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sentinelpri · 2 years

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Let You Break My Heart Again

Vegeta, on most given days, is the specimen of health. He never gets sick, even when he’s around other people who are. In fact, he’s only been sick once or twice in his lifetime and managed to bounce back rather quickly.

Tonight, however, Vegeta feels sick.

Then again, all he’s had is coffee and the leftover pie that Bulma made. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. Not eating breakfast or lunch and having a slice of apple pie and cold black coffee isn’t any way to take care of the temple that is his body. It’s no wonder why his stomach is churning with nausea.

No, that’s nonsense, he tells himself. He’s gone for days if not weeks at a time without sustenance, traveling from planet to planet to eradicate different alien species and taking their planets for Frieza to sell. His body is in even better condition now than it was back then, so he knows the food isn’t what’s doing it.

Maybe it’s more mental than anything.

Vegeta sighs. Kakarot with his limited brain capacity probably doesn’t have to deal with this sort of thing. Kakarot, that fool who takes up all of Vegeta’s mind. Kakarot, who has no idea what he does to Vegeta with every innocent look.

Kakarot, who Vegeta is terribly, disgustingly in love with.

The situation is something he’s struggled to come to terms with since returning from Namek. He’s tried everything to get Kakarot off of his mind from training to alcohol to sex to stupid hobbies like art and music, and none of it has worked, so he’s learned to accept it while keeping it a secret.

The worst part is that Vegeta knows the bumbling idiot doesn’t care nearly as much as he does.

He just should stop having these feelings. Heaven knows he’s tried. Just five years ago, he would’ve been able to shut this shit down without hesitation. Today, however, he can’t. He hasn’t been able to since he saw Kakarot kicking Frieza’s ass on Namek.

Maybe one day, he’ll come to his senses and realize that Kakarot doesn’t deserve his love. Some day, someone will like him like he likes Kakarot. But, until then, he doesn’t mind sitting with his coffee and his pie, pretending that he and Kakarot are more than they really are.

He’s at Bulma’s kitchen table, his head in his arms and his slice of pie half eaten on a plate in front of him. He’s been staying there in his own room since returning from Namek, though said room has been converted into a nursery for Trunks. There’s another spare room that he could have moved into, but honestly, his one solace in life is spending time with the baby.

Trunks is sleeping right now. Vegeta finished giving him a bottle and laying him down maybe a half hour ago, and he doesn’t want to go in there and risk waking the infant up with his night time work out routine, so he doesn’t. Bulma is probably asleep in her own bedroom. Vegeta thinks he may just go train outside, but then he hears his cell phone ring.

Working the damn thing is a nuisance that he has yet to figure out. Scouters? No issue. Space pods and space ships? Easy. Alien space computers? Piece of cake. Yet, earthly cell phones still baffle him. Big bricks with earth number buttons, they’re ugly and impossible to operate no matter how many lessons Bulma gives him on the basics of them. After fumbling with the device for a few minutes, Vegeta answers.

“It’s late, Kakarot. What the hell do you want?” He spits, unsure of how else to express himself to the man who’s currently occupying his entire mind.

Sometimes, Vegeta wonders what it would be like were he to drop the cruel facade and treat Kakarot with some decency; what it would be like if he were honest. But then, he imagines the awkward, pitying look on Kakarot’s face that would result, and the idea is quickly pushed to the back of his mind. Shaking his head, Vegeta listens to the soft and friendly voice on the other end.

“I’m outside, wanna come train with me?”

Vegeta’s brow furrows. Vegeta wants to say no in the rudest way possible and hurt Kakarot’s feelings as some sort of revenge for the way he’s made Vegeta feel for the past few years. Ultimately, he gives into the indulgent part of himself that wants to see Kakarot and answers-

“Fine. I’ll be right there.”

-before hanging up.

Vegeta sighs, sets the phone down, and stands up to go to his and Trunks’s room. He makes sure the sound machine is still set to the infant’s favorite setting (ocean waves), checks to make sure that the baby monitor is still on, and inspects the crib. Trunks is still fast asleep on his back, his big blue eyes shut and his stubby fingers twitching every few seconds. His breathing is heavy but calm, so Vegeta leaves him, shutting the door and going to the front of the house.

When he opens the front door, he’s unsurprised to see Kakarot standing right there; far too close, inexplicably unaware of how close is too close just like he’s unaware of every other social nuance. The taller man’s feet are right on the edge of Bulma’s tacky welcome mat, and his nose is a mere inch or two away from Vegeta’s. Embarrassingly enough, Kakarot has to lean down a bit to be at eye level with Vegeta because of their four inch height difference.

Kakarot smells like vanilla and spice, and his eyes sparkle underneath the warm glow of the porch light.

It takes Vegeta’s breath away.

Maybe letting Kakarot break his heart for the rest of their lives wouldn’t be too bad.

Wordlessly, the other ravenette smiles down at him before starting to fly. Vegeta follows close behind. Occasionally, Kakarot will look back at him. Vegeta chooses not to meet his eyes a single time on their long flight. Kakarot tries to talk to him, too, asking about how Trunks and Bulma are doing, chatting about the weather, giving Vegeta an unnecessarily dramatic tale about some restaurant he tried recently. Vegeta mostly gives one word replies and noises of acknowledgement- just enough to let Kakarot know that he’s listening, but not enough to get in too deep.

He’s already in far too deep.

Eventually, they land. Vegeta recognizes this as the area they destroyed when he and Napa first came to earth. Before he thinks to ask questions, he’s throwing the first energy blast. Kakarot dodges, and thus, they dance their dance under the navy midnight skies.

Vegeta struggles to gather his feelings about Kakarot as they spar together, trading blows- arm to arm, leg to leg, sharp charcoal eyes locked with a pair of ink-hued eyes that are much softer.

Kakarot is an enigma, so much so that Vegeta can’t focus on their training. The younger man is as cheery as ever, seemingly unbothered even though his wife is in the middle of divorcing him and trying to get custody of their son, Gohan. It seems like the separation from someone who was supposed to be his life partner and the potential loss of time with his child isn’t bothering him at all. Bulma has been gossipping about it with him over breakfast since the issue came up a bit ago, apparently right after Kakarot proposed the idea of training Gohan to fight Cell. Vegeta couldn’t possibly understand.

He thinks of Bulma. Though their relationship was only ever friends with benefits, he wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to baby Trunks or if she tried to take him away. He hasn’t been the best father, and he isn’t the best partner, admittedly, but he didn’t have the best examples growing up either.

He’s trying his best.

That train of thought is quickly wiped from his mind as he’s sent flying into a pile of rust-colored rocks by Kakarot’s strong fist. He grunts and flies to the side to avoid a further onslaught of punches, on the defense for once. The younger man stares at him curiously, and it appears that he’s having no trouble backing Vegeta into a corner. Vegeta grows frustrated, his pride bubbling up and turning his mind into angry mush.

He needs to stop feeling this way.

The taste of the defeat from when Kakarot defeated him three years ago remains bitter on his tongue, as does the defeat from Kakarot putting an end to Frieza when Vegeta himself failed to do so.

Yet, somehow, the taste of his feelings is worse; rotten, even.

They’re standing on the ground, neither of them really fighting, just throwing half-hearted kicks and punches that keep getting blocked.

Suddenly, Kakarot stops, jumps back, and throws his hands up in defeat.

He’s forfeiting.

Why?

“Why’d you stop?” Vegeta demands, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed.

“You’re not really in it tonight,” Kakarot shrugs and stares up at the sky. It’s clear and dark, only illuminated by the occasional white star. The soft breeze rustles Kakarot’s hair. Briefly, Vegeta thinks about how those inky locks would feel right now if he were to run his fingers through them. Probably tangled from the wind, and probably somewhat soft. “You didn’t even put your armor on, which I guess is fine, but I’ve never seen you show up to a real fight without your gloves. I feel like you’re not even taking me seriously! C’mon, dude, what’s up? You must be really frazzled tonight.”

“I’m just trying to understand what I am to you-... No, I shouldn’t,” Vegeta finally says, and at that, Kakarot’s eyes go wide in that familiar, innocent confusion of his. “Never mind. If this isn’t enough of a challenge for you, Kakarot, I’ll go home.”

Despite his words, the two men stand there, unmoving until the other ravenette takes a few cautious steps towards him. Vegeta stares with uncertainty in his eyes, his mind racing.

Is he really anything more to Kakarot than a rival? Anything more than the songs they’ve exchanged in passing? Anything more than the weird midnight calls the other Saiyan makes to him when he’s training or caring for Trunks? Anything more than the many fights they’ve shared over the years underneath blazing sunsets and rosy sunrises?

“I want to know what’s on your mind, Vegeta,” Kakarot reaches out so fast that Vegeta can’t catch his hand before it’s on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Vegeta shrugs that warm, calloused hand off of him and takes a step back. Kakarot takes another two steps towards him. Their noses brush in a way so intimate that it makes Vegeta die inside a little bit. Is the other Saiyan catching on, or is he really just so naive that he’s completely oblivious to it?

“Since when do you care? It’s unimportant,” Vegeta makes a noise of disgust and places a hand on Kakarot’s chest- not to touch him, he tells himself, but to keep him at a reasonable distance.

“Vegeta…” Kakarot sighs and rests a hand on his cheek. It’s too intimate. Vegeta knows that, were anyone to see them like this, they’d get the wrong idea; understandably so. However, he also knows that the man in front of him is dense enough to not know any better. “I know everything with the androids and Cell has been really stressful for you and you’ve had a lot going on with Bulma and Trunks, but-”

Vegeta scoffs. Of course, Kakarot’s mind is on the battle they’ve been preparing for, and of course, Kakarot is terrible at considering the feelings of those in his personal life.

What’s new?

“You’re an idiot, Kakarot,” Vegeta groans and rolls his eyes.

“What do you mean?” To join the hand that’s already on Vegeta’s cheek, Kakarot places another on his waist. The older man doesn’t even try to stop him, even as he’s being pulled closer, closer, closer. Too close. “I’m just trying to help.”

Vegeta blinks. He’s overwhelmed, he’s confused, and God, he’s fucking terrified. For once in his life, Vegeta is stuck with no idea what to do or how to explain himself.

If only the idiot knew what Vegeta felt for him.

Kakarot looks down at him, looks down on him, pity and concern and something else that Vegeta can’t identify in those big inky eyes of his. For once, instead of arguing and fronting, Vegeta swallows his pride. He stands tall (or as tall as he can stand), looks Kakarot in the eye, and admits what he’s been hiding for more than three years now.

“I’m in love with you, Kakarot,” Vegeta pulls away. Kakarot, unsurprisingly, has wide eyes and parted lips. He appears completely and totally shocked and takes seemingly forever to say anything, so Vegeta decides that he should end the awkward stagnation. “Do with that what you will. I’m leaving.”

Vegeta turns, ready to walk away, only for Kakarot to grab him by the wrist and pull him back.

“Wait-” Kakarot rushes to speak as his chest is pressed against Vegeta’s back. “Vegeta…”

“What?” Vegeta snaps and turns his head to face the younger man, who is busy wrapping his fingers around the prince’s wrists to secure them. The hold is gentle, just enough to let Vegeta know what it means- ‘stay, please’- without being rough. It’s so light that Vegeta could break out of it with the littlest movement, but he doesn’t, simply standing there so he can hear Kakarot out. A glimmer of hope seems to shine through the moonlight that’s being poured upon them through the night sky. “What is it? Get on with it, Kakarot. I’m not going to stand here with you staring at me like some sort of animal. What, were you under the impression that I don’t have feelings? Or do you just pity me? That does sound like you, doesn’t it-”

“I love you,” Kakarot whispers, seemingly breathless. Vegeta’s heart skips a beat. “I love you, too, Vegeta. You can’t tell me what I’ve been wanting to hear since Namek, only to go and run away.”

Kakarot’s beauty in the moonlight overthrows Vegeta, killing what’s left of his common sense and inhibitions.

So, he turns around, grabs Kakarot by the collar, and molds their lips together, the stress of the rest of their lives gone with the wind and Vegeta’s heart mended- if only for tonight.

#dbz #dragon ball z #dbz vegeta #dbz goku #vegekaka #vegeta x goku #goku x vegeta #oneshot #oneshots #drabble #drabbles #dbz fanfiction #angst #fluff

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kirinda-ondo · 1 year

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OKAY FOR THE OC ASK THINGIE.... Can you do your silly lil fruits (and Cayenne if you want) to- 2, 7, 8, 22, 24, 27, 33, 37, 47 :)

o shit you're also putting me to work, thank u

2. which ocs are most likely to be caught eating cheese at 3 am?

I know exactly why you asked this one and it's because one time I made Bragi in the sims and he made like 8 grilled cheese sandwiches at 2 in the morning. That's canon btw-

Cayenne would also be out here eating cheese at 3 am, but like, just the slices.

Aneas and Tomor are normal--

7. which ocs would feel super out of place at a formal event? which ocs are completely fine with it?

Everyone but Bragi, fancy dapper boy extraordinaire, is not having a good time.

Aneas could look the part of a fancy event goer, but he'd have major imposter syndrome (then again he feels kind of out of place everywhere).

Tomor is not formal event ready at all he's an outdoor boy give him some fucking DIRT!!! he's not even allowed to say naughty words, he's fucking miserable--

Cayenne is similarly not formal event ready. She could clean up nicely but it would take all of about 10 minutes before she turned it into a ballroom blitz.

8. which ocs use/would use technology the most?

Bragi is hella online. Slightly less so after the Godtube fiasco, but he's pretty tech savvy on a normal person level.

Cayenne is kind of tech savvy because [less than legit online streaming service] is the wave of the future for not paying for movies. She also plays video games on occasion, but mostly she goes outside and touches grass. By which I mean she punches the grass.

Tomor speaks in memes but it's honestly more of a translation convention than him actually being online. He's not dumb with technology, he just prefers to go outside and touch grass.

Aneas is a little old lady when it comes to technology. He can barely operate his toaster. He also touches grass because the grass is his friends :)

22. which ocs are most flexible? which ocs are least?

Physically, Bragi is pretty limber (though his vest does limit his movement a bit because it's thick lol), mentally, he's pretty stubborn, but he's more open to new things these days.

Aneas is pretty flexible and open-minded, but physically, my guy is not very bendable lol

Tomor is decently limber, but mentally he's about as close-minded as you can get, under a veneer of chill detachment lol

Cayenne is inflexible in either sense. She's not properly trained so her body is not quite as limber as it could be, and emotionally, she's a nigh impenetrable wall of stubbornness.

24. which ocs have the most common sense? which have the least?

Aneas is the only one here with common sense, and even then, that goes out the window the moment his wife is involved.

Tomor THINKS he has common sense but he's really just kind of an edgelord.

Bragi does NOTHING common, and that includes sense. Don't tell him that though, he would disagree vehemently.

Cayenne has one brain cell and there's no room for that in there.

27. which ocs put lots of care into their physical appearance? which ocs could not care less?

Bragi is a very well-groomed boy! He doesn't like to get dirty or sweaty or tarnish that in any way.

Aneas likes to look nice, but he doesn't put nearly as much focus on it as Bragi, since it's not like he's going anywhere.

Cayenne doesn't really think that much of her appearance. Sure, she'd like to be incredibly hot and badass, but she's just whatever looking, so what can you do?

Tomor literally could not care less. Like he'll bathe or whatever, he's not that much of a heathen, but he's too busy to try and impress anyone with appearances.

33. which ocs can speak multiple languages? how many can they speak?

Bragi can speak a lot of different languages from his home universe! Not super fluently or anything, but he knows enough to get by and make small talk. It helps when you have to go check on your planets.

Aneas knows a few words and phrases in languages from his quadrant of his home universe. Not really enough to string full sentences together, but enough to pick up on occasional context from the guardian deities he watches over.

Tomor only speaks one language, though he loves some good wordplay. The henway is his favorite. :)

Cayenne speaks one language, though her spelling leaves much to be desired. She will spell a word like 3 wildly different ways with whatever letters sound the strongest. "Cat" is weak. "KATT," however, is stronger. Could beat "cat" in a fight.

37. which ocs dress for comfort > fashion? which ocs dress fashion > comfort?

Tomor focuses entirely on what's the most comfortable and practical for him to wear. He doesn't experiment with clothing styles (or even colors) whatsoever.

Cayenne prioritizes what's comfortable and easiest to fight in, though sometimes that is very much at odds with what she thinks looks cool, so she's struggling to find a good balance lol

Aneas has to balance comfort and fashion AND following the dress code. He's got it a bit rough. That said, while he might do little tweaks here and there for aesthetic reasons, it's often a bit more focused on comfort and practicality.

Bragi is a little fashion boy, what with his many elaborate outfits, but he does also take his own comfort into account. Even if it's the cutest thing ever, if it's got shoulder covering sleeves, he will not wear it. Likewise, he will not risk breaking his ankles in heels even if he really really really wants to wear them...

47. which ocs use the “wrong” dishes for things purely to spite others who can’t stand it? (like drinking coffee off a plate)

Cayenne doesn't give a shit, if it can be used as an eating surface, she's eating off it. It's less dishes to do lol

Tomor would hate this in principle, but the idea of doing it just to make Bragi want to tear his hair out is really funny to him, so he'd do it for the bit--

Aneas would never, he'd spill his plate of coffee everywhere and be incredibly stressed about it lmao

Bragi would never, and if you did it in front of him he would be seething. He's a huge stickler for certain things being referred to by proper name or done by proper instructions and this blatant misuse of dinnerware is probably a war crime.

#kateh's oc tag #bragi #aneas #tomor #cayenne

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charcubed · 3 years

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Celebrities’ sexualities/relationships, and what not to post where

I’m going to make an all-purpose, general post about this topic, because it seems like there’s value in making one. Anyone who’s been following me here or on Twitter long enough has seen me address this before but often in specific scenarios, but y’know what... let me just make a general all-purpose post too just to lay this out for the sake of my own sanity.

We all know this is a thing: people like to speculate on celebrities’ sexualities and/or participate in “real person fiction” (RPF), and that’s been happening since the dawn of fandom. On some level, I understand why; it's exciting to think a celebrity might be queer especially if YOU are. We all want role models & we all want that to be normalized, etc... and sometimes it’s a case of “like recognizes like”; queer people can spot other queer people. But whether or not one is “correct” doesn’t matter, and either way, celebrities' lives are not for our consumption. They do not exist for our entertainment or speculation. This kind of talk can get out of hand very quickly in a way that ruins the lives of real people.

So I am here to remind people to be mindful of what you say about celebrities, where you say it, and HOW you say it too.

For example: under no circumstances should you openly post things about celebrities’ sexuality or relationships on Twitter.

If you know this already, cool! Great! Good! Keep scrolling! But not everyone does know this, and either way, it’s always a good reminder–especially because people can get excited in the heat of a moment and these principles can easily accidentally fly out of the window.

Not all social media is “equal” or carries the same weight of potential real world consequence. Tumblr, for example, tends to influence little outside of here as long as the topic in question stays on Tumblr; AO3 fic stays on AO3, or at least it should. But Instagram comments or tweets do not exist in a vacuum or echo chamber the way people often seem to think, and often route back to the celebrities in question in harmful ways. Those platforms are open to the wider world in a way that can translate to very real consequence for the people being discussed.

What do I mean by that? A good example of how things can get unintended attention is what happened recently when memes about Misha Collins and Bill Clinton got out of hand, made their way to Twitter, and resulted in journalists writing articles that Misha felt he needed to address. On a more related note, recently Brie Larson made one offhand gay joke/reference in a personal Youtube video; it then trended worldwide and resulted in many articles too. There is now, unfortunately, high potential that she could be asked about and pressured about her sexuality in interviews in future. Did any of the people tweeting about those topics expect that to happen? Probably not, and yet it did. But these are good examples of how Twitter algorithms have vastly shifted, and keyword use is enough for things to easily and quickly trend outside of fandom’s intentions or control in ways that cause harm.

Putting any celebrities’ personal lives under a microscope, whether unintentionally or otherwise, is never a good idea. But it’s especially not a good idea when it comes to sexualities or personal relationships.

People will say “Shipping is just in the fandom! We know how to behave! What’s the problem? It’s never gone wrong before.” The problem is multilayered, but here are the main issues: the fact that nothing “bad” has happened before does not mean it never will. You can control your behavior, but you cannot control how other people–especially people who are new to your fandom–may or may not behave on the wider internet surrounding the topic of people's personal lives. Posting about it on main on somewhere like Twitter also inherently runs the risk of other outside parties seeing it, being like “what’s all this then?” and then picking it up and running with it further–whether that be ~haters~ or journalists.

People will also say “These celebrities know about this kind of fandom talk and they don’t care!” or “If the celebrities wanted us to stop this, they’d have said something by now!” To that I say: those are a lot of assumptions, when the only “assumption” one should realistically make is that we don’t know celebrities personally, we don’t know if they may or may not be actually closeted/unlabeled (which is their right!), and we don’t know what may make them uncomfortable while other things may not. The absence of "no" or "stop" isn't equivalent to "yes," nor is it citable as defense for questionable or potentially harmful behavior. Silence isn't blanket approval or consent, nor should it be assumed to be in any situation. Just because celebrities haven’t said in so many words “Please stop doing [this specific thing]” doesn’t mean they are automatically cool with whatever a fandom is doing, such as speculating about them or openly pointing out what they think they know about their sexualities or relationships. This includes posts on the wider timeline, or tweets and Instagram comments @ celebrities themselves filled with references or assumptions about their lives that are very not okay.

Even with something like Brie Larson’s situation... A celebrity making a joke or acting a certain way in one environment where they may feel comfortable or more relaxed–like a Youtube video, or a convention with fans, or anything else–does not mean that that celebrity expects or wants worldwide eyes on their behavior. And worldwide attention is what is always at risk on platforms like Twitter or Instagram.

Ultimately, overanalyzing and calling attention to people’s actions is how people who are allies can be made to feel awkward, or how people who are queer get outed or forced into labels. I literally live in fear of the day when some random journalist starts poking around specific fandoms/celebrities, connects the dots that are out there and are seemingly easy to connect, and then somehow makes their sexuality a topic of interviews. Once it becomes a Topic, it becomes nearly unavoidable for them. That’s what happened to Lee Pace; it’s how many people are forced to come out. At all times, queer celebrities are a stone’s throw away from having to deal with all of that in ways no one should, especially as they get more famous. If you care about any celebrity you like to talk about, or if you care about the privacy of real people at all in the ways you should (especially potentially queer people), this should be a point of concern for you.

So, in conclusion: be mindful. If you must talk about celebrities’ lives on something like Twitter, do it without using their actual names to avoid keywords, because they trend at the drop of a hat out of nowhere and that can ruin lives. Avoid deliberate repetition in your phrases because that’s how accidental trends are made. And, better yet, honestly? Consider just keeping that kind of talk to Tumblr/AO3, and preferably to personal private messages.

Your ability to fangirl/squee/celebrate a real person’s life is not more important than their right to privacy. Ever. This is not a petty topic and it is not “fandom policing” to say things like this out of concern. Acting from an abundance of caution is always the better way to go, because you lose nothing by being extra vigilant; the alternative of not being cautious enough comes with a high risk of negative consequence.

If we all just operate under the knowledge that talking about real people can translate to real consequences for real lives, and act with an abundance of respect/caution accordingly, then there will be nothing to worry about. And celebrities will get to live their private lives and (if this is applicable) be the authors of their own coming out journeys as they see fit, which is a right everyone should have.

From the bottom of my heart: just use both your empathy and your brain cells, please.

#celebrities #RPF #I logged on and I see people vagueposting about one specific actors' sexuality and my hairs stood on end #I know this post is long but I'd appreciate it if you'd reblog it #because this keeps coming up and it keeps BEING A PROBLEM and I am AFRAID FOR MANY CELEBRITIES #BUT ESPECIALLY A FEW WE SHALL NOT BE NAMING AT THIS TIME #please it costs $0 to be smart about this #I am once again begging people to be normal about this!!!!!!#char writes things

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

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Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (with a nickname and last name). Requested (A/n-posting this instead of the series that already completely written and ready to go. Initially a request, at this point, I don’t know by who, but if you’re still out there, I hope you enjoy. Also, it, as you can see, became bigger than it was supposed to. Why can’t I just write a oneshot?)

Masterlist

Warnings- murder, gun violence.

Chapter 1 A Murder, a Memory, a Hiring.

Sighing heavily, Y/n sank further into her impressive, leather upholstered chair, her legs crossed, one hand outstretched, her manicured nails drumming on the mahogany table top. A draining of scotch lingered near a stack of papers in a delicate crystal glass, forgotten. The men lined before her desk seemed nervous, they always did when they were around her; fear and respect went hand in hand when she was around. It was what Y/n had learned from her father, many years before his passing; sometimes, to earn the respect of those beneath you, you have to force it into them, by any means necessary.

“So,” Y/n pursed her maroon stained lips, “What the hell should I do with you?” When the one with her attention didn’t answer, opting to stand before her like a broken animal, knees shaking and sweating like a pig, Y/n glanced around the room, her eyes passing over four of her most trusted men, “What do you think gentleman? Think he’s any use to us?”

Even they seemed reluctant to answer, desperately avoiding being on her bad side. That was a side one never lived to come back from. “Well?” Her tone was now heavy with annoyance, “Do we tolerate scum?”

Seeming to find some misplaced courage, the man finally spoke up for himself, “Vila,” he pleaded, his frumpy form racked with sobs, deep down, knowing that the end was nigh, and inevitable, “I can serve you. I can…...I can….”

“You can what?” She smirked, “Give me something I need?” Y/n mocked, reaching into her desk drawer, she produced a custom handgun with abstract designs carved about it and gold embellishments emphasizing the beauty of the matte black. Slowly, her lithe fingers worked on loading it, “You know,” Y/n’s words were absent and careless, “Vilas, in Slavic folklore, they’re fairies, extraordinarily beautiful. Do you think I’m beautiful Johan?”

Y/n stood from the chair, letting it roll back a little and as she walked around to the other side of the table, she was sure to make a show of swiping the gun off the top. Her heels thudded softly as she approached him, and her men stepped out of her way, eyeing Johan closely, making sure he didn’t try anything. “Well?”

“I do,” he nodded vigorously, whimpering, as he was shoved down to his knees, his beaten face bloodied and sweaty, “So beautiful,” in an attempt to earn her forgiveness he planted his hands on the floor at her feet, “Please, please Vila, it was mistake, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right,” she smiled slyly, “Do you do what happens when someone betrays a Vila?” Sighing as she awaited his answer, Y/n brushed some hair out of her face with the tip of her red polished nail. Shifting her weight from her left leg to her right, “Answer me!” Her snarl was venomous and her henchmen jumped; it was rare for her to lose control of her anger like that. Y/n got angry, of course, she was only human, but she had enough self control to maintain her cool demeanor. Always emanating danger but never out rightly so.

When Johan still couldn’t muster up the response, she grabbed him by the hair, violently yanking his head up, “Let me tell you, when scum like you betrays the hand that has given them so much, it dies.” Letting him go, Y/n clenched her jaw, snapping for two men to hold him in place, “I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” she managed, pressing the gun to his head, and before he could even beg again, the sound of the shot being fired resounded, bouncing off the walls of her office. Blood splattered, droplets clinging to her pristine white blouse while some flew to her face, though most of it was on her hands.

“Great,” Y/n rolled her eyes when they dropped the limp body, the heavy thump being followed by blood pooling on her rug. “What a fucking mess,” she huffed, tossing the gun to the table for cleaning later, taking the handkerchief offered by a man just about ten years her senior, Donavan, he was a loyal one, her right hand when she needed one, and quite the treat to look at, among other things.

Tossing the kerchief back to Donavan not caring if he caught it or not, Y/n was already walking out of the room, sure to evade the saturated parts of the rug, her heels thumping softly when she was out in the hallway, “Call clean up, and get a replacement for that rug before I’m back this evening.”

“Yes ma’am,” Donavan was just a couple paces behind her, already getting out his phone to make arrangements. When he slipped the cell back into his breast pocket, they were already descending a spiral staircase that led down to an open floor, where most of the business took place; packing for exports, accounts in another corner and stocks kept in the back. All in all, the nondescript warehouse on Staten Island was where Y/n spent the majority of her day, running the empire that had been built long before there was even an inkling of her conception. It was the base and brain of operations, where her office was and where the dirty work happened.

Typically, upon her arrival at around nine am, Y/n didn’t didn’t leave the lot until late in the evening, but that day, in addition to her very busy morning, she had a meeting with the High Table, her first one since being inaugurated. Her father would be proud.

But Y/n?

She was downright terrified.

Not that she would admit it. Y/n wasn’t the kind of person who admitted to fear. Or any sort of human emotion, she preferred to keep those around her guessing, that way they’d be sure to fear her, and by consequence submit to her rule. At least, that was what she’d told herself.

Just as they stepped outside, Donavan opened up an umbrella for her, guarding Y/n from the slight drizzle that overcast New York offered. Awaiting her was a black Rolls-Royce, it’s sleek coat shining even in the dimness of the day while the heavily tinted bullet-proof windows were spotless. Another hand held the back door open, and as Y/n slipped into the vehicle, Donavan handed her a thick long coat and large designer handbag; peeking out of the opened top was a fresh blouse, a charcoal colored, silk one. Without as much as a word to part them, he closed her door, letting the car pull off.

The minute they were out of the lot, she got to work on her blouse, quickly untucking it from her skirt, pulling it over her head and casting it aside before hastily pulling out the clean one, shrugging on the cool material. The inside of the blouse was rough against her skin and Y/n’s nimble fingers made short work of the mimicked crystal buttons and when she was finished, she haphazardly tucked it into her black pencil skirt and pulled on her coat. Afterwards, she ran a corrective comb through her tresses and freshened her lipstick.

She was finished by the time her driver was taking her over the Verrazano-Narrows, the Continental wasn’t too far off there, right in the thick of the city and Y/n opted to occupy the rest of her drive with a drink from the limited selection.

The burning twinge of the whiskey was paired with a smoky note, both pleasantly welcome, cooling Y/n’s nerves. Finally, in the quiet security of the car, she could think. Think about what she’d gotten herself into. Taking up the seat at the High Table wasn’t a decision that she’d made lightly, Y/n knew what came with it; with power came enemies, and her line of work had already fitted her with many. There were those who didn’t approve of her induction, older heads who felt that Y/n was too young to be held in such esteem, she couldn’t have known much, she was nothing more than a daddy’s girl who didn’t have to claw, or fuck, her way to the top. There were even a select few who’s reservations were contained solely in their jealousy too; one twenty something shouldn’t be afforded that much power when others twice her age were still scurrying for scraps.

However, their opinions on her weren’t what contributed to Y/n’s unease, she never paid much mind to what others thought of her, only the insecure spent time worrying about something as frivolous as public perception, and Y/n was anything but. Optics were the least of Y/n’s problems, her issue was with what people would do to ensure her untimely downfall. There were only so many enemies a girl could kill before starting to seriously worry for her life. Y/n didn’t want to die, no one did, not by a bullet to the head or poison in the rum. But Y/n knew that there were those that would go the lengths, that would do anything to see her gone just so they could snatch up what was rightfully hers.

The troubling thoughts were consuming, and the more her mind worked, the more Y/n felt like she’d just been tossed into the Hudson without a life raft, paddling clumsily just to stay afloat, icy water frosting her insides. Blinking quickly, Y/n downed the rest of her drink, hoping to swallow the feeling and return it to where it belonged; deep down for none, herself included, to find. Fear meant that something had power over you, and she couldn’t be the one without control. She was in control.

Before Y/n could think to pour herself another, the car was stopping in front of the Continental, where the meeting was being held. A person, who’s face she didn’t care to commit, held the door open for her and Y/n walked straight past him without as much as a thanks. Eyes followed her as she strode towards the concierge’s station, some adoring, other’s with glares as sharp as daggers. No doubt, they all knew who she was, the only Romanov daughter; a pampered princess turned ruthless bitch. It was impossible to be a working fraction of the criminal underbelly of New York and not know her. But whatever they thought they knew; it wasn’t nearly enough.

Her expensive perfume carried in the air like a siren song, calling attention from all around, making hotel staff temporarily stop their jobs and guests raise their heads and hang their jaws. Upon reaching the desk, Y/n drummed her fingers on the cool surface. That was one thing everyone knew about her; impatience ran in her veins; no one made a Romanov wait. “Charon,” Y/n purred.

“Miss Romanov,” his professional politeness was one she was used to, Y/n wouldn’t really call him a friend, but he was certainly an acquaintance that she didn’t mind sharing drinks with, “How do you do?”

“Delightful,” she chirped, and, as always, it was a scramble to figure out if the word was meant in sarcasm or not, “You?”

“No complaints yet,” he nodded astutely, “I assume you’re here for the meeting?”

“I am,” Y/n confirmed, shifting her weight from on leg to the other. Absently, as Charon hit some keys on his computer, she shifted a lock of hair away from her face, vaguely aware that someone had come to stand a couple feet behind her. As much as Y/n wanted to know who it was, she didn’t dare look back, instead straightening her back and awaiting service.

Minutes later, Charon was directing her to where the meeting was being held and bidding her a good afternoon. Before she was out of earshot, he seemed to move on to the next client, with the same friendly disposition, “Hello, Mr. Wick.” The name rang a bell, though, Y/n couldn’t really place it. Not spending too much time on something that didn’t concern her, Y/n pushed the thought away continuing her walk towards the elevator.

The meeting had been just as she’d expected, boring and political. Many might have thought that bloodshed and drugs might have made criminal politics more entertaining than that of the conventional kind, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was still dominated by people twice and three times her age, unable to accept the opinions of anyone their junior. Over drinks and stiff banter, most of which could have been likened to sneers and insults directed towards whoever sat opposite them, the Table voted on a couple matters, mainly on who they collectively needed gone and how to keep their connections in law enforcement and various civil arms in check without too much speculation. They’d also traded updates on their personal empires as if it were housekeeping and at the end, they’d set a place for their next biannual meeting, Vienna.

Y/n was among the first to leave the room, and she hadn’t realized that Winston was a close second until he called out to her, “Y/n, dear!” He chuckled, pulling her into a hug.

“Uncle Winston,” she smiled, her first genuine one in months. Winston wasn’t any sort of biological relative, but he was someone that her family had greatly considered, he and her parents had a long history, and after they’d passed, Y/n had remained close to him. Besides her them, he was the only one privileged enough to really know her. “How have you been?”

“Better now that my goddaughter’s paid me a visit. Though, I’d hope that it wouldn’t take a High Table meeting to drag you out here,” his teasing was light and Y/n felt herself relaxing, letting Winston lead her to the lounge, where they slipped into their usual booth, away from the fuss. Without as much as a request, two martinis were placed in front of them.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n smiled lightly, looking down at her beverage, “I’ve just been busy.”

“I know,” Winston hummed, his gaze trained on her, “Trying to rule the world, as usual,” hesitating for a moment before continuing with more regard, “You know that you’ll never be able to do it, right?” He wasn’t talking about ‘ruling the world’ anymore and Y/n knew it, “You can’t just kill away your fears.”

Her shoulders slumped and Y/n brought the glass to her lips, sighing at the taste, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shook her head.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You think being like him will give you some kind of immunity to the dangerous world we live in. It didn’t do it for him, and it won’t do it for you,” Winston was talking about her father; he’d lived just like she did, running his operation with an iron fist and without and ounce of empathy, thinking it was some kind of wall that would ultimately make him invincible. It was an assumption that couldn’t be further from the truth and the memory of a bloodied Channel carpet and the gurgle of blood filled lungs was enough to send a painful pang to Y/n’s chest, forcing her to take another drag of her drink.

“I’m just saying; I think you need to consider your options,” Winston sighed when Y/n didn’t answer, deciding that he’d have better luck at getting through to her in another way, “You look like Meredith with your hair like that.” Meredith, it was a long time since Y/n had heard her mother’s name. Even before her father died, he’d never had the stomach to utter it, for with the name, were a slew of jerking memories. She had been gone for a long time, long before Y/n could understand what death was, but once in a while, she’d think about her, wonder what her life would be like if she had lived, “You know what she’d have wanted.”

“I barely know her,” Y/n countered, trying to deny the real effect that Winston’s words had. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, then I’ll think about it, okay?”

Winston smiled triumphantly, “It’ll make you feel better too,” he reached over and patted her hand, it was a fatherly gesture, the kind she found herself missing in quieter moments, “He’s here, if you want to talk to him before you leave.”

Truthfully, Winston was right, having someone to protect her, watching her back would make her feel better. It would be nice knowing that she wouldn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. Nodding, Y/n agreed, “Sure, the sooner the better, right?”

“Right,” Winston mirrored, “His name is John Wick, and he’s in room 214.”

214

It looked like all the other rooms, though for some reason, that one specifically made her nervous. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to seeking people out, she was used to them coming to her. She wasn’t used to asking for things either. No, Y/n was the type of woman that got what she wanted, when she wanted it, no questions asked. But still, there she was, standing in front of a hotel room, a little shaken, about to ask for the Boogeyman’s help

Taking a deep breath, Y/n raised her enclosed fist, hitting the cream wood in three short knocks. It wasn’t long before the door was being pulled open, revealing a well-dressed man with nearly a foot on her height, eyes as dark as whiskey and neatly combed hair just past his ears. His three piece suit was missing its jacket, though Y/n could tell that it was a tailored piece that probably cost a considerable amount. He was attractive, Y/n didn’t think that any man had ever had that kind of effect on her. The kind that made her breath hitch and her heat speed up. Usually, it was the other way around, she was the one racing hearts. “You must be John Wick,” Y/n had to raise her head to meet his gaze, maintaining her unbothered disposition.

John continued his hold on the brass knob as his other hand slipped into the pocket of his black slacks, “It depends on who’s asking,” he didn’t seem to be interested in small talk or anything that would cost any more of his precious time. Already, Y/n liked him.

“Why don’t we cut the bullshit?” She moistened her lips, hooking her handbag in the crook of her elbow, “You know who I am, I know who you are, introductions are a waste of time. I have a proposition.”

John eyed her with silent intrigue, the toe of his shoe soundlessly tapping the carpet, “Well?” Reluctantly, he ushered her into the room, pouring them a couple drinks before leading them to a small table in the center of the room. Smoothing her dress as she sat, Y/n discarded her bag on the table, crossing her legs, letting the slim heel of her stiletto gently knock her shin.

“I need personal security,” there was no point in dancing around it, if she wanted John’s attention, then her best bet was to be straight forward, “And I heard that you’re the best at what you do.”

“You should also know that I’m not a bodyguard,” John countered bluntly.

Y/n nodded slowly, trying to not let her demeanor melt away just just because he could easily match her stoicism, “I can pay you well. Whatever you’re making on your current job, I can triple it, quadruple it if that’s what you want. And that’ll be you’re monthly salary”

“Not interested,” John brought his glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip of his bourbon, “You have money, you can find someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else,” Y/n dismissed coolly, mirroring John when he took another sip of his drink. By that rate, someone else might have been drunk, but Y/n was known to hold her own when it came to booze, “I want John Wick.”

“Not. Interested,” he repeated and Y/n clenched her jaw, trying not to show the flare in her anger.

Setting her glass down, Y/n scooped up her bag by its short leather strap, she wanted John’s protection, but she wasn’t going to grovel, she would rather die, literally. “Very well,” she stood, casually dusting off her dress. At least she could tell Winston she tried. “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Wick.

Maybe it was the way she said his name, the way “Mister” just seemed to carelessly fall off her plump lips. Maybe it was because she was a pretty little thing or because John could see her fear past the bravado. Whatever it was, it had John changing his mind faster that he could register. Before Y/n was even a few feet off, John was standing again, grabbing her by the forearm, “Wait,” she turned, now standing close enough for him to see her lace clad breasts down her top and smell her perfume mixing with her shampoo. Put together, it was enthralling, and John wondered if she looked like that on purpose; no woman could be that alluring without effort. “Why does a Romanov need protection? And don’t lie to me, I’ll know.”

Y/n raised her head a little accentuating her neck, briefly glancing at John’s grip on her forearm before turning to him again, “Fine. Truthfully,” she exaggerated the word, hoping to downplay her next ones, “I’m scared of dying. I know who I am, and I know that there are those who’d do anything to see me gone, and I’m not ready to end up like my father.” Or worse yet, like her mother.

John was quiet for a minute, and finally he let her arm go, taking a step back, “I work alone,” he began, “I don’t care who the rest of your team is, you won’t need them. I make all security decisions, and I don’t ask before shooting. Got it?”

Y/n cocked a curious eyebrow, “Got it. We’ll discuss the rest of this arrangement soon. Thank you, Mr. Wick,” Y/n winked, swaying her hips as she walked towards the door, letting herself out.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#keanu reeves #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #john wick ff #keanu reeves x you #series #protective service #request #keanu reeves fanfic #chapter one #a murder a memory and a hiring #john wick request

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wheresthemuffinman · 3 years

Text

So I've been really into interactive fiction for a long while and I've finally decided to showcase my various MC(s) over different IFs.

(Who I may have incorporated from my OCs from a series (or at least a universe) I'm working on😌)

Picture made by Picrew (https://picrew.me/image_maker/625951)

This MC is based in Triaina Academy by @leo-interactive-fiction

WARNING: This post is long and doesn't have proper capitalisation at times

*looks at the camera* "This is boring, can I please do something else?"

File: #01 : Triaina Academy

Date of recording:*Data Corrupted*

Interviewee: Melody "Mai" Razor

---------------------PARTICULARS-------------------

Appearance: Hazel eyes that look like topaz in bright light and black hair that reach her shoulders. Wears a pair of red glasses and has a mole below her left eye.

Power: Blood manipulation

Description: Seemingly obedient as first, she'll roll along to anything that happens until it starts to inconvenience her or she gets bored. After that it'll be a 50/50 chance she'll start to mess around or just deviate and do something else entirely.

Doesn't trust easily, but loves to mess around with people by teasing them playfully after warming up to them.

Likes to act like she's running on a single brain cell 24/7, has a habit of running around aimlessly and just exploring places that seem interesting.

She took on the name of "Mai" to abandon her past and start anew. She'll grow to letting go of her abandonment issues and let extremely close friends of use her actual name after a long while.

---------------------VIDEO CUTS---------------------

*The following words appear on the screen: "What do you think about..."*

Emil Dobry

"Em's like the little bro I never had. Though, he tends to be a tad bit too naive for my comfort. We're kinda in troublesome times with cutthroats everywhere and I'm kinda worried he might not be able to make the right call when the going gets tough and I'm not there, you know?"

Notes: Her time as the eldest among her fellow sea urchins when young carried over to the present. She feels responsible for Emil and his happiness. Gets him little trinkets she finds from time to time and he is one of the few people she'll happily do favors for, no questions asked. (The other being a baker who gave her bread occasionally in the past)

Robin Vallenford

"Birdie? He seems alright, can't say much from him at first glance, just know he's hiding something. His fights with Em are a great source of entertainment at times, downright childish on others. On hindsight though, he does bring colour to the whole dorm."

*She tilts a head to the side, leaning back and kicking her feet up midair, grinning slyly*

"I think we'll get along juuust fine."

Notes: She seems to be respectful of Robin and interested in knowning him better. Would gladly play a round of cards with him even if she knew she was going to lose.

Vin Wolfe

*She frowns slightly* "I'm gonna be honest, I didn't think much of Sunshine back in the arena. But when he pulled that gun out I think I nearly lost 10 years of my life. But,"

*She stares at the ceiling thoughtfully*

"He doesn't seem to mean any harm, maybe he just has a few things to work off." *Mumbling* "Bet his aim's really good too, might want to see if he'll teach me."

Notes: She doesn't know what to fully make out of Vin, she's a little put off by the commander title (she's not used to commanding other people at all. She's prefers to operate independently). More than happy to teach him what she knows about academics. Notes to herself to keep an eye out for his sake.

Calls Vin "Sunshine" (at least in her head).

Leah Scio

*Her eyes light up* "Bluejay? She's really pretty and nice, quiet though. She's also pretty much the only other person I know that wears glasses and I think she reads alot! I'd really like to see her collection sometime. She's like Em, but doesn't appear to be naive. Actually, now that I think about it, I can't really compare those two. It's like oranges and pears you'know? She's definitely smarter, and less emotional when there's thinking to be done."

Notes: She enjoys Leah's company and wants to learn from her. One of the very few people she cares about that she goes easy on when fighting (she feels really bad hurting them). Calls her "Bluejay".

---------------------VIDEO CUTS---------------------

*Reading through a folder that has the word "CONFIDENTIAL" on its front* "Ooooo"

*A rough voice can be heard from behind the camera* "Woi, who gave that to 'er? Someone take it away!"

*The folder gets swipped out of her hands from a passer-by* "Wha-Hey! What gives-oh"

*she glances behind the camera and readjusts her voice, flashing a sheepish grin*

"Sorry, got a little distracted there, shall we continue?"

---------------------------------------------------------

Pierce Crater

"Firecracker? Well I don't really have much to say about him that he himself isn't already making obvious."

*She brings a hand up to her chin, posing in mock contemplation*

"He swears alot, jumps to conclusions, and is really prone to resorting to violence to solve his problems. He would honestly make a terrible diplomat."

*She pauses for a few moments, her eyes go distant*

"Though he does seem to put his best into the many things I've seen him do. His position as a representative might be saying something about his leadership...and he is really easy to embarrass...wonder how he fights...?"

Notes: Her attitude towards Pierce seems to change to somewhat more reasonable and surprisingly more careful, a stark contrast to her more playful and nonchalant interactions to her own dormmates. She doesn't seem to trust him much, but she also doesn't realise herself hanging around him more.

Unfortunately for Pierce (or "Firecracker") , she also seems to be increasingly curious about him after this interview. Granted, this was bound to happen sooner than later.

Matthew Crater

*She squints, a faraway look in her eyes*

"Snowflake's a strange one, never really met anyone who passes out so frequently. He's a cute one though, gonna be honest. Friendly too, other than that though, don't really know much else."

Notes: Amicable with Matthew (Nicknamed: "Snowflake"), she doesn't seem to understand much about his...suggestions to wake up. Most likely will nap with him if she catches his sleeping during a break.

Raven

*Her posture tenses slightly, before quickly relaxing*

"Bubbles'...alright. Honestly I'm more surprised by myself for not getting more freaked out. She unpredictable, and smarter than she lets on."

*She shrugs*

"Needs to calm the homocidal vibes though, I'd be more worried about Em when he's around her."

Notes: Slightly unsettled by Raven's (Nickname: "Bubbles") clinginess to her. She is curious on Raven's interest in her, but also slightly wary of what she could do.

Snipper of Scorpion’s Den

*Her smile grows into a wide Chesire-like grin*

"Ah, finally! Snip's unlike the other lot in the academy. Just met 'er and I already love 'er to bits. Not one to detect social cues though, and is a little too loud at times."

*she winks at the camera* "Trust me when I tell ya that if you were to leave us alone for even 2 seconds, and we'll paint the town red."

Notes: She'll never admit it, but Snipper reminds her a little like her old friends on the street, before she found a roof over her head. She misses them, the people who shaped her and that she'll never see again, making the times she and Snipper hang out sometimes slightly more melancholic.

Outside that though, she's more than willing to watch Snipper testing on something or just working on Sandy.

Fray De Forêt

*She bites her lip, giving a wistful smile*

"Liliac's alright, I don't hate her, she's just a little bit of a snob. Then again, I've never really talked to nobility before, so maybe I should save the judgement for later."

*She stops and smiles slightly at the ceiling*

"Though, she does have a certain respect for nature. I can understand that. The forests hide so many secrets and animals, what's not to love about it?"

Note: She's doesn't really have many feelings towards Fray( Nicknamed: "Liliac"), though she respects her power. She'll listen to her demands and maaaybe oblige them, but she'll be damned if she gives Fray full control over her.

-------------Video freezes, a static of the TV hums, before the screen cuts off into darkness------------

---------------------VIDEO ENDS---------------------

#triaina academy #I wanted to have a some fun while presenting and have decided to make an archive of taped interviews regarding all my OCs.#this includes the ones I've made for my original universe (so it'd be more like AUs for these characters #this includes Mai)#The Archived Tapes #Mai #File 01 #This was my first time making this and this really was fun #The things not centred and I typed this all on mobile I'll fix these later #just realised I have a test to study for but my singular brain cell went: lol nope I wanna write something #so here I am #thanks if you read up to here #it means alot

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years

Text

Operation: BREAD (Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad)

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 23: Rumor: MrEverdeen crossed fence dividing Town and Seam, kidnapped Mrs Everdeen making her his common law wife. Years later, Mellark sons plan to avenge their father by raiding Seam and kidnapping one of Everdeen’s daughters for one of them to take as a wife! Does Katniss “volunteer,” does she escape, how do the 3 brothers decide what to do with her since they didn’t plan it all out well? [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rated: T for now, for language.

Author’s Note: So, I resigned myself that this prompt won’t be completed by the new dateline of May 10th, because believe it not, quarantining with the husband and children at home makes for a very busy day… everyday. I haven’t been able to write anything for days at a time, and everytime I come back, I reread what I’ve written so far, and find faults that need fixing and what I hoped to be a short story is turning into a long one shot because I’m incapable of keep things simple… and now I’m ranting about everything instead of thanking everyone— from the EFE administrators, to @567inpanem for the prompt, and y’all dear readers— and wishing all moms a happy Mother’s Day, even if you celebrate it on a different date in your country… and I a belated happy birthday to Katniss Everdeen and Also a happy Mother’s Day to her, because she deserves it… anywho…

Here’s is the very first part of this story, that can’t make up its mind on what it wants to be (it’s leaning into romcom territory right now), I’ll post all my submissions soonish (hopefully finished), and I apologize for any formatting defects since I’m posting from my cell phone, otherwise I’ll forget to post it at all.

Sorry this is messy! I love y’all! Stay healthy.

————

“Quiet, you morons!” Bannock… whispers?

Is that the right descriptor for the harsh, low sounds that comes from his mouth? I’m not quite sure, but I look at him sheepishly, since I was the one to trip on air this time around and nearly knock down a clothesline, poles and all.

“S-sorry…” I stutter drunkenly.

Rye shrugs, uncaring. Asshole!

Bannock glares at us with his bloodshot, angry blue eyes before turning around and creeping forward.

It’s a chilly night out, with no stars and just a sliver of moon casting minimal light over us, ideal to maraud and raid… if we lived any place else, that is.

If we were to find ourselves face to face with the flashlight of a Peacekeeper patrolling the streets, things could go anywhere from awkward to deadly, and I really hope we don’t have to find out how it’ll truly go. We’re wasted, outside our house after curfew, and facing our mother’s wrath would probably be as terrible as any punishment the peacekeepers would inflict on us.

The later option has me swallowing thickly.

I’m no coward by any stretch of the word… but I do enjoy being alive, so… yeah.

“Don’t mess around, no more!” Bannock chides.

As soon as Bann turns around, Rye mouths his words back, mockingly, and I wonder— not for the first time— how can my brothers be so immature? Bannock just turned 25, while Rye has the mind of a 13 year old trapped in the muscular body of a 24 year old man; leaving sweet, little me, the 21 year old baby sibling, to bring the rear.

Rye burps, mostly quietly, earning another warning glare from Bann. All things considered, I’m a little impressed at how stealthily we’ve been moving so far, being as enebriated as we are and all. But who knows? Maybe we really aren’t as slick as my alcohol soaked brain thinks we are, and I’m just too skunked to know any better.

“D’you think we’ll be back before father wakes to take care of the ovens?” Rye slurs a little, squinting his eyes at a cat trotting across the alley in front of him. A second later he’s frowning down at the cat, shushing it obnoxiously, as if it’s soft paws are the ones making the stopping sounds coming from his own boots.

Bannock shrugs, “Who cares!”

I’m about to raise my hand and respond that I do, I care, but Rye starts laughing like an idiot, already distracted by something else. We turn to catch him picking up a stick and throwing it at the poor, unsuspecting cat. As soon as the stick hits it’s side, the animal loses its balance, making it fall into a trash can, with a terrified cry.

It’s awful. And loud.

“Knock it off!” Bannock growls as quietly as he can. “You’re gonna wake up the whole town, asshole!”

The cat meows indignantly, climbing out of the trash. He jumps to the other side and it’s gone in the next moment.

I sigh, rubbing one hand over my face. “Guys, I think we should go back. I don’t think Father will approve of this.”

“Shut up, Peeta!”

“Yeah! Shut it, runt!”

I grunt in aggravation under my breath. “I’m serious. We shouldn’t be out here… at all!” I insist.

“Why did you come then?” Bann hisses.

“You dragged me out with you, jackass!” I counter, pointedly. Plus, I’m the least drunk out of the three of us, and I figured I should keep an eye on them two, make sure they don’t get hurt in this idiotic quest… but I don��t say that out aloud. “I still don’t understand why, are we stumbling across town in the middle of the night, risking getting caught outside after curfew.”

“You know why, Peeta! We’ve gone over it to death,” snaps Bann, twisting his whole body to face me and almost walking into a potted plant sitting by somebody’s back door. “Father doesn’t know how to take care of himself, let alone how to defend his honor!”

“Our hands have been forced, runt. We need to pick up the slack, that’s why!”

I roll my eyes at my brothers.

It’s true though. For the last 26 years, our father has been both the butt of every joke said in the streets of district 12, and the victim of a tragic cautionary tale, people somehow feel the sadistic inclination to bring up to us, Mellark boys, as if we needed the reminder.

“Geez… save it for Everdeen, Bann. Let the runt keep his head instead of chewing it off him!”

Bannock frowns. It’s not everyday Rye comes to my defense, which means he really must be hammered.

Cool! I love brotherly affection… even if given under the influence.

“Whatever.” Bannock mutters under his breath. “We’re here anyway.” He signals to the fence dividing our district into two unequal sections: the merchant quarter, where we live, and the Seam (our destination), the largest— yet poorest— side of 12.

It’s unclear why the government erected the fence running right through the district in the first place, but the effect of having a literal barrier separating everyone in our small district, couldn’t be any clearer: we have a huge social divide amongst our people, very distinct and hard to overcome. Both sides distrusting the other, despite there never being a tangible reason why.

Personally, I think the most logical explanation for the creation of the internal fence, was just sheer desire to create hostility and antagonism between the citizens of 12… maybe it’s easier for the Capitol’s long arm to control a podunk place like here, when there’s an unbridgeable social chasm between our own denizens; how can we band together to demand better treatment and fair representation from the mighty Capitol, when we’re fighting with each other?

Of course, I keep my opinion to myself, because speaking of such things is just a sure way to find oneself in prison, facing charges of public agitation and whatnot.

Bann cuts through my musings, “Alright… let’s find a spot to cross over.” He says determined and still very intoxicated.

The worst kept secret in District 12, is how some sections of the fence are too close to the houses in the merchant side. If one really wants to cross into the other side over the fence, one only needs to look for a low wall adjacent to the top links of the fence to climb on, and after that, it’s all a matter of gravity pulling you down. Its been done before too…

Everyone speculates that’s what happened the day our father fell into disgrace: A man from the Seam found a weak spot to exploit… and the rest is history. Never mind the fact that jumping the fence is a common enough hooligan deed; how else can teenage couples reach the Slag Heap at the edge of the old coal mines to engage in their secret affairs?

It only takes us a few minutes to find a brick wall circling the backyard of a random house, just two feet shy of the fence.

We climb it with all the grace of a pig crawling up a greased pole, but after much huffing and puffing, we manage— with great effort— to drag ourselves over the barrier. We’re sweating and swearing, but who could blame us for that? We Mellark boys are just too broad and heavy with muscle, add to the mix the fact that we’ve drank our body weight in white liquor right before Bann had the brilliant idea of dragging us out here, and you have an uncoordinated— mostly clumsy— sad excuse, trio of vandals.

Rye goes first, then I go; finally, Bannock splatters down like a bullfrog, falling on his ass. He’s disgruntled and I suspect in dire need of a nap.

“Come on!” He commands, dusting his behind sloppily.

We’ve been walking aimlessly through unfamiliar dirt roads and dark unpaved alleys. The place is littered with produce crates set upside down in neat circles every other road… I vaguely wonder if that’s what passes as a socializing hot spot here in the Seam, like the square with its concrete benches is for us in town?

Sometimes I forget how things can be so shitty on this side of the District. It makes my stomach twist unpleasantly with guilt, realizing I take certain privileges for granted.

About five minutes into our stupid intrusion into Seam territory, Rye speaks up.

“Dude… do you know where they live?”

Bannock’s head snaps up, clearly annoyed. “How hard can it be to find the Seam’s apothecary?”

Very, actually.

First of all, The Seam consists of row after row of seemingly identical shacks, in varying states of shabbiness, arranged in a huge matrix of sorts. Each row is made of three to five houses with a slim road in between the next set of homes.

For what I gather in my limited liquor-addled brain, each horizontal row has a designated letter, and the vertical street goes by number. Other than that, there are no other distinguishing signs, telling us where we are or how to find the ‘Seam apothecary’ as Bann inarticulately dubbed it.

Rye groans in annoyance, seeming ready to overrule Bannock and call the whole thing off, himself; but my drunk ass is too stupid to keep my big mouth shut.

“They live close to the electric fence. Right before the meadow. They probably have a fence-in yard, too.”

I wince, regretting my words right away. I shouldn’t have said anything, but like an idiot, I couldn’t help spilling out the small bursts of information I’ve gathered over the years on the Everdeens.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but the Everdeens are a bit of an obsession to me… for all of us Mellarks, really. Given our entangled past with them, it shouldn’t be so much of a revelation, but this thing between our families has been a nuisance ever since I can remember and while my brothers and mother use it as a focal point of hatred and animosity. For me, is a curiosity driven thirst for knowledge on everything Everdeen. Anything that could shed light on our sordid past, I would gobble up, trying to answer why something that has virtually nothing to do with me and my brothers, still haunt us everywhere we go.

Rye frowns. “Fence-in yard?” He looks around the houses we are passing, realizing none of those have fences.

“Goat.” Bannock grunts, nodding thoughtfully. “Good catch, runt.”

“Huh?” Rye is scratching his head, confused.

“The blonde girl,” Bann says with mild irritation.

People from the Seam have a very specific look to them: dark— usually straight— hair, gray eyes, olive skin… ‘blonde’, blue eyed and pale, is more of a descriptor for people from the merchant class, like us… like Mrs. Everdeen.

The poor woman must stick out like a sore thumb in here; probably the same goes to her merchant-looking daughter, Primrose.

“What about the blonde?”

“She makes goat cheese.” Bann huffs as explanation, but since Rye still looks like the concept is too hard to fathom, Bannock grunts, expanding. “She trades the cheese in town. Mainly with Father. Which means, Everdeen has to keep at least one goat for the girl to have access to milk.”

“M’kay… goat, fences, meadow.” Rye lists clumsily on his fingers, following after Bann. “Got it!”

We quickened our steps in the direction of the electric fence. I’m still kicking myself for saying anything when we reach the last row of houses before the meadow.

I really hope I’m wrong about them having a goat, although I find it hard to believe Primrose steals milk from other people for her cheeses. She looks so sweet and innocent.

Alas, I’m too clever for my own good sometimes.

The very first house in the row at the edge of the meadow, has a pen connected to the house on the strip of backyard allotted to them. A tiny but sturdy shed stands against the back wall of the house, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, I can barely make out the snout of a goat, peeking out of the narrow opening of the shed.

“This is it!” Rye crows excitedly, rubbing his hands together and licking his chops like a hungry, humanoid wolf.

“Yeah. Finally!” Grunts Bann, “keep your voice down, doofus.” his reaction, both frenzied and anxious.

“Let’s do this!” Rye’s smile is deranged.

“Great!” I hiccup with fake enthusiasm. “What are we doing?” I deadpan, staring at my siblings with all the aggravation I can muster.

My brothers speak excitedly at the same time:

“Taking one of the girls back home with us!”/“Beating the shit out of Everdeen!”

My brothers look at each other, perplexed, and go, “”What?!” At the same time.

“Fuck!” I groan to the skies, noting its near dawn. “You better be joking! We came all the way out here, and you idiots didn’t plan what you were going to do once we arrived?”

“No… I mean, yes! No. it’s simple,” Slurs Rye trying to stare me in the eye and failing miserably, “We’re dragging Everdeen out here. Then, we’ll beat the snot out of the bastard, and have you doodle the whole thing out for Father… you’ll finally use that art talent of yours for something we’ll all enjoy… not just you,”

“No, no, no, no!” Snaps Bannock. “We’re taking one of Everdeen’s daughters, bring her back home with us, and avenge father.”

“What? Why?” Rye whines much too loud and even I shush him. “I thought we were just gonna jump the bastard and rearrange his face a little,” Rye sounds disappointed.

Bannock answers right away, sounding like our mother when she’s chiding us for some thing or another. “Dude… the guy stole Dad’s girl! You know what they say about repaying a slight with the same coin and all that shit. It stands to reason, the course of action here is to take one of the girls home with us, sleep with her, and get her pregnant or something, then she can’t come back to her daddy.”

I throw my hands up in the air, “That’s it! I’m out!” My brain practically short circuits with the outrageous shit my brothers are spewing out of their mouths.

Sure, beating the lights out of an unsuspecting man in front of his house in the middle of the night is already crazy, but Bann’s idea to take a girl away from her home, it’s beyond preposterous!

Instead of lashing out, I turn around and stalk away as fast as my legs can carry me. I’m still tipsy, so I stumble a little, but I’m determined to leave.

“Hey! Where are ya going?!”

I get grabbed by the bíceps and pulled back to ‘hide’ behind a scraggly bush overlooking the house we assume is Everdeen’s. My brothers push me down by the shoulders roughly, until I’m sitting on my ass.

“The hell is wrong with you two?” I snarl, trying to punch and kick either one of them.

“Shut up, runt! They’re gonna hear you!”

“Good! Then someone will call the Peacekeepers over.”

“Wha— No! Why would you want that?” Rye whines.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this crazy shit!” I spit enraged.

“Dude, you can’t bail on operation BREAD,” Rye scrunches up his face.

“Operation Bread? What in the hell, is operation Bread?” I wrench my arms free from them at last, glowering up at both.

“Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad!” Rye says proudly, a lopsided smile brightens his face, and all I want to do is punch his nose.

“You’re insane!” I sputter.

“No… I’m cle-ver!” Rye grins, tapping a finger to his temple.

“Come on, Peeta. You know this needs to be done!” Bann cuts in.

“No! It doesn’t!” I argue. I still feel woozy from alcohol though, so it’s costing me too much effort trying to get up. “This is just insane, Bannock! What you’re proposing is just… heinous!” I hiss.

Bannock’s face hardens, “Nobody will see it like that.” He assures, “An eye for an eye, baby brother.”

“So what? We’re gonna kidnap and rape an innocent girl in revenge, and you think that’ll fix anything? Will it bring peace? It’ll help you get Madelynn’s parents to back off and let her marry you?” I’m so pissed off, I’m pretty sure spittle is flying out of my mouth. “It won’t do anyone any good! Not us, nor father, and especially not Katniss or Primrose!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bannock flies at me, and all I have to do is lift my arms to shield my head.

Rye is an equal opportunity asshole most of the time, but in this moment, he’s the one stopping Bannock from breaking my face in two, and I’m very grateful for my middle brother manhandling our eldest for me.

“Rape is a strong word, runt.” Rye gasps with the effort of keeping Bannock from kicking my ass. But if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, I think maybe my words are chipping away some of his complicitness in this mess. “Maybe, what Bann meant, was, one of us will… you know… spend time with the girl, and then… make her his common law wife or something?” Rye looks at Bann expectantly.

Bannock nods. Rye lets go of him.

We all stay silent, breathing heavily for a moment.

“Same coin. Simple as that.”

If the stories are to be believed, Sorrel Everdeen crossed the fence dividing the merchant quarter and the seam, kidnapped my father’s betrothed— Lily— and made her his common law wife, despite being common knowledge, that the woman in question was engaged to our father since they were very young.

It’s an old rumor, really, with no real way to fact-check the events that led to this moment in time, but there’s always been some nasty whispering churning around town; tales varying in height and perjury, sometimes scandalous, others depraved, always with add-ons and full of conjectures flavored by the speaker in turn, but never the whole truth.

The worst thing is that the stories die down for a while when something juicer comes up, but then resurface, like a persistent oily stain on cement… It’s been 26 years since the real events leading to the Everdeens controversial marriage took place, yet the old gossip mill in District 12 has waxed over and rewritten the sordid story through the lense of judgemental people over and over again, until even our mother has started to repeat the outlandish tales, as if she wasn’t an active participant of the story herself.

Still… “I just can’t!” I say both exasperated and grossed out. “We should just go home—“

I get cut off when the door of the Everdeen house opens spilling faint candlelight into the almost blackened-out street.

My brothers rush to huddle around me, crowding on top of me like a pair of boulders… or worse: a pair of sweaty, heavy, alcohol doused men. Disgusting!

The door of the shack closes softly and to our shock, a very angry looking Katniss Everdeen stomps in the direction of the sad excuse for a bush we’re hiding in.

“Hmm… guys… I think she sees us.” I mumble calmly, yet terrified. Katniss Everdeen, eldest daughter of Sorrel and Lily, is coming our way with fire in her eyes.

TBC on AO3…

#Springtime Edition 2020 #alliswell21 #567inpanem #prompt 23 #submission

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #362

(this is actually from yesterday but i never posted it and now i don’t feel like updating the answers, so yeah)

Have you ever been cheated on? No. Who’s car were you last in? My mom's. Have you ever thought about getting your nose pierced? It's been pierced multiple times, but each time the hole closed after my piercings had to be taken out at the psych hospital. The final time though, it closed because the damn stud fell out in my sleep for the billionth time, I couldn't find it, and I let it close out of annoyance. Have your parents ever smoked pot? My dad has. Do you tend to make relationships complicated? I mean, I don't think so. I hope not. Are you good at giving directions? NO. Like, I can't. I would accidentally lead you to the middle of the ocean. Would your mom care if she found condoms in your room? She'd be confused as fuck because I live with her so she knows for sure I'm not seeing anyone. Did you speak to your father today? No. Did you kiss someone before you were sixteen? No, it was actually a month after turning 16. Could you go a day without eating? Nooo. I've said before and I'll say it again, I don't deal with abdominal pain well, so yeah. Are your nails always painted? They never are. Have you ever met any bands/band members before? No. What color is your hair? Boring 'ole brown. .-. Your best friend needed somewhere to stay, could they live with you? She absolutely could. I know Mom would welcome her without hesitation. Have you danced in the rain? No. When you said something naughty when you were little, did your parents wash out your tongue with soap? No, but it was threatened. What do you think of spanking little children when they do something wrong? Okay or not? No, it is absolutely not okay. You do not teach children through fear, ever, nor do you show children that it is ever okay to hit people when you're upset. Who was the last male you hung out with? Uhhh, I think Girt? I haven't truly hung out with a guy in a long time. Who is your favorite person to text? Sara. Who did you last take a picture with? My sister. What’s your favorite brand of jeans? I don't have one. Which show is better: Spongebob or The Fairly Odd Parents? The latter. Both can be funny, but Cosmo cracks me up. Has anyone ever told you that you looked like someone else? I actually think the only time I was ever compared to someone else (make-believe, at that) was when I dressed up for Halloween one year and a friend told me I looked like Eileen Galvin from Silent Hill 4: The Room. Do you enjoy the sound of crickets at night and birds in the morning? Yesssss. Who is the most overrated singer? Idk, I don't even know who's "in" right now. What is your favourite planet? Saturn. Do you have any pets that you had since you were born? No. Do you own anything that you had when you were a baby? Yes, stored away. Do you enjoy Mario games? Mario Kart is fun, but otherwise I'm not a massive fan. What’s your favorite online game? World of Warcraft. Have you ever been hit with a ball in gym class? I think so. I was always terrified of the days we got to play dodgeball or whatever, like that shit hurts. Do you ever turn your cell phone off? No. Who was last to cook for you? My ma. Do you check your texts right away when you receive them? Usually. Who is your most trusted person? My mom, probably. How late did you stay up last night? God, I don't even know. Last night was my sleep study, and I was so uncomfortable in that bed that I slept maybe only an hour or two. Hell, or less. I also couldn't sleep on my stomach, which really didn't help because that's always how I sleep. I'm exhausted now and have such a headache. When/where are you most likely to sing? In the car, I guess. I very rarely sing anywhere. Would you ever wish to explore a cave? FUCK YES. You see the person you fell hardest for. What do you do? Panic like a motherfucker internally, avoid eye contact, and try to evade him (not like he'd actually pursue me) without being too obvious. Have you been/are you depressed? Both. Are your pop-ups blocked on your computer? Yes. Have you ever ridden in a car with someone who was high? Yes, because I was afraid to tell her I didn't want. Thank fuck we got home safe. I was absolutely, positively terrified we'd be pulled over. Who is the best hugger you know? Ha, actually the person I just mentioned. Have you ever had to be put to sleep for an operation? Yes. Does anybody have any proof of stupid things you have done? Oh, Facebook comments... Why did you text the last person in your inbox? I was replying to my mom. Have you ever been able to do a split? No. Did you ever date the last person you kissed? Yes. Are you intimidated by the last person you know talked badly about you? She doesn't "intimidate" me, no. She just gets on my last goddamn nerve every time she opens her mouth. Have you ever cried in school? Yes. Last person of the opposite sex you screamed at? I've never screamed at a guy because I'm afraid of them. I've sobbed at Jason, so like my voice was raised, but it definitely wasn't screaming. Do you have any weird sleep habits? Well, speaking of screaming, my nightmares have me shrieking in the middle of most nights. I also talk in my sleep like, a lot. Do you consider yourself an emotional person? Very. When was the last time you had a headache? This morning, I'm sure because of how shitty I slept. When was the last time you encountered a puppy? Prepare for a rant... We have one right now, even though our landlord told us specifically no puppies because of all the housetraining they require. My mom has been wanting a dog, and Tobey finally agreed to it, and she's been looking for a while. So my sister Ashley randomly shows up with a stray puppy a friend was keeping, terrified and LOADED with ticks, and she's reminding Mom and I why we DON'T WANT A PUPPY. She's peeing everywhere BUT outside (specifically on a stupid fucking expensive carpet that Tobey will have a cow over just ONE stain), is terrorizing my cat, and has an overwhelming amount of energy. Ashley specifically told me that if Mom doesn't let Ash know, I needed to tell her if the puppy was stressing Mom out, "because this isn't supposed to be a stressful experience for her." Well, she's been sobbing again and again and I literally just came back mid-question from comforting her because she broke down so hard she could barely breathe because now she had diarrhea on the fucking carpet. Ashley's all bitchy now about it for no apparent or even remotely valid reason, and by God do I want to cuss her the fuck out over this bull she brought on. Safe to say we're not keeping the dog, but not quickly enough. When Mom hurts, I hurt, and I am so goddamn furious. Is there anything that happened a long time ago that you still laugh about? Yeah, a number of things. Do you ever try to interpret your dreams? No, given I don't believe most have any meaning. It's brain word vomit, lol. What was the last thing you bought impulsively? I don't have the income for impulse purchases. When I get money, what I'm after is well-planned. How do you feel about singing songs out loud in front of other people? I don't, usually. I'm very self-conscious about it. When was the last time you were feeling really, really nervous? That nervous, I'm unsure. I've been nervous, sure, but I haven't had a massive anxiety episode in a while. If you’re no longer in school, what is something you miss about it? If you’re still in school, what’s something you think you’re going to miss about it? I miss feeling productive and like I was going at least somewhere. Do you use your turn signals when you’re driving? Yes; I hate when people don't. How exactly are you feeling right now? Mad at my sister. Have you ever had to board up your windows because of a hurricane? No. Do you tell anyone to chew with their mouths closed? No, to avoid "confrontation" that is too negligible to even quality as conflict. I'm just a lil bitch when it comes to stuff like this. Have you ever ordered pizza and sent it to someone else’s house? No. What was the first thing you drank when you woke up this morning? My nurse or whatever her position is (I don't mean that dismissively, I genuinely don't know her title) brought me some orange juice. Do you think stretch marks from having a baby are ugly or badges of honor? Oh my god, fuck off. Anyone who can carry a child for nine months and then endure what I assume is the worst pain (usually) survivable has every ounce of my goddamn respect. The natural result of making room for a like 6+ lb. human being is not "ugly." It's a part of life and to me shows an incredible amount of bravery and love to be willing to go through something I could absolutely never. Ever done a keg stand? Haha, no. My dizzy ass will pass. Who is the last person you lent money to? My mom. Do you share clothing with anyone? Mom and I will share bras or pants sometimes. Have you ever visited anyone in a rehab? No. Was the last thing you drank a Coke or Pepsi product? No, I have lemonade right now. Honestly, do you think that you’re going to be an overprotective parent? IF I wanted to be a parent, I feel like I definitely would be. Not like... overbearing, but still extremely protective in cases I think it's called for. What was the last kind of chips you ate? Veggie chips yesterday, actually. They're honestly not that good, but it's a doable snack with salsa. What is one thing that you really wish you could understand, but don’t? Economics. I dread taking care of my own money because idk what the fuck to do with taxes and such. What is the last thing you charged? My phone. Have you ever held a snake? I've held plenty of snakes, I love them.

#survey #surveys #questions

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frangipanidownunder · 4 years

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Objects in the Mirror: fic

This is for my anon who asked: ‘what happens when Scully sees Mulder kissing someone else during their “separation”. This is set pre-season 10.

Willowy. That’s the first word that pops into Scully’s head. The second thought is that at least the woman isn’t a brunette too. Type, much, Mulder? The third thought is that it’s none of her business what Mulder does these days. None. At all. Unless it’s a health issue, he’s an adult. He’s not her…The mental conversation doesn’t supply a word so her brain leaps to the fourth thought, which is how the fuck could he do that? She stops short of adding ‘to her’, so she pulls herself back to the third thought, repeating like a mantra as she strides out, eyes to the sidewalk, desperate to unsee what she saw.

But now there’s a burning itch in her gut, the kind that used to see her pumping more rounds out at the firing range or sending local law enforcement officers running for cover with her machine-gun observations of their sub-par work. Pity she can’t blow her anger/disappointment/betrayal/jealousy off like that anymore; she’s no longer FBI.

Pity she can’t blow off being Scully.

She takes her writhing anger/disappointment/betrayal/jealousy into the café over the road and orders a large latte and a white chocolate and raspberry muffin. She knows she’ll regret it almost immediately and spend a week denying herself any other treats but she needs the sugar hit. Mulder’s still talking to Willow-Blonde, so while Scully’s waiting, she teases ‘Louis’ the barista with a slow smile, holding the seam of her wallet against her cheek, hugging her waist with the other arm and slowly twisting her torso side to side so that her hair falls over her face, then swings back off it again.

It’s a pointless mating dance. It’s reactive. She’s aware of that, but tries not to fall further down the Mulder-profiling-her rabbit hole. The slow-combustion of what she recognises as a misguided sense of dispossession is still taking place in her veins. She hates herself for this weakness but here she is swaying for a bearded barista. Louis blinks her way, finishing the latte art on her order with a flourish. For him, this ritual is part of his training. Keep the customers happy. Especially the older, professional women. They’re the ones who’ll return to the same café time and again, spending their disposable income on cakes and romantic hopes. She’d fuck him though. He’s pretty enough. She wonders what the male equivalent of willowy is. And then tells her mind to shut the fuck up.

Outside, where people are actually living with purpose, instead of imagining petty sex-revenge scenarios, the street is busy. Through the thrum, she spots Mulder again. His outline, his figure, is imprinted indelibly in her mind’s eye. She believes she could find him anywhere, in a ballgame crowd, in the darkened corner of a jazz club behind drifting dry ice, through the misty rain at the end of the yard, arm raised against the twisted apple tree, raging at the brutal sky above him. There was a time when she so desperately wanted him to return home from her imposed exile that she saw him everywhere: in the parking lot, at the line in the bank, across the street pushing someone else’s baby in a stroller.

“Latte for Day-nah,” Louis sings, and as he hands over the cup his fingers brush hers. They’re thin, girlish, two knuckles decorated with calligraphy tattoos. She doesn’t hold his eye, just whips the coffee and cake bag from his hand and heads outside.

The woman has gone but Mulder’s still there, brown paper cup in hand, sunglasses (those ugly sports ones he got from eBay because they were called SpookMeister, what? they’re so me, Scully) across that familiar, broad nose, hair an inch past unkempt and stubble on his chin that hides that fat bottom lip just a little too much. She dips her face to her own cup and watches a moment longer before a car pulls up and he climbs in.

He calls her later. She doesn’t answer the first time, lets the cell buzz and slide over the table top while his name flashes at her. When she does pick up, she feigns breathlessness and gets the desired response.

“Did I catch you at a bad time, Scully?” There’s disappointment laced through his words.

“No, it’s fine. Just doing a workout.” She wheezes out a cough for extra measure.

“Keeping fit for all those kids, huh? You’re a good doctor, Scully. Always going above and beyond for that place. I hope they know how deep your affections lie. Is there some kind of Olympic Games for paediatricians? The Doctors Games?”

It’s hard not to bite back, but they’ve played this game for so long their dysfunction is beat-perfect. “Keeping fit for one’s own personal health and wellbeing is a key component in living a fulfilling life, Mulder.” If only she could convince herself as easily as the words flow.

There’s a shuffle, a few clicks and bumps. He’s changing channels. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve found a new therapist. One that seems to really get me, you know?”

His tone seems genuine and she softens. “That’s good, Mulder.” Despite their issues, she’s only ever wanted him to be well. “I do want to know these things. As your physician…”

“Not that I didn’t like the other one you recommended, but,” he takes in a sharp breath as if to punctuate his point, “we’d run our course.”

She sinks into the chair, letting her head flop back on the rest. One step forward, two steps back. “How often do you see him?”

“You’re letting your unconscious bias show, Scully. Her.”

The small word stings like a needle. She refrains from asking him if she has blonde hair and legs like a foal.

“Fortnightly. We’re still at the heady getting to know you stage.” There’s a small silence where she imagines he’s assessing if he’s done enough damage yet. “She’s young enough to understand Instagram but mature enough to get Prince.”

She laughs gently. The tension diffuses again and she feels a rush of emotion. She can’t help herself. He drags her down then lifts her up with a simple switch of tone. “I saw you today. In town.”

“I do go out in the wild without my Ghillie suit sometimes, Scully. Why didn’t you say hello? I don’t bite.”

Not literally, she thinks. Well, not for a long time. She crosses her legs at the unexpected surge of arousal but the image of him kissing another woman creeps behind her eyes again. “It felt…” If he were here with her, in the same room, he’d lean in to her, tilt his head, quirk his lips, draw the truth from her. But there’s a distance more than miles between them and she can’t say the words. “I was running late.”

“That’s unlike you, Dr Punctual. Is everything okay?”

The way he switches from teasing to caring leaves her off-balance. She waits for the world to right itself.

“Can you schedule me in for an appointment, Scully? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Not medical. Are you free on the weekend?”

Tightness in her chest makes her breathing hitch. She adjusts the phone in her grip, gives herself time to respond. She’s faced mutants and monsters, her own mortality and his death, the loss of her children. Surely, his confession shouldn’t be elevated to those ranks. Yet her hands tremble and nausea roils in her stomach. Her brain rocks. It’s stupid, dumb to feel like this. She left him. She turned her back one last time and got herself away before the darkness swallowed her whole. The guilt that followed stripped her bare like a never-ending winter but recently she’s begun to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin again.

“Sure. I’ll come over,” she asserts. That way she can simply leave again. Walk the same walk.

“No, let me take you to dinner,” he says, unexpectedly. “That Thai place you like.”

Her sigh is sharp enough to graze her throat. He can’t be that insensitive as to invite her to eat at the same place they celebrated getting the keys to the house or her news about the job at Our Lady of Sorrows.

“Or the Ethiopian restaurant. You loved their shiro wat.”

“We could order pizza and stay home.” Home. She says it without thinking.

He chuckled. “Like the old days?”

“Something like that,” she says, knowing it will be anything but.

In the end, they agreed on a lunch at the vegetarian café and she orders an omelette she knows she won’t eat. He tucks into his feta and pumpkin quiche with salad and tells her he’s trying to eat cleaner. She doesn’t ask what’s brought on the change.

“What was it you wanted to tell me, Mulder? If it’s just to prove you’re finally paying attention to your diet, you’ve demonstrated it adequately. I believe you.” Her fingers clasp around a napkin and she twists it to a sharp point.

His expression is the same one he used for the victims of the most bizarre kind of crimes. She feels panic welling in her throat and crushes the napkin into a tight ball.

“I wanted to tell you that I met someone. I figured I owed you an explanation. Not an explanation, I mean I haven’t done anything wrong…fuck, this is hard,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Jeez. I feel like a teenager. I…I just didn’t want you to find out from someone else.” He pauses and she nods her head at him, encouraging him to finish, not only because he’s clearly still got stuff to get off her chest, but also because she just wants it over. “Not that anyone else knows because I don’t have friends…so, anyway. I…” The noise he makes is a sad laugh. For her or for him? “That’s, that’s my news.”

His fingers have crept across the table and they’re drumming on the surface, disturbing the small jug containing packets of sugar so that it chinks in time with his beat. He adds a low “sorry.”

If she takes a deep breath, what signal will that send? If she speaks too quickly, would that show a callous disinterest? She tries to smile but her lips refuse to co-operate. She’s never been good at hiding negative emotions, despite her tendency to stoicism. “How did you meet her?”

“Online,” he says. “Where else does someone who spends days at a time in his den meet other humans?”

He’s blushing and it’s charming and she hates it. “Is it serious?” The words are dry on her tongue.

He looks away and she tries to interpret the clench of his jaw. A beat. It softens and his mouth changes from grimace to lop-sided grin. “What does it mean if she left a copy of Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps on the coffee table?”

“Well,” she starts, trying to hold his eye despite a rush of conflicting emotions churning through her. “I would jump in the car and take it back to her, but I’m not sure how to get to her place.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence, then his head tips back and he laughs. She sips her tea and enjoys the sound. It always pleases her so profoundly to make him laugh. Not many people could claim to draw out true joy from Fox Mulder.

When he’s collected himself, he rubs his chin. “She took me out last week for coffee, took me out to tell me it was over. At least she did that, I suppose. She…she told me I was too insular. Can you believe that, Scully?” He plays for light. “According to her expert opinion of my psyche, that, I might add, she gleaned from two coffee dates and a meal at some over-priced French place where a dessert the size of a pin cost $50, I was still stuck in the past. With you.” He lowers his eyes and she rolls her lips together to stop herself from adding ‘and your demons and truths’. His shoulders move as he chuckles. “She didn’t really leave me that book, Scully. She didn’t come to the house.”

She’s stupidly relieved to hear that.

“It seemed wrong, somehow,” he says. “And it got me thinking, after her Dear John speech, that maybe this is what we’re…I’m destined for. A kind of relationship limbo. Prevented from going forward because I’m still snagged on a Scully branch. Do you think she’s right? If you…if you met someone, Scully, do you think you could give your whole self to that person?” He blinks slowly. “Or will there always be a small part of you left here?” He pats his chest with the side of his fist.

Her own heart speeds up. She’s had a few dates, a few flings. She hadn’t told him because he wasn’t in the headspace to process her attempts at moving on. And she can see now they were just ‘attempts’. There was an emptiness to the experience. And there’s a grain of truth to his question. It’s exposed just how indelibly tied they are because of their past.

She doesn’t answer him and he plays with the lollo rosso on his plate. “I like the weight of you in here.” He looks down to his heart. “It keeps me balanced.” A waiter retrieves their plates and Mulder watches her for the entire time he’s cleaning the table.

Her chest constricts, burns with such intensity that she’s certain her face is aflame. His fingers meet hers, mid-table, and she lets him squeeze them, such tenderness, such affection, so far removed from the angry, impotent man she’d left.

“Have we fucked each other up entirely, Scully?”

“Is that how she put it, your mystery woman?”

He grins. “I told her I liked being fucked up. It’s the only life I’ve ever known. That’s when she threw in the towel.”

“I don’t blame her,” she says, rubbing his knuckles. “Imagine meeting Spooky Mulder all grown up. At least back in the day your paranoia was justified. Government conspiracies and all.”

“If Dr Dana Scully had met me now, she wouldn’t have lasted one date with Ole Spook, would she?”

She lowers her head as she giggles. “You showed me many things, Mulder. Opened my eyes to wonders and closed them to the black and white life I’d known. I’m a better person because of you. I wouldn’t change a day.”

“You told me that once before.”

“And I still mean it.”

Outside, the day is cooling, sun leaching away behind thickening cloud. They walk in amiable silence down the street. There’s a bookshop she loves and he nods as she lingers at the door. Inside, the comforting smell of words on pages wafts over her and she browses the dark-shadowed shelves.

Mulder emerges with an armful of books from Squatchin’ for Novices to Meals for One. She swallows at the sight of that one. She’s picked up a mystery thriller, and couple of romances that he side-eyes. She bats him over the arm with one. Then she spies the main prize. She picks out two copies. A his and her pair. The teller scans them through and she hands one to Mulder.

He’s still laughing as they walk to their cars. He puts the other books on the passenger seat of his car and clasps his copy of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck to his chest.

“Shit is fucked,” she says, reading from the blurb.

“And we just have to live with it.” He drops a kiss on her head and smiles a full-wattage beam. “You’re still a good date, Scully.”

“You too,” she says. “And I’m glad you told me about…your…”

“Tiffany. That was her name.”

She can’t help the sharp burst of laughter that comes out. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That…was unexpected.”

He snugs a hand in his jeans pocket. “I know. It should have been a warning.”

“Well, unfortunate name aside, it’s good that you’re getting out there.”

“Out there. Where the truth is? I don’t think I’ll be doing it again in a hurry.”

She pulls a sympathetic face, reaches out to touch his arm. “I don’t want to be your snag, Mulder. I thought I was setting you free.”

“We’ll never be free of each other, Scully. And I don’t want to be free in that sense, not if it means never having days like this. I…miss you.” He bounces his toe off the ground and the lump in her throat wedges itself firm.

“I’d better be going,” she whispers. Turns to leave.

“Maybe we can make this a weekly thing,” he says after her. “Just two fuck-ups having lunch, you know?”

She stops, turns back around, smiling through her tears. “Maybe.” And she watches him in the rear-view mirror. Objects in the mirror may appear closer than they are, she thinks as she drives away, and sometimes, they actually are.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr pre-season ten angst #objects in the mirror

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apex-academy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#22)

We finally make it to the morning meeting, in which nothing happens. I missed the omelette train, so in lieu of asking Yuki to make me one anyway, I just have some fruit and toast. The usual, I guess. Hard to call anything here “usual” at this point.

Don’t feel like any more social time this morning. Sitting by myself gets me a few looks, but no one tries to drag me away. That’s nice.

No one comes to blows over breakfast, and then I have the morning to myself. Don’t know what to do. Between nearly murdering a guy and watching the others tear themselves apart, I just... don’t want to bother. Don’t have the energy. Have to wonder if anyone has slept well since this whole thing started.

I end up reading a book in my room. Peaceful enough, even if I’m barely concentrating. I could go play pool, but then I might run into someone on the way. Let’s not right now. Just... not right now.

Unfortunately, I don’t always get a choice in the matter.

“U-um, hello? Hello, everyone! I, um, have an important announcement to make, so if everyone could please come meet me in the gym...!”

“...”

Maybe he’s announcing that he’s tired of this game so he’s letting us go free? Ha. No. Guess it’s about time again.

I let out a deep breath and start over there.

Apparently I was the closest to the gym, because I make it here first. Or was my TV the only one that went off? No, that wouldn’t make sense.

I’m not alone for long.

“Oh, Kakumi... Hello...”

“Hey.”

I’m not sure what small talk I’m supposed to make in this situation, but I’m spared by the doors opening again.

“Good morning, you guys!!”

“Is it not after noon now?”

“It feels like a morning, sooooo!”

Sure, that makes sense.

Kanagi comes in wheeling Aidan, and Tsunyasha strides in a bit after that.

“Is Kaichi coming...?”

“He doesn’t exactly have a choice. I don’t suppose anyone crossed paths with him on the way here?”

“Not I.”

“You don’t think something happened, do you...?”

“What, like he fell over?”

“Ooh, or the elevator broke?!”

“It is Riseiin. He doesn’t know where the gym is most of the time, correct?”

“Tru.”

I should probably be more worried. Guess I’m too burned out. Or maybe it’s the fact that Monochap hasn’t made his entrance yet, either. Not as dramatic if somebody else walks in after you.

A few moments later, the hallway door opens.

“Howzit?”

“Oh, good...”

“That’s everyone accounted for, then.”

I glance from face to face but try not to think too hard. Everyone. This is everyone who’s left, huh?

“.......”

I don’t get much time to dwell on it before a familiar dull grating fills the air.

“Oh, oh—!”

With his least graceful entrance yet, Monochap clangs up onto the stage. We’re nearly hexed with whatever he might have on under that skirt, but thankfully he doesn’t fall down that hard.

“Ehe, whoops!”

“Grody.”

“I-I’m not...”

He sniffles before shaking it off.

“A-anyway! I have a big announcement to make! Is everyone ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I’m sure.”

“Do get this jest over with as quickly as possible. I’ve other matters to attend to.”

“This is important, though...! To you, too!”

“Do not deign to tell me what is and is not important, whelp. A creature like you knows nothing of the holy.”

“Can w’ just let ‘r talk?”

“Y-you mean me, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Okay! So, um... it’s time for another motive!”

I wish I could find another word for it, but I can’t—Ichiriki squees.

“Oh, I hope it’s a good one!”

“Please stop interrupting!”

“Hmm... I think it’s a good one?”

“I hope you all feel the same way...!”

“So! Um, it’s a little unusual this time! Instead of something that starts right away, or a prize you’ll get after you murder someone...”

“...this motive has a time limit.”

“Time limit...?”

I assume he means something different from, you know, however much time it would have taken to die from oxygen poisoning.

“That’s right! You have five days, starting today. If no one is killed before nighttime on day five...”

“...all of you will have your loved ones back home executed.”

“Huh? Like... killed?!”

“That is typically what ‘executed’ means, yes.”

“That’s right! We’ve picked out a few friends and family members for all of you—”

“—well, for everyone who has more than one...”

“—and those people will provide your motive! If no one here kills by the time limit, they will all die by the next morning.”

“You—”

“You can’t do that!”

“That’s right!”

“Killing that many people in the outside world would draw far too much notice.”

“If you truly have no intention of letting us leave this building without following your rules, then you can’t afford that kind of risk! Even if that many people only happen to ‘disappear,’ anyone with two brain cells to rub together will be able to figure out the incident is related to this academy!”

“But he’s kinda kept us here, right?”

“And we’re all connected to the academy, too!”

“Yeah, but ‘s normal for Apex Academy kids t’ cut off social media ‘n stuff for a while, yeah?”

“All ‘f their friends ‘n family, not s’ much.”

“Then... he really can’t do it, right...?”

“Wh-what do you mean?! Of course I can do it...!”

“Then you fully plan to self-destruct your entire operation for a single motive?”

“And surely leave those little ‘leads’ behind, hmm?”

“Whatever assassins you intend to send could never be as skilled and efficient as myself.”

“But I really mean it...!”

“And you, like, meant the money stuff, too, I guess, but we totally never saw that, either.”

“What do you mean? I-I had the briefcase the whole time...!”

“Really not the same.”

“......”

“I-I can double-check, but... It’s for real! Really!”

“You do have some time to get used to the idea, at least...”

“And come up with a good plan!”

“So, um, good luck...!”

He hurries back to the trapdoor like we’d never contradicted him at all, and then he’s gone.

“...”

"..."

Aidan, shockingly, is the first to speak up.

“Everyone please remain calm!”

“As we’ve already made clear, this is the most obvious bluff yet. Don’t fall for it. We’ll use the time we’ve been given to continue working on our own way out of here.”

“Please be sure to attend our morning meetings! I’ll have more to say then!”

“Like, of course you will.”

“So... don’t panic, right...? Because it’s fake?”

“Right.”

Would the young master really do such a thing? After all this, I can’t doubt they have the resources, but... We’ve made a good point. Maybe you could hold one class hostage at a reclusive academy for a while and get away with it, but mass murdering that many people, overnight no less? There’s no way.

But is the mastermind crazy enough to try it anyway? I still don’t know what they want, so it’s hard to be sure of anything.

Mom... Dad... Saki... Who else? Could they really...

I don’t get the chance to finish the thought.

“Yooooooo!” Kanagi waves her arms around to get our attention.

“Since we’re already in the gym, anybody wanna shoot hoops?”

“As if I would fraternize with your ilk.”

“Weren’t you part of her betting group...?”

“That’s hardly the same.”

“I could do Horse ‘r something, ‘f that’s cool.”

“Works for me! Kakumi?”

“I... I guess?” This is such a whiplash my brain can’t keep up.

“Iggy! You in?”

“..........”

“Mahavir...?”

“I... No, I...”

“I-I don’t feel well. Excuse me...!”

“Mis—”

Mahavir’s already out the door.

“The burned one is contemplating his attack already? My, my. I suppose I should have expected as much.”

“He’s doing no such thing!”

“I’ll go catch up with him. Ah... Miss Kurokame? If you could get the door?”

“Oh... Okay.”

I watch him go and keep staring at the doors long after they’ve shut. Some of the others are chattering behind me, but I can’t focus on the words.

Mahavir... Surely he’s not already...

“............”

Maybe he really isn’t feeling well. He is injured. And if not...

I’ll leave it to the others for now. I’m off damage control for the time being.

Might be dangerous to keep that up at this point, but... I have to look out for myself, too.

My thoughts are interrupted by the ringing thump of a basketball dribble.

“All right! We ready to go, dudes?!”

Right. Apparently looking out for myself starts with playing Horse. For some reason.

“Sure.”

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex5 #fangan ronpa

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years

Text

Two Minutes to Midnight: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,728

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

You make eye contact with Dean and grip your scythe tighter. They are small ones, but you know they will get the job done. So, to not make any noise, you lead quietly through the pizzeria. Does Death know you’re here? Can anyone sneak up on him? It seems like it’s working, but the closer you get, the hotter the scythe is becoming.

The handle is quickly burning up, and apparently, the same thing is happening to Dean. At the same time, you and Dean drop the scythes onto the floor because it’s become unbearable to touch. And, of course, it makes a loud noise when it hits the floor. You wince and stare at Death in hopes he didn’t hear you.

“Thanks for returning those,” Death speak. You look down only to realize the scythes are gone. Instead, they are at the table, and as one. You and Dean had two small ones, and Death merged them together to form one big one. “Join me, Dean and Y/N. The pizza is delicious. Sit down. Took you long enough to find me. I've been wanting to talk to you.”

There is nothing else left to do but listen to what he says. If you can’t kill him to get the ring, then maybe you can convince him to give it up? Whatever the case may be, you needed to listen to what he says right now. You and Dean take a seat across from him carefully. You need to act wise or else you’re dead.

“So is this the part where… where you kill us?” Dean stutters.

“You have an inflated sense of your importance. To a thing like me, a thing like you two, well... think how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old, Dean. Very old. So, I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you,” he says as he picks at his food.

He takes two pieces of pizza and place them on the plates in front of you.

“Eat,” he gestures to the pizza. The look in his eyes tells you that he isn’t joking about this. You look at Dean once more before taking your utensils and cutting into the thick pie. You take a bite and chew slowly in case he’s poisoned it. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Well, I got to ask. How old are you?” you wonder.

“As old as God. Maybe older. Neither of us can remember anymore. Life, death, chicken, or egg. Regardless—at the end, I'll reap him, too.”

“God? You'll reap God?” Dean asks in shock.

“Oh, yes. God will die, too, Dean. Amara as well. They aren’t as powerful as you deem them to be.”

“So, then why are we still breathing, sitting here with you? Uh… w-what do you want?” Dean stutters.

“I want the leash around my neck gone. Lucifer has me bound to him. Some unseemly little spell. He has me where he wants, when he wants. That's why I couldn't go to you. I had to wait for you two to catch up. He made me his weapon. Hurricanes, floods, even raising the dead. I'm more powerful than you can process, and I'm enslaved to a bratty child with a temper tantrum.”

“And you think we can unbind you?” you ask.

“There's your ridiculous bravado again. Of course you can't. But you can help me take the bullets out of Lucifer's gun. I understand you want this,” he says and holds up his right hand that houses his ring.

“Yeah.”

“I'm inclined to give it to you.”

“To give it to us?

“That's what I said,” he says quickly.

“But what about Chicago? All these people?” you ask sincerely.

“I suppose it can stay. I like the pizza. However, there are conditions.”

“What are they?”

“You have to do whatever it takes to put Lucifer in his cell,” he says seriously as he takes off his ring.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“That's the plan,” Dean nods.

“No. No plan. Not yet. Your brother. He's the one that can stop Lucifer. The only one. So, I need a promise. You're going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit. Do I have your word?”

Dean stares at Death like he’s actually considering this. Can you blame him? This is Sam he’s talking about. Is Sam really worth the entire world? One person against billions? Would you do the same thing if Dean or your dad’s life was on the line? Dean doesn’t know what to do, so he does the first thing that comes to mind.

“Okay, yeah. Yes.”

“That had better be ‘yes’, Dean. You know you can't cheat death,” Death warns and drops the ring in Dean’s open hand. You did it; you got all four. “Now, would you like the instruction manual?”

“Well, how'd it go at the Rockettes audition?” Dean asks back at your dad’s yard.

Sam is inside with Casteil fixing each other’s wounds while you, Dean, and your dad are outside talking.

“Well, high kicks—fair. Boobs need work,” he jokes. “I walked up and down the stairs all night for no damn reason. I'm sore. Feels so good, I'm scared it's a dream. But then I remember that the world's dying bloody, so, drink?”

Your dad hands Dean a beer, and offers you one, but you shake your head. This is clearly a moment for your dad and Dean. The rings of all four horsemen are on the table, and with your vast knowledge of how the rings work, all you have to do is lure the devil to a place where there aren’t a lot of people to get hurt.

“Check it out,” Dean says and shows your dad what the ring can do.

One ring sits in the middle while the other three are scattered around it. As soon as Dean moves Death’s ring closer to the middle, the other two follow until they are stuck to each other like glue.

“So death told you how to operate those? The whole deal?”

“Yeah. It's nuts. Of course, we got bigger problems now.”

“Really? Like what?”

“What do you think Death does to people who lie to his face?”

“Nothing good.”

“Stupid idea is what it was,” you scoff.

Dean rolls his eyes but chooses not to comment on your comment. Your dad focuses the topic on Death and what Dean lied about, but your attention is somewhere else. A phone is ringing from inside the Impala that sits ten feet away. You walk away from the men to see if it’s your phone since you left it in there.

It’s not yours, it’s Dean, and it’s sitting on his seat for anyone to come up and take it. You open the door and grab it, taking a seat inside to see who messaged him. He got a text message from… Lisa? Why the fuck is she sending him messages? What encouraged this? Has he been contacting her without you knowing? It’s not right, but you open the message anyway.

I’m really glad you came over. It seems you have a lot on your mind with what Y/N did and all. I still can’t believe she did what she did. I know I can’t change it, but my door is always open. I hope you use it soon because I really miss you.

He told Lisa about what you did? Why was he going to her in the first place? What right does he have telling other people your business anyway? You two get in a fight and the first thing he thinks to do is go to her? What the hell does she have that you don’t? Why is he even thinking about her at a time like this?

You look up to see only Dean left at the table, and you take this moment to address this concern.

“You went to Lisa?” you ask and get out of the car.

“What are you talking about?”

“My door is always open. I really miss you. I’m really glad you came over,” you read from the phone. “You have got to fucking kidding me.”

“Why are you reading my messages?” he asks angrily and gets up.

He snatches the phone from your hand, checks the message, and puts the phone in his pocket.

“Why did you go to her, Dean? How could you? You know how I feel about her.”

“Yeah, well, at the moment, I couldn’t care less. It was actually refreshing to be around someone who didn't throw away my child,” he glares.

“Get over it!” you scream at him. “God you’re so fucking annoying! Let it go!”

“I’m tired of having this fight every time you open up your big mouth! Maybe I’ll visit Lisa again tonight and see how she’s doing. At least I’ll be away from you!”

“I can’t fucking believe you right now. You’re not the Dean I know. What have you done with him?”

“He grew the fuck up, Y/N. He realized that his best friend, the love of his life, would lie to his face and get rid of the family he craves. That’s what you did, Y/N. Forget Amara, Lucifer, and the damn apocalypse. You did this because I’m not fit to be a father, and you wanted to save me the pain.”

“You have got to be out of your damn mind to think that! You know that’s not the reason!” you groan.

“It doesn’t matter, because Ben loves having me around. If I can’t have a family with you, then I guess I’ll join the one that's waiting for me,” he glares.

He’s done having this conversation over and over again. He didn’t explicitly state the words, but you know you and Dean are done. Your brain is telling you to break it off and move on, but there is a sliver of hope that you can restore this. If there is any way you can make this right, it’s with Lucifer. If you can somehow defeat him, then maybe you can show Dean there is nothing you’re afraid of.

Then maybe he can start letting you back into his life.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@sing4mejensen @essie1876 @gh0stgurl @redsalv20 @superrandomnatural @scarletmeii @babypink224221 @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo @akshi8278 @a--1--1--3 @kendlemariee @miraclesoflove @earthtokace @teamfreewillsstuff @fandom-princess-forevermore @kiwihoee @jennazeise @phantomalchemist @posiemax @22sarah08 @tricksterdean @andi-mendes-barnes @put-my-favorite-record-on @countrygal17a @whit85-blog @sammypotato67 @knowledgefulbutterfly @fandomoverdose666 @sharp-cheekbones-locked @deanloveboi @dream-believe-and-love @brokenheartscrybrokentears

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural series rewrite #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #season 5 episode 21 #s5e21 #spn #supernatural

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blackaquokat · 4 years

Text

The Song You Might Have Been (Chapter 4)

Link to Chapter 1 and Chapter 3 here!

A/N: TW for another attempted murder. Plus a fistfight. Because our leading characters are emotionally constipated morons.

---

Funnily enough, the next attempt for your life has nothing to do with your framed case. Which is both a good and bad thing.

Good because a paid assassin is more difficult to sniff out and is financially motivated to really ensure the job is done. Not to mention is more talented at getting away with murder.

Bad because at the moment you’re staring at Newman and three other lackies behind him. They have cornered you in the empty laundry room. Newman is brandishing a shiv sharpened from a toothbrush. You recognize two of his companions as criminals you prosecuted: one for murder and another for drug dealing.

“No one here to protect you now, huh, Eagle?” Newman sneers. “Which means we can cut you up however you want and no one will be any the wiser.”

You swing your arms back and forth casually before putting them behind your back. While you try to slyly get a grip on the large measuring cup of bleach on the table behind you, you speak up. “You’re really tempting fate here, aren’t you? Or are you telling me that Yancy gave you the all-clear to kill me after assigning me a bodyguard rotation?”

The Murderous inmate--Jerry Carson, you remember--pales three shades and turns on Newman. “Wait, hold on, this drip is still under Yancy’s protection? What the hell are you playing at, Newman? I don’t wanna be on Yancy’s shit list!”

Inmate-You-Don’t-Recognize nods frantically in agreement. “I only agreed to this because I was promised more cigarettes, but going against Yancy is suicide!”

(How are these guys so clueless? It’s not like it’s a secret that the gang has been joined to your hip for this long. Or is the rest of the prison under the impression that you’re just an unfortunate tag-along trying to kiss your way up the ladder?)

“Cowards, the lot of you!” Newman snaps. He turns back to you. “Not that I need help killing you. You’re just an attorney. What are you gonna do, throw the book at me?”

You let a sinister smile crawl across your face. “Maybe not the book.”

Newman’s eyes narrow into slits and he lunges for you--only to reel back screaming when you throw the bleach in his eyes.

You drop the cup and charge around him while he flails and furiously wipes at his face. To your surprise, none of the lackeys try to grab you as you escape.

On your way out of the room, you run smack into someone and start flailing when arms hold you in place.

“Whoa, whoa there, Eagle!” Once you hear Jimmy’s voice, you calm down and he releases you. “What’s your hurry?”

“They were about to be a pincushion.”

Jimmy turns to address, much to your surprise, the Drug Dealing inmate who had been suspiciously silent during the whole exchange. Declan Millard, you finally remember.

“You the guy who let Bam-Bam know this was going down?”

Declan nods and winks at you. “Not that I have any fuzzy feelings for you, Eagle, but my lawyer informed me that you were pretty generous about my sentencing.”

“Considering I learned you discouraged dealing to the younger kids in the neighborhood you were in,” you respond automatically, more than a little stunned at this turn of events, “and that you gave up other dealers during the trial, it seemed like the fair thing to do.”

“Not many lawyers are fair, Eagle,” Declan reminds you. “I’d hate to deprive the world of the only one I know.”

“I see I missed the fun.” The three of you turn again and there’s Yancy, once again appearing out of nowhere. His arms are crossed, leaving his forearm tattoo in full view. He looks more lethal than you’ve ever seen him.

“Not quite, boss.” Declan jerks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the laundry room where they can all still hear Newman screaming and swearing. “The other two didn’t quite know what they were getting into, but Newman did.”

Yancy nods and cracks his knuckles. He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t youse go relax in your bunk for a bit? Jimmy and I can take care of this ourselves.”

“Just Newman,” you say, suddenly. “He’s the only one who tried to hurt me.”

“And he was paid for his efforts with a face full of bleach,” Declan reports in a gleeful tone. “It was an impressive sight.” He looks you up and down impressively. “You keep surprising me, Eagle.”

“Yes, yes, they’re very surprising,” Yancy repeats dismissively. “Clear out, Declan. Eagle, back to your cell, that’s an order.”

The look you give him at that statement is enough to have him offer only a somewhat apologetic grimace before entering the laundry room with Jimmy.

You’re halfway down the hall before you hear a loud scream that cuts off into a gurgle only moments later.

---

You go back to your cell, simply because you don’t have anything better to do besides work on another letter to send to the legislature, but when you get there, you almost think you’ve gotten horribly mixed up.

“Um…”

Your cell is completely redecorated. There’s a small white wire tea table with matching chairs and a vase with lovely yellow flowers. Your second set of prison clothes are hanging on various clotheslines. There’s a tiny nightstand with a lamp by your bed, which has new sheets, a comforter, and two more fluffy pillows. Toiletries, of all things, sit in a neat section on the back of and next to the toilet. There’s even an adorable little potted tree with white leaves (that one is probably fake). Someone even put a goddamn fur rug next to the bunk with a pair of slippers. Slippers, for God’s sake.

You’re still gaping at all of this contraband, which makes the cell seem almost decadent in its furnishings, when you hear a low laugh behind you and whirl around to see Heap-Ass deliver you a casual salute before leaving.

“Why the tree?” you blurt out first, because apparently that is the strangest thing in this room and not the goddamn fur rug and furry pillow.

“The boss loves trees,” Heap-Ass yells back.

“Thanks!” you hurry to say before he gets out of earshot. Reverently, you sit at the wire table, where your writing supplies and paper and even a brand new leather bound notebook awaits you, and get started on another letter.

What alternate dimension have I fallen into?

When Yancy returns, his hands suspiciously cleaner than they normally are, you ask him if the refurbishings were his doing. You’ve moved from the table to your bed, curled under the blankets, the lamp switched on, and have now moved onto writing notes in your notebook. It’ll be easier to keep lists of requests in this rather than whatever scraps of paper you can get your hands on.

He shrugs at your questioning look. “Consider it a sign of gratitude for the new books. And the poetry readings youse been doing every night.”

You shut the notebook. “And you go this far for just anyone who does you favors?��

“Only I didn’t ask youse for the books, did I, Eagle?” Yancy challenges. “Did that on your own. Because youse got more fight and more brains than any other goon in this place.”

“Yancy--”

“Listen here, Eagle, I ain’t takin’ any refusal for the gift, alright? Besides, I benefit from these furnishings too.”

“You love trees, yeah, I heard.”

You want to trust that that’s all this is, you really do. You appreciate the little things that have gone a long way to make you more comfortable, but that’s the problem. You don’t want to get comfortable. If you get comfortable, then it will be that much harder to leave.

Something tells you that that might be exactly what Yancy was hoping for. Though God knows why he’s so desperate for you to stick around.

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that my last update with Damien involved breaking down more of Merrill Byron’s operation?”

Yancy flinches and avoids your question by hopping into the top bunk. Moments later, “What makes you think I care what your soon-to-be Mayor friend has to say?”

“Because if they manage to pin any of that operation to Byron, then my name gets cleared and I can leave.”

You can’t see his face, but Yancy’s silences can be just as telling as the nonsense he spouts off.

“Hey, Eagle!” shouts Bam-Bam from down the hall. “You gonna read tonight or what?”

You sigh and reach for the book compilation of Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry you borrowed for the evening. “Alright, keep your shirts on, guys. I’ll only be reading three tonight, don’t get comfortable.”

You’re looking forward to a night of sleep that won’t involve shivering. Turns out the mattress was replaced too, and you are equally looking forward to not feeling springs stab into your back and sides.

---

You never give up, really.

But by the time Week Nine in Happy Trails Penitentiary begins, you start to feel discouraged.

Not that anyone else really gets why. You’ve been perfectly happy organizing the new books and teaching the first few inmate volunteers the Dewey Decimal System so that they can locate and sort the books easier. All those years of trying to pay your way through University as the local librarian are really paying off now. Not that it didn’t pay off before.

“Is it really so bad here?” Jimmy asks you in the yard one day. He’s smuggled bread rolls for the entire gang (which does include you now, you guess). “I mean, I know the hooch wine doesn’t do much for you, but we can always sneak the whiskey out of the warden’s office! Or Heap-Ass can get you some bourbon from the outside.”

“I appreciate the offer, Jimmy.” You swallow a bite of your roll before continuing. “But honestly, I...I can’t stay.”

“Why not?” Tiny insists. She’s clutching the copy of the Velveteen Rabbit to her chest. “Who’s going to run the library if you leave?”

“I can train you guys before I leave, or I can come back after I get out and help you set the rest up.” You scootch closer to Tiny. You would like to put your arm around her, but the last time you attempted physical comfort with her, she held a fork-shiv to your throat. “Look, I’m not going to just forget about you guys, okay? I’ve never had this many friends in my life. I plan on setting up a volunteer system here so I can come by whenever the hell I want.”

Tiny’s tentative smile fades into wide-eyed concern, suddenly, when she looks over your shoulder.

“Oh, sure youse will.”

You spin around in surprise and, sure enough, there’s Yancy. Seriously, you might need to put a bell around his neck.

“You think youse the first person to come in, get released, and never come back?” Yancy challenges. He saunters up to you not unlike a predatory cat. “Why don’t youse just admit that we’re not good enough for you?”

“What, just because I don’t want to sit in here while what little reputation I have with the public gets dragged through the mud?!” You toss your roll behind you as you approach Yancy and listen to some of the gang hurry to catch and call dibs on it. “While a killer goes free and strikes again to clean up loose ends? While my mom sits home alone, worried about me? She already went through losing my dad and my brother, do you think--”

“I told youse on Day One, Eagle,” Yancy snaps, “the past ain’t to be trifled with. If youse’s mum supposedly ‘cares’ about you so much, why’s she not visited? Some loving ma you’ve got there--”

“Because I told her not to, you idiot!”

Yancy freezes mid-accusatory finger point. “Youse--what?”

You look around and get close enough for no one else but Yancy to hear you. The two of you are already drawing eyes to your positions. “Do you think I want my mom to see me like this? She knows I could die in here, I know I could still die in here, and I don’t want her last memory of me to be one where I’m covered in blood and bruises and cuts, she already had to see me like that when I was in high school.”

“Every story I hear about youse’s life on the outside depresses the hell out of me, but that’s besides the point.” The anger in his voice is barely contained. “How about we talk about the fact that youse plan to leave the family here behind? What, youse didn’t like the cell renovations we made after your Nightly Poetry Reading?”

“Yes, I love the comfortable mattress and fur rug and the lamp and the non-itchy, non-bloodstained blankets that keep me warm at night, but Yancy, I can’t stay. Even if we catch the guy who put a hit out on me, who’s to say I won’t get a shiv in the back by someone who doesn’t want their parole? You think I don’t hear you telling other inmates about that little tactic? You’re not quiet at all about it!”

“I was hoping you’d get the hint, Eagle! We don’t want you to go! Do youse really think I’d let anyone kill you?”

“I don’t know what to think of you, Yancy!” you finally shout back.

As soon as the words leave your lips you realize just how true they are. This man has both rescued you and killed for you and called you ridiculous names and comforted you and plotted the deaths of inmates and guards in front of you and it honestly has turned you in circles because despite all of that, despite your moral compass, you really like this complicated mess of a man.

But this is not the time to unpack this increasingly weird relationship you have with him. “Yancy, can you really look me in the eye and promise that I won’t get killed in here?”

Yancy’s mouth opens and closes several times before eventually he shoves you away from him, as if that’ll distract you from the hurt in his eyes. “I shoulda guessed that the Legal Eagle would get too high and mighty for us jailbirds!”

“Yancy--”

“Youse just like my dad! Standing there and judging me like youse think you know better, like youse so much better than me just because youse’s hands are clean?!” He puts his fists up. “Why don’t you get them dirty for once?”

Oh, this bastard. He’s going to make you do it, isn’t he? He’s really going to make you fight him. You put your arms on your hips. “Yancy, stop, you’re being ridiculous--”

He aims a punch at your face and you block it on instinct. You repeat his name but he just tries to hit you again, so that time you block his fist and manage to land a blow to his abdomen.

Fine. Let’s do this.

Yancy may be a rather talented inmate scrapper with a great right hook (you learn a moment later as your eye pulses in pain) but you’ve also boxed three times a week for half your life (because you needed some kind of extracurricular outlet to deal with the frustration of being a non-white academic overachiever) and have learned how to defend yourself pretty damn well.

By the time the fight gets anywhere, your eye is blackening and blood is running from your nose, while Yancy’s sporting several cuts on his face and a split lip. You manage to land several hits in a row before knocking Yancy back in a daze.

“Stand. Down,” you order in a growling tone.

It’s the first and only time you have given anyone here a real command, and you are certainly in no mood for anyone to test the raging anger and frustration lashing underneath your skin just because this idiot that you can’t get out of your head doesn’t know how to talk about his issues like a healthy human being.

(The more rational part of your mind is willing to acknowledge that judging by the rumors about his childhood, there are reasons behind his inability to deal with people in a different capacity, but the rational part of your mind is currently tied up and locked in a trunk until further notice.)

Yancy stares back at you, blood dripping from his lip and staining his shirt. The fury is still brimming in his eyes, but you think you can catch a glimmer of reluctant respect and something else. Something...sad.

But you’re no longer in any mood to read into Yancy’s odd, conflicting behavior. It’s a miracle that none of the guards came to break the two of you apart. You have no intention of pushing your luck.

You push through the crowd that had gathered to watch this unprecedented event and leave the yard, praying that people think the tears running down your face are from your injuries.

---

Link to Chapter 5 here!

Thank you for reading! Please relbog/comment! If you want to be tagged/untagged for the rest of this series or this pairing, please leave a message in my inbox!

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#kat writes #ahwm yancy #ahwm #y/n district attorney #wkm #a heist with markiplier #who killed markiplier #emotionally charged fistfights are a weakness of mine #also because it's me #next chapter makes everything fifty times worse

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sablelab · 4 years

Text

Covert Operations - Chapter 96

SYNOPSIS: With Fergus’ help James Fraser makes his way through a series of underground tunnels to find Claire’s location and comes to her rescue in a dramatic way. Whilst hiding, he also hears a conversation that he was not expecting.

This chapter contains some violence. Previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

MY THANKS for your continued support and comments on the previous chapter. Knowing that you have been waiting for Jamie to come to Claire’s rescue, I hope that you enjoy this chapter when he finally finds her.

CHAPTER 96(V) James Fraser jiggled the doorknob a little and found that the door was bolted but not locked. Carefully he loosened the bolt and slowly released it cautious of the fact that he was unaware of what or who may lie beyond when he opened the door. He inched the door open just enough to be able to see but to his surprise he discovered that some kind of bookcase disguised the tunnel's secret entrance and concealed the opening to a secret passageway. Entering the space, he listened then hurriedly ran his hand along the back of the bookcase searching for the mechanism that would open this sesame. Locating a button, he pressed it. Suddenly the secret entrance was revealed as a panel within the bookcase rose wide enough for him to slip through. Peering inside Jamie then made his way further into the room. His eyes immediately looked around searching for any clues that would lead to Claire's whereabouts but there was nothing.

"Fergus can ye give me a reading yet?" "Hold on Jamie ... I'm on to it." Tapping some keys on his computer Fergus locked onto Jamie's position but as he did so his monitor showed an ancillary signal was also being sent from inside the monastery. His eyes lit up with renewed vigour and delight.

"Oh! My! God! ..."

Alarmed he asked, "Fergus! What's happening?" "I'm getting another signal ... Claire has activated her tracker..." "What tracker?" "She had one in her shoe." Relief flooded through Jamie's body ... His Claire was still alive. The shot he had heard earlier had not been for her. "Where is she?" Looking at a schematic of the monastery sectionalized floor by floor, Fergus now had a full access and egress on the interior of the building and the surrounding rooms. He zoomed in on the hot spot which was obviously where Claire was being held. As he watched his monitor, square markings appeared on the screen indicating the amount of people in the room with her. A satisfied look crossed Fergus' face as he quickly reported the Intel back to Jamie as to her position. "Work your way through the room. Outside on the South East corner, you'll find a stairwell that leads to a corridor. Go up there and standby." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Quietly opening the door Jamie was about to exit the room when he heard the sound of voices and a sharp warning from Fergus in his comm. unit. "Jamie hold! ... Hostiles approaching." He stepped back into the shadows of the room as the footsteps came nearer. The men stopped just outside the room where he was hiding and he listened to the conversation of their raised voices. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "That bitch tried to strangle me with her feet." "Let it be Jonathon ... She has been well trained. Obviously, Section One operatives have backbones of steel." "We've tried everything. What do we tell Sun Yee Lok when he calls?" he asked nervously. "Yes ..." Wang pondered, "He will want to know what progress we have made with the woman soon." Randall gave a flippant but frustrated reply. "Well that's easy ... none. She won't crack." Feeling the frustration of his colleague Wang Yu tried to placate him. "That's why we'll need to try a different approach." "What do you suggest?" "I told you there was another way." He looked at Jonathon and philosophically said, "You'll attract more files to honey than you will to vinegar." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* James Fraser fell deeper into the shadows when he heard the sound of the door handle engage. With his gun poised he waited as the door was slightly opened, but just as the men were about to enter the room, an alarm sounded in the corridor and an announcement blared out.

Alert! ... Alert! ... Intruder Alert! Wang Yu opened his cell phone. "Report!" He listened then turned to Jonathon Randall when the call was finished. “What?" "Karen has just been retrieved from the grounds," he announced amazed but jubilant at this information. "What? ... She was supposed to be in Hong Kong. How did she get here?" "She was kidnapped." "By whom?" "James Fraser." "Ah ... so he did find us after all," Jonathon replied with unveiled glee in his voice. "Apparently. It seems that he is somewhere within the grounds or building." "Is Karen okay? Sun Yee Lok won't like it if his daughter has been harmed. Where is she?" "In the parlour. She's waiting for us to report." "Let's go then!" Jonathon stated closing the door sharply behind him. The two men turned away from the room and hurried away leaving Jamie to ponder what they had been talking about. As they rushed to where Karen was located, Wang Yu looked at Jonathon Randall.

"Our honey may just have arrived," he stated cryptically. Jonathon nodded in agreement. "You may be right." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Jamie's near discovery had been a close shave and their conversation had been enlightening. However, the new explosive Intel about Karen's relationship with Sun Yee Lok would keep for his sole objective now was to retrieve his Claire without delay and egress as quickly as possible. "Jamie ... proceed ... the corridor is clear." Time was of the essence as the triad knew he was on the premises somewhere. Quickly opening the door, he made his way into the empty passageway and headed to the stairwell at the end. Once again, he held his silencer at the ready and climbed up the set of stairs two at a time. He ended in a landing which led to another corridor.

"I'm here." "Okay ... There's a second flight of stairs, to the left. Ascend, then at the end of the hall turn right. You're closing in. The torture room is along there." Following Fergus's instructions to the letter Jamie proceeded to his destination and once there reported back to him, "Where is she?" He knew he was close to his Sassenach now and although he hoped that she would be fine, he knew this may be wishful thinking. Would she have the stamina to make her way to egress? The tape he'd seen was testament to what the triad was capable of and also what they had done to her. Would he be able to get Claire out in one piece the same way he had managed to get into the monastery?

With these thoughts running through his mind, he waited impatiently for Fergus to respond. There was a long silence before he finally heard a reply from him. The intonation in Fergus's voice told Jamie that he was going to hear something he wouldn't like. "Jamie ... there's a lot of electrical energy near her ... and water." James Fraser became rigid. His eyes deepened to a steely dark hue. With his voice quavering somewhat Fergus voiced out loud what he was doing. "I'm trying to get a visual of the room. I'll have to disable their monitoring system first. Give me a minute." "Let me know when ye do." Furiously Fergus tapped away at his computer and keyed into the mainframe that had worked successfully in the security cameras and sensors. He created a layered matrix and soon had a visual inside the torture room.

"Got it. The triad have been trying to make Claire talk judging by the equipment in the room Jamie." Fergus' voice suddenly went quiet. "She is strung up to a rafter. She's alive but it looks like she's beaten up pretty bad from what I can see." Jamie felt numb. His emotions were in turmoil for all the suffering his beautiful, brave Sassenach had endured for the Section. But the pain of their separation and the fact the he had been unable to protect her ate away at him more. He felt a cold wave of regret for his inability to protect her and disdain for the triad waft through him. What had the Rising Dragons subjected her to? The words of Jonathon Randall echoed in his brain torturing his mind. We've tried everything ... Electrodes had obviously been used to torture her. What kind of state would he find her in? His heart felt the pain of his love’s suffering ... but it hardened with the loathing and contempt for the perpetrators of her torture. They would pay ... and pay dearly. Once he had rescued his Claire and the backup team had arrived to take care of the other triad members at the monastery, he would seek revenge but, in the meantime, he would do whatever it took to retrieve her. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Wang Yu and Jonathon Randall had left Andy Ma and Ronald MacNab in the torture room with Claire Beauchamp with instructions to return her to her room but Andy had other ideas. With emotionless eyes he watched the prisoner. Her body hung like a limp rag doll from the rafters. He'd observed how Claire had recoiled at Jonathon's last attempt to make her talk. The episode with the rats had nearly been her downfall, but by far the most explosive method had been their water torture. Before cutting her down and following his orders, Andy decided to try one last time to see if he could make any headway with this woman.

"All right this is the last time that I'm going to ask. Look at me. LOOK! AT! ME!" he yelled his face flushing with the force of his words. Sweat dribbled down Claire's brow into her eyes but she defiantly raised them and stared at the man who had pretended to be a meek musician but was anything but.

"Why did you kill Tony Wong and where is Madame Cheung?" She refused to reply and closed her eyes. "Did you dispose of her too?" Her silence was beginning to get on his nerves. Andy signalled to Ronald MacNab to get the hose ready to spray her as he again threatened to use the electro shock treatment on her.

"Do you have anything to tell me? Anything?" Slowly opening her eyes, Claire tried to focus on her interrogator. She heard footfalls as they brought Ronald MacNab closer to her until he was within her line of sight too. She flinched when she saw what he intended to do.

"Wait!" she uttered, then whispered a little softer, "Wait… wait." Happy that MacNab had done enough, Andy smiled a pleased, malicious smile then menacingly came closer.

"Yes ... I'm listening." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* James Fraser hastened along the corridor but stopped when he saw two triad members who were watching what was going on in the torture room through a glass observation window. The men were preoccupied and didn't hear him approach until Jamie swiftly slammed one man back against the wall. The guard reached for his gun but before his hand could reach his weapon Jamie shot him with his silencer. The impact of the muffled bullet caused the man's body to jerk and fall into a heap on the floor. The second man tried to get a shot at him but the Section operative was aware of the guard's movements behind him. In a split second, he grabbed him by the throat. The man lashed out and somehow managed to wrench away from his attacker. He tried to make a run for it to raise the alarm of an intruder, but taking aim Jamie shot him down. The victim keeled over, his head hit the floor with a thump and blood spilled from his mouth. Returning to the observation window James Fraser peered through it. An anger so profound coursed through his being as his eyes locked on the sight before him. Time stood still while the pulse of rage and the need for blood thrummed like a heartbeat in his chest at what he observed below. There was no mistaking the long brunette hair hanging down around the face of the beautiful tortured woman inside the room. At last he had found her. He had found his Claire but what had they done to his beautiful Sassenach?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hoping that her frail reply had given her some respite from Andy Ma's persistent questioning Claire lowered her head, her chin resting on her chest. Although exhausted, she dug deep within herself for more hidden strength while at the same time bracing herself for what she was about to do. Andy was confident that their hostage would answer his question; however, although he inched closer to their captive, he was wary of her too. He'd seen what she had done to Jonathon Randall and stayed his distance somewhat. Even though Claire Beauchamp looked like a spent force, he didn't trust her. Keeping his gaze on her suspended from the rafters, he singled to Ronald MacNab to have the hose ready just in case she decided to try anything like the last time and in reprisal for him kicking her as well.

Nodding in understanding, MacNab turned on the valve and water gushed out of the hose onto the floor beneath Claire's feet. Andy moved closer. A purposeful gleam appeared in his eyes knowing that finally this woman was about to crack. At last he had the upper hand and his sarcasm was obvious. "You were saying?" Raising her head, Claire eyed him with contempt. In the split second that their eyes met, Andy realised that she was not submissive at all and began lashing out at him again with her feet. Noticing what their hostage had done to his colleague, Ronald doused her in a gush of cold-water causing her to lose her grip and set Claire in a tail spin with the force of the spray. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* James Fraser's shadow ominously fell across the observation window as he saw what was happening below. What they were doing to his Sassenach was more than he could bear. He would wait not one second more. Without a moment’s hesitation he burst through the tempered safety glass window shattering little pebble-like fragments of glass shards every which way as he flew through the air towards the ground like an avenging angel.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Suddenly without warning there was an almighty crash. Claire looked up. Her face was dead white, sheened with a cold sweat that had soaked her hair.

"Jamie," she whispered, speaking hoarsely through lips cracked with dryness. She was clearly dazed and every line of her body was eloquent with pain but that didn’t matter now because her Jamie was here. Suddenly her pain was of no consequence for the man she loved had come for her.

Relief. He was here. Andy Ma and Ronald MacNab were startled by the noise and they too turned at the sound of the glass shattering. What appeared to be some kind of apparition had crashed down through the overhead observation window. Shooting at them with guns in both hands the man menacingly floated down as glass fragments, like a ray of light beams, showered all around him. They raised their guns to return fire but were no match for this cold Level 5 operative’s deadly aim. Andy was shot with a direct hit to the heart before he could even fire a shot in retaliation. He fell to the ground with a thud, his eyes wide with shock and with his gun still lodged in his hand. Ronald MacNab had no hope of returning fire. He was caught in Jamie's rampant crossfire as another rapid round of shots felled him immediately after Andy. James Fraser had swiftly taken care of Claire’s two torturers with not one thought for them whatsoever other than to seek revenge for what they had inflicted on his woman. Glancing down at the two bodies that lay below her feet still coupling their firearms Claire exhaled a breathy sigh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bending his knees to cushion his fall, James Fraser fell to the floor landing steadily as his feet touched the ground. With guns poised for any other assailant who might appear, he casually stood up. His eyes were focused only on the woman he loved strung up like a piece of meat at an abattoir. As he approached her, he did not take his eyes off of his bold Sassenach for one second. He wanted to see every inch of her injured body and see everything that they had done to his beautiful woman. Moving closer and closer to her, he casually stowed his guns away back in the holsters in his jacket. However, each step towards her was agony especially seeing what the triad interrogators had done to her and what she had endured. “Oh, my god ... Claire ... what the hell have they done to ye?” He whispered trying to ease the choking sensation that formed a lump in his throat.

His stomach too was in knots at seeing her suffer this way while a large ball of ice in the pit of his stomach seemed to grow more intense the closer he came towards her. Jamie's breath caught in his throat in uncontained rage as he looked at his love hanging suspended from the ceiling. He couldn't help glancing towards her and at the damage that the triad's torture techniques had wreaked on her. There was no escape from his feelings. His heart hardened with the contempt he felt for them and their methods. Loathing for the triad and revenge for what they had perpetrated were paramount in his thoughts. As he walked closer and closer, his eyes refused to sever their gaze from his love’s battered body. Claire looked traumatised, distressed and deathly pale. She was alive ... but only just. It only took one look at her to cause a gamut of emotions to rush through his body. Jamie's heart clenched in pain with thoughts of what his Sassenach had suffered at the hands of the vindictive triad and the torture methods of Jonathon Randall. Seething with such loathing and vindictiveness towards this man peppered his thoughts of what he would do to him when he had the chance.

In a voice that he didn’t recognise as his own Jamie declared again, “What has he done to ye? I’m going to kill him for this.”

There was nothing too severe or painful that he wouldn’t do to seek retribution on the man who had hurt his Sassenach. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do to make this man pay for the atrocities he had inflicted on the porcelain skin of his Claire. There was no suffering that would be good enough for Jonathon Randall that would ever be enough punishment for his methods of torture towards his love. He would take great satisfaction in seeing the man suffer exponentially until he saw him take his last breath. Nothing would be more gratifying than witnessing his demise and he would do it even with his bare hands. It wouldn’t be quick but a more protracted slow death that would make Jonathon Randall wish that he had never been born.

Jamie inhaled deeply swallowing back the bile that had risen in the back of his throat. It was impossible to stop the feelings that he couldn't control or deny. If only he could have changed places with her. He would have done anything humanly possible and more for his Claire to have avoided the suffering that she had endured. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Sassenach?”

Claire was near fainting but opened her eyes for a moment at Jamie’s gentle voice. Slowly but proudly, she raised her head to look at him with a tremulous smile on her teary face. Jamie could see the shock in the back of her eyes. Holding her gaze with his own, he came closer reassuring Claire that she was safe at last. His heart thumped erratically against his ribs until at last he stood directly in front of her. He studied her swollen and bruised face intently. His eyes traversed every inch of her features. Claire’s hair was ragged, soaked and dripping in matted tendrils across her beautiful face. Her skin was covered in welts and was laced with black and blue bruises like she had gone fifteen rounds in a boxing match. Seeing her suffer like this was tearing his guts out but the relief at finding her alive was overwhelming. His body's reaction to her overpowered him causing Jamie to be aware of the hot rush of awareness at her nearness. Something he had always tried to suppress time and time again refused to be denied. He fully acknowledged that his feelings for Claire Beauchamp were more than just a painful white-hot desire ... he loved her deeply and unconditionally and it was this overwhelming love for her that seared his heart. Claire looked at him. Shock registered on her face at seeing Jamie materialise before her eyes but when their eyes met, time stood still. She stared back at him in disbelief. His troubled but relieved eyes connected and held with hers as Claire searched his face, caressing his features while making sure that what she was seeing was real. Her beautiful blue eyes reassured him that she was okay despite what she looked like. Jamie saw the relief that was centred there and love radiated in eyes that lingered on his form. Reciprocating, his azure eyes bared his soul to her as well at having found her at last. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Bending down James Fraser gently lifted his love up holding her from behind her legs. "Arrrghhhhh!" Claire moaned as his hands nearly touched her sore ribs. Her head lolled backwards as he raised her arms so that he could unhook her wrist bonds from the overhead hook holding the chains on the beam. Closing her eyes, Claire placed her hand on Jamie's shoulder as her body weight was finally released from her shackles. Ever so gently, he guided her broken and bruised body back down his own. He moved closer and tenderly drew her towards him. Her arms latched about his neck. The connection of Claire’s torso to his was cathartic for he was so thankful that at long last he'd been able to find her alive. Jamie's eyes caressed every inch his Sassenach’s face then her body while assessing her demeanour. He couldn't seem to take them from her. He didn't want to look away. He wanted to see what damage the triad's torture techniques had done to his beautiful, brave Claire, and at the same time he wanted to make sure that she was okay. His eyes lovingly caressed every precious inch of her.

“Mo ghràidh?” he muttered, as his eyes canvassed her beautiful scared face. “I’ve got ye. Ye are safe now,” Jamie said decisively. "That man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.”

Claire swayed in pain near to fainting. Her eyes closed, as sweat beaded in hundreds of tiny pearls on her porcelain skin … skin that had been marked by the vicious actions of her captors. However, she opened her eyes at the sound of his voice and it was her throaty words that brought his eyes back to her face.

"Jamie ... I'm okay." She tightened her arm on his shoulder for balance as he tenderly lowered her to the ground. Her legs felt like jelly, she could hardly stand, but Jamie supported her weight and held her a moment, looking at her with concern. He continued to caress her face, while her head leaned forward. The smudges under her eyes gave evidence that she had had little rest of late, while the evidence of her interrogators' brutality was written all over her beautiful face. He saw the outward bruises, but what of those within? He thought, “will those ever heal?”

Her eyes were glazed. Claire was teary eyed but not with the pain of her body but with the sheer elation of having him here. Her avenging angel had come for her as she knew he would. When her face fell towards his shoulder, Jamie captured it in his hands brushing her hair away so that he could see her better. He tenderly held her battered face within the palms of his hands while his thumb slowly and repeatedly caressed her cheek over and over, hoping that his loving touch would help kick-start her healing. His fingers gently stroked behind her ears reassuring her that he was here and that she was safe at last. His Sassenach looked at him with half lidded eyes and caressed his blue eyes with glassy eyed emotion. Jamie raised his right hand and traced over her face with fingertips that were as soft as silk stroking her softly. He couldn't stop touching his Claire ... caressing her ... loving her for her bravery and for her doggedness in the face of adversity. The triad and Jonathon Randal especially would pay dearly for what they had done to her. His vengeance knew no bounds. Placing his arm around her, Jamie protectively pulled Claire’s body flush to his own so that she could feel safe and secure. Her eyes looked at him stroking his face in return. He swiftly unfastened her cuffs removing the chains from around her wrists, one at a time. She fell forward exhausted and spent and he cradled her body gently to his own knowing that his Sassenach was in great agony. "I thought Karen was my friend," she uttered in softly spoken words. "Shhh... It doesn't matter now ... yer safe mon nighean donn ... I'm here," he replied his voiced laced with emotion. “Ye have my protection now.”

However, her concern for him was her only thought. "Jamie ... Oh, you should have had backup. You had no way of knowing if I was going to be all right. What if this room was full of triad members? Hmmm? You wouldn't have made it out of here." Her words filled his heart with joy and his reply was just as poignant. "If ye weren't alive, it wouldn't have mattered Sassenach." Opening her eyes, Claire lovingly caressed his features once again as Jamie's reply found a home in her heart too.

“You must get out of here at once. They’ll be back soon.”

“Let them …”

Jamie’s words spoke volumes as to what he was thinking as he hurriedly pulled the remaining chains away from her, flinging them away in disgust. Although his arm was around her waist, Claire was unable to stand alone at the moment. Her feet would not cooperate and she nearly stumbled but he held her tightly refusing to let her fall. Then placing his arm around her waist Jamie bent down and moving with exquisite care lifted her up. Her arms automatically wound around his shoulders and she held on tight. Quickly they made their exit from the torture room as James Fraser carried her upstairs and away from her place of torture and incarceration. He wanted to get his Claire as far away from the monastery as possible ... away from the triad and back to Section One and to Medical, for the sooner she began to heal the better.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Friday 24th

#Jamieandclairefanfic #jamieandclairecrossover #jamieandclaireau #covert operations #outlander fanfiction #outlanderandLFN #the lallybroch library

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downwiththeficness · 4 years

Text

In the Blood-Part Five

Pairing: Brasa/Female OC

Words: ~2,800

Warnings: Blood, canon typical violence

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

She’d forgotten what the air was like here. The heat ate at her, soaking into her skin and clothes. The sun had never felt closer and she made a mental note to invest in sunscreen at her earliest opportunity. Lilah hadn’t expected to be away so long, but a month in Canada has stretched to two, then three. She’d slept almost a week straight and then spent the rest of the time working out, eating, reading, and drinking—as little human interaction as possible. And, the dreams had stopped. Her nights were once again restful and she patted herself on the back for knowing exactly what she needed to do to reset.

There was a car waiting for her at the airport, as Javier had told her there would be. She gave the driver a warm greeting and allowed him to load her luggage into the trunk. She would be driven to a hotel where she’d get her next assignment. Just like that. No easing into it, just right back into the work. It wasn’t surprising. Lilah very rarely eased into anything.

What was surprising was the hotel that the car stopped in front of. It was nice. Very nice. After years of rooms that were average to mediocre, at best, this was a big change. Lilah was immediately suspicious.

The room, or rooms (plural), were fitted with luxuries that she would have never paid for. Plush couches, stunning light fixtures, fresh flowers in vases that were edged in gold. It was lavish in a way that made her uncomfortable.

Javier sat smugly on one such couch, waving her over. He was wearing a dark blue suit, no waistcoat or tie, the white shirt open at the collar. It was probably the most dressed down that she’d ever seen him, and that, more than the opulent room, was disconcerting.

“Sit! How was your flight? Good?”

Lilah nodded in the affirmative, “Yeah, the flight was good.”

“And your vacation, it was sufficient?”

She knew that Javier had taken her extended time off with not a small bit of dissatisfaction. But, he’d let her have it when he could have threatened her contract. She was grateful.

“It was. I really needed it.”

His smile was all teeth, “Good. Now, we have business.”

Lilah listened while he outlined what he needed her to do. It was a fairly simple operation. There had been a leak, nothing serious, just a contractor who had talked too much to the wrong people. Javier wanted her to assess the situation and manage the collateral damage. He trusted her judgment. She accepted the thumb drive and agreed to meet the team in the board room of the hotel as soon as she’d cleaned up and gotten settled.

After Javier took his leave, Lilah leaned back on the couch and stared at the complex entertainment set up. She wouldn’t use it. TV, streaming or otherwise, was set aside while she worked. She spent every moment of free time either in a car or at a computer, running point. She stood and grabbed her luggage and hauled it over to the dresser, unzipping the front pocket to pull out her laptop and cell phone. Lilah set them aside and turned to look at the bed. Even though she’d just been on a three month vacation, she really wanted to sink into that mattress.

“Another hotel?”

She wasn’t ashamed to say she screamed. High pitched and ragged from her throat, the sound seemed to echo off the tastefully taupe walls. Her hands covered her mouth, hanging open in shock. She credited herself for not flinging her body across the bed to the other side of the room. The shock of seeing him after three months of silence kept her rooted to the spot.

He looked at her levelly, hands in the pockets of a pair of black slacks that were cut so well for his body that she was sure they were tailored specifically for him. Lilah returned his look, breathing hard through her nose. She’d forgotten how tall he was, forcing even her to look up at him. Her throat was dry, she couldn’t speak.

After another moment of his close regard, he moved forward, pulling his hands from his pockets and taking three long steps forward until he stood half a foot from her. Very slowly, he reached up and pulled her hands from her face. He stepped forward into her space, placing her palms on his chest. To Lilah, he felt real and solid beneath them, and just a touch too warm. She noticed that he was wearing the gloves again.

“Where have you been?”

Her eyes shot up from their hands, and she took a moment to collect herself before answering, “Canada.”

His thumbs rubbed against the outside of her wrists, a slow rhythmic motion that had her swaying just a little on her feet. She started to pull away, but his fingers tightened just a fraction in warning.

“So far away,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. His presence was making her feel outside of herself—disconnected—and yet every nerve was firing full throttle. It was as if her body had been lit up from the inside, shaking loose the malaise of her time away. She hadn’t realized that she’d closed her eyes to the feeling until one of his hands left her arm and cupped her jaw. Lilah swallowed and looked at him.

He licked his lips and she followed the movement, inhaling sharply. Coffee and caramel. She didn’t think she’d be able to associate that scent with anything but him for the rest of her life. It was burned into her memory like the feeling of his hand running along the length of her arm before it dropped and gripped her hip. Everywhere they touched was warm and tinged with static.

Lilah felt him breathe deep, his eyes closing as he leaned down, “You’re close now.”

Close was one way to put it. His hold had pulled her into his body so that his nose brushed her cheek. Her fingers curled into his shirt, nails scraping the fabric as she was pulled taut in his hands. Tentatively, far more tentatively than she would have thought him capable, he pressed his lips to hers. He held them there for several beats, as if waiting. Lilah didn’t think she was breathing. She sure as shit wasn’t thinking.

He broke away, but only to change the angle and to run his tongue over her bottom lip. Lilah would have been embarrassed by the moan that fell out of her but she was too busy being very thoroughly kissed. Long, deep kisses that were somehow too intense and not nearly enough. If she thought the scent of him was good, his taste was unbelievable. Her hands reached up into his hair to hold him to her as she gorged herself on it. Nothing could be better, and she wanted more.

With a groan, he wrapped both arms around her and hauled her up so that she was on her toes. Unprepared for the quick movement, Lilah gave a little squeak. She could feel him laugh a little into the kiss before he became otherwise occupied with mouthing along her jawline. In retaliation, Lilah carded the strands of his hair through the fingers of one hand and made a fist, pulling gently. He hissed against her skin, one hand falling to her ass and grabbing a handful. She felt him widen his stance a little, hips flexing forward so that she could feel him begin to harden against her.

Despite the fact that she really, really wanted to keep kissing him, Lilah’s brain finally kicked into gear and she pulled her hands from his hair. He made an entirely too endearing sound of displeasure as he lifted his head to look down at her. The words she wanted to say died in her throat as she gazed up at him. Mouth a little swollen from her kiss, eyes blown wide with want, the intensity of how he regarded her had her dropping down from her toes in shock. Her calves thanked her for the rest.

“Stay close,” he whispered.

Lilah blinked, “I’m right here.”

His hands flexed against her and he opened his mouth to reply, but his head whipped to the side. He stared across the room for several seconds before he looked back at her. Lilah’s brows came together in confusion and she almost voiced the question on her tongue. But, when she blinked, he was gone and she was off balance enough that she stumbled.

Pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, she shook her head vigorously. She could still taste him, and his scent lingered on her clothes.

“I just got here,” she growled, as if to censure the universe for throwing her back into the deep end.

She breathed deep, saying, “No. No, no, no. Get your shit, go to the board room. Do your job.”

The board room was...about as lavish as she expected. The table was ornate and covered in a quarter inch thick layer of glass to protect the wood. A protector screen was already up and running, a picture of someone she didn’t recognize on display. There were no windows and the room was dimly lit.

She entered and sat down, noting the three men in the room, none of which she recognized.

“Javier sent me.”

A man with hair so blonde it was almost white looked at her over rimless glasses. He was wearing a white button up and a striped tie. She couldn’t tell, but she thought he might also have a pocket protector.

“Lilah, right?”

She nodded.

“That guy,” he pointed at the screen, “We need to take care of—quickly, discreetly.”

Lilah looked at the picture on the screen. He was maybe eighteen and was wearing a beanie and over-sized sweatshirt. His facial hair hadn’t really filled in, but he was making a valiant effort at growing out a mustache.

“We lost a shipment because of him.”

She dropped her gaze to the source of the new voice. He was mid-thirties, black, hair cut so short that he was almost bald. He spoke with an accent that she couldn’t place.

“What kind of shipment?”

His eyes didn’t blink, “Does it matter?”

She shook her head, “Not in the least. Let’s get started.”

Afterwards, she closed down her laptop and said her goodbyes to the group. She doubted that she would ever see them again, if the past was anything to go by. Still, a plan was in place. All she had to do was get the guy to the rooftop of a building, see if he would tell her what he had said out loud, and the rest of the team would take care of it. Lilah knew what would happen from there, and she knew that it wouldn’t end well.

As she stood in the elevator, Lilah felt tiredness creep in. She’d put the ‘incident’ out of her mind while she sat in the board room, but, now that it was quiet, she had a hard time steering her thoughts elsewhere. She wasn’t asleep, and this wasn’t stress. And, she was having a hard time believing that her mind could come up with that detailed a fantasy while suffering from jet lag.

Stepping out of the elevator, she turned and headed down the hall to her room, keying in and shoving herself through the door. She dropped the key onto the side table and let her laptop fall onto one of the couch cushions. A bath. Then, bed.

Stretching, she grabbed a change of clothes from her luggage and slipped out of her shoes, padding to the bathroom. Blindly, she reached inside and turned on the lights, closing the door behind her. The first clue that something wasn’t right was the temperature. It was hot. Really, really hot. Lilah closed her eyes and tried to center herself.

Huffing, she turned and opened her eyes. Before her was a long hallway, a red light shining throughout. Voices filtered towards her. She took a long moment to debate whether or not following them was a good idea. Looking over her shoulder, Lilah found that the door was gone, replaced by the brick wall. She rolled her eyes. Forward, then.

Carefully, and as quietly as she could in her socks, she slipped down the hall, one hand out in front of her, the other tracing along the brick. The hallway opened up to a large, domed room filled with people. There was a palpable energy in the air, excitement on everyone’s faces. Lilah pressed herself against the back wall, sliding to the side.

Cutting the room into thirds were two rows of church pews. A cursory glance to the front of the room presented her with wide slab of stone about waist high. Behind it stood the staff, on it sat the cup. Her eyes widened and she felt the air go out of her in a way that left her dizzy and weak. Knees buckling, she gripped the wall and forced herself to move further forward.

As she rounded a column, Lilah caught sight of a familiar leather jacket. She hopped forward and pressed her back said column, hoping he hadn’t seen her. What was he doing in a church? What was she doing in a church, for that matter? How was he connected to the staff and cup, and the diner, and Javier?

He spoke in a halting, sharp language that stung her ears, but she couldn’t stop herself from easing around the column and looking. The crowd was absolutely silent, and she could see them moving forward eagerly. Keeping low, she moved to another column, closing the distance between them. Column by column she moved, until she was nearly parallel to him, watching the side of his face as he continued to speak.

Lilah didn’t understand a word he was saying, it didn’t sound like any language she’d ever heard, but she could read his body. He was angry, and with his anger seemed to come a heat that billowed outwards. Sweat dripped from her temple down the side of her cheek. It dropped down her jaw to her chest, running between her breasts and over her stomach. Her palms slipped on the stone.

His speech rose to a crescendo, and he pointed to the crowd. There was an audible gasp, and a voice that spoke quickly. She knew that tone—pleading. The woman was brought forward, struggling against the grip of two men. Lilah felt her chest tighten, her mind already three steps ahead and screaming at her to look away.

The woman was laid on the altar and he stood over her, talking lowly. Lilah recognized that look. Don’t kill me, it said. Please, I’ll do anything.

He was unmoved, and there was a ferocity in his expression that chilled her, despite the oppressive heat of the room. One gloved hand slid down the woman’s chest to her belly, and then in a quick, jerking movement, it was inside of her. Reaching up through the rib cage. Lilah felt her stomach turn as she watched him dig further, heard the woman’s screams.

After a moment, he pulled free, holding a snake high in the air. A roar build among the crowd and she thought she saw some of their faces distort grotesquely. He held the snake high for a few beats, then tossed it into a fire burning behind him. The woman on the altar screamed, a high, unearthly thing to Lilah’s ears.

She felt bile rise up into her throat as he reached back inside the woman. A second later, he was holding her heart in front of him. With his free hand, he picked up the cup and squeezed. Blood poured from the heart and the woman beneath shuddered before exploding into dust. Lilah’s jaw dropped, barely believing what she was seeing. It didn’t make any sense.

Leaning against the column, she watched him toss the heart into the fire before lifting the cup in a salute to the crowd.

“Oh, don’t do it,” she breathed, knowing that he would.

He drank deeply, taking down the entire contents of the cup as if it were water. Lilah swallowed, gripping her stomach as she tried not to throw up. The world tilted sideways and the knees that had been threatening her for the last several minutes final delivered on that threat. She fell to the ground.

Vomit covered the tile floor of the bathroom, Lilah pressed her face to a clean square, glad for the cool stone. She stayed there for a long time just to make sure she wouldn’t heave again. Then, she stood, wiped her face, and wpied up her mess.

Later, when she lay in bed, she thought about what she had seen. She wasn’t stressed. She wasn’t drugged—she’d not eaten or drank anything that wasn’t sealed. That left...crazy. Lilah was going crazy.

#brasa #from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #fdtd #maurice compte #In the Blood

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fallenfurther · 4 years

Text

A drop into silence - Part 3

I decided not to leave this without a little hope for you all. I go a little into the science at the end, I hope I have kept it at the right level. I did have some fun researching stem cells. Part 1 and Part 2. Enjoy

************

The next few days were spent lying in a hospital bed, a smile plastered on his face, keeping up appearances for his little brothers. He laughed at Gordon’s jokes, smiled as Alan relayed his latest adventure on Cavern Quest and tried to reflect the air of positivity that the doctors seemed to have. His fingers stayed pink and healthy, his wounds were healing nicely, and his bones had been repositioned correctly first time. He was considered lucky. Yet deep down, beneath it all, Scott felt despair. The support of his family kept him there, kept him present and he would have drowned without them. But part of him wanted to drown. With every passing day the neurologist looked less satisfied with his progress. A week after the rescue and he was discharged with physiotherapy booked for when the cast they sent him home in was removed. The joy on everyone’s face kept him going. They were like a storm, spinning around him with such force it carried him along. Yet that night, after he’d thrown his nightshirt across the room in frustration, he let the façade fall. Scott lay on bed shirtless, placed his head on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. Only then could he let the thoughts surface. The tears silently fell, dampening his pillow. When the sound of someone entering his room came, he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t pull on the façade he’d discarded. He was thankful when it was Virgil who pulled a chair up to his bed.

“I can’t feel anything, Virgil.”

The soft brown eyes met his, a sadness in them that showed the truth.

“The doctors say the feeling could still come back; your nerves just need time to heal.”

“Screw the doctors!” Scott growled, anger filling him as tears continued to fall. “What do you believe, Virgil? You’ve seen the scans; you know the medical facts. I know you’ve spoken with Grandma, gotten her opinion. Do you think I’ll regain enough feeling, enough movement?”

Scott watched as Virgil broke eye contact. His brother was bent over in the chair, and guilt spread through him. He should take it out on Virgil. It wasn’t his fault. The tear that Virgil shed made Scott want to reach out. He did reach out, except he didn’t. His left arm didn’t move, didn’t follow the command Scott gave it. Instead, Virgil met his eyes and held his gaze. Those hazel eyes were strong and held, ready to speak the truth.

“I believe you’ll regain some feeling, just not enough for you to use the arm. You would only be allowed to fly a specially adapted plane and your days as an International Rescue operative are over. Brains is already planning on a way to allow you to fly Thunderbird One but…”

“I won’t be able to do rescues. I’ll be a liability.”

Scott’s heart broke and he knew Virgil’s was shattering beside him. International Rescue would never be the same. It would go on, because it had to, but without him at the helm of Thunderbird One, it wouldn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott pushed himself up awkwardly, still not used to the dead weight of his arm and twisted so he sat facing Virgil. His gaze fell on his fingers, again he tried to wiggle them, every thought projecting down the arm. Nothing. Virgil picked up the hand and shifted so it lay on his knee. Silently, he started massaging the muscles and flexing the fingers. These were some of Scott’s assigned exercises, all of which were easier done by someone else. Virgil went through every finger, bending it and flexing it, being careful of the cast that stopped at his knuckles. The tender care of his brother’s touch was lost to Scott. Closing his eyes, his body felt still. None of the movement could be felt. He had felt the tug when Virgil had pulled his arm, up in his shoulder, above where the main nerve had been severed.

“Grandma is reaching out to all her friends, asking if there is any research that has evaded her that might help.”

Scott fought the sob. Of course, she wouldn’t give up. She was a Tracy too, stubborn as they come. It brought a smile to his face, despite the tear that escaped. He felt his hand being placed on his leg and returned his gaze to Virgil. The artist’s hands fell on his bare shoulders, an act that gave Scott the strength he currently lacked.

“We’ll get through this.”

Scott gave Virgil a resigned nodded. He still struggled to believe it could get better. Virgil got up, leaving Scott’s shoulders to feel cold, only to return with the nightshirt he’d discarded.

“How about we get this on?”

*****

Scott stood in front of the mirror in just his suit trousers. The skin on his left arm clearly displayed the scars, a fresh pink colour, that reminded him that even though he looked okay, he wasn’t complete. It’d been almost three months and there was no change in the arm. It just hung there, limp. The rest of Scott’s body was still toned due his continued use the island gym. Even though he couldn’t be a member of International Rescue, the need to maintain his fitness remained. Yet as Scott stared at his redundant arm, he could see the signs of wastage. The bicep had less definition and his forearm was looking slimmer. Signing, he turned and slipped the shirt from its hanger. He’d gotten the technique now, on how to slip his dead arm into the sleeve, though he knew it would create creases in the crisp ironed material. Pulling it up at the shoulder, he pulled it round and slipped his right arm in. Again, his fingers had mastered the one handed fasten, and soon the shirt was done up. The suit jacket followed in the same manner. Sitting he pulled on his socks and shoes. He had yet to buy any new dress shoes, not wanting another reminder of what he couldn’t do. Slipping on the shoes, laces left untied, he grabbed his tie and room key. Outside Grandma was waiting. She’d flown him over and insisted on staying to help him. He regretted that he needed help, but the tie slipped from his hand and was thrown over his head. Scott smiled at his Grandmother as she tightened the knot round his neck before bending down and tying his shoes tightly. These shoes hadn’t let him down yet, but his secretary was aware of his difficulties and she was good at discreetly helping him.

“All ready. Go get them, Scott.”

Scott couldn’t help the small chuckle at his Grandma’s enthusiasm. He’d taken to doing more Tracy Industries work, so he didn’t just spend his time watching, worrying, and envying his brothers when they were out on rescues. They were all being careful, his arm a subtle reminder of why they must be cautious. Yet at the same time, when in the heat of the moment, they could forget it and they had started to push themselves again. They had just returned from a rescue before he had left last night, so goodness knows what could happen to them while he was away.

“Thanks Grandma. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself in New York?”

“Oh, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve plenty to keep me occupied. Anyway, we need to get you to your meeting, can’t be late now.”

“I’m the CEO, they can’t start without me!”

Grandma looped her arm in his good one and started guiding him towards the exit. She was one of the strongest women he knew and as he peered down at the top of her head, he absorbed some of that strength. It was his family that got him out of bed each morning, his family that got him through the pain that rose when he found himself staring up at Thunderbird One, or when he went to the supply cupboard and saw his spare uniform. His family kept this grounded pilot going.

*****

The previous day had been tough, and all Scott had wanted was to be flown home so he could sleep in his own bed. However, Grandma had insisted that they stay another night and spend the day in New York. One gaze into his Grandmother’s hopeful blue eyes, her hands clasped together, and he relented. Maybe he needed some time away from the island.

“So, where are you planning to take me today?”

Scott smiled down at the older woman, who had her arm in his and was pulling him towards the exit. There was an energy in her that reminded him of Alan.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d agree to meet a friend of a friend I met yesterday. She’s currently doing some research you might be interested in.”

Scott’s heart stuttered in his chest. He knew what she was referring to and he tried to stay calm. There had been so many false leads, so much promising research that was still in the earliest of stages. They had even investigated bionics, though Scott wasn’t too keen as some of the early work was less than successful in the long run. He also had Brains working on an exosuit-like device that would be able to move his arm for him, but the prototypes were still bulky and hard to control. If Grandma thought it was worth his time then he would go, he just wouldn’t get his hopes up. The car out front took them to a skyscraper, and they were met in the lobby by a smartly dressed woman who embraced Grandma.

“It’s good to see you again Sally, and you must be Mr Scott Tracy. My name is Charlene Russell, I’m a neuroscientist and it’s my research that might be of interest to you.”

Scott shook her outstretched hand, noting the glance to his useless one. They were then led up to an office where they were subjected to a presentation. Scott didn’t miss the eagerness radiating from his Grandma.

“…so, as you can see, the rats regained full use of their legs after the treatment. When it comes to the same in humans, we have been given permission to start some trials in extremely specific patients, mainly in smaller less complex neurological deficiencies. We harvest the stem cells from the bone marrow, as well as the testis in men. Unlike earlier therapies we plan to harvest multipotent stem cells, so they still obtain the ability to become most cell lines. We have managed to find a combination of signalling proteins, hormones, and growth factors, which push human stem cells to become neuroectodermal cells, which is the first stage in the development of the nervous system in a foetus. We also have the right combination to produce neural stem cells. Our treatment involves injecting these cells into the area around the damaged nerves to allow the cells to trigger repair and in some cases, even bridge the broken strands allowing signals to pass along the nerves. It can take a few treatments to get the best results, but in our trials so far, patients have regained more function than expected from normal treatment alone.”

Scott sat straight, trying to take in all the science that was being thrown at him. The take home message seemed that they could repair damaged nerves in some patients. But would it work for him? He dared not hope for full movement but even some. If he could just feed himself and tie his shoes. To not have to rely on someone else for the simplest of things. It would ease the worry he saw in Virgil’s eyes.

“Do you think it could help me?”

“Well, Sally kindly shared with me your medical scans, and considering the nerve damage is limited to a few small areas, with the main break being at the top of your arm, this type of therapy has the potential to help. This therapy is very individualistic, and outcomes can vary, but if we could get even a few stem cells to bridge the gap at the top of your arm then that could restore some function, even if it’s just sensations of touch or pain.”

Even the feeling of touch would be an improvement. Currently he often bruised or cut the skin on his left arm because he couldn’t feel it. He had once left a trail of blood through the house when he’d cut his finger on something and hadn’t noticed.

“You said only a few selected cases could undergo the treatment, would I fall into this category?”

“Currently you don’t, however we have just been granted permission to try the therapy on a person with a similar injury in their leg. I believe we could apply to allow you on a trial as we could use your data in conjunction with theirs to assess the therapies potential in humans. We would have to apply straight away as the sooner after injury the treatment is preformed the better the success and you are already close to three months post injury.”

“Do you think we could get permission?”

“Yes. I believe the fact that you are Scott Tracy will help with your case too.”

“Then let’s do it. I have nothing to lose.”

Charlene smiled at him and Scott couldn’t help but mirror it.

“I’ll go fetch all the appropriate paperwork. I’ve had one of the medical teams on standby ready to do the required examinations and tests on your arm. These will have to be repeated at a late date for confirmation. Also, if you consent, they are also able to do the tissue harvest to start the process of extracting and culturing your multipotent stem cells. This would mean we could move quickly into starting treatment once permission is obtained.”

“So, I’m going to have a bone marrow harvest and you said something about testis in men, what does that involve?”

Charlene looked a little sheepish.

“Yes, the doctors will take a small slither of testicular tissue. They have assured me that it won’t affect your ability to have children and involves making a small incision with minimal scaring. The doctors will explain all the risks later, though from what I’ve heard most men don’t complain, especially if the bone marrow harvest is done first or at the same time.”

Scott swallowed, but nodded. There were always risks with new procedures, but this might be his best shot. There was a chance, a glimmer of hope if bureaucracy didn’t get in his way. Then he was Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy industries and still considered Commander of International Rescue to most of the world. When had a bit of paperwork ever stopped him from getting what he wanted?

#sensorysunday #thunderbirds are go #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #grandma tracy #sensorysunday2020 #whump #aftermath #recovery #numb #hope #medical trial #his family keep him going

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yandere-wishes · 5 years

Text

Twisted Wonderland Ocs!

Genie: *Appears on stage* EEEYYY here we are with our new twisted wonderland yandere OCS

Beloveds: *Forced clapping* get help (no Genie this is not a marvel reference!!) seriously just go get help.

Genie: Before we start please note that all characters here, other than the two bachelors are not blood-related by any means. They do however share a surname. It's one that they came up with themselves. As well as sharing the characteristic of hyena ears. Without further, a dew lets meet our lovely bachelors and bachelorette!

Name: Luna Annamaria Carnivora Vivica Jessica Bucchi

Nicknames: Lun (everyone), Viv (Banzi) big sis (everyone), Jessie (Me) my dear (Leona).

Dorm: Savanclaw

Year: 3rd year

Twisted from: Shenzi from Lion King

Age: 20

DOB: November 18

Physical Appearance (I do not have a picture for them yet, so if anyone is up to draw them that would be great!)

Luna has dark brown skin, usually littered with cuts and bruises. It's not rare to see her with a multitude of bandages and gazes covering up recent wounds. Large downturned grey/blue eyes with long lashes. She has a mole next to her left eye. Her raven-colored hair is straight and long, reaching and curling at past her lower back. Her bangs normally reach to slightly above her eyebrows. Her, built is rather lanky due to not receiving enough food on a daily bases. Her fingers are long with nails being covered as sharp claws able to cut skin. There is a slight limp in her right leg.

Story

Luna was born into a middle-class family, with a father working as an architect and a housewife mother. Her childhood was typically a happy and normal one. Around the time she was thirteen her father was fired for an unknown reason, though it's highly suspected that he was selling information to another company. This left the family with a lot of debuts and no means of paying them. Seeing no other solution, Luna's mother sent her off to live with her aunt. Despite being a kind and even motherly figure to the young girl, Luna and her aunt never really saw eye to eye. Her aunt pushed her to seek a higher form of education, pushing her to her limits to get a multitude of different scholarships. By fourteen, she had an athletic scholarship to the top private academy of the pride lands (or where ever it is the savanclaw people come form). However as time went on, the young girl began to note a shift in her aunt's mood. The once lively women became reserved and almost shut off from the world around her. She seemed to be in her own universe, this lead to Luna having to take up almost all chores around the house. A few months later Luna overheard her aunt on the phone with her parents. Her aunt begged them to and collect luna, in which they declined, saying that they could not take care of another person. This broke Luna's heart and it's around this time that she began to neglect her studies and sneak out at nights. On one of her nightly escapes, she encountered two boys about the same age as her, named Brazium and Elysium They were planning on sneaking into a club to do some pickpocketing. Intrigued the young girl hatched a plan to get them in. They later split their earings amongst themselves. This became a routine for the trio, hitting different bars and sometimes even school events at Luna's school. It was one of these nights that Luna came home to find polices at her aunt's house. The policemen told her that her aunt had overdosed on anti-depression and was found dead mere hours ago. Being/feeling abandoned for the second time, Luna took matters into her own hands. She was able to use whatever money her aunt had left to buy a small house in "the outlands" deciding she needed a pack to survive she invited Brazium and Elysium to come live with her, they both obliged. For the next three years, the trio lived in the outlands, having become a sort of ruling family amongst the other residents.

Personality

Luna is rather bossy and snarky, usually following a "agree with me or suffer" kind of manner. She is extremely sarcastic and at times dramatic, facing any problem or opponent with an eye roll and comment. She is rather independent and never likes being told what to do. All this being said she is extremely possessive of anything she has, fearing that it will be taken from her.

She can play the piano as an angel

got into night raven due to being friends with Leona kingscholar

Was given a scholarship to med school, which she turned down for Night Raven.

Could kill you with her glare

Has enough sarcasm to go toe to toe with Leona

Prefers to negotiate before starting a fight.

Leona is her closest friend and she considers her a brother like the rest of her "siblings"

Is on bad terms with Lionel (see @edda-blattfe)

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Name: Brazium Corbin Atilla Bucchi

Nicknames: *Insert degrading nickname here* (Leona and Luna), chalk eyes (Ruggie) brain cell number 2 (Ruggie and Elysium ) the family screw up (everyone) Banz (Me)

Dorm: Savanclaw

Year: 2nd year

Twisted from: Banzai from Lion King

Age: 19

DOB: April 4th

Physical Appearance (again still no picture)

Brazium has caramel-colored skin with a spinal cord tattoo over his actual spinal cord (Genie what the hell do you come up with?). His hair is a dark shadow like grey color, that is never kept properly and is always sticking in every direction. He usually wears heavy eye showdown around his teel eyes. His tongue and has a piercing which he gave himself using his father's tools when he was about thirteen.

Story

Brazium and his younger twin Elysium were born into a rather poor family. Their dad owned a tattoo and piercing shop. Their mother was a nurse before she hopped out of the family. From a young age, the brothers learned to operate their father's tools and run the shop, they also learned how to steal and fight as another means of survival. Their dad did try raising them right and making sure they had a good education. by fourteen the boys had taken up pickpocketing in bars and a private school, thanks to their new friend luna. One night the boys were woken in the middle of the night to the police asking them to come over to the station. There they were shown a corps and asked if they recognized it. They did, seeing as how the corpse was their father's. The policeman told them that he had been hit by a car and that they were not able to find the driver. The boys later learned that it had been an aristocrat and that she'd been able to get away with it due to her hight nobility. After hearing the news Luna approached the two boys and asked if they wanted to move in with her. They agreed and for three years they lived as a family. Later on thanks to Elysium another member would be added to them.

Personality

Brazium is short-tempered, aggressive and gluttonous. He mostly thinks with his fists and is quick to start fights. He will downright insult anyone going so far as to threaten them over measly things, such as pitty arguments. He is constantly complaining about one thing or another and has yet to answer the question "how are you" with a pleasant response. With all this said he does have a loving and joking sideshow only yo his family. When Ruggi was younger Brazium would always take him outside and find a means of entertaining him. He has the utmost respect for Shanzi and belives her to be the brains of the family.

He's great at boxing and martial arts, going toe to toe with Leona

He is a genius when it comes to languages

He's fluent in pig-Latin, English, Swahili, French, Spanish, German and Japanese.

Was the first out of the four Bucchi siblings to ask about Leona's scar

Will do anything and everything for his family (Leona included)

Is very superstitious

He loves slushies

got into night raven due to being friends with Leona kingscholar

does surprisingly well in potion making and has gained a bit of Divus’s respect

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Name: Elysium (El) Zayne Hani Bucchi

Nicknames: El (Everyone) giggles (Ruggie) brian cell number one (Leona and Luna)

Dorm: Savanclaw

Year: 2nd year

Twisted from: Ed from Lion King

Age: 19

DOB: April 4th

Physical Appearance (no picture)

El is typically described as having gentle features in contrast to his brother's rough appearance. His hair is practically as long as his sister's. Despite keeping his grey hair in a high ponytail there are still thin strands around his face. His skin is also a caramel-like color much like his brothers. He has two wing tattoos on both his shoulders along with a multitude of ear piercings. His eyes are lean and a lighter teal shade than his brothers.

Story

Elysium and his older twin Brazium were born into a rather poor family. Their dad owned a tattoo and piercing shop. Their mother was a nurse before she hopped out of the family. From a young age, the brothers learned to operate their father's tools and run the shop, they also learned how to steal and fight as another means of survival. Their dad did try raising them right and making sure they had a good education. by fourteen the boys had taken up pickpocketing in bars and a private school, thanks to their new friend Luna. One night the boys were woken in the middle of the night to the police asking them to come over to the station. There they were shown a corps and asked if they recognized it. They did, seeing as how the corpse was their father's. The policeman told them that he had been hit by a car and that they were not able to find the driver. The boys later learned that it had been an aristocrat and that she'd been able to get away with it due to her hight nobility. After hearing the news Luna approached the two boys and asked if they wanted to move in with her. One day while Elysium was walking around the outlands he spotted a young boy covered in blood. Murders were something normal in the area. El didn't think too much of it and tried to walk away, only to have the small boy follow him. He soon gave up and picked the kid and went home. Brazium and Luna weren't too happy with this but soon came to love the baby as one of their won. El took care of Ruggie the most since Shenzi usually had to work part-time jobs and Braziumwas in charge of meal prep and house chores. All was well until freaking Brazium lost Ruggie! (Genie: Banz how the hell does one lose a seven-year-old??!! Brazium: *shrugs and goes back to drinking his slushie*) It all turned out well in the end where they sorta ended up adopting Leona as well.

El has a disability which prevents him from properly talking

This, however, doesn't stop him from having a keen eye and being able to solve certain problems quickly

He and Brazium tend to fight a lot, it's usually up to Luna and Ruggi to split them up. While Leona cheers them on from the couch or wherever.

I Sorta want to go sci-fi on him and give him a voice box or something IDK

Is secretly Ruggie's favorite sibling

Despite not being the most violent out of the Bucchi family he gets rather aggressive around the lions, blaming them for his father's death and Leona's suffering

Refuses to call Leona a Kingschola and insists that he is a Bucchi

Has received nothing but A in Ashton’s class

His best friend in Night Raven is Kalim

Genie: Well that wraps but our show for tonight ladies and gentlemen! Their yandere personalities will be released at a later date, after the last "member" of the family is finished! Also a huge thanks to @edda-blattfe for helping me with all of this, love you lots darling!

Beloveds: No more, please no more! Go back to being a normal yandere blog, please. We will pay you to stop with the Twisted wonderland ocs!

#twisted wonderland #disney #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #disney ocs #savanaclaw #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland ruggie bucchi #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar

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