#this is shitty my love trager you deserve more than this
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Underground Lab
Richard Trager x fem!reader
Warnings: trager, pre engine trager being a sleaze and an asshole and charmingggg <3, readers also kind of an asshole to match his energy, heavy insinuation to smut. plotless.
You sometimes wondered if the people who built Mount Massive knew how to make a floorplan that made sense. Walking through the long hallways always felt repetitive. They looked the same until you were on the other side of the building, in a completely different ward.
You looked down at your clipboard, your shoes making light clicking noises on the ground. You had to consciously take each turn deliberately, otherwise you would get lost. No matter how many times you left your office, you were bound to get lost one of these times and you had no interest in seeing first hand some of the stuff you were signing off on. Not unless you had to.
You took a deep breath as you walked into the elevator. The doors started to shut but were halted by a hand sliding between them. The doors reopened, much to your dismay. Jeremy Blaire revealed himself with a smirk, sliding in beside you.
“Jeremy,” you said, nodding your head once. He gestured to the button you had pushed. U. The underground lab.
“What are you doing all the way down there?” he questioned and pushed the button for the male ward.
“What are you doing going to the male ward?” you questioned pointedly. You tried to avoid Jeremy where you could. He liked to hear himself talk and you were usually too busy to listen. In theory, he ran this place. In reality, it was anything but him. He just evaded the press and any kind of actual prosecution.
“Visiting the patients. I like to be hands on.” You rolled your eyes.
“Who warrants your attention today?” He cleared his throat and looked down at the papers in his hands. He squinted, pretending it was hard to read.
“Martin…Arch..Archimbaud,” he spelled out. You hummed under your breath.
“Fantastic finger painter. In theory. I’ve never seen his work.”
“Is he the one that caused problems when we discontinued the art-”
“Yeah.” The door opened to the male ward. Jeremy took a step forward but stood in the door when it didn’t shut.
“You still on for that barbecue? Rick said you were busy with work. It would be a shame if you missed it.” You rolled your eyes.
“I’ll be there, I’m sure he’ll drag me. Go to work. Say hi to Martin for me.”
Jeremy nodded, gesturing with his file as a mock goodbye. You let the door shut as he walked away. As you descended, you felt your stomach drop. You hated the underground lab. You hated being there. You hated thinking about it. It made you face your own guilt, not to mention your own mortality. But times called for you down there on occasion and you needed to be there. Not to mention, you weren’t allowed down there for obvious reasons. Women stayed at least on the floor above. Just in case.
The elevator door opened. You stepped forward into the white sterile atmosphere. It always felt like you were in a completely different place. It made you long for the comfort of your desk, something you knew.
“Took you long enough,” Rick Trager said, emerging from the cafeteria. You rolled your eyes.
“I had a job to do.”
“Don’t you always.” You let out a soft sigh and he put his hand on the small of your back. You cursed yourself for letting his touch make you shiver. All of this carnage and you still managed to find a completely human angle. Love. Or, at the very least, lust.
“Is that your way of yet again telling me to take a break?” you questioned. “Because I do your job better than you do. You better watch your back,” you joked dryly.
“Why do you think I called you down here?” he slurred. He gestured to the engine as the two of you came upon it. It wasn’t currently processing anyone aside from Billy.
“Is that you asking for help Richard Trager?” you questioned, smiling slyly.
“Don’t act like you have the upper hand here.” There were a couple of other workers around the room, noses stuck in their computers. He sat down on the control panel, barely even glancing to make sure he hadn’t hit any of the buttons. “I like involving you. It’s entertaining.”
“Bored of golfing with Jeremy already?”
“He doesn’t look nearly as good as you do,” he promised, looking at you through his glasses sharply. You rolled your eyes.
“What is it I’m doing here again Rick?”
He glanced out the window at the body of Billy Hope. He looked as dismal as you remembered him. You tried not to look .
“Need you to process the date from Billy here,” he pointed with his thumb.
“Don’t you have, I don’t know, a whole room of people for that?” you questioned dumbly. “What am I doing here?”
He let out an annoyed sigh and stood up straight.
“Can’t I just make an excuse to see you?”
“Trager.”
“Oh don’t call me that. Only the patients and my subordinates get to call me Trager.”
“Does that make me an equal?” He chuckled.
“You’re cute.” You kept seeing the engine out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t like being down here and clearly there was no reason for you to be. You grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room. He followed suit, watching eagerly as you opened up one of the laboratory rooms. There was only one man in there and you gave them a pointed look. They left without you having to say anything, packing their things silently. It must’ve been the combined look that you and Trager were giving him. The door shut swiftly behind the employee and you crossed your arms.
“Begging for attention is beneath you.”
“You think too highly of me.”
He took a step towards you, cornering you between him and the island table. You put yourself in this situation. You knew him. You knew what he would do. You just so happened to want it too.
“You coming to the barbecue?” he questioned, smirking a bit.
“I cannot believe you’re having a barbecue.”
“Jeremy’s having a barbecue with some executives.”
“I’m not an executive.”
“You’re an executive’s…how should we phrase this…”
“Slut? Whore? Toy? Or can I say girlfriend?”
He cupped your cheek and kissed you with his whole chest. You pressed yourself against him.
It was the annoyingness in his voice, the smirk on his lips, the sleaze in his step. What should’ve made you hate his guts made you want to pull his hair. He lifted you up onto the counter, knocking over what could’ve been important information and likely dangerous samples. You hooked your leg around his waist and pulled him even closer, if that was possible.
When you tried to pull away he tugged on your lip, pulling it out sloppily. You hadn’t even bothered to lock the door. Anyone could come in at any time. The excitement made your stomach warm.
“Answer the question Richard,” you hummed, not letting him kiss you again even though he was lunging for another attempt.
“I like whore. Has a nice ring to it, don't cha think?”
“Mmm wrong answer!” The game you had going with him could last forever. You knew that. But you liked it. You slid off of the table and around him. He scoffed.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who needs a label.”
“I’m a girl who has work to do Rick. And other guys to fuck.” You opened the door, leaning against the side of it. His jaw set in annoyance. You had trapped his jealous noncommittal ass. “I’m going back upstairs.”
“Wait,” he seethed. It was painful. You could see it. You tried not to smile. “Come to the barbecue. As my date.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Wasn’t meant to be. More of a demand.”
“I’ll see if the executive above me will give me the time off,” you said, shrugging. He rolled his eyes, smirking. You shut the door behind you as you left and smiled triumphantly. What an asshole. You were probably in love with him.
You were about to enter the elevator when he caught up to you.
“I’ll join you,” he decided.
You stepped inside and watched with quiet delight as the doors shut behind him and he pushed the emergency halt button. This time you let him kiss you.
#this is shitty my love trager you deserve more than this#richard trager x reader#outlast imagines#richard trager x fem!reader#richard trager imagines
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Heavy in Your Arms
Prologue
Summary/Author’s Note: Back from the service and hell bent on drinking his way through Southern California, Tig Trager is a rambler. He's alone, he's lost, and he likes it that way. He stumbles into Charming, a quiet town with a large presence in the form of the motorcycle club. Here he finds more than he bargained for, and something else he never thought he would deserve.
I got a message about this story awhile back and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. This is the story Tig fans begged S*tter for and he never delivered. I have really been missing Tig lately so I edited this from its original form that I posted seven years ago. I originally posted this as an OC under the pen name thatlassiegotglassed - Which was my original AO3 back when I was foolishly ashamed of my fic. Now I don’t give a fuck.
Pairing: Tig Trager x Reader
Word Count: 1624
Rating/Warnings: Language, death, violence, blood, typical SOA stuff, eventual smut
[Masterlist] [One Shots/Drabbles]
--
"Yeah, I dumped an FXR on the I-5 and the poor bitch slid right in front of oncoming traffic...Found out she was pregnant. Really loved that one..."
June 21st, 1993
The roar of the big trucks and the swishing of the smaller cars blazing down the freeway filled his ears and would have been calming, but they were out of place. He had been asleep, safe in his own bed, the cars from the road had never been this loud. He shifted slightly and instead of cool sheets under his hand, he felt the grit of the blacktop and the wet clumps of side-road sand, rough against his skin. He did what he did every morning and slid his hand down, looking for you. You would hum contently as he wrapped his big hand around your hip and pulled you back against him so he could smell your hair, nose you awake--but he wasn’t in bed.
He had had a dream, a wonderful dream, that he had been riding. His hands had gripped the handles as the sun played hide and seek with the oncoming rain clouds. The crisp smell of the spring air had tickled his nose and filled his lungs as trees and the tall grasses of the fields outside the city whipped passed him. You were a comforting weight at his back, and every time you squeezed your arms around his middle it brought a smile to his face.
The weight on his head let him know he was still wearing his helmet. With slow movements, he reached up and unclipped it, shoving it off and letting it bounce against the road.
Everything hurt. Fuck. He coughed, the movement pressing his cheek back to the cool blacktop, the air from his mouth blew dust particles up and made him shut his eyes.
Except this was no dream. And you weren’t next to him.
Shit.
He had been riding and it started to rain, and the semi cut him off and--
“Doll?” he said, his voice feeling like razor blades down his throat. He repeated but with your real name, hoping it would get your attention more than any of his terms of endearment.
When you didn't answer, he knew something was wrong. A silence had fallen around him, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, as he saw your body laying twenty feet from him. Your helmet had fallen off, hair spilled to the side, blood flecked your temples and down your cheeks.
He started crawling, using his forearms to drag himself closer to you as other cars came to a halt and people started yelling. If he got to you, if he reached you--everything would be okay. You would be okay.
You had to be.
--
January 1st, 1991. Somewhere in Southern California
He had met you on a Friday. A pretty calm day, where the world was relaxed in a way that he was not. How could he be? Alexander 'Tig' Trager was, how did they say, 'fresh off the boat', back from his service, he had made it. But, he wasn't concerned with doing it ever again.
The whiskey burned his throat. It was cheap but it was plentiful and he had no plans on stopping. He would take that pathetic government check and he would put it in the pocket of the first shitty dive bar he found.
“Hey, doll!” he said, raising his empty glass at a leggy blonde standing by the bar and shaking it slightly.
She gave him a scowl, turned her nose up and quickly walked back over to a different table to sit down with her small group of friends. Apparently, she didn't work here. Shit. He almost felt like an ass. Almost. The feeling quickly went away and he contemplated getting up for a refill.
“Hey, if you're not using it, then get off.” A gruff voice said from behind him.
Tig looked over his sun glasses at a large man. The man was obviously referring to the fact that he was sitting on the pool table. With a neck that seemed to thick for his face, and large, ape-like arms that dangled worthlessly at his sides, Tig knew if it came to blows, this asshole was toast. He hadn't had a good fight in awhile and just one look told him that this could be the itch he needed to scratch.
He put a cigarette between his lips and took his time lighting it. With a lazy hand, he pushed his glasses into his short, black hair. “But I am using it, man.”
“Move.”
“Nah--”
“Listen, pretty boy--”
“Pretty boy?” Tig said. His blue eyes flashed and he smiled. The second was one of his true talents, he could twist his lips and flash his teeth, in a way that made men run for the hills and made women fall out of their skirts...or so he had been told. “I've been called lots of things, brother. But that?”
“Just move your ass, okay?” the ape-man said as he jerked a thumb back towards the bar.
Tig didn't like being told what to do. It was one of his weaknesses according to his higher-ups in uniform. They had tried to break him, get him to bend and take one in the ass for Uncle Sam, but he refused. He wasn't about to do it for some low life in some shitty, middle-of-no-where bar.
He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke over his shoulder. His pulse evened out, his breathing stayed calm, his subconscious entered that special place right before he spilled someone's blood on the pavement.
“Alright, one,” the guy started to count.
“Oh, you’re counting, now?”
“Two.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Two and a half.”
“Three,” Tig finished for him and pressed the lit end of his smoke into the man's forehead. He may have looked like an ape, but the bastard squealed like a pig. He brought his elbow down in the middle of the man's back as he doubled over and clutched his face. Tig shoved him to the side as one of his friends came at him at a run.
“Fucker!” the second man yelled and managed to land a solid right hook to Tig's cheek.
The prick was wearing rings and Tig knew there would be blood without even looking. As he fell back against the pool table, it screeched across the hardwood floor and a few patrons jumped out of the way. His hand landed in a puddle of beer as he knocked a glass over on the felt and his brief moment of mourning was cut short by another blow to his face. That did it.
With a growl, he headbutted the other man. Skull connected with skull and he gripped his shirt, jerking him towards him before he could fall and sunk his teeth into the man's ear. Tig dug his hands into his hair and shoulder, kept his neck at a ninety degree angle and didn't stop till he felt the skin split between his teeth.
“Fucking psycho!” the man stumbled back and the ape man was back on his feet, yelling, arms stretched out and headed for Tig's neck.
Tig met him head on, bringing a firm right hook into his gut and bringing his knee up to collide with his face as the man doubled over in pain. He reached back and grabbed one of the pool balls, twisting around until it connected with the ape-man's temple. The sound was sickening and he dropped like a brick.
Tig raised up and could feel the first drop of blood slide down his cheek. He reached for his beer and pulled up an empty bottle. Dammit. What a waste. He flung it lazily over his shoulder and grit his teeth when it smashed against the wall.
“You owe me a beer,” he said, giving the man on the ground a kick. He didn't move. The fucker was out cold. He looked at the other man, still holding his bleeding ear and looking at Tig like he was about to start foaming at the mouth. “You gonna pay for it?”
The man just stood there, mouth open like a fish. Tig stooped and dug around in ape-man's pocket until he found his wallet and snatched a twenty-dollar bill from the main compartment. It'd have to do.
He heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked and he looked up just as the bartender and apparent owner of the place was pointing the barrel at his chest.
“Get out, Mister,” he said, firmly. “I'll call the cops.”
“They started it,” Tig said, stuffing the money in his back pocket.
“Well, I'll finish it,” the owner answered, jerking the end of the gun towards the door. “Get out.”
“Gladly,” Tig said, grabbing his leather jacket off the end of the pool table. “This place is a fuckin' dump, anyway, man.”
The man with the ear, or well, lack thereof now, gave him a wide birth as he pushed through the double doors and onto the dark street. He pulled his packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket, only to flip the top open and find it empty.
“God dammit,” he cursed, tossing the box across the lot. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. It looked like he'd have to make a stop on the way home.
He threw his leg over his motorcycle and turned on the headlight. A deep glow lit up a small section of the dark parking lot as he kicked it to life and left the pathetic excuse for a pub in the dust.
--
Tell me if you wanna be tagged. I didn’t tag my Perm Tag List because I know you guys are all here for my Pedro Pascal character Fics so---I was not sure if anyone would wanna be tagged in Sons stuff.
#sons of anarchy#sons of anarchy fanfic#tig trager#alex trager#alexander trager#tig trager x reader#tig trager x you#tig x reader#tig x you#tig trager fanfic#kim coates#kim coates x reader#kim coates x you#kim coates fanfic#heavy in your arms#HIYA
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C o r r u p t
Summary: Giulia grew up without knowing her real father’s identity. And now, after 25 years she knows his name and exactly where he is. She leaves everything behind as she heads to Charming to get to know him -- Alexander “Tig” Trager. She didn’t receive the welcome she expected from him, or the Sons of Anarchy and it’s enough to make her want to go back to Oakland, her hometown. But a certain Scot convinces her to stay for a little longer. Will she stay and hopefully create a relationship with her real father? If not with him then with Chibs Telford?
A/N: Yet another Sons of Anarchy fic -- also another Chibs fic (no, I never get tired of those). Keep in mind that this story takes place in season 5 of SoA, which means spoilers if you haven’t finished the series. I know the summary is pretty vague but I didn’t want to reveal too much of Giulia’s story there. The first chapter is set in Oakland, giving you a bit of backstory on her and her connections. She may not have been raised by Tig but there’s a lot of similarities between the two. Somewhat of a freak with a love for bikes and inappropriate jokes. The quote in the beginning is from a David Bowie song, Cat People. I altered it a bit so it could fit better with the character.
Tag list (I’m tagging everyone I tag on A Little Wicked, if you wish to be removed of this taglist tell me, same goes if you want to be added): @telford-ortiz-teller @telfords-glasgow-smile @jaaxsoadeaanspn @i-was-made-of-nutella @i-am-the-luna @teller-telford-old-lady @make-things-beautiful2 @meggzz21 @sam-samcro @dmagicreality @telfords-glasgow-smile @i-like-it-heavy-so-i-can-panic
Chapter 1
“see these eyes so blue
I can stare for a thousand years
colder than the moon
well it's been so long”
“Happy birthday!” people said in unison as I opened the door to my parents house. I blinked, my jaw going a bit slack as I took in the view before me. I turned to my mother, finally piecing together why she insisted we dropped by her house before going to the restaurant. She used the excuse that she wanted to change her dress -- she insisted with me that her outfit was ‘too casual’. Safe to say I had never -- in all my 24 years, well, 25 now -- seen my mother dressed as anything close to casual. The woman walked around like it was damn fashion show.
My mom grinned, white teeth and red lipstick before pulling me into a hug.
“Surprise, principessa,” she said in the hug. I hugged her back, a smile spread over my face. “Hope you don’t mind the detour.” Her italian accent was faint after so many years in America. She was true italian, unlike my stepfather. His family came from Sicily, where my mother was born, but he was born and raised in America.
“Are you kidding me? I love it,” I reassured her, pulling away to show her my smile. I didn’t love it to be completely honest, but my mom did, and, although it was my birthday, I wanted to see her happy. I wasn’t one for extravagant parties and those were very common, seeing as I grew up among the Italian Mafia.
I walked into the packed living room with my mom on my side so I could greet everyone who had bothered to come to my birthday. It wasn’t a surprise all the families were there -- Abruzzi, Buscetta, Palermo -- it would be disrespectful if they didn’t appear to Jimmy Cacuzza’s stepdaughter’s birthday. Jimmy was the head of the families, people owed him respect. I wasn’t mafia, not officially, but I owed him respect too, unfortunately.
Jimmy may have raised me but we didn’t exactly get along. We never got that father-daughter relationship, not even close to it. My mother had me before she met Jimmy and they got married right when I turned two years old. I never met my real father and my mom, despite my insistence over the years, had never told me who he was. I gave up when I was 16, thinking that well, if my mom didn’t want to tell me who he was and he never wanted to meet me, he wasn’t worth it anyway.
So I had Jimmy growing up. He never allowed me to call him dad -- I tried when I was around 10 and he shut me down fast. I should only refer to him as Jimmy or sir. I always chose to call him Jimmy. I’d be caught dead if I gave him the satisfaction of addressing him as sir.
Still, shitty father figure or not, I owed him a few things. Like a roof over my head, good food, the clothes, the makeup, I even bought my bike with his fucking money. No, I didn’t have a Mafia Princess credit card (that’s what I chose to call it) -- though I knew the Palermo daughters had them -- but I worked for Jimmy on the regular and he payed me a large amount of cash for my services. I lived very comfortably for a woman my age -- I owned a large loft in one of Oakland’s tallest buildings. My room had a view for the whole city, my clothes weren’t expensive but they were of good quality. All bought with blood stained mafia money. Ain’t life fun?
“Happy birthday, Giulia,” Jimmy boomed, crossing the living room with my half-brother on his ankles. He opened his arms to me and hugged me, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Thanks, Jimmy. Really, this means a lot,” I smiled after he stepped away. I don’t know whose idea it was to throw me a surprise party but I wasn’t lying when I said it meant a lot.
I may not like mafia parties but having one thrown for me was impressive, especially one thrown on Jimmy’s home. I was his stepdaughter indeed, but I didn’t carry the Cacuzza surname -- all I had to show was my mother’s maiden name, Lucchese -- Jimmy didn’t have to do this for me, especially not at his own house, and the fact that he did showed that he appreciated me. If not me, then the things I did for the mafia.
“You’re almost as old as Mom now,” my brother said as way of greeting, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. He had turned 18 only two months ago but he was already taller than me. Being 18 meant that he could get involved in mafia affairs now, he’d be on his way to become a made man.
“Show some respect, Vito,” my mother complained but she smiled as she spoke. My brother and I laughed but we soon stopped when Jimmy smashed his lips against my mother’s mouth.
The night carried with women talking, wives and daughters separate from their husbands and sons. Laughter only got louder after too many glasses of wine, we only shut up to stuff our faces with food -- which I was more than happy to do, Jimmy owned a few italian restaurants and the food in these parties were magnificent seeing as they always catered.
I was on my way to the bathroom, already a bit tipsy, when my mom pulled me into a corner of the corridor. I knew she had something to tell me the moment I set eyes on her. It wasn’t gossip though, her brows furrowed differently. It was serious. I noticed she had also chosen an empty hallway to do this -- she didn’t want anyone to hear what she was about to say.
“What is it?” I blurted out.
“I needed to give you this,” she held out a folded napkin between her long red nails. I took it, frowning as I moved it around to unfold, but my mom covered my hands with her own. I looked up questioningly at her. “This my birthday gift to you. I only decided to give you this 10 minutes ago and I’m still not sure if I’m doing the right thing in doing so. But you deserve to know, Giulia.”
I stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. My mom stood very close to me as she spoke and she was giving me this look, like I was supposed to understand what she said. Like she was sharing a secret.
A little too late, it clicked.
“Why now?” I asked, my hand closing around the napkin.
“I tried to keep you away from the things your father is involved with. Your real father,” she added, indicating the napkin with her chin. Hearing her confirm what was on it made my heart jump with excitement. Twenty five years later -- too long, but I finally had my father’s identity in my hands, quite literally. “Didn’t make much difference,” she scoffed, “I know Jimmy pulled you into the mafia, he won’t tell me shit and I’m smart enough not to ask but I know you… take care… of some things for him. I can’t change that anymore, you’re a woman, you make your own choices. But I tried, Giulia, I did try to keep you away from violence.”
“You married a mobster, Mom,” I replied lightly. “Plenty of violence there.”
She shook her head, a few strands of her light brown hair falling from her hairdo.
“Yes, I know. But at least with Jimmy I can pretend it doesn’t exist. I get to hide in this house and play housewife, wear Versace and drink wine. That’s not how it works on the kind of life your father leads,” her dark eyes wandered away from me, as if she was remembering something. Apparently, my real father was as much of a criminal as my stepfather. Great. Crime runs in the family. No way was I gonna come out normal. Not that I ever thought I was normal. Most people thought I was a freak. “One more thing. H-He doesn’t know about you. I never told him I got pregnant.”
The truth sank in slowly. I grew up asking my mom about my real father. Asking her who he was, how she met him, why he wasn’t around, why he didn’t reach out. Only thing my mom had told me was that I looked like him, which wasn’t really a surprise -- I looked nothing like my mother. I simply had to look like my dad. While my mom’s skin was naturally bronzed, mine was pale; her eyes were of the darkest brown, while mine were from a very clear electric blue; my lips were wide and a bit shapeless, while hers were defined and small; my hair was dark and thick, always cascading down my back on large curls.
All my life I pictured what my real father looked like of off my own appearance and now I’d get to meet him. I had wondered about him, what was he like? Was he gentle? Funny? Did he make dad jokes like dads so often do in movies? Was he stern? How tall was he? And most of all, why did he ignore me? That’s what my mom told me -- that he had never wanted to meet me. Turns out it was a lie.
“You let me believe he didn’t want me,” I finally declared, cutting daggers with my eyes as I stared at my mother. I put out the coldest exterior I could manage, not wanting to show her how hurt I really was. Acting cold was well within my set of skills, but that was it, only a skill. I was cold about certain things, had to be with what I did for a living, but feelings? I couldn’t be cold about them, I felt everything. But right now, drunk and still startled and angry, I could only manage cold. Otherwise I’d explode into yelling and crying.
My mom winced as if my words stung. I hoped they did.
“I’m sorry, Giulia. I really am. Shouldn’t have kept this from you. But try to understand… your father and I… we didn’t date. We, um, had sex a few times and that was it. He was in the middle of a divorce, his ex was trying to keep his daughters away from him, things were difficult. I couldn’t tell him I was pregnant. I didn’t want to do that to him and I’d seen enough of his life to know that I didn’t want the same for my child.”
“I have sisters too?! What the fuck, Mom. You kept a whole family hidden from me,” I accused, trying to keep my voice down. “You lied to me! Jesus. Fuck.” I stepped away from her, shaking my head. My mom and I were the greatest of friends, we shared everything with each other. Having her lie to me about all this made me feel incredibly betrayed.
Her eyes welled with tears as she looked at me, her lips trembling.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I thought you’d like to know. Jimmy loves you in his own way but he’s not your father. Never could be,” he pressed her lips together when her voice faltered. “I wrote where you can find him. His name is there, too. I hope you two can get along better than you did with Jimmy.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek before disappearing down to the hallway.
Alone in the hallway I tried to summon the tears that had been threatening to spill but they didn’t come. I took several breaths to calm myself before opening the napkin and reading it. Teller-Morrow Automotive, Charming, California. Alexander Trager.
Wow, was my first thought. My dad has a cool name. I suddenly felt like I was 10 again. Trager. That was my last name. I smiled, despite my anger. It also sounded like my father was a mechanic, besides being a criminal, that is. My mom had hinted enough at it.
I wasn’t disappointed that he was a criminal, to be honest. Didn’t matter to me. I grew up among criminals, I myself was one, and I knew they could be good people. It’s not like I ever imagined my dad to be something cool like an astronaut or a rock star (I totally did).
My mom deprived me of 25 years without a father, I wasn’t wasting any more time. I was taking my bike tomorrow and heading to Charming, wherever that was.
“Giulia,” Jimmy called from behind me. I stuck the napkin down my dress’ cleavage and turned around to meet him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, great. You need me?”
“I do, actually,” he cast me a meaningful look. Really? On my birthday? “Meet me out front in five.”
“Watch your feet,” Jimmy warned, grabbing my elbow and pulling me back slightly. I stopped myself just in time from stepping on a puddle of blood. Would have ruined a perfectly good pair of heels.
I looked around the scene and sighed.
Jimmy had broken me away from my party only to take me to a warehouse on the other side of Oakland. It was dark in there, except for one yellow light that dimly illuminated the two corpses lying right in front of me. They didn’t stink and their skin still looked rosy -- dead in less than an hour I’d say. The blood was still probably warm. Both men lying on the ground had received gunshots to the head, large caliber by the looks of it -- their heads were practically blown off.
Mafia business truly never stopped. Jimmy had been on the party the entire time while these two men were gunned down -- probably on Jimmy’s orders, or maybe their deaths weren’t supposed to happen, not now, not here at least. Didn’t matter. What mattered is that Jimmy wanted them gone and that’s why he brought me to the crime scene. I was a cleaner.
I’ll admit that wasn’t my first career choice. I wanted to be a doctor growing up, but my grades had always been shit and I didn’t put too much effort in my studies. Couldn’t get into med school even if I wanted to. Veterinary was my second choice -- I loved animals and I was never squeamish about blood. I got into college, was in my second year, things were going well when it happened. It was an accident, but it happened.
My mother accused the maid of stealing her jewelry and they got into an argument at the top of the stairs. According to my mom, the maid tripped and fell down the stairs, breaking her neck. Jimmy was out of town with my brother, my mother and I were the only people at home. I called Jimmy to explain the situation and he sent his cleaner.
This cleaner, Tommaso, was an old guy -- he had so many wrinkles that it was hard to distinguish his mouth from the rest of his face. He could drop dead at any moment, all frail and weak looking. I knew he wouldn’t be able to, erm, dispose of the maid without help -- she was a very a large woman -- so, despite my mother’s protests, I volunteered to help. Tommaso explained the process to me and he was pleasantly surprised to see how unaffected I was by the whole thing.
I understood I should be affected by it and the fact I wasn’t affected, meant that, perhaps, there was something wrong with me. My logic was pretty simple, though: the body was just a shell, how it was disposed of wasn’t important. Tommaso took it upon himself to teach me how to clean -- after having Jimmy’s approval. Tommaso was dying, he knew that, and he wanted to leave someone capable of doing his job after he was gone.
Tommaso died three years ago and I’ve been doing his job since. I dropped out of college, figured veterinary school could be put on the background for a while.
I knew people thought I was freak for doing a job like this and I knew it was wrong. I never came up with excuses for the shit I did -- I could be arrested for it and I knew that by cleaning bodies I was depriving a lot of families of proper goodbyes and of peace. To be honest, I avoided thinking too much about this part.
Sounds easy when I put it this way but I had dreams about talking corpses sometimes, blaming me for their restlessness. Only thing keeping me levelheaded was going to church and asking God for forgiveness. If no one could forgive me, then I hoped He would.
“Nothing says ‘happy birthday’ like dead bodies,” I muttered, crossing my arms and glancing at Jimmy.
“Yeah, hoping this could compensate the dead bodies,” Jimmy said, pulling an envelope from inside his tailored suit and handing it to me.
I accepted the envelope and opened it. There was a large quantity of money inside, way larger than I usually received.
“How much is in here?” I asked, unable to conceal my admiration.
“12k. I know you charge 4k per body, the other 4k are my birthday gift to you,” he replied.
“Wow,” I stared at Jimmy, still awestruck. “Thanks, Jimmy. You needn’t have.”
“Course I did. You help this family a lot. You keep quiet and you don’t go nosing around. My way of saying thank you, Giulia,” he smiled approvingly. I rarely ever found myself on the benevolent side of Jimmy Cacuzza, not that he was an asshole to me but he tended to be indifferent. This was as close as I would get from a real compliment. “Now, what do you need? I’ll have my guys go pick up whatever you need,” he pointed at the three guys stood by the entrance.
I looked at the scene before me again. This would take a good few hours. I’d have to clean all the blood and make all traces of it disappear, pluck out the teeth from both corpses and finally dissolve the bodies -- the longest part of the process. I’d get out of there by the crack of dawn. I’d get bored and hungry while I worked but at least I’d become 12k richer by the end of it.
I listed all the materials necessary to dispose of the bodies while one of Jimmy’s men took notes on his phone.
“I’ll also need a change of clothes, cheap ones that can be burned later. Shoes too. And oh, if you could stop by Taco Bell and grab me something to eat it’d be great, I’m starving,” I finished, placing a hand over my stomach.
Jimmy and the guy gave me funny looks, glancing quickly between me and the dead bodies. Bet Jimmy was regretting giving me that extra 4k.
“It’s just work. Like having lunch on your desk. Except I don’t have paperwork,” I tried to explain. Judging by their faces, it only made them think I was an even bigger freak.
Well, I didn’t care. It really didn’t bother me. Part of me detached while I cleaned so I didn’t have to think about what I was doing. I got back to being myself after I was done. Easy-peasy.
#sons of anarchy#soa#tig trager#chibs telford#soa fanfic#fanfic#fan fiction#gemma teller#jax teller#bobby munson#happy lowman#opie winston#jessica de gouw#corrupt#clay morrow#italian mafia
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Letter for Chocolate Box 2019
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Hello, and welcome to my letter for Chocolate Box 2019! I hope this letter will give you a better picture of my likes and dislikes, and maybe a bit of inspiration. Thank you very much for considering writing for me!
For this exchange, I've requested fic only for the following fandoms:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Dishonored
Outlast
Pyre
Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
GENERAL
Likes: Humor; slice of life; character studies; fridge horror; normal horror; hijinks and shenanigans; action/adventure; angst; pining; missing moments; identity porn; porn with feelings; "Crouching Fool, Hidden Badass" trope; stuff where a character who is socially awkward or disrespected in one context is defended by their friends or team from another; canon-divergent AUs; fun/weird alternate setting AUs (superheroes, supernatural circus performers, cyborg werewolf biker gang, etc.); intense relationships between women, romantic or platonic.
DNW: Major character death, bestiality, or gratuitous gore/violence. Onscreen rape/non-con, suicide, cannibalism, or harm to animals (offscreen is fine). Unrequested identity headcanons.
BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (TV)
Buffy was one of my first fandoms and still holds a special place in my heart. I love the mix of comedy, action, and occasional darkness, as well as the intersection of real life and supernatural obstacles. I also enjoy the glimpses we got of alternate universes like the Wishverse.
Note: No comics canon, please.
Faith Lehane/Tara Maclay
I feel like Faith and Tara would have fiery, potentially explosive chemistry in a relationship context. I also just think they’re hot and would be hot together. Tara is dependable, nurturing, and stable, but not super interested in taking anyone’s bullshit; Faith is uniquely charismatic and vulnerable and attractive, but her lies and bravado are easy to see through if you have the right set of goggles on. They could have a lot of interesting tension and also a lot of fun.
Please feel free to AU it up for these two, canon-divergent or otherwise.
Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg
When first I viewed the series, I wasn’t sold on this pairing. Now, revisiting, I am. The darker aspects of the ship intrigue me, but so do the sweet and fluffy parts. Their love for each other can be destructive and obsessive, but also solid, life-affirming, and redemptive.
Prompt: AU -- Wishverse.
Prompt: Tara is resurrected post-Chosen -- now what?
Prompt: Tara moves away instead of dying, and she and Willow reunite at the crux of a crisis.
Prompt: Someone’s a werewolf. Maybe they all are.
DISHONORED
I’m super into Dishonored’s complex, vivid setting and characters, and the way it feels like anything could happen in Dunwall.
Billie Lurk | Meagan Foster & Vera Moray | Granny Rags
These two come from very different backgrounds, but both are drawn to the Void and live an underground life. I feel like Granny Rags could offer Billie a certain amount of knowledge and also serve as a warning. Or maybe just creep her out a bit.
Billie is familiar with Granny Rags, at least by reputation. Have they met at any point? Was there a strange encounter years ago in the slums? Does Billie run into Granny Rags while gathering information on a target? There’s a gap between the end of The Knife of Dunwall and Granny’s showdown with Slackjaw in the sewers -- provided Daud chooses to spare her, does Billie meet Granny on her way out?
Prompt: AU -- Granny Rags, not Daud, is the Marked person who takes Billie as her apprentice.
Billie Lurk | Meagan Foster/Jessamine Kaldwin
Okay, so, yeah -- this is a total crackship. I maintain that anything can happen in Dunwall. Fugue Feast? AU where Jessamine is kidnapped instead of assassinated? Random supernatural resurrection? Meeting in the Void as ghosts? I’d just like to see how these two interact.
Delilah Copperspoon/Lizzy Stride
This is sort of a crackship too, but not so much maybe, since they could potentially have met in canon several times.
Both characters are ambitious, independent, and charismatic or at least fairly charming; both lead formidable criminal enterprises. They both had shitty fathers. Lizzy seems to rely on bravado and zeal more than actual power sometimes, while Delilah is the real deal. I can see them getting pretty snarky with each other even if they’re working on a common goal.
Prompt: AU -- Delilah, not Daud, breaks Lizzy out of Coldridge Prison.
Prompt: AU -- Delilah captures and interrogates Lizzy before she attempts the painting ritual. Lizzy whump and eventual rescue are encouraged.
Prompt: Delilah is a prisoner aboard Lizzy’s boat.
Prompt: Post-resurrection but pre-DH2, Delilah pays Lizzy a visit.
Corvo Attano/Samuel Beechworth
Two words: loyalty kink. Even when Samuel believes Corvo’s a monster, he can’t bring himself to let him die.
I’d love a missing moment from canon or a future reunion for these two. Post-canon, Samuel might expect that low-chaos!Corvo is done with him and the Hound Pits and everything else, but he’s happily proven wrong. Or perhaps high-chaos!Corvo shows up bedraggled and horribly wounded and Samuel reluctantly takes care of him.
I’m also interested into exploring Samuel’s reaction to finding out that Corvo is Marked. He’s seen plenty of strange things at sea; how phased is he? How soon does he figure it out?
Something sweet and fluffy with an Emily cameo sounds lovely as well.
OUTLAST
This is likely my favorite horror game and in my top five games of all time. The atmosphere, the characters, the music... I love it. Please consider the DNW for gratuitous gore / violence lifted for this canon, as it kind of wouldn’t be what it is without that.
Father Martin Archimbaud & Richard Trager
Father Martin refers to Trager as “that secular lunatic”; Trager calls Father Martin “the bullshit priest.” What’s their history? They can’t have pulled this debate out of thin air in the twelve or so hours following Billy Hope’s lateral ascension when they were both alive.
Father Martin Archimbaud & The Twins
For a pair of knife-wielding naked cannibals, the Twins appear to hold Father Martin in unusually high esteem. What was their past in the asylum?
Miles Upshur/The Walrider
He’s an intrepid freelance reporter having the worst night of his life. It’s a swarm of nanobots that wants to turn his body into a factory. Does their relationship move from the initial shock of nonconsensual possession towards something lighter (a la Eddie Brock and Venom), or is it dark the whole way through?
Richard Trager/Miles Upshur
Trager canonically cuts off two of Miles’ fingers. Miles canonically finds Trager’s death hilarious. I shipped it last year, and I ship it still.
Please feel free to go as AU as you’d like for this.
PYRE
This game is fantastic. I enjoy pretty much everything about it, but what won my heart were the character interactions. Well, and the lore. And the music. And the thing where you can bump into other teams’ flying wagons -- I digress.
Big Bertrude & Volfred Sandalwood
I appreciate the warm friendship between these two. I love Bertrude’s kindness beneath her gruff exterior, her tricky sense of humor, and the fact that she seems unperturbed by life in the Downside or might even prefer it. (I also just love witches. The game had me at “bog-crone.”) Volfred has done much to deserve not only the loyalty of his allies, but their devotion. I’d like to know more about this pair’s shared past and potential future, and just to see them interacting more as well.
Rukey Greentail & Hedwyn & Jodariel
The original trio! Tell me more about how they teamed up, how they got along at first, adjusting to life on the Downside together or dealing with unusual problems, discussing their pasts, stargazing, their reactions to finding out about the Rites, future adventures above or below the surface... I like the idea of them all meeting up in a pub in the newly formed Union to share stories and rib each other about the old days.
Jodariel & Pamitha Theyn | Jodariel/Pamitha Theyn
So. Much. Tension. And for good reason! These two are near polar opposites so I’m always interested in seeing them find common ground, whether as friends or more.
What exactly did Pamitha say to Jodariel to get her to agree to work with her?
In a playthrough where Jodariel ascended before they had their big conciliation, how does their relationship change when Pamitha ascends and joins the revolution?
Prompt: Slowly developing camaraderie in the Downside.
Prompt: Jodariel and Pamitha run into one of the harps Jodariel spared all those years ago.
I’d absolutely love something tropey for these two -- undercover as a couple, Jodariel having to pretend that Pamitha seduced her over to another side for some scheme or whatever, undercover as guard and prisoner, huddling for warmth / wilderness survival.
The Nightwings & The Reader
The Reader’s temperament can be as variable as that of the player.
What do the Nightwings think of the Reader? How do they remember them? If the Reader makes the big spoilery choice at the end of the game and reaches a certain goal, how do their teammates think of them?
Prompt: The former Nightwings gather to swap memories of the Reader.
The Nightwings & Vagabond Girl
_ae is one of my favorite characters, and her backstory is heartbreaking. In contrast, her acceptance by the Nightwings and the flowering of her relationships with them, particularly Jodariel and Ti’Zo, is heartwarming. I’d love to see some domestic scenes of them just getting along, but something slightly darker or even fraught with peril is great too.
Prompt: The Vagabond Girl returns to her former home or is recognized by someone she used to know. They’re rude to her. The Nightwings spring to her defense.
Prompt: Ti’Zo and the Vagabond Girl rescue someone or several someones from behind enemy lines... by themselves!!
Prompt: Jodariel teaches the Vagabond Girl how to braid her hair, or do laundry, or fix a broken wheel, or overpower somebody who’s got her in a chokehold, or sing old songs Jodariel knew as a child.
Prompt: Bertrude enlists the Vagabond Girl in her latest effort to thwart Udmildhe.
Prompt: Pamitha, Rukey, and the Vagabond Girl get tipsy and decide to steal another blackwagon’s lantern.
SHOUJO KAKUMEI UTENA | REVOLUTIONARY GIRL UTENA
I love this anime dearly -- boxing kangaroos, Dorito faces, and all. As fanfiction goes, I’m fonder of works that adopt a surreal or fantastic tone.
Arisugawa Juri & Kaoru Miki & Kiryuu Nanami
I’m quite fond of the unlikely friendship between these three and the quiet but nonetheless symbolism-laden moments they share together. They all have a metric shit-ton of issues, but I don’t think any of them exacerbate those issues in each other. A missing moment from canon would be lovely to read about, but so would an exploration of something a bit less canon -- banding together against a zombie apocalypse, for example, or piloting a spacecraft, or playing a battle of the bands. Maybe the Student Council is required by contract to take some sort of retreat or perform a weird bureaucratic ritual. Maybe there is a fad for self-propelling bicycles on campus and it gets out of hand and they have to deal with that. Maybe they just have a nice picnic and enjoy themselves. There are many options.
Kiryuu Nanami & Kiryuu Touga
Hoooo boy, now this is a messed up sibling relationship! I’d enjoy seeing them reconcile or undergo some kind of trial together. Alternately, an exploration of their dynamic before or during canon would not go amiss. Post-canon, though, how do Nanami and Touga understand each other? I’d prefer that neither character takes the path of villainy.
Funny and tropey stuff is highly encouraged, as is Touga finding a real way to apologize to Nanami for the Akiomobile stuff.
Himemiya Anthy/Ohtori Kanae
Now this is a messed up non-sibling relationship. How did Kanae fall into Anthy and Akio’s orbit? Why and how much does Anthy hate her? What is their relationship before and after canon?
Two years ago, I received an absolutely gorgeous piece of fanart based on this post. The image seems to have been deleted from AO3, but trust me, it was lovely. I would definitely be interested in more regarding this headcanon of Kanae having been a previous dueling champion who chose Akio over Anthy.
Himemiya Anthy/Tenjou Utena
My OTP!!! Aiii, I’d be happy with almost anything for these two, provided that they actually see each other in person if it’s post-canon.
Prompt: Anthy arranges for Utena to fight a dragon.
Prompt: Utena or Anthy is briefly turned into a bear. The other is the only one who recognizes her. Everyone else is on high alert for bear attacks. At some point a honeycomb trap is rigged?
Prompt: Wedding day jitters, last-minute problems, and ultimately joy.
Prompt: Utena tries to make Anthy’s birthday special. Keyword: tries.
Prompt: AU -- Utena is an enthusiastic but inept barista; Anthy is her favorite customer.
Prompt: AU -- SUPERHEROES. I’ve seen this suggested before, I believe by dreamwidth / ao3 user panny, and I LOVE IT.
Prompt: AU -- Utena is sent to rescue a maiden from a terrible serpent, but when she arrives she finds Medusa!Anthy.
Prompt: Their first Christmas together.
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