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chattahoochiecoochie · 2 years

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A Year On A Plane

Summary: A year told in three scenes, beginning, middle, and end, as it happened on Kimi’s plane.

Word Count: 1.7k

Translations: I google translated this shit, let my dumb american ass live. Kulta/Gold Kultsi/Gold

Authors Notes: Angst. But only a little, I promise. Turns out I can only write fic if I listen to country music, doing it without has been fruitless. This is technically a piece of the elusive Kimi fic, the rest of which you can find here, but this can be read as a complete standalone.

“You just take your carryon, I’ll bring everything else with me if you want.” She stood at the foot of his hotel bed, folding shirts as he did a set of pushups to the tone of a metronome.

“You fly with Ferrari?” He held himself up despite the tone and tilted his chin in her direction, sweat beading around the nape of his neck.

“It was that or walking.” She smiled and tucked his shirts into a suitcase. “Bahrain is pretty far.”

“No, no.” He got back into rhythm, his nose inches from the floor as he lowered back down. “You fly with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” He let out a grunt and looked up at her. “You should walk.”

Laura had never flown privately before, that much was obvious from the moment she stepped on board. She sat in the first seat, the one nearest the door, and clutched her purse in her lap, looking around for someplace to put her other bag.

“Here, give me it.” Kimi noticed her eyes, and the expression set on her face. Nervous confusion. “It goes underneath.” He took the small duffle from its place at her feet and pointed to a row of cabinets that sat underneath the couch behind her.

“Sorry, first timer.” She let out a weak laugh, shying away from his gaze.

“You’ll get used to it.” Subtle, much? He’d only ever flown with his trainer, and with family. In fact, more often than not it was just Kimi and his flight attendant. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited her to fly with him, instead of on the chartered jet, and he absolutely couldn’t explain why he’d just implied it would be happening again. What if she talked the whole time? Or was one of those people who got nervous during takeoff?

“Watch it there, I love the little pretzels they give out on big planes too much to do this every time.” Kimi felt himself smile at her snarky remark. That's why he’d done it. Good company was hard to come by, even if he was still a bit wary about her.

“Hmph.” He sat back on the couch behind her, pretending to be miffed. Moments earlier he’d been worried she’d annoy him, now he was mad she might not come back for more.

“Do you want a water or anything?” Craning his neck he looked forward to see her rifling through her purse.

“Beth will bring some around in a bit.”

“Beth?”

“My flight attendant.”

“Of course. Well then, I’m gonna get into my book since someone else is available to babysit you.” Laura gave him a wink over the back of her seat before turning abruptly away from him, fidgeting to get comfortable in the oversized chair. A funny feeling tugged in his chest, he had the vague idea that he might like to see her wink again, or even spend some of their time together, talking. He wished she hadn’t turned so soon. Perhaps next time.

“You’ll fly separately. She’s coming back with me, to Maranello. I’ll take good care of her. And I want you to go home, rest up, and take care of yourself. A little time apart might do everyone a bit of good.”

He’d only broken a little rule at first. He’d been instructed to bring Carlos Santi onto the podium with him to receive the constructors trophy but he disobeyed at the last second, opting instead to bring Laura onto the stage. She resisted briefly, pulling her hand away before he could grasp it, but the heat of the moment won out and together they walked out in a fit of quiet laughter. Yes of course one of the constructors should receive the trophy, he knew that, but he also knew that she was the reason he’d put the car over the line. They’d done the work together, side by side, all season long, fighting the tension in the air the whole way through.

For that moment, the tension didn’t matter. The rules meant nothing, the potential backlash seemed obsolete. He wanted his Laura with him, damn it all. But with one domino down, the rest seemed to fall without so much as a breath.

The champagne came down in a mist, covering them both as the celebration got underway. Lost in the moment, he set the bottle down and leapt from the podium. Moving past his teammate he pulled her in for a hug, his lips against her ear despite the voice in his head trying to remind him of the cameras. “We did it, Kulta.” Two dominos now.

The third came down like a tidal wave. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, some left over self preservation keeping him away from her lips, or even her flushed cheek. She shivered in his arms, her shirt sticking to his own as he pulled away, champagne soaking through them both.

He made it most of the night after with his ducks all in a row. They weren’t scolded severely for the display, Gianna even thought the photo that captured it all was nice. “A good family picture. We wouldn’t get anywhere without one another.” Very diplomatic, that woman.

It wasn’t until the party had ended and he was left alone in his hotel room that things began to spiral, the rest of his dominoes circling the drain in rapid succession.

He was tucked into the covers, a beer bottle loose in one hand, his phone in the other, moonlight glinting off the trophy he’d left on the bedside table. He was looking through his photos, browsing google in search of the photo that had been taken on the podium. He wanted to relive it, having her wrapped up in his arms like that. He wanted to relive all of it, any bit he could get his hands on.

There were a few group photos from a yacht party in Monaco. One of the two of them on a track walk in Monza. He scrolled a while longer, smirking when he stumbled across one that sparked a memory. Then, with a single swipe of his thumb, the floodgates opened.

The first selfie he’d ever taken, done under her instruction. She’d set media goals for him, and before they could be accomplished she promised to show him the ropes. They were standing in the bathroom of his paddock motorhome, squished in like sardines, and she was explaining why one might take a selfie, and how best to do so. He was behind her in the photo, and here in his bed he could practically feel her standing in front of him. His hip dug into her back, his chest against her shoulders.

That was the first time she laughed at him, at a joke he was making. The photo held the memory in perfect frame, her face bright, her eyes glittering. He was smiling too, a wide grin on his face as he held up his fingers behind her head, little bunny ears. There, in a too-small bathroom, his dominos had been set up. And now, he was knocking them down.

It was a slip of the hand, he would swear the next morning. Or maybe of the mind. He finished his beer in two swallows and stared down at the picture. Without thinking, he clicked around, touching button after button, trying to get the screen clear so he could look at the photo without interruption.

Somehow, he would later find out, he’d put the picture on his instagram. On his “story.” Metaphorically, it was as if he had physically flushed everything straight down the toilet.

When she came to the hotel the next day it was in anger. There were hundreds of press questions, dozens of voicemails on his phone. The Sun had already put out an article. “Romance at Ferrari?”

He’d embarrassed them both, put her job on the line, set them both up for a horrible time in the human resources department. At their wits end, they argued with each other right up until Gianna arrived. The older woman came into the hotel in silence. She separated them and put the nail in the coffin.

So now, he was laying back on the couch of his plane, alone, a gin and tonic in his hand, trying not to stare too hard at the back of her seat.

“Another, please.” He waved the glass towards Beth, who sat just opposite him. She nodded, taking the glass from his outstretched hand, no sign of judgment on her face.

By the time they landed in Finland, Beth had confiscated his phone for fear of another incident, and his captain had been called out of the cockpit to help him down onto the tarmac. They put him into the back of a dark SVU and said a small prayer for him, both glad the journey was over, and worried for the next one they’d make without Laura.

“Well what should I do with the pretzels, now?” Asked Beth. The pilot only shrugged before turning to get back on board for a final walk through.

“Chocolate covered?” Laura squealed as she took the packet from Beth’s hands, grinning over at Kimi as she shook it back and forth. “Beth, you’re a saint!”

“I like these ones better.”

“As if I’m sharing with you. Beth stocked them for me, and me alone, sucker.”

She flopped back onto the couch, nestling in the space between his legs, her head tilted back to catch his response.

“It's my plane.”

“And it’d be snackless without me.” She fidgeted against him, sliding back against his chest to get closer to him. “Give me a kiss before I start my book, I don’t want you bothering me while I’m reading, okay?”

“So mean, Kultsi.” He smirked at her, refusing to oblige without a complaint first. In a swift motion he took her jaw in his grasp and pulled her mouth to his, offering a short, sweet kiss. He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, trying to lock down the image of her snuggled between his thighs before she turned away.

“I love you, too.” She waved off the remark and gave him another kiss, slipping down and away from him before he could respond. Behind her, under a grumbled breath, he said it back.

#drunk on a plane by dierks bentley is an ANTHEM let me tell you #I'm back in business babey #kimi fic #chattahoochiecoochie writes #kimi raikkonen #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

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So You Had a Bad Day

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Owen Strand

Summary: Carlos' bad day has gone from bad to worse. A little tag for 2x8 "Bad Call."

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They burst through the door and it takes about three seconds for Carlos to assess the situation; Tommy with her hands in the air, Wolfe holding a gun, Nancy on the floor with someone else, and TK…

Owen fires, Wolfe drops, and Carlos is moving before he even realizes it. “TK!”

All he can see is his boyfriend slumped over, blood seeping from a wound to his head. Carlos pulls him into his arms, catching a quick glimpse of the panic and pain in TK’s eyes. “You’re okay,” Carlos murmurs, as much to reassure TK as himself. “You’re okay, I got you.”

“Oh my god.” TK’s words are half sobbed, half incoherent, his breathing fast and panicked as he clutches at Carlo’s jacket.

“You’re okay,” Carlos repeats. “You’re safe.”

He’s holding TK so tightly that he feels when his boyfriend goes limp, head lolling to the side. “TK, TK hey! Hey!” he pulls back, holding him tightly by the shoulders so he doesn’t fall off the chair, panic ripping through him as he sees exactly how much blood is seeping through the bandages. “Captain Strand!”

TK’s father appears beside him, concern etched into his face as he tenderly cups his son’s cheek. “TK, can you hear me?”

There’s no response and Carlos’ chest tightens so much that he can’t draw in a single breath. “He’s been in and out of it,” Tommy says from where she’s still working on her would-be killer. “They hit him pretty hard.”

Carlos can hear sirens outside and within minutes emergency vehicles have pulled into the lot and another paramedic team is coming toward them. Tommy calls out from where she is on the floor, “Patient one is a twenty-six year old male. Probable concussion, possible fractured skull. He’s been in and out of consciousness for about an hour.”

Carlos stops listening as she moves onto her own patient. He doesn’t care about anything but TK who is looking so pale he could be a ghost. It feels like the shooting incident all over again.

“Let’s get him on the gurney.” Owen’s voice pulls Carlos out of his own thoughts and back to the situation at hand.

They each take an arm and lift under TK’s shoulders. TK stirs as Carlos tenderly cradles his head and lowers it to rest against the padding. His eyes open, slightly unfocused. “Car-los?” he says, confused.

“Hey babe.” Carlos smiles down at him, running a soothing hand up and down his arm. “I’m right here. Just relax and let us take care of you okay?”

He steps back to let the medics do their work. They change out the gauze on TK’s head and hand him an ice pack which he presses to his aching skull. He still seems out of it, taking far too long to answer questions and struggling to follow the paramedic’s basic commands.

“We’re going to take him in. Do you want to ride with us?” one of the medics asks when they’re done.

Carlos nods. “Yes. Please.”

They pause outside the ambulance as the medics prepare to lift TK inside and Carlos looks up to find his father walking toward him.

Their interaction is…strangely pleasant? Definitely not how he thought the day would end. Although none of today has gone as planned, so why should this be any different?

When he joins TK in the ambulance his boyfriend is not happy. “I just want to go home,” he says as Carlos interlocks their fingers once more.

“I know,” Carlos says, pressing a kiss to his hairline. “But we have to get you checked out.”

“It’s just a headache,” TK gripes, eyes sliding closed again.

Carlos knows it could be so much more than that, especially with the severity of TK’s symptoms. Words like “brain bleed” and “skull fracture” flitter through his mind and he grips TK’s hand tightly until TK cracks one eyelid and says, “Ow.”

“Sorry.” Carlos loosens his grip, running his thumb soothingly over the back of TK’s hand.

They’re halfway to the hospital when TK’s face takes on a strange look and he swallows hard. “What’s wrong?” Carlos asks.

“I don’t—“ TK swallows again and moves his free hand to his stomach, “I don’t feel good.”

The paramedic produces an emesis bag and Carlos watches helplessly as TK throws up. God it hurts to see him like this. When TK finally collapses back against the gurney he looks worse than ever and all Carlos can do is place a gentle hand carefully on his hair, comfortingly running his fingers back and forth.

TK lapses back into unconsciousness as they arrive, stretching Carlos’ already taught nerves to their breaking point. He rouses slightly as they pull up to the hospital, but his speech is slurred and he throws up again on their way into the ER.

Being a cop and a frequent visitor at the hospital gets Carlos a hall pass to stay with TK while he’s examined. His scans come back clean, no visible brain bleed or skull fracture, but TK is still struggling with severe symptoms so they decide to keep him overnight and transfer him to a room. Within minutes Gwyn is there and Owen finally makes an appearance an hour later.

Carlos wants Gwyn and the captain there, he knows TK is comforted by their presence. But exhaustion is creeping in and he finds himself wishing they would go. He just wants to climb into bed beside TK and sleep this day off.

Thank god for visiting hours and Gwyn’s impending flight, although Carlos suspects she’ll cancel and stay until TK is back on his feet. The Strands bid him and TK goodnight. A nurse comes in and gives him the side eye, but apparently his cop credit is getting him everything he wants tonight because she doesn’t tell him to leave.

She finishes her checks and leaves them in peace. TK tugs at Carlos’ hand. “Come here,” he says, eyes half lidded from the pain and brightness of the room.

Carlos resists. “You need to rest.”

“Which I’ll do better if you’re next to me.”

There’s not much room in the hospital bed, but Carlos doesn’t have any fight left in him so he caves to his boyfriend’s wishes. He dims the lights and then carefully slips into place beside TK, hands coming back together once more as they hold each other close.

“And here I thought you’d switched to a safer job. You scared the shit out of me tonight,” Carlos says, his voice less steady than he would like. But he’s tired and this is TK and he just can’t pretend to be fine anymore.

“I’m sorry,” TK says.

“It’s not your fault,” Carlos says, pulling him just a little closer. “What were you thinking though, trying to pull the fire alarm? You’re not supposed to play hero in situations like that.”

TK frowns at him. “I don’t have to ‘play hero,’ I am a hero.”

“Yes you are,” Carlos says fondly. Then he remembers. “I have something for you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out TK’s chip. “It was smart of you to drop this. If you hadn’t…I don’t know that we would have—“ The words catch in his throat and he swallows them back down, tears stinging his eyes.

“But you did,” TK says softly. “You came for me. Thank you.”

“I will always come for you,” Carlos says fiercely. “Always.”

He feels TK stiffen against him, his grip growing tighter. “What’s wrong?” Carlos asks, half sitting up. “Are you in pain?”

TK’s face is scrunched up tightly. “It’ll pass,” he says through gritted teeth.

Carlos doesn’t believe him. “Do you want me to get the nurse? They can give you something non-narcotic.”

“No.” TK sucks in a sharp breath. “No, I’ll be all right. Just keep talking to me.”

So he talks about everything and nothing, his voice low and soft. Slowly TK’s face smooths out, body relaxing into sleep. Carlos shifts a little closer, one hand going to TK’s chest so he can feel him breathe. Within minutes his own eyes slide shut. Their bad day is over.

#911 Lone Star #Carlos Reyes #TK Strand #Owen Strand #Bad Call #So You Had a Bad Day #Concussion #Vomiting #Head Wound #Blood #Unconsciousness #Whump #Hurt/Comfort #Romance #2x8

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youllneverknowrac · 4 years

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Oscar Diaz-Momma Bear Pt.2

For @princesshenney

“Please don’t go out too far!” You yell from where you laid in a plastic lounge chair, under the large umbrella Oscar set up for you, your four month old Alexander asleep on your chest. The four eldest Diaz men/boys all shouting back in understanding as they race towards the water.

“I stay here.” Your almost three year old Angel says, sitting a few feet away from you in a small and round blow up kiddie pool that was barley filled up with ocean water, a few toys floating around him,”Right mommy?”

“Right. You stay with mommy and little brother.” You smile, taking turns glancing in between him and Oscar with the boys. You lay Alex down on the chair next to you, on top of a extra towel so you can sit up and stretch your limbs out. Being cut short when a slightly wet Angel climbs into your lap with his hair tie in hand.

“It fall out.” He points to his head, causing you to giggle as you take it from him and tie his curly hair back out of his face,”Tank you.” He says and stands up in between your legs, his small hands crushing your cheeks together before giving you a small kiss on your lips,”I go play now.” He tells you, jumping down into the sand and hopping back into the pool.

You smile at him and look over at a now awake Alexander who was busy trying to put his whole fist in his mouth, looking absolutely adorable in his full body swimsuit. He was the only Diaz baby that did not look like the rest of his brothers. Where as they all looked like mini versions of Oscar, Alexander had your features and was not born with a full head of curly hair. You couldn’t help but be a bit more overjoyed when he was born, because after four previous births you finally had a twin of your own. Oscar not being able to make the joke that he made the kids by himself anymore,”What are you doing?” You ask him in a silly baby voice as you pick him up and cradle him in your arms,”Get that hand out of your mouth, you get it out.” You tell him and gently pull it out for him, replacing it with a pacifier after digging for one in the diaper bag.

“Hey! No throw!” You hear Angel shout after a loud splash came from his pool, a football now in his hands as he tosses it out. A guy probably a few years younger than you running over, apologies spewing from his mouth.

“I’m so sorry little guy.” He says out of breath as he kneels down to pick up the ball, patting Angel’s hair apologetically.

“Please.” The toddler says and holds his hands up in defense,”Please no touch.”

His actions cause the both of you to laugh, apologizing again before he looks over at you. Taking in your navy blue bikini that was peeking out under your white mesh cover dress,”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to almost hit your little brother.” He says and smiles, waving his fingers in front of Alex’s face,”He’s cute...sibling sort of day huh?” He asks sweetly, the glint in his eyes telling you that he knew damn well they weren’t your brothers. Just wanting a reason to chat you up.

“Not my siblings, but something tells me you already knew that.” You respond, pushing the sunglasses off of your face and to the top of your head in one motion,”Just be careful where you throw that thing, lot’s of kids around here. Just be glad you didn’t actually hit my son because then this conversation wouldn’t be so nice.”

“You’re so right and again I’m sorry for that.” He says and makes himself comfortable as he sits on the end of your lounge chair, blocking your view from the beach,”I’m going to put this away and never throw it again, bad football.”

You force a laugh and nod, not responding as Angel stands up and starts to point to the ocean,”It’s Car-car!(Carlos) I go play with him?” He asks before looking over at the man and doing the famous Oscar look of distaste.

“Okay, run straight to them.” You say when you peek over the guys shoulder, making out Carlos and Junior sitting on the sand. Oscar probably still in the water with Anthony.

“Okay mommy!” He yells before his little legs take off, not relaxing back against the lounge chair until you see him reach his older brothers.

“Oh you have more?” He says stunned, glancing over his shoulder.

“Mhm. Five boys, started really young.” You tell him nonchalantly, thinking back to how you were a scared and pregnant 15 year old. 18 years ago seeming more like a lifetime.

“Wow five?” He chokes,”You don’t look like you have five kids.”

“Um thanks? I guess.” Never knowing what to say when people tell you that, Alexander still sitting happily in your arms.

“I don’t mean no offense but I don’t see a man around...so maybe I can get your number. We can chill sometime or something.” He says, your fuse finally being cut short.

“Look, if it wasn’t obvious enough I’m not looking for anybody to chill with. I have five kids and not to mention a husband.” You snap, unknown to you that Angel went and told his brothers about the strange man,”So if you could please get off my chair and leave me alone that would be amazing.”

“Husband? I don’t see a ring and if that’s the case why even let the conversation go this far.” He smirks and reaches out to place his hand on your lower leg.

“Don’t touch me when I’m holding my baby! Are you insane? What do you not get? Go away.” You gasp as you kick his hand away and stand up. Everything else after that happening quickly. One second the guy sitting there normally and the next he’s eating dirt as your oldest son Junior comes running up from behind and delivers a rough shove to his back.

“Aye cabrón (dumb ass), don’t ever touch my mom again.” He says, kicking his foot out to drench the man in more dirt.

“Oh my god Junior, no.” You say and come around to stand next to him as the guy gets up and wipes his face clean.

“What the fuck is your problem? You little shit.” He snaps and before you can defend your son, Oscar shows up with the rest of the kids in tow. Anthony holding both his little brother’s hands as they stand behind Junior now. Your husband wasting no time in asking questions and getting in between them, invading the guys personal space.

“Aye, you talking to my son? This boy right here?” Oscar asks him in a dangerous tone as he lowers his body to be eye level with him, their noses barley missing each other. Not seeing this side of him in a long time...his Spooky side. Something he left behind when you guys moved out of the streets of Freeridge, when you became pregnant with Anthony.

“I am and what? Did you not see your son just assault me?” The guys says, taking a step back. Oscar taking a step forward with no fear in his eyes.

“Nah, I don’t think I did.” He lies, him and the guy going back and forth now. The tension only growing worse.

“Take him.” You say urgently and hand the baby over to Junior, instantly grabbing a hold of Oscar’s arm. Carlos and Anthony beginning to shout in favor of their dad, Angel joining in confusingly but not caring as he copied them.

“Stop and sit down, right now!” You tell them, their mouths closing instantly as they sit down crossed legged in the sand.

“Fuck that! He grabbed you mom.” Junior says in protest as he lays his little brother down where you had him previously,”I seen him.”

“You touched our mom?!” Anthony and Carlos say angrily.

Oscar cocks his head to the side at this information, not knowing that this was the reason behind Junior’s push,”You touched my wife? I oughta kill you.” He tells him, not raising his voice so the younger kids couldn’t hear. Oscar kicking his leg under the guy’s, causing him to fall to the ground once more.

The man, who’s name you still don’t know, gulps slightly and takes a look at a certain tattoo on Oscar’s face,”Woah man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean no harm. Please, just let me walk away right now. I’ll go, you win.” He scrambles as he tries to get back up.

Oscar chuckles darkly, his thumb and pointer finger wiping his nose as he stands back to his normal height,”First apologize to my wife for touching her, then apologize to my boy for disrespecting him, then go apologize to my kids for making their daddy get upset. Then you can go.” Oscar demands, the guy nodding quickly as he mumbles an apology to everybody in that order. Leaving his football on the ground as he sprints away.

“Are you two crazy? You can’t gang up on somebody in public like that. That’s not how you handle things.” You lecture and take a deep breath before instantly pulling both of them into a hug, just relieved that nothing actually happened. The other boys joining as you feel your lower half being embraced as well.

“Are you okay mommy?” Carlos asks, his voice muffled since he had his face pressed into your leg.

“I’m fine baby, are you all okay?” You ask, looking over each one of your boys, not waiting their days to be ruined. They each give you a nod except for Angel who thought this would be the perfect time to give a PSA.

“No talk to stranger. Strangers is bad, daddy and us hurt strangers for mommy.” He says, causing everybody to bust out laughing, the atmosphere at a calm once again.

“Come on let’s head back out.” Junior offers to his brothers, figuring you would want to talk to Oscar alone. The boy’s all cheer in agreement, all of them walking together to the water once again. Leaving you with just your husband and the baby who was oblivious to anything that just happened.

“You’re not mad at me right?” Oscar asks as he grabs a hold of your waist,”I didn’t mean to get so mad, I just seen him snap on Junior and reacted. Then when I found out he grabbed you I said things I know I shouldn’t have. I just seen red, that’s it.”

“I’m not mad papi. I was just more scared, I didn’t want you or Junior to get in trouble because of me. And it didn’t help to have the kids cheering in the background like some sort of entourage.”

Oscar couldn’t help but laugh at that,”Yeah, they watch too much tv. I’ll talk to them later that it’s not okay to encourage a fight, no matter if I would have won anyway if it came down to it.” He adds smugly

“You sure about that? You’re not the same guy you were back in freeridge.” You tease and poke his soft belly,”You got a little dad bod going on now papi. I think I even see a gray hair.”

“Shut up.” Oscar laughs and pulls you firmly against him,”You love all of it.”

You smile and nod in agreement, standing up on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his lips,”I do.” You mumble against them,”Now it’s your turn to sit with the baby so I can go into the water.”

“Fine.” Oscar says as he pulls away, sitting in your spot and grabbing Alexander, laying him in between his legs.

“Don’t let the sun hit him too much.” You remind him as you pull off the white cover up and toss it onto one of the many bags that you had packed.

“I know, I’ve only done this four other times.” Oscar chuckles causing you to playfully roll your eyes.

“Shhh.” You hush him, putting your glasses down as well before running off to join the rest of your so called cubs. No doubt in your mind that the same fire you had for protecting them, is the same one they had for you. This being proved true as they all went on defense mode when a guy even walked to close to you.

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ohokimdumb · 4 years

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Carlos Oliveira Imagine (Big Boi Carlos) SMUT 💦💛👅

Request: Hi there,can I request a Carlos SMUT imagine with a fem!reader,with daddy and size kink ;) ? where she as well is part of S.T.A.R.S with Jill,and she gets very bratty with Carlos and he punishes her. Btw I really love your blog,thank you so much for quenching our thirst for Carlos 💓💝💘💖💗🥰😍

A/N: Thank you so much for your kind words @bucky-senpai ♥ This imagine ended up being way longer than my usual word count, holy cow I got carried away lmao. I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1.8k

Gif by: travelllar

Hours passed as you struggled to focus on the missing person report flashing on the screen in front of you. Negative thoughts invaded your mind as the continuous beeping of the computer alarm overloaded you with frustration. It didn’t seem fair that half the STARS employees had the day off, but the other half were forced to work extended hours. Carlos and Jill were included in the half that were set free for Saturday; he didn’t even have the decency to tell you to have a good day. He used to remind you to have a good day and remain positive, but he had been slipping recently. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal he missed a few days of sending positive thoughts to you. What was more annoying than his lack of socialization with you, was him spending most of his time with Jill. You knew they worked together and were partners, but it had been months since you and Carlos joined STARS. It took Carlos six months to finally start kissing Jill’s butt? You buried your face in your sweaty hands, eyes tired of staring at a computer screen. Suddenly, the door swung open and Carlos stood in the doorway with a grin on his face and takeout in his hands. You responded with a blank stare and went back to focusing on your reports.

Carlos frowned at how unimpressed you were with his undeniable kindness. You noticed Jill wasn’t with him, which surprised you. It was nice his butt-buddy wasn’t tagging along, but it still annoyed you how he could be so blind to how you felt.

“I brought Chinese.” Carlos held up the bag from your favorite Chinese restaurant. You sighed, still unimpressed.

“I’m a little busy here, you can just leave it in the office fridge.” You didn’t even give him the luxury of acknowledging his presence. Carlos tossed the bag of Chinese takeout at your feet, and you were amazed by his sudden change of attitude.

“No need to be hostile.” You turned your cheer so you faced him. He didn’t seem to appreciate your nasty attitude.

“What’s with the attitude?” He asked, offended to be treated so rudely. You rubbed your scalp as you felt a migraine slowly make itself known. You really didn’t want to argue with Carlos, especially when you weren’t feeling well. But, your pettiness overpowered reason.

“Is Jill your new fling?” You asked in a very hostile way, throwing away your comment about unnecessary hostility. Carlos raises an eyebrow and chewed on his bottom lip, clearly annoyed with your obvious jealousy.

“Take back that comment.” Carlos warned, but you refused to hear his voice of aggressive reason. He had no intention of arguing with you either, especially not on his day off. Carlos took a few cautious steps toward you, but you scooted back in your chair. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to be close to him. Truthfully, you wished he would explore your body the way he did last week. The way his large, strong hands groped every part of your figure made you weak. Just as you thought about it, your legs felt weak. The way he towered over you as you sat low in your office chair had you determined to get him fired up even more.

“No, why would I take back something that is obviously true?” You asked with a shaken voice. Carlos pulled you up onto your feet as he took your wrist gently. He wrapped his arm around your waist and leaned him, his expensive cologne filling your nostrils.

“Do you honestly believe I’d touch Jill the way I touch you?” He growled quietly in your ear. His sudden change of attitude forced your breath to hitch as your nerves got riled up. Carlos tightly held your lower region against his, you felt how hard his bulge was through his jeans. You swallowed nervously, tempted to taunt him more. You enjoyed how overpowering he was physically and affectionately; he was big in every shape and form.

“If you think I’d touch Jill, or eat her out, or fuck her the always I do to you...you’re foolish. But, you’re smarter than that.” Carlos looked down at you with a lustful spark in his brown eyes; it was like staring into the eyes of Satan. You couldn’t look away, his dark stare hypnotized you. It made you want to melt in his arms and give yourself to him in the most sadistic way possible. Your temptations overpowered your thoughts and you crashed your lips against his. You whimpered as you grew weak in his arms; he took your breath away. Carlos’ body was so muscular, you could feel his large muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt. Carlos pulled away, denying your affection and you looked at him with a desperate expression. He lets go of your waist and sits down in your office chair.

“Bend over daddy’s knee.” Carlos ordered and you immediately obeyed. There was no denying Carlos when he was in such a lustful state of mind. Carlos unbuttoned your jeans from underneath and pulled your jeans and panties down all at once. You breathed heavily in anticipation as Carlos lightly caressed one of your cheeks, warming the flesh for what was to come. The way Carlos called himself “daddy” made your core tingle in such an unspeakable way. Suddenly your bare skin stung intensely as Carlos’ hand aggressively connected with the skin of your cheek.

“C-Carlos, what if someone walks in?” You questioned the privacy of your surroundings. Carlos responded with another spank.

“What’s my name?” He asked. Carlos was surprised by how shy and disobedient you were acting. Typically, you didn’t care. You loved to be sexually reckless with him. Your cheeks flushed a light red as you felt the stinging pain slowly fade; it would soon return if you continued to disobey. Even though feeling his sheer strength as he spanked you turned you on, you wanted more than punishment.

“D-Daddy…” You responded and it seemed like Carlos was going to spank you once more, but instead he lovingly rubbed your cheek. You breathed in with relief as he helped you stand up. It was difficult to move your legs with your pants and undies around your ankles.

“How about we get rid of those? What do you think about that, baby?” Carlos pointed at the bundle of clothes around your ankles. You nodded in response and kicked them off your ankles and across the office. Carlos smiled wickedly as picked you up, setting you on the top of your desk. The wood was cold against your warm skin; you knew your cheeks would be bruised tomorrow morning. Carlos slid his hand around the side of your neck, to the back of your head and took a fistful of hair. He was hungry for your affection; he demanded to be touched. As he kissed you like a starving animal, he guided your hand down the front of his jeans, into his tight-fitting boxers. His bulge was massive, it was difficult to wrap your hand around his throbbing cock. Carlos knew you would do the best you could. Whenever he acted the way he was, your one goal was to please him.

Gently, you pumped his cock as Carlos aggressively attacked your lips with his. His kisses were sloppy and filled with lust, and that’s all you wanted; his dominant, lustful affection. He slid his tongue between your lips and twisted it around yours. He instinctively spread your legs with his lower region. He heard how wet you were as the sound of sticky skin invaded his eardrums. You desperately tugged at his shirt, demanding he took it off. Carlos granted your wish, breaking the hungry kiss to strip. He carelessly threw his shirt somewhere in the office; he kept his focus on you. You released his cock, sticky of pre-cum, from your gently grip. You grew tired of feeling empty of him. You were desperate for Carlos to fill you to the brim, to feel his cock spread your walls so far apart, it would force a lustful scream from your lips.

Carlos unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, along with his boxers. His cock sprung from his boxers and seeing his extreme size sent a wave a pleasure through every nerve in your body. Carlos brought your attention back to his gaze; his eyes were drunk with lust. Before Carlos lied you back against your desk, he swept everything off the top, causing it all to crash to the ground. Instead of complaining you lied back; your head slightly hung off the desk.

“C-Carlos…please…I-I want you.” You begged as you wrapped your legs around Carlos’ waist. Carlos huffed in response at how weak and vulnerable you were beneath him. He teasingly rubbed his cock between the soaked lips of your center. You wined as you latched onto his forearms tightly with your hands. Carlos smirked and crammed his cock deep inside you, not allowing your walls to adjust to his size. You cried out as your walls spread quicker than ever, immediately tightening around his cock. Carlos started a slow pace. He slid out, but pounded his cock back inside. Every time he thrusted forward, your body scooted the desk back from the aggressively delicious impact of his lower body smacking against yours.

Your moans became louder as his thrusts quickened. The desk began to scrape violently against the floor; you covered your mouth. The desk made enough noise, you didn’t need to make it more obvious with your moans. Carlos was good about staying silent, his drunk expression said he was drowning in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck…” Carlos muttered under his breath as his cock twitched within your warm, tight walls. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would last; it had been awhile since he felt inside you. Your nails dug into the skin of his forearms, he growled at the burning pain of you shredding his skin. Pens and paper continued to fall from the desk as he buried himself deep inside you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt your walls tighten around him like never before. Before you knew it, your juices were dripping from the edge of the desk, onto his shoes. Carlos was close to cumming as well. He crammed himself even harder into you, causing your legs to shake aggressively. Letting go of one forearm, you bit down onto your wrist to hold in your moans. Within seconds Carlos came deep inside, his lower body twitched violently as his juices squirted within your walls. Both of you were exhausted and hungry for food.

“Good thing I brought that takeout.” Carlos joked and pulled you up into a tight embrace. You tried to catch up with your lungs, but Carlos worked your body so hard. He lovingly caressed your back with his fingertips.

“We should get dressed so no one walks in on us like this.” You suggested.

#carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira imagine #carlos oliveira x reader

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aerynwrites · 4 years

Text

The Devil You Know - Part 4

Figuring Things Out

(Gif by: @pedroispunk)

Author’s Note: Finally! Here is Chapter 4. I really really hope you guys enjoy this chapter because I had so much fun writing this you have no idea. I would really love to hear what you guys think about this chapter, and the series in general, hearing your feedback really helps keep me motivated to keep writing!

Word Count: 5.8k (oopsie)

Warnings: blood, canon typical violence, slight NSFW themes, fluff.

As always spanish to english translations are located at the bottom. (I do not speak spanish, so I am sorry for any formalities or things i got wrong)

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

////

In the past week, it feels like nothing was going your way. You and Steve had made a considerable amount of headway in the investigation against the Los Carnales cartel, having gained some valuable info on the inner workings of the cartel and how they operated. However, just as good things started to happen, another problem seemed to crop up. It all pretty much started a few days after your date with Javier. An unknown group was on a violent streak in the area – market shootings, assassinations of important figures, and even bombings had started to crop up out of nowhere. The only conclusion that either you or Steve could come to was that they were part of the cartel – perhaps out to cause trouble in order to distract you and the Embassy from the bigger picture. But you weren’t having it, they were not about to stop you from taking the cartel down, not now. Which is why you ended up with Carrillo’s men at the town hall several blocks away.

Colonel Carrillo had received intel that the town hall was the next target of a bombing – and you all intended to stop it. And it seemed like you would, as you pulled up to the town hall just in time to see a small group of men crouched by the side of the building. The caravan screeched to a halt in front of the building starling the men, just as You, Steve, and the Search Bloc exited your vehicles. At the sight of you all, the men scattered, running in all different directions.

You weren’t going to lose them.

“Steve with me!” you call to your partner, taking off to the right and following one of the men who bolted.

The man didn’t argue, just followed in your footsteps as you pursued the runner down various alleyways. It feels like a maze as you continue to chase after him, until you and Steve round the corner to a dead end, seeing the man flounder for an escape but unable to find one. You can feel your frustration from the past week bubble up inside you, along with your aggravation from the chase, and it fuels your actions as you stalk towards the man, gun aimed towards him as you approach.

“¡Manos donde pueda verlos pendejo!” you call, watching in slight surprise as he actually complies with your order.

He raises his hands above his head as you continue to approach, Steve comes with you and he cuffs him as you keep your gun aimed at the stranger until he’s securely apprehended. You drop your weapon slightly, guard still up, and walk until you’re only a few paces away.

“¿Por qué estabas en el Ayuntamiento?” you snap, voice harsh, “¿Para quién trabajas, eh?”

The man, who you quickly realize is quite young, probably only in his late twenties, rolls his eyes before spitting at your feet, “No te estoy diciendo nada, cerdo.”

It’s like his words cause the very thin string in you to finally snap, because before you can stop yourself, you are reaching forward and grasping the front of his shirt in your fist. You yank him from Steve’s grip and turn around, shoving him forward roughly. He stumbles, falling to the ground hard before rolling over onto his back, sending you a glare.

You take a few threatening steps forward, gun still lowered until you are standing at his feet, “si quieres salir de aquí, me vas a dar algo imbécil,” you say, your tone leaving nothing up for negotiation, as your patience starts to run thin.

However, he doesn’t seem to get the message, because instead of giving you an answer, he kicks his feet out in an attempt to knock you down. But you saw this coming and stepped out of the way before raising your gun.

“Wrong answer.”

Before either Steve or the perp on the ground could say anything, you pull the trigger on your pistol sending a round into the ground just inches from the man’s head, making concrete fly into the air. The man shrieks, and before you know it Steve is by your side hand on your weapon pushing it to the side forcefully.

“What the fuck was that?” he grinds out, eyes searching your face, a tinge of worry on his features.

You huff, “I’m trying to get answers, Steve! And if this asshole won’t give them to us, then I’ll make him,” you hiss, pushing your partner out of the way and stalking towards your target.

You don’t get very far before the man is holding his cuffed hands up, fear in his eyes, “No, no, por favor –“ he begs, “Por favor, no me mates, te diré lo que quieras, por favor.”

You don’t holster your weapon, ”¿Trabajas para el cartel, Los carnales?”

The man shakes his head violently, “No, señora. Estábamos con el cártel, pero nos fuimos. Queríamos hacer las cosas a su manera – el camino fuerte.”

Your eyes widen at the information, and you finally – slowly – holster your pistol, just as Carrillo enters the alleyway, a few of his men with him.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, “We heard a gunshot.”

You shook your head, “it was nothing,” you lie, seeing Steve roll his eyes in your periphery before turning your attention back to Carrillo, “Take him in,” you point to the man still on the ground, “He can give us more information. This group isn’t cartel like we thought, they used to be with the cartel, but they left. And they left for a reason,” you say.

Steve steps forward at this point, “So he could tell us why, and probably where the rest of the rogues are holed up,” he states, piecing together the situation.

Carrillo nods, turning back to his men and barking a few orders. They pick the man up and lead him away as Carrillo turns towards you, for once a hopeful look in his eye, “Good work. Maybe we can stop them before they do more damage,” he says, shaking your and Steve’s hand before returning the way they came.

You moved to follow after him, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. you turn to see Steve, brows furrowed together as he stares at you.

“What Steve?” you sigh, fully aware of what he was going to say.

“What the fuck was that?” he snaps, “You don’t even like being in the same building when Carrillo’s is questioning people, yet here you were ready to shoot someone – an unarmed someone – in the middle of the street.”

You yank your hand out of his grasp immediately defensive, “I did what I had to do Steve, we got answers didn’t we?” you sneer, turning to head back to the caravan, “come on. Before we get left behind.”

You hear Steve let out a frustrated sigh, before his footsteps followed you. you wouldn’t admit it, but your actions scared you. You never intended to almost blow the guy’s head off. You’ve never gotten that violent with an assailant before, so what has changed? This investigation, this cartel, Carlos’s death, it was all starting to have an effect on you.

What is happening to you?

***

It was nearing the end of the day as You and Steve started planning a raid of the rogue’s hide out. Carrillo had easily managed to get the information out of the man you had caught, finding out that the group was using a small house on the outskirts of the city as their base of operations. That left you and Steve the responsibility of planning the logistics of the raid, Carrillo would come in to help tomorrow.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice called, snapping you from your distracted state.

“Hmm?” you hummed, looking up from the papers on your desk to your partner who was giving you a somewhat concerned look.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You’ve been out of it lately…you seem off,” he finally states, words laced with concern.

He wasn’t wrong. You had been out of sorts the past few weeks, unable to sleep properly ever since the shooting in the market. Ever since Carlos. When you did manage to find sleep, it was plagued with nightmares, images of Carlos lying on the ground or even Steve being the one on the floor instead. The lack of sleep was all starting to catch up with you, and evidently it was showing. Both in your actions today and in your life in general.

You let out a small sigh, “I’m fine Steve,” you begin, “I’ve just been distracted lately, this case has been…getting to me. That’s all,” you reply flippantly, deciding not to worry our partner with your personal problems. You’re sure he has plenty of his own to worry about, no need to add your issues on top.

Steve doesn’t seem entirely convinced, still obviously upset by your earlier display and so attuned to you by now after being partners for so long – but he sighs and lets it go.

“Well no better way to get your mind off of things than a few drinks, right?” he asks dropping his pen and looking at his watch, “Connie and I were going to go and grab some drinks after work. You should come,” he looks at you expectantly.

You mull over his proposition for a moment. You had intended on going back to your place – possibly seeing if Javier wanted to get together again, but maybe you could go for a drink instead. It sounded a lot more fun than moping around your apartment.

So, you nod, “Sure. Is it okay if I invite a friend though?” you ask, not wanting to intrude on Steve’s plans.

A mischievous look crosses your partners face as he wiggles his eyebrows, “hmm, a friend huh? How come I’ve never heard of this friend before now?” he teases, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

You feel your face flush at his jests, you open your mouth to speak, your initial reaction to say that Javier was more than just a friend, but you stopped yourself. You stopped because you weren’t even sure if that was true. Obviously, what you and Javier had was more than just friendship, but neither of you had put a label on it yet – so what were you really? Fuck buddies, friends with benefits? You shook your head – you would have to figure this out later.

“I didn’t think it was important,” you shrug, “We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. Our jobs keep us busy.”

Steve just hums, before standing from his seat, “Okay well, I have to go pick up Connie and then I’ll see you and your friend at the bar,” he says, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and heading towards the door.

You rolled your eyes at your partner before leaning forward and picking the phone up off the receiver to call Javier. You felt the all too familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach as you dialed his number and waited for his answer. You all had talked a few times since your date, but you haven’t met up since – you both had been busy with work. You were chasing the rogue cartel members while Javier was dealing with his family’s plantation. At least that’s what he told you.

Little did you know, he was also trying to deal with the rogues that left his cartel and stole his goods. He had caught a few of them – making sure they understood the repercussions of their actions. Maybe if he was a little…louder in his methods of dealing with the traitors, no one would try to undermine him again. He was actually in the middle of discussing the rogue members movements with his men when his phone started ringing. He sighed, pulling the cigarette from his lips and snuffing it out in the ash tray before answering the phone.

“Buenos,” He mumbled into the receiver, hoping to make this conversation quick.

“Javi?” your sweet voice asked through the receiver, and he immediately sat up straighter, snapping at his men and pointing them out of the room. The obeyed without question.

“Bonita?” he asked, when his men were out of earshot, “Is something wrong?”

His heart sped up a little when your bubbling laughter reached his ears, “No, nothing’s wrong,” you reassure, “I was calling to see if you were free, actually.”

Javier didn’t answer right away, he was too busy trying to get his racing heart to slow and quell the feeling in his belly. He hadn’t asked for more dates or meet ups since the one a few weeks ago for a reason. He was still trying to gather himself, still trying to figure out what the hell he had gotten himself into. He was trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to still be around you anymore – it was all too confusing, too complicated for him to logically continue this way. yet, no matter how hard he tried, he felt drawn to you. He found himself eagerly awaiting phone calls from you, waiting to hear your voice and your laugh, to see your smile – and this worried him.

“Are you still there?” you voice spoke timidly.

Javier shook his head, as if that would somehow expel the thoughts from his mind and sat forward in his chair letting out a loud sigh, “Yeah I’m here.”

It’s like you could hear his inner turmoil, because before he could continue, you were speaking again, “if you’re not that’s fine –“ your words were spoken quickly, the words jumbling over themselves as you continued to ramble, “I just – my partner and his wife were going to get some drinks in a little bit and asked if I wanted to come and – and well I just thought that maybe you would want to come?” he could hear the hopefulness in your words despite the winded explanation, and he opened his mouth to respond but you beat him to it again.

“But I know you’re probably busy, and this is so last minute, I should have known-“

“Hey, hey slow down,” he cut off your rambling, voice amused yet firm, “I would love to come,” he said, and he meant it.

He just couldn’t stay away from you, and plus, one more night out wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Great! That’s –“ he heard you take in a deep breath, “That’s great, I’ll see you there – It’s the bar we usually go to,” you say, voice light and filled with relief.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m out at the plantation right now so it will take me a bit to get into town, but I’ll start heading that way.”

“okay, drive safe,” you tell him.

Javier smiles at your words, amused at your small show of concern for him, “I will. see you soon princesa.”

He then pulls the phone away from his ear and set it back down into its cradle, a large smile lingering on his lips.

God, what has he done to himself?

***

“So,” Connie begins, taking a sip from her drink, “What is this friend of your like?” she asks, curiosity lacing her words.

Steve took this opportunity to jump in as well, “Yes, please enlighten us on the details of this friend you never told us about.”

You roll your eyes. You, Steve, and Connie had arrived at the bar about half an hour ago and you had managed to avoid the topic of Javier until now. But it seems their curiosity got the better of them, so you decided to give in.

“Well I met him here actually,” you inform, reaching out and taking a few peanuts from the bowl on the table and popping them in your mouth, “it was the day we got the Cartel case. I came to celebrate, and he struck up a conversation with me.”

Connie’s leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, “Is he handsome?”

You saw Steve roll his eyes as he took a swig of his beer, before you answered her question, “Yes Connie,” you giggle, “He’s quite easy on the eyes,” you then feel a flush creep up your cheeks and you start to pick at a thread on the dress you had changed into, “Not too bad in the more…physical realm either,” you mumble.

You hear Connie let out a high pitch giggle at your comment just as Steve lets out a low groan and stands from his seat, “And that’s my cue to go get more drinks – you guys are terrible,” he chastises playfully walking over to the bar to get more drinks for the table.

Connie immediately leans into the table, voice lowered slightly as her eyes sparkled with mischief, “So…Spill!”

If your face wasn’t flushed already, you knew it had to be red as a tomato now, “I’m not just going to talk about my sexual exploits Connie!”

She whines, “Why not? I need details! I’ve been with Steve forever – and while he is far from disappointing –“

You wave your hands in the air and make an exaggerated gagging noise, “Connie stop. Oh my god I do not need to know about my partners sex life, please.”

She just lets out a loud laugh and takes another sip of her drink, “Come on – Please?” she practically begs, “Is he like totally vanilla? Or is he into to other things?”

You cover your face with your hands, “Connie, please!”

She shakes her head, “I’m not gonna stop until you give me something. so is he-“

You finally plant your hands firmly on the table, “Oh my god okay!” you whisper shout, “no he’s not totally vanilla, yes he’s into other stuff, and before you ask because I know you will – Yes he is above average. Are you happy now?” you huff, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

You expect the woman to throw even more questions at you but instead you see her hand over her mouth, stifling laughter as she looks behind you.

“So,” a familiar baritone fills your ears, “I’m above average, huh?”

You slowly turned to the side, seeing Javier standing just to the side and behind you, a smug grin on his face and a sparkle in his eye. If the earth were to open up beneath you right now, you would have gladly dived in headfirst. Your skin was hot with embarrassment as Javier leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips before sliding into the booth next to you.

“How much of that did you hear exactly?” you mumbled.

Javier just chuckled and slid his arm around your waist and pressed another kiss to your temple, his lips ghosting over your ear, “Oh, I heard enough,” he whispered, breath warm as it fanned over your already heated skin.

You wanted to shrink down into your seat, but Javier didn’t give you time to dwell in your embarrassment as he extended his hand to Connie, “Javier. It’s nice to meet you – although it sounds like you already know who I am,” he introduces, voice teasing.

Connie takes his hand in her own politely, “Well actually she hadn’t even told me your name yet,” she says, sending a playful wink your way and letting Javier take his hand back.

Javier just gave you an amused look, “you didn’t even tell her my name before you told her all about my –“

You cut him off, pointing an accusing finger at Connie, “She was the one who asked!” you cried, “I didn’t even want to have this discussion.”

“What discussion?” Steve’s voice asked, returning to the table with drinks in hand.

“Oh, Steve thank god-“ you whine, “Please save me from your wife and the trouble she has caused me.”

Steve just laughs, and sets the drinks down before sliding into the booth, his eyes landing on Javier as he passes the drinks around, “Hey man, I hope you like whiskey, because that’s what I’ve got,” he said, offering a glass of amber liquid to Javier.

He just nods, taking the glass from Steve’s hand and pulling his arm from around your waist to offer it to Steve, “My favorite, actually,” he says, shaking hands with Steve firmly, “Javier. And you must be Steve.”

Your partner smiles and nods, casting a glance your way, “That’s me,” he takes a sip of his drink, “Hope missy over there hasn’t told you all bad things.”

You chuckle at his words and felt the butterflies return as Javi gives one of his own laughs and returns his arm to your waist, “Not all bad things,” he jests, “but she’s told me some pretty good stories.”

The night goes on like this, just the four of you talking and catching up as if you were all old friends. It was a comforting feeling, knowing that Javier seemed to fit right in with you and the people you cared about. It was all so…domestic – and it brought your thoughts from earlier back. what was this between you and Javier? Despite not having an answer, you found yourself wanting more. More of this…whatever this was. And the fact that Javier had gotten more handsy as the night drew on wasn’t helping this feeling.

“So, what is it you do for work Javier?” Steve asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering one to the man next to you.

He graciously accepts and pulls his arm from around you to grab his lighter. He puts the stick between his lips and opens his lighter, igniting the cigarette and storing his lighter away.

“My family owns a coffee bean plantation on the outskirts of town. I’m in charge of the managerial side of things – exports, profits, shipping, stuff like that,” he explains.

You expected him to wrap his arm around you again but are caught off guard when instead his hand falls to your thigh, his fingers creeping under the hem of your dress slightly. suddenly you were very happy you decided to go home and change before meeting the group at the bar.

You tried to pay attention to the conversation, dropping in when you had something to add, but you found it harder and harder to focus with his hand on you. He would switch from rubbing soothing circles in your skin to gliding his hand up and down, stopping a little higher each time. Eventually after several torturous moments of this, his hand rested a little too high for your comfort and you shot up from your seat slightly.

“I-uh,” you stumbled over your words, “I’m gonna go get more drinks. Do you guys want anymore?” you ask, sending a playful glare to Javier asking him to move so you could get out.

They all nodded their confirmation as Javier slid from the booth to let you out. He helped you stand before returning to his seat, sending you a playful wink as you walked to the bar.

That coy bastard. He knew what he was doing to you, and he was proud of it. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully and watch as his shoulders shook with laughter as he returned to his conversation.

You finally made it up to the bar and waved the bartender down, ordering your drinks. You waited patiently for him to make some other customers drinks before he got to yours. You leaned your elbows on the bar, leaning forward just slightly as you waited, when suddenly you felt a presence at your side – a little too close for comfort. You turned and you saw an unfamiliar man standing next to you, eyes unabashedly roaming your figure.

“Te ves bien esta noche Chica,” He called, eyes never leaving your body.

You scoff and turn away from him, silently begging the bartender to hurry up. That is until you felt a harsh grip on your upper arm.

“Oye, te estoy hablando bruja,” his voice snaps, turning you harshly to face him.

“¡Suéltame cabrón!” you snarl, trying to pry his hand from you.

But before you can shove him off, he’s pulling you closer to him his free hand coming down to grab your ass, “¿Por qué?” His breath is warm and reeks of alcohol as it fans over your face, “Apuesto a que podría follarte mejor que ese pendejo de ahí” he breathes, making your stomach churn as he shoves his nose into your neck.

You push at him even harder now, “Get your fucking hands off of me!” you shout, the last word coming out high pitched as he groped you harder.

Before you even realized what was happening, the man was being ripped off of you and thrown to the ground and Connie and Steve were by your side, questions spilling from their lips – asking if you were okay and what had happened. But you couldn’t focus, your eyes were glued to the scene in front of you as Javier stood over the man who assaulted you, his shirt gripped fiercely in one hand while the other laid blow after sickening blow to the man’s face. You heard shouts from the other patrons in the bar and it finally broke you from your stupor. You pulled out of your friends grasp and moved towards Javier, who was still beating the absolute shit out of the guy while cursing at him.

“No la tocas, ¿me oyes?” he yelled, every other word enunciated by another blow.

You finally reach them and lunge for Javier, hands wrapping forcefully around his arm before he can hit the man again, “Javier stop!” you shouted.

But he didn’t stop, he just pulled his arm from your grip and continued beating the guy, and at this point a small seed of fear planted itself in your chest. The feral look on Javi’s face and the utter ruthlessness in his actions worried you. He was going to kill this man.

You looked back at Steve quickly, eyes begging for help, and he seemed to get the message. He rushed forward, and with your combined strength, you were able to pull Javier away from the man. You heard the bartender yell at you all to get out and you didn’t argue, glancing back and seeing the man unconscious on the floor as a few people crowded around him. once you were to the door of the bar, Javier roughly shrugged from your and Steve’s grip and shoved the doors open. You winced at the sound of them slamming against the wall before following him out.

You turned behind you, seeing that Connie had thoughtfully managed to grab all of your things from the table before you were kicked out, and you took your purse from her.

“I’m so sorry,” you say looking from them back to Javier who was lighting another cigarette and taking a long drag, “You guys should go home, I’ll talk to him.”

Steve looked at you warily, “Are you sure you want to be alone with him? After what he just did?”

You put a reassuring hand on his arm, giving it a small squeeze, “He won’t hurt me Steve, I promise.”

He glanced from you to the man a few feet away before sighing and pulling you into a hug, “okay,” he said, and you moved to give Connie a hug as well before stepping back slightly, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” Steve said, tugging Connie closer to him and turning to walk back to their car.

You let out a small sigh before turning around to go to Javier – this was not how this night was supposed to go. As you approach him you see that he has calmed down slightly, the only thing off about him is the hand holding his cigarette is shaking, blood and bruising covering his knuckles. He speaks before you can, stepping towards you as one hand cradles your face.

“Are you okay, Querida?” he asks gently, his eyes dancing across your face for any indication that you were harmed.

You shake your head and take his hand in yours, removing it from your cheek, “What was that Javier?” you question.

His lips fell into a firm line and he clenched his jaw for a moment before pulling the cigarette to his mouth and taking a deep breath. you wait patiently, as he exhales the smoke slowly, eyes looking off into the distance.

“I just-“ he sighed, scratching his brow with his thumb, the smoldering stick held between his fingers, “when I saw what has happening – when I saw his hands all over you – touching you like that,” his voice is filled with disgust as he takes another drag, breathing out the smoke again, “It’s like I couldn’t stop myself, I just – He shouldn’t have touched you like that.”

As you watched him take one final drag before tossing the filter to the ground and squashing it, you couldn’t help the conflicted feelings that bubbled inside you. You were grateful to him, obviously, that man had assaulted you and who knows what would have happened if Javier hadn’t stepped in. He protected you, something that should make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Yet, as you looked at his bloodied hand and remembered the primal scene in the bar…you also felt scared. Javier absolutely lost it, and he was powerful, you saw that on full display. So why did you still feel drawn to him? you should tell him to get lost, that you never want to see him again, but words spill out of your mouth faster than you can stop them, as you take his injured hand in your gently.

“Come on,” you whisper, tugging him in the direction of your car, “Let’s at least get your hand taken care of.”

***

The car ride to your apartment was silent, neither of you saying a word until you entered your apartment and locked the door behind you. You wordlessly walked into the kitchen and Javier followed, watching as you dug around under the sink for the first aid kit. Once you had it in hand you walked over and pulled a stool out from under the island, pointing to it.

“Sit,” you command quietly, grabbing the disinfectant and gauze from the kit while he got situated.

Javier was silent for a while, a million thoughts running through his head as he watched you work. But the one that kept coming to the fore front of his mind was the one that bothered him most. He was worried he had ruined everything.

But why should he be? This is what he wanted after all – an excuse to get away from you and the feeling you stirred within him. however, the only thing he felt at the thought was an intense ache. He didn’t want to entertain the idea of never seeing you again, especially if it was because you were scared of him. He was surrounded by people that were scared of him every day, the citizens of this country were scared of him and they didn’t even know who he was. El Diablo is what they called him, the devil. He scoffed at the thought, and that seemed to catch your attention.

You glanced up from your work, catching his gaze before looking back down again, “Penny for you thoughts?”

He doesn’t answer right away, only speaking when you finish with his hand, tying the gauze into place and taking a step closer to him.

He finally looks up at you, your eyes level with his with him sitting down and you standing in front of him, “are you afraid? Of me?” his words are quiet and they rumble in his chest as he speaks.

Your eyes soften at his words, and you fold your arms in front of you loosely, shrugging your shoulders, “What you did was insane, Javi. It was – “ you chew on the inside of your cheek momentarily before continuing, “yeah, I was scared,” you breath.

You watch as he seems to deflate at your words so you step forward quickly, hands coming to rest on the back of his neck, “But I’m not afraid of you,” you assure, “I know you would never hurt me. At least I would hope not.”

His head snaps up at your words and he stands from his seat, taking your face in his hands firmly, “No, no, never,” he stressed, “I would never hurt you.”

He doesn’t let you respond, he just surges forward, connecting his lips to yours in a fierce kiss. It’s desperate and needy, as his lips clash with yours, and his tongue swipes along your lower lip. You don’t hesitate in allowing him entrance. Your mouths move against each other hungrily – like you both had been starved before this moment, every emotion either of you had held back was thrown into this kiss, this…declaration. His hands move from your face down your body until they land on your hips, squeezing harshly and earning a gasp from you. Your hands had moved up, fingers carding through his hair and tugging slightly just as his hands gave you another harsh grasp, and the groan he emits is sinful as he pulls away from you.

You can see what he wants, the desire plain as day in his eyes, and you want to say something, anything, but he attaches his lips to your neck and your brain seems to short circuit, failing to get the one question you have been holding onto all night past your lips. but the feeling of his fingers creeping under the hem of your sundress kick starts your brain again and you push at his shoulders lightly.

He pulls away immediately, worried eyes searching yours, “What’s wrong? Did I – “

“What is this?” you blurt out, the words spilling over your lips before you can stop them, causing a silence to hang in the air.

It was out. The question you had been thinking about all day - that had been plaguing your mind since your first date. And Javier didn’t know how to respond. His mind, previously foggy with lust and too many emotions he couldn’t identify, was now blank. He didn’t know how to answer, because he didn’t have one. What were you? were you friends?

No estúpido, you’re more than that.

Friends with benefits?

He shook his head at this thought. No, that wasn’t it either.

You pulled away from him slightly, “Javi?”

He looked up to you now, unable to miss the innocent hope in your eyes as you waited for his answer, so he shook his head again, closing his eyes momentarily before looking back up to you.

“What do you want us to be?”

///

Translations:

¡Manos donde pueda verlos pendejos! – hands where I can see them asshole!

¿Por qué estabas en el Ayuntamiento? – why were you at town hall?

¿Para quién trabajas, eh? – who do you work for, huh?

No te estoy diciendo nada, cerdo. – I’m not telling you anything, pig.

si quieres salir de aquí, me vas a dar algo imbécil – If you want to walk out of here, you’re going to give me something asshole.

Por favor, no me mates, te diré lo que quieras, por favor – Please don’t kill me, I’ll tell you whatever you want, please.

¿Trabajas para el cartel – Do you work for the cartel?

No, señora. Estábamos con el cártel, pero nos fuimos. Queríamos hacer las cosas a su manera – el camino fuerte. – No ma’am. We were with the cartel, but we left. We wanted to do things out own way – the loud way.

Te ves bien esta noche Chica – you look good tonight girl.

Oye, te estoy hablando bruja – hey, I’m talking to you bitch!

¡Suéltame cabrón! – Let go of me bastard!

Por Que – Why?

Apuesto a que podría follarte mejor que ese pendejo de ahí – I bet I could fuck you better than that asshole over there,

No la tocas, ¿me oyes? – you don’t fucking touch her. Do you hear me?

////

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#javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña #Pedro Pascal #narcos x reader #narcos

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minthysugamon · 4 years

Text

Barell of a Gun (Hitman! Jimin x Reader)

(Warnings: This one is pretty dark. Please don't read if you feel uncomfortable at the mentions of Paid Murder,Gambling,Uncomfortable Situations and Kidnapping. This doesn't depict Jimin's real personality. It's only a work of fiction. Please don't associate Jimin with this after you read it,he isn't like that in real life. IT IS ONLY A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON A JAMES BOND-AGENT 47 TYPE OF CONDUCTING LINE)

Word count: 2045

As soon as night has fallen,he started to get ready. Pen,check. Knives,check. 9mm,check. Everything was going perfectly. Park Jimin never paid attention to the victim. At least,he never let his emotions rule over the goal he had in front of him. And that goal was the 1,000,000$ he will get after he eliminated the person in the portfolio. It's a well paid price,and until he does the job without being noticed,it's worth it. He never accorded time to his emotions. It's a rational job,find the person,eliminate them,get paid. Nothing really hard. He prefers to say eliminate because killing would make his targets look like victims,whilst most of them are just rotten people.

"Agent 91,welcome. Please type in the password to unlock." His computer displayed the following words. He typed it in once. Doesn't work. The fourth time,same thing happened. "Fuck. Not again. I don't have time for this shit right now." Jimin was starting to get agitated. The fifth time,he just scanned his retina,hoping it would work. And it did. Thankfully. Because if it hadn't,the whole fuck-up would've cost him a lot of money and primarily his life,probably.

While sitting in the car,you had some Depeche Mode song your brother was blasting earlier in his room,stuck on repeat in your head. It was called Barrel of a Gun or something,the guitar riff was kinda cool so it stuck to your neurones. The ride to the casino was accompanied by an awkward silence,your date for the night has chosen some pompous place to dine at and now wanted to go gamble some money away. He was the son of some rich politician at your school,of course he would do something like that. "Did you like the meal?" The guy placed a hand on your knee,not as if you had asked,but for the moment you didn't do anything. "Yes,i liked it,even thought the wine was a little bit dry for my taste." He simply smirked and rolled up the partition in the back of the Limousine before his hand has made its way higher up on your thigh. "Well..if it can comfort you,i know that something won't be as dry as the wine tonight." Breaking point. You took his hand into yours and simply smiled. "Jacques,listen. I appreciate your gestures and all,but please,please,pretty please,don't ever fucking touch me again without me consenting to it." You heard a pop coming from the bone of his hand,not realising you were literally almost breaking it so you had let it go.

Jimin had stepped into the grand hall of the Casino of Monte Carlo,getting the casual verifications done. He stood at the roulette table,and since he had some time to kill,he didn't mind gambling away some thousands. The main point was to blend in,not to be outstanding. "Mesdames,Messieurs,Faites-vos jeux." He had forgotten how wonderful the french language sounds...as wonderful as a cat choking on some plastic wrap. His bet was put on the number 3,his lucky number. Not that he was superstitious,but it always brought him chance,so...why not this time? "Les Jeux sont faits." As soon as the roulette started spinning,he looked around himself and finally saw his target. But it wasn't planned that he will have company.

Sitting besides Jacques while he was playing a hand,needless to say,it was more than just boring. You never wanted to go home as much as you did now. Plus,the high-heels were killing your feet,it was a plus reason for you to just get up and leave. But you didn't. Simply because he was already kind enough to take you on a date,so,you had nothing more to do than just sit beside him and observe. Jacques wasn't good at Poker,even if he liked to think the opposite,and his loss was already over 100,000€. If he were a simple man,he would already be indebted,but it wasn't the case. The game only started to be interesting when another man sat down at the table and joined the party.

"May i?" Jimin asked with a small smile on his lips. He knew his target was beside him,it will be easier to calculate his every moves. But he didn't realise it will be harder since you were in the frame too. As soon as the game started,he saw that the guy wasn't good at playing,only bluffing,so,he took this to his advantage and told himself he will use the "I'm just tryna help you bro" card later. Jimin's eyes were mostly on you though,and he didn't calculate his emotions,but he would've been lying if he said you weren't beautiful.

You were looking at the cards in Jacques's hands. Seeing the 3 others on the table,he was already fucked,but of course,he had to bluff. "50,bet" echoed from the man beside you and everyone folded. Except one. The new player at the table. "Oh...i see you play with big amounts...let me make it more interesting then. Calling 1600." The black haired man's proposition made you jump a little bit. It wasn't only 1600€,but 1,600,000. "So..? What do you think? Reasonable proposition,no? Or...are you scared of losing?" The guy smirked and your partner stood up. "I'm going for a smoke. Pause the game." "Man,it isn't such a bad proposition,but okay...let's say 1,400,000 to save your honor." He followed Jacques to the balcony. Which was a pretty bad idea knowing how he can get when he's angry,you knew how out of hand the situation could get,he was the same at Uni. Anger Issues was his middle name.

Jimin was only trying to provoke the poor guy. Poor...let's not say that. He was the kid of an asshole that got rich by scamming poor people. Let alone,the father was a politician. The only way for Jimin to attain his final target was to hurt him. Not that he had to,but it was more effective this way. "Stop fucking following me. I have enough of your gimmicks. I saw how you were looking at him. You're on a date with me,not him." The hitman simply laughed. "Oh..you thought your little girlfriend came after you? Believe me,she has better things to do. Now,if you excuse me..." Gun cocked. Silencer already on. And fire. The bullet went straight through the younger one's head,in between the eyes. "Bull's eye. Good." As the body of the guy has fallen,Jimin started to wipe his silencer and put the pistol away. Too bad the girl was at the balcony as he did it.

"What the fuck have you done? WHO THE FU-" You screamed at him,but the scream hadn't live to its full potential as the guy from the table had silenced you with a hit to your head. You woke up five hours later,tied to a chair,in a living room in some old ass apartment,still propably in southern France. "Rise and shine babygirl,you're safe now. My name is...you have no buisness knowing it,but call me 91. Or Jay. Whatever suits you." As you looked around you,you saw nothing you could recognise. Only the feeling of the rag on your mouth was prominent,with the bounds around your wrists and legs. "I guess i should take off the gag...but can i trust you to not scream?" You nodded,already planning to get away somehow. As Jay took off the gag you inhaled and tried to scream but he had his hand in front of your mouth. "I should've killed you when i had the chance. I didn't need any kind of witnesses. But here i am,trying to plan out something so you don't talk. Now. Stop screaming or i'll send a bullet flying through your brain. Also..what's your name again?" He knew it of course...but wanted to hear it as he took off his hand of your mouth and looked at you. "Wasn't that your initial plan? And my name is (Y/n)." The sass in your words left him surprised enough to smile and unload his gun. "Wow,getting sassy i see. I like it." "Why did you kill him? Was it because he was involved in some shady buisness?" You talked way more than you should have. And Jimin liked that. More information means more time...which means a better approach towards the target. "What do i look like? A social justice warrior? Honey,i get paid for shit like this. But now,my only problem is you. What should i do with you? You weren't in the frame. And now you are here,bound to a chair...don't get me wrong,i like the view,but you shouldn't have wandered away from that goddamn table yesterday." You simply lowered your head and looked at his hands. He was fidgeting. Unable to decide what he should do. "You should probably kill me then. I mean,if i am too much to handle,and since you know i'll be talking as soon as i get out of here,you should just choke me to death...quick and effective." He smiled and took your chin with two fingers so you were looking into his eyes. "Let me think about it. But i already know i won't kill you...in the end,you're truly innocent so..there would be no fun in that." "So...you're pretty much a social justice warrior then" He let your chin go and stood up to walk around the apartment.

Jimin knew killing you would've made too much mess,plus,cleaning the whole appartment after it would have taken too much time. Plus...he kinda started to like you. You were the type of girl he could settle with. So he went with plan B...or more like,he wanted to go with plan b which was about to let you go and threaten you to not talk. But as soon as he heard footsteps coming towards the apartment,Jimin changed his mind and chose Plan C. "You'll be coming with me. We have to get away. I already lost more than 3 hours with you getting in my way."

You were quickly untied and he secured a gun around your thigh. "You know how to use one? Just in case,to be safe." Why on earth would he give you a gun? "I could kill you right now if i wanted." "Yeah,i know,but you don't want to. That's the positive point. Now open the window and get out." God knows why you obeyed him,but it was almost automatic. Did you like the rush of the situation? Maybe yes. Maybe it was simply because you were scared...maybe it was because you kind of liked the way the whole situation turned out. He was following you as soon as he cleared the area,and unlocked his car. "Get in. I'll be here soon. No more than 2 minutes." "Huh? Where the fuck are you going?" "Getting my shit and then i'll be here." And with that,he was already on his way.

No more than two minutes after,he was back with his suitcase and the briefcase containing some papers,his pc and most importantly,the money. "Buckle the belt. We'll be on the road for 10 to 15 hours..." "Where are we going?" He simply smiled and turned the engine on. "Let that be a surprise..." "So...you're pretty much kidnapping me,right?"

He chuckled and looked into the rear-view mirror. "It's better than the barrel of a gun against your head at least. And...you'll see,it won't be as bad as you think."

Was this really the life you were about to live? Probably. Was it safe? Probably not,but did you have any other choice? No. But...little did you know,it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

(Y'all,i'm sorry if it is bad...i really wanted something different but in the end idk...it doesn't seem good to me...i let you all be the judge)

#bts #bts scenarios #bts au #jimin au #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin #jimin x reader #bts hitman au #hitman au #bts imagines #bts scenario

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dreaming-gamer · 4 years

Text

Day 6: Home, Family, Belonging – Vergil & V

Warnings: None

Pounding in his veins, increasing with every word that was exchanged.

”It’s my turn to have it! You’ve had it for houuurs!”

”Nuh uh! It’s mine!”

“Kyrie said ‘share’!”

Such a distant yet familiar scene and so utterly… annoying to see it play out. Was this a parody set by fate?

”Kyle, let go!” Carlo demanded, holding on to the plastic figure with all his tiny grabby hands. His (barely) older step sibling was just as tenacious however, shouting ’no!’ and bracing his feet against the pull.

And Vergil was sitting there, unsure if the universe was playing him a cruel prank, showing this. How vividly it made him remember so many fights like these with Dante, leaving a vile taste in his mouth.

Seeing it play out between other siblings… should he break it up? Would that change anything?

Surely, their fates would not mimic his and Dante’s. These children had no demon blood in their veins and though they had wound up as orphans once, they had people who looked after them now.

Though not of blood, there were people that treated them as family. Vergil’s fist clenched against his knee, his whole life he had fought against his family. Had all those fights between him and Dante as kids not happened, would it have made a difference? Without a conscious prompt, his legs suddenly felt it necessary to stand, to stop--

“You might break it, pulling on it like that.” A deep voice stated matter-of-factly, cane tapping lightly against the floor as V entered, spotting the two kids locked in a standoff.

Neither of them let go. Their voices rose, as if trying to convince V of each of their rights in the argument.

“It’s my turn!”

“No, mine!”

Given his towering, lean frame next to the children, V slowly lowered himself onto one knee, putting his gloved hand over the toy, stopping their fighting hands. Their gazes turned to him, hints of tears in Carlo’s, while Kyle’s jaw was set in a determined line. Vergil silently watched, eyes narrowing at his humanity, walking and talking, skin less pale than ever, back still a bit hunched but his overall appearance looked healthier. Stronger.

“Why don’t you explain how this started?” V asked, voice calm and inquiring. “One at a time.” He added as both children opened their mouths at the same second.

“It’s my toy but Kyle just tries to take it!” Carlo said quickly.

“Kyrie said we should share!” Kyle stated, voice turning just an octave shriller.

“But it’s my toy!”

“Kyle, Carlo.” V said, keeping his voice calm before the argument would heat up yet again. Black particles separated from him with a soft sound, the black panther taking form. Shadow’s red markings glowed, giving that otherworldly appearance to her black fur, her eyes taking in the sight of two human boys with great interest. The children’s faces suddenly lit up.

“Why don’t you go outside and play with Shadow for a while?” V suggested with a small smile, the words barely leaving his mouth before the kids let go of the toy, letting it fall into V’s hand while the kids approached his familiar, petting her.

“Can I ride her?”

V chuckled, slowly raising from the floor, his leather clothing creaking a tiny bit.

“If she lets you, but do be careful. And play nice, or she will not play with either of you.” The summoner added, receiving a chorus of ‘okay!’ before their footsteps echoed against the wooden floor as they rushed to the exit, the panther keeping in step with them.

V turned to Vergil, the smile morphing into a smirk.

“Did I steal your entry?”

“No, it was better that you handled it.” For Vergil felt it to be true, slowly sitting down again. The orphans under Nero’s care… he was not yet sure, but there was a lingering feeling that they were scared, or perhaps wary of him. Vergil barely knew how to act around his own son yet, so the children were, unsurprisingly, also a challenge. And yet the children had been so into their arguing that they had not noticed his presence. V on the other hand they seemed to accept, partially because of his fascinating familiars but Vergil had also seen the youngest ask V to read to him. Why he had felt that way, Vergil couldn’t tell, but he had felt… perhaps glad was the best word for it, that V was accepted. As his own. Kyrie and Nero had even let him stay in a guest room of theirs while he searched for his own home.

V nodded slowly, seemingly pondering his words.

“Because you were wondering if this scene was a parody of fate’s design.” That matter-of-factly tone was back, making Vergil’s eyes narrow. V met his gaze head-on, his smirk remaining.

“Maybe.” Vergil simply agreed, not protesting when V took a seat next to him.

“Separated we may be now, but I know how you think.” V said, voice soft and complementing, eyeing Vergil with deep green orbs, the same color as their mother’s. “That day, if your and Dante’s positions were switched… your fates might have been different. You might have had his life and he yours…”

Vergil was quiet, just listening without acknowledging that V spoke the very thoughts he had before. They both knew.

“You wish to prevent others from facing the same fate. But the Spardas are… a rather peculiar family. I sincerely doubt Kyle, Carlo and Julio will fight to the point that you and Dante did.”

Frowning, Vergil kept his eyes on V, not comfortable with having his thoughts voiced out loud. Except he knew they were not his own thoughts anymore. Connected they might have been, but as they sat next to each other, perhaps for the first time since he, no, they both made the decision to let V exist separately from himself, Vergil didn’t feel as if he sat next to his humanity, or a mirror of his mind. Truly, the feeling was something closer to, dare he say friendship?

“You’re probably right.” Those were not words Vergil used lightly. “Nero will… make sure they don’t.” His son. Vergil still found those words odd and yet they gave a sense of pride, warm and unexpected each time.

“Indeed. He has overcome much and he has done so with the help of others.” V thought aloud, his smirk turning to a small smile, his posture relaxed as he pulled out his beloved anthology to read. Filled to the brim with words that Vergil had only glimpsed, while V had taken them all to heart. Unlike Vergil, V didn’t seem to have any trouble hanging out with Nero. Fighting side-by-side might have that effect, something Vergil had not realized, nor really experienced until recently, facing the hordes of the Underworld with Dante.

Thoughts swirled in his mind. Many times had he committed atrocious acts, V knew more than anyone about that. Vergil wasn’t sure he ever wanted Nero to find out about all of it, just thinking about it gave him a crawling feeling in his skin, but there was one glimmer in his past. The fact that Nero existed and though his life had been hard, he had not committed the same sins as his father. Instead, he had tried to fix them. Found his place to belong. Even shared it with V, whom he now seemed to regard as a brother. Truly, though it might not be able to tell Nero yet, Vergil felt pride.

He owed it to his son to make the future a little brighter. Though Vergil would never admit it, he might even own it to Dante, for all the trouble he had caused.

And he owed it to V, who risked his own existence to make him see that mistakes could be corrected. Vergil knew he still had a long way to go there, but he had the Yamato, years of demon slaying in his past, for better or worse. It would take time before he could let Nero inherit the Yamato, for his work was not done. Vergil rose from the chair, the little break had dragged out long enough.

“I must go.” He stated, unsheathing Yamato, the grip as familiar to him as his own hand. With two fast slashes, the air split into a portal to the hunting grounds he had found yesterday.

V’s chuckle could be heard behind him.

“You could also try using the door.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” The silver-haired man asked, stepping through with a small smile on his lips. Off to work it was, there were demons to slay.

#dmcweek #dmcweek2020 #devil may cry fanfiction #devil may cry vergil #devil may cry v #my writing

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

163 - “Bravo”

Our moral compass has been demagnetized. Welcome to Night Vale.

Night Vale, Carlos and I went to see a new play the other night. It’s been ages since we went to the theater. I think the last show we saw was “Hamilton”, which is a Tony and Pulitzer winning hip hop musical about figure skater Scott Hamilton, who died in a duel to fellow Olympian Katarina Witt. “Hamilton” was wonderful, but live theater is so expensive. It’s a rare treat for us to get out of the house, what with the cost of tickets plus dinner, parking, a babysitter, tuxedo rentals and all that time spent watching YouTube makeup tutorials for jamming facial recognition cameras.

But my friend Charles Raynor invited us as his special guests to watch the premiere of a new play at the Night Vale Asylum, where Charles is the warden. The play was called “The Disappearance and Cover-up of Flight 18713 as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale under the Direction of Undercover Agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau.” Or, “18713/NTSB” for short. I’m used to seeing plays at the New Old Opera House or in the high school auditorium. There’s also the Black Box Theatre, which presents some of Night Vale’s most experimental drama from young performance artists. No one has seen any of these shows, or if they have, they’ve never emerged from that doorless black box, its walls perfectly smooth and faintly warm.

But this particular play was at the asylum itself. The Night Vale Asylum perches atop a craggy peak in the Sand Wastes. It’s brutalist concrete walls intermittently slashed with slivers of windows. I do not personally know anyone inside this intimidating institute, other than warden Raynor himself. And I’ll admit to being a bit nervous venturing out at night to a heavily guarded home for the criminally insane. But Carlos put me at ease by rolling his eyes. He said it was neurotypical ableism that makes us think this way. That movies and TV shows often play up harmful tropes about psychopaths and lunatics, planning daring escapes so they can return to a life of criminal misdeeds. Carlos explained that asylums are merely places where we hide away the people who most remind us of the inexplicable fragility of the human brain.

Driving out past the Scrublands under an indigo sky, the full moon low over the horizon backlighting the Night Vale Asylum atop its jagged rocky ridge, my nerves returned. I thought I heard coyotes howling in the distance, but it was the car stereo. Carlos had put on his favorite new Frank Ocean album called “Various Animals Screaming”. When we arrived, warden Raynor greeted us at the gates. Two guards wearing army style green dress uniforms flanked him. Their right breasts were laden with medals, chevrons and stripes. They each were armed with billy clubs, tasers and slingshots, and one of them was wearing an eye patch, but it was positioned in the middle of his forehead.

The warden escorted Carlos and me to our seats, which were simple wood chairs. There were only ten seats total, all in a single row along the rear wall. There was no standard stage to speak of, no curtain. The actors were all in costume in the center of the room, already in character. The other seats were already filled. Warden Raynor, Sheriff Sam, three of Sam’s secret police officers, two of Sam’s overt police officers, and an angel I had never met before, but who introduced themself to me as Erika. With a K, they added. “Nice to meet you, Erika,” I said. “You got ten bucks?” Erika asked. “Uh, sure,” I said. “What for?” “Not everyone gets to know everything,” they said. “You either got it or you don’t, man.” So I handed them ten bucks and minutes later my lower back pain, which has plagued me for the last six months, was gone. I looked back at Erika and I saw the wink at me, or I think they winked? They have ten eyes, so it could have just been an asynchronous blink. It’s hard to even tell what they’re ever looking at.

The play began with an introduction by warden Raynor, who welcomed us all to this unusual night. The first ever performance of an original play by inmates in his asylum. He introduced the writers/directors of the piece. There were three of them, each dressed in an electrical blue jumpsuit. One of them had a blister on his upper lip, another a swollen red lump along the cuticle of his right index finger. One of them had an unceasing nose bleed. I recognized them as the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau in Washington, who had come to Night Vale two months ago to investigate the disappearance of Delta flight 18713. Sheriff Sam had placed these agents undercover in the asylum to try to meet with an inmate named Doug Biondi, who claimed to have pertinent information about the missing aircraft. Upon remembering this, I flipped quickly through my playbill to find the ensemble members’ names. And there on the title page was the name Doug Biondi, who was cast as airplane pilot. As the warden returned to his seat and before the house lights dimmed, I leaned over to Sheriff Sam and asked, “How is the undercover operation going, Sheriff?” Sam glared at me and said, “I’ve no idea what you mean.” “You know, with the NTSP officers here in the asylum trying to interview Doug Biondi?” I asked perhaps a little loudly for a theater. “The NTSP officers are criminally insane, Sessil,” the Sheriff said unironically and with more than a touch of scold in their tone. “That is why they are here. They are a danger to themselves and others.” I had many more questions, but before I could say anything, the lights faded to black, and I heard the first voice of the play.

“Find us,” called the voice in the dark. “Find us,” it echoed again. A faint glow coated like frost the wild-eyed faces of the inmates on stage. The frantic visages made all the more panic by deep eyeliner, rouge and lipstick. Most were dressed in common street clothes: slacks, jeans, buttoned-down shirts, mid-length pattern skirts. Two were dressed as flight attendants and one as the pilot. I could only presume a small budget, as the uniforms worn by the latter groups were largely suggested by navy blue hats and little plastic wings on their lapels. The pilot wore anachronistic aviation goggles and so it was difficult for me to see and remember the face of this actor, this inmate, Doug Biondi. But I could see his mouth, which was unusually white. The corners of his lips extending well past the width of his eyes. He had an unusual number of teeth in his harsh smile, a smile which never abated, even in his most somber of scenes.

“Weeee surviive,” said Biondi’s pilot character. “Weeeee livve. Weee cannot dieee. Noot here, noot in No..Where.” He said it not like the vague concept of “in no place”, but “No Where”, two words capitalized, like the name of a specific place. Each actor was seated in short tight rows of four, a narrow aisle in between, mimicking the floor plan of a common fuselage. At the front of the troup sat Doug Biondi, as airline pilot. “How did we get here, in No Where?” said one of the passengers. “And how shall we return?” said another. “Only,” they said in unison, “when you find ussss.” This last line they said with a quick twist of their necks towards the audience. Then the scene shifted, the chairs cleared and all of the actors stood in the profile of a Greek chorus. They explained the flight from Detroit, the view of lake Erie, they told stories of different passengers. One who had a job interview, one who was looking for an apartment, another who went to Palm Springs on vacation. They told the story of a bright light and a loud pop, and suddenly the engines were silent. The plane felt still, unmoving, and then the chorus all pantomimed the leaning, concerned gaze out airplane windows. Instead of tops of clouds or distant shapes of great lakes, though, they looked out and saw – children in a gymnasium. They heard the squeak of sneakers and the joyful cries of playful exercise. It felt like minutes, maybe a whole hour. They could not understand what they were seeing. They could not comprehend an elementary school gym six miles above southern Canada. But they were not six miles above southern Canada. They were only a few feet above the American Southwest, inside an airplane, inside an elementary school gymnasium, in a town called Night Vale. And as quickly as they had appeared there, they disappeared. Off the radar, gone from the skies, out of known existence. Throughout this chorus, the speakers filled our ears with the joyful shouts of children, the hollow metallic thumps of red rubber balls, and the collective panicked inhale of a 143 passengers and crew of a displaced plane, and then it was silent. And then it was dark.

A single green light appeared on the far wall, a dot, a blip. A radar blinking on, then off. And the voice of Doug Biondi said: “Weeeeeee are not passengers on a plane. Weeeee are actors. Weeee are inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale, but weeeee do not belong here. Weeee are people who know truths. People who know more than is allowed, and for that, weeeeeeeee are kept in cages. Weeeeeeee are fed poisoned pills and circular logic.” And at this point in the play, I felt movement in our small audience. The warden had stood up and was shouting: “This is not in the script, Doug!” But Doug spoke louder, faster. “Iiiii am not insane, I say! Only the insane would say such a thing they say. Then I am insane, I say. Yes you are, they say. I am trapped, I am framed, I spit out your poisoned pills! I reject your propagandist blather. I know what I know I say. Hold him down they say.” Warden Raynor had gone to the tech board and turned on all the lights. He shouted “code blue” into a radio receiver, and we saw half a dozen security officers in their green medal laden uniforms lurch from the corners of the room, penning the ensemble of inmates into a tight circle in the center. “Return them to their rooms,” the warden called.

But as the guards encroached, the three men from the NTSP stepped to the perimeter of the mass of inmates. They were holding little plastic wings just like those on the costumes of the actors playing flight attendants. One of the NTSP agents, the one with an unceasing nose bleed, opened the back of the wings, revealing a long sharp pin, and thrust it into the neck of a guard. Simultaneously, the other NTSP agents and several other actors did the same, and the guards fell to the ground. One of the NTSP agents, the one with a blister on his upper lip, grabbed the keys and weapons from an unconscious officer. “Dearest audience,” he said in verse. “We mean them no harm. ‘tis but a sleep, a little pharmaceutical rest for a uniformed guard who kept us confined, made life hard for us low level agents doing our jobs, trapped ‘neath the lies of a warden who robs our freedom and murders our spirit. At last we can go, approach the wall and clear it, but heed my warning: as we this coup fly, every man for himself, better run – or die.” And upon this last line, the alarm bells of the asylum rattled my ears and my nerves, shaking Carlos and me from our seats. The inmates scattered in every direction as Sheriff Sam and their officers gave chase. Carlos was nearly stepped on by one of the escapees, and as I bent to help him up, I was knocked over by two officers in full sprint.

When the commotion died down, I looked up and saw Erika still sitting calmly in their chair, and I asked: “Erika, what is happening?” Erika looked down at their playbill, and then back at me, and said: “I think it’s intermission.”

And now the weather.

[“One One Thousand” by Raina Rose rainarose.com]

After 15 minutes, Carlos and I returned to our seats hoping, but not truly believing it really was an intermission. We’ve seen immersive theater before, like “Sleep No More”, an interactive show in New York City where audience members are placed inside a huge warehouse of actors dancing out the plot to “Macbeth”, and at the end everyone is granted the ability to live out the rest of their lives without sleep. It’s expensive and not for everyone, but totally worth it if immersive theater is your thing. But this show was not that. No. “18713/NTSP” had gone wrong. Or, perhaps it had gone right. Under the strict critique of plot structure, character development, and production value, the play failed terribly. But as a piece of political or (agit prop) theater, it was a rousing success. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have placed roadblocks around the entire city, hoping to keep these supposedly dangerous inmates from leaving the area. It is bad optics, to say the least, for the entire population of the town’s asylum to escape custody.

But as Carlos and I left the theater space, we walked down the long corridors, cells and rooms open, no security detail in sight. In one of the cells, below a cot, was a journal. It was the journal of Doug Biondi. Page after page was filled with monologues, narratives and conversations from various people. People who were on a plane, people in transit between checkpoints of life, between relationships, between homes, between jobs, between vacation and work. These stories were written as verbatim dialogue, as if Doug Biandi had transcribed them himself. As if he could hear the voices of those very people. Like former air traffic controller Amelia Anna Alfaro. I wonder if Doug heard the same voices. The same passengers of the missing plane. I had my intern Seamus go down to the library and look up public records on Doug Biondi, hoping to find some connection between Doug and Amelia, but Seamus still has yet to return with that information . I even double checked my playbill looking for Amelia’s name in the cast or crew, but she was not listened here. She was likely never in the asylum.

One thing I did find, though, was a note in the back of Doug’s journal. This note seemed to be in Doug’s own voice. “They tell us we are kept here for our safety, but they keep us here for their safety. They fear what will happen when the people on that plane are found. But I think they have already been found. They should be afraid of what happens when the people on the plane find us.”

Night Vale is on lockdown, so stay home and stay safe, listeners. I do not believe any of us to be in danger from those who escaped the asylum, but I do believe us to be in danger of most everything else. Stay tuned next for a serious of audio clicks, which is definitely not federal agents tapping your radio. Don’t worry about it.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transcripts #episode 163 #bravo

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honeybuddhahoe · 5 years

Text

Waiting

Pairing: Nerokiri from Devil May Cry series

Warning: Blood mention, spoilers

AN: This takes place sometime after the events of DMC5.

Kyrie placed her head in her hands. They trembled against her forehead. Her body was exhausted, her mind was wide awake. An awful combination. A nap sounded devilishly nice right now. The kids were playing cards a floor above her, the news said that the demon infestation had retreated with the sealing of the portal, twilight was on the horizon. But she felt too anxious to sleep. Nero wasn’t home yet.

She always had trouble sleeping when he was away. In her gut, she knew he would always keep himself safe, and Nico would keep him out of trouble. But there was always that what if. What if he got hurt. What if he didn’t come back. And her fears had been confirmed a few months ago when the hooded stranger ripped Nero’s arm off.

So much blood.

She raised her head and checked the clock again. 6:10 pm. She lowered her head back down and closed her eyes. Waiting.

I’ll wait for you, she told him. That horrible day where she was a hostage of His Holiness. That day when Nero saved her and kissed her for the first time. I’ll wait.

But for how long?

She honestly felt useless sitting here. There was no greater joy than to care for the orphans, and her faith in Nero was stronger than anything. But watching the clock tick, knowing that it was Nico and Nero alone out there … she wished she could play a bigger role. She wished she could support him in a bigger way. What could she do besides wait? What could she do besides mend his clothes and cook his food?

There had to be something, she thought, as she rose from the table. But she couldn’t think too much on it otherwise she would just begin worrying again. She made her way upstairs to collect laundry, mend the kids' clothes. Do something meanwhile.

Just as she reaches the top of the stairs and three of the orphans, Julio, Carlo, and Kyle, sprint past her. They’ve got their baseball gear tucked in their arms.

“Stay in the yard!” she calls.

“Got it!”

“If the ball goes over the fence, yell for me!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

A huff and she moves on. The boys definitely take after Nero. Their sweaters and shirts are always acquiring new tears. They rip holes in their pants faster than she can sew patches. And don’t even get her started on the grass stains.

The phone rings down the hall, and her heart skips a beat. She drops everything, races out of the boy’s room, nearly tripping over her own feet to pick up the phone. She presses the receiver.

“Hello?”

Silence for a beat. Then a voice.

“Valued customer! Congratulations! You’ve been selected to—”

She hung up.

The disappointment came in waves. The phone would ring, or there would be a knock on the door, and Kyrie would leap up to answer. She couldn’t help it. The possibility that her waiting was over, that his fighting was done, and he could come home and rest and eat … it made every day of waiting worth it. But when she would see a stranger beyond the door, or hear someone else’s voice, her heart sank, and the rest of her day seemed a little dimmer. It wasn’t that Nero never called her. They talked every now and then. But usually for no more than a minute. He was never alone, and something often came up. A demon in an alley, Nico teasing him with taunts, the end of the world. The usual.

The orphans never knew how she felt. She was a great actress. “When’s Nero coming home?” they would ask. And Kyrie would smile, offer them an extra plate of food as a distraction.

“Soon,” she’d smile. “He promised. We just have to be patient and wait.”

Sometimes she wondered if she was lying to make them feel better or to make herself.

She finished gathering the laundry, took it downstairs, separated them by color. It was easy to tell whose was whose. Her clothes were always kept in good shape since she rarely let the orphanage. The children’s were a little worse for wear since they were prone to play. And Nero’s were either bloodstained or full of holes.

She came across one of Nero’s better shirts. Slowly, almost guiltily, she raised it to her face to smell it. It was faint, but there. Him.

“Kyrie?”

She jumped and dropped it into the washbin. “Yes, Julio?”

“I need a bandaid.”

She turned. Holding up his hand like an injured paw, she saw blood trickling from his knuckles.

“You didn’t get into another fight, did you?”

“No, the ball hit my hand when I was up to bat.”

He sat down while she rummaged through the drawers.

“Kyrie, when is Nero coming back?”

“He’ll come back when he’s done hunting,” she said automatically, ignoring the feeling spreading through her heart. “We just have to—”

“Wait, I know.”

She returned to the table and kneeled down to his height. She cleaned the cut, nothing more than a dramatic scratch, applied the bandaid. She held his fingers, small and new, for a moment too long.

“ … Kyrie?” he asked worriedly.

“Sorry,” she forced a smile. “Just making sure everything’s okay.”

Julio looked at some point behind her, and then met her eyes. “The evil tree is gone.”

“Yes, it is.”

“So Nero will be back soon.”

“Yes, very soon.”

“And then we’ll all be together.”

“We will.”

“And you’ll be happy again.”

Kyrie blinked. “Happy?”

Julio nodded and hopped off his chair without another word, heading back outside. A moment later there was the crack of a bat and the thud of shoes on dirt. There were shrieks and laughter. But Kyrie remained on her knees.

Is that what I sound like? She wondered. Whenever he says he has to go? Bitter?

She left the laundry to soak and sat down to sew. The boys came in later and trudged upstairs to shower. By nine o’clock she was the only one awake in the orphanage.

As she finished the laundry, her mind wandered back to what Julio said to her. Had she not looked happy? She was very careful about slipping up in front of the kids. Was it something in her voice? How she carried herself?

Kyrie shook her head. Julio has always been observant, she told herself. She wasn’t unhappy, staying here, waiting alone. Waiting meant there was someone who needed her to support them, to comfort them, to come home to. Waiting meant staying so that others could go. And she would always be here, whether for the orphans or for Nero … for anyone who needed grace.

Kyrie didn’t want to admit that she had selfish feelings. It wasn’t in her nature to want something for herself if it couldn’t first be offered to someone else. She could never admit she was lonely. If Nero knew she was lonely, saddened in anyway … he might not be to able work in peace. But while she knew why he had to go, and while she knew it was the right thing to do … she also missed the man she loved. She wanted him safe. She wanted him home.

And that was a part of her she could not deny any longer. And when she accepted it ... some of the tangled knots in her heart loosened. Though not entirely.

She raised her head and checked the clock again. Almost midnight. She closed her eyes for a moment. Waiting.

I’ll wait for you, she told herself. I’ll wait until you come home.

There was a creaking sound at the front door. The thud of tired boots, the jingle of keys being discarded. The door closed quietly. Someone sneaking, trying not to wake the kids. Kyrie didn’t dare to breathe. She wondered if she could dare to hope. She had just risen from her chair when the kitchen door opened … and—

“Nero!”

She didn’t care that he was dirty, that he smelled of hot garbage and blood. She didn’t care about anything except that he was there, to touch, to hold, to smell. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a future promise. It was happening now. She buried her face into his chest, she wrapped her arms around his back. Her doubts melted away as Nero’s arms curled around her body, squeezing tight just like always, like he never wanted to let her go.

She pulled away from him and looked up to meet his eyes, stroke his face, ignoring how her hair stuck slightly to the residue on his jacket. Piercing as always, his weary eyes gazed at her with a fondness reserved especially for her. It made all the months of waiting worthwhile.

“ … I’m home,” he said in a small voice.

She smiled. “Welcome back.”

The world became bright at midnight.

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hannahmcne · 5 years

Text

The Two O’Clock Meeting - pt 2 of TwoShot

"I'm so angry I could tear him limb from limb!" Jay spat. He was practically frothing at the mouth as he slammed his bag to the ground and jumped onto his mattress.

"I'm so tired I could sleep for the rest of my life." Evie yawned, sitting down on her bed and leaning down to unlatch her shoes. She wiggled her toes and frowned at the red calluses on the undersides of her feet that looked like little triangles from always wearing heels. "Jay, don't throw your bag so hard. You'll break it."

"I can't help it!" Jay growled. "Harry Hook is so stupid!"

"I'm so hungry I could eat an entire coil of rope." Carlos moaned, dropping face-first onto his bed. Simultaneously, everyone's stomachs growled. Carlos's face twisted in pain as he curled up a little next to his pillow. "Think we could steal one from the pirates? I'm sure there'd be some nutritional value with all the time those ropes spend in the ocean."

"If all that gunk from the water doesn't kill you, the pirates will." Jay pointed out, picking up a stick and starting to splinter off tiny pieces. "And your mom after them."

"It'd be worth it," Carlos grumbled, curling up tighter around himself.

"No, it wouldn't." Jay shot back.

"Maybe it would-" Carlos began, but Mal cut them both off.

"I'm so sick of your bantering that I might have to knock you both out the hard way!" She snapped. She sank back into the squashy chair and shifted from side to side to get the lumps pushed out to the sides. Her eyes closed slowly.

"Oh, bring it on Mal. I will take you on any day of the week." Jay retorted, flinging splinters at the ceiling.

"Yeah? Well, you'll lose every day of the week." Mal scoffed.

Jay flung a splinter at the ceiling. It bounced off and thwacked against Mal's head. Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up. A deep green light made her eyes glow. Jay shrank back, silenced, and dipped his head in apology. He brushed the rest of the splinters off his bed and onto the floor, making Evie wrinkle her nose, and pulled the covers over his shoulder. Mal exhaled and leaned back into the chair. A cool wind rushed around the room and made her shiver. She crossed her arms and squeezed her eyes tight.

"I'm so cold I might freeze to death by morning." Evie mourned.

Mal sighed. "Yeah." She agreed. "Me too."

Across the room, Jay and Carlos made matching sounds of agreement. They all fell silent, shivering into hunched positions, and then Carlos let out a very loud sigh of relief.

"What?" Jay huffed irritably."

"Oh, a warm gust just came from underneath my bed." Carlos sighed. "It's like a magical fog."

Mal opened her eyes and stood up. The cold had made her toes numb. She wandered close to Carlos's bed, inspecting it, and then gasped. A mist was arising from the floor. Jay and Evie sat up across the room and Carlos rolled over as Mal dropped to her knees and began to feel around the floorboards. A hot space on the floor in the shape of a square was causing the air to steam. Her fingers found a groove that she was sure – positive – hadn't been there before. "Help me pry this up, Jay." She demanded. Immediately, a pair of larger, callused hands with short fingers joined her on the floor. They pried up the boards and looked down into what looked like a different world. Clean carpet was beneath them, and clothes were hanging up along three walls. A door was on the third wall. All four kids stared down at the view. Mal swallowed.

"I'm… going to hop down first." She mumbled.

"What if it's some sort of trap?" Jay whispered, furrowing her brow.

"Then I'll be warm before I die." Mal shrugged. She braced her arms on either side of the square – it was about two feet wide – and swung her feet over the side. She dropped down and landed with a soft thud on the carpet down below. The warm air made her skin prickle. She let out a breath, tested the floor, and looked up. "I think it's safe," She whispered.

Carlos and Evie jumped down after her, one by one, and then Jay slowly lowered himself down. The moment he landed, there was a whoosh, and the square in the ceiling disappeared. Mal took a little breath. "Uh oh." She mumbled. Hopefully, that didn't turn into a problem.

"Look at these clothes," Evie mumbled, pulling a shirt off of a rack and holding it up to her. She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, it's purple. And there's paint on it." She picked at something on the seam. "Where can I find some blues?"

Evie put the shirt back up on the rack and flipped on the light in the closet. Everyone blinked as bright, fluorescent lights blinded them. They looked around. "Wow." Jay snorted. "Good luck Evie."

The entire closet was filled with green, purple, and black, with a few shades of white here and there. Evie's mouth dropped open incredulously. "What on earth?" She gasped. "Who would wear this much purple?"

"I dunno, it kind of sounds like my kind of deal." Mal snorted, picking out a leather jacket with metal studs.

"Uh-huh, and is this your kind of deal?" Evie asked, going to the back of the closet and pulling out a gigantic floor-length gown with spiderwebbing patterns across the bodice. Mal wrinkled her nose and turned away. Evie hummed and put the dress back. Mal squinted through more leather jackets and pulled one out.

"Tell me this doesn't look familiar." She hummed, turning and displaying the jacket to them. On the heart was her name, and on the back was Maleficent's symbol and the inscription 'Long Live Evil'.

Jay, Evie, and Carlos all stared at the artifact, and then they glanced around at the miles of fabric. Mal hung the second jacket up with pinched lips and turned her attention to the door. She stretched her hand forward to the handle. Right before she could wrap her fingers around the handle, the sound of a door slamming in the next room over made her yank her hand back. The door rattled on its hinges. Everyone's heads swiveled around as someone let out an unholy scream from the other room.

A door opened and someone began to speak. "Mademoiselle, I-"

"Get out Lumiere!" The person, a girl, who had screamed before yelled at the top of her lungs. "I'm not going to the stupid meeting! I'm done with everything! I quit my job, I'm not doing it anymore!" Something broke as it hit the wall and shattered. Mal turned around to her friends with raised eyebrows. She mouthed the word 'Wow'.

The door closed softly and there came the sound of someone sobbing from the other room. Mal carefully wrapped her fingers around the handle and opened the door. The crying stopped as she pushed the door open and examined the next room over. It was very large. To the immediate left was a large bed with blue and grey sheets and large, cushiony pillows. On the other side was another closet, but that door was propped open. Around the room, Mal could spot two desks. One was neat and clean, and the other horrendously messy with a dragon decoration on it. The far side of the room had several large floor-to-ceiling windows that peered out over a large city and an ocean in the far distance. Evie gasped, and Mal could see why. The barrier to the Isle of the Lost was visible out over the ocean. As in the place they had just come from.

Mal looked around the room for the person who'd been yelling. She couldn't see anyone for several seconds until she found the door on the far-right side of the room. A figure was leaning against the door, wiping her eyes and taking deep breaths. Mal's hands stilled at her side. The figure's hair was curled and clean and very, very purple.

"Mal?" Carlos asked, squinting at the figure. She sniffled and turned around.

"Carlos? I didn't know you were-" She stopped upon seeing them all. Mal took a few steps backward as she stared at herself. She was much older, with longer hair and makeup smudged on the corner of her eyes. And she was taller, too. "Oh," The older Mal blinked. "Are you my two o'clock meeting?"

"You have meetings?" Jay asked, confused.

Older Mal sniffled and wiped her eyes one more time. She opened the door. A white-haired man in a suit was standing outside, looking irate. "I'm sorry for yelling, Lumiere." She apologized. "I'll go now."

"His Highness already asked if you want to head down and see him before you do." Lumiere offered. "Would that make you happier?"

Older Mal nodded, still looking sullen. She turned and beckoned to the core four. "Come on now, follow me." She sighed.

Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos all fell into a little line and followed Older Mal out of the door. Lumiere's mouth dropped open when he saw them, but Older Mal waved his shock aside. "Stranger things happen." She reminded him. "We'll be with Ben."

Lumiere nodded and turned to walk in the other direction. Mal had to hand it to him – he took things well. Better than her, at least. She tapped her look-alike on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, but are you me?"

"No." Older Mal sniffed. "I'm obviously older." Mal's mouth fell open.

"Was that you screaming in the other room?" Jay asked cautiously. "Cause you sounded really, really mad."

Older Mal's mouth twisted into despair. "I'm just so sick of everyone booking up my art time! Can't they understand I just want to paint!" She burst into tears and suddenly sank to the floor, leaning against the wall. Mal backed away. There was no way this was her. She'd never be set off so easily. Older Mal hiccupped and scrubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry." She apologized again. "I'm trying to get used to all these hormones and it's hard." She pressed her hands to her midsection, and for the first time, Mal noticed that there was some very defined swelling there. She backed away with her hands held aloft. Nope. Nope. Not on your life, nope. There was no way to heaven that this could possibly be her.

Older Mal hiccupped again and got up. She restarted her walk down the hall, and the rotten four exchanged glances. Should they try and follow her? Slowly, one by one, they all took up their place in line again. Older Mal wandered into a receptionist area. She sniffled a little as she walked up to a lady behind a desk. "Debra?" She asked softly.

The woman behind the desk had auburn hair and wide-rimmed glasses. She smiled at the Older Mal. "Hello, dearie." She smiled.

"Hi," Older Mal sighed. She gestured at the four kids behind her, hanging out in the doorway. "My two o'clock has arrived." She drummed her fingers on her desk. "Is he available?"

"The King?" Debra asked with a laugh. Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos exchanged wide looks as Debra examined them with a smile. "He's finishing up his 1:15 right now."

"Great." Older Mal sighed and turned around. "Come on guys, we're going to go see his royal pain in my rear."

"The king?" Mal blinked. "As in, the ruler of Auradon?" Older Mal nodded and thanked Debra quietly. She began to walk down a hallway. The core four followed behind closely. At the end of the hall was a single doorway on the left side with a plaque reading: King Benjamin on it. Mal stared at the plaque. Last she checked, the Beast's name had been Adam, not Ben. Ben was the prince. The fact that this read King Ben meant that the throne had been… passed on.

Older Mal put her hand on the handle without knocking and Evie gasped. "You can't just barge into the King's office!" She hissed, looking worriedly at the door.

Older Mal deadpanned at them. "Why not?" She asked.

"He'll get mad!" Evie whispered, twisting her hands together. Older Mal scoffed at them and twisted the handle. She pushed the door open with her foot and walked into the room. Immediately, a little shriek echoed from inside. Evie winced before they watched Mal scoop up a tiny torpedo of purple, who jumped into her arms and almost knocked her feet out from under her. They all took a cautious few steps inside.

The King's office had a large window behind a wooden desk in the center of the room. Paintings were hung around the room and books were packed into a bookcase to the immediate left of the desk. A woman with long, dark braids peered out and smiled when she saw them outside. "Wow, now there's some nostalgia!" She laughed. "Come on in, guys." She swept open the door wider. "We were just leaving. Come on, Jay."

Jay's head swiveled as a tall, caramel-skinned person appeared behind the woman, putting a hand on her shoulder. He blinked softly at them with dark, piercing eyes. "Wow." He hummed. "My hair was so bad when I was twelve." In response, Jay's lips pinched into a frown, but there was no denying that this older version of Jay has much, much better hair.

"It's bad no matter what." The woman joked, bumping him with her hip.

"You love my hair." Older Jay laughed, catching her in his grasp and kissing her forehead. "Well, have a nice meeting, you kids. See you in the mirror in a few years." They let the kids slip into the office beside them and shut the door behind them. Evie, Jay, Carlos, and Mal turned around in shock, just in time to watch Older Mal set down a child who looked about seven as an older girl, only ten though, slumped into her chair with a colossal groan.

"Meetings are so boring!" She exclaimed, dragging her toes into the floor as her purple hair draped over her shoulders like a cloud. "Why do I have to do them?"

"You and me both, Co-co." Mal hummed. She bent down, peppering the little boy's face with kisses as he giggled and hugged her legs. Behind the desk was a tall man with sandy blonde hair and brown eyes, who watched Mal kiss her son with a bright smile. Because really, that's what this was, right? Her son? With her bright purple hair and green eyes who was holding onto her for dear life? Mal felt like she might faint, especially as the man behind the desk with the same dark eye's as Older Mal's daughter focused on her and let a smirk pull at the corners of his mouth.

"Alright, baby, let me through." Older Mal hummed. Her son let go of her legs and sat against his father's desk as Older Mal walked around the desk.

"Heard you had a meltdown." The king hummed, sitting up as she walked towards him. Older Mal let out a disparaged sound. Ben stood up and tugged her into his arms. She laid her head on his chest as he rubbed her back comfortingly.

Mal exchanged bewildered looks with her friends. That was the King of Auradon. And the children in this room had his skin and her hair. And she was hugging him. "So… what's going on here?" She interjected.

King Ben hummed. "I'm hugging my wife." He told them. Mal deflated. Older Mal wasn't just a bizarre interpretation of what she could be if she'd grown up in Auradon, she was Queen Mal. Mal sat down hard in one of the chairs alongside the palace. The ten-year-old, Co-co, sat up and poked Mal's arm. "You look like me." She yawned.

"That's your mom, Colette." King Ben hummed, rubbing Queen Mal's arms. "You okay?" He whispered. She shrugged and sighed before turning around to the bewildered kids.

"Colette, Jordan, I need you to go play for a little while." Queen Mal requested, rubbing a hand over her face. "Daddy and I have a meeting with Evie, Jay, Carlos, and Mal."

Despite the bizarre situation, both kids nodded and went to the door. Colette stopped to steal a hug from her mom before disappearing out the door behind Jordan. Queen Mal waved to them as they left the room. "Colette Hope and Jordan Truth." She yawned. "Yes, I know their names are cheesy. Ben liked them and I was high on painkillers." She elbowed her husband as he offered her his chair with a roll of his eyes.

"You married the king." Mal hummed flatly. "Yeah, that sounds realistic. What sort of elaborate prank is this?"

"You're clearly not taking me seriously, so I'm just going to start talking." Older Mal grumbled. King Ben sat down in the seat his daughter had vacated with an eyeroll as Queen Mal twiddled her thumbs together and began to explain. "When I was sixteen, Then-Prince Benjamin was just about to ascend the throne when he issued his first proclamation, which stated the children on the Isle of the Lost should be given a chance to chose good and live in Auradon. He invited me and my friends over, and our parents sent us, hoping we'd be able to steal the wand from Fairy Godmother to free them on the Isle of the Lost. Once here, we learned that Ben's girlfriend would be allowed to stand at the front during his coronation when the wand would be used to swear him in as king. One love spell later, I was dating the king."

"Let me guess." Jay snorted. "She saw how great Love was and how happy everyone in Auradon was and decided to stay?"

"Basically." Queen Mal nodded. The core four stared at her incredulously. She shrugged. "Carlos decided he liked not being hit and mauled by his mother and also learned that he liked dogs, so he stayed. And Jay learned he was more of a team player who liked sports and not starving to death and stealing the same things over and over again, so he stayed. Evie had a prince let her down hard and picked up on chemistry as a consequence. She became a fashion diva on campus and a science star and decided she didn't want to go either. And I fell in love with the king. We all stayed in Auradon and helped bring kids over from the Isle."

"I was let down by a prince?" Evie asked, lip coming out in a pout.

"Oh, hard." Queen Mal nodded. She fiddled with something under King Ben's desk and then pulled a soda pop out from underneath it with a smirk to Ben, who rolled his eyes. She popped it open and took a sip. "You guys can sit down." She told the three standing VK's. "He told you that if you knocked out his homework with yours, he'd have time to spend with you. And then when Ben dumped his girlfriend for me, he turned around and picked that girl up. And then, he reported you for cheating with your mother's magic mirror. Your future husband saved your tail, and you started buckling down to study chemistry. And hey, what do you know, you got a different sort of chemistry with him after that. He helped you start up your fashion business, you got married out of Auradon Prep, and you have three kids right now and you say you're done."

"How many rooms are in his palace?" Evie asked, taking a seat near the desk and clasping her hands together.

"You mean your palace?" Queen Mal raised an eyebrow. "You bought your own palace with the money you earned from your dress business. And Doug, who is your husband, isn't a prince. He's the son of Dopey, one of the Dwarves from Snow White's Tale."

Evie stared at Queen Mal in incredulous horror. Queen Mal took a sip of her drink and didn't retract her statements as she pulled out her phone and started flipping through it. After a long pause, she held the screen out. "I have an album of you guys. Here. Swipe right."

Evie stood up and went to take the phone from Queen Mal with shaking hands. Carlos craned his head over her shoulder, staring in shock. Mal's fingers itched as Evie examined what she assumed was her future husband and children. Then she hissed out: "I look so good," And Mal had to hold back a snort.

"Carlos!" Queen Mal snapped to attention suddenly, making Carlos jump in his seat. "Ben introduces you to Dude, who is a dog. You end up falling in love with dogs and you and Jane adopt three after you get married. You have one child but really, all the dogs are treated just as well as your kid, so whatever. You're a computer technician who's also done lots of work on developing prosthetics for animals and for people." She drummed her fingers on Ben's desk. "I'll show you pictures after Evie finishes examining herself."

"Oh! Sorry!" Evie exclaimed, standing up and passing the phone back to Queen Mal. She redirected the pictures and extended the phone to Carlos before pressing her fingertips to her forehead.

"You okay?" Ben asked, sitting up.

"Headache." Queen Mal sighed. "Jay, you play this sport… it's called tourney. You do it professionally… I think you have one of the longest careers in the game. And you married Lonnie, who you saw walk out, and you two have twin girls at home right now. They're five, and they're both cute, but trouble. She's technically a hero's daughter, but since she's not royalty you get to avoid the courts, which is sad for me because now I'm alone."

Carlos, it seemed, had figured out to navigate Mal's phone. He turned around to show Jay the pictures of what he had found, and a look of amazement spread across his face. Queen Mal turned to the younger Mal, who was sitting rigid and pressing her lips into a firm line. "You're queen. You're married. Your mom is a lizard and a resident of the Auradon Reptilian institute after you shrunk her down to keep her from taking over Auradon. You have an art studio and two beautiful kids. What more do you want to know?"

"How do I know you're not lying?" Mal demanded, examining her older self with a scrutinizing gaze. "And how'd we get here from the Isle? And how do we go back? Who are you really?"

Queen Mal stared at Mal like she couldn't believe a child could be so stupid. "You literally saw the square entrance from the Isle vanish in front of your eyes, you can see the barrier behind you, and I don't care how much dirt is on your face, we're so clearly the same person it's ridiculous. What more proof do you want?"

"How did we get here?" Mal deadpanned, squinting suspiciously at Queen Mal.

"No idea." Queen Mal shrugged. "I just know you're my two o'clock meeting, just like I was the older, well, my older Queen Mal's meeting." She frowned and mumbled under her breath: "Wow, I'm old now."

"And did you believe her then?" Mal asked.

Queen Mal shook her head and rolled her eyes. "No, but I can just tell you good luck trying to deny everything for the next five years. You really might as well go announce to the Isle you're going to be queen one day for all you can do to stop this from happening." She locked eyes with her husband across the room and they shared a mutual eye-roll. Mal bristled indignantly.

"I think you're lying, and I think this is a prank!" She snapped. "Who set you up to this, the pirates? There's no way that's actually the Isle out there! You must be pulling some sort of… hypnosis trick! That's it, you've teamed up with Facilier, or with Kaa the snake! None of this is real!"

King Ben let out a disbelieving groan and slumped down into his chair beside her. Queen Mal pinched the bridge between her eyes. "Did you take it like this?" She asked King Ben.

King Ben shook his head. "No, I just accepted everything and was a bit too starry-eyed about you."

"So you didn't even react. Okay." Queen Mal rolled her eyes. Ben snorted and shook his head, hiding his face in his hands as he continued rolling his eyes over Mal's reaction. Queen Mal leaned towards Mal. "Listen, sweetheart, this is how it'll work. You're gonna spend the next four years of your life snapping at all your friends about how this never happened until the day it happens, and then you'll be spinning your tires, knowing you recognize him, knowing that everything is playing out just like I said it would, and you're gonna have to accept that one day you'll be me, and that's the beginning and end of this." She closed her eyes and leaned back into her chair, picking up her soda and taking a long drink.

"I won't let it happen," Mal replied vehemently. "You might have been weak enough to slip and fall, but when I get my chance to rule and terrorize Auradon, I won't let my mother down."

"You tell yourself that sweetheart." Queen Mal replied with an eye-roll. She propped her feet up on the desk and then opened one eye to watch King Ben's dismayed expression. "And, technically, you do get to rule and terrorize Auradon. I mean, believe me, everyone freaked out and panicked when Ben asked me to marry him."

"You posted a picture that read 'Well, I guess I'm fulfilling my mom's dream after all. #fivestepsfromthekingdom."' King Ben retorted. He stood up and walked to the desk. He stood behind the chair and put his hands on her shoulders before kissing the side of her head.

"It's always fun to poke at your kingdom." Queen Mal hummed, leaning back as he ran his fingers through her trademark purple hair.

"Do you like being a queen?" Evie asked, looking up from Queen Mal's cellphone. Queen Mal wrinkled her nose.

King Ben laughed. "She doesn't like it at the moment. Sometimes it's okay, but not when she's pregnant and has to sit through meetings about ocean pollution."

"Is that today?" Queen Mal whirled around, staring at King Ben in horror. He nodded with a sympathetic look. Mal let out a groan, slumping into his chair and swigging her soda. "I'm canceling." She declared. "And I'm going to sit in the bathtub and paint with my watercolors."

"You've canceled twice." Ben shook his head. "And for actual reasons. You can't cancel a third time just because you don't want to go."

"With bubble bath. And five pounds of Epson Salts. And loud Isle music." Queen Mal continued, ignoring him shaking his head. "And strawberries. Lots and lots of strawberries. And maybe pickles, peppers, and spicy Doritos."

"After your meeting." King Ben prompted. Queen Mal let out a tortured groan. "It's only six more years." He reminded her. "And then you can focus your time on painting and wasting the country's Epson Salt reserves."

"We ought to just take up investment by purchasing the hot springs near the North Mountains." Queen Mal mumbled, pouting as she nursed her soda.

"In the grand scheme of things, it might save us more money than if we buy individual bags of salt." King Ben shrugged.

"Mal, I need you to know about strawberries." Queen Mal changed the subject, nodding to the young girl sitting alone on the left side of the room. "They are the fruit of the gods."

"That's persimmon." King Ben sighed, still running his fingers through her scalp.

"The fruit of the angels, then." Queen Mal rolled her eyes. "They're red, with small seeds in the sides, and they're absolutely heavenly. I could literally live on strawberries."

"You literally tried that when you were nineteen and we literally almost took you to the hospital." King Ben deadpanned, leaning forward to raise an eyebrow at her. He was mocking her use of the word 'literally'.

"I could literally die on strawberries." Mal rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose at her husband. "You're going to love them. They're amazing. But, as a forewarning, when Ben asks if you want to try escargot, say no. It's a trap."

"Isn't that snail?" Evie asked, crossing her legs as she gazed in wonder at the portraits around the room. Two were of a very regal-looking Ben and Mal with crowns placed atop their heads.

King Ben and Queen Mal both nodded, the latter with green tones in her cheeks. She bent down and raffled underneath Ben's desk for a moment, and then produced a box of saltine crackers from underneath. Ben sighed. "Why are you raiding my stash? All your favorites are under your desk."

"But my desk is that way, in a different room." Queen Mal sighed, pointing to the left side of his office. "And I'm hungry now." She opened the box and withdrew a stack of crackers before offering him a few. Carlos's stomach growled. Ben took the crackers from her and passed them to Carlos before Queen Mal withdrew a second stack. Mal squinted suspiciously as Carlos opened the package.

"So, this is supposed to be a different time, right?" She asked as Carlos offered the package to both Evie and Carlos before standing and walking to her.

"It's the year 41." Queen Mal replied. "I'm thirty-seven, almost thirty-eight. I'm twenty-six years older than you."

"Is Mom still alive?" Mal asked.

"She's a lizard. I mentioned that, right? We're not really sure if she's… coherent or aging." Queen Mal shrugged. She turned the chair and put her hand into Ben's pocket, withdrawing his phone. "You're almost out of time. Want to take these with you?" She reached under the desk and pulled out a box of granola bars and a box of fruit snacks. Ben rolled his eyes and Queen Mal squinted at him. "You can steal mine." She told him. "But I'm not leaving this chair right now to go get them."

"And this all happened to you?" Mal spat. "The square and the closet of purple and marching into the King's office? You did all of this?"

Queen Mal nodded in affirmation lazily. Mal crossed her arms. "Well, I don't know what happened to you, but I'm not going to end up like you. I don't know why you'd want all this anyways."

"The food?" Queen Mal drawled sarcastically. Mal was momentarily taken aback by how similar they sounded. This prissy purple royal certainly sounded like she'd once come from the Isle. "The central heating and air conditioning? The art studio and your sweet husband and your two children?"

"The meetings and the gowns and the responsibilities?" Mal challenged. "The lack of time and space? Throwing away your mom and your roots?"

"Getting out from under mom's thumb, making all your friends happy, meeting dozens of new people?" Queen Mal rose to her feet arching her eyebrow at Mal. "And not to repeat myself or anything, but you get a best friend who knows everything about you, who you get to raise two beautiful kids with?"

"Because you're so happy to be pregnant." Mal crossed her arms. "And bloated and emotional. Nope. Not for me. Sorry, Princey, you'll have to find a new bride. Maybe Evie would enjoy the task." She gestured to her blue-haired friend, who perked up at the idea of marrying a prince.

"I like that idea." Evie hummed, and then looked back towards Queen Mal's phone in Jay's hands. "But… I also like those kids. They look just like me!"

"Check out this uniform, Mal," Jay called, flipping the screen around.

Mal held up a cross hand. "I don't want to see, Jay." Jay lowered the screen, looking a little off-put.

Ben frowned at her. "I'd forgotten how angsty you were." He commented. Queen Mal shook her head like she was embarrassed.

"Well, you'd better get used to it, King Useless. Let me ask: have you actually done anything to fix the Isle? Or is everyone still starving to death underneath that barrier?" Mal stormed over and threw her hands down on the desk. "What kind of heroes let children starve?"

King Ben poked Queen Mal's arm. "That's your first meeting tomorrow." He reminded her. She nodded sadly, and Ben turned back to Mal. "She – you – and Evie, Jay, and Carlos form the approval committee to bring new kids to Auradon and make changes to the Isle. And then I approve changes. So far we have Medicare and instacare, preparation for juvenile internment in Auradon, education, the works. If we took you to the Isle now, you wouldn't even recognize it."

A whooshing sound echoed behind them, and a hole opened up in the floor of the office behind Mal. She turned and stared at it. Evie, Jay, and Carlos stood up. "Is that… us?" Carlos asked, peering through the hole. Mal looked through. She could see Jay, Evie, and Carlos on their beds, and her in her chair, exactly as they'd been before Carlos had alerted them to the heat. Carlos's shoulders slumped. "That means we have to go back." He sighed. "Can't we stay here with you?"

"Are you crazy?" Mal barked. "Um, Carlos? Long live Evil!"

"You married the king of Auradon and shrunk your mom into a lizard." Jay pointed out. "That's almost literally the opposite of Evil."

"I will not marry him!" Mal declared, face turning red. "How dare you – how dare all of you! I'm the daughter of the evilest of them all and I'm going to be just like her! Just you watch!"

King Ben pinched the bridge between his nose, Queen Mal covered her face, and Evie, Jay, and Carlos exchanged doubtful looks. Mal balled her fists up and dared them to challenge her. King Ben cleared his throat. "As much as we'd like to have you, Carlos, we can't. For one, we have no way to keep you here. For two, you have to go so you can come back in a different time. And I promise, Carlos, I don't forget you guys."

"But what if our Ben does something different?" Jay frowned.

"He won't. He gets the same talk you guys do, without the two angsty dragons in the room." Ben assured them, smirking sideways at Queen Mal, who pouted, wrapping her hands around herself.

"Oh, well, goodbye, I guess," Carlos mumbled, glancing down into the hole worriedly.

"It's not goodbye forever," Ben assured him. "You'll see me in four years, so it's more like a 'see you later'."

"Well, see you later, then." Carlos agreed, holding out a hand for Ben to shake. Ben pulled Carlos under his arm. The two exchanged a hug and then Carlos tried to return the box of crackers to the king.

"Keep it." Ben shook his head. "I know you don't get much on the Isle yet." Carlos nodded, peered down into the hole, and jumped in. He vanished. Evie and Jay gasped, but Ben waved away their concerns. "He just went back to his body. Now, who's next?"

Evie twisted her hands and stepped forward for a hug. Ben happily obliged her. She kept her arms around his chest as long as she could and kissed him on the cheek before she turned back to the hole wearily. She jumped in and vanished.

Jay and Ben kept it simple with a fist-bump and a bro hug, and then he abruptly stepped forward and hugged Queen Mal tightly. She patted his shoulder with a smile. "It's not for a few more years, Jay. You'll be ready when the time comes."

Jay nodded, turned, and disappeared through the hole. Mal crossed her arms and glared at her counterpart and the king as they wrapped an arm each around the other.

"For the record, I don't believe a word either of you said." Mal snapped. "I know this is all just some crazy prank or scheme that Uma or Harry cooked up to try and make me weak. I know I'll never betray my mom."

Queen Mal sighed and nodded like she'd heard this a million times before. King Ben rolled his eyes. "Well, go on then." He sighed. "Go prove us wrong and let me know in…" he paused, counting in his head. "Twenty-six years how that went for you."

"It goes well." Queen Mal sniffed. "Obviously." She kissed King Ben on the cheek. Mal gagged, and King Ben snorted.

"Watching you act like that is almost like watching Colette when she's in one of her moods." He whispered.

"Except Colette is fifty times more sass and twenty percent less angst." Queen Mal sighed. Mal stamped her foot and turned on her heel, but Queen Mal put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her from leaving. "Something I want to tell you before you go." She hummed and turned the girl back around.

Queen Mal twisted her wedding ring on her finger and Mal pinched her lips as she waited for the Queen to remember the exact wording. "I know you won't start listening to this advice until you're nineteen and you figure it's too late to change anything, so just keep this in the back of your mind until then. Ben likes it when you spread your hand on his shoulder, he likes your head on his ribcage, and if you kiss his ear, you'll send him through the roof. Also, the first… five times he asks to kiss you and the first thirty times he tries, don't let him. You'll know the time is right because the stakes will be set. Got that?"

"I'm not kissing anyone." Mal scoffed. "No one is wooing me, I'm not bowing to any crown, and no one is going to get me pregnant. So, watch out, because I'm not falling for your tricks." She turned away pointedly. She heard the King and Queen both scoff before she jumped into the hole. White filled her vision, along with a loud whoosh, and she opened her eyes to light filling the hideaway as if she'd just woken up. She was stiff from the cold. Her stomach was twisting painfully, but she wasn't tired. She'd slept. It had been a dream.

A clamor arose from the side of the room. Mal sat up. Carlos was on the floor, clamoring at the boards and feeling for something. Evie and Jay sat up, looking dazed, and glanced around. Mal frowned at Carlos. "What are you doing?" She demanded.

Carlos's head snapped up and he shrunk back under the combined gazes of all his friends. "I- I was just…" he trailed off, dragging his fingertips on the floor in a vain attempt to find a groove.

"Just what?" Mal demanded. No one met her gaze and she realized – with shock – that they must have been dreaming together. He was searching for the door.

Carlos shook his head and got up slowly. "Nothing." He assured her, still not meeting her eyes. She knew he was imagining her older self, pregnant and with Ben dragging his fingers through her hair. She set her jaw. "It must have just been a dream." He mumbled.

Silence reigned in the room. Then Jay sat up and said: "No, it wasn't." He leaned to the end of his bed and picked up a box – the box of saltine crackers from under Ben's desk. Evie covered her mouth as Carlos stood, hand shaking as he reached carefully for the box. They tipped the contents out on Jay's bed, staring in shock at the pale crackers and the brightly colored box. Evie took one and bit it, testing to see if it was real – it was.

"Look!" She gasped, picking up a white card that had been left beside the box. Mal snatched it out of her hands. She was so angry that the white card looked pink. Her hand shook as she glared at the words on the card:

"Mal Bertha Fairy, Carlos De Vil, Evie Lynn Grimhilde, and Jay Marriott of the Isle of the Lost are hereby formally invited to meet with the Queen of Auradon on the Evening of May the sixteenth at the time of two o'clock for a Life Appraisal. Proper dress is not required."

Mal threw the card to the ground. "Rubbish!" She hissed. "That is all absolutely rubbish!"

Her friends stared at her. Carlos awkwardly cleared his throat. "Uh, Mal? I think a blood vessel burst in your eye."

Mal ran a hand underneath her lashes and, to her surprise, her red vision cleared. She cursed, loudly, and her friends all jumped as she flicked blood onto the flooring and pointed at them all, leaning in closely. "This is all bull crap." She said, slowly. "Auradon is lying to us, somehow. There's no way they'll ever consider us more than their untouchables and I, for one, am not going to waste my time thinking that this stupid prank is ever going to amount to anything. You really think the crown prince, who's been raised his entire life drowning in jewels and comfort, is going to care about us? You lot can think what you want about whatever… twisted vision or elaborate prank we just experienced, but don't say anything about it to me. I'm not going to let them distract me or get in my head."

She turned around and began looking for a towel or something to wipe the blood out of her eye on. Evie, Jay, and Carlos all exchanged glances. It was bizarre, for sure, but it had struck up an intense feeling of power like they hadn't felt in a long, long time. And on top of that, Mal was acting exactly as her counterpart had predicted, meaning she was likely a long ways away from the threat of being nothing like Queen Mal was. The three folded their arms and quietly picked crackers off the pile as Mal ignored them all and cleaned out her eye. Not say anything, fine. But give up on hope?

Never.

#future #time travel #ben #ben florian #mal #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #jay son of jafar #carlos de vil #fanfic #auradon #disney #disney descendants #descendants #descendants 2 #descendants 3

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dearophelia · 6 years

Text

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 3

Thirty years after the war, things are as close to normal as they’ll get. Garrus is the turian councilor and Olivia runs Galactic Affairs, helping the galaxy rebuild. They’ve happily settled into the life they’ve built. Their kids are grown, and out living their own lives. But something goes wrong on Nora’s latest mission. Very wrong.

chapter 03: there’s truth that lives and truth that dies

In which Jonah puts up with a lot from these assholes, Nora tells her teammates about The Thing, and Garrus makes an appearance. (read on AO3)

Thank you eternally to @nightingaleseeking and @tarysande, and also to everyone else who’s reading and enjoying this.

“Problem Number One,” Jonah says, writing Problem #1 on the board at the front of the room, “is the AA guns. According to these schematics - “

“Which could possibly be out of date,” Micah points out from the couch in the back of the room.

“Yeah,” Nora says, doodling on her tablet, “but we’re ignoring that.” Tucking her feet up underneath her, she accidentally kicks Micah, and whispers an apology. He gives her a small smile in response, then pokes her in the side when she isn’t looking. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Jonah clears his throat. “According to these schematics, they have a battery of AA guns here, here, and here,” he circles three locations, each about five miles away from the base. “And on the roof.”

A chorus of ideas arises from his fellow soldiers. “Hacking them would be easiest.” “EMP cannon would do the trick.” “Cloak the shuttle.” “Hayes is a pretty good shot, he could take ‘em out.” “Hayes isn’t coming and, anyway, I take offense at that.” “Sorry Nora, but you know he’s better than you.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Can we please get all the problems on the board first before you throw solutions at me?”

Alle, sitting on the floor in front of Nora, slurps the remainder of her soda through her straw, and waves her hand through the air: continue.

“Problem Number Two,” Problem #2 goes on the board, “is the base’s shield. We’ll also have to land pretty far back, at least here,” he marks on the map about three miles away, between the AA guns and the base. “The jungle’s too dense closer in, and landing farther out means that our exit is that much farther away.”

Loud music starts to play, sounding spine-gratingly tinny out of omnitool speakers. Love beyond moons, love beyond stars, love will take you anywhere – Rachel gets it turned off before the chorus continues, but not fast enough to keep it from getting stuck in Nora’s head.

“And Montgomery will fix her buggy music app before the mission,” Jonah says.

“I don’t know, man, Kara & the Destinies is pretty solid mission music,” Carlos says with a wide grin.

Rachel throws her stylus at him. It bounces off his shoulder.

Nora catches Jonah’s eye, and jumps back in with the briefing. “While there is some valid concern about snakes during that hike, the shield is a very real problem. It surrounds the entire facility, and if we can’t get it down, we can’t get in. It’s on a cycling frequency, and anything that tries to penetrate it outside of these standard entry points,” she draws little x marks around the base, “gets fried. Predictably, said standard entry points are highly guarded.”

Rachel twists in her chair and looks over her shoulder at Nora. “Is there any chance this is one of those shields where if something’s moving slow enough or fast enough it gets through?”

“No such luck.”

“Problem Number 3,” he doesn’t write on the board this time, “is Vakarian.”

Four sets of eyes turn to stare at her.

“Yeah,” she says slowly. After she told Jonah - after Vega strongly suggested she do so - the two of them talked at length about whether to tell the others; ultimately, they decided it was better they have some mild trust issues than the worst happens and they aren’t prepared. “Cerberus put a control chip in my head when I was a kid. The Alliance fried it and it’s been dead for over twenty years, but it’s there, and a thing you guys need to know about, just in case.”

Carlos pushes himself up out of his inelegant sprawl across the bean bag and sits up straight. “Dumb question.” He looks first at Jonah, then Nora. “Why’s she coming with us?”

Rachel looks up from her omnitool, raises an eyebrow, and points at Carlos, silently seconding his question and sentiment.

“Do you want to go into an unknown situation without her covering your dumb I’m-gonna-punch-the-giant-mech ass?” Alle asks, sitting up straight.

Appreciating the backup, Nora brushes her hand against her friend’s shoulder. Alle’s known about the chip for years, since a sleepover in high school when they broke into Alle’s parents’ alcohol cabinet. Nora discovered that vodka utterly annihilates her mental barriers, and Alle discovered her best friend was walking around with a control chip. Pancakes the next morning had been a little awkward: Alle brimming with questions, and Nora having answers to none of them.

“Not particularly, but that’s – “

“Well, then shut up,” she cuts him off.

Carlos huffs. “That’s not my point, Alle.” His eyes narrow and, when it’s clear he isn’t going to be interrupted again, he continues. “Nora, I love and trust you, but why did anyone think you coming on this mission was a good idea?”

All Nora can do is shrug. Carlos can do the logistics just as well as she can, and come to the same conclusion she did: no one else is available. Chen and Rahiri are on their own mission, and the four on the eezo job are clandestine experts. Because I’m your only option if you want a full team isn’t the greatest answer, but it’s the truth.

“Vega made the call,” Jonah says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “And until he unmakes the call, we’re going with it. Anyone unwilling to take this mission if Vakarian’s on the team – speak now, or forever shut the hell up.”

Nora holds her breath, but no one says a word.

“Right,” Jonah says. “Hopefully, it doesn’t become an issue. But we both thought you should know, in case it does. And that information is classified, not to be shared outside this room.”

“You got it,” Carlos says, looking straight at Nora.

Rachel nods, and Micah squeezes her shoulder. Alle leans her head back on the couch and smiles upside down.

Nora takes a shaky breath and manages a small smile for them. “Thanks, guys.”

With a single nod, Jonah ends that discussion. “Okay. I’m looking for solutions to Problem Number One, and Problem Number Two.”

“I have a solution to Problem Number One,” Rachel says. Long used to Jonah’s precision-like and orderly briefings, she waits for him to acknowledge her before she continues. “Zorya is about to go through an annual meteor shower.” She taps on her omnitool – silencing another snippet of music with a sigh – and projects the image up onto the wall behind Jonah. “It’s major, so they’ll have to turn off their automatic firing solution. If we bring the shuttle in on a trajectory that matches the meteors, and kill the power until we need it to land, we should be able to escape detection.”

Carlos pushes his dark hair out of his face. “Even powered down, isn’t a shuttle kind of obvious on scanners?” He frowns at his hair, too long to be practical and too short to pull out of the way.

Nora wonders how long it’ll be before he asks her to give him a haircut in the back of a shuttle. Again.

“Normally, yes. But according to the intel,” Rachel continues, scrolling through the briefing on her tablet, “their manual sensors aren’t state-of-the-art; it’s basically radar with some simplistic energy imaging. Their defenses rely mostly on their AA guns, the shield, and being in the middle of the jungle on a planet no one bothered rebuilding. If we go in at night, at the peak of the shower, with engines powered down, we’ll read as just another meteor. We’re definitely screwed if someone manages to catch us in night-vision goggles, but the likelihood of that is very small.”

Jonah turns to his board and writes fake being a meteor underneath Problem #1. “Good work,” he says. “Anyone have a solution to Problem Number Two?”

“How does the shield work?” Carlos asks. “They’ve gotta take it down to let people in and out.”

“Did you read the mission briefing?”

“No.”

Jonah’s jaw clenches.

“It’s in eight pieces, like a pie,” Nora says, before the throbbing vein in Jonah’s forehead bursts. “Each of the checkpoints controls an individual section of the shield, and they take it down as necessary. The whole thing doesn’t need to come down to let people in.”

“So Nora takes out the guards, we steal their access cards, take the shield down and run in,” Alle suggests. “Why is this an issue?”

Sighing loudly, Jonah drops his tablet onto the table. “I write these mission briefings for a reason, guys.”

Nora presses her lips together in a wry smile. She learned long ago that half her team doesn’t do well with assigned reading, and shortly thereafter gave up trying to make her own briefings have any ounce of structure and organization; she’d warned Jonah not to count on Alle or Carlos even skimming the briefing he sent out. “Because the pieces are all networked to a central control room. Even if they don’t require permission before lowering their section, someone’s definitely going to notice once it’s down. They can’t answer if they’re dead, and we don’t have nearly enough intel to bullshit our way through that conversation.”

“Back to the meteor shower,” Micah says, finally speaking up. “What are the chances a meteor makes it through the atmosphere, doesn’t completely burn up on entry, and smashes the control panel hard enough to deactivate the shield?”

Rachel blinks at him. “Anything’s possible, but we can’t predict or control that.”

He shrugs. “Don’t have to. A well-placed drill grenade could make a passable meteor crater, especially in the dark. Would also take out the guards, if they’re standing close enough.”

“We need to take out the guards first,” Alle says, and Nora peers over her friend’s shoulder to watch as she draws diagrams. “It’s really specific positioning to blow the panel completely and look like a believable impact crater.” She taps on her tablet and sends her sketchy diagram up onto the display screen.

“Good work,” Jonah says, and writes more meteors underneath Problem #2.

“Before we move on,” Carlos says, “can we go back to Problem Number Three?” He sits up and turns so he’s facing the whole room.

Nora freezes. Naively, she thought they were done with this – that everyone agreeing to forever shut the hell up meant that they were, if not okay with it, at least at peace with it being a fact. But she’s known about it for thirteen years, and she isn’t anywhere near at peace with it. They’ve known for five minutes.

“What are your concerns?” Jonah asks.

“We’re all hoping that nothing happens,” he says gently. “But if something does – what do you want us to do?” he directs his question at Nora.

Nora blinks at him, and then stares down at her hands. She’d never considered that. She doesn’t feel like she can consider that. Considering that makes it a possibility. Though she wants to give Carlos an answer, her mind’s gone completely blank. There’s nothing – no solution, no action, not even an in-poor-taste-and-not-actually-that-funny joke.

There’s nothing, except for the obvious answer. And perhaps the only answer.

When the silence turns awkward, Nora sighs. “Neutralize me,” she says softly. “If it’s clear that I’ve become a liability or a threat, knock me out. I’d rather Micah punch me and deal with the concussion than hurt any of you guys.” She pauses. “Though I’d appreciate it if you also took the effort to haul my ass out of there.”

“I wouldn’t punch you,” Micah says, as if this were any other tactical conversation. “There’s a spot, right there,” he lightly sets his fingers just underneath her jaw, “poke hard enough and you’re out like a light.”

Nora can’t help it, she bursts out laughing. “Thanks,” she says, giving him a wide grin.

He flashes her a warm smile in return and drops his hand to her knee for a moment.

She takes a breath. “I know this blows, but I appreciate you guys having my back.” The other five give her a thumbs up, or a nod, or a smile, and she exhales slowly. Nothing other than finishing the mission will calm her down completely, but she feels a little better for everyone’s support.

“I hate to do this,” Rachel says, breaking the moment, “but I might have a Problem Number Four.” She calls up a topographical map. “The area we’re landing in is thick jungle, at night, with mutated pyjaks, four varieties of poisonous –”

“Venomous,” Alle corrects.

“Whatever snakes, what looks like the occasional boiling mud pit, and it’s also the rainy season. That’s a nightmare of a hike.”

“We’ve been worse places,” Nora says. She grins at Jonah, who glowers at her.

“Carnivorous plant planet.”

“Toxic mud moon.”

“That desert with the acid flash flood.”

“Pygmy squirrels that ate holes in our tents. While we were in them.”

Exasperated, Jonah groans. “Enough. Unfortunately, there’s no great place to land closer. We’ll all just have to watch our step. You’re the medic; bring antivenin. And extra fuel for the flamethrower – fire kills everything.”

“Except for the giant murderplant,” Carlos mutters.

Micah stares at Carlos. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“It tried to eat my entire arm,” he says, enunciating every word. “No.”

“We had knives,” Nora says. “You were fine.”

With a huff, Carlos slides a little further down, now halfway on the floor. “I hate both of you,” he grumbles.

Love beyond moons, love beyond – Rachel growls and glares at her omnitool.

“Thank you,” Jonah says. “We’re done. I’ll have an infiltration plan ready by the time we leave tomorrow. Go be somewhere else. Please.”

***

They’ve been brought to a small room, just a couch, two chairs, a coffee table, and a dying plant in the corner beside the window. They already heard the report: Chakwas’ and Miranda’s assessments were correct – it’s too risky to operate, but the chip is dead. Nora is otherwise a very healthy, very normal, little girl.

And Olivia convinced the Alliance to let them adopt her. Garrus brushes his hand against his wife’s as the other door opens, revealing Nora and an Alliance counselor. Nora stares at her feet as she shuffles in, and she looks about as unhappy as one small human can look.

The counselor gives her hand a squeeze and bends down to whisper something to her.

Somewhat reluctantly, Nora looks up. Her eyes widen, and she lets out a small gasp when she sees Olivia. She drops the counselor’s hand and runs toward Olivia as fast as her short legs can take her.

Smiling, Olivia crouches down to Nora’s level and catches her as she flings herself into a hug. “Hey,” she says softly, wrapping her arms tight around the small girl. “You okay?”

Nora buries her face in Olivia’s shoulder. Though she whimpers a little, she nods. Garrus watches as Nora almost melts into Olivia’s embrace. He’s long sworn that Olivia’s hugs have magical powers, and Nora seems just as vulnerable to that comforting magic as he and their sons are.

“I’m so sorry I had to leave,” Olivia whispers as she rubs Nora’s back. “But I promise I’m not leaving ever again.”

Garrus smiles as he watches the two of them. His heart swells, just as it did five years ago when they were introduced to the two small boys who would become their sons.

Olivia presses a kiss to Nora’s temple. She looks up at the Alliance counselor. “Can you give us a minute, please?”

The woman nods and shuts the door behind her.

Olivia effortlessly lifts Nora as she stands up. She settles her against her hip. “I want you to meet someone.”

Nora looks up and opens her eyes, following where Olivia points. She takes in a short breath and her eyes widen when she sees him – but not in fear. Garrus has seen fear on enough humans to recognize it, even in a child. No, Nora’s eyes are full of curiosity. He gives her a little wave.

“That’s Garrus,” Olivia says. “And if you’re okay with it,” she looks at him and smiles a smile that still makes his knees a bit weak, and then focuses back on Nora, “we’d like to be your mom and dad.”

Nora looks at her, and then looks at him. Back to Olivia, back to him. After a moment, she wriggles until Olivia sets her down. Slowly, she walks the few steps over to him. She looks up with the same wide, curious brown eyes and lifts up her arms expectantly.

Olivia stifles a laugh. Carefully, Garrus picks Nora up. She’s different than their boys, a little softer and wider, and it takes a few seconds to shift and get her comfortable. But once she’s settled, safe and secure in his arms, he smiles at her.

“Hi,” he says quietly. The same warmth he felt the first time he held his other two children, and the warmth that’s only grown in the five years since, brightens in his chest. She stares at him, almost through him. A curl falls into her face and he pushes it back, brushing his talon against her cheek.

Nora blinks.

“Is that a yes?” Garrus asks. He looks over at Olivia for confirmation – maybe there’s a method of human toddler communication he hasn’t read about. Olivia shrugs, but a smile grows across her face.

If it is a yes, Olivia will stay here with her for a few days while the Alliance creates all of Nora’s paperwork and runs a final battery of tests on the chip. He’ll bring Nico and Quentus by tomorrow to introduce her; they’re already so excited about having a little sister, and he’s promised to help them put glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling tonight. If it isn’t – well, he honestly can’t imagine any way that it isn’t a yes.

Nora blinks once more, and rests her head against his carapace.

He looks from his daughter, settled in his arms with her eyes closed, to his wife, standing in front of him with sparkling eyes, and smiles.

***

When she gets back to her quarters that night – new visor, strawberry-orange smoothie, and takeout noodles securely in hand – Nora drops into a chair. She’d been looking forward to having some time to herself, but now wishes she’d accepted the invitation to join Alle for dinner with her parents. The apartment they share on Tereshkova is tucked in a corner of the Alliance’s military housing section, away from the crowds and noise. She’s left with the gentle hum of the station’s power grid, and her thoughts.

She was fine about the mission. She was fine about the control chip. She was fine about Cerberus. She was fine about the control chip in her head during this Cerberus mission. At least, she’d convinced herself she was fine. And then Carlos asked what she wanted them to do if everything wasn’t fine.

And then the idea that things might not be fine became a reality. A reality she’s been trying very, very hard to ignore for years.

While there’s still time for her to head to Shenzhou and catch up with Deck’s team, there isn’t enough time to get someone else back from Shenzhou to Haliat-Gemini in time to make their departure. The meteor shower’s window of opportunity is too narrow to wait around. If she leaves, her team will be going in one man down.

One big-enough-problem-to-mention-in-the-briefing man down, but a man down all the same.

Micah could make the shot to take out the shield checkpoint guards easily enough, and Carlos is a decent enough grenadier in a pinch, but it isn’t just a matter of hastily replicating her skillset: she’s an extra body, an extra gun, an extra set of eyes.

Sighing, she stands up and moves to the table so she can eat dinner without dropping every second noodle onto her lap. She puts on the latest episode of Real World 7: Citadel Redux – she’s missed a few episodes, but this season hasn’t been that great anyway – and eats her dinner while watching a barely-legal batarian try to pick a fight with an asari matriarch about washing dishes. The matriarch silently puts the batarian in a stasis field and walks away. Half a minute later, she comes back, and sticks a handwritten sign to the batarian’s chest: I am in Time Out because I didn’t respect my elders.

That at least explains one of the memes Quentus sent her.

The episode ends, and Nora dumps her trash into the matter recycler. She exhales loudly in the quiet room, so much restless energy running through her veins she feels like she might vibrate out of her own skin.

She tidies up the living room, throws out everything unidentifiable in the fridge (which is most of its contents), takes out all the trash, starts a load of laundry, and even cleans her gun. All of it takes less than an hour, and when she puts her rifle, all shiny and clean, back together, she has to grit her teeth to keep from screaming when she can’t get the scope back in place by the third try.

With a sharp exhale, Nora forces herself to put the scope down and walk away from the weapons bench before she gets so worked up she breaks something.

Good air in, bad air out. Four deep breaths, and she’s settled enough to think clearly. Not settled enough to be calm, but at least not on the verge of smashing an extremely expensive custom-ordered piece of equipment. Progress.

A quick glance at the clock tells her it’s still daytime on the Citadel. She opens up her computer and starts her vidcall program, dialing a private and highly-secure number. It connects almost instantly.

“Councilor Vakar- oh, hello Nora.”

“Hi, Kyra.” Nora smiles at her father’s assistant. Kyra’s been around as long as she can remember. “Is my dad available?”

“Yes. One moment.”

“Thanks,” she says, even though Kyra’s already blinked out, replaced by the please hold screen.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

Nora feels like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. She smiles. “Hi, Dad.”

He returns the smile, and then tilts his head. “Are you okay?”

“Freaking out a little, about a mission. Do you have a minute to talk me through something?” She tries not to call him in the middle of the day, but she has twelve hours to make her decision. If she calls her mother, she’ll get nice advice about following her gut, which won’t actually help. If she calls either of her brothers, they’ll tell her to stop being stupid, and to bail and go with the eezo job. Her father will tell her something useful, he always has.

“Always. What’s going on?”

She takes a deep breath. “Mission A is infiltrating a Cerberus research base and,” she taps on her head. “We don’t know what the research is. I could be a liability.”

He nods. “Alright. What’s Mission B?”

“Mission B is a non-combat recon mission that isn’t much more than show up, see what happens. Vega wants me on the Cerberus mission, but gave me the option of switching. Like an idiot, I told him I’d do it before I really thought about it...and before I told my team about it and before one of them asked me what I wanted them to do in case, you know,” she gestures, knowing better than to tempt fate. “And now that’s kind of all I can think about and I’m freaking out and really regretting telling Vega I’d do this.” She pauses and takes a controlled breath to slow down. “But if I switch now, we can’t get someone from Mission B to join. There’s a timing thing.”

He leans forward and his mandibles flicker in thought. “So, your options are: go on the Cerberus mission, possibly putting yourself and your team in danger if they’re doing the wrong kind of research. Or leave your team one man down on a job that needed an extra man.”

Nora grimaces. Lousy choices all around. “Yeah. What do you think?”

He’s silent for a long moment as he thinks about it. The silence made her antsy as a kid, but now she can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “As your dad, I’d tell you to say screw your team and not walk into an unknown Cerberus research lab. But,” he pauses, looks away from the screen, and then looks back.

He suddenly looks so much older.

“As a soldier, I’d tell you not to leave your team one gun short because of something that might happen.”

With a quiet sigh, Nora nods. The weight settles back on her shoulders, but it’s a calmer, more resigned weight this time. It’s a terrible decision, and it’s the right one. “That’s what I thought. I just needed to hear someone else say it.”

“Are you worried about the chip?”

“More than normal, yeah.” She runs her open palm through her hair and over the back of her head. She’s been looking for years, and she’s never found a scar.

“Here’s some unsolicited advice from an old turian who once spent some time on a Cerberus ship: you can’t anticipate their every move, no matter how much you try. So, focus on the moves you can anticipate: how to get in, disable security, get what you need, and get out.”

“And if shit happens?”

“You have your entire team behind you.”

Nora smiles, and her anxiety starts to melt into background noise: low and present, but ignorable. “Thanks, Dad.”

His mandibles flick out in a smile, and then his eyes glance down to the bottom corner of his screen. “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

She nods. It’s amazing she even caught him. “It’s okay.”

“And if Blasto’s gone by the time you get back, I will pull some strings and make sure we get to see it in a theater.”

“Totally responsible use of power, Dad.”

“Hey,” he says, “if I can’t leverage it to see a terrible movie with my daughter, what’s the point of being councilor?”

Laughing, Nora shakes her head. “Go to your meeting.”

“Good luck on your mission. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

#tarysande #nightingaleseeking #s:words #s:2018 #s:set your flag #long post for mobile ts

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simpcitybaby · 7 years

Text

Who You Are.

Request: Can you do a Carlos De Vil x reader where she is daughter of Moana and they don’t get along at first but they become friends and then she tries to avoid him because she starts to catch feelings and he confronts her

A/N: I tried to make this as cute as possible. I’ve been slacking a bit so bear with me please! I didn’t really know how to incorporate being Moana’s daughter but I tried to make a baby correlation. Enjoy!

Y/N L/N, the daughter of Moana, was her polar opposite. The squishy chlorophyll green grass beneath Y/N’s feet brought her a sense of comfort. The warm sidewalk on a beaming day made a beautiful canvas for her drawings. The tall swirly trees that provided shade for her during the hottest days put a smile on her face. She loved to fall asleep under them or read books, soothing little things. The girl was in love with the deep blue sea and all of the secrets it held but she was perfectly content with her life on land.

The free spirited girl quickly friended the beastly King Ben before he was a king. She was the first to find out about Ben’s idea to bring over the Core Four to which she dissented. The thought of having villains in Auradon was simply appalling, it caused a bubbly feeling in her stomach which made her want to vomit. The H/C girl had never encountered such villains, she had no idea of what they were capable of.

When the Core Four arrived, she had the job of taking both Mal and Evie to their luxurious shared dorm. The blue haired girl admired Y/N’s ambition and spunk which resulted in their friendship. Maleficent’s daughter on the other hand was not so trusting but later on decided that being friends with Moana’s daughter would give her a form of brownie points. Whenever the two girls had questions, they came to her.

Cruella De Vil’s son was a different story, he was sweet and dorky, quite the opposite of the stereotypical villain kid, but he absolutely despised the daughter of Moana. As retaliation, she claimed that she despised him as well, every single hateful comment thrown her way was thrown back at him.

“You can’t always get what you want, Y/N!” Carlos was fuming, he hated the fact that Ben favored her over him. Whenever he would pitch ideas, he’d get pushed to the side.

“It’s not my fault that your ideas suck, Carlos.” The girl who was normally seen smiling around campus was now scowling at the white haired boy. The two of them were paired to pitch cotillion themes, it was their job to top the one that Jane had planned the previous year.

“No one wants to dress like 50′s versions of their parents!” Y/N rolled her eyes before saying, “Vintage is cute and it’s in right now, people would love to look dapper for a day!”

A hand ran through Carlos’s curly white locks as he sighed, “Why can’t everyone wear all leather like the villains?”

A voice piped in that was unknown to the conversation but known to the pair involved, “I vote on vintage.” The crown that sat upon the King’s head glistened as he smiled. “I love little bow ties and maybe some retro glasses.” Ben then clapped his hands together, announcing that vintage was the theme of the cotillion before running to have Evie make his tux.

The freckle faced boy let his head fall into his awaiting hands, a quiet sob racking his body. Y/N’s E/C eyes glanced up at the crying boy, causing a discomforting feeling to take place in her stomach. “What do you say about a compromise?” Her swivel chair slowly wheeled over to his before she rubbed soothing little circles on his back.

“I can never do anything right, Y/N. Not even here in Auradon.” His glistening brown eyes met her E/C ones. “That’s not true and you know it. You’re at the top of all of your classes, you’ve made many friends, and you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Carlos took a hold of Y/N’s free hand and whispered, “Why are you being so nice to me? I thought we had a mutual hatred for one another.” This caused the girl to let out a hearty giggle, “You’re the one who hates me, I’m just that good at acting.” Her thumb brushed his wet rosy cheeks, “I’m nicer than I seem.”

Carlos was being particularly touchy this day as he laid his hand on top of Y/N’s resting one. “I can see that. Thank you, Y/N.”

The next few weeks Carlos and Y/N grew closer and closer, they began enjoying each others company. She’d show up outside of his classes waiting for him while he met her at her dorm in the morning. A bubbly feeling would erupt in her stomach every time she saw him which scared her to no end.

One day, Y/N slowly started pulling away from their friendship which confused the hell out of Carlos along with the rest of the core four. Ben confronted her about it and only laughed at how naive she was when she told him about the nauseous feeling in her stomach.

“You like him! No no wait, you looooooovvvveeeeeee him!” This earned Ben a slap to his chest but it didn’t stop his laughter. “Just talk to him about it, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Y/N’s jaw dropped at his suggestion, “You say that as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Many people have to live with the fear of their crush not liking them back and I am one of those people. I’m scared, I just don’t think that I’m the apple of his eye.”

Ben couldn’t believe his ears, he thought that she was amazing and knew that Carlos thought the same. “You know that he’ll find you right?” She shook her head as she let a curt, “No” roll off of her tongue. Ben went to open his mouth once more before she cupped a hand over his mouth, “Evie has to fit my dress for cotillion.” A huge sigh left Ben’s lips, “He’s going to find out!”

The H/C girl had her head down as she walked into Mal and Evie’s room uninvited, “So I was thinking that my dress could be F/C--”

The boy that she had been trying her best to avoid for the past month was now standing in front of her with his arms crossed. “Um I’ll just leave you two alone.” Evie whistled a little tune as she shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Y/N rolled her eyes, “Because I don’t like you.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it.” A beat wasn’t missed when Y/N responded with, “It’s not a lie, I don’t like you. I want to take my friendship elsewhere.”

“You don’t want to do that.” The striking boy with the white curly hair and freckles smirked a bit as he inched closer. “Stop coming so close. I really don’t like you.”

She turned around in order to leave but was met with Carlos standing in front of the door. “Are you some kind of vampire with supersonic speed because that would explain how you got to the door so fast.”

“Just admit that you like me and we can be done here.”

“Why are you being such an asshole?”

Her plump lips were turning a darker shade of red as she chewed on her lower lip, “Carlos, move.”

His hands were now brushing the sides of her waist, “I’m not leaving until you admit that you like me.”

Y/N looked Carlos dead in the eye and said, “I don’t like you.”

The bad thing about being friends with Carlos for so long is that he picked up her habits. He knew that she loved to sit under shaded trees and that the squishy-ness of the grass gave her comfort. He knew that she was down to earth in the most literal way and he adored her. He knew that she was a good actress but he was a bit too observant. When she lied, her left eyebrow raised a bit.

“So if I kissed you right now, you’d still deny all feelings for me?” The girl nodded, her stubbornness drove him mad.

“Kiss me.”

The pair molded into one another, both parties running their hands on each other. His lips were on hers in a matter of seconds, the kiss was a bit feverish. Her hands rested on his cheeks like the day of the cotillion planning while he hands gripped both sides of her waist. There would obviously be marks tomorrow from how tight he was holding her. She slipped her tongue in his mouth as they battled for dominance, in the end he let her win. Y/N’s right hand moved into Carlos’s hair causing him to let out a moan. Their lungs mutually begged for air before they pulled apart.

“I don’t like you.” The girl now had swollen lips that she would have to hide from her elders and her classmates. She loved him and he damn well knew it.

“Whatever you say, I’ll see you tomorrow so that we can go get breakfast.”

The villain kid and the Auradon girl, two pieces of an unexpected puzzle. The land kept surprising her in mysterious ways, this time a boy was brought her way and if the whispers of the wind or the wild spirited nature brought him to her, he was here to stay.

Forever he stayed.

#carlos de vil #Carlos x reader #carlos de vil imagine #Carlos de vil x reader #Cameron Boyce #descendants #disney's descendants

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

The Cittadino

by Paul Tedo & Tom Myers

He exited the plane wearing a heavy wool shirt, puffing a thick stogy, a three-foot salami clamped under his arm, a gallon of Carlo Rossi dangling from his left hand, and the crumpled fedora propped sideways atop his head. Wild strands of white hair escaping every which-way from beneath his hat.

“Thank you for flying TWA,” said the woman standing at the top of the stairs, clad in a blue suit, silver wings affixed to her shoulders, looking prim, proper, and relieved.

“Si,” the old man grumbled.

Spotting his grandpa, Gio’s rush of excitement was uncontainable. Breaking free from his father’s grip, the six year-old ran to greet the old man.

“Gio, wait!” his father yelled.

The boy would have none of it. Like a determined Marine storming the beach, he weaved through the crowds waiting for their loved ones, and threw himself at the old man.

“Nonno!”

“Gio!” the old man gasped. “My Gio!”

The boy’s father pushed his way through. “Excuse me, that’s my son, my father, excuse me.”

The crowd gave him room.

Roberto and Pasquale’s eyes met. “Pops, how you doing?”

“Here, take.” The old man handed him the salami. Its pungent aroma was an affront to Roberto’s senses.

“Jesus, on a plane?” Roberto said holding the meat at arm’s length.

“No good food on plane,” his father replied. He removed a hunk of smelly cheese from his shirt pocket handing it to the boy. “For you, Gio.”

He studied the cheese as if it was a puzzle.

“Eat,” the old man said, nudging it towards the little boy’s mouth. “Good for muscoli.” The old man raised his arms like a boxer.

“Pops, don’t start.”

“Start!” The old man’s voice rose. “Start what?”

“What you do. With all the shit. The way you are. Different.”

“What shit? You no like differenti?”

Pasquale unscrewed Carlo Rossi’s cap, while not relinquishing his stogy, held the jug sideways over his shoulder, and took a long drink. “Bene, multo bene.”

Gio nibbled on the cheese, savoring each bite, intermittently inspecting his muscles to see if they had grown.

“How was your flight?” Roberto asked, trying to say the right thing.

“Up, down.” Pasquale waved his hand. “Agita de stomaco, but good now. Cigar helps.” He took another long slow draw, blew the smoke into the air, and shook his head.

The old man’s gaze turned towards the gate area. “Sit. I need to sit.”

Before Roberto could stop him, the old man shuffled towards the crowded seating area. He scanned the space, shook his head again, and walked towards a man dressed in a suit, seated on the aisle, with his nose deep in a book. “You… move.”

The man looked up, his eyes revealing his surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“No beg, move. I sit here.”

“I never…-“

“Va with your never.” He flipped his hand under his chin.”You,” he pointed again to the startled bookworm. “Move!” Motioning to an empty seat.

The guy slammed his book shut, stood, and walked away, mumbling to himself.

“I sit,” he said to his son.

Pasquale tapped the seat next to him and turned to Gio. “Viene qui.”

The little boy smiled, finished his cheese, and nuzzled into the seat next to his nonno.

The old man removed an object from his shirt.

“Pops, no!” Roberto, panic-stricken, looked around as if the old man had just escaped from prison. “Pops, not here!”

The old man waved his hand. “Salami, give to me.”

“What is it with you? You’re not…”

“Not what? In old country?” He flicked his cigar ash on the floor. “I know. I work in this country. Long hard. Blood and the sweat. America is my country.”

“Pops,” Roberto protested.

“Salami!” Pasquale raised his voice. “Give.”

Roberto relented. “Five minutes, that’s it. Then we’re gone.” Roberto handed the snake-like meat to his father.

Pasquale studied the salami carefully, then methodically unfolded the blade of his pearl-handled pocket knife, and with surgeon-like precision peeled the casing from the meat, saving the skin in his pocket, then sliced off a hearty piece for himself, and a smaller one for the boy.

Heads turned as the salami’s stench spread throughout the terminal.

“Mommy, that smells like stinky feet,” a girl whined to her mother.

The woman’s face made sure she communicated her disgust to all around, whisking her child to safety, away from the garlic, fennel, and pork wafting into the air.

Pasquale shook his head, raised his voice, and pointed to the woman, “You no know what you miss.” He took a long drag off the stogy, let the smoke escape slowly into the air, then slugged down a long gulp of the Carlo Rossi.

“Why do you do this?” Roberto hissed. “Why?”

“You want wine?” Pasquale raised the bottle to his son.

“I don’t want your wine, your salami, or your goddamn cigars!”

“Bene, good,” Pasquale took another long drag. “More for me.”

Roberto moved closer to his father, and lowered his voice. “Pops. I want you to...”

His father wouldn’t let him finish. “Want me? What?”

“Let’s go,” Roberto said, yanking his father from his seat, while trying to make the entire drama inconspicuous.

“Go?” Pushing his son away, Pasquale took another slug of wine.

“What’s goin’ on here?” A voice cut through the hubbub. Blue hat, baton affixed to his belt, revolver holstered at his hip.

“I’m Americano. Cittadino.” Pasquale stood, challenging the cop.

“ Yeah, Pops, you’re a citizen.” Roberto turned to the policeman, moving between the two. “I’m sorry, Officer. I’m just trying to help my father.”

“You no help. You boss.”

“Is that a knife?” The cop moved closer to the old man, pushing Roberto away.

“Officer, please,” Roberto pleaded.

“For his salami,” the little boy said, pulling on the cop’s billy club.

“Salami!” The cop yelled.

“Look.” Roberto tried to snatch the meat as evidence of the old man’s harmlessness.

Pasquale would not relinquish. “I keep.”

“Cheese, too,” The little boy dug into the old man’s pocket, removing another hunk of the yellow asiago.

Roberto lowered his voice, “Please, can we talk?”

The cop surveyed the situation. Pasquale, his fedora askew, white hair swirling helter-skelter, knife in one hand, salami at his side, and the Carlo resting on the empty seat next to him.

“My father, he’s from the old country. He can be a pain in the ass, but he’s harmless. He doesn’t know…” Roberto shook his head. “He doesn’t know what…” he choked on his words. “My mother, she died, and now he’s alone. He tries, but,” Roberto glanced back at his father, now sitting stoically on the seat, puffing his cigar. “I’m sorry Officer.”

The cop looked at Roberto, then appraised the old man.

“I’m very sorry,” Roberto said again.

“When?” the officer asked.

“When?” Roberto responded, confused.

“When did she die?”

Roberto turned away. His memories and the pain flashed before him. “Last year,” he said in a whisper.

The gaping silence sat between the two men as the crowd, the chatter, and the roar of the planes drifted into the background. “I’m sorry,” the officer said.

Pasquale stood, raised his knife in the air, and walked slowly towards the policeman. The officer’s hand moved towards his belt. Pasquale lowered his left hand to his side. He raised the salami, sliced off a chunk, and offered it between the knife-blade and his calloused thumb. “Salami, is good. Eat.”

“I…” The cop stumbled over his thoughts.

“Is good,” the old man said, “multo bene, very good. Eat.”

The little boy’s eyes darted between the two. He pulled on the officer’s sleeve. “He likes you. He shares when he likes you. It’s good.”

A smile spread over the cop’s face. His body relaxed.

“Bene,” the old man said. “Is good. Wine too. Life better when we share.” He reached for the jug.

The cop waved Carlo off. “No wine, but I’ll take the salami.”

An elderly woman stumbled into the chair next to Pasquale. Her thin gray hair covered haphazardly by a tangled babushka. Her breath labored.

“Excuse,” she mumbled, pulling at her coat as if she were cold.

“You look not so good,” Pasquale said, eyeing her carefully.

“I fine,” she said, straightening the hem of her tattered skirt.

“What wrong? I can tell things.” The old man removed his hat, his wild white hair falling to his neck.

“Planes too big, up, down. I no like.”

“Si, me too,” he replied, “and food is bad.”

A wisp of a smile peeked from her lips.

“Here,” Pasquale said, pulling a piece of cheese from his pocket. “Is good. Not in the plastic.”

The woman considered him, then the cheese.

“Here,” Pasquale gently offered it to her. “Make you fly better.”

The woman cautiously took the cheese and raised it to her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring, as if it was a prize. “Dziękuję,” she said, her smile growing.

“And for you,” she dug into her satchel and removed a tiny pastry. “Kolaczki, with the peach.”

Pasquale, like a timid child, gently took the delicate cookie and popped it into his mouth.

“Bene, bene, cookie good,” Pasquale said. “And my cheese help you. You have good fly.”

Pasquale turned to the police officer. “You.” He raised his voice. “What you say you want?”

“Salami,” the cop said.

“Bene, multo bene,” the old man’s sadness hidden behind his smile. “Good. Is better to share. I’m an Americano.” Pasquale turned to his son, took a drag from the stogy, and a long pull off his wine, looking Roberto in the eye, “A cittadino.”

#fiction

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papa-nikki-writes · 3 years

Text

Rowvember day 5-Date

The day or month of the year as specified by a number

A romantic or social engagement

A set day in time

Summary: TW for blood, a bit of gore past the three asterisks, goes into the showdown with Maero.

Words:4,198

Purgatory was jumping tonight.

There was a smile on the face of every Saint in sight and it warmed Shea’s cold black heart, the end of this gang war had been in sight for a while with no payoff, and everybody was restless and had energy to expend. So she couldn’t blame them for wanting to celebrate, or deny that the euphoria of her little family was infectious. She sipped her drink then set it down in front of her as she pulled this months expense reports towards her, trying to ignore the pounding beat making its home in her head as she tried to read the words on the page.

Once upon a time she would have been in the middle of them all, showing everyone how it was done, pulling a companion for the night, whatever her heart desired, but things had changed. Didn’t stop her heart sinking as she looked over the bodies moving here and there, drinking and laughing. She could almost see her younger self cutting a path straight to the stripper pole and the memories made her lips twist into a smile.

As it were, it was Shaundi and a couple of other girls that occupied it now, trying to see who could climb to the top and stay there, but they were very drunk, and they hadn’t built up their core muscles enough, something that Shea could get the gang to work on next time she took a martial arts class. The girls Shaundi was with were new, Shea could still see the bruises of their canonisation shining on their cheeks, and she made a mental note to try and meet them. The gang had exploded in numbers recently, Shea was finding it hard to keep up with all the newbies.

She wondered if Julius faced these kinds of struggles, he had always been there, but aloof, like a father guiding his children and she had been trying to emulate him, but it didn’t feel quite right. It didn’t feel awful per say, she felt like she was doing a competent enough job at pretending, but she wanted to be in the middle of everything, she wanted to be more hands on, it was just in her nature.

She took another sip and tried to locate her other lieutenants, Pierce was up near the pool table that was collecting quite a few empty glasses around its rim, he was lining up a shot, the same look of concentration he had in a firefight, it was quite endearing seeing how seriously he was taking the game, even though there were no shortage of admirers wanting to get at him.

Speaking of admirers, she had to save her second in command before, but as she looked, she noticed he wasn’t on the dancefloor, or on the purple couches framing the wall, there was a pretty young lady staring at her intently though, and it set her on edge. People rarely looked her in the eye here, save for her lieutenants and the veterans like Rocco and Leah. Oh and Danilo, but he’d been toe to toe against her.

Shea frowned and picked up her drink before lowering her eyes back down to the reports, trying to shake off the adrenaline burst. Her body was way too accustomed to jumping into fights at a moments notice, and any kind of emotion had been setting it off. Drinking numbed it though, as it always did, and so she lifted her glass to her mouth.

There was a yell and someone grabbed her by her shoulders, and Shea swore to fucking God her heart stopped for a second, her whole body jolted and her drink went everywhere. And that was it. She was on her feet and whirled round to face the absolute wanker that was Johnny Gat, who immediately held his hands up as he laughed, apparently not quite believing what was probably a goldmine of a reaction from her.

Shea swallowed back the string of expletives that queued up to fall out of her mouth, before raising her hands to shake off what had been a Pina Colada.

“You-” she began, fixing Johnny with a glare, “-are an absolute fucking cunt.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he replied between sniggers, “I didn’t know-”

“-that you’re a dickhead?” she offered the answer, turning back and picking up the sodden remains of the reports, watching pina colada drip onto the table before letting it drop, where it made a nice little slapping sound as it flopped back down. She sighed and placed her hands on her hips before turning back to Johnny, then stepped forward and lifted the sunglasses up, saw his pupils constricted as shit and placed them back over his eyes.

“You’re pissed.” she noted, and he smiled before his hands found her shoulders again, and he made her sit down at a clean table before gesturing to the bartender.

“The real question is why ain't you?” he said, sliding into the chair opposite her, leaning forwards, and she smiled and mimicked the action.

“Because I'm the Boss.” she replied, and he snorted.

“Fuck off Shea.” he laughed.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I remember you climbing up the church rafters at every fuckin’ party back in the day.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t Boss then,” she pointed out, thanking the bartender for her drink before apologising for the mess on her previous table.

“Nothin’ in job description says you have to become a nun.” he replied with a grin, and she grinned too, she couldn’t help it.

“Watch.” she said with the air of a challenge, getting to her feet and striding right into the middle of a group of Saints and civilians on the dancefloor, they parted like the red sea, and Shea did a twirl in the space that was created before she strode back, turning back to see them reoccupy it, staring at her curiously. She then threw Johnny a pointed look.

“Shit, it’s like magnets, but opposite.” he chuckled.

“See?”

“You’re tellin’ me nobody tries it on with you?”

“You’re pissed, not blind right?” she quipped, before remembering that his glasses, sun or otherwise were prescription.

“Julius had people from time to time.”Johnny said with a frown, and Shea cringed at the mental image.

“Julius wasn’t me. Do I really need to show you again?” she asked, and he leaned back, staring at nothing in particular as though she’d just blown his mind, she watched him for a few moments before taking a sip of her drink, “anyway, where’ve you been? Getting it in upstairs?”

She had turned the tables on him now, as his gaze flicked to her.

“No.” he said quickly, but the tone in his voice suggested more to the story, Shea cast a glance at the girl on the couch across the room, she had a drink now, was pulling the hem of her dress down and purposefully not looking at Shea; and it clicked. She was one of the girls she’d ‘saved’ Johnny from before, and it wasn’t Shea she had been staring at at all, and now Johnny wasn’t looking at her either.

“What’s stopping you?” she asked gently, watching him fiddle with the pink umbrella in his drink.

“Well it’s too soon right?” he replied, an edge to his voice. He was waiting for her to answer, she could see it.

“Only you can make that call.” she shook her head, keeping her own tone apologetic. It was true however, she couldn’t make that call for him, though she was certain that E’esh never expected Johnny to be alone forever after she died, never mind never having sex again. Though on the other hand, Shea was certain that If they all had their way, she’d still be alive and they wouldn’t even be having this conversation, and Shea clucked her tongue before setting her drink down. She leaned forwards, catching his attention, “I’m not going to judge you, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

“But I don’t know if I could do all that again.” he said before he could stop himself, and he could blame the drink for those words slipping out, would probably do exactly that come morning.

“Feelings and all that shit you’ve always had a problem with anyway, nobody’s asking you to marry the girl, chances are, she knows what’s up,” she said before a grin slid across her face, “unless I'm completely misreading the situation and the problem lies with your physicality.” she added with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, and he chuckled.

“Though it’s been so long I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off.” he said, leaning back and running a hand through his hair, and Shea picked up his drink and held it out for him,

“Only one way to find out if your dick game’s gone shitty Tiger.” she replied, and Johnny looked her square in the eye before taking the drink from her hand, and she let it fall to the table as she kept grinning. He downed it in one before getting to his feet, his eyes not once leaving hers.

“Never call me that again.” he said, before setting the glass down with a clank and turning on his heel. Shea downed hers too, grimacing at the bitterness of it as she saw him head to the girl on the couch, watching over the exchange for a little bit with a sad smile.

Christ she missed ‘Eesh, and she knew Johnny would even more than her, she missed her singing around the house when Shea was over visiting, she missed getting high with her while Johnny prowled their suburb for any Ronin getting too close to the house. She missed movie night when she, Carlos, Pierce and Shaundi would pile into the house and watch shitty action movies.

She knew from the off they would never be the same again, but slowly a new normal was slowly beginning to form, Johnny was starting to laugh a bit more now, not as much as before, but it was there. Shea sighed and dragged her hand over her face, she was tired, and confident that Johnny was doing fine on his own, she got to her feet and left Purgatory, binning the ruined reports as she went, stepping out into the cool night air and she shivered, missing the months of Stilwater’s heatwave, even if it played havoc with her skin graphs.

The Sons of Samedi were gone, for the most part, so there was only The Ronin, Brotherhood and Ultor to worry about. Only, she thought with a chuckle, they had come so far and they still had a long ways to go. They still had yet to find Maero, but after the beatdown that he and Shea had given eachother the last time they met she wasn’t really surprised that he continued to be elusive.

The Ronin had retreated to lick their wounds after they had been massacred at Purgatory a few months back, but Akuji sr also was proving difficult to find. Shea had a feeling that the next time she saw those two that it would be the last, one way or another. One last hail Mary against the Saints, who were only getting stronger by the day.

Her phone rang, and she pulled it from her bra and checked the caller ID, seeing a number she didn’t recognise she frowned and put it to her ear. She had expected it to be Pierce, slurring that he’d lost his phone somewhere and to ‘call him if some dirt needs doin’’, or Johnny on his companion’s phone letting her know that he’ll be out all night and to not wait up. Instead, it was a voice that triggered adrenaline to surge into her bloodstream, the liquid in her veins burning hot once more.

“Get your ass to the Ultor Dome, this ends now.”

***

A change of clothes and a stock up of weapons later and Shea was speeding up the freeway to Sunsinger, her heart hammering in her chest. Maero had been watching them, she was sure, watching and waiting for the time when her Saints would be the most incapacitated. She shouldn’t be going alone, she knew she shouldn’t, but the image of Carlos broken, and beaten and nearly fucking flayed alive forced it’s way into her mind and it was all she could think about. Carlos was her boy, and he was not supposed to have been targeted, this was supposed to just be between her and Maero, mano el mano, but he fucking took Carlos, and in return she swore she’d take everything from him. She now just needed his life. She hadn’t known when this day would come, just knew it was marked in her calender regardless.

It was time to end this.

She pulled up outside the Ultor dome and got out of her car, surveying the quiet exterior. Maero was inside, she could hear muffled metal music blasting within. She reached inside her car and strapped the grenades she brought to her chest, picked up her T3K Urban, and strode inside. She’d should have brought back up, the thought hitting her now, but it was too late. She had left messages on each of her lieutenants phones, but in all honesty she didn’t think they would check them until morning.

It was pitch black out in the arena, and as she walked towards it, her steel toe boots thunking against the tiled floor, she saw nobody else inside, which was odd. The tile soon changed to gravel, and the mechanised shutters closed behind her, she found herself blinded with a white light and she held up an arm to shield her eyes from the onslaught.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

Man she could hear the smile in his voice, her eyes adjusted, and she looked around warily, expecting an ambush. Where was he?

“I didn’t think you’d have the balls to come alone.” she quipped back, and Maero sniggered.

“I never said I’d be alone.”

Engines revved, and Shea turned and stared into the headlights of a brotherhood truck, but Maero wasn’t in this one. She had no chance to dwell however, as another revved behind her, the lights glaring on, she turned, then there was another, and another, and another. Then finally, the last one, Maero’s monster truck, gigantic. Shea had to stare up at it as engines continued to rev around her. She was fucked.

Fan-frigging-tastic

Tires squealed and two of the trucks surged forward to pin her between them, and she felt like she had nowhere to go but up, she jumped on instinct, landing on the bonnet of one and running up onto the roof as bullets were shot through the windscreen at the back of her heels as she moved, detaching the pin of a grenade as she went before she threw it in the driver’s cabin and dived off into the gravel, landing feet first and sprinting for cover.

She didn’t quite make it though, her feet were lifted and the force of the explosion threw her into the stone bumper she had been running for. Pain shot up her spine and she fell forwards onto her stomach, cringing in agony before she felt the rumble in the gravel, and she realised that she couldn’t linger there. Gritting her teeth against the pain and the ringing in her ears, she got to her feet, aiming for the nearest truck and sending a spray of bullets into the front of it, catching the driver in the head and diving out of the way as it smashed into the bumper and began to smoke.

Shea kept moving, ignoring her screaming muscles and dipped and dived and twisted away from the trucks hell bent on running her down. Maero was circling the arena, observing her predicament with sick smiles and hatred in his eyes, his mouth moving but she had no idea what he was saying, she couldn’t hear, and she was a little too busy to lipread.

The truck from earlier exploded and again, Shea was thrown by the force of it into another truck, and she felt herself slide off the bonnet onto the floor as pain lit up her nerve endings, she couldn’t move, had she landed wrong on her spine? Was she paralysed?

Hands weaved into the front of the grenade belt she wore, and one of the remaining Brotherhood smashed his forehead into her nose, and stars burst in front of her eyes as her back hit gravel again. Then a boot found her ribs and stole her breath.

She rolled away and her hand spasmed as it dug into the gravel, but her heart soared at the pain, she hadn’t been paralysed after all, and she proved it to herself by dashing the gravel into The Brotherhoods eyes, she then used that opportunity to tackle one, using her arms to snap his neck before her eyes fell on another that had been advancing on her, and he faltered before pressing onwards, his hands finding that grenade belt for purchase.

Her fingers moved deftly, pulling a pin and detaching herself from the belt, rolling away as more of the Brotherhood came to join him, and she managed to drag herself behind cover as the belt and all the grenades exploded, the rumble felt underneath her, debris cascading down from the ceiling, making her cough from the dust swirling through the air.

She grimaced as she flexed her hand, or tried to, there wasn’t a lot of movement to it as it shook and seized with pain, the intensity bringing tears to her eyes, she had no time to cry however, as she looked up and saw Maero’s monster truck heading right for her, she thought about running for a split second, but where could she run? She was locked in here. Knowing that this was it, she retrieved a gun from a flesh pile, and charged onwards. The only way out was through Maero after all.

She timed it, dipping low at the last moment so the truck passed over her, the machinery and parts clanking over her made her nervous but she couldn’t let fear take over, not here. She scurried to her feet and leapt onto the back before he could turn around and try and run her down again, and he turned in his seat and took aim with his pistol. Sucking in a breath to combat the pain, she threw aside her gun (she needed both arms for this)and heaved herself up onto the roof just as a bullet whistled past her leg. He turned sharply, trying to dislodge her and she rolled, yelling out as her left hand found purchase on the handle next to the drivers seat. Her body collided painfully with the side of the door.

Turning her pain outwards, she opened the door and dived into the cabin with Maero, and she felt his hand seize her head and smash it against the dashboard, again, stars popped in front of her eyes and she twisted, using her feet to push his face away as she measured up where his kidneys were to repeatedly force her elbow into them. He fired blindly with the gun, not being able to see where she was, one caught her in the shoulder. She fought on however, lifting one foot off his face to pin the gun by his head as she continued to elbow every bit of him she could.

It wasn’t a fight of finesse, of skill, it was just a fight, at one point Mearo’s hands found her neck and he squeezed as she punched, clawed and bit chunks out of him. She did not panic, she was just enraged, yelling choked screams as he fell off the seats and pinned her to the floor of the cabin under him, hatred twisting every inched of his gnarled face as he upped the pressure and cut off her breathing completely, and she felt herself turning red as she gasped for air and kicked under him.

This was beyond her realms of comfort now, and in a last ditch attempt, she gripped the sides of his head and attempted to push her thumbs into his eyes, he jerked away from her, and squeezed harder, and she rapidly felt her strength leaving her before an almighty crunch was heard and the truck jerked, throwing Maero off her as they tumbled around the cabin before her back slammed hard into something metal, then her head, and it was lights out.

When her eyes next opened, all she could see were swirls of colour, and her blood rushed in her ears like she’d pressed them to Conch shells, offset nicely by the continuous ringing still present. She blinked, and the world focused, but span, and she moved to get up, screaming as pain knifed through her, she sat up gingerly, blinking to dispel the doubles she was seeing of everything.

Maero! The memory came flooding back, where was he?

Looking down, she saw Maero’s pistol and reached for it, closing her fingers around the cool metal before she punched open one of the doors and scrambled out of the twisted wreck that had been the monster truck. The movement triggered something and pain seized her body, she rolled, hitting the gravel and smelling gasoline.

Heaving to her feet once more, staggering sideways, she made her way to the front of the truck, looking for Maero, found him lying under the cabin on the other side, pinned, hell, she might even have used him to crawl out of the wreckage, now she thought about it.

Was he dead?

He better fucking not be. His life was hers.

She dragged herself over to him, checking the ammo in the pistol as she glowered at Maero’s unmoving body, using her foot, she turned his torso, pushing his shoulder to the gravel and was surprised when his eyes eased open, unfocused at first, until he recognised the gun and the person holding it, and rage burned the confusion from his face.

“Any last words?” she asked. He raised his hand, fingers digging into her calf.

“Go to hell.” he snarled. She squeezed the trigger and Maero’s face became a mass of blood, bone and brains sinking into the gravel. She took her leg back, and walked away, a great exhaustion rushing over her.

And so it was over. The great blood feud between her and Maero, she’d avenged Carlos good and truly, and she should have been elated, but that great hole remained inside her that Carlos’ death had made, and she found herself at a loss for what to do now. She was alive, beaten, but she would recover, but Carlos wasn’t alive, he wouldn’t ever recover. She’d hoped killing Maero would ease the empty feeling a little, but it hadn’t and now she was just drained.

At that thought, her legs buckled just short of the shutter, her knees hitting the ground. The adrenaline was leaving her, and the pain from her wounds and her aches was intensifying. She just wanted to sleep, but she wasn’t safe here yet. More of the Brotherhood’s remnants could be on their way and she wasn’t pleased at the idea that she’d survive that fight with only to be taken out by a lackey straight afterwards.

The shutters roared into life, and her heart leapt in her throat, again, she pushed her body past her limits, again she stood ready to fight. Only to almost break down in tears when the light abated and her lieutenants and soldiers rushed in. They were shouting, but she couldn’t hear what, and she just about collapsed into Johnny’s arms as she let her legs buckle again. She fisted her hands into his shirt, and she felt his arm tense, keeping her upright and standing to keep up appearances for the frontliners, and she felt the rumble of his voice as he ordered some of the boys and girls around to check for any Brotherhood survivors.

“Gonna make sure they know you walked outta here.” she could just make out his words, and yes, her getting out on her own two feet definitely made for a better story than dragging yourself out in pieces. But she would not have been able to walk at all without his strength making this possible.

It soon became apparent that walking was making it worse and her knees buckled again, and again Johnny kept her up, he kept talking, she could just make out the undertone of his voice past all the whooshing in her ears but she hadn’t a clue what he was saying.

Must have been ‘where’s your fuckin’ car keys’ as she felt him search the pockets of her jeans until he found them and unlocked the car, then he lifted her into the passenger seat, taking care not to smack her head on the frame as he did, then the seatbelt was pulled across her and he was gone until he got in the driver’s seat a few moments after.

She wanted to talk to him, and tried to, but her brain wasn’t playing ball, she just wanted to sleep and as soon as he began driving she passed out. The last thing she saw was Johnny’s face, his jaw set, expression sombre, but she knew that in his presence that she was finally, finally safe.

#rowvember 2020 #Saints Row #boss shea #purple shamrock #rowvember

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