#most of these are not severely deep lacerations but hes been doing this for 10 or so years

[brandwhoreafterdark]

Hello! This is the anon who sent the Yandere! spouse ask for TFA Shockwave. Honestly, either Blurr or Cliffjumper works for me.

Hey again anon! I had a lot of fun with this ficlet, so please enjoy

Request: May I request some TFA Shockwave in recovery from prison and the escape with his VERY overprotective spouse? Or even a Yandere spouse that kidnaps him from prison and eventually mind breaks him into being their trophy spouse?

CW: uhhh yandere stuff, Blurr being veeery creepy, dubcon, mind breaking, all that fun stuff

Breaking Shockwave was easier than it probably should have been. Getting him out of prison was even easier than that. The system was rampant with abuse, so his poor sweetspark was dangerously low on fuel, less than 10% capacity. He was covered in lacerations, wounds that sluggishly dripped energon where the guards on post had whipped him for fun. Blurr took great pleasure in killing them later, for daring to hurt his most precious treasure.

When faced with the disembodied head of his former Master along with the news that his spark had been extinguished in a public execution… well. He'd spent over a decade in that prison being tortured. His willpower to keep going, holding out for the hope that the decepticons would win, was already flimsy at best. When presented with the overwhelming evidence that the very mech he lived for was dead, it squashed any remaining embers of resistance he still had.

Blurr hated to lie to him, but it was for the best. If Shockwave knew that the footage was fabricated, that the helm had been a commissioned fake, he'd try to go back. He'd want to escape. Then he'd get hurt again, and Blurr was done with that.

Rehabilitation took months. Shockwave was severely weakened by all his time in containment, sickly and vulnerable. Blurr kept him under lock and key, safely tucked away in the house he bought just for them. He'd served the Elite Guard as one of their best agents for thousands of stellar cycles and lived in a tiny one room apartment the whole time–he had more than enough savings to afford it. Plus, after his "traumatic experience", he was able to retire early and no one batted an optic. No one would ever bother him, so he had all the time in the world to devote to his prisoner.

Breaking Shockwave's will and devotion to the decepticons was one thing, but getting him to accept his role as Blurr's personal, private trophy was another. He seemed… squeamish, almost, about sex. So resistant to it even though they used to be such entwined lovers. Was it any surprise that he had reservations, though? Blurr would be surprised if they didn't abuse his valve in prison.

It was worse than that, though. When he finally wore away at Shockwave's resolve and coaxed his panels open, he found his spike missing. It was a gross, unprofessional hackjob that hadn't even been welded properly. Blurr drew the names and descriptions out of his partner with the sweetest cooing words, and silently made them disappear. No one was allowed to touch his mate, and especially not like that. No. One.

With such a long time to wait before it would be safe to bring in a medic to treat him, Blurr pampers and worships the ex-con's valve. Eating him out as if his transfluid is the nectar of the gods, giving him overload after overload til he's limp and lifeless and can't even whimper out the slightest word of defiance. Blurr laves attention on his anterior node, buries his glossa deep inside for hours on end, everything to make Shockwave feel good.

He'd do anything to make Shockwave feel good. He'd do even more to keep him safe. Safe at home, safe with him. He is Blurr's, no one else's. No one else can have him. No one else is worthy. No one may ever look at him, speak to him, even ventilate the same air as him! No one is good enough for his mate.

Yes. His mate. Shockwave doesn't resist him when, late one night after months and months of treatment, he sweetly asks him to part his chassis, bear his spark. Blurr had practically drooled over it, the bright ball of pink light beckoning him forward. He's close enough to smell his innermost energon, and part of him wants to take it. Just a vial of it, his to keep, a token of his partner even when they're apart.

Blurr doesn't, though. Not yet. He just gives Shockwave a lovesick smile and recites the vows he'd written and memorized. Pledging to always protect him, to keep him safe forever and ever, to kill anyone that would try to separate them, to give Shockwave the world from this very berth. He need not do anything, need not lift a single digit. All he need do is cling to Blurr and depend on him, and everything would be taken for of. "We'll be together forever, me and you. And I'll destroy the whole world before I let something come between us."

He meant every word, too. No price is too great if it means he gets to keep his precious trophy. He finishes his little speech before bearing his own soul and merging them together. Finally, finally, everything about Shockwave is his.

[sortofanobsession]

Will o’ the Wisp - Ch. 10 (Umbrella Academy WIP) Diego x Reader slow burn

Author’s note: I've had this one mostly done for a few days but haven't been on my personal comp since then. Here you go. Events of Episode 1x09 Changes. Translations are at the end.

So as it goes, Y/N = your name. Y/N/N = your nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Primary Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Female!Reader (Slow Burn Season 1)

Series/TUA Masterlist

Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 11

Word count: 3k+

Content Warning: bleeding out, bleeding, injury, blood transfusions, needles, Trypanophobia (fear of needles), medical procedures, Anger, Sibling Rivalry, Stitches, mentions of death, mentions of murder, cussing/swearing/cursing, Panic Attacks, Exhaustion, threats, imprisonment, fear, neglect, abuse.

Chapter 10: More Dangerous than Me? 

Allison is bleeding out, and no one knows what to do.

“Y/N! Do something!” Her hands start to shake. 

“It’s too deep, she might drown if I just close the outside, or her throat might swell closed. I can’t…I told you I can only do surface wounds.” She backs up until she hits something solid. She jumps when she feels hands on her arms. She looks back to see she’d backed right into Diego. 

“I’ll only make it worse. I could kill her,” she says, her voice small and almost too quiet.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” he tells her. He rubs her arms to try and offer her what little comfort he can.  

They rush to get Allison back to the academy.

“Come on! Let's go!” Five shouts when they get there.

“I don't think she's breathing,” Luther tells them.

“If we don't get her upstairs," Klaus says as he goes to help Luther carry her. "She's gonna die.”

“She's suffered a severe laceration to her larynx,” Grace informs them once inside and in the med room.  “One of you will need to give blood.”

Luther, Klaus, Five, and Diego volunteer. Luther insists on doing it.

“I'm afraid that's not possible, dear boy,” Pogo sadly says, “Your blood is more compatible with mine.” Grace and Pogo continue to gather what they need.

“Hey, don't sweat it,” Klaus tells Luther. “I got this, big guy. I love needles.”

“Master Klaus,” Pogo starts. “Your blood is, how shall I say this? Too polluted.”

“Move,” Diego steps in.

“Yeah, go on,” Klaus says.

“I'll do it,” Diego rolls up his sleeves but faints at the sight of the needle.

"Oh, for the love of-" Y/N takes off her jacket and throws it at Klaus before holding her arm out for Grace to prepare her arm for the needle. "I'm going to put most powers of my into the Wisp so that there hopefully won't be a temp difference. Though a tiny bit might actually help, I'm no expert."

"It should be fine," Pogo assures as he and Grace get back to work. 

"I should be doing it," Diego crouches beside her once he came to. Someone had brought her a chair. The room was quiet now that Pogo and Grace had managed to do what they could to save Allison. Luther refuses to leave Allison. Grace stays in case she is needed. Diego continues, "You're too exhausted, and you're-"

"You passed out just looking at the needle, and are you forgetting you have a bullet wound too," she tells him. Something in her stressed and sleep-deprived mind has her fingers twitching to brush her fingers along the scars on his face because of how close he is and how sincere he is being. But she fights that urge.

“I lost less blood because of your hot hands,” he says, earning him a small chuckle. He takes that as a win. She's been on edge and too serious all day. 

“I’m okay, tough guy,” she assures him. "At worst, I get a bit woozy. Either way, Allison gets what she needs. That's what matters. And you avoid the needle." She pinches his arm and grins. He glares, but there is no heat in it. "You don't have to stay if it makes you uncomfortable." She gestures to the needle and tubes.

"I'm fine," Diego tells her.

"I'm probably just going to close my eyes and switch to the Wisp."

"All the more reason to stay," he states.

"You're going to hover until this apocalypse thing is sorted out, especially after what happened at the rave and this." She gestures to Allison.

He doesn't answer but still hasn't moved from where he's crouched beside her.

"Right," she chuckles, and she pats his cheek. "Sad it took the end of the world for you to turn so sweet, cariño."

He’s taken aback by the term of endearment, but he doesn’t hate it. He does technically call her one constantly. Mi Luz. It was a common term of endearment. He shouldn’t be so surprised. Then again, it might be the exhaustion and the blood loss talking. Even if it is a controlled loss. "We'll stop it," he assures her as he removes her hand from his face but keeps it in his own. It felt unnaturally cold for her since she had willed so much of herself into the Wisp, for Allison's sake. He stood up but kept her hand, warming it some between his own. "Maybe you should get some sleep," he suggests. She shook her head. "Why not?" he adds.

"Because this is not a time to risk losing my control. It's a balancing game when it comes to my powers. How much focus and power I have and where it is can change everything. If I touch something, it will burst into flames if I touch it too hot. Will my watch band melt or my shoes? Just because I wasn't thinking. Allison is in too fragile a state to risk anything."

“Then I guess we wait,” Diego states. And they all do. Only leaving when Grace tells them it’s enough and removes the needle. Luther, of course, stays with Allison.

“You should go lie down,” Diego tells her. “You used your powers a lot and are low on sleep and blood, mi luz.” He decides to just lean into the whole endearment thing. 

“I’m fine,” she assures him and smiles. She laughs a bit at his skeptical look before adding, “I’ll go down and get a drink and snack. Like when you donate blood. I’ll be okay. Just got to hydrate. We don’t have time for me to be out of commission. I will relent to you hovering and a snack. Deal?”

“Deal,” he says. It might be the blood loss and lack of sleep, but she feels unusually bold and kisses his cheek before she hurries off to the kitchen. He is stunned and just watches her go. He stands there way longer than necessary before he grins to himself and goes to find the others. 

“The bastard that nearly killed our sister's still out there,” Diego tells Five and Klaus. “With Viktor.” 

Y/N hurries her pace toward them. 

“We need to go after them.”

Five disagrees, “Viktor is not important.”

“You can’t be serious,” Y/N says as she reaches them. A sandwich and a glass of juice in her hands courtesy of Grace. “V is family.” Diego goes to stand beside her as she speaks. He sees her brows furrow. Unbeknownst to him, she wonders when he last ate. He’d spent so long with her, and before that, he’d been in jail. She offers him a bite of her sandwich. He rolls his eyes, but when she doesn't move to lower it, he takes a small bite. He thinks it was worth it when she smiles at him. But he turns back to focus on the important discussion he was having. 

“A little heartless even for you, Five,” their brother points out.

“I'm not saying I don't care about them,” Five admits, “but if the apocalypse happens today, they die along with the other seven billion of us.”

“Harold Jenkins is our first priority.”

“I agree.”

“Let's go.”

“You guys count me out,” Klaus says. “I mean, you know, no offense or whatever. It's just I kind of feel like this is a whole lot of pressure for newly-sober me, so -” 

“You're coming,” Diego states. Y/N just sips her juice and watches her chaotic siblings. 

“No, no, no,” Klaus says. “I mean, I think we can all agree that my power's, I mean, it's pretty much useless. I'd just be holding you guys back.”

“Klaus, get up,” Five says.

“You can't make me.”

Diego hurls a knife at the couch Klaus is sitting on. Y/N rolls her eyes.

Klaus gets up. “Oh, then again, a little exercise couldn’t hurt. Yeah.”

"I'll check the area," she summons several orbs. 

“Fine, but stay behind me,” Diego tells her, knowing most of her focus will be elsewhere. She rolls her eyes but humors him, even going as far as to grip the back of his shirt. She uses several Wisp orbs to search the area outside the cabin, finding nothing. She shakes her head and focuses back on the scene Diego had led her to. The very dead body of Leonard Peabody, with numerous knives and other projectiles embedded in his chest. She winces as she lets go of Diego. He looks back at her just as her eyes return to their normal color. She shakes her head when her eyes meet his. They both turn back to the dead body on the floor.

"I have seen more than most," she says, leaning against the wall. "But even this is…yikes."

"It's not exactly what I was expecting."

"The understatement of the year."

"No sign of Viktor," Klaus says. 

"Not outside either," she adds. 

"Let's get out of here," Diego says. "Before the cops come." He shakes his head at her when she goes to offer the Wisp to act as a lookout. "You are too burnt out, and we may need you later."

"In a minute," Five says.

"Come on, Five, what are you-"

"Ugh, wow." Klaus retches as Five checks the prosthetics eye against the dead man's eye.

"Same eye color, same pupil size. Guys, this is it. The eye I've been carrying around for decades, it- It's found its rightful home."

“Gross,” she states, and Klaus agrees. 

"We got the guy we needed to kill to stop the apocalypse."

"Yay!" Klaus says. "Let's go." Diego stops him.

"No, no."

“What?” she asks. 

"It can't be this easy."

Five frowns. "Look, this is the note that I got from the Commission."

"The one that says, 'Protect Harold Jenkins,' aka Leonard Peabody."

"Yeah?"

"But who killed him? Who did this?"

“No one is here,” she points out. 

"I have a crazy idea."

“When don’t you?” she sighs. Klaus nods in agreement. She knows that time is running out. She’d tracked the police response times far too many times. She was starting to get anxious at not checking to see if they were close. 

"Crazy, but why don't we find Viktor and ask what happened? If Viktor got away from this asshole, he might be headed back to the Academy."

Once at the Academy, she finally lets Diego talk her into getting some sleep. But only if he stays with her. He relented. But he had snuck out at some point. She woke up alone and let the Wisp drift around until she heard fighting and the sound of something shattering. She was on her feet as fast as possible. She hurries into the living room.

"What the hell is going on?" She rushes to where Diego is unconscious on the floor. "Five?" 

"He'll be fine." She glares at him before going back to checking Diego over. He groans as she runs her fingers through his hair, looking for injuries, and she finds a sore spot. Earning a laugh from her. His eyes snap open at the sound and the feeling of fingers along his scalp. He stares up at her. She smiles down at him.

"You good, cariño?" She asks quietly. Her fingers are still searching for injuries. 

"Y-yeah," he manages to say. He clears his throat as she pulls away. "Yeah, I'm good." He remembers that he’d been fighting Hazel and is on his feet as fast as he can manage. She watches him curiously before she is pulled to her feet and against him as he looks around the room.

“No one’s here,” she assures him. Diego nods. Y/N huffs a laugh and pats his chest as she pulls away from him. She still has no idea what has just happened, but he was back on his feet. Diego lets her go and glares at Five. 

Five looks back at him, gaze shifting over to his sister before focusing back on Diego. “I am curious. Your girlfriend, Patch.” He emphasizes the name. Again looking between his now oddly close sibling. “What did you like about her?” 

Diego hesitates a bit and looks between his siblings. His gaze lingers a bit too long on his sister, who looks back at him with a curious look. “This should be interesting,” she mutters, stealing a drink of her Five’s margarita. He snatches it back. “None for you. You’ll have more alcohol than blood in your BAC.”

“Fair point,” she admits before grinning at their other brother. “We’re still waiting, Diego.”

Diego rolls his eyes at her but answers, “A lot of things.” He thinks about it and adds, “Cute butt, nice legs.”

She chuckles. "Classy."

“Anything a little more profound than that?” Five asks.

“She believed in people,” Diego says. “No matter how much shit and filth she saw,” he glances at their sister again. “On the streets. She always saw the good inside.”

“Well,” Five acknowledges his answer. “I'm sure she'll be proud to know that you're killing Hazel and Cha-Cha as a way to honor her memory.”

Diego looks to Y/N. She gives a half-hearted smile. Her eyes are sad. She hadn’t known Patch well or for very long, but she found her first. 

“Guys! No, let me -” Viktor shouts from inside the bunker. 

“You locked up our brother because you think he has powers?” Diego and Klaus are shocked. 

“No, I know he does,” Luther answers. “Pogo told me. He's always known, and so did Dad.”

“Why would they hide this from us?” Diego asks. “I mean, am I the only one that didn't know this place existed?”

“He hid so much from us.”

“He hid it because he was afraid of him.”

“Oh, that's ridiculous.”

“Is it? Dad's lied about everything else, why is this so far-fetched?”

“If you're right, then maybe he's the one who killed Peabody.”

“And cut Allison's throat.”

“Whoa, no.”

“Let's I ju- Sorry, just, let's go back, all right?” Klaus says. “This is Viktor we're talking about. Our brother. The one who always cried when we stepped on ants as kids.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What the-” Y/N hurries into the dimly lit room. “Let him go.” Her eyes begin to glow as the Wisp takes full form.

“I can’t do that,” Luther says. “Just let me-”

“Now!” The Wisp crackles and burns like full-on flames. Bright yellow and orange flicker in the air above them. Her eyes lit to match. The heat distorts the air around it.

“Guys,” Luther starts. “I know it's difficult to accept. If you just let me-”

“It's not difficult to accept. It's impossible to accept,” Klaus continues to argue his point.

“No, they're right,” Diego speaks up. “Look, we can't keep Viktor locked up without proof.”

“Wh- What more proof do you need? Why don't we just open the door and ask?”

“No, he's not goin' anywhere.”

"Like hell, let him go," she looks between her brothers. 

"Sorry, Y/N, it's for the best," Luther says.

"Bullshit! He's afraid," she says before sending a small Wisp toward the bunker. The smaller one is a softer, calm Wisp as the majority of her powers continue to burn above her and Luther. Tears in her own eyes evaporate to steam as she takes in the fear in Viktor’s eyes. She focuses back on their supposed leader. “This is insane, Luther,” she hisses at him. Flames dance in her eyes as she glares at him. Klaus wipes away sweat as the temperature in the room rises. He glances at Diego. Diego looks between his siblings. He has to defuse this situation before it gets worse.

“No, even if you're right, Luther. Viktor needs our help,” Diego points out. “And we can't do that if he's locked in a cage.”

“Do you really think Viktor is any more dangerous than me right now?” Y/N states as the Wisp moves closer to Luther. Her hands now glowing as she steps towards him as well. Diego knows this could go very bad, very fast. It’s worse than someone burning a candle at both ends. This is like someone threw gasoline on a raging fire. 

"You don't want to do this, Y/N," Luther says.

"Going to lock me up too?" She challenges. "Good luck with that. Try and lay a finger on me, Number One. I dare you." She rips her watch off, and it melts in her hand. The smell of burning plastic and metal made most of them flinch. Viktor just stares. He’d never seen his sister this vicious. He glances at the smaller Wisp in the bunker. It was odd how its gentle blue light contrasted with the angry figures outside the bunker. 

"That's not-" Luther starts. He looks over at Diego and Klaus. "This is what needs to happen."

Diego shakes his head and focuses on her. She might actually listen to him. He needs her to calm down before she does something she can't undo. "Luz, you need to give yourself a break," Diego says as he moves closer. “We can handle this another way.”

"Not while V's in there," she refuses. "I won't leave him in the dark, alone. I didn't have a choice with Ben. I have the choice now."

“What good are you to Viktor if you waste all your energy on Luther?” Diego urges her to ease off. Her eyes snap to his. "First, it's finding Five, then Klaus, then Luther and Klaus again, Allison, now this. All while searching for Viktor. There isn't going to be any of you left if you don't take it easy."

"If we fail, we all die anyway, Diego,” She tells him. Tears turn to steam again as her eyes turn to fiery blue. “Why stop now?”

She’s hurting, and he knows it. She can’t keep this up. She’s running on rage and adrenaline, but those never last long. “Because you’re not alone in this fight. We can help Viktor without you burning yourself out.” He turns towards Luther. “And we are helping Viktor.” 

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees with Diego. “And for all we know, Viktor might be struggling with this new power. I mean, it must be scary. Terrifying, really, to discover that you can do something that you never thought you could do.” 

Diego sighs as that seems to do the trick, and she drops the raging fire that is the Wisp and moves over to the glass. The heat leaves her hands as she reaches for the glass. Her eyes lack the rage and heat they had before. She puts more of her powers into the Wisp inside the bunker with Viktor. She keeps it as calm and comforting as possible. Like she would on the nights Klaus and Ben would hide from the darkness in her room. "I'll stay with you, V. I promise. I'll stay with you in the dark."

“Look," Luther keeps arguing his point. "If what Pogo told me is even half true, then he is not just a danger to us.”

“I don’t care,” she says. “I’m not-”

 They all turn as Allison comes in. Y/N moves to lean against the wall beside the door, the Wisp still in with Viktor. She focuses on giving off a comforting feeling. She sends all the love she has into the Wisp. 

“Allison, what are you doing down here?” Luther asks. “You should be in bed.”

Allison writes on the notepad to let Viktor go.

“I can't do that,” Luther tells her. “She hurt you.”

“I'm sorry, but she's staying put.” Luther tries to assure her. “Just until we know what we're dealing with.”

Allison is clearly not happy with the answer. An angry noise leaves her damaged throat. 

“She stays put,” Luther adds. 

Allison tries to go past Luther, but he stops her. She pushes at him. She silently cries as she hits him.

“Come on,” Luther starts.

Allison sobs. 

“Come on,” Luther repeats. “You need to rest.”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” Viktor looks up at the Wisp and then back through the glass. “Y/N, please!”

“The Wisp won't leave you, V. I’ll still be with you.”

“Then the rest of you needs to rest,” Diego insists. 

“Let's go.”

“No! No! No! No!” Viktor calls after them. 

She lets Diego lead her toward her room. “I wonder if he would have made a room for me if I hadn’t been so willing to-”

“Don’t think like that,” Diego tells her.

“Why not? We have similar powers. V uses sound. I use light. It’s tied to my emotions, just like V’s. I could have easily taken Luther out or even melted that door. Especially as the Wisp. I don’t even know if there is a limit beyond how much oxygen there is in a room as to how hot I can heat it. I could burn this entire place down with everyone in it if I wanted to.”

“But you don’t want to,” Diego counters. “You have more control.”

“Do I? I lost it at the rave. I meant what I said down there. How is Viktor more dangerous than me?” She asks. “How do we know that? Because Luther says? Diego, we-” The blood drains from her face as she realizes what Viktor is about to do. She can feel it in the air inside the bunker. She focuses a bit more on the Wisp.

“Cari…” She starts as she looks at him, her eyes glowing bright blue from her powers. The brightness contrasts with her paling skin. 

Diego is immediately concerned. He reaches out in case she passes out. 

 “Run,” she tells him. 

Then all hell breaks loose. 

“Cariño”/”Cari” Dear, Sweetie, Honey, etc. Term of Endearment 

“Mi luz” My light, Term of Endearment

[heymrstargazer]

uh this is talking about literal torture scars so maybe steer clear if you're uncomfortable with that

anyway a list of (i think) all of colins scars and why he has them

assume they were all caused by his parents during torture demonstrations unless stared otherwise

getting this out of the way because it's not technically a scar (and was not included in demonstrations). colins auditory nerves and choclea were damaged with a high dose of drugs at a young age, therefore causing his deafness

slit around his throat (not deep but repeated often enough to scar)

a few track marks on the sides of his neck because they often demonstrate poison tactics

also track marks on his forearms for the same reason

ones around all joints of his arms (shoulders/biceps, elbows, wrists) for dismemberment examples

one very large slit vertically down his chest in case organ harvesting was part of the request

5 whip marks on his back from various occurrences in which he misbehaved when he was younger (not in the demonstration)

similar joint cuts around his thighs, knees, and the fronts of his ankles (also for dismemberment)

small dent in his hip from a vegetable peeler

a bullet scar on his hip (during a demonstration but not part of it. he ran his mouth when he really shouldn't have)

deep one on his forearm from a table saw

x over his heart because apparently fatal stab wounds need instructions

burns on his knees (used with various methods. a hot poker, a match, a lighter, a heat gun, etc.)

three small circular ones on his calf from a mace

one small one on the top of his foot from where he dropped a sword on it (drunken antics, not from the demonstration)

many nicks on his hands and arms from his own knives (also not from the demonstration)

tiny circular ones on his arms from anxiously picking while waiting for his parents to get him out of the basement when he was little (non-demonstration)

[nuka-nuke]

|Duke Lanzaro|

Name: Duke Lanzaro

Nickname: Duke the Nuke

Age: 24

Birthday: November 19th, 2257

Height: 5'11

Weight: 190lbs

Specials: Str 8 - Per 6 - End 6 - Cha 10 – Int 4  - Agi  - 4 Luck - 2

Eyes: Bright blue. His default look is a permanently flirty looking stare, but that’s just how his eyes are all the time.

Hair: Black

Body type: Athletic, defined muscle.

Status Currently: A bodyguard for the Kings, he works helping gamblers and out of towners on their way through Freeside to get to the Strip, for a nominal fee.

Relationship Status: Taken

Spouse(s)/Partners: Cliff Delmore, a singer at The Tops

Sexuality: Bisexual

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: “Some kind of Italian"

Family: His father Lorenzo Lanzaro passed away 7 years back while performing in his circus. His mother is Georgiana Lanzaro, former magician, current drug dealer/tattoo artist/stripper. He also has a half-sister, Antonia Euler, but he does not acknowledge that he’s related to her.

Languages: English

Disabilities/Illnesses/Injuries: None. Sometimes has issues moving his left arm too much, because of residual effects and stiffness left by the damage from the gunshot wound in his shoulder.

Allergies: None.

Scars: He has two small scars that go over the bridge of his nose on the left side of his face, one tiny scar on his right cheek. Perpetually bruised up knuckles.

On the right side of his body: a stab wound scar on his shoulder, jagged scar down the inner part of his bicep, a cut and stitches on his forearm, several small lacerations on his hands, one long cut along his ribs, and a smaller stab wound right above his hip, large gash along his upper thigh, bite scar on his lower calf, and a burn on the opposite side.  

On the left: Bullet wound in the shoulder, dog bite on that elbow, small cuts all over his hands, several short scrapes/stabs/stiches on his thigh.  

Physical traits: Pale, dark hair, bright blue eyes, often has a side-ways smirk on his face. He has a square jaw and a crooked nose from when he broke it at some point in the past, very pronounced cheek bones, and beauty marks scattered along his cheeks. His shoulders are broad and strong, with way more upper body strength than leg strength (from his specialty being melee and hand-to-hand combat).  

He has a tattoo of a heart on his neck with “Mom” in it, a mini nuke on his left forearm with the Kings crown, and a lightning bolt with “TCB” above it on his bicep.

Voice: Not exceptionally deep, but lower than a tenor. Kind of raspy while still very lilted; the flirty gravel is definitely his thing, which comes naturally from smoking for ten years. When he’s being snarky gets the “greaser guy” accent going, but that’s completely manufactured and not natural at all.

Clothing: He has about two of the same outfit and wears those constantly: torn up old jeans, random white (or formerly white) t-shirts, Kings jacket, and his high-top sneakers.

Fashion Style/Lifestye: His look and aesthetic are obviously like the greasers of the 1950’s, as all the Kings are. He doesn’t have much of a sense of fashion beyond that, but his boyfriend is a lot more in tune with that and tries to dress him up every now and then – though most of the time it’s the same old dirty jeans and t-shirts with leather jacket.

Weapon of Choice: Baseball bat with random chunks of metal stuck in it that has “Return To Sender” painted on the side. He got his nickname from being able to hit a baseball grenade with such expert precision it was like a nuke.  

He also carries brass knuckles as a last resort, a special pair with a spade hollowed out of the center and two long spikes on either end of the hand.  

Skills: Extremely charismatic, can talk himself out of almost any situation and flirt his way into getting what he wants, in a direct contrast to his best friend’s terrible social awkwardness. He has no shame about using his good looks to his advantage – and he knows how good he looks, of course. He is also very physically strong and capable in a fight. Tagged skills would be explosives, speech, and melee.

Weaknesses: His loved ones, most particularly Dizzy. If anything happens to him, Cliff, or his mother, he’s going off the rails in defense mode. He is very quick to forgive them of anything they do wrong, no matter how egregious, and overlook serious issues out of a skewed sense of loyalty.

Poor skills: Very bad at restraining his temper. Though he is usually extremely calm and hard to irritate around people who are important to him, minor things from anyone but those select few can hit him like a switch and turn him into a violent, blind rage. Also is completely inept at any kind of wilderness survival.

Affiliations: The Kings, The Followers of the Apocalypse, Courier Six

Former Affiliations: Lanzaro’s Greatest Show in the West (since it no longer exists)

Enemies: The Legion, The NCR, The Van Graffs, The Omertas  

Neutral Affiliations: The Chairmen, White Glove Society

Religion: Agnostic

Likes: He likes anything to do with the “original” King, especially learning to play the songs older members know on guitar. He is deeply devoted to the gang’s ideals and is willing to live and die for the idea of freedom as The King teaches it to them. He likes gambling, though he has awful luck and almost always loses. Playing guitar. Cigarettes. Rum. Flirting.  Baseball. Feeling as though he makes a difference, through working for the Kings. Dizzy’s dad, Ace Euler.

Dislikes: Doesn’t really like sweets all too much. Caravan; it makes no sense to him. Leaving Freeside or traveling too far from Vegas. Feeling as though he isn’t in control.  

Hates: People bullying others who are much smaller/weaker than them; which is how he met Dizzy. People who aren’t from Freeside ruining the lives of locals.  

Friends: Dizzy Deeks has been his best friend since he was just a kid after he rescued him from being beaten to death by kids bigger than he was. Julie Farkas, Luisa Flores (Dizzy’s aunt), Sergio, Francine Garret, James Garret, Mick and Ralph, Courier Six.  

Acquaintances: Frankie Felice (another King), Vander “Van” DeVilla (also a King), Lucille McKenny (ex-girlfriend. Dizzy’s ex-girlfriend too), Lucky Harris (Dizzy’s boyfriend), Ringo, Niner, Raul Tejada.

Former friends: Rey Euler – he used to tolerate him, not any longer.  

Enemies: Johnny Salentino, another King who is his (personally proclaimed) rival, even though Johnny has no idea and thinks they are friends. Rey Euler, Dizzy’s older brother who knocked up Duke’s mom. Pacer. The entirety of the NCR.  

Pets: No pets. After his dad died, all their circus creatures were released and he has never had an animal since then.

Fallout OC friends/family: So many. Almost all the characters he associates with are OCs.  

Personality: Duke is the super cool guy that everyone wants to be! He’s always confident and always knows just what to say, but just as snarky as Dizzy always is. He’s easily amused, easy going, and generally doesn’t take things too seriously - but his temper can be short and violent if someone fucks with him or any other King. He loves to make terrible jokes and use terrible pick-up lines, but more often than not he can sound charming enough when he uses them that people fall for it anyway.

Favorite color: Yellow

Favorite foods:  Anything salty or spicy, particularly the things Dizzy’s mom cooks. Also really likes cram, though Dizzy will pointedly cringe anytime he eats it around him.

Favorite drinks: Rum, or any other strong dark liquor (though he knows to stay away from the “Mistake Maker” - the Alejos Especial, the gin that Dizzy’s mother makes and sells to the Wrangler).

Favorite Sweets: He isn’t too big on sweet foods, but he likes prickly pear candies occasionally.  

_____________________________________

Other info:

Brotp Meme

Aesthetic Pin Board

References

Random Extra Info

[snini-9]

Excessive Aggression

All information and images are found on this site. Due to the manipulation of family units and the creation of artificial pods in captivity, incompatible individuals are forced into close proximity with one another. The resulting anxiety and tension, as well as the added stresses of living in an unnatural environment, causes excessive aggression between tank mates. This can be expressed in multiple ways such as ramming or tail slapping, but the most common form of aggression is raking.

​

​Wild orca rake marks

Raking is a natural assertion of dominance and aggression in the wild. It involves an orca dragging its teeth along the skin of another resulting in rake marks – characterised as thin, evenly spaced parallel scratches, usually in rows of no more than four. Rake marks are gained during determinations of dominance, reinforcements of the hierarchy (discipline) and rough play behaviours. However, orcas can also receive rake marks by being helped by another orca. Ingrid Visser recalls a stranding of a female orca who sustained deep rake marks from her pod members as they attempted to pull her off the beach.

​

Rake marks a beached orca sustained.

There have also been cases of pod members assisting sick or injured calves and others acting as midwives to help with births, unintentionally causing extensive scarring on their bodies. When J50 Scarlet (a female Southern Resident) was born in 2014, she was covered in teeth marks from a conspecific. Killer whale experts believe Scarlet became stuck in her mother’s (J16 Slick) womb during labour, leading to another orca intervening and pulling her out with its teeth. Thanks to the intervention, both mother and calf survived the birth. Although, Scarlet was left with prolific scarring resulting in her name.

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Extensive scarring on J50 Scarlet.​

Another angle of J50’s scars. Seen most notably on her dorsal fin and saddle patch.

On a sadder note, when J28 Polaris died in 2016 she left behind her 10-month old calf, J54 Dipper, who was still dependant on his mother for milk. As Dipper was not adopted by any lactating females, he became weak and severely malnourished, causing him to enter a state of delirium. When Dipper became too weak to swim, his sister, J46 Star, and cousin, J47 Notch, carefully held him between their bodies to assist him. Once he started to sink, Star desperately grabbed her baby brother in her mouth to bring him to the surface causing severe rake marks on his dorsal fin. Unfortunately, despite Star and Notch’s best efforts, Dipper did not survive.

​

Near death, J54 Dipper is carried by sister J46 Star on the right, and cousin J47 Notch on the left.

​

A close up of J54 Dipper, showing the teeth marks from where his sister and cousin tried to hold him afloat.

In the wild, natural, socially healthy rake marks are generally shallow and subtle but some can be deep and draw blood. It is not something which frequently occurs as orcas live in family units and have strong social bonds which may last for life. When outbursts of aggression do occur, it’s often short-lived and no serious harm is done as their social rules prohibit serious violence against each other. Additionally, when fights do occur, they have an entire ocean to flee to. Extremely extensive, prolific rake marks which frequently occur are unnatural in the wild and are most commonly seen in captivity. On the rare occasions that a wild orca can be seen with prolific rake marks, it’s often due to an unstable social structure or a significant problem within the pod. In confinement, the vastly limiting and highly stressful conditions, as well as the mix of incompatible individuals from various populations and ecotypes, contribute to outbursts of hyper-aggression.

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Earth‘s prolific rake marks

Photos of Earth at Kamogawa Sea World shortly after his sister, Luna, was born in 2012.

Tekoa‘s prolific rake marks

​

Hyper-aggressive encounters in captivity have led to significant injuries and even death.

​

In 1987, Icelandic female Gudrun was sent to SeaWorld Orlando on breeding loan. Upon arrival, Gudrun became a target of the park’s matriarch, Katina, who would frequently bully Gudrun by raking and ramming her. On one occasion, as the females swam around the main pool, Katina began shoving and ramming Gudrun who attempted to defend herself by raking Katina with her teeth. Just as Gudrun approached the matriarch with her mouth wide open, Katina hit Gudrun’s lower jaw hard with her tail flukes. The impact was so immense that it echoed loudly around the stadium and caused two of Gudrun’s teeth to be driven into the bone of her lower jaw. As blood and green vomit spewed from her mouth, Gudrun was directed to D-Pool (the medical pool) and purposely beached on the rising floor. Trainers and animal care staff pinned her down and forced a four-by-four block of wood into her mouth to keep it propped open. Veterinary staff then yanked out the teeth stuck in her jaw bone, all whilst she was in excruciating pain. It took two weeks of recovery before Gudrun could eat normally, although she was never fully able to close her mouth again after the incident.

​

Gudrun with visible gaps in her lower jaw where her teeth were pulled out.

More recently, in September 2012, 11-year-old Nakai was participating in a special night show for corporate groups with his half-brother, Ikaika, and tank mate, Keet. During the performance, the trio of males began fighting with one another without warning. Although an instigator could not be determined, Nakai split into a back pool whereas Ikaika and Keet returned to their trainers resulting in the continuation of the show. It was only when trainers called Nakai over for a final feeding that they realised a “dinner-plate-sized” chunk of flesh was missing from his chin – the detached flesh was later retrieved from the bottom of the pool. The severe laceration exposed underlying tissues and bone. SeaWorld provided little information regarding what caused the injury, simply contending that Nakai “came into contact with a portion of the pool” during a “normal social behaviour”. An investigation the USDA launched following the incident concluded Nakai’s injury appeared to have been caused by his jaw scraping the recessed track that holds the watertight gates between two of the pools at Shamu Stadium.

​

Nakai’s gruesome chin injury.

Although Nakai’s injury was not directly caused by another orca, it was a result of an aggressive encounter between an artificial arrangement of animals. Although Ikaika is Nakai’s half-brother, the pair met each other for the first time less than a year prior to the incident. Keet, on the other hand, is unrelated to Nakai and is an Icelandic-Southern Resident hybrid. Earlier in the year, Nakai injured Keet by biting his erect penis during an artificial insemination procedure. The bite caused a lengthy period of extensive bleeding and resulted in Nakai being banned from being in the pool with Keet during AI procedures. Evidently, the trio of young males lacked the strong social bonds required for social cohesion in orca society leading to a severe outburst of aggression.

​

One fatal incident of aggression occurred on August 21st, 1989 at SeaWorld San Diego. During a performance, Icelandic matriarch Kandu 5 rammed Northern Resident Corky 2 with her mouth open, attempting to rake her. Either due to the impact of the collision, or whether Kandu missed Corky and struck one of the tank walls, Kandu fractured her upper jaw and severed major arteries in her nasal passages. Although Corky appeared uninjured, enormous amounts of blood blasted from Kandu’s blowhole. Kandu was directed to the medical pool, accompanied by her 11-month-old calf, Orkid, to diminish her activity and reduce her blood pressure in hope of inducing clotting. Sadly, attempts to help Kandu were futile as the damage was irreversible. As she began to lapse into unconsciousness, veterinary staff decided it would safer for the calf if the pair were to return to one of the larger back pools.

​

Kandu 5 spouting blood from her blowhole.

Over the course of 45 minutes, Kandu slowly bled to death, spouting a spray of blood every time she surfaced. Orkid remained by her mother’s side throughout the entire ordeal and persisted to swim helpless circles around her mother’s lifeless body as it sank to the bottom of the pool.

​

11-month-old Orkid circling her mother’s lifeless body.

Corky 2 and Kandu 5 originate from different geographical regions and would never have crossed paths in the wild. Unlike in a tank, wild orcas can flee from aggressive encounters and can remain a safe distance away from those they do not get along with. Corky and Kandu did not have this option. In fact, SeaWorld was more than aware of the growing tensions between Corky and Kandu but still insisted on keeping them together. By August 1989, Corky had lost seven calves, none of which survived to two months old. When Kandu successfully gave birth to Orkid in 1988, Corky sought to play the motherly role she was stripped of when her own calves died. As a protective mother, Kandu disliked the attention Corky paid to Orkid, leading to spats between the two females – one of which led to Kandu leaving Corky injured and bleeding after tearing a gash in her lower abdomen.

​

After Icelandic female Kenau was moved to SeaWorld San Antonio, and the park’s bull orca, Orky 2, died in 1988, four whales (Corky 2, Knootka, Kandu 5 and Orkid) remained at the San Diego park. With a four-pool complex, and two inseparable whales (Kandu 5 and her daughter, Orkid), SeaWorld had the means to keep Corky and Kandu separated. Yet, SeaWorld routinely kept Kandu and Corky in close proximity; sometimes pairing Orkid and Corky together during shows (as they did during the performance of the fatal incident), only adding to Kandu’s frustration. SeaWorld’s negligence and failure to provide their orcas with a safe environment ultimately led to Kandu’s brutal death. She was only 14-years-old.

[occasionalfics]

worth my while // p. 9

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 8 | p. 10 

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: Continue your yelling. I get it. This hurts.

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). Hades is THE WORST.

Words: 2,381

You run back through the compound - it’s so empty, it feels haunted. You may not know Tony Stark as well as you maybe should, but he’s kind of famous for having a lot of stuff. Rich guys always have tons of cars, you figure. And in a facility like this, you know there has to be at least a service van or something, just waiting to be taken out to save the day.

But you’re not looking to save anyone other than Thor.

You know you hurt him. You lied to him. You weren’t enough. You weren’t and aren’t worthy of him or Asgard or...anything.

You do wish you’d told him about Rick. Maybe then it wouldn’t seem so impossible to believe that he’d forgive you one day.

Today is not about your feelings or your regrets, though. Hades is going to raise the dead - you don’t even know how or why or where or how many dead he’ll bring back - and Thor can’t fight them off. He wants to, but it’ll kill him.

Which is probably exactly what Hades wants. To kill a mortal, or at least to hold dominion over a mortal’s soul, is one kind of power. But to hold that dominion over the soul of a God?

You can’t fathom what that might mean. You can’t even pretend like it’s possible, because if it is, that leaves Thor in the Underworld all because of you.

You try to call out for the Irish lady - FRIDAY! You remember - but the building is too big and you can’t hear her response. You find a bathroom, notice that there aren’t any cameras in the corners of the room, and try again.

“Yes, Miss?” she asks.

The beating of your heart heats your ears. “Where’s the garage or a car or just...anything that’ll get me out of this compound and back into the city?”

The lights dim. The mirror over the sink illuminates with lines that bend in all directions. A single green trail starts in one corner and marks its way across the mirror as Friday tells you, “In the West corridor. Rentals are available, or one of Mr. Stark’s Audis has been left in his spot.”

The green line branches off and stretches out beyond the other lines. A dot at the end blinks back at you.

It’s a map. You memorize the green line from where you are to where the Audi is, which seems to be in a parking structure just beyond the main hub of the compound. You call out, “Thank you!” to Friday, then take a deep breath and run.

Thor might be slow moving, and he’s on foot, but you have to find him before anyone else does.

There are few agents around. You know most of them have been called out to deal with Hades - how global this issue is, you have no concept of. You urge your feet to move faster, even as the remaining agents call after you.

They have no idea who you are. You’ve never been here before, not that you have any business being in an Avengers’ facility. The only floors of the tower you’ve seen, besides the lobby, are the residential ones and that deck.

The deck. You had the perfect opportunity to open up, to tell Thor about Rick. Maybe not to tell him everything, but at least to get out the fact that losing Rick had shaken you so badly, you weren’t quite ready to move on.

But by the time you’d gone up to that deck, you already had.

If there’s a prize for rotten judgement… you think.

You come up to the doors to the parking lot and find the Audi in the second spot on the left - the first two, one on the left and one on the right - are disabled spots, as per the ADA. Good for Stark you think.

“Friday, where are the keys to that thing?” you ask.

An automatic door opens in the wall beside the door. “I’m not supposed to give these to anyone,” she tells you, as a tube falls into the open space from within the wall. “But Pointbreak has gone beyond my surveillance reach, and his vitals are below normal. I’m initiating Emergency protocol.”

You pause because you seem to remember something about sentient AI and the Avengers, and how that debacle had led to the Accords. But that doesn’t matter right now. Friday is trying to help you, not hinder your progress.

“I’ll put in a good word with the boss,” you tell her, even though you don’t really know what that’s going to mean. You pull the tube from the wall, rip it open, and take the keys before sprinting through the doors and out to the car. There’s no time to appreciate the luxury of it; you turn the key in the ignition, throw the car in reverse, and hit the gas so hard, the car hesitates.

“Drive savely, Miss,” Friday’s voice calls out from within the car. The screen on the dashboard shuts off, as if she’s signaling that she’s turning off surveillance.

She’s covering your tracks, and possibly even protecting Stark because she must know he’s fighting for his life. For everyone’s life.

God, this is all your fault.

You’ll loath yourself later, though. You follow the path down from the compound - thankfully, there’s only one road to and from the highway. Empty fields pass, but there is no sign of life.

No sign of death here, either, though. That, at least, gives you some relief.

You tap the steering wheel anxiously the further you get. Eventually, just before the ramp onto the highway, you find him. His frame comes into view slowly, but then he turns as you approach. How he got this far this fast, you’ll never know. You won’t ask because it’s not that important.

You pull the car up next to him, roll the window down, and yell out, “Thor, get in!”

He turns from you and continues on. You follow.

“Don’t be stupid - you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

You don’t notice the tears streaking across your face. At first, you refused to let them fall, but now… Now you’re not even crying because your pride is hurt at his refusal to listen. You’re crying because you know you’re right. If Thor doesn’t listen, if he doesn’t let you protect him, he will die.

And it’ll be all your fault.

Selling your soul to save Rick had once been your biggest mistake, your own self-imposed curse. But losing Thor to the monster who took advantage of your broken spirit?

That would be a whole new version of Hell.

“Please, Thor, get in!”

He continues without looking your way.

You speed up, intending to block the entrance to the highway with the entire body of the Audi. If he weren’t so weak, he might be able to climb over the car and go on. But you know he won’t get far.

The car speeds up too quickly, though. You cut the wheel when you expect it’ll turn, but the tires screech as you stomp on the breaks. The whole car spins once - twice - three times up the ramp, then harshly collides with the metal barricade and cement wall.

The hood crumples. The airbag inflates and crushes your nose, chin, and chest. You weren’t wearing a seatbelt, but the crash is so swift that you’re only thrown from your seat for a second before the dashboard sends you catapulting back. Your head hits the seat, and pain shoots up your neck and down your spine.

When everything stills, you struggle to breathe. There’s a hissing noise that you can’t identify. The screen on the dashboard illuminates, and a voice tells you they’re calling someone.

Tony Stark’s voice asks who’s driving.

All you can respond with is, “I’m so sorry,” and, “He’s gonna die. I tried to stop him.”

And then the lights go out.

--

The first indication that Thor’s strength has returned is the jump he makes from solid ground, over the car, and onto the hot asphalt ramp. His body no longer feels heavy, and he can tug on the invisible string that ties him to Mjölnir again. He can sense the ozone wrapped around the atmosphere of Midgard like it laces his veins.

He knows the deal he made with the man in the suit - (Y/N)’s employer - is broken. So is his heart, though that was already shattered. His stomach is in knots, knowing that (Y/N) must be hurt for him to feel like himself again.

He rips the door of the car off, knowing Stark will not have kind things to say about destroying his things. Thor doesn’t care.

She didn’t do that… on purpose, right?

(Y/N) wouldn’t intentionally drive herself into a wall to stop him. He’s sure of it. Sure that, despite the ache in his chest and the call he hears his soul send to hers, she wouldn’t sacrifice herself for him like this.

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage, just reaches in to grip her shoulders - but Friday’s familiar voice is able to break through the ringing in his head.

“Don’t move her, Pointbreak,” she says. “She has several lacerations, multiple broken bones, and her heart rate is slow. Any movement may worsen her condition, and I’ve already alerted the paramedics.”

Thor knows, somewhere in his head, that the closest hospital is back at the compound. All he has to do is wait - something he has never been good at doing. He can’t move her, but he does put one hand on her cheek facing away from him.

She grunts, and he feels the heat of the midday sun warm him, breathe energy back into him. He calls her name, and she groans, but doesn’t move.

“(Y/N),” he says, “you have to hold on. Don’t you dare leave, you hear?”

She grunts, chokes on a pathetic cough, and somehow manages to get one eye open. And it’s the eye closest to him. Her left arm reaches out slowly - something in the middle of it is bent the wrong way - and her bloody fingers reach his chin.

Her skin is cold, despite the warm liquid coating the pads of her fingers.

“Don’t leave me.”

She gives a single shake of her head.

“Thor?” Another voice, one he recognizes. “Thor, what the hell happened there?” It’s Tony. The broken screen in the center of the car has changed; Tony’s eyes scan the interior of the car, though they can’t turn to see Thor. He must only be able to hear.

“It’s a long story, Stark. I need your location, and whether or not you have eyes on a man in a dark suit with navy eyes.”

“What?” Tony asks. “What the hell did your girlfriend do to my car?!”

“She tried to stop me, but like I said, it’s a long story! Now do you see a man in a suit or not?”

--

He hates the thought of leaving her, but he has to. Thor has no idea what this man plans - not until he reaches Normandy, where hordes of undead, rotting corpses flood a beach. Steve was the only one with eyes on the man - and there he is, stepping out of the sea entirely dry, hair aflame now though it was not before.

The navy blue of his eyes is bright and jubilant for all the wrong reasons.

That is, until his sights set on Thor.

“But you-”

Thor swings Mjölnir around, then launches it and grips the handle tightly, following its path as it collides with the man’s face. Once on his feet again, he turns and glowers at the man as he struggles to get up.

“Didn’t I put you out of commission?” he asks, rubbing his jaw.

Thor growls. “You put a mortal’s life on the line-”

“That’s kinda my schtick.”

Another smack!

“Do you even care that she’s hurt?” Thor yells.

Another punch.

“Or does it make you smile?”

Another.

Thor hates that the man is still able to stand. He doesn’t even bleed. But it is clear - has been clear since he stepped onto the field to make his deal - that he is a God, just the same as Thor is. He’s not sure lightning will even make a difference in this fight, and that shakes his entire being.

The corpses continue coming from the sea. Will lightning make a difference for them? And if it does...what kind of difference?

The God in the suit laughs. “You’re more of an idiot than I took you for if you think I care about her.” He wipes his lip, steps back toward the water, and holds his arms out as the bodies come. “She was just a cog in my machine. She is nothing. And soon, neither will you be.”

They both raise their fists at the same time. One brings on fire - heat and flame and burning eternal - and another brings a storm - heavy and humid and static. They tear into one another - the only match for the other - but neither bends or falls or bleeds.

“She’s dying, you know,” the other God says. He smirks at Thor and dodges a punch. “I know you care about that. I can feel it. She’s dying, and you’re out here fighting me.” He throws a hand up, shoots bitingly cold fire out, and laughs. “I should be flattered.”

Thor can’t stop. He has to take this God out - he’s the only one that can. But he wants to stop - wants to fly off back to New York. Every atom in his body, every single bit of his mass wants to go back to her.

But he knows he can’t, and even if he could, he’d never make it.

If this God knows she’s dying now, she’ll be gone before he can get back to her.

This God...who controls the dead.

Thor lets another icy fire blast knock him back as he loses himself to his thoughts. It barely stings, and when he regains his posture, he glares at the God again. Because, if he knows (Y/N) is about to die, he can also do something about it.

[murkserious]

Kalief Browder (May 25, 1993 – June 6, 2015) was an African American teen from The Bronx. In 2010, at age 16 years, Browder was accused of the theft of a backpack and its contents including a camera, $700, a credit card and an iPod Touch. Browder was imprisoned on Rikers Island for three years with time in solitary confinement. He was released when the prosecutor's case was found lacking in evidence and witnesses. The main witness had left the United States. Two years after his release from prison, Browder died by suicide by hanging himself from an air conditioning unit outside his bedroom window at his mother's home. Browder's supporters say his death was the result of mental and physical abuse sustained in prison. His case has been cited by activists who call for the reform of the New York City criminal justice system.

On May 15, 2010, Browder and a friend were apprehended by police on Arthur Avenue near East 186th Street in the Bronx. Browder said he was on his way home from a party. He thought the police were carrying out a routine stop-and-frisk. He had undergone this police procedure on a number of occasions.

Police officers were responding to a 9-1-1 call placed by Roberto Bautista about the theft of a backpack containing a camera, $700, a credit card and an iPod Touch. In his call Bautista said, "Two male black guys...they took my brother's book bag..." Browder said to the attending police officers, "I did not rob anyone, you can check my pockets." The police searched Browder, but they did not find the backpack. Bautista was sitting in the back seat of a police car. He identified Browder and his friend as the thieves. He then said the theft had not taken place that night but two weeks earlier. Bautista's testimony of the date of the theft varied between interviews.

Browder asked the officers, "What am I being charged for?" He said, "I didn't do anything!" A police officer said to Browder, "We're just going to take you to the precinct. Most likely you can go home.” Browder and his friend were taken to the 48th Police Precinct Station. They were fingerprinted and kept in a holding cell for a few hours. Then, they were taken to the Bronx County Criminal Court, where they were processed at the court's central booking.

Seventeen hours after the arrest, Browder was interrogated by a police officer and a prosecutor. The following day, Browder was charged with robbery, grand larceny, and assault. As he was on probation, Browder was not released. At Browder's arraignment, the charge given was second-degree robbery. Bail was set at $3,000. With a bail bondsman, the amount might have been $900 but Browder's family could not raise this amount, so he was imprisoned at Rikers Island. When his parents raised the money for bail, his bail was denied. No amount of money could get him out.

Browder was imprisoned at the Robert N. Davoren Center (R.N.D.C.) on Riker's Island. Preet Bharara, the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York said that the R.N.D.C. had a "deep-seated culture of violence" where inmates suffered "broken jaws, broken orbital bones, broken noses, long bone fractures, and lacerations requiring stitches."

Altogether, Browder spent nearly two years in solitary confinement, mostly after fights with inmates. Browder later said that while in solitary confinement, he was beaten by corrections officers when in the shower. He said a verbal confrontation with a guard would escalate into a physical altercation. during his time in solitary confinement, Browder was allowed activities such as reading and also studied for the General Educational Development (G.E.D) exam.

Brendan O'Meara was appointed Browder's public defender. Browder always maintained that he was innocent. Although the assistant district attorney called Browder's a "relatively straightforward case", his trial was delayed by a backlog of work at the Bronx District Attorney's office.

Seventy-four days after his arrest, in July 2010, Kalief was brought before a judge at the Bronx County Hall of Justice. The grand jury indicted Browder on a charge second-degree robbery. A second charge of punching and pushing Bautista was heard. Browder made a plea of "not guilty". Browder's family went to a local bail bondsman about the new charge but the posting of bail was denied due to Browder's prior violation of his probation. On December 10, 2010, a potential trial date was made as prosecution and defense had submitted notices of readiness. Two hundred and fifty-eight days after his arrest, on January 28, 2011, Browder appeared in court. The prosecution requested a deferment of proceedings.

In 2014, Preet Bharara, the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York took action against the City of New York for its use of "unnecessary and excessive force" on adolescents in Riker's Island. In January 2015, the New York City Council voted unanimously to end solitary confinement for inmates under the age of 21.

Soon after his release, Browder passed the G.E.D. exam. He then enrolled at the Bronx Community College (BCC). Kalief participated in the City University of New York's "Future Now" program, which offered a college education to previously incarcerated youths. Browder completed 11 credits and finished his semester with a grade point average of 3.562. Due to depression, Browder did not attend college in the fall semester but re-enrolled in the spring.

On May 11, 2015, Kalief Browder submitted a paper titled "A Closer Look at Solitary Confinement in the United States" for which he was scored an "A." He wrote, "Solitary confinement should be looked at as a whole around the United States and even though changes toward the solitary confinement system have begun in some states, more needs to be done and addressed around the country. In a lot of jails and prisons there are a lot of living circumstances and practices that go on within that are not addressed that people need to shed light on like solitary confinement, for example. Maybe another form of punishment or segregation should be implemented to deal with inmates who break jail rules as opposed to inmates who cause severe harm to other inmates and correction officers because the mental health risk it poses are too great."

Kalief worked as a tutor in mathematics for the G.E.D. exam at the BCC. He wanted to work to support his mother. Browder worked for a time as a security guard but was dismissed when his history of mental illness came to light. He also handed out flyers near Wall street. Browder said, "I see businessmen and businesswomen dressed in suits...I want to be successful, like them."

After his release, Browder's symptoms of depression persisted. He said, "People tell me because I have this case against the city I'm all right. But I'm not all right. I'm messed up. I know that I might see some money from this case, but that's not going to help me mentally. I'm mentally scarred right now. That's how I feel. Because there are certain things that changed about me and they might not go back." He also said, "Before I went to jail, I didn't know about a lot of stuff, and, now that I'm aware, I'm paranoid. I feel like I was robbed of my happiness."

On June 6, 2015 at 12:15 PM, Kalief committed suicide by hanging himself from an air conditioning unit outside his bedroom window at his mother's home. His mother discovered his body.

[firjii]

Words: 2231

Fandom: Tomb Raider (Video Games), Rise Of The Tomb Raider - Fandom Rating: General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Lara Croft, Jacob (Tomb Raider) Tags: hurt/comfort, friendfic, referenced injuries, injury mention, anxiety, survivor guilt, spirituality (canon compliant) Summary: Exhausted, injured, and slightly delirious after escaping one of Trinity’s bases, Lara finally has a chance to pause and recuperate in the relative safety among Jacob’s people. As she reflects on choice and duty, she confesses some of her frustrations to Jacob.

[o hey waddup, first new fanfic in 10 months and it’s a totally random thing that absolutely no one asked for XD XD]

Plain text version under the cut.

Lara’s legs folded awkwardly and she sank onto the pallet harder than she expected to. She banged the back of her head against the shack’s timber wall in the process.

“Easy,” Jacob murmured. He clunked a cup of stew on a table and rushed over to her a little too late.

She rubbed her head, but the movement that it required of her arm made her flinch. A very stifled groan sounded deep in her throat. “It’s alright. I barely hit it. It just surprised me.”

He crouched. “Sit still. I would have checked your injuries sooner, but we could only stay in one place for so long.” Jacob checked her eyes and pulse in silence.

“Could you help if something was wrong?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not.” He prompted her to move her head. “We have much of the knowledge we need, but not always the tools to do something about it.” Satisfied with the range of motion in her neck, he stood and retrieved the stew. “Here. A crossing like that would have broken any spirit. An empty stomach won’t help.”

Despite the seasoning in the stew, she ate blankly, as if forcing bland or undercooked fare into her mouth.

“You’ll need time, too.”

 Lara shook her head as she took two more meager mouthfuls and meekly poked at the remains of the cup’s contents with the wooden spoon. “You saw what Trinity did. We don’t have time.”

“There’s enough left for you to get your bearings. You’re little use to anyone if you can’t even stand without swaying.”

Lara set the food aside and dug her fingernails into the shack wall. Her mouth twisted with the effort, but she stood. She squared her shoulders and straightened until she was at her full height, her frame a little lacking before Jacob.

Jacob raised an eyebrow.

Lara’s face greened. She locked her knees, but her exhaustion simply traveled up to her shoulders.

Jacob braced her as her knees failed. He guided her back down to the pallet and knelt. “When was the last time you rested?”

She propped herself against the wall. “It’s alright. Give me two or three hours. I’ll be fine.”

He moved away from her and slid onto his feet. “That’s not what I meant.”

She blinked with effort.

A ghost of a chuckle escaped him. “It’s not a difficult question.”

Something flickered and half-formed in her eyes but disappeared sooner than it had surfaced. “Your people live off the land. You worry about survival above all else, because even if you’re willing to die for your purpose, someone needs to stay alive to guard that purpose. And out here, any mistake can be your last. Sometimes the choice is between –” She swallowed with effort. “Sometimes victory doesn’t exist. Sometimes success only means cheating death another day. Some of the world calls that a harsh life, but you do what you must. And so do I.”

She frowned. Travel’s heaviness made the journey to her own question scattered, but it willed itself out of the shadows after another moment. She wasn’t sure why she was thinking about it, but now that it was here and she had a moment, she indulged herself.

Had she been speaking English? Had Jacob? Each language she knew lived in a different corner of her concentration, but with everything inside her drenched in panic or blood or sweat or grime or all of them put together, every thought had a hazy sheen protecting it. Who were these people, aside from the descendants of the Prophet’s followers? Where had they come from? What would they be now if they weren’t eking out survival here?

She sighed so hard that her torso crumpled a little. “Deserts and mountains aren’t forgiving. Armed helicopters aren’t forgiving. My hunt isn’t forgiving.” Her forehead danced as she pushed the words out.

“‘Forgiving.’” His eyes squinted for an instant. “You confuse mistakes with tragedy.”

“They’re not always different.” She clenched and unclenched a hand several times in empty air as she searched for words. “When was I supposed to rest? When can anyone?” She waved an arm, but the gesture was pinched.

Jacob bent his head down and aimed a scowl at his boots, but he kept his silence.

“It shouldn’t be so hard to understand. Your people have made a life here. Not everyone could have done the same. Sometimes your enemy is winter. Sometimes it’s a wolf or a bear. Now it’s Trinity. But your fight never stops.”

“Hmm,” he grunted in accord. “Apparently, neither does yours.”

“You’re –” She swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re protecting here other than yourselves, but it’s something you’re all willing to die for.”

“We have no choice.”  

“What makes you think I do?”

“Lara, we came here because we were forced to, and we stay because we must. You decided when and how to start your path.”

Lara closed her eyes and rubbed her face hard.

“But I –”

Lara’s eyes whipped up to him.

He took a moment to choose his words. “I don’t think you decided to be on a path to begin with.”

She shook her head weakly to herself. “Well.” The single word escaped on a single anemic chuckle. “Here we are.”

He nodded. “Here we are.”

Her jaw tightened. She nodded dejectedly. “And after all you’ve been through, I had to bring more trouble here. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t be free if you hadn’t found me.”

“But you’re not free. None of you are. You can’t leave, even if you want to. And Trinity knows you’re here because of me.”

“This is hardly the first time someone has hunted for our secrets. They already knew. They would have come anyway.”

Lara shifted and shook her head again.

Jacob grimaced slightly. “For now, all is well enough. You should sleep.”

Lara’s mouth opened and closed mutely several times, her outward stubbornness weakening each time. She nodded and crumpled down onto the pallet, but as her full weight met with it, a jolt went through her limbs. A strangled howl left her.

Jacob guided her as she sat up. “Let me see.”

She chuckled. “If your people used money, I’d bet everything I have that you’ve seen worse. And I have – quite a lot to bet.” She pulled up the back of her shirt several inches, wincing all the while.

Jacob stared. Silence surrounded the shack. “Some of these are old.”

Lara snorted. “Old enough to not hurt anymore, but not old enough to forget.”  

“And a different story behind all of them.”

“Different parts of one story.”

Jacob considered the freshest of the injuries. Three bruises nearly the size of her fist loomed near her spine. A dozen or more small lacerations, most barely closed, pocked her back. Remarkably, her ribs seemed relatively unscathed. “There’s nothing much to bandage here, praise be.”

She murmured agreement.

“But are you always this unlucky?”

Lara scoffed and pulled her shirt back down. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” She turned her head halfway around to glance at him. “If it was, I wouldn’t be awake to tell you that. Sometimes you hit your mark. Sometimes you don’t.”

Jacob nodded as his eyebrows soared. “And sometimes you shatter a rib or paralyze yourself when you misjudge a jump. They’re only bones – nothing very important, hmm?”

Lara winced at the sharp words spoken so softly from a kind throat. No, not exactly a kind one, not entirely. Earnest, exhausted, fierce – and all hiding under the same question that took shape again.

Jacob sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I am.” Her voice was pale and small.

“I don’t have enough herbs here to treat them. I’ll send someone out to gather more. For now, rest.”

Lara’s eyes became heavier with each blink, but she forced herself to remain sitting upright. “I think I stopped resting the day my father left me.”

Jacob nodded minimally. He gazed out the open door at some faraway point for a long moment. “Then sleep.”

She sat awhile longer before she gave in to her exhaustion and inched her head down onto the pillow. With a great deal more wincing and flinching, she shifted onto her side.

Jacob lingered, unmoving.

Lara stared at the corner of the shack. “How do I finish this?” Her jaw barely moved as she pushed the words out.

“Some things in life are never over. They only move into a different season.”

“But how can I fix this before that happens?”

Lara went on staring listlessly. Jacob scowled. “Who said that you needed to?”

Unsatisfied with her head’s placement on the pillow, she wedged a forearm under her face. “It’s different when there’s blood on your hands.”

“You don’t just mean Trinity.”

Her face suddenly bore signs of suppressed contortions or twitches. “Nothing is ever just one thing.” She grabbed for a shaking breath. “Everything feeds into everything else. It’s like a stream that joins a river that-”

“Stop,” he cut her off, though his voice was scarcely louder than hers. He took her free hand.

Lara frowned lightly at the gesture for an instant but didn’t pull her arm away. She sniffled.

“You can’t solve any problem in a single day – not when they’re problems like yours and mine. Trouble often comes to us easier than answers do.” His head bobbed up and down with each word. “There’s little point in pretending otherwise.”

“I wish everything was that simple.”

“There’s nothing simple about it. You shouldn’t blame yourself for not knowing what most don’t know. Many souls spend their entire lives looking for that one truth.” He swallowed somberly. “And anyone who finds it has paid dearly for it. We both know that.”

Jacob held her hand in both of his, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

She shifted slightly to get a better look at him. “What are you doing?”

A string of noises bubbled from him – words whispered carefully and almost too softly to hear.

It was a prayer, or something very close to one – of course it was, that was only fitting given his people’s heritage – but –

It only sounded like noise. Which language was it? Her forehead knotted. She made herself still and listened. Surely it wasn’t that difficult to piece out.

Except it was. Jacob repeated the words over and over, small variations gradually overtaking the phrases.

The ideas in the scrolls and fragments she’d found poked a crack in her lull as they came flooding back to her. Truth like liquid, being born to every language, hardened fanatics repaid with generosity instead of generous vengeance–  

No, that wasn’t right. It couldn’t have been.

Legend and myth and history had a way of bleeding into each other. They could keep each other alive through all of mankind’s best efforts to annihilate them. The more contentious they were, the more they mirrored and mimicked each other and the vaguer the lines became, perhaps only to make it more difficult to erase anything. If just one of them was protected, the others could be salvaged – but sometimes it took many generations to recover even one piece of it. Lara had many. Jacob’s people had many, too – anyone who had endured through as much as they had wouldn’t have willingly forgotten what had forged them.

She couldn’t just sleep. She didn’t even try. Instead, she breathed and listened. Jacob’s prayer cycled around again and again, his earnestness never faltering. Yet still he only whispered – and still she couldn’t untangle the words.

It was so different from all the running. Too much running. Too much flailing. Too much clawing to hold on. One thing after another after another. Bad trailed bad. Luck chained on and on by its own devices or will until it left indentations everywhere, in everything.

What was that language.

A few rogue tears escaped and rolled down her face. Her patience was as ragged and fickle as her physical body was just now. It would all make more sense if she would just sleep – if she could sleep.

She’d managed it in subzero temperatures and howling winds with little shelter. Why was it so far beyond reach here, of all places? The valley was a climatological marvel, temperate for Russia. The air had the smell of early autumn. Lara dimly heard the sounds of life in the village as the moments passed: conversation, cooking, wood being hammered, fresh-forged metal singing as it was tempered into tools or shapes. But for all the energy that their way of life demanded for the simplest tasks, Jacob’s people had an inner stillness, as if their closeness with nature allowed their presence to augment it.

Those noises were easy to ignore. Jacob’s words weren’t, even if she didn’t know what they meant. They called out to another time and reached out to something that didn’t exist anymore – except for him, it did, as if he could drag it out of the lost depths of so much endangered culture at will. For what purpose? That wasn’t the point. It was as real as the lives that these people-of-myth had made through stubbornness, through stoic duty, through agonizing trial and error.

Her eyes finally became too heavy to prop open. Jacob’s prayer flowed on and on. Her last thought floated loose like mist rising from a lake.

Which language was it?

Did it really matter?

[prissypickle]

Caius’s Mate

Chapter Eleven Part 1

1,879 words

The paramedics rushed me into the hospital. "We have a 16 year old girl, fractured left ulna, laceration on the back of the head. Concussion. We started an IV and gave her O negative blood," Amanda told the doctor.

"What happened to her?" The doctor asked.

Alec spoke, "I don't know, I found her in the room bleeding. She knows my name but she doesn't remember anything else," he spoke.

They brought me to a room. For a short period of time he examined me. "What's your name sweetie?" he asked

"Izzy," I whispered.

"What's your pain at 0-10?" he asked

"Eight," I told him

"5mg of morphine sulfate. Okay, I want a full body CT, a ultrasound of the abdomen and an X-ray of her left arm and wrist,"

A nurse came over, "This is going to help you with your pain okay?" she said and injected something into my IV.

Almost instantaneously my pain went away. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.

"Where's her parents?" the doctor spoke.

"Deceased," he sighed.

"Is there anyone to call?" he asked.

"He is already on his way," Alec spoke.

"Our nurse will show you to the waiting room okay?" the doctor said.

"No... No I want him with me," I mumbled.

"I'm sorry, he can't come with you," he said. "Once all the scans are done bring her to ICU," he spoke. We were moving again.

Alec squeezed my hand. "You're going to be okay Izzy, I'll see you when you are done okay?' he said kissing my forehead.

"Okay," I whispered. His hand left mine. I began to cry once again. I was terrified. I didn't want him to leave.

They brought me to a dark room. "Okay Izzy, were going to x-ray your arm now," The lady said. "I'm Meredith I'm going to be by your side the whole time Okay?"

I nodded.

The radiologist came over and set it up taking 6 pictures of my arm.

"Izzy when is your birthday?" Meredith asked.

"I don't remember," I whispered.

"It's okay," she paused.

"I'm going to take you to CT now," she said pushing me.

Things started to fade. The last thing I remember was closing my eyes.

.

.

.

I saw a bright light. The closer I got to it, the brighter the room had become. I gasped for air shooting upright. I woke up in the middle of a beautiful forest against a tall cherry blossom tree. Pink petals all around me. It was a beautiful site. There were all sorts of trees and plants around me. Flower petals of all sorts of colors surrounded the entire forest. Sun shown down everywhere. I took a deep breath in and out. "Fresh air," My hair was braided down my back. Something was in my hair at the top of my head. I pulled it off and it was a tiara. It was the sparkliest tiara I have ever seen. The diamonds glittered as the sun reflected off of them. It was shaped as snowflakes. This was the utmost beautiful thing I have ever worn in my entire life.

    The dress I was wearing was a long white gown with long sleeves of lace. It was so comfortable. The slip of the dress  was silk, the outside layer was all lace. It went down way past my feet and flowed behind me as a tail. The dress reminded me of a wedding gown, but not as elaborate.

I got up curious of what was around me. I walked down the middle, in between the trees. Something fell from the sky. I held my hand out touching it. Snow. It was snowing. A smile went across my face. I laughed. Am I finally free. Free from everyone. I can finally be with my mom.

I looked around and I saw a black figure about 100 yards away. I walked towards it. Soon the figure became clear. MOM!

I ran to her hugging her. "Mom," I held onto her.

"Hi baby," she said holding onto me.

"Mom I'm so sorry this is all my fault that you are gone," I cried into her.

"I'm very much alive here," she said rubbing my back.

"I can stay with you right? Please?" I looked up at her.

"Baby, you cant. People are waiting for you. Caius and Alec. They care for you very very much. You can't leave them," she touched my cheek.

"I held onto her. Mom I love you," I whispered.

Very soon I was being pulled away from her. "Mom... Mom!!" I cried trying to reach her but she kept slipping away from me. Soon she was gone. Everything was gone. The forest, the snow, my mom. Gone. Everything went black.

.

.

.

I opened my eyes looking up at the ceiling. I felt a sharp pain in my chest.

"We have a pulse," someone said.

A lady leaned down to my ear. She had black silky hair. "Welcome back Izzy,"

I looked up at her confused. "W-what happened?"

"You're okay now," she said.

The doctor yelled. "I want those screenings done now!"

I was being rushed away. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Your heart stopped. For fifteen minutes," she said.

"What? I died?" I asked.

"Yes," she said squeezing my hand.

"How?"

"You've been through a lot. Your body went into shock and your heart stopped. They wanted to call it but you're strong so I kept at it," she said.

"You saved my life?" my eyes widened.

"Yes," she squeezed my hand.

I looked up at her in shock.

It took an half an hour to do the CT, and ultrasound. Finally I was put in a room.

I heard a man's voice. "I have to see her,"

"You can't see her, she isn't stable," a woman said.

"I need to see her," his voice got louder.

"You can't," she sighed.

"Caius let the doctors work on her. Trust them," he said.

"Can I at least get an update on her? Please. She means the world to me," he said.

"I can't you're not immediate family," she sighs. "I can't tell you anything," she explained.

"Look, we're her only family she's got. Her mother just died. We are the only ones who are left," the man said, very angry.

I tried to sit up. "Hey hey," a nurse came over to me. "You need to stay laying down," she said. "The doctor will be in as soon as the results come back."

"Where's Alec?" I asked. "I want him,"

"You can't have anyone back here at the moment," she said.

"Bring him now!" I yelled sitting up and tried to pull the wires off of me.

"Honey... Izzy... you need to calm down," she held my hand still.

"Please just bring him back," I looked at her. "I want him here. Please,"

She sighs. "What's his name?"

"Alec," I whispered.

"Last name?"

"I don't remember," I looked down.

She walked out of the room. I closed my eyes trying to stay calm.

A few moments pass. "Here she is,"

I opened to my eyes to see Alec and another man enter the room. They both rushed to my side. Alec grabbed my hand. "Are you okay?"

I nodded holding onto his hand.

The man next to Alec grabbed my face. "Baby are you okay?"

I looked up at him. "Who are you?" I asked.

"Who am I?" he asked concerned.

"Caius, she is having some memory loss," Alec spoke.

Caius kissed my head, "Baby, it's me,"

"I-I don't know you," I whispered looking up at him. There was pain and sorrow showing in his eyes.

"Give her some time," Alec said putting his hand on his back.

"What happened to her Alec," he asked.

"I don't know. I just found her like this and I called 911," Alec shook his head.

There was a knock on the glass door then the doctor came in.

"You still hanging in there Izzy?" the doctor asked.

"Uhm I think so," I said.

"Who's here with you today?" he asked.

"Alec and...." I looked up at the man standing next to me.

"Caius," he spoke.

"Alec and Caius,"

The doctor spoke, "I'm Dr. Hawkins. You're one hell of a strong girl Izzy,"

I nodded and looked down.

"Why is she in ICU?" Caius spoke.

"She's not stable. Her heart gave out earlier when they were taking her to the CT. Which brings me to the fact that she needs life saving surgery. She's internally bleeding in her stomach. We need to remove the spleen and patch up her liver. She has a an intracerebral hemorrhage. Meaning that she is bleeding inside her brain. She's lost a lot of blood-- if we can stop the bleeding she has a high rate of survival. Her left ulna snapped in half and we will need to operate and fix that as well."

"What do you mean 'if we can stop it' you'll be able to stop it. Right?" Caius asked.

"It's not just in one spot that's the problem," he said and brought up the CT scan results. "It's in three places, which makes it difficult. When... and if she wakes up she will most likely have severe memory problems."

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here," I glared.

"Izzy, you're dying and if you don't have this operation, you will die," he said, looking me in the eye.

"Then do the operation then. Save her life," Caius spoke very clearly.

"Okay. I'll bring the consent paperwork and the nurse will come prep you for surgery," he said and left the room. "Prep OR 2," he yelled as soon as he left the room.

I looked up at the ceiling scared. I tried to fight off the tears.

"Izzy, you're going to be okay. We will be right here when you get back okay?" Caius kissed my forehead. "Don't be scared okay?" he said wiping my tears.

"What if I die?"

"You're not going to die Izzy. You're so strong," he whispered.

"You better be right," I looked up at him.

The nurse came in. She had a few things in her hand. She hooked up another blood bag and then handed Alec some paperwork.

"Okay I'm going to take you to the OR," she said.

I nodded and looked at Alec. "We will be right here when you are done," he said.

I nodded and closed my eyes, nervous. I kept my eyes closed until we got into a cold room. I opened my eyes looking around the OR.

[iteration23]

MARIA

The smell of decay filled Vyndo'thoran's nostrils as he tread across the cursed battlefield. Despite being a war veteran for many years, he hadn't become accustomed to the scent death gave off. His face visibility contorted, showing clear discomfort. Yes, he had an iron stomach and yes he had experienced this particular stench before, but somehow he doubted he'd ever get over it. He lead a pack of Argent Dawn down into a patch of desecrated ground in the Eastern Plaguelands, peaking backwards every so often to make sure everyone was still there. This wasn’t his first trip bringing supplies to Light’s Hope, but he still got anxious on every trek. This anxiety seemed to increase ten-fold now that he was a lieutenant and it was his duty to keep his squadron safe from harm; whether it be from bears or ghouls. The aroma wasn’t getting any better. Nay, he was pretty sure it was getting worse.

Vyndro looked over his shoulder, peering behind him to see his beautiful wife, Maria, riding an overloaded Argent Dawn courser. She looked as elegant as ever in her battle armor; her dark brown hair fishtailed down the front of her tabard and it was apparent that she had really put time into maintaining her appearance today. He wasn’t sure why she did this every time they went to Light’s Hope, but he knew she’d say something like “I do it to make a good impression” or something ridiculous. Their eyes met after a moment of Vyndro staring. Her face contorted and she dramatically put her hands up to her neck, miming the obvious. Vyndro laughed, nodding in agreement and mouthing the words "holy shit this is bad". They had met as initiates back in The Western Plaguelands, both following in their parent's footsteps and had been married for a good 10 years before her family came to terms with her marrying a Sin'dorei instead of another human. They had their doubts about Vyndro; a man who would go without hesitation onto the battlefield to protect his fellow paladins and had no issue pitting himself against enemies stronger than him. And, though they were now coming up on their 15 year anniversary, her family was still hesitant to accept him into their ranks. Vyndro half wondered if they ever would... But, he was a charming man. He knew full well that if he tried hard enough, they'd enjoy his presence more; he just didn’t really care for their opinions.

Vyndro turned forwards again with a smile. They walked for another hour or so without any distractions or rest. The trek was fairly simple: Hearthglen to Light’s Hope Chapel. They had left in the early morning two nights prior and had stopped a few times. Vyndro kept going until someone made a comment about their feet falling off before he relented and allowed everyone to rest for a bit. He was in the middle of scoping out the area when he heard what sounded like footsteps. Immediately, his right hand went into the air, signaling everyone to stop. Besides the footsteps that seemed to be getting ever-closer, there was silence. The hair on Vyndro’s neck stood on end and his skin became speckled in goosebumps. He turned his attention behind him briefly, flashing an expression of what seemed to be half-fear and half-confidence. He looked back to Maria, who had no idea what was going on. There had been times when they had walked into an army of scourge before. But... Vyndro was never caught like a deer in headlights as he was in this moment. Something was off.

“Vyndro?” Maria kept her voice soft as to try not to draw more attention from whatever was in the area. She drew her brows, concerned as to what he had thought he heard. She maintained reassuring eye contact with him, despite having a wave of fear drive her stomach from her feet to her throat. “Vyndro... Say something!”

“Maria, you need to go. Take the troops onto higher ground and go east to Light’s Hope Chapel.” Fear filled the lieutenant’s voice, but he kept his composure fairly well, playing it off as urgency rather than something else.

“My love... We’ve fought many battles heel-to-heel before. What makes you think we’re up against something that you of all people cannot take down?”

“Maria, please listen to me. There’s something else here with them. You need to go! There’s no time to discuss this. As your superior officer, I order you to take the troops and retreat!” Vyndro’s voice was stern, albiet unconvincing to his human bride. She was a stubborn one; a trait that not only got her out of trouble but into the thick of it.

“Whatever faces us here, we can face together.” Maria pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

The sound of a sharp crack filled the air, causing the battalion to give themselves whiplash trying to find the source. Vyndro and the other paladins with whom he was walking drew their blades into a defensive position. In a matter of seconds, they were surrounded by ghouls and geists, far more than a squad of 15 could ever hope to survive. Vyndro’s hair continued to stand at attention as he looked for what he knew was in the vicinity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide... Nothing but death await them by the end of this.

Vyndro leaned back with his face forwards, his blade still drawn and ready to defend his cargo and his men. In a whisper, loud enough for the other members of his militia could hear, he spoke. “Necromancer.” The paladins around him looked around and at each other, silent. Neither party moved, but a moment was all it took.

A shriek filled the air, and at a moment’s notice, the scourge befell the small group. Steel met rotting flesh and bone, and bone met flesh. Vyndro took the heat of the battle, bringing down as many undead as he could, but as he glance around, he noticed his paladins were falling at an unparalleled pace. He watched as his initiates fell one by one until he turned his head back, sword stuck deep within a rotting skeleton’s rib cage, and yelled his orders.

“Everyone, fall back!” He shouted, pulling his sword back as he attempted to escape to no avail. Only he and a few other members still stand, all still surrounded by beings that lust for their flesh. He turned around, watching more of his squadron fall before he met his gaze with Maria, cheeks tear-streaked. Her hands sat on her stomach -her blade rest on the ground, covered in blood. She mouthed “I’m sorry”, lifting her hands to show a wound as she sulked off the horse, which turned tail and ran until it too met it’s fate.

“Maria!” Vyndro rushed over to her, bending down to hold her in his arms. He knew what he was risking, but if she died... None of it would matter anymore. “Maria, please. Let me see.” He peeled her armor away to show a deep, nasty set of lacerations. She didn’t have a high pain tolerance, so the fact that she was not crying out in agony was most concerning to him. He applied pressure to the best of his ability, keeping his focus on her eyes. Vyndro started to sob, “Maria, you have to stay with me. Please, just stay in this moment with me.” A glance at her hands showed them becoming cold by the second. He started to panic, crying more as he heard more of his soldiers die. They, while not expendable, did not mean anything to him if he lost her. A cold hand reached up and brushed his tears away. Maria smiled faintly as she lay on the defiled ground, dying.

“ Band’or shorel’aran “

“I don’t want to say goodbye... Please don’t make me say goodbye, Maria. We can make it through this. Please, oh gods, please don’t take her from me!” Vyndro didn’t have any time left. A sharp pain befell his stomach and a blade rested upon his neck as he sank to the ground beside his beloved. He lay to rest on his side, holding her hand as she drew her last breath. He coughed up blood, knowing full well the severity of his wound. As he lay himself dying next to his wife and his fellow paladins, he heard footsteps approach; the same footsteps from before. Not a word was spoken as he heard ghouls step aside to let the figure through.

“Who stood the longest? Who would be a good addition to the Lich King’s arsenal?” The voice was raspy and deep, but nothing Vyndro had ever heard before. He felt a hard kick against his back but did not move, nor could he have if he wanted to.

“This one. Took out a good fraction of the ghouls before he let death get the best of him. A pity. He ran right over to this human as she fell.” A different voice answered... But this one was oddly familiar. Vyndro struggled to keep his eyes open. He closed them, wishing for death as he fell to darkness.

The last words he heard before he died were “Raise him, burn the rest.”

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess from the Grunewald (10): The Bloody Facts, or What happened to Frank Randall?

Just two short notes for my readers: Due to a bereavement in our family I wasn't able to finish this chapter earlier. I hope that I will be able to post the next chapters more frequently. Warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of physical mutilation as it would be discussed in a homicide case before a criminal court. If that triggers something in you or makes you feel unwell, please do not read it, just skip this chapter for your own sake. For those who read on their mobile, just scroll down. More Jamie & Claire, Adso & Bismarck fluff awaits you in chapter 11 (hopefully Wednesday).

(”Tür” by dawes28)

Previously

Six months ago, two hours after the First Attorney's Visit to Prison, at Claire’s home.

         The pictures were bloody. Disgusting bloody. Gruesome. Disturbing. Repulsive. Horrible. But they didn’t affect him. In the ten years he now worked as a specialist lawyer in criminal law, he had handled about forty murder cases. And he had heeded the advice of his father: "If evil frightens you, it will win and claim countless other victims. Malice does not sleep and it does not know holidays. You have to learn to face the evil with steadfastness. The wounded need an open, compassionate heart. But the wicked, they must be faced with a 'tough face'." Brian Fraser had looked straight into his eyes and had put his hands on his shoulders. Then he had quoted words from the book of the prophet Ezekiel: "But know: I will make your face hard as theirs, and your forehead as hard as theirs: like a diamond, harder than a pebble, I will make your forehead. Do not be afraid of them and do not be intimidated by their looks!" [1]

         In the beginning, it had not been easy for him and still, he could very well understand those whose stomach rebelled at the sight of such pictures. But he had worked on himself, as told by his father, and at some point, he had gotten used to it.

         The first three pictures of the Lichtbildmappe (photo folder) showed - only partly recognizable - footprints. Apparently, a person had walked over a rainy path and then entered the house without cleaning his or her shoes. A note below the pictures informed him that the prints were of the soles of Frank Randall's shoes. As it could be seen from the pictures, the footprints were coming from the front door and led down the hall to the staircase that led to the upper part of the house. In addition to the footprints, one could see drops of blood in some places along the way. The pictures L04 and L05, which were probably taken very close to the staircase, showed bloody prints of a hand on a pastel green background. "Imprint of the left hand (presumably of the victim Frank Randall) on the wall of room 1," the forensic detective had written underneath. 

(”Sandwich” by mp1746)

         Jamie reached for one of the sandwiches that he had brought with him and took a bite. Then he put the rest back on the plate and reached for the Pepsi bottle. After taking a sip, he flipped the pages. L06 and L07 showed rivulets of blood that flowed from the first pedestal down the stairs to the first step. More blood was also on the handrail above the three steps that led up to said pedestal (L08 and L09). He turned the pages again. L10 showed a complete picture of Frank Randall's fully clothed corpse. The man lay with his upper body on the landing, his lower body lay on the steps that led from there to the next floor. L11 showed Frank's head lying in a massive pool of blood. His hair, whose color was no longer recognizable, seemed to be one bloody mass. There were also numerous small and some large bloodstains on his face. Jamie immediately noticed the Frank Randall’s facial expression. While his legs and arms were in unnatural positions, the dead's face was calm, almost serene. Jamie grabbed his sandwich again. He bit off and then rinsed down the bite with another sip of Pepsi. L12 and L13 were probably taken from the steps above the pedestal. One could see the body of the dead man and the walls, which surrounded the pedestal. The picture gave Jamie an impression of how much blood Frank Randall had lost. Apart from the pool of blood that had formed around his head and the blood that had flowed down the first few steps in some rivulets, one could see countless smaller and larger blood spots on both walls. Pictures of the left wall followed (L14 and L15). There, too, blood was visible, but not in the form of drops of blood, but rather as blurred stripes. It seemed that Frank Randall had tried to wipe off his bloody hands. The last two pictures of this part of the photo folder (L16 and L17) showed where the traces of blood led to. They ended about halfway up the stairs. 

         Jamie put a pencil between the pages of the folder. With a second pen, he recorded thoughts and questions into a black DIN A-4 notebook. Then he leaned back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. His brain had been working while looking at each picture. All the time, he had wondered what statements could be made regarding the crime due to the traces of blood. But now he wondered if the traces of blood matched the course of action described in the indictment. He doubted it. But doubt alone was not enough. He had to find facts. Facts with which he could convincingly disprove the prosecution's charges. He picked up the pen again and wrote down some things that seemed questionable to him. Then he took the last bite of the sandwich. 

         While he was still chewing, he heard the creaking of the kitchen door and shortly afterward Adso appeared. The cat strolled slowly but purposefully onto the sofa Jamie was sitting on. Once there, he stroked purring around Jamie's legs a few times before jumping to the seat to the left of him. Jamie looked skeptical at the cat, and, as he had expected it, Adso's interest was not actually his six-foot, red-haired can opener. His focus was apparently on his second sandwich. Jamie grabbed the cat, set it on the ground, and held it there for a moment.

         “You had a whole can of chicken royale, old boy. You don’t get my roast beef sandwich as dessert! Either you are content to stay here with me or I'll take you back to the kitchen. Your decision!"

         The cat made some grumbled sounds and Jamie let him go. Adso now jumped on the seat to the right of Jamie, lay down there and began with a copious cat wash.

(”Katze” by 3dman_eu)

         "Good. I don’t mind if you want to lie there. But my roast beef sandwich is taboo."

         When the cat showed no further reaction, Jamie took the second sandwich and bit into it. After another sip of Pepsi, he opened the file again. His eyes fell on the writing on the cardboard cover in front of him: "Photographs of the Forensic Section of the corps of Randall, Frank Wolverton." The headline was followed by Frank's date of birth and date of death, the names and titles of the forensic scientists, the names of the assistants and the number of the Forensic Section (S 289/2019). Underneath he found the place, date, and duration of the Forensic Section. Jamie knew what awaited him and so he turned the pages without further delay.

         The first picture (S01) showed the entire, now undressed corpse of Frank Randall from the front, laying on a steel table. There were several hematomas on his arms and chest. From these hematomas, pictures S02 to S07 showed close-up shots. Underneath the pictures, the exact measurements of every hematoma were written. S08 showed the whole corpse from the back. On Frank's back were two significant hematomas, of which there were also close-ups with exact size information (S09 and S10). Jamie bit off his roast beef sandwich and took another sip of Pepsi. Then he turned the page. The first four pictures on the new page showed close-ups (right, left, front and back) of Frank's head and his blood-soaked hair (S11 - S14), followed by shots of the head from the same perspectives. But this time, however, the head was shorn and cleaned. As Jamie had already mentioned in his conversation with Claire, there were seven lacerations on Frank's shaven skull that had damaged and even severed the scalp. These lacerations had an unusual shape. It seemed as someone had carved the runic letter "algiz" on the right and left sides of the skull. In the middle, there was another single laceration. It was a straight line, which was placed slightly higher than the other lacerations.

         Jamie again put a pencil between the pages. Then he closed the file. Where did these wounds come from? Who had done that to Frank Randall and most important of all – with what kind of tool or weapon? The prosecution assumed that the tool had to be a blow poke. Frank's cousin Alex had given him and Claire such a device for their fireplace a few years ago as a Christmas present. It was a tube made of metal and about one meter long, through which one could blow air into a fire. At one end of the tube was a sharp hook, with which one could also move logs inside the fireplace. Alex Randall, Frank's cousin, could not remember exactly in which year he had brought this device. But he still knew exactly where he had purchased it. One evening, while surfing the internet, he discovered a page called ‘Hot Stuff’. As he admitted in his interrogation at the police in England, the search for chimney tools had not led him to this page ... But having overcome his initial disappointment, he took the time to study the dealer's offerings. He remembered that Frank had mentioned that he missed a blow poke for the operation of the house fireplace, but hadn’t found such a device in Germany yet. “Germans,” Frank had said, “know only Schürhaken (poking sticks).”  So Alex made his decision immediately when among all the offers of ‘Hot Stuff’ he found a brass-colored blow poke that would match Frank's fireplace tools. Although he found the price of 45,00 Euro for the blow poke and 5,00 Euro for shipping and packing a bit exaggerated, he ordered the device that night. Christmas was only once a year, and after all, Frank and Claire were the only relatives to whom he gave something for Christmas. Alex Randall had told the police on record that he had paid for it by Paypal in advance and that he received his order about five days later by mail. He had also told the English police officers that Frank was ‘very pleased’ when he received the gift.

         As understandable as the presumption of the prosecutor was (that the blow poke Alex Randall gave to Frank an Claire was used to kill Frank) so problematic was this assumption, however. To this day, the said blow poke had not surfaced. The chances were 50:50. The prosecutor couldn't prove that the blow poke was the tool by which the crime was committed, nor could Jamie in return prove that it wasn't the murder weapon.

         Jamie got up and started pacing the room. Maybe the chances weren’t 50:50. Maybe he could at least turn the absence of the murder weapon into a 70:30? If he could only sow enough doubt about the prosecution's thesis on the blow poke into the minds and hearts of the judges, and especially the two lay judges, maybe he could convince them that Claire was not the culprit.          He remembered the sensational case of Marianne Wagner. After the woman (who had been charged with the murder of her two underage sons) was sentenced to life in prison, which meant a minimum of 15 years, a new lawyer convinced the higher regional court, so that a revision procedure was carried out. When the case was heard before another regional court, Wagner’s new lawyer was able to create so many doubts in the minds of the Schöffen (lay judges), that they voted in favor of his client and she was set free immediately. Marianne Wagner was re-sentenced to life in a third proceeding, which had come about due to a revision of the prosecutor. But she'd been out of prison for almost two years between the trials. Maybe he was able to buy Claire (and himself!) some time? A time he could use to find new facts and arguments for an acquittal. 

(”Agenda 12 mesi MOLESKINE nera Design in Italy“ * By Pava [CC BY-SA 3.0 it (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/it/deed.en)], from Wikimedia Commons)

         Jamie stopped and hurried back to the table. When he sat down again, he took the notebook, opened a new page and wrote down the word: "Piles to hammer in.” Underneath he wrote: "1. Doubts about the ‘murder weapon’; 2. Marianne Wagner Case; 3. Doubts about the bloodstains". He closed the book, reached for the remainder of his second sandwich, and devoured it with one bite. After one last sip of Pepsi, he got up and picked up his things. He wanted nothing more than to drive home, take a hot shower and then go to bed early. He needed his sleep. Already during his studies at the university, he had found that he had the most significant successes with Thomas Edison's method of problem-solving: Relaxing and giving your mind free rein was the best way to get closer to solving a case.

         He took the plate and carried it to the kitchen. Then he filled Adso's empty bowls once more with dry food and water. When the cat, who had followed him into the kitchen, stroked around his legs, he stroked him reassuringly. Then he quickly disappeared from the kitchen, took his briefcase and closed the front door behind him, before a greedy Adso, who had turned to the food in his bowl, could even notice.

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, just send me a message or write it down in the comments. Next time, read: Secret Whitsun holidays on Rügen (4): Sharing joy and sorrow (2)

Notes:

[1]  Ezekiel 3: 8-9; (translated from the German translation by Hermann Menge by myself)

[impandagrl]

Some Things Just Make Sense

Part 10 of Home (Is Wherever I'm With You)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 (contains smut) Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Thanks to my dear betas who were/are of inestimable value:@justawaywardwinchestergirl and Edge_of_Clairvoyance As well as a very special thank you to Nash (@seenashwrite) for allowing me to consult her expertise. (* All mistakes and inaccuracies are of course mine.)

The Winchesters return home wounded from their hunt. Y/N has some interesting surprises.

Sam x Reader x Dean (no Wincest), Jody Mills,

Warnings- Hurt/comfort, fluff, surprises, some language, mention of non-con

Sam opened the passenger side of the impala, and tried to bear most of his brother’s weight as he got out, without bumping his own torn shoulder in the process. Dean grunted anyway as his right leg touched the ground, but they managed to limp to the door.

It opened immediately and he started, but it was just Y/N. She quickly and unflinchingly assessed the situation, before slipping under Dean’s other arm. They got him in the bunker and onto the couch.

Dean answered her unspoken question, “Just a handful’a drunk assholes lookin’ for a fight. Sammy insisted we leave em alive, so …” he gestured, indicating their current condition.

“Right foot or ankle?” she flicked a glance at Sam, but kept the brunt of her attention on Dean.

“Ankle.” Dean leaned back, gritting his teeth as she bent down to cradle his leg, setting it up on the coffee table, and cushioning it with a towel that had been laying handy. Actually, Sam saw that the first aid kit, as well as some other supplies had been set out in preparation for their arrival.

“Whiskey.” Dean’s grunt was strained.

She pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Absolutely not.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but she didn’t give him a chance to recover. “You don’t need alcohol in your system right now. I’m being as gentle as I can, and I’ll get you something for the pain that’s not going to do more harm than good.”

Dean opened his mouth like he was going to protest, when she cut him off, her voice low and sincere, “If I have to take care of myself, then so do you, Dean Winchester.”

Sam had to pretend to be very interested in the bandage material in front of him to keep from laughing out loud at the sight of Dean looking like a chastised little kid.

She moved on, all business, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“A few bumps and scratches. That’s the worst of it.”

She looked to Sam and he knew she’d seen the blood seeping through his jacket. “Go ahead. I’m not bleeding out in the time it’ll take you to see to his ankle.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she acquiesced, carefully starting to roll back the leg of Dean’s jeans. She suddenly stopped, and reached for some scissors. “Hope you weren’t attached to these,” she murmured, while cutting away the denim. Dean’s leg was definitely swelling; his boot was compressing it somewhat, but it was at least badly sprained. She unlaced and removed the shoe and very gently ran her fingers over the purpling, swollen skin, deftly pressing over a few points.

Sweat broke out across Dean’s forehead, but he’d been ready and he didn’t make a sound.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t feel any obvious breaks. Let’s get some ice on it and wrap it.”

She motioned at the kit in front of Sam and at her direction he handed her an ice pack and a strip of stretch wrap. She carefully wound the bandage around Dean’s ankle, and used it to secure the ice pack to his leg.

She handed him a cold bottle of water and watched him drink some. Then she turned to Sam. “The shower room is going to be the easiest place to take care of that.” She selected a bottle of saline, some large adhesive bandages, gauze, the suture kit, and a small case.

She glanced to Dean, “Sit tight until we get back; do not try to move that leg.” She didn’t wait for a response, nodding at Sam to move ahead of her down the hall.

Once they reached the showers, she put the supplies down on one end of a bench, guiding Sam to sit on it with a gentle hand on his arm. Seeking permission with a look, she carefully removed his torn jacket and flannel. After a moment’s examination, she cut away the remains of his shirt and rinsed his right shoulder and chest with the sterile saline solution. He braced himself, hissing between clenched teeth and she paused and brushed a thumb over his temple. “Just lean back. Let me.”

He looked into her eyes and unexpectedly scents of safety, pack, and trust washed over him. He rested the back of his head on the tiled wall and closed his eyes. He hadn’t experienced anything like that before, not with anyone except Dean, and rarely since he was a kid.

He felt her gently dab at his wounds with gauze that had been doused with some antiseptic, then spray it with something that numbed the area. A faint tugging sensation was all he noticed and he opened one eye to admire the sight of her stitching up the worst of his lacerations with a look of calm concentration.

She looked up and they shared a small smile.

He decided to voice his curiosity, “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

Her lips twisted wryly, “You have my parents to thank for that, they let me take some first aid courses when I was in high school and I volunteered at a hospital for awhile. It was one of the few skills my parents considered proper for an omega to become proficient in.” She returned to the task at hand as if she was relieved for the excuse to close the subject.

“Almost done.” She carefully covered the wounds with gauze and secured it with the tape. “Better,” she held out her hand, “c'mon.”

He took it and stood, allowing her to lead him back to the living room. At her nod, he sat on the couch a few feet away from Dean, who roused himself like he’d been falling asleep.

“Do you think you two could eat something - even if it’s just a protein bar? I was hoping to get some pain meds in you; then you both look ready to crash.”

They both nodded, mumbling affirmative and she watched while they ate and downed the meds with some water. She helped Dean shed his jacket and flannel and got them some cushions. Sam took note of the fact she’d dragged their pillows out to the couch and wasn’t sure whether to feel more guilty or touched over the fact that she’d been missing them to that extent for just the two nights they’d been gone. He’d missed her, too; his wolf became restless when he let her out of his sight, but that was beside the point.

She settled in between them and hesitantly drew a hand through Sam’s hair. A deep exhaustion rippled through him. Or, more accurately, he was allowing himself to succumb to the exhaustion that had been building. It wasn’t long before the combination of her scent and the knowledge the three of them were together safe, along with the pain meds starting to take effect and the repetitive gentle motions of her fingers along his scalp had his eyes closing.

He slowly came awake and met Dean’s eyes. His brother was still propped up in more or less the same position he’d been in, and looked like he’d been awake for some time. His expression made it clear he was mulling something over. Sam double checked and smiled at the sight of Y/N fast asleep on the couch between them. He tore his gaze away and back to Dean, quirking an eyebrow.

Dean shrugged and looked equal parts embarrassed and at a loss for words. Sam was just starting to think he wasn’t going to get an answer when Dean broke the silence in a low tone that wouldn’t wake the sleeping Omega.

“I dunno, man. She just … She’s like the bunker.”

Sam could have busted out laughing, but one, he didn’t want to wake her, and two - “The hell are you going with this, Dean?”

“Shut up. Let me finish.” he rubbed the back of his neck. “There was a lot we just learned to live without growing up. And I never allowed myself to even want those things because I knew I could never have ‘em. I just figured you and my baby were all I’d ever need. But I like having a home, a kitchen, memory foam, you know, all of it.”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked down at her like he was embarrassed to meet Sam’s eye. “She’s like coming home.”

Sam felt something catch in his throat. He felt a warmth tinged with sorrow, that Dean could not only be feeling like maybe he was allowed to take some happiness for himself, but trying to voice it to Sam. There was no room even for the quietest jealous grumbling from his wolf.

He cleared his throat. “I - Me too. I think she belongs here with us. I think we can make this work, Dean.”

~¤~•~¤~•~¤~•~¤~•~¤~•~¤~•~¤~•~¤~

A few weeks later, Dean was getting around just fine. Y/N had relished the extra time with him and Sam as his ankle healed. Today, however, she found herself back at the library table lost in a book, the bunker to herself for the day. The boys had been acting weird - normally she would have liked to go with them, but they had given her several odd excuses to explain why they didn’t want her coming along.

The bunker door opened and she roused herself smiling brightly in anticipation. To her surprise, it was Jody. “Hey sweetie, how’s it going?”

It took her a second to recover, then she was out of her chair wrapped in a hug. “What . . . What are you . . ? Not that I’m not happy to see you!”

Jody chuckled. “It’s okay. It’s good to see you, too. I’m supposed to deliver this.”

The envelope smelled faintly floral, maybe peonies. It wasn’t sealed; the card inside was simple and elegant. She opened it eagerly.

It was from them; she recognized Sam’s handwriting.

‘It would be our pleasure if you would graciously accept this invitation to join us out to dinner tonight. Dean says to tell you sorry for ditching you and acting so mysterious this morning; we wanted it to be a surprise. See you later (hopefully?) Cordially, Sam Winchester Dean Winchester’

She laughed at loud at the mental image of Dean hanging over Sam’s shoulder while he wrote the note. She looked up at Jody, eyes sparkling, “How do I let them know I accept?”

“I’m supposed to relay your answer and take you shopping so we can get you dolled up.”

Nervousness started fluttering in her belly. The formal note, shopping, what was going on? The thought of maybe going somewhere requiring a dress code was suddenly daunting. Like she would be on display.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jody was peering at her with concern.

She hesitated, uncertain of how to answer.

Jody put a hand on her arm. Her voice was a calming murmur, “I’m here to take care of you. Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen; you will never be forced into anything while I’m your Alpha. Do you hear me?”

She felt her heart rate get closer to normal. “Yes, ma'am.”

“What’s your number one rule, Omega?”

She answered promptly, “Stay safe; take care of myself.”

“Good. Are you still feeling up to a surprise dinner tonight?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Jody nodded. “Knowing the boys, you could come in jeans and a tee shirt and they wouldn’t care, in fact they still most likely wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off you. We could go get pretzels and browse a book store instead, if you'd rather …”

She felt like laughing at Jody’s suggestion, but … The alpha was right. They weren’t the kind that would be embarrassed by her, or disappointed. And she honestly didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion.

“Um, thank you, I think I’d like to find something nice. It’ll be fun shopping with you.”

“Don’t worry, Alex couldn’t come - school in the morning - but she said she’d keep her phone handy this afternoon so we could get her advice.”

“Thank god,” she looked sheepishly at Jody as the exclamation slipped out.

Jody winked at her, “Oh, I’m with you. C'mon, we better get going.”

They did get pretzels and also eventually found a lovely Alex-approved dress that she felt comfortable in. A few hours later, Jody was dropping her off at the door of an upscale restaurant. They could see the boys waiting at the door, both looking like dreams in their suits.

Jody gave her an encouraging smile. “Have fun. Call me if you need anything.”

She felt the hint of command under the easygoing tone and responded accordingly, “Yes, ma'am.”

When she reached them, they each gave her a kiss on the cheek. The shy awkwardness in their demeanor took away some of the anxiety she was experiencing wondering what they were up to. Sam opened the door and Dean offered his elbow, which she took. She inhaled his scent, the familiarity of it comforting.

A waiter led them to their table and Sam pulled out her chair for her. There was a little stilted conversation exchanged while they waited for their food - they both assured her she looked lovely. Then Dean characteristically broke the ice by doing an impression of their waiter’s pretentious mannerisms once he’d left their table.

They loosened up after that and had a pleasant time. The food was wonderful, and she didn’t spill anything on her new dress or otherwise make a fool of herself, but then if she had, it wasn’t as if the boys would think any less of her.

Full and a little drowsy, she didn’t think to question it when they put her between them in the front bench of the Impala and didn’t immediately turn toward home. She experienced more of a pleasant surprise than worry when they stopped at a park.

Sam looked down at her, “We thought we could take a nice walk - if you want to?”

She nodded and they were soon walking side by side on the paved walkway with each of her hands in one of theirs. The scenery was well worth looking at, the path was flanked on either side with wild flowers and had an arching canopy of trees in places, but it could only distract her for minutes at a time from the handsome alphas on either side of her. They didn’t talk much, just enjoyed each other’s presence. The trail sloped gradually and they pulled up short on the top of a hill just as the sun was starting to set, painting streaks of brilliant colors across the sky.

Sam looked sideways at her, his voice came quiet as if it was hesitant to break the silence. “I just wanted you to know that Jody knows where we are; she could be here within minutes if you called her.”

She looked at him quizzically, but he paused, shooting a meaningful look at Dean who cleared his throat and began.

“We, uh, I know you figured something was up. I mean, not that we need an excuse to take you someplace nice, or spend time with you, but we wanted to make this sorta special.”

She took a deep breath, “It was amazing. I would enjoy being with you anywhere, but it was an extra wonderful night.”

His face lit up and it took him a second to recover his train of thought. “We feel that way, too. I mean, you fit here with us. It doesn’t feel right when you aren’t there.”

He glanced at Sam who made a noise of agreement and took over, “I know this isn’t exactly typical, any of it, but we wanted to make sure you knew this was completely up to you. You can accept or decline, we aren’t forcing you into anything. Ever.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as both of them let go of her hands simultaneously, and moved to kneel on the ground in front of her. She felt herself start to tremble as Sam went on, “Y/N, we want you to be ours. We want to mate you and form a pack with you as our Omega.”

Dean continued, “It’s not an easy life that we’ve chosen, no guarantee we’ll both make it back every time we walk out that door. We’ll understand if you can’t, but here’s us askin’.”

She was completely overwhelmed for a moment; catching the anxious looks in their eyes put a stop to her whirling thoughts. She almost wanted to laugh, but instead she breathlessly put them out of their misery, “Yes. Please, stand up.” She didn’t like the sight of them on their knees; it seemed wrong, but the non-wolf part of her understood and appreciated the gesture.

Still.

She stretched out her hands and they each took one and got to their feet. She led them to a nearby bench and they sat down with her in between. She felt tears hit her cheeks and could sense their concern, but couldn’t speak just yet.

When she did, her voice was shaky, “I saw an omega forcibly claimed once. It was … My parents said the omega was lucky to be mated by a strong alpha.” She took a breath, “You are good men.”

She felt them both stiffen. Dean spoke first, voice barely under control, “For not raping you? For not forcing you into a life you don’t want? That’s not ‘good’, that’s just … not being a complete monster.”

She shook her head. “You aren’t just not forcing me; you take steps to purposefully protect me. My right to a choice and identity beyond my designation. You are. Good. I’ve always felt safe with you. I want nothing more than to be yours, for -” It would be such a risk to word it this way out loud to anyone else, but she only paused to make eye contact with each of them. “For you to belong to me, to be my Alphas.”

Dean’s wide grin split across his face, “I like the sound of that.”

Sam kissed her knuckles, his voice a growl, “Mmm, me too.”

With his free hand, Sam reached into his pocket. “I know you’ll be wearing our marks soon enough, but we wanted to get you something.”

He handed her a cushioned black box the size of her palm. She opened it swiftly, not able to take any more suspense in one day. Inside were three rings: the center one was white gold with a single elegant diamond. The other two were silver; one with four smaller accent stones, the other with runes etched around its surface. The rings had little notches in them that made them appear slightly warped.

She looked up, almost speechless; Dean interjected, “The stones are agate, we got them blessed by this witch we know; they’re supposed to protect against evil spirits and spells. Those are warding sigils. You know what the silver’s for already …”

She answered his smile with a heartfelt ‘thank you’ and turned to Sam to repeat it.

Sam seemed pleased by her reaction, “I’m glad you like them. Um, here, you pick up the middle one with the diamond.”

She did and he adjusted her fingers carefully, “Just. Like. That. There we go. Hold it there.”

She kept her hand where he’d placed it, holding the ring steady about a foot over her lap. She watched curiously as Sam and Dean each picked up one of the other rings and carefully maneuvered them around the one she held, lining up the notches and snapping them in place to form a single ring.

“It’s, it’s perfect,” she breathed. She slipped it on her finger and pulled the Alphas closer. They wrapped their arms around her until she felt like they were as closely entwined as the bands of her ring. Lost in the scent and security of her pack, she felt like she had everything she ever wanted.

s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s

There's plenty more to come; let me know if you'd like to be tagged. Likes/comments feed my muse

@luciisthebest @mannls @mogaruke @sea040561 @pinknerdpanda

[atqh16]

The World Turns With or Without You

PART 1

PART 2

Matt tries to find out what he's been missing. Karen tries to fill in the blanks. Foggy doesn't seem to have much time

AO3

They make it to Luke’s place in 30 minutes by cab because it took them 10 minutes just to find one. Throughout the whole ride it took everything in Matt to not just jump out the car door and instead run the rest of the way. He knows it doesn’t make sense to do that. He knows no matter how fast he is he can’t actually beat a moving car. But somehow sitting quietly in the back of a car that smelled like patchouli, sweat and left over take out containers stashed under the seat for so long they’d gotten rotten made the anticipation so much worse.

He feels overstimulated. Agitated. As if any little thing could set him off. The world is a flurry or sound and smells and so much more and his filter has become non-existent but in spite of that, all of it is feels suffocating, like white noise.

Like someone had left the radio on static and while it was just one sound the continuous hum and crackle grated on his nerves like nail on a chalkboard. He wants to scream but his throat felt raw and hoarse. He’d be surprised if he woke up the next day being able to speak at all.

They’re 3 blocks away when he’s finally able to zero in on Claire’s voice snapping out a flurry of instructions so quickly Matt can’t catch most of it. He can catch a thready unsteady pulse struggling to push blood through veins – the sound pulls his own down to his stomach as if violently tugged by a cable- and two other familiar heartbeats in the same room or at least nearby, one he suspects is Jessica’s and the other is Karen’s.

Karen……

Karen knew about this. She had known about all of it, about the case, about Foggy’s plan, the files, the deal. She knew.

Why hadn’t she told him?

Why hadn’t Foggy told him?

Why hadn’t he known anything about it?

The ride ultimately should have only been 12 minutes max but Luke insisted on being careful. Making unexpected twists and turns by feigning forgetfulness with the directions in an attempt to shake off anyone that might have been following. Matt had wanted to tear his hair out by the fourth sharp turn and when they finally arrived, he had practically leaped out if the cab and ran up the stairs. He can hear their voices more clearly now but they’ve gotten quitter. There’s another familiar sound, a soft hush and suction of air and the smell of disinfectant and sterile cotton swabs and gauze. The almost bitter metallic stench of fresh blood and he can also hear the sound of a careful prick and pull of needle and thread through skin. He holds back the urge to bang his fist against the door till it opens and instead stiffly presses the doorbell. They can’t afford to attract unwanted attention right now.

Jessica opens the door but before Matt can rush in Jess tugs him back by his arm.

“Horns I’m gonna need you to calm down a bit ok”

“Jess let me go”

She doesn’t but her grip loosens.

“Matt-“

“Jess please just- I need to see him”

The desperate plea in his voice finally does the trick. “Just… Don’t freak out ok”

Her words do nothing to calm his nerves but he understands why she warned him when he finds Claire and Karen crouched on a bed over Foggy.

The room reeks of blood.

He can taste it everywhere. In the thick wad of cotton swabs piled in the wastebasket, on the plastic sheets where they’d laid his best friend, coating the gloves both Karen and Claire were wearing and most of all on Foggy who seemed to have so much of it coating his skin and clothes it feels like a second skin.

Matt places a palm on Foggy’s chest where he’s kneeling beside the bed and he pulls it back wet.

“Why is he bleeding so much?”

“Some of the blunt trauma he took broke through skin. He has a few lacerations on his back and abdomen. They’re not deep but a lot of small vessels had burst from the force of the hits he took and that’s what caused the excessive bleeding”, Claire explains before calling Matt’s name in a gentler tone, “He hasn’t lost as much blood as it looks”.

The nod he gives her is shaky and he takes a deep breath before asking, “What else? Tell me what else”

Claire lets out a tired sigh but her next words are delivered to him in the most clinical way possible, “Fractured if not broken ribs. The blunt trauma to his kidneys, there might be some internal damage or bleeding but I can’t tell without proper medical equipment and even if I could, if its severe there isn’t much I can do here. His right cheekbone is most definitely broken and the left is possibly fractured. Ruptured eye vessels, his throat- “Claire gestured upward and Matt notices for the first time Karen sitting by Foggy’s head, holding a resuscitation bag she continuously inflates and deflates without pause but Matt also doesn’t miss the slight tremble in her hands, “His throat swelled up from the pressure to his larynx. Intubation was the last thing I wanted to do in a less than sterile area but he couldn’t breathe. I don’t- “

Claire’s voice finally breaks and it takes her a second to take a deep calming breath before she can continue. “I don’t know how long he can make it without proper treatment. He’s covered in bruises and for all I know he could be bleeding internally. He’s got a swelling on his temple from what looks like a vicious kick to the head and he could be building up intracranial pressure and a severe concussion. There’s very little I can do about that. Basically, I’m going do all I can to keep him alive till it's safe to get him to the hospital but there’s a lot of damage Matt.”

“It’s just for another 3 hours”.

Both Matt and Claire turn to look at Karen who only had eyes for Foggy’s purple and swollen face but was still shaking with every press and release of the resuscitation bag. Matt could taste a slight tinge of salt in the air that he’s sure isn’t his own.

It’s a surprise to him that Karen’s voice doesn’t tremble as much as she is when she continues, “Brett said that he needs at least till dawn to get the warrants and the people he needs behind him. The expose I wrote on the guy who did this, Daniel Lex, he’s a CEO for Lex Corps, International. The article comes out, his reputation gets ruined, his underground contacts on the run, I’d be surprised he’d make it till noon without the FBI knocking on his door with an arrest warrant too. 3 hours that’s it. That’s it Foggy, just hold on for another 3 hours”

The last part she whispers to herself and the still form beneath her. Head leaned down so her hair falls like a curtain between them and everyone else.

Matt doesn’t have a reply other then simply tightening his fingers around Foggy’s.

Claire’s eyes dart to all three of them before she gets up, ripping off her gloves and tossing them in the plastic bag beside her filled to the brim with bloody gauze and hastily torn sterile packaging.

“3 hours it is.”

“Why didn’t you tell me”

Karen looks up from where she’d been laying her head on the mattress, pillowed by her arms. Matt take’s a leaf out of her book and doesn’t look away from Foggy, hands firm where he worked the resuscitation bag he’d taken over from Karen an hour ago.

Karen hesitates and Matt suspects she’s staring at the mess of their friend with a guilty look.

“You were hurt badly when all of this started from the human trafficking case you took on a few weeks ago. Foggy didn’t want to risk you jumping in before you managed to heal up completely. And he…. he wanted to do this right. To do it clean, by the books. He wanted to make sure there were no loopholes, no possible escape they could wrangle up. He wanted to ruin them for what they’d done to those kids they’d dragged on to the streets. I think he wanted to prove to himself that his faith in the system was worth something”

“Worth his life?” Matt snaps.

He doesn’t have to have eyes to feel the accusatory look she sends his way.

“How is it different from what we both do every day? I risk myself all the time with every big article I write and we wake up every morning praying we’ll find a message on our phones telling us you’d gotten home safe.”

She holds Foggy’s hands to her forehead that looked like a fervent attempt at prayer. The taste of salt in the air was obvious now. “I tried to convince him not to do it but he wouldn’t listen. He said he needed to do something bigger to help people than just small fry cases that only helped a few. But he did everything right. He asked help from Luke and Jessica. He didn’t keep it a secret from me or Brett. He was careful and cautious and he kept it close to his chest though he didn’t tell us anything until he got all the files he needed. But one of the boys told them. The kid was probably just scared but they wouldn’t have found out if he hadn’t told them”

Again, Matt has nothing to say to that. Being struck speechless seems to be a common theme for him tonight. But what would there have been to say? He had failed his best friend. He’d been caught up in his own pursuit for justice to realize that Foggy had his own. Foggy had always seemed so untouchable. Protected by how he kept himself to helping the underdog in endeavors and cases small enough that no one would have noticed. How could he have forgotten that Foggy had just as much resolve as he did to help anyone that needed it even if he felt like he didn’t have much to give outside of a courtroom.

His best friend who followed him wherever he went even when it meant living on nothing but good opinion, peach pies and the knowledge that he’d share an office with two of his closest friends. Foggy who left behind a life of luxury and more money they would ever earn in their humble office. To leave behind a woman he loved but who realized she needed more than a man with little ambition other than a small office with no air conditioning, uncomfortable chairs that squeaked and a plaque outside their office with his name.

Even when he had to tolerate Matt continuing his mission in fixing Hell’s Kitchen where he felt the law couldn’t.

Is this what it had felt like for him every night, hoping Matt wasn’t going to bleed to death because of a lucky gun shot?

He voices the question out loud and gets a gentle, thoughtful hum from Karen.

“More or less. But I’d like to think he understood, even if he didn’t like it. I think he knew what he was getting into the minute he wrote down our names on that napkin but he wanted to stick around anyway” she places a gentle kiss on Foggy’s knuckles, “I don’t think we understood how much he was willing to give up for us”

Matt realizes that she’s right. He had always assumed that Foggy understood that the city always came first. That whatever sacrifice Matt had to make, that no matter how much of his own blood he had to spill to do what he felt needed to be done would be worth it.

But now when he’s staring at the blood his best friend had spilled for the same reason, he can’t help but feel the foundation of his resolution begin to shake. For him to understand what it felt like to watch someone you love put so much of themselves on the line.

He takes a deep breath but it’s not enough to hold back his own tears that start streaming down his cheeks.

“Please wake up Foggy. Please. I promise I’ll be there this time. I’ll promise I won’t take you for granted anymore. Just please, please just wake up Fog. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t lose you”

His thoughts go unheard and Foggy doesn’t stir. Matt can’t help but feel like his best friend is paying the consequences of Matt's sins and he doesn’t try to hold back his grief anymore. If nothing else, Foggy deserved to know that he mattered.

Another hour and a half pass before something happens. Matt’s arms are aching from holding up the respiration device and is considering letting Jessica take over – she had offered to do so 20 minutes ago but Matt had staunchly refused and she hadn’t pressed the offer – when suddenly Foggy jerks upward.

“Claire!”

Foggy’s body has already begun to shake when Claire enters the bedroom.

“Shit, he’s seizing”

Matt hears a dial tone from the living room and Jessica’s voice.

“I’m calling the ambulance. This shit can’t wait.”

It’s a nod to how severe the situation has become that none of them protest.

The seizures last for 3 minutes during which Claire pulls out the tube and tells everyone to step back and not touch him. When its over Claire checks his airway but Matt can already tell Foggy is finally breathing on his own at the low but audible sound of air running in and out of his airway with a rasp that Matt is terrified will give out.

The ambulance arrives in five minutes and Claire convinces Matt to let her go with Foggy instead of him because she needs to give the Emergency personnel a detailed rundown of Foggy’s visible and possible injuries and Matt wants to scream at the sound of Foggy’s heart beat fading in the distance.

Matt knows if Foggy dies it will all be his fault.

[killianmesmalls]

Alice is in critical condition from a little biking accident, age 10... GO

Ooooooh nice! mean! White elephant AU scene below!

He’d told her a thousand times to be careful. Even had taken that bike away from her for a week just last month. Still, she was his child, and he cursed that cocky daredevil streak she’d inherited every time she tried a new stunt. 

Now, as he chewed on his cuticles and watched as doctors and nurses fussed over her, he downright damned the streak to hell. 

The last few hours had been a blur. She at least had learned to wear her helmet, but he looked up just in time to see her try to do another stunt in the middle of the street. A perfect storm then followed. She’d lost control of the bike just as a car sped around the corner of Alexander Street. He’d yelled and propelled himself forward, head knowing he was too far away but heart not giving a damn. The noises that followed he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Screeching brakes, a scream, thuds of flesh and bone against metal, and finally a thump onto the asphalt. He raced to her side, wishing nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but knowing moving her without knowing her injuries could make things worse. 

The slow motion panic that had preceded the accident shifted sharply to a rapid fire assault of panicked white noise. He didn’t remember the frantic discussion with the driver, the phone call to 911, the ambulance ride, or even the rush through the emergency room. All that kept flashing through his mind was the moment his Alice collided with the car, and the sight of her unconscious form now. 

She had several broken ribs, a broken collar bone, and a concussion in addition to several lacerations. Still, he knew she was lucky. The helmet had taken a beating between the car and the street, but better it than her unprotected skull. Even a moment’s thought about what could have happened without it sent a sick lurch through his stomach and he had to swallow hard to prevent himself from getting ill.

At long last, everyone had done what they could for her, and all that was left to do was rest and wait. He settled into the sea foam green chair at her bedside and gently brushed her forearm with his thumb. 

“My little Starfish,” he managed, voice trembling. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d fallen asleep. One moment he was looking at her, studying her peaceful face, and the next he’d joined her in slumber. Only when he felt her fingers twitch at the side of his face did he wake up with a start. 

“Papa?” she croaked out. Hoarse and somber, but it was the most beautiful sound he’d heard all day. 

“Hey, kiddo. How you feeling?”

“Sore...” she managed. 

“You took quite a spill. You’re going to be sore for a little while, but I promise you’ll be better in no time. And I’ll be right here whenever you need me.”

She nodded, though he felt a pang of worry when he saw tears filling her eyes. He squeezed her hand, silently urging her to tell him what was troubling her, when he saw take a deep breath and wince at the pain in her side. 

Finally, she chewed her lip, then asked, “Am I in trouble?”

He couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him, and he raised himself up to brush a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I think you’ve been punished enough. Though, I think it’s safe to say, no bike until after you’re all healed.”

Another nod, this time with the smallest smile tugging at her lips. “But did you see how high I flew?”

Killian shook his head. Yep. She was his child, alright.

[pastaraa-blog]

Even With The Enemy (Ch.2/?)

SUMMARY: A series of dead bodies turn up in Seoul and Inspector Min Yoongi is assigned to the case. The police are quick to assume that it’s a serial killer running loose but Yoongi has other ideas. There’s more to this case than meets the eye.

PAIRING: Kim Taehyung | V / Min Yoongi | Suga

!!WARNING for graphic depictions of violence!!

Also on AO3

CHAPTER 2 - JIMIN AND HANSUNG

Lee Jung In. 35 years old. His body was found in a back alley at 2 a.m. on Sunday. He had five stab wounds – one on each leg, one on each hand, and one on the chest, which directly pierced his heart and ultimately killed him.

Kim Byung Ho. 36 years old. His body was found floating on a river at 11 a.m. on Tuesday. He had multiple lacerations on his torso and back and exactly eight stab wounds, three of which hit major arteries and caused severe bleeding. He died from blood loss.

Kim Hyun Woo. 38 years old. His body was found in a ditch at 10 p.m. on Friday. His body had the most physical trauma among the three victims and showed clear signs of torture. All of his fingers had been broken and all of his nails had been removed. He had broken ribs, multiple lacerations and stab wounds, and a head injury likely caused by a blunt object. The cause of his death was a collapsed lung resulting from a stab wound on the chest.

All three bodies had traces of two chemical substances, one was designed to render the victims unconscious while the other one was a slow-acting poison that caused paralysis.

All three victims were members of the Baeksaja, a gang notorious for dealing in drug trafficking and the sex trade behind their ‘legal’ business of owning clubs in the red light district.

Yoongi closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. He looked at the clock on his wall and saw that it was half past midnight. He was probably the only one left at the station. He had been so absorbed in reading the file, he had lost track of time.

It had been a while since Yoongi came across a case as troublesome as this. All three victims were known gang members and undoubtedly had their share of enemies so narrowing it down was going to be difficult. The use of similar chemicals suggested that the crimes had been committed either by the same person or a group of people who had contact with each other. If it was a group, it could be the work of a rival gang like Yoongi guessed earlier, however, based on the reports, Yoongi was more inclined to think that the murders were committed by the same person.

According to the autopsy, several of the victims’ stab wounds were of near-identical sizes, indicating that at least one similar knife had been used on all three of them. Unless gangs were now giving out standard-issue knives to all their members, these near-identical stab wounds could mean that the knife used on all three victims may have been owned by one person.

A knock on the door interrupted Yoongi’s thoughts. He muttered a quick ‘come in’ and the door opened, revealing Namjoon.

“Hey, I’m planning to head out soon,” Namjoon said, “Are you going to stay here?”

Yoongi stretched his hands above his head and yawned. “Nah, I’m heading out with you.” He got up from his chair and gathered his things. “I’m done for tonight. This case you’ve given me has tired me out.”

“So I guess you’ve finished reading all of it?” Namjoon had the audacity to look apologetic after piling such a taxing case on Yoongi’s lap. “What do you think?”

“You couldn’t wait until tomorrow? I thought you said you were heading out.”

“Nothing comprehensive. Just your initial thoughts. I’d like to hear them while it’s fresh on your mind.”

Yoongi decided to give in. Denying Namjoon was difficult enough when he wasn’t bone weary. “I think our perp is just one person,” he said, “and this is more of a hunch right now but, judging by how the method of killing became bloodier and more gruesome with each victim, I think this was the work of someone with a personal vendetta. Either that or our perp is simply a sadistic bastard.”

“Hmm…” Namjoon nodded, “I thought the same thing, actually. Though you’re correct, it’s just a hunch right now, which is why I wanted you to take a look at the case. Hearing you say the same thing validates my initial assumptions.”

“As flattered as I am to hear that you value my opinion that much, my brain cells are pretty much dead right now. Can we save this conversation for later?” It was just as well that Namjoon and Yoongi had a friendly relationship. If this were anyone else, Yoongi would be receiving a stern reprimand for daring to talk to his superior officer in such a manner.

“Ah, sorry. I almost got carried away there. We should both get some rest. I have a feeling we’re going to have a long day tomorrow,” Namjoon stopped to look at his watch, “Or should I say, later today.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

#

Dried leaves cracked under Jimin’s shoes as he trudged along the busy streets of Seoul. He tugged at his scarf and pulled his jacket tighter. It was nearing the end of October and the temperature had already dropped too much for his liking. Winter was going to be such a pain this year.

“Yo, Park Jimin!” A man on the street bellowed, catching the attention of bystanders. Jimin recognized the deep voice – would recognize it anywhere.

Jimin turned around to face the man. “Yo, Park Hansung! Don’t go shouting in the streets!”

The man, Hansung, gave Jimin a cheeky grin. “But you did too!”

“Yeah, but you started it!” Jimin replied, knowing full well that it made him sound like a child keeping up a stupid argument. He stopped walking and waited for Hansung to catch up to him. “What are you doing out this early? Doesn’t the shop open until later?” He asked once they were walking side by side, voice now down to an acceptable volume.

“Our vegetable delivery guy is out sick today so I’m supposed to pick up our supply from the market,” Hansung said through a yawn. He was cheerful like he usually was but now that Jimin was looking closely, it was apparent that he was tired.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” Jimin knew that Hansung worked multiple jobs to make ends meet but this was the first time he was seeing him this tired in the morning.

“You could say that. I haven’t had much time to sleep the past week.”

“You didn’t get another part-time job, did you?” Jimin asked, concern lacing his tone. “You can’t keep on pushing your body like that, Hansung-ah.”

“This coming from Park Jimin? The Park Jimin who stayed behind every day after training and pulled weekly all-nighters back when he was at the police academy? That Park Jimin?”

“That was a situation where only I could do something to improve my performance so I did it. This is different. If you’re short on money then you can always come to me. You don’t need to get another job. You work too much already.”

“I always say this but you’re too kind, Jimin.” Hansung gave Jimin a fond smile. “Thank you for offering but I can’t take your money.”

“Hansung, you don’t–”

“I’m doing fine on the money front, don’t worry. In fact, I didn’t get another job.” Hansung added a wink for good measure. “I was just caught up in things last week but I’m all good. I know how to pace myself.”

Jimin was still a bit skeptical – Hansung had a habit of making light of his problems so as not to worry others – but let the topic slide for the moment. “As long as you’re taking care of yourself…”

“I am, I promise. Buuut, enough about me! How about you? How was your first day at the station?”

Jimin swallowed the sigh that was his impulsive response to that question. That would only make Hansung worry. “It went well, actually. The Senior Inspector in charge of our station seems like a really nice guy and I met a Senior Officer who was very friendly and introduced me to everyone.” It wasn’t a lie. All of those things did happen on his first day and if Jimin chose to omit the part where his direct superior seemed to find him annoying and had been more than happy to foist him off onto other people as soon as possible, Hansung was none the wiser.

“That’s great! I’m happy that your first day went well. I remember you were worrying so much about your colleagues bullying you or something,” Hansung said with a teasing smirk, “I told you those stories were just made up to scare newbies and you didn’t believe me.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of me! Those things do happen! I’m just lucky I got assigned to a station with decent senior officers.” Senior Inspector Min seemed like he didn’t want to have anything to do with Jimin but he hadn’t been cruel. Gruff and aloof, maybe, but not cruel. Jimin should probably be thankful for that.

“Hmm, if you say so…” Hansung looked reasonably impressed, of what Jimin wasn’t quite sure. “But if anyone bullies you, just tell me and I’d go over there to give them a talking to!”

To anyone else, Hansung’s words probably sounded like a joke but Jimin knew that he was serious. “Hansung, I don’t think making a scene inside a police station is a good idea, but thanks for always having my back,” Jimin said. Hansung often had silly ideas but Jimin knew he always meant well.

#

Sharing a morning walk with his best friend was a balm for Jimin’s soul and he had arrived at the station in considerably high spirits. Unfortunately, not even the pleasant start to his morning was enough to shield him from the ominous air that greeted him when he stepped into Senior Inspector Min’s office.

In Senior Inspector Min’s hurry to get rid of him the day before, Jimin had forgotten to give the man a copy of his assignment papers. Jimin had thought it would be okay for him to drop by the Senior Inspector’s office early in the morning to hand the papers over but he hadn’t expected to walk into what appeared to be a very important meeting between Senior Inspector Min and Senior Inspector Kim. Judging by the clouded look on the two men’s faces, Jimin guessed that whatever it was they were talking about, it was a terrible situation that was way, way above Jimin’s pay grade.

“Were you eavesdropping?” That was Senior Inspector Min and he looked pissed. Granted, the man seemed to have a resting annoyed face but this time, Jimin could tell that he was really quite angry.

“N-no, sir.” Came Jimin’s quick denial. The last thing he wanted was for his superior officers to think that he was up to no good on his second day at work.

“Uh huh?” Senior Inspector Min didn’t look convinced. “So what, they don’t teach you how to knock at the academy?”

“Uhm, I – I was… ” Jimin felt like his heart was lodged in his throat. He contemplated the merits of telling Senior Inspector Min that he did knock before entering but the two senior inspectors seemed to have been too engrossed in their discussion to notice or to respond so Jimin decided to push the door just a little to see if there was anyone inside. It was just Jimin’s luck that Senior Inspector Kim opened the door at the same time so he had been dragged into the room without warning, effectively barging into the senior officers’ tense meeting. Jimin found the whole experience mortifying, really.

“Yoongi, please don’t scare him,” Senior Inspector Kim said and Jimin felt like he could kiss the man in gratitude. “Relax, Officer Park. I don’t believe that you were eavesdropping and I’m pretty sure forgetting to knock once in a while isn’t a punishable offense. I know I’m guilty of the same thing sometimes.”

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Senior Inspector Kim was one of the nicest, most respectable guys Jimin had ever met in his entire life. Jimin was blessed to have been assigned to this man’s station.

“Thank you, sir!” Jimin bowed ninety degrees. “And I’m sorry for barging into your meeting, sir!”

“It’s fine. We were done here anyway. I’m leaving you two.” Senior Inspector Kim clapped Jimin’s shoulder on his way out. “Yoongi, don’t be too harsh on him.”

Jimin only rose from his bow when he heard the door click shut behind him. Senior Inspector Kim was very kind about the whole thing but now, Jimin was alone with Senior Inspector Min and without a buffer, he might very well be put through the wringer by his direct superior.

Senior Inspector Min sighed. To Jimin’s relief, the words from Senior Inspector Kim seemed to have mollified him. “I suppose I should have told you this yesterday but, Rule Number One – knock if you want to enter my office. If you don’t hear an answer, don’t come in. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Rule Number Two, don’t ever eavesdrop on any conversation happening inside this office. Or any office for that matter. Clearances exist for a reason and there are things you don’t need to know.”

“Yes, sir.” Jimin felt that particular scolding was underserved as he hadn’t been eavesdropping but he wasn’t about to talk back to his superior officer like that.

“And Rule Number Three.” Senior Inspector Min rose from his seat and walked towards Jimin. “Don’t be so fucking meek all the damn time. I don’t appreciate insubordination but I hate mindless obedience even more. There’s a fine line between the two, learn to thread it, otherwise, you’ll never survive this job. Do you understand?” It was probably only Jimin’s imagination but there seemed to be a hint of concern in Senior Inspector Min’s tone.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

to be continued…

[riverforasong]

What’s So Great About: The Undertaker vs HHH at Wrestlemania 28

Hey, I wrote a thing. It’s pretty long and probably boring if you’re not a wrestling fan, but if that doesn’t bother you, here’s a whole bunch of stuff on in ring story telling and why this match did it so well. 

It’s difficult to put forth just how meaningful The Undertaker is to Professional Wrestling as a whole. Starting out as just another monster heel in the early 90’s of neon, silly characters. The Undertaker transcended the gimmickiness of his… well, gimmick. At the beginning, he was, and I say this with no irony, or hyperbole, a zombie. He was a dead man, who by some form of magic unbeknownst to us, came back to life to wrestle handymen, dentists, and garbage men. As wrestling matured, and entered the attitude era, as did the Dead Man, becoming less of a zombie, and now adding demonic hell spawn to the game. He had powers of control and explosions, he had a brood of men and women waiting to do his dark bidding, he would sacrifice women, hang men from cells, you could not control The Undertaker, you could only hope to contain him. As the Era wound down, he switched to a Sons of Anarchy style biker. He became the conscience of the WWE, he had a code, and if you broke it, he would destroy your very soul, all while coming to the ring to the tune of, and I shit ye not, Limp Bizket. The early 00’s were hard on all of us.

As he got older, he moved away from the more magical aspects of his character, appearing less and less frequently, taking on only the best, and being called upon only when he was needed. He became like that of an old west gunslinger. An aging sherif who knew his time was almost up, but when it did, he would go out swinging. Sooner or later, God’s gonna cut you down.

The lasting mark of The Undertaker is known as The Streak. His longevity, in combination with his talent, led Undertaker to an untouchable 21-0 wins streak at Wrestlemania. 21 years he went undefeated at the Granddaddy of ‘em all. By 10 and 0, only the best, the bravest, and the foolish challenged him. They all wanted to be the one to finally end The Undertaker. Our story begins in 2011, at this point The Undertaker is 18 and 0 when it comes to the streak. His opponent, is Triple H. The King of Kings, the Cerebral Assassin, the Creator, and the Destroyer, The man with far too many nicknames, now that I have to type them all out. Triple H challenged the Undertaker to his Wrestlemania match, much to the horror of his best friend and former tag-team partner Shawn Michaels. See, Shawn Michaels had spent the better part of two year trying to take the dead man down. His final attempt, costing him his career as he was forced to retire upon losing his match. Triple H had always wanted to be seen as the top of the company, the man that everyone held in such high esteem, the man people would call “The Greatest of All Time.” But he never was, never has been, and never will be. Why? Shawn Michaels. Always living in the shadow of his best friend, he wanted to do what Shawn couldn’t. What  nobody could, he was going to be the man to best The Undertaker.

But he didn’t.

Coming to the ring to the tune of Ain’t no Grave by Johnny Cash, In an absolute knock down, drag out, no holds barred fight, The Undertaker once again reigned victorious, raising his streak to 19 and 0, and staying on top where he belonged. But this time was different. He won, sure, but he couldn’t stand up. He had taken so much punishment, going through tables, getting hit by chairs, and by steel stairs, repeatedly landing on concrete, that he was no longer able to leave the ring under his own power, collapsing on his way out. Medical professionals were brought out and carried Undertaker out on a stretcher.

10 months pass.

Things are a little bit different now. The Undertaker hasn’t been seen since, HHH has taken hold of the corporate side of things. His marriage to the Boss’s Daughter, Stephanie McMahon, essentially makes HHH the uncrowned CEO of the company. He wrestles significantly less, wears suits instead of tights, wields a pen instead of a sledgehammer. Then on January 30, 2012, the unthinkable, the infamous bell tolls, and amongst the fire and minions comes The Undertaker once again. Undertaker was dissatisfied with how his last Wrestlemania ended. Being unable to walk out on his own showed a weakness that he can’t let by. A weakness that in his mind, needs to be corrected. This time, he’s calling HHH out. One more time, ‘Taker is offering HHH one last chance at immortality. He waits one week for HHH’s answer.

HHH refuses.

See in Hunter’s now corporate mind, the 19-0 Wrestlemania streak is a brand in and of itself. Even non-wrestling fans know it, it’s a cash cow that’s waiting to be exploited, and he’s not going to be the one that ends it over an old grudge. Putting his own ego and pride aside for what he sees as the better future for WWE. Enter Shawn Michaels again, this time, Shawn is adamant that he try again, he was too close the last time to not give it another shot, and Shawn would do any and everything in his power to help him win. Once again HHH refuses. The Next week the Undertaker responds. In an attempt to goad HHH into accepting he calls him a coward, a corporate cronie that’s to afraid to be a man and step up to the challenge. All of which H takes in stride even though it grates on him every time it gets repeated, even the crowd begins to chant it.

“I’m sorry but the answer is no.” and as HHH walks away, seemingly victorious, The Undertaker picks up the mic once again.

“You know Hunter, I just figured it out. You know that you can’t do, what Shawn Michaels couldn’t do.

Because deep down, you know Shawn was always better than you. ”

HHH is apoplectic, he looks the Undertaker in the eye and says that while this has nothing to do with who’s better between him and Shawn, he knows for a fact he can beat The Undertaker with one more try, and he accepts. Under one condition, he wants and end, No Uncertainty, no excuses, He wants it in Hell in a Cell.

For those of you just joining us, Hell in a Cell is where careers go to die. In immense 20 foot tall, five ton cell made of chain link mesh. Introduced in 1997 by The Undertaker himself, this match has ended or drastically shortened the careers of Mankind, Shawn Michaels, Edge, CM Punk, and of course, The Undertaker and HHH themselves. It breaks bones, lacerates skin, and in a couple of scenarios, knocks out teeth and breaks the rings. In summation, this match is not to be fucked with, or taken lightly. It is the last stop when it comes to serious feuds.

In addition to this, HHH also establishes a special guest referee: Shawn Michaels. This is for two reasons, number one, and the one most people pick up on, HHH has never lost a match where Shawn was the referee. But the second one is a little more sinister, Hunter has always had this one sided feud with Shawn, even during there Tag-Team days there was always this underlying tension that HHH wanted desperately to be seen as the better one, and it just wasn’t happening. This was his moment, he was so sure of his ability to beat the Undertaker at Wrestlemania, so sure that he was going to do the impossible, so sure that he could do what Shawn could not, that he demanded Shawn be there to count the pin. One last knock-out blow in a fight that only one person really knew they were having, maybe then people would finally see HHH at the top of the mountain. He would see himself be better than Shawn, even if he had to die to do it.

Wrestlemania 28. It was time. The Cell lowers around the two men. The smoke of the pyro clears, the two of them stare directly into each others eyes, as if daring the other to strike first. The bell rings, they drop back to their corners, circle one another for only a second and start trading blows. A physical, intense, and violent beginning that carries itself through the remainder of the match.  Every shot loaded with a burning hatred, and desire to either end the streak, or to prove you haven’t lost a step. The brawl spills to the outside, into the waiting cell, as Undertaker, who’s dominated the beginning, tosses HHH against the steel cell wall as if he was nothing.

The story in the early part of the match comes from the Undertakers domination early in the match, finally overcoming his obsession with making up for his last performance, and HHH’s slow realization that he had, once again, booked himself in over his head. The turning point of this match however, comes from Shawn Michaels. Now, logic would dictate that, being his best friend, Shawn would be on HHH’s side, and of course, that’s what HHH intended. But in his previous 2 matches with the Undertaker at Wrestlemania 25 and 26 respectively, the last of which costing Shawn his career, Shawn had grown immense respect for The Undertaker, and also The Streak. Their begins an internal struggle in Shawn’s mind whenever a pinfall attempt occurs. Does he assist his friend. Or assist the man he respects above all else. You can see it begin to well up when the two men are on the outside, and The Undertaker is just beating away at the chest of HHH, there comes several points where Shawn looks to stop him, but knows that he has no jurisdiction to do so inside The Cell, and must watch as his friend is beaten repeatedly, while ignoring his pleading looks.

About half way though the match, after a solid 15 minutes of getting his ass handed to him on a plate, HHH finally gets some sort of upper hand by hitting The Undertaker with a Spine Buster on the steel steps that had been slid into the ring earlier. As he attempts to pin him, he gets reversed into a triangle choke known as the Hell’s Gate, the same move that beat him last year. Using every ounce of strength he had left, he heaved the 300 pound dead man into the air, and slammed him to the ground. Breaking the hold. HHH. now sick of this shit, slides out to the apron, and brings back a Steel Chair. A heavy shot to the stomach, followed by a sickening shot to the spine, HHH now finds himself well and truly in control of the match. HHH. now using both Chairs and Stairs to his advantage cause Shawn some unease. You can see, as HHH sets the stairs up vertically into the corner, Shawn asking him to think twice about it. Even though it’s completely within the rules of the match, Shawn doesn’t want to see too much damage come to the Undertaker. HHH of course, ignores this completely, throwing Undertaker into those stairs like he were a lawn dart.

As Undertaker attempts to get to his feet, he gets another chair shot to the back. And then another. And then another. And then another. The steel warping more and more as it makes contact. Ever shot, Shawn looks more and more distraught, to the point of actually attempting to physically stop him all while saying ‘Taker’s had enough. HHH shoves him out of the way delivering another five shots to the back and legs before Shawn knocks the chair away, saving The Undertaker a further beating. This is when HHH gives his friend the Ultimatum:

“You want this over, you end it!”

HHH’s game fully revealed now, he doesn’t just want to beat The Undertaker, he doesn’t want to just beat the Streak, he doesn’t just want the world to know he’s better than Shawn Michaels. He wants Shawn Michaels to be the one to tell the world. Not satiated by simply pinning the man, he wants Shawn to call the match a Knockout.

‘I can’t call it, you know he isn’t going to quit!“

HHH picks up the chair again as Shawn begs him off one last time to go check on The Undertaker. He asks him if he can still continue, and when he doesn’t say No, HHH clatters him with another three chair shots to the back.

“You want this to end! You end it! END IT OR I WILL!”

Shawn makes his way over to the now broken body of the Undertaker, but before he can get a word out, The Deadman speaks.

“Don’t stop it, don’t stop it. Do not...Stop it.”

Taker, using the ropes to steady himself, attempts to make it to his feet  as HHH shouts from behind him “Stay down! Stay Down!,” But he doesn’t, he makes it to his feet and gets a hard chair shot to the gut for his trouble, followed by another shot to the back to knock him prone once again.

Shawn is beside himself at this point, visibly distraught and confused as to what he’s seeing, he goes down to count the pin as HHH covers Undertaker who by some miracle, kicks out at 2 and a half. He attempts another shot with a chair, but Shawn throws it out of the ring, as he goes to grab something else, HHH notices something, a small thing, but it only increases his frustration. Shawn is checking on the wellbeing of The Undertaker. His best friend is now taking care of his sworn enemy.

“END IT SHAWN! END IT OR I WILL”

Shawn doesn’t end it, so HHH brings out the Sledge Hammer. King Arthur and his sword, Thor and Mjolnir, HHH and his Sledgehammer, they’re synonymous with one another.

“Come on man, you don’t need that”

“I DON’T CARE, END IT OR I WILL, YOU WANT TO SHOW COMPASSION THAT’S FINE, BUT I’M NOT”

“He can barely walk”

“I don’t care Shawn, I’m ending this one way or another.”

Shawn makes his way over to The Undertaker who’s made it to his feet but just barely.

“I’m ending this match”

“No”

“Come on let me end it”

“No”

“Please let me end it! Please!”

Shawn, absolutely begging The Undertaker to throw in the towel, for safety sake, but the dead man isn’t having it. And he gets a sledge hammer upside the head for his trouble,

1

2

And he kicks out.  2 and a half, 2 and 3 15ths

The crowd loses it’s mind. HHH is in shock. Shawn just wants it all to be over. HHH takes his hammer once again, as The Undertaker attempts to rise to  his feet again. He raises his hammer over his head, like he’s about to slam down on the railroad spike that is Undertaker’s head, before Shawn runs in and rips it from his hands.

“You end it then Shawn. END IT”

Shawn makes the move to call for the bell, he attempts to ask Undertaker but he’s unconscious,

“DO IT”

Shawn notices The Dead man stirring and goes over to check on him. He reaches down, but the Undertaker in his daze thinks he’s HHH and hits him with the Hell’s Gate triangle choke. And refuses to let go until HHH comes in with another sledgehammer shot to the head of The Undertaker breaking the hold. HHH showing remorse  to his friend goes to check on him for a second, sledge hammer still in hand. With the referee out cold, HHH goes to railroad spiker Undertaker’s head one more time, but on the down swing he’s caught in the Hell’s Gate, Choking the life out of him, HHH makes a couple of futile attempts to break away, or use the Sledge Hammer again, but he can’t find the strength, and passes out from the pain. Now normally this would be the end of a match, but Shawn is still out cold from the earlier attack. So Undertaker releases the hold to try and rouse Shawn to his feet. Another referee makes his way to the ring to bring some order to things as HHH makes his way to his feet, but is caught by The Undertaker in a chokeslam. The new referee goes for the count, but only gets a 2. Undertaker is enraged, and grabs the new referee by the throat, hitting him too with a Chokeslam.

All three men slowly rise to their feet, Shawn included, as Undertaker looks to end it with the tombstone piledriver. He picks up HHH who riggles away and pushes Undertaker forward into a Superkick by Shawn, in retaliation for the earlier Hell’s Gate, in his stupor Undertaker stumbles backward into HHH, who hits him with a Pedigree. Both finishers, back to back. Undertaker is out cold. HHH goes in for the pin.

1

2

and in a second,

in a hiccup,

in a heartbeat,

Undertaker kicks out.

Shawn is beside himself. The second he landed the kick he regretted it, the look on his face after Taker kicked out is a mix of fear, anguish, and relief. He knows that if he had been one second faster, he would have cost The Undertaker The Streak. HHH makes it to his feet once again, grabbing the Sledgehammer at his side. Shawn goes to stop him once again, but HHH throws him outside the ring as he careens into the steel cell wall. The emotion overcoming The Game as he turns around and sees the Undertaker sit straight up. Fueled only by anger and a will to fight, Undertaker hits HHH with a big boot to the face. Several punches in a  full out assault. Clotheslines, lawn darting him against the turnbuckle, another big boot to the face. And then finally, the Coup de Grace the Tombstone Piledriver.

1

2

And HHH kicks out. Undertaker’s face falls into disbelief. No one kicks out of the tombstone man, it’s just not done. His eyes are wide in disbelief. Shawn is an emotional wreck. HHH his best friend, immense respect for The Undertaker and he’s caught in the middle. Both men aren’t even to their feet, and Undertaker hits HHH with a headbut. Both men on their knees trading blows one after the other. We’ve done everything else so now they’re just going to punch the shit out of each other until one of them is smart enough to stay down. Both punch drunk make their way to their feet, uneasy steps, using the ropes for leverage, continue to rain punches on one another, until HHH gains the upper hand with a kick to the stomach, and yet another Pedigree. And yet again, The Undertaker kicks out. It takes 40 seconds at least for both men to find their feet. Undertaker is first up and reaches for the chair that HHH used earlier, HHH, still on his knees finds his sledge hammer. He goes to pick it up, but Taker finds it first, stepping on it. Destroying HHH with chairshot to the head, and then several to the back. A bookend to the beginning of the match. Chair shot after chair shot trying to keep the Game down, Eventually Shawn begs him to stop just as he did HHH earlier in the match, only this time, Undertaker obliges, throwing the chair out of the ring, pinning HHH, but only getting a two count out of the ordeal.

HHH is exhausted, angry, and out of ideas. He can barely make it to his feet, as the Undertaker just watches in a sort of awe at the poor sumbitch who just won't stay down. He makes his way over to the corner, sledgehammer in hand and attempts to make it to his feet, as the Undertaker shouts at him to “Stay Down!” HHH makes it to his feet, attempts a half hearted swing of the sledgehammer but is stopped immediately by the Undertaker, who simply shakes his head.

It’s over. Everyone knows it, even HHH. He’s got nothing else left, and The Undertaker has far too much. He shoves him forward and collapses in the corner, barely staying standing. Shawn can’t even really look at him anymore. He tries to muster up some words to say, but he can’t. It’s all been done, it’s all been said. He’s got nothing left to prove to anyone. But he’s gonna try it anyway. One last act of defiance as HHH does the DX Crotch chops, and makes a lunge for The Undertaker, who cracks him upside the head with his own Sledgehammer. HHH tries to use The Undertaker as leverage to stand up, but he doesn’t get the chance. Tombstone Piledriver

1

2

3

It’s really over. The Undertaker is now 20-0 at Wrestlemania. Both men collapse to the canvas, every ounce of energy left in the ring. Couldn’t give more if they tried. Undertaker tries to make it to his feet first, but he can’t quite muster the strength. His biggest fear has come to pass. He once again can’t leave the ring without medical help. His eyes dart around hoping for some help or some miracle to help him to his feet. A Miracle he finds, in the form of Shawn Michaels, stretching out his hand, he helps the big man up to his feet, and raises his hand for the 20th time in a row at Wrestlemania. He but there’s still the small matter of HHH, still unconscious on the mat. Even after all he’d done, after all the jealousy, after all the taunting and assaults. Shawn and Undertaker help the man to his feet. They all walk up the ramp heads held high, after a match of the year contender, three men of the old guard could finally find the time to rest. It was truly the End of an Era.

Match available on the WWE Network:

http://network.wwe.com/video/v31294231?contextType=wwe-show&contextId=wrestlemania&contentId=66743670&watchlistAltButtonContext=series