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banditthewriter · 5 years

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Electric Love - Billy Russo

I’m kinda nervous about this one, not gonna lie. Hopefully someone enjoys it though, even if it’s just one person hahaha okay, enough of that.

I’ve also got a few ideas about a sequel if... that’s a thing.

Summary: Includes a powered reader, a fake death, and a creepy guy called the creator.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The penthouse apartment was large, with windows that stretched across an entire wall. It looked surprisingly lived in, which for some reason didn’t fit what you knew about it’s occupant. Perhaps once upon a time, when home was a one bedroom apartment with faded and peeling wallpaper in every room, but now?

Books lined one of the bookcases, movies lined the other. You walked in front of them and let your fingers linger over some of the familiar titles.

Somewhere deep inside of your chest, there was a tightness that felt an awful lot like a rubber band being pulled to its breaking point. You pressed your hand over the ache and turned your eyes to the front door. In the distance you could hear the elevator working.

It was now or never. You could still leave, still avoid this. Instead you moved a little from the bookcase and stood your ground. You didn’t want him to think you were hiding when he got there.

Footsteps. You listened to the familiar pattern of his walk, a long stride that compensated for his long legs. And then, at the door, the jangling of keys. Moments later, the locks were undone and the door was pushed open.

He turned with the door to enter in his key code so that the alarm wouldn’t go off. You watched as he shut the door, locking it behind him. Then he turned to head towards the bedroom.

But he didn’t get that far. In a flash he spun around, his gun in hand. It took you a moment to realize the gun was aimed at you.

Slowly you raised your hands and stepped into a piece of moonlight that filtered through one of the large windows. The time it took him to recognize you stretched into silence.

Billy Russo was not used to be caught off guard. He probably wasn’t even too surprised to find someone in his home. No, his surprise fell to exactly who it was that had gotten in. His eyes widened and then narrowed, his gun being aimed a little higher.

“You’re dead.”

It wasn’t a statement of the future, despite how it sounded. No, he was stating a fact of the past. You were dead.

“Didn’t stick,” you offered as you lowered your hands to your sides. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

He shook his head. There was a barely there tremor in his hands as well.

“You’re dead,” he repeated, clinging to the things he considered facts this whole time. “We buried you. There was a funeral.”

“It was a beautiful service. I liked the suit you wore,” you added as you touched the space over your chest, “the handkerchief was a nice touch. My favorite color.”

His hands shook as he lowered the gun, letting it hang from one hand.

“I watched you die.”

He had. Your last memory before you gave in to the darkness were his eyes, his mouth pleading with you to stay with him. You couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him, so you had simply closed your eyes and slipped away. So yes, he had watched you die.

“Like I said, it didn’t stick,” you repeated as you turned your head to look around the apartment some more, having to look away from him. “I was brought back.”

“Are you a ghost?”

You smiled as you turned and gave him your back. Partially to put him at ease, but also so that he could see that you weren’t see through.

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Neither are alcoholic private investigators with superhuman strength, but I just saw Jessica Jones two days ago. So forgive me for asking if you’re a fucking ghost.”

Anger. He had gone through disbelief quicker than you had expected. But anger was something you were better at handling with him.

“It’s kind of the same thing,” you offered in truce, turning back to face him, “how she is the way she is and how I’m back here. The man that created me has abilities and one of those is bringing people back from the dead. But we come back different.”

Billy tilted his head a bit before he stuck his gun into the waistband of his pants. He took a few steps towards you and you caught your breath. He looked good like this. Better than you had imagined.

“Different how?”

You raised one hand up to your side, palm up. As you did, all of the lights in the apartment started to flicker. The television came on and off, the channels changing as it did. The stereo started up, flicking between stations. In the kitchen, various appliances were turning on and off.

“I can control electric waves that are in the air.”

You closed your fist around the pulse and everything went silent. There was a light emanating from your fist but you willed it into your skin rather than let it out in a blast. Then, with great difficulty, you looked up at Billy.

You expected fear, but you should have known better. He did look off kilter, but not afraid. Not of you.

“Is that where you’ve been for the last two years?”

Straight to the point. It was why you came to Billy. While you knew that time would have erased whatever feelings he had for you, having buried them as deep as they had buried your empty casket, you knew that you could trust him to be mission minded. And if you were coming out of hiding after two years, there had to be something you needed from him.

“The man that made me is losing grip. Three of the other metas that he created have been killed trying to do jobs for him.” The last one had been recently and it was still sore for you. “I’m supposed to do a job and it’s dangerous.”

Here Billy shifted. You watched as he pulled the soldier out of the closet and slid into the old habits as easily as a favorite jacket. His body fell into parade rest, his hands clasped together. He looked much like you imagined he would at a briefing from a superior.

“And you need my help.”

Not a question. You waited a beat and then nodded your head.

“What’s the job?”

You let out a breath, feeling the tingle up the back of your spine that told you that the creator was looking for you. You still had a short time before you would be found, but you needed to be fast. That in mind, you nodded and explained the situation.

“I’m supposed to break into the Pentagon. Yeah,” you said when Billy’s eyes got wider at that, “exactly. If I get caught, I get killed. If I fail, I get killed by him. If I succeed, at best I’ve betrayed my country and I’m a terrorist.”

“What does he want you to do there, fry their computers?”

You shook your head and looked around. On a desk on the far side of the room was a computer. You pointed two fingers at it and focused. Something visibly jumped between the computer and your fingers and you rubbed your fingers together afterward.

“You really need to update your antivirus if you’re going to be browsing porn,” you said as you wiped your hand on your jeans, giving Billy a bit of a smirk, “and I see that your tastes haven’t changed.”

He opened his mouth and then let out a laugh. It was the first sign that he was relaxing around you and you relished in the sound. God, being apart from him had been hell.

Still was hell. Just because you were here with him now, didn’t mean things were going to be the same. No, you just needed help. That’s all this was.

“So what’s the plan to keep you from stealing from the Pentagon?”

Here you took a deep breath. The tingle was resting at the base of your skull, telling you to get out soon. If you waited much longer, you wouldn’t have a chance.

“I need your help to kill my creator.”

Billy didn’t even blink.

“Name the time and place.”

As easy as that. You felt relief soar through you. Then you cleared your throat and checked the watch on your wrist.

“I have to go or he’ll find me. But I’ll come to you soon and we’ll figure out the plan.”

He gave you a nod to show that that was fine with him. You carefully made your way around him, trying to keep as much space between the two of you as possible while you were lit. It didn’t seem to matter because his hand wrapped around your wrist anyways. You knew he must have felt the shock in his palm, but he didn’t react.

“It’s good to see you,” he said quietly, shaking his head as his eyes moved over your face. “You can’t imagine how good it is to see you again.”

Except you could imagine it. Instead of saying that, you looked at where he was holding your wrist. When he released you, you jerked your fingers to send the building electrical current back under your skin.

“I’ll find you soon.”

And then you slipped out of the penthouse and down the hall to the elevator. It usually didn’t work from the penthouse without a key, but when had that ever stopped you?

------

Lightning flickered in the sky and you frowned. Seconds later a rumble of thunder shook the window next to you. You settled back into your seat and looked around the diner. It was pretty busy for this time of night, but it looked like it was mostly college kids who needed a break from studying.

“Strange place to meet,” a voice said before a body slid into the booth with you.

Billy looked good. Ridiculously good. You couldn’t see him too clearly the night you broke into his home, but here under the lights? He looked good. Slicked back hair, facial hair at just the right length. His leather jacket was open a little at the top and showed that he was wearing a dark sweater under it.

Good enough to eat.

You felt a tingling sensation at the tips of your fingers that had nothing to do with your powers and you reached out for your cup of coffee, steadying yourself.

“It’s better to be in public. Less likely to be followed that way.”

Because the people who would follow you wouldn’t stray into public if they could help it, especially not your creator.

“Not worried about seeing someone that recognizes you from before your untimely death?”

You met Billy’s dark eyes evenly across the table.

“Did you know there are electric waves in the human brain? I’ll admit I don’t understand it completely, was never good with science, but I do know that I have enough control that I can scramble someone’s memory. They could look me in the face and with one twitch of my wrist, they’ll think they hadn’t seen me or anyone else that day.”

You weren’t very good with it and tended to fry the person’s brain if you tried to remove too much at once, but Billy didn’t need to know that.

“Good to know. So we doing this here? Gonna plan to take out your ‘creator’ with half the college population ordering pancakes behind us?”

You shrugged your shoulder and took another sip from your mug.

“You have a better idea?”

He raised his hand, keys dangling from his fingers. You caught sight of something before he jerked his the keys back into his palm and jerked his thumb towards the door.

“Come on, let’s go to the car. We can have some privacy that way.”

After paying for your coffee and leaving a tip, you followed him out to the car. It was expensive and flashy, but nice. He held the door open for you and then shut it carefully. You watched him cross over to the driver’s side. When he got in, he hesitated before he slid the keys into the ignition but didn’t turn it over.

You reached out and let your finger rest on something that hung from a keychain. At first you thought it was a simple silver band, but it rotated and you caught sight of a diamond that was embedded into the band. There was something engraved on the inside of the band, but you couldn’t make it out from the distance.

“This creator, does he have any powers?”

He didn’t pull the ring away from you, but you knew he was drawing your attention from it. You leaned up and gave a nod, but then amended that.

“Yeah, but not something that he can use in a fight. He has the ability to bring people back from the dead, but it doesn’t always even work.”

“You think he’ll be able to bring himself back to life?”

You hadn’t thought about it, but you had watched his process before. It didn’t seem to be possible, but what would you know?

“I guess we’ll see,” you said with a shrug as you looked away from Billy and out of the window. “I can’t do it because of him creating me. He can sense me the same way I can sense him. He’ll go underground if he knows that I’m a danger to him.”

Billy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment.

“So you lure him out and I’ll do the deed.”

It was the easiest plan. You could call him and have him meet you at your safe house, tell him you were having second thoughts. Once he got there, Billy could do his part and then the two of you could get rid of the evidence.

“And then what? Once he’s dead and you no longer have to do anything for him. What then?”

You hadn’t gotten that far in your thoughts. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought about that apartment the two of you shared a few years ago with its peeling wallpaper and the kitchen sink which dripped all the time.

It was just a dream now.

“Then I’ll be free.”

Free. Whatever that meant anymore.

------

Billy was sitting on the edge of a chair in your safe house. He had seemed surprised that you lived somewhere so empty, but you explained that you didn’t have much anymore.

“It’s easier to pack up and leave when you don’t actually have anything to pack.”

He understood that.

The gun on the table beside him felt like a beacon to you. You couldn’t tear your eyes from it, no matter how hard you tried. And when you were able to look away, you could still feel it there on the table. Waiting.

“I went to your grave every day for a while,” Billy said quietly, leaning back in the chair to observe you.

“Oh?” You looked over at Billy and caught the look in his eyes. “Oh.”

The two of you were silent after that. Billy had missed you, but you had imagined that would be the case. But then you thought about the ring he had hanging from his keychain and wondered just how much he had missed you.

The relationship the two of you had ended with your death, but maybe the feelings hadn’t stopped.

“Do you still love me?”

You looked over at Billy in surprise, mouth working silently as you tried to figure out a response to that.

Before you could give your response much thought, you felt a familiar tingle up the back of your neck. You held your finger to your lips and pointed to the door. Billy grabbed the gun and moved to the closet, hiding behind a partially closed door. He had reluctantly agreed to give you a chance to get the creator to free you before he killed him.

A few moments later, you heard a knock at the door. With a wince, you moved over and unlocked the door.

The creator was a man with such thin skin that it looked almost see-through. Veins laid under the translucent skin like a roadmap. He wore a pair of gloves to keep his skin from coming in contact with anyone, a pair of sunglasses hiding the fact that his eyes were almost completely white.

“You are having second thoughts?”

To say the least. You shut the door as he walked in, locking it. Your chest felt tight as you did it. This would be the end one way or another.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” you explained as you moved to stand on the other side of him, keeping him between you and the closet. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be free.”

The creator didn’t say anything, but he lowered his glasses. You watched those eerie eyes move over you with a calculating gaze.

“When I first gave you life, you begged to come back to New York to find that man, Russo. You begged to be able to say goodbye to him. Do you remember that?”

You could feel Billy’s surprise in the closet at that, but you tried not to react.

“Sir,” you began, but he waved you off.

“I gave you life so it belongs to me. I kept you from saying goodbye because he was from your first life and does not belong in this version of you. And you will do as I’ve told you because it is my will.”

Surely at this point, Billy was raising the gun and preparing. It was obvious the creator wasn’t going to let you go, not without a fight. And you were tired of fighting.

The creator moved as if he was looking at something over your shoulder. Then in a flash, faster than you thought him capable of moving, he had his hand around your throat, your back pressed to his chest. The movement was enough to make Billy come out of hiding, his gun raised in your direction.

“I could smell him,” the creator explained as his gloved fingers flexed over your neck. “I felt the moment you found him again, felt your rebellion on the rise. Did you think I was stupid enough to let you come to New York without keeping an eye on your one weakness?”

You raised your hand, pulling electricity to you, but he squeezed and it left you in a wave. It was one of the only things he was able to do besides bring life back; he could somewhat control the powers of those that he created.

“Release her.”

The words were bitten out from Billy’s clenched teeth as he tried to get a clear shot.

“I could say the same to you,” the creator taunted as he dragged you backwards with him, away from the door. “She could have been my greatest creation if she wasn’t tethered to you. Love is weakness, my child, I have told you that from the start.”

His hand tightened on your throat and you reached up to scratch against the leather of the glove, desperate to get a breath.

Billy surged forward, but the creator tilted your head at an unnatural angle and let out a blood chilling laugh.

“Not even I can bring her back a second time, soldier. Stay where you are.”

No, not like this. You refused to die twice. You refused to lose Billy twice. You refused to force Billy watch you die twice.

With a deep breath, you focused the energy in your body. There was very little contact between you and the creator, but you finally found a point. His cheek was pressed just to the tip of your ear with the way he had your head tilted.

That little connection was enough. You met Billy’s eyes and hoped he could see it in your eyes. Your plan. Your love.

It only took a second. You built the surge in your chest and forced it outward. The contact between his cheek and the tip of his ear was just enough to have the electricity force through him. He seized your throat tighter before his hand shot away from you, pushing you away to try to break the contact.

Billy fired off the shot the moment you were free. The creator didn’t have a moment to look shocked; his body fell straight to the ground the instant the bullet tore through his head.

Then Billy was there, his hands reaching out to touch you to check if you were alright. You were choking on lungful after lungful of air, but you tried to shake your head and warn him off. Either he didn’t understand your warning or he didn’t care, because he reached out and touched your cheek and neck with his bare hands.

But nothing happened. Your electricity didn’t go through him, although you could feel it still zipping around under your skin. He leaned in and rested his forehead against yours, more contact, but nothing happened.

It was like your gift recognized Billy as part of you.

“So, about that question I asked you earlier,” he teased as he leaned back, his dark eyes meeting yours easily.

You laughed, unable to help it. You were free.

Free.

With that in mind, you leaned up and let your lips brush across Billy’s. The electricity you felt at that simple touch was less about your gift and more about the chemistry the two of you had always had. It was love.

------

You sat with your hand in Billy’s, admiring the way your nerve endings seemed to light up with his touch. He had told you that he could feel the spark, but that it didn’t hurt.

Besides your death, you were incapable of hurting him.

On your finger sat the ring you had once noticed on his keys. He had given it to you a few days after he had killed your creator, but he told you he had bought it right before you had died. Even though people told him to get rid of it, he hadn’t been able to.

And now he knew why. Because deep down he knew you weren’t gone.

The two of you knew that life was going to be different. Billy was mixed up with things at work that were dangerous, but it didn’t bother you. And now he had a secret weapon: you.

On the inside of the ring was the inscription “Till death do we part” and you had smiled when you had seen it. Not even death could separate you and Billy.

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asgardianthot · 5 years

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If anything happens (sambucky)

A/N: this was supposed to be a short one-shot, but I guess I got carried away over my love for these two. Enjoy! 💕

word count: 5644

summary: their feelings for each other have been lost and found and lost again for months. Then Bucky gets injured…

“Oh, my god.” Wanda raised her eyebrows, her elbows up on the counter, “You guys are dating.”

Sam frowned, “What?”

She shook her head with a smile, the news getting her hyped in the most positive and happiest way; she backed away in a less intrusive posture.

“How long has it been going on?”

Yet her cheerful attitude had the man taken aback.

“We’re not dating!” he declared, placing down his cup of freshly-made coffee on the counter, “No, how could we-“

“Oh. I see.” Wanda squinted, however seeing how Sam was clearly waiting for an explanation of her sudden change of words, she mentally agreed to be more verbal with his very clueless co-worker, “You’re downright the stupidest person I have ever met.”

Sam raised his eyebrows with shock and offense.

“Excuse me?”

The young woman had to tone it down, “Look, when you came back from that mission, you talked it through, right?” the response being more cluelessness, she now was furiously rolling her eyes, “Your feelings, dumbass! How you left things, how you want them to continue!”

Processing the thought, Sam held his weight on the counter behind him and limited himself to biting the inside of his cheek. Wanda lowered her head, looking dead into his eyes with utter seriousness.

“You did have that conversation, right?” she pressured.

“No.” He simply replied, suddenly believing there might have been a better approach at the whole Bucky situation, “Why? Should we?”

Bucky had kissed him. Or, perhaps it was Sam who kissed him, the lines of who took the initiative were a bit blurry but the point was that there had been a kiss. A very confused, very desperate, hungry kiss, coming from two mouths that found themselves drawn to each other like they knew they were bound to happen. It had taken months of awkward stares, developing to witty comments which sounded like they held a double meaning and would turn the spokesperson ashamed of ever saying it.

It had taken months of their messy dynamic and mean jokes, months of risking their lives together, months of uneasy proximity, realizing that the other person felt that too. But eventually, Sam let something slip, an implicative comment, an unmerciful glance. Anything could have been that last drop to overflow a glass full of unspoken feelings at that point. And after that one kiss, after that frozen look of want, came another one, and then more, until they shared a three-day period of utter confusion, awkward laughs and needy escapades to get back to each other’s lips.

That was, until Sam got a mission call. It was simple, not risky nor complicated, but it needed a well-thought plan which took a very long time to execute. And so, Sam fled the compound without a word, for he didn’t exactly know what to say when saying goodbye.

Wanda shook her head again, only this time, it was with great disappointment.

“I have no words for you.” At the sound of that, Sam threw an aimless hand in the air along with a puff of air, but she cut him off before he could even start ranting, “You left for months, right after everything happened. How could you not-? What did you tell him that could possibly replace the need for a heart-to-heart?”

Sam thought hard, trying to remember with a big frown on his face what was the actual first thing he said to Bucky when he came back.

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I asked him for an update report.”

Wanda’s mouth fell open, then closed it back up as her anger surpassed her shock.

“An update report.” She repeated, her tone low and full of disbelief.

Noticing the patronizing on her voice, Wilson defended himself, “I’d been gone for months! I had no idea what was going on in the compound, I needed an update!”

“And you couldn’t have asked me?” she reminded him of that possibility, but the intention was to make him realize that he had acted willingly and for a purpose.

As a matter of fact, the more he cracked his head around it, he began to take notice of what was the only thing ringing in his stupid brain the second he set foot in the compound.

“I… wanted to talk to him.” He admitted, a truthful tone exposing a little vulnerability; yet at the sound of no reply, he threw his hands in the air again, “I didn’t know it was such a stupid thing to do!”

“Of course it was, now he thinks you’re not into him, because you avoided the subject with a report!” Maximoff scolded him.

Instead of continuing to bark at each other back and forth, Sam cooled off and showed her his hands in order to communicate that intent.

“Okay, alright, so… What if I… want to talk about it? You know, what do I do?”

The only thing Wanda was able to do was sigh, naturally gaining a smirk across her face when seeing how helpless the man looked.

“I hate being right sometimes.” She let out, a hand on her hip, and found herself needing to explain further one more time, “He thought you guys were dating. You just didn’t get the memo.”

Having pointed her finger at Sam, she walked out of that kitchen without looking back.

“What do you mean?” Wilson tried to get her attention, but it was pointless, “Hey. Wanda, what does that mean?!”

Bucky wasn’t one to be careless over the people in his life. He was constantly worrying about their safety, concerned over the fact that he himself tended to attract bad things and the constant fear and guilt that came with his past. He had more than once believed that the sole fact of having the Avengers close put them in harm’s way, so his concern was not only constant, but silent. Kept to himself.

Nevertheless, when Sam left abruptly for a one-man mission, sent by SHIELD, he had to ask.

“Hey, Clint?” he pointed to a screen when Barton walked in the room, where Bucky had been waiting to receive some explanatory company, “What are these?”

Clint noticed the coded numbers and replied easily, “Wilson’s coordinates.”

The archer resumed to whatever task he had come in for, sitting in front of a desk. However Barnes had his mind railing over the symbols. If his coding skills and knowledge weren’t too rusty, he was right to believe those coordinates indicated proximity. And if his memory of the actual mission wasn’t failing, proximity could only mean his steps had been completed to the point of being almost done, according to plan.

“Which means he’ll be back soon, right?” he dared to ask.

“Should be, yeah.” Barton answered, still focused on his own screen, “Why?”

“What if he’s not?” the soldier couldn’t help but ramble a little, out of pure and genuine uncertainty, “Back soon, I mean. That would be bad news, right?”

That was more than enough questions for Clint to turn his chair around and face him with an odd, suspicious look on his face.

“You growing a soft spot for him or something?” he shot rather rudely, to which Bucky frowned like he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, “What’s got you so worried?”

It was up to him now to pretend nothing was happening nor had happened; not the kisses, the sentiment exchanges, the touches, the hand guiding into confined spaces, not the butterflies in his stomach nor the excitement in the pit of his stomach when thinking about Sam coming back and resuming where they left off.

“Jesus, I’m sorry for caring.” He forced a scoff through a sentence that had Clint squinting his eyes, for it wasn’t something anyone would expect to come from Barnes’ mouth, “You’re the one who said we needed to look after each other.”

Barton decided to simply snort out loud, mocking the man’s unusual behavior, as he was fully aware that something was going on, even if he didn’t know what that was. So he simply focused back on his task, a smirk on his face still. Bucky squinted his eyes and abandoned the room for good after that.

The worst part about getting a compound alert right when Sam wanted to go talk to Bucky wasn’t the bad timing; it was the lack of agents near reach. The Avengers had become skimpy after all, not truly a unit but more of a disperse team. With only Wanda and Bucky living there permanently –from lack of a better living situation– Sam had followed, merely out of feeling like he had to; like the gratitude of being allowed to be a hero could only be paid by dedicating his life to Avenging. The problem was, it was only them. And Barton, at the moment, when he wasn’t taking time off with his family. The whole ‘I need to be there’ speech quite stuck on him as well.

And they usually would get a better-thought page, one that involved more heroes for the job, or maybe less heroes but along with a proper strategy. Usually, but this this was a SHIELD raid, which meant, they didn’t need plan nor well-thought, they needed quick. So, quickly, the four heroes ran to the quinjet while receiving orders from Fury.

In there, the two men who had been more than tense and avoiding each other, shared looks. Undecipherable looks. Wanda, on her part, was expectant as one would be in a romantic drama type of movie, even shooting glances at Sam, like saying ‘well?’, and the Falcon had no proper answer, even if he could have said something out loud. Bucky, with his upset expression, was definitely not okay with the overall situation. He was focusing on his own boots with a small frown, not wanting to talk and keeping it all to himself. So the silence in the jet was painful.

“And here I thought I’d get a quiet weekend.” Barton broke the tension while flying the quinjet, although his idea of tension was explained by the upcoming mission, and not an emotional quarrel between two soldiers.

Wanda felt even more awkward after that attempt, herself fully aware of what was going on.

“Is Lang still off-radar?” she made a second attempt, asking Clint.

Yet it was Wilson who cut her off, already knowing the answer would be a hard no.

“We don’t need tic-tac, we’re fine.” He reassured them of something he believed to be absolutely true, which was why they hadn’t even bothered to call Rhodey or anyone else for that matter: it was just a raid, it should be a piece of cake, “He’d just get himself stepped on.”

Bucky was left to roll his eyes at the snarky comment. He usually would have comeback and derailed the mocking to an offense towards Sam, turning it on him like they always did jokingly, but for now everything that came out of Samuel Wilson’s mouth pissed him off.

He had, after all, pretended like nothing happened. He had, after all, not even dignify Bucky with a simple explanation, not even to say he wasn’t interested anymore. Nothing. And he had had the balls to shove the moments they’d shared under the table by coming to him first for a goddamn report. That was everything Barnes could think about; how angry he was, how humiliated and vulnerable he felt, for he had welcomed Sam with an anxious smile, and awkward smile like the one Sam had kissed through the first time, one that stated ‘I’ve been waiting for you’. He had put himself out there, only to be rejected in such a chill way.

Hopefully, a signal hit Barton’s visuals in the jet’s screens.

“All communications on.” He called for the rest of the team.

They all complied and heard Fury switch his original orders to new, shouted and hectic ones. It sounded like the situation had worsened, and Fury was not desperate but angry. It hit him differently when it came to his organization; like his work was being violated and tainted. The second they landed, they ran for all hell, both the team and Director Fury all caught up in a frenzy.

It didn’t stop Sam from reaching out to Bucky as soon as he could, though.

“Barnes, we should-“

“Hit the skies, then through the window.” The man cut him off.

He was repeating Fury’s orders to him, like the Falcon wasn’t entirely sure about them. Yet it was all fake, and they both sort of knew it. Bucky was just avoiding him.

Sam squinted his eyes nonetheless, “I know, I was trying to-“

“Your earpiece okay?” Barnes spat.

“It is, I-“

“Then hit the skies and through the window.”

That being said, and very harshly said, he strutted his way, leaving Sam to grunt as he set his wings up and flew away.

Barton led Wanda and Bucky through the subterranean ladder. The latter went in through land for recognition, always right in the line of fire. He couldn’t help it. As they reached the hallways of the occupied facilities, there was nothing but calm and quiet besides them. Only a few seconds later, the shooting broke loose from a group of enemies.

Barnes was the first one to fire back, which gave away their position but was inevitable. He hit one, two, three hostiles while Clint shot one and Wanda threw two out the window. The best sniper in the US Army, indeed. That way, as more hostiles came in the way, the three heroes attacked their way to the communications room where Fury had instructed them to rescue SHIELD agents being held hostages.

“Air’s safe.” Wilson’s word was heard in everyone’s ears through the comms.

Right in that moment, an attacker was disclosed when Bucky reached a corner, and he would have been more apt to hear him coming if he hadn’t been so damn focused on not getting railed up at Sam Wilson’s voice. Since that wasn’t the case, the bullet almost got too close to him. If he got hit, he definitely would blame the man. That one attacker turned out to be more than a dozen, and the ones Bucky didn’t hit or Maximoff didn’t knock out with her powers, ran towards Barton.

“The top floor’s all yours.” The Falcon spoke again, “They look like amateurs.”

Barton scoffed as a man got close enough to be out of reach for his arrows, “They don’t fight like amateurs.” He replied out of breath while taking out the attacker hand in hand.

As he dialogued with Wilson, the archer got punched in the ribs, hard, and felt himself a little cornered before Wanda saved him. As the hostile flew away in a magenta-colored cloud, Clint gave her a nod of gratitude. Meanwhile, Bucky was still at front.

“You have clear entrance.” Sam insisted, “Go now.”

It took one last effort to take out all attackers, resourcing to take them all out through killing. That wasn’t always their intent. Barnes usually tried to neutralize the offense by shooting their legs or shoulders, something they could recover from, instead of adding more deaths to his books. And killing for SHIELD felt even more disgusting to both him and Maximoff. Once they reached upstairs, they broke the communication room, where a few raid-responsible men were aiming their guns at the hostages as a warning.

That was when, perfectly timed, Sam burst through the window and shot two of them. Continuingly, they all four fought the remaining ones.

“See? Told you.” Wilson stated, locking his wings in, “Piece of cake.”

“You and Clint take care of the agents.” Wanda ignored his cocky attitude with more orders, “Barnes, with me.”

The appellee nodded, following behind the woman and leaving the other two to untie the agents and help them out the emergency door. It shouldn’t have to be a difficult task, given how as the agents were freed, they were in full capacity to look after themselves. The sole problem in that mission was the amount of people in that raid trying to kill the Avengers.

As soon as Bucky and Wanda walked through the door, though, they were received by more shooting. As much as Clint or Sam wanted to help, they recognized the first thing to do when facing a new threat was getting the hostages’ hands and feet loose. They fought the guns off. Maximoff was strong enough to send them away and Barnes had perfect aim, so it wasn’t a tough fight but a long one.

Suddenly, a paralyzing sentence was yelled over comms.

“Barnes is down!” the feminine voice rang on Sam’s ears.

And he needed nothing more to leave the agents on their own and run in the same direction the two enhanced had gone before. As soon as he reached them, he saw Bucky thrown on the floor, blood beginning to pool under his body while he held his ribs, grimacing.

“What the hell happened?” he asked loudly to the woman who was still fighting off offensives.

At the lack of response, he switched his sight to the machine gun facing them both. Quite the strategy those amateurs had planned. This wasn’t a machine gun, it was a bloody canon brought up as a last resource, an element of surprise to hurt them when they least expected it. He blocked the bullets with his wings while Wanda destroyed the whole thing and blasted the attackers away. Again, they were most likely dead than injured.

Being able to focus on the injured man now, Sam placed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Where?” he asked.

The man merely groaned, not even giving a proper response. Therefore, Wilson stuck to the spot that was being held out in pain. He opened his vest and saw the blood coming from right below his chest. He felt the air leave his own body at the sight of it and the possibility of the bullets flooding Bucky’s lungs.

“We need an exit!” the veteran screamed, the desperation invading him.

Maximoff broke the glass window with his powers to allow them a clear exit, letting Sam know she would be helping them out by lifting Bucky swiftly through the air. The Falcon then ran and flew out the window, followed by the floating body. Unfortunately Wanda’s concentration was derailed by the sight of another gun aimed towards her in the distance, fighting him off with one of her hands and losing control over Barnes in the process.

“Bucky!” she yelled more as a way to avert Wilson than as a genuine reaction.

So the winged soldier rushed to catch him mid-air, rather roughly, therefore getting a good cry-out from the man.

“I got you, I got you.” He reassured him as he held him by the armpits, something he thought must have hurt like a bitch, if not by simple deduction, by the sound of Bucky’s painful moan, “I’m sorry, I got you.”

He managed to fly them both to the quinjet, stopping outside and dragging him in as Bucky’s head lulled to his sides, numbed out by pain. When Sam laid him down on the table, he let out a loud groan, which, at least, let the veteran know he was still conscious.

“Tell me where you are.” He tested that consciousness while hectically removing the vest from his body, and admiring how his shirt was soaked in thick blood.

Bucky’s voice was hoarse, “Dumbass jet.”

Sam filed it as an indicative of awareness but asked another question to be sure, “Who am I?”

Barnes couldn’t help a small side smile to grow on his worn out face, his dazed eyes focusing on Sam’s blurry features.

“A fucking moron.” He pulled off.

Wilson was left to stare down at him with a big sad frown, wanting to smile at him for insulting him even on such a state, and he wanted him not to hate him. Not now, not when he was hurt and half gone. If he could go back in time, he sure as hell would, he would talk to him and tell him how he felt, so that he wouldn’t bleed out on the table thinking Sam didn’t want him back. Thinking that the man who was trying to heal his wounds had rejected him.

Suddenly, Bucky’s eyes started closing down and his pupils rolled back into his skull for a second, beginning to faint. Yet Sam grabbed his face not too gently and patted his cheek.

“Hey, hey, no. No! Stay with me!” He said in despair, forcing his eyelids open; the victim groaned as if asking to be left the hell alone, “That’s it, look at me. Can you stay awake? Do that for me?”

Just like an angel fallen to his rescue, the earpieces rang with good news. “Task Forces came in!” Wanda’s voice sounded like the best melody any of them had ever heard in that moment, “Clint, fly the boys home, now!”

“Running.” The other man replied.

“Ya heard that?” Sam asked Bucky, still holding his head, “We’re gonna go home. We’re gonna fix you up.”

He ripped the bloody shirt open and rapidly fetched the medical kit under the table. He stole a glance to count the bullet holes, one, two, three. He couldn’t turn Barnes’ body over in order to see if there were any exit wounds or if he had all three bullets inside him. All he could do for him was press some gauze on the wound. Bucky moaned in pain, loudly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He apologized frantically as he applied more pressure, and Bucky seemed to be woken up by the pain, panting while staring up at the ceiling, “You’re gonna be alright.”

He glared at Sam, “I hate you.” He spat through gritted teeth.

And he wasn’t just speaking nonsense, blindly attacking the man who caused him pain. No, he was also referring to how he was the last person he wanted to be doing that to him. He was so angry at him, he genuinely hated him, and the fact that he was making him ache so badly while doing his best to keep him alive wasn’t helping.

“I know.” Wilson agreed to both things, getting more gauze because the bleeding wasn’t stopping, “Just stay awake.”

Finally, Barton came in, and Sam didn’t even glance at him.

“Get us to the compound! Now!” he barked angrily, not wanting to sound desperate before when it was just him and Bucky, but now all he needed was to save his life.

So Clint did as commanded and soon enough the jet was flying away, the only sounds heard being the quiet hovering noise the jet produced, Bucky’s breathing and complaints, and Sam’s soothing words.

“How’s he doing?” Barton asked after a minute or two of no words being exchanged.

Wilson sighed and cooled himself down before answering, trying not to take it out on Barton, who clearly had no fault in Bucky’s state.

“I’m looking at a… definitely broken rib. Probably multiple. I’m hoping no punctured lung.”

It was the diagnose he had in his head. It explained why it hurt so badly, and he couldn’t not apply pressure or else he would effectively bleed out. No superserum could prevent that, eventually. And if it he was only bleeding out, that would mean they still had a long –although painful- time before his state worsened drastically. On the other hand, if he was also bleeding in…

Barnes chest convulsed for him to cough up, and he coughed up blood. It meant what Sam feared: punctured lung. It made him panic even more, now that it became harder and harder for Bucky to breathe.

“Sam.” He wheezed out.

“Please, please, please.” The man begged, his hands covered in blood and keeping him still while his own voice turned shaky, “Just five more minutes. Hold on just five minutes.”

“Sam…” his voice was now a whisper.

Wilson shut his eyes, teary eyed. Hopelessness kicking in.

“I don’t- I don’t know what else to do.”

Bucky’s eyes were far closed, his mouth gaped slightly as his throat did all the work of trying to pass air towards lungs that wouldn’t cooperate. He sounded less agonizing now, but by the looks of it, that was exactly the situation, with still a few minutes to get him to safety.

When he reopened his eyes, everything was different. The room was silent, for real, this time, no wheezing or panting or jet noises. He didn’t feel pain anymore, and he didn’t have any difficulty breathing. Instead, he felt comfortable and nursed back to health. That was when he took in his surroundings and realized he was on a hospital bed, in a sided room at the compound. Safe and sound, and patched up by the sensation of an unharmed chest.

The second thing he noticed was the company: Sam was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, busy staring at his phone in complete silence. Bucky thought he had probably stayed there waiting for him to wake up, taking the blame for what happened. And Bucky knew it wasn’t his fault, therefore the only reason behind his concern was some sort of pity mission after basically dumping him without words.

As he accommodated himself a little, he felt a mild sting where the bullets used to be, where his ribs had cracked, but it was bearable now. Nonetheless, the sounds caused Sam to notice him.

“Great.” Barnes groaned, placing his back against the pillow, “I didn’t die.”

Wilson, on his behalf, stood up quickly, as if wanting to check on his injuries, or hug him or something. Instead, he remained standing up, awkwardly and not knowing what to do next.

He let out a nervous breath that sounded more like a laugh, “Yeah, thanks for that.”

As a matter of fact, he didn’t have much more to add. He was rather frozen in spot, staring at the man who almost died in his arms, quite dramatically, and with whom he felt he couldn’t be completely honest. The whole ‘not talking about it’ drama had expanded to the point he didn’t even know what he couldn’t talk about.

“Well, I can’t leave you guys alone.” Bucky brushed it off, “I’d be a terrible soldier if I did.”

That was how Sam understood that the former sergeant wasn’t letting anything go. He was purposely shoving their exchanged feelings under the rug so he didn’t have to verbally express how upset he was, which was diminishing both Sam’s feelings for him and how terrified he was in that quinjet.

“Bucky…” he tried, but was cut off immediately.

“Hey, thanks for pulling me out.” The man’s tone was distant but not cold; Sam gave in and nodded to his gratitude, “I’m fine, though, so you can go on with your day.”

That being said, Bucky propped himself up with his elbows, in order to be partially sitting on the bed, but the movements still caused him to groan. It hadn’t been too long after surgery, after all. To the sounds of distress, Sam rushed to give him a hand but the man rejected it harshly.

“Trust me, I’m alright.” He sighed, the pain gone by now, “I don’t need your pity.”

That shot of honesty was all Sam required to cross the unspoken line. He was going to speak and discuss everything he didn’t remember if he was allowed to discuss or not. He took one step back not to invade his privacy.

“Pity? Buck, why do you think I’m here?” he frowned.

The appellee shrugged, “Guilt.” He said easily.

The response brought a smirk to Wilson’s face, but it wasn’t a very positive one. If the term ‘sad smirk’ hadn’t been invented yet, he definitely thought that was the name of the expression he held. Lacking the need for any more proof of the man’s feelings, he moved decisively to sit next to him.

Bucky seemed startled by the gesture, “What are you-“

“Move.”

“No, it’s my bed.”

“I’m sitting with you now, move.”

And so he complied, although still confused and somewhat reminding himself that he should be upset. Sam’s hands guided him to where he could lay down comfortably, and Bucky let himself be manhandled for the sake of his ribs. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to lay next to him for hours and just stare at each other, he wanted Sam’s company. But it appeared since the moment he came back from his mission he didn’t want that back. So now, seeing Wilson lay his dumb head on that hospital bed pillow altered his perception even further.

Sam couldn’t contain a smile as they both looked at each other, not touching but closer than ever.

“You look ridiculous.” Bucky commented on the sight.

“You’re wearing a hospital gown, you don’t look so glamorous yourself.” He shot back, earning the smallest side-smirk from Barnes, who quickly concealed it, “Listen to me. You are one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met, if not the worst of them all.”

The approach had Bucky raising an eyebrow, shocked at best.

“You’re reckless, you’re dumb-“

“Gee, thanks.” Barnes interrupted him with an offended frown.

Sam, however, ignored him and continued his speech, “You are literally the most obnoxious person when it comes to not looking after yourself and you have no regard for your own personal safety nor happiness.”

“Is there a point to all of this?” Bucky insisted, beginning to lose interest in the insult rant, “Cause fuck you too, Sam, jesus.”

Once again, Wilson saw himself forced to avoid a proper answer to seek a lineal sense of coherence in his narration. Instead, he let an amused smile escape him before raising his voice so that his message came across loud and clear.

“So I understand how you would miss what’s right before your eyes. But I’ve never known you to be naïve, Bucky.” Only then did Barnes was at a loss of words, starting to understand Sam’s intent, “You know what happened and you know what it meant. If you would just… let me make up for not talking about it right after I got back… I’d like to discuss it now.”

Bucky wanted to listen. He really did. But the possibility of it becoming a praise tale of how great he was and how much Sam liked him yet ending with ‘however’ and ‘just colleagues’, was something that weighed far more than his excitement. If that were the case, he didn’t want to be stabbed in the heart nor shot in the chest all over again.

“I’m really not interested in your explanation, Sam.” Bucky sighed, against his inner will, “You wanna forget what happened, you can just leave, no hard feelings.”

Sam shook his head and placed one gentle hand on Barnes cheek, some mild disbelief plastered on his own features.

“I don’t know which of us is the dumbest, I swear to god.”

And Bucky understood with all certainty.

“It’s you, it’s one hundred percent you.” He told Sam, not allowing himself to smile.

He meant it, keeping in mind how he hadn’t even mentioned the subject until now even though he wanted Bucky like Bucky wanted him.

“Probably, yeah.” Sam had to agree, “Cause I sure as hell wanted to say I wanted to try that kiss again, and I don’t know why I didn’t say so. Then you were literally dying on my arms and I thought… if anything happens to him, I lost my one chance at being with him, and I really want that chance.”

Bucky clacked his tongue, pensive, “You asked for a damn report.”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Sam tried to explain, “I didn’t know how.”

“You could have just said ‘hi, it’s been a while’.”

“I’ll try that next time.” The words came out instinctively, and he hoped he hadn’t screw up, so he added a stipulation, “If you forgive me.”

Bucky took a big breath. Was hard not to forgive him after that speech.

“Well, I’m very much alive.” He said almost rolling his eyes, “You still want that chance?”

A warm smile creeped its way into Wilson’s face, “I’d like that-“

Yet Barnes didn’t let him finish, instead clashing his lips against the Falcon’s, whose hand that still stood on the soldier’s cheek cupped the entire face tenderly. Bucky’s free hand also went to find the other man, holding the back of his head for good measure, while one of their tongues slipped in softly. It wasn’t as desperate as the other kisses, it wasn’t so needy nor senseless; this kiss, instead felt like the last piece of a puzzle. It felt like it made sense.

When they disconnected their lips and stared deep into each other’s eyes, Bucky’s impulse was to smile, “Here’s an update report for you.” He said cheekily, “I’m still in love with you.”

Wilson drew his face a little back for a better sight.

“Love?”

The soldier suddenly regretted his choice of words, but didn’t want to take the truth back, so he simply went with it.

“You’re not gonna run away now, are you? Fly away in those little wings of yours?”

Of course he would mock Sam as a manner of processing his oversharing. The veteran could only chuckle and affectively place a loose strand of hair behind his ears.

“No, I won’t, love.” He mocked him back, “Gonna take much more than that for you to scare me off.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Yeah, don’t hold your breath.” He added before launching for another kiss.

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

After months of putting up with my roommate from hell, I got the revenge of lifetime and screwed her over out of a fuckton of money and got her to pay rent and life has never been sweeter! (This is a long one)

This is a long one but very much worth the ride, so buckle up. (also, English isn't my native lang, sorry if there are any mistakes)

This story takes place a couple of years back. During college, I lived with several roommates, all of them were nice and we got along well, except for this one bitch, let's call her Karen. if Satan and Hitler had a child and that child had a child with Stalin and Cruella de Vil, that would be Karen for you, she is a loud-mouthed stupid, egocentric bitch who has the face that scare the shit out of a toilet. She would never clean up after herself, she would always leave her plates and things at the spot where she last used them. I have lost counts of how many times, I caught her stealing my clothes without asking and if you so much as touch her clothes she loses her shit on you, or her drinking our lactose-intolerant roommates almond milk and any time we confronted her for drinking it, she would shrug and say "I only had a sip, stop being so stingy." She plays her music loud at night, invites stranger without giving any heads up, a time or two she didnt pay rent even though her parents are FILTHY RICH and she is wearing gucci and prada shit, Karen also fucking lies about everything, even things that are not worth lying about. like if she woke up 7, and you ask her, she'll lie through her fucking teeth and say she rose with the sun rise because she is a natural. (ps, this is something i actually heard her say to her parents while she was skypeing them....so cringy, who the fuck says that? but i digress)

Months we have fucking put up with her, of course we tried to get other roommates but unfortunately when we all moved in everything, all documents and contracts were done in her name so kicking her out would require a lot of effort and most of us were busy with school and work and life happens. So we ignore it as much as we can and try to move on.

We are now all seniors and in our final semesters, meaning graduation was coming, AND Karen is planning a backpack trip across Europe with her friends as a graduation gift to herself, this is important so remember this.

One of our roommates and my closest friend, Sasha, has had a crush on a guy that lives down the hall. Any time the two of them are together, Sasha and the Guy keep giving each other googly eyes and blushing faces; it was sooo cute. Sasha is a verbal autistic person and has never dated anyone because she has a hard time with socializing and understanding social ques and subtlety, which lets face it, that is the core of dating, especially flirting but with a lot of encouragement from me and the final roommate, Lola we got her to ask him out. He said yes. She was so happy, you guys, she flew back into the apartment and did an hour of happy dance with her arms flailing about and a shit eatin grin on her face; needless to say we were all so happy. Karen caught wind of this and it just so happens at that time she was having relationship problems, I guess her bf finally realized he's dating human garbage. Not one to be outshined, Karen behind all of our backs went to the guy's place and spun lies about Sasha, saying she is a serial cheater and even made a fake account for Sasha's so called bf. the guy never called Sasha, and eventually weeks passed by he told us why but by then Sasha felt like the damage was done and lost interest in him.

I. WAS. FUCKING. FURIOUS.

This, this level of dickery and bloody pettiness is the straw that finally broke the camel's back and I vowed I wouldn't fucking leave until I served my slice of justice. Here's another character that you must know about, Prof C. His wife two years ago was in a horrible car accident and as a result is in a wheelchair, this is especially problematic because she was a stay home mom that took care of their two special needs kids and they have a toddler at home. Home life is a mess for him, he is running ragged between working and single-handedly is taking care of his family, the uni took pity and also feared the workload would see one of their best and most beloved teachers leave the school struck a deal with him to help him out. In all of his classes there will be quizzes and midterms, this doesnt change, but assignments you submit and he corrects at the end of the year, this is important cuz our uni has zero tolerance on proffs that dont constantly update the students course works so that students have the chance to improve their grades.

Karen, the lazy and stupid bitch she is, is somehow skating through his assignments, even though they require a shit tone of research and writing. I accidentally learned that one of her older friends told her that she only needs submit the paper on its due date and to only write the first 3 pages and use a paraphrase tool for the rest of the paper so the plagiarism software wont detect it and would think its original material and when the end of the year comes, submit a hard copy but with the first pages being her actual work and the rest being completely plagiarized, professional work. Prof C won't know cuz the likelihood a man as busy as him thoroughly checking the work of 120+ students is pretty low. I grinned. A plan was beginning to formulate in my head. Oh, sweet mother of Jesus, she is going down! All semester long I let her do this for all of the 7 papers, one of them which is a term paper that has 20% on it alone, all the while I spied and gathered all of her pass codes, social media, her student ID, everything.

The end of the year came and I compiled all of her assignments, both the original one with the paraphrasing tools she used to circumvent plagiarism and the one she finally handed them in, and I even made photos were there are side-to-side comparison of the assignments. This is a good start but not enough. So, One day chillin at the living room I open a conversation about relationships, Karen is two timing her new boyfriend and is sleeping with some other Person. so, I ask her questions like "don't you feel guilty for cheating?" and "You do realize this is wrong?" and I even paraphrase my words in a way that is vague but also clear, for example I would say "It's not fair, so many people work so hard everyday to be successful and you are here cheating and lying your way to success." Karen, narcissistic as fuck, would respond with snippets of I dont care and how she isnt cheating, she is only having fun and that everyone does it so why not her too. This is too good to be true, even her answers are vague, its like god put his hand on my shoulder, looked me right in the eyes and said, "burry this bitch". and Id be damned if I didnt. As you probably have guessed it by now, I was recording EVERYTHING. The recording plus the photos, and her assignments were more than enough evidence, I sent an anonymous email to the Professor, and i tell the girls so that they can prep for the shit storm thats coming. Three weeks later, results are out. she failed and LOST HER SHIT. She was screamin, crying, wailing, what a sight to see! you best believe, the girls and I were laughing. She tried to talk to the prof, but he was not having it. she cried and begged for a second chance but he said a hard no. So now she has two options: she goes ahead and doesn't graduate with us, and takes on a whole 'nother semester for one measly course or take summer course and cancel her trip to Europe, which mind you she spent a fuckton on, something like 13, 000$ and I know it could have been much cheaper but Princess Karen only wanted the best so yh. The next couple of weeks she spent sleepless nights because she was calling and cancelling all the reservations she made, tryin to get her money back BUT (again, GOD really was out for blood that day) because the cancellation was so close to some her trip most places refused to refund, or some charged her cancellation fees. She only managed to scrap 5.5 K back together, lossin 7.5 K. OUCH!

Its not over, having damning evidence I, with earned gusto, told her she was going to pay all of the bills till we move out, which was in two months, payback for all the times she was late on payment or defaulted and she would from now do her part of the house chores or else Im gonna send it all to the admin and faculty dean and she will fo sho be kicked out and all those uni years will have been for nothing. She hated it, she fucking threw tantrums and cussed me out but my god if she didnt do whats told. she cleaned her stuff, apologized to Sasha for what she did, I forced her to come clean to her BF (dont know the guy but the few times i met him he was super sweet to us and i felt bad for the guy), I watched her actually do the dishes for the first time in like years. IT was fucking amazing and I don't regret it one bit. In fact, anytime I feel sad now as an adult, i kick back my feet and reminiscine and a slow shit eatin grin draws itself upon my face.

tl;dr roommate was super mean, i found out she was cheating on her assignments and so i snitched on her and as a result she had to stay the summer and retake the class again or else she wouldn't graduate.

(source) story by (/u/let-the-write-one-in)

#prorevenge #by /u/let-the-write-one-in #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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theravenclawlover · 5 years

Text

Monster

Parings: James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader.

Warnings: +18 Mentions of torture, mature language, future smut, mentions of death, slight depression, mentions of kidnapping.

Word Count: 3,768

Summary: You are one of the youngest members of the Avengers, and you love it. Out of the blue an impossible mission is assigned to you alongside Natasha Romanoff, and it was sure to change your life. Lies, and betrayal from the closest people in your life; they never told you who you really were.

Chapter Number: 1

Chapter Tittle: You.

A/N: You guys already know I suck at summaries, so there’s no surprise if you think this is shit. This is my first fanfiction work that I wrote back in 2016 but I have edited this so much that the original script is nothing compared to the new one. It has the same plot, but better played out (hopefully). I’ll be posting the newer version for the first time here, but the original drafts are still up on the other websites except for chapter 1, which is already edited. I’ll be posting the other parts randomly, so do not expect me to be updating it regularly. I hope you guys enjoy this!

It has been almost a year since you became an Avenger. You were sixteen when S.H.I.E.L.D first contacted you. You helped them a lot doing some intel work and data coding, that for some reason S.H.I.E.L.D didn't have people for. You always wanted to ask why they couldn't find someone older or with more experience, but you didn't want to stop helping, so you never bothered asking. Among everyone in the team you were one of the youngest members. It was fair to say that when the Avengers had first asked you to be part of the team, you didn't believe. All of them tried at some point; the first one being Tony Stark.

Flashback

You were training, hard, like you always did. When you were finished and ready to leave, you saw Tony Stark grinning your way, folder in hand. Surprised to see the billionaire, you glared at him trying to figure out why he was there standing against the doorframe while a seventeen-year-old trained.

"You shouldn't train that hard, you could hurt yourself, Sweetie," he said with the same grin on his face.

"Mr. Stark," you said a little annoyed at the implication that you could possibly be fragile.

"I'll make this fast. We need you, Y/n, to join the Avengers," he had said it as if it was something normal to say to someone.

"I... excuse me, but what?" You were stunned at his words. You couldn't wrap your head around the thought of being asked to become an Avenger, it was too surreal.

"Well, you see, I was doing some 'research' one night and somehow I ended up looking at your reports." He had started to approach you, the hints of a smile on his lips. The folder you had eyed earlier was, what you now had guessed, your reports.

"First, you hacked S.H.I.E.L.D? Again? Second, Why me? It's not like I have superpowers or anything remotely interesting about me," you exclaimed, eyebrow raised at him.

"Yes, and yes. To answer your last question: Romanoff, and Barton don't have powers either, but they have great abilities when it comes to combat, and they have party tricks too. You, Y/N, with what I've read, you are at the same level as Romanoff in IQ; both of your reports have great feedback from Fury, and we all know that doesn't come by easily. You can have your way with coding without being detected, and just with your phone. You would be great with your intel alongside me, and I'm sure if you're up to it, you can easily be trained to be just as skilled along everyone else so you feel more comfortable in the team." Tony's voice had turned to a serious one the minute he had entered business mode.

"Well, I really appreciate you coming here and telling me all of this, but I don't know what to say. I don't feel like I'll fit in the role of an Avenger, but I will let you know," you said while grabbing your stuff. You wanted in, but you just didn't feel ready nor it felt right. God! You were friends with Natasha and Clint. If you'd said yes, it would had been so much fun to be part of the team and being able to hang out with people you looked up to.

"Well, never had anyone rejecting becoming an Avenger. We would really like to have you in the team. Call me when you have an answer," Tony said before extending a hand for you to shake.

"Will do, Mr. Stark."

End flashback

You didn't called him back. They didn't reach out to you until a month had passed. The next time around, they had decided to try with heavy weapons—Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.

Flashback

You had been training all morning with both of them. It was fun training with them because you got to hang out with people you considered family. You'd managed to pin Clint while Natasha was already on the floor after you had managed to surprise her from behind. You were surprised. For once, you weren't the one pinned down. After you had let go of Clint and Natasha, they got up all sweaty, Clint groaning a bit. You had made your way towards the other side of the mat where your water bottle laid. You hadn't noticed that Clint and Natasha were walking towards you while they talked in hushed voices among themselves.

"So, Y/n, you haven't called Stark to announce that you are joining the Avengers," mused Natasha, tiny grin on her face. Nevertheless, eyeing you for your reaction.

"I still don't think that I should accept the offer, it doesn't feel like the right time. I don't know, but I feel like...I don't know what I feel like," you sighed and took a seat on the closest bench.

"Well, whatever you're feeling right now seems to be truly affecting you, because I remember when you had just started, and hacked S.H.I.E.L.D. Remember, Nat? When she found out about 'The Avengers Initiative'?" Said Clint, smirking at you, taking the seat next to you. Natasha just chuckled at the memory.

"Alright, I was pretty young back then and let me tell you, thinking about it seemed unrealistic, and it still does. It sounded like something incredible to partake it, but I don't feel like I can be as great as everyone in the team.

"You know what, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I want to go eat! I'm starving!" You exclaimed getting up from the bench, trying to evade the whole talk about the Avengers and their offer. There was silence for a whole two seconds before Clint broke it.

"So, how about we eat pizza and watch a movie in your room, Y/n?" Silently, you thanked Clint for understanding your wish to evade the whole thing. At least for the time being.

End flashback

After two long months of pondering the idea, you decided to join. Before you had said yes to the offer, they had sent Steve Rogers to try to convince you to join. You still said that you'll call when ready, and a week later you did.

Not soon after, you were officially part of the Avengers, and you got to live in Stark tower. You loved it there; hanging out with everyone, and the thrill of training alongside everyone—a God, a super soldier, 2 ex-assassins, and a dude in an armor—was something you didn't expect to love. Working with Bruce and Tony in the lab was great, although you weren't allowed to touch many things without having Tony telling you not to break it. You felt like a child when they worked on their projects and when you got the impulse to reach and touch something, Tony would immediately sense it. Furthermore, doing pranks to the Avengers with Clint was always something to look for and gossiping and training with Natasha was a whole great deal by itself.

A whole year of being an Avenger had gone by so fast that it felt like you had blinked one second to open them the next to see a whole new life. You still felt a little weird when the guys (or people in general) called you an Avenger. It just didn't really stick to your brain that now that was your 'title'.

The very first mission you had as an official Avenger was when Ultron had decided to destroy the world. You still wondered how you never realized what Tony and Bruce had been working on had been a genocidal robot.

Soon after, you were not the only newbie in the team. Wanda had joined the team after the fight in Sokovia. You two had become close after Wanda lost her brother Pietro. The poor thing at first rarely left her room. You were there for her, and she would always tell you that you needn't be. Of course, you didn't listen, and always stayed. Wanda hadn't been the only addition to the team: there was Sam Wilson (who you had met before) and dear old Jarvis, now, Vision. They were great, Vision being your favorite, especially because he seemed to make Wanda happy.

Those times seemed to be long ago, when your life seem to be just perfect. You didn't know that the things to come were going to taint all those memories.

°°°°°

You found yourself in the living room with Nat, going over your last mission when Steve came in. He greeted you both, his usual demeanor tainted with something.

"What's wrong Steve? You look like you could kill somebody with that stare you've got," said Nat a little amused, but the concern could be heard by those who paid attention. He looked up and let out a long sigh; you thought maybe he felt a little bored or something else, but no—you wished it had been that, though.

"S.H.I.E.L.D found Bucky, Nat. They want the two of you to bring him in." He looked as if he'd wished you would turn down the assignment.

"I feel like as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent I should know who this 'Bucky' person is, but no, it doesn't ring a bell." You felt a little sheepish. You had one job and couldn't even do that, but in your defense, you just had a bad memory when it came to names—or anything, really.

"We know him as the Winter Soldier, Y/n. We have just been assigned to bring him in." Nat, for once, looked a little uncomfortable with a mission. That look only lasted enough for you to witness, and if you'd blink you wouldn't had been able to see it. Her discomfort just made your nerves rise.

"Oh." That's all you managed to say. The Winter Soldier had been found and your superiors wanted you to bring him in. Were you allowed to resign or was it too late?

"I tried telling them that I could do it myself, but they said that I could compromise the mission because of our relationship," huffed Steve, the man looking angrier by the second.

"Well, I guess you have the folder for the mission?" Nat looked at Steve with sympathetic eyes. Her eyes always seem to glimmer with a softness that rarely was shown, and Steve seemed to always be the one to receive it, and that made the woman glow—unbeknownst to her, though. You still haven't managed to make her come clean about her obvious smitten state for the Captain—well, obvious to you and Wanda.

Steve just sighed once more before handing the folder to Natasha. "Here," said Steve with what sounded like a defeated tone. You and Natasha took a good 10 minutes to read it thoroughly. Steve looked ready to hear what information it held, or at least any he hadn't been told.

You looked at Natasha, debating whether to tell him about it or not. She gave a low sigh before fixing her eyes on Steve. "He obviously has been on the move for a while, because he wasn't easy to find. He is not too far from the city, though. We just need to try and convince him to come with us, but we are to use force if he resists. They are honestly hoping he doesn't. Seems too risky, but what else is there to do?"

"We'll call you, Steve, if anything happens." You added, giving him a little smile before leaving him alone in the living room, heading to get ready for the mission.

You just hoped everything went smooth, with no bumps down the road.

You couldn't afford to mess up.

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skruffie · 5 years

Photo

It’s not the anniversary yet, but it IS National Siblings Day and I conveniently forget that this is even a thing until I go on Facebook or Twitter or something and remember. This year is a big milestone for my family because it is the 18th anniversary, which marks a passage of time from now to forever where she has been gone longer than she was alive.

I saw this thing on Facebook about grief, and it went something like grief is this hole, and you can try to fill the hole with whatever you can, but nothing fills it. It’s bottomless. It seems like your entire life gets sucked into it, but eventually as the years go on... the hole doesn’t get smaller. Your life gets bigger, and it grows around it. The hole is always there, but there’s more expanse around it as you move through each anniversary, each holiday, each milestone. It’s similar to describing grief as “it doesn’t get easier, you just get better at coping”.

(This is going to be very long and probably very sad because I talk at great length about her life and death)

I tried to write about a little bit about Nicole on Twitter today, but my initial post mentioned the word “cancer” which caught the attention of this fucking asshole that was advertising faith healing on his timeline. That dulled my grief a bit but it sure made me mad.

Trying to remember things.

We were seven years apart so we never really had a sibling rivalry or anything. I actually looked up to her so much--she was like a teenage rock star to my child self. She loved writing and wrote lots of poetry, got published in an independent zine by age nine, and through her adolescence was a bit of a grunge punk. She played piano and bass. She wore combat boots. Occasionally she dressed up with the full make-up and everything and called them her “pretty days”. She had a lock of hair in front of her face she kept in a small braid. She did blogging before the word “blog” even existed by maintaining an email list of friends and family, and she would email her updates directly to them. She coded her own websites and experimented with graphic design. She did photography. She’s why I love nail polish and tarot cards and Doc Martens--her own boots had navy blue laces with suns and moons on them. She had a huge, huge crush on Dave Navarro. She would buy hostess cupcakes for the kids at school who didn’t have food, and she kicked her own friends out of our house when they tried to bring alcohol to her party.

Nicole grew up with the brunt of our parents’ addictions before I came along. My mom (seen with baby Nicole in one of the photos above) and dad were only 19 when they had her and got married. When she was younger, they actually split up for a while and I think my great-grandma helped take care of her. My parents both went to rehab, got back together, and then had me, so... I was the baby that grew up in a sober house for a while at least. My parents still argued and it bothered me a lot when I got a bit older, so she’d come get me and take me to her room and bring chips and bean dip, and I’d have a safe place to cry.

...That’s a thought I just had right there. After she died, I didn’t really have that same kind of shield from my parents fighting (which was a lot worse after her death--a lot of couples who lose a child end up divorcing and my parents came close), which I think is probably what made the emotional neglect worse.

I don’t remember the exact progression of her cancer, but things started getting noticeable when she started developing night-blindness. I think at the time there were some doctors that didn’t believe she could be getting cancer so getting the insurance to cover tests and treatment was a fight every single time. A tumor started growing in her left arm, and the diagnosis was finally clear: rhabdomyosarcoma. She asked the doctors after her diagnosis if it was genetic, because even after that, she thought of me. (Thankfully, it isn’t. It was just a stupid, cruel twist of the universe.)

She got chemo, started to go into remission, and eventually it came back. Nicole then got a stem cell transplant when it was getting worse--more tumors, etc etc. I had met with a grief counselor at the hospital once or twice during this time period, even before we knew for sure it was terminal, because I was 10 going on 11 and needed someone to help me process and also like... kinda pay attention to me? Admitting that feels weird, but I was just a kid.

The day that I found out that the stem cell transplant didn’t work is probably almost worse than the day she died for me. They brought in a minister and we sang “Amazing Grace” and I watched her be baptized, and while she was being anointed, I kept asking everyone “Why is she being baptized? Why??? Why?! We’re Wiccan!!” Which was true. Nicole also underwent a Wiccaning around this time. Everyone was ignoring my questions, until finally it was time. She told me the stem cell transplant had not been successful and broke down crying, and I immediately understood what that meant, and I started screaming and crying. I started screaming to see the grief counselor, and I had to leave the hospital room to go with the counselor down to my favorite spot on the hospital campus.

Fuck. I hate Easter. I fucking hate Easter. It was around Easter time and this holiday plays a role in this awful memory of mine: at the hospital, some very kind person made little easter baskets for all the kids that were on the juvenile cancer ward, and I even got to get one even though I wasn’t a patient. I was starting to open mine but Nicole just looked at it. She said “Why do I get one? Why do I get one when I’m going to--” and probably started crying. I put my basket aside because the thrill of like... easter chocolate or whatever the fuck was gone. I don’t think I’ve been able to enjoy this holiday since.

Make A Wish was involved at some point, obviously. NIcole’s original wish was to meet Tori Amos, but her management team responded with “Uhhh, Tori doesn’t really do that” which was disappointing at first. (A few years later, a couple of Nicole’s friends saw T live in concert and met her at a meet and greet. They told her Nicole’s story and I guess she had no idea actually, so I believe it was a decision firmly on the management’s side.). The next wish had to be rushed, and Nicole realized that she wanted to go to prom. The actual senior prom for her high school was going to be too far out in advance with her surviving that long, so Make A Wish threw together a special prom just for her and about 150+ attendees.

The prom was held at Newport Harbor on a yacht. Rebecca Schoenkopf of Wonkette, known in 2001 as CommieGirl for the OC Weekly, met with Nicole once prior to this and attended as a prom guest to write about it. Naturally, Nicole was crowned prom queen and when she stood up to receive the crown, it was something magical. She had spent most of the evening in and out of sleep from being so ill and from the medications she was on.

When she was dying, she wanted to be at the hospital. I stayed at my grandparent’s house... probably for a couple days, I don’t actually remember how long it was, and my parents were there for her. I believe she died in the early hours of the morning on April 30th, two days short of her 18th birthday. I had a moment that morning that I consider a small blessing, which is that I found out she was gone before anyone had actually told me, and it gave me a brief reprise to just be by myself while I gathered up my will to go downstairs and face my parents. I had been in the process of going downstairs, and I saw my mom come out of the bathroom, and that was it. That was all I needed to see.

She had them write a letter as her own personal message to me. Two days later for her 18th birthday, my cousin sent us 18 lavender balloons. I don’t think we had her memorial until the 11th of May and I know this because it was the same day Douglas Adams--one of Nicole’s favorite authors--died. We joked that she took him with her. Nicole was cremated, and I do remember there was at least one funny moment that morning as we were getting out of the car. My mom handed me the wooden box that had Nicole’s cremains in it and said “Here, hold your sister for a sec.” We got a touch of that grave humor in my family.

One of the hardest things about this... hole of grief, is aging. My parents are in their mid 50s now, and I’m going to be 30 next year. I don’t have any other siblings to help take care of my parents. My mom rather flippantly says “Oh, put us in a nursing home”, but that just feels so bleak. I don’t have my sister with me to help with my wedding, to meet Zack or any of my friends, to talk to about our past and our future. She’s not here to kick ass and build amazing apps or tear down the patriarchy or be on the ground reporting the latest news break. There’s so many milestones I’ve already crossed without her but I am always going to miss her.

Bon swayr, ma souer.

#sibling death #sibling grief #this is a gd essay just a head's up #death /

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melikeylikeyjimin · 6 years

Text

Mental || Sixteen

(I don’t own this gif)

Word Count: 2.2k Words

Genre: Psychiatric Patient! Hoseok x Doctor! Reader, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Mystery, Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: none

a/n: I finally updated! I kinda leave it on a cliffhanger but I promise the next chapter will be exciting. This story is coming to an end soon as well! I hope you guys enjoy this though!

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

As soon as I got back to my room from Hoseok’s I received a call from Jisoo. I pressed the green answer button, “Yeah?”

“Y/N, are you free right now?”

“Yeah, why? Did something happen? Do I perhaps need to beat someone up, because-”

Jisoo cut me off, “Nothing happened to me, I just thought we should get together and figure out the whole mystery thing going on with the pills.” I subconsciously nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll meet you in your room in five?”

“Okay,” I finally said. She hung up and I tried to make myself look a bit more presentable and got the pills out from where I had hidden them previously. I heard a knock at my door and I let Jisoo in. We both sat on my couch and stared at the pills as we tried to think of what we should do. I finally broke the silence, “Where should we start?”

“Well we need to figure out what some of these unknown ingredients do.”

“Okay, let’s start there then.” Jisoo took the bottle and began writing down the ingredients she didn’t know. She had a small list of them and I grabbed my laptop to look them up. “What’s the first one?”

“Cetylpyridinium chloride.” I typed it into my computer and looked at the results.

“That one checks out. Doesn’t look like anything suspicious.”

“ The next one is magnesium stearate.” I looked around on the internet to see what I could find about it but it was very vague. “This one is a bit suspicious, it shows up but they say it’s a new discovery and is not much is known about its effects on people.” Jisoo marked a check next to the name to make sure we knew which ones we needed to question and which ones we didn’t. We continued to do this for awhile more until we finished looking all the suspicious ingredients up. We ended with two suspicious ingredients, Magnesium Stearate and Sodium Lauryl Sulfate.

“What do we do with this information now? We don’t know much about either one or what they do to people so now what?”

“We need to start watching the head people a bit closer. We need to get to the bottom of this and fast before something terrible happens.” She said. I nodded. I put the pills back in my secret place and locked it up. Jisoo waited for me to finish before she started telling me her plan, “I think what we should do is I’ll start observing Mrs. Li’s actions a bit more and you observe Mr. Song.” I nodded my head.

“I’ll let you know if I find out any information,” I said.

“Me too,” Jisoo agreed. It was still the afternoon so the both of us decided to go ahead and look into our separate people. Before Jisoo left she pulled me aside, “If we really find out what’s going on and we’re in danger, what about Dylan?” Dylan hadn’t even crossed my mind during all of these events. He was seemingly more busy and I hardly saw him around anymore after that one night.

“Do you think we should tell him?” I asked. Jisoo bit her lip as she had to think about what the right thing to do was.

“It’s up to you, but my answer is he doesn’t need to know.” I nodded my head because I was thinking the same thing. He wasn’t involved so he didn’t need to know anything we were conspiring. Jisoo hugged me before we parted ways to investigate the matter at hand. I was nervous for what I would find. What if we were just being overly paranoid, or what if these ingredients are as scary as we feel they might be. I felt a cold sweat take over my body at the thought of the patients taking these pills when they could be potentially very dangerous.

It scared me. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially my own patients. Yoongi, Jungkook, and Hoseok...all of them meant so much to me. I hadn’t been at this hospital for very long, but I enjoyed talking to all of them regardless of their faults. I blushed as I thought about Hoseok, I missed his touch already, but now wasn’t the time for that. I needed to be serious and find out what was going on before it was too late.

I walked into the area where Mr. Song’s office was. I wasn’t planning on going in yet at least, but I wanted to see if I could get any info just by listening to what was going on inside. I looked around and saw the area was dead, no one was around. Perfect. I silently walked up to Mr. Song’s door and tried my best to focus my hearing on his door.

I heard his voice very softly speaking behind the door. I couldn’t make out absolutely everything, but I could piece together what he was saying with little difficulty. I listened carefully, “Yes, I know about the deal, I already signed a check to pay for the electricity bills.” The conversation seemed pretty normal but I needed to hear more. I couldn’t let this situation get away from me even if staying here longer meant me risking getting caught.

I continued to listen, “If you don’t receive it by Thursday, give me another call Mr. Kim. We’ll get it figured out I-Oh wait one minute I’m getting another call, let me answer it real quick.”

My heart rate jumped at the thought of possibly getting information. “Yes? Oh hello Mrs. Li. What can I do for you?”

“Ah the shipment? It’s coming in today, don’t worry. It should be here by 6pm.”

“I know, I know, it’s a little late, but at least we have more pills to distribute now and test.” I gasped at the information I heard. There was a shipment of more of those pills coming in, tonight? And they were using them to test something out on patients? I needed to leave, I got all the information I needed.

I quickly moved my legs and silently sped walked out of the area. I know knew what was going on. I needed to tell Jisoo and quick. We needed to get out of here and quick. I sent Jisoo our code word that we had randomly made up to tell her to meet me in my room as soon as possible. I took the elevator back up to my room and I saw her waiting at my door for me.

I unlocked it and we both entered only to see a horrible mess. I gasped loudly as I looked around my room. Everything was thrown over and ransacked. Had they known what I was trying to do? A few chairs were overturned, the cushions and pillows on the floor, clothes on the floor in piles. Jisoo quickly grabbed my hand and took me out of my room and led me to hers. Jisoo’s room was still untouched.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked.

“Y/N, you’re room was ransacked, SOMEONE knows what’s going on, we can’t stay there for long! What if there’s a microphone or camera in there now? We can’t risk it.” I nervously pushed back my hair, swallowing hard and nodding.

“Now tell me, what did you find?”

“I was eavesdropping on Mr. Song like I said I would and I heard him talking to Mrs. Li about the pills.”

“And?”

“He said there was another shipment of them coming in at 6 and that they were a little late but now they could continue to give them out and test them on people.”

“That shipment is in an hour we have to see about interfering.” Jisoo said.

“That’s dangerous though! We should just try to grab our dear ones and get the hell out of here!”

Jisoo shook her head, “We haven’t found out enough yet, Y/N. We can’t just get up in the middle of the night and make a run for it!”

“But Jungkook and Hoseok…”

Jisoo grabbed my shoulders gently, “I know you care a lot about them and their safety, but we can’t go yet. We need to find more out…” I knew she was right but the thought of Jungkook, Hoseok, and Yoongi being used as test subjects made me so upset. I wanted so badly to save them from what was happening to them slowly.

“Y/N, we are going to go down to where the shipment is and we are going to figure out more about this. Once we get that information, I promise we will get everyone away from here.” I nodded and wiped the tears I didn’t know were starting to fall down my face.

Jisoo pulled me into a hug, “Everything will be okay, I promise. All of us will get out of this and go somewhere nice and far away.” I nodded and hugged her back tightly. I couldn’t say it enough, I loved Jisoo too much, she was my best friend, my most precious. Without her, I’m nothing.

We both sat down and she held me to calm me down before we would go down to the shipment area. She gently pet my head and held me close to her.

Time flew by quickly and she moved me to get up. Fear ate at my stomach. She smiled to try to make me feel better before we both got up and left to go to the shipment room. We both walked to the area that was on the back end of the hospital. The door was open and we both snuck in and hid in between boxes on shelves and tried to watch what was happening.

A large truck pulled into the huge warehouse area and small boxes were unloaded all of them having a bunch of caution stickers stickered all over them. Just how dangerous were these pills..? Nothing big was really happening until the truck finished unloading and Mrs. Li and Mr. Song came out to look at the boxes. Soon I saw a bunch of the directors coming out, were they all involved?

“We should have enough for a good month of testing,” Mrs. Li said.

Mr. Song nodded, “We need to see if these really have the potential of changing the brain’s composition.”

“We haven’t been testing long so it’s hard to tell how it’ll go, but with a few patients, they are showing quite a bit of a result.” One of the other directors said. I wasn’t able to recognize him at all.

“Especially Jung Hoseok, I always knew he’d be a special one.” My heart sunk at the words. I wish I could tell Hoseok about all this but I couldn’t yet. I could only hope that nothing happened before all of us could get the hell out of this corrupt and messed up place.

Eventually, they finished talking and the warehouse became silent and empty. Jisoo and I took the chance to get out of there quickly and back to her room. As soon as we got in her room, she spoke, “We’re leaving tonight. This is fucked up, we can’t stay here much longer.”

I nodded my head in agreement, “But when should we do this?”

“Around 2AM, that’s when hardly anyone is around, it will be perfect for our escape. We’ll go get your patients and get the fuck out of here.” I nodded.

“Should I visit any of them before we do this?”

She shook her head, “It’s too dangerous. For now, we need to lay low until we can get out of here.” I sighed but I knew she was right. If I just went and all of a sudden visited all my patients it would be a little suspicious.

“I want you to stay with me tonight.”

I smiled, “Of course, I would have anyways, we need to be together, and I like being with you so.”

Jisoo grinned, “Let’s take our minds off this just for a bit, and watch a movie and eat some dinner.” She grabbed my hand and sat me down on her couch before handing me the remote to find whatever movie I wanted to watch while she heated some food up for us.

She handed me a plate and we sat and watched the movie in peace. This was helping but I still felt a slight feeling of dread in my stomach. I was afraid of something going wrong. I could only hope I was wrong and everyone would be safe and alive though.

As many times as I tried to tell myself that we would all be okay, and that everyone would be safe, it wasn’t working. The feeling of dread, I couldn’t shake it. Something bad was going to happen.

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get-a-new-lease-on-life · 5 years

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A New Lease on Life - #59

WELL. It's been about a donkey's age since I've been able to update this. Normally I'd apologize for the wait…but…well, honestly, I've been beating myself up enough as it is and it's not like it happened out of the blue. Kinda-brief update for anyone wondering: I've warned about an impending grief hiatus since my uncle Bob's cancer diagnosis, and the hiatus came to pass in December. Uncle Bob finally lost his fight to cancer after two years of treatment and fading. The end came on rather suddenly but after the deathwatch he went peacefully and without pain. His death really messed me up, especially since I was already suffering from depression. Our first Christmas without Bob was also our last Christmas with Granny Chance, his mother and my grandmother…she suffered a massive stroke in January and died soon afterward. In the space of a month, my family and I lost two members, one right after the other. In a word, the whole situation has been FUCKED and it's still not completely over. There are good days, and bad days…and, to quote a certain Del Toro film, "Then there are the really bad days." Between those, we're all slowly working our way through the fallout and healing process. This chapter is the first I've been able to finish since SEPTEMBER, largely because all of my stories are currently in plot-required angsty-dramatic phases and I CANNOT WRITE SAD SCENES when I'm depressed. It's entirely IMPOSSIBLE, they always come out farcical or they just don't flow. It SUCKS. TBH, I don't know for certain if I'm going to be able to catch up to my previous writing abilities or pace anytime soon but I'm certainly going to try. Also, quick note if you're reading this on Tumblr – they recently enacted a WORDBLOCK LIMIT on text posts of 100 blocks. Yeah. We're now limited to 100 paragraphs including the title. If the chapter's low dialogue and has no notes, that's fine, but if not? Well, we're just screwed because THIS ONE ran 86 ¶s WITHOUT the notes, glossary, and pre-story stuffs. I'm not sure yet how I'll be handling that limit for good, whether that means posting links to sites without the bullshit limits, posting long chapters in pieces, or linking to the separate posts with the notes and glossary, but I'll figure it out in time. For now, I’ll be including the NOTES at the end and you can find the GLOSSARY at FFnet or AO3. Check out Spotify for a playlist centered on this arc - features suggested listening for this chapter and the next few, and much, much more. Lastly, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience and understanding, and give a shout-out to some wonderful people who've made this new chapter possible. This chapter is dedicated to Wolf, Newt, and Ihlni for their invaluable support and kind words – to my hubby Cold for letting me ugly-cry on him without complaint and never failing to remind me that life has to go on – to my ma-in-law for teasing me about earning a nasty hangover instead of acknowledging that I looked like death-on-the-rocks and was obviously crying before I answered the door – to my mother for being a bloody SAINT and to my father for intentionally being an asshole when someone to fight with was just what I needed – to Wanda Farmer on AO3 and vbt22220 on FFnet for their encouragement in reviews, the folks on Tumblr who offered kind words when I needed them most, and to all you wonderful people who've stuck by me, read my stories, and are still reading after all this time. Above all, though, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Granny Chance and Uncle Bob – may they ever rest in peace.

Suggested Listening: Fuel "Hemorrhage [In My Hands]," Paramore "The Only Exception," Prince "Purple Rain," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You"

59: A Matter of Honor

The Lair, November 19th - around noon

Donatello wasn't known for being a fool; regardless, he felt rather foolish anytime the obvious failed to register until it was staring him in the face. This was just such a time. He didn't recall sequestering himself in the lab much less falling asleep at his workbench, but the proof was self-evident: a crick in his neck, a strand of insulated wire still stuck to his drool-sticky cheek, and sweat-smeared glasses half off his face. It took a moment of tired lip-smacking and searching to comprehend the facts—ah, right, he pulled an all-nighter to complete the vital signs monitor for Kimber's visit. From what he could see, the device was, indeed, completed. Too tired to consider the absurd picture he must make, he peeled the wire trimming off his cheek and set it aside.

What woke him? He searched his memory, found nothing, then turned to more closely examine his surroundings. A plate of now-cold PopTarts and a cup of coffee (helpfully covered with a cracked saucer) waited a safe distance from his elbow. Right - it was Saturday. This time last year he easily lost track of the days between all-nighters and the sleeping-binges that always followed them. Now he had a weekly reminder in the form of too-sweet coffee and half-burned pastries, courtesy of the confusing woman whose scent still clung to his skin. How blessed he felt in this moment…

The moment ended with a familiar sound—a sleep-slurred phrase he could recognize anywhere but never quite understood. Ya been away too long he got, and he recognized the terms sook, e'en, and nip though he wasn't fully certain of their context.* Beyond that the half-Celt tucked into the cot may as well have been speaking Greek for all he knew. The oft-repeated tease fell short in a particularly nasal snore. Donnie hoisted himself out of his chair with a chorus of protesting joints and slowly rounded the workbench. Silently, he regarded his sleeping woman, soaking in all the silly little details that caught his eyes—the freckles spattered across her skin, the flash of faded ink peeking up over her drooping neckline, the stubborn silver cowlicks sticking up at odd angles from her loosely bound hair—anything to remind himself she was still alive.

He shook his head in weary defeat. A full week after their desperate flight from Willsdale and every time he woke he still half-expected to find Amber cold to the touch, lifeless and painted in blood. Perhaps, he considered as he gathered her in his arms and made his way to their bedroom, this was one scar which would only be healed with time. Perhaps, he considered as he lay her across the neatly tucked quilt and curled up behind her, he could only conquer his fear of Amber's death by focusing on her life. Even as he tugged her flush against his plastron and groin and nuzzled into her neck, he couldn't erase the memory of her: bruised, bloody, and broken, and rapidly fading in his arms. He shuddered and sucked in a steadying breath of her scent.

She wasn't dead, she was alive now…it was enough…right?

Red Fern Florist, Noon

Normally, Red Fern Florist was a calm place – a quiet and classy establishment that just so happened to be run by people who didn't care about being quiet or classy. This, alas, was not a normal day, not even in the slightest.

Abilene Whitaker manned the register, eyes focused somewhere beyond the neon-streaked pages of her textbook and not registering a word. The backroom echoed with near-constant racket—crashes, curses, objects falling or being thrown… Abby sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and dragged herself off of the barstool to investigate. Sure enough, Mercy was stocking the shelves a tad too roughly…if by roughly one meant throwing the bags of supplies around like a spandex-clad steroid junkie at a WWE grudge-match smackdown.

"Alright, that's enough," Abby snapped at her blonde subordinate; Mercy froze, embarrassed grey-blue eyes meeting Abby's over a lean, hunched shoulder. "You've been stomping around and slamming things all afternoon. What on earth could be so horrible you've gotta torture the mulch?" Mercy cringed, fixing guilty eyes on the bag of mulch in her grip. Caught. "Well?" The blonde uttered a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, snorted, then slid the bag onto its shelf with more care than necessary.

"My man's ex is comin' by tonight," she admitted under her breath. "She's stayin' a few days."~

"WHAT?!" Abby squawked in protest. "He's bringing his ex over?! Aw, Hell naw! Girl, you drop that boy before I find him and punch him in the man-fritters!" Man-fritters?** Mercy couldn't help it – she sniggered at the visual – but her laughter faded into regret when she registered the rest of Abby's threat.

"No can do," she sighed, "it's kinda unavoidable." Abby crossed her arms, scrunched her lips into an almost exact replica of Leo's 'pissy leader pout,' and waited for an explanation. Mercy rolled her eyes, spearing her fingers into her hair and yanking. "Kimber…well, she's like me an' Amber," she explained under her breath. "Remember I told ya Amber…uh…went home for a few days? Well, she almost…um…didn't come back. Bitch-nipple's comin' over to see how long any of us can stay home without that happening. She invited herself, we voted, Raph lost, she won." Abby took a moment to let that sink in.

"Your guy tried to vote her off the island?" A grim nod from Mercy. "They broke up before she left, right?"

"…and she left before he an' I met," Mercy added even as she rolled her eyes.~ All the code-talk really got on her nerves but they had to be mindful of the security cameras. Abby leaned against the doorframe, lean shoulders at a sharp slant, and hazel eyes puzzled behind her fuchsia-streaked hair.

"You think she wants him back?" she asked quietly. "He won't…" She sucked in a nervous breath. "What if she tries to win him back?"

"You're kiddin', right?" Mercy scoffed. "He dumped her! He's been angsty as fuck over breakin' her heart, yeah, but I know'im—she could make all the moves she wants, he ain't gonna budge."~ Not to mention Kimber's still dead she added in her own head then shook it. After all, she was dead, too. The whole situation stank like a crappy soap opera. "I trust'im, Abbs," she added under her breath. "Raph chose me, not the Jersey-Devil-wannabe…jealousy's pointless when I already know the end result, an' that end result is he's with me."

Abby watched her a moment, scrutinizing and studying; just as suddenly as she issued the threat against Raph's genitals, she smiled. "You're a strong woman," the neon-haired clerk remarked lightly. "I ever heard one of Cherie's exes asking to stay, I'd bash the twat's teeth in. You need anything, you give me a call, alright?" Mercy nodded, halfway between a cringe and a grateful smile, and went back to the stocking. "So how are things going between you two, anyway?" Abby added taking up her share of the lifting. "You never bring him by, you never tell me much about him…how's he treating you?"

Mercy paused, brow furrowed, and scrambled for an answer that didn't make her sound like an absolute sap. She couldn't find one. "He makes me wanna listen to Faith Hill, watch him sleep, an' punch his ex in the teeth," she grumbled. The heat in her cheeks went nuclear at Abby's excited squeal.

"Oh-em-GEE!" the younger practically shrieked. "You love him!" Mercy shot her a sour glare.

"Woman," she groused, "shut yer ass – the bullshit's leakin' out."

The Lair, shortly after dusk - 00:00:00

Two weeks ago, Kimber Bryant faced down Leonardo and demanded the opportunity to make right the trouble she caused his family. Now she stood in the hallway, practically quaking in her mud-stained canvas sneakers, unsure how to proceed. It didn't exactly help that Leo was still glaring at her from behind and her other escort, Donatello, kept fiddling with the tablet strapped to his left forearm.

"Now remember, you've gotta keep the leads from getting tangled," the genius rambled without ever once looking at her. "A little perspiration shouldn't cause any unwanted interference—I insulated the outer casing well to deter any outside condensation or humidity finding its way into the monitor's internal components but there are limits." Kimber rolled her bottle green eyes over at Leo in hope of rescue from Donnie's babbling but received only a glare. "It's not fully water-tight," the genius continued with a shrug and 'meh' expression, still without even glancing her way, "so we'll need to cover it with a water-resistant dressing when it comes to bathing but other than that it—"

"Today, Donnie," Leo grumbled. The younger startled out of his thoughts, fingertips still poised on the holographic chart projected over his tech-tab. He blinked a few times in rapid succession as though refreshing his memory then turned to Kimber in question. From the looks of it, she seemed ready to chew her ankle off to escape the lecture. She really was so very different from Amber…how could they possibly be the same person underneath it all? Could a person's history and past choices really have that big an impact on their personality and attitude?

"Uh…right," he uttered with a wince. "Anyway, it's natural for your core temperature to fluctuate a certain amount over the day but if it drops too low, I'll get an alert. We may not have much time to get you back…so…" he trailed off in hopes she'd pick up the slack.

"Don't get comfy," she finished sourly. "Yeah, I got it. Git lawst."~ He crinkled his nose at her demand but said nothing; instead, he rolled his eyes in defeat and took off toward the lab.

"Remember our agreement," the eldest warned under his breath as he shouldered past her. "You have one chance, and you're to stay—"

"I got it, I got it," Kimber snapped in response. "Go dig t'at stick out'a ya ass before it gets stuck up t'ere."~ Other than a deep-chested growl of warning, Leonardo said nothing—he just stormed past her to some destination she didn't care to know. Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she made her way toward the light at the end of the hallway. The closer she came the more clearly she heard a familiar voice—a voice that still haunted her fondest dreams and worst nightmares.

Familiar laughter led her into the living area where two people were cuddled up on a lumpy sofa. The larger wore a familiar boyish grin that stole the breath right from her lungs. In her grip, the duffle-bag strap slid loose—sweaty palms, she realized. A fluttering, weightless sensation filled her veins—oh, no… 'Gawd dammit…why've I gotta still love'im?'~ She choked around the damned butterflies doing barrel-rolls in her gullet. Steeling her nerves, she shook off her mushy thoughts and turned the corner. 'It don't change nothin'—dead's dead, an' he never chose me anyway. It's better t'is way.'

Raphael…he looked so much the same and yet so different. His eyes shone with laughter where they once burned with distrust; his posture was relaxed where he always kept up a front before. Tucked into his side and 'narrating' the boxing match with absurd faked voice-overs was a tall, lean woman with short messy blonde hair. Kimber's lip ached to curl in a sneer as the blonde loosed a raucous laugh but she fought it back—Raph wasn't hers. If this…this woman in his arms was enough for him…well, she'd respect that. She only ever wanted to see him happy and by God, she'd do so, no matter how much it hurt.

One moment, everything in Mercy's world was perfect. There was a decent match on TV, Raph had 'bullied her' into not-cuddling with him, and for the moment they had no other obligations. As it always seemed to, though, everything fell apart in a single breath…a breath that carried a perfume of vanilla, sugar, and musk. The smell wasn't entirely unpleasant but it was strong enough to make her sinuses burn and her head hurt. Why must so many people marinate themselves in perfume and cologne?

As Mercy and Raphael turned to greet the newcomer in unison the arm around her waist slackened—bright golden hazel eyes widened—full, scarred lips fell slack in dismay. Those lips formed a single word—a name Mercy spent hours cursing that afternoon—but no sound came forth. Torn, she held her silence, eyes darting from Raphael to the stranger and back again almost desperately. She knew this moment would come, she just didn't realize how much she'd want to scream obscenities when it did.

The stranger broke the stare first, bottle-green eyes flustered behind their impeccable smoky eyeliner. She reached up to her modest neckline, grabbed at the pair of worn metal dog-tags at her chest, took a deep breath, then looked up again with a weak smile. "'ey, Raphie," she murmured in a voice still thick with smog. "Long time no see, huh?" The hulking mutant couldn't even get out a single word; he just nodded, his chin and lips unnaturally stiff. Even as he stared down Kimber Bryant he clenched his fingers even tighter to Mercy's waistband. Mercy glanced down at the sight of his three-fingered hand anchoring her in place by a belt-loop. Just that morning, she woke up with that hand tangled in the hem of her nightgown anchoring it at mid-thigh. She had nothing to fear.

She pried Raph's fingers loose, stretched an imaginary crick from her neck, and rolled off the sofa to her feet. "I'll catch up later," Mercy remarked with an entirely faked smile and made her way to the side door. "Compost prob'ly needs a turnin' 'bout now."~ On the way past, she silently took in what details she could, mentally comparing them. The other woman was her height but beyond thin and into skinny. Her hair was coarse—naturally red from the looks of it but with a texture similar to unraveled jute twine. A sharp glance told Mercy the other had practically no ass; no competition there. She rolled her eyes, punched in the security code to pass through, then let the door drift shut behind her.

Before she could get anywhere a pair of large, powerful hands snatched her by the shoulders, spun her about, and pinned her to the tunnel wall. "Why you leavin'?" Raph demanded sharply. His voice was barely below a shout but as so often before, Mercy saw underneath that posturing—she saw the suspicious shimmering in his eyes, the nervous tic in his jaw, the vulnerable hunching of his shoulders, and the lurching of his throat and plastron from frantic heaving breaths. Fear was the one thing he really had no reason to feel in this case but it was written all over him. She cupped his squared jaw, thumb tracing the scar splitting his lip.

"I ain't leavin', ya meathead," she corrected as he covered her hand with his in a frantic grip. "You were friends, right? Ya never got to say goodbye. I've seen how this's been tearin' you apart an' I'm sick of watchin' it."~ Her lips curled in a tease but it was entirely true—she was beyond sick of having another woman in their relationship, even a dead one. "Ya need closure, I get that—I'm backin' off so you can get it. Got it?" Raphael said nothing—he just stared back, visibly searching her words for subtext. When he finally spoke, what he asked made no sense.

"Why?" he demanded in a near-deadpan. Mercy wrinkled her nose but before she could speak, he continued. "Why're ya testin' me like dis? What've I done ta deserve dat?"~

"Testin' you?" Mercy shook her head and scoffed. "I'm not testin' ya, Red," she promised. "I know you and I trust you—you're not about to cheat on me with anyone, much less a dead chick, right?" He shook his head in agreement and his eyes softened; he belatedly released her hand, choosing instead to cup her cheek.

"I wouldn't do dat to ya," he confirmed gruffly. "I'd never…I promised not ta hurt ya an' I meant it…but…" He faltered, flustered and struggling to find the right words. "Dis ain't right…ya ought'a be pissed at me fer even lettin' 'er come here…heck, if dis happened to any other guy, he'd get slapped fer lettin' it happen!"

"You're not any other guy," Mercy reminded shortly, "an' I'm not any other gal. Jealousy won't help anything, it ain't healthy, and you weren't too keen on her comin' over, to begin with. I've got no reason to be mad at'cha, an' especially no reason to hit ya."~ Her eyes drifted back toward the side door, now closed, and she sighed. "I don't like it," she admitted as her hand drifted down to his thick neck, "but I know you need closure an' I trust you enough to not interfere."

Raphael said nothing—what could he possibly say?—instead, he took a step back, eyes wide. This wasn't the first time she professed her trust in him, nor would it be the last, but this utterance seemed the most improbable of all. Wait…no, there was one other moment even more unexpected—a recent moment, the moment he first witnessed Mercy Ross fall apart at the seams, right there in his arms.#

Tousled blonde hair spilled across his pillow like scattered straw. Unpainted lips, swollen from friction, panted around gasping breaths. Work-roughened fingertips clawed at the equally tough skin of his bare scalp and shoulders as he unleashed all his pent-up frustration on her finally bared skin.

"I trust you," she'd promised only moments before. "When are ya gonna start trustin' yourself?"

"Ya shouldn't trust me," he'd blustered, but despite his denials, he caved to her temptation. He knew from the first breath it would take weeks to clear her pheromones from his lungs; he'd never forget the taste of her or her keening cries of completion. When the madness left her eyes and the fire dulled in his blood, Raphael knew he'd never be able to see his Mercy the same, nor would he ever cease to be humbled by her seemingly unshakable faith in him—trust he couldn't recall doing a damn thing to earn.

That July, Raphael took a chance on happiness in the middle of an open rooftop—a single kiss followed by countless more, all sound-tracked with heavy metal. Ever since then, anytime he fell to the temptation of Mercy's lips, he lost himself completely. He wanted her—he needed her—he craved her—she was the air he breathed, vital to his very survival and responsible for every beat of his heart. Far below the filthy streets, in a dark passage forgotten by the world in general, he stole her lips and breathed her in reverence.

He loved her—loved her beyond the limits of his fears and follies—and that was why she knew he wouldn't let her down.

"So you two, huh?" Raphael ducked his head to avoid Kimber's eyes, hoping she couldn't see the traces of stickiness at his lips or the tenting of his patched trousers. She said nothing, choosing instead to examine the worn red tweed of the sofa arm she perched on.

"What of it?" he retorted slumping onto the seat at the opposite end of the couch.

"Looks like ya found a good one, 'at's all," she shrugged. He studied her silently a moment, searching for signs of deceit. In his heart, he knew this stranger was Kimber—his Kimber, the friend he threw away over his insecurities and fears—but her appearance was largely unfamiliar. Kimber was always on the chunky side of curvaceous but with an undeniable sex appeal. This new body was built like a scarecrow - all long limbs and frizzy hair - but underneath he could see the same sensual confidence Kimber had before she died. That sensuality was all Kimber - Amber lacked it completely, always coming across somewhere between odd and awkward. This woman, though visually unfamiliar, was definitely Kimber. Something in her eyes spoke of mischief…and regret. "Fer Gawd's sake," she swore under her breath and turned an acidic glare on him. He refused to meet it, locking his eyes on one padded and splayed knee. "I know t'a drill—I'm dead, not stoopid."

"Ya were never stupid, Kim, jus' stubborn an' naive," he protested but she waved him off.

"T'en quit lookin' at me like t'at." After a moment of resistance, he finally bit the bullet—he met her eyes. "Yeah, like t'at," the redhead grumbled, "like I'm gonna jump ya if ya take yer eyes off'a me or somethin'. I may be livin' in a homewrecker but t'at don't make me a homewrecker." This time, she was the one to hide her eyes.

A long, tense silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional sound from the Lab or utility room. In this unexpected but overdue moment, despite the drastically different appearance, Raphael saw Kimber as she was when they first met—not the over-confident temptress with the venomous smile and devil-may-care attitude but the lost, lonely, frightened runaway searching for her place in the world. Her new body was thirty-five if it was a year old, but she'd never looked more like a child to him than she did now. The night she turned Lefty and Northpaw over to the police and fell apart, Raph let the wrong head do the thinking and her heart suffered for it. So much heartache came from that one bad call—Kimber's death, too, was a result—how could he ever make it right?

"Rah-fay-el." The quiet – almost reverent – utterance of his name startled him from his brooding. Kimber faced the far wall but her eyes were locked on his askance. "Tell me t'a truth…did ya ever love me?" He blanched; she scoffed and picked at the faded red tweed covering the sofa. "I know we was close," she clarified in a soft tone void of accusation, "friends to be sure, but did ya ever love me like I loved you?"

He didn't answer—he couldn't answer, not around the painful lump in his throat. For so long, he wondered the very same. Loving Kimber, after all, would have made his betrayal a crime of passion rather than a bad move made in paranoid self-defense. Despite all his brooding introspection, though, he always came up with the same answer: he could have loved her, but he didn't…if he'd kept his head, maybe, someday, he could have loved her, but he didn't. "Exactly." Kimber's near-whisper broke his train of thought. "I knew ya didn't love me," she admitted even as her shoulders drew tight and her painted lips stretched in a sort of sneer. "I always knew it, I just t'ought…eh, no matter. I'm not gonna fuck up yer life again."

"I think ya got dat backwards," Raph pointed out dryly. "I fucked up yer life—I'm why yer…" He faltered, his throat clenching around the word as though to prevent him from voicing it. "Ya know," he settled for with a weak half-shrug, "like dis." Kimber watched him silently, eyes sharp enough to cut away his protective façade.

"Say it," she challenged. He flinched; she slid off the armrest and stalked over to face him, arms crossed in defiance. "Say it, Raph," she ordered, "ya know what I am—ya know t'a word, so use it. I'm…" She trailed off, one eyebrow cocked in expectance.

Raphael cringed. Of all the times he wished it was possible to completely withdraw into his shell, this was one of the worst so far. Weary hazel eyes drifted from Kimber's dirty canvas sneakers up her faded jeans and cotton blouse, up to her unimpressed eyes. "Yer…dead," he whispered as if confessing some great sin.

"Exactly," Kimber harrumphed and jabbed him between the eyes with one clear-lacquered fingernail. "Dead folks an' live folks jus' don't mix, ya muck-brained mawron.~ It wouldn't work an' I ain't about to waste my time tryin' ta make it work. Capiche?" He nodded, glaring up at her retreating back.

"Den why'd ya come back?" he asked, letting his hand fall back to his knee. "Dere had to be anutha way to test Don's theory, so why'd ya volunteer?"~ Kimber stilled in her pacing, carefully arranging her words before they could all spill out without concern for her feelings.

"I never got ta say goodbye," she admitted in a near-whisper, "not ta you, not ta Daron or Lefty, not ta anyone who mattered…but I've neva been t'at big on goodbyes anyhow, ya know?" Her voice cracked on the last words and she took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke again, she turned to the side as though watching him over her shoulder but her eyes remained hidden. "I made a lotta mistakes, Red—a lotta stoopid decisions t'at hurt a lotta people—an' much as I wanted to just stay dead, I lived ta regret every one'a t'ose decisions. T'at's why I came back…t'a fix t'a shit I broke an' atone for my sins. If t'at means stayin' here fer t'ree days while you an' Blondie play suck-face, so be it."

"Ya know you're puttin' yer life at risk, right?" Raph reminded, ignoring the suck-face comment. "Donnie ain't sure about da timing on dis thing, ya know. He an' the braided nutcase passed five days in her world but they weren't gone a whole three days, here. Who's to say ya'll have a full three days here? Who's ta say ya won't drop dead in an hour, or three hours, or even a minute from now?" He shuddered at the thought, his mind helpfully supplying several months' worth of nightmares to choose from, most of which ended with Kimber dying in his arms. "Ya froze, Kim, an' dat ain't an easy way to go; are ya really willing to risk goin' through it all over again?"

"It's my choice," she reminded with a stern expression reminiscent of an unimpressed schoolmarm. "No one asked me ta make t'at choice. Besides, see t'is?" She tugged her neckline aside to show him the small plastic device hung from her neck and the line of wire trailing down to her armpit. "T'is lil' t'ing's monitoring my core temp—we've got t'is covered. Trust me?"

Raph considered the plea a moment—for it was, indeed, a plea in every sense of the word—then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I don't like it," he admitted in a throaty rumble, "but it ain't my job ta like it." There was much more to say, but for the moment, he hadn't words.

"Nope," Kimber agreed with a sly grin. "It's yer job ta help me give Daron a heart attack. What say we give'im a visit from t'a Livin' Dead Girl?" It was just a tease—just another excuse to ignore the elephant in the room—but for the moment, Kimber didn't care. She had more important tasks to focus on—messes to clean up, mistakes to correct, sins to atone for, and honor to regain. For now, the rest could wait.

The Lair - 00:35:00 and counting

Time stops for no man, people often said, and the same could be said for women. Never mind that Amber's cantankerous counterpart was staying in the Lair for the weekend…lurking around every corner…stinking up the place with her perfume…just waiting for a chance to bitch-slap Amber back into her place at the bottom of the food chain…

Amber shuddered at the thought and firmly shoved it into the back of her mind. Kimber Bryant made Amber all kinds of nervous but her presence didn't excuse Amber from her chores. There was too much to do—laundry to put away, studying to do, dinner to prepare— Something soft and furry brushed against her calf, startling her from her thoughts. "Right," she muttered as Kirk bypassed the laundry basket at her feet and hopped up onto Donnie's bed. "Gotta clean the litterboxes an' feed Kirkland too." After a mrrruhl of warning and a superfluous butt-wiggle said feline launched himself right into a pile of folded undergarments and began viciously mauling a sock big enough to double as an oven mitt. As he lay on his side, wrapped around the sock and kicking like a homicidal kangaroo, Amber sighed and shook her head in whimsical defeat. After how much she'd missed him she couldn't really be upset with the little murder-machine; cats, after all, would be cats, and socks could be darned.

"It's inevitable, Kirk," she teased as she hung a pair of patched canvas trousers in the frame-and-fabric 'closet.' "You're just gonna have to get used to sharing me with Donnie. I know I'm Mom but he's mine - you can't resent him forever." With an adorable cotton-muffled urrrr, Kirk glared at her over a mouthful of beige knit as if to say watch me. Ah, the jealousy of spoiled cats.

"Honestly, I'm lucky to have Donnie," she added to herself, doubts and worries filling her thoughts between wire hangers. Back before the dream connection was confirmed—before Donatello confronted her with his old Tonfa and confessed the name of her dead classmate—Amber could fool herself he wasn't the same Donnie she grew up with. She could tell herself that he didn't know all her dirty little secrets. He didn't watch her fall apart over the last few years of her life, partly from illness and her and partly from depression and apathy. He never heard how her poor choices in college may have led to the death of a classmate. He never knew she routinely slaked her carnal needs in impersonal encounters so her time with him in dreams could be focused on more important things than her hormones. If this Donnie wasn't her Donnie, then the mistakes of her past were only a secret to keep.

The problem was…now she knew this was her Donnie…and by the sounds of it, he remembered everything. Amber paused, fondling a strip of worn purple fabric. Even after countless washings, every one of those masks smelled strongly of his oddly comforting blend of coffee, machinery, musky exertion, and spice. "How can he even look at me, Kirk?" Amber murmured into the sweet-smelling fabric. "I screwed up with him so many times…I gave up on him, I – I gave myself up to other guys…how doesn't he hate me by now?"

This last question seemed the most perplexing. Sure, the purpose of those impersonal booty-calls was to shut up her hormones so her scant time with Donnie could be put to better use, but she always regretted them afterward. Regret, though, didn't count if a person intentionally committed the same crime over and over again, and she was guilty—guilty of closing her eyes, mentally replacing the other men with Donnie, and crying herself to sleep after they left. Regret was a weak word, really; what she felt wasn't weak. After all the time she spent hating herself for the infidelity, the idea that Donnie didn't hate her for it made no sense.

The dead silence tore her from her ruminations; odd, considering Kirk had a habit of 'answering' her every time she spoke.## After a quick glance at the bed, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The little furball was out cold, wrapped around her favorite bra and snoring into one generous cup. The battered sock sprawled on the floor half under the bed—the enemy was vanquished. Chuckling at the absurdity, Amber crouched to retrieve the sock but paused when she noticed something wedged between the mattress and box spring. A warped silver wire binding, traces of green beyond the rings…surely she was mistaken, but it wouldn't hurt to check…right?

Amber tugged the notebook loose and promptly cringed in recognition. It was her journal, the one she hadn't written in for months then misplaced. Why was it jammed under the mattress like a nudie magazine? Curiosity drove her to investigate and she quickly discovered the litany of notes scribbled upside-down in the back. She quickly lost herself in the writing—questions and memories, hopes and fears Donatello couldn't bring himself to share with her, all centered around their years apart. Though she didn't dig too deeply, there wasn't a single word of blame or judgment anywhere—nothing that indicated resentment or disgust. Amber almost missed the sheet of loose-leaf that slipped out and fluttered to the floor—almost. The pencil-scribbled contents might have made her stumble if she hadn't already seated herself before. "I met my lover in a dream," she whispered in recognition.^ "That poem…I thought I lost it...I guess Donnie found it?" Soon enough, she hit the final lines:

Mibbe someday he will see – Someday the truth I'll tell. For now, I've only memories, And dreams I shot tae Hell.

Or, rather, those should have been the final lines—they were the last she wrote. Someone, however, clearly thought the poem wasn't finished and added their own verse…in pen…neatly printed by a familiar hand straddling the border between calculating and persnickety. "No way," Amber muttered thickly as she scanned the added verse, wide-eyed and breathless. "Naw fookin' way!"~ No matter how she protested, the words remained clear, impossible yet obvious. Still marveling at their presence—and at the subtext—she never heard the soft ticking of a distant clock, or the even softer inhale accompanying.

Dreams can sometimes fall apart, And memories can fade. The truth you shared can't change my heart… Your lover-friend I've stayed…

I'll see you in our dreams.

There was no stopping it, no holding back: Amber crushed the paper to her pounding heart in elation. He remembered. He understood. He loved. Perhaps, even…he forgave?

Sometimes emotions are too powerful for words; fortunately for Amber, squealing unintelligibly required none.

UP NEXT: (Currently in-progress)

Chapter List

- The vital signs monitor – At first I wasn't quite sure if such a device was on the public market, at least aside from 'smart' devices like FitBit and such, so I did what I do best: I researched the fuck out of it for funzies. Turns out there are more varieties out there than I expected, each monitoring different signs in different fashions and to different accuracy levels. Since Donnie's never been the sort to simply COPY others' ideas, we can safely assume he's combined the best of several devices. The result is a small electronic monitor [about the size of a 9-volt battery] hung from the neck by a lanyard, which measures core body temp by way of leads attached to an adhesive-backed electrode stuck in the armpit. We can also assume fitting the device on Kimber was incredibly awkward because she intentionally MADE IT awkward.

* Full statement including what Amber's snoring cut off: "Ya be'n 'way too long 'gain, ya sook—nae be'n by fer a nip'er a bosie. Wha's a lass ta think?" – This little bit of Scotchness is a routine in-dream tease from Amber. You've been gone [from our dreams] too long again, you old softy—you haven't even come by for a kiss or cuddle. What's a woman to think?

** Man-Fritters – Alas, I cannot claim authorship of this little snigger-inducing euphemism. That honor belongs to author Mimi Jean Pampfiloff in her Accidentally Yours series. While the first two books were pretty recipe [if you know what I mean] they were HILARIOUS recipes. I'm not ashamed to admit that the scene in the first one where the heroine belts out 80's pop hits to keep sane made me laugh so hard I spewed my tea, CHOKED ON IT, then spent the rest of the day CROAKING. It was WORTH IT. (That said, the author also used a lovely little nonsense-word coined by my IRL friend Autumn back when we were in high school but didn't notate it. I'd encourage Autumn to stop starting word trends without first seeking a copyright but that'd mean I'd have to pay her every time I stole her stuff, heh.)

Also: Abby has no accent. She's intentionally warping the Oh, Hell no! in hopes of showing Mercy just how upset the news makes her.

# Implied smut – The encounter referenced here didn't make it to in-story occurrence BUT it took place during the Absolutes arc, which took up too much time-and-space for the intended back-and-forth between worlds. It's written up and included in the "Gallery of Memories" as The Blonde and the Beefcake and it can be found HERE.) It's almost entirely lemon, BTW. ;P

## Kirk tends to 'answer' Amber every time she talks to him – I am SO not basing this on our cat Heiferlump. Nope, not at all! …fine. Yes. Heifer responds to EVERYTHING she hears, no matter who says it, and it's rare to find someone she can't bait into answering back. She's particularly adept at getting my father to argue with her and routinely tries to argue with the microwave beeper. O_o It's awesome.

^ The Poem, "Dream Lovers" – I've not posted the entirety of the poem in any chapters or even the GoM installment of the same name. NOW, however, you can find the entire poem in comic format HERE, on this story's Here on Tumblr, OR on DeviantArt. The comic includes Donnie's additions and a small blurb of backstory leading to this scene, and the Tumblr/AO3 posts include a glossary for the many odd words used in the poem. For convenience's sake, I've included the translation of the included verse below.

Again, since Tumblr’s decided to be an ass about wordblock limits, see FFnet or AO3 for the glossary if anything throws you off.

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sex-andthe-suburbs · 5 years

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first love.

Here’s a list of firsts:

First Kiss: My ex’s best friend. Thought I liked him, I was wrong. It was like first kiss hype. Now, he’s engaged, stalks me on on instagram, and is a total weirdo.. (update: He might not be engaged anymore?? Totally unclear, but I stand by the rest of what I wrote.)

First Love: We’ll get to him in a second.

First Time: Again, we’ll get there.

First BJ: Really funny story, which is the only reason I’m even mentioning it. I learned on the neck of a Miller Lite bottle while totally drunk and prepping to hookup with my crush. I was so good, he believed he wasn’t my first time. (ohhhhhh the power)

First Crush: A boy in kindergarten. I Told everyone he was my husband. I now can’t stand him because we grew up in the same town and he’s gross.

I’ve been really avoiding this topic because it’s kind of annoyingly still difficult for me. Hey, I’m human, and it sucks.

So, let’s talk about him. He’s on my mind today because I’ve been dreaming about him a lot recently...and I spoke to him the other day. For the first time in six years. He was my first love. We may not be in love anymore, but I don’t regret a single second of our relationship because I know what I felt was real.

We all have a person like him. He’s the one that got away. He’s the one that we can trace a lot of our current issues to. He was the first broken heart; and, boy, do I mean broken. That’s the guy we’re talking about today.

He was also, coincidentally, my friend’s first love. Now, I know, Girl Code and whatnot. I get it. However, my friend stopped being my friend, lost her marbles, went after the guy I liked, and moved out of state. So, she was gone. He was fair game. I even waited until she was actually out of state to be with him, not just until we weren’t friends anymore.

Nothing happened between us until who knows how long after she was gone. We had a really bad fight after we went out for the first time, and he dropped out of my life. This is after I cried in his garage for about an hour, and he held me, wiped my tears, and told me how he’s always been in love with me. He was my best friend. Like, you know when you see those old couples that say they ‘married their best friend’, that was us. There was actually a lady at the concert we went to together that told us that would be us. HOW CUTE.

Look, when I get married I do not intend on being married to a cheater.

When we finally got together it was like rainbows, butterflies, and toxic waste. We could be so perfect together, yet our song was a break up song because we were constantly “breaking up” with each other. If you’re interested, listen to “What Kinda Gone” by Chris Cagle. I cannot, but you go for it! At the end of the day we were horrible for each other.

He dropped out of my life a couple of times over the years we were “together” (and that’s only in quotes because sometimes we were actually together and other times we weren’t). Eventually he cheated on me with his ex (who he also cheated on my ex-friend with), and we were over. BUUUUUUUT, as young love tends to go, that didn’t totally stick. We tried to be in each other’s lives again, and he broke my heart and started seeing this new girl. I thought we were working on things and that we would be together again, but I was wrong. After fighting over the next few weeks, he blocked me on everything and was gone.

The last time I saw him was at my 19th birthday (again with the cursed birthday trend). The last time I spoke to him (before the other day) was a two hour long phone call that left us both in tears. I walked to the park by my house and broke down because I didn’t want my mom to see me and ask me questions. Because there’s nothing worse than people asking you about what’s wrong before you’re ready to talk about it.

I can honestly say that I think a lot of my insecurities and self-doubt comes from that failed relationship. Not because it failed, but because it ended with hardly any closure and an Edward Cullen-style clean break. For years I couldn’t watch New Moon or listen to country music without thinking of him. I still have those feelings from time to time, but the pain is definitely less in 2018 versus 2013. As I’m writing this, I’m listening to my playlist entitled “WARNING: This is a Dangerous F*****g Playlist.” Jason Aldean is playing. So, essentially, I’m putting myself back in 2013.

I still remember the moment I knew I loved him, as I know everyone does. We were in his garage (yes, I touched on this earlier), I had just stopped crying because we had been fighting. He pulled me into him, held me as I cried, lifted my head, and wiped my tears. He looked me in the eyes, and told me that he knew he loved me from the second he met me. He was still with my friend, but when he saw me he knew. I laughed and tried to discredit it, but he wouldn’t have it. We laughed together and I asked him if I looked like a raccoon. He laughed again, wiped my fresh tears, fixed the mascara under my eyes, and kissed my forehead. I knew in that moment, I was in way over my head and that I was in love with him.

So, why did we talk the other day? Well, he’s a car guy (like my dad) and I was having both car and dad problems. I found myself telling my friend that I wish I still had him in my life at times like these, so I had her call him off her phone. He didn’t answer. Then, to prove a point, I tried him on my phone and it was declined. Not blocked, declined. My heart raced as I texted him about the issue, and it just about dropped out of my butt when his name popped up calling me. Even thinking about it now my heart is racing. He was there for me.

Now, I’m not an idiot. he could have very well blocked me again after that, but something tells me he didn’t. I always said if he ever needed me for anything I’d be there for him no questions asked, and maybe, just maybe, he feels the same.

Thinking about him always brings the age-old (and albeit a little cliché) question, “is it better to have loved and lost, or to have never loved at all?”

I actually get asked it a lot when it comes to him, too. Earlier when I said that I have no regrets when it comes to him, I meant it. He was my first time. My first (almost) everything. I will always love him. I will always be there if he ever calls me. It broke my heart open (somehow in a good way) when he called me back the other day to help with my car. I almost cried when I realized that my number was no longer blocked.

Despite the blocking, the cheating, and the youthful naïvety, we really didn’t end in a way that warranted hatred on either of our parts. I think that’s a lesson that time has taught me while it’s healed my wounds. At one point, he told my friend that:

“You can love someone with all your heart, but that doesn't mean you have to be in their lives.”

That’s the bittersweet truth in this story, as I hope it is with most of yours. It’s okay to have loved and lost, because if you really loved you will always love. It’s not something that goes away, but it is something that cools. I would still kill to have the closure conversation with him, but after that I wouldn’t want to be with him again. I’m not even sure I could be his friend if the opportunity ever presented itself. I will, however, always love him.

*Queue the Dolly*

(not Whitney, Dolly is the OG and hers has so much emotion - fight me if you want)

All my love.

I would love to hear from people, if anyone’s reading this. My asks are going to be open. Feel free to send me stories, ask advice, anything. I’m here.

#journalism #journalist #first love #blog #sex in the suburbs #read me

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matthewko28 · 6 years

Text

Stay the Way We Are / Chapter 4

Hetalia fanfiction, human AU, EstIce platonic

>>Chapter 1<<

>>Chapter 2<<

>>Chapter 3<<

Chapters: 4/9

A/N: I change the way dividing chapters ( *´◒`*) and sorry for the too late update _(;3_ㄥ)_

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything mentioned in the story but the story itself!

Also on ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12947426/4/Stay-the-Way-We-Are

They spent another few days dealing with those old folders. The hardest part has been solved already, Emil felt there were still some riddles being left. An unspoken “Why?” was still kept in his mind and he never considered speaking out.

Why did Eduard long to stay in Denmark? Or, in other words, why did he… refuse to turn back?

Emil had a vague feeling that Eduard was also a self-protective person. He found Eduard was used to building walls around himself, and he’d concentrated all his efforts on maintaining the boundaries for a long time. Emil wondered the time was even longer and the process was even tougher than he’d experienced. He never knew whom Eduard kept a distance from, also why he had to do this, but still there’s one thing for sure he could tell. If Eduard was not a sharp and meticulous person, he’d never have to defend himself so carefully, also he’d never catch Emil’s real thoughts from his intense tone. People once tried to talk to Emil were usually driven away after getting his sarcastic responses. In the beginning, Eduard took a step back, too. However, Emil just found at no time did the act represent chicken out. All Eduard’s done was to keep walking at his own pace, gradually and without bothering, he reached the place he could walk alongside Emil.

From then on, Emil could finally relieve the stress previously.

He tried to take the initiative to talk about their works with Eduard, feeling no more embarrassed like before when he asked for help. Like Mathias said, the act actually helped Emil to learn a lot, but on the other hand, it also made him recognize there’s always a genius on the Earth which could attract people’s envy so easily. Emil shouldn’t be too surprised at Eduard’s talent for information technology (or something like that) when the first time he got his advice on work, but he was still deeply shocked at the day—it was a weekday, they worked as usual and suddenly their computers got crashes. Emil was about to break down then, he noticed that someone still kept calm and even show him a smile. Eduard just opened his text editor, checking and rewriting the source code carefully despite his high speed. Finally the program was completely fixed, all their research data was retained and no hurt. Emil stared at the screen, then turned to look at Eduard, mouth opening a little. His colleague raised an eyebrow, showing another smile to him as “I’ve told you.”

“Did you ever talk about what’s your major?”

“Physics.”

“Why don’t you study computer science?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not quite good at it?”

Emil grabbed the notebook tightly, which filled with Estonian and programming languages, forcing himself to not throw it onto the guy.

Although Emil knew fairly well that most of the “argument” was brought from him, he felt like it was a load off his mind when they could get on peacefully. Emil’s impression of Eduard has changed a lot. He spent a lot of time to build his comfort zone and make it steady, but here’s a newcomer just broke it so easily. Emil has experienced all emotions like stunned, fear, and even disgust due to the stranger. However, he’d to admit that he has been used to Eduard’s warm smile when every time they caught sights of each other. He accepted it already. He didn’t know whether the way they getting closer to could be seen as a friendship. It was like a promise they’ve made before. Keeping no secrets was not essential, but only responding “I’ll stand for you” and reaching out the arms to the other ones.

Emil had an intuition that Eduard could tell him “the answer,” he could tell him what the crux was, what methods he could take action, and even clarify the thoughts which upset him for several years. The answer Eduard hold was not from the family’s unconditional support, but only a… simple answer. Emil just wants to know what did he think.

Though he was also deeply afraid what if his hopes crumbled to nothing.

The emotionless face lingered in Emil’s memory. That was the only time Eduard expressed nothing more than pure hostility.

Emil suddenly focuses on reality again. He’s scared by a touch, which feels like a glass full of ice.

“Did I frighten you?”

“…Duh!”

“Hey, you look like you’re zoning out so I have no other choice,” Eduard chuckles. He puts down the icy bottle, ignoring Emil’s glare and sitting opposite him, “you asked me to take this.”

Emil looks at the yogurt blankly, “Did I?”

“Yeah, before I bought my lunch. I asked you to drink something and you nodded at it.”

Well, he does totally remember nothing.

“Or I could put this on my bill,” Eduard shrugs, being about to dig in his lunch, but then he pauses, “oh, wait, do you have time tomorrow morning?”

“Morning?”

“About seven or eight…, well, eight.”

Emil frowns, checking his calendar quickly, “yeah, I do…, but why?”

“I just got a new part-time job and my new boss—temporary, asked me to preview my work tomorrow.”

“And that’s why you forgot your colleague in a cafeteria for almost half an hour?”

“My professor always speaks like a waterfall, you can only get used to it,” Eduard says, grabbing out a bunch of keys from his backpack, “so, tomorrow, at the planetarium, would you go with me?”

“Alright.”

>>Chapter 5<<

>>original Chinese version<< (including English version Chapter 3&4)

A/N2: Thank you all for reading and waiting for the story! I said I’d take a break 2-3 weeks last time but it’s almost 2 months passed I know｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡ And also I know this is not a story full of surprising plots or twists but I have to make it out. There are too many things I want to tell you, tell Emil and Eduard, and even tell the story. The next chapter may be the longest one till now, I’d try my best to work on it. Thanks again for reading the story!

Please feel free to leave a comment. I’ll be glad to know your thoughts about the two cuties (❁´ω`❁)*✲ﾟ*

#estice #APH Estonia #APH Iceland #hetalia #stay the way we are

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dsmroleplay · 3 years

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#BirthOfChaos #DSM #Mayans #RP

Written by: @BikersRose @HackerSister @ReyesMayans @EZReyesDSM @CrazyAssMayan @PresidentePalo, @BishopLosa

Rosa: I pull my car through the rusty gates of the Romero Bros scrap yard. The sun had barely touched the sky. I liked getting here early. To clean up the place from the night before and make sure fresh coffee was ready when #Bishop and #Hank arrived. If I were more observant I’d have noticed their bikes still parked under the awning in the yard but it was still early and I didn’t see it. The inside of the clubhouse looked like it was hit by a small tornado. It wouldn’t be unusual if last night was a patch party but it was just a normal Wednesday night. Ordinary night, extraordinary mess. “What the fuck happened here?” I reach down to set right an overturned table. My heart pounded fast in my chest when I saw the broken stained glass door leading to Templo. The glass crunched beneath my feet as I slowly stepped over the threshold. I’ve only ever been in there to clean a couple of times. Normally #Hank had the prospect keep it clean. The head chair lay on its side, empty. And #Hank lay unconscious on the floor. I lean down and press my fingers to his neck, his pulse was there slow but there. “Hank?” He was out cold. It finally registered that there were two bikes still parked under the awning. #Hank’s and… #Bishop’s “Hank, where’s Bishop?” The large biker still didn’t respond. I pulled my phone from my back pocket, dialing everyone in the MC. No answer. I mean who really answers their phone before 7 am? I search through my contacts finding @InkedWithPetals number on my phone. I hoped she would answer.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: "Oh shit," I was half expecting another call to go straight to voicemail. The panic had subsided a little but #Hank was still out. Not sure what the protocol was on unconscious bikers. Do I call 911 or do I just pray to Santa Maria to heal him?

"Sorry," I come to my senses and turn my attention back to the call, "I know it's early but someone broke into the clubhouse last night. I found, #Hank, here on the floor, he's still unconscious," I swallow hard, "#Bishop's bike is outside. And he's not here." I start to ramble on about calling the other club members and no one answering their phone. "Pinche pendejos," I grumble, "I didn't know who else to call."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice groaned at the sound of her phone buzzing at the table beside her head. It was too fucking early and didn't people know she had a fucking hangover.

The patch party for the new San Bernadino prospect lasted well into the next morning. And Juice was feeling the weight of it. In and on her head. Groaning she swipes the message open and reads the text. #Bishop? It took her a minute to register the Santo Padre Prez name. "Fuck," she muttered to herself. She popped the tab of her favorite Red Bull flavor, dragon fruit, and opened her laptop on the table. Santo Padre needed to update its firewall. It was way too easy to hack into their traffic cams.

She watched as a dark van pulled through a light near the corner a block from the clubhouse of the Santo Padre charter. It would be sus on any other day but the day a charter president goes missing multiplied that by a thousand.

After zooming in on the plates she runs a trace. It would take a couple of hours for the results. Just enough time for me to haul her ass down south. She turns on her mobile hotspot, to keep shit going while she drives. Then tuck everything safely in her saddlebags.

Hopefully, the early ass time of day would mean traffic would be at a minimum. :::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: It could have been minutes after I called

a friend for help or it could have been hours. But the time seemed to drag agonizingly long. Time was crucial. The chances of something happening to #Bishop multiplied with each ticket of the clock.

I kept my head about me, trying to keep from focusing on the worst-case scenario. It wouldn't help anyone to panic. I sat with #Hank on the floor. He'd be more comfortable on the couch but I hadn't had nearly enough Wheaties to hoist him up.

Fortunately, his breathing remained steady and his eyes finally fluttered open. I give him a soft smile, "Don't try to get up, Viejo. Help is coming."

I lift my eyes to the door hearing @ReyesAtHeartMC come through the clubhouse doors, "In here." I call out, "There's nothing yet." :::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice was able to weave in and out of the limited traffic on the way down south. She clocked her speed at just over 95.

Oops.

She chuckled to herself as she pulls off the interstate, exit for Santo Padre. The scenery is much different than Charming. But not many places are like small town Charming. Where Juice was the most color that ever graced their streets.

She pulls into the first gas station, as the tank fills her nails type over the keys of her Chromebook. She blinks and blinks again, seeing the name that popped up on the van's registration.

Tomas Montez... the newly patched member that had been missing for the last couple of weeks. What the fuck did he have to do with this?

She types out the message to send to my friend. . Letting her know the address on the vehicle's registration.

Juice chewed on the inside of her lip. Why would a Son kidnap the Prez of the Mayans? The beef had been squashed a long time ago.

The sound of a horn honking and a big man shouting, "¡Fuera del camino!" Pulled her from her thoughts. Juice caught the gist even though she spoke better Yiddish than Spanish and tucked her laptop back in the saddlebag and pulls out of the gas station lot. :::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I look up at Nikki when she asks about #Hank and I return her slight smile, "He seems to be coming around." I hold the large biker down to keep him from moving too much. Not that I could really keep him down if he wanted to move.

"Concussed seems to be the worst of it. But I think he's gonna be ok," I guide #Hank up to a chair. "Take it easy. Do you remember what happened?" Still groggy he tells us it happened fast. But he recognized the face. He holds back. We weren't Mayans and this was Mayans business.

"Do you really think any of us is ignorant of what goes on?" I ask him. "We don't have time for misogynistic bullshit. When we find Bishop we can turn back into ignorant flowers." ::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice finally pulls her Dyna through the rusted gates of the scrap yard. It was strange being here for her without the rest of the club. Especially knowing what she thought she knew.

A Son kidnapped a Mayan.

This information could ignite another war between the two clubs. One that Jax worked so hard to put to an end.

She swallows hard and dismounts her bike. Gathering her bag with her laptop and carries it inside. Juice didn't know how bad the clubhouse was hit until she walked in.

She was never very religious. Only calling out to God during /special/ occasions. But seeing the statue of the Virgin Mary laying on its side brought a tear to her eye. She couldn't help but reach down to right it. Her she kisses the tips of her fingers and the press them to the statue with a silent prayer.

"It's Juice," she calls out. "From SAMCRO." ::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I inch my fingertips lightly over #Hank's head making sure I was right with my assessment. "I would feel better if we got you to a hospital for a head CT," I look directly into his eyes checking the dilation of his pupils. I was a nurse at a low-income clinic so I didn't see severe head injuries on a regular.

"Later," he groaned taking the glass of water that was offered. "I didn't see the mother fuckers," he said. "not until it was too fucking late. It was VM."

"Payback for Abuela's birthday party?" I quirk a brow, giving away how much of the club business I actually retained. I shouldn't know what happened there but I can't help but overhear the talk. And Mayans code wasn't all that covert.

#Hank nods.

I dig through my purse and pull out a sample pack of painkillers, fingers brushing over the linen-textured business card. I wondered if I should give the leader of the cartel a call. Would he be able to help find @BishopLosa or would it cause another problem the club had to deal with.

I tuck the card in my back pocket before handing #Hank the medicine. :::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice rights a chair before sitting down at the table and opens her laptop. She was torn. Did she tell them that the van belonged to a Son who'd been missing? The weight of the kutte on her back told her where her loyalties should lie.

But she also owed it to Alvarez, to Jax's memory, to find the missing Mayans Prez.

She should have reached out to Chibs, but she took it upon herself. Juice wasn't going to let someone else get killed because of her. And Tommy Montez fucked himself by getting involved in this bullshit.

So she pulls up the footage of the traffic cams, showing the dark van that pulled out from the outside of Romero Bros Scrapyard. It was too dark to see faces but they can clearly see a body being loaded inside the sliding door of the van.

"He's alive so far as I can tell," Juice tells the others, "I ran the plates," she swallows hard loyalties still fighting inside her, "They belong to Tomas Montez, he's been missing from SAMCRO for the last couple of weeks." :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I never knew Jax Teller. I'd heard Alvarez tell stories when he came by the clubhouse. Those visits became shorter and less frequent once 'El Padrino' took off his kutte.

To be honest, other than Happy and Packer, I could give a fuck about the Sons of Anarchy. They weren't part of my world here. Not enough that it mattered what they did or didn't do. They were just some other club.

At least until now. Until it looked like one of them took @BishopLosa . I chewed the inside of my lip. We were all worried about him. But there was a knot in the pit of my stomach for words I hadn't said. For words, I hoped like hell that I had a chance to say.

I grab a broom from the closet and start sweeping, something to keep me focused.

"I didn't think anything of it when EZ wasn't in his trailer when I got here," I shift the broken glass in a pile, "I thought he was out helping your Pop." I stop looking up, "Taza was supposed to go out to Vicki's this morning with Creeper. Cell service sucks out that far in the desert," I chuckle softly, "her landline has been out of service for the last couple of days. And they were gonna meet the tech to get it fixed." ::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: "Hey, I don't know that Tommy did this," Juice rambled, "but if he did it wasn't on the club's orders. It wasn't on SAMCRO. We don't do shit like this."

With every fiber of her being Juice knew that #Chibs wouldn't sanction an attack on the Mayans. No matter what bullshit went down on the Southside. He wouldn't betray Alvarez or Jax's promise. But why the fuck would Tommy Montez get involved with this.

"But it was his van. And he's been missing for weeks," she stated, "I can't explain that away. I wish like hell I could."

This act could ignite another Mayan war. The clubs had worked too fucking hard to get things where they were now.

Juice pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her kutte. She didn't smoke much, just when shit was tense. Tucking the cigarette between her lips, she leans into the flame of her lighter. Things were fucking tense. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I paused for a second. I should caution #Hank about drinking with the meds I gave him, but at the moment I knew the warning would fall on deaf ears.

The last of the glass had been swept up so I take a seat at the bar noting what still had to be repaired. The stained glass door needed to be replaced and some furniture. Nothing was stolen, so far as I could tell. The only thing missing was Bishop.

I reach down lifting his hammer from the floor. I finally felt the weight of the thing. I glanced around seeing the weight of everything in the eyes of the other women in the room.

Our place was often just to sit and wait for the guys to solve the problems. We just cleaned up the mess. Sure that was what MC women did. But now it was up to us to fix it. To find Bishop and bring him back.

I set the hammer back on the table with a thud. "There's not time to wait around for the guys to show up," I stated, "the longer someone's missing, the less likely to find them..."

I swallow hard the many episodes of Law and Order run through my mind. I'd have to stop watching that shit before bed after all of this was over.

"...Alive." ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice had been tracking the traffic cams in Santo Padre looking for the black van. The one that likely had the Mayans Prez thrown in it. The one owned by a missing Reaper.

"If Tommy Montez doesn't have a good as fuck reason for being involved in this shit," she said, "it is definitely gonna hit the fan." She knew #Chibs like a father and he wouldn't put up with this shit from a new patch. She swallowed the rest of her words about it.

"The last place the van was seen was the traffic cam before here," she points out the checkpoint. "Can't see border patrol overlooking a hostage like that. So they've got to be somewhere near there."

Fingers click against the keys, pulling up an overhead map of the area. "Any guesses?" :::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I lean over Juice's shoulder looking at the map. The area was familiar. I reach out and touch the screen, scrolling it up and out.

"I know this place," I tell them, "It's about a few miles from the Qhechan reservation. There's a bunch of old warehouses out there. That has to be where they took him." I look up at the other women and then to #Hank. "You shouldn't drive with your head injury." I raise my hand, "Don't fucking argue, viejo. Did Creeper take the van to Vicki's?"

The large biker shakes his head, "I'm going with. You girls shouldn't do this alone. This is our fight." I nodded in reluctant agreement. Taking the van keys he pulled from his pocket.

"Let's go, we can't wait around for the guys any longer," I say, "I'll have Chuckie keep calling the guys, tell them where we've gone."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

EZ Reyes:

•The afternoon sun beat down on his face. Ez, never thought that his life would be this, the biker life, the MC life. But there was something that he learned. He /was/ cut out for this life. It was way for him to protect his family. And for the longest time, he couldn’t. Now though? He could. He was along his side his brother. It may have not been the most glamorous life, but it was one thing, his.

He rolled his shoulders, popping his neck. Flexing his fingers in and out of a fists. He sat on the steps of the clubhouse. His forearms resting on his knees. He was itching to get out on his bike. He needed to feel the wind on his face and have the ground speeding underneath him. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. Angel, him and few others had to do another run. Once again running drugs, making sure that the packages got there in one piece.

Pushing off the steps, he grabbed his shirt. Pulling it over his head, and down his upper body, then his cut was next. He wore that shit with pride.

Kicking up dust as he walked to his bike. checking to make sure that he had everything ready for the trip they were about to take. Tying off his red bundle on the handle bars of his bike. He even went as far to check his brothers bike. Hey, he had to look out for his brother.

Once everything was checked. He walked into the club house. Time was wasting. If his brother was dick deep in a girl, well it was good send off.

Stepping through the door letting the screen shut behind him. The club was getting ready for a patch party. He was glad to be getting in the road. Not that he minded parties. He just needed this time. He called out.* Angel, brother let’s go! We have to meet them in 20 minutes. If you’re balls deep, wrap it up! •he chuckled, waiting next to the bar.• ::::::::::::::::::::

Angel Reyes: -Angel had finished his conversation with Bishop and Taza not really wanting to do this run but hey you go where you're told. Angel just had a bad feeling something was about to go down but maybe it was that carne asada from the street tacos he tore up last night but seriously one thing after the other suggested a bad omen. He could tell Taza was shitting bricks over Palo and even though Angel never let on about how much he actually paid attention he was. Deep down there was a healthy fear of the Vatos Malditos.

They didn't play by the rules and pretty much nothing was off the table. How much so was still to be determined. Putting on the mask though of invincibility he rolled out of the office with a huge smile playing the fearless big brother routine for EZ. "Man you bitch more than a woman, always barking orders and pretending you're in charge. Why you always worried bout my love life anyway huh? Stop playing hard to get and go get laid yourself so we both can have a fuckin' break." Pointed look as he walked past EZ and punched his arm then stepped outside putting on his shades. This delivery was going across state lines up to Tucson so they'd be on the round for a good four hours or more.

Throwing a leg over the motorcycle he picked up his helmet and put it on. Luckily getting into Yuma wasn't a problem. It was if you were trying to get from Yuma to California that was the bitch. Luckily things would be fairly easy. Motorcycle roared to life and he rolled out the gate beside his brother taking off towards the freeway unaware that hell was about to be unleashed on the club.-

:::::::::::::::::::::

EZ Reyes:

•He chuckled rubbing his arm.• “And yet you wouldn’t have it any other way. But I’m not going to start cooking for you and wearing an apron.” •Ez, wasn’t just one to hop from bed to bed. But, he would admit, it might take some of the stress off of him. He could tell his brother was worried about something. It wasn’t hard to tell. No matter how tried to hide it. There as always something that gave him away. But he wasn’t about to be a nosey bitch. Not here at the clubhouse anyways. He would have time when they were alone.

Following Angel out. He swung his leg over his motorcycle, strapped on his helmet and started his bike. The rumble felt good beneath him. It made him feel at least a little bit less stressed.

He followed along side Angel, hand laying against his thigh. Getting to the meet up point. It was then going to be the four hour ride. And he was happy about it. As happy as he could be anyways.

They met up, got into formation, cell phone turned on silent for the ride. As they road towards the setting sun.•

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice nods in agreement. Time was definitely not on their side. The Mayan Prez had been missing for several hours. She didn't want to say out loud what could have already happened to the man. "The VM are fucking ruthless," she recalls the stories from that table meeting several weeks ago, "but working with them passed the table." Juice closes her laptop and snuffs out the cigarette she had been smoking. "I get what went down after that shit at the lodge," she states, "if it had been our club, retaliation would have been a given too. But looks like a war was started and this is just the beginning." Juice swallowed hard, "We have a location. We better hurry."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: "You know how to shoot a gun, cariño?" #Hank asked. I suppose if shit happened that was a light question. I didn't think about that until I stuffed the key in the ignition. "I live in a shit neighborhood," I shuffle through my purse and pull out my .22, safety still on. "I've never /had/ to use it. But I know how to. I'm licensed and everything." "Shooting a target is different than shooting a man," he said. "If it comes to it, do you think you can do it?" He looks from me to Nikki and back. I chew the inside of my lip, "To save Bishop," I told him, "I wouldn't fucking hesitate." #Hank gives me a nod. I could see the hesitation on his face. But we were all that he had. The guys were unavailable.

-The ride had taken them to the suburbs called Corona de Tucson. It was something out of a Better Homes and Garden spread, you could really expect Betty White to come out with milk and cookies wearing a damn apron. But this was apparently where the whetto's hung out that had some cash. A quiet transfer, not much conversation and we were back on the road. Hitting the freeway I cranked it open because the damn sun was burning my skin something fierce. You could see the heat rising up from the payment, hell we could have fried and egg on that shit with no problem. Coming through the mountain pass hitting the deserted straight away of road my phone starting to ping like a mutherfucker. After the umpteenth time I gave the signal and we pulled into a rest stop. I could use some water and take a piss anyway. Pushing my shades up after taking off the hot-ass helmet I rubbed my eyes pulling the cell out and looking at it. It was to hot and had shut off so not to fry itself. Fuckin' /perfect/. -Mumbling as I head for john.-

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juice: After snapping her laptop closed, Juice follows the women outside. They had a destination now and that was something. What they'd do when they reached it that was another story.

With the club, there was always a chance we'd have to pull our guns. She checks the one she kept tucked in her saddlebag. Full clip and a spare.

Would it be enough?

She guessed it had to be.

Her leg swung over her bike and she settled in the seat. The bike roaring to life as she follows the van out of the rusted gate of Romero Bros Scrap Yard.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bishop: -Coming too, quickly finding my wrists are cuffed behind me to the chair I'm in. I've had my ass kicked more than a few times so I wasn't surprised. Trying to move my legs, they were secured as well. Who had me? That was the million-dollar question, if death was the end game then I'd be dead already so either I had something they wanted or they weren't intending on killing me. I'm guessing soon as they get what they want then I'm gonna be dead. Had to figure out where I was but more importantly how to get loose. I didn't want to die today. I heard voices in the distance and a scuff of boots on the floor. It smelt like dust and salt, suddenly the hood was yanked off and there stood some leather-wearing chick with a knife. Blinking I took in the other person... Palo. Fuck me. So he put shit together quick, they'd teamed up but I wasn't anything special just a fucking club prez.... but maybe they wanted something else. Clearing my throat I sat up straighter, important to stand your ground even when you're fucked.- ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa: I typed the address into the GPS and pull out onto the road. I could almost hear #Angel's teasing for using the thing. Why he wasn't answering the phone? Why none of the other guys answer their phones? Did the VM get them too?

I worried that something would happen that we wouldn't make it in time. That a cop other than Franky Rogan would be working the highway on the way and I'd have to drive the speed limit. My foot pressed harder on the gas as every bad thought raced through my head.

"It shouldn't be too long before we get there," I glanced in the rearview making sure I hadn't lost Juice. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juice: Juice kept safely close to the van. Speeding up and weaving between cars that got in the way. Splitting between lanes to keep the van in my sites.

She couldn't fathom how Tommy Montez got himself tangled up in this but a reckoning would happen when #Chibs or #Jax found out what was going down. Her gut went back to the times she was tempted to do shit that would get her ostracized from her club. But she found her way back.

She only hoped that the trust she'd damaged with them was completely lost. Maybe saving this Mayan King would make everything right.

Or at least right-er. ::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa: "Angel and EZ left yesterday on an Arizona run," #Hank told me. I let out a sigh of relief. Most of the guys were accounted for. I didn't want to lose another family. Not like this, and not at the hands of a fucking lunatic.

The club didn't fill me in on everything but I knew from the way #Taza spoke about this El Palo person he wasn't someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley alone.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as we got closer to the Reservation. Fear and nerves all rolled into one. I knew that I'd have to get my hands dirty. And for the Mayans, the men who'd become my family, I'd gladly drag myself through the mud for. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

EZ: •The sun and heat were brutal. Sweat ran down his back, shirt sticking to his body. It wasn’t going to get any better. Hand resting on his thigh, between his legs. It still felt good to be out on the road.

Movement caught his eye, following Angel to the rest stop. He kicked the stand down. Turning off his bike and shutting it off. Taking off his helmet, he swung his leg and got off his bike. Taking out a bandanna and wiping the sweat from his face.

Watching Angel, his brother was pissed off, if the words that flew out of his mouth, were anything to go by. He grabbed two bottles of water. And walked to follow Angel, as his phone went off. He dug it out, but couldn’t see a damn thing. Stowing it back in his pocket. He started walking again. Catching up the Angel, handing him a bottle of water.• What’s got you pissed off? •Ez, twisted the top of his bottle and drained half of the water. The cool water rushing down his throat.•

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Angel Reyes: Fuckin' phone shut off it's hot. I had texts and missed calls blowin' it up till it shut off from the heat. -Washing his hands he took the phone out and laid it on the back of the sink hoping the shit would cool off and turn back on.- You got service yet? I got a bad fuckin' feelin' can't shake it. Lately, the only luck we have is /bad/ and that delivery just went too damn smoothly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Palo: •Palo, stood as he stared and Bishop. It had taken awhile but now he would pay for what he done, or rather had done. It took great effort not to slit his throat. After shooting up Grandma's party. He might not even remember it. Though today he would remember. Through his screams and blood he would. If it was the last thing he did. And then he would kill him and toss his body. With a nod of his head, the cover was ripped from his head. He relished in the shocked look on his face. He almost cracked a smile on his stone face. He gave a nod and the woman stepped back. Palo was all that Bishop could see. He wanted him to only see him. He knew who he was, he knew just how fucked up he was as well. He stood and studied him a few moments. Letting Bishop’s mind wonder and go crazy as to why he was here. After he felt enough time had passed. He spoke.• “Tell me Bishop, why do you think you’re here?”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bishop: -Sinking feeling, "El Palo" had a reputation for being absolutely ruthless. From previous experience knew he could not be trusted and he'd kill pretty much anyone without a second thought. Bishop took a deep breath, this crazy mother fucker was gonna kill him and they both knew it.- I'm here because of your lack of honor. Your club started this shit, then you made a deal with the Sons... Your guys are /dead/ because of /you/. You wanna try to spin this shit and make yourself feel better go right ahead but we both know the truth. You didn't even have the balls to fuckin' call me out. You took the pussy way out and pulled this shit. So go ahead and get it over with but I can promise my /guys/ with hunt /you/ down and once they do well it will make whatever you do to me look like a toddler party.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

EZ: •He dug out his phone, showing him a black screen.• I got shit. •taking another drink of his water. He had learned to trust Angel when it came to this. If he had a bad feeling, then there was bound to be something up. Nods• I say we need to get back to the club as as we can. •he walked over and took Angel’s phone. Grabbing some paper towels he wet them until they were damp. Ringing out the water, he let the cool paper towels help to cool his phone.• But we’re still a good ways away. This might help and get your phone back on.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Angel: -Leave it to EZ to think up shit, Angel watched and nodded. Carrying the paper towel-wrapped phone outside he got on his bike and started it up. About to roll back the phone started dinging like a son of a bitch again, he covered the screen with his hand to be able to read shit.- Son of a bitch... -Raising his voice of the rumble of the engines.- Bishop's been grabbed, Juice has a lead on his location! Haul ass! -Angel texts @HackerSister. "We're on our way, bout an hour out."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Angel: -Adrenaline pumping the roar of the motorcycles killing any real thoughts for now. Everything had been leading up to this point. With each notch in the chain, he knew that they'd end up in serious shit. Too much had happened not to. Side glance to EZ before opening up the throttle, they'd be there very soon and some assholes were going to pay in blood for missing with Bish.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

EZ: •Ez, ran to his bike. Shit had just hit the fan. Bishop, had been taken. With the bike roaring to life, he peeled out behind his brother. With a twist of his hand, he pushed his bike, it teased with the line of pushing too hard. Angel had been right, things had been going too damn easy. The other shoe had dropped. And fuck they weren’t there to even stop it from falling. Pure rage boiled the blood the coiled through his veins. They had messed with the wrong fucking MC. Meeting his brother's gaze, he nodded. Bodies were going to be hitting the floor. We would paint the streets with their blood

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

El Palo: •He let him talk. No emotion showed on his face, even though anger and rage boiled his blood. He should just slit his throat and get it over with. He was tired of hearing the asshole talk. In his eyes, Bishop was nothing, nothing but a bug to be smashed under his. He had killed his own blood. Make no mistake Bishop would fear him. He could sit there, trying to look proud. He might even give him credit for doing it. A humorless chuckle fell from his lips.• You think I care about your /men/. •hard eyes meeting his.• Let them come, let come and face El Palo. I’ll be their worse nightmare. Just as I will be yours. They will be buried right beside you. You can have that one comfort. •without a second thought. His fist came out and landed hard onto his face. Rearing back again he landed even harder. The crack of bone under his fist, the warmth of his blood coating his fingers and splattering his face. Vision turning red, letting his anger loose. Every hit that landed made him crave more, and more he gave and gave.•

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bishop: -Nose broke for sure, blood running from his mouth and nostrils he couldn't register exactly the hurt because the crazy fucker was still beating on him. Head snapped one way and the other. His chest hurt from the blows and every time he went to get another breath he was hit again somewhere in there, his noggin was hit one too many times and he blacked out. Slumped in the chair, blood dripping down and soaking into his shirt he was out cold.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa: I was a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth beside the side of the van. I probably checked my phone a dozen or more times seeing who was coming and how far they were away "Calm down, cariña," Hank says, "They're coming." "I know," I tell him, "I can't help but worry. It's my thing. Especially when I don't know what the fuck is going on," I couldn't let my mind wander to the what ifs. Cause I had ideas how bad they could get. And the longer we waited the more things started to pop in my head. "I'm gonna need you all to distract me cause if you don't I'm imagining all kinds of horrors happening to him. And it does not do anyone any good if I'm all panicky."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juice: Juice watches as Rosa paces. She never had anyone she was committed to like that. She had the club. She had the patch. But she didn't have someone special that she'd do anything for. Never thought about it really. But she could see what caring about someone did to a person. How it made them feel when you didn't come home. So Juice wasn't sure if it were better that she didn't have someone or not.

"Shouldn't be too much longer."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Angel: -Angel took the turnoff and geared down as he got closer. Rolling up to a stop his first thought “How bad is it?” his second thought was “What the fuck is Rosa doing here?” Killing the engine he got off his bike. Helmet came off and he looks at Hank.- What the fuck happened?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

EZ: •Ez, followed his brother. Even at this speed, it wasn’t hard. His mind racing as they pulled in and parked. Slipping off his helmet. He looked at all who were here.Fuck, Hank was going to get his balls cut off, for Rosa being here. Swinging his leg, he got off his bike. walking beside Angel. This was a mess. Why in the fuck would Hank even let Rosa out here. Shaking his head, as he pushed his hands into his pockets. Focusing on Hank, the question fell from his mouth.• Why do you have Rosa out here? Bishop will have your balls.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

El Palo: *The fucker was out cold. With only pissed him off. His knuckles bloody and bruised, but he felt no pain. He looked around to the few men that stood around watching on. His face showing no emotion, he spoke evenly and calmly.* Wake his ass up. *he didn't care how it was done, he just wanted that shit done. His right hand stepped forward, with a blow torch, El Palo smirked. The only sign that he was enjoying this. The man stepped forward, as the bright blue and red flame burst from the nozzle. Bending down he ran the tip of the flame along the tip of his fingers. El Palo crossed his arms and watched on. Waiting for the asshole to wake up.*

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bishop: -The temporary reprieve was over quickly, heat sparked up his nerves and caused him to jerk away blinking and confused. His face beat to hell, he was trying to figure out what was going on when his eyes blurry as they were registered El Palo standing behind his torturer. He leaned forward mumbling and as the guy with the blow torch leaned in he head-butted the bastard hard as he could. Rocking forward he got to his feet and lunged at El Palo still tied to the chair. They crashed to the concrete floor and Bishop tugged at his restraints trying it get free. The chair had broken and at least one hand was free. Grabbing him by the throat he squeezed trying to kill the insane bastard.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa: I felt my heart relax a little with the sound of approaching motorcycles. They meant we could finally get a move on and get to Bishop. I knew from the look on all their faces they didn't think I belonged here. And in the pit of my stomach, I knew that too. I should be back at the clubhouse wiping of the bar waiting around for them to come back. Instead of putting myself in the line of fire.

I hated feeling like I had to explain my presence so I didn't. "Let's go," I swung the door of the van open and climbed behind the wheel, and started the engine.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juice: Juice hangs back a little watching the Mayans pull up. She still had no idea why Tommy would be involved in this. Or what the fuck all of this was about. It wouldn't take much to launch things back into a war with the Mayans again. One that they'd fought so hard to get out of.

She didn't want to be caught in the crossfire if a war broke out. But she knew sure as fuck that Chibs didn't sanction this shit. Not kidnapping a club President.

Juice wasn't about to step in the middle of Mayan business as she watched Rosa climb into the van. There wasn't time for that now.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Angel: -No one was talking much he shook his head and grabbed an AK from the van and loaded it. Grabbing a couple extra clips he put it in a duffle and picked up a handgun.- I dunno about you fuckers but I'm going about Bish, anything gets past me kill it. -Heading towards the back of the building looking for a way in that wouldn't give them away or get them killed. Crates were stacked up and a fire escape ladder led to the roof. He doubted these fuckers were thinking about full building security so he went for the high ground and started climbing.-

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EZ: *The thought of Bishop, hurt, taken or worse killed. Didn't sit well with Ez, as didn't no one saying a damn thing. First his brother Angel, had brought him in, then it was Bishop that took it up. He wouldn't let anyone hurt his prez or anyone he cared about. The women shouldn't be here. It was dangerous for them. Flickering his gaze to Angel, he wasn't going to ordered around by anyone other then his prez. But hell if he was going to let his brother, go in there alone. He would always have his back. Follow suit, he grabbed his hand gun, checking it to make sure that he had enough bullets, slipping it into the waist band of his jeans. He nodded to his brother.* "Right behind you." *He held his own AK with the butt nustled against his shoulder. He watched his brother climb. Eyes turned and scanned the area around them. Ready to kill any that would take out his brother. Nothing would get past him.*

#DSM Mayans RP

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jordan202 · 6 years

Text

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon - Chapter 9

Thanks @jia911 for taking her time off her busy schedule to help me out!

Previous chapters are HERE.

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon – Chapter Nine

“Did Mom really cook those?”

Owen laughed when he heard the incredulity on Danny’s voice through the phone on the kitchen table. They were having the planned family dinner on that stormy Monday night and since the twins were away at school, Thomas had had the excellent idea to call them just as the family sat down to eat.

“I did and I can prove it,” Amelia flashed her son a smile, proudly showing off a perfectly grilled portion of salmon on her plate. “Dad just made it home so you guys can’t say I am lying. I did it.”

“I bet it was Meg who did it,” Robbie playfully nudged Danny’s shoulder with his own so he could fit in the tiny screen too. Everyone knew that aside from their father, the youngest child of the house was the only one who could successfully scrape together a recipe.

“How dare you,” Amelia replied with mock outrage, but she had to hide her smile behind the fork not to be caught so easily.

The way Megan and Owen chuckled in unison pretty much confirmed Robbie’s suspicions.

“I did everything, mom only set on the stove,” Megan confessed with a wide smile.

“Which is, of course, the most important part,” Amelia defended herself with an aura of dignity.

“No, the most important part is the part when we eat,” Lucas corrected her, reaching out for his portion. “Hey, you two dorks, are you guys making it this weekend?”

“Yeah, we are looking forward to it,” Danny answered while Robbie agreed with excitement. “We have to stay until Friday night but we’ll try to be free as soon as possible.”

Since Lucas had his first official game with the Seattle Sounders in the upcoming weekend, he had been adamant about having the whole family there. Robbie and Danny were currently living at a five hour flight distance and aware of their brothers’ difficulty to make it to the city and back in a single weekend, Lucas had decided to charter a private aircraft to pick up and later take his brothers so they could make it in time without it being too exhausting on them.

“I can’t wait to see you two,” Amelia added with a smile.

“Hey, is it okay if we bring a friend?” Danny tried to sound casual but the reddish look on his face didn’t go unnoticed.

“It depends,” Lucas asked after swallowing his food. Once he noticed the look on his brother’s face, he teased, “is she single?”

“He is kind of hoping she won’t be single anymore by then,” Robbie answered playfully.

As he heard Megan stealing the phone from Lucas’ hand to immediately start a lighthearted questionnaire on Danny’s possible date, Owen looked around and saw that while Amelia and Robbie laughed at Lucas and Megan’s quarrel and Danny’s predicament, Thomas remained in silence, observing the situation with a distant smile on his lips.

He waited until everyone was pretty much done with their meal and the twins said their goodbye following the strict hours at Westpoint to finally take action on what he’d been planning to do since the week before.

“Hey buddy, can you help me with the dishes?” he looked into his son’s eyes. “Mom and Meg already cooked,” he said in a convincing manner and then looked at his eldest son. “Can you take Peanut for a walk tonight? We’ll wait for you to have dessert.”

Lucas didn’t know how, but he understood the message that he wasn’t supposed to rush Thomas to go home or even offer to help wash the plates. With a head nod, he went outside followed by his mother and sister, eager to see the family’s loyal Golden Retriever.

“Kepner said you handled a hypertensive pneumothorax on your own today,” Owen started the conversation as soon as he and his son started arranging the dishes on the washer. “That’s pretty impressive,” he added, hoping for a positive start.

“Thanks,” Thomas shyly smiled. He’d been so used to not getting any positive feedback for the past weeks that the comment cheered him up a little.

“She said that if you had waited thirty seconds longer the guy would have most likely not made it,” Owen went on. Kepner had told him that the ER had been hit with a large number of casualties following a bus crash and by the time a supposedly low risk patient had started showing signs of instability, Thomas was the one in the room with him suturing the guy’s forehead. On the seconds it’d taken her to leave one critical case to answer the code call, the trauma surgeon had found the intern already decompressing the chest. “Not everyone would have the guts to make the call,” the chief of surgery admitted. “Especially after the rough few weeks you’ve been having. So… it was a great thing what you did.”

Thomas stopped stacking the plates and looked up to meet his fathers’ eyes.

“It’s fine, dad,” he shrugged. “It felt amazing to do it and I’m glad I had the opportunity to. I am just glad the guy made it through. He works delivering pizzas at night so he can go to school during the day. It wasn’t his time to go yet.” Thomas affirmed with conviction.

“Tom,” Owen stopped him from going back to the task his son had set to perform. Seeing he had the young guy’s attention, the surgeon proceeded, “how have you been?”

The intern seemed to think about his answer for a moment before he finally started to talk.

“Okay, I guess.”

Owen wasn’t convinced.

“I know the hours are long and…”

“They are long for everyone,” Thomas said, hoping to sound positive. “It’s a part of the job, right?”

“Why didn’t you update your charts?” Owen completely gave up on doing the dishes and looked his son into his eyes while serenely asking the question. He hoped not to sound judgmental.

Thomas hesitated, visibly uncomfortable.

“Dad, should we really be talking about this?”

“I am not asking you as your boss,” Owen assured him with security. “I am asking as your father. Nothing we discuss here will ever make it to the hospital. I promise.”

Owen had a pretty good feeling about what was happening, but he wanted to hear it from Thomas. The intern struggled a little while longer before finally admitting.

“Brown told us we weren’t supposed to do it,” Thomas admitted after long seconds. His resident wasn’t exactly the most inspiring teacher for them but they were still her subordinates and hoping to stay out of trouble with his immediate boss, Thomas had done what he’d been instructed. “She said that if we took care of pre and post ops, she would take care of the charts,” he shared, visibly embarrassed. “A few times I tried to argue that it was better that we wrote our own because we were the ones actually doing things, but she had us pick up her coffee and run labs saying she would do it and we should just focus on the tasks she gave us. I figured she just preferred to sit down and do the easy work,” he confessed. “I had no idea she was just using us to do her obligations and spending all those hours in the OR the entire time.”

Owen took a deep breath, believing every word his son had shared. Just like he suspected, Brown had failed her interns but it still didn’t mean they weren’t responsible for breaking a rule.

“Don’t beat yourself up about this,” Owen held his shoulder with his hand and looked deeply into his son’s eyes. “It was a naïve move and you fell for it, but the time to fall for it is now,” he wisely pointed out. “This is a job where most of the time we can’t afford to make mistakes, but we are not machines and we will make mistakes,” his role as father spoke louder than his role as chief when Owen added the words, “what you did wasn’t right, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. You learn from it and that’s it. Next time, you won’t swap your obligations just because it’s more convenient for someone else. I know it sounds scary, but sometimes it’s important to stand up to your resident and challenge them too, okay? They are not the infinite source of knowledge they think they are and remember that just a year ago, they were standing exactly where you are. You didn’t know better. They should.”

Thomas took in his father’s words and nodded positively, accepting them.

“I just thought…” he struggled. “I thought that this was one of those things we learn in med school but do differently in real life, you know?” Thomas confessed. “She spoke so comfortably about it that I figured it was probably one of those things they tell you that you absolutely can’t do but just as standard protocol… Kind of like having a cell phone inside the OR. Everyone does it, even though it’s not right.”

Owen chuckled, fully understanding what he meant.

“I know you’re at some awful crossroads, Tom,” he sighed heavily, feeling sorry that his son was paying the price for it. “I know you’re hesitating to come to me or Mom when you have questions or doubts because you think this will make up for special treatment or put you in a different position than your peers but just keep in mind that before being your boss, I am your father, okay?” Owen held the back of his son’s head, making sure he was listening. “I am your dad and I am always here for you if you have something on your mind.”

Thomas seemed touched by the words because his eyes sparkled with what his father considered to be unshed tears. The boy just looked exhausted and it broke Owen’s heart.

“I know it’s overwhelming sometimes,” the surgeon added. “But it helps to talk,” he shared the truth he’d learned by experience. “Mom and I are here for you,” the chief of surgery gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before crouching down to the dishwasher again. “Always.”

Thomas heard the words of support and nodded his head with a shy smile, unable to find the right words to express his gratitude.

Owen kept silence for the following minutes, waiting for his son to process everything he was saying. He knew just how much pressure Thomas put on himself. It had always been like that, ever since he was a young boy. Even though he was particularly brilliant, Tom had always set high goals and didn’t stop until he got what he wanted. Owen admired his resilience, but just like his wife had wisely pointed out, Thomas wasn’t used to failing. And right now, looking at the way things were going in his life, it seemed like his son wasn’t in control of a lot of things. Owen could only imagine how much that was setting him off.

“I know you’ll think I’m on your back today,” Owen started out, knowing the following subject would most likely make his son even more uncomfortable, “but I think it’s past time we talk about what happened between you and Kate.”

Owen paused his speech, expectantly. This was a side of Thomas he could relate to, because to him, talking about his feelings and opening up had always been a challenge. He really admired people like his wife who, even though sometimes couldn’t quite understand what they were feeling, did a much better job at expressing their emotions than he did. And much to his own dismay, unlike his oldest brother, Thomas hadn’t taken after his mother in that regard.

“I wish I had a concrete story to tell you,” Thomas admitted after long seconds. Owen noticed that despite his son’s will to hold it together, the subject messed with him. The trauma surgeon wasn’t surprised. “But I try to look back and even I can’t make sense of it.”

Since at that point the dishes were already properly washed, Owen pulled another dishcloth from one of the drawers and handed it to Thomas, knowing by his own experience it would probably help him talk if he had his hands busy with something.

“Well, you know… Just like learning how to perform an appendectomy, talking about these things require practice…” Owen smiled, hoping to sound convincing. “So, how about we take it from the start?”

Megan said goodbye to Claire and Marianne in the cafeteria, hurrying to her afternoon class. Her music course was about to begin and despite engaged in a conversation with her friends, Megan didn’t want to be late. Even though Marianne was still pretty upset over the heartbreak she had experienced, she had been doing better for the past week. Megan was particularly determined to cheer her up. Even though they shared most of their classes, twice a week the teenage girl enjoyed her alone time in music class, something her two friends weren’t very fond of.

Ever since she was little, Megan had always been enthusiastic about music. She supposed it was something her father had passed onto her and her twin brothers. While they were still in school, Robbie and Danny had also been a part of the arts program and just like their sister, they’d done it mostly for their own entertainment. Megan knew she didn’t want to pursue a career in arts, but those two afternoons a week were like an outlet, a place where she could be away from the academics obligations and simply have fun enjoying one of her favorites hobbies in school.

Megan particularly liked to sing and while she knew she was no Celine Dion, the girl had also been given some pretty amusing compliments on her voice over the years. Looking forward to making the most of one her favorite classes in her senior year, the girl walked into the well-known room, spotting many familiar faces that greeted her with warm smiles.

And much to Megan’s dismay, a not so friendly companion stared right back at her as she entered the room.

Almost instantly, her smile vanished and she lost most of her previous excitement.

“What’s he doing here?” the girl grumpily asked a classmate, who shrugged her shoulders in response.

Before Megan could say anything else, their teacher walked in with her usual punctuality. Megan tried not to pay any more attention to JD Callaghan and focus instead on the warm welcomes by Mrs. Julian but for some reason, anger was already building up inside her at the mere sight of that annoying guy and just how bored he seemed.

As the teacher kindly welcomed everyone back and asked if they’d practiced over the summer, Megan couldn’t help but wonder what in the world JD was doing there. She would never think of him as someone who enjoyed music. In fact, it was hard to associate him with enjoying anything at all, mostly because he usually looked absolutely annoyed in most situations she’d seen him in.

Belatedly realizing she’d failed on her resolution not to divert his attention to the most obnoxious human being she’d ever met, Megan looked back at Mrs. Julian, being greeted by the smile of the short teacher with a powerful voice and large glasses that made her eyesight as sharp as her hearing.

“It’s good to see you have all returned for what I hope is a year of growth,” Mrs Julian warmly saluted her students. Most of them she was already familiar with, with the exception of a couple of freshmen and the boy with dark hair sitting alone in the back. “You must be JD Callaghan,” she supposed, after a quick look on her sheet. “Why don’t you come a little closer? I promise you we won’t bite,” the cheerful old lady proposed with a kind tone.

JD looked around and noticed all pairs of eyes were on him. There were about fifteen others students and everyone was engaged in conversation, except for him. He had no desire to be there, but after being forced by his coach with the risk of losing his position in the football team, the teenage boy had invariably wound up in that classroom.

Without any other choice but to approach the group, JD sunk in a chair beside the excited duo of freshmen who seemed to only giggle about anything that was said.

“Today’s class will be all about introductions, so I want you all to say your name out loud and then I am going to hand out these sheets with questions… You can think of them as a music survey that will help me guide you through the course,” Mrs. Julian informed them, already giving each student a sheet of paper.

As introductions were over, JD furrowed his brown heavily as he read the first line on the questionnaire.

Do you play any musical instruments or sing? If yes, which ones and for how long?

No.

Have you ever taken any music classes?

No.

Would you rather perform on an instrument or sing for the class, (solo or with a classmate)?

Neither.

What is your favorite musical genre?

I don’t have a favorite.

After ten minutes, the teacher collected the papers and suspiciously looked over at her students as she read some of the answers.

“JD,” she started, studying him meticulously. “Your answers were not very informative,” she opted for a lighter approach, thinking about the best way to engage the new student. “Judging by what you wrote here, I wouldn’t have a reason to think you’re interested in music,” Mrs. Julian added, hoping for some kind of response but the teenage boy simply sustained eye contact with her, without saying a word. “Did you discuss this decision with your football coach or…?”

JD picked up on the clue that she was offering him the opportunity to explain himself and purposefully replied as evasive as possible.

“He found a guitar in my car and assumed I was interested in music,” the boy shared, not really impressed by the deduction. “He told me I either enrolled in this class or was out of the team, so here I am.”

JD failed to add that the decision to bribe him into joining an arts program had come after the coach had decided he had anger issues and therefore needed something to channel his energy with. Football clearly wasn’t enough, because according to the man himself, JD was resorting to excessive force and therefore needed some other way to clear out that energy.

“Well, if you are interested in learning how to play the guitar, we can help you with that,” Mrs. Julian tried to sound encouraging, well aware that she wasn’t going to win the boy over in one day. Knowing that patience was the best approach, the teacher went on to once again engage the students in a group game, watching as most of them seemed to have fun with the activity.

After noticing they only had ten minutes before the bell rang, the teacher quickly scribbled some notes in her pad. To the students, the activities they’d performed that afternoon might have felt like a game, but to her it was rich material of observation. With many years of experience, it wasn’t hard for Mrs. Julian to figure out how to proceed.

“Okay, so I saw your answers and I think I have figured out what most of your interests are,” she cheerfully gave the class feedback. “I think for starters we would highly benefit if we could split the class in small groups and the most experienced students can help the new ones. Soon enough, everyone would be on a more leveled position and we can move forward as a group,” Mrs. Julian proposed wisely, looking at each student in the face. “Jack, you’re with Sean and Andrew,” she once again took note on her pad. “Sam and Barbara can train those high pitch notes together,” she winked at them, knowing the suggestion would please both girls. “JD, I think you’d benefit from getting some tips from Megan,” the teacher quickly turned around. “Brian, what do you think about having Tess and…?”

“Excuse, Mrs. Julian?”

Megan was shocked to hear that the same words she was about to say had already been spoken. Her surprise – and outrage – to be chosen as JD’s partner had promptly invoked her to raise her hand and protest it, but he had been quicker on the initiative to ask for the teacher’s attention.

“Yes, JD?” Mrs. Julian didn’t seem bothered with the interruption.

“Can I please switch partners?”

Megan later figured she shouldn’t be that much surprised, but at the moment, she was shocked. The girl had several reasons not to want JD as her partner, but he really couldn’t be serious.

Everyone else around them seemed to feel the same, unable to figure out why the guy would want to ditch Megan Hunt as his partner. Not only was she the best student in class, she was also friendly, kind and very generous. Many of the students there had benefited from Megan’s aid once or twice during the previous year. One would have to be a fool to…

“May I ask just why you feel like you need a new partner?” Mrs. Julian asked, finding the situation just as surprising. Megan Hunt was one of the best students and everyone in school seemed to like her. It was clear that JD Callaghan was having a hard time adjusting to the new school and judging by everything she knew about Megan, it was obvious there was no better person to help him fit in. Mrs. Julian had seen her do it to quite a few students before and it hadn’t been a coincidence that she’d paired them together.

“Sure,” JD replied unaffectedly, looking into the teacher’s eyes. “For starters, I really think I wouldn’t appreciate the company of someone who is rude, arrogant and absolutely disagreeable.”

“What?!”

Only when she heard the words Megan realized she had been the one to say them.

But despite her tone of outrage and obvious fury, JD simply glanced over his shoulder, looked at her and without a word looked back at the teacher.

“So, can I please be on someone else’s team?”

“Hmm…” Mrs. Julian had been caught off guard but following her peaceful nature, she tried to resolve the situation in the best way she could think of. “It really surprises me that you have that opinion of Megan, JD,” the teacher said, being supported by the other students in class. “I really think you are not being very fair to her.”

“Well, I am not interested in being his partner either,” Megan interfered. The flushed look on her face showed how enraged she was, contrasting with the easy, calm manners JD was showing. That infuriated Megan even more. “Why would I want to be near someone who has his head too high up his ass to actually be a decent human being?”

Mrs. Julian was left in shock. Never before had she seen one of her favorite students acting so emotional. But to her surprise, the nasty comment was enough to make the problematic student on her left actually laugh.

“See, she is a bully,” JD added, as if proving a point, even though a smile still lingered on his lips. “I don’t want her near me.”

“You are the worst kind of human being!” Megan abruptly stood up. How could he call her a bully? She was absolutely against any kind of discrimination and did her very best to make sure everyone could fit in, no matter how different they seemed at first glance! She was even…

“Enough!” Mrs. Julian cut the discussion off, using a harsher tone than she was used to.

Megan figured things had gotten a little out of control when she realized she was the only one in the classroom standing up. More than a dozen students had their eyes fixated on her, most of them holding her breath. Hoping she would just be left alone, the girl slowly took her seat back, taking deep breaths to regain control, absolutely embarrassed by her impolite display of wrath.

Much to her dismay, Mrs. Julian spent the last five minutes of class finishing dividing the class and handing out assignments. When inquired about it once again if Megan and JD could change their partners, the teacher simply said that the assignment was given and if they didn’t work together, it would reflect on their grades.

Megan felt personally offended and unjustly attacked, considering how much she looked up to the teacher and imagined that somehow, Mrs. Julian would have her back. Even though it’d become clear the teacher didn’t agree with JD’s nasty accusation, she hadn’t given Megan the way out she wanted, but rather insisted that she stayed partners with a person who obviously didn’t like her.

As she walked out of class, Megan thought about it and wondered if the anger and sadness she felt was really only about her teacher or the injustice of the situation. Today, she had been accused of things she knew in her heart she wasn’t, and yet she’d felt powerless in face of the situation. Megan knew she was well liked in school but it didn’t mean she was always right about everything. Sure, she had her own opinions and lived up to her ideals, but she respected what others think and felt too. It wasn’t often that she was antagonized but in the few times it had happened, Megan had dealt relatively well with it, because she genuinely respected that people could think and feel differently.

Yet now… it just had felt too personal. As if she had been rejected. The girl had never been so straightforwardly accused of anything like that and she had to admit, it bothered her.

She was just being silly, Megan told herself. Who cared what JD Callaghan thought of her? Even if he’d accused her of a bunch of lies, she shouldn’t mind it one bit. He was a jerk and he’d proven it many times over.

And yet, when Megan saw him walking down the empty school hallway alone, her feet acted faster than her mind could control.

“I really cannot believe you,” she stood up to him, wondering why lately that seemed to have become a habit. “What is wrong with you?”

JD stopped walking, quickly noticing how worked up the girl still seemed to be. For the first time since he could remember, she wasn’t surrounded by a large group of friends.

“You are very annoying,” he declared with a sigh of impatience. “I have football practice, can you please let me pass?”

“No!” Megan irrationally stood in the way, failing to realize he was at least ten inches taller and much wider and therefore could easily force his way through should he wish it. “You are staying right here and telling me what that little scene of yours was all about.”

“Oh, wow,” JD faked surprised. “Not only are you annoying, you’re also bossy as hell,” he added, discreetly leaning over her. “You are way too small to be this nasty. Move, you’re standing in the way.”

“Will you stop accusing me of things?” she chided, determined not to move an inch backwards even though he had approached her.

For the first time, Megan was looking straight into his eyes without any distractions and she couldn’t help noticing how strangely green they were. Not the kind of green that sometimes looked like blue, or the hazel kind with some brownish strands. But rather, a shade of green so bright and vibrant that made his eyes look like emeralds.

“You mean stop saying things about you without even knowing you like you did to me when you called me out in front of everyone last week?”

Megan opened her mouth to reply but the way he’d put the situation left her without arguments to defend herself. JD seemed to have sensed he somehow got through to her, because the guy smiled with the corner of his lips before adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

“Can you get out of the way now?” he asked, still noticing how pensive she looked. Had any of the guys done a third of what that bratty girl was doing, JD would have long before shoved them out of the way. He wondered why that hothead was able to amuse him at the same time she annoyed him. And he didn’t even like her.

“I am not a bully,” Megan childishly pointed out.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” she furrowed her brows, thinking she was being set up.

“If you say so, I believe you,” he pulled the strap of his bag, shifting it to his other shoulder.

“Really?” Megan frowned heavily.

“No,” JD smiled widely and for the first time, Megan thought he was actually being friendly. He looked straight into her eyes and added, looking more amused than she’d ever seen him be. “But I am kind of hoping you prove me wrong.”

Megan’s initial reaction was to feel flattered but she quickly regained her senses.

“Well, I don’t have to prove anything to you,” the girl folded her arms in front of her body, regaining control of the situation.

“No, you don’t,” JD agreed with a head nod, and once again Megan noticed he meant it. “Still, it would be nice if you did.”

Megan didn’t know exactly what to answer to that, so she settled for finally stepping out of the way.

JD looked at her one last time before stepping ahead but Megan’s question made him turn on his heel again.

“Were you really forced to join music class?” the girl didn’t notice her face looked more intrigued and confused than she would like to let it show.

“Yes,” JD affirmed with conviction, making eye contact with her.

“Why?” she unceremoniously asked, unaware of the confusion on her face.

“According to the coach, I have been using excessive force,” JD shrugged, uninterested. “But it was for a good cause.”

“How can any kind of excessive force be for a good cause?” she widened her eyes, still unable to believe him.

“Because that boyfriend of yours is a softie and he is going to cost us the season if he doesn’t lose his fear to be tackled,” JD calmly explained, unaffected by Megan’s horrified expression. “Yeah, the coach doesn’t want to admit that your precious Aaron despite having a good arm, isn’t exactly reliable when it comes to facing a tough opponent. The coach is failing to see that. But our opponents aren’t. They are going for him and when they do, it’s going to hurt way more than when I tackled him in practice yesterday.”

“So, is that how you justify your horrible manners?” Megan ironically asked, making sure to show her disapproval. “You hurt him, but it was for a greater cause?”

“Exactly.”

She still couldn’t believe how absolutely obnoxious he was when JD resumed his way, apparently not bothered by the situation he’d just exposed.

Megan was then suddenly reminded of a comment her twin brothers had made on the day they’d joined her to watch the school’s football practice. At the time, she had been reluctant to believe it, but maybe it was true that Aaron didn’t like taking hits.

Well, who did, she asked herself. Football was a very physical game and players were constantly being tackled. As long as Aaron did his job well – and he did – there was no reason for anyone to be on his back like that. JD was probably just being the jerk he always was, because it felt like whatever he set out to do, he eventually ended up hurting someone.

The realization scared Megan more than she would care to admit and the girl strode the hallways, ready to go home. If there was one thing she knew she wasn’t at risk for, it was being hurt by JD Callaghan. That whole music partners scenario was too cliché to be true and it annoyed her too much. She simply had no patience for it and it was better for everyone if they simply found a way to go make Mrs. Julian change her mind. JD’s rough manners and uncaring personality didn’t bother her so much at the moment though, because her biggest concern was exactly what it would take to make sure they never had to speak to each other, ever again.

–

thank you guys!

#omelia #owen hunt #amelia shepherd #myboys #myboysfanfiction #greysanatomy #omeliafics #omeliafanfics #omeliafic #omelia fanfic #amenff

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dsmadmin · 3 years

Text

#TheBirthOfChaos

Written by: @BikersRose @HackerSister @EnragedRuffian @ReyesMayans @EZReyesDSM

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Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice groaned at the sound of her phone buzzing at the table beside her head. It was too fucking early and didn't people know she had a fucking hangover.

After zooming in on the plates she runs a trace. It would take a couple hours for the results. Just enough time for me to haul her ass down south. She turns on her mobile hotspot, to keep shit going while she drives. Then tuck everything safely in her saddlebags.

Hopefully the early ass time of day would mean traffic would be at a minimum.

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Rosa Diaz: It could have been minutes after I called

@InkedwithPetals

for help or it could have been hours. But the time seemed to drag agonizingly long. Time was crucial. The chances of something happening to #Bishop multiplied with each ticket of the clock.

Fortunately, his breathing remained steady and his eyes finally fluttered open. I give him a soft smile, "Don't try to get up, Viejo. Help is coming."

I lift my eyes to the door hearing @ReyesAtHeartMC

come through the clubhouse doors, "In here." I call out, "There's nothing yet."

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Chapter 3 (Haven't added to tumblr yet)

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Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice was able to weave in and out of the limited traffic on the way down south. She clocked her speed at just over 95.

Oops.

She pulls into the first gas station, as the tank fills her nails type over the keys of her Chromebook. She blinks and blinks again, seeing the name that popped up on the van's registration.

Tomas Montez... the newly patched member that had been missing for the last couple of weeks. What the fuck did he have to do with this?

She types out the message to send to

@inkedwithPetals

. Letting her know the address on the vehicle's registration.

Juice chewed on the inside of her lip. Why would a Son kidnap the Prez of the Mayans? The beef had been squashed a long time ago.

The sound of a horn honking and a big man shouting, "¡Fuera del camino!" Pulled her from her

thoughts. Juice caught the gist even though she spoke better Yiddish than Spanish and tucked her laptop back in the saddlebag and pulls out of the gas station lot.

:::::::::::::::::::::

"Concussed seems to be the worst of it. But I think he's gonna be ok," I guide #Hank up to a chair. "Take it easy. Do you remember what happened?"

Still groggy he tells us it happened fast. But he recognized the face. He holds back. We weren't Mayans and this was Mayans business.

"Do you really think any of us is ignorant of what goes on?" I ask him. "We don't have time for misogynistic bullshit. When we find Bishop we can turn back into ignorant flowers."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

A Son kidnapped a Mayan.

This information could ignite another war between the two clubs. One that Jax worked so hard to put to an end.

She swallows hard and dismounts her bike. Gathering her bag with her laptop and carries it inside. Juice didn't know how bad the clubhouse was hit until she walked in.

"It's Juice," she calls out. "From SAMCRO."

::::::::::::::::::::

"Later," he groaned taking the glass of water that was offered. "I didn't see the mother fuckers," he said. "not until it was too fucking late. It was VM."

#Hank nods.

or would it cause another problem the club had to deal with.

I tuck the card in my back pocket before handing #Hank the medicine.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

But she also owed it to Alverez, to Jax's memory, to find the missing Mayans Prez.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I never knew Jax Teller. I'd heard Alverez tell stories when he came by the clubhouse. Those visits became shorter and less frequent once 'El Padrino' took off his kutte.

At least until now. Until it looked like one of them took

@BishopLosa

. I chewed the inside of my lip. We were all worried about him. But there was a knot in the pit of my stomach for words I hadn't said. For words, I hoped like hell that I had a chance to say.

I grab a broom from the closet and start sweeping, something to keep me focused.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: "Hey, I don't know that Tommy did this," Juice rambled, "but if he did it wasn't on the club's orders. It wasn't on SAMCRO. We don't do shit like this."

With every fiber of her being Juice knew that #Chibs wouldn't sanction an attack on the Mayans. No matter what bullshit went down on the Southside. He wouldn't betray Alverez or Jax's promise. But why the fuck would Tommy Montez get involved with this.

"But it was his van. And he's been missing for weeks," she stated, "I can't explain that away. I wish like hell I could."

This act could ignite another Mayan war. The clubs had worked too fucking hard to get things where they were now.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I paused for a second. I should caution #Hank about drinking with the meds I gave him, but at the moment I knew the warning would fall on deaf ears.

I reach down lifting his hammer from the floor. I finally felt the weight of the thing. I glanced around seeing the weight of everything in the eyes of the other women in the room.

I set the hammer back on the table with a thud. "There's not time to wait around for the guys to show up," I stated, "the longer someone's missing, the less likely to find them..."

I swallow hard the many episodes of Law and Order run through my mind. I'd have to stop watching that shit before bed after all of this was over.

"...Alive."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Juana "Juice" Ortiz: Juice had been tracking the traffic cams in Santo Padre looking for the black van. The one that likely had the Mayans Prez thrown in it. The one owned by a missing Reaper.

"The last place the van was seen was the traffic cam before here," she points out the checkpoint. "Can't see border patrol overlooking a hostage like that. So they've got to be somewhere near there."

Fingers click against the keys, pulling up an overhead map of the area. "Any guesses?"

:::::::::::::::::::

Rosa Diaz: I lean over Juice's shoulder looking at the map. The area was familiar. I reach out and touch the screen, scrolling it up and out.

The large biker shakes his head, "I'm going with. You girls shouldn't do this alone. This is our fight." I nodded in reluctant agreement. Taking the van keys he pulled from his pocket.

"Let's go, we can't wait around for the guys any longer," I say, "I'll have Chuckie keep calling the guys, tell them where we've gone."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

EZ Reyes:

Pushing off the steps, he grabbed his shirt. Pulling it over his head, and down his upper body, then his cut was next. He wore that shit with pride.

Once everything was checked. He walked into the club house. Time was wasting. If his brother was dick deep in a girl, well it was good send off.

::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::

EZ Reyes:

Following Angel out. He swung his leg over his motorcycle, strapped on his helmet and started his bike. The rumble felt good beneath him. It made him feel at least a little bit less stressed.

He followed along side Angel, hand laying against his thigh. Getting to the meet up point. It was then going to be the four hour ride. And he was happy about it. As happy as he could be anyways.

They met up, got into formation, cell phone turned on silent for the ride. As they road towards the setting sun.•

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::

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newscheckz · 3 years

Text

Would you break her code?

New Post has been published on https://newscheckz.com/would-you-break-her-code/

Would you break her code?

I knew I had to have him and guess what, years later it happened, oops! I almost broke the girl`s code?

Well, have you ever been through a situation such as that, men who still come around after dating your friend, to ask you out? Is it a way of getting back at her? Would you break your girl code for your friends ex?

While some have already found true love in such circumstances, it leaves a bad taste between you and your friend, things will never be the same again.

Some say it is alright if in the first place the first relationship did not involve sex? Well, why?

So it all started with me admiring him as he used to work in his parents restaurant in my rural town.

I was not much around my home town and when schools closed, I would pass by the restaurant to buy my family some fries with the pocket money I had saved all through the term.

Wasn’t much but I hated sitting down in a restaurant and eating the good meals by myself. Well, I am aware there is no bad meal, but you too understand some meals overpower some.

Years later, I was done with my first year in college and started my field work, in my home district as my school required, it was a new exposure for me and everything was going on well.

Fortunately, I would see him most days of the week when we decided to have lunch at their restaurant sometimes it was a cautious decision sometimes not, and he would sure send back the bill paid, sometimes he would buy us drinks or decide lunch was on him. It was a rare gesture, to me.

“unatudai ngapi? (how much is our bill) msijali imelipwa ( don’t worry its already paid)” said the guy that was serving us pointing at the direction of the guy that paid the bill.

We first looked at each other, then looked at the direction of the guy that paid, he was there smiling and acknowledging our thank you smiles. We immediately turned back and giggled at ourselves.

“mmmmmh!…fine guy there, I thought and inquired who he was.

Kyle and I have been friends for the better part of this beautiful life, she is the we I`m referring to, but trust me I did not know all these goodies and frequenting the place was a deliberate decision my friend Kyle enjoyed most.

So, I came to realize, he was pursuing Kyle, all without my beautiful brain giving me the signal. At first I thought it was all about me.

Poor me, I know, Kyle and I have created an unbreakable bond even when we fought over somethings, we naturally made up, and mind you, our fighting is all for care of either of us. Story for another day.

Kyle kept updating me on how the young man was, at least she was being dropped and picked from work in the evening while I took my walks.

It was a good match for Kyle since she and his family had a lot of similarities, they both came from polygamous families and would suit each other, any way long story short, we were done with our school field work and it was time to sign up for another term, the famous phrase was out of reach out of sight.

Years later, he would slide into my DM, this time I recognized him and was keen on what the intentions were because I remembered him from Kyle.

We kept in touch for a while after he directly laid his request bare, ` would you be my wife? Well, trust me I hold the girl code dearly.

First I called Kyle after sometime to try and know the reason why they actually broke up? I reminded him of Kyle and he saw no problem with that. I did my research. Guess what her reply was?

What exactly are you required to do when your girls ex approaches you for any relationship, either long term or friends with benefits?

1. Aim? What exactly would your ex want, to hurt your friend, revenge or just prove that he can have you both?

2. What caused their breakup; yes, it is important to know what exactly caused the two of them to part ways. You might want to call your girlfriend and find out the whole truth about him, she probably would have hidden some truth before in order to protect him.

3. Learn his character easily through your girl.

4. Ask around if it’s a good thing to do, especially after you have spoken to your girlfriend and she gave you a go ahead, some do that because they careless and feel you disrespected them so they would not want to shake your head.

5. Trust and natural codes: Ask him about the girl code and tell him what it means to you. This means a lot of things.

You may no longer want him to be around your girlfriends, since he seems to hope from friend to friend.

6. Comfort: well, word will always spread around as to how you took your friend`s man, and tis can haunt you if you are not ready for that let him be.

7. Take time: let him earn you and not rely on the fact that you know each other, give yourself enough time to see if the guy is serious.

8. do not judge: some will tend to judge him based on how he handled the first relationship.

You are different and after your investigation, let the man love you and be open to starting your own journey.

Well, whether girl code exists or not, make sure you do it right for all parties involved, but most of all do it for your happiness. To break or to keep a girl`s code is, upon you.

I did give him a chance, but he ended up marrying someone else, Kyle and I are still friends, he remains a memory.

#girlcode

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therewasabrowncrow · 3 years

Photo

New Year Update! Lockdown #2:

Last July we moved to a new place in Leith-- this is literally the second place we saw, the first we couldn’t visit- it had a virtual tour option only. We stood outside that building and speculated about our lives inside, our future room facing a freshly excavated burial site nearby where the tram line would go, and thus, we bounced.

This second place faced the tram line too- the main road and shops (now almost all shut) but we were at least indoors looking out.

This north facing room is my home studio for now. I have imagined this to be a working studio for at least two people so consider this an open invite

I am very happy with it, I came here in January with a motherboard, power supply, a fan and a flatbed scanner --Don’t buy an expensive laptop they said, assemble a desktop--it’s so much fun, they said-- I don’t regret the decision to not get a laptop now

Since the entire room was built during lockdown a lot of it depended on delivery and it took more or less 6 months. I still need to add an overhead rig to attach a camera so I can make more Earthsea fan art! Unfortunately my cheapo tripod broke and my Earthsea feed is stalled. Now that we enter proper lock down 2 I’ll wait and see until March what happens.

I was not able to pay towards any rent this year and my partner had to manage from his first full time job at the university but I was able to save and pay towards internet and utilities for all of next year (still not enough to half the rent yet) I also have enough to pay off a debt finally.

I got my first paid project before I moved here, from a classmate-- a short animation! I remember sitting in Calcutta with no equipment trying to figure how to put it together but I had a self initiated project from summer 2019 that I pitched to them and it worked! I could buy enough time for me to travel end of the year to the UK. My partner had already managed to find a place for us to house sit while the owners were away on sabbatical.

Luckily one of the owners of the house is a professional sculptor so I had access to art materials but I already had a portable mono print kit with me and I was able to put together at least two frames per scene in loop. By now I had the CPU case and Monitor in place (thanks to the owners who let me use it).

The film was done! It also made it to a few selections this year, thanks Helmie!

During this time I was working with Nia Thandapani on a STEM facilitator manual for Quest Alliance. She was making a workbook designed for girl students that look into representation, goals, dreams, and coding basics. She approached me after seeing the icon work for A Cloud Called Bhura and another illustrator on this project.

Pages from the book:

During this time Amphan was raging in Bengal and Assam. The little veranda garden I made for ma before I left was washed away.

Now it was summer. I had the opportunity to work with Numbi Arts on a more or less retainer until end of the year. I knew about Numbi before I left UK three years ago when I volunteered to document some of their live events. The Numbi projects were a blessing

This year Numbi were working to build a Somali Museum and they were able to successfully raise the funds. I am excited to see how it shapes up. I made visual comms (posters, insta ads etc) for their events-- mainly for Your Mother tongue is Gold. Thanks to Numbi I got referred to another community project which will start shortly.

I had a few projects with Storyweaver. One was in the works since 2019.

Written by Yamini Vijayan Your Body is Yours has been a really interesting project -- in the middle I was fully giving up because I didn’t think I had enough maturity and knowledge to visually interpret consent and boundaries. But reading up and questioning oneself during lockdown helped. I am actually looking forward to seeing more books on consent and personal boundaries by others. When I made my zine about periods I was told that there were more than enough projects on periods. I see literature and art about periods that I failed to address in the zine-- so it’s never enough!

The other was also based on body and anatomy art directed by Snigdha Rao who is my NID animation classmate. I really enjoyed our brainstorming and I am quite happy with the way we interpreted the texts

Towards the end of the year I got to work on a very simple book about anatomy again..this time a chilli plant written by Radha Rangarajan

I had a few quick editorial projects with Current Conservation:

The first one of the year was made with Clip Studio. As you can see I used every brush in the arsenal to show off -- this was me saying fuck you to Photoshop forever so I spent a lot of energy to perfect this. Rookie mistake.

Later in the year, I use another technique where I locate a theme in the text and try and find organic materials that best compliment it. I then scan or mono print the objects/material and use them as a digital collage. This direction works very well when timelines are tight and usually foreground the main theme of the story quite well.

I have been building a library of these textures and scans. They are free to download and remix from my Gumroad account.

I used this technique for Moo Dunnit by C.G. Salamander

The story is a case of missing vegetables so the mono print of corn, peas, strawberries, dhaniya, as base of the illustrations really helped.

By this time I was going in and out of it with the pandemic and the Lockdown both here and in India. So there were lots of apology emails to the editor and finally I just sat down and finished in one go. I don’t think I have been able to relocate myself fully from the anti CAA-NRC protests in Calcutta. Some scenes will remain.

I worked on two documentaries. One was Crutch and the other was Moving Upstream: Ganga.

Crutch had been in process for the last seventeen years! I met the directors Chandler and Sachi when I was in CA back in 2017-- the time I dropped next door to borrow a lighter from Chandler :P and told him that I do animations that “explain complex stuff” which fit the bill on what they were looking for: Someone to animate the insides of a pelvic joint.

I had a small tester project with them before I got signed up on this project. We had a sit down with the team and I had the chance to meet the artist Bill Shannon on whom the film is based. I will share more scenes from the film shortly. A large chunk of my studio costs came from this project, so yay

The other documentary was with Veditum about their river walk. This film also took some time to happen and I was approached when the team were already finishing up with their edit. I met Siddharth when I was in Calcutta-- we had been in touch via Insta for years. It is always exciting to meet your social friends IRL and I was thrilled to be part of this project. They were very clear about the direction so it was easy to put my bits into the film--Mostly animated overlays. I will share the trailer shortly!

We contributed my bit from the project to Association SNAP for Ramzan Ration Kits and the WB Emergency Relief Fund.

End of Autumn I got approached for a few projects-- one was for Story Museum with my classmate again. They were making small online storytelling sessions on popular fairy tales. I made a few illustrations for them that my classmate animated. It wasn’t extensive animation work, as the budget was quite small but I had a lot of fun exploring different styles for each fairy tale

The first one dropped on Youtube:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXTL6tkQRzk&feature=youtu.be

She also gave birth towards the end of the project--this meant that our project needed to be planned thoroughly ahead of the deadline.. and we did it!

The other project running parallel right now is due to end in February. This is another collaborative project with Falana Films based in Bangalore. We have a bunch of deliverables -- a series of films on STEM awareness for girls and I am doing the animation direction.

It took a while for me to come up with a specific look but by the time the script was written, it helped massively with the visual direction. Initially I found it quite hard to build a visual language that would explain STEM thinking without us explicitly pointing an arrow at things. So we decided to focus on the assembling and dissembling of objects, compositions etc. I am quite happy with the direction now:

I appreciate the commitment Quest took to be inclusive and get as many different participants on board, thanks to Falana

---

I wanted to make animations for a while and this year I had quite a few. I hope to make games next year. I made a bunch of fan art and WIPs and protest art and sketch notes this year, a lot of it made through bouts of different kinds of mental states.

I also joined local mutual aid and volunteer networks even though our socialisation was all online.

Ohhh did I mention the experience of applying for a visa in Brexit UK with an ongoing pandemic!

I wanted to make a living wreath for a family member and many who couldn’t make it during this pandemic -- out of all the projects, this took the longest and went through many iterations. This was in December and by now I felt tired and worn out.

#2020

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tarysande · 7 years

Text

Fic Update: Any Four Walls: Pantomime

Also on AO3

Pantomime

When she installed herself on the flight deck, Joker only nodded and offered a brief grunt of greeting. If she hadn’t already known how distraught he was, that grunt would’ve been a dead giveaway. His hands flew over the haptic interface, adjusting their approach vector just enough—she hoped—to give them a moment of surprise. Kaidan sat at the station to Joker’s right, manning communications. For a moment, she saw the slightly-different cockpit of a different Normandy and half-expected the voice of a dead man to summon her over the comms.

Instead, Joker hissed an expletive that would have shocked even Jack and said, “We’ve got a situation.”

She leaned over his shoulder, scanning the stars. There. The ship was small against the vastness of space, looking like a toy discarded by a child when something newer and shinier came along.

No.

She couldn’t think about children.

“Kaidan?”

“Sorry, Shepard.” His hands were moving now, too. “No—there. It’s sending out an SOS. Turian frequency. Pretty weak.”

“Is it the Enixus?”

She already knew, though. Kaidan’s nod only confirmed what her gut was screaming.

They drew near enough to see the atmosphere venting into the dark from a gash in the ship’s starboard side.

“Life signs?”

“Too much interference.”

She remained locked in parade rest because what she really wanted to do was punch something. A wall. The piece of equipment whose news was always bad. “Of course.” When she had the urge for violence under control, she said, “Bring us in quiet, Joker. I’m going over.”

Kaidan turned in the seat, fixing her with his dark, too-perceptive gaze. “We are.”

“Everyone likes to forget my background. N7 Infiltrator, remember? In and out, no biotic explosions necessary.”

But Kaidan was already rising, expression as close to mutinous as she’d ever seen it. “Garrus said you’d try and pull something like this, you know. I thought you’d consider how long you’ve been off active duty and go with common sense.”

“If you’re suggesting I stay—”

He held up a hand to stop her. She added his face to her list of things she’d consider punching, though his words went some little way to redeeming him. “I wouldn’t dare, Shepard. I mean that. But we have no idea what’s going on over there. Don’t go in alone.”

Joker hunched in his seat as if pretending a Spectre showdown wasn’t happening above his head. Shepard sighed. “You gonna question every decision I make, Alenko?”

“Only the stupid ones. Ma’am.”

A very, very faint smile pulled at one corner of her mouth. “Fair enough. Suit up, Alenko. And find Jack.”

“And Garrus?”

She shook her head. Kaidan winced. “I’ll talk to him.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You almost died a few—”

“Don’t,” he snapped.

Shepard crossed her armored arms over her chest, meeting her husband glare for glare even though she had to crane her neck a bit to do it.

“Do you honestly want me to pull rank here, Shepard? Is that it?”

“No,” she said. “I want you to run the op from the ship.”

“You want me to sit on the sidelines. They’re my kids.” The way his voice broke nearly broke her resolve; she had to look away.

“Garrus,” she said, softly.

“Don’t Garrus me. Not about this.”

“Fine.” She brought the heels of her hands up to her eyes and pressed hard enough to momentarily see stars. “I need you on my six.”

“That’s more like it.”

Lowering her hands, she said, “That’s here. On the ship. Running the op. Waiting for Liara’s intel. And manning the Thanix as only you can if the bastards try and pull something that needs the big guns. Which they probably will.”

“Because this is obviously a trap.”

“Obviously.”

He shook his head, but not in disagreement. That fight had gone out of him the second she said on my six. He took a step toward her. She took two, wrapping her arms tight around him. One of his hands cupped the back of her head gently. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Shepard snorted. “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”

“You told Alenko you were going in alone?”

She said nothing. Didn’t have to.

He brought the side of his face to the top of her head and nuzzled it. “Bring our kids home, Shepard. I’ll watch your back.”

Shepard wasn’t sure what it said about her that all her nerves and anger and panic settled the second her boots hit the floor. The weight of her gun grounded her. Despite Kaidan’s—and even Garrus’—fears, having a mission with a clear objective focused her. Get in, get out. Rescue mission. Keep a low profile.

She’d done dozens of these over the years.

And Aratoht didn’t count.

They’d entered through the gash in the side of the ship instead of aiming for the airlock; no use announcing themselves before they had to. She gestured silently and Kaidan arced out to her left, omni already up and scanning, in case proximity could provide better readings. Behind his mask, his brows furrowed. She didn’t need the shake of his head to know he’d had no luck.

She clipped her pistol to her side and peered through the scope of her rifle. The thermal scope picked up Kaidan and Jack’s signatures, but couldn’t see through the walls.

Good walls, then. She frowned. Traders usually dropped their credits protecting the exterior of their ships; having the kind of interior walls that could defy an even more top-of-the-line thermal scope than one could currently find even on the blackest of markets—unless they, too, were personal friends of Solana Vakarian—smacked of paranoia. At the very least.

She brought up her own omni, then, and ran the scanning program that had gone not only through Solana, but through Tali and Garrus and herself, as well. Like the scope, it read the current room clearly—the surveillance camera over the door was obvious; the three different bugs running on completely different frequencies, less so—but everything outside was dampened.

Using signals instead of words, even on their private frequencies, Shepard directed Kaidan to one side of the door and Jack to the other.

Shepard knew damn well that her omni-tool was fitted with the best tech money (and connections) could buy, and then some.

It still took her decryption program an agonizingly long time to crack the door’s code.

Definitely a trap.

Definitely not just traders.

Shepard activated her cloak the moment the door began to slide open, waiting for the immediate attack that never came. After a slow count of five, she ducked into the corridor. Lights flickered above, casting half the hallway into stark shadows, but no one waited for them. No shots pinged off her shields. Kaidan and Jack followed as soon as her tactical cloak shimmered and vanished. Once again, scanning revealed nothing. An empty hallway; walls that kept their secrets close.

No cover.

No debris at all.

Her frown deepened. Any attack that could leave damage like the destruction of the room behind them should’ve had more of an effect elsewhere. Even with impenetrable walls. She began flicking through frequencies until she found the one the ship was using to send out its weak cry for help. After listening to the generic SOS three times, her earpiece crackled. Music, loud enough to cause pain, blasted. Fighting the instinct to shut it off completely, she turned it down as much as she could.

The melody was familiar. Human, definitely. Something full of pomp and military bravado.

She went cold when she recognized it.

A very particular anthem. One rarely heard. One she’d heard twice. Once after Elysium. Once after—after everything that had happened later.

One she’d tried to avoid hearing both times.

They played it when they bestowed the Star of Terra. Only then.

Jack touched her arm; Shepard shook her head, tapping the side of her helmet and signaling them to wait. She didn’t miss the look Jack and Kaidan exchanged.

When the last triumphant note roared and faded, the desperate, wailing cry of a child replaced it.

Her child.

“Rose? Rose?”

But Rose wasn’t the child who answered. With the screaming still raw in the background, Tyrra, breathless, subharmonics practically screaming her terror, said, “Sh-shepard? Shepard? Is that—you have to—they’re going to—she promised she’d give Rose back—I don’t know—I don’t know what they’re doing to her!”

“Shh, honey,” Shepard said. She didn’t brush off Jack’s hand this time, though she did signal for Kaidan to keep his eyes on the scanner. “Where are you? I’m here. I’m coming to get you.”

Tyrra began to speak again, but was replaced Matta Casarus’ harsh whisper. “Admiral Shepard? Thank the Spirits. They’ve got us pinned—”

“Cut the shit,” Shepard snapped. “I’m here. Just like you wanted. Walked into your elaborate little pantomime, just like you wanted. If you don’t release my daughters immediately, I will kill you. Do you understand me? I will put a bullet in every body that stands between me and them. Without mercy.”

Casarus’ voice changed at once. Cold, smooth. Too smooth. “This is how Earth breeds heroes, then? I prefer turian ones. They understand honor.”

Shepard inhaled sharply. “Is that what this is? You’re torturing my kid to prove some kind of point? I don’t know what the fuck I ever did to you, lady, but if—”

“You killed someone important to me. As important to me as these foundlings are to you. More important.”

Her stomach twisted. She ignored it. “Then take it up with me. They’re innocent. They are innocent. Let them go and you can have me. No contest. No fight.”

Even the woman’s laugh was cold. Bitter as the wind on Noveria. “So noble. No wonder they love you.” Casarus sighed. As if she was bored. With Rose screaming. “You said it yourself, Shepard. It’s pantomime. It’s theatre. Time to give the audience what they want.”

Before she could do more than open her mouth to reply, the line went dead. Rose’s cries stopped so abruptly, Shepard clapped her hand to the side of her head, as if this would bring her closer, tell her where to go.

“What the fuck, Shepard,” Jack breathed.

“Can we get a message back to the Normandy?”

Kaidan shook his head.

Shepard swallowed, shuffling plans in her head and rejecting them before they could finish forming. “Then we move. She’s already proven she’ll hurt the children. We have to hit them harder and faster than they expect.” Shepard lifted her Widow. “Jack. Point. Don’t hold back. Make them show their faces so I can remove them.”

#any four walls #shepard vakarian family shenanigans #shakarian #garrus vakarian #femshep #rose and tyrra #my fic #fanfiction #fictober #mass effect

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