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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [14]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, violence, guns, death, ptsd, swearing, abuse

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: last chapter you guys :’’’’) im too emo about a fanfic i s2g. there’s an epilogue but this is the official last chapter.

i really appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

You had only heard of the warehouse before, never actually seen it.

Its reputation preceded it. It was only mentioned in passing as a place for the worst of the worst.

It was murky and smelled like rust, concrete and rotting corpses. You had no doubt a few of them would be littering the place. A few tube lights shone over you graciously like a spotlight, barely illuminating the area.

The room you were in was utterly silent. The only exception were noises outside the door; loud shouts and clanging of metal. You assumed it to be people in the other rooms. Your assessment on how tight the ropes were coiled around you earned a few grunts and odd squeaks, but nothing major.

You were bound to a chair, of course, with knots you had used before on others. It felt like a convoluted form of irony. It was firmly nailed to the ground to prevent you from using it against captors. You were gagged; pretty well, by the look of it.

A noise from beside you threw you off track. A quick look to your left and you found Sam in a similar predicament. He shook his head slightly, implying that it was useless to find an opening. At least he was alive and breathing.

“Are you done?” A voice came from behind you, echoing within the four walls. “I really want to get going and you’re taking too long.”

You knew who it was. It was impossible for you to mistake it at this point.

“Don’t mind the noise outside. We’re just torturing a bunch of people to death.”

You roll your eyes out of sheer instinct. The footsteps slowly moved towards the front of the room, heavy and deliberate. The expensive material of his suit shone under the light as he edged in front of you. Only he’d wear Armani to a murder.

The dramatic fuck clearly rehearsed it.

“Hey Buttercup,” Ransone smiled, distinctly proud of himself. Your bite on the bundle of cloth haphazardly shoved in your mouth tightened. “Been waitin’ on you for a while now. Wilson’s no good company.”

You sneak a glance at Sam’s side profile and he looks relatively untouched. There were a few cuts on his face that you could make out under the harsh light but that was it.

“You can’t get out of those, if you're wondering.” He gestured to your current set up. “I told you, Sam. I save my warehouse for special guests. All your fun tools are gone. Took ‘em when you were brought in.”

As your eyes adjusted to the lighting, you faintly make out the presence of two men in the corners of the room, stiff as cardboard. His security.

“Oh! Except this.” He brandished the paper airplane you had brought with you in the utility belt. He’d use anything to potentially get a rise out of you.

“Gettin’ sentimental now, are we?” He tested the tip of the plane with his finger.

You prayed he wouldn’t destroy it. It had more value than he was willing to bet on.

“You must be asking yourselves why you ended up here,” Ransone mused, looking at the plane from all angles. “No need to worry, I’ll tell you.”

You didn't expect anything less from him. Everything about this felt cinematic; the inconvenient lighting, the men standing in the corner. This man oozed drama over efficiency.

“When I was just starting out, people warned me. Told me I wasn’t going to get anywhere, that we’d always stay in the same position because that’s how it’s been for all these years.” He tested the plane, holding onto the body sturdily.

“There were too many big names already. We were one of them, of course. My father did a good job of giving us a solid foundation.” He pulled his wrist back like he was going to launch it, only to never actually do it. He carried it through the air, simulating its flight pattern.

“You remember my father, don’t you? The guy who cut off someone’s finger because they didn’t finish the job.” Ransone really only had one story to tell about his father and he worked it to death. Other than a few handful of times, his father never bothered about his presence much from what you heard. He favoured the ones who were brutal and Ransone- well, he was a glorified theatre kid.

“Of course you do. He was an incredible man.” He laughed crisply. “But he had no real ambition. No drive. I told him we could have been at the top, the ones parents warn their kids about. He didn’t listen to me. He never really paid attention.”

His tone got wistful in the end, eyes distant like he was living the scene out in his head.

“So obviously when he died, I had the chance to really make a difference. Really set us apart. Ten Rings and Hydra had their own niche; they had some ties with the military and the government and whatnot. Crazy motherfuckers, all of them.” He shook his dead in distaste. “But Serpentine- that was closer to home. Same market as us.”

You wondered how long he would take to get to the point. The only distraction you had were the noises that continued outside. An odd gunshot here and there really pulled your attention away from the story.

“Serpentine with their stupid code names. They really thought they were all that.” He sounded embarrassingly like a bitchy teenager. “Who do they think they were fooling with the Norse Gods thing, huh? Naming your leader Odin, his wife Frigga.”

“I fucking hated them,” he spat, face twisting into anger. “Told them to watch out, that I’d end their legacy. They laughed in my face.”

He spun around, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he pointed to Sam, “That’s where you come in.”

Sam looked thoroughly irritated with the show that was going on in front of him. If he wasn’t gagged you had no doubt he’d have a few comments to pass. Ones that would get the both of you killed.

“I told you to kill their leader. One job. You fucked that up.” Sam recalling the story of his first mission flashed in your memory. “Let that old nutjob into your head and allowed him to escape. We didn’t know where he was for years.”

“I let it go because I thought Serpentine was done for. Radio silence after Odin disappeared. And they were, until a few years ago when I get news that they have a new leader. Odin’s son, the new heir.” He waved around his hands, mocking the last part of his sentence. “Word on the street was that he wanted to kill whoever murdered his mother in front of his eyes.”

“I thought that was hilarious. You know why?” He laughed humourlessly. “Because that was you. You were the one who killed his mother. You remember that? Your big mission?”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there. No one had even heard of him. His brother’s too soft to take on anything like this. He’s some farmer in England now. But he was supposed to be Odin’s only son. Yet somehow, the only person who could have known this other son existed and actually seen him… was you.”

“Turns out he’s like you. A secret adoption. No record of him anywhere.” You didn’t blink, not once taking your eyes off him in case he decided to go wild. “He should have died that day. You were supposed to kill them.”

Only Ransone would justify killing a kid because it fit his agenda. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, and though he tried very hard to shove his ideology onto you, you never complied.

“Goes by Loki now, another stupid codename. Trained by his father who this idiot let go of.” He gestured to Sam callously, “and mad about the murder of his mother that you committed. Serpentine came back pretty quickly after he took control.”

A particularly loud sound of metal slamming would have made you jump had you not been tied down. Ransone swung around in anger, loudly cursing at them for ruining his train of thought. He muttered some more curses under his breath before plastering a fake smile on his face and continuing.

“I’ll admit, he’s a sneaky one. But they grew faster than any other cartel. They somehow knew all our connections, all our targets, our key players. It wasn’t possible,” he shook his head low as he paced up and down slowly. You knew where this was headed. “Unless we had someone giving them information from the inside.”

He stops to look at you.

“I would have forgiven you, Y/N, I really would. You know how I am about second chances.” He looked at you, eyebrows upturned with regretful eyes. “But then you had to go and spy on me for two years.”

You could see Sam turn to you from the corner of your eye, assessing your reaction. You didn't extend the same courtesy to him. You didn’t have any reaction.

“We found out very late, of course. I taught you well,” he chided, his inescapable narcissism making an appearance once more. “But then we had to figure out why. Why you’d betray me and everything I’ve done for you.”

“I still can’t figure that out.” You wanted to scream at him, everything he had taken away from you, everything he forced you to be. “I treated you the best out of everyone I had. You had the best training, the best resources. You wouldn’t have made it anywhere if I didn’t drag you out of that shithole orphanage.”

You had heard of blissfully ignorant, but he was well beyond that at this point.

“Didn’t take too long to connect the dots. What, with Wilson’s great act of charity and your lack of better judgement, both of you managed to fuck up enough to screw me over years later.”

“I initially was only going to have you killed, Buttercup,” he admitted nonchalantly, like your life had no value. “But then we found out that Sam’s been lying to me for a long time too. Been hidin’ his friend a few states away.”

“It was meant to be,” he cooed. “Such a similar past. You could have met each other before, you know? Pierce wouldn’t be the first time you were at the same house on the same day.”

You couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if you had known Sam earlier. Would you have been friends or would you have been forced to kill each other in his sick ‘survival of the fittest’ game?

“It felt poetic to have you both die together, you know? On a mission gone wrong. A full circle.” God, he spent too long planning something elaborate when he could have just put a bullet in your head and ended you the day he found out. Fucking weirdo.

“Made sure I sent you to the same place at the same time. Pierce was dead long before you came, the poor fuck. But then again, collateral damage. No mercy.” He shrugged. “Had everyone at the ready. You should have died that night.”

“But like everything you do,” his voice suddenly rose like a child throwing a tantrum, “you fucked that up for me too. Escaped with his stupid fucking car.”

“None of those useless agents could find you. How could they?” The beauty was that Ransone must have spent too long looking when you were basically right there, just miles away. “You didn’t go to one of our locations and Serpentine hides their safehouses well.”

You still remembered the relief when the door accepted your fingerprint.

It was a long shot but you didn't have anywhere else to go. You weren’t even sure that this house existed.

Another loud crash arrived from the outside with noises that sounded like more gunshots, making Ransone jump this time. Just how many people were being tortured here?

“Keep the volume down, you stupid fucking imbeciles!” he screeched, pounding at the metal door. The decibel reduced, but still continued on.

He dragged his palm across his face in exasperation, talking under his breath to himself. He shook his head before turning back to you.

"Oh, by the way, don't think about escaping. Got every last one of my best agents out here after that stunt you pulled at Pierce’s house,” he says offhandedly.

He takes a second to regroup, get back into character.

“So we released your pictures to the public. Can’t go very far if people are looking for you constantly. It was the only way we could get you to stay in one place.” Ransone raised his shoulders casually. “We had every lowlife out there waiting for one of you to show up.”

“We eventually had someone report Wilson in a town a while away from Pierce. I was making my way there but then you sent me your location on your own. Had men outside your house that night.” He paused, peering at the plane in his hand.

He finally let it go, watching as it barely went any distance before nose diving to the ground. Your eyes trailed after it, hoping he wouldn’t crush it with his foot.

“This is the worst fucking paper plane I’ve ever seen. The balance is completely off.” He stared at it in wonder, picking it up again and shoving it back into his pocket. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Anyway one of them heard you talkin’ about how you’re leaving the next day so we just got ready at the door.”

“Et voila.” He grinned, spreading his arms. “Here we are. Brilliant, wasn’t it?”

Unnecessarily long, but you weren’t going to complain.

“Oh, I forgot you can’t talk.” His mouth quirked downwards into a ‘whoops’.

He took a long pause right in front of you before his hand reached out to cradle your face. “I wouldn’t let those idiots kill you, Buttercup. You deserved better than that.”

He stared unnervingly into your eyes, looking for a hint of anything, any sort of remorse. He wasn’t going to find any. You wished he saw nothing but hatred.

“It’s why I had to kill you myself.” He sighed when you pulled your face away the best you could from his palm in disgust. “But I’ll do you a solid. I’ll give you a chance to beg for forgiveness. Maybe if you’re good enough I’ll let you go.”

You knew he was lying. He had no intention of doing that. He only wanted you to grovel in submission, plead for your life for a fucking power trip.

He ripped off the tape that was over your mouth, making you flinch at the burn. He pulled out the cloth faster than you could spit it out at him.

“Go ahead,” Ransone said smugly. His ego would outlive all of you.

“Him first.” Your mouth was dry and your lips felt chapped. You had clearly been knocked out for a while by then. You had no idea how far away you were from the original location.

“What?” His smile dropped to a frown rather quickly.

“Him first.” You mentioned towards Sam with your head.

“That’s cute.” He laughed, stopping when you didn’t join in. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I’m not saying shit till he does too.” You were bemused, monotonous. You just wanted to get this over as quickly as possible.

“Fine,” he huffed when your expression didn’t change. “It’d be fun to watch him beg anyway.”

You hear the rip of the tape from his face, the scrunch of the material before he balled it up and threw it on the floor.

Sam shook his head furiously, forcing Ransone to take a step back swiftly before he hit him.

“Right.” Ransone clapped his hands together. “Let’s get star-”

He was interjected by another loud bang followed by a series of gunshots. Another victim massacred. He groaned in frustration, stamping his feet at the constant interruption. The universe was determined to not let him finish his monologue in peace, and for that, you thanked her.

You looked at Sam, nodding slightly. He gave you a small smile in return, calming the nerves you were beginning to feel.

“Where were we?” Ransone did not look happy; a vein was dangerously visible on his forehead. Now would not be the best time to do anything that angered him. “Yes, go ahead. Beg.”

“Ransone,” Sam began, exhaling lightly. “We knew.”

The smile on Ransone’s face faltered. “What did you say?”

“He said we knew,” you cut in. “You melodramatic fuck.”

Ransone’s grin faded abruptly and it was by far the most satisfying experience you had ever experienced.

“Yeah, we figured it out ourselves a while ago.” Sam had the slightest smirk on his face. “Y/N did, actually.”

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you.

“I’m listening.”

“I think it’s Ransone. He’s been trying to kill us.”

“Why?” He didn’t sound judgemental, hardly even fazed, like it was a completely plausible suggestion. You couldn’t express how glad you were.

“The guy you didn't kill, if he’s the old head of Serpentine, then... I know his son.” Your mouth was dry as your mind raced to piece it together. “He’s the one I didn’t kill.”

“What?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, and you could see him trying to figure out the connection. “How are you so sure?”

You closed your eyes, letting out a deep exhale. “I’m going to need you to not react to what I’m going to tell you.”

“Okay...” he trailed off.

“I’ve been working with him for two years. Passing information on to him about Ransone.”

“Wait so that means-”

“I’m the spy. And I think Ransone figured it out. He wants to kill me.”

“You knew,” Ransone stated. He looked like he was in a daze.

Sam looked at you once before nodding. “If you would shut up and let someone else talk for once, we would have told you a while ago.”

“It helped that you confirmed details about Pierce’s death without us having to tell you.” The last conversation you had with him replayed in your head verbatim. “There’s no way you would have known he was dead before we got there unless we told you. Or you did it.”

“We knew you had agents outside the house. Kinda expected that when we gave you the address,” you shrugged the best you could, “Sam’s security cameras got all of them.”

“Made sure that one fuck behind the tree could hear us planning outside,” Sam added. “He wasn’t very stealthy, by the way.”

“Have you decided on a day?”

You nod, looking straight ahead into the darkness. “Tomorrow.”

“You sure? Our timing has to be right.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is coarse. “I’ll have to tell him.”

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was too tall for the stairs, almost like he was crouching instead of sitting.

His voice dropped to a whisper like it’s a secret only meant for you.

“You knew you were going to be ambushed.”

“No shit.” You nodded.

The loud bangs continued outside the door but you paid no heed to it. The closer it got, the more your stomach jumped, hoping that more people you pissed off didn’t storm in. You had quite a list anyway.

“You knew they were coming,” Ransone appeared like he had gears turning in his own head, trying to add everything up on his own. “Then why didn’t you run?”

“Well, we kinda needed all of you in one place.”

“Huh?” He blinked, not listening to all the commotion that was going on around him. If he didn’t, he was choosing to focus on this instead.

“We had to take out all of you at once,” you disclosed, fidgeting with the rope to see if it would give. “Kinda knew you were waiting to kill us yourself when we gave you the location and nothing happened immediately. You’re too much of a sissy to kill us without backup so we wanted you in one place with the rest of them.”

You tilted your head towards the two men standing in the corner.

“You knew all this while and lied,” Ransone jeered, face twisting into something rather indiscernible; a nice mix of shame and rage.

“Not like we had another choice, man.” You just knew Sam was rolling his eyes. “You think I would voluntarily listen to you monologue like an idiot?”

“You did gag us,” you added, trying to buy as much time as you could. “That’s on you.”

The ropes were still tight as could be and the chair wouldn’t budge. Even your feet were too tightly tied together to do anything. It was what you expected, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

“Shut up!” Ranone’s face was hideously red.

“You rehearsed it, didn’t you?” Sam called out, taunt in his tone. “With the lighting and shit.”

“He doesn’t have to. He does one a week to some poor fuck who has to listen.”

You couldn’t believe the both of you were teaming up to bully a man who literally held the fate of your lives in his hands. It was something you never imagined yourself doing.

“How do people take you seriously?” Sam laughed. More than yours, his remarks seemed to be ticking Ransone off.

Ransone let out a guttural cry, knuckles so white you were afraid they were going to break. He whips around, stomping over to pull the gun from the hand of one of his bodyguards.

“Easy there, DeNiro, that’s not a stage prop.” Sam chided.

The concrete in front of him suddenly cracks loudly. He looked up, slightly taken aback.

“Next time it’ll be your fucking face,” Ransone snarled, waving the gun around like a maniac. You send a cautionary glance to Sam, telling him to back off. Ransone was volatile. He would act without thinking.

“Why did you kill everyone I was friends with, Vincent?” you asked slowly, trying to divert his mind.

He turned to you, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Why did you take everyone from me?” The more you asked, the more it became about genuine curiosity rather than a distraction from shooting Sam in the head.

“Take everyone from- none of them were going to last anyway!” He throws his hands up in the air angrily. “I was saving you from yourself. From the eventual pain.”

His face was desperate, and you for a second forced yourself to think from his perspective. He looked like he truly believed in what he was saying, like he genuinely thought he was supporting you. Like he cared. The thought that maybe he truly wanted to help you was the only way you could comfort yourself for so many years.

“If you were in pain, you wouldn’t perform. I was only pushing you to your full potential,” he continued, a wild smile on his face mixed with eyes rimmed red like he was ready to cry.

Your stomach sank, even though you hated it. It wasn’t about you, it was about what he could get from you.

There was silence. Even the noises outside seemed to have stopped, all waiting for your next move.

“You’re a sick, conniving fuck,” your words waver, and you hope it hits him as hard as it can, “And I can’t wait till you’re dead.”

His face morphed from one of helplessness to slow fury once more. Manipulative prick.

“Do I have to remind you that you’re the one tied up?” He wipes at his nose, voice returning to normal. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because I need to know why you let yourself be captured so willingly.”

Your incessant need to know everything stemmed from him and the paranoia he induced in you from when you were a kid. Everything you thought was wrong about you came from him.

“We told you, you overdramatic fuck.” Sam drew the attention away from you thankfully. You took a deep breath, stabilizing yourself.

“What, that you needed the team in one place to take us out?” Ransone asked, to no one’s answer. “You and what army?”

“Well, the one who’s been here for a while now,” you pipe up.

No one says anything. Pin drop silence reigns free.

“You said he’d be here,” Sam hissed at you. “How much longer do we keep this going?”

“He said he would,” you argued back, feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

“What the fuck are you both talking about?” Ransone asked, but you continued to ignore him.

“What are we going to do if he-”

The door violently exploded off its hinges, sending debris flying everywhere. You clenched your eyes shut and ducked your head to avoid getting smacked in the face with rubble

The dust hadn’t even cleared before multiple rounds were fired. You flinched when your ringing ears hurt more at the sound of gunshots.

You struggle against your ropes, trying to get to Sam. They only get tighter until suddenly your arms break free. Your neck and legs soon follow as you shrug off the ropes that were cleanly sliced off.

Your ears were still getting used to the chaos when you notice someone humming behind you. It took a second to register that it was a fucking Britney Spears song.

“What took you so long?” You coughed, waving the air in front of you to clear it as you stumbled towards Sam.

“I wanted to make an entrance,” Loki said dismissively, following you. “I think I may have overshot it by a few seconds.”

You fell to your knees in front of Sam, quickly moving to untie the familiar knots. He lifted his head to look at you, a thin layer of dust covering his face.

“Are you okay?” you asked in concern, simultaneously untying as fast as you could. It was one you had used many times before; a complicated knot that guaranteed you wouldn’t have been able to make it out of the bondage.

“I think my leg’s asleep but other than that I’m good.”

You give him a small smile, thankful that he wasn’t hurt enough to lose his dry sense of humour. Your hand involuntarily reached up to brush some dust off his cheekbone. The intensity with which he looked at you had you swallowing thickly.

You snapped out of it quickly, working on freeing his legs as Loki took a step behind his chair to cut the rest of him loose.

“This him?” Sam mentioned to Loki, massaging his wrist to return some feeling into it.

“You can just ask me, you know,” Loki commented, but clearly not taking any offence.

“I’m sorry about your family, man.”

You didn’t expect Sam to say that, and from the looks of it, neither did Loki. He stopped for a moment, before continuing to cut the last rope.

“You let my father go,” he said, sawing the last part off, “and although I personally think you should have killed the miserable old bastard, he made it clear that he owed you one.”

The both of you stood up. You glanced around the room, noting how both of Ransone’s bodyguards were on the floor, bullet holes riddling their body.

He himself was beside them, lying facefront on the ground. Armani suit be damned.

“How many more are outside?” Sam asked, tearing your attention away from the bodies on the floor.

“All taken care of.” Loki put the knife back into its sheath on his thigh. “We made quite a commotion. I’m surprised he didn’t do anything.”

“He’s a little dense,” Sam remarked. Most of the noises you heard earlier weren’t just other victims being tortured, although you knew that it was still a large fraction of it.

“Should we go?” you asked, doing a quick sweep of the room. You found nothing moving among the pile of rubble.

“Unless you got anything else left to do.” Loki gestured to the large hole in the wall where the door was.

“I think we’re done.”

He simply nodded, spinning on his heel to walk out the room when someone yelled from behind you.

You all halted what you were doing, slowly turning to look at where the noise was coming from.

“Don’t take another step,” Ransone warned, a gun pointed straight at you, barely able to stand straight. He looked worse than you’d ever seen him. His suit was torn and he had a few streaks of blood down his face. His hair was tousled and unkempt, rougher than it had ever been before. “Or I swear I’ll-”

“Oh, shut up,” Loki interjected, firing a shot into Ransone’s stomach before anyone could even react. He returned the gun to its holster that you didn’t even notice was there on his waist. “He talks too much.”

Ransone staggered back until he hit the wall, knees buckling beneath his weight as he slid to the ground. The gun he pried off his bodyguards lay where he was standing previously.

You ignored Sam’s uneasy questions as you took a step forward.

You picked the gun up, cautiously making your way to Ransone. You crouched next to his body. He looked at you before looking down. You followed his line of sight, watching as he lifted his hands. They were covered in blood.

“How’d he know where to find you?” Ransone’s voice was more subdued than you’d ever heard him.

You reached over, slipping your fingers into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper airplane that was flattened due to the impact.

“Hey, you can put a message in it. Maybe one of those button trackers, a microphone. The possibilities are endless.” He laughed, folding another one out of the limited supply of paper he had left.

You unfolded it, letting a small object, not bigger than a button, fall into your palm. He stared at it before realisation dawned on him.

“I knew you’d take all my weapons, but you wouldn’t get rid of this,” you disclosed, folding the paper plane back to what it was and gently putting it into your pocket. It was still salvageable. “Not if you could use it to hurt me.”

You watched him take a shaky breath, flinching when more blood rushed out of him.

“You can still help me, Y/N. We can get out of here together,” he rasped. “Think about everything we’ve been through. We can work it out. I love you.”

You involuntarily let out a strangled cry at the last part. It was nothing but a last ditch attempt to persuade you, pull you back in.

“Look- look at me. Buttercup,” he croaked when you wouldn’t oblige. “I love you. I’m your home.”

You finally look at him. Look right into his eyes, red rimmed and fading. You look for it, the adoration he spoke of. The care he promised. Anything to make sense of why he would tear you apart time and time again. The love he had for you.

You find nothing. Gray eyes look back at you blankly, desperately, in pain.

“You never were,” you whisper, standing up abruptly.

You raised your arm, pointing the gun at him. He sputtered out more half baked apologies, unaware of anything that was coming out of his own mouth.

You clench your eyes shut, pulling the trigger. He lets out a cry when the bullet lodges in his shoulder.

You take a step back, letting the scene imprint itself in your brain of him powerless on the ground at your will. If you followed what he preached, you’d have ended his life right there. No mercy.

But you weren’t him. And you didn’t ever want to be.

“I need to do something too,” you heard Sam say. You can feel him near you, brushing against you for a moment as he gently reached for the gun you held. You gave it to him, feeling him squeeze your hand in reassurance.

Ransone looked at Sam as he stood beside you. He fired a single shot into his leg, clearly hitting bone. You hear the same wail from before, mixed with sputtering as blood leaked from his mouth.

“That was from Riley. He says fuck you.” Sam let his hand fall again. “All yours, man.”

“You already know what this is for,” Loki said simply.

You chose not to look away as he shot the last round right into his forehead. Ransone’s head slumped over. Dead, glassy eyes stared beyond you.

None of you say anything. Just stare at the lifeless body in front of you.

“It’s really over, huh?” Sam’s voice is quiet, like he's having trouble processing what just happened.

You don’t answer. Only take a step towards him, and intertwine your fingers with his, continuing to stare at the corpse of your lifelong abuser.

____

The sun was beating down on you. You didn’t expect it to be evening when you stepped out of the warehouse.

“Where are we?” you asked, shielding your eyes from the sudden brightness that left you squinting.

“Middle of nowhere, I’d say.” Loki stares with disdain at the old building that looked worse for wear. “Would it kill the man to have a bit of taste?”

That reminded you. “Thanks for the house. And… sorry we showed up uninvited.”

“You didn’t do too much damage to it, I hope.”

You looked at him guiltily, mind flashing to the many bullet holes that decorated the back wall. “I’ll pay for the repairs.”

“Forget it. It’s of no use since everyone knows it exists now.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand. “So, Y/N. I guess that concludes our deal?”

“I guess it does.” You nodded,

Sam wraps his arms around your shoulder and you lean into him with a sigh, allowing the comfort his touch brought to seep into you.

“How’d you guys make a deal anyway?” he inquired. You closed your eyes, chest rising and falling steadily.

“Well, I was going to kill you at first,” Loki explained offhandedly, gesturing to you. “But then-”

He trailed off.

You remember, clear as day, when Loki confronted you in the early hours of the morning outside the park you went on runs. He had a gun pulled on you before you could fathom what was going on, before you could even realise who he was.

“But then?” Sam prodded.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“Saw something that I recognised,” he said dryly, eyeing you up and down. “We were both pulled into something we didn’t have a say in. Stuck, you could say. I just thought that it was a win-win situation if we worked together to kill that idiot back there.”

“So you agreed to spy on him,” Sam concluded. “You got revenge. What was your incentive?”

You look at Loki who just smiled at you. You return one half heartedly.

“I’d say freedom is a pretty big reward, wouldn’t you?” And it was. You couldn’t even begin to explain the weight that would be lifted off your shoulders. “I can’t guarantee you’ll have a perfectly normal life. Might have to change your identity, move around a bit.”

“Everyone’s looking for us as wanted criminals,” Sam voiced everything you were forgetting about in the surge of emotions rushing through you.

“I got some connections,” Loki said dismissively. You peered at him from under Sam's arm. “I can have it traced back to a dead mobster in a warehouse, no problem. If they think it’s a gang war there’s no way they’ll try to get too involved. Consider it a gift from my father.”

Sam nodded, relaxing slightly now that most things were taken care of.

“That’s sorted then.” Loki examined the barren land that surrounded you. “You’re going to need a ride back to civilization, aren’t you?”

“If that’s possible.”

“I’ll have someone drop you off. You got any place to go? At least to stay low for a while.”

You didn’t have anyone. The only one you had was the man beside you. Nothing was settling in at the moment, and you realised that it would be a long road until it did. But you had a shot. A real shot at something even resembling recovery.

Sam and you looked at each other before he turned back to Loki and nodded.

“New Orleans.”

Next part

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

here’s a list of references/foreshadowing to the end all throughout the series!

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Note

FFWF ask:

For Thunderbirds: is there an AU you have considered writing?

FanFic Writer Friday! // Fanfic Writer Ask Meme

Define “AU”. I tend to stick close to canon, but I’ve poked my toe in a few other playgrounds occasionally. The main ones I’ve played around with (and written the odd scene for), are listed here.

(And yes, I will take questions on any of them if you’re interested. I have spent far too much time plotting these out for them to just keep rotting away in my head and never see the world)

Son of Poseidon!Gordon. Yes, it’s a PJO crossover thing, where Chiron is miffed there’s a big three demigod somewhere and he can’t find him to train him up. There’s a whole thing where Apollo had a vision about IR and the Olympians decided that IR needed someone for the water because the whole family are flyboys and Earth is 2/3rds water so some agreement happened where Poseidon was permitted to go meet with Lucille... and yeah. So the other four bros are “Normals” (actually eighth(?) demigod because Grandma’s a daughter of Apollo but demigod genetics doesn’t work like that) still, but Gordon’s a demigod. They live on Tracy Island because that means the gods can put anti-monster barriers up and keep Gordon hidden and safe and yeah, lots of worldbuilding and stuff.

Meanwhile, Gordon’s idea of dunking his brothers isn’t throwing them in the pool, but rather throwing the pool on them. (He did that once. After Grandma made him mop it all up by hand - no demigod powers allowed - he decided the whole pool was overkill and just splashes them now). He also likes to dive into the pool from the lounge balcony (did it from the bedroom balcony once. Scott tore into him “I don’t care what magic powers you have I am drawing the line at that one”). He’s the only one allowed to do it, although he tends to do it if he’s alone or with Grandma, and spares Scott the heart attack - and so he doesn’t give Alan ideas.

His brothers also know that if they’re off the island and he tells them to move they don’t hesitate. He can see through the Mist. They... might get a small glimpse if they’re lucky. They can see enough to be a target, but not enough to see the monsters coming most of the time. Gordon swears it’s a full time job just protecting them sometimes, let alone the rescues themselves!

APTX!Scott. Another crossover - this time with Detective Conan. Scott goes on a solo rescue in Japan, but sees something he shouldn’t and the Black Organisation decide to eliminate him and steal his Thunderbird. Thunderbird One gets stolen, but instead of putting a bullet in his head - that would invite questions - they use the fatal but undetectable poison, APTX-4869. However, Scott becomes the third (fourth, I guess, but I’m ignoring Sera’s mother) to survive it, instead shrinking back into his seven year old body.

He gets found by Conan, who quickly realises who he is (as in, that he’s IR. This AU follows TOS’s ‘no-one knows who IR are’ although it’s otherwise TAG-verse still) and fills him in on what’s going on and why letting anyone know he’s still alive would be a Very Bad Thing. Cue Scott going underground, living with Haibara and the Professor and attending elementary school with the Detective Boys.

But his family aren’t going to let Scott just disappear like that, and eventually John and Gordon hunt him down (cue panic on all fronts as various truths come out. Haibara is particularly furious he chose to make his ‘fake name’ “Scott Carpenter” when she realises it isn’t actually a fake name at all). IR then joins the alphabet soup that are Conan’s connections!

2004 Movie Rewrite. Good old butterfly effect! I enjoy the movie, but it has some major holes (and a major lack of any Tracy bro whose name doesn’t begin with A) so I tried to patch one of those holes. Just one, honest! Just the teeny tiny change that instead of going to Jeff, who he knows is gonna yell at him, Alan goes to Scott instead about the weird goop on TB1.

Scott... does not take a tracker on his ‘bird very well. There is panic, there are rash decisions, there are less rash but still snap decisions because Scott’s the field commander for a reason, there is a very angry father when instead of Alan appearing for a scolding for playing with TB1, Alan vanishes and then TB1 launches without clearance anyway. Oh, and TB5′s just been attacked and TB3′s been sabotaged so he can’t get to John (and Gordon and Virgil seem to be hiding something).

And then there’s this Hood guy in his home attacking his family and trying to steal the Thunderbirds - which fails because TB2 and TB4 have apparently also been sabotaged what happened to all the Thunderbirds - and yeah, Jeff is not having a good day.

Meanwhile, Alan gets to fly TB1 for real and he’d be much happier about that if Scott wasn’t unconscious in the co-pilot seat.

dark!John. There’s only so far you can push someone before they break, and John’s watched the world hurt his brothers one time too many. With one brother’s life and future ruined after a brutal attack, it’s the last straw. If the world can’t be nice to his brothers, the world doesn’t deserve nice things.

IR watches an unknown entity taking over important places - the GDF, the World Government, dangerous places that don’t bode well and have the world cowering in terror - and decide to do something about it. It’s like the Hood all over again, except the Hood was never this successful. This person, whoever they are, is dangerous and has to be stopped, whatever it takes.

They never imagined it was their own brother.

#ask me #ffwf #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go au #au #crossovers #detective conan #pjo #janetm74

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mrs-denton · 3 years

Text

Sappy Paul Denton x OC Fanfic [Part 2]

The Start of the Collapse

After Paul’s departure, Bebe’s eyes struggled to shut. She laid in bed and kept glancing over at her phone occasionally, half-expecting something from Paul to come up. When she realized worrying was futile, she put the phone down and laid it down on its charging pad. She was worried, but she tried equilibrating those thoughts with reasonable positive ones because she was pregnant. She had to avoid as much stress as possible.

Staying up to write, as she did on sleepless nights like these, she scribbled her thoughts into her diary until she crashed. In the morning when she awoke, the unwelcome feeling of first trimester morning sickness sharply seized her from her slumber. She went to the bathroom to alleviate herself from the nausea.

Treating patients at the hospital she worked at, including those with the Grey Death, was dreary. Their spirits were broken and some of them got desperate. She wished she could divulge the truth behind the virus, or at least what she knew, but it would likely get her fired. She made sure to wear the most protective gear—respirator, face shield, gloves, a gown, and foot covers. Her health was going to have to become her top priority if she wanted a healthy baby.

Hours ebbed and flowed with moments of hectic excitement during rushes of patients and emergencies, but inched like slugs when things were slow and she caught herself worrying about Paul. She wondered what time it was in Hong Kong—surely, at least half a day ahead—and if he was alive. She thought about JC as well and didn’t want any harm to come to the Dentons, namely because JC was a cool person, but especially because she knew Paul would be devastated if his younger brother should fall. She scrubbed the pressing thoughts away from the walls of her mind—months of meditation had helped—and she continued to show up at work.

She checked her work emails to see if by some crazy chance, Paul had been daring enough to send her a message there. But of course not—he would never do something to endanger them, especially with the Aquinas net. After what felt like a 12-hour shift, Bebe returned home with takeout and quickly checked her computer. There, an email from Paul—or rather, his alias—was sent hours ago while she was still at work.

“Hey babe. I made it safely to Hong Kong, thank god. Good news—everything’s taken care of. My brother and I are gonna be fine. The bad news is that I’ll have to be living here for a few months as I recuperate, as I predicted. I was in pretty bad shape when I arrived, which is why it’s going to take longer for me to recover. Tong wants to keep me under supervision for a while. But I’m already feeling better.

Things are pretty tight in HK. I’m a wanted man here as well. I don’t think making a move right now is wise, but I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll keep you updated whenever I can. Try to take it easy and don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of it. I love you, and I’m always thinking about you. - P”

Bebe typed a reply.

“My darling, I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried about you, but I also knew you’d make it through this. Give the doctor my sincerest gratitude—he saved the man I love. I’m also happy J is fine. I completely understand if you need to stay there—in situations like this, a doctor’s supervision is necessary even after the treatment.

Let me know how things go. I want to be with you but things have to be just right. I love you, P. I hope you get better soon. I already miss you. Hugs and kisses. Yours,

- B”

Within the following day, Bebe received another email.

“Bebe—so much is happening right now. I don’t have much time, and neither does the world. Just bear with me. I’m going to be fine, I think, but my brother keeps unearthing more of this conspiracy. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know something will, and if it does, it’s going to be big. I can’t explain everything over the net, but I promise I will when I see you. I don’t know how much time there is and I know this sounds crazy but you’ll just have to trust me. Withdraw your savings now. There’s a high chance the net might crash and everything will be lost. Savings, records, and all sorts of info. Make sure you have plenty of food and supplies as well.

No matter what happens, I will find you! And that’s a promise. Just stay where you are. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. - P”

Something inside Bebe told her Paul wasn’t lying. Everything Paul told her before and everything they had researched and pieced together made sense. She knew there could only be so much more to this story than most people knew and few had theorized about. After typing her obedient reply, Bebe set off for the bank and asked to withdraw the entirety of her account. Her salary provided her with decent savings she had accumulated over a few years.

But she wondered if the funny look the bank teller gave her was indicative of ignited suspicion. She knew it was. She smiled as the bank teller discussed the request with the manager, who gave her a poorly-disguised look of surprise. Who else but a shady person would just want to remove all their chits from the bank? Only somebody that knew something that most people didn’t know would act this way . . . She would just have to lie and say it was for a potential family emergency. Or that she’s just paranoid and that there are rumors the banks will fail soon. Hearsay type of stuff. But no, the latter would be too suspicious. Just go with the family emergency, she thought.

Signing some papers that would let the federal revenue office know the reason for her massive withdrawal, she questioned just what the hell she was doing. She stopped for a while and glanced up at the bank teller, who was too busy counting chits to notice her. Bebe questioned herself for a bit--she was blindly obeying Paul’s orders, which wasn’t really a problem in and of itself, but how could she really know what was going on? Paul wouldn’t lie to her though. She knew that man for three years and he never lied. She just had to trust him. Worst case scenario, she’d be tracked down. But if nothing were to happen, she could just say she got worried sick for an ailing family member and took the money out to help with treatments.

“Forty-six-thousand, two-hundred and fifty-nine chits, ma’am,” the bank teller said, fat stacks of the electric green notes neatly sitting on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she said, handing them the signed papers. “Here you go.”

She opened up her purse and filled it with the money, trying to act naturally. The teller and his manager looked at her strangely, as well as the clients behind her. She felt herself tense up.

“Thank you so much,” she said again. “Have a nice day.” She had a habit of being overly-polite sometimes.

And with that, she carried her loaded purse all the way to her car and drove home, the tunes blaring and the pedal to the metal. Suddenly, the music stopped. Could this be it?

She checked her phone and noticed there was no signal anywhere. The music stream was buffering continuously until it lost connectivity for good. Moving to the network settings, she confirmed there really was no net anymore. She couldn’t believe it at first, and then, she did.

Parking her car, she rushed inside the lobby of her apartment building. There were people standing outside with their cellphones in the air, trying to obtain signal, their faces scrunched in bewilderment. Glancing at the far end of two blocks over where one of the P-Mobile buildings was, people swarmed into the store to complain about their phone services.

“Miss, have you heard? The net’s gone black—disappeared,” the alarmed security guard at the reception said. “Everyone’s internet just shut off. Even the phones, TV, everything. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’ll have to check mine out. Thank you.”

She went upstairs and rapidly scanned her nanokey to her door, eager to get inside. What would she do now?

She checked her computer. The internet was gone. No new emails from Paul, just the cached one from before. As she sat in her apartment, she heard her neighbors arguing loudly in desperation. Turning on the TV, she checked every channel, finding nothing but static—ultimately confirming everything Paul told her. Glancing outside her window and down at the congested streets, violence intensified.

After a few days to a week of the world descending into darkness, reports of the global net crashing and burning appeared on every newspaper. A national emergency was declared, and speculating specialists wondered who was responsible, pointing fingers at foreign governments and even “traitors” within the United States. The zealously religious stood outside every corner, wailing that it was the beginning of the Apocalypse, and the conspiracy theorists held meetings in their garages, claiming it was aliens. But soon enough, the Dentons were named. Bebe paid close attention.

“It is suspected that terrorist JC Denton and his brother, Paul Denton, are behind this massive communications collapse worldwide. We are slowly but surely receiving letters that confirm the internet shutdowns in every nation. Agencies are investigating the matter as best as they can.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She just hoped the bank tellers didn’t put two and two together and decided to send somebody after her. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a woman withdrawing all her savings a few minutes before the world collapsed. But she sighed in relief when she knew that they wouldn’t have been able to pull up her personal information without the internet.

She thought about her family. Her dad had left them before she was even born, and her mother died of the Grey Death before Ambrosia was released. Her cousins were all living their lives as married people with children, and her only living aunt was old now. What would they think, though? What would they think if she were to run off with a “criminal”, a “terrorist”, a wanted man? Crises were meant to be times where family stuck together more, but with Bebe leaving . . . would they label her as selfish? Crazy? Bad? She only hoped that one day they would understand that Paul was not the person the media and the government was portraying him to be.

They didn’t even know she was pregnant. Engaged? Yes. They knew Paul and they liked him. But the media was a powerful weapon, especially now that the people’s only source of outside knowledge was funneled via the last remaining newspapers. They could twist and besmirch the Dentons as they wished, and people would buy it. Not everybody, though, as there were people who had been following the Juggernaut Collective—until it disbanded—and a few other rebel news disguised as tabloids and conspiracies. But alas, the perceptions of Bebe’s friends and family could definitely be warped against Paul. She had to be careful.

But most importantly, she had to figure out what the next steps in her life would be. If only she could talk to Paul. She wondered if she should keep going to work—part of her would think it better to disappear from society at once and wait until Paul came back, but the other part of her couldn’t just leave all those poor patients behind. She knew there were other doctors and nurses who would do a fine job—but could she really just disappear now? Did she still have to keep up her façade of normalcy? As if she weren’t the woman of the second-most-wanted man in the world right now?

She got up and started packing, hoping that at least sorting this out would bring her more clarity. What were her favorite clothes? What could she stand to leave behind? What would be useful? She took her favorite shoes as well as personal keepsakes and important documents, neatly enclosed in file folders and manilla envelopes, and put them in a suitcase. Most of the money was also stored there. Then, glancing at her desk, she took note of her journal.

How could she leave this behind? She had to take it. Unless, of course, she wanted to be that mysterious woman who left her revealing memoirs in a secret diary. She considered the thought briefly and then took the journal, the pages automatically splitting upon a section with a dried red rose that had been stamped between the weight of the pages. It was the first flower Paul ever gave her. She instantly smiled as she felt the crispy, dark garnet petals on her fingertips, her mind going back to when the petals were bright as fresh blood and smooth like velvet.

#deus ex #fanfiction #paul denton #oc #paul denton x oc #the collapse

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belphegor1982 · 4 years

Note

How about the first chapter Tommy appears?

[Pick any passage from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in my ask/fan mail/submission box. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet!]

Thanks a lot!! (Also I answered this kind of ask about a passage from chapter 2, if you want to take a look - it’s all spoiler-free!)

Here’s Thomas Sean Ferguson’s grand introduction, then :D Oh god, it’s kind of awkward, because like with Blake there’s a certain amount of early installment weirdness. Also I go on and oooooooon (sorry about that). But let’s go!

_________

Quite lost in his thoughts this time, [Jonathan] barely registered that he was walking past the Museum (where Evy is, right now, negotiating the Cairo Museum “lending” the Diamond of Ahm Shere to the British government - which kickstarts the plot) before somebody knocked into him, hard enough for both of them to crumple, breathless, on the ground. It took Jonathan thirty seconds to get his lungs in working order again and, instinctively, check his pockets for anything missing.

A lot of this commentary risks being “this used to be [thing] before I tweaked it in the rewrites”, and a lot of it is because I’ve gained some insight in the past twelve years. Jonathan’s first thought being checking his pockets (which - and I made it explicit in the second or third paragraph of the story :D - comes from his being a skilled pickpocket himself and knowing how it works), however, was there from the very beginning.

“So sorry I bumped into you, mate, didn’t mean to,” came the voice of the attacker. Jonathan’s eyes widened at the sound of this voice and he squinted up at its owner.

And cue Tom Ferguson :D He wasn’t my first OC, far from it (that dubious honour would probably belong to the buttload of OCs I created for my Marauder era story which died when Order of the Phoenix came out), but he was the first I got to really explore and develop, and he ended up one of my favourites ever. Em, I answered an ask of yours way back in 2015, “introduce us to two of your OCs” :o) The first was him, the second was Marguerite LeBeau.

“Tommy? Is that you? Tommy Ferguson?”

The diamond is the reason the O’Connell-Carnahan gang goes to Egypt, but without Tommy, there’d be no plot. Hamilton would probably still find a way to “retrieve” the diamond from the museum, only without Evy and her family getting personally involved and then having to go back to the UK saying she failed her mission. and then cue the end of the world about a week and a half from there, but shhh - spoilers!

The fellow shook his head, still looking a bit dazed; then his own eyes, round and brown, (so he’s the opposite of Jon in almost every way, physically speaking. Like I said in the aforementioned OC ask, I designed him as a foil for Jon, fundamentally different in some ways but very similar in others. Physically speaking he’s basically Sean Astin (with some James Corden thrown in) with brown eyes, blond hair, and a Liverpool accent.) went even rounder as he stared at Jonathan. “Jon! What the hell are you doing ‘ere?”

For the longest time Tommy used to call Jonathan by his last name here (and Jon’s earlier line used to be “Ferguson? Is that you? Tommy Ferguson?”). I changed it quite recently. I think I wanted to convey the idea that school friends at the time often called each other by their last names; but since he calls Jonathan “Jon” 100% of the time - and is the only one to do so, which I have Feelings about - I went back to correct it.

“Glad to see you too, old chap,” laughed Jonathan, standing up and dusting himself off before offering a hand at the man on the ground, who accepted it gladly.

Heh. Look, one of the staples of Mummy fanfiction was and still is the old school friend of Evy’s who follows either the siblings (TM time) or the whole family (TMR/post-TMR time) to Egypt and falls in love with Ardeth Bay. I’m not throwing stones here; I’ve read a couple I really liked. There’s the odd Jonathan/OFC romance, too. What I set out to do as a baby writer (I was 21 at the time!) and unsuspecting ace was to write something completely devoid of romance (except the odd Evy/Rick snuggle and, of course, all-encompassing love for each other). And then, as I reread the story for rewrites a decade and a half later, I became more and more convinced that Jonathan and Tommy used to be more than friends, and then when Elizabeth came along the three of them got together as a thruple and very happy for a while. (For some reason I couldn’t work this explicitly into FTaH, though - it felt too much like hinting at this huge story I was never going to write and might have made FTaH much too crowded. So it’s up to the reader to decide, really. Personally, I like both options.) So here’s 37 year old me shipping Jon with a female OC and a male OC, and quite enthusiastically, at that. *chuckles* Wonder what my 21 y-o self would think of it…

He hadn’t seen Thomas Ferguson since some time after the end of the war, what felt like ages ago. They’d made quite a pair at Oxford, the two of them – the scrawny, foppish Southerner with the quiet grin and the sticky fingers, and the broad-shouldered, round-faced Scouser with the laughing eyes and the deceptively innocent face. They’d rowed for the Dark Blues for a bit, got properly pickled on Boat Race Nights, and helped each other out of many a tight spot. Oh, for the halcyon days of youth.

One of the reasons I picked up FTaH again is because the second half of 2019 was very, very British for me. I saw (and read) Good Omens for the first time in early June and my feelings exploded; July was very much about discovering the delights of P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster (TV show and books). Halfway through that month I remembered my everlasting fondness for the characters of The Mummy and realised the protagonists and Bertie were the same generation, more or less, and I started imagining a crossover. By the time August rolled in I was fully into TM/TMR again, reading fic and my fingers itching to at least correct some iffy parts of FTaH. This last sentence, about Jon’s and Tom’s Oxford days, would never have come out that way if I hadn’t read Wodehouse.

As soon as Tommy was on his feet he was wringing Jonathan’s hand with all the energy he’d been famous for as a boy. “Sorry, Jon, mate, I was a bit stunned –” After all these years, he still retained some of that accent, too! “– En’t everyday you bump into a pal from Oxford in the middle of Cairo! How’d you get here, for starters?”

…Tommy’s accent. *sighs* I’m not a fan of writing accents phonetically in the first place. When I write Newkirk (Hogan’s Heroes) and his Cockney accent, there isn’t much except the odd “me” for “my” or things like “d’you”. I did have to make it obvious Tommy had an accent, though, if only because later Jonathan is surprised when he tones it down to speak with the curator. (This is something his 18 year old self found incredibly difficult, btw.) @thisstableground oversaw the first chapter and gave me very valuable tips, including “en’t” (// “ain’t), which was super helpful in giving Tommy’s accent its own specificity and meant that I didn’t need him to drop “h”s and “g”s all over the place. (which he does do, but hopefully not in a way that takes you away from the story.)

As for why he’s from Liverpool as opposed to, say, Manchester or the East End of London, the answer is very simple. I’d discovered the Beatles a year or two prior and they remain one of my favourite bands in the whole world ♥

“Well, I followed my sister,” Jonathan replied, grinning. In fifteen years or so, he had not realised how much he had actually missed this accent. “She’s giving a hand to the curator of the Museum of Antiquities – she’s something of an authority now, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh aye? That’s fantastic. I en’t forgotten how you’d talk about her, y’know. On and on and on. I’m curious to see what she looks like.”

Somethingthat didn’t change after rewrites is the idea that Jon was verysecretive about his Oxford years. Tom and Evy never met before this,and Evy hadn’t even heard about Tom before.

Jonathan stole a glance at the entrance steps of the Museum, and turned to Tommy with a smirk. “Really? Well, if you really want to, I suppose I could…”

His sister had just appeared on the stairs, accompanied by the curator, an elderly man with greying hair and whiskers. The curator, Dr Fahad Hakim, has a somewhat larger role later on, but this is just a cameo to let you know he exists :o) There’s another mention earlier, too. Tommy followed Jonathan’s gaze and looked at them, goggling at Evy in particular.

“Jon – are my eyes mistaken, or is this gorgeous woman Doctor Evelyn O’Connell? I’ve read about her, she’s famous in my line of work… According to what I’ve read, she was one of the first people to make it out of the City of the Dead alive –”

He doesn’t say what his “line of work” is, but we (and Jonathan) can infer it has something to do with archaeology or Egyptology. And, incidentally, I’m setting up the first alarm bells here because, as Evy points out in the following chapter, at the time her name was “Carnahan”, so how come Tommy didn’t seem to make the connection between Jon’s bookish sister and this English librarian with the same name? The answer is: because he’s nervous (because he’s in Cairo on secret Chamber of Horus business) and as delighted as he is to see Jon again after so many years his brain went “YOU KNOW NOTHING” then backpedalled and went “…OKAY, YOU KNOW SOME THINGS.”

Jonathan’s grin widened as he nodded. “Yes, that’d be her.”

Tommy rambled on as they walked closer to the stairs, “That’s bloody amazing! I thought she’d look, you know, like in the pictures in the paper, the bookish type with glasses – your typical Southern spinster,” he added with a wink. They waited for the curator to bid her goodbye, and Jonathan, greatly enjoying the situation, crept up on his sister to kiss her on the cheek.

“Hey there, old mum – how’s your day been?”

Evy started, then her expression shifted from slightly irked to a smile at her brother’s laugh. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Jonathan, the things that amuse you…”

SIBS!!! I love writing siblings, and those two in particular. One of the things that I find amusing/endearing is how comfortable they are with each other, physically (and emotionally) speaking. It’s all gentle touch here, light slap there, running hand in hand, lots of things you wouldn’t expect from two Very English siblings from the first half of the 20th century.

“You’re just miffed that I startled you. C’mon, I’d like you to meet someone – an admirer,” he added with a grin to Tommy, who stood there, his eyes wide. “Thomas Ferguson, an old school friend of mine. Tommy – Evelyn Carnahan O’Connell, my famous baby sister.”

There’s a couple of instances where someone introduces Tom as “Thomas”, or Tom introducing himself as such. Most of the time, though, he’s “Tommy” - until chapter 9, where we spend some time in his head for the first time and see he thinks of himself as “Tom”, and when we go back to Jon’s PoV in chapter 11 Jonathan made the mental switch to “Tom”, as well, to separate the boy from his youth from the man he’s become. I actually spell it out in chapter 17: “A lot had happened since that late afternoon in Giza when his friend had pointed a gun at him and stopped being ‘Tommy’. ‘Tommy’ was a warm memory of loud laughter, daring escapes, bright eyes over pints clinking in the comfortable darkness of a well-loved pub. Tom, on the other hand, was a fairly decent man chucked into a complex situation, who had a wife he loved dearly but lied to about his job, who had not wanted to bring harm to an old friend but had done so anyway.”

Evy held out her hand, which Tommy grabbed and shook heartily. “So you’re the old scoundrel’s sister? No wonder he talked about you – though you don’t quite fit the description now…”

“What exactly did you tell your ‘school friends’ about me?” asked Evy, warning in her voice, though the twinkle in her eye did not quite disappear. Nevertheless, Jonathan preferred to ignore her question, earning a hard nudge in the ribs.

He bragged, actually. A lot. Since he thought Tommy and Lizzie would never meet Evy, Jonathan considered himself free to speak quite enthusiastically of his baby sister’s achievements and how bright she was. Of course, he also complained a good deal, because even at 12 Evy had a penchant for being bossy that came out even in letters.

“So, what did you say your ‘line of work’ was?” he asked Tommy.

“Well – don’t laugh. I work at the British Consulate in Cairo, specialising in antique stuff. Oh, I’m sorry, Dr O’Connell,” he stammered with a glance at Evy who had an eyebrow raised, “I mean I’m one of the chief agents in the British Antique Research Department.”

No he’s not! He’s actually a secret agent, kinda :D And not remotely close to a “chief agent”, at that. Tom Ferguson is deeply in love with his wife and nothing will ever change that state of affairs, but he might have a little intellectual crush on Evy, which leads him to… wanting to impress her a little bit.

“I’ve heard of you!” exclaimed Evy. “At least of that Research Department. They’re gradually cutting off public funds – encouraging individual financing – but that won’t do any good for scientific research! Such a stupid decision is only going to –”

“So you lot are the ones she kept fuming about for half a year!” Jonathan snorted. The infamous Ferguson rotten luck struck again.

I still regret I didn’t find more opportunities to showcase how ridiculously unlucky Tommy could get sometimes. Ah well.

Tommy looked dejected. Evy must have seen this, because she bit her lip and said, in softer tones, “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. But as my brother said, I’ve been… rather upset over this. There’s been some pressure on the British Museum lately by private patrons who threatened to pull out their funding on some… sensitive collections. Without the Crown to back us up, we might have to cave in to their ridiculous demands.”

Before the rewrites, Evy’s speech used to be a lot more “private funding is bad” without much nuance or justification. I changed it to something that hopefully makes sense and justifies her previous outburst.

“I’ll – I’ll tell my superiors about it,” said Tommy, still looking unsure. “See what I can do. I’m sure it won’t be much, but… Well. I’ll have tried.”

“That’s nice,” Evy said cheerfully, taking Jonathan’s arm and starting to walk. See what I mean about physicality? She doesn’t even ask him with a look, just takes his arm and that’s that. And he lets her, because he’d do the same thing. “Look, the two of you – I’ve had something of a rough day, so I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. You can –”

“Brilliant idea!” said Jonathan, flashing a grin at his sister. “I thought of going to the Sultan’s Casbah, but you might find it a tad – let’s say – dingy, my good friend.”

The Sultan’s Casbah, in the novelisation of the film and my personal headcanon, was the bar Jonathan patronised the night before the first time we see Evy and where he stole a valuable-looking puzzle box from an unsuspecting drunk American.

“Worse than the Turf?” Seeing Evy’s puzzled look, Tommy explained, “Sorry, private joke. I mean the Turf Tavern, that’s where I saw him for the first time. Me family didn’t ‘ave much money, so I used to work there to pay for my studies. Very nice pub, didn’t deserve the reputation.”

The Best Beloved and I took a trip to Oxford in the spring of 2003 (by bus - 20 hours to get there, same to come back home) and while we were so broke we had to settle for a soup and some rice in a lovely Thai restaurant we did go for a drink at the Turf. I remember a dimly-lit room with dark wood, and I think either they changed a lot of it or my memory isn’t that good because it doesn’t really look like that on the Google Maps pics. Still, I liked it, and when I needed an Oxford pub for the story it’s the one I worked in. Incidentally, there was a lot of illegal gambling going on in there in the 19th century, hence Tommy’s mention of the pub’s bad reputation.

“I’m sure you did indeed see a lot of my brother there,” Evy slipped in slyly. Jonathan threw a mock glare at her.

“To think you are almost my only family. What a shame.” Then, as Tommy looked uncertain, he added, “Carry on, Tom.”

“All right. So I was one of the only students who needed a job, and there were some others who thought that it was – how’d they put it? – a ‘disgrace’ to our university.”

“Preposterous,” said Evy sternly. “As if money could take you further than talent.”

Jonathan bit back on the cynical comment that crossed his mind. Sometimes Evy’s naïveté baffled him.

“Right,” said Tommy uncertainly, glancing at Jonathan. “So, one day, a little bunch of lads come in, and Jon here was sometimes hanging with ‘em at the time –”

Because Jonathan likes to gamble with people with deep pockets :P

Evy glared at Jonathan in advance, and he threw his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me like that! I haven’t done anything!” Evy’s gaze softened, and Jonathan finished, “…Yet.”

That earned him a playful slap on the arm, and a laugh from Tommy, who went on, “Anyway, one of the blokes orders somethin’ or other, and starts to poke fun at me. Well, I was used to it, so I let them be. Then they continued, and I finally noticed that skinny lad in the corner who was makin’ fun of them for making fun of me. Didn’t quite understand what the hell was going on – oh, sorry, Dr O’Connell – what was happening.”

While John Hannah is not “skinny” by any stretch, he is rather svelte, and one of my unimpeachable headcanons for Jonathan is that he was skinny as a rake in his youth - until he went through basic training (then WW1) and his shoulders filled out a little. It’s more or less what happened to the Best Beloved, so I feel quite secure in this headcanon’s plausibility. Plus, picturing 18 year old Jonathan as a mix of awkward gangliness and skinny limbs and aristocratic poise is just funny. (and I find the comparison with Tommy - who at that point was soft and a little chubby but already had broad shoulders - rather endearing.)

Evy smiled. “You’ll have to watch your mouth in front of my son, but otherwise it’s fine. And please, call me Evelyn.”

Tommy beamed. “Right, uh, Evelyn. So, uh –”

“What he didn’t know at that point,” interrupted Jonathan, “was that I had my eye on that fellow – what’s his name – Farbow. He owed me quite a bit of money, but wouldn’t repay me. So I was looking for a way to get him back for it.”

“And get the rest of his wallet in the process, of course.”

“Evy, he owed me seventeen pounds. (Which used to be £70 until I did some research and saw that £17 was A Bloody Fortune a the time.) And he was not what I’d call a ‘decent bloke’ – nasty, disdainful piece of work he was, and his little friends with him. Always a dirty word about the Scouser who worked at the Turf Tavern, just because he didn’t belong to his snobby little world. I did the community a favour, really.”

What he doesn’t say is that Edwin Farbow also had a lot to say about “half-Egyptian mongrels” who thought they belonged in those ancient walls. Too bad I couldn’t find a way to work it in this particular fic. If I ever manage to finish at least Tommy’s part of One-Step, Two-Step, Waltz, the first chapter of Pirouette features the whole scene.

“Don’t push it, Jonathan,” warned Evy.

Tommy carried on. “Well, I was glad there was at least one person who didn’t think like Edwin Farbow – nice change. Then Farbow said something – I don’t remember what it was about, I just remember it made me really angry, really. An’ it’s not a pretty sight when I’m really angry at someone.”

It’s always the quiet, genial ones, isn’t it.

Jonathan remembered, but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut.

Both because what Farbow said was pretty damn offensive to Tommy’s character, background, and lineage, and also because Farbow’s rant included “It’s bad enough they let inpeople like Carnahan, who only exists because a glorifiedgrave-robber shagged some darkey and didn’t even have the decencyto pretend otherwise –” and he really doesn’t want to bring this up in front of Evy, who’s had to deal with her own share of this kind of racist bullshit and doesn’t need a reminder.

“An’ – an’ I just lost it, y’know? I dropped his tea over his ‘ead –”

“I say, that one was pretty funny,” Jonathan said, smiling widely at the memory. The strangled yelp that had followed had definitely been one of the best parts.

“So they all leaped for me, obviously – began to punch me, the five or six of them – hey, I still managed to get back at them!” Tommy added quickly, as if defending his honour. Evy hid a smile, and it occurred to Jonathan that that last sentence had something very Rick-like about it. “But I en’t a fool. I know a losing fight when I’m in one.”

“Don’t tell me. Jonathan bravely threw himself into the fight to take on as many attackers as possible.” There was mischievous laughter in Evy’s voice, and her eyes were twinkling. If anyone other than her had quipped that way about him, Jonathan would probably have taken offence, or at least pretended to. But they knew each other enough not to cross the line.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Well, that wasn’t quite Jon’s style – I don’ know, might’ve changed since then. But yeah, he did. One moment I was squashed under five or six, the next I found out we were two on the floor.”

This was perhaps the biggest suspension of disbelief I’m asking the reader to make - which, in a story where governments have secret agencies to keep an eye on magical ancient artefacts and a diamond has magic powers, is saying something. Jonathan throwing himself into a fight because someone he loves (ie. four people in the whole world that we know of) is in danger? Yep, that checks out, that’s what he does both in TM and TMR. But an (almost) complete stranger? I needed one hell of a justification. Which ended up… 60% Farbow’s money and 40% Farbow being a giant arsehole who had no business making decent bartenders look like that.

Evy began to laugh. “Why, Jonathan? My Jonathan, in a fight, for someone he barely knew?”

At that Jonathan cleared his throat, a mite embarrassed. “I told you, I was looking for Farbow’s wallet. That was the perfect diversion – you should’ve seen that twit looking in every corner for his lost wallet afterwards. It was three months before he gave up.” And it’s lucky you didn’t see me then. I was a bloody mess. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.” Evy smiled. “You never told me that.”

To be fair, there’s a LOT of things he never told you, old girl ;o)

“Should I have?”

“I don’t know, it’s – it was nice of you to do that, even for the wrong reasons. I’m proud of you.”

Jonathan felt an unexpected lump rise in his throat. Not a very big one, but enough to keep him from talking for a few seconds. It was always like this whenever she said something really nice to him. It caught him off guard each and every time.

Look, it took me years to realise it, but I’m a sucker for validation. Sometimes it bleeds out on characters I write.

After a little while, Evy stopped in front of a door and announced, “Well, we’re home.”

“Nice house,” commented Tommy, taking in the sand-coloured neat front and the curtains at the windows.

“Our ‘old haunt’ since the family moved to Egypt,” Jonathan said, opening the door and stepping aside to let his sister in. “Evy wasn’t even walking then.”

In the first film, Evy, Rick, Jonathan and the remainder of the American party go straight to Fort Brydon, and the next thing we see is Evy emptying her suitcase while Rick tries to fill it. Since both Carnahan siblings actually live in Cairo, I thought they would live in an actual house, and from there I extrapolated that the family had one house in England (the manor we see in TMR) and a smaller pied-à-terre in Cairo.

“I do believe I was,” Evy protested.

Jonathan snorted. “Oh, you weren’t. You crawled.”

si b l i n gssss ♥♥ And like, you can always count on a big sib to remind you that you could be ridiculous as a kid. I should know, I’m the big sister :D

Evy seemed to resist the urge to slap her brother and walked into the living room, her nose in the air. She was greeted by two simultaneous voices:

“Mum!”

“Hey, hon.”

Rick’s first words in this story, and it’s greeting his wife ^^ I didn’t do it on purpose, but it’s. Y’know. There.

Jonathan waited a few seconds, then walked into the room in turn, and grinned at the sight of his nephew looking genuinely eager to see him. He was not fooled, however – as soon as Evy wasn’t looking, Alex mouthed the words “Got one?” and frowned as his uncle shook his head. No, he still had no present for Mum’s birthday.

Evy’s birthday mainly originated as a device to get characters (especially Jonathan) moving. It’s the reason he’s roaming the streets of Cairo just before he bumps into Tommy, and why he and Alex go to the bazaar in chapter 5. It also pops up further on in the story, but I’m not saying anything because spoilers.

“Uncle Jon? Who’s that?”

“Who, him?” Jonathan pointed at Tommy behind him, looking uncomfortable at the family reunion, and Alex rolled his eyes. “Tom Ferguson, he was in class with me at Oxford. I ran into him by chance today.”

Tommy stepped past Jonathan and held out his hand to Alex, nearest to him. “Hi – glad to meet you. Jon’s nephew, eh?”

“Yeah,” said Alex, eyeing him with all the suspicion of a ten-year-old who’d seen what he had seen. Behind him, Rick’s eyes spoke loads about his own distrust. But mistrust towards Jonathan and everything related was par for the course on his part, and, admittedly, reasonable.

Alex has Seen Things. This may sound tongue-in-cheek, but it’s true. After what happened in TMR, he’s 100% entitled to being suspicious of strangers. As for Rick, I took my cue from one of his first lines to Jon in TMR being “What did you do this time?” implying that the weird shit happening right now, with the men in red and the sexy lady waving snakes around isn’t exactly unheard of. Hence the “and, admittedly, reasonable”, which I added in the rewrites.

“Thomas Ferguson, British Antique Research Department,” said Tommy, holding out a hand towards Rick, who shook it slowly, still reluctant.

“Rick O’Connell.”

“So you’re Dr O’Connell’s husband? Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m impressed, you’ve no idea.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Impressed?”

“It seems I’m rather famous in the Research Department,” said Evy, laughing.

“Make that infamous,” quipped Jonathan.

“The Department owes your wife a great deal. She was the one who uncovered a huge amount of our information about some obscure periods of Egyptian history, as well as the major part of serious knowledge we’ve got on Hamunaptra,” Tommy pointed out, and Evy blushed. “She’s a legend – one of the original three who managed to go to Hamunaptra and live to tell the tale! But… I assume you’re another one?”

Oh, Tommy. MATE. You’re saying you know three people made it out of Hamunaptra alive, one of whom a woman with the exact same first and last name as your best friend’s sister who had a passion for ancient history, but you had no idea he was one of them as well?

Incidentally, the early installment weirdness I mentioned earlier mostly consists in Tommy being a lot more energetic and innocent-looking than he later proves to be (which is a little more grounded and pragmatic than Jon). In fact, he and Jonathan’s first couple of scenes together give the impression that he’s the red and Jon’s the blue in the “Bue oni, red oni” trope, when later chapters show Jon as a little bit more of a disaster while Tom struggles to make better choices and be more sensible. Which in the end would make them shades of purple, really.

“Yeah,” said Rick, looking a bit nonplussed. Jonathan definitely didn’t regret bringing Tommy in. Seeing Rick O’Connell confused was a very rare occurrence, too rare to be missed.

“I never knew – who was the third one?”

Jonathan was now struggling to keep a straight face. Rick blinked, and pointed at his brother-in-law. “That was him.”

“You!?” God, the look on his face was priceless. “You were at Hamunaptra?”

“Yes,” risked Jonathan, laughter rising in his voice. “And believe me, it wasn’t exactly a picnic. Oh, by the way, there were four of us, not three.”

Meaning Ardeth, of course. My take is that Tommy - and by extension the Chamber of Horus - know about as much about the Medjai as Evy knew about the Book of Amun-Ra prior to the events of TM: a non-negligible amount of information, but all of it second-hand and some of it a bit dicey.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Rick roll his eyes and grinned, undaunted. This was proving to be a fun evening.

Make the most of it, people, because it’s all going to go downhill fast…

Thank you ♥♥♥

#thatsoneginger #ask reply #fic commentary #Fairy Tales and Hokum

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letsriottogether · 5 years

Text

Silence, part 4 (Chernobyl fanfic)

Can also be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868920/chapters/47678032

Pairing: Valana, Ulana Khomyuk/Valery Legasov Characters: Ulana Khomyuk, Valery Legasov, Boris Scherbina, KGB Charkov, Sasha the Cat Warning: Strong language for now, who knows what will be later *hysterical laughter*

Big thank you for all comments and kudos/likes. And one special one to @dank-hp--memes for keeping up with my freaking out, calmly checking my Czech English and not killing me in the process. ________________________________

Moscow, present time He stirs in his sleep, turns from one side to another. Sasha is too annoyed, as she wants her peace for sleeping. She already gave up hours ago and went to the living room, most likely finding a comfortable spot on the sofa.

That's the tricky thing with the human mind. You can keep it occupied during the day as much as you want, push all the unwatned thoughts away as you practiced god knows how many times. But when the night comes, when darkness swallows you and your stupid little barriers you built up to stay sane, you have to face the reality of your own thoughts.a

During the day, there were many things Valery Legasov had to deal with. The agents who did not even bother with hiding themselves, the loneliness, the loss of his name, of normal life, of any possible projects he could ever work on, of his friends and Boris, the loss of...

He forbade himself to speak her name out loud. But his mind and soul are against him, whispering it in quiet moments, bringing the memories back instead of dreams.

Pripyat, Polissya hotel, 2.5. 1986

Boris’ words still echo through him, the realization hitting him hard, that even though they were sent here as the chosen ones to solve this mess, their government didn’t trust them anyway. He felt almost offended for a moment. He was here, here, in the middle of nowhere with bloody reactor melting down, without any chance to say no (he knew that right after Scherbina’s phone call that first day) and most likely with zero chance to make it out of here with higher life expectancy than 5 years.

He’s standing at the edge of the stairs leading to the hotel they’re staying in. Hotel, that just a day ago was bursting with life, just like the city around him. He inhales the crisp spring air, it’s gotten a bit cooler after the sunset. He takes a look around and cannot help but feel almost in a weird dream. The street lamps are shining throughout the whole city, but all the windows in the houses are dark. Cars parked along the streets, at some places there is even laundry on the balconies, simply waiting for anyone to come, fold it and put it back into the wardrobe, where it belongs. Except that no one is ever coming back to these homes. There’s this weird heavy silence, only the wind is whispering in the trees. A chill runs down his spine, so he turns around and enters the hotel lobby.

The carpet swallows every sound of his shoes as he walks further towards the reception. Now he misses the natural sound of the wind because inside, there’s nothing. Only sometimes buzzing of the lights. He passes big glass door and sees Ulana sitting at the empty bar, all by herself, deep in thought, scribbling something on the yellow napkins.

He’s not entirely sure if it’s her or if it’s the urge not to be alone right now. It doesn’t matter, he strides with his long steps until he’s right at her, gingerly leaning against the bar. There’s a bottle of vodka and two glasses right in front of her, which surprises him. Has she been expecting him to come?

He can feel her shift her attention from the scribbles underneath her hands to him, but he doesn’t dare to look her in the eyes, not just yet. She tilts her head down again, pen still in motion. He actually welcomes the possibility of a drink, so he takes one of the glasses and reaches for the bottle, as she gestures with an almost unnoticeable motion for him to go ahead, neither of them saying a word. It feels weird to call her ‘comrade Khomyuk’, and Ulana seems familiar. For some reason, he knows making this woman angry could be fatal, even more than looking into a reactor core.

He pours himself one and notices for the first time that the glasses are bigger than the ones the waitress served him yesterday. Good. He pours himself one, puts the bottle back and turns his body to her, the smell of lilies attracting him much more than he would like to admit. Suddenly she has mercy and is the one to break the silence, never even bothering with his name. Maybe she was contemplating the same, just like him?

“You’ve seen that?” her voice is almost monotonous, pushing a piece of paper with all sorts of readings and numbers to him and focusing on her equations again.

“The fuel is melting faster than we expected,” her voice softens and gives away her exhaustion.

He doesn’t need to see the bloody paper again, he still has all the important numbers in front of his eyes, as he was reading it over and over again since he was handed this report. He turns his back to the white paper as if it would disappear if he would ignore it long enough. But that’s not how the world know. And science? With science, you can do all sorts of estimates and then the reality is different. In this case, much faster.

“I know. I have a plan,” he replies glancing for a moment at her, leaning with his back against the bar. The half-empty glass lays casually in his hand, as if they were just a man and a woman in any normal bar, anywhere else in the world, chatting about things a man and a woman can chat about.

“Heat exchanger, I hope,” He knows this unperturbed tone very well, as he’s using it with his students from time to time, awaiting their solution of the problem that is more than apparent. It irritates him as if she knew the solution all along and impatiently has been waiting for him to pick up the speed with her.

“Yes,” he says, stressing that one word maybe too much. But he cannot help it, this woman is driving him mad. Ever since she first stumbled into the room with Pikalov right back at her, out of his breath, there was something in her that kept him on his toes. She was there, in the back of his mind and he would find his mind curiously wandering to her throughout the day. She was smart, there was no doubt about it. And the way she acted, all sure and confident, it was impossible to dismiss her, and God knows what a shame it would be. She had a mouthful of what to say, it was apparent, and yet she did not waste words, going straight to the point.

He glances over her shoulder, turning his body to her, the sweet light scent of lilies hitting his nostrils again. He doesn’t know it yet, but this smell has already burnt deep into his memory, connecting her presence with it. Yet now he forcefully pushes it aside, concentrating on the formulas and calculations she put together. Why the hell did she not get a notebook? Since when did people stop writing their names and phone numbers on napkins and switched to nuclear physics equations?

One glance and she doesn’t fail the impression she built herself. Oh, she’s good. Already thinking ahead, asking the same question just like him. He feels almost proud, knowing he thinks in the same patterns as she does. A tiny smile appears for a moment on his lips

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, comrade, but I see you’re already asking yourself the same question,” his eyes wander back and forth from her face back to the napkins, until she puts her glasses down and finally looks at him. His heart skips a beat, he has no idea why. He’s just glad the vodka has finally started to kick in, as her blue eyes glue themselves to him.

“Why did it explode?” He only nods in response, his gaze curiously exploring her face. The tired eyes that hide the hunger for truth, small wrinkles around her witty mouth (and he wonders what she looks like when she smiles), the dark auburn hair in contrast to her porcelain skin. With these looks, no wonder she’s so cold and hard. Their male colleagues must have been hard on her. She’s a beautiful woman now, he doesn’t even want to know how she looked a few years ago (and yet he knows this thought will occupy his mind in the upcoming days, in order to ease the stress of the task he’s here to do). And her smart brain to make the combination deadly.

“I’ve worked the numbers over and over, presuming the worst possible conditions in an RBMK reactor. And I always get the same answer,” Her eyes don’t leave this, not even for a single moment, as the air gets thicker around them. Not only she has a sharp tongue, these two orbs tell a story of their own.

“Which is?” he whispers, already knowing the answer.

“It’s not possible,”

“And yet…” he shakes his head a bit, his mind going through the possible things that could have gone wrong that fateful night.

“You’re not going to solve this here,” he says and the way she drops her gaze down, he can tell she’s holding her breath, suddenly looking up at him through her eyelashes, ready to fight him if he would want to send her away. He moves closer and her body responses on her own, shifting towards him immediately.

“Not on paper,” she can feel herself relax again. He’s got more to say, but she already knows the most important thing - she’s part of this and he understands that, appreciates that and doesn’t intend to dismiss her help.

“Everyone who was in the control room, Dyatlov, Akimov, Toptunov. They’re all in Moscow, Hospital Nr. 6,” he watches her closely as he speaks, seeing the spark in her eyes setting up a fire, a hunger for the chase to find out the truth. “We need to find out exactly what happened that night. Moment by moment, decision by decision,” and he knows she’s the only person who he can trust, who won’t miss a single hesitation of the personnel. And at the same time wonders how it happened that he trusted this woman so quickly without any doubt.

“Go now, while they’re still alive, talk to them. Because if we don’t find out how this happened, it will happen again,” he gulps down the rest of his vodka, the acrid taste of alcohol spreading in his mouth.

She’s deep in thought, already going through a list of questions she must not skip, of the clothes and protection she mustn’t forget (as if it would make any difference after being here). His voice is hoarse when he speaks again, turned into a whisper:

“And Khomyuk… Be careful,” he says, remembering the whole conversation with Boris earlier. Because as much as Ulana is smart, he cannot help but feel there’s certain naivety in how this world, their world, works. He gives her one last glance and decides it is better to go to his room, the vodka seeping more and more through his system, while her eyes are burning to his soul. He needs her to find the truth, that’s correct, but he also cannot help but feel relieved that she won’t be here, that she might live a bit longer. One life that he might not waste away here, and there’s the small little feeling hiding inside of him, spreading warmth that it’s her life he gets to save. He decides it’s just the alcohol, for the sake of their situation. There’s no place for this, as much as he’d like to know how soft her hair would be under his touch.

He walks briskly to the elevator, suppressing the need to turn around and look at her one more time (what would he say, anyway?) and mutters a silent thank you when the elevator bell rings and the door open at once. When inside, he presses his forehead against the lining of the cabin. So much for his curiosity about Ulana Yuriyevna Khomyuk.

It’s well past midnight when he finally gives up on trying to fall asleep. For the last two hours, he was just restlessly rolling around in his bed, every now and then taking a gulp from the bottle of vodka he placed on his nightstand. It seemed like a good idea, or at least he hoped that the alcohol would cloud his mind enough to help him fall asleep. He sighs and rubs his face in frustration, finally giving up. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up in a swift motion. He turns on the lamp on the bedside table so he’s able to search for his pack of cigarettes, finding it completely empty. Great.

He could talk himself down, wait for the morning and have a cigarette then when he picks up a new pack downstairs. But he simply needed one now.

And it’s definitely not because the smell of cigarettes helps him get the scent of lilies, reminding him of her, out of his mind. Because it’s not working anyway.

He puts on his jacket, not even bothering to change out of his sleeping clothes. The light in the hallway is hurting his eyes, almost blinding him. He makes his way downstairs, determined to get himself a new fresh pack of cigarettes when he sees her. She’s no longer stooping over her notes, she’s just sitting there, with her back to the bar, looking into the distance. She doesn’t even notice the elevator ring. He’s taken aback, he did not expect anyone to be here at this hour, suddenly being aware of the clothes he’s wearing. His gaze fixates on her, she’s sitting straight, almost like in school, but there’s that elegance and greatness shining from her posture. Her right leg is swinging lightly in the air, the rest of her body staying still. He studies her face for a moment, her expression showing she’s lost deep in thought. He’s glad she didn’t notice him yet, as he still remembers the intense look in her blue eyes. He ponders for a moment if he should just go back to his room, but then something breaks in him. He needs to take the step outside of his comfortable bubble. Maybe this might be the first one.

He makes his way over to the bar, just like a few hours ago. She notices him in the corner of her eye, a small smile spreading on her lips. Is this woman ever surprised? He reaches down on the counter, blindly searching before his fingers grasp the familiar box. He pops himself up on the barstool next to her, searching for lighter in his pocket before lighting a cigarette, staring at the sight of the empty city in front of them just like her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice raspy. She chuckles and looks at her hands, joined in her lap.

“Too many things happening, too many questions inside my hand. Too many things I’m going over and over in my head, reminding myself I mustn’t forget them,”

“Such as?” he puffs out the blue cloud of cigarette smoke. He can feel that the atmosphere between them has changed. He doesn’t know whether it’s the lack of sleep, the late-night hour or something else. But now it’s so much easier just to talk to her, and he can say she feels the same.

“Calling my colleagues that I have no idea when I’m coming back. What safety protection to bring to the hospital with me. What questions to ask the men from the control room. What to tell them if they ask how are the others doing,” she starts naming all the things whirling in her head, her voice trailing off, realising she could never be able to name all of it. She finally turns to him, eyeing him from head to toe.

“Do you always dress so fancy when going out, comrade?” she is amused and for the first time, he sees her smile properly, even though her question is confusing him.

“You think I’m taking a walk outside?” he asks, one of his eyebrows shifting up.

“I don’t know, I thought you would be the type,” she waves her hand in an indefinite gesture. She turns around, pouring both him and herself a shot, pushing the full glass to him.

“You guessed right, but not tonight. Normally when I can’t sleep I do go out, enjoy the empty streets, observing the sleeping city… I’m sorry, I’m babbling, don’t mind me,” he quickly ends his sentence, gulping the rest of his vodka, surprised at how easily the words left his lips.

“No, don’t apologize. It’s actually nice to have a conversation about something else than melting reactors for a moment, as ridiculous as it might seem,” she replies, finishing her glass as well. Blimey, she loves having around someone who can catch up with the thoughts that fly inside her brain at the speed of light. This fact has made the grim circumstances under they’ve met a bit less overwhelming. He would test her every now and then, just like she would do with him, pushing each other for better result. They’ve been doing that ever since the discussion about the bubble poolers.

But now, she simply wanted to talk about life for a moment, not about the dangerous dance to prevent death. Her determination isn’t gone, oh no, but she realizes that if she wants to make it through this hell without going crazy, she will need to talk, to share, not to hold it back inside of her. And somehow she feels he might be able to understand much more than her words.

Today when she visited the site of the blown-up reactor, she had a weak moment, not believing her own eyes. The readings of the result she performed from the dust on her lab’s window back in Minsk were terrifying, of course, but seeing the reactor building torn apart, black smoke coming out of it... Oh god, what have they done. She couldn’t help but notice Legasov watching her that whole time, reading the expression written all over her face. When she turned to look at him, she was expecting to see a sneer, but instead, his eyes were soft, full of understanding. In that very moment, she knew he felt the same when he arrived here. And seeing the same look mirroring in her face calmed him in a strange way.

He turns to her, takes the glass out of her hand, pouring them another shot. He decides to ignore the one is not such a good idea.

“When I can’t sleep, I usually go to the lab and just work, do some experiments, or just clean the beakers. This means I spend at work much more nights than I’m normally willing to admit myself, not even mentioning what about my colleagues,” she chuckles, remembering Dimitri catching her sleeping on Saturday. She takes a sip, the alcohol burning in her throat. She can pretend her skin is burning because of the same reason and dismiss the ridiculous feeling in her stomach after he took her glass from her hands. And she thought that puberty was long gone.

“Well, I’m sorry that there’s no lab here for you to hide in,” he smiles at her, eyes twinkling just a little. Is this how Valery Legasov is with women under regular circumstances or is it the vodka talking? Would he be like that if she met him someplace in Moscow?

“It’s ok, I can make peace with whatever is offered,”

“Even an empty hotel with few guarding soldiers, a grumpy party man and a scientist? Of course, the radiation is just a bonus,” he tries to joke but knows he failed miserably, only reminding them of the reason they’re here in the first place. But her reaction surprises him. She turns to him, places her hand over his wrist in a reassuring gesture, soft smile sprawled on her lips.

“Even that. I like my silence, and if I need to break it, now I know to whom should I go to,” her hand lingers on his for a brief moment longer and he realizes he’s holding his breath. He shifts his gaze from her blue orbs down to where they’re touching and she briskly moves her hand away. It was a simple gesture, and yet it felt like so much more.

She coughs a little, trying to find her voice again. “How is Moscow this time of year, anyway?”

He welcomes the sudden change of topic, as it helps him to focus on something else, needn’t worry what would be his next steps, or if it was even appropriate. Change of subject, how clever, saving them both.

“Typical spring. I would say it’s a bit warmer than here and a bit sunnier. I think you will love it,” he says, in his mind going back his past week in Moscow. Of course, he doesn’t spend much time outside. Usually, he’s in the institute, but he likes to observe and sometimes take a walk in the evening.

“Any places I should visit?” she asks as if she was going there for a vacation, knowing that most of the time she will be locked up in the hospital, listening to the voices of dying man. But she simply needs to pretend, at least in this moment.

“Khomyuk... Ulana… I was serious earlier in the evening,” he whispers urgently, suddenly frustrated and turns to face her. His forehead is wrinkled as he worriedly frowns at her. The use of her first name surprises her and gives her courage.

“I’m not a child Valery, nor a naive person. I know I’m going there to collect as much information as possible about a thing that’s classified and that most likely there will be people who won’t want me to know,” she says, head held high, as if she was already defending herself to some KGB agent. Where does she take so much inner strength and determination from? He tilts his head backwards and exhales.

“If anything should happen, anything, tell them you’re with me. Promise me that,” he keeps on insisting. There is a battle going on in her. It’s been a long time since someone acted so protectively over her she almost forgot how nice it can feel. But on the other hand, it was making her a bit irritated. She’s a grown-up woman for god’s sake, she’s been able to take care of herself up until now. But the look in Valery’s eyes shows how much this small promise means to him, so she decides to grant him this pleasure and nods.

Silence falls upon them again, when a clock somewhere at the reception starts ringing, announcing the late hour.

“I’m gonna go sleep now,” she says, sliding down the barstool and he follows her example. He grabs the napkins with her calculations and hands them to her. She smiles gratefully and puts them into a pocket of her sweater.

Once upstairs before they part ways to enter their rooms, he suddenly stops, walks over to her, leaning at her door frame.

“Will you lend me that pen of yours and one of the napkins?” he asks. She stops and thinks for a moment, not sure where this is heading. Is he going to check her calculations now? He could do it tomorrow morning during breakfast. She really needs to get some sleep, but gives them to him anyway.

He swiftly scribbles something down, napkin pressed up against the wall. And then she realizes - an address, his address. He turns back to her and returns her the napkin and pen.

“Third floor. My neighbour on the same floor, Alina Markina has a spare key. Feel free to stay there if you’d like, I bet it might be more comfortable than a hotel. And hopefully, it won’t be bugged yet. My cat could also use some company,” he knows he’s rambling now, saying too much unnecessary information and forcefully stops himself. She looks curious, interested even, he was expecting her to be dismissive, to be honest. And his hand suddenly lives in its own, softly caressing her cheek. She’s staring at him, those magnificent blue eyes glued to his, her lips slightly parted.

“Stay safe, Ulana,” he whispers and takes his hand back, his palm and fingers burning from where her his skin met hers.

And then just as suddenly as the moment appeared, it is gone just like the tension.

“Thank you, Valery,” she smiles up at him and opens the door to her room, flashing him one last look before disappearing inside. A warm feeling starts spreading through his body, and this time it’s not the alcohol. It’s something much more simple yet complicated at the same time. It’s happiness.

This time sleep finds him almost immediately.

“Goodnight, Ulana,”

Moscow, present

He wakes with her name on his lips, and as if only the act of saying it out loud makes him realize she won't be able to hear him ever again.

Let her be safe, please.

#chernobyl hbo #chernobylhbo #valana #ulana khomyuk #valery legasov #ulana/valery #valery x ulana #fanfiction #writings #my OTP #fanfic #chernobyl fanfic #ao3 #silence fanfic

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lycanhood · 5 years

Text

Supergirl 4x12 “Menagerie” Liveblog

SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!

This radio news guy has an impressive vocab

Oh good more Danvers Sisters’ pain :(

God, we couldn’t have just skip V-Day this year? Yuck! (Yes, I’m single, what of it?)

Kara, this coat? Interesting choice

You are looking great, Alex! And breaking my heart, that’s not nothing

Kara is such a gentlewoman

Damn!!! How does Nia afford this apartment???

Brainy is really embracing Lena’s tiny boxes idea :/

How is a V-Day party suppose to cheer up someone who is single and who’s mother just died?

Oh, yeah the Agent Liberty storyline exists…

Hahaha “Well, we are all dismayed by that.”

That was a line worthy of CSI

#same Brainy #same to all of that

Haha “She’s a maneater” is playing in my head

Whoa, J’onn is at Catco, has he ever been here before?

Aw, he’s such a good Space Dad

Lena as usual, you look great

The Supercorp fanfic writers have already done this Lena/James scene better *side eye*

We all know that Alex loves V-Day. Why she lyin?

Brainy! Why on the big screen, my man?

Oh wow, how did I not see Lena and Haley’s storylines colliding? Nicely done

Ugh this little Lockwood punk

Hahaha You could tho, Kara. Wouldn’t be the first time

Smooth, Kara, smooth

Hahahaha “Stop talking to yourself and dance!”

God, Alex, could you be more attractive?

Yikes

Sam Witwer is really rocking this prison look (if that’s a think people can do)

Not to protect herself, Kara. To protect you, like always. *bursts into tears*

I’m not sure about...Becca? Alex might be ready to date, but I’m not sure I’m ready for her to date, ya know :(

The government doesn’t want the press to see how it protects the city tho

Hahahaha J’onn that reaction

Wow, um I’m feeling like they’re infringing on some Marvel material here

Goddamnit, Kara! Again with the sneezing?

Oh no it ripped that questionable jacket :/

Have I ever mentioned that I love the Danvers Sisters’ relationship with my whole heart?

Oh Lena/James fighting? Before even reaching the airport? Shocking

Yes

Do you, tho? Do you really?

Leave? Um, you’re in a moving vehicle

DAMN!!! She dropped his ass like a hot potato! DAAAAAMN

Also, sidenote, confirmed Lena’s driver’s name is Frank *jots that down*

Did I say finally already? FUCKING FINALLY!!!!!!!

That break-up was rather abrupt after all the fuss they made about them making up and having a deep connection and blah blah blah, but I can’t complain. Maybe the cringe is over now. Or maybe they will use this as an excuse to drive Lena even deeper into her darkness *sigh* Only time will tell

No, Kara! Noooo, that’s just not true. Right?

“Our family” !!!!!!!!!!! I love them so much

These Children of Liberty team jackets are so silly

That’s a very Extra machete

She’s right. It is rude to yell at people

You don’t need to say it’s ironic, Brainy, we know already

Whoa! Alex is so fast? How the fuck did she get there?

I wonder if Melissa practices her Supergirl hairflips in the mirror

Damn, Nia!!! Nice swing!

Do you, Kara? It sorta seems like she just totally had you before Nia showed up. What’s changed?

I don’t care about baby Lockwood

Why did you think that, Nia?

Haha she did walk right over and grab some chocolate tho, ya’ll saw that right?

Kara, this is a really cute sweater

Oh shit! Kara did what? How did we miss out on that???

Someone comfort Lena please! (not you, James) *sigh*

Goddamn, Baker, you piece of shit

Oh yeah, Manchester is still a thing that’s happening

March 3rd? Why? Why so many breaks? Ugh

25 notes · View notes

moodforanime · 5 years

Text

The Nomad| The Possesions of the Wild series book 1| Naruto fanfic

Chapter 5 part 1: The fight for approval

A/N: There are some parts written in French, but I'm not fluent, so y'all will have to excuse me for possible inaccuracies.

Tags: @insanity-is-always-fun

(Total) Word count: 4.2K

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guy's eyes opened wide as they filled with shock and disbelief.

'No...' he whispered.

'Oh, you can believe it!' Temon's eyes filled with pleasure from the gained reactions. 'Please don't be so shocked.'

'But- But it can't be!' Tenten said. 'The first Hokage had only one child; an daughter!'

'Oh, mind leaving my most annoying uncle aside?' Temon puffed disgusted. 'I am no child of his and I'm tired of being associated with his being.'

'But then...' Neji murmured, as he connected the dots in his head.

'You don't have to mind Temon, my dear.' Kana told Kaiya. 'I am your opponent, not him. I'm sure your friends can do just fine with him.'

Kana grabbed her sword and prepared to attack. Instinctively, Kaiya put her hand in the small purse in which she always carried a few kunai. She searched through her purse and realised that she only had one Kunai left. Shit! She started regretting that she left her Tachi home. Even if it did hold a little weight, she decided that she should carry her sword in every mission.

'Last time you had an dumb luck, but now, you will truly face my Dragon cry!' Kana proud fully tugged onto her sword and aimed at Kaiya who struggled to keep her balance, while Temon started shaking the ground again. Kaiya pulled out the kunai and looked at it in disappointment. It was an kunai she had used for years, and the results of her training and battles were visible through the chirps and scratch marks on it. She held her kunai with an grip and did the craziest, yet most rational thing she could do at the moment: she tried to dodge the giant sword with her kunai.

'Kaiya!' Neji yelled.

The brown haired girl couldn't handle all the force with which the Dragon Cry hit her, and was pushed into a tree, hitting a tree mercilessly, fact that was proven moments later as a little blood dripped from her forehead.

'Kaiya! I'll go check on her-' Tenten took a few steps back, willing to go to Kaiya's in, but was stopped. A huge wall of dirt rose around them.

'Ntz, ntz, ntz. ' Temon shook his head in disapproval. 'You see, young lady, when you start something, you must also end it. The same goes for this fight. We won't stop until one of us -you most, likely- loose. Kana will take care of your little wild friend.'

'Wild friend? Excuse me, Kaiya is a human being.' Tenten protested, feeling offended by the blue-haired man's words.'

Temon sighed.

'That's why they shouldn't let women become ninja. They're always driven by their emotions. But Don't worry, young lady. The truth will eventually come out.'

'Truth?' Tenten repeated. 'What truth?'

'Don't worry about that, Tenten. We need to focus on how to get finish things quickly.' Guy said.

If he said that he wasn't curious about what truth Temon spoke about, he'd be a huge liar. He would've loved to find out more, but he couldn't let anything happen to his students. Whatever he meant when he talked about Kaiya didn't matter. Not for now, anyway. The four set themselves in an ready-to-attack position, looking at the man who just so relaxingly waited for their first move.

'We need to help Kaiya. She can't handle that woman all on her own!' Tenten whispered.

'If we want to help Kaiya, we need to beat this guy first.' Neji answered.

'Which... may take awhile.' Lee completed.

'If we want to help her, we need to hurry.' Guy said. 'Now, remember our training. Lee, remember what I told you about that technique.'

'I mustn't use it for anything but for protecting my loved ones.'

'Indeed. Now, if something happens and the fight takes an unexpected turn and i won't be able to protect you, I allow you to use it. Am I clear?'

'Yes, sensei.' Lee answered, feeling uneasy by the slight tremble in his sensei's voice.

'Prepare for the attack... Now!'

Kaiya slowly opened her eyes. For a second, she thought that her consciousness was still missing, but she soon realised that it wasn't so. She really did move. Weirdly enough, she didnt feel the ground under her legs. She slightly tilted her head around, and felt how her head appeared to be ten times heavier, along with an awful internal headache.

She unwillingly moaned, something that caused her to stop moving. She was pulled down by gravity and, as she hit the ground, more pain was send through her veins. She looked up with half open eyes the figure of the spiky-haired woman looking disgusted upon her.

Kaiya got herself up so she could be sitting in an cross-legged pose, and twitched as an pain shook through her spine. She searched her purse for her kunai, but it was gone.

'Oh, you must be looking for this.' Kana said indifferent, as she threw two pieces of metal towards Kaiya.

Kaiya catched the two pieces of metal and looked at them. If she was to connect the two, she would see her old kunai, now with an more obvious cut at its half.

'You're lucky that you had that kunai. If you would've not used it to protect yourself, be sure that by now, you would have been cut in two.' Kana informed in an now matter-of-fact voice.

Kaiya, who was still sitting on the ground, looked at her kunai.

'By the way, you're not good at hiding stuff. I found my backpack in no time at all.'

An shine could be seen in in Kaiya's eyes.

'I never meant to hide your stupid bag.' Kaiya said, raising to her feet.

Kaiya looked around and could see that huge earth wall somewhere not that far away appeared. She listened closely and could swear she was hearing screams coming from behind the earth wall. That must be where they are, Kaiya thought.

'Hey! Where are you going? Nobody turns their back on me!' Kana yelled, as Kaiya jumped on the tree branches nearby, closing the distance between her and where the Earth wall was.

'Don't be a coward. Come here and face me!' yelled as she arrived to her destination, sounding braver than she actually felt.

Kana appeared in front of Kaiya within seconds. As she looked down at the girl, one of her mouth's corners twitched.

'You don't really know what you're getting yourself into, do ya?' Kana murmured.

If Kaiya would've not learned to control her body so well, she would've been trembling under her opponent's gaze. If only her plan would work...

'What was that?' Lee asked, while panting down.

The fight didn't take place for more than two minutes, but it appeared that those 120 seconds were just enough for the man to bring out his strongest moves. Around them, the ground was all filled with cracks and gaps, due to his attempts in blocking them and the three man group and their sensei were already full of scratches and bruises. For a second, Lee thought he heard Kaiya yelling something about a cow and a face.

'What?' Tenten responded, without getting her eyes off the opponent.

'N-Nevermind.' Lee closed the subject, as he examined Temon.

Lee made another attempt at attacking Temon and tried to put him to the ground, but karma returned to him faster than he expected. Lee flew back and hit the Earth wall that was conjuring them.

'What. An. Idiot.' Neji mumbled to himself as he prepared himself for the next attack. 'Byakugan!'

Neji's eyes widened as the veins around pumped up to a thousand times their normal size as he activated his Kekkei Genkai. Due to the training he got when he was younger with his father, and later with his uncle and cousins, he got to almost perfect his Byakugan. He looked around him, checking on his teammates, then the opponent. At first, he thought he had something in his eye, and rubbed his eyes in attempt to clean his vision.

'What do you see, Neji?' Guy asked.

Kaiya was standing still while keeping her head down. Something stopped her from responding to Kana's insistent gaze that now rested on the back of her head.

'Be careful, child.' Kana warned. 'Playing cool will bring you nothing but eternal pain and an sure shameful death. If you act like this, you'll bring nothing but misery to your clan's name. Do you really want that?'

Kaiya's eyes widened in shock. She gritted her teeth and looked but.

'Who are you to lecture me?' Kaiya asked, her voice now holding an similarity with an roar. 'You, who knows nothing of me or my past. You, who has no pride and accepted to be send to intervene in others' business just for an pat on the back and a sack of money. Would you deny any of it?'

'Why would you so freely assume I was send by someone?' Kana narrowed her eyebrows. 'If you really want to know, I can assure you-'

'People like you, or anyone, to be fair, need someone to lead them through life. It came to me that people are dependent things that require constant attention and control. Even leaders need leaders. Thus, gods were created. They thought that the idea of an divine being with the supreme power among us would shut the defections out.'

'Defections?'

'The very few people who can take and control the harnesses of their own life and aren't afraid to fight for their freedom. The government is afraid of them.'

'Enough.' Kana spat out in annoyance.

Kana took the Dragon Cry in her hand and aimed it at Kaiya. Kaiya, noticing Kana's action, jumped a few meters into the air, landing on the nearest tree branch. In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Cry changed direction, following Kaiya. The sword missed her by just a few centimeters, planting itself deep into the tree.

'You-' Kana yelled annoyed as, with an powerful pull, she took the sword back, shaking the tree Kaiya was in.

Kana put her sword into the ground and, relying on it, she pushed herself up. She jumped just above the trees and attempted landing on Kaiya.

'You should've not done that. ' Kaiya murmured, as she jumped off the branch.

Kana thought she saw Kaiya grabbing something as she jumped but brushed it off, something that she soon had to regret. Kana landed on the branch and saw Kaiya next to her sword, smiling.

'Don't you even think of-' Kana called out, as Kaiya reached her hand out for the sword.

Kaiya, defying Kana's yells, curled her fingers around the sword. She attempted picking it up, but due to it's unexpected weight, she had to let the sword down seconds after, something that make Kana burst out laughing.

'Aw, you poor thing.' Kana laughed. 'I might have overestimated you. In order to use a sword, you must, first of all, train to hold it!'

Kaiya closed her eyes and breathed in. The grip she had on the sword tightened as Kaiya slowly opened her eyes. With an great effort, she pulled the sword up and pushed it to the tree in which Kana sat. It didn't take more than one hit for the tree to become unable to stand. Kaiya let the sword drop to the ground and, as the tree fell, she clenched one of her fists and pulled.

Kana's eyes widened. Threads. Before she could even do something. Meters and meters of threads pulled her to the tree trunk, conjuring her body, making it impossible for her to move.

'God damn you, Kobayashi! You will pay, I swear!' Kana yelled in anger, before hitting the ground with an loud crash!.

Kaiya stood there, shook by the woman's words. Who was she? How did she know? Kaiya advanced hesitantly to the fallen tree and saw how Kana's neck and legs were positioned in very uncomfortable positions. As she looked at the blonde woman, Kaiya felt a shiver running through her entire body. If she would've not heard an scream coming from behind the earth wall, Kaiya would have remained still for the rest of the day, sinking like a boat in her own ocean of thoughts.

Kaiya turned to the earth wall and looked at it. She wanted to put her hand on the wall, but her hand went through it, along with her entire body.

'Shit!' Kaiya cussed, as her body kissed the ground.

'Kaiya! Are you alright?' Tenten asked shocked and worried at the same time as she ran to her side.

'I guess you could say I've been better, but I'll do.' Kaiya answered quite truthfully, as she got to her feet.

She looked at the blue-haired man, who stared at Neji with pure interest and an controlled amount of shock I his eyes.

'An Byakugan? You must be a Hyuuga, am I right? I heard of you. You must be the only real treath there must be here. None of the others, including that wild beast you have there, should be an trearh Temon made a sign with his head towards Kaiya, who picked up his gaze with suspicion overflowing on her face.

'I'm fine.' Kaiya insisted, as she noticed Neji's eyes. 'What's that Byakugan of yours doing?'

'The Byakugan is an Kekkei Genkai from Neji's clan that-' Tenten started explaining.

'Get to the point.' Kaiya hurried her.

'His eyes allow him to see the chakra flow in someone's body. If I am right, there's an technique on this matter that allows Byakugan users to stop the chakra working in an body.'

'The eight trigrams, sixty-four palms.' Neji completed. 'Even though I only started recently on learning that technique, I could try give it a shot, but that would only be suicidal. Sensei, can you please try to attack him?

'Why?' Lee asked, as he rejoined his team.

'Don't worry, Lee.' Guy said. 'I'm sure Neji has an plan.'

'Neji this, Neji that, I swear to god-' Lee mumbled.

'Lee.'

'Yes, sensei.'

Guy did as Neji asked and attempted kicking Temon, only for him to be pushed away by an ball of light. The three students watched as their sensei hit the wall and didn't have a single reaction after that.

'I think he passed out.' Kaiya suggested.

'Sensei!' Lee wanted to go to Guy in the hope of waking him up, but was stopped by Tenten.

'No, Lee. I'm sure Guy-sensei will resist until later.' Tenten said. 'Did you find anything, Neji?'

'I... didn't see any chakra in his body, until he used that ninjutsu against Guy-sensei.' Neji said. 'I don't understand.'

'Maybe he's something like me.' Lee suggested.

'You do have chakra in you, idiot. It's simply on a lower level than most people's. This guy... this guy looks like he throws all of his chakra away from his body and then summons it all at once when performing a ninjutsu.'

'But... that's physically impossible!' Tenten argued.

'Never say never. Who knows what kind of overpowered lunatics there are out there?' Kaiya said, quieting Tenten.

Temon let out an deep laugh.

'You know, you should listen to your wild friend more. She might be more than you think.' Temon smirked. 'Don't you agree, Kaiya?'

'How do you know my name?' Kaiya asked, not even trying to hide her suspicious assumptions.

'How could I not, having Kana as my partner? Speaking of Kana... It's not usual for her to let her prey escape.'

'She didn't do such thing. She lost.' Kaiya said, with an now calmer voice, ignoring her teammates' shocked reactions.

'There's no way an kid would-'

'You can go check it for yourself, if you want to.'

In an moment of anger, Temon made a some fast hand signs. As he finished, the ground started shaking as threads of wood raised from the ground, getting a tight grip on the four genin's legs and then bodies. While Neji, Lee and Tenten were moving agitated in attempt to escape, Kaiya just stared shocked at the wood that grew on her body.

'There's no need for you to move. The wood only responds to my commands.'

Kaiya raised her somber gaze in order to see Temon, now fully aware of her opponents. She looked at Temon, who appeared to be drained from most of his energy after his last move.

'You.' Kaiya murmured.

'Finally realised, eh? I wonder why we always meet in such situations.'

'How could you do that, you filthy animal?' Kaiya asked angered as she tried to escape the wooden prison. 'Where's your soul?'

Neji, Tenten and Lee stopped forgot about their attempt of escaping and watched how Kaiya looked at Temon with an Wild gaze of anger.

'I would look in a mirror, before talking.' Temon responded, unbothered by Kaiya's verbal attacks.

'Disgrâce! Dishonneur!' Kaiya yelled, blinded by the fury boiling harder and harder inside her.

'What's happening with her?' Tenten asked her teammates, startled by Kaiya's reaction.

'Hmpf. Let's just say that... she had a little... inconvenience in which I was involved.' Temon explained. 'Am I right?'

'Je te chie dans le cou!' Kaiya answered, as she attempted to spit him.

'Now, now. Please don't act like this. You don't want to prove my word and get your friends an opinion on what you really are, now do you?' Temon tilted his head to the left, as he gave Kaiya an questioning look.

Kaiya grunted as she stopped trying to escape, lowerig her head.

'Kaiya...' Neji began.

'Never mind.' Kaiya responded, without giving Neji an look.

'Now, if we all calmed down, I think that we could finish our business smoothly.' Temon said, as he walked to an passed out Guy who still held the luggage close by in one of his hands.

'No!' Tenten yelled.

'Don't you dare touch Guy-sensei!' Lee exclaimed, now fighting and biting the wood that held him from protecting his sensei.

(Next chapter)

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witchfall · 6 years

Text

the silver lining still remains: ch. 2

SUMMARY: “Connor read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.”

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3

---

[...RECHARGING…]

[...100%]

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL. VISUAL FEED NORMAL. TIME: 3:09 A.M]

‘Yea, the diplomats are doing their thing.’ Hank, eating a burger. ‘But they aren’t here with us. Doing the work on the ground, you know? It’s never gonna be...quite the same.’

‘Here with us.’

‘Life’s that way.’

‘You’d miss me.’

[RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC…..ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

Androids do not dream. Connor understands this. But the thoughts circle, endlessly. He processes and scans the color, texture, and sound of his memories until they are a grainy nonsense of variables that shouldn’t be there. Voices stop sounding right. Freckles are in the wrong place. Lips are the wrong size. The recollection is perfect; his sensor scans are absolutely complete.

The wrongness persists.

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

He opens his eyes. Moonlight and the white glare of streetlamps shine through the dusty windows of Hank’s spare room (“You live here, you live like a civilized human man. Android man. Fuck it, you know what I mean.”). Sumo snores softly in the hallway and his owner snores louder still in the bedroom across the way. All things normal.

Don’t tell me you were working this whole time.

I was at Dan’s.

A smile, and a strange look in Hank’s eye -- uncategorizable. No statements of clarification. Continues to watch television.

Connor could get up and work. Read one of the books Hank suggested. But the thoughts spin on, so many of them, and he’s not sure he’s willing to leave them be.

She’s interfacing again. Stress level: 55%. Monitor your life signs.

Incorrect prioritization. Monitor her life signs.

Mouth open, face uncharacteristically inexpressive. Eyes (dark brown -- dark dark brown, where do they go?) out of focus. Extremely minor shivering.

Why?

His eyes fly open and he focuses again on the chilling brightness of the moon, if only to stop this thought cycle before it can begin. The street is silent. He read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark of the sky gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.

[TIME: 3:15 A.M.]

Emma steps out of the client’s house, wiping sweat and grit off her forehead with the back of her glove. Clouds obscure the weakly setting sun, casting the neighborhood in a downcast gray. Materials she’d need for tomorrow’s drywall installation cycled through her head, hammering out all curious thought. A litany of the most boring items imaginable.

Nothing like exhaustion to beat the worry out of you.

Sleep or stagework? She hesitated outside her Taurus, testing the tires with her boot. If she had to ask, maybe she should just go home...

Her phone softly chimes.

Who could possibly want to call me now ?

She digs it out of her thick coat with a furrowed brow, suppressing a sigh. The number was “unknown,” but that was hardly unusual in her line of work. Androids were buying their own phones, but the savvy ones were understandably wary of tracking.

She clicks it over. “Emma Ibori.”

“Emma. Are you free?”

She blinks at the voice on the line. “Speaker Markus?” Well, that explains the blocked number. “...how’d you get my number?”

“It’s in the Corps files,” he says. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” His voice is warm but straightforward, plodding along pleasantries as if by rote.

She raises a brow in interest, but her gut sinks. The leader of the preliminary Android government probably didn’t just call people to chat. “Sure, no. What can I do for you?”

Hank taps his empty coffee cup on his desk and stares at Connor. He checks his watch...he’s been staring for a good three minutes now. Connor doesn’t even seem to notice.

Hank leans back in his chair, making it creak, and sighs heavily.

“I think we’re off the clock,” he finally says.

Connor is staring at his computer like he’s Atlas, holding the world up. His brow is furrowed as he scans through files that Hank knows too well will reveal nothing new, not even to a top of the line prototype detective. Connor has a single hand on his forehead, fingers reaching up through his hair -- a curious gesture of humanity that makes him seem much younger than he pretends to be, even if he is still sitting up ramrod straight.

“You can go home if you want,” Connor says politely. His eyes don’t leave the screen.

Hank frowns. He’s too well-worn to know how to break through the miasma gathering around the young man. He just tries to be there.

Tough being a prototype.

A rough guitar riff plays -- Hank’s phone. He pulls it out of his pocket and stares at the number. An opportunity.

“Anderson.”

“Hey, it’s Emma. Does Connor have a direct line to Markus, you think?”

“Emma, I'm at work.”

Lo and behold, Connor finally looks his way. Hank stifles a smirk at Connor’s attempt to make it look nonchalant by casting his gaze lazily to the side a moment, but Hank doesn’t buy it for a second. They had to get Connor his own phone soon.

“I got a weird call from him. He said he had a job opportunity come up at the old East Yard Elementary for me but, uh...the number he used won’t work.” He can hear the wind crackle through her phone speaker.

“Markus called you?”

“Maybe.” He can hear her shuffling with a door. “One reason I wanted to confirm with him. I’d just demo this place.”

Hank leans forward. Connor does too. Hank gives him a look -- eavesdropping is rude, how many times do I gotta tell you that? -- but his detective instinct yammers like a mad dog. “Go back to your car.”

A long pause. “...all right then.” He can hear her breathing as she begins to walk. “I didn’t go in far.”

“You really shouldn’t be on that side of town,” he says quietly. “Are you alone?”

She doesn’t answer. His gut clenches. The girl was tough, a wicked good contractor who’d fixed up a number of things in his old house, and a presence that flitted in and out like a fly he couldn’t chase away. But she, like a lot of the youth around these parts, was both too stubborn and too trusting. Connor was nearly out of his seat trying to listen in now, dark eyes intent upon Hank, all pretense gone.

“I have a gun.”

“Emma--”

“Look, can you just ask Con if--”

A loud, unmistakable bang.

“Emma?” He pulled his phone back and looked at the call connection.

The line was instantly dead.

“Oh, fuck. Connor--”

Connor was already running full speed toward the exit. Hank grabs his radio and follows, fast as he dares.

“Dispatch, we have a situation. Door! Connor, use the door!”

Emma’s ears ring. Fear blooms in her stomach like an orchid. In a thoughtless moment, she reaches up to touch her ear to check for bleeding, but her hand is embedded with glass and already slick so it’s useless. She can feel the blood trickling down her jaw. It’ll probably stain her coat, she realizes with a bizarre amusement.

All she can really think about is running, away from her car where they'd ambushed her, zigging and zagging between vehicles, between houses, through any path that could break up their beeline on her. She expects them to shoot again at any moment -- a thought that keens bright as lightning. But they don’t, despite the fact that they had the wherewithal to shoot her phone from her hand.

What was stopping them?

She chances a look back. Two figures in nondescript dark clothes chase her with stocky, athletic movements and a uniformity that felt too exact to be human.

Fear bottoms her out. All her breaths feel like flame.

Her bag drags down on her shoulder, even as she tries to keep it from smacking her side too much with her left hand. But it’s no use. It’s slowing her down and they clearly aren’t tiring. While she hears sirens wailing in the distance, she decides to buy time by -- God and Universe please fucking forgive me, I’m never gonna be able to buy tools again at this rate -- throwing the bag as far as she can at her pursuers.

But not without grabbing her gun first.

“It was a mistake to let you drive!” Hank wheezes, but Connor knows the man can’t mean it. At the speed they are going, only an android could have prevented their untimely death via crash.

[FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA]

Text flashes red in his eyes, constant, and he blinks hard to try and erase it. There is no erasing it.

[CIRCULATION ELEVATED. RECOMMEND DEEP BREATHS FOR SYSTEM COOLING.]

The dispatch chatter was up. Connor only slowed when he saw the flashing lights of other patrol cars in the distance, parked on some abandoned street where single-family housing met the blockier apartment units of inner Detroit. Police were exiting their cars, guns up.

He nearly slams the car into park. Hank grumbles something obscene but they both near tumble out of the car. They bolt toward what the other police are examining.

A bag…

Instantly, he enters analysis mode, the mind palace thrumming to life. Contents spilled out of the bag as if it was thrown for distraction. A measuring tape and a Laserlite level flung a few feet out of the bag from the force of the toss. One hammer, a smattering of nails and screwdrivers [multiple head types] are scattered on the pavement in an arc akin to spraying water.

Specks of fresh blood.

[MISSION: FIND EMMA.]

She loves this bag.

[PROCESSING: PROJECTING RUN BASED ON BAG LOCATION, THROWN ITEM DISTANCE, EAST YARD SCHOOL.]

“Connor, we’re going to find her, you just gotta--”

[RE-CONSTRUCTING]

“--take a second to breathe--”

[POSSIBLE DIRECTION: NORTHWEST?]

“--listening?”

Connor can hear Hank saying something in the background, but his processors burn too hot. He has a mission to do. He doesn’t have time for anything but analysis--

Two gunshots, 467 feet northwest.

His mission parameters squeeze his chest. Something lances his core biocomponent.

[DIAGNOSTIC UNDERWAY.]

He runs, fast as his feet will go, but the neighborhood is starting to blur around him. He leaves the other officers in the dust, not weighed down by patrol gear or a biological need for aerobic exercise. He vaults over parked cars and old trash bins and rounds the corner of an alleyway--

[RECONSTRUCTING PRECONSTRUCTING RECON--]

Two dead bodies litter the ground.

[THIRIUM -&*^&*CORRUPTION.]

What?

And Emma stands at the alley’s end, gun outstretched.

He stumbles to a stop at the sight. His entire vision shakes a moment.

Blood stains the side of her face, and one of her hands claws unnaturally around the gun, clearly injured. She stands with feet shoulder-width apart, arms straight. A near perfect shooting stance. One pursuer was downed with a shot to the head, the other with a shot to the chest. Executioner style.

Something hot burns in Connor’s ribcage. She had been cornered. A chainlink fence blocks the alleyway behind her.

She suddenly takes in a sharp breath.

“Emma!” The word feels torn from him as he skitters across the alley. Now he can see she’s close to tears, teeth barred, breath coming in shaky waves. “You’re all right,” he says, hands up. The softness of his voice comes at a shock considering the magma filling his midsection. “You’re safe now.”

[MISSION SUCCESS]

She takes in another sharp, shaky breath and the tears finally roll down her face. Her whole body near vibrates with stress. He moves until he is close enough that he can whisper.

“Give me the gun,” he says softly.

“No.”

His chest compresses further. “Please. You are not in a state to hold a weapon.”

Even if her shots were perfect.

She hesitates, but then thrusts the gun into his palm with her good hand -- much to his surprise. He sticks it in his extra holster on his waistband and then leans down slightly to level with her gaze. Without thinking, he tentatively rests his hands on her shoulders. His fingers wrap around her shoulders and his palms settle against her collarbones. Only then does it feel like she’s real.

Alive alive alive alive.

He scans her face, unwilling to miss a single detail. A gunshot wound to her right ear. Thick, coiled hair caking against the sticky blood. Scratches along her jawline from glass shards. Old smears of makeup under her eyes, now just black specks thanks to time and tears. But the constellation is still there -- a single smear of blood disrupting the map of freckles on her face…

“Connor!” Hank and the other police finally arrive, feet loud against the pavement. “Shit...”

Connor doesn’t turn to look back at them. He’s watching Emma’s dark brown eyes, waiting. Waiting. She stares at the middle distance between them, as if rebooting -- until suddenly she blinks and she isn’t. She’s looking right back at him. Searching his face.

“I’m--” A hiccup disrupts her sentence and she takes in another rough, shaky breath.

Another lance through his core biocomponent. He suddenly can’t bring himself to say anything at all. Something in him rumbles and roars -- a creature that he’d not witnessed since he broke the command to Stop Markus.

“Emma, hey, it’s gonna be alright.” That was Hank, breathing hard.

“Wh...why the fuck were they chasing me?” Emma looks between Connor and Hank, breaking eye contact finally. “They were by Tulio.” Her car.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hank says, stepping up next to them. He taps Connor’s shoulder once, a signal to move. Connor’s systems feel sluggish; he finds he doesn’t want to let go. But after a moment, he takes a step back, releasing her shoulders.

Hank places his scarf around her neck. “You said you could shoot but you never said you were a goddamn Olympian.”

She squints, looking away. “I dunno.” She gestures outward. “Got lucky, I guess.”

Luck?

Two programs go to war.

Analyze the variables: Markus’s involvement. Did someone use his voice? The supposed job. How did they obtain her number? Why did they chase but opt not to shoot her again? How did they find her? What did they want? Who are these androids and what was their purpose? Why was the reading of the blue blood returning corrupted data? Why is she shy about her gunshots? Find more information. Solve this now.

If you look away from her something else might happen you never know there are no proper odds for this anymore not in this city where nothing has a precondition another shooter could appear anything could come out of thin air so keep your eyes on her at all times don’t you dare let her leave your sight how did she shoot them like that was it luck was it just luck that left her alive was it just luck that she’s here at all--

“Connor?”

Emma is staring at him, moisture on her face glinting blue and red as the last of the backup arrives.

“He’s fine,” Hank says with his usual gruffness, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her away. “Owes me some new tires. Drives like a maniac.” His tone is heightened. He’s trying to obfuscate something, but Emma doesn’t break her stare. Hank bites his lip, concerned.

Connor looks down. The pavement flashes red. He tucks one hand behind his back, as if that can stop the feeling building inside, and another to the coin in his pocket.

What if what if what if what if?

[DIAGNOSTIC COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONING.]

But that can’t be right. Because his vision is blurring -- breaking into prisms of light as all the magma in his chest finally reaches his optical components.

He turns away so Emma won’t see.

#dbh connor #connor rk800 #detroit become human #dbh connor x oc #dbh connor x reader #dbh #kathryn writes #long post #hope the read more works D:

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gabriel-gabdiel · 3 years

Text

【Draft】Rurouni Yahiko Chapter 55: The Swordsmanship Bible

The Faceless shows off the best of world-class swordsmanship against Yahiko’s kendo. How will the Tokyo Samurai Descendant get out of this predicament?

The rest of the chapters of my Rurouni Kenshin fan fiction are available here. Enjoy.

Earlier, before Yahiko Myojin went to the Yokohama Chinatown...

To be more specific, Yahiko Myojin was invited by Satsuki "May Brooks" Sakaguchi and others to join the Musou Madden School to help protect Kinta Minakata and his uncle from ne'er-do-wells at an affiliate company's Chinatown office.

Yahiko considered to whether or not he should fulfill the role of bodyguard in order to defend yet another V.I.P. (Very Important Person) with connections to the Meiji Government.

Maybe he shouldn't go since it was none of his business really, but then again he reasoned that dealing with things that wasn't any of his concern was how his idol, Kenshin Himura (now Kenshin Kamiya) lived his life.

At least that was what he told himself as the spirit-and-image of Kenshin (hidden behind an eye patch and a garish wig) looked back at him with cutely blinking innocence.

"Can you stop staring at me that way, Minoe? You're... weirding me out," Yahiko told Munenori Minoe, who was "disguised" currently as a man but was actually the female assassin of the Hidden Christians, Kaede Morinaga.

Munenori's eyes... well, eye, he was wearing an eye patch on the other eye... darted back and forth between Yahiko and the floor. "You okay, Yahiko-chi? I heard from Chizuru-chi that Marimo-chi dumped you."

"...I DUMPED HER!" yelped Myojin more defensively than he intended. He then realized he sounded more mean-spirited than he intended. He afterwards took a deep breath and revised his statement.

"I mean, no, not exactly. Nothing happened. No one dumped anyone because neither of us was involved with each other that way, okay? I just... cleared a misunderstanding, that's all. Leave Marimo alone."

"Okay," the pouty Minoe said, pouting. "Stop being mad."

"StOp BeInG MaD," mocked Yahiko with crossed arms. "I'm not even mad, stupid Minoe."

"...Anyway, are you going or not, Yahiko-chi?" asked the eye-patched male—who was born a girl but he identified as a boy—with an inquisitive head tilt. "To serve as the Minakatas' extra bodyguard, I mean."

Fascinating how this seeming airhead before Yahiko was the infamous Fake Battousai. Or the Battousai of Speed. One of the strongest members of Shogo Amakusa's Battousai Group who gave even the Juppon Gatana's (Ten Sword's) Soujiro "Heaven Sword" Seta a run for his money.

On one hand, he (or she) perfectly mirrored the ingenuous, naive, and idealistic part of Kenshin.

On the other hand, this was the same person (albeit with a different personality) who mass-murdered the Fake Battousai Group formed in Shinshu then almost did the same thing to the kidnapper bandits in Hiroshima.

With that in mind, Yahiko asked in turn, "Do you want to go with me to protect the Minakatas from being assassinated, Minoe?"

Taken aback by the question, Munenori went silent for a few long seconds before whispering to Myojin, "I don't know. I might have to check with her. And I don't think she wants to."

"Her?" he asked, also whispering, although he already knew the answer.

"Kaede-chi," Minoe answered in kind, referring to his split personality Kaede Morinaga. "But even I'm not sure if I want to go help out Kagemusha-chi and his family either. I mean, Minakata-chi. I'm also upset he betrayed Amakusa Shogo-sama and the Hidden Christians."

Oh, that was right. They—Kaede and Minoe—also called the Mimawarigumi Battousai and the Kagemusha (literally Shadow Warrior, but in context it meant Doppelganger) because back when he was with the Hidden Christians, he served as Shogo Amakusa's body double.

They were the split personalities of the person before him. One male, one female. One meek as a sheep the other as aggressive as a wildcat. They were like night and day.

What happened to Minoe or Kaede for him or her to end up becoming two people in one body? Or more, if the Battousai of Speed could be considered a separate person as well.

Moreover, Kaede had lingering resentment over Kinta Minakata.

Apparently, the Mimawarigumi Battousai (yes, she and him were both Battousai clones) had betrayed the Kakure Kirishitan (Hidden Christians) about more than half a decade ago, while the Kenshingumi were dealing with Enishi Yukishiro and his Jinchu (Earthly Retribution) against Kenshin.

"Hey. Why are we whispering?" asked the Clueless Gan.

Ugh. Oh right. Gan was there with them. The freeloading oaf who'd been following Yahiko throughout his Musha Shugyo (Warrior Pilgrimage) since they first met in Shinshushin.

***

Rurouni Yahiko

A Rurouni Kenshin Continuation Fan Fiction Story by Chester Castañeda

Here we have another session of kendo vs. fencing. Japanese kenjutsu vs. European swordsmanship. East vs. West. Also, the Sanada Sanyoukai (Three Demons) make their debut in this chapter.

Disclaimer: All characters used in this fanfic (save some others) are the rightful property of Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Viz, Sony Studios, Fuji TV, Studio Gallup, Studio Deen, and ADV. This disclaimer also covers all the other copyrighted material that are far too many to mention here. Don't sue me please, I'm very poor.

***

Chapter 55: The Swordsmanship Bible

***

Back to your regularly scheduled Sanbaka program...

Yahiko Myojin really should ditch the Great (Pain-in-the-Ass) Gan, but they—Yahiko, Gan, and Minoe—were technically a trio through and through.

They'd been through a decade's worth of adventures in just a little over a month or so, if felt like. They dealt with pirates, ronin, and bandit kidnappers, among many other incidents.

They were the Sanbaka (Three Stooges). Who even came up with that insulting name anyway? He already forgot. Was it Gan or...?

Never mind. He had something to ask the clownish thug anyway.

"Say, Gan. You want to serve as bodyguard to the Minakatas with me?" Yahiko asked. Just like we did with the Oyakata (Tetsuo Akahori) back in Shinshu."

"I'm having kishikan (déjà vu)," said the Goofy Gan before waving the feeling off, adding, "Oh wait, no I'm not."

"...O-kay," said Myojin, nonplussed (as in confused, not the other opposite meaning people associate with the word). The samurai kid rubbed his right temple as he felt a nerve or vein pulsate underneath his fingers.

"Let's try this again. Do you want to serve as bodyguard to the Minakatas with me, Gan?"

"...Oh! There it is! There's the déjà vu!"

Yahiko struck the Garrulous Gan on the noggin with his sheathed sword in order to truly knock some sense of déjà vu into him. Yeah, that old running gag. "Be serious for a minute here."

It was Gan's turn to rub his bandanna-sporting head. "You gotta admit the whole situation reeks of déjà vu. Instead of one Oyakata-dono (Tetsuo Akahori), we're dealing with a whole family of snotty rich people."

"Well, I guess you're right," conceded Yahiko. "But still..."

Gan and Minoe exchanged knowing looks. The bigger lout then said, "But you can't leave them alone because Kaori-neechan's family friends might get hurt, right? You just can't leave well enough alone. You can't keep your nose out of their business."

A petulant Yahiko crossed his arms. "They asked me to help. It's not as if I'm forcing myself into the situation or anything." He then mumbled, "It's what Kenshin would've done if he were in my sandals."

Munenori chuckled and said, "Mochiron (But of course). You're such a Kenshin fanboy."

"I don't want to hear that from the Amakusa fangirl. I mean, fanboy," muttered Yahiko.

Clearing his throat, Myojin turned towards his Sanbaka comrades then asked, "So will you help me out? Like ol' time's sake. Okay, not exactly, since the Shinshu debacle happened literally just a month ago. But still...!"

Gan gave Yahiko a firm, "No." He then appended, "Wait, that was a month ago? It felt like 18 years ago."

"Eh? Why not?" asked Myojin. "Helping people out with violence is literally what we've been doing all this time!"

Snorting with enlarged bullish nostrils, the Greedy Gan said, "Me and Patches (Minoe) offered our services to the Minakatas for money, and they said 'No thanks, we have more than enough bodyguards to spare!' The nerve of those guys! I don't work for free, ya know!"

Oh. That was right. Akahori actually gave them a reward for saving his life. "Come on, Gan! We saved Fukuoka City from marauding ronin (masterless samurai) and dealt with kidnappers in Hiroshima for relatively free! Do it to pay your debt to society, if not your ongoing real-life debts!"

Gan harrumphed. "Nope. No more freebies or public service protection. Pay me in cash or pay me in food and drink. You can take one man's trash to another man's treasure but you can't make it drink."

Yahiko almost felt his brain leak out of his ear canal from hearing that haphazard mixture of metaphors together. "Ah, Gan. I don't think that's how the saying goes."

"Whatever. We'll burn that bridge when we get there," the Clownish Gan said, which this time made even Minoe's one uncovered eye swirl in confusion.

"Please, Yahiko-chi! Make him stop!" said a teary-eyed Munenori.

With a shrug, Yahiko replied, "Figures. You're not exactly the sharpest egg in the attic."

Two could play this game. This stupid, stupid game.

The Hypocritical Gan had the audacity to reply, "What in the blue blazes of hell and high water are you talking about, Yoshi-boy (Yahiko)?!"

"You've opened this can of worms. Now lie in it, Gan-chi."

To his fellow Sanbaka's surprise, it was a smiling, giggling Minoe who said that.

***

Back at the fight between The Faceless and Yahiko Myojin inside the room just next to the office where the Mimawarigumi Battousai and the Prodigal Son were having their own face-off...

A frustrated, sweat-drenched Yahiko blasted the room to smithereens with an explosive Dou Gami (God on Earth) in an attempt to distract his opponent enough to set him up for a Tsui Gami (God Hammer).

Or he attempted to, but the strongest strike from his Revisal Techniques came on too slow and left him too wide open to counter-thrusts, so he was forced to halve its power with a premature floor hammering and retreat using the cover of smoke and sawdust.

Only to come across the annoying fencer yet again, whose quick footwork cut him off the pass.

The Faceless kept his guard up, measuring his opponent with careful sword thrusts. He wanted to do a feeling out process on the kid, but they ended up coming at each other strong at the gates.

He wanted to take it easy but the kid forced him to go all out from the get go.

This teenaged samurai wannabe actually had the gall to try and break his rapier in two with his inferior blunt sword! Imagine that!

He knew the reverse-edged sword shouldn't be able to break apart his rapier due to its superior high-grade steel, but this kid could make the floor explode with a swing of his weapon.

If this impudent kid were to hit his rapier just right with his blunt sword just right at its flattest, thinnest part, then maybe... No. That was hogwash. Nonsense. But still.

A distant possibility to be sure, but a possibility nonetheless.

Meanwhile, Myojin himself grit and ground his teeth together. He thought he could catch the swordsman flatfooted by breaking apart his sword with the God Hammer earlier, only for the rapier to prove resistant to breakage.

As though it were made of higher-grade western steel from the iron-rich countries of Europe or something.

Beat. Parry. Thrust. Over and over. It was a simple technique that should've been easy to counter since you saw it coming.

However, for whatever reason, Yahiko kept falling for the same trio of moves. A pause to lull the attacker to attack. A parry to the attack. A thrust immediately after the parry.

He wasn't a blindingly fast swordsman like Soujiro Seta. Or a fearsome attacker from all angles like Kaede Morinaga.

He instead practiced all the basics of swordsmanship and honed them to their highest level. He played around with Yahiko like they were having a sparring session.

Like he was a mere sparring partner. Like he were studying a swordsmanship clinic under this gaijin who did the most basic forms of swordsmanship yet could land on him at will.

If it weren't for the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu ougi (succession techniques) of Hadome (Sword Halt) and Hawatari (Sword Crossing), he'd be dead by now, if not in critical condition.

Nevertheless, je could only use the cross-wrist parry for so many times before an enemy could figure out a counter to it.

He also looked like he dove into a cactus patch with all the nicks, scratches, and flesh wounds he got from The Faceless's unbreakable steel rapier.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded Myojin. "Are you part of the Brigands Guild?"

The disguise-wearing, mask-wearing man reminded the Tokyo Samurai Descendant of Aoshi Shinomori's right-hand masked man—the late, great Hannya. The second-in-command in the Tokyo Oniwabanshu.

"I'm known by many names," said The Faceless. "But right now, I am known as John Rathbone. Delighted to make your acquaintance."

'Right now? What did this weirdo mean by that?' thought the samurai kid before responding, "Myojin Yahiko. Remember the name!"

"Terribly sorry. I don't make a habit of remembering the names of future victims."

"...You son of a bitch!"

In the middle of this embarrassing swordsmanship lesson was a steady beat of weak, avoidable thrusts that kept Yahiko at a distance, not unlike the flickering, long-range staff strikes of May Brooks.

So how come Myojin could counter his sparring partner and get within her striking range but not this much slower fencer with a shorter-reaching rapier?

No, that wasn't it. That was oversimplifying things.

This assassin had rhythm in him. Like a dancer, he could time Yahiko's every strike then his upper body swayed, ducked, and went narrow when the boy managed to cut the distance between them.

This made him difficult to hit despite having a height advantage over the shorter young man. Also, his sword thrusts kept the samurai kid at bay, measuring their distance from each other every time.

His legs also circled and pivoted away from harm before the sakabatou could even touch him, on top of his lead sword hand parrying any other strikes that got past his legwork and bodywork.

This fight made John Rathbone—the duelist fencer personality of The Faceless—reminisce on how the Mimawarigumi Battousai countered his fencing with his own pure skill.

This boy was too inexperienced to figure out Rathbone's swordsmanship style.

However, he was skilled enough to avoid getting finished off by John's riposte. That parrying movement from his crossed wrists deflected his rapier stabs as much as the reverse-edged sword's own parries.

Furthermore, unlike many of his victims in the past, the kid seemed extra skilled at dodging sword thrusts. Like he'd been practicing against this very specific technique.

John marveled at how the kid's tenacity and his best technique—this cross-wrist martial arts block followed by a riposte—kept him from getting skewered when push came to shove.

Rathbone sneered. Yahiko couldn't keep up with the fencer's pure blade techniques, so he had to resort to parrying and riposting himself to survive.

My, my. This kid might prove himself as interesting a fellow as the Kagemusha himself. He was able to push him to an impasse.

'What an excellent Parry Riposte, even though his parrying technique is... unorthodox, to say the least. He's quite the blade catcher. Hmmm. I wonder if he could catch blades with his bare hands. I've heard Japanese swordsmen doing that before.'

The boy was even able to put a scratch on his mask and clip him to the abdomen with what could've been a rib-smashing body blow.

Enough fun and games though. The Faceless had a job to do.

To defeat the Parry and Riposte, one had to do a Compound Attack, otherwise known as a series of Simple Attacks timed with feints to open the defender up to a mistimed parry or riposte that left him vulnerable to the follow-up attacks.

Those were the mind games afforded by the Tactical Wheel that left even the Mimawarigumi Battousai stumped and confused.

It was like a game of Rock Paper Scissors wherein each item defeated the other. However, this time around it was Simple Attack beaten by Parry and Riposte beaten by Counterattack beaten by Simple Attack.

Just as Yahiko feared, his one counter to John's Beat Parry Riposte sequence that let him survive that long soon became too predictable.

Thusly, Rathbone tricked Yahiko into doing the Hadome too early in order to pry the kid's clamshell defense wide open, disarming him with the Circular Parry before he could do the another follow-up Hawatari riposte.

The sakabatou clattered uselessly on the floor. Meanwhile, the top of Yahiko's wrists gushed with his own blood after all the parries he done against John's naked blade with his uncovered hands and arms.

'...Dammit! This masked man is too good!' thought Myojin. He didn't really fall for the trap. Rather, he ran out of options and the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu two-part ougi was the only thing that worked against Rathbone.

His Plan B was actually doing his Hadachi (Sword Break) shirahadori (sword catching) technique—where he caught the sword by one hand and snapped it apart in twain or at least snatched it away—but Rathbone retracted the rapier in time before he could grab it.

Did Rathbone read his Plan B too? Had his every movement been predictable to the gaijin swordsman up to that point.

Nevertheless, as John Rathbone was about run his rapier through in the defenseless Myojin's wide, bugged-out eyes, they then both heard a banshee wail echo across the room from all four corners of it.

Like screeching widows crying at a battlefield filled with their husbands' and sons' corpses.

***

Back outside the affiliate offices of Minakata Pharmaceuticals in Chinatown...

A cold air around Kyoko Sakaguchi became colder somehow, her breath fogging in front of her as she took a knee, her legs buckling from underneath her. Her back felt like it was on fire though.

She looked over her shoulder. There stood—or rather, crawled—the goggled brigand member, looking like a walking bug with his gleaming lenses for eyes.

"Ah. An actual challenge," said he. "That was a superb sword slash. An excellent follow-through from a missed iaijutsu slash. That took me by surprise. You Musou Madden Ryu students are something else."

Resisting the urge to cry, she hissed athim, "Who are you? Why are you after Kinta-sama and the Minakata Family?"

"...Fine then. I'll give you my name, little one. I'm Hidaka Kai of the Fuuma Ninja Clan. Regarding the Minakatas, it's nothing personal, I assure. I'm just here to fulfill a job."

"Wh-Who sent you?"

She barely deflected another rope spear with the Fuyutsuki's naked blade that would've punctured her eye. The strain from her effort took her breath away, with her back screaming in agony for her while her actual throat could only gasp for air.

"Ah, the first piece of information was free. The rest you'll have to take from me. Over my dead body." Hidaka's lengthy exhale created billowing clouds of mist that he disappeared into.

'I-If only Seta Soujiro-kun were here...!' she thought, recalling the time when she saw Keisuke and his Fake Battousai Group murdered in the forest. She thought, like Yahiko Myojin did, that Soujiro killed those men.

It turned out that Soujiro didn't but the duel he had with Yahiko showed that he was quite capable of mass murder.

Wait. No. She had enough of men saving her from other men.

She should've been the one to confront Keisuke and his fellow criminals by herself.

She willed herself to sheathe her sword, knowing her normal swords swings weren't nearly fast or strong enough to even faze the enemy before her. She had to cut him down.

She wanted to be strong. She wanted to be more like her mother, her big sister, their family friend Chizuru Raikouji, or even Soujiro's girlfriend Rin Akahori.

She felt sick and tired of feeling so powerless all this time. She wanted to act. She wanted to help. This was the perfect opportunity to do so.

The Mikazuki O Tsuku Nari (Crescent Moon Slash) wasn't working against Kai Hidaka of the infamous Fuuma Clan.

Or rather, it couldn't hit the acrobatic target before Kyoko.

She tried pushing the ninja away from the compound with her one sword-drawing slash that was about a quarter the power of a Mangetsu O Tsuku Nari (Full Moon Slash) but was also a quarter of a hairbreadth faster.

The shinobi kept flipping away, swinging around with his rope darts, rope spears, and rope grappling hooks. He also swayed his body in weird contortions that prevented the young lady from landing her "signature move".

Actually, it was her best move, since she still hadn't mastered any advanced iaido or iaijutsu slashes above the Crescent Moon Slash, such as the Hangetsu O Tsuku Nari (Half Moon Slash) or Mangetsu O Tsuku Nari (Full Moon Slash).

Of course, the Aoitsuki O Tsuku Nari (Blue Moon Slash) was definitely out of the question. That was a bridge too far for her at this point.

'So this was the power of the Fuuma Clan Ninjas,' she thought, her slashes unable to land. She couldn't chain her attacks as well as Sho Kojima either, so it left her open to counterattacks every time.

Kai toyed with her. Instead of doing counter slashes, he ripped her clothes apart instead to embarrass her, unwilling to hurt her any harder than the deep slash on her back.

How dare he.

Hidaka wolf-whistled. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

This only enraged her further, her slashes becoming sloppier as a result.

She missed him again with her quick-draw slash, not having enough time to sheathe her grandfather's sword as Kai threw a rope spear to her neck.

She then deflected the follow-up projector with her empty scabbard. However, this time around, it resulted in her getting entangled by the rope because Kai jumped over her head then ran circles around her to lasso his rope across her small body.

She fell to the ground, practically hog-tied by Hidaka, who pulled the cords tight enough to make her trip on herself and lose her balance.

Hidaka harrumphed. "Jeez. Even the innocent granddaughter of a Musou Madden Ryu master is troublesome to deal with. What a fearsome iaijutsu school you have there, Missy."

The ninja warrior then shot another rope dart to the roof, with the intention to hide inside the ceiling in order to ambush any remaining, surviving bodyguards who'd dare exit the premises.

"P-Please. S-Stop..." she begged, her eyes welling up as she crawled towards Kai like a worm. "Father is...!"

She remembered that her father was still inside the building. She didn't want Lieutenant Satoru Sakaguchi ending up stabbed from behind by this nimble, rope-climbing shinobi.

"Stop? No. I'm sorry, young lady. I can go wherever I want or do whatever I please. For I am the last of the Fuuma Ninja Clan and I have its name and reputation to live up to."

As he rappelled upwards into the roof, that was when Kyoko attacked him, maneuvering her grandfather's blade in a way to cut through the tight bonds on her arms, hips, and legs.

She dashed towards the flatfooted Kai, quick-sheathing her sword with a supersonic ping sound like a gunslinger holstering his gun for a showdown.

Huh. She had the gall to play possum against him, huh? Right after he decided to spare her life and all too!

Hidaka pulled and retracted the rope spear he shot into the roof, turned, and aimed it at the foolish teenaged girl running towards him with malice in her heart.

***

Back at the main office of the moneychanger building...

Books flew from the bookshelf. Papers scattered across the floor. Vases shattered. Tables were broken in half. Every inch of the walls and floor got marked up by deep cuts and slashes, as though an ax murderer was on the loose there.

Most importantly, blood was spilled. Piles of bodies and limbs were strewn about for good measure. The several of the surviving bodyguards had long ago fled.

What a messy reunion Kinta and Takuto Minakata were having. Their sibling rivalry went to another level of violence even though mere minutes ago, they were mere strangers.

The Battousai of the Mimawarigumi lived up to his ruthless reputation that earned him the same nickname as the Battousai of the Ishin Shishi then and there by absolutely confounding the invading foreigner bastard wielding a bastard sword before him.

A man whom he shared blood with. His half-brother from another father. The Prodigal Son of the Minakatas.

While Yahiko underwent a western swordsmanship clinic under the "tutelage" of The Faceless at the room next to the office they were occupying, so too did Kinta Minakata "school" his estranged younger brother about the ins and outs of Japanese swordsmanship or kenjutsu.

A samurai clinic for kenjutsu and how much faster it was than westernized swordsmanship, if you would.

"Shit," said a bloody Lucas Grant as he spat out blood from his busted lip that was clipped by his big brother Kinta's blinding quickdraw moves with his sword. It was called "Iaijutsu", if Lucas remembered correctly.

Once upon a time, Lucas was supposed to be named Takuto Minakata himself ("Minakata" instead of "Akahori" because Kinta's father, Azuma Akahori, married into the more prestigious Minakata Family).

Lucas attacked with his hybrid sword at varying speeds, breaking his rhythm and the strength of his sword swings by shifting from wielding his bastard sword one handed or two handed.

He took full advantage at how his bastard sword was a hybrid between the one-handed sword and the two-handed longsword.

Ordinarily, this would've allowed him to chop apart and through anyone before him like a butcher would to hanging pigs at the slaughterhouse. They weren't able to predict his wild slashes as they came at varying speeds and strengths.

The two-handed slashes were stronger and bone cutting. The one-handed slashes were faster and flesh cutting. He also did feints for good measure in order to deal with the likes of his master, The Faceless, whenever they sparred.

On top of his whirling dervish of cold steel death, Lucas could also physically assault enemies with punches with his free hand and kicks for good measure. The pommel of his sword's handle also served as a hammering weapon.

The handle itself could block his brother's katana cold like piece of steel pipe.

He used his knowledge of the Tactical Wheel (taught to him by The Faceless) to the utmost in order to keep whatever enemy he faced guessing whether he was going to attack or draw out a counterattack that he'd counter in kind.

However, despite the many dimensions to his swordsmanship that was good enough to murder most of the bodyguards the Minakatas hired, his big brother read him like an open book.

With his almond eyes wide open, Kinta saw through Grant's sleight of hand that allowed him to slip in quick one-handed slashes in between full-on two-handed slashes.

The Kagemusha also made the Prodigal Son miss the mark at every turn, thusly punishing him with either the Tsunami (Tidal Wave) of Old Moon Slashes or the bone-shuddering power of a single Full Moon Slash.

Figuring out that his brother's thicker, denser sword (which was even bigger than Rathbone's rapier) was stronger than even his Japanese blade made of high-grade foreign steel, Kinta dispensed with parries and dealt countless ripostes instead.

If he had to parry, he parried the heavy longsword by the flat of the blade instead of its edge to prevent its thicker part from hammering and shattering his sword the Akatsuki (Red Moon).

Unlike Lucas's bastard sword swings that varied in rhythm and speed, all of Kinta's supersonic swings varied in strength instead. They were all so fast the naked eye couldn't see them.

Their differences in speed between his weakest slash to his strongest slash were instead a matter of milliseconds instead of whole seconds.

This gave the Kagemusha plenty of opportunities to slash apart the defenseless Prodigal Son—who only knew how to attack and whose best defense was unrelenting offense—at will with every swing.

Thusly, Kinta's white shirt became as pink as cherry blossoms because his brother bled on him.

Also, Lucas couldn't land a significant blow on Kinta at all. At least when he sparred with The Faceless, he was able to land once or twice. He couldn't catch his big brother all this time.

Thus Kinta also lived up to his other nickname, Kagemusha. Fighting him was like boxing with your own shadow. He was untouchable.

The literal son of a gun looked like he'd been scourged with whips from the amount of cuts, flesh wounds, and outright ugly lacerations he got from the inimitable Kagemusha.

The shorter Minakata manhandled the taller Grant as though their heights were in reverse and Kinta was the bigger, stronger one of the two.

Like an adult would a little kid. Or how a big brother would toy with his younger sibling.

'Dammit. Cain was right. You really are something special,' thought Lucas.

Aloud, Lucas told Kinta, "Even though you're literally killing me right now, you're the one Minakata I want to kill the least. Aniki (Big brother)."

The Mimawarigumi Battousai could only respond with a glare, his body as tense as a tripwire ready to let his sword fly at the slightest movement from the implacable man before him.

Kinta's ototo (little brother) kept on coming at him like a recurring nightmare, his every wild slash that missed him by inches or centimeters felt like it could lop off his limbs or chop his body in half. Or even in quarters.

A high-pressure offense that pushed him to the edge even though he had not been hit once.

It was like playing dodge the car in the middle of traffic of a busy highway, dodging carriages and wild horses at every turn. Wherein one mistake could spell the difference between life and death.

Grant spared a glance at his Uncle Tatsuya, wrinkling his nose at him like he was a cockroach or a dung beetle. "And you, you're the one among the Minakatas that I want to kill the most. You vile scum."

Lucas remembered how Tatsuya actually hid behind one of his bodyguards and pushed him towards the Prodigal Son's bastard sword in order to escape a sword stab.

The banker truly was toxic sewage water personified. Pure garbage. A narcissist who valued his life over others.

Lucas was so disgusted by the display that he knocked out the bodyguard thrown towards him to spare his life. His life was much more valuable than the pig that used him as a meat shield to save his own hide.

Grant's one regret was all the collateral damage he had to go through in order to finish off the family who betrayed him and his mother.

In the background, Tatsuya Minakata—the uncle to both of the half-brothers—allowed himself to relax and put away his pistol. As insufferable as his nephew Kinta was, he was nevertheless doing short work of his sister's other brat.

However, he kept his grip on the gun regardless because he definitely felt that something was amiss.

The one who ended up out for revenge and hired the Brigands Guild in order to kill the members of the Minakata Family off. As if the fact that he was born at all as a bastard of some gaijin invader wasn't troublesome enough to the Minakatas on its own.

It figured that the forbidden... no godforsaken baby who brought shame to their family was back to pull them further into misfortune and despair. This lovechild of his sister was nothing but bad news.

His sister should've miscarried that devil of a bad seed of hers if he was going to be this much trouble in the future. They should've nipped it in the bud and had a special doctor conduct an abortion for her for good measure.

Tatsuya still had his hand on his pistol regardless. Not only because it was better to be safe than to be sorry.

He felt something was very wrong with this picture. Something was quite amiss.

For one thing, his stack of bodyguards within the room had all been killed, forcing his V.I.P. nephew to do bodyguard work for them.

For another thing, the state of his swordsman nephew concerned him.

Even though he didn't get so much as a nick or scratch from all the high-pressure sword swings he narrowly avoided, Kinta himself did more than break more than a sweat.

He wasn't only covered with his brother's blood but also his own sweat. His breaths became belabored, as though the effort of mauling the black sheep of their family sapped him of energy.

'What the hell are you doing, you stupid brat,' thought Tatsuya, cursing under his breath as he licked his dry, chapped lips. 'Being a professional murderer is the only good thing you've done for this family, dammit! Don't go buckling under the pressure now! Our lives are at stake! My life is on the line!'

Also of note, despite all the blood loss and wounds he received care of his sibling's accurate slashes, Lucas looked strangely calm (if a bit annoyed). Like he was used to being in such a sorry, injured state.

Like he was none the worse for wear. Like the sticky blood all over his body was red paint and his wounds were tiny paper cuts that mostly irritated him.

Tatsuya gulped. The lanky, reed-thin banker and ruthless businessman eyed the nearby exit. It wasn't all that far away, but while Lucas was there, that door might as well be located in China or America.

So close yet so far.

***

In the shadows lurked Kaita of the Sanada Ninja Clan. The invisible ninja (secret agent).

He'd thrown several kunai (daggers) at the Prodigal Son to hinder his bloody warpath, which bought Kinta time to prepare himself and saved the lives of several Minakata bodyguards, allowing them to escape.

However, even though he kept the security safe, the two V.I.P.s he should've prioritized protecting remained in the line of fire against this crazed gaijin with his western-style double-edged katana.

Also, the kunai that stabbed Lucas Grant barely fazed him. Like he'd been pelted with pebbles or pricked with needles.

He wished he could do more to help, but this Takuto person seemed used to catching blades from out of nowhere. Like he was used to the shadowy tricks of ninjutsu (way of the ninja).

It must've been through Grant's training with The Faceless, who seemed like the western version of a Japanese shinobi (spy) himself.

Regardless, Kaita had one task at hand. To keep the Minakatas safe from harm by any means necessary.

In light of how worthless the Minakata bodyguards ended up being, the young ninjutsu master ended up relieved in retrospect that he summoned the Sanyoukai (Three Demons) of the Sanada Ninja Clan to help them out.

Sure enough, just as Kinta's Akatsuki clanged hard against the handle of Lucas's bastard sword, something rather stress-relieving happened.

Grant's handle block of the second attempt at the Blue Moon Slash (a double Full Moon Slash a fraction of a second apart from each other) would've finally allowed him to just grab hold of his tired brother and stab him to death.

However, fortune smiled on the Minakatas once more as one of the Three Demons appeared out of nowhere and blasted the lanky Lucas away right into the nearest wall like he was shot out of the cannon.

As though he were Marimo the Human Cannonball.

***

Meanwhile, in the next room where The Faceless and Yahiko Myojin were having their own duel...

A large, 6-foot-something barreled through the wall like it was made of cardboard with a crash worthy of a full-powered Dou Gami.

This allowed Yahiko to roll away from the thrust to his eye, the rapier clipping his eyebrow and temple, before he made a mad dash and scramble towards Kenshin's sakabatou.

Of course, he also had to stare slack-jawed at what happened first, along with The Faceless (presumably, since he was wearing a mask and his features weren't visible).

He had no time to think about what just happened and what its implications were. He just had to act fast, trusting his instincts would steer him through.

Anyway, what the hell was that? What came crashing down the wall? A bomb? A carriage?

No, it was a body. Another foreigner in a fetal position, covered in rubble, his blond hair matted with red blood.

Yahiko's eyes narrowed. The way the man crashed reminded him of Kenshin Himura's Dou Ryu Sen (Earth Dragon Flash) or his own Dou Gami (God on Earth).

Who was responsible for this?

The smoke cleared, and out came three shinobi also reminiscent of the circus freaks that were the Tokyo Oniwabanshu.

Each wore different masks, just like the loony with the rapier defeated all of Yahiko's Kamiya Kasshin Revisal Techniques.

One wore a green snake mask and had a gaudy armor made of snake scales. He held on both hands extra-thick twin whips that were also made of snake hide, their handles adorned with snake heads and their tips adorned with snake tails. Yes. He had taxidermy snakes for whips.

Another wore a scarlet demonic oni (ogre) mask with small horns on the forehead and spiky hair that might've been part of the mask design. He was decked in blood-red clothing and armed to the teeth with various swords, daggers, shuriken (ninja stars), and various projectiles. He held with him a two-pronged war fork.

The last one wore a realistic bat mask that looked like taxidermy work but its head was far too large to belong to a real bat. He had daggers attached to the side of his gloves like fins, a black-and-blue garb that allowed him to blend into the night, and a bat-winged raggedy cape that billowed behind him.

"Yikesss. I think I overdid it with the ssshockwave," said the man underneath the snake mask, who had a bit of a lisp to his speech.

"Good," the solemn one of the trio, the one with the bat mask, tersely said. "You're supposed to do that."

The third man, the one with the horned ogre mask, cackled. "Baku is right, Ren. If you've actually managed to kill Lucas Grant, then our mission is complete."

"If that'sss the cassse, then ssstab him to death now, sss-Zan!" rebutted the ninja snake man named Ren, only to end up face-to-face with The Faceless.

"Oh, so the Minakatas had ninja backup aside from their usual collection of useless cops and hired guns and swords," said John Rathbone, his rapier at the ready as he did the fencing "En Garde" ready stance.

'Who are these freaks?' thought Yahiko. 'Are they more of the brigands from the Brigands Guild? They aren't as tall as the foreign invaders, so maybe they're Japanese traitors like that one ninja guy they described in the briefing that swung around with a grappling hook and rope spears!'

However, the thing that happened next made Myojin doubt that all four of these masked men were allies. Otherwise, the Brigands Guild had a real problem with in-fighting among their ranks.

Rathbone ended up dueling all three of the demonic and animalistic ninjas before him, with them scattering like cockroaches then swarming him like bees from a disturbed hive.

Myojin couldn't believe his eyes. He didn't know what to be amazed at more—having these three ninjas push The Faceless to the brink or seeing The Faceless still avoid getting skewered or penetrated when faced with a triple team.

After that, Yahiko ended up seeing yet another masked ninja in front of him. However, this one wore the traditional ninjutsu cloth mask over the mouth rather than the elaborate costume mask of the other three shinobi.

"Oh good! One of you (the Minakatas' bodyguards) survived!" said the white-haired ninja who appeared out of nowhere, seemingly emerging from the shadows like how one would slowly fade out of existence in the darkness but in reverse. "Help me get evacuate the Minakatas out of these office!"

Huh. There was something mighty familiar with the way this ninja came out of the blue like that.

No, it wasn't like Aoshi Shinomori's Ryusui no Ugoki (Water Flow Movement). Instead, it reminded Yahiko of another ninja he fought recently.

Another invisible ninja.

Why was Yahiko feeling strangely nostalgic today? First, it was The Faceless and his stupid Tactical Wheel fencing. Second, it was this teleporting ninja. Maybe he was missing Tokyo a little too much.

"Uh, okay," said Yahiko, who then saw a sweaty Kinta and, uh, a trembling Uncle(?) Minakata follow behind this new ninja guy.

For some reason, the infamous Mimawarigumi Battousai and Shogo Amakusa's doppelganger looked pretty winded. Like he just ran a marathon.

"What's your name, bodyguard?" asked the ninja. "You're a bit short for a bodyguard, though."

"Tokyo Shizoku (Tokyo Warrior Class). Myojin Yahiko," answered Yahiko. "Also, I'm taller than you, Shorty." Sure enough, Kaita was indeed half a foot shorter than Myojin.

'Shizoku, huh?' thought Kinta. 'So he belongs to the same warrior class as the Sakaguchis.'

"Okay. Whatever, kid. I'm Kaita from the Sanada Ninja Clan. At your service," said Kaita.

"At my service?" asked Yahiko.

"No, you cheeky bodyguard. The Minakatas."

"Oohh."

Kaita shook his head. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Out of all the bodyguards in the next room, the only one left standing was this boy.

Even though he had to face that monster. The man known by many names—The Faceless.

The swordsman from another land who dueled Kinta Minakata to a draw.

Kaita then turned and addressed everyone before him. "Kinta-danna (Master Kinta). Tatsuya-danna. Myojin-da... well, Myojin Yahiko. Follow me."

Kinta and Yahiko exchanged brief glances and curt nods at each other.

'It's that kid again. The one that Satsuki beat at sparring,' thought the Mimawarigumi Battousai. 'She barely beat him at sparring,' he corrected himself.

"You're from a samurai family, right? Who is your father?" asked Kinta, to Yahiko's surprise.

"He was a member of the Shogi Tai and died for his beliefs," Myojin answered.

"Shogi Tai, huh? He must be a well-respected man," said the Minakata heir, to which Yahiko could only nod and answer, "Yes, he was."

To himself, Myojin thought, 'He's much friendlier than Shinomori Aoshi after all.' What a nice guy, that Kinta.

He was a hell of a swordsman too, merely judging from how untouched he was against his foreign half-brother.

As Yahiko escorted the Minakatas along with Kaita towards the exit of the building, the overwhelming stench of death assaulted them as soon as they opened the door outside the main office.

Even before the Prodigal Son had declared his war on the Minakatas in person, he and the rest of the Brigands had already made short work of the army of hired guns and swords the Minakata Family got to protect them from assassination.

The rusty tang of blood permeated in the air like a heavy velvet cloak of red death.

'Oh no,' thought Yahiko, a chill running down his spine. 'What happened to Officer Daddy? I mean, Kyoko's father? Also, what about Kyoko? Or Satsuki? Did any of them make it or...?'

It reminded Myojin of the massacre of the Fake Battousai Group. Or the horror stories he heard about Makoto Shishio's Ten Swords.

According to Kenshin, they actually put a whole village under siege once just so Shishio could enjoy its nearby hot springs.

How was the Brigands Guild able to do this from under their noses? How many of them were inside the halls of this office? How many members did they have in the first place.

***

Back outside the affiliate offices of Minakata Pharmaceuticals in Chinatown...

'No,' Kyoko Sakaguchi thought with a grimace. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. After the countless hours of practice and drills, it couldn't end this way.

Was all the effort she exerted a waste after all? Could she never catch up against the more talented students of Musou Madden Ryu like Satsuki Sakaguchi or Kinta Minakata?

Was she always going to be a victim? Was she forever defined by the moment when the late Keisuke assaulted her and hurt her father?

'She's being too impatient,' thought Kai. 'She's rushing in and forcing her attack when quick-draw strikes are all about patience and timing. Just like an impatient child. Or an emotional woman.'

"NOOOO!" she screamed, attempting to do a Half Moon Slash of her own, but this put severe strain on her arms, hips, and back due to the increase in centrifugal force.

Identifying the sudden burst of speed, even if it was just slightly faster, Hidaka responded by throwing his rope spear right into the direction of the whirling and pivoting girl.

She unsheathed the sword in time, the extra strong pull stretching her arm outward so hard it felt like it was going to get ripped off of her shoulder from the socket. The rope got sliced cleanly, its sharp end embedding itself into the ground with a dull thunk.

More importantly, because it was a Half Moon Slash, its striking range or area of effectiveness went further than just directly before her.

"S-So fast," the ninja couldn't help but mumble as Kyoko came at him like a streak of greased lightning.

Kai dodged the slash with an upper body sway, sidestep, jump back, and swing away with a rope dart to the roof. Like he always did.

Only for his face to get sprayed with a fountain of his own blood.

"WHAT THE HELL...!?" he screamed before gurgling and choking with the red liquid.

Kyoko didn't fare any better than Hidaka though.

Every nerve of her petite body—as well as she herself with her mouth—then screamed in agony after she failed to do the proper follow-through from the slash.

'I'm short of breath. My arms and legs feel so heavy they feel like someone else's. My thoughts are muddled. And I can't even think... Father, Grandpa, Kinta-sama, help...!'

She crumpled down on the ground like cloth that fell from the clothesline, with nothing to support it.

However, her effort bore fruit. She cut right into the vest and goggled mask of Hidaka, drawing blood from chest to neck and chin.

Any deeper, and the blade would've reached his heart and killed him. Sliced his jaw in half. Split apart his Adam's apple. Made him breathe through his neck.

This "mere" girl was a threat to his life after all. He had to finish her off.

He swung around the trembling girl then tired a noose around her neck, with the intention of hanging her like many of his other victims.

"You want a war? You're gonna get one, bitch. The Fuuma Clan wills it."

***

Back inside the long halls of the affiliate offices of Minakata Pharmaceuticals in Chinatown...

Kaita the Sanada Ninja led the Minakatas and Yahiko out of the office, which had become an unfamiliar labyrinth due to all the piled-up bodies and blood splattered all over the walls.

All the lamps were also cut down to size or had their flames put out as well, which necessitated the shadow warrior to take out a small lantern to light their way.

"Hey, Sanada Kaita. Where are we?" asked Myojin.

This guy. "My family name isn't Sanada," answered Kaita. "Also, you talk too much."

"But you just said you're from the Sanada Ninja Clan."

"Our ninja clan was established under the Sanada Nobishige. Laymen like you know him as Sanada Yukimura. Historically, we got the name of our clan from him in honor of him."

"No way. You're pulling my leg!"

"...."

Yukimura or Nobushige Sanada was a famous Japanese samurai warrior of the Sengoku (Warring States) Era. He was especially known as the leading general on the defending side of the Siege of Osaka.

He was a historical figure like Hajime Saito was, except even more ancient. So the Sanada Ninja Clan had been serving him since the late 1500s, huh? Their clan should therefore be 300 years old!

Yahiko blinked then nodded, rubbing his chin. "Huh. You learn a new thing everyday." To himself, he thought, 'Unbelievable. The Minakatas have historical ninja clans serving under them? It pays to be rich, huh?'

Something else then occurred to him. All this talk of historical figures reminded him of how Shogo Amakusa himself once embraced the name Amakusa, thusly calling himself the Second Coming of Shiro Amakusa.

The infamous Shiro Tokisada Amakusa led the Shimabara Rebellion, an uprising of Japanese Roman Catholics against the Shogunate from December 17, 1637 to April 15, 1638. They were defeated, and Shiro was executed at the age of 17.

As though Shogo was the grown-up version of that 17-year-old saint.

Could there be a connection?

The musty tang spread all over the rooms and hallways, seemingly permeating right into their clothes. It'd take weeks to wash the smell out.

Kaita, Kinta, and Yahiko were used to the smell, for good or for ill. Tatsuya felt like puking then and there.

The smell of blood and cut meat. They truly were dealing with butchers, weren't they?

"There shouldn't be more than three Brigands in this building," Kaita reported to his master, Kinta. "Two of their members are currently in Yokohama Police custody."

Kinta nodded. "Are you sure there are only five of them?"

Kaita responded, "We've researched all the recent arrivals at the Yokohama pier and recorded sightings of their criminal activities. There are five of them that we know of. Your half-brother, Lucas Grant. The man with many identities, The Faceless. The poison swordsman Cain Merrick. The acrobatic ninja Hidaka Kai. And the axe murderer Hugo Lentz."

'There are only five of them? And two of them are in jail?' thought Yahiko. 'Three people are responsible for this massacre? It's like we're dealing with hitokiri or the Juppon Gatana here!'

Kinta's eyebrows furrowed. "Something is amiss."

They then met up with a familiar face before they arrived at the exit.

***

Back outside the office...

The rope dart hooked itself unto Kyoko's shoulder, while the rope wrapped around her neck like a lasso over cattle. 'Oh no...!'

The sprain on her shoulder and the strain on her body kept her from using her grandpa's sword to cut down the rope.

Before she knew it, Kai Hidaka of the Fuuma Clan had already found a nearby tree for which to lynch her, with him using his own strength to raise her body up to hang her by her neck with the noose.

It hurt to breathe. Her life then flashed before her eyes.

She remembered playing around the dojo where Kinta Minakata practiced, admiring his perfect form and perseverance. She also recalled marveling at the golden locks of the foreign girl that would become her sister.

May Brooks was her birth name but she looked ecstatic when Grandpa Genzo had her put in the family registry as Satsuki Sakaguchi instead.

There was also Chizuru Raikouji, who was her big sister's rich best friend that wasn't at all like the rich kids and adults that regularly visited the many Minakata special events and various properties across Yokohama and beyond.

She remembered her goofy father Satoru doting over her, which made her mother giggle. He was a soft-spoken yet dependable sort of man in contrast to her headstrong mother that kind of reminded her of Chizuru.

No wonder their family friend Chizuru and Nonoko got along famously. Like two peas in a pod.

She vaguely remembered her grandfather not approving of her parents' relationship, but her father won her mother over by supporting her dreams of opening her own soba shop instead of inheriting the family trade of blacksmithing and jewelry making.

'Mother. Father. Goodbye. I love you,' she thought as she drifted into the black abyss, tears falling from her eyes.

She then felt precious air to rush back to her lungs as the vise grip unto her neck loosened. Did the rope break? Did this enemy before them decide to spare her?

No, there wasn't a merciful bone in his body.

Unable to brace herself as she fell, she felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Afterwards, strong hands caught her in mid-fall.

She opened her eyes. First, her blurry eyes saw a flabbergasted Kai scrambling back to his feet. "What was that slash...!?"

She blinked back tears then saw her father carrying her. Saving her once again from harm.

She smiled. "Father."

He looked scuffed-up and his disheveled uniform was torn in several places, but he was otherwise all right.

He came back for her, even after she insisted to do bodyguard duty for the Minakatas when her whole family was against it.

He wasn't looking at her though. He instead stared straight at Hidaka, speaking in a cold voice and timber she rarely heard before.

"Get away from my daughter, you freak."

***

Lucas Grant dug himself out of the pile of wood and plaster that he got buried under after something made him crash into the wall.

Dammit, and he was so close to beating his skilled half-brother at their sword battle too! Who dared interrupt him and his long-lost brother's fateful duel?

"Yo. I sssee that you're awake, gaijin."

Lucas shook the cobwebs out of his head, his vision finally clearing as he stared at the person who said those disrespectful yet lisped words.

It was a grown man wearing a snake mask and leathery body armor made of snakeskin while holding two taxidermy boa constrictor snakes as whips.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I am Ren of the SSSanada SSSanyoukai (Three Demons). And now that you know my name, you're asss good asss dead."

What the hell was he looking at? What was going on here? Ah, it didn't matter who this clown was. Or that he talked with a strange lisp. What mattered was that he was in the way.

He was in the way of his revenge against the evil Minakatas and like the noble demon of an heir. The Kagemusha who became their chosen one instead of him, the black sheep of their family.

He then saw Ren whirl his snake whips in such a way that their resulting whipcrack—essentially a miniature sonic boom—burst into a huge shockwave of a landslide that buried him anew in plaster and wood as well as earth, rock, and tiles.

Huh. His mission of revenge in Japan was going to be tougher than he thought.

The whole room shook from the resulting explosion that Lucas jumped and rolled away from.

He grinned. 'Interesting.'

***

Before Lieutenant Satoru Sakaguchi went back outside to save his daughter from being lynched by the Brigands Guild's Kai Hidaka...

"Kinta-sama! Yahiko! Watch out! It's a trap!" a scuffed-up and disheveled Lieutenant Satoru Sakaguchi shouted out to the Minakatas and their escorts while doing battle with his saber on one of the guards he was with.

The quartet of Yahiko Myojin, Kaita, Kinta Minakata, and Tatsuya Minakata were in the middle of the lobby inside the moneychanger office when they were ambushed.

By the undead. Or rather, the living dead. As in their living traitorous bodyguard pretending to be dead, lying near the bodies of the unaware bodyguards they had killed.

Hiding behind freshly killed bodies was a classic ambush tactic by the ninjas of Japan.

Fascinating how the Brigands were able to come up with it. Perhaps it was taught to them by that acrobatic ninja in their ranks? Or maybe The Faceless himself had a ninja disguise and training.

"Watch out, Ojisan (Old Man)!" shouted Myojin, who snatched out the glinting something in the darkness by reflex.

The attempted stab to Tatsuya's side was deflected by Yahiko's Sword Break technique that allowed him to catch blades with his bare hands.

Instead of attempting to break such a short dagger, the boy instead twisted and broke the wrist of the man holding the weapon. This was before he slammed the handle of the sakabatou into the person's throat.

Kinta himself did a destructive Full Moon Slash that dropped multiple attackers at once, resulting in multiple sprays of blood that didn't look any different from the rest of the splatters made by the actual bodies of dead bodyguards.

Yahiko whistled in appreciation. 'And here I thought Satsuki's Full Moon Slash was a thing of beauty! Damn. Look at how fast and smooth he drew out that katana. No wonder he's called the Mimawarigumi Battousai.'

Kinta didn't even break a sweat slashing apart their ambushers.

Weird. Earlier, he looked like he ran a marathon. So he already recovered from earlier?

From what little he'd seen of him so far, Yahiko surmised that Kinta's iaijutsu style was so perfect that he used minimal effort.

Wait. What was it about his half-brother alone that tired him out compared to him easily dispatching multiple attackers?

"You bastards! I paid good money for you! Traitors!" screamed a sweaty Tatsuya, who took out his pistol and started shooting at everything that moved, which made both Yahiko and Kinta jump away from him.

As for Kaita, he was nowhere to be seen suddenly. Did he abandon them in their time of need?

Nope. Instead, unseen from the darkness, he threw his kunai at various hidden bodyguards in between panels, sliding doors, walls, and ceilings as they moved in for the kill.

These blades served as tags or markers for both Yahiko and Kinta to take the remaining turncoats out with sword slashes, scabbard strikes, and pummeling handle strikes.

This ninja with the cloth mask and white hair was a pretty dependable person himself. Like a male Misao Makimachi or something.

It was here that Kinta noticed the strange blade of the young man. A reverse-edged sword. He heard tales and rumors of his namesake, the Hitokiri Battousai, carrying such a sword.

So Munenori Minoe was telling the truth. The kid that tagged along with him did know who the real Battousai was.

Fascinating.

The Yokohama Lieutenant finally reached the quartet after dispatching the last nearby bodyguard traitor. "We were setup! Every other bodyguard in this building is working for the Brigands."

"'Is'?" repeated Tatsuya before reloading his pistol, moving towards a groaning ambusher who was still alive, and shot him in the head. "Not 'is'. 'Was'."

Kinta then asked Satoru, "Where's Kyoko?"

Satoru answered, "I left her outside with the perimeter security guards." The color from his sweaty, bruised face then drained, his mouth hanging open as he mouthed, 'Oh no,' but no sound came out of his mouth.

A chill traveled the back of Yahiko's head, his heart sinking. "I'm going to save her, Satoru-san!" but then he got grabbed by the shoulder. By Kinta. "Wha...?"

"Please," said the Mimawarigumi Battousai. "Take care of my uncle. I'm going to Kyoko."

Yahiko gulped and absently nodded at Kinta. He then looked over beside him, expecting to see their ninja guide, but he couldn't locate him.

The Tokyo Samurai Descendant then yelped out when Kaita chimed in from behind him, "Understood, Kinta-danna. Myojin Yahiko and I will escort Tatsuya-danna out of Chinatown."

And so it was decided that they split up, with Yahiko and Kaita protecting Tatsuya while Kinta and Satoru went straight for Kyoko.

However, even after exiting the moneychanger office, they weren't exactly home-free yet.

***

To Be Continued...

Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm also using minor Rurouni Kenshin filler episode characters along with Original Characters (Do Not Steal) to fill out the lore of this series.

However, Marimo Ebisu the Cannonball Girl did so well a couple of chapters ago that I couldn't help myself. Besides which, the Sanada Ninja Clan has been lurking around the block since the earlier chapters anyway.

The déjà vu joke from Gan is from an episode of "Friends". Phoebe says it. I also included some malaphors (the blending of idioms or clichés until they don't make sense) I've read in some meme in their dialog for good measure.

Danke, Abdiel

#rurouni kenshin #るろうに剣心 #rurouni yahiko #るろうに弥彦 #fan fiction #fanfiction.net

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pkmncoordinators · 6 years

Note

This question is probably random, but after seeing how many reviews you had for your fanfics (especially TAC), I had to ask. I was wondering if you ever had very incredibly weird reviews that even to this day you think about.

Oh my god, have I. I’ve had several fucking weird reviews, but let me share some of my personal favorites.

To start, a review from The Ash Connection:

Let me tell you something misty is ugly and a Sherman taking steroids and other drugs like drinking strawberry meth so you need to learn to love sexy girls and drug shemans go for flannery Candice Cynthia Soledad skyla elesa ok

This one needs no comment. It is presented, as is, in its full glory.

To follow up, another review from The Ash Connection. It is, in fact, the sequel to the previous review:

Again I just like to say fuuck this I haven't read it yet but I read the review (I don't know what shipping this is ) but misty a sheman and you need to put in this story so been doing drugs and taking steroids and sex pills (men's one for bigger peniis) and becomes a ugly drugged man in this story ok now I'm going to read it NOOOOOOOOO OO POKESHIPPING IT'S GAY ASH ISN"t GAY HE NEEDS SEXY GIRLS LIKE DAWN ELESA CYNTHIA (damn sexy Cynthia ) SKYLA CANDICE FLANNERY understand POKESHIPPERS GO TO HEELL YOU SICK DOGS (biitches) BECAUSE YOU NEED TO LEARN READ GAY STORY'S LIKE ASH X SHEMAN IS JUST OMG

The final review I’d like to share is from The Ash Connection II. It is unabridged. This is a real review I received, for no apparent reason, and it is to date probably my favorite:

Pokemon Rant on the evil PaulWhy I hate PaulThe Paul I am referring to is a character in the pokemon anime, who is currently Ash's primary rival while the group is in the Sinnoh region. Paul is really a varied character: on the forums, the Paul character discussion thread has, at the time of writing, nearly spans twenty pages, though most of it is saying how "awesome" he is. However, I do not think he is awesome. I hate him more than I hate Harley from the same show. I want to strangle Paul and break one of his limbs. Most probably won't know why I feel this way, so I will explain.First, Pokemon are sentient beings in this setting. As Linkara pointed out in his review of "Captain Planet and the Planeteers #3," if animals were truly intelligent enough to make their own decisions and follow orders, animals would easily be given rights. Considering that many pokemon in this setting are shown to be smart enough to qualify, pokemon should have a bill of rights. In the real world, Paul's treatment of his pokemon would be classified as cruelty to animals and he would be arrested and sent to Juvenile court, regardless of whether or not his pokemon appreciated his method of training. Though seeing how the world lacks competent police officers and encourages ten year old children to wander around with no parental supervision with only tamed animals for protection, the government must be very inadequate. While I'm on the subject, why haven't his pokemon objected to his training methods? Sure, they might want to get stronger, but considering that his training methods in the Tag Battle arc would've gotten Chimchar killed had it not been for Ash's intervention, wouldn't at least one or two of them start having second thoughts about their trainer? Heck, seeing how strong they are and how humans are pretty much powerless without technology, I'm surprised his pokemon haven't killed him by now. Pokeballs must have great taming powers to keep pokemon from generally rebelling against their trainers.Second, why hasn't anyone reprimanded him? I know I'm stressing this, but why hasn't Paul been punished for his behaviour? He clearly abuses his own pokemon, physically as evident in the aforementioned Tag Battle arc and emotionally, as seen when blames his pokemon for defeats, even after he's stated that when a battle is lost, the trainer is at fault, which not only proves he's a hypocrite but also doesn't make much sense considering the pokemon have all the power in this setting. Shouldn't he have gotten some form of punishment by this point? Not even his older brother, Reggie (who I should note is more like Ash in personality and training methods), has done anything about this. Why in the name of Slaking's lazy ass hasn't Reggie done anything to discipline him? Is Reggie really hoping that Paul will eventually change his way, as unlikely as it is? If Paul crossed the line, outright killing pokemon and showing no remorse for this, would Reggie still be hoping for Paul to change? I highly doubt it.Third, why would anyone want to be anywhere near him? Paul's character in the show is that of a condescending jackass who looks down on almost everyone, including those closest to him (when he admits that his brother was weak after failing to get the Brave Symbol and moving on with his life), and he's too arrogant to admit that he's flawed. In real life, absolutely no one would want to be around him, let alone be associated with him. To be honest, I think the only reason Reggie even gives him a chance is because they're brothers. Also, consider the fact that Paul is supposed to be ten years old (and I say "supposed to" because given that he's said to be the same age as Ash, and how the creators have stated that Ash is still ten after more than five hundred episodes, I don't think many actually take that statement seriously). Most ten year olds are not like Paul at all, which would prompt most to wonder, "What is wrong with him?" It's likely that Reggie would've gotten many complaints about Paul's cold and heartless antics, and as patient as he might be, he will eventually run out of tolerance.As for how he interacts with others, with Ash and friends in particular, he's the same as with anyone else: rude, arrogant, and generally unfriendly, despite that Ash and co have tried to be friendly every time they've crossed paths. I'm surprised that, seeing how unlikely Paul is to change his attitude, they still try to be friendly with him. If they were a normal group of teens, one of them (most likely Ash) would've given him a hard smack upside the head.He's said to be respectful to superiors such as Nurse Joy, Professor Rowan, and Cynthia. However, seeing as how he ignored Nurse Joy's warning for Chimchar's safety in the Tag Battle arc (I'll detail this below), ignored Cynthia's encouragement to change into a more caring trainer, I get the feeling that it's mostly a façade. If he truly did respect them, he would've followed their advice.With all of these in mind, why anyone interacts with him is a big question left in everyone's minds. Fourth, he's become the creator's pet. In the many times I keep my eye on the show, I find myself desperately hoping the writers would give him some form of karma. Much to my annoyance, they do not. Even if they do give him some karma, it never lasts: I can think of at least three cases where he could've used a good smacking: the first is a particularly frustrating case when Paul's victory against Ash after having a humiliating loss against Brandon's regi trio. After all, what better way to break him and get him to start rethinking his priorities by beating him after a particularly horrible loss? Instead, they have Paul win against Ash in a very one-sided battle, with Paul pretty much learning that no matter who he loses to, Ash will be his punching bag.Another case I hoped for a good smacking was for a gym leader to confiscate and refuse to hand Paul a gym badge due to his rude and condescending gloating after getting the Veilstone Gym badge from Maylene. Maylene was pretty much a new gym leader at this point, and gym leaders command respect, no matter how new they are. By all means, Maylene should've forbid him the badge because he didn't treat her with the respect that gym leaders deserve. The aforementioned tag battle arc is another point that could've given him the chance to be taught the error of his ways. After Chimchar was rescued by Ash and put into recovery, Nurse Joy warned him not to put the injured pokemon into battle because the injuries are numerous; naturally, being the insensitive jerk he is, he ignores the warning, knowing that a rival pokemon that Chimchar feared would be there, stupidly thinking that Chimchar would fight with more fury: as expected, Chimchar froze in fear, which is what happens most of the time in real life. Again, why in the name of Slaking's lazy ass didn't Nurse Joy report this? In the real world, people such as her are required to report such abuses to authorities, though considering Japan is drastically behind on the whole reporting abuse issue, it just leaves negative implications. Had I been in her position, I would've reported him to the authorities, complete with the threat of removing him from the tournament if he ignored the warning, as well as following on that threat.Seriously, the lack of punishment and defeats lead me to believe that Paul is like a cheating spoiled brat who has to win, and the writers are following his demands. I swear the only reason he isn't on the TvTropes Wesley page is because of his Draco in Leather Pants status, which is described below.Fifth, the fanbase adores him for all the wrong reasons. I have to admit, this is one of my biggest gripes with the character. It wouldn't be so bad if the audience treated him appropriately, but they don't. Instead, he's glorified and held in a positive light in spite of his generally repulsive attitude, which gets downplayed. While the entire fanbase doesn't adore him and shares some of my sentiments, those who don't raise him to god status are the vast minority.Many say they like Paul because how he's isn't a "goody two shoes" rival like many rivals in the show. In real life, a rival like Paul is the last kind of rival you'd want; since he's an arrogant bully who'd more likely drain the fun out of everything (it wouldn't surprise me if a lot of trainers who lost to Paul gave up training all together). A good rival is someone who provides a challenge, but is a good sport and gives friendly encouragement. Another point that drives me crazy with the fanbase is that they do romance stories with him and Dawn. Forgetting the fact that they barely have any interaction in canon, their personalities are the exact opposite: Dawn is a cheerful girl (when she isn't faking smiles through all of the defeats she's gone through) who is supportive of her friends and participates in contests; in contrast, Paul only goes into battling and is, as I've said before, a cold, condescending jackass who'd more likely make you want to slit your wrists when you're in a depressed mood. And then there are the people who pair him up with Ash, of all people; first, this is a kids' show, so romance is likely light at best, if close to nonexistent. Second, knowing how dull Ash is with romance and how Paul only thinks about battling, a romance with the two characters is near impossible. Third, it's very unlikely that they'd strike in a homosexual relationship, even if Japan is more lenient on the whole subject.No matter what Paul does, the fans who worship the ground he walks on will downplay the horrific stuff, such as Chimchar's abuse in the Tag Battle arc. Even if he destroys a clutch of pokemon eggs after beating up the guarding parents, even if he murders people, or even if he nearly destroyed a town, they'd still fawn over him, where normally most people would consider him a monster after any of tho

#Anonymous

12 notes · View notes

sassiperere · 7 years

Text

Sex Tape

Title: Sex Tape Pairing: Akira Kurusu/Ryuji Sakamoto Rating: M (implied sexual content) Word Count: 3712 Summary: futaba gets a hold of some compromising information and it all goes downhill from there (chatfic)

Fucking i dont even REMEMBER how we got to this conversation in the pegoryu discord server BUT WE DID and we semi rpd this whole thing at 11pm all the way through midnight and i was writing this thing based on that conversation at like 2 am so im actually very embarrassed but anyway enjoy this fucking chaos of a fanfic

READ IT ON AO3

GROUP NAME: ✨ PHANTOM THIEVES ✨

MEMBERS: Capable Leader™, -` RYUJI ´-, ANN~, Yusuke K., Makoto, [hacker voice].

TODAY 00:47 AM

[hacker voice]: Gee, futaba, what do you do with all your amazing hacking skills?

[hacker voice]: I leak government secrets, destroy anonymous organizations and hack into my old neopets account because I forgot the password and I wanted to feel nostalgic

Makoto: What’s that?

[hacker voice]: children’s website. You had to adopt a “neopet” and raise it kinda like a Tamagotchi. It had some really fun features like games and events and shit. It really kept me entertained when I was younger

[hacker voice]: comfort site, if you will.

Makoto: Sounds nice!

Capable Leader™: you played that? I thought it was really boring when I tried

[hacker voice]: with all due respect wtf is wrong with you?

Capable Leader™: I dunno, all the neopets looked kinda ugly…

[hacker voice]: you have a dick with tentacles as a persona and you’re calling neopets ugly????

Capable Leader™: I never said Mara was pretty

[hacker voice]: point taken

[hacker voice]: but like my point is

[hacker voice]: kacheeks

Capable Leader™: They were kinda cute but I abandoned one for a soy sauce or whatever was that dragon one

[hacker voice]: that’s it

[hacker voice]: that’s where I draw the line

[hacker voice]: you’re dead to me

[hacker voice]: I’m leaking your nudes

Capable Leader™: WTF?? HOW DO YOU HAVE THEM?? I DON’T EVEN HIDE THEM IN MY PHONE ANYMORE??

[hacker voice]: oh my god you actually have nudes?

Capable Leader™: oh…

Capable Leader™: woops…

ANN~: knew it

ANN~: @ -` RYUJI ´- pay the fuck up

-` RYUJI ´-: wtf? WTF??? WTF AKIRA???

-` RYUJI ´-: WHY DO YOU HAVE NUDES??

-` RYUJI ´-: ARE THEY YOURS OR LIKE NUDES YOU RECEIVED?

Capable Leader™: Listen

[hacker voice]: update I got them

Capable Leader™: do you really?

[hacker voice]: four of them were taken on the same day cause your nails were painted black and the other two are from a different angle and your underwear has paw prints on it

Capable Leader™: fuck.

-` RYUJI ´-: FOR REAL??

Makoto: Excuse me what kind of nonsense is going on right now?

[hacker voice]: I hacked into Akira’s PC and got his super secret dick pix

Makoto: I expected better from both of you

ANN~: Guys I’m heer im just slaughging so hard I cant se

-` RYUJI ´-: WHY DO YOU HAVE THESE?? WHO ARE YOU SENDING THEM TO??

Capable Leader™: does it matter who I send my genitals to?

-` RYUJI ´-: UH YEAH?? I CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE WORRIED ABOUT THIS CAN I??

Yusuke K.: What seems to be the matter?

-` RYUJI ´-: AKIRAS BEEN SENDING NUDES TO STRANGERS AND FUTABA GOT THEM

Yusuke K.: Akira I did not know you had nude portraits of yourself

Yusuke K.: You should have informed me. I would gladly appraise them.

Yusuke K.: I would love to paint you too, if you so desire. I’m sure your form is marvelous to capture on canvas.

-` RYUJI ´-: dude…

ANN~: I FEEL BAD THAT IM LAUGHING

Makoto: @Yusuke K. it’s really not what you think…

[hacker voice]: ryuji are you

[hacker voice]: jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeealous?

PRIVATE MESSAGE: the blonde fuckboy one

the blonde fuckboy one: yo futaba

the blonde fuckboy one: do you actually for real have akiras dick there?

You: YOU ARE I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS

the blonde fuckboy one: stfu

You: yeah I do have akira’s nudes for real, here I’ll send you a sneaky preview as proof

You sent AKIRA_NUDE_1_CENSOR.jpeg

the blonde fuckboy one: oh my god

You: interested in the full, uncensored ver? For a mere fee of 400y you can have it

the blonde fuckboy one: no wtf im not gonna do that to my bro akira

the blonde fuckboy one: but how big is he

You: im speechless

the blonde fuckboy one: is he bigger than me?

You: dunno need material to compare

the blonde fuckboy one: ok

the blonde fuckboy one: wait

the blonde fuckboy one: youre gonna threaten to leak mine too fuck you

You: worth a shot

PRIVATE MESSAGE: Emo Bob Ross

Emo Bob Ross: Hello, Futaba, I am interested in Akira’s nude portraits. Are you perhaps offering them?

Emo Bob Ross: Ryuji did say Akira was sending them off to strangers so I would imagine he has no quarrel with me evaluating it.

Emo Bob Ross: Should I pick them up at Leblanc?

You: I don’t even know where to start

Emo Bob Ross: Any of them would be fine. It would be difficult to take multiple ones to the dorms regardless.

You: I feel bad now

Emo Bob Ross: ?

You: yusuke… you should go to bed…

You: you’re typing a lot please don’t make this into an art rant thing

Emo Bob Ross: Futaba must I explain once again that nude portraits have no perverted undertones and are about the portrayal of the human being stripped of all it’s factors back down to it’s core, thus revealing it’s innermost self? The true self. The self an artist so desperately seeks to represent and very few up to this date have been successful. My eternal search for the perfect and realest form has me in need of diverse- both physically and spiritually – models that are willing to bare their very souls to me. I am not looking at this experience as a lustful, carnal desire. I would never dare take advantage of someone who has been brave enough to let me gaze upon their being so intimately for the sake of art. We have been through this. I have been through this with several people, in actuality, I’m starting to get a little tired of explaining this over and over again but for the sake of deconstruction of societal standards that block my advancement in the unexplored road to artistic perfection I will gladly do so.

You: holy shit

You: im sorry yusuke but its 1 am im just skimming through this

You: the thing is not that I doubt your passion to your study of the arts

You: the thing is that what I have… is not art…

Emo Bob Ross: I’ll be the judge of that

Emo Bob Ross: Not to offend you but I have a trained eye

You: you know what

You: do you have 400y? For that much you can have the digital copy. Physical copy is gonna be at least 600 depending on the material

Emo Bob Ross: I’m low on cash but I’ll keep you in mind if I manage to rake in the money.

GROUP NAME: ✨ PHANTOM THIEVES ✨

[hacker voice]: @Capable Leader™ lets make a deal

[hacker voice]: give me a copy of every nude you make willingly and I wont leak these

Capable Leader™: why tf would I do that

[hacker voice]: cause your dick is magical and I’ll split the spoils 20/80

Makoto: Stop this at once. There’s no way this deal is good news. Akira knows this.

Capable Leader™: I demand at LEAST 50/50

Makoto: AKIRA

[hacker voice]: I deserve more?? I’m doing ALL the work?

Capable Leader™: It’s MY dick??

-` RYUJI ´-: he’s right tho… the dick is like 90% of a man’s identity…

ANN~: Whats the other 10%?

-` RYUJI ´-: the balls

ANN~: I’m sorry I asked

[hacker voice] 40/60 is the MAX im willing to go and that’s me being GENEROUS because I recognize you have magic juju dick pix that already fished in two possible buyers

[hacker voice]: and also youre my friend and I love you

-` RYUJI ´-: I never said I’d buy it???

[hacker voice]: sigh

Capable Leader™: Ryuji…

-` RYUJI ´-: UH

Capable Leader™: Bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: I MEAN

Capable Leader™: If you wanted my nudes…

-` RYUJI ´-: I ALSO ENVER SAID I ASKED FUTABA FOR THEM DON’T GET THE WRONG IDEA

Capable Leader™: You just had to ask…

-` RYUJI ´-: LISTEN I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WERE BIGGER THAN ME THAT’S A MAN THING

-` RYUJI ´-: wait really

ANN~: omfg

Makoto: I feel like this conversation is about to get very intimate

Yusuke K.: I would like to request permission to ask for your nudes as well, Akira

Capable Leader™: oh

Capable Leader™: well that’s a surprising turn of events

Yusuke K.: I fail to see how that surprises you considering you know how I am a fan of the erotica genre and it’s artistic disposition to strip a human bare to it’s very core.

-` RYUJI ´-: no dude…

-` RYUJI ´-: like this is not the nude art thing you keep talking about...

-` RYUJI ´-: this is like

Capable Leader™: (implying I’m not art)

[hacker voice]: touché

-` RYUJI ´-: a dick pic

-` RYUJI ´-: like its just a picture of his dick taken with his phone camera that’s it

Yusuke K.: Well, anything can be art! Art is subjective! I would like to evaluate the photograph!

-` RYUJI ´-: LISTEN MAN, AKIRA DIDN’T TAKE THAT PICTURE TO BE ARTSY, TRUST ME.

Makoto: Yusuke I strongly advise against this

Makoto: If anyone online offers to send you “a nude” please do not accept it…

Yusuke K.: It does intrigue me why anyone would simply want a picture of someone else’s genitalia when you could get the full view…

Makoto: remain intrigued

Makoto: not everything in life needs to be understood

Capable Leader™: Hey Futaba, I accept payment in Ryuji’s nudes as well

[hacker voice]: the contract has been sealed

-` RYUJI ´-: WTF AKIRA

-` RYUJI ´-: I DIDN’T CONSENT TO THIS

Capable Leader™: Come on, Ryuji… my bro…

Capable Leader™: This is just a bro thing…

Capable Leader™: Whomst amongst us never seen their best bro’s dick?

Capable Leader™: You’re my best bro, Ryuji… I wanna get to know every part of you…

Makoto: this is a public chat

[hacker voice]: gross

Capable Leader™: The very deep and intimate connection between two bros is nothing to hide, Makoto…

ANN~: You should hang out and deepen your bond

[hacker voice]: don’t think I don’t know what youre doing ann, that’s cheating

ANN~: ;)

-` RYUJI ´-: bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: If you wanted MY nudes bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: you could have just asked, bro….

Makoto: I can’t believe this is a thing that is happening right now

ANN~: ive turned off the TV this group chat is too lit for me to take my eyes off it

Makoto: it’s 2 am we should prepare to bed

Capable Leader™: [MESSAGE DELETED]

[hacker voice]: FUCK

ANN~: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSS IM RAKING IT IN TONIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

ANN~: WAIT WHAT

Capable Leader™: what? I didn’t delete that?

ANN~: FUTABA THATS CHEATING!!

[hacker voice]: YOU CHEATED FIRST! YOU INSTIGATED HIM!

ANN~: I INSTIGATED THE IDEA BUT NOT WHO WOULD BE SAYING IT???

[hacker voice]: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ANN~: SAY IT AGAIN AKIRA

Capable Leader™: @ -` RYUJI ´- come over

[hacker voice]: I hate that im partially to blame for this

-` RYUJI ´-: woah akira

ANN~: no bitch no matter how this conversation went it would end the same way cause im ALWAYS RIGHT

ANN~: I’m making it rain Monday morning. I’m taking Shiho to that fancy cake place she wanted to go.

-` RYUJI ´-: isn’t it kinda late for that??

Capable Leader™: I’m alone and Boss doesn’t open shop tomorrow

Capable Leader™: I can show you the goods myself

Capable Leader™: You know?

-` RYUJI ´-: SDSDMX,X CM SALÇ DAÇSD

-` RYUJI ´-: DID YOUJUST BOOTY CALL ME??

Capable Leader™ sent MAYBESO.gif

-` RYUJI ´-: BRO

Makoto: Gross innuendos publicly aside: finally

Makoto: It was getting frustrating seeing you two obviously pinning on each other

[hacker voice]: and don’t even talk about the baton passes…

Capable Leader™: I mean he hasn’t accepted yet…

ANN~: oh he will

ANN~: he better

-` RYUJI ´-: why should you decide

ANN~: cause as your best friend I know whats best for you and I know for a damn fact you will not get a better score than akira

-` RYUJI ´-: thanks I love you too

ANN~: FUCKING LOOK AT HIM! HE’S OFFERING HIMSELF ON A SILVER PLATTER!

-` RYUJI ´-: THIS IS REALLY AWKWARD FOR ME MAN…

ANN~: don’t embarrass yourself in front of your crush like that

Capable Leader™: I like when they get shy

ANN~: oh my god youre such a slut

Capable Leader™: ;)

-` RYUJI ´-: bro…

ANN~: WHAT ARE YOU DOING STILL IN THE CHATROOM GO ANSWER THE GOD DAMNED BOOTY CALL ALREADY

-` RYUJI ´-: IM REALLY NERVOUS OK

ANN~: RYUJI YOU USELESS BISEXUAL

-` RYUJI ´-: GDI

Capable Leader™: you don’t have to come for real it was just a joke

ANN~: wait really?

Capable Leader™: @ -` RYUJI ´-

Capable Leader™: wait is he actually coming??

[hacker voice]: yeah he left 5 mins I traced his phone rn

Capable Leader™: oh fuck…..

ANN~: was it actually a joke??

Capable Leader™: No I just didn’t think I’d actually get this far??

ANN~: YOURE BOTH USELESS BISEXUALS AND I HATE YOU

Yusuke K.: Akira may I join you both? If you’re willing to model for me I will certainly not pass on this opportunity

Makoto: Please don’t.

Capable Leader™: oh my god yusuke

Capable Leader™: not today

Capable Leader™: maybe some other day

Capable Leader™: wink wink

Yusuke K.: I understand. Take all the time you need but please consider my request.

[hacker voice]: I can’t believe Ryuji’s about to get the succ

[hacker voice]: according to my gps ryuji should already be at leblanc??

Capable Leader™: oh he’s here alright. Just nervously prancing in front of my front door.

Capable Leader™: I haven’t called to him yet, let a man be ready

Capable Leader™: (I also don’t know if im fully ready so…)

ANN~: oh grl you got this

ANN~: you’ve been training all your life for this

ANN~: besides its not like hes gonna know the difference between a good bj and a bad bj lol

Capable Leader™: youre right

Capable Leader™: but I also you know, care about him a lot

Capable Leader™: I wanna make this a good experience cause I care about ryuji a lot… like in a very gay way…

ANN~: Aww!! :)

Makoto: I want to take no part in this conversation but that was adorable

ANN~: srsly im talking to ryuji rn on private and hes freaking out cause of the same thing

ANN~: wants it to be really good to you bc he loves you sm and youre so hot and hes already semi just thinking abt you

Capable Leader™: I’m flattered

ANN~: he’s super overwhelmed cause its his first time and with a boy he loves so like admsadsa damn ryuji youre so cute

ANN~: almost makes my cold blooded bitch heart feel something

Capable Leader™: I’ll give him all the time he needs!

ANN~: you should really open the door for him and at least put him inside cause its cold and there was a robbery in your street earlier this week

ANN~: and you know ryuji hell stubbornly stand in front of that store until the sun comes up if hes wallowing in nerves

Capable Leader™: youre right…

Capable Leader™: im gonna go do that…

Capable Leader™: @[hacker voice] if you have any cameras in my room turn them off!

[hacker voice]: for how much?

Capable Leader™: FUTABA, PLEASE.

[hacker voice]: calm down theyre already off. Havent been on since we became friends.

[hacker voice]: just thought youd like to have your fond memories engraved on tape for your enjoyment…

Capable Leader™: …

Capable Leader™: that’s… tempting

Makoto: are you out of your mind??

ANN~: YOU’RE SUCH A SLUT, AKIRA

Makoto: God, you’re hopeless. At least talk it over with Ryuji first.

Capable Leader™: I just did. He’s cool with it.

Makoto: Somehow I feel like this is an oversimplification of the conversation.

Capable Leader™ changed his username to Tapable Leader <3

Tapable Leader <3 changed the group name to AKIRA & RYUJI’S SEX TAPE

Makoto: I’m leaving.

Makoto: Only talk to me when you want to group up from now on.

-` RYUJI ´-: I ONLY AGREED WITH IT IF ONLY ME AND AKIRA GET A COPY!!

-` RYUJI ´-: ITS ONLY FAIR CONSIDERING YOU’RE ALREADY SELLING AKIRA’S NUDES!!

[hacker voice]: I’ll make three copies of the sex tape

[hacker voice]: 600y each

[hacker voice]: first come first serve

[hacker voice]: no reservations

[hacker voice]: you show me the money the tape is yours

[hacker voice]: those are my terms

Tapable Leader <3: even if Ryuji and I get copies there’ll still be one in the wild for someone to buy?

ANN~: isn’t that thrilling tho

ANN~: one other stranger youll never know about can be watching you

ANN~: and if futaba agrees to take down any reuploads of the tape its like your very own secret but like… shared with a stranger… that’s a kink isn’t it??

[hacker voice]: yure right…

Tapable Leader <3: holy shit

Makoto: This is so irresponsible…

[hacker voice]: thought you wanted no part in this?

Makoto: I can’t simply not take part. You guys are worse unsupervised…

Tapable Leader <3: Futaba, it’s a deal if mine and Ryuji’s copies are free of charge

[hacker voice]: fair enough

Tapable Leader <3: nice. We’re going upstairs now.

[hacker voice]: camera’s ready!

ANN~: lmao I cant believe this is actually happening

Makoto: so much for reputable thieves…

Makoto: I swear if this sex tape leaks and we get found out because of it…

Makoto: What’s worse! Akira’s on probation! That will most definitely spell trouble for him depending on who gets their hands on this tape!

ANN~: Guess we have no choice but to buy it ourselves!

Makoto: Or don’t do the sex tape?! At all?!

ANN~: Nothing’s gonna happen, Makoto! Chillax!

ANN~: How can they possibly trace a video of Akira sucking Ryuji off back to the phantom thieves?

ANN~: What kind of evidence even is this?

[hacker voice]: Akira’s jacked??? I didn’t know he worked out that much??

ANN~: he looks really skinny right?

ANN~: did ryuji come with his stupid neon pink and green watermelon bullshit panties?

[hacker voice]: they stopped to talk rn

[hacker voice]: ryujis like flipping

[hacker voice]: asking if akira had done this before

[hacker voice]: apparently akira has sucked “some dicks”

[hacker voice]: AT LEAST TWO ARE FROM HIS CLASS

Makoto: Do you really need to keep us updated?

ANN~: yes

Makoto: sigh

[hacker voice]: @ANN~ ryuji’s wearing the pink underwear

ANN~: god I hate those

ANN~: @Tapable Leader <3 burn them when youre done

[hacker voice]: I hate doing this. This is just like when you’re watching a movie and there’s a unnecessary kissing scene and the entire scene is like 3 minutes of uncomfortable schlepping kissing noises.

ANN~: yeah that must be pretty awkward

[hacker voice]: it is super awkward. Akira owes me one

[hacker voice]: oh my god

[hacker voice]: ryuji scared the crap outta me he legit screamed right now

[hacker voice]: I don’t even need mics for this ryuji’s so loud

ANN~: whaaat? Ryuji? Loud?? Who would have thought…

-` RYUJI ´-: IM SORRY OK IM REALLY LIVID HERE

ANN~: WTF???? WHAT AR EYOU DOING TEXTING US???

-` RYUJI ´-: IDK WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS!!

ANN~: YOURE USELESS. I CANT BELIEVE YOU.

Tapable Leader <3: you can pull my hair, its fine

ANN~: HOW ARE YOU TEXTING EVEN??

Makoto: It’s been a while since we got an update.

[hacker voice]: do you want em?

Makoto: No, I simply worry how long this is lasting.

[hacker voice]: it’s gotten to a really graphic point. I’m not even watching anymore, its really really awkward… if you want the full juice you’ll have to buy the tape!

[hacker voice]: oh theyre done

[hacker voice]: they just threw the dirty clothes on the floor and went straight to sleep

[hacker voice]: orgasming must be really tiring…

ANN~: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- CONGRATS ON THE SECS!! We’re all really happy for you!! You guys deserve each other, really! If anyone says otherwise I’ll punch them!

Makoto: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- regardless of how reckless and utterly stupid this whole thing was, I’m genuinely glad you guys worked it out and are finally being honest with each other. It was awfully unhealthy for the team dynamic to watch you two dance around the issue of your attraction so, congratulations!

[hacker voice]: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- im not as good with expressing things as the other girls but im also happy I somehow brought you two together. Don’t worry I wont actually sell the sex tapes to anyone btw

[hacker voice]: (or will i)

ANN~: omfg

[hacker voice]: Yusuke’s typing a lot im concerned

Yusuke K.: I did not fully grasp the concept of what was truly going on in this chat tonight but after extensive research and questioning Ann on certain topics I now understand. Futaba’s attempts at prostituting Akira have somehow led into a nuptial encounter between Akira and Ryuji, the kind of which both parties have been secretly interested in for a long time. I also congratulate you both in your achievement for the act of intimacy born from fondness and admiration is one of the truest forms of adoration our kind have come across. I only wish for more of these enjoyable moments and if any of you would be so kind as to model for me the most beautiful sensation of your endless love I would be very thankful.

[hacker voice]: holy shit

[hacker voice]: just looking at this is making my eyes heavy

[hacker voice]: im going to sleep folks

ANN~: same

ANN~: we have to wake up before ryuji and akira to surprise them at leblanc

ANN~: we’ll bring a congrats on the sex cake

[hacker voice]: I’m in

Makoto: guess it won’t hurt to check on them

Yusuke K.: I would love to discuss this over some cake!

ANN~: deal, then! Good night, thieves <3

-` RYUJI ´-: you fuckers are gonna see some dicks

ANN~: that’s the plan dapper dan

ANN~: now go to bed!

thx for your time i hope you enjoyed it ideas that we did in the rp and i couldnt find a way to put here: > futaba leaks the nudes on the phan site > mishima warns akira of the thing and says he has a nice package > akira gets arrested for publicly posting pornography and akechi recognized him by the dick > "whats wrong with a little dick pic" "its not little" > makoto buys a copy of the akira/ryuji sex tape and resells it at school > mishima buys a copy

#pegoryu #akiji #p5 #persona 5 #akira kurusu #takamaki ann #niijima makoto #yusuke kitagawa #akira/ryuji #futaba sakura #sassi do the write

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sassasquashedgrapes · 7 years

Text

Another Story: A Glee x Kissed by the Baddest Bidder Cross-over

It’s me again! Your friendly neighborhood, Squashed Grape.

It’s been a while since I got into the fanfic (or any literal stuff) and decided to do some fan service today. This is an old post but a goodie. You see, I’ve been a fan of Glee during the early days and was also a huge Otome player (lol. the closest to player I’ll ever be). And made this fanfic cross-over of sorts inspired from the Voltage Inc story, Kissed by the Baddest Bidder. Actually I *might* have switched the names a bit and the plot line is from the intro except for a few tweaks. Anyway, I just wanna lay it all down there so nobody starts yelling bloody murder.

After all, wasn’t 50 Shades like some fan service to Twilight, so haters can just move along now, Nothing to see.

So without much further ado, a short story cross-over for y’all!!

By the way, be prepared for a series of long fanfics of Glee coming at your way. This is only just the beginning of the Hargreave brothers.

click below

Another Story: Kissed By The Baddest Bidder/Glee Fanfic.

I’ve always been a huge fan of the otome game and the delicious notion of having someone used up for bidding, using the Glee characters seemed absolutely too good to resist. How could I? So shall we? Elian “Ian” Hargreave – Eisuke Ichinomiya Mike Chang – Soryu Oh, the cool mobster Noah Puckerman – Mitsunari Baba, the philandering theif Kurt Hummel – Ota Kisaki , the artist. Lol I know, Ota doesn’t swing that way but I always pegged Ota as a closet anyway. Cooper Anderson – Mamuro Kishi, the lazy detective and of course: Lucy Quinn Fabray – MC

Quinn Fabray is different in this storyline. I made a parallel universe of sorts, changing a bit of her past to make her come to her present future. So instead of moving to McKinley High, Lucy Q. Fabray’s father, Russel, dies of a heart attack and thus her mother remarries another man who worked as a hotel concierge manager in one of the most prestigious hotels in New York, the fictional hotel/casino Wyndham, (loosely based on the Waldorf Astoria) which is owned by then the family of Elian Hargreave’s grandfather who eventually takes over the hotel after graduating from high school. Quinn has grown up in the hotel, pretty much understanding and loving every detail and aspect of it, treating it as if it were her own family since she pretty much lead a lonely life in New York, being a small town girl from Ohio who turned out to grow into a beautiful young woman. This storyline is inspired by the Otome route of Eisuke Ichinomiya, whom I think was the best storyline for someone like her. I’m way too biased that I don’t think I want to share Soryu Oh with her, hahaha. Fast forward to the present, Quinn just graduated from Yale, but is now working he as a chambermaid in the hotel to earn extra cash at the same time pay for her college loans while she looks for a job.

Prologue: As I feel a trickle of sweat behind my back while being in the middle of the spotlight, I start to wonder as I stare into the crowd facing me “how on earth did I ever come to this?”

12 hours earlier

“Good morning,” I greet cheerfully as I swing open the door in locker room of the female changing hall as if I’ve done so many times over. I’m working during the summer as a maid at a hotel owned by the Hargreave Group, which is a large company that owns banks, trading companies, locally and overseas.

“Good morning, Lucy,” greets Marley, one of the maids who also works part-time in the hotel. I know for a fact that she looks old enough to still be in highschool, but I’ve never bothered to pry into matters like gossip. As long as they keep to their business, I keep to mine. But despite it, I feel like I could confide in her because she seems so open and nice.

“The VIP convention starts today. I am super excited,” Marley grins as she mentions one of the annual big events the hotel/casino throws.

“I’ll bet you’d be way too busy to get excited since you’ll be working at the casino floor,” I grin back thinking how exhausted I’m going to be once this convention is over. I’ve been living in the Wyndham since I was 15 after my dad died and my mother remarried. I’d come to love it as if it were my own family and was familiar with its daily routine until 4 years ago when it underwent a massive renovation into becoming the first hotel/casino in New York. It had been quite a scandal at first, with government officials opposing the idea of bringing “Las Vegas” to the metropolis, but the whole issue died down after a while and for the last two years, the Wyndham, became New York’s first legal casino and hotel.

“Don’t you wish you could work at the IVC?” Marley was referring to the International VIP Convention, one of the newly annual conventions frequented by Hollywood A-list stars, World leaders, socialites and big time businessmen who gathered once a year to play at the casinos and have a go into dabbling in a world of glamour

“Yeah, that would be great.” I agreed quietly.

“Well, that’s the goal of everyone who works here.” Marley sighed as she hunkered on the bench and rested her elbow on her knee as she propped her head on her hand. “I’ve been dreaming about it ever since I saw it on TV. Seeing movie stars, top athletes, and other super famous people all over the world gathered here in this party. I even heard Perez Hilton was so pissed that he didn’t get an invite.” She pursed her lips conspiratorially.

“You know, when I applied for this job a few months ago, I didn’t think I was going to be hired that I thought I was dreaming when I actually did.” Marley grinned happily. I smiled feeling how infectious her mood was, she was so upbeat by the whole thing, I didn’t want to look like a kill joy so I agreed.

“Oh my god.” She stopped suddenly as if she had thought of something of real importance. “What if some rich, famous guy falls in love with me at first sight?” I hope he knows you’re barely 18, I mentally think and almost utter it out loud but I stop myself and….

“Haha, keep dreaming.” I just say instead.

Whew, that was close. Our VIP guests are important, but I also value working for our regular guests, too. I had just graduated in a Marketing degree at Yale, but with the recession, jobs were scarcely handed and I didn’t feel the need to dabble in doing freebies as an Intern in a big corporation, when I could be earning much more doing it here in Wyndham. It really isn’t so bad. I really didn’t care that much about image anyway since moving to New York. Somehow the anonymity of it all had liberated me from the confines of the shallowness that I had experienced living in Lima, Ohio that I didn’t give a damn anymore.

I thought about the IVC, the International VIP Convention, Wyndham’s largest annual event is today and the international publicity with the media hanging around the area was totally insane. Unlike Marley, I had actually dreaded this more because I knew things were busier and a lot more tense than usual. My step-father, Charlie was one of the managers of the hotel and was in charge of the VIP guests lounge and had direct connections to the owner, Mr. Elian Hargreave. I heard a lot about the new owner, how accomplished he was despite his young age. He was featured in Forbes magazine as the most successful businessman under 40 years of age (rumors had it that he couldn’t be more than 30 years old.) He reminded me of a true-to-life Bruce Wayne, ridiculously handsome in a dark, mysterious way and was always surrounded by beautiful women. I knew my sister, Fran was crushing on him big time that she even begged Charlie for an introduction, but to no avail.

As we left the locker room and head to the hotel lobby, where a crowd of reporters and onlookers gathered, people whom I’ve only seen on TV or on a movie screen started appearing, strutting as if they were meant to walk down the red carpet and enter the magnificent lobby as if it were from a Hollywood movie scene.

“Oh. My God.” Marley’s mouth literally hung wide open. “Look who just got out of that limo.”

I crane my neck and look around thinking that she just saw the famous TV actress who was in a popular teen show. What was her name again? Elena Davenport? She was famous for being in this TV show about a love triangle between a vampire and a cyborg. It was insane how people were shouting her name as if it were part of her entourage. She looked stunning with her black hair and her golden skin that had obviously seen the tropics recently. She was then accompanied by an equally handsome young man who stood well over six feet tall and had a shock of black brown hair.

“That guy’s always on the VIP list. They call him the King,” Marley whispers as if we’re in church.

“I thought that was Elvis,” I quipped chuckling at her disgruntled look. I knew what she meant. I wasn’t one to get caught up in celebrity gossip, but that King she was referring to was no other than the owner of the Wyndham, Mr. Hargreave. He gallantly bowed offering his arm to Elena who gave him a dazzling smile as she took his arm. Hanging on the other side of his arm was also someone famous. I heard she was the new Broadway superstar and her name was Rachel Berry. Behind him was another famous model who often graced those ads in Vogue and a famous British reality show actress.

All the women around him are famous, I think dully as I look down in my frumpy uniform. For some odd feeling I felt a pang of something that I couldn’t understand wash over me. Before I had time to even think about it, Marley again interrupted my thoughts by whispering again on my ear.

“He’s been living in the penthouse suite for a while now.” “Of course he does, he owns the hotel.”

“But it costs tens and thousands of dollars to stay there for the night.” Marley argued.

“Maybe it’s a lot more convenient to keep tabs of work here than living on Park Avenue or at the East Side.” I shrugged watching as Mr. Hargreave pays no attention to the huge crowd and walks straight ahead.

I realize that I can’t take my eyes off him. I’ve heard the how the female hotel staff would gush about how hot he was, but seeing him in the flesh just took my breath away.

“Aaaah!!! Over here, Elian!!!” one of the women from the mass crowd screams holding a phone camera hoping to get a picture of him.

Suddenly, a group of women, thinking about doing the same thing start running towards him and bump into me and I feel myself being pushed right into the crowd and on to the red carpet.

SMACK!

I feel like I just hit a wall and close my eyes bracing myself for the pain to follow after the impact. Instead I feel a band of steel arms hold me close, as if to steady me from the madness. I then pry my eyes open and find myself staring into a pair of steel gray blue eyes that were placed like jewels on a handsome chiseled face.

Mr. Hargreave!!

“Aah, I- I’m so sorry,” I stammered, feeling the rush of blood flow straight at my face and into my brain as I continue to look at him, almost mesmerized yet horrified by what had just transpired. I still feel his arms around me and I could just tell that this multibillionaire really does work out because he’s practically hugging me right now.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a haughty voice belonging to the new Broadway ingénue pipes up beside Mr. Hargreave. She sounds almost disgusted by the sight of me. I can see from the corner of my peripheral vision that Elena Davenport was smirking as if amused by what was happening. God, I didn’t think she was such a bitch until now.

But instead of voicing that sentiment out, I knew I had a job at stake and right now it was totally hanging in the balance. I had just publicly humiliated myself in front of the owner of the hotel and his guests and was drawing unnecessary attention right now and it was more than I could honestly bear. I swallow and gather myself before bitchy Quinn Fabray comes out and try to mutter an apology again but am cut short by a curt, masculine and surprisingly sexy voice.

“Get out of the way,” Mr. Hargreave says as he suddenly pulls away from me, and pushes me not quite gently aside.

“What?” I mutter in disbelief as I lose my balance and fall flat on my butt to the ground.

Owwwww..

I look at slight disdain at the man who apparently was also my boss, but his muscular, tapered back was the only thing that could see that look on my face as I watch walk further away. He brushes off his suit as if he had just encountered a speck of dust and before I thought he had finally dismissed me, turns his head and shoots me a glare and then suddenly disappears into the casino hall.

I suddenly realize with a shock that I still had that look of displeasure on my face and grimaced as I rubbed my lower back, trying yet again to stead myself as the crowd disappeared into where Mr. Hargreave and his entourage were headed. Marley quickly comes rushing over to my side.

“Are you okay, Luce?” She asks me, totally concerned as she called me by my nickname. I haven’t been called Lucy for a while, I had been using Quinn since I had come to New York, but somehow there was a comfort in still being known as Lucy while here in the confines of the Wyndham.

“Yeah, my butt and my pride are fine,” I say.

“Oh my God. Mr. Hargreave caught you in his arms. I am so totally jealous! Did he smell nice? Was he really as buff underneath that suit as they say?” Marley was acting like a puppy dog fawning over that jerk.

“I don’t know, I don’t even r-remember,” I lied because I had just mentally scratched Elian Hargreave off as a completely cold, aloof, unfeeling human being. The nerve of that man! He didn’t even bother to defend me while I, one of his staff members, was berated by that Broadway bitch Berry.

Hmm. That had a nice ring to it. I feel tons better knowing that the girl could have used a plastic surgeon as good as the one who did my nose.

Come to think of it, Elian Hargreave was actually pretty frightening. I’ve seen how New Yorkers glare sometimes, but that cold look was totally at subzero levels worthy of the Artic.

I smooth out my clothes and hear the click clack of high heels behind me.

“Just what were you thinking, making a fool out of yourself?” a cold, voice tinged with an Italian accent snapped me back to reality. “And in front of such important guests and even the owner of this hotel?”

“Miss Thelma, “ I say coolly plastering a smile at one of the hotel managers. Thelma Caparano has been on my ass since the day I started working at the Wyndham when she found out I graduated with honors on my Marketing degree from Yale. Perhaps it was that and because I’m Charlie’s kid that she thinks I deserve to be more ill-treated than a worn-out mule from a third world country. She stands imposingly before me, all dressed up in her expertly tailored uniform as she clacked impatiently on her Prada heels waiting for me to answer her.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. It was an accident…”

“You are at fault for not paying attention to what’s going on around you,” she clucked her tongue at me, looking at me disapprovingly under those heavy glasses that framed her would-have-been pretty-if-she-wasn’t-such-a-bitch face. She was probably a few years older than me, but the harshness of her demeanor just made her look like petulant and almost bratty for a woman in her mid-thirties.

“Aren’t you in charge of the regular guests, Fabray?” She asks with a smirk on her face.

Oh boy, she does enjoy torturing me.

“You have no business even being here in the lobby. Not unless you get promoted to handling the VIP guests. But you won’t get that chance, would you? Not even if you begged your stepfather.” She laughed as if she had just thought of that joke and it was funny.

Ugh. I am totally so close to slapping her but instead I reply setting my gaze downcast hoping that she won’t see me seething as I meekly reply “Yes, Miss Thelma.”

“Well, since you’re here,” she motions to one of her hotel assistants who was following her like a dog who hands over a box as she shoves it towards me. “Go to every floor and drop off these announcement letters while you’re at it. These are for the guests who wish to avail of the spa promo package we are having in honor of the IVC.”

“Okay,” I say since arguing about doing a herculean task is going to go nowhere anyway since this angry vampire is out for my blood. She’s always been a bully and since I would never dared complain of this to Charlie even though I could have, I decide I might as well just shut up and deal with it. I turn and nod to Marley, saying my goodbyes and head towards the elevators.

As I walk by, I see a man, about my age arguing with a young woman about something in front of the elevator. The woman is wearing a dress that looks like something from the recent Fashion Week runway as she throws a mask at the man at the same time spewing a litany of curses in fluent French.

“Connard!! Baise toi!” she screamed as the man looked back in her as if in shock. “You lying, cheating scum! I never want to see you again.” With that, she gave him a resonant slap in the face for added effect before she walked out of the hotel.

This is awkward. I turn my attention instead to the mask that looked as if it were something one wore to a masquerade ball. I suddenly got an image of 50 shades of Grey and find myself staring at the mask lying on the floor. I was about to pick it up when the man who was slapped earlier moves quicker than I could and in a blink of an eye was brushing it off as if were the only precious thing that mattered to him.

Wow, his hands were fast like those of a magician. I turn to look at him and realize that he wasn’t bad looking either. He was of above average height and was muscularly built, but a bit thicker than Mr. Hargreave. He also had dark hair and had the most dazzling pair of emerald green eyes I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t tell what his hair was like underneath that Fedora hat that just made him look like the epitome of 1920’s gangster cool in a modern way.

Fedora Hat sighs dramatically. “Great, now I don’t have a date.” He says as if talking to himself then realizes I’m watching him. When our eyes meet, I quickly look away self-consciously because I didn’t want him to know that I had been caught staring at him. I try to act cool despite the awkward tension but know that he saw me witness the whole thing.

“You saw that, didn’t you?” He smirks, as if reading my mind.

“Yeah. I-I’m really sorry.” I backed away slowly as if avoiding being pounced by some agitated animal.

“Aw, come on. Don’t run away,” Fedora Hat laughs as he gently takes my arm as he leads me towards the elevator, completely ignoring the fact that I’m in the hotel maid’s uniform with a box of undelivered fliers on the other arm. “I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

“S-Sir?”

Before I know it, the man ignores my protests and continues to guide me, half-dragging me into the elevator with him. We’re alone in the elevator and to be honest, this is the first time I’ve been to the basement area. I’m surprised that the basment’s elevator looks just as elegant as the regular floor elevators. It sort of reminded me of going into a secret lair of some evil villain but at the same time being cooped inside a glass bird cage of sorts. I tried to avert my attention to the man beside me and look instead at the buttons of the elevator as the blinking lights affirmed our descent to the unknown.

“Whew! I’m lucky I found you,” Fedora Hat grins at me, still holding onto my arm having no intention of letting me go. His grip isn’t painful nor in any way gentle, but it’s firm enough to hold me into place. As if wanting to distract me from thinking of it, he adds “coz there’s no way I could go to the party without a beautiful woman on my arm. That would be a total buzzkill.”

Buzzkill? Who says that sort of thing these days?

“Party? You mean, the IVC?”

“The One and Only. Isn’t it obvious how I’m dressed?” He opens one free arm to show his expensive Italian cut suit. Definitely Armani now that I got a closer look. And definitely custom made as it fits him perfectly.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you—“

“Hahaha. I’m kidding, babe. Man, you’re kinda uptight for a pretty thing. Were you raised in some Christian Bible thumping school or something?”

“Uh, that’s because I work at this hotel,” I say slowly almost as if trying to hint that I’m still in my maid’s uniform, completely ignoring the fact that he’s actually right about me being Christian. “So technically, I can’t go with you to the party as your date, sir.”

“What are you talking about? The reason why that woman earlier left was so you could be my date, Lucy.” He smiles in the most seductive, sexiest way possible as he finally noticed the name plate on my uniform.

Whoa, this one’s pretty dangerous. And a hopeless flirt as well. I try not to show my fear when grabs my chin and lifts it up to meet his face as he peers down, bringing it closer to mine. I can feel his breath grazing against me as he looks into my eyes.

“Definitely my type. Angel blonde hair, mesmerizing green eyes, and luscious lips…” he trails on softly as I sort of feel his face coming closer. He moves way to fast and I try to squirm away, backing off thinking now I understood perfectly why he got dumped in the first place.

DING! Saved by the bell of the basement floor. The elevator arrives at a full stop at the ballroom and Fedora Hat quickly backs off and casually straightens himself as if nothing of importance was about to take place. He could even care less whether he kissed me or not. Jeez.

“Let’s rock and roll, Princess.” He announces and gives off a broad smile as if putting on a game face. And contrary to his calm demeanor, he drags me out into the ballroom before I can protest as I’m lead into the glamorous ballroom that reminded me from a scene of a Hollywood movie.

I gaped in awestruck fascination, marveling how I could have possibly missed out the new renovations at the Wyndham. The renovations had still managed to maintain some of the old architecture, paying detail to preserving its original Art Deco state, but added with contemporary minimalist design, it’s mixture was astounding and beyond words. I had no means of any background in architecture, but this was like walking into the Hall of Fame on architectural immortality. I was shocked that everyone present were almost nonchalant of the genius behind the design and how lavishly decorated the ballroom was to the point that even the catering was handled in the most A-list of ways. I turn my attention to the gorgeous Swarovski crystals that were adorning the chandeliers that were hanging from the high ceiling.

The entire floor was jam-packed with the rich and famous that I wasn’t even sure if I was hallucinating because it was too much sensory overload to be true. I turn my head and notice Cristian Renaldi, the famous World cup soccer player from Spain to my right. And that’s the famous Hollywood actress, Julie Moore. And even the former President of the United States is over there? I feel like Alice in Wonderland being wrapped around the surrealness of it all being around these celebrities that it takes me a moment to get back to earth and finally notice that Fedora Hat who had dragged me here in the first place was gone.

Huh? Where’d he go?

Suddenly, I hear a womanly voice from behind me.

“Hey, do you have any champagne?” I turn around and am surprised that it wasn’t a woman, but a young man with an angelic face whose skin was as flawless as fine bone china. He had soft, brown hair and bright blue eyes. He looked so familiar because his face was on the cover of this month’s issue of People Magazine being tagged as one of the 25the most beautiful People of the World of this year.

“K-Kurt Hummel!!!” I gasp, recognizing the mega hyphenate National artist/ Pulitizer prize winning Children’s Novelist/ Socialite.

“Oh, you know who I am.” He smiles brightly, happy to have been recognized in a sea of famous faces. “Thanks!”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll look for the champagne now.” I mumble apolitically frantically looking for a bottle of Dom Perignon and Mr. Hummel chuckles behind me, as if thoroughly amused.

“You sure you work here, Alice?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You remind me of Alice in Wonderland when she fell down the rabbit hole and stumbled into the Mad Hatter’s party.” He moves away from me and reaches over the table behind me and lifts a bottle of Moet et Chandon and pours himself a glass. He then thrusts his newly refilled glass towards me nudging me to take a drink.

“Here. You could use one more than me,” he grins. I was about to protest but there was something harsh in his eyes telling me not to defy him as I emptied my glass.

“T-Thanks,” I was about to take the bottle and refill his glass for him when he shakes his head and takes the glass from my hands and pours himself another.

“Now, go on to doing whatever it was and I hope you get back home safely, Alice,” was all he says as he raises his champagne glass, giving me a wink of good luck for whatever it was I was about to partake. He leaves with a wave.

He definitely was spot on about what I was feeling right at that moment.

I should definitely get out of here before I cause any more trouble.

But before I do, another man stops me from my tracks. He’s over fifty, overweight, and perhaps a bit slightly drunk as he grins at me and grabs my hand. Ugh, he also seems really sleazy. “Aren’t you a pretty one?” He slurs and I inwardly flinch from the smell of alcohol and sweat coming from him. “You wanna come with me and give me room service? I’ll make it worth your while and give you a big tip afterwards.

Ewww. His head is shaped like an egg and his pock-marked face is flushed as he looks me up and down.

“I’m sorry, sir but we don’t offer that kind of service here.” I answer politely, knowing that we had been trained beforehand on how to deal with rude perverts like this guest.

He completely ignores me and starts going on how rich he is and how much is net worth is.

To be honest, it wasn’t really much.

He then slips his arm around my waist and is about to pull me towards him when…

“This party just got really trashy.” A familiar masculine voice announced icily. I turn my head towards my savoir and realize that it’s Mr. Hargreave. He ignores my gasp of surprise and scowls at the sleaze holding me.

“I’d rather appreciate it, sir, if you kept your attention from the hotel staff and settle instead for the bevy of beauties surrounding you,” Elian Hargreave grinned sardonically nodding his head towards a group of runway models who flirtly waved back. And just when I thought he couldn’t intimidate the sleazebag, he looked at me as if I were a piece of trash marring the ambience and added cruelly. “Besides, you could totally do better than THAT. This one’s hardly a raving beauty.”

“I-I’m really sorry, Mr. Hargreave, sir! Pardon me!!!” Sleazebag bows apologetically quickly letting go of me as if he had been burned and kept his distance from me like I was infected with Ebola or something. He furiously wipes away his sweat and runs off.

“T-Thank you, Mr. Hargreave,” I say, totally ignoring the pain that he had brushed me off as a ugly and unattractive. But then again, men like him are probably used to just dating models that even ingénues were all blasé for him.

“Let’s go, Elian,” one of the pretty models whom he nodded to a while back approached him and casually hooked her arm around his, totally ignoring me.

“I can’t stand people who don’t know their place,” another one of those long legged giraffes piped in hooking her arm around his other free one as if she were about to die in a desert and he was her oasis.

As if he didn’t even acknowledge my existence and hadn’t even heard me, he turned his back as if nothing had ever happened a few minutes ago before being led away by the Amazonian Brazilian bimbos. He starts walking still surrounded by women and I’m completely overwhelmed as I watch him walk away. I suddenly notice a purple handkerchief on the floor behind him. I remember this being a part of his suit and realize that he dropped it.

Almost without thinking, I picked it up and started going after him.

“Uhm, sir! Excuse me, I think you dropped this—“ I try to chase after Mr. Hargreave but he gets lost in the crowd and I can’t seem to find him.

Oh, wait! There he is!!

I make my way through the crowd and follow him as he makes an exit to the far end of the ballroom.

A long, deserted hallway stretches out behind the door that Mr. Hargreave enters.

“Wait. Where did he go?”

There are several doors on either side of the hallway and I didn’t catch up with him in time to even know which doors did he enter. However, I hear voices coming from the far end. But somehow, as I strain to hear from the distance I get the feeling the conversation wasn’t even in English. I shake my head, thinking that I really have to return this handkerchief back to Mr. Hargreave, I strengthen my resolve and make my way towards the door where the voices were coming from. I note the door is slightly ajar, which explains why I could hear them. I peek through the gap and see several briefcases lying on a table surrounded with guns and large sums of money being packed by three Asian looking men dressed in all black discussing where to put the money in perfect Cantonese and before I could see more, I feel a large hand grab me by the shoulder and roughly pulls me away, swinging me around and forces me up against a wall…

Fear and surprise of being caught seeing something I shouldn’t have take over that I feel like I just might have suffered my first heart attack.

But unfortunately, that doesn’t happen.

Instead, my heart starts pounding again in fear as I’m facing a tall, Asian man of slim, yet muscular build with broad shoulders and powerful muscles who is now glaring at me and asks in in slightly cold, yet scarily threatening voice. His hair is slicked back and even though I know he’s actually quite good looking, I’m paralyzed with fear to hardly even notice.

“What are you doing here?” He demands as he pins me against the wall as his sharp eyes look at me.

Oh dear, God.

It happened so suddenly my body starts to tremble as I start to realize that maybe he is one of those gun men and those men aren’t just hotel guests. But Mafia? Triad?

What on earth should I do?

I breathe and swallow but it’s way too hard to even do so. Instead I focus on his face and answer.

“I-I- w-w-ork h-he---“ He completely ignores me and says instead, “you’ve got give seconds to walk away, disappear and forget everything you just saw. Got it? Otherwise, I’d hate to think what would happen to you after.” He also said it in a way that sounded like he was talking to a five-year old. A not very bright one at that too.

I nod wordlessly over and over, desperate to get away and he immediately lets me go. I run so fast my legs get tangled up with each other at first and don’t even think of where I’m headed. I just run to the point of exhaustion and find myself at the basement storage room. I close the door behind me and try to catch my breath, relieved with the fact that I have just barely escaped with my life as I offer a silent prayer and make the sign of the cross in complete gratitude that the scary Asian Mafia guy just let me go.

I ruminate over the thought of how it was possible for the Triad, one of the notorious Asian Mafias could be tied up to an event like the IVC? Were those guys even part of the Triad? Maybe they weren’t even mafia.

Get a hold of yourself, Fabray. Keep it together. I have just realized right at this moment I had actually lost the box of flyers I was holding earlier. I wasn’t sure if I had lost somewhere from that struggle between me and Fedora Hat, or that Mad Hatter encounter with Kurt Hummel, or even with the Middle Aged Sleazebag . I try again to get my body to function properly as I compose myself thinking over again where I had last left it and realized that it was on the table where I had been with Mr. Hummel.

Just as I swing the door open, I hear a loud crashing THUD.

The door I just swung had collided into something and I could hear a group of men scream “Watch out!!!”

I see two mean-looking men peeking at the other end of the door looking helplessly as the box they were carrying drops to the ground.

“Shit! That was the Winged Victorian Angel!”

Oh no. I remember from the news that this 300 year old museum artifact was meant to be raffled off as the grand prize at the IVC. It had been shipped all the way from the Louvre in Paris as a gift from the newly elected French President to the United States. The proceeds of the IVC’s funding and the raffle were meant to help the victims of Typhoon Haiyan somewhere in the Philippines.

I quickly open the crate box and find the statue was broken in half and my heart just drops to my stomach in nameless shock.

I am way too shocked to even mutter an apology. Not only did I just destroy what might have been a National Treasure, millions of homeless Filipino children were going to starve and suffer.

“Hey, this was a very important piece that was going to be auctioned off.” The slim mean-looking guy barks at me, ignoring my shocked state. Did he just say auctioned? Didn’t he mean it was going to be raffled?

“How are you gonna pay for this?” Asks the Fat Meanie beside him.

“Uh…..Sorry?”

“You think an apology is gonna cut it? You owe us, bitch!”

The men reach out to me and….

……………..

And I find myself being auctioned off. The host of the eveing had just announce d that the next bid was me, a healthy fit young Caucasian American.

Is this even legal? I think as I swallow in fear hearing the bids knock from $2 million to higher. I got put up in place of that Winged Victory Angel.

The mere fact that someone just started the bid off at $2 million was unreal.

I could barely make through the crowd as everyone was wearing masks similar to the masquerade mask Fedora Hat had with him when his date dumped him. But somehow I felt with a sinking dread that the person who placed the initial bid was the Middle Aged Creep from before. Oh crap, is he really going to buy me? I definitely do NOT want that at all.

“$2 million, going once……going twice……”

I heard the announcer say that I’d be a slave, or a toy, or……God knows. This is horrible. I try to shake myself off this nightmare, but I know what I’m going through right now was just as real as everything that partook 12 hours ago.

Oh God, how did I get to this? I fall to my knees, hang my head in shame as I feel the tears well in my eyes start to overflow.

I start praying hoping that Charlie, or my Mom or Fran could find me before it’s too late…..

Just then….

The auction hall suddenly buzzes with commotion as the announcer stops from closing the deal.

“Seat number 100 with a bid for $20 million cash.”

The crowd is drawn into complete silence.

I peer through the gates to look for 100, but whoever was bidding was not in the crowd. All I could do was stare up at the sum of the winning bid, completely dumbfounded as a bell sounds, calling the auction to a close.

“Sold to Seat Number 100 for $20 million. Thank you!!”

Someone bought me for twenty million US dollars?

My cage is carried over to the edge of the stage. As I get off, I’m greeted by two masked men. They weren’t the mean jerks from earlier but something about them looks vaguely familiar. One of them looked to be wearing a Fedora Hat.

Fedora Hat bought me? Before I even get the chance to ask, Fedora Hat in the mask grabs my arm and says” This way….”

Wait, what the heck am I being so nervous for? At least it’s Fedora Hat who bought me and not that Middle Aged Creep. But where are they going to take me now?

And who bought me?

I feel totally numb from this crazy situation that I don’t even notice that I’m brought up into the penthouse.

I gasp in marvel looking at my surroundings, knowing that out of all the hotel employees, only Charlie and a few other managers were ever allowed to come up here.

Wait, speaking of Charlie, does he even know about those weird auctions happening at the basement?

“We brought her, boss.” Fedora Hat announces to the man in the immaculate tux seated on one of the elegant sofas. Like Fedora Hat and the other man, he was also wearing a mask, but something about him looked made me sense that I’ve also encountered this man before. Even the other man seated beside him also with a shock of black hair was also wearing a mask also seemed vaguely familiar.

“Wait. You’re----“

“We bought you,” Mr. Hargreave says indifferently, removing his mask as if he didn’t even hear what I was about to say. The other man beside him followed suit.

“Guess we did end up seeing each other again,” the Asian Mafia guy remarks in the same casual, yet cold tone.

“You know this woman, Mike?” Hargreave raises his eyebrow almost as if in disbelief.

“You can say that.” He shrugs, not really giving a toss.

“Wait. You bought me? In that auction” I stammer, trying to still make sense of it all.

“He means WE won you, Alice.” Kurt Hummel corrects as I turn around in disbelief as he removes his mask as well.

“For $20 million, Princess. The boss must have it bad.” Fedora Hat grins as he casually throws his mask and lays it on the next empty sofa.

“M-Mr. Hummel?” I squeak, not sure if I was asking if Fedora Hat was referring him as ‘the boss’ or if I was just asking a reaffirmation that I knew at least another familiar but friendly face.

“Pffft!!! She doesn’t even know you’re name, Puck.” Kurt laughs.

“That because I didn’t have the time to tell her,” the man named Puck crosses his arms as if he were a pouting kid who wasn’t included in a game of tag.

“Isn’t this some form of human trafficking? I shouldn’t have even been up for that stupid auction in the first place.”

“Hey, anything and everything’s for sale at that auction.” Puck grins matter-of-factly, completely oblivious to the fact that I had stated it being against my own free will.

“Absolutely,” Kurt agrees. “You can buy almost anything there. Like stolen art, government secrets, and even hire a hitman!”

“That was last year, wasn’t it?” Puck asked as I noticed that he and Kurt were the only chatty ones in the group while the other two men watched silently.

“Anyway, this was the first time anyone was sold off in the manner of fashion you had earlier,” Kurt says tilting his head as if trying to understand what was really going on. “You must have done something really bad to put yourself up there, huh?”

“Well…….I accidentally broke the Winged Victory Angel….” My voice trails off and I realized that something wasn’t right here. Wait a minute, weren’t they just talking about selling black market things in a legal casino that by the way just happens to be in a highly publicized area? Was this even legal at all? “Who in the world would approve of these things? Do the police even know?”

“Well, to answer question number one. I did approve of it.” Mr. Hargreave says as if bored by this whole conversation.

“What?”

“If it’s worth anything, it’s here.” Hargreave scoffs and laughs coldly.

“Reckless as always,” Mike shakes his head. “This woman isn’t even worth anything.”

“Think about it for a moment,” Hargreave looks at me up and down as he folds his arms looking at me as if he were the predator toying with his prey. “Won’t it be fun coming up with ways to use her?”

“What gives you the right to decide that?” I ask exasperated.

“Who gave you permission to speak?” Hargreave asks coldly, merely raising an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“Not another word unless I. SAY. SO.” Hargreave says, savoring the last three words, enunciating them slowly as if threatening me to not disobey him.

“If you’ve got a problem, we could always send you back to be auctioned off.” Mike sneers as if finding this even more amusing.

These guys are so scary. I’d rather die first than be sold off again.

I shake my head looking at both men, pleading them that I won’t disobey.

“Come on Boss……Mike……You two should be nice to the girls,” Puck quips, trying to lighten the mood, but honestly it fell a bit flat. Not that I’d feel better either way.

“We need to figure out who gets to keep her,” Kurt says, as if now he’s the one who was bored by the whole turn of the conversation. Though he acts as if he wants everything finalized, I get the feeling that he’s not entirely happy with the idea of having me for a slave. In fact, he looks rather…….reluctant. I’ve heard rumors that Mr. Hummel was gay, but I didn’t think now would have been the best times to actually confirm that. So instead I ask the second question that’s been nagging me.

“What do you mean, who gets to keep me? Didn’t you all buy me?”

“Yes, that’s true. But that’s really not your concern now.” Puck says. “If I were you, I’d choose me. I’m the only good guy here, so you can rest easy.”

“Says the world-famous thief and con-artist,” Elian Hargreave snorts derisively.

“Now, now Elian, you’re just trying to make Puck look bad.” Kurt says as if coming to his friends defense. “You’ve already got tons of groupies, why don’t you just play with one of them and let the rest of us have our fun?”

And to think I thought Kurt Hummel was safe because I assumed he was gay.

Guess again, batman.

“Mike Chang’s the one who could have his pick,” Hargreave threw a smirk towards the cool Asian mobster guy’s direction. “Women would do anything to be the lover of a Hong Kong mobster.”

So he really was part of the Mafia.

Who ARE these people? I’m speechless but I try to pull myself together and try to shake some last-minute common sense in them.

“Human trafficking IS illegal, you know. I’m going to report this to the police and I don’t care who you are.”

“You see a cop anywhere?” Elian Hargreave throws his head as if calling out to no one in particular. I follow his gaze and see a worn-out looking man standing by the window smoking a cigarette. He looks to be the older of the bunch, probably around 35 in age. Rather good-looking, in fact he sort of reminds me of that guy who plays a thief on TV except that he looks disheveled and hasn’t shaved in a week.

“Damn it, don’t just blow my cover like that,” he groans as if he didn’t even want to be a part of this conversation.

“Better now than later, right Detective Cooper?” Kurt giggles as if enjoying himself.

“Shut up, Hummel.”

“Oh, don’t be so mean. Just because I’m dating your brother doesn’t mean you have to be so rude.”

“Wait, you’re a cop?” I ask incredulously, ignoring the fact that Kurt Hummel just confirmed he was openly gay.

“Yup.” Apparently, the Detective spoke the fewest words possible.

I seriously CAN NOT believe that even the police are in on this.

“Well, it looks like we’re not going to reach a decision any time soon.” Kurt announces, really emphasizing on the obvious.

“Well Boss, at times like these….” Puck begins but Elian Hargreave cuts him off immediately.

“Right. I don’t want to waste anymore time.” Hargreave nods and stands up with Mike Chang following suit. All the men except for the Detective stand up and saunter over to me with Mr. Hargreave standing in the center of the group with his arms crossed looking down at me with cold eyes.

“Make a decision,” he says. “I’ll let you choose who buys you.”

---END---

Elian Hargreave. Be ready to hear more of another Hargreave, Elian was just the prototype of my OC in the next series of fanfics.

#glee #glee fanfiction #quinn fabray #voltage otome #otome guys #kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb baba #mike chang #kurt hummel #noah puckerman #kbtbb ota

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avidbeader · 7 years

Text

“Voltron” Fanfic: “The Quintessential Bond” Pt. 10

I had intended to focus on “Scattered” in the hopes of finishing it before the new season comes out, but when ideas hit you on a plane, you write them down.

Established Sheith, rated T. Start from the beginning here or read it on AO3/FF.net.

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Part 10

Katie pulled up her messenger window and a browser. She opened a reference page and did a quick bit of math. “Okay, Japan is fourteen hours ahead of us, so you’re looking at five-thirty in the evening their time.”

Shiro nodded. “That’ll work.”

She entered the information from her mother and Shiro watched as an antique telephone icon appeared and started ringing. The screen shifted and his father’s face appeared.

“Takashi?”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hoshiko! Hoshiko! It’s Takashi!”

Shiro could hear a startled cry in the background, then running feet before his mother slid into view. “Oh my god, Takashi!” She put her hand to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.

His father looked ready to join her. “Colleen said you’d made it back.”

“Have you gotten in touch with Keith yet?” His mother asked.

Shiro looked up and smiled, reaching for Keith and pulling so he would sit next to him. Katie slid the laptop over slightly.

“He was the one to find me, Mom. He knew when I escaped.”

A smile burst across her face and the tears spilled down her cheeks.

Ichiro zeroed in on Keith. “Where have you been?”

Keith’s happy expression faltered. “I… staying hidden. I didn’t want the Garrison to find me.”

“We could have protected you.”

“I…” Keith glanced at Shiro, who put his arm around him, sending encouragement along the bond. Just tell them.

Keith took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I was so afraid of them finding me and breaking our bond, I didn’t think.”

Ichiro replied, “That’s understandable. But you have to remember, Takashi comes with a family. We’re your family.”

Keith nodded.

Hoshiko leaned forward. “Can you come home? Your grandmother would love to see you.”

“I’m not sure, Mom. There’s something wrong with the Garrison – they wouldn’t hear me out. And there are aliens coming, looking for a weapon that was hidden here. We need to find it before they do.”

Ichiro frowned at that. “Not you. Let Earthforce handle it if you don’t trust the Garrison.”

“Dad, we don’t know who we can trust. There’s a lot of cooperation between the Garrison and Earthforce. Besides, bringing them in will only delay things. We have to move fast.”

His father tried again. “Keith, please! Tell him!”

Keith’s expression crumpled into apology. “I can’t, sir. He’s right. We need to find this weapon first and we’re the only ones who can do it quickly.” He gripped Shiro’s hand and Shiro squeezed back reassuringly. “I’m sorry.”

Hoshiko laid one hand on Ichiro’s arm before he could argue more. “Takashi, please get in touch again as soon as possible. Let us know when you’re safe.”

Shiro felt tears welling up. “I promise.”

She kissed her fingers and touched them to the screen. Shiro used his left hand to repeat the gesture. “We love you, darling.”

“Love you too, Mom. Dad. We’ll talk to you soon.”

Katie reached over and closed the connection. “Okay, anyone else we should notify? Keith?”

Shiro shook his head and began, “Keith doesn’t have—”

“Wait! Dr. Hooper!”

Katie’s eyes lit up. “That was the name! Yes, that’s a good idea.”

Keith bit his lip. “I’m not sure we can find her. She was going up to Canada, Alberta, to get away from whoever had her project terminated.”

Katie pulled the laptop over and cracked her knuckles. “First name?”

“Margaret.”

She leaned over and began tapping keys.

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Lance huddled next to Hunk as he put the finishing touches on the Voltron Geiger Counter. Hunk noticed the frequent glances Lance shot at Shiro and Keith as they sat with Katie and communicated with people.

“Dude, you need to chill. I know Shiro’s your hero and all, but he needs the chance to talk to his family. You’ll get your turn.”

Lance glared at him. “I just don’t get it. I don’t get how he has this connection with Shiro. Why him, of all people?”

“That’s the thing about soul bonds. They just happen. My moms weren’t looking to hook up with one another. Ma-lisa figured she’d get married after culinary school and Ma-nee was focused on learning everything to open her own restaurant. And then they reached for the same bottle of olive oil in class one day. It is what it is.”

“But—”

“No buts, dude. You gotta get over it.”

Lance grumbled, but stopped arguing for the moment.

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After about five minutes of detective work, Katie pushed the laptop back to Keith and Shiro. “Okay, this connection is for her sister. Hopefully she’ll have a way to get in touch.”

Keith swallowed hard as the laptop worked to connect the call. The cross, sleepy face that appeared on the screen was similar enough to Dr. Hooper. He straightened. “Hi, I’m looking for Dr. Hooper? Margaret Hooper. I’m Keith Kogane.”

The woman went from sleepy to alert at his name. “Oh, wow! You’re alive! Molls has been worried sick about you.”

“Is she okay?”

“Okay enough. I think she’s—um, are you somewhere secure?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah. I just need her to know that I’m okay and that Shiro made it back.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Wait, the Kerberos captain? He’s back?”

Keith turned the screen so the webcam showed both of them and Shiro gave a small wave.

“Oh my god, oh my god, we have to let her know! Give me a minute!”

Keith and Shiro traded looks, then looked at Katie. Her face was scrunched up tightly in thought. “You said she was trying to get away from somebody?”

Keith replied, “Someone with a lot of influence killed the project, studying the distance effects of our bond. I think someone was looking to erase all the evidence available that Shiro and your family survived.”

“Including trying to break the bond between you two.” Katie’s expression turned furious.

Shiro felt Keith tense up beside him and was suddenly immersed in Keith’s memory of the assault: dragged away by masked assailants, strapped down, shouting at Iverson to stop until he was gagged, and his absolute helplessness as the second person approached with a syringe full of drugs. He put his arm around Keith and sent back his strongest reassurance: It didn’t happen. I’m still here.

Keith looked at him, his eyes fearful. It was so close, though.

Shiro was racking his brain for anything to say that might help. Katie reached over and put one hand on Keith’s arm, able to read their body language.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re together again. We’re going to work it all out.”

Keith drew a deep shuddering breath and nodded at them. But whatever he might have said was interrupted by the doctor’s sister appearing on the screen again.

“Okay, I’ve called her. She’s waiting to hear from you right now!”

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Franke watched the security video for the twentieth time. As the medtechs and Iverson went down, he growled deep in his throat.

Across from him, Iverson squirmed. Franke paused the video and glared at him.

“How? How did you let a fucking teenager take you down like that?”

“He came in like a tornado! We had no chance to react!”

“And the rest of the unit? No one thought to stay behind in case the explosions were a diversion?”

“We were dealing with a confirmed alien spacecraft! We had no way of knowing it was the only one!”

Franke slammed one hand down on the table. “There is not going to be any way to cover this up! McClain and Garret’s families issued their statements within minutes of the first press release about their deaths. They have to have been in touch with their sons already.”

“What about Gunderson?”

Franke’s eyes narrowed. “Gunderson...is an interesting case.”

“What do you mean?”

“The contact information for him no longer exists.”

“What?”

“Gunderson is a false identity for someone. No telling who.”

Iverson’s eyes widened and he let out a slow breath as the puzzle pieces fit together. How had he missed it? “The daughter. Holt’s daughter.”

“That makes it worse. Colleen Holt is talking to reporters. And I just got word that Shirogane’s parents have asked for help from the Japanese government. Our only shot is finding those kids and finding them fast!”

“All we can do is try to search the desert from the air when we have daylight! Kogane took them right off a cliff and straight into a no-man’s-land!”

“Scramble the search teams. I want them out at first light.”

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Keith sat up as Dr. Hooper’s face appeared on the screen. She brushed her dark-again hair out of her face and smiled. “Keith! It’s so good to see you!”

He smiled back. “Good to see you, too.”

“Mary said Shiro’s back?”

Shiro leaned in. “Yes, I made it back.”

Dr. Hooper’s smile faded as she took in Shiro’s appearance. “I see. What happened to you?”

Shiro retreated into self-deprecation and shrugged. “Got abducted by aliens. Ended up fighting as entertainment in an arena. Some traitor in their ranks helped me escape. Crash-landed back here.”

Keith squeezed his hand and leaned into his shoulder as he sent comfort along the bond.

“And…how is your bond?”

“Still there,” Shiro replied.

The doctor’s eyes widened. “Do you…do you know how far away you ended up?��

Shiro shook his head. “Not exactly. The Galra have something called a hyperdrive that can travel faster than light. I never got a good look at the sky to try and orient myself while I was a prisoner. And the one who freed me programmed the ship I came back in. All I know is it was far outside our solar system – even in hyperdrive it took hours, maybe over a day to get back.”

Hooper blew out a long breath, taking it in. “Then it’s possible there’s no measurable distance limit to the bond.”

Keith spoke up. “Something did happen, though. When we were back together, physically, it was like the bond was too strong for us. Like we were going to merge into one identity and be stuck like that forever.”

The doctor gasped at that. “Hold on, I need to be recording this!” She disappeared from the screen and they heard footsteps receding.

Katie looked up from her pocket tablet. “Update from Mom: the Garrison tried to announce our deaths, burying the news in the middle of the night. She’s talking to multiple reporters now about releasing the video of the Kerberos landing. Lance and Hunk’s families issued their statements before anyone could contact them first and that’s gotten the media’s attention. Your parents are trying to bring in the Japanese government since Shiro’s their citizen.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows at that bit of news.

“And according to what I’ve just found on the high-security server at the Garrison, they’re going to be searching for us by air starting at first light. When’s sunrise?”

Keith thought for a moment. “Two, two-and-a-half hours from now.”

Katie turned to the others. “Hunk, how’s the Voltron detector?”

“Almost ready!”

Shiro looked around. “I think we need to be ready the minute we have enough light to see by.”

“Keith? Shiro? I’m ready. Can you repeat what you were saying about the bond again?”

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Hunk was on the porch of the cabin, turning in a slow circle and watching the needle on the repurposed Geiger counter. There was a clear indicator that the alien signature was coming from the southwest.

Lance was leaning against the railing, watching the bunker. Shiro and Keith had disappeared into it once more, saying they needed to talk but would be back shortly. Pidge had physically jumped in front of Lance when he moved in their direction, hoping to get a word in first, and he had come close to decking her for it.

Hunk sighed, made a note of the direction where the signal was strongest, and set the device down. He moved to Lance’s side and nudged him.

“Seriously, Lance. Whatever is eating you so bad, you have to let it go.”

“I just…I just wanna be able to talk to him! And…fucking Keith is always there! Or Pidge is getting in the way!”

“Lance, if your parents were separated by a huge distance for a long time, wouldn’t you give them time alone first?”

Lance looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “We’re family! Family sticks together!”

“And when people in your family want privacy?”

Lance shrugged. “I guess they tell us. Or go…somewhere else…”

Hunk nodded, seeing Lance finally make the connection. He knew from visits that Lance’s family was almost constantly in one another’s space. It was almost diametrically opposite to what he remembered of Shiro’s personality at the Garrison—friendly if approached but not super-outgoing—and his initial reading of Keith was of an intensely private person.

“So, they went somewhere else for a bit. Let them have some time.”

Lance glared through the window into the cabin where Pidge was typing away at her laptop. “So you’re on their side against me?”

Hunk face-palmed. Lance was his best friend and normally a fun and chill dude, but once in a while he got obsessed over things. This was apparently one of those things.

“No. There is no side here. I’m not sure why Pidge is going off the rails to protect them. Maybe it’s because she knew Shiro before. Maybe she’s one of those people who wants a soul bond really badly and overdoes it when she meets a pair in real life. My moms have had to put up with a few people like that over the years. But if you back off, she’ll calm down and you will get your opportunity to talk to Shiro.”

Lance ran his hands up and down his arms through his jacket, trying to warm himself against the cold night air. He didn’t meet Hunk’s gaze.

“Lance, I’m serious. Shake it the fuck off.”

That got his attention. Hunk rarely swore. Lance looked at him for a moment and finally nodded.

“Okay, I’ll try.”

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Leaning over her laptop, fingers flying, Katie orchestrated.

The Garrison had an army. Hell, the Garrison was technically part of the army, focusing on recruiting and training teenagers for space exploration.

They needed their own army.

Her mom. Shiro’s parents. Hunk and Lance’s parents. A growing mob of reporters. And now Dr. Hooper. They were the core group and Katie had made sure that they could all contact one another.

Now they needed the public.

Her laptop pinged a notification. Dr. Hooper had sent her the research presentation she had finished in the hopes of being able to publish it one day. She had made a hasty addendum outlining Shiro’s return and how Keith had described the exponential solidification of their bond.

Katie attached it to the post and took one more look at what she had composed. Everything was there: the coverup of Kerberos, Shiro’s escape and return, aliens searching for the Voltron, the attempts to hide the existence of aliens, anything relevant that Shiro had mentioned about these Galra.

Taking a deep breath, she hit “send”.

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Once back in the bunker, Keith immediately moved in, ready to pick up where they had left off. Shiro took him by the shoulders and kept space between them.

“Shiro, what?”

“I said we had to talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“I need to know exactly what happened with you. I’ve got the impressions, the emotions. I could see through your eyes on the way back. But I don’t understand why. What happened? How could you pull things together so fast in the time it took me to get back here?”

Keith swallowed hard. “I… I knew something was coming tonight. I didn’t know it would be you, not until that person helped you escape. I was preparing to intercept whoever arrived and try to hitch a ride with them off-planet.”

Shiro’s hands fell away from Keith as his mouth dropped open. Keith’s insides twisted, unable to feel anything from his soulmate other than shock and growing disapproval. He flinched as Shiro’s expression grew stormy. But just as Shiro drew breath to speak, a low, warning growl thundered through both of them.

I did not help you for this.

Shiro looked around. “What is that?”

“That’s…” Keith groped for a better way to say it, but nothing came. “That’s my guardian angel.”

“Your what?”

“It’s like the bond, but different. More lopsided. It’s helped me, almost from the night I arrived here. Boosted me, helped me help you. It may have even saved my life when you lost… when they took your hand.”

Shiro’s anger had faded and now he was lost in thought. “That’s what you were saying to Dr. Hooper. About something outside us bringing the bond back under our control.”

Keith nodded.

“But…you said you knew something was coming. How did you know?”

Keith held out his hand. “You should see this.”

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Keith would have preferred showing the corkboard just to Shiro, but there was no polite way to tell the others to stay out of the main room. He pulled the sheet down and began trying to explain.

It got easier sooner than he expected. Keith had barely begun tracing out the direction of this strange presence when Hunk nodded vigorously. “Yes! That’s the direction the Voltron Geiger counter is showing!”

Pidge was typing, adding new information to the stream as Keith gave it.

“The cave markings all had two things in common, predicting the arrival of something tonight and a mysterious blue lion—” Keith broke off and looked at Shiro.

He had made the connection as well. “A blue lion! That’s what we have to find!”

“Is that what the Voltron thing is? A blue lion?” Lance asked. He frowned at a feeling of amusement coming from somewhere. But everyone else in the room looked as serious as he did.

Shiro straightened his shoulders. “I don’t think we can afford to wait for daylight. Keith, can you get us to these caves now?”

He nodded and pointed to a box under the makeshift coffee table. “Flashlights are in there. Everyone grab one.”

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More to come...

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #sheith #quintessential bond by avidbeader #voltron fanfic #fanfic: voltron

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