#concealed ranged cutting weapon? hell yes

[ghostoffuturespast]

Lullaby

[sarcastic-space-gal]

Dark Past (Part 2)

Summary: Black shirts are supposed to be the most trained and deadly members of the Starfleet. However, they are considered just stories or legends, because no one has ever saw one before. But after John Harrison attacks the London’s Archive, the Enterprise may acquire a new crew member.

Pairing: James Kirk x Reader

Word Count: 1600

Warning: None

A/N: Hi everyone, this is the secon part of Dark Past! Here is the Part 1 if you missed it. Part three will be the last so stay tuned! Hope you will like it and i also hope to bring you some joy in these troubled times, please stay safe 💖 As always, feedback is always appreciated. Love you all xoxo

She should be dead… How can she still be alive?

Kirk couldn’t think at anything else since he saw you taking that shot from Khan. The blood, the gash on you shoulder and then nothing, your skin closed and healed in front of him. Anyone else would have died in his track but you didn’t, and even he wouldn’t admit it, he was glad of it.

Since you took your first step into the bridge, he couldn’t take his eyes of you. There was something in your appearance, in your voice, in your gestures, the way your mouth moved while you spoke… you were intriguing, and without a doubt, really appealing.

Then he saw you fighting and, if possible, his curiosity towards you and who you really were, increased even more. With surprise drawn on his face and the adrenaline from the fight still pumping in his veins, he watched as you skillfully faced your opponent without flinching or giving any sign of fatigue. A war machine, made to fight, but elegant and solemn.

Then you were hit. His heart stopped for a second and his eyes widened in horror. Instead, you felt pure anger as you slowly turned again towards Khan and you shipmates, the wound was healing fast. Oh, you had so much to explain now.

Perfect excuse to talk to her Jim thought.

The Medbay was exactly as you remembered. The tickling of instruments and the beeping of monitors, that weird plastic smell, the beds and their colourless sheets.

You were sitting up straight on a biobed, your expression emotionless, your eyes focused on an unknown direction. After you were beamed back to the ship the Captain gently offered to accompany you to the Medbay and you knew you couldn’t avoid it. Not that you disliked being near the Captain, instead you were quite pleased. You walked down the corridors alongside Kirk and you couldn’t help but notice how he would occasionally linger his glare on you. Maybe because I took a shot in my shoulder and there is no sign of it anymore, besides the huge hole in the fabric. He is probably asking himself who the hell I am…he probably has so many questions… and I don’t know if I can answer them…

By accepting this mission you knew that this could happen, but you decided to join the Enterprise nonetheless. Khan was a powerful opponent, smart, logical, devious, he could have done anything to get what he wanted: shooting at you and exposing you for example. There were secrets no one should have ever known about you, but fighting against Khan had its drawbacks, and this was one of them.

So now you stood there ready to see Doctor McCoy and his confused look when he will receive your test results.

Bones and Kirk were talking right outside Medbay when Spock approached them.

“Captain” Spock appeared from behind them.

“Spock, how is the ship?”

“Warp speed is still unusable, Mr Chekov is working on it, but for now, we are stranded here sir.”

The Captain sighed loudly “Alright. What about Y/n, Bones?”

“I don’t know Jim, this is…” the Doctor kept looking at the pad in front of him. Your test results.

“What? Did you find something?”

“I’ve never seen something like this”

Kirk folded his arms and shook his head lightly “Neither did I”

“So she was hit by John Harrison, or Khan, on her shoulder and in just few seconds the wound healed. By itself.” Bones looked at him with a confused expression.

“That’s what we so” Jim shared a look with Spock.

“Well, that explains a lot”

Kirk’s eyebrows furrowed in perplexity “What do you mean?”

“All the blood test results are out of range, it seems like her cells regenerate and transform constantly” Bones kept looking at the pad in his hands.

“Interesting” Spock said.

“What Spock?”

“Well Captain, Khan and Y/n seem to know each other, and they are obviously opponents. So why shoot her in the shoulder? We already had a demonstration of Khan’s skills with weapons of any sort, it is hardly believable that from his position and his distance from Y/n, he would have miss a lethal spot”

Bones and Kirk listened carefully. Spock was right.

“I need to talk to her” Jim said before entering Medbay “Spock go to the bridge, inform me if anything changes”

“Yes Captain”

You heard approaching footsteps and you immediately knew it was the Captain and the Doctor. You watched them enter in silence, Kirk stood next to a medical counter and McCoy was right in front of you, holding his pad.

“You probably have some questions” you said with a small smile.

“Seeing someone healing a shot like that is no daily routine, sweetheart” said Bones.

“I understand” you looked to your right and saw the Captain glaring at you.

The Doctor took from a nearby table an empty hypo and placed the pad down.

“I’ll run some more blood tests, I have to take a sample”

You grabbed your suit’s sleeve and pulled it up. Once the hypo was full with blood Kirk moved towards you.

“Bones can you give me a minute?”

He looked at his friend and than at you “Of course” he said while exiting, living you two in silence.

“May I?” he said pointing at empty spot near you.

“Please” why is my heart beating so fast? you thought.

His handsome blue eyes peered in yours, it was almost impossible to look away.

“Normally I know almost everything about my shipmates, but I think there’s something you didn’t tell me about yourself”

Contrarily to what you’d expected, he was calm and gentle, something rather new for you. You couldn’t help but stiffen a little after his encouragement to speak.

“You see captain-”

“Jim” he said smiling “call me Jim”

Smiling back, you continued “You see… Jim, there are things I can’t say. Even to my Captain”

“If they are inherent with the mission I should know everything”

Jim could sense your uneasiness about the matter, but he needed to know what was going on.

You looked away from him, images of your past came through your mind, ghosts that haunted your nights for years, and now, they came back to haunt you again.

“How do you know him?” Kirk was almost scared to know the answer, excepting a connection between you two.

Your head slowly turned towards him, your eyes severe. “If you are asking if we work together in any way, you are wrong. Instead, it’s quite the opposite”

With a small sigh of relief the captain nodded.

“As you and all your crew, I am here to end him and complete my mission”

Kirk saw your single-minded determination, the fire in your eyes that captured him since the first time he saw you.

“I must know who is he or else I won’t be able to complete this mission.”

After a brief moment of silence you spoke again.

“John Harrison is just a mere smokescreen, a fiction, used to conceal his true identity. His name is Khan and he was a black shirt like me” You couldn’t finish what you were saying because you were cut off by the First Officer’s voice.

“Captain, Khan has been confined and the Doctor is ready to take a sample from the prisoner”

“Alright” Jim looked at you and nodded “We will continue later”

Khan looked like a lion in a cage, calm but with piercing eyes ready to attack once the cell was open, and when he saw you he couldn’t help the rage he felt rising in him. He didn’t consider your presence in this mission and he knew you were a possible thorn in his side. You or not you he would get what we wanted, with his cleverness or with the force.

Spock, Jim and you approached the cell and watched as doctor McCoy opened a small gap in the glass.

“Put your arm through the hole. I’m gonna take a blood sample” he said.

Khan drew near the glass and did as Bones ordered.

“I see your shoulder is doing fine” his vicious voice resonated in your ears.

“Not thanks to you” he laughed a little and then turned his attention on Kirk.

“Why aren’t we moving, Captain? An unexpected malfunction, perhaps in your warp core conveniently stranding you in the edge of Klingon space?”

The Doctor looked up from Khan’s arm in utter surprise “How the hell do you know that?”

“Bones.”

“I think you’d find my insight valuable, Captain. Ignore me and you will get everyone on this ship killed.”

“Bones let me know if you find something” Kirk said to his friend as he walked away.

“Captain, I would not recommend engaging the prisoner further” Spock tried to calm the Captain but you could see he was fuming.

“Why did you surrender?” you suddenly asked as Kirk turned his head towards you.

“Y/n you should know very well” he responded.

Your jaw clenched.

“I’m here to convince you Mr Kirk of the truth”

“Truth? You know what is the truth? You are a criminal. I watched you murder innocent people and shoot at one of my crew member”

Involuntarily, your head turned to him, we was boiling in rage.

“23-17-46-11, if you want to know why I did what I did go and take a look or perhaps ask to your new crew member, she probably has the answers you are seeking Captain”

Kirk darted his eyes in your direction and saw your features twist in anger and slight panic but you didn’t hesitate and addressed him.

“You still did not respond, why did you surrender? What was the reason?”

“I can give you 72, all aboard your ship. I suggest you open one up”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs  “Teenagers.”

Hello everyone, sorry for vanishing for a few days, but now I am back and ready to write.

I would ask for any prompts or ideas you guys have for stories. Sometimes I go through times where I can't think of any ideas, and this is one of those times. Your help is appreciated 

Somewhere between Mars and the asteroid belt

The Delta-5 passenger transport had fallen out of warp rather violently. Granted, with a delta class warp engine she could only make jumps inside the solar system, but at any range, coming out of a warp unexpectedly is violent.

The brightly painted yellow of the passenger ship was a streak in the darkness for a single moment before the emergency engines kicked in and pulled her to an abrupt halt. Inside, the ship was filled with startled screams and cries of pain, from the twenty person class of Martian students on a return trip from the asteroid belt.

Not all schools have the funding for their own spaceship, mind you, but as one of the most prestigious boarding schools on the solar system, there were some perks. However, violent whiplash wasn’t appearing to be one of those perks, and in the commotion, no one noticed as a lone student silently slipped back to their seat, handily concealing a shiny silver object in the pocket of her pants.

A distress signal followed the sudden loss of warp, and it was almost an hour that the students sat there before a call of awe came out from the back of the ship, and all the students piled together to see out the cramped side windows at the massive military warship bearing down on them from above. She was massive, almost the size of two football fields from end but reaching skyward. It’s rear engines glowed with blue power as it gently slid next to them despite it’s cumbersome bulk.

A single line of white lettering could just be seen at the spine of the ship reading

 U.N.S.S Harbinger.

***

Krill and Sunny accompanied Commander Vir from the bridge, arriving in the docking bay just as the small, yellow passenger transport was pulled in from the airlock and gently dropped onto the deck. Once secured, the doors were opened.

As Krill and Sunny stood next to the commander, they couldn’t help but notice his uncharacteristic lack of good humor.. In the light of the docking bay his arms were crossed, his mouth had been pulled into a deep brown, and his single eye was narrowed with distrust at the little yellow ship.

The doors were opened, and the students came spilling out. Krill didn’t have much experience with this sort of human…. Teenagers. Physically, they had smoother faces, and the males and appeared skinnier with reduced muscle tone, but other than that, he wasn’t likely to be able to tell the difference.

“Look at them.” The Commander muttered under his breath, “Little Vultures.” 

Krill and Sunny exchanged a confused look, and rill ventured a question, “I’m sorry Commander, but I…. don’t follow.”

The Commander’s expression remained dark, “Behold my inhuman friends, the worst kind of human, the bane of earth, the very incarnation of Evil itself. They have the magic ability to pinpoint whatever insecurities you have and used it in psychological warfare against you.”

Krill and Sunny turned to watch the humans. Some huddled together in small groups, others standing alone shoulders hunched looking down at the floor, and still others gazing around the docking bay in wonderous amazement 

“Sure…. Commander…… Evil.” Sunny said watching two of the humans hug each other, in a clear attempt to find comfort, “I’m shaking.”

The commander glowered at her, and then turned on his heel to march towards the line of humans.

Sunny chirped an approximation of a laugh, “Wait, hold on commander, my knees are weak, I can’t keep up.”

He continued to ignore her as he marched up to the line of students. Of course, with the clanking of his mechanical leg, they noticed him coming long before he made it, and as they strolled up, Krill couldn't help but notice as a group of them broke out into a fit of giggling as they watched the commander approach, a fact that was not lost one the man, not that the students would have been able to tell.

However, Sunny and Krill knew him well enough to see the stiffening of his back , and the slight redness at the base of his neck, “Alright, the lot of you, quiet down.” His voice was loud enough, and commanding enough to get partial attention, but even as they looked at him, there was still ore snickering, giggling, and students checking their personal devices. A couple of them continued to whisper quietly in the back of the group. Of course quietly actually meant one grade below a normal voice.

Sunny was able to pick out the word “eyepatch.” from the conversation.

The Commander’s frown grew deeper, and he turned to Sunny. 

She was happy to oblige the request, quickly clearing her throat, and then releasing a screeching battle cry that made the walls and floors rattle. 

That got their attention.

“About time you all shut the hell up.” He growled. Sunny shifted uncomfortably not entirely sure what had gotten into the commander. 

Krill watched the students, and quickly became aware that many of them only had one default setting, and that was the continuous rolling of their eyes, often accompanied with a deep sigh.

“Now, I find it very unfortunate that your ship broke down, mostly because now I have to babysit you, which I would rather not do. But here we are, and there are a few ground rules you need to follow.”

More eye rolling, which was not lost on the captain.

He turned his eye on one of the worst offenders, “Go on, roll your eyes again, see what happens.” The stare the commander gave him could have coagulated blood, and the student looked away as his classmates snickered, “That a bunch of disrespectful bullshit, and they don’t pay me to tolerate it. If you want to be a little shit while I explain life-saving rules to you, than I won’t feel bad when you wander somewhere you shouldn't and radiation causes all your skin to deglove. Yes, that is exactly what it sounds like….. am …. I ... clear?”

The group of them nodded rather slowly, and Krill noticed a couple of eyes twitch. A couple others looked back and forth between each other exchanging looks.

“I am Commander Vir, and this is the UNSS Harbinger, this is my weapons specialist Sunny, and my chief medical officer Krill. I am in charge of the ship, and while you are on board, you will follow my orders just like any member of my crew. I will not tolerate shenanigans, whining, complaining, arguing, and any other accompanying bullshit that you may be likely to bring aboard my ship.”

He turned his head in another wide circle making eye contact with each and every one of them. 

As his eyes passed over a group of the students, Krill watched them burst into another fit of giggling turning to look at each other.

The single eye snapped around to glower at them, “Something Funny!” He demanded 

The girl in question went bright red and then stammered out a, “N… no.”

More giggling erupted from somewhere in the back.

The commander didn’t look pleased. A rope that was already beginning to fray snapped, “Alright, that’s it, the brig,  the lot of you.” 

A gasp rose up from the students, and the teacher as she protested.

The commander turned, “If you cannot take the rules seriously than you go exactly where you belong. The brig. You may leave when we reach Mars.”

Sunny and Krill exchanged a glance as the commander stormed off.

“Changeling, brain injury, or mind control.” Sunny wondered 

Krill shrugged, “Search me.

No one noticed a form slipping away quietly as the rest of the students were  shepherds away.

***

Sunny and krill sat quietly in the darkness of the bridge watching their friend, as he leaned against the upper platform railing glowering out at the field of stars, and the small red dot that was Mars.

He had been like this all evening sullen and silent withdrawn into himself.

Sunny noticed the figure in the doorway before krill, and quietly stood not recognizing the figure.

“I thought I sent you all to the brig.” The commander said, his voice echoed eerily in the darkness. As far as either of them had seen, the commander hadn't turned to look, so there was no way he could have known who was at the door. The figure paused, and then deciding against running stepped into the room.

It was one of the teenagers. 

She was somewhat muscular for her size with short dark hair colored half purple. She had a squarish jaw and long legs despite being well over half a foot shorter than the commander. 

She did not appear bothered that she had been caught. 

Wandering inwards, she paused next to the captain’s chair, and then in a shocking breach of decorum, she took a seat throwing her legs over one of the arms.

Krill was pretty sure “teenagers” had no sense of personal safety.

Commander Vir turned slowly to face her frowning eyes narrowed.

She locked eyes with him blowing a large pink bubble which popped loudly in the intervening silence.

“Get out of my chair.”

Another bubble, “Why.”

“Because if you don’t I'm going to rip off your arm and beat you with it.” To her credit, she withstood his gaze for longer than your average person might half before finally signing and sliding form the seat and onto the floor. The commander watched her go, as she crossed the ten feet to the navigators chair and made herself comfortable there.

It was the Commander’s turn for a deep sigh.

Krill and Sunny watched in fascination. Like watching a puppy chew on the tail of a wolf.

The commander glowered at her, and she glowered back.

He looked about to say something but was cut off as the student opened her mouth, “Why do you hate teenagers so much?” 

That caught the commander off guard, and whatever he had been planning to say died on his lips.

“I mean I saw you once or twice on the TV, and you usually aren't this much of an asshole, so you must hate teenagers.”

silence .

“Where you bullied in school. Because I-”

He cut her off, “You think you’re edgy don’t you.” It was her turn to be cut off, “Let me guess edgy teenager with some sort of tragic backstory. Maybe mommy is dead, maybe daddy is mean perhaps they are both fine, but they don’t pay attention to you, and so you act out, pretend like you don’t care about anything try to look edgy so you can be different because no one understands you or something, right.”

“Don’t pretend-”

“Don’t pretend to know you, want to know something kid- I WAS you, and let me give you a little secret.” He leaned in,  “You aren’t special, your problems aren't personal. You are exactly like every other kid in there who thinks no one understands them and their problems are special and that the world is unfair, well guess what your problems aren't special, of course the world is unfair, but it’s unfair to everyone. So quit the edgy bullshit because it doesn’t make you cool it makes you an asshole.”

She remained quiet. Krill and Sunny looked on in fascination. Some of the wind seemed to have been taken out of her sails, but she remained quiet, “My turn?” She asked 

“Go ahead, I would like to hear it.”

“You aren’t special either, lots of people were bullied as kids difference is not all of us grow up to be successful. So you don’t even have anything to be mad about.”

He took a seat in the captain’s chair to look at her, “I’m under no illusion that I’m special. I am also under no illusion that I try to be different, just like you. Difference is, I can admit what I’m doing. I’m just like everyone else, a normal guy who got lucky and am now in a place to do something good for once. As for the difference between you and I, I NEVER ruined public property to get what I want. What did you do cut the power outlet to the fusion cables.”

She was quiet.

“It’s either tell me or face jail time, you’re call.”

She sighed and leaned her head back on the seat, “I just….. Wanted to see your ship, ok.” There was silence in the room, “Yeah, I get it was stupid, but my life isn’t likely to go anywhere, but i saw my chance and I took it to at least SEE my dream, and maybe get lucky enough to meet you, but low and behold, I get aboard the ship, and my hero turns out to be a masive Dick, so i guess we both lose.”

There was silence.

Turning to look at Sunny Krill found an expression of shock on her face eyes wide mouth slightly open. She hadn’t gotten up from her seat.

His voice had softened, and Krill watched as the look of anger melted from his face replaced with some mix of shame, “I….. what makes you think your life is going nowhere.”

She kicked her feet, “I’m not exactly good at the whole school thing.”

The commander shrugged, “So what, join the UNSC, and then you can see space all you want, that’s what I did.”

She shook her head, “No can do chief, I’m sick, they wouldn’t take me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Maybe they won’t let you join the marines, but a support position is fine. As far as medical equipment, we practically live in a flying hospital, so whatever you need could be done for you on a ship.” He got up from his chair and stopped to stand next to her staring out at the darkness. With a sigh, his shoulders slumped, “You’re right, I’m sorry. I had a bad time in school and I’m taking it out on you and the others…. It’s not very adult of me…. Or very professional for that matter.” 

She waved a hand, “Its ok most of them belong in the brig anyway.”

He gave a dry chuckle, “Even so, I should probably go apologize.”

“Wow, not every day I meet an adult who can admit when they’re wrong.” 

Commander Vir turned towards the door, “Yeah, if you’re going to join kid, you need to get rid of that hatred for authority complex. Most of us are just doing our jobs and occasionally…. We actually care.”

I wouldn’t go as far as the commander and say that teenagers are the incarnation of evil, but I would, perhaps, suggest that they are the incarnation of the devil’s advocate. They have questions queries and demands that are designed to challenge older humans. If the exchange is met correctly, both will learn something. The younger will gain knowledge from the older, and the older might just understand their own reasoning better than they had before, or even identify issues with their own logic.

If the exchange goes wrong there will only be anger and enmity between the two parties. Young humans need a lot of direction, but they also need the ability to choose their own path. It is an older human’s duty to impart the knowledge allowing the younger human to make the best decisions, without trying to control them.

However, Despite the philosophy, I think there is some argument that can be made for the devil incarnate…. 

[reynesofcastamere]

Meteor Stream

(A/N: *siiiiiiiiiiigh* I have no self-control, apparently. Warnings for excessive violence, gore and intrusive thoughts. Set a couple of months before ‘Fragile Stars’ and ‘Fractured Comet’. Unbeta’d.) “Hallway is clear.” “Not clear! Not clear!” Calm assessment turns to frightened screams, the sizzle of burning flesh, and a rapid symphony of blaster fire. Maul’s sabrestaff returns to his hand after finishing its’ deadly arc, now putting the weapon to use to deflect and return incoming shots. The faceless drones of the Emperor still believe they have the advantage, even now. Foolish. His squadron shoots them in the back the moment the blast doors open, leaving the corridor littered with their corpses.

He steps over them without a second thought. “Report.” “Long-range communications are jammed and we’ve managed to sabotage or lock down the exits. The outside reinforcements are going to bleed when they show up.” Saxon sounds immensely pleased, even if he’s not in proper beskar’gam at the moment. Maul’s orders had been clear: Standard mercenary gear only. If Imperial intelligence manages to salvage anything out of what they leave behind, it would be that one of the surviving, treacherous Jedi had lead a group of the galaxy’s bottom-feeding muscle in some pitiful attempt at revenge for their Order. Much as the fiction chafes at him, it is useful. “Sliced into their short-range too. Been hearing some interesting chatter.” There is a gleeful edge to Saxon’s tone that immediately makes him suspicious, especially when Kast elbows her comrade sharply in the side. “Is it relevant to the mission?”  “Uh, not strictly speaking, but-”

“Then I do not care. Complete your objectives and keep communications to a minimum.” Maul states curtly, waiting only for their affirmatives before he stalks off. They do not have a great wealth of time to waste. There are plans for certain...experimental prototypes stored here that will prove quite useful, once acquired and modified to his standards. Yet this facility is merely the secondary target, a loud and violent distraction to leech obstacles and security away from the true prize. If his operatives succeed, he will have a backdoor into all Imperial communications for this sector. Information is where true power lies, my apprentice. Not in crude metal or munitions. One of his Master’s many useful lessons, even if the memory of Sidious’s voice has him gritting his teeth. Focus. There are more stormtroopers headed his way, but he also feels something...else. Slightly more distant. Familiar. White-armoured humans pour out into the hallway, taking up position and firing. Two of them are rotated like puppets on a turntable, shooting their comrades and sowing chaos in the ranks as he darts forward, deflection turning to lethal crimson arcs that send severed limbs and heads flying; This is what he was meant to do; Sabrestaff in hand, the Dark Side flowing through him with every pulse of his twin hearts, controlling the intricate flow of violence, discord, and death. His final target whimpers as Maul reaches inside with the Force and crushes his single, rapid-beating organ. Blazing eyes close for a moment in the aftermath, but then-His head jolts up as if catching a scent, lids snapping open and pupils dilating. Tano. She is here, he can feel it. Getting closer with every breath. Rage and hunger war with each other. On one hand, her potential interference infuriates him, on the other...Oh, the thought of her fully unleashed in combat and fighting for her very life stirs his desire to a fever pitch. Mine. No! He is not an animal to be led by such base urges. But at the very least, he does need to intercept her before his people do. It does not take long. Maul seals the door behind him as he enters what appears to be the mess hall. The name is certainly appropriate now, with tables and benches scattered all over the floor and corpses haphazardly strewn across them like broken dolls. He has arrived just in time to watch the tail end of her combat, deactivating his sabrestaff and placing it on his belt. She remains a thing of beauty in motion, arching and twisting through the air, utilizing gravity whenever possible to increase the momentum and power of her strikes. When the last trooper falls, she turns towards him, tense and wary for a moment before recognition sets in and she powers down her weapons. They stand, silent as he removes the hood and mask that have kept his more...prominent features concealed. The sight of her gaze skimming over his form and her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips decides his actions for him. Maul prowls forward, grasping her upper arms once close enough and backing her into the nearest wall. His fingertips glide upwards then, over her shoulders and the lovely column of her neck to cup her face between his hands. Before he can bend his head to kiss her, she’s holstered her ‘sabres and has jumped up into it, legs wrapping around his hips as their mouths meet. He growls into the contact, which is neither shy nor restrained. Her tongue is absolutely wicked when he allows it entry, and he reciprocates her passion with a near-vengeance. Nothing exists outside this moment but the heated press and slide of their lips and tongues, the shuddered inhales and muffled groans. Even with her armour, Ahsoka’s body is remarkably pliant, curving and fitting against him perfectly. He could have her, like this. Hear her scream as they rut together in the midst of carnage. She might not even mind- “We’ve got company. Evac is scheduled in 10 klicks. You have the plans?” Kast’s crisp voice interrupts his...idle musings and extinguishes most of his desire in one fell swoop. He withdraws just enough to give the woman in his arms a questioning look, and feels some relief when she nods. Maul had suspected that the Rebellion might want said schematics for similar reasons, especially if only one agent had been sent to handle the job. “Yes. Be advised that I will not be coming alone.” He is not letting her out of his sight until they can finish this properly, even if business must come first.

“Ah. You found your cuyan. I’ll pass the word along.” Kast responds, entirely unruffled by this development as he glowers. “You are not in the habit of making assumptions, Kast. I would suggest you do not start one now.” Maul’s tone carries a subtle hint of warning as he slips both hood and mask back on. He and Ahsoka had already disentangled themselves and were on the move, with her re-opening the door so that they could exit the mess hall more quickly. “There’s only one darjetii you keep tripping over, Mand’alor. Saxon was trying to tell you about the other intruder with lightsabres the buycise [buckets] were wetting themselves about. Kast out.” Was the dry, almost bored response before she cut off. He can feel a tic developing in his left eye while his companion is trying desperately not to laugh. Bane save him from nosy Mando’ade. “She does have a point.” Ahsoka remarks, still clearly amused. “Unless there’s someone else who’s been assigned to pester you lately?” He knows full well just what she is implying even in jest, and it briefly makes him see red. She is deliberately tempting him with the sly curve of her mouth and the sudden sway in her hips. If they were not in such a hurry, he would- No. Focus. “No.” Maul nearly spits out, but has no opportunity to continue as they become occupied with clearing a path to the pick-up point. They just make it, leaping inside the ship seconds before the docking ramp folds up and closes. Flush with victory and high on adrenaline, he presses her up against a stack of crates, practically devouring her mouth once he’d removed the barriers to that particular goal. One set of her fingers digs into his nape, a low moan vibrating in his chest when she matches his ferocity. “HA! Pay up!” He is going to kill Saxon, usefulness be damned. The full force of that thought is imprinted into his glare, watching his second-in-command wither and turn pale. “Er...I mean, welcome back, Lord Maul.” “Interesting way to debrief. The holocam footage should be illuminating for new recruits.” Kast remarks, expression placid as ever. He has the absolute worst Nihlus-damned luck and his inferiors should be thankful that he cannot punish them for flagrant insubordination while occupied with an armful of irritatingly-compassionate Togruta.  Ahsoka smiles, apparently content despite current circumstances, and he feels something lurch within his chest. Perhaps...He can be lenient, if the situation is allowed to improve. Soon. (A/N: *looks back up at fic* How in the HELLS did this start off with Maul’s Murder Hallway II: Stormtrooper Edition and end with teenage romcom shenanigans? I can’t even...Ah, well. Also introducing Rook Kast Has All Of The Chill, Gar Saxon Has None, And They Both Ship It. Neither Ahsoka or Maul have had their ‘Oh no’ moment yet at this point in the timeline, buuuut I’ve already written the result of Maul sort of having that revelation. Ahsoka’s will be arriving. Eventually. If I don’t keep getting sidetracked. Cheers!)

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Deacon St. John || Phantom in the Night [1/5]

A/n: This'll be a short series. There are spoilers, so I'll put a spoiler warning before you read.

⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️

I hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

***HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD! PLEASE NOTIFY ME OF ANY ERRORS!!!***

***** Prompt: A mysterious woman with a mask has been traveling around the regions taking out whatever evil she comes across. When Deacon meets the woman behind the mask, his entire world changes. *****

~3rd Person POV~

The moment Deacon set foot in Copeland's Camp, he saw the entire encampment gathered in between the kitchen and the bounty stall. Mark stood in the middle as he addressed his fellow men and women. "I understand your concern, but we've no need to worry. Phantom means us no harm."

"What if she does target our camp?" A woman asked nervously.

"I assure you she will not. Now get back to work!" Mark shouted. Everyone headed back to their posts, a suffocating air lingering throughout the camp.

Deacon was perplexed as to why the entire camp was acting strange. He wake sober to many, greeting the mechanic. "Hey, Manny. What's going on here?"

"You haven't heard?" Manny inquired.

"Why the hell do you think I'm asking?" the drifter scoffed.

"Recently, there's been this girl spotted out in the shit. She wears this creepy mask and black clothing. No one knows who she is under the mask. People around the camp are afraid she'll attack us next," Manny explained.

"I didn't come here to listen to the camp's problems. You got anything new for me?" Deacon asked.

"Sorry, Deek. Nothing today."

"Alright, thanks."

Manny watched as the drifter mounted his bike. "You're leaving so soon?"

"Like hell I'm sticking around." Deacon started his bike and took off.

<———————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

As Deacon was riding through Belknap after accepting a job from Tucker, he was ambushed by marauders. A bullet pierced his right shoulder, knocking him off his bike. The motorcycle scraped against the asphalt as Deacon landed on his back with a painful grunt. "Fucking marauders..."

Four marauders charged at him, their weapons raised. The sniper tried to shoot him again, but the man in the tree suddenly was shot and screamed as he plummeted towards the road.

Deacon grabbed the bat hanging on his bat, ready to defend himself. Before he could even swing it, all the marauders were killed. The gunshots rang through the air, but the drifter was unable to locate his savior.

Suddenly, a figure climbed down a tree by the highway and landed a few feet away from Deacon. By the stature, he knew it was a woman. She turned around, revealing the mask concealing her face. 

The sniper in her hands alerted the drifter, but she lowered and slung it across her back. Deacon was still on high alert as she walked towards him. Standing directly in front of him, she pulled down the hood and took the mask off her face. (H/c) hair tumbled out of the hood as she pulled at the strands to straighten them out. "I can help with your shoulder if you'll let me."

"Uh..." Deacon wasn't sure what to think at her offer. He was still puzzled at her sudden appearance and how she saved him. Now, he wasn't sure what to think of her offer, but he decided to accept her help. "Okay."

"Follow me." The woman guided him to a nearby bush where she fetched a backpack. She rummaged through it and pulled out what she needed. "I know we just met and all, but I'm gonna need you to remove your shirt."

Deacon glanced at the woman with a stoic expression. "You're serious?"

"No, I'm gonna patch you up magically through your shirt," she sighed. "Yes, I'm serious. It's my fault you were shot, anyway."

"How is it your fault?" The drifter questioned as he removed his cut, jacket, and shirt to allow the woman access to the bullet hole in his shoulder.

"I watched the bastards set up the ambush. I should've taken them out the moment I saw them." The woman began examining the wound before cleaning it thoroughly. "Good. The bullet passed straight through. Name's (Y/n), by the way."

"Deacon," the man gave her his name. "Phantom, huh? What are you—some masked vigilante? Never thought I see one of those in the middle of the apocalypse," Deacon commented after he let out a faint grunt of pain.

"Is that what people are calling me? And no, I'm not a masked vigilante. I go around taking out Freaks, Marauders, and Rippers. A few Squatters here and there, but mostly Swarmers and Newts."

"Why the mask?"

"Easiest way to take down a bunch assholes is to infiltrate their own ranks. The mask is so they don't recognize me and report who truly is behind the mask to other marauders. Even with most of the world's population being Freaks, rumors spread like wildfire out here in the shit." (Y/n) bandaged up his shoulder before placing the supplies back into her backpack. "There. It should heal in a week or two since it didn't hit anything major."

"Yeah, uh, thanks." Deacon put his clothes back on while (Y/n) slung her backpack over her shoulder.

She nodded and smiled. "You're welcome." Swiveling on her heels, she began making her way down the highway.

Something inside Deacon nagged him to tell her to stay. He cleared his throat and called out to the woman. "Need a ride somewhere?"

"Actually," (Y/n) spun back around to face him. "I do. You know where Black Crater is?"

Deacon nodded. "Yeah." He went over to his bike and hauled it off its side. "I'm heading there, too."

"Oh," she smirked. "You after the Rippers camped out there, too?"

"Guessing that's why you need a ride there," Deacon said. "And yeah. Those bastards keep ambushing supply runs for the Hot Springs."

"And Tucker asked you to do the dirty work for her," (Y/n) stated matter-of-factly. "Not surprised. Hope you're willing to have a partner on this endeavor."

"For once, yeah. Hop on."

(Y/n) secures her backpack against her back and mounted the bike. She placed her arms around Deacon's waist with a smile. "Let's go kill some Rippers."

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<

Eight months later, Deacon and (Y/n) found themselves at the Lost Lake Camp. They were forced to bring Boozer to the encampment due to blood poisoning from where a few Rippers had torched his arm. He was currently unconscious in the infirmary while Deacon had been dragged off by Skizzo.

(Y/n) sat at a picnic table, fiddling with a single bullet. She had used nest residue to create a single berserker bullet and was dying to test it out on anyone. While her gaze was focused on the bullet, she didn't notice Rikki sit down across from her. "It's (Y/n), right?"

"And you're Rikki. Nice to finally put a face to the name," the woman responded.

"You've traveled through Belknap and Cascade. Heard any interesting stories about this so called "Phantom?" I heard she wears this weird mask and goes around killing people."

"I've heard about her a few times during my trips. Not sure about the mask, but I heard she's been focusing on hordes recently."

Suddenly, the two women heard someone clear their throat and they turned their heads. At the end of the table stood Deacon, who was glancing between (Y/n) and Rikki. "Sorry, Rikki, but I need her right now."

"Y'know, Deek, I always took you as the loner type. I never expected to see another woman by your side with... you know..." Rikki's voice trailed off.

"Jesus, Rikki," Deacon exhaled. "We're not doing this shit again."

"I know, I know. I was just... surprised, is all."

The drifter grabbed (Y/n)'s upper arm and tugged her out of her seat and away from the picnic table. The woman already knew about Sarah and how Deacon had finally managed to get over her death a couple of months after their first meeting on the highway with her help.

The drifter released (Y/n) as they stood beside his bike. "Hop on. We're going to pay the Rippers a visit."

"What did Skizzo say to you?" The woman asked as she mounted the bike behind him.

"A plane carrying supplies for the Red Cross crashed in Iron Butte. If Boozer's wants a chance to survive, we have to get that medical supplies."

"We're heading straight into Ripper territory. Are you sure you want to risk the peace treaty Iron Mike has with Carlos?"

"That fucking treaty is already falling to pieces. We're getting that supplies one way or another." Deacon revved the engine and took off out the gate.

It was a thirty minute ride to their destination, which was a bridge connecting Lost Lake and Iron Butte. (Y/n) glanced up at the watchtower built beside the bridge. I don't see anyone on duty." Deacon contacted Skizzo, learning the post was unmanned on purpose. With no one on watch, it made it easy to infiltrate Ripper territory.

"Shit..." (Y/n) groaned as she spotted a car blocking their path. They quickly hopped off the motorcycle as Rippers shot at them. Taking cover behind a truck, the duo gladly responded with their own frenzy of bullets.

"Join us and we will—!"

(Y/n) emerged from their cover, shooting the woman in the head before she could finish her sentence. "I'd rather die than join a cult. I also kinda like having hair."

Deacon killed the last Ripper and they focused their attention on the car wedged in the opening between the makeshift walls. "Help me with this."

The woman placed her hands on the grill of the car beside Deacon's and they pushed the car to make room for the motorcycle. Once the vehicle was no longer an obstacle, the two returned to the bike and took off deeper into Ripper territory.

"Snipers!" (Y/n) shouted as she saw two Rippers and scanning the area with their weapons. Even though they had been spotted, the enemies' aiming was terrible and off the mark every time. Not wasting any more time, they drove past the assailants and to the crashed plane.

Dismounting the motorcycle, Deacon and (Y/n) climbed up a ledge and found the plane. From the wreckage, a Swarmer was tossed as if it were light as a feather. A thunderous roar caused both of them to hide behind a boulder.

"Great..." (Y/n) huffed under her breath.

Deacon watched in horror as a large creature emerged from the crashed plane and tore the Swarmer limb to limb. "The hell is that thing?"

"Never seen a Breaker before?" She whispered.

"Wouldn't be asking if I did," the drifter retorts, eyes plastered to the large Freaker as it stomped around the crash sight.

"Set the brute ablaze and let loose whatever ammo you have left. He'll be tough, but we can take him."

(Y/n) went to sneak up behind the brute, but Deacon grabbed her arm and forced her to remain behind the boulder beside him. "You're staying here."

"You're talking to a girl who's taken down plenty of these things by herself and who hunts down hordes in her spare time. I can just add another Breaker to the list of things I've killed. It's more of a tally than a list at this point."

"No," Deacon hissed.

"At least let me get the supplies while you fight the big guy," she whispered back, a hint of anger in her tone.

Deacon glanced between the Breaker and the plane before agreeing to her suggestion. "Alright. I'll distract it while you get the supplies."

"Just remember what I said, Deek. Fire makes it vulnerable." With those final words, (Y/n) broke off and headed around the other side of the boulder. She waited for the drifter to grab the Breaker's attention, which he did with a molotov. She sprinted to the plane in search of the medical cache and couldn't help but hear Deacon struggling against the large Freaker.

Once (Y/n) locates the supplies, she was disappointed to only find one remaining. Although, she was grateful there would be enough supplies to heal Boozer. She had only met the man a month after knowing Deacon. Now, it had been seven months since then and the two were practically friends. Of course, she and Deacon have spent almost every day the past eight months together taking jobs from Tucker and Copeland after learning how well they work together when they took down the Ripper ambush camp in Black Crater together.

A loud, painful groan tore (Y/n) from her thoughts. She ran out of what was once the cabin of the plane and saw the Breaker stomping towards a cornered Deacon. Grabbing the knife attached to her belt, she held the hilt tightly as she charged towards the shirtless brute. She leapt on its back, startling the large monster. Raising the blade, she plunged it into the side of its skull as it tried to grab her with its large hands. A simple blade to the brain was all that was needed to kill the Breaker.

(Y/n) unlatched her body off the Freak's back before its heavy body collapsed to the ground with a loud 'thud.' She wipes the blood off her knife before sheathing it.

Deacon got to his feet, running a hand across his neck as he coughed. "How the hell did that work?"

"Breakers have relatively tough skin and the muscle underneath makes it difficult even for bullets to pierce. Even with headshots, they're still not easy easy to kill. With fire, the skin burns and becomes brittle. In all honesty, the victory goes to you."

"Nice to know," Deacon sighs. "You find the medical supplies?"

"There's only one cache left, but it'll be enough," (Y/n) responds.

"Grab it and let's get the hell outta here."

Once the medical supplies was strapped to the back of the bike tightly, (Y/n) hopped on and they headed back to Lost Lake. When they crossed the bridge, they had an encounter with Skizzo and Rikki soon arrived on the scene. Surprisingly, she didn't scold either one of them for entering Ripper territory to retrieve medical supplies.

On the ride back, Rikki has taken them on a detour to the sawmill not far from the encampment. On top of a roof, they overlooked a horde wandering around the old sawmill. (Y/n)'s eyes narrowed as this horde was much larger than the ones she has faced before. She hadn't realized Rikki had left until Deacon called out to her. "Don't even think about it."

(Y/n) turned her head, showing the smirk on her face. "You know me so well."

"Yeah, well, Boozer and I are the only ones who know you're really this "Phantom" everybody's scared shitless of who goes around taking out hordes without a care in the world."

"Hey, I've taken out plenty of ambush camps, too. Not once have I attacked an encampment."

"You're unpredictable to them. That's why they're scared," Deacon said.

"Then I better give them a reason to trust me. And to do that, I'm starting with the sawmill."

"Hell no. You're not taking out a giant fucking horde by yourself."

"You're not gonna stop me, Deek. You should know that by now. Anyway, you should head back to Lost Lake. I'll be there shortly."

The drifter was confused as to what she was planning. "How do you plan on getting back?"

"Walking. It's not far from here. I can manage."

Deacon shook his head in disbelief, but he knew he couldn't force her along. "Fine. Radio me if anything happens."

(Y/n) offered him a gentle smile. "I will."

Deacon hopped off the roof and headed back to the camp.

The woman leapt down from the roof and grabbed her backpack. She pulled out her mask and change of black clothes she usually wore to accompany it. Changing her attire, she shoved her original outfit into the bag and departed to Lost Lake Camp.

The moment the guards saw (Y/n), they shouted for Iron Mike. The men and women kept their weapons aimed at the woman as she waited patiently for the gates to be opened. She could hear people in the camp scurrying around and could see a few gathering in front of the gate through the chain link fence.

The gate finally opened and Iron Mike cautiously stepped outside the camp with a stern expression. He stopped a few feet away from (Y/n), staring through the dark eyeholes in the creepy mask. "What brings a woman like you to Lost Lake?"

"Simple." The mask muffled her voice slightly, but it was enough to disguise it so no one could recognize who was under the mask. "To help."

"With what, stranger?" Mike responded cautiously.

"Hordes, ambush camps, infestations... you name it, I'll do it."

Rikki was intrigued by her offer and stepped outside of the camp to stand beside Iron Mike. "You wanna help? Start with that damn horde at the sawmill."

"Let her in," Iron Mike declares, shocking everyone in the camp besides Deacon and Boozer.

"You really think we can trust her?" One of the guards expressed his doubt.

The leader of the encampment spun around and faced the man. "If she was a danger to us, she wouldn't be making the roads safer to travel." He and Rikki walked back into the camp with the masked woman close behind. They sealed the gate and everyone stared at (Y/n) as she passed them.

Deacon suddenly appeared, blocking her path and glaring daggers at her. "Can I talk to you in private?"

"I know you're mad, but—hey!" She whisper-yelled when the drifter grabbed her arm and dragged her to the cabin he and Boozer were assigned.

Inside, Deacon slammed the door shut and pushed her against the wall by grabbing her upper arms. "What the hell are you thinking?"

"Can't I help the camp out?" She retorts vehemently.

"You can help without that fucking mask."

"I'm trying to build a good reputation so I don't end up getting shot in the shit by someone from one of these encampments."

Deacon squeezed her arms tighter, causing her to wince. "What happens when people start wondering where (Y/n) goes when Phantom's around, huh?"

"Cover for me. Tell them I went on a supply run or to check in with another camp," (Y/n) replied.

"You are just—never mind." Deacon released the woman, allowing her to adjust her mask. "If you're taking on the horde at the sawmill, you're not doing it alone."

"Sorry, Deek, but I need to do this alone. I better get going before it becomes night." (Y/n) saw the concern written all over the drifter's face and sighed. "I'll be fine. If anything happens, I'll radio you."

Deacon nodded. "Just come back in one piece, alright?"

(Y/n) smiled gently. "I promise."

[netraptor]

Fanfic: Gunshy

This is a short fanfic I wrote of @newbabyfly ‘s characters, but mostly about Gideon. When a warlock girl meets Gideon and runs away from him in panic, he’s drawn into a web of blackmail and cruelty centered around Gambit and a Shadow of Yor it’s been attracting. But can Gideon save this girl, or will they both become prey?

Chapter 1

Gideon didn't expect to find trouble among the books in the Archive that day. The big warlock studied the bookshelves in the Vanguard Archives, absently running his fingers through his silver hair. After deliberating for several minutes, he selected a stack of books on the Roman Empire. His broad shoulders brushed the bookcases on either side as he edged out into a study area. Here were several tables with chairs, a few other warlocks scattered among them.

The Tower archives were a combination library and computer lab. Gideon went there often to study and soak in the peace and quiet. After intense missions in the field, or a lot of Gambit, it was nice to sit with a few books and a tablet, reading about Earth's long-vanished past.

He set his books on the nearest table. A human girl with improbable bubblegum-pink hair looked up with a frown.

"Excuse me," he said. "Mind if I sit down?"

The girl nodded and slid her own books to the side.

Gideon pulled out a chair and sat down, then flipped open one of his books. As he did, he happened to notice the Roman coliseum on the front of one of the girl's books. "You're studying Rome, too?"

She nodded and inched her chair backward. Her eyes flicked over him, then down to the book. "Yes, I'm ... researching Roman architectural design. I've actually visited Rome, and many of their buildings stand to this day. Including the coliseum."

"Really!" Gideon leaned an elbow on the table. "Did you go inside?"

The girl gave him another quick, up-down look, as if he was a hostile alien and she was scanning him for weapons. "No, I ... there was a Fallen encampment inside. I couldn't get close."

"I've visited Venice," Gideon offered. "Or what's left. It's mostly underwater, now. But the books say it was once a city with waterways instead of streets."

The girl winced and suddenly rose to her feet. "Excuse me, I ... need to go." She left her books and almost dashed for the door.

Gideon's ghost, Emery, phased into sight above Gideon's left shoulder. He wore a sparkling disco ball shell, and his blue eye blinked curiously after the girl. "That was odd."

"Her sudden departure?" Gideon said. "Yes, quite strange. She even left her books."

"No ... I mean, she was afraid of you. The moment you sat down, her heart rate elevated. I took it for attraction at first, but her stress level began rising, too. She departed in the midst of an anxiety attack."

Gideon blinked at his ghost. "Why should she be afraid of me? We're fellow Guardians."

"I don't understand," Emery muttered. "Well, her ghost tag says that her name is Sienna. I suppose we'll recognize her if we ever see her again."

"For a person named Sienna," Gideon agreed, "her hair was far too pink."

Gideon would have forgotten Sienna, except that she was in the Archives the following day, too. He'd returned his books and selected more, only to notice the tell-tale bubblegum hair across the room. Sienna was bent over a book with her back to him, and hadn't seen him come in. Her ghost floated at her shoulder, watching the room.

"I'm going to introduce myself," Gideon thought to Emery through their bond.

"All right," Emery replied. "Maybe she won't be so frightened if she knows who you are."

Gideon crossed the room and stood beside Sienna's table. Her ghost whispered to its guardian. Sienna looked up and started, hands flattening against the table. A little lightning flickered over her fingers.

"Hello," Gideon said with his most engaging smile. "I believe I frightened you yesterday. That was not my intent. I'm Gideon."

The woman sat perfectly still, staring up at him. He was reminded of a cornered deer he had once watched the Fallen spear to death. Sienna had the same wide-eyed, desperate look.

Her ghost whispered to her, then looked up at him, too. It wore a blue and orange Vanguard shell.

Sienna tried to smile. She only succeeded in baring her teeth. "Hello. Gideon. I'm Sienna. Do you mind?" She flicked a hand, asking for space.

Gideon stepped back, and Sienna rose to her feet. The top of her head only reached to his collarbone. Gideon was taller than most people, at 6'8, but he dwarfed this girl.

She tried to face him, but as she looked at him, she gasped as if suddenly unable to breathe. She darted sideways and fled out the door, leaving her books behind once more.

Gideon gazed after her. "Should I be insulted, Emery?"

"Uh ... I don't know." Emery usually guided Gideon through sticky social situations, but the ghost was at a loss this time. "She's genuinely afraid of you. Have you ever interacted with her before? Crucible? Gambit?"

"Not that I know of," Gideon replied. "And I'd remember that hair. This is ... passing strange."

He glanced at her books. Instead of Rome, this time, all her books were about the Hive.

No sooner had Gideon left the Archives than he received a call from his teammate, Echo-3.

"Hey Giddy!" she said through the ghost link. "Killy's off training baby hunters, and Stoomdorm's busy. I just took an assignment to thin the Vex on Venus, but I need a fireteam. You and Nika game?"

Gideon groaned. "Nika's in the Dreaming City for the next month. I'm up for a mission, for what it's worth."

"Just you, huh?" Echo said, sounding disappointed. "We need one more. Who do you know who's free?"

A random thought crossed Gideon's mind. "I just met this warlock named Sienna. Maybe she'd be available."

"Right," Echo said. "I'll give her a call. Hold please."

"Her ghost is playing hold music," Emery said. "Do you want to listen?"

"What music?"

"Metallica."

"No thanks. I prefer the Beatles."

Gideon headed down the Tower walk toward the living quarters at the far end. After the loss of the old Tower during the Red War, the Vanguard had relocated headquarters further down the wall, where there was another hanger and lots of unused space. Guardian quarters were inside the wall itself, several floors down.

As Gideon clanked down the metal stairs, Echo's voice returned. "Talked to Sienna, nice girl. She agreed to come along. How do you know her? Should I be jealous?"

"I met her in the Archives," Gideon replied. "We share the same tastes in books." He didn't mention the panic thing, since he didn't really understand it. "No need for jealousy, Echo."

"Uh-huh," she said. "Well, suit up. We're shipping out in an hour. I need some of that sweet glimmer to buy a new sparrow that just came in."

"Echo, you already have three sparrows."

"And they're slow! This one has a nitro booster. I've got to buy it before some other hotshot does."

Gideon and Emery rolled their eyes at each other.

"Oh," Echo added, "bring your sword. You want to impress a girl, swords do the job."

Gideon thought about this as he unlocked his apartment door. "Is that a euphemism?"

"No," Echo said with exaggerated sincerity. "I never make lewd jokes. How dare you suggest it, Giddy."

"Don't call me Giddy," he said, and motioned for Emery to cut the connection.

"She'll be mad," Emery said.

"No, she won't," Gideon said, locating his favorite armored combat robe with the belt made of chains. He'd known Echo practically since he'd resurrected. Killy had more or less trained them both, and their team was more like a loose dysfunctional family.

He outfitted himself in an enviro suit, then the armored robe, then selected his weapons. Definitely the compound bow. He'd been practicing with it for months and could put an arrow through the eye of a Hive Knight at three hundred yards. A hand cannon for close range. He lingered in front of his weapon rack, dithering between the replica Ace of Spades and a far shadier weapon called Malfeasance. In the end, since they'd be fighting Vex, he took the Ace.

He topped off his selection with a sniper rifle, and he was ready. He nodded at Emery, who transmatted him to his ship in the hanger--a quick flash of light and a sensation of flying through the void.

Echo waited nearby, tapping one booted foot. She was an Exo, a human intelligence in a robot body. She wore heavy Titan armor that concealed her hourglass figure and tossed an auto rifle from hand to hand.

"There you are!" she said, waving at Gideon with her rifle. "We just need our third and off we go."

Gideon thoughtfully pulled his helmet on and fastened the straps.

When Sienna transmatted in, she didn't seem to recognize Gideon. She nodded politely to both of them, then approached Echo and shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you. You're the fireteam lead?"

"Hell yes," Echo exclaimed. "Time to murder some robots."

"Is it murder, then?" Sienna mused.

Echo laughed. "We can debate it in transit. Let's get out of here."

As Gideon climbed the ladder to the cockpit of his jumpship, he caught a glimpse of Sienna staring at him, gripping her own helmet until her knuckles turned white.

This mission might not be as straightforward as he'd hoped.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 9

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Physical violence, crime(?), SMUT

A/N:  This is the longest chapter of Stay I’ve done but I just couldn’t bring myself to break it up into two small chapters. I’m just gonna come out and say that after the cut is just a chunk of smut, sweet sweet smut (I’m still feeling some kind of way about the smut I write but whatever it’s fun). And don’t these two deserve some smut?! 

I hope y’all are still enjoying these ladies as we kind of go on this winding journey with them. This one is so different in pace from my other stuff, that it kind of throws me a bit and I worry I’m not building enough up here. But -shrug- Oh anxiety how I love you making me question literally EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN THING I DO. 

Still I’m so happy this happens to be my last fic post of 20-GAYteen (I mean I pushed this to today just to make sure it was lol). Gay smutty and emotional. Perfect ending to a stressful year lol.

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight  @jeromethepsycho @daniellajocelyn @marvel-randomness @katecolleen  @yanginginthere @buckysstar

You don’t care about the money. Sure it was the biggest payout you had ever agreed to, yes the money would be a great cushion, hell you could stop working for a bit. But you had been in enough tight spots throughout your whole life that you knew when to cut and run.

Back in your hotel, you throw your things into your bag, double check the few weapons you carry, and leave out the back formulating an escape plan as you go. A car would be the best option, the airport was too risky, too visible. So you head to the closest car park and plan to jump the shittiest car you can find.

As you jimmy the door of an old Peugeot you sense someone approaching you, the vibe distinctly making you think of that Brock fuck from earlier. You spin and a knife just misses you. Grabbing your bag you run. At the edge of the lot he catches you and slams you into the brick wall you face scraping against it.

“You know,” he growls in your ear, his breath hot and damp, “Pretty girls like you really shouldn’t be out alone at night.” You push back against him testing his weight and stance and he presses harder, “This is really going to be much easier for you if you just play along.”

He can’t see the sly smile that curls your lips. This wasn’t the first man to think he could easily get the drop on you. Before you could have defended yourself well enough, but now… Thanks, Honey, you think as you kick his feet from under him and slam your elbow into his face as he falls. Just like Natasha showed you.

He is, however, tough. In an instant he’s up, nose bleeding, “Oh, I’m going to enjoy fucking you up now.”

“I bet,” you drawl you lip curling up in disgust. He lunges at you and there’s the perfect moment for you to use Natasha’s headlock. It’s as satisfying as you anticipated. You don’t have to try to knock him unconscious though. Thighs squeezing his throat you rest your hands on his head. Initially, your intention is to do to him what you had done to the merc in the warehouse, completely rupture his brain, but he slams you both onto the hood of a car before you’re able. Not before you can do just enough to render him unconscious though.  

He slides down the hood from between your legs and you try to get breath back into your lungs and fight the spinning in your head from slamming it into the car’s windshield. There wasn’t time to gather yourself though. You had to assume he wasn’t alone. Grabbing your bag you sprint toward the nearest populated street.

People seem to think it’s best to stick to the outskirts when you went on the run but really the more people around you the better your chances. Especially when dealing with someone who obviously wants to stay off the radar.

In front of a busy touristy restaurant, you note a valet. Perfect.

You felt bad about knocking the kid unconscious, and a Mercedes wasn’t exactly low-key, but right now it was run or be killed, or worse… captured.

As you drive, you try to sort through the images that sunk in from this Brock. No other personal information but his first name had come to you but you saw training that didn’t look to be U.S. military, a fleeting glimpse of an emblem that looked like an octopus, and some sort of ceremony that made you think of videos you had seen of Nazi Youth rallies. You were certain that he was still a lackey. Just a pawn sent by someone to collect you. Because he had said ‘fuck you up’ not ‘kill you.’ Those were two very different things.

Then there was the emotion you gathered from him, conviction. This was something beyond just some crime syndicate. No. That level of devotion was fanatical. He enjoyed hurting you, he was enjoying it because he thought there was some deeper purpose he was serving by doing it.

Every part of you wants to warn Natasha. Be able to tell her something to signify that things have gone very wrong with this gig. Sadly, the two of you hadn’t thought that far ahead. Right now the only thing you could do was get the hell out of Turkey, head into some nondescript European city and wait for her call.

- Post Snap -

You run your finger around the edge of your crystal tumbler, making the glass sing. While you hadn’t gone to your room you had switched to a corner booth. A few tables down a man is on his side on the bench, curled up, weeping softly.

You envy him. Other than a few stray tears weeping hadn’t come to you. Falling apart couldn’t happen, not yet. Even when you saw your team turn to fucking dust you hadn’t cried, just stared in horror. Shock maybe. Or maybe at this point in your life, you were just too broken to show quite that much emotion. Who knew?

Brock. the name rolls around in your head. Brock fucking Rumlow. If only you had gotten his last name then. Maybe if that had come to you so many things would be different… better… maybe then you wouldn’t be sitting in this hotel bar at the end of the world wondering if you were too broken to properly mourn.

Rage, red and hot begins to fill you. Not just at him but at them all… everything and everyone who seemed determined to make your life hell. You shake with the emotion, the energy from it welling inside you, making the space between your brows ache.

The bartender, leaning on the counter and staring into space, suddenly looks in your direction. Instinct telling her what her other senses can’t. That someone or something here is very… wrong. A threat she can perceive though she can’t tell what it is or why she’s feeling this. You force yourself to take a deep breath, quelling the anger inside you just a touch. She seems to relax once you’re no longer flinging your emotions into the room.

Once again you turn your thoughts back to your memories. Something to ground you so you didn’t send the room into a frenzy on accident.

Dublin, that was where you landed after Turkey. A part of you had wanted to head back to the states but that fucker was obviously American and you wanted to be close enough to get to Natasha quickly.

Thankfully, her time in the Red Room was short and you were only there for a few weeks before the message came through to meet her in Prague.

- February 2005 -

You sit at the bar of the mid-range hotel Natasha chose sipping on a Makers. You’re on edge, had been for weeks ever since your run in with Brock. All your digging had brought up nothing but dead ends and cold leads. However, three days ago, the agreed payment had been deposited into one of your accounts.

You didn’t touch it. Still weren’t sure you would. All efforts to backtrack the transaction led nowhere. Whoever that employer had been they were a ghost now. It left the worst taste in your mouth that even the Makers couldn’t drown.

You sense her before seeing her. Her aura louder than a siren. Your heart skips a few beats and a smile fills your face. Spinning on your bar stool you look to the lobby. Her sleek black trench conceals her figure and large sunglasses hide much of her face, still, she has the presence of a stunning woman. Your woman.

Natasha’s eyes light on you and it feels like you’re caught in the best kind of electrical storm. All your hair is on end your skin tingling just by her looking at you and smiling. Damn.

She nods toward the elevator and walks away. You leave a tip on the bar and follow her.

Just to be safe you don’t acknowledge one another at the elevator. Well, no more than two strangers would. Just smile and nod while looking to passersby that you’re standing in companionable silence. Nothing gives away the fact that the air between you is on fire with emotion. The doors slide open and somehow you maintain composure on the ride up.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life. The wait as you were bleeding from that stab wound was less intense. When you finally close the door to the room nothing in the whole damn world could keep you from one another.

Immediately you press her against the wall, desperate to taste her kiss. Gripping her shoulders you press your lips to hers. It feels like the first breath you’ve taken in weeks. Her body melts into yours immediately. Reaching up you pluck the sunglasses from her face and toss them away.

Emeralds peek from beneath her lashes. The circles under her eyes only making the color all the more striking. On her right cheekbone is the ghost of a bruise. Tenderly you press a kiss to it. Without a word she opens the memory to you, a woman’s swift backhand cracking over her face. It didn’t matter. You had her now.

Pulling back your hands find hers. Gently you tug her to the bed. At the foot, you slip your fingers into the knot of the trench coat belt and undo it before sliding the garment to the floor. She takes your chin in her hand and pulls you into another kiss and you slide your hands around to the back of her skirt tugging the zipper down.

As her skirt slides down her hips you do the same, slowly sinking to your knees before her. You hook your fingers into the lace of her underwear and pull them to her ankles, holding her gaze. Her nails dig through your thick curls and scratch your scalp, sending tingles through your body as you bring your mouth to her, sucking a bit, teasing.

When the small moan of pleasure tumbles from her, you grab her hips and push her back onto the plush bed. Surrendering she tumbles back, with more grace than should be allowed, her legs tangled in her heels, skirt, and underwear dangle from the edge. Freeing her of the skirt and underwear, you slip the killer heels from her feet and run lingering kisses up her legs.

Goosebumps cover her creamy skin and her breathing is ragged. A part of you wants to tease her, drag this out, take time ridding her of blouse before having her but you’re not that strong-willed, unfortunately. Your lips press gently against her folds, tongue just barely tracing the outline of her.

“Fuck,” she sighs as her sips lift and her fingers tangle in your hair. When your tongue flicks across her clit she cries out just a little and the burning in the base of your abdomen ticks up a notch.

Yes. This is what you both need. Forget everything else. Right now there’s just this. Just the taste of her, the sound, her fingers in your hair. This was everything.

You suck at her clit, your nails digging into her thighs and she shudders with pleasure. Sliding two fingers into her you can tell she’s already on the edge, thighs shaking, breath ragged. Yes. You plunge as deep as you can, fingers curling just a touch, rolling her clit under your tongue.

“Y/N!” She cries, “Please baby. Oh, fuck!” Her hips buck up and you press them down hard with your left forearm holding her steady.

Her orgasm crashes into the both of you like a fucking hurricane. Holding your head steady her body practically convulses and you feel her walls contract against your fingers as you fuck her through it. Beyond the physical her emotions and pleasure curl into your body setting you on fire. This is very new and absolutely fucking incredible.

“Natasha,” you breathe out. You feel almost drunk as she guides you onto the bed.

Your head hits the pillow and you watch her slip the woven white blouse over her head revealing a lacy bra. You were so used to seeing her in tactical dress that it takes your breath away.

“You’re fucking beautiful you know,” you drawl taking her in. She smiles and lowers to your face kissing you deeply as her hands unbutton your jeans. Releasing the kiss she works them off you. You lean up and tear your tee off, desperate to feel her body pressed to you. Hovering over you she smiles as she presses her right thigh against your center, already slick. Your eyes flutter closed, the mix of emotions coming from her truly intoxicating.

“I say,” she whispers before kissing you, “we don’t leave this room for 24 hours.”

That was the best idea you’d heard from her yet

[onsgiftexchange]

Melodrama - GureShin Yakuza/Mafia AU (R17+)

◈ Pairing: GureShin ◈ Characters: Hiiragi Shinya, Ichinose Guren, Ferid Bathory, briefly mentioned Kureto and Mahiru ◈ Genre: Mafia/Yakuza AU ◈ Warnings: Angst, Gun Violence, Blood and Gore, Injuries, Stabbing, No Happy Ending, Character Death, (heavily implied) Major Character Death ◈ Word Count: 4032 ◈ Summary: 

Killing the host would be a vigilante’s wet dream, Shinya and Guren told each other in the days leading up to embarking to downtown Tokyo. To see his long, silver hair stained red from the blood gushing out of his head—to see his body riddled with bullets upon bullets upon bullets—to see those unsettling, vacant eyes gloss over as the convicting hammer of death cast his filthy soul into hell.

Author’s Notes: Hi, Feli here! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ Surprise, surprise, I am Ouyajuice’s (tumblr // twitter) Secret Santa for the ONS Gift Exchange. I hope you enjoy reading! (And let me know if you’d like for me to continue and take away Guren’s rights.)

Broken champagne glasses reflected more of an internal state than any mirror ever could.

Factions in a modern day guerrilla war against each other in the bustling criminal underground of Tokyo was nothing novel; each day, reports of catastrophic street battles littered the daily news morning, noon, and night; families were torn apart; husbands turned on their wives; sisters killed their brothers—all for some supercilious illusion of power no one would have the fortune of uprooting.

That didn’t stop ambitious rival gangs from trying.

What was to note, however, came from the flaring extravagance of these modern-day gangs calling the messy, gruesome shots in Tokyo day-in and day-out. Lavish philanthropic ballrooms filled to the brim with the most influential names in Japan and overseas—the aroma of escargot and Venetian wine, of freshly popped champagne glasses sensuously mingling with Parisian perfume tinging the chandelier-lit hall an ambient pink. The expensive flatscreen televisions displayed a slideshow of a variety of food and drink choices offered, as well as a growing list of names of some of the attendees.

Though, the true allure didn’t come in the form of luxury kissing the patron’s senses, but from the patrons themselves.

These patrons clad themselves in crystals and gold, largely ignoring the undeniable fact that their bounty came from blood. Only the richest survived, and the rich would continue to get richer if there was enough blood on the floor to wet the bottom of a martini glass. 

Within the sea of patrons having a hearty time laughing at some awful dinner party joke and complementing the financial success of the friend, they were about to have their lower ranking yakuza members slaughter in the back of an alley—discard their remains across the underbelly of Tokyo as a cruel scavenger hunt, and wipe out their entire bloodline—were those who sought to level out the playing fields.

With weapons concealed under a dashing dress suit of expensive material and golden Rolex watches, a handsome, handsome pair of men leant against one of the walls furthest from the grand stage at the back of the ballroom, sipping on crispy champagne and engaging in small talk with peers they knew they were tasked to murder in less than fifteen minutes. 

A sturdily built man with dark hair carefully combed back into a formal sweep—with just a few strands sticking out to add that spark of charisma so essential to his character—passionately, protectively wrapped an arm around the waist of his fair-haired companion who laughed softly at some horribly told joke one of the women attending the banquet dared to utter in his presence.

He felt the gun securely strapped to the waistband of Shinya’s trousers and had to resist the urge to rip it off of his partner and fire a single round of hot steel between this woman’s eyes.

“Ladies, please, if you keep inflating his ego like that, he’s going to end up leaving me again!” Shinya said with audible amusement, but Guren knew well enough that there was abjectness and fear carefully woven into his words with a solid mask, and he groaned loudly enough for the beautiful man at his side to laugh and lace his fingers through the ones at his side, making a show of how affectionate he wanted to come off to these patrons.

But the crushing squeeze cutting off Guren’s circulation was a far, far, far cry from affectionate. It was hostile. Angry. Terrified. And a reminder to him of the mission they were given from their Boss, Hiiragi Kureto.

“Again?! My goodness, what do you mean again?!” One of the women cried out incredulously, black hair swishing around as he dramatically turned her head between the men before her, the pink Zinfandel dangerously close to splashing over the rim of her glass and staining her hideous white fur scarf.

“Shinya, can we not—”

“Yes! Do you know I saw him sleeping with my sister before I caught her?” Another loud groan followed by a chorus of scandalized gasps and an enraptured laugh. “I admit, my sister was beautiful. Was. But we all know beauty is fleeting and God loathes sinners, cheaters, and nasty fiancée-stealing whores.”

“Oh, is she not alive anymore?”

“No, she betrayed our family. Sold our information to The Brotherhood and tried to run me through with a sword, haha! This guy—” Shinya jerked his thumb backwards with a jovial smile, intentionally catching Guren’s bottom lip and ignored the irritated “ow” that curdled the fabricated atmosphere of amiability. “—still hates me for killing her, but what was I supposed to do? She nearly put a bullet through his pretty little head before I could, so I had to protect the man I love.”

Shinya surveyed the sea of sympathetic nods, bright blue eyes glancing upwards to catch the boiling gleam in his partner’s stormy ones and shot him a satisfied smirk. For some reason or other, knowing that he was admitting to total strangers that he killed his sister– for secondary reasons like protecting his family’s gang, and more importantly for sleeping with his husband-to-be– felt good. He was boasting that he killed her, and these women didn’t think anything out of the ordinary, like murdering your siblings was just daily life (which, for these criminals, it was).

Petty shithead.

“Oh, Mr. Hiiragi, I am truly sorry for the circumstances, but it’s good to see that you and Mr. Ichinose are back on track! Have you sent out the wedding invites yet?” Another woman asked, a curious expression on her face, like she was dying to know of any other juicy conflicts these bright young yakuza are involved with. Before Shinya could open his mouth to indulge the woman in his fair share of gossip and continue throwing Guren under the bus, the crowd of patrons near the front of the stage erupted into delighted screams and deafening laughter at the arrival of the courier of the banquet.

Just as the noise died down, a small beeping from a Bluetooth securely  positioned in both men’s ears rang as a signal for them to begin their mission. Guren huffed a short “Let’s go” into Shinya’s hair, meant to appear to the guests as a gentle kiss placed on the side of his beloved’s head.

“We’re finalizing the last few details before we get them printed out. First, I have to hear Guren say he loves me and to make sure my engagement ring wasn’t won in some cheap arcade,” the smaller man laughed, holding up his left hand sporting a lavish diamond ring to the women to emphasize his point and send the joke home.

Oh, he sure is a lady killer, Guren thought with soured levity and a wry snort at the irony.

“For now, you’ll just have to wait for your lucky golden ticket. Until we meet again, my dears! We have some other business to attend to, but I would love to get your opinions on some decoration colours one day soon.” Shinya dismissed himself and his partner from the company of the women, his friendly exterior melting to expose the ruthless assassin borne as his true nature the moment he and Guren distanced themselves from the women.

“Thanks to you, we’re going to ruin this mission,” Guren hissed quietly as he checked his watch for the time and poked his head above the crowd of tipsy patrons for the unmistakable flagrance of their target.

“Will you shut up and search for him? I want to kill him so I can go home and get Kureto off my fucking back. I don’t know why he couldn’t get any of the expendable rookies to stop wasting our supplies on inconsequential turf battles and kill this pretentious asshole instead,” Shinya snapped back, lowering his tone so only the violet-eyed man could hear his heated words of aggravation for the task they were so graciously given.

“Well, if someone wasn’t bitching about my suit before we left the condo I might’ve had time to put in my contacts so I could see—”

“Stop. What you were planning on wearing was so ugly, Guren. I couldn’t let you do that to me—I refused. Why do you even own a yellow suit? Why? Who gave that to you? Who lied to you and said you looked good in something that is just a mustard cum rag?”

Between the tense silence and the muffled laughter from one of the waiters who overheard their conversation, not another word regarding the evening’s earlier mishap was spoken. Shinya didn’t need to see his fiancé’s face to know he was both livid and irrefutably embarrassed, with the flush dusting across his angled cheeks, past the dark circles under his eyes, all the way up to the tips of his ears.

The platinum-haired man snickered to himself as he reached into the holster at his side to unclip the polished Glock. The action brought no attention from any potential onlookers, either too consumed with the fanfare of fancy food, useless chatter, and illicit riches or arrogantly assured the man loading bullets into his gun was not here to ruin their nights.

No, the yakuza’s intended target was a singular foreign man who engraved himself into the merciless gang scene with his nonstop triage of intimidation, torture, slaughter against any and all who stood in his way. How sickening it was for such a monster to host a philanthropic dinner to donate all the proceeds and contributions to abused and neglected children in foster care, knowing damn well that he was responsible for the gruesome deaths of all those children four years ago in the Hyakuya orphanage.

But no charges were ever brought against him; the police were too busy shitting themselves over the very near and dear threat of losing their only source of income if they actually gave those poor children justice.

Killing the host would be a vigilante’s wet dream, Shinya and Guren told each other in the days leading up to embarking to downtown Tokyo. To see his long, silver hair stained red from the blood gushing out of his head—to see his body riddled with bullets upon bullets upon bullets—to see those unsettling, vacant eyes gloss over as the convicting hammer of death cast his filthy soul into hell.

“Do you see him?”

Squinting and scanning the patrons, Guren suddenly sucked in a breath, nodding firmly in the direction of the buffet table near an “Employees Only” door—most likely a rouse for the crowd and a quick escape plan for the host—and grabbed Shinya’s soft hands to get his attention. He lowered himself to brush his lips against the shell of Shinya’s ear, his warm breath dancing across his skin as he dropped his deep voice to a whisper. “The bastard stuffing his face with those little pastry things? The ones Kureto makes the lower ranks buy for him before a meeting? That’s Ferid. If we don’t kill him here and now, let him escape, then we’re both dead.”

All Shinya gave was a slight nod of acknowledgement, eyes flitting around the grand ballroom for all possible escape exits and any of Ferid’s guards, lest he and Guren fail detrimentally in their attempt. Pushing himself away from his partner already disappearing into the depths of patrons to cover himself, Shinya slowly approached Ferid with the gun loosely connected to his hip and ready to be fired at a moment’s notice. Besides the front archway leading to a magnificent set of dark cedar doors to the brisk night-time air and the “Employees Only” door directly behind Ferid, he noticed no other options of a quick escape for either the egregious host or the rival yakuza.

So either they’re blessed or extremely fucked.

Releasing a shuddering breath of apprehension and exhilaration, Shinya turned his head for merely a second to look for Guren, hoping to see him somewhere nearby as a safety crutch—but he was met with only patrons laughing in distorted greed and corruption. He saw pampered, makeup beaten cheeks; horrible plastic surgery to achieve a youthfulness never once experienced; wicked smiles of deceit and betrayal from other reputable office officials and yakuza bosses surveying the younger, oblivious women and sizing up the young men ready to throw their livelihoods and identities away for a named painted in curdled innocence and false hope of prosperity.

Much like how he and Guren were indoctrinated into this mess.

Just as Ferid came within walking distance—only five or six steps away—Shinya began to feel horribly wrong; a rapidly expanding ball of dread weighing down his stomach as the target came into view, absolutely unaware of the danger closing in on him. His left hand reached behind him in the most inconspicuous movement he was capable of, carefully managing the reactions of the warm bodies pressed around him in case they became privy to the black Glock sparkling under the limelight.

Alas, the thrill of the first bullet would not be used on Ferid.

In the midst of his calculating steps intended to deliver one fatal blast to the base of Ferid’s neck, the silver-haired gang member didn’t realize one of the waiters carrying a tray of champagne glasses had trailed behind him–bubbly liquor in one hand, unsheathed knife in the other. Completely inattentive to the threat of being stabbed, Shinya pulled back the safety on his gun and aimed it at the host’s carefully managed head seconds before he heard glass shatter; held the trigger ready to release and plant a bullet that would make a pink and red Banksy out of their biggest rival’s brains mere seconds before the weight of the world thrust into his side in the form of polished steel from the banquet’s kitchen.

He felt the cold metal of the knife cut into his skin immediately before his body registered that it was wounded, punctured, bleeding over the shiny linoleum tile; He felt the waiter–with excruciatingly uncoordinated movements, indicative of an untrained hired help–attempt to drag the blade through the middle of his body and dissect him on the spot, but this unfortunate young man was either extremely nervous, scared out of his mind to recognize the position the knife drove into Shinya’s agile body would give no purchase, given how it was securely wedged into his gun holster, protecting its wearer from any further life-threatening injuries; or the amount of blood on his hands from the flesh wound kept his grip unstable, continuously sliding off the handle as he tried to pull-pull-pull the knife in a direction counterintuitive to his own body.

The young Hiiragi’s initial reflex was to protect himself, first and foremost. No gap in time sequencing passed between Shinya hurriedly rearing the arm clutching the gun backwards against the waiter’s head, his finger slipping off the bullet, and the deafening sound of a barrel of steep blasting through bone, brain, and connective tissue.

The waiter, already dead, dropped to the ground in an unrecognizable lump of gun powdered flesh, his stunned body gushing and gushing and gushing from the gaping hole in his forehead in time to the panicked screams and thunderous footsteps of the patrons fleeing the building. Some people–frightened by the violence so commonplace in their world of killing off their enemies–ran towards Shinya, perceiving him as the ultimate threat, but didn’t make it far enough before they slipped on the waiter’s blood coating the floor. They fell into the mangled pieces of a man ruled by lies and clamoured backwards, shrieking hysterically and brushing off chunks of warm fat before a bullet silenced them.

And it continued until the mass of attackers waned and Shinya could focus on what the fuck went wrong.

In the chaos that ensued, one of Ferid’s guards–perfectly camouflaged within the crowd–knew he was going to kill him; the guard, who he immediately identified as the waiter that tried concealing his laughter while he angrily whispered to Guren about their plans (despite him no longer having any discernible features, courtesy of Shinya), followed him to protect his boss… his boss, Ferid….

Who used the turmoil of the patrons to escape.

“Fuck… fuck fuck fuck–FUCK!!” He screeched into the empty ballroom, furiously glaring at the dead bodies scattered around him. The knife sticking out of his side became less important than finding Ferid, figuring that he could let it stem the blood long enough for him to make his way to his motorbike and find his target.

But where was Guren?

“Fucking–” A strangled hiss of pain nearly had the man doubling over, however. His entire right side stung worse than flames licking his skin ever could. The blood seeping out of his body incrementally made him nauseous, nearly provoking him to spill his guts onto the little red sea at his feet. Yet he couldn’t–not until Ferid was dead. Not until his gang–his brother’s gang–was out of harm’s way, even for a little while. Not until he was home, safe, wrapped up in Guren’s arms.

Gritting his teeth hard enough to hear them creak beneath the force of his jaws, Shinya wrapped his free arm around his front to cradle himself, pushing the skin underneath the knife up against it to slow the bleeding just enough to refocus on walking–no, limping– to the “Employees Only” door, the one slightly ajar and reeking of death.

Opening the door should have been nerve wracking, but the silence of it was… almost soothing. The red hand print on the handle tipped the yakuza off that he should expect at least another attacker, but all he found behind door number one was his fiancé–bruised and bloodied, like he was just in a nasty brawl with someone; black hair effectively dishevelled and dripping in sweat from exertion and the utter stuffiness of the secret corridor; lips swollen and busted from taking one too many punches; large purple and red marks sure to leave ugly indentations in his skin for weeks to come–with his hands assuredly wrapped around Ferid’s neck, squeezing the last few puffs of air in his lungs before his consciousness gave out.

The foreign boss’s perfectly manicured nails were dyed a horrendous pink from the series of primal scratches wrought again the back of Guren’s palms and his face in his last struggle of survival.

Shinya leant against the wall, transfixed, watching the muscles in his fiancé’s arms strain, flex, relax, and repeat in order to suffocate the rich piece of shit. He stared with something akin to adoration as Guren released the listless body with a hard thump against the cold concrete floor.

Ferid wasn’t dead, not yet. Guren left that job to Shinya to finish.

Approaching his partner with an unreadable expression, he reached for the knife embedded in the smaller male’s side with the intent to pull it out and possibly perform some painful fucking first aid, but he didn’t even manage to wrap his hand around the blade before the sounds of yelling echoed throughout the corridor and a shower of gunfire hailed in the couple’s direction.

During the surprise attack from Ferid’s lackeys rushing in to avenge their boss, Guren tackled Shinya to the floor as a reflexive response to protect him, not registering the loud pained scream as the knife tore against more of his flesh and clattered against the floor on impact. 

Even on the ground steadily losing blood, Shinya was a trained killer and expertly fired single rounds into their attackers to give them even a few more minutes of life. He pushed Guren–fumbling on the concrete for his gun–off his body to regain enough stability to continue shooting, and a small sigh of relief escaped him when Guren took a protective stance in front of him to shield his injured body from any other trauma. In a practiced, synchronized tandem, they kept up an unstoppable momentum of firing–reloading–firing–reloading, watching the ragtag team of underlings fall like flies against the cool grey concrete slowly soaking up to a deep red.

But the relief would not last long and events soon spiralled out of control.

The barrage of Ferid’s men stopped after only a few minutes of an intense shootout, the corridor smelling of fresh blood and gunpowder. The only sounds were erratic, strained gulps of air from the handful of grown men dying as their lungs and heart succumbed to their injuries; and the laboured breathing perforating the air around Shinya and Guren, both battered and worn out from the night and their botched mission.

Hard puffs of gasps for air turned into breathless laughs as Guren got to his feet with a groan, cradling his arm, squeezing the flesh around his biceps like a vice. The lighting of the corridor couldn’t mask the prominent hole in Guren’s upper arm the size of a golf ball; couldn’t mask the way his skin rapidly lost its colour; couldn’t mask the blood spurting out of the very clear arterial wound and the tiny singed ring of cloth and flesh around the entry point.

Of everything that’s happened that night, Guren laughing at the injuries were draining his strength was the second-most mortifying sight Shinya had ever seen in his entire life.

The first-most was a bullet traveling at mach speed, piercing straight through Guren’s back and out through his left rib cage, with almost certain accuracy. The man released a startled gurgle and a choked noise of confusion as he stumbled over, face-first into the red-soaked ground. A bone-chilling three seconds of eerie silence was suddenly split wide open by an anguished howl of pain and panicked panting that only told a portion of the damage that single bullet had done to him.

Eyes wide and in horrified disbelief, Shinya’s gaze trailed downwards to the mop of long silver hair whose ends were permanently stained red and stared directly into the eyes of a man who refused to die without taking his assailants with him. He huffed, somehow audible through Guren’s low groaning and dry sobs of torment while the feeling in his body quickly dissipated and the writhing he did on the ground ebbed into sporadic convulsions. Still staring in shell-shocked astonishment, Shinya’s mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish out of water and at the mercy of the target they didn’t kill.

Ferid, baring his teeth in a defiant grin and cackling madly at the critically injured men, pointed his gun at Shinya and mouthed “your turn” before he smashed his bruised finger against the trigger.

And then he smashed his bruised finger against the trigger… against the trigger… against the trigger…

Five, six, ten times, Ferid’s finger pulled and released the trigger in the hopes that something would give, and the jam would fix itself. Yet it did not. The only respite for his suffering the Lord, if he existed, gave to the yakuza boss came in the form of a single bullet, which was quickly returned in kind to him.

Returned in kind to him ten times over, until the barrel of Shinya’s shaking gun was almost emptied into his immobile body. It slipped out of his hand with a loud clamour, and in the back of his mind he should have been wary of the trigger inadvertently going off and striking either him or Guren, but he was at a loss to give thought to much else, not when the cries from behind him weakened with every passing minute.

Trembling—oh, trembling and trembling and hoping to his brightest stars that his worst nightmare wasn’t coming true—Shinya ever so slowly, with the weight of the world crashing into his body like a freight train, turned his torso around to see the uneven breathing of his fiancé lying on the floor, blown open from the back, and eyes swimming in a mixture of fear, agony, cowardice, and determination as they glassed over, almost resembling the bloodied, broken champagne glasses from the banquet in the ballroom over.

[h-o-l-l-i]

What You Don’t Know

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: Requests are open! Let me know if you would like to be added to any of my tag lists!

SPN: @coffee-obsessed-writer // @roonyxx // @mrsjaxtellerfan // @princessofthefandomrealm

Part 1| Part 2

PART 3

The entire room fell silent; they stared back to you with wide eyes, mouth’s opened but no words fell out to fill the silence. You stood from you chair, shaking your head. “This can’t be; Michael. I mean come on. That’s not right, guys. Right?” You turned around, tucking your hands in your back pockets.

Cas stood from his chair, “Y/N, you know that this means I have to—”

Dean created a barrier, blocking the angel’s path to you, “We don’t know anything for sure, Cas!” His voice deep and protective. “Amara was just going to end the world and now we are just going to take her word for it?” He scoffed.

“Dean.” Castiel interjected, “If anyone else finds out, Y/N’s true nature they will kill her.”

“I can use a protection spell, you can give me the same warding that you gave them,” you pointed to Dean and Sam. “That should keep me under angel radar.”

“It’s worth a shot, guys.” Sam shifted his head slightly causing his long brown locks to sway away from his face.

“You hear her, Cas.” Dean’s voice lowered, his hand taking yours.

___

“Hey…” your voice trailed.

“What is it? Mother?” Crowley’s voice rang from inside the room rather than the phone. You turned around sharply, his sudden appearance catching you off guard.

“No.” You paused, shifting your weight, uncomfortably, “So, actually; I know who my father is…” you crossed your arms.

He chuckled and pulled out a chair at the table, crossing his ankle over his knee, “I’ve always loved daytime television drama.” He smirked wickedly, “Who’s the father?” He mimicked.

“Michael.” You stated making him choke on the amber liquid he swished into his mouth.

“Michael! As in the archangel Michael?”

“No, Jackson, the King of Pop.” You spat at your brother sarcastically, “Yes, the archangel.” You pulled out a chair and sat at the table with him.

“Mother doesn’t know?” He inquired, raising his brow to you. You shook your head in silence.

“We were actually going to see how it went with you before we tried to tell Rowena.” Dean’s voice shook the growing tension.

“How are you still alive?” He asked, turning towards the angel, “I thought you killed those…” his attention turned back to you, where he shrugged his shoulders, mouthing the word ‘sorry.’

“We warded her internally and she cast a protection spell just in case. I have agreed to keep her safe at all costs.”

“It’s not like she can’t do anything, she’s a neffleheffle thing. Her father is an archangel. We don’t even know what the limits of her power is.” he shouted.

“Nephilum.” You corrected.

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes.

“I need to keep things down, stay out of the anyones radar.” You interjected. “I think Mom can help with another protection spell, and I was thinking maybe you can keep some loyal eyes out for your favorite sibling?” You nudged him sarcastically.

He squinted his eyes at you, “Have Mother help you with that spell and I’ll see what I can do.” His eyes flashed red and then he disappeared.

___

“Mom. Hey, I’m going to need some of your magic for a spell.” You said. “It’s something I’ve never done and I might need someone who has done it before…” your voice trailed.

“And what makes you think I’ve done this spell before?” Her thick accented voice rang through the phone.

“Winchester’s said you should have been dead; Lucifer snapped your neck but you still walk. I need that.” You commanded.

“What’s going on, Y/N.” Her voice instantly going into a low, worrisome tone. “Are you in danger?”

“Not directly.” You sighed, “I can fill you in when you get here.”

___

“What?!” her eyes flared, “That’s not possible! Micheal is not your father, Y/N! There is now way in hell that I would ever—”

You interrupted the angry witch, silencing her as you held her hand in yours, allowing her to see what memories Amara unlocked for you. “He is Mom.” You whispered.

She cleared her throat and straightened out her dress, completely brushing off what she had just seen that confirmed the fact that Michael was the father. “Come on, Love.” She opened a glass container and began emptying its contents into the copper bowl. “Let’s get this done. So you’re safe, Y/N.”

___

You cracked your knuckles and rolled your head from one side to the other, “This was it.” You thought inside your trembling mind. “If I mess this up, we all die. Everything dies…no pressure.” You faked a smile and walked out into the garage of the bunker to meet the boys.

“All ready to go?” You charmed.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows down at you, pursing his lips together as he always did when he was concerned, “Yeah…are you sure you want to go with us? You can stay back here with Cas and—”

“I’m going Sammy. I need to.” You reached up, patting his shoulder before slinking into the front seat of the impala, settling in the middle of the leather bench seat.

“You think that’s a good idea? Y/N coming with us?” His tone was gruff as he spoke to his older brother.

“If she thinks she’s ready.” He stated, focusing on counting over the much needed weapons that were concealed in the trunk of his baby.

“Dean, we aren’t even exactly sure what we are walking into with this case.” Sam protested, “I don’t think she should take that risk. Not until we know what this is—or if the warding actually works!”

Dean cut Sam’s plea short with the loud sound of the trunk being slammed closed, the sound echoing off of the cement walls of the old underground garage.

“I trust her. If she want’s to go, Sammy. She’s going.” He stated, his eyes firm on his younger brother before his gaze broke, he opened the driver side door and roared the car’s engine from its deep slumber.

___

You rolled past the familiar sign that read Lawrence, Kansas; “Here?”  You said in disbelief, goosebumps layering on your skin as you pulled up to crime scene.

“Dean, is that?” Sam’s voice intrigued.

Dean’s eyes relayed over to where the flashing police lights illuminated, “Mom?”

[imagineyoungjustice]

1.5k Followers Milestone Drabbles 3/10

I need to cringe! I'd like to request a drabble where Bart decides to only speak in slang and dead memes for a week. He'd probably drive the team insane -Anonymous

Set in between season’s 2 and 3 but probably closer to the end of season 2! Also thank you guys once again for sending in your meme and slang suggestions I’ve never cringed harder when writing a drabble! -Terra

Tags: @ljblve​ @loverbug1123​ @aworldwideapart​ @wallywestie

Want to be added to our tag list? Send us and ask!

Also the easiest way for me to write this was to do a small collection of “mini scenes” in which Bart would use his memes instead of spending hours I didn’t have this week with all my assignments to make it one long story so I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted but this was the way I could push it out faster! Enjoy!

Monday:

           When Tim walked into the Watchtower that morning the last thing he expected was to see Bart, dressed in his Kid Flash uniform lying across a gap between two of the branches in the Watchtowers courtyard. He paused mid-step as he looked at the speedster’s placement, a faint flicker of familiarity pricking at the back of his mind at the rigid posture to Bart’s body. Then it finally dawned on him.

           “Bart… are you… planking?”

           “Fo’ shizzle Tim Drizzle.” Scratch that maybe that was the last thing he expected today.

           “Excuse me?”

           “You’re really harshing my mellow with all those questions, not very radical behavior of you man.”

           He’s sure his eyes were as wide as saucers by now as his mind scrambled to make sense of what he was hearing. He even pinched his arms a few times to make sure he was actually experiencing this right now and it wasn’t just some weird concussion dream.

           “Flash said he spent the whole weekend reading up on slang and memes, he hasn’t stopped speaking and acting like this ever since.” Jaime mumbled, his head resting on his palm from where he sat under a different tree. “I already tried explaining dead memes and dead slang to him, but I don’t think he’s quite grasped it yet.”

           Tim already knew this was going to be a long week.

Tuesday:

           Tim crouched among the underbrush of the jungle, using the thick foliage and natural shadows to conceal himself. The rain was light, but enough to make their stealth mission somewhat miserable with the wet seeping through the seems of their costumes and mud cling to their boots. They had been trudging through this for hours now, and now the end was in sight. There just ahead of them was the plant that had been pushing out a Reach-like drug under a new name. Kaldur had placed Tim in charge, giving him Bart, Jaime, and Vrigil to take it down.

           “Okay.” He whispered, looking over to his gathered team. “We need to do this carefully. Jaime, you and your scarab need to crunch the numbers, what are we looking at in terms of numbers and success percentage if we proceed with plan A?”

           Jaime paused, looking out over the small compound while the scarab did what it needed to do with its sensors. “Scarab says we’re looking at a thirty-two-point three repeating percent chance of success if we just barge through the front door in a full assault.”

           “Okay let’s not do that then. Static you’ll be on point.” Tim started dishing out orders for their plan B strategy when Bart stood up, pulling his red visor down in front of his eyes.

           “This is taking too long, time’s up let’s do this! LEEEEEEROOOYYYYY JENKINSSSSSSS.” Bart had sped off into the plant before any of them could stop him. The sounds of gunfire and shouting erupted from inside.

           “Oh my god we need to go in after him! Move let’s go!” Tim shouted vaulting over his hiding spot and rushing in through the front doors. Jaime and Virgil were thankfully right behind him. Inside they were met with complete chaos, enemies were scattered everywhere spraying gunfire in every which direction they though Bart was. Tim could only grumble as he threw himself into the fight, dodging what he could and taking the guards out one by one.

           Just when they thought they were in the clear, the last of the guards tied up and down for the count, Sportsmaster appeared on the catwalks above them. “I thought I heard the sound of you brats in here. Where’s the rest of your little team? Don’t tell me you’re all that came to shut this place down?” He laughed and jumped over the rails, landing on the concrete in front of them. Tim threw down some smoke pellets and circled around. Jaime and Virgil did their best to keep hitting him from range while Tim did his best to get up close and get a few hits in at crucial points. So far, it wasn’t working out well for them. He didn’t know where Bart was, but they were losing the fight badly, and they really needed his speed.

           With a few lucky hits, Virgil and Jaime were down and out. The small distraction from glancing at his teammates let Sportsmaster land a hit to him that sent him flying back and gasping for the air that had been knocked out of his lungs. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of yellow and red at the crate crane control panel, and one of the cranes lifting up.

           The crate came back around and smacked into Sportsmaster before he could advance on Tim, slapping him into the adjacent wall hard enough to knock him out. Over his shoulder he could hear Bart in the near distance.

           “HE NEEDS SOME MILK.”

           He would deny ever laughing as hard as he did later when he was giving his report on what happened.

Wednesday:

           Tim was speeding after Brick on his cycle, Cassie and Jaime right behind him. It wasn’t often the team ended up in high-speed chases but if Tim were being honest, he liked the change from the usual stealth missions where they had to watch each and every step. Bart had sped off ahead to try and cut off Brick and his thugs’ convoy. They had stolen important weapons tech, and they couldn’t afford to let him escape.

           “KF we’re losing ground where are you!?” Tim shouted into his comm. His motorcycle was fast but not fast enough apparently, especially with the way Brick and his gang were currently swerving through traffic. As much as he liked the change of pace, he did hate it when it was through the middle of a densely populated city.

           “I’m practically right there, just hang on tight for a moment everything will be totally tubular just wait!”

           “Ay mi dios.” Jaime mumbled from above. “You’d think with as fast as he goes, he would have at least caught up to current slang by now.”

           “Tell me about it.” Cassie replied, “I never thought I’d miss him saying ‘crash’ and ‘mode’ as much as I do right now.”

           “Let’s focus guys, please?” Tim called. “Blue can you get a shot at any of their tires yet?”

           Before Jaime could respond, they saw a familiar yellow and red blur cut into the street just ahead of Brick.

           “Damn Daniel, back at it again with the white vans!”

           Clever use, Tim just gave snort as Brick and the rest of his gang, very much driving white vans, had no choice but to suddenly swerve and crash into each other in order to avoid hitting Bart.

Thursday:

           Tim knew Bart was up to something as soon as he saw the shit-eating grin on the young hero’s face. The shaving cream in his hand was also a pretty good clue. With a small glance in the direction Bart was looking he confirmed exactly what was about to happen.

           “Bart if you value your life you will definitely abort exactly what you have planned.” His grin only grew wider.

           “Bart I promise you, as someone who lives with the guy. Don’t.”

           “SMACK CAM” Bart screeched as he used his speed to race forward, outstretching his hand at the last moment and slapping Batman right across the right cheek with the hand that was full of shaving cream.

           “Oh my god that poor dead bastard.” Tim whispered.

           It was dead silent in the Watchtower as everyone held their breath for the Dark Knight’s reaction. For his part he stayed silent as he wiped the shaving cream off his face, completely stoic before he turned to Barry.

           “Say goodbye to your grandson until he’s born Allen.”

           A muffled “YOLO” was the only thing Tim could hear as Bart sped away with Batman hot on his heels.

Friday:

           By now it was safe to say the entire team was sick of Bart’s new slang and meme knowledge. Sure every now and again Bart would have a clever use that would earn a small laugh or two, but for the most part they largely missed their mark prompting a lot of groans and sighs.

           Jaime had even tried bribing Bart with thirty bags of Chicken Wizee’s in order to get him to stop. It hadn’t worked so far. Nothing had, they were stuck in dead meme and dead slang hell until whatever this was had run its course with him.

           That’s why they all cringed as Bart walked up to the group. “What’s up my homeboys and homegirls?”

           “Bart we are literally begging you to stop.” Tim said.

           “No can do, haters gonna hate!”

           “Bart I will literally give you free Chicken Wizee’s for life if you stop.”

           “Lit, but as swag as that sounds, I’ll have to pass. Catch you guys on the flip side!” He called as he walked out of the room.

Saturday:

           “Hey Robin!” Tim just cringed and tried to ignore him, hoping that Bart would leave if he didn’t say anything. From the sympathetic look Cassie gave him, that wasn’t going to be the case. “Robin! Yo Rob! Robster! Robmiester!”

           He just sighed, “Yes Bart?”

           “Something came for you in the mail!”

           In a momentary lapse of judgement, Tim made a fatal error in his next choice of words. “Oh? What came?”

           “DEEZ NUTS.” Bart’s cackles could be heard all over the Watchtower. Tim was going to murder him.

Sunday:

           Once again Tim found himself in the middle of a fight with Cassie, Jaime, Virgil and Bart. This time however, the team had been called to assist the League with another bust this time being a large-scale reproduction of the Reach drink under a new name. Zatanna had been stationed with Tim’s squad for their particular section. Their job was to fight their way and disable of the brewery rooms.

           “Hey Zatanna!”

           “No Bart.”

           “I didn’t even say anything yet!”

           “I know what you want me to do and my answer is still no.”

           He stopped right in front of her, fixing her with his best puppy dog look. “Pleaseeee?”

           She just sighed and turned towards the rest of the team. “Everyone get up off the ground now!” Confused they did as they were told except for Bart who looked like a kid in a candy store being told he could get whatever he wanted. “eht roolf si aval!”

           Oh, that’s what he had wanted. The floor morphed from simple concrete to burning lava right before the team’s very eyes, taking out the robotic guards they had been pinned down by in mere moments. As soon as Zatanna called off the spell, Tim was quick to get his birdarangs ready before the next wave could barge in.

           “Hey Bart.” Tim handed the speedster the birdarangs primed for detonation upon impact. “These bitches empty.”

           Bart looked at him with big hopeful eyes as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. With a nod from Tim, he gently took them from his hand, turning towards the vats. “YEET.” Bart put his whole body into the throw, each of the birdarangs hitting their target and detonating the vats in an impressive show.

           “You’re encouraging him now?” Cassie called as they watched the compound explode in the distance.

           “Hey at least this one was current.”

[chisie12]

Dance of Silver - Chapter 7: Raging Flames

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142107/chapters/41760599

I also can’t bother redoing the full formatting on tumblr... It crashed. 

~*~

Schlick —

……

… d

         r

               i

                     p

                          .

                            .

                            .

                            .

                            .

                            .

                            .

                            Drip.

                            D r i p.

                            D  r  i  p.

A twisted scowl curved upon her beautiful features. She held onto her left arm with her right hand whose fingers still gripped onto the dagger as a thick stream of blood oozed out of the wound; a clean cut across her wrist of some inches down to her forearm. The breeze stilled as though horrified at her action. The forest trees froze and the birdsong died.

“You want my blood so much, didn’t you? Come and get it.”

An almost animalistic growl clawed at the back of her throat, a crazed fire in her vivid blue eyes.

She stood in the middle of a forest where roots grew relentlessly above ground and the grass tickled her knees. Miles away from Zurich, up by the green mountains with the afternoon winter sun still awake, Angela Ziegler waited for a few more breaths.

The blood continuously dripped and pooled into a puddle by her feet, creating a dirty, dark muddy colour as the sweet wine seeped into the soil.

“Haah…”

Angela then decisively stopped the bleeding, washed the wound with alcohol and wrapped up her arm with the bandage from her pouch before walking away from the blood pool. She unclipped the strap on her hip and brandished her weapon. Call it a play of the light, but even the Caduceus Blaster looked ominous in the shadows.

She knew, after hours of tinkering with the Caduceus Staff, that she could heal herself — although slowly — when she activated it; A very slow healing over time.

But that did nothing for her fury, her rage. Her emotions exploded from the deep caverns, erupted like an active volcano and vampires — damn, fucking vampires.

Crazed hungry snarls echoed throughout the forest. Idiots, she sneered as the sounds gradually neared until it was upon her when the sounds of whistling winds screeched like an ambushing eagle. Confusion gasped at the sudden onslaughts of arrows and as the group of vampires jumped back to avoid the trap, their feet triggered the tripwire concealed beneath the tall grass and another barrage of arrows immediately shot towards their heads, forcing the hunger-crazed vampires to dodge yet again.

“What the —”

As the vampires were about to retaliate against the traps and destroy everything within their vicinity, they couldn’t help but pause, frozen in their actions and stood as still as statues. Angela watched with a mocking sneer as they visibly gulped the lump in their throats, a trace of fear evident in their eyes.

That’s right.

Her traps? The arrows? They weren’t ordinary. Strong silver wire weaved through the air like an intricate spider web, strung from the arrow butts to the other end on the trees and ground. Mere silver wire might not be able to stop them in their tracks, but the metal shined with a pure light under the sunlight that peeked through the cracks in the leaves. The holy water shined, sleeking down the wires, but to the vampires, it looked like it was mocking them, just simple, pure, unadulterated mockery.

Swoosh!

A lithe shadow dashed in front of them and they instinctively scowled at the newcomer, only for greed and hunger to flash across their eyes as their gazes trained onto the bloodied bandage on her left arm. Noticing their gazes, Angela smirked and brought her arm up to her lips.

“You want this?” Her tongue licked at the blood, a mere few centimeters away from the bandage itself. Her eyes never left theirs, sneering inwardly as they brightened. Their muscles tensed, seemingly as though they would rip apart the wires regardless of the consequences. She lazily lifted up her right arm, point her blaster towards an unlucky victim.

“The hell are you —”

With her tongue still near her bloody arm and indifference in her dead blue eyes, the sounds of something popping cut him off before the male vampire’s head burned and sizzled like a candle wax melting under the flame. Angela clicked her tongue unhappily.

“I really hate the sound of this gun.”

Pew pew. Really? That sounds like bubbles being shot from the gun instead of actual bullets!

An uneasy silence fell like a heavy cloud. The damsel they thought was in no way in distress — definitely not an easy fodder. Was this the end for them?

Seeing their unreconciliation, Angela sneered and felt the anger surging out in heavy tides. If it weren’t for them — for vampires — then he wouldn’t be simply lying there, unmoving. He wouldn’t be in the state that he was currently in, lying like a damned vegetable when he was supposed to be out there — barking like a dog!

...not that she’d ever tell him that.

“To hell with this!” A burly vampire exclaimed. He brought his heavy arms down onto the wires, bracing himself for the inevitable pain and suffering that he’ll surely face.

A horrifying screech escaped his lips when his arms came in contact with the silver wire, and this was because not only did the holy water immediately burn and dissolve the edges of his skin, his arms had been totally dismembered by the harmless-looking wires!

“Hahahaha!”

The other vampires remained frozen, undaring to even move an inch while the armless vampire groaned and huffed in pain, fear evident in his bright red eyes. They stared wide-eyed at Angela whose head tilted back in a peal of near maniacal laughter. Her chest shook with every sound and they resisted the urge to flinch when she grinned an ear-splitting grin.

“I-Is she — Zurich Monster?”

No one knew who said that, but the silence that pervaded the forest, grew solemn, quieter than the dead in the cemetery. The vampires took a good look at Angela, scrutinising her gleaming blonde hair and vivid blue eyes, the black staff on her back and the equally black gun in her hand.

“Wow, you lot sure are the dumbest one so far.” Angela rolled her eyes as she fiddled with her blaster. “And here I thought the wires would have given it away, but I guess there must always be an idiot that volunteers himself to be the rat.”

The injured vampire paled and he involuntarily took a step back, only to howl in agony as the holy water on the wires behind him burned into his skin, the charcoal-like smell permeating the air, and rather than grimacing, Angela cackled in satisfaction. Burn. Yes, burn!!

Feel the pain! Suffer!

“You deserved it!” She snarled.

“W-Why are you doing this!” One of the female vampires shuddered in fear, flinching when the holy water grazed her skin.

“Why? Why?” Angela sauntered closer to her. Her demonic expression fell away, replaced by her graceful one as her hand fearlessly reached through the silver wire. She brushed the fingertip of her right index from the vampire’s cheek, a simple feathery touch, down to her chin before haughtily lifting it up and stared straight into those bloody eyes. “Why?” She repeated yet again with a little lift in her voice, the tone sweet like honey and pleasing to the ears.

“Oompf —”

The vampire shivered frightenedly when Angela roughly clutched at her jaw and bared her canines. Fingernails mercilessly dug into the skin and the vampire clearly saw the rage boiling in those blue orbs. The other vampires tensed and were about to move when the wires suddenly tightened and snaked around them as though they were alive, eliciting screams of terror amidst the sizzling burns. The only one spared from the torture was the female vampire that Angela was talking to.

She watched as Angela ‘Zurich Monster’ Ziegler clenched her left fist and her eyes caught sight of the hidden wires connected to the fingers.

Angela cursed under her breath, tightening the wires around her writhing victims. She gave the female vampire a side glance before her tone grew cold. The surrounding temperatures dropped at the chilliness and the vampire regretted, regretted so badly that she allowed herself to be enticed and attracted by the sweet, unique scent of fresh blood; one that she never had before. “Why, you ask?” Angela pulled her forward by the grip on her jaw, sneering even more when she struggled against the burns from the silver wires that her face was pressed against. Cold laughter brought shivers down the vampire’s spine. “Because of you, your kind, my brother is currently lying in bed in a coma. He may be dead. He may be alive. But he’s not moving. And it’s all your fault —”

“We don’t even know —” As soon as another vampire voiced out in retaliation, he was forced to bite his words, eyes wide in horror and disbelief painting his paler-than-usual countenance. “Y-You —”

Heartless. She was more heartless than them, and they were the so-called monsters.

His body didn’t look like it was riddled with bullets, but rather burnt and melted like hydrofluoric acid being poured onto him. Laughter as cold as ice, tinged with madness rang through the forest. The shadows darkened as the sun hid behind the clouds. Screams filled the air. Bodies were torn and melted; limbs slowly disconnected with a squelch. Fear, despair, regret covered the sky. Angela watched on as her laughter died down, from a chilling craze to a despondent breath. The fires dimmed in her eyes, replaced by a sheen of sadness when the last vampire died. With a wave of her arm, the silver wires disconnected and mechanically retracted into her sleeve.

Click.

Her body dropped onto the blood covered ground while the lighter drew an arc and landed. Flames engulfed the pile of dead bodies with a resounding cry.

Her only consolation was her own cries being drowned out by the fire.

…

Four days.

Literally. Four days.

Jesse… why aren’t you waking up?

The gunslinger still hasn’t woken up — her father hadn’t called her. He only had three more days to live, but he wasn’t waking up. Why? Why, why, why?

Didn’t you have dreams! Why aren’t you chasing them instead of lying like a vegetable!

It’s lonely without you. It feels so lonely. Where’s my partner? I can’t keep hunting without you!

…

A dark silhouette perched atop a tall branch that overlooked the scene below. He felt a pain in his chest, one that he hadn’t felt for years since he met her. He tugged the scarf higher to cover his nose as the sweet-smelling breeze wafted over, causing his crimson eyes to gleam a little brighter. He could hear her sobs, sensed her agony as she clawed at her aching heart.

He had been planning to leave Zurich, leave the country and hide away somewhere else where ‘Father’ couldn’t find him once more — at least not for a long while. He was on his way when that sweetness caught his attention. He half thought he had gone crazy from missing her, from thinking about her too much, when the scent hit him twice as hard a moment later.

Blood. Fresh, blood.

She was here.

Then like an actual madman, he ran, zipped through the trees like a moth to a flame.

He was here moments before the horde of vampires did, and he merely watched. She looked alright, in one piece, but her beauty looked a little cold this time, an icy beauty, even if he disregarded the fact that it was winter.

Sigh…

He leapt down.

…

A heavy pressure weighed on her chest. Her eyes burned red with hot tears. So much death. She killed them. They were still lives!

“Waaahhh!”

The pressure choked her and she could only cry out to the skies to relieve it. No matter how many she killed, Jesse wouldn’t wake up.

A shadow suddenly loomed overhead. Out of instincts, she steadied herself with a hand and leapt back to instantly distance her from the ambusher, and readied her blaster. Yet, oddly, the person just stood there unmoving, simply watching her with a pained gaze. Her mouth fell open in shock and her grip around the weapon loosened.

“Genji…?”

“Angela…”

For the second time that day, Angela slumped onto the ground with all will to fight leaving her body as a fresh bout of tears attacked her eyes. The sight of the green haired vampire blurred with a layer of water, rippling like a disturbed lake.

Why was he here now? Didn’t he leave? Disappear? Why was he here!

Genji took a wary step forward. She was so close to him and the smell of her blood still pervaded his senses. It made him lust for more, a burning need in deep in his body, but he willed it down. He wouldn’t — couldn’t — possibly drink her blood now.

When he heard her voice questioning him, his frown deepened. Yes, just why was he here? Why…

And a crazy idea popped into his mind.

He carefully and slowly kneeled on the ground one knee at a time, and unwrapped the scarf around his neck, gritting his teeth at the strong assault on his nose. With a strong will and a focus on her tears, Genji gingerly wrapped the scarf around her neck.

“Huh?”

“You’re not alone.” His voice was rasped with emotion and Angela wiped at her tears with the back of her hands.  

You’re not alone.

Genji’s words repeated in her head. But… but — she was — she felt —

Hopeless.

Useless.

Sensitive.

Her cries quietened, leaving her with soft sobs.

She gazed into his crimson eyes and relief washed over unknowingly. His eyes… they were the same as she remembered. Full of life; emotions — like any other human. But his breathing was laboured, a staggered rise and fall of his chest. A strained smile on his pale, scarred face that offered, at the very least, some kind of comfort.

“You’re not hopeless. Not useless. But I’ll have to admit, you are sensitive,” his lips quirked into a lopsided smile, a little less restrained now that he found her finding him not repulsive. He couldn’t see a trace of anger in the lake her beautiful orbs mirrored. He heard her breath hitch at the last comment and he took another step forward, a step to close the distance between them until their elbows were only inches away from touching, until he could smell her scent — not her blood, but her own calming scent of sweetness that reminded him of the chocolates they ate. Until her heavy pants fanned his chest as she looked up to lock his gaze, and he tilted his head down in response.

“But being sensitive isn’t a bad thing. It never was,” his hands twitched as he willed them to stay by his side, the tingling sensation of her hair on his skin, the slight warmth emanated from her body leaving only but a memory. “Otherwise I’d never have become friends with you, the weird vampire hunter that wanted to save vampires.”

A wet chuckle involuntarily escaped. “But it’s true. You don’t deserve to be hunted.”

“Even so,” his hands lifted, elbows bent as he wanted to wipe the tears away, but he paused as he tried to control his breathing. The blood, the heavy iron scent danced in his nostrils, but the salt in those tears, they hurt more than the pain his hunger brought. “Thank you.”

She jumped slightly. “For what?”

“Letting me feel like a human again.”

His voice was husky, laced with an emotion she could only see as restraint. His eyes glowed much brighter.

And then she found the strength to take inhale, to part her lips as her heart pounded low and deep with emotions that for once, weren’t clouding her vision.

“Genji, where were you —!”

She squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden gale that whipped at her face.

One second he was there, and the next, he was gone, leaving behind only a scarf and a lingering touch upon the corner of her eyes. Two quick pecks to rid her face of the tears, lulling them away with the gentlest of touch, but a whole moon of warmth. The scarf lingered with his scent of trees — pine. Had he been sleeping in pine trees? With a wet laugh and a hiccup, she lifted the scarf to her eyes, using the cotton to soak up the tears that again streamed down unforgivingly as she sniffled and cried.

She didn’t know how long it had been but the winter chill had begun settling in her bones. Even the fire had died, the bonfire limited to only the corpses of vampires that were now all but ash in the wintry winds. Snowflakes fell, the blanket of snow covering her, an odd comfort in her mind as her eyes slowly drifted shut. Darkness took over her vision. She held his scarf closer, breathing in his scent as her nerves calmed and a scratchy dryness remained in her throat.

So white, a beautiful white scenery. Holiness descended.

Then an apple came into view. Red and crunchy, full of sweetness, round and big nestling in a tanned, calloused hand. Jesse. He grinned at her. His face was the same 21-year-old Jesse’s face, with that wide, face-splitting grin. A short beard on his jaw and she phantomly felt the rough tickles of the beard on her cheek when he’d playfully rub his chin on her face.

A wordless exchange.

Angela suddenly sucked a cold breath in as she jolted awake, like an electric bolt shocking her awake. Eyes flew open in terrified shock and her breath came out laboured.

No, she thought.

That scene… did not feel like a memory. The background behind him had been too white; too bright and holy — like Heaven. A lump rose in her throat.

In the end, I believe you’ll know what to do.

His words suddenly spoke in her mind and her face twisted while her body squeezed out the remaining liquid it had for a new round of heart-wrenching tears. Bringing the scarf closer, she curled up into a ball, as tight as she could, as small as she could when her heart thumped like a slow beat of the drum, each hit more painful than the one before. The few centimeters of snow shifted with her movements, catching into the gaps of her clothes and shoes, the cold chilly enough to tell her: This was the reality.

An apple…

Unease crept upon her and she shakily pulled out her cellphone, the nagging curiousity gnawing at her nerves. She quickly typed in a few keywords of what she saw and she scrolled through until she tapped on a link that resembled the closest to her experience.

“Haa…” She released the breath she hadn’t realise she held.

[If you had a dream where you were offering fruits to someone, then this dream represents mutual love you two feel for each other.

This person is very important for you and you know that he or she feels the same way for you too.]

Then a thought struck her mind. Tapping back on her cellphone, she quickly typed in another few keywords, bringing up the website with the symbolism of apples. All she remembered was the fact that apples symbolised peace in the Chinese culture.

Peace?

Peace?

Angela’s expression fell.

Jesse. Oh, God. Jesse!

In a panic, Angela scrambled to her feet and snow jumped away in equal panic like snow fairies running away and scoffing at the ruined tranquility. But she ran away as fast as she could, scrambling and tripping over her feet, causing the rage of the snow as it fell harder, turning everything into a sea of white.

Jesse.

She needed to go back. Back to him. But she was at least a day away, even with the train. Cursing a string of expletives, she blew on her bare hands to keep them warm. The adrenaline pumped through her veins, providing the most needed warmth in the chill. The skies were blazing with an orange glow, like the flames that burned the vampires, like the fire that had settled in her heart prior to being replaced by anxiety. Worry. Panic. Desperation. The skies were mocking her, leering at her and taking joy in her misery.

Please let him be alive. Please.

The cold winds bit at her tear stained face. Branches and roots scratched and pulled at her rushing steps. She listened to the connecting beepings of her call and nearly shouted when it got through.

“Angie? What’s wrong?”

“Daddy! Did something happen to Jesse?”

“No… nothing should have happened. We’re just waiting for Ana to return from her trip.”

Angela’s teeth gnawed at her bottom lip as worry shone in her gaze. Ana Amari was returning from Egypt last she remembered, but she didn’t know if the old veteran would make it in time. Angela knew she needed the Valkyrie to save Jesse, but… there were only three days left.

Can they make it?

And even if they did, why did she have that dream?

I fear… Angela shook her thoughts away and she was frustrated at the prickling sensation at her eyes again. Jesse… I miss you. Please wake up already. I’m sorry for arguing with you. I’m sorry I’m too nice to the vampires. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please… Please just wake up.

[upsmymindwanderedagain]

Story of The Ice Wolf

PART 1

OTHER PARTS:

PART 2

PART 3

This is a Wanda x Reader story, as you might find while you read is that I changed several things of the canon universe for the story, so if you get confused, send an ask or just message me on the main blog and we can talk further into it.

English is not my first language this story may have some mistakes, so I apologize.

WARNINGS: none yet, the waters are always calm before the storm.

Steam dances in the air, the mug is way too hot to be held wrapping it with my hand, but my case that doesn't matter. The shiny vibranium hand doesn't have pain receptors, the only way to describe it is numbness, still is better than nothing, quite the souvenir from our time with Hydra. "(Y/N)" "Y/N" I snap out of my daydreaming as soon as I hear her voice, I hang my head backwards. "Hey Beautiful". Wanda only jiggles, "I wish the others could witness how dorky you can truly be, now you look like a puppy".  I only manage an annoyed scoff, "for starters I'm not dorky and neither a puppy little one, besides I rather have them fearing me than teasing me". "Babe you know I am the only one that you want teasing you senseless. Besides it doesn't matter what they think, for me you are my scary puppy".  I follow her while she gets close. "Anyway, what were you thinking?". "You didn't see it?". "You know I don't really like wandering in your mind without permission, I rather talk with you about it". Wanda is now standing before me. I extend my left hand, she intertwines our fingers, I gently direct her to sit on my lap, after a little butt wiggle she gets comfortable leaning her head on my left shoulder, her forehead is resting on my neck. I take a sip of the dark coffee, and after a little pause, I decide that there is no need to keep my silence.  "I was thinking about how I ended up being half machine... also It's been five years since we joined the Avengers". Wanda hums as answer and starts tracing the steel scales of my right arm, "Having second guesses?".  "Not really, living in a fancy tower with an entire floor for us is far better than my dog cage in that lab". I offer her my mug “Is just... It feels surreal, after all I've done and who I ‘am I get to call the avengers teammates. But must important I get to be with you". I lean my chin to kiss the crown of her head while I hold her close with my left arm over her stomach. "You are not that Wolf anymore Y/N/N we are avengers, now you are Y/N", she starts trailing kisses on my neck “...Maximoff" she whispers I can feel her smirking on my skin. A shudder runs my body. After taking a sip she gives me back the mug. "hmm… Is that so? I'll have to put a ring on your hand little one" I take her left hand in mine while I caress her ring finger". "Pietro will flip around". 

"Pietro can kiss my ass babe. I'll ask for his permission out of curtesy not for approval". (little did she know that I already did). F.R.I.D.A.Y. Voice disturbs our little bubble, "Miss Maximoff, Miss (Y/N) director Fury is on his way to the main conference room. Captain Rogers requires your attendance". Wanda slowly gets off my lap, "come on puppy" I let out a small huff of air, "thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y. We are on our way".  Before I get up Wanda leans in hungrily kisses me, it gets a little worked up, when I was about to pull her back in my lap (Fuck Rogers) she pulled away leaving me breathless. "see what I mean?". --- Maria Hill is standing in the conference room hallway, as soon as she sees us approaching she walks towards us. Wanda being the sweetheart she is, she greets her first "Good morning Agent Hill". I smile towards her, "Agent Hill". Suddenly a set of arms surround Wanda and me, but there's only one person that would dare to make such a move. "Hello Piet". "Hello Y/N how are my two favorite girls? no offence agent Hill, good morning". "No offence taken Mr. Maximoff". Several whiffs after, "Hey Y/N is that coffee made by you?" "Yes" as I answer I raise my mug for Pietro to take, the only one who seems surprised is Maria, the only trace of her reaction is the slight raising of her right eyebrow. "Thank you, darling" he gives me a kiss in the cheek and tries to leave, Maria stops him. "Pietro stay please". Wanda beats me in asking, "Is something wrong Maria?" "I won't say wrong. But this mission will be more complex to handle for the three of you, besides there are some questions that need answers". She sets her gaze on me. My voice doesn't quiver, but the twins can sense how uneasy I ‘am when I state, "you found the laboratory". Agent Hill only nods, "you are the only one that knows the inside Agent Wolf and as I said we need answers". She doesn't need to say it, her eyes wander to the right side of my skull, partially hidden by my (Y/H/C), my right arm and last but no least my right leg. Wanda holds my left hand as Pietro puts his left hand on my shoulder. The only thought that comes to my mind is that I can't back down now. My voice is deadly calm "We'll do it".

--- After some time waiting, Tony is the last to arrive to the conference room, surprisingly Pepper joins us too. Stark first words are "F.R.I.D.A.Y. Lock the door, until further notice". "Yes, Mr. Stark". Tony beats Director Fury with the announce of the mission. "So robocop I heard Fury found the lab where Hydra built you". This time is not our usual banter, this time his voice is harsh with no trace of humor. At the mention of Robocop everyone winces, well almost everyone. While Wanda, Pietro and Nat darkened their demeanor, Bucky only raised an eyebrow in challenge, Tony is quick to clear the air. "I'm sorry Barnes, but this time is not about you. I'm talking about to 2.0". If the atmosphere couldn't get more tense, it does after his final statement. My only answer is the hardening of my glare, if looks could kill, the asshole will be indeed dead. Agent Hill is the first to break the silence. "Mr. Stark, let me remind you that is not your place to talk about the mission and is unprofessional of you to insult a team member". "If she truly is agent Hill, for what I currently know she could still be a Hydra puppet. She used Stark industries systems to log in on Hydra data base". Stark being suspicious of me was not knew. Steve shakes his head disapprovingly and only gives me a sympathetic look. "Tony that particular break in was two years ago, you couldn't find out who was responsible, get over it". He asks Fury to go ahead with the details of the mission. Fury only lets out a huff of breath, before he starts. "Well as insensible as Stark was, part of his statement is true, we found the laboratory. And as you all can deduce the key member here for the mission is Y/N and the Maximoff’s and Barnes. The laboratory is in north Russia hidden underground. Our intel states that there are several prisoners which are used to experimentation. however, there was another activity taking place there, Hydra high ranks made the prisoners fight each other in tournament when they were not being experimented on or in line for a mission. The fight losers were heavenly punished up to the death". "Were? what changed?" Barton asks. "Our intel says that the base is no longer in use, but it has Hydra key information". "…Also the intel says that there is a former Hydra agent ranked as captain who was the undefeated champion until its exit. Code name Ice Wolf" Fury's sight slightly lingers on me, before going on. The only ones not oblivious to this action is Natasha and Bucky "This person is half machine, chosen weaponry twin swords and daggers, this person has a lethal aim with a wide range of machine weapons. Known for never show mercy, cold blood assassin, skillful in the art of torture this due to own experience. It's file is even bigger than the Winter Soldier". As my mind tries not wander in the memories of ‘own experience’, Wanda starts rubbing gentle circles with her thumb in my flesh hand, this little action is enough to ground me in the present. Steve is the first to ask, "Do we have a face to match?" Director Fury  only moves his gaze in my direction. Soon all the avengers stare at me, in expectation of an answer, Bucky, Romanoff and Barton got the message, Hill knows but don't let it show. Wanda takes my hand in hers, I hear her voice in my mind ("you don't have to do this play it off"). She knows everything I went through.  Pietro tries to interfere, "Dire...”

"Pietro", I cut him off, "can you go..." 

"Are you sure?".

"Yes, it's time".

"F.R.I.D.A.Y unlock the door please". 

Two rushes of air after, Pietro is back with a small black flash driver at hand. I take it with my steel hand.

I stand up, concealing everything I should not feel. I regard Stark in a hard-cold stare. "First of all, I know that you are suspicious towards me Stark, from day one you've been, let me tell you something only this time you are right, the break in and use of your system it was me, and I know miss Potts is here with the evidence".

"(Y/N)? What’s going on?", Steve asks clearly in disbelief. The others seem unsure of what to say or think, Fury and Hill only sees the scene unravel. Of course, they saw this coming.

Out of the blue Vision speaks, "You are the one that used the systems to hack Hydra data base. That makes you an amazing, skillful hacker miss Y/N, seems like miss Romanoff has a worthy rival".

"Thank you Vision, unfortunately you are not helping my case, but you are right".

"You are damn right! Tony says while harshly standing up, smashing his hand on the thick glass table.

"I spit the truth (Y/N)! Whose side are you on?!" his words are full of anger, his demeanor threatening, or as much threatening as he can be out of his metal toy.

If he calls a bluff, I will show him who rules hell. "Or what Stark? Do you have what it takes to pry the truth out of me?" I stand up and everyone tenses. Wanda doesn't let go of my hand, she tightens her hold, Pietro also stands and put his hand of my upper metallic arm, he lowly whispers in me hear "let it go, don't make a scene". He gets no acknowledge from me, he tightens his hold too, trying to get eye contact with me.

Still with Pietro's hand on my arm, I show the flash drive between my steel fingers, my voice has trace of emotion. "Take a look to this and find out if you have what it takes" I toss the flash drive towards Fury. He catches it with ease.

"That is a physical copy of what you all are about to see. I just wish this was under different circumstances". 

I set my gaze on Pepper's, she flinches a little bit, but I soften my voice, after all she is never being nothing but considerate with us. "You should leave... you won't like what you are about to see".

"Thank you for your concern Y/N, if it becomes too much I'll leave".

I can only hope she has not eaten yet.

"Bucky, same goes for you. If you choose to stay, sit by Wanda's side". Bucky stands up from his place beside Natasha, but instead of walk to the door he walks towards Barton who is seated at Wanda’s left. Clint hesitates but changes his seat with him.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y." 

"Yes miss (Y/N)?"

"Search in Pepper's personal server, the file's name is survilliance1.0, is masked as one of their wedding videos".

"Yes miss".

I take back my seat. 

"How the fuck you dare Y/N!" Tony exclaims. Pepper tugs him back to his chair. "Tony that's enough! Let her explain herself".

"Director Fury, I know you have been searching for my file, with no success... All the data is also on that flash driver, every single mission and kill is there. But I assure you. None of them were done with pleasure or ill will, I did what I had to know Hydra secrets to tear them apart, I will accept whatever punishment is fit".

Maria is soon to speak next, "Same conditions? it's been 8 years of blind trust".

"Almost... I want something else". 

"And that is?".

"Immunity for Wanda and Pietro, I take upon their punishments, my file is kind of intertwined with theirs. No harm is to come for them, they stay as Avengers no matter what".

Fury and Hill look surprised, "Y/N".

"After eight years there's no need of mistrust Nick, Maria, besides with my file is more than enough". I say with a shrug.

Wanda screams inside my head ("Y/N what the hell?! You will get yourself killed!").

("little one, trust me on this, if loyalty, service and trust mean something they will find a way to help me, someone has to soften the fall").

"I want all the intel, sources and resources".

You have them, in the driver. Fury looks satisfied. "Will do everything we can then".

There’s more to come so buckle up for a good ride. 

@redhairedwolfwitch I posted it :)

[backroombuzz]

Crickets From Democrats and Media About Chicago Gun Violence

Democrats Drag Out Their Soapbox Every Time Some POS White Boy Shoots A Gun, But Blacks and Minorities You Get Crickets From The Hypocrite Left

After another school shooting it's not shocking to read the left tweeting out their typical 'something must be done about guns' diatribe bullshit. What you won't hear from these hypocrite POS's is the least bit of outrage about the mass murder happening in Chicago every single day. For all their liberal gun bluster, Chicago has proven that there is only one solution. To combat senseless gun violence, an armed law abiding citizen is the only way to protect law-abiding citizens from criminals. I doubt that the POS 17-year-old would have walked into Santa Fe High if he knew someone was inside ready to shoot back. For all the leftist talk, the liberal loony toons never propose anything that would actually have stopped the school shootings in Santa Fe, or Parkland, or the Texas Church shooting or....... The sad truth is everything a lefty gun control lover could propose has been done tried by previous Chicago Mayors and that includes their latest Loony Toon Liberal Mayor. Here's a short list of current Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel's brilliant fails: He’s fired and hired multiple police superintendents He’s tried (unsuccessfully) to eliminate gun stores within city limits He’s tried (unsuccessfully) to keep shooting ranges out of his town. He fought concealed carry He's outlawed citizens wearing bullet proof vests or any gun protection for that matter. He’s tried paying gang bangers with tax dollars in hopes they would stop banging... His mom? In September 2016, Rahm Emanuel announced the city would spend $36 million in youth mentoring efforts, policing strategies and gun legislation as his plan to fight and prevent crime. In 2017 there were 3,566 shootings. Yes that was down from the 4,369 shootings in 2016. Except you would need to overlook the fact that 2017 ranked #2 all time and had almost 600 more shootings than in 2015. So if you want to claim success... Good luck!  Number of REPORTED shootings in Chicago 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2,518 2,186 2,581 2,981 4,369 3,566 Rahm Emanuel's latest scheme to end the shooting gallery is almost as ridiculous as Chicago voters year after year electing yet another corrupt and/or inept Democrat to run America's third largest city. Rahm's big idea to cut down on the approximately 600 homicides committed within the city each year? Punish banks who make loans to weapons manufacturers. But as usual, the Democrats never think their "Big Idea" through. Chicago's financial situation is in shambles, and they are close to $40 Billion dollars in debt. That kind of shortfall equates to 1970's NYC financial ruin level. I'm just spitballing here but I don't think it's a great idea to spit in the face of the only institution that is preventing Chicago from becoming the next Detroit. Crickets Where is all the over the top hyperbole from David Hogg, Rosie, Alyssa Milano, CNN, MSNBC, The Big Three fake News Networks, The DNC, The DCCC, and Democrats in general... Hell, where is Obama speaking out about Chicago gun violence? After-all it's his hometown and home of the future Obama library (LOL Maybe). Where is Joe Biden who claims that 'America has Stormy Daniels (prostituted) the Second Amendment.' Where is Nancy Pelosi or Chuck Schumer spewing their typical 'jump the shark' statements when it comes to Chicagoans having to sleep on the floor to avoid being shot through a window?  They sure spout off every time some retarded POS white boy shoots up a school. Hell, now according to the latest liberal reporting those inbreed morons no longer even need to use an AR-15 to have the left hyperventilate about their so-called "Common sense gun control" i.e. Repealing the Second Amendment. The Santa Fe School shooting introduced America to two new liberal loony toon phrases "AR-15 Like" and the incredibly asinine USA today created phrase ‘less-lethal' than an AR-15. As long as the left can get AR-15 in their gun control story all's good in Liberal La-La-Land. But somehow the Democrats and MSM seem to never address the thousands of shootings taking place each year in dozens of generational run Democratic, gun controlled cities like Chicago, Detroit or Baltimore? Chicago has some of the toughest gun laws in the nation but year in and year out the Windy City's streets are basically a shooting gallery that have law-abiding citizens running for their lives. 22 in 2018 The Democrats latest love has been spewing their "22 school shootings in 2018." Yes, it's nothing but BS when you consider the fake news media and the Democrats who thought it up are counting a BB gun incident among those 22 school shootings. But while liberals are using months as their parameter, in Chicago they count their shooting in minutes. To get a sense of how hypocritically sick the left are when spewing their bullshit '22 in 2018.' This list shows the victims of Chicago gun violence covering a 12-day span, let me repeat that A12-DAY SPAN.  Via The Chicago Tribune May 16th, Wednesday 11:00 AM, May 16 - 27-Year-Old Male READ STORY 11:00 PM, May 16 - 18-Year-Old Male READ STORY 10:07 PM, May 16 - 25-Year-Old Male 9:08 PM, May 16 19-Year-Old Male READ STORY  7:55 PM, May 16 - 46-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:55 PM, May 16 - 53-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:35 PM, May 16 - 25-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:40 PM, May 16 - 36-Year-Old Female READ STORY 3:35 PM, May 16 - 31-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 15th, Tuesday 3:20 PM, May 15 - 20-Year-Old Male 3:20 PM, May 15 - 20-Year-Old Male 7:15 PM, May 15 - 20-Year-Old Male 5:40 PM, May 15 - 19-Year-Old Male 4:30 PM, May 15 - 20-Year-Old Female 9:05 PM, May 15 - 37-Year-Old Male 11:45 PM, May 15 - 30-Year-Old Male 11:54 PM, May 15 - 21-Year-Old Male 11:02 AM, May 15 - 18-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 14th, Monday 5:25 PM, May 14 - 17-Year-Old Male READ STORY 5:25 PM, May 14 - 19-Year-Old Male READ STORY 12:05 AM, May 14 - 22-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 13th, Sunday 8:00 PM, May 13 - 24-Year-Old Male 2:35 PM, May 13 - 20-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:30 PM, May 13 - 38-Year-Old Female READ STORY 11:45 AM, May 13 - 27-Year-Old Male READ STORY 12:30 AM, May 13 - 23-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 12th, Saturday 12:24 AM, May 12 - 21-Year-Old Male READ STORY 5:46 PM, May 12 - 43-Year-Old Male READ STORY 12:10 PM, May 12 - 29-Year-Old Male READ STORY 10:15 AM, May 12 - 15-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:03 PM, May 12 - 15-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:36 PM, May 12 - 34-Year-Old Male READ STORY 5:46 PM, May 12 - 40-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:43 PM, May 12 - 29-Year-Old Male READ STORY 11:35 PM, May 12 - 35-Year-Old Male READ STORY 3:32 AM, May 12 - 39-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:00 AM, May 12 - 27-Year-Old Male READ STORY 1:09 AM, May 12 - Female READ STORY 1:09 AM, May 12 - 41-Year-Old Male READ STORY 12:24 AM, May 12 - 28-Year-Old Male May 11th, Friday 10:53 PM, May 11 - 27-Year-Old Male READ STORY 9:41 PM, May 11 - 29-Year-Old Male 9:17 PM, May 11 - 18-Year-Old Male 7:45 PM, May 11 - 19-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:30 AM, May 11 - 35-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 10th, Thursday 2:18 PM, May 10 - 17-Year-Old Male READ STORY 11:28 PM, May 10 - 23-Year-Old Male READ STORY 10:56 PM, May 10 - 18-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:35 PM, May 10 - 17-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:35 PM, May 10 - 13-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:00 PM, May 10 - 22-Year-Old Male READ STORY 11:49 AM, May 10 - 24-Year-Old Male READ STORY  May 9th, Wednesday 10:35 PM, May 9 - 18-Year-Old Male READ STORY 10:35 PM, May 9 - 15-Year-Old Male READ STORY  9:49 PM, May 9 - 21-Year-Old Female READ STORY 9:49 PM, May 9 - 26-Year-Old Male READ STORY 4:40 PM, May 9 - 43-Year-Old Male READ STORY 3:30 AM, May 9 - 31-Year-Old Male READ STORY 12:40 AM, May 9 - 29-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 8th, Tuesday 10:48 PM, May 8 - 28-Year-Old Male READ STORY 9:45 PM, May 8 - 23-Year-Old Female READ STORY 8:45 PM, May 8 - 53-Year-Old Male READ STORY 9:34 PM, May 8 - 18-Year-Old Male READ STORY 9:34 PM, May 8 - 60-Year-Old Male READ STORY 8:45 PM, May 8 - 20-Year-Old Male READ STORY 8:30 PM, May 8 - 15-Year-Old Female READ STORY 7:20 PM, May 8 - 43-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:20 PM, May 8 - 28-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:20 PM, May 8 - 33-Year-Old Male READ STORY 6:27 PM, May 8 - 16-Year-Old Female READ STORY 5:28 PM, May 8 - 24-Year-Old Male READ STORY 1:58 PM, May 8 - 24-Year-Old Male READ STORY 1:58 PM, May 8 - 27-Year-Old Male READ STORY 12:30 AM, May 8 - Male READ STORY May 7th, Monday 9:50 PM, May 7 - 27-Year-Old Male READ STORY 6:15 PM, May 7 - 29-Year-Old Female READ STORY 6:15 PM, May 7 - 26-Year-Old Male READ STORY 4:37 PM, May 7 - 30-Year-Old Male READ STORY 4:04 PM, May 7 - 36-Year-Old Male READ STORY 1:33 AM, May 7 - 26-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 6th, Sunday 2:30 AM, May 6 - 23-Year-Old Male READ STORY 11:20 PM, May 6 - 35-Year-Old Male READ STORY 9:28 PM, May 6 - 22-Year-Old Male READ STORY 9:00 PM, May 6 - 32-Year-Old Male READ STORY 4:00 AM, May 6 - 33-Year-Old Male READ STORY 4:53 AM, May 6 - Male READ STORY 2:48 AM, May 6 - 28-Year-Old Male READ STORY 3:28 AM, May 6 - Male READ STORY 2:15 AM, May 6 - 29-Year-Old Male READ STORY 1:54 AM, May 6 - 35-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:01 AM, May 6 - 24-Year-Old Male READ STORY 2:01 AM, May 6 - 22-Year-Old Male READ STORY 12:24 AM, May 6 - 29-Year-Old Male READ STORY May 5th, Saturday 7:59 PM, May 5 - 55-Year-Old Female READ STORY 9:21 PM, May 5 - 23-Year-Old Male READ STORY 9:21 PM, May 5 - 12-Year-Old Male READ STORY 7:59 PM, May 5 - 35-Year-Old Female READ STORY 1:56 AM, May 5 - 30-Year-Old Male READ STORY The only gun control that Democrats want is a total repeal of the Second Amendment. Can't wait to hear the left tell us how exactly they will confiscate 350 million guns from 100 million law-abiding citizens, not to mention the criminals. The Democrats keep telling us that if Trump fires Mueller it will create a civil war, just wait till they try to confiscate 350 million guns, they'll see what a real civil war will actually look like. To See Reporting On Chicago Gun Violence Done In Absolute perfection Then You Must Go To HeyJackass.com.  Not only do they have every stat imaginable, you know you're in the presence of greatness when a site unpacks Chicago gun violence stats so well they have this:

I am so friggin envious of HeyJackass.com brilliance LOL. Read the full article

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Swan Song

I have not technically forgotten my other works, but this one is really old (like pre Winter Soldier) and I’d like to finish it so I’m gonna start posting it here. Spoiler alert, it’s dark and kinda? Weird? (basically lots of smut and meant to be kinky but like who knows with my writing)

Shortly after the events of New York (Avengers) Thor and Loki return to Asgard. Loki to be locked away in prison and Thor to clean up messes of the realms caused by his destruction of the Bifrost. Instead of staying locked up, Loki escapes and returns to Earth, hellbent on getting his throne. He has employed you, his temptress lover, to strike down his enemies when they least expect it. However, he absolutely hates the thought of another touching you (even if it’s by his own orders). So whenever you return to him, he is certain to claim you passionately, often using clones of himself so he can forget the visual of another person touching you. There is no redemption and Loki is not tragic, he's ruthless and will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and you support him completely.

Natasha stood in the cold, muttering under her breath as she waited in line for coffee. The hood of her jacket was pulled low over her head, obscuring her fiery hair and attempting to block out the cold air.

She stomped her feet impatiently as she tried to keep the feeling in her toes.

‘Just getting a coffee, he’ll call back soon. I’ll kill him after he answers.’ Natasha thought as she pulled her phone from her pocket. Still nothing, no messages. She cursed, something about her native language made the phrases more satisfying.

“You want to order, yes?” A tall dark man stood behind the counter at the outdoor coffee kiosk.

Natasha looked up startled before mentally kicking herself for such a drop in vigilance.

“Yea, I-“

“Too bad.” He sneered, slamming the awning shut.

Natasha wanted to scream in frustration but she held back. Offering a nonchalant shrug, she strolled away, visibly bored with the situation.

Internally, her emotions were roiling. ‘Why hasn’t he answered? This is his emergency contact line. What. The. Hell. Barton.’

She sat down on a bench nearby. It seemed of her body’s own volition that she wandered to a nearby park. Nature was calming, less outside noise and less chance of being disturbed.

But she was already thinking back to the phone call.

That deep voice, dark and cold, had promised her Barton was compromised. But she had just talked to Barton, he was fine. Her forcefully maintained composure was slipping, Barton swore he was fine but could she really trust him after all he’s been through?

“Answer the phone, please.” She pleaded at the device.

Natasha balled her hands into fists inside her pockets. The skin would be white from pressure and her palms were in danger of bleeding, cut by her nails. Natasha pulled her hands from her jacket, stretching her fingers before her, focusing on her breathing and willing herself to relax. Three hours was too long. Clint swore on every possession, every promise, every life, that if she needed him, he would answer this phone.

He wasn’t answering.

She clenched her teeth and managed a strangled scream, it was nearly silent though a few local birds – brave enough to face the cold rain – looked her way.

She pulled out the phone and dialed. “Fine!” She hissed into the receiver, then paused and straightened her breathing. She forced a smile to her face, crossing her legs and leaning back in the seat. To any passerby, she looked like she was chatting with an old schoolmate, maybe even a friendly colleague.

“I believe you.” Her eyes flashed and then the mask was set perfectly. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

Over the line, a dark voice chuckled, sending chills down her spine. “Come into my web, said the spider to the fly.” The voice practically purred at her.

Natasha laughed, “Oh, so you still go by that name?”

“Drop the pretenses. We’re talking plainly. I don’t feel like stepping around niceties right now.”

“Aww, honey, that’s so cute!” Natasha laughed, her face breaking into a grin. There was silence and the mask faltered as Natasha waited.

There was a melodic hum on the phone followed by a piercing scream. Then the scream stopped and it was eerily quiet. Natasha waited, holding her breath, expecting a comment. That’s what people do. They comment. They do something horrible, comment and you can react.

Nothing.

A game of wills. Whoever breaks the silence loses.

Natasha held her breath.

“I’m impressed.” The voice said finally. “I daresay that scream might be familiar to you. Very well. That concludes our business.”

This scream managed to be louder and more intense, it wrenched at Natasha’s heart and she shut her eyes, trying not to think of the implications. Then the scream stopped, a click, and the line went quiet.

“He hung up.” Natasha breathed out, horrified. She shook her head, staring down at the phone. “He… He hung up.”

She bit down on her knuckles to silence the yell of frustration. Hating herself for the weakness she was showing, she frantically dialed the number. It rang once and stopped. ‘Must be some kind of mistake.’ She called again. One ring. Silence.

Natasha blanched, thinking she would be sick then called a third time. One ring. Then two. She felt a flutter of hope. Then silence yet again.

She put her head in her hands, wanting to cry but not letting herself, not yet. There was still a chance.

She called again.

This time it connected on the first ring. Cold laughter echoed through the receiver. “My… I do wish I could see the look on your face right now.” More laughter.

“Hysterical.” She snarled.

“Has the widow lost control?” More of that harsh cold laughter. Natasha grit her teeth, shaking in helpless rage. Then the laughter stopped and the cold voice was deathly serious. “Hang up again and the screaming will not stop. He will scream until his vocal chords fail and he is left coughing up his blood, the choking, ripping of his throat will be the only sound he can make. Do you understand me?” The voice snarled the last sentence.

Natasha felt a small sense of satisfaction that she had bothered this person, but the implication of the threat didn’t go unnoticed. “Understood.”

“You will be given coordinates to a location. Go there, be certain you are alone. I won’t bother with idle threats of killing him, no, that would be boring. I’ll make sure he lives long enough for you to see him this way.” The voice paused. “So fragile these things are. It’s a shame, they break so easily and they’re so hard to replace. Well, there are billions of you, but you get the idea. This man holds sentiment to you. It takes a lot to find that when you are so aptly called the black widow.” Another pause. “I’ve made my point, get moving.” The line disconnected. Natasha knew he wouldn’t answer if she called again.

With a resigned sigh, she stood up and made her way to the coordinates; she would be going in completely blind.

Natasha wore her black catsuit, armed to the nines, but concealed beneath a jacket. She had reached the spot: a random street corner in the slums of some long forgotten town.

A sleek black van pulled to a halt beside her, the door opened and she stepped inside. Across from the open door sat a tall man with close cut brown hair. He wore dark sunglasses, no doubt to lessen the likelihood that his real face would be recognized.

“Fell free to keep your weapons with you. For now.”

Sitting down, Natasha barely had time to settle in before the car lurched forward. “Hey there.” She smiled, leaning back in the seat and situating herself so she faced the man. Then she leaned forward, propping herself up on the armrest as she studied him with a flirtatious smile.

The man stiffened slightly at her actions and she grinned. Natasha shifted her legs a few times, crossing and uncrossing them, trying to get that perfect angle.

“What’s a good looking guy like you doin’ working for some crazy warlord?” The man smiled at her. She could see beads of sweat on his forehead and he wiped his hands on his pant legs. “Oh come on,” she bat her eyelashes, “Can’t even make a conversation with me?”

The man shifted before looking to the glass partition, separating the driver from the back seat. Resting her hand on the man’s thigh, Natasha gave it a light squeeze, “You can trust me, what’s a little conversation going to hurt?”

The man finally nodded. “You’re right, I’m sure it should be fine.” He convulsed suddenly and she pulled back in surprise. The man gasped as he slowly stopped spasming.

“That’s very rude, Natasha.” The cold voice filled the car. “I regret that I can’t fetch you personally, but trying to take advantage of my pets?”

The man looked around terrified. “Sir? What just?”

“Silence. If she touches you again, you will be dead and she can continue riding with a slowly cooling corpse.”

The man gulped and nodded.

“I was just being friendly.” Natasha muttered.

“It isn’t nice to lie. Believe me, I know when you are.”

The rest of the car ride was filled with uneasy silence. The sense of dread grew with each moment, and as she cast the occasional glance at her travel companion, she knew the feeling was shared.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop and the door opened from the outside. Four heavily armed guards stood there, waiting for Natasha to climb out. The brown haired man she had tried to seduce prodded her in the back.

“I sure hope that’s a gun.” She said, flashing a grin at the waiting guards. They all wore helmets but she could see them reflexively flexing their fingers on the triggers of their guns. She raised an eyebrow, impressed with their level of training. Clearly the deep voiced man held quite the control over them. She wondered what type of organization she was dealing with. After that whole fiasco in New York, nothing was off the table.

Once more, the prodding of the gun in her back urged her forward. The guards led her inside the building, slowly taking her deep underground. Natasha easily memorized the path they took, knowing that there had been extra turns and reroutes to throw her off. Anyone else might have been smug, but she was strictly professional, there was no time for such petty emotions.

Finally the guards stopped outside a nondescript door and pushed her inside. They also searched her for weapons. Two waited outside and two stood inside, flanking the door. In the center of the room was a solitary chair. She surveyed the rest of the room, only moving her eyes. There was a vent up high and a mirrored wall, no doubt a window for someone to stand on the other side and watch in.

She walked over to the chair and sat down, crossing her arms. She leaned back and looked around, still looking bored.

“So what’s it take for a girl to get a drink?”

The men on either side of the door shifted uncomfortably. Then suddenly the cold voice filled the room. “Black Widow, it’s so good to see you in person.”

Natasha smirked, “We’re hardly in person. Usually when I go on a date, I can at least see the man I’m talking to.”

The cold voice laughed, “Are my men not amusement enough for you?”

She shrugged, “Maybe if I could see their faces, have a real conversation. I like to know my prey.”

This was a deadly game of chess. It was so much easier to gauge an opponent when you could see him, but for now she would make do with what she had.

“Prey, my pretty little spider? Hardly. I appear to have the upper hand. But I’m not so vain as to flaunt that.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Natasha smiled.

“Ravishing. I could eat you alive.”

“Sounds like a date, I sure hope you’re handsome.”

There was a clicking at the door and Natasha’s head snapped over. Narrowing her eyes, she waited, wondering who it could be.

The door slid open and a tall dark haired man entered. He had piercing blue eyes, a clean shaven face, sharp prominent cheekbones, and wavy hair. It was relatively short but not particularly close cut.

He wore a crisp black suit, top of the line fashion. He was the picture of elegance and style.

Flashing a pearly grin at her, he inclined his head. “A pleasure to meet you, my delightful little spider.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “So now I have a face behind the man.” She frowned, “Not bad, I could say you’re pretty nice looking too. Do I at least get an introduction?”

The man studied her carefully. “You may address me as Lord Sharpe.”

“I’m not big on titles. I’ll stick with Sharpe, after all, you’re so keen on using my codename, I’m sure it’s only fair.” The man nodded curtly, offering a cold smirk. Then Natasha’s face straightened as she became serious. “Where’s agent Barton?”

Sharpe sighed before reaching into his pocket and pulling a small cellphone-like device out. He offered it to her and she hesitantly took it, never breaking eye contact. Once it was in her hand she allowed her gaze to flicker down for a fraction of a second. The sight was too much and she found herself looking down again.

Clint Barton, Hawkeye, sat tied to a chair, flanked by a half dozen guards. He was covered in blood and injuries and looked barely conscious.

Sharpe sighed, almost apologetically, but his eyes were cold. “I got bored, and he made such pleasant sounds.”

Natasha swallowed and nodded stiffly. “You know, I’m not one for threats, but I-“

Sharpe sneered, “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.” He glanced down at his watch suddenly before looking up. “Apologies, but I have a date with someone far lovelier than you.” The man turned on his heel and strolled from the room, not bothering to look back.

Five minutes passed and nothing happened. Natasha sat there, inwardly panicking, wondering if Sharpe was referring to Clint somehow. Carefully, she stood up. The guards shifted and aimed their guns at her. She held her hands up, “Easy boys, I’m not doing anything, just stretching my legs.” She started to pace around the room, strolling over to the glass and sliding her fingers along it. Years of experience told her this glass was bulletproof. Unease crossed her mind about the implications of that. Someone knew that gunfire in this room was very likely.

Turning very slowly, Natasha began to walk towards the guards.

“Stand down.” The guard on the right said slowly, but his voice wavered and she could detect the fear.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just-“ She ducked down, spinning around on the floor, and using a roundhouse kick to knock the man over. In the same movement she pulled his body over herself so the other guard’s shot took out the first.

She reached for the dead guard’s gun and quickly killed the second. The door flew open and she moved to the side, easily dispatching the ones from outside.

Natasha slid the chair to the wall, knocking the vent open and crawled in side. Carefully she turned around and realigned it. That should slow down any pursuit, as they would likely assume she went out the door.

Crawling along she eventually made her way past a room filled with screens. On one of them she saw an image of the same bloodied and beaten Barton. Carefully calculating where he was, she continued her trek along.

As she crawled, worry gnawed at her. There was no sounds of alarm, no sign that anyone noticed her absence in the room. Everything up until now had led her to believe Sharpe was highly competent, intelligent and utterly in control of the situation; yet now, he seemed to be clueless. She hated herself for it, but she pushed the thought from her mind, knowing that she had to get to Clint. He would suffer severely when someone finally realized she was gone.

She had gathered one of the guard’s pistols and prepared herself when she finally made it to Clint’s cell. Once again, that feeling of apprehension gripped her, this was painfully easy but she couldn’t risk losing Clint.

She gazed through the vent and saw Clint slumped over in his chair, tied up and unmoving. Then she scanned the room, aiming the pistol and shot one of the guards. Clint’s head snapped up and he looked around.

The other guards spun around, looking for the source of gunfire. Natasha managed to dispatch two more before they located her. She kicked out the vent and shot the others, a perfect angle to shoot without being shot.

“Tasha!” Clint straightened up, “What, what are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass. Again.” She muttered, dropping to the ground. “Come on, we have to get you out of here. This is definitely a trap.”

Clint frowned as Natasha released his bonds. “It is! Why’d you fall for it?”

“I couldn’t risk losing you. Now get out of here.” She kicked the chair to the vent and shoved him up. “I’m going to cause a diversion. I know the way out. You follow the vents. Keep going, they’ll lead outside eventually.”

“Nat, I can’t leave you.”

“If you don’t get your ass out of here, we’re both dead. Come back for me with more people. Now go!” She shoved the vent back into place, before charging out the door.

Clint’s eyes stung with unshed tears, but he knew her logic was true. “I’ll be back Nat, I swear it.” He whispered as he took off.

As the door swung shut behind Natasha, there were still no signs of response. Then finally she heard the steady sound of running boots. Turning the opposite direction, she took off running, looking for a place that seemed familiar.

She kept moving at a dead spring, looking for the hallway that she knew should be around her.

Finally, Natasha slowed to a stop, looking around as she tried to think. Every mission she had ever done in her career hadn’t gone anything like this. More heavy boots came from behind her and she took off running, there was no place for cover to fight back, and she knew their firepower easily outmanned her pistol. She rounded a corner and screamed as she collided with an invisible wall.

A jolt of electricity ran through her and she tried to steady herself, stunned by the feeling. Then the boots slowed down, directly behind her.

Natasha turned around, looking at the dozen armed men, all aiming guns at her.

“Drop the weapon.” A gruff voice called. Natasha dropped her pistol, slowly holding up her hands. “Kick it over here.” She did as they said. Slowly the guards circled in on her. Before she could respond, an electric rod shot out at her, paralyzing her instantly. She collapsed to the ground, unable to control her body and stop the writhing.

Then she heard the faint clicking of polished shoes approaching down the corridor.

Sharpe turned the corner and offered a bright smile at her. “Agent Romanoff, you do not disappoint.” He nodded sharply at two of the guards. They promptly picked her up and dragged her back to the cell she had just rescued Barton from.

The guards slammed her onto the chair, tying her in, before slowly backing away and allowing Sharpe to stand before her once more.

He leered down at her, almost giddy with excitement.

“You’ll imagine my surprise when I left a bird in a room and come back to find it gone. And now here I am with a juicy spider. How delightful.” He purred the last word.

Natasha spat at him.

Sharpe’s hand shot out lightning fast and cracked against her face. Her head jerked to the side, surprised by his strength. For someone so lean, he had quite the physical power.

Carefully, Sharpe pulled out a green handkerchief and wiped the spit away. “Very rude.”

“Your use of our codenames is hilarious.” She snarled, finally losing her calm.

Once more, Sharpe grinned. “I was quite worried when it took so long for you to escape. I thought I picked wrong in my playthings, but no, you, you are quite the juicy spider. I can’t wait to make you squirm for me.” He leaned over her, putting his hands on the chair on either side of her shoulders. His voice lowered to just above a whisper as he growled, “And how you will squirm, my little spider. I wonder if you will sing as sweetly as the bird. I can only hope.”

He slowly pulled away, hand stroking across her face.

Natasha shivered at his touch, his fingers were cold across her face. “I will kill you, you understand me, you bastard? I will hunt you down and end you.”

Sharpe smirked, winking at her, “And I will peel the flesh from your skin, layer by layer. And when I am done. I will go after your friends.” He stepped back lifting two long slender fingers and motioning towards Natasha. The door opened up and another masked person walked in, pushing a tray of instruments. “Now, let’s see what it takes to break you.”

[donaldresslerfanfic]

Vault.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language (little bit)

Word Count: 3026

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Four.

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

I was writing down the report of the findings on the house to deliver to my superiors.

Another week had passed, and so far we had the warrant and the walls were slowly coming down, we had to be careful not to take any possible evidence behind them, but the more walls came down, the more anxious I got. Reddington could be on the other side of the globe at this point.

The more of the house we uncovered the less we found, I was ready to start looking in another direction when Bobby called me.

“Please tell me you have something”

“Oh, it’s something alright, a big fucking something. I need you at the house now”

I hung up and got up from my desk, leaving the report unfinished.

When I arrived at the house I pulled out my badge in a mechanical move, and the armed men outside let me in.

When I walked, there were only the frames still up, the walls had been completely stripped, and I saw it.

A big metal box in the middle of the house, matching where the rooms had been narrowed down to fit it.

I walked around it to find the door of it look like the one out of a bank vault. What was Reddington hiding in there?

“I know, ‘what the hell’ right?”

“How did he got there on here?” The box appeared to be 7 feet squared, as tall as the ceiling. “What are the specs on this thing?”

“That’s what I’m onto now. Unfortunately the company that built the box are from Switzerland, and a representative can come in three days”

“The case is going to get cold in three days. I need to get in there”

“Unless you know a bank robber that can break into that vault I’m out of options Donnie.”

I placed my hands on my hips and paced the room, looking down at the floor.

Maggie.

“I need a warrant, blueprints, services charts of water, gas and electricity, a consultant pass, and I need you to set up someone to watch the security cameras from the time this house went up for sale onwards. I want to know the exact time for when this things could’ve been installed here. And I need it all within the hour”

I began to walk down the empty house to the front door

“Where are you going?” I heard Bobby speak from behind me

“To get us an expert”

On the way to Maggie’s house I called my man at the blacksite to get me her work address and a full background check. Her house phone wasn’t picking up, so I headed straight to her workplace.

I entered the neat and bright building and walked to the receptionist

“Welcome to Bronton Security how can I help you?” She said with a smile, I fished my badge from the inner pocket in my jacket and flipped it open to identify myself.

“I’m looking for Margaret Waters, tell her it’s an emergency”

She widened her eyes, looking for her phone and dialing.

“Tell her it’s Donald Ressler”

“Hey Maggie, I’m sorry to bother you but Donald is here? Ressler?” She paused then smiled “I’ll take him to you then”

She hung up and stood up to lead me.

We went through a set of doors, then through some cubicles of people working with computers to the left, a meeting room to the right. She stopped at one of the closed doors and knocked quietly.

Maggie opened the door and smiled at the receptionist, making a signal to make me enter the office

“Thank you Brenda, I’ll see him out” Brenda smiled and with a little bow she left the office.

Maggie closed the door and turned to me. Before she opened her mouth I took out my badge again.

“Maggie, listen. I’m with the FBI and” she gasped and took the ID from my hands

“I fucking knew it” she let out another gasp and looked at the ID “oh my God” she licked her lips “victory tastes so good” she let out a happy laugh and flipped the ID to me “Donald Ressler FBI.” She said imitating my voice tone  "Are you an agent?“

“Special agent” I took the ID from her hands and put it away.

“You’re like… The coolest dude I know” she took a deep breath and motioned at the chair behind him “what can I help you with, special agent with the FBI Donald Ressler?”

I gave her a smile and rolled my eyes

“What was my tell?”

“The suit, public employee payroll can’t afford that.” she linked her hands in front of her

“I need you to come with me” I motioned at her to the door

“Are you working on a case?” She whispered at me. I nodded “and it’s like… Classified?” I nodded again and opened the door. She gave me a big smile and took a short step to her desk, taking her phone and a colorful summer scarf, dancing it around her neck.

We began to walk out when we were stopped midway.

“Maggie I need the prints for the new safe house, today please” I turned to find an older but still fit men walking to us.

“I’m afraid that’ll have to wait” I said pulling out my ID “I’m special agent Ressler. Miss Waters has just agree to be a consultant for an open case. She needs to come with me”

“Paul Bronton, her boss. What’s this all about? I have deadlines to meet and she’s my best worker”

“I’m afraid I cannot trust that information, it’s classified”

“Tell Gina to get it from my office it’s in the first classifier” she took me by the arm and pulled me away, Mr Bronton gave her a nod and me a suspicious look before turning around and letting us leave.

Once outside I opened the door of my car for her, when I sat at the driver’s side she clapped

“This is the most exciting thing I’ve done in my whole life. Am I really an consultant?”

“Yes” I replied and began driving down “I don’t think I need to tell you that you cannot say anything of what you will see today to anyone. It won’t even serve as a funny anecdote, Maggie. I mean it.”

“Roger that” she gave me a nod and took a deep breath “what’s this all about?”

“We’ll discuss it at the site, it’s better if I show you”

My phone rang, and I picked it up without looking at the number ID.

“Ressler”

“I’ve sent you the warrant to open the safe and background check on Miss Waters.”

I hung up and parked in thee street.

Maggie and I got out of the car, where another agent handed me the consultant pass that I gave to Maggie behind me

“Now you have your own ID to show”

She smiled and pinned it to the pocket of her loose jean dress shirt, underneath it she had a plain white shirt.

“This way” I lead her and we walked inside, I took the tablet with Maggie’s background check. All the info seemed to check out, parents deceased, sister in Rhode Island, recently moved to DC, address matched her current one. A series of red numbers made me frown, under thee credit car information it showed that she owned over 250k in medical bills still, and her paycheck had been seizured by the bank on a 40% to pay the debt.

I looked up to see Maggie in front of the vault, her hand was on her mouth, thoughtful, while the other was crossed on her chest and linked to her elbow.

“And?” I said walking to her, she glanced at me

“It’s a vault”

“That much I know”

“A vault that I would put in a bank, or the one I would put to secure chemical weapons, biological weapons.” She said with her eyebrows rose up. “Who is this guy Donald?”

“It’s a person who has secrets that could put in danger national security if he sold them, which he already has with some. I’ve been at him for years.” I walked to her to stand right next to her “Mags I need to get in there”

She looked at me with a frown, her green eyes searching in my blue ones.

“You want me to open it?”

“Can you?”

She looked at the vault and walked to it, pressing her hand against the metal

“The vault was made by a company in Switzerland am I right?” She looked at me, to which I nodded. “The inner mechanism is to be programmed with the representatives in the states and the owner of the vault, they make the mechanism accord to the level of security the client wants. For me to even attempt to open it I need the manual of the inner mechanism, the closest associate I know is this brand is in Bathesda. The associate goes by the name of Saul Kirkland. The office is called ‘Safe and sound’ or something lame like that. He won’t just give you the manual, you might need a warrant.”

She explained, Jonica had joined us and was listening attentively. When Maggie finished he extended his hand to her, to which she took with a smile.

“Robert Jonica, I’ve been working with Don to catch this son of a bitch for many years now. How do you know all this stuff?”

“It’s what I do for a living. Besides, I wouldn’t recommend this eye sore to my biggest enemy. The exterior can be good, and no matter the level of security a half decent safe intruder could break into this vault in a few minutes. I don’t work with this brand in specific” she crossed her arms at her chest and smiled

“With a look at the manual you can open it?” Jonica asked, she gave him a shrug and then a nod. “I’ll get you that manual”

Maggie smiled at him, and when Jonica left she moved her eyes to me.

“Let me take a look at those prints” she pointed at the desk we had set up in the far corner of the room. She eyed him and let out a hum “I’ll need you to cut out any gas supply there is.”

“Why?”

“If someone told me they want to conceal official, classified, dangerous documents on a safe this big, and told me that by any means it can’t be accessed by someone trying to break into it, what I would do is redirect one of the gas pipes to produce a leak on the inside of the vault, and as soon as the vault is tried to be accessed illegally, it would fire up a spark burning everything inside it. Granted you would loose that information, but it would be better lost than in the wrong hands”

“The person who put them there is the wrong hands, not us”

“That’s not the way he thinks, if he has them, he’s planning to do something you wouldn’t do, because of the moral choice and bureaucracy of the matter. Criminals do not believe in the beauty of 'innocent until proven wrong’. There’s a lot of criminals out there who hide it so well, you could be staring at one right now”

“You’re saying he could have info of things we know are wrong but we wouldn’t touch because there’s protocols and investigations to be done”

“I’m saying there’s a lot or corruption, politics, leaders of organizations, hidden organizations so big you could be under the orders of this kind of people, people who could take you to a different track in a case just to cover their footsteps. Criminals kill this kinds of people and you would put them to jail, access to a parole and have them out to continue their misdeeds in months time.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

She smiled and shrugged

“I’m working on a tornado shelter of a men who’s a conspiranoic. He’s right about some things and batshit crazy about others. But they put your logic to the test and make you realize you’re naïve. Also, crime shows on Netflix.”

I nodded and looked away, she had leaned on the edge of the desk while I had moved to stand in front of her.

We put her theory to the test and found out that the pipelines had been redirected to the top of the vault. Maggie didn’t think of any other security measures, since she thought that would be enough.

Jonica arrived an hour later, in which we just sat down at the scene and talked, she talked about the new safe house she was designing for a very wealthy buyer.

She received the manual and flipped through it while nodding

“Yeah, it’s still garbage” she closed it “do you have a sharpie?”

I handed one to her from the desk and saw her crouch and draw a perfect straight line in the middle of it, she drew another ones to form a rectangle “This needs to be cut off with extreme caution, an inch of difference could touch the inner mechanism and it goes into lockdown. Someone will have to come and open it with a very specific movement of this spinny deal-io.” She motioned at one of the wheels near the edge of the vault door.

One of my men came with a powerful cutter and cut down the rectangle. Maggie took off her jacker and left in the floor.

“I’m going to need two more pairs of hands” she squeezed her arm in the rectangle and motioned at me to stand in front of a padlock. Jonica stood in front of the wheel. “OK, turn it to 30” she instructed.

I slowly began turning until I reached the 30 mark. She moved her arm and the door made a loud clicking noise.

“Now turn the handle, take the first handle as reference and turn it 20 degrees”

Jonica did as told, she frowned and moved her arm again, the door made another click.

She moved closer to me, I hadn’t noticed she smelled like lavander up until I was mere inches away

“Turn to 38” she instructed

I did, and the door made another clicking sound, this time followed by a second rustle of the metal.

She took her hand out from the hole, her fingers covered in grease. She took Jonica’s place at the wheel, turning it to the side until the door clicked again. She grabbed the handle that was in between us and twisted it upwards, the door clicked again. She then moved the wheel slowly. The room was dead quiet, we heard the faintest click, and then more rustling of the door.

She smiled at me and took the handle, twisting it to it’s original horizontal position and pulled.

The vault door began to open.

A team set up behind me and I drew my gun, aiming at the door, I gave Maggie a quick nod to ask her to continue opening it.

She pulled, taking a few steps back and ending up on the other side of the door, it blocked the view from the inside, to which I was grateful. It was not a pretty sight.

I put my gun away and sighed, aside from the body in an decomposition state, there was nothing else.

“I want to know who this guy is and why is he here.” I pointed and turned to look at Maggie, who was looking wide eyed at me

“Guy? There’s a person in there?!” She asked altered.

I took her gently by the arm and led her out through the back door. Her breathing was labored and she began to shook her head when we reached the front of the house

“Did he really trapped a person in there?!”

“Apparently he did Mags”

“Oh my god” she ran a hand on her hair, then left it on her forehead “what’s he gonna do when he finds out I opened his safe?”

“He will do nothing, not on my watch”

“He trapped a person in there!”

“He was probably a snitch, or someone who double crossed him. You have no connection to any kind of investigation agency and this job you’re doing, I’m leaving it off the records. And if he still thinks he can get to you he will have to come over me first”

Her eyes glued to mine, and a little smile appeared on her face as she let her shoulders down.

One of my men handed me the jacket she had left back at the house, and I held it up for her to put it on

“I’ll drop you home. If anyone asks you were with me the whole day” she fixied her jacket, and I led her back to my car.

The drive to her place was a silent one, maybe I could drop by her work tomorrow and say I need another day with her if she’s not feeling up to go to work.

I parked the car and hoped off to walk Maggie up to her apartment. Once in the door she turned to me and smiled.

“That was fun agent Ressler. How about we repeat it?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“You’ve been of great help today Maggie” I placed my hand on her shoulder “you have no idea what this case means to me.”

“But you didn’t catch him” she said with a disappointed twist on her lips.

“Not yet, but everyday we get one step closer. Someday he’ll have nowhere to run. Thank you Mags, I mean it”

She smiled and placed her hand on top on my forearm, squeezing it and ribbing her fingers over it

“Any time agent”

She unclasped the consultant ID I had given her, I didn’t receive it

“Let’s pretend I did take it back” I pushed her fingers to close them on the card. She smiled and opened the door to her apartment.

Back to the hunt.

[carterthornton]

The Third Wave | Chapter Thirty: The Marksman

        "So, err... who's this?" Carlo asked as he munched on a forkful of omelette, pointing his utensil at Isabelle, who quietly nibbled on a piece of toast.

      "You're awful quiet," Aiko smiled, waving at Isabelle, who seemed to duck her head under the lunch table. "Who is she, Jace?"

      "Yeah, I suppose you guys would be curious..." Jace chuckled scratching the back of his head as he stared down at a plate of waffles. "This is Isabelle, she's-... she's a new friend I met earlier— really wants to be part of the IMOP."

       "That's not what you told me," Mura piped up, pointing out the holes in Jace's story. "You told me she was a long-time family friend yesterday at the supermarket."

       "Mura, cut it out," Jace muttered to the blue-haired blurter.

       "This girl has amnesia, and Jace doesn't want to tell anyone because he believes they'd think he is taking advantage of her," Mura said nonchalantly, with not an ounce of restraint regarding details. "She's also a Mark-user."

       Carlo choked on a piece of egg momentarily; Mura's words were almost like a slap to the face. "I'm sorry, what?"

       "Jace, is she serious?" Aiko gasped.

       "Yeah, she is..." Jace sighed, messaging his brow.

       "Jace, why haven't you gone to the police? Someone could be looking for her!" Maeve scolded him, frightening Isabelle.

       "I was, but she's been remembering stuff recently— figured she would eventually figure out where she came from," Jace explained, only realizing then how stupid his plan sounded once he said it aloud. "Okay, okay! I know it sounds bad, but I had good intentions in mind!"

       "I like your hair!" Yuko gave Isabelle her friendliest grin, gesturing to her own long, metallic locks.

       "Thanks..." Isabelle cracked a smile as she bashfully tugged on her bangs; it was clear to Yuko that she was overwhelmed by so many new faces.

       "So why is she with you, Jace? Shouldn't she be at home?" Aiko inquired, hoping her cooler approach at the situation would calm their table down.

        "My mom told me it was really the only option. She couldn't watch her at work since she'd be in the operating room most of the day, and there's no way I'd let her go to school with my sister," Jace shook his head, flipping over a waffle with his fork. "So, I um... I sort of talked with Headmaster Colter and signed her up for a one week trial?"

        "Jace, are you kidding me?!" Maeve shouted, nearly bashing him over the head with her food tray. "That's the most idiotic thing I've heard! Does she even want to go here?!"

       "Um..." Isabelle raised her hand, hoping to interject, but Maeve yelled over her.

       "Maeve, we should let her speak," Aiko interrupted Maeve, motioning to her to sit back down.

       "Th-thank you," Isabelle gave Aiko an uneasy smile as she scooted closer to Jace. "This was my choice— staying with him. He's the only friend I have, and I think it's best I wait until my memories have returned. So, I'll try to do my very best while I'm here! I promise I won't let any of you down!"

       "And you're sure this is what you want for the time being?" Maeve couldn't let go of her skepticism. "Do you have any experience with your Mark?"

       "I'm sorry, what's a Mark?" Isabelle asked, clearly confused by what Maeve was referring to.

       "It's on the nape of her neck. She probably didn't notice it because of its location," Mura chimed in, directing everyone's attention to the symbol on the back of Isabelle's neck as she grabbed a handful of her hair. "Do you know what this is?"

       "Oh, my birthmark? I've always had that," Isabelle snatched her hair back from Mura's grasp, letting it fall back into place. "Is there something wrong with it?"

       "That's no birthmark, Isabelle, it's a Mark," Carlo rolled up his sleeve, revealing the Mark on his left forearm. The symbol of his Mark appeared to take the shape of roots or vines embedded in the ground, sapping particles from the earth. "This is mine, see? We all have Marks."

       "I see... interesting," Isabelle nodded slowly, noticing the similarities between her birthmark and Carlo's Mark. "What does mine do?"

       "I guess since you're technically a student, for the time being, you could consult Dr. Baxter and get your Mark tested," Jace suggested. "But I think you can figure it out in time."

       "That'd be a good time to get your Mark registered too," Aiko added. "Oh! Speaking of which, I have to correct an error in registration! I falsely identified my Mark as an Alteratio."

       "Yeah, I think we could do that," Jace agreed, double-checking with Isabelle. "Sound good?"

       "Um, okay," Isabelle replied, a little unsure of what she was getting herself into.

       "Hey, if I may make an unrelated observation..." Carlo's eyes wandered over to Maeve and Aiko, who was sitting next to each other quite comfortably. "You two seem awful friendly with each other this morning. You guys go to couple's therapy or something? I mean, you two were like cats and dogs a couple days ago." Carlo received no verbal response from Maeve— just a malicious glare. "What?! I'm just asking! Geez!"

       "We're working it out," Aiko answered, finishing off her espresso.

       "Thankfully," Maeve hid the red in her cheeks, acting as distant as possible.

****

       "Alright, no more man-to-man fighting for now! We've got some lovely toys for you all right here!" Ms. Steele stood before her class with an eager jitteriness, welcoming her aids as they entered the training grounds, wheeling in huge black containers. "Crack em' open, boys."

       The aids did as instructed, unlocking each container with its key. The containers didn't pop open as a conventional crate or chest would; they unfolded into a neat display, revealing a rack of various firearms. There were handguns, rifles, and even a few shotguns, all shiny and new. Every student was floored, teeming with excitement and intrigue as the weapons were laid out on tables near the recently erected shooting range.

       "Yes! Oh, I knew suffering through Macusology was worth it!" Carlo shouted at the sky as he raised his fists into the air. "Woooo!"

       "As a member of the IMOP, a firearm is optional, but still feasible nonetheless. Generally, most members of the force prefer to focus more on using their Mark for subduin' an opponent, as it's better for non-lethal engagement. But, in the event of a life-or-death situation, a firearm can be a useful tool." Ms. Steele lifted her shirt up just a tad, showing off her holstered sidearm. "This is Bloom— my baby." With a gritty mug, Ms. Steele slid her revolver out of its holster, turning to face a target dummy down the shooting range. "I recommend you plug yer ears."

       "What the hell would you kill with that, a whale?" Jace almost burst into laughter as he gawked at Ms. Steele's piece.

       In Ms. Steele's hand was a revolver so ludicrously huge, Aiko had to do a double-take just to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. The design of her gun was enough to turn heads on its own— a mixture of 1800's cowboy and modern technology. It had a long, chunky barrel with a laser attachment on the bottom, and it sported a high-powered, holographic sight. The whole gun was obsidian black and adorned with polished, pearl accents— rose vines and leaves —that glimmered under the morning sun. Its cherry wood grip bucked hard as Ms. Steele pulled the trigger, unleashing a deafening bang as the revolver spat its blast of hot, merciless lead at its target. She landed a bull's-eye right between the eyes of the practice dummy. Breathing deeply and planning her remaining four shots, Ms. Steele slid her thumb up to prime the hammer, revealing the burned symbol of a rosebud on the other side of the grip. And suddenly, quicker than the eye could track, she unloaded the revolver into her target, hitting every major weak point: the sternum, the heart, the liver, and the neck. All shots unleashed a devastating amount of energy into the dummy, nearly tearing it out of its fixed position.

       "This here pistol fires a .700 Nitro Express round designed specifically for taking down heavily-armoured Beast Mark-users," Ms. Steele kissed the smoking barrel of Bloom, twirling it once around her metal finger before holstering it. "I don't usually use it unless lethal force is necessary, so I apologize if I'm savouring the moment a little too much— can't help it."

       "Holy shit, that was awesome," Carlo whistled, marvelling at Ms. Steele's elegant beast of a sidearm as he adjusted his pants, which grew uncomfortable around his crotch area the longer he stared at Bloom. "Oh, no..." His face turned bright red as he crossed his leg, leaning on Jace.

       "Carlo, what are you-..." Jace's lips retracted into his mouth as he held back intense laughter, catching a glimpse of Carlo's groin region. "Oh my god."

       "Shush, shush, shush! Shut up!" Carlo silenced Jace, pinching his lips together with a thumb and an index finger. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

       "Okay... okay..." Jace was on the verge of crying. "Wow."

       "Do you have an erection?" Mura squinted at Carlo's awkward leg position, piecing together his predicament. "Pervert."

       "Shut the fuck up Mura!" Carlo shushed her before she could spread the news, readjusting his pants as he calmed himself down.

       "Whatever," Mura shrugged, turning her attention back to Ms. Steele.

       "What's an erection?" Isabelle asked Jace, peeking over his shoulder.

       "Um... " Jace couldn't help but snort a few times before he could answer with a straight face. "Apparently it's what happens to Carlo whenever he looks at an extra-curvy piece of metal."

       "Shush!" Carlo quietly snarled, trying not to draw attention to his group. "We're never speaking of this, got it?"

       "Speaking of what?" Aiko interjected.

       "Carlo got an erection from Ms. Steele's revolver," Mura ignored Carlo's pleas, spilling the beans immediately.

       "Holy shit," Aiko covered her mouth, trying to conceal her laughter. "No..."

       "Ugh, that's disgusting!" Maeve scrunched her nose and scowled, avoiding eye contact with Carlo.

       "Did you not just hear me?!" Carlo hollered at Mura, who also seemed to start cracking up.

       "I did," Mura nodded, sticking her tongue out at him. "That's payback for groping me." And with that, Carlo went completely pale. "Pervert."

       "It's okay, Carlo, I still like you!" Yuko reassured him as best she could, patting him on the back.

       "Thanks, I guess..." Carlo sighed, shrinking into nothingness.

       "Alright, rookies, now it's yer turn!" Ms. Steele instructed her students, grabbing a much smaller, less exquisite sidearm from one of the weapon containers. "This here's a standard-issue sidearm for IMOP Officers, the ten millimeter. It's light, easy to manufacture, and is good in most situations where a firearm is applicable." Ms. Steele snapped her fingers, and her classroom aids began handing out guns to each student. "Don't worry, they aren't loaded. But just in case, I suggest ya point your guns away from anyone. Hold it with two hands, and aim it down towards the ground, got it? I don't want anyone losin' a finger or a toe today."

       "It's heavier than I expected," Aiko stated, inspecting the chamber of her pistol whilst still keeping the barrel directed towards the ground.

       "Everyone says that," Carlo scoffed, holding a pistol firmly in his left hand. "Why does everyone always say that?"

       "In a couple weeks from now, your teams will each make several decisions. These decisions will decide your field of expertise on the force, your classes. In a team of five to seven, each member will have a specific role to play," Ms. Steele swept her hair to the side as she continued. "This training exercise will help yer team identify the cowboy on the team. The Marksman Class is the label given to a team member with exceptional sharpshooting skill, and it's the team member who will use firearms more often than the rest."

       "Carlo, you alright?" Jace saw an odd look in Carlo's eyes as he glazed over his pistol.

       "Heh, heh, heh..." Carlo's typical goofy, klutzy behaviour seemed to melt away as he analyzed his sidearm, checking for a label somewhere on the barrel. "Manufacturer... Cogsbaine Firearms! Alright, so it must have a burst function somewhere-... ah ha!" He clicked a button near the receiver, activating a secondary firing mode. "Let's see what you can do, huh?"

       "Alright, we'll begin with..." Ms. Steele picked a random number from one to thirteen. "Twelve! Let's have Team 12 test their mettle! I'll give you further instructions once you all take position down the range." She came over to Aiko and Yuko first as they took their places, standing at the left edge of the shooting range. "I'll need you both to-."

       "Ms. Steele, is there a gun for Yuko?" Aiko called over her instructor; the firearms provided were much too small for Yuko's massive hands."Her hands are pretty huge."

       "Hmm... I'm not so sure, recruit," Ms. Steele shook her head at Yuko's lack of a proper sidearm. "I'll have to look into it." She placed a hand on Yuko's shoulder before walking over to the next team member. "Sorry, girly."

       "It's okay!" Yuko grinned, showing no signs of disappointment. "I don't think guns are for me anyways!"

       "Yeah, well, you are bulletproof," Jace added, helping out Isabelle with her pistol. "Iz, you think you're up for this?"

       "Um... yeah, I think so," She nodded uneasily s she held her pistol tightly, imagining herself with a blown-off finger. "I hope so."

       "You really don't have to do this you know— be on the team and all that jazz. You only agreed because you wanted to be where I could see you," Jace sighed as Ms. Steele came by. "Stay cool, alright? She'll help you out."

       "Okay..." Isabelle squeaked.

       "Carbon finish... nice," Carlo complimented his pistol as he fiddled with its mechanisms, aiming down the sights. "Very nice iron sights."

       "Are you getting another boner?" Mura asked, watching Carlo mumble to himself as he toiled away with the handgun; he didn't seem to pay attention to her. "Carlo?"

       "Huh?" Carlo blinked rapidly as Mura snapped him out of his own little world. "Oh, sorry! I was just checking this thing out, you know? You like guns at all?"

       "No," Mura flatly replied. "Not at all."

       "Really? Not even a little bit?" Carlo snorted, grabbing a loaded magazine from one of the aids as they came around. "They're pretty fun."

       "I don't think so," Mura grumbled, scowling at her handgun. "I've never been a good shot."

       "You can always learn, right? That's what we're here to do," Carlo offered Mura his optimism, but she wasn't having any of it. "Okay, okay! Do whatever!"

       "Recruit Isabelle, Recruit Jace? You two ready to go?" Ms. Steele asked as she passed by Aiko.

       "Um, not just yet," Jace replied, still occupied with Isabelle's handgun. "She's pretty new to firearms."

       "I'll just take a burn around and come back, okay?" Ms. Steele instructed the two recruits as she walked over to Carlo. "Don't touch your guns until I get back to you."

       "Right," Jace and Isabelle both nodded.

       "Recruit Catelli, are you-?" Ms. Steele was cut off by Carlo as he pulled out a card from his pocket, flashing it in her face. "Hmm... a handgun safety certificate? That's only good for usage in American provinces, right?"

       "I know— just thought it might help my case," Carlo assured her, loading his pistol. "Care to watch and offer criticism?"

       "Well, you better make it snappy, recruit," Ms. Steele said as she stood behind Carlo, keeping an eye out for any slip-ups in his posture or etiquette. "Go on."

       Carlo took a deep breath as he raised his pistol, making sure that his heartbeat remained at a steady pace. Then, he aimed down sights, squinting at the practice dummy as it stared back at him. Keeping burst-fire on, he unloaded three into the dummy's head, all landing right between the eyes, then he fired the rest into the same weak points that Ms. Steele had targeted. And within only a few short seconds, Carlo completely spent his clip, never missing once.

       "How's that?" Carlo wiped his brow as he unloaded the magazine, turning to face his teacher.

       "I'd say turn burst-fire off, but judging by how that dummy's feeling, I'd say you know what you're doing," Ms. Steele scratched her chin, thinking back to how Carlo managed his breathing. "But a shred of advice I could provide is to breathe a little more between shots. Don't hold your breath until you've unloaded completely; in a firefight, you might pass out. Still, good job."

       "Got it," Carlo gave her a two-fingered salute, oblivious to the wide-eyed students around him. "Thanks."

       "Carlo, I-..." Jace was at a loss for words. "Geez, dude."

       "What?" Carlo spun around, noticing the shocked expressions of his fellow classmates. "What's up?"

       "I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you're the Marksman," Ms. Steele whispered to him before moving on to Mura, giving him a pat on the back.

       "So you aren't completely useless then..." Maeve smirked, watching as Carlo's dummy slumped over.

       "Hey, I heard that!" Carlo snapped at her, flailing his arms in a wild outrage.