#fff293

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Incandescent in All His Glory

My brother likes to present himself as aloof, undeterred, haughty, and cold-blooded. To those who has never seen him in pyjamas and dressing gown, the image remains unaltered. Underneath that stoic and well-maintained façade, he is very much human, despite how loathe he is to admit it. 

Granted, he has a peculiar way of showing his emotions.

Sentiment is never an advantage, is his trademark, so to speak.

Having known him for my entire life, and by being an adept observer, I am aware of the truth. 

His heart might be heavily protected by a seemingly unbreakable padlock, but when that lock is broken, there’s no stopping the tidal wave of emotions hidden there.

The unbridled rage is the most common of the forementioned emotions. Let me rephrase: the most common emotion to appear.

This rage mostly recurred in our childhood, and as far as I know, only directed at me. Not that I didn’t deserve it. I did almost anything to get his attention back then. I ruined his new suede shoes in the murky pond, put cockroaches in the biscuit tin he hid in his room, and read a love letter he’d received out loud at the dinner table on Christmas Eve.

“Did you ever apologise?”

Of course, John would ask that.

I shake my head. Much to my surprise I feel ashamed. Mycroft hadn’t done anything to deserve that, other than leaving home for school, which in my opinion was the same as treason.

What my brother has done is this:

He brought me food I tolerated when my parents didn’t understand my stubborn ways, when I refused to eat what they sat before me.

Once, he came home unforeseen. Three of my bullies were after me, again, and I ran as fast as I could, but they were older, had longer legs, and caught up with me quickly. Before the first blow, I closed my eyes, protected my head, but nothing happened. The anticipated pain wasn’t forthcoming. I looked up, and there he stood. My big brother, incandescent in all his glory. Fuming with rage. I swear, I saw flames in his eyes. Nobody ever bothered me again.

Three times he’s followed me to rehab. Picked me up in places he normally never sat his feet. Each time I woke, I saw his pain and sorrow. His quiet requests, no, pleas, to make me stop breaking his heart, left my own heart raw and aching.

He interrogated my newfound flatmate to make sure he knew what he was getting himself into, but also to assess what kind of a man John Watson was. I know Mycroft’s heart sung with relief when the ex-army doctor took it all in his stride, not the least bit perturbed by my brother’s inquisitorial questions, but rather affronted on my behalf.

Without so much as hesitating, he agreed to be my best man at my wedding, and his speech made us all weep. Even John. My husband.

Mycroft’s rage nowadays, is nothing like the one from his adolescence. Now it is cold as a polar wind. He remains calm, which in my opinion is much more terrifying than his uncontrolled fury from the past. I guess one doesn’t get employed by the British government if one has trouble managing one’s anger.

By now, most of his associates call him The Iceman. It fits him, and I know the nickname pleases him immensely. 

I’m happy to say, no one uses my hateful nickname, The Virgin, any longer. John wouldn’t stand for such an insult, being the one who unburdened me of said virginity…

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

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[seekers-who-are-lovers]

The snow and the pampas grass: A one-act play

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF293 - unbridled rage. Thank you once again for the prompt!!! This is an alternate universe.*

—

Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master

Word count: 1094

Dramatis personae:

YUKIYA from the Kita Family. He is the grandson of the head of the Northern House. He is also the military’s chief of staff and the strategist, at the same time he is the emperor’s confidant and lover

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI, the empress’ chief lady-in-waiting, the first princess of the Western House, and the empress’ lover

Yamauchi is a land in the Asian continent and at the moment at war with another nation. The scene is in the office, almost 70s like. It is painted in grey and shows minimalist decorations. But the windows are large inviting sunlight inside the otherwise dreary room. Yukiya is reading the documents on his table when a woman, older than him by four years, enters the room

YUKIYA

Lady Masuho! What can I do for you? Do you need anything?

A beat.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

You are spending so much time with the emperor.

Surprised to hear the scathing remarks, Yukiya does not respond at first, but anger has marred the noble lady’s beautiful face.

YUKIYA

What do you mean? And what is it to you, Lady Masuho? We never interfere in each other’s private matters.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

I know it is not my place to tell you this, General, but I cannot hold it much longer. This country needs an heir. The emperor’s place in the court is precarious without an heir.

YUKIYA

Why are you telling me this? If you have a problem with it, then you should talk to the emperor himself.

Yukiya continues reading the documents laid out on his table ignoring the presence of a beautiful woman in his office.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

The emperor is not going to listen to me especially if he spends each hour of the day with you!

YUKIYA

He does not! Why the unbridled rage? It is not as if you and the empress do not spend your time together. Everyone knows that she is enjoying her special relationship with you.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

We are different. We are careful and responsible. We know our positions. We know our roles. Unlike you!

Her voice trembles. The loud shrill voice echoes in the four corners of the room.

YUKIYA

Does this antipathy have something to do with your governess? Or another thing?

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

She was not a traitor, and you ordered for her beheading. I cannot imagine that you could do such a heinous thing! You…

It is short of hearing the word “monster” from her mouth.

YUKIYA

We are in the middle of the war. Often you do not recognise who your friends are. Sometimes you kill or incarcerate your own people. It is ugly. But sometimes it must be done!

Yukiya looks her in the eye in the hope of letting her understand the situation. He thinks women can be thick at times in spite of their intelligence and beauty.

YUKIYA

Besides, intel reports showed that she was a spy and there were proofs of her involvement with the enemies. You heard the jury. You were in the trial.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

She was like my own mother. Her firstborn betrayed her. You heard that too. She thought she was doing him a favour. And you did not even listen to her pleas. But that is another topic. Right now, you must stay away from the emperor.

Yukiya scrutinises her face. It has dawned on Yukiya that her aversion to his intimate connection with the emperor has not come exactly from her. Her eyes are red fresh from crying. He goes near her, almost face to face.

YUKIYA

Oho! Did you receive beatings from your own family? Did they tell you to stop having an affair with the empress?

The princess turns her face away, she bites her lower lip in order not to cry.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

Tomorrow, I must go back to my family. A suitor is waiting for me. Duty first! My father said. I must fulfill my obligations as the first daughter of the house.

Yukiya laughs, not at her, but at himself, shakes his head, and sits on his table. His eyes sparkle all of sudden.

YUKIYA

You and I are on the same boat, Lady Masuho.

She looks at the man in front of her in disbelief.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

The difference is that you are a man. They need you for their war games. They do not demand you to bear children, to be a baby machine. As a man in this country, you have more power than a mere woman like myself, who will lose her qualities in the years to come.

YUKIYA

I have a suggestion, Lady Masuho. That is, if you agree with it. I know this might sound preposterous, but let me tell you my proposal.

The noble woman gazes at the younger man with her widened eyes.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

I am all ears.

YUKIYA

With the war still brewing, anything could happen. I might be dead tomorrow. Even you. (He points his finger at her.) Or the whole Yamauchi had lost. So, with this I am offering you my hand, my Lady. You don’t have to leave the empress’s side, nor I from the emperor’s. It will stay the way they are.

There is determination in Yukiya’s eyes. Lady Masuho searches inside them if the person in front of him is not making fun of her.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

Are you mocking me?

She slams his table. In a split second she grabs his collar and wiggles it, but he counteracts it by slowly removing her fingers one after the other.

YUKIYA

Not at all. Everything is only a camouflage. Nothing is real. But if your family needs an heir. I am happy to provide it. That is, if you agree to it. My own family has been on my neck since this war has started.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

But I… I.. don’t love you. I am not even attracted to you.

Yukiya smiles, which surprisingly the sincerest expression he’s ever had.

YUKIYA

Same here, my Lady. The solution, you see, is to marry without love. No emotions attached. Why should we leave the lives that we are leading when we could have this solution? The answer is pretending.

The princess is silent, absorbing Yukiya’s words.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

But what would the imperial couple say about this plan?

YUKIYA

I’ll make sure that they will agree especially if they find out the graveness of the situation.

MASUHO-NO-SUSUKI

All right. I am counting on you.

YUKIYA

Of course, you can rely on me.

Yukiya holds her hands as he accompanies her outside of the room.

*just experimenting. This does not happen in the real timeline nor has to do with the canon.

[baubeautyandthegeek]

Rage In The Night – Liandrin Guirale/Lanfear, Moiraine Damodred

It comes from nowhere, for those who see it. Moiraine drops like a stone, folding into herself even as Lanfear strides out of the darkness, a glimmer of unbridled rage in her eyes even as she moves to pull Liandrin behind herself, ignoring the woman’s soft protests even as Moiraine collapses completely, the woman’s eyes closing even as Lanfear spoke. “She’s gone…. Her little love connection too.” Liandrin’s smile is small, a soft sound of pain escaping even as she allowed herself to enjoy the faintly feral sound of Lanfear’s voice. The two would be gone, secreted away safely, soon enough, the bruises and bleeding fading as she allowed herself to enjoy Lanfear’s unbridled rage at the way she was treated, it was nice to be cared for.

[renee-writer]

Rage

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #293 prompt Unbridled Rage

Rage against it

Those problems you think

Have you in a bind

Rage

Against the problems

In your life

Rage

Against the injustices

The murders

The rapes

Rage

Against those who are still hostages

The missing children

Rage

Knowing we aren't called to be

Not vengeful

But fight for justice

Rage my sister

Rage my brother

Rage!

[lizardperson]

burn it down, baby, burn it down

[on ao3]

fandom: saints row 4 characters: female boss/asha odekar rating: m cw: canon-typical violence (so, a lot, sorry 😬), strong language wc: 646 prompt: #fff293 unbridled rage for @flashfictionfridayofficial

---

A direct hit from the Zin tank threw her against a wall. It only took a moment to get her bearings again, and she answered by blasting a condensed ball of energy into their direction. The resulting explosion caused a chain reaction that blew up the tank along with many, many random cars. It was quite the firework.

But Nat needed more.

She sprinted up the wall of a nearby highrise apartment building, then jumped off the roof, slamming into the ground. The resulting nuclear blast took out everything in the radius of at least a block around her.

Still not enough.

Sirens from afar, coming closer, and then the familiar sound of a portal materializing right behind her. Good, more things to kill.

She had no idea how long she had been going like this by now - hours probably. Killing aliens, blowing shit up, raging. What did it matter anyway, nothing here was real. Not the buildings, not the people. All just a fucking simulation, barely even resembling the real Steelport.

The real Steelport didn't exist anymore. Earth didn't exist anymore.

And one day, Zinyak would pay for that.

But right now, she just needed to blow off steam - at least one thing this damn simulation was good for. Thank the programmers for including those super powers.

Nat hurled another blast in the direction of the freshly spawned enemies. She'd never get tired of watching them explode like that. A single Zin was still standing, shooting at her, and she soaked up the few laser zaps like it was nothing. Sprinting towards him, she tackled him to the ground and started punching. Left, right, left, right, blow after blow right into his stupid face. He didn't take too many hits before dying, but even then she didn't stop, just continued punching, putting all her rage and anger and hate into her fists.

Zinyak would pay for this. They all would. Every single one of those alien bastards would pay.

"Boss."

A voice behind her tried to get her attention, but Nat continued bashing the alien's head into a pulp.

"Fuck off, I'm busy."

Asha stepped up to her, composed as always, not a single hair out of place, arms crossed in front of her chest. "I think you've had enough for today."

"I said I'm busy!" Nat yelled without interrupting her current activity.

A sudden force yanked her off the dead alien and pressed her against a wall, immobilized. Fucking telekinesis.

"And I said I think you had enough," Asha calmly stated, completely unimpressed by the angry glares shooting in her direction.

"Bitch, you let me down right now," Nat demanded, struggling against the forcefield.

Asha stood right in front of her, looking her up and down. "And then what, Natalia? You continue your little exercise here for another few hours?"

"Guess we all have our coping mechanisms. And I don't see how that's any of your fucking business anyway!"

"It's bad for the morale of the rest of the team."

"I'm sure they'll manage," Nat shot back, still glaring at Asha. Who did that woman think she was, talking down to her like that?

"You really need to get a grip and calm the hell down." With that helpful suggestion, Asha dissolved the forcefield and let her loose again.

"Make me."

Asha frowned, staring at her silently for a few seconds, and Nat almost expected her to attack any moment now. Bring it. Maybe a little one-on-one sparring match would help with the blowing-off-steam, it sure sounded more exciting than killing simulated aliens.

Nat suddenly found herself pressed against the wall again - this time without super powers - getting kissed very forcefully. Very unexpected, but very nice.

"Well, that works too, I guess," she murmured breathlessly after they separated again, and pulled Asha into another kiss.

Maybe it was time for a new coping mechanism.

[fkabatgirl-archived]

header #ffd2d6

purple #bca2b6

font #fff293

[a-victorian-girl]

Oh, it kills me to know everything Mycroft did for Sherlock! He should be anything but ungrateful! Although... I can imagine the surprise Sherlock would give his brother if he suddenly changed his way of treating him, jaja

Sherlock fandom.

Incandescent in All His Glory

My brother likes to present himself as aloof, undeterred, haughty, and cold-blooded. To those who has never seen him in pyjamas and dressing gown, the image remains unaltered. Underneath that stoic and well-maintained façade, he is very much human, despite how loathe he is to admit it. 

Granted, he has a peculiar way of showing his emotions.

Sentiment is never an advantage, is his trademark, so to speak.

Having known him for my entire life, and by being an adept observer, I am aware of the truth. 

His heart might be heavily protected by a seemingly unbreakable padlock, but when that lock is broken, there’s no stopping the tidal wave of emotions hidden there.

The unbridled rage is the most common of the forementioned emotions. Let me rephrase: the most common emotion to appear.

This rage mostly recurred in our childhood, and as far as I know, only directed at me. Not that I didn’t deserve it. I did almost anything to get his attention back then. I ruined his new suede shoes in the murky pond, put cockroaches in the biscuit tin he hid in his room, and read a love letter he’d received out loud at the dinner table on Christmas Eve.

“Did you ever apologise?”

Of course, John would ask that.

I shake my head. Much to my surprise I feel ashamed. Mycroft hadn’t done anything to deserve that, other than leaving home for school, which in my opinion was the same as treason.

What my brother has done is this:

He brought me food I tolerated when my parents didn’t understand my stubborn ways, when I refused to eat what they sat before me.

Once, he came home unforeseen. Three of my bullies were after me, again, and I ran as fast as I could, but they were older, had longer legs, and caught up with me quickly. Before the first blow, I closed my eyes, protected my head, but nothing happened. The anticipated pain wasn’t forthcoming. I looked up, and there he stood. My big brother, incandescent in all his glory. Fuming with rage. I swear, I saw flames in his eyes. Nobody ever bothered me again.

Three times he’s followed me to rehab. Picked me up in places he normally never sat his feet. Each time I woke, I saw his pain and sorrow. His quiet requests, no, pleas, to make me stop breaking his heart, left my own heart raw and aching.

He interrogated my newfound flatmate to make sure he knew what he was getting himself into, but also to assess what kind of a man John Watson was. I know Mycroft’s heart sung with relief when the ex-army doctor took it all in his stride, not the least bit perturbed by my brother’s inquisitorial questions, but rather affronted on my behalf.

Without so much as hesitating, he agreed to be my best man at my wedding, and his speech made us all weep. Even John. My husband.

Mycroft’s rage nowadays, is nothing like the one from his adolescence. Now it is cold as a polar wind. He remains calm, which in my opinion is much more terrifying than his uncontrolled fury from the past. I guess one doesn’t get employed by the British government if one has trouble managing one’s anger.

By now, most of his associates call him The Iceman. It fits him, and I know the nickname pleases him immensely. 

I’m happy to say, no one uses my hateful nickname, The Virgin, any longer. John wouldn’t stand for such an insult, being the one who unburdened me of said virginity…

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

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