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fickleminder · 4 years

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the years start coming and they don’t stop coming

In which Lilith’s return distorts her brothers’ perception of time.

Part 2 here

You’ve never seen the demon prince look so embarrassed.

“I can call for —”

“No, it’s okay. They deserve this.”

But you don’t, goes unspoken. You can see the pity in his eyes, feel the palpable disappointment in the air. Even Simeon and Luke make sure to hug you extra tight before stepping through the portal to the Celestial Realm, and Solomon promises to check up on you after you’ve returned home.

Thanking Lord Diavolo and Barbatos for their hospitality, you turn towards the final demon in the council room and put on the biggest grin your breaking heart can muster. “Hey, c’mere.”

Satan doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you. It’s almost like he’s trying to make up for his brothers’ absence, the way he crushes you to his chest and cradles the back of your head.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame them. As far as miracles go, this is a pretty big one. Lilith coming back to life is an unprecedented event, one not even Barbatos had seen coming. Nobody has any answers either. She’s definitely not a demon, not an angel, not human; just an immortal who knocked on the front door of the House of Lamentation three days ago.

Her brothers haven’t left her alone since. You’re happy for them, you really are, but a bitter part of you can’t help but wish her return had waited until after the exchange program ended. At least Lucifer had the courtesy to pull you aside and thank you on his family’s behalf (though you’re quite certain you had nothing to do with your ancestor’s sudden revival), in addition to making a pact with you as a token of his gratitude.

With that, you could have summoned all of them to send you off just as effectively as Lord Diavolo giving the order, but it won’t be the same and you know it. Your only saving grace is Satan, the one brother who’d kept his head and anchored you in the sea of loneliness you’d been set adrift in over the last few days.

“I’m gonna miss you, cat boy.”

“I miss you already,” Satan laughs softly, pulling back with a warm smile. “I’ll stay in touch, I promise.”

You squeeze his arms affectionately and glance past his shoulders at the closed doors. There’s the smallest shred of hope in you that thinks the others will come bursting through any moment now, scrambling for one final chance to see you. You give yourself five seconds, silently counting down to a pipe dream, before pressing a kiss to Satan’s cheek and releasing him.

“It might not seem like it now, but the Devildom will always be here for you,” Lord Diavolo says as the world around you fades to white. “Farewell.”

“Did you lose track of time at the library again? You missed dinner last night LOL.”

“Levi, be nice!”

Satan only hums quietly in response. He can’t be bothered to correct the assumption; it’s a convenient excuse for when his brothers actually notice he’s missing anyway.

The irony of Levi calling him out isn’t lost on him. While the otaku is still obsessed with his games and shows, he’s no longer as shut-in as he used to be, venturing outside the comforts of his sanctuary more often. Satan has passed by the common room on many occasions to find him and Lilith gaming or binging anime together, and the content expression on Levi’s face proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the void from his Henry’s departure has long been filled.

“Oh, but speaking of,” Lilith sets her cutlery down and smiles shyly at the fourth-born, “I haven’t had the chance to explore the libraries here yet. If it’s not too much trouble, can you show me around and recommend a few books?”

Shrugging non-committedly, Satan continues with his meal, not once looking her in the eye.

You’ve always wondered how someone with the Avatar of Lust for a brother can have such terrible fashion sense. It should be impossible to go wrong with dressing for a funeral, but you guess life (along with a certain eyesore of a tie) just loves to disappoint you. Still, you’re too glad to have Satan with you right now to care.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime.”

You lean into the demon’s side as he holds an umbrella over both of you. Your eyes are drawn to the flowers he’d placed on your mother’s grave, the only splash of color against the dull tombstone. For the longest time, all you can process is the pitter-patter of the afternoon rain on the plastic wrap of the bouquet, and the comforting weight of Satan’s arm across your shoulders.

“She was in a lot of pain,” you admit after a while, your voice slightly hoarse. “The doctors had to sedate her. She went in her sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” Satan fidgets awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. He’s no stranger to death, but the loss of someone dear is unfamiliar to him. “Perhaps Simeon can find out if —”

“No, no it’s fine. I just — I need to —”

The umbrella is forgotten as Satan catches you, lowering you gently to the ground when your knees give way. You cling to him desperately, and it’s all he can do to draw you close as you start to wail.

Satan barely makes it three steps into the house before getting pounced on.

“How was it? Where did you go? Ooh you lucky demon, I want to hear all the details!”

“Oi, oi! What are you babbling on about?”

“Don’t act coy with me! Lilith saw you at the florist’s yesterday with the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers!”

“Yesterday? But —”

“How come you never told me someone caught your eye? I would have dolled you up, lent you some of my clothes —” Asmo gasps dramatically. “You didn’t wear that horrid jacket to your date, did you?”

Wrestling a hand free, Satan musses his younger brother’s hair. “None of your business,” he growls, walking away with a smirk when Asmo immediately releases him to fix his appearance. “Who do you take me for, anyway?”

“Aww come on, just give me a hint! Do I know them? Is it someone from RAD? Ooh, did you meet them at the library or —”

Ducking into the safety of his room, Satan shuts the door in Asmo’s face.

“Thank fuck. Who picked your outfit this time?”

“Barbatos. And shut up.”

You grab Satan’s arm with a laugh and lead him towards your table, politely introducing him as ‘Stan from work’ to any relatives who ask about the handsome young man accompanying you. Satan’s usual mask is in place, but there’s no mistaking the gleam of wonder in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings.

“Finally,” you sigh, sinking into your seat and grinning sheepishly at the blond. “Sorry about them. It’s just that they’ve never seen me with anyone, so they’re really curious about you.”

“Well, I’m glad you invited me along. I’ve never been to a wedding before.” The romantic in Satan is openly basking in the ambience of the reception. “You mentioned that your niece had gotten married?”

“Technically my first cousin once removed, but yeah.”

“And you’ve not been seeing anyone?”

“You would have been the first to know if I have,” you tease, nudging him playfully. “Apparently a lot of people are put off by the way I dress. Too modest, they say.”

But not without good reason. The pact marks on your body may be slightly faded from disuse, but they’re still discernable if stared at hard enough: Lucifer’s at the back of your neck; Mammon’s over your heart; Levi’s curled around your right calf; Satan’s circling your left arm; Asmo’s dangerously close to tramp stamp territory; Beel’s just under your navel; and Belphie’s on your ribs at the side you like to sleep on.

Passing them off as tattoos without attracting the wrong kind of attention is a little tricky, so you’d rather take a page from Solomon’s book and cover them up. Being called a prude is easier than dealing with cultists.

(It also helps you to keep your mind off of them, because some wounds continue to hurt even after they heal, so there’s that.)

Sensing the drop in your mood, Satan clears his throat to get your attention. It’s only then that you realize there’s music playing in the background, and couples moving from their tables to the floor.

Your companion stands up and offers you his hand, this time with a genuine smile on his face. “May I have this dance?”

Lucifer’s tone books no room for argument. “This will be a family event, so I expect your attendance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little escapades over the past few months.”

“Tch.”

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Whatever. I’ll be there.”

Satan has to resist the urge to hurl his hardcover at the back of Lucifer’s head when he takes his leave. That’s no way to treat a book, after all.

Beel’s Fangol team has an upcoming match and it’ll be Lilith’s first time watching him play. She’s been hyped up for weeks, so it comes as no surprise that Lucifer would use the opportunity to turn it into a family outing. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Gone is the stuffy first-born who can spend days in his office if left unchecked. Lucifer is still as strict as ever, still fulfills his duties to Lord Diavolo diligently, but it’s like he’s managed to master balancing work and play overnight. He makes more time for his siblings now, even if it’s to dole out punishments for their endless shenanigans, punishments that vary in severity depending on how cutely Lilith pleads on their behalf.

Lucifer has always doted on her, and she has him wrapped around her little finger. Belphie has even gone as far as corrupting her into pranking him, and she need only bat her eyelashes to get off scot-free.

Lilith was the catalyst for the Fall, her descendent the glue that brought her siblings back together, and her return the final piece in making their family whole again.

But you were family too, Satan thinks sourly, pulling out his D.D.D. to mark the date in his calendar.

When you invite Satan over to your apartment for tea, he never expected to be introduced to your new housemate: a handsome fellow with chestnut brown hair, sharp jade eyes, a runner’s body, and the softest-looking toe beans he has ever seen in his immortal life.

“Satan, meet Satan!” You hold out the tabby towards him with a shit-eating grin.

Both demon and cat blink owlishly at each other. The blond doesn’t know whether to feel endeared by the feline sharing his name or insulted that you would replace him so easily, but all it takes is a single bop on the nose with a curious paw for him to melt.

Satan the tabby, who normally prefers to scale your shelves and nap between your books, spends the entire day a purring puddle in Satan the demon’s arms, shamelessly relishing in pets and massages to the extent that at some point, you have a very real fear they might just end up absconding back to the Devildom together. Thankfully, some kibble and freshly baked treats help you separate the two for a while, at least long enough for you to get some decent conversation in.

You brew a pot of Earl Grey with the beautifully crafted tea set Barbatos gifted you when you had first moved in, and serve the scones you made earlier in the morning using the baking tools blessed by Luke during your housewarming. You don’t know if the little angel had actually imbued them with Celestial magic, but everything you cook somehow always lifts your spirits when consumed.

Satan has to catch himself in the middle of regaling you with Mammon’s latest half-baked scheme. The wistful look on your face is new; you’re usually eager to hear what his brothers have been up to, but something feels off today. He pours you more tea, slides another scone onto your plate, and waits.

“…Are they happy?” You ask after a while.

The demon knows better than to lie, even if it’s to spare you from the truth he suspects you’re already aware of. “Yes,” he admits grudgingly.

“I’m glad.”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Lilith stands outside his room, holding a tray of tea and cakes.

“Hey, um, may I come in?” Her smile is both hopeful and uncertain. It’s a gamble, ambushing the fourth-born when he obviously has no interest in her. At best, he’ll make up an excuse to turn her away or just ignore her completely; at worst, well… she doesn’t really want to think about that. To her visible relief, he opens the door wider and steps aside.

Satan clears a space for her to set the tray down. There’s the briefest moment of hesitation before he drags your favorite armchair over and offers her a seat as well. He looks guarded but not openly hostile, a promising sign so far.

“You’ve been in and out of the house lately, so I haven’t had the chance to catch you. I thought we might sit down and talk,” Lilith says, pouring two cups of the hot beverage as she chooses her next words carefully. “The others told me about how you were born, but I understand that you are your own person. I’d like to get to know that person.”

A part of Satan is acutely aware of their one-sided relationship; he is familiar with her through Lucifer, but she has never met him. It makes sense for her to be curious about him, though Satan isn’t so sure he wants to return the favor. She reminds him too much of you in the way she prepares her tea, how she sits on your chair, her shy lopsided smile —

But she’s not you, and you’re not her, Satan has to remind himself lest he commits the same mistake his brothers nearly did after your lineage had been revealed. Now in a convoluted turn of events, it’s you who’s gone and Lilith here, and there’s no reason why he can’t give her a chance and treat her like the sister she could be to him.

It’s what you would have wanted.

Lilith tries not to let her shoulders slump too much when Satan quietly stands up and heads towards his door. She’s prepared to pack up and leave until she spots him grabbing several books from a nearby shelf.

“Have you ever read Mid-Fall Murders?” He asks, handing her a hardcover with a shy smile of his own.

“What’s it like?”

Satan’s grip on your hand tightens. “I don’t actually know,” he confesses, shuffling closer so that your shoulder and arm are pressed against his. It’s a strange sight, the two of you lying side by side on your bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.”

You’ve never heard a single word hold so much promise, but you have no reason to doubt the demon’s sincerity. Satan wouldn’t take pity on you just because you’re —

A light knock on the door, and in pokes Simeon’s head. “Ah, little lamb! I’m glad we made it in time.”

“Not so little anymore, Simeon.” You laugh softly, greeting Luke and Solomon as they trail in behind him. Satan brushes his lips over your forehead before getting up to receive your guests.

The day is as ordinary as it can be. You talk and catch up with your friends, trading stories and laughter over cups of tea that neither grow cold nor go empty. When the session turns into a mini book club gathering halfway through, Luke helpfully retrieves the debated titles from the massive shelf in the living room. He takes a while to find them; you’ve accumulated plenty of works over the years: recommendations by Satan, literature published under Simeon’s pseudonym, and handwritten tomes from Solomon to keep you in touch with your magic. The shelf is practically jam-packed with books, the only exception being a corner on the topmost tier, housing a little space that’s empty save for a worn green collar with a rusted bell.

Come sundown the five of you are still neck-deep in discussion, but as with all good things, the get together eventually reaches an end.

“Thanks everyone, it’s been fun,” you say, reclining back in your bed as Satan wordlessly cleans up. You squeeze his hand when he returns to your side and bid the others goodbye. “Hopefully I’ll see you guys soon?”

“About that…” Solomon clears his throat, wearing the smug look that usually accompanies a trick being pulled out of his sleeve, but this time it’s tinged more with excitement than mischief. “Simeon has a little present for you first.”

The guileless smile on the angel’s face betrays nothing as he steps forward and reaches into a small pouch at his hip. “Solomon, Diavolo and I have a theory. Now, keep in mind that this is all very experimental, but if it works, you’ll have more options to choose from, should you so wish.”

And then he brings out a ring.

“Are you, uh, are you okay?”

“Not in the mood, Mammon.”

“Oi, I’m trying to be nice here! Who do you think covered for your sorry ass when you came back past curfew the other day, huh?”

“What the hell do you want?”

“You may think you’re all stealthy and shit, but your eyes were pretty red that night. I thought you were at a book club meeting. Did something happen?”

“None of your business.”

“Argh, fine then! This is the last time I try to be a good big brother.”

“…Mammon?”

“?”

“...”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, what are you — you can’t just say that and then run off! Get back here!”

“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…”

Lilith’s countdown echoes along the deserted hallway, prompting Beel to nudge the deadweight on his back. “Belphie, go get your own hiding place.”

“Mmngh… zzz…”

“Come on, or she’ll win this round with a two for one. Again.”

“…Just dump me somewhere she won’t find me then.”

A tall order, especially since Lilith can easily track them down by listening out for Beel’s stomach and/or Belphie’s snores. Still, the sixth-born lumbers through the house as quietly as he can, doing a one-eighty whenever he hears Lilith’s cheerful hums coming from the opposite direction. Technically they can avoid being caught if they keep moving, but that would be cheating. They hid in the attic previously so that’s a no go, their room’s too obvious, the kitchen too tempting, the common room too exposed…

Maybe Levi’s room? The otaku had sound-proofed his walls to avoid distractions from the outside world when he’s gaming, so it’s an ideal location to hide. He can stash Belphie in the bathtub and run interference until time’s up.

Backtracking, Beel breaks into a light jog towards the other wing, keeping his ears open for their seeker. It’s only because of his heightened senses that he’s able to pick up the faintest traces of magic on one of the walls, causing him to pause in his steps.

“Hmm? Why’d you stop?” Slightly more awake now, Belphie rubs his eyes and slides off his twin, who’s studying the blank space intently. “What’s wrong, Beel?”

“There’s something here, something…”

“It’s just a wall —”

“No, don’t you feel it? I know you weren’t around then, but it’s the same glamor as that time Luke went missing and we —”

Beel goes white. He whispers a name, a name not spoken in the house for years, and a door flickers into view. One hand grabs Belphie’s in a death grip as the other twists the knob and pushes the door open, revealing an old yet familiar room.

The place is devoid of life. Most of the furniture are covered by sheets, resting under thick layers of dust. In the middle sits a tree, sagging with age and soft with rot. Sunken footprints mark the demons’ furtive venture into decrepit memory, and the creaking of floorboards with every step only tethers the growing nightmare closer to reality.

A photo frame crashes to the ground.

They deserve this.

Satan feels it the moment the spell concealing your room was broken. It had been his way of protecting your memory, ensuring that your sanctuary would only be accessible to those who made the effort to remember you. He cast it about a year after you had left the Devildom, after he realized that leaving your door in plain sight wasn’t doing you any favors.

Hidden away in an alcove at the back of the garden, curled up with a blanket and a thermos of hot tea, Satan slides a bookmark between the pages of his latest novel and leans his head back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Even this far away from the house, he can hear the cacophony of screams and shouts, objects being flung and shattered into pieces, a muted bang suggesting that a wall has just collapsed. The fallout comes as no surprise; waking up after living the past hundred years or so in a daze will do that to a person – or in this case, demons.

Although the sounds of fighting call to the rage bubbling within him, the vindictive thoughts of his brothers getting their just desserts cool it to a simmer. He knows he’ll have to face them eventually, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

“Meow?”

Emerald eyes blink open. There’s a faint rustle from the nearby bushes as a tiny Calico wanders out of the foliage, peering around the garden curiously. Upon spotting the blond demon, it perks up and makes a beeline for him.

“Hm? You’re not Callie. Are you new here, little one?” His mood considerably improved, Satan extends a hand towards the kitten. It skips the finger sniffing step and goes straight to headbutting his palm, begging for attention.

“You’re an affectionate one, aren’t you?” Satan caves immediately and scritches away with a delighted chuckle. He examines the markings on its tri-colored fur, wanting to recognize the friendly feline if it comes back in the future. The Calico is mostly white with patches of brown and black splashed over the back of its neck, near the base of its tail, just under the side of its ribs, and several other spots that seem to collectively resemble a familiar pattern…

Satan’s hand stills. He whispers your name, trembling with hope, and the kitten practically leaps into his arms, nuzzling his chin with a happy purr.

#writing #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lilith #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me replaced mc au

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malereader-inserts · 4 years

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Count On Us

Fandom: Twilight Pairing: Cullen family & Son!Brother!Reader Summary: When you’re on your knees, your family is quick to pull you up - because you shouldn’t face this all by yourself Word Count: 1591 Request: Could you make a cullen family x male reader where the reader goes through a tough break up so everyone decides to devise different plans on how to make him feel better

“Did you hear?” The Cullens perked their ears up, always loving drama with these mundane humans, they hadn’t been in school for a week since there was sun out but you, their human brother had been in all week.

They hadn’t seen anything abnormal from you, you didn’t seem like you were struggling about your homework or any of your subjects, nor have the teachers been giving you stick about anything so your siblings thought nothing of it.

“Oh yeah, (Y/n) Cullen?” Another giggled, trying to keep their conversation to themselves, “Heard he got into a messy breakup, they apparently-”

Just as they were about to reveal to the Cullens why your significant other, rather your ex now, had broken up with you. You had interrupted them as you slam the door shut before glaring at the group of girls huddling.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than talk about my love life?” You seethed, Jasper had to hold your shoulders from attacking because you were radiating such anger that Jasper was concerned because he didn’t know you could produce so much feeling.

“Sorry-” They muttered as they walked into the school as you rolled your eyes.

Snatching yourself away from Jasper’s hold and stomping away to your locker. Rosalie was taken aback with your attitude on how you were muttering incoherent words that your siblings cannot pick any words.

“I didn’t see anything,” Alice shrugged her shoulders as they looked over to Edward, who also looked confused before shrugging his shoulders as well.

“I can’t read anything from him.” Bella came up to them, smiling at Edward, but wasn’t expecting a question from him, “Bella, what happened to (Y/N)?”

“Oh?” Bella started, tensing up awkwardly, “He got broken up, public too, Monday’s lunch at the cafeteria. They went hysterical, they were shouting before announcing they were cheating on him.”

“That little bitch-!” Rosalie seethed, to think she had liked your ex a lot too.

“Not to mention, when he got explosive - which I don’t blame him, she threw her smoothie which she had made just for that lunch,” Bella explained, scratching the back of her neck, “I would have thought he would told you but I guess he’s taking it harder than he gives out. Then again, Mike did hear him cry a bit in the boys’ toilet.”

“Well, he’s good at hiding his thoughts and feelings,” Emmett commented as Jasper and Edward was visibly uncomfortable as they weren’t able to detect you.

They waited till lunch to come around, despite being in some of their lessons, you made no effort to talk to your siblings. Jasper could feel sadness and anger radiate from you, but it was the sadness that threw him off. He would expected you to feel anger, betrayal and perhaps even annoyance but sadness was something he did not expect. Edward was unsettled that your mind was just blank, you weren’t thinking at all, not even in your maths lesson shared with him.

As lunch came around, you hadn’t appeared. Bella was with the Cullens as Erik ran up to their table.

“Hey did you hear?” Eric asked, momentarily forgetting the Cullens were there as he talked to Bella, “Apparently, (Y/n) is getting done for slashing his ex’s car’s tires.”

“But, he’s a sweetheart, he wouldn’t ever do that, not even if he’s pissed off,” Bella says, confused.

“Yeah, I know! His ex is gone psycho against him and he’s done nothing wrong - I heard he walked back home. He packed his bag half way through third period and left, missing forth and obviously lunch.”

And so, the group of siblings decided enough was enough, they couldn’t let you suffer alone.

When the group of vampires arrive home, the house was still. Cold and very much not lived in. Nothing of the sort had seemed to be moved, as if you hadn’t returned home. The only indication of you being home that put them at ease was your shoes in the garage and your poorly put away jacket lying about before entering the house.

Rosalie went to find you, after all, she knows what it’s like to be cheated and frankly despite her horrid attitude towards Bella, she has a high emotional intelligence without powers. So, she had found you in your room, and you were under your duvet. She could hear your heart beat, she had let her shoulders relax as she sees you shifted underneath. She sits on the bed and pats you.

“(Y/n)?” She asked softly, whilst she was getting you up, Alice had informed Esme - who had returned home at the same time - of your situation, “Esme is cooking you dinner, wanna peak out for me?”

She knew you hated being treated a child, so it was the quickest way for you to emerge. You pulled the duvet down, eyes very much red and you had a little sniffle but there was a glare within your stare.

“Not a child,” You muttered.

“You alright?” Rosalie asked, placing a comforting hand upon your shoulder, “We heard about your ex and-”

“It’s stupid,” You interrupted, waving her off.

She kept a firm hand on you, “You know you’re not alone, and it’s your first relationship. I don’t expect you, I mean, we don’t expect you to be fine. It’s okay to be upset.”

You sighed, sitting up and looked at her with teary eyes, “I guess,” there was a pause to your words as you tried to not break down and cry, “Why didn’t they want me? Was I not good enough for them?”

“Aw, sweetie...” Rose knew what you felt, the cheating makes you think you were never good enough. She held you tight in her embrace as you let out small sobs.

You’ll never trust again, building trust would be hard for you and it was because of your ex. You didn’t deserve this, the family says, you don’t deserve to feel like you weren’t worthy of love and question what had gone wrong during your relationship. It was unfair and unjust.

“You’re always good enough, don’t let them dictate what you feel and what you are. You are always worthy of love, you had never done anything wrong. You were the good one,” Rosalie firmly spoke, as you look in her eyes, “Okay? You hear me?”

You nodded meekly as Esme calls you down. Rose gives you a kiss upon your temple as you rubbed your tears away before darting down the stairs to the kitchen. Esme makes your favourite food for tea, you smiled weakly as she ruffles your hair. Kisses your head, and gives you a tight hug. She doesn’t need to mention the elephant in the room, you were thankful.

Your mother talks, how brilliant her son is. How you’ve done so well in classes and your extra curriculum. She does anything to talk about you, positively, stop you from thinking you’re anything but that. As you finished your food, she sweeps away your plate and shoves you dessert, giving you eyes saying just this once.

As you eat your dessert happily, Emmett pulls you outside to play some baseball. Your brothers, Jasper and Edward laugh as you protest. But, the three of them only do it just to keep your mind busy, away from your heartbreak.

They had heard you cry, utter the words of doubt and refuse to let you feel that again. Jasper tries to teach you how he does the bat trick, but you had failed miserably and hit yourself more than you liked.

Emmett was pitching, and yet, every time you manage to hit the ball. It went either went straight to Emmett’s mitt or to Edward, who reassures you with more practice you’ll get better. The baseball game only stopped them Emmett accidentally let go off the ball too early, resulting to Alice saving you from getting smacked in the head with a concussion as she catches the ball, inches away from your shocked face.

“I think that’ll be enough, thank you!” Alice calls, throwing the ball to Emmett and pulling you indoors.

You wave away from your brothers, who snicker at Emmett. Alice brings you into your room, calling for an intervention for your wardrobe to be cleaned out. Despite your complains you help her, you throw away the clothes you didn’t want nor fitted in anymore - Alice threw some that wasn’t in your fashion sense either. You spent an hour or so, cleaning and dancing about in your room.

Carlisle came home, Esme welcomed him and told him about your unfortunate breakup. Carlisle’s heart broke but was fixed when Esme had filled in the fact that your siblings were there to pick you up. So, when you were released from Alice’s grasp, you hid in your father’s office.

He laughs as you tuck yourself in the corner, a book in your lap, just wanting a few minutes to breath ad some peace and quiet.

“How are you feeling?” Carlisle asked, ruffling your hair and kissing your head, “Feeling better I presume?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, smiling brightly up at your dad, “I really do.”

“Well, you can always count on us, you don’t have to be alone.” Carlisle reminded you as you nodded, the sincerity written all over your face.

“I know, and I’m thankful for that.”

You love your siblings, and you never have to doubt their love for you. Because when you’re at your weakest, they’re always there to pick you right back up.

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popwasabi · 5 years

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“They Called Us Enemy”: George Takei Recalls Interment and Its Cautionary History

Written by George Takei, Justin Eisinger, Steven Scott

Illustrated by Harmony Becker

This past weekend I got to make my annual pilgrimage to the nerd Mecca capital of the world; San Diego Comic-Con.

It’s a fun and often exhausting experience between panel hopping to see your favorite movie or TV show actors speak and standing in line often for hours just to see them or to buy merch in the Dealer’s hall.

(At least it wasn’t hot this year.)

Every year though, somehow or another, I always meet at least one celebrity be it intentionally or accidentally. Last year I got to run into Billy West, best known for his voice acting roles on Ren &Stimpy and Futurama, the year before that it was MMA legend Josh Barnett who is a huge comic book geek and before that I met my all-time favorite TV composer Bear McCreary. This year I got to not only meet, but cross a massive name off my bucket list, in George Takei.

(^It me...)

Takei needs no introduction of course; the outspoken OG Star Trek alum is now firmly an internet personality of sorts and hugely popular figure amongst my generation and nerdom alike. But he wasn’t there at Comic-Con to talk about Star Trek or any number of Science Fiction related items to his acting past. No, this time he was here to promote his new graphic novel “They Called Us Enemy” based on a much darker period in his life; the infamous internment of Japanese Americans in concentration camps across the country during World War II.

Takei has never been shy about his opinions on politics and society and definitely very open about his time in those camps but this graphic novel helps not only shed a light on his own personal experience there and all the nuanced feelings that came from that but just how deplorable Executive Order 9066 was on American History.

Now, with the recreation of concentration camps this time along the southern border indefinitely imprisoning migrants seeking asylum in our country, Takei’s graphic novel reminds us all why this is so wrong and why we should not turn our backs again.

“They Called Us Enemy” is one-part history book detailing key events, people and often distressing quotes from our politicians on Japanese-American concentration camps but three-parts a visual and written history of Takei’s family journey from pre-WWII internment to the present. Through his parents, his father a first generation Japanese American, his mother second generation to how the events of Pearl Harbor unlawfully stripped them of their dignity, they try their best to make sense of the situation while keeping their children from baring the weight of this shameful period of history. What is an “extended vacation” for Takei and his siblings is a prolonged agonizing experience of doubt, humiliation and degradation for his parents and the toll it takes on his father especially is told through the panels of this graphic novel.

I think the most astounding thing about this graphic novel is that it isn’t especially bitter. It’s upsetting for sure, and bitter in parts, as Takei certainly wants his reader to feel how his family felt through this period in American history but he makes a point of showing how inevitably in all things in America, the wheels of justice may be slow but they do not stop moving forward as long as there are those willing to fight for it. How Takei’s family handles this humiliating and degrading experience is both brave and sad all at once. Takei, for his and his younger siblings, part are completely ignorant of the situation they’ve been forced into and his parents do their best to keep things as normal as possible for them through this ordeal treating it as a long “vacation” for them. They do this despite the fact they’ve been forcibly torn away from their homes, given no time to pack their things, given nametags like cattle and forced to sleep and live in conditions befitting of farm animals.

America may not have led anyone into death camps, during this period, as the Germans did with the Jews but as Takei points out it was still based on fear of a perceived “enemy” and still forced Japanese Americans into these horrid conditions and to do things that our constitution and Bill of Rights explicitly states against for its citizens.

But for Takei, as a child back then, it was an adventure of sorts for he and his siblings that was shielded by his parents to keep him from grasping the full scope of what was really going on. In this way, the graphic novel is somewhat bittersweet; sweet that George and his siblings through the tireless effort of their parents was able to enjoy some level of a childhood within the camps but bitter that as he grew older he finally understood why he was there.

Through Takei’s writings and Harmony becker’s wonderful illustrations we get a grasp of the simultaneous joy and pain that Takei associates with this period in his life; how his mom, when given little time to grab her own personal belongings when the soldiers came, grabbed only things for her children such as sweets and a sewing machine to fashion them new clothes in the camps as to keep their childhoods alive, and how his father helped organize camp leadership and helped lead these disillusioned Americans who had no idea what the future held or if there was a future there at all.

It was in these camps in fact that Takei discovered his love for acting and theater, as funny as that may sound, as camp members were able to show movies within its barb-wired fences. Takei would use this inspiration when his family returned to Los Angeles to become an actor down the line and eventually take up his famous role as Sulu in “Star Trek” and the reason largely was because of the camps. As the graphic novel states Gene Rodenberry (Star Trek’s original creator) wanted a show that envisioned a future where a diverse cast of people worked together for the benefit of all humanity and having an Asian American not only be present in this cast but be a resourceful, responsible lead was paramount. Takei understanding how taking on a role that could give Asian Americans agency in popular media wanted the part immediately as it could help show the country that people who looked like him weren’t the enemy.

Fifty plus years later and he is still advocating for that representation and need for diversity today.

(Being God damn fabulous at it too)

The graphic novel does lay out many things that most average Americans are probably not familiar with; the fact that much of these Japanese-Americans belongings were liquefied and sold off after they were taken from their homes, that many of them tried to join the fight against Japan after Pearl Harbor but were turned away because of their race, and of course after the US finally needed more troops they conscripted members of these very same camps, people they had openly vilified and wrongly detained, to enlist later to become the 442nd Battalion the most decorated group of its kind during World War II.

It’s again infuriating and uplifting all at once; as Takei points out the people who chose to enlist from the camps were as much patriots and heroes as those who chose not to and who could blame them? Many Japanese Americans saw it as an opportunity to prove they were indeed Americans and show the country that had wronged them that they were as patriotic as their white counterparts. For the others it was an act of civil disobedience showing that they didn’t need prove anything to the country that had turned their backs on them.

Takei’s family chose the latter in this regard and nearly lost everything in the process.

The path toward justice is often a long and degrading road for victims and the unjustly accused. For Japanese Americans during this time it took damn near half a century before reparations were made and by then many of its oldest prisoners had passed away not knowing that America had admitted their guilt.

Its sad and if reading about this part of history and seeing what’s happening now at the border doesn’t make your blood boil, I’m not sure what will.

“They Call Us Enemy” does a great job of not only informing Americans on what happened during this time period and Takei’s very personal story in between all that, but offers a stark warning about repeating the mistakes of the past as we are now at the border. We cannot keep going with this cycle of endlessly vilifying folks for simply looking the part of “the enemy” regardless of their legal status or us being at war with countries that happen to look like them.

I’m of the mind that people deserve inalienable rights regardless of citizenry. Locking up people and throwing away the key indefinitely and ripping children from the arms of their screaming mothers (Something we didn’t even do to Japanese Americans) without trial is FUCKING WRONG PERIOD and ill-befitting of country that self-labels itself as the “greatest” on Earth.

If we are to pretend we are the good guys in any of these types of conflicts we better start acting like it. FUCKING NAZIS in Nuremberg were given trials after World War II; you cannot tell me an “illegal” doesn’t deserve a chance at a hearing.

I’m often very angry and bitter about the state of the country these days and where we appear to be trending as a society but Takei’s book is not all doom in gloom when it comes to its warning on where we currently stand on justice. As the graphic novel states:

Our strength as a country is that we are capable of change, we are capable of becoming the pillars of democracy and justice that we profess to be through the valiant efforts of those who fight for it. Whether it was the Abolitionists of the Civil War period, Martin Luther King during the Civil Rights era or for these wrongly interred folks, Fred Korematsu, Yuri Kochiyama, Wayne Collins, or Daniel K. Inouye, we will always find a way to move forward as long as brave individuals come together to fight for what’s right.

We can be those brave individuals too, so long as we stand up, voice our disapproval and move the needle of our democracy. We still have all the power here to affect change. We cannot let the wrongs of the past continue on in our present, our democracy and the very fabric of decency, respect, and justice depend on it. Takei’s family and 120,000 plus Japanese Americans who suffered through this depend on us being better for the present and future.

Don’t turn your back on it. Not now, not ever.

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laughing-with-god · 6 years

Text

Pen Pal II

Words; 4.6k

“I love you so much that nothing could matter to me- not even you...only my love- not your answer. Not even your indifference.”

Reincarnation was an interesting theory, you decided.

It was a philosophy that held the utmost importance upon karma and charity. In a way, it made sense. If you did something good in a past life, you should be rewarded in the next one with good fortune. This mindset explained how some of us seem to have been born under the worst circumstances that was only added on by very odd and horrid luck that appeared in the form of people or situations. While others have the rare ability to just waltz past life without a single hitch to hinder their enjoyment.

You deduced that you must’ve been a very wicked person in the life prior to this one.

That could be a grand explanation for the awful series of events that have been striked upon you by an outside force whom is hell-bent on making you pay for crimes you weren’t aware you committed. ‘Yes’, you thought, ‘I must’ve been a devilish person in my past life.’

You were cursed to forever be terrified of the world, your only sibling meant to guide you through life was murdered in front of you, your mother has gone mad and the one person you found comfort in somehow found a way to be worse than what you already knew him to be- a criminal.

You bitterly chuckled.

You wished he was a good-for-nothing criminal.

You would have much preferred that over what he truly is.

A serial killer.

Tuesdays were the worst. In your rather short and uneventful life, a pattern had formed concerning the second day of the week. Your sister was murdered on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon. The day you were labelled with a disorder was on a Tuesday morning, right in your own home. The day your mother had finally broke and yelled atrocious things at you that you’ve always known she thought but never voiced, was on a Tuesday evening. And the day you discovered the jarring truth about your ‘pal’ was at 2 am while surfing the web on a Tuesday.

You were naive to be giddy at the latest letter you had received.

Jungkook had said some rather mean things about your mother, however due to your bruised ego and lingering depression caused by the woman’s harsh put down of you; you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset with his insults toward the woman who gave birth to you. In fact, your heart felt warmed at his protective slandering. For it meant that he was offended on your behalf, that he cared of what you felt and that anyone who disgraced you was harshly judged by the critical eye of your ‘friend’. He took your side in the matter. Like a loyal ally that you have always wanted on your side for times like this.

He mentioned that he wanted to utilize the option of calls instead of letters. You had to admit as an old soul that writing letters to a companion was a very vintage and refreshing practice that you had grown fond of. Childishly, you would picture yourself in a Fitzgerald novel as a lonesome and willowy woman who eagerly awaited the letters of her dear partner who was far far away. Or maybe off to war. You supposed that reading all those books had made you a romanticist.

But there was something rather intimate about getting to hear someone’s voice despite the miles in between them.

You wanted to please Jungkook by surprising him with a call. And more secretly, you wanted to see if his voice matched his face in the picture he gave you or the voice in your head that would recite his letters whenever you read them.

You imagined it being very gentle and almost musical, like the light buzz of bees on a Spring day, humming around the blooming flowers. You hoped (and somehow just knew) you were right in this prediction.

But, you needed to find a way to make this possible.

That’s when you seeked information in the form of the internet. Although you loved to picture yourself in a Fitzgerald-esque, roaring twenties type of era, you couldn’t deny the usefulness of the current one that you were living in.

According to the re-search you had gathered, a telephone account had to be set up in order for Jungkook to talk to anyone. Also, inmates were allowed to make outgoing calls but incoming ones were not allowed. You frowned, this meant that Jungkook had to call you but you couldn’t call him. The air of surprise was deflated.

However, you did have a role to fulfill. Only someone from the outside could set up the calling account. You would have to pay for the ability for Jungkook to call anyone.

You then went onto the prison’s website and began to fill out the form for the account.

Name: (Y/n) (M/n) (L/n)

Age: (Age)

D.o.b: (Date of Birth)

Address: (Address)

Relation to Inmate; Friend.

Card Info: (xxx-xxx-xxx)

Phone Number: (xxx-xxx-xxx)

Prisoner;

You were stunned at the prisoner section of the form. It wouldn’t allow you to write Jungkook’s name down, instead you had to enter numbers. You sighed and realized that you had to get Jungkook’s number in order for the system to match him up with the account. Luckily for you, the info of prisoners was public knowledge for anyone wishing to seek it. You opened another tab to go the the penitentiary’s website and searched for Jungkook’s name.

A mugshot of your friend popped up. his boyishly handsome face stared almost disinterestedly at the camera, dark and glassy eyes brooding with raven strands of hair revealing his smooth forehead and framing his sharp face that was marked with intense brows, strong Romanian nose and plush berry lips that sat above his cleft chin that marked the ending point of his angular jaw. The frosty complexion of his skin made the darkness of his features and orangeness of his jumpsuit stand out. You knew he was very good-looking, and it was a shame that he was locked up. You were sure many ladies would be all over him if it weren’t for the fact that he was stuck in an all male prison for a lengthy amount of time.

The top of his head met the 5’10 mark of the background of the mugshot, making you note the height of Jungkook which was a detail you never really thought about before. He was tall, but most handsome men were.

Below the image was information about him. You briefly felt as if you were violating privacy, but you consolidated yourself by reminding yourself that you simply needed his number to further the calling process. It had to be done. Besides, Jungkook was your friend. You were positive that he wouldn’t mind.

Name: Jeon Jungkook

Height: 5’10

Weight: 154 lb

Date of Arrest; June 6th, 2018

Crime: Serial Killing, Multiple Homicides, First Degree Murder, Crimes Against Humanity

ID Number: 65709-303

Your blood ran cold.

You would have made a decent journalist.

But to be fair, it wasn’t like his crimes wasn’t that well documented.

He was practically famous.

A warm cup of joe is all that you had to company you as you began your plunge into the crimes of Jeon Jungkook. It had required the use of many old news clips, dramatically written articles and even pictures of the vulgar crimes along with court documents and police reports. Amidst this crazed quest for knowledge that was fueled by a harsh sting of betrayal, a narrative formed from the foggy woodworks. The jagged puzzle pieces of your beloved ‘Jk’ formed, creating an image that you wished to never have witnessed.

On March 27th, 2016 an innocent woman was murdered. Her name was Lee Ji-eun and she was a music teacher at a prestigious private high school. She was found in her office, throat slit from ear to ear and body laying lifelessly across her desk, school papers stained scarlett red in her blood. The killing shocked the community, she was adored by her classmates, respected by colleagues and admired in her community. No one had a clue on who could’ve committed such a random act of violence.

On April 16th, 2017 a man called the police due to his missing wife and daughter. The daughter, Nayeon was found in a field out in the country, throat blue from having been strangled to death. Her mother was only a few yards away from her, bullet enlodged in the back of her head from being shot execution style. Nayeon’s father was desperate for justice, but the police had told him that the killer was just too good.

On April 1st, 2018 another girl named Lalisa was found in her room, dead. Unlike the other crimes, her murder wasn’t a dramatic or gory one. It had appeared that she was poisoned to death. Up until then, the police had no leads. It wasn’t until the realized that Lalisa’s boyfriend had been missing as well. He was caught getting in a suspicious vehicle on surveillance camera, only to never be seen again. A vehicle that was traced to Jungkook.

Jungkook admitted the murders of all three of these girls, along with Nayeon’s mother and Lalisa’s boyfriend. Although the boyfriend’s body was never found.

He did all of these crimes on Easter.

The first murder of Lee Ji-eun just so happened to fall on that day.

But like other serial killers before him, Jungkook formed a habit. A ritual. A routine.

You noted with distaste how little the motives were discussed.

Jungkook never told why he killed his victims. He was silent. Even in the interrogation process, he just admitted that he was indeed the killer. Nothing else was uttered from his lips. The trial was semi-famous, due to the fact that such a young and handsome man turned out to be a murderer. People even called him the new Ted Bundy for his aristocratic fall from grace that was the revelation of his sick minded actions. He came from a rich family, was somewhat quiet as a student but still earned high marks. Someone no one thought could be capable of taking five innocent lives in such a bloodthirsty fashion.

The Easter Bunny was what some struggling news station tried to nickname him in a frenzied act of getting higher viewership rates. Turns out, the name stuck.

You shut your laptop and stared off into space.

The five faces of the victims would forever be burned into your memory.

You just had one question, why?

Why take away these people’s lives as if it were nothing? What had they ever done to him? It was just so random and it puzzled you. Jungkook was a smart man, why did he never tell anyone the reasoning for his snap? Why did he let the press run with guessing motives and possible reasonings instead of putting the victim’s family at rest by telling them the truth? Did he plan to take it to his grave?

What could those five people have done to make him murder so ruthlessly?

You gulped down the last of your coffee that was somewhat chilled due to the long passage of time.

Remorse slid itself over you body, spreading its’ inky and sticky dread until every part of your body was effected.

You felt dirty.

You had unknowingly created a friendship with the slayer of five lives.

A psychopath had somehow became your closest buddy. You had seeked comfort within his sweet words.

Was this how he lured in his other victims as well?

A shudder came next.

He lied to you. If you had known all of this from the beginning, there would be no way that you would have tried to reach out to such person. You fancied yourself a empathic and understanding woman, but this was just something from hell itself.

You stood and decided to take a shower, hoping that scrubbing the invisible stains of guilt would somehow ease your racing mind.

It was a given that you would stop all communication with Jungkook.

You could never even attempt to play as if things were normal after this. As much as it pained you, you would have to lose a friend.

It would be rather simple, you will stop sending letters and he would catch onto the silence and move on with his own life. You were sure that he would have more vital concerns in that concrete jungle that was his home. Although you would miss the communication, you valued your conscious more.

You attempted to fill your time by distracting yourself with mundane things. You managed to stay away from your front door, not wanting to catch yourself longingly gazing at your mail slot for Jungkook’s letters. You began binge-watching one of your favorite shows. And when this wasn’t quite enough to divert your mind and heart, you ordered a new novel online. Reading always made you emerge yourself into other worlds, you would drown yourself into any plot at the moment. Despite not being able to relate to most characters within those free-spirited stories, you still rather bury your head in a book then spend your time thinking of Jungkook and what he was doing.

This lead to another problem.

The drawings.

Your assumption of him being an artistic soul was indeed spot on. He sent you three etchings, all done by pencil and depicting of you. The first one was just a drawing of your selfie, you could tell by the hair-do, pose and outfit. The second one was just of you, portrait style with eyes staring ahead at any observer and very detailed. And the third one was of you tapping a pen against your chin, brows scrunched and staring down at your hands that held a piece of paper. Right next to this image was a side note of ‘this is what I picture when I think of you writing me letters.’

It was almost unbelieveable how good he was at drawing you.

It was as if he knew your face for years, he created it so well from just having a picture to go off of. The cross-hatching, the shadowing, the use of texture, the blending and the perfect imagery of every feature on your face.... It was baffling. It was like looking at the lense of someone else’s perception of you. He clearly thought you were way prettier than you did. The girl he drew was elevated from what your self-esteem would let you think yourself to be. It was so odd….but you couldn’t help but marvel at his works. It was nice of him to draw you, almost intimate. You wondered how carefully he dissected your picture to be able to draw you in situations that he’s never seen you in. You never thought you’d say a boy took the time to draw you, but you were flattered.

Too bad you were unable to tell him how impressed you were with such effort.

Too bad you couldn’t study them any further.

You thought about burning them. Cutting them into millions of pieces. Throwing them away. Letting them drift in the wind onto some random street below your apartment.

But when you worked up the nerve to initiate any of the acts of destruction, you just couldn’t.

You may hate the artist behind the creation. But not the creation itself.

You stored them under your bed, not wanting to spare any thought to Jungkook but also wanting to preserve the art for a later time when your heart wasn’t wounded and a certain serial killer was in your rear view mirror.

But you couldn’t ignore the killer for as long as you would’ve liked.

Your book arrived. And you had to get it,

While doing so, you were faced with three envelopes addressed to you. From Jungkook.

Your halted your actions for a split second. It was almost second nature to feel the bubbling excitement and instinct to reach for them.

But then those deceased five faces flashed before your eyes.

In the end, you ignored them in favor of retrieving your freshly purchased book.

But after you laid yourself on your couch and found yourself re-reading the same first paragraph over and over again, you realized that those letters just couldn’t be ignored. They stubbornly beckoned your attention, a siren’s call demanding your priority. You huffed and set the book down, fixing your gaze towards the entrance of your humble nest, were the letters innocently laid.

Here you were faced with a dilemma.

Did you trust yourself enough to read the contents of the letters and not send a response of your own?

Would it be the right thing to even open them?

Could you bear not knowing what he had to say to you after you haven’t made contact in a while?

You bit your lip and contemplated the ethics at play.

Surely, just to read the letters wouldn’t mean any harm…...right?

You had ended the ties but what was so wrong with glancing over some previous records of the relationship? Because that’s what Jungkook’s letters would be...evidence of the past friendship you shared with him.

You honestly couldn’t bear the mystery.

You just had to know what he had to say.

You grabbed the letters and ripped them open in a rush to put an end to your inner turmoil.

He was worried.

He was confused.

He was hurt.

Jungkook expressed his somberness for not hearing from you. He also voiced his concern for your well being. He was anything but mad at you, just alarmed. That alarm was genuine from what you could tell by his growingly frantic penmanship.

This set ablaze a glowing fire inside your chest.

The audacity of that...that...heathen.

To act so kind and compassionate when he lacked those same emotions towards his victims. You almost wanted to laugh at his pitying tone, wondering if he had such ability when he put those five bodies six feet under. How dare he put the blame on you for not responding back? For making you feel guilty? It was him who was at fault.

A sudden urge to inform him that his jig was up suddenly hit you.

You wanted nothing more than to shove his face in the fact that you broke free from his cute manipulative narrative concerning his mother. In a burst of fury, you quickly grasped for a pen and paper. A rebuttal was all too ready to escape your mind and pierce his soul.

‘Dear Jungkook (or should I say Easter Bunny?)’

It had been a week.

Usually, this is when you would get a response letter.

But when you went to your mail slot and opened the incoming letter, you were left scratching your head in bewilderment.

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I see you found out about the nickname the hideous press gave me.

Well...I think this type of revelation is best talked over in person.

I’ll see you soon.’

It hardly seemed like a proper response to what you had said to him.

You had exposed his truth and his despicable crimes and the only thing he had to reference was the nickname bit? Was he avoiding the topic? Why was the letter so fucking short? And how come he mentioned seeing you in person?

A little bit of paranoia was the theme for the rest of your day.

Logically, you knew that he had no way of seeing you. He was locked up and the severity of his crimes would surely mean that he was heavily guarded, and even if he did manage to overcome that burden, then how the hell would he find you?

But still….you didn’t think Jungkook was capable of murder either. He still did that as well as lied to you to add a ripe cherry on top.

Perhaps he was just trying to fuck with you? To play with your head one last time and freak out the mentally ill girl as one last ‘fuck you’. It wouldn’t be the first time someone used your fears against you. Maybe he wanted to manipulate you once more so you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder even after you two stopped conversing…..

Yes. Getting into the mind of a killer, you would think this was the most effective way he could cause lasting harm to you from behind bars. He was most likely snickering in his jail cell, telling his inmates about how he managed to scare his lunatic of a pen pal. He probably delighted in turning your phobia against you.

This was the only logical explanation.

But still, you made sure your doors and windows were locked after this letter. Just for the sake of clarity.

Days have passed along with your paranoia for the oddity of Jeon Jungkook. You were focused on getting your life back to normal. Or normality to you, considering that not much changed. You just opted out of daydreaming of conversational topics to send to your pal along with the obvious sending of letters. Sure, you still thought about him from time to time...but you would catch yourself in these moments and force some random chores upon yourself to occupy your brain.

Today was a rainy day and you made a goal for yourself to finish the novel you had bought only days prior.

About 30 minutes in, a knock at your door sounded, interrupting your leisurely reading.

You smiled and checked the time.

Your groceries had arrived.

You went to answer the door, making sure to grab the delivery boys’ tip on the way.

When you opened the entrance to your home, the usual boy was there, handing over two big brown bags that were overflowing with food. You grabbed one of the bags and reached for the money to hand over so you could have to tact to grab the other bag without having to struggle to give the boy his tip, when something struck you.

The boys’ head was ducked downwards, not show casting his face but instead the grocery store’s logo on the hat. His hair was darker than you remembered….now that you noticed it, he was taller too. And overall just bigger….

The grocery boy you were used to seeing was of a more adolescent type of figure, you knew it would be preposterous for the boy to have such a growth spurt in only a weeks’ time. Unless he suddenly decided to take up steroids. Confused, you tried to call out his name to get a better look.

“Renjun?”

A moment of suffocating silence.

An icy shock of terror crashed down upon you and somehow you just knew who was under that hat without him having to look up.

A flurry of movement commenced, marking the beginning of your doom.

You tried to keep him out, but your reflexes weren’t fast enough,

In a haste, you dropped the bag and moved to shut the door, pressing your weight against it with all your might to keep him out. Your body was acting faster than your brain could, not sparing a second to even comprehend how the hell he was here. You had to keep him out, he couldn’t violate your safe haven like this! Survival instincts were kicking in.

But he was faster, and stronger and arguably more determined.

He strode in easily, as if your attempts were at a child’s level. Your found yourself with a large and snowy hand clasped over your mouth, preventing any hollerings for help.

He ducked closer to you, big glassy eyes staring at your horrified expression with an almost dreamy manner.

“Why are you shocked? I told you I was going to see you.”

You never gave much thought to what it would be like to be in the presence of a killer.

Somehow, you knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You sitting on your couch with the killer wrapped around you, large frame practically enveloping your smaller one as you were forced to feel his pulsing muscles up close. His face in near proximity to yours, big eyes absorbing your profile with an unreadable look upon his graceful face.

You were under close inspection, it had been like this for twenty minutes at least, him staring at you whilst keeping you caged under his far more capable body. He stared at you with such focus, you found yourself wondering what possibly could have been going through that demented mind of his.

Were you next?

Were you going to be the sixth notch under his belt?

Why wasn’t he saying anything?

The silence was unbearable, for you knew that when it would be broken; something very unpleasant would unfold. You wanted the silence, but it also petrified you.

Finally, you gathered the courage to pierce the blanket of quiet.

“A-are you going to kill me?”

His nose scrunched up at this, transforming his stoic expression into that of confusion from a now somewhat boyish face. His already big eyes seemed to widened and they peered into yours with a new softness that you wouldn’t expect from a killer.

“What? Of course not! I just wanted to talk to you.”

His voice was indeed what you pictured it to be, somewhat breathy and puerile but musical in a sense that could not be explained. You didn’t have time to analyze the person behind the letters, compare him to the mental image you had in your head, when you were too busy trying not to panic and hyperventilate. You read somewhere that if a person is ever kidnapped it’s best to not outwardly panic because it could cause the attacker to want to get rid of you sooner. With this in mind, you tried to calm your racing heart and breathing. First, you need to find out what he wanted, convince him to trust you, and make him turn himself back in. Freaking out could get you nowhere, you must use logic as your escape plan.

“What do you want to talk about?” You wished you sounded as calm as your voice sounded, it completely masked the chaotic state your nervous system was in.

“My crimes.” He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent very loudly as if the smell was addicting to his nose. His behavior was odd, it was as if he was separated from a long lost lover who he finally found once again. He was attached to you, petting you, studying you and even breathing you in. It was so intimate and you felt like you were being groomed for slaughter….

“Why did you do what you did?”

Jungkook halted his cuddling for a moment to lean back and stare into your eyes with a more serious feeling.

“They didn’t love me like I loved them….”

You were sure you were going to die.

He was insane.

The killings were crimes of passion, towards innocent girls who were unfortunate to witness the side of Jungkook that you are seeing now; a love-struck and delusional man with no boundaries or sense of relationships.

In a last effort to stay alive, you wrestled against his larger form and made a reach for the door.

To your surprise, nothing prevented you from getting up. He didn’t stop you.

“What are you going to do Y/n? Leave?” He called out from behind you in a cynical and delighted tone.

“Sugarplum, you know damn well you can’t go out there.”

Terrible, terrible realization dawned upon you like a poisonous fog that forced your eyes to water and lungs to clog. You were only a foot away from your front door, but you knew you couldn’t venture behind it. Your safe haven has become your own prison.

“You’re stuck here with me.”

#yandere jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #BTS jungkook #yandere #bangtan boys #obsessive #love #yandere kpop #kpop #pen pal #bts #fanfic #my writing #horror #murder

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coffeecupsandquiet · 4 years

Text

ISOLOPHILIA

“If you're lonely when you're alone, you're in bad company.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

Basic Information

Full name: Jordan Rojas

Pronunciation: JOR-DAN RO-HAAS

Nickname(s): dont even think about it

Birthdate: January 12

Age: 23

Zodiac: Capricorn

Gender: Cis-male

Pronouns: he/him

Romantic orientation: homoromantic

Sexual orientation: he is what the kids call, morosexual….. Jk homosexual

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: mixed (hesitate to comment beyond Italian due to my inability to track down definitive sources of Rob Raco’s ethnicity)

Current location: miami baBY

Living conditions: immaculate and modernly simplistic. A clean house is a calm house.

Background

Birthplace: unknown

Hometown: Chicago

Social Class: upper middle? I think?

Educational achievements: nothing formal, but he does consume books at an unhealthy rate

Father: unknown

Mother: unknown

Sibling(s): unknown

Birth order: unknown

Pets: ABSOLUTELY YES OF COURSE! He has five sweet honeys, one queen named Melon, and four beautiful kittens, Cantaloupe, Sugar, Honeydew, and Galia. Fun fact, but all of the kittens names are names of melons.

Previous relationships: non existent….. lol

Arrests: ….uhhhhhhh, absolutely not

Prison time: ^^^^^^^

Occupation & Income

Current occupation: he do be a thief for a crime organization tho

Dream occupation: a librarian… or maybe an archivist for a famous museum…. yeah

Past job(s): being a full time SQUARE

Spending habits: hm, careful with his money, but will spend extra to make sure what he is wearing/doing/seeing is up to his standards

In debt?: this is MY fantasy and in it, i have NO DEBT so NO

Most valuable possession: his babies… but followed up by his gold leafed edition of the Grimme Fairytales.

Skills & Abilities

Physical strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: pre-determined that he lifts to carry the homies

Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: do you really think you’d catch him running in gucci shoes? no

Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: jordan says ‘fuck the school system!’ and then read books forever

Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: jordan is very good with powers, but uh, i don’t know if he’s good with a gun. I imagine he’d flinch at the recoil

Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: he’s a bit of a snake, but erm, not enough to be considered wily i think

Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: he goes to the gym, but not for endurance so-

Teamwork: hell no. total lone wolf, which is why it's a miracle he gets along with Len

Talents/hobbies: reading, obviously, but he also dabbles in piano and writing I think. Lets make fun of Jordan for writing bad poetry!!!!! Im going to throw that nerds books in the fountin

Shortcomings: stubborn as hell and also extremely stuck up. Partially because he is naturally untrusting but also partially because hes kind of a dick.

Languages spoken: English and conversational Spanish

Drive?: hell no, hes gay

Jump-start a car?: hell no, hes gay

Change a flat tyre?: hell no, hes gay

Ride a bicycle?: yes, but the last time he did he was like 8 or something so

Swim?: yes! He actually likes it I think, but usually only if he’s alone.

Play an instrument?: Piano!

Play chess?: Obviously. Not seriously or anything, but he can play.

Braid hair?: Yes! He plays with his own hair when he’s bored.

Tie a tie?: oh my god yes of COURSE he does. If he didn’t he would have to bully himself.

Pick a lock?: he’d be a pretty shit thief if he couldn’t

Cook?: yes! Nothing quite like knowing what to cook with his nice white wine

Physical Appearance & Characteristics

Faceclaim: Rob Raco

Eye colour: blue

Hair colour: black

Hair type/style/length: shoulder length and wavy

Glasses/contacts?: contacts

Dominant hand: left

Height: 5’9”

Weight: i don’t want to answer this because i don’t know

Build: slender and lightly defined

Exercise habits: i feel so embarrassed admitting that jordan do be lifting three times a week

Skin tone: i….. Golden? idk

Tattoos: contrary to his many gifs, he doesn’t have any i don’t think

Piercings: his ears are definitely pierced though

Marks/scars: some scars from some “playful” rough housing. Nothing too extreme, just a nick on his left calf and a hidden one in his right eyebrow.

Clothing style: clean cut. He prefers dress shirts and slacks for most occasions, and is rarely seen dressed down further than a short sleeve button up. Putting on his clothes is like putting up a front. Just a reminder to hold everyone at a distance.

Jewellery: he does have a watch and earrings and perhaps a couple of necklaces

Allergies: none

Diet: vegetarian i have just decided right here right now

Physical ailments: none

Psychology

I did a test with Jordan in mind for each of these fuckers.

MBTI type: INTJ-A: Bookish and reclusive are two words to describe this type, and that lines up pretty well with Jordan’s personality as well. They value themselves more so than the relationships they make, and pride themselves on getting things done.

Enneagram type: Type 6: the Loyal Skeptic. Taken from the website “The committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it”

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral- Driven by their own purposes, willing to do anything to secure themselves. They aren’t inherently evil, but are only usually only good when it serves their purposes.

Temperament: Take from the website: Phlegmatic - The phlegmatic temperament is fundamentally relaxed and quiet, ranging from warmly attentive to lazily sluggish. Phlegmatics tend to be content with themselves and are kind. They are accepting and affectionate. They may be receptive and shy and often prefer stability to uncertainty and change. They are consistent, relaxed, calm, rational, curious, and observant, qualities that make them good administrators. They can also be passive-aggressive.

Element: Earth

Emotional stability: At the moment in our time line, horrid. Non existent. He is just a giant ball of feelings and he HATES IT because usually he is very put together.

Introvert or Extrovert? Incredibly introverted, if it wasn’t already obvious.

Obsession(s): Books! Clearly. But also his cats as well as fashion and cleanliness and coffee!!!!!

Compulsion(s): Making sure all of his mugs are facing the same direction in the cabinet.

Phobia(s): Claustrophobia

Addiction(s): none

Drug use: Remember the Jordan is a pot head meme. Yeah. That

Alcohol use: usually just a glass or two of wine. Nothing to big. Usually.

Prone to violence?: Heavens no! For all of his lifting, if someone threw a punch at him he’d probably run away.

Prone to crying?: Not in front of people, but he can be a weepy drunk depending on the time nad place

Believe in love at first sight?: Although he is a realist, he has a very very romantic and soft heart, so this one is a yes, although he would never admit it.

Mannerisms

Accent: American

Speech quirks: talks like he’s a bored victorian scholar

Hobbies: reading, writing, playing piano, playing with cats, making coffee.

Habits: sleeping with a light on

Nervous ticks: he touches his hair when he’s nervous or thinking

Drives/motivations: his biggest motivation is staying alive and safe from the government. He knows his power could be used to hurt everyone, not just him, and that is important because there is safety in numbers. Also, he knows that there are mutants who will help him just because he is one of them.

Fears: being taken and tested on or used against other mutants. There is litcherally no fear greater than that for him

Sense of humour?: dry and sardonic. Usually takes amusement in knowing more than you

Do they curse often?: Heavens no! If they are cursing, they are either drunk, scared, surprised, or PISSED OFF. or all of them together LMAO

Favorites

Animal: cat for obvious reasons

Beverage: a classic latte, for obvious reasons

Book: The Door into Summer by Robert A. Heinlein

Colour: Mahogany

Food: Yogurt and berries

Flower: traditional roses, because he is a romantic

Gem: Mahogany Obsidian

Mode of transportation: Foot or bus

Scent: Lily and lets be real, good kush

Sport: he’s gay…...

Weather: sunny rainshower

Vacation destination: into his own bed and then no one bothers him

Attitudes

Greatest dream: to not feel hunted no matter where he goes. He also wants to settle down with someone whom he loves and who loves him, because romance is something he has always fantasized about

Greatest fear: dying before he’s ready, but worse so, being captured and used against his will

Most at ease when: he’s snuggling up with his cats with a nice book

Least as ease when: he is in a high stress situation with no familiar faces.

Worst possible thing that could happen: being captured and used

Biggest achievement: Securing his place in the Kings and consequently out of the police as soon as he possibly could once he turned 18.

Biggest regret: Never resisting the orders of those in his foster home.

#mrtask #(tw. weed)#(tw. alcohol)#(tw. kidnapping)#this is just ramblings #it doesn't feel like an official post but #also i didn't have a cool header

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tcnosfm-blog · 5 years

Text

.･:*:･ﾟ ’ valentino espsito , a twenty three year old , cismale , works as a musician who came from manhattan roots . while they were attending st jude’s they were known as the broken bird because they could be very reticent . those closest to them say they’re quite stoic though . to get a better understanding of who they are , some things you may notice about them are ferocious memories dancing across his flesh before sinking their teeth into him , the feeling of pain reminding him of his own presence in the world , night sweats that form a pool of anger and an ocean of sadness . you may have mistaken them for justin bieber .

hi hello peaches !! this ? is a fucking train wreck i call valentino but god do i fucking love him ? he’s the combination of two muses of mine and well i’m really excited to explore him ! all while going back to my jb roots ( can you believe there was a time where the only male fc i could use was the love of my life justin bieber ? is it crack ? is that what i was smoking ? ) if you would like to learn more about valentino , please just keep reading !! oh please bare with me , me and introductions are not friends .

❝ ┄ 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓸𝓹𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 !

chapters of a childhood that reflected two halves of then and now . like a book that cannot be ripped from your hands , the esposito’s story captured hues of millions . expect , instead of unfolding on pages of a book , their lives were recorded by the hands of the media / smiling ( or hands up covering irritated expressions ) on the front pages of magazine , elaborating on success and fortune with oprah winfrey , beautiful photoshoots that are plastered with such brands as vogue and elle magazine . adored . you could consider them that . they were affluence dipped in sovereignty .

alessandro esposito , fifteen years old when he came to america from naples italy . for two weeks , him and his family of seven slept on the cold streets of new york . his father , a business man that went bankrupt decided to allow his legs to run and run until they landed him to america in search of a second chance . that year , had been a year of struggle . but it taught alessandro all he needed to know , showed him everything he refused to be .

alessandro , he put himself through college . got a job the minute his feet touched new york at an italian owned pizza place , and ran himself through the ringer with school . he wanted to study business . be the man his father never was . he was determined .

it was his junior year where he meet sienna remis , the twenty something year old break out model .. who in reality should of never given alessandro the time or day .. but she gave him more then that , four years later , she gave him her word that she was in it with him forever .

she did not want children . she was a model . used her body for her work , worked for her body . struggled with herself to remain the model of every company’s dream . and then , she accidentally got pregnant . and despite having no intentions of keeping it , one look at her husbands face and she made a decision that would cost her . she had it .

and then , she had another one . and then another one .. and then , another one .

the esposito’s were a traditional italian family , spent almost every moment with one another . celebrated holidays at nonna & nonno’s . did family vacations with their four aunts / uncles and their seventeen cousins . the esposito’s as a whole , were successful . alessandro’s oldest brother being a plastic surgeon for celebrities such as kim kardashian and kylie jenner . his sister , she dabbled in the world of acting before settling into fashion design . his youngest brother worked along his side , building an empire of hotels and restaurants . and , his youngest sister whom had the ability to capture a thousand words in single painting moved back to italy to live a normal life .

zynaty , the empire that holds hundreds of hotels and restaurants across the globe . the business that took alessandro and his brother everything they had to create .

valentino navarone clemente esposito was the second child to alessandro and sienna . from the moment he open warm colored hues , took his first breaths , privilege was granted to him . a child in the spotlight , it was what he became . one of the esposito’s destined to do great things . to be somebody . the media ate him up . everything he did , everything his siblings did , they wanted to be apart of it , to exploit , to adore , to wait and watch how they would unfold .

the first eleven years of valentino’s childhood consisted of tender forehead kisses and the feeling of warm comfort wrapping around him like a blanket . his days consisting of laughter that fell from his siblings lips , sports that shook all of his energy right out of him . homemade dinners , forced movie nights ( though deep down he always enjoyed snuggling up to his mother ) , tutors , piano lessons , and guitar lessons . by the time he was eight , he was fluent in italian . played on three different hockey teams . bickered with his oldest brother like it was his job ( but more so because he wanted to do everything he did and did not like being told no . ) spent hours in his fathers office gazing out the windows , eating greasy burgers with his father in exchange that neither of them would snitch to the others . summers with his grandparents in italy . at the age of ten he was staring in commercials such as toy’s r us and even chef boyardee .

the esposito’s were being offered reality tv show’s , the spot of ambassador’s for ridiculously prosperous brands . everything they did , it was an article . sienna takes her children out to the park , alessandro walks the family dog , valentino scored final goal . and then , it happened . headlines of , valentino esposito admitted to hospital due to injuries from his mother .

sienna , she was tender . angelic. had a smile that melted hearts . her laughter felt like music to your ears .. everyone described her as gentle , a beautiful soul . but after her last child , she fell into such dark places . so dark that drinking her way out of them seemed to be the only way to survive . to get through it … but the drinking always made her violent . usually , it was never anything more then her screaming horrid words to her children . usually she saved physical contact for alessandro . the next morning , she’d beg for forgiveness . buy the gifts and allow them to stay home from school . she’d swear she’d never do it again , and for weeks she wouldnt . and then , like a switch she would .

nine pm , alessandro headed to las vegas for a business trip ( one that included his mistress ) , his mom she found the liquor cabinet . one drink turned to three and three turned to the whole bottle vanishing . valentino remembers , her screams and his little brother crying . he was always protective , and when his oldest brother was not around he always felt like it was even more of his duty to watch out for his . so that’s what he did . his feet leading him down to the kitchen .. and when his hues reached hers , the once angelic mother he knew , he loved disappeared . she was a monster in human form . and her hands had reached for his brother and non stop shook him as she repeated , screamed how much she never wanted them . that she never wanted them .

valentino remembers this much , fear . confusion . the need to free his little brother . and then he remembers covering his face , pleading for her to stop , and pain .

it was his brother who called the cops , and when he got to the hospital he had broken ribs , bruises that covered his faces like it skin tone was purple , and a concussion .

the months after that , consisted of legal actions . divorces . therapy . and attempting to heal . something that was deemed impossible with the media constantly throwing it back into their faces . pleading for their statements , wanting to dig deeper . paparazzi harassing not only his family , but friends of his family , co workers , teachers , nannies . it got so bad , alessandro took him and his children back to italy for an entire year . wanting to give them enough time to adjust , to heal , all while trying to heal on his own .

❝ ┄ 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓯𝓽. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 !

hard headed and words like knives , a burning fire lives within the boy . one that holds onto pain and anger , their claws slashing violently into his heart . after the accident , he was told he had sad eyes . and for a while , it was because it was true . sadness had intertwined themselves within him , and when he finally got tired of the hole in his heart that dropped to their needs pleading with anyone to help it , he pushed the sadness out and let anger stand in it’s place .

there’s sanity in the constancy his fist always presented him , in italy he found himself in fights after fights . twelves year old , fighting his demons and fighting anyone who wronged him even in the smallest of senses .

he’s like picking up dice and praying you land on a good number , you never know what you’ll get .. will you see the specks of playfulness and charm ? his anger that burns brighter then any fire ? the silent sadness ?

his ambition is gold . he wants to be something in this world . and his passion and intelligent helps keep him on this path .

being an athlete has always come natural to him , he was that kid who was good at literally everything he did .. and while he doesnt play hockey anymore , or as much as he use to , he still gets himself up at five am to run .

his family is a priority . the only people who get all of him , his sadness , his softness , his broken pieces , his protectiveness , his loyalty , his undying love .

despite what you may think , he has a big heart . it sneaks to the surface with small acts of kindness .. the way his hand will reach out to you with intentions of affection before retreating . it’s in his words of , ‘ did you eat ? ‘ and , ‘ let me walk ya home ‘

he is a lover , no matter how hard he tries to convince you his heart is cold that will never be the case . ever .

he’s a curious person , and usually ends up getting suck into people and things despite his promises that he wont .

he hates commitment and attachment .. but can you blame him.

has this fear that everyone he loves will somehow someway hurt him .

has a bad habit of hurting those who hurt him .

he’s unpredictable , stubborn , a little sarcastic .

he can be cruel , unemotionally unavailable . it’s always easier to feel nothing then feel . ( has a constant fight with himself on whether he should let you in , but he will if you are determined enough .. as much as he can )

he’s super intelligent , quick with numbers . his dad use to tell him he was going to be a king , at least in the business industry ..

loves children .. definitely cannot wait to have children of his own some day .

he still spends a lot of his time in italy , usually with his grandparents or his aunt . he likes it there , likes being able to breathe , to walk down the street without harassment .

he wanted to go into his dad’s business , his dad wanted him to come into the business . but , he instead found his passion in music ? it was not surprising , the baby has always been talented .. it just took him a little longer to realize that it was what he wanted to do .

has a journal he carries with him almost every where , he remembers in the seventh grade someone teased him about it being a diary . he also got suspended that day . it’s his song book , the only way to really know him .

he learned fast that , he never wanted to inflict harm onto anyone else like his mom did .. and at twenty four is not a violent guy . he acts out of self defense but will never put his hands on you first .

on that note , do not put your hands on him . he does not like to be handled , slapped , shoved . he does not like being grabbed , dont even poke him aggressively .

he flinches , if you move too fast near him . if you move your hands when yelling at him .

he had night terrors for years . therapy helped him with it .. but sometimes they make a recurrence . more so if he’s really stressed or anxious .

is such a boy when it comes to cars . love speeding , showing off , making you hold on for your dear life .

he does not like drunk people , is not the guy that will normally take care of you unless you’re his siblings , or a very close friends . does not really drink himself . has a drink here and there , but has never gotten drunk … he could truly go the rest of his life without ever drinking again .

he is a smoker , smokes a blunt every night before bed .

he is signed with a record label , and has released two albums ! also he went on two tours ! music is something he truly enjoys . it makes him feel all light and happy ? like he’s his old self again . voice wise , think justin bieber but singing post malone songs ..

he’s doing a little soul searching , soaking up life .. as much as he can . trying to remind himself of all the reasons it feels soo good to be here , right now , living and breathing.

❝ ┄ 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 !

asdfg okay , i wanted to write out super long and detailed connections but im already annoyed with myself and cannot even imagine how yous will feel having to read this mess ! so i want a bromance , something cute and simple . they’re there for him non stop , he considers them family , would do anything for them , they bring out old valentino who just wants to have fun and act like a fool ! a childhood friend , someone who knows everything about the accident he doesn’t speak to anymore to avoid the memories . some party friends and bad influences . hookups !!! a sibling like friendship , someone who reminds him of his younger brother or sister . an messy ex of some sort . one sided relationships !! one sided friendships !! that one person who’s soooo determined to break down his walls .

#xo.intro #TRIGGER WARNING: child abuse #sorry for any mistakes or confusion #this has been sitting in the drafts for a minute #cant wait to use this baby im so excited

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turtlestanfirst · 6 years

Text

alright my dear little munchkins the mane has been tamed and the whole tray of brownies have been Eaten i have no regrets and it is now time for

The Shards of Stained Glass AU (AKA evil!donnie is the best way to get to good!draxum tbh)

once upon a time my ex was having a rough night and worried about whether or not he was a danger to me in any way. i told him that he's got his sharp edges but we all do because every single person is like a broken shard of glass and to love is to find the people who's jagged edges fit against our own best and i've always kept that in a romantic sense but i've decided to use that as a base theory for this au s o-

BEFORE IT ALL:

Once upon a time Draxum and Lou were together. They loved each other despite everything going against them. It was genuine and stronger than any issue- so they had believed. when Lou left, Draxum was left a man without love, a father without his children. He was hurt, and his hatred for humans grew stronger than before. He tested mutagen variants for years, carefully picking test subjects every month or so to prepare for the day he eradicated them all. It's on one of these outings he finds the horrid father and his blind malnourished daughter. Draxum calls her Artemis and she's never mistreated again.

Lou isn't Lou anymore. Splinter wasn't prepared for fatherhood but these four are tiny and look to him for protection. Mistakes are bound to be made but he does his best. Keeping the four safe is hard- especially when one son needs to be protected more than the others. He can't stand singling Donatello out, but what choice does he have?

Donatello was always different. And he hated it from the start. He wanted to play rough and go rummaging around the abandoned subway system and train with the same voracity his brothers were allowed to. He can handle it, he knows he can. But everyone else doubts it so strongly that Donnie is forced to wonder if he's overestimating himself. They baby him and protect him and he should be grateful because he needs it but he only feels resentment. He's the second oldest. It should be the other way around, this isn't fair.

The battle shell is the first step towards independence. He protects himself so that they don't have to. They do anyway and as he grows older he hates it more and more. At some point he becomes hesitant to play with them anymore because he knows what they'll say. He doesn't mean to resent his family, just the actions they take against him. But resentment has a funny way of taking over more than it needs to and leaving you with a guilty knit in your stomach.

When they become ninjas Donnie immediately knows he's the weak link. The soft shell is a liability to him, and he can't forget that because he's never been allowed to and it affects his fighting. As a physical member of the team he holds little value. But if he can build an extra shell he can build anything. And what he lacks in fighting value he makes up for with inventions to make everything easier. He's the brains, and he hopes it's enough.

Or, wonders really. Because his family doesn't really let him know if it is. And maybe he should have just asked at some point but the teasing and the complaints and the brushing off of his creations seem like answer enough. He stops feeling bad about the resentment at some point.

Leon never means to hurt other's feelings when praising himself. The cockiness is a side effect of a low self-esteem. A defense mechanism against the truth he feels so deeply in his bones it makes him shake on his own feet. When he's validated he can't help but make a big deal about it. So when he and raph talk about leading as a pair, of course it gets to his head.

And maybe Donnie resents that because it's not fair that Leon can get validated and he can't. So the attitude creeps in and without meaning to he corners Leon with the worries that never do leave him alone, despite his new place in the team.

And Donnie might be the one with fangs but Leon is far more dangerous when backed into a corner, physical or mental. He lashes out, and the cracks seem to grow more and more with each passing argument.

Nobody remembers why this fight got so bad. But everyone said things they shouldn't have and the cracks become a rift, a full-on chasm and Donnie is stranded alone on the other side. He says he needs to breathe and doesn't come back that night. Or the next night, or the night after that.

Draxum meant to lure the lone turtle as an ally only. Wishing for his children back was dangerous business. But Donnie was vulnerable and a father's heart feels for his child. He's determined to do his best from now on for the boy too.

THE HERE AND NOW:

It's weird. Losing a brother is weird.

Leon blames himself because it was their argument that brought this on. Because he'd missed something along the way and failed his older brother. He misses his twin and doesn't handle the raging emotions well. Some leader, some champion tearing his own family apart. The guilt and the shame are wrapped just too tight around his throat all the time now.

Raph was his one older brother, his first protector. Raph saw this as a sign, proof that he was a terrible older brother. It makes him all the more protective of the two siblings he's got left. He can't fail again, he couldn't handle that. They deserve better than him but he's what they've got and damnit he's going to try his best in spite of everything.

It confuses Mikey. He'd never thought dontnie disliked being their brother or living with them. Betrayal stings, and mikey has never felt anything like it. He can't process it in the way he should.

Donnie is happy. or, he tries to be anyway. His little sister calls herself the bigger sibling and never holds back on account of his shell. Draxum praises his every creation and the giddiness in his stomach is welcomed and cherished. But his heart aches in a peculiar way when he hears a bad pun or sees a wall covered in graffiti. He misses them.

Splinter misses him. He'd known there was bound to be mistakes on the man's part, instances where his choices as a father would be wrong. But he had been blind. He'd given his sons everything except for what they might have needed most. He hovers near the other three more than usual. His heart burns with loss and more anger towards the yokai he'd loved so fiercely once.

They're April's family too and she tries to be there as much as she can but college is a bitch worse than high school sometimes. It's not so bad though. Her roommate is a witch with secrets all their own and that chick Casey is always fun to hang around. Casey and Talise fit right in with the turtles too, they're a growing family. But April feels the hollow spot left by her once brother and she is mad about it. Damn near resentful.

Draxum wants what's best for yokai. That's all. His son makes him think about how he's trying to reach that goal. Maybe he needs to rethink his strategy. But the hurt felt at the hands of a human haunts him. Then again, maybe he needs to rethink his feelings about everything that went down before it came to this.

Because everyone hurts someone. Every hero is another man's villain. A beautiful church window is little more than shards of broken glass made into something more. And perhaps this shattered group can fashion themselves into the most beautiful window of all.

#basically #donnie goes evil and that just might be what it takes to turn draxum good #ft. angst female casey jones angst two ocs angst gay shenanigans and more angst #does this make sense at all? it's almost 3 am and it looks messy to me oof #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au #rottmnt au

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helenofsimblr · 6 years

Text

I have a LOT of catching up to do!

I was tagged to do the 57 facts thing by @fayts4 @tabbyrhsims4simblr and @midnightdevotions I think I got everybody if not you’ll have to forgive me my shoddy memory. But I have so many blogs to catch up on I am ready to cry!

1. Simblr is a secret thing for me, only my husband knows about it. Its my own guilty pleasure.

2. I recently became a parent and I am very much planning to have at least 1 more while there is still time!

3. I have done a lot of work on some really amazing stuff, none of which I can ever talk about due to secrecy agreements.

4. I have a PhD in mathematics, so that proves I am super boring.

5. I tried my first cigarette at age 11, but didn’t touch it again till age 26 which was when I took it up, I would smoke anything from 0 to 10 cigs a day depending on the day I had. I quit cigs this year aged 32 in January. So hopefully didn’t do myself too much damage.

6. At age 29 I started smoking cigars on special occasions those are: my birthday, Christmas, New year, Valentines, and my wedding anniversary. Being the “badass” I am, I inhale every 5th drag for a little extra kick, even though you shouldn’t do that... I have not quit the cigars!

7. I have a younger brother and an older sister, I am the middle sibling.

8. I have only ever had 3 boyfriends in my life. And 1 “fancy man.”

9. I was engaged to be married to my second boyfriend, I basically twisted his arm into it because of my condition I was afraid I’d be some old woman called Ms instead of Mrs, he did not want to be married, not to me anyway. I should have realised that back then...

10. While I was engaged to boyfriend number 2 I had an affair which lasted about 8 months, it was with a colleague at work, and it was amazing! I don’t condone cheating, not in the least, but I realise, the sensible thing to do would have been to call off the engagement.

11. I had giganstism (Acromegaly) as a child, I am 6 foot 7 inches tall bare foot. I do not like being this tall... not one bit. There are so many health issues that come with this, that it really isn’t worth it.

12. When I stopped growing, Acromegaly causes your face and hands and feet to carry on growing... I have size 14 feet. UK size. My hands are large enough that I can grip 4 tennis balls in one hand easily.

13. I have no tattoos. I have never ever wanted a tattoo. I don’t actually like them very much.

14. I don’t have any piercings anywhere else beside my ears. I have 2 piercings in each ear.

15. I am a huge petrol head. I love cars and I will happily have a discussion with any man about them, or woman if she is so inclined!

16. Due to the facial changes caused by Acromegaly I decided to go and get cosmetic surgery in late 2017 to change my face back to a more softer look.

17. I love Star Trek. Captain Kirk is my favourite captain, he is the best. No discussion. If it wasn’t for Kirk there would be no Picard, no Sisko, no Janeway. None of those pretenders would be here!

18. I think Quentin Tarrantino and his films are vastly overrated and often incomprehensible and worst yet, non linear.

19. I really dislike the taste of alcohol. The only drinks I get on well with are Guiness and Gin and tonics. Most others I don’t like. I hate wine.

20. I hated that stupid Pokemon Go craze!! The amount of people who walked into me in the street... That shit was dangerous.

21. My hair used to be naturally blonde, but in recent years its started to get darker, which is why I now use colouring to keep it where it was.

22. I should wear glasses to read, but I don’t bother.

23. While preggers I had gestational diabetes. Which was not fun at all.

24. I love swimming, but I hate the sea because I am afraid of whats in it. Sharks, jellyfish, all sorts of wonderful, yet horrid creatures designed to kill and maim!

25. When I was doing my PhD, somebody on my research team literally took about 80% of my thesis content and used it in their thesis. I had no time to appeal or go through proper channels as I already had a job lined up, and was due to have my pituitary tumor removed, therefore, my only option was to redo 80% of my thesis.

26. I am not religious (at least not in any organised way), however, I find the theory of how the universe came into being utterly laughable. A big bang... seriously?? If before the universe, there was nothing, where did the shit that exploded come from? Its bullshit. Truth is, nobody knows for sure, but we’re so desperate to know that scientists will happily invent theories to fit what few facts they have.

27. Despite not being religious, I firmly believe in existence after death. I say existence, not life, there is a difference. I have seen what would be colloquially referred to as a “ghost” when I was 13 years old.

28. I love the old pulp sci fi, things like Lost in Space, and voyage to the bottom of the sea

29. My favourite foods are pizzas. I cannot get enough of them! In particular just bog standard pepperoni

30. I suck at sports. Any sport, and I suck at it.

31. I often worry about things so much I lose my perspective, I cannot help but worry and it usually leads to a cascade of worry and I may make poor decisions.

32. I am part German. I can speak German, to a fashion... its not very good as I rarely use it.

33. I have regular chiropractic care and I have to say its worth every penny. I feel better physically now than I have in years! As a bonus, the IBS I suffered with, since I have been seeing my chiropractor has actually cleared up!

34. I am currently trying to complete something on my bucket list, I am attempting to watch EVERY John Wayne film.

35. I hated Star Wars the Last Jedi. Shit film!

36. I have a cuddly toy from I was a baby which I still have! (I don’t sleep with it of course)

37. I love inappropriate/dirty jokes.

38. I am, somewhat, anti-abortion. I understand there is a time and a place for everything however, but given birth control and access to morning after pills...

39. I am not political, I loathe politicians. None of them have a clue what it is like to be in the real world. Also... why do we have Ministers of health who have never been a nurse or doctor? And so forth... doesn’t make sense!

40. I have been married 3 years now.

41. I cannot bend over and touch my toes.

42. I recently took a woman to court and won! After she keyed (Scratched the car with a key) my Range Rover from bumper to bumper in the supermarket.

43. I hate shopping. I find it so tedious and inconvenient. I honestly do not understand how other females can find this a pleasurable activity!

44. I have never tried any illegal drugs in my life.

45. Apparently I was late performing all my children milestones. Walking, talking and potty training. I took months longer than my siblings did.

46. I find it really hard to go to the toilet in a public toilet. It disturbs me.

47. I hate it when people tell me “You’re late.” As though I have no concept or track of time. I usually reply with “I was quite aware before you pointed it out.” I never apologise for being late, unless I know that my being late was definitely my fault.

48. I am often amused by simblr. Especially at all these “dramas” that pop up round here. Particularly over custom content and how it should never be uploaded by anybody but the creator or changed or whatever... did I mention how somebody took 80% of my PhD thesis and used it in their work? Oh yes. Point number 25.

49. If I go for ice cream, doesn’t matter where it is, I will always go for vanilla.

50. White chocolate is my favourite chocolate of all. So sweet and creamy...

51. I am allergic to penicillin.

52. I love superhero films. Particularly the Marvel ones. I think Marvel do better films than DC but DC do better animated films / television than Marvel do.

53. I think Nolan’s batman trilogy is overrated speaking of superhero films.

54. Speaking of films, only once ever have I walked out of the cinema. I remember I went to see Mr and Mrs Smith, and half way through I walked out. Have never seen the end of that film since.

55. My favourite Junk Food is bacon double cheeseburgers!

56. Due to having acromegaly... every year... without fail... I have to go and get a camera up my ass! Yeah its great being tall(!)

57. I HATE pears. I mean hate them! I hate the texture of them in my mouth, I hate the feel of their skin, I hate EVERYTHING about pears. Even sat here typing this I get goosebumps. If I was trapped on a desert island where all there was to eat was Pears. I would starve to death!

I tag, @themoonglitch @rebelsoulsims @igglemouse and @flowers--girl and @sparkiemonkey and @alittledaylight do this EPIC tag. If you think you can’t. or done it, or don’t want to cool.

#tag game #57 things tag

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megabadbunny · 7 years

Text

Minuet, Part V

She wonders if it’s midnight, yet, if her carriage will poof back into a pumpkin and her gown return to rags.

(Certainly no prince will come calling after her, not after the way she behaved tonight.)

***

(ten/rose angsty post-gitf au/fixit; this part (and all parts on ff.net) is sfw (minor exception for brief language); be warned that the next chapter has teh smuts <3)

(full-size image)

Minuet, Part V

Beneath a canopy of ever-brightening lightning dancing across the sky, dazzling white slicing through a canvas of sapphire-blues and bruise-purples and ominous reds, the afternoon slowly slides into the evening. Certainly, Rose is sure things happen during this time; she’s equally sure she has no idea what they are, and she doesn��t care.

(Uruud shows her to her room. It’s fine. It’s a room. It’s got a bed. Before Rose has a chance to poke around anymore than that, Mickey stops by with an invitation—We’re off to do some investigating, fancy a ride-along?—and that look on his face, all nervousness and uncertainty mixed with apprehensive hope, just cements in Rose’s mind how very bad everything is, if the Doctor can’t even be arsed to come in here himself like he normally would. Rose begs off in favor of a nap, and ignores the worry that plays across Mickey’s face after. But it wasn’t entirely a lie, because blessedly, the bed has got a canopy to block out the light-show blaring through the glass ceiling above, and the temptation to smother her woes in an ocean of silky bedclothes and feather-stuffed pillows is indeed quite strong. But Rose just sits on the bed instead, arms crossed and toes tapping and eyes staring at nothing in particular while her brain replays the last twelve hours like some kind of horrid sitcom on syndication, playing over and over and over and over.)

Right on schedule, the first ritual begins—or rather, the first “ritual”, as Rose thinks of it, considering that even if it’s presented like a Therran Communion, it seems a lot more like a threadbare excuse for the guests at the Temple to pull on fancy clothes and get blind-stinking drunk. Normally, the whole thing might delight Rose, the chance to doll up and immerse herself completely in the local culture, taste a range of fine alien libations and make new friends and maybe even flirt a little, but now it just seems sort of pointless and silly, a bunch of children playing at being adults with their fancy-dress and their fermented Britvic.

(Uruud brings a gown for Rose to wear to dinner. Rationally, she recognizes that it’s quite an elegant thing, all slim-fitted bodice and voluminous skirts and Prussian blue velvety-softness; less rationally, after Mickey pops back by her room with news of his and the Doctor’s escapades—Can’t find that High Chauncery bloke anywhere, none of the Votaries know where he’s got off to, what do you think of that?—Rose wonders how the fabric would hold up if she tore it to straps and fashioned herself an escape rope, climbing out the window and deserting this stupid fancy place and its even stupider guests like a princess absconding from her tower. Planet-consuming lightning storms can’t be all that dangerous, right?)

Dinner takes place, at some point, somewhere. A grand hall, probably, but Rose is three swallows deep into her third (or fourth?) glass of so-called “ritual wine” and things are starting to get just the littlest bit blurry around the edges. Mostly she notices that the hall is packed full of people, and it’s loud, and there’s food, and a whole host of traditions accompanying it all. Each food item is laden with symbolic meaning, and eaten only after a session of chant-and-repeat, the entire dining hall buzzing with the rhythmic hum of people reciting scripture, lifting their faces toward the lightning scrawling overhead. Rose moves her lips along with everyone else, if only not to disrespect Uruud and the other Votaries, and after, she dutifully places the food into her mouth and chews and swallows, because it’s there, and she should, regardless of the protests of the seized-up beartrap that seems to have replaced her stomach. Probably some of the food she eats is tasty, and some of it isn’t. She doesn’t notice one way or the other.

(Uruud is kind enough to help Rose with her hair and makeup, styling both after the latest high Therran fashions, all gently sculptural curls and dew-glittering glaze painted on her skin. The whole process is so mirror-reminiscent of her time in France that Rose can’t decide whether to laugh or cry; in an effort to convince herself that she has, in fact, been rescued by the Doctor, and is not still somehow trapped millennia in the past surrounded by strangers and unknown customs and unspoken rules, she asks Uruud any and every question she can think of, and absorbs herself in their replies. She inquires about their choice to become a Votary (they were Called) and if they’ve got any family (two parents, three siblings) and the meaning of the ornamental dots on each Therran’s face (one dot for every Allstorm they’ve survived, according to tradition hearkening back to the ancient times, and with a smile, Uruud places a gem beneath Rose’s lower lip, gifting her with a temporary honorary badge of her own). Rose encourages them to speak until the words flow as freely as the wine outside, and privately takes comfort in the paint they brush over her skin. When they’re done, Rose’s collarbone sparkles as if covered with a necklace, her glitters as if topped with a tiara, and her back could almost sport a pair of wings glinting in the flashing light. It feels like a shield, a second skin, a mask, one that doesn’t slip even when Rose reunites with Mickey and the Doctor in the dining hall and the latter barely manages to spare her a glance.)

Downing the rest of her fourth (possibly fifth) glass of wine, Rose tries not to stare at Mickey and the Doctor, but it’s sort of difficult considering that they’re seated directly across from her. They both look quite sharp in their suits, tailored to perfection by talented Votaries, Rose assumes. (Distinctly tuxlike, their suits are; Rose wonders if they requested them specifically or if tuxes are just some sort of universal standard, somehow.) Between that and the Doctor’s customary chattiness, it isn’t long before most of the occupants of their table start leaning in to hear more from this fascinating couple, this charming Doctor fellow and his pretty-boy husband Mickey.

(Unfortunately, Rose suspects there’s nothing Uruud can do to help her with that particular mess.)

“And how did you two get together?” asks a friendly cat-person, ears swiveled forward in interest.

“He stole my girlfriend,” Mickey deadpans.

Clapping him on the back, the Doctor laughs. “Aww, what a sense of humor my beloved has!” he chuckles. “We did meet through Rose, actually—yes, that’s her right there, across the table, hullo Rose—but there was no romance involved. At least, not at first,” he adds with a wink sent Mickey’s way, and Rose struggles not to roll her eyes, or throw up, or both. “That’s all he meant. Isn’t that right, Honey Bear?”

“Sure is, Fudge Nugget.”

“See, Rose and I met through her workplace. You know how it goes, she’s closing up shop, you’re scheduled to do demolition on said shop, you run into each other on the lift in a classic meeting-your-future-husband’s-best-mate-meetcute. Instant friendship! Wouldn’t you say, Pootsy-Pie?”

“Whatever you say, Pudgy McGee.”

“Let’s just say Rose found me very charming, once upon a time,” the Doctor continues, “and Mickey here, feeling jealous that someone was encroaching on the territory of his best mate—that’s Rose, hullo again, Rose—well, he decided that he should find out what all this cattywhumpus was about, meet this Doctor bloke that Rose couldn’t stop raving over. And the rest, as they say, is history. Wouldn’t you agree, my little Muffin Top?”

“You got it, Sugar Tits.”

Rose watches as the Doctor chokes on his wine and Mickey pats him on the back perhaps just a little more enthusiastically than the situation warrants. The Doctor shoots him a teeth-gritted grin afterward and Mickey just smiles the universe’s most beatific serene smile. And that, for whatever reason, inspires Rose with a funny little thought.

“My dear Doctor,” she says sweetly, indulging in a delicate sip of her wine, “that’s all very good and well, but you must realize that isn’t actually what our friend here was asking. She wants to know about how the two of you became a couple.”

Rose locks eyes with him over the table, affecting a friendly smile. “She wants to know how the two of you fell in love.”

It’s doubtful that anyone else at the table registers the shadow that flickers over the Doctor’s face; it’s gone as soon as it appears, and the Doctor answers with barely a hitch.

“Well, I think I’ve hogged the spotlight long enough,” he says to Mickey. “Why don’t you tell them, my love?”

Mickey’s glee can barely restrain itself, oozing out the seams as he grins like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, no, my pet,” he says, planting his elbows on the table and his chin in both hands, watching the Doctor with adoring eyes, “I insist that you tell them. You do it so wonderfully, after all.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” replies the Doctor, his voice only a little strained as everyone aww’s around them, and Rose bites her lip to keep from laughing.

“So, that part of the story is—here we come to a part that’s—well, it’s a little difficult to know where to start, is all,” the Doctor says, tugging nervously on one ear. “It just feels like we’ve been in love for so long, you see, that it’s all sort of rolled together into one giant…love mass. Sort of like, y’know. The Thing or something.”

“Oh, stop that,” Rose laughs. “He’s just being shy,” she tells the rest of the table. “He doesn’t want any of you to know about all the late-night chats the two of us had together, with him just gushing on and on about how wonderful Mickey was, how handsome he is, how lucky the Doctor is to have him, all that.”

“Ah, that might be just the slightest smidge of an exaggeration—”

“No, no, go on,” Mickey says, his grin widening until his face might split from it. “Tell everyone how wonderful I am!”

“He’d wax poetical for hours about the beauty of Mickey’s eyes,” Rose says when the Doctor doesn’t reply.

“Can’t blame him, they’re quite nice,” Mickey adds.

“He’d talk about how safe and warm he felt in Mickey’s arms.”

“Front-row tickets to the gunshow, right here.”

“But by far, I think his very favorite thing about Mickey has always been his intellect,” Rose continues, choking down her laughter as the Doctor’s mouth purses thinner and thinner. “In fact, I used to stay up late reassuring him that, no, Mickey wasn’t too smart for him—”

“Aww, babe,” says Mickey, looping an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders.

“—but he just insisted that no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be Mickey’s intellectual equal,” Rose says, disguising her snickers as a cough. “In fact, after their first kiss, the Doctor called me straightaway to tell me—”

“His hands,” the Doctor blurts out, and everyone at the table turns back to him.

“Sorry?” asks the cat-person from earlier.

The Doctor doesn’t spare a glance for her; his eyes are locked squarely on Rose.

“Just—they’re nice hands,” the Doctor says, with a shrug. “Good for holding. That’s what it’s really all about, isn’t it? A hand to hold. Wouldn’t you say, Rose?”

She doesn’t reply; she’s too busy watching his fingers as they entwine with Mickey’s hand on his shoulder, and once again, the table lights up with the sounds of an audience enraptured, the cat-person pressing her paw to her chest at the cuteness of it all. The conversation starts again, picking up where it left off, but it’s all just white noise to Rose’s ears now as she watches Mickey and the Doctor resituate themselves to clasp their hands together atop the table, practically beneath Rose’s nose. The Doctor even finishes his dinner one-handed to accommodate the whole thing, eating and drinking with his left hand like he does it all the time, and it might all be terribly funny if his thumb wasn’t absentmindedly stroking over Mickey’s knuckle, the way it does with Rose.

The way it used to do.

Something about the mindless meaninglessness of the gesture sets klaxons blaring in Rose’s head, screaming at her for her stupidity, for ever thinking anything the Doctor did anything meaningful, for ever thinking she was anything more than a joke to him, just a joke, a joke, a worthless stupid joke and nothing he says ever means anything and you’re an idiot for ever thinking it did and the words ricochet around her skull over and over until she drowns it out with another glass of wine.

“Good stuff, isn’t it?” the Doctor asks cheerfully, and a second later, Rose realizes he’s talking to her. “Therran wine is quite lovely—when you’re not choking on it, anyway.”

The other occupants at the table laugh politely, nodding along.

“Just a tad potent, though,” the Doctor adds. “A few glasses is really all anyone needs. Everything in moderation, hm?”

He looks at Rose meaningfully, eyes darting to the glass in her hand. She wonders if he’s been keeping track of her intake this whole time, if he’s trying to say, in that stupid precious roundabout way of his, that she’s had enough, maybe more than. Probably the Doctor is right, but then again, probably if he thinks she should stop, then probably he should just come out and say it. She’s bloody well sick of all this dancing around.

With a serene smile of her own, Rose pours herself another glass. “Cheers to moderation,” she says, tilting the glass in a toast before she downs its contents in one gulp.

“Cheers!” shouts Mickey and everyone else along the table, following suit with their glasses clinking and wine-draining after, but the Doctor doesn’t drink, doesn’t cheer, doesn’t tear his eyes away from Rose. She forces herself to hold his gaze, wills her face to turn to stone so nothing can show through. If he can do it whenever he wants, then so can she.

“Well, aren’t we having a lovely time?” purrs a soft voice behind Rose, and she turns to see the scarlet-dressed woman from earlier, now swathed in a crimson gown so gorgeous it makes Rose’s eyes water. “Whatever is happening over here, it’s far more fascinating than the events transpiring at my table.”

“Ah, then you should join us!” declares the Doctor. “Not at the table, though. We were just leaving.”

The woman piques an immaculate eyebrow in interest. “Oh?” she says. “Leaving for where?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says, confused, and Rose’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Leaving for where?”

“Not entirely sure yet, but I thought we might nose about a bit,” explains the Doctor, standing up from the table. “Get the lay of the land, go for the inside scoop, poke our beaks in where they aren’t wanted, so to speak. See what we can learn about this Allstorm business and why it’s suddenly taking place over the course of a month instead of a handful of days. The Votaries don’t seem to know anything, the computers are functionally worthless, and for the life of me I can’t seem to find any trace of the High Chauncery anywhere.”

Nodding, the woman frowns. “He has not been seen for many years now, it’s true,” she says slowly.

“Exactly. For all intents and purposes, he’s vanished, along with anyone else who might have a clue about what’s going on. It’s all just a little bit funny, don’t you think?”

In her peripheral vision, Rose sees Mickey trying to catch her eye—he’s alarmed at the Doctor’s sudden candor with this stranger, she knows. But Rose doesn’t share his gaze, or his worries. She knows exactly what the Doctor is doing, or what it feels like he’s doing, anyway, and she’s too busy sensing every ounce of the acid boiling up in her throat to weigh Mickey’s concerns.

“Oh, my,” the woman is saying now. “A conspiracy theory. How intriguing!”

“It is, at that. Would you care to join us?”

As if she can sense the daggers that Rose is glaring at the Doctor—or if she can see them, which, she probably can, Rose is fairly certain she’s being none-too-subtle at the moment—the woman glances between the two of them, hesitating. “I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Excellent,” Rose interjects, only wobbling a little bit as she stands up from the table. “We’ll just see you around, then—”

“Oh, nonsense, it’s no intrusion, none at all,” interrupts the Doctor, circling round the table so he can extend an elbow to the woman. “Shall we?”

Once again, the woman looks back at Rose (what, is she asking permission? Is she gloating?) before accepting the Doctor’s offer, threading her arm through his with a gracious “I think we shall.”

Without waiting for Rose (or even his supposed husband, for that matter), the Doctor takes off, arm-in-arm with the strange woman. Rose watches them as they stride away, her hands balling into fists. Nonplussed, Mickey turns around just long enough to offer Rose a confused shrug before he jogs after the Doctor and his newfound friend, or the latest thing that captured his five-second attention span, or whatever this woman is.

Sighing darkly, Rose swipes a bottle of wine off a passing tray and starts drinking.

Naami, as the woman introduces herself, soon proves herself to be quite charming (not two minutes after they’ve left the dining hall, and already Mickey and the Doctor are more relaxed than they’ve been all day) as well as delicately humorous (as evidenced by Mickey and the Doctor’s smiles and laughter, and not in that polite why you do with strangers at a party) not to mention annoyingly diplomatic (as proven by her continual attempts to rope Rose into the conversation, no matter how noncommittal Rose’s responding hums and grunts become). She’s also devastatingly insightful, if the Doctor’s eager conversation with her regarding Therran politics and society are anything to go by. In short, Naami turns out to be the sort of person that’s difficult to hate—which, of course, only makes you want to hate them all the more.

“So, Rose,” says Naami conversationally—as if the four of them aren’t creeping quietly through the Temple archives, as if the Doctor didn’t break them in with the sonic so he could hack into the information network, as if they aren’t all constantly swiveling at every tiny noise and every flash of light up above because what if it’s a guard this time?—“Far be it from me to eavesdrop, but even from my table, I heard quite a bit about your companions this evening, and very little of you. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

She shoots Rose a winning smile, perfect teeth framed by ideal sweetheart-shaped lips, and it lights up something somewhere in the dimming recesses of Rose’s alcohol-warmed brain. It occurs to her that this woman, this upper-class, gold-gilded, well-mannered prat, can probably smell an Estate girl from a hundred miles away, just like half the shrews at the French court before Reinette set them all to rights, or a shark scenting blood on the water. Any other day, Rose’s hackles might rise at the thought, but now, she just chuckles under her breath, swaying ever-so-slightly on her feet. What has she got to be ashamed of, what has she got to hide? It isn’t like she can make this woman’s opinion of her any worse, nor, at this point, would she even care if she did.

“Pretty general question. Why don’t you be more specific?” Rose asks, swigging from her bottle.

“All right. Where did you grow up?”

“A nice, big ol’ trash-heap in the middle of nowhere,” Rose replies brightly.

Mickey clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Oh, come on, Rose. The Estate’s not that bad.”

“Sure it’s not, if you don’t mind a surplus of graffiti and crime and overflowing trash bins,” Rose shoots back. “Next question?”

The briefest flash of uncertainty flickers across Naami’s features before she tries again, her smile sliding back into place like it never left. “What inspired you to go traveling with Mickey and the Doctor?”

“Eh, you know how it is. Girl like me, you’ve got three options: the bloke who hits you, the bloke who cheats on you, or the bloke who promises you adventure and then up and changes his personality on you, dragging you around like so much baggage from star to star,” Rose counts off, steadfastly ignoring whether or not the Doctor reacts to any of the words streaming out of her mouth. “So I figure, hey, at least with the last option, I’m out of the house. Next?”

“Erm, very well, then,” says Naami, brow knitted in concern before she opts for what surely must seem like safe territory. “What about your friends, your significant other, your family? Tell me about them.”

“Sure thing,” Rose replies, downing another gulp of wine. “Which one would you like to hear about first—my single, lonely, unemployed mum, or my dead dad?”

“Jesus, Rose,” Mickey breathes, as Naami’s eyes widen with shock. Rose absolutely expects her to form that perfect mouth into the shape of a pout, her big beautiful eyes brimming with false tears as sublime and round as the most luxurious of pearls while she gently pats Rose’s hand, trying to hide her cringe as her delicate princess-skin comes into contact with such a low commoner, all while she murmurs some retch-worthy patronizing claptrap about Oh, you poor thing, you poor wretched little thing, no wonder these generous two men took such pity on you, no wonder you’re all alone.

Rose nearly jumps out of her skin when Naami gently grasps her shoulder instead. “My gods, I’m so sorry,” Naami says quietly, and—and is Rose imagining things, or does she look like she actually means it? “Was it—was it very recent?”

Taken aback, Rose stammers, searching for words, but Naami just shakes herself. “Oh, of course, I’m so sorry, my dear; of course you don’t want to talk about such things with a stranger,” she says. “I only thought to ask because you seemed unusually out-of-sorts for someone attending the Allstorm celebration, and stupid me, I’m nosy even on the best of days and that just makes it even more of a problem with the attraction to emotionally unavailable people—but you didn’t ask about all that, I’m sorry, I’m babbling!”

She takes Rose’s free hand in both of hers, and she looks so sincere, so bleeding earnest, that Rose can’t help but believe her. “Please forgive my impudence,” Naami says, “and please accept my condolences for you and your mother. What a dreadful thing to happen. I’m really so sorry, darling.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Naami,” the Doctor pipes up, typing away at a computer terminal and frowning when he doesn’t like what he sees. “It happened a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Rose replies, her voice shaking. “Why be upset about that when there are so many more current things to be angry about?”

The clickety-clack of the Doctor’s fingers over the keyboard grows a little louder, his fingers tapping the keys just a little harder. “Or perhaps you could retire for the night, stop drinking for five entire minutes.”

“Oi, now, am I gonna have to separate you two?” Mickey jokes feebly, but Rose ignores him.

“Why, what’s wrong, Doctor?” she asks. “Am I embarrassing you?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” is the quiet reply.

Shame floods through Rose, leaving her lightheaded. Distantly, she hears Mickey snapping at the Doctor, hears the anger in his voice as he leaps to her defense, but she can’t hear his actual words over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears; she can only feel the hot anger of them, and the cool nothingness of the Doctor’s nonexistent reply. Rose’s cheeks burn and her stomach churns and she feels like she might be sick.

“Actually, I could do with a bit of a rest myself,” Naami tells Rose, her well-manicured hands fidgeting nervously. “Would you like company on your walk back, Rose?”

“No, ta,” says Rose tiredly, avoiding looking Naami in the eye; it’s exhausting to be so wrong about so many things all in one day, and she’s not quite ready to admit to herself that Naami may actually be a decent person, that maybe she lashed out at her without reason. Just another thing to make her want to curl up into herself like a pillbug until she dries out on the front porch, nothing but a hollow little husk left behind. “Don’t worry. He’s all yours.”

She leaves before anyone can stop her, skirts gathered in one hand, wine bottle in the other. Before too long, she finds her room again and slips out of her shoes, leaving them behind her as she walks, like the world’s most pathetic drunken Cinderella. She wonders if it’s midnight, yet, if her carriage will poof back into a pumpkin and her gown return to rags.

(Certainly no prince will come calling after her, not after the way she behaved tonight.)

Climbing into bed with her illicit treasure, Rose drinks until her eyes won’t stay open any longer.

***

Next Part

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roblnwheeler · 7 years

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I was tagged by the very lovely, @scorpivsmalfoys, thank you for tagging me! We must talk some time and get to know one and other officially :)

how tall are you?

5′10″ (though there’s been some recent and fierce debate on this statistic-- I’m sticking with this until an official heightologist tells me otherwise. Pride and all that, ya know? ;P)

what colour are your eyes?

Hazel

do you wear contacts and/or glasses? By pain of blindness, some form of one of these is constantly required if I want to see anything past the tip of my nose. I usually wear glasses, particularly a home, but I did recently get a prescription for contacts as well :)

do you wear braces? Unfortunately no, I have never felt their painful metalic embrace around my firm yet moldable teeth. And it shows. But, there has never really been a need for it other than cosmetics so I am grateful for that. Just a little jealous of my partner’s charming and uniformed smile :P

what is your fashion style? Currently, on break I’ve been sporting a to-die-for, shirt and no pants look around the house coupled with my, you-can’t-believe-it’s-not-one-of-her-animals-omg-there’s-so-much-hair-on-those barn clothes for the outdoors. In the presence of humanity however, I tend to upgrade to a slightly more dignified black sweats and a matching black zip-up with rotating shirts that peak through the gap left unzipped. My friend likes to say I look like a wrestler though it’s really just my uniform of sheer laziness and efficiency for my tired mind in the mornings. There are rumors I have the capability to dress nicely, very nicely, but those are things of myth seen only at conferences and certain public events that require a bit of schmoozing.

when were you born? November 8th, 1996

how old are you? If we do the math, with the components given to us in the question above, I do believe the answer comes out to be a striking, twenty-one. That’s right folks, I’m of that age in America where the kids go wild and party ‘til they drop like lead balloons. Fortunately, my middle-aged demeanor and endearment toward an old group of peers prevents me from adhering to this lifestyle. Instead, we play board games and sip our rum into the late hours and retire from this rowdy behavior tipsy at most with a dread for classes the next day. Wild, I know.

do you have any siblings? I do, but they was significantly older and shall not be spoken of further. In large part because there’s not much else to tell lol. I’m for all tense and purposes, a single child really.

what school/college do you go to? I would rather not say the name of the specific college I attend but it is in the North East of the United States.

what kind of student are you? Lately, I’ve been a rather languishing student by my normal standards. In a typical semester however I tend to receive straight A’s. I have a horrid habit however of not reading the course material but getting away this habit due to some finely honed ‘bs’ing skills, some intense intuition, and some vague prior knowledge of the subject matter. I’ve been trying to improve upon this to foster a stronger sense of accomplishment with my grades.

what are your favourite subjects? My two majors, Philosophy and Anthropology, consume a vast majority of my time at college and so classes surrounding these fields tend to be my favorites generally. My current class however, on white-collar crime has proven to be greatly educational and enjoyable.

what are your favourite movies? A dangerous question... It would be hard not to say the Harry Potter films of course. I also love Studio Ghibi films and I enjoyed the new Bright movie quite well. I am certain there is a surplus of movies I love but it is hard to remember them in the moment.

what are your favourite pastimes? Hanging out with my partner/close friends, playing d&d, binging shows and the like, being with my animals, watching YouTube, [used to be] writing fanfics [when I had inspiration to write]

do you have any regrets? No, because it all happened the way it was meant to. Everything that led me to where I am now, mistakes and all.

what is your dream job? That is an excellent question... One I will have to get back to you on the specifics. This is honestly a current problem in my life. I take comfort in knowing it’ll sort itself out one way or another.

would you like to get married? Traditionally, I would not consider marriage in most circumstances. I find most relationships would be happier without the legal entanglement because of their inevitable separation (this is not a knock on people or their relationships-- it’s just an observation on the way Americans live their lives. Many times people rush in or feel pressured into a marriage and it doesn’t work out). However, that said, I would very much like to marry my partner. We are highly compatible with one and other and we share a common outlook on life with reasonably parallel interests in the future. They make me incredibly happy and I cherish them very much. It’s hard to adequately describe my feelings about our relationship without sounding mushy or absurd.

do you want kids? how many? I would love to have children yes. I ideally would like to have three, relatively aged, though I’m not certain I’ll be able to keep up with them if they’re too close together lol.

how many countries have you visited? With my passport in hand, I can firmly say, one. The United States. I’ve sadly not had the opportunity to give this bad boy a work out yet. One day though, one day. If it counts for anything though, I’ve been to roughly 20 states or so thus far :)

what was your scariest dream? There have been some, dark and weird ones. Funniest but most ridiculously upsetting dream I’ve ever had happened to me my senior year of high school... I had a dream that a teacher I loved housesitting for was asking other students to housesit for her instead of me. Just stopped asking me for no reason. I woke up and wanted to cry, but one the same hand I realized how ridiculous it was and wanted to laugh.

do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend/significant other? Indeed I do. I have a very wonderful boyfriend who I met, a little over a year ago. As was featured in the marriage question above, I have a hard time describing my feelings for him but, he makes up a lot of the joy I have in my life and I’m unthinkably happy when I have an opportunity to spend time with him.

put your playlist on shuffle and without skipping list the first 15 songs: [This is the one question I’m going to skip because I was tagged in another music thing and my answers are going to be very bland as my library is so small. In summation, you’ll hear songs from The Wombats, DNCE, Pitbull, and a few singles from various different artists.]

Welcome to the end everyone, whether you read all this or scrolled passed it as fast as you could. Thank you again for tagging me Kayla, it was actually pretty fun answering these questions :)

i’m going to tag the following people, but they are in no way obligated to respond unless they wish to, this is all for good fun: @explodingsnap, @mollyprewett, @pavratipatil, @porpentincgoldstein, @muqqlestudies, @audreyweasley, @borqinandburkes, @theodorenqtt, @daphnenott, @disscndium

#nothp #about me #h was tagged

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je-suis-clarisse · 4 years

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Capture (Part 4)

1944. A few phone calls had gotten Peggy Carter precisely what she wanted. One Payne Z. Queen on the other end of the other end of the line. "Mr. Queen, my name is Agent Margaret Carter of the SSR. We have a mutual aquaintance, in one Clarisse du Volde," she began. The sound of bombs in the background didn't even phase her. She was used to it, as tired of it as she was. She was busy with Rogers and Captain Phillips, but this was important too. She kept in touch with the nurses whom Clarisse had been working with, telling them that if the vampire turned back up to let her know or if she happened to get any mail--anything of importance. This request was more fruitful; a pile of unopened letters had arrived and was sitting on her desk, each with 'urgent' written on the front. It was clearly from someone on the Front, given the fact that the envelope was slightly beaten up and dirty. Respecting Clarisse's privacy, Peggy didn't open every one, since it was clear they were from the same person. She only opened one and it had begun 'Kitten, I'm worried about you. I haven't heard from you in months. Are you angry with me? You made me promise I'd write you daily, but you've been silent. Were you wounded? Were you sent home? I need to know that you're alright, Clarisse...' She hadn't read further, not wanting to intrude on her privacy, but Peggy had done the research and found this Payne Queen. It had taken some work on her part, but she'd managed to arrange for a phone call when they reached a town for a bit of respite. Granted, judging by the sounds in the background, that was not happening. Payne sounded exhausted and uncertain of the woman on the line, but she wasn't sure how to put him at ease. There really wasn't a way to do so. As she had done with Elijah, Peggy decided to simply be upfront. Honesty went a long way. "I have news for you...though I would prefer to tell you face to face, that seems impossible right now." "Go ahead, Agent," came the reply. "Your ladyfriend has been captured by the Germans. " "Fucking son of a bi--...I'm sorry, ma'am." Peggy proceeded to dismiss the apology as unnecessary, explaining all of what Elijah had been able to garner before discovering that another facility was holding his wayward brother Niklaus. Knowing Payne existed, firstly, put her at ease as she knew that there would be someone to look for Clarisse. Elijah was obviously concerned, but he knew just as well as anyone, that Clarisse was not a weakling and she would survive somehow. The same could be said of his brother, but she supposed blood was thicker than water--Clarisse wasn't actually blood. "Carter, do you know where she is precisely?" "I cannot say that I do. They keep moving to throw us off their trail, the last I heard was somewhere in Berlin, or just outside of it. I must warn you, that there is always the possibility that she--" "You don't have to tell me, ma'am. But since you know her too...then you know she won't give up easily." "I've pulled some strings...and I managed to get you two weeks furlough..." Peggy let her voice trail off, her meaning clear. She'd gotten him two weeks to go find his lady. She didn't tell him that Clarisse had done a bit of spying for the SSR--a nurse could do a great deal when all manner of soldiers came into the hospitals. Simply wished him the best and told him that if he needed her assistance, she would do what she could. 1944. Berlin. Waking up in her cell, Clarisse was disoriented. The day prior, she had been once again subjected to the sun and burning. She had managed to kill two of the guards when she screamed; the high pitch of her scream piercing their eardrums. She didn't regret it. They'd been especially cruel to those in their charge. She had witnessed them putting salt in the wounds of two werewolves who had been subjected to torture. Seeing them hit the floor with blood flowing from their ears and their faces frozen with agony written across their features had provided her with a touch of glee that she'd not felt in weeks. Her body throbbed. She remained on the pallet on the floor, in the corner, hoping that they would leave her alone today. Her eye was bruised and her lip bloodied. The lack of blood made her slower to heal and she was miserable. She didn't even look at herself in the filthy pane of glass that they called a mirror, knowing full well that she looked ghastly. Yet..she wouldn't give in. Lost in her reverie, she thought of Payne; fingers brushing over her locket. She could almost remember his voice if she thought hard enough. And of his touch...what she wouldn't give to feel his arms around her right now! That silly moment at the train platform replayed in her mind, making her smile. If only she knew where he was. She thought of Elijah and Damon, Peggy, and Howard. Friends and family. Yet, there was a touch of bitterness--she had thought Elijah would have come for her. Not a stupid woman, she knew that he probably had gotten distracted and was on the hunt for his siblings. She'd have to get herself out of here. Herself and the others here. She'd allowed herself to listen to the thoughts of those surrounding her and had found there were twenty others. Ten had died. Even when they were torturing her, she refused to tell them anything. They wanted to know how to turn Hitler and how to make an army of vampires to help them turn the tide of war. They'd given him her blood, but with a taste, it did nothing. There was the process of turning someone and none of the other vampires and herself would give up the secret. As to the wolves, they didn't seem to be giving up their secrets either. In hopes of forcing her to talk, they had pulled her toenails out. They had threatened to yank her tongue out. They'd subjected her to some old fashioned torture devices, such as the rack. Her body had been subjected to all manner of torture, to see if she'd break. They underestimated her--Clarisse refused. Despite her desire to break, her agony, she still gave nothing. They'd burned her, using the sun and cackling as she refused to give in. Every bone in her hands had been broken, she was beaten, and were it not out of fear of her teeth and nails, she knew that some of the guards had a few other ideas. They had many horrid methods, and Silas had been subjected to methods of torture that she was truly surprised hadn't killed him. They'd done research on hypothermia on him, which was horrible. He was a wolf--his body temperature was hotter than most, and then they'd put him in freezing water for hours, trying to bring his temperature down. Then they'd put him into exceedingly hot water to bring it back up, to see what they could learn. It was a wonder to Clarisse, that the gentle giant of a wolf was still alive, considering how many times they'd done it to him. One of the favorites used upon them both was hanging them by their hands behind their backs until their shoulders were out of joint. Risse had gotten quite good at popping Silas' shoulders back into place; she had done it on the battlefield before, this wasn't all that different. She had talked him through it and he had done the same for her. She was rather certain that without the other supporting them, they'd die. But her determination to get them out was quite overwhelming. As she lay on her pallet, her eyes closed, she thought of the format of the place. They had moved them around about three weeks ago and she'd committed it to memory. It was one floor, but quite large. There was a section for the laboratory, another for vampires, another for wolves. They'd had witches but realising magical ability was something that they were born with, they stopped collecting them. There were some other rooms that as far as she could tell, were empty or just not used. Two were rooms with bunkbeds within them for the guards and one was a kitchen, where meals were prepared. Not that she cared too much for that. She had begun to give Silas her meals since they were useless for her. What she needed was blood. She was running low on her vials. Dozing off, she woke up when Silas called her name out. Two people were heading in towards them. One was a woman, the other was an officer she had never seen before. Clarisse rolled her eyes before closing them again. The keys in the lock of her cell agitated her and had she the energy, she would have burnt them. What she wanted was blood. But since that wasn't an option--it was going to be sleep. She screeched as the male grabbed her arm and he recoiled, noticing the burns. Pushing the woman forward as he stepped out, he spoke. "Drink, Fraulein. You are going to meet a special guest today." Snorting, Clarisse ignored him but when the scent of blood filled her senses, she felt the prick of her fangs against her bottom lip. She resisted but the young woman cut her own wrist and it was nature that answered. Two slow steps and the woman was in her arms...and a few moments later, she was dead on the floor. Clarisse took a moment to breathe, her body healed and she felt the best she had in ages. The Officer handed her a clean dress and took the body of the young woman, dragging it somewhere as the vampire changed into the fresh dress and did her hair. Looking over at Silas, she winked before stepping out of her cell, following the Officer as he led her down the hallways. It felt strange to be in control of herself. The only thing that looked off about her was that her face still bore the marks of the soldier who had hit her the day prior. Continuing to walk with him, they paused at a door and he knocked, opening it for her and letting her in before joining them for a moment. "Fraulein du Volde, this is Hauptsturmführer Ernst Gottlieb Schwarzkopf." The Officer spoke and Clarisse stood her ground, looking him over. He had a look of irritation on his features as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. The feeling was entirely mutual, she had to say. "You can go, Jakob," Schwarzkopf told the lower-ranking man. Leaving them alone in the room, the male rose and approached her. He was an intimidating figure, standing at least 6'5 and was in excellent shape. His blue eyes were most the piercing that she had ever seen, yet still, she said nothing. His finger traced along her jawline and she could feel her stomach flipflop. It took all of her good sense not to knock him down or slap him as he touched her without consent. His finger went down to her locket and she stepped back before he could touch it again. It was the only thing of hers that she had still and she'd be damned if this Nazi bastard took it from her. "You could end your suffering," he began in German before switching to English and approaching her again. "This would go so much easier for you if you would simply tell us how to change the Führer. Let us give him eternal life. Let history remember you for your contribution to the Third Reich." His face lit up with hope as he looked her over, eyes drinking her in. "Your face could be in history books. On stage. On posters. You'd be revered as a heroine. Is this not something you wish for? Redemption!" He raised her face up, cupping her cheeks and she winced; pulling away. "You don't need my blood for that," Clarisse countered finally. "Your Führer has achieved immortality. Every time his name is spoken, it will taste of the bitterest root and people will remember what a monster and scourge he is." Once again, she felt the sting of being backhanded and she hit the floor. He was the one at a disadvantage now. Having let her feed, Clarisse was at her full strength. Standing up again, her eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid, you'll regret that," she hissed, charging towards him, grabbing his knife as she tackled him. He didn't even notice at first as he drew his pistol, shooting several rounds at her. She hissed as one went through her right shoulder, another through her abdomen, and one embedded itself into her left shoulder. Clarisse growled and hissed, praying her aim was true as she threw the blade at him. She hoped, despite the pain, she would throw hard enough to pierce his heart. "How did you--" He asked, bewildered as the knife hit precisely where she hoped. "I had a good teacher," she responded as he sank to his knees. It took but a second for Clarisse to get behind him and to sink her fangs into his throat. His blood was rich and hot, strong. She supposed there was a perk to the Nazi's obsession with living healthy--it made them taste divine. As his heart began to slow, she punched through his chest, pulling the organ out. It had been years since she had felt a still-beating heart in her grasp. Veins roped around her slender wrist, forming a new bracelet and she tossed it aside carelessly. Taking his knives--he had several--and the keys to the rooms, Clarisse walked out into the hallway. Her escort was standing at the doorway and stared at her horrified. "I'm giving you a choice. You can die like your boss or you can help me," Clarisse spoke in German. The young man paused before nodding. "I need a uniform. And if anyone objects to this takeover--shoot them." She demanded, waiting for him to do her bidding. Once he arrived back, she changed out of the dress into the uniform. She felt physically ill as she put it on, but she wasn't staying another night in this hellhole. Heading for the room where she and Silas had been kept first, Clarisse walked in. The wolf glared at her, his eyes glowing in the dim light. "It's me. We're leaving." She assured him, unlocking his cell and then heading to another room and opening the cells and repeating the motion. Of course, it was never so easy as that. A truckload of soldiers arrived to relieve those within the walls of the compound. Seeing their prisoners escaping was not the way they expected to be greeted. Looking to the wolves, Clarisse met their gazes, nodding. She didn't know what languages they spoke, but she was quite delighted to see them shift into their true forms and to end the lives of their captors. The sound of skin being torn to shreds, of bones being broken and the screams made for a beautiful symphony of horror--and Clarisse for once, welcomed the cacophony.

#my writing

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rosietales-blog1 · 7 years

Text

The Set Up

{The continued adventures of the dastardly siblings as they set up their big robbery. Also, Captain Cold teaches you how to properly react when you misgender someone.}

A woman with a cute brown bob hairstyle sashayed into the bank. Flirting coyly with her fellow patrons, a wink here, a strategic blush there. She fiddled with her sunglasses, putting them on, taking them off, adjusting the way they sat on her face. By the time she reached the teller's window, the woman sitting there was rather distracted. The teller's face coloured prettily when the brunette reached across, brushing her fingers along the other woman's as she handed her a Kansas state driver's license and a cheque.

"Could you be an absolute doll and cash this for me, sugar? Silly old me forgot to hit the bank, and I have a long drive ahead of me." The young man at the next teller station leaned over to get a better look at her and she gave him a long, assessing look. "You're cute, honey, but this lady has my attention today. Maybe I'll catch you on my way back through." While the female teller counted out the brunette's money, an obnoxious honking came from a rather beat up Oldsmobile out front. Laughing she waved. "Five more minutes, Pops!"

Turning to her teller, the woman rolled her eyes. "I swear, the old man gets more and more ornery every year." Exchanging a look of commiseration the two females finished their exchange, flirtatious undercurrents making the air around them tense. With a final wave and a laugh, the brunette exits the bank, sliding into the passenger's side of the car. "I thought we weren't trying to draw attention, Lenny?"

The older Snart sibling pushed his sunglasses lower on his face to eyeball his companion, brows drawn together in disapproval. "Which is why, of course, you swanned around in there, dropping jaws?" Grunting in displeasure, he started up the car and pulled into traffic. "And I'm not old enough to be your Pops."

Sensing that just maybe his injured vanity was part of the current grumpiness, Lisa leaned across the centre console and gave her dearest big brother a dramatic and rather sloppy kiss on the cheek. "I know that, Lenny! I was just going with the moment. They couldn't see you from inside, regardless, so they wouldn't know the difference. I could have called you Mama and they wouldn't be the wiser." Leonard harrumphed again, but the corner of his mouth turned up slightly and the younger Snart sibling smiled. One of the perks of being the baby, he always jollied up for her right quick.

As they made their way across town to the car storage place, Lisa tugged off the wig, letting her blonde hair out of the horrid sweaty mess. Her normally bouncy curls clung to the sides of her head like damp seaweed, and she pulled a face. "Are you sure we can't stop back at mine and Roscoe's place so I can shower? I hate being in public all disheveled like this."

The man infamously known as Captain Cold gave a surprisingly gentle laugh. "I know, Lis, but it's better to get this over with today. Besides... no one can see you from inside anyways, right?" Thoroughly unimpressed with her brother's amused chuckle, she tugged the sweat-dampened strands into a half-reasonable ponytail before pulling out a small-scale copy of the bank blueprints. Studiously ignoring Leonard, she marked every place she'd seen a camera while inside the bank. While it wouldn't be a thorough representation of the security measures inside, it was better than the nothing they had before. Besides, her big brother could extrapolate from what she saw and fill in what other alarms and whatnot the bank might have.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of the car storage place, and Leonard exited the car, dropping his sunglasses in Lisa's lap. "Keep the engine running, I should be in and out right quick."

Inside the main office a disgruntled older man was shouting at the acne-riddled teen behind the counter. Taking this as his in, Len sauntered up, placing himself between the pair. "Now sir, is the volume of your voice receiving more answers from our young friend behind the counter? What's that? You're not looking for answers, you're just venting your frustrations on the first available youth that must nod and smile politely? What a damn surprise." The older - gentleman would be too kind a turn of phrase - man spluttered in indignation, face turning several shades darker. Leonard narrowed his eyes, "Of course, if you'd like to continue voicing your displeasure face to face with me, I'd be happy to step outside."

The blue collar criminal watched, expression hard and unreadable, as the irate customer struggled to get themself under control. Finally the older man spat out his assertion that he would never store his vehicle with this particular company again and stomped out. Leonard barked out a short laugh. "Good riddance. You okay there, son?"

The lanky youth behind the counter shifted uncomfortably. "Actually... I'm a girl."

Startled, Leonard took another look. They sure looked like a boy to him, but honestly, he had very little exposure to teenagers and fashion and women who didn't charge by the hour. "Sorry, my mistake miss. The question still stands, are you okay?"

The youth's shoulders visibly relaxed, and her tense expression faded into a much more pleasant half-smile. "I am, thanks mister. You sure put that guy in his place."

Giving his most charming smile, he takes the moment of solidarity to slide up to the counter. "Now, I was hoping to find a place to keep my great aunt's car while she's on vacation. I'm pretty worried at the local crime rate, can you tell me what safety precautions and security features I can expect from your employers?"

Smiling up at the man, just a hint of pink at her cheeks, the young salesgirl went into a practiced speech about the alarm systems and security cameras. "But don't take my word for it, if you'd like I can show you around the lot."

"That would be lovely, miss."

#Leonard Snart #Lisa Snart #Captain Cold #Golden Glider #mention of trans #fanfic #rosie writes

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kitemist · 8 years

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glitter force season 2 thoughts

with spoilers. I’m not happy.

This season sucked. A lot of dialogue was just plain inflated in a desperate attempt to replace “kuru”, “de dewasa”, and “oni” at the end of sentences. There’s no equivalent in English, of course, but you could at least cut it when they stop their original line.

“I was state champion” and season 1 “I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE FLAG OF THE” yes, yes, YES WE ALREADY FUCKING KNOW THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE AMERICAN. YOU’RE ERASING JAPAN’S EXISTENCE IN THIS SHOW, YOU CAN’T BE DECENT ENOUGH TO ERASE COUNTRY CONTEXT ALTOGETHER?

Shutting up for 3 seconds..please, at least 3 seconds...will not kill the children’s attention spans. Excessive talking is my biggest problem with this season. I bet not even 4kids did this.

Some dialogue was added in to make moments less scary. But to me, it just ruined how serious they were supposed to be. Such as the reveal that Pierrot is still alive after the pheonix power attack. Not only did that spoil so much ahead of time, but it killed the tension altogether. It sounded like they were on a middle school stage play desperate to fill the timeframe.

And the majority of them don’t even fit in with the context! Why all the “bad breath” comments?! And Candy being obsessed with pizza?!

April’s babysitting blues? Really? Nina? Because of nine-a??? REALLY?? Why not call your children one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, while you’re at it?!

I only give props to this season for keeping the cinderella episode, along with prince reika. Even that they’re a cute couple. <3

and for the robot episode too. thank you for not bashing on girls being nerds and liking stuff that’s geared toward boys.

You cut Brian out the first time but leave him in there for the second for his letter?? Why?? Even everyone falling backwards doesn’t make sense if they’re SWOONING over a celebrity with FROWNING faces!!

Same with the restaurant! Thank you for mentioning okinomiyaki in its full name (see season 1: “It’s kinda like Japanese pizza”) but we never knew any of this until now! You cut out the episode of her finding the true flavor but then leave this!

Netflix thumbnails spoil parts of episodes, such as ulric, brooha, and oni’s fairy forms. Why not have all of them contain stock footage?

Why add in dialogue in scenes where their mouths aren’t even moving? Even fanmade abridged series adhere to this!

You vignette cure happy’s stronger happy shower the first time against ulric but not the second. Along with narrating what’s there on the screen. You are very, VERY aware that your audience is not blind! Show, don’t tell! And are you really taking that one porygon episode into account or not??

The voice acting has declined. The only good voices that are performed well are the glitter shadow force and rascal. That’s it. Emily has that weird goofy tone in her voice that is slowly becoming more prominent. Just talk through your nose and end the suffering.

Young adult brooha is suddenly southern and it rubs off on ulric and red oni.

Happiness is mentioned so many times, by emily, even, it is slowly becoming less and less reasonable, even less than it already is, to change cure happy to glitter lucky just for the sake of one joke.

“It’s so dark. but maybe that’s just because my eyes are closed.” example of inflation of dialogue.

“Go back to the shadow realm!” sponsored by 4kids

“Wow, is that you, Pop? Your voice got really--aww seriously?!” This show kills itself

“Man, somebody sure needs a manicure.” and calling out on the glitter shadow force’s horrible haircuts, which are actually just alterations of your own. Was the writer drunk or what. Or are the actresses being paid by the word?

You keep all the madoka despair faces but then lighten the horrid mood that comes with them. Why. What were your censorship rules? Only entire episodes instead of pieces? Like cutting out filming a drama, the summer festival, the fashion show, the meaning of yayoi’s name, the funniest scene in the history of precure, the comedy duo’s special cameo...are you only allowed to cut them out altogether while leaving the rest semi-intact?

I’m pretty sure you can pass Brian as someone who came from England(which he already is in the original) and has no comprehension of American terms in English. Come feed the weird obsession American girls have with British accents.

“There’s a whole lotta flavors of ice cream I haven’t tried yet!” Why not apply this to your not-supposed-to-exist restaurant?

“I still haven’t scored a hat trick!” I bet not even Americans know what this even means. Why not mention how much you want to play with your many siblings? It’s more central to her than soccer, which is only seen once! Wait, there’s no unique personality in them anymore, that’s why.

“I still have to write more comics!” The only in character line here.

“I still want to learn geometry!” sigh. You already have. In that one episode where you had no idea what you wanted to do.

Pop has been looking at the jewel for 5 minutes when all it did was become a shield and suddenly knows everything about it. But smile precure wasn’t that great of a deep story by itself either.

Cutting out all the crying does shorten the episode like it did when chloe was about to go to london but then it just shows how bland the relationships without them are. They’re even more general than they already were. What about Nao and Reika, childhood best friends? There’s one between them and they can’t even have that? Nao sharing her joy of becoming a big sister with her was left in but not this?!

“But come on, we’re having a moment here!” Look, they said it too! It’s stupid! Ironically this ruins the moment too.

“I’ve been defeated? By a smile? THE HORROR!!” /) O 0 O (\

“Can we get pizza now?” what is with the new candy is obsessed with pizza thing. why.

without the smile part of the name, this little smile goodbye has no meaning in this dub.

Yayoi’s dad’s only appearance is short, sad, and unexplained.

“And bing, a new portal appeared!” p much how it happened in the original too. at least it feels that way.

The original theme song animation and sponsor shot’s only appearance is sad and dubbed over to non existent mouth movement.

A missed opportunity with Akane and Reika’s characters in the eng dub is the way they talk. Akane’s from Osaka, and the closest equivalent (that I can think of) can have her come from Texas. Reika speaks formally 99% of the time and she could have a British accent with fancy vocabulary. It would stay truer to the source material than having all 5 of them evolve into having overly generic personalities so common they could be placed in a harem anime.

But is Saban really looking for staying true to the source material? Ever since Season 1 this has been evolving into a completely different show than the innocent, sweet theme of Smile Precure. But since Smile Precure didn’t have much to offer in its original run, Saban is overkilling it trying to make it seem appealing.

#whiteOnslaught rambles #glitter force #spoilers

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