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marsbutterfly · 4 years ago

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Hey ! Can I request something ? It's an Hanji x reader imagine. This would take place after the chapter 132, you saved Hanji in extremis, brings her back safe and sound on the plane, the alliance wins the war against Eren and right after that they all come back to the Paradis Island. Hanji and her wife are lying on a field and reader think about all the events. They're finaly free, happy and living together 😌! I really like your writtings and especially the way you depicted Hanji ! Stay safe !

Note: Hell Yes. I actually wrote two versions for this story but this is the one I liked best, so I really hope you like it. It hurt me greatly to write this, but I poured my heart and soul into it.

WARNING: MANGA SPOILER!

Daydream

Summary: In which you save Hanji before she has the chance to go ahead with her suicidal charge.

AO3 Version! | Wattpad Version!

As Jean drags your body into the aircraft, you feel your throat burning from all the screaming. The pain in your lungs is unbearable but not enough to stop you.

For a split second, he loses his grip on your body and you are able to escape.

Using your gear, you find yourself taking down a colossal titan standing next to Hanji.

“Y/N??” She looks at you, fear in her eyes. Rage takes over your body as you slice the nape of yet another titan.

“How DARE you leave me!” You say before grabbing Hanji’s cloak. As you tighten your grip, the hook of your gear hits the aircraft just barely taking flight.

As she tries to struggle, you throw her body into the moving vehicle as you follow closely behind.

All eyes on you as you lay on your back, trying your best to catch your breath.

“Hanji! Y/N!” You hear Pieck’s voice echoing through the ship as you silently sit up on your elbows. Once you can get your lung movements under control you look over at Hanji, who’s sitting against the wall.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?” You yell at her. Rage and sorrow clouding your mind, all you can do is let your feelings out in the most aggressive way you can possibly think of.

From her hands to her face, you notice burns and scratches covering her skin. Hanji doesn’t move. All she can do is stare at the ceiling quietly, warm tears running down her face.

Armin extends his hand, helping you get back on your feet. No one says a word as you make your way towards Hanji.

You kneel by her side, watching as she covers her eyes with her arm.

“I just wanted to protect everyone.” She whispers, hiccups erupting from her body.

You gently place your hand on her arm, slowly moving it out of the way so she can look at you. “And leave me behind?”

“Leave you alive.” Hanji finally looks in your eyes, you see the amount of pain she’s in.

“I would rather die with you…” You say, moving her glasses so you can treat her injuries. “Then to live without you.”

As Reiner hands you a small bowl of water, you take out a small piece of cloth that rests in your pocket to clean her burns, making sure no debris is left on her open wounds.

Hanji’s face writhes onto a pained expression. She bites down her lower lip and allows a few pain filled tears. As soon as you’re done, you wrap her wounds in the best way you can and finally, you decide to break the silence.

“I don’t care if you are the Commander or a cadet” You make sure she’s looking into your eyes before finishing your sentence, an unusually serious expression takes over your features, “Don’t you dare try to leave me again.”

“I won’t go anywhere, I promise.” She tries to smile at you, but among the tears, a smile simply won’t appear on her lips. Instead, she flashes you a pained smirk as her bottom lip quivers.

Slowly, you start brushing your lips against hers, wanting nothing more but to feel her breath against your mouth. She pulls you close, destroying any space existing between you. Her breathing against your lips is all you wished for.

“Oi, can you two focus?.” Levi says, destroying the sweet moment between you two. Without turning your head, you flip him off.

“Let’s come up with a plan.” You say, flashing Hanji a sad smile..

“We’re out of fuel” Onyonkapon screams, “I’ll crash land this plane, but please make sure you win this war!!”

The cold wind hits your face as you stand above Eren’s massive body. You hear Armin screaming his name and the others follow close behind.

Pieck and Reiner jump a few seconds after the others, giving them enough time and space to transform.

You feel your hands shaking slightly, fear going through your veins as you take a deep breath. Before you can jump, you feel Hanji’s hand wrapping around yours.

“Together?” She says, a serious but soothing expression on her face.

“Together.” You reply. You both nod and jump off the plane, praying the pilot would be ok.

As you land on top of one of the ribs, you notice the Beast Titan has appeared out of nowhere, but something was off about it.

Not only was it connected to Eren but Its fur was white, looking almost exactly as the War Hammer titan.

You look at Hanji for a moment and you see the excitement in her face as she watches Reiner’s fight. Shaking your head, you pull her closer to the now decomposing corpse of the Beast Titan.

“No wonder he’s not putting up a fight.” Levi says, grinding his teeth, his body filled with rage.

“But how is this possible?” Hanji asks while looking at you seconds before dozens of other titans appeared. Empty eyes stare at you while they prepare to attack.

As you look around, trying to figure out where all the titans came from, you can see a small girl from the corner of your eye as she stands on Eren’s massive body, not too far away from you.

“The Founder.” You whisper as goosebumps travel through your body. Your eyes widen when a weird-looking titan comes at you, ready to swap you away.

In a second, Armin takes your place. As he pushes you, the hook of your gear gets stuck to another titan.

“ARMIN!” You scream before slicing the monster in front of you, trying to catch up to the blonde boy but your effort is useless.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Hanji asks before placing her hands around your hips. You nod but even though your legs shake slightly but you know you can’t afford to stop fighting.

“Everyone calm down!” Levi says, you can barely hear his voice with all the noises around you. “We are in no condition to make a charge here.”

“Captain Levi.” Pieck says, her titan clinging onto one of Eren’s bones. “These enemies… they are the nine titans of times past.”

Before you can have a reaction, you feel a large hand squeezing the air out of your entire body until your vision turns black.

By the time you wake up, you can’t hear or feel the massive titans flattening everything in their path. Deafening screams no longer fill the air around you.

You watch the blue sky above you as you sit up. On your left lies a very injured Captain Levi. Part of his leg was bitten off and his hand bandages are covered in dried blood.

You crawl to him, gently touching his chest. You place two fingers against his jugular and feel his heart beating approximately 50 times a minute. A bit too slow, but at least he is still alive.

A figure comes towards you from your right. You shift your face, trying to see the person’s face against the sun. Her body comes crashing against yours in a tight hug. As the smell of her hair hits your nose, you wrap your arms around her neck.

“I’m so glad you are alright!” Hanji says, a few tears streaming down her face as she touches her forehead to yours.

“What happened?” You ask quietly. In the distance, you can hear Mikasa’s screams, quickly followed by Armin’s sobs. You feel every hair in your body quickly stand up as you start to realize what has happened.

“We found Eren.” Is all she needs to say. A sad expression takes over your features. Deep down, you wished for him to change his mind and find a way back to his old self, but it was nothing more than that, just a wish.

Your eyes scan the scene folding in front of you. Annie has her arms wrapped around Mikasa’s torso, tightly hugging her as the black-haired girl screams the contents of her heart out.

Jean and Reiner tend to Connie’s wounds. A pool of blood forming underneath his head as the other two boys desperately try to stop it.

Armin simply stares at the sea, his hands covering his ears as sobs abruptly leave his body.

Pieck hugs the two kids tightly, making sure they won’t be able to leave her grasp anytime soon. Gabi holds Falco’s hand as both of their small bodies shake in a mix of relief and trauma.

And lastly, your eyes wander towards the lifeless figure lying on the sand. The water hits his foot ever so lightly but enough to cause it to move. The sand trapped in his hair shines in contrast with the sun.

“What happened?” You finally work up the courage to ask. Hanji lets out a sigh, her hand moving from your skin towards her hair, placing a single loose strand behind her own ear.

“After you passed out, Annie flew in to save our asses.” She giggles, looking down before lacing your right hands on hers. “His jaw titan could fly! Can you believe that?”

A spark appears in her eyes amongst all the sadness around you. You flash her a small smirk, “I didn’t even know that was possible!”

“I didn’t either! Isn’t it amazing, though?” She raises her voice before bringing it to a low volume once again. Her features return to seriousness as she continues, “After that, Pieck destroyed the Attack Titan’s neck, forcing Eren’s body out of there.”

As Hanji speaks, you finally notice the smell of blood and smoke surrounding you. Taking your left hand to your heart, you clutch your own shirts, fighting back tears that threaten to fall against your wishes.

“How did he die?” You whisper, looking down at your legs.

“His body never recovered after Gabi shot him.” She takes a small break, trying to find the right words. “The explosion inflicted by Pieck was enough to expel his body..”

Your lips part but no words come out so she simply continues, “He was able to heal enough so he would have parts of his body back before Armin stabbed his heart.”

“The Founder?” You interrupt, suddenly remembering the small girl that watched the whole fight from afar.

“She’s gone. Somehow Eren was able to lock the Founding powers within him before dying.”

Confused, you look at her, hoping she would have any answers for you. “But…”

“We don’t understand how yet…” her voice breaks, a mixture of pain and happiness, “but all the titans are gone.”

A gasp escapes your body. Thoughts rush through your head at light’s speed but all you can do is shove your head on the crook of her neck as you cry.

Clinging onto Hanji’s now soaked shirt, you try to breathe but air simply won’t enter your lungs. Was it pain for the loss of someone you cared about and loved deeply? Was it relief for how the monsters that have threatened you through your entire life have now disappeared?

You look up at Hanji, her hair floating in the wind as her hand rubs your back in a soothing manner. You place your left hand on the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss. Tears drip from your eyes onto your lips but you can’t find the strength to pull away.

As her lips leave yours, a quiet whine escapes your throat.

Once again, you focus your attention on Eren’s body. “What happens now?”

Sitting in a blanket, you watch as the breeze moves the newly bloomed flowers around. The sun setting behind the mountains casts an orange light above you.

From behind, you hear footsteps making their way towards you. Your lips curl into a smirk and you shift your body, putting all of your weight on your knees.

“You look beautiful.” She says before sitting beside you. You quickly change your focus to her face, taking a few seconds to admire her.

Hanji’s hair is in a messy ponytail, a few strands rest against her cheeks. She’s wearing her daily glasses instead of her old combat ones, and her skin smells like freshly used soap, meaning she finally showered. Whether it was willingly or if Levi forced her to, you don’t dare to ask.

As you adjust your dress, a blush takes over your cheeks and you can help but smile at her.

Wrapping your arm around her neck, you place a quick yet gently kiss on her lips before resting your forehead against hers.

“It’s been a year.” You whisper, your voice barely audible against the wind.

She nods, “A year of freedom.”

As you look up at the sky, you notice a few stars have begun to show up. One in particular catches your eye for it has a greater shine than the rest. Hanji quietly follows your gaze.

“They are watching over us.” She says, taking your hand towards her lips and planting a love-filled kiss on the back.

“I hope they are happy we can finally be free.” You finally find the courage to speak. “Truly, utterly, completely free.”

In a second, you let Hanji go and allow your body to fall, colliding with the grass. The green speckles tickling your skin as the aroma of the flowers hits your nose.

A sneeze escapes your body suddenly and all you can do is laugh, for you are now truly happy.

You feel Hanji’s head on your shoulder and you quickly wrap your arm around her head, quietly playing with her brown locks.

“Thank you for coming after me.” She says. You can feel her eyes piercing you, carefully watching for your reaction. The corner of your lips gently curls into a smile as you roll your eyes at her.

“I will always follow you.” You whisper, making sure no one else will be able to hear you but her, “Even if it gets me killed.”

You simply lay there, watching as the sun goes down behind the mountain. No words are needed but you can feel how calm she is with you.

Looking back on it, you realize your decision to chase after her once she got off the plane was reckless and dangerous to say the least, but if it meant spending your life with Hanji, you would do it again and again.

Your body shivers abruptly, a reminder that the cold breeze is once again taking over the atmosphere. With a smile of her own, she lifts her head up, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you ready to head back?” She says, steam coming out of her mouth as the words fall from her lips.

Simply you nod, watching as a giggle leaves her body. Before standing up, you pick a small, pink flower that rests by your hand and place it on her hair.

Planting a kiss on her cheek, you take her hand, starting to make your way towards the city.

Your comrades' sacrifices weren’t in vain. Freedom was finally a reality rather than just a dream.

With Hanji by your side, you can finally appreciate being alive and for now, that’s all you could ask for.

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johns-prince · 4 years ago

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Let's play the speculation game and say McLennon was real. Going with the common idea that Paul dumped John in India, wasn't the "let's all be friends, write together and go on double dates with our wives" angle Paul seemed to hope for completely delusional? Why would someone with John's issues stick around and celebrate Paul's happiness with someone else after being downgraded?

I have great respect for Paul's decision of not being John's nanny/handler for the rest of his life. But I've always been annoyed by his inability to let the man go for good. Paul, you've made your choice, my friend. Enough with the sad songs about not being called back or turning up on John's doorstep with a guitar when the he was spending time with his own family. People hate that but some things in the world really are black or white. You can't have it both ways.

Why speculate when we know it was and is real

Alright so, let me try to unpack my thoughts cohesively get ya tinfoil hats on y’all;

If we go with the theory that during 1967, when Paul and John were practically living together and conjoined at the hip, taking LSD together and sharing those intense and intimate experiences that even Pau’s girlfriend Jane had become envious of— John had come to the realization of what he wanted, finally acknowledged it and came to accept it.

So in India, John tried to confront Paul about their relationship and their “relationship,” and openly admit to Paul that he wanted more, that he was now willing to leave Cynthia and Julian for a life he truly wanted or desired, and that included Paul (but to what extent is what we debate I guess)

And now that I’m thinking about it, we also know John was sort of beginning to spiral downward in 1968. It was obvious his marriage with Cynthia was at it’s end, and he didn’t want to work on it anymore. He was surrounding himself more with druggies, an unsavory crowd that Cynthia really didn’t approve of (Yoko was part of this crowd) and he was actively pulling away.

I think John was realizing that, he just wasn’t happy. That, putting everything he had into becoming one of the most successful musicians in the world, to become bigger then Elvis Presley, didn’t make him happy. It didn’t fix what needed fixing in him, what needed addressing. He was still drowning despite it all.

So you’ve got the trip to India, the boys going in hopes that perhaps the Maharishi Mahesh Yog and his spiritual teachings would somehow give a new perspective on things, produce the answer that would save the band (save John and Paul) from what appeared to be an inevitable downfall. But as we know, that isn’t what was needed.

John and Paul needed to talk. The lack of consistent communication between them for years and years, and the fact John needed a therapist, he needed rehab. So did Paul, during the White Album era.

I don’t believe Paul dumped John, but I do think John could have easily misconstrued Paul taking a step back and not willing to just go blindly, impulsively jumping off a theoretical cliff with him, as being rejected. We know Paul had to sort of take the position of ‘think before you leap’, to be more conscious of the actions and decisions he and the others decide to take, and how it would effect them as individuals, and especially them as a band (because frankly the others wouldn’t) and we know that John could be incredibly impulsive, only thought of the consequences after the fact. That, and who’s to say such a proposition and confrontation from John hadn’t scared Paul? Got him feeling those insecurities of his own crawling up.

Paul wanted a traditional family, he wanted to have a wife and children. But Paul also wanted John, he wanted and loved Lennon-McCartney, and he didn’t think (or he’d hoped) him getting married and having a family would really change anything between them (because John got married and had a kid and they were still able to do go and do whatever they wanted together, so what was the difference—) that he could still keep what he had with John, that they could still stay together after The Beatles split. Get around to writing that musical, and grow old together still writing and making music, still creating together.

How I see it, is that Paul wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

Paul, being fine with keeping the status quo between them, it was safe and enough (right?), but John vehemently wasn’t fine with it anymore, and it wasn’t enough for him. Nothing was enough for him, as we know; John was a very all-or-nothing individual, and expected complete devotion and love from someone, because receiving less felt like rejection and abandonment was only around the corner. This way of feeling and thinking for John was only exasperated by the drugs, his alcoholism, and his spiraling mental health.

Paul could have tried compromising with John, and John still could have taken that as a complete rejection of his feelings and what he wanted, and what he had hoped and thought Paul also wanted.

I believe Paul probably didn’t even know himself what he had done wrong, or that he did anything wrong. I don’t think Paul believed he was downgrading John to anything either.

If only they had talked.

Then they returned from India, and the rest as we know it...

“To me, a summary is something like: “gifted, disturbed boy with tremendous amount of drive to outrun a bad childhood discovers love for music and creative soulmate(s) and gives everything he has to become the most famous musician in the world, hoping it will make him happy. He does, but it doesn’t, and people who don’t have his best interests separate him from his friends, his creation and creative spark, and ultimately himself. He’s too screwed up by addiction, mental illness, and unaddressed traumas to change things, so he retreats further into addiction and mental illness, wishing he could somehow regain his lost spark. He makes a few halfway steps toward doing so, but they’re not enough, and ultimately he is killed in front of his apartment building where, 24 hours later, his wife installs the man she had been sleeping with behind his back.”"

— Michael Bleicher, The Artist as a Dissipated Man: Fred Seaman’s “The Last Days of John Lennon.”

Right, so both John and Paul made their choices in life. Some choices and decisions that we as fans and outside observers might never be able to understand, or agree with.

But who’s to say Paul (and John), couldn’t, didn’t, or don’t regret those choices and decisions?

I get what you’re saying, I understand. Why can’t Paul move on? He made his choices, why is it 40, 50 years later, that Paul can’t just let John go? Let sleeping dogs lie, all that.

Because Paul loved John, still loves John, to this day.

Because, clearly Paul has some regrets. He regrets how things were handled during the Divorce. He regrets not hugging John enough. He regrets not telling John, when he had the chance and time, that he loved him (and without the help of alcohol) When you love someone so deeply, and suddenly, without warning, they’re taken from you and the world, you regret a lot, and you miss what could have been, the ‘What if’s.’

Paul said that what he and John were, were soulmates. I don’t know how it feels to lose a soulmate. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to know how it feels to get the opportunity to love and be around them.

How awful do you think it is to meet your soulmate, but you cannot freely love them? Can’t just, be, with them? Not in just one way, bestmates, legendary partners, but, as everything that the word Soulmate brings along and includes with it?

That God decided to have them be of the same sex, during a time where it was illegal to love and be with someone of the same sex, and could even be a potential death sentence to be assumed or thought of as a ‘queer.’

So, you take whatever you can with them.

Then that isn’t enough. One grows restless, desperate for more. It can’t happen, not realistically, not without consequences of varying degrees.

Strain, miscommunication to none. They communicate through a musical, artistic language which just isn’t enough. Drugs, alcohol, mental illness and emotional turmoil, it’s all too much. It breaks. Soulmates are still flawed human beings.

You have people who work to purposefully pin them against each other. Parasites and piggybackers.

A nasty divorce and breakup between two lovers that never were.

And then, after ten years, it’s happening. You two are talking again, things are tense and awkward still sometimes, but something’s changed. You’ve planned on reuniting, couldn’t do it this year, because the studio you wanted was booked. So you plan for after the New Year.

Then, your soulmate is killed. Just, taken away from you, like nothing. Violently and suddenly. And all the possibilities... The time... Gone. Ripped away from both of you.

I can’t blame Paul for not letting go. I can’t say I’d ever be able to understand the sort of pain and heartbreak he experienced. He still goes through it! It’s still there. He’s just learned how to manage it a bit better.

I’d say it’s more pathetic then it is annoying— and I don’t mean it in a way to insult Paul. I really don’t. Because John was just as pathetic when it came to his obvious obsession, desire, and love for Paul, too.

Love, that kind of soul-deep love, it can make you pathetic and hopeless. And it’s not something you can just... let go for good.

Wanting, or expecting Paul to let go of John for good... Firstly would be impossible, and secondly, how do you let go of a soulmate? John is a part of Paul, whether some like it or not. Can’t really have one without the other.

Can’t have Lennon without McCartney, and vice-or-versa. Forever intertwined, are they.

#questionsquestionsquestions #mclennon #beatles discussion/discourse #I think all I did was ramble again I'm sorry #this isn't even that good

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morepeachyogurt · 4 years ago

Text

we are good people (and we've suffered enough)

word count- 2.5k Pairing- Temily

Summary- After Scratch, Tara and Emily run away to Italy to start a new life, ft. cats, cafes, and gardening. Based on this post, and this prompt.

Part 2 of my, maybe we’re from the same star, series, work is a standalone, part 1

read here on ao3

tw’s- very minor mentions of substances and ptsd

Things were never the same after Mr. Scratch. The two of them were filled with more trauma than they had room for in their hearts to still hold each other in. Nights were no longer filled with a movie and cuddling, or talking about philosophy but tense sentences, paranoia, and nightmares. Tara knew that something needed to change, anything to stop the monotony of desolation. But still, they went to work every day and drowned their sorrows in killers like that would bring back the part of her that died when Scratch took Emily. There are only so many times one can be held captive and wait for death before something inside them breaks.

One night they get wine drunk, Emily laying sidewise on their black couch, and Tara sitting on the table staring at the ceiling.

“I miss being young, god, that’s such a weird thing to say. I mean, I spent my youth hating it. Hated my mother, and all of our traveling, never could make friends. I hated that I never belonged, hated not being in control of my own life, and here I am 50 years old working for the government that I used to despise trying not to cry myself to sleep every night,” her voice takes on a bitter tone.

“We love in our old age the things we hated as children. Does that make us matured or foolish?”

“Both, I think.”

“What was your favorite place to live? I mean it sounds like hell to keep moving between places but there must have been someplace you loved, right,” Tara’s voice fills with a tang of desperation as she searches for a way to help her lover.

“Rome. The weather and the scenery,” her voice takes on a dreamy tone, “and the food! Man, the food is good, don’t tell Rossi but his carbonara tastes like Olive Garden compared to the real thing,” they both chuckled at that, knowing it would have sent Rossi in a fit if he were to hear that.

“That sounds really nice honey.”

“I miss it sometimes you know? I think about how gorgeous everything was. It feels like home in my distant memories.”

“Then let’s do it. Lets, go move to Rome. You aren’t happy here Emily, I know you say you are, but you do this job for our team, not the position now. I miss when you laughed,” both of them sobered up by now, knowing that it has taken a turn for the more serious.

“No, no we can’t. I, I can’t keep leaving this team and our friends. And, people need us. You love this job Tara I can’t take that away from you, not for me.”

“They’d understand Emily, they all love you so much. Yeah, I love this job, I won’t lie. But, I love you more, and I’m not happy if you aren’t. So let’s do it. Let’s fucking run away to Rome together and be happy .” The two sit in silence for a minute, the unanswered question still hanging in the air.

“Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll fulfill my long-lost dream to have a nice, big garden.”

The team took it surprisingly well, they’d all noticed a change in Emily in the months following Scratch and knew that Tara had Emily’s best interest at heart. Of course, they were sad to lose two of the best members of their team, but Emily was family, and family looks out for each other.

“I’m going to miss you my favorite dynamic duo and your guys’ jokes. Ugh, it’s going to be so quiet without you two lovely ladies,” her eyes are welling with unshed tears as she says goodbye to more of her family, “Send me things from Rome or I will install a virus in your phones,” they both laughed at Penelope’s antics and promised her that they’d send as much stuff as they could. The last two weeks of their stay in the United States were filled with mixed emotions. They were excited to start the next chapter of their lives together. Away from all the serial killers and monstrous people out there. They could finally live with a fraction of the naivety that most people carry. On the other hand, Tara only speaks minimal Italian, and now they’re going to be living in a brand-new country, surrounded by strangers. A fresh start, but one filled with anxiety.

“Okay 4:30 is way too early for a flight,” Emily grumbled as they made their way to the airport. The pair had woken up at three, knowing that Tara can’t sleep on planes they tried to go to bed early and were now making their way to the airport in the dead of morning.

“Wait, babe, look! It’s a full moon,” they pulled over just for a moment and got out of the car to sit on the hood. The silence between the two is peaceful, the wind was the only whisper in the air. Moonlight shone on Tara’s face and Emily knew that there was no sight in the world as beautiful as this. With the moon reflected in her eyes and a small simple ghosting on her lips. She’s home.

Security was a breeze, they are former FBI agents after all, and they made their way to their gate. Airports always have a certain air to them, a place where time seizes to exist yet completely runs the place. Their gate was quiet, filled with the tired murmuring of people excited to travel.

“Tara, honey, wake up we’re boarding.”

It was odd for the two of them to be flying commercial after all those years on private jets. It was nice to feel normal though, to fade in the background instead of being other . Human desire is both to be noticed and forgotten all at once.

Italy’s airport is very similar to the DC airport, it would seem like they never left. Outside was a whole different story, bustling crowds and hot air hits them as soon as they step outside the building. They had picked out a quaint apartment building a week prior. Yellow walls with a terrace looking out to an alley. The couple's belongings had been shipped and were waiting to be unpacked. Not right then though. Now, it was time to explore.

Hand in hand they walked leisurely down the narrow alley way of the small Italian town they are now calling their home. Vines and every other type of plant that could grow did. Hanging off banisters, and climbing up orange brick walls. The sunlight was close to blinding, and it hit Emily just right. The golden rays hitting her face and illuminating the ghost of the smile now appearing on Emily’s face. That smile told Tara all she needed to know about their decision. Emily catches her staring, “What are you looking at,” humor evident in her voice.

“You, I’m looking at you miss Emily Prentiss. You’re smiling again,” her words come out softer than she intended, but they convey her point.

Happy couples seem to fill the streets, old and new, young and old. The town may be old, but it was filled with a life that they had been lacking. They pass a quaint little bakery. Bread, cupcakes, and assorted pastries fill the windows. There're bookshelves on all the walls filled to the brim with different books. The walls are light blue and there are flowers everywhere. It looks like something from the movies.

“Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” Emily reads the name of the building in front of them, they’ve since stopped to admire the view in front of them. It reminds the two of them how Emily asked Tara out. With a cupcake and book who had ‘I know there’s plenty of sugar in that cupcake but it’d be even sweeter if you went out with me. Let me take you to dinner Tara? ’ written on the inside.

“As much as I love hearing you speak Italian, what does that mean? Something heaven?”

“Little Slice of Heaven.” It’s truly a perfect name for the place.

“Okay, now we have to go in,” they’re both smiling now. They push open the glass doors, greeted by the high-pitched ringing of a bell and the smell of freshly baked bread.

The woman at the counter finishes the greeting, “Benvenuti nel piccolo angolo di paradiso, cosa posso offrirvi, adorabili signore?” they blush at the compliment and Emily orders them both cupcakes and coffee. Tara busies herself with admiring the books. Some of them have the most beautiful covers she’s seen. She knows not to judge a book by its cover but sometimes the most beautiful things are just as gorgeous on the inside as out. Just like Emily. She buys a book, and they take their drink and desserts to go. They make their way to a waterfront and sit down on the stairs, side by side.

“Rome is just as beautiful as I remembered. I missed it. It really does feel like home, although, anywhere I’m with you is home,” at the end of her sentence, she turns to face Tara, a look of pure love shown clearly on her face. And for that, Tara just has to kiss her.

The next day they unpack their boxes of belongings into their apartment to help rid the homesickness. Paintings go up on the walls and furniture is placed with the best view in mind. After a couple of hours they’re done, their apartment a bit more homey than before. They crack open a bottle of wine, put on an album, and sit out on the terrace. They watch the sun set over the water, the sounds of big band music filter in as the soundtrack for their night. The sky painted yellow, orange, and pink in the way only nature can create. If nature were an artist they’d be in every museum and sold to the wealthy. Instead, they are for the masses, the beauty of nature is for all to enjoy, free of cost, for those who wish to escape and fly into the night sky.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Tara leans forward on the balcony, not taking her eyes off the view in front of her, even as the colors begin to fade the sky darkens.

“No, tell me, what?”

“I always wanted to open my own bakery. I know it’s stupid, me a baker. But, I don’t know making things, it feels so uncomplicated. Just me and the dough.”

“In this alternate universe, I’d be a gardener. You and your dough and me and my flowers against the world Tara. Wait a second. I think you and I are onto something my dear,” Emily’s joined Tara at the balcony, the two of them leaning against the railing.

“Actually? You’re serious? You want to do this.?”

“Yeah! Why not? We’ve got enough money in the bank for us to last a bit, you can work at Un Piccolo Angolo di Paradiso,” the Italian rolls of her tongue in a way that drives Tara nuts, “I’ll find a gardening place to work at. We’re in fucking Italy let’s make our dreams come true.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Alessia, the owner of the bakery, is pleased to have another employee. Especially one that is actually interested and isn’t in high school. Tara learns the basics of bread and pastry making. She has some skill, she used to bake with her mother before she died, it had been awhile since she had been able to bake without bumming herself out. Now it’s a nice memory of her. Gone but not forgotten, as is the saying. Emily comes in every lunch break for whatever Tara’s whipped up and to get her caffeine fix. One of the things that she still keeps from her law enforcement days.

They aren’t perfect. A move across the country isn’t going to cure PTSD, she has good days, bad days, and worse days, but now they have the time to deal with it. There was never anytime to process things at the FBI. It was always, distract yourself and throw yourself into solving cases. Now they can slow dance in the kitchen and stay up until three am telling stories from college. They fill their days with the happiness that was once stolen from them and bathe in it like perfume.

True to their word, they send Penelope all sorts of things, books from the café, pressed flowers, trinkets from the small shops to adorn her desk. In return, she sends them pictures of Sergio.

“I miss Sergio, his little paws, and his ability to climb on top of anything.”

Emily finds a job at a nearby garden that sells flower arrangements and herbs to local restaurants. It’s convenient, more than they would have thought. Emily now gets to stop into the bakery on occasion to deliver herbs and has plenty of flowers to give her lover. She also sends a few bouquets back to DC. Hoping that the flowers can brighten up the office in a way that fluorescent lights never can.

On one of their late afternoon walks, they hear a rustling by a trash can.

“What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know, let’s go look, it almost sounds like an animal. Could be a mouse,” Emily suggests, absently reaching to where her gun used to rest on her hip. They open the bag to find three small kittens. Seemly abandoned in a corner.

“Oh god, they’re so cute. We have to keep them.” It’s not a question, Tara knows that Emily is thinking the same thing, their minds connected in the way people who love each other’s minds always are. They look up the nearest veterinarian to make sure that their new pets are okay to take home and healthy.

The vet is sterile and a stark reminder of all the hospitals they’ve spent time in. Tara squeezes her girlfriend’s hand to remind her that they are both safe .

“They look fairly health, a bit malnourished but that is to be expected in these circumstances,” the vet is an elderly man with a mustache as thick as his accent,

“I’ve give them the shots they need, for now, come back in few months and let me take another look. Ciao.”

The kittens are fast asleep by the time they make it home. They gently scoop the kittens out of the bag and into their arms and the couch.

“Okay, what are we naming these angels?” Emily’s voice is pitched up as she talks to the kitten in her arms.

“Well, I’ve always been a classics enthusiast, what if we name them Artemis and Apollo?”

“That’s adorable. Little tiny archery kitties, yes, isn’t that right!” she coos, “And I think I’ll name this one Carter.”

“I love it, and you. Come on, sit with me, you look tired,” Tara grabs Emily’s hand and pulls her onto the couch. They fall over a bit and Emily yelps in surprise. They put the old music back on, a sense of peaceful needs for their new lives. The two sit on the couch, Emily’s head in her girlfriend’s lap, a hand playing with her hair. Apollo climbs on Emily’s feet and lays down to rest.

“I love you, Tara,” she doesn’t respond, just lays a gentle kiss to the back of her head.

The world is big and scary but the two of them feel safe in each other's arms.

taglist- @royalpenelope @criminalmindsvibez @haleymalaffey @scandinavian-punk @abitcriminalminds @hellskitchensmurdock @criminalmindzz2 @rosesonmyheart @ssaemxlyprentxss @reidrights if you’d like to be added to my taglist, the survey is here

#dkakakska I forgot to tag this now it won’t show up 💔💔#temily #Tara lewis #emily prentiss #criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #temily fic #lucy's creations #mine!

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thatblondeperson · 4 years ago

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TimSteph, taking care of chronic injuries!

Hey look, another ask that got buried! Sorry friend!!!!

This is all preboot, RR/Batgirl era.

Ok so Tim is super extra imo when it comes to treating any kind of sickness, injury, ANYTHING. He’s the type of guy who will go to CVS and buy out the entire “cold + flu” aisle as soon a Steph gets a runny nose. He absolutely drowns her in cough drops and tissues. I can see him being extremely attentive as well. Like bringing blankets and pillows around the clock, happy to carry her from point A to point B, almost insisting to do so on occasion, and just sitting with her for as long as she desires/needs company. He absolutely pays no mind to germs. Steph can cuddle all she wants.

Steph is similar but less extra. She’s got some more classic home remedies that Tim doesn’t have. She absolutely would baby the hell out of him if he got sick though, and probably more often than not she has to put her foot down on him trying to patrol even if he’s completely out of it and burning up. Tim has a hard time relaxing, but eventually the time is used for him to catch up on sleep. Tim getting sick is like a mini-hibernation. I can see Alfred stepping in occasionally if they were both sick because Tim’s an absolute mess, and Steph can only do so much before she gets wiped out. They’re hopeless and completely out of service if they’re both ill at the same time. Error 404: Dorks not found.

Chronic injuries are a constant process. Steph obviously has a ton just from Black Mask alone. I’m sure she gets aches and pains on the regular due to the severity of the torture she experience. Power drills would leave some lasting abdominal pain for sure. Hell, I wonder if it makes cramps worse for her? It could in all honestly. She may need serious pain meds during that time of the month which are of course always kept on hand. On top of that, the physical trauma definitely left endless mental trauma. No question about it. Not to mention that time she got lightly shot in the head. I say lightly because I forgot this was a thing because they don’t really address it again. I imagine that would cause occasional headaches/migraines, and I’m sure Tim likes to run a scan every now and again to make sure there isn’t any lasting damage. And of course, we return to the medicine cabinet for more pain pills. (Thank you @incoherentbabblings for reminding me of the gunshot.)

I headcanon that both of them get nightmares on almost the regular. They’ve both got it set that if one of them is in the middle of a bad nightmare, the other just holds them close, doing whatever they can to soothe them until the calmness sets back in. The nightmares get more spaced out some time after they move in together because I think the constant safeness of having someone beside them every night would eventually help them both sleep through the night better. It is hard to get back to sleep though. Both of them have been put through the ringer, they’ve both seen death of loved ones up close and personal, and I imagine a lot of what they’ve experienced is still very vivid and intense for them.

Tim’s got his own fair share of recurring pain. The boy doesn’t have a spleen and tbh I don’t know how he’s not getting sick more frequently. But extra precautions need to be taken to keep him from getting infections when he gets any kid of open wound, thank GOD Steph is a nurse. Tim has to be kept pretty healthy though if at all possible, which brings us back to my previous headcanon about him not caring about germs when Steph is sick? Yeah, not his smartest move, but Tim’s an idiot and forgets that he’s fragile.

Both of them have regular joint issues. They’ve dislocated enough things for just about everything to make awful clicking sounds now and again. Steph doesn’t have as much regular muscle pain, she’s far more flexible than Tim is so she stays pretty loose and limber, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to work at it every day. Steph does yoga as a part of her routine. She gets Tim to join sometimes but he’s not very good at keeping up with it. He’s flexible too but not to her level, and he locks up easier if he’s had an especially tough night. They both try to put the time in to exercise when they can, spotting each other, keeping a routine going, because given how much they both get beaten and battered on the daily, if they don’t keep up with muscle pain, it’ll just get worse. On bad days when the pain makes any mobility difficult, massages ensue. They’ve got at least 15 ice packs in the freezer at all times, and a stack of heating pads in the medicine cabinet. And if all else fails, a nice hot bubble bath never hurts. With Epsom salts and everything. Steph likes to add a touch of lavender oil.

Immediate injuries they’re both very good at treating. Steph obviously has more technical knowhow, and she is the most medically trained of all the Batfam members, but Tim is detail oriented and good at focusing when he needs to so he can keep up just fine. They’re both good at stitches and general wound treatment, but Steph is better at consistent treatment. Tim will absolutely forget to switch out his bandages or clean things because his brain is soup and he cannot be bothered to think about injuries when he’s too busy with 50 other things on the constant. He needs to slow down. We get right back into “more prone to infections” again. Alas. Idiot.

They both have their fair share of mental health issues, though Tim’s tend to be more intense. Steph has her ways of managing her own mental state but Tim gets stuck often. He falls into some pretty deep depression spells, and his anxiety acts up fairly frequently. Steph has started teaching him how to meditate, but also has a list of distractions and special remedies that she can utilize if need be. Movies and tea are a good base line, though Tim’s mind gets very far away sometimes and it’s hard to pull him back out. Like he almost wants to wallow in his sadness. Often she just tries to ground him as best she can so he doesn’t get so lost that he can’t come back. Steph likes to make sure that he isn’t always using patrol as a crutch for when he’s feeling upset or tense. It’s hard to sway him away from more pain when he lets himself get so close to the edge. It breaks her heart, sometimes she feels helpless.

Steph has anxiety as well, and some psychosomatic tics from her past abuse. She needs a lot of reassurance and gentleness when her mind starts racing. She’s still prone to trust issues, even now when she’s surrounded herself with stable people. She’s been let down and she fears losing her steady ground sometimes. Tim, let’s face it, hasn’t been the most reliable in the past, but I firmly believe that with some growing up he’d step up to the plate and try to be a solid home base for her to the best of his abilities. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. He’s very good at being gentle. That’s canon as fuck. I will die on the hill that Tim is as delicate with Steph as one would be with a priceless porcelain heirloom. Fight me, the boy would never intentionally try to physically or mentally hurt her. He tries so hard to reassure her but I thinks he feels a little helpless sometimes too. Some of her trust issues are his fault, and he can’t just snap his fingers and reverse his mistakes. He tries his best, but there will always be scars.

All in all, I think they’re both very tender and caring with one another. They’re both beyond broken sometimes, and they are a mess and a half. But they know each other, they know each others pain and sadness and I think once they got back together they’d settle very easily into a care routine. Both of them are carrying the weight of countless consequences and mistakes and hardship on their shoulders. Pain is just a side affect that comes with carrying so much baggage, but it’s a little easier to manage when they have each other for support. I do think some of it would get easier over time, and my wish for them is that they can move somewhere just outside the city, maybe by a lake. Far enough away that things are quiet, but not so far that they would completely leave the hero gig behind. I agree with the consensus that neither of them could fully quit. Tim would just sink into the background, but Steph would be out there in the field for many years. Justas long as they have somewhere safe and comfortable to return to, I think they’ll both be just fine. Plus smooches are the best fallback medicine for all ailments and we all know that they never run out of those. 😘💋

THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK! More than half of this was not anything to do with chronic injuries but fuck it. We’ve tapped into the hurt/comfort section of my brain and there is a lot of material there to work with. Idk when you sent this in but I hope it wasn’t too long ago. I hope this answered more questions than you ever intended to ask. 💜❤

#TimSteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #robin iii #spoiler #robin iv #red robin #batgirl #batfam #batfamily #dc comics #dc #batman #personal #ask tbp

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gorewhoreonthedancefloor · 4 years ago

Text

Elizabeth is a Guro-Sue.

Summary: Elizabeth Alby has been working at a London strip club for several years, and she's always kept herself aloof. She has secrets, and fantasies, but she's in it for the long game. When the strip club is finally bought out and taken over by someone nice, a man she can befriend and manipulate in order to get what she wants, she's excited.

But her old boss just can't keep his sleazy self away.

She's not about to lose out on a chance to better the club for herself and all the dancers. Maybe it's time to finally give in to what she wants to do oh so badly. Again...

A/N: This is a piece detailing my OCs second ever murder - the one which pushes her into continuing her enjoyment of such. It's set in an original universe based around a strip club called The Deadly Sinners, which features several of my OCs as well as friends of mine! If you're interested in getting to know her more, feel free to ask anything you like! And consider following my new gore centric twitter as another way of talking! I'm very open to expanding the universe and talking about my characters and what makes them tick, etc. In present day, Elizabeth is 28, and has a kill count of maybe a dozen+ kills. This is just the beginning...

WARNING: Explicit detail of murder, violence, and death. Involves stabbing, head trauma, broken bones, and additionally sexism and sexual misconduct. Please do not read if such topics may trigger you!

~🔪 Enjoy 🥰🔪 ~

2015.

About an hour ago Elizabeth had been in the back office with Alix, the new owner and boss of the club. She'd met him almost a year ago when he walked into the club and draped himself over a bar stool. He didn’t square up to any of the girls, didn’t stare them down with carnivorous hunger - he just laughed with the bartender. Elizabeth walked up to him, ready to offer him a dance, but he beat her to introductions.

"Oh Jesus, you’re a stunner! Sorry, sorry, where are my manners?! Forgive me, I get a little tongue tied around beautiful women, and if I can be so bold, you’re one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever seen.”

Usually compliments don’t leave Elizabeth speechless. She’s used to them. They’re like white noise for the most part. Him though, Alix, he was different. He had wide eyes, and a smile to match, and he looked at her like she was a friend before he even knew her name. It was like the rushing wind that encapsulates a person when they’re falling from a 50 story building. She felt like she’d finally taken the cleanest, deepest breath in a long time.

Now, Alix is the new owner of the strip club, and he has big plans to refurbish everything. He wants to tear down walls, redecorate the whole place, give dancers a better backstage area - for a man who’d made the decision to buy a business on a drunken impulse, he was surprisingly serious about making it something.

The construction team will start working early afternoon tomorrow. An hour ago Alix had been telling Elizabeth his plans, what he wanted to do with the whole place, and that, to her surprise, he wanted her input. He really respects her, and all the dancers. Having a boss who treats her well, looks in her eyes and not over her scantily clad body, it was the kind of unbelievable luck Elizabeth didn’t believe in.

The pair left each other in good spirits, excited for a new start, buzzing on a shared hopeful high. Alix offered to walk her home but she'd respectfully declined, wanting to enjoy some quiet before she was home. After a few blocks, she reached in her handbag and realised she forgot her keys in the office. She turned around and walked with an urgency to pick them up - ironically, she had the spare key to the club Alix gave her, but not the ones to her flat. Her dad and sister were out of town, so she had to go back…

That’s when she saw a shady looking figure at the club’s entrance. He couldn’t see her from the distance, and if he did, if he caught a glimpse of her when looking over his shoulders in a haste, she’d just look like any other blurry figure walking home. It wasn’t a break in, he had a key, and knowing that, Elizabeth realised who it was. So she waited, let him enter, and snuck in herself a few minutes afterwards.

Now, Elizabeth stands behind the bar, filling a shot glass with vodka, and throwing it down her throat swiftly. She makes it look easy, cracking her neck and muffling a cough in reaction to the burn. It's how she likes to start her shifts usually, with liquid courage.

Now it’s 3AM on an ordinary Tuesday. The rain has suddenly begun to pound the pavement outside, loud enough to rattle the building - it punishes the world, cleansing the treacherous stains left by sinners.

Vodka splashes out of the glass and onto the bar. Elizabeth takes the nearby rag and wipes it up. She turns around and peers into the wall mirror behind the bar shelf, liquor lining the wood and obstructing a clear view. She pulls out the dark red lipstick from her bra. It's accustomed for her to look her best at every given opportunity, addicted to perfection. She runs it over her plump lips, pouting and popping them to rub in the smooth colour, then stares at her reflection for a minute. Honey brown eyes stare at her, understanding what is about to happen has to happen...

Now is the time to kill someone again, and not just any random patron off the street. She gets to revel in the joy that her old boss, Stewart, will die by her hands.

She's been working at the club for around 5 years now. It wasn't what she had planned, but it kept her safe in a way she couldn’t explain. She only started working there as a side gig, to get some decent money while she studied. The plan was to be an electrician, get a secure job working on the railway lines. She enjoyed tinkering with electrics. She got her qualifications with ease, but nowhere would accept her at the time. Whether it was the lack of positions available, or the familiar judgement that a woman like her couldn’t possibly be competent, she will never know. Life got hectic, after her mother's death everything began falling like the devil's dominos. Stripping should have been a cash grab, but she adapted to fit the narrative that the dancers she worked alongside became like family.

She’s well liked, though mostly from a respectable distance, with only a few exceptions. Some people find it hard to know what to say around her - she’s usually so quiet, with a look like she’s always thinking. She's never been a shy character. The correct term is aloof, bordering impassible, and smart. She let her co-workers find comfort around her, and she gave patrons the illusion they were her saviours. Everything Elizabeth did was calculated to cater her neverending poker game, and now, still in to win at life, no one truly knows who she is.

No one knew she thought about murder every day. No one knew she craved the crazed euphoria of killing someone, that which she felt when she’d blugend her mother to death. Every day for the past 4 years she’s been wondering if she’d get the chance to relive that high, planning over and over again in her head when she would do it, who would be her victim - she didn’t expect it to be on a whim like this.

It’s titillating just thinking about it. Damn near erotic. Since she started working at the club, she’s had to deal with the sleazy stare of her boss almost on the daily, knowing his eyes linger on her ass, while his hand cups his groin. He licks his lips staring at her tits, and when she meets his eyes with her evil glare, she can see the unsure arousal lingering in his pupils. He’s putried, truely, pleasuring himself in his office during work hours after watching a performance. Stewart is a predator. He preys on his vulnerable staff, and uses them to gratify his animalistic cravings.

"If you want to rake in the money, sweetcheeks, you’ve gotta smile more. Guys like tits, but they don’t like miserable bitches, kay?”

Elizabeth had imagined his death a thousand times over the second he said that. When he dared to raise his index finger under her chin, condescend her in such a way, she hoped there would come a day she’d get the courage to kill him.

After a few more minutes priming herself like a proud peacock, she reaches into her handbag and pulls out the hunting knife she keeps on her at all times. She used to just have a switchblade, until she passed an antiques store one day and saw the beautiful blood red hunting knife calling her name. She conceals the weapon in her thigh high boots, checking the handle is at a viable point she can grab it with ease. Wrapping her hand around the sturdy rubber, a rushing anticipation of her murderous excitement buzzes through her fingers and up her arm, just like electricity. Her heart is racing.

She leaves her coat over the bar top, walking out from behind the bar on the first floor and heads downstairs. She can hear his grunting every so often, the slamming of desk drawers and flustered footsteps as he searches for something. Last time she saw Stewart, he'd been wishing Alix the best of luck. Now he's breaking in the day before renovation is scheduled.

She stands outside the office door and knocks. Light, flirty knocks. A loud gasp followed by a rough, irritable command to enter. Elizabeth hides it well but she's beyond excited to gut Stewart like a fish. She wishes she'd been more prepared for the moment - wishes she made plans, figured out specifics and wasn't going off instinct. There were so many nights she thought about the how's, knowing if she had to feed that beast inside her, it had to be perfect. This isn't perfect like she wants, but it's perfectly good luck, she can't bear passing up the opportunity.

As she walks in, she sees Stewart sitting behind the desk, leaning back, cheeks furiously red and his forehead clammy from sweat. His thinning hair is swept back, more sweat than gel, and clearly only styled by his hand brushing it back. He looks like he always did, in a tight white shirt and scruffy tie, the years of loneliness aging him more than his crow's feet. His lips pull up into a shark like grin when he sees her, all teeth on show, and he chuckles, darkly, kind of like he's been expecting her. Out of all the girls, it's clear that Elizabeth was his favourite, and she plays into that favour by popping her hip to accentuate her curves. His eyes unashamedly fall down her body, taking in the sights, and though it repulses her to let him have the pleasure of just looking at her, she knows the payoff is worth it.

Maybe she can gouge his eyes out while he screams for mercy, deprive him of the tools he wastes on depraved thrills. She's had so many fantasies where she wriggles the tip of her knife's blade into someone's eye socket, and pops their eyeball out their skull.

"Lizzy, sweetheart...what're you still doing here?" He asks, almost timidly, like he's nervous, but still maintaining a confidence he can no longer afford. Elizabeth gently closes the door behind her and leans back on it, crossing her legs over one another. His line of sight hasn’t actually met her eyes yet.

"I left my keys," she nods toward the set on Alix's desk, and smiles when Stewart visibly gulps. "But then I thought I heard someone rustling around in here. Strange to see you here." She pushes herself off and struts seductively toward him. The space between them is only a few steps, but Elizabeth manages to walk it like it's a runway. She leans her head to the side, looking at the mess of paperwork on his desk. "You looking for something?" She asks, just barely above a whisper. Stewart's hot breath pours out on her arm, distracted, then jerks back to the subject matter.

"Oh, yes! Uh I left some paperwork, very important documents, uh confidential actually, so you should--"

"All of this is Alix's." She picks up one of the sheets and inspects it. It's a building permit. She looks over the other papers - a scattered mess of plans and expenses and permits but all distinctly Alix's. Elizabeth hums and sits against the edge of the desk, crossing one leg over the other. Her legs are long, gorgeous, and she knows he wants to touch them. He practically looks enslaved to her beauty, he's forgetting about being caught up to no good. "Nothing here is yours."

"Right. I'm still looking," he answers too easily, but the sweat on his brow is a give away. Elizabeth chuckles under her breath and places the paper back down. She shakes her head at him in disbelief.

"You should have gotten a business partner to help you run this place." Her tone is devilishly flirtatious, dripping in false promises. She looks around the cramp office and shrugs. "A second set of eyes to help you spruce the place up. Maybe then the club wouldn't have been failing and you wouldn't have had to sell it."

His mocking laughter hits her hard. Her gaze snaps back to him.

"You're so naive, Lizzy." Stewart muses, too cocky for Elizabeth's liking. He wiggles his finger in her direction and chuckles. "But naivety doesn't mean shit when you're a stripper, so who cares!" And with that he starts rummaging through the drawers again, unbothered by her presence.

Her blood boils with a heat as intense as a volcano. It takes every inch of her being to resist grabbing the bunch of pens in the coffee cup on his desk and ramming them down his throat. He's still chuckling, like he's the funniest man to walk planet earth. She hates him, truly, but she doesn't let that show on her face of course. All she can do is keep smiling.

She crosses her legs over, exaggerating her leg outwards so he notices how long and slender she is. She tosses her hair over her shoulders and leans back accentuating her breasts. It doesn’t take a lot to distract Stewart. Her leather skirt and bralette reflect under the dim office light, clinging to her figure, squeezing her curves like a boa constrictor. Her mesh top sparkles like it's covered in every constellation, it’s a wonder she can breathe carrying such beauty. His fingers ache to feel her melt. She tips her head to the side and bites her lip, hypnotising him.

"What did your girlfriend think of you working all those late hours surrounded by half naked women?” She smirks when he laughs.

"I don’t have a girlfriend.” He pushes himself out of his chair and rolls his shoulders. He’s nervous, hands shaking at his side and sweat dripping down his brow. God she wants to slice the skin off his face and make him screech in agonising pain. If he could read her mind, he might run for the hills. “What about you, Lizzy,” He places his hand beside her and leans in uncomfortably close. “What does your boyfriend think of you, dressed like this,” he motions his free hand around her breasts, “Alone in your bosses office?”

Elizabeth is almost insulted that he thinks he even has a chance with a woman like her. Of course she represses the disgust in favour of chewing her bottom lip, reaching out to toy with the loose tie around his neck. "Ex boss," She corrects, smugly. His breathing gets heavier, halting only when she harshly tugs on the tie to bring his face mer centimeters to her own. He pathetically puckers her lips, and she snickers, looking at him darkly beneath her eyelashes.

"Do you really think I’d care what a man thought of me?” Then she throws him back forcefully, standing up and dusting herself off as he stumbles to regain his footing. The force practically winds him. “Besides...I don't have a boyfriend. Boyfriends annoy me too much."

Stewart bumbles through an exasperated laugh, insulted by her statement as if it somehow could apply to himself. He straightens his tie and puffs out his chest theatrically. "You've obviously never been with a decent guy."

"A decent guy?" Elizabeth repeats. "Does such a thing exist?"

"Of course they do."

"Where?"

"Well me for starters!" Stewart blurts out, too wound up to consider the implications of what he's admitting. Before the words settle, she's already looking at him with disdain. A wicked smirk slithers across her face and she rolls her eyes, to his annoyance. "Hay, I'm a nice guy!"

"Nice guys don't break and enter places that don't belong to them," she sharply closes the space between them and backs him up against the back wall, her sweet devil's grin swapping for solid rage. "Nice guys don't make advances on their barely legal employees. Nice guys don't cut corners paying the people that keep their shitty business going."

"Woah, what are you--"

"Why don't you save the bullshit and just fess up to whatever the fuck you're actually doing here, hmm?" She puts her hands on her hips, staring him down. There's a tense silence, his eyes wide and frantic, thoughts visibly racing in the wind of his dilated pupils, and Elizabeth wonders if the pounding drumming of her heart is as ear shattering for him as it is for her.

She could slit his throat so perfectly at this angle. One sharp sweep of her blade, watching the flimsy pale skin tight across his neck rip too easily, allowing blood to spill and move like a glacier. She could wedge her thumbs into the tight wound and bury them further into his flesh, feel the rigged bone surrounded by squishy meat and warm blood. He'd feel her inside of him, invasive, denying the boundaries no one should know, and she'd laugh as he slowly dies. She wants to rip him apart like a wild animal on a hunt.

The cracking of bone. The squelch of flesh. The adrenaline rush. It's always just out of reach.

Stewart looks intimidated, but just as Elizabeth starts to enjoy the clouding of her twisted fantasies, he laughs boisterously and daringly places his hands on her hips to move her over. He picks out another folder from the drawers and opens it up, looking over his shoulder to laugh at her, looking at her like she’s some hysterical woman. All Elizabeth can do is stare back at him in disbelief, the clouds suddenly vanishing in favour of making him a clear cut target. Him with his sweaty upper lip, the uneven stubble shading his jaw, his figure a few weeks skipped from the gym - he who dares to break into what isn’t his and still look down on her. It’s a bloodthirsty rage, almost delusionally so, she wonders if it’s all a hallucination, but his laugh is sharp and loud, and she wants to rip his tongue clean out of his mouth.

"Look, babe, you should get out of here, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Elizabeth doesn’t move though, just stands her ground, secures her stance and practically growls at him. He rolls his eyes and drops the folder he’d been flicking through on the desk with a loud thud.

“Fucking hell, what’s it gonna take to get you to fuck off, huh? What, money?” Stewart asks, ridicule thick on his lips as the corners of his mouth curl upward. He digs into the pocket of his trousers and fishes out a worn out wallet, waving it in her face aggressively. She doesn’t flinch, even when he throws it to her feet forcefully and glares at her. “There ain’t shit to even give you.”

Elizabeth softens her brows. She looks down at the wallet splayed out on the ground; bare of any family photo, like most the men who ask for a dance do have. “I don’t want your money.” She replies through her teeth, eyes looking up at him under her lashes. She clenches her fists and squeezes - tries to pop the tensions wrapping around her bones, making her fingers stiff, eager. Then she lifts her head. “I want you to get out.”

Stewart laughs again. This time as he looks up and down her body, it’s with disgust. “Or what?” He mocks, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. He sticks his tongue in his cheek and scoffs when she doesn’t respond immediately. “This will always be my place, it don’t matter who’s name is on the deed--”

“That’s not how it works--”

“Shut the fuck up, okay?!” He bites back at her, specs of spit flying from his lips, his eyes filled with impatient irritation. Elizabeth’s shoulders drop, something snaps. Not like a flimsy stick, more like an aged, cracking tree finally giving in to the woodsman’s axe. The falling weight, the impending thump, it’s all so familiar and yet intimidatingly unrecognisable at the same time. Stewart closes the space between them. He’s only an inch or two taller, but the way he juts out his jaw and looks down at her even with his head held high, he must see her as an insignificant little mouse. “You’re nothing special, sweetheart. You’re just another pretty face in a town with dozens of ‘em!”

The muscles in Elizabeth’s body burn almost uncontrollably. She’s minutes away from a forest fire, it festers uncomfortably in her fingers. She digs a pointed nail into his chest and pushes him back, seeing shock briefly flicker across his features. “You’re a disgusting waste of space.”

He lets out a mocking laugh, clearly becoming more frustrated at her stubborn disdain. There’s a brief pause, and before she has time to react, Stewart grabs her by her shoulders and shoves her forcefully against the back wall, unconcerned when she grunts from the pain. Her hands grip his wrists to move him off, but he manages to keep her there, trapped by his sweaty palms. He leans in close with his teeth gritted, a smug, infuriating grin lifting his features.

“You think I give a toss what some slag thinks about me?” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head, clearly enjoying how she struggles to push him away. “I need money, darling. I know some nasty fuckers who’ll leave me in a body bag if I don’t pay ‘em back, so I’m not about to let some skank get in my way!” He takes a deep breath, and growls softly, looking down to admire the plush of her breasts against her see through top. His hands slide down to grip her hips, force her to stay in place, perfectly for his pleasure, setting in the uneasy claustrophobia.

Elizabeth already hates affection, it sets off alarm bells in her head, the overwhelming disgust ricocheting through her nervous system. The weight of his hand bruises her bones, aches her something fierce, she wonders how long it will take before the ground beneath her feet caves in.

“The things they’d do to a girl like you. I’m not against telling them who you are, the slut that prevented their pay back--”

“I’m not afraid.” She says through her teeth, quietly, confidently. She can feel the boiling adrenaline coursing through her system with every rage inducing second ticks by. She takes his hands and moves them with an uneasy calmness, offering them back to him like he'd lost them. She lets her hands return to her sides. She tickles the top of her thigh, inching close to the handle of her hunting knife. “You’re a sad wannabe gangster, and nothing more. If I gave even half a shit, I’d pity you.”

Stewart’s face tightens with a frown. He growls some generic sexist insult and attempts to grab her again, but Elizabeth is faster. She finally reaches into her boot and whips out the knife, plunging it deep into his stomach before he knows what's happening. The impact of the knife rips through cotton and flesh with laughable ease, the burst of skin ripping around the weapon's teeth practically ricocheting through Elizabeth. The anger he had is replaced with fear. She loves it.

She keeps him steady with her hand firmly against his collarbone, eventually turning them around so he lands against the wall she was pressed against seconds ago, with the knife still firmly in her grasp, in his abdomen. Taking a guess, she figures the blade is caught amidst the small intestine, probably snagged the bottom of a kidney, maybe even severed a ureter too. She looks up at his face and smiles wickedly. Blood begins to trickle from the wound and down the pooch of his belly. Watching his face slowly fade a ghostly complexion fills her with glee.

A pitiful plea fumbles past his lips, but she can’t hear it over the drumming. Her heart thumps like it wants out of her chest, pounding so violently like it's going to crack a rib. Her senses have never been so sensitive, the adrenaline sending her on high alert. She’s always so composed, always trying to be perfect, and now…

She pulls the knife from his body swiftly, dragging his breath on the end of the blade, and watches blood come through the flimsy wound opening, staining his shirt a crimson red. She brings her bottom lip between her teeth and flares her nostrils, mesmerized by her work. Stewart tries to beg for help, taking back the cruelty of his ego, but it’s white noise, only encouraging her to make her own music with the tunes of his screams.

She takes his chin in her hand and grips him tight, nails digging into his cheeks harshly. She lines up the knife with where the tear in his shirt indicates the wound and pushes it back inside, catching his flesh and tearing his torso open more than it previously was. She pushes the knife in deeper this time, up to the bolster of the handle, and twists the blade to grotesquely shift Stewart’s organs. The slippery feel is obvious even without skin contact. More blood begins to pour from his wound urgently. Angling the blade upward, she catches something squishy and tender, and swiftly rips it in a flash as she recoils the knife back to her side. Stewart groans in agony, as he has been doing throughout; Elizabeth was just too excited to notice.

Tears spill down his face, wetting her fingertips where she still has his face in her hold. She tuts and shakes her head. "Here, let me distract you from the pain," and without wasting a second, she grabs a fistful of his hair and swiftly slams his face down on the desk. A loud sick, wet crunch bounces off the walls, his nose certainly broken. Blood pours from his nostrils and he howls like a wounded animal, dropping to his knees, hands pressing against the agonising pain in his belly.

Elizabeth moves around to be in front of him. She kneels to get eye level and waits until he finds the energy to look at her. He's fading, it's clear in the whitening of his skin. She enjoys how the look of death illuminates the little colour left in his eyes. An endearingly manic smile lifts her face. The memories of her mother etch their way across Stewart's busted, bloody face.

"Fuck you." She whispers, pronouncing every letter with finesse, punctuating the words with venomous hatred. Stewart's face is more blood than skin, but she can still make out the aching fear as he realises he's about to die. Elizabeth wants to drink it up, savour it in a bottle so she can enjoy it again and again and again. She's been waiting for this. She's needed this.

As he opens his mouth in an attempt to speak, she quickly strikes upward with the knife and forces the blade to puncture through the bottom of his jaw. The jagged teeth tear without strain, pushing through his skin and tongue and the roof of his mouth like they’re delicate pieces of tissue paper, but the blunt surface of his skull catches the blade and brings it to a halt. With his mouth open a crack, Elizabeth can admire the grotesque bursting of his flesh. It resembles the inside of a cherry cobbler.

Stewart tries to scream, but his voice drowns in his own blood. The sound is horrendous, just garbled nonsense as he convulses and regurgitates blood, everything finally shutting down. Specs of blood fly from his mouth, a river of red pours out the corners, and Elizabeth holds eye contact all the way through to the end. When his body finally sags, his eyes hollow of any remaining life, she keeps staring like they have the secrets to eternal happiness. Maybe they do. Maybe this is her happiness. In the ravenous, depraved violence of a murder so messy, she can finally feel something real, something that makes her think everything in her life wasn’t all in vein, but rather were the stepping stones that brought her to her wonderland.

After a few minutes enjoying the glamorous solace, she takes a deep, cleansing breath, closing her eyes. Her heart and mind are both racing like they’re trying to outrun one other, and her senses that were so frantic in murderous pursuit begin to steady. She feels hyper-focused. The million questions filling her mind slot into place perfectly one after another, filing away for later inspection. Who was after Stewart? Will they try to come looking for him? Did he tell anyone where he’d be tonight? Important, but they can wait. Now, the seconds she has in the quiet, looking at the blurred reflection in the framed picture on the wall ahead of her, she listens to the cruelty that’s been haunting her for so long.

“This world’s gonna eat you alive, Lizzie. I can see it in your eyes, you have no fight in ya. Why are you such a weak little bitch, huh? Ever since you were small, I knew you’d amount to nothing...just a pretty face, nothing more.”

Her mother’s voice has been taunting her for too long. She carries on living, thriving, trying to forget her wicked memory, and she continues to abuse her. Things get harder, the stress eats her alive. Merry men throw their wallets with no care, supporting coke stashes, and hiding their wedding rings like they were method acting their bachelor days. Lingering hands, security that didn’t care, and the eyes of a predator always lingering out of view, no matter where she went. Elizabeth was the prey, just like any of the girls, relying on the generosity of vultures. All these years, the repressed rage her mother fueled just getting worse in the lion’s den. Killing the first time was like taking a deep breath before drowning again. Now she can really breathe in the fresh air. She feels clarity better than she ever has.

Elizabeth cracks her neck and pulls the blade out on a deep exhale. She stands up as Stewart’s body collapses in a heap on the floor. Now she has to dispose of his body, clean the office, and act like nothing happened. Tomorrow a construction team comes by to knock everything down and rebuild. Death won’t matter as long as it’s hidden, and Elizabeth doesn’t feel a shred of worry over covering her crimes. She has a plan.

Now she knows what she wants. She wants to tear people apart, see what's on the inside. She wants to do this again, and again, and again...

#OC #OC art #oc writing #serial killer #serial killer OC #Killer OC #guro girl #Goro #blood #gore #fic

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paramsiddharth · 3 years ago

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#15: The Independence Day

However tempting the title may be at suggesting my life is at peace now, it painfully isn't. I don't want this to prevent me from glorifying the decades of freedom from colonization we have enjoyed, how much we have recovered from post-colonization trauma, and how we are more responsibly planning to evolve in future. Lots of love to my country. I love my dear Bihar, I love India. I am grateful to my parentland for everything it gave me, such as the beautiful cultural heritage and the opportunity to identify myself as a proud Indian. 🇮🇳 I give my heartfelt pranaam to my nation.

Why is it always such that I make a post, disappear for months (or years), and then make a sudden reappearance? I love writing. Why this discontinuity? I asked myself this question.

I realized it is because I am always too overwhelmed by my past and future to express my present without hurting myself. And don't expect me to mourn that; It is part of my situational awareness, learning from my experience, and practical preparedness and I'm not ashamed.

I'm not proud either, but there's little I can do to change the circumstances I'm put in. The very reason behind my continuous complaining and being a crybaby is because that's what has happened to me throughout my life, and continues to. There are plenty of people to blame, but definitely not me.

I will start talking about the time after the day I posted that Kharagpur blog, but I will move in a logarithmic fashion i. e. Increasing the amount of focus on the part closer to the plateau (present) rather than the cliff (past).

Do you use olive oil at home? Is it a common ingredient in most of the food that you have at home? I recently learnt an interesting truth about food oils. Mustard oil, olive oil, and refined oil are the 3 major oils used to cook. In my family everything is cooked in mustard oil. I used to watch recipe videos and wonder why the colour of the oil looked so different. Turns out they generally use olive oil.

Based on what mom told, mustard oil is much more fatty and considered not good for health, at least in comparison to olive oil. That being said, mustard oil comes for a lot cheaper than olive oil. So do we use less healthy oil to cook food for saving money? Yes. Are we the only ones? I really don't know.

As much as I don't want to, I pity myself. It's pathetic, but every time I pity myself, I assume it can't get worse. But it does. It very much does.

5-6 days ago, my parents had a very violent fight. I was there to get them to settle, and since my classes were not going on, I could give more time to home. Despite my struggle to get both my parents to be peaceful, they kept saying things to each-other for half the night, and kept hurting themselves, mentally and physically. I was there to help them, but they weren't welcoming to any support. And I understand why. They must feel like they are put into a position where they can't express themselves to anyone, and that nobody can feel what they are going through.

Folks and friends tell me not to get in between when they fight. I wouldn't… If only it remained verbal. But it gets worse. It gets physical, in a manner that they end up hurting their internal and external biologies causing more than just short-term damage. I barely manage to save the day everytime… Because I love them. I don't want to listen to my friends. My parents are my everything. Losing one of them means losing half of my life's purpose. I'm nothing without them, no matter how they are.

And I managed to calm them down. 3 days ago, we woke up to a news that wasn't initially so devastating: The water motor wasn't working. It had been a common problem, I easily assumed it will be fixed soon. We got it checked, had some analysis done, some parts bought. By evening, it was still being worked on, and that made the situation tense. The day ended with the news that the plumbers will come the next day and attempt a better fix, something they referred to as "slizing" (I think it supposed to be slicing). I didn't eat much that day, for reasons. Others ate less too.

So we got the "slizer" expert the next day. The whole day was going to be a wasted struggle again, and what happened at home made it far worse. The lack of food, hydration, and sanitation made our patience and moods worse. My parents had an argument, and once the light was sparked, it ended up being probably the worst fight they have ever had in the whole lifetime. One where they almost hit each-other. I came in between as a shield and got beaten up instead, gladly so. But will I always be able to get in between?

The situational dilemma hit me harder than the physical strokes. I was pulled down deep into the realization of how traumatizing the past 5 years have been for my parents. From being loving, caring, and supportive, they've become beasts. They have turned into people with no emotional control, and mood-swing patterns that encourages self-harm exclusive to interpersonal fights between those two.

As much as they fight, scream, misbehave, and misunderstand each-other while arguing, they are the only 2 adults I could ever rely on. The rest of my ostensible family has been far more hostile to us, in a much more heart-penetrating way than physically. Who else can I look up to? And even if I had anybody else to look up to, my parents are the 2 people I will never let go of. It is my life's purpose to see them happy, and I won't let anything go wrong before that happens.

Their hatred for each-other while fighting is no longer silenced by their want to live, and their heart no longer melts by the thought of their kids' happiness. They aren't able to think straight during a fight. What would a person in this condition be advised to do? Take therapy, I suppose. We can't afford that. Will the one who advises us pay for our therapy? I'm sure not.

Money is the one big thing in our life that's our biggest joy and harshest pain at the same time. If we had more money, none of our current problems in life would remain relevant. We will be able to cure everything, including our financial instability and mental illnesses. We will be off to a happy life, constantly evolving. If only we had more money. If only…

Let me slap myself out of this dream. It isn't here yet. A minimum of 2 years before I even get on my feet are to be borne with patience and… Struggle. No, my parents have to remain together, no matter what. The hardwork they did for their whole life, won't lose meaning so easily. We're close, and we will make it. I will get a good job and change everything. I will be able to fix us. I will do it… Won't I?

I wasn't able to cry, because I hadn't had water for 50+ hours. My parents eventually lost energy and got diverted by updates from the plumbers and the expert. It failed. They didn't even attempt the "slizing" part. Maybe next day.

Day 3. No eating, drinking, peeing, or excreting. We felt like lifeless blobs, and it was harder for us to make it through, considering my mom has an OCD. Although we were convinced that the service folks were fixing the water issue, we also knew the kind of people we have in Muzaffarpur. They were using our helplessness as a measure to maximize visible worktime and increase the payment. The only thing they were aiming for is profit. No sense of wanting to provide quality service, no concern for our degrading health, nothing. They were just extending and pulling out days from our lifeless schedule.

On day 3, we slightly hinted that this would be the last day we let them work. We ensured them that if they don't fix it by the end of the day, instead of wasting more money into something that isn't even working, we will urgently invest into getting a submersible pump installed, the ultimate answer to all water problems in the poverty-stricken lands of India.

God knows how, by the end of the day, water started coming. We were not relieved, especially I. Not instantly. I waited for the next morning, and then, was a little calmed. After having the payment report (just because I make it sound professional doesn't mean it was, it was an informal description of how much we have to pay and a disambiguation telling why), we realized the fixing cost us over ₹22,000. That's a lot of money for a sudden life problem. And then the motor stopped working again in the evening, whereafter we asked them to have a look again. A quickfix and it started working after adding some water in the pipe.

We are firm that the next step is to get a submersible pump, but even if we put aside the financial challenge for a moment, this season isn't the best one to get it installed. In fact, that should be our last resort, if all options are exhausted, like it would have been if day 3 ended in a disappointment too. But now we have some time to think, plan, and gather money. ₹80,000 isn't a small amount (that's to start, you know it's always more than it seems).

It was the independence day. Wow, what a beautiful day. An independent country, where there are lakhs of smiles of people happy and proud of their country. And lakhs of neutrally frowned faces who don't even know what a country is. All they know is food, water, shelter, and survival. I felt them, I can tell. It must be worse. I wish we had a little more independence too. A stable financial life, my mom's OCD cured, feels like a lovely eye-tearing dream.

Hahaha… I don't know why I'm crying. Is it because of the trauma of 3 painful days? Is it the fear of my parents getting into a fight again? Is it the painful possibility that I might not get a good job because of my not-so good college or my own ineligibility? Or is it just me, a 19 year-old who doesn't even know what to do with his life and is struggling to survive mentally, physically, biologically, academically, and socially?

For those 3 days, I was in a state of suffering. Since I didn't eat much, I didn't need to use the bathroom, but I would have loved to. I would have loved to satisfy my dry throat with some water. Having not drunk or eaten in days had fatigued me. If you want a feel of how long it had been, here's a day 3 picture of an initially dark yellow arhar dal cooked on day 1:

Still, I was receiving phone calls.

Them: Hey Param! What's up? Can you help me with this thing?

Me: Hi, I'm sorry, I can't… I'm kind of in a problem… ...(trying to explain my situation).

Them: That stinks! Sorry about that, dude. Take care. Oh, by the way, can you help me out with this quickly? I really need to do this.

This makes me realize how awfully tooled I have always let myself be. If it was a regular day, I would have probably let go of my busy time and helped them out, but I was in pain. I was enraged. Very angered by their stubbornness and lack of concern for my happiness, when I have always been the one who was there for them. I hung up and left my phone. I didn't feel like touching it anymore. Life felt obsolete.

Evening, day 4, we were preparing for dad's birthday next day. Planning a surprise, we ordered a cake for him by collecting some money. We were very excited. Little did we know our happiness was about to be shattered… That's when the water had stopped working again. We know it got fixed later, but the intensity of the trauma in the moment embedded itself deeply into our hearts, and despite the want to be excited, we weren't very relieved after the news that it was working again. We were constantly afraid it will stop working again.

We desperately tried to stay happy and celebrate his birthday. 12 AM, August 16, we sang happy birthday. Crying on the inside and smiling on the outside, we made ourselves believe that we ought to be happy for survival. The desperation was visible on our faces. Here are some pictures:

Now that I'm out of it (pray, the water works fine), I still don't feel so good about it. I want to hug my parents and stay in their arms forever. I want to see them smiling and keep talking to them forever. I want to be able to forget my pain and begin a happy life with my parents someday. Other people won't help me achieve that, I will.

I attempted to get myself a job offer at some good companies, and the recruiters would admit that I'm worthy and eligible and all, but then conclude, "…but our company generally gives only on-campus opportunities.". I get it. I'm not in an IIT. Not privileged enough to be allowed to compete with those IITians I'm far better than. I'll not have a chance, because they'll never come for on-campus opportunities to my college. Bless the IITs, for they've now stolen a hundred options of success from me despite my hardwork.

It is the interview season. I recently had a huge spam of texts and phonecalls by my seniors, asking, requesting, and even threatening me to help them with their online coding entrances. I clarified that I find it ethically wrong, but they continued to mentally disturb me by saying stuff that they, as my elders, shouldn't. I made a post on LinkedIn regarding that. I was so mentally tortured I couldn't take it anymore. And guess what? The responses were equally surprising and hostile.

A good number of people supported. By "supported", I don't mean "liked the post". Anybody would do that for free. Rather, some people appreciated my bravery and told me I did the right thing. On the other hand, some others simply scolded and criticized me brutally for the defamation of JUET, the possibility of JUET being blacklisted by recruiters, and making LinkedIn an unprofessional platform with my plea. What value I hath wrought from years of hardwork didn't seem to be anything to them. Shame on them for looking down on someone they should have been supportive to. And all those cowards who enjoy the perks of the flattery of such devil elders, may they suffer the consequences. Ahh!

Life is so stupid. Why am I working so hard? Whom for? Hello? Is anybody ever going to acknowledge me? Am I ever going to get any appreciation? EVER? Why me? Why? 😭

The question is on me. I've come far enough to understand how this universe works to a much better extent than before. Will I be able to plan my future strategically and always do what's right for me and my family? I hope I do. I hope I don't disappoint the one person who is always there to support me: Myself.

I had once felt like I saw God, but suddenly there was no God. I looked around. Nothing. I was alone. All by myself. Nobody was there to help me achieve my dreams. I suddenly felt this urge to be so grateful for what I have, and not assume that this is the worst it can get. It could get worse, and there's a lot I can get out of my present rather than worrying about my future. And you, dear reader, ought to be grateful for what you have, too.

I sincerely take my leave now. ❤️

Lots of love,

Param Siddharth.

#life #pain #money #education #suffering #escape #trauma #depression #strength #mental health #healthylife #growing #change #maturity

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beautifulweird0 · 5 years ago

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Parental Pain: The Strength of Our Children

I was seven years old with 27 dollars to my name after my 7th birthday. Family members from Florida to Alabama where my roots lay sent money in cards that I made sure to read even as young as I was…

My mother wasn’t there for my birthday that particular year. My memory isn’t the best so I can’t even recall what was wrong to make her absent for my annual birth date; she usually was there for my birthdays. Anywho, I was just going to let my money sit in my furry, pink, clear purse on the door of my bedroom. I knew my brothers nor grandparents were going to dip into it.

Some days go by and my mom finally comes ‘home’. I was so elated that she came back that when she asked to borrow my money I gave my 27 dollars to her without a second thought. Pretty dumb right?

My mother sounded like she really needed it and promised she would give it back.

My 27 dollars I was going to build up...or spend at the corner store was gone. Never really thought much else about the situation until I came across a meme that called black parents out on ‘borrowing’ money from their children…

Ain’t gone lie, a sista’ was thinking like, “Damn...I’ll never do my baby like that EVER.” I don’t care if I have to sell pictures of my feet.

Moving forward, my mother is a MUCH MORE dependable person now but I told my 2 cents to raise awareness on the dysfunction a lot of us were raised in.

I wish I would ask my son for HIS money with my grown ass! If I take any money from my son ever it's going to be put up FOR HIM and HIS future. I have some 2 dollar bills in the stash for him right now so he can see what a 2 dollar bill looks like; maybe he will pass them down to his kids, who knows...

I haven’t been through as much as I have seen. I learned a lot from watching others and their situations play out.

Nothing ever went past me and if it did, that’s because it’s in my nature to want to see the best in people. I’m not dumb, I do dumb things sometimes but I let my heart blind me and I’m sure I’m not the only one.

When my mom came to me, I remember her looking so tired. Her smile was worn, her eyes were glassy. Didn’t know what to make out of her honestly. All I felt was that I had to be strong and help her out. Ain’t that something? Not one hair in my armpit and I felt obligated to help my mother financially. Sometimes in my life I had to tuck my parents in; fed them even. The friends I had in college used to call me “Mama Aysa” jokingly but man…

I ain’t give a damn how tore up I was, how many shots I threw back or what I blew on. My antennas was up and I kept note on each homegirl. I knew who was in the kitchen, who was in the bathroom, and I knew who stepped outside. And know when that Uber pulled up we were all outside linked together even if we didn’t look put together.

My father...had a terrible drinking problem. I remember when my little sister and I went to stay with him for a weekend. I woke up the next morning wondering where my father was. My little sister was still asleep so I went to the back bedroom to find my dad sleeping on the hard, carpeted floor, an empty beer bottle in hand. The sight almost made me cry. To see your parent in a low place messes with your spirit no matter the age.

Knew I couldn’t leave him like that so I took my pillow and laid it gently under his head after taking the beer bottle out of his hand. When I went to put my blanket over him he woke up, thanked me with a kiss on my hand then went back to sleep.

I could go on and on. I’m not recalling any of this to blast my parents; they had parts of them that were unhealed from their childhoods. I love them so dang much!

Their wounds is something I didn’t see back then but I moved according to my Granny always saying, “God pays attention to your actions; you can't change nobody.”.

Yes Granny, you can’t change a soul but roles also shouldn’t flip.

My heart goes out to the children who have to play the parental role or hold their tongues to spare the toxic egos of their parents.

Let’s dive a little deeper shall we?

It’s crazy how children are made to feel like they have to be strong for their parents when it's the parents that messed up in the 1st place. That’s like crashing the car and blaming the person in the backseat. Yes we should definitely support family in time of need but let children be children! The lack of this produces adults who are unhealed. There's many flaws within lack of accountability , that nobody questions in our community. I can only speak for the black community because I’m a black woman and though I may not have grown up in a household where you get popped in your face for questioning a situation, I know it's common in many other black households.

Parents...it’s not your child’s fault you are broke. Nobody told you to ride that thang into the sunset or not wear protection. Hustle harder.

Parents...it’s not your child’s fault you can’t go to thirsty Thursday. Get you a glass of wine and down that mug after you put the baby to sleep.

And please...I can’t stress this enough. Tell your children sorry. It doesn’t matter if they’re a baby, I tell my son sorry whenI lose my patience and he’s currently 10 months old. The objective is to get into the habit of doing so so that ego doesn’t stop you when they are able to communicate orally.

At work yesterday, I was on the phone with a lady for over an hour listening to her life story after canceling her reservation. She’s been through a lot and put her children through a lot concerning men and her finding her way. I was in agreement with this lady I never met in my life, until she said something along the lines of, “They need to get over it…”.

Now why can’t it be, “I understand how my children feel and if I could go back and change what occurred, I would but I can’t. I hope they can grow healthy and heal from what happened…”, and so on? The ego on these toxic ass parents KILLLLLLLLLLLLLL ME!

How dare you try to dictate and subconsciously invalidate what you put your children through because of your piss poor choices? Mind you she said it was times her daughters jumped on a man for beating her. HER DAUGHTERS came to her defense when her head was knocked between the washer and dryer and that’s what you say about what they face?

I simply cannot.

I’m not passing judgement on nobody because I don’t have my shit together either WHATSOEVER. But damn, if we want the black community to move forward we have to call each other out ESPECIALLY when it comes to these babies. I’m so passionate about kids because their love is so freaking pure but they are defenseless.

The fact that children feel the need to step up in trauma they didn’t create says a lot. Because I’ll say this in the defense of these parents; they are hurting too.

That’s why it’s important for other members in the family to step up. It forreal takes a village to raise ONE child. Don’t get your ass on Facebook talking shit about Aunt Bertha who watched your child(ren) for the free 99 because you’re mad she told lil Jimmy to eat all his peas.

When shit hits the fan, you're going to need the support of other family members. I promise you that my baby. To decide to bring a child into this world is a decision that isn’t to be taken lightly. Can never stress enough how serious this parental role gets. And to keep it a buck 50, about time most of us have a baby we won’t be even 80% prepared no matter the age. Way of the world- or...choices for a better term.

My family jokes about how protective I am over my baby boy but I can’t afford for him to hurt like I did. And I damn sure won’t allow anyone else on this earth to hurt him, not on my watch.

That would break my heart more than anything else in this universe to know that he would be screwed up due to my actions. Nope. Can’t stomach it and won’t because I’m trying to heal from my demons before he’s old enough to talk and correlate what’s going on.

I want to protect my son from what I can but also raising a black boy, I know that sometimes he has to fall on his face. I know that sometimes I have to be firm and not eager to pick him up when he cries. Mommy won’t always be there to kiss his booboos. But shid, mommy won’t be the one inflicting those wounds either.

Give your children a childhood they won’t have to heal from. Sometimes you’re going to trip up. Sometimes you are going to lose your cool or whatever the case but your kids will turn out fine as long as they always see you trying and loving them.

I never speak on what my grandparents could have done better because their downfalls don’t come to mind. Their love and effort comes to mind because that’s what I’ve seen. When I speak to other associates who are parents as well I tell em, “keep it real with your baby and they will keep it real with you.”.

I’m looking forward to the days I talk to my son about women and what he wants to do in life. But I will also communicate with him that I may not be having the best day, please be patient with your Mama and in advance I apologize. If my son comes to me about me hurting his feelings or embarrassing him, I will apologize and I will listen to him. Never talk down to him but build up my seed.

Too many men walking about here wanting to love, wanting marriage but don’t know where to start because their mothers never said sorry or talked down to their own sons like the man that hurt them.

Too many women walking around here wanting a husband and family but are scared to submit to a good man because they always heard the bitterness spewing from their mothers mouths. Or their fathers are everywhere but in their face...

Children are mainly defenseless, the very last object they should be associated with is a shield...

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therandomfics · 5 years ago

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Three Days: 2

The sound of the shower starting drew you from your slumber and dropped you back into the bitter reality of what was happening. For a moment you were disoriented - had it really happened that way? But within a few moments, you’d rolled over and checked your phone to see the myriad of missed calls and text messages with condolences and prayer promises.

Sonny poked his head out of the bathroom and offered you a half smile. “Good morning, beautiful. Come join me?”

You nodded meekly and padded over to him, embracing his half clothed form. Pressing your face against his bare chest, you sighed heavily and squeezed him close to you. “We have a lot to get done today. Aunt Judy doesn’t want us wasting any time.”

He kissed the top of your head and pulled you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”

The halls of Mass Gen were quiet, surprisingly, for such a depressing ward. Your father’s room was midway down the hall, and the door was wide open as you approached. Your eyes fell upon your father as you saw his fragile existence, barely holding on to what was left of his life.

“Oh Dad,” you said with a shaky sigh, closing the gap between you and placing your hand on his. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were sick.”

“He didn’t, either,” your brother promised you, hovering in the doorway.

Sonny stood a few feet away from you, hands in his pockets awkwardly. Surely he was out of place. He dealt with murder and assault all the time, but seeing his father in law on his death bed was a new type of trauma for the seasoned detective turned lawyer.

“What’s happened to him?” you asked, barely looking up as a nurse entered the room and checked vitals, jotting notes on the tablet that was your father’s chart.

She sighed. “Your father’s been diagnosed with stage 4 terminal cancer.”

“What kind?” you inquired, brushing your finger over the back of your father’s hand.

“Lung,” she explained, gesturing to the oxygen that your father was currently depending on to survive. “He came in yesterday complaining about breathing concerns and once the doctor took a closer look, we could only confirm the worst. I’m so sorry for your trouble.” The nurse nodded with a frown and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts at your father’s bedside.

“I wish I would have known, I could have moved back here and taken care of you, Dad. I would have done anything. Maybe there’s still a chance, though? They’re not always right, and you’re a fighter. Maybe it’s just a misdiagnosis?” you wondered aloud, tears welling in your eyes.

As you dabbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, you felt the air in the room change. Suddenly, there was noise that filled the room, rushing of nurses and doctors screaming for you and your family to leave the room, physically pushing you out of the way. You collided with your brother and tumbled out of the way, finding yourself in the hall with Sonny finally emerging from the room.

Several long minutes passed as you heard the calls for “clear” and “more oxygen” from the hallway. You slumped down against the wall and sat on the floor, pulling your knees close to your chest, trying to disappear from the hospital and back to a place that wasn’t full of misery.

“Y/N,” you heard Sonny saying, realizing the silence was back and the overbearing noise of resuscitation was gone.

You shook your head and pushed yourself up to your feet, refusing to hear whatever awful news that Sonny was about to give you. Your brother reached out to grab your arm but you shrugged him away, marching straight into your father’s hospital room.

It was too late.

“I know that we have a lot to do today, but I want to make sure that you eat. Your brother was telling me about a place a few blocks down that opened up recently. Let’s go there, then we can meet up with everyone else,” Sonny was saying, washing his hair with his head tipped back and his eyes closed.

“That’s a good idea.” You washed off the remainder of the soap on your body and then kissed his jaw. “You’re the best thing in the world to ever happen to me.”

“Mutual,” he said with a small shrug, stepping back as you pulled the curtain to get out of the shower.

Over a breakfast of blueberry pancakes and coffee, you mapped the day out with Sonny. After breakfast, you’d head back to your father’s home, where everyone would be waiting. His last wishes were to be buried at his family plot, with a simple service that highlighted his life’s accomplishments and how proud he was of his children and grandchildren. After coordinating and contacting the funeral home, you’d have to order flowers, plan the meal situation for the service, and make sure that you met with your father’s lawyer to confirm any final details regarding his burial.

It was a lot, you had to admit, but knowing that Sonny was there made things seem so much more simple.

As you sat at a window table with your husband, you couldn’t help but thank God that you’d been given the best gift in the world. In between bites he caught you staring and reached out to grasp your hand in his. “It’s gonna be alright. I’m here. We’re gonna get through this together.”

When you walked back into your father’s house, you were immediately greeted by two rambunctious and excited little boys - your nephews. They embraced you and spoke over one another trying to get the most of your attention as possible, that is until they saw Sonny. They ran to him and jumped into his arms, hugging him and starting the process all over. Your sister in law came around the corner and folded her arms, crossly observing her children’s behavior.

“Let them be happy. Someone needs to be,” you said, lips pulling into a frown.

“Well, they’re my kids, so I think I get the final say in how they’re raised,” she retorted and yelled at her children to get down and go back to the living room. “They need to learn their place. They’ve been getting on my nerves all day and there isn’t a single thing for them to do in this house.”

“Yeah. Kinda like my Dad didn’t have any young children living here, so he decorated how he saw fit.” You shrugged and brushed past her, heading into the living room where the rest of your family was stationed.

“Sonny and I will handle food and flowers,” you announced and stood in the doorway to the living room. Sonny came to stand beside you and smiled at your family, the family that he’d only met once at the wedding. “I really appreciate you all coming together for this. Aunt Judy, I know that due to your health concerns you’d like this as orderly and speedy as possible. I respect that. So I’d like to finalize plans today. Dad will be prepared for burial by tomorrow, so I’d like to make sure that we respect each other’s time and do this together, efficiently.”

“We’ll get with the funeral home,” your brother offered, glancing at his wife who merely shrugged. “Dad already had everything paid for and picked out, so we just need to confirm that they’ll be able to accommodate us.”

“Great. You guys are more than welcome to stay here and visit with one another. We’re going to go ahead and get started on everything.” You felt Sonny place his hand on the small of your back and guide you closer to him, where you naturally fit under his shoulder.

“Thank you guys for being here. I know it means a lot to Y/N and myself. I left my cell number on the fridge if you guys need anything while we’re out,” he concluded, and gently but confidently guided you from the living room and back towards the entrance to the house.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, cupping your chin in his hand to bring your gaze back to his eyes.

You nodded and met his eyes. “I’ve gotta get it done.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours for a long moment. “At anytime you need a break, you tell me. You don’t have to do it all.”

“I know, thank you. Let’s get as much done as possible. I love my Dad but I’m tired of being in Boston already,” you complained and pulled away from him to leave the house.

Flowers ordered. Check. Food to feed up to 50 people. Check. Meeting with your father’s lawyer to ensure that his final wishes were being met. Check.

The only thing left was to get with your brother to see if he had secured a time for the services.

On the drive back from the North Shore, you stared out the window and fought the urge to break down. Why was there never enough time to grieve? Why was it so sudden? Could you really ever honestly be prepared, even if you knew someone was going to die at a certain time? What would happen when Sonny died? What if you died first, would Sonny be okay? You wanted Sonny to die first so that he wouldn’t have to go through the suffering of losing you and living alone. Try as you might, you found yourself sniffling on the ride back home.

“Where’d your mind take you?” Sonny asked as he turned onto the street lined with brownstones that your father had called home for so many years.

“I don’t you to die, but I’d rather you go first so that you don’t have to live without me,” you explained and wiped the tears from your face.

“If you go first, I’ll never get remarried,” he promised, parking the car and killing the engine. “Come inside with me. I’ll make you some tea, and we can watch Tom and Jerry. Your brother told me that you and your Dad watched it a lot together when you were little. Let’s relive some good memories, huh?”

“Dad also used to make me grilled cheese sandwiches....” you trailed off and looked at him with a mischievous smile.

“Alright,” he replied and opened the car door. “But only if you’re good.”

#detective sonny carisi #sonny carisi fanfic #sonny carisi #sonny x reader #svu fanficiton

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star-nova · 4 years ago

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Memoirs, part 1: My birth story

It’s finally time to write my memoir. And yes, this is really about ME. This is not RiffRaff or any of my other fictional stories. This is my story. About me. And how everything eventually ended up going as wrong as it finally did.

I’d been meaning to for a long time now. But everytime I tried to write it...I always just deleted it and gave up. I guess because the story wasn’t ready to come out and because I was worried what others would think of me if I came forward about this kind of thing. Would they be able to look at me the same again, and all that. But now even I don’t look at me the same again, so it doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything to lose, since I already lost everything I could possibly lose. So it’s time to face reality. And get it out there, too, because I can’t face it if I’m still trying to hide it.

I’m going to be plagued by the memories forever anyway. Might as well do something with them. Except this part is about what I can’t remember, and what someone else had to remember for me when I was finally old enough to put all the pieces together. I got Room of Angel going in the background and Walter Sullivan from Silent Hill 4 is a whole mood, so here it goes.

I didn’t get to hear my full, real birth story until I was in my late 20s--primarily because it took me that long to ask for it. When I was a kid, I accepted, “We had only wanted to have one baby, but then you came along.” As a teenager, I learned that I came after 2 other pregnancies that were terminated. Later on, I found out that I was nearly miscarried “early on in the pregnancy,” as my mother told me. She had to be on bed rest and take medications to keep me from sliding out of the womb, dead, two or three months in. Do you know how many times I’ve had to hear her say, “I wish I NEVER took those pills!”? It was a lot.

When I finally got my full birth story from my dad--who doesn’t hide anything, doesn’t sugarcoat, and has no problem telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth--he told me that my mother’s body actually attempted to terminate me throughout the entire pregnancy. To this day, it is one of those things that firmly cements that I was not ever supposed to exist. I feel like God knew that He had made a mistake, and he was trying to correct it. My mother had to keep running back to the hospital for the medication that would keep me from terminating. I asked what the medical explanation was, and my dad said that there wasn’t any, but that my mother’s body was never meant to carry babies. When she had my older brother, she was still very young--just turned 19--and her body was very small. It’s hard to imagine my mother as anything small now, but I’ve seen the old pictures. She was 19 and looked about 14, so tiny that I could barely even see the baby bump (which is odd, because baby bumps are usually more pronounced on a tiny body), about 100 ish pounds even with a baby (but I’m horrible at guessing weight, so she could’ve been bigger). The hospital had said her body was too small to support a baby, and when he was coming out, she didn’t even realize it was him coming out. She thought she had to “pee,” and she had gotten up to go to the bathroom when the doctors rushed her back to the bed and told her that wasn’t having to pee, that was him coming out. She almost died while giving birth, but he came out healthy. Can’t say that about him now, at 41. But that’s him. Now back to me.

She was in her mid-30s when she had me, and my dad was in his 50s--he turned 60 when I was 8 years old, so I guess that puts him at 52 (I had to use a calculator for even that basic first grade math). She didn’t want to be pregnant again. She told me as much. I used to think I was a broken condom. Spent my whole life so sure that I was a broken condom, until my dad finally just told me that no, he just didn’t wear one because he didn’t like how they felt (now you know how those 4 pregnancies happened...my older brother was not planned either, my dad told me as much). I get jealous sometimes without wanting to admit I’m jealous of my older brother--who, other than this, has literally NOTHING for me to be jealous of--when I look at the pregnancy and baby pictures. She went to Great Adventure with my dad while she was pregnant with him, for her honeymoon. She looks genuinely happy, and it kills me how much her smile looks like mine in those pictures. I didn’t think I looked anything like her until I saw her at that age, her skin’s just darker than mine ‘cause she has no white in her. She’s happy in those pictures, and in the ones when she’s holding my brother and kissing him, so genuinely happy with her new baby, and my dad’s hair isn’t white, it’s the same color as mine. I’ve never seen him without white hair outside of pictures. Then there are the ones with me. In her pregnancy photo with me, her teeth are gritted like she is trying to force a smile, but failing stupendously. My older brother--age 13 and a half then but taller than her--is standing next to her, and his face is like stone. My dad said he never took it well that he was going to have a sibling. At 41, he still isn’t taking it well. She isn’t smiling in any of my baby pictures either. Her lips are tight like she’s trying to force something that just isn’t there.

My birth was a trainwreck. After 8 months of near-miscarriages, her water broke while at the mall (I like to pretend that it was a harbinger of my lifetime clothes shopping addiction and love of the mall). She was rushed to the nearest hospital...and then I was a breech.

My dad says that I came out feet first, that my head got stuck in the birth canal--about a 3 to 5 percent occurrence, according to Wikipedia--and that my cord was about to wrap around my throat. If she had pushed any further, it would have. I would have to be cut out, a C-section.

My mother, a mentally impaired and traumatized woman who had every form of abuse possible inflicted on her in inner-city foster homes in the 70s, would have to be awake while she was cut open, while a team of doctors had to stick their hands inside of her body, and while her baby would have to be wrestled out of her.

Except that isn’t even what happened.

What happened is that she was cut open, and she was awake, and the doctors did stick her hands inside of her to wrestle me out of the womb...and then I wouldn’t come out. My dad says that I was lodged in a corner of the womb and the doctors couldn’t get me out, no matter how much they pulled. They had to employ the baby version of the jaws of life: the forceps. Knowing what I know now about the brain damage, which has been ruled as the result of abuse during the developmental years, I do wonder if any of that may have contributed at least a little bit, When you consider what forceps are, and where they go, and that it took a few yanks to get me out...

But I may never know. Not even sure if that would show up on a brain scan anymore, if I could get one. My insurance won’t cover “I want to get a brain scan so I can see what it looks like.” I had one done at age 12 and then again at 14, but the results were hidden from me and when I called the labs to request them last year, they said they were trashed a long time ago.

All it did was further the conclusion I had made that God was doing everything He could to correct the error that he had made. Until it was too late.

I never stood a chance. It was all punishment. All of her life, my mother had been small and powerless in the face of horrific abuse that she could not do anything to stop. Now the “continuation” of her trauma--years after she had finally managed to “escape”--was small, powerless, and innocent itself. She unleashed everything that she had learned growing up in an inner-city foster system in the 70s, and knew exactly what to do to ensure that it would keep going on for as long as she needed it to in order to compensate for what was done to her. Like Abdul in Sapphire’s The Kid, when he was beaten and molested in the foster homes and then beat and molested the “smaller kids” in his orphanage, singling out the small ones specifically so he could “feel like a king.”

I was doomed from the start. Destined to become a Nobody. And now, at almost 28, I am still very much doomed...

#my memoir

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ironundcrneath · 4 years ago

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✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ ROSALINE PEAKE ]. some say [ HER ] resemblance to [ HOLLIDAY GRAINGER ] is almost uncanny, but the [ TWENTY-NINE ] year old has been in the capital for [ TWENTY-NINE YEARS ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ SURGEON ] of the [ BARATHEON ] family: perhaps that has made them [ BITTER ] && [ SUSPICIOUS ] of late, when they used to be so [ RESILIENT ] && [ TENDER ]. during the daylight hours, [ ROSALINE ] can be found working as a [ ER & TRAUMA NURSE ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ BLACK HOLE SUN BY SOUNDGARDEN ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.

A B O U T ;

Long ago the Peake name carried weight, they were the family that people answered to before the Tyrells came rolling in. Any crime in the Upper West Side was done by the Peakes or in their name, and nothing happened without their say so. It was practically a century ago, but her family still talks of it as if it were yesterday, as if any of them had a part in the so called glory days of the Peake name. They didn’t and they refused to let it go.

Many relatives had tried ‘taking it to the man’, attempting ill planned coups (could it even be called that if it had no chance of succeeding?) against the Citadel since they took over some 50 years ago, where the only the only thing overthrown were their bodies over the bridge and into the river. For every failed attempt or drunken rant in a pub about the Peake name being restored, the Peakes fell further and further from grace. By the time Rosaline was born, the Peake name was a joke, they were dirt poor, and on the Tyrell shit list (not a place one wants to be).

Titus and Margot (née Lannister, a far flung cousin of the noteworthy ones) Peake were not in a happy marriage. They had gotten married when she had gotten knocked up with their first child, Roland, and never bothered to divorce, no matter how unhappy either were. By the time Rosaline came into the picture, their house was one of hostility, broken promises, and fragility. All the emotional labor Titus had put on his wife, she put on Rosaline as soon as she was old enough to carry it. Many have told Rosaline she was a natural born caretaker, but sometimes she wonders whether it was nature or nurture.

Despite her family no longer being a ‘crime family’ they were still a family drowning in crime. None of them seemed to be able to hold a job that wasn’t in somehow illegal, and preferred fast, get-rich-quick schemes and easy money from a night’s work (after all, it only takes, what, an hour to knock over a liquor store?). Much of her youth was spent patching up her brother, her father, cousins and uncles. Her 16th birthday was spent minting her brand new junior’s driving license by driving her bleeding father to a hospital, with a wound she couldn’t take care of herself, and left the back seat a grisly mess.

But Rosaline’s father, Titus, was different than most Peake’s. While he desired to return the Peake name to one of status and greatness, he was no fool, and knew trying to usurp the Tyrells was a stupid idea if there ever was one. He strongly believed in the saying of ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’. Very much the patriarch of their family of misfits, extended or otherwise, he instructed that the family’s new goal was to find greatness within the Citadel syndicate itself, to gain entry into it’s ranks and become important members. But with many of their names on the Tyrell shit list, this was no easy task, so many of the Peake family members found themselves pulling increasingly difficult and noticeable jobs (crimes) in hopes of gaining the attention of the Tyrells, in hopes that some of them would be allowed to join their ranks as initiates.

And despite being surrounded by crimes and the fast money way of life, Rosaline never felt the pull and refused to be involved in anything more than stitching people back up. They had tried to convince her (’we just need you to drive, that’s it’), they had tried tricking her (which promptly got their asses left with bag in hand standing outside of the gas station), but she refused to budge. Cruel words and rude jokes were made at her expense (‘what, do you think you’re actually gonna go to school? who’s going to take you?’). Despite being a hard worker who, if she put her mind to something, generally succeeded at it, she was constantly told she wouldn’t amount to much.

So, it came as a surprise to her family when she was accepted into King’s Way. It was unsurprising that she chose to attend their nursing program, though. She was put on a fast tracked course, and found herself graduating in three years rather than four. The entire time, her new found knowledge was put to work, patching up family members more and more often as they continued their quest in gaining the attention and possible favor of the Tyrells and the Citadel.

Eventually, and inevitably, they did go too far. Her brother, cousin and uncle made the mistake of going after a shipment of guns. And made the mistake of not finding out who those guns belonged to. They were Stag guns. The trio were lucky enough to get pulled over by police amidst their getaway, and were brought into custody. Because if they hadn’t, they most definitely would’ve ended up losing their lives. Ours is the fury, after all. And while getting arrested saved their lives, it also in a way, cost Rosaline hers.

With the guns and perpatrators in law enforcement custody, the Stags had no way of retrieving stolen merchandise, and had to find another way to recoup costs. They also somehow had to make an example, and that is how they ended up on Rosaline’s door step. To make a long story short, having already been working at North Wall as an ER and Trauma nurse for some years, Rosaline had run ins with members of many different syndicates, including the Stags, and had treated all of them with skill and care. So when the connection was made between the perpetrators of the heist and herself, Rosaline wasn’t so much recruited as forced to be a Baratheon surgeon.

She has been such for 2 years, they keep telling her that she’s close to paying off her family’s debts to the Stags, but she was never given any definite details of how long she’d have to work it off. And to be frank, she has no idea how much longer she can keep it up. No one outside of her immediate family knows of her new affiliation with the Stags, and she’s scared for anyone to find out, unsure of what that would mean for her or her family’s safety. Both the Stags and the Citadel have far reach, and she’s growing more and more paranoid by the day. Her life in the past years has completely fallen apart due to holding this secret. Rare nights off from the hospital are spent traveling to dark parts of the city to patch Stag men up, family and neighborhood gatherings are avoided due to the fear of running into Citadel men and associates (as her father had gotten his wish and despite son, brother and nephew in prison for a crime committed in pursuit of his goal, he did accomplish gaining the attention of the Citadel, and some family members had been taken in as associates). Her engagement had been ruined as she couldn’t explain where she was rushing off to in the middle of the night (he had accused her of cheating, and too scared to tell him the truth, she lied and said he was right). Leaving her completely and utterly isolated from loved ones and friends, with her only interactions coming from co-workers and Stags that she interacts with.

While she has not lost her gentle touch, her sunny disposition has begun to wane as clouds of paranoia and bitterness over her situation have rolled in. Surrounded by powerful people who treat her life as no more than a pawn to be played, Rosaline is starting to realize she needs to take control of her own life, to turn her backbone into one of iron, and to replace her soft curves with sharp edges.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S ;

THE STAGS ; Members or associates of the Stag syndicate that she has gotten to known over the past two years. Perhaps they like each other, or perhaps they don’t. They could have also been one of the people who had a hand in forcing her to become a Stag surgeon. This is a super open connection that we can either just use as a superficial way of the two knowing each other or could plot out something deeper.

THE CITADEL ; Growing up in Tyrell/Citadel territory, and now with some of her family members either associates or initiates into the syndicate, I picture Rosaline having lots of connections to current members/associates or those adjacent to the syndicate. Childhood and high school friends, ex boyfriends, etc. As of right now, no one but family knows she’s working for the Stags, so these two would have probably drifted apart in the two years since she has started, if they had been close at the time. Once again we can either play this as superficial way of knowing each other, or could develop it into something deeper (they’re suspicious of her allegiances, or she tries to use them in some way to hide her current situation, etc).

EX-FIANCE ; Within the past two years, Rosaline’s engagement ended. He was rightfully paranoid when she would sneak out in the middle of the night or wouldn’t return phone calls for hours on end when he knew she was off shift, and when questioned had no real explanation or ones that didn’t make sense. Finally he got the guts to accuse and ask her if she was cheating. Knowing that him knowing the truth would only put him in danger, Rosaline took the out and told him she was. She’d rather see them both in pain than dead. (could be a neutral party or really anyone from any syndicate, as prior to being forced to work for the Stags, she didn’t care much about ‘party lines’ so to speak)

CO-WORKERS ; Anyone who would work within the hospital or as a first responder that she could interact with on a fairly regular basis. At this point, Rosaline pretty much only interacts with patients, co-workers and members of the Stags, far too paranoid to have a life of her own at this point. While she is a very friendly and bubbly personality, she’s starting to master the art of knowing much about people, but people not knowing much about her. The only exceptions would probably be people she’s known for more than two years, before her working for the Stags. And while she’s infinitely more comfortable with them, she does clam up when talking about her life currently.

BEST FRIEND ; We can decide if the best friend knows or not, but if the latter it was probably one of those situations where they said ‘i get you can’t tell me, but i’m gonna be here for you anyways’. I’m completely open to plotting pretty much any and everything about these two out: how long they’ve known each other, just how tight they are, etc. Could also fill the connection below!

ROOMMATE ; Could also fill the connection above. But pretty much, what’s on the tin. We can plot out if they’re close or not, or whatever. They probably notice her coming and goings at odd hours (unless they also keep odd hours 👀), and either mind their own business or after getting BS answers enough times have stopped asking. Could also be really interesting to do someone in a syndicate opposed to the Stags or in the Citadel, but neither of them knowing of each other’s affiliations!

#( me? using a lyanna quote for an unrelated semi-oc? more likely than you think. )#vixere:intro

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1-1snailxd-art · 5 years ago

Text

Libraries are for Meetings

Master List —– Chapter 8

Chapter 9 - Life is a Book

Warnings: negative thoughts, death mentioned, memories of trauma

Summary: E prepares for their day as the anniversary draws nearer and Virgil thinks about the past for the first time in a while. .

Word count: 3832

Note: reading on mobile can remove the paragraphing sometimes. Use desktop site or visit my Ao3 page if it bothers you as much as it bothers me.

____________________

Heat. Screams. Burning. Pulling. Crying.

“E! Jason!”

“Are they breathing?”

“They’re breathing. You need to cool them down and stop the bleeding; I’m going back.”

“Jason, don’t!”

“Oskar hasn’t come out. I’m going back. Just take care of E, Sasha. I’ll be back”.

Heat. Screams. Burning. Crying. Sirens. Screams. Screams. Scream.

Eyes snapping open, E gasped for breath as their heart raced from the memory. Shaking hands tightened around their blankets and pulled them close to their chest as they started timing their breaths and grounding their senses in reality. It took 10 minutes for them to be able to sit up; muscles stiff from being tensed up so long. They slowly stood and made their way over to their dressing table mirror; sighing as they took in their unfiltered appearance - head shaven and maintained around the leathery skin on their scalp, red scar lines tracing the skin under their left eye and cheek. Those features didn’t bother E anymore; they were nothing but a minor inconvenience, the mounds on their chest were another story. Despite sleeping in an oversized shirt, they could still see the fabric protruding out slightly; and E squeezed their eyes shut as their mind, body and soul fought over their identity.

E hated mornings like this; just not being sure of their gender. They preferred the days they felt just feminine or just masculine; those days were easy compared to days like today, when they just didn’t know.

Their stomach growled in hunger, snapping them out of their thoughts. Avoiding the mirror, E slipped on a green hoodie and yellow beanie before heading downstairs to greet their roommates. Sophie and Xander were just leaving as E reached the bottom of the stairs, getting a brief farewell before the front door closed.

“Morning, E!” Sam called from the kitchen, popping out with two plates of scrambled eggs. “I hoped you were up. I have a massive favour to ask.”

“Shoot.” Taking a seat at the table, E watched as Sam repeatedly tucked their long fringe behind their ear and sat down.

“I have a big presentation today and I was wondering if you could do my hair and make-up. You do such a good job and I really want to make a good impression during the presentation. Can you spare some time, please?”

“Sure, your make up is an easy job.”

Sam beamed, “Thank you so much. I’ll pay you for this of course.”

“Don’t bother,” E muttered, slipping another spoonful of eggs into their mouth, “breakfast is payment enough.”

As soon as their plates were cleaned, E invited Sam to their room and set to work on their makeup for the day. The work was a good distraction, though looking at Sam’s red streaks gave them flashes of flames and they took a moment to refocus before continuing. It was going to be a long day of held emotions if the morning was anything to go by.

“You had a nightmare, didn’t you?”

The questioned stunned E so much, they almost poked Sam’s eye with the liquid liner tip.

“What? Where’d you get that idea?”

“You’ve been off all morning, Ethan.” The name sent a calm through Ethan’s mind and the world seemed to get a little clearer; Sam was always good at picking which name they needed to hear. “Are you going to stay with your family this weekend?”

With a sigh, he nodded and continued working.

“I’m staying with the library crew tonight and then I’ll be with my aunt the rest of the weekend.”

“That’s good. Those library guys will look out for you. Is your sister going too?”

“Sasha doesn’t really associate with them anymore,” straightening, Ethan moved to finish styling Sam’s hair. “I think the guilt is too much for her; I mean, it was her party, but Oskar is just as bad too.”

“That sucks. I know Sasha and Jason were good friends. It’s a shame she couldn’t have stayed connected with Logan at least.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll see each other this weekend for sure.” Moving around, Ethan inspected their work and made a few small adjustments. “My aunt is catering for the Reels memorial again and giving them the diner for most of the day. I hope she lets it go after this year. Honestly, the whole action is a little over the top and selfish.”

“Everyone deals with guilt in their own way, E. Don’t knock your aunt too much.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stepping back, Ethan gestured to the mirror, “all done.”

Sam beamed at their braided hair and soft silver eyes that matched their blouse. “It’s amazing.”

“You’re going to knock ‘em dead today.”

“Thanks, Ethan.” Sam stood and blew a kiss in his direction. “Message me if you need anything, okay?”

With a nod, Sam headed off to collect their things while Ethan grabbed their binder and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

Locking the door behind them, Ethan headed for the bus stop to make their way into town. They had a short, blond wig with gold eye liner; paired with a white speckled, black shirt with dress pants and shoes. Black felt like an appropriate colour for the day, as they made their way to the theatre to do some special effects makeup tests for a new production. A few years ago, Ethan never would have thought they’d be pursuing a career in makeup, but now they couldn’t see themselves doing anything different. Turns out having your face scarred was a good motivator for pursuing a new career in makeup artistry. Taking a seat on the bus he hoped today’s work would provide a reasonable distraction and make the day pass quickly until it was time to go to the library.

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

The moment the morning Librarian, Tate, officially opened the library, Virgil raced inside to begin boxing up his gaming system. He had sent an apology message to Ben earlier but was yet to receive any form of reply, which had him worried beyond belief. Part of him hoped that the threats against the library were fake and he would simply come after him, but he wasn’t about to take any risks. His only hope was that Pete was in a giving mood and had some more items for him to fix.

Air fresh, Virgil wished he had his thicker hoodie on as his deep violet jacket was doing nothing to stop the wind slicing through him. Pushing through the doors of Pete’s Pawn Shop, he was thankful for the reprieve from the chilling winds.

“Virgil!” The rotund man boomed from the back of the store. “How’s my junior fixer going today?”

“Fine, thanks, Pete.” Reaching the store counter, Virgil placed the box down and put on his best act of confidence. “Got this relic back in working order. Perfect for selling to a hardcore gamer with plenty of money from their mothers’ basement.”

Pete laughed and opened the box to pull out Virgil’s meticulous report of what he had done and how the system ran. Half of it was nonsense to the man, but he pretended to read it all over for the sake of professionalism.

“Seems you did a fair bit on this thing?”

“It had a fair amount of wear and tear from neglect and general ageing.” Virgil assured, pulling out the controller to show off. “I cleaned all the pieces so it’s almost as responsive as any modern console. Considering its age, and former condition, this thing runs as smooth as anything. Collectors would be foolish to walk past a piece like this.”

“Okay, okay, Virge, I see what you’re saying.” Pete turned to his computer and started typing away. “You want fair price for your work, I understand.”

“I need more than fair, Pete.” Virgil turned and leant his back against the counter and looked around the store. “I need to be in the green zone and make our partnership worthwhile.”

“Alright, kid.” Pete clicked away from the search screens he had just used to double check the systems value and opened the register to retrieve some cash. “How about $50 for your efforts?”

Looking sideways at the money on the counter, Virgil shook his head. “That’s barely covering the labour and parts, Pete. I paid you $20 for this thing in the first place and it was only a dust collector at that point. Make it $120.”

A smile spread across Pete’s bearded face and he laid more notes on the counter. “$60 and then you’ve got $40 in the green.”

“Not good enough,” turning to face the man, Virgil leant his hands on the counter and met Pete’s gaze. “I need more green for parts; make it worth it.”

“$75 a better colour?”

“$100 would put me in a better place.”

“Why don’t we settle on $85 and I’ll throw in a busted blender for free?”

Slamming his hand down on the money, Virgil thrust his other hand toward Pete. “Deal.”

Accepting the hand, Pete gave it a firm shake before closing the till and grabbing the box down from the counter. “Go take your choice of appliance from out the back, kid. That’ll be an easy 20 for ya later.”

“Thanks Pete.”

Pocketing the money, Virgil quickly headed to the storeroom to assess his possible options. Pawn shops were a sense of comfort for the young man, a pleasant memory of much of his childhood spent in his grandparent’s store where he learnt how electronics worked from the employees. While his grandmother managed the jewellery aspect of the store, Virgil spent his days working with his grandfather’s tech-group; watching them pull apart and piece together everything from toasters to PCs. Losing his grandparents, and the store, was the first domino that fell in a series of events that transformed his childhood to a less than pleasant memory.

Pete appeared in the doorway and Virgil turned to give him a deflated look.

“Have you got anything a bit more substantial?”

“Sorry, Virge, this is all the stock I have. Phil came in and took my last PC yesterday.”

After sending a silent curse to Phil, Virgil grabbed a small handheld game that seemed in reasonable condition and followed Pete back out.

“Look, I know you prefer your other guys to do your client jobs, but can you please give me a call if you get anything in that you’re happy for me to work on. I really need the money.”

“I can’t promise anything, but,” The man ran a hand over his head and took a long look at the young mans fragile form, “if I get anything coming through I’ll give you a call.”

“Thanks, Pete. I really appreciate it.” Virgil headed for the door; eager to get back to his office and start on his new project.

“Take care of yourself,” the door closed, and Pete sighed, “lord knows you look like you need it.”

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

The library was uncharacteristically busy for a Friday morning; a constant flow of studiers and families pulling books from shelves and engaging in whispered discussions. Headphones blocked out the sounds outside of his office, as Virgil inspected the disassembled the handheld. Slouched in his chair, Virgil stared at the collection of parts and tried to mentally work out which parts were going to be salvageable. Lost in thought and music, the vibration of his phones alarm had him jolting out of his chair in shock; expecting the vibration to signal a message from Ben. Though his heart still raced with fear, once his mind comprehended the time, fear was replaced with excitement. Tate took notice of the unusual spring in the cleaner’s step as he left the library; a smile on his face for the first time in months.

The wind was still cold and unkind as Virgil made his way to the university; pulling his hood up to shield his ears. He had exchanged his jacket for a heavy black hoodie with white ringed designs, which was proving to be a better shield against the cold. Heart pounding with excitement despite the quiet whispers of doubt; Virgil wasn't going to let those voices stop him today. Today was his day. He was making the choice to see Logan. It was his decision, and he was going to enjoy it.

Virgil's throat instantly tightened as his music was cut off for an incoming phone call, and he quickly slipped into an ally to answer it discretely. Relief hit hard when he saw the caller ID was Katie.

"What's up, Reels?"

"Is that an echo I hear, Virgil? You better not still be at the library." Katie sounded irritated and Virgil rolled his eyes.

"No, Mum. I slipped into an ally to escape the wind."

"Oh." He could hear Katie clearing her throat and shuffle around on the other end of the line. "Sorry. I thought you were hiding from, Logan. That was a dick move on my part."

"It's fine, Katie, but I'm going to be late if you don't get to the point." "Yeah. Sorry. I was wondering if you wanted to help me set up for the meeting this afternoon, instead of your normal clean. That way you won't miss any hours; unless you've already got plans."

"Nah, that's fine." He hid a sigh of relief at the prospect of keeping his hours up, and mentally adjusted his money situation. "Starting at my normal time?"

"Yes, please."

"Too easy. I'll see you then."

"Have fun with Lo-gan."

"Bye, Reels."

Virgil hung up the phone as Katie erupted into giggles; looking at the time and quickening his pace to make sure he met Logan on time. Memories shifted to the front of his mind as he got closer, and he slowly increased the volume of his music to overpower the thoughts.

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

Logan had never been one to watch the clock, but today he could not stop himself from glancing between the loud analogue clock on the wall and his watch. The professor’s voice faded from his hearing, drowned out by the ticking of the clock edging closer to the session being over. Restless fingers fidgeted with his pens until finally the group was dismissed and Logan packed up faster than he had ever done before.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, his heart sank when he didn't see Virgil waiting outside. Coat tucked over his arm in the rush, the wind sliced across his uncovered arms as he stood outside the building; a still figure in the flow of exiting students. As the crowd thinned, Logan turned towards the car park with his heart sinking. In that moment, he consciously realised just how excited he had been to see Virgil again. Though he had known he was enjoying their company, Logan hadn't been willing to admit the extent of his feelings. Despite hardly knowing anything about him, he felt that Virgil was more than a simple acquaintance; he was already a friend.

"Logan!"

Logan's head jerked around at the sound of Virgil's voice and he was quick to spot the thin man waving as he made his way up the path. Making no effort to hide his sigh of relief, Logan waved back and smiled.

"Didn't think I ditched you, did ya?" Virgil beamed, slipping his headphones off and proceeding to slip them into his bag.

"I will admit," Logan chuckled and fiddled with his bag strap, "that was my initial conclusion. I am glad you proved me wrong."

"I'll try not to make a habit of it." Virgil naturally began walking beside Logan as they headed towards the carpark; as if it was a regular routine they had. "How was class?"

"Very uneventful," he practically grumbled the reply, "as most lectures have become. I prefer opportunities to complete hands on activities and research tasks. Listening to someone drone on for an hour is beyond me - What's so funny?"

No longer hiding it, Virgil openly laughed and nudged Logan's shoulder, "You never cease to amaze me, Lo."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been arrested, you're pretty much a pro-athlete, and you hate lectures just as much as any regular person."

"It may surprise you to know," Logan reached up and adjusted his glasses with a smirk, "but I am a regular person."

To the untrained eye, the pair seemed like old friends as they laughed their way into the car park and stepped up to Logan's surprisingly close parking spot. Depositing bags in the back of the car, they slid into their respective seats after confirming pizza was the best lunch option and Virgil plugged the order into his phone for them to pick up on the way. After exiting the car park, Logan steered the conversation away from himself and tried to earn some more from Virgil.

"So, what did you get up to this morning, Virgil?"

Virgil shrugged and slid his phone back into his pocket, "nothing much. Went down to the pawn shop to sell one gaming system and buy another. Nothing newsworthy or anything."

"On the contrary, I find your work fascinating. When did you learn all this stuff?"

"My grandparents owned a pawn shop and I spent a lot of time there when I was younger." A weight shifted on Virgil's chest as he spoke; but emotion still gripped at his throat slightly. "I learnt everything from my grandad and the fixers that worked for him."

"You are very lucky to have such a close relationship with your grandparents."

"Yeah, I was..." Head dropping, Virgil picked at his nails absently as he felt Logan sag into his seat.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. I got 13 years with them; that's more than some people get."

"True, but that doesn't make your feelings any less valid. It sounds like they had a significant influence on your childhood."

Straightening in his chair, Virgil raised his head to look ahead and compose himself as his throat constricted further.

"They were very much my childhood. I spent more time with them than either of my parents." Pausing to take a shaky breath, Virgil recalled their smiling faces the last time he had seen them. "They didn't deserve to die the way they did."

Brow furrowing, Logan chanced a glance at his passenger; question cautiously forming on his lips.

"May I ask what happened?"

Part of Virgil screamed for him to remain silent as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the headrest. He hadn't spoken to anyone about his grandparents since he stopped going to therapy; but part of him wanted to tell Logan. Logan had already told him so much about his past and it only seemed fair that he did the same to some degree.

Eyes remaining closed, Virgil slowly spoke; each word painfully tearing at his soul to leave his mouth.

"They went missing. Just didn't open the shop one day. Vanished for two weeks along with my Dad." A single tear threatened to slip from his closed eye, and Virgil took a shaky breath in and forced the emotion away. "They came back and I got to see them one last time before... Before they were..."

Pulling into a parking space near the pizza shop, Logan placed a hand on Virgil's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. Virgil turned away and sighed; unable to find the words to continue.

"You don't have to say anymore if you don't want to, Virgil. It's okay." Logan assured and felt blindly in his centre console for a pack of tissues to offer.

Virgil opened his eyes and turned to face the man beside him; hazel eyes as soft and comforting as the hand on his shoulder. His thoughts froze for a moment as he found himself lost in Logan's comforting features; pained memories present but duller with those eyes on him and hand lifting to offer a pack of facial tissues. Finally, he was able to swallow the lump in his throat and nodded gratefully; taking the tissues and tearing his gaze away so he didn't cry.

"I'm going to get the pizza," the drivers side door opened as Logan prepared to leave. "Why don't we change the subject upon my return."

He carefully closed the door, after Virgil gave him an affirming nod, and headed around the corner to collect the pizza they had ordered. Though Logan felt guilty for bringing up the topic in the first place, he was thankful that he had. The conversation gave him the smallest glimpse into Virgil's past, and he was comforted by the fact he seemed just as determined to hold his emotions to his chest as he was. It was a welcomed change that intrigued him greatly. Everyone Logan had previously befriended had been such open books, easily talking about themselves and their past; it was overwhelming and slightly boring. On the other hand, Virgil was a choose your own adventure mystery novel that required careful questioning and consideration to find any answers. Their friendship may have happened in a single afternoon, but Logan was now slightly hopeful they could work through their novel-like lives and make a relationship of some kind.

"It's too soon to make judgements like that." Logan reminded himself, "I don't even know if Virgil would be interested in a relationship, let alone one with me."

After collecting the food, Logan headed back towards the car; pausing for a moment when it first came into view. The man in the passenger seat looked so peaceful; head resting back in the slightly reclined chair and breeze shifting his hair from the opened window. If his hands weren't preoccupied, and it was less creepy, Logan would have taken a photo; Patton would have in his position. In the moments before reaching the car, Logan made a decision. I rather selfish and impulsive decision considering the circumstances.

Sliding into the car, Virgil stirred from his light sleep and gratefully took the boxes from Logan's hands. With his hands free, Logan looked down at the rings on his fingers; a simple black band on his right middle finger and a silver band on the index finger of the same hand. While Virgil was focused on inspecting the pizza, Logan slipped the silver band off and changed it to his left hand. The action would have seemed foolish and unnecessary to an onlooker, but for Logan it was a sign of moving on. The ring was originally a symbol of friendship given to him by Jason, but then he changed the rings placement, making a mock proposal out of the event.

"I want this on your right hand now because right here, right now, I am yours. For now, and forever. And perhaps, one day, if all goes well, I might move it again."

Smiling sadly to himself, Logan started the car and stared at his hands on the steering wheel for a moment longer before pulling away.

____________________

End Note:

Sorry I dropped off the edge of the Earth for a while. Part of this chapter just wasn’t working out for me and I kept leaving it and coming back to delete and start again. I’ve got a holiday break coming up again soon, so I’m hoping to get out of this slump I’m in and write a fair bit and get ahead again.

Also, if you haven’t already, you should check out the art @the-pastel-peach did for Chapter 7. Logan and Virgil look so good and she did a great job at capturing the emotion on their faces as Logan tells Virgil how he met Jason. I just love it.

Another side note because I put this on Tumblr: I’m no longer in immediate fire danger anymore; though it seems every couple of days the fire level goes from ‘high’ to ‘extreme’ (it goes well with the critical water levels). All good though. I got to do the virtual meet and greet with Thomas the other day right after I heard the sirens of the fire truck heading out. He was so sweet though as I had a slightly ‘panicked’ moment at the start of our time (seriously, he knows how to quickly steer a conversation and take your mind off things).

Tag List (let me know if you want to be removed)

@notalwaysthebadguy @thequeensphinx

_____________________________

Chapter 10 — MasterList

What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary, healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton)

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

#libraries are for meetings #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides au #alternate universe #fanfiction #ts fanfiction #logan sanders #ts logan #virgil sanders #ts virgil #deceit inspired character #original characters #analogical #developing analogical #self discovery #negative thoughts #my writing #snail writing

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agl03 · 5 years ago

Note

Can you give like a ranking on who you think is going to die in the series finale or like a percent chance

Hi Anon,

Okay this is a super early list that is 100% based on my gut and the “not all endings are happy” tease that one of the crew posted.

Since we are still a few months out from the season this could change if there are clues leaked over hiatus and once I get a better handle on the story.

After the trauma of the ending of Season 5 I swore I’d never go all in 100% on anything ever again. But here is my early thoughts on where we see them all shake out.

Characters that I’m pretty sure are safe:

Fitzsimmons: They are once again starting the season out separated and I feel this separation is going to go for most of the season, with them not really getting reunited until closer to the end (no angry asks people I’ve said my peace many times here and really do think it will work out). And because we’re gonna have a lot of separation, angst, the annual Fitznapping, and possibly the secret kid bomb (yes I still live on that hill) all the not so fun will be set up for a Happy Ending.

Daisy: I’ve been yammering for Seasons now that I have felt that the trajectory Daisy has been on since day 1 was to eventually take over for Shield. That is where I felt her arc was always going to go and it’s clear that is where Coulson wanted her to go.

However, when they didn’t think they were going to make it past Season 5 and it was very clear Daisy wasn’t ready to lead at that point the torched was passed Mack. Now they have time.

Season 6 Daisy gained a lot of experience during the search for Fitz but she still had growing pains back home when she and May made the mistake of Trusting Sarge. Season 7 we’re going to see her really coming into her own as a leader and Robo Coulson there to mentor and guide her in a way he hasn’t been able too before. I strongly feel that we will end with Director Daisy.

Elena: I had been worried about her but because I’m far more worried about Mack and I don’t think they’d kill them both I feel she’s got a pretty good chance of making it through. Like 75% - 80% chance. I give some leeway because I know Natalia would love to do a major death scene like Iain and Ming have gotten to do and she’d knock it out of the park. However, she’s come pretty darn close to death in awful ways in Season 3 and 6 and lost her arms in 5. So she’s had a lot of crap happen to her already.

Elena has also really come into her own as a Shield agent. From someone in Season 3, 4, and 5 that preferred to do things her way no matter what the orders to in Season 6 she was nearly a model agent, got in, did her job, and did it well while following orders. I’m more on the fence if she stays with Shield and becomes Daisy’s right hand, gets to lead her own smaller Shield team ala Secret Warriors kind of thing, or goes off on her own more as a lone wolf like Mike after losing Mack..

May: May is also one I”m feeling is pretty safe...I mean how many times have they killed her? But I do see her being done with the field. Either having the proper retirement that she deserves or heading up the Academy that bears Coulson’s name. Then there is the off chance she pulls a Cap on us and actually gets a happily ever after.

Now we’re getting more dicey.

Deke: I love Deke so much and I don’t want to die but I am very worried about him. He’s got himself a hero arc going here, proving himself as a Shield Agent and as a Fitzsimmons. He’s also going to be filling much of the hole Fitz will have left on the team due to him being in hiding. Right now I’m 50/50 on him. Part of me can see him dying in a heroic moment....especially for his grandparents. But the other part of me can also see him finally finding his place within the team and staying on with Daisy after Fitzsimmons make for Perthshire. I’d also love for him to tag along to the Castle.

Enoch: I worry for Enoch as the evil Chronicoms have already had about enough of him and now he’s become even more of a thorn in their sides. I am terrified of him getting captured and being used as a Trojan Horse of sorts to get at the team. Nor do I think for a moment would he hesitate in sacrificing himself for Fitz. I’d like to see him go off and lead the Chronicoms in their new lives....but have concerns.

Robo Coulson: It totally depends on the day with him. And in the end all I want is for Coulson to get what he wants. If he wants to be deactivated after the mission let his wishes be honored. If he wants to go on and teach Shield History at the Academy that’s cool too. But I don’t see Coulson wanting to outlive those he cares about...which a very big reality for him now. Then there are about 800 other options of varying degrees of pain that can come into play. IE Robo Coulson is Tahiti’d one last time and given new programming and goes off to work with Enoch kind of thing.

Mack: Mack I will be shocked if he makes it through the finale. Henry’s comments in interviews at SDCC pretty much sealed this for me. In the run of the series outside of his possession in Season 2 Mack is the only Main cast member that hasn’t ‘died’. And even harder if Daisy is going to end up as Director it means Mack as to fall. We also know that Mackelena are going to be strong and united this Season, and it never ends well for couples that start the season all happy and together.

We will also have a new host of recurring cast members to get attached too as well that could provide the heartbreak factor when they need it.

#aos spoilers #aos speculation #early finale predictions

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scintamclia · 5 years ago

Photo

AMELIA ‘LIA’ CHEN. 50. LEADER OF THE SAINTS.

hello loves !! i’m tess, i’m 18, i’m in cst and i’m the creator of this rp ! you might’ve already seen riley’s intro, and i can promise you this one won’t be as long ! anyways, let’s get to it ! ok i lied about the length i had no idea i’d write this much im so sorry

A life of faith in medicine can heal all ailments, but no medicine can heal this broken world.

biography

amelia chen was born and raised in dallas texas to a lower class family that did their best to make ends meet. her mother worked as a nurse at the local hospital, spending long nights in the emergency room and even longer mornings cooking breakfast for the family. during the day, she slept and amelia’s father would head off to work at an aluminum factory. her parents were hard workers, sacrificing family time for comfort and food on the table, but there was no lack of love in their home. amelia was an only child, so whatever time her parents could spare was spent on her--- the weekends were reserved for story time and practicing her medical terminology.

amelia took pride in her mother’s work, spending her childhood dreaming of following in her footsteps, healing the sick and giving back life to those on the brink of losing it. she was only eleven when she saved her first life. seeing a man hit by a car on her walk home from school, she ran into the nearest store, told them to call an ambulance, then ran to the wounded man and pulled the first aid kit from her backpack. she always kept it on her. she followed her mother’s technique, that voice in her head with her every step of the way. by the time the ambulance got there, the man was laughing, even with a nasty wound on the side of his head. he was bandaged up tight, medical wrap neatly sealing the wound, and his face spotless. bloodied rags surrounded him, but the little girl was gone.

amelia wasn’t the most popular in school, she kept to herself and focused on her studies. by 18, she was accepted into the military as a field nurse. she was the best in her class, saving thousands of lives in only her first year in the field. she did three tours of iraq, treated just like the soldiers she kept alive. it was only when their caravan was attacked and amelia was forced to fight that her commanding officer took notice of her skills.

amelia hadn’t told anyone, but she had convinced one of the soldiers to train with her a few times a week, knowing if she could defend herself, then she’d be able to help others more than ever. her commanding officer immediately pulled her from the nurse’s section and put her into a uniform. she was a soldier from then on out, and while it wasn’t her idea career, lia grew to love her new job.

in all her years, she hadn’t taken into account just how many ways there was to save a life. as her skills grew, along with her determination, amelia rose to the rank of first lieutenant, just under the captain. she was only twenty-six.

amelia stayed in the army for about another twenty years, getting married and having two children within the same time span.

she had only been out of the army four years before the outbreak happened. within the first few months, she lost her son and her husband. two different tragedies, two different reminders.

from there on out, it was just amelia and her daughter. during the first year, the two found a rogue group and traveled with them for a while. it was only when two survivors showed up at their camp begging for medical help that things started to change. amelia rose to the challenge, taking a risk and coming to the survivor’s aid. they were led to a sanitarium, and just as they had said, a wounded man awaited them. they had an abundance of medical supplies, but no skills to put them to use.

lia helped their man, and soon enough, the two groups merged, all under lia’s authority. she was a born leader, healer, and soldier. with those under her belt, their group created the saints.

it’s been three years since they created the saints, and in that time amelia has learned to open up to her people more, in her own way. she often has a straight face on, but she’s more than happy to help anyone who needs it.

she works day and night to keep the saints running, and never lets an eye off her daughter. as the only family she has left, lia would die if she lost her. she has connected with her people, even through her hard exterior, and prides her camp on their relentlessness to heal anyone who comes through their gates. she loves her people, she just has a hard time showing it.

basics

amelia chen was born and raised in dallas, texas to a lower class family that worked day and night to keep food on the table. her mother was a nurse, and her father a factory worker. amelia dreamed of following in her mother’s footsteps, and at 18, she signed up to the army to be a field nurse. she did three tours in iraq, helping the sick and the wounded that was brought into her tent, running the trauma unit like a well oiled machine. taking combat lessons from a soldier that toured with her, her skills were put to use when her caravan was attacked by insurgents. her commanding officer took note of her skills, and before she knew it, she was being handed a gun and a uniform, thrown into the army’s soldier count. as her skills and love for the new job grew, she rose in rank. by twenty-six, she was a first lieutenant. she spent another twenty years in the army, getting married and starting a family within that time. she left the army only 4 years before the outbreak. during the first few months of hell on earth, she lost both her son and her husband, the only remaining piece of her family being her daughter. after a year, two survivors showed up to her rogue camp asking for medical help, and soon, the saints were born. she became their leader, connecting with each of them through the power of medicine. now, she just wishes life upon all of them. she’s a hard one to crack, but she cares so much, even if she doesn’t show it.

wanted

her daughter !!!! there’s a wanted connection up for her on the main

parenting buddy - someone she can come to with her concerns about her daughter, someone she trusts with that sensitive information

a one night stand - this would have been a drunken night, possibly some feelings confessed, and the next morning they acted like nothing happened. it’s been awkward ever since (bonus points if they were best friends before they slept together)

the wounded man she saved when creating the saints

#toxinintro

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asterinjapan · 5 years ago

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At last I see the (sun) light

Good – morning this time!

Yeah, as predicted, yesterday ran very late, so I decided to leave writing my report for the next day and just go to bed already, haha. I’m starting my report in the morning while I’m trying to think of plans for today, so I might just drop the report and finish it later, but here we go – Tokyo Disneyland!

Pictures will be up later today!

It’s definitely not my first time to Tokyo Disneyland, although usually I take the subway to get there. Since I have my JR pass still active and I haven’t been using it much in Tokyo, I refused to take a mode of transportation I had to pay for, so I first went to Tokyo station with the Yamanote line. From there, it’s 15 minutes with the Keiyo line, but that’s all the way at the other end at the station, so you can seriously add another 15 minutes to the travel time. I wasn’t exaggerating when I called Tokyo station a separate city!

The Yamanote line came to an abrupt halt halfway through as the emergency brake had been activated, but it must be a false alarm or otherwise easily solved issue, as we continued a couple of minutes later. It was indeed quite the walk to the Keiyo line, but they put up signs every five steps, so at least it was a very easy road to follow.

And then Maihama station! The weather had turned out to be incredibly nice today, with blue skies so bright I could easily see the Skytree and – was that the snowy top of Mount Fuji? It sure was! That’s how clear the skies were, haha.

Anyway, the walk from the station was a bit different. I know they’re working on a new area inside the park, but apparently they’re also doing extensive redevelopments, because the main entrance was under covers and there were cranes surrounding the castle. After the entrance, the first Halloween decorations came in sight, and part of the fun: watching everyone’s costumes! It’s only during Halloween season that you’re allowed to dress up in Tokyo Disneyland as an adult, and lots of people make use of that opportunity. Some costumes are so good I had to blink and stare to realize they were not the official cast members (which is, incidentally, why it’s not allowed to dress up the rest of the year – you might confuse the kids). Also, it makes for fun situations, like Alice standing in line for lunch with the Queen of Hearts or Belle posing with the park version of Gaston while 5 other princesses watch with interest, haha.

I was inside a little after opening, so I lingered around to wait for the first parade: the Spooky Boo Halloween parade! It’s held twice over the day and thus a short one, but I love Halloween, so I was curious to see what they’d pulled. The parade mostly features the best known characters: Mickey and his friends. They taught us a dance and halfway through, the parade came to a halt for a dance performance. The dancing cast members had gorgeous costumes! They were really into it too, so that was a joy to watch, and I’m kinda sad I couldn’t get a good full view of them on my camera from where I was standing to show you guys, only glimpses in between people’s heads.

I was in for something sweet now, so I wandered into Fantasyland for what I thought was a churro, but ended up being a tipo torta, which – I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it was delicious! I got it in purple sweet potato flavor, because I felt obliged after Okinawa haha, and purple is a Halloween color here, so the sweet potato from Okinawa gets used liberally this time of the year.

I had chosen the Haunted Mansion as my appropriate first ride of today, because duh, Halloween. The wait was 40 minutes when I joined, which was okay if it weren’t for the hot sun, so I was glad to make it inside for the Nightmare before Christmas version of this ride. I really love it a lot – I think it was summer 2017 that I last saw the ride in its original form, oops.

After that, I went back inside again for another favorite ride: Mickey’s Philharmagic Orchestra. There was a small wait here, and a ton of kids who got really into the screening (it’s 4D, so the 3D effects are heavy and you get sprayed with water and scented air in between), so that was kinda cute, haha. They were all making grabby hands at the apple pie and Ariel’s gems.

Once outside, I stumbled upon some character meet and greets in Fantasyland, and then right into the Dreaming Up parade. It’s a lovely one, but I’ve seen it twice now fairly recently, so I wasn’t going to wait on the floor for it. Didn’t have to! I got an okay spot for the visually most impressive floats, so that was a nice little coincidence, haha.

Next up was Pirates of the Caribbean, which I love, but the drop is the scariest thing I do in Disneyland, so I wasn’t super pleased about being put in the front row, haha. I lived, but it took a while for my pulse to calm down. (I’m big on the thrill rides, you can tell.) It’s still super fun, and outside was a band of pirates playing! I think they were kind of trying to spread the crowds today, as it was probably a bit busier than initially expected due to the weather and a couple of rides that tend to draw crowds were closed for today.

After some lunch, wandering around for the views and some window shopping, I settled down next to Snow White’s wishing well to wait for round two of the Spooky Boo parade. About ten Snow Whites and other princesses showed up to take pictures by the well, haha. Sadly, the parade only made a quick round here without dancing in between, but I did get much better shots of the floats now!

And it wasn’t that bad, because I had wisely gotten a fast pass for Haunted Mansion at the same time as the parade, so now I didn’t have to rush as the parade was over quite quickly. I didn’t see the Haunted Mansion wait go down to under my 40 minutes anymore, so that fast pass had been a good call. (I think they’re connected to your ticket now, because I had to scan my entrance ticket and not the fast pass receipt to get in line.)

After that, the iconic ride: It’s a Small World! It’s still fun, and I think I’m mostly past my trauma over the song now, haha. I couldn’t help wanting to take pictures here and there, even though I have a ton already. Spotting the recently added Disney characters is quite fun.

It was getting dark quickly now, and I noticed I was getting a bit bumped out. I kept getting lost in the dark and with the covered parts of the park, so I eventually told myself to just get something sweet and then decide whether I was going to call it an uncharacteristically early day.

As it turned out I just needed food, haha. A hot dog for lunch wasn’t sufficient to get me through the complete afternoon, who knew! I got some ice coffee for the caffeine rush (bad, I know, but hey), bought a little gift for a friend, and was just in time to see the electrical parade Dreamlights. This one changed a little a couple of years ago, but overall it’s still the same one as the one I saw in 2010. It’s still fun, even though the song is even catchier than It’s a small world, haha. They added a tiny something that I spotted right away: Alice was riding a giant teacup on top of the Cheshire cat, rather than the cat’s back proper. I was a bit further away this time, so I got some nice shots of the full floats. I eh, have plenty of close-ups from earlier years, haha.

I then finally made the decision to just get the new Tangled popcorn bucket, which is shaped like the floating lantern from the movie with a little Pascal the chameleon to sit on your shoulder on the strap. There’s a light inside, so that makes for lovely sights in the evening, although the amount of popcorn (caramel flavor at this stand) that came with it was – worrying, haha. I did manage to finish it all though, despite not being the biggest popcorn eater, but whoa. (You can get the bucket separately from the popcorn so you won’t have to clean it, but the popcorn separately means you get two cartons of them, since that’s how much can fit into the bucket.)

Newly invigorated, I decided to get back to attractions. I went into the Enchanted Tiki room first as it was nearby and I love the songs and Stitch. It’s very much a kids attraction and I very much don’t care, haha. If anything, the line is non-existent here and you just have to wait for the next performance to begin.

I then found the ball game stand, which I suck at, but that’s okay, because you get to pick a really nice exclusive pin if you lose, so I got the Minnie one, haha. Making my way back to Fantasyland from there, I hopped into Philharmagic again, the line gone and just having to wait for the next performance to start. There’s a merit in staying late, haha. I rushed to Peter Pan next, where the wait was down to 15 minutes. It’s a fun ride, but it’s over so fast that I can’t justify standing in line for 50 minutes for it.

Finally, with ten minutes until park closure to go, I went to Pooh’s Hunny Hunt – and they closed the line after me, oops. Two more ladies came rushing in via the fastpass entrance, but that was it. Pooh’s Hunny Hunt is a fun and unique ride, but since I’m not a big fan of Pooh bear, I refuse to wait for him for 70+ minutes, haha. This worked, even though it was still about 10 minutes. Around park closure! Wow.

There were still surprisingly many people in the park as I made my way to the exit, some even still on the way into the park. I wonder at what time they can actually close the gates… Hopefully the park members work in shifts, yikes.

After a quick last look in the Bon Voyage store just outside the park I made my way to the station, where I had to wait for the next Keiyo line train as this one was… very full. At 10:30 PM. Ah, the Disney magic, haha. (The people from Disneysea also gather at this station.) Thankfully that got me a front row place in line for the next train, so I could sit (!) until the terminal station of Tokyo, where it was another brisk walk to the Yamanote line and finally, back to my hotel.

So here I am now. I took a shower last night and fell asleep almost right away. Didn’t sleep through my alarm at least, but I did put it on snooze and only got up as late as possible to still eat breakfast at the hotel here, haha.

Today should be a little calmer. I might do some karaoke and find a café I read about opening some months ago, but other than that, I don’t really have plans. Sadly, the weather is getting bad again starting tonight, thanks to yet another typhoon making rounds. It should be gone by the time my return flight is scheduled, though.

Yikes, time flies. It’s Thursday and I’m flying back on Monday! Ack. Sadly I don’t think many of my Tokyo side tips can go through, if any. A bit of a waste of my JR pass, but it’s long since paid itself back and hey, I will still use it for the Narita Express to the airport if nothing else. I don’t want to over-exert myself or put myself into dangerous situations, so I might just stick to Tokyo until the last day (although Saturday should be alright weather wise, at least less rainy, but again, dangerous situations). And hey, I haven’t gone back to just Tokyo on 2 separate trips because I hate it here, haha. Although with all the things I’ve seen around here, I might have to cash in on that extra luggage… After that huge book I found the other day, I’m already nearing my limit, and the cost of overweight luggage is as much as an extra bag at Don Quijote would cost, so uh. I can still think about it until 24 hours before the flight, so that’s what I will do, haha.

Time to head out. Photos coming up soon, see you later!

#report #japan 2019 #report: japan 2019 #places: tokyo disneyland

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