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here-have-some-stories · 14 days ago

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Massacre Masquerade Chapter 12

Chapter 1 Chapter 11

“Should we show this to someone?” Bailey asked, indicating the smashed remote.

“Probably,” Leon replied, “even if it isn’t a murder weapon or anything it could still be useful.”

“How?” Deacon asked.

Leon shrugged. “I don’t know. The investigators can decide that. They’re supposed to be smart.”

“Supposed to be?” Deacon muttered but Leon didn’t hear him. While they were talking he had spotted Terry through the crowd. He gently took the wrecked object out of Bailey’s hands and walked towards the head investigator.

“Terry!” Leon called out, pushing his way past people. Terry turned around at his name. He looked stressed, Leon noted. That was to be expected. Having to try and calm everyone down while they were people being murdered, while simultaneously having to try and solve those same murders would be a very difficult job. Leon hoped that showing him the remote would help with the case, not confuse it even more.

“Yes…” Terry paused for a couple seconds, trying to remember something. “What was your name again?”

“Leon.”

“Right, yeah. Yes, Leon?”

“Um, Bailey found this on the ground over there.” Leon pointed to the area where Bailey had been knocked to the ground, a little bit away from where the ceiling fell. “It’s smashed up but we think it might be a remote.” He handed the device to Terry who took it carefully and inspected it.

“Could be,” Terry muttered, more to himself.

“I think it could have something to do with the roof.” Leon was startled as Deacon appeared behind him. So he’s still sticking with that, Leon thought, grinning to himself. He was amused by his friend's insistence on his theory. It was kind of cute.

“How so?” Terry asked, looking up curiously.

“Maybe the remote activated the roof to collapse, and then maybe whoever did it dropped it, maybe on accident or on purpose, and everyone crushed it when they were running around.”

Terry was nodding as he listened to Deacon explain. “Maybe,” he admitted. “That is a possibility. But then again it's also a possibility that it's just a random remote. Might not even be a remote. Either way, I’ll get some people to take a look at it, try and see if we can get any fingerprints. Thanks for this guys.”

“Your welcome,” Deacon said, proud that his idea had been taken into consideration.

“Who found it again?” Terry asked.

“I did,” Bailey, who had also seemed to appear at Leon’s side like Deacon, replied.

Terry nodded to her. “Well done. You’ve got a good eye.”

Bailey nodded herself, but in thanks. She couldn’t be bothered to mention that the only reason she had found it was because she had been bowled over like a sack of potatoes. Terry walked away, presumably to give someone the job of searching for fingerprints, and left Bailey, Leon and Deacon standing there.

“What now?” Deacon asked.

“Now we go back to what we were doing before,” Bailey answered him, “Nothing.”

Deacon groaned. “But that’s so boring.”

“Oh, poor Deacon,” Leon said sarcastically. “Is three sets of murders not enough excitement for you?”

‘It’s enough terror.”

“So then we should try and do our best to avoid any more of that, and go sit down,” Bailey said and she began to make her way back to their favourite corner.

“Sitting down isn’t going to stop the murderer from murdering again,” Deacon muttered, but followed Bailey anyway.

Deacon couldn’t sit still for the life of him. He wanted to be doing something, but at the same time was too scared to walk around. Everyone in the building was distrusting of each other, and there was no way of knowing when another incident might happen. But he was still so bored. This was not how he thought this night was going to turn out. After changing positions what felt like a million times, he found himself lying down on Leon’s lap. He was zoned out and lost in thought when it happened, but he remembered fidgeting around again, when Leon's arm was suddenly wrapped around his chest and pulling him back to lay on him. Now Deacon was laying on his new friend, Leon’s hand resting on Deacon’s stomach. Like usual, Deacon was overthinking. Was it a sign Leon wanted more, like earlier in the night when they kissed? Or was it the man’s way of getting Deacon to stop squirming around and sit still? Because that method certainly worked. Deacon lifted his eyes up to Leon’s face. He didn’t look nervous or awkward. His expression was calm and he didn’t at all have the look of someone who had a man he just met lying on top of him like a married couple. Deacon calmed his overactive mind with that. It probably was just nothing.That’s how most things turned out in the end.

Leon, even though his face didn’t show it, was sweating internally. It had been a spur of the moment to grab Deacon to force him down. He didn’t even know why he did it. Deacon’s moving around hadn’t been annoying, just a background occurrence to him. He had already come to terms that he liked Deacon in more than just a friend way. He wasn’t going to lie to himself and he wasn’t ashamed of it. He had long since come to terms with his sexuality. But the problem was he didn’t know if Deacon wanted more. They had kissed, yes, but that doesn’t automatically mean feelings and relationships. His hand was on Deacon as well, but he was in too frozen a position to move it. And, if he has to be completely honest, he kind of liked it where it was, and Deacon hadn’t made a point to move it, so maybe he was alright with it as well.

Bailey was minding her own business and couldn’t care less about what the other two were up to. She was staring ahead, imagining scenarios about what might happen when everything was over and when she could finally start being a proper knight. She was in the middle of a fantasy of saving a child from a burning building when Terry approached them.

Deacon sat up as the head investigator approached and began speaking to them.

“Just thought I’d let you know,” Terry said to them, “we looked at the remote you found, and we can’t identify what it might be for. Then again, it is very smashed up, but we wouldn’t be very professional if we dismissed theories and possibilities.”

Deacon perked up a little at that. “Are you saying it might actually be related to the roof?”

“It’s a slim possibility,” Terry admitted, “but like I said, we wouldn’t be very professional or good if we dismissed a theory just because it was unlikely. And slim possibilities happen all the time. We’re just being cautious and considering everything, so we checked for fingerprints but couldn’t find any.”

“So whoever had the remote was probably wearing gloves?” Bailey asked and Terry nodded.

“Probably. Either that or they’re an alien with no fingerprints. There’s a high chance that if it was related to the murders, then whoever used it probably took the gloves off, but it doesn’t hurt to look around.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Leon asked.

Terry shrugged. “The best you can do is just keep an eye out and tell us if anyones acting suspicious. And look out for anyone wearing gloves.”

Bailey nodded as Deacon replied with, “will do!” Terry nodded his thanks to them and turned away, presumably to continue his hard work of catching a murderer.

I feel like there was a lot of character nodding in this chapter. Also I know this took a long time, but I've been busy with exams and being lazy. I wanted to kind of explore Deacon and Leon's romance and relationship a bit more, and since this chapter didn't have to much stuff happening, I felt like this was the best place to do it. I think this chapter turned out pretty well if I do say so myself. If you liked it feel free to leave a like, comment or reblog so all your mutuals and followers can also read my beautiful fabulous work and the gay men. Just a heads up as well, the next two chapters will be the same sort of thing, and it won't really be centred around Bailey, Leon and Deacon. They might get a bit boring because it's kind of the same thing, and they probably will be a longer than normal. Maybe. I was going to have it as one chapter, but thought that that would be too long. They still might be super long, but I'm telling myself to only have two chapters for them. Anyways, hope you liked it, next chapters coming whenever my writers block goes away when I actually have time to write.

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fallout-fucker · 1 year ago

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Crows Of The Commonwealth

I was on CrowTok and it made me come up with an idea.

So, obviously a lot of the crows in the Commonwealth are made by the Institute, though I personally like to believe that there are still a lot of crows that are regular ones, too.

Crows are an incredibly smart species of bird, which makes sense as to why they're the ones the Institute use. To my memory, I don't think there are any other birds in the game. Again, I'd like to headcanon that they're not the only ones left but if only a few species of birds managed to survive the bombs and the aftermath, I wouldn't put it past crows to be one of those species due to that intelligence.

Crows are known for recognising people, which also works in favour of the Institute as to why they'd choose them specifically. If you are able to tell the difference between individual crows, you'll be less likely to question if a specific one if following you if you are aware they likely recognise you.

However, they're also known to bring gifts and trinkets if treated right, or actually attack people who don't. And they remember faces. I don't get the impression that the Institute treats them too kindly if they don't even consider Gen 3 Synths as people, who are literally created with technology and human biology/DNA.

If we imagine that the Institute Crows work like Synths do, then that means that they are also able to become independent like Synths can. We know they have the level of intelligence, more so than another species of bird, to perhaps reach that level of independence. That's exactly why the Institute picked them. Wouldn't it be ironic if that became part of the Institute's downfall.

So imagine a Sole Survivor, fresh out of the Vault, scared and cold on their first few nights. Hungry, tired, likely sick, grieving. Alone. They have Dogmeat. They have themselves. A few strangers they saved. Nothing else.

They're trying their best one night to settle. They've only been unfrozen for a few days by now, but have yet to leave Sanctuary. They chose to stay for a couple days to prepare for their long journey ahead, and rebuild their home so they had somewhere to go back to. Preston has taught them basics self defence and survival, Sturges has helped them temporarily fix the holes in their walls. They're not close to these strangers yet, but there's a small comfort in knowing there's still people, and people nearby to run to if anything not friendly comes knocking on their door.

They're picking at a 200 year old box of stale cereal, not able to stomach the taste just yet. In the end, they end up leaving it in a bowl for Dogmeat to have, preferring to sleep, hunger be damned. They sleep on the floor that used to hold the dinning table, not ready to sleep in the now-too-empty bedrooms.

By morning, their sleep is interrupted. Not by the cold October air that their thin, makeshift blanket- That doubles as their coat during the day- barley keeps away. Not by the sunlight that seeps in by the broken shards of class where the window used to be. Not by drops of rain that fall through the cracks in the ceiling. Not even by Dogmeat licking then awake, like he did yesterday morning. This time it's the sound of pecking and squawking that has Sole prying their eyes open.

A small group of grows picking at the bowl of cereal. They must've gotten in through what once was the window, or literally any of the holes of missing metal panels scattered throughout the building. Sole barely has it in them to care. They know they shouldn't waste food that could've gone to them or their new furry friend, but they truly cannot bring it in them to mind. They wonder if the birds have a hard time finding food, too, and decide it might not be a waste at all.

They sit up. A few of the crows fly up onto the windowsill at their movements, one stays enjoying their breakfast, unfazed. Sole waits, sitting still until the birds realise they have no intention of harming them. They glide back down onto the floor, going back to eating.

After a few moments, the crow that stayed perks his head up, neck twitching into an angle that lets him look at Sole. He hops over, stopping just before he reaches their lap. Sole raises their hand, thumb and index finger moving slowly until they land on its neck. His feathers bristle under Sole's pets, his feet dancing happily beneath him. The other crows finish their breakfast. Salem, Sole decides to call him, joins his friends who hop back onto the windowsill. They fly off. He turns his head to the side, a beady eye looking at Sole again. He squawks at them before flying off to join the others.

Sole spends the rest of their day taking metal panels from some of the completely collapsed houses to fix the holes in their walls. They're able to find paint at the old Red Rocket down the road when looking for more equipped tools. Repainting isn't exactly their priority right now, just making sure the house will be fit to stand against the weather, and for when it gets colder in the next few months. The paint will be useful when they get to the stage of being able to consider making it look presentable, however. Unfortunately, the only paintbrush they find is snapped in half. They toss it in frustration. Less so because of the brush itself, and more so because Sole has a lot of anger built up from the events of the last few days that they have no other outlet for.

They end up going home when the sun starts to set, having avoided the empty tomb of memories for as long as possible. It wasn't safe to be out so close to dark.

When they set down their tolls by the door, something on the kitchen counter catches their eye.

Upon inspection, they realise it's an intact paintbrush.

Their confusion lasts barely five seconds, as they hear a familiar squawk. Hoping on the windowsill is Salem. His eyes study Sole. He's waiting. Sole smiles, pulling open the duffle bag they'd taken on their supply run. They pull out two wild mutfruits, which they'd harvested from bushes near the station. Sole cuts them into smaller pieces, before tossing them gently into the grass of their back garden from the car porch. Salem glides to the pieces, now satisfied in knowing that Sole approved of and appreciated his gift. Sole looks up to the trees that border their garden where other crows have started to also descend from to join in on the food offering. Apparently, there's a lot more in this group than what Sole had assumed from the smaller one earlier. About twenty feathered creatures dance about on branches decorated by orange and brown leaves or nibble at the mutfruit in the grass.

Salem flies over once he's had his fill, taking a seat on Sole's shoulder. His friends also begin hopping over gradually, and Sole ends up sitting down to welcome them and pet their small heads. Dogmeat also seems to love the attention, or perhaps just the warmth that radiates from Sole's body as he curls up next to them. Every so often, one of them drops a trinket into Sole's lap as they snuggle into them. A random screw, some gears, even some bottlecaps. Bits and bobs that a few days ago, Sole would've considered mostly junk, even if they'd still been appreciative, but everything now is useful. They even drop a few things by Dogmeat's snout, who sniffs them, tail wagging. Sole doesn't think Salem appreciates the happy licks Dogmeat gives him, though.

Regardless, Sole breathes out slowly, deeply, as they take in the sunset and birdsong before them. It's the first time they've honestly felt any peace since leaving that godforsaken Vault.

Sole makes a mental note to redesign the kitchen window when they get around to fixing it so that it'll be able to open widely. They also begin thinking about designs for birdhouses, feeders, and small fountains.

It's safe to say Sole feels slightly better than they did when they went to bed last night.

They feel less alone.

For some reason, as Salem nestles into their lap, against their stomach, a small pressure builds in their gut. They can't quite shake the instinct, the thought that comes with it. The feeling that Salem feels less alone now, too.

#Aka a story where Sole unintentionally befriends the Institute crows and teaches them actual love #To the point where they start to also rebel against their creators. Sole starts finding crows that have clawed out their own eyes #Or that have scratched chunks (Chips and cameras) out of their necks and turns Sanctuary into. Well. A Crow Sanctuary #Sole accidentally trains a crow army to be loyal to them #They start getting to the point where crows start being able to send messages like pigeons for the Minutemen and Railroad #Deacon hated the idea at first and when he found out Sole was basically housing Institute spies almost had a heart attack #Then he got on board when he realised the crows were also starting to runaway from the Institute #Salem likes to prank Deacon #They even steal Institute tech so their human friends can study it :)#Who needs to train Deathclaws when you have an army of birds that are already trained in spy work #And who you can use to find Synth agents because they recognise their faces and WILL attack them on sight #Who needs the Mysterious Stranger when every bird in the 'Wealth will swoop in to peck and claw at a raider's face when you're outnumbered #Sole being the King/Queen/Master of crows goes hard ngl #Their animal friend perk is maxed out. They DO also raise a baby Deathclaw just because they can #I might make a fic that includes this idea tbh because I love it #And I have been wanting to make a realistic fic about what it would be like for Sole. Especially in the early days.#Sole Survivor #Salem The Crow #Dogmeat #Deacon #Fallout #Fallout 4

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crassinova · 1 year ago

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Linguistic manipulation

#fallout 4 #fallout #deacon fallout 4 #gibsonnilson #courier six #art #animationnlater or tomorrow yipee #MJ After new vegas becomes #kinda like a drifter and a mini mysterious stranger.#the comic is when Mj goes to the capital wasteland n finds deacon. why is he there idk yet I just want them to meet #if you look closely MJ is dressed like a certain bug #insect. uh #FOoc Mj

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 2 years ago

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Qualifications for Overseers

1 This is a faithful saying: If a man desires the office of an overseer, he desires a good work. 2 An overseer then must be blameless, the husband of one wife, sober, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach; 3 not given to drunkenness, not violent, not greedy for money, but patient, not argumentative, not covetous; 4 and one who manages his own house well, having his children in submission with all reverence. 5 For if a man does not know how to manage his own house, how will he take care of the church of God? 6 He must not be newly converted, so that he does not become prideful and fall into the condemnation of the devil. 7 Moreover he must have a good reputation among those who are outsiders, so that he does not fall into reproach and the snare of the devil.

Qualifications of Deacons

8 Likewise deacons must be serious, not insincere, not given to much wine, not greedy, 9 keeping the mystery of the faith in a pure conscience. 10 And let them first be tested; then, being found blameless, let them serve as deacons.

11 Likewise, their wives must be serious, not slanderers, sober, and faithful in all things.

12 Let the deacons be the husbands of one wife, managing their children and their own houses well. 13 For those who have served well in the office of deacon purchase for themselves good standing and great boldness in the faith, which is in Christ Jesus.

The Mystery of Our Religion

14 I am writing these things to you, hoping to come to you shortly, 15 but if I am delayed, you might know how you ought to conduct yourself in the house of God, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of the truth. 16 Without question, great is the mystery of godliness:

God was revealed in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen by angels, preached to the Gentiles, believed on in the world, taken up into glory. — 1 Timothy 3 | Modern English Version (MEV) The Holy Bible, Modern English Version. Copyright © 2014 by Military Bible Association. Published and distributed by Charisma House. Cross References: Leviticus 10:9; Matthew 16:16; Matthew 25:21; Mark 4:11; Mark 16:19; Luke 2:13; Luke 2:36; John 1:14; Acts 20:28; Romans 1:29; Romans 12:13; 1 Corinthians 3:16; 1 Corinthians 10:32; 2 Corinthians 8:21; Ephesians 5:24; Philippians 1:1; Colossians 1:22; 1 Timothy 1:5; 1 Timothy 1:19; 1 Timothy 4:13; 1 Timothy 5:22-23; 1 Timothy 6:4; 1 Timothy 6:10; 2 Timothy 3:4; Titus 1:7; Titus 2:3

#qualifications #overseers #deacons #the mystery of Godliness #1 Timothy 3 #Book of First Timothy #New Testament #MEV #Modern English Version Bible #Military Bible Association #Charisma House

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lockhart-investigations · 2 years ago

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@neondistrxt (For Deacon)

"I'm telling you, Enzo, I saw people going into that church acting all jumpy." The young woman argues with the older man accompanying her, pointing to the old North Church of downtown Boston. They were scavenging for supplies in the city, dodging the detection of the Super Mutants and Deathclaws wandering about.

She went silent quickly when she detected the aura of someone else nearby coming from around the church. Usually she'd get a good read on the other survivors to determine if they were raiders or not, but she was having trouble with this lone aura. They were still too far away and there was a certain unease she got from detecting them.

"It's not that I don't believe you Meia, I'm just saying I'd rather not check it out. Groups larger than two moving all suspicious like that are the last thing we need." Enzo pats her shoulder a bit before going back to pulling out some metal salvage for their base. It was really lodged under some concrete rubble, so wrenching it out quietly had been tough.

His attention turned to Meia when she fell abruptly silent, tracing his own gaze to where she was watching intently with that concentrated expression. He'd gotten used to being able to tell when she spotted someone beyond traditional vision, and knew to worry when she made a face like that. Setting down the scrap he swung his rifle down off his back and pointed it to where she was looking. Even if he couldn't see them yet, he trusted his sister was seeing someone beyond a wall.

"We know you're there, so come on out!" He called out, making it clear to the mystery individual that they knew where that person was.

#|❅Aura Reading❅|#|❅Mystery Seeking❅|#| ✧💀✩Defrosting on the Train✩💀✧ |#\||✪Closed RP✪||/#neondistrxt #[[For Deacon]]#[[Fallout Friendly Verse]]#[[Right on the Railroads Doorstep]]

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doctorbitchcrxft · 4 months ago

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Folsom Prison Blues | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, sexual harassment, crude sexual comments directed at reader, mentions of rape, panic attacks, sexual coercion, blackmail, recovery from an assault (PLEASE PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION WHEN READING THIS CHAPTER IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANYTHING PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED! Please take care of yourselves, lovebugs.)

Word Count: 5303

A/N: This is definitely one of the darker chapters I’ve written. I just wanna reiterate that if you are at all triggered by mentions of rape or sexual harrassment happening toward the reader, please skip this chapter. However, there are no explicit scenes of assault. I always feel like that crosses a line when writers add those really descriptive scenes.

Remember, if you are a victim of anything like this, you are loved and you are not defined by what happens to you. As a victim myself, I completely understand if you make the decision to skip this week's chapter.

Again, please, please, please take care of yourself while you read this chapter. I love you all! And minors, definitely do not read. doooo notttt readddd.

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“Have I mentioned that I hate this idea?” you said to Dean harshly, standing outside of the Impala.

Dean chuckled. “I think a few times.” He kissed your forehead. “Look, Deacon’s a friend of ours. He’s got you covered. See you in a few days, okay?”

“I fucking hate this idea,” you groaned.

Dean leaned down to kiss you, effectively cutting off your sentence. “Just trust me, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. See you, Dee.”

And with that, you set off to meet a friend of John Winchester’s, Deacon, at Green River County Detention Center. Several men had been brutally murdered in the B-block of their men’s prison, and Deacon, the warden at the prison, had come to the Winchester brothers for help. Reluctantly, you agreed to pose as a guard in-training to be right there with the boys the whole time and to assist with their escape.

Your plan was only able to be accomplished due to the fact that the FBI hadn’t gotten a clear photo of you; not from the bank and not from your previous arrest. Your mugshot from Baltimore had “mysteriously disappeared.” However, Sam’s and Dean’s photos were all over the place; Dean’s from St. Louis and a sketch of Sam from a witness in Milwaukee. The two boys were going to purposefully get arrested to be able to get into the B-block of the prison. That was why you hated the idea so much.

Deacon was tough, you wouldn’t lie, but no tougher than your father. His whole “ex-military” thing didn’t intimidate you at all, and perhaps that was what kept the other officers from messing with you. You’d proved in your “training” how capable you were, and Deacon claimed that was part of the reason they accelerated the hiring process for you.

However, your tough, impenetrable attitude didn’t deter the inmates from making jabs at you. Your first day on the job, a scrawny inmate with rotting teeth smacked your ass harshly in the cafeteria. You promptly had him on his stomach with his arm twisted behind his back. Deacon called you into his office afterward to fill out an incident report.

“Guessing you guys don’t have that many female hires, huh?” you asked Deacon upon entering his office.

He chuckled. “That’s a nice way of saying it. Most girls wouldn’t be caught dead in here, and we pretty much don’t hire ‘em. Just for their own safety.”

“Don’t you think that’ll raise some red flags, then? Especially given the fact that I appeared out of nowhere and ‘accelerated through training’?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), we don’t exactly hire the best and the brightest. Besides, that sort of thing happens with the guys all the time. Some get transferred from other prison, for others, this is their jumping-off point before they start workin’ for the police force. Actually, I think a lot of ‘em are too excited to see a girl to even think about where you came from. Trust me, nobody’s paying enough mind to your circumstance to notice any of the cracks,” he assured you.

You let out a breath. “Okay. The boys get arrested yet?”

He nodded. “Should be on their way over now. Just finished questioning them a few counties over.”

“Wait, questioning them? How serious of a questioning are we talkin’ here?” you asked.

“Uh, I don’t know. That’s above my paygrade, kid,” he replied. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you. This isn’t gonna be a cakewalk for you. I run a tight ship, but you’re fresh meat. Some of these guys haven’t seen a girl in fifteen, twenty, thirty years. When they see you, be prepared for some wild animals. What happened earlier isn’t gonna be an isolated incident.

“But one of ‘em even looks at you funny, you tell me. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble, though. Keep your head down and only jump in when you absolutely have to. I have you on patrol of the cell blocks so there’ll at least be a barrier between you and them. At meal and rec time, though, I can’t protect you from what’ll happen.”

You nodded, bile rising in your throat.

“Why don’t you get outta here? I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nodded again and smiled a little before turning around and heading out of the door. Some of the male guards snickered as you walked past them through the hallways of the prison, but you paid no mind to them. You were focused on seeing your boys again.

“You don’t belong here,” one of the guards called after you.

You turned on your heel sharply. “What’d you say to me?”

“You heard me, toots. Go back where you came from,” the guard replied, a foul smile across his face as his buddies snickered.

You gave him a challenging glare. “I’m gonna say this as politely as I can: get fucked.”

You turned back around and walked away, only to feel a harsh yank on your arm to turn you to face the man. “What’d you say?”

“You heard me, toots,” you said, mocking him. “How small is your dick that a third-grade insult from me got you all fired up? And holy shit, do you need some listerine. You got halitosis? What’s going on there?”

The guard’s friends began to laugh, too, much to the chagrin of the man still holding your arm. He released you roughly, and you knew it’d bruise tomorrow. “I oughta teach you some respect,” he said.

“Oh yeah? And risk losing your job?” you questioned. “You make one wrong move, and I start screaming.”

He scoffed. “Whatever. Just fuck off.”

“That’s what I was doin’,” you replied, turning away again. This time, he let you leave, and you were grateful. You were trying to remain as unnoticed as possible during your time here; despite the fact that being the only female guard put an immediate spotlight on you.

You continued down the corridor to your assigned patrol; right outside the doors of one of the cell blocks. You tried to seem as unfazed as possible in your nerve-wracking situation and walked with authority; as much as you could muster given most of these men towered over you. You mentally cursed your father for stunting your growth by starving you to make sure you stayed small for hunting purposes. Your baton in hand, you walked up and down the cells.

“Hey, they got us a hooker,” one of the men from the cell laughed. “How much for the hour, sweetness?”

As that man’s cell erupted into laughter, you walked past another where a man was pleasuring himself in plain view of the hallway. You knew he was doing so to get a rise out of you, and you swallowed your nausea and continued walking.

“I’m gonna fuck you real good, sweetheart,” a man growled from behind his bars. “At rec time, your ass is mine.”

Again, you just kept walking, ignoring their lewd and offensive comments. You prayed to see Sam, Dean, or Deacon sooner rather than later to continue going through with this. And for a moment, you wondered if this case was even worth it. ‘If these fucking scumbags are the ones dyin’, I’d be okay with that,’ you considered.

***

At the prisoner’s scheduled lunch time, you held up the end of the line of prisoners heading to the cafeteria. Every time the men at the back of the line tried to turn their heads to sneak a glimpse at you, you used the butt of your baton to hit them on the back of the head and turn their gazes forward. You weren’t completely comfortable doing that, but you were doing your best to prove that you weren’t someone to be messed with.

When you arrived with your group of inmates in the cafeteria, you saw Sam and Dean sitting alone at a small table and talking in hushed voices. You hoped your face didn’t convey your relief to see them. Even though they were in orange jumpsuits, just the sight of the Winchesters made you feel safer. Dean caught you staring at him and smirked a little before turning back to his plate. You forced yourself to remain stoic and keep your hardened expression on your face. Dean got up from the table with his tray to go throw his food away, and Sam followed. Sam somehow didn’t notice a heavily tattooed prisoner with a thick goatee heading straight for him, and he crashed right into him.

“Sorry. I—” Sam tried.

“Watch where you're going,” the man said.

The brunet stumbled over his words. “Yeah. Sure. I just—”

Dean walked up in front of Sam, voice darkening. “He said he was sorry.”

“You talking to me?” the man scoffed. “Are you talking to me?”

“Great, another guy who's seen Taxi Driver too many times,” Dean quipped. “Yeah, I'm talking to you. Trust me. Let it go.”

The tattooed man walked away, and Dean turned around to Sam. He said something quietly and winked at his brother, making Sam roll his eyes before catching sight of the much larger man the tattooed prisoner was walking back over to them with.

You tried to keep your composure when the man swung a punch at Dean. Dean, however, caught him and held him in place from behind. “We can end this right now. No harm, no foul,” the Older Winchester asserted.

The prisoner soon broke from Dean’s hold. He grabbed him again and slammed him against a wall. The man stepped back on Dean’s foot, and Deacon subtly jerked his head at you for you to step forward to help break up the situation.

“That’s enough!” Deacon commanded, walking over to the man Dean had brought to the floor. “On your feet, Lucas.”

The tattooed man, whose name you just found out, stood. “Yes, sir, boss.”

Deacon held out his baton and pushed Dean’s chin up with it. “What's your name?” he asked him.

“Winchester.”

“Well, Winchester, not a good start.” Deacon stared him down angrily. “Solitary. You too, Lucas.”

You immediately grabbed Dean’s wrists and began pushing him in the direction of solitary confinement while another guard grabbed Lucas.

“Are we having fun yet, huh?” Dean called over your shoulder to Sam.

You roughly shoved him forward, making him face ahead again.

“Y’know, I usually don’t let girls tie me up without a first date,” Dean quipped. You knew he was trying to rile you up and get you to break character for his own fun.

“If you wanna keep your tongue, I suggest you keep your mouth shut,” you replied forcefully.

For some reason, that comment seemed to excite Dean. You fought back an eye roll at his amused expression. You roughly shoved him— not too hard, just hard enough to sell it— into the solitary confinement cell and slammed the door shut.

Dean smirked at you. “See you around, sweetheart.”

You tried to fight the heat rising to your cheeks, upset by how easily he could get a rise out of you. You left him in solitary confinement and followed the guard who’d brought Lucas to solitary back to the cafeteria.

“The boys seem to like you a lot,” he sneered. “Havin’ fun yet?”

You recognized him as one of the men who’d taunted you after you left Deacon’s office earlier that morning.

“Buckets,” you responded dryly.

“I can think of a few ways we could have some more fun,” he said to you, backing you into a wall.

“Get off me!” Your breath quickened, and without even thinking about it, you used the flat part of your forearm to push his chest away and kneed him in the groin.

“You bitch!” he yelped. You took off running back to the direction you thought the cafeteria was in, taking a moment to steady yourself against a wall. You couldn’t seem to catch your breath, and you slumped down against the wall, clutching at your chest. You closed your eyes and did your best to steady your breathing and thankfully succeeded. You wiped the few tears that had fallen from your eyes, and steeled yourself to go back out there.

You rejoined your group of guards, including Deacon, and the other prisoners. Deacon seemed to notice you were upset but said nothing about it. All he said was, “You’re watching the bathrooms with Jones,” referring to your next assignment during the prisoners’ working hours and your partner for the time being.

You were relieved to see Sam when you made it to your destination. He was having to scrub the floors with a mop that seemed to be more like ragged threads now than a cleaning tool.

“How you doing?” Sam asked the older prisoner he was with.

“I’m fifty-four years old, mopping the floor of a crapper with bars on the windows. How you think I'm doing?” the man’s scratchy voice replied.

“Alright. Bad icebreaker. I'm Sam.”

“Randall.”

“Nice to meet y—” Sam cut himself off, seeming to have realized something. “Randall. Hey, weren't you there the night that guard died?”

That caught your attention. You threw a look to the guard in the other part of the bathroom ensuring he was focused on other prisoners and not Sam and Randall’s conversation.

“Yeah,” the man replied.

“Well, what happened?” Sam pressed.

“They say the stress of the job got him.”

Sam stopped mopping. “Yeah? What do you say?”

Randall didn’t answer. “Why are you inside, kid?”

“ 'Cause I got an idiot for a brother.”

“That'll do it,” Randall replied. “Well, this place ain't so bad. Compared to the old cellblock, this is the damn Hilton.”

“You spent time in the old block?” Sam questioned.

“Oh, yeah, I was a regular customer.”

“Didn't they have Mark Moody over there for a while?” Mark Moody was the man who Sam and Dean suspected of being your ghost killer.

“He was there. Yeah I was there, too, the night that lunatic bought it,” Randall explained.

“Yeah? It was a heart attack, right?”

The older man chuckled. “Sure, his heart stopped right after the guard stopped using his head for batting practice. The next morning, I was in his cell, mopping up the blood. What a mess.” He shook his head.

“Wait. So he– he was beaten and– and nobody reported it?” Sam asked in confusion.

“You kept your mouth shut, unless you wanted to die from the same heart attack, y’know?” Randall chuckled; the gravelly sound almost sending a chill down your spine.

‘This guy could easily play Hannibal Lector,’ you thought.

“Randall, exactly how much blood was there?”

*** When working time was over, the prisoners had an hour in the yard before dinner and returning to their cells. You watched from the far corner of the fence while he played poker with every man who was dumb enough to try him for cigarettes. You folded your arms across your chest and watched with amusement when Sam came up to him and began bickering with him about something.

Dean then stood and yelled, “Hey, fellas! Who's ready to deal?”

He played several more rounds of poker, and you did your best to pry your eyes away from him so as to not arouse suspicions of any kind. However, that proved to be the least of your worries.

The guard from earlier whose balls you’d kicked in came up beside you and nonchalantly leaned against the gate. “You’re playing hard to get. It’s cute. I like it,” he said.

“Leave me alone, please,” you replied coolly. You were ready to bash his head in.

“Or what?” he challenged, still facing forward. “I think you owe me an apology for earlier. I’ll have a real treat for you tonight when we get off work.”

You jerked your head toward him. “You try anything, and I swear to god I will gut you.”

“Easy there, princess. It’d do you well to get in good with me. I’ll be able to protect you from them.” The guard nodded out to the inmates who would turn their heads every once in a while in your direction.

“Not interested,” you said simply. “Besides, I think I need more protection from you than from them.”

You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your head. “Maybe so. Maybe if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll take it out on your little inmate friend over there.” He nodded toward Dean who was triumphantly fistpumping after winning another hand of poker.

You looked back at him, worry swimming in your eyes.

“That’s right, I noticed how you keep looking at him. You’re not very subtle, I hope you know. And he’s definitely not,” the guard said. “So, if you wanna keep him alive, you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. I’ll see you tonight.”

You stared at the ground ahead of you in fear and tried to think your way out of your situation. All that played over in your mind was the sickening feeling of his body against yours in that cinderblock corridor outside of solitary confinement. Bile rose in your throat, and the only thing snapping you out of your trance was the whistle indicating the end of rec time.

You went through the motions of your “job” by escorting the prisoners from the yard into the cafeteria for dinner. Your head was not at all in the moment or in the case, and fear kept your adrenaline moving for the next several minutes. It wasn’t until Dean got in another fight and nearly got himself killed that your adrenaline surged for a different reason.

“If we'd waited any longer, you'd be dead,” Deacon told Dean.

“You waited long enough,” Dean huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Deacon shoved his baton into Dean’s stomach, and you nearly lunged at him for doing so. He grabbed the back of Dean’s head and told him, “Do yourself a favor. Don't. Talk.” The warden looked up at you. “Take them both up to the infirmary.”

You and the guard who’d been harassing you did so. Dean noticed how off you were, but did his best not to convey what he knew. When you got both Tiny and Dean into cells, you had no desire to leave with the guard; afraid of what would happen to you.

You were almost angry at yourself. You were (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You’d fought monsters, ghosts, and demons, and you were losing your mind over a guy that would shit his pants if he knew what you’d seen. However, the fact that he was still a very real threat drowned out those thoughts.

***

The man Dean had fought had apparently died in the infirmary; no doubt by the hands of the thing you were hunting. While Dean was fighting said man, Sam snuck to the room Moody had been murdered in and burnt the rest of the blood away, so you knew it couldn’t be him. All you could do was wait for the boys to talk to the other prisoners to get the name of your true target.

Later that night, you just wanted to make it back to the Impala when you got off your shift. You even waited a while after everyone else on your shift had left to make your way out of the prison. You hoped the guard whose name you didn’t even know wouldn’t make good on his threats. However, your stomach dropped when you saw him leaning against Dean’s car.

You stopped several feet from him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he told you.

“How the fuck do you know what car I drive?” you questioned.

“It’s not hard. I mean, you’re the only ‘67 Chevy in the parking lot. Nice ride, by the way,” he said.

“Fuck you.”

In an instant, he was running toward you. You turned and sprinted away, only to be knocked to the ground by the man. He roughly pulled your hair back, yanking your head back against him. “Remember what I fucking told you,” he growled against your ear. “Are you gonna start playing nice?”

***

Everything felt wrong. No matter how many showers you took, you couldn’t scrub the feeling off your skin. Back in your motel room, you laid on your side wrapped in an oversized shirt. You stared at the wall in the dark, completely numb. You hadn’t even been able to cry since it happened.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. For hours, you laid there. You wouldn’t allow sleep to hold you close enough to darken the world around you.

One thing you kept thinking was ‘I’ll never be the same again.’ The words played on a loop over and over in your mind. They danced around in your head for hours, taunting you.

You wanted to climb out of your skin. Start the day over. You wished you’d fought back. Wished someone had been sound to stop him. The scrapes on your left wrist and arm were undoubtedly going to bruise in the morning, and your uniform wouldn’t exactly hide them. You knew Dean and Sam would ask questions, and the former would rip the guy’s head off. You didn’t even know that guard’s name. Everything just felt so wrong.

But you wouldn’t let this stop you from doing your job. You wouldn’t let those boys brave that place alone with no word from you. And so, despite everything in your body telling you not to, you went back to the prison the next day.

***

You could tell Deacon knew something was wrong, but he didn’t press you further. The other prison guards didn’t seem to notice a difference in you; except, of course, the guard’s posse. They would snicker at you every time you walked past, and you could only imagine what your abuser had said about you.

Thankfully, you only had to endure this last day of awfulness. Deacon was going to “fire” you right after rec time was over to give you enough time to get the Impala pulled around the back of the jail for the brothers to escape through. Your job was to wait for Sam to come over to you and give you the name of the person you were after and find what cemetery they were at. Then, you were going to get the boys the hell out of dodge.

You watched the boys in the rec yard talking to Randall, the man Sam had gotten information from while they were cleaning the bathrooms. Then, the younger brother came over to you.

“Hey,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was paying much attention to him.

“Hi,” you replied.

“Whoa, what happened to your arm?” Sam asked in concern, noticing your very obvious scrapes.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I—”

“This guy bothering you?” That awful, familiar voice said from behind you.

Without turning around to face your abuser, you replied, “No. Please, go away.”

Sam glared at the man behind you when he noticed how upset the guard’s mere presence made you. You could tell he knew the guard had done something to you; he was a smart boy.

“Glockner,” was all Sam said to you before turning away.

“Surprised you’re able to still walk—”

You immediately turned around to him and punched him square across his jaw.

“Bitch!” he yelled.

“Fuck you!” you yelled.

‘Deacon’s firing me anyway,’ you thought. ‘Might as well give him a legitimate reason to.’

You got down on top of the guard and started punching hard. His face was bloodied and bruised, the man barely hanging on to consciousness before you were pulled away, kicking and screaming by two other guards. They dragged you over to Deacon, who promptly made a scene of firing you. He escorted you out to the parking lot where he said the cops would be waiting for you to bring you in for questioning.

Once the two of you were far enough away, he roughly spun you around to face him. “What the hell was that?!” he questioned. “You know they’re gonna be out for blood now!”

“I know that, Deacon! Maybe if your guards weren’t fucking scumbags, though, I wouldn’t have had to do that!” you yelled back.

“What?” his voice quieted considerably.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just tell my boys I’ll be back for ‘em tonight.” You turned on your heel and walked away.

“Hey, kid,” Deacon called after you.

You turned around.

“Thank you. And… I’m sorry. For whatever happened.”

You nodded and turned back around again.

*** You discovered that “Glockner” was the name of a nurse in the seventies who’d been caught in the crossfire of the inmate uprising that occurred following Moody’s death. She’d been buried at Green Valley Cemetery following the severe cerebral edema the inmates gave her.

You returned to the detention center under the cover of night and pulled the car around the back of the prison away from the parking lot where the guards were beginning to change shifts. You waited anxiously dressed in civilian clothes again for the boys to come out of the HVAC unit Deacon told you would be attached to the room he would be bringing the boys into following their staged fight.

“Oh, man, are you a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar voice rumbled.

Dean and Sam leapt over the fence separating you from them, and you couldn’t help but collapse into Dean’s arms. “Whoa, sweetheart, what’s—”

“No time, guys,” Sam reminded you. “You can reunite later. We gotta go.”

As if on cue, an alarm began to sound through the prison. Immediately, you nodded and broke away from Dean. You headed to the driver’s seat so Sam and Dean could change while you drove. Quickly, you headed to the cemetery Nurse Glockner was buried in.

***

The brothers caught you up on everything that had been happening to them since you hadn’t been able to talk much over the last week.

“What?!” you exclaimed, following them through the cemetery. “Henriksen’s here?!”

“Yeah, which is exactly why I wanted to get the hell out,” Sam told you. “They were gonna extradite us back to St. Louis or Baltimore or something. Whatever was gonna happen to us, it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

“Jesus,” you responded. “And no doubt, they’re gonna be looking for me soon, too. I beat the fuck out of a guy who knows I drive a ‘67 Impala.”

“What?!” both boys questioned upon reaching the grave of Nurse Glockner.

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah,” you said.

“I’m gonna need a bit more of a response than ‘yeah,’ sweetheart,” Dean grunted as he began digging.

“Later. Let’s just get this over with, okay?” you said, helping the boys dig faster.

You could feel both brothers staring at you in concern, but you couldn’t look up at them.

***

When Glockner had finally been salted and burned, you and the Winchesters returned to the Impala and quickly drove away.

“You know, I almost wish I could see Henriksen's face,” Dean joked as the Impala’s engine purred.

“Really? 'Cause I'd be happy if I never saw him again,” Sam replied tightly. “I mean, we're not really out of the woods yet, Dean, you know? You thought we were screwed before?”

“Yeah, I know. We got to go deep this time,” Dean responded.

“ ‘Deep,’ Dean? We should go to Yemen,” Sam quipped.

“Ooh, I'm— I'm not sure I'm ready to go that deep.”

You were silent the entirety of the drive over state lines and to a motel in the middle of wooded nowhere. You were silent through the check-in process, and silent when Dean crawled into your bed behind you later that night. He began to kiss down your neck, and you wanted to enjoy the feeling so badly.

“Dean.” Your voice broke as you whispered his name.

Immediately, Dean took his face away from your neck. “What?” he asked, hearing how upset you were. “What is it?”

“I, um—” you started, unable to turn to face him. “I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

“The guard—” you said. “—from the rec yard. He, um.”

Dean lightly turned you to face him. “(Y/N), what’d he do?” His voice had darkened considerably at the thought of someone hurting you.

“He, uh—” your breath shuddered, and you were unable to meet his gaze. “He raped me.”

You swear all of the oxygen looked like it’d been punched out of Dean, his face hardening in the darkness. “Oh, I’ll kill him—”

“Dean, don’t, okay? It’s not gonna—” you protested, reaching up to grab his face to make him look at you. “It’s not gonna change anything.”

“I know, but—”

“Dean, I thought beating him to a bloody pulp was gonna make me feel better. It didn’t. I just feel more disgusting. Like, why didn’t I do that when it was all happening?” You began to cry. “I just— I’m trying to forget it ever happened. And I know I won’t. And it’s awful. And I just— I need time,” you explained.

Silence settled over the two of you for a moment.

“Do you want me to leave?” Dean asked softly.

“I— I don’t know. I just—” You took a deep breath. “I don’t really know how I feel about touching right now. Can you just lay with me?”

He nodded and climbed into bed beside you, the two of you staring up at the ceiling. Wordlessly, you slipped your hand under the covers and reached for his hand, lacing his fingers with yours and squeezing tightly.

Your world was turning completely upside down. Your mind wouldn’t slow down, and you didn’t sleep much at all that night. However, you knew that whatever happened to you, Dean was there to keep you grounded.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you

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unreliablesnake · 7 months ago

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Untitled. Part two.

[part 1]

Summary: The team finds out about Deacon and his girlfriend.

Note: Reader is a fashion model in her twenties. Deacon and Annie only have three kids. // I'm gonna write such short pieces about them because why not.

Warning: age gap, afab!reader.

You decided to bring a bunch of donuts to the station, strictly for the members of 20-David. Of course, knowing them, they would share it with the others, but you didn’t mind. It only proved how kind all of them were, looking out for every S.W.A.T. member there, even if they were on a different team. Chris led you and the delivery guy to the kitchen as secretly as she could, giving you the chance to talk alone before alerting the others about the gift.

“So what’s this about?” she asked as she pointed at the boxes.

A small laugh left your lips as you looked at your hand for a moment. “Deac’s been a little tense lately, I assumed you guys went through something rough he doesn’t want to tell me about. I mean, it’s okay, he will talk when he’s ready to share these things with me, but until then I just wanted to cheer him up.”

She rested her elbows on the table, then placed her chin on her hands as she watched you. “And if the team asks? Because they don’t know about the two of you, I doubt you want to reveal it now.” You shrugged, but the look on your face probably gave away that she would be your excuse. “All right, I’m the one having a bad week. But you owe me one for this. Maybe you should take me to a photoshoot or fashion show abroad. Just an idea,” Chris said with a wink.

“Deal.”

When she glanced over at your shoulder, you knew you weren’t alone anymore. And sure enough, not two seconds later you felt a hand on your shoulder for a moment as this person walked past you. “What do we owe the pleasure of having you here? And I guess these are from you,” Street added as he reached out to open a box, but Chris was quick to slap his hand to stop him. “Hey, I only wanted to take one.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, right. You take one, I leave the room to tell the others, and by the time I get back, an entire box is missing,” she explained in a semi-real grumpy tone that made you laugh.

You patted the chair on your right to make him sit down, while Chris stood up and left to herd the rest of the team into the kitchen. Until they got back, you got lost in a conversation with Street and answered every question of his about a recent job of yours and a few more about a model that he followed on Instagram.

Hondo, Luca and Deacon showed up a few minutes later, and your boyfriend chose to stand across from you by the other side of the table, the small smile on his lips giving away that he was happy to see you. You explained that Chris had seemed a little off lately and you thought the whole team might need something to bring back the good mood.

This little group of yours began a cheerful conversation while eating some of the donuts, but at one point Luca stopped everyone and asked you, “What was that look?” You gave him a questioning look, having no idea what he was referring to. He pointed at Deacon then began to explain what he saw. “I saw that look you two exchanged. You're hiding something.”

“Yeah, Luca’s right,” Street chimed in. “And it's not the first time he noticed something like this. Remember when you said he was looking at her for a little too long the last time she was here?”

Luca playfully punched his arm to shut him up, but by now it was too late. Hondo glanced over at Deacon with a mysterious smile, while Chris’ eyes were fixed on you. You didn't know which one of you was supposed to say anything, if you even had to say anything. But these people were his second family, your secret would be safe here.

“We… are… seeing each other,” Deacon said after a while, his brown eyes falling on you as if he was expecting you to get mad at him for telling them the truth. So you nodded with a smile to assure him it was okay. “For four months now, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” It was Hondo who asked about the kids, bringing up a topic you still weren't ready to talk about. “I haven't met them yet. It takes time, I don't want to rush things.”

Your boyfriend nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I've been prepping them for the meeting. They know there's a woman in my life who I love and they can't wait to meet her,” he said with a smile.

“Pay up,” Luca told Street with his hand held out. Upon seeing the confused look on your faces, he flashed a wide smile at the team. “I told him there’s something going on here, but he said I’m just imagining things.” He took the money from his roommate, then walked over to Deacon to pull him into a quick hug. “I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy.”

A small smile crept on your lips when you saw your boyfriend’s reaction. He knew what Luca was referring to, and you were happy his closest friends were supportive. To be honest, until this moment, you weren’t sure if he had really been happier lately or if it was just your imagination telling you that you made him happy. But if they saw it too, it must have been true.

When Deacon's eyes landed on you, he flashed a smile at you, one you returned without hesitation. You were head over heels for this man, and you thought maybe it was time to put some real effort into this relationship. You slid off your chair and walked over to him, taking his hand without thinking as you looked up at him.

“When's the next time you have the kids over?”

At first he looked confused, but once he caught your drift, he said, “This weekend. Does this mean you're willing to do this?” You nodded and he leaned down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

“It's time for me to do this. For you.”

#david kay x reader #david deacon kay #david deacon kay x reader #david kay #deacon kay x reader #deacon kay #swat cbs

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bretonalchemist · 4 months ago

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WAIT WAIT THE SOLE SURVIVOR IS FROM ARCHIVES AND THE STORY STARTS WHEN THEY GO TO THE UPPER LEVELS FOR THE FIRST TIME

IMAGINE ALL OF THE FALLOUT FACTIONS IN A COMPANY!AU

the railroad are I.T. (bunch of crazy nerds)

minutemen are security

brotherhood of steel are accounting (idk just imagining all these Very Serious™ gym bros in suits judging everyone else for their spending is immensely amusing to me)

institute are HR/direction of COURSE

children of atom are ???? (fill in the blank)

atom cats are the owners of the diner next door where they all go to eat during lunch break

#fallout4 #fallout 4 #alternate universes #company!au #fallout 4 alternate universe #insert jokes about how the archives are a mysterious place out of time #said by Deacon/Hancock of course #where is Hancock ???#you fill in the blanks honey i'm not going to do everything for you

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irradiatedpiratebooty · 3 months ago

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Nick Valentine, receiving a mysterious letter that was slid under the door to his office

It's contents read: "yeah, it's us again. Yes we looked in the gutter. Yes we looked in the cabinet. We can't find him anywhere. we're officially labeling Deacon as missing."

He promptly wads it up and throws it in the trash

#he knows within a week he'll get another letter saying some shit like #“disreguard that last letter we discovered he got surgery to look like mr bean and we didnt notice for an entire month”#nick valentine #fallout 4

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niteshade925 · 6 months ago

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Apr 11, Xi'an, China, Beilin Museum (Stele Forest):

I must preface this post with an unfortunate news: because the Museum dug up a Tang dynasty taimiao/太庙 (imperial ancestral shrine) within the Museum area itself while renovating, all of the actual steles have been moved in order to begin excavation, and all we saw were ink rubbings of the steles. I will provide some pics I found online of the actual steles where possible.

Jingjiao Stele/大秦景教流行中国碑:

First up is one of the most famous steles of the Beilin Museum, known in the West as the Jingjiao Stele or the Nestorian Stele. The actual name is 大秦景教流行中国碑, which translates to "Memorial of the Propagation in China of Jingjiao from Daqin". Jingjiao/景教 is the ancient Chinese name of Church of the East, and Daqin/大秦 is the ancient Chinese name for Eastern Roman Empire. The stele was first erected in 781 AD (Tang dynasty, during reign of Emperor Dezong of Tang).

This stele is not only valuable because of what it records, but also because it has Syriac on it too:

According to Wikipedia this is what the Syriac text on the bottom says:

"In the year of the Greeks one thousand and ninety-two, the Lord Yazedbuzid, Priest and Vicar-episcopal of Cumdan the royal city, son of the enlightened Mailas, Priest of Balach a city of Turkestan, set up this tablet, whereon is inscribed the Dispensation of our Redeemer, and the preaching of the apostolic missionaries to the King of China. ["The Priest Lingpau", in Chinese] "Adam the Deacon, son of Yazedbuzid, vicar-episcopal. The Lord Sergius, Priest and Vicar-episcopal. Sabar Jesus, Priest. Gabriel, Priest, Archdeacon, and Ecclesiarch of Cumdan and Sarag."

Here's the full view of the actual stele and the full text:

Letter about a Stomachache/肚痛帖:

This is my personal favorite, by famous Tang dynasty calligrapher Zhang Xu/张旭 (685 ? - 759 ?). This work is hailed as one of the greatest examples of Caoshu/Cursive Script/草书.

The actual contents are quite funny, however, and it roughly reads:

忽肚痛不可堪，

"Suddenly I have an unbearable stomachache,

不知是冷熱所致，

I don't know if it's because of the cold or the heat,

欲服大黃湯，

I wanted to drink some medicine,

冷熱俱有益。

Which should alleviate the symptoms regardless of the cause.

如何為計，

What should I do,

非臨床。"

Not near bed."

Because Zhang Xu may have been trying to hold it back while writing, you can see feel how his stomachache progressed in the way he wrote everything. Caoshu truly is an expressive script. In fact it's so expressive, the last three characters (on the very left) have become unsolved mysteries in academia. In my own translation above, I just directly translated the three characters that most academics think is on the last line.

Logograms Making up a Picture--Kuixing Pointing at the Dipper/集字魁星点斗图:

This is a very interesting stele, in that it's a carving of a painting that's made up of Chinese characters, which evolved from pictures themselves. The painting is by Ma Dezhao/马德昭, and the stele was erected between 1862 - 1874 (Qing dynasty). It depicts the Kuixing/魁星 (translated as "god of literature", but he's not the only god of literature btw) standing on the back of an Ao/鳌 (mythical turtle creature) and pointing at the character 斗, which is short for the Big Dipper.

The characters making up the god of literature reads:

“正心修身，克己複禮” (written out above in red-orange-yellow-green-cyan-blue-purple-magenta), which roughly translates to "rectify your mind, improve yourself, have self-restraint, and practice good manners".

This painting subject also has a legend behind it. One version says that when Kuixing was a human, he was a talented and learned scholar who received first place (called zhuangyuan/状元) in the imperial exams, but because his ugly appearance scared the empress, he was chased out of the palace. Out of anger at how he was treated, he threw himself into the sea and drowned. The Jade Emperor pitied him, so he gave the scholar a red brush, and made him watch over all imperial examinations. Thus Kuixing became the god of all students and aspiring scholars.

Logograms Hidden in the Picture--Bamboo Poem about Guanyu/关帝诗竹:

This stele erected by Han Zai/韩宰 in 1716 (Qing dynasty) is similar to the previous one in that it's also a picture made up of Chinese characters, but it's more hidden within the picture.

It's a poem about Guanyu/关羽, the famous general during Three Kingdoms period (220 AD - 280 AD), and it reads:

不謝東君意，

I shall not be thanking the spring wind's kindness directly, ("spring wind" here refers to Cao Cao/曹操, who treated Guanyu well)

丹青獨立名。

But shall leave my name in history as an upright loyal person.

莫嫌孤葉淡，

Although the leaves may be sparse,

終久不凋零。

They will never wither and fall.

The poem was supposed written by Guanyu before he left Cao Cao to reunite with his sworn brother Liu Bei/刘备, and uses the imagery of bamboo--both in a visual sense and in a literary sense--as a metaphor for Guanyu's unwavering loyalty.

One Stroke "Longevity"/一笔“壽”:

Again by Ma Dezhao/马德昭, this time in 1870. I must say I like his ideas. This is an abstract calligraphy piece of the character for longevity/壽, written in one stroke, but is actually composed of the numbers 九十九 (99) and 二十一 (21) (read from top down). Because 99 + 21 = 120, and if anyone can live to be 120, they will have lived a long life indeed.

Pine and Red Crowned Crane/松鹤图:

By painter Zhu Jiyi/朱集义 in 1680 (Qing dynasty). Pine in traditional Chinese imagery means resilience and longevity, and red crowned crane also symbolize longevity, especially in Daoist imagery where they are the mount of choice for many immortals. Together they make up the word 松鹤延年, which means "pine and crane brings longevity".

Dongpo's Authentic Work/东坡真迹:

This is an authentic calligraphy work by Su Shi/苏轼 (1037 AD - 1101 AD), whose pen name is Dongpo/东坡. The stele was erected in 1081 AD. Here he wrote down Returning Homeward/归去来兮辞 by Tao Yuanming/陶渊明 (365 AD - 427 AD).

Xie Fangbao's Epitaph/解方保墓志:

Epitaph of Xie Fangbao/解方保, a Sui dynasty (581 AD - 618 AD) general who died in 610 AD. Ancient Chinese epitaphs have a two-piece structure, the tablet where the epitaph is engraved (right), and a protective stone covering that has the deceased's name and title engraved on top (left), surrounded by engravings of imagery that represent the universe. This epitaph is considered to be an excellent example of Sui dynasty epitaphs and calligraphy.

#2024 china #china #xi'an #beilin museum #stele forest #chinese culture #chinese history #chinese calligraphy #calligraphy #chinese art

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here-have-some-stories · 2 months ago

Text

Massacre Masquerade Chapter 11

Chapter 1 Chapter 10

Warning: This chapter has descriptions of blood and gore. If you aren't comfortable with that you can either skip the paragraph or not read. There is a tiny bit during the second paragraph, and a lot during the fifth paragraph because that's the entire point.

Leon immediately ran over to the now collapsed ceiling, Deacon and Bailey following close behind him. As Leon approached he saw two people dragging themselves out from under the wreckage. One of them had a giant gash down their arm and the other one's leg had already started to bruise badly all over. Leon was willing to bet that it was broken, probably in more than one place. The two people appeared to be shaken up pretty badly and in a lot of shock, as expected, but other than that they were just injured, but fine. Leon watched tensely, but nobody else crawled out from under the roof.

Around him, people were screaming once again. They were running around trying to get away from the new crime scene. Someone in a clown themed suit appeared to have gone into a panic attack at the sight of some blood slowly seeping out from under the ceiling. A couple of people had somehow gotten into an argument during the commotion and were now screaming at each other.

Leon noticed Bailey was standing close to his side, practically touching him, and Deacon was standing slightly behind him. Bailey had her fingers in her ears trying to block out the noise. Leon wanted to reach out and touch her, reassure her that things would be alright, but didn’t know how she’d react. In addition, he didn’t fully believe things would be fine.

It took a couple of minutes, but the inspectors finally managed to push their way through the panicked crowd and to the scene. Leon watched as they gathered around the fallen portion of the ceiling and they all grabbed onto the edges of it, lifting it off the people. With their combined strength they did manage to lift it a couple inches, but it was enough to move it to the side to clear. It took each inspector a lot of effort and exerted all their strength to the task, but they managed it.

Leon noticed Deacon blanch and look away, and he was tempted to do the same. All eight people who had been stuck under the ceiling, were lying there, not moving. A lot of them had giant cuts all over their bodies that were heavily bleeding out, and had dark black and blue bruises all over their bodies. One of them must have been holding a glass before the disaster, as it had smashed and pieces of glass were now deeply embedded into their hand and arm, blood flowing heavily from the wounds. They could all now see where the pool of blood seeping out had come from, and it was the most disturbing sight out of all of it. One of the victims' skulls had been completely smashed open. The ceiling must have hit them at a certain angle and with a lot of force to achieve something as gruesome as that. With their head one hundred percent cracked open, blood seeped extensively from it. Leon was pretty sure he could see the person's brain past the broken bone and blood. This time he did look away. He also became aware of Bailey gripping tightly to his arm. She had her eyes closed and was taking in measured, controlled breaths, trying to stay calm.

Leon felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Deacon. His friend gently led him and Bailey away from the horrific sight and Leon offered no resistance. He wanted to get away from there as soon as possible.

People were still panicking, and not knowing where to go, most of the building's occupants were still running around. People were still trying their best to stay away from each other and the scene, and with that came a lot of people banging into each other. As Deacon moved Leon and Bailey through the crowd, someone banged heavily into Bailey, making her fall to the ground.

Bailey was already on the brink of having a meltdown, and the little crash was about to bring her to her breaking point. She shakily began to stand up, using Leon’s leg as a way of support. Tears were already starting to blur her vision, but despite this, she managed to spot something a couple metres away from her. Wiping her eyes, she half crawled, half crouched towards it. She picked it up and showed it to her brother and her friend.

“What’s that?” Deacon asked.

“I don’t know,” Bailey mumbled. “I found it on the ground. It’s smashed real bad but it looks like a remote or something.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the ceiling?” Deacon asked. Almost everyone in the building had concluded already that the roof collapsing was not an accident. Leon looked at Deacon.

“Don’t you think that's a bit of a stretch?”

“Maybe,” Deacon admitted. “But it could also be right. Maybe the remote made the ceiling drop or something. Then whoever did it dropped the remote and let everyone crush it with their big fat feet.”

“It’s still a stretch,” Bailey said.

“But it could still be true,” Deacon pointed out, sticking to his theory.

“Lets move to the side,” Leon suggested. They were standing practically in the middle of the crowd and had been bumped into multiple times. He was starting to get sick of it. Bailey nodded her agreement and they moved their conversation against the wall. At least now they were a bit of a distance away from the people, both dead and alive.

I know this was kind of a weird place to cut the chapter off, but the next part of their convo is apart of the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and if you read that part, enjoyed the graphic descriptions of blood. At least I hope it was graphic. That was what I was trying to achieve so yeah. If you have any comments or feedback please give em because I love reading them. If you have any story suggestions that you want me to write, you can send me an ask and I'll eventually try to get to it. Just read my pinned post first because that gives out the shit I will and will not do. Once again, I hope you enjoyed it, have a good day, byeeee.

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