afraidofchange - Tumblr blog

[afraidofchange]

After Seven of Nine enters Main Engineering

B'Elanna Torres: What are you doing here?

Seven: I just needed to see something.

B'Elanna: *surprised look* What?

Seven: Your face.

B'Elanna: *actually almost giggles despite the lame, awkward line*

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❝ the world is full of unanswered questions. beyond all limits, all reason ... the answers await. ❞

— independent, selective survivor trilogy lara croft. loved by K.

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Hey blizzard, when we getting a mothman skin? Here's my contribution

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After 19 hours of driving (including passing through both Montréal and Toronto) I am at home with family for the next two weeks 😭

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@sanctamater and I reading bad fanfiction in the bisexual green velvet couch

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Recent comm for @funkyjeans💛💛💛 Ft. Ana and Reinhardt from overwatch 💛

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[OH, ANA. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?]

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some mass effect sketches i made

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Fiji (Finally!)

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i love unhinged women but i also love women who try so fucking hard to be hinged. clinging to those hinges by her fingernails.

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NATALIA 'NIKITA' ANTONOVNA Nov. 17, 1978. Arms Dealer. New York City, NY, United States of America.

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NIGHT gives cover to the city that never sleeps; darkness hides all the dealings of the underground, hidden away from everyday civilian eyes. This particular night has not gone well for Nikita. Her latest client was a no-show, and after waiting several hours, she finally decided to leave, to return her wares to the storage locker ten blocks away, carried precariously in the small foldable grocery bag cart pulled along behind.

Yet, in the dark, a disturbance catches her eye. Normally, she'd ignore it. Keep going. No one else matters in this city but herself, and doing anything not in the plan means adding even more risk.

But the movement in the alley catches her attention; and the glow - faint and flickering orange - draws Nikita in.

She has half a mind to pull out the unsold handgun from her bag just in case, but her curiosity wins out, wondering if perhaps the figure at first is an animal in the shadows or a person but as she steps closer, they speak - and it makes her jump at first, a few steps back and a cuss in Russian under her breath.

Blue eyes narrow, adjusting to the low light as she tries to asses what exactly he's wearing, and what exactly is wrong. "What is wrong?" The accent comes out just as thick as the words feel on her tongue; every other part of her wants to leave, to step back out to the street and keep going, but curiosity wins out.

>> WARNING. WARNING! ㅤㅤ>> PRESENCE APPROACHING. RUN DIAL - UP...

the sudden warning in the display of his helmet catches KISMET off - guard. he knows for sure that he has a concussion, but that's the lesser of two issues considering the blood on his side, wetting his hand. still, KISMET had slipped into this alleyway and let the city fold around him to protect him. for someone else in his space means that the city trusts them to help rather than being a danger to him.

>> ATTEMPT TO: stan///d?. he stands. it's not the most graceful of things, considering that he feels the world tilt a bit dangerously, and he reaches out to a wall that's supposed to be there, but - ah. right. new york city decided to change where he was.

still, KISMET fixes his gaze on the newcomer. the orange lights on his shoulder and across his chest plates try to stay on-- blink blink blink flicker flicker flicker blink blink blink. despite the fact that his face is covered, he attempts to smile. " i'm going to hope that you're willing to help me out here. "

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Shortly after arriving in New York, Nikita had very little money to her name, and shared a room in an apartment with several other illegal immigrants who came over from Russia to the US. At the time, once she got settled in with the waitressing job at a local '50's style diner, she picked up her small-time arms dealing, acquiring illegal, unregistered handguns that she stored in a rented storage locker across the borough. In Brooklyn, everything for Nikita starting out is within walking distance, and most times, she'd work her shift at the diner until 9pm, and then would go change out of her uniform to go pick up what her client has ordered, in order to meet them somewhere discreet.

For the first few years, Nikita walked everywhere, cutting into the night and often wouldn't be home until 4 or 5am. After saving up, she was able to purchase a 1983 Buick Regal - rusted, beat up, but affordable - it was a game changer for her to be able to deal out of her trunk. She got lucky with parking at her apartment building after cutting a deal with her landlord to get him a piece for free in exchange.

It's only after about a decade in the US that Nikita manages to get a half decent car to replace the Buick (which is essentially a death trap on wheels). She has no car insurance and no actual NY driver's license (it's a fake), but driving an '85 Iroc Camaro becomes her daily driver.

Still, she has some old habits and she'll still do her walking at late hours during the summer.

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Contacts across the city make for lucrative opportunities; one satisfied client leads to another and by word of mouth, the chances for the big deals have finally made their way into Nikita's hands. The last couple months of meeting like this have proven beneficial for all parties involved - and with the money she's made, she'd be a fool to fuck this one up.

Leant back against the cool steel, calloused fingers flick away cigarette ashes into the night breeze coming into the hangar. She probably shouldn't, but it's a nervous habit. Instead, one leg lifts to rest ankle atop her knee and she puts out the cig on the heel, shoving the remainder into her pocket to continue later.

Meeting Nico halfway, Nikita crosses the space, arms folded across her chest; her leather jacket fits well, but it doesn't break the wind. "No, not long at all," She offers a shrug - she'd gotten in the habit of getting here early enough; being late would make a bad impression, in her mind. "You happy with the last purchase, yes? I have what you need," Her head gestures towards the trunk of her car - an old beater, but it gets the job done. Better than walking across boroughs, better than hauling a grocery bag on wheels. Blue eyes glance to Nico, the area around and behind him. "And then some, if you like."

plotted starter with @afraidofchange

Bloodshed  a  lucrative  business,  artillery  made  itself  essential  on  both  sides;  the  one  that  aimed  to  conquer  with  the  beat  of  violence,  and  the  extreme  that  claimed  it  to  defend  against  such  wrath.  To  navigate  through  the  turbid  water  of  espionage  environment,  Nexus  needed  both.

Just  operatives  in  this  battle,  Nicolas  and  Nikita  naturally  gravitated  to  each  other.  Their  discretion  a  silent  alliance  of  trust,  no  conflict  has  followed  their  first  deal,  leading  him  to  seek  her  more  times  when  needed.  Now,  her  figure  leaning  against  her  car  can  be  seen  through  the  tinted  bulletproof  glass  of  his  entering  the  aircraft  hangar.

Parked,  his  words  echo  before  the  tud  of  the  car's  door  can  be  heard.  “  i  hope  i  didn't  make  you  wait  for  long.  you  know  the  routine,  i  was  checking  the  area.  ”

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talon nana