still need to file her down

Walk

Genji X Mercy (Gency) Oneshot. Fluff.

(The wonderful @princesspeepo​ drew art for this fic)

The final tap of the enter key brings completion to the reports that were needed to be sent off before five A.M. Dr. Ziegler beat it by two hours.

Leaning back into her chair, she lets her fingers rub the corners of her eyes. The lack of sleep she has endured evident underneath her ocean blue eyes. A headache pounding against both temples like a hammer.

She finally stands up and shuts her computer off. Looking around her lab, it’s been deserted of her team many hours before. There are several papers and files that still need to be organized and set in their proper place.

A soft sigh escapes the doctor as she walks towards the next assignment. Her legs moving slow and unsteady as she gets herself to the table. Instead of sitting down, she places her sprayed fingers on the table, using it as support. Dr. Ziegler suddenly fearing that if she sits down she won’t get back up.

There’s a gentle knock at the door that causes her to turn away from the support, barely managing to balance on her own two feet before seeing the body she built standing in the doorway. Then, seeing the similar green lined mask, she smiles.

“Hello, Dr. Ziegler.” He says softly, his accented voice like hearing raindrop during a drought.

“Genji,” The smile on her face barely tugging at her lips.

He tilts his head two degrees to the side. “Doctor, are you well?”

She pulls in a soft breath, letting wisps of white gold hair cover her right eye.

“I’m fine. It’s just been a long… couple of days. Come, Genji.” She beckons for him to come inside the lab. The ninja’s footsteps aren’t heard as he walks across the space. He could have easily snuck up on her, but if her mind is working correctly at the moment, he’s always knocked for her.

As his gracefully form comes to her, her trained eyes goes over his body, looking for any faults or injury.

“Was your mission successful,” She asks, satisfied that he’s not harmed.

He gives a slight nod. His missions usually being the stealth kind, late at night. They hardly ever get the chance to speak, especially with Dr. Zeigler being the head of Overwatch’s medical research team. Meeting’s at three A.M. aren’t unusual, and, highly awaited.

“Dr. Zeigler, you seem weary. You should sit down,” he suggests softly.

She shakes her head quickly, her hands now gripping the back of the table.

“I have a few more things I need to do, Genji. I can’t rest.” Dr. Zeigler insists.

Turning around, she immediately sets to gathering files. It’s common for when Genji wanders into her lab for him to watch silently as she wraps up. His presence very calming and welcoming on these late nights when she’s alone.

Papers slip through her careless fingers and fly across the table. Dr. Zeigler is a patient, stable women, but she lets out a huff of frustration. She is not clumsy, nor reckless. This behavior is unacceptable for her.

“Dr. Zeigler.” A cool metallic hand covers hers just as she reaches for a sheet. She turns, finding him close enough to smell the steel and slight hint of husk on his body.

“When was the last time you slept?” his calm voice asks.

She breathes out, speaking softly, “Two… no, three days? Three days, now. But I’ve had breaks in between.”

She watches his visor dim at this, the light betraying his emotions.

“Doctor, you need rest. I must insist. These papers can wait until tomorrow.”

His hand hasn’t left hers.

“I need to get this done,” she argues weakly.

“And you will.” His cool voice reassures. “Tomorrow.”

Glancing away from his visor, she overlooks the paperwork before closing her eyes for just a moment.

“You’re right. Going 36 hours without proper sleep will cause high blood pressure and increased heartrate. Also dampening your memory, ability to focus, hearing and hand-eye coordination.” Dr. Zeigler realizes she’s rambling on, and shuts her mouth.

A soft laugh slipping from her former patient surprises her.

“Let me walk you to her room, Doctor.” Letting his hand go, he turns and offers the crook of his arm. Easily giving her the chance to turn him down.

As if she would do that.

“You don’t need to,” She murmurs, letting her hand slip into the nook of his elbow.

“I know.”

Turning off the lights, and locking up, they leave the lab. They travel down to her bedroom, located in the living quarters of the building. Their strides match each other’s, and they slowly continue along. Dr. Zeigler knowing that the half man half machine is going at this slow paces for her benefit.

They reach her door, and Genji opens it without a word. She doesn’t move though, both staring into her flawless bedroom. Dr. Zeigler still clinging to his arm.

“Thank you,” She finally breathes, knowing he has to leave.

“You saved my life, Dr. Zeigler. I cannot begin to possible repay that debt to you. Walking you to your room isn’t anything to thank me for, but I swear, I’ll find ways to give back what was given.” He promises.

A tired smile tugs on her lips. Genji still struggles with who he is, but he is grateful for his life. He tells her that every day.

Slowly, she lays her head against his shoulder, before once again whispering, “Thank you.” The cold metal welcoming against her hot cheek.

Then, she moves away. Not turning to look back at her former patient as she closes the door.

Sign The Papers, 2 (S.W)

|1.3k words.

IT INVOLVES DARK THEMES SO DON’T BITCH AT ME IF YOU READ IT AND DON’T LIKE IT, YOU’VE BEEN WARNED AND STILL READ IT!!!!!!!!|

MASTERLIST

< PART 1


One of the officers in front of me presses play on the recording device and states everything she needs to before starting to question me. “Before today’s events, has Mister Wilkinson ever acted in a violent, abusive, malicious way to you before?”

“A few times, yeah, but not like he did today and not recently.”

The second officer notes my answer down on the paper and nods her head, “Can you recall the last time he was like this to you?”

“It was just before we separated, that was the reason I filed for the divorce, which was the last string for me.”

“Can you explain, in as much detail as you can, what happened that day?”

“I was late to pick the kids up from school due to a traffic accident, the school called him and he was forced to go and get them. I ended up getting home quite late in the evening. Sam was pissed because he had to leave the studio, go get them and then cook, wash and put them to bed. We got into an argument, he claimed that I was cheating on him and I decided to be the bigger man and walk away but all that got me was a slap on the cheek and a bump to the head.”

“So, he was like this a lot at home?”

“I wouldn’t say a lot, I would say when things don’t go his way.”

The second officer, Officer Perry, taps her finger against the little pencil and shakes her head. “You shouldn’t try to justify his actions, Miss Y/L/N, what he did was extremely wrong and he is going to pay for his actions.”

“I’m not trying to justify what he did at all! I’m just trying to tell the truth! I’m not going to sit here and make up lies about what he’s done to get him in more trouble. He’s done enough himself.”

I have more than enough evidence to get him at least 5 years behind bars just for what happened earlier today. My nosey neighbours really did save the day. One of them recorded the whole ordeal (turns out she records them all just in case anything was to happen, creepy, but really fucking life-saving), another stayed on the phone with the police until the car arrived and another managed to get Ryan and Adrianna away from the house and to safety.

I have never been more thankful for my nosey neighbours.

“Well, that’s very admirable of you.” The officer smiles slightly, pressing the tip of her pencil against her paper. I know a few people that would add in some extra details to make his sentence worse, but he’s done enough by himself to get a long time behind bars. “Was this the first time you’ve ever witnessed him abuse the children in the home?”

“Yes.”

Officer Lourdes nods his head, “We have some information here that we need to share with you. It involves your three children, and three other children of Mister Wilkinson’s.”

“What? Why? What is it?”

He pushes forwards a file that’s chock-full of different documents and photos. He encourages me to open it up and look through.

And I cannot believe my eyes at what is in here.

“Chantel Karanikolaou, Taylor Loughlin and Russell Wilkinson have already come in with their primary carers to be interviewed about their father regarding this case, and it turns out that Russell and Taylor were both physically and mentally abused by their father. Miss Anastasia Karanikolaou, Chantel’s mother, was also physically and sexually abused.

“Miss Karanikolaou pressed charges in April of 2009 but Mister Wilkinson was nowhere to be found during the time and after 3 months of no contact, the judge then dropped the charges. Did you know about this?”

Sammy abused Stass? What exactly did he do to her? Oh my God.

“My son was born in 2009 and we moved back to Nebraska in April of the same year… Holy crap.”

“We have photo evidence of Mister Wilkinson hitting his son, Russell, and bruising his body. His school was the first to contact us after they saw his bruises and then his mother came in with the exact same markings on her face and limbs.”

Russell is only 5. He’s 5 years old and he’s getting attacked like that. I feel fucking sick. I’m married to a sick, sick man who refuses to let me depart from him.

And Taylor… She’s 6. I can’t believe what I’m hearing, and what I’m seeing. For the first time in my life, I feel sympathy for the other women in my husband’s life. I always hated them for what they did to my marriage, but they’ve had it so much worse than I have.

So much fucking worse.

“When we were speaking to your children, Ryan told us that Sam has always acted viciously to them when you weren’t around. Adrianna even showed Officer Perry a scar on her left arm that her father gave her by putting out a cigarette on her arm.”

“What?”

“I under-“

“I’m going to fucking kill him- shit, like, I’m not actually going to murder him, but I seriously wish I could! I can’t believe what he’s done! He’s evil!”

I am so fucking angry! I’m worse than angry, I’m infuriated. I’m fucking worse than infuriated, but I’m too angry to think of any other words right now. God, I’m going to fucking smile when I see him in handcuffs, being dragged out of the courtroom and into prison.

I’m going to go straight to my lawyer – the one who hasn’t fucking bothered to show up yet – and file for a restraining order, and get him to sign those fucking papers.

There is no way I’m going to stay married to this motherfucker. Nobody could pay me enough, guilt trip me enough or brainwash me enough to stay with him.

I’m going to file for full custody of my children and I will fight alongside Stass, Samantha (Taylor’s mother) and Naomi (Russell’s mother) to make sure that he can never see any of our children, or us, ever again.

Sam was such a nice, kind person when we first met. During our first few months together, he was so generous and kind-hearted all the time, we only ever had a few arguments but we usually made up a few hours later. It wasn’t until year 3 of our 11 year relationship that he turned into an asshole and started to shout and scream a lot.

That was the same year that we had Adrianna, also the same year that Chantel was born. I have no clue when he started cheating on me, but he proposed to me in year 4, on our 4th anniversary. A few weeks after that, he slapped me for the first time and started crying for me to forgive him.

Stupidly, I did.

And clearly, it wasn’t the last time that he was violent.

He never once attacked me, though, it was just small hits and kicks here and there, and he never once forced me to do anything sexually with him. I can’t believe that he attacked and abused Stass, and Naomi. God, and the other three kids!

Fuck, I feel so fucking stupid.

I bet that’s why he’s always late to pick the kids up. He always says he’s at his lawyers, and I reckon that that’s true, but not because he’s trying to find a way to ‘legally not sign the papers’ because that excuse is utter bullshit. I think it’s because he’s trying to find his way through all of these lawsuits his baby mamas have filed against him.

There are probably more woman that have been abused by him, too.

I feel dumb for not knowing about any of this. I can’t believe my kids wouldn’t tell me that he’s been mean and horrible to them! He scarred my daughters skin for life and she’s found a way to hide it from me for fucking months.

“There is one last question that we need to ask.”

“Go ahead.”

“Can you tell us how your relationship with Mister Wilkinson started and how he changed over the years, becoming the man he is today?”

Airtight

Author: @finnicko-loves-anniec

Rating: T

Crossover Source: This piece was inspired by the Indiana Jones film series… and I fully admit that about the same effort was put into ensuring historical accuracy here as in the films. I apologize in advance to anyone who actually knows anything about Egyptology.


Egypt, 1937

The air down here was musty, and though she knew that this place had been sealed airtight for the last three thousand years, she still expected to see cobwebs every time she shined her flashlight down a new corridor. Katniss paused for a moment to admire the hieroglyphs. The craftsmanship here was exceptional. She’d spent the last ten years between the dig sites and her post at Marshall College, and only once or twice had she seen anything comparable.

She fumbled for her camera. Everything needed to be recorded as she found it. The Supreme Council of Antiquities was very strict on that point, and in any case, she would want copies for her own files. Her flashlight dropped, its light suddenly gone. “Shit,” she whispered, though there was no one else about to hear. She couldn’t get on her hands and knees to search for it, not here. Yes, she had matches, but she really didn’t want to burn them in here if she could help it.

But if she could just… there. Katniss could just make out the shape of her flashlight, a black just ever so slightly deeper than the shadows surrounding it.

Keep reading

@christophersmith

Donna muttered a small groan in protest as she rose up from her desk. The deadline was fast approaching for her to get all the employee tiles updated before the county’s next “surprise” inspection. 

She took a moment to smooth down her skirt, apply a bit of tinted lip gloss and touch up her mascara before she ventured out into the club to find whomever this new security guard was that was brought in. She still needed him to sign an insurance form (protecting the club in case he got hurt) and scan a copy of his ID into the computer. Still, she didn’t want to hit the floor looking sloppy; Harry wouldn’t like that. Grabbing the missing forms from a file in the office, Donna made her way towards the enticing rhythm that reverberated just beyond the door.

Releasing her hair from the clip that held it back, she gave her head a final toss before emerging from the quiet cocoon of the office into the wild, free for all that was the club. She glanced around looking for signs of someone new dressed all in black. However, the mash up of bodies made that an almost herculean task. Instead, she opted to head towards the bar. James was sure to know where the new guy was stationed, and chances were, it would be close to him. That’s where Harry usually placed the new guys while they got their feet wet.

Deftly, she weaved through the crowd with a satisfied smile on her face. There was a good crowd in the club tonight, a fact that, as one of the club’s managers, filled her with pride. 

Somehow, she managed to reach the bar without a single drink being dumped on her. Not an easy feat mind you. She squinted for a moment as she tried to figure out what in the world James was (or was not) wearing when her attention was diverted to the man he was speaking to. Their backs were to her, but she could almost make out their voices as they spoke.  There was James’s Estuary accent and then the other guy… What was that, a northern accent? Manchester? Liverpool? They didn't’ get too many people from up north here, but something about the way this man spoke caused her stomach to flip.

Donna set her papers down on the bar and planted one hand upon her hip and reached out to tap James on the shoulder.

The bartender turned around as did the man he was talking to. The man with the northern accent. 

The man with piercing blue eyes and a northern accent.

The man that Donna Mott Noble (she added the “Mott” after her grandad’s murder) had given up thinking actually existed.

It may have been 15 years, but Donna would recognize that face, those eyes, anywhere! If she closed her own, she could still picture them, clear as day.

They were the same eyes her daughter had, in the one dogged-ear picture she kept in a drawer next to her bed. The only picture that her mother hadn’t found and destroyed before cutting off all contact with the adoptive parents back in Glasgow.

She knew this man.

He was Chris Smith.

He was fucking Chris Smith and he was standing in her bar, next to her best friend.

She suddenly felt very, very ill.

@brooke–ford // Lauren had been wrestling with whether or not to go and visit Brooke. She’d been buried under work for one thing but that wasn’t the only reason she hesitated. The way they’d left things had been kind of… not great. She was still kind of mad about the files as much as she might be able to kind of understand what Brooke had been thinking. Lauren had left it for a little while, figuring Brooke probably needed some time without people crowding in anyway. She felt horrible, sick with worry really, but she did her best to throw herself into work. They were clearing the Green Dove to be opened again this week and things were stressful with the Wright girl dying. Today she had some down time though and she’d called ahead to make sure it was okay she stopped in. She followed a nurse down the corridor, feeling kind of weird about being here for the reason she was, but she forced herself to go round the door and into the room. “Hey…”