#;multi para

[betrayedjedi]

starter for

corelliancaptainsolo

Anakin had taken a job on a star cruiser, interrogating rebel prisoners for information they might have on the rebellion. He didn’t really enjoy it, though he hardly enjoyed anything after Padmé’s death. He just felt empty, and the nightmares, oh how they had worsened, and he had to wake up by himself every time, and it tore him apart inside.

“It’s a rebel who tried to go on the surface of a targeted planet to help the wounded, “ they clarified the occupation of the prisoner he’d soon be face to face with. He nodded in acceptance of their sentence, and let them open the cell block doors for him. 

He knew the way, he knew what to do to open the cell door. He knew the drill, it was a relatively easy job. He pressed the key mould on to the lock and let the cell door open. He could see a figure, robed and facing the wall of the cell, clearly female though. He didn’t know who she was, and even less did he care.

“So, you’re an illegal healer, huh?”

[bloodrips]

Meeting the Addams family || angel & morticia

madam-addams :

“So good of you to meet with us, Ms. Holmes.  Wednesday has been having trouble finding anyone to interview for her school project.”

Morticia’s daughter stood silently, staring ahead in what could have been interest or disdain.  It was hard to tell in a fourteen year old.

“She has been attempting to trace our family tree,” continued Morticia, “and is particularly interested in the Transylvanian line.”

Angel wasn’t sure if the Addams family had somehow traced her trail as a vampire, and knew she was a Transilvanian once, or if they just had found her from the university paylist as a history lecturer, specialising in European history and asked her to come talk to the girl because of that. No matter, she’d been delighted when she was asked to meet at their house. 

She enjoyed the darkness of their home very much and she looked around, smiling maybe even foolishly, studying their decor. Her eyes met the dark haired girl, standing next to the tall, dark woman and she curtsied gently. “Nice to meet you, miss Addams.”

She wasn’t exactly sure if the girl already hated her to the core, or if she just looked strangely annoyed and evil in general, but she loved it. “It’ll be my pleasure to research the Transilvanian blood with you,” she grinned at them.

[quitelikedyou-blog-blog]

{ rightandproperbastard }

Wine spilled on the ground when Meg upturned the table. She had barely noticed the jug of it on top in her mad rush to knock over every piece of furniture in the room. She'd stopped crying twenty minutes ago, and by then her near-animalistic snarls were rage-filled and painful even to her ears.

She told herself she didn't care if her voice gave way from the strain of it all. She'd still shout until the memory of her Richard with a noose around his neck faded from behind her eyes. Meg knew it never would, and tore a stack of documents on her papa's desk.

It seemed the man was not as stupid as she'd always thought. He stayed away from his tent, far away. There was a pistol beside the wash basin, and his daughter had been taught how to fire it.

Would she really shoot her father if he walked into the room and tried to calm her? Meg looked to it, polished brass shining in the light of the setting sun. That was all it took to know that yes, yes she would. 

But he did not enter, he did not even attempt to gain her attention and instead left her to her devices. A glass broke against the wooden dresser, it being tossed carelessly over her shoulder. In fact, every movement was careless. Meg hardly gave any thought to the havoc she wreaked, nor to the men who stood outside.

Were they surprised? Startled that a woman could be so passionate over a death? Well, she had stopped crying twenty minutes ago, and would not intend to start again until she broke everything in sight.

Meg sat down when she was done, spilled ink staining her skirt. She simply stopped. Stopped screaming, stopped carrying on, she just sat there. Her face hardened into a mask and she stared at the doorway, daring anyone outside to tempt the beast.

Like a dog she knew was to be put down all the same, she was vicious to anyone who came near, not that many did. Her father tried to get her to eat and she nearly bit him. Her feral regression caused her to nearly choke Wellington when she saw him next.

It did not matter, she did not care. Richard was dead, and she'd so hoped she'd have gone first. 

[quitelikedyou-blog-blog]

{ ✂ thredsxn }

-- That went well...

Her heels clicked on the tile beneath her feet. Meg's ears were still ringing from all her papa's shouting.

-- It's like he doesn't even care about proving he's right in the head.

She thought with a smirk. Sane people didn't often call their only child  ' depraved psycho b i t c h '. At least, not to her knowledge.

Nor did they try to throttle them with their bare hands.

The medication was supposedly strong enough to tranquilize him, but the sting on her lip and lingering feeling of hands around her throat spoke otherwise.

She paused, pulling from her purse a small compact. Meg opened it and grimaced at her reflection.

Oh but she had underestimated him. He's struck a blow before she could barely move. Her upper lip was split and she was certain she'd have to wear a scarf to hide the bruises around her neck for weeks.

He was pulled off of her as fast as he'd lunged, leaving her breathless and shaken. Someone directed her to the nurse but in the maze of similar-looking hallways, she'd forgotten the directions.

-- And my guide...

The man escorting her left quickly upon receiving word that another of the patients was having a fit  somewhere in the recesses of Briarcliff. Meg didn't listen to details, but wished she had as she wandered.

She stowed her mirror away, taking a left and pausing when she saw a man at the end of the corridor.

He did not look like an inmate, but she still approached him with caution.

❝Hello? Can you help me? I'm a bit lost...❞

[quitelikedyou-blog-blog]

{ astormcrow }

You could have heard a pin drop in her father's office. She never liked being in the room, but at least then she was alone with the arrogant sod. That morning, a man stood at his side, looking at her in a way she could not place.

It made her uncomfortable, but she found it difficult to look away. He was very handsome, she noted, and  much younger than the men her father often dealt with.

If he had any money, it was likely new and unstable. A quick once-over let her content in the knowledge that  she wouldn't have to worry about marrying him. 

❝Yes, daddy? You wanted to see me.❞

Margaret nearly winced as the man threw himself into a lecture about her recklessness. It was embarrassing enough to be alone and hear it, but knowing that the new person was there only made her flush deeper.

He finished by looking to the stranger, and Margaret's  mouth fell open when he said that he was to be her  bodyguard.

Blinking, she nodded and waited to be excused. Once  in the hallway, she turned to look at him. Giving him an awkward smile, she decided she'd better say something.

❝Hello. My dad never tells me anything in advance, but I'm Meg. Not Margaret. I can't stand Margaret...❞

[quitelikedyou-blog-blog]

twisted-but-pretty

Meg tried not to think the weather was a commentary on how her day was going to be, but the fact it was pouring buckets did nothing for her already grim mood. First day of school in completely unknown territory, coupled with her crippling anxiety and bitchy weather did not spell out good. Sighing, Meg kept her head down and pushed open the front doors, making a beeline for the office. Registration was jam-packed with late students and confused foreigners, which she supposed she looked like. It made her grimace.

It didn't take as long as she'd expected, and she soon had her time-table and a list of the books she would need. Flipping her hair back, she pushed her way through a crowd of girls clad exclusively in pink and made her way toward the library.

If there was a place she could say she did not mind going to first, it was where all the books were kept. The intricate woodwork and shelves upon shelves of leather-bound paper were at a stark contrast with the rest of the school, but Meg rather liked it.

Seated behind a computer in the nearby office was a man typing away. Confronted with the sight of someone wearing both glasses and a sweater vest, Meg had to fight to keep from laughing before she'd even said hello.

She smiled when he looked up at her. "Uh, hi. I'm Meg, one of the many new kids. I was wondering if you had," she paused, looking down at her list of books. She frowned before holding the piece of paper out to him.

"I have no idea how to pronounce half of these, they're all for foreign language classes. Do you recognize any?"

[quitelikedyou-blog-blog]

lostmxrbles

In life, there were things you don't want to remember. Things that made a terrible pain erupt in your chest, things that put a spike through your brain. The Realm of the Unwanted was the exact feeling of a suppressed memory made flesh.

There was a reason why it was hidden, miles from anywhere, and about as cut-throat as you could get. In a word, it was paradise for a runaway. Despite the anxiety it gave her, Meg felt oddly safe roaming its streets.

Besides the occasional 'fight me' look she got if she stared a bit too long, she was free to walk relatively unnoticed.

Unwanted had to be a layer of hell, but it was a good layer in her book thus far, probably near the top. It was a haven, a safe-house, or so it appeared.

Bag strung around her shoulders and knife hidden just within, it never occurred to Meg that she should have been making eye-contact. That she should have been analysing faces for potential threats.

Reality hit her like a bucket of ice water she passed by a poorly-lit alley. A hand snaked around her wrist, pulling in out of the flow of traffic and into the dark.

She screamed, not that anyone would have heard her and lashed out at the person who's grip was so tight she thought the bone would break.

Her fist made contact with some part of the human anatomy, hard enough for her to feel the hold slacken just a bit. She was running before she could decide the direction, getting further and further away from the main street. She didn't care.

Ignoring the jeers and attempts to get her attention, Meg ran until her lungs began to hurt. She paused for a second, looking for a place to duck into and wait out any pursuers. She found it in the form of a door, tucked away from where she wanted to be.

She tried the handle and found it to be unlocked. Taking a breath, she walked in.

[quitelikedyou-blog-blog]

rightandproperbastard

At least I don't have to walk. Meg thought with a smaller amount of bitterness than the situation called for. Sitting astride her horse with her hands bound in front of her and her father casting glares at her every now and then was not a particularly envious position.

She glared back with all the fires of Hell in her eyes. She didn't care what anyone thought of her, least of all him. If he didn't want her to, as he said, 'cause a fuss' about getting married, then he never should have gotten her engaged in the first place.

I don't sit and cause fusses. She said to herself. I stand and I shout until he hears me. Perhaps if she'd done that a bit sooner she would have been over the border and on her way home. As it stood, she'd waited a beat too long, promised a bit too much to her fiancé and now she was paying the price.

She'd given up asking to be allowed to ride like a human being, instead of tied down like a disobedient dog. All she'd received were harsh looks in return, but she did not stop until she noticed someone staring at her.

Her persistent belief that she could care less what some of the officers had to say about her still stood, but somehow she didn't fully think that the man in the dark green uniform would agree with them.

"And what are you looking at? Never seen a girl all but shackled to her horse, sir?" Meg asked in her clipped, slightly uppity voice. The years of schooling given to an officer's daughter had all but strangled her natural tone from her throat. It almost hurt to hear. She watched him expectantly, awaiting his answer, if only because there wasn't much else to do.