in recorded history?” I asked, my eyes widening into large saucers. Anyone who has ever watched the news would know that CK was Seoul’s most notorious criminal in the entire city. Back in his day the police never stood a chance, always being a solid ten steps behind. In fact, he was a renowned criminal all over the world and not just in South Korea.

Sangyeon nodded in affirmation. “Well not anymore apparently. He stepped down and passed his power onto his son who appeared to be around four years younger than me. At that time the boy had his hair dyed a steel gray, which was why I didn’t recognize him at first… But that piercing gaze and cold brown eyes are unforgettable.”

The two pieces clicked together in my mind the moment Sangyeon finished his last sentence. My eyes drifting down to the photo once more at the three people conversing in it.

“He goes by the name Hwall, no one except those incredibly close to him know his real name. As for the other two, I remember seeing them at the ceremony too, so I’m assuming that they’ve grown up together,” said Sangyeon.

“Isn’t it a little curious that the current biggest mob boss didn’t even realize he was getting tagged by a news reporter?” I wondered aloud, curious as to how that ‘Hwall’ guy was still alive in the business he’s in when he couldn’t even notice he was being followed.

Sangyeon shrugged halfheartedly, “Who knows, maybe he did notice Sunwoo but let him follow him around. Just to let the word know that he was still out there and at large.”

I nodded, seeing the logic behind his guess. The net was probably the easiest way for one underworld leader to let his or her competition know of their presence.

After all, news spreads like fire on the internet and it’s far safer than coming out in the open waving an ‘I’m alive’ banner in front of all of your enemies.

“Alright, so now that I know the backstory, can you tell me why exactly you called me of all people rather than Sunwoo down here?” I asked, still a little confused over my presence here.

Sangyeon held up a finger, indicating that he wanted me to wait a second, as a sweet smile spreading over his face. My eyes narrowed, immediately recognizing his expression. He only ever used that smile when asking a difficult request, and more often than not, I always end up regretting agreeing to it.

“You see, not every news outlet gets such a rare chance to cover a giant story like this. If we get this scoop, Dispatch’s name will be known world wide and our division will become famous for obtaining it. It would be risky to send Sunwoo out again so we both agreed that you’d be the best one for this job,” explained Sangyeon, pulling out a file from his desk draw. From what I could see, it looked like it contained all the information we currently had on this particular case. “Besides, I only want you on the field for a day, there’s a slim chance that you’ll get caught.”

“I shouldn’t seen this coming,” I thought, sighing deeply. On one hand my cover could get blown and I could get killed, but on another… If my work gets recognized I could get a huge pay raise and never have to worry again next time I go binge in a expensively delicious dessert cafe. Besides… life isn’t worth living if you’re still knee deep in student loan debts.

Much to both of our surprises I agreed without much hesitation, reaching forward to take the file out of a gawking Sangyeon’s hands. “Sure, what do I have to lose?”

•

The fated day came a week later, with Sunwoo guiding me to the right place at the right time and hanging around to see if I could overhear or sneak a peek at anything.

“He’s going to a meeting with the leader of another gang from Jeju. They’ll be on the second floor of the Park Enterprise building, 2nd door to the right from the elevators. You should have a clear visual from the roof of the karaoke bar next door,” informed Sunwoo, before hanging up to let me do my thing.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself, pulling on a baby blue snapback and matching face mask. I slipped my phone into my bag before beginning the trek up the stairs of the building Sunwoo told me to go to.

The door to the roof was unlocked for whatever reason, but I wedged a small stone in the doorway to keep it cracked open just in case.

“Let’s get to work,” I thought, placing my bag onto the ground as I pulled out my binoculars to peer through the window of the room my target was supposed to be in.

The blinds were nearly pulled all the way down and at most I could only see a sliver of the ebony table in the center of the room.

The only windows to that particular room that were exposed were the ones facing the large office building across the street, which I’d have extreme difficulty sneaking into.

Spotting the horizontal flag poles lining the edge of the building, the corners of my lips slipped into a smirk and I pulled off my hat in order to tie my hair up into a ponytail.

“For Dispatch,” I whispered, bravely crawling onto one before dangling upside down on the pole. It extended above the sidewalk below, the building only being four floors up.

Bringing the binoculars up to my eyes, I sighed in content realizing that I could see perfectly into the room now.

There was a total of nine people in the room, three of which being Hwall and his ever present duo of right hand men.

I watched as the people conversed, unable to make out much from the silent conversion besides the words “money” and “guns”.

Sure enough, a few minutes later two silver briefcases were brought to the table containing whatever goods that were about to be exchanged.

A few distant yells disrupted my focus, as I pulled my binoculars away from my eyes and glanced down at the mini crowd that gathered below.

“Get down from there suicidal idiot!” Shouted a boy from the sidewalk, frantically gesturing his arms to signify that I should plant my feet back on a solid surface.

He appeared my age but other than that I couldn’t distinguish much from my vantage point besides a mop of dark blue hair partially hidden by a denim cap.

Similar cries erupted from around him as many concerned faces peered up at me from the ground.

I smiled at his concern, touching my pointer finger to my lips in a shushing gesture before bringing the binoculars back to my eyes. “For Dispatch.”

The meeting concluded as quickly as it began, only lasting for a mere ten minutes.

It seems that it’s dangerous for men like them to stay in one place for too long, especially in broad daylight where everyday businessmen rather than shifty drug dealers roamed the streets.

I finally climbed off the flagpole I had been dangling from, nearly toppling the moment my feet met the cement of the roof from the severe headrush I experienced.

Not wasting any time, I quickly gathered my belongings before running down the stairs of the building I was in.

The moment my feet hit the first step, I pulled my phone out again, speed dialing Sunwoo to ask if he knew where to go next.

“You know the beach where we went last month with Kevin and Sangyeon?” He asked, picking up nearly instantaneously.

I racked my brain projecting the memory in the forefront of my mind. Indeed we had gone to a public beach for a mini vacation and as expected, a series of embarrassing events occured under Sunwoo’s influence.

“How could I forget?” I snapped with a huff, climbing down the second fleet of stairs. “You intentionally pushed me into Kevin, hoping for some cliche k-drama moment!”

“Well it kind of worked,” Sunwoo mused, snickering at the angry tone I was using. Of course he was amused at the mortifying predicament he put me in.

I gasped, appalled at his statement. “We ended up falling on top of some poor kid’s sandcastle! You should’ve seen the little girl’s face, she looked like she was about to cry! And to this day Kevin still thinks I intentionally fell on him! Do you know how embarrassing it was? I can’t even talk to him nowadays!”

Sunwoo burst into a loud bout of laughter, accompanied by the sounds of a couple items getting knocked over. “Not my fault your love life is a joke.”

“Kim Sunwoo!” I exclaimed, feeling a deep sense of hurt at his jesting antics. A quiet ding resonated from my phone, signifying that it was at two percent. “Crap my phone is about to die.”

“Kidding, kidding. Anyways, I gave you an earpiece yesterday, you can just use that instead of your phone to talk to me later. Remember, go to that beach!”

“Alright, bye,” I hung up, tucking my phone away as I exited the building I was in.

Seeing as I arrived via one of the city’s commute buses, I looked around, quickly scanning my surroundings for a taxi of sorts.

Unfortunately, the only vehicle around was a small white cargo truck across the street and I realized with a sigh that it’d have to suffice.

“One hundred thousand won,” I offered, waving the bills in front of the truck driver. His beady eyes absentmindedly followed my hand, clearly itching to claim money as his own yet hesitating. “All I need is for you to drive me to Eurwangni Beach.”

“I don’t have any space in my truck to, there are only two seats and my coworker’s occupying the second,” he began, but I quickly cut him off with a simple shake of head.

“Don’t worry about that,” I replied, walking over to the flower shop beside us. Spotting the ladder propped up against the wall, I moved it so it was right beside the cargo truck before clambering onto the top of it.

“I’m going to get in trouble with the police,” sighed out the truck driver, taking the wad of cash out my hand as I leaned over the edge of the truck’s roof.

“Not if I have a seat belt,” I assured, pulling out a detached lap belt and a role of neon orange duck tape from my bag.

“Kids nowadays…”

I ignored his exasperated comment, taping the seat belt down before patting the roof of the truck to indicate that I was secure.

As requested, the driver drove to the aforementioned beach, which was a short drive from where I was in Incheon.

I’ve never actually visited Incheon before today, as the meeting I was just observing took place here. The Dispatch office I worked in was located in Seoul, a few blocks away from my apartment.

To be honest, the ride wasn’t unpleasant at all. The roads were fairly smooth and the luscious scenery on the way looked like it came straight out of a photocard.

Once we arrived, I hopped off the truck, allowing the soft sand to cushion my fall. Due to the sunny weather, the beach was already occupied by several different parties.

I went to go sit on one of the public use lounge chairs, sighing as my skin hit the shade of the large red beach umbrella.

Remembering Sunwoo’s words, I rummaged through my bag for the small device he had given me. There were only two buttons on it, one being call and the other being end call.

It must’ve been linked to the one in Sunwoo’s possession as there was no way for me to enter in a number, so I pressed the dial button before slipping the black earpiece in my ear.

“Sunwoo, is this really necessary?” I whispered, hearing him pick up after the second ring.

“No, but it makes it feel like we’re secret agents so why not?” Rang Sunwoo’s voice from the tiny device. “Besides, stop speaking. You’ll look stupid and suspicious talking to yourself. Not that you don’t already look stupid lounging on the beach alone.”

I glared as he chuckled, despite knowing that he couldn’t see me. It was like Sunwoo’s second nature to tease me for whatever miniscule reason he could find and if karma didn’t get him back one day then I would.

“Alright prick, now tell me what I’m doing lounging on a beach chair in eighty degree weather,” I demanded, taking my hat out of my bag to fan myself with it.

My efforts proved fruitless as it generated no more than a tiny gust of air from each swing, so I pulled it on instead in defeat.

I heard a few shuffling sounds from the other end of the line, waiting for a response from my coworker.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there. And here I was thinking you’d appreciate an impromptu vacation” Sunwoo replied after a few seconds, taking a long drag of what I assumed to be coffee. I rolled my eyes, unafraid to do so in public as I had on a dark pair of sunglasses. “ According to our sources, Hwall is supposed to arrive in a few minutes with his two goons. Most likely taking a break from the whole criminal thing.”

“He literally just came out of a meeting-” I began, eyebrows furrowing in skepticism before being startled out of finishing my sentence.

“WHAAAAAAAHOOOOOO-” cried a frenzied, dark haired male are he charged into the ocean like a stampeding rhinoceros, eyes bulging and mouth stretched open into a wide smile before snapping shut right as the waves swallowed his body.

Shortly after yet another person charged after the first, kicking up fist fulls of dirt into the air as he clumsily dove head first into the glistening blue waters with a loud splash.

My eyes widened at the strange occurrence, still trying to comprehend the rare sight of men my age acting like eight year olds on a sugar high the moment they spot the ocean.

“Why do I even bother with them?” Asked a soft voice a few yards away from me, a third figure appearing from the same direction the other two came.

Curious, I turned my head to peer at the mysterious voice, jaw dropping as I took in the sight.

There, in all his glory, stood the very person I had been tasked to follow, his dark hair billowing in gentle waves like the ocean before him.

Having changed out of his suit, Hwall only had on a pair of swim shorts, forgoing a top and opting for a simple shark tooth necklace in its stead.

Cheeks darkening in a dangerous shade of red, I quickly averted my eyes before they drifted further than the pale skin of his collarbones, reaching up to tip my hat further done my face. “Oh my sweet california oranges.”

“What?” Asked Sunwoo, startling me out of my reverie. I had completely forgotten his presence, unknowingly relishing in the silence from his end. Dealing with him could be quite a handful at times, though I wouldn’t trade our friendship for the world.

“Nothing, I thought I saw a shark,” I responded casually, trying to play off the nervous titter in my voice. Much to my horror, my voice carried over the wind catching the attention of the fine specimen to my left.

Before Hwall had the chance to turn his head fully, I tilted my head downwards to better hide my face as I furtively pressed my phone against my right ear to pretend I was in the middle of a phone call.

“Was that shark hot? I can hear your blush from here y/n,” Sunwoo stated teasingly, making a loud kissing noise. I silently cursed at how well he knew me, realizing how transparent I must be considering how easily my friends could read my emotions.

“Shut up,” I whispered sharply, turning off the earpiece in my ear in annoyance. “Why do I even bother with you.”

Directing my gaze back on the ocean, I watched with mild interest as the two males continued to splash around, hyper aware of how Hwall hadn’t moved from his spot.

The moment I had spotted him the two dots connected together and I realized who exactly the two childlike strangers were. It was a little surprising, seeing two supposed mob members actually like normal teenagers if not younger.

“HYUNJAE,” shouted the tall male with dark orange hair. He had on a distinct look of disgust and betrayal as his companion had managed to nail him right in his face with a handful of water.

“Suck it up Younghoon,” Hyunjae replied, sticking out his tongue as he scrambled out of the range of his angered friend. He burst into a bout of strangled laughter, as Younghoon pounced on him bringing the both of them beneath the surface of the waves.

It was only then that Hwall shifted, strolling towards the ocean in a carefree manner. My eyes caught onto his movement, shifting to his back as he leisurely swam towards Hyunjae and Younghoon.

Much to my surprise, rather than splitting the playful fight, he laid down on Younghoon’s back as the latter was still attempting to throttle Hyunjae.

Younghoon gasped, swimming away in surprise which caused Hwall to roll back into the water.

Yet another water fight broke out as their laughter carried all the way to the beach, or rather, all the way to my ears.

I smiled unknowingly, finding the sight strangely endearing. For whatever reason, I had half expected the group to go shark hunting or some other dangerous activity when I heard they’d be coming. This was the last thing I expected in all honesty.

Seeing the trio like this made me feel a little more at ease, as if I were at less of a risk of dying due to following them, though it would still be a little early to make that assumption.

The next few hours continued on in a similar fashion until Hwall, Hyunjae, and Younghoon wore themselves out.

“I need food,” whined Hyunjae, collapsing on his back on a beach towel that I presumed was his.

Younghoon plopped down next to him, nodding a little as if to say ‘me too’.

Hwall glanced down at them, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll go buy something from the cafe down the street.”

He walked away to a chorus of thanks you’s, pulling on a shirt and a pair of sandals from the bag laying beside his two friends.

Inconspicuously gathering my own belongings, I waited for five minutes before leaving, already knowing which cafe he meant as there was only one within walking distance.

By the time I arrived, Hwall had already ordered and was situated at a table by one of the floor length windows that lined the shop. His head was resting on his palm, as he stared out through the glass only breaking out of his pensive trance when a waiter brought over his mug of coffee.

Not wanting to be caught staring, I walked towards the counter to order something to nibble on since I was already here.

But to my surprise, the male working the cashier flashed me a cheery smile as he slid a sandwich across the counter. “One Inkigayo sandwich right? It’s already been paid for, so enjoy!”

I didn’t have the chance to ask him if he had made a mistake as to who to give the sandwich to or even who paid for it, as he was already talking to the next customer in line.

Walking to the nearest empty table, which was coincidentally beside Hwall’s, I sat down and slowly peeled open the plastic wrap covering the sandwich.

A small beige notecard fell out of the wrapping, fluttering delicately on the table. I picked it up, flipping it over as the side that had been facing me was blank.

There, in messy black handwriting, was a short message that seemingly caused my heart to stop for a solid few seconds.

“I probably would’ve killed you by now if you weren’t so cute.”

My cheeks flared scarlet red, feeling absolutely mortified as I knew that it was foolish of me to think that someone of his profession wouldn’t notice that they’re being followed.

Dropping the card back on the table, my gaze nervously trailed forward, before stopping on Hwall who was already looking at me.

The afternoon sun cast a beautiful aura of light on his face, illuminating his features with an ethereal glow as he winked at me, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smirk.

“What’s up girl?”

#the boyz #hwall #hyunjoon #heo hyunjoon #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #romance #fluff #the boyz hwall imagine #the boyz hwall oneshot #the boyz hwall fanfic

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lucisfavoritedemon · 6 years

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Fate & Destiny: Prom’s for Losers

Pairing: Dean x Nell

Characters: Dean, Nell, Sam, Bradon (OFC), Maggi (OFC), Laurie (OFC)(mentioned).

Summary: Prom night doesn’t go quit as planned for Dean and Nell

Warnings: Fluffy cuteness of teenage love, cheating, comforting!Dean, implied smut, getting stood up, language, dirty minds of teenagers

Word Count: 2587

A/N: This part contains 18+ ONLY! This part implies or contains smut. This is an 18+ ONLY Blog. Heed the warnings please.

Get Dean’s fragrance here

It was supposed be the best night of their lives. They were supposed to have fun and not be stuck sitting in a corner, while everyone else was out having the time of their lives. It was Dean’s senior year. He was going to have the time of his life with the captain of the cheerleading team. Nell was a junior and going with one of her good friends. It was supposed to be the best night of their lives…I'm getting ahead of myself though. Let's start from the beginning.

It was a week before prom. Guys we're asking their girlfriends to go with them. You could just feel the love oozing from a mile away. Everyone was so excited for Prom to come around...well almost everyone.

“Maggi, I really like him. I know you keep telling me he likes me too, but if he did, he would have asked me already.” Nell spoke to her friend as they were hanging up the last posters to promote Prom.

“Don’t worry Nell. Bradon is going to ask you. I know he is. He has to. Why wouldn’t he? I mean look at you. You’re absolutely beautiful. Any guy who can’t see that is an idiot.” Maggi babbled trying to reassure her best friend.

“Yeah I guess.”

“How are you taking the whole Dean and Laurie thing?”

“It’s fine you know. He is going to do what he wants and there is no changing that. I can’t change what he sets his mind to.”

“I know you two were close before she came into the picture. Then you started hanging out with Bradon and I a lot more. You two weren’t dating when she came into the picture were you?”

“Oh god no. We grew up together so we are really close...we were really close.”

“Oh well she can be somewhat of a you know what, and she can make men do crazy and weird things.”

“I really hope you don’t mean what I think you mean.”

“You know I do.”

“Okay gross.”

The girls were on their way back to the student council room when someone stopped them in their tracks.

“Hey Nell, Maggi.” A guy approached the two checking Nell out, acting all shy.

“Hey Bradon.” Nell replied almost just as shy.

“There has been something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He looked toward them.

Maggi elbowed Nell’s side lightly indicating an “I told you so.”

“Are you doing anything tonight? I am really struggling in our Pre-Calc class and I need some help studying.”

“No I’m free any time just let me know.”

“How about tonight at 6:30?”

“That works.”

Bradon then walked the opposite direction from them, not even taking a second glance at them.

“This is why I never believe you. He had the perfect chance to ask me and he didn’t.” The girls then continued to walk back to their class.

“So he hasn’t asked you yet? Look Nell I hate to say it, but if hasn’t yet he probably won’t.” Dean asked from the main part of the motel room.

“Thanks Dean that makes me feel real confident.” Nell yelled from the bathroom while she was brushing her teeth.

“He didn’t even hesitate tonight when you two were studying?” Dean yelled back.

“No. He was so precise it was odd.” Nell said stepping out wearing only an oversized t-shirt as pajamas.

“That is really odd. Is that the only suspicious thing you noticed?”

“Yes Dean. Since when did this turn into an interrogation?”

“Yeah, this kind of weird for you two.” Sam piped in sitting at the table by the window.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked giving his brother a weird look.

“You two haven’t argued once in the last 4 years, and now that Dean has a sort of steady relationship with this cheerleader, you two have been arguing non stop. If I have a say in it…”

“Which you don’t.” Nell cut Sam off.

“I would say you were jealous.”

“As if.”

“Well maybe not in the way you normally would assume, but she has been taking up all of Dean’s time. Maybe you’re jealous because she is always hanging out with him.”

“I guess when you put it that way yeah. I guess I am kind of jealous that she is basically taking up all your time now.”

“Hey how about tomorrow after school we go do something fun. Just the three of us. No one else.”

“I’d like that. How about you Sam?”

“Sounds good.”

“Now we should all probably get to bed.” Dean suggested.

“You two can have the beds. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Nell offered.

“Or we could share. It got pretty cold last night in here.” Dean suggested.

“I guess if you’re okay with it.”

“You don’t have to. I just think it might also be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor.”

Dean moved over to make room for her. She walked over and crawled under the covers with him. Normally she wouldn’t hesitate, but after the previous conversation about hr being jealous she didn’t want to seem to eager.

The truth was she was jealous of Laurie. She has really liked Dean for a long time. Ever since Dean has been with Laurie she has tried to cover up her feelings with Bradon. Yeah, Bradon is sweet and funny, but he doesn’t even compare to Dean.

Right now sleeping next to Dean hurt. She wanted to curl up into him, feel the embrace of his arms, and feel the warmth of his skin. It was something she had fight herself not to do for fear of ruining what they had.

The next morning she woke up to arms wrapped around her. She felt like it was right where she belonged. Sadly the arms moved, and the bed got colder.

“Up and at ‘em Sammy. We still have school you know?” Dean said smacking Sam’s feet which were out from underneath the covers.

Nell remained where she was hoping he would just leave her there, so she wouldn’t have to go to school.

“You too Nell.” Dean leaned down and whispered in her ear, patting her shoulder.

Nell let out a groan as Dean walked into the bathroom to take a shower. She couldn’t help but feel saddened by the thoughts of Dean all over Laurie and him ignoring her. The longer this went on the harder it became for Nell to get over her feelings. She was happy that Dean had found someone, but she just wanted it to be her.

The rest of the week went on as normal, that was until Friday right after school.

“Hey Nell,” Bradon approached her.

“Oh hi Bradon. Any longer and I would have been gone.”

“Yeah I know. Look can we talk in the student council office real quick?”

“Yeah of course.”

They walked upstairs to the office where Bradon told her to wait until he came to get her.

“Okay you can come in.” He said opening the door looking nervous.

As Nell walked in she noticed rose petals on the ground. She couldn’t believe what was actually happening. As she got closer to the poster she wanted to stop for something was telling her to not look for she was going to not like what she was about to see.

When she looked up at the sign her heart dropped. She felt like crying or screaming or storming out of the room of embarrassment.

Vote yes on me taking you, Maggi, to Prom.

It had a huge checkbox with a big YES written next to it. It was a really cute, but Nell still felt the pain of it all.

“What do you think?”

“It’s amazing Maggi will love it.”

“You really think so?”

“Oh yeah this is right up her alley. There should be no reason she won’t say yes.”

“That’s great. I can’t wait for her to see it.”

“I have to go my ride is waiting, but that...it’s very sweet.” Nell said trying to get out there as fast as she could.

“I’ll let you know how it goes.” Bradon yelled after her.

“Great can’t wait.”

Truth was she didn’t really want to know. She was going to go back to the motel and curl into a bed and ignore the world. Why did she feel this way? Why did she care so much? It was some guy she hardly knew.

“Hey there you are. I was starting to get worried about you.”

“Yeah I bet when you weren’t making out with your whore of a girlfriend.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Just leave me the hell alone Dean. I don’t need you worrying about me. I’m a grown up I can take care of myself.”

“Then you walk back to the motel.”

“Fine I will!” she yelled at him.

The whole walk to the motel she cried. She couldn’t help it though, the things she was feeling were knew to her. They had been pent up for so long and she needed to get them all out before she got to the motel. She couldn’t let Dean and Sam see her like this.

Dean didn’t know how to feel that the girl he considered his best friend was acting so weird and to have an outburst like that was unusual. He didn’t know what to think. Nell would never say something like that if she didn’t mean it.

When she finally walked in the door an hour later he approached her. He wanted to give her space but he needed to know what she was saying was justified.

“Hey Nell.” He spoke shyly.

“Hi Dean. I’m sorry I said that. I shouldn’t have. If you really like Laurie, I should respect that, even if I don’t necessarily agree.”

“I appreciate the apology, but I wanted ask why you said that?”

“I was just angry. I really shouldn’t have. It wasn’t justified.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Nell are you okay?” Sam walked in asking.

“Sam do you mind if Nell and I talk alone for a few minutes?”

“Okay.” Sam walked outside and sat on one of the chairs out there.

He was also suffering from the frequent arguments between his brother and Nell. He considered Nell his sister and hated seeing them fight. Sam felt Dean had taken the fight too far by telling Nell to just walk back to the motel.

Dean and Nell sat on a bed. Nell looked down at the floor so Dean couldn’t see that she had been crying. Dean looked at her with concern knowing that there was something more than just a bad day. He knew something had to have happened after school.

“What happened today after school? And don’t say it’s nothing, that it doesn’t matter because it does matter.”

“I know it matters if it got me that worked up. It’s Bradon.”

“He still hasn’t asked you to Prom yet?”

“And he never will.”

“Don’t say that he probably wants it to be special and…”

“No Dean, that’s not what I’m talking about. He will never ask me because he is going to ask Maggi.”

“Your best friend Maggi?”

Nell nodded her head afraid if she opened her mouth it would become even more real. She just continued to stare down at the floor. Suddenly she felt two pairs of arms wrap around her. She felt safe and secure in these arms. It made her feel better. Dean hugs are always the best hugs.

Sam walked in to ask if he needed to wait longer when he saw that Dean was hugging Nell. He immediately ran over and embraced her.

“Don’t be sad Nell we are always here for you,” Sam spoke.

“Yeah always,” Dean repeated.

Prom night, everyone is dancing and having the time of their lives. That is except for Nell. She sat on the bleachers of the school gym watching everyone dance and have a good time. Being Student Council V.P. she wasn’t allowed to miss the event.

About an hour into the dance someone walks over and sits next to her. She looked over and saw that it was Dean.

“You don’t have to sit next to me.”

“I know, but I want to.”

“Laurie dumped you didn’t she.”

“Not exactly.”

Turns out Dean went to get Laurie and himself some punch when he came back she was making out with the captain of the football team.

“So you walked over and punched him in the face?”

“Yeah. Technically I’m supposed to be here right now.”

“Nice going smart one.”

“Hey why don’t you say we get out of here?”

Nell debated it, and finally she decided it was time to be a little rebellious.

Dean and Nell ran all the way to Dean’s car. He basically sped all the way back to the motel.

“What’s your plan now?”

That wasn’t a difficult question. He knew what he was going to do, and he didn’t have to worry about Sam for he was staying at a friends house.

They got out of the car and Dean opened up the door for them. Once they were inside Dean shut the door and looked Nell up and down. She melted under his gaze. It made her feel weird and amazing at the same time. She wanted Dean so badly, but he could never want her. That was what she thought, until Dean did something she wasn’t prepared for.

Dean stood there like an idiot look at this girl who didn’t have a chance to go to prom with someone. He wanted her to feel like someone in this world cared about her. He wanted to show her how much she meant to him. That would be in the only way he knew how.

He ran towards her and smashed his lips to hers. She didn’t hesitate to kiss back. This is what she always wanted and it was even better than she could ever imagine.

He slowly started to undress her. She hesitated because she knew what was coming. She hadn’t done anything like this before. She was sure that Dean knew it too. She was happy her first time would be with the guy she felt she has always been meant to be with.

He kissed every inch of her body. He made sure to show her how much she was wanted in this world. How much she was needed. How much he truly cared for her deep down. It was some of the best sex he had ever had. It was the morning after though he regretted the most.

Nell felt so much better, and she felt so loved and wanted in the world. The next morning though was what ruined it all for her. It made her feel like he did it out of pity because she didn’t have anyone take her to prom.

She woke up thinking that things could work out, but things went downhill fast.

“Morning.” Nell stretched sitting up in bed.

“Morning.” Dean said rushing around to get ready.

“Are we going to talk about?”

“Talk about what?”

“Last night, or are we just going to pretend it never happened and never speak about it again?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Okay then.”

That was the last time they would ever bring it up again. They both regretted the decision, but never pushed it because they promised each other, and that is the saddest thing ever.

Fate & Destiny Taglist:

@atc74 @bella-ca @ericaprice2008 @mirandaaustin93 @snffbeebee

Forever Tags: @anotherwaywardsister @canadianspnhunter @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @gabriel-winchester1998 @impala-dreamer @impalaimagining @katymacsupernatural @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mamaredd123 @masksandtruths @muchamusedaboutnothing @our-jensen-ackles-love @roxyspearing @sea040561 @torn-and-frayed @winchesterprincessbride

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dyketectivecomics · 6 years

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{{ If you don't mind me asking: Where do you work that there are Children and Tables? i feel like you've told stories about The Caves before, but... caves and children and tables?

aaaaahhhhh, idk if you were active on tumblr back then Zira, but i’ll catch everyone up to speed too & gush a bit under the cut haha: (as always, tagged “not dc” & “about the blogger” for those who wanna block. i know i got a little burst of new followers recently, hello there friends!)

tl;dr tho- i worked (past tense) at the caves. but currently am working as a math instructor. more deets below:

i worked at The Caves (aint gonna say WHICH one bc texas has a good like 4? just in the SA-Austin area, and many more elsewhere in this state. please visit ur local cave, kids, i promise its Hella Cool), for the past 3-ish years. I gave tours & worked the gift shop in between for my first summer & got promoted to retail & worked abt 99% of the time in the shops bc of it. this past summer was my last bc i’m taking a semester off college (bc of Circumstance) and I’ve switched career paths from Actuarial Science to Teaching (bc while the money was going to be better as an actuary, i realized my coursework wasn’t leaving me nearly as fulfilled as simply tutoring kids with my department was. teaching was where my heart always lay, and its taken me 3 damn years to realize that ugh)

I put in my two weeks awhile before the summer season was over, and got a job as a math instructor/tutor at one of the Math-nasium centers in my area. (yes just like it sounds, a gymnasium….. but for Math).

and. I. LOVE IT. some kids come in with not the BEST attitude, (& I don’t blame them, i mean its MATH. only nerds like me get excited for it, right?) but being able to come at those problems and help them simply THINK differently, it’s amazing. we get a wide range of kids, too. my youngest so far has been a TINY 6 yr old who’s STELLAR at picking up times tables, and our oldest is a 1st year college student (or a HS senior? i think she might be talking calc & i might be confusing the two) its a Wide age group, & it’s been Whiplash sometimes having 4 kids at my table at once & switching btwn doing long division one, then fractions with another, then pre-cal, then mixed word problems, etc. but like… i’ve adapted a lot better than i thought i could???

i got in a bit of trouble already bc apparently we’re not SUPPOSED to help them with all of their hw if they bring it in, just like??? help guide them towards the answer for a couple problems & let them do the rest. which is really difficult for me bc i WANT to help em with every problem ugh. and i’ve already gotten into that bad habit for the past month soooooo

there’s just SO MUCH i love in general abt the set up & style, and esp the mix of personalities with my coworkers. its just really fun

I will always cherish my time at the cave, both the experience & esp the people i got to meet and work with, but this new job is so much more up my alley & esp RELEVANT to what i want to do long term. teaching eventually in front of 20+ kids is gonna be so different from working with ¾ at a time. but at the very least, this is giving me an opportunity to start looking at those SIMPLE things that i can start to catch & maybe rephrase while teaching now.

because some students are gonna be how i was. give them one explanation and they GET IT and can move ahead. some are gonna need something more tho. and that’s great too. and if i can start catching more and more of those kids when i start teaching (& hopefully entertain them in the process) then i’ll have accomplished my goals as an educator

#asked and answered #beyondthetemples #not dc #about the blogger #i got REALLY FUCKING GUSHY OK #on the bright side i know way too much about certain crystals and ESP about caves & caverns #but like. hello. I'm ur resident math nerd. i took calc 3 for my first semester of college and failed stats for my last but YKNOW WHAT #I'm going back this spring with a VENGEANCE i am ready to make math my BITCH again #also I've learned i def have the mouth of a sailor and have almost cursed 20 fuckin times in front of these infants #i have to get in a Zone every time i walk thru those doors so i don't accidentally drop a Hella in front of a 10 yr old #also so many of our kids speak in Memes and i cry #its hilarious. kids are great

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yeoldontknow · 7 years

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Pusher

Author’s Note: i....wow. i just, wow. ive had this in a drafted form for a few months now and i guess tonight my blood just felt all of it all at once. Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader (oc; female) Summary: Kyungsoo is the city’s most notorious club owner. You are the most in demand drug dealer. You both want each other dead. But then, doesn’t everyone crave un petit mort? Genre: dark au (that reads almost like a gang/mafia au but isnt); smut Rating: NC-17 Warnings: guns; mentions of breathplay; explicit sexual situations Word Count: 2,502

The room makes you hungry. It’s Victorian in its design, amber wallpaper and a chandelier above a four-post bed that makes you cringe. It's gauche and unfamiliar, and you feel starved for the glass windows and hard lines of your modern apartment. But he's pulling you along, pulling you into a warm womb that's hot and heavy with anticipation, expectation, and the sour taste of finality.

You don't fit here. You don't fit with him. He's Vivienne Westwood suits and deep whiskey. You're a leather clad Vodka tonic that doesn't match the silk and satin life he's built, but he lives in contradictions - revels in the irony. The back of your mind aches with the knowledge that he wraps himself in a facade of polite informality, yet he has killed several of your employees, your friends, and he won't hesitate to kill you. He wears their blood on his hands like fine velvet gloves.

But you've killed just as many, and tonight you want to wear him.

Tugging on the hair you've pulled back with a band, you think about his ass in his finely tailored pants. You think about the drugs you sold him and the money he's moved to your bank account. You think about your clients, his clients - one and the same, really. You think about his throbbing dick and his wet mouth.

You think of how it came to this.

The alley makes your skin feel damp, clothes constricting the movements of your limbs like an amorous lover. This used to be your office, corner bound with a view to kill, but you promoted yourself. In lust and in your bed, men always asked your favourite position, eager to please, eager burn, and you always replied CEO. Pain was never cheap, and once you got a handle on demand you raked in the cash like collecting tears in a vile.

He’s bathed you in stereotype, on purpose. This meeting point exists to remind you that you are nothing to him, you are filth, squalor; this is his opinion, this is your full potential.

Glance at your watch. See that he’s twenty minutes late. Do Kyungsoo, the emperor of the downtown club scene. You are many things: a dealer, a chemist, a millionaire, occasionally murderer, a woman made for lipstick and bloodstains, but you are not tardy. Fondling the bullets in your pocket, you think of hunting him down and putting a hole between his eyes. It’s not the first time you’ve pictured it. It always makes you thirsty.

Eventually a brute of a man opens a metal door, and you blithely turn to see his face.

‘You Y/N?’ the guy asks.

He must be new.

‘Big man couldn’t show his own face?’ you shout, because you’re malicious and you’re bored.

‘Come with me,’ is all he says, although it does not escape you he matches your tone.

It’s when he drags his tongue along your jaw that you realize he never offered you a drink. You think you might like vodka or wine, anything to dull the senses.

His hands reach around to your back, fingers tugging at your belt loops when he finds your gun tucked gently between the waistband of your jeans and your back. When he fondles the metal he starts to smile, and you wonder if maybe he’s trying to make you feel nervous, like he’s peeled your skin back to make you vulnerable. He drags the barrel slowly along your spine, and you look into his eyes because everything about him is your distraction and you’re waiting for him to ask the question you know is coming.

‘Would you have used this on me?’ he asks slowly as he finally pulls the gun into view. You don’t look at it, only at him.

‘Maybe,’ you tease, because it’s true. You’ve been waiting to use it on him for years, and you can’t say you won’t in the morning. It would be breathtaking, the sight of him sucking the smoke from your gun.

Kyungsoo eyes the Semmerling like it’s a toy and cocks his eyebrow. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘No.’

He giggles like a boy, and places the gun to your temple. You don’t blink. You don’t flinch. You wonder if he feels a little disappointed that you’ve stared down the barrel of a gun enough times to know that no one pulls a trigger unless they’ve made a speech. Kyungsoo is too high strung for prose. Kyungsoo would never stain his fucking carpet.

‘Bang,’ he whispers, and he tosses the gun to the side, safety still on. It doesn’t escape your attention that you will be the death of one another. Your story doesn’t end with love, only sex and money and a power that neither of you are willing to share outside of a bed. Your story ends with the clashing of teeth and the tearing of skin.

Your story ends cold. Your story ends in blood.

He presides over everything, watching his clients with a detached sort of interest befit for a monument. Suit, tie, eyes almost as black as the chair he sits in, and strong knuckles that have shattered cheekbones. You’ve called him the Marble King, and here, on a VIP balcony overlooking a dance floor, he fits the title. A gargoyle waiting to be shattered, you’re excited to see what it’s like to break myths with your bare hands.

When you look at him, he’s grinning in the shadows over the rim of a glass, lips full and plump and begging to be torn apart. He waves his hand, gesticulating to a chair you don’t want to take, but you sit anyway and it doesn’t make you any less tense. To your right, a girl is dancing with….someone. A stranger. Her boyfriend. He drags his fingers up her tights like he’s trying to rip his way in. You wonder if she’s drunk. You wonder if she’s legal. You don’t really care about either of those things, but it still makes you wet.

‘Thank you for meeting me.’ His voice is cold, yet somehow remains rich and creamy - seductive without a purpose.

You turn back to him with a scowl, legs crossing beneath the table at the sight of his hard stare. Kyungsoo is dangerous, and you’ve always had a penchant for fondling the deadly.

‘Thank you for paying me.’ You pull out your phone, impatient, and so does he. The action holds him to the deal, the bank transfer, the very reason you are here at all. You pull up your account, waiting for him to make a move. His fingers barely twitch and one single refresh shows retribution in five zeroes.

‘I’m a man of my word,’ he sighs. The phone slides back into his coat pocket and you think of him as a snake. Idly, ou wonder how the scales of his skin would taste beneath your tongue.

‘Delete my information,’ you demand, gaze flashing to his chest and wishing you could pull his sternum away to see his beating heart. ‘Now. I want to see you do it.’

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes, but they glide over your figure like they’re calculating all your softest parts. He eyes you like he wants to cut you down. ‘Trust me, Princess. After this evening, you will have absolutely nothing that I want.’

You lean forward and you can smell him. A whole mouthful of his cologne accosts you and you swallow it, let yourself get drunk on it. ‘So what’s this then? A one time deal? They’ll come crawling back for more. You can’t handle the distribution.’ Your eyes glaze over the people dancing, drinking, drowning in excess to forget the trauma of their identity. He needs them. He needs you.

He leans forward, too, cocking his head to the side like he’s weighing your irrelevance against his desire for more money. ‘You aren’t the only dealer in L.A., honey. The necessity of you is sorely finite.’

His voice is a whisper that melts the iron of your indifference back to flesh. His voice is alcohol and misery, and just right temperature to burn you alive.

He undresses you like he’s skinning you alive, but you don’t put up a fight. It’s your apathy that startles you the most, more than his deft fingers and your swollen clit. There’s bullet holes where your passion used to be, and you never learned how love the good natured and the true. Soft words seemed to fracture on your tongue. But you didn’t come here for this.

You think of the money and you think of his nails scratching down your thighs. You think of the wetness of his tongue as he leaves hot, open mouth kisses along your skin, and the way he makes you feel absolutely drenched between your folds.

‘Did you pay me for the drugs or did you pay me for this?’ you ask, voice breathy and enjoying the sight of him on his knees. The position isn’t vulnerable, not the way it usually is. There’s no subservience in his eyes, just a dead sort curiosity gathered like a cesspool.

‘I paid you to serve your purpose.’ He doesn’t look up at you. He inspects your kneecap and you wonder if he’s thinking about breaking it.

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not a prostitute.’

‘I don’t need a prostitute.’

Languidly, he drags one finger over your slit, gathering the wetness that has pooled over time. He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls his hand back, sucking on his fingers with hollowed cheeks.

‘I don’t need foreplay,’ you reply, one eyebrow cocked.

‘The money was the foreplay.’

‘You and I are far more similar than we’ve been giving each other credit for.’ He leans back in his chair, smiling, and part of you wants to lick the light off his teeth.

‘Are we?’ You’re snide and sharp, counting the turns of his glass as he absentmindedly spins it on the table, because you are a loaded gun and you never learned to be gentle. ‘I’m not pretentious and I’m not arrogant. I know what I’m about. And I don’t dress like I’m a fucking politician.’

Kyungsoo tilts his head back and laughs, the sound silenced by a heavy, rolling bass. ‘I think you could benefit from a lesson in style, Princess. Perhaps some tutelage from the design of your drugs.’

‘Chemistry,’ you spit, crossing your arms over your chest.

‘You’re highly adept at one type, perhaps...you’ve excelled in other areas as well?’

It doesn’t take you long to process his insinuation, to remember he wets his dick on risk.

You absorb the light of the club, skin white and pale. You’re a chameleon of malintent and he glows an impossible shade of gold. It comes from beneath his skin, inside his veins. He’s swallowed the Los Angeles sun, forcing himself and your business into the shadows as he turns daylight to ash on his tongue. It makes you want him. It makes you hate him. He’s the hot butter to your cold knife and you can’t wait to tear your way through him.

He’s a bad idea. This was a bad idea.

You’re addicted to bad ideas.

A balance is struck when the two of you crawl onto the satin sheets. You nip at his ear like you want to eviscerate him. There’s a hunger somewhere in you that means to consume him, and this is where you start - with the soft, fleshy bits of him that will roll of your tongue before you start gnawing on his bones. And he pulls at your back and shoulders like he wants to climb inside you, wear you like an evening suit with your hair as his tie.

Sex with him is grotesque, wet and violent and ugly like war. You grind your hips onto the thick hardness of his cock, nails pulling at his hips as you sit on top, and you wish his organs would spill into your waiting hand. He pushes at you, knocking you backward to the pillows to hover above you. Like this, he is prideful - perhaps, spiteful. With strong hands, he pushes your thighs far apart, lets the cool air tease the wetness of your folds for just a moment, before pumping himself twice and sheathing himself inside you with one, hard thrust.

And you, wide eyed and almost waiting to feel him die, wear him like armor. You wear him with a vicious, brutal smile.

He dominates over you like a champion, all fire and pride and hate. His thrusts are hard and pointed, leaving no room for intimacy or kindness. For this, you are glad. With every move of his hips, he grunts. With every upward thrust of your own, you drag your nails down his back and hope you are leaving marks. You hope he wears you for days.

‘What if I killed you?’ he asks, sliding his hands to your throat. The heel of his palms press gently, a warning.

‘I’d come back to life for you,’ you say, flatly. You’re waiting for him to push down or squeeze, his vindictive smile burning above you as your world turns black.

Part of you thinks about flipping him, about crushing him beneath your weight and letting him know that this is your game, that these are your rules. But you’ve played from the ground before, and have won with your hands tied, so instead you sit up and smirk at how he keeps his hands still, neither gentle nor aggressive, a mere warning of possibility. He falls back onto his thighs, and you keep him tight inside you as you lean forward to bite his lip.

Your teeth pierce the skin and he starts to bleed, you do what he won’t. It’s easy to break pretty things; they bleed easier, faster, sweeter, and he’s no different. You aren’t shocked by how quickly his lip gives way to iron. The skin of his hands is rough and calloused but his lips revel in decadence and you’re the first abrasive thing they’ve kissed.

‘I’d pull you down to hell with me.’ You suck the last of his blood from your tongue, tasting gunpowder, alcohol, and bitter disinterest. He’s every meal you’ve ever wanted, and you welcome him home.

‘Romantic,’ he mutters.

You bounce roughly on top of him, releasing one pleasured hiss as he nearly screams. Pleasure, pain, it doesn’t matter. It belongs to you. This belongs to you.

Kyungsoo guides you out of the club towards a car, a Maserati with tinted windows and red interior. A valet stands next to it, handing out the keys to a chauffeur and both avert their eyes as you slide in like gliding into hell.

Neither of you speak. You don’t touch.

A silent agreement is signed as the tires pull into the driveway of his Bel Air estate.

Tonight you both will live.

Tonight you both will die.

#kyungsoo x reader #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #noonanet #do x reader #kyungsoo scenario #kyungsoo au #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo fanfiction #do au #do fanfiction #do scenario #do fanfic #exo scenario #exo au #exo fanfic #do kyungsoo

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whenihaveyouromione · 4 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 11

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

This story also has an Instagram account where I post sneak peeks and even some challenges etc! Follow whenihaveyou.romione for extra content!

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Chapter 11

Ron sat nervously beside Harry, bouncing his legs up and down, twirling his wand in his hands. Harry, beside him, watched, an irritated look on his face.

"Will you stop that?" he snapped. "You're making me nervous."

"Oh, sorry," Ron muttered, stuffing his wand back in his pocket. "I can't help it."

"We'll be fine," Harry said, his expression softening. "We've Apparated loads of times. Just not… legally. We'll pass with flying colours."

They were sitting together in a tiny waiting area in the Magical Transportation Office at the Ministry. On their very first day of training, they'd been informed that it was a requirement of all trainee Aurors to not only pass character and aptitude tests (which he, Harry and Neville had all passed without questions), but to possess an Apparition license to continue.

Harry and Ron, who had taken the course but didn't have the license, had booked in for the test straight away, which was to take place on the following Monday.

Neville, who had never even done the course, stared wide-eyed at Kingsley Shacklebolt and confessed to not knowing the first thing about it.

Surprisingly, Kingsley had smiled and told Neville that was nothing to worry about and the Ministry offered a week-long crash course for anyone who was behind.

There were four of them ready to take the test: Ron, Harry, Neville and a girl called Keely Durnstrap, who had also been invited to the training. Even though she appeared to be a few years older, she kept casting awestruck glances at Harry, as if surprised that she was doing training with him.

Ron had given Harry a hard time a few weeks back when Keely had almost tripped over herself to be partnered with Harry, suggesting that he sign her certificate of completion when she got it.

Despite his confidence in his Apparition ability now, Ron still couldn't help but feel nervous. He remembered his last test, how he'd left just half of an eyebrow behind, and they'd failed him.

Then he remembered being Splinched so badly that he'd not been able to do much for weeks. He twitched his arm subconsciously, stretching the scar that remained from that experience.

"Wish I'd known this was a requirement," Ron muttered. "Would have practiced…"

"We'll be fine," Harry repeated, just as the examiner stepped out from a room. Ron wasn’t sure if he was relieved or petrified, but the examiner was the same one who had taught Ron and Harry to Apparate a few years back.

"Welcome!" he said, smiling at the four of them. "This shouldn't take too long. Usually our trainee Aurors pass fairly easily, being slightly older and also being well-taught in the crash course. Your task today will be to Disapparate out of the Ministry office behind me to a location just outside of London, so not too far. Percy Weasley will meet you there."

That's just what I need, Ron thought. To Splinch myself in front of my brother.

"Right," the examiner said, grinning, "Harry Potter, shall we get you done first?"

Harry stood up, his confidence before seeming to dwindle ever so slightly. He looked at Ron, who gave him a nod of encouragement.

What would happen to anyone who didn't pass? Were they kicked out of training, or would they have to do it again and fall behind everyone else in every other aspect?

Ron watched Harry enter the small room, then a few moments later heard the pop of Disapparition.

Good luck, Harry.

Training so far had been both wonderful, terrifying and exhausting. Ron, who had grown increasingly excited about living with Harry, had not had much time to think about it over the past week. After going to Diagon Alley on the day before training, where Harry had managed to buy some colourful curtains for each room, thinking about anything but training hadn’t really been a possibility.

They worked from nine o'clock in the morning until five in the afternoon, stopping only for a one hour break in between.

Harry and Ron were by far the most advanced in the small group, managing to master every task with very little difficulty. Most watched them complete the task in awe, but some seemed very put out by how easy it seemed to come. It annoyed Ron so much that one day he'd snapped at one of the irritated trainees.

"Learnt this while searching for Horcruxes," he'd told his jealous companion. "You should give it a go one day. It was fun, really, being so close to an evil soul."

And that had shut them up fairly quickly. Though, the others did seem fairly pleased to learn that they had an Apparition license and the famous Harry Potter did not.

Neville did fairly well too, but there were a few tasks that got to him, mostly the more physical ones. But all in all, it had been the best experience of Ron's life, and he knew that he was going to do whatever it took to make himself an Auror. It was the only job he wanted.

Harry never returned, but after a while, the examiner opened the door and beckoned the girl inside. She looked as if she was going to be sick.

"Heard from Hermione?" Neville asked, bringing Ron out of his thoughts.

"No, not yet," Ron said, trying to hide his disappointment at that fact. At least training had not given him much time to think about her absence and the fact that she hadn't written a single letter to him. Even at night, he fell asleep almost immediately.

She'd contacted the Ministry twice in the last week, and Percy had passed on some information (she was still trying to get her parents to trust her so she could get close enough to repair their memories), but she'd not contacted him personally.

It bothered him a little bit, as he was desperate to hear from her, but at the same time, he realised she had more pressing matters to deal with than writing to her slightly desperate boyfriend.

"I hope she can manage it," Neville said, sighing.

"Oh, she will!" Ron assured him. "If anyone can perform a tricky task like that, it's her." He grinned, just as the door opened once more.

"Ron Weasley."

The smile vanished from Ron's face.

"Good luck!" Neville said, as Ron passed him and followed the examiner into the tiny room. It was barely enough to fit the two of them, and Ron hated to think what would happen if he bungled up the Apparition test and Splinched himself.

"So," the examiner said, passing Ron a parchment with some coordinates on it, "this is your destination. Percy — your brother — will be there on the other side. Remember, you must take all of you to pass. Not even a hair can be left behind."

Ron swallowed, nodded. He could do this. He'd done it heaps of times before.

The examiner stepped back, smiling. "When you're ready, Mr Weasley."

Ron glanced at the coordinates again and clutching them in one hand, his wand in the other, he spun. It was an awful feeling, but a moment later his feet landed on the ground in a forest of some kind.

"Excellent!" Percy's voice sounded pleased, excited. He checked Ron over, perhaps looking for a missing chunk of Ron’s nose, then beaming, said, "You did it!"

"Well done, mate!" Harry appeared beside Percy, clapping Ron on the back. "Knew you could do it!"

Ron let out a sigh of relief. He'd passed. He could now Apparate legally to wherever he wished.

They hung around and a few moments later, Neville appeared. He also passed the test, and together, the three of them Apparated back into the tiny room, all in one piece.

"This is going to be fun!" Neville said with a broad smile. "No more Floo travel."

The three of them left the small room together and were halfway down the corridor on their way back to the lifts when Harry said, “Want to grab some lunch considering training has finished early today?”

Ron was about to agree when Kingsley approached them.

"How'd you go?" he asked, smiling.

"All passed!" Harry said brightly. "Free to Apparate wherever we want."

Kingsley smiled again then looked at Ron. "If I can see you for a moment in my office?"

Ron looked at Harry and Neville, then nodded at Kingsley. Had something gone wrong in his test and Percy just hadn't wanted to say something in front of Harry?

Instinctively, he reached to touch his eyebrows, but they were both there.

"Won't be long," he muttered to Harry. "Will see you at home."

He followed Kingsley in silence through the corridors of the Ministry. His mind was doing very funny things at that moment, going through all the possibilities that would prompt the Minister for Magic to want to speak to him personally. Most of them weren't good. The only good thing he could think of — and it made Ron grin — was Kingsley had decided that he had been so good at everything so far that he was being promoted to qualified Auror immediately.

Unfortunately, Ron very much doubted that would be the case.

Eventually, he decided to just ask.

"Er, what is this about, Kingsley?"

But Kingsley merely smiled. "You'll see." And they continued on in silence.

After a lift ride and more walking, Kingsley took out a set of keys and unlocked the three locks that were on his office door. He pushed it open and let Ron in first.

Ron could only stare. Of all the things that had gone through his mind, this had not been any of them. Weirdly, he felt a sense of relief when he saw a matted and very thin-looking ginger cat prowling across Kingsley's desk. It gave a gentle meow when it spotted Ron.

"Recognise it?" Kingsley asked, entering his office and coming to stand by the cat.

"Crookshanks?" Ron asked, his eyes not leaving the cat. He hadn't even remotely thought about the stupid beast in over a year, and, now that he thought about it, Hermione hadn't mentioned him. He supposed she'd assumed he'd died, or run away, after the attack at the wedding. Ron certainly had.

"He was found wandering the outskirts of Hogwarts," Kingsley explained, running his fingers through Crookshanks' matted fur. "They were going to take him straight to the menagerie, but after they tested him and saw the current owner was Hermione, they thought better of it."

Finally, Ron drew his gaze away from the creature that had caused him so much misery over the years. He stared at the Minister. "Er, what's going to happen to him?" He didn't think Hermione would appreciate learning that her cat was still alive and not being allowed to keep him… unfortunately.

"Usually this is a matter not concerning anyone at the Ministry," Kingsley said. "Lost pets happen all the time. So be it. But, I thought rather than moving him on to a new owner, you'd like to return him to Hermione. When she's back, of course."

Ron could think of nothing worse than having that cat back. He was about to say so, but something stopped him — Hermione, and the love she seemed to have for the damned thing.

"Er, alright." It would only be for a few weeks. Once she got back, he could live with her and her parents.

"Wonderful." Kingsley picked up Crookshanks and passed him to Ron. To Ron's utter surprise, he immediately began to pur.

Ron stared, then said, "That's all?"

"That's all," Kingsley confirmed. "Enjoy your early finish. Tomorrow will be tough."

Ron left the office, feeling completely ridiculous walking through the Ministry as a trainee Auror carrying the mankiest, ugliest cat in existence. He walked quickly to the fire grates, determined to get back to Grimmauld Place before too many people saw him.

Once home, Harry was waiting for him, eager to find out what Kingsley had wanted him for.

"You passed alright, didn't you? You didn't —" He stopped, his eyes drifting to Crookshanks curled up in Ron's arms. "He, er, gave you a cat?"

"Not just any cat," Ron muttered, dropping Crookshanks on the floor. The cat immediately scampered off.

"Is that —"

"Crookshanks," Ron said with a nod. "Beast won't drop dead. Was skulking the grounds at Hogwarts, and Kingsley cheerfully asked me to look after him until Hermione got back. Didn't want to give him away, or send him back to the menagerie. Took it upon himself to…" Ron shook his head. "Honestly…"

"And you agreed, obviously?" Harry asked, his eyes following where Crookshanks had vanished to.

Ron flushed. "Well, yeah. Hermione might be pretty upset when she gets back. Tired, a bit out of sorts. I thought maybe having her cat back would cheer her up." He didn't meet Harry's eye, but he knew he was smirking. "Shut up!" he said.

"Ah, well," Harry said, still grinning. "I suppose having a pet around the house will liven things up. And Crookshanks can catch all the mice. I saw two just this morning.".

As if responding to Harry's statement, a loud hiss echoed from the kitchen, and then a screech that could not have possibly come from a cat.

Ron looked at Harry.

"That sounds like an —"

"Owl," Ron finished and they both almost ran into the kitchen where a very large, unfamiliar owl waited on the table. Harry had been deliberately leaving a window open for mail, but they hadn't received anything until now.

Crookshanks was standing a fair distance back, the hair on his back sticking up as he hissed at the over-sized owl.

Harry approached the bird with caution, looking at the letter tied around its leg. A smile broke out. "It's Hermione!" he said, and untied the parchment quickly, passing it to Ron.

More excited than he should have been about finally hearing from Hermione, Ron snatched the letter from Harry’s grasp and tore it open.

"Crookshanks, leave it alone!" Harry demanded as the cat inched closer. "It's just an owl."

But Crookshanks was still watching it with high suspicion as it flitted to a perch high in the ceiling.

"That must be an owl from Australia," Harry commented, but Ron wasn't listening. He was reading the letter Hermione had sent.

Ron (and Harry and Ginny if you're reading this too)!

I'm sorry I'm only writing to you now. It has been rather crazy here, but I hope Percy or someone from the Ministry has been sharing information with you. I did ask them to.

As you may know, I've found my parents. That was the easy part. It's trying to befriend them to get close enough that has been challenging. They're quite independent people — even more so as their new identities — and they aren't really into friends. It's quite horrible, actually. I was prepared for them not recognising me, but I didn't expect this.

Hopefully by the time you get this I've found a way.

I've set a tentative return date, July 30. The day before Harry's birthday, but that, of course, all really depends on how everything pans out here. I'll try to keep you updated as best as I can, but owls take a very long time to travel from Australia to you. They actually don't use owls all that much here — only for long distance post.

Anyway, I hope you are well. It's really getting lonely here, and I can't wait to be back. Also, it may take a while, but I'd love for you to reply.

I love you and I miss you all so much. I hope training is going well.

See you soon,

Love, Hermione

PS. The owl is used to international travel, but even at the post office they said to give it a few days to rest before replying.

Ron passed the letter to Harry, who read it. After he was finished he looked up at Ron, and said, “Well, at least there’s a date you can hope for.”

“Yeah, but it’s not looking likely it’ll be then, is it?” Ron said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment from his voice. July thirtieth seemed so far away. “I wish I could be there with her. At least she’d have company.”

“She’ll be alright,” Harry said. “She’ll be back soon.” He glanced up at the owl that was watching Crookshanks with great scrutiny. “Er, I guess we’ve got company for a few days?”

Ron smiled, though he didn’t quite feel it. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

…

Later that night, after Harry had gone to bed, Ron sat at the desk in his room with some clean parchment and a new quill. He knew he couldn’t send the letter for a few days, but he was too keen to reply.

He read Hermione’s letter once again, and then set about answering her.

Dear Hermione,

Percy has been keeping me updated as best he can, but it’s not the same as hearing from you. I’m sorry you’re not having much luck with your parents, but I know you can do it. You’ll work it out and soon you’ll be bringing them back home and all will be okay. I have complete faith in you.

Training is going well, but a few changes have happened since you left. I moved out of the Burrow. Harry decided he wanted to move into Grimmauld Place, and I thought he might have wanted company. So I live here now. It’s not the most pleasant of places (as you can imagine) but it’s nice to have some more space. I still stop in at the Burrow every so often, though.

Also, just today, Harry and I officially passed our Apparition tests! Neville too! No eyebrows left behind this time.

He paused, tapping his quill on the desk for a moment, thinking. Then —

I miss you, Hermione. I really hope you can make it home by July 30, because I just want to see you again. Harry and Ginny are good company, but it’s definitely not the same.

I love you,

Ron

He set down the quill, unsure if he was happy with the letter, but also unsure what else to say. He’d never been good with putting his thoughts into words — it was why Hermione had always had to help him with homework.

Perhaps he’d think about it in the morning.

He was just about to go to bed when a large fluff of orange sprang into his lap. He jumped, swore, and then picked up his quill again.

PS. There’s a nice surprise waiting for when you get back. I think you’ll like it. I must really love you.

He stood up, knocking Crookshanks to the ground. He was far from impressed and stalked over to the bed, where he leapt onto it and curled up.

Ron stared for a moment, bewildered. Crookshanks had never once shown affection towards Ron (and likewise).

“You’re not sleeping here,” he growled, shoving Crookshanks over. “Get lost.”

But the cat refused to budge.

“I said, get lost. Go and chase some mice, or something.”

Crookshanks was now pretending to be asleep, purring loudly.

Ron scowled. “Fine,” he muttered, pulling back the covers of his bed, not taking care when they landed on Crookshanks. “But if you take up too much space, I’m kicking you out and closing the door. And don’t wake me up too early tomorrow.”

He fell asleep easily that night, Crookshanks’ presence surprisingly comforting in the absence of Hermione.

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ellana-ravenwood · 7 years

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Sneaky bastard - Bruce Wayne x Reader (Erotica)

Since I have no shame, yet another smutty story (it’s been a while). It’s not just smut though, there’s a plot, and there’s lots of fluff. I just hope you’ll like :

IMPORTANT WARNING : THIS IS EROTICA ! THIS IS NOT FOR YOU IF YOU ARE UNDERAGED, I GODDAMN MEAN IT. Like there’s cute and sweet feelings in the mix, but also...smut, so if you’re not 18 or more, or if you’re not comfortable with that sort of things etc etc, this story ain’t for you. I have tons of other very SFW story, for averyone to read, and if you wanna check those out instead, it’s right here, on My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives.

_____________________________________________________________________

If someone would have told you a few weeks ago that you’d save the goddamn Batman, you’d probably would have laughed in their faces. It seemed so ridiculous, that a rookie such as you, who literally joined the forces not even a month before, would ever save a man like the Dark Knight.

And yet, it happened. And it was wicked awesome.

*********************

He was fighting a bunch of thugs in a back alley, when you came by. You weren’t even gonna intervene, you knew the man, you already saw him roaming Gotham City before you became a cop, he could definitely handle himself...But then, you noticed one of the guy he was fighting take a few steps back, and draw a gun. It was pointed right at the bat’s head and he was going to pull the trigger in a matter of seconds !

You didn’t think, you acted. You jumped in the alley, surprising all of them, and with an expertly done high kick, you got the gun out of the man’s hand, knocking him down with a mean left hook. Damn, you turned into a total badass under the adrenaline !

Batman quickly got rid of the las few thugs, and turned to you. Suddenly, you didn’t feel that excited anymore, the man was impressive. So tall. Large. Muscular. Yeah ok, he was totally sexy.

He turned his weird glowy white gaze on you, and, with a voice too rough and low to be human, asked you :

-Are you alright ? This was very foolish to jump in like that, I didn’t need your help. You could have been very hurt.

-Yeah I’m alright, and like Hell you didn’t need my help, I totally saved your life dude, be more thankful ! Jeez louiiise.

-...

-Wow. Ok. So you’re an ass.

-The ass can give you a ride to the nearest hospital, you’re bleeding.

-What ?

He pointed to your arm, and...oh. Yeah. You got shot. Damn.

-I didn’t even feel it...

-Must be the rush of epinephrine in your blood. Come on, follow me.

-Wow wait, you’re gonna give me a ride...in the batmobile ?!

-Do you see any other car ? Climb in, and do not touch anything.

You tried to keep your cool. To act like it was no big deal...but the adrenaline in your veins doubled in volume as you sat in the car you so often dreamt of riding when you were a child. Fuck this was great !

He drove you to the nearest hospital, without saying a word, and almost threw you out of the car. Ass.

Your wound wasn’t deep, a bullet just grazed you and you only needed a few stitches, you were out two hours later. You went home by foot, because walking always cleared your mind, and damn it needed to be clear right now. Anyway, you weren’t living too far away.

You just saved the Batman ! YOU JUST SAVE THE BATMAN !!

After a quick shower, you were finally calmed, and decided to do some laundry, as your small apartment’s floor was littered with dirty clothes. While emptying your pockets, you found a note in the jean you were wearing today.

“Thank you for saving my life,

_The Ass who drove you to the hospital”

Ha. A thank you note. How lame. And yet, you kept the little piece of paper, because you felt it wasn't every day that the famous Dark Knight wrote thank you notes, and it was a collectible.

********************

After that, you ended in Batman’s way a lot. You weren’t doing it on purpose. Not at all. You decided to be a cop because you wanted to help people, and not because you had a death wish. Constantly getting in the way of criminals and Batman wasn’t really in your intentions. And yet, it seemed Destiny really wanted you guys to work together, because every time you were on patrol (you mostly took night shift...I wonder why), your pass crossed that Bat’s.

On the dock, while a drug deal was going on. You saved him again, but, to be fair, he also saved you after you got knocked out and fell into the freezing water of Gotham’s bay. Another ride in the bat mobile, another silent trip, and another note : “Thanks, but you also owe me one. I hope I won’t see you again.” Wow. Ok. Ass.

In front of the most famous bank in Gotham, during a robbery. You saved the hostages while Batman was kicking some ass. This time, no hospital, and no notes either, just a nod from him, and many thanks from the people you saved.

In the sewer, going after Killer Croc. Granted, it was a terrible idea, you were terrified of crocodiles. And yet. You and Batman took him down. And when you told him your fear of crocodiles, he seemed impressed that you fought anyway. Again, no hospital nor notes, but a smirk on his face, and a “see you later ?”.

It just kept happening, wherever you went during your patrol, wherever you were called on, he was there. It became a habit. He found that having someone valuable and trustworthy in the police was helpful, you found that having the Batman on your side was FUCKING helpful. In six months in the forces, you became the most decorated rookie in Gotham’s police history. You also became the Dark Knight’s first real sidekick (as James Gordon was more of an occasional partner than anything). And it was great.

So great that Bruce Wayne found himself irrevocably attracted to you...He tried to resist, because in his line of work, there was no place for a relationship. But you were so brave, beautiful, optimistic, intelligent...And one day, he found himself “meeting you for the first time”, “randomly” while you were going home from work (and him from his nightly patrol). Alfred is the one that convinced him. A woman like you, fighting so fiercely for your city’s safety, and not judging one bit his Batman persona (except that you still thought he was kind of an ass) ? Well, you didn’t find a woman like that at each street’s corner, and if he had a shot at ever being happy, it was with you. He had to give it a try. And what could he loose if it wasn’t working out ? (Everything. The answer was everything, but he didn’t know that for now, he wasn’t in love yet).

And so, as Bruce Wayne, he wooed you...and you couldn’t help but fall for his charming ways. You knew it was a bad idea, he was known to be a womanizer, but...How to resist a guy like that ? He was so sexy, smart, funny, and most of all, he made his life goal to make Gotham safer with the money his company brought him, and also by financing the Batman. How could you resist a guy like that ?

***************

At night, you fought by the Caped Crusader’s side, sometimes getting injured, but it would never be life threatening. He would never let you be in a life threatening situation anyway...He made sure the cases you helped him on required mostly brain work, and few fightings. And when fights there was, he always kept an eye on your back. Against his better judgement, he started to fall for you...And you for him.

By day, whenever he had a day off, or even a few hours free in the afternoon (as you were sleeping late in the morning, you know, night shifts...and that was good, because him too was sleeping late), you were with him too. Only, you didn't know it was him. For you, it was Bruce Wayne. And you felt guilty that you slowly started to fall in love with him too...Fuck, in what mess did you got yourself, falling in love with a night vigilante, and a billionaire playboy ?

***************

Another six months passed, and things were going great. The Batman seemed to trust you, which was something right ? You’ve been helping him (wether he wanted it or not) for the past year, and that got you a promotion as a detective. How fucking awesome was that ?

Oh, and you started to date Bruce Wayne seriously. Like, it was official. There was pictures of you two in the paper and all, and he didn’t deny you being his girlfriend. On the contrary. It felt great to be the one who caught the great Bruce Wayne’s heart. You still wondered what he saw in you though, the first time you met you were coming back from work, without any make-up and disheveled, highly unattractive...and yet, you ended up giving him your number. Incredible.

Little did you know that he fell for you while under the Batman’s cowl...but of course, could only make his move as Bruce Wayne.

***************

You were a bit more tired than usual that night, and so, a bit distracted.

You didn’t see the Scarecrow jumping out of a dark place to corner you. And the Dark Knight wasn’t fast enough to stop the mad man before he sprayed his fear toxin on you.

The rest of the night went by in a blur, all you could remember was a gut churning fear, and a few images. Bruce dying. Batman dying. Kids you were sure you never saw before dying. In your heart, you know those four boys you kept seeing falling were your sons, but you didn’t have any sons. Hell, you were too young to think about that. And yet. Fear. Everything was terrifying, dark, and scary.

When you finally came to your senses, you saw the Bat’s face first, and you couldn’t stop yourself from hugging him. Safe. He was safe. Everything were just hallucinations. Nothing more. He hugged you back...

***************

And so, that’s how you found yourself in the bat cave, your tongue in the goddamn Batman’s mouth, his hand slipping under your shirt. You couldn’t deny anymore that there was some sort of attraction between him and you, and he...Well, he was also Bruce, and kissing you was just a habit of his. He just forgot that you didn’t know who he really was...

But his way of kissing you, of touching you, reminded you of your Bruce...it was impossible however, you must be wrong. Anyway, Bruce was on a business trip in France. And he wouldn’t have lied to you. They wouldn’t have lied to you.

And suddenly, you felt awfully guilty. Your tongue and the Dark Knight’s were wrestling each other, and all you could think about was your boyfriend. You pulled away, and took his hand out of your shirt.

-Hum...

-Is something wrong ?

-...Yes. I can’t do that. I...I’m in a steady relationship right now and...Well, I love him.

-Ah. Bruce Wayne ?

-Your benefactor.

-Yeees...

It was awkward, you had to leave. He understood, and drove you to your apartment. In silence. When you existed the car though, you almost thought you saw him smile. Not just a smirk, a full on smile, and somehow, this smile reminded you of someone, you just couldn’t pinpoint who. You said your goodbyes, and that was that. Well. A chapter of your life was over. And you just couldn’t be that bummed out with Bruce in it...You just wished the Batman would have his place in too.

***************

A few days passed, and you avoided the caped crusader. It was better like that. You took care of other things at night. It was better like that. So why your heart kept tightening whenever you thought about never seeing him again ?

Bruce’s hand slipping in yours got you out of your daydreams, and erased any worries. No. It was better like that. You and the Batman would have no future, but you and Bruce ? Things could happen. Right ?

-Hey you.

-Hey, I missed you.

-You were only gone for...what, three days ?

-When every day without you feels like a year.

-Oh you motherfucker, so cheesy.

-You love it.

-Maybe...Come here my Bruce.

His kisses were the best. Soft or rough, tender or hungry...They were just the best. The flash of a camera cruelly brings the both of you back to reality.

-Damn fucking paparazzis...

-You’ll have to get used to them if...

-If ?

-...If you’re as seriously involved in this relationship than I am. Because no matter what I can do, paparazzis always follow me. Comes with the package of being a Wayne...

-Oh.

-Oh ?

-If it comes with the package, then so be it.

And you went back to kiss him...until another flash almost blinded you.

-Let’s get out of here, ok ?

-I thought you’d never say it.

You took his hand, and guided him with you through Gotham city’s street to your apartment. It was definitely official now. Bruce Wayne had a steady girlfriend. He was taking walks with her, hands in hands, very publicly. It was on the headline of every newspaper the next day, with a picture of you two, looking ridiculously happy, walking hands in hands down the streets.

******************

This night was going to be the night. You weren’t working, and Bruce said he could stay with you.

This night was going to be the night. The night you were going to sleep with him for the first time. You made him wait, just to be sure he was serious, and he wasn’t considering you like another random conquest. But you waited enough, tonight...Was gonna be the night.

You were still scared shitless though. What if he left you after that ? What if you guys weren’t actually as serious as you thought ?

As he was sitting on your couch, you straddling him, his tongue massaging yours with passion, those thoughts plagued your mind. He felt something was wrong, and pulled away from you.

-Ok, what is it ?

A moment of silence, and then you replied :

-What are we doing Bruce ?

-Well, I was hum...French kissing you I believe.

-I’m not talking about that, I mean...

-What do you mean ?

-What are we ?

-..Hum, human beings ? Made of flesh and bones ?

-You know what I mean.

-I thought you already knew what we were.

-If I ask the question it means I’m not so sure no ?

-I guess so...Well, what do you wanna be ?

-I asked first.

-Oh ok, so if you don’t think the same thing than me, I’m gonna be the one with a broken heart...Alright, well, here we go. I never wanted anyone in my life as bad as I want you. Here. I said it. Hell, you’re the only one I ever let paparazzis photographed me with outside of charity galas...

-Oh...

-Oh ?

Your mouth crashing on his was an answer enough. You whispered in his ear how important he was to you too, without using the words “I love you”, still not ready, while your hands were opening the button of his dress shirt in a frenzy. His strong arms wrapped around you, and once again, you couldn’t help but be surprised at how buff he was. The man was working out a lot...His muscles were probably as big as Batman’s ! Wait, stop. You couldn’t think about Batman right now, only Bruce was important. Because it was true, you did love him. But...No but. Only Bruce.

His hands slipping under your shirt were enough for only him to occupy all of your thoughts. To fill you with lust and want. His shirt was off, and you dragged your nail on his well toned chest, and perfect abs. Damn perfect abs. Again, the man was working out. A lot. His calloused (why did he have calloused hand ? As far as you were concerned, his job was mostly signing paperwork and participating in boring conferences...) palm wrapped around your waist, and squeezed. Not enough to hurt, not even enough to leave mark, and that would do. Your mouth left his, and he whined a bit, but when he felt your tongue gently licking his neck, sucking on his pulse point, he kinda lost control. His hand tightened their grip, now it was enough to make some marks. Perfect.

He tear away your shirt, ripping it to pieces.

-That was my favorite shirt.

-No it wasn’t, you were wearing your favorite shirt the day before yesterday, I’m guessing it’s in the laundry right now.

-Buzzkill.

-I certainly hope not.

And your bra was off, his mouth attacking your tits savagely, and yet, he didn’t hurt you. On the contrary, it felt great. Your fingers went to caress his back, and with expert movements, he removed your pants and panties, laying you down on your couch, towering over you. Your fingers deftly unmade his belt and threw it somewhere in your small apartment, to then undo his button and zipper, and poof, fancy that, his pants were off too. You could clearly see the outline of his dick threw his boxers and fuck he was hard...it aroused you more than ever.

He trailed kisses from your forehead to your lips, down your jaw, your neck, color bone, breast, stopping there to lick softly at your nipple, flicking the other one with warm fingers. And then he kept going, until he reached your thigh...He wasn’t going where you wanted however, kissing everywhere but your sex. He must have left a hundred love bites on you that night, and you couldn’t care less. Your police uniform would cover all of them anyway, and you hoped to God that he wasn’t going to invite you anywhere where wearing a dress was required in the next few days.

You took a grip of his hair, and guided him where you wanted. You felt him smile on your skin, but damn, you hated being teased. One hand on each thigh, he spread your legs open, and looked back up to you. Fuck, eye contact was such a turn on, you were pretty sure you never got that wet ever in your life before. He noticed, two fingers running gently up and down your fold...And then, without warning, his tongue was inside you. Flicking, swirling, his nose rubbing against your clit. You never felt anything like it. What the Hell was that ? How could he make you feel so good so fast ? You came before you had time to say : “Bruce Wayne is a champ at oral”, and you were almost embarrassed that you orgasmed that fast. But damn, what that man could do with his tongue...and nose, apparently.

He kissed his way back up, licking his lips off of your juice, and you caught his mouth with yours again, not caring one bit for the taste of yourself on his tongue.

You wanted to return the favor, you wanted to make him feel good too, but when you grabbed his erection through his boxers, and started to rub lightly, he caught your wrist and pinned it above your head.

-Another time maybe, right now I...I just want to be inside you.

He was blushing a bit. How cute. You nodded. Alright. You could live with that. And you guided him to your entrance.

-Ready ?

You nodded once more, you couldn’t speak, you just got down from your heights, you just had no voice.

When he pushed slowly inside you, you lost your breath too. He was...impressive. In every sense of the term. And he stretched you to the maximum, hurting you a bit, as you weren’t use to such a size. He stilled, letting you adjust to him. He saw you winced when he penetrated you, and hurting you was the last thing he wanted to do. Hell, he never wanted to do it. So he waited for you to be fully ready.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him against you, pushing him even further inside, as if it was possible...And with a kiss on his shoulders, you breathed out :

-You can go...

He looked in your eyes, twisting his neck to see you, as he was quite taller and bigger than you, and once he was sure you meant it, he slowly exited you, almost entirely, before unhurriedly pushed back in bit by bit. He found a slow and sweet pace, that allowed him to feel your entire being under him. Your breath, your heart bits, your little moans and cute squealing.

He couldn’t stop himself from going a bit faster over, as he felt his cock thrusting in and out of you easily, slickly. You pushed him deep within you, your heels digging in his ass cheek, and he almost lost control.

You wanted it faster. Harder. And you voiced your need. Thanks god. Because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to retain himself to pound into you mercilessly much longer.

Again, this was the first time you felt that way. The only few men you had sex with never felt like that, never felt that good, and that perfect inside you. As if you were made for him, and him for you.

He was sucking on your neck lovingly, and your nails scratched his back, as he relentlessly hammered into you. You dragged his head to your face, and kissed him. Hard. He responded obviously, as his hips expertly rolled against yours.

You met him thrust for thrust, and your movement made him groan in pleasure. He might be a sex god, but you weren’t too bad yourself. You had some moves. And you used all of them on you. At some point, you felt his hands stilling your waist, and his short breath on your neck.

-Stop, or I’m not going to last.

-Stop what ?

-You know damn well what I’m talking about (Y/N), stop this thing you do with your hips.

-You mean...that.

And you reeled your hips against his, making him take a deep breath, and suppressing a loud moan. Oh that wouldn't do. You wanted to hear him, it was not fair if you were the only one screaming his names. You rolled into him too, your special movement making him gasp.

-Fuck...No one ever...No one ever did that to me...Stop...

-Does it feel good ?

-Yes, fuck, it feels too good (Y/N).

-Oh...well then.

And he was gone, jack hammering hard inside you, his pace faltering as his released was close. But he would not come first. That wasn’t gentlemanly. Leaving an arm by your head to support his weight and not crush you, the other one went to your core, and he flicked two fingers at your clit, rubbing furiously because he was too damn close...You came, his name on your lips, your body shaking uncontrollably, and he followed you soon after, pulling out just in time to not spill inside you, but all over your stomach.

He collapsed on you, unable to hold himself, but it was alright, his weight on you was somewhat comforting. Felt safe under there.

-Do you have a cloth or something ?

-First drawer in the bathroom.

-Be right back.

And indeed, a few minutes later, he came back with a wet cloth to clean you up. He was already clean, and he raised you in his arms to lay on the couch, you on top of him.

-Wow.

-Wow indeed.

-What the Hell was that (Y/N) ?

-You mean, the hip thing ?

-Yeah, the hip thing.

-I don’t know, discovered a while ago that men liked it, kept doing it.

-Well, I confirm. Men definitely like it. Damn.

-You weren’t bad either. Actually, no one ever made me feel like that before.

-Oh, and I’m not done honey, after all, we’ve got...all night right ?

Your thoughts went to Batman for a bit, hoping he was alright, and not in danger. Little did you know “Batman” was with you right now, and was about to take you multiple time, on your couch, on the sink in your bathroom, under the shower, and in your bed, in a wide array of different positions, until the morning rose and you fell asleep, exhausted.

******************

You woke up to an empty bed, and for a moment, felt a panic rise in your chest. But only for a moment, as you saw a note on the pillow Bruce fell asleep on. It read :

“Hey, I swear this isn’t me running out on you (Y/N), I had important affairs to attend to at Wayne Industry. Let’s have dinner tonight,

Love you,

PS : Last night was great. Wait, that’s insufficient. Last night was life changing. ”

Cute. So damn cute. And he said “love you”. Of course it was written hastily on a note but, still. And last night was...”life changing” ? Fucking awesome. And so you smiled...But your smile soon disappeared. Wh...What ? OH MY GOD ! How could you have been so oblivious ? So stupid ?

You ran to a drawer in your desk, the one you put away Batman’s note he gave you almost a year ago...The same handwriting. The exact same. The way they were curling the letters, the point on their “i”...Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. But of course.

They were the same person. Batman, was Bruce, Bruce, was Batman. You couldn’t help the fit of laughter that washed over you. Of course they were. It all made sense ! So that’s why the Dark Knight’s lips felt so familiar, you were right, your guts weren’t lying to you !

Instead of being mad at him not telling you the truth, you were relieved. So you weren’t in love with two men, since they were the same one. Pfiooo. Yes. It did make you a bit sad though, that he wasn't trusting you enough to tell you who he really was...You decided to go see him right now, to have a bit more explanations.

***************

Alfred answered the door as you rung the bell.

-Oh, Lady (Y/N), good to see you. Master Bruce wasn’t waiting for you until...

-Where is he Alfred ? I have to talk to him, it’s urgent.

-I’m afraid he...

-I know he’s Batman.

-Oh. Well that changes everything. Follow me if you please.

******************

Under the Manor. That’s where the batcave was. When Bruce saw you, he found himself speechless, and extremely nervous. When you explained to him your discovery however, he seemed more relax. You weren’t mad, you understood, and you were actually glad that Batman and him was the same person, loving two men wasn’t really your thing. But you were a bit saddened at his lack of trust...He wasn’t lacking trust. He trusted you with his life. It was more...Being afraid of how you’d react, afraid you’d leave him, and that, he couldn’t bear. Silly man. Of course you weren’t going to leave him, you were fucking in love with him.

-...I love you (Y/N).

First time he told it to you vocally. He wrote it in notes before, but he never told you right in your face. It was great. The kiss he gave you that day, after you whispered in his ear “I love you too”, was full of promises to never keep anything from you anymore, to keep you by his side, always, to love you forever, as simple as that...And that’s when you saw the kid. A small boy, no more than 8 years old.

Richard. That was his name. Dick for short, but for you, he was already “Dickie”. Bruce’s new ward. Bruce’s new son. And somewhere in your heart, something was telling you that he was someday going to be yours too...

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman x reader #reader insert #Batman imagine #batman fluff #fluff #Batmom

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stevedonnellyfaith-blog · 5 years

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Sacred Song (Post 101) 8-12-15

Natalie and I have continued our game of YouTube tag throughout the last several weeks. It passed the time nicely on our Maryland excursion, but we have also found that it is pretty fun to play on short expeditions as well. The pop music stations that Natalie prefers become drearily repetitious when we don’t break things up, although it is entertaining to listen to her accompany the artist as a background singer. Sometimes Nicholas sings along to his music as well, but I probably shouldn’t disclose that. Playing music on YouTube instead means that I can intertwine songs that I like in between the sandwich ends of inevitable Taylor Swift anthems.

One night last week we carried the game of tune tit-for-tat that we were playing on our phone into the house, across the kitchen and to the breakfast table where my mother was getting ready to serve my father his supper. Curious and knowing that he likes all things Gaelic, I pulled up a video of a scene from the movie Empire of the Sun in which a young British lad stands at attention and salutes through the barbed wire fence of a Japanese internment camp singing the Welsh lullaby Suo Gan as zeros takeoff into the sun. For me Suo Gan is a particularly haunting song because the melody is the same as the hymn Christ Before Us which I first encountered on my Emmaus weekend nearly two years ago. Hearing a particular hymn at a peculiarly emotional time can add a spiritual impact to a song for a specific person that it may not have for other people. Morning Has Broken can similarly bring tears to my eyes, because it was sung at Pam’s funeral service.

As it turned out my father’s love of Gaelic music did not include any special feelings towards the Welsh classic, but we did share some memories about walking into an English church in some town that I could not recall where we arrived just in time for an afternoon rehearsal of the parish boys’ choir. They were very talented. The idea of pulling up hymns on YouTube did intrigue my father, surprisingly. He asked me to play Jesus I Come for him, which, he explained, was the hymn they were playing at the Tremont Baptist Church when he entered there for the first time. My mother had evidently invited him to her church when they were dating. My father agreed; he would have also probably agreed to try bungee jumping had my mother suggested it and that particular form of stupidity existed anywhere else other than in the Australian outback at the time of their 1960’s courtship. Instead of the Sunday morning’s boredom that my father probably expected, he experienced a powerful intervention by the Holy Spirit into his life through the gateway of a beautiful hymn sung by a talented choir.

So I searched his request, queued up the hymn, hit play and passed him his favorite sacred music on the little midget screen of the IPhone5 that I most often use for scrolling Facebook. Although the music didn’t sound special to me, it caught my 78 year old father like fly-paper. He sat transfixed at the breakfast table totally oblivious to me and to the usual bustle of my family interacting about our kitchen at dinner time. The kids could have been having chicken fights and he would not have noticed. As far as I could tell, my father was 650 miles and 60 years eastward sitting in a pew in a famous New England church with the girl he loved, encountering awesome beauty of Jesus Christ sung about him by angelic voices. I wished that he could stay there for longer than the odd five minutes of the hymn. I envied him. For a time he was through the looking glass or had tumbled through the fur coats of the magic wardrobe that I often hope to find but rarely do.

You would think that it would be easier to have that type of heavenly experience than it usually turns out to be. I had hoped for a trip back through the years to simpler times on the family excursion we took to a Cleveland Indians game last Friday night. Nicholas, Natalie, Stephen and I made the trip, but it didn’t turn out quite as I had planned. First of all I was very tired, having worked some early and long days on Monday through Thursday completing a project that we had begun almost a month before. Things were also progressing well with our house purchase. It seemed like a good chance for some family-style rest and relaxation. Also the Tribe was having a dollar hot dog night promotion with a fireworks show as a nightcap. Our plan seemed all in order.

Like a good father, I had wielded the proposed trip as a motivating sledgehammer thought the preceding week. Stephen, for instance, because of his illness, habitually complains about small or imagined injuries like blackouts and falling out of bed on a near continual basis. The last week he had added mysterious arm stiffness to his list of hypochondriac symptoms. Whenever I offered to delay our trip until he felt better, his maladies made an immediate improvement. Stephen is gravitationally attracted towards quality meat products at entirely too reasonable a price-point. He is not above taste testing gas station sushi so dollar hot dog night is right up his alley.

Natalie was also on her best behavior throughout the week. She was quite excited on Friday night when I arrived home from the boomerang ride of my Youngstown round trip. That is when the threads of my carefully woven plan began to unravel. I had arrived home early and, unfortunately, exhausted, hoping to catch a quick cat-nap before H hour. Unbeknownst to me, Nicholas had committed me to driving over to my brother’s house to pick up Abby’s car for which my father was paying to have a stereo installed as a birthday present. I stayed awake for the mini-excursion that set us off our Cleveland bound time schedule by about an hour. We would be significantly late. Strike one.

Still, we were a happy bunch as we drove towards the RTA Station on Shaker Blvd (RTA is Cleveland’s BART.) Natalie and I sat together. Nicholas and Stephen sat separately as Stephen had acquired a case of oppressive halitosis that he attributed to dry mouth from his medication. Natalie and I talked quietly until our train came to a kerchunking halt at an interchange station for us. Natalie, Nicholas and I assembled in column formation in the aisle. I looked over to Stephen to see why he was not following. I could see that he had adopted a posture to arise, but was stuck in place. He was frozen and I could tell that he was experiencing a focal seizure, the malady that he had been reporting to the disbelieving me for the last several weeks. I had watched Pam have hundreds of focal and full seizures during the period of time between her two brain surgeries. Like my dad’s trip back to Boston, I was transported to another place and time as I watched my son struggle to stand, a time that I had hoped never to visit again. Father Groeschel would describe that location as a point on the pathway inclining up a hill called Calvary.

Because he finally stood after a few dozen seconds and showed no ill effects, we decided to proceed to the game despite the scare. I think I am glad we proceeded; it was an excellent and terrible outing all at once. We got there late, but the seats were the best that I have ever bought – that’s what happens when Nicholas goes to the box office with my credit card. Interestingly we discovered that Natalie despises hot dogs, but will eat three in close succession when she is starving and Nicholas is buying American sausages like he is feeding Slimer from the movie Ghost Busters. Stephen had another focal seizure with a similarly quick recovery when one of the Indians unexpectedly knocked a hanging curve into the bleachers to tie the game late. It was an Indians game, though, so they lost in the ninth inning on a home run to a Twins outfielder that is old enough to have been in high school while I was in college. Happy that Stephen had made it through the game without a more significant medical incident we headed home without waiting for the fireworks.

So it is Tuesday, as I write this. I am in the ER with Stephen to get his condition checked out. He seems to be OK, but without a local doctor, the ER seemed the quickest alternative to get blood work, a CAT scan and access to medical specialists without the bureaucracy of referrals. Frankly, I don’t care to be in another hospital, ever, but I realize that this is a necessary trip. I would feel better if Father Luke from St John Vianny in Walnut Creek would happen in soon to anoint Stephen and pray with us, but I think we are out of his jurisdiction. John Muir was tough to revisit for Nicholas’ treatment, anyway, but it was also seemed as comfortable as an old shoe, albeit with the possibility of a chance meeting transporting me back to a good or bad place in another lifetime.

Today things turned out well with no bad news in either Stephen’s scans or labs. I drove him home later after discharge thankful that he is relatively healthy. We stopped on the way back at Arby’s and at one of the parishes that we might eventually choose as our own to visit Jesus in Adoration. On the road again towards Streetsboro, I reconsidered again why all this inconvenience might have happened knowing that Stephen’s actual health remains largely the same. Sure it was good to get him checked out, discover a good hospital and get assigned a family doctor for a follow-up visit, but why was I put through this dry run of worry and fear for the umpteenth time. Was God holding me back a grade for some lesson that I should have learned one, two or three years ago?

Then I remembered the conversation that I overheard among the doctors at the nursing station from my perch by the door of Stephen’s transient ER suite. They were preparing to inform a patient and family that multiple unexplained lumps had been discovered throughout the lungs in some other poor patient’s scan. Thoughtfully, I removed the mini rosary that I had received at Emmaus from its place on my dashboard and prayed a Divine Mercy Chaplet for another family that got bad news while Stephen and I received our discharge paperwork.

#God #Jesus #The Holy Spirit #The Virgin Mary #Sacred Song #Christ Before Us #Suo Gan #Emmaus #hymnal #Morning Has Broken #Jesus I Come #The Lion the witch and the wadrobe #Divine Mercy #Father Groeschel #Calvary #Father Luke #St John Vianny

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bikelock28 · 7 years

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Similar Cases

Future-set, Teddy Lupin, Neville Longbottom

Similar Cases

Dear Teddy

If you're not too busy, it would be lovely to see you for a cup of tea and a chat this week. My office is on the second floor, it has a green door and a Wiggentree sapling outside.

Hope to see you soon. All the best

The boy with striped hair and new robes knocks nervously on the door. He knows that he shouldn't be anxious; he isn't in trouble and he knows Neville (Professor Longbottom, Teddy corrects himself. That's important. It's only a little chat. Teddy doesn't know what about but he's sure that he isn't in trouble. Even if he was, Ne- Professor Longbottom is a cool, friendly teacher and he's been kind to Teddy so far. He probably wants to ask about Harry, Teddy tells himself. People always want to ask about Harry.

The door opens. "Hello, Teddy!" says Professor Longbottom brightly, "Come in, take a seat".

Professor Longbottom's office has a desk in, but it's in the corner of the room and instead Neville invites Teddy to sit on one of the three green armchairs in the middle of the carpet. Teddy dumps his bag on the floor, accidentally knocking over a red geranium.

"Oh! Sorry, Professor Longbottom, I'm so sorry," Teddy squeaks nervously.

"No problem," shrugs Neville, muttering the spell to tidy up the mess.

"I'm sorry, I'm always clumsy,"

Neville gives him a shrewd look but changes the subject and asks Teddy if he'd like a drink.

"Umm, tea please,"

"Orange, lemon, herbal, mint?"

"Just...normal please, Professor Longbottom,"

Professor Longbottom taps the kettle with his wand. It instantly starts whistling and Professor Longbottom mutters a spell to pour them each a cup of tea. Warmly, he asks, "Now Teddy, how are you getting on?"

"Um, fine, sir,"

"There's no need to call me 'sir', Teddy," dismisses Neville, plonking himself down in an opposite armchair, "Have you settled in alright? Making friends?"

"Err, yes. Everyone's...all we first-years stick together. We come down to breakfast in a group and we help each other find classrooms, we do our homework together. So that's...yeah, that's good,"

Neville looks interested. "Well good for you. Excellent Hufflepuff spirit there. I could have done with that when I started,"

"Did you get lost?"

"Constantly. I didn't understand my lessons, I forgot my books. And I kept losing my toad. To be honest, I felt pretty hopeless my first year here,"

Teddy has no idea why Professor Longbottom is telling him this.

"Hermione was a friend, though. She was kind, she helped me a lot. Although probably because she was about as unpopular as I was, those first few weeks,"

"What about Harry?"

"Harry and Ron met very early- maybe even on the train platform- and were inseparable from the word go. They formed their little pair and that was that,"

"But they were...weren't they nice to you?"

"They were nice. Of course they were nice, Teddy. But they were best friends and I was just a mate; the pudgy, forgetful boy they shared a dormitory with. Harry had had a horrible childhood with his uncle and being bullied at his Muggle school, and he turned up here and everybody was excited, everybody wanted to be his friend. You know he doesn't like being famous now- he hasn't for a long time- but in first-year it was a novelty for him. He was all too wrapped up in that to worry about me,"

"Oh," says Teddy glumly, "I...I thought he was..."

"He'd been taken away from an unhappy life into a life of magic where he was suddenly famous- I don't blame him in the slightest. What's more, he was eleven years old. Nobody expects you to be perfect at eleven years old. Remember that, Teddy,"

"'Kay," Teddy nods. He hasn't thought about that before. Remembering where classes are, writing down his notes properly and dodging Peeves takes enough effort without trying to be perfect as well.

"Teddy, do you think that you get recognised like Harry did?" Professor Longbottom asks. Teddy meets his eye. Neville's gaze is astute and interested.

"Because of my parents?" Teddy clarifies.

"Well, yes,"

"Some people," Teddy concedes, "People point at me, some teachers kind of pause when they read out my surname. But not everyone's trying to be my best friend like you said they were with Harry. And at least there's other kids at school who lost a parent or an uncle or a sister or something during the Second War. I think I'm the only one in my year but I'm not the only only one,"

"Do you mind my asking if the attention bothers you?"

"A bit. I dunno," Teddy shrugs, "It's just cos people are curious, that's what Harry said,"

"If it ever bothers you, come and tell me,"

"Yes, sir,"

"I love and admire Harry and I'm glad you can share these things with him, but I didn't invite you here today to talk about him, actually. Or your parents. I wanted to talk about you. How you're finding school. Your subjects, your friends,"

"Well, I...I like Herbology, obviously," Teddy says, which is as much truthful as it is diplomatic, "And Charms, I'm enjoying Charms,"

"Wonderful! I took Charms for NEWT," says Professor Longbottom earnestly, "What about Astronomy?"

"I like being awake at night, but umm, it's kind of boring. Just stars. And, umm..." Teddy shuffles uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yes?" prompts Neville.

"Well, I...Neville, you know what my dad was, don't you?"

"Yes," nods Neville, his face unchanging.

"And I'm not. It didn't pass on to me. I didn't,"

"I know," says Neville gently.

"But I'm worried that, that if someone found out, then...I don't think looking at the night sky would be much fun if everybody was glancing at me thinking..." Teddy tails off nervously, staring at his knees.

"Ah. Ah," says Neville thoughtfully. "Teddy, would you like a biscuit?"

"Um, yes please, sir,"

"You don't have to call me sir,"

Neville waves his wand and a plate of chocolate biscuits flies over to them. Teddy takes one and bites into it, keeping his eyes lowered. Professor Longbottom takes two, eats them both, sits back in his chair, folds his arms and says, "I think that's a perfectly legitimate concern." Teddy glances up, and Professor Longbottom continues, "I can see how anxious that must make you. But try to be positive. I'm sure many people would believe and accept that you're not affected by the condition and that would be that. And Teddy," he says gently, "If I'm honest with you, I'm sure there's pupils in this school who know already about your father,"

"Yeah. It...it hasn't come up yet here but yeah, some older kids must do. I...adults know. Um, sometimes people say stuff. Nasty stuff. Not often, and not here yet, just once or twice in Diagon Alley, if someone hears my surname. Harry goes ballistic,"

"I should hope so too. That's disgusting talk. I'm...I'm sorry someone your age should have to go through that, Teddy,"

"It used to be worse. You and Harry and my parents and everyone, they fought it when it was worse. Hermione's good at explaining it, how prejudice lingers and stuff". Her words in his mouth sound ridiculous. He remembers something, "Ron and Hermione are always arguing- well, Hermione and all the Weasleys, I suppose- about the M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D word. Hermione says that if you, like, let it affect you then you're letting them win. You have to ignore it and not let it define you. Ron and Ginny disagree but I try to, like, keep that in my head,"

"Good for you. In the case of that vile word regarding blood types, myself and the Weasleys show that it's generally more so-called pureblood families who are offended by it than Muggle-borns. But if you're following something Hermione does then it's difficult to go wrong,"

"You said Hermione was unpopular. You said Harry and Ron were inseparable- so how did she become their friend?"

"Are you telling me you don't know the story about the troll?"

"Oh, right. Course. There's so many stories, I get them mixed up. So that's how they became friends?"

Neville nods. "Yup. It had been Harry and Ron, and from that Halloween it was Harry and Ron and Hermione and that was that. But anyway, who are your friends, Teddy?

"My house I suppose. You know us from Herbology,"

"Yes, but tell me about them. What are they like outside of class?"

"Well, err, in the dormitory my bed is by the wall and Jack's is next to mine so we talk a lot. He's dead funny, he's comes up with these mad ideas and plans. Cowan thinks he knows everything cos he's got two sisters here already. Or one might have left actually, I can't remember, I stopped listening. Hieronymus is shy but he knows lots about giants so if you get him talking about that he's more chatty. And the girls- well, Caitlin and Simran giggle a lot and they're both in love with Professor Kirkpatrick-"

"Well, I'll be sure to let Professor Kirkpatrick know that," says Neville.

Teddy laughs. He feels more comfortable now, talking about his classmates. He tells Professor Longbottom about Lourdes' Scopps owl, Macaroni, and how it can climb stairs, how Chantelle's got a Hurricane 47 broom, how Ivy's worked out how to master the staircases, and how Dariella makes him laugh with the stupid songs she makes up. Teddy tells Professor Longbottom about the Slytherin class he has Transfiguration and History of Magic with; Eoin whose met loads of the Ballycastle Bats because his dad's a promoter for them, and Rebecca whose very neat so rolls her eyes when Teddy spills his ink or drops his books.

"I spilt my ink all the time," says Professor Longbottom, "Still do". He points to his desk where Teddy can see a few black stains. "I could barely pick up a scroll without something breaking or getting knocked over,"

"Everybody is so surprised that I haven't broken a bone," Teddy announces proudly, "People see how clumsy I am and they're like 'That kid must always be hurting himself,' but I'm not really…I break stuff, not people,"

Neville laughs loudly. "Oh, I wish I could tell you you'll grow out of it, Teddy, but I'm nearly thirty and I still drop about four plant pots a week,"

"My mum was clumsy," Teddy tells him, smiling, "Granny never minds when I spill stuff or break stuff at home because she says it's like having my mum back. So I kind of like being clumsy because it's like Mum. Well, I don't like it, but I sort of do". Teddy's never quite verbalised this explanation out loud before and it doesn't seem to make sense now it's out in the air. "I dunno…" he finishes lamely.

Professor Longbottom nods thoughtfully. "I understand," he murmurs. Then he coughs slightly and says, "Teddy, do you know who my parents are?"

"Err, no," Teddy answers.

"I'd like to tell you but it's...well, it's very ugly and very sad, so you can tell me to stop if you want. Understand?"

"Yes,"

"My mother was an Auror, like yours," Neville explains, "So was my Dad. They were two of the best. They were in the Order during the First War and they did great work, they were so brave. And then Voldemort disappeared after he tried to kill Harry. And everyone thought they were safe. But the Death Eaters were still around and- and my parents were caught. And they were tortured to insanity,"

Teddy

"Who did it?" Teddy whispers.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," says Neville grimly.

"She killed my Mum!" Teddy exclaims, excited.

"Yes. That's her,"

"She was my great-aunt,"

"I know. Is that difficult for you?"

"No. She was evil. She killed my mum. I'm glad she's dead,"

"Yes. We all are," says Neville awkwardly, "God bless Molly Weasley,"

"I'm...I'm really sorry about your parents, Professor Longbottom,"

"I'm really sorry about you parents, Teddy Lupin,"

"Yeah, I know. But it's….it's okay, you know? Granny has photos of them everywhere and there's lots of people who knew them. Harry's lot tell me about them, and I've got cousins on my dad's side who I see. Last year Ginny wrote to Professor McGonogall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout and a couple of the others to ask them to write to me about what Mum and Dad were like in school. That was cool,"

Neville smiles. "It must make you happy to know so much about them,"

"Yeah," Teddy agrees emphatically. "Professor Longbottom, are you Mum and Dad still alive?"

Neville nods. "They've been in St Mungo's for as long as I can remember. They don't know who I am. But they're happy, I think. They're safe and they're together,"

"Who did you live with, then, when you were growing up?"

"My grandmother,"

"Like me!" Teddy exclaims again.

"That's why I invited you," says Neville, "There's a few strange things we have in common, you and I thought that it might be interesting, might be good, for us to talk to one another,"

"Yes!" says Teddy happily, "Everybody talks a lot about how I'm like Harry- you know, orphans- but, but I'm also like you!"

"I'm glad you agree," says Neville, smiling broadly. "Were you happy, growing up with your grandmother?"

"Yeah. She's old enough to run around and stuff. And I see Harry all the time, and Ginny and Ron and Hermione and Mrs Weasley. It was only a couple of years ago they told me that she killed Bellatrix. That's cool. It explains why she cries a lot around me,"

"Can I ask you how your grandmother feels abou-"

"About Bellatrix? She says they never said a kind word to each other in their lives. Granny hardly saw her after she married my Grandpa. Granny says she was evil and she's glad she's dead. Granny didn't love her,"

"The only love Bellatrix Lestrange seemed to know was her love for Voldemort," Neville says solemnly.

"Were you happy growing up with your granny, Professor Longbottom?"

"Hmm," says Neville thoughtfully, "Sometimes. Anyway, I have some marking to get on with today, but would you like to visit me every so often? Not to talk about the wars and our families necessarily. Just as, well, friends,"

Being friends with a professor is a weird idea, but, "Yes. That'd be cool, sir,"

"On one condition- you stop calling me sir?"

"Even in Herbology?"

"Well, yes in Herbology, I can't look like I have favourites. But when you're in this office you call me Neville,"

"Okay Neville,"

"I'll let you go now but I'll be in touch soon, alright?"

"Yes. I...I'm looking forward to it,"

"So am I,"

"Can I ask you something, Neville?"

"Yup?"

"When you were at Hogwarts, did people know about your parents?"

"Ah. No,"

"Nobody?"

"Well, I expect a few older students did. But I never mentioned it,"

"Not to your friends?"

"No. And I wish I had done. I wish I'd shown how proud I was of them. Because I am proud of them, and I know that they'd be really proud of me". The other implication remains unspoken. The professor and the boy smile at each other.

"I'll see you later, Teddy. Oh, before you go- would you like some chocolate?"

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