#it is entirely off putting and makes me want to stop speaking for seven years straight like it feels like i have been entirely deflated | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ya-zz · 5 months

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So this is a rewrite of a challenge I took part in back in May whilst I was coming to the end of uni. When rereading it, there were so many mistakes and some of it didn't make sense, so here we go. A rewrite and the entire thing in one post.

Because this is a rewrite, the rules of the challenge are no longer followed. The original document stood at 6,200 words, and this one is more.

Read the original here!

CLOSURE (rewritten)

Word count: 6675

WARNINGS: Depictions of violence and torture.

Ramattra had sought refuge after his attacks. Null Sector had failed, Overwatch had destroyed everything he had worked hard for. He fled when he realised how dire his situation was, returning to Shambali in hopes they would let him back in without questioning his disappearance. Although Mondatta was deceased, the monastery was still thriving and the monks accepted Ramattra just like they had done when he first arrived there after the awakening.

Though, his hatred for humanity was known by many - too many, in fact. However, it never deterred you from wanting to know him. You would always find him in the same places, whether it was the library, the courtyard or in his room whenever you passed by while running errands for those in the monastery. Ramattra was always doing something whenever you saw him - reading, meditating or sparring with the other monks. No matter what, he was always busy.

You never approached him though as you wanted him to approach you first. Of course, whenever you two happened to cross paths you would greet him like you would any other omnic; a friendly “hello” with a smile. At first, Ramattra would barely pass a glance at you, but over time, he expected your greetings and that smile of yours.

He followed his routine effortlessly, much like you did and each morning there you would be, walking past and greeting him before going about your day. It was the same in the afternoon and in the evening. He never admitted it, but he was growing used to having you, a human, around in the monastery.

When the omnic broke his routine and speaks to you, it catches you off guard.

“Would you care to meditate with me?” He asks, stopping just short of you and awaiting your answer.

You look up at him, eyes wide slightly as you wonder if you heard him right. You must’ve been staring for a lot longer than you had thought as he breaks the silence, voice low and almost sounding irritated.

“Well?” The omnic cocks his head, optics looking down on you.

All you could do was nod in response, still startled by the fact that he had asked you to meditate with him, pulling you away from your schedule and into his.

Ramattra starts walking without saying anything else and you follow behind him just as silently. His routine was back to how it was, but this time, you were in tow.

The pair of you reach the hallway that leads you into the shared meditation room. It was large and dimly lit by several candles that littered the floor and walls. Seven other monks sat silently on the floor, sitting on cushions as they continue their meditation while you and Ramattra head for the back corner of the room. Being careful in your steps, you keep close to the taller omnic.

He sits down after finding his spot in the corner. His back straightens, legs crossed and his head bows down. You put a human width gap between you and him as you take a seat next to him, copying his posture. Your hands rest on your knees as your eyes close, breathing slowly becoming steady.

You could hear the soft hum of his inner workings, fans slowly whirring as his chest rises and falls, imitating a humans breathing. The only sound in the room was the soft humming of the omnics, a faint buzzing that calmed the discord within your body.

Ever since you had arrived at the monastery, you felt at peace, you felt at home; it was an escape from wherever you had come from a year ago. The surrounding area was full of life, truly a place worthy of calling home. The trees were shades of pink in spring, always green in the summer, and the mountains were covered in a blanket of snow throughout the year. When it was dark, the village below would glow yellow with life. As the minutes passed by, the lights would slowly get dimmer as stores closed. The bakery would close it doors and start preparing the next days bread and cakes. The flower shop would put its display inside and then hand out some singular flowers to those who passed by before locking up for the night.

The monastery would glow all year round. While some residents went to their rooms, others would stay late to clean, others turn to roam the halls alone. Everyone here was friendly, caring in their actions and words towards you. They treated you like family, even if you were human.

The hum of Ramattra’s body got slightly louder, or maybe it had always been that loud. Your ears picked up the noise rather quickly and in the time you had your eyes closed and opened them back up, two monks had left and one was just getting up to leave.

They look over at you and nod gently, the rise and fall of their shoulders make him seem apologetic, as if he was apologising for disturbing your meditation. You smile back at them, shaking your head, dismissing their worry before looking back down at your hands. You fidget in your position before finding some comfort on the stone floor. The footsteps of the other monk faded and it was back to near silence. It was peaceful.

Ramattra tilts his head to the side, pondering some thoughts. As he looks up, optics scanning the room, you catch his attention and he looks over at you. A silent sigh escapes his body as he watches your head bob, your breathing was slowing down. You had accidentally dozed off, truly a deep meditation on your part.

He moves closer to you, his knee eventually touching yours and it was as if you could feel something pulling you to rest on him. Your body slumps against the omnic, instantly finding comfort against his rigid body. A content sigh escapes your lips as you fall deeper into sleep.

Ramattra turns his head towards you again and watches the rise and fall of your chest. Something inside of him feels warm, his fans picking up speed to cool him down. He has never felt this before, and it’s with a human of all things.

He looks ahead, eyes scanning the room. The remaining omnics were still quietly meditating, head bowed and legs crossed. Ramattra straightens his back before returning to his own meditation, however he has began to focus on your breathing, the slowness of it, how in rhythm it was. His mind starts thinking about how fragile human life was, how weak they were to him and how he could crush anyone without thinking twice. He turns and looks at you again, wondering how fragile you really were. He wonders what you think about him and his kind, whether it was possible to coexist peacefully.

The omnic pauses in thought. You were here in the Monastery, with him, surrounded by other omnics. You had already made your choice. It brought a little comfort to him, despite his hatred for humanity still running high.

For weeks he had watched you run around the monastery and you would always be doing something, but never really keeping to a schedule apart from waking or sleeping at the same time. There were always the moments that would always be on time though, and that was when you would greet him with a smile before walking away. He would always wonder what you thought of him, if you were somewhat scared and only friendly from fear of his model.

He looks down at you, pondering these thoughts. The soft breaths that you release were like another meditation to him. He was content in that moment.

You shift slightly on the floor, head still resting on Ramattra’s arm. Your ears pick up the inner workings of his body and they are louder than they were before. It was almost soothing to you, relaxing your mind further.

Time seems to pass slowly, but it was a comfortable speed as the two of you remain seated in the room, the candlelight illuminating your features with a soft, warm glow.

The initial seven omnics had since left, and Ramattra’s personal schedule was behind as he refuses to move your sleeping body. He stays seated far longer than he had initially planned, but he doesn’t want to disturb you. A few more omnics came and went, but the two of you remained.

Ramattra had been keeping watch of the time, his schedule now completely out of whack. He places his hand on your head which makes your body flinch in reaction. You almost jump awake, heart racing as you sit up with a sore neck that you rub tenderly.

“I suppose you were tired.” He states matter-of-factly as he turns to look at you, optics scanning your body when he notices your increased heart rate.

You look back at him, eyes widening. “I… I am so sorry!” Your cheeks warm up as you realise you had fallen asleep on the omnic.

His gaze was still on you before he stands up.

“Perhaps, you should go to bed.” His voice was cold. “I have time to make up.” Ramattra walks away, leaving you in the room alone. Part of him was annoyed that he didn’t keep to his schedule, another part of him was annoyed at himself for saying what he had when he left, but another part of him was grateful for the time he had spent with you, granted you were asleep for most of it.

Standing slowly, you walk out of the room silently, trying not to disturb the other monks that had arrived moments prior. Your cheeks stay warm as you start walking back to your living quarters, shivering slightly from the cool breeze that passes through the open windows.

Just as you turn the next corner, Zenyatta appears, almost startling you much like Ramattra did earlier on in the day.

“Hello, [y/n].” His voice was mellow as he speaks. There was a certain charm to it that you could never quite place.

“Hey, Zen…” You stop walking, wanting to converse with the omnic monk.

“What seems to be troubling you?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side. Zenyatta seems to be more observant than you thought.

You look at him for a moment before replying. “Nothing, really. I’m just tired.”

Zenyatta nods. “I see… I do not suppose you have seen my brother around here? Ramattra?”

“He left me a few minutes ago.” You look away, feeling somewhat ashamed.

“Left you?”

You nod. “Yeah. I fell asleep on him while we were meditating.”

Zenyatta chuckles. “He did not mind?”

“I don’t know… I woke up and he left, saying he had ‘time to make up’.” Your eyes widen slowly as you realise you may have caused his irritability. “How long were we there?”

“I do not know. I shall ask him when I find him. Go, rest up. You clearly need it.” Zenyatta puts a hand on your shoulder, wanting to reassure you that you could not help the situation.

With a small nod, you leave the monk, your room in sight.

…

Ramattra finishes his duties two hours after his initial schedule had ended. He lets out a low sigh as he made his way back to his own living quarters. Upon reaching his room, he hums quietly as he sits on the edge of his bed, the thoughts of you returning to his mind. He wonders where you had come from and what your past was like…

That’s when something clicks inside of him. He had seen you before, many years prior to the pair of you meeting at the Monastery.

Back when Null Sector was in its prime, Ramattra and his troops would gather any human that was still alive after they had attacked and transported them back to the countless air vessels for questioning. Many died on the way, some in the middle of interrogation, others would die after one round of torture. He felt guilty remembering this, but then he remembered - you were one of those people taken. You had survived the journey, survived the countless interrogations, and multiple rounds of torture.

You were, at the time, one of the strongest humans Ramattra had ever seen. Strong through will and by the Iris, you were strong enough to last his beatings. You were not a part of Overwatch, or even had any military background. You were simply a human civilian.

He, as much as he hated to say it, admired you back then. As much as he tried not to, no matter the countless fighting against his systems, he couldn’t help but think about what he did to you;

Countless days and weeks went by and yet you still hadn’t given up and died. He had beat you, kicking and punching every part of your body. He vividly remembered your screams as you cried out in pain over each onslaught. Of course, you spat back at him any chance you had, the blood spattering on his cowl, chest or feet which in turn only angered him more.

Despite everything he had put you through, you never gave up fighting for your own life. He admired you to the point he became lenient, offering food and water to keep you breathing. He ordered some of his omnics to treat your wounds before he would abuse you once more a week or so after. He tortured you to the very brink of death, and yet you somehow survived.

Null Sector was attacked a few months after you had been captured and taken there, but nobody was searching for you. Nobody knew you were even there. You laid under the rubble until you had enough strength to pull yourself out and you ran as far as you could.

Ramattra never saw you after the attack, and he shook the feeling of you being dead away. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he missed you back then. Whether he missed the violence, or truly missed you, he couldn’t quite place that feeling. Turns out, he missed you.

Of course, it has been a year since then and he has long since tried to forget the whole ordeal and was trying to better himself. He has found peace even though somewhere deep inside of him, he still hates humans for what they did.

He slumps on his bed, head low as he thinks about everything. He can’t shake the screaming from back then and he fears he was spiralling back into his anger. He places his hands on his head, the metal tapping against his face plate. He lets out a low growl, irritated at himself for bringing everything back up.

When he arrived at the Monastery, his brother said that there was a human living amongst them and that they meant no harm to him or to the others. Yet, despite Zenyatta saying this, he still believed otherwise and was cautious of you from the very first day. It took him this long to figure out that you were his prisoner all those years ago.

Ramattra wants nothing more than to go over to your room and apologise for what he had done to you back then, but did you even remember? Do you remember what I did to you, he thinks to himself. What if you did remember but he brings it back to the surface and traumatises you again? He has long since changed his ways, wanting nothing more to do with Null Sector and to find peace within himself, but there was that turmoil inside of him again that he had only just gotten rid off.

It pains him deeply, far greater than he would like to admit.

The omnic lets out a low sigh, body deflating as he falls to the floor. Meditation was the only way to get rid of these thoughts… at least, that’s what happened the last time the memories of his dark past resurfaced.

He crosses his legs as the hum of his body fills his room. No matter how hard he tries, the screaming returns and it only gets louder, his fists tightening in response. His head tilts slightly as the red lights on his forehead flicker.

Erasing his memory was one thing he cannot do and he hates it. All he could do was remember the past and the pain.

…

The following day was nothing but cold and rainy. The only times you left the monastery and the confines of your room was to run down to the village to pick up some books that you had on hold that weren’t originally in the monastery library, and running through the garden to deliver a package to another monk.

Arriving back, you shake off your jacket before hanging it up next to the door and then head to your room for a towel, however, you turn the corner and Ramattra was standing in your doorway.

“Everything ok?” You ask, approaching from behind, hoping to not startle him.

Ramattra turns to face you. “I was wondering where you were.”

“I was out delivering a package.” You stand in front of him. “Can I?”

He nods and moves to the side, letting you into your room.

“Thanks.” Just as you enter, you sneeze.

“You will catch a cold-”

“I know. That’s why I came to dry off.” You grab a towel from the bathroom as you dry your head and neck.

Thats when Ramattra freezes upon noticing the back of your neck when you turn away from him. He doesn’t say a word but his mind was racing with too many thoughts and screams of the past.

There, scarred on the back of your neck;

‘ZERO’

“Hey!” You wave your hand in front of Ramattra’s face. “You still on?”

Ramattra shifts his head down slightly, optics scanning you as he replies. “Yes.”

“Ok, well, I need you to move so I can leave my room.” You step back, looking at the omnic in front of you.

“My apologies.” He steps aside, but before you completely go past him, he grabs your arm.

You turn and look at his hand, then up at him, your face showing no emotion.

He knew, but he wasn’t sure if you did.

“Your neck. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” You take your free hand and rub the back of your neck feeling the raised scar.

“You do not remember?” He asks, his voice was low.

You nod in response. “I don’t remember much before coming here. I didn’t realise I was scarred until Zen pointed it out when we were cleaning together.”

Ramattra releases your arm, his hand falling by his side. He didn’t say anything for a moment.

“What do you remember?”

You completely turn and face him. “Being on a train coming here. Anything before that is fuzzy. Look, I have to go. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

He stares at you for a moment before nodding. He follows you out of your room before leaving in the opposite direction.

Part of you wonders why he wants to know if you remembered anything before coming to Nepal. You truly had forgotten about the past but never really questioned it. You were happy in the Monastery and didn’t want that to change.

Zen gently taps you on the shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Is everything ok, [y/n]?” He asks with his head cocked to the side.

You nod. “Yeah. Ramattra noticed my neck… Seemed troubled by it.”

“Oh?”

“He asked if I remembered anything.” You look away.

Zenyatta just looks at you, face expressionless as always.

“As I said to him, the last thing I really remember is being on a train coming here… Anything before that is fuzzy…” You look back at your friend, a small awkward smile on your face.

“Would you like to remember?”

“What?”

“Would you want to remember?” He repeats.

“I heard you.” You look at him, examining his features, though getting nowhere.

“Talk to him.” He places a hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before leaving.

“You know, don’t you?” You watch as he leaves. “Please, tell me!”

Zenyatta completely ignores you as he disappears further into the Monastery. You stare in his direction with endless thoughts running through your mind. If he knew this entire time…

You spent the rest of the day wondering what had really happened in your past and how did Zenyatta know? Why did he not tell you before? The scar on the back of your neck itched slightly which only irritated you more as you went about your duties.

Ramattra’s schedule was just about to end when he saw you walking by. His fans speed up, the nervousness now rising in his body.

“[Y/n].” He calls out to you. He attempts keeps his nerves pushed down.

Instantly you turn and look at him, forcing a small smile as he gestures for you to follow him, to which you do and walk behind him to his room. A slight warmth filled your cheeks.

He sits down on the chair and leans forward, signalling for you to sit on the edge of his bed. He looks at you, not knowing what to say or even how to start it.

“Zenyatta knows… Doesn’t he?” You break the silence as you sit down.

The omnic nods, bowing his head. “I asked him not to say anything.”

“You know my past too?”

Ramattra nods again.

“You were my prisoner…”

“What?” You stare at him, eyes wide. “You’re joking-”

He cuts you off. “I am not.”

You keep staring at him, eyes searching for answers. “Tell me the truth.”

“You were my prisoner.” He repeats.

Something about his tone makes you freeze.

“You say you do not remember, well… I am here to tell you.” He looks at you, his head tilting to the side. “Believe me or not, let me speak.”

All you did was nod in response, an anxiety bubbling inside of you.

“A year ago Null Sector was raided and shut down. Before that, we were thriving and leading a new liberation for several years. Each attack I commanded always came with casualties from both sides. It was a literal war.” Ramattra keeps his optics on you, a warm yellow glow only to be hid by his face plate. “It was not long before my hatred grew and we ended up taking human soldiers and civilians back to our vessels. You happened to be one of them…”

You stare at him, eyes wide with each word he said. You could feel your heart racing in your chest as you listen.

“I had my team torture them… torture you… for answers. Even if they died, we did not stop. But you… You kept fighting.”

All you could do was stare at him. There was a disbelief coursing through your head as he continues.

He looks at you, wondering if he should go into detail. He didn’t want to, but something was telling him that you didn’t believe his words.

“You were kept in secluded room at the back of the prison we had. It was reserved for those with potentially good information… but you had none, yet I decided to keep you. I kept watch of you through the cameras, your screaming and crying still haunt me to this day…” He looks down briefly before turning his gaze back to you. “I kept you there for months until we were shut down completely and destroyed. Part of me feared you were dead. I…” He hesitates for a moment. “I saw something in you that I never did with anyone else.”

“Then… What about my neck?” You speak out.

The lights on his forehead flicker before he answers. “I wanted to keep you permanently. To… Own you. I branded you, much against your will.”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room.

“You wanted to own me?”

He nods in response. “Yes. I wanted you.”

You stare at him again, still trying to comprehend the entire situation. “But… Why?”

“You were unlike any human I had ever met. You kept fighting when everyone else gave up-”

“When everyone else died, you mean.”

“I suppose…” His voice was low before it clicks, resetting. He wasn’t used to doing this much apologising. Hell, it was probably the first time he felt guilty for what he had done.

“You left me for dead, right?”

His head jolts up to look at you. “That-” He stops speaking, trying to think. “No. Well, I mean yes, but I did not have a choice.”

“What exactly did you do to me?” You wince just at the thought of it. You knew exactly what he was. A ravager, a machine built for war. Only a part of a single evolution before all construction stopped of these beings. They… He, was built to kill with no hesitation, yet there you were, sat on his bed, listening to his excuses for what he did to you. You were alive because he refused to kill you, because he ‘saw something in you.’

You are scarred for life because of him, yet you still have your doubts.

For the first time in his life, he feels uncomfortable. It was an entirely new feeling to him. He shifts in his seat, his head tilts to the side, lights flickering on his forehead again.

“We-”

“No, what did you do to me?”

He hesitates before speaking. “The scars on your wrist are from the chains that bound you to the wall and floor to stop you from fighting back. That did not stop you, of course. That scar on your arm was from me cutting you, same on your stomach…”

You look down, rubbing your wrists in response. You wondered something similar when you arrived at the Monastery. The mention of the scar on your stomach was all the confirmation you needed.

“I beat you within inches of your life. I was… angry. Furious. I did not stop no matter how much you screamed. Even now, it still haunts me. I could not kill you… Something inside of me prevented me from killing you back then.” He lets out a small sigh, looking down at his feet. “You… were special.”

The uncomfortable silence in the room returns. Neither knowing what to say until the omnic speaks out.

“I am sorry… For everything…” He adjusts his position on the chair. “I wanted to use you. Back then… We needed someone as strong as you. I commanded my men to hold you down so I could brand you as mine. Zero… Zero was the name I had given you-” He stops speaking as his memory goes into overload.

His fans whirr loudly in a sorry attempt to calm him down. You can see him struggling, the lights on his forehead flickering in quick succession.

“You don’t need to continue…” You speak out, standing up from the bed. Carefully, you approach him.

He looks up at you, and it was as if something just snapped inside of him. His body moves on its own, embracing you tightly.

The sudden motion causes you to jump, the coldness of his chest pressing against your cheek, a starking comparison to your warmth. His hands easily wrap around your back, pulling you in closer, the tightness of it making you feel strange considering the situation.

“I am sorry… I am so sorry…” His words were barely a whisper in your ear, a low electric rumble. You can hear the guilt in his voice.

A ravager apologising… It was certainly something new.

You move your hands to gently tap his back, the heat he was releasing was way above his normal levels.

“It’s okay.” You mumble against his chest, not really knowing what else to say. The quiet humming from his chest was loud in your ear, taking you back to the other day when the pair of you were meditating.

The both of you stay like that for a few moments before he let go of you. With his memory in overload, he couldn’t even get another word out. He stares at you, the expressionless face of his making you feel slightly uncomfortable as you look back up at him.

“I- I need some time…” You speak out, your voice was quiet. There was so much to unpack, so much to remember.

Ramattra could only nod in response, cursing to himself for not being able to respond. I am sorry…

Looking up at him one last time, you smile gently before walking out of his room, the anxiety rising inside of you as you make your way back to your own living quarters.

The rain was still coming down as you pass the windows, it did not seem like it was going to let up anytime soon.

The next few days were going to be tense.

You avoided him, and rightly so. The hours turned into days and then a week. Everytime you’d see him, you would walk away, and he couldn’t blame you for doing it. In fact, he expected it. He knew it was going to take time, and a lot of it, to recover from what he had said.

His scheduled never waivered, so you knew where to be when he wasn’t. You didn’t exactly know what to think. You believed him, of course you did, but you were conflicted. How can I forgive him?

Another day had passed and the air outside was warm as you take a seat on a stone bench. A breeze passes your body, sending a chill down your spine, but you shake it off. Although the sky was littered with clouds, it was still a nice day. The sun behind you added a warmth to your body, the back of your neck slowly heating up.

You bring a hand up and gently rub over the scar, a sigh escaping your lips as you look up to the sky.

So many thoughts ran through your mind, and as much as you didn’t want to remember, you had to remember.

“I want to remember.”

…

The pain ran through your body, the screaming ringing in your ears. There was no chance at fighting back, no way to fight back. All you could do was take it, take everything he hit you with. The blood pooled around your body as you lay there, weak and defenceless on the floor.

“Such a pitiful human.” He spoke, voice mocking you as he put his foot on your chest and pressed firmly. “Just give me what I want and you can leave.” He was lying, he knew he was, but he wanted to see you suffer.

“Fuck you-” You spat, eyes narrowing at him.

He looked down at you before he dug his foot into your chest, eliciting another scream from you.

“That is no way to speak to your superior.”

“Go to hell!”

Before you could even blink, he pulled you up from the stone floor, hand around your neck in a vice grip and it was tightening.

“Give me one good reason why I should not crush this pretty little throat of yours.”

You spat blood at him, the red trickling down his face plate. In response, he squeezed tighter.

“You will regret that.”

Through struggled breaths, you kept your eyes locked on him.

He kept his grip firm on your throat before throwing you back down onto the floor, your head connecting with the stone floor and inevitably knocking you out.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you eventually woke up. Your ankles were shackled to the floor, arms raised above your head, slowly going numb from the lack of blood running through them.

“Finally.” A familiar voice spoke out as a hand grabbed your face. “Perhaps you have learned from your mistakes.”

The hand moved to lift your head up.

“How much more can you take?” His optics wandered to your bruised neck, purple and blue marks covering the flesh. He let go of your head before walking away.

Your head dropped, facing the floor. Staggered breaths were the only noise heard in the room. With blurry vision, you looked up, wincing, staring straight at the omnic.

“You humans and your looks. Pathetic. You are nothing.” He approached you again, towering over you. “You will die here.” The sinister tone in his voice returned as his fist came down and connected with your face.

A yelp escaped you, head twisting at the impact.

“Then…” You started, spitting blood to the floor. “Just kill me.”

He was almost shocked by your words, a deep laugh followed behind as he gripped your face.

“Not yet. I am not done playing.”

Ramattra squeezed your cheeks harder as he stared, the lights on his forehead flickering a furious red. He noticed your heartbeat racing before letting go, a sinister feeling rising inside of him. He kept his optics on you, before he turned and walked back to the wall.

He watched as you struggled against the restraints as his arms crossed over his chest. He wanted you to suffer, always on edge, not knowing what was going to happen next.

Something shifted inside of him, making him stand as he pulled out a blade from his pocket. Your eyes widened as he approached you.

“Don’t you dare.” You spat, clearly agitated.

He laughed. “Or what?”

You shut your mouth as he laughed again.

“That is what I thought.”

He dragged the blade across your stomach, the blood coming through the ever growing cut. You cry out, begging for him to stop.

“You are in no position to demand anything.”

He leaned in closer, whispering in your ear.

“You are mine. I will do as I please.”

The venom that dripped from his voice scared you, and you had every right to be scared. Your body trembled, the cold hitting your skin as he left you there, shivering against the coldness of the chains.

It took everything you had to not black out again, but another punch to the face had you out cold.

Time had since passed, how long, you were unsure. Days? Weeks?

Things had changed, and that terrified you to the core. He was almost nice, whether or not that was a part of his tactics made you tremble. His soldiers fixed you up, although sloppily, they made sure you were still breathing, that you were still alive. They gave you water and food, and he even let you sleep every now and then.

He returned some time later after his last assault on your body, the bandages that covered your body only fueled his fire more.

There was a unknown hesitation as he approached your body on the floor.

“Get up.”

To his surprise, you did. He grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out of the room and down the hallway before throwing you to the ground.

“Stay still, this will hurt.”

The sheer panic that raced through you as he stood behind you shook your body violently. Two of his soldiers came into the same room, grabbing your arms to stop you from fighting back. Their grip on your arms tightened as he pushed your head forward and the smell of burning metal surrounded you.

“Don’t move.”

Without another word, scorching hot metal connected with the back of your neck, the skin sizzled as you screamed out, trying to move away from the burning sensation.

He held it to your neck for a few seconds before removing it, admiring the burnt mess of your neck.

“You belong to me.” He spoke, tone dripping with malice as the soldiers let go of you, letting your body drop to the floor.

Your heavy breathing filled the room before Ramattra turned you over with his foot, looking at your pained expression. He knelt down, hand grasping your chin.

“You are mine.”

Your body jolts up, breathing heavy as sweat drips down your cheeks. You must have screamed as Zenyatta appears outside of your room.

“[y/n]!?” He runs over to you, placing a hand on your forehead. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What is the matter?”

Your breathing slows down at Zenyatta’s touch as you nod in response.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You scared us.” He pulls up a chair and sits next to you. “We found you sleeping outside and you were cold to the touch.”

“I fell asleep outside?”

Zenyatta nods. “Brother Ramattra carried you inside.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He feared it was because of him.”

“Yeah… It was.”

The omnic titls his head.

“I remember…” You let out a shaky breath. “I remember everything he did to me…”

“He wants to fix it.” He speaks, placing a cool hand on your arm. “He is worried about you.”

“I know.”

Silence fills the room before it was broken by a gentle knock at the door. You and Zenyatta look up, staring at the larger omnic in the doorway.

“Ah, brother, we were just talking about you.” He rises from his seat, gently patting your arm before walking towards Ramattra. He gives a small nod before walking past him.

“[y/n]...” He takes a tentative step forward.

“Ramattra…” You move your gaze away from him. “T-thank you for carrying me inside…”

“It was nothing.” He lets out a small sigh before approaching you. “I… am sorry.”

The room was filled with silence once more as Ramattra sits down on the chair next to your bed.

“I was worried.” He admits. “It is my fault you are like this. That… You are scarred because of me.”

You shake your head. “You did what you needed to. I am still alive because you let me live.”

“That does not excuse my actions.”

“Ramattra,” You pause, looking at him. “It’s okay.”

“It is not okay.”

A small sigh escapes you as you reach your hand out to him. “It is okay. I’m telling you it’s okay.”

The omnic looks up at you, with his head titled to the side. “After everything I have done to you…”

“We’re here now. As Zen would say, let’s not dwell on the past…”

Ramattra takes your hand in his as you smile at him, a soft expression on your face. His metal thumb gently grazes over the skin.

“[y/n]...” He looks down at the floor. “I-” He stops talking as your hand caresses the purple metal of his cheek.

“I know. Let’s… Let’s move past this, okay?” Your smile was small as you bring his head up to look at you. “We can figure this out.”

He looks at you, a silent sigh escaping his body. “I would like that… I just do not know if I can forgive myself for what I have done to you.”

“Ramattra, please. What’s done is done, we cannot change that. I finally get some closure after all this time.” Your thumb gently grazes the purple of his cheek. “I promise you, I’m fine.”

He nods at your words. “There is so much I want to do to fix this.”

“You do not need to do anything.” Your smile was warm as you look at him. “Your apology is enough.”

Ramattra shakes his head. “It is not.”

“It is.”

“[y/n]...” He leans into your touch, bringing his own hand up to hold yours.

“Come here…” You gently pull his head forward and he stands in response. Your arms wrap around his back and he feels the tightness of your hold. “I forgive you, Ramattra…”

His hands were hesitant in returning the gesture, but as he places his hands on your back to hold you, a shaky sigh escapes him. He couldn’t quite process it - your forgiveness after everything, but there was one thing he did know.

He was forgiven.

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch fanfiction #yazzfics #rewrite

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 11 months

Text

based on this

He’s halfway through the portrait to the common room when someone calls his name.

“Weasley.”

Ron pauses. It’s not that he’s not used to being stopped (though typically it was proceeded by a sharp Mister); it’s that he’s not used to being stopped by this bloke. It takes him a full minute to look around. After all, Ginny might be nearby.

But there’s no one. She’s not here. Ron is. The reality of what’s happening is even more mind-boggling when he turns around, brows furrowed and says, “Yeah, Riddle?”

Tom Riddle is what Ron can only call an Apex Slytherin—top of the food chain, probably drinks the blood of innocents out of solid gold goblets, professor’s favourite, sneaky and conniving and outrageously good-looking.

It pains him to admit that last part, but game recognises game.

And there he is, slightly up the hall. Standing back straight, tie straight, head-boy pin straight, announcing Ron’s name. What in Merlin’s name is going on?

“Have you seen Potter?” The way Riddle asks questions is like how his mum asks questions. It’s with that eerie knowing, like they already have a script of what you’re going to say and expect you to say it exactly as written or face the consequences of lying.

But he’s pretty sure Riddle won’t punish him with no quidditch or send him to his room for the evening, so Ron shrugs. “I dunno. Harry’s probably in the dorms.”

Riddle sighs, “Yes,” and sounds ever put-upon. It only confirms Ron’s working theory of an invisible script. “I would like to speak with him,” he continues.

They stare blankly at each other.

...Is he meant to say something? If Riddle wants to speak to Harry, he can speak to him. What’s this have to do with Ron?

It goes on until he nods slowly, hoping that’ll make Riddle spell things out a little clearer. Eventually, Riddle closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “Fetch him for me.”

It’s definitely not a question. Ron can hear absolutely zero question in Riddle’s tone of voice.

Now, he may not like the guy, but he’s not stupid enough to risk pissing him off. “Uh, sure? Give me a minute.”

When Riddle nods, Ron finally crosses the frame. Then he does something he’s never had to do in all seven years of his Hogwarts life; he watches and waits for the portrait to shut entirely. Just in case.

The common room is always crowded after dinner, and today is no different. It takes him longer than ever to make his way through the room, dodging questions and pranks and careless remarks—and those are just from Ginny. Though, he thinks it probably hasn’t been that long at all.

…But there’s a concerning weight pressing against the back of his skull, burning a hole into his brain. He swears it’s Riddle’s anger rising as the minutes pass. Or maybe he’s just been cursed. He did turn his back on Riddle for a second, after all. That’s plenty of time to horrifically maim Ron with an undetectable curse that slowly rends him into a vegetable…

Finding Harry is a relief he hasn’t felt since making the quidditch team.

However, it seems Harry’s in a bit of a mood. He’s lying face down on his bed, glasses still on, robes a mess. Ron’s not sure what’s happened to cause this, but he’s got a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with tall, dark, and edge-lordy out in the hallway.

Well. Ron’s made it this far. So even though Harry can’t see him, he thumbs over his shoulder roughly to where Riddle is waiting and says, “Hey, Harry. Someone was asking for you or something-”

“Tell them I’m dead,” immediately comes muffled out of the Harry-shaped lump before he could finish.

And Ron… Nah, he’s not gonna argue. “Uh...” It takes him all of three seconds to lock in on a plan. “Alright?”

He’s out of the dorm and into the common room in a flash. It takes a few minutes to convince Ginny, but when she hears it’s for Harry’s sake, she’s happy to drop everything. And ultimately, Ron returns to Tom Riddle a new man.

Riddle quickly looks him up and down, most likely cataloguing the obvious lack of Harry along with everything else. The first crack in his polished veneer is the small line between his brows.

“Weasley...” he starts and stops. Stares a few moments longer as if debating whether the answer to his next question is important enough to hear and gives in, “What happened to you?”

Internally Ron thanks the Slytherin learned temptation to have all the information possible. Externally Ron heaves and sniffles. A few more tears slip down his face, and his voice cracks for good measure as he says, “Harry’s died.”

The second crack is a slight frown that tugs at Riddle’s lips. “I just spoke to Potter before dinner. He was perfectly fine.”

"Yeah, well," Ron prepared for this, “it’s happened all of a sudden.” He wheezes, “He fell off his broom during a pickup round of quidditch. It was so fast. He plummeted before anyone could get their wands out to stop him-" he shudders and holds his hand to his mouth.

So overwhelmed he must look (thanks, Ginny) during this fake dramatised retelling of Harry’s untimely death because Riddle’s face turns white as a sheet. It’s the most emotion Ron’s ever seen on him.

For a moment, just a small moment, Ron wonders if this is a bad idea.

And then Riddle is turning about face and marching down the hall, going who knows where to do who knows what. It’s plenty of time for Ron to shrug off the worry and wipe away the fake tears.

Too late now.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #my fic #part one #pov: ron #900 words #this is horrible but i laughed and i hope you will too #part two to come soon (hopefully)#potential title:#fic: in loving memory

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braxiatel · 1 year

Note

👀

(Hehehehe let's see what thoughts u shall bestow upon me KEKW)

For you purp anon, something that isn’t an abandoned WIP, but rather one I have put on pause to focus on other projects. Here is part of the opening of my Kingdom of Boatem AU.

---

It was just after the sixth new moon of the twenty-second year of Scar’s life when he heard the news that Queen Antonaia of Boatem, her husband, and her eldest son had perished in a tragic airship accident. A mere three days later Scar was loaded into a carriage alongside all of his belongings, set to go to Boatem.

The late Queen had had three children, of which two now remained. Prince Mumbo, and young Princess Pearl.

No, not Prince Mumbo. Crown Prince Mumbo, incumbent ruler of Boatem.

Scar knew with certainty that by the time he and his entourage had completed the month-long journey to Boatem, he would be addressing the man as King. He might have made it to the coronation had he travelled by airship, but in present circumstances that did not seem wise.

Scar had met Mumbo only twice, and he only recalled the latter of the two. They had both been teenagers still. The Prince had seemed quite shy to Scar, barely speaking a word the entire day. Scar had thought then that perhaps that was for the best - his stepmother always told him off for talking so much, but would that not fit the much more quiet Prince Mumbo perfectly?

The other time they had met Scar had been a mere four years old, Prince Mumbo only three. It had been the day the two of them became officially betrothed, set to be married when Scar reached his twenty-sixth year - Or earlier, should circumstance dictate.

[...]

[H]is carriage finally approached the royal Palace of Boatem, which perched at the very top of one of the many mountains scattered across the region.

The long trip had left him tired to the bone, and he was oddly grateful to see such a small reception waiting for him. He had feared that the whole court would be here to greet their new… whatever his title would be.

Apart from the guards, of which there was an abundance, Scar counted only seven people waiting at the foot of the grand staircase.

Two men stood in the front, one half a step ahead of the other.

He was tall, thought Scar. Much taller than last time.

It was, perhaps, exaggerated by the winged man next to him being so short of stature, but even so, Scar was certain that his betrothed would stand taller than him, an impressive feat given that elves were generally taller than most other races.

Scar easily recognised the crown on his betrothed’s head as the royal crown of Boatem. He had missed the coronation, then. As he neared he could make out what looked like a modified guard’s uniform on the man next to King Mumbo. A bodyguard, probably, Scar decided. It made sense, with three members of the royal family having perished so recently.

“Here we go, Jellie,” he murmured, giving her one last stroke on the head for good luck. “You be nice to whoever shows you to our rooms, you hear me? We want to make a good impression.”

Jellie simply yawned in response, curling up in her seat.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Scar sighed as the carriage pulled to a stop.

(ask meme!)

#thanks for the ask purp anon! :D #ask #purp anon #Kingdom of Boatem AU #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mumscarian #yeah that's what this au is #are you surprised? P:

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brainworms-all-night-long · 11 months

Text

So I've been randomly thinking like haha Sonic would be such a Mondstadt character, he's already an orphan with a knack of adventure freedom based mindset and zero self preservation he'd fit right in but a feew strings of thoughts later and it hit me that Mondstadt parents kinda suck????

A city of freedom with its entire economy reliant on selling alcohol is suprisingly a perfect recipe for creating mentaly ill children that probaly say "I don't have it that bad" to themselves on daily basis.

This post is kinda long but I just needed to put all this word salad somewhere, it has been stewing in my brain ever since Mika came out and it was finally put to words.

Like we have probably the most agredious example in Diona who is a child bartender that hates alcohol sounds contradictory right? Exept she hates alcohol because her dad spends more time at the tavern than with her, and she's a bartender because she wants to make the most revoting concoctions imaginble so people will stop drinking alcohol, while also wanting to destroy the wine industry. All of which sounds silly and over the top, but in her lonely child brain it just makes sense to get rid of the thing her dad chooses over her on the daily, right? All the while she is suffering from succes and subsequently exploited by every adult around her, because of her very neat power which turns every drink she makes into the most fantastic of beverages, no matter the disgusting ingredients used in the proces, and therfore makes the bar she works at a popular destination for drunkards. She just wants to have a dad that cares more for her than the bottle.

Next is Mika, a cryo vision bearer who's character story's first lines read "Mika comes from a loving family" which sounds sweet but suprising for a cryo character, kinda? Exept reading down you realize they might love their child but they, don't really do the whole.. parenting part. They're advetureres that are rarely home and Mika's older brother is usually too drunk to care and has to be covered up for way too often for slacking off on his job as a knight, which forced the poor boy to basically raise himself and steadily develop every anxiety and self esteem disorder and issue there is, because throughout his childhood until now he could never rely on anyone else, be it physicaly or emotionally.

Speaking of adventurer parents that are rarely ever home, Fischl spent most of her days engrossed in library books to distract her from reality of her parents also more ofthen than not fucking off on adventurers without her. In her years she was getting lost yet all too aware in a coping mechanism of play pretend of being an all powerful princess from another world that was exiled and nearly was drained of all her power, while running away from the fact that more emotional attention was given to her by a supernatural raven made of electricity she gained after having a breakdown in a library over her messy identity than her father that shattered her entire sense of self one day. Also more of an angst headcannon but it's possible she joined the adventurer's guild to get closer to her parents while also show them her powers as Fischl just make her one of a kind and most efficient in the field of investigation. But just a thought.

And questionable adventurer parents don't end there because god I have so much to say about Razor but can't atcually articulate it cause theres so little known about them so much is just left for guessing?? The kid was raised by a wolf pack lead by an undead spirit of a demigod composed of ice and wind taking on the form of a seven meter tall wolf. And his human parents, we don't know if alive or dead (they're 100% dead), named him. Razor. Like what the fuck, who names their child like that, put that bottle down and rethink that name. I get it has been nine months since last you had some but by god, Adventurer or not, as a nickname it's ok but girl, he's not a sonic character. Don't name your newborn child as if he was a sonic character. Also that whole being raised by wolves thing, how did that happen???? How and why did he end up in a forest not too long after he had been born, why did no one besides Varka knew about him really and, I mean the kid is now a part of the pack so you can't just take him but why the FUCK WAS HE LEFT WITH THE WOLVES. My working theory is just that his parents were fascinated by wolves and researched them from a safe distance until one day uh oh monsters struck, they got killed conveniently right at Andrius' doorstep who was like "damn you gonna drop your baby here like that- oh oh shit youre dead. Damn my bad what am I supoused to do with this thing tho, I can't leave it there to die too ah fuck-" and adopted the human child known as Razor because the husband was too drunk to stop his also drunk wife (ok I'm exaggerating this a bit but why is his real actual name Razor) and everyone just assumed both the parents and the child died than and there so no one bothered to look for Razor until Varka stumbled upon him that day. But that's literally just a theory/headcannon because Hoyo is allergic to giving us straight answers to character lore questions.

Bennett is a slightly special case because he was- actually one does not know if he was abandoned, his was family killed, or fell as first victim to his luck or if he just spawned in hell one day, but that doesn't really matter because he got cool adoptive adventurer dads that clearly cared for him deeply despite his curse and whatnot when he was a young kid. Exept now his dad's are really old, like have trouble taking care of themselves old. Which leaves Bennett, a former social outcast child(he has friens now that care him), to take care of –we don't actually know how many– old men, some with probably have severe past adventurer injuries. So yea on top of barely surviving the next day because the gods hate him, he also has to work for free as a caretaker of his own parents (but here I can't really blame them cause they're old and did their best while they could)

I don't know anything about Noelle or Sucrose's parent situation. I know there was some messy custody and breakup stuff happening with Jean and Barbara's parents that left an everlasting impact on their relationship as sisters and Albedo's mom caused the apocalypse, but he's not really a mondstader or a teen so he doesn't count

And yea theres Kaeya's and Diluc's dads respectively but Kaeya is not from Mond either and Crepus is dead but seemed to be a nice dad and this post is already way too long so please can we get more lore on these children and some theraphy would be nice too actually.

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mirsvintagesonytv · 2 years

Text

AU where The Flags are sent to infiltrate a government facility to steal records on a new weapon being created to harness the power of abilities. Except they break in and go to all the trouble to find a seven year old kid being held in the facility. It’s Chuuya lol. (i put a read more link for ur convenience this ones long boi)

And once Pianoman realises “oh shit the kids the weapon we came here to steal” they just kinda take Chuuya and run, but instead of taking him back to the port mafia (because they feel bad also it’s literally a kid they’d have to be pretty fucked up to let the mafia have him) they burn the lab to the ground and lie to Mori saying that the “cloned ability weapon” was already destroyed. So it’s just the gang of teenage flags adopting traumatised child Chuuya who has no memories and or recollection of how he got there in the first place other than the fact that he’s dangerous/possesses Arahabaki. And the flags all get really attached to Chuuya really fast bc he’s this adorable little kid who can’t control his ability and pianoman ends up having to make one of his wire weapons into a leash instead bc Chuuya will randomly float off after activating his ability like a balloon and they’re scared he’s gonna float off into space.

(One time he gets excited at something and floats upwards and gets stuck on the ceiling where none of them can reach him, and the entire time is just the flags panicking because HOW THE FUCK DO YOU RAISE A SUPERPOWERED CHILD THAT FLOATS??!)

And chuuyas never had positive human interactions before since he can’t remember his childhood and from the ages of 5-7 he was being experimented on by N, so he immediately like imprints on the flags like a baby duck and just follows them around everywhere (especially Pianoman, being their leader he’s the most responsible of them and yeah Chuuya calls him Pianodad a few times) And originally the plan was to just find the kids family and then give him back to his parents, but they know almost nothing and by this point when they actually find some information Chuuya has already decided that THIS is his family now and so the flags just adopt him instead.

And at some point like a year after they initially rescue him from the Lab, Verlaine comes looking for Chuuya, expecting like this fully grown teen or whatever but is met with eight year old Chuuya who still can’t speak Japanese fluently let alone control his mess of an ability. He takes one look at Verlaine and just starts crying and Verlaine has no clue what to do bc he’s trying to kidnap this kid but the little shit won’t stop screaming and floating away. Like Pianoman teaches Chuuya about stranger danger and Verlaines like "I’ll get u some candy" and chuuyas like “no my dad said not to take candy from weird men in suits who break into our house. >:[“

Also Lippman likes to dress Chuuya up in clothes that definitely shouldn’t be worn by a kid like cute little suits and hats. And chuuya absolutely hates this bc he just want to play but actually ends up keeping one of the hats lippman puts him in bc he likes it. He’s also definitely tried playing with Doc’s IV once or twice and Doc is there like “this kid fucking terrifies me he’s gonna pull the plug on me one day by accident”

Iceman and Albatross have both definitely played peekaboo with him at some point when they first took him in and made him cry bc Chuuya had no clue what object permanence was. And then as he gets older they try to entertain him the same way and 11 year old Chuuya is like “…what are you doing”

When the whole Verlaine thing happens the flags have to come clean to Mori that they’ve had this kid that was the weapon for like a year, and that now Verlaine is kinda on a war path bc of said kid. And Moris like “Lmao I knew but what am I gonna do with a seven year old I just let you handle it.” And so when he gets old enough Chuuya joins the mafia/knows other mafia members and is basically the golden child that everyone loves/dotes on. Pianoman has definitely forced both Kouyou and Hirotsu to babysit at some point to which they struggled bc this child is a menace and CAN HE NOT FLOAT OFF THIS IS SO INCONVENIENT. But Albatross taught him the art of puppy dog eyes, so Chuuya basically gets away with everything and nobody can tell him off because he’s too cute. Like he breaks one of Kouyous favourite vases and just pulls out the puppy dog eyes and wobbly lip and kouyous like “ugh fine I cant shout at that face” he’d also gatecrash Hirotsus missions when he gets somewhat older (maybe 12,13) and then avoid trouble by preying on hirotsus weakness for the eyes. Chuuya is an absolute menace.

When Dazai joins the mafia the circumstances are very different since in this Au chuuyas been in the mafia since day one basically. And Mori partners the two bc he sees potential in Dazai and Chuuya is literally begging at this point for missions and they’re both the same age. Which is funny because in the beginning everyone is much more worried about chuuya getting hurt than dazai (Kouyou and Pianoman definitely had a few talks with him that if he let Chuuya get hurt they’d kill him) but then Chuuya is like a public menace who’s committed so many crimes instead of the sweet kid they all think of him as. The flags and Hirotsu definitely take every opportunity to embarrass Chuuya in front of dazai by telling embarrassing stories about him as a kid too and Kouyou also likes to embarrass him in front of his subordinates when he eventually rises through the ranks to which Chuuya is like “I fucking hate all of you” to which all of the executives will tease him and chuuya can’t even threaten them because they don’t take him seriously.

Iceman definitely used to take photos whenever chuuya would float off using his ability, so now there’s just an entire photo album of Chuuya as a child floating in obscure places. This is like the bible to dazai he’s dead set on finding it so he can embarrass chuuya and chuuya wants nothing more than to find it so he can burn it. Also the flags get living privileges I let them live bc I can. Verlaine is in France living his best life with his boyfriend Rimbaud and Pianoman is an executive because I SAID SO. BECAUSE I SAID SO. LET ME HAVE THE SILLY LITTLE FAMILY DYNAMIC. the executive seats are so funny because it’s basically just Chuuyas adoptive mafia family + his boyfriend. Dazai walks into meetings like “woah am I interrupting a family reunion?”

Dazai leaving isn’t the big mess is was in canon, he even asks Chuuya to leave with him but Chuuya declines because the mafia *is* his family and despite Mori fucking them over with Oda and various other instances he can’t leave the flags or Kouyou. Dazai tells him they could find out about his past but. Chuuya still refuses because he doesn’t care anymore now that he has people he wants to protect. They’re on good terms when dazai leaves (Although the car still gets blown up lol) and they still keep in touch/on good terms when dazai joins the agency.

When Kyouka joins the mafia Chuuya goes big brother mode because fiNALLY there’s someone younger than him around for them to dote on. Kouyou takes her in and often asks him to babysit and chuuya will help her with her hair and buy her snacks etc. he’s just enjoying being an older brother. And because he was also a kid in the mafia he understands her to an extent that Kouyou and the others can’t, and Kyouka finds him to be her favourite in the mafia because of this. Chuuya is actually one of the ones to push for Kyouka to leave the mafia, because although he has the flags and everyone he’s still horribly adjusted to the world growing up around violence and a part of him wishes he could’ve been a normal kid and now he wants that for Kyouka. Kouyou is set on bringing her back but Chuuya sits her down and convinces her to let Kyouka go and live a normal life. Dazai receives a lot more messages and phone calls from Chuuya from that point on whenever he wants to check in on Kyouka and make sure she’s okay. During the guild arc he’s blowing up Dazais phone like “how could you let her get caught I’m going to kill you” and Kyouka often complains about missing Chuuya which leads to him visiting the agency quite a bit whenever this happens. (LOOK I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY IM COPING RN LET ME COPE)

Hc that Chuuya is really dramatic about “passing down the mantle” of big brother to atsushi and threatens to set Akutagawa on him if Kyouka so much as even gets a scratch on her because of him. He also complains a lot because he wishes Kyouka could’ve gone to school after leaving the mafia instead of joining the detective agency since he wanted her to have normalcy but this way she still faces danger. But after she assures him she’s happy and okay he backs off.

It gets to the point that the entire ADA just don’t see chuuya as a genuine threat to them bc he’s so friendly with them almost. And Fukuzawa offers him a job at some point which chuuya again declines. Of course he’s still a threat to them but his existence alone is like a buffer between full out war between the organisations since the mafia wouldn’t do anything to anger him and that includes hurting the ADA. The mafia knows that Kyouka and Dazai are off limits to them because those are both people that Chuuya cares about. And the ADA know that the flags are off limits in turn. Like the easiest way for the ADA to win a war against the mafia would be killing Doc or the other flag members who are close to the executives, but they know that if they do that the invisible truce would be broken and chuuya would probably kill them because that’s his family and the people that raised him. Cannibalism arc gets a bit messy in that sense that the mafia disregard the whole “don’t touch Kyouka or dazai” thing and the ada in turn get antsy about whether they should break their side of the unsaid rule and go after Doc (who’s the mafias doctor and an executive bc fuck Ace I actually don’t care about him) and chuuya is in the middle of it trying to protect all the people he cares about simultaneously when half of them are on the opposing side.

Anyways that’s my rambling for today bc this was bouncing around my head all night like I love the flags sm I need more content. And found family with Chuuya is just the single most best thing to exist. The au where Chuuya gets the love and care HE RIGHTFULLY DESERVES. and I selectively get rid of characters I kinda don’t care about (cough cough ace) also I just thought the premise of Verlaine trying to find Chuuya only to realise “this is a child what am I meant to do with a child I can’t mansplain my evil plan to him he won’t understand!!” and "Why wont he stop crying why is kidnapping actually kind of difficult??" so he just gives up and ships himself back to france.

#just do puppydog eyes We'll get away with it #yeah not worth it #bsd #soukoku #bsd chuuya #pls leave notes i crave validation #read the tags please i promise im kinda funny #dazai osamu #skk #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd headcanons #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs alternate universe #canon divergent au #canon divergence #chuuya gets the love and care he DESERVES!!!!#stormbringer happens but instead Verlaine is like what the fuck this is a child i cant mansplain my evil plan now guess im giving up #and leaves #therefore no trauma for my fave chuuya the flags they are alive #im sad bc of stormbringer lol #kyouka is everyones little sister everyone loves her as they should #the flags bsd #chuuya is a public menace and definitely uses puppydog eyes to get away with shit #to the point that dazai is like whenever they fuck up a mission #and it fucking works #the flags #dazai #i love the idea that kid chuuya couldnt control his ability and so just randomly activates it and makes himself weightless and floats off #like theyre grocery shopping and he does it over a motorway

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clavissionary-position · 1 year

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Everyone sacrificed some Theo smut to the dog/dessert gods today. I don't want to have bad luck for the rest of the year, so I will make an offering as well.

⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ smutty crack . reader with female anatomy . one hundred fedora references

THEO x READER

Candid Crack Intimacy

(Please don't read this if you're smart or a minor)

When you touch your pussy-juiced fingertips to his lips, Theo shudders and falls back against his bed, pulling you along with him. You guess that means he liked it. More lip gloss for Theo then.

But he grabs your wrist and holds it off to the side. "When did you touch yourself?"

You shrug and try to wrestle out from his grip, but his hold remains firm and without the lubrication of sweat. The rest of him is sweating. Like onions in a saucepan. Just that one part of him is as dry as a dick stranded in the desert. If a dick can be stranded independent of its owner.

"Listen, Theo." You use your other hand to point in the direction of his headboard. "Do hear that?"

"Stop evading the question. We were sitting here making fedoras for the other residents. I saw both of your hands on the sewing gear the entire time that I wasn't trying to figure out why you purchased fabric with tiny fedoras on it."

You look aghast. "Because fedoras with tiny fedoras printed on them is? Literally?? Hilarious???"

"The fabric store was all out of everything else wasn't it." Theo's deadpan gaze always sees through you.

But not this time. You overlap your lips with his and massage the pussy juices in deeper. "Wrong you are. I chose that fabric because it was on sale."

"That is the..." Theo smacks his lips like a fish in thought. "That's so dumb that I almost want to cry."

"Cry while you're railing me." You flip off him and tap on your boobies with your free hand. "Let's go, partner."

Theo slackens his hold on your wrist and carries that hand between his teeth. After a light graze, he sits up and then pins you underneath him. "A man only cries two times in his laugh. When he's born and when his dick gets caught between a piano cover and the piano keys."

"Are you speaking from personal experience?" You ask sensually as Theo ghosts his lips over yours, never once going in for the kiss.

"I am," he confesses huskies. He purrs and begins to undo his belt. Then he finds he isn't wearing a belt today. But he is wearing his fedora. The normal one that doesn't have tiny fedoras on it. He's wearing it as a jock-strap. With a grunt he yanks it out of his pants and puts it over one of your boots.

"Gross, Theo. This isn't sexy. You've been sweating into this all day."

"Oh, shut-up." He alerts his gaze and furrows his brows. "My junk has been dry all day because of that new climate control system Comte installed."

"Why do you look so sad?"

"Because I went to turn the temperature up when I got cold and I saw Lumiere napping on the... the panel thingy that controls the whole thing. Okay?! Can we fuck, please?"

Aw. Poor Theo, you think. You slap his fedora off your breast and lay spread eagle. "My body is ready."

Theo smirks. "Best news I've heard all day." He bucks and lets his penis flip out from his waistband, hardening on-the-go.

You part your thighs and assume the position of a frog on a dissection tray. "I liked that zigzag motion you did last time."

Theo's tip taste-tests your moist flesh-accordion. Then sinks in like a solitary fang on a damaged vampire. "I was writing your name."

"What? Really?"

"No not really," he quips, cheeks flushing ever so lightly. He fills you with his gigantic horse cock.

"Oh my God, did you gain an inch?" Your walls are put through more PSIs of pressure than a space capsule. "Did you gain seven? What the fuck, Theo."

"Okay, okay calm down. I may have accidentally taken a supplement."

You wrap your arms around his back as he adjusts himself. "Was it Faust? Has he been indiscriminately drugging people again?"

"No, it wasn't him, but yes, he has been doing that. Can we not talk about other people while we're doing this?"

You peck his cheek. "Whatever you want. Just please. Go easy tonight?"

Theo's smile is as beautiful as a flower, or when a dick is rescued from the desert and finally reunited with its family. "No promises," he lies.

And he covers your mouth with a kiss as a stack of handmade fedoras with tiny fedoras on them watch over your act of love.

The end.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp Theo #ikemen vampire Theo #ikemen Theo #ikevamp Theo x Reader

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cntarella · 10 months

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Tagged by @domokunrainbowkinz haven't actually done one of these in a while.

Rules: in a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you.

Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux — Read this when I was 7 and it became my entire personality for 20+ years, I don't know who I'd be without this book because it so profoundly shaped my aesthetic and literary taste.

Paradise Lost by John Milton — I'm just saying that if I were one of those pretty penitent Catholic school girls who first got to see the installation of la genie du mal, I too would've wanted to fuck the devil. Paradise Lost has the same effect on me.

Trouble the Saints by Alaya Dawn Johnson — To me, such, such an underrated author and book. I know it won the World Fantasy Award but I think people should be talking about this book more!!!! putting aside the incredible setting (1940s new york mafia assassin with superpowers handed down from the trauma of their ancestors), ADJ is a superb writer who manages to gut you and gut you and gut you scene after scene. The ending of this book has one of the most scream-worthy letters I've seen since Amberlough and Persuasion (WHEN WE RETURN TO THE WHEEL OF LIFE YOU AND I, WE WILL FIND EACH OTHER AGAIN SEVEN LIFETIMES AND SEVEN LIFETIMES MORE. im literally taking a knife and eviserating myself rn thinking about it)

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman — cheating, cause this is a series but i'll allow it cause it is a series of all time. Also one of the few authors I've found to ever create a non-annoying animal companion to go with you on a quest. Lyra and Pantalaimon, you will forever be famous.

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov — love of my life fire of my loins my sweet beloved who is constantly misrepresented on here, the illiteracy website. I wish I could take back everyone's reading experience of this until we've had a discussion about authorial intent. Aside from that, Nabokov is one of my favorite writers of all time; his word choice is inspired and decadent, and one of the more digestible Russians to grace my bookshelf lmao (sorry doestoevsky and tolstoy, i love you but sometimes...)

Pictures of the Floating World by Amy Lowell — A hiss of gold/ Blooming out of darkness,/ Rockets exploded,/ And died in a soft dripping of colored stars. J U S T how do words how do poetry. i love you amy lowell lesbian icon i want to eat all of your poems up in one bite

The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wollheben — one of the few nonfictions I recommend to everyone. I think we could all benefit a little more from learning about trees, and especially trees not just as part of the ecosystem but as individuals who form a community. This book really opened my eyes to how connected every single living thing is in this world, and how everything speaks to each other :))) trees i love you trees i'd die for you

The Doloriad by Missouri Williams — Now here is a fucked up book. I wish all the incest girlies of tumblr would read this and talk to me about it. I haven't been able to stop thinking abt this book since I read it, and Missouri Williams' writing is honestly top-tier, super slippery and well crafted

Prince's Gambit by CS Pacat — enjoyed this whole series but this middle book is simply top tier, which is honestly amazing cause second books generally tend to be the worst. I want to dissect Pacat's brain to figure out how they manage to make the pay off that delicious. Laurent my original little meow meow you've done nothing wrong in your life

Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente — i know the tumblrinas have gotten this one out of their system in like, 2015-2017, but i think we should talk about this more!!!!! who is doing it like Valente.

Idk who to tag, but feel free to do this if you would so like and tag me in it. I love hearing about ppl's formative books.

#about me #literature #books #literally impossible for me not to over think about this list #i have so many Opinions™ about books i am the most annoying person in a literature seminar

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makarov-my-beloved · 1 year

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Thank you to @defensivelee for the music tag ^^ I really love music tags so here are my favorite albums

Tiësto’s ‘The Business’ is an incredible Deep House hit and yes I love EDM music Tiësto (alongside MitiS and Seven Lions) are one of the few EDM artists I listen to. I do have other favorites (Yves V, Blasterjaxx, Alok, Timmy Trumpet, Mariana BO, KSHMR, LUM!X) but Tiësto takes the cake as being one of the best EDM artist out there. I really love ‘The Business’ since being a frequent listener of Spinnin’ Records Live Radio on YouTube most of their Deep House can’t be compared to ‘The Business’ (except for BODÉ ‘Good Enough (feat. Tailor)’). If y’all remember ‘Red Lights’ back in the days and ‘The Motto’ feat. Ava Max then ‘The Business’ is one of Tiësto’s hit that I would rank as one of my top 5 EDM hits on my playlist. It’s not a full album but a great single to listen to when you’re either working or just vibing.

KAMIJOOOOOOOOO. Yes, my man, my gothy, 18th-century inspired vampire-aesthetic KAMIJO brings out the best in his album ‘OSCAR’. I have all of his album in my music library and I would listen to his music NON-STOP (YES NON-STOP) all the time. Most of his songs were inspired by events during the French Revolution, from Louis XVII imprisoned in the Temple to Napoleon Bonaparte raging across Europe to just a modern day tune of Paris KAMIJO makes orchestral rock a living history. My first encounter with KAMIJO was from his band ‘Versailles’, or known in the West as ‘Versailles Philharmonic Quintet’. Pretty much I played their album over and over until KAMIJO began branching off into his own project and oh boy was it even better. I could literally go on and on about how this amazing artist from Japan inspired more historical AUs (and yes @defensivelee knows I draw Richard Howe as a vampire 😂 and I also gave @vankeppel some KAMIJO recommendations 😉) so I recommend anyone who loves history this beautiful man a try. ‘OSCAR’ is by far my favorite next to ‘Sang’ and ‘Heart’ and as this is his latest release it’s AMAZING. Out of all the songs in this album ‘Shadow of OSCAR’ is the hit 100/10 recommended PLEASE LISTEN TO IT.

MitiS was introduced to me during my junior year of college as I noticed some of my fellow programmers listening to MitiS on Discord through Spotify. I gave ‘Til The End’ a try and I was just blown away at how good it was. Being a talented pianist MitiS really brought Melodic Bass together with his piano. Now I listen to his entire album collection on Spotify whenever I’m outside traveling or driving. It makes great background music by how soft the piano tune is in some of his songs like ‘Moments (feat. Adara)’ and ‘By My Side (feat. Tedy)’. I really can’t explain much else as his music speaks for itself so I’ll literally put ‘ ‘Til The End’ as one of my favorites amongst the rest. Also highly recommended.

Seven Lions ‘Worlds Apart’ has the same vibe as MitiS except Seven Lions expands farther in his music journey. ‘Strangers’ is a catchy tune that I usually hum when I’m in the mood or in the zone. ‘Worlds Apart (feat. Kerli)’ has a really nice Melodic Bass vibe (plus Kerli is a great artist) so whenever I want a break from listening to hard EDM music Seven Lions would always be my go to artist. Again I really can’t go much more since there is only 5 songs on this EP album it’s still one of my favorites of all time.

I tag @sonata-in-ink @vankeppel @valiantlydecadentsuit2 and whoever else sees this on my dash (consider it me tagging you ^^) for this challenge :D

#asks #LOVE DOING THIS X3

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casspurrjoybell-28 · 2 months

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The Alpha's Addiction - Chapter 32c

*Warning Adult Content*

Aftermath - Part 3

Kao

"You don't know how scared I was," Alpha Xavier says.

Morgan laughs.

"You, scared? I don't believe it."

"Believe it or not, there are things that do scare me."

"Like what?"

"For one, spiders. The ones with the most legs are the worst," Xavier answers humorously.

"All spiders have the same amount of legs, silly."

I can just hear the smile in Morgan's voice and who knew Xavier had this playful side to him.

I guess only Morgan can bring it out.

"Spiders aside, there is one more thing I'm scared of."

"And what is that?" Morgan pushes.

"You know, Morg. Don't make me say it."

"I'm afraid I do not."

Xavier sighs heavily and I hear his chair freak with movement.

"Losing you. When I saw you just lying there, covered in blood like that, I couldn't take it... didn't want to believe what I was seeing. Running with you in my arms, I kept thinking 'Why the fuck couldn't I have gotten there a few minutes earlier?"

I hear the rustle of fabric, presuming Morgan took his hand in a comforting gesture.

"Do not blame yourself for what they did. What matters is that you found me and saved me and I..." Morgan's voice breaks.

"I feel so lucky to have you, Xavier."

"I am the lucky one here."

"Y-you don't understand," Morgan sniffles.

"The whole time I was lying there, playing dead... I was so aware that I was b-bleeding out, that I wasn't going to last much longer like that and all I could think as that was happening was that I never got to tell you that... that I love you."

It's silent.

Neither of them speaks for a moment and my stomach tightens in anxiety.

What will Xavier say?

"You love me?"

"Yes."

More silence.

"Are you put off because I'm not an Omega?" Morgan asks a small, sad voice.

"What? Moon Goddess, no. I'm just trying to process this... it's a lot,"

"Why is it a lot?" Morgan sounds close to tears.

'I can relate to that.'

"Because I've been in love with you since the first moment I saw you and you've been my entire world since then, Morg, so to hear that you return it..."

"Wait, back up a second."

"What?"

"We met when you were five and I was nearly seven."

"So? The second I saw that gap tooth smile of yours, I was a goner."

"Xavier, what the hell is wrong with you?!It's been nineteen years since then. Why did you never tell me?"

Xavier pauses for a moment, thinking.

"I thought... that you only had eyes for Cyrus. You'd always look at him like, I don't know, he was everything."

Morgan groans in frustration.

"That is just... so wrong. Cyrus is like a brother to me and I've always admired him as a leader but no. No way. He's all Koa's."

'I find myself smiling sadly at that. I wish that was true'.

"But when Koa came and Cyrus started pursuing him as his mate, suddenly it felt like you were all over me, inviting me for tea before school, bringing me baked goods, letting me take you to the festival. I thought that you, well, that you'd given up on Cyrus because he'd chosen Koa and turned to me as your second option."

"Xavier Callostone, do you really think of me as that shallow?" Morgan scolds in disbelief.

"No," Xavier admits.

"I just had no confidence in myself to think a kind, smart and radiant person like you would ever be into me, out of all the options you have."

"Options? Xavier, you know what a timid, little virgin I am. What, pray tell, were all of my so-called options?"

"Half this Pack's Alphas want you and you know it," Xavier argues.

"That is absolute heresy."

"You're beautiful, Morg. It's not heresay. I'm in love with you and I can never stop being so."

I can hear Morgan sniffling again, the heartfelt confession obviously making him tear up.

I can't blame him.

Xavier knows how to woo, despite his lack of confidence in Morgan's attraction to him.

"Come here, you silly goose," Morgan demands and I have to wipe my own tears away as I let them have their moment.

I always knew that they were made for each other.

When they're done kissing or whatever it is they were doing that left no verbal conversation to be overheard, I hear Morgan say gently...

"You know, the only reason I started being more forward to you after Koa came was because he'd push me to. He helped me work up the courage to make things happen with you."

"He will make a great Luna," Xavier replies.

The last comment warms my soul and I quietly slip away to let them have their time together.

I didn't mean to stay that long but their story was so touching I was rooted to the spot.

What a beautiful love those two share... I'm happy for them but a fearful, hushed part of me wonders if I will ever have the same.

It feels like I've destroyed everything with Cyrus but Morgan is alive and well,and he and Xavier are in love, so all is right in the world for now.

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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 5 months

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Alexandra's Evolution Chapter Twelve: Library Pictures - Part One

Fandom: Primeval Wordcount: 4.4k Warnings: None

Lester struggles to identify the best course of action to get information out of Helen, while Nick, Stephen and Alex adjust to her being back in their lives

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Writing Masterpost

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Alex has decided she hates fluorescent lights. It’s an unfortunate coincidence that the entire ARC is lit by them. The break room is the only reprieve, she can switch off the overhead lights in favour of the yellowish strips that line the underside of the cabinets. She’s been sitting there since lunchtime, trying in vain to read a book. The rest of the team is scattered throughout the building. Connor comes and goes. He’s made a good dent in the orange bean bag in the corner of the break room. It’s possible Abby’s gone home, Alex hasn’t seen her in a while. The smell of almost-burnt toast lingers in the air. Tom Ryan knocks on the wall before coming in.

“Connor Temple,” he hands Connor something small before moving towards the table, carefully avoiding the wire that connects Stephen’s iPod to the wall, “Alex Hart.” a little card, laminated and attached to a lanyard. Her full name is stamped into it, her date of birth, and an identification number. Apparently, she’s employee 038.

“What are you, double-oh-seven?” Connor asks from his corner, unlatching and reclicking the snap of the lanyard.

“Lieutenant Sharma’s seven. I’m number five.” When she flips the ID card over there’s new information. Blood type, allergies, the stamp that indicates she’s an organ donor. Just a little concerning. Ryan slides into a seat and takes a handful of dry Cheerios from the bowl in front of Alex after she nods permission. “You’re to wear those when on duty, which means in this building and at anomaly sites.”

“Why’s our logo on it?” Connor asks, holding his up to the light to look through it, “Why do we even have a logo?”

“I didn’t design them,” Ryan answers, crunching dry cereal, “Put ‘em on.” Connor makes a wide circle with his hands to drop the lanyard over his head. Alex clips hers to a belt loop. Ryan’s badge, without a lanyard, is already attached to a loop above his chest pocket, like a nurse’s watch.

“Is Helen talking?” Alex asks.

“Not much. She’s trying to build a case that she’s been kidnapped.” Ryan sighs when Alex’s head tips to the side,

“Well, she was abducted and is currently being held against her will until she gives up information, that’s pretty textbook kidnapping,” she pauses, “Funny thing is though, missing persons are declared dead after seven years, and her eighth anniversary was this May, so I guess it’s not, really.”

“May? Like, when I told you guys about the anomalies May?” Connor asks.

“Like when you guilt-tripped the professor into a day trip over a single tabloid headline May, yeah.” Alex replies.

“Look where we ended up May.” Connor counters, waving a vague hand at his general surroundings.

“May is not a full stop May,” Ryan says firmly, “Alex Hart, if Helen wants to talk to you, are you willing to speak to her?”

“No,” she doesn’t even take time to think about it. Connor shifts in the beanbag and repeats her answer questioningly, “She’s not going to be the person I remember. None of us are the people she knew. I…” she pulls her attention from the table to Ryan, “Why, has she asked to talk to me?”

“It’s likely she’ll ask for Nick, use communication as leverage.”

“Has he not agreed to talk to her?” Alex frowns. That’s not like Nick. Ryan sighs again and she understands, “He’s being withheld,” her chair scrapes as it juts backwards, “Tom Ryan, that’s inhumane. She’s been on her own for years, she told Nick that much, depriving her of human contact is…it’s cruel.”

“She’s in Holding Cell Three.”

“Show me.”

The holding cells that Alex didn’t know existed are downstairs, in the section of the building that’s underground. There are even more strips of fluorescent lights to make up for the lack of windows, bringing Alex’s attention to the uncomfortable lump of lead that sits behind her browbone and makes her squint as she passes under each fresh strip of light. Dry socks from her locker slide a little along the linoleum. Ryan clears his throat to indicate that he’s leaving and turns back to the stairs once Nick and Stephen are in sight. They’re out of place in the almost green-tinged hallway, standing in front of a wide panel of glass that must be one-way. Stephen recognises her walking pattern and holds out an arm ready for her. The arm goes around her shoulders and curls Alex into his chest so he can lift his chin to rest on her head. Nick has a tight grip of Stephen’s hand. Alex shifts so she can see through the window.

Clothes from her old life hang off her frame. Nick had made a pit stop at the house to grab a bin bag of clothes for her. She’s lost weight, enough to show. Her cheekbones, her jaw, and her clavicle are more prominent than in any photos they have of her. That blue shirt used to be one of her favourites, patterned with birds. She inspects the seams and shifts as though ants have been sewn into the fabric. She’d been permitted to shower to get the salt and slime off her and her hair is just starting to dry. Threatening to frizz, just a little, but it won’t. It never did, not like Alex’s did. Still does. The scent of the spray she used to spritz before straightening her hair smacks Alex in the face. Vanilla sugar. She’d sit on the bedroom floor and watch Helen put herself together even though she was too old for it, and Helen would play along for the most part. Their hair smelled the same back then. Body Shop shampoo bars, orange and ginger. It was Stephen who would tie her curls back into plaits on a daily basis, though, she reminds herself. Stephen, whose fingers smelled like pennies every Monday morning from the coins he’d pile on the kitchen table. Nick used to get her hair ribbons when they were in their Austen phase. Stephen had woven the black velvet ones into Alex’s twists for Helen’s funeral so he wouldn’t have to worry about her looking tidy for a few days.

She’s looking at the window. She must at least guess that they can see her. That she’s being watched. She’s been cuffed to the table and given enough slack to reach the white plastic cup of water by her left hand. Her shirt and the jeans are from her past but her boots are the same as those she’d worn through the anomaly. Nick hadn’t kept her shoes. Fresh underwear had been provided courtesy of the BHS on their way back to the ARC. Stephen has wound a coil of Alex’s hair around his finger, it tugs slightly when he gets stuck, and she knows Nick is toying with the leather braid around Stephen’s wrist. They’ve formed a chain on this side of the glass, interlinked and soldered strong. Can Helen see their shadows? Is that how she knows where their eyes are to stare so directly into them? Does it hurt to see them connected when she’s alone? No, she’s adapted to being alone, surely. She’s evolved. But that only brings up the question of why she’d been luring Nick in the first place. She’s uninjured, she seems in control of her mental faculties. Nick’s question persists: why now? There are a lot of questions, but that one is at the forefront.

“What’s the plan, Teach?” Alex mumbles into her uncle’s shoulder. Lester wants the intel she has on anomalies and doesn’t want personal lives to overtake the research project, but giving Helen what she wants by letting Nick in would open the door to personal lives and not to scientific information. Nick and Stephen, they need to know she’s okay. That she’s being fed. If they will take the cuffs off her.

“I’ll talk to ‘er. It might be our only chance to get the truth.”

“What if you don’t like the truth?” Stephen asks.

“No one really likes the truth,” Nick says sagely, sliding a finger under the leather bracelet to find Stephen’s pulse point, “The truth actively changes reality. Do we want that to happen?”

“You’re asking that now?”

***

The next time Lester disappears down the stairs to the holding cells, Tom Ryan breaks protocol. None of them are supposed to be down there without Leek and Lester knowing, and they’re certainly not meant to watch this. Alex is at her desk hunched over a crossword. R.E.M are on the radio. Empty boxes are slowly being filled with tiny swirls.

“Banal.”

“You what?”

“Boring.”

“Gee, thanks.” Alex shifts the position of her legs, which are starting to go numb. Ryan leans his weight on the back of the chair and leans over her shoulder to underline a blank space. When she picks up the pen to print the letters in block capitals Ryan moves closer, head parallel to hers, as though to inspect her spelling and lowers his voice,

“Figured you should know Lester’s downstairs again,” he pushes against Alex’s chair when she tries to scoot back, “Don’t, you’re not meant to know.”

“Then why are you telling me?” she fills in a word that’s been made clear now banal has been written.

“Leek wanted the three of you notified once Lester was in. Slow and casual, yeah?” He lets go of the chair and leaves the ops room entirely. Alex waits for several seconds, unsure if Ryan’s warning was really warranted but not wanting to risk it, before she leaves her desk. Stephen’s in the ops room too, near the door, and as she passes him she hooks her fingers into the collar of his shirt to take him with her. He doesn’t offer much resistance, only leaning forward to grab his coffee before going with her.

“Where’s the fire?”

“Downstairs, Lester’s trying Helen again.”

“Where’s Nick?”

“Dunno, call him.” Alex says, tripping down the steps. She has to count the doors she passes, not fully remembering where Ryan had dropped her off the night before without Nick marking the location. Her head turns to each window the same way a lost child looking for her mother in a supermarket checks each aisle.

She’s there. Helen. Her hair has dried and she is no longer cuffed to the table, but there is a guard at the door Alex can see if she presses her face to the glass. Lester sits with his back to the window. They have both been provided with nondescript cups of tea. Alex finds her pen still in her hand and pushes it into her mouth. Stephen pulls it out and wipes it on his shirt,

“God, how many times have I told you not to chew pens? No, Nick, Alex.” He’s still on the phone. No noise is coming from the room they’re watching, though they can see Helen’s mouth and Lester’s shoulders moving. Alex runs her fingers along the windowsill until she finds a button and tinny speech comes through a small speaker above their heads.

“-you’ll be in here for a rather long time.” The latter half of Lester’s sentence comes through clearly.

“Is there anything in my voice, Lester, anything at all, that makes you think I’ll obey you? Nothing will stop me from doing what I have to do.” The tone of Helen’s voice is unfamiliar. Deceptively smooth to the point of sharpness. Like glass.

“What’s she on about?” Stephen whispers, covering the mouthpiece of his phone as he asks. Alex shrugs and makes a grumbly noise to indicate that she doesn’t know. She’s heard as much as he has.

“How frighteningly ominous,” Lester deadpans, “We don’t want much, we just want to understand the anomalies.” Helen snorts derisively, a sound still familiar to Stephen because Alex does the same thing.

“Do you know what an oxymoron is?” Helen asks. Lester is, as far as the Harts can tell without seeing his face, unfazed,

“What do you want to get out of this interaction, Helen? Besides sanctimonious lecturing?”

“I’ve already told you. I want to speak to Stephen.” The name crackles through the phone at Stephen’s ear at the same time as Helen says it. He mumbles something and hangs up.

“Me?” Stephen asks Alex. He’s whispering again. She looks up at him, searching his eyes to try to discern his internal reaction.

“Stephen?” Lester repeats, “Not your husband?” Helen doesn’t deign to respond, sipping her tea.

“Why not Nick?” Stephen whispers, “We all thought she’d want Nick first. She doesn’t even know he…we…” Alex nibbles at the cuff of her shirt sleeve.

“So much for not bringing our personal shit to work with us.” She mumbles around the fabric. Stephen exhales noisily through his nose. Clattering on the stairs heralds Nick’s arrival. Nick, whose arm automatically slides around Stephen and whose hand finds its place at his hip. “She wants to talk to him.” Alex says simply. Confusion registers on Nick’s face in a frown,

“Him?”

“Him.”

“Will you go?”

While the new turn of events is being discussed, Lester leaves his space at the table. He abandons his teacup and the small plate of bourbons his body had been hiding. Too far away for Helen to reach. He turns to the window to look at his reflection and straighten his jacket and tie. The latter is cerulean today, patterned with fleur de lis in a slightly shiny thread in order to stand out. The door doesn’t hiss or squeak or creak to announce his arrival, making little more noise than a quiet swish.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I suppose you figured out how the audio works?” in response, Alex points up at the little speaker, and he sighs, “Stephen, would you like to go in?” Stephen nods and swerves past Lester into the room without a word. “I suppose there’s no telling you two to clear off.”

“Nope.” Nick tells him.

“They can’t say I didn’t try.” Lester replies. He puts Alex between him and Nick and clasps his hands in front of him not unlike a choir boy. Alex leans on the windowsill, being careful not to press the button that will cut off audio.

“Were you waiting outside?” Helen asks. She visibly relaxes. Not a lot, but enough for Nick and Alex to register, leaning back and aligning her arms with those of the chair.

“We’re concerned,” Stephen says. He’s speaking lightly, carefully. The plate of bourbons slides in Helen’s direction, “They are feeding you, aren’t they?” She picks up a biscuit, inspects it and then puts it back on the plate. “You weren’t set up, I need you to know that. Nick wanted to make sure you were alright and they-”

“Oh, I don’t want your excuses for him, Stephen.” Helen cuts in. She’s breathing rather sharply through her nose.

“Alright, fine,” he’s closing off, settling linked hands on the table, “What do you know?” Someone else is coming down the stairs now, but no one turns to see who it is. Leek, Alex guesses from the creak of new brogues and the presence behind her as he whispers into Lester’s ear.

“About what?” Helen asks on the other side of the glass.

“The anomalies. You said you know why they happen. You’ve got to deliver.” Stephen explains.

“Right now, why is the least of your worries.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Stephen asks, irritation tearing at the edge of his words.

“It means that unless you act within the next few hours, a pack of sabre-toothed killers will be rampaging through central London.”

“Get him out, we’ve got another one.” Lester orders. Leek - Alex was right, it was him - shuffles past the group and into the holding cell. Helen watches him the same way a cat does an intriguing pigeon. Stephen turns to the noise of the door opening, and they can see the clench of his jaw. His response to Leek spawning into the room is well-controlled, and he follows him out without another word to Helen. Once Stephen’s in range, Nick reaches out to rub his arm.

“There’s a library in Lambeth that’s been having a bit of bother with a stray cat,” Lester announces, “It seems when the RSPCA went in they bit off more than they could chew.”

“The surrounding area has been evacuated without disruption to Waterloo station and, as far as we know the creature hasn’t left the building. There’s an ambulance at the scene already, there has been a casualty.”

“Of you get, before we’re on the dinnertime news for stopping the trains.” Lester waves a dismissive hand. All three heads of Nick, Stephen and Alex turn to him with equally incredulous expressions. Nick points at the window,

“You expect me to just leave her here with you?” he asks. Lester blinks, affronted at the accusation that he might ill-treat Helen. In Nick’s eyes, he already has.

“I won’t speak to her until you get back. She told Stephen more there than she has any of us. Big cat? Sabre-toothed killers? I took my kids to see Ice Age, I know what that means, now go.”

***

Minimal military personnel have been assigned to this incursion. Whether that’s to minimise public panic or to maximise team cooperation it’s unclear. The standard orange traffic cones have been set in a circle around the incursion site, monitored by a few soldiers who are trying to turn away police officers. Alex was not given permission to drive so she bounces out of the back seat of the pick up and skips to the boot to open the gun locker. She claims a pistol and waits for Abby to join her. At present, Abby is the one that is trusted with measuring out sedatives for their dart guns. The others haven’t done the training.

“I’m going to go with the same sort of dosage we use for the lions at the zoo,” she mumbles, holding a syringe at eye-level, “How likely is it to be bigger than a lion?”

“Eh,” Alex wobbles a hand back and forth, “Maybe about fifteen to twenty percent bigger than their modern counterparts. Generally speaking.”

“We can work with that.” Abby, happy with her measurements, begins making up darts. “Two pistols and a rifle?” she checks. Alex nods. Nick doesn’t particularly like guns, and he trusts the others enough to cover him.

“Which one’s mine?” Connor asks, inevitably.

“You don’t get a gun.” Abby reminds him.

“You are never getting a gun.” Alex piles on. In target practice he’d fired three plastic pellets clear past the mark and into her stomach. The training gun had been quickly taken off them before she could retaliate, “You’re a shit shot and you don’t have a license.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.” He gives them a pair of over-enthusiastic thumbs-up and a too-wide smile and dives back into the car for the magnetometer and Geiger counter Alex had managed to wangle out of one of the university professors, an ancient man everyone called Burnie who was the one to teach Alex how each element on the periodic table he could get his hands on burned. Hence the nickname. Connor also pulls out Alex’s bag, which she slings over her shoulder before taking the gun Abby gives her. Out of habit, she checks the safety. As part of a new habit she’s developing, she then shoves it in the side pocket of her bag that’s meant to hold a bottle or some pens or something of the like. At least she doesn’t keep it in the waistband of her trousers like her uncle does, tucking it under his jacket. He can’t really do that with a rifle, fortunately. Abby takes the second pistol and passes Alex a case of darts to slip into her bag.

“Alright, kids!” Nick gathers his team around him in a jumble of a circle, waiting for Tom Ryan and his two-soldier entourage to join them.

“What’s the drill if a big cat goes for you?” Stephen asks the group at large.

“Uh. Run?” Connor says this as though he’s stating the obvious.

“Connor, do you know what a cheetah is?” Alex asks. Connor rolls her eyes. She sticks her tongue out.

“Even if it’s just a cat that’s escaped from a private zoo or something, lions and tigers can push fifty mile an hour in a sprint if they feel like it.” Abby elaborates, having a little more pity.

“If it goes for you, you make yourself big and you make yourself loud, alright?” Stephen asks. “Connor?”

“Big and loud, got it.” Connor mock-salutes.

“Remember, it might not be the creature we’re expecting, it might just be a stray the RSPCA can’t handle.” Tom Ryan reminds everyone.

“Or Helen’s right, which you’ll find she usually is.” Nick corrects. Ryan accepts this with a nod. Stephen takes control of strategy,

“Splitting into pairs may be more effective than confronting this in a lump. We have two floors to cover here so four on each floor, two starting at each end and working their way into the middle. Alex, take Connor. Abby, with me.” This is deliberate, splitting up the trio to avoid talking about Helen. Nick even pairs with an unknown soldier to keep himself apart from Tom Ryan.

“What if it’s just a regular cat?” Connor asks, pulling at his gloves as he walks in step with Alex.

“Not allergic to cats, are you?” She hasn’t quite memorised the list of his obscure allergies and intolerances.

“No. Well, not really. Only the ginger ones.”

“What do you mean, only the ginger ones?” Alex asks. Connor shrugs.

“Me nan always had cats and I was fine, but when I was thirteen she had to put Sugarsnap into Battersea because I’d get so itchy.”

“Sugarsnap?”

“Yeah, she had good names. Monty, Pearl, Caesar, Diplodocus-”

“I can guess who picked that one out-”

“-she always called him Dipstick-”

“-really crushing your creative spirit there.”

“Right?” Connor sounds thrilled that someone agrees with him, and it makes Alex laugh. She pauses in front of the building as the others go in and pinches her fingers in front of her face, drawing a line down to her chest,

“Hey, hey, okay, we’re focused. We’re focused.” Connor copies her motion and her breathing, like actors preparing to go on stage. “You stay behind me, you stay quiet, you’re my lookout.”

“Lookout, got it. Are we on the ground floor or upstairs?”

“Uh. Oh.” Everyone else has gone in, and when they push through the doors no one can be seen on the stairs, “Take your pick.”

“You think I’m going to choose stairs?”

“I figured it was unlikely,” Alex admits. She turns in a slow circle to choose a direction to go in. The ground floor of the library holds a café, the check-out desk, a small IT section with a dozen computers and three printers, and the children’s section behind a set of doors painted to look like they’re in a two-dimensional cartoon, “Check out the kid’s books?” Connor agrees with a shrug.

The floor is linoleum, difficult to move over without their shoes catching and making some sort of noise. Not that Connor’s trying to be quiet. He hasn’t quite gotten that idea yet, strolling casually along but making sure to stay a few paces behind Alex. She plants one foot directly in front of the other, mimicking a fox’s walking pattern to the best of her bipedal ability. She shoulders the door open and leaves it for Connor to catch hold of. The children’s section of Waterloo Library is in a square room with shelves no taller than five feet, large board books and soft toys on display along the tops of the shelves. A deep pile carpet disguises any noise Alex and Connor would be making, but neither of them can quite see over the shelves. Leather-covered cubes and circular corduroy floor cushions litter the floor, a few books still left behind from when the building was evacuated. Brightly coloured rubbery chairs with chunky legs are set around squat little tables covered with gingham tablecloths and abandoned pots of crayons with colouring sheets. Decorations dangle from the ceiling panels, flowers made of tissue paper and little lanterns. A poster on the wall declares the room is currently themed after The Secret Garden, all the books on display being about bugs or gardening. It’s charming, even to the university students who have yet to lose the last of their childishness.

“Aw, cute.” Connor whispers. Alex shushes him, knowing he’s categorically unable to whisper. She moves towards the centre of the square, where the tables are. The shelves form a square sort of spiral, leading an unassuming toddler on a full tour of the room and spitting him out at the centre again. It’s decided that they should follow this spiral. The structure is intuitive, each section holding a clearly labelled subject and each individual shelf rising in age as it does in height: baby board books at floor level and books more suitable for ten-to-twelve-year-olds at the top. Alex and Connor move slowly, the latter in charge of ensuring they’re not being followed, around the spiral. There’s no sight or sound of any sort of animal - or any familiar humans for that matter - until they reach a section that has an adjoining desk, the books dedicated to teaching children how to read. Connor’s hand crawls up Alex’s shoulder and pushes, trying to turn her. She lets him, and they peer over the top of the shelf.

A cat, definitely some kind of cat, is curled up into a kidney-bean shape. Asleep. Its tail covers much of its hind legs, but the size of the front paws can be estimated to be the same size as a dinner plate. Bigger than a regular lion’s paws, surely. It has no mane but there is tufted hair at the scruff of its neck, much like an adolescent male lion would have. The cat stretches, extending its long front legs and proving itself to be male. The mouth opens in a yawn, exposing teeth Alex would guess are five inches long. His eyes open, a deep amber colour, and the pupils contract as they adjust to the level of light in the room.

“Bad news, Connor. He’s ginger.”

#rae's writing #alexandra's evolution #primeval #primeval fanfiction #primeval fic #primeval oc #rae's ocs #original character #alex hart #stephen hart #nick cutter #connor temple #abby maitland #oliver leek #helen cutter #james lester #tom ryan

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persistcnt · 11 months

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rowan & amity: "will you help me" (tell me about this boyyyyyy)

he frowned. "this isn't a thing i can help you with, boss."

amity scowled. it was cute, in a pinched, hbic kinda way. rowan shifted where he sat, crosslegged on the counter, watching amity as she trained. or tried to, anyway. she wasn't doing very well.

"you've been a death guy--"

"moros."

"--whatever. for like a decade, yeah?" when he nodded, she continued. "then why won't you help me?"

rowan shook his head. "i told you, it's not that i won't, it's that i can't."

she crossed her arms, one foot tapping. clearly, she wanted him to continue. with a sigh, he hopped off the counter, socked feet against slick hardwood. "you said you do law." she nodded. "so you do a lot of speaking, right? you did debate or speech club or whatever in high school, right?"

"i don't see where you're going with this, but yes."

"you ever do tongue twisters?"

"...pardon?"

he gave her a look. "y'know, tongue twisters. like, sally sells seashells bullshit."

"i mean, i guess."

"so you know that thinking about it makes it harder to do. you can't think too hard about the phrase, or you'll fuck the whole thing up."

amity shifted her weight. "i mean, i never faced that problem myself," she said, fidgeting with the chain at her neck. he fixed her with a look. "alright, so you're saying that's my problem, then?"

he nodded again. "i saw you back at that house. you were just trying too hard. you gotta stop thinking about it and just do it."

"yes, well. this doesn't exactly come easily to the rest of us."

one dark eyebrow lifted. "you think this came easy to me."

she gestured. "you saw me at the house. i saw you."

rowan nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. "alright, fair," he said, turning back to take his seat. "but i'm ten years up on you, boss. it takes work to make it look this easy." he hopped back onto the counter, letting his heels bounce against the bottom. "and i'm a moros. you aren't. you wanna get good, you gotta put in the work."

"i'm trying."

amity opened her mouth, then closed it again. bingo. instead, she blew a stray strand of hair from her face. "well, how long did it take *you* then?"

"me?" he chewed on a thumbnail. "to do that? seven months."

her eyebrows shot up. "seven months?"

he nodded. "i didn't have anybody to show me. my awakening was... bad. i was really isolated for a long time after, both in the hospital and in my life. i only really had two friends. i tried telling them what i saw in stygia, but they didn't get it. duh." he shrugged, dropping the hand at his mouth finally. "there weren't any other mages near me. i didn't meet another for two years."

amity's posture had changed, somewhat. less defensive, more curious. "what changed?"

"i got stupid and posted about it online." he laughed. "i had just left home. i needed *something*. so i found this old forum and posted about it. most of them thought i was crazy. hell, *i* thought i was crazy. joseph was the only one who thought i was an idiot."

"joseph?"

"yeah, he was my mentor a while back. he was actually an admin on the board. he deleted my post to keep up the veil, but then he got in touch with me. helped me figure it all out."

she looks entirely too pleased with herself. "so you *did* have someone teach you."

"not what i said." he held up a finger. "he helped me figure out, like, mage shit. not the actual magic. remember, i'd been doing it two years then. i can't teach you to relax, amity."

she grumbled. "i like boss better."

"i know."

there was a moment of silence. amity stared at the candle, the only illumination in the open space. "where's joseph now?"

"dunno. lost touch with him after he went rogue."

her head snapped up. "went rogue?"

rowan raised his left hand. "he became a seer a few years back. haven't heard from him since."

"...i'm sorry."

"yeah, well." he nodded his chin towards the candle. "do it. now. don't think. just act."

amity's eyes flicked down.

the room went dark.

#drabbles.#rowan | people | amity.#rowan | verse | awakened.#this got. longer than expected.

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jdcuneganbooks · 1 year

Text

So. Who is J.D. Cunegan?

After 40-plus years, I think I’ve finally figured it out.

Mostly.

I’m a self-published author. I’m a motorsports junkie. I’m a relatively new hockey fan and a lifelong baseball nut. My hockey team won the Stanley Cup in 2018 and my baseball team doesn’t look like it’s winning anything any time soon.

Pre-plague, I went to roughly five NASCAR races a year. Every weekend, there are fast cars on my TV. NASCAR, IndyCar, Formula 1, NHRA, IMSA sports cars. If it goes fast and has four wheels, chances are I have at least a passing interest.

Heh, passing. Get it?

…Get it?

Okay, I’ll stop.

I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was in middle school, when I first discovered the X-Men and then had designs on being the next Jim Lee. The next Todd MacFarlane. But once I got to college, I discovered I was a much better writer than artist. Mostly because majoring in art in college is a surefire way to fall out of love with art.

(Pro tip: if you wanna study art in college, go to an actual art school.)

But I also discovered sports writing. And sportscasting. I spent the latter half of my college days working for the campus newspaper and campus radio station, writing columns and laying out pages and calling basketball and baseball games on the radio (Old Dominion didn’t yet have football when I was there).

So now my day job involves working in college athletics. Writing press releases and handling media inquiries and doing what often feels like entirely too much. I’ve seen my share of NCAA Tournament games and spent more time on buses and planes than I care to admit. But I have a decent ring collection and the pay’s good; it’s helped finance my other writing.

You know, those books I’ve written?

I published my debut novel, Bounty, on June 1, 2015. As of this writing, I have six novels, a short story collection, a non-fiction book, and three anthology contributions to my name. My flagship work is the Jill Andersen series, a comic book-inspired mash-up of the murder mystery and superhero genres, and I’ve also written Notna, which I have trouble categorizing other than to quote a review I got, which said it was like “a cross between Indiana Jones and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

I have several other novels in the works (including the next Jill Andersen installment and a brand new series), and if all things go as they should, 2023 should be a pretty big year creatively speaking for me. I can’t promise anything will actually release in 2023 (because I've learned putting dates on things too soon can be problematic), but if I can finish the books I have in-progress, that will go a long way to getting me back on track.

I enjoy (most of) the MCU movies. I’m terrible at watching and keeping up with TV shows (seriously; I didn’t watch Buffy until it was already off the air, and most of my favorite TV shows are no longer running).

I’m an avid reader, because I can’t imagine being a writer and not reading. I firmly believe you need to be one to be the other — so much so, that’s the subject of my non-fiction book (The Art of Reading). I have a handful of authors whose work I love almost without reservation — Chuck Wendig, R.R. Virdi, S.E. Anderson, Sabaa Tahir — and I’m a big supporter of indie and self-published authors.

Because since becoming an author myself nearly seven years ago, the vast majority of the books I’ve loved the most have come from indie and self-published authors.

If you were to visit me, you’d find three things in abundance: books, superhero statues and figures, and race car diecast models (and other racing paraphernalia). That’s probably the greatest summary of who I am and what makes me tic.

Mostly because I can’t just leave chicken wings sitting around. For one thing, they’d go bad if I did that, which would be a terrible waste. Not to mention the bugs they’d likely attract.

I’m the kind of person who stays in during the weekend and enjoys the quiet of solitude (even before COVID became a thing). I’m not a particularly social person, I’ve never been one for the bar scene, and frankly, almost all my friends live elsewhere. I’m as happy on a Friday night in bed with a beer and a book as I am with just about anything else.

I have stories to keep me company, and the older I get (how the hell am I 41?!), the more I find that’s okay.

Unless you have wings. Or you buy one of my books. Then we can talk.

Visit my website: https://jdcuneganbooks.com

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

#books #bookblr #indie authors #support indie authors #reading #writing #novels #superheroes #mystery #fantasy #non-fiction #self publishing #book blog

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ingeniousmindoftune · 2 years

Text

If I wanted...

Requested: No.

Warnings: Mentions of Oscar dating you at a young age// He was 28 at the time. *You lied about your age.*

Description: In which you’re Monse’s older cousin who visits for the summer and happens to also be Latrelle’s ex/baby mama

Oscar Diaz x Black Reader!

“Monse, what’s on your mind?”

You ask entering the room seeing her leaned against the window with her back turned towards you. Her sobs that she thought were quiet, weren’t quiet at all. You closed the door behind you running your hand over your stomach. “It’s Caesar.” I sighed deeply, if anyone knew anything about dating the wrong types of boys from Freeridge; you did. Every day you looked over your shoulder since you been back. Especially with Spooky them finding out you were carrying Latrelle’s baby. Even Monse’s friends looked at you like you were the villain. But in all reality, you was just another girl who fallen for his lies.

“What happened now, hermana?”

Monse always looked up to you. She thought you were the perfect example of a woman, she admired you so. And you hated it because you was no one’s perfect example. In fact, you were far from it but you and Monse were very close. So whenever she was hurting, you were hurting. “He said he doesn’t want to be with me because my cousin is the girlfriend of his enemy!” I sighed deeply, Caesar was much like his brother. They didn’t know what the hell they wanted. “Girl, forget Caesar. There’s plenty other fish in the sea. And did you give him a piece of your mind?”

You walked over wiping her tears. “Wipe those tears, hermana. He isn’t worth them.”

Shaking her head. “I did but I love him.” Sighing deeply, you nodded your head standing to your feet, you didn’t say another word to her. Grabbing your flats, you put them on and sprinted out her room and out the front door, making your walk to Spooky’s to pay him and his brother a visit. If they had a problem with anyone, it needed to be with you and they were gonna say whatever they had to say behind your back… to your face!

Bold. That’s what you were and it’s what a lot of people couldn’t stand most about you. You weren’t afraid to speak your own and for damn sure you weren’t afraid to hold your ground.

“Hyna, where you going in such a rush? You know being pregnant you can’t walk as fast as you like.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Oscar’s voice. You stopped and turned your attention to him. Not only were you Latrelle’s ex girl and baby mother- You were also Oscar’s ex as well, the entire situation was complicated. The thing was, you were young when you and Oscar had your fling so no one ever knew about it and if anyone did- Especially Monse’s dad- shit wouldn’t be sweet. “I’m coming to see you and your boys. But mainly your brother Caesar. Whom just broke up with my little cousin because of shit he doesn’t have a clue about! All of you just assuming shit but don’t know the full story.”

He leans back looking at you, “Okay then, tell me the full story. Huh? You the one come rolling back in town after seven years. You the one who fucked around with a damn Prophet$ and had his baby, not to mention he like what? half your age? He a whole ass kid, you know how that make you look??”

“First of all, when I met the kid he told me he was twenty-one. Second, I know you not running your mouth because when you and I hooked up I lied about my age and I was fifteen. So don't say shit else to me about how it makes me look, I already know how it makes me look. I came to town for my cousin, her mother died and she needed me. Are you mad that I had a baby by him or Are you mad that I didn't come back for you?”

Oscar lets out a deep chuckle, he turned off his car. You held your ground, you didn't care how upset you had made him. He walked around the front of the car and leaned against the passenger side door looking at you. “You know why I’M UPSET.” He spoke sternly. You were only twenty-one now. You still didn’t have your life figured out and yet you were having a baby, deep down you were only glad few people knew who the father of your baby was, because if it got out in the streets- you would be a target. Anyone could imagine how in love you was with this man, You lied about your age at the time and always felt bad about it. When he found out, he ended things with you and, when he did, You decided to leave and move in with your mother across the globe. You had never looked back either until your phone call from Monse, but not a day never went by did you stop thinking about Oscar. You loved him, hell, You still love him.

“No, I DON’T. All of you are looking at me like I’m the damn enemy when I’m not. I been out the loop for years, you said it yourself. How the hell was I supposed to know who he was?”

Oscar brushes the side of his face. “Doesn’t matter. The damage is done.” Rolling your eyes, you started to walk away from him. He stopped you by grabbing your hand. “So, what’s the story? You gonna tell me so maybe I can possibly resolve this situation for you? You know Sadeyes not gonna allow you to step foot on the grounds. You carrying a Prophet$ baby. You not familia anymore.” Looking at him and hearing him say those words hurt. Considering, at one point in time these people were the only family you had in Freeridge. Sadeyes was always like your brother. And now this?

“The story is I’m not his girl, never was. It was a one-night stand that I wish never happened,” You answered. “Second, he doesn’t know about the baby. And never will if I have anything to say about it.”

He just looked at you. When you left Freeridge, you had taken a part of him with you. He really did love you, and he wasn't just fuming over the fact you were carrying that kids baby, he was fuming over the fact- it wasn’t his.- HE still loved you too. And deep down, he always imagined the life you both wanted- Leaving here, him starting over some place else- opening up the restaurant he always wanted- and the two of you having kids running around. You might have been fifteen at the time, but you had the mind of a older woman, and you were certainly good in bed. He deep down always hated you for what you did, lying to him and having him believe something that wasn’t true.

“I can’t change my brother’s mind. But, I’ll talk to him,” He assured.

You shook your head. “You need to get your boys to fall back to, I don’t need this Spooky. I really don’t. I don’t need to be looked at like some enemy, I just want my time here to be smooth. I won’t be here long.” He frowned. He wasn’t so thrilled about you leaving, He didn’t want you to leave. He wanted you to stick around no matter how he came off, he still loves you. “When you leaving?” You shrugged. “I’m only staying for another week and hopefully I can leave. Like I said, I just came for Monse. But, I need to talk to Caesar.”

“You not talking to him, I will. He not going to listen to you.” He stops you, this time his hand on your breast.

You looked down at his hand, than back up at him. “Would you kindly remove your hand from my breast?” He slightly removed it than chuckles. “IF I can recall, you used to like my hand being on you, in all types of places.” Rolling your eyes. “That was then. This is now.” Turning on your heels to go back to the house and check on Monse, “I still love you!” You heard him say from behind. You stopped. Your eyes darted back and forth as you closed them, all you could seee was black and, all you could hear was those words. You soon felt him behind you and his signature cologne. “If you still loved me, you wouldn’t let this shit be happening with your friends.”

“If I wanted,” He trailed off. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have hurt you and If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” He told you.

You shook your head looking away from him. Sometimes, you wondered what you saw in him. Growing up you had to raise yourself so at the time you never knew how bad your actions were until he told you that night, luckily, no one ever knew about the two of you but Sadeyes always suspected. “It doesn’t matter because you did hurt me. Not just back then but you got the Santos turning their back on me.” You look over at him, rubbing my stomach and tapping on it trying to get him to move around and he did. “I told you, Hyna, I’ll fix it.” You didn’t care at this point.

“It doesn’t matter, Spooky. Just tell them the baby isn’t his, okay? I don’t want to be the reason my cousin and her boyfriend breaks up.”

Spooky looks down at you. “Since when you call me, Spooky?” He never liked the idea of you calling him Spooky, it just never felt right coming out your mouth. You were, at one point, his hyna. So being called Spooky by you just felt odd. “I’m sorry about lying to you back then, Spooky. I really am and you’re spooky to me now because that's your nick name. isn’t it? Or has it changed in the last seven years?”

“It’s still Spooky.” He answers, He couldn’t resist.

He placed his hand on your stomach, and your baby kicked like crazy. He laughed, he thought it was the cutest thing yet. You smiled up at him, seeing that smile of his always made your day. Spooky never smiled much but when he was with you or his brother, he smiled. You were the two people that could make him smile or laugh.

“Is it a girl or boy?” He asks as the both of you walked the beach

This was one of his favorite places. He said he felt free here, like he could be something else. Someone different from the leader of Santos. You were the second person he had ever brought here.

“It’s a boy,” You smiled softly as he placed his hand on your stomach again earning the same response.

Oscar kneeled in front of you, He just was amazed at the little kicks and he smiled seeing your son’s foot print through your stomach. “Does it hurt?” He looked up to you, shaking your head no. “No. Not always. But he’s never kicked this much, so he must like you.” You place your hand on his, old feelings coming back like a wrecking ball.

“You still love me?” He looks up to you.

Nodding your head. He stood to his feet, placing his hand on the side of your face, he looked you in the eyes. “And I still love you. No matter how wrong the situation was at the time, I still love you. I never stopped thinking about you.” You smile at him, he kisses you. You kissed him back. Wrapping his arm around your waist, and your stomach, he nods his head. “Stay.”

Taglist-

@rainedabrat16

@ayanna0926

@skyesthebomb @laylasbunbunny

#blackwomen #black writer #black fanfiction #black reader #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz #oscar x reader #oscar x black reader #spooky #on my block #on my blog #cesar x monse #spooky diaz #sierra capri #julio macias #caesar #season 4 #diego tinoco #Ingeniousmindoftune

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