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chibivesicle · 4 years

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Golden Kamuy chapters 251 and 252 - rumble in the brewhouse - continued

Chapter 252 starts off with Sugimoto in an even worse position as Nikaido screams and Koito attacks from the side with his saber. And Nikaido certainly has murder eyes.

The look of surprise by Sugimoto is one where he needs to stop thinking that all fights are one and one. He’s lucky that he ducks low enough that instead of Koito cutting him down with the saber, he cuts into a beer storage barrel and the beer squirts out hitting Koito square in the face. Nikaido fires and Asirpa jumps in front of him to be a shield from Nikaido. Oh Asirpa, you can’t use your status as the key to the gold forever. Plus, Nikaido’s not the type of character to care that she’s an ‘innocent’. I think Asirpa may have gotten ahead of herself thinking that she alone can use her status to be untouchable.

Of course Sugimoto has done a 180 from a few chapters ago. He was ordering Asirpa to stand in the shadows so that Ogata couldn’t target and kill her, but if she’ll take a bullet for him, it is okay. Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhh. Granted, Asirpa has the level of screentones that Hijikata can produce, but her innocence will fail at some point.

Poor Tsukishima has to stop Nikaido. Really, did anyone not realize that Kikuta, Tsukishima and Koito really are an ineffective small group with Nikaido being unstable and Usami being unpredictable. Koito takes this chance to attack Sugimoto again and even prevents him from aiming as Sugimoto fires his gun off to the side. Unfortunately, Koito isn’t great at hand to hand combat nor does he have the full amount of anger/tenacity that Sugimoto has so he’s able to tackle him and headbutt Koito.

Meanwhile, poor Tsukishima is babysitting Nikaido while Asirpa just watches using her presence as leverage on Tsukishima. All of this action though is perfect as Kikuta hasn’t made his presence known. I’m a huge fan of Kikuta (or Roger as a few of us call him due to his resemblance to Roger Moore) and he’s put himself in the perfect position for his specialty, close range rapid fire attacks. Revolvers aimed and at ready we even get the view from the barrel of his gun, a clean shot at Sugimoto.

Ushiyama then looks towards something, perhaps Kikuta and we see movement lines indicating he’s doing something quickly. We get our answer as the next page shows him pushing the stacked beer barrels and he’s able to knock Kikuta over as his footing is lost with the shifting barrels.

This then leads to a small beer tsunami that catches most of our characters in the wave. Koito has recovered quickly hand has a hand on Sugimoto with his saber while Sugimoto’s bayonet is up as they both stare at the breaking barrels and the beer that is about to cover them. Asirpa is able to escape by climbing on the barrels but Nikaido and Tsukishima also get drenched.

Noda makes a full page dedicated to Koito and Sugimoto almost swimming in beer. Clearly, this is for comic relief in the middle of a tense situation, and I meanwhile can’t help but think about how sticky everyone is and having to wash out their uniforms is going to suck. Laundry needs to happen.

The beer tsunami wave carries the guys along and Shiraishi has to escape it as Tsukishima, Sugimoto and Nikaido all end up in a more mechanical looking room. Koito appears to be still in the storage room with the barrels.

Nikaido tries to fight Sugimoto but falls over and it appears that Tsukishima might be the least drunk as he manages to at least hit Sugimoto, and takes down his comment that he can take them because he’s ‘imm-’. Good job Tsukishima, show Sugimoto that he’s not the boss and they both get swept further away.

Meanwhile, Koito, the bon-bon that he is, is plastered as he makes one of his high pitched screams on the floor. I’d say despite being the largest, he’s the lightweight of the group. And we never have seen him drink in the manga so far. I wonder if Koito isn’t much of a drinker as we’ve only see him drink tea as far as I can recall off the top of my head. I think Koito is a dainty drinker.

While drunken chaos unfolds, Kikuta grabs Asirpa and verbally says he’s secured her. Is this to Tsukishima and Koito? Ariko? Himself because he’s that damn good?

Asirpa won’t go down with out a fight and she manages to get one of her poison tip arrows in his nose to bring him to a rapid halt. Of course this entire exchange does not happen alone as Ogata is looking at them with the binoculars from the fire watchtower. He seems quite interested and he even pulls the binoculars away as if he’s thinking about something. The panel then shows Asirpa pointing her bow and arrow at Kikuta in a very non-threatening pose, his hands down and empty.

This makes the fifth time that Asirpa has drawn her bow at a human, as the fourth time was when she shot Ogata in the eye. I wonder if Ogata is having some sort of out of body experience watching Kikuta try to reason with Asirpa. If only he had the public speaking skills of someone like Kikuta - since he was clearly upset when he couldn’t lie to Asirpa like the rest of the adults can. And it goes back to the fact that he lacks something and stuff doesn’t go well for him etc. etc.

This shows in Kikuta’s confident and relaxed body language. He tries to get her on his side by asking about what happened with the Ainu who were killed.

He knows that her father is linked to it, first being mistaken as a victim of the attack, but in reality hiding behind the Japanese labeled personality of Noppera-bou, not Wilk, the partisan from Karafuto/Sakahlin. It really makes me wonder who originally told Asirpa that her father was killed in the incident. We were never given the information that Wilk died in the attack. Her uncle Makanakkuru, may have been the adult to tell her this, but was he lying because she was a child? Or others knew he was alive like Kiro and they felt it was better for her to not know about this until she was old enough to become involved?

Honestly, I’ve wondered why Asirpa hasn’t been more assertive in the quest for the truth. Yes, she confirmed that Wilk was Noppera-bou at Abashiri and she believed her father didn’t kill them and Sugimoto did eventually tell her that he said he didn’t kill the other Ainu as well. And she then kinda let go of questioning the entire situation.

Which really, with her newfound need to champion the cause of the Ainu, it makes me wonder why she isn’t being more forward with this. She kinda seemed interested when she met Ariko, but hasn’t done as much as I’d expect her to.

Pondering interlude over, Kikuta is trying to negotiate with something that he thinks Asirpa wants, which was not what Ogata tried to do. She seems nervous as she asks him why he’d know this in the first place, so I’d say it implies that she is interested. Kikuta then reveals what we already knew from Ogata back when he was first speaking with Hijikata about the information that Tsurumi learned about the victims. I always read this to imply that Ogata was there as well, but he never says it and instead the Tsurumi examined the stuff. When we learned that Kikuta, Tsukishima and Ogata were a part of Tsurumi’s inner circle of intelligence operatives, it was pretty easy to make the connection that Ogata was indirectly telling Hijikata part of what he saw with Tsukishima and Kikuta there as well.

The action then shows Usami noticing Asirpa and Ogata sees him with a look of disdain. Now that we know that Ogata smacked Usami with a bedpan, we know that Ogata has no love of Usami. Well and that both men have completely opposite personalities.

But of course we see that Usami has made the cardinal sin of most soldiers according to Ogata; he’s abandoned his rifle and is running around with a bayonet. We know by now that bad things happen to those who don’t keep an eye on their rifles!

Kikuta is clearly a very persuasive man and he hits all of the points to convince Asirpa that she should talk to Tsurumi. Since he thinks that knowing what happened to her father would be more important than the gold. This may also be read to mean that upon finding the victims and Wilk, Tsurumi may have talked to him or something critical may have happened.

Could Wilk have requested to Tsurumi to report that he was dead? To create his identity. Both men could have spoken Russian, but Tsukishima and Ogata would have understood things then as well. . . It is clear that Ogata knows more about this along with Kikuta and Tsukishima.

Her nervous face is more than enough to see that Kikuta is making her think about this. Ogata has shifted to aim at her under this observation that she’ll work with Tsurumi.

This means he’s trying to rationalize why shooting Asirpa would strategically be a good idea. She’s the key, she hasn’t told anyone the code and if she died everything was all for naught. But he hesitates. He hesitates because, he knows that Asirpa is innocent and his brain has linked her with Yuusaku. Which leads to the dramatic page of the ‘reappearance’ of Yuusaku. I personally think that Yuusaku is not a ghost, he is the representation of Ogata’s guilt an PTSD in a neat and tidy annoying younger brother package. It is as though whenever he becomes emotionally connected to Asirpa, he begins to pause as he realizes he can’t actually shoot her.

For plot excitement and storytelling purposes, Yuusaku’s ‘ghost’ is linked to Vasily. The first time he appeared was after Ogata defeated Vasily in their insane sniper battle. As he began to fall ill, Asirpa became Yuusaku speaking to him and we get the flashback as to why Yuusaku would ‘haunt’ him and how he has much in common with Asirpa.

This continues as Ogata’s mind keeps connecting the two of them together, especially on the ice floe when it is clear he’s talking to Yuusaku via Asirpa as she’s just confused about his weird monologue. I’m beginning to wonder if the fact that Ogata didn’t kill Vasily also lead to the activation of Yuusaku since it is a time where Ogata didn’t kill his opponent, only injuring him enough to escape to safety.

Whatever mechanism you may think, the point is that concept of Yuusaku standing next to Ogata, sending him some sort of message about why shooting Asirpa would be a bad thing, causes him to jump back in surprise.

This then dramatically saves his life as he’s no longer in a position to aim and instead a single shot hits the chamber that rotates to release the empty shell. At this point in the chapter it is unclear if the damage has prevented Ogata from sniping or if he’ll be able to make do.

He turns in one of his most cat-like fashions as a stray hair hangs and he’s got that ‘huh’ look any cat has when you poked them and they were not impressed.

Vasily looks focused but sweats a little as he likely knows his shot was unsuccessful. Ogata then remarks again, that it was the work of an experienced sniper, the same phrase he used when they encountered Vasily at the Russian border.

I have to admit I was so disappointed that Vasily has gone for the straight up try to shoot Ogata game. Really dude? You just quested from Russia, to Japan, to Hokkaido to then kill Ogata without him realizing they were playing lynx versus snow leopard games? Or is Vasily not quite as skilled as Ogata at hitting a man accurately from a distance? But we know he is.

This leads me to ask, “What is the purpose of Vasily?” is he a pretty Slavic boy who has an unhealthy obsession with Ogata to keep him moving and prevent him from shooting Asirpa? I don’t think Vasily gives a damn about Asirpa, it was clear in Karafuto he just wanted Ogata to come out and play, nya! Or maybe come out and play, мяу! would be more accurate.

Sugimoto thinks Vasily is an Ogata repellent, but he’s never communicated effectively with Vasily and it is clear Vasily has his own goal. I really hope Ogata at least questioned Vasily in Russian after he injured him so that it could reveal something more helpful. Recall, here in chapter 161 is off to get the answers from them, e.g. the Russian border guards.

It would be too simple if Vasily is just a vehicle for Ogata’s Yuusaku/Asirpa guilt to manifest itself and move his character progression along.

Anyhoo, the chapter ends with the tagline “From Russia with Death” a pun on the Bond movie “From Russia with Love”.

If Vasily did damage Ogata’s current type 38, he’s in a reply of what happened the last time he went up against Vasily. Mosin-nagant and a nice warm ushanka versus Ogata, in his wool uniform and the old Berndan Model 1881, with a single shot, as when he used it, he had the extra ammunition held between his fingers here:

A detail that still makes me tingle with excitement that Noda discussed this with Tanigaki and Nihei and Ogata’s the one who does it like a good rifle expert that he is. I look forward to Ogata out sniping Vasily. Or at least outsmarting him.

Really, chapters 251 and 252 show how various characters act in stressful situations. Sugimoto, Tsukishima, Koito and Nikaido are a mess, Shiraishi is trying to avoid shit if possible, Asirpa seems to be trying to leverage her savior complex a bit too much for my liking and Ogata is being haunted by his previous coping mechanisms to ignore that he might actually be human. Though some evidence indicates he may be a cat.

All of this has me excited for 253 and more Ogata action, because I’m biased.

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy meta #ogata hyakunosuke #vasily #asirpa #sugimoto saichi #Shiraishi Yoshitake #tsukishima hajime #koito otonoshin #warrant officer kikuta #nikaido #ushiyama tatsuma #Usami Tokishige #Hanazawa Yuusaku

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masterweaverx · 4 years

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Nora Valkyrie is one of the most engaging characters in RWBY, because she’s always engaging with other characters. And as much fun as she has doing so, especially with her hammer, you’d be forgiven for thinking she’s just another boisterous bruiser genki girl hybrid. But when it comes to Dungeoneering, Nora ain’t nobody’s fool.

When coming up with this build, I found out that I had a lot of goals I wanted to kit. Obviously Nora wouldn’t be complete without her Legendary Boomhammer, so I needed a way to let her blow things up and smash things to bits. I also needed to figure out how to represent her skills at scavenging, I don’t think she lost that from her early days. And of course, she needs to be fun but able to lecture people about their emotional constipation at a moment’s notice.

This all led me to an interesting realization: Nora’s highest stat would have to be Wisdom. It’s the ‘notice things’ stat for a reason, so 15 points go into it. And next, after some very careful consideration, I figured 14 points of Dexterity would be good to handle some multiclassing requirements. 13 points in Constitution fits her prodigious appetite quite well, and 12 points in Strength gives her hammer a little extra oomph. Admittedly, 10 points in Charisma doesn’t quite fit with how bold a personality she has, but for all her boldness she’s only pressed her opinion when it absolutely needed to be pressed. And that leaves 8 points for Intelligence, which is booksmarts, which... Nora’s not dumb, but she didn’t really have a formal edumacation.

Variant humans are a bundle of nice little goodies, like two Ability points to even out Wisdom and Constitution, a free skill training so Nora can learn Survival, and a feat of choice--the Fell Handed feat is perfect for a hammer-wielder, giving a +1 to all attack rolls with the hammer, a chance to knock an enemy prone if the attack has advantage, an equal chance to deal Strength damage on a miss if the attack has disadvantage, and the ability to knock away an enemy’s shield if Nora is helping somebody else attack them. I mean not many people use shields on Remnant, but the option is there.

As for background... sigh. The background’s name is Urchin. Sorry, that’s just how it is sometimes. Nora gets proficiency in Stealth, Slight of Hand, Thieves’ Tools, and Disguise Kit. She also gets the City Secrets feature, which means she just knows how cities work and can find shortcuts anywhere. Is it the most useful skillset? No. Is it in character? Mmmyah.

Now, I looked at Barbarian for Nora. I really, really looked at it. At the Rage feature. At all the subclasses. And in the end... I decided we could get what we wanted without having to give up casting, just through careful application of other classes. So no, Nora isn’t a Barbarian. She’s four levels Hunter Ranger, eight levels Zeal Cleric... and first and foremost, 8 levels of Kensei Monk.

Yes. Monk. You heard me. Nora is a Monk. This will make sense shortly.

Monks get proficiency in simple weapons, and also shortswords (but we’ll be multiclassing into Ranger so we get proficiency in all martial weapons anyway). They can also choose one set of Artisan’s Tools or one Instrument to be proficient in; Chibi Nora was apparently good with drums, buuuut realistically I kinda think maybe Nora would be better served with Leatherworker’s Tools. They get Strength and Dexterity saving throws and, oh yeah, two skills--Athletics and Insight would fit pretty well.

At eight levels of Monk, Nora gets a lot of special traits--Unarmored Defense means that if she’s not wearing armor her AC is 10+her Wisdom Mod+her Dexterity Mod, Unarmored Movement means she gets +15 feet of movement on top of that, Slow Fall lets her reduce falling damage by 40 points as a reaction (great landing strategy!), and Evasion means if she has to roll a saving throw to take half damage, she takes half if she fails and none if she succeeds. Also she gets Stillness of Mind, letting her shake off one condition making her Charmed or Frightened; admittedly that’s not a good name for a Nora skill, so maybe she comes at it the other way, having a mind so chaotic that she can just bulldoze through mental effects.

Of course Monk also gives Nora Martial Arts, letting her use Dexterity in place of Strength on attack and damage rolls with unarmed strikes or her monk weapon (Remember that! Remember that!). Unarmed attacks deal 1d6+Dexterity Mod damage, count as magical for purposes of determining resistance, and she can use a bonus action to make an unarmed attack after she takes the Attack action. Nora also gets Ki points to spend, eight in total which recharge on a rest, and she can use them for a Flurry of Blows, Patient Defense, Step of the Wind, Deflecting Missles, or a Stunning Strike, all great in combat. Also she gets an Extra Attack, letting her make two attacks per Attack action.

This all comes together with the Kensei Way, which lets us choose two weapons--one ranged, one melee--that aren’t heavy or special, and make them into Monk weapons. And Warhammers are versatile, not heavy, so they’re a valid option. As are Light Crossbows, which are about the closest thing in the book to a grenade launcher? At eight levels Kensei weapons are considered magical and can be used to make an Agile Parry, giving +2 AC after every turn Nora makes an unarmed attack as part of an attack action, give the ability to give her ranged attack +1d4 damage, and the ability to spend a ki point to do an extra 1d6 damage to attacks with those weapons. Also, Nora gets proficiency with Painter’s Supplies. I’m sure that will be very important.

Multiclassing into Ranger gives us proficiency in Light Armor, Medium Armor, and Shields, but really why would we use any of that with Unarmored Defense? Also we get proficiency with Martial Weapons, but Nora’s already got a really, really good hammer. But we do get an extra skill proficiency, and picking up Perception couldn’t hurt. We’re mostly here for the four levels of ‘I know how to survive in the wild’ this gives us.

Favored Enemy lets a Ranger pick a certain kind of enemy, making them easier to track, and boy howdy are there a lot of Grimm on Remnant! We’re actually going to swap out Natural Explorer for Deft Explorer, a variant feature which lets us pick up the Tireless trait; Nora can regenerate 1d10+her Wisdom mod HP, a number of times equal to her wisdom mod per long rest, and also reduces her exhaustion level by one every short rest. Of the Fighting Styles, I chose Druidic Warrior, giving Nora two Druid cantrips on top of the spells she’s going to get from Cleric and Ranger--there’s a reason for that, but I’ll wait till we get to the spellcasting to explain. The Hunter archetype gives us one of three traits, and Horde Breaker lets us make an extra attack on a creature next to another creature after we hit the first creature with a weapon. And of course Primeval Awareness gives Nora the ability to melt a spell slot so she can sense Grimm in the area. Or jerks. Actually, make her favored enemy “Jerks” if the GM will let you get away with it, she’s partners with Ren and he can spot all the Grimm for her.

Eight Levels in a Cleric of Zeal is mostly good for spells, but there are some side perks. Proficiency in Heavy Armor is one of them, and Priest of Zeal is another, letting Nora make a bonus attack when she hits something with a weapon attack a number of times equal to her wisdom modifier per long rest. Resounding Strike lets her shove something back ten feet every time she does Thunder damage, and Divine Strike gives her an extra 1d8 damage to one weapon attack per turn. And then there’s Channel Divinity, which she can use twice per rest; either to Turn Undead, making them scared of her and any less than CR 1 just flat out die, or engaging in Consuming Fervor, letting her max out any Fire or Thnder damage she does on an attack.

Now that all has stunning implications for Nora’s spells, but before we can figure out what spells she has I think we should talk about the 5 Ability Improvements this build gives us. That’s ten points to spend on abilities, which is just enough to max out Wisdom and Dexterity at 20 each. If you’ve been paying attention, that really adds extra oomph across the board for the girl.

And now, the spells. The Zeal Domain means Nora automatically knows a few spells, and Fireball works great for her grenades, but for the rest I aimed mostly on either mimicking her semblance or giving her new and creative ways to smash with her hammer. There’s a lot of thunder spells. A lot. So in total Nora has four cleric cantrips and two druid cantrips, and she knows three ranger spells up to level one and all the level 1-4 Domain of Zeal spells, and... huh, I miscalculated, I thought it was half her cleric level plus her wisdom mod, but it’s her total cleric level plus her wisdom mod cleric spells she can prepare. Oh well, it’s almost midnight, just add four more cleric spells up to level 4 that you like. And here’s the list:

Cantrips:

Gust (Druidic Warrior)

Mending (Cleric)

Sacred Flame (Cleric)

Thaumaturgy (Cleric)

Thunderclap (Druidic Warrior)

Toll the Dead (Cleric)

L1 (four slots):

Absorb Elements (Ranger)

Guiding Bolt (Cleric) (Concentration)

Hunter's Mark (Ranger) (Concentration)

Inflict Wounds (Cleric)

Sanctuary (Cleric)

Searing Smite (Zeal Domain) (Concentration)

Thunderous Smite (Zeal Domain) (Concentration)

Wild Cunning (Ranger)

L2 (three slots):

Deafness (Cleric)

Locate Object (Cleric)

Magic Weapon (Zeal Domain) (Concentration)

Shatter (Zeal Domain)

Silence (Cleric)

L3 (three slots):

Haste (Zeal Domain) (Concentration)

Fireball (Zeal Domain)

Remove Curse (Cleric)

L4 (three slots):

Banishment (Cleric) (Concentration)

Fire Shield (Zeal Domain) (Warm Only)

Freedom of Movement (Zeal Domain)

Stone Shape (Cleric)

L5 (two slots):

Two slots, no spells

Lots of fun and interesting variations on ‘hit it with your hammer’ here. Mostly based on causing a lot of noise, moving things around, or pulling out a grenade and using a touch of flamey booms when she needs it. Plus a few utility spells to make life on the road easier.

So yeah, that’s Nora.

#RWBY #Dungeons & Dragons #D&D 5E #Nora Valkyrie #Character Build

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Sixteen

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Time Will Take It’s Toll

Inhaling a breath had her coughing into her arm for a few moments and clearing her throat. The explosion had knocked the wind out of her, and her lungs were still complaining about it. Her leg was starting to ache from all the running and how she’d fallen, too.

She’d managed to slip away from the men shortly after they realised the explosion hadn’t killed her, scattering to try and find where she’d gone. She’d just sat there for a little while, regaining control of her breathing, of her pounding heart, then got up and run.

He’s been looking for me.

Sniffing and lifting her head, Ada let Mags walk idly down the main and only street of Van Horn. It was, as always, quiet. A couple of men sat on the porch outside a shop, talking and smoking. A man lay by the water, sat up against a rock, asleep.

Sadie waved to her from outside the bar, her mustard coloured shirt acting like a beacon amongst the dark and dinginess of the town, and Ada raised her hand in greeting.

“You okay?” the older woman asked as she approached, gently pulling Mags to a stop.

“Yeah. Some idiot thought playing with dynamite would be fun, though.”

“Yeah, I heard. Was gonna come back to see if you were alive but I thought you’d be fine.”

Ada laughed, inclining her head. “Yeah, well, I seem to be. Think I’ve got some dust in my chest but what’s new.”

Sadie nodded her head in the direction of the saloon doors. “Want to get a drink?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Here, are you kidding me?”

Sadie smiled as she pushed her hat onto her head and mounted her horse. “Thought you might say that.”

“Hey, hey, wait a second!”

The two women turned to the calling voice, Ada stiffening, Sadie arching an eyebrow. A man narrowed his eyes at them, his hands on his hips as he stood from the bench where he’d been talking with another man.

“Yeah?” Sadie answered.

“That’s my horse!”

Ada answered this time, relieved. “No, it isn’t.”

“Yeah, it is,” the man insisted, his voice cracking. “That’s Louisa!”

“No, it ain’t,” Sadie drawled.

“Yes, it is, now you give her back, you damn wh—”

The women settled their hands on their guns.

The man froze, glanced at the weapons, then smiled quickly.

“Y-yeah, I guess not, sorry, my eyes ain’t so good,” he laughed nervously, lowering back down onto the bench.

“That’s all right, friend, no harm done,” Ada called cheerily, realising faintly that Arthur had said nearly those exact words several times.

Well, look at me.

Sadie chuckled as they rode out of the tiny town, shaking her head. “I love people sometimes.”

Ada snorted. “All right, I feel a little bad.”

“Don’t. He called her Louisa, that’s reason enough for him not to have her.”

“What do you have against the name Louisa?”

“Nothin’, just a dumb name for a horse.”

—

Charles came back for them all an hour or so after she and Sadie returned, safe and fine, and he reassured her so was Arthur.

Ada dismounted Mags, stroking the horse’s neck gently as her eyes scanned their new home. Well... The new camp would have to do, no matter what she thought, and she thought it wasn’t much of a home anymore. She’d arrived a little behind the others, just in case they’d been followed, so they’d had some time to set up but... It seemed no one had taken the care they used to in doing so. Tents and tables were set up but nothing more, the wagons hadn’t been unpacked properly and she couldn’t place that down to lack of time or people as everyone was either sat or lying down.

They expect to move on soon, she realised, very soon.

Her gaze found Arthur’s as she approached where he had been talking with Dutch, and he moved towards her.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered, smiling at the sight of him. He’d shaved, thank God.

“Not much, is it?” He’d clearly had the same thoughts.

“It’ll do, I suppose.” Her arms wrapped around his waist as his went around her, holding her close.

“Are you okay?” she murmured, her fingers stroking his back.

“Yeah. You were righ’, they’re strange folks, those Murfrees.”

She snorted. “You’re damn right.”

A corner of his mouth twisted up before he lowered his head and captured her lips in a kiss she knew they both needed. It lingered, deepening as his arms tightened around her. She smiled against his lips, half-heartedly trying to draw her head back.

“Arthur...”

“Lot of caves down there, lots of secret passages...”

She arched an eyebrow as his lips went to her cheek, unable to stop a smile. “If you think I’m gonna be able to relax in those caves after what Charles told me...”

“I can make you forget all that, though...”

“Stop it...” she laughed, trying to turn her head away from his sinful lips even as her stomach tightened at the thought. It had been so long since they’d been alone, all she’d had when he was away was thoughts and memories and—

“Hey.”

They both stiffened, their heads lifting as Arthur automatically half-turned his back to shield her.

Molly, Christ, Molly, came stumbling down the path. If she hadn’t clearly been drunk Ada would have thought she'd spent the last few weeks living in luxury with her skin and clothes being clean and neat and her hair perfect.

“So, Dutch!” she called out, “Did ye miss me?!” She stumbled closer to them, Dutch only a few feet away. Ada glanced at him, finding his features stony.

“I found her, drunk in Saint Denis,” Uncle was explaining somewhat apologetically, trying to keep up with her.

“You’re back. How jolly, Miss O’Shea,” Dutch retorted sarcastically, stepping closer.

“It’s ‘Molly’, you sack of shit!” she cried, rage pouring out of her.

“Back and drunk.”

“Who made you the master, the Lord Almighty!”

“Molly, calm down,” he demanded as she waved her arms around.

The gang had gathered now, everyone staring and not knowing what to do, Ada included. She felt Arthur beside her, silent and tense.

“I won’t be ignored, Dutch van der Linde! I hear all ye conversations! I hear all ye whisperin’! But I won’t be ignored! I aren’t him!” She pointed at Bill. “Thick as shit but would probably turn ye over in a heartbeat!” She turned, swaying, and pointed at Mary-Beth who looked so distraught. “I ain’t her! Ye’re little whore!” Then, she turned to Ada, pointing at her. “And I ain’t her, ye bloody O’Driscoll, thinkin’ ye’re holy than thou!”

Ada felt her heart drop into her stomach as she stared at her, a terrified coldness sweeping over her body. Molly just turned to Dutch. “I ain’t any of your stooges!”

“Calm yourself, miss!” Dutch was angry now, truly angry.

“You don’t owe me nothin��!” She was squaring up to him now. “I don’t owe you nothin’! Nothin’! Even though I did all ye’re dirty work!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, suddenly trying to calm her as much as himself, probably.

She wasn’t having it as she turned away. “I’d spit in yer eye!” Then, she turned back, pointing at him and looking as if something just suddenly came to her. “I did! I told them!” she shouted.

The mood shifted very sharply.

“I’m sorry?” Dutch hissed, staring at her.

“Yeah, I told ‘em! And I’d tell ‘em again! Now I’ve got God’s ear!”

“You told who what?” he demanded, thunderous.

“Mr Milton and Mr Ross,” she practically trilled, waving her hand, “about the bank robbery, and I wanted them to kill ye!” She thrust her finger at him.

Something inside Ada twisted sharply.

It wasn’t her fault. Because of Molly, Lenny and Hosea had died and John had been captured... She wanted to yell at her, to kick and scratch and scream, but... she just couldn’t bring herself to hate her. She pitied her too much.

Dutch, though...

“You did what?!” He drew his gun with an anger she had never seen before, and aimed it at Molly.

“I loved you, you God damn bastard!” she shouted, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Go on, shoot me!”

Ada heard Arthur murmuring to Dutch, a hand on his shoulder, but she couldn’t look, couldn’t look away from Molly.

“She’s crazy,” Arthur was saying quietly, trying to push Dutch’s gun down, “She ain’t worth it.”

“You told on me?! You betrayed me?!” Dutch was shouting but Molly was barely listening, staring at him and talking over him, elated, “Oh, you’re not so big now, are ye?”

“Quiet!” Arthur commanded her before murmuring to Dutch, “Just calm down.”

Dutch’s gaze darted to him.

“She’s a fool,” Arthur continued, nodding slightly, “Get her outta here.”

Dutch stared at him, then thundered, to him or Molly she didn’t know, “You know the rules.”

“Oh, not so big now!” Molly was still going on, nearly screaming, “Are we, your majesty?!”

“You—”

A gunshot rang out, a bullet tearing through Molly’s stomach.

"Damn!” Bill cried as people gasped and Ada’s hands flew up to cover her mouth, holding in her cry as they all watched a dark redness blossom across Molly’s white blouse.

Susan stepped forward, gripping a shotgun, as Molly collapsed, dead, and Ada could hear Mary-Beth sobbing.

Oh my God.

“She knew the rules, Arthur,” Susan hissed, “What the hell is wrong with you?” She turned sharply. “Mr Pearson, Mr Williamson, get this body outta here and get it burnt! Now get back to work, all of ya!”

As they all moved instantly, startled into it, in her peripheral vision she saw Dutch turn to her, so slowly it was almost like a dream. Lowering her hands, knowing they were shaking, she met his gaze.

He looked at her.

Oh, God, Molly, I’m so sorry.

"She never liked me,” she heard herself saying. She had no idea how she kept her composure, how her voice didn’t shake, how she sounded so sad and calm and casual at the same time.

Maybe because her life was on the fucking line.

She stared at him as he looked at her.

A lifetime seemed to pass, then he nodded and turned away, moving towards his tent. Arthur was looking at her, but he didn’t say anything, just turned sharply on his heel and strode after Dutch, spitting out curses.

She felt sick. She felt cold and hot and angry and sad and helpless and useless.

Folding her arms, her hands gripping her biceps to hide her shaking hands, Ada watched as Bill and Pearson carried Molly’s body away. They were going to burn her. She felt tears stinging at her eyes. Because of her they’d died. And she’d called her an O’Driscoll? Where the fuck had that come from? Her mind should have been racing, she should have been relieved Molly hadn’t been made to elaborate, but...

Despite what she’d done, she couldn’t hate her, she couldn’t...

Molly, I’m so sorry.

“Hey, honey.”

She stiffened. Micah, who had been so quiet these past couple of months, who had barely said a word to her, who had seemed so disinterested, smiled as he approached her.

“What do you want.”

He laughed, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “So abrupt. I can’t just say hello?”

“What do you want, Micah.”

“Nothin’.” His smile lingered. “Just wanted to ask how your day was goin’, that’s all.”

“It was fine.” She didn’t like that he continued to smile, even as he followed the direction of her gaze, watching Bill and Pearson.

“Yeah, big mess, ain’t it.”

She didn’t say a word.

“Well.” His hands clapping together made her jump, her nails digging into her biceps. “I expect things will sort themselves out soon.” He grinned. “Hope your day gets better, darlin’.”

He wandered away, humming to himself as he headed for the main fire, Charles and Uncle sat before it, silent, staring into the flames. Her gaze lifted from them and... she saw Karen, looking at her, her brow furrowed slightly. She quickly looked away as Ada met her gaze. Starting to tremble, Ada turned and saw Tilly... sat against a tree, crying, looking at her. She, too, looked away.

Oh, my God... It’s in their minds... Whether they believe it or not, it’s in their minds...

She felt like she was going to faint. Lifting her gaze again, she found Arthur striding towards her, his features tight. Lowering her arms as he approached, she didn’t have a chance to speak as his hand settled on her back and pushed her into a walk with him.

“C’mon, we’re goin’ out.”

“Where?” she asked, so relieved, moving towards Mags.

“I don’t know, huntin’ or somethin’,” he muttered, mounting Ophelia. “Need some God damn space from here.”

She pulled herself up into Mags’s saddle, and met Javier’s gaze. He just looked at her. He didn’t look away. Turning Mags around, she pressed her lips together as she and Arthur rode out of camp, clicking her tongue to urge Mags into a trot so she could take the lead.

“I know a place.”

Arthur just grunted in response, and she let silence fall, letting him work through what he needed to, and, God, she just couldn’t talk anymore. They pressed on into a canter, both eager to get away from what had once been home.

—

The crumbling sign on the wooden archway had faintly read ‘Willard’s Rest’.

Arthur could see no Willard, though.

And he was damn fucking happy for it.

The cabin was empty, though furniture still remained in the three rooms that made it up; a bed in two of the rooms, one large, one small, a table and chairs in the main room along with empty cabinets. It was fairly clean, a slight layer of dust, but otherwise fine. It was probably too far out for most travellers, and maybe too hidden, too, the trees giving good coverage at the front, the cliff at the back.

“How’d you find this place?” he asked, removing his gloves and dropping them on to the table as he returned from his perusing of the rooms to see if they were clear.

“Sadie and I came here once when we went out hunting, when we were hiding at Lakay.” Ada hissed softly as she rose, her leg stiff, having just about managed to light a fire in the hearth opposite the table. A light rain had started as they’d arrived and she was absolutely not going to spend the night in a freezing cabin.

“Mmh. This is quite a way from there.” Arthur took a seat as she stood by the fire, warming her hands.

“We just started riding and didn’t stop.” She smiled slightly. “Think we just wanted space, too.”

He nodded, stretching his legs out as his gaze roamed the room again. “This is nice. Seems like someone just moved out.”

“That’s what Sadie and I thought.”

He looked to her as she rubbed her arms and leaned against the wall. “You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured.

He could see she was shaking, and he didn’t think it was from the rain.

Inhaling a breath, Ada shrugged. “I don’t... I don’t know. I haven’t been... able to feel anything for the last few weeks and I’m afraid if I do, I... And what just happened, it...” She exhaled a faint, shaking laugh.

“I get it,” he murmured, guilt twisting at his heart again.

Silence lingered as she took another trembling breath, exhaled it, then paused again. Finally, she smiled slightly, her gaze holding his. “I’m so glad you came back. I’m so happy, very happy.”

He couldn’t help but match her smile even as the knife of guilt continued to twist. “Me, too.”

She licked her lips. “It... It was very hard without you, for me.”

She could feel the tears forming again, clouding her vision slightly, but she tried so hard to suppress them. If she started, she didn’t know if she would ever be able to stop.

Arthur saw it, though, and he couldn’t bear it. Rising, he moved towards her. “Hey, c’mere.”

She released another quiet, useless laugh as she straightened. “Oh no, please don’t, I don’t think I can...”

His hands went to her waist, pulling her into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around her. He felt her stiffen slightly, her arms at her sides.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair, his cheek resting atop her head.

After a few, silent moments, her hands lifted, gripping his jacket at his back. He felt it, then, her silent sobs as she held on to him, her tears wetting his shirt.

“It’s okay...” he murmured again, just holding her as she cried.

He didn’t care to recognise how long he held her for, how long she cried. He’d have done it forever, if that’s what she needed. It tore at his heart, her sobs, the burdens and fears and anxieties she was releasing with every jagged breath. He knew it would have done no good to tell her that he should have been there, he shouldn’t have left, that they should have left, run away, gone west, gone north, gone anywhere away from all of this, this crumbling society. He knew no apologies would atone for any of it. So, finally, after a lifetime, as her cries softened, he whispered one of the two things he had faith in.

“I ain’t goin’ away again, darlin’, not without you.”

“You can’t promise me that, Arthur,” she murmured, the words muffled against his chest.

“I know.” His hands caressed her back gently. “But I’m gonna do my damn best.”

Her shoulders shuddered and he thought she might dissolve into sobs again, but she inhaled a quiet breath and lifted her head. She looked at him then, holding his gaze, as if she could find the real answer, the truth, within his eyes. He didn’t know what she found but she raised her hands and wiped at her face, her palms resting over her eyes as she released a long breath. Then, her features seemed to crumble again.

“Oh, God, Molly...”

The tears came again as he held her, his heart breaking again.

“I just can’t believe she just... And how did she know...”

“She could have been lyin’,” he murmured, “Seemed to me she was just sayin’ shit about people, wanted to hurt ‘em.”

He felt her shaking her head, managing to speak through her tears as she raised her head to look at him. “I don’t think so, Arthur... Hosea knew.”

“What?”

She sniffed, taking a breath. “When Sadie and I went back to Shady Belle, a week or two after it all happened, she let me check all the rooms just in case any of you had come by and left something. I checked Hosea’s room and by his bed in a drawer was a newspaper.” She swallowed hard. “The newspaper that had me in it, the description of me and the article about my uncle looking for me.” Fresh tears began to fall. “He was an intelligent man. There’s no way he wouldn’t have figured it all out and...” Her voice broke as she continued, “and he didn’t say anything. He gave no... no indication, no hint that he knew, he just... carried on treating me the same. God’s sake...” She closed her eyes, weeping. “I wish I’d told everyone now. Not at the beginning but at some point.” She looked up at him. “Whatever had to happen would have happened. I’d like to think I would have been able to argue my case and I’d have been left alone, accepted.”

Arthur exhaled a breath as he wiped her tears away. Truthfully, he had no idea what would have happened... but...

"I’d have had your back,” he murmured, “and Sadie, Sean, Lenny, John, Abigail, and Hosea, and the girls... we know what kind of person you are.”

Her chin was trembling. “But Dutch—”

“I can’t speak for Dutch, but...” He cupped her cheek. “... we’d have been there for you.”

“I don’t know, Arthur...” She shook her head. “... I saw some of them looking at me as we left, I... I don’t know.”

“Whether they believe it or not, they know what kind of a person you are,” he repeated gently. “You did so much for ‘em while we were away. They know that. They’ll just be upset and their minds scrambled ‘cause of Molly.”

“And what a fucking mess,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes. “I just feel so sorry for her.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know...” And he couldn’t think what else to say. He was just as sad, just as enraged. No matter the rules that wasn’t how it should have gone down. She had been drunk, out of her mind, and while he couldn’t think why she would lie about being the one to betray them, she’d seemed to have revelled in revealing it, actually, she still should have been allowed to sober up, say her piece, say why, and then they could have decided what to do... and he hoped it wouldn’t have been to fucking kill her. Molly was Molly, lazy, entitled, sour, but... she hadn’t deserved an end like that, despite what she’d done.

Then again, a small, angry, exhausted, desperately sad part of him whispered that she had. Hosea, one of the greatest men he’d ever known, the man who had practically raised him, had died in a street, bleeding out in the gutter. Lenny, the future of the gang, a kind, funny, lively boy, had died running from a situation he shouldn’t have even been in.

He just held her tighter in his embrace, knowing they both needed it. She held on to him, taking in quiet, ragged breaths as the last of her sobs faded away.

Gentle rain pattered against the roof, and he faintly hoped there wouldn’t be any leaks.

“I’ll cook us somethin’, all righ’?” he murmured, against her hair a few minutes later, his thumbs gently stroking her back. “There’s some tins of somethin’ in my saddlebag, that should do.”

She nodded, and drew her head back as she exhaled a breath, the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips. “That sounds good.”

“Good.”

His heart ached and he couldn’t release her just yet so he bowed his head and kissed her. It was soft, gentle, meant to comfort her and silently reinforce his vow of staying with her. Her hands slid up his back, though, gripping at him again but in a decidedly more urgent manner, and he relinquished to her as she deepened the kiss.

I’ll go in a minute, he thought as an arm tightened around her waist and his other hand settled on the back of her neck. In a minute.

Then she moaned quietly against his lips, her tongue brushing against them.

He knew, he knew if it didn’t stop now then it wouldn’t later.

Her hands were at his jacket, pushing it off of his shoulders and he helped her, throwing it to the side and immediately returning his hands to her, holding her by the waist and pulling her closer.

They needed each other.

Her fingers undid the bandanna she’d returned to him from around his neck, moving to unbutton his shirt before it had even touched the ground. Knowing they both needed a breath, he pulled his lips from hers and brought them to her neck, kissing a trail down the soft column of her throat and back up, teasing along her jawline. She exhaled a moan, her fingers splaying across his bare chest as his shirt fell open, her head tipping back, her eyes closed.

One hand pulled her blouse free from where it was tucked into her trousers, his fingers tracing along her stomach and she gasped softly, probably would have jerked away involuntarily if his arm around her lower back hadn’t kept her tight against him.

Ada could feel his cock hardening against her thigh and she pushed against him, drawing a groan from him that had her shoving his shirt off of his shoulders and down his arms. He helped her again, his hands off of her for the briefest of moments before they were returning, gripping at her back and ass, pulling her as tight against him as possible. She was kissing along his shoulder, kissing at where his scar was, her teeth grazing over his skin with every one, and it drove him insane.

God, he wanted to feel her everywhere.

“Bedroom...” she breathed against his neck, as if hearing his thoughts, “... One with the bigger bed.”

“Obviously...” he groaned into her jaw, biting at it gently as she nipped at his skin in return with a moaned, “Shut up...”

Grunting with impatience, he turned them, pushing her backwards towards the bedroom with his arms remaining tight around her. If either of them stumbled a little they barely registered it, and his arm only moved from her to dart out and grip at the doorjamb so she wouldn’t knock into it. He was surprised he’d reacted in time, her fingers dancing along the waistband of his trousers and unbuttoning them thoroughly distracting.

Stumbling into the room, her back did knock against a chest of drawers, making her hiss in surprise, but it was swiftly replaced by a gasp as he turned her and her back now collided with a wall. Leaning her head back against it so she could see what she was doing, she went to push her hand into his open trousers when his knee pushed between her legs, his thigh pressing against her covered cunt. Inhaling a sharp breath, her hands gripped at his biceps as he braced a hand against the wall.

“Fuck...” he groaned as she rocked against his thigh, her eyes closed and her lips parted. “... I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes...” she breathed, her hand moving to the back of his neck. Opening her eyes, her tongue darted out over her lips. “Touch me, Arthur, please...”

His hand instantly dropped from her hip and tugged the buttons of her trousers undone. Then his hand was inside, his fingers sliding over her cunt and spreading her wet lips. She couldn’t and didn’t care to stop herself from crying out, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Oh, Christ, Arthur...” She had to trail off with a breathy moan as his middle finger glided up her slit and circled her sensitive bud, making her hips buck.

She was wet already for him, enough so that he could press two fingers into her easily. His lips went to her neck as he instantly began to pump them, his other hand pulling her shirt open a little wider, hearing a button or two collide with the wooden floor but neither of them cared. His half-biting, open-mouthed kisses moved down to her throat and chest, and he growled against her skin as her slick walls fluttered around his fingers and her beautiful moans sounded against his ear.

“Fuck, Arthur...” she breathed out, and he could feel her nearing her release already, so wound up and ready for him, ready for the bliss he could give her.

“Come for me,” he commanded, kissing under her jaw so he could gravel into her ear, “Get my hand wet, sweetheart, let me feel you...”

Just his words alone had her clenching around his fingers, and his thumb pressed against her aching clit, rubbing in a firm circle. He wanted to see her face but he couldn’t tear his mouth from her skin, so the only warning he had was her sharp inhale, a very short silence, and then she was crying out through gritted teeth as her nails sank into his skin. He could feel her wetness around his fingers, beads of it sliding down his palm and his cock was so, so painfully hard.

As she rode the last waves of her pleasure, barely coming down, he pulled his hand away and slid his arm around her back, pulling her away from the wall. Her eyes snapping open, the next thing she knew, he’d turned them and was pushing her backwards once more. Her calves met the iron frame of the bed and she fell back, him following, her back colliding now with the soft mattress. Neither cared about the state of the bedsheets, a little musty but better than the blankets they’d had at Lakay, and their lips met instantly. It was a fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue and harsh breaths. His body covered hers and she couldn’t stop herself from focusing on his cock pressing down against her.

“I want you inside me...” she breathed against his lips before she could stop herself, rocking her hips up against him. “... I want to feel you inside me...”

And he paused. Lifting his head, he met her gaze, both their lips parted, chests rising and falling swiftly.

She thought he was going to say no or pull away, thought she’d pushed her luck... when he nodded, his thumb on her waist where her blouse had ridden up caressing gently.

“Yes,” he gravelled, then his lips were back on her but at her neck this time, biting and sucking a path down and her cry of relief was lost in her moan of delight as he licked at her nipple through her blouse and thin, cotton corset.

“Off, get it off...” she heard herself demanding breathlessly, and then his hands were pulling her blouse off, pulling it apart, actually, buttons dropping onto the mattress but she didn’t care.

Arching her back and moving her arms to help him remove it, she then kept it arched as his hands went underneath her, trying to unlace the corset.

It was nowhere near as complicated as the corset she had worn for the Mayor’s party but he still hissed out curses in frustration. Her lips twitching, she was about to tease him when he rose up on his knees, gripped her waist, and turned her over swiftly.

Exhaling a sharp breath as she suddenly found herself on her front, her hands gripping the sheets, she barely had time to react as his hand aggressively tugged at the fastenings and his other pushed her hair aside so he could mouth at her neck and shoulder. Her eyes fell shut as she hummed at the delicious sensation, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and, with his straining cock digging into her ass, she couldn’t stop herself from rocking back against him.

He growled and swatted at her ass lightly, drawing a gasp from her.

“Can’t concentrate if you do that, woman...” he muttered into her neck and she gave a wide, breathless smirk.

“Can’t do two things at once? Poor baby...”

“You know I can, sweetheart.”

The fastenings finally undone, he tugged the corset apart and pushed her over onto her back again. Arching an eyebrow at him, even as a flush spread across her cheeks and neck, she huffed out, “Are you going to keep throwing me around?”

A corner of his mouth rose higher than the other. “Only if you keep likin’ it. Arms above your head.”

She obeyed immediately, her teeth biting at her lower lip again to try and hide a smile, unsuccessfully, though, if his own smirk was anything to go by. He pushed the corset up and over her head, letting it drop to the floor, and then he was on her again, kissing at her jaw, throat, going down, down, down, until he was at her nipples, bare for him now and hard. He sucked and licked at one, and as she moaned, the sound low in her throat, she was about to sink her fingers into his hair when his were suddenly lacing with hers, keeping them above her head. All she could do was arch her back and roll her hips, mewls and soft curses falling from her lips as he did as he pleased, moving from one breast to the other.

She was about to curse at him, her already very intense need growing, when he released her hands and moved down her body, trailing kisses down her stomach like a starving man until he was shifting off of the bed, lowering to his knees on the floor. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her curls sliding over her shoulders, not wanting to take her eyes off of him, and watched him pull her boots off before his hands were at the waistband of her trousers, tugging them down. Ada raised her hips to help him, and even as he was still pulling them down her calves his lips were on her thighs, placing gentle, hungry kisses along them, pausing only to press a gentle, lingering one to the new, pink scar. Tossing the trousers aside once they were off, his hands curved around her knees, pulling them wider apart as his mouth moved up to her wet cunt.

She barely had time to take in a breath before he was licking and sucking at her soaking folds. Her mouth dropping open, her head tipped back and a low moan escaped her.

“Holy God...” she breathed, one of her hands moving to his hair, finally able to tangle her fingers in.

It was a little longer now, so she could easily sink them in and pull and tug, her nails gliding against his scalp. He groaned against her pussy with every tug she gave, his hands sliding over her hips, settling on her stomach. Dragging her teeth over her lower lip as hummed moans left her, she opened her eyes looked down at him, instantly meeting his gaze. He released a sound akin to a growl as their eyes locked and the flat of his tongue slid up her slit, watching her brow dip as she moaned loudly.

“Taste so fuckin’ good...” he groaned against her, and the vibration of his voice had her hips bucking, his hands on her stomach instantly pressing down.

One of them then slid up to pull and roll her nipple, and her elbow supporting her gave out as her other hand flew to his hair at his tongue circling her clit.

Her breaths were becoming shorter and sharper and she wanted to roll her hips but he wasn’t having it, his arm lying across her stomach now. He was driving her insane, his tongue dipping into her before coming back to lap at her clit and it was both perfect and not enough.

The sound she released, close to a whine, had him arching an eyebrow, and she could feel his smirk.

“Somethin’ you want, Ada?”

Her breathing hitched at both feeling his voice again, and his tone. “Come on, Arthur...”

“Oh, I don’t know what to do, sweetheart...” he rumbled as he drew his head back, his hand moving down from her nipple. ��... wanna keep tastin’ you, been dreamin’ about this, but also wanna feel you come again...”

Her response, whatever it would be, even she didn’t know, died on her tongue as he slid two fingers inside her and stroked them. Crying out, her head tipped back and she pulled at his hair, pushing her hips against him.

“Oh, fuck, God, Arthur, oh, fuck...” She was almost babbling, so close, so fucking close to the edge again and and his words and fingers had only driven her there further.

He could feel her slick walls starting to flutter around him, and he groaned, kissing and sucking at her clit. “... Think I’ll be nice and make you come again...”

She breathed out a sound of relief, her gaze darting down to him as her moans became louder and higher. She tried to keep her eyes on his, but as his fingers and tongue stroked at her, only a few moments later she threw her head back and cried out, her hips rising off the bed.

“That’s it, that’s it, let me taste you...” he mumbled, scissoring his fingers slightly against her tightening walls.

She was almost pushing against his head, pushing him further against her, and he wasn’t about to complain. Lapping her up, he slid his fingers out so he could collect all of her wetness on his tongue, gliding it up her slit. When he reached her clit, her hips jerked, sensitive, and she then started to push his head away.

Chuckling lowly, he obeyed and softly kissed along her thigh as her hands fell to her sides, her eyes closed. Breathing hard, small, hummed moans left her every few moments, and when he reached her knee, he then gently lowered her legs and pushed himself up.

The sound of his boots coming off made her eyelids flutter open, and she gazed up at him, meeting his gaze. Then, a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and he was about to return it when she pushed herself up and settled her hands on his hips. Her legs widened so he was essentially standing between them, and she gazed up at him as she pressed a soft kiss above the trail of hair on his lower stomach.

A slightly hissed breath escaped him, and one of her hands slid to the open front of his trousers.

“Can I touch you?” she murmured against his skin, pressing another kiss, and he realised she was giving him the option to stop this.

And then he realised he could let her touch him now.

Because he’d said yes.

And he wanted this, wanted her.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice almost hoarse with need.

The slow smile that spread across her lips had him wanting to taste her yet again, but he restrained himself as her hand slid into his trousers and her fingers wrapped around his hard, straining cock. His eyes fell shut with a groan as she pulled him out, and she’d remembered what he’d said because her hand left him briefly and when it returned it was wet and, God, it was heaven...

His hand found the side of her neck, cupping it, and his thumb brushed against her jaw gently as she moved her hand up and down his length.

Then her tongue was on the weeping head of his cock.

Clenching his jaw tightly as she gave small, light licks, he knew he couldn’t open his eyes because he’d just come right there.

Ada gazed up at him, watching the muscles in his jaw move, feeling his fingers flex and tighten against her neck, though she didn’t mind at all. Her other hand pulled his trousers down a little further, and the feel of her nails against his thigh seemed to bring him back into the room as his eyes snapped open.

She was about to murmur something coy when he gently pushed her hands away and shoved his trousers down to the floor, kicking the garment aside.

“Lie back,” he murmured, and she did so instantly, shifting backwards and lying on the bed.

He placed a knee on the bed and leaned over her, supporting himself with a hand by her head. He was about to speak, to tell her how beautiful she looked, when her hands cupped his face and drew him down, claiming his lips in a firm kiss. His whole body lowered against her, an arm sliding under her as the other settled above her head. He could feel all of her, all of her soft skin against him, feel how wet she was against his thigh.

“Ada...” he mumbled against her lips, and she hummed in reply, hooking a leg over his hip, opening up to him.

Christ...

Breaking the kiss gently, he drew his head back and gazed down at her. Her eyes opened a moment later, and she smiled softly, slightly breathlessly.

“What is it?” she murmured as her fingers caressed his hair.

Licking his lips, his thumb above her head stroked at one of her curls. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked quietly, now giving her the opportunity to stop.

The backs of her fingers brushed against his cheek as she nodded without hesitation, her teeth grazing over her plump lower lip. “I am.”

He nodded, and lust surged within him once more because she wanted him and there was his fire in her eyes and so he kissed her fiercely.

She reacted instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she released a soft sound against his lips. Shifting between her legs slightly, his arm moved out from under her and he gripped his cock, guiding the tip to her entrance.

Fuck, feeling how wet she was...

“I ain’t gonna last long,” he mumbled, breaking the kiss and meeting her gaze. “Been some time.”

She nodded and swallowed lightly. “That’s okay.”

“It might... It’s gonna hurt a little, so I’ll go slow.”

Ada nodded again, her fingertips pressing into his shoulders. “Okay.”

He nodded, licked his dry lips, then pushed the head of his cock into her.

Oh, fuck...

Oh, Christ, he wasn’t going to last long at all.

Even with just the tip he could feel how warm and tight she was.

He had to force himself to keep his eyes open because he wanted to watch her reactions, wanted to see if he might be causing any really bad pain.

And, oh, fuck, looking at her...

She was holding his gaze, her lips parted, her skin flushed, a gentle sound coming from the back of her throat. He pushed in a little further and she winced just slightly but it was accompanied by a small moan. So he kept pushing, gently, slowly, watching her and trying not to think about how fucking good she felt.

After what felt like a thousand lifetimes, he finally sheathed himself inside her.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from closing.

Lowering his face, it pressed into the crook of her neck as he hissed out breaths through his teeth. He could feel her nails digging into his skin and he focused on that because, fuck, he wasn’t going to come yet.

Ada, in turn, was staring at the ceiling, her lips still parted, every breath leaving her almost a moan... and she was trying so hard to not move because she knew, from how damn tense he was, he was trying to do the same.

It had hurt a little, but after a few moments, after she’d adjusted, it felt... incredible. The long, hard length of him fit her perfectly, and being filled by him, being stretched... A new wave of warmth settled in her lower stomach and he must have felt it in some way because he hissed out a short breath, his hands gripping at the sheets.

How long had it been for him? she thought, her fingertips brushing against his skin in the lightest of touches.

Licking her lips as he stiffened, she then tilted her head down a fraction and brushed her lips against his skin as her hips gave the smallest of rolls.

His hand darted down and gripped her hip, but not firm enough to stop her, so she did it again, then again, then again until she was rocking up against him. She could feel each of his breaths on her skin, laboured and short.

He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to. He wanted to be buried inside her forever, and he didn’t want to come because then it would be over and—

She moaned against his ear.

It was the softest of sounds, and it broke something inside of him.

Gritting his teeth, his hand slid from her hip to her thigh, and he held her leg in position around him. Then, he started to move his hips, drawing them back and thrusting inside her in a slow, drawn out movement.

He could feel all of her, every inch of her warm wetness, and she could feel every inch of him, her head tipping back as she cried out softly.

Each sound she made only spurred him on, making his movements quicken until he was thrusting hard and fast and she was moaning and gripping at him and he wasn’t going to last, he wasn’t going to last...

She heard him grunt something out, and it took her a moment to respond herself, one hand gripping at his hair.

“Hm?”

“... Gonna come...” came the tight reply, and it sent the most delicious of thrills through her.

He was going to withdraw, was going to spill his seed on her stomach, when her legs tightened around him, holding him against her, and he let her, all thought of consequences leaving his mind. Breathing hard into her neck, one hand gripped her thigh tightly as his other tangled in the sheets above her head, and he thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt each time, and she was so warm and wet and tight and she was moaning his name and—

Gritting his teeth, his hips drew back, then he thrust into her once more, burying himself deep within her, and his body went taut as he froze and his release finally came.

Low, breathless groans fell from his lips as his hips jerked, and her mouth dropped open as a rush of breath escaped her, her arms tight around him, feeling him release inside her. Her slick walls fluttered around him in response and it just prolonged his heaven-sent pleasure, and he couldn’t think, all he could do was feel, his mind blank.

He didn’t know how long he lay there on top of her, still, his face pressed against her neck, softening cock buried inside her, exhaling harsh, short breaths. It took him a little while to realise her finger tips were gently stroking against his back, and it wasn’t until she shifted just slightly that he realised he must be crushing her, and so he lifted his head and pushed himself up with a mumbled, “Shit, sorry...”

She was smiling, though, as he met her gaze, the most tender of smiles he’d ever seen. Exhaling another breath, a smile pulled at his own lips and he cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin.

He bowed his head and claimed that smile, kissing her softly. Her hand settled on the back of his head as she returned the kiss with a quiet hum.

“Sorry, it’ll be better next time...” he murmured when the kiss broke, still a little breathless.

“That wasn’t good?” she answered, arching an eyebrow as her smile returned.

“No, no, I mean for you, it’ll be better—”

Her kiss silenced him, her arms wrapping around his neck and drawing him back down against her. He gave in, an arm sliding underneath her and holding her tight against him.

“Shut up, Arthur Morgan,” she murmured against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied just as quietly, his lips brushing over hers.

Her smile was there again when he drew his head back. “... Next time, did you say?”

“In-satiable...”

She laughed as he pushed himself up with a shake of his head, the sound drawing off with a slight hiss and a wince as he slowly pulled out of her. Licking her lips, her hands went to her stomach as he moved off of her and settled on his back with a contented sigh. Then, before she knew it, his arm was going around her and pulling her against him. Turning on her side, one of her legs draped over his as she curled up against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

Gazing up at him, she found his eyes had closed, but his fingers traced light and lazy patterns on her arm. A soft smile danced across her lips... but something had resurfaced in her mind; a question that had been playing on her mind since he’d left.

“Arthur...?”

“Mmh...” His eyes remained closed for a moment longer before he looked down at her, arching an eyebrow.

Licking her lips again, she took a slight breath. “... Why were you so reluctant to do this with me?”

His gaze held hers, his jaw moving just slightly. “I ain’t... I ain’t been with someone in some time.”

“So... you were nervous?” she asked gently, her hand resting on his chest.

“No, I, well, a little, but it weren’t about that, I...” He cleared his throat after a moment as he sat up carefully, giving her room to shift from under his arm, and he leaned back against the headboard.

She stayed silent, watching him as she leaned up onto her elbow.

He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb across one and cleared his throat again before looking up at her. “Ada, I... There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to tell you for a while. I’m sorry I ain’t said it sooner, but... I had a kid.”

Her lips parted as her eyebrows rose. “What?”

He took a breath, his mouth moving slightly. “... Years ago, when I was younger, there was a woman called Eliza, and we... we liked each other a lot and slept together and... And Isaac came along. I couldn’t stay with ‘em, not with this life, but I sent money and would visit whenever I could.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “He was a good kid. And, then, ah...” The smile vanished as soon as it had come. “... Then I went to visit one time and when I got there... house was empty, two graves outside. They’d been robbed and shot. It was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through in my life and I just stopped... feelin’. Hardened me.” He glanced up at her. “I think you can understand that.”

A corner of her mouth lifted, her eyes shining.

He swallowed, exhaled a breath. “Then I met Mary and I started to feel again, but, it weren’t righ’. That’s why it was so hard for me to really let her go. I thought she was my only chance at somethin’ really good.” He looked at her again. “I ended it with her, you know. Called it all to an end when I went and saw her that day.”

“You did?” she said quietly, her chest tightening slightly.

“Yeah. Was time for one of us to do it. I didn’t love her that way anymore, either, I need you to know that.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he didn’t need to tell her, but he preempted it and raised his hand slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Wait a second, let me finish... I hadn’t really loved her for some time, not properly. I’ll always be fond of her, she was an important part of my life but, I didn’t, I don’t think I ever did, actually, love her.” He paused, then murmured the second thing he had absolute faith in. “... I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone like I love you.”

Her heart stopped.

Gazing at him, her lips parted, she could feel tears starting to prick at her eyes again. “... You love me?”

“Yeah.” A corner of his mouth twisted up. “Done what I can to stop it, but... it’s just as stubborn as you are.”

Her eyes shining again, she pressed her lips together to stop her lower one from trembling. Swallowing hard, after a few moments, moments that seemed like an eternity to him, she nodded and smiled softly.

“Well... I love you, too, Arthur Morgan.”

His eyebrows lifted, his chest tightening slightly. “You do?”

She nodded, a tear dripping down her cheek as she blinked, her smile lingering. “Yeah. Tried to stop it, too, but... just keeps following me around, wherever I go, like you.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound of it slightly thick from the emotion settling in his throat. “Well... that’s good, then.”

“Yeah.”

After a moment, she sniffed then pushed herself up and moved towards him, and he leaned towards her and his hands cupped her face as hers settled on his chest and they kissed, lingering and tender.

I love you.

When he finally released her, her head settled on his shoulder and his arms went around her, fingers lightly stroking her skin.

They lay in silence, allowing their words to linger in the air.

Her eyes were closed, a smile on her lips, her heart beating a little faster.

I love you.

It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to say. No ceremony, no floods of tears, no hesitation, just saying it and meaning it.

I love you.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting his shoulders against the headboard. Whatever was going to happen tomorrow, the day after, the rest of her life, she was going to be with him, loved and safe, and she was going to do anything to keep it that way.

She had a hundred questions to ask, about Isaac, about Eliza, about his life back then but... They could wait. Despite the years that stretched between now and those events, she could sense there was a rawness still there, a grief that hadn’t ended, and she could understand it all too well.

“Mmh, anythin’ happen with the O’Driscoll camp, by the way?” he murmured after a few more quiet minutes.

“Oh, yeah...” She shifted a little, her eyes remaining closed. “Rounded a few up, asked them about Thomas and they all went quiet, so I think they knew something.”

“Righ’.”

She inhaled a breath, her eyebrows rising a little. “But maybe not, they didn’t seem particularly bright. One lit a stick of dynamite and threw it without even looking, it exploded near me and his friends.”

“There was an explosion?!” He looked down at her as his hands stilled, staring. “Jesus, woman, can you prioritise the things you tell me and when?”

Her lips twitched as her gaze slid up to him. “Well, there was an ambush t—”

“Ambush?!”

“Well, the explosion came from the ambush—”

“God damn it, woman, you are just...” He exhaled a heavy breath as he shook his head. “... Are you okay?”

She smiled, almost in amusement. “I’m fine, Arthur.” The smile faded after a few moments, though, and he knew something else was on her mind.

Licking her lips, she curled up against him. “I heard one of the men say that Colm’s been looking for me. I just don’t know why. I can’t work out if it’s just a game for him or whether there’s an actual reason.”

Arthur had resumed stroking her skin gently, soothingly, and he released a low hum. “Well, he ain’t got you yet, though, and I won’t let him.”

Her lips twitched faintly as she arched an eyebrow. “You’ll have to get in line because I won’t let him either.”

“I would gladly get behind you...”

She laughed softly as his lips went to her forehead and cheeks, kissing sloppily.

“Stop it, my heart’s only just calmed down.”

"You sure? Lemme just check that you’re really okay...”

She laughed louder as her arms went around him as he shifted them so she lay underneath him, and he kissed and caressed every inch of her body, except where she wanted him the most.

“Insatiable, Mr Morgan...” she murmured with a breathless smile as his nose brushed against her stomach, and he pressed a kiss there, his lips trailing down.

—

He dozed off afterwards and she let him, knowing she should probably get some sleep, too, but it hadn’t come. She could barely close her eyes without wanting to scream with joy.

He loved her. She was loved, for all that she was, good and bad.

She would never be able to convey how happy she was.

Tonight had been the last barrier. The act and their words had told her he was hers and she was his, for all that they were, mind, body and soul.

On her side, her hand tucked under her chin, she gazed at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his nose, his mouth, his eyelashes, the hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck, the sparse, light freckles on his skin, the—

He shifted as he inhaled a slow breath. Her eyes moving back up, they met his.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice a little hoarse.

“Hey,” she whispered, a soft smile lifting her lips as she pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

Rubbing at his face with a hand, he then arched an eyebrow as it dropped to his chest. “How long you been starin’ at me?”

Her smile widened. “Hours.”

He snorted. “I don’t sleep hours. You should sleep, though.”

“I will.”

He gazed at her as she didn’t move, just looking at him, her smile lingering.

She had to say it. Had to make sure it was still real.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan,” she murmured softly.

His features softened instantly, his arm sliding around her. “I love you, too, Ada.”

Lifting her chin, her lips met his in a tender kiss.

It was still real.

—

He awoke in the morning, after a peaceful, unbroken sleep, to find her head on his chest, her fingers tracing light patterns, her stomach rumbling, and aching and sore in the best way.

“I’ll cook us that meal,” he mumbled against her lips once he’d finally found the strength to stop kissing her.

She hummed and rolled onto her back as he pushed himself up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Watching him run a hand through his hair, she played with her ring, twisting it around and around, because as blissful as last night was, every second of it... the light of the morning sun brought with it an unspoken question that hung in the air.

He cleared his throat, his elbows on his knees. After a few moments, he then looked to her.

“We have to go back.” The words were quiet, expected, and she nodded.

“I know.”

Watching him dress, she didn’t allow herself to feel resigned, hopeless or afraid.

They would go back, and she would plan a way for them to leave this life behind.

—

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner Ch 2: The Contest

Summary: Life at SHIELD isn’t always missions and seriousness, as a good natured shooting contest between Katie and Clint shows! The question is, as the two dead-shots face off, who will be the winner? Steve has utter faith in his best friend, but will he win the bet? Either way, both are left contemplating their feelings towards one another and realise they run much deeper than either could ever have imagined them doing.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad language (no smut, yet, but will be down the line) Bit of angst, two idiots struggling with feelings

March 2013

A shooting contest between two Avengers was always going to draw big attention, so it was hardly surprising, therefore, that SHIELD agents were running a book. Clint was odds on favourite to win, but Steve had so far refused to take part, that is until 10 minutes or so before the contest was supposed to start. He was stood outside the shooting range, eyes focussed on Katie and Clint as they both stood in there, checking their equipment, a crowd steadily gathering behind him.

“I know she’s good, but she really doesn’t stand a chance.” Natasha said as she stood at his side. Her matter-of-fact tone caused something in his chest to stir, the lack of faith everyone bar Evans and Lawson from the lab seemed to be displaying in Katie riled him and he turned to Natasha.

“Twenty bucks says she does it.” he stuck his hand out.

She raised an eyebrow at him, before shaking his hand “Alright Rogers, you’re on.”

His hands returned to his belt buckle and both Katie and Clint signalled they were ready.

Evans went into the room, it was soundproof unless you pushed the button to listen in, which Rumlow did, of course.

"No pushing or shoving of your opponent because that’s just a shitty thing to do…” Evans said, his Texan drawl loud as his hand scratched at his ginger beard “No fancy arrows Hawkeye, just the normal rounds.”

“What’s normal about any of this?” Katie mumbled, earning her a smirk off Clint.

“Perfect kill shots are an extra half-point. 20 minute time limit is in force. If you’re tied on score then we’ll go to the number of kill shots made.” Evans looked at them and they both nodded, Katie licking her lips. “Now. To your starting positions…and…” he held his right hand up, 3 fingers extended “May the odds be ever in your favour…”

Steve had no idea what that was a reference too, but he heard the rest of the people around him snigger. Katie threw her head back in a laugh as Clint mimicked Evan’s hand gesture as the other Sniper left the room.

The two opponents stepped up to the line that marked off the beginning of the course, which was constructed out of crates and various other objects. Katie cracked her neck side to side as Clint tested the tension in the bow string one last time before turning his head to meet Katie’s gaze. She put her gun back into its thigh holster and turned to her old SO.

“May the best woman win…” she said with a smirk, fist bumping him with her right hand as she felt the blood pounding in her ears. Then, with a simultaneous nod, the two of them shot forward.

Steve felt a surge of pride as he watched Katie leaping from obstacle to obstacle, landing shot after shot. After she landed the 4th he heard Natasha hiss through her teeth.

“Ok, so maybe she has a little chance…”

Steve didn’t reply, simply watched, silently willing her on.

As the minutes ticked on, the two continued, both making leaps, dropping into rolls, and ducking behind corners. Katie took another shot, and paused for a split second, if she was counting correctly there were two more to go and 5 minutes left on the clock. She looked up for her next target and saw Clint was blocking her way, knelt down, aiming at his own. Katie knew the sensible thing to do would be to wait, but then she was a Stark, being sensible wasn’t one of her main attributes. With a smirk she re-holstered her gun and sprinted as fast as she could, launching herself forward into a perfect front flip, catapulting right over the top of Clint before she immediately slid onto a knee and brought the handgun back up, aiming at the target.

Outside the room there was a lot of cheering and cat calls at her display of acrobatics.

Katie moved to her final target, back against a large crate, aimed but then missed and Steve closed his eyes- that would cost her.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, doubling over to catch her breath as Clint walked over to her, pulling her into a hug.

“Sharp shooting Nova!” he grinned, ruffling at her hair. Both of them turned as the doors open and a few agents walked in, back slapping them both as Evans collected the targets and went to tally up the points.

“That was impressive!” Steve said, crossing the room smiling “both of you.”

“Not bad Stark.” Nat added, appraisingly

“Thanks.” she said, taking a drink of the bottle of water Clint handed to her. She was red faced, sweating but absolutely thrilled, pumped full of adrenaline. She placed her hands on her hips and took a deep breath.

“Ok and we have the results!” Evans said and Clint threw his arm round Katie as hers slid round his waist. “Barton hit each target, giving him 10 plus 4 kill shots, taking him to 12. Stark you missed one giving you 9 and 3 kill shots, taking you to 10.5…”

“Damned it!” Katie groaned, shaking Clint’s hand as the various cheers and complaints went up as people started to cash in their bets.

“You’re fired…” Steve heard a familiar voice say. Spinning round, he saw Fury handing over a fifty to an agent whose name escaped him and Steve bit back a smile. The Director had bet on Katie. That one mistake had been costly.

“Cough up Rogers…” Nat said, holding out her hand. He turned to her, sighing and fished in his pocket for a twenty, handing it to her.

“You bet on me?” Katie looked at him, surprised.

“Course I did, sweetheart.” he said immediately.

“Yeah I didn’t, sorry Stark.” Nat said, taking the twenty off him “Clint’s never lost a challenge yet.”

“He nearly did.” Steve said, looking at his friend proudly before he glanced back at Natasha. “Was worth the bet to see you get so twitchy Romanoff… “

“I wasn’t twitchy…” She said, as Clit looked at her.

“Seriously?” he frowned.

“I’ll admit at one point I thought Stark might have just shaded it…” Nat narrowed her eyes at Steve who simply shrugged, hands dropping to the front of his belt buckle.

“To be fair, there was one point where I thought that too.” Clint smiled, and Katie felt a surge of pride in her chest as he replaced the arrows into his quiver. “Did good Nova, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Clint.” she smiled at him.

“So, who fancies a drink?” Barton looked around, clapping his hands together.

“I’m game.” Katie said, emptying her magazine, already stripping down her weapon.

Natasha nodded and then Steve realised they were all looking at him. He hesitated, he really did need to train as he hadn’t had a decent run that morning and he’d be restless all evening otherwise, but after that…why not?

"I gotta work out first but if you tell me where you’re going I'll join you when I'm done.” he said.

“Take a day off!” Nat drawled, examining her nails. He was about to reply but Katie got there first.

“If he doesn’t work out he’s a right crank! And no one likes a Cranky Cap…”

“You know what Stark…” he started but she simply stuck her tongue out at him causing him to roll his eyes, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

“Why don’t we try the new sports bar on the high-street, what’s it called again?” Clint suggested.

“Home Run?” Nat asked.

“Yeah that’s it.” he nodded “Couple of doors down from the Burger joint.”

“I’ll find it.” Steve said as Clint nodded, making for the door, Natasha following. Katie turned to Steve, smiling at him as he surveyed the room.

"You did a good job," he nodded to the obstacle course “Did it take you back to fighting Aliens?”

"Not quite the same, you know? No returning gunfire… no life-or-death stakes… no Captain America cushioning my fall when we got blown out of a bank window," she teased. He laughed, as she started to back up towards the door. "I won't take up your workout time. See you at the bar?"

“You never take up my time, doll.” He smiled back, honestly before he felt the flush rise up his neck. What a dumbass thing to say. “See you later." he nodded.

With that she took her leave, tugging her hair out the ponytail as she left, allowing the gentle waves to cascade down her back.

********

Half an hour or so, after a Katie had showered and changed, the 3 Avengers were making the 20 minute or so walk to the bar downtown.

“You know I still can’t believe I got to within a point and a half of you.” Katie nudged Clint.

“Me neither actually.” Natasha asked “I thought it was gonna be a whitewash.”

“Oh ye of little faith…” Katie said, mock hurt lacing her voice.

“Tell you who did have faith, other than Rogers… Fury.” Nat said grinning.

“Hang on…the boss bet against me?” Clint stopped “Damned.”

“Don’t take it personally…” Katie shrugged as they reached the bar. Clint opened the door to let the girls step in first and then he joined them, looking around at the new surroundings. It was low lit but piled with sports memorabilia which they paused to have a look at on their way to the bar. Drinks purchased, they headed to a plush, leather seated booth and settled down.

They fell into an easy chat, and then the inevitable teasing about Rumlow fancying Katie started up and she groaned. Clint and Nat enjoyed ribbing her about him and she had to admit, he wasn’t subtle to be fair. He’d asked her out 3 times now and she’d politely declined but it didn’t stop her friends from enjoying teasing her about it. Clint and Nat took turns in trying to highlight Rumlow’s more endearing qualities. They managed a sum total of 3 when Clint leaned back in his chair and shrugged.

“I’m out…” he grinned as Katie laughed, raising her glass to her mouth to drain the last of her beer.

“Yeah, he’s not relationship materiel…” Nat shrugged

“But you could just fuck him, get what you need and kick him out before breakfast.” Clint suggested causing Katie to choke down her mouthful of European lager and pick up the beer mat nearest her.

Steve chose that exact moment to walk into the bar. He watched as the beer mat hit Clint straight between the eyes, and Katie threw her head back in pure, unadulterated laughter. Something in his chest stirred as he watched her, that wonderful smile and laugh filling her face. He enjoyed seeing her so relaxed.

“Hey…” he greeted them as they all looked up. “You guys need another drink?”

“Cheers Cap, 3 beers…” Clint motioned round the table and Steve headed off to the bar. Katie watched him go, eye trained on his ass which looked remarkably fine in those dark denims...then, realising what she was doing and who she was with, she let out silent groan as she turned back to see Clint and Nat exchanging a glance, a glance between two people who had just discovered the best secret ever and she knew she’d been caught.

“What?” she shrugged “Girl can look, right?”

Neither of them said anything just kept smirking to themselves in that infuriating way until Steve returned, setting down the 4 pints which he easily held in his hands and slid into the spare seat next to Katie.

“I’m in the mood for another challenge.” Clint leaned forward, his eyebrows raising up and down as he spoke.

“Like what?” Katie folded her arms

“Which one of you…” he said, waving his finger between her and Nat “…can down a pint fastest?”

“That’s not a contest…” Katie looked at Nat, smirking. “We all know it’s me.”

The red head quirked an eyebrow, “I’m game if you are.”

Katie shrugged as Clint chuckled and pounded his hand on the table. “Alright then, Ladies…on your marks…”

As soon as Clint had done counting down Katie raised the glass to her mouth and chugged, draining it in 4 seconds flat before turning it upside down on top of her head. Natasha wasn’t even half way through hers before she groaned and set her glass down, trying to supress a burp.

Steve couldn’t help but look at her, his mouth falling open.

"What?” she laughed, shrugging as the Captain exchanged a look with Clint “I spent 3 years at University, drinking with boys…”

“Yeah well I’ll stick to Vodka…” Nat said, shaking her head “Fancy that as a challenge?”

“Not a chance.” Katie said, “Although Cap could…”

“He could, but he won’t” Steve said sternly shooting her a look “Because it wouldn’t be fair…”

Katie rolled her eyes pouting.

“You do know I’m Russian, right.” Nat said, leaning back “I was practically weaned on the stuff…”

“Yes, I know that, but I can't get drunk." Steve shrugged “my metabolism burns it off too fast.”

“Cap…” Clint sighed, shaking his head “That might just be the saddest thing I have ever heard.”

“Even sadder than when you heard you were shipping off to guard Thor’s hammer?” Nat asked

Clint considered this for a moment “Hmmmm. Maybe the same level of sadness at learning I was about to head to Butt-fuck America for an undefined amount of time, yes.”

Steve choked into his beer. Besides him Katie laughed.

"That's a bit harsh," he said as Clint snorted and shook his head.

"Cap. I'm serious. It was legit in the middle of the fucking desert. Nothing for miles."

“What happened to that one eyed puppy we found?” Katie asked suddenly.

“Err, I took him to some friends.” Clint said “Their kids love him, he’s living the best life.”

Katie and Natasha shared a smile, both understood Friends to mean his family and his own kids.

“Still eating Pizza?” Katie asked.

“Pizza?” Steve asked, frowning. “Who feeds a dog pizza?”

“Well he was a bit like you in that respect. Do anything for a double pepperoni with extra cheese.” Katie nudged him with her elbow

“As long as its New York style…” Steve drained his glass, matter of factly.

“Admit it, you enjoyed it when it took you to Second City” Katie eyed him.

“You been to Seconds?” Clint asked, “Thought you swore you wouldn’t go back after that waiter said he wanted to give you a real slice of Chicago to talk about?”

Natasha snorted “Wish I’d seen that.”

“Trust me…”Clint said, “You don’t. Nova went from zero to full metal jacket in 3 seconds flat. Dragged him over the counter and everything…”

“You didn’t?” Steve glanced at her, although he knew she probably had.

“Look… we had just got back from a week’s stake out in Saudi Arabia…” Katie sighed, shrugging as Clint and Natasha laughed “I was tired and fending off the advances of some greasy, 40 something year old man politely really wasn’t top of my list…”

“Why not? You do it every day to Rumlow” Nat smirked.

At the mention of his name Steve felt his eyes narrow. He hated the way the STRIKE leader blatantly eyed Katie up at every given chance. It was disrespectful.

“Don’t start that again” Katie rolled her eyes.

“He’s not a bad looking guy.” Nat persisted “You could do worse…”

“You like him so much you fuck him!” Katie’s voice was snappy. Romanoff leaned back in her chair, eyeing her over half full glass, smirking.

“Touched a nerve, Stark?”

“No, you’re just talking crap, as usual.” she shot back, standing up. “My round…”

Steve moved so that she could get out and watched her head to the bar.

“Think we need to lay off the whole Rumlow thing…” Clint snorted, turning Nat. “She’s clearly not interested.”

“Tell that to Rumlow” Nat shrugged snorted.

“Well you can’t blame him, she’s a good looking girl.” Clint shrugged

“Yeah but she’s obviously looking for someone a little less…”

“Of an ass hat?” Clint cut in making Steve snort.

“I was gonna say a little more of a gentleman but…if the cap fits…” Nat shrugged and her eyes flashed to Steve and he knew instantly she had aimed that comment at him. Steve sighed and shook his head, shooting her a glare which she shrugged off, in her usual nonchalant way.

But he couldn’t shake it out of his mind. Did she know something he didn’t?

****

A few hours later Clint and Nat decided they’d had enough and left to grab a taxi. When Clint was in town he always stayed with Nat, prompting Steve to wonder if there was anything going on beyond the platonic friendship. He pondered it for a moment, deciding to just ask the question.

“Is there something going on there?” he nodded to the pair as they left.

“No.” Katie said, shaking her head “Absolutely not.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Ok, I’ll tell you, but don’t be pissed I haven’t told you before…” she said, pausing “Clint…he’s married, has 2 kids.”

“What?” Steve choked on his beer.

“They have a place…somewhere, I don’t know exactly but it’s off SHIELD’s books and no one knows bar me, Nat and Fury…”

“Huh…” Steve said, pondering for a moment.

“Look, sorry I didn’t tell you but…”

“It’s ok.” He smiled. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little bit disappointed she hadn’t told him before, but he understood, she was loyal to a fault. “I get it, he’s your friend.”

“Yeah I know but he’s not my best friend…” she batted her eyelids at him.

“Hmmm, stop buttering me up.”

“Has it worked?”

“Yes.” He said, draining his glass and she grinned “Same again?”

They had a couple more before Katie decided she was one pint away from being drunk and Steve found himself a little bit disappointed she wanted to leave. He was enjoying spending the time with her. It felt different to their usual trips out, she’d been more relaxed than he had seen her in a long time, enjoying the gentle touches she made to his arm and leg when she was teasing him.

“You know, you shouldn’t have told Nat you can’t get drunk and whooped her ass at a vodka necking contest.” she said, linking her arm into his as they headed to the taxi rank.

“Now that would have been dishonest” he smirked. “Surely you’re not saying I should use my enhancement to my advantage in such a situation?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” she nodded.

He laughed, sticking his arm out to hail a cab.

“But then you’re a very honest kinda guy…” she said.

“I have my moments” he turned to face her

“Nah ah, you can’t lie for shit!” she grinned at him.

“No, I can’t lie to you for shit, sweetheart” He said, rolling his eyes “You know me too well.”

“Hmmm, true.” she said, nodding in agreement. The car stopped at the curb and Steve opened the door for her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Steve asked, not particularly happy she was cabbing back alone, it was times like this he wished he had a car. “I can walk back for my bike…”

“I can handle myself…I’m a trained killer remember?” she said, raising her hands and making gun signs at him with her fingers. He shook his head, smiling.

“You’re an idiot.” He snorted a laugh.

“But you love me!” she grinned, standing on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek. “g’night soldier.”

“Call me when you’re home.” He instructed “And if I ain’t heard from you in 20…” he raised his voice so the cab driver could hear.

She shook her head, smiling as she climbed into the taxi and waved as it pulled off.

*****

It wasn’t long before she was home. She kicked off her boots, flopped down onto her bed and pulled out her phone, better do as Captain Badass said or knowing him he’d turn up and kick the door in.

“So I’m home Old timer…” she said, when he answered and from his sigh she knew he would be rolling his eyes.

“Less of the old” he said, the clinking of cutlery and plates rattling in the background.

“What you doing?” she asked.

“Making food.”

“You can’t cook.” she snorted.

“Yes I can.”

“So why have you never cooked for me?” she asked indignantly, feeling somewhat annoyed that she always did the cooking for the two of them.

“Because you’re better at it.” He said simply “And I've made you grilled cheese before. And soup. Now drink some water and go to sleep.”

“God you’re so bossy.” she grumbled. “Captain Badass…”

“Someone has to be, you’re a law unto yourself.”

“Yah but admit it, I’m awesome.”

“I know you are, I’ve told you before. But if I say it again will you do what I said?”

“Maybe, probably…definitely maybe” she said, shrugging to herself.

“Then you’re awesome. Goodnight doll.”

“Night Stevie.”

On that he cut the call, placing his phone down on the counter as he thought back over the day, waiting for his food to heat. For the first time in a long time he actually felt completely at ease. Ease with his life both in and out of work.

Up until a few weeks ago it had still felt slightly confusing, and it still did with the STRIKE team sometimes. At first he had been tentative, not trying to step on Rumlow’s toes but that had quickly subsided and the two of them had fallen into a pretty good working relationship. As much as Rumlow could rile him, he knew that the man was good at his job, and Steve was good at his. He was the tactician, Rumlow organised the troops. But sometimes, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Sometimes he feels interest, but it was often coloured by the lingering disillusionment that they were merely humouring him as the blue eyed all American hero he had been painted to be.

But never once had he felt like that with Katie.

And then his apartment seemed to blur in front of him, causing him to realise this went way beyond some daft crush. He was really falling in deep. The heat travelled up his chest into his neck and he felt his palms become sweaty. He dropped his arms to wipe them on his jeans as the fizzy feeling left his body, but stayed by him, swirling around until he could practically hear it. This really, really wouldn’t do. She was his friend, a work colleague…the daughter of one of his friends from the 40s…and then there was Peggy.

Not for the first time Steve delved into the reasons he'd been drawn to Katie, comparing her to Peggy. Both women had strong personalities, an unwavering sense of justice and ethics, a deep well of compassion, loyalty, and the air of authority that put more than one man in his place, including himself. They were both incredibly beautiful, filled with passion, devotion and ambition…

Abandoning his food, his appetite lost completely he threw the remains into the bin and headed into his bedroom, intending to do what he did best when it came to women.

Stick his head in the sand and hope to God it all went away.

Meanwhile, Katie was going through her own bedtime routine, shedding her clothes and pulling on a pair of pyjamas before collapsing into her pillow, thinking about what a good day it had been. She hadn’t disgraced herself at the contest, had a good evening in the pub afterwards, and to top it off Fury and Steve had actually backed her in said contest.

At the thought of Steve she smiled to herself. It was kind of nice to have him looking out for her, even if he was a bossy bastard about drinking water. Which reminded her, she needed some. Heading to the kitchen she grabbed a glass, filled it, and then made her way back to bed, this time snuggling down under the covers.

And it wasn’t just the way he cared, it was the way he was so comfortable with her. The gentle touches to her arm and lower back, the fact he called her doll or sweetheart. The smile that he flashed her that could light up his entire face, and those eyes…those god damned beautiful eyes that could drown her in seconds…

Her stomach was suddenly crawling with those damned butterflies, the same ones she had been feeling on or off around him now since Thanksgiving. And they fluttered from her stomach to her chest. It was getting harder and harder to ignore them now, she had feelings for Captain fucking America. Her dad’s friend, her best friend...

Groaning, she rolled over and shoved her head into the pillows. She was utterly fucked.

Tags @the-omni-princess

#captain america #fanfic #ficion #new writer #marvel #steve rogers #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #avengers #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #black widow #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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atamascolily · 4 years

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lily liveblogs the “terminator: dark fate” trailers

Teaser trailer:

Ohhhhh, we open with soft piano on a speeding highway, just like Judgement Day, it’s been two seconds, and this trailer GETS me

V/O of the new protagonist, explaining about how her life is now a nightmare - I'm so sorry kiddo, it’s probably only going to get worse.

angelic choir singing with soft piano, so ethereal...

.. and a truck plows through a wall. Good times.

a man is now crooning in a throaty voice, and it's minor key, and it's so deliciously subdued and creepy juxtaposed with all the mayhem on screen omg omg omg

New Terminator is driving the truck with some sort of plow device through the highway, cars are flying everywhere, MacKenzie Davis flips into the back of a pickup truck at full speed, and it's amazing

she tosses a piece of rebar through the windshield of the semitruck as the singer croons, "I am not stopping," and she hits him, but then he uses the bar to congeal and pull himself forward until he's standing on top of the engine OH MY GOD he has multiple bodies holy fuck asfghkdkdgk he's simultaneously driving the truck AND fighting her HOLY HELL THAT's CREEPY AS *FUCK*

This scene will probably be loud and epic in the actual film, but it's so eerie and quiet here...

New!Terminator throws the rebar back at Grace, and it slices her arm, and you can see she's literally metal as fuck because she doesn't bleed, and the wound gleams...

cut to her grabbing Dani and jumping from the pickup cab just as it gets smashed to pieces by an oncoming car

God, Gabriel Luna has that dull-eyed stare down. They're on the highway, his hand shifts to a sword-blade, singer croons "I am a hunter.... I'm going hunting..." as he runs towards them...

OH AND THE OTHER PART OF HIM, THE PART THAT LOOKS LIKE A NAKED C-3P0 IS *ALSO* stalking them AHHHHHHH

An SUV pulls up. Dramatic boot cut and we see it's Sarah Connor. With sunglasses (signifying dubious morality and capacity for extreme violence) in a bulletproof vest and a GIANT FRICKING GUN oh my god.

She shoots the human-looking Terminator, who runs towards her... only to switch to a FREAKING BAZOOKA, I CAN'T EVEN.

(this is everything I've ever wanted and I don't care if the rest of this movie is awful, I will never be OVER this)

She hits the metal!Terminator dead-on and he explodes. Grace's astonishment as she turns to see their rescuer is amazing as the smoke clears to reveal Sarah, aiming the bazooka at them....

Cut to a dodgy motel room, where Grace and Dani are trying to figure out who this woman is. Sarah just tilts her head sidewise and we immediately cut to black and AHHHHHHHHHHHH IT'S SO PERFECT

angelic choir intensifies

aerial shots of the desert. Sarah has a voice-over. You can hear the disdain in her voice when she says to Grace, "Never seen one like you before. Almost a human."

Shots of medics (?) tying grace down and poking at her wounds as Grace breaks free. Cut to a naked Grace attacking police officers. "I am human!" Grace protests in voice-over

"I am a hunter.... I'm going hunting." OH SO CREEPY AND PERFECT LYRICS. Helicopters over desert scrublands (ok, probably chapparral, don't get me started).

Grace asks Sarah "Why do you care what happens to her?"

"Because I WAS her." WHAM. OH MY GOD YES YES YES IT'S PERFECT.

They walk through the woods to a cabin, open the door, and... it's old!Arnold! Can I just say how grateful I am to see him as older, instead of all this creepy de-aginging CGI?? Honestly, I like him much better here than I ever did in the first two films - but it looks like he might also be way more human now, too.

Dramatic chase scenes. Terminator with slashing blades in a crowd. PLANES THERE ARE PLANES THE CLIMAX FEATURES GIANT JUMBO JET PLANES THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

now the planes are RAMMING EACH OTHER, TERMINATOR IS JUMPING FROM PLANE TO PLANE, GRACE AND DANI ARE CLINGING FOR THEIR LIVES WHO THE *FUCK* IS FLYING THIS THING (is it the T-800? is it Sarah? some poor random dude? I DEMAND ANSWERS)

Dani and Grace and Sarah are sitting in darkness. Dani asked "How do we win?" Sarah looks over at Grace. Grace says, "By keeping you alive."

Cut to Grace battling with the Terminator with a metal axe HOLY FUCK.

Watching his face shift from metallic to Diego Luna's dead-eyed stare is so FUCKING CREEPY y'all THEY NAILED THIS.

Black. Film title. Singer croons, "I'm going hunting..."

11/10, this is everything I could have hoped for, like a professionally done fanvid, I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. PERFECT MUSIC AND FILM CHOICES, I will be humming this song for the rest of my LIFE

____

Okay, so that was great. Let’s go to the official trailer.

Sarah Connor points a gun at Grace in the crappy motel. "Talk. Talk fast." Grace disarms her and pins her against the wall. "You first," Grace whispers. No sign of Dani.

First bars of Terminator theme. Sarah surrounded by flames. Sarah's voice over: a recap of the events of Judgment Day, as we see human skulls on a beach as metallic new Terminators emerge from the ocean and began firing. "Enough of a resume for you?" Sarah challenges.

"No," Grace says. "You may have changed the future--but you didn't change our fate."

OH MY GOD, I LOVE THIS. Poor Sarah. Poor everyone. But yeah, "there is no fate but what we make for ourselves," has ALWAYS been a rallying cry, not a statement of objective fact. GLAD TO SEE THIS FILM WILL EXPLORE THIS.

The new hunter-killer terminators attack in the future--they can split into multiple bodies controlled by one intelligence, this is so frikkin' creepy and lethal, I can't even--

Electric ball of a Terminator descending in what looks the courtyard of an older Mexican apartment complex. Naked Gabriel Luna! Still with that dead-eyed, inhuman stare. He's muscular, but not defined like the original T-800 or even Kyle Reese... like he's liquid. SO WELL DONE.

Grace is defending Dani on the highway with her body and a piece of rebar. "I know you're scared, but I am here to protect you." YAY UPDATE AND TRYING TO BE GENTLE ABOUT THE WHOLE BUSINESS, YESSSSS.

Sarah's and Grace's exchange from the first teaser about Grace's humanity. Grace adds... "just enhanced," as a clarifier. The "Why do you care what happens to her / Because I was her" exchange. I LOVE IT.

We see them meeting the T-800, and this time Sarah tries to shoot him in the face. Grace shouts "Sarah!" and stops her. Ooooookay. So Sarah and old!Terminator are NOT friends, good to know...

Sarah shoots the porch roof. T-800 deadpans, "I can see you're very upset." OMG THIS IS GOING TO BE GOOD.

Grace steps on a button. All sorts of holographic things pop up around the house. Mines? Traps? No idea.

T-800 continues, "I am going to help you protect the girl." Cut to all four at a backyard shooting range with Dani shooting a rifle. FUCK YEAH I LOVE IT.

"Nobody else is going to die because of me!" Dani screams. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, but that's probably not true.

Sarah and Dani are in a helicopter. The Terminator leaps for them, as Sarah shoots him. I think Sarah is also flying the helicopter? No wonder the new Terminator gets a plane to go after them.

"If you don't make it, everybody dies!" Grace shouts back to Dani as everything goes up in flames.

Cut to: Gabriel Luna in a Border Patrol uniform at a security checkpoint. The guard banters with the Terminator as he surrenders his gun. "My whole body is a weapon," the Terminator says with a very human swagger and wink. “Save it for the ladies,” says the guard.

the pun here OMg i can’t even.

The Terminator walks through the metal detector and all the lights go off.

"Sorry," says the Terminator, before we cut to him slashing his way through a crowd of agents and civilians. Grace battles him with a chain. She slices him in half, but it's clearly not going to take.

"When it's all over," Sarah challenges the old!Terminator, "I am going to kill you."

"I understand," he replies.

Lots of explosions. Car chase. Helicopter. Fiery planes going down. Arnold grabbing the other Terminator, pinning him down, and shooting him in the face multiple times. When the shooting stops, there's no flesh on his face, only metallic parts and glowing red eyes. CREEPY AS FUCK.

Title card. Cut to the highway bridge. Sarah drops a grenade over the edge, as Grace grabs Dani. "I'll be back," Sarah deadpans, and strides away as Grace runs for cover with Dani. The grenade explodes. Sarah doesn't even break stride, just grabs another gun, as Grace shields Dani from the explosion with her body

AHHHHHHH. AMAZING.

So I give this a 8.5/10, because while it's a perfectly effective trailer and explains the story very well regardless of how many films you've seen, it doesn't have that perfectly creepy blending of music and imagery like the teaser. I don't like the opening as much, since Sarah's first introduction to the audience should be her as a badass, not her getting taken down. But hot damn, does it make up for that will all the great lines. Sarah is obviously still Chaotic Good/fighting with all her issues, and I'm looking foward to all the drama between the characters.

Also, I watched some other promotional material: not a ton of new stuff, but apparently, they did let Sarah Connor say “fuck,” which I approve of.

EDIT: I wrote “Diego Luna” instead of “Gabriel Luna” by mistake because of Star Wars, which is an embarrassing but also kinda hilarious mistake to make.

#terminator #terminator: dark fate

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willardswritindump · 4 years

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Days turned to weeks, and most of the time all Odie would get from his battle buddy was quick, harsh glances and puffs of aggravation. The only time they shared conversation was in situations when they were required to. She was intent on following through with her words.

June 3rd, 2525

1800 hours

It was cold, wet and muddy. The Drill Sergeants saw the lovely weather and decided to take the recruits out for target practice. Up on a small ridge lay about a dozen or so Cadets, letting off short bursts from their ARs and BRs that mimicked the thunder in the background.

Sarah pulled the spent magazine from her BR55, replaced it, and set her iron sights down the firing lane. She fired three consecutive bursts, and nine holes appeared in the targets torso region 100 meters out. The Academy has some skilled students and soldiers, sure, but Sarah seems to have more experience than the rest of the idiots here. She fired two more bursts. Three rounds hit the torso, two the head.

The only one remotely close to Sarah’s skill was Oliver. While she sent well placed bursts into each of her targets at 100 meters he was carefully placing every single shot out of his BR55 into the chest and head of the target at 200 meters. Each one being fast but not so fast as to allow the recoil from the last shot to throw him off. The groupings, one for the heart, one for each lung and one right between the eyes of the target weren’t any larger than an inch in diameter. Just like his oldest brother Christian taught him.

“Well well well, looks like you two fucking psychos were made for each other!”

Their platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Declan Wrtezky said as he kicked each of the cadets in the boot as they continued to fire.

“You two are some of the best shots we’ve seen in a long while, if only you two actually fucking spoke to each other you’d maybe make a decent fucking team!”

"Yes Sir, thank you Drill Sergeant, Sir!"

Sarah kept firing down range, watching her ammo counter tick down with every successful burst.

12.

Click.

An empty magazine plops into the mud, ready to be replaced by a clean, fresh one.

“Sir, AXIOS, sir!”

Odie said before continuing to plink away at the target.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRING ON THE FIRING LINE!” A loud voice called out over the range.

"Great. Some dumbass probably shot themselves"

Were Sarah's first initial thoughts, which quickly narrowed down to two dumbass tards. "Fuckin Hoffman, probably."

She put her gun to safe, and stood to attention

Without even thinking Oliver dropped the mag and ejected the round from the chamber and placed the weapon on safe before joining Sarah at attention.

“LOOK AT THIS SHIT!” The Sergeant in charge of line said as he walked up and down it holding up a BR with a split and still smoking barrel.

“I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT! FUCKIN AMATEUR! THIS IS WHY YOU CLEAN YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS! NOW WE HAVE A CADET DOWN AND ANOTHER PIECE OF SHIT TO GET FIXED! THESE AINT YOUR GOD DAMN WEAPONS TO BREAK, GET YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER! Y’ALL AINT SOME SHIT FOR BRAINS GROUP OF INNIES, ACT LIKE YOU ARE UNSC OR I SWEAR I WILL HAVE SUPPLY OUT OF BOOTS BECAUSE I PUT THEM ALL UP YOUR ASSES!”

Sarah swallowed, and with that her pride

"Sir, respectfully, Innies can't shoot for spit. We can, Sir."

She had to say something about them. Test what some of the Sergeants and Cadets actually thought about the still hot topic. At least she can back her words with the proof behind them. Let's just hope speaking out of line is excused for both of their excellent marksmanship.

“WHO SAID THAT!? WHO THE FUCK JUST SAID THAT!” The Sergeant said before whipping and walking back in Oliver and Sarah’s direction “Well well if it ain’t miss charity case, just cause you think y’all shoot good does not give you an excuse TO MOUTH OFF AT ATTENTION FUCK FACE!”

With that Odie’s Hans shot up. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT DANIELS!?” The Sergeant snapped as he turned to him. “Sir with all due respect, she does have a point. She’s the best shot in the company, sir.”

All this chatter and lack of gunfire infuriated the Range Sgt, who looked like he was just about ready to shit his pants. The still smoking rifle not doing him any good, either. He had overheard Daniel's praise of Oliver's shots, and simply didn't believe it; There's no way in hell the shortest Cadet in the platoon was the best shot.

"YOU, YOU SHORT LITTLE SHIT? YOU LOOK LIKE YOU COULD BARELY HOLD MY GODDAMNED SIDEARM!"

Speaking of said sidearm had given the Sergeant an idea. Storming up to the recruit, he grabs his M6G, flips it, hands it to Sarah, and points to the 500m lane. He wasn't outright screaming now, but there was definitely rage, angst, and disbelief in his rough, dry voice

"Tell ya what, short-stack. You empty this entire magazine into the head of that target over there, and I just might let you and your Battle Buddy off the hook for my broken goddamn gun. Miss a single round, and I'll make sure this entire FUCKING platoon never forgets-"

Oh damn.

Odie's face remained neutral as his gut felt like it dropped. He knew Sarah was a good shot, but this would've been a tall order for even an experienced marksman, let alone a new cadet from the outer territories. "Aye Aye Sir." was all he said in response

Sarah gave a quick nod of responsibility, and took her NCO's sidearm

"Sir."

She made her way over to the 500m line, readied her position and steadied her aim. The safety flicks off her Magnum, simultaneously with the pit pats of light rain against its metallic bull-barreled hull. See, The Sergeant knew there was no goddamned way anybody was gonna make those shots, least not without any sort of Neural Implants for aim assist on the bigass pistol lacking iron sights. He thought Sarah wouldn't have any goddamn chance with a clunky, sightless M6 Magnum

BLAM

Fire spat from the hand cannon, and with it a spinning messenger of "Fuck this guy in particular." The targets head exploded like a damn watermelon. Sarah smirked, and the animatronic figure slammed to the ground, summoning another one just near it.

BLAM

He met the same fate as his comrade.

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM-

Half of their piers nearly shat themselves at her unbelievable accuracy. It was borderline inhuman, targets would fall in perfect succession of each other.

It sure was a good thing the Range Sergeant wanted Oliver to succeed in her endeavors, which is why he immediately ordered her go prone and fire with her belly-up, insisting in a somewhat elevated tone:

"YOU WILL NOT ALWAYS HAVE THE PRIVELEGE OF CHOOSING WHERE YOU WISH TO FIRE FROM, CADETS. YOU WILL LEARN THIS NOW AND IT JUST MIGHT SAVE YOUR PATHETIC FUCKING LIVES."

She did as ordered, getting mud and shit in her hair and face. She steadied her right arm above her head, and held her forearm with her left. She could barely make out the dot on the other side of the lane. Closing in on her kill count, Sarah begins to pace her shots.

BLAM

BLAM.

All targets neutralized. She stood to her feet, flipped the M6 around, and handed the empty gun back to her superior.

"Sir... Done."

For once something made it through Daniel’s blank exterior, that thing being a smirk.

“Sir, I believe my point is proven, Sir.” He said in a completely neutral tone, he knew this entire act of rebellion was pushing it, sarcasm despite how much he wished to use, would most likely defeat all the hard work his battle buddy had put in.

"Jesus Mary Joseph..."

The Range Sgt looked over to Wrtezky, who returned a hidden face of pure and utter shock. He slowly grabbed the gun and stared at Sarah dead in the eyes. His words were calmer now than they'd ever heard

"That was the best fucking shooting I've seen in years."

"You two, Take your weapons to the armory, and then PROPERLY CLEAN THEM. No amount of divine intervention will save your ass if you don't clean my fucking rifles. Dismissed."

"Sir."

She picked up her empty BR55, gave Odie a quick glance, and began her way to the armory.

Sgt. Kozlov turned to the other Cadets, half of which were almost shivering.

"THE REST OF YOU SHIT-HEADS GET TO DO WHAT IT SEEMS THIS PLATOON WAS MADE TO DO. YOU FUCKERS GET SHITTER-DUTY FOR A MONTH!

Daniels followed quickly behind Oliver, silently celebrating his small victory in the safety of his head. Once the two were out of earshot Daniels piped up.

“Excellent work out there Cadet Oliver, looks like we got second platoon out of shitter duty.”

Oliver tapped on the side of his rifle which was kept a crisp low ready for the entirety of the walk back to the barracks

"Can it, kiss-ass. I don't need to hear the opinions of a bastard's son, and I don't need a brown nose to give me a gold star every god damn time I do what I do. Now please, shut the hell up."

Her tone seemed somewhat disgusted and agitated, and her face had a similar look. She flipped her almost muddy bangs to the side, and sighed.

"Whatever. C'mon, armory is east wing."

“No no listen here I have taken a lot of shit from you and just let it slide! If I hadn’t of said anything you would’ve just gotten yourself screwed even more!”

Something in Odie finally snapped, after weeks of staying quiet and taking whatever abuse Sarah would throw at him, he finally snapped.

“So what if my father is a piece of shit, hate to break it to you but. I AM NOT HIM!”

“You know what, fuck you bitch.”

Daniels said surprisingly calmly as something inside him finally broke, after all the abuse he suffered from Sarah in the weeks spent together. He calmly took the buttstock of his BR and slammed it hard into the back of Sarah’s head.

“How’s that for tough!”

"Ow, Vycher kotny piss da! -"

Or at least that's what Odie heard the stumbling girl say. Sarah held her head where the butt of the gun said hello for a brief moment, steadying herself. She shakes her head thrice or so, washing it off. Sarah then griped her rifle like a baseball bat and smashed it into the side of Odie's lower leg, sending him falling to the cold, hard ground. She raises the firearm above her head, as if to pummel the stock into his nose.

“Scheisse! Du Rotzlöffel Hurensohn!” Odie yelled as he reflexively kicked Sarah square in the groin and knocked her off balance, then using his other food to trip her. Through the pain in his leg he threw himself on top of Sarah and started to throw punches at her face. He didn’t want to knock her out, or incapacitate her like most people he caught, all he wanted to hurt her as much as possible.

Sarah was able to block a fair portion of the blows to her face, before tucking both of her flexible legs in between them and slipping a hidden blade from beneath her boot, giving Odie a pretty damn fairly painful but probably non-lethal gnash on his left abdomen as she kicked him away, before immediately jumping to her feet. She wiped a trail of blood coming from her nose, and spat out pink fuzz to the side.

"Sova i zmeya. You're outmatched."

“Ich bin der Adler!”

Odie’s anger and adrenaline outweighed the knife wound and all that was on his mind was making Sarah hurt. Odie charged and tackled her back down onto the stairs before grabbing the hand with the knife and continuing to pummel her face and kneeing her in the gut and groin. “Fuck you!”

She used her left hand to give Odie one hell of a deck on the chin, then immediately kicked him off again, sending him staggering back. She reached her arms behind her head, tucked in her legs, and then sprung both out, hopping to her feet. Whilst Odie was recovering, Sarah flipped the knife to it's blade, stuck her left hand in front of her, and was ready to throw. A stab from it's 6" blade could easily be fatal. Odie could almost feel his eyes dilating in "Oh shit." As her arm went back, a mysterious figure jumped from the shadows and tackled her to the ground, sending the knife flying to the grass. The figure shouted out in a voice Odie couldn't possibly forget.

"FUCKING CRAZY BITCH-!"

It was Hoffman, and behind him his battle buddy, some ginger chick named Christina Roads. Hoffman held his elbow at Sarah's neck, and had his right fist aimed and ready to pound in her face. He looked over to Daniels, who's entire left side was covered in blood. It looked worse than it was, for sure.

"Jesus Chris- You okay dude?! Goddamnit, Christie! Get him to the Infirmary, NOW!"

Hoffman gave Oliver one hell of a nasty look, and tightened his fist.

"Give me a reason to get more involved, I swe-"

"Hoff, she needs medical attention too. Hitting her will get us both knee deep in shit just as much as them. You don't know what happened"

The ginger's voice was almost raspy, kind of dry. Sarah smirked

"I know what happened! This crazy bitch stabbed Odie! Uuuuugh, fine! Get up! Pull another trick and I'll break your kneecaps."

Hoffman released Sarah, as she stood and wiped blood from her nose.

"Thanks, hot stuff."

"Shut up."

"C'mon, Infirmary's this way..."

As he was escorted to the infirmary Daniel’s consciousnesses faded in and out as he quietly babbled nonsense in German interspersed with the occasional

“I fuckin had her.”

As soon as he made it inside, he finally blacked out

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velasnyx · 5 years

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Emaziska 007 AU Sequel: Vindicta Final Chapter

I was able to get my flat back. I moved all my stuff back in and got situated. My landlord was surprised to see me come back, given that I was technically dead. Miles dropped my cat off yesterday. Everything was how it was. Well, almost everything. My phone rang. I answered it quickly. “We've found them. Come in for briefing,” L said.

I walked into L's office. “About time, 007,” L said. “Apologies. Traffic was bad”. I sat down in the chair across from her desk. “We've located them in Berlin. They're based in an old underground facility. Your mission is to find them and kill them. Seems simple enough, yes?” she said. “Yes, ma'am”. “Good. Don't cock it up,” L said. “Just me?” I asked. I hadn't been on a mission alone since Rome. “Yes. This is all on you, 007. I trust you'll get the job done”. I smiled. “Yes, ma'am” .

I exited her office. Ema approached me. “007”. “008”. “Care for some target practice?” she asked. I raised a brow. “Come on. Just a few rounds,” Ema added. I let out a sigh. “Alright”. She started walking to the shooting range. I followed. The trip was mostly quiet. There wasn't much to say. I hate this. I hate that it ended up like this.

The target hung down. Aiming my gun, I could feel the pain in my shoulder. Just holding my arm up was a hassle. I couldn't keep the gun steady. I fired a couple shots. Neither hit the target. I lowered my gun. I took a deep breath. I aimed my gun again, except this time, one handed. I fired. I hit the corner of the target. I fired again and again until I ran out of bullets. None of the shots would've been an instant had this been a real person. “I knew it. You're not ready,” Ema said. “Give me a break. I just got out of the hospital,” I said. She aimed her gun, one handed, and fired. Five clean shots to the head. She looked at me. “So, did I. What's your excuse now?” she said. I grimaced. “Had you not shot me, I would've been fine,” I said. She chuckled. “Real dick move to throw that in my face. Now you want to blame me for that bullet,” Ema said. “You pulled the trigger,” I said. She pushed me. “Fuck you. Fuck you, Fran. You know how this has affected me. I can barely sleep because of it. You're going to get yourself killed all over again. This time I won't be there to save your ass. You are not ready,” she said. “Will you mourn me?” I asked. She was taken aback by my question. “I hope not,” she said. “Then you shouldn't have to worry about me,” I said. I walked away.

I kept watch of the general area where the base was. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Seemed safe enough to start looking for a way in. I was able to find a hatch on the floor. I dropped down into a mostly empty room. I traversed the building carefully, staying out of plain site. I reached an wide open area. There were explosives everywhere. This must be where they make the bombs. “Ms. von Karma, how nice to see you here”. I turned to Hawthorne and aimed my gun. Before I could fire, someone grabbed me and threw me to the wall. I looked up and noticed it was that man who was with Swallow at the abandoned plaza in Monaco. He was even bigger than before. I got up and threw a punch. He stopped my fist like it was nothing. He swung his arm at my stomach, dealing a crushing blow. I dropped to the floor, winded. “Oh, von Karma, you're too cute. You won't be dealing any significant damage to him. You see, we've genetically modified him to make him the perfect weapon. He could kill you in a instant. But I'll keep you alive for just a little longer. Take her to the room,” Hawthorne said. I blacked out.

I woke up back at my old house. It was in flames. Why am I back here? The house already burned down. How is it here? “I trained you to be perfect!” a voice boomed. I looked around frantically. Ema was standing a few feet away from me, her back facing me. “Ema,” I called out. She didn't answer. I walked over to her. “Ema”. When she turned around, I noticed she wore a sad expression. “Ema, what's wrong?” I asked. “I'm sorry,” she said. She aimed her gun at me. I suddenly heard the crashing of waves behind me. I looked back. I stood at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the ocean. “Ema, don't”. She pulled the trigger.

I jolted awake. “Finally awake”. Hawthorne stepped out of the shadows and toward me. I was tied to a chair. “They only sent you? I figured would have sent someone who was more fit for the job,” she said. “I know when I'm ready”. She laughed. “No, you don't. Neither does MI6”. I raised a brow. Doe have her a tablet. “Says here that you failed the test. Physical incapable to perform necessary task for standard missions. Also, says you're mentally incapacitated which could affect your ability to judge situations and determine the right line of action. Hmph,” Hawthorne said. She walked over to me and sat in the chair across from me. I kept a cool demeanor. She didn't intimidate me. She unbuttoned the my shirt and pulled the fabric away, revealing the scar on my shoulder. Her fingers grazed over the scar. “Look at what she's done to you”. I know she was talking about Ema. “I don't blame her. Never did,” I said. “Hmph. That's not what you told her at the gun range”. How does she know what I said? Could it be? “A little birdie from MI6 told me. You sure know how to hurt someone. We know you don't blame her but she doesn't. You really shouldn't because she didn't shoot you. He did,” Hawthorne said, pointing to Doe. “So, he's your personal assassin?” I asked. “You could say that. Now I'll have him finish you off for good”. She traced her fingers from my neck down to my abdomen. “Such a shame to waste someone as physically gifted as yourself,” she said. I just stared at her. Hawthorne got up and walked out of the room. Doe stood in front of me. “Do I at least get to know the real name of my killer?” I asked. He chuckled. “Shelly de Killer. Any last words?”. I smiled. “Yes. Say goodbye to your kneecaps, asshole”. The blade popped out of my shoe and I stabbed him in the knee. He fell to his knees. I untied my restrains and knocked him out with the chair. I button my shirt back up and took his gun. Time to go after Hawthorne.

As I looked for her, I noticed there was no one else here. It was just her and de Killer. This is strange. This whole building, all this work, and it was only the two of them. “In here,” she said. I followed her voice. She stood in the open area where the explosives were. I walked over. She smiled at me sweetly. I stared her down. “You wouldn't kill me. You and I, we've got great chemistry. Join me,” she said. I shook my head. “You'd only use me. Just like Doug,” I said. “You'd miss me”. “I never miss”. I shot her. She clutched her stomach and stumbled back. I felt nothing. “Dollie!” someone screamed out. Before I could turn around, I was thrown to the wall. I groaned and struggled to get back on my feet. I saw that man. What was his name? Terry. He was charging at me. He kept screaming her name. I must've set him off. He's absolutely berserk. I dodged and he crashed into the wall. An explosion went off. “I'm not going alone, von Karma!” Hawthorne yelled. She must've set them off. I kept dodging his attack. If he gets a good hit, he'll kill me. I felt someone kick my back. I looked back to find de Killer had joined the fight. Great, now I have to try and not get killed by either one of them. I was starting to get tired. I felt a stinging pain in my back. I looked back. He was going to stab me. At the same time, Terry was throwing a punch. I ducked. He hit de Killer. Thus was my chance. I popped the blade out of my shoe and struck Terry. The blade plunged into his rib area. Now to deal with de Killer. I turned around but he was nowhere to be found. “Dollie!”. Terry held Hawthorne’s lifeless body in his arms. The building could collapse at any second. I have to get out of here.

I got out in the nick of time. The facility exploded. Those two definitely didn’t make it out. It’s over. I was tired and the pain came rushing in. Those two managed to get a few good hits in. I felt the blood trickle down my face. It stained the snow. I sent out a distress signal. A figure appeared out of the corner of my eye. It was de Killer. We stared at each other, neither one of us making a single move. “So, came to finish the job?” I asked. “No. Ms. Hawthorne is dead and I have no quarrel with you as of now. If I killed you now, I wouldn’t get paid,” he said. We were silent. “This might not be the last time we see each other. You could get on my list again,” he said. I chuckled. “Well, that would be more unfortunate for you than me,” I said. “Hmph. We’ll see”. With that he left.

I stood by the window, waiting to be called in. I heard the door open and looked over. Ema was leaving L’s office. She looked at me briefly and quickly avoided eye contact. I walked over to her. “007,” she said. “008”. “I suppose I underestimated you,” Ema said. I shrugged. “You had good reason”. She shook her head. “You did good. You always were good at being unpredictable”. “Good luck on your mission, 008,” I said. She nodded. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive her, even if I want to. She walked away. “007, she’ll see you now”. I walked into L’s office to receive my next mission.

#emaziska #emaziska au #emaziska 007 au #ema skye #franziska von karma #ace attorney au

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feelingsdusk-writes · 6 years

Text

Returning the favor

Prompt: Police AU + I swear it won't happen again.

He smiles genially at Stiles, teeth white and perfect. They contrast heavily with the red coating his face. His hands lay harmlessly at his side, also a deep crimson and dripping.

"I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, deputy," he lilts in an extremely polite tone of voice. "I swear it won't happen again."

Stiles, gun ready, studies him. After a moment, he raises it and takes aim.

(Stiles doesn't feel remorse. He killed countless people and he deserved it.)

(Even if it hadn't been "countless", he would have done the same.)

---

It's not even lunch-time and Stiles is already done. Not 100% done, mind you, his current percentage is at an even 87% but steadily climbing. Irritation is bubbling under his skin at a low simmer but that's nothing new, he can handle that. He normally wakes up at an average 65.5-68%, after all. The problem is that today he's shadowing the station's biggest douchenozzles and he can only take so much stupidity, he's only human.

Well... Fine, admittedly, his tolerance for willful idiocy and redneck tendencies has always been pretty low, but he's an adult, ok? He learned to curb his answering viciousness by sixth grade. By now he's a pro, ok?

Wilkins subtly elbows Donner and then sends that subtlety straight to hell by nodding obviously towards the object of their interest, both of them adopting that classic cop pose as they lean on their patrol car, crossed arms and all. Stiles keeps his face neutral and a groan in, but it's a struggle. God, he hates these people and not for the first time (or the last, he's sure), he wonders what the hell is he doing here.

He never wished to be a policeman. Never. Even as a little kid (before everything went down to hell in a fruit basket, when everything was still nice, happy and unicorn fart multicolored), he never babbled about being one. And god, did he babble. Non-stop, tireless for hours and hours! He gushed about being an astronaut, he played a superhero in his games, a fireman, a doctor, a spy, a football player! He pictured himself as a detective, an archeologist, a famous chef and many things more, but he never dreamed of following in his father's footsteps. Strange, people would think, but people are stupid, so what do they fucking know? Even back then his dad worked a lot of hours and, deep down, Stiles blamed his job for stealing his daddy from him. Naive, he knows now, because he'd end up learning that his dad would never need much incentive to choose other things or people over Stiles, but back then? He resented his dad's job with all the force of his little toddler heart. His dad and mom found it funny, thought it a call for attention and not really true. And maybe it was a call for attention, but he really did resent (and later hate) it. Still does with a passion that hasn't diminished with the years.

Which is ironic because here he is, almost one year into that career and still the rookie of the station.

"The nerve of that fucking bastard!" Donner mutters angrily to Wilkins, and Stiles sneers before he can catch himself. He busies himself with checking his service belt to cover it, but mainly he's glad that they're idiots that dismiss him as a harmless rule-following idiot. (God, just like in high school, gaining and then maintaining that reputation has been excruciating, even if it's an effort that will inevitably pay up in the end. After all, it did back then when he put Jackson's Porsche inside the pool, pulled a who me? when he was nearly caught red-handed and it didn't even cross his teacher's mind that he was indeed the culprit. And he had the keys in his hand.) He wonders if this shitty town has turned him into a psychopath, because he keeps picturing in vivid detail how it would look and feel to smash their heads into the concrete again and again. Messy, but oh so satisfying. "He did it and now he struts around like a fucking peacock..."

"He's taunting us," Wilkins growls lowly. It takes all of Stiles' willpower not to point out that this is a fucking public place and that anyone has the right to strut around like a fucking peacock however much they want, so long as they don't break the law. But the man's not strutting anyways, he's just carrying his groceries to his car, for fuck's sake! And that's without taking into account that they're the ones that sought him out, not the other way around. Wilkins shouldn't even be here to begin with. They're supposed to go in pairs and Stiles was the one that today got the dubious pleasure of having Donner as a partner. "We should bring him down a peg or two."

"More like a thousand."

Stiles feels his lips curl derisively and fights it before it shows in his face. This can't be called anything but harassment. It doesn't matter if they think that the man is a murderer and a dirty cop... which, don't get Stiles started on that, because it's utter bullshit. How did these people earn their badges? In a raffle? In a cereal box? What was his dad thinking? Because he was the one that started to investigate his own partner before he died in the very same fire that took said partner's whole family's lives. And of course, even though there's no evidence at all that points in Peter Hale's direction, the force (the whole town) unanimously assumed that he provoked the fire to kill the, quote, noble and brave officer that was about to uncover all his machiavellian misdeeds and then got a whole lot of money in one fell swoop. Because if their very own sheriff suspected, it must be true! It's so, so very stupid that it makes Stiles' stomach turn.

Stiles still remembers every single detail of that night. The ring of the doorbell, the grim-looking officer waiting at the door, the way he worded his message, the way Stiles felt after each word. Numb.

He knew. The moment the doorbell rang, he knew something was wrong. He hadn't seen his dad in a week, and, before that, it had been two weeks. They had been together in the same house a grand total of three times that month.

Stiles hated him. He'd resented him ever since mom started to get sick and his dad had to choose between Stiles and her. He'd hated him ever since she died and he had to choose between Stiles and the alcohol, and then hated him even more ever since his dad had to choose between his work and the alcohol or Stiles.

(Spoiler alert: Stiles wasn't the one he chose.)

(What a surprise.)

That day, with an officer ready to console a distraught teenager in front of him, he simply felt nothing. They called it shock but Stiles knew better. Because, in the end, by that time he hadn't asked much from his dad. He just wanted him to be there, if only in name, so that Stiles had at least a house to come back to because the rest he could manage by himself just fine. And there he went and died before his sixteenth birthday, leaving him to be fostered by Mr. Lahey, his dad's first partner when both of them were rookies and trusted friend.

Stiles had never liked him and that didn't change with more interaction between them. In fact, he simply got a tangible reason for that dislike, which turned into disgust pretty quickly. He also didn't think he could hate his dad even more than he already did now that he was dead and he couldn't do anything more to warrant it, but he was wrong.

"Fuck, I wish we could go back to that time when cops could solve these kinds of things internally."

If that was the case, both of these idiots' bodies would have been found in a ditch a long time ago. Stiles would have made sure of that.

"He wouldn't smile like that anymore, the sonofabitch," Wilkins snorts.

Not like he's smiling now in any case, you stupid fucker. God, seriously. Stiles can't take it anymore. It's excruciating. If these people looked at the evidence for just a few seconds, they would... Well, ok, not a few seconds. They're stupidly stupid after all. But if they got their heads out of their asses and remembered even a ten percent of what they learned at the academy, they would know that Hale didn't provoke that fire and wasn't a dirty cop. Was there something suspicious about him in his personal life? Well, yeah, but professionally? Him, a dirty cop? No. Definitely no. Where his dad got the idea, Stiles doesn't know.

(But then again, John Stilinski trusted Lahey, so Stiles doesn't have much trust in his dad's ability to judge people.)

"We should..." Wilkins starts before cutting himself off abruptly. He sends a look towards Stiles, who makes sure to look as innocent as a newborn baby. "... go back."

"What?!" Donner protests. "What do you mean go-" He lets out an oomph when Wilikins elbows him, throwing a look at Stiles, who has to fight an aggravated sigh at having to feign not having caught the obvious gesture. "Um, yeah, you're right. Patrol's over. Let's head back."

As they leave, Stiles locks his eyes into Hale's for a brief second. Stiles has talked to him a grand total of two times. The first when he came to pick his dad up with the patrol car on their first day as partners, coffee cups in both hands (just for himself, because one was empty and he thrust it into Stiles' hands to dispose of as soon as he opened the door) and a smarmy smirk on his face. The second when Stiles went to his hospital room, intent on making it look like an accident -because John Stilinski was a shitty dad, alcoholic, workaholic and neglectful, but he was Stiles' nonetheless, and, all things considered, his presence, ghostly or not, had made his life easier rather than not- depending on what the man said. Ironically, Hale didn't actually say much that day, but it was more than enough. He snarled at Stiles, with an ugly expression that was more defensive than aggressive, and let out a have you come to finish what he started? that Stiles didn't answer to. He just stood there at the door for a few seconds, taking in Hale's scarred face and his body language, and then left.

Stiles blinks and Hale is already gone.

Suspicious? Yes. Murderer? Maybe, but not of his family. Dirty cop? No.

(Stiles would know.)

---

The thing is that he doesn't let anyone take what's his, whether he actually likes the thing or not. And even if that wasn't the case, whoever set the Hale house on fire, killing his dad along with the entire Hale family sans Peter (though not for the lack of trying on that count), sent Stiles' life from Badmaybemehville straight into hell for more than two years.

And Stiles can hold a grudge like no other.

Peter didn't kill his dad or his own family, but Stiles was sure he knew something, so he's been tracking his movements through the traffic feed and with a facial recognition program. Which is why he caught the exact moment, pizza slice and soda in hand, when the man was abducted from the street, and now here he is, inside the Argent house with blood almost up to his ankles and with a man at gun point.

Seriously, the bad guys and their monologues. It's ridiculous. Although... well, it gave Stiles the information he needed, so maybe he shouldn't be dissing the evil monologue after all.

Peter smiles genially at Stiles, teeth white and perfect. They contrast heavily with the red coating his face. His hands lay harmlessly at his side, also a deep crimson and dripping.

"I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, deputy," he lilts in an extremely polite tone of voice. "I swear it won't happen again."

Stiles, gun ready, studies him. After a moment, he raises it and takes aim.

Stiles doesn't feel remorse about putting a bullet through Gerard Agent's chest. He killed countless people and he deserved it. The man falls, howling, and Stiles lets him reach the rifle before taking a head shot.

(But even if it hadn't been "countless", he would have done the same.)

Peter makes an appreciative noise and Stiles shushes him. He calls the station and the moment they pick up, he makes his voice go panicky as he informs them of what happened.

"Scamper," he tells Peter, who raises his eyebrows surprised but doesn't let out a sound.

He doctors the scene carefully, knowing the exact response times of the police by now.

A few days later, Lahey is arrested for the murder of Kate Argent. The community is shocked to learn that Gerard and his daughter dealt drugs and that Lahey tried to take over and it went wrong. (Lahey, of course, pleads not guilty at first, but since they're fine-combing through all his cases, a lot of things are coming to the light. He has no chance of escaping prison.) General consensus is that Stiles was at the wrong place, at the wrong time, but that he performed admirably. They're sad to let him go due to the trauma of what Gerard did to him.

(Yes, Stiles can hold a grudge like no other.)

---

One year later, Stiles is at a cafe. News has broken out about a certain inmate being killed in prison because it was leaked that he abused children. Stiles barely spares the article a glance and continues working. Being a white hat is way more boring than being a black hat, but it pays well and lets him keep his own schedule, so he won't complain. And right now he has a security system to check for a stupidly big amount of money. Boring or not, it will pay the bills for quite while and it will take him an hour at the most, anyways.

The chair in front of him scrapes the floor as it's pulled out and Peter Hale sits without asking permission. He has two coffee cups in his hands and a smarmy smirk on his face. He places one of them in front of Stiles.

It's full this time.

Stiles snorts and Peter's smirk widens into a smile. He looks well rested and, unlike that time, he is strutting around like a peacock now. Stiles hides a smirk with the coffee cup.

"Hello, Stiles," he greets him by his nickname, as if they've always done it.

"Hello, Peter," Stiles snorts again, doing the same because why the hell not at this point.

Peter grins triumphantly. Stiles snorts for a third time and continues drinking his coffee.

(Months later, Peter will still be there and Stiles will realize that he's been shanghaied into a relationship without even noticing and he'll snort again.)

(But for now he drinks his coffee, amused.)

#tumblr shorties #teen wolf fics #my writing #teen wolf #steter

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feelingsdusk · 6 years

Note

For your prompts request. Police AU + "I swear it won't happen again." (am I doing this right?)

Yes, you are!❤ Thanks for the prompt and sorry I took so long ^^;

Returning the favor.

He smiles genially at Stiles, teeth white and perfect. They contrast heavily with the red coating his face. His hands lay harmlessly at his side, also a deep crimson and dripping.

“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, deputy,” he lilts in an extremely polite tone of voice. “I swear it won’t happen again.”

Stiles, gun ready, studies him. After a moment, he raises it and takes aim.

(Stiles doesn’t feel remorse. He killed countless people and he deserved it.)

(Even if it hadn’t been “countless”, he would have done the same.)

—

It’s not even lunch-time and Stiles is already done. Not 100% done, mind you, his current percentage is at an even 87% but steadily climbing. Irritation is bubbling under his skin at a low simmer but that’s nothing new, he can handle that. He normally wakes up at an average 65.5-68%, after all. The problem is that today he’s shadowing the station’s biggest douchenozzles and he can only take so much stupidity, he’s only human.

Well… Fine, admittedly, his tolerance for willful idiocy and redneck tendencies has always been pretty low, but he’s an adult, ok? He learned to curb his answering viciousness by sixth grade. By now he’s a pro, ok?

Wilkins subtly elbows Donner and then sends that subtlety straight to hell by nodding obviously towards the object of their interest, both of them adopting that classic cop pose as they lean on their patrol car, crossed arms and all. Stiles keeps his face neutral and a groan in, but it’s a struggle. God, he hates these people and not for the first time (or the last, he’s sure), he wonders what the hell is he doing here.

He never wished to be a policeman. Never. Even as a little kid (before everything went down to hell in a fruit basket, when everything was still nice, happy and unicorn fart multicolored), he never babbled about being one. And god, did he babble. Non-stop, tireless for hours and hours! He gushed about being an astronaut, he played a superhero in his games, a fireman, a doctor, a spy, a football player! He pictured himself as a detective, an archeologist, a famous chef and many things more, but he never dreamed of following in his father’s footsteps. Strange, people would think, but people are stupid, so what do they fucking know? Even back then his dad worked a lot of hours and, deep down, Stiles blamed his job for stealing his daddy from him. Naive, he knows now, because he’d end up learning that his dad would never need much incentive to choose other things or people over Stiles, but back then? He resented his dad’s job with all the force of his little toddler heart. His dad and mom found it funny, thought it a call for attention and not really true. And maybe it was a call for attention, but he really did resent (and later hate) it. Still does with a passion that hasn’t diminished with the years.

Which is ironic because here he is, almost one year into that career and still the rookie of the station.

“The nerve of that fucking bastard!” Donner mutters angrily to Wilkins, and Stiles sneers before he can catch himself. He busies himself with checking his service belt to cover it, but mainly he’s glad that they’re idiots that dismiss him as a harmless rule-following idiot. (God, just like in high school, gaining and then maintaining that reputation has been excruciating, even if it’s an effort that will inevitably pay up in the end. After all, it did back then when he put Jackson’s Porsche inside the pool, pulled a who me? when he was nearly caught red-handed and it didn’t even cross his teacher’s mind that he was indeed the culprit. And he had the keys in his hand.) He wonders if this shitty town has turned him into a psychopath, because he keeps picturing in vivid detail how it would look and feel to smash their heads into the concrete again and again. Messy, but oh so satisfying. “He did it and now he struts around like a fucking peacock…”

“He’s taunting us,” Wilkins growls lowly. It takes all of Stiles’ willpower not to point out that this is a fucking public place and that anyone has the right to strut around like a fucking peacock however much they want, so long as they don’t break the law. But the man’s not strutting anyways, he’s just carrying his groceries to his car, for fuck’s sake! And that’s without taking into account that they’re the ones that sought him out, not the other way around. Wilkins shouldn’t even be here to begin with. They’re supposed to go in pairs and Stiles was the one that today got the dubious pleasure of having Donner as a partner. “We should bring him down a peg or two.”

“More like a thousand.”

Stiles feels his lips curl derisively and fights it before it shows in his face. This can’t be called anything but harassment. It doesn’t matter if they think that the man is a murderer and a dirty cop… which, don’t get Stiles started on that, because it’s utter bullshit. How did these people earn their badges? In a raffle? In a cereal box? What was his dad thinking? Because he was the one that started to investigate his own partner before he died in the very same fire that took said partner’s whole family’s lives. And of course, even though there’s no evidence at all that points in Peter Hale’s direction, the force (the whole town) unanimously assumed that he provoked the fire to kill the, quote, noble and brave officer that was about to uncover all his machiavellian misdeeds and then got a whole lot of money in one fell swoop. Because if their very own sheriff suspected, it must be true! It’s so, so very stupid that it makes Stiles’ stomach turn.

He knew. The moment the doorbell rang, he knew something was wrong. He hadn’t seen his dad in a week, and, before that, it had been two weeks. They had been together in the same house a grand total of three times that month.

Stiles hated him. He’d resented him ever since mom started to get sick and his dad had to choose between Stiles and her. He’d hated him ever since she died and he had to choose between Stiles and the alcohol, and then hated him even more ever since his dad had to choose between his work and the alcohol or Stiles.

(Spoiler alert: Stiles wasn’t the one he chose.)

(What a surprise.)

That day, with an officer ready to console a distraught teenager in front of him, he simply felt nothing. They called it shock but Stiles knew better. Because, in the end, by that time he hadn’t asked much from his dad. He just wanted him to be there, if only in name, so that Stiles had at least a house to come back to because the rest he could manage by himself just fine. And there he went and died before his sixteenth birthday, leaving him to be fostered by Mr. Lahey, his dad’s first partner when both of them were rookies and trusted friend.

Stiles had never liked him and that didn’t change with more interaction between them. In fact, he simply got a tangible reason for that dislike, which turned into disgust pretty quickly. He also didn’t think he could hate his dad even more than he already did now that he was dead and he couldn’t do anything more to warrant it, but he was wrong.

“Fuck, I wish we could go back to that time when cops could solve these kinds of things internally.”

If that was the case, both of these idiots’ bodies would have been found in a ditch a long time ago. Stiles would have made sure of that.

“He wouldn’t smile like that anymore, the sonofabitch,” Wilkins snorts.

Not like he’s smiling now in any case, you stupid fucker. God, seriously. Stiles can’t take it anymore. It’s excruciating. If these people looked at the evidence for just a few seconds, they would… Well, ok, not a few seconds. They’re stupidly stupid after all. But if they got their heads out of their asses and remembered even a ten percent of what they learned at the academy, they would know that Hale didn’t provoke that fire and wasn’t a dirty cop. Was there something suspicious about him in his personal life? Well, yeah, but professionally? Him, a dirty cop? No. Definitely no. Where his dad got the idea, Stiles doesn’t know.

(But then again, John Stilinski trusted Lahey, so Stiles doesn’t have much trust in his dad’s ability to judge people.)

“We should…” Wilkins starts before cutting himself off abruptly. He sends a look towards Stiles, who makes sure to look as innocent as a newborn baby. “… go back.”

“What?!” Donner protests. “What do you mean go-” He lets out an oomph when Wilikins elbows him, throwing a look at Stiles, who has to fight an aggravated sigh at having to feign not having caught the obvious gesture. “Um, yeah, you’re right. Patrol’s over. Let’s head back.”

As they leave, Stiles locks his eyes into Hale’s for a brief second. Stiles has talked to him a grand total of two times. The first when he came to pick his dad up with the patrol car on their first day as partners, coffee cups in both hands (just for himself, because one was empty and he thrust it into Stiles’ hands to dispose of as soon as he opened the door) and a smarmy smirk on his face. The second when Stiles went to his hospital room, intent on making it look like an accident -because John Stilinski was a shitty dad, alcoholic, workaholic and neglectful, but he was Stiles’ nonetheless, and, all things considered, his presence, ghostly or not, had made his life easier rather than not- depending on what the man said. Ironically, Hale didn’t actually say much that day, but it was more than enough. He snarled at Stiles, with an ugly expression that was more defensive than aggressive, and let out a have you come to finish what he started? that Stiles didn’t answer to. He just stood there at the door for a few seconds, taking in Hale’s scarred face and his body language, and then left.

Stiles blinks and Hale is already gone.

Suspicious? Yes. Murderer? Maybe, but not of his family. Dirty cop? No.

(Stiles would know.)

—

The thing is that he doesn’t let anyone take what’s his, whether he actually likes the thing or not. And even if that wasn’t the case, whoever set the Hale house on fire, killing his dad along with the entire Hale family sans Peter (though not for the lack of trying on that count), sent Stiles’ life from Badmaybemehville straight into hell for more than two years.

And Stiles can hold a grudge like no other.

Peter didn’t kill his dad or his own family, but Stiles was sure he knew something, so he’s been tracking his movements through the traffic feed and with a facial recognition program. Which is why he caught the exact moment, pizza slice and soda in hand, when the man was abducted from the street, and now here he is, inside the Argent house with blood almost up to his ankles and with a man at gun point.

Seriously, the bad guys and their monologues. It’s ridiculous. Although… well, it gave Stiles the information he needed, so maybe he shouldn’t be dissing the evil monologue after all.

Peter smiles genially at Stiles, teeth white and perfect. They contrast heavily with the red coating his face. His hands lay harmlessly at his side, also a deep crimson and dripping.

“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, deputy,” he lilts in an extremely polite tone of voice. “I swear it won’t happen again.”

Stiles, gun ready, studies him. After a moment, he raises it and takes aim.

Stiles doesn’t feel remorse about putting a bullet through Gerard Agent’s chest. He killed countless people and he deserved it. The man falls, howling, and Stiles lets him reach the rifle before taking a head shot.

(But even if it hadn’t been “countless”, he would have done the same.)

Peter makes an appreciative noise and Stiles shushes him. He calls the station and the moment they pick up, he makes his voice go panicky as he informs them of what happened.

“Scamper,” he tells Peter, who raises his eyebrows surprised but doesn’t let out a sound.

He doctors the scene carefully, knowing the exact response times of the police by now.

A few days later, Lahey is arrested for the murder of Kate Argent. The community is shocked to learn that Gerard and his daughter dealt drugs and that Lahey tried to take over and it went wrong. (Lahey, of course, pleads not guilty at first, but since they’re fine-combing through all his cases, a lot of things are coming to the light. He has no chance of escaping prison.) General consensus is that Stiles was at the wrong place, at the wrong time, but that he performed admirably. They’re sad to let him go due to the trauma of what Gerard did to him.

(Yes, Stiles can hold a grudge like no other.)

—

One year later, Stiles is at a cafe. News has broken out about a certain inmate being killed in prison because it was leaked that he abused children. Stiles barely spares the article a glance and continues working. Being a white hat is way more boring than being a black hat, but it pays well and lets him keep his own schedule, so he won’t complain. And right now he has a security system to check for a stupidly big amount of money. Boring or not, it will pay the bills for quite while and it will take him an hour at the most, anyways.

The chair in front of him scrapes the floor as it’s pulled out and Peter Hale sits without asking permission. He has two coffee cups in his hands and a smarmy smirk on his face. He places one of them in front of Stiles.

It’s full this time.

Stiles snorts and Peter’s smirk widens into a smile. He looks well rested and, unlike that time, he is strutting around like a peacock now. Stiles hides a smirk with the coffee cup.

“Hello, Stiles,” he greets him by his nickname, as if they’ve always done it.

“Hello, Peter,” Stiles snorts again, doing the same because why the hell not at this point.

Peter grins triumphantly. Stiles snorts for a third time and continues drinking his coffee.

(Months later, Peter will still be there and Stiles will realize that he’s been shanghaied into a relationship without even noticing and he’ll snort again.)

(But for now he drinks his coffee, amused.)

#answers #sellyouforastarcruiser #my fanfiction #tumblr shorties

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accio-firewhiskey · 6 years

Text

Penance Series: From Here to There (formerly Blandishments)

Summary: Belle continues to make hats with Jefferson. Penance Series. Teen!Belle. Age 13-14. References and quotes from Goblin Market.

Her visits he cannot call (cannot call at’all—Regina fails to pay the bill) frequent, but they do occur, at least. Often-even: last summer and fall, the weather agreeable for much longer than usual, but with the first snowfall, the weather was against their seamstressing. She could not cross his threshold, could not drink his tea. The imp no longer accompanied his ward, whenever she knocked upon Hatter’s door, but that did not ease his fear—far or near, Rumpelstiltskin was always, always, always to be feared.

There is still snow on the ground when she knocks in late January. “Isn’t this a surprise,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, with a smirk. He lies, because he spied her walking this way, despite the sludge on the curbs, piled there from trucks and dirtied with mud and salt. She’d slipped from the house, Rumpelstiltskin out to lurk about the town, thinking her safe and warm and reading by his fireplace. Instead, she’s here, wrapped up in a coat and boots, sewing kit pocketed. Her needles are leather and upholstery needles, so quite sharp. She pricked herself more times than he can count on both their hands, drawing enough blood for curses a-plenty, but Jefferson had burned the tissues and made no mention when his warden came ‘round.

He had his own use for her, after all.

“Hi,” she answers, eyes and smile bright, eager little thing. She’s not so slight anymore, jutting up, a growth spurt since last she stood on his porch. She holds up her kit, small and perfect—like her. Like his Grace. “I thought we could practice.”

He shivers not, but feels the cold without his coat, pouring past him into the house. He does not move, but chuckles, “Wool and snow do not mix.”

She frowns, “What?”

Drawing the door shut behind him, he saunters around to the back veranda, where the iron-rod table and chairs still bear a layer of snow and ice, “I think we’re out of luck today, Jingle.”

She places her be-mittened hands on the wrought-iron chair, and toys the foot of her boot in the snow, “We could go inside?”

Jefferson smirks, “What a naughty trick to play.” Brushing his hand across the table, he swats a handful of half-melted snow at the little nuisance. “Now you know we can’t do that—your guardian would lose his head and so would I,” he tells her, tilting his face this way and that (the irony of the statement is lost on the child). She doesn’t answer, and he can see that she’s building a snowball. He rolls his eyes at this game of theirs, but magic was in short supply, with Regina dipping into her stores once every few years. This jingle bell would have to do. “Why would you want to get me in trouble with your Mr. Gold?”

She packs the snowball between her hands, tight and icy—it would hurt if she knew how to aim (he thinks that’s not the only weapon she could wield). “He doesn’t have to know?” she poses the statement as a question.

Grasping her wrist just as she brought it back to lob the snowball at him, he crumbles it over her head, as she giggles, “That’s not how this works.”

“Hey!” she squeals, brushing the snow from her hat and hair.

Bending down on his haunches so they are face to face, he admits, “You’re not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To go inside.”

“Why not?” she asks impertinent.

“Because the day we make hats inside is the day you never come back.”

She blinks at him, and as she mulls over the words her smile droops and then falls (she dwindled, he thinks to himself, dwindled, as the fair full moon—they weren’t ready yet for the swift decay and burn. Her fire wasn’t ready yet).

The moments holds: she must not cross his threshold, must not drink his tea, but then Jefferson winks and stands and tosses more snow in her direction, “Come back when it’s dry. We’ll work on bowler hats.”

She comes back a month later. She comes back but waits just long enough that Jefferson begins to worry he did indeed scare her. Her hats improve, despite the bite in the February air, despite their iced fingers (her repartee too, is biting and improved, he hates that he looks forward to these visits, because magic is cruel and he only wants her magic).

“Why don’t you go outside,” she asks, mid-stitch.

“We are outside,” he replies in a mumble, his mouth full of straight pins.

Belle rolls her eyes, “Not your yard, but, you know, outside, into the city.”

He scoffs, “Generous.”

“What?”

“It’s hardly a town—Storybrooke is a play thing, little and trite, what’s to see out there anyway—Storybrooke is for the dolls?”

Her face takes on a strange expression at the mention of dolls (and he knows she sneaks around to play with her dollies when Rumpelstiltskin is away), “Don’t you get lonely all by yourself?”

“Nosy, nosy, nosy, Jingle!” he says, tapping her own button nose, “Didn’t your owner teach you that nosy girls lose their noses, fingers and all ten toes?”

She frowns at him, huffing, “He’s not my owner.”

Tilting his head, taking the final pin from his mouth and depositing it into the half-a-hat in his hands, he asks, “Then what is he?”

His loud, ringing, annoying, endearing little bell takes her time to answer him, but finally shrugs, “He just isn’t.”

She takes longer to return again and looks quite worn down. Her only words of explanation: “School.”

“Ah, I see.” He doesn’t see. He never had tutors in the old world. Grace never had tutors in the old world. Though his apprenticeship had worn him ragged—but he wore raggedy so well. Perhaps that’s why he’d never stopped.

That and the poverty.

They finish three hats—just hats, for a hat without magic is just another hat—and the final one tips over, as she hops from the chair to stand. They were done for the day, and she was gathering up her things, but Jefferson, setting the hat upside down, on a whim he offhandedly orders: “You should give it a spin.”

Belle looked up, a question between her brow.

He threw his head toward the hat, “Come on, like this,” he shows her the move. “It’s all in the wrist.”

The hat does nothing but spin—has done nothing but spin for fourteen years and more for Jefferson, but maybe, just maybe (it was so hard, not speaking to her of magic—not even a whisper—and he had crossed his heart he wouldn’t, but there would come a time, when his heart would break and free him from his promises, promises).

Staring up at him, mouth agape, the child spins the cap.

Nothing.

It wobbles and topples over, “Like that?”

He sighs, “No, not like that.”

Next time, they decide to make use of the greenhouse. Yes, Regina gave him a greenhouse to hold all the dead things he can’t make grow. He can make hats without magic and vegetables without life. How splendid. How talented.

She runs through the space a little wild, bouncing like a rabbit, huffing like a caterpillar. He leans against the doorway, wondering at the wisdom of this exercise. She’d asked again to see the inside of his house. He should call Gold, make him keep her in line. This didn’t fit with his timeline (and he had never been a patient man). She was curious about these strange rules and this strange man who made hats and odd quips.

“Quips” she called them, she got it from her caregiver’s vocabulary. So strange listening to the Dark One’s wit from the mouth of a child—she’s innocent, yes, but she could be oh, so wicked someday.

She twirls about, in cap and gown, and the hatter, has to blink (as he tries to chip away at his impervious chains—clink—clink—clink).

She looks like his Grace, dancing through outdoor rooms and space, and worlds…

Jefferson shakes his head, and snatching the top hat off the child, mid-spin, he throws a thumb to the door, “That’s enough haberdashery for one day.” Too stuffy in the greenhouse anyway, in the May-day heat.

Jefferson hates summertime and summertime hates Jefferson. His neck sweats from the scarves, and the scar tissue breaks out from the sweat. The heat prickles under his heavy garments. He is a mess, inside and out, stir crazy from not stirring out of doors. His mind stirs with possibilities and limitations, and he watches.

He watches everything, for there is so much to watch.

He spots them, Jingle Belle and Grace. They play in the park. They walk to the beach. They talk with dwarves and avoid Paige’s parents. Each time, he drops the telescope and stalks away, to bang his head against a wall.

He does not stop watching. They flit from here to there and everywhere in between (but nowhere near him—never near him). Asking the Jingle Belle to bring his Grace from there to here would be too much, too much a request.

When next she calls, his hands twitch with the desire to ask her every single question about his Grace, but he restrains himself. He does not even let her practice their craft: “Today’s not good, Jingle. Today’s no good at all.” Wraps his free hand around his torso. He would wrap the other around himself when she left.

She looks sad but swipes away the sweat from her forehead from running all the way from Rumpelstiltskin’s castle to play haberdashers with her strange friend without arguing over his dismissal. He wonders if Grace can sew. He wonders where she’s run to since he’d left his post to answer the loud, annoying little doorbell.

Closing the door he thinks to himself that summertime hates Jefferson, because he’s the only one that can see that summertime means nothing when the year repeats itself over and over and over and over.

(He wraps his arms around himself and rocks over and over and over).

Regina has tried his nerves. Life has tried his nerves. Queens and cards and hat boxes and telephone receivers have all tried his nerves. The air conditioning unit has broken, and it is so very hot inside and out that even the telescope glass has fogged. What’s more, even to begin with, he had so little nerve to try.

Then the doorbell rang.

He knows it’s her, blue jay, bluebonnet, bluebell, blue and cool and so very, very trying. He opens the door only a crack, “Today’s no good, Jingle.” Not when he’s stressing his seams, and all his filling feels fit to burst.

She frowns, Gold’s little bird, Gold’s little flower. She’s in bloom, his darling dear danger. “You said that last time,” she pouts. He thinks her nearly about to stamp a foot, but she stops just short.

(But not so short, because she grows here. He’s seen a wall in Granny’s marked with the heights of her and wolf girl. Blue’s steadily inches up the door frame, while Red’s jumps, once a year—all her inches coming from the queen’s drop of loose magic. It’s lazy and sloppy and he knows that Jingle notices the sputtering spurts. She’s no fool. She’s a jack or an ace, some day perhaps even a queen in her own right).

Today she’s a child and has a child’s temper. He can smell her sweaty hair and the scent of freshly mown grass clippings, in that way of all children in summertime. Even his Grace, surely. Wilted lilacs sit behind her ear, and it does not match, the violet color, with her indigo eyes, but the terror does not turn away. She stares, this mismatched picture, crossing her arms over her chest, and argues with him, “Please. I’m bored.”

Bored, she says; she’s no idea what true boredom meant, “No.”

“Jefferson,” Belle whines. “Just this once,” an idea strikes her, “I didn’t see you around my birthday—this could be my birthday present!”

His eyes narrow: “You have grown.”

“You don’t look any older,” she replies, squinting with her child’s honesty.

“Oh, but I am,” he leans closer, “older than you can possibly imagine.”

She laughs, for no reason, and he laughs too. Hearing it in his own ears, it is a feral sound. Strangely, he begins to wonder why he denied her. What was the harm, laughing with Gold’s pet? What was the harm, pulling out his needles and fabric scissors? “Well, maybe,” he begins.

She claps her hands together, and turns to the backyard, but Jefferson stares down at her, noticing her cheeks, little globes, fair and red. She is overheated; they could not, should not sit out in the sun, nor would the greenhouse do, for it was sure to be ten degrees warmer. Perhaps, if they opened every window, some doors even, that would be enough. They could let some breeze into the house, and if the wind blew, where they really inside at all?

They could let themselves into the house, surely they could. Stepping back, he pushes the door open fully, and waves an arm, “Hey, Jingle.”

She turns, eyes widening, realizing what he’s offering as her gift, “Really?”

“Well, this is supposed to be a present, after all.”

They hear something else fall in a different room. She looks up from her hat, the ribbons blowing in the wind from the window. “Are you sure we should have all these windows open?” Mr. Gold hated when she left a window open anywhere near the study and his papers and files blew off the desk. “There’s gonna be a lot to clean up.”

He waves his hand wildly at her, “It’s fine. It’s fine. Just keep sewing.”

Her hands stop. Jefferson was acting weird. For a minute, she wonders if this was a bad idea. She hadn’t told Mr. Gold she was going over to work on hats. It was just an idea, after Ruby had to go help Granny in the diner. She was bored. Mr. Gold was busy all day in the shop, and Miss Kathy had work too, but Mr. Jefferson never had anything to do.

He was always there, in his big house.

After inviting her inside, they had worked to open most of the windows on the bottom floor. She got to see the kitchen, dining room, and more sitting and living rooms that even Mr. Gold’s house had. Next, they’d moved to the second floor. Here he didn’t let her into every room, but all the rooms she did see where filled with hats. Hats of all kinds. Some were finished, some were half done.

(“Why don’t you finish them?” she had asked. “Because it makes no difference,” he had answered.”)

They had gotten to work, at an extra tall table, like the bar in the kitchen at home. Her feet didn’t reach the floor, and he’d had to grab her a stool from downstairs. He offered to bring her tea—he didn’t smirk or laugh—seemed like he didn’t remember Mr. Gold’s rules at all.

She said “no, thank you” with all her polite manners. She was thirsty, but not too thirsty. Besides, if she was too thirsty, she could just go home. It would be fine.

Jefferson complimented her work every so often—more than usual. “That’s a very fine hat, very fine indeed.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe this one’s special?”

She opens her mouth, to ask what he means, when the doorbell rings.

They both drop their work.

“Shit,” Jefferson says.

Her heart to pounds; if it was Mr. Gold she was in serious trouble, more serious than when she had bitten the dentist or kicking Mrs. Mavis’ cat, more serious than sneaking into the mayor’s yard—maybe the most serious trouble she had ever been in her whole life.

Apparently, Jefferson was going to be in serious trouble too. “Shit, shit.” Racing around the table, he nearly pulls her off the barstool by the neck on her shirt. “We got to hide you.” Dragging her to the opposite end of the humongous room, he pushes her toward a counter. “Get up there,” letting her go, he opens one of the cabinets above. “This should hold.” Throwing the contents out, he orders, “Climb in.”

It’s only a moment before the doorbell rings a second time, and she finally obeys, fearing confession more than being discovered. He closes the door on her, and, in the dark, she can hear him racing down the stairs.

She tries to stop breathing so hard.

Jefferson curses to himself. This was a bad idea, but then he didn’t think Rumpelstiltskin had it in him to wait for an answer to the first doorbell if he truly believe his little pet inside. No, Rumpelstiltskin would have worked the door open, worked him open, worked everything down to the bone if he thought Belle inside.

The very fact that Jefferson stood to run downstairs, to compose himself before opening the door, meant that it most certainly was not Mr. Gold, which meant it could only be one other person—which meant it could only be worse, far, far worse.

Already, he could feel himself struggling to keep the deck together between shuffling and dealing, but with one queen up his sleeve, and one at his door, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep this going.

He opens the door, slipping his free hand into his pocket, he smiles at his surprise visitor: “Regina, to what do I owe the honor?”

She raises an eyebrow, “Well, someone’s in a better mood.” She holds two paper bags on her hip. “Thought I’d make my deliveries in person this month.”

He frowns, “You didn’t bring a toolbox by chance?”

She rolls her eyes, “Now, now, it can’t be that warm.” Ah, so she had gotten his message after all. Although, as she makes her way into the kitchen, Jefferson following, he can tell she doesn’t care for the temperature. “I called the AC guy. He should be here later in the week.” She unceremoniously drops his supplies down on the countertop, looking around, taking in the open windows, “Fresh air—not very like you, Jefferson.”

He shrugs, forcing a casual reply, “What was I supposed to do?”

The blood-red queen opens her mouth to answer, when they both hear a creak—from up above. She raises an eyebrow, and after a beat, shoves past him toward the stairs, “Jefferson, are you entertaining?”

“Regina!” he calls, taking the steps two at a time. He slips between her and the doorway, resting his elbow against it, blocking the work space with his body, “You know how I feel about keeping my work private.”

She glares at him, “Uh huh—I’m well acquainted with you work.” The queen barrels past him, her eyes darting around. She throws open the cabinet door beneath the table, checks inside the closet. Finding nothing, she sighs, turning back to Jefferson.

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for—” she stops, as her eyes narrow on the two hats on the table. “Jefferson, I’m only going to ask you once more: are you hiding someone from me?” her voice is near a whisper, and far more threatening than usual.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She points to the two hats on the table, half-made, on pins and needles—just like him. “Then what are those?” she asks innocent—as innocent as when he had first met her.

His heart falls to his feet, and he feels just like when his body fell to the floor, detached from his head. He feels as if he watches his body move all of its own accord. Sauntering over, he takes the hat from her hands sharply, “What? Never known someone to multi-task? But then you always were a little single-minded.”

She frowns, “You’re lying.” She slowly circles him, but with little warning, flips, crossing the room to throw open the high cabinets above the countertop, yelling “Ah-hah!”

It’s empty.

When he can manage to inhale, he raises a hand, “See—stop being so paranoid. Are you getting heat stroke?”

Regina rushes him, and with a finger to his chest, tells him, “Whatever you’re playing at, Hatter, you better know that I have a monopoly on magic around here.”

“You know, never been much on the game myself.”

“You’re crazy,” she mocks, “and you’re not going anywhere—so give it up. Any magic—anyone special—you think you’ve found, it’s because I’ve let you.” She pushes past him, and the sound of the door slamming can be heard from the workroom, but Jefferson doesn’t register it.

A little head pops up from outside the window sill, “That was scary!” Hopping back into the room, Belle flexes her fingers, “That’s a lot harder than trees.” She looks up to her friend, who stands stock still, “Jefferson. You okay?”

He turns to her, “You have to make it work.”

Belle frowns, “Make what work.” After a second, she asks, “Why did the mayor call you ‘Hatter’?”

“Yes—the hat, you have to fix it.” He walks up, and Belle without meaning to, takes a step backward. He takes her by the shoulders and guides her back to the worktable. “You have to make it work or I’m never going home, I’ll never get her back.”

Belle frowns, “Get who back?”

He sighs, “Not yet—finish it. Finish the hat.”

Belle pushes down the feelings of fear. It feels like earlier, with his odd words and movements, but worse, much. Hands shaking just a little, she picks up her hat. This one has an orange ribbon. He paces behind her as she works, and strangely it does not slow her down—he is making her nervous—but somehow it speeds up her stitches, feeling him right behind her shoulder.

As she ties her final knot in the threat and cuts off the excess, Jefferson grabs it from her hands.

“I’m done.” She begins to move to stand, but he stops her.

“No, not until you make it work.”

“Make what work.”

“Spin it, spin it, but with magic—you have magic, I know you can do it.”

Belle eyes widen, “Magic—magic’s not real, Jefferson. Magic is just in stories.” She’s worried now, worried about her friend (worried about herself).

He laughs then, a heavy, honeyed chuckle, “No—no it’s not—what do you think all those stories are you learn in school? Does that make them any less real because you learned about them as stories?”

“Jefferson—I don’t—”

“Come on! Don’t be so gullible, Jingle—that’s exactly what she wants you to believe! It’s that kind of thinking that got you stuck in her tower in the first place! Now get it to work.” His hands wrap around hers, and he makes her spin the hat as they had that one other time. He makes her spin it over and over.

Nothing happens.

“You’re not trying hard enough!” Jefferson practically shouts. “You have to try—or I’ll be cursed to live in this town forever.” Despite all his blandishments, all his training and praise, she’s holding out, she’s keeping all the magic for herself.

Selfish—just like everyone else.

“Make it work!” he shouts, but the kid twists and suddenly there’s an elbow to his stomach, quickly followed by one to his groin, and then she’s gone, racing out the door.

Belle doesn’t stop running until she’s far, far away from Jefferson’s place.

Magic, he’d said she had magic, and towers and curses, too. He spoke words from her nightmares—and worse, he’d yelled at her.

She stops to catch her breath after hopping the fence into Gold’s garden. That’s when she realizes she’s crying.

She thinks of Mr. Knightley, the gym teacher, and she’s so thankful for the lessons. Belle never thought she would ever have to use those, but her training kicked in just when she needed it. Belle never thought she would have to use those on Jefferson.

Jefferson was her friend, but he had scared her. She wipes harshly at her face, getting rid of her stupid tears. She was safe now. She was home.

Mr. Gold never needed to know—

“Belle?”

She jumps, throwing her arms up in front of her, only to see Mr. Dove, standing there, shovel in hand, wearing a plain apron she recognizes from when Mr. Gold pulls weeds during the weekends.

“Mr. Dove,” she squeaks.

“What’s happened?” he asks in his deep voice. He takes in her wild hair, torn shorts and red eyes. He frowns, gripping the shovel tight, “Did someone hurt you?”

“No—don’t tell Mr. Gold!”

Mr. Dove frowns, “You’re not supposed to lie Miss French, and you know I can’t lie to Mr. Gold either.”

She frowns, her tears creeping back up on her, “He’s going to be so mad at me.”

Sympathy colors the hired hand’s face, “No, don’t cry, Miss Belle.” He sets down the shovel and takes off the apron. “Maybe we can talk about this.” He opens the back door and motions for her to enter first, as befitting a lady, and Dove follows right behind.

More than comfortable in Gold’s pink house, the large man first fetches the little girl a cold glass of water, which she drinks too fast, causing her to cough. He refills her glass, only after which he gets one for himself. Once cooled, he takes a seat at the kitchen table beside her and asks quietly, “Why would Mr. Gold be mad?”

“I went someplace I wasn’t supposed to go.”

He sighs, “Why weren’t you supposed to go?”

“Because Mr. Gold didn’t think it was safe.”

Dove gives her a sharp look, and she begins to tear up. “Was it safe, Miss Belle?”

She shakes her head, “No.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“No.”

He scratches his chin, “But you were scared.”

She nods in reply, drinking some more of her water, holding it in both her hands.

“I think,” he begins diplomatically, “that Mr. Gold is just going to be happy that you got away and that you’re safe now.” She looks up at him. She always had trouble finding her voice around Mr. Dove, but in this moment, she feels so very safe sitting next to him, knowing he’s in the pink house. “I think you should clean up, and maybe you will feel brave enough to tell Mr. Gold what happened.”

Belle wipes at her eyes again, “Will you stay?”

“Of course, Miss French.”

Nodding, she pushes back her chair and heads upstairs, but as she turns on the water to take a shower, she hears Mr. Dove on the phone: “Mr. Gold, I think you need to close the shop early today.”

When Belle gets out of the shower, brushes her hair and puts on clean clothes, she knows Mr. Gold is home. She can hear them both downstairs, talking over things like “scraped knee,” “terribly frightened,” “running like her life depended on it.”

She frowns: she was definitely in a lot of trouble.

Walking downstairs, she keeps her hands behind her back, prim and proper. In the kitchen she finds Mr. Dove washing dishes (a clean apron on, once again) and Mr. Gold sitting at the kitchen table in his usual seat, cane balanced in front of him—he usually liked something to do with his hands while he waited to pronounce judgement (but it wasn’t usually her who was awaiting a sentence).

He raises an eyebrow to his little ward when he notices her, “Ah, now I hear it’s been an eventful afternoon.”

Mr. Dove turns to Belle and gives her a little nod. She takes in a big breath and begins her confession, “I did something I’m not supposed to do.”

Mr. Gold frowned, stating sharply, “I figured that much.”

A dish clanks loudly in the sink, and her caregiver rolls his head in that direction, “Something to add, Dove?”

“No, sir.” Mr. Dove answers dispassionately and only mildly sarcastic.

Turning back to his ward, Mr. Gold prompts, “You were saying?”

“I went to make hats with Mr. Jefferson.”

Mr. Gold’s eyes widen, “You what?”

“I went—”

He holds up a hand, “I heard what you said. What I can’t believe is that you would go without telling me. We had a deal.” He stamps his cane on the floor, almost without realizing, “We don’t lie to one another.”

“I know,” she answers, guilty.

“Now what happened to make you run like hell?”

“Mr. Jefferson scared me.”

“You didn’t drink or eat anything, did you?”

“No, we just made hats.” She refrains from mentioning Mayor Mills, “but Mr. Jefferson was acting different.”

“Different?” Gold asks.

“Yeah, I think he was confused. Maybe sick.” Belle tells him of their hats and how he kept telling her to make it work, and finally, his words on magic. She confesses it all to Mr. Gold.

When she’s finished. Gold sighs, rubs a hand down his face, but finally stands and walks over to the girl. She wants to start, hunching her shoulders, waiting for her fate.

He puts a hand to her shoulder, “You got away. You used your training. That’s what matters.” Mr. Dove goes back to washing his dishes—Belle realizes he’d been silent, waiting on the verdict nearly as much as she. “There are still consequences for lying and rule breaking, but I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Then, Belle blinks in surprise, as Gold pulls her into a stilted hug. He never hugs her. Praises her, teases her, gives her gifts, but he never, never hugs her. After a moment, she hugs him back, “You’re not angry?”

“Oh, I’m angry, but not with you—well, not entirely.” He pulls back, making her look him in the eye, “There will be consequences, however.” Gold thinks for a moment, “Grounding, I think, until you can remember the importance of veracity.”

“Veracity?”

“Truth, dearie.”

She nods.

“More hours in the shop too, I think.”

She held back a groan—should couldn’t read nearly as much in the shop as she wanted, but as she walks to her room (her grounding starting immediately), she thinks it won’t be so bad, as long as she’s with Mr. Gold.

Jefferson’s asleep when the sound of a door being kicked in rouses him—his door to be precise. Scrambling from where he’d fallen asleep on the floor, he rushes to find some sort of weapon (for he knows who to expect, he knows that nothing good can have come from his afternoon experiment).

He reaches for a chair, when he senses more than hears the first attempt at a blow. He catches the cane in his own hand. He uses it to push Rumpelstiltskin away, giving himself enough time to grab the chair.

“We had a deal, boy.”

“I lied.” He counters a wild attempt at his head with the chair, and using it as a shield, pushes the crippled man back toward the table in the center of the room. Jefferson takes the opportunity to race out, in search of a better weapon. He has a baseball bat two rooms down. He reaches for it under a bed, but he can hear Rumpelstiltskin traipsing down the hall. He finds his feet just in time, standing to counter the cane. “It’s for my daughter. Can you blame me?”

“Oh yeah, I can.” He’s sloppy, they both are—wild swing meets wild swing. “She’s too young—you put her in harm’s way, and now I’m going to make you pay.”

“Nothing happened,” Jefferson’s lessons, his gifts could not harm—for she’d no magic, no magic at all, in this world. “She has no magic!” He finally lands a blow. Rumpelstiltskin jostles, knocking into the doorframe. “She’s nothing to me!” He shouts with a laugh, his hungry thirsty roots drove him to search for what wasn’t there—the kid wouldn’t be the one to make the hat work. Leaning toward the Dark One, tone smooth and sweet, “she’s all yours. I’m done with her.” Jefferson turns his back and walks out of the room, leaving the Jingle Belle to the old man’s cantankerous care.

Belatedly, Rumpelstiltskin yanks on his shoulder with the handle of his cane, bringing Jefferson round to face him. The hatter does not resist. The sorcerer catches his necktie with the handle, tugging it down, before he makes his threat, “You go near her again, and I’ll kill you.” To prove the point, he opens his suit jacket to reveal a handgun, “It’ll be far worse than those little scratches, I assure you.”

Jefferson tugs free and scoffs, “There’s nothing worse than what I’ve been through—nothing—but then I think you already know that.”

The older man frowns, giving the haberdasher a little shove with the cane, “Focus, boy, do you mark my words? Stay away from her, or it’s your life.”

Jefferson raised a hand, “Oh, I fold—she’s not worth the gamble.”

The answer seems to strike a chord in the dealmaker, but with clenched jaw, his nods once, raises his cane and trudges down the stairs. As the door shuts, Jefferson briefly regrets not returning Blue’s sewing kit—she’d run out and forgotten it.

Too, he thinks he’ll miss her jokes and her odd humors and her girlish giggle, but then he can always just keep watching her. That would be just as well. Just as grand. Just as lovely as talking and teaching. Watching would do just as well. What was the difference after all, in losing her visits if she could not take him and Grace from here to there?

When Mr. Gold returns to the pink house, he sighs in relief. Dove reports that Miss French has not left her room after eating a light dinner and more water to rehydrate. Dove had also finished transplanting the iris bulbs.

Splendid.

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes, Dove,” he answers with a sigh, thumbing through the stack of mail on the kitchen table.

“What was the man talking about?”

Gold’s hands freeze, staring at flyer for the local deli. He recovers quickly, “Jefferson Hatter suffers with frequent delusions and is under house arrests. We’re lucky nothing worse happened this afternoon.”

Dove has more questions—he can feel it—but the brawny man says nothing and takes his leave, allowing Gold to fully relax for the first since getting the phone call. He pours himself a nightcap and finishes going through the mail. However, an advertisement on sewing machines catches his eye.

In a few weeks perhaps, he could ask if she wanted one. She might miss the sewing, after all.

#rumbelle fic #penance series #the mad hatter #my writing

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fictionerd · 6 years

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Good to see you, friends!

“WHAT’S THIS!? This isn’t Uma Musume! Fictionerd! Explain yourself!”

Well. I watched this week’s Uma Musume and as I did I had this sinking sensation. The episode didn’t really move me to dig in depth into it the way I have my other long-form posts. So I instead went to watch this week’s episode of Caligula and scrape my scales and call me Seath if it wasn’t about a thousand times better. So let’s all take a deep dive into Episode six of Caligula.

WARNING! I ENGAGE IN A LOT OF SPECULATION THAT MAY BE OFF THE MARK. I REPEAT A COUPLE TIMES IN THE POST BELOW, BUT LET’S GO AHEAD AND GET IT RIGHT OUT FRONT! PLEASE NO SPOILERS FOR THE STORY MOVING FORWARD FROM THOSE WHO’VE PLAYED THE GAME(S). THANK YOU.

We open on Mu preparing the first song of the night aimed at activating the digi-heads and allowing the Musicians to combat the rogues. We get an inkling of how she’s being manipulated by this Thorn character. Her Utopia has been hijacked by the musicians who seem intent upon living within their own delusions for all eternity.

We then get a series of quick establishing scenes showing the various characters and the situations they open in. Ritsu, Kotaro, and Kotono are still at the weird water-world place facing down Dom lady. Mifue and Naruko are where we left them last episode: with the first fake mom Mifue had in Mobius. Suzuna has run into newcomer Izuru and together they are cornered by another of the Musicians who has watched too many action movies and dual-wields massive sub-machine guns. Shogo just barely escapes the digi-heads by ducking into an elevator. We get a brief flash of what appears to be a girl jumping off a building before the elevator stops to reveal the white-haired speaker kid from the first episode. It seems like everyone who’s noticed the world is the matrix is in deep trouble.

After the OP we jump right back into the action with Kotono using her Catharsis effect to fight Dom Lady. The results are lack-luster with Dom flat-out batting away every arrow Kotono throws at her, even when she throws up to four at a time. They take a break from fighting to compare Mobius to an aquarium. Kotono’s all like, “This whole place is fake. I want my real crappy life back!” Dom lady snorts and says, “You’re a moron. Why would you want that sucky real world where you have to work for stuff when you could just stay here and let Mu brainwash you into thinking everything is absolutely perfect?”

I don’t know about Kotono, but my immediate response would be something along the lines of: “Because living in a world where everything is just handed to you is completely asinine, and would lead to the sort of stagnation you normally only get from full-on clinical depression.”

Enough of that scene, though, let’s catch up with Mifue and Naruko. They try calling Shogo to no avail. Sorry, ladies, he’s found himself in a situation he can’t just “cut” out of. You know how it is. You run into an acquaintance from school and they just demand you “Shoot the shit” with them. (I brought up his scene early just to make those puns and I’m not sorry).

Crazy, Pixie Dude shows up and is all like, “Hey you two. Since you know my secret identity I’m going to shame you for your own petty sorrows. Glasses-chick wants to be internet-famous and blandy hates fat people, right? Ooh I do love touching nerves. What you mad? Too bad you can do jack all about it!”

I have serious concerns about the directions they might take this guy in because of the whole “overweight dude living as a cute girl thing”. That’s one fucking minefield of a subject matter that I’d prefer to avoid until and unless we learn more about why he went with that. Depending on how it shakes out there could be some serious problems there. (Oh who am I kidding? There’s going to be serious problems with that character regardless.)

Once more I feel the need to alert those who’ve played the games ahead of time: NO SPOILERS PLEASE. I don’t CARE how the game handled it, because I’m watching the anime.

Okay! Enough of that aside: Back to the fight between Kotono and Dom. They basically continue their conversation from before and Kotono’s ranged attacks continue to be largely ineffectual. I’ve gotta say she seems to have gotten the “Shaft” on this particular matchup. (Jesus why am I doing this?)

Kotaro tries to get Aria to Cathars him up some beatin sticks, but she’s all like. “Sorry, bro, you’ve not got enough edge to work with.” Ritsu, realizing that they’re basically dead weight advises him to run and he’s all like, “But why?”

“Because they keep damaging those tanks and I don’t want to drown, That’s Why!” So they do and then we cut to the source of my puns from before where Crazy-eyes White-hair is trying to make several points to Shogo all at once with what appears to less be a sword and more a collection of random serrations. Fortunately Shogo’s Dirty Harry special is a functional parrying weapon, but his stance is basically shit so he keeps getting thrown around.

I’m seriously confused as to why he’s suddenly at such a disadvantage. Isn’t he somewhat experienced at this? Shouldn’t he at least be able to keep his footing?

Whatever, We jump back to Thorn and Mu who kinda snaps out of a trance.

“Girl whose name is not at all suspicious, why does it feel like the people I brought to my stately pleasure dome are all in pain and anguish?” “We call it tough love.” “Okay then, if you say so.”

And we move on. Wannabe Action Star has cornered Suzuna and Izuru and tries to be all intimidating just to strike out horribly and make Izuru look badass for just staring the punk down as a bullet grazes his cheek. (I’m assuming he got better build up to his introduction in the game. That or I just didn’t notice him in the insanity that were the opening episodes of the series.

At this point the various scenes from around Mobius start to converge in their tone. It’s essentially -

Musicians: This world is perfect! We don’t have to worry about things being hard or frustrating ever again! Rogues: That’s just running away. Sure I may regret this decision later, but I’d rather take a chance at having something real than play pretend forever! Musicians: It’s not pretend so long as we stay here it’s all real! RAAAR

The reason we see the scenes basically bleed together is because Aria is suddenly getting a serious mainline of feels from all the protagonists. She hovers up into the air and begins to glow with an awesome power. “I can feel it! Everyone’s Existential Angst is flowing into me. OH NO!”

And she gets pwned by the shockwave off Dom-lady’s mace. Kotaro runs over to her. We see Mu realizing her friend is still around, but that’s over fast. Then Kotaro picks Aria up and gets teary-eyed, Presumably out of fear that he’ll never get to see what she looks like as a human-proportioned Vocaloid rather than a chibi. Dom calls him a weakling and he’s like, “No I’m not [emphatic pause] Yes I am.” [Sob] Then a few not-so-manly tears fall down his cheeks and splash onto Aria who’s all like, “NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL EDGE!”

She turns into an orange star of “Battle Them” and everyone follows the light while internally screaming in anguish. Aria bundles up all those Feels and everyone but Ritsu undergoes the Catharsis transformation at once. The sudden realization that so many people didn’t like playing in her doll house makes Mu’s record skip before she, too, gives in to the edge. With ten minutes left in the episode we get our title card and all the protags are like, “Sweet threads! Thanks, Aria, now we can whoop some ass.”

And that’s exactly what they do. Maybe I’m just spoiled from watching Megalo Box last night, but up until this point I didn’t think the fighting in this had been much to write home about, but the big battle at the end between the Rogues and the Musicians was pretty cool. I sort of want to skip to the end at this point, but there’s something I need to touch on first. Remember when I mentioned Shogo’s Elevator flashback? The main reason I remember it is because when he’s asked why he wants to go back to the real world so bad he says “Because I’m a Murderer.”

Again No Spoilers! but I can’t help suspecting that he’s blaming himself for something he didn’t have much power to stop. Okay, subject addressed back to the fight.

Ritsu’s the only one who hasn’t impaled himself on his feels, and he’s struggling with this whole “Determination to keep fighting” thing. Everyone around him doesn’t just want to go home, they’re fighting for it. Just as he’s wondering what exactly he is and what he could have to fight for Mu descends from the heavens. She’s basically having a mental breakdown because she doesn’t understand why everyone won’t just let her make them happy. She’s taken all their pain and suffering and made them her problem. That sort of Empathy and desire to help others is admirable, but she’s handling it in the absolute wrong way. She’s trying to help them forget about their pains rather than face them. She’s basically gotten to the point where she’s angry at them for not being grateful for what she’s done. She doesn’t realize that she’s ultimately done more harm than good.

When she just LOSES IT! Words don’t suffice. It needs to be WATCHED.

So she starts overflowing with all the negative emotions she’s been taking from everyone and bottling up inside herself. She can’t hold back and has to lash out. Ritsu sees this, but not I think as the threat everyone else might see it as. He sees the pain that Mu’s in. He sees how misguided and delusional her quest is, and this gives him his motivation. He’s going to stand against Mobius, not for himself, but for her sake. Maintaining Mobius is obviously doing just as much harm to Mu as it is to everyone she’s keeping brainwashed.

So Ritsu fires a massive FEELS BEAM at the giant ball of EDGE Mu has accumulated and seemingly dissipates it. As Thorn flies(?) off with Mu in her arms Mu calls Ritsu a Jerk.

Post-credits scene all the Rogues decide to team up and officially name themselves the “Go-Home Club”. (Which honestly is probably the best and worst pun of them all).

Question! How the heck are you supposed to use club activities to “hide” what you’re doing? The Musicians know who you all are already! What are you worried about sucking other people in? Why?

Ugh, I guess I’ll find out as things go on. Now, if you’ll excuse me, this post may be late getting to bed, but so am I. Hopefully the next two days of playing catch-up will go smoother than this.

Until next post, keep talking fiction, friends! I’ll see you soon.

#Anime #Caligula #Episode 6 #Fictionerd #Let's Talk Anime

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attackingstarfish · 6 years

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Just finished LoZ: Wind Waker...

I normally never post, but I recently wrapped up Wind Waker HD (Yes, I’m late to the party), and it is so far removed from the usual Zelda fare that I just had to compile my thoughts. And if I’m compiling my thoughts, I might as well yell them into the void.

You will have to show me physical proof that Wind Waker is not Ocarina of Time from the Opposite Dimension, where windows are the primary means of entering your house and people worship at the altar of Hello Games, because despite me being almost exactly as satisfied with Wind Waker HD as I was with Ocarina of Time 3D, the greatest sources of joy are flipped with the biggest annoyances between the two games.

Yay!

Breath of the Wild had won me over in part because the entire world felt cohesive; you could go anywhere on the map without having to encounter a single loading screen, and I had no idea Wind Waker did the same thing. The Great Sea is a vast trove of trees, pirates, and treasure, with the occasional giant squid attack or salutation from the Flying Dutchman. Each of the 49 segments contains an island that is often unique in purpose, and you’re very rarely sent to a specific island for a specific item by a specific character. Instead, the entire overworld becomes open to you as soon as you grab your sail on Windfall Island, and you have a literal sea of knowledge before you as the 49 fish that serve as your guidebook to the game take their places.

A couple of islands start off closed, unable to be reached until you get the Iron Boots or the Bow or the Hulk Hogan suplex manual, but that’s it as far as what you can’t reach, and the squares of ocean containing even these islands can be reached as early as any other zone, fish and all. The fish are easy to spot, splashing around near their respective region’s landmass, and to reward taking to initiative to explore, a surprising amount of what they tell you can be put to use immediately, like the location of the all-new extra-fast wind-changing sail the remake’s added to speed up travel. Good thing, too, because there’s a point where travel time stops being buildup and becomes padding, especially when you have to dance a round of Hands Up every time you want to change direction. Later in the game, when you’re better equipped, you could stop by one of those islands you couldn’t figure out earlier on, and figure out what to do with just one more trip around the border. Nothing pops up on your map to indicate that suddenly you’re able to access anything new, and your boat doesn’t wonder whether the eastmost pillar on island A7 has met any nice hookshot targets lately. The game trusts that you can navigate the uses for your gear yourself, which I value. Fewer tutorials, more expectations.

Even the story serves the game’s hands-off attitude. Ocarina starts with Link going into the Deku Tree to purge it of some unspecified evil (What exactly does Gohma do in there, anyway?) before coming out to be told of his fate to kill a man he has never met before and become Hyrule’s savior. Link takes up the mantle in that game only because the gods who have not and will never make a proper appearance want him to do it. Meanwhile, Wind Waker opens with Link putting on the green tunic to make his grandmother happy for a day, right before his sister, who clearly adores him, gets kidnapped by a giant bird, and he teams up with pirates to sneak into a fortress and rescue her but instead gets bitch-slapped by Ganondorf, who turns out to own the place and the bird. In addition to being awesome because pirates kick ass, Link’s introduction to the man who wants him dead feels a lot more natural here, and Ganondorf doesn’t even come into the plot for real until the second half of the game. Link’s got a sister to save, and everything he’ll do to accomplish that goal will demonstrate him to be worthy of the Master Sword, which itself seems to prefer this organic sort of journey, seeing as the Link who set out to get the Master Sword from the beginning ended up locked in solitary confinement by the thing while it allowed the man it was created to kill to instead take over the world. Evidently the Master Sword is a strong, independent blade beholden to no one who can’t think for themselves, and anyone who disagrees can spend some quality time with the nice old man who loves to talk and talk and talk and talk.

The characters in Wind Waker feel more on the dynamic side than Ocarina’s. At first I was a bit surprised that i felt that way considering Ocarina had you view two very different versions of Hyrule, but Ocarina’s characters either don’t change in personality much between time periods or don’t make an appearance in one of the two at all. Talon’s still lazy in the future, the carpenters are still idiots, the Lake Hylia scientist is still mad, the Kokiri of course don’t change at all, you see none of the Zoras after their caves are frozen over, etc. Not to mention Ganondorf, who doesn’t get much beyond “evil Gerudo thief king who wants to take over the world because of reasons,” even if he gets a bit further than many movie/game villains and is able to demonstrate exactly what he’d do while in charge and why he’s so dangerous. Wind Waker, meanwhile, has even a fair few one-off characters with their own tiny arcs. Mila goes from stuck-up rich kid to poor as dirt and struggling to adapt, so out of her element that she resorts to stealing money from her new boss until Link catches her and helps her stay true to herself in the future. Maggie’s father starts out so desperate for Link to save his daughter that he will annoyingly stop you in your tracks every time he so much as glimpses you and repeat his pleas for help, but after Maggie is returned home and he strikes it rich through no deed of his own, he decides everyone else is beneath him and starts bitching at Link, the Rito postman, and anyone who thinks repeatedly boasting about your own fabulous wealth makes for poor dinner conversation. Even Ganondorf himself is given more than a simple desire to take over Hyrule this time around, as his belief that the rest of the kingdom deserves to suffer the way the Gerudo suffered in the desert is brought to light.

Boo!

Part of the reason I liked the dungeons in Ocarina of Time so much is that they had a way of coming full circle at the end, or even a smaller full circle in the middle. You’d come across something at the beginning, go “Huh, that looks cool,” then move on. An hour later, BOOM, payoff, and likely in a way you didn’t even expect. The web serving as the floor in the Deku Tree and the blue stone head at the back of Dodongo’s Cavern come to mind. Plus, there were often open rooms that allowed you to get a handle on where everything else was relative to you, and gaze upon areas you’ll visit once you find the Hookshot or Hover Boots. Wind Waker’s dungeons are the antithesis of the rest of the game, they’re cramped and, for the first half of the game, overly linear. Dragon Roost never musters up much more challenge than “kill enemy in front of you, go through door in front of you, repeat,” a far cry from the wall-climbing around the first half of the Deku Tree. Re-hydrating the bombs to get into the place is arguably as clever as you get with it, which for me is the perfect representation of the amount of thought that went into everything surrounding the dungeons vs. the amount of thought that went into the dungeons. And aside from those spinning leaf wheels in Forbidden Woods that wouldn’t know what a wind was if they were fired for incompetence and forced to spend the rest of their lives at its mercy, this is best illustrated during the teamwork-based dungeons with Medli and Makar toward the end of the game .

Considering how often you have to switch between characters to set up a Mirror Shield reflect or to hit a switch or to plant a seed or because you got hit fucking once, it would’ve been nice not to have to do half the Macarena every time you want to switch to your companion’s viewpoint. It also would’ve been nice if the controls of your partners didn’t make me want to offer them to the Floormasters. That said, Medli wasn’t awful. Yes, her flight was a bit hard to direct, there was no way to halt her Link-bearing glide without throwing her, and the number of times you had to hop on the Wind Waker was a pain, but the irritation was diminished when lot of her roles involved standing still and shining light while you played as the character the game actually put work into handling. Plus, my wave of enthusiasm from the first moment I walked under a spotlight while carrying her and saw the light reflect lasted me quite a ways into the dungeon, so my memories of the Earth Temple are okay enough.

On the other hand, Makar. (I still call him Oaki, which should indicate how memorable Makar’s character is) When flying with Medli, all that was required was good aim when leaping off any ledge you were leaving, whether she was on her own or supporting Link. Makar has to fly in patterns more complex than straight lines, so naturally his controls are twice as stupid. You have to repeatedly press A to fly, speeding up or slowing down your button presses to increase or decrease the amount of lift as you go. Button mashing as a recurring mechanic, yay. Its imprecise nature becomes worse when the vertical nature of the dungeon’s biggest room has Makar rack up a ton of momentum from the amount of rising and falling he’ll be doing, leaving you struggling to adjust your frequency to keep up, with aerial endurance that makes you wonder how the Korok seed-spreading ritual has not led them to extinction by mass drowning. Fortunately, there’s a giant fan you can activate at the bottom of the room to blow yourself upward and kill any chance you have at forward progress. You’d think that being able to coast to the top of everything would be a good thing, but being in the fan’s range of “anywhere” causes Makar to eschew any direction that isn’t straight up (as his flight meter drains!), when running out of flight power has the same effect but downwards. If that wind catches you while you’re trying to cross the room, you’re left to watch as Makar is frozen in place while his energy drains to zero, wait for the fan to stop, fall several stories to the bottom of the room, and walk about two feet toward where you want to go before the fan activates again and restarts the cycle. And that’s assuming one of the many flying enemies doesn’t brush Makar and throw the camera back behind a Link who’s attempting to keep calm by doing the wave.

The combat took some getting used to. Ocarina’s combat was fine; it was easy to tell what you were in range to hit, and timing your swings properly could get shield-wielding enemies like Stalfos in a loop where continually accurate shots would finish them in seconds. In Wind Waker, Link’s attacks don’t reach quite as far as his sword would indicate; you’d think the gods would make sure their magical evil-smiting blade is most capable at the end that goes in the King of Evil, but I guess not. “Just The Tip” is a no-no with these monsters, so it’s either impale them in full or let them dominate you.

Meanwhile, you have two options for your targeting system, and they both suck. You either hold down L as long as you want to keep an enemy targeted, which before long will cause your left index finger to rebel against its draconian master, or press the button once to start targeting and press it again to target a different enemy, leaving you with no way to stop targeting the enemies and put an arrow in the switch. This wasn’t that big a deal in Ocarina, since Link had a wider vertical range with the bow and there were never many enemies hounding you when there was another immediate objective to complete, but in Wind Waker, you can expect a rainbow of respawning Chu’s to ambush you around the clock. It sours a lot of dungeons and dungeon-themed areas for me. That’s why the Wind Waker experience was so surprising; the dungeons were a slog to get through and felt less like a collection of clever puzzle ideas suiting each region’s theme and more like an obligation to throw in because it’s Zelda, yet everything surrounding them felt engaging and intriguing enough to make me want to keep playing and find out what happened to everyone.

(Tower of the Gods was pretty cool, too.)

#legend of zelda #wind waker #zelda wind waker #link #zelda

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zombierunfiction · 6 years

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Season 2 Mission 22: No Future

The following morning Charlotte was trying to sharpen her axe in peace but her thoughts kept running back over to the suicide of Francesca. She knew that there was nothing she could have done to save her but she still felt horrible about it. Even Sam and Sara were affected by it. Sara was concerned about how Charlotte was taken it while Sam was quieter than normal.

"Hey." Sara said as she walked over sitting next to her by the coms shack. The ground had a light snow on it but Charlotte didn't seem to really care about the cold.

"Hey." Charlotte said as she sharpped her axe the best she could.

Sara watched her for a while. "How are you doing?"

"Could be better. You?" Charlotte asked.

"About the same. Concerned about my friend." Sara said softly as Charlotte stops sharpening before sighing softly.

"And who could that friend me I wonder?" She said sarcasticly.

Sara smiled slightly then leans against her shoulder. "A lot of things have happened since you came here. I wanted to make sure you were handling it well."

Charlotte takes a deep breath. "If you asked me before Archie was killed I would have told you yes I am. But... since she was killed..."

"Things are harder to shake off?" Sara supplies.

"Yeah..."

Sara wrapped her arm gently around her. "Do you blame yourself for her death?"

Charlotte shook her head slowly. "No... but I feel responsible for her getting tangled up in with Van Ark."

"Van Ark targeted her because of her ability to retain knowledge. You did everything you could to save her. Both you and Jamie. It just wasn't God's plan to save her." Sara said softly.

"Yet God lets Van Ark continue to do what ever he pleases while Archie took a bullet to the chest. Not one but two." Charlotte said bitterly.

Sara sighs softly. "Nothing I say is going to make you feel better. The only thing you can do is continue to fight. Don't let Archie's sacrifise be in vain."

Charlotte slowly looked at her. "Sara... Are you afraid that I might try to eat my gun so to speak?"

Sara looks at her seriously. "Are you?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No. But the thought has popped up once or twice. I had an aunt who commited suicide when I was little. I wouldn't want to put anyone through that. Especially Sam."

Sara nods slowly. "I'm glad you have something anchoring you to us. I'd hate to have to break in a new partner."

Charlotte chuckles dryly. "Same here. When you were gone you left me with Simon. Now he is a good runner but he's no Sara."

Sara smiles gently petting the top of her head. "Come on. Sam asked me to come get you for a run."

"Figures." Charlotte said standing up putting the sharpening stone away.

Soon Charlotte and Sara were outfitted with packs and headsets standing by the gates. "Raise the gates!" Sam said as the gates slowly raise for them. "And you're good to go. So, Runner Eight, Runner Five, the mission briefing is - oh God, I sound like Janine, don't I? The aim today - no, can't do that, either. Yeah, look, we've had a bit of intel. One of the outlying settlements picked up a transmission from one of Van Ark's men. They're transporting some audio equipment through Hamling Fountain Park today, probably to do with the tone signal control of the zombies. And, uh, well, we want you to-"

"Spy on them?" Sara suggests. "What would make you think I'm the right person to send on an assignment like that?"

"Oh, you've always had a bit of a spy vide to you, you know? I mean, just that you're a crack shot, and sort of secretive, and uh, that sort of thing." Sam said quickly.

"Before the apocalypse, I just had an ordinary office job, Sam. Just a boring bureaucratic job." Sara said offhandedly.

Sam chuckled slightly. "Isn't that what you're suppoused to say if you're a spy?"

"Maybe." Charlotte suggested. "And it's also what you'd say if you did have a boring office job. How do we know this isn't one of Van Ark's traps?"

"Yeah, I'll be honest - we don't." Sam said softly. "But you know, don't worry. We've got a lot of cams in place around the fountains. We'll spot any trouble before it sees you."

"And what are they showing you right now?" Sara asked.

Sam took a moment to answer. "Hang on... Yeah, just fountains. Or, well, you know - nozzles where the fountains used to be before all the water got cut off."

"No sign of anyone around yet?" Charlotte asked as they continued to run.

"Nope." Sam said confidently.

"Then let's get there before they do." Sara said as they sped up heading towards the fountain. After a half hour of running, Sara spoke up. "Approaching the foundtains now."

Charlotte looked around seeing an abandoned playground with overgrown plants starting to overtake the swings and slides. "Dead playgrounds are always really errie." She said slowly.

"Yea. Imagine - once upon a time, these fountains would be surrounded by kids playing, laughing -" Sam said before a gunshot rings out making Sara and Charlotte looking around fast.

"Do you hear that?" Sara said quickly.

"Mm, getting it on long-range cams." Sam said.

"Is it Van Ark's men?" Charlotte asked.

"It is, yeah. It is, but they're not transporting anything. They're chasing someone. A man-" Sam responds before Sara jumpped in.

"Our enemy's enemy is a friend. Who is it?"

Sam hums softly. "Mm, I can't quiet-"

"I see them!" Sara said pointing towards the small group. "They're coming closer. Behind the trees, Char." The two of them moved to the trees hiding behind the large trunks.

Charlotte peeked from behind the side of the tree as the men continued to chase a single man firing as they went. "I don't like the look of this. We should move."

Sara nods. "They'll never see us if they're not looking for us. Hopefully they'll run straight past us."

A few minutes later, the man that was being chased managed to lose the men briefly. “I knew you’d come!” The man said as Charlotte blinked.

“Ephraim?!” She squeaked suddenly as the religious man jumped over the bushes to them.

“God, it really is the rerun episode of all our best traitors from last season, isn’t it?” Sam said as Sara and Charlotte backed away from Ephraim.

“You’re the one who led us straight to Van Ark’s men the last time we met him.” Sara said as a gunshot rang out making the three people look over seeing that the soldiers were running over.

“Wow. Looks like he’s not working with them anymore, judging by the fact they’re firing guns at him.” Sam said quickly as the three of them took off away from the soldier.

“You have to help me. I sent that message so you’d come when I left my hidey-hole. I knew you’d come.” Ephraim said quickly.

“Yeah… no, you don’t have to help him.” Sam said.

“I second that notion.” Charlotte said as Ephraim speaks up quickly.

“I know one of you is betraying Abel Township. Someone told Van Ark that you were planning to go to his old labs when your runner Archie got caught. You were betrayed! If you don’t help me, you’ll never find out who it is!” He said quickly making Charlotte and Sara look at him fast.

“We have a mole in Abel?” Charlotte questioned.

Sam takes a deep breath. “I’m agreeing to this under duress. No bringing him back to Abel.”

“Van Ark already knows where Abel is, Sam.” Sara said slowly.

“Yeah, but he could have like, a tracker or something. Or a bomb strapped to him!” Sam said.

“He’s thin as a rail Sam. Weak too.” Charlotte said quickly.

“Oh, well, I dunno. Some kind of hypno-ray.” Sam suggests as Charlotte sighs heavily.

“Sam enough ok.” She said slowly.

“I don’t expect you to trust me, the good Lord knows. You just have to listen.” Ephraim said slowly.

“Hey Char look!” Sara said stopping on the street they had been running down. “This manhole cover’s been lifted. If we go down into the dewers, we can get away from the area before Van Ark’s men get anywhere near us. I’ve used sewers before for transport." She said pulling it open completely pushing it to the side. "Good for confusing the enemy." She climbs down in as Charlotte gave Ephraim a look.

"You next." She said as the man nodded and rushed down the ladder. Charlotte followed pulling the lid closed over their heads. She dropped down into the calf high water.

"We'll find somewhere to take him, away from Abel, Sam." Sara said.

"The sewers? What is this, Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Or the substantially less-good Angel, which had a few too many sewer scenes in it, if you ask me. I know vampires have to hide from sunlight, but what's wrong with the tube if you need to get around without getting really bad sunburn?” Sam questioned as the three of them ran as best they could through the sewer.

“This way, Char. Sorry it's a bit smelly.” Sara apologised.

Charlotte laughed. “It's better than being shot at.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Sam asked concerned.

“I've held conversations down here before. Secret conversations.” Sara explained vaugely.

“But is it zombie free?” Sam asked.

“Well if it's not then we can just leave Ephraim down here.” Charlotte suggested.

“I'd have to say no. There are definitely zoms about.” Sara said as the sound of groaning seemed to echo around them. “Hard to say how close. Sound does funny things down here.”

“Great. Two of our finest runners leading a known traitor through a zombie-infested sewer. What could possibly go wrong?” Sam questioned.

“No plan's perfect.” Charlotte said as a gun shot rang out suddenly.

“That way, go!” Someone shouted from behind them.

“Sounds like Van Ark's soldiers have found their way into the sewers.” Charlotte said looking back to see how close they were.

“Never mind, I know a few tricks to throw them off our tail.” Sara said as she reached into her pack digging for something. She pulled out something then chucked it behind them with a plop when it hit the water. “Two minutes until that goes off. Come on, keep moving. You can tell us what you know while we're on the move, Ephraim.”

More gunshots flew around hitting the sewer walls as Ephraim sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I surely am, to have brought you to this plight. I thought you'd come from my message, I could leave my hiding place, and we could talk. But as soon as I moved, that devil know what I was about. The good Lord's brought you to my rescue.” Suddenly another gunshot rang out making Ephraim shout and fall into the water.

“It's over, Ephraim! Come back and we can treat that wound. It's your only chance!” The soldiers shouted as Charlotte grabbed Ephraim's arm lifting him out of the water.

“You're of the devil, all of you!” Ephraim shouted back at them. “He has you in his power, and the Lord knows it!”

Sara came around and helpped Charlotte lifthim out of the water and back onto his feet. “Char, support him. If they keep chasing us, they're end up in just the right place.” She said as Ephraim groaned deeply.

“I'm not a cripple. The power's in me, I can-” He shouted in pain as he stood on his leg that was shot nearly toppling Charlotte and himself over.

“Damn it idiot. Let me help you!” Charlotte said quickly straightening them up. They started back down the sewer as Sara goes to a gated area and opens up the door.

“This way, fast as you can.” Sara said quickly as Charlotte and Ephraim ran as fast as they could through the gate. Sara shut it behind them and took off right behind them. “It's a maze down here. Even if more come and know we're here, if we can just get away from these guys who've seen out location-”

“I'm bleeding out fast. It's not time for me, Lord, tell me it's not my time yet. I can't run.” Ephraim said slowing down drasticly.

“You might not have to run.” Sara said an explosion suddenly rocked the water at their feet sending several waves towards them. “Come on. Fast as we can.” Sara took up Ephraim's other arm and helpped Charlotte take Ephraim down the tunnel as fast as they could.

After several turns Charlotte looks back behind them. “I think we're clear. We've lost Van Ark's soldiers.” She said.

“Mm... yeah, and gained a whole lot of zoms shambling right towards you.” Sam said quickly.

“Dammit. We need to get out of here, now.” Sara said quickly.

“I can't!” Ephraim shouted in pain as the two girls led him down an access area.

“Come on move it alter boy.” Charlotte said as Sara let go to climb up the ladder.

“I'll get this cover up. Just hold him up.” Sara said as she pushed at the cover grunting hard.

“What's wrong?” Charlotte asked looking up at her.

“It's stuck!” Sara grunted as she pushed harder.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Ephraim said paniced. “Oh, the Lord is merciful. Leave me here. He'll take me up in His arms.”

“Uh, I'm afraid you might have to.” Sam said slowly.

“It's too late for that.” Sara grunted as she pushed again poping the lid up pushing it open. “That's it!” She said as she climbed up fast. “Come on Char let's go!”

Charlotte helpped Ephraim hold onto the ladder before climbing up herself. “Come on Ephraim!” She said turning holding out her hand to him. Sara followed suit letting Ephraim grab both of their hands.

The zombies shambled towards him as he was yanked down slightly. “One of them's got hold of my shoe!” Ephraim shouts.

“Come on Char, pull!” Sara said as the girls pulled as hard as they could trying to get him up through the hole.

“Ah, Runner Eight, the devil will drag you under!” Ephraim said as he was released letting them pull him up.

“He's free!” Charlotte shouts as she pushed Ephraim's shot leg out of the way while Sara pushed the cover back into place.

Once done Sara knelt on the ground breathing deeply. “Fresh air, thank God! And the zoms won't be able to get through that cover.” She said before turning her attention to Ephraim. “Alright Ephraim. Time to tell us what this is all about.” She said standing up looking down at him.

“Yes, yes...Oh Lord, the pain.” Ephraim said holding his bleeding leg.

“He doesn't sound too good...” Sam said slowly.

“I don't care! Talk!” Sara snaps as she looks down at Ephraim.

Ephraim sighs heavily the nods. “I'm a sinner, I know it. I sinned against you, and for that, I'll answer. But I did it all for my sister. She got bit, see? Van Ark promised he could save her, put her in this tank. Said if I'd only do as he asked, he'd give her his medicine, turn her right back human again.” He took a deep breath lowering his head. “Only he never did. There was always one more thing he needed me to do. Then one day, Patty's body was gone. He'd used her as a soldier! Never had no intention of letting her live. So I ran, hid.”

Charlotte stood up slowly looking down at him. “But why run to us? You can't have expected a warm welcome.” She said.

“The good Lord told me to come to you, because of what I know. There's a traitor in your midst, and I know you'll want your eyes opened to that. And why did I come to you? My enemy's enemy is my friend.” Ephraim said as a gunshot rang out making Sara and Charlotte look over.

“Sounds like Van Ark's soldiers followed over ground.” Charlotte said.

“Can you carry Ephraim?” Sam asked worriedly.

“We'll have to try.” Sara said as the girls helpped Ephraim to his feet and headed towards the lake that headed down to a river.

More gunshots were heard as the soldiers shouted. “Surrender, and we won't kill you! We know you cannot get away!”

“You're right, I'm hurt to bad. I can't outrun them. You can. A message – I brung you a message. You have to tell them – I heard the plans, the plans made with that traitor. Van Ark's gathering zoms – fast zoms, hundreds of them, his whole force – a vast army like the battle of Gog and Magog, the last battle in all the world! He's going to march on Abel and New Canton and grind them into dirt.” Ephraim said quickly.

“Surrender, it's your last warning!” The soldiers shouted.

“Last warning?” Sam questioned. “They must be a mile and a half off, on foot. And Ed's got some of his bikes stowed around here.”

Sara looked around then pointed ahead of them. “Hey Char, see that boat? If we can just - “

“-purposing to kill you all! Every last one from the oldest to the tiniest child. He's tired of waiting! Now go, warn them!” Ephraim continued as they headed towards the boat.

“We can't leave him here to die, even him. Help me put him into the boat, Char. We'll cast him off the shore, and-” Sara sad as they all but dumpped into the boat.

“The betrayor at your table – I never saw them or heard their voice. But it's the one your Major loves best of all. That's what I heard him say. The one she trusts most of all. The best beloved is always the one who betrays.” Ephraim continues to speak as he gets situated in the boat. “He's coming! He's coming with his army, and he will have you all!” He said as Charlotte and Sara pushed the boat off sending him into the water with his oars.

Charlotte breathed deeply as she looked at Sara, her head still reeling from the information Ephraim just gave them. “We should go.” She said softly.

“Yeah... he will have a chance at surviving now but we need to get to those bikes before Van Ark's men get near us.” Sara said as they took off away from the water.

“You were too kind to him Sara.” Charlotte said.

“No mercy from you? How about you Sam?” Sara asked.

“Not for anyone who tried to get my runners killed, no. If he lives or dies, well, it's none of our business.” Sam said.

“But he did bring us that information.” Sara supplied.

“Yeah... let's hope it's not too late.” Charlotte said softly as they ran towards the bikes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

< 63 >

Season 1 Beginning

Season 2 Beginning

#zombie #zombies run #zombie run #ZombieRun #zombiesrun #run #runner 5 #runner five #runner5 #runnerfive #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

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