#the root of the matter is that they can piss on graves and say they’re scared because that’s the narrative around brown people | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years ago

Text

Blue Eyes Part 10

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 10: Tommy visits Alfie, Charlie is taken.

Alfie’s fingers drummed impatiently on his desk. He was itching to just get the meeting with Tommy over with. He’d suffered enough as far as he was concerned. Seeing Ella cry, being the reason for her tears. Unbearable. But his hands were tied, what else could he reasonably do?

Still, Tommy was prolonging the visit. Taking his time walking to Alfie’s office, sitting down, adjusting his tie pin (pretentious ass), and painstakingly lighting a cigarette.

Alfie stifled a groan in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s safe, what?” His patience was wearing unbelievably thin. Another five seconds and he was sure he would start doling out well-deserved threats.

“You made my sister cry,” Tommy informed him as if he didn’t already know.

The man narrowed his eyes. “I did? Me? I’m the one who made her cry? You sure ‘bout that, mate?” He hissed.

It was infuriating that nothing he could ever do would disturb the Brummie. He simply raised an eyebrow and watched the end of his cigarette slowly burn away. “What can I do to make you change your mind about my proposition?”

“Proposition.” Alfie laughed bitterly and toyed with a pen to keep his hands busy. “Tommy, you’ve been ‘round the block before. Surely you must know that a woman doesn’t want to be offered up as a token for loyalty. So what you can do, right, is take back your words and leave me be on the matter. Sound good?” When he didn’t get an immediate answer, he switched subjects. “You’re here to talk business, meeting the Russians tonight. I must urge you to inquire about Faberge eggs. You can toss ‘bout diamonds and sapphires or whatever, yeah, but that’s the real prize, innit? With a couple of fine pieces and an egg, you’ll easily get your fill of forty grand.” What came across as helpful was simply Alfie setting up the opening stages of his own plan.

Tommy nodded and looked interested in the possibility. “I can do that. They’re tricky but perhaps you’ll be able to persuade them a little further.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and grunted in agreement. “Whatever I can do, mate.”

But apparently, the Blinder wasn’t done with the previous issue. “So you have no intention of marrying my sister.”

Alfie nearly blew a gasket. “You fucking Birmingham folk don’t ever let go of things, do ya?” He snapped.

Calmly, Tommy tapped a bit of ash off his cigarette and cleared his throat. “It’s a simple question, Mr. Solomons.”

“Don’t think it’s any of your business, mate. Never has and frankly, it never will.” He growled. “That’s my decision, innit?”

“I’ll take that as a no then.”

“Fuck off.”

Tommy took one last drag before standing up. “Just trying to clarify, Alfie.” He buttoned his coat and flicked the cigarette into the ashtray on the desk that was really only used by him whenever he visited. “I’ve got other alliances I can make. You think our kin should stay with our kin. Since Ella isn’t Jewish and you’re so adamant about that, I s’pose it’s only fair to uphold our own roots. I’ve got inquiries from a family of Travelers.”

Alfie’s hand slowly went to his waistband where his pistol was tucked away. Anger in his blood started to rise to a boiling point. His fingers curled around the pistol, ready to pull it out on the Blinder for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was a miracle Tommy wasn’t already riddled with bullets so late in their business relationship.

“They’re worse than we are. You’d think we were the poshest folk you’ve ever seen if you met them.” Tommy continued to bait Alfie, taunt him and get him to the point of no return. Get him to realize that Ella wasn’t to be toyed with and her brother wouldn’t tolerate this game Alfie was playing with her. “Savages, really. But they’re effective, aye? An alliance with them would give me enough power to start taking more areas. Maybe areas a little closer to Camden.”

“Tommy, I swear to whatever fucking pagan being you believe in, I’m going to blow your brains all over this fucking office.” Alfie’s face was starting to go red with rage and he was ready to pull out his pistol. Of course, he knew the man was just trying to rile him up. Manipulate him into doing his bidding. Ride or die, that’s how they both operated. But Alfie also knew that Tommy was ruthless enough to go through with what he was threatening. He’d made an alliance with the Lees by marrying John off. He very well could do the same to Ella. And Alfie would lose her for good. It made his heart compress painfully at the thought.

Tommy put a hand in his pocket and retrieved something. He approached Alfie’s desk and dropped the small item. “That was the ring my father gave my mother.” He explained in a steady voice, fully aware that Alfie was armed and angry enough to do exactly what he threatened. “I’ll leave it with you for a week. After that week, if you haven’t made your decision, I’ll return and I’ll take it back. Rest assured, Mr. Solomons, after that, the ring will go to someone else who won’t wait.”

Alfie’s jaw clenched. “I can’t fucking wait to spit on your grave.” He snarled viciously.

“Neither can I, Alfie,” Tommy responded without skipping a beat and took his leave.

Alfie loosened his grip on his gun and heaved out an exasperated sigh. He eyed the ring sitting on the desk near the ashtray where Tommy’s still smoking cigarette sat. For a moment, he didn’t even want to touch the thing, convinced it had some gypsy curse on it. But curiosity got the better of him and he picked up the piece of jewelry. It was a simple gold ring that needed a good polishing. Mounted was a round cut topaz stone that was small enough for him to scoff at. No wife of his would wear something so modest.

But that wasn’t why Tommy gave it to him. It was the sentiment behind the gem that would mean more to Ella.

Alfie turned the ring around in his fingers for a little bit, his mind racing. What would he do if he learned Ella had been pawned off to some gypsy clan? God was truly testing him. The only woman he ever loved just happened to be the sister of the most infuriating man to ever grace the planet. Just his luck.

He grumbled a few obscenities under his breath and tucked the ring into his pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was always a strange phenomenon seeing the Shelby Company at work. Socialites mixing with folk who grew up in the slums. Some could say it was possible to move up in the world. To step into another social class and fit right in. Some disagreed. Just because you put on a nice outfit and some gold didn’t make you anything different. You were still the person you were born as just dressed to the nines.

But Ella thought her brother looked like he fit right in. As he stood in front of the group gathered for the opening of Grace’s foundation, he didn’t look out of place. Even with a Brummie accent, he spoke with the esteem of a businessman. Because that’s what he was. It didn’t matter what he did to make his company rise from the dirt, he conducted business. They all did, to a certain extent. And if Tommy’s predictions were sound, they’d be a legitimate company. Still, the suspicion and fear would linger, there was no denying that. Whispers would continue to float around about how the Shelbys grasped the reins of power.

After he spoke in front of the gathered crowd, Tommy slipped out of the room. Ella stood and excused herself to Ada who was sitting beside her. She followed her brother out into the hall.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and eyes fixed on the photograph of his wife. Grace’s serene expression surrounded by wreaths and garlands of flowers. Some of her favorites when she was still alive.

Ella went to stand beside her brother, touching his shoulder to alert him of her presence. “Doing alright?” She could imagine it was an emotional day for him. He would see the production of his wife’s dream without her there beside him. On top of the added stress of everything else going on.

He nodded solemnly, his eyes never moving from Grace.

“Mum’s ring is missing.” There wasn’t concern or anxiety. Ella had a sneaking suspicion of where it had gone. Only her siblings and Polly knew that she kept the family heirloom in her jewelry box. “I couldn’t find it when I was putting on my earrings this morning.”

“I know,” Tommy answered. “I took it.”

She glanced over at him, hoping for more of an explanation than he offered. But she wouldn’t get the chance to ask any follow-up questions.

“The absence of my invitation for this event was obviously an oversight on your part, Mr. Shelby.” The thick Irish accent was unfamiliar to Ella, but Tommy appeared to be well acquainted with it. His jaw immediately clenched as he turned around.

Ella did the same and saw the priest standing in the hallway. Something about the man gave her a sinking feeling in her gut. Based on Tommy’s reaction, she could assume this was the man that they planned to kill. A man of the cloth.

“Ah, Miss Shelby, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Father Hughes smiled with malice in his eyes.

Tommy subtly placed himself in front of his sister, taking a step forward to place her behind his shoulder.

“The woman who fell in love with the Jew.”

Ella was unsure how this man had managed to stay alive so long. He’d pissed off the wrong people too many times. People like him didn’t last long when it came to the Peaky Blinders. But she had a feeling there was a reason Tommy was waiting. All it took was the right moment. And certainly in the middle of a social event opening an orphanage in broad daylight was not the right moment.

But what really sent a chill down her spine was how he seemed to know everything. Things that the average passerby didn’t. He knew about Alfie.

“Go to the reception, El,” Tommy said quietly.

“Tom…” She was uneasy about leaving him alone with the priest.

“I’ll be right there, go.” Her brother replied firmly.

Reluctantly, Ella nodded and made her way down the hall to find her family. As she passed, Hughes gave her a sickeningly smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella couldn’t shake the bad feeling she got from Father Hughes. She stayed close to her family to feel safe, bouncing back and forth when the conversation bored her.

Ada sighed and tried to soothe Charlie who was fussing loudly. She rocked him back and forth. “He doesn’t want to play with Karl after he took his train.” She shook her head.

Ella smiled. “So much like Tommy. Never satisfied when things don’t go his way.” She agreed and tried to hush her nephew to no avail.

“I know, love, you want dad? Here we go, let’s find him.” Ada decided and headed over to her brother to pass Charlie off.

Ella lingered by the table with pastries and finger sandwiches but she didn’t have much of an appetite. Her mind was like a switch, flipping from one worry to another. Why did Tommy take their mother’s ring from her jewelry box? What had he talked to the priest about?

When Ada returned, the sister’s chatted about nonsense. Ella tried to get her mind off her anxiety and hoped she was simply overreacting. But the bad feeling turned into something all too real.

Tommy walked over to them. “Where’s Charles?” He asked with a confused look.

Ada frowned. “I gave him to you.”

“Where is he?” Tommy demanded again.

“He was just here.” Ella felt immediate panic spark in her chest, rising to her throat. “Where could he have gone?”

Tommy rushed over from family member to family member asking the same question. And within seconds, madness ensued. The Blinders were scattered about, searching the building and running outside to find the missing boy. Ella felt dizzy as she ran through the halls of the new building, trying every door, which was firmly locked.

“Charlie?!” She shouted, her voice following her through the vast hallways.

“El!” Ada’s heels clicked across the smooth floor. “They’ve taken him, they took him into a car.”

“No, they…he was right there!” Ella was shaking with fear. The threat was so close, maybe none of them even realized. The entire time, they had enemies breathing down the back of their neck. If they could simply snatch a toddler in a crowded room with his father right there, then there was no telling what else they could or would do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The rain sounded like pebbles against the window. It was mildly soothing but the night was heightened by anticipation and fear. Polly gently stroked Ella’s hair as they waited in the betting shop.

Tommy entered like a storm. Dripping from the rain and with a silent fury that filled the room. “Where’s Linda?” He demanded.

“With Esme.”

“Esme’s water broke.” John entered from the back door still wearing his coat and hat.

“I need to know who spoke.” Tommy’s eyes passed from each of his family members in the room. “Our enemies know everything. Everything. I need to know who spoke about business outside.” His voice became more insistent and his steely expression turned paranoid. “I need to know who spoke and who they spoke to, now.”

Arthur tried to step in but Tommy was already too far gone. The man looked from person to person, his face still stained by the rain.

“Your wife, Arthur? Or Esme getting cash for cocaine. And you two.” Tommy turned to his sisters. “Back in the family, aye? Out of the blue.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’d let something like this happen?” She challenged.

“If anyone has talked about the tunnel to anyone else, I need to know this second!” Tommy snapped.

She stood and gave him a disappointed glare. “I’m not going to sit around and let you speak to me like this. Not after everything you’ve done to this family.” She could sympathize with her brother. He lost his only son, the only thing of Grace he had left. But somewhere along the line, he’d found himself in that position because of his own choices. Ella left the betting shop and retreated upstairs to her room.

Tommy looked to the doorway where she disappeared. There was someone else. Someone else who knew. Not only that, it was someone who held that damn egg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella spent the night in her room, curled up in bed under the quilts. The rain continued until the morning, leaving a fog over Birmingham. The first thought upon seeing the daylight filtering in through the lace windows was about her nephew’s safety. There wasn’t much more she could do other than pray he was okay.

It was hardly seven in the morning when there was a brief knock at the door and the knob turning.

“El, get up.” Tommy entered a second later.

“I’m still sleeping.” She said even though she was staring at the opposite wall while lying on her side.

“It wasn’t a request. I need you in the car, now.” He looked disheveled, most likely he didn’t sleep at all that night.

“I’m not doing any of your dirty work, Tom. Not after the way you spoke to everyone last night.” She made no effort to get up.

“Ella, fucking get up and be downstairs in two minutes.” He ordered in the voice she used to fear. The voice that used to let her know that she was in trouble. Maybe for telling fortunes at school, biting John’s arm, or hiding from him when they were called inside for dinner at dusk. He had been an authority figure in her life ever since she could remember. But she’d gotten sick of it. Fed up with his complex.

She sighed heavily and sat up. “I’m only doing this because of Charlie, not because of the way you’re acting now.” She made sure that was clear before he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy parked outside of a large warehouse that Ella was unfamiliar with. She was sat in the backseat while Michael sat in the passenger seat. Neither of them cared to explain what they were doing there.

“Wait here,” Tommy ordered firmly and stepped out of the car.

Ella let out a frustrated sigh. “So he’s just brought us along to make us wait outside?” She lamented to her cousin.

Michael shrugged and made himself busy by loading his pistol with bullets. “He has a plan.”

“Yeah, always seems to have some sort of plan.” Ella decided she wasn’t going to just sit in the car and went to step out.

Michael turned around in the front seat. “He doesn’t want us to…”

“I’ll be fine.” She cut him off and shut the door behind her. Tucking her pistol in her holster tucked under her fur-lined coat, she made her way into the warehouse.

Her entrance caused a pause in the conversation. But she was the most surprised when she saw Alfie standing a little bit away from her brother. His blue eyes watched her with a hint of apprehension, unsure what her reaction would be to him.

Tommy was the first to speak. “Ella, I told you to wait in the car-”

She didn’t listen and began walking straight for Alfie. The man beside the Jewish gangster tensed up a bit at her fast approach. But Alfie waved him off and let her step right into his space.

Without a word, she reached into his heavy, black overcoat. Searching his inside pockets until she found what she was looking for. Her mother’s ring.

Alfie almost looked guilty. Guilty for having it. Guilty for keeping it, instead of giving it back to Tommy. Guilty for holding onto the physical hope that he could still have Ella.

She held it up to his face. Her lower lip trembled but her eyes didn’t dare move from his. “Why’d he give this to you?” Her voice shook. Everything continued to pack on, putting more and more weight on her shoulders and making her more and more confused. The push and pull was agonizing and she was going to end it.

“Ella,” Tommy spoke firmly, trying to get her away from Alfie.

“Answer me.” She ignored her brother unaware that he had drawn his gun.

Alfie noticed the pistol. “Go back to the car.” He spoke gently but wanted to get her out of the way.

“Why did he give this to you?” Ella shouted. Her words echoed through the large warehouse and caused a few birds to spook off their perches.

The space went silent for a moment, and then Tommy cocked his gun. The metallic clicking sound was too familiar to Ella. Initially, it used to mark the thrill of the hunt. Getting ready to claim a prize after tracking it patiently through the woods. Now it meant death. Retaliation. Fear. Power.

Ella turned around but didn’t move out of the way. Standing in front of Alfie, she glared at her brother. “Tell me.”

“Ella, move.” Tommy’s hand didn’t lower but she noticed it was shaking ever so slightly.

“Why did you give this to him?” She repeated herself.

“It was a mistake. You can take it back.” Tommy looked past her, over her shoulder at the gangster. “It’s not his to give anymore.”

“Why?”

“He left the richest name off the list.” Her brother answered, his eyes were cold.

“What are you…”

Tommy’s anger was palpable as he continued to point the gun forward. “He made a deal with the Oddfellows. Told them about the tunnel, told them about the deal with the Soviets.”

Ella froze for what felt like hours. She didn’t want to turn around and face the man she loved. The man who had held her heart in his hands while he went behind her back. “No…” The word came out long and sounded foreign to even herself. Finally, she faced Alfie again. “You did this?”

The man was facing two worlds colliding together. Two different faces of his self. The brash, unapologetic, ruthless gangster and the man who found the one person on the planet who saw his vulnerable side. “Things you don’t understand…”

“Tell me what I don’t understand!” Ella snapped. She was beyond the point of acting patient and listening to the men in her life speak. It was her turn. She’d waited long enough. “Everyone ‘round here thinks I don’t fucking understand anything. So, please, fucking enlighten me. Tell me what I don’t understand!”

“I told you he couldn’t be trusted,” Tommy spoke up.

Ella just laughed sarcastically. “And yet you were willing to marry me off to him.” She snarled and pointed at Alfie. “You proud? Proud of what you’ve done? The damage you’ve caused. They’ve got my nephew and we don’t know if he’s even still alive!”

Alfie couldn’t keep a neutral face. He had no idea about Charlie, no idea what the Oddfellows were up to. But in his anger and humiliation for being lied to, he chose to make a deal.

Ella closed her fingers around her mother’s ring and walked towards her brother. “Nothing but a pawn to you lot. Isn’t that right, pral?” She gave Tommy a scathing look. “Are we all just pawns? Charlie too? Moving your little pieces ‘cross the board while you stay safe, protected by your soldiers?” She yelled. “Are you both proud? Proud of what you have? Guess what. In the end, when we’ve all died ‘cause of you, you can be comforted by your money. All ‘lone in an empty house, satisfied that you won. Never caring about the people who loved you!”

“I didn’t know about Charlie,” Alfie replied honestly. “But if your brother wants to fucking kill me now then let him do it. Step aside and let him. But don’t you fucking dare tell me that I never loved you. Were ready to give you that ring because Tommy were threatening to pass you off to someone else. And I’ll be damned if I let him use you.”

“If you loved me you never would’ve gone against my family!” Ella matched his volume and clenched her hands into fists. The topaz gem on the ring digging into her palm as her knuckles whitened. “You wouldn’t have put an innocent little boy in danger!”

“Then step aside, let him shoot me!” Alfie stepped towards her, his cane slamming down onto the concrete. “That’d solve your problems, love. Once ol’ Alfie Solomons is dead and gone, you won’t have any more fucking issues. You can go off with your family and forget ‘bout me. Let me pay for me fucking sins, step aside.”

Everything inside of Ella became so wound up the more he spoke. Her entire body trembled from all the immense pressure pressing down on her heart. “That’d solve your problems.”

“I never stopped loving you!” Alfie barked over her voice. “Not once, even when I made this deal. And I fucking hated myself ‘cause of it. The world ain’t built for us, love, no matter what.” He pointed his cane at Tommy. “He’s always going to want to do away with me, won’t he? Even if we were married, he’d want me gone. So better off he does it now.”

Tommy lowered his gun. “Stand down, Alfie.” He muttered and tucked his gun away. “Michael,”

Ella hadn’t noticed their cousin had run into the warehouse once he heard all the shouting.

“Go and tell Moss, it’s Palmer.” The Blinder instructed. “Ella, get back in the car.”

She took one more look at Alfie. Her body ached from the emotional toll he’d caused her. Despite it all, she still yearned for the past days when things had been so simple between them. When they were in love and it didn’t cause such a fuss. Now she felt like she’d been stretched so thin.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled quietly so Tommy wouldn’t hear. “I wish it could work. But I’m being realistic, love. You’re better off without me.”

He pushed her away with his words. Most likely it was his intention all along whether he realized it or not. With him, Ella would know nothing but friction. She wouldn’t know peace. And as much pain, as it caused him, he would rather see her walk away than suffer beside him. It didn’t matter how in love they were. What mattered was how the odds were stacked against them from the very beginning.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye @octaviareina @mylovelykelsifer

140 notes · View notes

jadekitty777 · 5 years ago

Text

Dreams to Dance

People said I couldn’t make an AU out of this prompt... you better believe I made an AU out of this prompt.

Oh but am I EVER excited to get here. This one is my top favorite of my seven entries. I really hope y’all like it too!!

Day 6: Atlas Ball

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 3.5k

Ao3 Link: Dreams to Dance

Summary: Season 7 of Step to the Beat is in full swing and dancing contestants Qrow Branwen and Clover Ebi have successfully made it to the fifth round. But with Ironwood judging their every move and a theme choice that was particularly unfavorable to them, the couple knew their elimination might be on the horizon. If they were going to stay in this competition, they needed something big, something that would blow everyone else away.

And Qrow just happened to have an idea.

(AKA: The Dancing AU no one asked for)

Qrow swore if his grip got any tighter, his phone was going to shatter.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to those commenting how last night’s choice of theme was particularly unfavorable for the only same-sex dancing pair?” The interviewer, Glynda, asked.

He liked her. She was all business and no nonsense when it came to her questions. She wasn’t shy to ask the difficult ones but never wasted her breath on anything that didn’t at least provoke some thought. And he was pretty sure she was rooting for his team.

It was the man she was directing the question to that he didn’t like.

“I believe those claims are unfounded.” James Ironwood replied, fixing his stupid cufflinks. “While yes, the theme of an ‘Atlas Ball’ brings upon these fairytale notions of a princess being swept up by her prince similar to Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast, it’s merely that. A notion. The theme is merely meant to be a springboard our pairs can use to express their creativity and my scores are issued on the merit of how well they executed that expression. Their gender does not matter.”

“Tch, fuck off.” Qrow grumbled.

Ever since the first episode of Step to the Beat, Ironwood had quickly been singled out as the biggest hard-ass of all the other judges. He seemed to find flaw in everything, docking points for even the smallest half-step out of line or every smile missed, only getting tougher as the seasons went on. He’d been gunning for his and Clover’s elimination since their very first audition where he claimed their foxtrot had been ‘slow’ and ‘uninspired’.

Clover kept telling him he was imagining things but after last night, when they survived yet another round only to have Ironwood announce the theme that was so geared towards the rest of their competition, even his normally optimistic fiancé didn’t have any reassurances to give.

They knew this was probably their end game.

“They say too much bad TV rots the brain you know.”

He looked up from the screen. Clover crossed over the practice mats, hopping up onto the edge of the stage next to him. Qrow huffed in annoyance as his phone was taken away and a water bottle placed in it instead, but ultimately didn’t protest as the video was paused and set, face down, behind them.

He uncapped the bottle, taking a hearty drink, before saying, “Doesn’t it piss you off though?”

“Sure. All the more reason to show everyone we’re more than just the token gay couple.” He replied with the same level of confidence Qrow had always trusted to lead him, whether it be out on the dancefloor or in the ups and downs of life. “So, let’s get started.”

Clover pulled out his little pocketbook, flipping a few pages in where he had written down the eight dance styles allowed for this round.

Since starting in the competition, Qrow and Clover kept themselves on a strict schedule for each new week. The first day was dedicated to choosing their style and song. The next two, they worked on choreography and practice. The day after those was deciding costume, lights and makeup – a portion Qrow, personally, excelled at since he had the eye for color coordination and fashion. Their last two days were spent putting it all together until they had it down to memory. It was exhausting work, and some days they didn’t leave the practice room until after midnight, only to come back a few hours later. But, it was also why he appreciated his fiancé’s knack for organization, because otherwise Qrow was sure they’d be nothing more than a confused wreck like the many other couples who possibly used this very same room.

Before being selected, Qrow hadn’t been all too worried about any of the horror stories they’d witnessed over the years. But, after week after grueling week having the pressure constantly on their shoulders or finishing one round, succeeding at it, only to be thrown into the next with no rest or break, even he and Clover had had their moments. It quickly became apparent to him how things grew so out of hand for the other pair-ups. But a snap of annoyance here or a need for an hour of alone time there was nothing compared to the former contestants who changed their performances halfway through the week or even the very night before going on, only to predictably fumble on stage. Arguments that broke out over trivial details like not having the right trinkets or lipstick. People trying out experimental moves to stand out that more often than not resulted in injury.

Then there was that one event during season three, when the stress of the competition became too much and resulted in a wife and husband filing for divorce.

The very idea a competition could ruin his relationship with Clover seemed ridiculous – if anything, despite the trials and tribulations, he’d never felt closer to his future husband.

He leaned on his arm, scanning over the list. As they weren’t allowed to perform with a dance they’d done before, audition included, a few were already crossed out. Like their uninspired foxtrot. Or the paso doble which had given them a second-place score during the third week. It had been an excellent choice, highlighting their skills like Clover’s strength and Qrow’s flexibility. There was only one dance they did better.

It was on Clover’s mind too. “You think it’s time to break out our rumba?”

It was tempting. They’d been keeping it in their back pocket, as a little ace up their sleeve; but secretly, they’d both hoped they’d get to show it off in the finals. Now not even knowing if they’d make it that far, it was hard not to pull it now. The complex, often speedy movements, the power, and the agile form the rumba called for were all things the two of them exemplified best at. For Qrow especially it framed him well, as it was a very hip-oriented dance and he knew how to use his.

It would almost definitely earn them a high spot for the round, making up for their lacking score last night. But, then what? They’d still have four weeks to survive through, and with their best dance behind them, he couldn’t see them getting that far, as everything else would pale in comparison.

Qrow rolled his head up, meeting the other’s gaze. “Do you think we can make it to the next round?”

Clover hummed, rolling it around in his head. “If we’re careful about it, there’s a chance. But this list is pretty limiting for us. We could do a tango. Maybe with an Addams Family angle?”

“Too predictable.” He waved off, scanning over their options once more. If only they were allowed to switch lead and follow, the jive would have been perfect. So, he skipped over it, only to linger on the very last one.

It was risky.

Probably stupid.

But as an idea formed in his head, he found himself pointing to it and saying, “How about we do this one?”

Clover’s eyebrows furrowed. “The waltz? Are you sure? All of our performances have been high-tempo. They’re not going to be expecting a slow dance from us.”

“Exactly. There’s more than one way to surprise our audience you know. Besides,” Qrow added as he hopped down to the floor. “You’re really going to like what I have planned.”

The minutes before their performance were the most nerve-wrecking Qrow had ever had to endure. Stuck backstage as the floor for the act before theirs was cleaned up and their own was readied, a short reel played for the audience – sneak peeks the camera crew had caught of Clover and Qrow’s work as they planned out their moves or answers to the various interviewers who stopped by to inquire about whatever drama was popular that week. Watching himself sink down a bit whenever the camera was on him and hearing his own gravely voice come out over the speakers did nothing to ease his jitters. In fact, it usually left him wanting to be swallowed up by the floor.

“Thirty seconds you two, and then it’s showtime!” One of the crew members called.

A hand slipped into his, squeezing gently.

“We got this.” Clover assured.

He inhaled shakily and let it out slow. Squeezed back. “Yeah, we do.”

Another member made a hand motion and they took it as their cue to walk into the darkness of the stage and get into position as their announcement boomed across the auditorium. “Introducing Clover Ebi and Qrow Branwen, dancing a traditional waltz!”

As the first trills of the violin started up, the lights came on, revealing them facing one another. Clover was down on one knee, holding Qrow’s hand in his.

The production allowed for any sort of props to be used to tell their stories or just liven up the set as a complement to the main attraction. Over the years, he’d seen all sorts of things be brought in – cars, cages, couches. For this dance, they’d only asked for one thing. Set behind Qrow was a small, plastic toy castle that he could imagine his nieces would have played with when they were younger. They needed nothing more, for the real prop was Qrow himself, dressed in an eye-catching scarlet red ball gown befitting of a real princess.

He could already hear the exclamations of the audience around him.

Clover lent forward and, like the true prince charming he was dressed as, brushed his lips to the back of Qrow’s hand before rising. His movements were grand as he swept Qrow down the ramp to the main stage, the two of them turning together so they didn’t waste a single footstep. All the while the soft, dulcet tones of Cathy Cavadini accompanied them as they moved.

“Dreams to dream,

In the dark of the night.

When the world goes wrong,

I can still make it right.”

As they came off the ramp, they started off slow, moving into a whisk that presented them fully to their audience, before Clover brought him back in, whirling him along to the edges of the stage. As they reached the far corner on the right, Qrow was pulled out into a turn. He felt the skirt of the dress rise with him and it felt wonderful to hear a few happy shouts from the onlookers just like they gave the women in similar clothing.

“I can see so far in my dreams,

I’ll follow my dreams,

Until they come true.”

They turned their way to the other corner of the stage, preforming another outward turn that resulted in another set of calls before heading back to the center as the last trills of the first stanza grew to an end, preparing for the first big move. They’d practiced it over and over, knowing it was a difficult maneuver that had to go right on stage no matter what.

Clover guided him into a parallel walk. It was similar to the whisk, all about showing themselves off, except instead of both of them facing the same way, they were back to front, moving in a circular two-step around each other. What no one saw, but Qrow felt, was the slide of Clover’s hand between a hidden slit in the dress, undoing the little metal hooks keeping it closed.

As the music hit a short, bright rise and Cavadini’s voice did likewise on the first verse, Clover brought him back in, his right-hand grabbing onto a fistful of the satin fabric. With the guide of his partner’s left hand, Qrow moved seamlessly into the two inside turns.

“Come with me,

You will see what I mean.

There’s a world, inside,

No one else ever sees.”

He knew he got it just right as the roar of the audience climbed around them while the dress fell away, revealing Qrow’s outfit underneath. It was another prince’s outfit, with greys and blacks and deep greens, that complemented the other’s sharp whites, golds and reds. He made a show of pulling from Clover’s hold, feigning embarrassment and shame.

Not for long though as Clover tossed the dress towards backstage and made a show of asking for his hand again.

Upon taking it, they renewed the dance, more vigor in their steps than before.

As if learning who Qrow truly was only made their love stronger.

“You will go so far

In my dreams, somewhere in my dreams

Your dreams will come true.

There is a star, waiting to guide us,

Shining inside us, when we close our eyes.”

Rather than down the edges like before, they stayed in the center, moving gracefully around one another in a square pattern, grinning at each other like lovestruck teenagers. At the last corner turn, they came close again for more sweeps and turns. With his legs now freer, he used them to his advantage, kicking them up or popping them behind him for a little extra pizazz on certain moves.

They knew they were approaching the big crescendo as the tempo started to pick up and the singer started to hold notes longer.

As it reached the peak, Clover turned him around so they faced away from one another. He gripped him strong and secure just underneath his armpits as Qrow held out his arms and fell back, almost down to the other’s waistline. With admirable strength, his fiancé kept him lifted up while they made two sweeping turns, Qrow’s legs never touching the ground as he held his legs in a leaping position similar to a ballerina’s grand jeté.

The resounding cheers were deafening.

“Don’t let go,

If you stay close to me!

In my dreams tonight,

You will see what I see.”

Ironically, at the apex of the last turn, Clover had to let him go. Qrow slid along the waxed floor, using his own momentum to swing around so he was facing the other when he stopping moving. Just as before, their separation was brief, Clover coming to lift him.

“Dreams to dream,

As near as can be,

Inside, you and me,

They always come true.”

They took another, tighter, swing around the stage, ultimately coming back to the center. The song winded down on the final verse and in turn, they kept their movements closer, more intimate. When the last words played, Clover dipped him and brought him back up slowly.

As the instruments also began to soften, Clover ended it as they began, taking a step back and falling to one knee. The only difference this time around was he now held Qrow’s hand in both of his, a perfect mimic of the day he’d proposed to him seven months ago.

The crowd went wild around them and the spotlight that had been following them was traded in for full lighting. Clover stood, gathering him up in an ecstatic hug that had Qrow laughing along with him. It had been a perfect performance.

“And that was Qrow and Clover with the last dance!” The host, Roman Torchwick, called as he joined them on stage. “Truly a marvelous way to end the night gentlemen. But, let’s see what the judges have to say about it, shall we?”

“Well, it was quite a display.” Ozpin was the first to speak as he leaned towards his mic. His grin gave away his feelings even before he spoke. “The story you two managed to tell with just a few short actions was masterfully done. You’re the one who crafted it, Qrow?”

Roman held the mic his way so he could answer. “Yeah. Fairytales are so often about overcoming life’s trials and finding true love at the end. I think a lot of us admire that ideal – and that’s what I wanted to capture with tonight’s dance.”

“Well, I’d say you did excellently. Not only was it heartwarming it also provides a poignant message to those watching that the right partner can lift you up.” Oz praised. “It absolutely is your best performance for storytelling thus far, and I’m happy to appoint it a 9.”

Qrow felt the squeeze where Clover’s arm rested on his shoulders and had to fight his blush as he heard his whispered ‘I’m so proud of you!’ that was thankfully not picked up by the mic.

“Oo-hoo! A top score.” Their host flattered. “Let’s see if you can keep it up. So, Port, your thoughts on their song choice and costuming?”

The aging man turned one end of his whitening mustache as he replied, “Dreams to Dream was a very nice choice indeed and truly sells the slow romance of the waltz. I can see from here those suits of yours are near perfect matches. The dress is where I see flaws. It holds a great level of ingenuity, but it was hard not to laugh outright when the lights first came on, which didn’t match the tone. I also hope you two know those turns at the end of the stage gave away you weren’t exactly wearing glass slippers under that frock, among other things, did you?”

“Hehe, we were admittedly a little zealous with the dress.” Clover admitted. “We knew we should have gone with something less flowy, but it’s hard to deny how aesthetically pleasing it is to see a woman’s dress twirl with her. We wanted to have that too, even if it revealed a bit too much.”

“Zeal can be a great attribute when handled in the right way, but in this case I’d say part of it fell flat – as is, I’m giving you boys a 7.”

Still a good score. Qrow started to breathe a little easier. As long as James wasn’t a total ass and gave them more than a 3, they were moving on to next week

James straightened up, clearing his throat. “It’s really a shame-”

Oh, here we go.

“-That this is the first time you two have given us such a marvelous show all across the board.”

…Eh?

His eyes widened, certain he’d misheard.

But James cold-as-steel Ironwood was smiling. “Your footwork was impeccable and your rhythm to the music was like watching artwork in motion. This performance tonight shows just what you two are really capable of and that you’re truly a force to be reckoned with in this competition.”

Qrow couldn’t get his vocal cords to work. Luckily Clover found it for both of them, “Thank you, sir.”

“I hope you both keep it up. For now, take home another 9 with pride.”

He shared a look with the man beside him, both going from slack-jawed to grinning in seconds. A nine! A nine!!! For the second time, Qrow was tugged into his partner’s solid embrace, this time being twirled around on stage while Roman declared them as tonight’s winning team and the audience hollered and applauded.

Even after they were ushered off stage so the pair that had come in last could give a final goodbye and the announcement of the next round’s stipulations could be broadcast, neither of them couldn’t stop smiling, still buzzing with so much post-performance adrenalin and joy. The smiles stayed on their faces the entire time Glynda asked her questions. Throughout every call from family and friends giving congratulations. The whole drive back to the hotel.

After a warm shower and a hearty dinner, Qrow eventually found himself pillowed against the headboard and tucked against Clover’s side, sleepily watching reruns of the performances. Usually, they ran commentary over them, picking out the flaws and successes of each dance, particularly their own, to try and improve for the next round.

But as he drank in the applause once more as theirs came to an end, he found he didn’t have much to say. The TV was turned off, washing them in silence. He laid his head onto Clover’s chest, feeling fingers thread through his hair.

“You were magnificent out there.” Clover said.

He craned his neck some, enough so his fiancé could see his tiny smirk. “Weren’t half bad yourself, charmer. I’d say you swept me right off my feet.”

He chuckled heartily. “How could I not?” He dropped a kiss on his lips. “You are my fairytale.”

“And you’re mine.” Qrow vowed, cupping Clover’s chin and met him for another kiss.

More than the winning scores or a fancy trophy potentially on the horizon, he’d attest that it was only in moments like these that he attained true victory.

---

A/N: Got a lot of dedications to list for this one:

-The song is as Port says “Dreams to Dream” – specifically Tanya’s version from Fievel Goes West. Cathy Cavadini is her voice actor. I recommend giving it a listen to get an idea of the pacing and where their moves happen.

I took the inspiration for Qrow and Clover’s dance from various Dancing with the Stars performances and recommend watching them as well. I’ll list them out here:

-From both Heather Morris & Maks Chmerkovskiy and James Hinchcliffe & Jenna Johnson’s performances I took the inspiration of circling the stage and some of the up kicks Qrow mentions he does after the dress comes off. You can also see a lot of the ‘whisk’ moves they do in the center of the stage (presenting themselves to the audience). The dip and slow return that James and Jenna do at the end is similar to the one Qrow and Clover do.

-Von Miller & Witney Carson – from this one, the way Von takes Witney’s hand in the beginning is how I envision Clover asking for it the second time during the dance. The square pattern they do midway through is also the one Qrow and Clover do.

-Marla Maples & Tony Dovolani – This is the big one. This is the lift Qrow and Clover do at the end. It’s really cool looking, so I recommend giving it a watch.

-However, Qrow having his clothes removed mid-performance was inspired by Elizaveta Tuktamysheva’s 2018 ice skating performance.

#qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #fairgameweek2020 #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

47 notes · View notes

missjackil · 6 years ago

Text

A Dose of SPN Positivity!

For those who know me, they know I love this show.... flaws and all! im critical sometimes, but not overly. Bottom line, I am addicted to the story and Im in love with Sam and Dean. With Season 14 about to start, and we’re all getting antsy, too much negativity has been flying around, so I want to share some things i love most about the show, and maybe make some of you reflect for a moment and think “Yeah, that is pretty great” and smile. Supernatural has been referred to as “The Little Show That Could” and to me, its such a fitting description. Logically, on the surface, it looks like it just can’t. I mean, how can a fantasy/horror show, survive with such a low budget, light special effects, and not very scary most of the time. I mean hell, they dont even have that many monsters that look like monsters, so why has it lasted longer than a season or 2? Let alone, 14 seasons with no signs of stopping yet. First and foremost is obvious. Sam and Dean and the actors who play them. This essay will be full of gushing about these boys, so if you dont feel like enduring such a hardship, scroll on past. if that interests you.....

Yes these 2 fabulous men are the life blood of this show. Without them, we’d have nothing. THEY are the reason, this little show can, and does. Even those who like one and not the other, even if they dont realize it, the one they prefer is who they are because of the other. Both of their qualities and flaws can be directly linked to their influence on each other. If for some reason the other was gone for good, the one left will change drastically. As we see when one is dead or in grave danger, albeit temporarily, the other changes. Sam is no longer sweet, laid back and practical, and Dean is no longer funny, charming, and nurturing. In fact, they both seem to become an amplified version of their brother. When Sam dies, Dean gets quiet, sometimes too quiet. He also gets methodical and focused. You may get lucky and just get shot in the back, but if he chooses to speak, he chooses his words to let you know shits gonna hit the fan. “You have my brother, and you have one chance, just one, to hand him over, and if he isnt in one peice, when I find you, and I WILL find you, I will take you apart” Sam on the other hand is boiling over with emotion. My boy becomes savage. He doesnt always choose a lot of words to say, he gets his whole point across most of the time with “WHERES MY BROTHER???!!!!” This... my friends, is good stuff! These things couldnt be done with such beauty without Jared and Jensen. Their offscreen relationship, whatever it may be, is wonderful. Theres no denying the love and respect they have for each other. They are very supportive of each other, and help make the other better at their job. They’re not typical actors who have a work relationship but otherwise spend time with each other. They genuinely enjoy being together, and this shows on screen. When two people are this good at their jobs, and with each other, you just have to keep watching. Other things I love about the show, are kinda small. Some maybe youve never noticed, but maybe now you will and enjoy them too, like... Brains vs Brawn: At first glance, we all go Sam=brains, Dean=brawn right? But thats not actually the case. Dean is far from stupid, and Sam is nowheres near a wimp. Dean teases Sam about being a nerd, and Sam doesnt mind, he kinda wears his nerdiness like a badge of honor. Dean will never admit to being a nerd, but he is. He’s read Vonnegut, knows every old west cowboy statistic, and likes LARPing. Sam, though a bookworm, is one tough mofo. hes tall and muscular and has shown to be a little freakishly strong. He can also take a great deal of pain. And though Dean is known more to be the fighter, he can be very warm and nurturing. And nerdy Sam can make you shit your pants with just a look if you piss him off just right. I absolutely LOVE this balance!! Its one of my favorite things! Old school vs New; A lot has changed in 14 seasons. The brothers have grown, as well as the story, but their roots are never forgotten. They’re still driving around in the same car. Hell. Baby has become the 3rd lead! Even though they have mom back, they never forgot her, or dad, and both were spoken of often throughout the series. They refer back to old days often, so we can all get a feel of nostalgia when we remember too. Most episodes bring the deep past up in one way or another, I love this! Loss and Death: I know so many of us complain that they die and come back too much, but I have a real appreciation for it, The circumstances are always different, and so are the methonds of coming back. Sometimes the death isnt serious, or they dont “seem” dead, like in First Blood or Dark Side of the Moon, when there may have been an initial “wtf?” we got to see them in heaven, and in first blood, they came right back. However there was deep seriousness in All Hell Breaks Loose, No Rest for the Wicked, Do You Believe in Miracles, Swan Song, Red Meat and Beat The Devil that you felt the dying brother’s physical pain, and then the emotional pain of the surviving brother. No matter how many times they die, they still hit these types of episodes out of the park. WE may know theyre coming back, but they dont. it still crushes them and I love this! Sam and Dean’s Sexuality: I love that their sexual natures are different, but theyre both okay. Dean is sexually active, enjoys porn and vocalizes some fantasies, Though Sam can tease him a little, its just brotherly ribbing, its not judgemental or trying to make Dean feel bad. Sam isnt overly sexual, he’s gone many seasons without sex at all. He doesnt appear to enjoy porn, we know he doesnt like strip clubs, and its NOT because he’s unattractive!! Dean teases him but he doesnt try to make him feel bad. When he has heavily suggested that Sam get laid, its just because he wants him to have fun. Dean even said he appreciated that Sam wanted to stay pure and waited. Otherwise, its okay that Sam is (at least kinda) asexual. Neither are shunned or judged because of their sexuality. Winsync: This is one of the greatest things. if they didnt do this, we wouldnt care, we would never say “It would be a much better show if the brothers mirrored each other, or did the same thing at the same time” but for whatever reason, TPTB wanted this, and it works so well! Its an intimacy we can see without the show going OTT bromantic. Its the connection, the closeness, and being soulmates. I LOVE this! Soulmates and Brothers: Normally a show will make soulmates out of lovers. It’s not often they do it with siblings. It helps justify their deep love and devotion. It adds an additional layer to their relationship. It makes them so tied together that they will share eternity in heaven together, and not just in their memories. This was a very good decision made by Kripke and crew, so we will all know they cant live without each other, even if they just lived in different homes. I love this! Meta Madness: Though I dont like all the meta episodes, I do love the fact they can do them, and DO do them. Because the whole premise is the supernatural, nothing is impossible, even AUs and cartoon worlds. Sometimes I might roll my eyes, but its awesome to me that they can experiment this way and see how it goes. I Love this!! The Bros are Oblivious: Sam and Dean have been through basically everything, and have seen and done everything, yet they seem shocked when people say theyre famous, or when they heard people tell stories about them. Occasionally they grasp their importance, like when they tell people they save the world, but they were impressed that Asa fixed killed 5 Wendigo, and had an Angel Blade, and Father Luca met the Pope. I mean God hung out at the bunker and made them pancakes! Their Heads Dont Get Too Big: Every once in a while, TPTB make sure we, and the boys, remember that they are only human. Even if they lock away Satan, kill Death, save God’s life, they’re just men. Remember when Bobby died and Dean was sure he wouldnt because “its just one bullet!” ? I can see how it would seem so silly to Dean, and even to us, that someone who has lived through so much, could die from a stupid little bullet. I think that one of the smartest things the show has done in ages, was to have Sam tortured by Toni and friend. Sam was so bold and cocky (and need I say sexy?) telling Toni he’d been tortured by the devil himself, and what could she do to him... He soon learned Hell torture or not, cold showers still suck, blow torches to the feet still hurt like hell, and a mortal human can still fuck with his head. And Dean, well he can still be put on the injured reserve list from a jacked up leg. IMO S12 was great for re-humanizing the Winchesters. I love this! Comedy to Tragedy: Some of the best episodes, started out funny and ended in a tear jerker. Mystery Spot, Just My Imagination, and Beat The Devil top my list. I love the emotional rollar coaster, Coming away exhausted from an episode is the bestthing I can ask for! They havent tried it the other way around, tragedy to comedy, and thats good. If you are crying at the beginning and laughing later, it doesnt justify the grief and you may feel let down and hollow after. SPN is great with having some humor in even the most depressing episodes, but they know when using it and leaving it out is best. I love this! Brohugs: My #1 favorite thing, aside from the hug in 6.1, they have all been beautiful. Not once, have the boys lost the love, or even repeated the same hug. Each one conveys a different message, a different emotion, but all say “I love you more than everything” and I wont ever get tired of them! I would do anything for a single hug in my whole life that had such love in it, as any Winchester bro hug! I.LOVE.THIS!! Now I hope if you read this far, you got to smile a few times, and a spark was added to the fire that you fell in love with 14 seasons ago. Here’s to S14, i hope its filled with all of these wonderful things!

#supernatural #show positive #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn forever

13 notes · View notes

mordellestories · 6 years ago

Text

The Graveyard Debacle

(a Beetlejuice drabble)

by Mordelle & edited by TheArtofSuicide

It is safe to say that pranks are hardly ever any fun for the one being pranked. The argument could be made that this why they’re so funny. The longer the victim of a prank is wound up over the jest, the more hilarious it is. Even more so when there are witnesses. The more the merrier. When the prankster is a poltergeist, however, there are hysterical pros as well as unfortunate cons. For example, there is nothing a ghost who has mastered the manipulation of physical matter can’t accomplish. However, it is almost impossible to take credit for any high jinks unless breathers can see or hear you. It is for this reason that Betelgeuse took to harassing Lydia’s parents primarily.

Delia, although a bit trickier to startle than initially anticipated, would scream so incredibly loud and shrill that it was comparable to nails on a chalkboard. That grew old. Quick. The Maitlands were prone to retaliation- at least Barbra was- and the wicked ghoul knew better than to mess with that sandworm lovin’ bitch. Adam’s reactions were pedestrian, barely worth his time. Lydia, however, was a perfect target. Most of the time, he could hardly get a twitch out of her, which made those times that he was able to scare the unholy hell out of her absolutely delicious.

Betelgeuse usually upped his game in October. The closer to Halloween, the dirtier his tricks became. Every year it became harder and harder to achieve success with his little stoic lover. This time of year inspired something strong and resilient in her, but that never stopped him from trying. Last year's brilliant plan managed to draw some terrified screams from her. The evil bastard had feigned an exorcism, putting on a great show too. Fading from sight, mouthing silent pleas and professions of love as his poor dark-haired saint cried and sobbed from utter fear and grief. This earned him an entire month’s banishment. Betelgeuse would not be trying anything like that again. No, tonight he would stick to a practical plan and go for surprise rather than trauma factor.

Lydia had mentioned something about buying feminine products at the pharmacy and maybe taking some pictures on the way back. There was no way he would follow her to get her intimate unmentionables and she knew that. It was perfect. He knew he could catch her unawares on the way back home and he would bet his afterlife that she would go through the cemetery. And so, there is where Betelgeuse lied in wait; non-corporeal, sleazing around the graveyard with a perfect vantage point from his position in a bushy tree. It took a while, but his patience was rewarded when the sound of a bicycle on gravel ground its way through the dirt path she always took.

He knew he couldn’t get too close or she would sense him so. He refrained from movement and kept his stare slightly askance on the off chance she might feel his gaze. Excitement bubbled within when he noticed her stop and dismount. The bike fell to the ground and Lydia crouched hurriedly to retrieve a plastic bag from the basket. Something was off.

For one thing, Betelgeuse knew she would never treat her delicate vintage so callously. She was always careful with it, treating it like a sentient being with feelings. It was also odd how frantically she tore the bag apart. Curiosity piqued, the ghost put his plans aside in order to see what had his demure lover in such a state. When Lydia finally stood, she had a small box in one hand and what appeared to be a folded up piece of paper in the other.

What are you up to, babe, the creeper wondered, unable to discern too much from where he was hiding. In seconds, Lydia was unfolding the paper until it completely obscured her face. That was a big instruction manual for something that came in such a tiny box. The plot thickened when his lover dropped the paper to the ground, revealing her worried face and heaving shoulders. Betelgeuse swore to himself when she disappeared into the woods with the evidence, leaving him to sit and wait for her return.

Only a few minutes before Lydia emerged from the thicket, anxiously approaching a tall gravestone. She dropped the paper and the box to the ground, very gently laid a small white stick on the head of the stone, and checked her watch. She started to pace in front the grave with her arms crossed over her midsection, muttering under her breath, but it was not until she sobbed aloud that everything finally clicked for the Ghost with the Most.

Holy fuckin’ shit , he thought as his eyes widened in surprise. Is she… pregnant?! His mind raced with other excuses and possibilities but always returned to the same obvious conclusion. Lydia thought she might be pregnant. That thing lying so innocently on the gravestone was a goddamn pregnancy test! It was impossible to decipher which intense feeling came first for the poltergeist. At one point he had settled on something close to adoration for the woman until he realized very suddenly and horrifically that he… could not be the father.

It was not often that Betelgeuse experienced anything close to feeling sick, but in this moment, he had the distinctive urge to vomit as his dead heart plummeted into his gut.

No, he reeled, no, she couldn’t… would never… A familiar sensation started to crawl up his spine and into his muddled brain. Rage. A snake of jealousy slithered through his mind in the form of visions of his beautiful, innocent soulmate in the arms of another. Blinding hatred began to boil his long-drained blood when he imagined her face touched with pleasure as she writhed beneath another man. A man . A mortal, living, breathing, man. That thought, which should have only fueled his fury, diminished it into utter despair.

This is where he would always fail. This is where he was lacking. The subject of his inability to procreate was a topic which he always expertly avoided when she tried to bring it up in the past. Now the colossal problem was biting him in the ass in the shittiest, most epic way possible. How could he blame her for betraying him? She had been so young when he had attached himself to her, his greed and ego stealing away any kind of normalcy from her promising life. Still, this truth did nothing to quell his aching fucking heart. He wanted to cry, rip into his chest, throw himself at her feet and demand to know why she had done this to him. Why she couldn’t have just told him she’d grown bored of him, didn’t love him anymore, wanted to live her life . Unless, he thought with a sliver of hope, she was just experimentin’. That was something he could understand. He would still be incredibly pissed and feel a pressing need to extract some form of revenge but ... a young woman, hormonal, wanting to experiment before making her final choice? Hell, he had experimented plenty when he was alive and even more so when he was dead! Who was he to deny that to her, the woman he loved more than anything on any plane of existence? So long as she chose him in the end. He had been around long enough to know that she was the only one for him. All he needed to do was convince her that he was the only one for her! It would not take him six hundred years to do that. Oh, no sir! All he needed to do was up his ante and decimate the breather that dared touch what was undoubtedly his. But first… first, Betelgeuse needed to know what in the flying fuck that test was going to read.

If ghosts could sweat, he would have been soaking through his clothes. Still frozen up in the tree, Betelgeuse waited on unnecessarily bated breath while Lydia checked her watch for the zillionth time, nearly exhuming the unfortunate corpse beneath her incessant pacing. How long had it been? A minute? Ten seconds? An eternity? Jesus fuckin’ Christ on crutches! How long do these fuckin’ things take?!

Finally, Lydia launched herself at the test and hovered over it. Rooted to the ground, wide-eyed with flared nostrils, she let out a breath and squeaked…

“Oh no.”

Oh no, his inner voice mimicked. Oh god, no.

“What the fuck,” she breathed, barely a whisper. “Oh my god. What the fuck?!” She yelled, frenzy taking over.

“YEAH, WHAT THE FUCK?!” Betelgeuse bellowed back, no longer able to keep his composure.

Upon sighting him, Lydia whitened to a ghostly shade that he didn't know she was capable of producing. He dropped from the tree and physically charged right for her, not bothering with manifestation. Instinctively, the adulteress backpedaled and cowered before him as he lunged for the damning white stick. Lydia brought her hands behind her back, denying him access to the answer he needed to see with his own eyes.

“GIVE THAT FUCKIN’ THING OVER RIGHT-THE-FUCK NOW, LYDIA or I- swear -on-ma-own-goddamn GRAVE IN WALES! IMMA FIND THE PRICK WHO KNOCKED YOU UP, and make sure he ends up in that forsaken waitin’ room WITH HIS OWN COCK DOWN HIS THROAT!!”

A small sob escaped her as she collapsed at his feet. The pregnancy test was offered up with trembling hands. He ripped it out of her grasp and brought it close to his face, eyes hungry and full of wrath only to find black letters scribbled across it in dark permanent marker…

GOTCHA

Frigid and expressionless, he stared unblinkingly at the offending piece of plastic. How long he stood there was a mystery but when he finally heard a click and a puff , his eyes slowly met his wife’s. Lydia was leaning casually against the gravestone, smoking a cigarette, face blank, giving nothing away. For a long moment they stared at one another, both unspeaking. Then, she stubbed out the cherry without once breaking eye contact and, very suavely, picked up her bike and walked away. When she reached the threshold of the cemetery gates, she gazed over her shoulder, right at him. The slightest of smirks twitched at the corner of her evil little mouth before she mounted her bike and pedaled away.

The comical, dumbfounded look etched into his features morphed into relief before settling onto one of pure awe. They were definitely made for each other. Of that, Betelgeuse was certain.

If you liked this drabble, you might like my longer fic of the same fandom. Read it here.

#Beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfic #drabble #Beetlejuice x Lydia #lydia deetz #otp prompts #halloween prompts #fanfic #short story #mordelle #mordelle stories #neither here nor there

8 notes · View notes

kfawkes · 7 years ago

Text

The Part We Play - [Eggsy Unwin x Reader]

[HI!!!!!! This is SO fucking long and it barely even covers this prompt WHICH IS AMAZING. And thats why I’m going so crazy lol. Soooo. I hope you like it?? Been working on it hard, and I have some goooood fun plans for it so I hope you enjoy so I can actually get to the juicy stuff... :) So obviously I mean this is going to be at least 2 more parts XD So hope you like it ;.;

Note: SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION!!! ---- *This is set over a year AFTER the events of Kingsman: The Golden Circle. With that in mind it is a FIX IT. So Tilde is not in the picture, Harry is back and Merlin AND ROXY ARE ALIVE FIGHT ME!!!!!*

Pairing: Eggsy x Reader - OC’s, references to Harry/Merlin/Rox, etc/eventual entry of characters.

Words: 4.2k ... I told you... hella long XD

Warnings: cursing, I can't really think of what else but if something bothers you lmk and I will update this section!

---Read on Ao3!]

All you ever wanted was to have a normal life and a normal family… Just to be able to go to school like the other kids. To have friends, play a sport or maybe even try your hand at theatre. But you learned pretty quick that having anything resembling ‘normal’ wasn’t going to happen.

Not with a life like yours… not with a family like yours.

Although what you had wasn’t really a family so much as it was your father and his goons— but it was all the same: you were stuck. Stuck somewhere you never wanted to be, in a life you didn’t choose and saying you were miserable didn’t begin to cover it.

You were miserable and then some, but you’d gotten a bit better at hiding it over the years. Wasn’t hard considering you’d spent your entire life being homeschooled, hardly ever seeing dad or well, anyone. You also never had a real job because he had plenty of money and friends were hard to come by. Dating? Yeah, that was completely out of the question... but you made your due, you always made your due.

You did so because it’s what mom would have wanted. You couldn’t always see that though and for awhile there you fought it, and boy did you fight it hard. Tried your best to rebel, to have a life outside of this shit your father called living, and it wasn’t until he drug you back kicking and screaming that you decided it just wasn’t worth it.

But just because you accepted it didn’t mean you understood it… and really you didn't.

Why couldn’t you have been like the other kids? Why couldn’t you fall in love and go off to college or get married like everyone else— even though you weren’t even sure that’s what you wanted… you just wanted the choice, and no matter how long you thought about it you couldn’t understand why you never had one. It didn’t make sense to you, and whenever you begged for an answer you were only given more questions. More questions and excuses.

‘There are people who would use you against me.’ ‘Running this kind of business is bound to get you enemies...’ or your personal favorite, ‘Honey, I’m doing all of this for you.’

All of those excuses were valid, and would be pretty terrifying to hear if you hadn’t grown so used to them by now. Not to mention they were usually delivered without a hint of tact, or genuine emotion, and that only made his words harder to believe. He wasn’t convincing in the slightest, but he was your dad still, wasn’t he? To be completely honest, most days you couldn’t tell.

One thing you did know though was that you weren’t afraid of anything anymore. How could you be with a man like that as your father? He never touched you of course, no, you were his little girl; the only thing he seemed to care about and you were the future…

There were some days though— even though they were rare... when you did believe he’d started this for you. When you believed his motives were just and his plans not insane… But none of that really mattered. It didn’t matter because even if he started all of this for you, he was doing it for himself now. He'd been doing it for himself for a long time.

So here you were, the daughter of one of the most successful mob bosses business men in America, being dragged all over the world in his sick fucking plot to control, well… everything.

And all you wanted was out. You played the part, but you dreamt of something better… something more than just being the daughter of a rich psychopath, no matter how nice a ring it had to it. But how could you ever get out with all of his eyes on you?

He had so many eyes, always fucking watching…

The short answer was you couldn’t, and it was almost painful to admit you wouldn’t make it two cities over before he was on your ass. That and you didn’t exactly have the familiarity of your home city to guide you this time… No, you were in the middle of fucking London and you didn’t know North from South. You knew how to get to the coffee shop sure, and the bookstore of course, but that was about it.

So what choice did you really have but to just tough it out?

Dad liked that of course, and brought you in almost immediately as his assistant once you’d stopped fighting your fate. You’d been put in charge of making calls, moving money around, basically everything legit about his business you ran. He called it grooming, but you knew this was really just his way to keep you in his sights.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that ‘assistant’ really just meant you were his maid, and that pissed you off more than anything el—

Knock, knock, knock, knock

“Darlin? They’re gonna be here any minute, can you whip up some of that famous tea of yours?”

“Sure thing, daddy.” You agreed with a sweet smile, shoving the phone you weren’t even paying attention to into your pocket as you push from your bed. A distraction of any size was better than thinking about the vicious cycle that was your life for another minute.

With that in mind you walked by placing a kiss on his cheek as you retreated to the kitchen to do your ‘job’ once more. If there was one thing you hated it was playing the role he forced you into. The role you watched your mother play a thousand times... Well, before she left of course. You can remember the way she played the part of the doting wife and now you were in her spot, filling the vacated space as the perfect daughter.

Looks like some of your childhood dreams came true right? You get to act like everything is fucking peachy every day when really you just wanted to scream.

Now as you stir the large glass pitcher in slow swirls you couldn’t help but think about the job you had to do, and the part you had to play… You’d been doing so well lately, hadn’t you? And now it was time to remember your lines and get to your mark without any more hesitation.

You stepped forward, pressing open the swinging door to the main room with your hip. When you scanned the area you saw that dad’s guests had in fact arrived, and you wondered what todays meeting would entail…

A little torture here, some threatening there? Or maybe they were just stopping by for a pleasant chat. Your dad was unpredictable so really it could be anything, but when you stepped forward the air was so tense you could almost taste it, and you realized there might be one thing you were scared of after all…

Only you couldn’t think about that for long, because by the time you reached dad and his company curiosity had fully rooted; bitting with impatience as you eye those in his party. One of the men— Malcom Royce, you’d known for years. He was a large, muscular man with a tattoo on his neck of a bleeding heart with thorns wrapped around it. Royce was beyond frightening in stature, and had probably put more men in their graves than you had lattes— but you knew he’d never hurt you.

But it wasn’t Royce that had your interest, even if it was nice to see a familiar face that wasn’t fathers. It was the bright blue eyes of the 3rd man that engrossed you. You didn’t recognize him at all, had never seen him in your life… but holy shit did your jaw nearly drop. Whoever this was— he was handsome, really fucking handsome. Far more handsome and younger than any of the people your father brought around the house, and honestly you couldn’t help but stare.

His golden brown hair was thrown about lazily and he had a dark sweater on with a plaid button up below it. He wore fitted jeans and had on a pair of brown boots. His smile was soft and his eyes were light when they met yours and it felt like you already knew him. There was something about him that was almost intoxicating… something that screamed he was just like you, something that said he could save you...

“Perfect timing, darling. Thank you.” he placed a hand to your shoulder softly, but it was done more out of control than anything else as he gestured towards his company with a wide smile. “Thirsty? My daughter here makes excellent iced tea.”

You’d only been looking at… whoever this was for the last 30 or so seconds, but there was a pungent tide that seemed to wrap around the gaze you two shared, and it locked you together. It was insane you knew that, and it almost made you sick to your stomach truthfully; but you could have stared into those azure eyes for ages, getting lost in the possibilities.

Only dad rubbed your shoulder again, pulling you from the strangers eyes sharply. You smiled to yourself, only now hearing the compliment he’d offered. It was genuine you knew that, but in a flash it was back to business as usual. He nodded once signaling you to distribute the glasses accordingly, and just as your script told you to, you compiled.

“It’s not poisoned, honest.” You spoke stepping slightly closer handing off a drink to Malcom with a pure smile. Your father grabbed a glass from over your shoulder as you approached this somehow familiar stranger, holding the glass out for him to take.

The man didn’t grab it though, but he looked from your hands to your eyes sporting a stare you couldn’t decipher. You did however know what that warm chill meant, and that was enough to send your heart fluttering a mile a minute. Maybe it was that jawline, or maybe it was the way he’d been looking at you… whatever it was, it was more than a little intimidating. Intimidating and extremely attractive.

“Oh, it ain’t?” he asked raising his voice teasingly, and you heard the quiet shuffle of those around you as they began listening passively. “Was a bit worried till you said somethin’…”

“Understandable in your line of work.” You answered back just as quick, the ease of your words surprising even you as they left your lips.

“Can’t be too sure.”

After a faint smile, you inched closer pushing the glass towards him once more. “It’s safe… trust me.”

“Yeah, alright.” he smiled at you, not looking to your father as he pulled the drink from your hands; his fingers lightly brushing across your own offering their own soft wave of pinpricks. You lingered on his eyes and lips for a second too long as he raised the glass to you, then the others. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” the three of them said in unison and a second later your father added with a smile. ”To a very auspicious relationship.”

You watched as they raised their glasses, feeling the heaviness creeping around you like a fog. But even in that mess you couldn’t help but smile as you almost miss the feeling of his fingers over yours. However by the look your father sent playtime was over and he needed you out. Now.

But just before you retreated through the door you’d entered, you threw your eyes to the center of the room once more. That man’s azure eyes had already been transfixed on you, and when your gazes met once more you could almost see the fucking stars.

———

Eggsy P.o.V

Eggsy walked up those marble stairs with a weight heavy on his chest, it was pushing and begged for release but he held his composure as best he could. Thankfully the distress he felt wasn’t painted across his face as obviously as it was along his insides. This part was never simple, but it did get easier and every time he passed that ready check he was thankful.

Thankful because at least so far, he'd managed to keep his head…

“Erick— time you met the boss, Norman Blackwell.” Malcom’s voice was strong and gravely as he threw his arm over Eggsy’s shoulder; pulling him closer in an almost too friendly hug. “Why we’re here, actually.”

Malcom Royce had a cigar sticking out the corner of his mouth, and his yellow shirt was open at least one too many buttons in Eggsy’s opinion. It wasn’t like he claimed to be very stylish, but Kingsman had sort of spoiled him in a way. Now what he wore was somewhere closer to one of those intercity hipsters on their way to teach a class about art history or somethin’ and it wasn’t really a look he was fond of… But it’s what the mission called for, so he’d do it.

For whatever reason, Norman was picky and only paid notice to a certain type of person. Someone scholarly, and intelligent with a background in ecology and other related fields... In Eggsy’s case, or rather Erick Thorne’s- he’d been attending Imperial for some time on scholarship for the Biological Sciences program up until last year when he dropped out due to 'unknown reasons'.

Now, Merlin wasn’t sure what it was about this type that Blackwell liked so much, but it was the key in planning a successful mission. Several other students and scientists in similar situations and positions had gone missing over the last several years, and it was Kingsman’s job to find out why.

Eggsy had been undercover for about 5 months now— working alongside Royce, and it was some of the most stressful work he’d ever done. And that's coming from someone who saved the world not once, but twice. It's why he and Tilde broke it off actually… That and she couldn’t handle just dating after he’d told her marriage wasn’t in their cards. No, people usually don't like being told they ain't as important as a job. But it was the truth, Kingsman came first, and it always would.

Plus with Harry back it just didn’t make sense for him to go off and become a prince. That life wasn’t meant for him… He didn't know shit about being a prince, but this he knew about. This he could do.

“Is it now?” Eggsy asked back, with only mild interest upon his voice. But really, this is what he’d been working towards for months and the fact that the day had finally come felt almost like a dream. “Was you plannin’ on tellin’ me before we got in?”

“I’m tellin you now.” Royce laughed back heartily, his large muscles nearly popping the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

Saying Royce was huge was about a big an understatement as his height. He was tall and then some, more like a bloody fucking giant. Massive arms, a small head and beady little eyes… Dangerous, and stronger than Eggsy that’s for damn sure, and he begged the universe he’d never have to fight that son of a bitch. Cause if he did, well that was almost certainly a fight he’d lose.

“Cheeky fuck.” Eggsy laughed back stuffing his hands in his pockets as they continue up the remaining stairs. “Jus wonderin’ why you got me meetin’ him s’all.”

“That’s fair… He’s very interested in you actually, even asked for you by name after I told him bout last weeks run.” Royce replied with a toothy smile, his golden tooth flickering in the light as the soft puffs of smoke surrounded Eggsy in waves.

“Did he now?” Eggsy pressed his tongue to the corner of his mouth in thought as he decipher the face before him. When Malcolm just nodded, he sent out a soft laugh looking back to the door and scanning the large white pillars on either side. This house was huge. Larger than most of the houses he’d been in before, and it screamed of money.

“Sure did. Think that bit impressed him… might have something a bit a bigger for ya now.”

“Best we go find out then, yeah?” Eggsy smiled again, trying to ignore the smoke that filled his lungs as Royce moved a hand to his shoulder; squeezing almost tightly as he pointed straight into his face.

“One other thing, while you’re in there… Watch yourself around y/n, ya hear?”

Eggsy narrowed his eyes, tilting his head cautiously in confusion. “Who now?”

“Norman’s daughter.” he accentuated with feigned annoyance in his voice.

Norman’s daughter? Norman's got a daughter? How was it they had no record of Blackwell having a daughter?

Quickly Eggsy pulled up the menu across his contact lenses— some of the new Kingsman upgrades — scanning the files for any mention of a daughter, or of him ever having a child at all, but there was absolutely nothing. The only thing it said about his family at all was that he had a wife that went missing a little over 8 years ago.

“Don’t matter… I ain’t interested.” Eggsy’s voice was stern and believable as he held a disinterested look behind his azure gaze. And really, he meant that… he was NOT interested. Yeah, it’d been over a year since Tilde, and it wasn’t like he was hung up on her or nothin’ either but after all that— relationships just didn’t really matter to him anymore.

What mattered was his family and work. Harry, Merlin and Rox mattered... but not relationships and sure as shit not love.

“Good. Any questions then?” Royce asked after a second believing his answer; sporting a wide smile as he winked, pulling the cigar from his teeth to flick the long gray ash away.

Eggsy had learned enough to know this was the part where he needed to shut up and smile. A shake of his head would do, so he offered it knowing it would satisfy Royce enough to gain further entry. Merlin was likely already working away at that bit of missed information, and would have something of use at the next rendezvous… For now he had to just play this out and hope for the best.

Royce stepped forward, shoving the double doors wide as he lead the way with Eggsy following closely behind; scanning the large room with careful eyes. There were large couches, and several tables with TV’s plastered to the walls. Art decorated the walls like the people did the furniture; and they lounge about beautifully on their phones or computers as if they’d hadn't even noticed people entered.

It all seemed so… normal. Except every so often there would be a large man with a gun, hired and ready to blow someones head off in a moments notice.

When their walk came to a halt, Eggsy saw him… Finally… The man he’d been dying to meet since day one of this bloody mission… Norman fucking Blackwell.

There he was sitting on his own version of a throne— which was just a very large leather couch in the far back of the room, women and Blue Pit’s decorating it like tapestry and he looked like he knew it all.

Norman was a genius. He went to MIT, married a Julie Summers and up until now, was thought to never have had any children. He was a big shot in the clean energy world; founding Aqua-Terra, a Fortune 500 company located in the States. Somewhere along the line he wound up owning over half of the water and power in the country— mainly renewable energy like wind turbines and solar panels, but he dabbled in other areas as well.

Getting into the details of how exactly one man came to own that much of the ‘free world’ would take a short seminar, and right now just wasn’t the time. That and unfortunately Kingsman didn’t know what the hell Blackwell was doing in London, but based off of what they did know thanks to the Statesman— it wasn’t lookin' good.

“Norman… here he is, just like you asked.”

“Ah, yes… Erick Thorne, right?” Norman called from his seat, leaning back leisurely as he locked his eyes on Eggsy’s. He held a small puppy in his hands, petting it softly between the ears.

“That’s right.” Eggsy replied smoothly with a nod, his gaze just as focused as Normans had been.

“Erick Thorne…” he repeated as he moved to his feet, placing the puppy in a woman lap before making his way to inspect Eggsy more closely. “You impressed Royce over here— and that my friend is hard to do. You impressed him so much that I just had to look into you myself…”

“Did you?” Eggsy asked raising a brow curiously with a smile, eyes still unwavering. "What'd you find out?"

"Heh... quite a lot actually. If I’m being completely honest with you, I’ve had my eye on you for awhile now Mr. Thorne, and I’ve got to say I’m quite impressed as well.”

Norman was standing much closer to Eggsy now, too close. He was tall and thin with a perfectly trimmed beard and wore a pair of black fitted jeans, with a dark blue blazer that fit him perfectly. His hair was black and salted yet lively, and in all manner of speaking he was fit and handsome. But there was something uneasy about him too… Something strange in his eyes that made Eggsy uncomfortable, and as he gaze into the face before him he could see the look he wore was a carefully constructed mask.

He’d seen that mask before… he saw it on Valentine. He saw it that night on Arthur. The look before him was bordering on homicidal and was somewhere between raging lunatic and architecture teacher and it was severely convincing.

But Eggsy smiled back as not to offend his host, pulling his arms behind his back; holding his wrist lightly in his other hand. After a brief nod, he began again trying for as neutral as possible. “Jus doin’ my job, sir.”

Norman smiled sinisterly wide, sliding a hand to Eggsy’s shoulder giving it an affectionate shake. He sent an awkward laugh towards Malcom before looking to Eggsy once more. “I’ve heard that before— many times actually. But I’m not looking for that kind of answer… None of these fucking idiots did what you did. They’re selfish fuckin’ pricks that don't care about anything but money.”

He paused momentarily pointing to Eggsy with a lazy finger before starting again, his tone only a fraction lighter. “You don't seem like that kinda guy to me… But if not money... then what is it that you fight for? Or better yet... what won't you fight for?"

Eggsy pressed his lips together lightly, still keeping his gaze strong and as in control as he could muster while he listen to Normans silvery words.

"Unless you are like these fucking idiots. Are you like them, Erick?”

Eggsy swallowed the lump away, staring into those large blue eyes; feeling them piercing like needles. “No, I ain’t.”

“Good… good.” he nodded up and down slowly as that sinister smile returned infill. “Because I have plans for you.”

The air around them was so thick you could cut it, and the sound of a door creeping open did so like a knife. Eggsy watched as a woman walked towards them… as you walked towards them holding a large tray of drinks.

The last thing he should be doing was getting lost in the color of your eyes, and the shape of your lips but here he was… staring at you like the fucking idiot he’d just claimed not to be. Really he should be focusing on the tense conversation that had just passed and the promise of many more… The promise of a job. On what the fuck Blackwell meant by all those fucking mind games he was playing?

Eggsy should be focusing on figuring out what to do next, not the way your hair shined when you walked— but shit you were a beautiful distraction… probably one of the prettiest things he’d seen and now he realized why Royce had warned him about you in the first place.

You stopped just in front of him, and when your eyes met the world nearly stopped around him. Norman had said something, but Eggsy didn’t hear it, he was just watching as you handed Royce a glass then turned towards him with eyes light and welcoming. But when you offered him one, he didn’t take it. For some reason he was frozen just... staring at you.

He didn’t really know how to explain it, but he felt like he’d met you before somewhere. Like you were a part of him already as mental as that sounded and when you spoke your voice was soft and sweet like honey. In those moments, for the first time in over a year… he felt a spark lighting low in his stomach.

“It’s safe… trust me.” You’d told him and it was funny because even though he didn’t know you at all— didn’t even know your fucking name… he did trust you.

For some reason, he did and for a split second he wondered if that trust would save his life, or end it…

#Eggsy Imagine #Eggsy x Reader #Eggsy Unwin x Reader #Kingsman #Kingsman fic #fanfic #prompt #part 1 #eggsystential crisis

132 notes · View notes

spratwurst · 7 years ago

Text

The Warden as Companion - Part III

COMPANION QUEST I

Initiated by prompting a second conversation with Leilani after recruiting her. It involves a fetch/kill side quest, five puzzles, and potentially a war table operation and an agent for the Inquisition. It can be completed at any time during the game, unless Leilani leaves the Inquisition, in which case it will disappear from the journal.

Dialogue 1

“So, how much do you know about the Antivan Crows?”

First option: Not a lot. -> “Well, here’s your chance to learn about them before they attempt to assassinate you.”

Second option: You mean... birds? -> “(Laughs.) Not actual crows. The Crows.”

Third option: Is this going somewhere? -> “Yes, I’m hoping you can help me win trivia night at the tavern. (Brief pause.) Of course it’s going somewhere.”

“The Antivan Crows are a powerful organization of spies and assassins. Deadly, unscrupulous, and remarkably efficient.”

Special option (requires the Nobility Knowledge perk and skips the previous line): I know a thing or two. -> “Good! Then you know why they’re dangerous.”

Dialogue 2

“Their agents will try to exploit the unrest across Ferelden and Orlais. Theft, assassination, spying, blackmail-- the whole package. Luckily for you, I know where to find some of these Crows, so you can take this matter in your capable glowy hands.”

Investigate: Wouldn’t that make us a target? -> “A seduction here and there or putting some noble to sleep won’t raise too many eyebrows around these parts, but attempting to undermine the Inquisition’s efforts at restoring order is something else entirely. Making us their enemy would mean admitting involvement. If the Crows are involved, then Antiva is involved. Ferelden is pissed off, Orlais starts crying, trade suffers. Nobody wants that. But if we step in and take these few scattered agents down before the Crows gain any ounce of influence, Antivans keep their Orlesian silk, Orlesians keep their Antivan wine, and everyone is happy.”

First option: I’ll see what I can do. -> “Trust me, you’ll sleep better at night if we eliminate them.”

Second option: I’ll watch out for any suspicious birds. -> “All birds are suspicious.”

Third option: There are more pressing matters to attend to. -> “Don’t underestimate your enemies, Herald. It’s an amateur’s mistake.”

Codex Unlocked: The Crows and Queen Madrigal, if it hasn’t been already unlocked from Redcliffe’s tavern.

Quest: On Battered Wings

The Antivan Crows are no ordinary birds, but Leilani knows where to find them. Eliminate the threat before their influence over the South grows.

There are five total Antivan Crows, each one in a different location, and they can be approached in any order.

1. Valerio - Hinterlands, Redcliffe Village, on the second level of the Gull and Lantern 2. Michele - Crestwood, in the cave most South-East, past the Black Fens region and the Fade Rift 3. Inaria - Western Approach, at the Shimmer Stone Mine 4. Cino - Exalted Plains, near the Dead Hand landmark 5. Allegra - Emerald Graves, in front of Chateau d'Onterre

Each enemy is a lieutenant-level rogue assassin, and they will rely heavily on stealth, debilitating poisons, and grenades. They’re also perceptive and immune to flanking, fear, and panic. A mage who can cast barrier and a warrior with taunting abilities are recommended at lower levels. When killed, they drop random common or rare equipment, between 150-250 gold, and/or random valuables. The Inquisitor also gets +20 approval with Leilani after killing all five enemies.

Around each Crow’s camp there’s also a hidden object that can be found by using the search function in its very close proximity (similar to the caprice coins during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts). Once it is found, the hidden object is revealed to be a small pile of torn paper. The Inquisitor can interact with it and open up a puzzle screen.

The purpose of completing the puzzles is to recover secrets from the Antivan Crows, either a map or a document, and it looks like this:

All puzzles are entirely optional, but each secret recovered will grant +5 approval from Leilani, 150 Influence, and if all five of them are completed, a new war table mission opens up.

War Table Mission: Find the Master of the Crows

Thanks to your efforts in recovering secrets from the Antivan Crows and the Hero’s help, we should be able to root out their leader. Without a Master to report back to, the remaining spies and assassins will have to return to Antiva. Or change sides entirely-- it wouldn’t be the first time.

-L.

Advisor suggestions

Josephine: The Antivan Crows usually work with contracts. No doubt the merchant princes of Antiva already know about this. They will not appreciate a reminder from us, but if we let them handle the situation without making a public scandal out of it, they will owe the Inquisition a favor.

Leliana: The Antivan Crows’ loyalties are not always what they seem to be, and their skill and cunning are nothing to be sniffed at. My agents can secure the location for a meeting with this leader.

Cullen: These assassins are not to be trusted. I say we let our soldiers handle this. Should they encounter resistance, they will deal with it swiftly. I’m sure it will get the message across.

Results

Josephine: The merchant princes of Antiva thanked us, albeit without much enthusiasm. For the time being, the Crows should no longer pose a threat to Orlais or Ferelden.

Leliana: Flavia Casaletto is her name and she’s currently in Val Royeaux. Meeting her personally might help persuade her to join our cause, but proceed with caution.

Cullen: Our soldiers found and eliminated the Antivan Crow with minimal losses on our side. They have also recovered some trinkets believed to be stolen. Do with them as you best see fit.

Rewards

Josephine: 300 Influence, 150-250 gold

Leliana: Unlocks quest: A Swan-like End

Cullen: 50-100 gold, two random valuables

Talking to Leilani after completing the war table operation with Leliana gives an extra bit of dialogue: “I have friends who used to work for the Crows. I could help convince her to join us. And if that doesn’t work and everything goes to shit... well, you still won’t regret to have me with you.”

Quest: A Swan-like End

Master Flavia of House Casaletto is an Antivan Crow sent to prey on the brittle political climate in Orlais and Ferelden. Leliana and the Hero believe she could be persuaded to join the Inquisition.

Note: Having Leilani in the party when arriving at the meeting point is the only way to persuade Flavia to join the Inquisition and recruit her as an agent. Otherwise, she will always attack the party and the Inquisition will have to kill her.

The quest unlocks a new temporary location near Val Royeaux called “Remote Mansion.” Upon arriving, the party meets Flavia Casaletto, a blonde-haired elven woman, sitting at a table and drinking tea inside a lavish Orlesian mansion. She doesn’t seem perturbed by the intruders.

Dialogue 1

Flavia: “Just in time for tea! Would you like to join me?”

First option: You were expecting us. -> Flavia: “Your spies were discreet enough, so don’t give them a hard time just for my sake. I’m simply that good.”

Second option: How convenient. -> Flavia: “I don’t poison my targets, if that’s what worries you. My specialties are treason and backstabbing.”

Third option: (Attack) -> Flavia: “Bleed if you must, but not on my tablecloth, please.” -> Ends the conversation as the fight begins.

Dialogue 2

Flavia: “Do I have to guess why you are here, tracking mud all over my carpet, or will you be as kind as to tell me yourself?”

First option: Join the Inquisition. -> Flavia: “(Laughs.) Now now, let’s not be hasty. Why would I join your Inquisition after you killed my agents, burst in here, and refused to have tea with me?”

Second option: (Attack) -> Flavia: “Bleed if you must, but not on my tablecloth, please.” -> Ends the conversation as the fight begins.

Dialogue 3

If Leilani is in the party, she will intervene: “Because you failed your mission here, and your guildmaster won’t be happy about it. Zevran Arainai-- does the name ring a bell? The Inquisition can help you, like I helped him.”

Flavia: “Then... you’re the fabled Hero of Ferelden? Such flattery, coming from someone of your notoriety.”

“I do what I can.”

Flavia: “I know this isn’t charity, so don’t pretend you wouldn’t slaughter me right here, on this beautiful day, in this very chair of mine. But very well. Let’s see where this takes us.”

Flavia Casaletto is recruited as an agent for Secrets, and Leilani Greatly Approves.

If Leilani isn’t in the party:

First option: It’s for your own good.

Second option: You don’t have much of a choice.

Third option: Actually, I changed my mind.

No matter what, Flavia will refuse the offer and attack the party. She’s a lieutenant-level dual-wielding rogue assassin like the other Crows and her abilities are similar, but this fight takes place in a small room. After she is killed, she drops Cordova's Smile, random rare medium armor, ~600 gold, 5 x Royale Sea Silk, and a random valuable. Killing her also yields -20 approval from Leilani.

Back at Skyhold, Leilani thanks the Inquisitor for taking care of this, regardless of the route taken, and Flavia, if recruited, can be found walking around the rookery.

#holy fuck this is so long it was supposed to be a small quest like dorian's one less venatori #it's almost 4 am and i just......wanted this done because it's been on my mind the whole day #anyway flavia and leilani already know each other actually which might or might not become a thing in another quest ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#but yeah they're both liars and i luv them #warden companion au #leilani mahariel #dragon age #da:i #the warden #flavia casaletto #mine #it's probably full of typos and mistake so if anyone actually reads this whole monstrosity i'm sorry

3 notes · View notes

meridianrose · 7 years ago

Text

“Last Temptation of Midnight”

Not a full review more of an overview and a rant.

Midnight continues to be both entertaining and to increasingly piss me off.

Manfred running away because he's scared of his destiny; acceptable. Manfred running away because his dull love interest broke up him; not acceptable. The latter implies he doesn't even care about saving the town (the world?) or anyone else. None of his friends matter, just the woman he's been screwing. And few things piss me off as much as the false relationship hiearcharcy of "person you're screwing" at the top and every other relationship way down below.

Xylda tells him she had a vision of his destiny but didn't do enough to prepare him. Very trope-y, the unprepared/reluctant hero. Not buying teetotal Xylda, she's one of the few non-Puritans in the Harris novels. Nasty "be sober at all times if you have a child" vibe. She was smoking a hookah pipe in one episode for God's sake. And I seem to recall her chainsmoking in the Grave Secret novels. Hence the throat cancer. Would have been better off giving up the cigarettes than the gin. The flashbacks show her affection but also failings in raising a psychic.

With no pills left, no phone reception, and the van broken down, Manfred starts walking. He veers off the path, a good use of tropes around the dangers of leaving the trail and the spirtual experience of a walkabout.

Back in town things are getting nasty. This seems to be drawing on the final book of the trilogy, where people are ritualistically commiting suicide at the crossroads to bring forth the demon (according to the blurb and my knowledge of the other books). Crossroads are a mystical power source, traditionally. Fiji prevents a suicide. Everyone meets in the church. They need to do something. Joe's taken Chuy out of town before his demon-half takes over, Manfred's run away. It's up to them. Also Creek's father left her the deed to the house so she can move the hell out of Manfred's place. The only sensible thing for her to do at this point is to rent/sell that property and leave town, go to college as she wanted, far from the demon. But her sole job is to be the thin white girlfriend so she's going to stay :/

The "priest" hoping to ressurect the demon is killing people on the way to Midnight, stealing their faces and has stolen a van to put the bodies in to offer them as a sacrifice. When Manfred's RV breaks down he wanders off to get help.

Not buying Manfred's withdrawl either. Don't know how many painkillers he was taking but he had one left and it would take a while for symptoms to kick in I think (and he gets over it pretty quick too). His vomiting and brief collapse serves as the episode's Manfred whump which happens every episode. I'm not complaining about the whump, far from it, though some more hurt/comfort than outright whump would be nice too.

While Manfred is lying in the sand Xylda appears, no longer tethered to the van, to encourage him and then pass over. They don't even get a proper goodbye (she says they spent a year doing it when she was dying from cancer). Manfred staggers off, no longer in withdrawal, possibly hypothermic, hasn't even had a drink - his RV frige always had beer and soda in it, why didn't he take something with him before he wandered off into the desert.

I bet we'll never really address Manfred's grief. He may have mourned before but she was still with him and now she's gone. And Xylda was a great character and I'm annoyed they wrote her out and I'll come back to that later.

Manfred flags down the creepy priest but sees the ghosts of the dead. He jumps from the vehicle and runs but secretly doubles back and hides in the back with the bodies. He finds a cellphone and calls Fiji, who's glad to hear from him. He warns her that the bodies are being brought to raise the demon.

Fiji makes a potion to stop people being compelled by the demon who's going after the supernatural and the humans who are sad. The Rev is eating meat while Lem gets hungry for Olivia's blood. Lem and Olivia have a fight. He wants to turn her. She doesn't want it. I'd have preferred him just being overwhelmed by his hunger and unable to control himself at all, that would be easier to forgive I think. It's very physical. Olivia's a badass but she's still just a human female. It's brutal to watch in places. Also how/why bother to cut her hair during this situation?!

Creek wanders around being Sad and the poor acting really shows here. Maybe a better actor would give the one dimensional character more depth. Manfred arrives seconds before she kills herself for the demon. "Creek's not the only one acting out of characer," Fiji says, dosing her with the antidote to compulsion. You call that acting? Character? OOC?

Manfred goes to help distribute the antidote and sprays Lem before he can turn Olivia. He asks them to table whatever "this is" until they deal with the demon.

All the bodies are piled up to bring forth the demon. It's called Colconnar which might help them defeat it, to know what they're dealing with. It wants Fiji. Manfred calls on the spirits of the dead to help. Together they shove the priest into the flames. Fire comes forth, Manfred pulling Fiji back in a hug, a moment I loved. They're safe for the moment but the sacrifice has been made. Bobo promises he won't let the demon take Fiji.

Manfred's RV is still in the desert. I hope he gets it back. Lots of his stuff is still in there - most of the occult items were stored there. Manfred sums up Xylda's loss as "Xylda moved on. Which is how it's supposed to be." Really show? That’s it? In an attempt to show she's not completely devoid of affection Creek asks if he's okay. Manfred's going without pills despite headaches. You could get some over the counter stuff you idiot instead of completely going without. And maybe Fiji has something that can help or a book that can teach you to better manage your abilities.

Creek asks "Why did you come back?"

"I had to come back, it's my destiny to save the town, prevent this demon from entering our world. I had to protect my friends." Is not what Manfred says even though it's true he finally accepted his destiny and at the start of the show the writers acknowledged Manfred's friendships instead of pushing only Creek at him.

"I came back so I can stick my penis in you when you stop sulking." Is not what Manfred says but what the writers mean. They're obsessed with this dull ship - why does he like her? Unattached white girl is all she's got going for her. We never see them talk about anything but her fucked up family (now all gone) and how that impacts on their screwing. Not a single shared interest or complentary quality between them. Why should I care about them? I rewatched "Deadpool" this week. Wade/Vanessa is a ship rooted in sex but they have more than that. He takes her on a date when he's paid for sex that first time. They're both geeks. They play a "whose life is worse" game as flirty banter. She's determined to save him when he's diagnosed while he's resigned. He leaves to spare her seeing him suffer (she's rightfully angry) and won't return because he thinks she can't love his damaged face (he's wrong). In an anti-hero action movie there is the love story the trailer promised and they make me believe they love each other.

"Naked truth? Um What you and I started, it's, um I never felt that with anyone." Is what Manfred does say because he's goddamn obsessed with her for no earthly reason (supernatural reason? I'd buy that :P) "And I I get that a lot's happened, and I get that you need time to process, and I'll give you that time. But when, or if, you ever feel ready to pick up where we left off, well you know where I live." aka please resume our fucking. "Besides, my RV's dead" pretty sure you can find a mechanic. Stop taking away everything from Manfred’s pre-Creek life. Let him stay because he wants to, not because his van is broken down. "and Midnight's as close to a home as I've ever had" FINALLY SOME ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THAT "so I figure, if the veil to hell is opening, might as well stay, fight for it." Don’t sound too enthusiastic about saving the world Manfred! :P

Final note about Xylda: it comes off that he doesn't need her now because he has Creek. Once again, "person you're screwing" over all other relationships. If you have to sideline or erase all other relationships to push your ship, you're doing it wrong. Give me the close friend as well as the lover. That way when things get tough they have other people to talk to. Your lover should be your friend but you should have other people in your life.

Joe will come back next episode yes, because can at least one of the only confirmed gay/non-straight characters* make another appearance please and who better to fight a demon than a fallen angel? *Bisexual Olivia? Bisexual Fiji? Bisexual Bobo? And do we know if Joe and Chuy are gay or bi? What about the Rev? Is Lem straight? Still here for actually asexual Manfred, bisexual Manfred, or Grey-ace Bi Manfred. Here for many diverse sexual and romantic orientations (biromantic heterosexual Fiji?). Just not here for the bland “because we said so” ships.

#midnight texas #rant #last temptation of midnight #s1e8 #midnight review #anti manfred x creek #anti creek

4 notes · View notes

mintyvan · 7 years ago

Text

roadtrip

This is going to be a multi-chaptered fic based on a few prompts I’ve received:

“one where Van helps you pick a college even though he isn't going?”

“im english but ive always wanted to go on a roadtrip in the states like in the movies. could you write van driving you around on a roadtrip one summer?”

“could you write van with a girl who he’s broken up with before but still loves but the girl is trying to get revenge on him but ends up falling in love with him again”

Note: I was inspired to have a go at third person point of view because of @vanfic‘s writing style - go check her out! She’s amazing!

I hope this satisfies everyone’s desire for some good old fashioned roadtrip fun.

______________

PART ONE of SEVEN

It's evening when she and Van load the car.

She doesn't ask why. Most people leave in the morning, because it makes sense, because they’re awake then and the world is new and waiting in the horizon. He says he's slept all day but she rather thinks it's because he likes driving at sunset, in the evening cool.

It is June on the east coast.... small insects slapping the windshield in the indigo twilight, the thin, chilly air flowing over her arm as it hangs out the open window, dancing, curving over the airwaves.

She throws her two duffel bags in the trunk, standing there in the pale gloom, framed by the brilliant dark blue sky, arms and legs at all angles tracing her silhouette in black. Her hair has grown dark and long, messy, and the summer sun has brought the first freckles onto her face. Van hauls one last duffel into the backseat which she recognizes as the CDs, stands back, rubs his hands and looks at her.

"Ready?"

"One minute."

She runs towards the porch where the still form of her mother is standing, holding a tea mug, with big, watery eyes and thin lips. Her face is uncertain and yet resigned, worried. The girl hugs the older woman, whispering to her earnestly, reassuring, comforting. They hang on tight to each other, as though they know after this things will be different. The move to the states was the first sign that their lives were about to change.

"So, write me a postcard from each college, ok? And none of that Tom Green road trip stuff," says the older woman. She nods.

She runs towards the car without looking back, slamming the heavy, rusty door. She looks at her mother through the window, very serious, very pale, hopeful, scared.

They wave as the gravel spits behind the car, raising up a cloud of dust which lingers after they're gone, and to the woman on the porch, it looks like a ghost.

They are floating down the highway in the darkening evening light, mauves and aquas and navy blue surrounding them like a painting full of living shadows. The forests line the highway, the old trees of this new, mysterious land that the world discovered and which became a flawed utopia. The car is racing down the winding gray line which takes them further and further into the night.

She props her feet up on the dashboard, moving her toes to the beat which the air snatches and carries out the windows. Her hair sticks to her lips and snakes around her throat, floating around her head as though she were underwater. Her strange brown eyes glisten darkly like the evening above her cheeks. The air around them is warm, but begins to chill after a while, and she wraps one of his old ratty sweaters around her shoulders and studies her long, knobby legs as they stretch out before her, toes pressed against the windshield. She pretends Van is a random boy, looking at him sideways, letting her imagination wander.

The boy is her age, pale and Irish looking, with thick, sandy hair and a mouth permanently dimpled by too many laughs. He has cheekbones and a good body, and he knows this is his advantage; he is aware that he is capable of many things, and he's good with his hands. For these reasons he believes his future to be as secure as it will be uncertain and ever changing. Sometimes he looks at the girl beside him as though he cannot believe she is really there, cautiously, like a person who is used to having all that is good taken away. Out of fear and respect, he does not take his shirt off as he drives.

They are grungy, careless, clean, for now anyway. She picks at the fringe of her cutoff shorts and nestles into the ratty sweater, flipping radio stations as it becomes deep night outside. At midnight she is hungry.

"When did you eat last?" he asks, cautiously. He still doesn’t know if she knows how he feels.

"If you knew me well you would know that doesn’t matter," she replies, offended at his parental inquiry.

"I don't think I do." They both know this is true. It rests between them like a silent creature sitting in the backseat, waiting to bare its teeth.

"Satisfy my curiosity," he sighs.

"I ate a little while ago. Are we stopping?"

He pulls into a roadside exit. They drive slowly down a small street, and stop at a flickering neon sign that says Blue Pl te Spec al.

"Very local color,” he joked.

"Synonymous with health sanctioned,” she said, tone stern.

"Mmm." He opens the door for her, and she is inwardly surprised but is too well-bred to show it.

It is an average greasy spoon, small, with bad music, and cracked red vinyl booths which scratch her bare legs. There is the shine of dull metal, worn countertops, and the smell of frying in the air along with cigarette smoke. She scrunches up her nose as he inhales deeply and this means something to her.

A thick woman with panty hose, socks and sneakers sporting a checkered apron comes over to their table. Her blonde hair has almost black roots, and her mouth is lined sharply in mauve, then frosted over. She looks as tired as the makeup creeping into her wrinkles. She snaps her gum loudly.

"What'll it be to drink?"

They look at each other.

"Tea."

Snap, snap. Scribble.

"And eats?"

They quickly look at the menu, and stall a little.

"Burger and chips," she says calmly. “Ah - fries.”

"Grilled cheese. And uh, onion rings. You know what? Never mind, I'll take the tuna melt," Van says.

The waitress cocks an eyebrow. "Uh, hello, Three to Tango."

"Make that grilled cheese again," he quickly backtracks.

The waitress gives him a dirty look, scratching out and scribbling again. Snap, snap.

"That all, you Brits?"

"Cherry pie," she adds, unfolding her utensils and scrupulously examining them for stains under the low hanging lamp.

A very irritated snap, snap, and another look. They watch her heavy rear depart.

She blows on the knife, and then quickly rubs it with a napkin, holding it up to the light again.

"I'll be surprised if we don't find human matter in our food. Maybe a big old hair. Maybe they save tapeworms for people like us," Van comments, a small smile on his lips as she sighs and puts her silverware down.

"It's part of the adventure."

"Food poisoning?" he laughs.

"The risk, oh doubter you. Where's your joie de vivre? You're supposed to be the Clyde to my Bonnie, the Thelma to my Louise. This is like that movie where the college kids go on a road trip, without us exactly hating each other."

"That movie was terrible. I can definitely do without having a guy sexually assault me,” Van says, biting into his grilled cheese, not realizing how insensitive he sounded. She knew how he could get sometimes. “But I bet I'd be good at that convenience store robbin’ thing."

"Yeah I bet," she snorts. "You can be the Anson to my Britney. But then I'd have to hate myself."

"So would I. But if we were to follow the movie, we should have sex first."

He notices her silence and red blush, and decides to be more careful in the future.

"Sorry."

"What for?" She quickly retorts. Silence. She takes a quick breath and starts talking quickly to fill up the space. "Are you vegetarian? You ordered grilled cheese, and I didn't know, so I didn't want to offend you, you know, be the bloody cow killer eating it right in front of you like a carnivorous, voracious beast...thing...."

He let her quick, embarrassed change in subject slide, amused by her rambling.

"No. But Helga there wasn't looking too friendly, and cheese is safer. This kind of place I never order meat if the waitress is pissed at me."

"What worldly wisdom."

"That's me, the debonaire blue collar Joe GQ. Should I ask how their wine selection is here?" Van clinked his fork against his tea mug, making a shrill noise bound to irritate the waitress further. Mischievous.

She played along. "I think your choices are Bud Light, Natty Light, Miller, and some of that stuff Billy Bubba brewed in his backyard last week."

The rest of the food arrived, thin, grease-spotted paper lining the baskets, a chip in her ceramic plate. She looks at her burger dubiously.

"Where's your joie de vivre?" he sneers.

Bravely, she picks it up with both hands and takes a big bite, smiling a wobbly smile as she chews fast. She swallows and smiles proudly.

"I think there's a fingernail in it," he says gravely, and points.

She’s deathly scared and stares at her burger in horrified fascination, but the blood rushes back to her cheeks as she hears him chuckle.

"Very funny, asshole."

Pushing her burger aside, she stuffs fries into her mouth.

"Whoa there, remember to breathe," Van grins, biting an onion ring.

She makes a face at him and keeps chewing. Her borrowed sweater has slipped off one shoulder, the lamplight casting small shadows into the hollows of her neck. His eyes are fixed on her, thoughtful. She bugs out her eyeballs at him sarcastically, and he realizes he's staring and quickly looks away.

"Have you never seen someone eat before?" she says, downright hostile.

"You eat like a prisoner of war set loose in a buffet."

"And you eat like Larry."

"Now that was not nice," he frowns, inspecting his sandwich. "I have not opened the sandwich and written my name on the cheese with little pepper dots."

She pours on ketchup obstinately.

They finish, picking at crumbs on the cherry pie, and Van wonders how long they can go before their history will all come out into the open, filling the air with poison and setting them both aflame. He absently thinks about how he will explain himself, and if she will understand.

"You can have the last piece," she smiles, mellow, pushing the plate towards him.

Van toys with it. "I wonder if you'll still say that when the shit hits the fan."

She stiffens, but does not respond, and suddenly he knows she was thinking the same thing as he was.

They stare at each other nervously.

"Check," interrupts a loud voice, and breaks the spell. Grateful, they mutter, and take the paper from the waitress, who rolls her eyes and departs.

They are on the road again, driving, changing places, stopping at four in the morning.

"Take this exit," she commands sleepily.

They find themselves in a small residential town full of matching suburbs and fast food restaurants; taking care to write down the roads, they wander into a quiet little neighborhood and park under a big oak, turning off the lights.

"What are we doing?" she mumbles, opening her eyes.

"Saving money."

"Okay, not a good idea. I don't know if you ever heard that story about the guy with the hook and the girl and guy in the car and how he comes up and opens your door. This isn't Elm Street is it? Cause if you don't like nightmares-"

"Get in the back."

She is too tired to complain further.

"I hope the hook guy kills you first so I can at least watch before I die and be satisfied," she says, and promptly falls asleep, breathing heavily.

Van stretches out on the bench seat in the front, locking the doors with his long fingers, and that is how they are found in the morning when the little girl in the pink dress taps on the windshield.

They pull out of the neighborhood, tires screeching, Van cackling, leaving a very surprised little girl on her lawn staring.

She awkwardly crawls into the front seat, and he unashamedly checks out her legs as she does so. She is warm, mellow, half-awake and shivering from the cool morning air. She tucks her legs under herself and drops back the front seat, ignoring the seat belt. Her lips have a secret smile on them, small and hidden, as though she is having a dirty dream. He smirks, thinking this to himself.

They are driving fast in the early morning, blinding sunlight high above them, air warming fast; she wakes up and grabs a book, and insists on stopping in another town that has a Wal-Mart.

"What the hell for?" he counters.

"Because."

"Natalie Portman had a baby in one,” he announced.

"Ok, now the valid reason. And I hope you know she didn't really have a baby. It was just a movie. We can't eat out every meal; we'll run out of money quick. We stop, get a jar of peanut butter, some bread, baby wipes, microwaveable pizzas, a pack of diapers, you know," she says lightly.

"No, I really don't. First, thawed pizza is about as edible as the seat you are sitting on."

"Wrap it up in tinfoil and stick it under the hood while we drive."

"I'm assuming this works with burritos, baked potatoes, filet mignon, maybe a souffle....." he trails off. She continues.

"Baby wipes for cleaning. I did bring toilet paper."

"Good, then we don't need the diapers now."

"Ugh, Van, the diapers are for bathing. You soak one in water and then use it to wash your whole self off. None of that nasty sponge bacteria. You get a big pack cheap."

"The amazing Y/N and her lists," he grins, forgetting his annoyance. "We could stick one on the radiator too if it starts leaking."

"Yeah! Or use one to clean the windshield!"

"Or strap one on you so we won't have to stop for restroom breaks until we hit Maryland!"

"You're pushing it, Van," she scowls.

"You're the diaper enthusiast."

They stop in front of the Wal-Mart and park. The sun has grown glaring hot, reflecting off the gray cement. When they enter the dark lobby, he sees the strange grin on her face at the hilarity of their list of items. She looks over at a stand of fruit and groans before the words even come out of his mouth.

"Van, get away from the bananas." He’s shocked, but knows they’ll go bad easily in the hot car.

"Fine."

They wander around, reveling in the cool air conditioning; they pile stuff onto her mom’s credit card, not thinking too logically. They are enjoying this too much, this random impulse spending. He buys a pack of undershirts, she gets a headband with bunny ears on it, they throw in a nerf football, a pair of cheap flip flops, a glittery sequined thong which she keeps throwing out and he keeps throwing back in. He momentarily strays to grab some Doritos, and when he returns to the frozen food aisle, he is momentarily struck still.

She is pressed against an open door, clouds of freezing steam floating out around her, turning her cheeks pink; strands of damp hair stick to her neck and shoulders. Her eyes are closed, breathing in the chilly air, her shoulder fogging up the glass, and she's rubbing a packet of frozen french fries on the back of her neck.

"Y/N."

She quickly looks up, caught, quickly throwing back the french fries, letting the door fall shut.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"Just.....chillin'...."

They both groan. She can't help giggling at her own corniness.

"I can't let you out of my sight for a minute and you're getting intimate with some french fries?" he quipped.

"Ok, it's really hot out there. I was sweating in the car."

"Get a cooler," he commands, turning the cart around.

"What?"

"A cooler. We'll get a bag of ice and use it in the car. I drove like that ‘cross country last summer when we had that fuckin’ heat wave, remember? Hate that all our buildings are insulated to keep heat in."

She looks at him, horrified.

"Are you saying the air conditioning’s broken in your car?"

"Not saying no," he said as he walked faster, trying to steer the cart away from her as she picked up speed in nervousness.

"God!"

"Are you allergic to hot air?"

"I'm allergic to you!" she snaps, and stomps down the aisle, peevishly throwing in a carton of ice cream.

He's a little surprised at her outburst, but not angry. He can understand. Things will be this way until they really talk about what has happened, and he knows it will not be easy. But they are both here right now, pretending everything is fine.

They stand next to each other in line silently.

"Will it make you feel better if I throw out the glitter thong?"

"Yes."

The first fight is resolved, and as a peace offering, she throws some mint Lifesavers in the cart. He knows this is potentially very meaningful. You don't need mint Lifesavers if you're around someone you hate. You can just let them suffer from your dragon breath. But she put them in the cart; it means she is no longer irritated. This is how he establishes that self-sacrifice is a good method of keeping her happy, and then he knows he should have done this last fall, when all the bad things happened.

They drive across New York, stop at Columbia University, and Maryland, then Washington for a night to see Georgetown U. They are walking in the evening, because she wanted to buy something pretty, and he wanted to see the house where the Exorcist was filmed. Later, they sit on the edge of the Reflecting Pool under the purple night sky, shaded by the orange streetlights. They eat Indian food in take-out containers, danging their feet and talking about things that flow into each other smoothly like seconds flow into time.

"Nothing fabulous so far."

"Dunno why you're looking. You've already sold your soul to Yale," he mutters into his curry.

"Oh c'mon. My mom is leaving for her two weeks of honeymoon with Jeff. You’re on a trip in a completely new country as my friend helping me decide what college to go to. We have nothing to do. Pretext is the vocab word for the day."

"Kind of a dastardly situation, love. What the hell were we supposed to do back home?"

"Nothing. By the way, we should have bought some plug in Glade. We'll smell like Indian food for a few days." She shrugs, watching the lights shimmering darkly in the reflecting pool. The shadows flicker on their faces in the warm night air, thick with city sound, streetlight, and the salty smell of the Potomac.

"It shouldn't matter if we never fall in love with each other," she says thoughtfully, sending a sort of queer stab through him.

"Yeah."

The wind ruffles her hair, drawing it in lines above her eyes, painting it in streaks glinting below her eyes. Small, white teeth peep from between her chapped lips; she is smiling.

"What are you smiling for?" he asks, strangely sad.

"Nothing. It's just a beautiful night and we're getting along and I....just feel nice. This is nice."

It is then that Van realizes it will be a long time before she forgives him, because it is her turn to torture him now, her turn to make him hurt as he had hurt her.

She leans back, grinning, and he smiles sadly.

"Yeah, this is nice."

So they drive this way: all windows down, bag of ice between them on the floor. The wind flings their hair everywhere, they put ice down their shirts, they eat it, rub it over themselves while they drive to keep reasonably cool. They are damp, minimally clad, overheated. He has given up on the shirt; she does not seem to be offended, only jealous. They have a larger collection of bugs on their grill than the Smithsonian. The backseat floor is littered with junk food wrappers, soda cans, diapers they have filled with ice and used as neck-rests, and half a million empty coffee cups. The ash-tray is brimming, discarded dirty clothes have made a pile behind Van's seat and the windshield is covered with her toe-prints.

He points this out to her, and she shrugs.

"It's part of the roadtrip magic."

"It's disgusting. Something's starting to smell," he says pointedly.

"Maybe it's you."

"Very mature, babe. Maybe it's that half a peanut butter jelly sandwich you dropped between the seats two days ago."

"Maybe."

"I suggest it's time for a rest station stop." He asks her to look at the map they’ve brought along. They were intent on conserving phone battery for emergencies.

"Ooh, can I buy one of those Virginia Is For Lovers mugs?"

He ignores her hidden stab that goes deeper than she knows.

"You can buy whatever. When we run out of money, you'll be the one who has to dance on tables just to get enough gas to get to the next county."

"Only if you can sing me the entire Wyclef's Strippers Anthem," she scowls, scratching her neck.

"Sorry. But remember, it don't make her a ho, no."

"I am not dancing for money."

"Neither am I."

"So.......what are we gonna do? Sell our hair? Donate a kidney or some blood? Wash dishes for a few days?"

"Rest station stop."

They pull over, and he puts the trash in the garbage, the dirty clothes in a bag and empties out the ashes. He stocks up on some cigarettes while she eats a popsicle that turns her lips blue as she washes the windshield. Her legs are getting a few shades darker, her shorts are getting rattier, her black tank top sticks to her ribs while her arms vigorously scrub the windshield. She's cracking out of her mold, like a damp butterfly struggling to open her wings, hair fluttering in the humid breeze. She's a little more brash than the innocent girl he'd found almost two years ago.....a little more conscious of her own power.

Every twitch of her toes moves a muscle in her thigh that he finds starts a pulse in him; every yawn and stretch shows a sharp hip-bone in the low, loose waist of her shorts or an innocent strip of cotton. Every time she sleeps her mouth falls slightly open. Yet she never acknowledges it. Sometimes she makes him physically uncomfortable, but never seems to notice his tense, thin, drawn lips or clenched fingers. He struggles just not to touch the freckles on her shoulder while she sleeps; to stare straight ahead is supreme control.

// Part 2 is here! //

#catb van #vanfiction #van mccann #catfish and the bottlemen #catfish #van #van fic #part two of seven will be out tomorrow!#fanfiction #writers of tumblr #fanfic #fic #band fanfiction #road trip #road trip fic

30 notes · View notes

welcometophu · 8 years ago

Text

Ghosts 5

Twinned Book 1: Commit to the Kick

Ghosts 5

[ Previous | First | Next ]

“I thought predictive Talent always had a focus,” Chris says. The thrum of the engine is the loudest sound in the minivan; the stereo is off so that everyone can hear. “Weren’t we just talking about that?” He nudges Alaric.

Rory reaches forward from the third seat, taps Alaric on the shoulder before he can answer. “It depends on the type of predictive Talent,” Rory says. “Sometimes it’s a specialty for a Mage, like my mom, who can sense Talent. It’s not the same as reading cards or having prophetic nightmares, but it’s predictive in its own way.”

“Alex isn’t like any of that.” Alaric is at a loss trying to find the words to truly explain it. He meets Dax’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He’d lean forward, but Cass is in the front passenger seat, and she has it reclined while she curls to one side, her eyes closed, breath soft and even with sleep. Alaric frowns, tries to tease out from the scents whether Cass and Dax are still fighting, and just how badly that will go when they get to his home.

“Alex is—we’re a different kind of family,” Dax says. “The predictive Talent in our bloodline is from a Seer. Think the Oracle of Delphi, and yes, it probably goes back that far into our Greek roots. I don’t think there are any pure Seers left anymore, but it seems to infuse our bloodline. So we’re all unique in our own way. Alex has no control over it—she’d be useless in something like a football game. She’d never be able to predict what was going to happen next. She gets random flashes, and she doesn’t always know how it fits together until she happens to find the right puzzle piece.”

Like when Alaric walked in. And he’s pretty sure Alex still doesn’t know the whole story, and he’s damn sure he doesn’t understand that parts she told him.

“Did she happen to mention what Theobald’s going to do when we pull in the drive?” Corbin asks. He’s joking, but only barely; Alaric can hear the thread of sincerity in the question.

Dax turns as the GPS directs, and they head out of downtown Haverhill toward the community. It won’t be long now.

“Don’t need to be predictive for that,” Alaric mutters. He crosses his arms, sinks down in his seat. There’s a bump against his knee, and he catches the scent of worry from Chris. “It’ll be fine,” Alaric adds. “This is my plan, and I am exercising my authority.”

“I don’t think this is what Theobald’s expecting you to do.”

Drea snorts softly at Corbin’s words. “I think in some ways it’s exactly what our father’s expecting Alaric to do. The problem is that he doesn’t know that maybe it’s the right thing to do. Dax—” She waits until Dax raises a hand to acknowledge her, then quickly continues, “Turn’s coming up here on the right. Look for the sign for Herne Way. It’ll be about five minutes down that road. Watch out for small animals and children.”

“They’re probably all children,” Corbin points out.

“Got it.” Dax navigates slowly down the road, and Alaric spots more than a few forms that he recognizes. When a pair of wolves dart away, cutting through the woods straight for the house and avoiding the road, Alaric knows his cousins will warn his father.

He curls his hand together, presses his nails against his palm. Rory’s fingertips are cool against the back of his neck, a light touch with no magic. Chris covers Alaric’s hand with his own briefly, and Alaric breathes in, inhales the familiar scents in the car. The only one that feels out of place is Cass, but enough of Dax’s scent is mixed with hers that Alaric can accept it.

“Just park right here.” Drea points, and Dax pulls into the spot.

He reaches up, pushes a button, and both back doors slide open just in time for them all to hear a roar from the house. A lion bursts through the quickly opened door, leaps off the steps and stands in front of them, roaring again. A blink later, and Theobald stands before them, arms crossed, scent furious. “There are Mages in that car.”

Rory’s hand slips from Alaric’s skin, and Chris draws away. Alaric doesn’t say he’ll go first, but they all stay in place anyway as Alaric climbs out of the back of the car, walks the few short steps to greet his father. He doesn’t tilt his head, refuses to bare his throat.

“One Mage,” Alaric says. “My roommate, Rory. One other Lineage Talent, and two humans, plus Corbin and Drea. We’ve come to visit Orson’s grave.”

Fury rises in the air, hot and tangible, not just to Alaric’s nose but to his skin. He feels answering heat under his own skin, and he clenches his fists tight against the beast that wants to burst free. Not in front of his father. Not now, not when he needs control.

His twin’s scent washes over him him; she stands at his left hand, Corbin to his right. Rory lingers at the door to the van after unfolding himself from the back seat, one hand pressed to the small of his back while he stretches. Chris and Dax speak quietly, while Cass still somehow snoozes in the front seat.

“Go home,” Theobald says. Each word is low and separate, ringing with authority. Corbin grips Alaric’s elbow; Drea has her hand at his waist. “You will not disturb Orson’s rest.”

“He’s dead, old man,” Corbin says, tone light despite the tension in his body. “We can’t disturb him because he’s not resting.”

“You will not disrespect my son!”

Corbin takes a step back, and Alaric goes with him. He’s never heard Theobald yell at Corbin before, and he can smell Corbin’s rush of surprise and a flash of fear. Alia is there a moment later, her hand on Theobald’s arm, and Alaric feels Rory and Chris at his back. He hears murmurs near the van as Dax wakes Cass.

“Theobald,” Alia says gently; it does nothing to quench the scent of fury in the air.

“Let’s do introductions, since we’re here for the night no matter what,” Drea says firmly. “This is Rory—he’s Ric’s roommate, and he’s a good guy, and he’s neither going to attack any of us, nor is he part of what happened to Orson. You remember Chris. That’s Dax over by the car, and he’s the reason we’re here—which Ric can explain to you—and that’s Dax’s girlfriend, Cass.”

Cass slides from the seat, stands on wobbly legs and pushes her hair out of her face. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Later,” Dax says.

“You are all welcome in our home,” Alia informs them, voice tight. “Andrea, perhaps you should take your friends upstairs, settle them in your rooms while Alaric and your father continue this discussion in private.”

“C’mon, let’s get our stuff out of the car.” Drea kisses Alaric’s cheek, then shoves Corbin toward the car in a familiar roughhousing gesture.

Rory hesitates, holds his hand out where only they can see it, and Alaric shakes his head slightly. “‘M’fine,” Alaric says quietly. “As long as he can see you here, my father’s going to be pissed off.”

“How did he even know I was in the car? Usually I fly under the radar,” Rory responds, and Alaric shrugs. He can’t smell Rory. He has no idea how his father knew, but somehow he did. “Does he really get that I’m not here to hurt anyone?” Rory’s glance flicks past Alaric, then back to meet his eyes. “You’re as good as family to me.”

“Yeah,” Alaric says gruffly. He yanks Rory in, hugs him hard, rubs his cheek against Rory in a gesture that he knows his parents won’t miss. “Stick with Drea and Corbin. You’ll be safe.”

“What about you?” Chris hasn’t moved yet, his jaw tight. “This looks worse than last time.”

“Last time might have been right after Orson’s passing, but I only brought you,” Alaric says quietly. “This time I brought an entire van load of people into Clan territory. He’s not going to trust anyone.”

“So we all stick together, we do what we came to do, and we leave,” Chris says. “We’re with you on this, Ric. Like you said to Drea: you made this decision, and he needs to recognize that if he’s asking you to lead, you can do it in your own way.”

Alaric huffs. “I know. Think I would’ve let you all get in that van if I didn’t?” He nudges Chris. “Go. Get upstairs with the rest. My room or Drea’s, stay put until I get this settled. Pretty sure that the only one here you can’t trust is him, but you don’t need a bunch of curious Clan kids sniffing around, either.”

“Should I still be wary if Corbin offers to show us the baths?” Chris asks, and his grin crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Theobald clears his throat, and there’s a small sound from Alia.

“Go,” Alaric says. “I need to talk to my father.”

“You are not leader yet,” Theobald says solemnly, when Alaric finally gives him his attention.

“No, I’m not,” Alaric tells him. “But I’m going to be, and if you want to leave me something to lead, then don’t interfere with what I’m doing.”

“Inside,” Alia says, shushing them. “There are too many curious ears out here. Alaric, join us in your father’s study, then the two of you can discuss what is to be done.”

“There haven’t been Mages on Clan land in a century.”

Alaric trails after his father. He can’t resist getting a final dig in. “There haven’t been Mages on this Clan land in a century,” he says. “Others haven’t remained so separate. What happened to Orson wasn’t about Magic. We’re here to find out what it was.”

[ Previous | First | Next ]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #commit to the kick #phu twinned #twinned #cttk ghosts

8 notes · View notes

dothewrite · 8 years ago

Text

anonymous asked:

so a scenario with akaashi, kyoutani (if you do him) and iwaizumi where its like a GANGAU kinda thing and their s/o becomes a target for their rival gang and they kidnap her nd once the guys find her and stuff afterwards they treat her wounds and cuddles everywhere and fluffiness (unless they dont find her??? o.0) up to you but extra points for fluffyness at the enddd <333

Last installment! Thanks for the wait, and may your evenings be warm with Iwaizumi’s arms around you and his cheek pressed into your hair. I hope you enjoy!

Akaashi. Kyoutani.

Being in a coma is nothing like they show you in movies. You don’t know if you’re breathing shallowly, or if a squad of surgeons are surrounding you, or if your room is filled with visitors or if you’re just alone. The thing is, all you remember was being punched, repeatedly, in the gut, and someone was kicking you from the back. It had been a while since you had been able to see out of your left eye from how swollen it was, and what kept you alive was the small mercy that they hadn’t touched you like that yet. Just for that, you took at least fifteen more blows with a faint smile. Then, someone came. The voice of someone you recognized burst into the room like a vuvuzela, and blood. Lots of blood. Theirs? Yours? Or maybe it was the rain of bodies around you, the sea spray of red highlighting the tips of your cheekbones, tinting your lips with a luscious red, and copper. The coppery, metallic drops sliding into your mouth no matter which way you faced in the darkness, and you lost consciousness before you heard your name being shouted out in the darkness.

It’s barely two minutes to you in the comfortable warmth of unconsciousness, but your eyes, glued shut with sleep and reluctance to have to function again, pry themselves open to the glaring light of the room you’re laid down in. It’s strangely quiet, and there’s no mistaking where you are despite the grogginess in your head- you’ve been in rooms like these, inhaled their fumes and borrowed their disinfectant enough to know that this is a hospital room- and gods, you must have had it worse than you thought. Well, it’s difficult to tell how much damage you’re taking once the hits post-twenty start blurring together into this endless loop of pain.

You reach for the remote that controls your bedpan angle and press up.

“For some reason,” a disembodied voice comes from behind the curtain on your right, “I had a hunch that’d be the first thing you’d play with once you woke up.”

You drop the control remote almost like a child caught red handed with cookies before dinner, and you blush up to your roots as much as you can with your bloodloss.

“I didn’t hear you coming.” You admit with a slight tinge of petulance.

The voice, Iwaizumi- you’d recognize it even in your grave- brushes open the drapes surrounding your bed and makes himself comfortable in a soft, plush loveseat you didn’t notice either to your right. You know better than to question why there’s a sofa in the middle of a hospital room, so you choose to fiddle nervously with your fingers instead, waiting for the silence to break because he’s never this quiet without a good build up towards something.

“Want some water?” He offers you a cup of something clear and you stare. “It’s got electrolytes in it so it might taste different.”

“I…” you stumble, “...thanks.”

“No problem.”

He hasn’t looked into your eyes once, and this is possibly the most stressful water-sipping you’ve ever experienced in your life. He definitely sounds normal, although a little tired and perhaps tense, but that’s nothing you’re not used to already, knowing his line of work. The line of work that possibly got you into this mess in the first place, but you sure as hell aren’t going to bring that up right now. Not when this feels like a taut rubber band about to snap.

You sneak a glance at him again, and he’s staring fixedly at the clock on the bedside table. He turns his head slightly towards you, almost like he can feel your gaze, and you quickly snap your focus back onto that bland, white cup you’re holding.

How can time pass so slowly?

“How long have you been here for?” You venture, tentatively, nervously. Goddamn stressfully.

“A while.”

“...Have you showered?”

Iwaizumi’s unimpressed stare meets your own and in it tells you exactly how much he doesn’t want to answer your questions. But he does, because he is who he is, and you are who you are to him. “Not yet.”

You can feel it, if nothing else, his urge to both cradle your face in his hands and give you a brutal scolding at the same time. He can’t, though, as much as he wants to, and you know why.

“It wasn’t your fault, Hajime.”

His lips press even tighter until they’re a thin, pale coloured line on his conflicted expression. He reaches a hand out to cover yours, and they’re endlessly warm compared to the thinness of your hospital sheets, as calloused and worn as they are around your own. His rough thumb strokes over the back of your hand, pressing deep circles into the dips of your bones and each touch feels like a confession.

Iwaizumi doesn’t believe you when you say that, and there’s nothing more you want in this moment than for him to take your word for it. “It was kind of terrible,” you try again, a different approach in hopes of reaching him somehow, “and I can’t say I’m not… not going to have nightmares about it, probably, but I didn’t blame you. Not for a second.”

“I was going to tell you off, you know,” he finally grumbles, so reluctantly that it draws a warm smile onto your face, “you’re not the one who should be doing the talking.”

“You were too quiet,” you giggle softly, “it was really awkward drinking water with you all moody.” Laughing is a bad idea though, because you can’t hide the wince that escapes from your mouth when a shake of your ribs shoots a flash of pain up your spine like lightning. Iwaizmi’s eyes miss nothing, and his arms immediately grab hold of your shoulders and commandeer you back down onto your bed.

He’s absolutely torn between comforting you and geting pissed off, so you grin at him shamelessly until he caves. The fingers never leave their firm press around your shoulder blades, and he leans in closer to you to make his point clearer. “Stay still. Don’t run off like that at night again, okay? I…,” ‘it’s my fault, I’m sorry’ dances across his face once and vanishes, “...I’ll keep better tabs on you so you don’t have to be trapped at home all the time.”

“I’m not-”

He levels you with a stare and you lose your argument. Your eyes fall to your hands in your lap instead, your words all jumbled up and slow to form. “I don’t mind.” Your tongue wraps around those words as carefully as it can. “You’re always here to take care of me, and I’d rather have a curfew and you around than have a whole night alone.”

When you glance back up, Iwaizumi looks like he’s furious at the wetness pooling in his eyes. Your heart is pounding with something that feels so far from fear, and your bandaged arms wrap around his neck as gently as they can to pull him closer to you. His hands copy you in an almost trance-like dance, and you nuzzle your face into his ragged palm, feeling his affection wash over you in the turbulence of a solar storm.

He’s not the type to ask himself why you chose him. Iwaizumi knows exactly what he loves about you, and what you love about him, and why the two of you seem to have so much more when you’re together than when you’re apart. Those nights with leftover pizza and terrible chick flicks weren’t just movie night, and those evenings spent wrapped around each other in his bed too large for the two of you were more than time passing with someone else. The two of you are multiplication, in every form, and the words aren’t nearly enough for it all when he lets them go.

“Please stay safe,” he cracks. “I need you safe. Home. With your shitty cooking and no bruises.”

“No more bruises,” you promise, “and food so shitty that you’re stuck on the toilet for days.”

“Sounds great,” Iwaizumi laughs.

It’s okay, those fingers seem to write on your cheek in soft swirls, you’re back, you’re safe, and he loves you.

#iwaizumi hajime #female original character #gang au #sfw #fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #i writes the haikyuu

57 notes · View notes

sheepydraws · 7 years ago

Text

I'll Kick Your Ass! I'll Kick My Fiancee's Ass! I'll Kick My Own Ass! (9/11)

From: DeanK@nsj

To: All Students

Aloha, everyone!

I know some of you might be thinking that spring semester is a misnomer when the ground is so covered in snow, but I assure you all that before long the snow will melt, the buds will bud and suddenly you’ll all be too warm to think straight, instead of too depressed like y’all are now!

[Lists of activities this semester, including a concert and de-stressers before finals week]

I wish to be transparent with you all when I admit that the case of the illegal duels has gone cold over winter break. If anyone has any information regarding them, please come to my office any time between 4 and 5pm Monday through Friday, or send me an e-mail. I promise that your identity can be kept a secret if you so wish.

On that note, have a cool semester!

Koadchi’s Journal,

Amir Kahn

Senior. Captain of the rythmic gymnastics team.

I sent her an e-mail over winter break,

And she actually replied.

She’s sweet.

But she’s still trying to sell me on gymnastics.

Says we’ll need a captain when she’s gone.

Says I have what it takes.

Says I have perfect form.

Says I have drive.

Says I’m right about how the sopranos should have ended.

Says her mom’s a good cook

Talks and talks and talks

And I all I want to do is listen

She wears oversized red flannel

She fought Ranma for Akane

Everyone wants to know if she likes girls

I want to know if she likes me.

From: NabikiTendo

To: TKuno

YOU CHODE

All those flowery words and you purposely misinterpret things? Katara was supposed to be with Zuko! ‘Too dark’? How about writing a show about a global war where massive destruction and genocide took place? Is that too dark?

Zutara is thematically consistent, but they watered down the ending for people like you who think everything has to fit into neat little boxes.

From: TKuno

To: NabikiTendo

Nabiki Tendo, I would admire your insistence on thematic consistency if you hadn’t begun this debate by declaring that Zuko and Katara would have ‘hotter’ sexual encounters.

I still say that the true beauty in a sexual encounter is how it acts as an extension of the relationship. For some reason many people insist on portraying sex as gritty and dark, but Katara and Aang could likely have fantastic sex because they would have it on crisp bedsheets, in a well lit room, with ample time to enjoy each other.

From: NabikiTendo

To: TKuno

Life isn’t always, ‘crisp bedsheets’ and ‘well lit rooms’, Kuno-babe. Sometimes it’s damp caves or fluorescent lighting. That’s when you want someone with you, and that’s when Zuko would be there for Katara. That’s why Kataang is so unrealistic. If you can only get it up for someone on a bed made with clean sheets can you ever really be there for them?

Facebook Messenger

Akane: Fight Ranma Again

Ryoga: No one wants to see that.

Akane: Fight Ranma Again

Ryoga: Who cares if I fight Ranma? You know, if you want to go out on a date all you had to do was ask ;)

Akane: This is no time for winky faces. Either you fight him or I do.

Ryoga: I think I’d like to see that.

Akane: You wouldn’t. Even when we’re trying to be nice we hurt each other. You don’t want to see what happens when the kid gloves come off.

Ryoga: What’s wrong? What did he do to you?

Akane: He fucked me up, that’s what. He got my emotions so twisted up I want to punch him and patch up his wounds. I want to scream at him and then cry and then scream some more. I want him to feel stupid and scared and angry.

Akane: I want him out of my life. Permanently.

Ryoga: Okay, before you hire a hit man, have you tried to talking to him?

Akane: I don’t want to talk to him. Talking to him made me think I liked him.

Ryoga: Why’d you stop liking him, then?

Akane: I talked to him some more and realized he only cares about himself and what’s best for him and what his dad tells him to do. My feelings don’t matter. He can kiss me and then forget about it. He can make me dream about mysterious men and better versions of him and then trample them.

Akane: Please fight him so I won’t have to.

Facebook Messenger

Ryoga: I want to duel you again.

Ranma: Tonight. Field behind the science building.

Ryoga: Isn’t that a little dangerous?

Ranma: You’re right. We should do it on the basketball court in the gym. Hell, let’s smoke some weed, and have an orgy while we’re at it! We can invite Dean Kuno! He’d have a blast!

Ryoga: What did you do to Akane?

Ranma: Liked her??? I KEEP TRYING TO PROTECT PEOPLE AND THEY KEEP SAYING I’M BEING SELFISH. I’M TRYING SO FUCKING HARD OVER HERE.

Ryoga: You know, there’s a difference between protecting someone for their sake and for yours.

Ranma: Who you ripping off there? Goethe?

Ryoga: I’ll fight you. But first I have to tell my girls I love them.

Ranma: Plural? WAHAHAHAHA. Go ahead, but tell them that when it comes to beating you up we gotta take turns!

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Dear Akari,

I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I ignored you so I could keep chasing other girls and not feel guilty. I’m sorry I held on to you like a safety school. I thought I was doing you a favor, but I was just jerking you around. I was talking to someone today and I realized I wasn’t telling you I’d fallen for someone else because I didn’t want to deal with you. Which is probably why you got as pissed as you did and killed my phone and…all the other things you did.

Also, I’m sorry I thought some mystical connection with another girl made it okay to treat you like shit. I’m not sorry about believing in mystical connections, but I feel a little silly. I mean, you can meet someone and instantly feel good around them. Right away you think they’re cool and you want to know them better, but then you have to get to know them better. Maybe that means you fight about sitcoms, or their exes, but I think that’s a lot more important for the whole falling in love with someone thing than just deciding they’re the most amazing person ever. That’s pretty detrimental to it, actually.

My point is, love can sneak up on you, but break ups shouldn’t. I let you be the last person to know that I was going to dump you, and that was really shitty. Thanks for not letting your pig eat me.

Love,

Ryoga Hibiki.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Thanks.

For finally being honest.

(And not calling the cops on me)

Akari.

—You thought you could make me better/And I hoped it’d turn out right/You know I’d sell my soul to change it/But we’re out of time

Gymnastics Team Group Chat///Jumping Gymnasts

You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s another duel on.

Ranma and that guy he’s fought already.

Kuno?

The other one.

What is wrong with these guys?

I dunno, but I need a kick tonight. I’ll be there.

Me too.

Cap?

Will you be there captain?

It’ll be a club event!

Say you’ll come cap!

Cap!

Okay, Jesus. I’ll be there. Though, I’ve got to say, I’m a little disappointed all of y’all don’t have better stuff to do.

And what are you doing cap?

Nm. I’ll be there.

Shampoo’s phone——> Ukyo’s phone

Did you hear? Ranma

and Ryoga are fight-

ing tonight.

Seriously? Didn’t school just start?

Eight P.M. Behind

the science build-

ing.

See you there?

You bring the ice pack

I’ll bring the bandages?

Sounds like a plan. I swear, if Ryoga

gets hurt over Akane…

Why? Are you jealous?

Jealous? It’s a snowy hill in the dark.

I’m worried he’ll break his neck!

So you don’t care who

Ryoga dates?

No? I mean, it would suck if he

pulled that ‘my girlfriend comes

before anyone else’ thing on us.

That’s such bullshit.

What would you think

if someone put you

before everyone else?

I think you should be checking

our first aid kit, not making

up riddles.

The Daily Times Post All the news we can report February 1st

THE WEIRD AND WILD

Cologne Clueless

A man at a nearby law firm is currently engaged in a large legal battle over what he deems to be wrongful termination. Another employee reported him for consistently coming to work reeking of marijuana. He claims that what his colleague mistook for smoke was actually the scent of his very expensive cologne. He is expected to bring several bottles to court, but he’s not sure how he will light up in the court room…For comparison purposes, of course.

Deuling Downfall

It’s been a while since we’ve had any impressive catastrophes from our local adolescent angst farm, Nancy Sullivan Junior, but recently four freshmen were taken to the hospital en masse due to an incident involving an illegal duel preformed on slippery terrain behind one of their science buildings. What was the fight over? Only the most time honored instigator of fights there is—the hand of a beautiful young lady.

Mixtape Mixup

Local club XS was dead silent this Friday night, except for the sound of Cotten-Eyed Joe, a song which had accidentally slipped into the dj’s playlist and left it’s audience cold, as well as momentarily motionless.

MY DIARY

Once, when I was a younger man, my father took me to a production of Macbeth at NSJ. It was small and low budget but well done, by which I mean that the witches' scenes were phenomenal. They were unearthly, cackling shrilly as their bodies contorted into painful postures. They rooted me to my seat, partly out of appreciation for their performance, and partly because I was worried if I drew too much attention to myself they would leap upon me and tear the meat from my bones.

I thought that once the witches departed from their final scene there would be no more magic for the evening. Then Macduff’s wife appeared, laughing gaily and playing with her son. I recognized in her gait and the cut of her chin the woman who had only a few scenes before been a bent and haggard witch.

It is truly something to see a witch shed her skin to reveal the woman underneath. A woman of kindness and civility, and then dire vulnerability as Macbeth’s men sent her to her grave. It is a magic all it’s own.

No no no, this simply will not do.

There is something I must admit to you, gentle reader, with no further ado, allusions, or passionate ramblings.

I kissed Nabiki Tendo.

Akane’s Diary

I don’t know how this happened.

That’s not true, I know I know it, but the pieces won’t come together in my mind. It still feels like things shouldn’t have gone this way. Like I’m living in that totally blown out of proportion worst case scenario that you think of for a a second before shaking yourself and saying it could never happen.

Ranma isn’t very big is he? It isn’t the hospital bed being huge and playing tricks on me, he’s never been that tall or wide. Hell, I’m taller than him. Still, when he’s up and angry he can add five inches just by standing right and staring down at you. Asleep and covered in bruises he looks like half the man he usually is.

I don’t know why I sent Ryoga that message. I’m not sure if I don’t want to be engaged to Ranma because I hate him, or if I don’t want to be engaged to him so I can do things that might lead to us being engaged. I fell back on Ryoga, and now he, Ranma, Kodachi, and Ukyo are in the hospital. And the only one who deserves to be here is me.

Nabiki is here too. She’s pacing like she wishes she wasn’t, and I’m writing because it feels wrong to be dicking around on my phone or doing anything other than explaining how this is all my fault. Genma was called, and we called dad so he knew. We also told him Ranma might be expelled, since we aren’t sure if anyone has told Genma that. I wonder if it’ll happen before Ranma even gets out of the hospital. Dean Kuno is here to be with his daughter, and I can’t tell if that counts toward Ranma’s time being officially enrolled or against it.

Nabiki says she’s going to find the cafeteria, although I think she just wants to stretch her legs. Good. I want to be alone.

I should write this out so I don’t forget it. This is going to be on me forever, so I should at least have the details straight.

I almost thought this fight was going to be cool. Ranma posted something about it on face book and tons of people showed up. More than I think have been there for any other fight. It was kind of cinematic, all the dark people milling around under crystal clear moonlight, glittering on the snow.

Ranma and Ryoga circled each other for a few minutes, feeling out the terrain more than each other. The snow was thick but powdery, and I felt safe that there wouldn’t be too much slipping. Some people were smoking, and the acrid scent made everything feel sharp.

Ryoga made the first move. He flew at Ranma so fast I was shocked. Even Ranma was caught a little off guard. He dodged though, and spun to make an attack. Snow flew up and caught the light. For a second, this seemed like a good idea.

Ryoga took some of the kick, but managed to turn so a lot of the force bounced off of him. He tried to grab Ranma’s leg, which was a mistake. Ranma punched him and Ryoga recoiled. Ranma went in for another strike, Ryoga jumped back. Then he went to the left, which I thought was a little weird, because he lined himself up for a hit. He ducked left again and I saw that he was leading Ranma to the edge of the slope that rolls toward the science building. I started to worry. With the help of some slippery snow Ryoga could launch Ranma off the edge of the plateau we were on.

Ranma didn’t notice. All he wanted to do was hit Ryoga as hard and as fast as he could. Ryoga was taking blow after blow, but he kept leaning left, and Ranma kept following him.

Then Ranma did a spinning kick. After all the punches he’d been throwing Ryoga was caught off guard. Ranma’s knee slammed into his stomach so hard everyone winced. He fell to his knees.

“Time!” Ukyo screamed. She broke out of the crowd and ran into the part of the ground that had become the ring. She planted herself in front of Ryoga, who was still shuddering on his hands and knees. He looked like he was going to throw up.

“What are you doing?!” Ranma yelled at her.

Ukyo didn’t flinch. She leaned into Ranma and said, “I’m keeping you idiots from hurting each other.”

“You want to fight me?” Ranma was fuming. He would have grappled with a hungry rottweiler if we’d thrown one at him.

“This isn’t how we’re supposed to solve problems anymore.” Ukyo said. “We don’t throw down behind the science building, or in the parking lot off the basket ball court.”

“This is the only way to solve problems.” Ranma spat. “I’m sick of trying so hard to fuck with people’s feelings. All that happens is that we still hate each other, we just pretend we don’t and try to be nice or whatever the fuck, and we sit on all this anger and hate and we smile and want to kill each other.” For a second something flickered over Ranma’s face that wasn’t rage, but it was gone too fast to say what it was. “I can’t do that. I’ve got to be honest. You want Ryoga to tap out, fine. But you’ve got to take his—“

Ukyo kicked him across the face. I don’t know if Ukyo does martial arts, but she’s definitely kept up on her flexibility exercises. The bruise along Ranma’s left temple is a purple negative of the bottom edge of her boot.

Once Ukyo got on the offensive, she stayed there. For a minute I thought she had Ranma cornered. Only he wasn’t shaken. He was plotting how to trip her up. He sent her to the ground and jumped on top of her.

I could see that purple haired girl I talked to once helping Ryoga up. He was a little too heavy for her, as unsteady as he was on his feet, and she motioned to a group of admirably muscly girls for help. One of them was Kodachi, wearing a flannel shirt that fit her so weirdly I’m pretty sure it belonged to the taller girl standing next to her. I don’t know why seeing Kodachi made me spring into action but it did. She reminded me that we were all going to have to explain the bruises, and possible bloodstains on the snow tomorrow. I ran to the other side of the ring and threw myself onto Ranma’s back. He screamed, but between Ukyo and I we managed to grab enough of his limbs to keep him still.

He wouldn’t stop screaming, though. Kodachi appeared at my side and started grabbing at us. I don’t know if she was trying to free Ranma or help restrain him, but when he lurched sideways she was knocked over, crashing into Shampoo and Ryoga—who had been walking towards us for some reason, even though the part of the ring we were in was nearer to the science building than the dorms.

It was also closer to the edge of the hill, and that collision sent us sliding down. At first we were just slipping, but when we struggled to pull ourselves up we gained speed, and soon we were shooting down the hill.

Stupid fucking north-east school with rolling hills.

We crashed into a tree stump. At least, the clump with me, Kodachi, Ranma, and Ukyo did. Shampoo and Ryoga went farther before they hit a tree. I think I was unconscious for a minute, crushed between Kodachi and Ranma.

Maybe longer? I remember crashing and then campus security showing up. I’m not sure how much time passed between that. Then there were ambulances because Ryoga and Ukyo were out cold and Ranma had a huge, jagged cut on his arm. Also, I heard the only thing Kodachi was wearing was that flannel shirt, and she took a few bumps to the head, so they put her in an ambulance too.

Nabiki’s back. The cafeteria has cream horns??? She got me one. She’s really flustered. She got lost a lot on the way.

It’s pretty good. The cream horn. I feel kind of sick, but also like I should eat. I guess there isn’t much we can do right now. I want to track down Dean Kuno and confess that this is all my fault, but I think he should have some time with his daughter first. Also, if I talked to him right now he’d probably want to kill me rather than expel me.

Is it bad if I’m tempted to let him?

Latest post from fuckboisgetmoney.tumblr.com

Fuuuuuuuuuuukkkk………Whyyyyy….

He was so freaked out. Pale and somehow tiny in his huge, puffy coat. Then he took it off and his sweater was too big, his sleeves covering his hands, and I started at him like I’d never seen a human male before. He looked like he was going to cry. His sis is okay, but he kept asking me stuff like, ‘What was she thinking?’, ‘I heard she wants to quit gymnastics. From someone else!’, ‘Should I have seen this coming?’.

Tatewaki Kuno. Taking responsibility. For something that wasn’t even his fault.

His hair was standing on end cause he kept fucking with it. It’s so thick.

I mean, I was worried about Ranma, but I knew it was his own damn fault. I didn’t feel like I didn’t even know him anymore. Kuno was on meltdown mode.

I just wanted to calm him down. I went to shake his shoulders, I was going to slap him like a hysterical woman. I’ve always wanted to do that…

But then I was holding him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes and whispering stuff? And then I was holding his face, and then I was kissing him. It was supposed to be short.

It was long. And slow. I could feel my heartbeat, but it wasn’t scary like when you’re full of adrenaline. It was like awareness spread out from my chest and I could feel every inch of my body. And every inch of his.

Then we stopped kissing and just breathed for a long time.

Too long. I had to get to the cafeteria. I asked Kuno if he knew where the cafeteria was and then I ran away. Like a coward.

#ranma 1/2 #fanfiction #long post text #college au

0 notes

tialovestelevision · 8 years ago

Text

The Thin Dead Line

Black Lives Matter hadn’t yet happened when Angel was made, though the failure of the Clinton-era criminal justice bill that codified the “tough on crime” policies that had long since taken root at the local level in federal law had become obvious and the Los Angeles riots had taken place less than a decade before. Racial and class tensions were high in 2001 - have they ever not been high in America? - and LA was one of the places that was most apparent.

Which is part of why the very small number of black people we see in Angel stands out so much as a problem with the show’s portrayal of Los Angeles. But also, it’s the situation this story (aired February 13, 2001) happens in.

Let’s rock.

1. Angel just got back to the Hyperion. Is he even taking clients? Seriously how IS he paying for this place? There’s a pile of papers on the front desk. Wes, meanwhile, is at the new Angel Investigations office hoping for some good to do. Cordy wants to find Steven Seagal. Quiet is bad for business. They still aren’t calling the place the Gunn Agency. Door opens, people looking for Wesley. People here with a strange case… like the daughter with an eye in the back of her head. Wes says they can get rid of the eye, and find out who.

2. People are running from something scary. It’s stalking them. We go to the shelter, where Anne is packing blankets. It’s very crowded. The people running are at the shelter. They’re terrified. Anne’s letting them in. And locking the door… though those doors have a lot of glass. What are they running from? A cop! Opening credits.

3. Hey, it’s Merl! He’s setting up a new lair. Angel just showed up. Wait… he’s packing to leave. He told Angel there’s a major Wolfram & Hart meeting tomorrow at 9:30. Can’t blame Merl for wanting out.

4. The shelter. Anne is trying to get to know the loads of new people who’ve come in. Kenny says the cops attacked him from nowhere. He says he wasn’t doing anything, and he threw the girl with him against the wall.

5. Anne just came to the new agency… she knows Gunn. She’s talking to them about the renegade cops. Gunn’s going to walk Anne back to the shelter. Anne gave them a moment’s hope that Angel’s changed, but then dashed it.

6. Gunn and Anne are at the shelter now. So’s Angel. Gunn wants Anne to give him a minute with the teens. They haven’t been telling Anne the whole truth, but the police are being extra-brutal.

7. Angel gets stopped by a cop. The cop pulls a nightstick on him and hits him in the head then says he’s going to arrest him when Angel asks what’s going on. Guy’s attacking hard… but Angel hit his head on the car. He’s still going. And a bunch of hits from Angel don’t stop him from attacking. Angel kicks his head off and it keeps talking for a moment before very quickly decaying.

8. Gunn called two of his old friends back. Simple plan - take a walk, record the cops harassing them. Angel, meanwhile, went to the precinct to find Kate. He brought her the badge from the cop whose head he kicked off. He was dead six months ago.

9. Cordy is on the phone with Gunn about the cops. She wants to back him up. Cordy wants to stop him, but he’s right - this is the only way to prove what’s happening. And even that won’t be enough. But Cordy and Wes are going to go find him.

10. Kate and Angel at the cemetery. The dead cop’s grave was recently disturbed. Angel can find the cop graves by finding recently disturbed graves. Zombies. Angel says Kate’s dad is still in the ground, though. Seriously, people… cremation.

11. Anne at the shelter. Cordy and Wes showed up. Cordy is staying at the shelter while Wes looks for Gunn. A guy who every writing trope in the world says is trouble forces his way in before Anne gets the door closed. Jackson is the guy’s name, and people are scared of him, but he wouldn’t kill Ray in front of women.

12. Gunn and his friends found the territory of a particularly dangerous gang. But a cop shows up and starts making demands of Gunn. And Wes shows up and the cop shoots him. Gunn’s friend shoots the cop as he reaches for his other gun. And the cop is getting up while they run off with Wes. The cop is calling for backup, because there are witnesses.

13. Wes is bleeding quite a lot. They’re calling an ambulance.

14. Angel and Kate are at the precinct. They find a cop with an apple. The Captain isn’t running things by the book.

15. Wes is still bleeding. Gunn’s friend said the ambulance isn’t coming, but it arrived after all. They’re getting Wes loaded into it. Gunn’s friends are running back to the shelter while Gunn rides with Wes. And now the cops are stopping the ambulance. And they shot one of the EMTs a lot. Gunn has taken the wheel, and is escaping with the ambulance and the surviving EMT and Wes. They ran to the shelter. Anne needs to get the door sealed, and they probably should hide the ambulance… yep. Cop just stopped after seeing the ambulance. They’re calling in support. The captain said to “clean house.”

16. Gunn knows Jackson. And the cops are about to storm the shelter. Wes’s health is getting worse, so they have to get him to the hospital. But the cops are surrounding the shelter. Wow, that’s a lot of them. They’re fortifying the shelter to hold out against the cops. Angel’s in the captain’s office now, looking around. He’s giving away that he knows about the zombies, and the captain shot him repeatedly. That only pissed him off. The cops are tearing the bars off the windows and using a ram on the back door. The captain fled through a secret door in his office. One of the cops grabbed Anne, but Cordy saved her. Jackson just opened the back door and got beaten up by a cop, but the door’s open… Gunn got it closed. They’re trying to come in the front door too. The captain has a shrine with skulls and stuff. And has a stake. Angel is trying to find what’s controlling the zombies. The cops are in the windows and have broken down the front and side doors. Angel broke the Idol of Granath the Zombie God on the captain’s head, and the zombie cops go down. Jackson’s not going to help Gunn get Wesley to the ambulance,but Cordy will.

17. Kate tells Angel that the zombie cops got the crime levels way down. And told him that Wes got shot. Gunn’s in Wes’s hospital room with him. He’s talking. He’s on a lot of morphine, and thinks it’s bloody lovely. Angel’s outside the room, and sees Cordy. She’s angry at him. She says he walked away and needs to stay away. So he’s leaving. Episode end.

Overall: There’s a lot to unpack here.

So… there’s a few things going on in this episode. It continues the arc about Angel’s separation from his friends, talks a lot about the way Wes, Cordy, and Gunn have bonded, and is sort of a Very Special Episode about police violence.

It does a very good job at the first two. Cordy in the last scene, sending Angel away, is particularly effective. So’s everyone’s mutual concern. Angel and the others are working the same case but from separate angles. And Anne is always wonderful to see in this show.

As television, this is better than the vast bulk of Very Special Episodes. Actually, it is, as a simple piece of art, just very good on its own merits. Compelling, suspenseful, dramatic.

As a story about police violence, it has no teeth. As a story about racism, it has no teeth and seems convinced it’s got them. As a story of the lengths people go to when they’re desperate, it’s… a bit effective, but undermined by the fact that the desperate people here are white Los Angeles Police Department officers and the zombies are basically doing what people in poor, black neighborhoods generally expect cops to do anyway.

You don’t need to raise a cop as a zombie to make the cop frightening. The cop is armed, acts with the authority of the government, and can almost certainly murder you without serious consequence. That’s honestly more frightening than Angelus is.

America’s police forces, less than a decade before this, sat with the rest of the country and watched a group of cops brutally and viciously and mercilessly beat a man who was already rendered helpless. They watched it straight from tape. They watched the man’s attackers be found not guilty of wrongdoing, and they have spent the 25 years since fighting - through their unions and advocacy organizations - against any change, no matter how small, that would bring legal consequences on police who continue to do the same thing. And nobody involved had to be a zombie to do it.

#angel #the thin dead line #angel season 2 #season 2 #season 5

0 notes