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yespolkadotkitty · 3 years

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Long Way to Go - Chapter 1

Ryan Brenner x OFC, Grace Lin

THANKYOU so much to @the-blind-assassin-12 for casting an eye over this and for friendship and enthusiasm and thankyou to @suchatinyinfinity and @something-tofightfor for being so friendly!

W/C: 1550 ~ Warnings: None? General audiences.

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It was hot as hell.

Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I checked the thermometer in the pastry display case. Melted cream cakes didn’t sell, and I had to keep the served-cold meat bao from spoiling, but at least the fortune cookies, red bean cakes and mochi would be good for hours.

People bustled past, some holding mini electric fans, others cooling themselves with tall iced drinks from the nearby Starbucks.

I took a deep drink from my water bottle. I’d topped up the ice cubes just ten minutes ago and they were already just a memory.

The two girls I employed cleaned tables, their hair scooped up out of their faces, chattering about some party they were off to later, and which popular boys would be attending. Their giggling made me feel every one of my thirty-two years.

The overhead fan whirled silently as the bell above the door tinkled musically, letting in a gaggle of teenagers. They kept me busy for the next few minutes, ordering a bunch of fortune cookies and bao, barely looking up from their phones as they paid me.

As one of the teenagers pulled the shop door open, a gasp of music broke my train of thought (mango or green tea cookies tomorrow?). Curious, I peered out of the window.

On the street corner, sitting against the trunk of a large tree planted in the sidewalk, a man played guitar and sang.

His head was down, but thick, dark hair peeked out from under his battered hat, the brim shading his face from view.

His voice was deep and melancholy, and it pulled at something inside me. I kept the door open, listening.

Quite a little crowd had gathered around him. His fingers danced over the guitar strings effortlessly, his low, sultry voice carrying to me on what little there was of a breeze in New York in July.

I got lost in the lyrics for a moment, and must have leaned on the door too hard. The bell tinkled and I had to hang on to avoid falling face first on the pavement.

Smooth, Lin. Real smooth.

Without skipping a beat, the busker glanced my way. His eyes were the very dark brown of expensive Swiss chocolate, concern shining in their depths.

I smiled to let him know I was okay, and his gaze moved over me for a moment. I felt every second. His eyes smiled first, and then as he finished the last note in a line, his lips curved, too, a dimple flashing above his scruffy beard, and oh. I was a goner. He was the most beautiful man I’d seen in a long time, and this was NYC, so that was saying something.

“Hey, Earth to Grace! You gonna stand there all day?”

The Brooklyn twang jerked me back to reality and I blinked, looking into the face of my delivery guy. “Sorry, Mikey.”

The bulky Asian-American grinned, casting a thumb at the busker. “He’s all right.”

I tore my gaze away again. “He sure is.”

Mikey wheeled his little hand truck to the storeroom and started to unload as I served a young woman who had questions about allergies. She read my ingredients lists and decided on three pork floss buns, the ones hot from the heated plate. Just going near it made me near-recoil with the steam that bathed my face.

As the customer paid and I thanked her, clipping a business card to the paper bag, I glanced out at the busker. He was drinking from a water bottle, his head tipped back to expose the line of his neck. The bottle was near-empty.

“Hey, Kristi?”

One of the girls I employed stopped mid-chatter to her colleague about someone called Dwayne and how dreamy he looked in a football jersey, and whipped her head round to me.

“Can you man the counter for a sec?”

She bobbed her head yes and we swapped places. I grabbed a bottle of water from the tall fridge by the door, the shaped plastic cold against my palm. I hesitated, then grabbed another.

The wall of heat enveloped me as soon as I stepped out of the door.

The busker looked up at the sound of the bell, shoulders bunching in his worn white t-shirt as I approached, as if steeling himself for something.

The crowd had thinned between songs, people put off from standing by the sheer heat of a New York summer, but the open guitar case held a bundle of notes, some fives and tens, as well as several scatterings of coins.

“Hi,” I greeted him. “Ma’am,” he drawled, softly. His smile seemed easy, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I suspected that he was wondering if I was gearing up to threaten to call the police on his ass.

I wasn’t.

I held out the bottles of water. “Thought you might be thirsty.”

“Sure am.” He smiled up at me, fingers drumming on his thigh, but he didn’t attempt to take the water. “‘S very kind of you.”

You stepped closer, offering the bottles and he finally took them from me . His hands brushed mine, his skin warm and tan, a little rough. I noticed the unusual ink on his fingers, wanted to ask, but politeness stopped me.

“Your music is beautiful,” I said as he unscrewed the first bottle, the second held between his knees.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He took a deep drink, and I tried not to feel like a letch, admiring the line of his neck, the bob of his Adam’s apple. “‘S a nice bakery you got there.”

“Thanks. I, um, never thought it’d be a thing. You know? When you dream about something for so long and when it finally comes true, you can’t believe it?”

He met my gaze. “Can’t say I know a whole lot about that.”

For the first time, I took in his attire properly - large burlap backpack, battered army-style boots, the laces frayed, the near-threadbare edges of his hat. “God. I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot-”

He shook his head, a shy little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’ be. I like it better when folks don’t have to watch their every word ‘round me. I’m Ryan.”

“I’m Grace. The idiot.” I offered a hand and he shook it, and his palm was wide and warm, a little calloused, and sparks of awareness slid up my arm.

“Do you often play around here?” I gestured to the little stretch of the Chinatown of Flushing, Queens, that my bakery sat on.

“No, ma’am. I’m a traveller. Been t’ New York before, but not this particular spot.”

“And how is this particular spot?”

Ryan drummed his fingers on his guitar thoughtfully. “‘S good. Folk are nice, for the most part.” He started on the second bottle of water, his tongue flicking out to over bottom lip after he drank. “Hot as hell, though, and I say that as a Southern boy.”

I opened my mouth to ask where in the South he hailed from, but Kristi appeared in the doorway of my shop. “Grace? Sorry, Mikey needs the auth code for this delivery.”

“Oh, sure.” I turned back to Ryan. “It was good to meet you. Your music is really fantastic.”

He ducked his head, smiling, a little shy. “Mighty kind of you, ma’am.”

By this point another little crowd had gathered, waiting to hear him sing, and I left them to it. I wished I could have the shop door open to hear him, but that would defeat the point of air conditioning.

But even so, throughout the afternoon, I kept glancing over, seeing him still there, singing. During a busy point I asked Kristi to go and bring him another bottle of water, and I saw the smile he flashed her, feeling jealous of the attention, and called myself utterly ridiculous for it. I hadn’t even known Ryan existed a couple of hours ago.

Customers thinned out. It was a weekday, and business always slowed down around six pm. I shut at seven, so at six-thirty I sent Kristi and Susan home. As they opened the door, I caught a line of song in Ryan’s soft, smooth drawl.

Nine hundred more miles, and I’ll be doin’ just fine-

When he finished, after the small crowd had dropped dollar bills and murmured their appreciation, I called out to him.

“You want to come inside? Have a cold drink? Use the air con?”

I saw the hesitation flick over his face, the trepidation mixed with curiosity, and in the end, the latter must’ve won, because he stood up.

“That’s it for today, ladies and gentlemen,” I heard him say to the people circled around him. A man tossed a couple of bills in his guitar case, and Ryan touched his hat in thanks.

The listeners dispersed, and Ryan settled his guitar in his case like a mother swaddling her baby; with utmost gentleness. And then he looked up, smiling, that dimple winking, and walked towards me.

Taglist: @agirllovespancakes

#ryan brenner x ofc #jackie x ryan fic #jackie x ryan au #ben barnes character fanfiction

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sofya-fanfics · 2 years

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Les pulls de Noël

Voici un texte que j’avais écrit pour le 31 Days of Ficmas 2018. J’espère que ça vous plaira.

Disclaimer : Doctor Who est une série de la BBC.

Thirteen x Rose

Le Docteur ouvrit toutes les armoires et tous les tiroirs qu'il y avait dans le dressing. Elle savait qu'il était quelque part, mais où ? Cela faisait bien trop longtemps qu'elle l'avait porté. Le Docteur avait emmené Graham, Ryan et Yaz à New-York au vingt-cinquième siècle et ils étaient arrivés au jour de Noël. Ils devaient donc être habillés en conséquence. Ses compagnons l'attendaient, impatients de fêter un Noël New-Yorkais dans le futur.

Le Docteur ouvrit une boite qui se trouvait dans le fond de l'armoire et sourit quand elle y découvrit ce qu'elle cherchait. Deux pulls de Noël. Elle se souvenait parfaitement du Noël qu'elle avait passé avec Rose, Mickey et Jackie. Elle venait juste de se régénérer et n'était pas encore habitué à ce nouveau corps, ces nouveaux sentiments, mais tout ce qui importait à ce moment là, c'était d'être près de Rose. Jackie les avait obligé à porter ces pulls identiques.

« Vous êtes adorables ! Leur avait dit Jackie. »

Mais ça n'avait pas empêché le Docteur de se plaindre que le pull était trop grand, qu'il grattait et que le Père Noël tricoté dessus était ridicule. Mais un seul regard noir de Jackie l'avait fait taire.

Le Docteur prit le pull et tourna le regard vers celui de Rose. Elle attrapa le pull de Rose, le porta à son nez et prit une profonde inspiration. Elle pouvait toujours sentir son parfum. Pendant quelques secondes, c'était comme si elle avait remonté le temps lorsque Rose et elle voyageaient, s'amusaient et s'aimaient. Lorsqu'elles s'étaient faite cette promesse : « Pour toujours ». Le Docteur se ressaisit. Ce n'était pas le moment d'être triste. C'était Noël. Noël était joyeux et plein d'espoir. Elle décida de mettre le pull de Rose. De cette façon, elle serait quand même près d'elle, et alla retrouver ses compagnons. Tous les trois portaient un chapeau de Père Noël. Le Docteur prit le sien qui était posé sur le tableau de bord.

« Vraiment Doc, un pull de Noël ? Dit Graham. -Ce n'est pas n'importe quel pull de Noël, sourit le Docteur. Celui-ci est spécial. »

Elle ouvrit la porte du TARDIS et dit :

« Êtes-vous prêts à passer un merveilleux Noël ? »

Ils acquiescèrent et suivirent le Docteur pour fêter Noël.

Fin

#doctor who #Doctor X Rose #thirteen x rose #Thirteenth Doctor #rose tyler #My writing

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sincerelyella · 2 years

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The Vow Chapter 3 - Perfectly Imperfect

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Pairings: Ethan x MC (Ella)

Song Inspiration: Perfectly Imperfect by Ryan Hiraoka

Characters belong to Pixelberry; MC Ella Dela Cruz Ramsey belongs to me. I do not give permission for anyone to copy my MC or her likeness, copy paste my fics/moodboards on tumblr or any other website.

Catch up here

Summary: Ethan and Ella were in married bliss and trying to start a family, until a car accident makes her forget the last two years of their lives together.

A/N: I thought … aww who cares about the other fics I need to update (like desperately), I should start a WHOLE NEW SERIES. What is wrong with me? Throw my whole laptop away guys.

Words you may want to know:

Anak → means child, daughter or son in Tagalog

Warnings: Fluff; mentioning of miscarriage; tw: memory loss; sexual innuendos; adult language

Thank you @dcbbw for reading a snippet and @openheart12 for reading this through for me - and reassuring me it doesn’t suck, love you!

Words: 745

The Ho'oilo House, West Maui, Hawai'i 2019

“Oh my God,” Ella panted as she rolled off of Ethan onto the large king-sized bed. “I need to-”

“Don’t get up. I’ll do it.” He stood and ran warm water onto a small face towel. “That’s a record - double digits,” he grinned wide as he walked back and cleaned them both up. He sprawled out onto the bed and turned to grab his wife around the waist.

“Mmhmm, I see you’re proud of yourself,” she chuckled as she tucked her body against his side and hooked one of her legs around his waist like an anchor.

“This little vacation was good for us, I think,” he whispered into her hair. “No work stress, no pressure, it’s just … us being together.”

“I’m so in love with you; it’s insane,” she murmured against him. “I know it felt like I forgot that when we were going through the hard times, but ... I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ethan’s face turned serious. “I promise to always remind you why you love me, okay?”

Ethan and Ella had been trying to start a family as soon as they got married, but it didn’t prove easy. She suffered one miscarriage, and it destroyed her, she was wracked with guilt, and Ethan felt helpless. Naveen suggested they take a week off from the hospital and try to relive their honeymoon, where they had no worries or stress. Ethan booked The Ho'oilo House immediately and took care of Ella’s schedule to make sure Sienna and Jackie were able to take her cases. They were like two teenagers who couldn’t wait to get away from their parents to have alone time.

Edenbrook Hospital, 2020

It had been two weeks since the accident, Ethan had already been discharged with a minor concussion, and a couple of fractured ribs. He never left the hospital since Ella was still unconscious after her injuries and the cardiac emergency she endured. Naveen and Harper begged Ethan to go home and sleep, but they knew deep down that he would never leave her. Ethan had never met Ella’s family, and she had never spoken about them, so he left it alone. He showered in the staff locker room, slept in a cot beside her hospital bed, and basically lived there, hoping and waiting for Ella to wake up.

After the nurse had given her her daily medications for the morning, Ethan stood and walked to the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth. Once he was done, he came back into the room, and there sat Ella, eyes wide and staring at him.

“Ella?” He was by her side in seconds, and she flinched. “I’m so sorry, El, I’m sorry if I scared you.” Ethan sat next to her on the bed and noticed she was still studying him with curious eyes. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m sorry,” she croaked out and cleared her throat. “I-I’m sorry, but … who are you?”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “I’m your husband,” he tried not to panic and bit his lip hard to keep himself from crying. “Your name is Ella Vivienne Dela Cruz Ramsey, my name is Ethan Jonah Ramsey, and we got married two years ago.”

Ella nodded. “I know who I am, and I know you’re a famous doctor - but the last thing I remember is trying to apply for residency in California,” she looked around the room with furrowed brows. “I’m not in California, am I?”

“No,” he shook his head and tried to keep the tears from falling. “No, you’re in Boston at Edenbrook Hospital. You did your residency here, that’s how we met and fell in love, Ella.”

“So, you’re not my doctor?”

His heart sank; Ella had no memory of her time at Edenbrook or him. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and an older couple walked into the room.

The older woman spoke first. “Anak, oh my God, you’re alright!”

“We were worried about you, baby, we got a call from the nurse last night and flew over immediately,” the man leaned over the hospital bed and kissed Ella on the forehead.

“Mom? Dad?”

“These are your parents?!” Ethan exclaimed as he studied the couple. They dressed like they had a lot of money, and they both looked at Ethan like he was trash.

“You must be the man who took our daughter from us,” the woman spat out.

#The Vow #OH #OH choices #choices #play choices #pixelberry #OH fandom #OH fanfiction #OH fanfic #open heart #open heart fandom #open heart fanfic #open heart fanfiction #Ethan Ramsey #Ethan x MC #Ethan x Ella #tw: memory loss

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Stupid For You, Chapter 6 (Crygi, Jankie, Jaida x Nicky) - Metaluna

Fic summary: A cliche lesbian AU. It’s the summer before Gigi goes to college, and she decides it’s time to take a job at a local amusement park. There, she meets Crystal, a beautiful girl that she with bonds over the anxiety of the service industry. Almost immediately, Gigi gets it BAD for Crystal. Meanwhile, Jackie definitely ISN’T gay. She likes men. Only. Men. What happens when a beautiful girl named Jan comes into the picture? And lastly, Nicky flirts with anything with a pulse. Jaida falls for anyone who gives her attention. This is going to be one interesting summer.

Chapter summary: As things are tense between Gigi and Crystal, Jan tries her best to intervene.

Crystal couldn’t sleep. All she could think about were the words she said that so deeply hurt Gigi. She didn’t know where they came from. They weren’t at all from a place of malevolence. It was as though the words came out and Crystal couldn’t stop them. Before she even realized what she had said, it was too late. She understood if Gigi didn’t forgive her, considering she wasn’t sure if she’d forgive her if the roles were reversed. After tossing and turning for hours, she looked at her phone. 6:30 A.M.

Since there was no point in sleeping for half an hour, she forced herself to get out of bed. Normally, she put on a full face of makeup. Today, she couldn’t even be bothered to do her eyebrows, opting instead to wear her thick rimmed glasses. Instead of her methodically done space buns, she threw up all her hair on top of her head without brushing it.

Walking to work was the last thing that she wanted to do, but her parents had to work, and she knew Ryan would still be mad. Right as she shut her door to embark on her walk, she heard a rumble of thunder. Shit.

Even with an umbrella, by the time Crystal arrived to work, she was soaked. Crystal sighed as she put her damp backpack into her locker. She tried her best to wipe the raindrops off her glasses, but smudged them in the process, making them worse. Even though she knew it wasn’t a big deal, Crystal was at the point emotionally where every small occurrence felt like the end of the world. She felt tears form. As she wiped them away, she hoped to God no one saw.

“Hey, are you okay?” a voice asked kindly. It was Jan, who was standing next to Jackie.

Shit.

“Yeah, I’m great!” Crystal could hear the fake enthusiasm dripping from her voice. “Just… something in my eye!”

“Sis, we know something’s wrong.”

Jackie agreed. “You don’t look like yourself. Let’s go sit.”

The second Crystal sat down, she started crying. Jan reached out to hold her hand. “Talk to us.”

Crystal sniffled. “I think Gi…one of my friends, hates me.”

“Why would she hate you?” Jackie asked. Crystal could tell that both Jackie and Jan caught wind that she almost said “Gigi.”

“I said some really nasty things during an argument. I mean low blows, things that no one should ever bring up, especially not during an argument.”

“Listen here, gorg. If your friend really is your friend, she would understand. We all say stupid stuff that we don’t mean. I say stupid shit to Jackie every day and she still keeps me around.”

“Jan’s right. I’m sure if you apologize to your friend, she’ll forgive you.”

“Well, here’s the thing. I don’t deserve forgiveness. This is stuff that she told me in confidence. She trusted me with this information, and I literally threw it in her face.”

Crystal looked up and saw a skinny blonde out of the corner of her eye. She and Gigi locked eyes. Almost immediately, Gigi’s face turned from a neutral expression to one of malice.

By this point, Crystal was sure that Jan and Jackie figured out who she was talking about. “Gigi’s never going to want to talk to me again. Did you see the way she just looked at me?”

“Maybe it’s not what you think,” Jan said optimistically. “Maybe she just realized she forgot something. I’ll go talk to her.”

With that, Jan left Crystal confidently got up from the table and walked over to Gigi. Strategically, Jan made sure that the two of them were standing out of Crystal’s view.

“Jan, I’m not talking about this right now. Not here. Not now,” Gigi said firmly.

“But Crystal’s a wreck right now.”

“I don’t care.”

Jan was taken aback. “Okay, wow. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, frankly it’s not any of my business. But, something bad must have happened if you went from being hung up on her to not even being able to look at the girl. Right?”

“Be quiet! No one else knows I’m…” Gigi trailed of raising her eyebrows.

“Gotcha. But damn, whatever she said was a lot, wasn’t it?”

Gigi nodded. “I just don’t want to talk to her right now. I need time.”

“I respect that, and I’m sure she can too.”

The second Jan came back to the table, Crystal demanded, “What did she say?”

“She said she needed time.”

“Okay, but could you tell how much time?”

Jan shrugged. Crystal knew she looked pathetic, and she didn’t care. One way or another, she was going to make it right with Gigi. She cared way too much about her to give up.

–

On her break, Gigi absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram. She felt her jaw clench as she saw a picture of Crystal and her boyfriend on a hike. She noticed how radiant Crystal looked at sunset. In the picture, Crystal was kissing Ryan’s cheek, and all Gigi could think of is how much she wished it was her. She mentally kicked herself for thinking that, because she was supposed to be mad at Crystal. If anyone knew how to hold a grudge, it was Gigi. She wanted nothing more than to be mad at Crystal, to completely shut her out. But, there was something about Crystal. Gigi couldn’t bring herself to stay mad at her. As Gigi looked up she saw that Crystal was sitting at the table diagonal to her. They locked eyes for a moment, and looked away at the same time.

Even though she told Jan she didn’t want to talk to Crystal, Gigi knew it was a lie. She wanted nothing more than to run up to Crystal’s table and to talk about what happened. As she stole a glance at the redhead, Gigi saw Crystal stare at her phone intensely. After appearing to type a small novel, she tossed her phone on the table and laid her head in her hands.

Gigi looked down so as not to raise suspicion. Once a few seconds passed, Gigi deemed it an appropriate time to look up again. Gigi had never seen Crystal look so stressed, but when Gigi decided she was going to go talk to her, Crystal left in a hurry. Something was very wrong.

–

Jan had a tendency to insert herself in her friend’s problems. It wasn’t her fault, she just wanted to help. If ever there was a time to help sort out friendship problems, it was now. Jan couldn’t stand to see Gigi any less than happy, and seeing Crystal without a smile on her face hurt. Jan promised Jackie she would stop “meddling” in her friend’s problems. But she had to step in. She had to, especially after Jackie told her horror stories of how friendships were ruined over petty drama each summer. Jan had a feeling this was a little more than petty drama, but she’d be damned if her friend group would get split up.

While she was in the bathroom fixing her eyeliner, Jan heard crying one of the bathroom stalls.

“Hello?” she called.

No one responded but whoever was crying tried their best to muffle them.

“Who’s in here?” she tried again.

Jan sauntered over to the bathroom door. She opened and then closed it, and waited. Eventually, Jan heard the stall door unlock, and as she heard the faucet turn on, she rounded the corner to see Crystal staring at herself in the mirror, eyes red and puffy.

“Crystal? What’s wrong?” Jan asked sympathetically.

“Just boyfriend stuff.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Crystal shook her head. “No.”

“Okay, well if you change your mind, you have my number.” Jan dramatically turned to leave.

“Actually…”

“Yes?” Jan answered, turning around a little too quickly. Now was her chance to fix things.

“So, Ryan, my boyfriend, found out that I got really drunk at the party. He asked who got the alcohol, and I told him it was Gigi, and now he doesn’t want me to talk to her anymore.”

Jan raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Crystal questioned.

“Do you want me to sugarcoat it or do you want my honest opinion?”

“Can you sugarcoat it?”

“Actually. No. Crystal, that is the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard in my goddamn life.”

Crystal flinched. “Damn, tell me how you really feel.”

“You can’t let a boy tell you what to do.”

“He’s not just a boy… he’s my boyfriend.”

“Crystal that’s even worse!” Jan exclaimed. “Never let a significant other tell you what to do.”

“I don’t want to make him mad!”

Jan looked down at the bruise on Crystal’s arm, Instinctively, Crystal covered it with her hand.

Jan groaned. “Crystal. Listen to me. If you let your boyfriend tell you how to live your life, you’re going to miss out on a lot.”

“But I love him,” Crystal whined.

“That may be so, but I can tell that you value your friendship with Gigi. Right?”

Crystal nodded.

“Okay, well you can’t ruin that.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

An idea formed. “I have an idea! Tomorrow’s National Roller Coaster Day.”

“And…?”

“And the park is staying open after close for all the employees to ride the rides. Me, Gigi, Jaida, and Nicky are all going together. You should come with us.”

Crystal hesitated. “I was going to hang out with my boyfriend. He’s gonna get mad if I cancel.”

“Come on, Crystal. When else are you going to get to hang out in an empty park with all your friends? Besides, like I say, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“I don’t know Jan…”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“I guess.”

“’I guess’ is better than ‘no,’” Jan said with a smile.

As she closed the bathroom door, Jan was confident that she was going to make things better.

—

The next day, the excitement of the staff of Paradise Isle was palpable. Even for the rides staff who were working the event were excited, mainly for the overtime pay. As soon as 9 P.M. rolled around, the event was officially underway. Gigi had never seen the leads and supervisors clear the store so quickly.

As she and Jan headed to the bathroom, they planned everything they were going to do.

“I promised Jackie I’d bring her a funnel cake,” Jan said as she changed into a t-shirt with her future university’s logo. “It’s the least I can do since she’s working.”

“That can definitely be arranged,” Gigi said tucking her uniform into her backpack.

“Gigi…” Jan began.

“Yeah?” Gigi slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“I uh, may have told Crystal that she could join us.”

“You what?”

“I thought that it’d be a good idea. I thought that if we were in a group it wouldn’t be weird and you could maybe make up or something.”

“Oh, shit. This is bad. Jan… Why?” Gigi groaned.

“In hindsight, this was a horrible idea.”

“You think?” Gigi’s tone was harsh, which made Jan cringe. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I deserve that. I’m sorry. I should have ran it by you.”

Gigi sighed as they left the bathroom. “It’s what it is. It’s done now. Maybe you’re right.”

Nicky texted the Gigi that she and Jaida would be waiting for her and Jan at The Landing. After scanning the area for a moment, Gigi saw her friends and waved.

“Hey, bitches!” Jaida greeted with a hug.

“What’d you two do today on your day off?” Jan asked.

Nicky and Jaida just exchanged a look.

“Ah. 10-4,” Gigi said rolling her eyes.

“Is Crystal joining us?” Nicky asked.

“I sent her a text, let me see if she responded,” Jan said as she unlocked her phone. “Damn. She said she’s going hiking with her boyfriend, and that she wishes she could have come.”

“Well she could have,” Jaida said with an eyeroll.

Gigi didn’t say anything, but internally was filled with relief.

Everyone was having an incredible time. Not having to wait for more than ten minutes for anything made the rides even more fun. After riding Sinbad’s Adventure, which was the smallest of the three roller coasters in the park, three times in a row, Jan announced. “Ladies, I need a break.”

The others muttered in agreement, and made their way to a table.

“What’s our game plan?” Jaida questioned.

“Hmm,” Nicky began. “Do you want to do all the lame rides on The Boardwalk?”

“I could take lame right about now,” Jan said. “Plus I told Jackie I’d get her funnel cake.”

“Why did she decide to work?” Nicky asked.

“She wanted doubletime pay. Plus, she claimed that once you go to an after-hours event, the novelty wears off.”

Gigi rubbed her back. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes!” Jan sprung up. “Let’s go ladies.”

Gigi had to admit, the rides that Nicky called lame were some of her favorites. They brought upon a wave of nostalgia of when she and her sister used to come to the park every summer. The way all the carnival-style rides’ signs lit up made her heart soar.

Once they did all of the rides on The Boardwalk in record time, Nicky asked. “Jan, do you feel up to going on The Genie?”

Jan nodded. “Jackie texted me and told me if I didn’t bring her a funnel cake soon, she’s going to eat her left foot.”

“We can’t let that happen!” Jaida said dramatically.

Gigi and Jan linked arms as they skipped to The Backlands. By the time they made it to the roller coaster, Gigi’s legs felt sore. She made a mental note that she’d have to make use of her university’s gym come fall.

“Baby!” Jan exclaimed as she saw Jackie at the greeter position.

“Gimme!” Jackie said as she snatched the funnel cake, taking a bite.

“Are you supposed to do that?” Nicky questioned.

“I’m your lead, how dare you speak to me like that!” Jackie said haughtily. “Nahh, literally no one gives a shit right now. I’m not even supposed to be standing here right now. Greeter isn’t a position that’s up right now.”

“Let’s ride in the front!” Jaida suggested.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jan groaned.

“We can ride in the second row,” Gigi suggested.

The front was an extra cycle’s wait, but no one cared. As they waited, Gigi looked around, and in the fifth row Gigi saw familiar red hair in familiar spacebuns. She felt her stomach drop harder than the Jinn ever did.

Gigi felt her body tense, which Jan noticed. “Gigi, what–”

“Shit,” Nicky breathed. She and Jaida weren’t well-versed in the situation, but they both knew something was up with Gigi and Crystal.

Crystal was standing next to Widow, and her expression went from excited to deer-in-the-headlights. Gigi felt her heart pound. Did Crystal really hate her that much? If she didn’t want to see her, why didn’t she just say so? Gigi had so many questions, and knew she wasn’t going get answers to any of them. Without saying a word, she through the exit gate.

“Should we…” Jaida trailed off.

“I got it,” Jan said.

“Are you sure?” Nicky questioned.

Jan nodded. On her way out, she gave Crystal the nastiest look she’d ever given in her life and said, “You really fucked up. I hope you know that.”

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jan sport #jackie cox #jaida essence hall #nicky doll #crygi #jankie #jaida x nicky #lesbian au #slow burn #stupid for you #metaluna #s12 #submission

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a-marlene-s · 4 years

Text

So....

I am looking back on past posts of stories that I plan on writing. I thought I tagged them all... but I don’t know if I got them all.

Here’s what I have so far... (Keep in mind, the majority of them are from story prompts from other people or were from asks.)

Bruce Wayne Addams

Cousin Bruce.

Gomez and Morticia love their adopted nephews very much.

Dick is going insane.

I don’t remember if this is a crossover with Miraculous Ladybug. Let alone with my au, She’s an Addams!

She’s an Addams!

Marinette’s mother is Wednesday Addams.

Jagged Stone is an Addams.

Debating if she’ll be with Nino or Canon!Felix.

I don’t remember if this is a crossover with Batman. As I remember a scene where Jagged and knew each other back in college due to them being in a band together... now that I think about it... I think that was part of another story...

Quirk: Miraculous Ladybug

Marinette Dupain-Cheng: Thread Manipulation/Miraculous Ladybug

Adrien Agreste: Formerly Quirkless/Cataclysm

Alya Césaire (class deputy): Computer Interaction

Nino Lahiffe: Frequency manipulation.

Chloé Bourgeois: Paralysis Inducement

Sabrina Raincomprix: Invisibility

Rose Lavillant: Plant Manipulation

Nathaniel Kurtzberg: Digital Art Manipulation

Juleka Couffaine: Identity Manipulation

Lê Chiến Kim: Emotion Weaponry

Mylène Haprèle: Slime Manipulation

Max Kanté: Technological Combat

Alix Kubdel: Flash Forward

Ivan Bruel: Earth Transformation

Lila Rossi: Feign Damage

Aurore Beauréal: Weather Manipulation

Mireille Caquet: Omnilingualism

Jean Duparc: Miming

Luka Couffaine: Sound Manipulation

Marc Anciel: Ink Manipulation

Kagami Tsurugi: Elemental Manipulation.

For this au, it could be as is, or as a penpal au with Marinette being friends from someone from UA. Izuku, Shoto, Hitoshi or someone else.

Justice League Banned from Paris @vivilakitty

JL finding out they got banned from Paris.

Someone visits for the holiday or some shit that brings them there related to the League.

They see the akumas and they wonder why no one called the league for help. Especially after seeing two kids fighting the Akuams.

"The hero's tried. They were just children when shit started. My kid is thirteen and is the size and age of our hero's were when they started! We tried getting ahold of the League. The Mayor, the heroes, civilians! Everyone! We got called a joke and were told never to contact them again. Then we got blocked."

Mayor decided to bane the League from Paris. If they did not want to help, then they are no longer welcomed in the city of Paris.

The call first got through to some random civilian communicator that goes along with the name of John Christan Ryan Mark Johnson, nickname… whatever the hell first comes up in someone’s mind. When League found out, Chad became a joke among the league and got demoted. Even so, the League went to Paris as civilians and did their best to help out.

There will be mayhem from the Batboys.

Turtle Bug @jacquesthepigeon

Where Fu chose not to put the cat miraculous in play and instead gave his own since Ladybug’s partner would need to protect her. He chooses Nino to be Carapace.

Paris’s anxiety ridden superhero duo is Ladybug and Carapace.

ONE MORE THING! @vixen-uchiha

Jackie Chan adventures. Jackie and Sabine are cousins. Jackie decided to take a much needed break from doing what he does best. He and Jade go to Paris to have a simple... fight free... vaca.... great... seems like their vacation is short lived.

What’s the Stitch? @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl

Kim Possible/Miraculous Ladybug crossover where Marinette and Kim are cousins though Gina. Lila lies about knowing and going on side missions with her when Marinette’s the one going on missions with her when she’s in town or visiting. Class minus Chole, Nathaniel, & Kitty Section believe and bully Marinette due to Lila’s lies. Kim shows up during it one Tommie then uses her connections to show the truth and take her down. All bullies are sued and are banned from the bakery.

Presentation Day @art-deco-shrimp

Ms Bustier assigns each of the students to do a report on someone they know, with a presentation at the end. They need to pick someone to report on, learn about their daily life, interview at least three people close to them, and then do a presentation on that person when the project is due in two weeks (arbitrary time limit is arbitrary). When Alya comments that it’s too bad that the restrictions mean a report on Ladybug is probably out of the question, Marinette suggests Ladybug’s best friend as a substitute. Alya can interview Lila’s parents as one source, Rose can probably connect her for a short Q&A with Prince Ali about someone who’s done so much for his charities, and Alya can even justify asking Ladybug some questions for the project this way!

The Delinquent @rubixchick

Lila assumed the older guy Marinette has been hanging out with lately, is just some delinquent due to the guy’s tattoo’s, pericings and ripped up clothes. Spinning her tales, Lila made it difficult for Marinette to hang out with this guy or trying to occupy her time by smothering her to no end. Things go bad to worse… for Lila when she accused Juleka’s brother, whom she never met before, being the delinquent.

Hear Me Out

Story idea from: @maxdark158 Full prompt here: https://maxdark158.tumblr.com/post/187476540811/hear-me-out-ive-got-an-au-idea

Best Friends Adrien and Marinette. No love interest or love square here.

Marinette paired with either Damian, Tim, Jason, Dick, or someone from Dc.

Adrien, I don’t know if I want to pair him up with someone or if I do want to pair up him with someone, I don’t know with whom yet.

Adrien is protective of his best friend.

Lila Salt.

Alya Salt.

Passive (Agreste)sive.

Marinette Mode @vivilakitty: Full prompt here: https://vivilakitty.tumblr.com/post/189567415622

Marinette takes on an apprentice ship under the one and only Edna Mode.

I know her, I’m close friends with her son~ @countingdowndays: Full prompt here: https://countingdowndays.tumblr.com/post/189602949856/prompt-lila-salt-adriens-mom

Adrien mentions the movie his mom stared in to the class. Lila latched onto it, claiming she personally knew the actress and that she could introduce Adrien to her. “Great, let me know what my mom says.”

OHSHC x My Hero Academia: My Hero Host Club @amynchan

Ships: IzoOcha, BakuKiri, TodoMomo, TetsuKendo, OjiTooru, TokoTsuyu, JiroTama

Summary: Create a club they say. Create something to do in their spare time, they say. Do something creative, they say.

“WHY DID YOU FORCE ME TO JOIN A HOST CLUB!!!”

“In all honesty, you destroyed an expensive vase and you need to pay us back. And joining us, you could easily pay it back… unless you want to pay it out of pocket.”

Kyoka Jiro gripped her hair in frustration. Her parents had told her she needed to create or join a club. Her classmate had told her about the club she had created with her friends… but said friend never mentioned it’s a host club!

Record: Drag Her. @miraculouscontent

Tikki Records Lila's threats

Tikki records Lila's threat towards Marinette with the latter's phone. "Oh, and Marientte? Drag her."

My girlfriend could kick your butt!

Peter Parker got kidnapped and cannot use his abilities without exposing his identity to the whole wide web.

There he is, strapped to a chair with a camera facing and recording his every movement.

Then the bad guys started to threaten Peter that if he doesn’t talk, that they’ll use Peter’s girlfriend as leverage.

“My girlfriend could kick your butt!!!!”

Not even a minute later, the video fed went out and when it went back on, all the bad guys are knocked out and an unfamiliar girl is untying Peter from the chair, all the while apologizing for taking too long to get to him.

This is a debate on which one to write for Dragon Age Inquisition.

Warden Cullen

HoF!Cullen

Champion!Cullen

Inquisitor!Cullen

It will take place in DAI. Pairing are yet to be seen.

If I miss a story prompt, please tell me. I have lost count or I cannot find the posts.

#story list #future story list

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thetimelordbatgirl · 3 years

Text

Marvel Descendants OCs

Acknowledgment: When Marvel Descendants was first written in 2015, one year after I joined Tumblr, at the time I wasn’t aware of how bad certain things were and while I am aware this is a bad excuse for what I’m about to acknowledge, it’s all I have really for what I wrote into Marvel Descendants at 14-15 as back then, I was into DC’s Kingdom Come and when I saw them ship Nightstar and Ibn al Xu'ffasch (pre-Damien Wayne), I didn’t see anything wrong with it and as a result, used the adopted family excuse for shipping Locket Lokidottir and Theo Thorson. Now that I am older and know more over the years, I wish I had known back then, but I wasn’t deep into Tumblr until December 2014 and even then, it took me until a while back to realize Marvel Descendants was wrong for that, but by that point, book 5 confirming the ship two married in the future, was out and while its too late to fix canon, I try to fix it in AUs and ship the two with other characters. Any other issues within Marvel Descendants, I am trying to fix and hope to avoid in the future as I continue writing.

Description of Marvel Descendants: Marvel Descendants is a marvel version of Disney Descendants that follows The Isle of the Lost, Descendants 1 and Wicked Wold in first two books and mini-spin off and goes on its own plot in book 3, with it now being tied @disneyfan50 ‘s series, Descendant of Loki, starting from the team up/crossover, Daughters of The Trickster, with the series continuing on right now with planned future installments and AUs.

Timeline so far:

Book 1: The Area of The Lost. Summary: Twenty years ago, all villains from Loki to Doctor doom were sent to the lost part of asgard with a shield around it to keep them there and them from ever escaping. The villains and their children now live in total isolation, forgotten by the world. But now there is a price for grabs, Loki's sceptre, could be their chance of escape, but they have to prove their more then willing to do anything evil to get hold of it. In their quest, they also learn, that being good can also help and isn't so bad at all sometimes. Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/6739788/The-Isle-of-the-lost-Marvel-Version/1

Book 2: Descendants: Marvel Version. Summary: Thor's daughter is about to be crowned goddess of lightning when she suddenly requests for the children of the villains to be given a chance at redemption. When their parents give them a task to get hold of the Tessaract so they can take over the world, the children of Loki, doctor doom, Sabertooth, the leader and the Mandarin and the granddaughter of red skull, have their own choice to make, be good or be evil like their parents. Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/6677501/Descendants-Marvel-Version/1

Book 3: Marvel Descendants: The Art of Mischief. Summary: Its been a week after tori's crowning of her title and the attack of doctor doom and the villains kids have been living a normal half term, well, as normal as they could get anyway, but now school is on again, but also, a old enemy is rising in the darkness of asgard, and he is out for revenge on asgard and earth. Sometimes, heroes are born at different points and sometimes, its not a good move to judge someone based on their look or their background.... Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/6814801/Marvel-Descendants-The-Art-Of-Mischief

Mini-Spin Off: Marvel Descendants: Wicked World. Summary: The marvel descendants are back, and good is the new bad in this case, with drama and pranks and mischief and of course, the children of the heroes and villains, this is wicked world. Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/6924709/Marvel-Descendants-Wicked-World/1

Crossover with @disneyfan50 : The Daughters of The Trickster. Summary: When a portal opens unexpectedly in Locket's room, another girl falls out. Her name is Lilith Lokidottir, the daughter of another Loki from and alternate universe. The tides of evil are rising, and at their helm is none other than the Queen of Darkness herself. Can Locket and Lily stop this menace together? Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/6859006/The-Daughters-of-the-Trickster/1

Book 4: Marvel Descendants: The Trickster’s Curse. Summary: Life is starting to go back to normal for Locket lokidottir, daughter of loki, the battle against mariana over, but that doesn't mean that there is not a effect in all of this. There is a curse on the school coming out, and it may be lockets and theos fault, when Loki though falls to it next, locket, theo, tamora and a new ally, lucy selvig, have to find the cure and put a end to this curse before it continues, but who set it? who left it? why is it affecting locket and her father the most? and why does darkness and poison come with it? Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/6984816/Marvel-Descendants-The-Tricksters-Curse/1/

Book 5: Marvel Descendants: Sins of The Past. Summary: Its the year 2032- and things have changed. The X-Men have failed in their one mission: to get human acceptence. Now mutants, metra-humans, off world people and even humans who were assoicated with mutants or could have mutant kids, are either in prison, on the run or killed. Jackie Haller leads a group against this and they have a plan- go back in time to save the future. In 2016, the past is about to commit the one act that makes this happen without knowing it..... The resistance in the future are on a ticking time bomb to stop this event with the pasts help.... ....Or its game over. Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/8099153/Marvel-Descendents-Sins-Of-The-Past/1

Crossover with @disneyfan50 : Untitled. Summary: TBA.

Agent of Asgard: Volume 1: Summary: Well now i have done it- i never thought that in my life, that i would work for heroes- But here i am, Locket Lokidottir, working as a agent for Queen Jane of Asgard, but now, now im in the deep end, i got a crazy version of myself after me, im meeting weird people and theres some plot going on- Why cant i just go back to being normal yet? Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/8471877/Agent-Of-Asgard-Volume-1/1

Crossover with @disneyfan50 and Entity High: Untitled. Summary: TBA.

Agent of Asgard: Volume 2: Summary: TBA.

Agent of Asgard: Volume 3: Summary: TBA.

Agent of Asgard: Volume 4: Summary: TBA.

Spin Off: Siege Perilous: Summary: Being a dragon should mean you should always be able to soar through the air, no matter what- the skies your limit. But what happens when someone tries to clip your wings? Jayla Del'Tazar thought her troubles ended with Mariana Malora- she was wrong. As soon, Jayla finds herself in her own battle against a man named Draeko, a pureblood dragon determined to take her out for her relations, in any way possible. Travelling to Wakanda with Princess Kiara and Jayla's girlfriend, Peregrine Wilson, Jayla soon finds that when pushed to the edge of possible surrender and near death, that sometimes, you have to fight fire with fire...and in this case, that fire is discovering hidden abilities she never knew she had until then, and things only change from there on. Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/11017793/Siege-Perilous/1

Agent of Asgard: Volume 5: Summary: TBA.

Untitled Sequel to Siege Perilous: Summary: TBA.

Book 6: Untitled. Summary: TBA.

Untitled third book to Siege Perilous: Summary: TBA.

Book Set in the Future: Marvel Descendants: Up From the Depths: Summary: Its the year 2032, and the Area of the Lost has existed for more then 20 years as the grandchildren of the villains and heroes now exist and the previous generation have grown up. But soon enough, after a crack appears in a dome and a poisoning of the villains grandchildren at SHIELD Academy happens, its a adventure that soon leads to a truth about the Area and its residents...and how unlike the heroes....not everyone has a good path in life....and may need help more then ever at this point. Link: https://www.quotev.com/story/9912322/Marvel-Descendants-Up-from-the-Depths/1

Locket Lokidottir

- daughter of Loki-

Faceclaim:

India Eisley.

Richard Creed

- son of Sabertooth-

Faceclaim:

Jason Scott Dolley.

Victoria Von Doom

- daughter of Doctor Doom-

Faceclaim:

Raffey Cassidy.

Alex Sterns

- son of The Leader-

Faceclaim:

Ferdia Shaw.

Lucas

- son of The Mandarin-

Faceclaim:

Ryan Potter.

Tamora

Schmidt- granddaughter of Red Skull-

Faceclaim:

Sadie Sink.

Torunn ‘Tori’ Thordottir

- daughter of Thor-

Faceclaim:

Chloe Grace Mortez.

Theo Thorson

- son of Thor-

Faceclaim:

Landon Liboiron.

Lila Creed

- daughter of Sabertooth-

Faceclaim:

Mia Talerico.

Johnny and Jessica (formerly Olivia)

- twins of Juggernaut-

Faceclaim(s):

TBA.

Lizzie Octavious

- daughter of Doctor Octopus-

Faceclaim:

TBA.

Frigga Thordottir

- daughter of Thor-

Faceclaim:

Abby Ryder Foster.

Ravan Darkholme

- son of Mystique-

Faceclaim:

TBA.

Andrew and Ally Amoradottir

- twins of Amora-

Faceclaim(s):

TBA.

Nathan Osborn

- son of Norman Osborn-

Faceclaim:

TBA.

Thorn Sifson

- son of Sif-

Faceclaim:

Spencer Boldman.

Amanda Amoradottir

- daughter of Amora-

Faceclaim:

Sabrina Carpenter.

Devlin Kilgrave

- son of Kilgrave-

Faceclaim:

TBA.

*Maria Stark- daughter of Iron Man- Faceclaim: TBA. *James Fury- son of Nick Fury- Faceclaim: Tyrel Jackson. *Poppy Coulson- daughter of Phil Coulson- Faceclaim: TBA. *Snow Banner- daughter of the Hulk- Faceclaim: TBA. *Luke Walters- son of She Hulk- Faceclaim: TBA. *Riley Jones- daughter of A-Bomb- Faceclaim: TBA. *Mark Hill- son of Maria Hill- Faceclaim: Bradley Steven Perry. *Margaret ‘Peggy’ Rogers- daughter of Captain America- Faceclaim: TBA. *Andrew Wilson- son of the Falcon- Faceclaim: TBA. *Harry Pym- son of Wasp and Giant Man- Faceclaim: TBA. *Nick and Jade Barton- twins of Hawkeye and Black Widow- Faceclaim(s): TBA. *Lauren Howlett- daughter of Wolverine and Storm- Faceclaim: TBA. *Joy Summers- daughter of Cyclops and Jean Grey- Faceclaim: Mackenzie Foy. *Gwen Parker- daughter of Spiderman and MJ- Faceclaim: TBA. *Jessica Storm- daughter of the Human Torch- Faceclaim: TBA.

*Lynn Richards- daughter of Mr. Fantastic and Invisible Woman- Faceclaim: TBA. *Atli Volstaggdottir- daughter of Volstagg- Faceclaim: TBA. *Heleo Fandralson- son of Fandral- Faceclaim: Ross Lynch. *Vio Fandraldottir- daughter of Fandral- Faceclaim: TBA. *Ty Hogunson- son of Hogun- Faceclaim: TBA. *Andrea ‘Andy’ Barnes- daughter of Winter Soldier- Faceclaim: TBA. *Gordon Maximoff- son of Scarlet Witch- Faceclaim: TBA. *Millicent Maximoff- daughter of Quicksilver- Faceclaim: TBA. *Techna- daughter of Vision- Faceclaim: TBA. *Tee Strange- daughter of Doctor Strange- Faceclaim: TBA. *Kiara (formerly Ann)- daughter of Black Panther- Faceclaim: China Anne McClain. *Mick Gold- son of Mockingbird- Faceclaim: TBA. *Charles Danvers- son of Captain Marvel- Faceclaim: TBA. *Brooke Murdock- daughter of Daredevil- Faceclaim: TBA. *Willow Rhodes- daughter of War Machine- Faceclaim: TBA. *Destineva Heimdalldottir- daughter of Heimdall- Faceclaim: TBA. *Jake Amaquin- son of Crystal- Faceclaim: TBA.

*Danielle Rand- daughter of Iron Fist- Faceclaim: TBA. *Toby Masters- daughter of Taskmaster- Faceclaim: TBA. *Kasey Parker- daughter of Spiderman and MJ- Faceclaim: TBA. *Maxine- daughter of Electro- Faceclaim: TBA.

*Alastair Quill- son of Star Lord and Gamora- Faceclaim: Bradley Steven Parry.

*Lucy Selvig- daughter of Eric Selvig- Faceclaim: Saxon Sharbino. *Aidan ‘Acrylic’ Lokison- son of Loki- Faceclaim: Eka Darville. *James Selvig- son of Eric- Faceclaim: TBA.

*Leela Theodottir- future daughter of Theo and Locket- Faceclaim: Grace Kaufman. *Leonardo ‘Leo’ Theoson- future son of Theo and Locket- Faceclaim: Logan Williams. *Luna Theodottir- future daughter of Theo and Locket- Faceclaim: Lauren Boles. *Daniel Creed- future son of Richard and Joy- Faceclaim: Carter Hastlings. *Roxanne ‘Roxie’ Thorndottir- future daughter of Thorn and Tori- Faceclaim: Caitlin Carmichael. *Vanessa Wilson- future daughter of Andrew and Victoria- Faceclaim: Kyla Drew. *Jacqueline ‘Jackie’ Xavier- granddaughter of Charles Xavier- Faceclaim: TBA. *Elsbeth Wagner- daughter of Nightcrawler- Faceclaim: TBA. *Zelina Lebeau- daughter of Rouge and Gambit- Faceclaim: TBA. *Octave Lebeau- son of Rouge and Gambit- Faceclaim: TBA. *Cerise Wilson- daughter of Deadpool- Faceclaim: TBA. *Feliks Rasputin- son of Shadowcat and Colossus- Faceclaim: TBA. *Max Summers- son of Havoc and Polaris- Faceclaim: TBA. *Derek Worthington- son of Angel and Psylocke- Faceclaim: TBA. *Paige McCoy- daughter of Beast- Faceclaim: TBA. *Alix Drake- daughter of Ice Man- Faceclaim: TBA. *Screech Cassidy- daughter of Banshee- Faceclaim: TBA.

*Jayla Antoine- adopted daughter of Colin- Faceclaim: Skai Jackson.

*Ella- granddaughter of Elsa (in Auradon)- Faceclaim: Peyton Elizabeth Lee.. *Jamie Sterns- daughter of Alex and Snow- Faceclaim: Eve Moon. *Nike Stark- son of Maria and Lucas- Faceclaim: TBA. *Dove Wilson- daughter of Andrew and Victoria- Faceclaim: Millie Davis. *Tracy Octavious- daughter of Lizzie- Faceclaim: Bailee Madison. *Misty Darkholme- daughter of Ravan- Faceclaim: Morgan Lily. *Alan Allyson- son of Ally- Faceclaim: Ty Simpkins. *Ava Allydottir- daughter of Ally- Faceclaim: Maggie Elizabeth Jones. *Renee and Brandon Creed- twins of Richard and Joy- Faceclaim(s): Kennedi Clements and Jacob Trembley. *Kol Amandason- adopted son of Amanda- Faceclaim: Oakes Fegley. *Usagi Del’Tazar- twin daughter of Jayla and Peregrine- Faceclaim: Sofia Wylie.

#megan's ocs #megan's fanfiction #OC's masterpost #original series OCs

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chezzkaa · 5 years

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Numb pt 28

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 3250+

Date posted: 8 Feb 2019

The morning is clumsy. Nonsensical in the early hours. A jumble of limbs and a knot of blankets trapped between far too many legs. Confusion fogging your mind as you draw in a heavy breathe, bringing with it a chill and the lingering scent of trees. Out of place, but not entirely unpleasant to a sleep ladened consciousness.

When your eyes peel open, the darkness of the room doesn’t quite fit with what you expect. Having anticipated light streaming through the windows of the lodge’s living room, your friends bundled together on the couch while the fire crumbles into ash with a gasp; the feeling of your own bed beneath you is disorientating. Acting like a puzzle piece you’re hammering too hard into a slot that it so obviously doesn’t fit, the cardboard corners starting to curl and warp with every frustrated fist you bring down on it. Convinced that somehow it ought to make sense. That the more you hit it the more likely it is to become a functional, rational part of reality.

It’s cold. Uncomfortably so. Stinging your front and nagging at your fingertips. Tracing the curve of your calves and scampering behind your knees. The covers do very little to retain the warmth you sorely try to hold on to, certain it had surrounded you not long ago. Confused, more than anything. Concern drunk and stumbling in the back of your mind.

It takes a moment to register the storm outside. Snow wailing at the windows as it slowly starts to die down, bitter temperatures dwindling in their efforts to claw at the glass. If you focus, you can almost see a hint of colour returning to the world. Tainting the darkness with muddy peaches and soft vermillion dipped in the remnants of the night.

The outside world shares your shudder, shoulders sinking further into the blankets and knees clattering against a pair you hadn’t expected. Equally icy, tucked loosely into your pocket of warmth. Groggy and dazed, you blink dumbly from a sleep you’re certain you shouldn’t have roused from. Forcing your thoughts into some semblance of consciousness.

Across from you, however, is a sight that settles your confusion. Something that finally makes sense to your sluggish mind. Ryan slumbers peacefully, his face relaxed and gentle while honey golden hair splays over the pillows. Caught in the warm silvers of the moonlight with only the word ethereal coming remotely close to describing his softness.

It takes a little longer than you’d like to admit, staring at him as though it were the last time, but you eventually realise that he must have stirred at some point and carried you to bed.

Reaching out, your fingers run through the loose strands hooding his forehead, pushing them away. Again and again, your fingertips brushing him further into a heavy sleep and warming his frigid skin.

The marks lining your skin almost glow in the moonlight, flickering with every motion. The remains of ink mask the scabbed skin that had resulted from when you’d pushed the pen nib down too hard in the early hours of that terrifying morning, marks residing quite happily beneath the runes carved into your hands. Faded but most certainly there. Glaringly so. Littering your body like twirls of wood shavings, charred and fragile. Curling like vices around your wrists, and snaking up your forearms.

The pale, ghostly scars burn guiltily when you take them in through the darkness. Protective charms humming with the palm you place on Ryan, willing for them to transfer to him, too. Hoping that whatever is left of the magic, of your energy, will embrace him the same way you do.

An arm you hadn’t noticed tightens around you, dragging you closer until your face presses into his cool chest. You want to complain, to shove him away and grumble about the cold biting your cheek, but you find yourself settling. Holding your hands to your chest, you nuzzle into him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before your eyes slide shut.

Ryan’s sleepy hums of comfort are the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Michael insists over breakfast, your phone pressed to your ear and his voice barely audible over the loud ordeal every morning has become. Plates clatter, the kitchen buzzing with caffeine fuelled animation.

“You’re gonna wanna get down here,” he presses further, voice rising with excitement, “we got the lab reports back for the markings. This is your baby, too.”

“Funny,” you scoff, dodging the loaf of bread Alfredo hurls to Trevor, Lauren getting caught in the fray. “Last I checked, I wasn’t a Mother or a detective.”

From the corner of your eye you notice Ryan’s eyebrow quirk. He does his best to seem like he isn’t listening, taking his time while buttering the same piece of toast he’s been working on for a few minutes. His expression flickers, something problematic folding his features for a moment before he glowers at his toast.

“You still upset about that?” You can practically hear the scrunched expression Michael pulls on the other end of the phone, his tone dismissive. “Don’t worry about that fuck or any of the bull shit he says. Detective Dooley isn’t in today, so you don’t have to worry about him. Besides, right now you’re a better cop than he is.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Michael.” You let off a nervous laugh, watching Ryan shake himself and decide that he should probably pretend to be focused on the second slice of toast. He spreads the button, oblivious to how clear it is that he’s let his breakfast go cold. Lauren eyes him, looking offended.

Michael makes a noise somewhere in the back of his throat. “Well, I would. You’ve done more for this case than that obsessive asshole has in the past few weeks.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He lets out a sigh, looking for the words you might not want, but need to hear. “Look, Y/N… He’s a good guy, you already know that. He was doing his job and just got a little, err, god what’s the word that I’m looking for here?”

“Side tracked?” you offer.

“I was gonna say that he just got a little too far up his own ass,” Michael teases, his tone surprisingly soft. You sink into the comfort it brings, relief buzzing through the phone line. “But sidetracked is a good one, too. He’ll come around, you just gotta give him time. He’s been on the same line of thinking for so long, it’ll take a while for him to readjust. While he’s managing, we just have to pick up the slack until he catches up.”

You hum in response, taking a moment to sip on your tea. “Do you really need me there?”

“Need and want are two different things.”

“Oh, so you want me there?”

“Ew. Fuck no,” Michael rejects with more cheek than what’s good for him, “but we do actually need you here. Considering we’re running with a theory you helped work out, it’ll be good for everyone if the mastermind to be in on all the information.”

You smile, watching the domestic life unfolding in your kitchen, willing the images of icy fingers and cold, tiny bodies from your mind. You cling to the warmth in front of you, hoping to stay in the moment. Dragging it out for as long as you can, as though it’ll keep the world and it’s incessant twitching still. That the burning itch at the base of your skull will cease.

“Alright,” you finally concede with another long sip of tea, accepting the plate of cold toast that Ryan sheepishly hands to you, “I’ll head over in 30 or so. Don’t start without me, yeah?”

Michael chuckles, yelling something to another officer while you drown your waiting breath in your tea. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Y/N. We’re a team.”

You grin, picking up a slice and taking a large bite. “Let’s get this bread.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You grimace, the feeling of unmelted butter greasy against toast crumbs across your tongue. “You got pastries at work?”

“Of fucking course we do, we’re not animals. And don’t change the subject. You’re a fucking animal. No memeing in the precinct or I’ll arrest you.”

After ample testing against other animal patterns found in the area, in which the sampled material was applied to a multitude of claw/bite/other markings of both native and outside animals, all sampled markings are deemed to be unbiological in nature.

The plausibility of the samples being created by a creature as opposed to a hand held tool is noted to be unlikely and impossible.

No bear nor other known creature can be attributed to the patterns found on the Motbury properties.

You stare down at the report as relief washes over you. After having read the brief at least four or so times, you still can’t quite manage to take it all in. With a racing mind and a set of shoulders so determined to drop all of the tension you’d been carrying over the past few days, it takes the clap of Michael’s hand on your back to rouse you from the chaos inside your own head.

In regards to patterns and other factors, the most likely result is that these markings were created by a heavy tool with a sharp edge as opposed to an animal. A creature would be unable to achieve the paw splay needed to achieve the patterns observed. Yet to be determined, possible objects include, but are not limited to; axes, screwdrivers, shovel heads, etc. Further testing is required. The results of these further tests will be conducted and relayed to the Motbury Police Department.

“I can’t believe it,” you murmur, following the paragraph with your finger. “We did it... Like, we actually, properly did it. Oh my god, Michael.” You turn to him, his beam as bright as your own. “Oh my god!”

“Take that, non believers!” he practically bellows, picking you up and crushing your arms, swinging you around wildly with a chorus of laughter. “We fucking told you!”

“We were right,” you gasp, not at all phased by the tightness aching in your sides Michael continues to spin you. “We were fucking right! It’s a copycat, it’s all-” you wince as he attempts to pull Jackie into an equally eager embrace while refusing to put you down, “it’s all linked! The markings lining up with the fucking…the god damn killings and the storms - oh my god! They’re all the same person! Michael - stop squeezing me!”

Jackie smiles, here eyes glinting as she side steps Michael’s second attempt at a sweeping hug. Not to be deterred, he shifts his hold on you, pinning you securely to his shoulder while glaring a warning at the lab technician.

“Congratulations are in order,” Jackie offers, placing an office chair between herself and the detective, “this is a major break through. You’ve closed off some serious ‘what if’s’. Now you can compile all of the evidence together and work from it. Get rid of some loose ends!”

Michael eyes the barrier suspiciously, still refusing to let you go. Squirming in his grasp, you wriggle until you can see the report still clutched in your grasp, bent unceremoniously over his shoulder to read the brief yet again.

“It’s a person,” you breathe, winded slightly as Michael lunges for Jackie, “thank god. It’s just a person.”

“Don’t celebrate too soon,” Michael grunts over Jackie’s squeak, his arm winding around her and hauling her into his hug, the two of you clattering together. “Gotcha, you fuck. But yeah,” he sways with you both, uncertain as to what he should do now that he’s achieved his short term goal. “It just means we’ve got a shit load of work to do.”

You gasp, wincing as his shoulder dives into your stomach. “Yeah, well, it’s only a matter of time now. We can start looking at people and matching them to our Window copycat theory.” The floor greets you when you’re released, but your grin never fades. “You ready to deep dive into some townspeople files?”

Michael beams wickedly. “You’ll have to start without me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, Detective asshat needs me for a trip out. You’re on your own. But hey, none of this would’ve been possible if it weren’t for you. So thanks.”

The clutter of the back room has becomes a familiar strain, accompanying your work day as though it prides itself on being such a loyal employee. Paperwork packed into shelves and plastic bags loaded with evidence press in from all sides as you curl over the files on the desk you’ve claimed for the day, eyes scanning the fading ink in the hopes of finding something you don’t already know.

So far you’ve had little luck. The idea of giving up however, is appalling. No amount of begging from your stiff knees and aching limbs can convince you to leave the seat you’re glued to. A box of pastries has become one of your only friends, coffee cups littering the high surfaces that you’d rather not acknowledge as unstable.Every record up to this point has been irrelevant; ruled out with the new connections exposed from this morning.

The nerves behind your eyes throb with every thump thump of your heart.

You’d expected to find yourself running in circles, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself you’d realise that you’re doing just that. A tired hands rubs across your face, ink and mental exhaustion smudging across your cheeks and pinching at temples. A soft groan escapes you before you can stop it, forehead coming to rest on your folded arms. It’s been hours. Hours since you’d celebrated with Michael. Hours since you’d burst into the filing room like a whirlwind, and hours since you’d sat down with every record the police had on the townsfolk.

The lights in the room are still far too bright. Obnoxious, straining and artificial. Your eyebrows furrow.

What exactly you’ve been searching for is still a mystery, even to you.

Which is infuriating, you admit with a click of your tongue and unflattering grimace, and taking far too long.

You’d originally started with the goal of categorising the townsfolk by sifting through suspect lists, alibis, and recent activity; collecting records on the individuals specified as being of interest to the investigation, but it quickly proved near impossible for you alone. Everything seems to contradict, no matter how deep you dig. Your mind paces through the same patterns until you’re left dizzy with your head on the desk, frustrated beyond words and desperate for something to clean the sour taste of coffee from your tongue.

Stealing your remaining reserves of motivation, you yank yourself back into sitting, fingers slipping into your pocket and producing the two small stones you’ve taken to carrying with you. Their weight is reassuring in your palm, warm against the skin and humming so softly that your stresses start to lull almost instantly. Turning them over again and again, the sound of the stones jostling together eases you even further while your attention drifts back to the next record in front of you - one that had recently been ruled out.

The number of suspects for the case had been few and far between, but that hadn’t deterred you from an investigation before. Instead, no matter how much you loathe it, double checking the past leads was the best way to build a foundation for future investigations. Focusing on the page, you grimace at the corners dotted with your clumsy, absentminded scribbles - hoping the police department won’t mind the mindless shapes you’ve subconsciously scrawled.

SCRIPT

Interview with Gavin D. Free (Store Clerk). Interviewer: Officer B. Burns. Supervisor: Det. Insp. J. Dooley.

Additional staff on script record: Dooley & Jones. NOTE: Supposed witness to suspicious activity during storm.

11/12/16 - Suspect reassessment. RESULT: REMOVED FROM SUSPECT REGISTRY.

Burns: Alright, for the record can you please state your name, occupation, and the prepared statement for the dates specified, Mr. Free?

Free: Well, I don’t really have to now, init?

Burns: … Excuse me?

Free: My name. You’ve already said it. Why should I say it if you’ve already gone and told me the answer?

Burns: That’s not the point-

Free: Then what is? Cus if you were tryin’ to see if I was an imposter or summut, then you’ve just gone and given away the name.

Burns: Why would I think you were an imposter?!

Free: I dunno, I gues- oh, for the record I just shrugged there - I dunno Officer, aren’t you supposed to be covering all the bases or somethin’?

Burns: By checking if the local bag boy isn’t-

Free: What if I was wearin’ a skin suit?

Burns: What?

Free: Yeah, like those episodes of Doctor Who.

Burns: Episode… of Doctor-

Free: I could be an imposter wearing my own skin.

Burns: Why would you be wearing your own ski-

Free: Yeah, god what were those big bloated bastard things called? Big and green and bloody ugly… Eccleston was top as the doctor back then. Tennant was pretty alright though. C’mon, what were those fuckin’ things called-

Burns: I’m not sure how this is relevant, Mr. Free. Can we just get back on trac-

Free: Slitheen!

Burns: Excuse me?

Free: Those monsters, init? The Slitheen.

Burns: I’m not checking to see if you’re a Slytherin.

Free: Oi, I’m a Gryffindor! For the record-

Burns: Dont-

Free: I’m a Gryffindor with my boy.

Jones [muffled]: Yeah boy! Gryffindors for life!

Dooley [muffled]: Michael, can you just - shut the fuck up? There’s an interview going on.

Jones [muffled]: Oh shit, right. Sorry boss. Hey, you’re a Slytherin, right?

Dooley [muffled]: Yeeehhhhhhh-

Burns: Now is not the time! Look, Mr. Free, I don’t care what Harry Potter house you’re in, and I’m not checking to see if you’re a Slith-whatever.

Free: Good.

Burns: What?

Free: Good to know you ain’t an idiot or nothin’!

Burns: What the fuc-

Free: I couldn’t be a Slitheen, could I? I ain’t fat enough. You’d have to check Jack for that - OH! Oh and I don’t fart nearly enough. See, you gotta fart to get into the skin suit… now that I think about it, Geoff is awfully suspicious now. He’s always farting… But so’s Michael. [Distant] Micoo, hey Micoo!

Jones [muffled]: What the fuck do you want, asshole? Can’t you see there’s an interview going on?

Free: You fart a lot, right?

Jones [muffled]: Yeah you fucking know it.

Free: You ain’t an alien from outta space, are you?

Jones [muffled]: … What the fuck.

Free: You’d tell me if you were, right?

Jones: Yeah… yeah I’d - Jeremy shut the fuck up you’re gonna break something - yeah I’d tell you, boy.

Dooley [muffled]: For the record, Officer Burns has given up on life.

Free: Thanks, boy.

Jones [muffled]: You’re my boy, boy.

Burns: ALRIGHT. THAT’S IT. I’VE HAD IT. I’M DONE. We’ll do this again tomorrow.

The pen nib glides across the page as you read, ink and spiraled patterns following the transcript until you reach the abrupt end.

8 notes · View notes

rollingstonemag · 6 years

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Un nouvel article a été publié sur https://www.rollingstone.fr/chadwick-boseman-revolution-black-panther-linterview-rollingstone/

Chadwick Boseman, La révolution Black Panther - L'interview RollingStone

Comment Chadwick Boseman et Ryan Coogler ont crée le plus radical des films de supers héros de tous les temps, Black Panther

Il y a deux ans, Chadwick Boseman était à l’affiche d’un film appelé Gods of Egypt, pas d’une grande réussite. Mais au delà de cet échec, il est aussi devenu tristement célèbre pour son casting. Dans le rôle des divinités africaines, un blanc écossais, un blanc danois et au moins sept autres blancs australiens. Boseman, le seul héros noir, jouait Thoth, le dieu Égyptien de la sagesse et l’inventeur des mathématiques. Avant que le film ne sorte, il était interviewé sur les critiques négatives reçues par le film, et Boseman déclarait non seulement être d’accord avec ça, mais que c’était aussi la raison pour laquelle il avait décidé de prendre part au film – au moins le public verrait au minimum un dieu de descendance africaine. « Mais oui », ajoutait-il sèchement. « Les gens ne font pas des films à 140 millions de dollars avec des personnes de couleur. « Ce qui a changé en deux ans, c’est que maintenant nous avons Black Panther – avec un budget qui n’est pas de 140 mais de 200 millions de dollars, avec des personnes de couleur. Le retard était considérable. Stan Lee et Jack Kirby ont crée La Panthère Noire, le premier superhéros noir en 1966, mais il aura fallu attendre 50 ans pour le voir au cinéma, quand Boseman reprenait le costume dans Captain America: Civil War (2016). Après une décennie de films de Marvel Universe avec en vedette un nombre disproportionné de personnages blancs, le monde a enfin son premier film de superhéros Africains.

Je me souviens à quel point les gens étaient excités de voir Malcolm X. Là c’est encore plus grand, car cela inclut d’autres personnages aussi. Tout le monde va voir le film de Marvel.

« C’est un changement radical, » déclare Boseman. « Je me souviens à quel point les gens étaient excités de voir Malcolm X. Là c’est encore plus grand, car cela inclut d’autres personnages aussi. Tout le monde va voir le film de Marvel. »

Et il n’exagère pas. Le film a déjà battu un record de prévente pour un film de superhéros, et lorsque les premiers retours presse sont sortis, il culminait à 165 millions de dollars de recette – mieux que tous les précédents Marvel excepté The Avengers. Et il pourrait prendre la première position dans le top 10 des meilleurs démarrages de tous les temps.

Petit rappel: Boseman joue T’Challa, le roi d’un pays Africain fictif nommé Wakanda – la civilisation la plus riche et la plus avancée technologiquement sur terre. Il cache son identité en tant que Black Panther, un guerrier futuriste Africain avec des pouvoirs de surhomme en charge de protéger son peuple. Selon le patron des studios Marvel, Kevin Feige, Boseman était leur seul choix pour tenir ce rôle. Et quand on l’a appelé, il était prêt. « Il nous a dit oui par téléphone », répond Feige. « Je n’ai senti aucune hésitation de sa part. »

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Le casting parfait

Jusqu’à maintenant, Boseman, 41 ans, était plus connu pour être un acteur de biopic, jouant un nombre sans précédent d’icônes afro-américaines: Jackie Robinson (42), James Brown (Get on Up), Thurgood Marshall (Marshall). D’une certaine façon, Black Panther est la suite logique – C’est Thurgood Marshall avec des griffes en vibranium et un jet furtif. Boseman a voulu jouer se rôle pendant des années, tenant un journal avec des notes depuis 2012. « C’est le casting parfait », ajoute le directeur Ryan Coogler. « Son physique, sa personnalité réservée, la façon qu’il a de paraître plus jeune qu’il ne l’est, sage au delà de ses années. »

« Chad a donné une sacrée performance », a dit Michael B. Jordan, qui partage l’affiche avec lui en tant que son ennemi juré, Killmonger. « Je ne pouvais imaginer quelqu’un d’autre que lui. »

Quelques semaines avant que le film ne sorte, Boseman essaye de ralentir son rythme, en sirotant un thé à la menthe poivrée au café hipster L.A où il avait l’habitude d’écrire, comme quand il aspirait à devenir scénariste et qu’il débarquait de New-York. Il est habillé en noir de la tête aux pieds – cardigan, tee shirt, pantalon chinos, chaussettes – à l’exception de ses baskets Valentino et un collier de perles aux couleurs panafricaines rouges, or et vert. Il est grand et mince, avec des longs doigts élégants et il a la gestuelle d’un boxer. (Coogler a dit qu’ils enfilaient souvent les gants sur le plateau pour s’entrainer). L’une de ses forces en tant qu’acteur est son calme, son regard intense, et il est le même dans la vraie vie, observant le monde avec un scepticisme que favorise son léger strabisme. (« Je vois tout », dit Boseman). Quand il ne parle pas, il a l’air réfléchi et profond. « Vous dites que je parle trop ! » dit-il en rigolant.

Dans une certaine mesure, Boseman est un drôle de personnage pour un blockbuster de stars. Il est à « 90 % » végan, cite d’un claquement de doigt les intellectuels noirs radicaux comme Yosef Ben-Jochannan et Frantz Fanon, et dit être anxieux sur scène ou devant les foules. (« Participer à un talk-show ? Oh, mon dieu. Nah. ») Mais il a conscience d’être à la naissance de quelque chose qui le dépasse: « Je crois vraiment qu’il y a des vérités que le monde a besoin d’entendre. Et c’est pour ça que les gens sont excités par Panther. C’est le moment. »

Nous avons fait un film sur ce que cela signifie d’être Africain

C’est un moment décisif pour les afro-américains et Hollywood. Le casting aligne les talents – en plus de Boseman et Jordan, il y a Angela Bassett, Forest Whitaker et de nombreux acteurs de descendance africaine, dont Lupita Nyong’o de Star Wars (qui a grandi au Kenya) et Daniel Kaluuya de Get Out (dont les parents ont immigré d’Uganda en Angleterre). Et puis ce n’est pas seulement le premier film de superhéros avec un casting à prédominance noir – c’est aussi le premier avec un directeur noir, des scénaristes noirs, des designers et dessinateurs noirs, et un producteur exécutif noir. Des groupes communautaires louent des théâtres entiers pour l’examiner; les gens font des campagnes de financement participatif pour acheter des places aux enfants noirs qui ne pourraient pas le voir autrement.

Matt Kennedy/ © Marvel Studios 2018

« Nous avons fait un film sur ce que cela signifie d’être Africain, » dit Coogler. « C’est l’esprit que nous y avons tous insufflé, quelque soit l’héritage de chacun. Le nom de code pour le projet était Motherland, et c’était exactement ça. On est tous retourné à l’école en Afrique. »

« L’argent et les moyens humains que cela a pris pour créer ce monde Africain – c’est une production immense, » dit Boseman. « Mais ce n’est pas Star Wars – c’est un film de superhéros noirs ! ». D’une part, il a du mal à réaliser. Mais d’une autre part – Pourquoi cela n’aurait-il pas du arriver ? De plus, dit Boseman, « Qu’est-ce que cela signifierait si cela n’arrivait pas ? Vous seriez entrain de dire qu’il y a une seconde classe de films Marvel. Et donc des citoyens de seconde classe. »

Selon Boseman, l’africanité du film est indissociable de l’attrait qu’il suscite. « Certains acteurs noirs diront, ‘Je ne veux pas jouer un personnage juste parce qu’il est noir’ » dit-il. « Et c’est bien, je ne dis pas qu’ils ont tort. Mais c’est aussi oublié toute la richesse de notre culture. »

Hollywood a deux poids deux mesures

Il parle avec passion de la lutte des acteurs noirs pour avoir de bons personnages à incarner (« Très souvent, l’humanité des personnages noirs est absente ») et Hollywood a deux poids deux mesures quand il s’agit d’identifier de jeunes talents noirs. (« Chaque année, les agents partent en Australie pour trouver le nouveau grand acteur blanc. Mais quand prennent-ils des vols de 14h pour trouver le nouveau noir ? »)

« Beaucoup de grandes choses sont entrain de se passer, » poursuit Boseman. « Si on pense à Barry (Jenkins), Ava (Duvernay), Ryan, – c’est un renouveau du cinéma noir. Mais cela ne suffit pas. Tout est une question de chiffre. Si vous avez 15 coups, j’en ai trois. Si vous avez neuf chances de tout gâcher, j’en ai qu’une. Chacun de nous sait qu’à la moindre erreur, votre carrière est foutue. Je vois cette intensité. Je vois comment Ryan est. Au premier raté, vous ne travaillerez plus jamais dans cette ville. »

Il rigole. « Corrigez moi si je me trompe ! »

Nous quittons le café, et Boseman grimpe dans une Escalade (Suv Cadillac) en route pour l’émission Larry King Now. « Je dois juste appeler ma mère rapidement si je ne veux pas avoir d’ennuis, » dit-il.

« Hey, » dit-il quand elle décroche. « Je vais bien, je voulais juste prendre des nouvelles. Tu as réfléchi à ce que tu allais porter pour l’avant première? La jupe africaine. Est-ce que je l’ai ramené du Ghana ? Dis lui de prendre une photo et de me l’envoyer. »

Ils passent quelques minutes à discuter de la projection organisé par Boseman pour 150 enfants de sa ville natale. « Ok, » dit-il. « Je dois aller à cette interview pour la Tv. » Il va pour raccrocher, mais sa mère l’arrête. « Je t’aime aussi, » conclut-il. « Bye. »

Son quartier scolaire était encore sous l’influence de la ségrégation quelques années avant sa naissance.

Boseman a grandi en Caroline du Sud, dans une petite ville appelée Anderson. Sa mère, Carolyn, était infirmière; son père, Leroy, travaillait dans une usine de textile et avait une affaire de tapisserie d’ameublement à côté. Ils vivent toujours là-bas.

Chad, comme on l’appelait (« Je ne sais toujours pas pourquoi ma mère a choisi Chadwick – c’est un nom étrange pour un noir »), était le plus jeune de trois enfants. Son frère, Kevin, est un danseur et chanteur qui a tourné dans une production du Roi Lion et a dansé dans la compagnie d’Alvin Ailey. Son grand frère, Derrick, est prêtre dans le Tennessee. « Je crois que c’est une église évangélique, Baptist, » Dit Boseman, l’air confus. « Je leur ai juste donné de l’argent mais je ne me souviens plus de ce que j’ai écris sur le chèque. »

Le racisme était une réalité de la vie. Son quartier scolaire était encore sous l’influence de la ségrégation quelques années avant sa naissance. « On me traitait de nègre, un redneck m’a pourchassé, genre, ‘va te faire foutre sale nègre’ – bien sûr, » dit-il. « J’ai vu des camions avec le drapeaux des Confédérés sur le chemin de l’école. Je ne dis pas que c’était quotidien – mais si quelqu’un connait le poids de la tradition aujourd’hui… »

À l’été 2015, deux semaines après qu’un suprémaciste blanc ait abattu neuf fidèles de l’église Emanuel AME à Charleston, en Caroline du Sud, Boseman se trouvait à Atlanta sur le tournage de Captain America: Civil War. Il est rentré expressément pour voir sa famille. « Mon cousin m’attrape et me dit, ‘Ne vas pas de ce côté là, parce qu’ils font une réunion du Klan sur le parking,’ » dit-il. « Donc ce n’est pas un truc du passé. »

Quand Boseman as eu le rôle de Black Panther, l’une des premières choses qu’il a fait était de demander à son père un test ADN. Il voulait en savoir plus sur ses racines. « AfricanAncestry.com, » dit-il. « Ils précisent de quel groupe ethnique vous venez, en opposition à un rattachement à une nation. » (Selon les résultats: Les Yoruba du Nigeria, les Limba et les Mende de Sierra Leone, et les Jola de Guinea Bissau.) Il dit aussi avoir retracé sa lignée Américaine aussi loin que possible. « Pour aller plus loin, » dit-il avec un sourire ironique, « Je devrais vérifier dans les dossiers de propriétés. »

L’année dernière, Trump donnait de la voix à la suprématie blanche… J’aimerais répondre à cette question mais je ne veux pas que la Panthère lui donne de son temps précieux

Boseman s’est largement inspiré des influences de sa vie réelle pour le rôle de T’Challa: Shaka Zulu et Patrice Lumumba, les discours de Mandela et les chansons de Fela Kuti. Il a lu des histoires sur les guerriers Masai et parlé à un Babalawo Yoruba, un prêtre d’ifa. Pour ses scènes de combat, il a expérimenté les arts martiaux africains – le Dambe, boxe traditionnelle du Nigeria, le combat de bâton du Zulu et la capoeira d’Angola. Il a aussi fait deux voyages en Afrique du Sud pour ses recherches. Dans les rues de Cape Town, un musicien lui donna un nom Xhosa: Mxolisi, soit le Pacificateur.

« Je pense que c’était sa façon de me dire, ‘qu’en tant qu’Afro-Américain, je sais que tu es déconnecté de tes ancêtres, de ta culture et de tes traditions,’ » dit Boseman. »’ Voici ma façon de te souhaiter la bienvenue chez toi.’ »

La chose la plus importante pour lui était l’accent. Dans le film, les Wakandans parlent essentiellement Xhosa, l’une des langues officielles d’Afrique du Sud, et quand un Wakandan parle Anglais, il le fait avec un accent Xhosa. « J’ai du appuyer pour ça, » dit Boseman. « Je sentais qu’il était impossible de faire ce film sans accent. Mais j’ai du convaincre (les studios) que l’on ne devait pas avoir peur de ça. Mon argument était de solliciter l’oreille du public dans les cinq premières minutes – en leur donnant des sous-titres et tout ce dont ils avaient besoin – et je pensais qu’ils suivraient tout autant que si nous avions un accent Irlandais ou Cockney. On n’arrête pas de suivre un film quand c’est le cas, » ajoute-il. « Pourquoi soudainement un accent Africain nous empêcherai de suivre ? »

Et puis, bien sur, il y avait Obama. Quand l’idée d’un film Black Panther a germé, un homme noir était président des États-Unis. « Je pense que son poste nous a ouvert les portes d’une certaine façon, » dit Boseman. Il a emprunté à Obama le concept du « leader qui ne répond pas aux critiques – le type de personne qui sait tenir sa langue et sa position. » Il ajoute que Coogle et lui ont beaucoup discuté sur le vibranium – le metal ultra précieux qui fournit au Wakanda sa richesse et ses prouesses technologiques – un genre d’arme nucléaire. « Donc c’est similaire, » dit-il. « De qui voudriez-vous recevoir un appel à trois heures du matin ? Je préférerais que cela soit de quelqu’un comme Obama ou T’Challa que…quelqu’un d’autre. »

Ce qui nous emmène à celui qui occupe le bureau ovale actuellement. Qu’est ce que Boseman pense que T’Challa – le monarque de génie trillionaire du royaume le plus sophistiqué d’Afrique – ferait du président Trump qui traite des nations Africaines de « pays de merde »?

Boseman – qui a déclaré l’année dernière que Trump « donnait de la voix à la suprématie blanche » – sourit aujourd’hui. « J’aimerais répondre à cette question », dit-il. « Mais je ne veux pas que la Panthère lui donne de son temps précieux. »

Josh Eells, traduit par Baptiste Manzinali

#Black Panther #Chadwick Boseman #la Panthère Noire #Ryan Coogler #T'Challa #Wakanda

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yespolkadotkitty · 3 years

Text

Long Way to Go

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2

Words: 1200 ~ Warnings: None, general audiences

Pairing: Ryan Brenner x OFC, Grace Lin

****

The bakery felt smaller with Ryan in it. Not that he was in any way bulky, but he dominated the space, even silent as he was, one hand wrapped around a now half-empty water bottle.

I tidied away the food that would keep, bagged up some to take home, and carried a box over to where Ryan sat.

He looked up, a question in his eyes. “What’s that?” His tone was soft, unassuming. His hair fell into his eyes, thick and a rich, dark brown, like the darkest roast of an expensive coffee.

“For you.”

He hefted the box, whistled. “It’s too much.”

“Please, take it. Besides, I’m not being entirely altruistic. You’d be saving me a journey on the bus, which will get my ass to my couch a full hour earlier.”

His gaze searched mine for a minute, and then he smiled shyly. “Well, all right then.”

I started to wipe down the tables, and saw Ryan stand up from the corner of my eye. “You got a mop?”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that.”

Mischief danced in his warm, dark gaze. “Just let me help you get your ass on the couch faster, okay? I wasn’t thirsty for the first time in days, thanks t’ you.”

“Okay.” I briefly toyed with inviting him to come sit on the couch, but thought better of it. I was too naive, too quick to offer my space to others, and all it had gotten me in the past was a broken heart. “Thanks, Ryan.”

“No problem.”

I got the mop out and between us we made quick work on the compact space. Ryan stood up after a final sweep of the left side, dragging his arm over his forehead, pushing his long bangs out of his eyes, and as only his side profile faced me, I let myself watch the push and play of muscles under his white tee.

Down, girl.

“All good?” He asked, leaning on the mop. His hair flopped back over his forehead and I curled my hand into a fist, to curb the urge to stroke the silky strands back into place.

“Yeah. Thankyou. Thanks so much. Where - where’ll you sleep tonight?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

“I got a friend, lives about a dozen bus stops from here.”

“Oh - okay. Good.”

“Reckon he’ll be pleased to share these with me.” He jerked his chin to the box of goodies. “Usually, I don’t bring him anything near as nice.”

He continued mopping without saying more.

All the men I’d known liked to run their mouths. Ryan didn’t seem to say much unless he had something to communicate. It was…. nice.

Outside, fingers of dusky pink had started to spread greedily across the sky, the blush bleeding into the sunset yellows and oranges.

It was beautiful.

“I’m thinkin’ it looks good. Need anything’ else done?” he drawled, softly, those big brown eyes inviting me to answer.

“Nah. Thank you, you’ve done so much.”

He smiled, a little, just the left corner of his mouth kicking up. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

I held his gaze. “No. You’re wrong about that. Most people are inherently selfish. You’re a kind man, Ryan-?”

“Brenner,” he said softly, and then he broke the eye contact and squeezed the mop out into the bucket. His biceps flexed as he worked, and the dripping of the water seemed very loud in the enclosed space. “Y’all be okay, now?”

My heart bumped. This man looked as if he had hardly anything to his name, but he asked if I would be okay.

“Yes. Thanks. But - maybe you’ll come back, tomorrow? It’s a Saturday, should be a good crowd, and a little cooler than today was.”

He smiled, a full one this time, and I felt the pull of the magnetic field of his charisma. He ducked his head in agreement, and stuffed his hat on. His hair, dark like melted chocolate, curled out from under the edges. It looked soft.

“I’d sure like that. Ma’am.”

******

I couldn’t sleep. It was too hot, and my tiny shoebox of a studio apartment, just a cupboard, really, didn’t ventilate well. I got up and I pushed the window open a bit further. This high up, the noise from the street was muted. I leaned out and watched the people go about their business. It was after midnight, but New York really was the city that never slept.

I wondered about Ryan. Whether he reached his friend’s house. If he was asleep right now. If he dreamed of playing music, if he tapped out rhythm even in his slumber.

Eventually, after I watched a lone busker playing with his big, grey dog, I was tired enough to try and sleep. I switched off the crappy desk fan I’d bought from a street hawker and lay down, gazing at the ceiling.

This little hovel might not be much, and it was mine, and I was so happy to be able to say that.

******

I was up early the next morning. Although it was Saturday, New York was always bustling, and I wanted to catch the breakfast crowd as well as the brunch one. When I arrived at the bakery, fresh off the bus, Ryan was leaning against the big oak tree, guitar in hand. He smiled slowly when he saw me, and it was like seeing a sunrise - the full force of his beauty didn’t hit me right away.

“Mornin’.”

I opened up the front door. I’d finally learned which key fit in each of the three locks. They looked nearly identical. “Morning! You’re an early bird?”

“Yes ma’am. Always have been.” His voice was a little scratchy, huskier than usual, and it made something stir inside me.

I hesitated in the doorway. “Do you… want some coffee? I wanted to get a jump on the day, so I didn’t have any at home.”

Ryan’s shoulders moved as he considered this. “Sure. If it’s okay with you.”

I felt him move behind me, close, but not close enough to crowd me, and I breathed him in, early morning air, the kiss of mint toothpaste and the faint ghost of cigarette smoke, and for a moment, I really wanted to feel his mouth on my neck.

And then the fantasy passed, and we walked into my shop.

**********

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed): @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @suchatinyinfinity @jwupanda-blog @agirllovespancakes @thatpurplebadger @fivequartersoftheorange @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @hxrgreeves

#ryan brenner #jackie x ryan au #jackie x ryan fic #ben barnes character fanfiction #original female character of colour

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chezzkaa · 5 years

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2100+

Date posted: 18 Nov 2018

Megan Pottsman Missing 17/12/2015 - Found 22/12/2015 Body, female. 10 yo. Found 500 meters past tree line. Blunt force trauma. Lacerations across torso, shoulders, base of skull. Clear Bear Attack. No labs required.

SCRIPT

Interview with Mathew. D. Pottsman (Father) Interviewer: Officer G. Sorola Supervisor: Det. Insp. M. Hullum 17/12/2015 03:37am

Sorola: Hello, Mr. Pottsman, I’m Officer Sorola. I’m going to ask you some questions relating to your daughter’s disappearance. Please remember that you will need to tell us everything so that we can do our jobs.

Pottsman: Yeah, okay. I can do that.

Sorola: And you’re alright with being recorded?

Pottsman: Yes.

Sorola: Then lets get started. Mr. Pottsman, when was the last time you saw Megan?

Pottsman: Probably at dinner the night she went missin’. I made her favourite, and she wanted to watch TV. I went to do some reading and left her watching some cartoon show.

Sorola: Is that all?

Pottsman: I heard her.

Sorola: Pardon?

Pottsman: I heard her. There was a knock on the door and she answered it. I heard her tell me she was going out, and that’s the last of it. Told her to come back before the snow got too bad. When the street lamps came on. But she… she didn’t.

Sorola: Any ideas as to which of her friends it was?

Pottsman: … no.

Sorola: No?

Pottsman: That’s what I said. I don’t know which friend it was.

Sorola: So, please let me know if I’ve somehow misunderstood you. You let your 10 year old daughter leave the house with someone you assume to have been a friend, of who you don’t know, in the middle of a brewing snow storm? And, more importantly,you made no effort to check on your daughter and her friend for yourself.

Pottsman: No, no now you’re making it sound like I wanted her to leave. Like I don’t love my daughter!

Sorola: I haven’t said anything of the sort.

Pottsman: You don’t have too! You’re sat right in front of me acting all high and mighty. You know what? It’s my fault. There, I said it. It’s all my fault. I was a shitty dad and now my daughter is missing. If Megan doesn’t come back I’m going to be the one that’s killed her. Not whoever took her, not the weather. Not some wild animal. Me, cus I couldn’t bring myself to be a good dad.

Sorola: Mr. Pottsman, please. No one here is accusing you of anything. Right now this is a missing persons case and we’re doing everything we can to locate your daughter. That includes interviewing everyone that came into contact with her before the incident. The person who you claim to have knocked on the door is a prime suspect, and possibly the last person to have seen Megan. Is she likely to have left with an adult?

Pottsman: I don’t think so. She understood stranger danger.

Sorola: What about an adult she recognised?

Pottsman: Listen here, officer. Everyone in this town knows everyone. We’re friends with every family here cus we all go to that damn community garden thing. Megan gets along with all of them, even that new carpenter down the street. She baked him some cookies cus she was worried he wouldn’t have any friends, ha, she told him to go to the garden cus she though he’d get along with the large guy. What’s his name? Jack? He was over the freakin’ moon when he fixed up our neighbours house and she brought them out with a little card she’d made.

Sorola: New carpenter? Are you talking about Haywood?

Pottsman: Hmm? Yeah, him. Stand up bloke. You don’t think it was him, do you? Oh god, Megan told him to hang around with the other kids.

Sorola: No, we don’t believe he is involved. His alibi is airtight. He is accounted for outside his home at the time Megan disappeared. We currently have no suspects, which is why we’re talking to you.

Pottsman: So you do think I did it!

Sorola: Please, we’ve been over this.

Pottsman: I - I… okay. No, okay. I’m sorry. My nerves are just - it’s been a long few hours. I’ve smoked a pack. A whole pack, can you believe it? I haven’t smoked in years, and now I can’t sit still without something between my damn fingers.

Sorola: It’s perfectly normal to revert into old habits when you’re nervous.

Pottsman: Nervous? No, no the claw marks on my neighbour’s porch that’ve now turned up on mine make me nervous. The snow and that bleedin’ livestock massacre that’s going on either side of my home makes me nervous. But my daughter being missing? I’m fucking terrified. I’m so scared I can’t see straight. I just - I can’t. Everytime I close my eyes I can hear that damn knocking. I should have gotten the door. Jumped that fucking railing so Meg didn’t have to open it. It should’ve been me. Oh god, it should’ve been me.

“Hey Michael,” you call over your shoulder, fanning out the photos of the tiny body covered in blood and curled in the snow. “I think I’ve found another one.”

His head pops up over the stack of files he’s working through, eyes encased in growing bags. Sat cross legged in the evidence locker, he’d long since abandoned the confines of a desk. “What’s the date?”

“She was found on the 17th of December in 2015.”

He whistles, glancing down to the timeline at his feet and following the numbers with his finger. “Got it! Gimme a name.”

“Megan Pottsman,” you read off, peering at a shot of her on a medical table. Body bloated, skin crossed with blues and bruises.

“She’s an early one.”

“She’s the 3rd we’ve found in 2015,” you murmur, bringing the photo you hold closer. “Happened before Jeremy moved here, too. He arrived in 2016, I think? This victim was put down as a bear attack.”

Michael perks up, shuffling over to you and sifting through the file. He stops on one of the same set of photos you’re trying to make sense of, lost in the line carving across skin. “Doesn’t look like a bear.”

“Bears rarely attack people, too,” you add. “Get this: her dad said in an interview that she went out with someone that knocked on the door. He thought it was a friend, and look at the lacerations. They’re not quite like the ones on the victims we’ve got, by they’re a damn lot closer to the markings on entryways of Pottsman’s home and the neighbours.”

“You’re right!” Michael exclaims, “this is the third body with similar markings. And his testimony puts the knocking and the scratches in the same timeframe as the missing person.”

“Is there a photo of her from behind?” you ask, rifling through the contents, urged on by the burn smouldering at the base of your skull. Irritation thick around your throat. It takes a moment for you to find, but eventually the gloss of the image you’re searching for sticks to your fingers.

“Here,” says Michael, plucking the picture from your hand and lining it up with the other 2 photos of the 2015 victims, all presenting their necks.

Drawing closer it gets harder to breathe. With an uncomfortable constricting sensation that tightens your throat - of which you blatantly try to ignore - you take in the wounds. It’s not hard to recognise them anymore. The tell tale signs are obvious after having witnessed them so many times. The slightly blacked curl of the incision located at the base of the skull. The raw irritation circling the neck. Sure, their skulls hadn’t been removed like the later victims, but they matched the earliest cases you had, clumsy as the wounds may be.

“This is fantastic. That ties our killer to the body!”

Michael doesn’t even question you with a funny look, equally excited. “Perfect in the worst possible way, but absolutely awesome. We’ve finally got an undeniable link between the Widow ghost story knocking bullshit and the killer. Meaning analysing the scratches on doorways and comparing them to the body lacerations will help with determining the murder weapon!”

You’re nodding, compiling the evidence into a seperate box and pointing to Michael with a determined finger. “You got Jackie’s number?”

He rockets into standing. “You bet your ass I do!”

“Then call her, damn it. With this information she’ll be able to confirm the correlation between the new victims and the scratches, prove that we should be looking into the possibility of a copycat killer for the Widow of the Woods. We’ll finally prove to Jeremy that he’s a fucking idiot for not listening! We can do this.”

“We can fucking do this!”

“I’m absolutely exhausted! I’m going home.”

“Me too!”

“Nope,” you reject, beaming at him and handing over the box, “you’re going to face the beast.”

“How dare you call Jackie a beast?”

“Jackie? Hell no. I’m talking about Jeremy. You can tell him he’s wrong, I value my life.”

The walk home is everything you could have asked for. Cold enough for the wind to nip at the skin lining your cheeks, to gnaw on your nose until it’s red raw; but warm enough in the burrow of your clothing. And isolated enough to gather your thoughts into something you can almost excuse for a pile.

Because as the snow starts to dance, the streets clear. Families giggling with eager children into shelter, doors closing with audible snaps and warm orange light flooding from the windows. Even the distant figure of Ryan, of who you raise a hand to wave to as he sits stagnant on his front porch watching the white caught on the wind, stands to head inside. You don’t blame him. Continuing past until the store disappears behind you.

It’s quiet, which is nice. A welcome change to the mayhem that’s been inhabiting your mind so frequently. Chaos causing havoc and a constant stream of uncontrollable chatter. Hands buried deep in your pockets, it’s with every turn of your charmed stones that you realise just why it’s been so loud inside you head. Why you haven’t tried to instate some silence.

Because, if you had, you’d remember her.

Which, honestly, isn’t ideal with an open serial homicide case running rampant through your priorities.

And again, now that you’ve mentioned honesty to yourself, you can’t avoid the reason why you’re so frustrated with Jeremy. Why you want to take him by the shoulders and shake, desperate to hear the rattle of common sense. Of a failure you’ve both shared, and the experience you seem to have taken away while he’s remained as stubborn as ever. If he keeps going the way he is, refusing to explore a potential lead because it seems implausible, or silly, or pointless, someone else is going to die.

The crunching of snow beneath your boots works wonders, sound enough to ease the panic bubbling just below the surface. Every few steps draws in a deep, freezing breathe. Calm with every recount of ‘left foot, right foot, repeat’. Doused in the glow of happy homes and flanked by snow banks, it all starts to make sense. There’s an uncomfortably misplaced relief at the prospect of connecting the things you knew to be related all along, the links between the scratches, knocking, and missing children now so solid that people can’t ignore it.

So solid that you can’t question your sanity anymore, because the evidence is clear as day. Paranormal or otherwise. The Widow of the Woods, or the story at least, had a role to play. Of that you were sure.

The lodge comes into view after a few more minutes of quiet walking, nothing but the wind accompanying its breech above the snow. Through the windows comes the compassionate glow of Lauren’s summertime; of warmth and comfort and family as she spins in Trevor’s arms, the pair laughing and dancing in the firelight. The hum of music trembling into the snow. Wrapped in the intoxication of togetherness, of the overwhelming love they have for one another - that same love that greets you at the door as you ease off your shoes and unravel from your layers.

But you don’t bother them, not yet, anyway. Instead watching them claim the living room as a dancefloor, Lauren’s sunshine caught in Trevor’s gaze that looks as though he can’t thank the stars enough for the beauty he holds in his hands. Can’t tell the woman with shining cheeks and a smile that brightens the room just how wonderful she is. How she glows whenever he so much as throws her a glance, or fractures into rays of gold when he smiles. Her happiness so warm and inviting that it throbs around her body, casting those she loves in her own light. And as he looks at her now, it’s like words won’t be enough.

That nothing will be, which is why he’ll never stop trying.

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chezzkaa · 6 years

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 1600+

Date posted: 4 Nov 2018

“You guys gonna be alright finding your own way home?”

Lauren makes a noise on the other end of the phone, offended that you’d question her lacking sense of direction and desire for adventure. “Of course we will. If not, I know where the pub is.”

“At least you won’t starve out in the wilderness.”

“Excuse me?” Lauren laughs, the sound of snow crunching underfoot soft beneath her teasing. “Have you actually seen this place? There’s a bakery or coffee shop on every corner. I’m going to eat myself sick.”

“I have noticed, and it’s glorious. Oh, before I forget.” Your foot hits the cobblestone lining the town centre, gaze barely managing to focus on the three figures you assume to be your friends going the opposite direction of home. Lifting a hand, you wave. “Look to your right - no, other right. Hey. Hey, it’s me. So, tomorrow night I’m thinking of having Ryan over for dinner, if that’s all good by you guys?”

“Hold up a minute, bitch. Is this why you’re fucking glowing?”

“Glowing?”

Lauren gasps, loud enough for you to hear her across the expanse of the town. She jabs an accusatory finger at you, and you can almost see her glaring. “You’re lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, Y/N. The only reason for you being so happy-”

“- because I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“- is because something’s happened between you and lover lumberjack! Talk, right now. Or I’m jogging over there.”

You take a step back, testing the distant yellow figure. “You wouldn’t run.”

“You wanna go?”

Despite her threats, Lauren hadn’t pursued you further than the fountain. Trevor had managed to swoop in and stop the yelling, lifting her in his arms until her shouting redirects to him. He’d implored that you keep running, that he’d sacrifice himself for your life, and you’d taken him on it. Jogging most of the way to the police station until the laughter had faded and your lungs burn, throat raw with fresh air and giggles.

“Are you dying?” Michael’s voice makes you jump, whirling on him halfway through the station entrance with a tray of coffee cups. “Cus if not, I could use a hand holding this fucking thing open.”

“I mean, dying is a little extreme,” you manage, taking the stairs slowly and wedging the door open around him. “But you know, exercise will do that to you.”

“That’s why I don’t run anywhere,” he chuckles, “it’s not worth the pain.”

“You’re right,” you insist, thankful for the ache of your body as the artificial warmth of the room washes over. “I’m never running again. Ever.”

“Y/N,” exclaims another voice from behind the reception desk, Jeremy moving around the woman stood beside him, “what’re you doing here? I thought you were taking the day off cus of your friends moving in.”

“I’ll end up picking them up from the tavern later on tonight, so I’ve got some time to kill.”

He smiles, taking you by the elbow and bringing you over. “In that case, let me introduce you to Jackie Butler from forensics. She’s been our go to girl with the Lumberjack of Motbury. Jackie, this is Y/N.”

The woman smiles, a beautiful expression that peels across elegant features. Bright hazel eyes sparkle behind thick lashes, face framed with sheets of chestnut hair. She offers a delicate but firm handshake, confident. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Jeremy was just telling me how you’ve rendered my job useless.” She laughs musically. “About time. I need a break. Bodies get a bit much, they don’t really hold a juicy conversation. Juicy everything else, but not conversation.”

“Okay, ew.” Jeremy wrinkles his nose, but Jackie rolls her eyes.

“Jackie comes down from the lab every now and again,” Michael continues, handing out the coffees, giving you the cup holder for the lack of anything else to offer. “We’ve been thinking about getting a full time forensics expert in now that the case is moving again.”

“That’s a great idea,” you agree, “is there anything new?”

“Eeehhh... C’mon follow me, we’ll head through and I’ll show you what I’ve got. I ordered pizza, so it won’t take long. I’m starving.”

You’re already pulling your phone out as their backs turn, fingers flying frantically across the keyboard while you follow them down the hall.

Y/N: Fredo, get to the police station.

Alfredo: Why? U good?

Y/N: Now.

Alfredo: You’re not making me less panicky

Alfredo: Cus now I’m panicking.

Alfredo: Cus you’re being weird.

Y/N: Can’t explain, about to go into a meeting. Just trust me. CUTE GURRRLLL.

“Hey Y/N, you alright back there?”

“Hmm?”

Jeremy raises and eyebrow, glancing at your phone. You quickly stash it away, smiling innocently when stepping back into the room he’s holding the door open too. The whiteboard inside is covered in images. Photographs of victims accompanied by trauma patterns of an array of weapon types, close ups on skull structures and significant wounds, and lists upon lists of dot points. Jackie adds some notes here and there while Michael takes a seat, the door closing with a soft click before Jeremy slips past and starts unloading the boxes tucked beneath the closest desk.

“We’ve compiled all of the files related to the case - which is a lot of paperwork, I wanna put that out there - and this is everything.” Jeremy shuffles the final box onto the table, taking off the lid. “This was the first victim, Jemma Perkins. She and number 2,” he points to another stack of files, “James Williams, were found with their skulls. After that none of the others were recovered.”

“Jeremy told me about your theory, Y/N,” continues Jackie, clicking the lid back on her pen, “about combining number 1 and 2 with the injuries experienced by the livestock, and we came to the same conclusion you did.” Jackie circles one of the images on the board with her finger. “We don’t have any of the skulls from the livestock, but we do have pictures. So we did a number of tests and confirmed your suspicions, based on what we had. It’d have to be a relatively heavy object, something big enough to cave in bone.”

You nod along with her words, standing before the board and taking in the wounds. “What about the lacerations, any ideas?”

Jackie shakes her head. “Nada. We haven’t been able to figure out what’d make that kind of pattern, let alone split skin like that.”

You pull a face. “It looks a lot like the grooves on the houses.”

Jeremy makes a displeased sound that rattles at the back of his throat. “So you’re saying we should look at the shape of animal claws to determine the weapon?”

It takes you a moment, but you eventually give the idea some credit. “I wasn’t thinking that, but it certainly might help. Could be a customised weapon.”

Michael sits up in his seat, leaning across the bench. “You’re thinking that we should track the marks, figure out when they started and compare it to the murders?”

“Yeah. We already know that the knocking and all of this started at around the same time, but we haven’t actually tied the damage to it. People have been saying all sorts.”

“Animals?” Jackie inquires curiously, perching on the end of a table. “I saw them on my way in. They look like bear claws or something out of a horror movie.”

“We’ve already determined that the killer is a human being,” Jeremy dismisses, waving a hand. “So I think It’d be safe to assume that the knocking was a person that drew an animal in.”

“But what if they’re connected further than that?” you push, Michael nodding by your side. “I can’t see an animal rocking up just in time for the person to leave every single time. Wouldn’t they go after the food that’s walking around, and not locked in a house box?”

Jeremy doesn’t respond immediately. “Animals aren’t smart. I honestly don’t think that animal marks are related-”

“I think it’s worth investigating,” interjects Jackie firmly, “just to rule it out.”

“There’s nothing to rule out.”

“Why won’t you at least try?” She’s growing frustrated, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

Jeremy fumes quietly, Michael taking over with a cheeky grin. “It’s because all the damn looneys in the town think the marks on their doors are from the Widow of the Woods.”

“Widow of the Woods?”

“It’s a local ghost story,” you explain, wringing your hands. “Jeremy is very against acknowledging that it could play a role in all this.”

“Because it can’t play a role! Ghosts aren’t real.”

“But copycats are,” you interject, “besides. We’re not going to go ghost hunting. We’ll be tracking the markings and applying it to the victims timeline. You don’t even have to think about Turner.”

Jeremy’s eyes narrow, curious but too confronted for pleasantries. “Turner?”

“Moira Turner. Badass, the first leader of Motbury, witch hunt victim that disappeared and searches for her lost son-”

“I don’t care, Y/N. I really couldn’t give a crap about the stupid story, or the people who believe it. Look. Whoever’s been telling you that this ghost story has any truth in it is crazy. We work with facts, not scary stories.”

“How are we supposed to work with facts if you refuse to let us find any? As detectives we investigate every lead, no matter how crazy it is.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Y/N, you’re not a detective!”

“I wish you’d realised that sooner, rather than forcing this fucking case on me!”

“Okay.” Michael scampers to his feet, putting himself between his friends as a form of crowd control. “How about this? Y/N and me will check out the marks, while Jeremy prepares an ‘I told you so’ speech. Yeah?”

“I like it,” you confirm curtly, gathering your things. “C’mon, Michael, let’s go do our jobs.”

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chezzkaa · 6 years

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2800+

Date posted: 11 Nov 2018

The first thing that smacks against your chest isn’t the expected fever throbbing from the heaters clamped right the way through the waiting room and reception - it’s Alfredo. He stands as soon as he sees you coming, fracturing away from the group huddled in a collection of chairs and playing with children’s toys to pass the time, and launching towards you with worry set in his expression. It nearly knocks you off balance, fumbling until he snatches you from the fall. Warm hands on the small of your back, his nerves pooling by your boots.

“Hey,” he squeaks, hands leading you back to your feet, “sorry bout that. Definitely your fault.”

“My fault?” you repeat, poking him in the chest. “How is this my fault, Fredo?”

“Cus you made it sound like you were dying.” He drags out the final world, holding it heavy in his hands. “I was worried sick, man.”

Your eyebrow quirks, but heart warms all the same. Patting his cheek, you pull away with his worries in your palm, Alfredo finding it far easier to settle. “You’re so dramatic.”

“But - but you, ugh. Fine. FINE.” He shuffles with relief, following your lead to unclog the doorway so the others can exit.

Unsurprisingly, Detective Dooley doesn’t emerge. Michael, however, throws you a filthy look around motioning for Jackie to go ahead of him. Once he’s out of the way you can see Lauren perching on a chair beside Trevor, both content in their conversation. A exuberant hand gesture here, a peel of laughter there - until Lauren spots you. With a smile that shows just how desperate she is for information, she stands, practically skipping over while Trevor groans to his feet.

Alfredo ignores them. “Why’d you go and freak me out like that? Huh? What did you need me here for?”

You take his elbow, leading him over to the reception desk where Michael and Jackie stand locked in paperwork and the scratching of pens over chatter. Alfredo gets harder to move the closer he gets, mouth hanging open until you remind him to shut it.

Michael looks up, smiling and pushing the file away. “Thanks for not leaving without me, asshole. I’ll be ready to go in a few.”

“No worries,” you wave, motioning to your friends. “I actually wanted to introduce you to my roommates. This is Lauren and her boyfriend, Trevor. Cutest couple you’ll ever meet.” Pushing Alfredo forward, he stammers a little when Jackie turns her gaze to him with a delicate smile. “And this is Alfredo, who is single. Very single.”

“Very single? How dare-” he argues, offended before realising it’s best to agree. “I mean, yup. That me dawg. Very single. Super single. Super nervous and single. Super ready to run outta dis room and never come back single-”

“Jackie,” she introduces, holding out a hand to Alfredo, who stares at it before realising he should actually participate in the interaction. “Jackie Butler. Also relatively single.”

“Relatively?” Alfredo pries, the blush blazing in his cheeks making you squint. Lauren throws Trevor a knowing glance, Michael scrutinising the man with narrow eyes and a cheeky smile creeping onto his face. “How relatively is relatively?”

“I’m married to my work,” Jackie shrugs, “but we’re in a pretty open relationship. Besides, It’s kinda hard to hold a conversation with dead people.”

Michael leans across to her, elbow finding her side. “Hey, you’ve already used that joke.”

She’s affronted, nose wrinkling. “I can reuse jokes.”

“I won’t remember them anyway,” Alfredo insists somewhat helpfully, “I won’t remember anything as soon as I walk outta that door.”

“Not even my name?”

His eyes widen, scrambling. “I, err - no, no that’s not what I mean. I’ll-”

Jackie laughs, placing a hand on his arm to stop his stammering. “Don’t worry, I’m picking on you. Hey, I know how you can remember my name.” He squeaks something that sounds close to a question, Trevor’s laughter rubbing against his side. Jackie smiles one more brilliant beam, scribbling on a piece of paper and handing it over before repositioning her bag and heading towards the door. “Take me out sometime, yeah?”

“Yeah… Yeah, no I will. I’ll take you out so good.”

“Too much,” you murmur, watching him stare after the woman stepping into the snow. “Remember to breathe.”

“Breathe, right.” Alfredo shakes himself. “I don’t know how to do that. Oh my god. What if I never remember how to breathe?”

Michael laughs, turning back to the reception desk and collecting a packed notepad. “Dude, you’re gonna have to learn if you wanna take out Jackie more than once.”

“Wouldn’t dying on the first date actually be something she’d enjoy?” Michael looks at you, considering the idea. Alfredo, Trevor and Lauren, however, are less appreciative. Your eyes narrow. “What? She’s a forensic science technician. Don’t judge me.”

Lauren shakes her head. “Oh, I’m judging you.”

“Stop.”

“Nope, you’re being judged.”

“Well, judge me in the car,” you offer, “because I’m taking you to the library while Trevor teaches Alfredo how to breathe again.”

Her face falls disingenuously, bottom lip jutting out. “Oh c’mon, the tavern is calling my name, Y/N.”

“I’m married to the owner,” pries Michael, leading the way towards the exit, “I’ll get the first few rounds free if you help out.”

“Consider me in.”

“You didn’t really have a choice,” you admit.

“Let me at least pretend I have free will, would you?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Michael lets out a monumental groan, head tossed back and sliding in his seat. Though no one dares shush a detective, you can tell that everyone in the library wants too. Frustration crawls over the shelves packed with books, burrowing into the carpet and between seat cushions. Glares thrown out the corner of eyes bounce against your back and collide with the young man who, honestly, doesn’t care anymore. Buried beneath a pile of paper that he’d determined to be useless, Michael can’t hold in his disappointment. “This is useless,” he denounces, “we aren’t getting anywhere with all this shit.”

You smile tentatively, voice far lower than his. “It could be worse.”

His eyes narrow. “All I can see are scratches every time I fucking blink. I’ll be dreaming about them for the rest of my damn life.”

“Okay, maybe it couldn’t be.” You rap your pen on the counter, jittery and closed off by a scattering of thick files and paperwork. “But we’re getting somewhere. We’ve come up with a fair amount. We know there’s a connection for sure now, we just gotta find it.”

Lauren nods in agreement, still not looking up from the paper she’s glued herself too. Scanning the sentences like the answer will jump out at her at any minute. “We’ve got a lot more than when we started.”

He pulls a face. “We’ve got a shitty timeline.”

“Shitty?” Lauren glares, leaning across the table with an accusatory finger. “That’s a great timeline.”

He shakes his head. “It’s only got 2 colours, and not nearly enough pictures.”

“This isn’t a school project.”

“Thank fuck, cus if it was we’d fail.”

His volume rises, and with it comes the disapproving expression of the librarian. Before Lauren can lash back you place a commanding hand on her forearm, using your energy to force her frustration back down to a simmer rather than a boil. Once you’ve got her emotion under control - which, honestly you shouldn’t have taken charge over in the first place, but you’re far too exhausted to spare time to bickering when there’s work to do - you glance between the pair. “C’mon, the room across the way is free. We’ll take our shit and talk in there.”

“Good,” she says, settled but still trying to hide a smile in a scowl, “cus I got a lot to say to this asshole.”

“I could arrest you,” Michael threatens, shifting into standing and filling his arms with paperwork. “Could put you away for life.”

“Do it,” Lauren challenges, gathering up as much as she can and throwing him a pleading expression. “Please. Anything is better than dealing with you.”

He gasps theatrically, loud enough for heads to turn.

You pick up the pace, shifting photocopied paperwork into an evidence box, snapping on the lid. “Nope, that’s it. We’re leaving. Now. Both of you.”

“Wait, but what about the room?” Lauren asks, Michael nodding feverishly by her side. Both drop the facade of arguing, arms loaded and balance struggling to keep everything together.

“I don’t think there’s much more we can do here. If we go to the station we might be able to match cases to the scratches timeline we’ve made. Maybe there are some murders we’ve missed that should actually be involved?”

“That’s… actually a good idea. Fuck.” Michael sighs, “Damn it, Y/N. Why are you so good at this?”

“Just doing my job. Now let’s go before we’re kicked out.” Grumbles follow, two shuffling their feet in the general direction of the exit. Michael makes it there first, fast enough to be out of ear shot when you catch Lauren by the elbow. “Hey.”

“Hey, you know we’re not actually fighting, right?”

“What? Of course I know that.”

“Then why’d you go and play about with my feelings?”

She’s not offended, but guilt wallows in your chest. “I’m sorry, I’m just so exhausted and overwhelmed and I just - ugh. I kinda needed something to control? I’m really sorry, but that’s not why I’m talking to you. I actually had something I wanted you to look at, if that’s alright?”

Lauren nods, happier. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just messing. I really don’t care. But sure, what’s up?”

“Well, I was thinking we should see if we can check out any books on Moira Turner.”

“By we, you mean that I should do it while you’re doing police work?”

It’s your turn to nod. “Pretty much. I think they’ve forgotten I’m not a real detective so I’m going to get as much done as possible. Besides, I honestly think that looking into the Widow of the Woods is a beneficial idea. You and I both know that what we saw wasn’t a bear, and I just want to be sure. Ryan said they had some of her journals here. So if we pick them up, along with any material we can find on the ghost story, we might be able to match them to the markings.”

“Or debunk them.”

“Exactly. If someone is pretending to be the Widow, or at least copying the stories, it’d be good to know what they’re actually basing their methods off. We might be able to get one step ahead of them.”

Lauren drums her fingers against the files she’s holding, glancing over to the librarian - who seems relieved that Michael is now safely locked outside. “The more we know about Turner, the more we know about the killer.”

“If the killer is a copycat.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.” Her eyes return to you, expression faltering a little. “And if there is actually a relation between the 2, what does that mean?”

“Means I’m going to have to have words with Jeremy about looking into the possibility. He can’t deny facts, but we’ll have to know for sure.”

“Okay. I’ll drop these off at the car and start searching the shelves for everything I can find. I’ll bring it all home and we can look at it all tonight. You got a library card?”

You pull a disgusted face. “No.”

“Oh god, this is going to take forever.”

The office you’d claimed as your own remains untouched, photos still plastered to the walls and notes stuck wherever a blank space can be found. Bodies and their wounds are lined up chronologically, the main points in their files blaring for all to see. But ignoring them is easy, making your way to the desk with Michael in tow. Placing the box of files down - now arranged properly - you waste no time in pulling out the timeline Lauren has created and spreading it across the table.

“So,” you start, staring at the numbers, “should we go over what we already know?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Michael affirms with a groan and stretch, “get us back into the zone.”

You nod. “Okay. What we currently know about the timeline is that the victims, the markings, and storms line up. A child goes missing almost every time the weather gets bad, and with the bad weather we start finding the scratches.”

“And the knocking,” Michael adds. “Every report of someone knocking during a storm matches with the scratches. Which, coincidentally - but not really a coincidence hopefully - all share similarities with our local ghost story. So, copycat.”

“Maybe copycat, yeah. Problem is, we can’t determine whether the scratches are man made or an animal. Man made will strengthen our theory but animal will give Jeremy the right to call us idiots.”

Michael’s face contorts. “We’re gonna have to wait for Jackie on that one. She’s going through the claw marks as we speak.”

“Right, well.” You wait a beat, trying to decide the best course of action to further the investigation. “I guess - err, well I guess we’ll have to assume that they’re connected until proven otherwise?”

Michael runs a hand over his face, squishing his features. “That’s our best bet. The pattern is too perfect for it to be an animal turning up every damn time. Too close to the Widow story, too.”

“I agree. No way the sound of knocking could travel far enough to draw anything in. Good. We’ve got a lead that I really hope Jackie won’t shoot down.”

“Cool. Whoever is knocking is also the one most likely causing property damage. And the townsfolk seem to think the Widow is still looking for her kid, which is why she’s taking the others. But killing them doesn’t make sense,” Michael continues, glancing to the wall of bodies and back down to the timeline. “And we can’t confirm a ghost story, but it might work as a cover for the killer. We’ve got some superstitious fucks living here, and it’d throw people off the scent of a murdering bastard. I reckon it’s possible that this fucker is hiding behind the Widow to keep from getting caught. But... we don’t have any real physical evidence that connects our murderer to the knocking Widow thing.”

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck to try and ease the burning you’ve almost become used too. “You’re right. We can say that they’re related all we want but if we don’t have anything that proves it, it won’t matter.”

“And the lab has given us nothing new.” Michael throws his arms up, starting to pace. Running ruts in the floor. “There’s gotta be something,” he groans, “anything! All we need is something that’s similar to the scratches, so we can either match them or throw the theory out. But what-” He stops dead, anxious movements frozen as he faces the wall of photos. Silence for a few beats, long enough for you to haul your body towards him. “What about the marks on the bodies?”

“Jackie already said that she couldn’t find anything definitive.”

He holds up a hand, turning to you with an excited expression. “But what if we’re missing the one body that matches the scratches?”

“So we’re trying to apply the marks to the wrong body?”

Pulling out a pen, he makes small notes across the timeline, jotting down when each murder occured. “Yes! Look: each of the victims was taken on the same day a storm happened. Without fail. But here, and here,” he circles a few dates, “it’s a break in the pattern.”

“A break that doesn’t have any logical reason,” you murmur, “that doesn’t make any sense. If we’ve got a kid going missing every storm, why are these ones free?”

Michael snaps the lid back on his pen, taking you by the shoulders. “What if they’re not free?”

“What… oh my god.”

“What if we’ve just missed them? What if they were already ‘solved’ before we noticed the pattern, and we just forgot about them cus they weren’t relevant to the Lumberjack anymore?”

You’re pulling away before he finishes talking, large bounds seeing you at the door and yanking it open. Heels squeaking across lino flooring, the odd officer throwing curious glances out of their respective offices, members inhabiting the bullpen keeping out of your way. Michael’s hot on your heels, grin still plastered to his face.

“If we’ve got some floating cases that we can tie to the Lumberjack of Motbury,” you state, barrelling into the evidence locker and scanning the shelves, “then we might find a body that matches the marks. We’ll have a lead on a copycat.”

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