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hippielittlemetalhead · 1 year

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So season 3. Let's do this!

This took so so so long and is not quite where/what I wanted it to be soooo... I am so sorry 😅🥲 this will most likely be 2 parts cause... Yeah, just life man.

Actually some dialogue in this one? Sure, a line or two, as a treat.

(Part1) (part2)

Steve had been working at Scoops Ahoy for a few weeks now and he feels like he's built a decent rapport with his coworker Robin. She's witty and snarky and opinionated and when Steve wears a more tinted lipgloss than he intended resulting in a customer clocking it and saying something rude that he can't help but smile his dead-eyed customer service smile at, she clocks out for her lunch early (and takes an extra 15 minutes) and comes back with a full face of makeup and shoos him into the back with the mascara she bought from the shop a couple stores over. They both start coming to work with at least mascara, eyeliner and lipstick and Steve loves it. He compliments the hand-drawn designs on her shoes and she asks where he got his rainbow heart pin. They mostly disagree on music they listen to -she still lets him drag her to a couple live music nights at The Hideout with him and Billy every now and then anyway- but their politics and basic life philosophies line up pretty well.

He could do without the 'You Rule / You Suck' board, especially when Billy gets in on it and adds tallies from a little notebook he starts keeping when he and Steve hang out outside of kids and work. And the jokes about his kids (and occasionally Billy) when they come through for free passage to the movies. And the jabs about his parents' money like he still has access to that or their house.

He doesn't tell her that he was cut off and disowned and kicked out. He doesn't tell her that he had to get a job to help pay for his community college courses because he was a disappointment that couldn't get into a pre-approved 4-year university and that meant no college fund and he was still a few years away from being 21 and having access to the trust fund his grandparents set up for him when he was still just a lump of forming cells. And even then anything in that will probably be blown on buying himself his own permanent place instead of just a hand-me-down trailer in the middle of the woods so he needs to save for things like bills and a mortgage.

He doesn't tell her that the reason he lets the kids get away with so much is because they're *his* and they've already seen more fucked up shit than the cops in this town (save Hop) and he'll be damned if they don't get to just be kids. He'll be damned if they decide he's someone they need to hide from and sneak around like they hide and sneak from Joyce and Hop cause that's how they didn't know about half the shit the kids got up to while the adults were doing their best to take care of things themselves. He doesn't tell her that he's paying "rent" to the chief of police (it's way less than he should be but it's all Hop would take).

He doesn't tell Robin a lot of things.

Then sometime after Robin finally warmed up to him but before Dustin comes back from camp, Eddie Munson walks into Scoops Ahoy, his metalhead nerdy entourage in tow. He orders a plain scoop of vanilla with sprinkles in a cup and one of the others also orders something small and simple (while longingly eyeing their diabetes-inducing, horribly artificial tasting, bubblegum flavor when Munson turns away) before all of them are squeezing into one of the largest booths, emptying out messenger bags and backpacks of overstuffed binders and scuffed up versions of very familiar looking textbooks. It's like looking at an older -slightly grungier- version of his kids.

"Gentlemen, now that 🎶school's out for summer🎶-" There's a musical lilt as he says it that sounds vaguely familiar to Steve, "-and it has been confirmed that I will in fact be held captive for yet another stint in the hell they call Hawkins High School it is time we confer and conspire for the next year of Hellfire and the little sheep that will be joining our flock." He kinda loses track of it after that because then his kids are rushing in demanding tasters of everything and edging towards the lifting part of the counter with a look in their eyes that speaks of mischief. He puts up the initial fuss about them only visiting him for his backrooms access and that they promised to only come over when there were no customers around. He lets them through anyway.

He notices Munson eyeing him as he puts the partition back in place shaking his head and Robin laughing at him as she washed their ice cream scoops. The one that's vaguely more familiar looking than the rest and reminds him of a taller, angrier, Dustin with a better hair regimen isn't quite glaring at him but is definitely paying more attention than the rest of Munson's posse and seems more suspicious than Eddie's curious.

The metalheads are still there when Billy shows up stinking of chlorine in clothes that are damp where they cling to his frame. The group loosens up a little when he shoots Steve his signature smug smirk as he shrugs on his denim jacket that -like Steve's own jacket hanging out of sight in the staffroom- had begun accumulating patches and pins since Neil's incarceration. Unlike Steve's, Billy's has homages to bands like Mötley Crue, Deff Leppard, Twisted Sister and Guns N' Roses with little trails of shakily embroidered flowers and constellations on the collar and hems and filling the spaces between the patches and pins. Billy also has a small pink triangle on the lapel where Steve has a rainbow. Steve pretends not to notice the way the group goes a little quiet as Billy starts his usual routine of sunnily demanding tasters of all the available flavors and then again with sprinkles to "-really get an idea of their ✨nuance✨, prettyboy" before deciding on a scoop of double chocolate with a scoop of raspberry vanilla in a cup with sprinkles and one of their fresh waffle cones on top. Like always.

"Really branching out there aren't ya, tough guy?" Steve keeps his face as stoney as possible but he can't help the humored edge to his voice.

Billy just winks at him running his tongue over his teeth as he gives Steve an exaggerated leer, "Gotta keep you on your toes, handsome." Robin fake gags and Steve laughs and Eddie Munson turns red as he stares at the two joking jocks. Billy goes quiet as he stares at his ice cream and Steve recognizes the look on his face, tells the blonde to go sit down in their usual booth and he'd be taking his break soon and they can talk about whatever's bothering him.

What's bothering him is Neill getting parole for 'good behavior', Jim only telling the Mayfield-Hargroves almost a week after he was let out because that was actually the same day he himself found out. Billy found out just before a summer basketball practice session and thinks he snapped at an underclassmen he's been trying to get to open up about what Billy is 90% certain is going on in the kid's home, but he knows that cops can't do much if the victim(s) refuse to trust in those trying to help them. He's worried about the kid he snapped at. Worried about Susan and Max. Worried that even with the restraining order Neill will try something. Billy tells Steve he had thought he saw Neill around the outskirts of town during errands or during his turn to haul the kids around a couple of times before Hop told them and now he's sure it wasn't just paranoia. Steve tells him they'll figure it out, reminds him he's not alone in this

That makes Billy smile, small and tired but real and grateful. His shoulders are still tense and there's still a wariness in the smallest crease between his eyebrows that makes Steve ask if there's anything else. They talk about some of the weird dreams Billy's been having that makes Steve encourage him to talk to El. Just to make sure Billy isn't going through what happened to Will the last alternate-dimension-go-around.

They make plans to head out to see the two Hoppers after Steve's shift. Come up with a basic timeline of when and where Billy thinks he saw Neil so they have something to start with for Hop. Put together an idea of how involved Billy wants to be in whatever plan Hop comes up with. They're interrupted by a group of girls swanning into the shop and Steve being yelled at by Robin to get himself back to work. As he gets up from the table Steve levels Billy with a look that makes the blond think about the way Max and the kids described Steve when they talked about how he fought off the pack of demodogs in the junkyard, planting himself between them and snarling snapping danger like Galahad himself.

Steve looks him in the eyes and says "I swear Billy, we're going to get through this, we'll take care of it and keep you and the girls safe. Hop knows what's going on and even Callahan can't get away with letting that piece of shit fall through the cracks after what he pulled." He leans in close and bites out probably louder than he should for the amount of people in the shop, "And if that fucker gets near any of you I've got Darling in Baby's trunk and I am not afraid to use her on a human shaped monster instead."

Author's (rambler's) Notes:

So, that's all I have for season 3 rn I am so sorry. 😭 I'm working on the next bit but I am so burnt out recently and now I'm unemployed cause of the ceiling at my job caving in which does not help the stress. So I unfortunately do not have a timeframe for you. 🥲 A couple of folks asked to be tagged so... Here you are? To be fair I'm not making any promises in regards to the taglist in the future, I will do my damnedest and y'all will have to bear with me.

I'm glad people are liking this and tbh this has gotten more attention than I expected so thanks? I appreciate the appreciation of my ramblings. Feel free to scream at/with me about this au in my asks box and I'll respond when/as I can. I'm just glad people are enjoying this. 🙃

@heartsong18

@knightofthieves

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snowbellewells · 1 year

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I didn’t realize there was more to Court of Misthaven!!! I’d like to know what else I have to look forward to! And I also want to know how Pan and his gang will get what’s coming to them in Lawman, please.

Oh, and any secrets you’re willing to part with for your CSSNS fics this summer!

Oh Krystal, @kmomof4 I am SO glad you asked about this one! That's sort of the beauty of "A Year in the Court of Misthaven". Each new part of it stands alone in the interconnected world, so I don't freak out or stress as much when a long time passes between my being able to add new vignettes. They don't cliffhanger and leave people wanting the same way a story with continuous chapters would. Still, yes, the are about 3 more additions I hope to write for it yet before I completely leave it behind. I want to write the actual wedding day, and another one where we see Emma and Killian with at least one child somewhere further down the line. And then, there's this next part, which sidetracks a bit to see Ruby and Graham finally get together:

"...For as long as Ruby Lucas could remember, Graham had always been there; a solemn, stalwart presence in the background, watching over them all with devotion. She didn’t think that he was much older than she; he didn’t look it at any rate. Yet Graham himself could not say with any certainty how old he was. Abandoned in the woods and found by a wolf pack which raised him as one of their own, things most took for granted - like their birthdate, their surname, and even where they came from - were mere blanks in his knowledge. Nor could he accurately state how long he had been imprisoned in service to the Evil Queen, his heart held as insurance to keep him trapped and compliant.

When Ruby and her granny had met Snow White, on the run and in hiding from her vengeful stepmother, she had been preparing to gather a rebellion and take back her father’s kingdom, to champion and safeguard her people from further harm at the usurper monarch’s hand. Both of them had been barely out of their teens - just coming into their own, and their bond had been quickly forged in fire - so much more than even the best of friends.

It was after Regina’s fall, as they and their compatriots began to take stock of the damage and put Leopold’s lands back to rights, that they met the Huntsman… and found Regina’s chamber of stolen hearts.

Snow had remembered him, of course she had - her wide, guileless eyes guilt-stricken and tearing up at learning of the price he had paid for sparing her life. And Ruby, though she had never before met the man whose heart they returned that day, had felt as though she had known him always. In that sixth sense way that the wolf in her knew things that her human side couldn’t explain, she knew he was one of them. She could see into his soul with enough certainty to know that life in the wild with no human companionship, followed by life as a prisoner in the Evil Queen’s castle with nothing but what had been foisted upon him and the rare glimmer of kindness when he snuck food or a book to the poor maiden in Regina’s tower cell, had both left their marks on his psyche. Still, she could also see that they had not darkened his heart or changed the good man he was at his core. He had fallen into the cause wholeheartedly and saved each of them many times over the years, just as they had also saved him..."

I don't want to give too much away for "The Lawman, the Thief, and the Outlaw", but Pan and his gang will absolutely get what's coming to them in true Western shootout style. (Though there might be some more whump, angst, and hurt/comfort for the good guys before we reach that point.)

#wip ask game #ask game answers #wip snippets #wip teaser #snowbellewells answers asks #ask answered for @kmomof4

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selfship-monster-lover · 3 years

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F/O February Day 7: Fae AU

F/O: Overlord

Media: Transformers IDW

Lias was starting to worry. Normally they're excellent at navigating forests, even ones they've never been in before, but for the first time in their life, they got lost in the woods.

Even when trees all look the same they always notice some kind of mark or something different, and they've noticed that here too, but they seem to have circled around three times because they keep seeing the same exact mark on the same exact tree. They don't know how many hours have actually passed because while their phone is mostly working, the clock on it seems to have frozen up.

They don't have cell service or Internet data access either. It's a good thing they at least brought a few bottles of water in their backpack for this hike. They decide to sit down at the marked tree and rest a bit, sipping on some water.

They start to get the feeling that they're being watched. They figure some animal is probably roaming about, but it still makes the hairs on the back of their neck stand up. They put the cap back on the water and put it away, slinging the backpack on as they stand up and get ready to venture onward.

They head further into the forest, expecting to go in a circle again, but end up in an area they haven't seen yet. Although they can't really say they're thankful for it, as this part of the forest seems to be filled with dying trees with twisted branches. All of these trees almost look like they have a bunch of faces screaming in terror on them.

'Creepy…' They think to themself.

The sky also seems darker here, despite it still being day time.

They notice a small desire path between some of the trees and decide to follow it. A desire path means there might be other people somewhere out here, right? They could ask for help out of the forest. They walk the path for what seems like forever, going deeper into the twisted woods.

The feeling of being watched intensifies and they can't help but feel like they're being followed now. They try not to show any panic but slip their hand into their pocket to grab their knife. They flip the knife up and start to walk with it in their hand when they hear a chuckle echo through the woods behind them.

They break into a sprint but find themself going in circles once again. They know they passed that exact tree three times already. They stop and bend over, trying to catch their breath, when a shadow begins to loom over them. Their heart beats wildly in their chest as they feel a presence behind them.

The being behind them leans down pressing it's lips next to the human's ear, "Boo." He whispers.

They jump forward, and turn around, pointing their knife at the person. They look on in shock as they see a very tall man-goat-like creature covered in blue fur from the stomach down, he's very muscular and a light tan. He stands on a pair of hooves and has sharp claws at the end of his hands and has curled horns protruding from his head. He has short, curly, messy blue hair and crimson eyes. He chuckles and flashes a grin, exposing his sharp fangs, "Lost are we, little human?"

"What are you?" They whisper out.

He turns his plump lips upward in a smirk, "Oh? Have we fae really become so obscure in your world now? I would assume you humans still tell our tales."

'Shit!' Lias thinks with a worried look.

The fae gets a twisted grin, "Ah, so you do know of us."

"What do you want? I'm supposed to offer you something right?"

He laughs, "Oh, my dear," He begins to circle around the human with his hands behind his back, looking them up and down, "I want you."

"What?"

"I've been watching you since you first stepped foot into this forest. Not many people notice my marks, I found it intriguing that you did. You even seemed to notice the same twisted tree while I toyed with you." He says, stopping in front of them and lifting their chin up with one of his clawed fingers.

'Oh so this asshole is why I looped around.'

"I am Overlord. May I have your name, little human." He asks, crimson eyes boring into them.

"No, you can't have it. But you can call me Lias." They respond and he smirks.

"Clever little thing aren't you. Very well Lias," he holds out one clawed hand, "You have two options, take my hand and come with me, or stay here and never escape this forest."

Lias stares at his hand for a moment before hesitantly raising their own and placing it in his hand.

He grins again, showing his fangs, "Wise choice." He remarks, as he begins to lead them through the forest to his own home.

#fofebruary #fo February #f/o February #self ship #self shipping #my writing #elias.txt #Transformers #Overlord

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egoludes · 4 years

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let me come home: two.

Summary: After years at a dead-end job shouldering everyone’s expectations for you but your own, you’re finally free to be whoever you want, go wherever you want. That is, until a series of unfortunate events strand you in Amber’s End, where the sheriff – and notoriously unmated pack alpha – decides to take you in.

Pairings: alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!Reader; side alpha!Bucky Barnes x beta!Sam Wilson

Notes: Wowowow - I don’t even want to count how many months it’s been, but we are finally back in business! I can’t thank you all enough for the love you showed on the first chapter of this and I am beyond excited to share this and hear what you think. Big reminder from the last chapter that parts one and two are all about setting the stage for Steve and our lovely reader. So, this is more or less 5k of more background. But, I really loved introducing Bucky, Sam, and Nat (Bucky especially because he’s going to be huge here!) and hope you enjoy them too. Especially my Heat Wave readers - mechanic!Bucky returns! And I promise parts three and four will be extra juicy to make up for it. Divider credit goes to @writeyourmindaway!

Chapter warnings: Werewolf AU, A/B/O dynamics, incredibly basic knowledge of cars that is probably incorrect

The drive to Steve’s home is short: five minutes from the diner to the base of a wooded hill, another ten to reach the peak. You follow him up a slanted stretch of road with eyes trained on his tail lights, but there are moments when your gaze strays. Sunset lingers on either side of you, framing the forest in a pretty glow. The blend of deep orange and soft pink is hard to look away from, even when you know you should be focused elsewhere, and you make your way to the top in that dizzying in-between.

When you finally come to a stop, it’s on a patch of paved road - a welcome change to the gravel before it - in front of a large wooden cabin. Behind you, the town’s spread out in a panorama, spanning for what feels like an eternity. You can see everything from here: the humble spread of Main Street; the blues and greens of the Hummingbird; and finally, the mountains, majestic and steady beyond that.

It’s the perfect place for the pack’s alpha to be and, coincidentally, has been the home of Rogers alphas for three generations now.

That lived in feel is the first thing you notice when you make it inside. The structure is sturdy, hasn’t so much as gnarled over the years. The decor, on the other hand, is dated. Doilies on some surfaces and beer coasters on others, there are hints of Steve and the alphas who came before him throughout. Still, it’s cozy, and you say as much in an appreciative hum as you pull your bag off your shoulder.

The first floor is all open space, and you can see most of it from your spot in the foyer. It doesn’t take long for Steve to situate you - sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and master bedroom — before leading you towards the stairs. The walls along the staircase are full of memory; pictures of him and his loved ones that catch your eye as you ascend. You don’t have time to linger now, but make a point to look them over before you go. He’s piqued your interest too much not to be a little nosy.

The second floor, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as wide as the first. There are three doors in the whole hallway, two on either side with the third directly in front of you. He identifies each as the guest room, the storage room, and a study in that order, though he’s careful to call out that no one’s used the study in a long time.

There’s a story there, you’re sure, but any interest in it leaves when Steve presses the guest bedroom door open. The bed inside is too big for the room, one side even touching the walls. And like the rest of the house, it’s decorated in a way that reminds you of your grandmother; a quaintness that’s endearing on a man like Steve. But, as out of place as things might be, there’s an undeniable comfort walking into that room. Steve smiles when he smells it on you -- that cinnamon-sweet rise of contentment as you sink down on the bed at his behest.

“It’s a short tour,” he admits, leaning against the doorjamb, “but this is about it. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again tonight or before you go tomorrow. I’m usually up early, so in case I don’t see you, enjoy the rest of your trip. Take care of yourself.”

It’s new to you, how easily people can offer such genuine acts of care. He hardly knows you, yet there’s no doubt that he means what he says. The thought of it makes you return that thoughtful smile. “Thank you, Steve - you’re seriously a lifesaver.”

With a final smile, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him.

At the click, you settle further into the bed, toeing your shoes off and sifting through your bag for house clothes and a towel. Your travels so far have been an adventure, to say the least. Just a few months ago, you’d been working a stressful entry-level job on Wall Street. Pressed skirts, sharp teeth, the days were full of routine, but not the kind that’s pleasant. Everything was uncertainty and fleeting gratification as you competed, day after day, for a seat at the table.

Add to that the constant nagging from your family to find a mate — the endless string of blind dates, the passive-aggressive mentions of other friends’ announcements; it’s a wonder you’d endured it all as long as you had.

The decision to quit had been a long time coming. The decision to leave was a whim - the first you’d had in a long time. It was freeing to even be able to make the choice and the lack of commitment only grew more intoxicating from there. You feel freer, less suffocated, and so does your wolf — it’s a change you’d desperately needed.

That feeling is what follows you into the shower as you wash away the day, and back to bed in your loose pjs. As you settle in, you have to stop yourself from sighing out loud. The mattress is as tender as a cloud, molding to your body at every point, and after weeks of motel beds (and the back of your Jeep), you fall headfirst into that comfort. Sleep comes fast and stays put.

----

When you wake in the morning, the world is quiet. It’s a long way from New York’s chaos and you bask in it, eagerly at that. The sun filtering in through the window above you leaves kaleidoscope patterns on the sheets. Your hand moves to trace them for a bit, thumb to fractured color, until you’re awake enough to focus your ear to the house.

Like outside, Steve’s cabin is tranquil, not even a hint of the alpha’s presence. Given his warning the night before, it isn’t surprising, but you’re still a little disappointed. You’d hoped to repay him for his kindness somehow — maybe with breakfast, or whatever change you could spare. But, you’ll settle for what you can get: you make a mental note to try and catch him at his office before you leave town.

Weeks on the road have made your morning routine as efficient as it gets. So once you’re completely up, you’re out the door not long after, a slice of buttered toast between your teeth to get your system going. You find your car where you left it at the end of Steve’s drive and you approach with a bounce in your step, all thanks to the night of comfortable sleep.

Maybe you ought to grab Steve a fruit basket before you stop by.

You’re racking your memory of Main Street for bakeries or something close when you settle into the driver’s seat. But, gratitude towards Steve quickly becomes the last thing on your mind when you try to start your Jeep and get nothing but a grinding sound. It isn’t promising, but you try it again, only to get even less response before the car dies altogether.

You groan out loud, head dropping to the steering wheel while your shoulders sink in defeat. It was inevitable, really - it’s been years since you inherited the car from your older sister and it was only through a slew of band-aid fixes that it made it this far.

Still, the timing can’t be any worse; you don’t have a schedule to meet, but it isn’t much of a road trip if you can’t make it on the road. You fish your cell out of your jacket pocket, hoping that your service has somehow improved between last night and this morning. But, you only have a couple bars - finicky connection at best - so, you head back into Steve’s home where you’re certain you’d noticed a landline.

When you find it, you also come across a phone book --- not the newest edition, but recent enough. The list of mechanics in the area isn’t long, so you thumb in the first number you see. The phone rings only twice before someone picks up.

“Barnes Garage?”

“Hi,” you start, perking up at the quick answer, “I just tried to start my car and it’s not working. It made this weird sound at first, then when I tried again, it just died.”

The man on the other end hums and you can hear paper rustling in the background like he’s taking notes. “Alright, we can send someone out right now to tow you in and take a look - what’s your address?”

“I don’t...actually know,” you admit, face hot from embarrassment when he goes silent. You must sound ridiculous. “I’m not from around here, so I’m just staying with someone. I’m not sure about the address.”

A chuckle rises from him that eases your shame just a bit. “Alrighty. Well, it’s a small town — tell me who you’re stayin’ with and I’m sure between the three of us here, we’ll know where to find ‘em.”

There’s a part of you that’s skeptical of that; but for a town so small and a pack so close-knit, maybe it’s possible. “Uh, sure. I stayed with Steve Rogers — the sheriff?”

The line goes silent again, this time so prolonged you think the call dropped. Then, the mechanic speaks up and you can almost swear he’s smiling. “No shit. I know exactly where that is, I can be there in fifteen? Maybe twenty? That work for you?”

“Well, I won’t be going anywhere, so that works perfectly.”

----

The mechanic manages the trip in ten, when you glance out the window at the sound of an engine to see a dark blue tow truck stalking up Steve’s driveway. You come out to greet it just as the man driving climbs out and nearly gasp. He’s as handsome as Steve had been: piercing blue eyes, an angled, stubble-lined face, and deep brown hair gathered at his nape. There’s something familiar about him you can’t seem to place, but it’s out of sight and out of mind when he closes the distance with a wide smile. “Well, hi there -- ‘m Bucky. Spoke to you on the phone.” You give him your name, to which he nods. “So, I’ll get your car down to the shop and we’ll take a look, see if we can’t fix you up today. You wanna come with me, or you staying at Stevi -- uh, Steve’s for the day?”

You shake your head . “Nah, I can come with - I was planning to head out of town today anyway, so I’m hoping I can just head out from your garage.”

“Hop on in then.”

The ride with Bucky is surprisingly warm. He’s not exactly talkative, but he’s engaging; asking questions where he needs to, humming out his interest when he doesn’t. You get so settled into the flow of quiet radio and chatter that you don’t realize you’ve made it to his shop until the truck comes to a full stop.

Barnes Garage sits at the corner of some of Amber’s End’s quieter streets. The large lot outside has a few cars parked with a path between them for new ones to be driven into the workshop. Bucky’s pulled your Jeep right into that path, though he’s stopped halfway between the curb and the garage building. “It’ll take me maybe a half hour to really dig in --- you can stick around or explore, it’s up to you, but I’ll let you out here.”

You climb out with a nod, thanking him before nodding towards the streets behind you. “I’ll probably head out - grab a few more things before I go. See you in thirty?”

For the second time in as many days, you’re exploring Main Street, this time with an eye out for the stores you didn’t visit the day before. There aren’t many, to be frank, so after the first few, you take to stopping in on some of the people you’ve met already. They seem surprised to see you again, but take advantage of your presence to tell you more about themselves, the town, their wares.

You realize quickly that none of the stories about Amber’s End really do it justice. It’s quainter than what you’re used to, sure, but there’s so much history there. It’s romantic almost - like the first turn of an old book or light filtering into a tea shop.

You think you’ll miss it when you leave, even if just for a little while.

When you get back to the shop, you’re a few souvenirs richer and have something nice to give Steve on your way out of town as well. Bucky is sitting at a computer - the model recognizably old but reliable like the rest of the town. He perks up at the sight of you, already waving before you make it all the way in the door and pull your scarf from around your face. “So,” he starts, walking to your car with a hand under his chin. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”

You grimace. “Ok --- good news first.”

“Well, I know what’s wrong with the car. The starter motor,” he taps a finger on the hood over the spot where the part lives, “is out. Completely done. But, we can get a part delivered here to get you back on the road.”

“Okay,” you eye him suspiciously. “Then, what’s the bad news?”

“Lookin’ at the places we get our parts from, they’re all outta stock for the model you’ve got. The soonest the part could be here is in a month, and even that might be generous with all the storms lately.” As if pre-empting your shock, he hands over an invoice to confirm it.

Seeing it written out, plain as day, makes you grimace. Staying anywhere for a whole month (or more) had never been in the cards; but, there’s no way you can afford a new car either - you were just barely making it through with the money you’ve budgeted as is. You take a long, hard look at the estimate Bucky’s handed you before taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “Okay,” you start slowly, “so how does this work? If I decide to wait for the part.”

He gestures to the door behind you that leads to the lot from earlier. “We have a reserve lot - it’s where we keep all the cars that are waiting on a part for service. I’d keep your car here - free of charge - until the part comes, then we fix ‘er up. You’d pay for the part now and the fix later, when we call you to make sure it all looks good.”

You nod, glancing up from the sheet briefly before looking back at the part expense. It isn’t bad in the grand scheme of things - certainly cheaper than a used car that’ll just give up on you in a few months anyway. But, it will be a good chunk of what you’d set aside for your trip and if you’re staying put for the month, there’s no way you can afford to do it without really settling in. Job and all. “Okay - let’s do it.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky’s eyes are full of sympathy as he watches you; from what little you’d told him in the ride over, being stuck in one place is the last thing you wanted right now. “You want me to get you to Steve? He’ll have some good ideas for what you can do next.”

The nervous knots that’ve been building since the conversation started uncoil some at the mention of the other Alpha, though you try your best to ignore it with another nod to Bucky. “That would be great.”

----

The sheriff’s station is small but busy when you walk in. Bucky trails ahead of you, walking with purpose that surprises you. At first, you chalk it up to the town being so small — maybe there’s an open door policy for the residents. But, then you notice the way deputies and junior deputies let him by without even batting an eye. The ones who do simply nod, offering a smile while Bucky walks right past them and reception into Steve’s open office door.

“Buck?” You can hear ahead of him. “What are you doing here..?” It dawns on you then that they must know each other; intimately, judging by the nickname and the pure ease that Bucky has as he maneuvers the station.

You hesitate to interrupt their moment, but Bucky’s response to Steve’s question is to angle himself so you can be seen from behind him. That’s when Steve notices you and you wave with a sheepish smile. “He brought me, actually - my car’s broken down and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave for a bit. I wanted to make sure you knew before you came home and found me still there…”

Your presence brings Steve to his feet and you notice that he’s in his sheriff’s uniform for the first time. Somehow, he seems more comfortable in it than the casual wear you’ve seen him in so far, but there’s no denying that he looks just as good. “Hey -- you don’t have to worry about that, I wouldn’t just kick you out. I’m sorry to hear about the car, though - anything I can do to help?”

“Unless there’s a way the local sheriff’s office can put a little muscle on an auto-parts dealer,” you tease, drawing a snort from Bucky beside you, “I think I’m okay. I’m hoping we can talk more about where I should stay when you get back, though?”

“Sounds good to me.”

With your big news out in the open, you turn on your heel to leave, but pause as another thought strikes you. “Actually, one thing I could use some help with: know of anyone hiring?”

Steve’s face turns pensively and you can see his mind working for an answer. “Not that I can think of, no…,” he offers, a little remorse in his tone, “but you know what? Most places are willin’ if you know who to talk to. How about Bucky take you around? See what you find?”

After giving his instructions to a suspiciously enthusiastic Bucky, Steve turns his attention back to you. You expect to see pity, but there’s nothing there but genuine concern. You feel a little warmth from it, like you’re protected just by standing in front of him, and wonder if this is how everyone in his pack must feel. “I’ll be back late today, so you can feel free to eat without me. Bucky will take care of you until then and help you talk to some folks about a job. You call me if you need me.” He brandishes a business card from a holder on his desk and pencils his cell number on the back before handing it over. “If you’re still awake when I get in, we can talk about your living situation. Otherwise, settle in for one more night and we’ll talk in the morning.”

----

Over the rest of the day, Bucky takes you to a few shops with vacancies: pharmacy, market, the doctor’s office. Nothing seems to strike a chord for you, though, and you start to grow dejected, anticipating yet another job you have to work out of necessity.

Then, Bucky pulls into the gravel lot of a tavern.

Widow’s Den is the name carved in large wooden blocks over the front door, and despite the afternoon hour, there are a few cars parked in front of it. When you duck inside, a group of older men and women sit, talking over beers.

A tall, broad man is working the bar, his laughter booming over a pop song you haven’t heard in years. Beside you, Bucky beams, scent thickening at the sight, and you realize quickly that this must be the person behind the ring on his left hand and the soft pink mark on the right side of his neck. His mate. It’s adorable to see — this charismatic alpha unraveled at one glimpse of the man he loves.

“Babe,” Bucky chimes for the bartender’s attention as you approach the bartop. Not that he needs to, though; it’s obvious in the way his scent spikes that he’s long since noticed Bucky’s presence and you nearly coo at that too. “Nat in the back?”

“Yeah,” he responds, not looking your way yet as he finishes pouring a drink. “Doing inventory, I think.” Once the drink’s delivered, he offers his full attention and that’s when he notices you. “Who’s this?”

Bucky grins, smile taking on a boyish quality as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “New girl, looking for a job. Her car’s in the shop with me now, so she’s staying with our lovely sheriff until it gets fixed up.”

The bartender’s intrigue is immediate, eyes widening before he grins slyly — as if privy to a secret you’re not — and folds arms over his chest. The pose accentuates the corded muscle along his arms and chest and you have to stop yourself from sighing. Is there anyone in this town that isn’t woefully in shape? “You’re kiddin'. With Steve?” You have more questions than you know what to do with, but there’s no time to think about asking one when his hand is thrust your way. “Well, then, nice to meet you, girlie. I’m Sam.”

The smile he offers you is welcoming, and you forget about the odd focus on your staying with Steve (it isn’t even official yet!) to accept his hand. When you share your name in return, the smile widens and he tips his head towards the stretch of hallway by the other end of the bar. “Head on back to talk to Nat -- Bucky can show you the way.”

The brunet rests a hand to your back, pausing only to give Sam a quick kiss over the bar before he takes you towards the back hallway. The vibe in this half of the building is noticeably different. Homey, like the staircase at Steve’s cabin. You recognize many of the same faces in these pictures as the ones back at Steve’s. Bucky’s against Sam’s shoulder, Steve head and shoulders over the rest. There are a few where he’s even bare faced, looking eons younger than he does now, but not a smidgen less intense, and you work out easily that they’ve all been friends for some time, maybe even since puphood.

It’s admirable to you, maybe even enviable too. You have friends from that age as well, but the unforgiving pace of city life had made it hard to stay close. The smiles in the bar’s pictures, in comparison, speak to nothing but growing bonds, year after year.

You can’t help but smile too.

“This way.” Bucky’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and into a half-cracked doorway. The room is cluttered, stacked with boxes and bottles. And in the center of the chaos is a woman with striking red hair, pulled up and out of her face. Her aura holds a candle to Steve’s; far-reaching, imposing, and immediate. There’s no mistaking her as anything but an Alpha, and when her eyes leave the clipboard she’s holding to focus on you instead, you struggle against the instinctive need to bow into yourself. But, years of Wall Street’s brutal pace (that cares very little for rank) steel you. You see something akin to amusement flash in her eyes when you meet her gaze head-on.

“What did I tell you about bringing in strays, James?” Her tone is level, but the words have no real bite. You look up at Bucky warily still, who reassures you with a little smile.

“This one’s not a stray --- not really, anyway.” He loops an arm around your shoulder again and you can tell the familiarity intrigues Nat. “She’s new in town - staying for a month or two until I can get her car squared up, so we’re hopin’ to find her a place to work.”

“Just a couple? That’s not a long time --- I mean, by the time you get settled in, you’re gonna be out of here.” A valid concern; one that the other shop owners had shared when Bucky told them your predicament. There isn’t much you can say to ease the worry, but it turns out you don’t have to. Nat turns the rest of the way to set her scrutinizing gaze on you properly and the look compels you to stay put; almost as if you’re presenting yourself to her. A stretch of silence sets in and the longer it goes, the more convinced you are that she’s about to reject you outright. Then, she clicks her tongue. “Hm. We don’t need much right now, but I could throw you a couple bucks if you want to help us bus tables or something. This is the only spot to really drink in town, so we could always use the help on busy nights.”

You’re so relieved you could kiss her, but you don’t need superhuman instinct to know that would not go well. You settle instead for a wide smile, the sort that’s contagious to the Alphas in the room who start beaming with you. “That would work for me!”

“Good,” she grins, setting her clipboard aside to cross her arms, “now to celebrate our new arrival.”

----

You spend the rest of the day at Widow’s Den, getting to know Sam, Bucky, and Natasha over glasses of their best liquor. They confirm your suspicion that they’ve known each other for some time: Steve and Bucky are lifelong friends, brought together by a schoolyard fight started by a Steve who wasn’t even half the other boys’ heights. Meanwhile, Sam and Natasha came into the fray during high school years, transfers from their deep South and Russian hometowns respectively. But, they folded into the fabric of the boyhood duo easily and had been a foursome ever since.

You still don’t know where Sam and Bucky’s relationship turned romantic, but there’s an ease there that makes you guess it has been a while. Natasha, like you, is unmarked, but it’s rare for Alphas to do that anyway. You’re curious to learn more about her in particular.

As time moves on, the bar fills more and more and you get a glimpse of what your life will be like for the next few weeks. The crowd is certainly diverse - people of all ages filing in with friends or on their own. In an odd way, there’s two bars existing in one - young and old, energetic chatter and introspective talk.

By the time you leave, you’re a little tipsy and Bucky guides you out with a hand on your back. So far, you haven’t come across any other omega in their circle, and you wonder if his constant touch is a result of that instinct to protect you. The conversation on the ride back to Steve’s flows more freely now that you’ve spent so much time together and when he drops you off, he surprises you with an offer for a hug. When he glimpses that surprise, he laughs. “None of that now - you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, so we’re friends, sweetheart.”

You laugh and step into his arms - you suppose he’s right.

----

It’s near one in the morning when Steve finally comes home. His midnight patrol had been as uneventful as usual ---- a blessing, he thinks, considering how distracted he’d been during the run. His wolf is restless, agitated by the thought of this new omega being around longer than expected. He found his thoughts trailing to her during his time in the woods, particularly as he passed the quarry he’d found her in, and there was an eagerness to find out how the rest of the day with Bucky had gone.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. His friend, dear as he is, can be a handful, even for him.

When he comes in, he’s shocked to find you still awake in the living room, a mug of what smells like herbal tea in your hand as you flip through a book from his shelf. You look up at him from the book, a dopey smile to your face, and that’s when the other, underlying smell on you hits. Alcohol --- something woody that’s familiar. He guesses Bucky must’ve taken you to Widow’s Den, which would explain why you’re still up at this time.

“Hey,” he speaks up, nodding at you, “couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, book forgotten as you cradle your tea with your other hand. “It’s been a busy night - still a bit wired!”

Fair, he thinks. “Tell me about it - did it go well with Buck?”

You start to ramble about the day - the places you tried, the time at Widow’s Den, the offer from Nat you ultimately accepted. He tries not to tense too visibly, but he can’t hide the way his scent sharpens the way it often does when an Alpha is on edge. He can see the impact it has on you instantly; the way your excitement slows and your eyes dart to try and pick out what caused it.

He reassures you - or does his best to - with a smile, urging you on. He won’t explain this yet, but the crowd at Widow’s Den can be rowdy when they want to be, especially when they’re from out of town. Nat and Sam will show you the ropes --- and step in where they have to --- so you’ll be in good hands; but he wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t worry. You’re the newest wolf in town now --- a part of his pack, even if just for a short while.

When you’re done recapping the day, his smile grows, the gesture deliberately wide to make up for his worry catching you off-guard. “Well, I’m glad to hear it went well - Nat and Sam are good people, they’ll take care of you.”

“I believe it.” You pause, running a finger along the rim of your mug. “Which reminds me, I… I don’t have to stay here. Once I start working, I think I’ll be able to check in at the Hummingbird, see if that room’s opened up.”

Steve gives you the same stern look from the diner and you almost giggle at the sight. It’s hard to see the same intimidating alpha now that you’ve heard a little about him from his friends. “Come on - what kind of pack leader would I be if I kicked you out now?” He stands from the couch, eyes -- and stomach -- starting to turn towards the kitchen. “I won’t stop you if you prefer the motel, of course, but the offer to stay here will be open until your car’s ready to go.”

“Are you sure...?”

His stern face softens, giving way to another smile. “Positive - don’t worry about it, okay?”

After the last twenty four hours, it’s hard to doubt his capacity for kindness, but reassurance is always appreciated. You thank him one last time as he stalks into the kitchen, wishing you a good night, and when your tea is finished, you pad up to the guest bedroom with your chest feeling as warm as your tummy.

As you finally doze, it’s with a head full of excitement; like a kid the night before a field trip. You didn’t expect it, sure, but you’re ready, anticipant, for the start of your life for the next two months.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #alpha!steve rogers x reader #mcu x reader #werewolf!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic #werewolf!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

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Tyrion and Tysha murder mystery hints - first mention in the text

This thing just keeps tugging at me, and this recent thread made me ambitious to examine it in more detail. So I’ll look at hints for an even darker edge to the story of Tyrion and Tysha in the parts of the text that actually mention her.

Since I have limited time, I’ll do several posts. This one is about how we learn about Tysha in A Game of Thrones.

We head into AGOT, Tyrion VI via a chapter transition from AGOT, Jon V, where Jon talks Maester Aemon into choosing Samwell as his assistant. In the presence of his current assistant Chett, who - it is revealed later in the ASOS Prologue - murdered a girl he liked for rejecting him.

Chett gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they’re put to work. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to split logs, and they cut off their own foot.”

“I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.”

“Yes?” Maester Aemon prompted.

Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. “He could help you,” he said quickly. “He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can’t read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father’s library. He’d be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There’s a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night’s Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.”

Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, “Maester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade, it would seem.”

“Does that mean …?”

“It means I shall think on what you have said,” the maester told him firmly. “And now, I believe I am ready to sleep. Chett, show our young brother to the door.”

(AGOT, Jon V)

The chapter is followed by AGOT, Tyrion VI, where Tyrion and Bronn rest on the high road after being kicked out of the Gates of the Moon, after he won his trial by combat:

They had taken shelter beneath a copse of aspens just off the high road. Tyrion was gathering dead-wood while their horses took water from a mountain stream. He stooped to pick up a splintered branch and examined it critically. “Will this do? I am not practiced at starting fires. Morrec did that for me.”

The entire conversation between Jon, Aemon and Chett sets up Tyrion. A lordling, bad with manual labor, but smart and a reader. Yet we know he is no Samwell Tarly in his sensibilities, and the last sentence is dedicated to Chett.

Chett...

The only women Chett had ever known were the whores he’d bought in Mole’s Town. When he’d been younger, the village girls took one look at his face, with its boils and its wen, and turned away sickened. The worst was that slattern Bessa. She’d spread her legs for every boy in Hag’s Mire so he’d figured why not him too? He even spent a morning picking wildflowers when he heard she liked them, but she’d just laughed in his face and told him she’d crawl in a bed with his father’s leeches before she’d crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her. That was sweet, the look on her face, so he pulled the knife out and put it in her again. When they caught him down near Sevenstreams, old Lord Walder Frey hadn’t even bothered to come himself to do the judging. He’d sent one of his bastards, that Walder Rivers, and the next thing Chett had known he was walking to the Wall with that foul-smelling black devil Yoren. To pay for his one sweet moment, they took his whole life.

But now he meant to take it back, and Craster’s women too. That twisted old wildling has the right of it. If you want a woman to wife you take her, and none of this giving her flowers so that maybe she don’t notice your bloody boils. Chett didn’t mean to make that mistake again.

Like Tyrion, Chett is rejected by others for his appearance, has a violent father and a lot of resentment that comes out in the shape of murdering “slatterns”. He also mixes it up with the idea of marriage. Like Tyrion, the cold night reminds Chett of the girl in his past.

He could see Bessa’s face floating before him. It wasn’t the knife I wanted to put in you, he wanted to tell her. I picked you flowers, wild roses and tansy and goldencups, it took me all morning. His heart was thumping like a drum, so loud he feared it might wake the camp. Ice caked his beard all around his mouth. Where did that come from, with Bessa? Whenever he’d thought of her before, it had only been to remember the way she’d looked, dying. What was wrong with him?

Chett killed her in a rage, but the truth is layered and haunts him.

But back to Tyrion.

Tyrion VI emphasizes Tyrion’s cleverness as he converses with Bronn, explaining his strategy in the Vale for how to steal Bronn from Cat’s service and make use of his practical talents, and his strategy for their travels in the Mountains of the Moon. Tyrion talks, Bronn listens and agrees to serve him.

The point is, Tyrion is very observant and smart. Reader, trust Tyrion’s judgent and words, is the message. Then we get more personal.

As they light a fire and eat a goat, Tyrion remembers his goaler Mord who treated him cruelly in the sky cells.

(Mord, btw, translates to murder in many a germanic/Scandinvian language.)

“And yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,” Bronn said.

“A Lannister always pays his debts.”

Even Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The gaoler’s eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open the drawstring and beheld the glint of gold. “I kept the silver,” Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, “but you were promised the gold, and there it is.” It was more than a man like Mord could hope to earn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. “And remember what I said, this is only a taste. If you ever grow tired of Lady Arryn’s service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I’ll pay you the rest of what I owe you.” With golden dragons spilling out of both hands, Mord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that.

The image of coins spilling from hands is picked up later.

Tyrion was hoping to lure in the mountain clans, but they take their time showing up, so he tries to be even more conspicuous.

Tyrion chuckled. “Then we ought to sing and send them fleeing in terror.” He began to whistle a tune.

He chooses the “terrible” tune himself. It leads straight to his memory:

“Myrish. ‘The Seasons of My Love.’ Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first girl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I’ve never been able to put it out of my head.” Tyrion gazed up at the sky. It was a clear cold night and the stars shone down upon the mountains as bright and merciless as truth. “I met her on a night like this,” he heard himself saying. “Jaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream, and she came running out into the road with two men dogging her heels, shouting threats.

Myrish, as in the Myrish lens. The object Lysa sends Catelyn, which has a false bottom hiding the real message in a secret language, a message of murder and conspiracy. A secret language, a foreign language, like Mord.

"A lens is an instrument to help us see." (AGOT, Catelyn II)

Bright and merciless as truth.

My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed … yet lovely. They’d torn the rags she was wearing half off her back, so I wrapped her in my cloak while Jaime chased the men into the woods. By the time he came trotting back, I’d gotten a name out of her, and a story. She was a crofter’s child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to … well, nowhere, really.

Where Tysha went will become a theme. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir examines that beautifully here.

But even right here, the tone is ominous, and GRRM goes out of his way to emphasize it with the ellipses.

We get the story of Jaime chasing after the outlaws and Tyrion and Tysha falling into bed at an inn after drinking, eating and talking, and the story of their marriage, and its end.

Tyrion was surprised at how desolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Perhaps he was just tired. “That was the end of my marriage.” He sat up and stared at the dying fire, blinking at the light.

“He sent the girl away?”

“He did better than that,” Tyrion said. “First he made my brother tell me the truth. The girl was a whore, you see. Jaime arranged the whole affair, the road, the outlaws, all of it. He thought it was time I had a woman. He paid double for a maiden, knowing it would be my first time.

NOTHING about this makes sense, which is ridiculous when you consider we were just hammered over the head with how smart Tyrion is supposed to be.

Since when is Jaime prone to setting up complex schemes? Why would feel the need to push Tyrion to have sex at thirteen, and why would be ever do it this way? Why would be hire him a virgin for his first time? We don’t question it because GRRM has told us not to question the smartiepants. But as we later learn, that was all. not. true. So maybe other things aren’t true, either.

“After Jaime had made his confession, to drive home the lesson, Lord Tywin brought my wife in and gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough. A silver for each man, how many whores command that high a price? He sat me down in the corner of the barracks and bade me watch, and at the end she had so many silvers the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling on the floor, she …” The smoke was stinging his eyes. Tyrion cleared his throat and turned away from the fire, to gaze out into darkness. “Lord Tywin had me go last,” he said in a quiet voice. “And he gave me a gold coin to pay her, because I was a Lannister, and worth more.”

The parallels to his memory of Mord are striking. Silver and gold, coins spilling from hands, a “price” beyond expectation... and a promise of something very sinister at the next meeting.

After a time he heard the noise again, the rasp of steel on stone as Bronn sharpened his sword. “Thirteen or thirty or three, I would have killed the man who did that to me.”

1) Nice how Bronn makes it about Tyrion’s pain. Tysha’s pain does not exist to them. And so the reader is also drawn away from it. Poor Tyrion.

2) Another reference to killing. It foreshadows Tyrion’s murder of Tywin over this very matter, of course, but at the same time...

Tyrion gestured impatiently with the bow. “Tysha. What did you do with her, after my little lesson?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Try harder. Did you have her killed?”

His father pursed his lips. “There was no reason for that, she’d learned her place … and had been well paid for her day’s work, I seem to recall. I suppose the steward sent her on her way. I never thought to inquire.”

“On her way where?”

“Wherever whores go.”

Tyrion’s finger clenched. (ASOS, Tyrion XI)

I don’t think it can be emphasized enough that this happens right after he murders Shae. Shae the whore.

“Did you ever like it?” He cupped her cheek, remembering all the times he had done this before. All the times he’d slid his hands around her waist, squeezed her small firm breasts, stroked her short dark hair, touched her lips, her cheeks, her ears. All the times he had opened her with a finger to probe her secret sweetness and make her moan. “Did you ever like my touch?”

“More than anything,” she said, “my giant of Lannister.”

That was the worst thing you could have said, sweetling.

Tyrion slid a hand under his father’s chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. “For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm,” he said. He gave cold hands another twist as the warm ones beat away his tears.

And just before he asks him about Tysha, Tywin assures him he was meant to be sent to the Wall. Whether or not that’s a lie, we’re looking at another Chett parallel. Murdering a “slattern”, facing life at the Wall.

We close Tyrion’s memory of Tysha:

Tyrion swung around to face him. “You may get that chance one day. Remember what I told you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” He yawned. “I think I will try and sleep. Wake me if we’re about to die.”

He rolled himself up in the shadowskin and shut his eyes. The ground was stony and cold, but after a time Tyrion Lannister did sleep. He dreamt of the sky cell. This time he was the gaoler, not the prisoner, big, with a strap in his hand, and he was hitting his father, driving him back, toward the abyss …

Like Chett, his thoughts return to the girl. He turns into the goaler, Mord, his rage comes through, his capability of great violence. In ASOS, his lashing out at Tywin is preceeded by directing his violence toward the “whore” who allegedly betrayed him. Which is preceeded by a truth about Tysha.

“Thank you?” Tyrion’s voice was choked. “He gave her to his guards. A barracks full of guards. He made me … watch.” Aye, and more than watch. I took her too … my wife …

“I never knew he would do that. You must believe me.”

“Oh, must I?” Tyrion snarled. “Why should I believe you about anything, ever? She was my wife!”

“Tyrion—”

He hit him. It was a slap, backhanded, but he put all his strength into it, all his fear, all his rage, all his pain. Jaime was squatting, unbalanced. The blow sent him tumbling backward to the floor. “I … I suppose I earned that.”

“Oh, you’ve earned more than that, Jaime. You and my sweet sister and our loving father, yes, I can’t begin to tell you what you’ve earned. But you’ll have it, that I swear to you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tyrion waddled away, almost stumbling over the turnkey again in his haste. Before he had gone a dozen yards, he bumped up against an iron gate that closed the passage. Oh, gods. It was all he could do not to scream.

(ASOS, Tyrion XI)

The turnkey here is interesting. Once again, Tysha’s memory is associated with a cell and the presence of a turnkey. In his anguished memory, Tyrion almost stumbles over him. The last turnkey was Mord.

So, just looking at Tysha’s first mention, there are so many ominous connections. Murder murder murder.

The chapter ends with Tyrion meeting and “hiring” the mountain clans. How? To avenge himself on Lysa Arryn, he promises them the entire Vale. Really driving home that “a Lannister pays his debts” is all about disproportionate retribution.

A few chapter later, to create some distance to this dark tale, Tyrion meets Shae and sets up to re-create his entire Tysha trauma. The two are intertwined, so why should their ends not be?

That’s fodder for a different post, though.

#asoiaf #anti tyrion lannister #tysha #murder mystery #long post #Shae #tywin lannister #bronn #mismemory #memory edit

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axwalker · 4 years

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Undeniable Miracle 2: Stranded

I’m participating in the 12 days of Christmas hosted by @leelee10898 and @emichelle . Thank you so much 💕 💕

Synopsis: Alexis decides to leave Cordonia on Christmas Eve, but she has a car accident in the middle of the woods during a snow storm.

A/N: This AU takes place during Liam’s and Madeleine’s Engagement Tour.

A/N 2: Some vocabulary for the Spanish words.

A/N 3: I’m using the prompt: “If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say something? Come here.” requested by @mskaneko

Fonda: Small Mexican restaurant.

Romeritos: Tender sprigs of seepweed which are boiled and served in a mole sauce seasoned with shrimp jerky blended into the mix. Typical additional ingredients include boiled potatoes, nopales and shrimp. They are usually served with bread slices and in tacos

Ensalada de manzana: combination of lettuce, beets, apple, and peanuts in a light orange vinaigrette

Bacalao: Cod fish prepped with sautee onion, garlic, tomatoes and olives.

Pozole: Tradition Mexican soup made with Hominy, pork and peppers.

Villancicos: Traditional Christmas songs.

Warnings: I can’t think of anything for this chapter but there will be NSFW in future chapters. All my fics are for 18+ ONLY.

Words: 2718

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to Pixelberry.

@burnsoslow Thank you so much for beta read and for your encouragement. I love you and appreciate you so much.

The edit of the mood board is the work of beautiful @mskanekoI was dying to use it. I love youuu

When he sees I don't respond, he opens my door. "O'Brien? Are you okay?"

I blink, incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

"Did you hit your head? You seem lost." Drake kneels in front of me.

Finally, I react. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too. I asked if you were okay."

"I'm fine. I need to call a tow truck."

"Yeah, right. There are no tow trucks in storms like this, O'Brien." He sighs and asks me to open the car's hood so he can check the engine. Five minutes later, he comes back, and I read his expression. The car is not going anywhere.

"Sorry, O'Brien, but this car is not going to work for now, and the storm is getting worse. You're going to have to come with me."

I scoff. Drake is insane if he thinks I'll go anywhere with him. I've spent the last two months trying to forget everything about him; I don't need this right now.

"I'm sure I can find a way to get to Lythikos by myself."

"Shit, you're so damn stubborn, O'Brien. You aren't anywhere near there. It's about 50 miles away. I guess if your car had kept going about 50 miles through the woods, you might have landed there. Is that what you were trying to do?"

"Bite me, Drake."

"Wow, you really should do something about that attitude of yours." The asshole actually smirked. "I have a cabin a few miles up the road. We can go there and wait out the storm. My truck is parked on the road. I pulled over when I saw the car spinning."

"I'll wait here."

"You'll wait for what? To freeze to death? Don't be ridiculous; you're coming with me."

I shake my head stubbornly. "I think freezing to death is preferable to going with you. Thank you very much."

"You don't have much of a choice, O'Brien. I can't fuckin' leave you here. My cell phone doesn't work here, and I'm assuming yours doesn't either or else you'd be on it right now. They're expecting two feet of snow or more. So, I'm sorry if you're pissed at me or whatever, I'm not leaving you here."

I'm well aware that I'm behaving like a petulant, spoiled child, but my wish to make him as angry as I am overcomes all logical thinking. “As I said, I’m not going.”

"I'm going to have to carry you to my truck then."

"Carry me? No way. You are not touching me." I grab my phone again, begging my Abuela to send me just a little bit of phone service so I can call Max.

"Either you get out of that by yourself, or I carry you. You have exactly 30 seconds to decide."

I shut my door and raise my phone, trying to get some signal. Suddenly, Drake opens the door, reaches into the car, and has me scooped up without effort into his arms before I can even protest. I barely have time to grab my purse.

"Enough of your bullshit. Done," he states, then kicks my door shut and starts to walk up the snowy hill.

I have no choice but to put my arms around his neck. "Let me go this second Walker!"

Drake stares at me and gently shoves a strand of hair off my face. I'm suddenly aware of how close our faces, our lips, are. Because my heart is stupid and has a mind of its own, it starts beating like crazy. Drake swallows hard, and for a second, I think he's going to kiss me; I'm almost closing my eyes when he speaks.

"Here we are." He puts me back on the ground and opens the door of his old Jeep.

A bark coming from the backseat startles me.

"Oh my god! He's beautiful! He looks like a wolf!"

Drake's eyes soften when he pets the animal.

"It's a Tamaskan dog."

"Hi, boy! You're so cute!"

"He's not supposed to be cute; he's supposed to be terrifying." I turn my head, and I see he's teasing me. I shake my head and keep talking to the dog. "Don't listen to your dad, handsome; you're a cutie pie."

"I'm not his dad. He's a damn dog, O'Brien."

I rolled my eyes. "What's his name?"

"Zeppelin. Get in the Jeep; I'm freezing my ass off out here."

I smirked at him. "I never realized how bossy you are."

He shakes his head, but I catch the unwilling smile on his face.

DRAKE

I glance to the seat next to me, still not believing that O'Brien is here, in my Jeep. I try to think of something else besides her maddening fruity scent or the curve of her neck, but I already know that my ability to function like a normal human being disappears when she's around.

I can't believe that I'm so fucking stupid to be still hung up on her after what happened in Ramsford. She made perfectly clear who she wanted to be with -- yet here I am, looking at her like a goddamn fool.

We drive for a few minutes in complete silence. Suddenly a deer jumps out from the woods, right in front of the Jeep. I hear Alexis scream as I swerve, and the truck starts to slide and spin, gaining speed. In a second, I glance at her, throwing one arm across her chest to hold her against the seat when I see she doesn't have her seatbelt on. I try to regain control of the truck but it's not working. I feel the Jeep flying off the road and into the woods, crashing downhill and plowing down small trees, until it finally stops, wedged amongst a bunch of larger trees on the side of a hill.

"Fuck!" I throw both hands against the steering wheel. "I can't fucking believe this shit!" I turn to O'Brien. "And why the fuck wasn't your seatbelt on?"

“I thought you could drive!" She looks down at my arm, still holding her, and whispers, "Thank you."

I rest my head against the wheel and take several deep breaths. "I'm sorry for yelling at you." My voice is level and calm, even if the thought that something could've happened to her while I was driving makes me murderous. "Are you okay?" She nods, still shaken.

"You okay, Zeppelin?" The dog whimpers and licks my hand. "That's a good boy. We're all okay." I try to restart the truck, but it's completely dead. I can't believe this; honestly, I just can't.

"What are we going to do now?" O'Brien asks.

"Well, we're out of cars, so unless you want to walk or ride the dog to my place, we're stuck here."

She squints at me. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Walker."

"But the highest form of intelligence, O'Brien." I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes at me again. I've forgotten how much I loved teasing her. At least, I wish I had forgotten. "We're going to have to just stay put until the plow truck comes by, and we'll have to hitch a ride. Until then, we're in luck because I stopped at the grocery store on the way to the cabin. I have enough things we can eat and drink to keep us going until then. I have a big blanket in the back seat, so we should be able to stay pretty warm. It's really heavy and thick."

I saw the panic in her eyes, so I continued. "Hey, O'Brien, look at me." She raises those fucking beautiful dark eyes and meets my gaze. "I would never let anything happen to you, okay?"

She nods. "Okay. Yes, I know. I just hope we don't get hypothermia.”

"We won't, O'Brien. C'mon, I think we should both sit in the back seat, since there's a lot of room back there, and we can put the blanket over both of us. I think it will help keep us warmer."

She gives me an odd look but nods. "Right. Yes. I think it's the best idea." She climbs over the seat first, and my eyes roam over her perfect body. I suppress the urge to sink my hands in her delicious hips and sit her on my lap. I sigh and call Zeppelin to the front seat, so we have more space.

"This is nice; it's very roomy," she says as she pulls the cover over both our legs.

I can see that she's shivering. "If you're so cold, why didn't you say something? Come here." I put my coat on her shoulders, and she smiles at me. Fuck me if I wouldn't do almost anything for that smile. "Where were you going on Christmas Eve? I' would've thought you'd go to the Christmas ball in the palace."

She hesitates for a few seconds, but finally, she answers, "I was going to spend Christmas with Olivia in Lythikos."

I raise my brow in disbelief. "I must have a concussion, O'Brien; I just heard you were headed to Lythikos to spend Christmas with Olivia Nevrakis."

"I know! Our friendship was … unexpected. At first, we were just trying to figure out who set us up. The whole Tariq thing that you stopped? It was a trap; someone was trying to blackmail both of us."

I don’t want her to know that I spend every single free minute I have helping Max figure out who set her up. If I ever find the person who sent Tariq to her room that night and scared the shit out of her, I will kill him.

"Yes, O'Brien, I knew. Liam told me."

She nodded. "Well, we're trying to get to the bottom of it together, so we've been spending a lot of late nights drinking bourbon and talking. She hides it very well under layers of sarcasm and abrasiveness, but she's extremely loyal and has a great heart. Just like you."

"If you compare me to that crazy redhead one more time, you'll be sleeping outside, O'Brien, and I can promise you, it's cold."

She laughs. "Okay, okay, sorry. I won't do it again."

I'm about to ask her why she's not spending Christmas with Liam, but she speaks before I can talk. "And you? What are you doing here?"

"I moved to a town close to Lythikos a month ago. I'm opening a veterinary clinic there. This morning I went to supervise the construction site and to get some groceries for the cabin."

She looks pensive but doesn't say anything for a while. "I hope you're happier here than you were in the palace, Drake,"she finally says, so softly that I almost miss it.

I take a deep breath because I can't tell her the truth. I can't tell her that I can't be happy now, not after her. When I kissed her that night, I lost everything. She would never be mine, and after that, we couldn’t even be friends anymore.

"Thank you, O'Brien," I reply anyway because I know she's expecting some sort of answer.

"How did you get Zeppelin?" she asks as she pets my dog, and I swear the traitor's mouth curls up into a little doggy smile.

"I was running some errands for the clinic when I saw him tied up outside. I came back a few weeks later on a sunny day, and this poor dog is just tied up to a fence on the side of the building with no shade or anything, and I don't even see a water dish or food. So I park my car and check on him, and he's all happy to have someone pet him, tail wagging like mad. There was an old food dish off to the side, but it was empty, and a dish with some dirty water. I went to my house and grabbed some of the toys and food I'd bought for the clinic. I also gave him some water, and he drank three fucking bowls. I felt terrible leaving him. I just had this bad gut feeling, you know?" She nods with misty eyes. "Anyway, I had to go back to Cordonia city after I gave the dog the stuff. To be honest, I kind of forgot about him. But when I came back, O'Brien, it was awful. I honestly think the last time he ate was the food I'd given him. He was nothing but skin and bones, too weak even to stand up. He was just lying there in the dirt with flies buzzing all around him. But when I kneeled in front of him, his little tail wagged a tiny bit. I think he remembered me."

Tears spring into her eyes. "My God, Drake, what happened?"

I see how affected she is, so I reach her hand and squeeze it. "An old man came out of the little building and started yelling at me to get off his property. There was just no fucking way I was going to leave him there. I told him that if I ever saw a dog or any other animal on his property ever again, I would fucking kill him. The douchebag just ran back to the house. I took the dog to my cabin. He was dehydrated and almost starved to death, had two ear infections, worms — you name it. We've been together ever since." Zeppelin looks up as if he knows we're talking about him.

She wipes a tear and caresses Zeppelin's ear. "You named him?"

I shrug. "Best band ever."

"Ha! You're so predictable, Walker."

"How do you know my last name? I never gave it to you."

"I asked Maxwell at the coronation. Why? You don't like it when I call you that? Turnabout's fair play, Walker." She bits her bottom lip; I look away before the impulse to kiss her becomes unbearable, and I do something stupid. Again.

"Nah, I like it, O'Brien. Calling each other by our last names will be our thing."

She sighs, not talking for a while. "What is it, O'Brien? I can almost see the wheels turning in your head."

"We're going to spend Christmas Eve here, stranded in the middle of nowhere."

"I know; I'm sorry, O’Brien. Do you usually do something special?"

She looks up to me with so much vulnerability in her pretty face, I find it hard to breathe. I instinctively come close to her because I hate that look in her eyes; I hate even more that I was the one who put put it there with my fucking dumb question. Her mom and grandma are dead; of course it's a sad subject.

"Not in a long time. It was one of the holidays my mom, my Abuelita and I celebrated together. We didn't really do Halloween because my mom's Fonda was so busy preparing for Dia de Muertos. The day of the dead," she explains.

"I know, O'Brien. You made me watch Coco with you and Maxwell in Applewood." I can't help but smile at the memory. She forced us to watch the damn movie in Spanish only to hit "pause" at every single scene to translate it and explain the traditions.

"Well, Coco had it right! They really respected our traditions!" she replied, her eyes shining as they always did when she was excited. "Anyway, my mom worked for most holidays, and I was forced to spend Thanksgiving with my dad, his crazy wife, and her creepy son. So, Christmas was the best. Especially Nochebuena, Christmas Eve. We had this huge dinner where all our neighbors came to the house and brought Mexican dishes. We had everything; bacalao, romeritos, ensalada de manzana, and the best pozole in Brooklyn. We sang villancicos, had a piñata. The whole thing. My abuela took the holidays seriously," she says with a sad smile.

I might be a fucking fool, but I can't stand seeing her this sad. And, suddenly, I know what to do. "We might not be able to have a traditional Mexican Nochebona ..."

She giggles. "No-che-bue-na, Drake."

I think I could spend the rest of my life here listening to her speaking Spanish.“Yeah, that.” I watch through the window and when I see that the storm has calmed, I say, “I have an idea; just wait here."

Tagging:

@texaskitten30 @leelee10898 @emichelle @burnsoslow @kat-tia801

@msjr0119 @twinkleallnight @mskaneko @drakexwillow @twinkle-320 @kimmiedoo5 @kingliam2019 @drakexwillow @princessleac1 @marshmallowsandfire @tinkie1973

#axwalker writes #drake walker #drake x mc #12 days of fictmas 2020

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thatoneitaliangirl · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! Soulmate AU Lucifer 2

Sorry, I kind of dropped off the face of the earth for a hot minute there. I’m just going through some stuff, don’t mind me!~ I really hope you like this. I was planning on making it longer, but I felt like I left it off at a good place. I think I may finish off each story one by one, since I’m on a roll with Lucifer’s story, but it depends on my mood. I may start on Mammon’s part 2 soon, so you never know! Next part is either Lucifer part 3 or Mammon part 2 lol. I really hope you like it!!!

________________________________________

When I was a little girl, scary movies always excited me. I would get on my hands and knees to beg my mother to let me watch them, even if I knew I'd have nightmares. There was just something about being scared but not being in danger that really made me happy. As I got older, it became an obsession. Horror movie posters littered my walls, and all other kinds of merchandise, some even rare items, surrounded me in my day to day life. But what always made my day was ghost stories. Some classic bumps in the night, others intense cases of demonic possession. Eventually, movies weren't enough of a thrill. I needed the real thing.

_______________________________________________________

"Are you sure about this, _____? I mean, I know you're into that freaky shit, but this is getting a little too real for me." _____'s best friend Monica says, holding herself in her arms.

"Oh please, Monny! It's just a little ghost hunt. Nothing to be worried about!" Her golden eyes widen as she gawks at her friend.

"Nothing to worry about? Girly, you know damn well I don't do ghost shit. That's all you, my friend, and honestly, I don't feel like dying before graduating high school!" _____ rolls her eyes, but this doesn't stop her friend's ramblings.

"You're following the information given to you by some rando on the internet you only met last week- he's probably leading you into a trap! This is one of those cases you see on HLN where the young, unexpecting girls get taken to be sex trafficked."

"We're not gonna die. And it's not even confirmed that there are ghosts here," _____ lifts up the broken chain-link fence and motions for her friend to enter.

"Wait, we're going through all this trouble and you’re not even sure if it's actually haunted?! Are you kidding me?"

"Look, if you're that much of a scaredy-cat, you can wait outside. I just want to snap a few pictures to post on my blog." Biting her lip and shifting from side to side, Monica weighs her options.

"Okay, fine. Just don't take forever. My mom wants us back before dark," Monica says, pouting.

"And don't call me a scaredy-cat!" _____ smirks.

"Okay, okay . . . Scaredy-cat!" She laughs, lightly jogging away from her friend and towards the abandoned building. With her flashlight in hand, _____ sneaks around the back under some fallen tree-limbs and clicks her tongue.

"If I remember right, the guy said it would be about . . . Here!" Finding the boarded window she was looking for, _____ slides the board up and enters the hole. She drops down into a dark room, the only light seeping in through the cracks in the worn wood covering the window. Quickly turning on her flashlight, the young girl takes a look around what appears to be the basement of the run-down house.

"He seemed to have left out the fact that my little 'tour' would start in the basement, but I can work with this." _____ takes a deep breath and scans the area. Besides some creepy old toys, nothing really interests her here.

So, she finds the door leading upstairs and slowly makes her way up the creaking wood. The leaky pipes and several rainstorms since the abandonment of the house have not been kind to the drywall and wood structuring. Reaching the top, _____ shines her flashlight around, taking in the once white walls of the family room, now covered in mold.

"A little Damp-rid would do this house some wonders, I'm sure." Her camera flashes as she takes her first shot, making sure to get in the ripped couch and fallen portraits. Had vandals and old age not did their thing, this house would have been in perfect condition.

"The people living here just up and abandoned it with no warning. Seems . . . Suss if you ask me.” She scrunches her face and shrugs.

"Alright, let's do some exploring." Shaking off her shakes of anticipation, _____ ascends the stairs leading to the second floor with caution. Despite her lack of fear for the paranormal, she still fears falling through the dampened wood flooring and having to explain to her mother why she's in the hospital getting tested for tetanus. A sudden sound above her makes her stop for a moment, halting the loud creaking of the stairs.

"What the Hell . . . ?" What sounds like a light tapping across the floor above slowly moves forward toward the stairs and ending at the door at the end of the hall. She shines her flashlight there, but it begins to flicker and dim.

"Shit! I just changed these batteries!" She bats it with her palm, but it does nothing as it fades away. The hinges of the door screech as it slowly begins to open, so slow that it's barely visible. What little light is streaming through the cracks of the boarded windows seems to almost be absorbed by the darkness inside the bedroom. _____ gets closer to the door, feeling an immense pull to open it and go inside. Her goal of capturing pictures long gone from her mind as she reaches out and touches the handle.

"_____! Are you done yet?!" Her friend yelling to her from outside startles her and she removes her hand. She releases a breath she didn't know she was holding and tilts her head to yell back.

"Uh, Yeah, almost! Be right out!" Her feet tap against the wood flooring as she descends the stairs, but pauses and takes a look back at the door all the way at the end of the hall.

"It'll only take a second . . . " She says to herself, never removing her eyes from the darkness within.

"Come on, _____! We're losing daylight!" Biting her lip, she lifts her camera and snaps a few photos before running back to the basement and out of the small window. Just as her friend said, the sun is almost below the horizon.

"Oh shit."

"Oh, shit is right! Let's get out of here!"

________________________________________________________

Growing up the way I did, I never really thought too much about what that day meant. Though every once in a while, I find myself thinking about that house. Monica and I left that town not long after we graduated, but the longing I have to go back has nothing to do with homesickness.

"Hey, look! I never thought I'd be seeing these pictures again!" Monica laughs, holding up the small box filled with photos from _____'s old camera.

"Is that prom?" She asks, making her way over to Monica with curiosity.

"I think so," She holds up more photos of the two girls in dresses holding hands with a boy and another girl.

"It has to be. Look, there's Jonah!" _____ rolls her eyes and groans.

"God, I hoped I would never have to see his face again. Burn the pictures!"

"No!" Monica holds the photos to her chest protectively.

"Just because you hated your date, doesn't mean I hated mine!" _____ laughs.

"True. Okay, you can keep 'em! I have all these on a hard drive somewhere, so I'll have plenty of memories!" The smile on Monica's face slowly begins to fall at _____'s words.

"Do you really have to go? I know I've said this like a thousand times, but how do you know you can trust this man?" It's understandable that Monica is concerned. I mean, most people would be if their best friend meets a guy and less than a month later moves out with them.

"I'll be fine. I promise. And I'll write all the time!" Monica groans.

"Exactly, you'll write! I mean, where even is this place that you're going, huh? No cell service, no internet? It's like this guy is taking you completely off the grid, and that's what worries me. He's not forcing you to do this, is he? Cause if he is-!" _____ grabs Monica's shoulders and looks her in the eye.

"Nobody's forcing me to do anything! I love him . . . Perhaps it's a little fast for most people, but I know for a fact that we're meant to be together. Please, trust me on this." The brunette's shoulders sink as if finally accepting _____'s answer.

"Fine. But just know that I don't like him!" A smile makes its way onto _____'s face and pulls her hands back.

"I guess if you don't like him then you won't want to be here tomorrow." Her head snaps up making her brown curls bounce around her head.

"Why?" The ghost hunter smirks and checks her nails.

"Well, my boyfriend and a few of his brothers are coming over to take most of the boxes. I wouldn't want you to be upset, so it's probably best if you stay away."

"Are you kidding me?! Of course, I'm gonna be there! I'm gonna give this bastard a piece of my mind! First, he takes my best friend away, and then he thinks he can just walk up in here and not even ask for your hand in dating from the one person that counts?! Oh, I'll show him! And his brothers too!" Fuming, Monica starts to pace, her arms flailing animatedly.

"Are you gonna give them all a stern talking to, mother dearest?" She stops in her rambling to glare at _____.

"Keep giving me backtalk, and I might just give you a stern talking to. With my fist!" _____ retaliates by throwing a couch pillow.

"Oh, it's on, girly!"

______________________________________________________

"_____, are you awake?" The young woman shifts in her sleep, stretching before opening her eyes.

"I am now. When did you get here?" Lucifer smiles, moving some hair from _____'s face.

"Only a moment ago. I didn't mean to wake you, I had just thought you'd be up." _____ takes a look at the clock on her nightstand, her eyes widening.

"Holy shit! It's almost two?" The tender moment is lost as she jumps out of her bed and runs to her adjoined bathroom. A smirk makes its way onto the demon's face, watching her frantically trying to brush her teeth and hair at the same time.

"There's no need to rush, my love. Although the sight before me is breathtaking, I'll go keep my brothers' busy loading boxes into the portal. Wouldn't want them stumbling in here and seeing something only I should see." The cheeky bastard leaves the room, and _____ looks down at her bedtime apparel consisting of panties and a large shirt.

"Well, that's not embarrassing or anything."

She quickly finishes getting ready and heads down the stairs to an argument.

"It's your fault!" Levi yells, gesturing to a box at his feet.

"Me?! What did I do?!" Mammon yells back, defensive.

"You made me drop it with your stupidity! If you hadn't been acting like a big baby, we would have most of this done by now!" The box in question happens to be the small box filled with photographs.

"Hey guys, don't worry about it! It's just some pictures. I'll clean it up, no biggie!" The two demons blush and look away, a bit ashamed to be yelling in front of the girl.

"Sorry, _____. If Mammon actually did his job, we'd be out of here by now."

"I'm helping!" Levi rolls his eyes.

"If by helping you mean complaining, then yeah, you've been a big help!" Mammon crosses his arms and glares.

"Oh, like you're any better? Just two minutes ago you were complaining about how you're arms hurt! These boxes should weigh nothing to you!" As the fight continues, Lucifer comes up next to her and sighs. I'm sorry about my brothers, _____. Would you believe me if I told you they actually volunteered to help?" _____ laughs.

Over the course of knowing Lucifer, the young woman has grown close to his brother's as well, mainly the two standing in front of her. Mammon likes her ghost adventure stories, and Levi just likes the fact _____ is willing to listen to his rants. Even Satan has enjoyed a few human books recommended to him by the lovable ghost hunter, and they often discuss murder mysteries together over text. It's no surprise to Lucifer that his soulmate gets along so well with his brothers. He cares dearly for his younger siblings, and _____ provides the care his pride prevents him from showing.

"I believe it. But, you know, brothers will be brothers," She smiles up at him, unknowingly making his heartbeat just a bit faster. Her eyes widen a bit and a small gasp leaves her lips as she takes another look at the clock.

"I forgot to tell you, but Monica is-"

"Where is he?!" The front door slams open, halting the never-ending argument and making _____ pout.

"Monica, any damage left gets taken out of my deposit. Could you be a bit more careful?" The brunette crosses her arms and scans the room, reading all three men, and assessing the situation. Her eyes narrow at Levi, making him whimper slightly and shrink under her gaze. Next, Mammon, who just crosses his arms back and raises a brow under his sunglasses. Her eyes land on Lucifer and her glare turns to a scowl. Target acquired. She dramatically raises her hand and points at the demon.

"You." Confused, he points to himself.

"Me . . . ?"

"You're the one that's stealing my sister from me!" _____ sighs and puts her head in her hand.

"Here we go." Monica walks over, practically chest to chest with Lucifer, though there's a notable height difference. Lucifer coughs awkwardly, looking down at the female.

"Is there a problem?"

"I don't know, is there?" _____ sighs again.

"Monica-"

"Don't 'Monica' me! I don't care how big and muscular he appears to be, he better square up, cause he's not taking you without a fight, sis!"

"This is ridiculous, Monica. You can't fight him." Her glare deepens, never breaking eye contact with Lucifer.

"Watch me." She raises her fist.

"I don't think you want to do that," Lucifer speaks up, temporarily halting her actions.

"There's nothing you can say to me that'll- Put me down!" Lucifer picks up Monica by her shoulders and gently holds the kicking and screaming girl until she gives up trying to escape.

"Are you done?" Huffing and puffing, she nods and he places her back on her feet.

"You are a truly worthy opponent. I'll be more prepared next time. Until then, you have earned my blessing. For now!" _____ rolls her eyes, and Lucifer smiles at her.

"Thank you. I apologize for not meeting you sooner. My work prevents me from leaving, and what little free time I have I use to talk to _____. It was wrong of me to not speak with you before arranging this." Monica looks at Lucifer, still skeptical.

"Hm, wise words and a wise decision, trying to butter me up. But I won't give up that easily!"

"Is she always like this?" Mammon asks, leaning up against the wall.

"Always like what? Amazing, beautiful, cautious, careful, caring, concerned??"

"Woah, slow down 'C for Catastrophe', I think you just come off as a little strong sometimes, Monny. Maybe tone it down for the newcomers, alright?" Pouting, Monica agrees.

"Okay, maybe I can be a bit overbearing." _____ raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.

"That's an understatement," Leviathan says under his breath earning a death glare from the brunette.

"I hate to cut this short, but we should really be going." _____'s head snaps up to look at Lucifer.

"What? Why? You just got here?" His face saddens as he looks down at her, holding her hand in his.

"I know, but I need to head back. Certain duties require my attention," He pulls _____ close in a hug and puts his lips to her ear.

"And Lord Diavolo was only able to keep the portal open for a certain amount of time." His warm breath on her neck sends a shiver down her spine and a blush to her cheeks. She hugs him closer and nods before letting go.

"Alright, I hope you guys have a safe journey back!" She waves to them, Lucifer giving her a quick peck on the cheek, not really one for PDA, and they head out of sight through the front door. Monica clears her throat and looks down at the ground.

"Sorry." Genuinely surprised, _____ turns to her friend.

"For what? You were just being a good friend!"

"Not that," She sighs, and wrings her hands together.

"I didn't know his time here was limited. I didn't mean to keep you from him." _____ smiles and pats her friend on the head, which earns her an annoyed scowl.

"It's okay, Monny, don't worry about it! How about we make some tea and chill for a bit? I still have some packing to do before next week." The shorter female smiles and nods.

"Definitely! I'll start the water!" She rushes off to the kitchen, leaving _____ in the living room. It's true that she's upset she didn't get to be with Lucifer for very long, but she doesn't blame her friend. Magic is something she still doesn't understand but knows there are certain limitations.

Maybe if she had gotten up earlier, she could have talked with her soulmate a bit more, but she was just so tired. Her dreams kept her up tossing and turning most of the night, much to her displeasure. She doesn't remember exactly what they were about, but they weren't pleasant, and she's not sure if she actually wants to remember them.

Monica working to heat up the water, _____ decides to clean up the scattered pictures from the fallen box. There's no particular order they should go in since they were pretty much haphazardly thrown in there to begin with, but she tries to start from the bottom, attempting to keep some sort of linear timeframe of when she put the pictures in there.

"Eventually I gotta go through these and get rid of the junk. I don't think I want Lucifer seeing me at fourteen with braces, pigtails, and eyeliner up to my temples." She gently shuffles through the pictures, tossing them in as she goes, until she reaches the last group.

Undoubtedly the darkest of them, they immediately stand out from the family beach days and the cringe selfies. _____ picks them up, and examines them. The first few are of crumbling walls and boarded up windows, no doubt an abandoned house she's been to, but that's not what strikes her as odd. She never kept her hunting photos with her normal ones, especially back then.

Her mother would have killed her if she found out, so she would always develop them and put them in a lockbox under her bed. The last few photos in the bunch show a dark hall, and it's as if all the heat rushes from her body. A cold chill replaces any warmth she may have had as she looks from one picture to the other, the hallway becoming darker and darker before it goes completely black, the door at the end the only thing visible.

While she remembers taking the pictures, she doesn't remember ever actually developing them. It was her first abandoned house- thinking back it would have been weird for her not to take a look at them. But the more she tries to remember, the more she can't. It's as if she's blocked it out somehow.

"You okay, girly?" Monica places her hand on _____'s shoulder, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Got a little distracted is all," She places the pictures at the top of the box, closes it, and puts it to the side.

"Now, how about tea?"

The two girls spend the rest of the night packing and chatting, almost making _____ forget about the pictures. Almost. It isn’t long after Monica leaves that _____ finds herself drawn to the small box, knowing that the pictures are just a few feet away. A ringing from her pocket startles her, and she pulls out her DDD. The caller ID says Lucifer, and she smiles knowing how late it is. This is most likely his first break since he got back.

"Hey, are you okay?" Her smile drops a bit at the urgency in his voice.

"Yes, why? Is everything alright?" He sighs on the other end of the phone sounding relieved.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I felt that you were in danger, and the pact was calling to me." Sure enough, the pact mark on her arm is glowing a beautiful blue, bright enough to shine through her shirt sleeve. She lightly rubs it, willing it to stop, and the glow slowly fades.

"Sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it. It's just . . . " _____ bites her lip, looking over at the box.

"_____, what's wrong? Are you in danger?"

"No," Sighing, _____ turns away from the box and heads to her bedroom, attempting to put it out of her mind.

"I was just anxious . . . I miss you." He chuckles a little, making her heart race.

"I miss you too. I'm sorry I had to cut our afternoon short, but Lord Diavolo needed me. The higher demons are still . . . Skeptical about our father's decision. They've become nervous, and there have been talks of a coup."

"Oh, wow," She never really thought about it, but it makes sense why people would be skeptical especially demons. To them, it may seem like some plot to take over the Devildom.

"How's Lord Diavolo handling this news?" She's spoken to Lord Diavolo a few times, and he's always seemed like such a nice and positive guy that really cares about his kingdom and its citizens.

"He's upset, but not surprised. But he knows my brothers and I are on his side, so if a coup were to take place, they wouldn't get very far."

"I'm glad. How are you handling this? Want to talk about it?" She's concerned for him, despite knowing how powerful he is. His workload before was intense, but now she's sure it's even worse. He barely gets to sleep, and she can hear it sometimes when he's on the phone with her. He's even fallen asleep on the phone, much to her disappointment. She feels guilty every time that happens, because he's clearly tired but still staying up late to talk to her.

"I would love to, but unfortunately, there's not much I can say . . . "

"You never know who's listening, right?" He laughs.

"Yes, I'm sorry. But I can tell you that all of this will be sorted before next week. I'll make sure of it." The determination in his voice was enough to know he was telling the truth. Once Lucifer makes his mind up about something, it gets done.

"I believe you! But even so, I'm sure my presence might stir up the higher demons. Maybe it's best if I and the other girls stay here until the Devildom calms down." She's heard of his brother's soulmates before, though she's never actually talked to them. But it's not hard to assume that they are going through the same things she is, feeling the same things, and wondering how their lives are going to change.

"At the moment, any plans for you or the others to come here are still on track. But, I'm afraid you may have a point . . . "

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know no matter what you decide, it'll be the right choice. I have the utmost confidence in you, hun." Lucifer clears his throat, flustered.

"I'm glad you do. Your safety is my top priority. One of them."

"I can only imagine the work you have right now. I'll let you go." _____ glances at the time. It's pretty late for her, and the time difference isn't too far off from her own.

"I'll call you tomorrow as soon as I can. Sleep well, my love." For him not to protest hanging up the phone, he must really be swamped with work.

"Sleep well." Laying down, _____ can feel her eyelids falling heavy and pulls the covers over her shoulders. Despite her pleasant thoughts of her love, her dreams are anything but.

To be continued ------

#obey me!#obey me! x reader #obey me! lucifer #obey me! mammon #obey me! leviathan #obey me! satan #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! belphegor #obey me! lucifer x reader #obey me! soulmate #obey me! soulmate au

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bangtan-sonyeonddaeng · 5 years

Text

Namjoon Scenario| He overworks himself while on holiday

“I can’t believe Namjoon is still working on our break.” Jin has been having a difficult time fully enjoying his time off knowing that his best friend has been working almost all throughout their break.

“Trust me I feel the same way. Last night he was up until 3 in the morning working on songs, answering emails. I swear it’s like he never really takes a break.” Yoongi says with a long drawn out sigh.

“If y/n knew about this oh gosh she’d have a fit. She’d make him put his phone away and take an actual vacation or something.” Suddenly Hoseok perks up at Jin’s idea.

“That’s a great idea hyung! Let’s call her right now.”

“Wait wait no! We can’t rat out our leader.. can we?”

“It’s for his own good.” Hoseok pulls his phone out and calls you.

You hear your phone ringing and glance down at the caller ID. You smile when you see it's Hoseok.

“Hey Hobi!”

“Hello sunshine! What are you doing today?”

“Oh nothing really. Just hanging around the apartment watching movies. Why?”

“Can you come over? It’s about Namjoon.” You turn the TV off and stand up to collect your things, thinking something is wrong.

“Is he okay?! Did something happen?”

“No no! Everything is fine he just.. well he’s not really taking a proper break if you understand what I’m saying.”

“Is he still working on his songs and answering company emails?! I told him not to do that and put his electronics away.”

“Yeah we know. Trust me we tried to do the same but he won’t listen. Maybe you could uh, I don’t know. Kidnap him or something for a few days?”

“Gladly. I’ll be there soon.” You sigh and shake your head, scrolling through your contacts to find Namjoon's.

You’re in trouble mister. A little birdie told me you haven’t been taking time off like you were told. Now I’m coming to kidnap you for the weekend so pack up some things. I’ll be there in a little bit.

You are about to put your phone in your pocket when your phone chimes with a new message.

Does that little birdie’s name stark with a H and end with obi?

I will not reveal my sources.

Y/n I appreciate the thought really. But I have so much stuff to do I don’t think I can afford to take time off.

Namjoon your manager gave you guys time off because they knew they could handle things while you were gone. You need to just enjoy your time off and live like a normal human for a few days. So! Leave your phone at home, pack up your bag, and get ready to go.

Where are we even going?

Do you trust me?

Of course.

Then just pack some warm clothing, for a few days. Maybe some durable shoes. You’ll see where we’re going. I think you’ll really like it.

Alright fine, you win.

And there’s no cellphone service or wifi so don’t even think about being sneaky and trying to bring your phone or laptop you hear me?

Namjoon was about to put his phone in a compartment in his suitcase when he sees your message. He shakes his head and sighs with a fond smile on his face.

“Alright y/n. We’ll do things your way.” He says to himself. He packs up his things and goes out into the living room where he sees Hoseok and Jin still sitting on the couch.

“I can’t believe you guys told on me like a bunch of children.”

“Well you wouldn’t listen to us but we know you’ll listen to y/n. Your little crush on her is extremely obvious you know?” Hoseok replies with a shrug. Namjoon’s face goes red at that.

“Well now I’m going to be going somewhere with her for a few days. Apparently it’s some big secret I don’t get to know about. There’s no cell service or wifi so I will be unreachable for a few days. Maybe longer if she’s about to lure me to my death.” Jin laughs loudly at that and shakes his head.

“It’s fine Namjoonie! We can hold down the fort while you’re gone. Go enjoy your few days off with the love of your life.” Jin makes kissy faces at Namjoon and he grabs a pillow off the couch and throws it in retaliation, hitting him square in the face.

“Rude! Is that anyway to thank the person who is responsible for your little getaway with y/n?”

“Hey! Don’t you take credit it was my idea to call her!” Hoseok interjects.

“Eh, details details.” Jin waives him off with his hand. It’s a little while longe before he hears you knocking on the door.

“Guess I better get going then. See you guys in a few days.”

Namjoon answers the door and sees you standing there, looking as cute as ever. He smiles his dimpled smile at you.

“Hey y/n. Good to see you again.”

“You too! Now where’s your phone?” Jin holds it up from the couch.

“Right here! Don’t worry he has no electronics with him we checked before you got here.”

“You don’t trust me y/n? I’m hurt.” You playfully smack his shoulder and laugh.

“Obviously I don’t have reason to since you lied to me when you promised you would relax on this break.” He looks at you sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “Alright enough talking. We got about a 3 hour drive ahead of us so.. we should get going. Bye Jin! Bye Hobi!”

“Bye y/n! Take good care of our leader!”

After you pack up the car you begin the drive. Your family owned a small cabin in the mountains that you liked to go to for little getaways from all the chaos in life. And you decided it would be the perfect place to take Namjoon. He must not have had much sleep last night because the moment you turned on some music you could hear quiet snores escaping his lips. You look over and smile fondly at him, having the urge to kiss him but you quickly bury the thought. You knew he liked you. He wasn’t exactly good at hiding his feelings for you but you didn’t want to call him out on it. Not yet anyway.

You drive in relative silence save for the music playing and Namjoon’s snoring. You’re almost there when one of the songs’ from his mixtape comes on. You start softly singing along to it, not realizing he had woken up. When you finish the song he perks up and looks at you.

“You have a really beautiful voice. You should do a song with me someday.” You jump, not aware that he was listening to you.

“Um.. T-thank you. Maybe someday. I don’t know if I could handle being the spotlight though. I like being you secret best friend for now.” He stretches and lets out a groan and you try to keep your eyes fixated on the road and not where a patch of his stomach is showing from his shirt riding up.

“Are we almost there?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah actually. Just a few more minutes.”

You pull onto the dirt road which leads you up to the cabin. Namjoon takes in the sight of everything with a smile on his face.

“This is amazing. It’s so beautiful up here! What is this place?”

“It’s our family cabin. We used to come where all the time when I was a kid. I still come here when I need to get away for a little while. I figured it would be good for you too.” You step out of the car as does he, grabbing your bags from the back and heading into the cabin. You had bought groceries and supplies before picking up Namjoon so you two could stay at the cabin undisturbed for a few days.

“Oh there’s a lake too!” Namjoon drops his bags in the living room and runs out to the porch doors to admire the view. “This is amazing. I never would have imagined you’d bring me to some place like this.”

“Well, I know how much you appreciate nature so...” Your voice trials off and you look down at your hands when you feel his gaze on you.

“This is really thoughtful of you. Thank you y/n. Truly from the bottom of my heart.”

“You’re welcome. You want to go fishing so we can catch us dinner?”

“Ah, fishing is Jin and Yoongi’s specialty..”

“It’s okay. I’ll show you.”

The next few hours are spent fishing. Namjoon accidentally throws the fishing pole into the lake the first time he casts it, forgetting to keep a good grip on it. He’s embarrassed but you can’t help but burst out laughing. You assure him it’s okay and give him another fishing pole to try again. You end up catching enough for the two of you. And Namjoon did catch one fish, although it was too small to eat. He decided to keep in a bucket for a little while claiming it was his new buddy.

The days goes on and it’s right before bed. You are preparing to light the fire place as it’s going to get quite cold at night.

“Need any help with that?”

“You threw the fishing pole into the lake I don’t need you setting my cabin on fire too.” He looks at you wide eyed and you chuckle. “I’m just messing with you Namjoon. Of course you can help. Can you grab me the firewood from the side of the house?”

“Sure.” He comes back in moments with a disgruntled look on his face.

“Did you have me do that because you knew the wood was going to be covered in bugs?” You laugh at that loudly having been read so easily.

“Maybe! You know I hate spiders.” A deep chuckle escapes his lips and you love the sound of it. He hands you the firewood. You light it and within moments you have a nice cozy fire for the two of you. He sits down next to you, letting your shoulders barely brush up against one another.

“So what are the sleeping arrangements going to be like? You only have one bed. I don’t mind taking the couch.”

“That’s not necessary we can sleep in the bed together.”

“B-but.. I don’t know won’t you be uncomfortable?”

“No? Unless you’re a blanket hog then we might have problems.”

“I’m definitely not. But I just-”

“Hey, Joonie it’s fine. I am more than okay with this.” He’s internally panicking, worrying he’s going to do something stupid like cuddle up to you while he’s asleep. Or talk in his slleep. Oh god what if he confesses to you or something while he’s half asleep because he isn’t thinking clearly.

“... Or if you aren’t comfortable with it we can sleep separately.”

“No!” He yells a little to eagerly. “I mean no. That’s okay. It’s fine. This is fine.” You hold in the giggle that is threatening to erupt from your lips at how flustered he is. You contemplate maybe confessing to him first to put him out of his misery. You stand up from the floor and walk over to the bed to lay down. Namjoon follows shortly after and settles in next to you. You lay there quietly for a few moments, the only sound being the crackle of the fireplace.

“Namjoon-”

“Y/n-.” You both start at the same time.

“You first.”

“Just.. I wanted to say thank you for doing this for me. I know I gave you a hard time at first but I really am grateful for you caring enough about my wellbeing to drop everything and bring me here.”

“Of course. You work so hard and you deserve a break. The other members were worried you were going to overwork yourself into the ground and I couldn’t let that happen. I care about you too much.” You see a slight blush forming on his cheeks.

“So um, what were you going to say?”

“Well, I hope I haven’t been reading things wrong the past few months we’ve known each other otherwise this is going to be really awkward.” The words get choked up in your throat as you are suddenly nervous. He turns on his side to face you and you do the same. Before you can take anything back you lean in and peck a kiss to his forehead. Namjoon stares at you in shock, mouth hanging open and eyes remaining wide and unblinking.

“Y-you.. you kissed me.”

“I did.”

“Why did... Do it again.” You laugh and lean in to kiss his forehead again, then to his cheek, and then a quick peck to his lips. You go to pull away but he holds you firmly in place, lacing his fingers through your hair and pulling you closer to him. You remain that way for a few moments before he pulls away.

“Wow.. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

“You should have then! Why did you make me make the first move?”

“Because I was too chicken to say anything.”

“Fair enough.” Namjoon smiles and pulls you closer to him, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other placed gently on the back of your head. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the comforting scent that is him. Within moments you are asleep. You don’t have to put a label on anything right now. You both know your feelings from one another, and you have the rest of the week to figure everything out while you make sure Namjoon has the best holiday he’s ever had, because in your mind he deserves that and so much more.

#bts reaction #namjoon reaction #bts scenario #namjoon scenario #namjoon imagine #bts imagine #bts #kim namjoon #rm #namjoon x reader #reader x namjoon

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Two Drops of Rain.”

Alright you pseudo-sadistic people out there.

Lets be honest, we all sort of like watching authors emotionally torture their own characters, and lets also be honest that authors can sometimes be super mean to their creations.

Well I have decided that, in my universe, actions have real psychological, emotional and physical consequences. So, I am going to have to be the bad guy and be a little mean for this one.

Expect character development, and light suffering.

A droplet of rain clung to the glass of the window reflecting an inverted view of the sullen grey sky. It hung suspended there for a few seconds, capturing a moment in its surface, before rupturing and rolling downward disrupting other droplets and causing them to bleed downwards. The rain was heavy enough that the grassy compound outside was covered by a layer of grey. Water droplets lept from the concrete creating a silver haze about the ground, and anything past the distant shadow of buildings on the other side of the square was nothing more than a silhouette perhaps a lamp post, or a lone car hunched in the rain.

He raised his hand to the glass, the warmth of his fingers casting a delicate glaze of fog over the transparent surface before his fingers even made contact.

“Adam.”

He tilted his head back watching as a pair of droplets began to roll down the outside of the glass. He watched them intently wondering which one of them would win. At first it seemed like the droplet on the left would, but ultimately it’s speed caused it to lose too much weight, and it got stuck halfway to the ground.

“Adam.”

He turned away from the window distracted from his daydreams and brought back to current reality; A white cinder block room, with industrial grey carpet and modern grey furniture accented in blue. Large tropical prints hung on one side of the room fake and grey in the cold light of early spring. A large desk sat opposite cheep steel and wood crouched under an equally cheap set of metal shelving units supporting long lines of fake, leather-bound volumes letters printed in minute gold or silver script up their spines.

The entire right wall was made up of floor to ceiling glass windows allowing in the thin dreary light cast through the clouds above. On the desk a small glass orb contained a self sustaining biome including a colorful pink sea plant and a single shrimp-like creature. Next to that was a family photograph lovingly dusted of grime, but somehow equally lifeless as the tropical prints on the wall.

A large green plant sat next to him.

It was real, he had already checked.

“Adam?

“Hmm.”

“I was asking if you had been feeling better since our last session?” The woman who sat in front of him was older, with short steel-grey hair, and a delicate pink white scar running over one of her eyes across valleys of sagging skin. Despite that, she was quite fit for her age, and sat with a hard straight-back demeanor that belied her surprisingly gentle manner.

“I….” He paused looking out the window again trying to track single raindrops as they pelted towards the ground and failing. He sighed, “Not really, no.”

“Do you think you can try and tell me what’s bothering you?” He could hear the rain pounding against the bushes outside the window. It was a distant sound like static or the roaring of a crowd.

“I wish I could.” The chair below him creaked slightly. It wasn’t exactly comfortable;industrial and hard, but he didn’t mind that so much. He wasn’t here to be comfortable; he had come here to get help.

“You mentioned before that you were having trouble sleeping, trouble concentrating, and that was affecting your work. Is it still?”

He shifted in his seat, and below him, Waffles, his dog, rolled onto her other side service vest creaking slightly as she sighed, “No ... the sleeping isn’t much better, and I think I’ve made it pretty clear that my concentration is still shot.” He tried pointedly to look away from the window.

The rain picked up a little, “And what exactly is it that you think about during those times.” She wondered

He thought for a minute, “Nothing mostly. Sort of just on autopilot you know…. It’s easier there, like I don’t have to think so much.”

Her shiny black shoe bounced softly in the air, “So thinking has been difficult, or do you find yourself thinking about something specific that you’re trying to avoid.”

He rubbed a hand against his temple, “I… a little bit of both I guess. Um… Its like every time I try to think about something, something I really need to think about. My thoughts just keep coming back to…. To what happened.”

She tilted her head slightly focused, intently, but no so intently as to be uncomfortable, on him, “You have yet to talk about what happened.”

He remained silent.

“You don’t have to say anything today if you aren’t ready, but I think it's important, and I think you think it’s important, otherwise we wouldn’t be seeing these obsessive sort of thoughts.” her hands swirled to emphasise the repetitive nature. A silver ring glinted on her finger.

“I guess I’ve just been…. Trying to figure things out…... “

“Don’t feel obligated to push yourself. We can wait as long as you need.” A clock ticked on the wall above her desk filling the silence.. It seemed as if it would go on forever.

“I watched a man get beaten to death, and did nothing to stop it…..” His voice was sudden filling the silence of the room with a sudden heavy weight. His heartbeat picked up as if saying the words made the reality more tangible, but now it was out in the air, he found the words sliding from his mouth easy where they had once been halting, “I watched a man die…. I knew he was going to die….. I knew hours in advice hell eighteen maybe nineteen hours. At any time I could have gotten up and walked over to the guards and told them what was going to happen, but I didn’t. I could have gone to his cell and warned him, I could have told him to run when he entered the room. Hell, I could have jumped in front of him, but I didn’t do any of it.” HIs voice had risen in cadence and octaves filling the space with it’s agitation. At his feet, Waffles sat up sensing his unease turning her head to look at him, “But you know what…. You know what I did, I sat there and did NOTHING, in fact I did worse than nothing. He’s no friend of mine, that’s what I said. I looked him in the eye and that’s what I said knowing what was going to happen to him. Like an absolute BITC-.”

“Why.” her voice was stern, and the expression on her face made it very clear he was escalating out of line. He relaxed back into his seat breathing hard. His heart hammered inside his head drowning out the sound of the rain.

“Why what?”

“Why do you think you didn’t do those things.” Waffles whimpered a bit sticking her head in his lap. He hadn’t even noticed that he was ringing his hands, a habit that he had acquired after losing his leg. It generally didn’t go past that, but once upon a time it had been a precursor to hair pulling, something that Waffles had been trained to stop.

“Because I’m A B-”

“Adam.” She said sternly, “A decision is a matter of cognition, not of a personality trait. So let’s be a little more constructive. Tell me what you were thinking.”

He sighed deeply in frustration, glancing out the window again. He couldn’t even see the light post or the car from earlier. The bushes outside the window jumped and rattled rather violently under the downpour, “At first I…. I felt sick…. I wished I was anywhere but there, I wondered if it was actually real….. I wondered why this was happening to me, and how I could make this sort of decision….. And then. After all that I was, I was ...”

She waited, but when no answer was forthcoming she prodded gently, “You were….”

“Angry…. No, no angry isn’t strong enough. I was livid, furious… i….” He felt his throat constrict, “I wanted to…. I wanted.” His voice cracked and he looked away. Tears had sprung to his eyes, and he furiously tried to blink them back angry at himself. Waffles whimpered and scooted forward against his legs resting her big soft head in his lap large brown eyes looking up at him with a deep unwavering concern not understanding his pain but begging to take it away, “ I wanted to Kill him.” He finally finished voice barely above a whisper, “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life, I wanted to go down there myself and strangle the life out of him. I thought about…. About bashing his head against the concrete. I wondered what it would be like to feel his skull caving in under my hands….” He went quiet, “Disgusting.”

“Adam,” her voice was soft but firm, “ in all my years of working, I have heard people want to do a lot more for a lot less, but why don’t you tell me why you felt that way.”

Waffles shoved her snout against his hand. He had been rubbing his chest, another habit he had as a result of PTSD, a condition long dormant now resurfacing, “Number one because he was a pedophile, number two because he was a liar, number three because I know for a fact he planned on going back to his old life after getting out. He had no remorse….. He deserved to die.”

“If that’s the case than he got what he deserved didn’t he?” She wondered tilting her head to the side.

He shook his head vigorously then nodded then sighed in frustration, “yes… I…. i mean no….. No one deserves to die like…. Like that, but ...I mean maybe he did, but that wasn’t their choice to make.” He finally blurted

“So, he deserved to die, but he deserved to die as a result of justice, and not as a result of a prison riot.” The rain had died down just a bit. Distantly a momentary beam of sunlight peeked through the clouds before vanishing once again.

Adam sighed, “YES! That's it…. The justice system is supposed to take care of this, but it didn't ...”

“Then why do you feel responsible if it was the justice systems’ job?”

He stroked Waffle’s ears foot tapping in agitation, “I…. well because I AM the justice system. Not like to be a dick or brag, but out in space, I am the arm of the UNSC, Fleet commander. It is my job to deal with human issues offworld, so when the justice system fails it's MY duty to fix it. My job, my objective ...”

“So it was your job to save this man’s life so he could be properly punished?”

“Well, yes.” he rocked in his seat again, agitated, “But I didn’t. I sat there and I did nothing, and you know what. I LIKED it, a part of me enjoyed watching that bastard die. He deserved it…..” A sudden stab of guilt shot through him, and he groaned rocking softly as he lifted his head to the ceiling eyes catching onto porous surface of the panels above. His eyes burned. His voice began to crack again, “But, but then, then when I remember feeling bad for him, and it just makes me feel WORSE because he hurt kids, he was a monster, and I have pity for him! SO does that mean I’m siding with a pedophile? So…. so it was either give in and kill him with the rest of them like he deserved treat him like the monster he is…. Or or I could stand to the side and absolve myself of the murder, but do nothing and still have his blood on my hands, but also have the knowledge that I showed that disgusting fuck mercy when he didn’t deserve it. Either way I…..” His voice caught. He could feel his stomach contracting into a sob, but he forced it down head in his hands.

The room went silent, and waffles jammed her head in between his hands forcing him to quit as his hands sought out fistfuls of hair. His chest and diaphragm contracted and released but he clenched his teeth and shut his eyes. He wouldn’t cry here…. He had been weak enough.

It took a long time before he was finally able to control himself and sit back up. He had gone very hot, and could feel waves of heat wash over him from the effort .

When he looked up he found a glass of water being proffered to him, and he took unable to look at her.

“Adam, it is horrible that you had to make that decision. You have to understand that no matter what you did in that situation would have resulted in the same outcome.” He may have gotten control of his breathing, but he had worn far to thin, far to thin in the intervening weeks. He pointedly looked away feeling hot tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

His face remained blank.

“You join in, you’ve committed murder, you stand out, and you’ve let a man die, you run to the guards and you protect a pedophile. There was no decision you could have made that would have resulted in a desirable outcome… Tell me, Adam, Do you really think that anything you could have done would have saved that man’s life?”

He wasn’t able to stop it as a hot tear spilled down the side of his face. He kept his head turned only halfway towards her so as to hide the moisture. He rested his head against his hand so as to discreetly wipe it away, “No …” he finally admitted.

“Go through that with me.”

More tears. He fought desperately to keep the one eye dry as moisture pooled against his hand.

“Because I couldn’t have fought them all off even if I had tried, and the guards would have just let it happen anyway, but I could hav-”

“Could have what? Adam, you did what you could. You stood back to the hazard of your own health so as not to be part of something you didn’t believe in. You couldn’t stop it, and you couldn’t walk away, and that in itself is more than what a lot of people could, or would have done. A lot of people would have joined in to save their own skin.” It had grown darker outside, and he could see his reflection in the glass of the window. His black eye had long since faded but, Krill still urged him to rest as a result of bruising to his right kidney. At least he had only peed blood the one time.

“But I ... that's not, not the problem.” He shifted in his seat, and the dog scooted closer again, “I wanted to do those things, I wanted to join in, I couldn’t stop them.” His voice was growing in pitch again, and as it did the tears only flowed faster. They began to trickle down his forearm, and soon his other eye was overcome. He tried to wipe them away, but they wouldn’t stop. He was fighting a losing battle, and that only made him angier, and that only made the tears worse “Every d-damn t-time I fuck up…. I…. I-I'm weak and useless an-n-nd-” he snarled in frustration embarrassed and unable to look her in the eye, “I s-screw up so m-much, childish, o-over e-em-motional like a stupid, w-winey t-trusting-”

“Adam.”

“B-bit-”

“Adam!” Her voice cut through his rant leaving his silent. He turned away from her no longer able to control himself embarrassed. He just wanted to leave to never have to show his face to anyone ever again.

“First of all we are going to stop that sort of talk right now. It’s pointless, meaningless and it will get us nowhere. Now, do me a favor and take a few deep breaths and calm yourself. Finish the glass of water.”

He did as told still not looking at her. Waffles licked at the tears on his hands so eager to help him wash away the evidence. He finished off the water which helped a little to calm his diaphragm. He took a long slow, shaky breath.

“Would you like to continue this session another time?” She asked, “I can see this is hard?”

He shook his head stubbornly though he still couldn't look at her.

She sat back in her seat accepting his go ahead “Second of all, whose standards are you holding yourself to.. Who expects such impossible perfection, honestly if you expected any more from yourself, you may as well wish to walk on water too.” He allowed a rueful smile to break through on that last part though it was half hearted.

“Where are you getting these grand ideas of what you have to be?”

He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor rubbing the back of his palm over his face. The eyepatch felt sort of cold and slimy now…. He was a mess.

“I…. Guess I don’t know.” He said softly.

“Your parents, family, crew members? How have they been acting towards you?”

He shrugged, “All surprisingly supportive…. Too supportive.” Waffles poked her head up under his arms resting her head against the side of his face scooting forward knowing he was upset desperate to make it go away. Her tail beat against the floor once and then twice.

“Too supportive. How can they be too supportive.”

He paused mouth opening and closing in confusion before sighing in frustration dropping his head; the one eye began to leak again, stupid missing eye which still had tear ducts, “I guess it just feels like…. They all expected me to…. Fall apart, and I did. Its like they understand that poor little Adam Vir wasn’t going to be able to handle what happened, so lets walk on eggshells so as not to upset him.” his voice was growing thick again. Ever time he broke, the edge got closer, and there was no way to hold it back.

“And what’s so wrong with letting yourself fall apart? Sometimes it happens, sometimes it needs to happen.”

He was back to where he was before, accept the tears fell silently now his voice remaining surprisingly calm, “Because it’s weak.”

“That’s a pretty antiquated understanding of emotion. Sounds like something a man from the 2000s would say.”

He said nothing, “Who do you model yourself after, Adam?

He sighed, “My father, I guess, Captain Kelly, my mother, my older brothers…. I guess maybe a little bit from…..movies.”

Her voice was soft, “Sounds like a lot to live up to doesn't it, and let's be honest. Not all of it is entirely true to life.” On the far wall the clock ticked, “You ask me that sounds pretty exhausting.” A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the open lawn. Wind picked up causing the leaves on the bushes to dance.

“Do you think maybe you feel the way you do because it seems you can't live up to the expectations you set for yourself?”

He remained quiet.

“Weak liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.” She read aloud, “Now I find it interesting how a man who claims to be weak walks into my office on the coattails of a trauma and, instead of talking about the trauma he talks about his moral dilemma. He doesn't complain, he doesn't blame. He takes the weight of responsibility for an entire universe on his shoulders.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit late for platitudes, doc.” he muttered staring down at his hands.

“Not platitudes, Adam. Observations.” She switched her crossed ankles, “So we know you aren't weak, and you can probably tell me why you aren't useless.” A car’s headlights cut through the rain illuminating a burst of light over the edge of the leaves. When she didn’t speak he sighed.

“I’m not useless because I command an entire fleet of ships, I was a decorated fighter pilot, I do all these things etc.etc.” His voice was flat and monotone. Another slow tear dropped to the floor creating a dark circle on the grey carpet. He knew what was coming next, so he continued, “I’m not stupid or winy or a bitch, but…. I DO make lots of mistakes, I am childish, to trusting and over emotional.”

“What mistakes?”

He wiped at his eyes again. Waffles whimpered quietly her head on his knee, “Well, I’ve been cheated by a Tesraki, almost got my crew killed, Trusted an enemy and almost got my crew killed, trusted a strange alien species and almost got my crew killed, lost my eye and almost died, got captured more times than I can count, almost died more times than I can count.”

The rain was coming down in sheets again. The drops which had once dotted the window now ran down in curtains, “Adam, Trust isn’t a weakness, and mistakes don’t correlate to failure. You are dealing with an entirely new species, new problems. If you didn’t make those mistakes then someone else would have to, and who knows, for them it may actually be fatal. Almost dead and very dead are separated by miles.��

More headlights.

“It ok to hold yourself to high standards Adam, it's generally a good thing, but don’t set it so high that no one can reach.” Light was fading outside and she stood from her chair prompting him to do the same. Waffles yawned and stretched. A streak of lightning rolled across the sky like the branches of some sort of celestial tree.

He wiped at his eye again finally turning his head up to look at her.

She was smiling at him, a genuine smile, not fake or pitious, “I think we really got somewhere today leave it on a positive note?”

He nodded, and she walked him to the door, “Homework, go easy on yourself this week, ok.” The door opened, he thanked her and then walked into the hall bright with the overhead lights and the same steel grey carpet as inside the office. He steered Waffles down the hall and into the men’s restroom, vacant accept for himself under the sickly fluorescent lights.

It was late.

His gate felt unsteady and his hands braced himself upright against cold porcelain.

He learned forward over the sink to splash cold water on his face pulling off the eyepatch and washing it off before pulling it back over his vacant socket. He lifted his head and stared at himself in the mirror, messy blond hair, red puffy eyes and cheeks. But As he looked, a different face stared back at him, greying skin, yellowed sclera, and cerulean blue irises.

He had yet to tell her about that issue.

He turned away from the mirror and stepped from the bathroom into the hall.

Their car was waiting outside, but despite that, the two of them were still soaked by the time they jumped inside

Rain drummed against the car windows. He rested his cheek against the glass eye closed against the cold on his skin. It felt good…. He was quiet, and inside he felt strangely fragile like a cracking porcelain sculpture. Lightning flashed across the sky, and Waffles sighed her upper body resting in his lap lower half sitting under the dashboard. The windshield wipers drummed out a steady beat against the glass. He didn’t speak with the Driver, but paid him electronically and stepped from the car upon reaching their destination.

Wet tires against wet concrete, and he was left to push through the rain, jacket pulled up against the cold.

The interior of the ship was dark. Most of the crew had gone on leave. He walked through the dark halls alone, and imagined he could hear the drumming of the rain against the hull, but knew that wasn’t likely. He was just passing by the mess hall pausing when he heard laughter and saw a warm yellow light cut across the floor. The warm voices seemed to pull him in as the marines talked laughing and joking, but he couldn;t do it, couldn't make himself go in.

Once upon a time he wouldn’t have imagined missing an opportunity to socialize, but instead he turned to the dark hallways heart heavy. He had no idea where his feet were carrying him.

Sunny sat up at the knock on her door called from her worried musings by the hesitant knock. She wondered what the marines wanted now. With the Commander out for the day and most of the bridge crew gone, it remained up to her to keep the Marines in tact, which was a surprisingly difficult job to maintain.

“Come in!” She called

The door hissed open, and she was momentarily blinded by light throwing her hand up to find a silhouette standing in the doorway. It stepped in and the door snicked shut behind him.

Adam stood in the doorway, his body and hair damp with rain, his face with saline. His hands hung cold and white at his sides. Little tracts of water pooled around his boots and glistened on his jacket. His ears were flushed pink with the cold.

She stood slowly and quietly as if worried a sudden movement might scare him away. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her in what seemed like years, but was more like a week or two. His usually bright green eye was awash with a cold greyness, as if the cloudy sky above and seeped into his soul, but a closer inspection gave her the distinct impression of…..

Pleading?

“Sunny….” His voice was a soft rasp, thick and heavy like he was speaking past a great weight.

She missed him.

“Adam…. Is everything ok?”

His mouth twitched, his cheek quivered, his jaw worked for a long moment like he was fighting with himself internally. It looked painful, and was hard to watch. When his voice came, it came with a slight quiver, “No…. I…. its been…. A really shit day.”

She wanted to move forward, to help him, but she knew like a man drowning, he would need to reach for the help before she could pull him in. Didn’t mean she wanted to watch him drown, choking and gasping for air.

His expression was distant and glassy speaking past her more than to her, “She says I hold myself to standards that are too high.” Sunny remained quiet waiting, drawing him out, “But WHY are the standards too high? Why am I expected to fail….. WHY Does everyone have to be so understanding. Why can’t it be just what it looks like, yes Adam you fucked up and what you did was wrong and you failed. What is wrong with that?” The human looked up at her eye glistening with the vestiges of agony, “Why can’t the bar be set high….. sometimes , sometimes people just fail, and that's the truth of it. Why can’t we admit that. Why can’t anyone look me in the eye AND TELL ME THAT.” His voice was hoarse .

“Why do I have to be so accepting….. It just…. It feels like giving up. Like giving up on the man I’ve always wanted to be.”

“You wouldn’t give up, Adam….. Even if you were capable of it.” She said softly

Hed breathed in heavily air catching in his throat, “Why can’t I do this better….” he threw his hands up in the air.

“Because…. You’re only human.”

“Being human ISN’T AN EXCUSE ANYMORE!” His voice rattled off the hull reverberating through the metal. His voice snapped completely and he sagged back against the wall hand to his throat. She couldn’t stand it anymore, she couldn't watch him drown.

So she jumped in pushed past the current to catch him. He sagged against her as she fought back the current threatening to pull him under.

“How do you do it, Sunny.” he whispered

“Do what?” She wondered.

“I can’t even fight off failure when everyone is at my back…..you….. You did it and the entire world was at your heels……”

The ship was quiet, simply the soft whirr of the backup generators to pierce the quiet, “When I was young, my brother taught me one valuable lesson. He told me, Sunny stop trying to be something you’re not and may never be, but take what you have and be the best version of the person you are now…. I didn’t listen to him for the longest time…. And I suffered for it.”

She took the Human’s face in two of her hands and made him look up at her, “Maybe you can set the bar high, Adam, but you have to make sure the bar is in the same room. Because if you weren't so trusting, and if you didn’t make mistakes….. Than you would have kicked me off the ship as soon as I walked on”

Lights reflected from his eyes and she dragged, pulled him towards shore with all her might. Her voice was soft, “So I say be damned to being perfect….. Let's be honest, it's not exactly a human trait anyway.”

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snarkwrites · 4 years

Photo

Title: snowbound pt 1 of 2/3

Theme: snow

Fandom / Character(s):Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Earth!FemaleReader.

Warnings: First up. I preface with two strong warnings.. I am not a medical professional in any capacity. Second, I am only kind of a casual Star Wars fan, so Idk how things work in their universe as compared to here on Earth. The actual warnings here are blood!tw and injury!tw. Again, I remind you. I am neither a veteran star wars fan nor a medical professional. So, some things may be entirely wrong. And Ben Solo is most likely written totally OOC as he is not a character I am used to writing, by any stretch although i love him with my whole heart... Anyway... The warnings are: Blood!TW, Injury!TW, OOC fandom character and a strong dose of hurt comfort / fluff in the next parts I kind of hope i get to do for this. This part is so long because I was using it to sort of set things in motion..

Word Count: 2k. Listen, I was setting things up and got carried away, rip me.

Listen... You all just don’t fucking understand how much I love Kylo/Ben... I know, I know, he’s a bad guy. Anyway, this is me doing something I’ve literally been dying to do, a scenario in which Ben somehow winds up Earthbound just in time for the holidays...This is my daily entry for my bb @champbucks over on the @12daysofchristmas challenge blog...

OH YEAH.. for the sake of a timeline here.. This part takes place around the end of November/beginning of December. Part two will take place two and a half weeks later and part three will take part a day or so, maybe two, after part two. Trust me, this needed to be said.

Also, again.. I made the banner for this. Don’t steal or repost.

TAGGING:

So, here’s the thing.. There really isn’t anyone on my Star Wars masterlist and like... I haven’t really written anything Star Wars related... Until now. So, if you want to be tagged in my star wars stuff, click the little link below or send me an ask/dm on my main and I’ll happily add you.

@champbucks and @12daysofchristmas

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

“What the hell?”

The boom from outside had the windows to my grandma’s old cabin rattling and I quickly sat up just in time to look out the window at the head of my bed to see a bright flash of blue as it disappeared beyond the treeline across the road.

,, Curiosity killed the cat, remember?” my brain nagged at me the whole time I was slipping on the jeans I’d worn earlier in the day. That nagging only grew as I slipped on my warmest boots and by the time I had my daddy’s old shotgun loaded and I was heading out the door, I wasn’t entirely sure if going over to see what the hell was going on in the woods across from my house was a good idea or not.

I mean yeah, the odds were that some idiot kids were racing around Deadman’s curve and one crashed.. Or a drunk trying to drive home on an icy road hit black ice and lost control… At the thoughts of what probably happened, I stopped in the middle of the road and felt my back pocket.

As soon as my fingers grazed the cool weight of my cell phone, I took a deep breath and started to walk towards the woods on the other side of the little country road.

My eyes were adjusting to the semi darkness, so when the wrecked craft came into view just a few feet into the trees, I had to stop and really stare at it, rubbing my eyes.

“What the fuck?” the words left my mouth in a soft gasp as all the breath left my body. I knew exactly what I had to be looking at by now… And rather than turn and walk away, back to my grandma’s cabin, I kept moving closer. Pushing through bushes and trees and overgrown weeds and dead grass as I made my way towards the clearing to get a better look.

I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, because everybody knows there’s a damn good reason we have a military base on the outskirts of our little town and we all know they’re not testing weather balloons out there.. I knew that if this were a military thing, there would most likely be a cover-up.

So I did what anybody would and I pulled out my camera, recording the crash site and taking a few pictures of the craft as I walked around it slowly.

I froze completely when I heard a wounded groan.

Now, I’d assumed that whoever crashed whatever this… Thing.. Was… they’d gotten the hell out of dodge as soon as the crash was over.

,,Or they were dead on contact because the impact was really hard.’’ my brain finished. I glanced all around the clearing that the craft crashed in the middle of. Everything was silent. Almost deathly silent, as if something had come along and sucked up all the sounds and background noise. I shivered and hugged myself, swearing under my breath about not having the presence of mind to stop for a jacket or grab my first aid kit on my way over here...

A scream died on my lips when I felt a strong grip wrap around my ankle as soon as I stepped closer to the wrecked craft, bending down to peer inside, my phone out and ready to call for emergency services.

When I looked down, after I dove away as quickly as possible, of course, I swallowed hard and tried to find words.

“Help.”

As he said it, I got the distinct feeling that this was not a word he enjoyed saying, not at all.

I could only nod and when my brain finally felt it had enough time to process what was going on, it kicked into overdrive.

“Can you pull yourself out?” I finally managed to ask the question.

“Trapped.” the word came on the heels of words that were totally unfamiliar to me, yet somehow I knew instinctively that this guy had to be swearing up a storm and in immense pain.

I guess tonight’s one of the few reasons I’m glad I went into the medical field instead of becoming a horror novelist or a starving artist like I used to want to when I was a kid. Tonight my years of school and training and the experience I’d gotten thus far as an intern at the hospital in town was all going to come in handy.

Because the lack of military vehicles or police by now only meant one thing to me.

The military either didn’t know yet so this gave me a chance to finally do something about the way they were polluting the water supply and making people sick or… Nobody knew about this.

Laughing softly at the thought that I might’ve stumbled onto an alien crash landing, I bent lower, peering into the smashed window and I dug around in my jeans pocket until I found my dad’s old pocket knife.

“I’m gonna.. I’ll try to cut you out, okay?” I muttered. He grunted, a light pained scowl playing at gorgeous and full lips.

I leaned inside a little, swearing as I felt shards of glass.. Or whatever the material was on the windows, digging into my hand..As soon as I got a good look, I realized that he wasn’t trapped by a harness or belt of any kind.

He was trapped because when the craft he was inside made impact, the damn thing basically folded like a soda can. I winced. Drawing a few sharp and shaky breaths, the fog from their warmth lingering in the air as I tried to stop and think.

I should be calling EMTS. I should be leaving him here because everything I’ve ever learned about accidents of any kind clearly predicates that if someone is hurt and you don’t know how fucking bad, you don’t move them.

But here’s the problem with that knowledge and my current situation… If I didn’t do something, then either that military installation was going to get away with the shit they’ve been doing the past few years since they mysteriously popped up on the outskirts, show up to finish this guy off in the time it took me to get help on the way… And then they might just do me in also because I had evidence and proof that they were up to something shady out there... Or… They’d find him and take him back to the base and do God only knew what to him.

,, but he might be an alien…” my brain gave me the gentle reminder and the counter argument arose almost immediately, ,, he can’t be. He looks like I do. He looks human. I can’t just turn my back and leave the guy… If he is military and they do realize what’s happened, he’s as good as dead… And I cannot live with someone’s blood on my hands.”

And with that thought, I proceeded to try and figure out the safest way I could to go about breaking years of protocol that had been drilled into my brain.

I started with the obvious. I leaned in, my body brushing against him as I raised my hand, pressing my fingers to his neck, feeling for the jugular so I could attempt to see if his pulse was steady.

He groaned quietly and I explained in a hushed tone, trying to keep him calm, “I’m trying to take your pulse… to make sure it’s okay to move you if I can get you loose. Because we’re gonna have to get you out of here somehow.”

He merely nodded. I almost asked if he spoke the same language as me, but that was a later question. I was still operating under the assumption that I was working with a very small time frame, either way.

Because even if the military didn’t know what happened out here, they would soon.. Because this just felt like something they would be aware of or become aware of. And I wasn’t going to let them get their hands on the guy, especially when he was injured and far too weak to fight them off.

Or so I thought…

,, where the hell am I? What happened? Need to.. Get out of here. Get back to the others.”

I heard it so clearly that for a second or so, I thought he might’ve actually spoken. I answered quietly, “You’re in Montana. Apparently, you crashed whatever the hell this thing is. If you’ll be still and stay calm sir, I’m trying to get you out of here. We have to hurry. If those damn military guys realize what happened and come down, we’re both probably fucked.” and continued checking him over.

I dreaded what I was about to have to try and do, because if there was any internal injury, I was about to make it worse. The goal, I decided mentally, was to move him as carefully but as quickly as possible.

He gritted his teeth and gave another long and wounded grunt as he seemed to pick up on my rush and started trying to maneuver his legs free from the part holding them in place.

“Okay, whoa. Easy, sir. Stop moving, damn it!” I said frantically, eyes widening as they settled on the dark depths of his eyes.

He glared at me, speaking in a calm but firm tone. “I have to get out of here.”

“And if you’ll go about this carefully, like I said before, you might actually live through this. I don’t know if you’ve been injured internally or not. I won’t know how severe your injuries are until I’m back at my cabin. I’m hoping that since you’re vocal enough to be an entire stubborn ass right now, that you’re really not seriously injured.” I snapped back because he’d snapped at me just seconds before.

He eyed me, almost wary. Almost as if he weren’t entirely sure whether to trust me. But I stared him down, firmly as I could. He managed to get his legs free and clear of the way they’d been pinned somehow and if I hadn’t thought the guy might be strong as an ox when he grabbed my ankle before, I now knew that fact beyond a shadow of doubt.

Oh, he grunted and groaned and growled in pain the entire time, but he seemed to be entirely too stubborn for his own good, too hell bent on getting himself out.

Once he was slowly pulling himself through the busted glass and lying on the snow, I cleared my throat. He winced and gritted his teeth as he pulled himself to a sitting position in the snow. The form fitting black garment he wore on his upper body was shredded in a place or two from the way he’d pulled himself through the window of the wreckage.

“Do you think you can walk? Because we need to figure something out.” I asked the question as I worked on keeping calm. But I was in a bit of a panic see, because internal injuries are difficult to spot and often, they go unnoticed until the person injured either dies or suffers massive complications. And I knew that me, moving him as little as I had and then him freeing himself from the wreckage somehow and all that movement… It was tempting fate, in my own opinion, but I was that determined not to let all this be covered up or to have this man’s blood on my hands.

He looked as if he were going to attempt it and I stood, holding my hands out to him to at least try to help him. But after the second or third attempt, the fight or flight response within me kicked in and I was… Growing impatient to get him indoors and both of us hidden away somewhere safely.

“I’ve got an ATV up at the cabin. It’s literally just across the road at the top of the hill… I need you to stay here and stay hidden. Are we clear?” I didn’t mean to bark it at him like an order, I guess I just assumed at the time that if he were a soldier who worked that base, he was used to it.

He bit his lip and eyed me.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” that firm tone, I won’t even begin to go into the effect it had on me, but I was the one who wasn’t injured and didn’t possibly have the US Armed Forces about to pop up at any second, so I had to act as if nothing he did or said had any sort of effect on me at all.

And god was it ever hard!

“Which one of us crashed a fucking piece of government property and is injured, sir?” my hand dragged through damp hair and tugged a little as I tapped my boot against the crunchy snow covered forest floor.

“ The ship is mine.” he corrected. I eyed him with a brow raised.

“Whatever you say. Either way, arguing semantics with you is not getting either of us to my cabin.”

The searing pain that shot through my palm as I rubbed it against my jeans had me grimacing, but I tried to ignore it. He stared me down, head tilted slightly.

“Alright. I’m going now.” I turned on my heels and I bolted up the hillside, hurrying so fast across the slippery pavement separating me from my cabin that I nearly slipped a time or two and I finally got to the shed that I’d parked the ATV under after riding it along the creekbank earlier to look for fallen trees I could use as firewood.

The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped on and fired it up, biting back a pained whimper as I curled my hand around the handlebar and that only put more pressure on the wound that I didn’t even realize I’d gotten trying to help the man out.

I shoved out the pain and focused on getting back across the road as quickly as possible. And in the back of my mind, yes.. I did find it more than a little odd that nobody had come down. The neighbors a mile away from me have to have heard… Then I remembered that Herb and Isla were out of town, in Kentucky with their oldest daughter and her family for the holidays.

,, c’mon lady luck, don’t fail me now.” the thought came and went and I took a shortcut through the treeline that I knew would put me straight in front of the crash site. Now I just had to hope to God that the guy was okay and he hadn’t left the scene.

Right as the crashed ship came into view, I spotted him trying yet again to use the wreckage to pull himself to his feet and I rushed over.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

“Trying to..” he took a few heavy breaths and grumbled before continuing, “Get back home.”

“And you can do that.. The second you’re at least partially healed, sir. I’m gonna…” I trailed off, awkwardly positioning myself against his side so that he could use me as a crutch and lean on me to get to the ATV so I could take him back to my place, “Lean on me.”

But the guy was an actual fucking giant.

And normally, in a non life or death situation, I’d have been absolutely mesmerized by… Pretty much everything about him. But tonight, I was too focused. Too intent on getting both of us to safety.

,, daddy always told me curiosity killed the cat. Now look what I’m smack in the middle of.” I thought to myself, grunting a little as he leaned into me heavily, my arm around his lower back and his arm around my shoulders as he clumsily tried to make his way to the ATV.

Once I got on and he managed to get himself on behind me, I took off. “Might wanna cover your face.”

And a minute or so later, as I parked the ATV right at my porch steps to make it a little easier to get him inside, he eyed me warily again, this time questioning, “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know who I was?”

“What do you mean was?” I asked the question, all the worst possible scenarios flashing through my mind. And that adrenaline surge from earlier that I had yet to come down from? A little more panicked.

He muttered something and shrugged, putting a shoulder around me again as he grunted and managed to get himself standing.

The light overhead on my porch caught on his bloodied pants leg and I grimaced. “Well, pretty sure that’s a broken leg.”

I kicked open the front door with my foot and helped him into my living room, letting him sink down onto the couch. After I got him all settled in, I rushed around my pantry gathering up my medical supplies that I kept on hand.

And I wandered back into the living room, taking a seat on the handmade heavy wooden coffee table in front of my old plaid couch. “You’re gonna have to… Take off the shirt..”

He eyed me, this curious gleam in his eyes that quickly vanished when I firmly repeated myself.

His eyes caught on my palm and he eyed my own smaller wound, then fixed his eyes on me. “You’re dripping blood on the floor.”

“And I’ll worry about that as soon as I’m totally certain that aside from a possibly broken leg and a few cuts and bruises, you’re fine.” I insisted, a firm tone of my own as I started to tug the ripped fabric up and over his body. I grimaced at the older scars and bit my lip as I surveyed the bruises already starting to form against pale skin. “Are you in any pain at all when you breathe?”

Bear in mind here. I am still only just an intern. So I haven’t actually had to deal with a whole lot in the way of injuries. The most I’m currently allowed to do is make rounds and do consults, checking in on patients to let their actual physician know what they might need or how they might be feeling on that particular day.

So this was all trial by fire for me.

One glance at his well muscled body had me definitely continuing to think that he was one of the guys from the military base and I made a mental note to maybe NOT turn down Carrie if she offered to set me up with one of the guys her fiance knew in the future as I had been doing.

He cleared his throat.

“A little.”

“Most likely dealing with a bruised rib or two. I’ll wrap those for now.. I’ll call in a favor with Dr.Albertson in the morning...I don’t think he’ll tell anybody.”

The man nodded, agreeing.

I went back to cleaning and patching the wounds I could patch and then I turned my attention to his leg.

“I’m going to have to cut your pants leg…”

“Or I could take off my pants.”

I eyed him as soon as he said it because truth be told, not only did he have me flustered in saying it, but also, I couldn’t entirely tell if he were being helpful at last, or if he were being a flirt.

As if to prove he was serious, he rose up slightly, unfastening the black pants he wore, working them down his hips and I have literally NEVER… ever.. Turned away and tried to still catch a peek as I did in that moment.

“Christ. You could’ve given me a second to turn.”

“Why?” he tapped my shoulder as he asked the question and I turned around.

My breath caught in my throat and I quickly had to refocus myself. Because if I thought taking his shirt off was a bit of a distraction… Then him sitting there pantsless was.. A bit more.

I bit my lip and my eyes settled on the lower portion of his leg. The swelling was bad. The leg was definitely broken. I sighed and clucked my tongue, shaking my head.

“I’m gonna have to call in that favor with the old man now. Because this can’t wait to be looked at. And I need to be sure you’ve got no internal injuries.” I stood abruptly, nearly doing so fast enough that I almost landed on top of the guy.

He eyed me and I pulled back and away from him, raising to a full stand. Walking quickly into my kitchen and sliding the pocket door closed behind me.

“Hey, doc? I know it’s late, but if you get this, can you please swing by my grandma’s cabin on your way home tonight? I need your help. And I need someone who can be trusted to stay quiet on what you’re gonna see.”

I’d just walked back into the living room when my cell phone rang in my hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather explain when you get here, doc.”

“I’m on my way now. Just grabbing my equipment.”

“Thank you, doc.”

“I always told you and I promised your grandma when you were knee high to a grasshopper. If you ever need me, kid, I’ll be there.”

I hung up and sank back down onto the coffee table, letting a deep breath escape my mouth. The adrenaline was starting to wear off finally and all I could do now was… Process everything. Try to figure out just how far up the proverbial creek I might’ve gotten myself.

The man shattered the silence in the room by clearing his throat and reaching out. I eyed him, a brow raised.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re not going to do something about your hand, I’m going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s a little scrape.”

“There’s blood caked on it.”

Something in the look he gave me had me extending my hand. It almost felt as if I wasn’t in control of myself, though I didn’t realize this until much later…

His larger hand gripped mine carefully, holding it on bare legs.

“You still haven’t put any pants on, what the hell..”

“If you called that person and they’re going to come and examine me, doesn’t make sense to.” he didn’t look up as he answered, instead, focusing on swiping the cloth that I’d gotten as a spare in case I needed a clean one for his wounds. When the light overhead caused something in the wound to glisten, I tried to yank my hand free in a hurry, but that sensation was back in my mind and his grip on my wrist tightened to a point where I couldn’t move.

“Be still.”

That firm tone again, honestly, fuck him for it.

“Fine. But I feel like I should remind you, I am a medical professional. I could get this looked at when Doc arrives.”

“Well, I’m doing it now.” he stated calmly, as if I had no say in the matter. And when I opened my mouth to argue, to insist I could just wait the ten minutes it would take Doc to get to my cabin, nothing came out.

He gave me this smug look as he took my tweezers and worked them into the cut, making me bite my lip and take a few deep breaths.

When he finally got the shard free, I pulled my hand back, cradling it against me.

He eyed me, amused it seemed.

“I’ll clean it out and wrap it now, thanks.” I mumbled in a softer tone, giving him a small smile and thanking him.

Now, we just had to wait on Doc to arrive...

#12daysofchristmas #12 days of christmas #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo fanfic #ben solo imagine #ben solo imagines #trapped on earth au #my writing; ben solo #my fics; ben solo #my moodboards; ben solo

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stone-man-warrior · 4 years

Text

February 25, 2021: 12:52 pm:

====================================================

The old “Stalking Order Trick”.

It never works.

It’s getting old though. This is the fourth time.

They do this when I report terrorism.

Instead of stopping the terrorism, instead of granting an interview to talk more about the terrorism, they send these two actors from Hollywood dressed in sheriff outfit, to hassle me, scare me, make me go into the controlled environment at the courthouse. Last time I was at the courthouse for this same terror scenario, Joe Satraini was portraying a Bailiff, attacked be with a sword in the courtroom, and was killed or injured in defense, then, I went home afterwords.

The reports of terrorism is answered with more terrorism, what you see there happened moments ago, the paper is still on the front porch, I did not open the door or invite the SAG terrorists into my home.

The one on the right looks remarkably similar to one of three men who claimed to be Secret Service, US Army, and FBI representatives who came to my home about this same time last year, I wrote about that, it’s on this account somewhere from the day it happened. I referred to them as “The Three Bozos” because they each had ID indicating that they indeed were from the agency’s mentioned, but were wearing casual street clothes. That one on the right looks like the “FBI” representative from that day, who was wearing a black leather or fake leather jacket that day. That one was dressed more “down town“ in the leather and slacks, while the other two Bozos were dressed for cutting some fire wood, in flannel and blue jeans.

That day one year ago, the NAMM Winter Music Industry Trade Show had just ended, or was under way, my assessment was that the three were musicians, disguised, came to kill me for my Medicare status to perpetuate my prescriptions with help from Paine Specialists of Southern Oregon in Medford.

So, that looks like the same guy there on the right, is dressed as Josephine County Sheriff Deputy today.

That other one on the left did all of the talking, said my neighbors went to the courthouse to file a “stalking order”.

Co-incidentally, my swollen leg with internal burning sensation is so bad today and yesterday that I can barely walk, I cannot feel my right foot, it’s as if it’s not there, except that my right foot feels frozen, is very painful, but like a club on the end of my leg ... hurts bad, is frozen cold, and when I try to walk it’s as if I have no foot to stand on sort of feeling from the poison gasses that the people who filed the stalking order have been poisoning me with by blowing the gasses into my home through the weep holes in the windows and cracks around the doors, forced through the weatherstripping they ruined years ago, and the gas is also blown through the laundry dryer vent, and condensation vent for the heating unit. and down the chimney with a long extension tube made of fiberglass folding tent supports.

The coincidence is that I am having trouble wearing socks to warm my foot, the sock is hindering the circulation, makes it feel colder, so, I tried a different sock. I put on one black sock, and one white sock on the other foot while trying to find one that will help warm up my frozen painful foot, but nothing is working.

I put the black sock on, and just a short time after having one black & white sock on my feet, the black & white shows up, within about an hour or two. There must be a camera inside my house for that to have happened, or, someone saw through the window that much about what I am wearing on my feet.

That is how terror is done, they will say my foot hurts because it was cold out when I was stalking the terror army in the neighborhood.

==========================================

3:53 pm:

This asshole right here:

https://twitter.com/POTUS/status/1364984502133657602

This fucking guy here:

https://twitter.com/POTUS/status/1365019986104836109

That one, on the left of the screen there:

https://twitter.com/POTUS/status/1365032380705087488

It’s a symbolic snuff movie.

You need to watch the signer, there are two signer’s, one is the guy the signed the contract to kill me, and the other is the one who is using church gang signs to say there is a snuff movie online somewhere.

Savvy sleuths could find the web address where a series of live murders took place today, that’s my call on that Joe Biden terror snuff pay-per-view infomercial from the @POTUS Twitter account today.

Most likely at a “Voyeur” website where cameras are arranged in a house, and everyone thinks that the people who live there do that for free intentionally just for you to watch. Reality is that an advertisement from @POTUS can say when and where the web site for a live steaming snuff murder is to take place online. It all happens within a short time, the camera feed is changed from the actual location via blue tooth temporarily, and the snuff video feed is inserted into the Voyeur website, where no one is ever there anyway, is just a cat and dog running around in a recorded loop. Club members are invited to watch.

Hint: If the Twitter account says: “He/Him”; “She/Her”; “They/Them”; “We/Us” or one of a few other “Pronoun‘s” that are described better at Whitehouse.gov “Contact Us” web site, are all “Club Members” and know where and how the find access to the “Voyeur” URL’s. Don’t report terrorism to the White House, that is one of the most dangerous things a person could ever try to do.

Try 376 Jackpine Dr., 97526 for the source of today’s Presidential murder fetish and baby raping entertainment study.

The thing that makes all of that worse is that Joe Bides in only a place holder for Ann Wilson and Roger Waters, who are the people who are really running the activities of the White House and Congress, and it’s all done from a place called Kauai Ranch in the state of Hawaii.

There is no Joe Biden any more. The videos are all from his Vice Presidency time, edited by Hollywood movie professionals to fool you.

Below are some of the parts to the hit order commanded on Twitter yesterday to have those fake deputies come to do a snuff set-up. Maybe they were supposed to cart me over to Chartrand’s at 376, or to the usual torture center next to my house at 520 Jackpine. I may have fouled up that attempt when I showed that I had a camera.

There are still many other scenarios in place as mentioned in other entries on this account.

Yesterday, the Monroe terror cell saw that I was unable to walk to the mailbox because my leg is hurting so bad, that I was limping and the pain got worse as I walked towards the road, so I turned around and walked back home because of the affects of the constant poisoning the Monroe’s and others are subjecting me to. So, they saw I was injured, and am an easy to capture prey, and Twitter arranged the hit order as a result, having had Monroe’s confirmation that I am hurt bad, can‘t get to the mailbox, and am limping in pain.

This is the first parts of the hit order from yesterday.

Here, Paski’s shirt has a hole in the side. That is representative of me, the victim marked for take out. They have not decided how to do the hit yet, just the order to to a “Tiger Woods Hole in One w/Leg Injury on the back of a Grand Jury notice in the mailbox”

https://twitter.com/ABCPolitics/status/1364637337045590017

This is not well known in circles outside of Hollywood DC terrorism, but I know what that spiral staircase is, that is a “Mitt Romney & The Mormons at Red Rocks”, is the same as “Allah & The Virgins at the Hollywood Bowl” terror comm. That puts Mitt Romney’s signature on the hit at my house.

There is a lot talk about “The Saudi King” in today’s 2-25-2021 WH Press Briefing, and all of that is about Mitt Romney. There is way too much more to add here, I should not have to solve my own murder, I need an interview from US national security and some medical attention.

https://twitter.com/NatGeoTravel/status/1364590974400421891

This below means: “Old Knowledge came out of the China Hutch” means old Christian secrets are exposed, is specific to Heroin use and Heroin driven terror soldiers. Ultimately the “China needs to be hidden away, deleted” is what that is presented on Twitter for.

https://twitter.com/CNN/status/1364762178079842306

This one is simple: “Stone Take Out”

https://twitter.com/CNN/status/1364621187238793218

There is more I need to find, I am having trouble finding Psaki’s Wardrobe change yesterday where she took off the dress with the hole in it, and put on a black & white dress with a Chevron Print Design feature on the bust of the dress. That is when the means to do the hit at my house was decided to me a “Black & White Sheriff ‘Shove Ron’ Build Back Heart Attack, Better American Rescue Plan” (Ron Howard’s Master Class Signature went on the hit order at that time.)

There is much more, dozens of ingredients to the hit order with those two deputies as the set-up and potential carry out order operatives are available to find on Twitter over the past 24 hours, and, are also contained in Music Industry Promotional Email today from Kramer, Robert Keeley, Eastwood Guitars, Premier Guitar Magazine, Vintage King Audio, D’Angelico new York, AMS, and Zzounds Music, all of them have put a signature onto the Twitter Presidential command to kill me and take down this account, is all still active and ongoing.

I need to find the Psaki Wardrobe Change from yesterday to the black & white “Shovron Dress”, and add it here.

What are the odds that it’s still on Twitter? There were multiple tweets from a variety of major news networks, I think they have all been deleted because it’s too easy to see that it’s a “Shovron“, and Ron Howard does want to go to the gas chamber for Treason for having directed the World Trade Center Collapse in 2001, and, the others he was working with who directed and took part in the attack at the Pentagon that day, also don‘t want to face a firing squad in Texas for their participation in the treason, and Ron is going to sing like a little Twitter Bird, live, at 376 Jackpine on a voyeur channel, when the real police find him.

Ron‘s friends will do it for free, coming soon, to a war theater near you.

There is no where to go Ron.

Either the real police find you, and you get the gas chamber, or, your friends at the Pentagon find you, and they make it hurt at the One Hour Martinizer at 520 Jackpine.

That was a bad idea Opie.

=====================

Twitter, says, that FOX news says, that Mitt Romney says, that all of the GOP is signing the contract on the hit to kill me at my house:

https://twitter.com/FoxNews/status/1364533033806663684

This is all because I asked the White House to send some help. I informed of the mass murders, again, to the White House ... I think I have made about ten or twelve official reports to the White House over the course of time since Gearge W. Bush was president, and have made at least two tries to reach each of the US Presidents since Bush, they sent confirmation of receipt. Obama sent a little bug that deleted the email receipt, and Joe Biden sent the exact same one, but I still have the receipt the White House sent, last time I looked. They all want to play stupid, as though they did not recieve any important news about US Takeover by a Canadian terror army the uses poison gasses to kill the US Citizens so the Canadians can replace the US citizens.

The reason for that, the reason that the WH won‘t send help is that everyone of the elected officials in DC and all of the State Governors were all “elected” by Canadians who are using the names of millions of murdered US Voters.

All of the US Government was elected by murderers, who are also impostors.

That is why there has been no help sent to stop the terrorism.

911 Emergency Phone Service is manned with Canadian terror soldiers and SAG actors who are waiting there to dispatch assassins to anyone who reports terrorism, murder, poison gas, etc.

Same at FBI.Tips.Gov. It’s manned with terror soldiers. When I make a report there, assassins come to my house to kill me.

I have made a dozen or so attempts to get help from FBI. I called a few times, and was attacked by state police who filled me with tasers. The taser guns have two darts, they used the two darts, then went back to the squad car to get another taser gun, and shot those two darts at me when I telephoned FBI.

I went to FBI in Medford in Person twenty years ago, that did not work for getting any help when the terror army was murdering the Fourth Graders at Manzanita Elementary School by taking the students on one-way feild trips, the buses returned without any kids on them. I think I remember Celine Dion was on one of those buses to animal park in Eugene or Salem Oregon area.

no one will help.

The celebrity women are too pretty, and they serve the terrorism by distracting any real police that might do an investigation. no one is going to arrest Celine Dion, even if she is on the bus where no students returned from the field trip.

That is the kind of services that SAG can provide to the murders. As long as Antonio Bandaras and Vanna White are around, there will be no investigation, just a hotel room by the hour is all that will happen for entertaining federal investigators.

==========

5:38 pm:

This part here takes the Psaki involvment to Angela Merkles doorstep, then, it takes another step to D’Angelico Guitars of new york.

Today’s WH Press Brief included Psaki saying “There is a Range on the Table”. This Tweet says the range is between -24 and 18, is German, is nation wide, if think about what the tweet really is suggesting, nation wide is the message, German is the nation. The Range is on the table, that cannot be good. Go listen to Press Secretary Jen Psaki for yourself from today, that press brief was live as the sheriffs came to my house, they had a live view of what I was doing on my computer as I was arranging the photos, getting them from the hijacked Yahoo mail, and saving them after putting the Stone Man stamp on them. The people at the news brief commented about the label I used as I was doing that in Microsoft Paint and commented live in code of that, as it was not expected that I would put a water mark on my photos so Monroe can’t easily steal them to change the story.

https://twitter.com/bbcweather/status/1364595973717123077

Jen Psaki’s Wardrobe change videos that were available yesterday at the same time when she was also wearing that blue/purple dress with the hole in it are all purged in classic Google fashion.

The hole in the side of Paski’s dress means “Pay-Per-View”. The “ShoveRon” Black & White dress she changed into videos are all gone, not available to see on Twitter today.

The terror nieghbors are coninueing to release airborne poison gasses right now and all day. My symptoms are worsening.’

My vision was nearly perfect this morning, but now I can barely see, Monroe’s are still blowing the poison gasses into the ambient air and around my house.

Do your own math.

It’s no wonder why there are no reports of real terrorism anywhere other than on this Tumblr account, no one can survive unless they have the kind of knowledge that I do, that the nitrous gas is flammable, but this other gas that causes the circulation problems and rash, and leg swelling, I don’t think is flammable.

I suspect A-1 Exterminators on 7th Street in Grants Pass to be a source of the so called “Boutique Gasses” the terror army has developed, and also “Blue-Star Gas” on Pleasant Valley Road across from the Moose Lodge in Merlin Oregon located on the rail road track that comes by on Russell road.

That train has been running at odd hours, is way off the usual schedual, and has been nearly silent when it has been going by since the time I made the terror report to the White House and is likely the source of the poison gas I am experiencing the poor vision and leg circulation symptoms from. The train tracks are less than 1600 feet away from my house. They use gas tanker cars to release gas along the track, and they have special vehicles that can ride on train tracks, then ride on paved roads to disappear into freeway traffic, refill, and start over again in Merlin at the rail crossing at Pleasant Valley Road next to “Blue-Star Gas” which is labelled as a propane dealer, has a lot of pressure tanks for carrying airborne gasses.

This looks like orders to use the rail road to release gas in the neighborhood.

https://twitter.com/ABC/status/1365105999896408067

The poison gas symptoms on my leg have increased from swelling at the right foot and shin area with a substantial very itchy rash on my shin and calf, to both feet are swollen now, I can’t feel my foot on the right when I try to walk, it feels icy cold on my foot, is burning intensity all inside my whole right leg, and the rash on my shin is making tiny blisters that pop and ooze a clear liquid. There is no where I can go for medical services.

US Citizens cannot get medical treatment in COVID USA. It’s a slaughter, not a virus.

US Population is being snuffed out like bugs in a jar, by the government that was hijacked by terrorists long ago. They have been taking over hospitals for decades in preparation to roll out Corona Virus, where “boutique” poisons make the symptoms as Twitter promotes the fear and concern that makes the people go to the hospitals where Ron Howard kills them on camera, and Nancy Sinatra casts a look-a-like replacement from Canada.

Betty White and Tom Hanks do the hosting at the awards celebrations, while Metallica and MegaDeath play as the musical guests at the events.

==================

When someone reports terrorism and points out who the murderers are, all the murderer needs to do is claim that the person is stalking them, and in the courtroom the Judge always sides with the plaintiff on that, and the defendant who needs to reach help to stop the murders is ordered by the courts that they are no longer able to use the name of the murderer publicly.

That is one of the ways the courts serve the terrorism, they can make sure that the murders name is not spoken, revealed, written, or otherwise mentioned. Meanwhile the terror murders continue while the eye-witness is persecuted, held captive in their home, forced into silence and ultimately killed and replaced by a SAG or Canadian terror operative.

The courts will effectively force me to delete this whole account with that stalking order if I am told not to say the names of the people who are killing me with poisons, shooting at me daily, holding be captive for decades.

=========

7:51 pm:

As it stands right now, these listed items below are some of the pre-arranged scenarios that are already in place for a “Ivanka Trump Opportunity Zone attack on a Jesus Gauntlet”

This Gauntlet is planned with events all in place for an attempt to kill me, all include set-up for a frame of some crime they will say I did, and all include the author of this account is not harmed. Instead, it will be said the someone else was killed, and a stand-in replacement will take control of this account. The way it sits right now, the account is set-up in advance for a court ordered deletion, where my replacement look-a-like will delete the account because the Judge ordered it due to so many mentions of so many terror soldiers and terror leaders all over the world.

The “new me” will just access the account controls after I am killed by a rock star bailiff in disguise, and no further mention of it will be made after that.

USA will lose.

Terrorism and murder, slavery and captivity will prevail.

Court day for stalking order.

Groceries at the Walmart.

Drivers License renewal at Beacon Ave DMV. They will say I need a vision exam for corrective lenses.

The Eye-Doctor Visit is one I need to survive.

Then, back to the DMV again if I survive the Eye-Doctor.

Dr, Visit at the terror SAGClubMed fake doctor at Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon,

Walgreen’s if I survive, if not, the Rock Star Bailiff picks up my prescriptions increased to “MAX: Maximum Allowable per Medicare Part-D Rules” so that SAG Musicians can get high on a disabled guys medicine.

There is a day I need to go to JP Morgan Chase Bank every year, the bastards know that I need to do record keeping, and created a situation where I must go to the Chase Bank rather than do any other way of doing the record keeping I am required to do, Carpenters Union participates in that one every year, and they want their share of the loot when I am killed also. Los Angeles Carpenters Pension Trust specifically.

Centurylink has those trenching markers out front, so I have to survive that when the start digging.

There is Grand Jury they say I am forced to participate in. That is really just for the successful assassin to go check in with the sheriff office and Courts when they kill me, but also they do take out work at both places.

The Pacific Power Corporation Asplundhe Tree Service Power Line Easement Inspection and “Standing Dead & Proximity Trimming” event at my house is in place if I survive some of those other “Jesus Gauntlet” scenario’s.

that makes nine or ten major events that I need to survive and a few small ones.

So, that, plus survive the usual daily attacks and poisonings.

And worst of all ... I need to get my mail out of the mailbox, walk down my driveway past the Monroe’s terror cell, and make it back to my house alive during that time frame, and beyond that if I am able to survive the Jesus Gauntlet this next two months or so.

So, fair warning, I am not likely to make it through these pre-arranged Ivanka Triump Opportunity Zone murder scenario’s. Each one of those listed events has at least one written screenplay to use as a basis for the attack plan. The screenplays have all been done thousands of time by the terror cells who run the murder scenario’s. They have it down to a science for killing most unsuspecting US Citizens who simply are trying to run some errands, do some shopping, deal with some banking, go to a doctor appointment, or were roped into having to appear in a court hearing. Most don‘t make it back from the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

==========

8:41 pm:

Trending on Twitter now:

It’s a command order from Google high command (Vatican Choir; Amp Guru; Kauai Ranch Members of “The Green‘s of Olde Three Ply” terror cell; and the Pope) to do a “Ben Hur” or a version of that one movie about Jesus I forget what it’s called, or, “Faces of Death” (That one has been in discussion all day coded into the Twitter news stories from most of the Verified Accounts I read. Go look for the photos in news today featuring famous people making funny faces, means “Jesus Face Toast”, translates to “Christian Cinema” “Krysten Sinema” today)

The “Christian Cinema” command order is to produce a wicked snuff movie, one that is equivalent of the one they made at north Valley High School in around 2003 - 2004 or so, when the students were forced to do a Olympic Style Competition, were killed at the various events, each event was transformed into some kind of medieval contraption at the Decathlon ... it was forever known as the “Decapathon” by the surviving students at the school. The movie is called “The Making of Ben Hur” I am pretty sure, is composed of about 200 high school students being horribly murdered with machinery all disguised as part of the Decathlon track & field events. The people that made the movie had very expensive professional movie making equipment including the kind of “Rabbit Cam” that are used at a Dog Race Race Track, the thing the dogs chase after around the track, is on a rail. That was used at the “Hurtles” event, where the “Hurtles” were regular hurdles fitted with blades that spring out as the running high school student tried to clear the obstacles on the track at the Junior Varsity Football Field at the school. The students were laying in the track with severed limbs as that rabbit went around from victim to victim to get the best angle for the movie that was produced that day.

I am talking about dead high school students here, and the movie that was made of their murders.

no one cares about US High School Students, or disabled people, or elderly people in the care homes who cannot possibly defend against James Hetfeild when he is killing them to get high on pain meds.

Christian Cinema (Krysten Sinema) is a unpleasant thing to see this evening on Twitter.

Do you remember the final scenes of Braveheart? On that stage where he was disemboweled? That is a real thing that is done in Oregon when people are tortured at 520 Jackpine next door to my house.

So, Twitter is still Tweeting, that means no help is ever to come to Oregon, or anywhere, they are going to keep doing the slaughter, and keep making movies of the murders.

Trending on Twitter: “Christian Cinema”

https://twitter.com/search?q=Sinema&src=trend_click&vertical=trends

=============

9:23 pm:

In other news:

This thing here reminds me of my visit to the Dole Pineapple Plantation in Hawaii. I think it’s close to the Maui Isthmus. There is a maze/labirynth there sort of like that snow maze there.

At Dole, there are assassins that shoot at people in the maze from tower sort of structures that are in there. The shooting does not start until the marked victims are deep in the maze, it takes about an hour to make it out of there.

Also, that trap door I sometimes mention that is in the floor of the sheriffs office in Josephine County, where there is a chair that tips over, and dumps the unsuspecting sheriff visitor down into the tunnels that are below the sheriffs office and go all under the whole city of Grants Pass Oregon.

That trap door works with the same kind of mechanisms as does the table on the marble maze game called “Labyrinth”. The trap door tips over one direction, then another direction, and the victim who is seated at the sheriff’s desk is dumped into a hole under his office on F Street behind the Walmart.

The man who built that door is the same man who’s wife made the exploding statue that blew up a big bus, and a number of people who were on it, a deputy Strohmeyer, Frank Skraw sheriff of Klamath Falls was on that bus for awhile, maybe he exploded on it, some deputies from Grants Pass were on it, and some from Jackson county were also on the bus that exploded in Medford at the Sears a few years ago, February 7 2017 I think is was.

Any way, the man that built the sheriff office trap door in the floor, was Dan Fauley, former address 344 Tunnel Creek Road in Hugo area. Dan’s wife Lynn made the exploding C-4 Statue, I was supposed to have been put on that bus.

I wrote about all that stuff before, it’s all been documented for many years, no one cares.

Dan Fauley also built the remodel work that was done at the Washington Ave Post Office Facility on the corner of Hillcrest Ave. at the front entrance after the place exploded once long ago. There are no reports of any explosion happening there, but the entrance and other parts of that building did blow up. Dan Fauley did the remodel work. I think he transformed what used to be the lobby rest room into some other kind of holding pen for keeping captive victims inside of where that rest room used to be in the Post Office Lobby on Washington Ave. That place is called the “Postal Annex” by most of the older local terror soldiers and is “The Stork” terror cell HQ for this area. The name “Postal Annex” is a decoy, detour, road block, distraction service put in place by the terror army. When someone asks about the “Postal Annex” while trying to report terrorism to the Postal Inspector General in Portland Oregon, the Inspector General denies that such a place exists at all, they claim that there is no postal office facility there on Washington Ave, and that the person making the report about what they saw should contact the Oregon Better Business Bureau in Salem Oregon instead. Inspector General claims that the place is a private company and is not a USPS facility.

The Inspector General insists that the only 97526 Post Office is on the corner of 6th & G Streets in Grants Pass.

Oregon is a breeding ground of terrorism, it’s a training center, the whole state is a place where “Terror Policy” and “Models of Terror Systems of Murder” are perfected, and then duplicated, rolled out the same in other cities around the world.

https://twitter.com/CNN/status/1365158181098442752

For some perspective about how long Oregon has been hijacked, by whom, when and where killing systems were installed, and how to find the responsible people, you need only study the boat ramps on the Rogue River from Shady Cove to Galice Oregon.

Almost all of the boat ramps are installed backwards.

Most of the boat ramps are secluded, that also is part of the planning of the backwards boat ramps. That seclusion assists the terror army to take victims at the backwards boat ramps on the Rogue River. The boat ramps are all installed such that as you back the boat into the water, the ass end of the boat is directed into oncoming river flow. The boat, trailer, truck, dog, wife in the passenger seat, ice chest and fishing gear all go down river as a result of backwards boat ramps on the Rogue River. There is always a two foot tall cliff under the water where the trailer wheels are at as the boat should begin to start to float. When the trailer wheels fall off that little cliff, the boat is still attached to the trailer, and the trailer to the truck that pulls it. The current is very strong, and inexperienced boaters go down river every time with all of their stuff.

Three Boys Towing is just around the bend, in the tow truck, waiting to get word from the “Friendly Canadian Fly Fisherman who is at every boat ramp tying flies” at the side of each boat ramp, he is there with his wife waiting for tourists to launch a boat, and calls Three Boys Towing as soon as the trailer and truck are under water while using the nitrous oxide to capture the boat owner as he is trying rescue his wife, kids, boat, motor and trailer.

Three Boys gets all of that stuff out of the water, they do it every day, no problems. Then, DMV makes the necessary VIN changes after some Lithia Dodge mechanics do a cleaning, get the water out of the carburetor, and, title switch, and licensing is transferred to some other person if needed. If not, then an attack team takes all of that stuff back to the victims home to prey on their family and friends, and the terror army grows exponentially that way, in fifty states where the tourist boaters come from.

The boat ramps are state wide like that. The boat is not supposed to go ass end into the oncoming current, the ramp is supposed to go with the current as the boat is launched into the water, which also allows that the boat goes into the current to put it back on the trailer, as it should be.

It’s not the way should be though, it’s all backwards.

All of the boat ramps have some metal brackets, rebar, chunks of iron just below the surface of the water, and at the sides of the ramp, all of them have an accident waiting to happen built in to them, and the hospital never has been close by, even before they were all hijacked, so, it’s all for terror advance of Global Domination, has been there a long time at the boat ramp, installed by Kitzhaber government.

=================

11:20 pm:

Please send help to Oregon.

I haven‘t opened my door yet today, presumably that paper those fake sheriff’s brought is still on the front porch.

I don‘t know the details the fake stalking order says.

There were two time today after that when terror soldiers where hiding under my kitchen window, they are waiting for me to open the door, but that is not unusual, waiting under the window is unusual, they usually don‘t make so much noise like today, so, they wanted me to open the door. That was when the blurry vision gas was thickest this afternoon.

I am not going to get the mail until my leg feels good enough to walk on it without as bad as does now, so, no local conditions will be happening tonight.

There are no signs of helpful people, around here you get a visit from a sheriff only to make trouble, make life more difficult, to bring the victim into the bottleneck kill zone at the courthouse where the fingernail clipper is taken away so the rock star in disguise bailiff can use the sword on a unarmed disabled citizen in the fake hearing.

They don‘t do law enforcement, public safety, or national security work in Oregon.

Please send help. Please send US Military. Bring your own hospital. Stay away from local authorities.

2 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary - Chapter 23

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

Brilliant sunshine streams through the windows, tearing her from a peaceful and much needed sleep. Despite the years of living like a nomad while travelling from job to job, the past five of being a wife and mother content in her own home have spoiled her; it had been extremely difficult falling asleep in a strange bed. Even with the that warm and solid body beside her, the familiarity of his smell, the smoothness of his skin, the sound of his breathing. The mattress was foreign, feeling strange and uncomfortable underneath her, despite the obviously high quality. She missed the way the one at home moved and dipped underneath her; those little grooves long ago made by their bodies, the pop and the squeak of the springs, the clean and refreshing scent that lingered on the fabric. The room had seemed eerily quiet, even with Tyler’s soft snoring and the way he mumbles in his sleep. She is used to the sounds that come with living in an old house tucked away from the rest of civilization; the owls that hooted, the bats that screeched and called to each other, the settling of old pipes, the dog’s tag clinking against his collar as he switches positions at the foot of the bed.

And most of all, the sounds of children; the little voices waking her up in the middle of the night as they climbed into bed between her and Tyler, the baby fussing in the room across the hall, the crying and the complaining when they’ve had nightmares or aren’t feeling well. For five years that’s been her life; tending to the needs of others. Her ‘mommy senses’ far keener than those she’d ever developed on the job. The ability to snap awake at the even the creaking of a loose floorboard or a car speeding by more than a thousand miles away. Perhaps it was the job that had caused her mother instincts to be so sharp; she’d already been used to being on high alert.

Eyes still closed; she blindly reaches for him; fingers coming in contact with cool, empty sheets instead of warm, hard body. Frowning, she pushes herself up onto one elbow, using her other hand to push her hair away from her face and clear sleep from her eyes. The sliding glass door is open several inches; a crisp, refreshing breeze tumbling into the room, the rain from the night before leaving behind cooler temperatures. And she reaches across the bed for the night table on her side of the bed, pulling her cell phone from the charging cord and checking the time.

8:47.

She pushes herself up into a sit; still groggy from lack of sleep, shoulders and back aching from trying to get used to an unfamiliar mattress. And she leans over the side of the bed and reaches for the t-shirt that had been discarded in the early hours of the morning. When the sun had just been peeking over the horizon and Tyler had stirred beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his front against her back, that impressive morning erection pressing against her backside. It was one thing about being away from the kids; you could make as much noise as you wanted, take your time, no worries of interruptions or having to make sure you’re at least partially clothed before falling asleep so you weren’t caught naked and unaware by the little humans that would come bounding into the room the moment they woke.

“Tyler?” she calls into the room, as she shrugs into the t-shirt. Listening for any signs of his whereabouts. Out on the balcony drinking coffee and getting fresh air. Or even getting in a ‘do it yourself, no equipment’ workout. She listens for the shower or any other movement coming from the bathroom; the door slightly open, the sunlight tumbling through the window above the tub and its rays cast across the bedroom floor. “Tyler?” she tries one more time, voice louder, then with a groan climbs off the bed

“Men,” she huffs, she heads for the bathroom. They lay out the ‘don’t go anywhere on your own’ rules but never want to follow them themselves. It is typical of him; protective and almost possessive. To a fault.

She’s just returned to the bedroom area and rummages through her bags for something to wear when she hears it; harsh whispers coming from the hall. She can see the movement of two distinct sets of feet through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, the slight shadows that are cast on the wall as figures move in front of the seam. Her hands freeze on the zipper of the backpack and she strains her ears to listen. One very obvious Irish accent, male. The second voice belongs to a woman; husky in nature, a subtle yet noticeable New York twang that Esme is able to pinpoint as Brooklyn. She’d spent eighteen months in the Big Apple; hopping back and forth between Brooklyn and the Bronx. Successful infiltrations of well known and very powerful families. Old money. Organized crime connections. The mature faces on the drug and weapons smuggling scenes.

She waits for them to knock; watching those shuffling footsteps from underneath the door, unable to make out any of the conversation. The actual words are muddled, their tones too quiet, too rushed. And ever so quietly she opens the zipper on the backpack and snags a pair of yoga shorts, still pulling them on as she makes her way towards the door. Resting a palm against the smooth cool wood, the fingers of her other hand curling around the metal door handle. She feels no anxiety. No panic. Just a quiet, composed calm as she listens to the soft rustling of clothes and the shuffle of footsteps and the whispered conversations. There are many things to take into consideration; someone mistakenly be giving this room number instead of their actual own, thinking perhaps maybe this was where a friend or family member had bedded down but weren’t one hundred percent sure. Hotel workers, maybe. Cleaning or maintenance staff. Porters. Room service clerks.

The conversation now moves away from the room; the voices becoming quieter, footsteps muffled against carpet as they head away from the room. And she counts to thirty before finally opening the door. Cautiously glancing to left and then the right; nothing but unmanned cleanings carts at either end and room service trays full of dirty dishes and cutlery in front of some of the doors. To the right comes the soft rumble of the elevator motor, and as the door opens with a chime, she’s just able to see two figures step out of a doorway across from the lift and hurriedly make their way towards it. Neither of them glancing in her direction as she scurries in her bare feet towards them.

****

“Shit!” she snarls, slapping her palm on the elevator door when it closes, cutting off any contact between herself and the occupants. And she’s suddenly aware that a maid is watching her curiously from several feet away as she hovers over her cart of cleaning supplies. “Did you see who got on the elevator?” she inquires, her tone far more tense than she intends it to be.

“No, miss. I just got out here from cleaning a suite. Why…?”

“Who is staying that room?” she nods towards the door she’d seen the strangers step out from.

“No one. It’s empty.”

“How long has it been empty for?”

“A couple of days now.”

Esme frowns. “Are you sure? Are you a hundred percent sure?”

“Yes, miss. I cleaned it myself. When the guests left.”

“Are you sure you’re not mixing it up with another room? Because I just saw two people come out of there. A man and a woman. They were outside my door. That’s five rooms away from here. I heard them talking. Are you certain there is no one staying in there?”

The frazzled housekeeper nods.

“And you didn’t see anyone got on the elevator? Not even a peek at them?”

“Like I said, I was just in a room cleaning. You can call down to the front desk if you like and inquire about that room, but they’re only going to tell you the same thing I am. There hasn’t been anyone in there for a couple of days now. I’d know. I’m the one that has to tidy up after people.”

Esme gives a polite, albeit curt, thank you and moves towards the room in question. Facing the door, taking as many steps forward as she can until her bare toes touch the wood. There wasn’t enough room for one person to hide in that small of an alcove, never mind two. She tries the handle on a whim, finding the door tightly secure. Then presses her ear to the door and listens for any sign of life.

Nothing.

It’s disheartening. Even maddening. She knows what she heard. What she saw. Yet there’s absolutely no proof that any of it actually happened. There are no faces to connect with the voices. No bodies to place with the footsteps. There’s nothing but two strangers getting on an elevator. And the questions they’d left behind.

She turns to head back to the room, realizing that in her haste to catch whoever had been in the hallway, that she’d inadvertently locked herself out. The key card tucked securely inside of her wallet. Back in the nightstand on her side of the bed. And she’s muttering to herself about when she steps out of the shallow alcove, nearly jumping clear out of her skin when she nearly collides with Tyler’s broad, solid torso.

“Jesus Christ!” she cries, having to fight back to urge to either knee him in the groin or punch him in the throat. A natural instinct when startled by God knows what. Or who knows what. “What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me!”

“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to leave the room alone.”

“So that gives you the right to sneak up on me and nearly make my pee myself? Fuck, Tyler. You could have at least said something, so I didn’t nearly kick you in the nuts. You didn’t have to creep up on me like that.”

He isn’t amused. His brow furrowed and his nostrils flaring as he curls his fingers around her upper arm and pulls her out of the doorway and practically shoves her down the hall; grip on her tightening as he propels her towards their room.

“I don’t have my card,” she reluctantly admits, and he heaves a frustrated sigh and nods down in the direction of the left-hand pocket on his flack jacket. His own hands already occupied, one with the painfully tight hold on her arm, the other with a carry out tray of beverages and a bag of food. “I didn’t think it would lock behind me,” she attempts to reason, as she plucks the card from the jacket and slips it into the slot on the door.

Letting of her arm, he pushes the door open, holding it for her. “Just go,” he orders, voice low and menacing.

She pauses on the threshold, a hand on her hip as she glares up at him. “We are NOT fighting about this.”

He smirks, eyeing her up and down with that utter condemnation that uses for those that especially piss him off. Then nods in the direction of the interior of the room. “Go.”

She arches her eyebrows, as if silently challenging him, but his deep inhale and slow, measured exhale tells her that this is not the time to be testing the limits of either his patience or his temper. Instead she holds her hands up in surrender and stomps past him. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she watched his every move; the way he lets the door slam shut and does up both the deadbolt and the chain, that condescending smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he walks past her, that calm yet utterly unnerving way he unpacks the carry tray and the bag and places the contents on a table near the window. She’s had five and a half years of this, whether it be the silent treatment or abrupt one or two word answers, or outright blow outs. Yet he’s still hard to read sometimes. A master at hiding his true feelings. That expression steadfast.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the room on your own,” his voice is calm. Too calm. Like the eerie stillness right before a storm.

“I only stepped out for a couple of minutes.” It sounds lame, even to her own ears.

“We talked about this. I told you not to anywhere by yourself. You said you wouldn’t.”

“It was only a couple minutes,” she repeats.

“Do you know how much can happen in two minutes?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Tyler. I’m not one of your kids.”

“You listen just as well as they do. Actually, I think they listen better than you do.”

She frowns. “What’s next? I can’t go to the bathroom without you holding my hand?”

That smirk again. “I thought you said you didn’t want to fight about this? Because it sounds like you’re trying to start a fight.”

“I can’t leave the room, yet you can leave the hotel by yourself?” she challenges, and he gives a derisive snort.

“I can handle myself. If something goes wrong, I can take care of it.”

“I’m not a child. Don’t talk to me like one. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“You mean like you were able to take care of Jason by yourself?” he counters.

“That was five years ago and under totally different circumstances.”

“You stole my gun, stole my car, snuck out of the house and flew to Dhaka. While you were pregnant. You’re right. Totally different circumstances. In fact, they’re even worse than these circumstances. I told you not to go anywhere by yourself. I asked you to listen to me and stay in the room. At all times. Unless I’m with you, you don’t go anywhere. And you said okay. You were fine with that. So what the fuck is the issue? I’m gone for half an hour and you totally go against everything I told you?”

“I was fifty feet away.”

“I don’t give a shit!” he bellows, and she blinks at the vehemence in his voice. “I don’t care if it’s five feet away! I don’t care if it’s the next fucking room! You don’t leave by yourself! You did this shit back in Dhaka and you’re doing it now. I told you back then not to leave my side and you did and you’re still doing this shit now. Why do you have such a hard time listening to what I say?”

“I’m a human being, Tyler. Not a thing. Not some object you own. So…”

“You’re my wife!” he snaps.

“Yes. I am. But that doesn’t make me your possession. You don’t have ownership over me.”

“That is not what this is about. This isn’t about me wanting to own you or having possession of you or whatever weird shit you have in your head. This is about keeping you safe! This is about making sure that at least one of us gets home to our kids! I’d rather it be me that something happens to you than you. I asked you…I told you…not to go anywhere on your own. Not because I think I own you. But because you’re the mother of my children and I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

“Well I don’t want anything happening to you either and you’re out that by yourself.”

“That is not the same thing and you know it.”

“Because you’re the big bad mercenary who can kill people with his bare hands and I’m just some vulnerable little girl that needs you to protect her at all costs.”

“Esme…” he sighs heavily. “…just stop…why are you even arguing with me about this? You know you fucked up. Just own it. I told you not to go anywhere alone and you did. You can try turning it around all you want. You can try and make me look like the bad guy. Which you’ve been doing for five years every time we get into a fight. I’m always the one that’s wrong. The one that’s controlling or possessive or treats you like a little kid.”

“Well you do. Treat me like that.”

It takes all he has not to storm across the room, grab her and shake the shit out of her. Instead he takes his voice down a notch, able to rein in his temper, standing in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “I am trying to protect you. Do you know what can happen in a couple minutes? How wrong things can go in just a few feet, never mind forty or fifty? Or a hundred? What if someone had have been out there just waiting for you? What if you’ve already been made and someone is just waiting for you to fuck up? What then?”

“I wasn’t thinking about all of that,” she admits. “I…”

“All the rooms you had to walk past to get where you were. What if someone had have just been waiting in one of those doors? Just waiting for you to walk by? You would have ended up just like McMann’s wife and kids. And then what? Then what the fuck would I do? Then I would have to say fuck them and extract my own goddamn wife. Did you even stop to think about that? What the hell would happen to you? What someone would put you through? Especially if it’s someone after me? Do you know the shit they would do to you?”

“I didn’t think of that stuff. I just…”

“They’d torture you. They’d beat you. They’d rape you. And they’d do all kinds of other sick, twisted shit to you. I have seen what these kinds of people do. I’ve seen it firsthand. So don’t ever question why I am the way I am with you. Why I want to protect you like I do. Because I’ve seen what do to women tied to mercenaries. And I’d never forgive myself if it happened to you,” he pushes hair behind her ears, cradles her face in the palms of his hands, then leans down to kiss softly. “Now are we done? Can we stop fighting now?”

“Well it was pretty one sided because you were the one doing the yelling, but…”

“Stop,” he implores, and pecks her lips. “I was just worried. I didn’t mean to freak out. But this is serious shit and I don’t want anything happening to you. Are we still friends?”

“It depends.”

“Yeah?” he grins, and runs a fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “On what?”

“What you brought me for breakfast.”

****

They sit on the balcony to enjoy their feast; bowls of fruit salad, bagels with cream cheese, cups of fresh, piping hot coffee and tea. It’s a beautiful morning; fresh, cool air replacing the stifling humidity that had blanketed the city just the day before, a brilliant blue sky with enormous, stark white low hanging clouds, a steady stream of cars and pedestrians on the streets below. A busy metropolitan area, but a far cry from the dusty crowded streets of Dhaka.

Aside from that short trip to Cuba together -when the twins had been conceived in a bar bathroom- the last time they’d holed up together in a hotel had been five years ago in Dhaka. That run-down flea bag establishment with its rodent and insect problem and its stained walls and foul smell that clung to every inch. Yet despite the state of the place, that was where everything had begun. Where two lonely and broken people had discovered that their tattered and weather halves could be put together to make a slightly tarnished and dented whole.

“Have you ever heard of the Buckman family? Tyler suddenly asks, as they sit side by side in plastic lawn chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him, sunglasses on his face, coffee in one hand, her hand clasped tightly in the other. “From New Zealand?”

She’s silent for a moment, her bare feet perched upon the top railing of the balcony. “We’re talking organized crime here, aren’t we.”

He nods.

“I know of them. I’ve never had anything to do with them personally because I only dealt with things in North America. But yeah, I’ve heard of them. Why? How do you even know that name?”

“McMann’s wife is related to them. Her father was the head of it, I guess.”

“Alphonse Buckman? I used to hear all kinds of stories about him from colleagues that had run ins with him and his people. All kinds of crazy shit. We’re talking things like attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, forcible confinement. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. I wouldn’t even have believed half of it had I not actually seen the guy’s rap sheet for myself. Even the people I got close to were afraid of him. Who would have thought of a crime family in New Zealand of all places? His daughter? Really? How did you find all this out?”

“Yaz ran a background check on her. Remember those videos I showed you? Of the wife and the kids?”

She nods. “I remember you thinking it was strange because the kids were in some dumpy place and she looked like she was somewhere just as nice as our hotel room.”

“I have to show you something,” he gives her hand a squeeze and then stands up, grimacing at the pain in his knees, the small of his back aching and stiff as he heads bare foot into the room. Returning a minute later with the file folder in hand. “Someone came to the hotel I was at before. Middle of the night. Gave me these.”

She takes the item offered to her, then pushes her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and opens the folder. “Proof of life pictures?”

“Apparently,” he grabs his chair and places it in front of her, so they’re face to face. “Tell me what’s weird about them.”

“Well at first blush, the kids are obviously the target of whoever has them. They’re the ones that are the main focus of revenge or rage or whatever you want to call it. Whoever is doing this are sick fucks,” she fights to control her emotions; her thoughts immediately going to her own children thousands of miles away. And Tyler reaches out lays a comforting hand on her knee, squeezing gently in an attempt to keep her calm and focused. “They’ve definitely been getting the worst of things. And wherever they are, it’s run down. Brick walls, exposed pipes and electrical. Almost…industrial…like a warehouse or a basement.”

“What about the wife?”

She moves the photos of the children to the bottom of the pile. “The place is clean. Tidy. A couple of stains on the walls and chunks out of the plaster but nothing gross.”

“What else?” he presses.

“She has a few bruises but nothing major. It looks she’s sitting on a wooden chair. Only her ankles are restrained which is weird as hell. I haven’t physically gone into an extraction and seen one for myself, but it doesn’t seem too productive to only restrain someone by the feet. And the kids are in metal chairs. She’s in a wooden one. Looks antique almost. Or a good knock off. Looks like she tried to give herself a hair cut and failed miserably. Like someone tried to hard to make it look like her hair was hacked off. Even Millie did a better job when she tried to cut her own bangs when she was three.”

“And? What does that tell you?”

She holds a photo of the children and one of the mother side by side, chewing pensively on her bottom lip as she studies. “Tyler…this…” she holds up the picture of Heather Buckman. “…is fake. Not the photo itself. That’s very much real. But the situation surrounding it. It’s not real. It’s totally a hoax.”

“You’re sure?”

“This and this…” she holds the photos side by side, facing him. “…do not go together. What the kids are going through…what’s being done to them…that is very real. But Heather Buckman is lying. She is not being held. She’s acting. There is no way that someone…no matter how sick in the head…would do all that to children but barely make a mark on an adult. Adults they can inflict more damage on. Which they want. They want to be able to prolong it.”

“God, I love you,” he declares, and leans over to kiss her.

“I mean, I’m no criminologist but I’ve seen enough in my own time on the job to know when something isn’t on the up and up. And this is as fake as it comes. But why? Why would she do this? To her own kids? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that. I would die for my kids. In a heartbeat. I can’t imagine doing something like this. I can’t…” the emotion becomes to difficult to control and she stuffs the photos back into the folder and hands it to them. “…I don’t want to see these ever again.”

He nods in understanding, then presses a tender kiss to her forehead before tucking the folder underneath his chair.

“So is McMann involved in this too?” she asks. “Are they both in on this? Is this some screwed up way of getting back at you for something?”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with me at all. This isn’t someone looking for revenge. I have zero ties to these people. Or the IRA or the Buckman family. This has nothing to do with me. I’m just the guy that McMann wants help from. I don’t think he’s involved. I think he’s being straight with me. That his wife and his kids were taken, and he needs help getting them back. He has no clue his wife is even involved.”

“Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“Only people that know anything about this are Nik, Yaz, me, and now you. I’m supposed to have a meeting with McMann tomorrow morning to see where everything stands. I’ve got nothing to give him. I can’t get any information out of anyone about the wife and kids.”

“Because you’ve been made.”

He nods. “That’s where you come in.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense. Why? Why would the wife do this?”

“McMann told me that they met when he was going an extraction in New Zealand. That his wife was a shop keeper that would feed him information.”

“Okay…”

“It was a lie. Her grandmother was the shop keeper. Her mother…Heather McMann’s mother…kidnapped her to get her away from the old man. Because of how dangerous he was. She was seventeen when it happened. McMann was thirty-three.”

“That alone is fucked up but go on.”

“He didn’t meet her on the job. She was the job. She was his extract.”

“Wait…. wait…” she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “…what?”

“He was working for her old man. To get her back. Only once he got her, he never returned her. He took the money but never brought her back.”

“So he fell in love and hooked up with the person he was supposed to be extracting?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d say this, but that makes what happened between us on the job sound totally normal. But why is she doing this to her husband? If he saved her back then…”

“It was a hit. On her old man. Either McMann did it himself or he had some IRA buddies do it.”

“But why?”

“He was taking jobs for the old man and some of his friends, pocketing the money, and never actually getting any of the work done.”

“So he’s pissed off a lot of people. First the IRA for defecting, then the Buckman family and whoever is caught up with them.”

“Yaz thinks the wife found out. That her husband killed her father. And that he’s been cheating on her.”

“Kind of overkill for adultery don’t you think? To stage your own kids’ kidnapping to lure your husband into a trap to kill him? Why not just make things easier on yourself on and just cut his dick off? That’s what I’d do.”

“Wait…what?”

“I’d totally cut your dick off if you ever cheated on me. I wouldn’t even think twice.”

“Not that I ever would cheat, but seriously?”

“You cheat on me and you’re going dickless for the rest of your life, buddy. That’s just the way it is. None of this is making any sense. Or maybe it is and my brain is mush. Maybe my mommy brain is worse than I thought. So what you’re saying is that McMann took for an extraction and instead of actually extracting the girl, he fell in love with her and married. I’ll leave out the part that she was a kid at the time, because…ewwww…”

“You’re right. It does make what happened between us seem sane,” Tyler concludes.

“…he takes the money for that but never gives her back to her father. He starts taking jobs and the money for those jobs but never actually does anything. Pissing off a lot of people, including her old man, in the process. He puts a hit out on his father in law…or does it himself…the wife eventually finds out and mixed in with the knowledge he is screwing around, she goes off the deep end and seeks revenge.”

Tyler frowns. “I feel like I need to write this down. Should I be writing this down? I’m starting to confuse myself.”

“She goes totally Mommy Dearest and uses the kids in the most horrific way possible in order to lure her husband in and kill him?”

“Yeah…that’s pretty much it.”

“Tyler…this is messed up…way beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. Please tell me this is the weirdest shit you’ve ever dealt with.”

“I’ve seen and heard some weird things, but not this level of weird.”

“I feel like I’m eating at the buffet of strange,” she sighs. “So why is the IRA involved in all of this?”

“They’re not. That’s what whoever is doing this wants us to think. They didn’t claim responsibility and they say they had nothing to do with it. Whoever is doing this, wanted us to think that so we’d stir up a whole lot of shit with the IRA and take the heat off of them.”

“You realize what could have happened? Had you just gone in on McMann’s word and tried taking out the IRA? Jesus Christ, Tyler. You would have started a whole bunch of shit for no reason. And you would have not survived that mess. And how did you get those pictures? Someone showed up at the hotel?”

“Some girl. Showed up at my door at in the middle of the night. Claiming she worked for the IRA.”

“And you don’t think she did?”

He shakes his head. “She works for the wife. I’m sure of it. She said that ‘they’ know who I am. They know my name, the things I’ve done, why I’m here. She said they know everything about me. Including about my wife and my kids.”

Esme’s eyes widen. “That’s why you had Nik come to the house with those guards. Because of a threat?”

“I don’t think it’s a legit threat. It’s probably just to scare me off. Get me off their scent. They think I’ll head home and forget all about what’s going on over here.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe we should go home.”

“We can’t. I need your help. I can’t find those kids without you. I don’t care about the wife. I don’t care about McMann. They can kill each other for all I give a shit. It’s about those kids.”

“You’re going to extract them, aren’t you.”

He nods. “I need your help. I can’t find them without you. I need you to find out where they are.”

“And you honestly think I can do that? That I can find my way to these people and make them talk?”

“I don’t think you can. I know you can.”

She gives a small smile and reaches out to push his hair from his eyes. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“If anyone can get the information, it’s you. I need you to do this, Esme. I need you to help me find those kids.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod, and then leans forward to kiss him, a hand on the side of his face. “Where do we start?”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #extraction #extraction fan fiction #sanctuary

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welcometothickfila · 4 years

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Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed? I keep my closet door open all the time, just because it's one of those barn style doors and I like the way it looks open.

Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel? If I like the product I will, but otherwise no. Most of the time I'll take the conditioner because, ya know, you can only go so wrong with conditioner. Because I dye my hair black and I've got very wavy and coarse hair, I am extremely careful with the shampoos I use on my hair. Matter of fact, I can't tell you the last time I actually used shampoo. I cowash.

Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out? I sleep with the sheets out. I can't deal with tucked in sheets when I'm trying to get comfy. It produces a similar feeling of entrapment like trying to sleep with socks on does for me. Ew.

Have you ever stolen a street sign before? Nope and I have never had the urge to do that.

Do you like to use post-it notes? If I am in a position in which using post-it notes makes sense then I will use them, yes.

Do you cut out coupons but then never use them? No but I will get coupons in the mail, keep ones I intend on using, and then forget to use them, so kinda the same thing.

Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees? No. Just no. Obviously a bear attack is likely to end in death or at least serious injury like dismemberment, but then on the other hand it would suck to be stung by a swarm of bees and you never know, I could be allergic, so I'm just gonna stick with my original answer - no. Just no.

Do you have freckles? Yeah, especially on my shoulders and my back. I will also get some on my face when I'm in the direct sun for a while and I had a lot on my face as a kid.

Do you always smile for pictures? I smile for pictures most of the time, yes.

What is your biggest pet peeve? I don't know. Just general rudeness, really. This is one of those questions where I don't have the answer right now or off the top of my head, but ask me when I'm annoying and I can give you multiple things, lol. Oh, one thing I really hate is when someone tries to continue a conversation with you when it's very clear that you don't want to talk. I don't want anyone to take it personally. Sometimes I just don't feel like talking.

Do you ever count your steps when you walk? I mean I have before, yeah.

Have you ever peed in the woods? Yes, I have.

What about pooped in the woods? I don't believe so.

Do you ever dance even if theres no music playing? Sometimes, I guess? Idk, sometimes I'm the girl that does a little happy dance when she eats.

Do you chew your pens and pencils? No, I don't do that.

How many people have you slept with this week? That'd be zero.

What size is your bed? My bed is a queen.

What is your song of the week? I really like "I Hope" by Gabby Barrett.

Do you still watch cartoons? Not really. Pretty sure the only cartoon I like these days is Spongebob, and I don't have cable, so that's that.

Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some? Bend over and I'll show ya. Idk man.

What do you drink with dinner? I'm pretty much always drinking a diet soda.

What do you dip a chicken nugget in? I'll usually dip a nugget in ranch or ketchup, and I'll occasionally get sweet and sour sauce at McDonald's.

What is your favorite food? I love chinese food, and then cheese fries with ranch.

Last person you kissed/kissed you? My boyfriend and I kissed at the gas station after work about an hour ago.

Were you ever a boy/girl scout? No, I was not.

Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? Nah, that ain't me.

Ever gotten a speeding ticket? Yes.

Ran out of gas? Almost, and it was one of the scariest times of my life, no joke. It was my first time making the long drive back home by myself, which mind you is like a 10 hour drive, and I was in the middle of the West Virginia mountains with no cell phone service and there wasn't a gas station for miles and my gas light was on and I wasn't sure how long it had been on. I was so scared I was going to get stuck in the mountains alone and not be able to call anyone.

Favorite kind of sandwich? I guess a ham sandwich is my favorite.

Best thing to eat for breakfast? Well, my favorite breakfast of all time is from this little cafe here and it's a platter with French toast with cheesecake filling on top, bacon, eggs and hashbrowns. However, I also love the Sunrise Sampler from Cracker Barrel and a Hardee's chicken biscuit with hashbrowns, lol. I just love breakfast, tbh.

What is your usual bedtime? I go to bed anywhere from 3 to 6 AM. I work 2nd shift.

Are you stubborn? I can be very stubborn when the subject matter is something I feel strongly about or if I am very aggravated, yes. Otherwise, I'd say I'm pretty level-headed.

Who is better...Leno or Letterman? I don't have a preference because I don't follow either of them.

Ever watch soap operas? My great grandma used to always have Days of our Lives playing at her house when she used to babysit my sister and me, so I have some soap opera experience there, yeah. For a little while I was also a fan of Desperate Housewives and Tyler Perry's The Haves and the Have Nots.

Afraid of heights? I say I am, but it's not enough to stop me from things like flying or amusement rides.

Sing in the car? Of course. Singing in the car is awesome.

Dance in the shower? I have before but not regularly, no.

Dance in the car? Heck yeah I do.

Ever used a gun? I have shot a gun, yes.

Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? Um...never, Unless you count Christmas pictures I took when I was like 4 or yearbook pictures, lol.

Do you think musicals are cheesy? For the most part, yes.

Is Christmas stressful? Yes. Christmas is lovely, but it is often stressful as well.

Ever eat a pierogi? Yep.

Favorite type of fruit pie? I guess apple, but I'd much rather have pecan pie. Yum.

Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? I think the only thing I can remember wanting to be was a teacher.

Do you believe in ghosts? I think so.

Ever have a Deja-vu feeling? Yes.

Take a vitamin daily? No.

Wear slippers? Not really.

Wear a bath robe? Nah.

What do you wear to bed? Pajama pants and a shirt, most of the time.

First concert? *NYSNC. That's right, be jealous, lol.

Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?

Kmart, Wal-Mart and then Target. Kmart stores are dwindling though. :(

Nike or Adidas? Hm, both. Probably Adidas first because Superstars are my favorite shoes.

Cheetos Or Fritos? Both, but probably Cheetos a little more.

Peanuts or Sunflower seeds? Both. I love nuts in general.

Can you curl your tongue? I can, yes.

Ever been in love? Currently.

Who would you like to see in concert? Oh, there's so many people I'd like to see live because I just love concerts in general. I'd like to see Luke Combs again, Fall Out Boy again (but have them play their old stuff), Def Leppard, Chris Stapleton, Blackbear, etc.

What was the last concert you saw? Luke Combs!

Hot tea or cold tea? I love cold, sweet tea.

Tea or coffee? I like both, but tea a little more.

Sugar or snickerdoodles? Sugar.

Can you swim well? I can swim like a fish, to be honest. I grew up in South Carolina spending every warm day in my grandpa's swimming pool.

Can you hold your breath without holding your nose? I can.

Are you patient? It depends.

DJ or band, at a wedding? I would probably prefer a DJ.

Which are better black or green olives? All olives are disgusting to me.

Do you want kids? I think so but I'm not entirely sure yet.

What's your favorite color? My favorite color is purple.

#Surveys #Survey #Questions #Answers #Q&A

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