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angels-heap · 3 years

Note

Peeping your tags, got any spare Lauren headcanons you could share ˁ˙˟˙ˀ

Oh god, I have enough extremely niche and specific Lauren headcanons bouncing around in my head to write at least two fics, but since I have decided not to write them for Fandom Bullshit Reasons, I’ve been shoving as many of them as possible into The Ghost in You instead.

But without spoiling that fic too much (or making anyone who hasn’t read it feel compelled to do so), here are a few miscellaneous tidbits from my mountains of unused fic notes and outlines:

Lauren worked in the Sector C cafeteria at Black Mesa, and that’s where she met Barney (and eventually Gordon, aka “Ponytail Guy,” the new guy from AnMat who only drank black coffee and never talked to anyone). Barney took Ponytail Guy’s reputation as a challenge, and thus, a beautiful friendship was born.

She liked to dance to old-timey jazz music and also had a bit of a houseplant hoarding problem. Secretly, Barney suspected that the main reason she moved in with him was that his dorm had windows to let in natural light.

Like Barney, Lauren was a huge conspiracy theorist. Unlike Barney, she thought the weird shit going on at Black Mesa was way more interesting than aliens and cryptids. She was able to take advantage of the relative invisibility her service job afforded her to snoop around during her off hours. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that.

Lauren’s behind-the-scenes meddling almost definitely prevented Gordon from being transferred to the Lambda Complex (and possibly disappearing under mysterious and highly classified circumstances) prior to the resonance cascade. With the benefit of hindsight, it’s hard to know if that was a good call or a very, very bad one.

As I mentioned in the tags of this post, Lauren 100% picked up on the subtle homoerotic tension between Barney and Gordon pretty quickly, even though they were both deep in denial. Alas, she ran out of time to encourage them to act on it. Her thoughts on the whole situation ranged from “hilarious” to “kinda hot,” depending on the context.

Case in point: She and Barney once got really drunk together and decided they should both get one “hall pass” to sleep with another person, no questions asked, without it being considered cheating. They wrote their choices down on little pieces of paper and swapped them. Hers was Leonardo DiCaprio. Barney’s was Gordon. He later denied this, but unbeknownst to him, she kept the paper.

Bonus! I managed to find an old outline file for The Ghost in You. Enjoy(?) these snippets of half-written/half-outlined backstory that didn’t make it into the final draft of Chapter 10:

Gordon then proceeded to reveal Lauren’s best-kept open cooking secret to an astonished Barney. (“She just used Lawry’s instead of regular salt in recipes and put it on everything! How did you never pick up on that? You literally shared a kitchen, Barn! She kept the bottle in plain sight!”)

“She was kinda the black sheep of her family,” Barney continued; if he’d noticed his friends’ concern, he chose not to acknowledge it. “She grew up pretty comfortable”—Gordon briefly interrupted with a snort, suggesting that that was an understatement—"but her folks cut her off when she decided she didn’t wanna follow in their footsteps and become a soulless fuckin’ lawyer. She wound up getting a sociology degree at the University of New Mexico because it was the only place she could afford on her own, and…” He trailed off and narrowed his eyes. “Gordon’s makin’ his ‘sociology isn’t a real science’ face, isn’t he?”

[Alyx] also couldn’t help but giggle at Gordon’s absolute disgust for the way Lauren and Barney had shared some kind of cookies called Oreos. (“He’d lick all the cream off and then hand her the soggy cookie part and she’d just pop it into her mouth! It was barbaric!” “Pssh… how is that different from how you and I shared cupcakes at office parties, huh?” “Are you… are you telling me you didn’t scrape the icing off of those with a knife!?...”)

(Much like the infamous movie theater “handjob seats” in It’s Only Natural, the Oreo anecdote was, unfortunately, based on an insane thing I actually witnessed in my real life.)

So, there you go. You asked for headcanons and you got the ghosts of my abandoned WIPs. I hope this was at least slightly entertaining in some way. And thank you so much for giving me an excuse to ramble about this!

#asks #nerdneeniya #this is probably not the content you were looking for #but here it is anyway #lauren #not putting this in any main tags for fandom bullshit reasons

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strange-lace · 3 years

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May I ask for 36 and 19 general with swap au please?

Hope you don’t mind me switching things up and using the roleswap AU I made with Monkie Kid Red, Green Dragon MK, and Demon Mei!

“Hold onto me.” / “Do you trust me?” “No.”

“I blame you for this,” MK coughed, lungs thankfully not crushed from the boulder on top of him. His legs and right arm were pinned under the almost unbearable weight and yet he still had the energy to glare at the demon, sword in his free hand. Mei remained about as intimidated as if a crab was wielding a knife at her, meaning not at all. It was almost impressive how she could give the other a deadpan stare while struggling to hold up a rock about three times her size.

“Looks like you caught me, I totally caused a cave in which leaves me having to hold up this dumb rock from killing us both!” Mei hissed, “Honestly, use your brain, Idiot Dragon.”

“That’s Green Dragon to you, Hothead!” MK snarked back, making slow progress wriggling his way out from under the boulder as now his other arm was free. The sharp stab of pain in both of his ankles made him realize that he may not have survived the cave in unscathed like he had hoped. He must have done a poor job hiding his pain because Mei’s expression lightened up, her eyes looking upon him with concern.

“What’s wrong now?”

“...I think both of my ankles got sprained,” MK admitted with a small bit of shame. Mei could only curse at their rotten luck. They were both left silent as they struggled to figure out how to escape their impending fate.

“Do you trust me?” Mei asked and he barely hesitated with his answer.

“No.” Yet the demon didn’t look his hurt at all by this.

“Good, it means you’re smart but can you at least trust me to get that boulder off you and help me hold out until Red can find us?” MK chewed his lip in thought before giving her a small nod, much to her relief. “Good. Now, don’t move.”

That was the only warning Mei gave him before she suddenly manifested bull horns and headbutted the boulder hard enough to make it crumble to pieces. MK wheezed as he could now breathed easier but was now even more aware of the various aches and pains throughout his body.

“There, I did my part. Now help me out here before my arms give out.” He could hear the slightest bit of desperation in her voice as her body started to shake under the rock’s weight. Climbing to his feet and gritting his teeth to work through the burning agony, he leaped and slashed at the slab until it wasn’t at risk of suffocating Mei. The demon fell to the ground in relief with him not far behind as the pain sapped at the last of his energy.

They both lied there side by side on the cave floor in silence before MK inevitably broke it, always hating it when it got quiet.

“Didn’t know you had bull horns.” Mei raised an eyebrow at what sounded like one of the dumbest statement she heard all day.

“Dude, have you seen my dad?” He flushed a tiny bit at that in embarrassment.

“Fair enough, but for what it’s worth... they look really cool on you,” MK confessed and his flush worsened at the look of surprise which morphed into smugness as the demon processed what he said. Before she could start teasing him for it, a familiar red and gold staff pierced through the cave ceiling, allowing welcome sunlight to filter in.

And an even more welcome face to slide down the staff, shoulders heavy with worry.

“MK! Mei!” Red cried out as soon as he saw the two, rushing over to pull them into a tight hug. The two of them could sag into his arms in relief. “Thank the heavens you two are alright! Are either of you hurt, anything broken?”

“Nah, we’re fi-”

“Cupcake’s got two sprained ankles. Pretty sure I’ve torn a couple muscles,” Mei cut MK off, not even reacting to the glare thrown her way by him. She felt a tightness in her chest when that made Red’s fretting even worse but she wasn’t going to lie about her injuries here.

“Let’s get you two to safety, I have a first aid kit above ground. Hold onto me.” He didn’t need to tell the exhausted duo twice, though MK kind of squished Mei between him and Red as the demon was still as limp as a noodle. Once the two were secure, Red grabbed the staff and began the careful journey home to patch the two up.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #roleswap au #mei #mk #red son #traffic light trio #my writing #fanfiction #asks for tiny #anonymous

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water-writings · 3 years

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@witchofinterest asked

11- “For the sake of my rapidly dwindling sanity, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see, or hear, any of that.” + tracey!

@nightwingshero asked

“This is not what I thought you meant when you said you were serving French Food” or “what the fuck is that, and why is it in my kitchen?” For Tracey? 😘

Finally finished this after like two months. Sorry for being so late. I'll try and get the other prompts finished soon!

She stood there, staring at the dripping goo that fell from the cabinet to the laminate countertop. Mouth hanging open, her eyes traveled up, slowly following the trail of brown and - was that green...and purple? - whatever-it-is substance that created many, many streaks down the dark wood of the cabinets. Then finally, her eyes landed on the ceiling where the biggest abomination lived. There right near the start of the cabinets, maybe a foot away, was a large blob of the multi-colored mess.

“Oh my god…”

Tracey’s eyes fell from the blob to the two culprits who stood before her, covered from head to toe in the same substance. Pietro stared back at her with a sheepish grin as Annabeth kept giggling into her hands .

“I can explain.” Pietro stepped forward, but quickly retracted his step when he saw the fire in Tracey’s eyes. “Annabeth asked for cupcakes, but I...do not know how to make them. Or rather...I messed up with uh mixer.” He gestured to behind him and sitting on the counter in its own puddle of, what Tracey could now only guess was supposed to be cake batter, was the hand mixer her mom had given her a week ago. “But as you can see...it broke.”

Tracey blinked several times before bringing her gaze back to the speedster. “And how did it break, Pietro?”

Pietro shifted on his feet for a moment, glancing down at the five year old girl standing next to him. Annabeth grinned and giggled up at him, thinking this whole endeavor was hilarious.

“I uh was scrapping the mixer with a knife and Annabeth - or I - may have turned on switch to mixer,” the speedster finally answered. He pursed his lips, eyes going a little wide as he waited for the blonde woman’s fury to emerge.

“You wha-” Tracey’s mouth fell open even more when she looked to the side of the mixer and found a knife with it’s blade broken in half. “You used a steak kni-” She clenched her fists and took in a sharp breath before slowly loosening her hands. “For the sake of my rapidly dwindling sanity, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see, or hear, any of this.” She grabbed her daughter’s hand. “I’m going to give Annabeth a bath and get this gunk off her. I suggest you clean this up, Pietro, before Bucky gets home.”

“I am home,” Bucky called out from the entry-way. “What did he do this time?”

“Daddy!” Annabeth exclaimed. Her face lit up and she immediately let go of her mom’s hand.

“Annabeth, no wait!” Tracey called after her daughter, but just sighed as she watched her five year old run to greet her dad. The little girl’s feet slapping against the wooden floor and leaving small footprints made of the cake batter in her wake.

“Hey, baby dol-” Bucky’s smiling face quickly swapped out for a look of bewilderment. “What is all over you?” He picked her up, holding her out at arm’s length, examining the globs of brown, green, and purple that covered his daughter. Some of the substance dripped onto his hands as he carried her back to the kitchen.

“I wanted to bake something for you and Mommy and Pietro and I started making cupcakes,” the little brunette explained, smiling up at her dad.

Bucky stopped as soon as he got into the kitchen and gently set Annabeth down. His eyes darted from Tracey, to Pietro, to Annabeth, then to the mess that covered practically every inch of his kitchen. “That is not cupcakes. What the fuck is that and what is it doing in my kitchen?”

Annabeth gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Daddy said a bad word! Swear jar! Swear jar!”

The super soldier turned his gaze from the mess and once again placed it on the speedster. “What happened, Pietro?”

“Do I have to repeat myself?” Pietro groaned, hanging his head back. At that moment a glob landed on his face.

“Yes,” Bucky said, folding his arms over his chest, “you do have to repeat yourself.”

“I was cleaning the mixer with knife and I accidentally turned on the mixer.”

Bucky stared at his teammate, a bewildered expression dawning his face. “You what?”

“That’s what I said,” Tracey piped up as she cleaned Annabeth’s hands off with a wet washcloth.

“And then mixer fell into bowl creating the mess,” Pietro finished, gesturing with his arms at the kitchen. He wiped the batter off his face. “To be fair, I have never used mixer before in my life. Wanda always made the cakes.”

“You’re cleaning this,” Tracey said as Bucky picked Annabeth up, “you know that right? We need to clean, Annabeth.”

“By the time she’s clean, I want this room cleaned,” Bucky warned. “Use your super speed if you have to, but please get this cleaned up.”

Tracey followed her husband and daughter out of the room, not before taking one last glance at the ceiling. She closed her eyes in frustration before turning away without a word.

Annabeth giggled as she peered over her dad’s shoulder at the white haired Avenger. “Bye Pietro! Let’s make cupcakes again!”

Pietro’s shoulders slumped as he watched the family turn into the bathroom off from the hall. He groaned as he looked at the mess again, groaning even louder when more cake batter fell onto his head.

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classlesstulip · 4 years

Text

So, You Called for a Handyman?

(A little medly of a day in the life of a ‘handyman’ in the mob. One who doesn’t really take his job too seriously.)

“*che,* a tall and shadowed figure snorted as he flicked the long blade he held. The wet, viscous sound of blood flying through the air and splattering onto concrete was heard, the whistle of metal short but sharp.

Tiberius looked around the room he was in, sharp ears pricked, listening for any of the tell-tale sounds of life: breathing, twitches, the shuddering gasps one gives when in great pain. He was only satisfied when he heard nothing from the collection of bodies spilled around him.

'There’s a group of Mick’s boys over on 8th and North. Go and fix them.’

Heh, they’re fixed now, alright, Ty thought. Now he just needs to call in Lenore for disposal; he needs to pass over that new fertilizer recipe he’s got, using these mooks may be just what her flowers need.

*****

Storing his machete in one of the many caches secreted in Sepulveda territory, Ty swapped out his fingerless leather gloves for a new set. A quick check showed that even after all these years he’s still got it; not even one drop of blood on his 3-piece.

If even ONE of those mooks had spilled on his Armani, he would have rioted. This suite was a gift!

His internal rant was cut off when his phone chirped. Pulling it out of an inner pocket, he saw a new text from Little Cruzi: seem’s their Apa is done putting up with Jericho. Needs to have the jackass fixed. And-, oh!

'Apa says make it messy. The wetter the better.’

Ty can do that. He’s pretty good at getting things wet.

Oh, that was a good one! He’ll have to try that one on Val; the poor dear’s been wound up tighter than a spring the last few weeks. A good laugh followed by a good fuck should fix that.

*****

"Hey, Ty? Boss has a new stop for ya!”

What the fuck? Seriously!? "Uh, Amber? Ya can see I’m currently up to my elbows right now, yeah!?“ The wet squelch and Ty’s grunt as he pulled on Jericho’s lungs rung through the warehouse. It was dark and dusty; the perfect backdrop for a Splash-n-Dash.

Currently, Ty was bent over a stack of pallets, the beaten corpse of Jericho splayed across them. Scattered on the walls and floors around them were gouges and bullet marks, with streaks of blood interspersed, belying that a scuffle had taken place, the loser of which had his chest cracked open and Ty cleaning the innards like he was preparing a chicken to get roasted over open coals.

The driver held up their arms, shrugging. "Hey man, I’m just the messenger. Turns out, Jericho was fucking with not just the Sepulveda’s, but the Alnazar’s AND Satrinava’s.” Amber looked a little green at the sound of flesh and ligaments ripping as Ty finished his impromptu vivisection. He went even more green when Ty overhand-hurled his double-handful of offal at one of the far walls with a loud 'YEET!’, the wet splat and fanning of blood from the impact causing Amber to jump back with a heave. “Dude, what the fuck!?” The thick gurgle he swallowed back after his outburst showed just how DONE he was with Ty’s nastiness.

“Hey, Val says wet and messy, I deliver wet an’ messy! Now keep your pants on and drag over my duffle. My shirt is ruined.”

Keeping an eye on a blood-soaked Tiberius, Amber did as bid. It took him a few minutes to locate said bag, during which Ty lit-up a cig.

“Move it, cupcake.”

“Alright, alright, jeez. Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

“I HEARD THAT!”

*****

“Alrighty then,” Ty propped his feet up on the desk in front of him, ignoring the glare Asra shot him. “So, we gots a case of ol’ Jerry boy putting his fingers into too many pies, both literal, figurative, and colloquially. Drugs, rent girls, and laundering, right?” He pulled in a big drag from his cigar, having lighted up the moment he entered Fluff'n'Stuff’s digs.

With a grunt, Asra pushed the big booted feet off of his NICE mahogany desk. Getting a few smoke-rings blown at him in retribution, he glared at the 'handyman’ sitting across from him, but knew any more fussing on his end would be futile; the only reason Asra isn’t currently a smear on the wall is that Ty thinks he’s adorable AND they go way back.

That and Val and Asra once had a Thing, but that’s none of his business.

“Yes,” leaning back, Asra pulled out a thick manila file folder and dropped it onto his desk. The poor thing was only kept together by a single rubber band, and Ty’s surprised it hasn’t snapped already. “These are the places that Jericho’s Number Two and Three have holed up. Taking these two out will cause the whole operation to fall apart.”

As Asra was speaking, Ty secured his cigar between his molars, propping his jaw open as his fingers started pulling apart the file. Flipping through the first few cover papers, he soon got to the meat and potatoes of the lot. “As you can see, Vinny is in the heart of the Garment District…” Ty stopped paying attention as he looked through everything, Asra’s voice becoming a low, soothing drone. He leaned back in his chair, holding up a few A4-sized photos.

“Now, Illian was able to-” Asra was cut off at a loud, 'interested’ hum from Tiberius. Seconds later, the handyman turned the papers in his hand’s landscape, and a few sheets accordioned down. A slightly lewd chuckle floated up from behind the papers before Asra snatched at them, Ty letting out a disappointed 'awww’ at the loss of his smut.

“A-HEM!” Crinkling the purloined pornography in his fist, Asra pinned Ty with A Look. “This is no time to be looking at, at, uh,” he peeped at the rag, “PLAYBOY!”

“Azzy? That was IN the file. I had nothing to do wi-”

“REGARDLESS,” tossing the magazine at his wastebin (and making a mental note to speak to his son about leaving his 'reading material’ out and about), Asra huffed. “Just, get out of here and fix 'em. Oh, and…”, rifling through his desk, he pulled out a box. He pushed it across his table, a curious Ty picking it up gingerly, “wear this. We need proof of the job, to be a warning.”

“A body cam? Shit son, y'all mean business.” Snorting, Ty threw himself out of his chair, tossing the little box in the air before catching it and slipping it into his suitcoat pocket. “Got it. The usual fee to the usual account. Give hugs and kisses to yer fam for me, yeah?”

*****

Walking down a softly carpeted hall, a slight shadow was seen. Soft curls were piled atop their head, and one hand held a glass of wine while the other pulled their robe tighter. Light filtered through shuttered blinds, car head beams and static lamps fighting the darkness of night. Occasionally, the honk of a horn or the revving of an engine sounded out, despite being muffled by layers of brick and insulation.

Sipping their wine, they stopped just outside a cracked door. Peeping in, a soft smile curled their lips as they spied one of their little ones (though, being nearly twenty, they are fairly certain that Sol would object to such an endearment). Seeing them softly snoring away, the door was pulled shut. Checking on their other child, Cruz, showed the same result.

Once satisfied that their children (grown though they may be) were tucked away safely snoozing, Val continued down the hall. A few twists and turns later and they were in their office. Opulently decorated with heavy dark wood pieces and bold colors, it was quite a large and stately room. Near the far wall was their desk, and on the blotter was a thumb drive.

Knowing that it must have been left by Tiberius, Val plucked it up. Wandering towards the entertainment center, they plugged in the drive, turned on the screen, and got comfortable on the couch, sipping more wine as they navigated menus with the remote.

“Hey, is this thing on?” The sound of someone tapping a mic was heard before the picture abruptly turned on. A large brown eye was center stage, the corners crinkling briefly before the cam was pulled back, revealing the familiar face of Tiberius. “Alrighty, then! So, the usual drivel: Tiberius working on behalf of Don Valentino of the Sepulveda Family, yadda yadda yadda,” Ty’s eyes rolled, and his body moved like he was waving his hand. “Here to fuck some shit up and make a statement. So here’s,” he tapped the screen, “the mutherfuckin’,” more taps, “TEA,” a final tap. “Vinny’s been baaaaaaaad. Not only,” Ty brandished a finger, waving it around his head like a conductor, “has this bonafide dickfuck fuckface been doin’ Jerry’s dirty work, but this FUCKER has also been bringing in kids. KIDS I TELL YA! Now c'mon, Vinny, baby, ya don’t bring kids into your prostitution ring! Fucker! So, time to clean house! And Val?” Ty winked at the camera, “I’ll have a nice little pressie for ya when you finish this!”

Some fumbling and cursing later, and Val had a chest-high view of whatever was in front of Ty. Currently, it was the door to what may be a warehouse. The video jumped up and down a few times, and the cocking of a gun was heard. Something very familiar was playing in the background, and it came to a hard beat as Ty kicked in the door-

“Some-BODY ONCE TOLD ME,” duel-wielding, Ty buried a bullet into the head and gut of the bouncer standing guard as the kicked-in door bounced off of the wall. “THE WORLD WAS GONNA ROLL ME,” two steps down the hallway. “I AIN’T THE SMARTEST TOOL IN THE SHED,” one guy burst out of a room and got pistol-whipped for his stupidity, getting a few slugs to the back as he fell.

Hopping over the new body, Ty continued his song. “SHE WAS LOOKIN’ KINDA DUMB WITH HER FINGER AND HER THUMB,” this time, he peeped around a doorway into a room, squeaking out a startled 'Errol!?’ as a knife buried itself into the wall behind him. A feminine voice started spewing curses as he backpedaled, hands still clutching Glocks up in the air. “Aight, aight, I got it! Sheesh!” Huffing, he continued his journey down the hall, bellowing an 'IN THE SHAPE OF AN L ON 'ER FOREHEAD!’ behind him as he went.

Now Val wants to know what she was doing there. Did Jericho piss off Lucio, as well? They jumped as Ty continued his bit of Musical Mayhem.

“WELLLLLLLLL THE YEARS START COMIN’ AND THEY DON’T STOP COMING!” At some point, the handyman had swapped out his handguns for a combat shotgun, opening up rounds into the chests of three forgettable thugs in beat to the last three words of his stanza. “FED TO THE RULES AND I HIT THE GROUND RUNNIN’!” Coming to the end of the hall, Ty blasted through the door, revealing the large, empty space typical to warehouses was replaced with a sort of hotel-like setup. An open-air lobby, with staircases spiraling up, leading to floors with open walkways. It looked like someone tried to recreate the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, but it just went up and up, with each floor being closer to a balcony than a full floor. All of the open space allowed for the panicked cries and screams of the brothel inhabitants to echo in upon themselves.

There were also a LOT of fine rugs, marble, and gilt furniture. How long has this operation been going on, and how did fucking JERICHO of all people get this set-up on the DL?

“DIDN’T MAKE SENSE NOT TO LIVE FOR FUN,” *boom!**boom!**boom!*; a rapid release of shots into a group of mobsters as they tried to rush Tiberius, giving Val a front-row seat to the amount of kick a combat-class shotgun has as one man went flying, streamers of blood shooting from the stump that used to hold his head. “YOUR BRAIN GETS SMART BUT YER HEAD GETS DUMB! HAHA, FUCKER!” Ty’s voice was starting to get difficult to hear over the amount of sheer NOISE in the background.

“SO MUCH TO DO!” *blam!* “SO MUCH TO SEE!” *blamblam!* “SO WHAT’S WRONG WITH TAKIN’ THE BACKSTREETS!?” The bodycam started shaking at Ty charged over to a staircase, plowing shoulder-first into a group of people storming down it while waving their guns. The picture blacked out and the muffled scratch of fabric rubbing over the built-in mic took up a few seconds of footage before a bright light cut through. Val had to squint their own eyes, and everything came back into focus just in time to see Ty hurl a middle-aged, half-dressed wanna-be mafioso over one of the balcony floors, singing out 'YOU’LL NEVER KNOW! IF YOU DON’T GO!’ as the man plummeted. He landed with a rubbery thump.

“YOU’LL NEVER SHINE IF YOU DON’T GLOW,” more singing/screeching from Ty as he tossed a grenade down another balcony/hall. As it erupted, it covered the huddled gangsters in liquid fire. “HEY NOW! YOU’RE AN ALL-STAR! GET YOUR GAME ON! GO PLAYEEEEE! C'MON ASSHOLES! YOU WANTED TO BE A ROCKSTAR! HOW NOW! YOU’RE A ROCK STAR! GET THE SHOW ON! GET PAIIIIIIIIIIID! HA HAHAHAAA!”

Val made a quiet note to themselves that Ty, while very funny, can also be downright sinister.

“AND ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GO~OOOLLLLLLD!” And that Ty should also never attempt a falsetto that high ever. AGAIN.

“ONLY SHOOTING STAAAAAAAAAARS BREAK THE MO-OLLLLLLD!” Another flame-spewing grenade was thrown, this time hitting what looked to be a fire extinguisher. Seconds later, foam started jetting out of the damaged, high-pressure steel canister, turning what was once a life-saving device into a literal missile, which shot off and plowed into the chest of a woman in Jericho’s colors, launching her airborne before the canister exploded, spreading shrapnel and viscera into a mist.

Smothering their face with their hand, Val let out a disbelieving laugh as Ty continued to wreak unholy havoc on the hideout to the tune of an upbeat, mid-aughties pop-rock song. Knives were thrown, bullets buried in brains, and it all came to a crescendo as Ty unloaded a stereotypical tommy-gun down into a group of wannabe gangsters that had jimmied themselves into the lobby. The last note to the song was capped off with a tossed Molotov, the ring of shattering glass pairing well to the last guitar chord.

Chuckling in satisfaction, Val finished their wine before shutting off the television. Wandering out of their office, they refilled their wineglass before heading toward their bedroom. Humming in pleasure after taking a fresh sip of chilled wine, they gently opened their door, stopping in the doorway before raising a sculpted brow. “So,” they queried. “Is this my 'pressie’?”

It’s quite a nice present, Val thought. Tiberius was lounging on Val’s obscenely large bed, on his side and completely nude. If not for a strategically-placed pile of rose petals, the fit man would be putting on quite the show. As it was, Tiberius decided to take a page out of every cheesy romance novel/movie and had bedecked the bedroom in dozens of low-burning candles and scattered roses, capping-off the trope with a single rose clenched between pearly whites. It’s something the Valentino of twenty-some years ago would have swooned over.

Although, the Valentino of now is feeling quite swoon-y, now. "Heh,“ they chuckled as Ty wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I’ve got to say, this is a nice surprise, viejo amigo.” Quietly shutting the door behind them, they leaned against the slab of wood-encased steel and gave their 'present’ a heated stare. “What gives?”

“Eh, nothing much.” Pulling the rose out of his mouth, Ty tossed it aside with a flick of the wrist. “Just, ah, you wanted a job wet and messy, and I decided that you could use a little 'wet 'n messy’ yourself.”

Val barked out a laugh. “Oh, but that was horrible!” Wandering closer to the bed, they held out a hand, gently cupping a warm cheek. “What am I going to do with you- MERDA!”

Yanking Val towards him, Ty rolled them, stopping on his back with Val perched on top. “Well, first things first! Let’s fuck!”

*****

The room stunk of sex, and all of the candles had burned themselves out. Entwined under a thin sheet, a sticky but satiated couple cuddled. Bite marks and hickeys decorated soft skin, and Val laid with their head tucked under Ty’s chin, one set of fingers lazily tracing circles over the larger man’s lower back.

“So,” Val lazily purred. “Aside from the cam footage, did you learn anything else?”

Ty hummed. “You may want to speak to Head in the Clouds.”

“…about?”

A hoarse chuckle. “Seem’s someone’s son has a little crush on our Cruzi. A Playboy got mixed into my briefing file, and a VERY well-worn page had a model that looked startlingly like our bambino was on it.”

“…really?” Ty hissed as sharp nails dug into his back, relaxing when Val apologetically rubbed them. “I’ll need to set-up a meeting. But, that can wait until tomorrow.”

The last thing Ty thought as they both dropped off to sleep was that he was glad he didn’t let on that he’s pretty sure Lucky and Cruz have a thing.

But he’s not sorry for telling Cruz’s Apa. Serves the little brat right for shitting all over him as a baby and giving him heart attacks every week since they learned how to walk.

HA!

@agent-darkbootie @thraxbaby @lazyvoyager @magicianapprenticelyra @plaguedcount

#@agent-darkbootie #Mob!AU #valentino sepulveda #sol y cruz #tiberius principia #lenore #asra #illian #lucky #amber #the arcan AU #errol pyralis #short story #short ficlet

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resolutexsarai · 4 years

Text

I Love a London Boy

A series of vignettes about Sarai and her first claim, Jack Devereux.

TW: character death

“I beg your pardon - Miss Sarai?”

Sarai looked up at the polite request, immediately recognizing the man in front of her. Jack Devereux visiting from London. He had been an excellent library patron: quiet, polite, careful. Although she had been working in the library for quite some time now, at twenty-four and fresh off her undergrad degree, she was being trusted alone for the first time.

“Yes, Mr. Devereux?”

His request was simple enough, locating a couple of other books he needed for his research and once she had them, she moved to his little cubicle to set them down. “Here you are. Do you need anything else?”

He hesitated, as if he were uncertain of something, but straightened his shoulders. “Yes, actually. Your number and a night that you’re free to come to dinner with me.”

Sarai laughed until she realized he meant it. She had never been outoing; she wasn’t the sort of Domme who attracted submissives easily, and aside from a few dates in her university time, had relied on the bordello to satisfy her physical needs, and her family to satisfy her relational needs. Having a submissive ask her out was . . . flattering.

“Very well. Give me a paper.”

II.

“Do you have a minute?” She always had a minute for Jack and so she nodded, setting down the tray she was taking to the kitchen. “My research is nearly over and I’ll have to go back to London to finish my dissertation.”

Sarai didn’t like to think about that. She turned from Jack to busy herself cleaning up the dishes - neither of them cooked much but they had managed to pull together an adequate charcuterie board. “Yes. I’ll miss you.” Dreadfully, she wanted to add. But she didn’t. Because what was the point in telling him how much she would miss him, when she wasn’t willing to leave her work here and he had family keeping him in London?

“After I’ve defended it, I’d like to come back here.”

Sarai froze, holding the cheese knife.

“To you.”

This time she turned, narrowly missing Jack’s shirt - his ridiculously worn, slightly frumpy shirt that she said made him look like a professor.

“If you want me to.”

“Do you even have to ask?” Her voice caught in her throat and she spun back around to finish her work, but Jack’s hands settled over hers. At his gentle prodding, she set the knife and allowed him to spin her back around. “Yes,” she said, after a long moment of silence. “I want you to come back here. To me.”

“That’s settled then.” Smiling, he leaned down to kiss her.

III.

“Come sit with me?”

Sarai did not expect to come home to rose petals scattered over the floor. Or candles covering every surface of the living room. It was a lovely surprise, as was Jack sitting in the middle of it on a blanket. He had a tray with wine and two glasses and a charcuterie board - surely there was a better option for their dinners but Sarai didn’t know what it was. Aside from cooking or going out, and this seemed just as sensible.

“Let me change into something more comfortable.” It took her just a minute to swap her dress for loungewear - a long sleeved shirt and pants so that she could easily join Jack on the floor. He had poured her wine and dished up her favorites from the charcuterie board by the time she rejoined them.

“I do love seeing your hair down.” He reached over to twist a strand around his fingers and tug lightly, then chuckled as Sarai blushed and swatted his hand away. They ate and talked of easy things - one of the reasons Sarai had fallen so easily for Jack was that she never struggled in conversation with him. She had done that before, frequently; Jack was just easier. “Let me get dessert,” he said, as he stood and gathered up the dirty dishes. He returned with her favorite - a red velvet cupcake from her favorite bakery and in the middle -

“Jack?”

“It was my grandmother’s,” he said, carefully picking the ring up. “This doesn’t have to be a proposal but - I know how you like to take your time and consider things. This is my indication that whenever you’re ready, then so am I.”

Sarai wore the ring, although their official engagement didn’t come until two months later, when she had finally found the right symbol of their claim for Jack to wear as well (a leather cuff with a verse from the Song of Songs stamped into it).

IV.

“How are you feeling, mistress?”

“I will be fine as soon as your sister comes back.” Sarai’s voice was tight but Jack didn’t seem even the slightest bit upset. He was grinning from his spot beside her on the couch.

“You’re a natural though. Look at him sleeping.”

Sarai didn’t mind babies - actually, she quite liked Jack’s nephew - her nephew too, now that they had entered a claim. However, for all that Sarai had a number of brothers and sisters and cousins, she hadn’t spent much time around babies and this was a little disconcerting. Pleasant though. Despite her misgivings, Sarai could practically feel herself softening as she studied the baby’s face, soft and relaxed in sleep.

“How do you feel about children? For us?”

She glanced up at Jack; he was a little older than she was and it wasn’t surprising that he was thinking about children.

“I would like that. Someday.”

“Of course. We have all the time in the world.”

(( tw for character death ))

“Can you take off today?”

Sarai turned to Jack, frowning. He hadn’t felt well for a few days but never had he asked her to take time off work. It was clear from looking at him that he wasn’t doing well, and as his Domme, it was her duty to look after him. “Of course.”

But it was easier said than done; Sarai didn’t have anyone who could cover the opening shift right now and there were several appointments that couldn’t be postponed. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she said, frowning at Jack. It was at his insistence that she was going at all. Sarai’s choice was to just let their appointments fend for themselves for now, until she could take her submissive to the hospital to have him checked out. But he told her to go, that he would be fine until she had someone able to cover the library for her and Sarai left very reluctantly.

The thought that something was wrong nagged at her for the entire time that she was at the library - longer than she planned, because the person coming in to take over for her had a car emergency and their appointments had already made it by that point and Sarai didn’t know what to do, short of simply making everyone leave. She couldn’t reach anyone to help her and so she just muddled on through. Eventually she called her parents and asked them to check on Jack for her.

The call came through right as she was rushing out the doors, but it was too late.

Jack was gone.

#drabble #{ jack | i love a london boy }#character death tw #// i don't think anything else needs to be tagged but if i missed something please let me know!! i am very happy to add tags #// also please be sad because i am sad

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