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donnabenevientosimpingzone · 2 months

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Could we get a little Beneviento sisters x reader fic please? A little treat

- simp anon

Ahaha I should change this blog to just Beneviento simping zone, I’ve made so many people love Bernadette and Claudia, and I’m so glad they’re getting so much love<3

How about a little dinner time with them?

Dinner time was always the highlight of the day. After a morning of waking up- watching all three of your girlfriends practically tripping over themselves to get to work and joining whichever you were scheduled to be with that day to the very end- coming home to that relief of spending time together as a family was always worth every bitter bead of sweat that rolled down your face. It also helped that cooking dinner together was a major love language for the Benevientos, and while you could never match up to their culinary mastery, you could help out.

This evening, though, you were standing aside while Donna attended to the stove and Claudia set the oven. Bernadette was expertly cutting sheets of pasta, and everyone seemed to be so in sync to the unspoken agreement that lasagna was for dinner. There seemed to be little room for you to lend a helping hand, however, that didn’t stop you from hovering around just in case.

“How was helping Bernadette in the garden today?” The question came from Donna’s lips as she passed by you, pausing just long enough to press her cheek into your shoulder like a cat marking her territory.

“Hot.” You replied without thinking, earning a loud snort from Claudia, reminding you of her gutter-mind. You roll your eyes despite the forming grin across your lips. “Temperature hot, Claudia.”

“Sure.” Claudia replies with a smirk after sticking out her tongue at you. She lets out a few snickers as you give her a wink, earning an audible sigh from the oldest sister. Bernadette shares a look with Donna as the youngest sister is cutting carrots to add to the vegetable stir-fry still in progress on the stove.

“They were wonderful help.” Bernadette states as she steps aside, letting Claudia take over layering the lasagna and putting it into the oven. Her hands find an abandoned hand towel, and the fingers hook on the fabric to wipe off whatever edible debris clung to their pores. “Got a little too distracted with the hose though.”

“To be fair, you were flexing.” You counter, earning a Cheshire smile from the oldest sister as she leans back on her elbows against the counter.

“I was using the wheelbarrow, dolcezza.”

A hot blush starts to form across your cheeks as the Italian rolls along Bernadette’s deep voice like melted metal in a mold. No matter how often the Benevientos spoke their mother tongue to you, it still had you rather frazzled hearing it every damn time.

“You didn’t drown the tulips, did you?” Donna’s voice breaks you out of it, and you frantically shake your head to deny the idea.

“No!” You chirp, your blush darkening now in embarrassment as the dollmaker quirks a brow at you. “I just- uh…”

“Lemme guess.” Claudia says, shutting the oven to emphasize her voice. “You made another pond in the middle of some random plot of dirt Bernadette was preparing to plant.”

Now your face is scolding, and you groan- hiding the hue in your hands- unable to escape the situation now. A round of endearing giggles go around the kitchen as the sisters coo at your adorable display, making it easy to accept your embarrassment and giggle, raising your head from the grasps of your fingers. It’s true that you weren’t as skilled as the sisters in their respective fields. Compared to them, you were decent at things, but knew a lot of skills- a bit of a jack-of-all-trades- but the trade-off was that you didn’t have astonishing knowledge in anything. Well, at least the things the Beneviento sisters were into.

Bernadette was the easiest to work with. You liked days with her a lot, even if it was going to be physically demanding. The oldest sister with her psychology background and job as a therapist meant that she almost always seemed to know what was spiraling in your head, with the patience of a thousand gods, and her choice words always made your chest burst with warmth and eyes explode with grateful tears. If the two of you weren’t labouring away in the gardens around the manor, you were venting your woes to each other somewhere in the forest.

Claudia was the next easiest to work with. She worked as the village doctor and was overflowing with altruism. She fortunately had the energy to match such a demanding job, and most of the time you were basically there to deliver supplies and check inventory, on rare occasions you would help with treatments. Due to the nature of her job, Claudia has a pretty no-bullshit attitude during work, which tends to give you whiplash compared to her silly personality at home. Just another quirky facet of her that you’ve fallen in love with over the years.

Unfortunately, as much as you simply adored spending time with Donna, you were pretty useless when it came to helping her make dolls. Much of the time you were there to parallel work together, or to keep Angie entertained. Nevertheless, the system you both figured out is one that you look forward to each time, and if things get done sooner… well-

“Hey.” Claudia’s voice snaps you out of your wandering thoughts, and you blink back to reality to see her waving a hand in your face. “Back to Earth, idiota.”

She snaps her fingers at you, throwing her arm in various directions as she does so, making you laugh.

“Okay, okay! Back to Earth, I’m back to Earth-” You reassure, raising your hands in surrender as Claudia chuckles, flicking your forehead.

“I’m surprised the gravity can hold down your air head.” Claudia jests, giving your cheek a quick peck before slinking away down the halls. You watch her go, rubbing the spot where her lips graced your skin with a dreamy smile, turning your attention back to the other two.

Donna had finished her dish and was helping Bernadette set the table. The dollmaker gestures for you to sit down and begin eating while the lasagna cooks in the oven, and you happily stride over to the chair. Bernadette takes a seat across from you, sipping her tea while Donna pours your cup.

“Thank you, beautiful.” You praise, raising a hand to cup the dollmaker’s cheek. She leans into the touch with a smile, almost purring as she soaked in your affection like a sponge. The moment doesn’t last long, as Donna pulls away quickly to pour tea for herself, but little moments like that feel so much longer. They replay in your head often. Gosh her smile really did things to your brain chemistry.

The three of you begin treating the vegetable dish and cups of tea while making small talk. It starts with a simple discussion on what the plans were for tomorrow, and derailed into various other topics that somehow managed to come up. Sometimes Bernadette and Donna would exchange words in Italian, bits and pieces you’d recognize, but not enough to piece together what they were talking about. One time, Donna said something that made Bernadette laugh, and you laughed at Donna’s shocked expression. You had said something to affectionately tease her, and Donna stopped chewing her food to stare daggers at you. It would have been scary, if one of her cheeks wasn’t swollen with food like a little chipmunk, making you laugh harder.

The moment is broken when there’s a sudden loud crash in the distance. All conversation comes to a screeching halt as the thud echoes vaguely in the large manor. A moment of silence passes before a loud “DONNNNNNNNNNNNNNA!!” howls across the estate in Claudia’s voice. On cue, Donna sets down her tea and stands up from her chair- the back of her knees pushing it back with a sound of wood scraping on wood- flattening her dress with a brisk few brushes of her hands.

“I’ll be excusing myself.” She says with a huge, shit-eating grin, walking away with a fast clop-clop of her heeled boots.

You and Bernadette share smiles as there’s the sound of approaching footsteps, only a moment later with Claudia bursting into the kitchen, torso soaked.

“Where’d she go?!” The middle child demands, moving wet strands of hair out of her eyes.

“She excused herself.” Bernadette states while taking a sip of her tea. You reaffirm the statement with a nod of your head. Claudia growls and stomps through the room in the direction Donna disappeared down, plotting her prank to get back at the youngest sister.

Once all was silent again, Bernadette took another sip of tea.

“You got plans tonight?” She pipes up towards you, and you shake your head in response. “Donna was asking me if she could have time with you tonight, before you go with Claudia tomorrow.”

“Hm? Oh sure, what for?” You inquire, shoving vegetables in your mouth. You had begun chewing them until Bernadette gave you a sultry smile, causing your mastication to slow until it stopped, paralyzed and unable to swallow.

Now you know what it was. Earlier Bernadette had taken you against a tree when the two of you were supposed to be trimming bushes, and earlier than that Claudia had to do the laundry in the morning after she woke you up with choice placement of her hands.

Right as you were thinking about the evening with Donna, the oven beeps, and Bernadette brightens out of her darkened gaze to an almost child-like grin.

“Be a dear and fetch the others for dinner.” She says, and you’ve finally found the strength to swallow, nodding as you stand up and head in the direction the other two did earlier. You also make a mental note to find Angie, who must still be napping after being continuously interrupted by a “busy” night.

#ask #resident evil village #resident evil #donna beneviento #claudia beneviento #bernadette beneviento #donna x reader #claudia x reader #bernadette x reader #fanfic

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onceuponaweirdo · 4 days

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Funny things that happen to me at work

The cook asked me to taste the mashed potatoes to see if it was too salty

"I don't eat mashed potatoes"

I say with an apologetic smile

"You don't eat mashed potatoes?"

She inquires with a flat tone and a bewildered expression

"I don't"

I reiterate

She looks at me

Looks at the six year old autistic kid to whom I'm a therapist

Looks back at me

Looks at my plate of carrot rice and fried fish, the skin separated from the meat at the furthest corner of the plate away from the rest of the food

Looks back at me

Back to the kid

Clearly remembering that I also don't eat any kind of spaghetti

Walks away with a face that says "I'm connecting the dots"

#neurodivergent #asd #autistic #autism #picky eater #mashed potatoes are a sensory nightmare for me #sensory issues #sensory icks #autism spectrum disorder #funny stuff #work stuff

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headakke · 4 days

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some new rules for myself:

- no breakfast (just for this week rip)

- max 600 cals

- drink a lot of water, big cups of coffee and tea

- walk at least 10k a day

- go to the gym min 3 times a week

- not eating after dinner or lunch, if hungry go eat and apple or a carrot 🐇

- binge triggers: being alone at home/in the kitchen, do not start eating hundreds of vegetables if hungry because it never ends there, if angry or depressed go walk or deep dive into some artists/genres on spotify or on pinterest

- to avoid/limit many binge episodes —> try writing anywhere you want why you are about to eat that food and what you are feeling while eating it (I listened to a video about BED and the girl talking said that her therapist recommended this to her)

#i wanna be perfect #i wanna be sk1nn1 #i wanna lose weight #i wanna relapse so bad #starv1ng #th1gh g@p #th1nsp1ration #th1nspø #thinspø #tw ed but not sheeran

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howlingday · 1 year

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Jaune: When I started dating Weiss, I first thought she was perfect. The pinnacle of beauty and grace. Then I noticed that she chews like she's crunching gravel. I love her, but it got on my nerves sometimes.

Jaune: Now when I cook, I try to make softer foods, like burritos and burgers, or boiled peas and carrots. I also told her about it, and she said she would try to chew more quietly. She's gotten better, I think.

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Weiss: Jaune gets really jealous. I was out with my team when a guy tried to flirt with me. When he heard about, his whole face just got so red, I had to laugh. He said it wasn't funny, but I disagreed. He stormed out, face red as a tomato.

Weiss: The next day, he told me that he was sorry for getting upset and explained that he was just afraid of losing me because I met somebody better than him. Which I told him was completely impossible, since there is no man or woman in existence who could make me feel as loved as he could.

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Jaune: I was head over heels with Weiss. Every date night was something wild and new! Sure, it wore down my wallet a bit, but nothing was too fine for my Snow Angel.

Jaune: When I woke up late for a job, Weiss got angry and start calling me lazy lout, and I didn't know what that meant at the time, but I knew it was an insult. So I told her that I was only taking the job to keep her happy by paying for our dates. That's when she blew her lid, yelling at me for not telling her about my money problems sooner. After she calmed down, she wrote me a check and told me I had to pay her back later. I did, and now we're going out less, and taking turns on who's paying for everything.

---------------------------------------------------

Weiss: I was getting over the loss of my father, but I refused to cry in front of anyone. I hated him, but there was a part of me who missed the man he was before he died. Soon, I started lashing out at everyone and everything that upset me, which led to me regretting my actions, which fed into my anger, which led to more regrets, and so on, and so on.

Weiss: If it wasn't for Jaune catching me crying in my bedroom, I would have probably gone mad with grief. He sat there and held me as I sobbed into his shoulder like a child. All the while, he comforted me, telling me to remember the happier times, and eased my turbulent emotions by offering to contact his own therapist for a session with me.

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: To be honest, she's the girl I love because she's imperfect.

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Weiss: To be honest, he's the man I love because he's imperfect.

#rwby #jaune arc #weiss schnee #white knight

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aceghosts · 20 days

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Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning?

Summary: Stuck in an Arasaka Facility, Rooney Shepard makes a new friend/ally, an unexpected one: Yorinobu Arasaka. Title comes from Spiritbox's Too Close/Too Late.

Rating: M

Warnings: This fic deals heavily with Rooney's death, their resurrection, and subsequent feelings around this. Rooney is also a human being experimented on, and thus, this fic also kinda deals with that (Not much as death). It also discusses a near death experience involving dead family members and guilt over that. Also, Yorinobu and Rooney are kind of assholes to each other at the beginning. You have been warned; please let me know if I need to tag for anything else.

Words: 6,462 words.

Author's Note: Takes place before the events of CP2077, roughly six years before.

Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @captmactavish, @carlosoliveiraa, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @nightbloodbix, @clicheantagonist, @theelderhazelnut, @strangefable, @voidika, @cassietrn, @direwombat, @cloudofbutterflies92.

AO3

For once, Rooney is alone-blissfully, mercifully alone-and it’s sending them into a paranoid spiral. A day spent working on a fixer-upper of a motorcycle would be fantastic, under any other circumstances. But in an Arasaka facility? Where they are being held? And monitored continually? Where they are being put through tests to push the limits of their experimental modifications? Rooney snorts, shaking their head. This wasn’t a gesture of kindness or a way to help them heal, no matter what their physical therapist or psychologist might say. Rather, it was a carrot on a stick, a reward dangled in front of them to keep Rooney obedient and indebted. Make Rooney less of a stubborn pain in the ass.

Rooney also assumes that it’s meant to keep them distracted, from snooping around while the scientists are in facility-wide meetings today. They would love to snoop, but Rooney knows they’re at a disadvantage. Outside of the necessary tests, their combat mods are disabled. Their other mods are only left to do essential functions. Plus, they’re locked in the room with guards stationed at both ends of the hall, unable to leave until someone fetches them, which has only happened a few times. But Rooney knows that they have additional opportunities to snoop. When you’re silent and unassuming, most forget you are there, casually talking about matters that you shouldn’t hear. As Rooney stays silent during their testing or checkups, the scientists talk, leaving Rooney to listen and learn. They’ve learned that most of the scientists don’t care for the lead, Dr. Yūto Maeda, on the project, but don’t want to miss working on a subject as rare as Rooney. They’ve learned about the inner drama between some of the scientists, some of it useful and some of it irrelevant. Rooney also learned more about the Arasakas, especially the failed one, Yorinobu, whose wild escapades always seem to be a topic of gossip.

Sighing, Rooney pushes the thoughts out of their head, focusing on the motorcycle in front of them. When they were left to work in the room this morning, they realized the motorcycle could use some TLC. Well, a lot of TLC. They have made significant process since this morning, now into the late afternoon. As they pick up the wrench, placing it on the bolt, starting to turn it loose, Rooney hears the sound of expensive dress shoes coming down the hall. They stop, their muscles tightening as their body shifts into fight mode. Rooney’s heart pounds loudly in their chest, adrenaline coursing through them. By the door, out of your enemy’s sight line, their instincts tell them. Grab a heavier wrench; use it as a bludgeon.

Rational thought kicks in a moment later. It’s probably a corpo executive coming to check on them, make sure that the expensive line item on Arasaka’s R&D budget (A.K.A. Rooney) hasn’t attempted to kill themself yet. If someone wanted to hurt Rooney, they would need to be quiet. Without the element of surprise, any enemy would be in an uphill battle against Rooney, even without their combat mods. As for dealing with the executive, Rooney would stay silent and be about as interesting as watching paint dry. The corpo would talk for a few minutes and leave once they realized nothing would be gained. Unless it was him. Please don’t let it be him.

As they focus on the bike, the footsteps stop, a beeping sound as someone keys in the code. Rooney does not look as the door slides open, loosening the bolt on the motorcycle. A few seconds later, he clears his throat, and Rooney still doesn’t look. They hear a dramatic, annoyed sigh as the person shifts, finally speaking, “Shepard.”

Goddamnit, they were right to feel paranoid. It was him, Yorinobu Arasaka, the Emperor’s son and the last person Rooney wanted to see. “Shepard,” He says their name again, his tone louder and sharper this time.

Rooney keeps their attention on the motorcycle, wishing he would leave them be. But Yorinobu isn’t one to be easily swayed. They hear him sigh in frustration, presumably pushing off the door. Rooney tenses, as he comes closer, ready to protect themself. Yorinobu is no Adam Smasher or Morgan Blackhand, but considering his history with the Steel Dragons, he is still a threat. Out of the corner of their eye, they see Yorinobu kneel next to them. He snaps his fingers in front of their face, Rooney flinching as he smirks. “Get your hand out of my face,” Rooney threatens, glaring at him, “unless you want to lose it.”

Yorinobu looks frightened for a moment, drawing his hand away. He eyes them warily as if Rooney might still make good on that threat. “You ignored me,” He replies like a petulant child, trying to justify his actions.

“Have you thought that I might not be interested in talking to you?”

“You were talkative during our last meeting.” Rooney’s mind flashes back to their last meeting, the first time that they met Yorinobu.

—

“Almost done, Shepard,” Elias says, tweaking some of the internal components of their mechanical arm, “Then, you can go to your physical therapy appointment.”

Rooney doesn’t respond, not that they ever do. The Arasaka staff learned very quickly that Rooney will not speak unless they need to. Most have grown accustomed to it, but for others, it’s frustrating. At their last therapy session, their psychologist, Dr. Naomi Kimura, broke down in tears, begging Rooney to say something, anything. But they wouldn’t, lest they give up something for Arasaka to use against them. Elias looks up from their arm, eyes widening as he glances over to the doorway. “Yorinobu-sama!” He exclaims, getting up to bow. “I didn’t know that you were coming to visit.”

“Last minute decision,” Yorinobu says, a lazy, unbothered tone to his voice, “I was curious about the old man’s new project.” Rooney looks over, their blue eyes meeting his brown ones hidden behind black square glasses. For the last few days, Rooney heard whispering from the Arasaka employees about him. Some seemed nervous, others annoyed. A third group seemed interested, leaving Rooney to question their sanity. All seemed to agree on one thing: Yorinobu was the fuck-up kid, Saburo Arasaka’s major disappointment of a son. Rooney holds his stare, staring blankly at him. He raises an eyebrow, almost waiting for Rooney to greet him. Instead, they look away, returning their gaze to the same spot on the wall.

“Don’t mind them!” Elias excuses, shooting Rooney a small glare for their perceived rudeness. “Shepard always behaves that way.”

“Do they?”

Out of the corner of their eye, they catch Elias glancing nervously between them and Yorinobu. He nods, rambling, “Shepard is always silent. They make the security robots seem chatty. But I guess that is what made Shepard a good soldier. Quiet and unfeeling, a hell of combo.” Rooney’s frown deepens, feeling like they’ve been smacked across the face. Not the first time that they’ve been told they are too emotionless, not human enough. Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

Yorinobu tilts his head. “What do you think of what Elias said, Shepard?” Huh, they hadn’t expected him to notice.

They stay silent, refusing to look at him. “Shepard isn’t going to answer. You’re better off-.”

“I heard you,” Yorinobu cuts off Elias sharply, “I want to hear from Shepard. Are you going to answer my question? Are you even still human?”

Funny he should ask the question that Rooney has been asking themself lately. What if they are some AI that is supposed to think it’s Rooney Shepard back from the dead? And how much of Rooney has to be replaced with metal and chrome before they are no longer human? Before they are no longer themself? An uneasy feeling settles in their chest, their stomach churning as they look down at their arm. What exactly are they? Does the old Rooney Shepard still exist? “Would you like to see the schematics for their arm? It’s a new design, one made for Shepard specifically,” Elias cuts in, sparing Rooney from more of Yorinobu’s interrogation.

“Yes, please show me.” They hear Elias sigh in relief as he and Yorinobu walk over to his desk, going over their arm schematics.

The minutes pass, and Rooney sits quietly, listening as they wait for Elias to finish with Yorinobu so he can return to work on their arm. Yorinobu asks plenty of questions, some surprising Rooney. He seems awfully interested in this project. Yorinobu is rather perceptive, catching small details that Elias tries to skim over, but rather impatient. They notice that he seems to get short with Elias when he thinks Elias is taking too long to get to the point.

As they listen to the conversation, Rooney realizes they will be late for physical therapy if Elias does not finish soon. Physical therapy is the only thing that Rooney finds useful, a way for them to get back to normal or as normal as they can be. Clearing their throat softly, Rooney watches the pair. Elias seems unaware, but Yorinobu looks up over his shoulder, meeting their eyes once again. He smirks, a challenge in his eyes. Great.

“Elias,” Rooney’s voice sounds a little rusty, “I hate to bother you, but-.”

“Now, you are able to speak?” Yorinobu asks, crossing his arms over his chest as Elias turns to face Rooney with a surprised look.

They ignore Yorinobu. “Would you please finish working with my arm?”

“Do not go to them,” Yorinobu orders Elias, who freezes in place, “Shepard-.”

“I don’t want to be late for my physical therapy appointment.”

“Answer my question.”

“Which one?” They ask.

“Are you still human?”

Rooney tilts their head, narrowing their eyes. Why does this matter so much? “Why?”

“Answer it.”

What a frustrating, annoying man. “No,” They lie, giving the answer that everyone already believes, “Elias, would you please-?”

“Liar.”

Elias glances between the two of them, fear stricken. “Excuse me?” Rooney asks, their tone frosty.

“I do not believe you,” He uncrosses his arms, coming closer to them.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. That is my answer.”

“You are happy with-?”

Rooney cuts him off. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, but I’m not interested in playing your game. Elias, would you please finish with my arm?”

Yorinobu holds out his arm, blocking Elias. “Do you think you are better than everyone else?” Not even remotely. Rooney is well aware of their skills and strengths, but also keenly aware of their faults. Did Yorinobu think that Rooney thought they were too good to speak to the Arasaka staff? Mighty rich coming from Yorinobu, who definitely thought that he was better than everyone else here. He comes closer, and Rooney feels the disgust toward them radiating off him. “Do you believe you are special because you were chosen for this? Do you think my father will see how well you are behaving and reward you for being a good little soldier? Do you think Arasaka will not toss you in the trash the moment you are no longer useful to them? Or do you think you are the exception?”

Rooney clenches their right fist, the human one, fighting the urge to punch Yorinobu. Did he seriously believe that Rooney wanted Saburo’s attention? (Frankly, they hoped that Saburo choked.) What was Yorinobu’s aim here? Was he jealous? Was he here to make everyone as miserable as he was? Whatever the reason, Rooney had enough of this little tantrum. They were going to put an end to this.

“I understand now,” They state coldly, giving him a slightly pitying look, “You’re jealous.”

“What?”

They nod, using their words to twist the knife. “You’re jealous. You gave it away when you started talking about your father. We all know about your strained relationship.” Well, the Arasaka employees did; Rooney just picked it up from listening to them. “Everyone knows that you ran away, and when you couldn’t cut it on your own, you came back, tail tucked between your legs, begging for your father to bail you out.”

“You know nothing,” Yorinobu hisses, glaring at Rooney, rage palpable, “You do not know what you are talking about.”

Elias steps between them, perhaps afraid that a fight will break out. As he should be. Rooney might be one arm down, but they’re still going to put up one hell of a fight. “Yorinobu-sama, please,” He begs, “Allow me to finish with their arm, and I can tell you about the rest of the project later.”

Yorinobu watches Rooney, glaring at them with intense disgust. “Fine,” He acquiesces, and Rooney feels a sense of relief, “Report to me immediately after you’re done with them.” Yorinobu turns away and walks out, leaving Elias and Rooney both alone.

“You,” Elias snarls, turning to Rooney, “You should apologize. The Arasaka Corporation is the only reason you’re still alive.” Rooney doesn’t acknowledge his words, Elias scoffing as he returns to work on their arm. Why was Yorinobu here? And why was he interested in the project involving them?

—

“No more insults about how I am the failed son?” Yorinobu’s words bring them back to reality. They shake their head, unwilling to dignify him with a proper answer. He pouts, seemingly frustrated with their cold demeanor and lack of reaction. “Why?”

Was he asking them about their lack of insults? Truth be told, as they reflected on their words, Rooney regretted them. They don’t regret standing up to Yorinobu, but they do regret taking the low road. It was unbecoming of them, and Rooney was better than that. Everyone always expects them to be the bigger person, and they need to live up to that expectation, just as they would live up to every other unrealistic expectation set upon them. “Why volunteer for this?”

Rooney frowns, looking over at him. Wait, did Yorinobu not know? They just assumed that everyone knew that Rooney didn’t have a choice in being here. “What benefit do you get from this? Is it worth it to become a better soldier?” He grabs their left wrist, the metal one, a shiny new black and red arm, courtesy of Arasaka. “Why allow them to mark you like this? Do you think you will be rewarded for this? Do you think this makes you special? That you are the exception?”

“You think I volunteered for this?” A realization dawns on Yorinobu’s face before Rooney looks down at their wrist in his hand. Ever since Rooney woke up in that damn hospital bed, the arm never felt real, never felt like their own. It was a parasite, one that they couldn’t remove. Well, Rooney had thought about removing it once or twice, but they knew that the Arasaka scientists would make damn well sure that Rooney would never be free of it. Their head spins, chest tightening. Everything starts to feel like it’s a million miles away. A numbness settles upon them, a faint static feeling in their limbs.

“Shepard?”

“Yes?” They ask, their voice sounding like it was coming from another room.

“Do you feel well?”

They hate the concern and pity in his voice. “Yes,” Rooney replies, looking Yorinobu in the eyes as they compose themself, unable to read the expression on his face, “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” He responds, but it’s softer this time, not a damning indictment but rather unwanted recognition, “Come with me.” Yorinobu releases their wrist, standing. He holds out his hand for Rooney to take.

“Where are we going?” Rooney asks, staring at his hand suspiciously.

“Somewhere we can talk privately.”

A war rages within Rooney. They know that they should probably stay here and continue to work on their motorcycle… but Rooney can’t deny their curiosity to know more despite their disdain for Yorinobu. Mutely, Rooney takes his hand in their metal one, allowing Yorinobu to pull them up to his feet. “Follow me.” He leads them through the labyrinthine halls of the facility, never letting go of their hand.

After a short elevator ride and a walk through the hallway of the executive level of the facility, Yorinobu opens the door, holding it open for Rooney as he lets go of their hand. Rooney steps into the luxurious office, clearly meant for Saburo or his son. “This will be my office for as long as I am at this facility.” Wait. Does that mean? “You and I will see each other often, Shepard.” Their eyebrow twitches in annoyance at his smug tone.

“Sit,” Yorinobu orders, Rooney taking a seat on the black leather L-shaped couch. Neon red lights decorate the edges of the couch, a black coffee table in front of them. As they look around the office, Rooney notices that all the furniture is black with hints of red lighting. They look back to Yorinobu, who is shrugging off a maroon and black leather coat. “Here,” he tosses the coat towards them, “You are shaking.”

Rooney catches the coat, only now realizing they were shaking. They pull on the coat, noting the woodsy scent. Was that cedar? And maybe a hint of nutmeg? “Would you like anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea is fine.” What they really wanted was a beer, but Rooney doubts he would be able to get that for them.

Yorinobu refuses to accept that answer. “What do you really want?”

They pause. “I want a beer, but I doubt you could find the kind I normally drink here.”

He laughs, slightly surprised by their answer. “If I leave for a few minutes, promise me you will stay?”

“I promise.” Their curiosity has gotten the best of them; Rooney will see this through to the end.

“I will return.” With that, Rooney is left alone in the office, crossing their arms over their chest. As they sit in silence, Rooney wonders: Have they misjudged Yorinobu? Why he is being kind to them? Obviously, Yorinobu was seeking information on the project involving Rooney, but they remember the way he looked at them earlier. That was something else, something Rooney couldn’t quite identify. The door opens, Yorinobu returns with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in hand. “It is not beer, but I hope it will suffice.”

They give him a small smile. “Anything would do right now, even if it tasted like drinking pure gasoline.” Yorinobu smiles, sitting on the other side of the couch, leaving some space between them. He places the glasses down, before opening the whiskey bottle and pouring. As they watch the amber liquid pour into the glass, Rooney asks, “Is it Arasaka protocol for executives to drink and work?”

“When the occasion calls for it, Kaneko likes to drink while he is working. Fortunately for us, he is out of the office. Otherwise, he would insist on joining.”

“I’m glad he isn’t joining us.”

“Do you find me to be a suitable drinking partner?” Yorinobu asks, sliding one of the glasses over to Rooney.

“You’ll do,” Rooney teases, “Normally, the people I drink with are much rowdier.” Nights out with their fellow soldiers were always interesting. Rooney usually played babysitter, making sure the younger ones behaved and stepping in when the situation called for it.

Yorinobu smirks, a playful edge to his tone, “You have no idea how rowdy I can be.”

“I’m sure I don’t.” They take a sip of the whiskey, relishing the taste. It’s nice to have something expressly forbidden, even something as mundane as alcohol. Rooney’s diet was strictly controlled, lest any of their dietary intake mess with the mods. The scientists also wanted to make sure they were getting enough calories to have enough energy for the tests. Their mods burned up more energy, an unintended side effect.

He takes a sip, the smirk dropping from his face. “Does my father have someone special to you?”

Rooney tilts their head. “What do you mean?”

“My father,” Yorinobu sneers those words with such venom, sending a chill up Rooney’s spine, “will use a person’s loved ones to manipulate them, to force them into doing what he wants.” He glares down at the whiskey in his hand, and Rooney realizes how much he must hate his father. Another realization dawns on them. Was Yorinobu now concerned that Rooney was being forced into this, under the threat of their loved ones being hurt? Yorinobu looks up from his whiskey glass, an earnest, pleading look on his face. “Who does my father have on you, Shepard? Your family? Your child? Your lover?”

“Saburo doesn’t have-.”

“You do not have to lie for him, Shepard,” Yorinobu cuts them off, placing his whiskey down on the table, “We can help you protect them. You have to tell us.”

“He can’t hold my family hostage because they’re dead. They died when I was sixteen.” Just like the rest of their town when it was attacked by bandits, leaving Rooney the sole survivor of the slaughter.

Yorinobu recoils in surprise, clearly not expecting that answer. “I am sorry for your loss,” the typical response of most to that revelation, not that Rooney could blame them, “Do you have a child? Or a romantic partner?”

Rooney shakes their head, taking another sip. “I don’t have any children, and I don’t want any.” They had already made sure that would never happen. “As for a romantic partner, there is no one.” Any potential partners usually left when they realized that Rooney would always choose duty over them. Rooney couldn’t blame them; they deserved someone who could put them first. Not some broken soldier, who seemed to live for their mission. “You’re asking the wrong question. You should ask: who gave my body to Arasaka?”

Yorinobu’s face drops as Rooney finishes off their glass of whiskey. They hand the glass over to him, silently asking for another. He pours Rooney their glass, handing it back to them. Yorinobu picks up his glass, finishes his glass, and pours himself another. “You were not alive?”

“I was not.” Their right hand, the human one, holds the glass tightly, trembling as the memories rush back. Fire. Explosions. The vast emptiness of space. Choking. Panic taking over as the world grew dark. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part came after they died.

Rooney awakes, standing amongst the golden wheat. Above them are blue sunny skies, no clouds in sight. Ahead of them stands their childhood home, an older white farmhouse. Rooney was home; they were really home. They pull off their helmet, casually tossing it to the side as they breathe in the fresh air. The helmet lands with a thunk in the dirt. If they were home, did that mean-?

They start running, their spacesuit slowing them down as the farmhouse comes closer and closer. Rooney climbs up the steps, onto the porch. They open both doors (a screen door and a red one), before stepping onto the fake wood floors of the home. Heading towards the dining room, Rooney hears familiar voices. They pick up their pace, sliding to a stop in front of the entryway to the small dining room. At the dark brown table sits their family: Jack (their younger brother), Danny (their cousin), their aunt and uncle, their dad (Aiden Shepard), and their mom, Hannah Shepard, at the head of the table. Their mother rises from the table, walking slowly over to Rooney. Tears burn in their eyes as they try to hold back a whimper. Is that really her? Is that really their mom? “Rooney, my baby,” She comforts them, pulling Rooney in for a hug.

Her arms feel so real, and oh God, they had their family back. The one thing Rooney yearned for all this time. Rooney cries into her shoulder, only able to cry ‘mommy’ over and over as their mom rubs their back.

As Rooney openly weeps into her shirt, holding on tightly, their mom speaks, “You can’t stay here.”

“What?” Fear grips their heart as they look at their mom, sadness in her eyes.

“Your mom is right, honey,” Their dad gets up from the table, “You can’t stay here with us.”

“You don’t belong here,” Jack adds, getting up from the table.

Are they being punished? For not being able to protect Jack and Danny? For not being good enough? Rooney can be good enough; they’ve tried so hard to prove that. “I want to stay. Please let me stay. I promise I can be better!”

“You have to go, baby.”

Something starts to pull on them, fighting to rip Rooney from their mom’s arms. “Mommy, please!” They beg, holding on as tightly as they can. “PLEASE! LET ME STAY! I don’t want to be alone; I want to be with you!”

“I’m sorry, but you have to go, Rooney. Be brave for me.” The force pulls them from their mom’s arms, dragging them back down the hallway.

They scream. For their mom. For their dad. For their brother. For their cousin. For someone, anyone, as they fall into the darkness. Suddenly, they awake on a surgery table, Arasaka scientists standing over them. Rooney starts swinging as someone yells for them to be put back under. The darkness swallows them once again, pulling them into a dreamless sleep.

—

Someone touches their hand. Rooney looks down to find Yorinobu taking the glass out of their hand and placing it on the table. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.”

He does not look convinced, brushing away tears on the right side of their face. “Please tell me: why are you upset?”

“No,” Rooney shakes their head, wiping at their eyes,”It doesn’t have anything to do with Arasaka, and I don’t want to talk about it.” That dream…hallucination…vision…whatever one wanted to call it was one of the few things that Arasaka could not touch. Could not take from Rooney. Could not taint.

“I think it is related. Tell me.” Yorinobu sounds like he’s trying to order them.

“No.” Their voice is sharper, a definitive end to this conversation. Rooney won’t tell him; Yorinobu can’t make them tell him. He might not be part of the group who did this to them, but he is still Arasaka, and Rooney would not allow him to take this from them. They could not allow him to take this from them.

Yorinobu sighs in frustration, mercifully letting it go. “How did you die?”

“Our spaceship was attacked. The pilot and I were the last two people on the ship. Eventually, it came down to one decision: my survival or his. And I chose his life.”

“Why?”

“Because he is my best friend.” Jeff’s face flashes in their mind. Rooney hopes he is okay; they really do. Jeff was their first friend in the military, eventually becoming like a brother to them. Rooney would trust him with their life, and they would gladly sacrifice it again for Jeff. “He’s like a brother to me; I wanted him to live.”

“Even-?”

“Even at the cost of my own life,” Rooney picks up their whiskey glass again, “If you’re going to ask me if I regret it, I don’t. I would do the same again if given the choice.”

They take another sip as Yorinobu asks, “Who gave Arasaka your body?”

“The Northern California Militia. I served for them during the Unification War and was still a part of the Militia after the war.”

“Do you plan to return to the Militia if you are able to?”

The question catches Rooney off guard. Arasaka couldn’t keep them forever, right? At some point, they had to return. And even if Rooney wanted to go somewhere else, which they didn’t, where would they go? The Militia was now their home; it was their family. Without it, Rooney was alone, completely and utterly alone. “Yes.”

“You would return to them? After what they did?”

Rooney nods. “Yes. Where else would I go?”

“Anywhere,” Yorinobu looks at them with pity, thinking they are pathetic for crawling back to the Militia like a beaten dog, “You could go anywhere else.”

“That’s a nice sentiment, but it ignores reality. I don’t have a safety net like you do. If I leave, I’m on my own. I’ll have no one; I’ll have nothing.”

“You think Arasaka is a safety net?” He retorts bitterly. “It is a cage; one you and I are both stuck in.”

“If Arasaka is a cage, why come back?”

“I tried,” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, “I tried, but I could not get done what I wanted from outside.”

“Which would be?” He doesn’t answer, picking up and sipping on his whiskey instead. Perhaps, asking a different question might yield them the answer they want. “Does Arasaka normally do this to people?”

Yorinobu looks uncomfortable, unable to look them in the eye. “Arasaka does many terrible things.”

Not an actual answer. “I’m not the worst of it, am I?”

“You are not,” He confirms, looking back at them wearily. Yorinobu seems like a man who has been burdened by many secrets, both his family’s and his own. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

“I think I would,” They answer honestly, “I’ve seen a lot of strange and terrible things. I doubt what you have to say could surprise me.”

He shakes his head. “No, I will not put you in that position. You still have a chance to get out.”

“And you don’t?” Yorinobu doesn’t answer, looking back down at his whiskey again. Something else nags at them: Yorinobu’s hatred of his father. Obviously, Saburo was a bastard, but Yorinobu’s hatred of his father seemed to run deeper than just hatred for his father being a bastard. “Why do you hate your father so much?” His face darkens, pure rage in his eyes as he looks at them. Rooney holds his gaze, refusing to be deterred.

Yorinobu sighs. “For many reasons. My father is the type of man, who believes it is better to be feared.” He takes another sip of his whiskey. “He uses people’s weaknesses against them to bring them under his rule. Families, Secrets, Ambition, Money, whatever will be easiest to collar around their neck. He doesn’t even need to do anything, just the threat alone is enough to bring others to their knees. He is an old fool, stuck in his ways. He believes in a world that no longer exists and refuses to be part of the world that does. My father does this all in service of making Arasaka more powerful, to bring back an empire that has long been destroyed.” His hand tightens around the whiskey glass. “The world fears him, believing he is too powerful to bring down. They refuse to stand up to him. If they refuse to stop him, then I will.”

“How?”

Surprise overtakes him for a moment, before he narrows his eyes, slightly suspicious of Rooney. “When I admit to having plans to take control away from my father, many believe I am crazy, heretical even.”

“I’m not most people,” Rooney sips their whiskey before honestly admitting, “I think you mean it. You sound like it at least. Whether you will succeed is a different story.”

He rolls his eyes, unamused at their light jab. “What do you know of the bombing of Arasaka Tower in Night City in 2023?”

Not much. Rooney read some of the books available on Night City, curious to know more about the autonomous city. Fellow Militia members, who grew up in Night City, also mentioned the disaster, especially some of the old-timers. They heard more about it when Arasaka started supplying the Free States with weapons and soldiers. “I know the towers were bombed, and it devastated Night City for a while afterwards. Quite a few of the history books covered it in extensive detail.”

Yorinobu looks pained. “History books?”

“I was born in 2042.”

He mumbles something under his breath. “On that day, I learned that nothing could stop Arasaka or my father, except for that nuke. It is the only time that I have seen the old man falter, truly fear something with all of his heart. I knew that he could be stopped, that he was still a man. I will be the nuke that destroys Arasaka from the inside, once and for all.”

“I hope you stop him, Yorinobu,” Rooney means every word of it; they hope Yorinobu can bring Saburo and Arasaka crashing to the ground, “I hope you stop him and Arasaka once and for all.”

Yorinobu looks touched, perhaps not expecting that from them. In return, he says, “I hope you make him and Arasaka regret doing this to you.”

“I will.” Rooney will get out of here, and when they do, they are determined to be a huge pain in the ass for Arasaka. Reflecting on his words, a thought occurs to Rooney. Yorinobu must be here for information, and Rooney can provide that. Or at least, they hope they can. It might be information that he already knows, but it is all that Rooney can do to help. In this facility, Yorinobu is a potential ally, someone they might want on their side. “Do you have a holopad?”

He tilts his head, slightly suspicious. “Why?”

“You came here for information, right?” Yorinobu nods slowly, unsure of what they are getting at. “I can write down what I know for you. What they’ve modified and any additional information that I know of. The scientists and engineers talk when they forget I’m in the room,” They admit, slightly sheepishly, “I don’t know if any of it will be helpful, but if it can set you on the right path-.”

Yorinobu raises his hand, stopping them. “Shepard, I cannot involve you in this.”

“Why not?” They don’t fear danger; Rooney is well aware of the risks of something like this. “I know what is at stake. I’ve made a decision and decided that I’m okay with that risk.”

“You have no idea, Shepard,” he responds, “and you are making that decision after drinking.”

“If I was sober, would you accept my help?”

He searches their face, looking for any possible deception. “I would think about it.”

“Ask me tomorrow.”

“You do not take no for an answer, do you?”

Rooney shakes their head. “Not when it comes to something important.”

Yorinobu smirks, a playful look in his eyes. “So, I am important?”

They roll their eyes at his teasing tone as he lets out a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He asks, still teasing them. “I think I like you thinking I am important.”

They scoff, rolling their eyes again. Rooney finishes off their glass, looking down at the bottle. “I think we finished it.”

“We did,” He confirms, looking down at the watch on his wrist, sighing, “Allow me to escort you back to your room.”

Rooney nods, placing their glass down as Yorinobu stands, holding out his hand for Rooney to take. They place their human hand in his, allowing him to pull them up from the couch. “Follow me,” He orders, releasing their hand. And they do.

As they walk down the hall, Rooney comes to a realization. They need to apologize to him. From the beginning, they had Yorinobu all wrong. (Granted, he hadn’t made it easy.) After his kindness this afternoon, even if it was a ploy to get information, Rooney owes him one. The pair reach Rooney’s sleeping quarters, a small room they’ve been given to stay in at the facility. Shrugging off his jacket, Rooney hands it to him. “I need to apologize for what I said the other day when we first met. My comments were rude and uncalled for-,” Yorinobu smirks, a small snort of laughter escaping from him as they frown, “I’m being serious-.”

“Do you think that is the worst that anyone has said to me?” Rooney doubts it. Others have probably said much worse, including his father. But that did not excuse their behavior. “I will accept your apology. I must apologize as well; I misjudged you.”

“I think most people would just assume that I volunteered if they weren’t aware of my death.”

“Not only that,” They tilt their head slightly as Yorinobu’s hand comes up to their face, tucking a dark strand of red hair behind their ear, “When I asked you if you thought you were still human, I did not think you were. I knew your answer was a lie, but for the wrong reason. I think you are very human, Shepard, but I do not think you are used to others treating you as such.”

“Yorinobu, I….” Words seem to fail them.

“Go to your room,” He motions, “I will see you tomorrow.”

They watch as he leaves, their shoulders dropping. Yorinobu’s words echo in their head: “I think you are very human, Shepard, but I do not think you are used to others treating you as such.” He was right. Everyone always expected the best from them, a dedication to a mission that could not be swayed. Now, Rooney has a new mission: helping Yorinobu gather information. First step: convince him that they were serious about this. Second step: find something to record their observations with.

As they step into their room, they catch sight of the black leather journal and pen. Dr. Kimura suggested that journaling might be easier for Rooney than speaking. They never wrote anything in it, knowing that Dr. Kimura would read it and use the contents to further harass Rooney. Grabbing the journal and pen, Rooney heads to the bathroom, slightly closing the door. If anyone came into the room, this would hopefully buy Rooney time to hide the journal. They open the journal and uncap the pen, slightly daunted by where to start. Perhaps they could start with their implants, working through what they know about them one by one. Afterward, they could write down what they knew about each scientist.

This also posed another question. If someone did find the journal, what would stop them from reading what Rooney had written? A solution pops into their head. During the Unification War, Rooney and their team used code to communicate with command, especially on sensitive missions. The code was crude, but it would buy Rooney time if someone at Arasaka was to discover the journal. Hopefully, it might dissuade the person that it was nothing but junk. They put the pen to page, furiously writing. One way or another, Rooney would help see Arasaka fall even if they were just a pawn in a larger game.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cp2077 #yorinobu arasaka x OC #kate writes #the rooney fic tag #I won't let fear compromise who I am #commander rooney shepard #OTP: It always comes right back to you #I'm sorry I had to post this today #otherwise it was going to be edited into purgatory #also very funny that I am posting this on Easter weekend lol #anyway this is a heavy fic #totally understand if you need to skip it #do what is best for you #also Rooney and Yorinobu aren't quite together yet #this is the second meeting fic #which is going to play into another fic

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wndaswife · 1 year

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Ooh you're doing headcanons?? Earth 838 Wanda Maximoff please!

characterization headcanons: earth-838 wanda maximoff

allergies

not sure why but i feel like she's definitely allergic to shellfish and watermelon.

character flaws

has trouble saying no to anything, especially when her friends and coworkers pile a bunch of favours onto her; it’s always tommy and billy who remind her to value herself and her time more.

cleaning habits

she’s a pretty lenient mother and isn’t one to force the twins to clean much, though granted they are a bit older now and are very responsible kids. she cleans pretty often on her own, but she’s not overly-fastidious about it at all.

cooking habits

i have a feeling she can make a really good stir fry… and that she loves adding potatoes and diced carrots to anything.

coping mechanisms

as a single mother to two kids, wanda puts an effort towards coping healthily and in turn being able to mother her children while also dealing with distressing situations. she bakes, goes for runs, and sees a therapist frequently to also talk through her experiences of her time with HYDRA, working with the avengers, and losing her brother and parents.

dreams

often haunted by her experiences as HYDRA’s guinea pig, wanda sometimes has nightmares of the strucker experiments. she misses her brother dearly and although her life with HYDRA was nothing short of horrific, her dreams are always bittersweet as she always sees pietro’s face most vividly when she dreams of him. her dreams of her multiversal variants seem to her as lives she could have lived should she have remained an avenger, ranging from heroic to downright villainous as she also dreams of earth-616’s scarlet witch.

myer-briggs personality type

i don’t want be boring and say infp like 616-wanda, but i think she probably is also an infp even if i try to imagine something else.

enneagram personality type

9w1, maybe? i’m trying to be very creative and not put 4w5 like 616-wanda! i think she’s a very easygoing person with a habit of being a bit of a pushover, with strong feelings of right and wrong that makes her a very kind and strong-willed mother. might be prone to being a bystander despite a confident internal moral compass and strong opinions that she represses around those she does not know. in getting to know her, she’s a very sensitive and generous person.

fears

she’s very easy to scare. she worries about the boys’ safety, the possible fragility of her domestic life with them, and sometimes fears her magic is not enough to protect them, especially because it's been years since the last time she fought any kind of adversaries as she left her life as a superhero long ago. her own experiences with losing her family has made her very concerned with maintaining a close eye over both tommy and billy while also ensuring she has a very present and permanent role in their life.

friends

friends with neighbours and is cordial with the parents of tommy and billy’s classmates, though she wouldn’t say she’s very close with anyone. to some extent she has a bit of a lonely social life. though i see her befriending another single mother who’s just moved into town at some point and finding herself becoming very close with her.

hobbies

she’s a big gardener, and has definitely been super into pinterest lately wherein she finds a bunch of DIY projects for her garden.

insecurities

her experiences as an avenger makes her feel different from the other mothers. the experiences she’s had can never be changed, and sometimes that makes her feel incapable of being the mother that her kids need. but it’s never a largely lingering insecurity because she also has a very close relationship with the twins and knows how much they love and need her.

lazy day

on school days, wanda will likely take the living room for herself, watch a few classic movies, or read a book. even on lazy days when she’s able to have time to herself, she always feels happy to have the twins back home after school. they’re around eleven now and have adopted her laid-back personality, and the day is always spent best when she can cuddle together while watching a movie after dinner.

mornings

on weekdays, wanda prepares tommy and billy’s lunches and wakes them up if they don’t on their own. she spends the mornings ensuring they get to school on time and that they’re eating enough breakfast. on weekends, they eat together before going off to do their own things at home. sometimes on weekends, the twins wake wanda for breakfast they made for her on their own.

music taste

classic movie soundtracks, top-forty song charts, and sometimes 90s R&B.

pets

the twins have a pet turtle named sparky. she was opposed to it when they first asked, but after a long while of their begging, wanda gave in after imagining it would be good for them to learn how to care for a pet.

scars

a few from her time as an avenger that she tries not to let bother her, though on rare days she feels a bit down from being so different from the other mothers she knows.

secrets

there’s a cake the twins made for her months ago that they literally cannot stop bringing up because they feel so much pride in how much their mother loved it, but wanda honestly struggled with keeping it down and ate a whole slice just to make them happy. but she just agrees with them and subtly lets them know to have her help them the next time they bake a cake. and… she has a concealed box of vibrators and dildos in the very far back corner of the highest shelf in her closet — you know i’m right.

talents

she has never lost a game of cup pong. and she’s pretty hard to lie to, which the twins are convinced has to be some kind of talent because she has never used her magic on them unless they’ve asked her to.

tattoos

a small tattoo under her left breast along her ribs of a flower that she got done in college. at some point she regretted it and considered having it removed, but eventually came to the conclusion that it doesn’t look all too bad.

vacations

visited russia with the twins one summer, during which she taught them much about how similar some of its culture was with sokovia as she wouldn’t bring them to her home country with how unstable it still was. ever since visiting for a month two years ago, tommy and billy have steadily been learning sokovian.

#wanda maximoff #earth 838 wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #elizabeth olsen #nctxrejects #characterization headcanons

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kai-atlantis · 8 months

Text

I'm late 😬 but I broke my ankle again so JUST PLEASE ACCEPT MY LATE ENTRIES OKI.

CW: grief, language

Artwork by @irunaki who graciously allowed me to borrow her work

FowlFest Day 2 - Diary Day

A Glimpse in Time

Holly ShOrt!!!

1953

HI DIARY!!! Today is MaY 3! It's my bIRTHDAY! I'M 32 today and at skool my class sang to me and gave me kandy! Escept for Riles Ross, cause he stole my space bar and ate iT in fronT of ME! >:( so i hit him in his face and all the kids laughed and Miss Persimmon sent me home. :( bUT I CAME HOME WITH CAKE! and its carrot. Mommy says it looks like our hair! :D cause we have orange hair! Daddy gave me a bow n arrow after cake and said I was a natural! Daddy is so strong he could hold me AND MY CAKE TOGETHER! :D then i got in trouble for hitting Riles Ross, but daddy told me later in secret that he was proud of me. :)

Anyway Diary, did you have a good day today? I sure hope so cause I did! I would share my cake with you but i dont wanna get cake on your pages :( sorry. BUT YOU CAN SLEEP WITH ME AND FOXY TONITE! we are having a secret sleep over under the bed. Foxy is so CUTEEE. sHH! Dont tell mommy or daddy. It's only for us :)

See ya there!

Holly Short

1983

Today was fucking bullshit. It was so fucking stupid, I almost don't want to make an entry about it, but my therapist claims it's good for my grief to vent my feelings, so, here I am. Venting my fucking feelings. And no. I don't feel better.

So, you want to know why today sucked. Today was my second day at the Academy. The LEP Academy.

I've always known I was going to be an officer, but lately, I've been compelled to do something more than LEPtraffic, or Immigration. Yesterday was already weird enough because I got tons of looks from all the beefheads, but then today, in my Criminal Investigations class, the professor asked us what our goals in the LEP were. Anyone that knows anything knows girls who join the LEP are destined for traffic, or some bullshit area of "policing". We never go further than that… Unless you're Wing Commander Vinyáya. And nobody is as cool as Wing Commander Vinyáya. She's a total babe. Definitely not me.

But anyway, I have other aspirations. Dad was Internal Affairs. Mom's LEPmarine. It's my destiny to be in the force, and if I'm gonna go in, it's go big or go home. So, I answer that I want to be in Recon. And I shit you not - everyone laughed, even the professor. The FUCKING professor.

Fuck.

Why can't a girl be Recon? We're not all airheads. Some of us are actually capable of handling ourselves. Mom always says my aim is deadlier than a stink worm too, so those townies don't know what they've got coming.

Shit. Said, not says. Mom is dead. Stupid mistake.

Whatever.

The only plus side to today was that I ran into Trouble Kelp. He's the hot Kelp brother. An idiot, but he has a good heart. He's a junior, and super famous for his scores. Everyone knows who he is, so you'd expect him to be a total glow slug, right? But he's actually really kind. Some guy tried to trip me in the hall, and before I could punch the daylights outta him, Kelp shoved him into the trash can and swore him off. It was totally cool. He'd make a good partner someday, I think.

OH! Back to Recon. Adding onto today's bullshit, I overheard some rookies going on and on about Commander Root. Apparently he's a tough nut to crack and hasn't ever had a girl in his unit, and he intends for it to stay that way. Well, too bad for him, because I've got my sights on Recon. I work alone, and fly alone. Nobody to bother me, no stinky males and their gross ear cheese. Just me, the wind, and the surface sky.

It's what mom and dad would want.

I hope they're proud.

Oh yeah, one last thing: it's my birthday today. I'm 62 today. Is it super lame that I put up pictures of mom and dad on the table with me? Just so, you know… I'm not alone?

Fuck. Duh. That's super lame.

Hey. I'm back. Don't mind the weird gap between pages. Didn't feel like writing for a bit so I took a nap. But I'm back.

Honestly? I'm a bit mad. And before you ask me in the session: about everything?

Being a girl is hard enough, right? 'cause I'm stuck in this gnarly place of not being pretty enough yet also not being "tough" enough to be accepted by the guys. And I just started. Why should my appearance fucking matter? I'm a fucking hotshot. I'm resilient. I already know how to pilot a shuttle. That's more than these maggots can do.

My dad would've known what to say. I didn't know him that long, really. But still, when I'd spaz out and tussle with other kids, he'd always have my back, and he always knew the right things to say. I wish I had that now, you know? I miss him.

I miss mom. But I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about her death and I won't be forced into it either, k?

Oh yeah, duh. My original point. It's my 62nd birthday, and I'm all alone. There's supposed to be some junior thing at a pub in the city. Juniors. Not rookies like these dorks. Mom would kill me if I went.

Hah. Guess I should rebel and go make some friends then? Maybe Trouble will be there? Not that I'm into him or anything. Just a friend or two would be nice.

Anyway. I've got basics in the morning.

Night, journal. See ya.

#fowlfest2023 #holly short #artemis fowl #oops im late but hey it's VIRGO SEASON #grief journal

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

Text

The Carrot and the Stick

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Twenty-Eight

(tw: beating, broken bone mention, kidnapping, stress position, forced to watch, whipping boy, deferred punishment, Crawford being a bitch)

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Four Years Ago...

Ethan slumped against the ropes that kept him up on aching feet, for this particular moment, preferring the charring ropeburn against his wrists and the numbness they bring to the aching in his feet and legs.

Too long.

Too fuckign long he’d been left like this.

Then again, it wasn’t like Crawford found much else that kept him in line. At least this wore him down so the fight was…well. Less.

That and he was in the perfect position to be a pathetic little punching bag like this. His bruised ribs were a testament to that, that and the aching burn where his back butted up against the cinderblock wall with each hit.

But hey.

At least the cinder blocks were cool. It eased the pain a little.

Aaaaaaand there was the garage door opening.

Ethan glared up at the ceiling at the audible announcement of Crawford’s arrival home. Stupid fucking idiot hadn’t even given Ethan water yet today - you’d think if someone paid two thousand bucks for you, they’d actually want to keep you alive. Maybe Crawford was finally getting sick of Ethan’s insolence.

Or maybe he was just stupid.

Both were equally plausible given what Ethan had seen of the man so far.

Good at business. Good at his work. Very very bad at keeping a personal pet/toy/punching bag.

The guy wasn't a natural leader - that was for damn sure. Ethan almost understood how he needed someone to take out his frustrations on. Not like anyone at the office took him seriously - yes, Ethan played therapist enough to know about that shit. Not a good therapist. He didn’t really talk. Just glared.

But hey, at least it was mildly less boring than rotting alone in the basement, so sure. He listened as the man paced and rambled and ranted, occasionally hitting, kicking, or whipping his ‘pet’.

Fucking idiot had no idea what he was doing. Ethan hated Nate and Elias plenty - but this guy? Honestly, he was just pathetic.

One of these days, he’d fuck up. He’d trust Ethan enough to take the ropes off - even just for a second. Then he was so fucked.

Ethan liked to daydream about that.

He’d dangle there as Crawford paced and spit venom at Randy and Devin (yes, Ethan knew the entire fucking office at this point. They all had accountant names. No wonder they were all dead inside), and Ethan would imagine Crawford. On the ground. Bleeding. Begging. Choking and gurgling his own blood.

Such a pretty picture. Something he was almost proud of.

Pride was a fickle thing. Ethan never had much pride. Not much at all. Through school and activities, from foster home to foster home he’d stayed quiet. Stayed out of the way. He was the freak. Always had been.

Somehow pride had found him through the blood. Or he’d found it. He’d found something to fight for. Something to keep the pain down. Keep his mind sharp.

It kept him alive.

Ethan reassumed the dead-eyed gaze, pointing it at the top of the basement steps as he heard a key scrape against the padlock that kept the thick wooden door in place. Then the fucker opened it.

Ethan’s eyebrows pinched ever so slightly at the ever so confusing sight of Crawford looking…excited? Happy? Proud maybe?

That wasn’t normal. Usually when he came downstairs, he was just exhausted. Angry. Defeated or upset. He didn’t need Ethan when he was happy.

Ethan didn’t like the change. Unpredictability was always a sign of trouble. Anything that strays from the norm is an omen of pain. He’d been on this earth long enough to know that was true.

His eyes narrowed at the fucker as he trotted down the stairs, giving Ethan a charming smile.

Crawford wasn’t charming - the expression looked wrong on him. Almost warped. Deranged.

“Good day?” Ethan’s voice was flat. Sarcastic.

Crawford stopped directly in front of Ethan, eyes wandering down his torso, roaming over blooming bruises. Yellow. Black. Red. Green. Blue. An assorted masterpiece of time well spent in Ethan’s particular predicament. “I guess you could say that…” Ethan twitched as Crawford’s hand raised, fingers pressing into a splash of mottled black and purple on his side - Ethan was about 30% sure his rib had cracked there. Though 30% isn’t high enough to bitch about it.

He bit out the response, mostly to distract himself from the flash of pain that twisted through his stomach. “Yeah?”

“Mhm - Do you remember that little talk we had yesterday?”

Ethan’s head tilted. “Honestly? I’m not really paying attention half the time you talk, so no.”

Crawford sighed, but evidently that wasn’t enough to ruin his mood. “The one about carrots and sticks?”

Mm. Yes, Ethan asking for a trip to Disney Land as incentive for being good rather than threats of more pain which clearly never worked.

Ethan smirked at the mention. “Am I getting a vacation?”

Crawford smiled in return. “Even better. You get a little friend.”

Ethan’s smile dropped. He was pretty sure his heart did, too.

Anxious eyes flickered to the stairs. The door.

He looked over Crawford, searching for any sign of joke or bluff. “...wh……..um. What now?”

Ethan hissed as Crawford’s grip tightened, thumb digging into the maybe-chipped-but-probably-just-internally-bruised bone. “I got a friend for you. Different kind of stick - or hey, you can see it as a carrot if you want. I don’t really care either way.”

Ethan squirmed a little to the side - away from the touch. “You–...you don’t need t…no one else needs to be here - you..-don’t do that-”

A little intrigue sparked in Crawford’s eyes. “You haven’t even met him yet and you’re already being so much better. I think this will work out nicely.” His hand pulled away, and Crawford stepped toward the stairs again.

Ethan’s mind scrambled.

Was someone already there?? How the fuck did Crawford get someone else? He couldn’t afford to buy another from Elias and he didn’t have the fucking balls to grab someone himself. ….did he?

Ethan’s eyes desperately followed Crawford - if Crawford had actually gotten someone because of Ethan - that person was fucked already. His fault.

It would be his fault.

No.

Ethan’s mouth opened and closed with protests he couldn’t quite find the words to voice. “..Sir you don’t have t-”

“Sir?? Already an improvement - you really aren't doing much here to vouch for your case, Ethan.”

Frustration bubbled up in Ethan’s chest, hot and thick. His hands rolled in the restraints, tugging at them. Narrowed eyes followed Crawford back up the stairs, dreaming of gripping him by the hair and jerking him back down them, head first.

That would be a pretty sight.

Damn ropes.

“Fuck you.”

But Crawford was already ignoring him, opening the door and shoving a boy down the steps - he looked small. Early twenties with sandy blond hair that ran with a streak of jagged red blood. He barely stayed on his feet, stumbling and skittering down the stairs until he eventually toppled over on the last few stairs, crying out as the rough wood bit into his thighs and shoulders, and he crumpled to the ground at the bottom of the stairs.

Ethan’s blood ran cold as he watched them whimper, scrambling back with horror-filled eyes locked on Elias.

The boy wasn’t collared. He wasn’t trained.

He was new to this.

He would have been okay if Ethan had just been good - Crawford never would have needed someone else.

Ethan felt sick, teeth barred at Crawford as the man descended after his new catch. “You like him, E? His name’s Johnny.”

Ethan grit his teeth, jerking against the ropes. “You’re so fucking pathetic,” he seethed, barely tracking Johnney’s scramble backwards - it was a little awkward with his hands bound in front of him. “He’s half your size, are you fuckign kidding me???”

Crawford shrugged, stepping up to Johnny as the boy’s back hit the far wall. “Not in the slightest. From now on, he is going to take your punishments. Most of them, at least. You fuck up? I hit him.”

To demonstrate, Crawford gripped Johnny’s hair, pulling a shrill yelp from the boy, and threw him into the ground facedown. He punted him hard in the side.

Ethan paled, tugging uselessly against the ropes. “Stop! What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Already told you.” Another kick, and Johnny screamed, curling up tight to protect his middle. He clearly wasn't used to pain. He couldn’t take this like Ethan could. “That’s rule two, Ethan. I give the orders. Not you.”

Ethan’s heart slammed in his chest, desperation dripping through his veins. “Jus-just stop - stop, you don’t need to do that-”

Crawford raised a brow, bending down to grab Johnny by the back of his shirt collar, dragging him up to his knees. “Are you seriously telling me what to do again?”

Ethan winced at the cry as Crawford split Johnny’s cheek open with a downward fist. Tears leaked through the strike, dragging thin blood down freckled cheeks.

“Rephrase, Ethan.”

Ethan’s mind scrambled, eyes locked onto this small stranger whose fate was sealed. Because of him.

His fault.

It was always his fault.

Ethan’s mouth opened and shut, trying again and again before eventually forming a soft whisper around “please-”

Johnny’s sharp, shallow breaths and choked sobs rang through the room for a few long, icy moments as Crawford’s eyes raked over Ethan.

“Again.”

Ethan’s lips pinched into a thin line, a glare heating his gaze again. Until he glanced down at Johnny.

And it softened. Slightly, but it softened. Desperation lit anew at the sight of the boy doubling over - hiding his face behind bound wrists.

Ethan swallowed thickly, forcing the word out. “..please.”

Crawford’s lips twitched toward a smirk. “Please what?”

Ethan’s eyes screwed shut, fury and frustration and shame all burning through him. His fingers curled into fists as he forced the words up.

They caught in his throat, resting at the back of his mouth - refusing to play their part in keeping Johnny safe.

Pride was a fickle thing.

And just as soon as Ethan found it, he had to strangle it back down into its shoebox in the darkness.

And it didn’t want to go.

It thrashed and clawed every step of the way, drawing blood and screams and bleating like a dying animal with nothing left to lose.

It just made this all the harder when Johnny gasped a desperate whimper.

Ethan’s eyes shot open to find a blade pressed to the hyperventilating Johnny’s throat - Crawford standing over him with an eyebrow cocked at Ethan. “I’m waiting.”

Ethan slammed the shoebox shut, trying to ignore the claws scrabbling against the cardboard.

Fuck pride.

This wasn’t worth it.

His eyes stung anyway as he forced out the sentence. “..please Master- just..please stop-”

Crawford flashed a grin, dropping Johnny who shoved and scrabbled and crawled as far from the man as he could.

“Good boy.”

Ethan twitched away as Crawford stepped closer, hand patting his cheek.

He wanted to scream obscenities. To snap at the hand and see if he could draw blood. Kick. Anything.

But he didn’t.

He just pinned his eyes shut, face turning down and away.

“Very good.”

With a ruffle of Ethan’s hair, Crawford stepped back, heading for the stairs. “I’ll bring down some food in an hour or so. Make sure Johnny knows the rules. He doesn’t need to get beaten twice.”

Ethan’s glare didn’t quite have the fire he was used to as he watched Crawford disappear behind the door.

The padlock clicked into place.

Footsteps creaked through the house, disappearing up to the second floor and falling silent again.

Ethan’s gaze shifted to Johnny, softening as all of him slumped against the ropes again.

The boy was crying. Sobbing into his arm in the corner of the basement, covered in shadows and dust.

Ethan swallowed thickly. He had to say something, right. ‘Hi’ seemed like a good option. He chose that, yet all that came out was a small, barely audible, “..I’m so sorry...-”

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(tags: @prisonerwhump, @whumpawink, @mabledonut, @heathenwhump, @paleassprince, @happy-little-sadist @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe@jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @michaeltalks @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @shelfsdesires @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-stars @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#beating #broken bone mention #kidnapping #stress position #forced to watch #whipping boy #deferred punishment #Crawford being a bitch #whumping the whumpers #ethan #johnny #crawford #sadness #i love johnnyyyyyyyyy

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