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percys-writing · 2 years

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props to @nebula-gaster for this idea actually bc its good

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Lauren had been in the job a long time.

Well- perhaps not long enough to call it her entire career, but five years of the same job, the same thing day-in-day-out, being the only person who could do her job... it made it a safe bet that her career was secure and for life. And hey, being the first person to have your job probably made any amount of time working it a 'long time'.

That wasn't to say she never got holidays or a break from the relentless onslaught of horrific thoughts she sometimes got from these cases. She wasn't usually brought on to get information from the mind of innocents, at least. They were suspects. Anyone who was resisting questioning enough that their mind had to be read was usually guilty of something.

She's spent years growing used to the flashes of horror, of blood and gore and pain and sadness and rage, from the thoughts of the people she met. The first week had been rough enough that she'd considered walking out immediately, though it'd gotten easier over time.

The offices were busy when Lauren stepped into the doors, her "special forces" identification badge clutched in her hands just in case, even though everyone here knew her anyway. It was hard to keep who she was secret when her role on the 'special forces' unit was so unique and so frightening to so many people. Or fascinating to others, she supposed. Useful to few.

She smiled at Officer Ridley, who always gave her a wave and free coffee whenever Lauren worked on Friday, because Friday was 'treat day' for the unit, and Ridley considered her part of the force even if it was honourary. Two desks down, beneath a heap of paperwork that never seemed to lessen, Officer Shirley sneered at her. Shirley most certainly did not consider her part of the force, which was fine by Lauren. She wasn't a cop, technically, and didn't want to be one. At least with her ability she could actually weed out the guilty without mistakes and ensure the freedom of the innocent. It was hard to argue about innocent vs guilty with a woman who could pull your darkest and ugliest secrets straight from your head and expose them to the world if she wanted to.

She didn't want to, of course, for the most part. She didn't have to read peoples minds. Their thoughts were there, distant, each a different pitch of buzzing, white noise, something she could reach out and listen to if she wanted to but not necessarily any sort of requirement to. It was easy to ignore after learning how to ignore it all her life.

The open desks became cubicles and Lauren continued to smile and wave as she weaved through the busy clatter of people working, phone calls being taken, errand boys jogging by with coffee and paper for the fax machine and messages for someone somewhere else in the building. So much noise, so much bustle, so much life. It was comforting in its own way.

She reached the end of the room and put on her best professional smile for Captain Thornton, who looked like she was several years too old for her rank, and several seconds away from murder at any given second. Lauren got on well with her despite it, because Thornton valued her input and her work, and had never yelled at her or looked down at her, not even when they'd first met and she'd first watched Lauren pull images of one of the most grotesque crime scenes she'd ever seen from someone's head, and then thrown up in the interrogation rooms trash can afterwards.

"Ms Hurwit," Thornton greeted when she caught sight of her, giving her a short nod, her sharp blue eyes softening just a little under her cap. "Can we go right in, or do you need briefing?"

"I've read their file," Lauren replied, inclining her head towards the door to signal they could head straight in. Looking pleased, Thornton stepped inside without further comment, letting Lauren catch the door herself to follow her. The person at the table looked up at their entry, eyes sharp, only glancing over the officer for a second before they focused onto her. It was a look that hardened instantly, lips curling into something unhappy, as Lauren studied them.

Avery Flannigan, twenty-four, accused of stabbing six people at a party that was supposed to celebrate their graduation, and the suspected kidnapping and murder of two more who had not been seen since. There had been deaths, though the report hadn't said how many. Avery had denied it down to the ground with claims that they'd been smoking out on the porch at the time, and walked in to find people bleeding all over their lovely furniture.

That had been the exact quote in the transcripted emergency call- that there were people bleeding all over their lovely furniture.

It didn't matter. Lauren was here to get the truth, so she moved around the table to pull out the chair facing them, reaching for the jug of water someone had put down earlier to pour herself a drink.

"Hello, Avery," she said, glancing up once it was poured to study their face. A forgettable one, she thought, as she waited for an answer. Soft brown hair that curled around their face in a boyish way, with big bright eyes several shades darker than their hair. It framed their round face nicely, juxtaposed to their pale skin dotted with freckles scattered on their nose and forehead, though their cheeks were mostly clear of the marks.

No response came and Lauren nodded, taking a sip of water before she put the cup down.

"I assume you've been told who I am," she said, keeping things pleasant because there was no need to be unpleasant about the truth that she was about to rip their mind to shreds looking for whatever information she wanted. "My name is Lauren. Do you know how this works?"

"You're going to try and read my mind," they replied, and the snarl vanished to something closer like a smile, mean and thin-lipped and very forced. Lauren shrugged, because she was, though the word 'try' was hardly necessary. She just would; no one had ever stopped her before. It didn't matter what they did. Whether they repeated a word over and over, tried to play a song, gave her their dirtiest fantasies, their vilest thoughts, or their most innocent, all she really had to do was push them aside and worm her way in deeper to the memories she wanted. It was less of a 'whatever you're thinking, I know', and more of an 'I will turn your brain to putty if you make me, but I'd rather not, so I'll just comb it instead and try to leave it all nice and intact'.

"It is a very exposing event to have to live through," she replied instead, trying to keep her attention on Avery while also trying to ignore the weight of their gaze as they stared at her. "I will see whatever I want, though I try not to pry more than necessary. It's something you can avoid if you'd like to co-operate and speak to the officers; I'm sort of a last-measure when you make things difficult."

"I didn't hurt anyone," was Avery's response, the smile turning arrogant. Every word they said seemed to shift in tone, fleeting, never able to hold onto anything too long. Likely, they'd try and cycle through their thoughts as fast as possible to confuse her and keep her out. A common trick, not something she wasn't used to seeing, so it didn't matter. "I took a smoke and came back into it. Georgie and Sam are still missing; have you tried asking them?"

"We will when we find them," Thornton growled from where she stood in the doorway, and Avery ignored her, eyes only for Lauren. It made the psychic sigh a little though she let the only reply be her superiors because this wasn't in any way to do with her; she was just here to do her job and then leave.

"Alright," Lauren said, reaching out to focus on the buzzing of the persons mind now that they'd made it quite clear she had no choice. It was a deep buzzing, something low and droning, the sound of something big and heavy dragging itself through air a little faster than it should be. It was something that would cause a headache if you listened to it for too long without actually listening. Not that it mattered; she'd be in and out quickly enough. "I am sorry that it has to come to this. Let's begin."

Avery didn't tense, didn't flinch, just kept smiling at her as she reached into those muffled sounds to turn them into words.

The world around her dropped away, turned into that constant deep droning, and she met Avery's head easily.

It was empty in here, she thought, at least at the front. No quick fluttering thoughts; just emptiness. That was fine. Emptiness meant nothing. Sometimes it meant they were concentrating on keeping their head empty. Sometimes it was just empty. Lauren knew her head was empty, most of the time, especially when she was to concentrate.

Reaching down into Avery's memories was easy too, familiar, pulling on a link she couldn't see or feel but knew was here through habit and repetition and more than likely pure magic.

She pulled up the memory of them walking into the offices, of Ridley who smiled and waved at them. A memory of Shirley sneering at them over her stacks of paperwork. A memory of a young man clutching a red thermo-canister and a heavy binder of files rushing past them as they walked towards Thornton waiting outside the room, whose eyes softened a little when they stopped in front of her.

"Ms Hurwit," the memory greeted, and Lauren stopped. She let the memory go and pulled back out of Avery's head to blink.

They were still smiling at her, arrogant, a little more pleased with themself now. She frowned. Reached out to take another sip of water, slipped back into that noise to try again. She was distracted, that was all. She just-

A memory came up without calling it, of a young red-haired woman staring at her face in the mirror, a pair of scissors in hand. The woman's hair, her hair, sat in ruined jagged lines where she'd gone home with her head full of blood, looked at herself, and decided that her hair was too red and needed to come off.

She remembered that night too well, last April. A case with children... a case where they were too late. She'd had to book a hairdressers appointment to have her hair cut to a pixie because she'd hacked off too much for it to be saved. A new one, this one older. Lauren's face stared at her from a window reflection, watching the dark streets for someone, for Emerson, now her ex, to arrive. They were supposed to be on a date. Emerson was late. He hadn't shown up, and Lauren had gone home after contemplating herself in the glass for almost an hour waiting and wondering if it had been her fault.

Lauren jerked back from the memory, out of Avery's head, though her mind came away from theirs like slime, like they were beginning to melt together and she was peeling herself away from them messily.

She was on her feet and didn't remember having gotten up, breathing hard. Thornton was by her side, water in hand.

"Step out if you need a breather, Ms Hurwit," she was saying, eyes watching her carefully. "They'll be here with you get back."

She squeezed her eyes closed, nodded, took the cup with trembling hands to down the rest of the water. When she opened them again Avery had leaned forward on the table, watching her with eyes gone all soft, like she was something wonderful to look at.

"It doesn't feel good, does it?" they said softly, making Thornton glance at them too, finally moving her direction from Lauren. "Oh so very exposing. But I try not to pry."

Thornton's look turned deadly, her hand going out to touch Lauren's arm, moving her out from between the table and chair and then back a further step.

"How are you doing that?" Lauren asked instead of acknowledging Thornton's moving her, trying not to let the fear creep into her voice as she stared at them. Their head tilted, resting on their hand, a gesture far too relaxed for the fact they were a suspect for mass murder.

"How do you do it?" they asked back instead of answering her, and Lauren swallowed.

"You can't keep me out," she tried instead of asking again, trying for brave this time. Avery's humming thoughts had gone deeper, beginning to pinch the front of her mind, aching. "Noone ever has. I'll get there."

"I'm sure you'll try," they replied, and their smile went away, though their eyes were still looking at her with fondness. "I look forward to seeing who breaks who first." Abruptly, Lauren did not want to be in the room with this person. "I need air," she said, and Thornton only nodded. Lauren turned and shoved the door open, letting it slam behind her, and went for the front door.

Inside her hair, Avery laughed. Lauren shoved them hard and they went away, back inside the room where they sat smiling and happy with the Captain.

Lauren found her way outside where she stood for ten minutes, breathing in the cold air, trying to calm herself down, trying to convince herself there was no way anyone else like her existed, there was no way anyone could read her mind. When she was done, and the ten minutes were up, she stepped back inside, back to Avery.

They were a lot less kind with their prying the second time she tried.

As a psychic interrogator you’ve seen many people do many things to resist you reading their mind. Some use pain, some try to Marshall their thoughts, some even repeat a word or mantra ad nauseam. For the first time you’re shocked at how someone did it.

#my writing #prompt fill #///#wc: 2356 #2k-5k

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percys-writing · 2 years

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"Why hello there, sleepyhead."

The voice at his ear was a purr and it startled him awake faster than anything else, jerking to his feet only to realise he couldn't actually do that, with the pulling on his wrists where they were tied to a chair behind his back burning as soon as he struggled.

He tried forward next, trying to scramble to his feet because they weren't tied down. He pushed up, the adrenaline fueled by pure fear driving him, and was only successful in landing on his face when something shoved him from behind.

He was not at all embarrassed to say he screamed, struggling uselessly as pain shot through his face, the drip of blood hot and wet below his nose.

Someone clucked their tongue behind him and his chair was hauled back up with alarming ease, making his screaming stop to die in his throat as a choked sob as the masked figure whisked around to his front.

Whinan.

Whinan - why was the city's most notorious supervillain standing in front of him? Why had she tied him to a chair? Why was she looking at him like he'd done something wrong?

Andrew swallowed, his throat feeling incredibly dry as he tried to take his surroundings in with a forced-calming-down that he didn't feel in the slightest and he felt was probably entirely see-through with how the villain grinned at him.

It was not a nice grin, so he turned away from it.

The room was small, clean, and looked like it was a flat of some sort. Everything was very open-plan, from the empty living room he was tied up in, an equally empty kitchen barely six feet away, a door somewhere to his left that might have been the way out, or may have been to the bedroom. He wondered, if he screamed, if anyone would hear him. Surely an apartment complex meant neighbours?

Whinan, in all her ghastly glory, stepped into his space with a very overwhelming presence that immediately stilled his breathing. Her first touch was gentle, a rough gloved hand sliding down his cheek, and then she grabbed his chin and squeezed hard enough that it drew a whimper from his throat. She hummed.

"You can scream, if you like. I don't think anyone would hear you. Nobody who can help you, anyway."

She said it so matter-of-fact, so pleasantly, and the panic turned to a gut reaction that made him tear his head up out of her hands.

She had him by the face again in a heartbeat, harder this time, bruising. She wasn't supposed to be strong. She had been wielding fire the last time she'd been broadcasted, a destructive battle that'd left an entire neighbourhood smouldering and uninhabitable when it'd ended. He remembered turning the tv off and praying that it was never him that had to see it first-hand.

"I'm sorry," he tried next, voice pitching, deciding to not even bother with the faux bravery. He was scared, there was no hiding it. He didn't want to die. He had done nothing wrong. "Please- please, I don't know anything, I don't know anything, don't hurt me."

"For a coward, you lie well," was the reply, still pleasant. "Drop the act and I won't have to hurt you, James Goode. Where is she?"

Hurt- James? Who the fuck was James? His name was Andrew. He didn't think he'd ever met someone named James in his life.

"That's- not me," he managed, squeaked when she pressed in closer, staring him down with those impossibly cold eyes. "I- my name isn't James, I don't know who James is. I swear. I swear."

"Oh? Then what is your name?"

His mouth snapped shut, shaking his head as much as he could with his face still held in her grip. No. Giving her his name was a death sentence, he knew that, everyone knew that. Whinan, after all, was the ultimate authority in 'what's in a name', and what was in a name for her was power. Oh god, it was so much power.

"James Goode," she said, stepped back, eyeing him where he could only stare at her wide-eyed. "Oh, James, you really aren't that bright, are you?"

"I'm not James!" he tried again, this time a plea, throwing as much desperation into it as he could. Her face wasn't amused anymore, it was back to looking annoyed. Something about the twitch of her lip, how empty those eyes were as they stared at him from behind her mask. "I can prove it- if I was James- can't you do something with a name? If I was James you'd be able to control me."

She sneered at that, and he realised a second too late to rectify his words that he'd done something to insult her.

"My powers don't work on weaker people," she snarled, hands balling into fists. "You're right- you don't know anything, and you're no use. Kill him."

She turned away then, stalking for the kitchen, and one of the literal-wall-of-muscle henchmen who'd been leaning against the wall until that moment pushed up and started towards him at her words.

No.

No!

The panic exploded as he was approached, swelling up into his chest, out his mouth in the beginnings of screams. He thrashed against the ropes, trying through the blinding fear to call up the burning in the pit of his stomach, willing it to explode from him, to make sure this man did not reach him with a knife in hand.

He succeeded somewhere in figuring out how to kick his legs out forward, trying desperately to hit him back, hold him away, though it was clumsy and untrained and all it did was make the man step back out of the way.

Andrew missed, and his foot hit the floor with the strength he'd been attempting to put into the kick, and the shockwave rolled out in an invisible ripple that sent the man flying back into the kitchen counter beside where the villain had paused, where the henchman crumpled like wet paper at the force of it.

Andrew drew in a sharp breath, freezing under her look as she spun back to face him. A hand went up and the two who'd jumped up to help their fellow co-worker stopped dead, leaving the room in silence asides from the harsh breathing Andrew didn't seem to be able to calm.

The man didn't look like he was breathing anymore. He looked quite dead, actually, something about the way his back was twisted against the wood that'd buckled behind him. Or maybe it was the definitely-not-blood that was beginning to dribble down the wall behind him. It looked black against the brown, moved slower than water. Andrew tried desperately to focus on that so he didn't have to look at Whinan and her sharp eyes.

"Well," she said into the silence, voice light, "I know for a fact that James certainly cannot do that. And I know there is no hero nor villain alive in this city who can do that either. So, mister not James, who exactly are you?"

Andrew shook his head jerkily, not any more willing to answer that than last time. He'd wanted it to happen- he'd wanted the power to explode, even though he hadn't known how to force it out, but he hadn't considered the fact that it'd reveal his ability to the villain and without a doubt force her attention onto him in ways he did not want it.

She was in front of him before he registered her moving, her touch gentler this time when she caught his face, moving it so he was forced to look up at her. He squeezed his eyes closed tight and to his surprise, she didn't force him to open them.

"You know, hiding your ability from them is a death sentence," she said very softly, and he swallowed.

"I'm not cut out to be a hero," he said, voice rough, small. It was true- the power hadn't erupted until well into his teenage years when he'd already made peace with the fact he wasn't powerful despite the fact his father had been. His brother had been like his father. They'd both died for it, both drafted into the hero academy against their will, because if you had powers, you didn't have a normal life. You worked for the heroes or you deflected and became a villain.

Andrew hadn't wanted that, so even when he'd come to realise that there was something powerful dwelling inside of him, he hadn't told anyone. Leaving the power dormant and untrained meant it didn't manifest often, and certainly not at will. It was safer to pretend it didn't exist than try and train it himself.

Whinan hummed again. She did that a lot, Andrew thought, focusing on that little bit of her personality in an attempt to ignore the feeling of her gloves on his face.

"So you won't give me your name," she said, letting him shake his head a third time in her loose grip. "Then you'd like a name, perhaps, would you? Would that make you feel better? To be named?"

Not remotely. Not even in the slightest. He didn't want her to have his name and he certainly didn't want her to give him a name, because what did that even do? The same thing? Did it mean she'd have control of him anyway? God, he did not want her to have what he had. She'd tear the city apart.

Her hands disappeared and he heard her muted footsteps move, and then abruptly the ropes holding his wrists tight went slack, and he jerked his hands up to his front where he curled them into his chest protectively.

When he opened his eyes she was in front of him again, eyes gleaming.

"Lucky Egg," she said, voice light. "You are a very Lucky Egg. Consider this a headstart. Get out."

He blinked, needing a second to register that and-

A headstart.

He jumped to his feet and bolted, through the door that lead to a stairwell, down those stairs, skipping three at a time, four at a time, desperate to just get down. The front doors weren't locked and he burst into the derelict parking lot, heart pounding, spinning wildly to figure out which direction to go, where was safe. Footsteps behind him and he ran without considering it further.

When he finally stopped, lungs burning, legs shaking like he'd collapse if he didn't stop soon, it was at least somewhere he recognised. The sky that'd been blue last he'd seen it was beginning to turn scarlet. He felt like he was going to throw up.

A headstart.

She'd let him go.

Fuck.

#writing snippet #villain x civilian #heroes and villains #heroes #villains #writing #my writing #how do people even tag their writing stuff to be seen #anyway #im in a hero/villain mood and im having fun writing the characters from this story so i wanted to post a bit of it #thank u bye #////#andrew colsburn #whinan caddie jones #///#wc: 1799 #1k-2k

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percys-writing · 3 years

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Syl hated to admit that the words stung. She hadn’t been expecting a total surrender, for her to fall to her knees for her, not really. Palm had always been far too herself for something that humble.

Still.

It did sting.

On the other hand, though, Syl did know Palm. At least some part of her. She hadn’t known that she’d been the same villain steamrolling the city almost literally, sure, but eyeing the woman standing confident before her with a hip cocked, hands resting loosely, she had no trouble believing it.

Their relationship had never been perfect. Palm had never been abusive but she’d never been overly friendly either, not affectionate or lovey-dovey with her words. Syl, being the opposite, hadn’t coped well with that well when they’d been friends. Once she’d started getting to know Palm - or at least when she thought she had - she’d realised that Palm preferred gifts and ‘actions’ or whatever the love languages were supposed to be, to kissing in public.

It’d been fine. She’d learned to live with it.

She wasn’t sure she could learn to live with this.

It was the first time Palm had threatened her, which definitely wasn’t something she was keen on repeating, but she also very much was not keen on apologising and going back to pretending that her fiancée day job didn’t involve trying to murder people.

So, deciding either way was probably going to end bad for her, she decided that bluffing this had a better shot than sitting down and surrendering.

“Did you care about me at all?” she demanded, pleased to hear her voice stayed steady. Breaking down definitely wouldn’t give her any skin in this fight.

Palm tilted her head a little, the smile curling her lips familiar as the same sort of smile she’d seen her give to dogs she met in the streets and stopped to pet. It was a demeaning smile to have sent her way and it made her frown.

“Of course I did,” Palm said. “I do. I have no reason for a civilian life other than wanting one. That doesn’t mean I’ll pick you over myself.”

“I’m definitely starting to feel the same way,” she replied, and that smile got a little wider. “And considering you’ve been lying to me about being a bloody- God, are you stealing stuff from work? Is that what’s happening here?”

“What, the jewels?” Palm shrugged, shifted her weight to relax more against the door she was blocking. “No, I like that job. It’s the only reason I haven’t blown that part of town. Or this part. We live here, darling, and home insurance doesn’t cover hero damage.”

“Don’t call me darling.”

“Fine, Sylester. Are we going to eat dinner or not?”

“No, we’re not.”

It came out angrier than she’d intended for it to and Palm’s smile vanished. She just stared at her, face flat, and Syl balled her fists in some vain attempt to calm down and not run for the bedroom. She just had to believe Palm wouldn’t hurt her. They’d been together four years. Palm wouldn’t hurt her.

She absolutely had not expected the woman to suddenly move, though.

It was such a quick movement that she jumped though somewhere in her head she still thought she was dealing with Palm, her lover, not the supervillain, not any sort of villain, and she took no step back. It was an unconscious decision to not move but it seemed to surprise Palm as though she’d expected her to run. Syl sent a silent thanks to her brain for not yet fully processing the situation enough to be completely scared and tried to pretend it had been on purpose.

“I thought I said to apologise,” she said, voice very quiet. She stood staring down at her, close enough that if Syl just stood up on her toes they’d be able to kiss.

She didn’t lean up, but she did shrug.

“And I said to stop being evil,” she replied. “You’re not listening to me either. I’m your fiancée, not your maid. I don’t have to listen to shit you say.”

For a moment she thought Palm was going to hit her. Her face blazed and there was such a fierce anger in there that she flinched, finally looking away. It didn’t help that she caught Palm’s hand moving from the corner of her eye and when her hand touched her cheek she flinched again, but there was no smack. She just held her hand there.

“You will listen to me because I’m telling you to,” Palm said, a terrible coldness in her voice. “You still seem to think you have a choice in this when I think we both know you don’t.”

Syl let out a breath and stepped away, and Palm’s hand fell back to her side.

“So what,” she said, letting herself let go of the brave pretense, “I backchat you and you chain me up? Stab me for every mean word I say? That’s the grand plan?”

“Of course not. You can spit all you want, if it makes you feel better; I’m sure you think your anger is justifiable. But it doesn’t change that you have nothing to use against me, and until I decide otherwise, you’re staying here.”

“What if I don’t want to be here?” She wanted to step back in, put them both face to face again, but she was sort of starting to grasp the danger now and it made the idea of moving closer to her feel like a magnet. Not the kind that pulled her in, but the kind that pushed her away. A repulsion. A fear. A desperation.

“You know who I am,” Palm replied, casual once more. “You’ll take it to someone, and I’m sure whoever you go to would be all too happy to use you as bait. I won’t choose you over me but I hardly want you dead.”

Syl wished she could figure out exactly where and how Palm was connecting these dots because quite frankly the entire thing seemed stupid. She was happy, sure, that Palm apparently didn’t want her dead, but it still sounded stupid when she said it aloud like that.

“You could just let me go and stick a couple of henchmen on me,” she replied, swallowing hard as she tried to think of some way of reasoning around this. “I know you have them. Everyone knows villains have them. You don’t have to keep me here. People will wonder why I’m not texting.”

“You work from home,” was the reply. “You craft. It takes very little social interaction, darling, I’m sure people won’t mind if it takes a few extra days. But you do make an excellent point; I want your phone. Now.”

She held a hand out and Syl blinked, only considered for a moment refusing. If she wouldn’t hurt her then the worst she could do to her for saying no was... what? What could she do?

She thought about the demolition she’d seen on the news earlier in the week, the ground rumbled and split by some unimaginable force, the way the building had crumpled and buckled under whatever pressure had been pressed against it.

She handed her phone over without a word and Palm pocketed it.

“You can still let me go,” Syl tried again, and when Palm smiled this time it was her smile. One of the few genuine smiles of love she ever gave, the ones that usually turned Syl’s heard inside out and made all of her doubts disappear.

It didn’t make any of the doubts disappear this time but her heart still wrenched.

“Nonsense,” Palm said. “We’re getting married in a few months, darling, and I still love you. I like having you around. Now come on; let’s eat dinner.”

This time Sylester did not argue.

Prompt #196

“I don’t care how you do it, or how long it takes, but you have to fix what you’ve done. I can’t be with you until you do,” the lover told the villain.

“Is that your big plan? Put me in time out until I say sorry?” the villain laughed. “I’ve made sure that you’ve never seen my dark side, because you didn’t know what I was involved in. But now you know who I really am and you’ve marched in here, making demands, with no real leverage. What, did you think I was going to turn myself over to the authorites just because you asked? If you apologise now we can go back to the way things were, but if you ever try anything like this again you’ll find out why everyone else is so afraid of me.”

#my writing #palm #sylester #prompt fill #////#tag commentary:#its 3am this isnt good but i wanted to write it bc i dont write much with palm and i dont think ive Ever written about Syl despite her being #my oc for......#over 3 years...........#sorry syl #/////////#abuse tw #///#wc: 1316 #1k-2k

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