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hotvintagepoll · 5 months ago

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THE TOURNAMENT IS OVER! Eartha Kitt lounges in her deck chair in the sun, dipping her toes in the pool with Toshiro Mifune and sipping a brightly colored fruity something with an umbrella in it.

Far below in the shadow realm, however, the fallen hotties dance in the dark—let's take a minute to look back at them under the cut.

PRELIM PRETTIES:

Claude Gensac, Silvia Pinal, Ewa Aulin, Rita Tushingham, Annette Funicello, Norma Bengell, Catherine Spaak, Brigitte Auber, Micheline Presle, Nanette Fabray, Libertad Lamarque, Vera Miles, Martha Raye, Catherine McLeod, Virginia Mayo, Elizabeth Allan, Belle Bennet, Virginia Cherill, Mary Brian, Ruth Chatterton, Agnes Ayres, Merna Kennedy, Marie Prevost, Corinne Griffith, May Allison, Virginia Brown Faire, Alice Brady, and Jetta Goudal

ROUND ONE WONDERS:

Angie Dickinson, Thelma Ritter, Geraldine Chaplin, Evelyn Preer, Vanessa Brown, Betty Blythe, Susan Hayward, Mae Clarke, Sally Ann Howes, Ossi Oswalda, Adrienne La Russa, Hermione Gingold, Barbara Bouchet, Melina Mercouri, Anna Karina, Edwige Fenech, Charmian Carr, Pina Pellicer, Marlène Jobert, Tsuru Aoki, Alice Roberts, Leila Hyams, Lady Tsen Mei, Geneviève Bujold, Dolores Hart, Anita Berber, Bonita Granville, Vonetta McGee, Claire Windsor, Zizi Jeanmaire, Tuesday Weld, Grace Darmond, Carol Channing, Deanna Durbin, Laraine Day, Mariette Hartey, Wendy Hiller, Candy Darling, Hermione Baddely, Valeria Creti, Ella Raines, Ann Miller, Dana Wynter, Dalida, Martine Beswick, Gale Storm, Simone Signoret, Cristina Gaioni, Mabel Normand, Stéphane Audran, Ruth Weyher, Anna Wiazemsky, Ann Sheridan, Sandhya Shantaram, Alice White, Anne Francis, Gena Rowlands, Lyda Borelli, May Whitty, Cathleen Nesbitt, Jessica Walter, Virna Lisi, Barbara Shelley, Iris Hall, Heather Angel, Anne Shirley, Joanna Pettet, Virginia O'Brien, Joan Collins, Greer Garson, Gracie Allen, Peggy Ryan, Frances Dee, Shirley Maclaine, Geraldine Farrar, Kathleen Byron, Margaret Hamilton, Eva Gabor, Francesca Bertini, Julie Adams, Olga Baclanova, Misa Uehara, Yvette Vickers, Milena Dravić, Jenny Jugo, Madeleine Carroll, Benita Hume, Olive Borden, Shirley Jones, Miyoshi Umeki, Dorothy Lamour, Gale Sondergaard, Mary Anderson, Charlotte Greenwood, Sybil Seely, Mona Barrie, Kathryn Grayson, Katharine Ross, Madge Bellamy, Rhonda Fleming, Sally Gray, Jana Brejchová, Debra Paget, Madame Sul-Te-Wan, Evelyn Brent, Zelma O'Neal, Marie Laforêt, Türkan Şoray, Beatriz Costa, Irene Zazians, Eleanor Powell, Susan Luckey, Patsy Kelly, Lil Dagover, Norma Talmadge, Dorothy Mackaill, Madge Evans, Virginia McKenna, Amália Rodrigues, Mamie Van Doren, Valerie Hobson, Isabel Jeans, Beata Tyszkiewicz, Claire Luce, Aleksandra Khokhlova, Nieves Navarro Garcia, Janet Leigh, Carmen Miranda, Jean Harlow, Aud Egedge-Nissen, Nina Foch, Jean Simmons, Piper Laurie, Katy Jurado, Jayne Mansfield, Anita Garvin, Frances Farmer, Lizabeth Scott, Joan Greenwood, Una Merkel, Arlene Francis, Ethel Merman, Doris Day, Suzanne Pleshette, Ruta Lee, Carolyn Jones, June Richmond, Eva Nil, Diana Dors, Anna Chang, Colleen Moore, Alexis Smith, Yvette Mimieux, Ruby Keeler, Viola Dana, Dolores Grey, Marie Windsor, Danielle Darieux, Jean Parker, Julie Christie, Acquanetta, Leatrice Joy, Ghita Nørby, Julie Newmar, Joanne Woodward, Sandra Dee, Eva Marie Saint, Simone Simon, Katherine Dunham, Birgitte Price, Lee Grant, Anita Page, Flora Robson, Martha Sleeper, Elsie Ames, Isabel "Coca" Sarli, Glenda Farrell, Kathleen Burke, Linden Travers, Diane Baker, Joan Davis, Joan Leslie, Sylvia Sidney, Marie Dressler, June Lockhart, Emmanuelle Riva, Libertad Leblanc, Susannah Foster, Susan Fleming, Dolores Costello, Ann Smyrner, Luise Rainer, Anna Massey, Evelyn Ankers, Ruth Gordon, Eva Dahlbeck, Ansa Ikonen, Diana Wynyard, Patricia Neal, Etta Lee, Gloria Stuart, Arletty, Dorothy McGuire, Mitzi Gaynor, Gwen Verdon, Maria Schell, Lili Damita, Ethel Moses, Gloria Holden, Kay Thompson, Jeanne Crain, Edna May Oliver, Lili Liliana, Ruth Chatterton, Giulietta Masina, Claire Bloom, Dinah Sheridan, Carroll Baker, Brenda de Banzie, Milú, Hertha Thiele, Hanka Ordonówna, Lillian Roth, Jane Powell, Carol Ohmart, Betty Garrett, Kalina Jędrusik, Edana Romney, Geraldine Fitzgerald, Kay Kendall, Ruth Hussey, Véra Clouzot, Jadwiga Smosarska, Marge Champion, Mary Astor, Ann Harding, María Casares, Maureen O'Sullivan, Mildred Natwick, Michèle Morgan, Romy Schneider, Elisabeth Bergner, Celeste Holm, Betty Hutton, Susan Peters, Mehtab, Leslie Caron, Anna Sten, Janet Munro, Nataša Gollová, Eve Arden, Ida Lupino, Regina Linnanheimo, Sonja Henie, and Terry (what a good girl)

ROUND TWO BEAUTIES:

Evelyn Nesbit, Thelma Todd, Tura Satana, Helen Gibson, Maureen O'Hara, Rocío Dúrcal, Mary Nolan, Lois Maxwell, Maggie Smith, Zulma Faiad, Ursula Andress, Musidora, Delphine Seyrig, Marian Marsh, Leatrice Joy, Sharon Tate, Pina Menichelli, Teresa Wright, Shelley Winters, Lee Remick, Jane Wyman, Martita Hunt, Barbara Bates, Susan Strasberg, Marie Bryant, Diana Rigg, Jane Birkin, Rosalind Russell, Vanessa Redgrave, Brigitte Helm, Gloria Grahame, Rosemary Clooney, Bebe Daniels, Constance Bennett, Lilian Bond, Ann Dvorak, Jeanette Macdonald, Pouri Banayi, Raquel Welch, Vilma Bánky, Dorothy Malone, Olive Thomas, Celia Johnson, Moira Shearer, Priscilla Lane, Dolores del Río, Ann Sothern, Françoise Rosay, June Allyson, Carole Lombard, Jeni Le Gon, Takako Irie, Barbara Steele, Claudette Colbert, Lalita Pawar, Asta Nielsen, Sandra Milo, Maria Montez, Mae West, Alma Rose Aguirre, Bibi Andersson, Joan Blondell, Anne Bancroft, Elsa Lanchester, Nita Naldi, Suchitra Sen, Dorothy Van Engle, Elisabeth Welch, Esther Williams, Loretta Young, Margueritte De La Motte, Ita Rina, Constance Talmadge, Margaret Lockwood, Barbara Bedford, Josette Day, Stefania Sandrelli, Jane Russell, Doris Dowling, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Donna Reed, Ruby Dee, Diana Sands, Billie Burke, Kyōko Kagawa, Françoise Dorléac, Hend Rostom, Monica Vitti, Lilian Harvey, Marjorie Main, Jeanne Moreau, Lola Flores, Ann Blyth, Janet Gaynor, Jennifer Jones, Margaret Sullavan, Sadhana, Ruby Myers, Lotus Long, Honor Blackman, Marsha Hunt, Debbie Reynolds, Michèle Mercier, Irene Dunne, Jean Arthur, Judy Holliday, Tippi Hedren, Susse Wold, Vera-Ellen, Carmelita González, Nargis Dutt, Purnima, Harriet Andersson, Yvonne De Carlo, Miroslava Stern, Sheila Guyse, Helen, Margaret Dumont, Betty Grable, Joan Bennett, Jane Greer, Judith Anderson, Liv Ullman, Vera Zorina, Joan Fontaine, Silvana Mangano, and Lee Ya-Ching

ROUND THREE ELECTRIFIERS:

Jean Hagen, Sumiko Mizukubo, Mary Philbin, Ann-Margret, Margaret Rutherford, Claudia Cardinale, Eleanor Parker, Jessie Matthews, Theresa Harris, Brigitte Bardot, Alla Nazimova, Faye Dunaway, Marion Davies, Anna Magnani, Theda Bara, Myrna Loy, Kay Francis, Fay Wray, Barbra Streisand, Bette Davis, Hideko Takamine, France Nuyen, Claudine Auger, Miriam Hopkins, Maylia Fong, Samia Gamal, Maude Fealy, Machiko Kyō, Sharmila Tagore, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, Juanita Moore, Anna Fougez, Waheeda Rehman, Ruan Lingyu, Nina Mae McKinney, Ethel Waters, Nadira, Olivia de Havilland, Abbey Lincoln, Louise Beavers, Agnes Moorehead, Lana Turner, Norma Shearer, Maria Falconetti, Reiko Sato, Marie Doro, Clara Bow, Margaret Lindsay, Catherine Denueve, Madhabi Mukherjee, Rosaura Revueltas, Hu Die, Mary Pickford, Fredi Washington, Louise Brooks, Leonor Maia, Merle Oberon, Paulette Goddard, Vivien Leigh, Francine Everett, Savitri, Tita Merello, and Meena Kumari

ROUND FOUR STUNNERS:

Judy Garland, Dorothy Dandridge, Yoshiko Yamaguchi, Marilyn Monroe, Irene Papas, Lupe Vélez, Pola Negri, Gene Tierney, Barbara Stanwyck, Gina Lollobrigida, Lena Horne, Nutan, Jean Seberg, Kim Novak, Gladys Cooper, Tallulah Bankhead, Linda Darnell, Julie Andrews, Carmen Sevilla, Gloria Swanson, Glynis Johns, Anne Baxter, Angela Lansbury, Anita Ekberg, Toshia Mori, Deborah Kerr, Hazel Scott, Chelo Alonso, Cyd Charisse, Nancy Kwan, Devika Rani, Shima Iwashita, and Anouk Aimée

ROUND FIVE SMOKESHOWS:

Setsuko Hara, Pearl Bailey, Joan Crawford, Madhubala, Marpessa Dawn, Keiko Awaji, Rita Hayworth, Veronica Lake, Ava Gardner, Greta Garbo, Grace Kelly, Xia Meng, Suraiya, Natalie Wood, María Félix, and Mbissine Thérèse Diop

ROUND SIX SEXY LADIES:

Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Vyjyanthimala, Jane Fonda, Katharine Hepburn, Josephine Baker, Elizabeth Taylor, and Ingrid Bergman

QUARTER FINALIST GLAMAZONS:

Audrey Hepburn, Marlene Dietrich, Anna May Wong, and Lauren Bacall

SEMIFINALIST ICONS:

Rita Moreno, Diahann Carroll

FINALIST FABULOSITY:

Hedy Lamarr

ULTIMATE CHAMPION OF THE HOT & VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN TOURNAMENT:

Eartha Kitt

#fuck that old woman

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loveindefinitely · 10 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ PRINCESS TREATMENT — price + gaz x reader

01 — THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

featuring. kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. fem!reader, fmm, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence, frequent mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, discussions of mental health

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

If you had to say when, exactly, everything changed, you’d put it down to a single monarch butterfly.

Walking down the tight alleyways of Las Almas, the sky a four o’clock black, a lone street light casts a gentle yellow over your frame. The air is stagnant, the warmth of late spring mixed with the type of humidity that only comes before a storm, your boots clicking against the stone beneath your feet.

With a leather jacket wrapped tight around you, you fall into the rhythm of it all. It’s just before five in the morning, and you know that you should be heading home any minute, but you find yourself rejecting the idea.

Everytime you leave for the night, just to breathe, to live for no one but yourself, it gets harder and harder to make your way back through your bedroom window. You know the guards are getting antsy, too, your payoffs for their silence on the issue becoming less and less worth it. Not when it’s becoming an ultimatum between some quick cash and a slow death.

You wish you were given that choice. Mightn’t even care which option you happened to receive.

It’s quiet, in these parts. No sign of the city that had been ruined by mercs, no sign of the destruction that had once lay beneath one man’s boots.

Instead, this city now sits in the firm grip of El Sin Nombre – the way it had once been, and if your family has it how they want it, the way it shall forever be.

Underneath your breath, you hum, a tune you’d picked up from the local radio. Every morning, you listen to the daily news reports, the weather, the latest celebrity gossip. Without fail, El Sin Nombre is never mentioned. Neither are the missing persons, the families torn apart by the woman you call boss.

The end of the alleyway is coming up, the main street ahead barren of people, except the odd homeless person or fitness nut getting their morning fix.

Just as you’re about to turn around and manually move your feet back to your home, the smallest of movements catches your eye, right by a potted plant sitting at the street corner. You’re not sure how, or why, it catches your attention – but it snags it, hook line and sinker.

Quickly looking both ways, you take a cautious step towards what appears to be a small aloe vera plant, stopping in your tracks when you realise what’s perched upon the tallest of the stems, its burnt orange wings fluttering with the small breeze.

A butterfly.

It hasn’t spooked – not yet, not with your careful movements – and it seems so insignificant. So small, with the family homes lining the streets, the independent stores setting up for the day.

With you, your massive life, your massive boots to fill.

And it just sits.

Flaps its wings.

A shot sounds.

Jumping back, your eyes catch the butterfly taking off into the sky, its sun-kissed wings taking it as far away from the horror as possible. Exactly as you should be doing.

Screams echo around you, another bullet sounding, and then another, and another –

Hand resting at the gun sitting in your thigh hollister, you whip your head towards the sound, the yelling, the rushed Spanish leaving people’s mouths. Gringos. El Sin Nombre. Death. Stay down.

Taking a sharp right turn onto the main street’s footpath, another shot fires, this time much closer. Much more real, tangible. Hand fully fisting around the handle of your pistol, you take the corner to the sidestreet – the source of it all – with quiet ease.

Multiple cartel members – expendable pendejos, Valeria would say – have guns not unlike your own, aimed at two separate men hidden behind a parked car. They’re crouched behind it, peaking and launching their own retaliating shots, hitting either shoulders or necks.

They fire off quick, dirty shots, one bursting through the car’s windows, shattering the glass, before lodging in one of the mens’ head. He falls, blood and brain matter splattering on the brick wall behind him. None of the others even spare him a look.

“Get ‘im!” A deep, rough voice calls – British, assertive, mature – the one furthest from you. He’s adorning a boonie hat, pulled down to cover the tops of his ears, facial hair decorating his jawline and upper lip.

They both seem to be exerting themselves, clearly having done a lot of activity and planning before the current scene. Nearly all of the civilians are out of the area, the two foreigners taking care to not harm any of the innocents.

Certainly a step up from the cartel.

There’s four left, all taking shots at the car, some bullets ricocheting off of the flat metal. Back to the opposite wall, you take out your pistol, switching off the safety with a single brush of your thumb. Keeping it extended in front of you, both hands holding it, you make your way silently closer to the confrontation, keeping behind them all.

The second foreigner – tall, all slim muscle, radiating warmth and self-assurance – takes a sweeping step away from the car, delivering final head shots to all but one.

Clawing against the ground, trying to gain his footing, pistol flung metres away from him, he lets out groans of agony. He’s been shot in the knee, it seems like – yeah, definitely been shot in the knee, by the way he screams when he tries to rise on it.

Doing quick head checks, the younger foreigner keeps his gun raised at a safe level, before walking over to the wounded member.

The lone soldier grunts when the lithe man smacks the butt of his gun against his temple, his head twisting with the force of it. You can tell he’s being kept alive.

“Fuck, Cap,” the younger man hisses, hooking his thumb in his vest, throwing his head back slightly. In the streetlight, from your close distance, you can see a droplet trail down his Adam’s apple. Collect at the hollow of his throat, glisten in the dim light.

The other, ‘Cap’, presses his hands against his knees, using the momentum to stand, wiping the back of his glove against his mouth. Quickly scanning his surroundings, you dart behind a small, abandoned street stall, crouching as you do so.

No shots are fired – you consider it a win.

“C’mon, we gotta get ‘im to exfil,” he grunts, and when you move back to watch them in full view, you see him jog over to stand next to his partner. Leaning down, he pulls his arm around the unconscious man, lifting him up with the younger’s help. They swing his arms around the necks of them both, their hands keeping him upright between the two.

“Ale and Rudy are gonna have our asses for the stray shots,” the black-haired one groans, but there’s a relieved smile stretching over his face. “Hopefully this guy has the intel they want.”

“If he doesn’t,” ‘Cap’ returns, a humoured look written all over his face, “We’ll have their asses.”

Intel. They want… intel. On the cartel, on El Sin Nombre. Something you have in spades. In fact, you were probably the closest thing to a gold mine when it came to information of the Las Almas cartel. Wouldn’t even need torture to get you to speak.

You’d heard of Alejandro and Rodolfo. They were considered legends by the townspeople, the men who nearly took down the cartel. The true face of the Mexican Military – not the paid off army.

It was a shame, really, how much of their story wasn’t told.

Being shot if either name left anyone’s mouth made it a difficult one to retell. Especially to you – the Cartel’s Princess – a woman hated for nothing more than her last name.

Your step-father and ‘boss’ refused to speak of them, either. Your limited knowledge pertained to the fact that they were direct enemies of El Sin Nombre, and shared a complicated past with Valeria. You’d asked, once, what happened.

You’d never asked again.

The sun is rising, the hints of morning brushing over the deserted side street. They seem… ethereal, in this light, exhausted from work but cheerful from a job well done. At ease with each other, even with blood decorating their skin, boots covered in red.

You remember when you’d first tried to run away, fourteen and too naive to plan it beforehand, before you knew to slide cash into the guards’ belt. It had been seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds before a bullet had grazed your thigh, and you were brought back to your house. You still have the scar – both physically, and mentally.

Having to learn that running away was never a truly feasible option was a hard reality at such a young age. Sheltered, too – you didn’t understand the true way of the world. What life was like without a bounty on your head and blood money decorating your neck in the form of a pearl necklace. Hands chained with bracelets of pure gold.

The cool metal grows clammy with your own distraught, your index finger hooking around the trigger.

When you were younger, you wanted to become a journalist. You dreamt of the ability to make things known – uncover the dark secrets your family loved to hide. A servant to the public – in the most damning of ways, a true way of protecting without the need for blood on your hands. The only black metal in your hands would be that of a pen; considerably more deadly than a weapon could ever be.

You aim your pistol.

Oh, to be free. To not have to wake up every day, dreading, hating yourself for the sins of your family. Your livelihood. Freedom in not having to choose between being a bystander, or meeting the death of a traitor.

That butterfly, gods, that butterfly. It took itself wherever it wanted – got to experience the world at its own pace. Live for the sake of it, gifting the Earth for the pleasure of it all.

Grateful for just a week of substance. A week of survival.

What you’d do for just a week.

A shot fires, and you don’t move an inch from the drawback. You just stand, watching, as a body falls, and two guns are instantly aimed at you in turn.

Just a week.

Letting the gun slide from your hand and hit the floor, you raise your hands, palms facing the two. They don’t shoot – that’s all you could’ve hoped for. Being reckless was part of being in the cartel, and your very blood ran because of it.

“You want intel?” You ask, loud enough to carry to them, taking a bold step forward. With the sun not having risen, a chill settles into your bones, the tight, silk nightdress you adorn during sleep the only thing protecting you as the breeze brushes open your jacket. “I have it.”

The youngest moves to lower his gun, but a side eye from ‘Cap’ has him raising it again. The way they stare you down has your chest rising and falling in dramatic movements, and for the first time this night, you second guess yourself.

It’s the only chance you’ve ever gotten – you think, reminding yourself – and you will accept it with open arms. Just a week.

Taking careful, precise steps closer, you keep your palms facing them and face a stubborn neutral. You’d been trained in a lot of areas, sparsely, but there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be able to take either of them in a real fight. Diego had spoiled you with riches and luxury, not sparring and gunslinging.

“Wait –” the younger stretches out his hand, looking to the other with an expression. Like he’d seen a ghost. “She’s…”

“I know,” the other breathes out, his tense stance easing slightly.

As you stand, just a metre or two away from them, you look between them both. Calculating, watching, you slide off your leather jacket and drop it to the ground – showing that you have no other weapons, no bombs strapped to you.

Just a silk, blood red nightdress, an empty hollister, and black leather boots.

“You guys were pretty loud when you said you needed intel,” you narrow your eyes, flitting between them both. They shroud you in their shadows; tall, muscular – military. But not… regiment. Different, more sinister, maybe, more important. “And I saw you kill my auntie’s men.”

They both lower their weapons. Partly stupid, partly an insult. “You’re the Cartel Princess, aye?” The younger raises his brows, looking over you with studious brown.

“I left my tiara at home,” you snark. The younger smirks, approving of your response. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be stepped all over, to be taken in by them.

Jerking his head to the dead body laying between the both of them, the older levels an unimpressed gaze your way. “Was that necessary?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest and righting his posture, looking down at you.

“He was a dick anyways,” you roll your eyes, finally lowering your own hands to rest at your hips. “He tried to offer up his daughter ‘cause he was in debt.”

Both of their jaws go slack.

You shrug.

“Where are you guys going anyways?” You ask, bouncing on the heels of your feet, hands held together behind your back. Looking around, your mouth pulls into a small frown at the shattered store windows. You’d try and leave some money for them when you got back.

The smaller one lets out an almost shocked chuckle. “This isn’t – you’re not hitchhiking.”

Rubbing at the roof of his nose, the one with the boonie hat looses a thick sigh, before giving you an exhausted look. “You’re lucky Alejandro has been after your arse for years. Gaz, get ‘er gun.”

“Yes, Sir,” he jokes, roughly saluting the man before grabbing your weapon. Sliding it into his own holster, he loops his elbow through yours, and starts dragging you down the street, the other walking a bit ahead of you both.

“This went way easier than I thought,” you mutter, realising just how… simple it had been to get them to take you. No cuffs, surprisingly, and no sedatives.

Gaz, as the other referred to him as, looks down to you with a friendly smile. “Most of us know your face. Alejandro and Rodolfo have been looking for you – something about you being ‘one of the good ones’.”

“I’ve never met them,” you admit, a small crease forming between your brows. “I’ve heard of them, but… why do they care about me?”

“Apparently,” the one up ahead darts his blue eyes back to you, “You do, in fact, have ‘intel’. And…” He trails off, before shaking his head. “You’ll see when we get back to base. I think he’ll be quite happy.”

Gaz groans with a laugh. “Hate when he’s giddy. They’re so loud.”

Falling back a little, ‘Cap’ hits his subordinate lightly up the back of his head. “You’re gross. Exfil’s just off to the right.”

“Reminds me of Amsterdam,” Gaz says wistfully, his elbow still linked around yours. This might just be the oddest way to be taken in by a supposed ‘enemy’ ever. Definitely up there.

Turning, you see a black SUV parked off to the side, the windows tinted to the nth degree. You can’t see anything within them except your own reflections, the winding streets behind you three. Looking to Gaz, you ask, “Where’s my carriage?”

He gives an incredulous look. “You’re serious?”

You and his partner answer at the exact same time, the same tone, “No.”

Opening the door to the back, Cap urges the two of you in, before getting into the passenger seat. The cushions are black, too, and comfortable as you situate yourself by the window, Gaz taking the middle seat. So much for space.

“John –”

“Kate, they’ve been after her for years. We owe ‘em.”

A woman, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, looks at you through her rearview mirror. She seems… displeased about your presence.

“You’re making us a bigger target,” she hisses, shooting him an annoyed look. “If they aren’t already trying to gun us down, they’re about to go nuclear!”

“Auntie and daddy don’t like missiles. Said it’s cheap,” you chip in, folding your knee so your ankle rests on your opposite knee, folding your hands in your lap. Damn, you think, You chipped your nail polish. Only lasted a day.

Silence fills the vehicle.

You hum that radio’s tune once more, and Kate exhales a deep, calming breath. Like she’s one step away from whipping out her own gun and shooting you all dead. And then herself.

“Can you turn on the heater? It’s kinda cold,” you ask, hands rubbing at your bare arms. Should’ve put your leather jacket back on before they took you.

“John,” Kate grits out, “I am two seconds away from –”

A shot fires, then two, then three. In one movement, you grab a hold of your pistol from Gaz’s hollister, switching off the safety once more and holding it to your chest. Kate instantly switches on the ignition, accelerating hard enough to have your head hitting the back of your chair with a squeak.

Gaz unwinds the window to his left, furthest away from you, and starts firing at where a dozen or so members stand at the main street, firing off shots at the car. Bracing yourself against the back of the driver’s seat, you take aim.

True as the way the sun is set to rise, you land multiple shots through vital organs, some lucky ones blasting right through their heads. Your wrist aches from the strength of your hold around your weapon, a break from childhood coming back to haunt you. You don’t stop, however, not when you’re nowhere near your breaking point.

Within seconds, Kate drives the car out of their view, dodging potholes like a professional.

It’s five minutes later, when you’re out of the main business streets of Las Almas, that your back hits your seat once more, eyes fluttering shut as you flick the safety back on.

Gaz does the same, his shoulder bumping yours with the width and sheer height of him. You feel small, between him and the door, but not unsafe. Quite the opposite, actually, with the way he sliced through those men with buttery gunmanship.

The silence, this time, is electric. A buzzing in the air, an excitement flowing through your veins.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, dragging your hands over your face and sloping in your seat, lips forming a disgruntled pout.

“What – what happened? You good?” Gaz asks, leaning forward, placing his hand on the back of Kate’s headrest to look over you. His arm is corded with muscle, the sleeves of his shirt pulled up to his elbows, allowing a decent view of his military-grade skin.

You sit your head against the window.

“I left my favourite nail polish at home. And my favourite earrings,” you mumble, upset.

Gaz coughs, then sits back in his seat awkwardly. “...Right. Can’t you just. …Get more? If you’re cooperative, Ale–”

You punch him in his throat, and he wheezes, tears sprouting in his eyes as he coughs. “You don’t get it,” you glare at him, before patting his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit so hard.”

It’s only then that you realise John and Kate are speaking quietly up the front, low enough to not be heard by the two of you.

“Who do you guys work for, anyway?” You ask, when Gaz stops coughing, instead swallowing mouthfuls of water from the skin in his pack. He stops to stare at you.

“You ask this… now?” He questions, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.

You shrug. “Even if you guys were mercs or something, I probably would’ve asked to be taken. Wait –” You pause, eyes going wide, mouth going slack, “You aren’t mercs, are you? Please say you aren’t.”

“We’re Special Ops. Dunno how much the old man wants me to say, so, there you go,” Gaz shrugs, pulling on his gloves. His gaze remains on yours as he does so – pulling them off by the tips of his fingers, revealing slender hands. They look oddly graceful, for a seasoned operator, and you can see the tendons pull when he takes off the other.

The sun is high enough to paint the sky in streaks of yellow and orange, swirling with the night’s dark blue. Clouds decorate the canvas like swipes of cotton, the beginnings of what looks to be a perfect Spring day. As you look out the window, watching as you pass the streets of your city, you feel an odd seed of doubt.

Not for what you’re doing – but for what you’re leaving. All of the bodies lining the streets under cartel cloths, never getting to do the very thing you’re experiencing. So many families torn apart without the option of freedom.

The glass is cool against your cheek as you drum your fingers over your lap, the tap tap tap of that song in your head looped.

“You don’t look like your pictures,” Gaz says, then, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you studiously. He appears so relax, seated beside you, tall enough to have his head nearly hitting the roof of the car.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t realise this was a Tinder date.”

He laughs, the sound melting down your spine like the cocoa body butter you favourite. Maybe he was right about the cooperation thing – you could play nice if it meant you got to have your routine.

“I just mean,” he starts, before rolling over the words in his mouth, looking out the window before making eye contact once more. His eyes are so brown. “You’re a lot less… snobby-looking.”

You bite out a sharp laugh in shock. “Excuse me?”

He raises his hands, now, a direct copy of how you’d appeared when you first made eye contact. His smile is devastating as he says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just meant you have a lot more personality than expected.”

“Thought I was the type to be docile and pretty?” You quip, pulling your hair to rest over your shoulder. “How typically… male of you.”

Placing a hand over his heart, he pretends like he’s been wounded, expression twisting into one of pain. “Ouch, Princess. Way to hit a man where it hurts.”

“I know of many other places that’ll hurt,” you mutter, side-eying him. “Don’t test me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” he returns.

The car starts increasing in speed, then, at a harshly quick rate – enough to have both you and Gaz sitting up straighter, checking out your windows and tightening your grips on your guns.

Price turns, twisting where he sits in the passenger seat, looking out the back window. He curses under his breath, before looking between the both of you.

“We have company.”

author's note. please leave a comment or quote reblog if you enjoyed!! i hope you all enjoy this journey with me :) xx

taglist. nothing to see here.

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operachristine · 11 months ago

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Holiday Gifting Day 4

Day 4 of 5 features some Christine understudies!

Christian Müller (u/s The Phantom of the Opera), Martina Rumpf (u/s Christine Daaé), Lucius Wolter (u/s Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny), Evelyn Werner (alt Carlotta Giudicelli), Ernst van Looy (Monsieur Firmin), Fernand Delosch (Monsieur André), Gabriele Ramm (Madame Giry), Daniel Brenna (Ubaldo Piangi), Annabel Knight (Meg Giry) July 15, 2006; Essen Matinee

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Dale Tracy, Susan Derry (u/s), Scott Gregory, Michael Starrs, Reinhard Schulze (u/s), Vera Borisova (u/s), Pamela Laurent, Colenton Freeman, Gabriela Nicholson March 31, 1997; Hamburg

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Saulo Vasconcelos (The Phantom of the Opera), Lolita Cortes (u/s Christine Daaé), José Joel (Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny) 2000 (2); Mexico City || Notes: Act 1 only

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Ivan Ozhogin (The Phantom of the Opera), Mercedesz Csampai (u/s Christine Daaé), Evgeniy Zaytsev (Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny), Irina Samoylova (Carlotta Giudicelli), Yuriy Mazikhin (Monsieur Firmin), Aleksey Bobrov (Monsieur André), Elena Charkviani (Madame Giry), Sergey Borzov (u/s Ubaldo Piangi), Valeria Migalina (Meg Giry) December 25, 2014; Moscow

Link

#phantom of the opera #audio gift #holiday gifting

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missviolet1847 · 2 months ago

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Bambini in guerra che a scuola non tornano | il manifesto

Una bambina legge nella scuola dell’Unrwa usata come rifugio dai palestinesi - foto Ansa

Il primo giorno. Il primo giorno in classe è il primo giorno del mondo nuovo, il nostro pensiero va a Gaza: buco nero dell’umanità, inizio e fine di ogni principio etico e morale sull’esistere

Pubblicato 21 ore fa

Edizione del 12 settembre 2024

Valeria Parrella

Il primo giorno di scuola è importantissimo, è la notizia, perché la scuola salva la vita, come il servizio sanitario nazionale, né più né meno. E certo tra le istituzioni su cui si incardinano le democrazie ci sono entrambi.

E certo un pronto soccorso ti salva la vita sull’urgenza e la scuola pubblica te la salva sulla lunga percorrenza: sul resto dell’esistenza. E certo per noi sono i pilastri, il fondamento, il motivo per cui siamo sicuri che pagare le tasse non è solo un dovere ma anche un diritto, e questa cosa riesce ancora a essere vera, nonostante da anni i governi che si avvicendano non diano importanza né all’uno né all’altra, smantellandoli nel senso e nelle risorse.

Ma, come meritoriamente Cartabellotta ha lanciato l’appello Salviamo il Servizio sanitario nazionale, così ugualmente dobbiamo fare con la scuola pubblica, salvarla dalla fatiscenza delle strutture, dalla privazione delle risorse, dall’ingaggio truffaldino dei docenti, dalle graduatorie umilianti, dall’emigrazione colpevole, dal reclutamento sine ratione dei docenti di sostegno.

Dobbiamo salvare la nostra scuola dall’indebolimento dell’idea stessa di Scuola, costretta a viversi come un’azienda, con i presidi che si devono chiamare dirigenti. Come se fosse una cosa privata, in cui va meglio chi produce, e di cui però non si sanno valutare i meriti.

E nessuna prova invalsi ha mai provato nulla.

E nessuna corsa alle iscrizioni ha mai provato nulla.

E nessuna graduatoria di «quanti cento alla maturità» ha mai provato nulla.

Da sud a nord la prova di una buona scuola è che ci sono ragazzi che vengono dalle situazioni famigliari più disparate, dalle condizioni economiche e psicofisiche più diverse, e si ritrovano negli stessi banchi, ad ascoltare le stesse parole, a studiare dagli stessi testi, a confrontarsi con le stesse paure, a criticare o amare gli stessi professori.

Entrano insieme ed escono insieme e riescono a dividere tutto. È questa la buona scuola.

Un posto dove sappiamo che i nostri figli sono al sicuro, dove si sentono liberi, dove possono fare domande, ricevere risposte, e anche sconfessarci.

Lì si crea il cittadino, in quel momento lì.

E noi questa cosa la sappiamo, la sappiamo da sempre perché è stato lo strumento con cui si sono emancipate le nostre madri, la sappiamo perché, assieme al voto, è il vero lascito di cui parla Cortellesi nel suo bel film. La sappiamo perché c’è un’ondata di populismo che parte da Trump e arriva a palazzo Chigi in cui si dice il contrario, ci si permettono ignoranze, e grammaticali, e istituzionali, e di contenuti. Si avallano le stesse come se questo garantisse una maggiore aderenza alla realtà. Quando l’unica cosa che garantisce è maggior servaggio. Chi è ignorante può essere condotto, chi studia è libero.

Noi lo sappiamo da sempre, è per questo che mentre ci arrivano nelle chat foto di primi giorni di scuola, di ragazzine con i trolley rosa e giovani genitori alle prese con l’inserimento, il nostro pensiero va a quelle ragazzine a cui è negata l’istruzione, a chi un primo giorno di scuola non ce l’ha perché dei governi oscurantisti vogliono le donne come schiave, e sanno che la prima catena nasce dall’analfabetismo.

Mentre ci arrivano le foto delle nostre bambine che incerte sui passetti vanno a conoscere il mondo il nostro pensiero va a quelle bambine costrette in casa, nei campi, come nei racconti di Carlo Levi: non era molto tempo fa, che una bambina o un asino per portar la gerla erano la stessa cosa, picchiate uguale, asservite uguale, ammogliate senza scelta.

E ma appunto, noi lo guardiamo appena girandoci di 50 anni dietro, ma qui e ora, proprio nello stesso smartphone sul quale ci arrivano le speranze e le emozioni e i saluti delle mamme dei liceali, lì dove ci diciamo «buon primo giorno!» in quello stesso smartphone ci arrivano le immagini senza volto delle stesse bambine, nate qualche meridiano più in là.

Proprio perché sappiamo che il primo giorno di scuola è il primo giorno del mondo nuovo, il nostro pensiero va a Gaza, buco nero dell’umanità, inizio e fine di ogni principio etico e morale sull’esistere. Abominio sotto gli occhi di tutti, luogo perduto- vicino, lontano- dove si scavano a mani nude corpi di altri bambini che la scuola l’avrebbero amata come l’amiamo noi.

#Primo giorno di scuola #scuola e vita #scuola e guerra #scuola a Gaza

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sdhqsecrets · 1 day ago

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halloween costume contest ‘28 → liam alvarez & rory goldstein for best romantic couples costume

get the cake back out to celebrate because the two of you are taking home the title of this category !! while it's not the most elaborate of costumes, it seems like your little nod to a particular scene was the icing on top (pun intended) to get you guys the win.

2nd place - Cynthia Clearwater & Alison Wood

3rd place - Clara & Kai Arquette

the rest of the runner ups are below !!

April Marchant & Jordan Garcia

Frederick Hayes & Vera McKinnon

Freya MacDougal & Damien Launier

Gwendolyn Hawkes & Benjamin Ollivander

Harper Lee Clark & Aryana Rouhani-Robins

Hunter Adams & Valeria Sanchez

Mackenzie & James Potter

Natalaya Dolohova & Gabriel Larkin

Orlando Lockhart & Cyrus Clearwater

Scorpius Malfoy & Nathaniel Marshall

#liam alvarez #rory goldstein #halloween #halloween 28

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jackredfieldwasmyjacob · 11 months ago

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as i did last year, this year i've been recording basically everything i did during the year so i didn't forget. anyways, here is my true 2023 experience, it is divided by categories (travels, books, music, movies, etc) and i will bold my favourites of each category. also, if you want more details especially with travelling and music, here's the twitter thread i've been using to record everything down <3

also!! just in case, dates are in dd/mm format !

TRAVELS:

02/01. calp (alacant, spain) 05/04. mojácar (almería, spain) 17-18/04. glasgow (scotland) 18/04. balloch and loch lomond (west dunbartonshire, scotland) 20/06. albacete (spain) 18-19/08. barcelona (spain) 19-23/08. milano (italy) 20/08. lake como (lombardia, italy) 22/08. verona (italy) 08-10/09. valència (spain) 15/10. bari (italy) 15-28/10. metaponto (matera, italy) 22/10. taranto (italy) 13-16/12. vera (almería, spain) 15/12. mojácar (almería, spain) 16-17/12. valència / la pobla de vallbona (valència, spain)

CONCERTS:

14/01. amaia (la riviera) 17/04. paramore (OVO hydro, glasgow) 15/05. cariño (el matadero) 16/06. valeria castro (noches del botánico) 23/09. amaia (wizink center) 12/10. ginebras (wizink center)

MOVIES:

17/01. knives out 22/01. glass onion 19/02. ¡ay, carmela! 25/03. volver 26/03. jojo rabbit 26/04. super mario bros. the movie - IN THE CINEMA 30/04. knives out (rewatch) 27/05. glass onion (rewatch) 10/06. matilda (2022) 21/06. spiderman: across the spiderverse - IN THE CINEMA 28/07. barbie - IN THE CINEMA 01/09. indiana jones and the dial of destiny 22/09. the little mermaid (2023) 24/09. bottoms 11/10. barbie (rewatch) 18/11. mean girls 02/12. marie antoinette (2006) 09/10. the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds & snakes - IN THE CINEMA

VIDEOGAMES:

03/02. simmiland (PC) 03/02. stacklands (PC) 10/02. fire emblem engage (switch) 03/03. crusader kings iii (PC) 09/03. rpg maker xp (PC) 04/05. dice kingdoms (PC) 25/06. harvestella (switch) 27/06. indoorlands (PC) 08/07. humankind (PC) 28/07. the legend of zelda: tears of the kingdom (switch) 28/07. lakeburg legacies (PC) 28/08. the yawhg (PC) 08/09. frostpunk (PC) 31/10. lakeside (PC) 24/11. hades (PC) 23/12. cities skylines ii (PC)

TV SHOWS:

18/02. el ministerio del tiempo s1 06/03. druck s5 (rewatch) 08/03. druck s6 (rewatch) 13/03. el ministerio del tiempo s2 20/03. shadow and bone s2 16/05. abbott elementary s2 23/06. el ministerio del tiempo s3 21/07. derry girls s1 (rewatch) 12/11. bany compartit

TOP SONGS BY MONTH:

january: 5. la maza - priscila félix 4. la canción más hermosa del mundo - manuel carrasco 3. inteligencia emocional - belén aguilera 2. odio que te quiero - paula koops, noan 1. joker (REPUTA) - zahara, carolina durante february: 5. liar - paramore 4. you first - paramore 3. running out of time - paramore 2. big man, little dignity - paramore 1. figure 8 - paramore march: 5. si quieres - cariño 4. inteligencia emocional - belén aguilera 3. música ligera - ana mena 2. me he pillao x ti - ana mena, natalia lacunza (album version) 1. me he pillao x ti - ana mena, natalia lacunza (single version) april: 5. california friends - the regrettes 4. galgo - belén aguilera 3. costura - valeria castro 2. un clásico - ana mena 1. no me querías tanto - natalia lacunza may: 5. oh boi - shego 4. c'est comme ça - paramore 3. évidemment - la zarra 2. this is why - paramore 1. zenzenzense - RADWIMPS june: 5. yo quisiera - alice wonder 4. you first - paramore 3. antagonista - belén aguilera 2. father and son - yusuf / cat stevens 1. tonta - nathy peluso july: 5. guerrera - valeria castro 4. la vida moderna - veintiuno, love of lesbian 3. vampire - olivia rodrigo 2. i have a dream - amanda seyfried 1. fiebre - bad gyal august: 5. galgo - belén aguilera 4. nunca llega 05 - natalia lacunza 3. roméo&juliette - olympe chabert 2. discoteka - lola índigo, maría becerra 1. es albacete - rozalén september: 5. narciso - pipiolas 4. get him back! - olivia rodrigo 3. love is embarrassing - olivia rodrigo 2. vampire - olivia rodrigo 1. ballad of a homeschooled girl - olivia rodrigo october: 5. vampire - olivia rodrigo 4. hot to go! - chapell roan 3. más colao que el colacao - la la love you 2. vii. cassandra (fillas de cassandra) - fillas de cassandra 1. ateo - c. tangana, nathy peluso november: 5. novix - maría josé llergo 4. si quieres - cariño 3. maledetta primavera - loretta goggi 2. salvaje - nathy peluso 1. all too well (10 minutes version) - taylor swift december: 5. san peter - pipiolas 4. ballad of a homeschooled girl - olivia rodrigo 3. deja vu - olivia rodrigo 2. drivers license - olivia rodrigo 1. can't catch me now - olivia rodrigo

THEATRE PLAYS & MUSICAL SHOWS:

05/03. la saga (teatro lara) 07/04. tick tick... boom! (teatro la estación caixabank príncipe pío) 08/10. school of rock (teatro ibercaja delicias) 18/11. mean girls (grupo de teatro amorevo) 29/12. phantom of the opera (teatro albéniz)

BOOKS:

29/01. assembly - natasha brown (2021) 08/04. tartesso y los fenicios de occidente - sebastián celestino pérez & carolina lópez - ruiz (2020) 12/04. daddy - emma cline (2021) 23/04. a thousand splendid suns - khaled hosseini (2007) 29/05. los renglones torcidos de dios - torcuato luca de tena (1979) 03/06. the bands of mourning - brandon sanderson (2017) 24/06. kokoro - natsume soseki (1914) 10/07. miss benson's beetle - rachel joyce (2020) 08/08. the no-show - beth o'leary (2023) 18/08. tales of the alhambra - washington irving (1832) 22/09. the attack - yasmina khadra (2005) 25/09. the lightning thief - rick riordan (2005) RE-READ 30/09. the sea of monsters - rick riordan (2006) RE-READ 02/10. the titan's curse - rick riordan (2007) RE-READ 04/10. the battle of the labrynth - rick riordan (2008) RE-READ 07/10. the last olympian - rick riordan (2009) RE-READ 23/11. the kamogawa food detectives - hishashi kashiwai (2023) 21/12. a christmas carol - charles dickens (1843)

#2023 #2023 review #if i was a cooler people i'd do charts with the data and a timeline and stuff. but alas #you just get the most boring format of them all: bulletpoints #but if anyone knows how i could do a timeline in a way that would be easy and fun please let me know <3

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boomgers · 2 years ago

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Inicio como un viaje, pero todo se salió de control… “Fuga De Reinas”

Paty vive bajo la sombra de su esposo Esteban, un egocéntrico político; Marilú es una ama de casa dedicada a su familia, pero se siente ignorada por su esposo y sus hijos, por los cuales abandonó sus sueños; Famela está casada con su trabajo, y descuida su matrimonio con Ramiro tras la muerte de su mamá; Estrella es el alma libre del grupo: coqueta, excéntrica, divertida y más fiel a sus amigas que al compromiso. Cansadas de sus problemas, deciden revivir su sueño de hacer un roadtrip, y emprenderán camino a la aventura de sus vidas.

En su viaje, se encontrarán con la ayuda de la misteriosa Lola y otras nuevas amistades, y adversidades, que cambiarán su vida para siempre.

Estreno: 14 de abril de 2023 en Netflix.

youtube

La película está dirigida por Jorge Macaya y cuenta con las actuaciones de Martha Higareda, Paola Núñez, Alejandra Ambrosi, Valeria Vera, Claudia Pineda, Ricardo Reynaud, Mauricio Isaac, Arturo Barba, Horacio García Rojas, Enrique Arreola, entre otros.

Pósteres Individuales

#Fuga De Reinas #Martha Higareda #Paola Núñez #Alejandra Ambrosi #Valeria Vera #Claudia Pineda #Ricardo Reynaud #Mauricio Isaac #Arturo Barba #Horacio García Rojas #Enrique Arreola #Películas #Netflix

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turn-the-tables-on-them · 3 months ago

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Would you consider writing the au drabble of Valeria finding Quill as a prisoner when he isn't broken?

This one was so fun @hollowgast1

There’s a sound outside Quill’s usually dreadfully quiet room. It sounds like the lock is being picked, which is odd, because Vera wouldn’t accidentally forget her keys and the base is highly secured.

Quill struggles slightly, tugging at the ropes around his wrists that pull his arms toward the ceiling. They don’t budge, but his wrists sting.

The door swings open, and a woman enters, holding a drawn bow in her hands, an arrow with a vicious point nocked and ready to be loosed.

And then she scoffs a laugh, and tosses her head, letting her hood fall to reveal her face.

Quill blinks, surprised. His racing heart begins to settle despite his internal conflict. “Val– Valeria?” he asks, voice rough from previous torture.

“Quill,” she says coldly, taking in the sight of him. “Ran into mother, I see.” She hasn’t lowered the bow, or even relaxed her position yet. “How’d you piss her off?”

He huffs, swallowing down the taste of blood on his tongue. “You want the reason?” he says more than asks, one brow quirking up slightly, although he can’t manage a smile. “I’m looking at it.” He pointedly meets her gaze.

“How touching of her, I didn’t know she cared that much.” Valeria sneers, lowering her bow, and circling him. “Quite the display of affection, coming from her.”

She stops in front of him, and examines him for a moment, her expression unreadable, and her eyes cold.

Then, she turns away from him, and pads silently towards the door again.

“Hey– Where are you going?” Quill asks, raising his voice the little that he can. He barely has the energy to keep his head up.

“Not your concern,” she growls, not bothering to look back at him as she reaches the door, and peers both ways down the corridor.

“Valer—” Quill cuts off, throat suddenly burning, but he tries again. “Your mother is insane!” he snaps, and he’s more shocked he managed to get it out than anything. A sudden wave of fear passes over him when it occurs to him Vera might’ve heard somehow.

“Don’t I know it.” Valeria replies, seemingly unmoved. “But then, you aren’t much better, are you, Big Boy?”

“Not like—” He coughs. “Not like her, and you know it.” Quill glares.

Valeria leans against the door frame, and crosses her arms. “How could I know that? Have you forgotten what you’ve done to me?” There’s venom in her voice now, and she seems to tire of waiting for a reply, as she turns and starts to step out the door.

“Wait, wait,” Quill calls. She pauses and he heaves a sigh, head still foggy (likely from blood loss). “I haven’t forgotten. I don’t– I don’t know what you want me to say, Valeria.”

“There’s nothing to say. You tortured me.” She hisses at him, drawing a knife made of bone as she advances on him again.

“Fuck– I’m sorry, okay, is that what you want to hear?”

“How chivalrous of you.” The knife flashes up, and slices through the ropes binding his wrists.

Valeria steps back and lets him fall to the ground in front of her.

Quill immediately collapses to his knees, crying out when his legs—Vera paid special attention to his legs—hit the hard ground. He sits there and pants, trying to reorient himself, but he’s too dizzy and too weak to stand back up. If Valeria leaves, he won’t be able to get out before Vera returns.

“There. It’s more than you deserve anyway. Don’t bother me again.” Valeria snarls at him, turning away and striding towards the door.

He tries to stand, to go after her, but crumples again. “Wait. Stop, I can’t…”

She looks over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Why should I help you?” There’s no malice in her voice now, just a simple question.

Quill sits back on his heels, sighing. He can’t come up with a good reason. “Honestly, you shouldn’t,” he says quietly. “I didn’t help you. But…” he trails off, leaving the rest of his statement unfinished. It’s her choice.

“But what?” Valeria asks, though she takes a few steps towards him, the anger has faded, and she just sounds tired.

He shrugs weakly. “Nothing. You shouldn’t help me, I guess. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.” He tilts his head up see he can see her face.

“No, you haven’t,” she agrees, but hooks one hand under his bicep, and hauls him upright.

“So then why…?”

Valeria scowls at him. “I’m not like you.” she hisses, and begins to help him towards the door.

#wisteria x #quentin quill #Valeria wilder #Whumper turned Whumpee #Vera Thames #Whump #Captivity whump

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