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nanasparadise · 3 years

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“Imprisonment” Yan!Jolyne x female reader

This blog was in dire need of some wlw content. In that sense, I hope you had a happy pride month and enjoy this piece!

Summary: You are the target of many inmates in Green Dolphin. That changes when Jolyne becomes your cellmate, for the better or worse.

TW: toxic relationship, prison, bullying, violence, insults, threats, slight gore (ear mutilation), noncon kiss, allusions to NSFW, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

Word count: 2853

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

„Get your ass moving, girl!”

You truly hated it here. A day spent at Green Dolphin felt like being ten years in hell. The queue in the prison cafeteria moved forward quickly, since everyone got the same horrible food. As you hadn’t reacted fast enough, you’d received rude comments. At this point, you didn’t care about the insults anymore. You were used to them, you had no affiliation with anyone here, meaning the other inmates saw you as fair game. In addition to your nature as a pushover, you weren’t surprised to be the target of many prisoner’s sadistic streak.

You took your tray containing your lunch – a portion of rather questionable meat and some mashed potatoes – and went to your solitary table. A blissful sigh escaped your lips when you finally were alone in your corner. No, worse than any insults or solitude were the threats, hidden under fake smiles. Not a single day went without them. You always were forced to do ‘voluntary tasks’ for the designated mean girls of Green Dolphin or ‘lend’ them money. It was humiliating, really, but you didn’t want to end up beaten to death in your cell, so you followed their instructions.

Once you completed the laundry task, you decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the library, hoping to find an interesting enough book to teleport you away for a couple hours from your harsh reality. You settled into the couch with a novel in your hands, enjoying this slight moment of calmness. Your peace was short-lived though as a blonde woman approached you, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. Oh no, you knew where this would go.

“Hi! How are you doing today?”, she greeted you with a fake happiness swinging in her tone.

“Fine”, you mumbled quietly, not being able to assert yourself.

“I’m glad to hear that!,” she replied, though you knew she didn’t give a shit about your well-being, “Look, I’m so sorry to bother you again, but could you give me ten dollars? I need them for something very important and you’ll get them back in no time!” She batted her eyelashes at you, seemingly coming across as innocent.

“I would, but I forgot the money in my cell”, you countered, trying to come up with an excuse.

“Then stand up and get it.” Her voice had already shifted into a menacing tone, eyes gleaming like a predator.

“I don’t know if I-“

“Y/N, that was your name, right? Well, if you don’t get me my money, our friendship will be ruined and you’re aware of the consequences of that, aren’t you?”, your fellow inmate replied while pulling you by the collar of your uniform up from the couch.

“Right…,” you whispered, accepting your defeat, “I’ll get it for you.”

“Awesome!,” the blonde chirped, all sunshine and rainbows again, “I’ll wait for you here, just don’t take too long.”

That was how your life went. You didn’t complain too much, you knew it could be way worse than that. And it wasn’t as if you had much of a choice to change it anyway. You weren’t going to be released from prison in the next twenty five years. “So just accept it and move on, day by day”, you mused, repeating that thought every day.

Your life took a turn, however, when a new inmate joined Green Dolphin. She was a young woman around your age, dark buns adorning her head and a green fringe framing her face. You had been spared from a cellmate, but that all changed now, as she was your new roomie. “Great,” you thought bitterly, “now my last bit of peace has been stolen from me.”

She introduced herself as Jolyne Kujo. Jolyne seemed to be still quite naïve when it came to prison life, claiming she’d been conned and that her lawyer would certainly take her out from there. “It’s time to face the fact that no one cares if you’re here for a valid reason or not, trust me, I know it from experience”, you thought, though you didn’t dare voice that to her.

She actually turned out to be nice. And with that, you meant that she respected your private space and didn’t threaten you. In exchange, you offered her some advice on who to avoid in jail, which the woman gladly accepted.

At first, the change was barely noticeable. Jolyne kept herself quiet except for the occasional small talk in your cell or during a shared task. Instead, she chose to lounge around two other inmates you hardly knew, one with dark braids and the other with a weird-looking green cap. You were glad to see that at least she formed a group, being able to protect herself now better from potential harassers if needed.

Of course you were still exposed to them. You made your way to the shower as a woman with broad muscles approached you, face turned into a dark grimace. By her build and expression, you’d first assumed she was a guard until you’d noticed the familiar uniform.

“You there!”, she shouted at you, a finger pointing menacingly at you as she came closer, “Give me your money, now!”

You cowered back into the corner of the shower room, panic flooding your system. “I’m sorry,” you stuttered, “I don’t have anything on me, I can give it to you after-“

“Don’t fucking play with me, bitch”, she brutely interjected, nostrils flaring up angrily due to exhaling. Your aggressor stood now in front of you, a strong hand wrapping itself around your throat and threatening to cut off your airflow. She yanked you up in the air as she continued her assault. “You think you can pick and choose? Does this place look like fucking Disneyland to you? You better give me my money now if you don’t wanna end up choking water and being beaten up like the dirty street mutt you are.” You were already flinching when the prisoner raised her fist to punch your face as a voice suddenly interrupted you.

“I think that’s enough”, Jolyne said in a firm tone, a fierce expression marking her face.

“And who the hell are you? Wanna join your little friend here?”, your tormentor commented, unimpressed by your cellmate’s entrance.

“Big words for someone who’ll soon be nothing but a bloody pulp”, Jolyne answered, not faltering under the inmate’s glare.

Your harasser proceeded to laugh out loud at her words, obviously not taking her seriously. She dropped you unceremoniously as she shifted all her attention to your saviour instead. Desperately, you panted for air, your hands moving to your hurting throat. You remained in your corner as you observed the scene unfolding in front of you.

“As if you weakling could do anything against me,” your tantaliser spit out, still chuckling at Jolyne’s words, “I’d kill you with my pinky finger.”

Jolyne remained strangely calm, choosing to smile at the threat. “We’ll see about that”, was the only thing she uttered before she lunged at her with incredible speed. Clearly, you weren’t the only one surprised as the inmate’s eyes widened as well. Jolyne turned the bully’s bewilderment into her advantage, her fist immediately connecting with the inmate’s nose. The latter let out a shrill scream, blood dripping out of her nostril. Clearly, she didn’t expect your roommate to do any real damage, let alone break her nose.

Jolyne shook the hand she punched her with, her knuckles reddened and slightly torn open from the assault. You kept staring at both of them, petrified and unsure about what to do now.

“I’ll kill you for that, you bitch,” your aggressor barked out angrily, “and your little friend will pay, too.”

You started trembling at the thought of her hand around your neck again.

“I’ll look for a guard, Jolyne”, you eventually said, the fear barely hidden in your voice. You decided this was enough and someone had to put an end to this.

“Stay here”, your cellmate replied authoritatively. For the first time, you were actually scared of her. “I’ll teach this woman that she needs to face consequences for her actions.”

With these words, Jolyne placed her fingers on your tormentor’s right ear. You wondered what she’d do next when a sudden yell disrupted your thoughts. The inmate’s cry was far worse than the previous one, emitting all of her pain and agony. You could hardly listen to it.

Then, with great horror, you finally noticed it. Her ear shell laid on the floor, blood coating the cut off organ. Your gaze travelled to Jolyne, waiting for an explanation to your unvoiced question, though she kept her eyes fixated on the prisoner’s pain-ridden face.

“You won’t touch Y/N or me ever again, did I make myself clear?”, she asked, her voice coated with barely concealed anger. Your bully only gave out a whimper, but the answer seemed to satisfy Jolyne. “Good. Now, if you see any guards, you keep our names out of your mouth, unless you want to lose another body part.”

The following weeks, Jolyne had become overly protective. She clung to you like a lost child, afraid that you’d be hurt or threatened again without her presence. You didn’t know if you should be grateful or terrified for her protection.

You’d asked her how she’d been able to cut that one prisoner’s ear off, but her explanation had been more confusing than enlightening. She’d talked about a Stand ability and how only so-called Stand users could see and wield it, but nothing made sense to you. You started to believe she’d just lost her mind.

Jolyne had also introduced you to her friend group. Ermes and Foo Fighters seemed nice enough, though they behaved in the same weird manner as your cellmate did. You felt awkward in their presence, not knowing why you were even there in the first place.

In the end, you decided to be thankful. With Jolyne and her friends by your side, no one bullied you anymore. And if your peace meant to spend some time with your cellmate, that was a small price to pay, right?

You didn’t notice the pair of chartreuse eyes observing every bit of your sleeping form. You never did.

Jolyne had been looking at you for many nights. This time, it wasn’t an exception. She tentatively brushed her hand over your cheek, marvelling at your slight reaction as you furrowed your brows at the touch.

“You’re really cute Y/N, do you know that?”, she whispered to you. Of course you were unable to answer.

Jolyne had been unusually shy around you. She was well aware of the fact that after her act of violence, you felt uncomfortable around her, possibly even scared. She tried so so hard to make you see that she was only protecting you! In fact, the young woman wondered how you could have even survived in Green Dolphin before her arrival.

She had a hard time picturing your life without her in it. At first, she’d been furious and crushed at the revelation that her ex-boyfriend had purposefully framed her for a crime she hadn’t committed. She had loved Romeo, so naturally, her heart had been broken.

But then, you entered her life. She saw now why she needed to be here. Who else could protect you, love you, like Jolyne? You were everything she had ever wanted.

Lovingly, she placed a small kiss on your cheek. You stirred slightly from the feathery peck. Nevertheless, you continued your slumber. Jolyne wished she could touch you more deliberately, more intensely. She’d grown tired of this little hiding game. The prisoner didn’t want to secretly let your brush run through her hair anymore, imagining it were your fingers instead or coo at you when you were sleeping. No, she wanted to feel you, to be touched and loved by you.

Sure, you might feel uncomfortable around her, but that was only because you didn’t see how much she cherished you. Maybe it was time to be bolder around you.

“Hey Y/N, could you give me my toothbrush, please?”

“Sure”, you replied casually as you handed the desired object over to her.

“Thanks, you truly are the sweetest.”

Your face heated up at her flirtatious tone. “She definitely didn’t mean it in that way”, you thought to calm your nerves.

“You still don’t want to join me showering? I’d hate for you to get attacked again”, your cellmate asked you, concern swinging in her voice.

“I’m good,” you mumbled, “I’ll just go next morning. And I doubt anyone’s gonna threaten me again after your lesson.” The thought of Jolyne mutilating another inmate terrified you, no matter how much your former aggressor deserved it.

“Come on, you’re just afraid to see me naked,” Jolyne teased while giving you a toothy grin, “it’s alright, you can tell me. I don’t mind.”

You didn’t think you could get more flustered. “That’s not it!”, you countered hastily, “I mean not that you're not a beautiful woman or anything, it’s just that…”

Jolyne stopped listening and straightened her back. You thought she was beautiful? Was this finally the moment she’d been waiting for? A dreamy expression marked her bright eyes.

“You think we could be a thing?”, Jolyne interjected your rambling.

“What?!”, you stuttered, unsure if you heard her correctly.

“I mean, I do really like you.” Suddenly, she stood up from her bed and moved over to you. You stared at her big-eyed, still not knowing what was going on. A hand came resting on your cheek as her gaze was locked on you. “Who am I kidding? I’m totally in love with you.” She softly traced her fingers over your skin, sending a chill down your spine.

“Jolyne”, you whispered quietly. You had no clue how to handle the situation, images of her brutal side flashing up in your mind again. You gulped harshly. “I didn’t know you felt this way, I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” the young woman retorted, “we could just be more, you know?” Jolyne leaned into you, closing the space between you, as her lips landed on yours. She kissed you with gentleness and care, as if you were made of glass. When you felt her teeth slightly tugging at your bottom lip, begging for more, you eventually snapped out of your surprise and pushed her away from you.

“What was that?”, you asked her out of breath, unable to conceal your anger.

“I’ve kissed you, silly.”

“I’ve just told you that I’m not interested in a relationship!”

Ah yes. That must have been when Jolyne had blended you out in favour of marvelling at your compliment.

“I think you should think about that again”, your cellmate replied, a dark edge manifesting in her voice.

“And why is that? Do you want to cut my ear off too?”, you asked, your iritateness making you feel reckless.

Jolyne huffed at your comment. She did that for you!

“At least you could be grateful for what I did,” she spit out, “but no, I’d never hurt you. I can’t guarantee the same thing about the other inmates though.”

You immediately caught onto the threat. Your anger easily transformed into fear again as you realised what impact your words had on the woman in front of you. When Jolyne noticed you wouldn’t counter, she put her hand on your body again, this time deciding to let it travel up and down your arm.

“If you keep saying mean things to me,” she said, her voice still sounding menacing despite her gentle hand movement, “I might just not talk to you anymore. Once the others see that we’re not hanging out anymore, they’ll just change their mind and choose you as their target again. And what do you do without my protection? You don’t want to be their punching bag again, do you, hm?”

“No”, you managed to utter silently, eyes cast onto the floor.

“Look sweetheart, I can make an exception for today. I’ll forget your behaviour and you reciprocate, right? Unless you want to go back to your initial position.”

“No!”, you answered a bit too fast, your eyes looking at her face again. You could only imagine what the inmate with the mutilated ear would do to you… “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Jolyne took hold of chin, ensuring that your eyes were still trained at her. Then, she kissed you again. Despite your feelings, you gave in, much to her pleasure. When she eventually removed her lips from yours, she shot you another love-struck gaze.

You knew your life in Green Dolphin had been shitty before Jolyne, but now you only felt what it meant to be truly imprisoned.

“I’m glad to hear that, honey,” the young woman said with a bedazzling smile on her face, “I’d suggest we finally take a shower, after all I can’t wait to see everything of my darling.”

Her grin gained a sinister note.

“And we’ll see how the night goes after that.”

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #stone ocean #yandere jolyne #yandere jolyne x reader #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #tw: threats #tw: toxic relationship #tw: noncon kiss #tw: slight gore #tw: ear mutilation #tw: bullying #tw: prison #tw: insults #tw: violence #minors dni

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teawaffles · 3 years

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Forbidden Games: Chapter 7

One day, three assassins had gathered for a gunfight.

The three of them had varying levels of skill with a gun. The first assassin had perfect aim. The second could land two shots in three. The last was only able to land one shot in three.

They were to take turns choosing one of the other two to shoot at. In order to compensate for their differences in skill level, they would start from the most inexperienced assassin, who could only land one shot in three.

Now if you were this person, what would you consider the most reasonable thing to do?

The right answer is—— to fire straight into the air, without aiming at either opponent.

Ordinarily, one would think to target the most dangerous assassin, who could land every shot. But if they were struck down, then on the next turn, you would find yourself in the sights of the remaining opponent, who could land two shots in three.

As such, if you were to avoid shooting either party, the next player would definitely target the most dangerous opponent. If they succeed, the subsequent turn would cycle back to you. Hence the best course of action is to shoot no one at the start.

An action that seems meaningless at first glance, may in truth be the most logical choice.

This was a paradox —— the gap between logic and intuition.

“While there are some slight differences, our game bears a striking resemblance to this story, which is why I chose to apply it today. Although, I admit I may have been a bit too dramatic when aiming the gun at myself.”

A contradiction for a contradiction. Saying that, a small smile rose on William’s face. It was the smile of a demon.

For a moment, the extent to which he’d misjudged William had made Alan break out in a cold sweat. But he quickly regained his composure.

“I get it — you’re smart enough to know what you’re doing. But now, what will you do? The chance that your gun will fire in this turn is two-in-five. As for me, with one bullet fired and two left, my chances are the same. We’re even now.”

“But that’s not true. I believe you know very well that on your next turn, your gun will fire,” William asserted.

“……What?”

William brushed his thumb over the revolver in his hand.

“It appears that the guns we were given have been rigged, such that the cylinders will stop at predetermined positions when they are spun. These positions have been marked with scratches. In other words, this game has been a lie from the very beginning.”

William looked at Alan, who was in a daze, as he continued.

“That’s why you were able to add two more bullets to your gun with no hesitation whatsoever. You knew that even if Mr Holmes were to face off with five rounds, the gun would never fire.”

He then struck his index finger against the table.

Alan had been thoroughly shocked when the secret behind the guns was revealed. But now, he retaliated in full force.

“That’s right. These guns are for cheats. Why wouldn’t I use them in this game? Counting from the chamber where the cylinder stops, my revolver has three consecutive chambers loaded. But only the last two chambers of your gun are filled. ——Do you get it? This means your gun will not fire this turn, and on my turn, mine will definitely fire. The game has already been decided.”

“I’ll throw that question back to you. Do you understand what it means for us to know about this trick?”

Somewhat stunned by his opponent’s lack of awareness, William proceeded to explain the situation with eloquence.

“In our previous match, I said something to Mr Holmes. ‘Allow me to advance a proposition. Two chambers— don’t fill them.’”

There was another meaning behind those awkward words. “What it meant was, ‘Advance by two chambers’. After that, Mr Holmes violently loaded the gun —— so much so, that he had scratched the cylinder too.”

Alan covered his mouth with his hand as he looked at his own gun.

“……No way—”

“Because the two of us were given new revolvers, and you chose to use the gun from our previous match, you are now holding a revolver with two chambers’ worth of scratch marks added. Although the previous scratches remained…… since it was Mr Holmes who made them, I trust that the new markings were able to fool your accomplices.”

With no need for any further explanation, William fell silent.

In a game of Russian roulette where the number of rounds loaded increases over time, Sherlock had unexpectedly done something rash.

Alan had taken his sudden change in attitude to be mere desperation. But in reality, Sherlock had received William’s message, and while maintaining his composure, he proceeded to act as if he had no regard for his own life. By doing so, his violence in loading the gun, as well as his choice to fill the cylinder to its upper limit, were all interpreted as the products of a meltdown — and they were able to avoid any suspicion that they had seen through his trick.

However, this method of using Alan’s own trick against him was not foolproof. Although they had added new scratches to the cylinder, the original marks still remained. On close inspection, it might be possible to distinguish them.

With that in mind, Alan turned to face his accomplices behind him. But they said nothing, perhaps out of confusion. They had no confidence that they’d loaded the bullets in the right chambers. A sense of unease began to swell within Alan.

If Sherlock’s trap had succeeded, the positions of the bullets in Alan’s gun would now be off.

His revolver had six chambers. Counting from where the cylinder would stop, the first three chambers were supposed to be filled. Now with the markings “shifted” two positions forward, it would be that the first, and last two chambers were filled instead.

Since one round had already been fired, only the other two bullets remained. He was essentially in the same situation as William. In that case, as William had the first move, he would be able to fire on Alan one turn earlier.

In short, in this perverse version of Russian roulette, Alan had employed rigged revolvers, his accomplices had mistaken the positions of the scratch marks, and William had elected to go first. With these three conditions in place, William’s victory had been secured.

“What kind of joke is this……”

From the start, the game’s outcome had been set in stone.

That had originally been Alan’s plan. But William took advantage of it and turned the tables on him.

Despite being in a position of absolute superiority, victory had escaped him a second time. Alan’s blood was boiling.

“A—Again! I will surely win if we play again!”

William put his revolver down, and shook his head in pity.

“Unfortunately, there will be no rematch. Both of us no longer have the time to humour someone like you,” he replied curtly.

Alan lost his patience and slammed the table.

“Do you look down on everyone, you brat?!”

“All you do is envy others, and that is why you have lost yourself,” William said, with the air of an educator.

Before Alan could make sense of that, the sound of a revolver’s hammer being cocked emanated from the floor.

“——Don’t move.”

Then, the fallen detective staggered to his feet. Even though he had been shot in the abdomen, his face betrayed no trace of pain, instead wearing the grin of a child whose mischief had succeeded. In his hand, was a fully-loaded revolver.

“Holmes, why you bastard—”

“I don’t feel like explaining myself right now. Anyway, all of you raise your hands like grown men,” Sherlock ordered sharply, amidst their confusion.

Perhaps they were caught completely off guard, but Alan’s accomplices put up no struggle as they timidly raised both hands. The young man who had been held hostage edged quietly away from them.

William rose from his seat in a leisurely manner.

“From the start, our goal was to create this exact scenario. You have no intention of giving up no matter how many times your opponent wins. In that case, we should overturn the entire stage. To that end, this game, which allowed Mr Holmes to be eliminated by faking his death, presented the perfect opportunity.”

Just as William had planned, his act of near-suicide right from the outset had thrown them off balance, such that no one paid any notice to the fallen Sherlock. Then Sherlock came back to life with perfect timing, providing the key to their counterattack.

With their plan a roaring success, William and Sherlock were brimming with satisfaction.

“You two……”

Alan glared at them with hateful eyes.

“Oh, you’re not going admit defeat at this stage, aren’t you? That might actually be a good idea. Since all of you outnumber us, if you all take your guns out right now, you could certainly kill us. But Mr Holmes is sure to take a few of you down with him too. Is anyone prepared to be one of those ‘few’?”

“Now this is a genuinely fair and exciting challenge. Come on, who wants to join the game?”

Against the two of them, who were proudly putting their lives on the line, not a single person made a move.

In the end, the ‘equality’ that Alan and his accomplices had put forward, was nothing more than a hollow notion bragged about from within their circle of safety.

Having truly fought for his life and come out standing, to these men, William directed a gentle smile.

“Since it seems no one wishes to participate, ——this is game over.”

T/N: You may have noticed that the explanations of the trick are somewhat awkward (haha). It wasn’t explained 100% clearly in the Japanese text — I took a while to get it myself — so I decided to drop more hints within the text, rather than do so in a footnote. I hope it made sense for you!

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games #illustration insert

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therealvalkyrie · 4 years

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Red Cloak, Silver Dagger

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, canonverse, established relationship, set just prior to the Battle for Trost arc.

Summary: When you’re caught nearly weaponless in the woods, can you talk your way out of a mugging?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, gun violence, blood, death, knife violence, profanity, angst with a tidbit of fluff at the end

AN: This morning I woke up and chose ~angst~ so that’s what y’all are getting:) I will be the first to admit that I wrote this while soaking in the bath in the notes app of my phone well into the evening. The only editing it’s seen is when I transcribed it to a google doc and then one more pass at 1am. So, there may be errors ahead. Either way, I hope you enjoy, and as always my dms/inbox are open if you have questions/suggestions/fun facts about baluga whales! i’m off to sleeb:) ~valkyrie

The man in front of you is clearly scared shitless: hand trembling, face blotchy with red, mouth set in a grimace meant to be intimidating. It would almost be comical, a caricature of terror, were it not for the shotgun.

He heaves two shallow, shoulder-raising breaths before speaking again.

“I said get down on the ground!”

Just like the first time he said it, you do no such thing. Your hands remain held up in surrender, placating and gentle, and you remain where you are, but your calm eyes never leave his.

“Sir, I’m certain we can work this out without needing to dirty ourselves, don’t you agree?” Your voice is even, if a little breathy, and you do your best to sound agreeable. “Is there something I may help you with?”

Your breath clouds out from your mouth as you speak. It’s the dead of winter (colder than a witch’s left tit, as your grandma would say) and you can feel the frigid air begin to creep its way in between the folds of your scarf and cloak. The snow has melted through the hole in your right boot in a similar fashion, soaking the wool sock and numbing your pinky toe.

You’re not scared of this man, you decide, for all his gun-wielding and yelling. He looks like a farmer type, complete with fur lined coat and sturdy boots. Probably just down on his luck, pushed to robbing people in the woods to make ends meet. You’re not scared of him, you decide, even as the cold air catches in your constricting throat and your heart thuds against your ribs.

He’s probably only targeted you because you look so benign today. It is your day off, after all, and you’re wearing civilian clothing, red wool traveling cloak draped over you. Even your hair is down today rather than in a practical bun. Admittedly, you look downright innocent.

And to a certain extent, you are. Without your ODM gear and swords, your training means nothing. The only weapon you have is a dagger tucked into your boot, but even that is useless if you can’t reach for it without getting shot. You’ll have to talk your way out.

The man snorts, a measure of contempt twisting his expression. “The only way you can help me, girly, is by getting on the ground and handing over your money purse.”

You smile sympathetically. “Oh, then I’m afraid I actually can’t help you, sir. I don’t have any money, and I find myself rather averse to laying in a foot of snow.”

“Ha, what a load of shit. You townies always have valuables on you.” His contemptuous sneer solidifies, and he looks at you down the barrel of the shotgun with slightly more confidence.

“Ah, well I’m not a townie, you see.” You hope this is the right tack to take, implying living at the military base through the other side of the woods. It’s a much more serious crime to murder a Survey Corps soldier than a girl who took the wrong path through the woods home. You just hope he possesses the critical thinking skills to come to that same conclusion.

You can see the gears turning for a moment before a gruff, “What do you mean you don’t live in town? You’re not a farmer’s daughter, I’d’ve recognized you.”

The short laugh bubbles out of your lungs before you can tamp it down. “No, I’m not a farmer’s daughter.” Wish I was, right now. “I’m a soldier on the base.”

At this, he pales and starts shaking again. He readjusts his stance in the snow, tip of the shotgun wavering, as the panic starts to set in again.

“Shit,” he says, almost to himself, and shifts again.

“Shit,” you agree. “But I promise you, I won’t tell if you don’t. If you let me go home right now.”

He considers for a moment, gears seemingly hand-cranked at the rate they’re going, then decides you’re a liar.

“Liar,” he says. “Who’s to say you won’t report this directly to your superiors? Who’s to say you’re tellin’ the truth?”

Sweat begins to gather beneath your scarf despite the cold, beads of it slipping down the back of your neck. This is not going as intended.

“I promise you, I have no quarrel with you. Just let me go.” Your voice thins out, nearly pleading, with the last phrase. I’m not gonna die today, in some shitty forest in the shitty snow. I don’t wanna die today.

What would Levi say about losing your cool like this?

He doesn’t seem to hear you, though, as his lips are moving, eyes narrowed and locked on yours. Occasional phrases register: “...can’t be caught…”; “...stupid girl...?”; “...fuckin’ Marcy askin’ me…”.

You lick your chapped lips and try again.

“Please,” your voice cracks on the dry air this time. “Just let me go. I don’t have anything of value, I won’t tell my superiors, please.” It ends on an unexpected sob and you know that you’ve lost any aura of cool detachment you may have had.

Suddenly you’re talking over each other, voices panicked and raised. Yours threaded with fear, his with near mania.

“Stupid girl, you’ll just report-”

“I promise I won’t, I-”

“-can’t afford a charge-”

“-just want to go home-”

“-Marcy would have my head-”

“Please, won’t you just listen-”

“-CAN’T TRUST A GODDAMNED BITCH-”

“I’M NOT A THREAT TO YOU-”

“WON’T YOU SHUT UP!”

The shot rings off the trees and through your ears, a crack of gunpowder that sends crows flying from a nearby beech tree.

In the next split second, you feel the punching pressure in your abdomen and you double over, clutching hands to your stomach. You try to maintain footing, but the snow has other plans, catching under your heels until you land flat on your back.

Your stomach feels like it’s on fire, searing with white-hot pain. It feels like a brand has been shoved into your intestines and left there to burn away your body.

Not a brand, a bullet, you realize when you stretch blood-drenched fingers up towards the sky. You can’t feel them, but you know they’re yours because the gloves had been a gift from Levi last year. Soft hide leather, lined with fur. At least two months’ salary, now stained with crimson.

A high-pitched keening escapes your mouth, though you don’t know how, because it feels like all the air left your body when you fell. Your chest is tight, breathing ragged, but the sharp air brings clarity with it.

Hands suddenly scramble, gathering as much fabric as possible to press to the wound. A cry punches out of you at the renewed pain the pressure brings, but you grit your teeth through it and push up to sitting. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you alive at this point, driving you to reach with one hand to grab your dagger from your boot.

You look up, now, towards the farmer. He’s trudging through the snow towards you now, expression half horrified, half determined, still gripping his gun. He seems determined to see your death through to the end, so you make a split-second decision.

It’s only a quick shift of your grip on the dagger, a calculated moment of aim, and a practiced wrist-flicking throw before he stops dead in his tracks. The blade is lodged in his neck, blood spurting from his carotid artery in bursts along with his pulse. One beat, another, and he’s fallen to his knees, gun slipping from his grasp. Finally, decisively, permanently, his body thuds face down in the snow.

“Perfect,” you whisper, and smile serenely, before following suit.

Levi and the rest of his squad watch in horror as your body slumps to the ground. It’s quite the picture: blood staining pristine snow around two bodies in the middle of scenic woods, your red cloak spread around you in perfect drama.

They had only caught the tail end of the altercation, riding around the corner just in time to see your impeccable dagger throw. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Levi is damn impressed with the skill of it.

A horrified sound escapes his lungs, and then he’s urging his horse forward towards you. You look deathly ashen against your cloak, one hand tangled loosely in it on your stomach, the other dropped unceremoniously at your side.

Levi slides smoothly from the saddle in favor of running the last few steps to your side before crashing down on his knees to hover over you. Eld and Petra are directly on his heels, the latter shouting something back to the other two. Her voice sounds tinny and distant to his ears as he puts pressure on your abdomen.

Please don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead, is caught on a loop in his mind. He leans his ear over your face and catches the faintest touch of hot breath. Not dead yet, not dead yet, not dead yet.

Eld is on your other side, still as a statue with two fingers pressed to your neck.

“There’s a pulse,” he announces, and Petra, who’s anxiously leaned over the trio on the ground, takes a shuddering breath of relief.

“Gunther’s gone back to tell the surgeon to get ready,” she tells Levi. “We need to get her back.”

Levi nods numbly, then swings his own cloak off of his shoulders to help stem the blood.

“Eld,” he directs in a deceivingly steady voice. “You help me get her on my horse.”

The blond nods, maneuvering to scoop you up in his arms.

“One, two, three.” He lifts you with a grunt, still on his knees, then stands while allowing Levi to keep continuous pressure on the wound.

You groan and shift weakly in Eld’s arms, prompting Levi to lean down and murmur directly in your ear.

“I know, my love, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s only for now. Stay with me, darling, it’ll be over soon,” he practically coos as your lashes flutter and face twists in pain.

Oluo brings forward Levi’s horse and the three men manage to wrangle you up into the saddle. Levi settles behind you, one hand gripping the reins and the other firmly around your middle.

With a whinny, his horse wheels around and he’s riding as fast as he dares back to base.

Not dead yet, not yet, not yet.

The first night after surgery, Levi stations himself in a chair by your infirmary bed. He practically growls at the first nurse who suggests that visiting hours are over, who scuttles away in alarm but nevertheless leaves him in peace. He passes the time by staring at the candle diminishing on your bedside table and mentally berating himself for letting you go to town alone.

Ha, as if she wouldn’t’ve gone anyway.

You look so fragile in the candlelight that Levi is afraid you’ll start melting away like mist if he tries to touch you. Despite this, he finds himself periodically reaching for your wrist, the steady pulse underneath his fingertips assuring him that you’re real.

The first day after surgery, the whole squad comes to visit, bringing tea and pulling up chairs around your bed to keep vigil with their captain. Hardly a word is said between them, but Petra sniffles occasionally and Gunther leans elbows on his knees and stares resolutely at your right hand.

Oluo tries once, “Did you see that knife throw? Fuckin’ impressive.”

They all murmur in assent as Levi feels the side of his mouth quirk up in a sort of melancholy pride.

Fuckin’ impressive indeed.

The second night after your surgery, Levi can feel himself beginning to split at the seams. When the nurse finally blows out all the lamps and leaves him with a sympathetic look over her shoulder, he dares to crawl into bed with you, lying on his side a careful few inches away.

At first he just stares. At the way your lips are parted in sleep, at the curve of your nose, at the delicate way your lashes lie on your cheeks.

After a while, he gently laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips, leaving soft kisses on the back. His eyes blink shut and he whispers your name against your skin.

“Come back to me. Please. Please, I- I can’t handle losing you, too.”

He falls asleep like this, breath eventually easing to match your own.

It’s in gray dawn light that you finally open your eyes, swallowing thickly against a dry throat. Slowly, you take stock of the sensations in your body. Crisp sheets against your skin, a dull blinding ache in your abdomen, a familiar warm body against your side.

Levi is stretched out beside you, clutching your left hand even in sleep. He’s always beautiful this way, features softer than he ever let them be in waking. You reach to brush his bangs out of his eyes and whisper his name like a secret into the morning.

“Levi.” The second whisper is accompanied by a finger stroking down his delicate nose. He twitches, sneezes once, then opens his eyes to meet your own.

He says your name all lovely with morning grumble, then all of a sudden he’s sitting up, worrying hands everywhere at once.

“Are you okay? Do you need water? Where does it hurt? I’ll get the doctor-”

“Levi,” you rasp, pulling him back in to focus on your face. “Water, please?”

He nods and reaches for a glass on the bedside table. You try to take it from him, but he swats your hand away before carefully tipping the glass against your lips. He only allows a few sips at a time, but lets you drink until it’s all gone and your thirst is sated.

He starts to pull away, saying, “I should go get the doctor, now,” but you gently tug him back before he can escape.

“Stay,” you murmur. “Please?”

And so he stays, curled into your side, arm delicately around your middle, as the sun breaks brightly through the windows.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #attack on titan fanfic #shingeki no kyoujin fanfic #petra ral #eld gin #gunther schultz #oluo bozado #canon typical violence #gun violence #knife violence #injury #blood #angst #fluff #angst to fluff #profanity #red cloak silver dagger #valkyrie writes

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vinciwolf · 4 years

Text

Bruised but Not Broken

Pairing: Cody x fem!medic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, light smut, angst, violence, blood, gore, death, alcohol, depression

Tags: @sunburstcody I wrote this for you.

You’re on the battlefield of war again. Covering your mouth with a gloved hand, your lungs forcibly expel the thick smoke. Blaster bolts whizz past your head as you crouch behind a fallen AT-RT walker. The clone trooper slumped against the machine groans in agony, head flopping to the side, as you try to ease his pain with a numbing injection.

With a steady, confident voice, you say, “You’ll be alright.”

But deep down, you tremble. Please, not another one, not another one.

You didn’t want another trooper to die. He was just a goddamn shiny! You wave down a passing clone trooper for help. Both of you take the wrists of the fallen clone and drag him behind the thick vegetation where the rest of the wounded were placed.

You take off the trooper’s helmet to assess his wounds. The damage is severe, like most wounds you have already become desensitized to. His neck looks like an unraveled mess of shredded muscle and tissue, jagged and pointing in unnatural directions. The blaster bolt that clipped him left his neck looking life a half-spere, bleeding profusely. While tossing backwards the flap to your medical bag, the absence of supplies cruelly laughs at your surprised face and sends a cold wave of dread over your skin. The entire bag is empty.

Trying not to make it obvious to the soldier, you advert your gaze and swallow the hard clump in the back of your throat. This clone trooper is doomed and there is nothing your can do about it. Rationally, you decide to return to the battlefield to save other potential survivors. No time to waste on the already dead. Before you can run back into the fray, the clone trooper clasps your wrist. You pause for a second, then kneel back down and grip the clone trooper’s hand tightly. Tears burn the back of your eyes.

“I—I don’t want to die,” he gurgles. “I don’t want to be forgotten.”

His face is a carbon copy of Jango Fett, but he has an intricate rose tattoo that stretches from his brow, over the side of his head, and down behind his ear. You also note his eyes to be a very rich earthy color, like when the soil is dark and saturated with water after a hard rain. But his beauty is short lived when ground-shaking explosions and echoing shouts from the other clone troopers sucks you back into reality. The clone’s eyes turn red and begin to wiggle with heavy tears.

Deep down, the terrible pit in your stomach wants to lurch forward and trade your life with this clone. So, at least, he could experience life without fear, or missions, or being taught that he’s disposable in the grand scheme of this war he never asked for.

“I won’t let you be forgotten—” your thumb brushes the tears falling form his eyes.

Despite his pain, he weakly smiles at the thought that someone – somehow in his pathetically short lifespan – actually cares for him, then he shut his eyes forever.

A single tear, heavy with thousands of memories like this one, burns the side on your cheek until in finally drops off your chin and absorbs into the blood soaked ground.

You didn’t even get his CT number… not even his nickname.

Blinking once, you bury these feelings into a deep place for another time. For now, you need to focus.

You remembered the look Cody gave you when your battalion returned to the shuttle. The standard white attire you wore is stained with blood and soot. He is truly a sight for sore eyes. Halfheartedly grinning, shoulders slumping in relief, you are happy he survived. The thought of another innocent becoming a casualty of war turns your stomach. Luckily, the few clone troopers who managed to survive are either put into medical capsules or hobble into the arms of their fellow brothers. You shuffle towards the commander and plop your head on his shoulder. He squeezes you in his arms then helps you into the LAAT. This planet was devastating, but it was won. You should feel good, but all you feel is painful exhaustion in your shaky legs and feeble lungs. Not to mention the invisible weight creeping onto your shoulders.

It is like this every time, all over again… and again… and again.

Guilt fills your aching heart like an overstuffed balloon. It is like clockwork. This stabbing pang in your chest rises intensely and fades after every mission. You rub the unseen soreness with your palm as the refresher gushes hot water over your squatted, naked body, the steam cleansing your lungs. It is not enough to cure the pain however, but you need to rid your physical self of all the grime – all the evidence – of the soldiers you could not save today. The dense mist shields your vulnerable form and the heavy pattering of the water drowns out your whimpers as you cry away the horrible events that plague your mind.

This… this small, private space in the refresher… had to be enough.

It is your only fortunate curtesy in these dark times.

Your first mission was on Kashyyyk and you were absolutely mesmerized by how densely forested one planet could be. Given that the temperature here was nothing like what you experienced at home, by the time your squad rendezvoused at the main base, your cloths had already become drenched with sweat. Taking a swipe to your forehead with the back of your hand, you began to understand why none of the other medic graduates willingly chose this planet. The only graduate on the list was you.

The commander glances at you.

“So, now the Republic is sending anybody these days. Pathetic,” he scoffs, probably eyeing you up and down under his helmet.

“I wanted clone medics, not greenhorns who’ll shit their pants the moment they land on the battlefield.”

Taking a step forward, Shots, the head medic, points at the commander.

“Oi! Watch it. She finished at the top her class at the academy and is one of my best trainees I’ve had on the field. She might not be a clone, but I’d entrust her with my life. Plus, the Republic needs all the help it can get.”

The commander dismissively waves at the both of you while turning on his heel and mumbling an agitated ‘whatever’ under his breath. Letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes, you unclench your fists that you didn’t realize had formed during this rude confrontation. Shots turns towards you and pats his hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t be intimidated by these guys—” he points over his shoulder at the clone troopers with his thumb “—war does this to us clones sometimes. Makes us hard inside—” his fist thumps twice over his heart.

“Okay, when all hell breaks loose, just stay hot on my tail,” Shots whispers into your ear while your squad slowly proceeds through the thick vegetation. This was it. You first time on a real battlefront against the Separatists.

Keeping your eyes ahead, your mind did not process the sudden explosion of brain matter that splattered on your face. You look to the side, towards its origin. Shots, the clone medic who had been your mentor since day one, the clone medic who never doubted your medical training, is flat on his back on the ground. The brain matter came from him. Shots’ face, a face you had conversed with just seconds ago, is now perfectly hollowed out by a blaster bolt. You crouch down and stare at the dead clone medic, hands shaking profoundly.

He is not dead. This is not real. No way!

No amount of medical training could prepare your for losing a loved one.

Screaming grounds your focus. The blasters firing, the yelling, the smoke entering your lungs, the whole world rapidly woke up in your ears and everything is very loud again.

“Where the kriffin’ hell are these blasts coming from?” a clone trooper hollers while shooting into the forest, his brothers scrambling to find shelter behind the trees.

“It’s an ambush!”

“We need a medic!”

You run towards the clone troopers ducked behind a fallen log. Immediately, your adrenaline kicks in and you remember where you are, what you need to do. Pulling out supplies, you patch up their fallen comrade, but when everything seems to be smoothing out, a trooper bellows, “GET DOWN!”

You look up and spot the missile flying right towards your face.

You jolt awake with a startled gasp. Gulping down air, you realize that you are in your barracks. Safe…safe…for now. Looking down, you sigh at the state of your shirt. A dark stain in the fabric trails down your chest, sticking to your damp skin. You stand up and change into a clean shirt before heading over to the sink.

After splashing your face with some cold water, you peer at yourself in the mirror. Exhaustion looks back at you. The purple bags under your eyes only seem to become worse as this war drags on. Nothing can make this night worse. As if on cue, the rapping at your door frightens you out of your thoughts.

Stepping over to your room door, you click a button and it hisses open. You wipe your face with your hand, massaging the soreness out of your puffy eyes, and sigh a soft ‘what’ at the commander standing in front of you.

“You’re needed in the med bay,” Cody states.

Grunting in response, you turn around and begin to put on your uniform in silence. The commander steps into your room, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m worried about you. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You face Cody while aggressively putting your hair into a quick, messy bun.

“Did Kenobi put you up to this? Now he’s sending his commander to spy on a poor ‘lil, sleep deprived medic, huh?” you spit while adjusting your boots too tightly.

Cody does not respond and a twinge of guilt shoots through your stomach. Looking over to the commander, he is gripping his helmet a little too firmly and his eyes are adverted… deeply hurt.

“Oh, Cody… I didn’t mean that…” you confess, shoulders sagging.

Standing up, you cup Cody’s cheek and lift his chin to look at you— “It’s just… I don’t know actually…” I’m actually tired of burying myself beneath all this death.

“You haven’t been yourself.” He overlaps your hand with his large one, eyes softening.

“None of us have—” you let go of his cheek and wrap your arms around his armored torso, nudging your head close to his heart with a long exhale “—I’m sorry that I snapped.”

Cody’s free hand rubs slowly down your back as he pecks your forehead. Releasing each other, you gaze up at the commander and force a tiny grin.

Cody’s eyes sag downwards. “I… don’t know what to say.” I don’t know how to make things better for us.

“There’s nothing you can say.” I want to tell you that everything hurts.

As you veer around his presence, you pat his armored shoulder before disappearing into the corridor of the attack cruiser. Your heart screams for Cody to stop you from walking away. It feels like magnets pulling you back into that room, tugging your body to turn around and go back to explain everything. Inside your mind, however, you are blank of thought and ignore your instincts. The only thing filling the void is the agonizing screams and last words from the clone troopers you couldn’t save.

THE WAR IS OVER!

GRIEVOUS DEAD!

CHANCELLOR ARRESTED FOR TREASON!

Coruscant is in the midst of wild and loud celebration. At 79’s, the clone troopers drink and sing until they fall over, but Cody merely sits and stares at his untouched shot of alcohol in a private corner. Somewhere in the background commotion, Rex dances on a tabletop with two twi’lek, which makes the crowd of clones howl even louder. The floor screeches when the commander abruptly pushes his chair back to leave the bar. Nobody seems to notice his absence in all the partying.

Outside, confetti falls from the sky while rockets pop and squeal into the air, lighting up the night. Cody walks alone and passes the multitude of citizens embracing each other. None are the wiser about the commander walking by them – a soldier who helped end the war – as he navigates through the streets of Coruscant. He doesn’t mind though because there is only one person on Cody’s mind that he wants to see.

Standing in front of your apartment door, Cody hesitates for a moment before finally unlocking it and treading inside. He places his helmet on the kitchen counter and looks around. So many memories reside in this small place. Your couch still remains were it was the last time he visited your home. That couch where he kissed you for the first time and decided that this is the only person he wants for the rest of his life. Shaking his head with a fond smile, he continues his investigation.

Sliding open the door to your bedroom, the commander expects the worst when his eyes glance towards an empty bottle of wine abandoned on the floor. He scans the room and finds shattered pieces of glass littering the carpet, a red dot staining the nearby wall. The commander assumes that you must have obliterated the wine glass in your fit of drunken rage. Holding his breath, Cody’s eyes widen at the dried-up specks of blood accompanying the mess. He finally takes a step past the bedroom threshold and notices the outline of your body beneath the mattress covers.

Your body becomes larger as Cody slowly advances closer to the bed, boots dodging the sharp pieces of glass. He notices your arm, hand wrapped in gauze, poking out of the mountain of blankets. His fingers gently brush your wrist. Sighing with relief, the commander relaxes from the light thump of your pulse against his fingers. You groan in sleepy annoyance from his cold touch and retreat your arm into the safety under your huddled-up covers. Cody grins slightly in amusement. Pulling up a chair next to your bed, he tenderly shakes your shoulder to waken you.

Slowly but surely, you peel your heavy eyelids open with a throaty groan then glance up at the commander sitting close beside your bed. You say nothing and just await the reason why he is in your room on this particular night. Cody closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before finally breaking the stillness.

“The war’s over. I thought I’d find you with the rest of the boys celebrating, but you never showed.”

Looking at your damaged hand, you remark, “I was… busy.”

“If there’s anything on your chest, you can tell me about it.”

“It’s all over now. The war’s over. There’s nothing to talk about anymore.”

“No!” Cody snaps. “Somethin’s eating you alive inside. I’ve noticed! And—and—” his voice softens “— I want to help… Please… I love you.”

That I love you stung.

You give up hiding it. He already knows and there is no point keeping secrets from the man you adore… the man you trust.

“This day isn’t fair! We won, so what? I’ve never felt less accomplished in my entire life—” your fingers dig into the bedsheets “—I couldn’t save them—” you blink away the squirming tears obscuring your vision “—they all died and never got to see the end.”

Cody understands immediately who you are talking about. The clones. His brothers.

“We were bred for this—”

“Y’all are more than just stupid numbers, Cody! He had a name! They all did!”

You scream in agony into your mattress as your walls come tumbling down. After a moment of letting go of the pain, small hiccups pipe from your aching chest as you slowly calm yourself down.

“It’s hard being the one who survives. That’s a burden I – all my brothers – will have to carry. But not you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Not knowing how else to help you, he lifts his hand and slips his fingers beneath yours, helping you ease your grip on the poor mattress. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your skin while the atmosphere goes still again. Unspoken understanding passes between the two of you. No words had to be exchanged as you share this silent moment with the commander.

Then, in the dead quiet, tears filter down your cheeks. You did not know where they came from, but you didn’t feel sick anymore.

Cody is there. He takes off his boots and armor and slips into the bed, wrapping you with the most protective hug. This warm space inside his arms calm you, but the tears still fall. Peering up into the commander’s face, you giggle uncontrollably when he kisses your red, puffy eyes. He keeps kissing you until all the tears are dry and you stop crying, then he slows down and takes his time. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you embrace the commander and the hands running up your sides.

Cody's body rocks together with yours in slow, sensual movements. Your arms firmly grip around the commander’s torso as he takes care of you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear while warmly caging you beneath his weight.

His strong arms bend backwards to hold your thighs with his calloused hands. The affection in his thrusts is unrushed. His hips roll in big, smooth circles to memorize your walls, to memorize the way you softly whimper and pant from the endearing pleasure he gives you.

You are his world. He wants nothing more than to keep you here in this moment forever to show how much he loves you. Luckily, he'll have so much more time to do so now since the war is over.

Your head lulls back into the soft pillow, mouth agape, as you allow yourself this moment to unwind. As Cody's cock delves rhythmically into your folds, you moan with each stroke. The tip of your ears heat up from the way this man above you tickles your neck with feather light kisses. He strokes your thighs with his thumbs, making sure not to buck too harshly into your hips. Tears begin to burn your eyes again.

This man is making love to you.

Cody – after everything he has been through in this war – still somehow retained his gentleness. But now he is sharing some of it with you in order for you to heal.

The commander continues to whisper into your ear as you silence your whimpers in his chest, hands coming to rest on his pecs to feel more sheltered and secure under him.

"Everything will be okay," is all that he repeats. "Everything will be okay."

Smiling, you believe him while he gently wipes away your tears with his thumb.

#commander cody x reader #commander cody fanfiction #commander cody #commander cody x you #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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dialovers-translations · 4 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers GRAND EDITION for Switch ;; More, Blood ー Yuma Dark [Prologue]

Monologue

ーー That burning feeling inside my throat,

is the sole thing which vividly remains in my memory.

Crackling flames flare up.

People scatter about, tears streaming down their faces

as they call out someone’s name.

And I, ran straight towards

said fire.

It’s hot. So incredibly, unbearably hot.

Yet, I desperately dashed forward.

Swallowed by the flames and smoke,

I could barely still see my own feet with my dried out eyes.

I could barely even breathe,

as the heat assaulted my throat.

Even so, I attempt to shout.

ーー Wanting to find someone.

ーー Wanting to save someone.

???: ( ...Who? )

( Who am I looking for amidst the flames? )

???: ーー ...ar!

???: ( I don’t know. I can’t remember. )

( Who was I searching for? Where was I? For whoーー? )

???: Bear!

ー A young Yuma wakes up and finds himself in town

Lucks: You’re awake?

Bear: ...Boss...

Lucks: Are you okay? You were groaning in your sleep again. (1)

Bear: Yeah...

*Rustle*

Bear: ...What’s with that face, huh? Whatcha grinnin’ for?

Lucks: It’s because you always look like you’re about to cry when you sleep. What’s wrong? Did you dream about your mommy again?

Bear: ...As if! Don’t treat me like a kid!

Lucks: Haha! My bad, my bad! Come on, eat this. It’s today’s grub.

ー He throws some food at him

Bear: ...Where did you pick up fresh bread?

Lucks: I didn’t pick it up, I secretly took it. Of course...Making sure nobody saw me?

You should hurry up and learn how to steal food (2) without getting chased after as well. I’m sure you’re fed up with getting beat up after being caught?

Bear: ...

Lucks: Well, it’s a common beginner’s mistake. Come on, just take a bite already. I’m sure you’re starving after tossing and turning around in your sleep?

Bear: ...Thanks for the food.

Lucks: Now I think about it, quite some time has passed since you hit me up, huh? You still can’t remember anything?

Bear: ...Nothing.

Lucks: I see. Well, if only it was that easy, huh? Have your burns healed yet?

Bear: They’ve gotten way better thanks to the medicine you gave me.

Lucks: I see. Isn’t it rough to be missing your memories?

Bear: ...Well...It is, but...

But, I don’t want to force myself to remember either. I feel...comfortable staying here with you after all.

Lucks: You get to eat without getting beaten up as well, huh?

Bear: ...That’s not what I meant!

Lucks: Haha, I’m joking. Well, if that’s what you want, you can stay here as long as you’d like. The gang likes you as well.

It’s just...Things may not stay this peaceful for long.

Bear: Did something happen?

Lucks: There’s been suspicious movements amongst one of the gangs at the neighboring city. The one lead by that nasty guy sporting a mohawk (3).

Bear: Aah, that idiot whose hair looks like a chicken’s?

Lucks: Yeah...He has already done a number on three of our gang members. If they won’t back down, we won’t be able to avoid a conflict forever.

Bear: Hmph! I’ll take them on at any time! They may think they’re strong together, but they’re no match for us!

Lucks: Haha. When it comes to your built and vigor, you really are formidable. You’re totally one of us now.

...Honestly, I know that continuing doing this won’t solve anything.

Bear: Boss?

Lucks: Say, Bear? Do you like this city?

Bear: ...What do you mean?

Lucks: Exactly as I said it. Take look at those worn down streets and houses. ...This city has started to rot.

All of the aristocrats and politicians keep on running their mouths about revolution or reforms and how it’s all in the best interest of the people but...This is the reality we have to face.

In the end, it’s only the rich people who get to benefit of it. (4) On the other hand, the number of children like us who end up on the streets is only rising.

But no matter how ashy and grey the city gets, only the sky is still...

Look, it’s this blue...Underneath the blue sky who doesn’t belong to anyone, status or family does not matter.

I believe that all humans are equal and deserve to be free.

...However, I am also aware that such utopian dreams will never come true in this rotten city.

Bear: ...

Lucks: That’s why I’ve decided I will guide this country towards the right path.

To achieve this, I have to fight my way to the top. Of course, using a method other than violence.

Bear: ...Seems like you have a long way ahead of you.

Lucks: It’s frustrating but I’m still a child right now. I’m not stupid enough to think I can win against adults who have political power. I know that this will be a long fight.

But you know, I also want to know just how far a single orphan raised in the filthy slums can go.

Now that I’ve told you all of this, you’ll have to watch me till the very end, Bear. From your VIP seat right next to me.

Bear: Hah, I just hope you don’t drag me into the grave with you.

Lucks: Just give up if that happens. You were out of luck, getting picked up by me.

Bear: ...Guess so. I do feel like I owe you one.

A huge debt, for giving me a place I can call my own...That is.

Fine then, I’ll stick with you. Until the day...This world changes.

ー The screen fades to black

Yuma: ( Exactly, that was our dream. )

( For us brats who had no money, let alone power, changing the country, or even the world, that was the real Utopia. )

( ...However, it’s strange. )

( Boss, I’m sure you can do it. That’s what I ended up thinking. )

Monologue

A city thorn apart by the destruction of war.

in the very corner of the slums laying in the very back of said city,

that is where I lived at that time.

About my life before that,

I could not remember a single thing.

At some point, I found myself laying on the ground,

of this filthy back-alley. Why was I here?

Where did I come from?

I did not even know who I was.

That’s the kind of situation I found myself in.

ーー Yo, what’s up?

A young boy called out for my puzzled self,

greeting with a tone,

as if we had been long-time pals.

That was Lucks.

ーー Got nowhere to go?

Come with me then.

The moment he spoke those words without asking about what happened,

without a single hint of hesitation.

I was at a loss for words,

deeply moved by this boy.

I felt indebted, as well as respect for him,

even a little envy...

But the most accurate way to describe it, would probably be admiration.

And that is how,

I decided to live alongside this person,

who was the leader of a gang.

Based on my physical appearance,

I was given the nickname ‘Bear’.

ー The flashback ends as the scene shifts to the hallway

Yui: Haah...

( It may have been decided by drawing a card, but how could I have picked such a scary-looking person... )

( He punched me when I was brought here, and he goes around calling people ‘Sow’... )

( I wonder if I’ll be okay, having someone like that watch over me...? )

Yuma: Hold it, Sow! (5)

Yui: ...!

Yuma: Don’t just be wanderin’ ‘round like ya own this place! If ya wanna have a look ‘round, at least ask me for permission first!

Yui: ( Speak of the devil...! )

Yuma: Che. Ya really not tryin’ to hide that you’re displeased, huh? ...I’m not exactly thrilled to have to babysit ya either, ya know!?

But well, guess I have no other choice.

Oi, I’ll only tell ya this once so listen up. These are the rules attached to becomin’ my personal toy.

Yui: Toy!?

Yuma: I’m not wrong, right? My own toy which I can use as I please, whenever I want to. That’s what ya are, right?

Yui: I-It’s my first time hearing about that...!

Yuma: Do I really need to go out of my way to tell ya? That’s what Sows (6) are for, right?

Yui: ( ‘Toy’ and ‘Sow’...That’s just too cruel... )

Yuma: What? Got a problem with it, huh?

Yui: R-Rather than a problem...

Yuma: Aahn!?

Yui: ...!

( Uu...Yuma-kun really is scary with that tall physique and loud voice of his...! )

Yuma: ...

*THUD*

Yui: !!

Yuma: Can’t hear ya very well!? This toy came with a mouth, didn’t it!? Speak up a lil’ more, aahn!?

Yui: ( He’s even more scary when he towers over me like that...! )

I-It’s...nothing...

Yuma: Che, you’re so annoyin’. If ya can’t say, don’t try and mutter a halfbaked response.

This is exactly why I hate chicks who just stand there pissin’ their pants the whole time.

You’re on the same level as a farm’s pig if ya can’t even voice yer own opinion out loud.

Listen up, Sow. Watchin’ those kind of people makes me gag.

Yui: ( He doesn’t have to put it so bluntly... )

( ...However, it’s true that I’m frightened and that I can’t talk back... )

Yuma: Haah...What a fuckin’ pain in the ass.

If it turns out ya don’t taste better than Sugar-chan, I really got the short end of the stick.

Yui: ( Sugar-chan...? Could he be talking about sugar cubes? Also, he’s eating them plain... )

( I wonder if he likes sweet stuff...? )

Yuma: Well, I’ve got no other choice now that I’m chosen. There...!

Yui: Ow...!?

( He strongly wrapped his hand around my throat...!? )

Yuma: Woah there, don’t make a fuss. I’m actually holdin’ back so I don’t snap it in two.

If ya struggle too much, I might end up puttin’ in some strength.

I might just break yer neck even if I didn’t mean to?

Yui: ( I don’t want that...! )

( But it hurts and it’s hard to breathe, so I can’t just keep still...! )

*Thud*

Yuma: Did I not just tell ya to keep still!? ...Che, ya really are a pain. Come on!

*Rustle*

Yui: ( ...He loosened up a little. It’s somewhat less painful like thiーー )

Yuma: Dont get the wrong idea.

You’re a damn infuriatin’ woman. But it seems like ya are the chosen Eve after all. I’ll handle ya with care for now.

Well, either way...Ya chose me. Even if it’s a drag, I can’t alter said truth.

Yui: ( I didn’t choose him myself though... )

Yuma: That being said, ya better try yer best to become a toy to my liking, capiche?

Yui: Why...me...?

Yuma: Hah. Haven’t those Sakamaki’s already treated ya badly plenty of times anyway?

Yui: That’s...

Yuma: What? Tryin’ to play hard to get now? Don’t cause me any more trouble!

*THUD*

Yuma: Come on. If ya understand, do as I say. If so, I’ll treat ya decently. Hehe.

Yui: ( ...! )

Yuma: Looks like ya don’t like the ring of that? Heh. Perfect.

Ya should have just been honest back then. Don’t be havin’ regrets now...!

ー Yuma bites her

Yui: !!

( Ow...! He suddenly...! )

Yuma: Nn...Nn?

Yui: ( Uu... )

Yuma: ...Haah...Heeh...Guess this is to be expected of Eve? Ya taste quite nice.

Nn...Hah...Amazin’...The blood’s so sweet...Just like sugar...No, even sweeter?

I wasn’t lookin’ forward to havin’ to watch over some chick’s sad ass but...Hehe, in this case, it might actually be kinda fun.

Yui: Please, stop...

Yuma: Hah, already havin’ regrets? Didn’t I tell ya...!?

Yui: Uu, ah...!

Yuma: ...Hah...

Yui: ( He keeps on thrusting them in and pulling back out...I’m becoming numb from the pain... )

Yuma: Hehe...I think it’s annoyin’ when a woman goes quiet after I yell at her, but I don’t dislike chicks who keep silent durin’ this kinda thing?

I wouldn’t mind if ya expressed yer desires, or let me hear some nice cries...tho!

ー He pushes Yui away

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyah...!

*Thud*

Yuma: I’ve had enough. I’m sleepy too so I’m done for today.

Well, guess now ya just have to try yer hardest to be in my good grace, huh?

Yui: ...

Yuma: Hehe...See ya, Sow.

ー Yuma leaves

Yui: ( ...No matter where I go, I always get treated like this. )

( Although I still can’t believe...I actually want to have my blood sucked myself. )

( If I could, I’d honestly love to go to a world without any Vampires... )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) The verb うなされる or ‘unasareru’ refers to both ‘having a nightmare/bad dream’ as well as the noises and movements accompanying it.

(2) He uses the term ‘to supply’ or ‘to raise’ here, but it is obvious from the context that they are stealing food.

(3) They describe his hairstyle as トサカ頭 or ‘tosaka atama’ with ‘tosaka’ referring to a cockscomb.

(4) Literally he says they are the ones who ‘get to suckle the sweet nectar’.

(5) そこの or ‘soko no’ is a set phrase shouted when you want to stop somenoe in their tracks. You will often hear it being used by the police and such when they spot someone suspicious. Usually it is combined with 君 or ‘kimi’, in which case you can translate it as ‘You over there!’. In this case, I had to alter it a little because he uses Yui’s nickname ‘Sow’.

(6) The word メスブタ or ‘mesubuta’ technically means ‘Sow’. However, it is also a common slang word to call somewhere a ‘whore’ or ‘slut’.

→ LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

<- [ Yuma prologue ] [ Dark 01 ] ->

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yuma mukami #more blood #diabolik lovers translation #mbyumadarkprolog

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whittakerjodie · 4 years

Text

Safety (13th Doctor X Reader)

Requested by @supermegapauselouca , prompts 59 and 63 from the prompt list

Words: 1.7k

Authors Note: Hi love, I chose one of your requests as I’m quite busy with the holidays and didn’t want to leave you waiting too long. Thank you to everyone who requested for this batch and I hope you have all enjoyed! Requests will open back up after the special

also, more angst than 13 but she comforts at least! Sorry about that haha.

Warnings: Violence, near-death experience, ANGST

Your heart pounded in the same rhythm as your feet as you sprinted across the pavement. Running was something you’d become accustomed to, travelling on the TARDIS, but this time was different. This wasn’t your usual ‘Run-for-your-life’ scenario. Usually during those you had better chances. Not this time. The sycorax warrior was hot on your tail, far too close for your liking. It would take a miracle to create enough distance to not be as terrified as you were. Several times it lunged for you and you could feel its fingers briefly make contact.

Your own fingers were clenched around a flashdrive, which needed to be inserted into the ship's mainframe to cause a power outage strong enough to shut everything down. It was quite odd technology for the Sycorax, but you were sure the Doctor was defeating whatever other aliens they had teamed up with this time around. She was the one meant to take care of the flash drive business. However, during the chase and all the confusion and panic that came with it, the flash drive had ended up passed around from companion to companion, until the it and the responsibility accompanying it, rested in your hands.

The mainframe was right up ahead, only a few steps- You shoved the flash drive into the socket as soon as you could, nearly knocking yourself out from the impact against the wall. The sycorax warrior decided to take matters into their own hands, tugging at your shoulder and throwing you to the ground. You yelped, trying to kick them away. It didn’t seem to do much; their alien form towered over you, arms poised for the kill. In that moment, you were nothing but prey, without protection, without chance, without hope.

Then the lights went out.

Before you could even register the darkness in your mind, which screamed for you to move, connected with the rest of yourself and you rolled out from underneath the Sycorax. It’s fists collided with the floor, causing it to hiss in pain. While you processed this you continued to urge your body to move faster, but everything was dark. Your hands seemed to slip against the wall, your balance wobbly, unable to find your way to safety. The only thing keeping you going was the idea that there was some mysterious combination you could work your way towards solving that would save your life.

After several minutes of fumbling, you could hear a familiar voice: the Doctor. She was shouting, directing the other companions. It seemed to be getting closer- she was looking for you. The Sycorax was as well, but they too were restricted by the darkness you’d entombed yourself in.

“Y/N!” you heard Yaz shout. Knowing you couldn’t respond without alerting your foe, you did your best to work your way towards her. The Sycorax would follow, you knew, but you were mainly hoping that it would be too late for them to do anything by that point.

Suddenly, it felt like hands were on you. Instinctively you shrieked, jumping back, but more arms caught you. It was your friends.

“Shh, it’s us” Ryan whispered. “That was crazy, what you did, yeah? Totally amazing…”

His voice trailed off in your mind as you felt another pair of arms, this time supporting your wait by shifting it onto her shoulder. The Doctor’s scent filled your nose, and you breathed it in for comfort. Everything seemed much too fluid, the adrenaline that kept you going beginning to crash now that you were in safe hands. Despite the comfort though, it felt wrong. But why? As your friends dragged you off back to the TARDIS, your mind began to recap everything that had just taken place, making notes and critiques- and some uncomfortable realizations.

It had been hours since you’d buried yourself underneath the blankets of your large bed on the TARDIS. There seemed to be more of them- and pillows, too. Almost as if the time machine could sense every branch of distress you seemed to be growing and was determined to cut them off at the root. While she didn’t succeed in doing it, it helped a little to have such a comfortable environment to return to. The air seemed too cold, so you pulled one of the blankets over your head, submerging yourself in darkness.

Suddenly, you were back there. Reaching into the black, trying to make your way through to the other side before you were dragged under. You could still feel the coldness of the wall and could still hear the frustrated growls of the sycorax as they tried to capture you in their claws. Despite knowing such an instance never occurred, you could feel the sycorax succeeding, pulling you backwards and-

You shot up in bed, throwing the blankets off to avoid the scene you’d conjured. That never happened, you asserted. You got away, you saved the day, you’re on the TARDIS, in bed safe and sound. Yet, as you told yourself these things, you couldn’t properly grasp onto the relief and happiness you sought to provide with them. Why not? You saved the day. But at the same time, you’d come within an inch of not doing so.

Mind still in turmoil over the battling emotions, you climbed out of the safety of your bedroom. Perhaps the TARDIS would have more surprises in store for you as you explored. It wasn’t exactly exploring, though. You were searching for someone, which presented another dilemma. You imagined that finding the Doctor to talk to was the best option, as she experienced these near-death situations far more often than any of you. However, one of the other companions seemed like a nice option, too. They were human. Frequent near-death situations or not, they knew what the finality of them actually felt like.

When you reached Yaz’s room, though, you found that she was fast asleep. Knowing Ryan and Graham likely were as well, you sought out your favorite timelord. It wasn’t hard to tell if she was awake or not; you could hear the various clanging and thuds from her activities through the walls. Chuckling a little at the odd noises, you became fully aware of just how heavy your shoulders felt. Even raising your hand to knock on the Doctor’s door hurt.

She answered promptly, grinning. You spotted a multitude of tools and odd metal shapes and pieces all across the room when you cast your eyes downward.

“Y/N! How are you feeling?” She asked, posture shrinking slightly to your level.

“Uh..” Your voice trailed off, blocked by the lump in your throat. Another sign of tension and upset that you hadn't realized in your search for the timelord. It was soon joined by a puddle of tears that began to pool in the corner of both of your eyes. Before any of them could fall, the Doctor’s arms wrapped around you.

Moments later, when she had found you a comfortable spot on the edge of her bed, she asked: “What’s wrong? Is it about what happened today?”

You nodded, inhaling shakily. After wiping your tears away, you managed “I know everything turned out alright, but I can’t help but think about how close I was to... well, not having everything go alright. Now it’s like all I can think about is that possibility, of me failing, and that’s making me think of every other time I came close to-”

“Here, slow down a bit,” The Doctor encouraged. Her hand rubbed your back in comforting circles. You leaned into the touch, and into her, nodding and working on keeping your breathing in check.

“ It’s hard to explain… I’m safe here with you. Everything went okay and everyone’s safe. I know I should be happy…I did well…I always do well…so why can’t I believe in myself?”

The Doctor thought for a moment, considering your words and feelings with great care. You imagined she had to deal with issues like these often, considering how many companions she took on great adventures. But the way she looked at you, you knew there was no repetition or normalcy involved. She was treating your case as if it were its own unique event, working with words that she knew would mean the most to you especially.

She moved from your side onto the floor, kneeling in front of you so she could properly look into your eyes. It felt nice to not have to lift your head to embrace her. You didn’t imagine you could handle the weight of it all.

“I want you to be proud of yourself. I want you to believe that you’re good enough because you are. You’re so amazing.” She stressed, her hand moving upward to rest against your cheek. If you couldn’t handle the weight, she would take some of it on for you. “We can’t help or avoid those risks and what-ifs that come up when we run like we do. What we can do, though, is tackle what happens after they appear.”

As she continued to talk, she stood from her spot on the floor. Giving you a plethora of tips and good wishes for your recovery from the day's events, she would occasionally pause to squeeze your hand. Then, she began working on the bed behind you. Eventually you turned, curious. The TARDIS had supplied extra pillows and blankets again, all of them lightweight to ensure that you wouldn’t feel trapped.

The Doctor, noticing you were watching, smiled softly. She patted the pillow next to her and you crawled up the mattress, joining her. She pulled you into her arms, wrapping several blankets around you. You surrendered to the warmth.

This time, the darkness was not a frightening what-if but a comforting certainty. There was safety in the Doctor’s arms. Before you allowed yourself to stop running from the darkness, you felt a warm kiss against your forehead to send you off.

#the 13th doctor #13th doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #doctor who #doctor who imagine

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

Text

What stories are left in ACOTAR: Elain edition

It is likely that the next installment of the ACOTAR series will cover Elain Archeron. Elain is probably the least developed character of the Inner Circle, and the only character (other than Amren and Lucien) whose perspective we haven’t seen yet. This post details her trauma, the issue of choice, Elain’s personality, the sweet innocent Elain image, and her various roles.

Elain will definitely have to face her past trauma, which include:

Graysen: grief, feeling of betrayal

The Cauldron and being kidnapped: trauma, feeling violated, becoming high fae

Her father: grief

Sisters: having a role in the Night Court, belonging there, being protected

Choices:

Before I get into Elain’s role, I want to talk about a huge thing for Elain, which is choice. Rhysand spends ACOMAF and ACOWAR showing Feyre that she always has choices. Nesta struggles with this in ACOSF, and while Nesta does make choices to be more active - she kills the Kelpie, saves Feyre, saves her friends, she choses Cassian, and kills Briallyn.

“I am not a thing to be controlled by you”, Nesta said icily. Everything in her life, from the moment she was born, had been controlled by other people. Things happened to her; anytime she tried to exert control, she’d been thwarted at every turn -- and she hated that even more than the King of Hybern.

Elain, who has suffered much of the same trauma as Nesta, will make her own choices in her book. Those choices will involve who she ends up with (I refuse to get into the Elucien/Elriel debacle here - I like both!), how she wields her power (as a seer, as high fae, as a Made person, as the Cauldron’s favorite, as a political pawn), and what she makes of the situations that happened to her.

Elain has already shown that she can make good on a bad situation in ACOWAR, I’m excited to see how she keeps that up in her book:

“This could end very badly, Elain.” // She brushed her thumb over the iron-and-diamond engagement ring. “It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” (ACOWAR)

“I know your circumstances for coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.” (ACOSF)

Sweet Innocent Elain:

Elain’s persona in the Inner Circle is a sweet and innocent girl. She loves gardening and cooking. She is kind and cares about things like manners and propriety. Here are a few quotes that show that:

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. (ACOWAR)

“You’re still lovely,” Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.”Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.” (ACOWAR)

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.” (ACOWAR)

“I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”(ACOSF Bonus Chapter)

We know that there is a lot more to Elain than anyone gives her credit for - Cassian, Amren, Rhys, and even Nesta point this out on different occasions in ACOSF:

Cassian: “Nesta was wrong to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.”

Amren: “Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Rhys: “I also think we haven’t seen all she has to offer. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way” “And torn up by thorns”

Nesta: “Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death? Challenge laced each word. Challenge - from Elain of all people.

We also see Elain starting to take back her power in ACOSF when she steps up to look for the Dread Trove

“You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“I am not a child to be fought over”

“I went into the Cauldron too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of it what my trauma did to you.”

Elain’s Roles:

Sister: Elain has long been a mediator between Nesta and Feyre. She is the calmness that complements each of their fire, she is the one they each seek to protect. (I’m thinking of SJM’s fire/ice/stone metaphor for Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel). However, she is able to fight for what she wants with each of them, and use her skills to her advantage. Elain shows Feyre her remorse for the years when they are poor, which is why Elain and Nesta step up to help with the Mortal Queens.

“Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” (ACOMAF)

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.” (ACOMAF)

Sweet, innocent Elain who vomited from the violence on the battlefields, who recoiled from Cassian’s weapons, does show that she is willing to fight for her sisters.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Seer: Elain seemed to gain clarity once she realized what she was seeing. She says she can control her Seer talk, and actually uses this power to help Feyre find the Suriel in ACOWAR, and offers to do the same with the Dread Trove. It isn’t clear if Elain’s refusal to acknowledge her powers stems from fear, lack of acceptance, or just the fact that she needed to be normal before she can embrace her new life.

“Are you asking me that as her sister, or as a seer?” (ACOFAS)

“Then I will find it. I might require some time to ... reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” (ACOSF)

Made and Cauldron’s Favorite: Just like Nesta and Feyre, Elain is Made. All of the Like Calls to Like logic that applies to Feyre in ACOMAF with the Cauldron and the Book of Breathings and Nesta in ACOSF with the Dread Trove applies to Elain. Now that Nesta’s power is limited, Elain may have to step up and use her power to help find the fourth Dread Trove item or with a new Cauldron-related task. The big distinguishing factor here is that the Cauldron likes Elain.

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken.

“You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well... and because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.”

Lucien’s Mate: Elain hasn’t been raised with the mating bond, she doesn’t care for it in ACOWAR when she tries to win Graysen back, but it is possible that after almost two years in the Night Court, and watching both of her sisters accept their bonds, that she may want to acknowledge it, or at least understand it. Being Lucien’s Mate also makes Elain a political pawn. Her presence in the Night Court ensures Lucien’s loyalty, and given that Lucient has ties to 3 of the seven courts and the human lands. Elain could potentially wield the power of those alliances (or destroy them based on her relationship with Lucien).

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”// “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”// “You belong to him.”//“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”(ACOWAR)

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?//“He brought you a present”// “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”// “No. He is a good male. He cares for you.”// “He doesn’t know me.” //“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”//“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male” (ACOFAS)

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Member of the Inner Circle: Elain insists that she is a member of the Night Court in ACOSF, and offers her help in tracking down the Dread Trove. . She is already an active member at Inner Circle dinners (seen in ACOFAS and ACOSF), and those bonds could continue to grow.

“And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared she was a part of this court -- and would do whatever was needed. ... He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court... It sucked the life from her.”

Nuala and Cerrdiwen’s Friend: Elain has befriended the two half-wraiths who spy for both Azriel and Rhys. Give Elain’s powers for persuasion (”my sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles”) and observation (”Nesta never spoke if afterward, I just observed”// “Elain’s brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.” ), she could make an interesting spy or courtier.

“They’d spent more time with Elain than even I had. They understood her moods, what she sometimes needed.” (ACOFAS)

Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (ACOSF)

#elain archeron #acotar #elain #elain archeron week #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

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ranvwoop · 3 years

Note

TALK ABOUT AMERICAN HEALTHCARE I HAVE AN IDEA OF WHY IT'S THERE BUT I WANNA HEAR THE EXPLANATION ALSO THE ONLY HOUSE THAT"S NOT ON FIRE (YET) FOR THE SAME REASON I JUST WANNA SEE THE ANALYSIS:TM: IF U WANT I WANNA SEE IF I GOT IT RIGHT :D

Hi :DDD. Thank u for asking,,,, I have many thoughts. I am sorry in advance. This is one of those things I will put under a readmore because I am into rambling. IT GOT A LOT LONGER THAN ANTICIPATED IM SORRY. Like. a lot. It was 4 pages in google docs because i dont trust tumblr to save my drafts

Okay a lot of my Ranboo thoughts are about the syndicate / boreal trio / peerpressure duo. But you’re probably aware I am a Them enthusiast first and both a dsmp enjoyer and person second. Because. I really like the syndicate. I also don’t have too too many thoughts on the more recent lore past the experiments. Once the in character monologues stopped, so did my brain. I communicate through monologue to monologue communication.

American Healthcare is actually gonna be the main reason why this is so long bc it works Very Much for like three different reasons. One sorta niche and abstracter reason is a stream that was basically never elaborated on back in March, either the day after or very close to the peerpressure Egg confrontation stream. The egg called him a coward (for some reason my brain can Only come up with the “stop saying i look like chicken little. he’s dumb, and a coward, and i am NOT a coward” vine), and he is not a coward, so he decided to make an action plan to bring the server together by acting as a mediator for all parties and try to make sure that everyone is happy, because he’s the only one that can see all sides, or something. This was where he said the big happy family™ line but other than Ranboo Become Dream?? analysis nothing else really happened and everything went along as normal.

(I also always held a little bit of suspicion on this stream actually and thought it might be the influence of the egg, because it says it can give one whatever they want, and ranboo wants to make everyone happy and this was a totally foolproof way of doing that. Sort of in a similar way that BBH is convinced that his plan will totally make Skeppy happy. But also Ranboo is just like that, but this felt a little more on the nose than usual and he did fall into the egg and made his decisions after being egged on by it, buT WE’LL NEVER KNOW, WILL WE?

… also I really wanted to see more egg conflict at the time. Peerpressure rlly got involved in the egg plot for cameos at the banquet and nothing else. I do not blame anyone and respect the ccs for all of their attempts to weave plots together but also. also…. we.. we coulda had so much…)

That was a little off topic from the point, but… he really just thinks he can save the sick… he can see that everyone on the server is unwell and is wrong but, y’know, look inwardly, the unwell is coming from inside the house. And an inherent problem of the way that the server runs. And if this is still lowkey in effect or not (idk man a) ranboo has monologued a lot I simply chose a one off from march to grow emotionally attached to and b) i think that my brain has shut off once ranboo stopped solo lore streams), it would probably go the way that most choosing to change the system from the inside goes. Which is the point of the song and stuff! He will inevitably decide what’s too far, whether he will either admit it’s a choice or just feel that it’s what he has to do. The, uh, dealing with the devil, to be polite.

in conclusion (but we are not close to done here i’m holding you for a bit longer), i think a lot about that stream and i think that shows what he wants to be, at the very least, and continuing down that path would definitely go into being far more trouble than just a noble goal of wanting to help people, from negotiating with corruption (The lobbyists, the Congressmen and lies bit) and that the server can’t really be brought together and saved like that (When things are more and more this way / Sometimes it's like they'd rather die)

THE LESS. vwoop why have you written an unnecessarily long post about one stream in your playlist character analysis reason is both more literal and piece by piece and also Syndicate, My Beloved, you know the drill. We are going line by line because I have a lot of feelings about American Healthcare, apparently.

This also comes back to that everyone on the server is doing Really Badly, all of the time, but mostly his time in L’Manburg. For one, he is pretty complacent in everything and doesn’t really accomplish much in terms of actual change, so like Well people die every day / I wouldn't have it any other way / I just think they should feel good while they are alive. An example of this is Exiled Tommy — who I’d also metaphorically put as the dead man just for funsies, since Tommy’s whole exile thing was one of the first things Ranboo experienced on the server—as he did try to be friends with Tommy and keep him company with his letters, but he still has no power over the actual issue at hand. Just trying to make it a bit more bearable. Similarly is Techno, while Ranboo still participated in the butcher army that was trying to kill him, he helped in the meantime until he “died”.

And then it’s the Realization that participating in the system doesn’t really help much, and the subsequent Everything. It could be getting mad at the whole government system and that he didn’t mean to contribute to the harm, or how he fought with Fundy using hs ideology but not in the way that Ranboo thought. It could also be standing up to his hallucination Dream, in that he doesn’t try this hard to be a good person just to be accused of helping with all of the things that he may or may not have helped with. (That is… a discussion for not right now, I don’t know.) And I think this sort of area is also where it’s like they’d rather die is also relevant, cause Doomsday. Nobody could just set aside their governments and just get along, though Ranboo had his own solution to fighting and things.

And then he joins the Syndicate! And the lyrics of the song are directly Government Bad, because government bad. Canon anarchist, has done things that he’s not proud of as a part of the government. The lines it was the government / … It got louder over the years / Until all that I could hear was flies and all.

But honestly I think in the Syndicate he’s still trying to “save the sick”! Because the Syndicate don’t All fit eye to eye either. He’s the token pacifist, and a vote against violence whenever it comes down to it. Not all anarchists are violent but Techno and Phil will probably react strongly when provoked, due to All the past events, and I live in a world where their trauma and issues get talked about as much as everyone else’s. Since everything is decided by vote it’d probably be split between them and Ranboo + Niki, who is in her healing/no longer resorting to murder arc. He’ll help them negotiate and then everything will Be Okay, ideally.

(Also I just like the idea of Ranboo believing that he is helping the people he’s living with because canonically cc!Ranboo has said he just really cares about his family and the syndicate are included in his family shut up but they also just believe they’re helping him and yes it’s self indulgent. I care them. Particularly Endduo, actually, or whatever they're called, I am not bold enough to think Ranboo looks at Techno and thinks I Can Fix Him, but. Philza Minecraft will one day talk about his feelings. One day.)

There’s also radioduo and beeduo as of recent— really I’m just saying I think that Ranboo constantly has a Need To Help People, believes he can do it, and it will come back to hurt him in the end (except for the Syndicate because I’m in denial. The Syndicate can’t fall out if they never stream together :) ).

THIS CONCLUDES THE AMERICAN HEALTHCARE PORTION OF OUR SHOW.

The Only House That’s Not on Fire Yet !! I like this one. This is also blatantly there cause Syndicate. They are the only faction that is not actively falling apart, and this could absolutely be because they never stream together. But I do not care. However we are also going to go through this one piece by piece because we’re nearing 1500 words here and I might as well embarrass myself more. I am writing an incredibly informal essay about Ranboo My _Beloved (i assume his middle name is My, and he’s just one of those people who write his full full name) and this is the third page. If you’re still reading this, I’m sorry. Here we go.

There are lines that just seem like an unwell but recovering person, and I like to sort of think that way about Ranboo in the arctic during the down time. “I feel knotted up today / But in a most exquisite way” and “I feel strangely regular / But honestly I prefer it to / The usual bizarre” are just! He’s just hanging out. He’s doing good. There is the acknowledgement that he’s usually not doing well, and all of the episodes that he’s had in the past, and it’s probably strange to be doing well in the midst of everything, and there’s probably something impending, but now? He’s doing good!

The verses directly after both of those ones are about uncertainty and trust and such, and I feel like that’s not necessarily about just One relationship but all of them. Will cause problems as long as he has an accomplice. He is not confident but he trusts and loves people.

“This suit doesn’t fit me / I made it conterfeitly” I just like to think about Ranboo in his fancy suit, but it’s just a little wrong because he actually has no idea what he’s doing. I also like to think about Ranboo in a cape to fit in with boreal trio and later the syndicate, and emerald duo had matchy blue outfits from the Antarctic Empire… and trying to fit in with them…. or maybe They make him something.. You know. Much to think about.

“Killing me with déjà vu” I think is like. A little less fun, because despite how well things are going, the enderwalk is still not resolved and he had even less answers when I started thinking “this is a ranboo song”. Just as it relates to having a strange sense of reality and stuff, which goes into specifics of enderwalk headcanons, which would make this far longer. Even though I’ve framed it as a negative, there is also the more positive note of “Oh! I just thought of how to change all the hate / Into love with the old switcheroo / Dancing in my déjà vu / You'll be dancing too” which I’d rather explain broken up but I feel like as it’s a full verse it should be together. The first part is connected to my general thoughts of him explained earlier tbh, he’s trying Very Hard to make everyone happy and fix things. And adding the second part to it is just like! He is trying to make sense of everything, and it’s not so scary as time goes by. Since the experiments where he’s been (questionably) trying to be more comfortable and get more answers.

This was very long. I am sorry. I am ending it here and probably not going to do much formatting to make it readable because it is very late o’clock and also this is four pages and 2000 words I am so sorry. But if you read this far then. Uhhh thank. ^v^.

#asks #vwoop.noises #☆graphite☆#Reader. graphite in particular. i am so sorry.#this is. kind of just embarassing actually #if you notice a tone switch at the end its cause i got tired and didnt want to finish this in the morning #and look at my past sins #2k words of analyzing r*nboo in the direction of some internet songs. not. the thing you want to think hard abot that when you wake up #ok i fell asleep looking at the post page. 10/10 #but uh otherwise thank u for asking (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

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tw-anchor · 4 years

Text

39. Trust Your Abilities

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x15: Galvanize

Word Count: 6,559

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, dramatic Stiles, Peter’s severed finger

Author’s Note: Y’all I have had the worst luck these past couple of months. I must have broken a mirror or something without knowing. Please enjoy! Make sure you reblog, like, and tell me what you think!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Peter was lucky to have Olivia and Derek. Most people wouldn't help someone who had murdered and injured more than one of their family members. In fact, if Peter wasn't her father, Olivia wouldn't even be in the same vicinity as him, let alone help Derek sew his finger back on.

But, that's where she found herself. She hovered behind Derek as he and Peter sat at the table in Derek's loft; Derek had taken upon himself to sew Peter's finger back on after the Calaveras' head honcho cut it off. Thankfully, Peter put the finger on ice once Braeden got the two of them out of the hunters' grasp.

Olivia wasn't afraid of blood, but even the sight of her cousin sewing on her father's finger caused some nausea. Thankfully, it was over soon; Derek worked quickly, ignoring Peter's complaints in a way that Olivia couldn't. If she hadn't known the year Peter was born, she would have thought he was six years old. Peter Hale could dish out the pain without a problem, but he certainly couldn't take it.

"Ow," Peter hissed as Derek finished up his almost-perfect sutures. "Don't you have any anesthetic?"

Derek gave him a blank look, setting the small pair of medical scissors on the table next to him. "Yep."

Olivia snickered. "You know, I really thought you'd have a higher pain tolerance,"

Peter rolled his eyes at her. "Shut up," he turned back to Derek and with a whine to his voice, asked, "Are you at least going to tell me what I risked life and digit for?"

"Yeah, actually, I'd like to know that, too," Olivia added, crossing her arms over her chest. "And, you know, why I had to hire a mercenary to get you guys out of there..."

"I'm going to show you," Derek got up from his seat and took only a minute or so while he went up to his room and came back down. He carried a cylinder box made out of some sort of wood, with a triskele carved into the lid; he opened it and carefully slid out its contents. "After the fire, that's all that was left of her."

Talia Hale's claws clattered onto the table and Olivia almost flinched. Even though Talia was long dead, she could still feel power radiating off the claws. And that power? It felt like her Aunt Talia. It wasn't necessarily a tether like her pack members, but there was a slight glow to them on her mental map that caused her pause.

That's why Derek went, she realized privately.

Peter's eyes narrowed in recognition as he looked at his sister's claws. "Talia. I can't decide if that's touching or morbid," he raised an eyebrow at Derek. "I guess the real question is, what are you planning on doing with them?"

Derek hesitated before answering. "I have to ask her something," he finally revealed. "and from what I've heard, this is the only way possible."

Realization dawned on Peter's face. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Why do you think I sewed your finger back on?" Derek's lips turned up slightly into a smirk.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. She hadn't known what Derek was going to do with Talia's claws, but from context clues, she figured it out. Peter would connect to Talia's claws and then do the alpha ritual on Derek, where he peaked into Derek's subconsciousness through his spinal cord. It was a painful procedure and each time Olivia witnessed it, some part of her heart ached.

Even though she did want to know what Derek spoke to Talia about, she couldn't watch him go through with the ritual. It honestly didn't matter much, either way, because she had to get going in order to fetch Stiles from his house so they could get to school on time.

"That's my cue," she patted Derek on the shoulder before heading to the door. "I'll call you later, Der."

"Have fun at school," he mumbled in reply.

Much to her surprise, when she got to her car, Isaac was waiting for her in the passenger seat.

"What are you doing here?" she wasn't upset about his presence, but merely curious.

She slid into her seat and buckled her seatbelt, starting her car. She pulled away from Derek's building and took a left, heading into town so she could pick them up some breakfast. It would butter Stiles up to Isaac's attendance.

Isaac shrugged. "Scott took his bike, so I thought I'd get a ride with you."

"You walked all the way to Derek's loft from Scott's house to get a ride to school?" Olivia laughed.

"Well, any opportunity to annoy Stiles, and I'm there," Isaac chuckled with her.

Olivia shook her head in amusement. Only Isaac...

After a quick stop at the McDonald's drive-through, Olivia was pulling to a stop at the curb in front of Stiles' house. Isaac clambered into the backseat, almost hitting her in the face two separate times with his long legs, as Stiles bounced out of the front door and made his way down the sidewalk.

"Good morning, beautiful!" he was very cheerful today and Olivia knew it wasn't because it was from his lack of nightmares—because he certainly had one. No, he was happy because today was Mischief Day, the day before Halloween. "Mwah!"

The placement of his lips against her cheek with a noisy kiss made Olivia grin. "Morning, sweetcheeks."

"Good morning!"

As soon as Stiles heard Isaac's voice, he deflated. He whipped around and faced the backseat, a scowl on his face. "Ugh, what are you doing here?" he complained; as he reached for the handle of his door, Olivia locked the doors and pulled away from the curb. "Livvy, let me out. I'll drive myself."

"No, you won't," she said firmly. "Wednesdays are my days to drive."

"Well, why'd you bring Isaac?"

"I brought myself," Isaac told him smugly. He reached into the McDonald's bag and pulled out Stiles' breakfast sandwich amongst the wrappers from his biscuit and Olivia's bagel, tossing it at him. "Breakfast."

"Thank you," Stiles grumbled at Olivia as he turned to face the front once again. He unwrapped his sandwich with a grouchy look on his face. "Now Mischief Day is ruined."

"No, it isn't, Mr. Mischief," Olivia rolled her eyes. "If anything, Isaac riding with us is mischief..."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Oh, get over yourself," Isaac rolled his eyes; Olivia caught the action through her rear-view mirror and tried to hide her grin.

"You get over yourself."

"No, you get over your—"

"Okay, both of you, shut it," Olivia interrupted their ridiculous argument. "I don't want to hear another word from either of you until we get to school."

"But—"

"Shush."

"Yes, Mom."

"Isaac Lahey."

Olivia wasn't as annoyed as she portrayed herself. It was actually kind of amusing to see Isaac and Stiles fully chastised for their little spat. Nevertheless, the only noise throughout the rest of the drive to the school was some alternative song that Stiles had turned on

"Look," Isaac spoke as Olivia was parking. "the twins are here."

Olivia and Stiles followed his gaze and saw that he was right. Ethan and Aiden's bikes were parked neatly in the two spaces next to Scott's. Scott had already abandoned his bike and was talking to them, looking affronted.

Stiles' face hardened and in that moment, he and Isaac had something to agree on; they both could not stand Ethan and Aiden.

Stiles and Isaac rushed out of the car and Olivia briskly followed them, making sure that her car was locked securely.

"You're back in school?" they heard Scott ask the twins.

"No, just to talk," Ethan answered him.

"Oh, that's kind of a change of pace for you guys," Stiles snarked as he came to a stop on Scott's right; Isaac joined the alpha's other side. "Usually you're just hurting, maiming, and killing."

Aiden chose to ignore Stiles, keeping his eyes on Scott. "You need a pack, we need an alpha."

"Yeah, absolutely not," Stiles answered for Scott. "That's hilarious, though."

Aiden narrowed his eyes at Stiles while reminding Scott, "You came to use for help. We helped."

"You beat him up, two to one," Olivia spoke up, her voice hardening. "And then when he was down, you had to be stopped by your brother."

"Yeah, in my opinion, that was actually counter-productive," Stiles added as he took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Why would I say yes?" Scott asked, though he looked to be humoring the twins, more than actually considering them as pack members.

"We add strength, we'd make you more powerful," Aiden pitched. "There's no reason to say no."

Stiles rolled his eyes, Olivia scoffed, and Isaac sneered at them, "I can think of one. Like the two of your holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd." Olivia nodded in agreement with Isaac, her heart aching at the thought of her dead pack mate. "In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now."

Aiden growled at them, his eyes glowing ice-blue. "You wanna try?"

Olivia couldn't believe his audacity. She held out a firm hand, sending her own purple-tinted glare at him. "You need to back up," she ordered firmly, allowing her voice to shift and take control of him.

Aiden's eyes dimed back to their normal brown, but his glare stayed.

"Sorry, but they don't trust you," Scott glanced between Ethan and Aiden, his gaze lingering on the latter and his wicked temper. "And neither do I."

The four of them walked past the twins without another word—though, Isaac did send them a triumphant smirk as he passed.

As soon as they walked into the school, Stiles was decked in the face with a roll of toilet paper.

"All right, that's my fucking face!" he growled as he whipped the roll back at Greenberg. He patted Scott on the chest as they continued on to his locker. "Hey, dude, good decision, buddy. Good alpha decision."

Scott winced sheepishly. "I hope so."

"No, you know so," Olivia loved Scott, but he wished that he would see people the way they were, not the way he hoped them to be. Ethan and Aiden had a large part in Boyd's death, like Isaac had just mentioned, and they were also part of the pack who killed Erica. Sometimes, people couldn't be redeemed.

"Exactly," Isaac pointed at her in agreement.

Stiles, who had successfully closed the door to his mind after Malia's transformation back to a human girl, easily dialed his combination and unlocked his locker. He started unpacking his very full backpack, unloading his various Mischief Day pranks.

Scott nudged Olivia while Stiles was focused on his bag. "Hey, what did you say her name was again?" he nodded down the hall and Olivia saw that he was looking at Kira, who was at her own locker.

"Kira Yukimura," she informed him. "She's really sweet. Why?"

Scott shrugged. "Just wondering."

Isaac and Olivia exchanged an amused look. "Right, okay."

Stiles glanced at them. "What are you guys looking at?" he followed their gaze, saw Kira, and then looked back at Scott, "You looking at her?"

Scott immediately looked away from Kira, flustered. "Her? Who her?"

"Her-her," Stiles rolled his eyes. "Kira. You like her?"

"I thought you were into Lydia now," Isaac mentioned idly; Olivia smirked when Scott's eyes widened in shock.

"What? No!" he shook his head quickly. "I mean, may—no! She's okay, they're both okay...Kira's new."

Stiles shook his head and carefully placed a carton of eggs into his locker. "Yeah, that made a lot of sense, buddy. Just ask her out."

"Who, Lydia?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "He meant Kira, Scott."

"Now?"

"Yes, now," Isaac encouraged him.

"Right now?"

"Right now," Stiles slammed his locker shut after grabbing his econ textbook and turned to face Scott head on. "Scott, I don't think you get it yet. You're an alpha. You're the apex predator—"

"Please don't call him a predator while trying to convince him to ask Kira out," Olivia interjected with a gentle shudder.

"Makes sense," Stiles nodded at her before going back to Scott. "My point is, everyone wants you. You're like the hot girl that every guy wants."

Scott raised his eyebrows, confused. "The hot girl?"

"You are the hottest girl," Stiles poked him in the chest with a wink.

His words must have finally gotten through to Scott, because the alpha nodded with a small, but cute smile on his face. He looked up at Isaac and announced, "I'm the hot girl."

Isaac nodded seriously. "Yes, you are."

Scott giggled cutely before walking away.

Olivia watched him go, shaking her head. "You three are the oddest people I've ever met."

Isaac laughed at her and followed Scott while Stiles scoffed, "Says you," he grabbed her hand as they walked down the hallway to her locker. "Aren't you the teenager whose favorite ice cream is vanilla?"

"You know I don't like ice cream that much," they reached her locker and she swiftly unlocked it. "Now, should I be jealous that you called Scott the hottest girl while I was standing right next to you, or...?"

"No," Stiles leaned against her neighbor's locker, smiling down at her. "Want to know why?"

"Why, Stiles?"

"Because hot doesn't even begin to describe you, Livvy," he cooed sweetly, making her giggle.

"You're lucky I love you," she poked his cheek. "otherwise, you'd be too cheesy for me."

"You like cheese."

"On my pizza," Olivia shut her locker with a laugh, cradling her econ textbook in the crook of her right arm. "Now, did you want to catch the show are you gonna sit around all day and miss it?"

Stiles' eyes lit up at the reminder. Last night, or early this morning, Stiles and Scott had come to the school to prank Coach. It was his birthday and apparently the best friend duo had been pranking him on Mischief Day since they entered high school. It was a sort of tradition for them and Stiles said it was always good fun, but Olivia had never witnessed one of these pranks herself.

She would never tell Stiles, but she was kind of excited about it.

"Yes!" he grabbed her free hand and started pulling her down the hall.

When they entered Coach's classroom, Stiles had insisted on sitting in the front row, so he had a good seat for all the chaos that he and Scott had reined upon Coach. Olivia sat behind him and when Lydia and Scott came into the classroom together, a moment or so later, they sat next to them. The bell rang and there was still no sign of Coach—but then, they heard what was going on next door.

What sounded like furniture collapsing to the floor came from Coach's office. Not a second later, they heard him shout, "Son of a bitch!"

Stiles broke out into a round of snickers, his whole body shaking, and Scott grinned in amusement. Olivia let a smile appear on her lips as she glanced at Lydia, who shook her head, an expression that somehow held both annoyance and amusement painted on her face.

The door that connected Coach's office and the classroom was forced open and then slammed quickly as Coach entered the room. "Mischief Night, Devil's Night," he grumbled, glaring at the students as most of them laughed. "I don't care what you call it. You little punks are evil. You think it's funny that every Halloween my house gets egged?"

The general consensus was yes, everyone thought that Coach's house getting egged was funny.

"A man's house is supposed to be his castle! Mine's a freakin' omelet..." Coach turned to his desk and spotted the wrapped gift that Greenberg had deposited before he took his seat. "Oh, this? We're gonna do this again? I don't think so!"

Coach whipped the present onto the ground and stomped on it. A surprised look flashed onto his face when he heard glass breaking; Stiles' laughter increased into a small roar.

Coach picked up the present, a mug with his picture on it, which was now broken, and glanced at the card. "Happy birthday," he read. "Love, Greenberg."

The slightly chastised look on Coach's face made Olivia laugh. Her giggles died down when Lydia's tether pulsed. She turned to her cousin and saw her on her phone, swatting the air around her head.

"Lyds, what are you doing?" she leaned over to her desk and whispered.

"There's a fly," Lydia mumbled in response.

Olivia narrowed her eyes and looked around; she didn't see any flies.

When Stiles had gone to get his wallet out of his backpack so he could buy his lunch, he definitely didn't expect the police to walk into the school. Many of the deputies were led by his dad, while some of the suited agents walking around were brought by Agent McCall. Even more shocking than the force's appearance was the reason for their visit.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Stiles rushed after Noah after being given a distracted response about why they were at the school. "The William Barrow? The shrapnel bomber? He was spotted nearby?"

Noah turned and stopped, giving the students who were on their lunch break and surrounded the hallways a nervous look. "A little closer than nearby, actually," he corrected Stiles, lowering his voice.

Agent McCall walked by them, the vice-principal at his side. "How do we get down to the basement? I need to know where every entrance is. I don't want anybody coming in or out of the school."

This was more serious than Stiles thought.

"Dad," he looked at his dad with wide eyes. "what's really going on here?"

It didn't take long to discover what was happening. Noah quickly explained that William Barrow had come into the hospital for surgery but had instead escaped. They followed him to the school and they were trying to find him before he ended up killing more people. The scariest part about William Barrow was the fact that he went after kids with glowing eyes.

That meant that Olivia, Scott, and Isaac were in trouble.

He quickly found his friends at the table in the cafeteria where he left them and ushed them out of the overcrowded room. Scott wasn't with them, but he told Olivia, Lydia, Isaac, and Allison what was going on and what—or who—William Barrow was after.

"Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes?" Isaac repeated in disbelief as the five of them wandered along an empty hallway on the second floor of the school. "He said those exact words?"

"Yeah," Stiles squeezed Olivia's hand, assuring himself that she was safe next to him. "and no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia. Just that when they opened him up, they found a tumor full of live flies—which, in any other circumstance, would be all kinds of awesome."

"Maggots coming from the body is a thing, but I've never heard of flies in the stomach," Olivia muttered thoughtfully.

Lydia stopped walking abruptly. "Did you say flies?"

The rest of them stopped with her.

"Lydia?" Allison prompted an explanation from the redhead.

"All day I have been hearing this sound," Lydia explained, pressing her lips together in frustration. "It's like this...buzzing..."

Olivia frowned in realization while Allison asked, "Like the sound of flies?"

That's why Lydia's tether lit up in econ, Olivia realized in dismay, her banshee powers were picking up Barrow at the school.

Lydia nodded grimly. "Exactly like the sound of flies."

It was quickly decided that they needed to split up and find Scott, since he was missing in action. With three floors to search, Allison and Isaac took the top, Lydia and Olivia took the second, and Stiles took the floor level. While they were trying to find Scott, they also had to avoid the police, who were doing their own search for Barrow.

Five minutes before the lunch period was over, Stiles found Scott outside of Mr. Yukimura's classroom. "Hey, dude, where the fuck have you been?"

Scott opened his mouth, but didn't get to answer, as Olivia and Lydia came storming up to them.

"The police are leaving," Lydia told them. "Why are they leaving?"

Scott winced in surprise. "The police?"

"They must have cleared the building and grounds, which means he's not here," Stiles told her.

Olivia shook her head in disagreement. "No, he has to be here," she insisted, her eyes traveling to her cousin. "Tell him, Lydia."

Stiles gave the redhead an expectant look.

"The sound, the buzzing I've been hearing? It's getting louder."

Stiles heart sank. "How loud?"

Olivia's eyes flashed purple. "Loud enough that I can hear it."

Yeah, okay, Stiles glanced between them, that's pretty loud.

Within minutes, Stiles found himself chasing his dad and Agent McCall—along with other deputies and FBI agents—to the parking lot. "Dad, Dad, you can't leave yet!"

"We got an eyewitness that puts Barrow by the train station," he dad explained.

"Let's go, Stilinski!"

Noah went to follow McCall, but Stiles stopped him.

"Dad, please...Lydia said that he's still here."

Noah's eyes widened slightly. "Did she see him?"

"Not exactly, no," Stiles grimaced; he hadn't exactly told him what Lydia was yet. "Well, not at all, actually. But she has a feeling. A supernatural feeling."

Noah turned his eyes away from Stiles in order to look at Olivia and Lydia, who had followed Stiles out of the school. While Lydia looked away, acting like she wasn't listening to their conversation, Olivia slapped on a sweet smile and waved at him.

He waved back at her and then looked back at Stiles. "Lydia wasn't on the chess board."

"She is now."

"Kanima?"

Why did his dad think everyone was a kanima? "Banshee."

"Oh, God."

"I know how it sounds, but basically, it means that she can sense when someone's close to death," Stiles explained rapidly. "And you know what Livvy is, okay, and she's got a bad feeling, too."

"Do these feelings tell them that I'm about to kill you?" Noah retorted, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know," Stiles looked back at Olivia and Lydia, and this time, it was Lydia who waved at Noah.

"All right, look," Noah leveled him with a calm, yet stern, stare. "I'm not saying I don't believe, but right now, I'm going with eyewitness over banshee and anchoram. We're leaving the deputies here. The school's on lockdown till three o'clock. Nobody come in, nobody comes out. Buddy, that's the best I've got right now. That's the best I can give you."

"You're leaving me here," Stiles objected as Noah turned and ran away from him, joining McCall and his agents. "That is not—that is the worst!"

Betrayal, in its purest form. That's what he was feeling at the moment. How dare his dad just leave him here, ignoring his warning about Barrow? Why didn't he just drop him off at the firehouse when he was an infant? It was the same type of abandonment!

Okay, he was being dramatic, but still...

Well, finding William Barrow was up to them, now.

Olivia, Stiles, and Lydia met with Allison in an empty classroom. While Scott and Isaac, along with Ethan and Aiden, would search the basement and floor level, and Olivia, Lydia, and Stiles would search the upper levels, Allison would be sneaking out of school in order to go home and search through the Argent's bestiary for some kind of explanation on Barrow's stomach flies and ability to wake up from full-blown anesthesia.

"The bestiary is literally a thousand pages long," Allison stated as she opened one of the windows leading to outside. "if I'm going to find anything about flies coming out of people's bodies, it could take me all night."

"If you go to the find button in the word document, you should be able to search for flies," Olivia pointed out.

Lydia nodded in agreement. "And remember, the word in archaic Latin for fly is musca."

"Got it," Allison climbed out the window.

Lydia turned to Olivia and Stiles. "Where do we start?"

"Upstairs," Stiles answered. "Let's go."

An hour later, after searching the second floor for any sign of Barrow, they moved onto the third floor. The drawing room was the second room they searched on the floor, right after the room that was reserved for painting.

Olivia soon received a text message from Isaac, informing her that he and Scott were moving onto the floor level while Aiden and Ethan finished up the basement.

"Are they still in the basement?" Lydia asked her.

"Scott and Isaac moved on, but Ethan and Aiden are," Olivia answered, slipping her phone back into her bag. "The twins had to search the boiler room and then they're meeting up with Scott and Isaac."

"Fuck!" Stiles' sudden curse caught Olivia and Lydia's attention. "All the wolves, the majority of the students with glowing eyes are either in the basement or the first floor. An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole fucking school."

Olivia cocked her head and disappeared into her mental map. There were no whispers warning her about her or her pack mates, no names floating through her head. Every tether on her map was safe, other than the slight pulsing from Peter and Derek's—which she assumed was because they were either still doing the alpha ritual or they were recovering from it. So, they were safe from Barrow, right?

But Lydia was still hearing that buzzing. She could hear it, too, if she dived into her cousin's tether. Barrow was still in the school, somewhere, but her powers weren't warning her about anything...

Why aren't there any warnings? She thought, almost frantically. William Barrow is here.

While lost in her head, Olivia missed the significant look that Lydia and Stiles shared. "We have to get them out," Stiles proclaimed. "We have to get everyone out."

"How do we do that?"

Like any other problem in their very problematic lives, Stiles had an answer. Within the next few minutes, he had pulled the fire alarm and was caught by Coach, who claimed that if he was younger, he would have punched him. He had also earned himself a week full of detention.

School ended while students piled out of the building for the drill, which meant that the lockdown was over. Olivia, Stiles, and Lydia joined Scott, Isaac, Ethan, and Aiden near the parking lot to see if they found any sign of Barrow.

"We didn't find anything," Aiden reported.

Scott nodded in agreement. "Not even a scent."

"It's three o'clock, so school's over," Stiles sighed. "If there was a bomb, wouldn't he have set it off by now?"

"I've got nothing," Olivia clenched her jaw, wishing that her abilities were giving her something to work with. "I'm not getting any warnings..."

Ethan raised his eyebrows. "Does that mean everybody's safe?"

"That's what she means," Isaac snapped at him in Olivia's defense. He then glanced at Lydia, thoughtfully. "but if you are hearing the flies..."

Lydia shook her head, just as lost as everyone else. "I don't know," she said sadly. "I just don't know."

Sirius knew that something was wrong with his girls. Lydia was hiding in her room and Olivia's face was snuggled into his fur as the two of them laid on her bed. The way her dog squirmed underneath her ear gave Olivia the hint that her anxiety was rubbing off on him. It made her feel bad; she rolled away from Sirius and onto her stomach, resting her chin on her forearms as her eyes landed on her boyfriend's figure across the room.

Stiles had opted to come over to her house instead of his, even though he would have been more comfortable in his house, with his own walls made up like a crime board. Even though Olivia had objected at first, it hadn't taken much coaxing for Stiles to convince her to allow him to set up a brand-new crime board on the large corkboard of her wall, which usually held pictures of her friends and family. She just couldn't resist the weirdo, especially when he pulled out four different balls of colored string—blue, yellow, green, and red—out of his backpack.

"Do you always keep those in there?" she had asked him. He had blinked back at her, almost innocently, and answered, "Yeah, why?"

So, now she watched the love of her life in his element; solving cases was what he was best at. Like her own personal, sexy Sherlock Holmes—she much preferred him to Benedict Cumberbatch.

"Okay, so green is solved, yellow is to-be-determined, and red is unsolved," Olivia hummed as Stiles pinned yet another piece of red string to connect a picture of William Barrow and one of the Eichen House. "What does blue mean?"

There were about three pieces of blue string that hadn't made much sense to her. The rest, she could somewhat follow.

"Blue is pretty," Stiles turned and winked at her. Her heart warmed, remembering the last time he told her that—his favorite color was blue, like her eyes.

"Well, yeah," she smiled as he sauntered over to her, plopping down onto the bed beside her. Sirius scurried off the bed, unnerved by the bounciness of the mattress. "but what does it mean in term of the investigation?"

"Nothing really," Stiles admitted. He leaned closer to her and brushed his lips on her forehead, just above her right eyebrow; her heart started racing. "It's different for each crime board. Today, it's the same as red."

Olivia pressed her lips against his, pulling back quickly. "You only have red on the board."

"Yes," Stiles rolled his eyes and laid on his back with a sigh. "I'm aware of that, thanks, baby."

Olivia shuffled closer to him and shifted so half of her body leaned against his. "I don't get it," she admitted, resting her chin on his chest as she studied his face. "Lydia felt Barrow at the school. And I did, too, it's just...I feel like my powers weren't working."

Stiles frowned and brushed his thumbs over her flushed cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"The tethers, none of them were giving any hint of trouble. When I looked at them, I knew that everyone in the pack was safe. Yet, when I dived into Lydia's, I could hear the flies buzzing. Just like her," she sighed in frustration. "It's so contradicting, it's maddening. And we didn't even find any physical proof of Barrow being there."

"Livvy, you've been right about this kind of stuff before. So has Lydia," Stiles comforted her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer against him. "and maybe the fact that you weren't feeling anything and Lydia was is a hint."

"What do you mean?"

"You know if your pack members are in trouble...What if someone who's not in the pack is who Barrow was after?"

Olivia cocked her head thoughtfully. "That makes sense," she mused. "but still, if he was at the school, the wolves didn't scent him."

"What if he didn't smell like himself? What if he changed his scent somehow?" Stiles bounced another idea off of her. "I mean, you said yourself that Lydia was right. Barrow was there. What if he, fuck, what if he changed into someone's gym clothes. Or he used some girl's perfume...What if he—"

Olivia sat up, her eyes widening in realization. "The chemistry lab. He could use chemicals to completely hide his scent. If they were strong enough, it'd be like he never stepped foot into the school."

Stiles grinned widely at her. "We are geniuses," he pecked her on the lips and then patted her butt. "Get Lydia. We need to go to the school."

Since Mr. Harris' tragic death, there hadn't been a science department head. If he was still alive, getting into the large closet of the school's chemicals would be infinitely harder because Harris was known to stay late after school. Now, though, with Stiles' lock-picking skills, it was easy to break into the senior chemistry lab where the closet was located.

Now, Mr. Harris was a dick, but he was the only science teacher who knew what he was doing at Beacon Hills High School. With science being Olivia's favorite subject, he had been her favorite teacher, of sorts—she purely respected him for his knowledge, not his attitude. For the first time since his death, Olivia didn't mind that he was gone.

Yeah, she knew how horrible that sounded. Ultimately, though, Mr. Harris had helped Kate Argent set the Hale house on fire—who went around telling random women ways to get away with arson? —and the fire led to most of the things that had gone wrong in her life.

"So, what are we looking for?" Lydia asked as they entered the room. Though Stiles and Olivia had brought her up to speed on why they were going to the school, some of the details were still kind of lost on her. She watched as Olivia frowned at the chemical closet and opened it, the key already in the doorknob. "That's supposed to be locked."

"Yeah, exactly," Stiles muttered, walking into the closet. "Notice anything else?"

Lydia inhaled and studied the closet. "It smells like chemicals," she realized. "You guys were right, they wouldn't have been able to catch his scent."

Olivia hummed and pulled out her phone, turning on its flashlight and pointing it at the floor. The three of them flinched when they saw the small puddle of blood on the floor; Stiles even got a little green around the gills, which wasn't surprising due to his slight fear of blood.

"Gross," he groaned quietly. "He was here, preforming very minor surgery on himself."

"Lydia, you were right," Olivia reached for her cousin's hand, squeezing it lightly. "Your instincts were right."

"Then why don't I feel good about this?"

"Probably because he was here to kill somebody."

"Kids with glowing eyes," Olivia mused. "but they're not part of the pack. Which narrows it down it down to..."

Lydia shrugged. "I have no idea."

"We gotta figure it out," Stiles decided. "Spread out, start looking for anything."

The girls did as he said, leaving the chemical closet. While Stiles started on one side of the classroom, looking through some of the lab tables, Lydia walked toward the teacher's desk, and Olivia searched some of the cabinets that held the lab equipment.

"Lydia," Stiles noticed that Lydia drifted toward the chalk board absentmindedly and saw that she was staring at a set of three numbers. "what are those?"

19. 53. 88.

"Atomic numbers," Lydia answered as he and Olivia moved to her side.

"Is it a formula?"

"No," it was Olivia who spoke this time. "Nineteen's Potassium. Fifty-three is Iodine. Eighty-eight is Radium. The first two make Potassium Iodide."

Olivia picked up a piece of chalk and started writing the atomic symbols next to their corresponding numbers.

19—K

"Potassium is K?" Stiles interrupted her writing.

Olivia nodded. "From Kalium, the scientific neo-Latin name."

53—I

"What's Radium?"

88—RA

"RA."

KIRA.

"Kira," Olivia breathed, her heart starting to race. "That's why none of the tethers were giving me anything."

"Guys," Lydia spoke up, giving them a horrified look. "Scott went to Kira's house for dinner."

When they got to Kira's house, Scott was knocked out, laying on the street next to his bike. Kira was no where to be found and when Stiles was finally able to wake Scott, he confirmed their suspicions.

"Barrow, he took Kira!" he exclaimed breathlessly as Stiles and Lydia helped him to his feet.

"We know. He was after her the whole time," Stiles patted him on the back. He glanced at Olivia, who had been talking to Isaac on the phone to see if he and Allison found anything in the bestiary. "What'd he say?"

"They didn't find anything," she reported, ending the call. "Just some stuff about flies and the dead. Nothing else."

"Well, we have to think of something," Scott said nervously. "He's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there," Lydia's voice deepened when it shook from the anxiety she was feeling. "How did I know that?"

"You heard the flies," Stiles said. "What do you hear now?"

Lydia was silent for a moment, listening, before she shook her head. "Nothing," she scoffed, disappointed in herself. "I feel like I can do this. But I don't know what to do. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, and I don't know how to trigger it. I just—I sweat to God, it literally makes me want to scream."

Screaming, the most known way of communication from a banshee. "Then scream, Lydia," Olivia urged her. "Scream."

The scream that burst from Lydia's lips was the loudest any of them had been yet. While Olivia covered her ears and flinched back, she mused that it might have been because it was the first time Lydia was actually cooperating with her abilities. Despite the pain that being a banshee could bring her cousin, she was proud of Lydia for using her powers for good.

Lydia's tether flared and shook, but it held strong. Lydia was strong.

A full minute later, Lydia's screamed died down. The redhead didn't move, still turned away from Olivia, Stiles, and Scott. A noise caught her attention, the buzzing noise. She followed it, looking up at the streetlight hanging above her. She quickly turned around, causing Stiles to flinch.

"It's not flies," she told them. "it's electricity."

As Scott looked up at the light, Stiles twisted his lips. "Wait a second," he thought aloud. "Barrow was an electrical engineer. He worked at a power substation."

"What substation?"

He squinted, trying to remember the information from some of the papers he pinned to the crime board in Olivia's room. "The one by the Iron Works."

Scott drove ahead of them on his bike, arriving at the power substation in the Iron works couple minutes before Olivia pulled up with Stiles and Lydia in her car. Scott had already run into the building and Stiles was jumping out of his seat the second Olivia shifted into park.

"Okay, wait here," he told Olivia and Lydia. "Just wait for the cops to come."

"Stiles, I'm coming with you—"

Stiles cut Olivia off before she could protest more. "I have only one bat, Livvy. Please, please just wait."

Olivia felt her heart starting to ache from the panic pumping through her. "Stiles, if you die, I'll kill you."

Stiles only winked at her before running off into the building. Lydia climbed into the passenger seat while they waited, tightly squeezing her hand. It wasn't long before Scott's red tether was pulsing painfully and seconds later, Stiles' and Isaac's started up, too.

Scott, Stiles, Isaac...Scott, Scott, Scott...Isaac, Isaac, Isaac...Stiles, Stiles, Stiles...

There was an explosion; bright lights came from the inside of the substation and then everything went black.

"SCOTT? ISAAC? STILES?"

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

22 notes · View notes

maandags · 5 years

Text

counting stars (Finn Shelby x reader)

heh . ye

-- -- --

Summary: In which Finn can’t help but be attracted to you--like a moth to flame.

Word count: 9.4K

Genre: angst

Notes: CW: graphic depiction of injury/violence; unhealthy coping mechanisms; destructive behaviour - masterlist - makin myself sad here we go!

-- -- --

"Tommy's asked me to come to the races."

You barely look up from your work, pen still scritching incessantly at the paper. "That's great." You know you probably sound distracted, maybe even uninterested, but you can't bring yourself to care all that much. You have work to do, and it's already late, and you don't really want to get home any later than absolutely necessary.

Finn puts his hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, loitering next to your desk. Then his fingers are tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, then he's running them through his hair, then they're running along the edge of your chair and it's getting so distracting that you can't concentrate on your work anymore.

You firmly set your pen down, straightening your back and cracking your jaw. "What is it?"

He looks down at you, eyes a little wider than usual; his hands drop to his sides and still. "Nothing."

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pen again. "You're a shit liar. It's almost eight, what are you still doing here?"

It sounds a little pathetic, you think. The very reason why you're still busting your ass at eight in the evening is the very same as the one which dictates that Finn Shelby–your boss Tommy Shelby's little brother–can get up and leave whenever he wants.

You decided yourself that you wanted to stay later today. So that maybe, just maybe, you would get a day off soon. Sure, working for Shelby Company Ltd. certainly isn't the worst, and the pay is decent; but you're slaving over your desk from seven A.M. to six P.M. and even then you often work overtime. Because you're practically the youngest. Because you aren't intimidating. Because you keep quiet and do what you're told, your teeth gritted and jaw clenched.

And here is Finn Shelby, staring at the sole lamp illuminating your work and informing you that his brother has finally invited him to a race. Good for him. You didn't know what he expected you to say–so you just didn't say anything.

Then, suddenly, "Why are you still here?"

You snort out a laugh. "Some of us need to actually work to get by, Finn-boy." The nickname sounds weird when you say it, but that might just be your bitter tone.

"I work."

"You sit on your ass in your office on your nice and comfortable leather chair and get whores delivered to you at lunch. You don't work." Around the body of your pen, your knuckles turn white. The tip feels fragile all of a sudden, like it could snap any moment. Carefully, you set it down on its holder. Breathe. "I'm going home."

Finn blinks, lets you pass him, then seems to realise that he wanted to say something. "Wait. Wait, Y/N, hang on.” He takes your wrist, and before your brain can properly process it and gauge an appropriate reaction you’ve ripped it from his grip. Finn’s breath hitches and he purses his lips and you feel a little bad–but only a little.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come too.”

You snort. “To the races?” He nods. “With you?” He nods again. You shake your head. “Finn, I don’t think I can afford a day off work.” It’s not a lie–not really–but it’s not the whole truth, either. It wouldn’t work, you remind yourself. It would never work.

You’ve noticed the way Finn looks at you when he thinks you can’t see him. You’re not blind; and he isn’t subtle about it. But you know it would be a bad idea. It would do nothing good–it would end in tears and sorrow. Inevitably.

And here he is practically asking you out on a date, and you’re trying to let him down as gently as you can.

“Fuck work,” he says, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from growling in frustration. “I can make sure you’ll get paid anyway. It is a certain branch of work, after all.”

You scoff. “A branch of work in which you and your brothers strut around like proud fucking peacocks, intimidating anyone who even thinks about approaching you, wearing your gun holsters like jewellery. In which my job is to look dainty and pretty by your side and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Finn’s cheeks have coloured and you shake your head again. A pang of pity bursts in your chest, and you force yourself to lay a hand on his arm–though your fingers tremble with the effort. “I’m sorry, Finn,” you say, tone gentler now. “But it just isn’t for me.”

You aren’t for me.

With that, you tug your scarf around your neck and step out the door, casting your gaze down to protect your eyes from the shrieking wind.

And it’s not that you don’t want to. Because you know that Finn is a good man, beneath all the cockiness and arrogance he seems to build his personality off of. You know that under it all, Finn is just a kid trying to live up to the legends his older brothers have written out.

It’s not that you don’t want to–because you know you do, oh god you do–but it’s that Finn doesn’t deserve what you would do to him.

He’s still just a kid, and despite being almost the same age, you’re not.

He’s been protected all his life, and you lost all protection you once had from anyone years ago.

He’s always had it all, you have had to fight tooth and nail to get where you are now, and it’s made you into something else. Something rough and calloused and bitter and angry, oh so angry.

And Finn doesn’t deserve that.

You share your flat with two men. They’ve never tried anything with you, and you appreciate it, as long as you don’t have to see their faces for any longer than you strictly have to. The little living room is always too crowded, even when it’s empty save for you; the walls are so thin you can hear everything that goes on in either of their bedrooms. The flat feels stuffy and too small and it’s not unusual for you to spend a night out–whether it be on the streets, on a roof, on the docks. Somewhere outside where you have air to breathe, as polluted and grey as it might be.

Tonight, though, you decide to stop by your flat to grab a change of clothes and quickly wash your face. A freshly made sandwich lies on your pillow and you snatch it up and rip out a bite. When you zip out into the hallway again, you stop by your flatmate’s door and give it a sharp knock–your way of saying thanks without having to say anything.

The only time you ever really feel something resembling peace is when you look up at the vast night sky and can make out stars.

It’s hard in the city, and it gets harder every night, but this time it seems the universe has granted you one night where the sky is so clear that pinpricks of stars are visible against its blackness; and you lie down, munching on the last of your sandwich, feeling grateful for the fact that even if shit’s hard right now–even if you have to bust your ass for 12 hours a day only to get barely enough money for you to live off of–the sky and its stars will always be there for you on particularly hard nights.

You would like to live somewhere in the countryside when all of this is over, you muse. Somewhere you can see the stars every night. You’ve heard that the sky is even more beautiful in the countryside because of the lack of light pollution. It sounds peaceful, and fuck knows that peace is something you desperately need.

The roof you chose this night isn’t that far from your flat, and it’s not particularly high up. There’s nothing special about it, nothing that would justify your choice to camp out in this particular spot. It just felt right. You try to empty your head, focus on nothing but the twinkling above.

You don’t know when exactly you fall asleep, but you wake up early enough to see the sun rise over the rooftops and as you watch, squinting against the brightness of the sunlight after a dark night, your arms curled around your knees and your cheek pressed against the still-warm bricks of a chimney, you repeat the promise you’ve been making to yourself every day for as long as you can remember; Today will be better.

There has yet to be a day where you can say with confidence that you kept it.

– – –

Nobody looks up strange when you walk into work early–again. The office has only just opened, and here you come barreling through the door, plopping down at your desk and immediately bending over the new pile of papers left there overnight. After a while, you frown. The stack is smaller than it usually is–and while that would be a source of good news to anyone else, all it makes you do is worry about not having enough work to pass the time. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you tap your pen on the side of your desk, internally debating. Then you give a little growl and scrape your chair back, ignoring the glares you’re getting from your co-workers, and stomp towards your boss’ office.

“You could’ve at least knocked,” says Tommy as you march through the doorway. He’s wearing his glasses, and he patiently plucks them off his nose and places the palms of his hands perfectly against one another. “What’s on your mind?”

You don’t know why Tommy has taken such a liking to you. You don’t know why Tommy lets you get away with as much as he does; you don’t know why he only frowns at you over something that would get literally anyone else fired on the spot (along with a nicely formulated threat to stay away from his company or else); you don’t know why he keeps you around at all. You’ve had your fair share of outbursts, both in his office and outside of it. You’ve broken your fair share of fancy teacups, had your fair share of breakdowns in front of him, even told him to his face you quit only to come back into work the next morning like nothing happened.

He’s just always been so patient with you. Like a parent would be patient with their child, or a brother with his younger sibling.

And you don’t know how to feel about it.

“I just want to know why you cut my workload in half?” It comes out snappier than you intended (as most of your words do), and you clamp your mouth shut, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. “I mean–if you don’t think I can handle it or something, that’s not something you should be worried about, because I know I can–”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” he says, waving a hand about and in front of his face. “I just want to make sure you’re done early so you can get ready for tonight.”

You scowl. “What’s tonight?”

Tommy’s eyes twinkle. “Well, Finn might have mentioned I invited him to the races–”

“And he asked me to go with him and I told him no,” you growl. “I told him no. So can I get my normal workload back?”

“No,” says Tommy, voice level as ever, eyes kind and patient as ever. “Because you won’t be going as Finn’s date. You’ll be going as my assistant.”

Ah. Now that’s a little more interesting. You cross your arms, dip your chin onto your chest, but your interest is grudgingly piqued and you know Tommy knows. “And what will that entail?”

He shrugs, sitting back in his chair, able to relax now that he’s got your attention. “Mostly observing, taking notes. I want you to know everything that’s going on at all times, because I might be busy doing… other stuff, and I still want to be able to tell which bastards are where at what moment.”

You nod, slowly. “And will I be involved in this other stuff?”

“If I can help it, you will absolutely not be involved in the other stuff.”

Biting your lip, you consider his words. It doesn’t sound like that much trouble. It certainly sounds less boring than a normal day at work.

Then Tommy says, “You’ll get extra pay, of course,” and you know you’ve practically already accepted.

But there is still a question nagging at the back of your mind. “Why’d you ask me?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean–why me? There are so many other people who would do a fine job, who you know a lot better than you know me, who aren’t as–” –you wave your hands about, trying to find the right word– “–explosive as I can be. I’m a liability, especially in situations as delicate as this.”

You’re not trying to convince him to take back his proposal; you only want to make sure he knows what he’s getting himself into.

But he smiles calmly, in that calculated way of his, and you almost roll your eyes because of course he’s calm and collected and calculated–he’s Tommy fucking Shelby. “Y/N, I’m more than familiar with explosive.”

It’s true, but you’re still hesitant, and you can’t really figure out why. Because there doesn’t really seem to be any reason for you to deny this offer; granted, it’s a little different from your usual work, but you are observant and relaying information to your boss is what you do on a daily basis anyway.

And besides, it’s the races. Everybody likes the races.

“So which tables are ours?”

Tommy already led you around the track, pointing out which horse was his, whispering under his breath what you needed to write down, taking you for what looked like a jolly stroll around the track but what in reality felt more like an intelligence gathering mission. You liked it, though, you had to admit; there was a certain thrill to it all. Knowing that the race is fixed; that the result is inevitable, that you know exactly which horse is set up to win and which to lose.

Tommy discreetly points to a couple of booths. “That one, that one… and also there.” You jot their numbers down, eyeing the surroundings, scanning the crowd at their perimeter for anyone suspicious. A few men immediately stand out to you: the ones that seem stiff, constantly looking around them like predators hunting for prey, stalking around in loose circles around a certain betting table and watching the progress.

"Coppers," Tommy says when you inquire about the men. He frowns. "At least, I think they're coppers. Plain clothed men, by the looks of it; they're just making sure everything runs smoothly. Don't think we don't need to worry much about them." But something about the men rubs you the wrong way, and every time your gaze passes across one the uneasy feeling grows stronger.

But you have a job to do, and so you shake the weird policemen from your thoughts and focus completely on the job–the delicate, sensitive job.

"All right, Y/N," says Tommy when your introductory round draws to a close. "You stay close to the tables, peek over their shoulders, take notes, make them uncomfortable. Make sure you know everything that's going on at all times, yeah? If anything looks suspicious to you, come to me immediately. Hear me? To me. Not John, not Arthur, not fucking Finn. Me."

You cock your head, shifting your weight from one hip to the other. "How do you know I won't tamper with the bets and make off with a nice bit of money for myself?"

"I don't, but I also don't think you're stupid enough to do that."

"You're going to have to trust me, then. That's a bad idea."

"Don't get comfortable. I absolutely do not trust you."

"But you picked me for this job," you press again, because it's still so intriguing to you.

"Indeed I did. Don't make me regret it." He lights a cigarette and marches off, calling his boys to him as he does. You cross your arms again and watch as his brothers sidle up to him. John and Arthur are there, and so is Finn. You knew he was going to be here, of course; he was the one who invited you in the first place, but seeing him walk next to his brothers, able to pinpoint exactly the guns and knives strapped to their chests and hips, you can’t help but compare the four men. It’s easy to tell that Finn doesn’t do this often: there’s a weirdly excited spring in his step.

You have to fight the urge to scoff, and you turn away, shaking your head. Oh, yay, let’s go to the races and shoot everyone who stands in the way of our illegal betting tables. We’ll have a blast!

For the first few hours, you do exactly as Tommy told you. You take notes, hover around the Blinders’ betting tables, keeping an eye on any skimming of money that might be going on; but the Peaky Blinders look like they’ve made their impression on the table boys because they’re doing their jobs perfectly, arranging the money and taking names in a way that’s more organised that you’ve ever seen anything run by the Peaky Blinders being executed.

You get a few questioning (if not outright hostile) looks from bystanders, pick up a few whispers from betters irritated at how you’re cutting in line and no one seems to care, but you ignore them, brandishing your clipboard like a shield and critically examining every single transaction that’s being made. The other tables progress the exact same way, and when the first races start, the crowds only thicken.

But after a moment, you grow bored. You get to watch the races for a while, from a distance, making sure Tommy won’t be able to see you if he were to look around the track, and listening to the commentary that blasts from high-up speakers and makes the air sizzle with tension. The crowds are mostly watching the races now, women speaking closely behind their hats and gloves and pretty dresses; the men more interested in the various betting pools that are scattered around the tracks. Every once in a while, you look back to your own tables, determine everything is going all right, and turn back to the far more interesting horse races unfolding in front of you.

When Tommy’s horse is brought out–its name is Elizabeth, and you roll your eyes–you perk up. Now is the time to keep an eye on the tables. Dragging a chair next to the boy at the first one, you rip the lid off your pen and mumble, “Talk to me.” He gives you the information you need to know: clear, concise, not beating around the bush. You wonder if Tommy warned them about your complete lack of patience and inability to take bullshit.

You’re almost starting to run out of paper, but as you’re making your way to the last table, you notice the coppers again.

Before, you’d thought they were circling Tommy’s betting tables. Now, you realise that they’re not interested in his tables–they’re interested in the man himself.

You can see Tommy standing in his booth, cigarette smoke curling up and around the rim of his cap as he keeps a keen eye on his Elizabeth down on the tracks; around him are stationed a few plain-clothed Peaky boys. You can see the barrels of their pistols glinting in the sunlight. Your gaze shifts upward, to the watchtowers set up around the perimeter, to the roofs; and sure enough, a couple of boys with long-range rifles are scanning the crowd like hawks. Their tell-tale caps hide their faces, but it’s clear enough that they’re some of Tommy’s men. You imagine Finn is probably up there, too: Tommy always gives him a sniper position if he thinks the situation’s about to get messy, to make sure he stays mostly out of the carnage.

And all around them–almost everywhere, you realise with a start, mingling with the audience–there are men watching them. They don’t look any different from the members of the audience they’re trying so hard to imitate, but whereas the real public looks excited and cheers the horses on and look like they’re having the time of their lives, these men are stoic, and again they remind you of predators stalking round their unsuspecting prey in the most discrete way.

It should set you on edge. It should make you uncomfortable, knowing that because you’re here as Tommy’s associate, it’s safe to assume you’ll be in the line of fire if things get messy. But it doesn’t.

It gives you an adrenaline rush. You suddenly feel like you’re on the run again; except this time your life isn’t the only one on the line.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of movement.

It’s barely a flicker, but as you whip your head around and strain your neck you can just make out a tussle: one boy–if it’s one of Tommy’s men, he’s lost his cap, and after a quick search of the ground below him you can make out a small, crumpled grey heap on the stone, and your suspicions are confirmed–wrestling against three men, all bigger, all beefier, all stronger. He doesn’t stand a chance, of course, and after one particularly vicious punch in the gut he crumbles. The two other men hold him up by his arms. The one who punched him spits in his face, then shakes his head and gestures for the others to follow him.

When the battered Peaky boy looks up, chest heaving, your eyebrows shoot up. It’s that familiar mop of brown hair (usually well-kept, like everything else about him–now it’s messy and tousled, as if he’d been dragged head first across a grass field). It’s the freckled face, the thin lips twisted into a pained snarl; the eyes so full of life you’d grown partial to–enough to recognise him from a hundred yards away. Finn.

With a frown, your gaze snaps back up to the sniper posts you spotted just before; and sure enough, a watchtower is empty. Back to Finn, and you give a short, irritated sigh. Of course the men relieved him of his rifle. You don’t know if Finn carries a knife on him, but if he does, it’s safe to assume the men got hold of that too. Which leaves him with nothing to defend himself.

And you know you shouldn’t leave your post. It’s a stupid thing to do, and Tommy told you not to stray from the tables–but maybe that’s part of why you do it anyway. There’s something about being told what to do that just doesn’t sit right with you, even if it is your own boss giving the orders. Call it reckless, call it insane; but you have a space of two seconds to decide what to do before the small group of men is completely out of sight.

So you follow them.

Of course you do.

It’s not easy to admit, especially when you’ve been trying to tell yourself the exact opposite for months, but you like him. More than you want; more than you should. But you’ve learned long ago that feelings don’t like to be told what to be either.

So the most you can do–all you know to do–is ignore them. Try to bury them. Lock them up in a treasure chest that you lob into the depths of the ocean and of which you melt the key.

Because sometimes you have to choose, and sometimes you can’t afford to let those choices be affected by feelings.

It’s a mistake you’ve made before, and a mistake you told yourself you would never make again.

But when the person you experience those feelings towards is kidnapped right in front of you, you can’t just not do anything.

You follow them from as far as physically possible without losing sight of them, but to your surprise they aren’t moving away from the main building–they're moving towards it. Your confusion only grows when one of them pulls a key ring from his pocket and opens a back door. The corridor is too dark to be able to tell where it leads, and you exhale sharply, growing more impatient by the second.

As soon as the door is open, the two men flanking Finn pull him roughly over the threshold. He stumbles, and in response, the man on the left punches him in the gut again; he doubles over, coughing. Your jaw twitches.

You force yourself to wait a full minute before following them. A full minute. You count the seconds–one pink elephant, two pink elephant–and as soon as you get to sixty, you tear across the square. Please be unlocked, please be unlocked, you pray as you try the handle: it doesn’t budge, and you give a frustrated growl.

All right. All right. Think. Lowering your head into your hands, you close your eyes. Your vision turns black, and soon you can hear nothing but your own breathing.

You could try to pick the lock. It looked rusty–it shouldn’t be that hard to get open.

But that would take time, and Finn is in danger now. What if you just blasted the lock through the door? Your gun sits against your hip, grows hot. But that’s loud, and the risk of someone hearing you is too great.

Someone else must have the key, though, right? You perk up immediately, eyes scanning across the tribunes. People are now scrambling for a seat, their legs having grown tired of holding them up in the summer sun that’s still beating down on them. But there are dozens of men here, you remind yourself immediately after. The chance you manage to run into one who just happens to have the key on him is too slim.

Nothing. Nothing else comes to mind. Empty. You slap your forehead, willing for another idea to spark. Of course, it doesn’t work, and in a rage you ball a fist and slam it into the wall behind you. Pain jolts through your entire arm, down your shoulder to your chest. You barely feel it, unable to concentrate in anything past the burning of white-hot fury.

You take a deep, ragged breath. Right. Right. Yanking your gun from its holster, you weigh it in your hand, gaze fixed on the lock–the stupid fucking lock, the only barrier between you and Finn. Slowly, you point the gun to the lock. The distance between the two objects only counts about three inches. Your hands are perfectly still. Again, you take a breath. Steady. One, two–

And then you hear it, and your head snaps up. Your vision clears, immediately focused again.

Footsteps.

Not the slightly disoriented footsteps that would belong to some random person who took a wrong turn; no, these footsteps are deliberate and stealthy–and directed right towards you.

So you press yourself flat against the wall, scooting up to the corner, waiting for him to round it. Closer, closer… and then a foot crosses the line, and your elbow immediately shoots out and connects. The stranger grunts, his hands immediately coming up to cover his nose. Blood trickles out from between his fingers and he stumbles, but you don't give him the chance to recover.

He's on the ground in a matter of seconds, with your knees firmly caging in his arms, despite being almost a full head taller than you–you found out that in a fair fight, size doesn't matter much as long as you have balls and a strong, strong motivation to beat your opponent to a pulp.

And that, you do.

You throw punch after punch–his jaw cracks beneath your knuckles but you can't bring yourself to care–and it's with effort that you finally sit back and take a breath. When you wipe a hand across the back of your mouth, you can taste the blood staining your fingers. The man beneath you whimpers. What is still visible of his purple and swollen eyes is rolled into the back of his head. He takes short, ragged breaths through bloody lips, his nose too swollen and broken to be of any use–cuts and bruises litter his cheeks and forehead. You're pretty sure you gave him a concussion.

"KEYS." You make sure there is no debate possible as to what it is you want. A single word, hissed from between cracked lips; a voice hoarse, rougher and harder than the roughest and hardest raw diamond.

The man gives a weak cough and your fingers, slick with blood–both yours and his–grasp his collar, pulling his face up and close to yours. You snarl, animal-like; baring your teeth and growling, "Give me your fucking keys."

A hand, close to your knee, tries to move, and you immediately let his head drop onto the hard pavement–his pained groan sounds like music to your ears–he's responsible for Finn's kidnapping he was in on it he knew about it he is just as responsible as the kidnappers themselves they will pay they will pay they will pay I will make them pay–and, with (to your surprise) trembling fingers, you almost immediately find the ring of keys that you're looking for.

All your churning rage leaves you in one fell swoop when your hand closes around the keys, the cold hard metal somehow snapping you out of your blind fury. It's still there, of course, but it doesn't have the upper hand any more. You're collected, calm even as you haul yourself up and cast the writhing man below you a disgusted look.

You could kill him. It would make no difference.

It would be so easy–you figure one well-placed kick would do the trick.

You state at him for what feels like eons, what are in reality not much more than a couple of seconds, but then you step back and make your way to the door, already thinking about which key to try first. Maybe you're lucky and, if you change your mind, he'll still be there when you get back. Maybe he'll die alone there, bloodied and beat up; you don't know exactly how badly you fucked him up. It would be a death worthy of a dog, and it wouldn't keep you up at night.

A bloody corpse, after all, is a bitch to clean up.

Behind the metal door is a short, dark corridor that leads to a stairway. On the dirty floor, you can just make out the sheen of fresh drops of blood where the outside light reflects in them. Your knuckles turn white around the door handle before you uncurl your fingers from it and let the door fall closed behind you.

It's surprisingly easy to navigate the stairway when your eyes adjust to the darkness. Quickly, quietly, you slip down, one hand resting against the wall for guidance, the other one hovering near your hip, ready to pull out your gun at any sign of trouble.

After a few minutes, the stairs stop and transform into another corridor, this one illuminated by a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Stains litter the plastered walls, and everywhere you look are cracks. At the end of the corridor is a door, and it looks eerily similar to the first one, at the top of the staircase, though you have a feeling that this one isn't locked.

As you tiptoe closer to the door, you start to make out voices. You press your ear against the door, try to form the echoing sounds into words, phrases, but the noise is jumbled and impossible to make sense of.

All right. So you need a game plan. You need to know what you're going to say. There are three armed men in there. Guns, perhaps knives–and you're good, sure, but even you can't win a three-against-one if you don't have a significant advantage.

Something starts to form in your mind, and you set your jaw, rolling your shoulders and preparing for a fight–should it come to that. You hoped not, or at least not until you'd made sure of Finn's safety. Because really, that's all you want from this entire ordeal: you just want Finn to be safe.

You try the handle, slowly, carefully and sure enough it clicks.

With a last deep breath, you push open the door with a flourish and stroll into the room like you own it.

"Fellas, how're you doing? Oh, hi Finn," you add nonchalantly, casting him a cold look. It's harder than you thought, and the sight of him very nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

He's bound–strung up by his wrists like an animal–and looks worse than what you'd imagined the men would inflict upon him in the minutes you lost looking for a way in. His torn shirt hangs off his frame in ragged strips of fabric. Cuts and bruises litter his chest and face, and his trousers hang halfway off his hips, showing the sharp line of his hip bones. He's resting on his knees, but the ropes binding his wrists to the walls seem to do a better job of holding him up than his legs; Finn looks like he's only seconds away from collapsing.

All of this, you take note of in the split second you allow yourself to look at him. You can't see his expression in the dimly lit room; can't see his eyes; but that may be for the best. It's crucial for you to stay in character right now.

One of the men around him looks you up and down, mouth twisted in a snarl. He doesn't look very intimidated–as is your point, it's very important that none of them feel threatened by your presence. Instead, all three men's faces bear an expression that's a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"And who the fuck might you be?" The man who asked the question stands on Finn's right side, and you shift your bored gaze onto him, refusing to even look at Finn, who you're starting to suspect is actually unconscious–calm. Keep calm. Stay focused, keep your head clear.

You open your mouth, but it's that moment that Finn decides to open his eyes–he must have heard the man's incredulous inquiry, and got curious; maybe even hopeful. When his gaze locks onto you, his swollen eyes widen and he gasps, which throws him into a coughing fit. His hands ball to fists, and his arms tremble, and he's not getting any air–

Every heave of his lungs feels like a punch in the gut, and it takes every ounce of strength in your body to keep from running to him. Helping him. Saving him. But you stay planted in your spot, one eyebrow raised disdainfully, and you let him die.

"Y/N," he chokes out between coughs. "Y/N–"

The man who spoke before growls. His fist shoots out, connects with the side of Finn's head with a sickening crack.

And this time, you can't stop yourself from flinching.

"I'm asking you again."

Half a beat passes, and the next split second happens so quickly you barely register your own movements.

As he spoke, the man's hand slipped towards his hip. On reflex, your own did too, and both of you pull your weapons at the same time, pointing them at each other, which prompts surprised yelps from the other two men who yank their own guns out of their holsters and take aim for your head–and you find yourself the target of three separate pistols.

But your gaze is firmly fixated on the first man, as is the muzzle of your gun. He seems to be calling the shots, and you don't think his henchmen will do anything without his explicit permission. He opens his mouth again, and articulates the next words slowly and perfectly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"The informant," you say innocently, steadily, cocking your head. Your gun hand, you're pleased to see, is steady as ever. "Big Boss didn't tell you about me?"

And your guess was right. You fight a triumphant smirk as the man hesitates, eyes flicking from your face to his cronies.

Of course they aren't operating alone. You knew that immediately–the kidnapping was messy, sloppily done, in the public's plain sight. You don't know how they got Finn to leave his post, but knowing him it couldn't have been all that difficult. They probably sent a boy with a note from "Tommy" up and got him to meet them at the place where the abduction took place.

Your guess was that they weren't professionals. Weren't trained. Acted on the orders of someone else–someone higher up.

And judging from this guy's reaction, you were right.

Now it was just a question of keeping the game up for as long as possible.

"What?" you laughed, "you thought it possible to take down Tommy fucking Shelby without a man on the inside? Do you even know who he is?"

The art of bluffing is not to say too much. Don't give away what you don't know. Watch your mouth, say enough to keep them on edge, not a fucking word more.

"We ain't know about no informant," said one of the other men.

"Shut up," you said sharply. "I'm not fucking talking to you." Talk like you own them.

The man scrutinises your face, still looking suspicious. He didn't lower his gun. "Roman sent you?"

And that was his second big mistake; because now you had a name.

"Of course Roman sent me."

He nods, slowly. Gestures for the other two men to put away their guns, but still doesn't lower his own. "How'd you get in?"

You grin, slowly pulling the key ring from your pocket and jiggling it.

The man keeps his gun trained on you for a few more moments–agonising, agonisingly long moments–then finally lowers it, and gestures you forward. "Well, then, informant. Enlighten us."

You pull from your inside pocket a small bundle of paper–your notes. All of them. As you hand them over, you find that you don't feel any guilt.

You had warned Tommy not to trust you, after all.

The man takes them from you, and quickly flips through the sheets of paper, one hand still holding his gun. He casts a quick look at the man farthest away from you, gives a stiff nod. As he studies your notes, you slowly walk to where Finn hangs, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and unbelieving and rimmed with tears.

And the longer you keep your bored expression on, the easier it becomes to maintain. So much so that when you reach him, and he looks up at you from where he sits on his knees–it takes almost no effort for you to mockingly wipe away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and flick the droplet back in his face with a cruel grin. Finn screws his eyes shut, presses his lips into a tight line, grits his teeth.

"You really did not hold back, eh?" You turn back to the man, who looks up from your notes and grins a crooked, gnarled grin. "He looks like shit."

"Fucker wouldn't talk," he shrugged. "Tougher little shit than he looks."

You chuckle. It feels like you're coughing up acid. "Roman figured he wouldn't talk. That's why he hired me."

"Yeah?" He calmly folds the paper back up and stretches his arms, sighing in contentment when his shoulder gives a satisfying crack. "Well, you did a fine job."

"Thanks. I'll leave my business card."

"I don't think that will be necessary." And he grins again–the grin of a coyote, the grin of a shark–and that small gesture immediately makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A sense of dread washes over you, tickles your spine, makes your entire body crackle with nervous tension from the tip of your toes to the very top of your cranium.

"You know, Roman has a… procedure. To make sure informants don't go blabbing to the other side."

"You threaten them by pointing your guns at them and yelling 'Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll kill everyone you love'?" you guess hesitantly.

The shark's grin widens. "Nah. Too much work." His hand crawls to the back of his belt.

But this isn't the first sticky situation you've found yourself in, and you have lightning-fast reflexes to show for it.

Before he can fully cock his gun and take aim, you've pulled your own weapon, ducked beneath the ropes holding Finn up, planted a foot between his knees, grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand–he whimpers, and it almost breaks you–and pressed the barrel of your gun to his throat.

There is a puddle of water on the floor in front of you, and in it you can see your reflection. Your face is contorted into a terrifying imitation of a snarl, jaw clenched, teeth grinding, eyes spitting fire.

Nobody moves.

The man tuts, finger curling around his trigger. "So messy. So fucking messy, and we haven't even properly introduced ourselves. I believe our dear Shelby welp here called you Y/N?"

"That would make you Roman," you grit out.

He bows. "It would indeed." He laughs. "I have to say, kid, I admire the balls on you. Strolling in here, acting like you own the fucking place! These lads could learn from you." He jiggles his gun towards his two men. Then he taps his breast pocket with his free hand. “Thanks for this, though. A nice little bonus.”

Despite everything, your grip on Finn's hair tightens, and you pull his head back a little, showing off his exposed throat that much more. His breathing turns ragged, air whistling between clenched teeth.

The man's eyes glint, and his gaze flicks down, casting Finn a semi-sympathetic look. "Poor pup. Stings to be betrayed, don't it?"

Then he sighs, and is all business again. "Listen. There are three guns pointed at your head. Just step away from the welp, and your death will be quick and painless."

You bark a laugh. "Yeah, fuck that. Make me a better offer."

"No bargaining here, I'm afraid. Fuck off and away from the welp, Y/N."

In your head, your thoughts are racing at a thousand miles an hour. "You said he didn't talk. My notes apparently aren't what you were looking for. What do you want to know?"

Interest sparks in Roman's eyes. "How much do you know about Tommy Shelby?"

You shrug, albeit a little awkwardly. "I've worked for him for about eight months. I know enough."

"Even where he stashes his goddamn opium load?"

So that's what he wanted all along.

"Oh, easy. You know of Little Tempton? There's a huge storage facility right next to the scrapyard."

From Finn's throat rises a strangled gurgle–you give his head a little shake. "Shut the fuck up," you hiss.

Roman's eyebrows shoot up. "Little Tempton."

"That's right."

"Well, thank you so much for your fucking cooperation!" he says, in a high-pitched, mocking voice. Then his face grows serious again and he pouts semi-apologetically. "Still gonna kill you, though."

You press the barrel of your gun harder into Finn's throat, fingers tightening around the trigger. He inhales sharply. "Shoot me. I don't care. But I'm taking him with me."

Roman scoffs. "You think I give a fuck? You gave me the information I wanted. The fuckin' welp's not of use anymore."

"Maybe not." You shift, preparing yourself. If it comes down to it, you will do it. You will do it. "But Tommy won't know I did it. All he will find is two bodies, and I fucking swear to you that neither Tommy Shelby, nor Arthur Shelby, nor John Shelby, nor Polly Gray will rest until you and everything you stand for is absolutely burned to the ground."

Your words reverberate in the air and beneath your grip holding him up, Finn's eyes slip closed. He would want this, you tell yourself. If he could talk right now he would tell me to do it.

There is a beat of silence in which nobody moves–then all hell breaks loose.

The door is blasted off its hinges and hits one of the two henchmen, who gets the corner planted right in his throat. He goes down. The other screams bloody murder and launches himself right at the intruders–and John Shelby shoots him straight in the head.

Tommy and Arthur follow, along with Isaiah, and behind them, Johnny Dogs. You’re still standing behind Finn, your gun at his throat, and you process the flurry of incidents just that little fraction of a second too slowly.

You let him go, Finn slumps forward; you drop your gun, you stumble back–but the damage has been done, and Arthur turns to you, spittle flying from his twisted mouth as he screams. You can’t make out every word–the fight between John, Tommy, and Roman is noisy, and gunshots echo through the air, but you can make out a flurry of words–WE FUCKING TRUSTED YOU YOU FUCKING BASTARD WHAT WERE YOU THINKING I TOLD TOMMY YOU WERE NOTHING BUT A WORTHLESS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT–and you, for the first time, don’t know what to do.

So you take the punches. You deserve them, after all; Arthur and Tommy caught you with a gun at Finn’s bloodied and bruised throat, even though what you did was all for Finn. To buy him time. To save him. I hope he realises that–I never wanted him to get hurt.

Between punches and kicks, you can just make out Johnny Dogs cutting Finn loose, Isaiah tapping his cheeks, trying to bring him back to consciousness. You close your eyes after a particularly vicious kick to the stomach, and you think you feel a rib crack.

But then, for just a second, the beating stops. You crack open one eye; blink away the blood; have to concentrate for a couple of seconds before your brain, foggy with pain, processes that Finn is tugging at Arthur’s sleeve. “Stop, Arthur–stop–” You can barely make out the words. Your ears are buzzing; your head is pounding. “It’s not their fault. It’s not their fault. They saved my life–”

“They had a FUCKING GUN at your THROAT–”

“They were never going to–they would never–Arthur–ARTHUR–”

One more foot to your stomach. A breath, kicked from your lungs–and your vision goes black.

– – –

When you wake up, the first thing that surprises you is that you wake up at all.

The second thing that surprises you is that you’re lying in a bed–on a mattress, with a pillow and a blanket and everything–and that you’re hooked up on an infuse, a needle sticking from your left inner elbow. When you try to move your head, a scratchy feeling indicates the presence of a bandage, and when you shift on the mattress you realise your chest is bandaged as well.

Your cuts have been cleaned, you have probably been given medicine–judging from the look of some superficial scrapes and bruises, you would guess you’ve been out for two, maybe three days. Huh.

The third thing that surprises you–and this is when your stomach drops–is Finn’s presence, in the corner of your small bland room, sitting in a comfortable chair. He’s dozing, head lolling forward, chin resting against his chest. He looks, apart from the bruises and cleaned cuts still littering his face and arms, peaceful.

For a moment, you allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him. The man you almost died for. The man you almost killed.

And the coward in you wants nothing more than to run away.

It’s what you would have done a week ago. It’s what you would have done now, were it not for the crushing feeling in your chest the second you laid eyes on him. You owe him an explanation. An apology. Something, anything–

You will wait until he wakes up, you compromise, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your breathing back to normal. You will wait until he wakes up, and you will tell him… you will tell him what he needs to hear.

Even though you don’t quite know what that is yet.

So you wait. You wait for him, counting the seconds as they pass, synchronising your breathing–the strain against your bandages and the flash of pain you feel with every exhale only fuels your suspicions of broken ribs–with his own. And after what feels like hours, days, months, he finally wakes up.

“Y/N.” You hate that the first word out of his mouth is your name, said so softly, so gently, so lovingly–you have to turn away.

“You’re awake.”

And you look at him. His expression is hopeful, relieved even, and you cannot fathom that after everything–after everything–he still thinks of you well enough to be happy about your waking up.

“Yes, I am.” You try to sit up, wince at the white-hot pain flashing through your chest and abdomen, stifling a sob. Finn rushes over–limps over–to help, and you’re too weak to refuse.

“I’m–”

“No. Finn, just–don’t.” There’s a silence as you catch your breath, and Finn’s eyes–you’ve never been so close to him before. You’ve never been able to see his face from so close before. You can see every speck of colour in his eyes (they're brought out by the dark bruising around them), can follow every microscopic movement they make. You could almost count every freckle placed on his cheeks; arranged there so carefully they could be stars.

You open your mouth again, but he cuts you off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

At your incredulous tone, he laughs, and the sound is so startling and beautiful that you replay it over and over in your mind for weeks afterwards. “I mean, I don’t want to hear you tell me whatever it is you’re going to tell me. I don’t–I don’t want anything from you. You don’t need to apologise, you don’t need to explain. You saved my life.”

“No, Finn. I almost ended it. I would have ended it if it had gotten to that point. Finn, I would have killed you. I would have shot you. I would not have hesitated.” You look him in the eye, grab his hand and squeeze it. You want him to understand. You need him to understand. “I am not the hero you think I am.”

But he rolls his eyes, and it’s so frustrating you almost scream. “Don’t give me that shit. I know you would have killed me. You would have killed me so Tommy would go after Roman and kill him. It’s just a game, Y/N. I’ve been playing it all my life.”

“I gave him the location of Tommy’s opium. You literally would have died before telling him, and I did it without hesitation.”

“That was your choice. Tommy knows, he’s preparing an ambush as we speak. Roman was bound to find out anyway; he's been on Tommy’s ass for ages.”

You grit your teeth, look away. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to convince me I’m a better person than I am.”

“You are a better fucking person than you think you are.”

You laugh; a bitter sound, melancholy, opposite in every way to the sound of Finn’s laugh only a minute ago. “Finn–forgive me for being brash–but you don’t know the first thing about me.”

His face falls, and your heart–you blame it on the medicine they hooked you up on–skips a beat. “Hey. Listen. I don’t blame you.” You blow a strand of hair out of your face, reach over (ignoring the painful strain of your ribs), take both of his hands in yours, ever so gently. “But you’ve only known me for less than a year, and even then… you don’t really know me. As in, I don’t let anyone really know me. And I’ve had to live with me my whole fucking life.”

You take a breath, slowly working up the courage to say what you really want to say, knowing that if you do, there’s no turning back. “You talked to them.”

“Who?”

“Tommy. John. Arthur,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Arthur would have killed me if it weren’t for you.”

Finn nods, face reddening. “They took a bit of–uh–convincing.”

“Arthur offered to slice my throat.”

“Shut up.”

“John’s always liked me. He would just shoot me, I think. Quick and painless and all that.”

“Stop.”

“Tommy…” You pause to think, purse your lips. “Would probably beat me to death with his bare fucking hands.”

“Y/N. Can we please not talk about you dying? When I’ve literally just done everything in my power to stop that from happening?” He sighs, shakes his head. “Tommy was actually the easiest to convince out of all of them. Polly wanted to throw you out into the woods and let you rot.”

You smile wryly. “You should have listened to her.”

“Y/N–”

“No, no. You listen.” You pull him close to you, force him to look into your eyes. “Finn. Oi, are you fucking listening to me?”

“Yeah–”

“I am no fucking good for you.” There it is. Out in the open. Immediately, his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t deny it.

His eyes flick down, then back up, still defiant. “I’ll decide that for myself.”

“No. Not on this. Finn–” before you can stop yourself, your hand comes up and cups his jaw, and he stiffens– “I am a fire. And I would burn you from the inside out.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he whispers.

“I fucking do,” you hiss back.

You’re impossibly close now. So close. His breath fans your cheek, and you look into each other’s eyes; two polar opposites, in everything bar your stubbornness. Like a moth to flame; or like a fly to honey.

And when he leans in, your eyes slip closed and you know there is nothing you can do.

Your lips touch. Brush, only slightly, and his fingers come up to stroke your cheek, gentler than you could have dreamed. His touch leaves fire in its wake, and you’re tingling, and you break apart after only a second.

Your eyes lock, and you purse your lips, scowling. “Fine. Fine. Fuck you.” And you wrap your arms around his neck and crash your mouth back on his. The fly is attracted to the honey; but once contact is made, the honey drowns the fly.

“I have to leave,” you mumble against his lips.

Finn hums. “Not yet.”

“No, I mean–” You pull away fully. “This is a warning.”

He frowns.

“Tommy’s doing this for you. He spared me for you. I can’t–I have to go. I can’t stay in Small Heath, I would get killed, you realise that, right?”

“You have to get better first–”

“He won’t give me that long. This is an ultimatum.” You start to grow a little agitated now, shaking your head, running a hand through your hair and fiddling with the IV. “Hey, give me a hand.” Your fingers tremble.

“Wait–calm down, calm down.” He stops your hand, swats it away before gently undoing the straps. You rub the sore spot absent-mindedly. “Do you know where you’ll go?”

Your gaze snaps up. “Sorry?”

Finn smiles, a little wryly, a little fondly. “One of the reasons I love you is that you won’t let anyone tell you what to do. If you really want to go, I’ll help you.”

And slowly, you feel a smile forming too, pulling at the corners of your mouth as you look at this man. This man, who despite everything–despite every fucking thing–just told you he loves you. This man, who slowly wriggled himself a spot into your cold dead heart (it finally feels like it's starting to beat again), and you can feel he’s there to stay.

One day, maybe. If you can bring yourself to come back. If Tommy Shelby will have you in his city.

If Finn Shelby waits for you.

#finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #finn shelby fic #finn shelby fanfic #finn shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders finn shelby #finn shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #finn shelby one shot #finn shelby imagine

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bichlordstories · 3 years

Text

2: Exams are a b!tch.

⚠️Warning⚠️ we got some nasty words and some deku hating. And blood and violence.

What do you expect? Your quirk is literally blood based.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exam day.

What is there to add to that?

Today is the day you prove to everyone that you’re meant to be in the hero course. Not just the examiners, the UA teachers, or even the potential UA students, but everyone.

The nurses at the hospital wished you luck, even some of the regular patients there.

You were ready physically and mentally... for the physical exam. The written part... Eh, you figured that you would do well enough to pass. You ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed... but not the dullest either.

You nearly fell from the weight bumping into your back and growled out a curse, turning around to tell the person off.

Green eyes locked with your irritated ones and you felt rage pump through your veins.

“...You.” You spat gutturally in disgust, almost growling the word out.

The greenette immediately sweated bullets and squeaked our sorry excuses.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I could catch him on time!” A brown haired girl squealed nervously, blushing brightly when her eyes trailed down your bare arms.

Unlike everybody else, you wore a skin-tight, short sleeved shirt that hugged your figure quite nicely, showing off your nice (s/c) skin and powerful looking muscles while not looking too muscular. Everyone else wore something warm in the cold weather, but you didn’t look all that bothered.

You let out a huff at her and looked back down at the short boy, wanting nothing more than to curb stomp the brat.

Luckily for him, you had no interest in losing the chance to get into UA and you simply turned away without a word, leaving two scared and bewildered teens.

Man, you were just finding more people to want to murder in cold blood.

You hated the green brat, but this four-eyes moron was wasting your fucking time. You began tapping your heel against the floor, creating soft thumping sounds. The blonde next to you turned to you with an annoyed look, earning a dirty look from you. You were about to ask, no, demand him to speak the fuck up when you were interrupted.

“-and you! The tall one with the nasty glare and is making all that thumping ruckus! You are interrupting the rest of us, if you aren’t going to take this exam seriously, you might as well le-“

“oh my nonexistent god, do you ever SHUT THE FUCK UP!?”

The whole room fell silent before you continued.

“First of all, the man was going to fucking explain the 0 pointer, asshole, there’s no way U-fucking-A would make a dumb fucking error. Second of all, you are wasting people’s time. I was getting annoyed by that shit stain kid over there, but you’re just pissing me off. I was tapping my foot to keep myself from rushing over there AND CAVING YOUR FUCKING FACE IN.”

You could almost feel the regret in you bubble after people continued to stare at you wide eyed in silence. Almost.

Luckily, the said man cleared his throat and forced a smile on his face.

“Wellll, seems like everyone is nervous! Tensions are high, and we just want to get through today, Yo!” The hyper man answered the still stunned, muscular geek anyways with an explanation on the robot and then began informing you all about the rules.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t fight each other, meaning you couldn’t break all of the green brat’s bones (no that you had to, deku’s got it covered).

He got out easy. Lucky fucking bastard.

The rest of the exam was a blur, nothing to write home about. Luckily, you brought a whole bunch of towels, water, and iron pills with you.

You were practically tearing robots apart left and right, leaving almost none for the other kids. They would have complained. would have. But seeing a 6 ft monster covered in blood with even the whites of their eyes completely crimson took the complaints (and air) right out of their mouths.

All except one.

The same blonde bastard back in the briefing area was blasting through different machinery, snapping at you to back off whenever you both targeted the same robot.

The guy called you an extra a few times, almost daring you to fight him, but you didn’t. You were able to redirect your rage towards the robots instead. However, he was getting on your nerves, and you decided to snatch some prey from him.

Boy did that piss him off.

But he didn’t attack you. No. Instead, he smiled the scariest smile anyone could ever create and pointed a threatening finger at you.

“Ho Ho... you better be accepted into UA so I can kick your ass, bitch.” He said loudly in a low voice.

“I was about to say the exact same thing, c*m dumpster.” You said unenthusiastically.

The teen responded by flipping you off and then disappearing away with an explosion.

Blood began to fill your mouth and you spat out blood in the guy’s direction before continuing to hulk your way through the exam.

After the said exam, you stood at the side surrounded by others, who either stared at your blood covered form in horror and disgust or avoided eye contact with you all together.

You managed to wipe off most of the red substance, allowing some of your (s/c) skin to show. The old lady, who you learned to be recovery girl, almost had a heart attack seeing you covered in blood. She immediately grabbed your hand and pulled you away to get you treated while you awkwardly leaned over and let the short old lady hold your hand.

While getting pulled away, you noticed a mop of lavender hair and pretty lavender eyes.

Oh. It was the brainwash guy from your school.

You heard about him through nasty rumors, which you chose to ignore since you knew how back-stabby the kids were, and even met him once or twice in the hallways.

You both never really said anything, but you both acknowledged each other through simple eye contact and nods.

You didn’t even know his name, yet you couldn’t help but respect the guy. It was as though you both had some mutual understanding.

He didn’t seem all too phased when seeing you covered head to toe in blood, most likely knowing about your morbid quirk.

He nodded silently towards you, to which you nodded back before disappearing with the sweet old lady.

“You gave me quite the scare, young (lady/man), I thought one of those nasty old robots got you!”

“I’m fine, really. It’s a natural part of my quirk, no injuries whatsoever.” You said reassuringly.

The old lady sighed and continued rearranging medicine before pulling out iron pills and a water bottle.

“Oh I’ve heard of you, dear.”

“You have?”

“Yes! Practically everyone in the medical field has heard of you and what your blood can do.” Recovery girl placed the pill into your open palm along with a piece of candy and gave you the water bottle in the other hand.

Despite having brought your own pills and water, you still took it, chucking the pill and candy into your mouth and chugging the water bottle down like a fish dying of thirst.

“You are already a hero, you know.” The older woman said.

Your cheeks were filled with water and a little bit of blood, keeping you from speaking, so instead, you hummed in response.

It sure didn’t feel like it.

“Earlier, I had to treat a boy today. He broken nearly all his bones in his arm, the poor lad. I thought I would have to encounter similar injuries with you.” She said.

“Oh?” You said, trying not to sound uninterested.

“Yup, he’s a green haired kid, acts as though he just got his quirk too!”

Your ears twitched at that.

Your eyes darkened at the mention of the color green, mood immediately souring.

“Really?” You said in a ‘do go on’ tone.

Your back was turned to the woman, but your mouth was pulled into what people would be a tight grin, when you were actually gritting you’re teeth, keeping yourself from accidentally activating your quirk. The last thing you needed was to fill your lungs up just from somebody mentioning that brat.

It was getting hard to though.

Beads of sweat and blood began to form on your forehead, but you simply wiped the blood away.

If that bastard passed, you were going to punch a hole through something, probably the green bastard.

God. You just hope your mother isn’t making broccoli tonight.

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

Special thanks to quotev.com/LazyLivingBeing and deCLAWed2!!!!

Thank you guys for sticking with me along with everyone else!

#bnha x y/n #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #Blood sport

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ddixons-angel · 4 years

Text

Fated: Season 2

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff), self-harm

A/N: So I found out this morning that I just hit 104 followers, thank you to everyone’s support! I really really appreciate each and every one of you and I hope I don’t disappoint you guys with my writing. Anyway, enough of my rambling, on to Chapter 7!

Chapter 7

Gloria wakes up in Daryl’s tent, only to find it empty as she looks around. They had moved his tent back closer to the main camp the night before. Gloria puts on her jean jacket over her army green tank top then gets out of the tent, finding the crutches on a tree right by the tent. She hops over on her good leg to the tree and mounts the crutches. She sees Daryl over by Shane’s truck as he’s getting ready to go out and look for Glenn, Rick, and Hershel. The sound of a car zooming onto the property catches everyone’s attention. Hershel stepped out of the car first, relieving everyone that they were all back, safe.

“Patricia, get the shed ready for surgery.” Hershel calls out.

Gloria frowns at this, “surgery... that can’t be good.” she makes her way to the car, letting out a breath of relief when she sees Rick and Glenn come out seemingly unharmed.

Glenn looks over towards Gloria and nods to her, wordlessly telling her that he’s fine, she smiles and nods back. Maggie runs over to Glenn and hugs him tightly.

“Who the hell is that?” T-Dog asks aloud, pointing to the blindfolded teenager in the backseat.

“His name is Randall.” Glenn answers simply, pushing Maggie gently off him.

He makes his way over to help Rick carry the semi-conscious Randall into the shed where Hershel had already walked off to. Sitting around the dining table, they all discuss what to do about the newly found stranger.

“He’s a threat, his friends shot at Rick and Glenn, we need to get rid of him.” Shane voices out his opinion.

Rick nods at this, “I agree, he is a threat. We’ll drive out with him blindfolded so he can’t find his way back here, leave him out there with supplies to get by for a bit.”

“No, what if his group finds him here before he heals up?” Shane argues, regardless of Rick agreeing with him at first.

“They’re not looking for him, they left him for dead.” Rick assures.

“And you’re sure he won’t be able to find his way back to the farm?” Gloria asks, referring to the first plan Rick had explained.

“We brought him here blindfolded and we’ll do the same when we drop him out there. He won’t know where this place is.” Rick says confidently.

With Rick’s plan being the final decision, he and Shane wait for Hershel to finish with the surgery before consulting with him and to their surprise, he agrees to the idea. They take the now unconscious Randall and load him up in the trunk, making sure to tie him up and blindfold him beforehand.

Hershel goes off to check on Beth, and Gloria follows him, “she had a fever before, but it’s gone down a fair bit. We made sure to keep her fed and hydrated until you came back.” she updates him.

Her words make Hershel look at her, “do you have any background in the medical field, young lady?”

“I studied in Health Sciences and interned for a few years at a hospital.” she shrugs.

A pleasantly shocked expression spreads on Hershel’s face, “well then, how come you didn’t bother to help me with the surgery?” he chuckles.

“I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries, especially with everything that happened in the last week.” Gloria explains.

Hershel nods, smiling softly at her, “I’m glad you’re this thoughtful, completely different from a certain individual in your group.”

Gloria chuckles, “Shane... he hasn’t always been this way, although I can’t say for sure since I only met him a few months ago.”

She glances over her shoulder as Maggie walks into the room, a serious and disapproving look on her face as she looks at her father. Sensing the tension, Gloria excuses herself and hobbles out of the room, giving the father-daughter some privacy. Gloria makes her way down the steps and to the main camp where she sees Glenn, looking rather distressed.

“You look stressed,” she calls out, “what’s wrong?”

He sighs, “Maggie told me she loves me.”

Gloria blinks at this answer, confused, “shouldn’t you be happy about that?”

“Maybe if we were still living in a world where we aren’t always in danger or fighting for our lives.” Glenn says, shaking his head.

“Sit down.” she sighs, then takes a seat beside him as well, “talk to me, bro, what happened?”

He takes a deep breath, “when I was with Rick and Hershel at that bar, we had a run in with Randall’s people, had a shootout and Rick and Hershel were depending on me to help them get out of there but... but I froze, I was scared.”

“Hey, it’s normal to be scared during a gunfight.” Gloria tries to comfort him.

“It’s not that simple.” he sighs again, “I wasn’t scared for myself, I was scared for Maggie. I was scared that if anything happened to me, she’d get hurt. I never have to worry about you like that because you’re the badass in the family, yeah sure you’ll hurt for a bit but you’ll get over it, but Maggie isn’t the same.”

Gloria looks to the ground, she ponders whether or not to tell him that it would kill her if anything happened to him, but decided against it since Glenn was relying on her to comfort him, “Then you go in guns blazing and make sure you make it back in one piece. Be extra careful, that’s all there is to it.”

Glenn rolls his eyes at that, “that’s a lot easier said than done.”

“Glenn,” she looks at him seriously, “do you love Maggie?”

He blushes slightly at the question then nods, “I do.”

“I think you should tell her.” Gloria smiles, happy for him.

Glenn shrugs, “I’ll think about it.”

“What is with you guys and saying you’ll think about it when you know you’re already gonna do it.” Gloria rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“What?” Glenn raises an eyebrow, “who else are you referring to?”

“No one, just talking in general.” she says, leaning her arms on her knees.

Later on in the day, Glenn had left Gloria at the tents to go keep Dale company with T-Dog on top of the RV. Maggie and Andrea were supposed to all be in the house looking after Beth who had woken up as she was emotionally unstable. Hershel was tending to his crops with Patricia. Gloria watches from the tents as Maggie comes out of the house and shortly after Andrea comes out of the house as well. She frowns at this as she wasn’t sure where Lori was and someone was supposed to keep an eye on Beth at all times. Grabbing her crutches, Gloria hobbles to the house and makes her way up the steps, struggling slightly but still making it.

“Beth?” she calls out as she enters the house, making her way into the room she was supposed to be in.

Gloria gets to Beth’s room and frowns when she sees that it’s empty, she hears footsteps from behind her, “where’s Beth?” Maggie asks once she also sees the room is empty.

“I don’t know, I saw you and Andrea leave the house so I just got here to check up on her.” Gloria explains.

Maggie’s about to say something else when they both turn at the sound of glass shattering from the closed door of the bathroom. Panicked, Maggie runs to the door and starts trying to open it, banging on the door and calling out to Beth.

“Beth? Beth, sweetie, open the door, please! I’m not mad, come out Bethie, I’m not mad.” Maggie desperately calls out for her sister.

The commotion causes Lori to come into the room, immediately realizing what’s going on; she whispers that she left her with Andrea. Lori frantically looks around and quickly grabs a crowbar leaning on the wall by the fireplace. Lori ushers the two others to move as she pries the door open, revealing a crying Beth as she holds onto her bloody wrist.

“I’m sorry.” Beth sobs out.

Maggie tears up and whimpers as she enters the bathroom, attempting to soothe her younger sister. Gloria turns to Lori and asks her to go get Hershel, she nods and heads out. Maggie, Gloria and Lori are outside on the porch as Hershel stitches up Beth’s wrist, Gloria and Lori trying to comfort Maggie. Andrea had made her way to the porch, rushing as she heard what happened.

“Where the hell were you?” Maggie walks up to Andrea as soon as she sees her.

“I heard, is she alright?” Andrea asks, breathless.

“If you stayed with her, then she would be.” Maggie crosses her arms, “where were you?”

Ignoring her question, Andrea asks, “how bad is she?”

“Not that deep.” Lori tells her, as Gloria eyes the blonde.

A smile grows on Andrea’s face, “she chose to live.”

“Beth just tried to kill herself, my dad’s stitching up her wrist right now!” Maggie says, furious.

“She’ll live.” Andrea says arrogantly, and that was the last straw for Gloria.

She throws her crutches down the porch, startling Lori, and makes her way down the porch and grabs Andrea’s arm, pulling her away, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Annoyed now, Andrea yanks her arm out of Gloria’s grip, “I did nothing wrong! Beth made her choice and she chose to live!”

Gloria scoffs at this, “are you stupid?! Do you actually believe that you did the right thing by leaving her alone?!”

“I do, I am right, because Beth now wants to live, she realized that she wants to live.” Andrea still adamant on her answer.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you got with that?” Gloria says, glaring at Andrea, “What if she really did want to die? What if she did die? Or what if she wanted to take it back, realizing she wants to live only when it’s too damn late?! What if she cut too deep and Hershel wasn’t able to stitch her back up, did you ever think about that?! If Beth died today, her blood would be on your hands. Now you look me in the eye and tell me you can take responsibility for that.”

Andrea looks down, ashamed and defeated, she cowers, giving her answer to Gloria’s last question as a silent no.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Gloria backs off, “stay away from Beth and Maggie.”

Embarrassed and ashamed, Andrea turns around and walks away from the house. Lori and Maggie had gone back into the house. Gloria picked up the crutches she had thrown out of anger and mounted them again, making her way to the tents, not wanting to swarm Beth since there were enough people in the house.

---

Rick and Shane had returned from their trip to drop off Randall, however, they had brought him back to the farm as they had learned that he knew who Maggie was. This made him an even bigger danger to the group now because even blindfolded, he knew how to get back to the farm. He could potentially lead his old group to them, possibly for vengeance towards Rick as he had killed some of their people. Daryl was in the barn where they had imprisoned the teenager, interrogating him. The others were waiting for him to come out at the tents. Gloria was leaning on a tree, keeping her eye on the barn and once she saw Daryl coming out, she pushed herself off the tree, mounting her crutches.

“Boy there’s got a gang, thirty men. They got heavy artillery and they ain’ lookin’ to make friends. They roll through here, our boys are dead. And our women, they’re gonna wish they were.” Daryl explains once he gets close enough to the group, his eyes glancing to Gloria as he says his last sentence.

Rick nods at the information gained, “That’s it, he’s a confirmed threat and he has to go. I’ll do it, tonight.”

Daryl escapes to his tent as Gloria heads over to Dale’s RV where she kept her first aid kit. She’d noticed that Daryl’s knuckles were bloody after interrogating Randall. She hobbles her way over to his tent and sits down beside him. He was fumbling with his crossbow when she got to him and he stops moving when she holds her hand out to him.

“Hand.” she says simply.

Daryl squints at her, “What, are ya treating me like yer dog now?”

Gloria rolls her eyes at his reluctance then chuckles, she reaches over and gently grabs his hand, placing it in her lap as she opens the first aid kit. She starts to clean the wounds from dried blood and dirt, then patches them up with bandages.

“I’d hate to see the other guy.” Gloria jokes as she finishes up with one hand, then moves on to the other.

Daryl smirks as he watches her work, “hey... stay away from him, ya hear?”

“Honestly, I was thinking of going to see how he was doing after I was done patching you up.” Gloria tells him truthfully, her professionalism getting in the way.

“Nah, ya ain’ goin’. I don’ want ya near that piece o’ shit.” Daryl scowls.

“I’ve dealt with worse, Daryl. When I worked at a hospital I’ve patched up gangsters in the ER, they were much more dangerous than this kid, I can handle him.” she says, placing the last of the bandage on his hand.

“Ya ain’ goin’ near that damn barn!” Daryl raises his voice, making her look up at him, “ya ain’ a nurse no more, ya don’ need to be a damn professional. Rick’s gon’ kill him tonight anyway so what’s the point of patchin’ him up?!” he tries to hide the hint of jealousy in his voice, Daryl’s blood boiled at the thought of Gloria patching up anyone else but him, Glenn being an exception.

Gloria sighs and nods, “you’re right. I guess I just wanted to make myself feel more useful.”

“Ya are useful, even if ya don’ patch the kid up.” Daryl takes his hand back from Gloria once she’s done treating him, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close to him, kissing her temple gently. Gloria smiles shyly, staying in his embrace as she wraps an arm around his waist.

---

Next Chapter

I had the hardest time trying to find this specific gif haha but it was worth it! Yep so Daryl is pretty protective of Gloria now, which I think is very sweet~ And the little moments of fluff at the end, aren’t they cute?? :D

I hope everyone stays safe and healthy, please don’t panic, we will get through this!

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me! I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d list to be added/removed!):

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon Fanfiction #Daryl Dixon Imagine #Daryl Dixon X Original Character #Daryl Dixon X OC #TWD Fanfiction #TWD Imagine #The Walking Dead Fanfiction #The Walking Dead Imagine #Glenn Sister!OC #Glenn Sister!Original Character #Fated: Season 2 #Fated: S2: Chapter 7

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blog-of-reaction · 4 years

Text

So I finally watched Robin Hood (2018) and these are my unasked for thoughts. This got pretty long so I’m putting it under a readmore.

First off, I knew that the time period was off, I was made well aware that the movie is far better if you go into not expecting it to be placed in a consistent time period, but I thought people were exaggerating when they said that the movie couldn’t decide what time period to be set in so chose all of them but like, they were right. This didn’t interfere much with how invested I was in the story, but there were times here I thought this movie could very well be set in some sort of weird, post-apocalyptic world because there was such a mash of time period stuff in there so yeah, it didn't even try to be accurate there.

I don’t think this actually made the movie worse though. In fact, I’ll even go so far as to say that the movie was actually better for it, as it allowed them to do stuff that they overwise wouldn’t get to. I get why most people didn’t like that part of it but like, it was weirdly nice. It was different and yeah, it was a bit jarring to basically see crusaders wearing kevlar, but I think it worked for this movie. It was different from the many other Robin Hood movies that have been made throughout the years and the off-kilter time period appropriate stuff helped with that. It isn’t the only reason I think this Robin Hood stands out from the others, but it is a contributing factor.

I shipped Robin and Marion in this movie more than I have ever shipped any other version of them, including the Robin Hood bbc show which, while not nearly as good in retrospect, was one of my favorite shows growing up and that version of Robin and Marion was one of my first otps.

First off, they had an established relationship at the start of the movie and the way they met is like, one of my favorite tropes (and was kind of reminded me when Vin and Elend first met in Mistborn.)

I may be wrong as its been a hot second since I watched any of the other Robin Hood movies, or even the show, but they seemed more balanced (especially compared to the show) than in most movies. Also, the actors had chemistry which not all movies have had in my opinion.

They just complimented each other so well, especially compared to the other iterations. They were both actively working for the right thing (as usual) but despite both having their own separate plans in place, they didn’t know of each others plans until over halfway through the movie. In spite of this, when they did interact, it was golden and full of yearning and also pain on both sides (though for different reasons) and it was golden.

Additionally, Marion wasn’t the damsel in distress as usual. Which, even when they try to make that not be a thing, is always in the movies (and especially the show. Or rather, robin viewed her as a damsel in distress and I gotta stop myself there because I could write a whole essay on their relationship in the show and I will do that someday but today is not that day.)

Anyways, yeah, Marion was actually like, in distress, in a damsel in distress type of way literally once and then it didn’t feel like a damsel in distress situation. She had her own story outside of Robin and that is both rare and refreshing. Her and Robin played off one another so well, balancing out, working together in their actions like WangXian in battle.

Speaking of Robin, I loved him, he is my favorite Robin yet. And Marion is my favorite Marion yet as well. And John. And very possibly Tuck as well.

Yahya (John) was amazing and I loved his friendship with Robin. He is literally the reason for Robin’s actions, even more than Marion in a way. And he is just awesome. So badass, an admirable strength of faith, I love him.

Will. I liked Will (up until he screamed at Marion to never speak to him again). Yes, he had a lot of ambition, but ambition is not inherently bad. Having ambition, strong ambition, is not bad, yet so many times in fiction we are given a different message. Was he kind of selfish and self serving? To an extent, but so is everyone. He did a lot for the people of Nottingham, worked hard not only to elevate in his social status, but to help those suffering under the sheriff. He was a light to the people of Nottingham and a light to Marion. It just so happened he was not the light they needed, and when it came to it, he was against taking a different route which, well admirable he wanted everything to be solved peacefully, was not going to help. At first I thought the movie would have been more enjoyable (solely because I wanted more content). Roughly halfway through the movie I realized no. The time constraint in the movie effects the story in such a way that it is better as a movie. I thought I’d do a dive into the things this movie gave me to think upon and the conclusions I drew from it but this is already like three pages long and it’s 3 am so that is coming later. (maybe, assuming I take the time to write it out and if anyone is remotely interested although then again I might just write it for me.)

Anyways, yeah, in the end Will turned evil. He crossed the line he had drawn for himself with his no violence rule and I guess he decided to commit and instead of taking the time to adjust his moral compass and stuff he decided he’d be evil instead, letting ambition drive him to power and his inevitable doom in which he probably realized he done fucked up. Or maybe before that he slowly came to realize he needed to get over himself and went back to the light. Or, you know, he just committed, and was the bad guy until his last breath. It was an open ending so anything’s possible. (The reason I spent so much time talking about this is because I am upset that they went that way. I saw where it was heading, and I hoped it wouldn't happen because it’s just overdone at this point but then again if it ain’t broke don't fix it.)

Anyways (Yes I say that way to much even when typing I’ve just given up at this point) I need to go to bed. I’m kind of sad I didn’t touch more on both robin and Marion as individuals, nor did I touch on Yahya who was one of my favorite characters. But a lot of what I have to say about him kind of has to do with the stuff I want to make a separate post about later. Also, I didn’t even mention Tuck but again, he is going to have a significant part in my later post. That one is going to be even longer as in addition to my thoughts about the themes in the movie is one of the underlying themes religion which when I talk about it is either very short or very long. Sorry if this is to rambly-ee, again, it’s 3 (almost 4 now) and I'm tired af.

Long story short, good movie, enjoyable, favorite Robin Hood movie to date.

#robin hood #robin hood (2018)#s watches movies #there were a few times robin did something stupidly dangerous or did somethign especially risky and i gave an exasperated sigh #and just went *sigh* Robin #like a tired parent #tbh i did so mostly because i miss rolling my eyes and scolding robin from the bbc robin hood #because honestly that robin was such a dumbass #alright going to bed #goodnight #as for the time period? what time period? stuff #I chose to find it funny rather than annoying because tbh it kinda was #or maybe i was just tired #idk

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jocazep · 5 years

Text

In the Whole Wide Train | Chapter 4

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

Taglist: Open until further notice!

Series Masterlist

Chapter Four - Going Back

STOMP STOMP STOMP--the sound of heavy boots woke you from your slumber.

“Miss Jo, we’ve got food up front if you want any.”

“Hmmm,” you replied, still keeping your eyes shut. Against your red eyelids in the sunlight, Curtis’s face was fading quickly, and you wanted to cling on with everything you had.

His eyes were all that’s left in your head. The way they took you in when you stepped out of the wash room. The way they went wide after you told him that you were actually a surveyor sent down to conduct a census. The way they became cold after he realized you had been lying to him all this time.

“Curtis, listen to me. What I’ve seen in these past two weeks...” You pulled at Curtis’s arm from behind, straining to keep up with his broad stride.

Curtis spun back. You crashed into him, his heaving chest colliding with the hands you held up out of instinct. Curtis’s torso was warm, but the look on his face was anything but. He clasped his hands on your arms, pushed you away from his body and let go, all in one fluid motion.

“Oh I’m sure you’ve see a lot, so you can take everything you know about the revolt and Namgoong all back to the...” Curtis lowered his voice, “the front!”

“I’m not going back.”

Curtis took a beat.

“I meant what I said. I’ve seen enough to know that change is overdue.”

It was yet another long beat before he said,“Did you have anything to do with Timmy?”

“What?” Your heart jumped to your throat.

“You heard me. Did you have anything to do with Timmy.“

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?“

“Try me.“

There you had to make a decision. Did you want to stay with your newly made friends, or did you want them to really trust you?

You chose the latter.

Which reminded you. You sat up, eyes open and wide awake, and dug out your notebook from under your pillow.

The guard’s quarters had only two desk, since most of the men don’t do much reading and writing. But today you found both occupied.

“Oh, I can come back later.”

“No, no, Miss Jo you can take mine,” A guard offered up his spot.

“Thank you,” you recognize him as the same guard that broke Doris’s nose, but made no fuss about it.

You’ve gotta take care of the grand scheme of things.

You were a bit shocked to find Wilford’s voice creeping into your head.

The grand scheme of things. That’s probably his favorite phrase. You thought as you wrote in your notebook, remembering the meeting you had before setting off on this surveyor trip down the train. Well, meeting is a big word... It would probably qualify as a casual chat at best.

“There will be a lot of shocks to your system. The rigid work, the poverty, the human suffering, all of that. You will wonder, if what you are doing is right. You will ask yourself if you should be on the side that aims to destroy the status quo. In those times, just remember, on this train, just as it used to be out there,“ his pajamaed arm pointed to the world subsumed in snow, through the solid walls of his own section, the very head of the train, the locomotive, and opined over the rhythmic humming of the engine, “these things have to exist within the grand scheme of things. They are necessary for a true, everlasting balance.”

You were, just a few weeks ago, innocent to just how different everything could be beyond the first few sections of the Snowpiercer, so you nodded along.

How wrong you were. Thinking back, if you had been living in the Tail Section for 17 years and discovered a front-sectioner in your midst, you wouldn’t have let them leave. You shook your head as the final note was wrapping itself up.

“All done, Miss Jo?” The nose-breaker returned, “your food, real food, is still on the dining table if you’d like to eat it. Just thought I’d let you know since me and the boys are going to do a head check in the Tail.”

You looked up at him. Real food did sound temping...But you had more pressing matters at hand. The grand scheme of things.

“Actually, do you think I could join you? For my report. I was in a hurry on my way down, so I skipped your section completely.”

---

The same tedious buzz called everyone in the Tail Section for a head check.

“What do you mean, she just left? She was exiled here, wasn’t she? Where could she have gone?” Edgar walked backwards in line, pestering Curtis with questions about Jo.

“I don’t know what to tell you.“

“You don’t think those bastards took her? ” Edgar tilted his head towards the guard handing out the protein blocks.

“If she really left voluntarily, if that is even possible, she would have said goodbye to us, right?” Now Tanya has a say in this too. Great.

“Look, we should be talking about more important things, all right? She’s just one person.” Curtis pushed through, whipped his protein block from the guard’s hand, and walked off.

“What’s gotten into him?“ Edgar said as he took a bite of the protein block.

It didn’t take long for Curtis to discover the little paper note hidden at the center of his protein block. He was checking for a red letter under the light, but found a much larger piece of paper instead.

The initial excitement faded as he soon realized that this was not a communique from the secret helper up front. The letter read:

Dear Curtis,

You’ll probably want to throw this away. Please don’t. I will make this short.

Once you get to the prison section, you will need to take out the prison guard. I met him on my way down--he’s a fucking giant. Grey needs to be prepared. Namgoong you can bribe with Kronole--he’s an addict. I saw his cell tag on my way down. I saved up some protein blocks between the planks of the bed above mine. A small way towards my penance. I wrote to Tanya and Edgar too, explaining what happened, so they will lay off your back.

You probably want nothing to do with me ever again, as is your right. but I really did mean it. I want to help. So this is me helping.

P.S. If you’re worried about the guards having read this... I delivered it myself--yes that was me in the guard uniform.

The words made Curtis’s head spin. He rushed back to the front of the section, hoping to check if it really was Jo with the guards, but they had already left.

He looked down at the carefully written “Curtis” on the little twice-folded paper, and thought back to their argument just the night before. And a strange feeling started rising within him, a feeling he hadn’t felt since Jo told the abortion story when they first met. That must have been a damn lie, too. So how can he trust her now? But if she was telling the truth, she just handed him the key to the front...

Curtis decided to try his luck one small step at a time. He ambled to the bed that used to be Jo’s bunk. Surprisingly it hadn’t been taken yet. He climbed up. The space between two bunks was too tight, so Curtis had to lie down. As he did, he caught a faint scent of blood and soap from the tread-bare quilt. It was what Jo smelled like last night too...

Focusing his mind, Curtis swallowed and looked up to see strips of torn yellow fabric woven with the wooden planks of the bunk above, holding nearly a dozen of protein blocks in place in between the planks. Jo wasn’t lying.

As Curtis gingerly retrieved each protein block, he ran some numbers in his head. Two weeks, that’s fourteen days, and Jo had managed to save eleven protein blocks. That means she only ate three. For fourteen days?

Before he could realize that he was worried for Jo’s well-being, Tanya’s voice rang in his ear.

“Curtis, is any of this true?“ She waved her letter in his face.

Curtis pulled off his hat, bagged all eleven protein bars with it, and climbed off the bunk.

“Can I see it?”

To Curtis’s surprise, the two letters to Tanya and Edgar were honest, even brutally so. Jo owned up to everything, the surveyor assignment, her fake Mason story, her involvement in the taking of Timmy. She also said that she had no idea what Timmy was taken for, and for some reason, both Curtis and Tanya tended to believe her.

Edgar, however, was a completely different story. He all but went through the five stages of grief--after claiming this was a intricate mind game by the front-sectioners, and cursing out Jo, he asked Curtis, “Do you think we can write back?“

Curtis looked at Edgar as if he asked if it was warm outside. But to be fair, Jo was still not far off.

“I just figured...”

“Do what you want.” Curtis walked off with the can of fresh uncut Kronole he procured with Jo’s protein blocks.

---

As you straightened yourself back up for the hundredth time after laying a line of protein blocks neatly into the push car, you had a new found respect for the guards.

“Why wasn’t this cart made taller?” You couldn’t help but wonder out loud.

“Oh this is already an improvement from the one we had before,” the nose-breaker grunted as he pushed the cart past the steel gate.

“Yeah, how long ago was that?”

“Five years ago I think. Thank god this one’s steady at least. Gotta make this one last at least another five.”

You made a note in your head as you walked with the guards into the Tail Section. After the harsh buzz stopped, you raised the visor on your helmet and proceeded to hand out the protein blocks, hoping your eyes would be able to catch Curtis, Edgar, and maybe even Tanya as they came up--you were unsure how you felt about Tanya. She was very kind to you when you first arrived in the Tail Section, but now that she knew about your involvement in Timmy being taken away, it wouldn’t be surprising if she sucker punched you where you stood.

Edgar was the first. As he walked up, he tilted his head to search for your eyes. And when he found them, he had to fight to contain his smile. You handed him a protein block, and as his hand took it, you felt a small prick through your glove--a letter. Your fingers extended over and slid the note into your palm, and you gave him the most imperceptible nod.

Tanya walked up, whisked the block from you and walked away without giving you a second look. You were somehow a bit relieved. That leaves Curtis.

You spot his grey hat and wide shoulders from far off, inching slowly towards you, your heart rate slowly rising. As his features came into focus, you noticed that he had washed his face, possibly even with soap. What gives? You mused as you stretched out your arm, holding the warm brownish sustenance.

Curtis took the other end of the block. For a second you waited for the prickly corner of paper to hit your fingertips. But nothing came.

Your eyes flicked up to search his face--it was unreadable. Give me something, did you read the letter? Did you throw it away? What happened?! It was nearly impossible to convey all this through your eyes, but you were thinking it all the same.

If Curtis had noticed your subtle signs, he did nothing to show for it. After a prolonged moment, he gave the protein block a nudge, and you let it slide out of your hand.

After the head check, you returned with the guards to their section. Having changed out of the guard uniform, you sat down at one of the desk and unfurled the crumpled note from Edgar:

Dear Jo:

We were shocked when Curtis said you left. We didn’t know where you would go to. I still don’t know if I should believe your letter, but I think I know you, and I remember you helping Tanya when they came to take Timmy, so I think you’re alright.

I don’t know what’s wrong with Curtis. He’s pretty moody lately, but he’s figured out a way to get Namgoong to cooperate, so I heard through the curtain at Gilliam’s. So hopefully we will be able to pick you up on our way to the front. He’s also building a long door stop out of barrels--he says the idea came from a story you told about me Shit I am running out of space. Write me back so I have more paper to tell you things!

Edgar

You folded the piece of paper and hid them in your notebook. A smile crept up your face. He did read the letter. And better yet, he believed you, he listened to you, and he didn’t expose you. And the wheels of change are in motion.

Taglist: @emmalbg @ajosieface @torntaltos

#Curtis Everette Fanfic #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett #Snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfic #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans

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