Wesley Bryant Ratcliffe.
23. he/him. London. ❝ I was the one who had it {all} I was the master of my fate, I never needed anybody in my life, I learned the truth too late, I'll never shake away the pain, I close my eyes but 𝓼𝓱𝓮'𝓼 still there, I let her steal into my m e l a n c h o l y h e a r t, It's more than I can bear . ❞
“i need you to do me a favor,” wesley said, staring down at his coffee. the last time he remembered he and rylie getting coffee was when he’d told her michele was alive. it seemed so far away, now. “if something happens to me...i need you to look after michele and salem. michele’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, i just– i need someone who...who’ll keep her company.”
“have you ever thought about fostering?” rhea’s more aware than anyone that this isn’t exactly conventional. usually, people sought out that kinda thing themselves - not stopped in the middle of a busy foyer and asked by a more than frazzled animal shelter volunteer, who knew that while unusual, this was sort of her only chance. “not kid fostering. animal fostering. say, for example, a kitten/puppy/hamster baby/etc?” she’d done this a dozen times, already, this moment being the one where she thrust the picture of the adorable new litter towards them, “they came in two days ago, and we’re full to limit. their only hope is getting fostered. i could explain what that entails, if you’d like!”
“i can’t,” wesley said, looking down at the picture that had been thrust into his hands. “i can’t take care of a new born puppy.” he had nothing but compassion for animals — although he was a dog person at heart — but he had to remain logical about this. “puppies require constant care, which i don’t have the capacity to give. nor the experience taking care of a puppy, for that matter.” he’d adopted salem when she was fully grown. “i’ll hand out pictures,” he offered with a shrug. “try to ask around. have you posted to twitter?” this seemed like the sort of thing that would spread like wildfire. people had endless sympathy for animals.
michele had been coming home from her shift at the library that day. it had been a particularly stressful day already but when she entered their bedroom, the girl found wesley sitting on the edge of the bed with a rather grim expression on his face. before michele could even ask what was wrong, the man answered her.
blinking in surprise, she tried to gather her thoughts before speaking. “but— why?” michele was not a fan of wesleys father and the heartache he brought on his son. not only that, though, she was not a fan of how he used his power to manipulate people. especially wesley. “we could move… go somewhere… visit london for awhile?”
wesley patted the spot on the bed next to him. “he’d been planning on expanding his business for years. i remember him going on trips to the states frequently when i was younger. there was a lot of monetary potential for him here. a lot of cheap land for him to buy cheap, tear down, and then sell at luxury prices.” he was certain his father looked at the united states and just saw a gold mine. “part of me knew it was only a matter of time...” he hadn’t wanted to believe it. had thought that since the expansion seemed to fall through so often, that maybe it would simply never happen. wesley released a heavy sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. “running sounds...easy,” he said with a bitter laugh. “it’s what i did back then, what i’ve done up to now...” he turned adjusting in his spot on the bed until he faced michele. “i’ve been running from this, from him, from the deal i made with him, for seven years. ...i don’t want to run anymore.” he reached out his open hands, both to offer her support and to get some for himself.
“i need to come clean. ...i need to turn my father in,” he stated with wavering conviction. “no matter what consequences may befall me.”
wesley heard his bedroom door click open and he glanced up at michele. he’d been sitting on his bed staring at the floor, contemplating dr. lauren vaughn’s words.
well… keeping this secret seems to be hurting you too, doesn’t it?
she was right, keeping this secret had caused him nothing but headache. and yes, revealing what he knew and taking down his father would probably land him with some sort of punishment as well, but perhaps he deserved whatever was given to him. maybe that was the price he had to pay for helping to keep a murderer on the streets for so many years.
in lieu of any questions he was certain she’d have, he turned his laptop to her. it had an article about his father’s new business venture up on screen, and wesley hit play on the video.
“myself and everyone at ratcliffe industries are thrilled at the opportunities that lie ahead. our move to expand our luxury real estate business to the united states has been a long time coming,” john ratcliffe’s voice oozed that smarmy businessman charm. it made wesley’s skin crawl. he wondered if he ever sounded like that.
“governer ratcliffe, we hear that your son has been attending school in the united states. are you looking forward to being closer to him?” asked the oh-so-innocent reporter.
“oh, of course,” john lied with ease. but wesley could hear the anger in his voice. it was nearly imperceptible, but a lifetime of growing up with that anger made it easy for him to recognize. “my son wesley and i haven’t seen much of each other, what with the ocean between us and all, so i’m–”
wesley couldn’t take any more. he snapped the laptop lid closed and finally looked up at michele with panic in his eyes.
wesley shot up from his chair, startling salem where she’d been leisurely munching on her dog treats, and raced over to the television on the opposite wall. he came face to face with the source of his nightmares, the source of his misery, the source of everything wrong in his life–
tw; mentions of murder, death, anxiety/panic attack, mentions of alcohol abuse
his phone was ringing again.
wesley didn’t have to answer it to know it was his mother, trying to reach out for whatever reason that he couldn’t quite fathom. she kept calling from an unknown number, probably so that he couldn’t block her. he simply let her leave another voice mail that he’d delete without listening to.
he stepped into the coffee shop with his dog at his side. the employees always looked forward to seeing him, if only because he always stopped by at the end of his morning walk with salem. she was a favorite among town.
“good morning,” said the barista with a friendly smile. “and how’s our favorite customer?”
“she’s good,” wesley answered, knowing they were not referring to him. salem stared up at the barista with pleading eyes, begging for the treat they always gave to her. “she’s energetic this morning, but i’ll try to keep her from hopping over the counter again.”
the worker waved off his comment as they placed the cup of water and dog treat on the ground in front of salem. “you know none of us mind when she visits. i’ll get started on your usual.”
wesley stepped off to the side after paying, resting in a chair after the long walk and play time in the park. he vaguely registered the news station on in the background.
“we’re excited to learn that such a large corporation will be spreading to the united states! mr. ratcliffe–”
wesley’s head snapped up.
“do you have any comments on the status of your now international business?”
no. no, no, no, no. wesley was frozen in his seat with a white-knuckled grip on the arm rests.
“i’m incredibly excited for such a big step forward in expanding my empire–”
NO.
wesley shot up from his chair, startling salem where she’d been leisurely munching on her dog treats, and raced over to the television on the opposite wall. he came face to face with the source of his nightmares, the source of his misery, the source of everything wrong in his life–
“i’ve been working on a move to the united states for some time! nearly a decade, in fact. but every time there was something that prevented us from truly moving forward.” his father practically oozed smarmy businessman arrogance. he looked older than wesley remembered. he had more wrinkles around his eyes, his jowls had sunken lower and his hair line had further receded. “but now, with our business so booming in the uk, we’re confident we’ll be able to bring the same success to the states.”
the scene cut back to the reporter at the desk. “according to our estimates, ratcliffe industries could very well offer upwards of two thousand new jobs in the richmond, virginia metropolitan area. the real estate tycoon jonathan ratcliffe continued to express his optimistic view on the new business venture, and has informed us that ratcliffe industries will be opening its doors for interviews at the end of the month–”
he felt sick to his stomach. no, that didn’t describe the feeling correctly. it was as if his insides were twisting together in terror, turning inside out in some futile attempt to escape. john ratcliffe was coming here, to the united states, in less than a month. the icy chill of fear — real, gripping fear that he hadn’t felt so intensely in so long — clamped down on his heart. he remembered at one point visiting london, trying and failing to confront his father over and over again.
he’d been too scared, so he’d run away. as usual.
he felt the urge to run again. go to another state, portland maybe. far, far away from the east coast. or perhaps another country, somewhere he was certain his father would never go.
wesley felt a tug on his hand and it jolted him out of his terror-induced trance. he hadn’t realized how intensely he was breathing. he was practically hyperventilating. his gaze fell to the source of the tug, a concerned looking salem who gazed up at him with soft brown eyes. eyes full of infinite, unwavering trust and love, the kind of love that only an animal can offer.
he couldn’t run. not now, not again. not after all of the progress he’d made.
he was reminded of michele, of his friends, of the life he’d built for himself, however imperfect it still was.
wesley hid his face in his hands and released a shaky breath. his breathing had calmed, though the terror still remained.
“one black coffee, no cream, two sugars–” said the barista, placing the to-go cup in front of him. wesley couldn’t help the jolt that startled through him.
“thank you,” he mumbled, taking the cup to go. his feet felt heavy, his body felt as if it was made of some impossibly heavy material, and he wondered how to move forward from this.
the sounds of his office were just a haze in the back of his mind. copy machines droned on, phones rang, keys tapping, mice clicking, the coffee machine clacked as it forced out some horrendous caffeinated concoction.
all wesley could think about was the things he’d seen his father do. he’d been transported back, back to the scared sixteen-year-old boy hiding in a closet as he watched his father murder someone in cold blood. he could hear the man’s desperate pleas. the pleas of a man who had a family, that he’d pay john back, that he would be good for the money, sobs of please, please don’t, i have a daughter–
and then the gun shot.
it was a sharp sound, sharper than wesley would have imagined. he wondered how it was that people got away with shooting one unnoticed. to him it seemed like the loudest sound in the world.
wesley sat terrified in that closet as john had his assistant clean up the blood. the stench had been overwhelming. it nearly made him vomit up his lunch from that day.
“wesley–”
welsey’s breathing quickened, heart hammering in his chest so loudly he was certain it was giving him away.
“wesley.”
wesley jolted, harshly jerking his shoulder out of his boss’ grip. the sounds of the office returned to his ears, and the smell of blood was replaced by the smell of the cheap lemon-scented cleaner the custodian used.
“are you okay? are you sick? you look like a ghost.”
wesley noticed he was breathing heavily again. he hard to force himself to speak, had to try and take some steadying breaths to even be able to force out a response. he wondered if this was what panic attacks felt like.
“i’m just, not feeling great,” he croaked out. his voice sounded overly used, like he’d been screaming.
his boss recoiled with a grimace. “well then go the hell home. you know what this office was like when the flu went around, our entire accounting department was out the whole week. get out, go home if that shit is contagious.”
wesley nodded numbly. he had to go. somewhere else. anywhere else.
the guilt settled in with the fear when he got home and sat down on his couch. salem was excited to see him as usual, and he’d gone through the motions of petting her as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him.
he remembered the last time he spoke to his father. it was when he’d first enrolled in wdu. the school had understandably reached out to a guardian, wondering if this beat-up looking runaway had anyone who was looking for him.
the phone call had been a screaming match. their first conversation in nearly three years, actually. john demanded that he come home, demanded to know what the hell had caused this–
the line had gone eerily silent when wesley revealed to his father than he saw him kill that man. it wasn’t a guilty silence, but a terrifying one. wesley could feel the fury radiating through the phone.
“if you tell anyone, i’ll bring you down with me. i’ll ruin you.”
and then the deal. the deal that wesley cowardly offered up as something, anything, to get him away from his father.
you don’t contact me, and i don’t tell. you leave me alone, and i’ll keep my mouth shut.
that was when the self-hatred started. sometimes his therapist had tried to press him to ask when these self-esteem issues had first started. she’d said they often first arose during adolescence, often as a cause of natural insecurity and hormones that most teens went through. but wesley wasn’t an insecure teenager. he’d been blissfully unaware, living in the false reality his father had carefully crafted with fear tactics and threats. his therapist had dropped the subject for a while, though it was clear there was something he wasn’t telling her.
and wasn’t that just the goddamn understatement of the century.
john had threatened him, told him that if he ever said anything to anyone, he’d spend whatever money necessary to destroy wesley’s life. wesley believed him. and so, to protect his own skin, he’d kept the secret.
for seven years now he’d been sitting on this, and for four years he’s hated himself for it. he recalled his first few months at wdu. he was the grouchiest then. no friends, hence the ever-present loneliness, and an overwhelming cloud of misery followed him everywhere. he remembered how he used to rely on alcohol and meaningless sex to feel something. to feel some sense of companionship.
it was at one of those parties that he’d met will, and then later emmett. they didn’t go away after they were all sober, nor in the years to follow.
it was during a sober day that he’d met michele. she’d scolded him on something, his attitude, if he recalled. he’d snarked back at her, and so the cycle had begun. he remembered how infuriating she was, how frustratingly stubborn. those qualities certainly hadn’t disappeared, except now his tune on them had changed. he remembered when their fighting turned to banter, turned to flirting. when their hatred for each other turned to mutual respect, to friendship, to infatuation, to love.
he remembered feeling like his life was coming together for once, like maybe he could move on from this guilt and self-hatred. maybe he and his father could co-exist on opposite sides of the world in peace, never bothering of or thinking of the other.
and then his mother, the same woman who’d left him a voicemail only hours before.
wesley pulled out his phone and instead of hitting the delete button, he hit play.
“wesley, i pray that you’re listening to these...” he found it off that he recognized her voice, even though he only really remembered their single conversation as an adult. “i know that you don’t want to see me, and i don’t blame you. i ran, and left you behind. but i can’t do that again. i can’t leave you behind without warning you. your father is coming. the news was announce officially announced yesterday. the rumors have been circling for some months, and you know i hoped that it was just another rumor. god i wish it was a rumor. ...i don’t know how you’ve gotten him to leave you alone for so long. you must have some secret on him...” the line went silent, and wesley thought was the end.
“be safe, son. keep an eye out for him. don’t let him near you, please. ...i love you, let me know if you get–”
wesley quickly pressed the delete button.
wesley’s walk to therapy was one he’d gotten used to. he went after work once a week now. he’d tried to do lunch breaks, but found that having a deeply emotional hour made it harder to drag himself back into work.
“so, tell me what’s on your mind.”
dr. lauren vaughn hadn’t started a session that way since he’d first started therapy. normally now they just chatted. there were some sessions that were more intense, some where deeply buried issues resurfaced, others were revelations were made. but they’d found an equilibrium that worked for them.
“what makes you think something is on my mind?” he asked. he still often answered the too personal questions with questions of his own. it was an avoidance tactic both he and lauren were aware of.
“you have been seeing me at least once a week, sometimes two or three, for nearly a year now–”
had it really been almost a year? he supposed so, it was almost summer.
“i think i know when something is on your mind.”
wesley fiddled his fingers and stared down at the abstractly patterned carpet. it was a mix of beiges, browns and greens. earthy tones that he supposed were supposed to feel neutral and relaxing.
“...do you want to talk about it?”
lauren had learned quickly that there were some things that he refused to discuss. she’d tried to poke and prod at first, only for wesley to leave sessions early and in a huff. she’d found progress was more steadily made when wesley was allowed to reveal things at his own terms. some people wanted to talk, but wesley was not one of those people.
“...say you’re keeping a secret...”
wesley searched for words. how did he even begin? how much did he reveal? the thought of revealing all of it made his stomach twist in fear, and the thought of not saying anything at all made it writhe in guilt.
he just couldn’t win.
“say you’ve been keeping a secret for...a long, long time. a secret that you shouldn’t have been keeping, because keeping it...hurts people. but...revealing it hurts yourself. and– and you want to tell everyone, because it’s the right thing to do. but what happens when the right thing to do brings bad consequences for you? and...and the people close to you?”
lauren sighed, wondering what wesley could possibly be talking about. “well... keeping this secret seems to be hurting you too, doesn’t it?”
wesley paused. she...wasn’t wrong.
“and maybe, doing the right thing would help in the long run, even if it’s hard in the beginning. maybe it would help others, and it would help you.”
she was getting braver around him. that was the only explanation for why, when wesley posed his very fair question to her, rhea barely even glanced up as she replied, clear as a bell, “nope!” and continued fawning over the dog before her. salem deserved at least four minutes of uninterrupted fussing for being such a good girl ( she hadn’t seen her in an age and a day, but rhea felt pretty safe in the assumption ), and wesley would just have to deal with the two minutes and thirty seconds left on the clock - or. well. he would have, if her brain hadn’t finally caught up to her mouth and her newfound courage immediately abandoned her. “i mean- of course! sorry, you’re probably supes busy- i just haven’t seen you both-” read as: salem, “in ages, so… i got a bit carried away.”
wesley tolerated rhea now. at times, he didn’t even mind her company. rare times, but not necessarily unheard of. perhaps he’d gotten used to the constant talking. or perhaps michele really did turn him soft. salem, on the other hand, adored rhea. of the girl didn’t stop her, salem stopped her to say hello with a bark and a happy whine. with a sigh, wesley came to realize the girls in his life really had turned him into a marshmallow. he would wait for however long salem wanted, so long as she was happy getting attention from people. “uh-huh,” wesley hummed with a roll of his eyes. “and you’ve done an excellent job greeting me as enthusiastically.” wesley gestured for rhea to follow him as he started walking. “i wanna get her moving, she’s been lazing about lately.” his own fault. “c’mon, we’re on our way to the park. she’ll need someone to run around with her.”
“you can’t be late again…” michele mumbled as she leaned in for another kiss. they were wrapped up against one another, sheets tucking around them like a cocoon, and already she could sense that it’d be hard to tear herself away and go to work. the man was already supposed to be dressed and walking out the door but michele had gotten a little needy that morning and persuaded him to cuddle for just a little longer. finally, the woman released him, sitting up and brushing her hair away from her face. “i swear… it’s not getting any easier letting you go off to work. why can’t you just do it from home? i could write a novel or something to… oh and imagine what fun we could have on lunch breaks.” she teased.
wesley hummed in response, pressing one kiss, then two, then three to michele’s lips. he’d picked up a part-time job at a local office building. he didn’t necessarily need the money, but he wanted to build his experience from the ground up, rather than rely on any name his father made for him. thankfully, that only meant he had to go in to be low-man on the totem pole three times a week. but that also meant that he had to leave the warmth of he and michele’s bed three times a week. after so long of being off his feet, the two had gotten used to spending long hours together in the morning. “i could call in sick,” he murmured, pulling michele back into bed. “i’ve been feeling somewhat under the weather lately. and you know that flu could still be going around.” after a moment, wesley flopped back onto the mattress with a huff. “but there’s that meeting they want me to be in today...”
send me a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child.
Name:
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Who they like better:
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Personal Head canon:
Face Claim:
wesley had been trying to take salem for a walk. he’d been busy lately — with his final credits needed to graduate from wdu winding into finals season — and hadn’t had the chance to walk her as often as he’d like. they would be nearly to the park by now if someone hadn’t stooped down to their knees to coo at her. “are you quite finished?” he questioned in a tone that was either playful or annoyed — even he couldn’t tell.
“Hey, you look a bit like that one kidnapper from the news. The one who took two children right out of the store. Has anyone mentioned that to you? The resemblance borders on uncanny, so I’m sure someone has.”
nose scrunched in puzzlement and distaste, wesley stared at adelaide in silence, processing her remark. “no,” he replied, annoyance evident in his tone, “you would be the first.”
“I don’t understand why you keep getting in my way. Every day, at the same time.” She sighed. “I’m just trying to get to class.”
“as am i,” wesley grouched, staring down at the girl he did the hallway tango with every goddamn day. “ever heard of a schedule? many classes run on them.”
There was a glint of excitement in the brunette’s eyes as he turned towards the person standing next to him, the corner of his mouth turning upwards into a smirk. “Do you know what day it is?” he asked. He, of course was very aware of the day- but he wanted to make sure that they knew as well, and slipped an arm around their shoulder before they even had a chance to answer. ’l’ll tell you. It’s the Third of April, which means in just a few short days- it will be the eighth. Also known as my birthday. I’m talking one non-stop party where the kegs don’t stop flowing and the single just keep on scoring. And you’re invited!“
wesley glanced down at the younger boy with a perplexed expression. he’d gotten roped into helping out at the understaffed library today, which increased his social interaction to a level he preferred to steer clear from. “fascinating,” he deadpanned, stepping down from the step ladder he’d borrowed to restock books on the top shelf. “tweet about it,” he called over his shoulder as he walked towards the front desk, “maybe you’ll find someone who gives a shit.”
so i have a long, rambling story under the cut that explains why i’m going to be taking a hiatus indefinitely:
paul, my now previous landlord, failed to tell me that he has defaulted on my apartment and it is now going through foreclosure. i have no idea how long this process has been going on, but it's been at least a few months because there are lawyers and realtors involved.
i no longer have a valid lease, because my lease was not with the building but with paul. and since he no longer owns this unit, essentially all legal rights that i might have have been revoked.
i have a few rights as an occupant, but the government group called fannie mae is stepping in to sell the unit. they want me gone, and since i don't have a lease they'll take me to court and start an eviction process to get me gone if it means they get their money.
the apartment could start going to auction as early as april 1st. and i'm currently being bullied by government agents and realtors who just want to get me out of this apartment so they can sell it.
i'm actually in the process of hiring a lawyer to help smooth out the process and represent me from a knowledgeable standpoint.
i'll probably be moving in a month or two, i honestly don't know.
according to the debt collector lawyers, i was allowed to stay as long as i paid my rent. but according to the government agents i have no right to be living here anymore and will be forced to leave if i don't take the minuscule amounts of money they try to bribe me with to leave.
however, both of these parties are incredibly biased. the debt collectors are the ones i pay rent to, as they represent the bank that now owns the foreclosed unit. so they could be telling me "yeah yeah you can stay just pay us" because they want money.
but, as i said earlier, the government and realtors could be saying "no no you have to leave" because of how much they could sell this property for to someone with deep pockets.
basically, i have no fucking idea what’s going to happen. i have to find somewhere to live, but i don’t want to just settle on a place because i want to stop dealing with it. like i’m going to be living at this place, i want to be happy with it, you know? i need to focus on finding somewhere to live, and need to focus on working all of this out so i have an actual HOME at the end of this
i really hope you guys understand. i’ll be putting in an official request to the main momentarily, but i have no idea how long this process would take or how much time i’ll have in the near future, so i figured a hiatus would be best
wesley didn’t want to go on a date with anyone but michele, but his desire to support bailey in her second valentine’s day event won out. he could put up with going on a “date” with a stranger for a few hours. at the very least, he might have a decent story to tell her when he got home after the evening was finished. and so he waited, with a nametag that read “grumplestiltskin” pinned on his chest. he remembered bailey once called him that, and it was the only codename he could think of when filling out the form. at least he got to meet his “date” somewhere nice. the emporium was a fantastic library and bookstore, and he did always enjoy his time there. unfortunately, it was also huge. there was no telling where his partner for the evening was waiting to meet him, or if they were even there at all.
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