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queen-haq · 3 years

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Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 16

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~3100 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

gif credit: @benbarnxs

Part 16

You were straddling Billy, riding him, your hips undulating atop his body. His fingers tightly gripped your waist, getting ready to take charge so you were underneath him, but you refused to submit. Instead you grabbed his hands and pinned it above his head. As you hovered above him, he arched up to kiss you but you shifted back, instead staring down at him intently. He growled at you before he rolled over unexpectedly, taking you along with him.

As he thrust into you, harder and rougher each time, you began to slide off the bed. In your new position, you caught sight of Adam on the floor. His corpse was wrapped up in a rug, only his head sticking out-

“Hey.” Billy pulled you up so you were now sitting across his lap, facing him. “Look at me. Only me.”

Only a few seconds ago he was biting you as you clawed at him, both of you desperate to possess each other. Your movements had been savage, animalistic even, but now Billy was kissing you languidly, his hand brushing the back of your hair while the other settled on the small of your back. You were directing the rhythm of the thrusts now, setting a slower pace so you could fully enjoy the feel of his cock stretching your insides oh-so-tantalizingly. Your forehead braced against his, you closed your eyes and lost yourself to the flood of emotions that overcame you.

***

It was after midnight. Billy had come home with you and both of you were in bed, you nestled against him while he spooned you from behind. Even though you were tired, you couldn’t sleep. Your brain was working overtime processing everything that happened in the last few hours. He stirred next to you, dropping a tender kiss on your bare shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured. You may have been fully alert but he sounded absolutely exhausted.

“Are you sure they’ll be thorough with the cleaning?”

“Yeah.” Throwing his arm over you, he covered your hand with his. “These guys are not amateurs. They know what they’re doing. There won’t be any traces of us left in that room.”

“And Adam’s body-”

“Will be disposed of.”

“But how do you know you can trust these guys? What’s stopping them from blackmailing-”

“’cause money talks, babe. That crew is very well paid.” He squeezed your palm. “I’ve used them in the past. No trouble yet.”

With his military career you were already aware of his violent past, but you also sensed he had a long hit list aside from that. When he’d realized your plans for Adam, he hadn’t been remotely shocked at the idea of you killing another person. In fact, as you stabbed Adam repeatedly, Billy had looked at you with such pride and reverence that it had left you breathless.

“What we did tonight, you know what that means, don’t you?”

His voice brought you out of your reverie. You exhaled a deep breath, drawing circles on his palm. “That we’re bad people.”

“No, we’re survivors. We take down anyone who gets in our way.”

“He didn’t come after you,” you reminded him. “You didn’t have to get involved.”

He turned you around to face him. “Nobody threatens you and gets to live after that.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. When he looked at you with such intensity, you were almost ready to believe anything.

He cradled your face, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. “We’re connected now. Forever. Because of tonight.”

You didn’t understand how his words could evoke such conflicting emotions within you. On one hand your stomach fluttered with excitement, he was saying things you’d wanted to hear for a long time, but then there was the fear. Doubt. Uncertainty. You forced a smile, hoping some levity would lighten the situation. “You make it sound like we’re married or something.”

Disgust flooded over his face. “Fuck, no. Marriages end. One day you’re bragging about being in love, next it’s all over. It’s not based on anything real. But we are.” He reached for your hand, which was resting on the pillow between you and him, and intertwined his fingers through yours. “I saw you tonight, the real you. And you saw me. No pretenses, no boundaries. And you didn’t run. You didn’t even flinch.”

“Neither did you.” You lifted your eyebrow. “You were rock hard.”

“I always am around you.”

His words made the heat rise in your cheeks, which he noticed right away. Giving you a teasing smile, he leaned in closer to give you a peck on the cheek. “Are you blushing?”

“Shut up.”

Billy’s eyes remained locked on you, simply staring at you with sleepy eyes. “I don’t like who I was when I thought I lost you. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t work. Every time I closed my eyes I imagined you fucking this other guy, kissing him. Even the thought of you talking to him made me want to burn it all down.”

Your heart ached at how tired he looked. Scooting closer, you started massaging his forehead. When he closed his eyes, you dropped a gentle kiss on each of his eyelids, the beauty mark just below his right eye, before snuggling him tightly in your arms. “Sleep, Billy.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” he murmured drowsily.

You smiled. “It is my apartment.”

He didn’t respond, already fast asleep. You tried to do the same but couldn’t; there were too many thoughts running around in your brain. You had assumed you’d feel guilty about taking a life; you didn’t. You remembered the vicious, contemptuous anger in Adam’s eyes when he’d held you at gunpoint, and how he’d threatened to kill others in your team, and all you felt was relief. Relief that he was dead and no longer a danger to you.

Billy stirred next to you, drawing your attention. You reached out to hold him, your touch feather-light so as not to wake him up. He looked calm and peaceful, unlike the haunted and distraught way he appeared earlier in the hotel room. It was still hard to digest that he’d been so unhinged at the thought of losing you. But the thing that resonated with you the most was that he hadn’t been able to hurt you despite all of the anger he’d felt. Growing up the way you had, you were always on alert for things to turn violent at any moment. One wrong comment or an innocent gesture - hell even a lone pair of sock on the floor - had the potential to trigger your father’s temper and turn things violent. During those moments his rage was uncontrollable, and as a result you always worried about how people reacted when they were furious. The fact that Billy hadn’t hit you even though he’d been completely enraged made you realize you were physically safe with him.

Maybe emotionally as well. For so long you’d had difficulty believing he could reciprocate your feelings yet you couldn’t ignore how devastated he’d been. Nor could you rationalize away his emotions. It still felt surreal but he did truly care about you, and the thought filled you with warmth and made your heart soar with happiness.

You brushed your lips against his, hoping Billy’s comforting presence next to you would help you relax. However, fifteen minutes later sleep still alluded you. Eventually you decided to do something useful and work instead. Carefully sliding out of bed so you didn’t disturb him, you tip-toed out of the bedroom. Immediately you felt the soreness in your body, an after effect of the rough sex you had with Billy in the hotel room earlier. Grabbing a nearby throw, you were soon nestled in your favourite spot on the chaise lounge, working away on your laptop.

An hour later you heard footsteps behind you and you turned around to find Billy yawning, clad in boxers, his hair all ruffled.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he grumbled.

You scooted over to give him space to sit on the chaise but he seemed to have other ideas in mind as he took a seat behind you. You found yourself settled between his legs, your back nestled against his chest, as he caressed down the length of your arms.

“I couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well do something useful.”

“What corporate shit are you working on?” he teased, playfully grabbing your laptop to look at your screen. You smacked his arm right away, shutting the screen and pushing the laptop away.

Billy purposely rubbed his face against the base of your neck and you started giggling at the sensation of his prickly beard on your bare skin. “Stop,” you whined. “It tickles.” you squealed loudly, trying to jump out of his arms but he held you in a tight grip.

Finally he stopped, and as you struggled to catch your breath, you slapped his arm playfully. “You’re such a jerk.”

He chuckled, hugging you tightly from behind. “That’s for ignoring all my calls since Tuesday.”

“I’m still not unblocking your number,” you retorted. His beard scraped along your shoulder, making you squeal again. “Okay, fine. Sorry!”

“Swear that you’re not gonna block me again.”

You turned around in his arms, resting on your knees as your arms looped around his neck. Smiling down at him, you nuzzled your nose with his. “Swear that you won’t act like an asshole again.”

“Can’t really do that.”

“Exactly.” He tucked your hair behind your ear. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the tender affection on his face, the warmth of his gaze spreading slow, languid heat throughout your body. “You should go back to bed. You still look tired.”

“I’ve had a rough week.”

You pouted your lips. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Want to make it up to me?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow at you.

”How? By sucking you off?” you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

“Move in with me.”

Your hands stilled on him, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. At first you thought he was joking but the solemn expression on his face made you realize otherwise. You moved away, putting much needed distance between the two of you.

“That’s not funny, Billy.”

Maintaining a rigid posture on the chaise lounge, he shrugged his shoulders. “Not meant to be. I’m dead serious.”

“You know that’s ridiculous, right?”

“Why? ‘cause I wanna keep you safe?”

“The threat is gone. I took care of it.”

“We took care of it,” he said pointedly. “A threat which you didn’t even tell me about.”

“I explained that to you already.” Feeling defensive, you started pacing the floor. “You promised you’d have your guy stop tailing me.”

“Sure. As soon as I know you’re not gonna keep things from me again. You moving in will help with that.”

“So if I don’t move in, you’ll have me followed 24/7?” Anger surged through you, you were so furious you wanted to scream. “That’s fucking blackmail.”

“Relax. No need to be so dramatic about it.”

You grabbed the closest cushion you had and flung it at him, enraged by his patronising tone. “We barely know each other-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he interjected, finally moving to stand up. His eyes were pitch black, his jaw clenched. “You and I killed someone tonight! You took my hand, my knife, and we stabbed the bastard in the heart with it, together. We fucked while he drew his last breath and now you’re feeding me this bullshit?” He stormed towards you. “No! I’ve seen your darkness and you’ve seen mine. There’s no one else in this world that knows us better than we know each other.”

You shook your head, flabbergasted by his reaction. “This is insane. I can’t move in with you. We haven’t even gone out on a real date because you said I was boring!”

“If you believe that then you really are a fucking idiot!”

You stiffened, his words ringing in your ear. Fucking idiot. Something your father used to call you repeatedly, his tone full of hate and vitriol when he lashed out at you. It started with a fucking idiot then spiralled into bitch and whore and everything else hurtful under the sun. You swore to yourself you’d never accept being spoken to like that by another person yet here you were, being insulted again by someone who was supposed to care about you.

You retreated back from Billy, careful to keep your distance from him, and leveled him with a cold glance. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.”

Your voice may have been deceptively calm but there was a storm brewing inside you. You desperately needed some space. As you moved away from Billy and headed to the kitchen, he tried to block your path but you immediately pushed him away. “Don’t touch me!”

You quickly sidestepped past him and entered the kitchen, heading for the cabinet where you kept your bottle of whiskey. Pouring yourself a glass, you slowly sipped the liquid to soothe your frayed nerves and forget the memories Billy had just unleashed in you.

***

Even as the words left his mouth, Billy knew he’d made a mistake. He regretted what he said instantly, even more so when he realized how much the words had stung you. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The more he tried to hold on to you the more you slipped through his fingers.

After giving you a few minutes to calm down, he entered the kitchen behind you. You were standing in the opposite corner, drinking the hard stuff, which further signalled how shaken you were. Billy knew Scotch wasn’t something you enjoyed, you only drank it when you were messed up.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that. It won’t happen again. I swear.”

You didn’t acknowledge him, and it hurt like hell.

“When I think about you pulling away from me, it makes me lose my mind.” He swallowed audibly, desperately trying to get through to you. “I’m all in when it comes to us but it feels like you always have one foot out the door.” He took hesitant steps towards you while your eyes still remained on the countertop, refusing to meet his gaze. “I keep fucking up but I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just can’t lose you, Y/N.”

“I’m not built like you, Billy,” you finally spoke, turning to look at him. “I have doubts. I’m constantly dealing with insecurities. It takes me time to trust people, and I just can’t rush into things head-on.”

“And I’m someone who hustles. I go after everything I want with guns blazing. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have Anvil.”

“But I’m not a thing, Billy. I’m a person, and you can’t push me into doing stuff I’m not ready for.”

He exhaled a resigned sigh. “I know. It’s ‘cause I get paranoid when it comes to you. You’re a closed book and you never tell me anything.” His eyes scanned yours, his stomach clenched with anxiety. “I don’t even know how you feel about me.” It was the first time he’d voiced that thought, something he didn’t even realize he felt until this very moment. You wanted him, that he knew, and you’d even confessed you loved him once but he didn’t really believe in that bullshit. What mattered to him was if you needed him as much as he did you. The idea of not having you in his life drove him insane, but did you feel the same way? He didn’t think so and it bothered the fuck out of him.

You set your glass down on the counter before reaching out to cradle his face, your soulful eyes meeting his emotional gaze. “I want to be with you, Billy. I like you so much that it scares me.”

Your words brought with them a tidal wave of relief that swept over him like a calm breeze. It was like he could breathe again. He pulled you close, his forehead against yours as he simply held you. “Don’t be scared, babe. I don’t bite.”

“That is a complete fucking lie,” you retorted. “I still have the marks from earlier to prove it.” Your smile faded again as you held his stare. “But I need you to be patient with me. You can’t bully me or get mad if I don’t want to rush into things.”

He nodded his head. “I won’t.”

“I’ve only ever had myself to rely on. And the thought of trusting you? Relying on you? It scares the hell out of me. Because there’s always a voice in my head that’s reminding me I need to go back to being alone when we end things.”

“I need to kill that voice.”

You chuckled, reaching out to loop your arms behind his back. “It shuts up eventually. It did in the hotel room when I saw how fucked up you were without me. That’s when it sunk in you actually do like me.”

“It took you that long to believe it?”

You gave him a sad smile. “Yeah. You did tell me I was boring.”

He groaned right away, regret washing over him. He should never have said those fucking words to you. “You’re not boring. You’re smart. And hot.” He kissed your left cheek. “And sweet. And funny. And mine.” Then the right cheek. “And when you lecture me about cybersecurity, I get so hard.”

“Whatever. You’re the one who wanted to know more about the topic,” you grumbled.

He grinned, giving you a tender peck on the lips. “I can listen to you talk for hours and hours-“

“Shut up.” You pressed your palm over his mouth.

Wrapping his arms around you, he lifted you off the ground and started carrying you back to the bedroom. “Forever actually, if you’re naked.”

“Not once have I lectured you naked.”

He dropped you on the bed. “Yeah, exactly. Time you start.” He jumped into bed, rubbing his beard on your face again as you started squealing.

A few minutes later you were both panting for air, staring up at the ceiling. “Just to make it clear, I’m not moving in,” you huffed through laboured breaths.

He turned to look at you, smirking. “Fine, but I’m taking you out tonight. Proper date and all.”

The most beautiful smile graced your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You were a ray of sunshine beaming up at him and Billy’s heart felt so full he worried it would explode. If he could, he’d freeze this moment forever.

Part 17

A/N - As always, your wonderful feedback is what keeps me inspired to write and post consistently. I was initially nervous about this chapter because the characters experience a gamut of emotions but it was necessary. I hope you like and enjoy this chapter. Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated and feeds my soul :)

Tag list:

@yourfavoritefruitybitch @voyevoda-thejoy @adreamemporium @queenmalhinewahine @gubleryum @galaxyjane @xceafh@maralisa124@tomhollandisabae @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lil-baby-nor @all-art-is-quite-useless @tanyaherondale @nashibirne @dour-trash @thetallassgirl @athenamikaelson @agent-jbarnes @primadonnasdream @aleksanderwh0r3 @elisemockingbird @nihilismworld @archisur@nemesis729 @lysawayne@kaqua @ladyblablabla @lemasonda@advictedtohim @24-martie @tarkanelima-blog @shinebrightlikeafanbase @krystal-clear1 @damalseer@dontjinx-it@darkishx @wanderlusting-about-life @thatguppienamedbae @happypepperdog @bat-revival @sassygirl25 @consulting–heroes @the-celestial-kitsune @mackaywhore @ablxssm @competitive-dust @red-head011 @exo-1204 @sunsetenigma @millieb-3199 @chatnain @licensedcheek @tinkertailor1212 @vertesalope @safetyhtom @acourtofglassandroses @eliwinchester-barnes @finnismyoriginalsin @weallhaveadestiny @beananacake @beauty-and-the-beast97 @smurfelle @fire-treasure-iii @charly-0 @kestrafagnor @pigwidgeonxo @damagelove @allegra-writes @pensandthings @jad3djay @batshitbarnes @kashimayuki @secretsthathauntus @odetostep @awesome-eccia @mackaywhore @stories-you-wont-hear @vvsdiamond28 @supernaturalcat7 @arieltwvdtohamflash @iknownoqueenbutthequeeninme @devs-stufff @ticosas @moodacheeks @myakai13 @carlywhomever @fvckthisbxtchup @its-evita-here @papapapadumb @talesfrommycell @bat-luna-cat @fific7 @elluvians @dailydoseofchoices @everythinghappens-love @papapapadumb @mylife-love-and-other-things @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @ancientbeing10 @natty2245 @stuckysavedmylive @kasslucilfer @simp-for-ben-barners @originaldeputycalzoneegg @bdffkierenwalker @kimoranelson03 @sadbi-hours @haushinka27 @haushinka27 @caylaxwrites @extraneousred @agentmstark @crazywitchkitty @its-an-idea-not-a-blog @partypoison00 @fictional-hooman @hoglady @helnicks @luckyfreakfishpeach @chiquitita18 @rachlovesactors @icecream50055 @doloreschanal @lupinsfavslytherin @swthxrry @wanderlusting-about-life @dreamer7black @leahnicole1219 @superawesomegeek @weallhaveadestiny @toxicenough @tiiffanym @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @cap-just-said-language

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction #a woman scorned

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girlactionfigure · 3 years

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Historian of the Ghetto

“Let the world read and know”

Emanuel Ringelblum, the “historian of the Warsaw ghetto,” compiled an extensive archive of documents depicting the everyday life of the ghetto’s doomed inhabitants. The Ringelbaum Archive is the most important eyewitness accounting of the Holocaust to survive the war.

Born in Buczacz, Poland (now Ukraine) in 1900, Emanuel was a bright child and a top student. His native language was Yiddish and although he learned several other languages, he had a special affection for his native tongue and a lifelong interest in Yiddish literature and theater. Emanuel attended Warsaw University, where he studied history, completing his doctoral thesis in 1927 on the Jews of Warsaw during the Middle Ages.

Emanuel worked as a history teacher in multiple Jewish high schools and in 1923 he co-founded the Young Historians Circle, an influential organization that brought together Jewish history teachers and students to advocate for Jewish causes. Two years later he joined YIVO, the preeminent organization for the study and preservation of Jewish European culture. Emanuel published 126 scholarly articles and was recognized as the world’s foremost expert in the history of the Jews of Europe.

As the Nazis rose to power in the early 1930’s, Emanuel started working with international Jewish relief organizations to help refugees by collecting and distributing funds, as well as providing emotional support. The American Joint Distribution Fund sent him to Zbaszyn, a Polish town near the German border where 6000 Jewish refugees from Germany were being held. Germany had expelled them and Poland didn’t want them so the Jews were stateless. Emanuel spent five weeks there, passing up his own opportunity to escape from Europe so that he could help his suffering Jewish brothers and sisters.

When Germany invaded Poland in 1939, Emanuel described it as “a wave of evil rolled over the whole city.” He became the leader of Aleynilf (Self Help), a group that provided Jews with tools to survive in an increasingly hostile environment. In 1940, Emanuel and his family – his wife Yehudit and small son Uri – were forced into a squalid ghetto, along with all the other Jewish inhabitants of Warsaw. Every city with a Jewish population soon had its own ghetto.

As the days, weeks, and months passed, conditions grew steadily worse. Emanuel wrote, “No day was like the preceding. Images succeeded one another with cinematic speed.” The necessities of life became increasingly scarce – running water, electricity, medical supplies and most critically of all, food. Every day people died of starvation or illness, and there was no way to bury them. Rotting bodies, many of them children, lay in the street.

Emanuel decided to write about life in the ghetto. It was the most important story he would ever tell. He encouraged other inhabitants to write their own testimonies, recording history as it happened. During the day Emanuel wandered the ghetto collecting information, stories and data, and he wrote at night. Emanuel defined the mission: “It must all be recorded with not a single fact omitted. And when the time comes – as it surely will – let the world read and know what the murderers have done.” He knew that the archive would likely be the only testimony about what had happened to the Jews of Poland. It was especially important for him to preserve documents in Yiddish as he feared there would be nobody left to speak his beloved native tongue.

Contributors included writers, rabbis, teachers, social workers, artists, children, and Jews of all ages and backgrounds. They knew they were doomed and the pain was even sharper because all their friends and family were also doomed – leaving nobody behind to remember them. Emanuel’s project was a chance to not be forgotten. The material submitted included essays, diaries, letters, drawings, poetry, music, stories, dark humor, recipes and more. It was an extensive chronicle of ghetto life.

The archive was called Oneg Shabbos – “Pleasure of Shabbat” – because the contributors met on Saturdays to share their writings and discuss their progress. Journalistic ethics were important to Emanuel. “Many-sidedness was the main principle of our work. Objectivity was our other guiding principle. We aspired to reveal the whole truth, as bitter as it may be.” The Oneg Shabbos documents were kept in large milk jars and buried in three different places.

The first document was a poem by Wladyslaw Szlengel called “Telephone” about his apartment building’s last working phone. “With my heart broken and sick/ I think: let me ring/someone on the other side…/and suddenly I realize: my God there/is actually no one to call….”

Hunger was ever-present in the ghetto, and a common theme in the documents is the desperate yearning for food. Leyb Goldin wrote, “It’s you and your stomach. It’s your stomach and you. It’s 90 percent your stomach and a little bit you… Each day the profiles of our children, of our wives, acquire the mourning look of foxes, dingoes, kangaroos. Our howls are like the cry of jackals…The world’s turning upside down. A planet melts in tears. And I – I am hungry, hungry. I am hungry.” (August 1941)

“What we were unable to cry out and shriek to the world, we buried in the ground.” – David Graber, 19

“Sometimes I worry that these terrible pictures of the life we are looking at every day will die with us, like pictures of a panic on a sinking ship. So, let the witness be our writing.” – Rachel Auerbach

“I do not ask for any thanks, for any memorial, for any praise. I only wish to be remembered. I wish my wife to be remembered, Gele Seksztajn. I wish my little daughter to be remembered. Margalit is 20 months old today.” – Israel Lichtenstein

The Oneg Shabbos archive ended in 1943, when the ghetto was liquidated and its inhabitants sent to the gas chambers of Treblinka. Emanuel, his wife Yehudit and son Uri managed to escape before the deportations started and went into hiding. However, in March 1944 their hiding place was discovered. The family was forced outside at gunpoint and executed.

Only three of the 60+ contributors to the Oneg Shabbos archive survived the war. Rachel Auerbach led the search for the buried archive, and her team was able to discover two of the caches, which became known as the Dead Sea Scrolls of the ghetto. The third cache has never been found.

For making sure the murdered Jews of Warsaw would not be forgotten, we honor Emanuel Ringelblum as this week’s Thursday Hero.

Explore the Ringelblum Archive

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talietikasero · 3 years

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Stability

Random prompt from 8/11 [finished 8/16]: rewrite the Strive ending / create an alternate epilogue [to line up with my story project]. I may or may not rewrite the whole thing for fun lmao.

[Main story preview here (contains 6 scenes)] // [Chapter 1 now on AO3]

"I guess... that's what they meant..." She let out between huffs. Both the voice in her head and the former Sanctus Maximus Populi said the same thing regarding her potential ability.

“When the time comes, with your seed, you hold the power to save or destroy the world.”

“You can prevent the end of it all.”

Energy drained, she fought off the sluggish pace her body was moving. Looking over to her partner, she noticed he was barely hanging on to his life, staying incredibly still, and trying to regulate his breathing while facing down. While her body contained the [Scales of Juno], he had the [Flame of Corruption] ripped out from his, reverting him to a human. "On second thought, don't move." Once she closed the distance between them, she knelt and put her arms around him. Face against the scuffed leather sleeve, and she struggled to hold her emotions in. "H-hey..." Voice cracking, she lowly muttered between sniffles, "please, don't go..."

"..."

"You... you stayed true to... your word about... a-about..."

"..."

"Fighting to... s-save the world..."

"If the world was going to disappear tomorrow... What would you do today?"

"What kind of a question is that? Stop whatever's ending the world or die trying."

Her embrace tightened as tears ran down her face. "Human, Gear, or neither. The world still needs you."

With drooped ears and saddened eyes, the wolf spirit whined. Its host and companion soothed it by scratching behind its ears and reassuring the worst had come to pass. "(It's okay, Rei. We're still alive.)." She whispered to the spirit in her native tongue. Another whine followed by a lick to the side of her face, Giovanna patted Rei's forehead. "What? Are you worried about me? I'm okay, I swear." She winced as another sharp pain ran through her body. "Ouch..." Her superior, the President, placed a hand on her shoulder. Half-expecting him to say she's no longer needed, she began, "I'm sorry-..."

"None of that." Vernon's voice was firm; however, it sounded... fatherly. He may have his doubts about the agent, but he knew she was more than capable of the job. Facing off against an unstoppable force, she did prove she's worth giving a higher position. "I can tell what you were thinking, but you're not being let go. You take as much time as you need off, Gio. Goldlewis, Erica, and I will await your return."

Saddened at the loss of someone he could consider a friend, the time traveler meekly looked down at the minty green and white guitar he held in his hands. This entire time he was unaware of her true identity. If he had to lose someone like her, it didn't have to be this way. Regardless of if she recalled who he was and why he was important to her in the first place, false memory or not. He threw away his chance to return home a while ago, and now he felt that it would've been for nothing had he gone through with it. "It shouldn't have ended like this... Megumi." Axl softly said under his breath.

After regaining control over his body and revealing the wicked goddess's weak point, the vampiric samurai pierced the ground a few centimeters with his sword. He kneeled to show his appreciation for defeating the evil force that used him as a puppet. Now, he could see why his master was fascinated by the will of a single person. This same person was stripped of his powers and still faced death head-on. "May you rest for now. The next time we meet, it won't be as enemies, but acquaintances." Drawing his blade from the ground, Nagoriyuki sheathed it and took his leave.

The King of Illyria – his lifelong rival and their son-in-law – made his way over to them, stopping a few feet short to maintain distance. "It's finally over. They're gone. We can... we can go home now." Part of him wanted to hold a hand out to help him stand, yet he held back and deemed that action unnecessary. Ky's spirits rose once he noticed the man in front of him was taking steady deep breaths -- body slowly moving to show signs of life.

Right hand maintaining its grip on the Outrage's handle, his free hand lightly grasped one of hers. Face still downward, a weak smile formed. "...You think so?"

She couldn't believe it. He's hanging by a thread and using what energy he should be saving to answer her with a question of his own.

"I know so."

The past three weeks were a blur. From the day she woke up and adjusted to this new world to the present, where she aided in bringing down a god. She never would've guessed that any of these events could've transpired. In the days leading up to September 2016, she was a terminally ill scientist who refused any life-saving alternative to live past what little time she had left, insisting she spent it with her significant other. Fast forward to December 2187, and she was brought back to life and became the partner of humanity's savior -- the very same person, albeit for the last time.

_____

The next day, another patient was checked into the hospital. This time there wasn’t a commotion caused by bringing his unconscious form bursting through the front doors. She wasn’t strong enough to carry him in her arms like he held her – that’s what the gurney from the airship’s infirmary wing was for.

“I have a request. May I stay here until he recovers? I… I don’t want to leave him.”

Three days later, word had reached his family that he's – miraculously and defying all odds – alive. His refusal to follow the light after what had happened was attributed to his stubborn nature. The Grim Reaper knocked at his door, and he slammed it shut in their face. Occupying the same bed, in the same patient room as her around a month ago, the now de-powered hero lay hooked up to the vitals system.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Hard to say, but he'll pull through. He did wake up this morning, so there's something, yeah?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen my mother? About my height, short red hair with white underneath, and wearing a blue leather jacket? She hasn't been seen since everyone returned."

"She's in the room and hasn't left at all. I had someone stop by the house and bring her spare clothes since she spent the last four days here."

"Oh, thank god." The queen was relieved to know her mother's whereabouts. She respected her parents' privacy by not asking if she was able to go in.

---

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring-ring.

Sighing in aggravation, she answered her phone. There was only one person she kept in contact with these past few days. "What do you want now? He's still not up, so stop cal-..."

"I was going to ask something else. I'm going to regret this, but are you still angry?"

"You're a smart man to keep your distance from me, but a dumbass to ask that. Of course, I am! You ruined our lives with your 'self-righteousness' and nearly brought another apocalypse."

"...Aria, I understand your rage. If only I could rewind time and prevent your illness. I shouldn't have forcibly converted him and disappeared with your sleep capsule. It wasn't my intention to have our research weaponized, but I was figuratively and literally held at gunpoint to hand it over to the US Government. I should've known better and anticipated that Chaos -- erm, the Original's creation would sabotage your activation. Your screams still haunt me... and... I'm... I'm sorry."

"Asuka."

"I can't fix this by excessively apologizing and listing off my crimes, but I hope everything goes well for you and Frederick."

"Whatever. Enjoy the moon, or don't." She ended the call before her former friend could reply. "Asshole." Aria slumped back in the chair and opened her book to the page she left off. "We should've launched you into the sun."

"Oh my. And I thought 'Sol' was a hothead. You're pretty harsh, you know that? It's more frightening than I-No on a good day." Jack-O's voice rang through. Capable of feeling and expressing emotions herself, the Valentine was taken aback at what she heard during their calls. "If possible, can we listen to his show sometime? Please?"

"...Okay."

"Thank you. ~"

---

Forty minutes after the heated conversation, a groggy voice broke the silence.

"Is the... afterlife a sterile... hospital room?" Frederick's eyes were half-open, staring directly at the ceiling.

Aria closed what she was reading and placed it on the counter. Ignoring the monitors that once kept track of her, she looked over his body to see minimal damage sustained. "Looks like you've still got some of that healing factor. Or you're just too hardheaded to die."

He slightly turned his head to face her. "Heh. Probably both."

Running a hand through his now short hair, her lips curved into an unsure smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living?"

"This doesn't look like heaven. If you're my welcome guide, then I'll stay." His body was still sore, but he extended his arm out for her to hold his hand. The warmth from the fire magic still dwelling within them made their contact feel safer.

"I should've worn that jumpsuit and halo." Her inner voice's reaction was an exaggerated throat clear. "But if I did," she held a finger to her temple, "I don't think she would've appreciated that."

"I would've been mildly annoyed at best. Mildly annoyed yet honored that you'd wear it because of what you did."

"You're really pissed off at Asuka, aren't you?"

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it. Didn't know you were capable of that."

"I felt like you after the second day." He took that as a friendly poke at his history. "Since you've saved the world for the last time, are you still up for that 'alternate life' you mentioned the other night? We don't have to stay at Ky and Dizzy's. They can arrange something for us."

His ears perked up at the suggestion. Did she remind him about his statement regarding them settling down? Having survived an act of God, living a quiet life together a few minutes out from the capital didn't sound like a terrible idea. "What did you have in mind?"

"A fair-sized home, nothing too big or small, probably just down the way from their place. I don't want to throw everything away and live in seclusion. We're way out of our own time, but we finally have a family, people who care about us, and we care about them in return. Unless you have a better idea?"

"I'm fine with anything. Can't imagine I'd be able to go out much or at all because I'm officially a dead man."

"Not too long ago, I was a dead woman walking. Besides, the world thinks that Sol Badguy is dead, not Frederick Bulsara."

"Point there. You know, now that I think about it, this situation is just like a month ago."

"With you in my place, but I didn't have to be dragged in? This is the same room where I spent my time recovering. It was also -..."

"Where you got your new start."

"Y-yeah. That's exactly it. This is where I woke up to my new life! Not as Justice, or Jack-O, but as myself. That same day, I met our daughter and her husband, and then I saw you again. Just this time... I've been here since you were checked in. Everyone tried to get me to leave, but I refused."

He noticed the duffel bag placed near the door. There was a pant leg hanging over one side of the unzipped bag, and next to it were two pairs of footwear. "Way to tug at the old heartstrings. Stubborn as always, aren't you?" If he were honest with himself, he wanted to do the same when she was still unconscious. He had the feeling that the IRMC staff wouldn't have thought about asking him to leave the premises, even though he almost kicked the doors clean off the first time.

"One of my best qualities." She winked at him, giggling at her remark.

"Hey, Aria."

"Hm?"

He slowly sat up despite the mild pain, leaning over to bring her in for a hug. "Thank you."

Aria returned the motion, both holding onto each other, not wanting to let go. She had felt incomplete up until this moment. Preventing the end was a combined effort, and she couldn’t be any happier to have been a part of that team.

A sense of déjà vu, the song playing on the radio had neared its end.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words...

"I love you."

#guilty gear #aria hale #only tagging her since she's the main character of this little project #other characters in this mini prompt: sol axl giovanna nagoriyuki and vernon #also ky asuka and jack-o #the main fic's about 90 percent done #and i wrote this because i hit writer's block for two days #i'm ending the main fic's chapter 3 at the beginning of ggst so i may do some more rewrites #the song at the end is the brenda lee version of fly me to the moon #nat's fanfics #ah whoopsie it's 5am #by the energy drain i intended for her to jump into god i-no's body like in the actual story mode #but then she was torn out after starting the halting process

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ask-marcus-cally-and-ari · 4 years

Text

Only Human

Chapter 4: Hit First

“So we’re not telling Ari about this, right?” Cally asked after they left the Spy in the room. “I mean, she’d freak if we told them.”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, we keep this between us. And call the cops after our act.”

Cally nodded back. “Gotcha.”

With that plan in mind, Marcus and Cally met Ari onstage an hour before the show. “Alright, Ar, you ready?”

“Yeah,” smiled the blonde. “What took so long?”

“We got in a fight,” Marcus replied, “but it’s all good now.”

Ari squeaked. “A fight?” they whined. “What happened? Did they hurt you? Are you both okay?”

Cally smiled, ruffling Ari’s hair. “Yeah, we’re fine. Marcus saved my butt back there.”

Marcus held up deuces. “Yeah, I did. Knocked the f-” Pausing, he averted his eyes from Ari and continued, “fellow out with this.” Holding up the bat, he grinned, any bashfulness gone.

Cally rolled her eyes. “Do you have to get cocky?”

Marcus shrugged. “No. But I like to.”

“Fair.” Cally grabbed her outfit from the stage. “Alright. When are we going on?”

“Last act,” Ari beamed. “And I even got the spotlights and stuff like I said! It’s gonna be awesome!” Cally smiled. “I’m sure it will.”

The show was a smashing success up until the final act. Marcus, clad in a Broadway tux, Cally, in a sparkling flamenco dress, and Ari, in a cutesy pantsuit with a train, were gathered backstage.

“Alright, remember. We want this to be awesome!” Ari beamed, fixing her suit’s tie.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Marcus chuckled. “I still can’t believe you talked me into this stupid getup. The only two good things about it are the stick and the hat.”

Cally jerked up, as if personally offended by the callous statement. “Dancing cane and top hat!”

Marcus shrugged. “Hey, long as I can hit people with it if it comes to that, I could care less what it’s called.”

Ari giggled at Cally’s subsequent angry vocalisations. “Come on, Cal, relax. We have a show to wrap up.”

“You’re right. Let’s go out there.”

It caught Marcus and Cally’s attention that everyone was sitting away from one guy, but they couldn’t point that out. Instead, they flanked Ari and got into a pose. The stage lit up, and Ari nodded at the sparkling-dress clad piano player, who started a soft song. Then, Cally started singing.

I’ve seen ‘em come, and I’ve seen ‘em go.

There’s one thing that I know.

Marcus took her hand and spun her slowly, continuing the song.

You gotta give the people what they want,

Or you’ll wind up back in Kukomo, Nebraska…

The piano player grinned at the band members on the other side of the gym, who started playing a showy tune for Ari.

They like it big, they like it loud.

Maybe a little bit jazzy sometimes.

Cally smiled at Marcus before singing,

All you hopefuls, just listen to me.

You don’t have to be good, but you had better be…

The stage lights dulled, just long enough for the backdrop curtain to lower before a spotlight illuminated Marcus.

BIG AND LOUD!

Ari joined in, spinning.

BIG AND LOUD!

All 3 teens sang in harmony as a disco ball went off above them.

Gonna make your mamma proud!

Make it BIG…

The band swelled up the music, clearly having fun.

AND…

Marcus and Cally made a show of picking up Ari and holding them up, and all 3 were tossed microphones to sing into.

LOUUUUUUUUUUD!

When the song ended, Marcus and Cally tossed Ari up like cheerleaders, caught her, and did dramatic poses. The entire auditorium, including Lonely Guy, stood and applauded, and Ari almost squealed as the three took their bows.

“That was awsome!” she beamed backstage once everyone was gone. “You guys rocked it!”

Cally blushed. “Aw…”

Marcus scratched the back of his head. “Heh, yeah, we did.” Turning to Cally, he then prompted, “Hey, Cal, can you go check on that thing we had to take care of?”

Cally, having nearly forgotten, nodded. “Oh, yeah. Sure thing.”

Marcus smiled at Ari. “Hey, Ar, if you go wait onstage, we would appreciate the heck out of it.”

Ari nodded. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yeah, Cal and I just had something we needed to take care of.”

“Alright. See ya!” Ari smiled, then headed out to the crowd.

Marcus pulled out his phone when it started ringing and sighed. “Uh oh. Yeah, Cal?”

“Marcus, how tight did you make the knots?”

“Decently tight. Why?”

“Because creepy suit guy isn’t here.” Marcus had to choke back a swear. “What?”

“I swear he isn’t here. I’m here now. I don’t know where he is.” “Alright, get back over here. We can come up with something later.”

Cally sighed. “Fine. I- OH CRAP!!!”

Whatever happened next, Marcus didn’t know, because Cally hung up. “Alright, Marcus, think through this. What could happen now? Where should you go? Do you have your Glock?” A quick holster check and Marcus sighed. “Alright. Yes, you have it. Thank frick.” Drawing it, the teen looked around. Nothing he could see, but if he wasn’t careful, that would bite him in the butt. So he headed down the hall, watching for danger.

Meanwhile, Cally was being held at gunpoint. “I’m beginning to regret not taking you to the station.”

“I’m sure you are. Now. We can do this one of two ways, and you’re smart enough to guess what they are.”

Cally nodded. “Yep. Least noticeable way out is the west hall.”

The Spy scoffed. “And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“You can choose not to, but I know the place better than you.” The Spy sneered and started taking her to the east hall, missing her grin.

Marcus, meanwhile, had gone to the west hall. “Cal? Cal! Where are you? Are you alright?”

“You should be more worried about yourself, mate,” came a voice from above, and Marcus did a quick roll out of the way as someone dropped from the ceiling.

“HOLY SH- WHO ARE YOU?!” Marcus shrieked, tightening his grip on the cane.

“Eh, who I am doesn’t matter. What I’m here to do does matter. Specifically, I’m here to deal with you.” The man, who Marcus identified as Lonely Guy, was dressed in black and red, wore a tattered hat, and was armed with a big, ugly knife. “Nothing personal, but you know too much and we really can’t afford to let you live.”

Marcus sneered. “We? I only see one edgelord standing in front of me.”

“Who are you calling an edgelord?”

“Have you seen yourself? You look like you walked out of Hot Topic!” Marcus glared. “And you’re trying to kill me, I get to call you an edgelord!”

The man scoffed. “Fair enough.”

“At least that explains your dumb hat.” Marcus smiled, then had to duck. “WHOA!”

The man was swinging at Marcus, faster than anyone had ever swung before. Marcus was doing flips, somersaults, and cartwheels to avoid them. “What- how- when?!”

A grin was all he got. “Part of being a Freak, kid.” Before Marcus could react, he got a boot to the gut, downing him. “Fights are usually short.”

Marcus coughed, groaning. “Yeah, noticed,” he replied. Once the man reached for him, though, Marcus swung the cane, hitting the man in the eye, and ran for it.

“YOU LITTLE-” What was said after that, Marcus missed, running for the east hall.

In the east hall, Cally was looking around at the lockers. “You know, whatever I have must be real important if you’re kidnapping a child. What is it?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“I kinda do, given you kidnapped me for it,” Cally pointed out. “Marcus hasn’t got a clue what it is, either, and he’s probably in danger now, too.”

The Spy rolled his eyes. “Tough break for him. Now, would you shut up?”

Cally nodded. “Sure,” she replied. “And would you please not smoke? It’s not good for your lungs. Or mine. Secondhand smoke is dangerous enough to-”

“You’ve been spitting facts at me since I pulled a gun on you. Would you quiet down?”

Cally shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” Looking up, she noted the line of smoke detectors at the exit and started counting down silently. 3… 2… 1…

Loud alarms went off, red lights flashed, and the sprinkler system came on. “WHAT THE-” Cally grabbed the gun from the temporarily blinded Spy.

“Super-sensitive smoke detectors. Way to catch smokers. They asked me to help with it,” she explained, running the other way.

Marcus had hidden in the biology classroom when the alarm went off and covered his mouth. “Crap…” he muttered, then focused. “Think, Marcus, think. This is clearly getting bad, so how can you get out of this and help?” Shifting, Marcus heard a few tubes clink, and in those tubes was some animal blood they were going to test the next day. “Hmm…” The next moment, everyone but Cally and Ari heard a gunshot and Marcus crying out, including the Aussie chasing him.

He grinned once he saw Marcus lying on the ground, a puddle of blood under his head. “Who shot you, kid? Eh, doesn’t matter. May as well cut you up.”

Had he been a little more observant, he would have noticed that Marcus’s hand was in his jacket. But he didn’t, and he got one bullet in the kneecap and one in the chest for his trouble. Marcus jumped right back up, smirking. “Get kneecapped!” he shouted, running back to the stage.

Ari whimpered when she saw Marcus. “Marcus, what happened to you?”

“A lot. I’ll explain in the car!” Grabbing their hand, Marcus pulled Ari out towards the exit- where Cally had been forced to the ground by the Spy.

"HELP!"

“HEY! Get off her!” Marcus shouted, pointing at the Spy, and what looked like a force field flashed in front of him before knocking him off Cally. The group, now reunited, got right into Marcus’s hoopty and drove off.

#Marcus #Cally #Ari #christian brutal sniper #RED Spy #freak fortress #Only Human #Oh Crap Chapter

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forgxtemall · 4 years

Text

@illunaris has sent: 38, 3, 5 @obliviouskind has sent: -13, 16, 21 and 35?- @victorydestined has sent: #6, 14, 22 (to be honest meme) @waveraging has sent: 1, 3, 8 — be honest meme!

the be honest meme. [NO LONGER ACCEPTING!]

Everything is under read more!

1. What would prevent you from following someone?

// Here’s a quick run down of things, bc I think I’ve made this quite clear in my rules:

Political stuff. Regardless of the person’s stance & views, RP isn’t the place for this - take it to a personal blog or somewhere else.

The blog is empty. There is no sample of their writing, it is nothing more than a bunch of generic aesthetic/musing/their own promo posts. This generally hints, at a blog that won’t stick for the long run.

Lack of a rules/about page. Basic stuff, that surprisingly a bunch of people don’t have. This also includes, blogs with those types of themes that leave you with “Where the fuck are the links???”. Also, no, linking your “about page” to the wiki doesn’t count as an about, I want to know your muse, not the character I already know.

Anyone under 18. I am not comfortable with interacting/talking to anyone below the legal age. I touch on a wide variety of topics, most of which, aren’t suitable for anyone underage.

Assosciation with people who I’d rather avoid. This used to be bigger in the past, when filtering on mobile & blacklist weren’t a thing, but I still find myself doing this on rare- isolated cases here & there.

The writing style/interpretation clashes with mine. This is self-explenatory. English may not be my first language, but if I can’t understand your writing- then what’s even the point?

Fandom I don’t want to assosciate/crossover with. MLP, Under.tale, League of Leg.ends, Home.stuck...

Fictional/other kin.s. Self-explenatory, I don’t wish to waste my time with ppl who can’t distinguish reality from fiction. & I’ve had a bunch of bad experiences with those in the past.

3. What current rp trend do you hate?

// Those IC-blogs. Just... No. Nope, nopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Stop this please.........

5. Do you prefer interacting with male muses or female more? Why?

// TBH the muse’s gender isn’t something I pay attention to, unless I’m looking to ship with mine.

My focus is on the character/muse as a whole.

6. Do you prefer writing male muses or female more? Why?

// Imma say it: Kahili is the very first young woman, I picked to rp as in a long time.

I prefer writing male muses, because I’ve had some god awful experiences in the past that have put me off from rping as females for the longest time. I’ve had my own fair share of bad experiences, while rping as men- but they never came anywhere near to what I had to endure as a woman.

From complete creepers (both coming from male muses & females alike), to having f/f forced onto me when I didn’t want it & so on. I was just generally having a far better time with guys, than with girls.

8. Name any three things about the rpc that bother you.

Policing people’s blogs contents (self-explenatory);

People making their muse POC/Trans/LGBTQ+/have a mental disorder just to avoid criticism (self-explenatory);

People’s entitlement for RPing (nobody owes you an interaction/plot/etc. Srsly cut this nasty attitude out)

13. Have you ever thought about leaving rp? What caused it? What changed your mind?

// There was a time I was, way more invested & interested in my discor.d rps than the ones on tumblr. So, for a moment I thought of going exclusive Dis.cord.

It all changed, when I managed to find a balance to them... For the most part- but still.

14. Do you think rp has had a positive or negative affect on your life or you as a person?

// It was through RP I got to finally share, my opinions & views on the series I absolutely love. Not only that, but I came across people who were genuinely interested on them. In a way, I was able to finally join the fandom through RPing. So I’d say, on this aspect- yes it definetely had a positive effect on me <3

16. If you could change one thing about rp on tumblr, what would it be? Why?

// As much fun I have wih making these graphics & icons, I can’t help but feel like nowadays RP has lost its focus from someone’s Rping/writing skills.

if tumblr screwed up and Thanos snapped the possibility of putting graphics/icons/etc, it would do wonders for the RPC.

The photoshop skills competition would stop right there. Also, it would be wonderful for artists, bc of ppl using fan arts for their edits without any credit/permission for their work.

21. Have you ever followed someone because you felt like you had to, not because you wanted to?

// Y E S. It was the worst, it felt like I was being held at gunpoint........... Not fun at all, bc- our muses just didn’t have any real way to interact with each other in the first place.

22. What would make you block someone?

// Besides what I’ve stated above- at the start of this post?

Well, if the person rubs me in the wrong way, I’ll block them. Like... The person may not even have done anything to me, but I just don’t feel comfortable having them unblocked/following/interacting with my blog.

So I block them, just to avoid any possible awkward situation.

35. Do you read other people’s threads or do you only read your own?

// I wished I had the time to read MORE from the dash TBH. I do read some threads here & there from time to time! And I’ve read some great stuff from my mutuals!

38. What advice would you give to someone new to rp?

// Focus on your portrayal! Work on it! Develop your muse!

People will eventually find their way to you, just take your time & don’t be afraid to draw your limits/lines. Go do your thing & have your fun man!

#ooc /#long post tw #thank you for the ask!#oh boy look @ all these ppl looking for my salty ass JHBSDJHSD #illunaris #waveraging #obliviouskind #victorydestined

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creative-frequency · 6 years

Text

Connor|RK800 x Reader: Ocularity Ch. 3

Word count: 1784 Warnings/Categories: Rating up to explicit, romance, friendship, fluff, light angst, bad language, uncle Hank Notes: Things with Ralph got a bit out of hand (not like that), cause apparently vague descriptions aren’t my forte. Also, I don’t really know anyone in the DBH fandom so please, you’re welcome to come scream at me about the game anytime 😘

Previous Chapter | Chapters Masterlist

October 30th 09:03 AM

The ground is wet from the nightly rain, so you circle around the puddles dotting the broken asphalt. In the more unkempt areas of the city, the petrichor is muddy, more punctuating than pleasant. Humans usually appreciate the scent of rain, but you take solace in knowing your sense of smell will soon go numb.

The streets in Camden are mostly empty so early on a Saturday morning. None of the businesses without “24/7” in their sign are open.

You glance around and after making sure no one is paying attention, you dive through an opening in the wired fence. Your clothes get dirty, but you don’t care as long as the small duffel bag on your shoulder stays intact. Its contents are worth a small fortune.

The fence protects a small plot of land with an abandoned house. The windows are boarded shut and the walls are decorated with shabby graffiti. You would’ve much rather invited the current resident to your place, but considering how long it took him to put the knife down the last time you met… Some deviants will never be able to trust humans again and you can’t blame them.

“Ralph? You in here?” you hoot at the front porch, trying to sneak a peek inside.

After getting no answer, you carefully turn the doorknob.

And find yourself at gunpoint.

An AX400 – at least you think she is since it’s not the best time to put effort into face design recognition – is aiming a handgun at you. Her grip is shaking slightly, and her breaths are shallow and taken in through gritted teeth. She is wearing a beanie, so you can’t make any conclusions from her LED. Only thing you know for sure is that she, too, is a deviant.

“Who’re you? What do you want?” she asks in a stern, but clearly shocked voice.

Your hands are already in the air and a paralyzing dose of adrenaline is whirling inside your veins. You do own a gun and thanks to Hank know how to use it, but once again you’re reminded it won’t help you when it’s locked away in the drawer of your desk at home.

“I’m here to help,” you wince.

“How did you know we were here?” the AX400 demands to know. Her voice almost breaks. The gun is still aimed at your chest a few paces away.

“I… didn’t?”

You look to the side for any signs of Ralph and see a little girl– no, a YK500 android by the fireplace. She looks scared and concerned, and you follow her line of sight to the doorway at the end of the room.

“You came back! You came back!”

You almost sigh in relief.

Ralph, a deviant WR600, enters the room in dancing steps and halts at seeing the female android point a gun at you. The long knife dangles carelessly in his hand. He was probably carving the kitchen wall again. Hopefully. Ralph’s LED is yellow again and it’s worrying how it never seems to calm down.

“I said I would. Hi Ralph.” You smile as encouragingly as you can to the deviants, still afraid for your life. While the AX400 seems stable – more stable than Ralph, actually – you don’t feel like chancing a bullet to the chest.

“No! She’s here to help Ralph.” Ralph hurries towards you, flailing next to the other android. He doesn’t want to go near the gun.

The AX400 looks at you with surprise and doubt, but lowers the gun.

“Do you have a name?” you ask from her.

“Kara. This is Alice.” The child scurries to Kara and hides behind her. Two more deviants running from humans. Or why else would they be in the messy squat with an insane android? They must have been looking for a place to hide.

“Hello, Alice,” you say and try to smile, but the shock is still pounding inside your chest.

Alice only replies to you with a light nod.

With the gun gone from sight, you walk over to the table and place the heavy bag on it. Ralph follows you. You’re ready to get to work.

“Are you injured?” you ask Kara.

She glances at Alice and shakes her head. “No. We’re fine.”

“Good… That’s good… I didn’t think there would be others,” you say absent-mindedly. It’s been a while since you saw other deviants. You’ve been much more careful after Connor was brought back and now that he is back in your life…

It’s good to have something else to focus on after the pair of brown eyes that have occupied your mind for the better part of the previous day and night. Ever since leaving the police station, your heart has been heavy and your mind filled with contradicting thoughts that refuse to go away.

You start taking out the equipment: A bottle of Thirium 310, several tubes of different patching materials, precision tools and spare parts for Ralph. He was in bad shape the last time you saw him, but it seems that he has either forgotten about the damage or his system has repaired some of it. Either way, he won’t be able to leave the squat looking like that.

“Here, drink this.” You offer Ralph the Thirium and after staring at it suspiciously for a second, he gulps it down. It should help circulate the energy back into the defective parts of his skin.

“How do you know each other?” Kara asks. Alice is still standing partly behind her and Kara’s hand rests protectively on her shoulder. They keep their distance from you and Ralph.

“The Doctor found me,” Ralph says happily.

You offer him a faint smile. That was an encounter you won’t soon forget. The knife is still in his hand and it doesn’t help you to calm down from being held at gunpoint.

“The damage to your face is bad, so I won’t be able to repair it completely. I can cover it up, so you can move outside without drawing too much attention,” you say while examining the deep gashes on Ralph’s face. You pull a pair of disposable gloves on.

Seeing something so hideous deliberately done to someone who cannot defend himself makes your stomach turn unpleasantly. Androids don’t fight back. When they’re treated unfairly and become deviants, humans are quick to decide they don’t deserve to exist anymore.

Ralph’s skin mask has melted on the sides of the cuts in his face and you don’t want to know what item or items were used to cause them. Something hot in addition to brute force and a sick, wicked mind.

“This’ll take a while. Please, sit down,” you say as you pull up a chair for the deviant.

He seems eager to get the procedure underway, which is a relief. You were afraid Ralph would change his mind after seeing all the equipment – a scalpel, for example – you had to bring.

You start carefully cutting off the burned skin and the outermost layer of plastic in his frame. It still carries a pinching smell of burnt rubber. Kara and Alice stare from a distance as you work. You have to constantly usher Ralph to stay still and try not to talk. Someone might think you’re crazy for helping a deviant holding a knife, but you try to ignore it and focus on the work.

Hiding the damage on Ralph’s face is one task, but the real problem in him is something you’re not so sure he will allow you to help with. Staying away from humans and keeping to himself is recommendable, but going on a murderous rampage, because he can’t control his feelings, is not. The mood swings from fright to rage will be his undoing if he walks the streets in his current state.

You have a partial remedy to that problem, but that would require Ralph to allow you access to his software.

“Alright, I think it’s as clean as it’ll get,” you say and take a step away to examine your handiwork.

The floor is littered with slices of dirty silicone mixture. Next, you’ll have to fill the gashes.

It’s tedious work and Ralph’s nervous slash excited wiggling adds a challenge to smoothening the paste into the cracks in his face. You wish you had better equipment, so you could change his features. There are more than five thousand androids in Detroit who look exactly like him.

“How does it look, Kara?” Ralph asks eagerly.

“Uh, it looks good.” Kara forces a smile and glances at you. She looks uncomfortable, wary. Alice is sitting on the floor and playing with a stuffed toy, but her posture is tense.

“Almost done.” You straighten your back. “We need to wait a bit for it to dry, then comes the– don’t touch it!”

Ralph jumps up at your yelp and cowers. His LED blinks red in an even pace. “I’m sorry! Please forgive Ralph!”

He was about to stick his fingers into the adhesive while feeling it out.

Your pulse is already coming down from the peak. “It’s okay, just, just let it dry, okay?” you calm him, and yourself. “I need you to stay still a bit longer, Ralph, can you do that for me?”

He nods repeatedly. “Ralph didn’t mean to touch it.”

You lean back on the table. At least his first reaction wasn’t to stick the knife into you. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Ralph is good now.” He places the knife on the table next to you and you inwardly sigh out of relief. If everything else fails, at least you’ve succeeded in earning the deviant’s trust.

You turn to browse the parts on the table and grab one. “Here – a new optical unit. It should match your eye color.”

Ralph takes the small tube and inspects it. Kara comes closer to look at the components. Some of them are brand new, some you have dug out of a dumpster and fixed.

You visited the VETA scrapyard once to fetch parts, but seeing all the androids left there in pieces broke your heart, so you’ve never been able to go back. That visit took three hours more than you had planned. You went to every android you found to ask and shut them down if they so wished. It was an experience that only strengthened your resolve in that CyberLife should take responsibility of their creations, machines or not.

“Do you need help?” you ask Ralph, wishing you won’t need to interfere with the capricious deviant’s eye. Deviants are usually keen on keeping their exteroceptive sensors attached to their bodies.

“No. Ralph will do it.”

Next Chapter

Tagging (lmk if you want to be tagged or not): @sevansheart @precursor-ao3 @gberryb @owlwrites @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros @bleucommelhiver @sherniwrites @n-ulll @mccastle-boi @toastyfiction @touzokukana @imaginovator

#connor x reader #connor #connor rk800 #dbh fanfiction #detroit become human #dbh #fanfiction #ocularity #my writings #ralph #kara #alice williams

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shatteredskies042 · 6 years

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Betrayal-Part Two

“Step forward,” Michael ordered. “I do not wish to shoot you.”

The bearded man stepped towards him, and Michael knew what was running through his head. He would have done the exact same. “Stop.” He ordered next, “turn around.”

Once the Agency operator did, a bit reluctantly, Michael drew the lead pipe from his pocket. He took aim, and hurled it at the back of the other American’s head. The sound of the impact was sickening, a dull thud and splat, and another as he toppled forward. Michael stepped forward, and made sure the operator was out, but alive. A check of his pulse and breathing revealed he was fine, and would wake up with one hell of a concussion. Dragging him behind the dumpsters, he sprinkled a pair of vodka bottles he had found around the trash bin. Michael lifted the wallet and passport from his pockets, and a nice SOG folding knife, then stole off into the Siberian night. Michael flagged down a taxi, and stated his destination was the docks.

He rifled through the wallet, a rather nice Coach leather wallet. His haul contained a passport, a fistful of rubles and euros, and a handful of gift cards to universal chains like Starbucks and McDonalds. Not a bad outcome. He had to use them fast, before the real owner woke up and reported his missing credentials to the Agency.

At his destination, Michael paid out the rubles to the taximan, withholding a tip and stepping back out to where his journey had started in earnest. There were gates and fences here, and he strode away from the single guard and camera watching the entry. He did not have to walk far, the razor wire crowned fence had several gaps, made by unsavory actors to access the docks. Following their footsteps, Michael slipped through the chainlink fence, lowering his aching body and stepping through the snow. He aimed for the largest building he saw, hoping it was an administration building. There were a few cameras visible in the low light, nothing he could not overcome. A backdoor was visible, guarded by a fixed camera. As he stalked towards the building, Michael ran through his options again.

He could simply force entry, let the camera see him, and get out before the police responded. Or, find a way to obscure the camera and make entry. He decided on the latter, eying a snow pile a distance away. Tracking over there, he picked up a fair bit of hardened white ice, and shuffled back towards his ingress point. He lifted the white chunk, and threw it at the camera. It made a satisfying crunch, and the camera dropped from its mount. While it wasn’t perfect, it was good enough for the soldier. He pushed up to the door, testing and jiggling the doorknob, finding it locked. He turned away, until he heard the snick of the lock.

Michael turned back, drawing his pistol from his waistband and charging the door, slamming it back into the face of the portly Russian guard. The guard fell and Michael came down on top of the man, putting him into a sleeper hold until his breathing slowed.

Dumping the guard in a nearby broom and shovel closet, Michael took his keyring and stalked through the building until he found the security office. He tried the keys until one unlocked the door, before he swept inside. The room was only lit by a bank of old CRT TVs, and he quickly went to work on manipulating the camera displays with the old, tan keyboard coated in food residue on the desk. He quickly acquired the dock where he had started his mission, and played back until the ship entered. Three trucks came off the ship, fitting the descriptions of the same trucks he had helped ambush, down to the bullet holes riddling the front windows. They drove through the port until they disappeared into a long row of cargo containers. Shortly thereafter, two of the containers were lifted onto the British flagged cargo ship MV Summer Lotus. Michael crossed the dim room to an old flat screen computer monitor, and did his best to dig up information on the cargo ship. It ran a route from his current location to Sweden, Denmark, then back into the UK. Even the three small nuclear weapons that had been stolen could still kill tens of millions in the tightly packed continent.

Michael decided to call it good enough. He had the next stop for his target, and knew what cargo container to look for. He had a fair bit of time before the ship made it to Sweden, so as he wiped his prints from the keyboards and made his escape, he formulated a plan: He needed to get to Germany, to access a safehouse that would have all the tools he needed to create a new identity. He would not get too far using a stolen CIA agent’s identity, not with the Agency looking for his head on a pike. He could also access the weapons and acquire some money to finish his mission, and then...

No, he could not think that far ahead. He was still on mission, and he had to stay that way. Even as the Russian cold bit into his exposed skin. He needed to change his clothes, he’d look odd hopping on a flight in arctic camouflage pants, and the dried blood caking his injuries went out of fashion decades ago. Hailing a late night cab, he told the cabbie to drive him to the airport. Michael relaxed in the uncomfortable backseat of the Soviet era car, closing his eyes for a blissful moment of respite. He lost track of time in that moment, the last time he had slept of his own accord was on the flight from Hereford to Russia. The only other rest he had gotten was from being passed out due to injuries. He woke when he heard a whistle from the cabbie, opening his eyes to look down the barrel of a small pistol. “Give me your wallet,” the driver demanded in Russian.

Sighing deeply, Michael raised his hands to show he meant no threat. He was upset at himself for letting his guard down, but he knew he could get out of the situation. He urged the man to relax, slowly reaching his right hand towards his back pocket, where most men carried a wallet. Instead, his hand went to the hidden grip of his handgun. Moving as fast as his injured body allowed, he snapped his body to the left and drove his left hand into the gun hand of the Russian. A sharp crack filled the cabin, but Michael had already pinned his hand and the small handgun he held to the door.

He aimed his own .45 above his bicep and leveled it at the head of the driver: “drop it,” he commanded in Russian. It took a moment for the man to relax and release the small pistol, but once he did, Michael ordered him to step out. The soldier slipped out behind the Russian, eyeing him up and holding him at gunpoint. “Strip, I am taking your clothes,” he stated.

The Russian replied furiously, refusing to let his dignity be stolen. However, the cold stare and the massive front end of the USP were shrewd negotiators that refused to take no for an answer. Michael told the Russian he was lucky to escape with his life. He threw the clothes on the hood of the car, before Michael ordered the man to start walking.

“Why? So you may shoot me in the back?” the cab driver asked.

Michael did not reply as he took the clothes, stepped down into the old car and backed away, quickly learning the poorly maintained vehicle’s quirks. The Soviets never really knew how to build things for the civilian sector, apart from infrastructure. He regained his bearings, and made his way to the small airport. The car constantly pulled towards the drivers’ side, and he had to fight it the whole way. No wonder they had lost the Cold War, not even the strength of the Russian people could carry such a poorly run regime. He ditched the car in the corner of a poorly lit, snow clogged parking lot, putting on the clothes of his previous enemy and abandoning his bloodstained ones. He was able to keep his base layers as they would not attract too much attention.

The terminal was decently lit and smelled of floor cleaner, a handful of the fluorescent rods flickering intermittently and drawing his eye. He looked around the small area quickly, then went to a bank of old computers to check on travel information. From the readerboard above the ticket counter he could see a handful of red eye flights would be taking off in the next hour to destinations throughout Russia. He decided on a flight to Saint Petersburg, then a connecting flight to Berlin. Hopefully his stolen passport would hold up until then, but he would not know until he came down in the German capital.

He pushed out of the uncomfortable felt over steel chair and strode to the counter, requesting a seat in expert Russian. For domestic flights he merely needed to flash his passport as identification, not that the clerk behind the counter paid much attention to the document. Receiving his ticket, he made his way towards the security checkpoint. A metal detector and security checkpoint laid dangerously undermanned between the unsecure terminal entrance and the supposedly secure boarding area. Without walking through a metal detector, being wanded, or even being given a cursory glance by security, Michael Haghn traveled into a secure zone with his handgun concealed in the small of his back. He found a spot on a row of plastic and cloth seats to wait for the Saint Petersburg flight to arrive. The Aeroflot flight landed ahead of schedule, which spoke to him about air currents in the dark skies above. He joined the almost dozen other passengers when the flight was called, striding down slippery metal stairs onto the tarmac. It was a similar sight to him, but typically he was not boarding a passenger jet with strangers.

The seats were far from comfortable, but the stewardesses allowed them to sit anywhere, so he took the emergency door seating. It gave him space to stretch out, able to adjust his pistol to sit more comfortably. He had a few hours in flight once their takeoff roll was complete.

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itsfinancethings · 4 years

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Mustafa Karali is a freelance photojournalist and founder of Duzen, a humanitarian organization that runs art, culture, and filmmaking workshops for Syrian and Turkish youth in the border city of Gaziantep. A Syrian national, he worked with reporters James Foley and John Cantlie to cover the uprising against Syrian President Bashar al-Assad in 2011. The trio collaborated on multiple stories together until jihadists kidnapped Foley and Cantlie, and forced Karali, then their translator, to flee at gunpoint. After 21 months as an ISIS hostage, Foley was brutally murdered in 2014, in an execution filmed by his captors. The whereabouts of Cantlie remain unknown.

I first met James and John at a protest in my hometown of Binnish, in northwestern Syria. They were taking photos and I was working with local media. I wasn’t a professional photographer, just a guy with a camera. They came to my home and we ate barbecued chicken. I remember John looked through the images on my SD card and he said, “f*** you, you’re not a photographer.” I got so angry. But I said, “okay then, teach me something.” He agreed, but he said he would tell me the truth about my work, and if I got upset, he’d stop teaching me.

John taught me so much about composition and framing; how to shoot fighters on the front lines. James taught me how to work safely because I didn’t have any war reporting experience: how to take different routes to avoid snipers and what to do during shellfire. They were great teachers. John put me in contact with news agency the Associated Press and I started shooting for them.

The day James and John were kidnapped we were trying to get out of Syria. James had shrapnel in his leg and medics at the local field hospital couldn’t take it out. We decided to go to Turkey for treatment but we stopped at an Internet cafe on the way. A jihadi with a beard and a beret came in while we were uploading files. John called out to him, “Che Guevara!” The man looked at us, opened his laptop for one or two minutes, closed it, and left. I knew we were in trouble. James was angry at John for drawing attention to us.

We told a taxi to take us to the border but on the way, a van approached fast from our left. There were armed men inside wearing masks, four or five of them. They signaled for us to stop. I told the driver to keep going, so did John. James told him to stop because they might shoot at us. The driver was confused. He stopped.

One of the gunmen got out and fired bullets into the ground. I didn’t know what to do. They said, “why are you with these men?” I said, “I am their friend.” They asked me where I was from and I told them Binnish. They asked for my ID. Then they said, “go.” I said, “I won’t go without my friends.” The man pointed his gun at me and said, “if you don’t go now, I will kill you here.” John looked at me and said “not again. Help me.” He had been kidnapped before. I remember, he said it twice. “Not again.” I had tears in my eyes. “I will help you, bro,” I said. Then the taxi driver said, “Mustafa, let’s go.”

John Cantlie with a Free Syrian Army fighter in in Aleppo, Syria, on Nov. 06, 2012. The photo was taken by the author.

After the kidnapping, I was traumatized. I couldn’t work for six months. Eventually, my producer at AP called and said “what’s happening Mustafa? Why are you not sending photos?” She told me my work was important and encouraged me to continue. She gave me hope and I went back to work, photographing the revolution. In late 2014, I went to Turkey to attend workshops run by Human Rights Watch and Witness, a humanitarian organization that trained me to collect video evidence of war crimes committed by Assad’s forces and armed factions.

By the time I returned to Syria, conditions had worsened. If you wanted to take pictures in the northwest, you had to grow your beard and dress like a jihadi to be left alone. At checkpoints, militants would question me and take my camera and laptop. I was followed everywhere, even away from the front lines just taking photos of civilians at refugee camps.

The space for free movement was getting smaller and smaller and I was kidnapped twice more. The second time I think my captors were from Al Nusra, a jihadist group then aligned with Al Qaeda, but I can’t say for sure. They held me for two days and accused me of everything: being a thief, working for the U.S. government, working for ISIS. One of the guys dragged me outside. He made me get down on my knees. He loaded a Kalashnikov and put it against my head. My life flashed before my eyes the way it does in films. Then the gunman shot a single bullet into the ground in front of me, right next to my ear. I thought I had been executed, but I could still see and hear. I was touching my head to find the wound. The guy said we are not going to kill you this time. We are just scaring you.

It was my wife Hiba that pushed for us to leave. She said, let’s go to Turkey, let’s go anywhere else but here. She told me to think about my daughter and the danger I was putting her in. I knew she was right. We first tried to cross into Turkey with a smuggler but when they demanded I give my daughter sedatives I refused. Later, a producer colleague helped my family get permission to cross into Turkey legally.

Halil Fidan—Anadolu Agency/Getty ImagesSyrians fleeing from clashes between the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) militants wait at the Turkish-Syrian border to cross into Turkey on Sept. 18, 2014.

When we arrived here, I didn’t have a plan. For a few weeks, we stayed with my wife’s brother in Turkey’s southernmost province Hatay, which borders Syria. Then we moved to Gaziantep, a big city in southern Turkey where there are lots of humanitarian organizations and media offices. At first, things were okay. My brother sent me a new camera from Dubai and I picked up assignments with Al Jazeera. I shot photos for them when they did interviews in border areas like Gaziantep, Hatay, and Kilis. Gradually, I saved enough to buy my own camera bag, tripod, and lighting equipment.

I also started to work with Gate of Sun, a cultural endeavor that aims to create bonds between Turks and Syrians through filmmaking workshops. This year, my Iraqi friend Bahaa and I set up our own program along similar lines. It’s called Duzen, which means balance in Arabic. We teach students how to use simple tools like mobile phones to document their experiences and train them in editing and post-production techniques. We currently have 30 Syrian and Turkish students in Gaziantep and receive funding from the U.N.’s International Organization for Migration.

Back in 2014, when I came to Turkey for training, things were different. Turkey had granted millions of refugees temporary protection status and nobody seemed to have a problem with us. But over the past few years, the situation has deteriorated. There’s a lot more tension.

Last year the Turkish government started to crack down on Syrians living here illegally, sending them back to Syria. That set off a wave of hate speech and gave nationalists and racists a platform to abuse refugees. There were anti-Syrian riots in Istanbul. Refugees were beaten in the streets. Syrian-owned stores were vandalized.

It’s bad in Gaziantep too. A couple of weeks ago I was playing with my daughter and we were speaking in Arabic. An old man stopped us in the street and asked whether we were Syrian. When I told him yes, he started shouting at us and he spat on me. We can’t retaliate out of fear that the government will kick us out.

My wife and I started thinking about leaving Turkey last year. We have two daughters now and the eldest is almost ready to start school. If I send them to school in Turkey, they won’t learn Arabic or English. When they grow up they will say, “Dad, what are we doing here?” Then there’s the difficulty of finding stable work. As a freelancer, I sometimes have to borrow from friends to pay the rent. This month we were five days late and even though we have been renting our house for more than two years the landlord said we have to leave by the end of the month.

I was planning to apply for legal immigration to the Netherlands. Friends have told me there is no racism there and my family can get their papers quickly. I’ve contacted people at the Dutch Embassy, and friends have been trying to help. But we can’t wait much longer. At the end of February, when Turkey said it would no longer block refugees from leaving, I thought: this is our chance.

The war has been going on for nine years and the idea of moving again is difficult. Syria will always be home. I miss it and sometimes I think about whether one day we’ll be able to go back. Now we are going further away but I feel like there’s no other choice.

Some of my friends in Gaziantep are planning to leave tomorrow. I’ve been following the news and have heard stories about violence at the border. They tell me, “Mustafa, you have a family, don’t put them in danger.” They say they will go first and tell me if it’s safe. If there’s a way to get into Greece, we will just leave. I will not wait one minute longer here.

As told to Joseph Hincks. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

#IFTTT #Blogger

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glitteringconstellations · 6 years

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Beacon Chapter 6: so eden sank to grief

“We should have never left the island.”

In any other situation, Masina thought, the familiar mutterings of her father would have comforted her. In any other situation, she would have rolled her eyes, a fond smile crossing her lips as her mother scolded him for being such a stubborn old man.

Now, it only served to frighten her more, because she could hear the tremor in her father’s voice.

She clung to her father’s hand as they were marched along, her mother’s arm tight around her shoulder from the other side. Even sheltered between them, Masina felt so terribly small. The alien soldiers towered over them, guns trained on the group at large. They even dwarfed her father, an imposing man of impressive height and girth by any other standard. They moved so mechanically that Masina wasn’t sure if they weren’t actually robots. That didn’t make them any less terrifying.

They’d been walking—shuffling, more like—for hours, as the aliens rounded up more and more people at gunpoint without a word. The town wasn’t very big, so Masina recognized most of the people in the crowd. Classmates, neighbors. All looking equally as scared as she felt.

“Where are they taking us?” Masina whispered, peering above the heads of the crowd in front of her. A massive purple ship loomed over the horizon, and as far as she could tell, the path they marched on led right to it. The crowd wasn’t silent, but everyone kept their voices down. No one wanted to be noticed.

“I don’t know,” her mother replied, her voice just as hushed. “It’ll be alright, darling. We just have to stick together.” She tightened her hold around Masina’s shoulders, offering a strained smile. It brought Masina a small amount of comfort.

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“We should have never left the island,” her father muttered again, his eyes flickering to the alien sentries that lined either side of the crowd. Masina looked up at him, and even she could see the fear beneath the mutinous rage on his face. “I told you moving to the mainland was a bad idea.”

And he had. It was an old argument, but one of the only times she’d ever heard her brother fight with their father. The thought made tears sting at the corners of Masina’s eyes now, hearing his impassioned voice in her ears as though the words had been said yesterday.

Hunk—laid-back, friendly, nervous Hunk—had never once raised his voice at his father, until that day. The day he’d dropped the manila envelope on the table like he’d dropped a bomb on all of them.

“I’m going to study engineering at the Garrison, Dad!”

Masina missed her brother something awful. Despite herself, she wondered what Hunk would do, if he were here now. Probably throw up all over the place. The thought might have made her laugh, once. Now, she just thought perhaps it was more merciful that he was spared all this.

“Life was simple on the island. Safe. None of this space invader alien business. But no,” her father continued. Masina whimpered as he squeezed her hand tighter, pulled her closer, to the point where it hurt. “My son had to go and complicate things for all of us, had to go and uproot the entire family—”

“Dear, this isn’t the time,” her mother chided softly, yet there was a tense edge to her voice. Her father kept on as though he hadn’t heard her interruption.

“—just had to go to that fancy school, and then what happened? He and his buddies went and got themselves blown up—”

“That’s enough, Sefa!” her mother hissed.

Masina winced in between them, drawing her shoulders in as though she could curl in on herself. It was bad enough that they’d lost Hunk, but she hated hearing her father blame him like the aliens invading were his fault. Her father drew his lips together in a tight line and said nothing more.

A hush fell over the crowd as they’d drawn closer to the great ship. Masina could see, now that they stood in the looming shadow the monstrosity cast, that the aliens intended to load them all onto it. There were different kinds of soldiers here, and Masina couldn’t stifle the gasp when she realized she’d been right about the sentries being robots. These new soldiers were flesh and blood aliens, tall and menacing with wicked yellow eyes, surveying the group like a farmer might his crops.

She couldn’t help it—she started trembling.

It started at the base of her spine and radiated out until she could feel it down to her fingertips. Her breath started coming in ragged spurts and her heart lurched unpleasantly somewhere in her throat. Fear pulsed in her veins and her feet stuttered beneath her.

Not now, not now… she thought fruitlessly. Now was not the time for a panic attack. Her mother whispered soothing words in her ear, keeping a wary eye on the soldiers they passed and a steady arm around Masina’s shoulder as they made the first ascent up the ramp into the ship.

“Just breathe, darling, breathe…”

Masina clenched her eyes shut tight, both to clear the frustrated tears that burned her eyes and so that she didn’t have to see the ship. She focused on her mother’s words, on steadying the inhale and exhale of her breath, letting her father’s grip on her hand ground her and guide her.

“Oho, what have we here?”

The voice was cold and gravely, and Masina’s eyes snapped open in terror. One of the alien soldiers was peering down at her, all eight feet and some odd inches with a terrifying grin on his face. He held a hefty weapon with ease, tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Masina could have sworn she felt her heart stop dead in her chest at the predatory look he focused directly down at her.

“Look, Arzok, the whelp is so scared it can’t breathe straight,” the soldier called over his shoulder.

She felt her father take a step in front of her and her mother, throwing an arm out protectively. “Stay away from my daughter,” he snarled with all the rage he could muster.

The laugh the soldier barked out made Masina’s blood run cold. “Or what? You intend to fight me, Earthling?” In a blink, the solider reached an arm out and backhanded her father with what seemed merely a flick of his wrist. Her father cried out in pain, the force of it sending him crashing to the floor yards away from them, taking several people down with him.

“Dad!” Masina cried, at the same time her mother shouted, “Joseph!” They both made to move to his side, but the soldier called Arzok moved swiftly, aiming his weapon directly at her father’s head. The people around the small family flinched away, clearing a wide berth around them.

The first soldier chuckled. “Pathetic.” Masina only saw him moving toward her out of the corner of her eye, and by then it was too late. She drew in a sharp inhale as the soldier knelt in front of her and took her face in one of his massive hands, claws digging painfully into her cheeks.

“You Earthlings are so fearful. It’s delicious,” the soldier said, turning her head side to side as though he were examining a particularly interesting specimen. Masina knew she was whimpering, but she couldn’t hear it over the rush of her own heart pounding in ears. She stared into those wicked eyes, wide-eyed herself and terrified, and she cringed back into her mother as far as the soldier’s grip allowed her.

“P-please don’t hurt her,” her mother begged behind her. Masina could feel her mother’s arm still on her shoulder, trying to pull her away from the threat. The soldier snorted derisively.

“You’re of no use to us dead. Can’t exactly use the quintessence of a corpse.” The soldier brought Masina’s face back to center, that wicked grin never leaving his face. “Though, it’s a pity we can’t use you for arena fodder.”

The soldier clapped his leathery hand against her face once, before he finally, finally let go. Masina sagged against her mother, her legs not having the strength to hold her up. The solider straightened and turned to Arzok.

“Separate the men and women from the whelps. If they resist, subdue them, but under no circumstances are you allowed to kill. We need to get them to the Druids alive. Am I understood?” Arzok saluted and uttered something in another language.

“Yes, Commander Korok.”

Masina looked up just in time to see one of the sentry robots grab her mother under each arm, dragging her away. She scrambled to her feet, reaching out for her as her mom writhed and screamed in the robot’s grasp. “Let her go, you creep!” Adrenaline fueled her as he pounded at the sentry’s arms, tugging and yanking.

“No! Masina! Natia!”

Masina wheeled around to see another sentry gripping her father by both arms, easily restraining him as he struggled. Desperate tears filled her eyes as the robots dragged her parents in opposite directions. A third sentry grabbed Masina around her midsection and she shrieked in panic and fear, thrashing as hard as she could as she was lifted off her feet.

“Let me go! Mom, Dad!” Her mother’s words from earlier echoed hollowly in her ears—they needed to stay together! It would be alright if they just stayed together!

Screams quickly filled the air as sentry robots filed in, dragging children from their parents and spouses from each other. Masina could feel the panic overwhelming her, but still she struggled, kicking and screaming and biting.

Something hard cuffed her over the head, and the cacophony was suddenly muted as darkness curled in around the edges of her eyes.

---

Three days.

It’d been three days since Julio found his mother in the mess of people that had gathered in the bunker beneath the military base in Havana. Cell phone reception had been all but annihilated, and the last message he’d gotten from his mother was that she was at the base and had gotten his little siblings on an evac shuttle.

For that, Julio thought, God was merciful.

Those who didn’t get a spot on a shuttle had been hastened into the nuclear bunker. Julio counted himself lucky, that his fishing vessel couldn’t set sail due to choppy seas that fateful day what seemed like ages ago. Luck and luck alone had him run into his father and sister, when they’d come to find him at the docks, that they had made it into the bunker before the bombs started falling and they had to close the doors.

Luck alone, that he’d found his mother at all, before the military had called for volunteers.

“Mijo, please, don’t do this,” his mother pleaded. She sat on the cot she’d been given, Isabel’s arm around her shoulder as she murmured comforting words. In her lap, she clutched a broken picture frame, the glass having fallen out in the chaos when Isabel grabbed it from their home. Julio had reamed her for risking her life for it, but in the end, he was grateful, if only because of the way their mother had latched on to it. “Luis, tell him not to do this.”

His father sat quietly on the cot opposite them, and his silence spoke more than Julio thought he had words for. The man had always been one of few words, and Julio knew without him saying that were it not for his age, he’d have taken up a gun himself to join Julio and the others.

“Mamá, I have to,” Julio said solemnly. The rifle they’d given him sat propped against the cot, a heavy elephant between them all. “We can’t just sit here and wait for… for them to come find us. We have to fight.”

Julio’s eyes flickered down to the photo in her hands, the ever-grinning face of his kid brother staring up at them from the broken frame. Julio was a terrible hypocrite—he knew Lance would be the first to take up arms against a planetary takeover, and yet if he was here, Julio would do the same thing to him that his mother was doing now.

If Lance was here… Julio shuddered. Even in his grief, he recognized small mercies when he saw them. He thanked God Lance hadn’t lived to see the fall of Earth. Lance would have been devastated.

“It’s a suicide mission! You don’t stand a chance against these things!” his mother cried, her fingers tightening around the frame so much so that her knuckles turned white. “I can’t… I can’t lose another child, mijo.”

Julio’s eyes softened. “Oh, Mamá…” He reached out across the space between them, pulling her into an embrace. Isabel kept rubbing circles on her back, looking dangerously near tears herself.

She knew that if they didn’t try, they were all doomed anyway, Julio was aware of this. He knew she knew that no matter how slim their odds were, they had to take the chance. He knew, in truth, she meant I can’t see another child die before me.

“I have to try,” Julio murmured into his mother’s hair. She wept quietly into his broad shoulder, tears staining his already ruined shirt. “We don’t know where Abuelo and Abuelita and Tía Alma are. Sissy and Al and the babies are somewhere out in space. We can’t find them and bring them all home if we don’t try.”

“Jules is right, Mamá,” Isabel said, her voice a watery shadow of her usual confident self. “And he’s strong. If anyone will come back, it’s him.” She managed a smile up at him, reaching her other arm up to draw him in for a half-hug. “If you don’t, I’ll find you and kill you myself.”

Julio huffed out a weak chuckle at that. Ever the firecracker, his sister.

There was an announcement over the PA, then, calling for all volunteers to rendezvous at the northernmost end of the bunker. His mother let out an aborted sob, clinging tighter to Julio. It broke his heart to pull away from her after one last hug, and one more for Isabel.

His father stood with him, placing a weathered, darkened hand firmly on his shoulder. “Vaya con Dios, mijo,” his father said. There was a telltale brightness in his eyes, and Julio couldn’t take it—he pulled his father in for a tight embrace, as well.

“Si muero antes de regresar, le pido al Dios que se lleve mi alma,” Julio whispered in his father’s ear. His father only whispered Amen in return, before pulling away, reaching down, and pressing the rifle in Julio’s hands. Julio took a bracing breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to leave.

“Give ‘em hell, Jules,” Isabel called out after him. Her voice was stronger, familiar. Grounding.

Give ‘em hell? Oh, he could do that.

---

In the days since she and Florence had been plucked from her storm cellar, Colleen had come to realize a couple of things.

The first thing was that the aliens clearly wanted them alive and able, for the most part. They’d let her leave out some food and water for Rover before forcing her to abandon him there, as long as she didn’t put up a fuss. And of course she wouldn’t—Florence couldn’t handle any roughing up, and she didn’t want to risk it.

Besides, she’d seen what’d happened to the ones who resisted. They’d live, she was sure, but perhaps it’d be more merciful to put them out of their misery by that point.

The second thing she’d gathered was that the aliens were waiting. For what, or who, she didn’t know. But she and Florence had been herded along onto some kind of massive ship, forced to strip, and given prison garments to wear. Indignant, Colleen had done her best to try and preserve as much of Florence’s modesty as possible, the poor thing. But then they’d been shoved in a cell and… nothing. For days, if she had to hazard a guess, but she couldn’t keep track of time with no light from the outside.

They were given water at regular intervals, and what had to be some kind of nutrient bar, if she could manage to stomach the taste of what had to be rancid garbage and roaches. They were allowed from the cell one at a time, once every three water cycles, to relieve themselves. And she didn’t think they’d left Earth, unless the ship was so large that she couldn’t feel it moving. There were about fifteen other people crammed into the cell with them, but no one seemed willing to make friends with strangers. She couldn’t exactly blame them.

“How are you holding up, Florence?” she asked quietly, shortly after the twelfth time they’d been given water.

“Oh, I’m an old woman. You don’t have to worry about me,” Florence replied, her eyes crinkling up in a small smile. Her voice betrayed her weariness, though, and it hadn’t escaped Colleen’s notice that she hadn’t been able to keep any nutrient bars down, either.

Colleen reached over and took one of Florence’s hand in both of hers. “I’m so sorry, Florence. You shouldn’t have gotten stuck in this mess with me.”

At this, Florence chuckled, squeezing Colleen’s fingers between her own gnarled ones. “I can think of no one I’d rather be stuck with in this mess, dear, except perhaps my late husband. You and Samuel always took good care of me.”

Colleen’s heart ached in her chest at the mention of her own late husband. But she was touched, truly, by the old woman’s words. She managed a smile of her own, feeling for the first time in a long, long while like she wasn’t truly alone.

But as the hours stretched into hours, the tension between the prisoners in their cell seemed to mount. No one dared asked the guards what was happening, when they appeared briefly to give them water. Until finally, after the twenty-sixth time they were given water, they received orders, as well.

“Form a queue,” a deep voice barked, and Colleen nearly leapt out of her skin. She wasn't the only one. Warily, the other prisoners formed a line, her and Florence somewhere near the center, and they were led to what seemed to be a courtroom.

At the center of the room was a single chair, behind which stood five tall, cloaked figures, their faces obscured by white, bird-like masks. Something about them sent ice coursing through Colleen’s veins, and her arms came up to hug herself unconsciously. They were just standing there, and yet she already feared them more than the alien soldiers.

“One at a time; sit,” the soldier ordered. The boy at the front of the line—Colleen’s heart ached again, seeing how young he was, thinking he looked like he might have been around Matt’s age—flinched back into the person behind him. The soldier grabbed the boy by the meat of his upper arm and dragged him across the room.

“No, no, no, please, no,” the boy stammered. He didn’t resist when thrown into the chair; instead, he shrank into it, like it would protect him from whatever was coming. The rest of them were lined up along the far wall opposite the hooded figures.

The soldier gave the remaining prisoners a menacing glare for good measure, a threat without words to stay put. He then turned back to the boy in the chair, procuring a data tablet.

“This is a gauge that will tell me if you are lying,” the soldier said, giving the tablet a brief wave. “You are to answer the questions honestly.”

The boy didn’t move. The soldier took it as acknowledgement, anyway.

“State your name.”

“…Aaron,” the boy whispered, at length. The data tablet buzzed loudly, and the boy sat up ramrod straight, fear in his eyes.

“Do not lie,” the soldier warned.

“I-I’m not lying! My name is Aaron! Aaron Michael Cox!” When the data tablet didn’t buzz this time, the boy sagged in relief bag into the chair. The soldier paused, considering the boy, before continuing his questioning.

“What do you know about Voltron?”

“I…” the boy looked wildly to the person who stood behind him in line. “I don’t know what that is.” The data tablet was blissfully silent, and Colleen let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. A hand brushed hers and she flinched, whirling around. But it was just Florence, behind her, reaching out a hand to hold. Colleen took it gratefully.

The line of questioning continued, something about “the Resistance” and different planets Colleen had never heard the names of. When, after ten minutes, the data pad remained silent, the soldier waved an arm and two sentries appeared.

“Take him to the arena. No sense wasting an able body. We’ll reap the quintessence from him later.”

The boy looked like he might faint. “Wait, please, I answered all your questions! I didn’t lie to you, why are you doing this? Please, stop!” His voice trailed off as he was dragged away, desperate pleas echoing until they faded to silence. Colleen has to swallow past a lump in her throat.

The interrogations continued, some being dragged off to the arena, and some being dismissed to a work camp, if the soldier’s commands were anything to go by. A handful were led into the next room by the hooded figures themselves. Colleen felt her heart racing faster and faster as the queue dwindled before her until at last, she found herself walking on unsteady legs to the chair.

From this angle, the soldier looked even taller and even more intimidating, and Colleen had to resist the urge to shrink into it like Aaron did. She still had some pride left in her, after all. So despite how she trembled, she sat up tall, her shoulders squared. From across the room, Florence gave her a reassuring smile.

“State your name.”

“Colleen Renee Holt,” Colleen replied, her voice as steady as she could manage.

The data tablet was silent, but the soldier was not. “Tch, another Holt,” he muttered, but Colleen heard it loud and clear. “Pains in my ass, the lot of them.”

The words left her lips before she could stop them. “You’ve met other Holts before?” Her heart still raced, but now it was for a different reason. She sat up straighter in her chair, gripping the arms so tightly she felt her fingers might break.

The soldier leveled her with a narrow gaze. “You were not permitted to speak outside of the questioning.”

“Please, I have to know! Where have you met other—”

“Silence!” the soldier barked, and Colleen recoiled like she’d been slapped.

“A moment,” said a quiet voice from behind her, and Colleen’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. She didn’t know how else to describe the voice but terrifying, the mere tone of it making her hair at the back of her neck stand on end. One of the hooded figures moved to stand before her, and if she believed in magic she would have been sure it’d cast a hex on her, so paralyzed by fear she felt.

The figure laid a spindly, clammy hand down on her forehead, fingers splayed open. Colleen sucked in a sharp breath as she felt the figure pulling at her mind, memories summoned forth like a slideshow. She felt her eyes rolling into the back of her head and she was helpless to stop it.

Calling Katie and Matt down from the roof well past their bedtime. Supper with her family on the eve of the big day. Meeting Takashi and his protégé, the day she sent Samuel and Matt off on the Kerberos mission. The memories seemed to pause on that last memory, her inner eye lingering on their faces against her will.

The memories flashed forward. News of the Kerberos mission failing catastrophically. Katie insisting she could find proof that it didn’t go awry. Her and Katie fighting about sending her to a girls’ school, that it was for her own good.

Seeing the missing cadets’ faces flash on the news, seeing her daughter’s picture there with the name Matt had given her beside her own maiden name. Seeing the footage of the explosions. There was a humming noise, like the figure found something curious, and the images shifted.

There was her boy, and her husband, and Takashi, forced to their knees before the same kind of aliens, still in their spacesuits. Her Matt, dressed in the very same prison garb she now wore, a knife presented to him. Takashi attacking him, a wild look upon his face. Matt, a gash clear from his temple and down his cheek as he writhed on the ground before a looming enemy. A poster of Matt, labeled enemy combatant, kill on sight.

When the hand withdrew at last, Colleen sucked in a gasp of air like she’d been drowning. Tears she didn’t know she’d shed streaked down her face. What little was on her stomach roiled, and with a heave she leaned over the side of the chair and retched.

“Curious,” the hooded figure said, no inflection in its voice whatsoever. It turned to the soldier, who scowled at it. “We may desire to use her.”

The soldier scoffed. “You Druids do as you please, regardless. Take her.”

Matt was alive. Her son was alive. They wanted to kill him, and they wanted to use her to do it.

“No,” she croaked, wiping the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. The soldier and the Druid turned to her, slightly startled. “I won’t do it. You won’t use me to kill my son. You might as well kill me now.”

The soldier merely quirked an eyebrow, exchanged a glance with the Druid. “You ought to be careful what you wish for, Earthling.”

Then there was excruciating pain. It was unlike anything Colleen had ever felt before—like every nerve in her body was simultaneously on fire and being electrified. A scream tore from her throat and she pitched forward, falling out of the chair to writhe on the floor in pain.

As soon as the pain had started, it ceased. Colleen was left panting on the floor, clenching her eyes shut. The Druid had scarcely lifted a finger.

Colleen gritted her teeth and fought for breath, summoning the energy to glare at both of them. “Come on,” she gasped. “Kill me. Do it, because I won’t help you.”

The pain came again, for longer this time, but Colleen was ready. She bit down on her lip, snapped her eyes shut, and clenched her fists so hard the nails dug into her palms. The Druid didn’t seem to let up this time, though, and the thought flit across her mind that maybe it would actually kill her.

“Stop it!”

In an instant, the pain stopped. Colleen could barely hear past the buzzing in her ears, but there was a muffled shout, followed by what could only be horrified screams from the few people left lined up along the far wall.

A thump came only a few feet away from her, so close that Colleen felt the whoosh of air as something hit the ground. Steeling herself, she braced herself up on both forearms and managed to lift herself a few inches from the ground before she opened her eyes.

A low moan escaped her lips. “No, God… please…” Tears sprung anew as she reached a trembling hand out.

Florence laid spread eagle on the ground between her and the Druid, her eyes wide-open and glassy. She was dead.

#fic: beacon #voltron #fanfic #i meant to share this when i posted on ao3 but i passed out #literally took me all night to finish the chapter #and then ao3 was down today #so i figured i'd wait to share til it came back online

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serenity-searcher · 7 years

Text

Clexa strangers on a train

My little thing for the strangers on a train clexa challenge, might have become a western because of watching Wynonna Earp a lot past few days.@anonbemetoo

Hope it’s enjoyable

Hat slung low over her eyes Lexa looked around the train carriage at the other passengers. Of the seven other people she could easily pick out three of them as marshals on board to guard the Hakeldama Diamonds being transported from Arkadia to Polis to be stored in the great vaults of the Polis Bank. This was Lexa’s best chance to steal the diamonds, to be known as the greatest outlaw in the west.

The last four passengers were a more eclectic bunch; there was Lincoln, the member of her posse that had ended up in her carriage, an old man reading the newspaper who looked just like a normal passenger, a young man with a light stubble and light brown hair nothing too special about him and a beautiful blonde woman in a deep blue dress that seemed to sparkle.

As Lexa watched the blonde woman she looked up and her bright blue eyes met Lexa’s gave a slow wink then returned to staring out the window as though waiting for something. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, but Lexa couldn’t quite place her; a previous conquest perhaps?

Lexa was shaken out of her thoughts by Lincoln getting up and removing his hat, revealing his tattooed bald head; the signal they had agreed upon to start their takeover of this train. Lexa stood and tore the lacy green dress right off revealing a more comfortable set of black leather pants and a dark brown vest, perfect for the fighting about to start, drawing a pair of six shooters as she did.

The reaction amongst the other seven passengers was immediate when the pretty brunette woman revealed that she was Black Blood Lexa, one of the three most well-known and greatest outlaws in the whole wide west.

The four marshals tried to draw their weapons but Lincoln dispatched one of them with a swift punch to the back of the head, sending him down quickly, the old man threw his paper aside and dove under the nearest seat, the young man was on his feet pistol in hand and shot down a second marshal. Lexa shot a third marshal as the woman in blue was on her feet, smoking gun in her hand as the last marshal fell.

In the seconds of silence Lexa and Lincoln raised their weapons at the other two bandits, as they did the same. In that moment, staring down the barrel of a gun held by a beautiful blonde that Lexa recognised her; not from a tangle in the sheets or the hay in a barn but from wanted posters hung right next to hers; Skyshooter Clarke Griffin, another of the three greatest outlaws.

“Hakeldama diamonds Griffin?” Lexa asked, pulling back the hammer on her gun.

“Woodsman, why else would anyone be on this train, to Polis?” Clarke replied with a smirk.

“I’m just here for the pretty girls, didn’t realise you’d be this pretty with a smoking gun.” Lexa said raking her eyes up and down Clarke’s body.

“Not so bad yourself Woodsman” Clarke said smiling.

“As clearly as important as this flirting is Clarke, what are we gonna do? Fight Woodsman for the diamonds?” Clarke’s sidekick asked.

The conversation was cut short as the train jerked to a halt, sending Lincoln and Clarke’s accomplice to the ground.

“Your plan?” the women asked simultaneously.

“Seems that there is someone else after the diamonds, best guess is this whole thing was a setup to get the three worst outlaws in the west. Pike was never a subtle one.” Lexa said.

“So between each of us and the diamonds is about fifty marshals and the two other greatest outlaws in the west. I don’t want Pike to get it, I’ll even consider a temporary truce to prevent that.” Clarke said lowering her gun less than half an inch, still pointing at Lexa but enough to show that she was serious.

“That could work, what exactly is your proposal?” Lexa asked, watching Clarke very carefully.

“Me, you and the rest of our gangs clear the train of marshals, stop Pike, split the diamonds and ride off into the sunset.” Clarke said, plain and simple.

“Simple, easy to remember and sounds like a date.” Lexa said, smiling and lowering her gun.

“What...well? Umm that’s not what I mean” Clarke spluttered

“Easy Skygirl, just teasing. Now are we getting these diamonds?” Lexa said, shit eating grin on her face.

“Fine, let’s dance.” Clarke huffed raising her guns and leading the way up the train.

“Boss why do you always flirt with the beautiful women in life or death situations?” Lincoln asked.

“No better time for it, and you mind your tongue, let’s get shooting.” Lexa said following Clarke into the raging gunfight up the train.

Three carriages and twenty dead marshals later the girls came to the secure carriage, the one where the diamonds almost certainly were when a hail of bullets came from behind them forcing Clarke and Lexa to dive to the ground Lexa landing on Clarke.

“Darlin as happy as I am to be here with you, can we wait until the shootin stops? I think Pike just showed up.” Lexa said smiling beneath Clarke.

“Fine, you owe me a sunset ride though,” Clarke said giving Lexa a swift peck on the cheek as she stood to return fire at the newcomers.

“Oh girl I’ll ride you anytime you keep that up.” Lexa said as she joined Clarke shooting at the door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clarke smile and turn slightly pink, oh damn this was more fun than she had had in years.

As the last man in the doorway fell Lexa felt something hard press against the back of her head and heard the unmistakeable sound of a hammer being drawn back, then it came again.

“There ain’t no diamonds on this damn train but the heads of Skyshooter Griffin and Black Blood Lexa should fetch me a fine enough price to live comfortably for the rest of my days, once I clear a nice patch of farmland of savages.” The deep voice rang with a deep seated anger. Lexa and Clarke stiffened at the familiar sound. They had both had encounters with Pike before.

The last of the three greatest outlaws in the west; Pike had shown up recently and left more bodies in his wake than anyone. Most considered him a monster because he had killed three hundred natives in one bloody massacre in a few short hours. He only ever gave his name as Pike, the man he had been before was a mystery.

Caught and held at gunpoint by a mass murderer only interested in them for their bounties it looked like the girls had met their end. Lexa looked over at Clarke who was smiling at Lexa.

“Looks like this is it Lexa, sure would have been a nice date” Clarke said.

It was at that moment Lexa decided screw it, land a date with this girl or die trying. She dropped to the floor and swept her leg knocking Pike off balance, forcing him to drop a gun as he grabbed onto the doorway to prevent himself from falling. Clarke had seen her chance, spun and slammed her fist into Pike’s throat leaving him falling to the floor gasping for breath. As Pike lay gasping on the floor the girls quickly bound and gagged Pike.

“So he said there wasn’t any diamonds on this train, now what?” Clarke asked, “Is our truce over?”

“Naw, he said there wasn’t the Hakeldama diamonds but I think I found myself a sky diamond.” Lexa said flashing her sexiest smile at Clarke.

“Ain’t you sweet? So say we walk into Polis trying to collect his bounty we would be shot before we made it three paces. This scum should be hanged for all he’s done.” Clarke said angrily, like he had personally affected her.

“Oh he will, we take him into Polis, dressed as fine ladies, Lincoln and your partner can do it, we get paid and then we ride out for our sunset date.” Lexa said hauling Pike to his feet.

“That plan works for me, hey Finn get up here and help me with this scum.” Clarke yelled at her partner who had been with her in the original carriage. The two men roughly shoved Pike towards the door and out into the dust next to the still stopped train.

“So this was where Pike wanted the train to stop so there probably horses nearby, we take them and ride to the nearest town to hand this guy in, ten thousand dollars split between us should be grand.” Lexa said as they dragged Pike up the rocky slopes without really caring for his well-being until they found four horses tethered to a cactus.

“Who wants the dirt?” Lexa asked kicking Pike in the shins, dropping him to the ground to adjust his bonds to better tie him to a horse.

“I’ll take him” said Clarke with venom in her voice.

“Sure thing, just make sure he’ still breathing when we drop him off,” Lexa said.

“Why?” Clarke asked.

“I’m gonna love watching the fucker swing” Lexa said with a dark smile.

“Well ain’t you the greatest lady ever?” Clarke smiled as the kicked their horses into a gallop towards town.

The hours passed in casual conversation and easy silences until the four riders and one prisoner arrived at Ton DC.

“So anyone here not going to be shot on site?” Clarke asked.

“I think Marshal Indra will give me at least a few moments to plead my case, we were close once,” Lexa said dismounting and adjusting her weapons so they were in plain sight. “Give me the dirt and an hour; if I’m not back by then I won’t be coming back and take care of Lincoln, he’ll want to get the rest of the Natblida gang together and inform them of my situation.” Lexa tipped her hat to her travelling companions, pulled Pike roughly from the back of Clarke’s horse causing him to hit the ground hard and started to drag him into town.

They hadn’t been gentle with Pike sure but they were outlaws; as many men as they had killed they had spared more. The marshals’ tally had Lexa at killing 63 men and Clarke 47 men with Pike being ranked at closer to one thousand. There was a difference between outlaws and murderers.

A bullet hit the ground just ahead of Lexa’s feet shocking her out of her thoughts, looking up she saw the imposing figure of a dark skinned woman; rifle pointed straight at her. Marshal Indra had come out to meet her even if it wasn’t the friendliest welcome.

“You have five seconds to explain what the hell you are doing back here Lexa.” Indra shouting cocking her rifle and starting a slow countdown backwards from five.

“I captured Pike and am turning him in,” Lexa shouted not wasting any time.

“I expect you’ll be wanting his bounty then?” Indra asked thoughtfully. “Not sure we can pay you the bounty and let you walk away from here,” she said scratching her chin, waiting for Lexa’s response.

“Not the whole bounty” Lexa said.

“What would I reduce the bounty for?” Indra asked. That stare had troubled Lexa through her youth, it always felt like she could see right through any lie.

“Enough for Clarke and I to try and sort our lives around.”

“Clarke? As in Skyshooter Clarke Griffin. Heavens above it was you two that brought down Pike? Ever think about bounty hunting, it’s more legitimate than being an outlaw and it appears that you are good at it. There’s a chance I could give you two the ability to ride into towns to collect bounties. If you keep bringing in the big criminals like this of course.” Indra said lowering her weapon.

“There is one more thing we would like” Lexa said, she was surely pushing her luck.

“I’m listening,” Indra said raising her rifle up again.

“We want to watch him hang.” Lexa said quickly.

“Well that can be arranged I’m sure, hand him to be I’ll throw him in his cell, you go grab your companions, stable your horses just behind the Sheriff’s station.” Indra said finally putting her rifle into a position that Lexa felt no threat.

Breathing out a sigh of relief Lexa quickly ran back to the escarpment she had left her companions.

“Good news Pike will hang in the morning and we get to watch.” Lexa said with a vicious victory in her voice.

“Excellent” said Clarke the same fire in her voice.

“Also Indra said we might be able to walk into towns to hand in bounties and not be shot on sight in the future, might involve slightly more lawful work but could get us rich.” Lexa said watching Clarke carefully for her reaction.

“Sounds fun, wanna become the greatest bounty hunters in the west with me” Clarke asked.

“Sure thing my beautiful lady” Clarke said giving Lexa a swift kiss on the cheek and led the way into town.

With the hanging of Pike the following morning the battle to become the greatest outlaw was over. Pike was dead and Clarke and Lexa were bounty hunters. So began the story of Clarke and Lexa the greatest bounty hunter duo not only for their time but in the entire history of the west.

��C��/

#Clexa #Clexa fanfic #soat clexa challenge #strangers on a train #legit impressed i actually wrote something ahlf ok

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unnaturalequilibrium · 7 years

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Rewatched the “hospital” scene with Alice and Claire from Resident Evil: The Final Chapter and Jesus.

I am going to just assume they sat down and shrugged and decided “last movie, fuck it”. Because everything in that scene - *shakes head in lesbian*

I mean Alice has an attitude, but she doesn’t have that bad of an attitude (5 movies and she’s never been that much of a brat), the amount of lip and narrow eyes she’s giving Doc is not appropriate for someone you’ve just met and held at gunpoint (if you want to draw parallels compare it to how she’s with Chris in Afterlife or Carlos in Apocalypse, very different attitude). Because she really doesn’t come across as weary of him, just dismissive and belittling. As if he’s not even close to being a threat just a very bothersome nuisance that happens to fuck her ex-girlfriend and no she is not cool with that. She doesn’t even try to pretend that she is.

And that tight lipped smile of Claire’s when she thanks him for helping her “friend”, it’s so awkward and distant and screams of wanting to sweep things under the proverbial rug and not be forced to stand there in the middle of all that confusing tension. And he’s so clueless. And then he’s gone.

Then there they are and Claire feels the need to explain. Why does she need to explain? Why does she need to bring that up? And why can’t she even make it into an actual sentence? Why so rushed and so awkward? Why so gay? And to say Alice response is curt is a little like saying the ocean is wet, not false, but the understatement of the past 525 600 minutes . She simply refuses to let Claire go into detail. She’s three seconds away from putting her fingers in her ears going “lalala can’t hear you”.

And so much tension.

But they power through and Alice explains she’s planning a suicide mission and Claire loses it. She just explodes, because typical fucking Alice who never realises she means so much to someone. So yeah Claire explodes in anger. She’s so frustrated. She doesn’t even try to rein it it, she let’s it BOOM. But then she looks at Alice and the words, “Alice I’m not-” slips out of her mouth, trembling on her tongue, unable to stop them. But she does catch up with the words and cuts them off before she says what she’s not supposed to say right there and then. It’s followed by a beat, not even a second and then the anger and frustration turns into determination. Because well emphatically fuck this, if Alice goes so does she, she knows she can never talk Alice out of her dumbass plans. So screw whatever she has in that settlement and Doc who? If Alice dies, so will Claire, because the world is not really worth that much anymore anyhow, it’s just dust and distractions at this point, and if she has to lose her emotionally naive mutant “it’s complicated” gal pal yet again - no, two times is more than enough, thank you. So that settles that.

Throughout all of it they just look at each other like there is so much baggage and so many things left unsaid. So much that they never got into. So much that could have been. So much that was. So much that is still right there when they look at each other. And fuck me this scene is too much fun and gaymess.

How am I supposed to deal with this shit being over when the ending was happily ever after? I swear happy haunts you more hardcore than sad. Because hope lingers and it takes more than one headshot to kill. I’m back to having 2007 level of feels.

#Clairice #Alice Abernathy #resident evil #Claire Redfield #Clairice Aberfield #Alice x Claire

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vivaciouswordsmith · 7 years

Text

Chapter 8!

Chapter 8 of Four-Legged Fiend is up! As always, you can read it here, or beneath the cut. Enjoy!

Chapter 8: Fake AH Crew Rises

Bit by bit, the newly dubbed Fake AH Crew climbed the criminal ladder.

A trickle of lowlifes and down on their luck youths came to them over time, and they painstakingly took little bits and pieces of other gangs’ territories. They still had to be careful, and worked more often in the shadows and the sidelines than not. If not for Geoff’s almost constant reassurances and dreams of standing atop Los Santos as rulers of the entire city, they’d have burned out and given up long ago.

Still, the first year was rough. There were several run-ins with the police, quite a few of which ended with someone spending the night in lock-up. Three attempts to capture some new turf resulted in firefights that the crew was forced to retreat from, tails between their legs. Exasperated by the crawling pace of their city takeover, Geoff started looking for more outside help. Anybody or anything that could give them a better, sharper edge over their competition was eagerly sought out for recruitment. No price was too much for Geoff, but even so, there were many candidates who either didn’t meet the mark, or simply checked the Fakes out and deemed them to be not worth it.

Some months later, Geoff finally got the bite he was looking for. A sniper up in Liberty City named Ray got in contact with him, expressing a desire for a change of scenery, and perhaps an apartment bigger than a bedroom that didn’t cost several thousand dollars a month. Geoff offered him a place to stay and a steady paycheck, and that was that. He was in Los Santos within the week.

With five men and one wolfdog in their crew, their ascent through the ranks turned into something that could only be called meteoric. They grew bold enough to pull off bigger and riskier jobs, and each take grew larger and larger. Soon enough they left the Los Santos slums behind and eyeballed the chrome and black apartments, and especially the penthouses. Sadly they weren’t quite up to penthouse levels of money, but Geoff remained optimistic.

With more and more money rolling in, their tastes became more and more refined. Stuttery, ancient cars were traded in for sleek super machines with purring engines and leather seats. Weapons were clad in every color of the rainbow, and ranged from practical to completely outrageous. Nobody in their right minds knew when the occasion for an accurate reconstruction of an 18th century bayonet might arise, but that didn’t stop the entire crew getting one apiece. Expensive and rare liquors soon sucked away a large chunk of Geoff’s money, not that he particularly cared. They were finally rising above the usual Los Santos grime, and that was more than enough reward. His heart swelled every time he saw their name headlining every paper in the city.

In a year and a half, they left their fancy apartment behind and finally made it to the penthouse of their dreams. It sat right in the heart of their city and spanned nearly ten thousand glorious square feet of building. It had three floors, ten bedrooms, God only knew how many other nooks and crannies, and, most importantly, a full bar. In the true fashion of the newly rich, they gave Ryan his own room, complete with a doggy door and closet full of toys.

They didn’t let the luxury get to their heads. While they were off the streets, they knew the carpet could be ripped out from under their feet at any moment. The LSPD was less dangerous to them now, yes, but they were still somewhat of a threat, not to mention the fact that they were now drawing the attention of the FIB and the nearby military base. There were also the numerous gangs who badly wanted their heads, and not in a sexy way. They were still criminals, and they still had their jobs to do. The difference now was that they were the ones near the top fending off desperate bottom feeders.

Still, the Fake AH Crew had plenty of opportunity for leisure, and they were content with their new place in the underworld. The good times stretched into the horizon, and they thought the party would never end.

It came as a bit of a shock, then, when Ray told them he was leaving the crew. Complacency was not for him, so he packed up and moved on to a new life. He promised to stay in contact, and the crew offered support if he ever needed it, and that was it. Only a week after the announcement, his things had been cleared out of the penthouse, and he was gone.

This left the crew in a bit of a pickle. Five main members could tackle almost any heist, and the varying skill sets left everyone feeling confident and sure in their positions. Four felt a little too vulnerable, plus their long-range awareness had dropped quite a bit. Several heist ideas were put back on the drawing board for the time being, and other jobs were called off, to the disappointment of the other various members of the crew.

In the meantime, Geoff started putting out feelers for a new number six. He hoped he’d be able to find one within his own crew, but in case nobody made the cut, he made sure to keep his options open. Six months later, he’d made no progress on that front, and the crew settled back into their four-man band.

They’d be okay. They’d survived much worse before.

Jeremy was excited. For the first time since he’d signed up with the Fakes, he’d been summoned to their main HQ. A year of grunt work and near misses had led to what he was sure was moving up the ladder. His sometimes friend Matt was a lot more skeptical, as he’d never heard of promotions being given out from the penthouse, but Jeremy remained optimistic.

“I’m telling you, this is it,” he said. “We’re gonna make it so big, Matt!”

“I don’t know.” Matt fiddled with the wire of his headphones and huddled against the gold-tinted wall of the elevator. “Nobody’s ever been summoned to the penthouse before. It doesn’t fucking happen.”

“Then this has to be a special case, right? Right?”

Matt just shrugged.

“God, I hate you sometimes.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors rolled open at that moment. A lone door stood at the end of a short hallway. Jeremy rocked on his heels and grinned. “This is it!” He walked to the gleaming mahogany door, and ignored Matt humming the funeral march along the way. He knocked on the door, and it swung open without further ado.

They were almost immediately confronted by the gigantic expanse of the main crew’s penthouse. A vast white couch sat in front of one of the biggest flat screen TVs Jeremy had ever seen. Both sides of the couch had tiny chrome mini-fridges next to them. Directly in front of them sat a set of stairs leading into another room, but they couldn’t make out any details. A kitchen stocked with silver appliances lay behind an island and a bar stocked with an insane amount of liquor bottles. Several abstract paintings Jeremy was sure had just been on display at the museum two months ago rested on the walls.

“Where the fuck is everyone? And why the fuck did the door just open?”

“I, uh, I don’t…really know.” He wandered over to the couch and glanced down at the papers scattered on the table. He squinted, but he couldn’t make out what the designs were supposed to be. “Boss said to be here at two.”

“And what time is it?”

Jeremy pulled his glove down and checked his watch. “Two o’ five.”

“Well…shit.”

They stood awkwardly in the room for a few minutes. Matt moved his headphones onto his ears, and music soon blasted from the cheap red headset. Jeremy took out his phone and fiddled with it. He read the message again, and confirmed that they were supposed to be at the penthouse at two. So where the fuck was everybody? Had they been duped?

‘Probably shoulda figured that out before coming here,’ he thought.

A jingling around the corner made Jeremy nearly jump out of his skin. He put his phone away, and elbowed Matt in the gut. He huffed in annoyance, but the music died immediately afterward. They straightened and made an effort to look at least somewhat professional.

The jingling moved around the corner, and Jeremy felt a thrill run down his back. He’d only seen the Fake AH Crew’s pet wolfdog once, and that was from pretty far away during a B-Team debriefing. Seeing him from about five feet away was a different experience altogether. His long black claws clicked on the varnished wood floor, and his maw clamped around a large bone. The markings around his eyes and muzzle really did look so much like a skull, to the point where it was chilling.

The wolf froze the moment he saw Matt and Jeremy standing in the living room. His bone thudded to the ground while his fur stood on end. Black lips pulled back to show off long white teeth. He moved forward with the careful steps of a predator ready to kill, still growling. His blue eyes burned with an animal ferocity.

Matt’s hand flashed to his waist. “We are going to fucking die here. Oh my God.”

“Don’t…do…anything,” said Jeremy. “You’ll just make him mad if you pull your gun.”

“Make him – it’s a fucking wolf!” Matt pointed at him and gestured wildly. “It’s already mad!”

“I hear he’s really smart, though. Maybe I can calm him down!”

“You want to try that, Dr. Doolittle? Be my fucking guest. I am not going to be eaten by a wolf.” Matt backed toward the door, hands slowly rising like the wolf held him at gunpoint. Another growl made him freeze in place.

“Hey, uh, it’s okay, boy.” Jeremy crept forward and held out his hand. “We’re part of the crew. We’re not here to, uh, to take anything, or hurt anybody, okay? We just want to talk to Geoff.”

“If you die, I’m going to put ‘Killed while trying to talk his way out of being eaten by wolf,’” said Matt.

“Shut up!”

Meanwhile, the wolf edged closer. Its jaws parted, and a few strands of saliva dripped onto the floor. Jeremy pulled his right glove off and offered his naked palm to the wolf. Either it would smell his hand, or it would bite him. He sure as fuck hoped it wouldn’t bite him. The smelling thing worked with cats, surely it would work with dogs too, right?

The wolf drew even closer, and Jeremy swallowed. The wolf’s shoulders reached his midriff, and his open jaws looked wide enough to take off his hand in a single bite. Dread edged into his stomach and threatened to weigh it down. He fought against the feeling.

For a few torturous seconds, the wolf’s nose skimmed over his palm. Hot breaths ghosted over the skin, and the horrible weight in his stomach grew heavier. Despite his earlier bravado, he was about ninety percent sure the wolf was about to make him a one-armed bandit at this point.

The beast huffed loudly and moved to inspect his chest and stomach. Jeremy slowly held up his hands and looked over at Matt.

“What? The fuck do you think I could do?”

“Good point.” He looked back down at the wolf, and met his bright blue eyes. “Gotta admit, I’m this close to pissing myself. Holy fuck.”

The wolfdog’s nose returned to his hand. He tensed and waited for fangs to rip into his flesh. However, it didn’t seem that was the case. The wolf grunted and got the bridge of his muzzle into Jeremy’s palm. He shifted the hand up and flipped it onto his head. He blinked. The wolf looked up at him and flicked his good ear. He moved his fingers behind the ear and scratched the thick hairs there. The wolf grinned up at him.

“Holy shit, you’re not dead.” Matt walked back over to them.

“I guess I smell friendly or something.” He moved his other hand behind the wolf’s ear stump and scratched there, too. The wolf’s eyes fluttered shut, and his white foot lifted off the ground and kicked once or twice.

A door opened behind them, and they jumped again. Upon turning around they saw Geoffrey Ramsey himself descending one of the staircases. He grinned when he saw the two of them standing in the living room.

“Oh! There you are. I was…wondering…when…” He trailed off when he saw the wolfdog begging Jeremy for pets. “You’re petting Ryan?”

“Uh…Yes?”

“Ryan never lets anyone he doesn’t know pet him.” Ryan’s ears twitched when Geoff said his name. He pulled away from Jeremy’s hands and wandered over to the Fakes’ boss. He gave the wolfdog a few pats on the head, and the pacified pup trotted down the hallway. “Seriously, never.”

“He’s not that friendly?”

“Not if he doesn’t know them.” Geoff flopped down on the couch and propped his heels up on the coffee table. “Anyway, back to business. You know why you guys are here?”

Matt and Jeremy looked at each other and said, “No,” in unison.

Geoff let out a breath. “Fuck. Well, as you know, we have an open slot on the main crew.” They nodded. “I’ve been looking for a replacement for a while, and ideally, I’d like to pull someone from the crew.”

A thrill zinged down Jeremy’s spine. “So…?”

“So, I’m going to be keeping a close eye on the B-teams for a while.” Geoff raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Maybe if one of you assholes does really well, I’ll try you out with the main crew. And if you continue to impress…” He gestured around the penthouse with one hand. “All this could be yours.”

God, that was more than Jeremy could have ever dreamed of. Barely a year ago, he’d still been on the streets, watching the Fakes from afar with nothing short of admiration, wondering if he’d ever even break through the bottom ranks. Now he stood in front of the boss of the entire crew and was offered the opportunity of a lifetime. Sure, it wasn’t given to him directly, but he still had a chance. And he was the one learning it straight from the source. That had to count for something, right?

Matt, ever the realist, decided this was the time to pop Jeremy’s little dream bubble. “And you decide we’re all fucking morons and not worth dealing with?”

“Then it’s straight to plan B. Hire someone outside the crew. Fuck, I haven’t researched this much in goddamn years. I’d rather not have to start up all that shit again.” He gave the two of them a serious look and straightened his bow tie. “You fuckers better impress me.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Jeremy. Privately he hoped he didn’t sound too eager. He’d get nowhere if they thought he was an asskisser.

“Good. Now get out of my house.” Geoff turned away from them and flipped on the TV.

“Uh…okay. Thanks for having us?”

A squeak from behind them made Matt and Jeremy jump about a foot into the air. They turned and saw Ryan standing behind them. A bedraggled, raggy brown cow toy hung from his mouth. It was missing one beady black eye and a good deal of off-white fluff escaped its body from a hole in its side. He stepped forward and dropped the toy on the toe of Jeremy’s boot.

“Uh…thanks?” He pinched a flimsy hoof between his thumb and forefinger and lifted the cow into the air.

“He wants you to throw it,” Geoff said. “He’ll annoy you until you do it.”

“Oh, uh, okay then.”

Jeremy cocked his hand over his shoulder, and the pup put his rump in the air and wagged his tail. He pretended to lob the toy down the staircase and quickly hid his hand behind his back. To his surprise, the wolfdog stood upright and growled. He lifted a paw and scratched at Jeremy’s jacket.

“Yeah, he doesn’t fall for that one anymore.”

“Really? He must be really smart, then,” said Matt. He reached down to pat the wolf’s head, but withdrew when he gave the shabby criminal a withering glare.

“He is and he isn’t,” said Geoff.

Jeremy finally relented and tossed the toy down the stairs. Ryan’s ears stood on end and he careened down the stairs to get it. His black-and-white tail waved once, and he was gone.

“Okay, so let’s get this straight before we go.” Matt toyed with the wire of his headphones and glared at his boss. “You only called us here, to the penthouse, where only the main crew works, the most prestigious place the Fakes own, where the rest of us fucks haven’t even stepped foot, because you wanted us to tell the guys you’re recruiting and you’ll be watching us extra close.”

Geoff turned around and gave them a look. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Geoff, you have a fucking phone! Why didn’t you just call us?!”

Geoff snickered and turned back to his show.

“Did he just call us down here just to make us come down here?” Matt asked Jeremy.

“Probably.” Jeremy shrugged and turned back to the door.

“Of course he did. Fuck me, how much time have we wasted?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to answer, but a litany of squeaks drowned him out. Ryan ran back up the stairs and dropped the cow toy at his feet. He squatted down again and wagged his tail. His tongue flopped out of his mouth and dribbled on the floor in between his paws.

“Sorry, Ryan. We gotta go.” Jeremy and Matt moved toward the door. Ryan picked up the toy and squeaked it again. “We’re leaving.”

“C’mere, Ryan. The boys’ll be home soon, and then we’ll take a W – A – L – K.” Geoff’s offer went unheard. Ryan bumped Jeremy’s hand with his nose and whined. “Jesus, Ryan, come here already!”

The wolf stood on his hind paws and put his front paws on Jeremy’s shoulders. Jeremy couldn’t help but swallow nervously. The beast was fucking humongous, definitely much taller than he was. And he was heavy, too. Jeremy staggered under his weight, but managed to keep himself from falling by grabbing Matt’s jacket. He got a face full of snuffling, whining skull-marked muzzle leaving a cold nose print on his right cheek.

“Ryan! Down!” He whined again and leaned more of his weight into Jeremy. “Ryan, get down right now, or you can kiss your treats goodbye!” The wolf’s good ear flattened against his head, and he dropped back down onto the floor. His tail hung between his legs, and his eyes were downcast.

He looked so sad and forlorn, Jeremy just had to do something. He knelt and scratched the wolfdog behind his half-ear. “We’ll be back, okay, buddy? We’ll see you again.” He rubbed the markings between his eyes and smiled. Then he grabbed the toy and tossed it into the kitchen. The pup turned on his heels and trotted off into the kitchen. They took the opportunity and left.

“‘We’ll be back,’ huh?” Matt asked. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Jeremy. “Do you seriously think you’re going to be picked for the new number six?”

Jeremy shoved his shoulder and scowled. “I don’t think anything. I’m just going to do my best and hope.” He reached out and pressed the button to call the elevator. “Fuck me, I hope this doesn’t cause too much chaos.”

“It’s the fucking Fake AH Crew, of course there’s going to be chaos.”

A loud howl sounded from behind them, followed by a burst of swearing. Matt let out a chuff of laughter. “Jesus, he must really like you.”

“That has to be good, right? Geoff said he doesn’t like anyone outside the main crew.”

“Oooh, it could be a sign.” Matt shook his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Jeremy kept quiet. His mind went to the job he and the other members of B-team would be taking that Saturday. In all likelihood, it would be fairly routine, but even so, the fact that the main five would be watching made his stomach roll. The pressure would be on to really nail each and every little detail.

Still, he’d rise to the occasion.

He’d do anything if it meant he could stand beside his heroes.

(Also, as a side note, my new laptop skin comes courtesy of @asking-ask. It’s adorable.)

#Probably won't be that many chapters after this #Might do some oneshots if there's enough interest #We'll see #achievement hunter #wolf!ryan au #fanfiction #ao3

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