I'm not totally crazy but please expect that I will almost exclusively post fanart:
Life series
Hermitcraft
Code geass
Full metal alchemist
If someone has requests I will probably draw it because I am always in need of inspiration(keep it SFW)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Court has just watched his younger brother be sent to the stars. Now he only has 1 job, give Claire as normal a life as possible. Maybe his solution lies in stunt work?
Hell Hath No Fury Like The Assassin and the Scorpion Scorned
(TW: Abuse mention, trauma mention, murder)
Courtland Gentry was gentle with Claire as he examined the bruises and cuts on her face and body, doing his best not to lose it at the extent of her injuries. Yes, she was an adult now, and he realized intruding on her relationship with that bastard she was with was maybe overstepping, but he was tired of seeing his adopted daughter come to him and Casey crying her eyes out and beaten until her face was swollen. He glanced up as Casey entered the room, stopping dead as his eyes fell on the injuries that riddled Claire's face and body. Court detected a hint of rage flash behind the younger man's eyes. "Who did this to you?" Casey asked softly, approaching Claire carefully. He sat beside her on the couch, his blue eyes fixed on her, concerned. She didn't dare look at him. "You know who," she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.
Casey's fists clenched. He was trying hard to maintain his composure, but Court could tell he was failing. He gazed at the younger man, making eye contact with him, and nodded toward the door behind him. Casey nodded once and stood, putting a caring hand on Claire's shoulder, squeezing just slightly, before he quietly left the room through the door Court had just gestured to. Claire was crying now, and that only made Court all the more pissed off. "You're going to kill him, aren't you?" Claire sniffled, knowing the expression on her adopted father's face all too well.
"I am."
She wiped her face. "You said you wouldn't," she murmured pitifully.
Court met her gaze. "You think this isn't enough to change my fucking mind?" He questioned softly, holding up a small hand mirror for her to gaze into. She looked away from the mirror in shame. "Claire, I am tired of seeing you get beat up by this...this...staggering waste of carbon, as Ryland would put it. I've tried to stay out of it but I can't." Court looked over the cut on her forehead. "Good, it doesn't need stitches."
"I love him, Six..." Claire whimpered, her voice cracking more. Fresh hot tears fell from her eyes, her lip quivering.
Court sighed as he averted his gaze. He collected Claire into a gentle hug, silently promising her the man who hurt her wouldn't be doing so again. She sobbed in his arms, soaking his shirt in tears. Court gazed at the door, seeing it cracked open. Casey was lurking behind it, watching, waiting. Court mouthed, Get the car ready, to him. Casey disappeared once more, and Court caught sight of the golden scorpion embroidered in his white jacket, his gloves stuffed in his back pocket. Casey was already ready to go.
Court stayed with Claire until she eventually fell asleep in his arms. As carefully as he could, he picked her up and laid her on the couch and draped the throw blanket over her. He then made sure a pillow was tucked under her head, before finally heading to the record player-her old record player-and turning it on, lowering the volume. "Silver Bird" started playing. Court headed for the door.
Casey was sitting in the driver's seat when Court entered the garage, the engine already started and the garage door opened. As he walked over to the passenger side, he snatched a pair of brass knuckles off of Casey's toolbox. Casey gazed at him as he climbed in. "No guns this time?" He asked.
Court shook his head. "Just a pair of brass knuckles is all I need for that piece of shit."
Casey's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I brought mine too," he spoke, his voice barely audible.
Casey put the car in reverse and backed out the garage door, onto the street, and put it in drive. He pressed the gas hard, spinning the tires, until finally the car sped off into the night.
----
Buddy nursed his busted knuckles under some cold water, cussing as the sting hit. He recalled his argument with Claire and how he swung on her, as if on impulse. She barely put up a fight this time. Claire had been far too fiery for her own good, but he supposed that fire had been diminished to nothing but embers now. Next, he would try to isolate her from her all too nosy stuntman uncle and his overly concerned twin brother, her father, and his creepy husband. Once she was out of their grasp, he could mold her into the woman he wanted her to be.
But she ran away during the fight, and he was willing to bet she ran back to her father, as she always did.
Buddy sighed, gently drying his hand off. He hated her dad. He acted like such a badass all the time, but compared to Buddy, he was scrawny and not as tall. Courtland Gentry always sported a beard he kept cut short, a tight fitted t-shirt that was always black, white, or some shade of grey, and some kind of jeans or loosely fitted, thick material pants.
Casey Gentry, however, was different. He was thinner than Court, was clean shaven and had significantly shorter hair. He was hardly ever seen without his scorpion jacket on, and a pair of gloves tucked into the back pocket of his dark blue jeans.
Buddy hated both men, and he knew they hated him too, he just didn't know how much.
There was a creak of the hardwood down the hall. Buddy's head shot up. He stared down the hall way, watching for any signs of movement. It was dark aside from the light coming from the back bedroom, the door only halfway closed. Buddy went to investigate quietly, keeping his pace slow and light. All three doors on either side of the hall were shut tight, and he made sure of it as he passed by. His focus was to check the main bedroom, not realizing that as he got closer to the half opened door, one door on each side of the hall opened up, and two shadowy figures stepped out simultaneously.
Buddy finally reached the door and opened it all the way, peering into the bedroom. He heard someone clear their throat behind him. Buddy spun around just in time to see a fist flying toward his face, the glint of chrome metal stretching across the knuckles. Buddy had no time to dodge and felt the full force of metal to the jaw. The blow spun him, stunned him, until another blow connected with the other side of his face. He fell to the ground with a dull thud. He was still very much conscious.
"Bastard...." he heard someone mutter.
Buddy tried to make his body move, but it failed him, still reeling from the two blows he received to the face. He gazed upward, seeing two men standing over him; one clean shaven, the other with a well maintained beard.
Courtland and Casey Gentry.
Buddy attempted to sit up. "Stay down. Don't even so much as make a peep. Otherwise, I doubt I'll be able to hold Casey back," Court demanded, glaring down at him. His eyes shifted to Casey, who looked ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Court produced a spool of nylon rope and unraveled it. He bent down beside Buddy. "Did Claire ever tell you about me? About what I used to do as a career? About the reputation I have?" He shrugged. "I'm sure she has, you were just too stupid to believe any of it." He took hold of Buddy's feet, attempting to tie them together with the rope, but the man began to struggle. Casey swooped in and started decking him in the face, stunning him. Casey almost got carried away, but remembered why they were there and drew back immediately. Court nodded to him. "Excellent use of self-control," he complimented. He turned to Buddy and continued with tying his feet together. "I've been trying to teach him self-control. He's the quiet type, but man does he have one nasty temper."
Court finished with Buddy's feet, cut the excess rope with a knife, and moved on to his hands. Buddy was sobbing by this point, but neither men offered sympathy. "Come on, I-I swear! I won't ever put my hands on her again! P-Please! Please don't kill me!" He begged.
Court held the knife to Buddy's throat, leaning in close. A cold, animalistic glare was in the man's eyes as they bore into Buddy's soul, making him sob just that much more. The blade was cold and sharp, threatening to pierce his skin in an instant. "How many times did Claire beg for you to stop, huh? How many times did you ignore her as you beat her bloody? Because I know the exact number of times she's come to me and my husband crying and beaten and still! Still she begged us not to kill you!"
"Five times. Five times too many," Casey commented.
Court nodded, withdrawing the blade. "I really tried to stay out of it, but the same thought kept coming to me, y'know? When would be the last time-the time you snap completely and take her life?" He continued to tie Buddy's wrists together and cut the excess off when he was finished, the rage and hatred in the older man's face barely contained. Court stood and walked back behind Casey, who stepped forward and put duct tape over Buddy's mouth.
When he finished, he went to check on Court, who stood off to the side with his back to Buddy. He couldn't hear their conversation, but watched as the quieter man gently placed his hand on his husband's shoulder. Slowly, his hand slid down Court's arm until it reached his hand, lacing their fingers together. The two shared a gentle kiss before focusing back on the task at hand.
Casey went to stand by Buddy's head while Court stood by his legs. They bent down, Casey picking up Buddy from under his arms and lifting. Court lifted his legs, and the two carried him out the house. He cried silently, knowing if he made a sound, they would kill him right then and there. They stuffed him in the back seat of their car, not caring if they hurt him or not. They then climbed in their respective front seats; Casey in the driver's seat, with Court sitting shotgun.
Buddy wanted to scream. His heart pounded in terror. He remembered the stories Claire told of her father and how he was one of the best assassins to ever grace the criminal underworld. He even had a nickname, The Gray Man. A man who was like a ghost in the fog; quick, precise, and invisible. Most of his assassinations were dealt with using various guns, but Claire made no bones about the man's physical capabilities. To Buddy, he seemed like a noodle armed has-been, with hair that had only just started to grey some up top and in his beard. Now, Buddy knew he should never have underestimated the man. His gaze alone was terrifying.
Buddy's eyes shifted to Casey. The man was an enigma; not even Claire knew much about him. He was significantly younger than Court and was always quiet whenever Buddy was visiting with Claire, but he could tell the man was unhinged right off the bat. Just the way he lurked about made him creepy, and his perpetual thousand-yard gaze....just thinking about it made Buddy shiver. His eyes shifted out the window. The car was moving now. Every few seconds, the interior was illuminated by the orange street lights.
After twenty minutes, there were no more lights, indicating they were now outside the city limits and into the countryside. Buddy knew where they were going. The two had their own personal campsite, and it was so secluded from everything else, he knew that, even if he screamed, no one would hear him. The dread that sunk in his belly made him feel heavy, and he started regretting having ever dated Claire FItzroy.
---
Court and Casey sat in silence as Casey drove them to their destination. Court had intertwined their fingers, needing the kind of comfort only his husband could give him. He turned his head toward the younger man, who kept his gaze on the road. Casey gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
"You okay?" He inquired softly.
Court sighed and shook his head. "I'm worried Claire's gonna hate me," he admitted.
Casey snorted. "Doubt it."
Court frowned at that. "We're about to murder the only boyfriend she's ever had. How could she not?"
Casey finally gazed at him. "She also knows you and the trauma you have toward abusers. She had to know that you'd eventually stop giving into her and finally listen to your own voice of reason. She may hate you now, but I doubt it's a permanent thing," he explained.
Court stared at him. "I think that's the most you've ever spoken," he joked, smirking.
The faintest of smirks curled up at the edge of Casey's lips. They went back to sitting in comfortable silence for the rest of the car ride. Occasionally, Buddy would whine, but a quick glance from either of the two men sitting up front shut him up real quick. Soon, they turned on the dirt road leading to their campsite, their journey coming to a close. All in all, it took about an hour to get from Buddy's home to the dirt road. As they reached the end, Casey pulled a little off to the side and put the car in park, but he kept the engine running. Court pulled a flashlight from the glove compartment and got out first. He always did a quick survey of the area to make sure they were alone. They were about to kill a man, after all.
"All clear," he announced from the darkness.
Casey sprang from his seat and went to the back seat door on the driver's side. He opened it, ignoring Buddy's agonized groan as his head hit the edge of the door. Casey hooked his arms under Buddy's and pulled him out of the backseat. Buddy started whimpering, and it set Casey off. "Keep it up and I'll gut you like the pig you are," he threatened.
Buddy sniffled as Casey continued to carry him away from the car. Eventually, Casey dropped him on the ground, in the light of the car's headlights. "Cut the rope binding his feet and take the tape off his mouth," Court ordered.
Casey did so, but only managed to cut the ropes before Court's phone started ringing. Court pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID, sighing as he saw the name. He answered it. "Colt?"
"Hey so Ry and I dropped by the house. Sorry for the short notice, by the way, but we saw that your garage door was open, the car was gone, and Claire is asleep on the couch. Did her boyfriend do that to her? If so, where can I find 'im? I just wanna talk-"
Court snorted. "It's taken care of, trust me," he answered.
There was a minute long pause. Colt inhaled sharply. "When you say taken care of, do you mean her boyfriend won't be bothering her anymore? Or that her boyfriend is about to be very dead?"
"Yes."
"Okay, yeah! I'm hanging up now!"
And he did. Court hadn't realized he'd been worrying about Claire all night until Colt called. He knew neither he nor Ryland were going to leave her alone until he and Casey made it back home, and that alone put his mind at ease. He stuffed his phone in his back pocket and nodded for Casey to resume. Casey yanked the tape off of Buddy's mouth, taking with it a few hairs from his mustache.
"Here's the thing, Buddy. You're not getting out of this alive, no matter how you try to rationalize it. Casey and I are going to beat you so bad, that if the authorities find your body, nothing they can do short of facial reconstruction will help identify your corpse. We're gonna break you so bad, you'll be wishing you'd never been born," Court explained as he put on his brass knuckles. He motioned for Casey to stand him up.
"Y-Y-You'll n-never get a-away with this!" Buddy exclaimed. "You and your creepy boy toy will spend the rest of your miserable lives apart and behind bars-" Casey shoved Buddy hard in Court's direction, and Court delivered a vicious left hook to his face. He stumbled back toward Casey, and Casey kicked him back toward Court. Court punched him again, this time in the gut, grabbed his shoulder and just started beating him. Casey took this time to put his brass knuckles on as well, and was ready for when Court passed their victim back his way.
For hours, the two did this to Buddy, using him as their own personal punching bag and passing him back and forth between the each other. It was no less than what he deserved for what he did to Claire; at least, they thought so. By the time dawn broke, Buddy was on the ground, unrecognizable and bloody. At some point, Casey had punched him with his bare knuckles on his right hand, injuring himself in the process. Court was now seated on the hood of the car, assessing the damage with his flashlight trained on his husband's injured hand. "Yeah, it looks like you broke something. I think it's best I drive back home since you're down a wing," he commented, gazing up at Casey.
Casey stared at Court blankly. "But I always drive," he protested quietly.
Court blinked. "Then, who's going to hold my hand?"
Casey pressed his lips into a slight frown. "Fine," he murmured.
Court kissed Casey's injured knuckles as a way of apologizing. He couldn't see it, but Casey was blushing something fierce, the younger man being grateful that it was still dark out. Casey went on to sit in the passenger seat afterwards while Court disposed of the body, feeling out of place. Court arrived shortly after and came to sit in the driver's seat, sporting fresh clothes. He glanced over at Casey, smiling. "Look who's the passenger princess now," he joked, earning a snort and a smirk from his usually stoic husband. He put the car in reverse, turned it around, and drove away back onto the dusty dirt road.
During the hour long drive back home, they held hands. It wasn't long into the drive that Court glanced over to Casey and saw that he was sound asleep, his injured hand tucked inside his favorite jacket. Court smirked. "I figured as much."
---
Claire awoke the next morning feeling sore and drained. She was not where she was when she fell asleep. Sometime through the night, someone had carried her to the spare bedroom and had tucked her in, and even moved her old record player in with her and kept it playing. She was confused and got up to investigate.
In the living room, she found Colt and Ryland both sacked out on the couch, snoring away. Ryland had his head on Colt's shoulder, his glasses crooked on his face, while Colt's mouth was agape. She smiled slightly, finding comfort in seeing her two adopted uncles there. She turned from them and continued on toward the door that led into the garage. She hung a left and stopped by the door there, putting her ear to it. She could hear the shower running from the bathroom, and decided it was safe to enter.
Claire turned the knob and slowly opened the door. She peeked in, seeing Casey was tucked in and sound asleep. She entered the room quietly and closed the door. As she approached the bed, she saw that Casey had a fresh new bandage on his right hand, which was purposely left outside the comforter. She averted her gaze, her intuition telling her exactly where he got the injury. She sat at the foot of the bed with her back to the sleeping man, careful not to wake him.
Claire understood why Court did what he did, and a part of her wanted to hate him for it, just like a part of her wanted to hate him for dragging her away from her dying uncle's side back in Croatia so many years back. She found it hard to, however, understanding that, back then, she would have only gotten herself killed had she stayed by her uncle's side, and if she had stayed with Buddy, he would have eventually killed her too. She couldn't hate either of them for protecting her against Buddy and her own poor judgement, she just wished she had the strength to get out on her own before her dads took matters into their own hands.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. Claire really did love Buddy.
The shower stopped, alerting Claire. She turned her head toward the bathroom door. "I'm sorta existing in your bedroom right now so, uh...make sure you're not naked, please," she announced.
"Oh, okay," she heard Court say. "Can you grab my clothes at the foot of the bed, then?"
Claire glanced around and spotted a fresh pair of clothes folded neatly on the other side of the bed. She stood and grabbed the neatly folded pile and went over to the bathroom door, where an expectant hand emerged, ready and waiting. She handed the pile off to the hand. "Thanks," Court said as he drew his hand back and closed the door.
Claire waited only a few more minutes before her adopted father came out in a loose t-shirt and sweat pants. Despite the shower, he looked rather exhausted himself. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.
Claire shrugged half-heartedly. "Like a train ran me over, backed up, and ran me over again," she answered honestly.
Court exhaled. "That's to be expected."
He walked out the bedroom, Claire following closely behind, passing the sacked out twins on the couch and into the kitchen, where she took a seat at the simple round table by the large window. She watched Court flip the light switch, illuminating the kitchen, and start the process of brewing espresso. The scent of strong coffee eventually filled the space, making Claire feel a little more at home. As she silently watched Court work, she began to wonder about something. Several times she stopped herself from asking it, feeling as if it might be a little intrusive on Court's past.
"You look like you want to ask me something," Court commented.
Claire stared at him, realizing he was gazing back at her. She looked down at her hands. "When you killed your dad, did you feel anything?" she inquired.
Court licked his lips. "A lot of things," he answered honestly. He turned back to the kitchen and went over to the espresso machine, where he took two cups from the cupboard and began preparing their drinks. Claire sighed. "And...killing Buddy?" she asked.
Court stopped and turned his head slightly to her. His expression was one of contemplation, with a hint of fear and anxiety that Claire was barely able to discern before his expression returned to its neutral state and he continued what he was doing. "Only if you hate me for it," he murmured.
Claire shook her head. "I don't think I can ever do that. I mean, I know why you did what you did...I just wished I had the strength to get out before it came to that."
Court carried their drinks to the table, taking one careful step at a time. "Being beaten until you're docile doesn't mean you're weak willed. You know that, right?"
Court handed her her cup of espresso, and she took it, not meeting his gaze. "I was too weak to not see his treatment of me as anything but abuse," she countered, taking a sip. It was strong and bitter, and would pair well with some chocolate ice cream. Oh, how she wished she had a pint of ice cream right now.
"Claire Jane Fitzroy, you are not weak. Any one at the age of thirteen who can point and shoot a flare gun and hit Lloyd fucking Hanson in the back is not weak in my book. Take your experiences and learn from them. It's one of the best survival tactics at your disposal." Court took a sip of his espresso, relishing the bitterness of the drink as it went down.
Claire stared at him. "Did you have to use my full government name?"
Court nodded. "Yes, now stop self-depracating and drink your espresso," he ordered, smirking.
The pair sat in silence as Court finished his espresso. When done, he got up and deposited his cup in the sink. "Oh shit, I think I'm forgetting something important," he murmured and immediately went to the freezer and opened it. Claire had just registered what he had said and glanced up when Court sat a pint of chocolate ice cream down in front of her, along with her favorite spoon. "I think you'll be needing this," he commented.
Claire smiled. "It's like you read my mind."
Court inhaled sharply. "I'm going to bed. Enjoy the cure to everything, and stay however long you need. Good night," he said, bending down to kiss her forehead.
Claire watched him leave. As Court walked by Colt, he promptly squeezed his younger brother's nostrils shut. The younger man was startled awake by his own snorts, causing him to flail just enough to startle Ryland awake. Court snickered, bid them good morning, and entered his bedroom.
The twins stared blankly at nothing at all for a solid minute before they went back to sleep. This time, Colt had laid down and curled up. Ryland put a pillow between his brother's butt and his face, glanced over to him, and murmured, "Whatever you do, do not fart on me."
"No promises," mumbled Colt.
Claire couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was odd for her to feel happy after her adopted dads murdered her abusive boyfriend, or maybe it was a newfound trauma response. Who knows? She figured she would unpack that at a later date, and resumed eating her ice cream and drinking her espresso.
Mechanic/getaway driver: mechanic who specialises in all the parts of the cars that are too dangerous for humans. Works as a getaway driver for Julian’s(only god forgives) illegal fighting/smuggling ring. In exchange they protect him.
Design: the design is mostly loyal to his film design, the protective equipment in yellow was designed with the scorpion motif in mind.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
a Rygos cinematic universe crack fic. The entire family is together to celebrate finishing building the March’s house. But so is one of Jacob’s sons and their mother. Queue goose chase trying to get Jacob to pay child support. This is a crack fic. It is a joke. I made this at 4am. It has not been proof read.
I have reason to believe that I locked in hard with this drawing. I am super proud of this one, real people scare me so stylising real people is an improvement I am proud of. Also courtland is just special to me for no discernible reason.
Quote from mad dog by the crane wives.
