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snippychicke · 1 year ago

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Aftermath--Chapter One

Summary:

Raymond Chestnut gets a harsh surprise when he realizes the body in his living room isn't actually dead. Now he has a severely injured white man, who tried to kill him, to deal with. Thankfully he knows a friend who might be able to help.

Lorelei was used to people coming to her for medical attention. But when Raymond brings Otto to her home, nothing could prepare for how her life was about to change.

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Well, if you followed me like... 3-4 years ago, you may remember I was quite into the Swedes from The Umbrella Academy...

I never got over them to be honest.

So here we are, I am proving my screen name yet again with a rewrite of an old story! That I never finished! But hey, my writing skill have definitely improved.

For those unfamiliar, go watch season 2 of the Umbrella Academy. The blonde assassins? Those were the boys that inspired the rise of ol' Ikea Mafia Fam. As well as the following story in which a white woman born in the 80's tries to write the perspective of a poc woman in the 60s. (and prays she is not being offensive in any way and begs forgiveness if she is.)

Also:

Herb did not, in fact, take away the dead body of the Swede Assassin.

It was still laying in Raymond's living room, long after everyone else had disappeared in flashes of blue lights. Wrapped tightly in the rug his sister had gifted him and Allison on their wedding day.

Silent.

Foreboding.

Raymond watched the unmoving figure as he sipped at his scotch. There was no way in hell he could move it by himself. And who could he trust to ask for help to move it?

To move him, Raymond reminded himself harshly. It wasn't an it, it was a ‘him.’ That was a human body resting in his living room.

Who, admittedly, had tried to kill him and Allison. But still, Raymond could at least acknowledge him as a fellow human. After all, Raymond had tried so hard to be the respectful and peaceful man his grandmother raised him to be. Even when faced with the violence because of his involvement with the protests, or being unfairly treated time after time because of racism, he never raised so much as a hand to another human being.

He shouldn't try to deny another man his humanity, even if he was a dead would-be murderer.

But he was still stuck with a dead white man in his living room. It didn't matter that the man and his brother had forced their way into their home (his home, now that Allison was gone, but he didn't want to deal with that heartache on top of everything) with intent to kill both of them.

All the law would see was a white man dead in a colored man's house.

He would go to prison… No. He was going to be lynched for this. Old-fashioned hung from a tree for the whole city to see.

Raymond tipped the rest of the scotch back and poured another full glass as the liquid burned its way to his stomach. All of his work, gone. He had abandoned his education and teaching position so he could do his part for the Civil Rights movement. He had hoped he could do some good.

And instead, he had made things worse.

It was probably a good thing Allison had…left to be with her family. It was comforting to know she was safe and alive somewhere somewhen. A small, cold, comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

His lips touched the glass for another swig when he heard it. A noise so soft and quiet he was sure he had imagined it. Still, it made him freeze, his body tense as he held his breath, eyes darting to the rug.

No. The man was dead. It had been hours since the attack. There was no way he could be somehow still alive.

Raymond shook his head, deciding it was probably just the house settling, and shot back the drink once more, feeling the burn in his throat match the burn of his eyes. His whole life had just ended. It wouldn't be long before he would join…

His somber thoughts were cut off by another sound, this one unmistakable.

A groan of pain.

Raymond startled and jumped to his feet, throwing his glass out of reflex towards the body, which grunted as the glass bounced off the rug and shattered on the floor. He grabbed a butterknife off the table and held it towards the body; the cutlery shaking in his hand as he stared at the body.

But there was only silence. For what felt like hours, Raymond stood frozen yet mentally daring it to do something. Anything. If it did, he would… he would…

The rug moved as another groan cut through the heavy silence. There was no doubting the haggard breathing and muffled moan of pain that quickly increased in both volume and frequency. Raymond cursed every foul word his grandmother would've washed his mouth out for and ran back to the kitchen to grab an actual knife. The long thick butcher’s knife his wife had used so skillfully once upon a time.

He pushed that thought away and stalked back to the living room, gripping the wooden handle tightly in his shaking hand. Raymond towered over the rug, knife poised to strike where he assumed the man’s chest was. He had to do something swift. Otherwise…

Otherwise what? He was already a deadman walking.

The knife clattered harmlessly to the floor as Raymond regained his senses. He was going to die either way, but wouldn't it be better to die innocent than guilty? Not just for his soul, but for the Civil Rights movement? His brother and sisters?

Raymond dropped to his knees and desperately undid the knots he and Allison had tied, allowing the rug to fall open. The man's face was no longer placid with death, but grimacing in pain, pale lips pursed as he sucked in haggard breaths. Blood was caked dry around the remains of his right eye, dark purple and black bruises colored his neck, while the rest of his skin was as pale as his blond hair.

"Hey, uh buddy," Raymond said as he placed a hand on his shoulder, earning a painful grunt that caused him to yank his hand away. "Right. Sorry. Let's… let's get you to a hospital." Except questions would be asked, and Raymond would definitely be arrested.

But… what if there was a chance he could avoid that? Someone that could help him and the man before him.

"Actually, on second thought..."

~❖~

Lorelei groaned as she fell into the old couch, slipping off her shoes and rubbing the ache from her feet. The third twelve-hour shift in a row at the hospital had left the young nurse sore and exhausted. This week had been crazy between the street shooting and the asylum patients escaping.

Then there was the man found in the woods. She grimaced at the memory of being briefed by the operating room's recovery nurse as she was assigned to John Doe for the rest of her shift because the white nurse had been overwhelmed and needed help (nevermind the black's unit had been just as understaffed before they had dragged her away). Even though the nurse had rattled off the injuries--including the traumatic amputation of his leg-- seeing the young man as white as the sheets, covered in bandages, left her heart sore.

Dr. Wilson and his team had done their best, but they all had their doubts. No one knew how long the man had been in the woods, wounded. It had been a miracle he hadn't bled to death. But there had been plenty of time for sepsis to set in.

Lorelei's eyes were starting to drift shut when somebody desperately knocked at the front door; hard and frantic enough to rattle the glass panes of the windows. Her eyes shot back open and she jumped up out of instinct, her heart thundering in her chest as she stumbled around the coffee table to open the door.

She knew it was going to be an emergency, knew that she should expect anything, but yet she wasn't prepared for Raymond Chestnut to be standing on her old porch, a man nearly twice his size leaning heavily on him with an ill-fitting tan suit covered in blood.

A very pale, very white man.

"What the hell?" she started, automatically shifting to the white man's side, having to lift his arm to sling it over her shoulder to help support his weight.

People coming to her was no surprise. It was normal for her the way people in their neighborhood would knock on her door for help, ranging from childhood bumps and bruises, injuries from teenagers getting into fights, and other emergencies.

But that was from people in their neighborhood-- which was very much a black community. And while she was about as white-passing as they could get-- barely passing the paper-bag test most days--her skin was still far darker than the man she helped Raymond half-drag inside.

Her stomach curdled at the wounds she saw, though the bloody mess of an eye was probably the worst. One slight touch to the unconscious man's cheek and he snarled as he shifted away, his other eye fluttering beneath its closed eyelid. "Shit. We need to get him to a hospital, Ray!"

"I know!" he hissed back, keeping his voice low despite the fact the door was closed and no one else in the old two-story house but them. "But can you imagine me pulling in the ER with him like this? I'd be lynched by dawn!"

"What even happened?" She asked, noticing the darkening bruise around his neck. Without hesitating she quickly undid the silk tie and ripped the white shirt open. There was no mistaking the shadowing of hand-prints that wrapped around his neck. Obviously not an accident, but if Raymond got in a fight, and one serious enough to do this kind of damage, why would he bring the man here?

Nevermind that Raymond was as pacifistic as it got, and she couldn't see him doing this. Hell, even if Raymond was fighting for his life, she doubted he could cause this kind of damage.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said with a dry tone, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Hell, I barely believe it, and I lived through it."

She shot him a look, "I worked in the ER on a full moon on Halloween this year. Try me."

Before he could begin, however, she stood and quickly disappeared into the kitchen. Raymond could hear the faucet running as she rummaged through drawers, and within a minute she was back with a basin of water and more than a few washcloths. "Well?" She snipped as she soaked a washcloth and wrung it out before starting to work on the caked blood around his eye, making the man hiss and flinch but not wake up.

"Him and his brother came to my house and attacked Ally and I. Allison did that," he gestured to the eye covered by a washcloth, "before telling his brother to kill him. Which I certainly thought he did when he strangled him, but…obviously not. So, here we are."

Lorelei paused and looked at him, confused and sure Raymond was lying to her. In fact, she was about to call out bullshit when she noticed the solemn look on his face. Raymond was a poor liar, and there was no way he could lie about something like this when he could barely keep a straight face about who had stolen the collards out of her abysmal attempt at a garden.

Yet there was nothing but complete honesty when he met her gaze, making her swear under her breath.

Allison, while always a bit different and headstrong for sure, was still a lady. Lorelei had a hard time seeing the hairdresser stabbing someone. Granted, being attacked in her own home would make anyone lash out.

But the attempted strangulation? And she told the man’s brother to do so, and then he apparently followed through with her command? How? Why?

As perplexing as the mystery was, right now it didn't matter. She had a patient to tend to, the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ did really matter. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and shifted to stand. "Come on, let's get him back in your car and get him to the hospital. We can say we found him on my doorstep like this. Dr. Cahoy is working tonight, and..."

The man's hand suddenly shot up and gripped Lorelei's wrist tightly, making her freeze and Raymond tense. The man's other eye was open and staring hard at her, the soft blue somehow violent. "No," he said, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper.

"No?" She repeated, incredulous. "I can't treat the trauma to that eye. We need to take you to the hospital."

"No," he repeated, his hand tightening slightly, his fingers easily encompassing her small wrist. For a moment, Lorelei feared he would pop her wrist out of joint. Yet after a brief moment his grip relaxed, though he didn't let go.

"You do realize you could lose your eye," Lorelei started, mentally adding 'if you haven't already.' The bloody mess concealed most of the damage, but she feared the worst already. Eyes couldn’t take a lot of damage before becoming blind, or needing to be removed. And, well, this one had been rather severely damaged.

The man stayed silent, his gaze not leaving hers. There wasn't an ounce of fear or worry in his expression. Just stubbornness and acceptance. "Fine," she sighed, giving in. "But in return for my services, you have to promise not to go after Ray and Allie, okay? Or any negro for that matter."

That was a big bluff for her to take, trying to demand that a white man make her a promise? Yet instead of being incensed, his gaze glanced briefly at Raymond before his eye fluttered close and he let go of her in apparent agreement.

Lorelei stood, rubbing her wrist as she mulled her options. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. White men could get the care they need at the drop of a hat. They could get quality care no matter where they went. She needed to save her stores for those not so fortunate.

Yet something in her gut was leading her towards an idea that there was something was not quite right with the situation beyond the obvious. He only said one word, but there was a definite accent to it, and not one she was familiar with either. Her gut was telling her that she had to help him, and not just dump him off at the nearest ER.

"Ray, start boiling some water. Grab the pack of gauze and gloves under the sink too."

Raymond didn't ask any questions but nodded his head and followed her directions. Lorelei sighed as she touched the man's shoulder, making him crack open his good eye once more. "I'm serious here,” she continued softly yet firm. “I am not a doctor. I can do my best, but I doubt I can do anything to save your eye. You need a hospital."

"No," he repeated, though this time softer. Almost apologetic, as if he understood the moral quandary he was putting her through. Which, sympathy from a white man was just about as unbelievable as the rest of this.

She pushed the thought away. "Do you have any plans to hurt Ray or Allie?"

"...no." he closed his eye, becoming stoic but not before she saw a flash of something. Anguish? Regret? Or just pain?

"I'm holding you to that.” She didn’t much care about herself, but she wanted to protect her old friend and his wife. “Now, give me a name I can call you-- I don't need to be your real one," she continued as he looked at her strangely. "I just need a name you'll answer to."

"...Otto." That time she caught the accent but still didn't have an idea of where. Definitely not any of the local American drawls. Maybe that was why he was so much kinder than the usual white.

"Well, Otto, I'm Lorelei,” she returned with a tight smile. “And this is probably going to hurt like a son of a bitch."

#the swedes #tua #tua the swedes #tua otto #oscar tua #otto/oc #the umbrella academy season 2

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therogueflame · 1 month ago

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The Twins and One

So here is an idea for a fic that I shared with an incredible writer and mutual, @aeralux. (She will be waking up to 100 notifications but oh well.) I wanted to share it with you, and get your opinion on whether I should start writing. Please know that I have not written in years, and that this is a very, very rough draft. This dialogue came to me while I was driving. This is not done, and will be expanded on either by me or Aera.

Update (1/8/2025): Check out the final version HERE!

cregan stark x wife!reader x FraternalTwin!jace

Warnings: A little more than suggestive, targcest, cuckholding, impending threesome.

MDNI!!!

🤍

it was the hour of the wolf. Jace walks the cold halls of winterfell, missing the warmth of the south, and the warmth of his family. he is wrapped in a borrowed wolf fur coat, from cregan, and it is about two sizes too large for him. his sword rests at his hip, and he holds the hilt as a sort of reassurance.

his mind is racing with thoughts of war and thoughts of you. for the first time in his life, he has spent more than a moon's turn from his beloved twin sister. it had been six months since jace had escorted you north for your wedding to cregan. he knew this day would come someday, but he did not think it would be so shortly after your twentieth nameday. cregan stark is a good man, and is one of the crown's closest allies. jace and cregan were like brothers, but he could not help to think that he should have been your husband instead.

growing up, you always explored each other's bodies. you came into the world as one, and were practically attached at the hip. "one soul, two bodies," became a pointed remark at the red keep, meant to call out how often you were found at each other's side, but you and jace embraced it. it was true. you were his confidant, his sister, the more brazen flame compared to his tempered one. you were his lover.

as he walks, his thoughts run wild over the last time he saw you in front of him. the curve of your breasts complimenting the curve of your waist. your hair not a rich brown like his, but the same as your mother's - as pale as the moon on its fullest night. your eyes the palest purple seen in the family, reflecting your undeniable heritage.

you were his and he was yours.

he is snapped back into reality as he passes your chambers, noises coming from within them. weary and restless, jace pushes the thick door swiftly open, fully expecting you to be struggling with a dangerous man for your life. without a second thought, and before the situation is fully realized, he unsheaths his sword, ready to defend you from whoever could be harming you. and then there you are. while you are admist a struggle with a dangerous man, it is not for your life.

cregan looks up at the interruption, but seems unphased. his large body is over yours, his palms next to your head as he prepares to thrust into you. you tilt your head back towards the door, the world upside down.

"Jace?" you murmur. Cregan sits back on his knees, not bothering to cover you or himself up.

"Are you going to stand there like a frail pup or are you going to join us?" Cregan asked, and your eyes shot up to him. before you could say anything, cregan continued. "Your dear sister told me about what it was like growing up with you." You blush heavily. "Targaryens and their queer customs. But tradition is tradition. And us northmen are big on tradition."

Jace stands there, mouth wide open, not sure what to say.

"Jace, if you are going to stand and watch, could you at least shut the door?" Jace scurries to shut the door and put his sword back, clearly still shocked at the situation he has found himself in.

"Come, my young prince," cregan says as he gets up, "i want to see how you pleasured her in the south. She is always saying how much she misses you."

You roll over to your stomach as Cregan walks over to clap a hand on Jace's shoulder.

"My dear brother, I do not think I have ever seen you so speechless." you tease.

Jace looks at you, and then Cregan, and then back to you.

"Are you sure?" he looks more nervous than he did the day he claimed Vermax.

"It'll be just like old times, brother. You always did have your way with me, it will just include my other favorite man this time." you purr.

You push yourself off the bed, and walk over to where Cregan and Jace are standing. You are just as naked as you were the day you were born, and you know this is his favorite way to see you. You stroke his cheek and breathily kiss his neck. Your hands roam, pushing off his cloak in one motion and beginning to unbutton his tunic. Cregan retreats to the foot of the bed to watch. You smile against Jace's neck as he begins to relax, and you move his hands to the small of your back.

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