okay, there must be some people out there that want to relive the good old omegle rp days.
keen for text or paragraph prompts. I play Sebastian Moran and Alex Moran mostly, but up for anyone.
send me a message and we can chat! I can give you some examples that prove I'm mostly literate.
18+ please (although we all must be getting old if we were into Sherlock during its peak and on omegle, but anyone welcome!). preferring email, but will discuss anything.
OPEN RP (LOOKING FOR A LONG TERM EMAIL RP PARTNER)
Victoria (18) was shy and she couldn't remember why she had agreed to go to a huge ridiculous university party with one of her friends. She knew there would be drinking but she wanted friends, it was getting lonely just sitting in her dorm and she was only one semester into uni. Victoria found herself at a game of spin the bottle. She sat the farthest away from the start but finally it was her turn. She spun the bottle and chewed her lip as it spun. The bottle slowed to a stop and she looked up at who it landed on and found herself face to face with a cocky Alex Moran. ((Alex can be whatever gender. I will also accept an Adler or Lestrade character as well! Looking for a more cocky badboy/girl vibe but am up for whatever! Let me know if you’re interested. Message me if you're interested/ interested in a long-term rp with these characters but a different plot!))
Hello Pasi! I really enjoyed reading Progeny (more people should read it in my humble opinion) and would love a backstory on the relationship of Alex's parents. So this is my prompt Alex's Mother + Jim , the last time they spoke to each other. P.S. I love your writing so much!
“Oh,” she says. “It’s you.”
Which is, of course, a massive understatement. Jim sitting on herthreadbare sofa like he’s been doing nothing else for years is right on thelevel of the Berlin Wall falling in terms of historical relevance. He shouldn’tbe here. He shouldn’t even be in the fucking country. He definitelyshouldn’t be in her life.
But she’s damned if she’ll let him see her shock.
“Pretty sure you shouldn’t be workin’ in your condition,” he says, eyesdropping briefly to her belly.
“Pretty sure that’s none of your damn business.” She locks the doorbehind her, then kicks off her shoes and takes off her coat, deliberatelyturning her back to him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’d say it’s my business too, Caitlin. For fifty percent, at least.”
“Oh, so you’re acknowledging her, then?” she says sharply.
“Her?”
She turns. Jim’s face, usually so unreadable, now shows something likeshock.
“It’s a girl?” he asks, softly.
“It’s a person.” She pads into the living room, one hand supporting herbelly. “Just got hit in the face by that, didn’t ya?” she sneers at him.“This thing growing in me isn’t just some idea, some plan, Jim. It’s a person,who’s going to have thoughts and dreams and fantasies of her own and I’ll be damned if I let you influence her. Sokindly fuck off.”
“You think I’d let you do that?” he asks, a dangerous glint in his eyes.“You think I’m steppin’ away from her, just like that?”
“Just like your da?”
He winces, then sends her a dark look. “Low blow, my love.”
“They have to be, to hit you.” She sits down heavily. “Well, as you’rehere, you may as well make me some food.”
He raises an eyebrow. “People don’t order me around anymore these days, Caitlin.”
“I’m not people. And you can’t go around complainin’ if I go to work andthen expect me to make dinner for you.”
“I wasn’t staying.”
“Yes,” she says, eyes closed. “Yes, you are.”
***
Jim, as it turns out, has grown into a damn fine cook. It’s the bestshe’s eaten in weeks, living as she has off cheap TV dinners and greasytakeaway. She doesn’t give him a sliver of gratitude, though. If he thinksshe’ll let herself be bought by one decent dinner, he’s got another thingcoming.
Even if he does clear off the dishes all by himself. And does thewashing up too.
Bastard.
She waddles from the table to the sofa and sits down, one hand on herbelly again. The baby’s woken up, and she can feel a small, hard kick just asshe leans back against the cushions.
“Hullo, princess,” she says, too soft for Jim to hear.
This isn’t his. He hasn’t got a right to this.
When he’s done with the dishes, he sits down on her other chair, one legfolded beneath him – a teenaged habit they never got out of him – and takes outa packet of cigarettes.
“No,” she says, and Jim looks up, surprised.
“No?”
“No smoke near the baby.”
He puts his cigarettes away, looking very much amused. “You mean yougave up?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a three-packets-a-day girl.”
“Which should give you some clue about how serious I am about her.”
His amusement fades away. “I’m not abandoning her.”
“I don’t want you in her life.”
He looks away, lips pursed, hand clenched into a fist. He’s got nicehands, Jim, but they used to always be stained, bruised, scraped. Now, they’resoft and pale, unblemished, nails smooth and short. Almost as carefullymaintained as his fancy suit, his gelled-back hair, his shiny shoes.
She only has the vaguest clue as to what Jim actually does, these days, but shedoesn’t need to know ‘cos she knows him.
Whatever he’s up to, it isn’t good. It can’t be good. And so he has tostay away.
Doesn’t matter how she feels about that.
“Actually,” she says, on impulse, and Jim’s head snaps up.
“Actually?” he asks, and Christ, she forgot about that way he can lookat her, like nothing else in the world matters, like she’s the single mostimportant thing he’s ever seen.
“Actually, I do want you in her life. Ideally speakin’, I mean.” Sheshifts, trying to relieve the ache in her back. “I want you here, always, allthe time. Not just dropping by when it suited you, when you’ve got nothingbetter to do. You’d be here and you’d make sure we’re all fed and clothed andcared for and you’d protect us, and you’d change her nappies and get up atnight when she can’t sleep and you’d do it all without one fuckin’ word ofreproach or complaint.”
She breathes in deep. Jim’s stare, if anything, has intensified.
“But you can’t do that, can you?” she says. “You’d go mad within theweek, cooped up here like that.”
He rubs his eyes. “Caitlin…”
“This one’s getting either all of you or none of ya, Jim. That’s thedeal.”
He cracks one eye open.
“And don’t pretend you don’t agree,” she snaps.
He grins. “You always did know me too well for your own good.”
“That’s how I got myself in this fucking mess, isn’t it?” she says, witha wry smile in answer.
He tilts his head, smile disappearing. “You regret it?”
She spreads her fingers over her belly, thinks it over. Does she regretit? She doesn’t regret getting pregnant, even if it complicates things. A childisn’t a thing to regret, that’s a lesson she learned the hard way. And shedoesn’t regret sleeping with Jim either, not the first time and not the last,because she does love him, in her own way, and she suspect he does too, in hisway, and trying to fight that would be the worst sin of all.
“No,” she says, meeting his eyes without fear, without hesitation. “Idon’t.”
He nods. “Good. Keep it up.”
She snorts. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, Jim.”
“So you’ve made clear.” His eyes drop to his stomach again, and shereally can’t read that expression, not at all. “Can I help, at least?”
She narrows her eyes. “How?”
“Money.” Another of those small, ironic smiles. “Fixed sum, paidmonthly. No strings attached.”
“I won’t be dependent on you.”
“Then go work. You’re clever and resourceful, you’ll earn enough. Treatit as an extra. Trust fund.”
She rubs her eyes. Despite his vote of confidence, finances have beengiving her a lot of trouble recently, and extra money…
It’s not something she can scoff at.
“Think it over.” Jim pulls a notebook and a pen from his inside pocketand starts scribbling. “The money will be in a bank account only you haveaccess too. If at any moment you want it, just use the numbers here.” He ripsoff a page and slides it over the coffee table, to her.
After a moment of hesitation, she takes it, folding it up and tucking itsafely inside the side of her bra, another of those old bad habits that’simpossible to break.
“You’re staying over tonight?” she asks, eyes flicking back to Jim.
He gives her a lazy smile. “Am I allowed?”
“Take the sofa.” She stands up, hands pressed in her lower back. “It’suncomfortable as hell, in case you’re wonderin’.”
“I’m used to worse,” he says, carelessly. “Blankets?”
“Wardrobe in my bedroom. Oh, and Jim?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a guest in this house,” she says, calmly holding his eyes. “Youdon’t live here. Touch any of my stuff and I’ll kill you.”
The corner of his mouth curls up. “Naturally,” he says, with exaggeratedgrace.
She rolls her eyes and goes to the bathroom, feeling his eyes in herback.
***
She wakes up abruptly, blinking at the dark ceiling. Something, a shiftin the air, a small noise… She casts her eyes around, inhales sharply –
Jim is leaning in her doorway, arms crossed, watching her.
“Creep,” she mutters, laboriously crawling up into a sitting position.
“Can I come in?”
She looks up.
And the thing is, if she’d say no,he wouldn’t. Jim has boundaries he gleefully crosses whenever the opportunityrises, and boundaries he would rather die than violate, and the line betweenthose two categories is immutable and iron-cast and completely incomprehensibleto anyone but him.
And her.
No wonder they ended up fucking.
“Come in,” she says, voice still hoarse with sleep.
He comes to her and sits down on the side of the bed, then hovers hishand above her belly. She takes his wrist and moves his hand down to touch. Hiscool fingers spread against her skin.
A moment later, the baby kicks.
Jim’s eyes are huge.
“Don’t think I ever saw you this surprised,” she says.
“I’ve never been in a situation like this before,” he says absently,eyes still on his hand, on her belly, on the child beneath. “What’s it like?”
“Pain and discomfort.” She shifts, trying to get more comfortable. Jimlooks up at her, and after barely a second he reaches behind her and rearrangesa pillow or two, helping.
He’s always so perceptive.
“Do you have anyone to help you with this?” he asks as he leans back.
“No. Don’t need anyone.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you,” he says, dryly.
“I don’t.” She pulls away from him and swings her legs from thebed, plants her feet firmly on the floor. “So no reason for you to getjealous.”
“Jealous?” He laughs, a short hard bark of a laugh. “Now there’s athought.”
She yanks the curtains open. The light coming in doesn’t do much, butthe thought of turning on the harsh lights makes her wince and she hates notseeing Jim properly.
“You don’t give a fuck who I fuck, who I live with, do you,” she says.
Jim watches her, amused, a small superior smile on his face.
“And you don’t give a fuck who lives with your daughter either?” sheadds, and there, that smile slips and his eyes go dark and for a moment she cansee that terrible fury again, that wild neverending barely-leashed anger thatshe saw when she was barely sixteen and thought yes, you too.
But then he contains it. “I wouldn’t get jealous,” he says, coldly.
No. He would simply eliminate the danger without any more thought thanhe’d spare on stamping a cockroach.
“You or no one, huh?” she asks.
“Don’t pretend it’s me who made that ultimatum.”
She huffs, then waddles back to the bed. Jim graciously holds out onehand to help her settle. She tries to ignore it for maybe two seconds, but he’sjust too damn good and besides, she’s always been a believer in grabbingcomfort wherever you can.
He keeps hold of her arm even when she’s underneath the sheets,expression closed off, eyes down.
“The sofa’s killing my back,” he says, softly.
“I know.”
He looks up, meets her eyes.
She scoots back a little and turns back the sheets.
She can see the battle going on, the desire to get in, get close,fighting with his pride and his independence and his general distrust anddislike of any kind of comfort, closeness.
“Jim,” she says, and his eyes snap to her. Whatever he sees in her faceis enough to tilt the odds in her favour and he gets in next to her. He liesdown on his side, so they’re face to face.
He reaches out, and she takes his hand, linking their fingers together.And for a moment she’s a teenager again, and this warm touch is a connectionunlike she’s ever felt before, unlike anything she even dreamed possible, andwhen Jim grins at her something inside of her screams in answer.
She hooks her other hand behind Jim’s neck and pulls him close, foreheadto forehead. She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Leave,” she whispers, hoarsely. “Tomorrow morning, before I wake up. SoI can pretend this never happened. Please, Jim, don’t – ”
“Don’t what?” he asks, equally soft.
“Don’t make this difficult for me.”
It’s a dangerous thing to ask. Jim isn’t kind. He can’t stand weakness.He’s entirely capable of taking this one sad plea and turning it on her,digging in deep like a knife and watching her bleed out like he doesn’t evenknow the meaning of the word compassion.
But, somewhat surprisingly, he stays silent. He just puts his hand onher hip, warm, and heavy, then nudges carefully. She turns laboriously onto herother side and he crawls up close, chest to her back, arms around her.
She bites the inside of her cheek, fighting against sudden tears.There’s weakness and there’s weakness, and if Jim sees her cry now he’llrip out her throat. But this?
This makes her safe, in a way she had forgotten she could.
“Sleep,” he breathes against her neck.
She grabs his hand and squeezes, hard. He squeezes back.
Just like when they were both kids.
He lets go after a moment and puts his hand on her belly. She covers hishand and listens to his breathing, slow, steady, reassuring…
She falls asleep with his warmth still wrapped all around her.
***
And in the morning, he’s gone, leaving nothing but a note full of bankdetails and a full breakfast waiting for her on the table, fresh from thestove.
