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krirebr · 10 months

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I Don't Want a Lot for Christmas

Pairing: dark!Andy Barber x f!reader

Word Count: ~1k

Summary: Andy gives you an early Christmas present. Why aren't you happier about it?

Warnings: Dark elements, threats of punishment, implied punishment, it's dark fic but mostly by implication. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @the-slumberparty Naughty or Nice Challenge. The prompts I used, from the Naughty list, were 23. “I want everyone to know who you belong to.” 12. “Smile pretty for me.” and 19. “No one else is gonna take care of you like I do.” Thank you for the fun challenge, Navy and Roo!

This was my first time writing for Andy, aside from his brief appearance in Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire, the winner of this poll. Big thanks to @paperweight91 for helping me figure out my take on him. This is basically just a long drabble, but I hope you all enjoy it!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You sat stiffly on the loveseat as Andy rummaged around under the tree. You pulled at the hem of your black, sparkly cocktail dress. It was much shorter than you were comfortable with, but you were used to that now—your comfort not mattering.

He made a noise of triumph and stood up tall, coming back to sit next to you on the couch. He handed you a beautifully wrapped package. “I know it’s a bit early, but I wanted you to open this one before we go to the party. Merry Christmas!”

You’d been dreading his office’s holiday party all week. All those people judging you, all those opportunities to mess up. You took the package and quietly said, “Thank you.”

He chuckled, lightly. “You haven’t even opened it yet. Go on.”

As you carefully unwrapped the gift, your fingers trembled, uncovering a medium-sized square jewelry box. You took a deep breath, girding yourself before you opened it. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant that spelled AB in elegant script. It took a moment for your brain to catch up, looking up at him as your confusion gave way to dawning horror.

“I want everyone to know who you belong to,” he said, so softly, so sweetly. It was almost like he hadn’t just given you his brand. “Now is when you say thank you, sweetheart.” His tone was still gentle, but his eyes had started to take on that hard glint you were so terrified of.

“Thank you, Andy,” you whispered.

He smiled, his eyes softening again. “You’re so welcome, honey. Now, turn around so I can put it on you,” he said as he took the box from you. You did as you were told and turned to face the other way. He draped the necklace across your chest and fastened it behind you. His hands ghosted over the back of your neck and you suppressed a shiver. “There. Turn back around now.” You did and he gave you an appraising look. “Smile pretty for me, baby.”

You gave what you were sure was a strained, brittle smile, but he still hummed in satisfaction.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” His hand moved up to brush your cheek and you couldn’t help but flinch away from him. You regretted it immediately, but no matter what you told yourself, how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop your body from being afraid of his touch.

He sighed, exasperated, and turned away from you. “I don’t understand why you insist on treating me like the bad guy,” he said, dejected.

Because you are the bad guy, you thought to yourself, but you were smart enough this time to not say it. You’d finally learned that lesson. “I’m sorry,” you said, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away.

“If you were sorry, you’d stop being so ungrateful! No one else is gonna take care of you like I do.”

You nodded quickly. You needed to placate him and do it now. “I know! You take such good care of me. I know that.”

He stood up and turned on you with his hands on his hips. “Do you know that? Because you don’t show it. It’s not how you act. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

The way he loomed over you made you want to cower, but you did your best to control your body. That would only make things worse. You had no idea how to respond. Another apology would only make him more angry.

He looked at you expectantly, but at your silence, he just sighed again, running a hand over his beard. “Maybe we need to continue this conversation downstairs.”

You sprang up at that and threw yourself at his feet. Not that. Anything but that. “Please, no, I’m sorry, I’ll be better. Please, no. We don’t need to go downstairs.”

He bent over to grab your arms and lift you off your knees. “That’s good,” he said softly, back to being gentle with you. “I don’t want to go down there, either. You know I don’t. I just want you to be good for me. Don’t you want this Christmas to be better than Thanksgiving?” It took everything in you not to grimace. You still felt the marks from what he’d done to you after Thanksgiving dinner. At the memory, you couldn’t help but go weak in his arms, letting him hold you, taking any comfort you could get. “I just want to have a perfect Christmas with you, sweetheart, show you how much I love you. I need you to stop resisting it.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words falling out of you, too scared to think of anything else. You blinked back your tears, not wanting to ruin your mascara or get his dress shirt wet. He wouldn’t take kindly to being late to the party after all this.

He rubbed a gentle hand down your back. “Shhh,” he cooed. “You’re ok, you’re fine.” After another moment, he pulled away from you, looking you up and down. “Now,” he said, “take a deep breath and get yourself together. We’re going to go to the party and have a nice time, aren’t we?” You nodded, hurriedly. “Then when we get home, you can show me exactly how sorry you are, how grateful you are. Good?”

“Yes, Andy,” you said, quietly. You couldn’t make your voice get any louder.

He stepped back into your space and wrapped a hand around the back of your neck. He kissed you slowly, languidly. You let him. You had to. You matched his movements with your lips as much as you could, but he never cared too much how passionate the kiss was on your end as long as you didn’t resist him. As long as he was in control. He pulled back and stroked his thumb down your cheek. This time you didn’t flinch away. “That’s right. There’s my good girl. Come on, go touch up your lipstick. We don’t want to be late.”

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18 @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling

#dark fic #dark andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #navy and roo's sleepover #defending jacob #fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #andy barber #kris wrote something

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turretistrying · 1 year

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Infected/Zombie Reader helping RE men (Leon K., Carlos O., & Ethan W.)

Somewhat based on that one zombie reader post by @qdbs-writes because honestly it was really cute and this idea has been bouncing in my brain for a bit. I’m going to preface that I’ve only played RE2R, but I have a vague understanding of the RE lore and stories, i’m only doing these three because I know them the best, if I knew chris better I would’ve added him

(this is just a suggestion but here’s what’s damaged on your zombie body: right eye gone, right cheek crewed off, left shoulder nearly gone, and several bites all around)

Leon S. Kennedy (RE2)

You’re one of the many, many, people who fled to the RPD to escape the growing hoards of zombies, unfortunately you were infected early on and hid out in one of the many storage rooms as you succumbed to the virus

…but your conscious stays somewhat intact, sure every thought is slower and less verbose but you still have some of it left, speaking is hard as well but you can speak to some degree

you stay on the third floor, observing Marvin and eventually Leon once he comes in

You’re enamored as soon as you see him, so you decide to try and help him as he goes through the entire RPD, placing some ammo here, some boards there, in general helping out behind the scenes despite how slow you move

This slowness bites you when you go down to the main hall to place a green and red plant you had found next to the typewriter, since Leon had been limping for quite awhile around the RPD

You gently place the two plants (still in the containers, you can’t grind them up due to the shakiness in your zombified hands) but you hear Leon coming down from the second floor library so you try and shuffle back into a room to hide again, until you hear the click of his gun

You turn around and see Leon, gun raised to likely give you a headshot like he’s given to plenty of the other zombies around (you know since you’ve seen plenty bodies with exploded heads..)

So you just, start shuffling backwards with arms raised in peace, mumbling ‘sorry.. sorry.. please, no.. hurt’ as best you can with your undead voice, which comes out pretty rough

Leon was about to shoot you but as soon as he saw you back away and mumble what sounded like human speech and not just growls and rumbles, so he lowers his gun slightly, tilting his head at you

You escape into the west office, and Leon fully lowers his gun and then looks at the plants you left him (he uses them, he’s not an idiot to ignore a healing item when he’s been at ‘danger’ for 2 hours)

When Leon unlocks the Goddess statue you come out from hiding and softly approach, and hand him some ammo and healing items “good.. byye..” you say to him look at him with your singular eye (you lost the other one when you got infected) before starting to walk off

Leon watches you walk away, about to hide again and he hesitates before saying “Wait, would you… like to come with me?”.

He watches you turn slightly and grumble “..you.. sure?”

He nods at you and you walk back up to him, and follow him as he goes down the stairs

Bonus:

During the G-3 fight you help by throwing yourself at him and stab one of the eyes with a knife Leon gave you, smiling in triumph when you stab an eye fully

Ada is very cautious and nearly shoots you several times, she thinks you’re just in the early stages of infection and she doesn’t want you killing her pawn (leon) before he gets the virus for her

When you get on the train Claire and Sherry are a bit wary of you but during the trip they start to like you, Leon’s account helps a lot as well

Carlos Oliveria (RE3)

Similar to Leon’s, you’re one of the people who fled to the RPD and got infected, and hid in a storage room (this storage room was clearly for all the Christmas decor… the bells gave it away)

You picked off the bells and kept them in a small box, as well as stealing post-it notes and a pen from the west office

From the second floor you watch Carlos and Tyrell make their way in, watching them scope out the place

As soon as you saw Carlos, you muttered under your breath “he..h.. scruffy..”

You noticed he was having a hard time with the Lickers, so you decided to make use of the bells you took, throwing them down hallways out of sight of Carlos so the Lickers chased the noise

He heard the chiming, making a remark like “The hell is that coming from?”

After awhile of doing this, you decided to just gift Carlos the bells

You place them on a desk with the brightest sticky note you could find

He finds it, noticing the stark contrast of the gloomy environment of the RPD, and reads the note

‘For the licks! Hold tighy in hnd then throw, it loud so they chse! : )’ was written on the note, it was hard to read being a shaky and messy handwriting but he got the general idea, chuckling at the squiggly smily face on it

He opens and sees 4 tiny golden bells

He looks around, hoping to maybe find who put it there but finds nothing, nothing but a hunched over dead (?) zombie next to the desk “Whoever put this here, Thanks, and thanks for probably being the reason for saving my ass a few times”

He leaves and you say to the air “no.. problemmm..!”

You start following him around and so he eventually notices you, and nearly shoots you on the spot before you move your hand to ring the golden bell you kept and attached to a string as a necklace

He relaxes a bit but keeps his guard up until he realizes that you’re just an innocent smart (questionable) zombie!

Bonus:

Before realizing that you weren’t gonna hurt him, he really thought you were because you kept staring up at his head… In reality you just really wanted to pet his hair, but because words are hard when you’re a zombie and you didn’t wanna get shot you just didn’t say anything

(You eventually did get to touch his hair, muttering a “soooft.. so.. soooft!”)

In that helicopter cutscene when Nicholai is about to shoot Jill, you jump from nowhere and tackle the guy by the neck; Carlos shouts in exclamation “Hell yeah! Get him!” before Nicholai punches your jaw right off (ouch)

Ethan Winters (RE7)

In this case you’re kinda like Ethan if he didn’t get all his memory and body transferred (does.. does that make sense???)

Since the moment Ethan stepped into the Baker House, you’ve been watching him

While you can’t remember most of your past, you know you were human like him, and watching him brings you a sense of… comfort. So you watch as he explores the house, trying to find Mia

Sometimes you forget what you’re doing and make noise, making Ethan more paranoid as he goes through the house (you felt bad every time you accidentally spooked him)

Watching him getting attacked by Mia was a nightmare, and you felt like you shouldn’t intervene… until Mia stabbed him in the hand

You emerged from the shadows (and mold..) and pulled her off of Ethan, giving a soft growl at her before she tried to attack you. You sidestepped and pushed her into the wall, which caused her to knock her head against the wall and faint

You stared down at her before turning to Ethan, who was a bit put off by your appearance

“You’re… hurt. Follow.” and you start walking to where a first aid liquid was hidden away and hand it to him

After patching him up you go over to the boarded up door and started to remove the wood with ease, before Mia got back up and threw Ethan through the nearly open door. You yelp (with some scratchiness) at that before running up to try and help, but then Ethan swung an axe into her neck.

You look at him and see the horror in his eyes at what he’s just done, you reach out to touch his back before slightly withdrawing; “you… oo-kay?” You asked in a low voice, and he shook his head before standing up and making his way deeper into the house, fully ignoring you after that.

So you follow, wanting to make sure he’s okay. He’s the only thing human in this house (for now)

Then Mia comes back again, of course, stabbing Ethan in the hand with a screwdriver this time. You run up and start trying to pry it out of the wall and his hand, before you see Mia coming with a chainsaw. She slashes with the chainsaw, cutting you in half at the shoulder before hitting Ethan’s wrist.

You blackout for awhile, coming to after about an hour as your body of mold stitches itself back together into one solid form again

Submerging into the mold, you reform in the living room adjacent to the nightmare dining room, seeing the back of Ethan tied in one of the chairs

You carefully untie him from the chair, before being noticed Marguerite pulled you up by the hair unto the table

You reach into a clump of mold and pull a smoke bomb before pulling Ethan out of the chair and away

From there on you helped him the best you could

Bonus:

You alway try and take the hits for him, he’s still fleshy and human, you can take it! He’s still worried for you despite the fact you can patch yourself back together.

When Ethan dies and becomes mold, you feel bad for him. You don’t tell him, since if he thinks he’s still human, then he’s still human to you.

After the BSAA comes you don’t know what to do, you assume you’re going to be left there or be experimented on… but Ethan calls your name (that you told him at some point, it’s one of the only things you have left from before being molded) and gestures you to come with him, you come close before fearfully looking at Chris, but he just nods and lets you on the helicopter.

OKAY WOW this is… something. I don’t know. I kinda gave up in that last one despite Ethan being my favorite next to Leon. I really hope, that this is good, im some way, amd i hope i didnt totally screw the canon, ahhh. Hope people like thissss,,, would’ve done art but i’ve got art block

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aldryrththerainbowheart · 1 month

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Chapter 1 - Security breach

Note: My very own addition to Arkhamverse fics. The chapters would only loosely follow each other, so consider them to be more standalone ficlets. The reader is Catwoman's sidekick/adopted family with a bit of a background of her own. Special thanks to @thinkingofausername for discussing this fic with me. Adding @heavysighing-dreamyeyes and @deimks post-posting.

Warnings: mentions of abuse and torture

You stalked through the dark and eerie corridors of Arkham Asylum. Weeks you have waited for this opportunity. After weeks of preparations, intel gathering and scratched furniture you’re finally here. You waited long for the perfect night, and it came today. The Arkham staff was busy locking Joker away and preening in front of Batman. They won’t even notice a small intervention. Funny, usually people would give everything to get out of Arkham Asylum. Not you though. There was someone locked away in the endless halls of the psych ward that you need to get out.

How could Selina be so careless?? Getting caught by Batman is one thing, but to get locked away in Arkham when usually she would outsmart the cops long before that would happen. Either she’s getting sloppy, or there’s more to it than meets the eye. More than worried though, you’re offended that she’s keeping things from you.

You were thieves, sure. Lying, stealing, conniving bitches… but you always had each other's backs. Ever since she found you curled up in a wet cardboard box in one of the nameless alleyways of Gotham City. The thought of her keeping things from you had you feeling uneasy.

You slinked through the vent into the much nicer corridor than the rest of the hallowed rooms in Arkham. This was a hallway leading to the director’s office. technically, you should have taken a different route through the ventilation system, but there was something you needed to take first. You’re sure Sel would more than appreciate this.

With the cameras momentarily disabled, you needed to be quick but as you walked through the corridor you heard voices getting closer. Quick as a wink, you leaped onto the ceiling, claws holding onto the wooden pilaster. You hoped the guards were stupid enough to not look up, you don’t have much time to play with them today.

Thankfully, the men armed with rifles stalked through the corridor pretty briskly, almost as if in a hurry.

Once the coast was clear, you dropped down onto the red carpet and looked around once more. Your tiny fleshlight dancing on the glass showcases.

You smiled in triumph once you found what you were looking for. The headpiece, the glasses, the gloves. All places are carefully arranged like a museum exhibit.

“Oh, a pressure-sensitive iron mantle, whatever shall I do?” You whispered to yourself dramatically before drawing a quick circle in the glass with your claws. You quickly watched the newly made glass disc as it fell out and started stuffing Selina’s belongings in your bag. Your pointy ears were perked for any upcoming sounds of danger but the place grew eerily quiet.

A shiver went down your spine. Something’s off. You couldn’t tell what but it was like a quiet before the storm.

Just as you were to hop on the ventilation bus once more you heard a voice through the speakers, and you’re as hell not one of the directors.

“Ladies and maniacs, I apologize for this interruption in your regular entertainment…”

Ah, fuck.

What seemed at first like the best night at infiltrating Arkham soon chose to be the worst. The asylum was on fire. There was no better way to say it. Joker took over the place and soon there were madmen everywhere. To your dismay, the shitstain also took over the security gates.

You kept running through the dark halls full of ingrates of the asylum and SWAT members, you weren’t particularly thrilled with meeting either of those. You sidestepped the bodies, trying to not ponder too much about the slaughterhouse you found yourself in.

Finally, you enter the Decontamination room, holding cells should be closed now. You hear some yelling as the room fills with prisoners.

“Oh, we’re gonna have with you, kitty cat.” One of them gives you a slimy sneer.

You smirk, “Oh, so do I.”

They all run up to you expecting and easy fight. Soon the room fills with their wails as your claws slice their flesh to ribbons. A well-aimed kick to the chest of one sends you flying onto the head of another. You use his head as a lever from which you kick everyone standing close. You bounce back off of him and let on your feet with grace. You straighten up hands raised but they’re all lying down. How disappointing…

A shadow passed over you and you recognize the bat-shaped cape. Shit, hopefully, he didn’t see you there. Relfexivelly you roll over to the next sliding door. The deeper you progress into the asylum the more you encounter green glowing graffiti of smiling faces.

Ugh. This is bad.

Thankfully she’s not in Extreme Isolation. Let’s see… section B2…section B2…

Your ears pick up on the sound of quiet, ragged breathing. All night, you heard the blasting of sirens, the thudding of boots, and maddened shouting. This is a new one. You keep listening to the stranger's stumbling steps, accompanied by strange shuffling. He must be leaning up against the wall.

You lower your head and raise your hands in a fighting posture, whoever it is they better not try anything funny. You hear them stumble, followed by a loud thud, then a small pathetic whine. You roll your eyes and round the corner. Whoever it is, they are more likely to threaten rats scuttling around than you, you just quickly knock them up and head to…

The moment your eyes lay on the stranger splayed on the floor, your stomach churns. It’s a man, rather small and frail one if you had to guess by the way the asylum uniform hangs on his body. A mop of matted, black hair sits on top of his head. Whatever skin you can see is either red or purple. You tentatively step closer, almost scared of what horrible things will closer proximity give you. At the sound of your heel clicking against the iron flooring, the stranger shakily pulls his head up, one blood-soaked eye staring at you in horror. He starts writhing uncontrollably, probably trying to shuffle away from you, but his body is so brutalized that all he can do is fumble in place.

“Hey…hey…calm down.” The soothing edge to your tone surprises even you, but it's hard to be intimidating when the man is so beaten up he might as well be a corpse.

Your words do not make him settle down, if anything, they agitate him even further. His movements get more erratic a quiet sobs that almost sound like a ‘no’ fall from his mouth.

You sigh. I don’t have time for this.

Nevertheless, you crouch in front of him, carefully placing your hands under his armpits to at least sit him against the wall. He tries to fight you, but there is no strength behind it. When you hold him so close, you note how bony he truly is.

“What the hell happened to you??” You mumble more to yourself than him, because at this point, you gave up hope of any conversation with him.

You grasp his chin, angling his face to get a good look at him. You try to keep your cool as you look upon a black eye so swollen you doubt he can see something, a broken nose, split lip, and sunken, bloodied mouth.

Your stomach lurches and you have to look away for a second, but then only draws your attention to the scarred arm desperately pawing at you. You notice a bloodied fingertip and upon closer inspection, you realize that this man’s nails were ripped off.

You have to squeeze your eyes for a moment, doing your hardest not to throw up or run away. You’ve seen your fair share of violence as Gotham’s criminal, but you’ve never encountered such blatant brutality.

The man’s ragged breaths bring you back to the present. Without further thinking, you put down the small backpack you brought with you and start pulling out the first aid essentials. You brought those for Selina, in case she’s roughened up from Gotham’s inmates, but whatever state she’s in, you doubt it’s as bad as this guy.

He’s mostly calm when you start wiping off the blood. No, not calm, unresponsive. He’s whole body is slack and he’s looking miles away, as if he’s mentally in a different place. Considering the naked fear in his eyes, it’s probably not a good place.

But you can’t do anything about that. You’re not a trained therapist. Hell, you’re not a trained medic, but here you are, wasting away precious resources on someone you don’t even know. Maybe he even won’t survive this night.

Yet, you continue. You find the reason behind his fall. His ankle is badly twisted. Thankfully you have experience with this type of injury.

“Uh, hey… your ankle is broken. I have to set it back. It’s uh…gonna hurt bad.” You shrug hopelessly because there’s no point in lying to him. Still, he doesn’t respond. You carefully lift his foot and place it against your thigh. You firmly grasp his ankle in one hand and his instep in the other and as quickly as you can, you twist. The bone falls back with a pop and he chokes out a painful wail. He tries to, at least. His scratched throat won’t allow more than broken wheezing. He probably wrecked his vocal cords from screaming and groaning.

You swallow bile in your throat and instead of dwelling on these thoughts, you start hauling him up. As you walk, you decide to drop this dude off somewhere safe, as safe as anywhere on Arkham island could be, and then speed off to Selina. Just a small detour. She spent two months at Arkham, she could wait another hour.

A bunch of criminals drop from the ceiling.

Or two.

Jason wasn’t sure if the girl was real, or if she was just another hallucination born from his broken mind.

This whole day could be just a dream. When the clown didn’t show up for his usual bound of torture, he assumed that the inmates of the asylum would take their turns with him. He had presented a perfect opportunity for anyone to have fun with him, with the injuries he sported from his last torture session, but the inmates he met on his way from his wing of the asylum, just passed him without even a glance. For whatever reason, that made his eyes sting with fresh tears. He’s not worthy of even that after all. Batman left him for dead, and so did Joker. What had kept him from curling up in a ball and waiting for death?

Because he waited for death for months now, and it didn’t come. Only pain pain and more pain on the top of sick games the clown played on him. He hoped that if not freedom he might as well end it on his own ends. Jason will greet the grim reaper halfway.

Instead of a skeleton with a scythe, he met a small girl with cat ears. And now said girl is throwing his barely functioning body onto a nearby hospital bed while Gotham's worst is running towards her with raised fists. Jason had to suppress the involuntary whimper that dragged its way through his throat. Too many times they walked up to him, tied to a chair, itching for a fight. This time, it wasn’t his nose getting smashed in or his head put in a swivel.

He watched as you beat up every single man who approached you, body fluid, and shoulders relaxed. Like a dancer, or a cat. One man that got too close to him got his throat garroted by your whip and thrown away like a rag doll.

A glint in the corner of his eye caught his attention. One of the prisoners feigned unconsciousness while he pulled a knife, drawn to stab you in the back while you were preoccupied with his friends. With the strength he didn’t know he had, Jason tackled the man with a yell. That surprised the ruffian enough to drop a knife, and he threw Jason to the ground like a pesky fly. Jay grunted in pain when his back hit the floor. The man stood over him but before he could do anything, a well-aimed kick pinned him to the wall beside Jason, and then he dropped to the ground.

“Nice work! We’ll make a sidekick out of you yet.”

Your voice was sweet. The amused and carefree lilt was so out of this place. No one has spoken to him like this since the Clown caught him. No one has touched him without intent to hurt him. Yet here, you are, pulling him flush to your soft body and once again walking him somewhere.

“You…real?” He looks at you through the bruising of his eye.

You adjust him against your side as you sneer down at him, “Your knight in black leather, sweetheart.”

That was the last thing Jason heard before he lost consciousness.

Carrying an injured man is fucking hard. Carrying an injured, unconscious man is even harder. You seriously considered dropping him off multiple times, but every time, you decided against it considering how much work it took to get him so far.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The network stopped working a while ago, so you had to rely on orientation signs and a few screens that still worked. You rounded the corner at the utility room. Once you make it there it should be easy. Based on what you remember from extensive studying of Arkham infrastructure, you should appear at the east of the island. You were a few feet from the door when the speakers blasted the voice of that disgusting clown. His bullshit didn’t phase you, the same can’t be said about your companion. The moment Joker’s deranged laughter reaches his ears, he completely freezes, and then starts trembling uncontrollably. It gets so intense he slips out of your grip and slides down the wall.

“Hey! No no no, not now!”

You tried to tug him up, to get him moving. But it was like his soul left his body. His breathing grew more ragged, the trembling got even worse, and a thin sheen of cold sweat coated his entire body. The man was losing control right in front of you, and you were hopeless at what to do.

Sudden frustration rose in your chest. Sel is somewhere out there, maybe hurt, definitely scared, even if she wouldn’t admit it. And you’re losing time with a man who can’t even…

Because the guy decided to lose it right under the corridor lightning, it’s the first time you see his face properly. His head lols down in defeat and that’s when you notice the letter J branded on his cheek. Fresh blood oozing from the wound, the flesh around it red and puckered. Suddenly things clicked into place. What other sick fuck would brand their name upon their victim's flesh? Several actually, at least when it comes to Gotham. But you knew only one whose name started with J. Your frustration went away.

“Listen to me… erm… what’s your name again?” No answer.

You grasp his shaking shoulders and shake him gently.

“You need to knock out of it. We’re almost out.” You try to sound as encouraging as possible, but he’s not moving or saying anything.

Instead of shaking him, you opt for taking his face in your hands.

“Look at me. Breathe.” He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t see you, eyes glazed over, bloody mouth slack-jawed.

You’re looking at this man, this boy, and wonder if he’ll ever get over the horrors he experienced in this place. If there’s even anything you can do to bring him back at this point.

Hopeless about what to do, you resort to the last thing that comes to your mind.

You kiss him.

It’s not fun, with all the blood and missing teeth, but despite it all, you notice his lips are stupidly soft and plump for an Arkham inmate.

At first, nothing happens. The shaking and labored breathing stops. You think he lost consciousness again, but when you pull away, his eyes are clear and present and he’s staring right at you.

“Now. Lets. Go.” You growl firmly as you wipe his blood from the corner of your mouth and the boy is in too much stupor to protest. He lets you take his hand and drag him towards the door.

When the cold, salty air hits your face, you almost collapse and your feet from relief. But at least one of you has to be the stable one. You take him by the shoulders and sit him on one of the concrete blocks lying around.

“Have you any idea how much time I lost because of you?!” You nagged him even as you pulled a water bottle out of your bag and pressed it to his lips.

“If you get out of here, you owe me big time.”

The guy is probably still recovering from that kiss because he was unresponsive again. At least this time you knew he was sane.

You sigh. No point standing there bitching.

“Either hide till sunrise or go to the port and sneak onto the boat. Think you can manage that? Scratch that, you don’t have any choice. I can’t coddle you anymore. I’m not here to be someone’s savior. I mean I am but not… you.”

You turn around if you take a shortcut over the buildings roofs, you should drop down to Selina’s cell unit. Hopefully, she hasn’t met Crock or Clayface on her way out.

Of course, the moment you turn away is the moment he decides to speak.

“Your… name?”

Your name? You do have one of those. The one you use as you scale rooftops and lockpick safes and break out dumb cat burglars.

With a cock of a hip and wink you blow him one last kiss.

“Stray.”

#jason todd #red hood #arkham knight #batman arkham asylum #arkhamverse #stray!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #ak!jason todd x reader #ak!jason todd #arkham knight jason todd #arkham knight jason todd x reader

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not-your-fucking-kacchan · 2 years

Text

♡︎𝐍𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐮 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐲𝐚♡︎

Day 22 of Kinktober 2022

Summary: Izuku can't hold back when you send him such enticing photos.

Props to my beta reader for today @sasualblxd - thank you for your amazing help, ik you've been having a rough time bae but I hope u know that you're loved, and that ur awesome <3!

572 words.

Izuku jumps at the sudden buzz of his phone, vibrating his work dest as he sits in his office, daydreaming about you and how desperately he just wants to go home. He wants the calming, gentle touch of his wife and to feel your warmth against his skin, held tight with his arms, decorated with the scars of previous triumphs.

It's his favourite thing in the world, to snuggle with you in a safe, cozy blanket after a long day of being top Pro-Hero.

He's snapped out of his trance by yet another buzz of his phone, laying face-down on the table as to not distract him. A fruitless endeavour, as he picks up his phone to see who's currently blowing it up with texts.

That was a mistake, on his part.

As he unlocks his phone, the background being a photo of the two of you on your first date, spotting your name pop up at the top of his screen, along with a little photo icon. Oh? There could be something wrong if your messaging while he's at work, he thinks, better check it.

The sight he's met with as your chat appears on his screen is utterly mouth watering. You, clad in only your prettiest, forest green lingerie appears on his phone in the little box. Soon enough it's full screen.

Meanwhile, upon seeing the little blue tick mark next to your message you smile with barely supressed excitement, your cheeks dimpled while you watch in amusement for his nearly instant reply.

"What are you doing baby? You know I'm at work right?"

Well. That was a little less than you'd hoped for but that's no reason to not press on.

Izuku's thick cock is already at half chub in your hands, and his cheeks are flushed red with arousal. You're in for punishment once he gets home in... He checks the time at the top of his screen, reluctantly dragging his eyes off the picture of his wife. An hour. Half an hour until his shift ends, and maximum half an hour to get home.

Minutes pass by like years, however, and it feels like he may wither away of old age before he can finally clock out, his suffering having only been made worse by the many, many more photos you had sent.

There were completely nude, half nude, and especially explicite photos that he would have to scrub his phone of later. Better yet, he may just have to get a new phone altogether. He would fold over like a lawn chair and die if any of his colleagues got ahold of these photos, and he will protect your integrity to the very end, god damnit!

Your body is for his eyes, and his eyes only, and a possessive attitude takes ahold of him, and all according to your plan.

He wouldn't be a very good hero if he was caught speeding, so he may have only gone over the limit a couple of mph to get to you faster, and he's parked in the front a whole twenty minutes earlier than expected. He's gonna have fun with this. You surely won't.

Or at least that's what he thinks, but you wouldn't have instigated this if you didn't like being edged for hours. A little bit of discipline goes a long way, and maybe this will get you to behave for the next week or two.

◃ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 ▹

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha #bnha #bnha headcanons #izuku imagine #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku smut #midoriya izuku #izuku mydoria #mha izuku #izuku x fem reader #izuku x reader smut #bnha kinktober #notyourfuckingkacchan kinktober!#kinktober 2022 #kinktober

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nahoney22 · 2 years

Note

Hi, thanks for sharing my @techtalksfics yesterday, I fangirled a little hard because I love your writing so much 🙈🤍

If you have the time to do The 'You look absolutely irresistible right now' prompt with Tech that would be so amazing

Prompt List Celebration 3000 Followers

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 2k words

SFW

Prompt:

“You look absolutely irresistible right now.”

warnings: I went with fluff for this one because I thought the idea with this prompt was cute! So mainly fluff, hints of jealous Tech, reader has to be flirty for the mission, mutual pining, friends to lovers, reader is female and is wearing a gown. Not proofread.

Authors note: absolutely loved your fic! So hope you enjoy this one for you 💜 @adigressivedullard @techtalksfics (check out their work!)

Your nerves were palpable, no denying that. This was a mission you had never embarked on solo, and Cid had requested an attractive female to complete it, leaving you as the default choice. The weight of the task at hand seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders.

As Wrecker handed you your heels, purchased just an hour ago, you grumbled, "I don't know about this." Despite his reassuring words, you couldn't shake the unease in your gut. You put on your long sleeved gloves, trying to smooth out the wrinkles on your dress as you stood, feeling awkward and out of place.

"Why does the target have to have a thing for fancy parties?" You muttered miserably, but Hunter quickly answered,

"Because he has a thing for attractive ladies, and that's your chance to get closer and swipe his data." He scanned you from head to toe, his expression pleased with your appearance. "You look nice," he said with a smile.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the truth was, being complimented by the boys felt great. You couldn't help but feel a little bit special. "I look silly," you replied, trying to downplay the compliments.

"You're only saying that because you're not used to it," Hunter said, folding his arms across his chest. "Want to run over the plan again?"

The thought of going over the plan made your stomach churn, so you quickly declined, "Nah, I think if I think too much about it I'll be sick. I should be fine though." You clutched your bag tightly, which contained everything you needed - a small blaster, earpiece, and a data collector.

Crosshair and Echo joined you, showering you with compliments and reassurances, but it was Tech's words that you yearned to hear the most. When he finally approached, buried in his datapad and relaying the briefing, every word made your heart race, not just because you were nervous, but because Tech was talking to you.

"If you can get the target to head into his office, the data should be in a stronghold box under his desk. If you can't find it, comm us, and we'll try to guide you." Your doubts about the mission's success began to creep in, and you asked, "What if it doesn't work, and he doesn't give me a second glance?"

Tech finally looked up at you, and his pupils dilated, making him feel as though his heart had momentarily stopped. "You look absolutely irresistible right now," he said, almost absentmindedly. His words left you stunned and his brothers wide-eyed, and it took Tech 2.75 seconds to realize what he had said.

A rush of blood flooded his cheeks as he added, "W-which is what is needed to pull off this mission." The compliment, though accidental, sent your heart fluttering.

The ship grew silent really quick as yourself and Tech stared across at each other, the others eyes flickering between the pair. The awkward silence is then broken when Omega comes bounding.

“Are we ready- why’s everyone so quiet?”

Suddenly it was like life was sucked into the room again and you cleared your throat, looking away from Tech despite being very flustered still.

“Yep! Let’s get this over with.”

—————————-

The mission was a resounding triumph, but for Tech, every moment was a trial. With the rest of the Batch, he had successfully hacked into the security systems of the building you entered, granting them the ability to monitor your movements and eavesdrop on your conversations.

As expected, particularly by Tech, you smoothly infiltrated the target's office. As he observed from behind a monitor, his jaw tightened with tension.

The man was engaging in flirtatious, slimy banter with you, and it was only natural that you would reciprocate (for the sake of the mission). Jealousy gnawed at him, a feeling he never imagined he would experience for someone, but he detested every second of this mission. If there had been any other option, he would have proposed it, but instead, he was forced to witness the object of his affection for months being pursued while donning the most opulent and ostentatious attire. He always believed you were a vision of beauty, no matter what you wore. But when he saw you in that moment in that gown, he was nearly, for the first time, struck dumb.

He winced inwardly at the slip of his tongue from before, the compliment being an accidental in his part but not at all false. You were indeed bewitching, a fact that was becoming evident as you and the others now celebrated at Cid's, clinking glasses and toasting to a job well done.

You're seated at one of the dingy booths in Cid’s bar, leisurely clinking glasses with Bolo and Ketch, when you cast your gaze upward to find Tech glancing over his shoulder in your direction, sat alone at the bar. Your heart starts pounding like a war drum in your chest, and you can only imagine why he was sitting by himself and not with you guys

“Go talk to him,” Crosshair prods you from the side, his arms firmly folded across his chest, a toothpick tucked between his lips.

You purse your lips, torn. “What if he was only being polite, trying to put me at ease about the mission?”

Crosshair removes the toothpick from his lips and tosses it onto the already cluttered floor, a staple at Cid’s. “Or, you could take a chance that he likes you back,” he adds, his tone both stern and encouraging.

You hadn’t upfront told Crosshair your feelings for Tech, he just assumed as he caught you ‘dreamily gawping’ as he said, at Tech.

“I don't know,” you murmur, still uncertain.

“Just do it.” He grunts, rolling his eyes with his tone stern but you knew it was just to push you in the right direction.

For a splash of luck, you take a fortifying gulp from your drink and stand, your palms sweating so you wipe them on your pants which you changed into after the mission.

Tech sits lost in thought, swirling the contents of his drink and staring intently at his datapad, when he hears a shuffling beside him. He looks up, struggling to contain his surprise at seeing you there.

“Hi Tech.” You greet softly, smiling over at him.

“Hello.” His reply is rather strained, his head instantly whipping down to look at his device again, breathing a little ragged.

You strum your fingers against the bar and ever so gently nudge his shoulder with your own. “You not going to make me one of your famous drinks tonight?”

Little did people know, Tech was quite the mixologist on the quiet. You learned this when it was just you and him at Cid’s and you watched him making some kind of concoction of drink. After he slid it over to you and had a taste, you were hooked and thus made you like him just a tiny bit more since he always made you a drink, without even asking.

“What would you like?” He asks, tilting his head to look at you before standing and moving round the side of the bar, grabbing a cup ready.

You hum teasingly, tapping your fingers against your chin as if to show in deep thought. “How about my usual?”

He smiles lightly, rather pleased that you didn’t seem embarrassed or put off by what he said prior. Although, it lingered on both of your minds. “Coming right up.”

You watch him at work but smile sadly as you see him fumble a few times, clearly his headspace is elsewhere. “So, what crazy mission do you think Cid will have us do next?”

“Hopefully one that pays well enough for us to move somewhere else.” His tone was a little off.

“Do you not like it here?”

“Let me correct myself,” he says, popping a straw in your drink before sliding it over, “I do not like doing missions for Cid.”

You hum in somewhat agreement and take a sip of your drink, sighing in delight after a long day. “Even today's mission?”

He blinks at you, drying slightly damp hands on a small towel. “Especially today.”

“Oh.” You’re taken aback at his bluntness, instantly fearing that you did something wrong. “Because of me?”

He didn’t need to be Hunter to sense your uneasiness and instantly gave you an apologetic glance. “You performed well and got the mission done. However I would have rather had someone go with you in case things got complicated.”

“But it didn’t?”

He nods. “I acknowledge that but like I said, I wish someone would have been there with you when the target was almost putting his hands on you.”

He goes off on a little bit of a tangent and the realisation struck you. Or so, you hoped what you were thinking was right. “Tech, were you jealous?”

He stilled, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as you caught him off guard once again. “Admittedly, yes.”

You wet your lips, eager to delve deeper into his admission. “May I ask why?”

He scrutinised your face, noticing its softness, and couldn't help but observe as you moistened your lips delicately. Clearing his throat, he began, “I did some research on the concept of jealousy and discovered it stems from a fear or concern over losing what one possesses. I don't claim to possess you nor would I ever want you to think that, but I cannot deny that the thought of hearing and seeing you engage in flirtation with another man...it caused me pain.”

You’re completely shocked by his words but stay silent, letting him continue. “Initially I knew you would be the perfect candidate for the mission but I was not aware you could possess a power that makes me breathless just by the sight of you. Which is often. In conclusion, I can only imagine that the target felt the same as I did.”

Tech pushes up his goggles up his nose, eyes trained on you to gauge your reaction to what he was saying but you remain unreadable.

“And when I mentioned you being irresistible, I meant every word. You are irresistible, again and again.”

You spoke his name softly, feeling as though your insides were turning to liquid as you basked in his words. “Are you saying you have feelings for me?”

He stands a little taller, chest puffed out as he braces himself for whatever your reaction may be. "’Feelings’ is a weak term. I love you, to be more precise.”

Now you're rendered speechless. A grin spreads across your face as you melted inside at his words. “I...I love you too, Tech,” you whispered, not wanting anyone else to overhear this intimate moment between you two. “I just didn't think you felt the same.”

He cocked his head, trying to contain the explosion of emotions inside of him as you voiced his greatest desire - your love for him. “Did I not make my intentions clear?”

“No,” you shake your head with a laugh, “of course not.”

“Oh.” He responds, unsure what to do now at this moment in time after confessing his love for you. “I am unsure what the next approach is. I would ask you if you’d like a drink but that is something I already have taken care of.”

You think for a moment and after today, you felt like you were on a winning streak anyway. So, why not top it off?

“We could seal it with a kiss, if you’d like?”

You watch him as his eyes slowly get comically wider at your bold suggestion but not once was he going to refuse. “I would like that very much.” He replies, voice a little husky.

He leans forward a little, as did you, both leaning over the bar until your lips touch in a sweet and tender moment. Your heart skips a beat and you sigh softly against his firm yet soft lips as he lets the kiss linger for a moment before he pulls back, cheeks ablaze.

“Tech?”

“Hm?” He asks with hooded eyes, still reeling from the revelation.

“I think you’re pretty irresistible too.”

Masterlist

tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @theroguesully @equalityforcats @mustluvecho @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone e @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari i @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @agenteliix @rintheemolion @kaminocasey @hotpinkplastoid @cosmic-persephone @imalovernotahater @swiftiexstarwarssimp @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @photogirl894 @s1st3r @taskfork-archive @by-the-primes

#tech bad batch #the bad batch #bad batch tech #the bad batch tech #tech x reader #tech x you #tbh tech x you #tbb tech x reader #tbb #nahoney22 writes

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sseomtada · 7 months

Text

being [ruben dias]

your move to Manchester signifies a triumph - the result of nearly a decade of relentless, hard work. However, your sweet victory is quickly turned sour when you reencounter the person you once deeply loved.

a/n: remade secretly only to be back on my bs...here's to praying for me to finish this fic? | 1/??? | 4191 words

This weather was nothing short of an utter atrocity.

It was the kind of bone-chilling freeze that overpowered even your skin's ability to raise its own flesh. Every ounce of energy repurposed instead to turn that evolutionary feature inwards. A futile effort, at least in your case. Even back home in Amadora, you suffered from genetic lack of internal warmth.

Miserable environment aside, the move would be worth it. Everything that you’ve done for the past few years - nearly a decade of sleep deprivation, being the brunt bearer of power trips and clinging to the slimmest sliver of rarely presented opportunities - had led to this.

Not the brutalist view spanning the length of your new floor to ceiling living room windows, but what it signified. Growth. The expansion of your firm here, in Manchester.

“Estou exausta…”

You pulled your eyes from the endless clouds to see your right hand, Aki, draped limply over the last of your boxes.

“Careful.” You bent to rip open the tape sealing the one near your feet.

“Oh, sorry.” She blew her overgrown bangs up to no avail. “Am I crushing your precious CB2 ceramics?”

“Actually, you’re slowly sinking onto my very sharp surgical steel kitchen knives.” The box cutter in your hand gestured vaguely to the label beneath her hips.

Aki’s yelp echoed off through the empty loft as she sprang from the impending mockup of a medieval torture method. Your laughter joined in when she grimaced and muttered something threatening to the thick cardboard that remained dent free.

“Thanks for helping me with all this.” You exhaled. “I owe you.”

“We’re even when you think about it.” She fetched a box opener of her own.

Your eyes widened. There was never a moment in your lifelong friendship when she didn’t take up on an IOU card. Not even when she purposefully served a suspension for knocking the lights out of a girl who blew gum into your hair in the fifth grade.

“I mean, you brought me along with you to open Bana. Full executive package, no less.” Aki beamed and then sneered upon unboxing her newfound arch nemeses.

That was true. Since she was the company’s Head of Finance, her immigration to Manchester was completed covered. Housing located right across the hallway, a brand new car of choice and an increase in salary to accommodate for the higher price of living wasn't the worst package to receive.

It didn’t feel like much of a repayment for her efforts when all things were considered. Bana wouldn’t be close to what it was today if it wasn’t for her. Any business was only as successful as how well they manage their finances, an aspect that she can solely and proudly take credit for.

Not to mention that you both would be extremely busy while trying to fully establish this new branch. If anything, she at least deserved the building’s penthouse suite for the headaches bound to come throughout this journey.

“So…is that a pass on the 1982 Bruno Giacosa?” You dangled the proverbial carrot.

Aki didn’t miss a beat, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Getting ready for your first day at the office never felt this good.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that your first ever job was, understandably, anxiety inducing. Being an intern for a well-known marketing firm wasn’t known to be a glamorous position - the multitude of reasons for that not stopping at being a coffee gopher.

After climbing the ladder to a mid-level position within your previous company, it became painfully obvious that the older leaders had no intention of making room for you soon. To eradicate any dreams of that from your mind, they even outright said it.

That led to your next go at a first day, the start of your own consultancy which would then go on to become Bana. Even though you had established your presence in the marketing world and had a few loyal clients, no amount of seminars you’d attended or books you’d read could’ve prepared you for the monster of a task you’d taken on.

This time felt different. There was always going to be an element of nervousness when stepping into a new venture. Even though this was a new branch on a tree you knew well, there was a lot to learn about operating in a new country and little time to do so.

What you had now, however, allowed you to convert that nervous energy into excitement. Experience, establishment and esteem. Those things among the equally as important trustworthy team behind you left you more confident than anything else that this could potentially only be the beginning.

“There better be a good reason why you’ve got me out early on a morning like this.” Aki’s poor facial muscles have yet to relax since the move it seemed. This time their scrunch was due to storm clouds looming in the distance.

“I think our very lovely AD has something exciting to share.” You nodded to give her the go ahead.

“Ladies, as you know I’ve been working on getting us an in with a certain business through my various sources and I’m happy to report that Bana was among the firms selected to pitch.” Cindy could barely contain her excitement.

Her optimism was infectious and part of the reason you recruited her. Another reason for bringing her into the fold to establish the new office was the insane network she had.

The blonde Londoner was in a similar predicament to you when you were starting out not long aog. Even hungrier, if you admitted it. Her former employer didn’t see the potential she clearly possessed, so you had no problem poaching her from them.

“And do we finally get to know the name of this state secret level business?” Aki leaned forward.

“Nike!” Cindy couldn't hold back any longer.

Even your face dropped at that. Not in the way that one’s expression would if they just found out that they’d been rejected from their dream school. It was something akin to finding out you’d won a fucking Oscar.

Among the celebratory cheers and shimmies, you thanked Cindy greatly for her hard work. And although it was a moment of uncontainable joy, the wheels had already began to turn in your mind.

There was absolutely no room for error if you wanted this pitch to be chosen. Being a newer firm undoubtably going up against major competition, Bana’s proposal had to be more than just that.

It had to be a statement. One that said you were not only a major player in this field, but that you also were to be seen as a direct rival.

You got to delegating tasks quickly. The sooner you got the bare bones of the pitch down, the quicker you could work on perfecting it. Aki was on budgeting as always - pricing presentation materials, researching and pricing the estimated budget for the product rollout for Nike.

Cindy was mostly on recon regarding the target audience. The product being launched was a new pair of their iconic AirMax, so you anticipated her using historical data as a guideline.

You’d have to do a fair bit of research yourself - getting into market research, the brand’s positioning and messaging - all while putting your firm’s spin on where you think Nike is hoping to go with this launch.

It was needless to say that the midnight oil would be burning. You set up a co-working space in the conference room to make communication seamless in brainstorming and building. This was the energy you missed so much, and a more sentimental reason behind your expansion.

Back home in Amadora, Bana was a well oiled machine. With a strong staff beside you, the hands on aspects of marketing were placed on the back burner by your own doing. In order for your employees to grow, you had to let them lead projects of their own and you trusted them to do so.

Now, you were back to inhaling concerning amounts of dry erase marker fumes and getting carpal tunnel from extensive mood boarding. That along with a side of meal deliveries and an equally as hard-working coffee machine made the long hours seemingly fly by.

“I’m so tapped, I need to power down for the day.” Aki stretched her back dramatically.

“Feel free to head out too, Cindy. Get some well deserved rest.” You took a moment of your own to release tension in your neck. “I’m good here for the next few hours.”

She was visibly grateful to be given the go ahead to clock out. From past experiences, you were able to sympathize all too well. You also made a mental note to have a conversation with her regarding working hours. There was never going to be an obligation of staying behind under your watch.

Cindy and Aki neatly organized materials for their return in the morning while you made your way to your office to continue outlining. With all of the research required collected, all you had to do at this point was place the information into their allocated areas.

There were three short raps at your door before you called her in.

“Still being here wasn’t exactly what I meant by rest, Cindy.” You chuckled, not looking away from your monitors.

“I’m on my way out now! Just wanted to bring you over the client mailing list I got from my source a minute ago.” She slid a USB drive onto your desk.

Your brows raised appreciatively, “Thank you, really. I mean it when I say that your presence here is essential and invaluable.”

Cindy waved a hand, her head shaking in time.

“I’m just happy to be helpful. See you tomorrow!”

You bid her goodbye and immediately got to taking a look at the information she left behind. It would be very useful in filling in some gaps you needed to flush out ideas that would attract the goal audience for the new product.

Influencers, Performing Artists, YouTubers…Athletes.

The last of those categories was obviously a given considering the brand. It also wasn’t the first time you’d come across that group in your line of work. This time though, seeing the label suddenly formed a knot in your stomach.

You were brought back to all of the avoidance in the aftermath - everyone in your life completely air-gapping the football world from your path. They did that to protect you, a gesture you still couldn’t bring yourself to thank them for verbally.

The mouse beneath your hot palm slowly shifted as you moved the cursor to click and expand the list. That knot grew to the size of a boulder. It squeezed your insides painfully within and forced a broken little noise past your lips.

One look at the name Ruben Dias was all it took to rattle you to your core.

o passado

At the age of seven, you moved to Portugal.

There wasn’t much you missed about your hometown, or even remembered for that matter. All you knew was that you were eerily calm for a child whose entire life up until that point had been uprooted. It was possible that your serene state of mind came from your mom.

She was all you had in the world. There was virtually no relationship had with her family - the only photograph you ever had with your grandparents was at your christening.

When it came to your dad, she put it as kindly as she could for a kid. You were smart enough to read the inference in her tone and the look on her face in the handful of moments he was brought up. He wasn’t in your life because he didn’t want to be.

Yet still, none of that made you sad or shaped you into a person defined by traumas. You intended to live the life that your mother encouraged you to. Be a kid, climb trees and get dirty, make friends along the way.

And that was just what you did. The first of them being the girl in your class that waved you over to the empty seat beside hers when you transferred. My name’s Akenna, but I hate it so I make everyone call me Aki instead.

She was the only person other than your mom who made you feel safe enough to confide in, just as easy to talk to as it was to listen to her wild recounts of her own life story.

Aki quickly became a regular in your home and you in hers. The giggles and secrets held in the various forts sprawling from your living room to bedroom would stay under lock and key until long after you both passed.

The next person you met would be the one who arguably shaped you the most. Loud shouts and tussling with a ball in the neighborhood park with his siblings was where you met Ruben. His tattered football rolled to your feet that touched the ground after you’d leapt from the swings.

With a weak kick, you returned it. Ruben shook his head in disapproval before he shot it right back at you. Try that again, with the left this time. You didn’t know if it was anger at being challenged by some random kid or genuine hidden talent, but when you hit the ball with your instep, it flew powerfully and directly into his own.

She’s on my team!

Inseparable wasn’t a strong enough word to describe you two. After finding out that you lived only one house down, he would come to your school to walk with you back home. On many of those occasions, Aki was there too. Your mom would be waiting with snacks and a warning, don’t play too long out in the sun, patifes.

Somewhere and somehow along the years, you and Ruben had become so close that it seemed you two were dating. Ivan jokingly asked one day as you were sharing a vanilla ice cream cone, ew, are you boyfriend and girlfriend? Ruben grabbed your hand, laced your fingers with his, and simply said, yes.

And that was that.

As for when you began to realize you loved him, that was harder to pinpoint. Maybe it came once you began to notice how helpful he was to you and your mom.

Ruben was always willing to lend a hand with repairs around your house, even if it meant searching up how-to videos when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Or how he’d go out of his way to walk your mom home when she worked night shifts.

Aki often griped and rolled her eyes at how you two were making her feel like a third wheel. Those complaints were always quickly followed with rebuttals that she’d spent a grand total of fifteen days as a single girl since she was thirteen.

Just make sure my maid of honor dress isn’t fugly at your wedding.

It was all but a given that marriage was pending in the future for you two. Ruben never had eyes for any other girl and you…God, you were terribly devoted to him. Even your posters of Justin Bieber found themselves catching dust in the closet, replaced by a collage of photos you and Ruben had taken together over time.

Five years saw graduations, proms, college acceptances and many, many firsts experienced together. His arms were the only man’s you’d ever laughed in, cried in, slept in. His eyes were the only one’s you saw when you closed your own. His lips were the only thing you wanted to taste on the good and bad days, and everything in between.

So, what happened on September 15th 2017?

To this day, you still had no answers to the why behind that question. Nor could you allow yourself to wrack your brain for them any longer should you want to hold onto your sanity.

As for what. Simply put, it was the worst day of your entire life to date.

On the eve of his debut for Benfica’s first team, an event he’d dreamt of and worked so hard for, one that become just as significant to you by extension, Ruben broke up with you. Over the phone, no less - which added humiliation onto a violent erupting volcano of destructive emotions.

Cold turkey, brutal, cruel. It’s over, don’t contact me, I don’t love you anymore.

There were no warning signs, no moments in retrospect left unturned during your spiral, that could’ve possibly made what you read true. You initially thought it was some sick joke. Maybe one of his teammates had taken his phone. Or perhaps there was some girl that wanted him and was jealous that he was yours, so she decided to play dirty.

It was none of that or the million other scenarios you came up with on you walk over to his home. You came to learn that it was, in fact, not a joke. Ruben meant it when he said he was done with you.

He made that painfully clear as he looked at you standing under the faint glow of the lantern on his front porch through the window. Those eyes you once dreamt of fondly seemingly someone else’s as he drew the curtain and shut off the light.

You don’t recall much of time that passed in the months following that night. Every now and then you’d get flashes - Aki crawling in and out of the bed you temporarily became one with, your mom scooping you up to help you bathe and wash your hair.

It was better that way, you think. A blessing in disguise to not be able to clearly recall the most devastating period of your existence.

When your memory resumed, it always picked up at the same place. You siting with Aki on the steps of an abandoned subway station in total silence.

In your mind, you were there with him years ago when the line was still functioning. The rush of the train brought wind along that rose your hair like lightning was about to strike. Ruben grinned toothily as he smoothed it back, tilting your face upwards.

He said I’d always be home when I was with him. Where am I supposed to go now?

The silence returned even louder following the question that neither of you had the answer to.

Instead, you sat there in it with your best friend and shed the last tears you ever would over Ruben Dias.

o presente

Seven years was a long time.

It came with two college degrees, laser focus and an ability to compartmentalize so strongly that it would terrify artificial intelligence.

Whatever threatened to upend you at the sight of his name was snatched up and contained to be dealt with sometime in the future. You didn’t put literal blood, sweat and tears into your career to let one old wound derail it at such a pivotal moment.

With the same vigor you scrapped up to move on with your life, you poured every ounce of energy you had into absolutely nailing your pitch. Five all nighters, thirty six edits and ten complete run throughs later resulted in Bana being chosen as the firm to brand the newest AirMax.

“I always knew you were a genius, but this project was just,” Aki kissed the air as she took the next left to drive back to your shared building.

“Team effort, Aks.” You mumbled.

The thing about throwing yourself entirely into one project was that when the hard work was done, all the was left was the shit you were avoiding. You could feel it there, gnawing at the back of your head like a mice on a fresh piece of cheese.

“What if we watched an old coming of age movie like we used to on nights like this? Pop out some wine, get in our pj’s…real wild stuff.” She nudged your elbow with hers.

You casted a fond glance at her. Aki would never come outright and say it, but it was her way of checking in with you. The client mailing list was no secret to her since she needed it for the budgeting, so there was no way she missed him being on there.

The mice grew hungrier. Throughout all of your breakdowns and pain, she held all of hers in unselfishly and arguably stupidly. You weren’t the only one who lost someone important to you on that night.

“We do that after product launches. The deal has only just been sealed.” A smile was managed to form on your end.

“Ah…best not jinx it then, huh?” Aki blew a raspberry.

In order to keep her worries at bay this time, something you silently promised to do ever since your senses had returned, you squeezed her arm and doubled down.

“Besides, I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in nearly three weeks. I think I’ll just go for a short run, take a shower and hibernate.”

She nodded, liking the sound of that plan. You would’ve felt proud of your disarming skills had you not known the real reason for her shoulders relaxing. She was looking forward to having the next two days off more than anyone else.

“Don’t forget to text me when you get back.” Aki stuck out her pinky.

“Always.” You locked yours in tight.

The repetitive beat of your feet meeting the ground had the ability to still your mind nearly as much as pouring yourself into your work did. Left, right, left, right, left. When you added in the accompanying swing of your arms, the constant reminder to keep your breath in control and music that made you feel like you could punch a hole through a wall - you were nothing short of a machine.

It was one of the healthier coping mechanism you’d clung to back home. Every day, you’d take to the streets of the new neighborhood you moved to and then to the track at you university.

You’d gotten so good at it that you were scouted to run for the school’s team. Going pro was never a part of your plan, though. You only accepted the offer because it came with a free ride.

A drop of water hit your face, but it was cold.

Your treads slowed a bit as your eyes turned skyward. The clouds illuminated against a murky purplish background with the warning of distant lightning approaching. You refocused and pumped your legs faster. Fucking Manchester.

In between your songs transitioning, you heard a faint rumble. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the sound distorted by the headphones muffling your ears playing tricks that twisted the noise to sound partially human.

Whether it was or not, you weren’t trying to stick around to find out. It was late at night and the weather was going to get hellish soon.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted a shadow ripping behind the streetlights - closing in on yours with each meter. Lactic acid built painfully in your muscles as you pushed even harder, breath control thrown to the wind.

It was gaining on you while rain began to fully fall.

Within a matter of seconds, which is all you had, you came to a decision. You were too exhausted from sleep deprivation and being nearly an hour into your run to beat whoever was chasing after you. The only option you had now was to steel your nerves and use the keys in your pocket as a last line of defense.

Your right hand blindly reached down and was met with lint. Terror hadn’t been felt until that very moment. A thousand and one scenarios raced through your mind with you reaching for the ones that would allow you to leave this situation at least narrowly unscathed.

The one you got a firm grip on using the element of surprise to hopefully distract them from whatever intentions they had for an instant. You took one last deep breath before spinning around swiftly and throwing out a fist.

A man in a baseball cap dodged the punch to his credit, albeit not very ideal for you. His balance, however, was in your favor. He slipped on the slick sidewalk and landed flat on his back with a pained groan.

You were the last thing you should’ve been given that you’d been granted an escape - frozen. On your behalf, you would’ve been halfway down the street and barreling towards your building had it not been for the wide eyes staring up at you.

Those eyes…Ruben’s.

#ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias fic #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias x you #being

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sirensea14 · 7 months

Text

My Bright Star

Kickin' Chicken x reader {part 2}

>>(Part 1) , [part 3]

Summary: You're an orphan child from Playcare who came back to the factory 15 years later after you received a mysterious letter. (Time skip to chapter 3, the part where you fight catnap)

Warnings: gn!reader or fem!reader (whatever you want it be), fluff and angst, kickin's alive and a bit ooc, violence, blood, not proofread so there may be typos and other errors here

A/n: im honestly happy you guys are reading this shit😭 even if its a bit badly written! Here's part 2! I tried my best to narrate the boss battle in my own words. Hope you enjoy... You're up for one hell of a ride.

"Huff... Huff... That was... close! Damn that cat, you need a dental hygienist!" You panted after going through that hell of batteries and red smoke, pinching your nose from the gas. "And of course, I won't volunteer to be one." You sneered, brushing dust off of you.

You immediately went out of the Counselor's Office, but you paused at the door thinking about that dream. You were left hanging with so many questions to ponder about. In your train of thought, Kickin' flew to you and greeted you with a hug. Suprised by his move, you snapped back to reality and returned the hug. "I'm glad you came back in one piece, y/n." He smiled at you warmly.

"Oh was there ever a time I wasn't able to?" You chuckled, looking away from him awkwardly. Sarcasm was making its way into you. Kickin' was deadpan but laughed after a few seconds. You followed his chittering.

"Hey, uh, something's gone wrong. Grab the cord from the Counselor's Office and plug it in underneath the statue!" Ollie called. Ugh, of course he'll be calling. But you have no right to object, he's one of the only few sane people here after all. "We need to reach 100%!"

"Oh yeah, right! Got it." You snapped your fingers, " Goodluck." you went back to the building, grabbed the cord, and pulled it to the statue. "Okay, what was that goodluck for?" You whispered to yourself, Kickin' was behind you watching the surroundings in case something attacks.

"Wait here." You told Kickin' as you reached the door under the statue. He nodded and looked out to the darkness, his eyes glowing fiercely.

You plugged the cord, "96%, just a little bit more," just then, you heard a sound of a key dropping. "A poppy key? For wha--oh." The poppy circuit box, of course. You then went outside and ran towards that circut box. Kickin's footsteps thumping behind. You opened the metal case and pulled out the cord, running back to the statues, you felt a slight chill ran down your spine. You paused for a moment, "What's wrong?" Kickin' asked, "Nothing. Just... I feel like something bad's gonna happen." You reckoned. Kickin' warily looked at Playcare, his eyes searching out for possible predators.

You then continued to go and left the bird yet again outside. You finally plugged in the cord. "And, a hundred perce--!" your face fell deadpan as your triumph was interrupted by Ollie's call, "Okay, that should be enough power. Now take the huge batter to the gas production zone." You looked around spot where Ollie gives you the keys, a large battery glowing blue sat there. " So we can get out of here! It's the door by the cable car you arrived on. Goodluck." The call ended. "Yeah, yeah, Ollie. I know where it is." You muttered, carrying the large heck of a battery. "And that 'goodluck' was uncalled for," walking outside, you saw Kickin' who immediately took the battery from you and walked with you to the gas production zone. "Let me help you with that."

This time, instead of Kickin' waiting outside the door, he crouched himself to go in. "I'm going with you."

"Naw! Don't worry, KC. This is just the gas production zone. No need to worry here. I'm just gonna power up the gas and transfer it to the other tube. That simple!" you reassured him but the rooster clearly wasn't convinced. He kept a raised an eyebrow at you which deflated you. "Sigh... Fine then." You also had a feeling something's up to something anyway.

The two of you proceeded in the Gas Production Zone, "Alright. Gimme the battery." Kickin' handed it to you as you grabbed it using your grabpack. You walked towards the battery socket, Kickin's feather crown raised, alarmed at the surroundings. He hissed at the eerie feeling he's having, "Hm? What's wrong, KC?" You looked back at him, he's looking straight at you. "Uh, kickin', you're scaring me with that look..." something isn't right. You went back to walking to the socket. Kickin' wasn't looking at you, he was looking at something else...

The moment you almost inserted the battery is when CatNap appeared at the door, breathing his red smoke. You coughed, "Gah! What the hell!" Immediately you heard deep crowing sounds behind you, a mix of rooster crowing and a mosnter growling.

Catnap came into vision in a form way more terrifying than he should be. You fell down as fear came crawling through your feet. He walked towards you, each step intimidating than the last. Before he can swipe his claws at you, Kickin' Chicken immediately striked his talons on Catnap's face, earning a yowl from the beast. You immediately stood up as he bought you time to run into the elevator. Amidst of the red mist you saw the two monsters fighting at each other. Growling and crowing and hissing. Fighting each other with each swipe of their claws, blood poured out of them.

You went in the elevator, pressing the button to go up. The two disappeared in the mist but as you sought retreatment in the lift, Catnap appeared in front you. He glared at you with eerie eyes and you took in his frightening form. Skeletal and colorless. Faces and hands were carved on his body, moving and bubbling creepily.

You reached the top of the lift. You panted in a bit of relief of the experience, but worried for kickin'. "No... I... I can't go back. I'm sorry." Tears welled down on your cheeks," I'm sorry, Milo." You sniffed, brushing your tears off. You walked to the red smoke-infested area. "What now?" you protested, seeing a terminal and 4 battery stations. You looked at the monitor and read, "'This room can protect you. It was a safe room before. And it might be what saves you now. Familiarize yourself with it.' Oh no. What am I going to go through now?" You gasped. But you did as you were told, exploring the area. "A gate, a blocked path which I can access through the purple hand. 4 corridors for what? And... a trapdoor?" You listed. Jumping the platforms, opening and closing the gate,you listened to an eerie black VHS tape with what appears to be the 'Prototype' or 1006. You've heard of him numerous times, it was eerie that such an entity exists. And he can change voices! You felt a chill down your spine after watching the tape.

You went back to the terminal and saw the monitor's message changed. " 'The room should still have batteries. Use them to power whatever you need to in the room.' " you scanned the room with batteries scattered around you.

" 'To the left and right side of the room, in both the front and back, there should be small acloves with terminals ready for a charge. See for yourself.' " you hoped this nightmare is about to end. You switched your purple hand to a green hand and activated the receivers. It released steam thick enough to conceal the red gas from the front corridors.

" 'With a battery placed in the receiver, the charge will allow the continuous release of steam. See for yourself.' " again, you tested the back corridors by placing a battery in each of the two sockets. Steam emerged from above.

" 'Place a battery in one of the four receivers behind this terminal. Be alert. CATNAP IS NEAR.' " you read in alarm. "Fuck NO!" You yelled at the monitor. But against your will, you put a battery in one of the terminal's socket.

" 'Time remaining: 180... 179... 178...' " you panicked, your eyes darting around the room in trepidation. "... 176... 175-- *gasp!!* " your head whirled at the back corridor. You looked back and forth to wherever the footsteps were coming from. "L-light!" You switched to your orange hand and fired at the right back corridor. "Did that... work?" Footsteps reverberated in the room, but this time it's on the front corridors. You fired again, hearing something from afar. You charged your green hand and jumped to the blocked room with the two receivers. Activating it, steam was released. Catnap was forced to back down against the steam. You jumped down breathing heavily. "So this is where the battle begins... This is it... I'm scared..." you muttered to yourself. But you remembered Kickin'--rather, Milo, who was left behind. You felt bad for leaving him... "No--I'm not gonna die here!" You said in wavering determination. "Not at this time--" footsteps interrupted you. Doing the same thing, you fired at the 4 corridors, listening to which way is groaning. "The back corridor on the left." you took a battery and placed it in the socket. Steam poured down the monster as he retreated.

Repeating the process, you fired again at the 4 corridors, you listened closely and heard there were two footsteps coming to you. "That one... is an illusuon. The other is real," you said in confirmation. Front right corridor. You charged your green hand and steam was released. Catnap yowled at you.

"Repeat." you muttered, expression guarded and focused. You were sweating bullets at your fight. This time, you can hear three footsteps coming towards you, "One illusion, one is real and... another one?" You fired the flare gun on all of the 4 corridors. One was dispelled as an illusion. One was empty. One groaned. "Back corridor on my right!" You charged the battery socket and steam emerged. A cat's growl was heard. Then the terminal cried an alarm, "Now what?!" You put a battery in one of its 4 battery stations. Two of its sockets are now full. Your focus shifted back to the battle as the other footsteps kept going. "The front left corridor..." You fired at the other three corridors as you spared and listened closely to the fourth. Faint sounds of two claws were gnawing your ear. You took the chance to look at the monitor, "109 seconds... Still too damn long." You hissed.

You attempted to fire at the front left corridor but a familiar tall shadowy figure came to vision. Suddenly an alarm rang above you, the trapdoor was opening and Catnap was sneaking a view from you. Before you could react, a swift yellow whooshed before your eyes, feathers scattering. A loud flap of wings chimed, his talon grabbing the trapdoor handle. Kickin' Chicken voiced a deafening caw at Catnap and slammed the hatch shut harshly.

"Kickin'!" You called out to him. He landed near you and he wrapped his wings around you, and you returned the gesture. But due to his size, you could only grasp his wings. "I'm so glad you're alive!" you cried. He had his right eye as hollow as void due to a clawmark. Blood was gushed out of it, he also had a slash around his torso. He was a little bit bleeding. But you hoped he took a bit of rest before coming here. You had tears, moved by his appearance despite being badly wounded. Your embracement with each other was immediately halted by an alarm. The trapdoor is opening again, Catnap seems to not have yet given up even from Kickin's caw. He hissed at the cat and flew again to shut the hatch.

"87 seconds!" you exclaimed as you shot every one of the corridors, watching out warily for Catnap. Footsteps were nearing to the two of you. "Front left corridor!" You immediately powered the electric receiver, releasing steam to drive Catnap away.

Alarms rang, the hatch is opening. Kickin' plunged to close it. You fired at the four corridors, "Back left empty, back right illusion, front right empty, on the front left!" you powered it again with your green hand and steam was let loose, sending Catnap in a screaming fit.

"68 seconds." you counted, repeating the process on the four corridors. Activating the electric receiver. You whirled and fired at the back left, "Empt--" suddenly the terminal sounded an alarm again, demanding for another battery. "Oh fu--" Kickin' immediately grabbed one of the juices and put it in one of its sockets, putting it into silence. He's the only and most chivalrous monster you've ever seen in your life. You smiled at him warmly, feeling heat on your face. Your expression changed into a hardened one as Catnap's footsteps snapped you back to reality. 'No time for daydreaming! Our lives are on the line right now.' you slapped your cheeks as you pushed down the heat on your cheeks. Kickin' took a glance at your little trance and let out a low chirp.

Firing the back right, which has the fake, the hatch slowly opened again. Kickin' growl-crowed at him and clawed his face. The cat screamed and before he could wound kickin', he immediately snapped him shut.

The two of you worked together in the remaining 1 minute. Going through the same tactics Catnap has. Then the terminal sounded one last alarm, you grabbed a battery but before you can put it in, Catnap dropped from above the hatch and pounced at you. Kickin' seized him away by his talons, he cawing at him in the process.

You stood up shakily, inserting the battery in the last battery station, lighting up the electric port.

You switched to the green hand and powered it up. "KICKIN', BACK AWAY!" you instructed him and he immediately did what you said. You fired the overcharged green hand at Catnap. He tried to exhale red smoke but it only sent him in a fiery fit. "YOU... TRAITOR!" he screamed in a hoarse voice, rolling wildly on the floor trying to put out the fire. Kickin' moved beside you, placing a wing in front of you. He was in a crouched stance, ready to protect you in case Catnap attempts to attack.

Catnap continued to scream in pain, "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO FOLLOW THE PROTOTYPE."

"I WILL NEVER." He said firmly in anger. The bird tried to attack him but a metal clawed hand emerged from above. Catnap was no longer on fire but he was almost burnt to a crisp. Yet alive as if it didn't hurt him that much.

"I... failed you... my lord..." He looked down, ears drooping. The prototype's hand flipped to look like he's offering a hand to help him. Catnap recovered and kneeled at him, as if offering and praying to him. You and kickin' were watching as the horror unfolds. 1006 stabbed Catnap by his mouth, blood gushed out from the back of his head. The Prototype then dragged his corpse up.

"......"

A/n: NUH-UH. THIS SHIT AINT FINISHED YET. *insane laughter intensifies*I only posted this now cuz this is getting a liiiiiiiittle bit too long so... here ya go, part 2! This is honestly one of the most intense things I've ever written yet in my life...

#poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime #smiling critters #smiling critters x reader #kickin chicken #kickin chicken x reader #x reader #catnap #sirensea #prototype #experiment 1006 #poppy playtime 1006

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warningsine · 2 months

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https://www.reuters.com/world/americas/venezuelans-vote-highly-charged-election-amid-fraud-worries-2024-07-28/

CARACAS, July 28 (Reuters) - Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro and his opposition rival Edmundo Gonzalez were each claiming victory in a presidential election on Monday morning, after a vote marked by accusations of underhand tactics and isolated incidents of violence.

The country's electoral authority said just after midnight on Monday that Maduro had won a third term with 51% of the vote, despite multiple exit polls which pointed to an opposition win.

The authority said opposition candidate Gonzalez won 44% of the vote, though the opposition had earlier said it had "reasons to celebrate" and asked supporters to continue monitoring vote counts.

Maduro, appearing at the presidential palace before cheering supporters, said his reelection is a triumph of peace and stability and reiterated his campaign trail assertion that Venezuela's electoral system is transparent.

He will sign a decree on Monday to hold a "great national dialogue," Maduro added.

Fireworks sounded over Caracas, as lighted drones formed a brightly-colored image of Maduro in the sky above the presidential palace.

Opposition leader Maria Corina Machado said Gonzalez had won 70% of the vote and that multiple independent exit polls and quick counts decisively showed his victory.

"Venezuela has a new president-elect and it is Edmundo Gonzalez. We won and the whole world knows it," she said in a joint statement with Gonzalez.

Gonzalez said he was not calling for supporters to take to the streets or commit any acts of violence.

A poll from Edison Research, known for its polling of U.S. elections, had predicted in an exit poll that Gonzalez would win 65% of the vote, while Maduro would win 31%.

Local firm Meganalisis predicted a 65% vote for Gonzalez and just under 14% for Maduro.

U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken said the United States had "serious concerns that the result announced does not reflect the will or the votes of the Venezuelan people."

Blinken called for electoral authorities to publish a detailed tabulation of votes.

About 80% of ballot boxes have been counted, said national electoral council (CNE) president Elvis Amoroso in a televised statement, adding results had been delayed because of an "aggression" against the electoral data transmission system.

The CNE has asked the attorney general to investigate the "terrorist actions" Amoroso said, adding participation was 59%.

The CNE is meant to be an independent body, but the opposition alleges its acts as an arm of the government.

The top opposition official meant to witness the overall national count was not allowed to and there were several polling stations where opposition observers were not allowed to observe, the opposition said on Sunday night.

Earlier Machado reiterated a call for the country's military to uphold the results of the vote. The opposition says it has copies of about 40% of voting records.

"A message for the military. The people of Venezuela have spoken: they don't want Maduro," she said earlier on X. "It is time to put yourselves on the right side of history. You have a chance and it's now."

Venezuela's military has always supported Maduro, a 61-year-old former bus driver and foreign minister, and there have been no public signs that leaders of the armed forces are breaking from the government.

STREET FIGHTS

Machado has been the star of the coalition campaign, despite a ban on her holding public office that forced her to pass the torch to Gonzalez, a 74-year-old ex-diplomat known for his calm demeanor.

Gonzalez won backing even from some former supporters of the ruling party, but the opposition and observers raised questions ahead of the vote as to whether it would be fair, saying decisions by electoral authorities and the arrests of opposition staff were meant to create obstacles.

Maduro – whose 2018 reelection is considered fraudulent by the United States, among others - had warned last week of a "bloodbath" if he were to lose.

Attorney General Tarek Saab told Reuters on Sunday evening that he did not anticipate any violence and that except for some isolated incidents voting had been peaceful.

Less than a block from Saab's office in central Caracas, dozens of ruling party supporters arrived together on motorcycles outside Andres Bello secondary school, the country's largest voting center, scuffling with opposition supporters gathered outside.

The crowd dispersed after about 20 minutes, but videos on social media showed similar incidents in other locations around the country.

The Venezuelan Observatory of Social Conflict said on X that armed groups of the motorcycle-riding ruling party supporters known as 'collectives' were reported in six states and Caracas.

One man died of a gunshot wound in the border state of Tachira after a collective attacked people outside a polling place, the Observatory said. Reuters could not independently verify the details of the incident.

Reuters journalists in seven locations around the country had reported morning lines outside polling stations, including some that opened late or where voting was moving slowly. Many voters had arrived before dawn.

"I work cleaning houses and my four grandchildren depend on me. I earn just $15 per week and that is enough to eat one day but not the next," said Luisa Gonzalez, 61, who voted in the state of Bolivar, traditionally a ruling party bastion.

"I was a Chavista, but people have changed," she said, using the term for ruling party supporters, a reference to the late President Hugo Chavez.

Maduro's government has presided over an economic collapse, the migration of about a third of the population, and a sharp deterioration in diplomatic relations, crowned by sanctions imposed by the United States, the European Union and others which have crippled an already struggling oil industry.

Maduro said if returned to power he would guarantee peace and economic growth, making Venezuela less dependent on oil income.

THE CHAVEZ LEGACY

Maduro voted early in the morning in Caracas and said the result announced by the electoral authorities would be recognized and defended by the armed forces and the police.

Maduro said he would decree a national dialogue on Monday, using a term that typically means conversations between the government and opposition, businesses, communities and others.

Many Maduro supporters speak enthusiastically of his mentor Chavez, and see Maduro, in power since Chavez's death in 2013, as a continuation of Chavez's legacy of helping the poor.

Others told Reuters they saw Maduro's record as mixed but that they would back him.

"There are things that without doubt need to improve in our country, but this government has lived through sanctions and blockades like no other. That's why I back President Maduro and think he deserves another chance," said Jose Lopez, 57, as he waited to vote in central Valencia.

Gonzalez and Machado promised major changes and said a fresh start may motivate migrants to return.

Forty-six people have been arbitrarily detained since Friday in connection with the elections, Gonzalo Himiob, the vice president of human rights organization Foro Penal, said on X late on Sunday, and at least 23 remain detained.

Saab this week denied participating in political persecution.

Migrants around the world reported difficulties registering and only a small percentage of the large Venezuelan diaspora was registered to vote.

#venezuela #elections #politics #news tag

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lawbyrhys · 2 months

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Lawyer Breaks Down The Imane Khelif Lawsuit

I am an American attorney, and even though this lawsuit was filed in French court, I can still break it down and give my thoughts on the situation.

Let's get into this high-profile criminal lawsuit.

Algerian boxer and Olympic gold medalist Imane Khelif has filed a criminal complaint in French court last Friday, August 9, alleging that "acts of aggravated cyber harassment” have been perpetrated against the star athlete since her appearance at the Summer 2024 Olympics in Paris.

The lawsuit was filed with the anti-online hatred center of the Paris public prosecutor’s office and names X as the defendant; X as it refers to unknown persons in French law. Doing so "ensure[s] that the ‘prosecution has all the latitude to be able to investigate against all people," including those who may have shared hateful messages under pseudonyms and screen names.

To discuss another X in this case, though, Elon Musk finds himself named in the lawsuit, as does author J.K. Rowling. The pair have found themselves at the center of the controversy, having taken to their respective social media channels to post their takes and stoke the flames surrounding Khelif. "J. K. Rowling and Elon Musk are named in the lawsuit, among others,' says Nabil Boudi, Khelif's Paris-based attorney.

What about former president and 34-time convicted felon Donald Trump, though? He's shared his own remarks on the Algerian boxer. "Trump tweeted, so whether or not he is named in our lawsuit, he will inevitably be looked into as part of the prosecution."

Khelif's time at the 2024 Olympics—despite winning gold in women's 66kg boxing—has been overshadowed by speculation regarding her gender. It's important to note that Imane Khelif is a cisgender woman; she was born female and does not identify as transgender or intersex. The International Olympic Committee backs these facts, too, stating that "scientifically, this is not a man fighting a woman." Yet, the vitriol continues; the internet at large has been having a field day with it.

Adding to the flames are Elon Musk and J.K. Rowling. Musk, who is the owner of the X site, shared a post from swimmer Riley Gaines that read, "Men don't belong in women's sports," approving the message with one of his own: "Absolutely." Additionally, Rowling posted an image of Khelif and Italian boxer Angela Carini mid-fight with a caption accusing Khelif of "[being a man who was] enjoying the distress of a woman he’s just punched in the head." She posted this to her 14.2M X followers. Donald Trump piped in—as he's known to do—with his own caption for the image of Khelif and Carini, with a vow of sorts: "I will keep men out of women’s sports!" A campaign promise, maybe?

Interestingly, even Logan Paul had something to say. As if Paul isn't busy enough with his frivalous defamation lawsuit against fellow creator Coffeezilla, he added to the mix with his denouncement of Khelif's triumph over Carini:

"This is the purest form of evil unfolding right before our eyes. A man was allowed to beat up a woman on a global stage, crushing her life’s dream while fighting for her deceased father. This delusion must end." Paul later deleted this post, though, admitting that, "might be guilty of spreading misinformation." He doesn't want yet another lawsuit on his hands—that's my take.

Khelif's attorney isn't buying any of the bullshit, though, and nobody's apology will absolve them of their legal liability in his eyes. "That lawsuit is filed and the facts remain."

About the intentions of the lawsuit, Boudi said:

"What we’re asking is that the prosecution investigates not only these people but whoever it feels necessary. If the case goes to court, they will stand trial." As it pertains to those on US soil, he adds that "[the lawsuit] could target personalities overseas. The prosecutor’s office for combating online hate speech has the possibility to make requests for mutual legal assistance with other countries." Boudi cites an agreement between the French and American equivalent office per the online hate speech.

The lawsuit is intended to prosecute individual social media users and not the platforms themselves. As Boudi states, "It’s the responsibility of lawmakers to issue sanctions to platforms, not ours," going on to note the severity of similar cyber harassment cases, and that in some cases, "there are prison sentences."

Judicial systems worldwide have begun to take cyber crimes like these more serious in recent years. As use, popularity, and reliance on the internet grow, so must the laws and protections.

Khelif's coach, Pedro Diaz, has even weighed in on all the controversy surrounding his champion athlete. He states the hate has "incredibly affected her and everyone around her."

What do you think of this case? Let me know!

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theprettynosferatu · 1 year

Text

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

I - The Heroes

Luna MacKleere didn’t like the word “Rebel”. She was one, to be sure, but in her mind the term evoked anarchy, disorder, chaos. Maybe it was her past life as an Imperial officer, or maybe it was just the way she was wired, but Luna felt sometimes clear order was a necessity. The Rebellion had a chain of command, but it was a tad… diffuse. For all its virtues, the Rebellion often fell short in the “getting things done” category: strategy meetings could become endless debates in the name of equality and freedom of expression. To Luna, a little hierarchy didn’t necessarily become tyranny.

She was well aware of her reputation within the base. Humorless, strict, cold. She didn’t much care. She got things done, as the events of the day had proved. A screen lit up letting her know the newly-minted Heroes of Korriban would arrive shortly. The base was buzzing. She wasn’t upset because she had been the one to discover the Imperial outpost in that barren planet, planned the surprise strike, organized the entire operation: it was natural for the pilots and boots on the ground to get the glory. What irritated her was that for a good three hours or so nothing of real use would be accomplished as the new Heroes celebrated their triumph. Oh, well. She supposed it would be a morale boost, at least.

She did the best she could to tune out the cheers, the laughter, the singing. Luna wondered how the old Jedi had been able, if the stories were true, to keep their emotions always under control. Given how her chest pounded with irritation, she figured she wouldn’t have made a good Jedi even if she had been born hundreds of years before.

Eventually a knock on her door broke her out of such dark contemplations. She looked around to make sure everything was presentable: the room was both her command center and her bedroom. The base had been built with haste and stealth in mind, and living comfort had been sacrificed to keep it compact. Deciding the place looked respectable, she let the visitor in.

Kara Nalls was barely out of her teens; like so many in the rebellion, she was an orphan of the war the Empire waged against independence. Luna took pride in knowing the names and stories of everyone under her command. She wished Kara would get a bit more confidence, though. Even then, the petite blonde was almost shaking, dataslate in hand.

“What is it, Kara?”

“Ma’m, I have the manifest of liberated weapons, supplies and equipment right here. A full report should be made… uhm… later. Oh, and there’s… this”

Kara produced a small, black cube.

“We don’t know what it is, Ma’m. If it’s a container, there seems to be no way of opening it. But the boys say it was heavily guarded, so perhaps it might be of importance”

Luna took the dataslate and gestured for Kara to leave the box on her desk. She could look at it later.

“Thank you, Kara. Please make sure our esteemed warriors write proper reports when they’re done being tonguebathed by the entire base”

The rude words almost made the younger rebel recoil, but she caught herself.

“Yes, Ma’m”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, Ma’m”

“Then go out there and enjoy the party. I appreciate you taking the time to bring me the data”

“Thank you, Ma’m”

Kara almost skipped away to rejoin the celebration. She wasn’t the worst, but still needed discipline. They all did. Luna tried to put her mind out of the racket outside her door. She decided to enable communications and send the manifest to her rebel contacts. It was always a risky thing, for signals could be intercepted, traced: that was the reason only two people on base knew the codes to engage the transmitters. Sure, Luna could have waited until the full report was ready and sent everything together, minimizing risk; but she needed to focus on something, anything to dull the annoyance inside her. As the transmission happened, she idly looked at the black cube on her desk.

No, it wasn’t just black. It seemed to absorb all light, to pull it within itself and capture it to never be released again. Luna felt discomforted by the small accursed thing. What in the galaxy could it be? Well, whatever it was, she didn’t want to see it on her desk. She picked it up to put it away…

She couldn’t be sure, but for a second something like a sigil appeared on it, bright red. It was a flash, and then it was gone. Before Luna could process what she had seen or if she had indeed seen it, the box opened without a sound, its top moving on unseen hinges. Inside was something beautiful.

It shimmered copper and ruby, calling to her from within its nest of fathomless darkness. It was obviously valuable, and should be reported to the rest of the rebellion. That was the obvious, ethical, logical thing to do. However, Luna found herself hesitating, bound by a shapeless feeling at first, one that soon wormed its way into her head and solidified into words. Did the rebellion really need whatever the necklace could be sold for? Would it truly be so harmful for Luna to keep it for herself? After all, wasn’t the rebellion all about freedom? And more importantly, didn’t Luna deserve it? She was the reason the base got anything done, after all. Hell, even the celebration taking place was thanks to an operation she had planned, based on information she had gathered! But were people thanking her? Did they dance for her? Did they kiss in secluded hallways for her? No. She deserved a reward. Results had to be rewarded, that was the very basics of management. And no one would know. She alone had seen what the box hid. She had spent two years away from any luxury, working ragged, cramped inside a base that gave her little to no privacy or room, eating rations and wearing sensible, resistant clothing. She had almost forgotten how she looked, how she could look when she paid attention to her appearance. She had sacrificed so much… of course she deserved a little treat, a little beauty in her life. It was so obvious.

When she put on the necklace, she felt as if life was returning to her body. It felt so good to finally do something not for the rebellion, not for the fighting men and women, but for herself. And it looked good. It looked so perfect on her… too bad her clothing didn’t really do the necklace justice.

Well, she did have a few outfits saved for special occasions…

II - Confidence

It felt good to be out of the sensible white and brown clothes. Sure, it was cold. Sure, her formal dinner dress was hardly practical in case of a sudden attack. No, Luna didn’t care. She loved the way she looked, with flowing red silk, high-heeled boots and a generous cleavage that showed the pendant in all its glory. It was as if she was rediscovering a part of herself she had long left behind. She had been desired, once. Before the Empire. Before she broke away from it. Before uniforms became her default attire. Yes, she had been desired in her home planet. The scion of a wealthy House, fabled for her beauty and wit. She had wanted to escape that. That’s why she had enlisted in the Officer Corps. To spite her father. To get away. Now, she couldn’t remember why she had ever felt being the center of attention was a bad thing.

And oh, all eyes were on her, alright. Most looked at her as if they were seeing her for the first time. In a way, they were. Even she had forgotten how… impactful she could be when she chose to use her looks as a weapon. She felt like a conquering queen… or a predator on the prowl. Everyone around her looked so small, so weak, so pliable. Was this the rebellion? Was this the force that would topple an Empire? She felt as if she could just… take whoever she desired. Take them to do what? She couldn’t say. Hurt them? Use them? Motivate them?

Yes, perhaps motivation was needed. Confidence. They seemed so… run down. Luna knew the best leaders led by example. Well, she could be that example. She could show them all the passion the sorely lacked, the drive to victory that seemed so alien to them. Suddenly, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. If the rebellion was to have any chance of success, she would have to teach them to take what they wanted, to fight and manipulate and feel the drive to grasp victory by any means necessary. Ambition. Yes, that’s what they lacked. Well, she’d teach them ambition.

Someone caught her eye. Tadriec was staring at her. Tadriec. Thin as a reed, obedient and respectful to a fault, generally looking like a little desert mouse caught in a trap. Was he a virgin, Luna wondered. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything but staring at any object of desire from far away. In a way, that was the rebellion right there. Too shy, too meek, too willing to settle for small victories. Well, if Luna was going to show them a new way… what better place to start than small, frail Tadriec?

“Tadriec, come with me”

“Why, me, ma’m? I… uh…”

The man was about to start shaking. He looked like the very picture of pathetic meekness. For a moment, Luna felt like striking him across the face, or digging her nails into his skin, just because she could, just because he would do nothing about it. Weakness invited abuse: was it any wonder the Empire regularly abused the people under its control? It was a two-way path: yes, the tyrant is terrible, but those too weak to stand up for themselves invited and enabled that tyranny. Perhaps a more hands on example was in order.

“Just be silent and follow me”

“Yes ma’m”

As the door to her quarters slid shut, Tadriec started mumbling in fear.

“I… uh… if you need anything, I… if I may, the door…”

“Tadriec, be quiet”

“Yes, ma’m”

Luna leaned on her desk, letting sensuality flow out of her. She could almost see it, a black and red tendril enveloping the poor, weak rebel.

“Look at me, Tadriec”

“I… I can see quite clearly. Uh, I don’t believe I’ve seen that… attire before, ma’m. It is quite beautiful; is there a ceremony or…”

“Look. At. Me. Tell me, Tadriec, what do you desire?”

“Desire?”

“Yes. What do you want? What would bring you joy, satisfaction? You are aware with the concept of desire, I presume”

“I… of course. I’m nor sure what… well, if I could… uh… I suppose victory over the Empire would make me happy. Peace would make me happy”

“Oh, how very noble of you. Allow me to be more specific. Do you desire me?”

“Uh, I… desire… uh… I’m not sure I understand the…”

“Do you desire to take me? To take this body and use it however it may please you? To make me go on my knees and take you in my mouth, to bend over like an animal in heat and let you mount me, pull my hair, make your every fantasy real? Do you desire to fuck me? To fuck me hard, take out all your frustrations and emotions and passions on me?”

The man’s next words would be inconsequential, Luna knew. His body already spoke volumes about how he felt, even if he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. She amused herself, watching him shifting uncomfortably, trying in vain to hide a bulge in his oh so sensible rebel uniform. This has to be how a Krayt Dragon feels before devouring their prey, she thought.

“I… I’m not sure it’s appropriate to… uh… I mean, you do look… quite attractive, but…”

“You desire me. Every movement you make screams it. You need to make me yours. My question is: why don’t you? Why are you so afraid to simply… take what you want? Why not turn me around, pin my hands on this desk? Why not push me up against the wall? Why not make me an object for your pleasure?”

“I… uh, that’d be… that’d be wrong! Wrong and… and inappropriate, and…”

Wrong. How would it be wrong to follow one’s heart? Luna couldn’t fathom the reasoning, and found herself with little patience for it. Fuck it. Time for a practical demonstration. She leapt out of the desk and took a few steps, until she could feel his nervous breathing on her face, their lips almost touching.

“I am your superior in command”

“Y-yes”

“Then you will do as instructed, is that clear?”

“I… yes ma’m”

“Then I’m instructing you to bend me over, lift my dress and plunge your cock inside me as hard as you can. Make it passionate. Make it hurt, if you want. But do it!”

He was too gentle. Far too gentle. He turned her around, carefully, almost shaking. He used minimum pressure to push her head down. Even now, even as he should be overcome with pure lust, he takes care of her, makes sure she is comfortable. Such a disgrace. Sheer weakness.

“Fuck you, Tadriec! Stop. Holding. Back! Are you such a coward? Such a useless pussy? Take it all out on me… you resentment… your fear, your anger, everything! Use me just as an object for your pleasure! Stop denying yourself what you deserve!”

Luna gasped as she felt him go inside her. Part of it was the rather unexpected size: she never would have imagined the skinny rebel packed such a… remarkable member. But what truly got to her was the feeling of it all. She couldn’t quite explain it, but there was a point, a very detectable moment when she felt the man’s emotions… burst forth.

It was unexpected and it was intense and it was intoxicating. Rage and lust and hatred so vivid she could almost taste them. The feelings washed over her, sending shivers all through her body, robbing her of the ability to speak, to do anything but moan and drool and cum, over and over again, all control long gone.

By the time she managed to regain some notion of herself, she was feeling his cum sliding down her thigh, panting on her desk. Shit. A woman could get addicted to such feelings.

III - Just a Dream

She’s standing in a dark place, an old place. A place of evil. She knows this, and it scares her. Statues seem to rise up to the stormy sky, and she’s aware of ruins, of ancient temples so deep and twisted a man could walk in and never walk out. There’s a way out of this place, this much she knows; but it’s cloudy, hidden in mists and creeping shadows. It’s terrifying how this place whispers to her. How it wants to feel like home.

But Luna has home, doesn’t she? She can’t remember. It’s hard to focus. Everything seems so distant now, like her life is hidden behind veil after veil after veil… She does have a notion, a barely formed sensation that she has made a mistake recently, a horrible and…

She feels it creeping up her leg, igniting her skin with a million sensations, a million passions. No, no, no… this is the mistake, she knows it. It’s coming for her. It will devour her, shift her, twist her if she allows it. She tries to run away, but it’s there and not there; a physical being and a manifestation of something monstrous growing inside her… she can no more escape it than she can escape herself.

She has to resist. She has to find the light inside her, lest the darkness consume her, turn her into someone she wouldn’t even recognize. But it’s so hard to find the willpower… so hard when the dark tendrils make her body feel so alive, so intense, so… eager. No. She has to…

It reaches between her legs, and she’s vaguely aware she could perhaps stop it, if she was strong enough. Is she that weak? Or is it that she doesn’t want to be strong anymore? A moan escapes her lips as her pussy twitches in pure, undiluted pleasure. It’s wrong. She has to hold back. She has to resist, to fight, to…

Why? Why not give in?

Did she think that? Did the darkness think it for her? She can’t tell. She feels herself accepting it more and more, letting it explore her deeply… her pussy, her ass, her tits… her body is just a vehicle for pleasure, for power, for…

No, she’s so much more than that! She’s a kind person, a rebel, a fighter for freedom…

Does she want to be all that? Or does she want to be something else entirely? She can’t say anymore. It just feels too good… too good to think… too good to resist…

Fuck it.

And with that thought, the darkness enters her fully.

IV - Improvement

Luna McKleere woke up with a purr. She stretched in her bed, letting the air caress her skin. She felt sensitive and strong and… hungry. Not for food, of course. The rations on the base were anything but appetizing. But the base itself… well, she was the most important person in it, was she not? After all, if she wasn’t around, nothing would ever get done. In that sense, wasn’t it her base? Her dominion? Her responsibility and her property? She got up, determined to improve her base, even if she had to drag every single sorry mediocrity kicking and screaming towards something resembling strength.

She stopped in front of the mirror.

Perhaps she should have felt upset, or scared. Shocked, at the very least. Confused, certainly. Instead she didn’t feel anything but a simple, calm satisfaction. Before her stood an image she had never seen before, and yet felt oddly familiar. Her already dark hair had turned jet-black, with a strange blue-ish reflection, like the feathers of a fearsome bird of prey. Her eyes were still green, but when the light hit them just right they appeared to have an unnatural yellow hue to them. She wasn’t sure if her lips had become fuller or if they only seemed that way because of the confident, seductive expression she now wore. What wasn’t in doubt was the size of her chest: that had definitely changed. She shifted around, looked at herself from a few angles. She had to say, her new breasts were a definite improvement. Sex appeal was power, a power most people, weak-willed as they were, often found unable to resist. Besides, there was a certain beauty in knowing she could inflame passions and emotions by her mere appearance. The rebellion needed a bit more fire, a bit more blood in it… even if that blood was concentrated on rather specific body parts. Her legs were stronger too, more toned, ready to step on whoever got in her way.

All in all, her body felt like a tool, one perfectly designed for its purpose. And oh, did it have a purpose. The entire staff needed to change if the base was to have even a chance of achieving anything significant, anything beyond small raids on mostly abandoned imperial outposts. It needed to embrace greater ambition and be willing to take bigger risks. It needed to heed impulse, accept strength, forget mercy.

Every group had its leaders, official or otherwise. People who set the tone, the pace, the spirit of the endeavor. For the rebellion to change, the leaders would have to change. Luna decided to turn her base into a showcase, a template for the rest of the rebellion to follow. That meant summoning the leaders of her small base into her room. She would show them the way, and they in turn would push the new philosophy to the followers, the meek and spineless men and women that made up most of the fighting force.

They all stared at the floor, trying oh so hard not to glance at her new, improved tits, at the way she left her jumper’s zipper half-open to make them impossible to avoid. She felt nothing but a sickly contempt towards the men and the one woman before her. They were there, but were they actually there? They felt more like shadows, insubstantial, nonexistent. Luna felt something growing inside her. Hatred? No, not that. They were beneath that, they didn’t even deserve that much from her. Their weakness, their meekness, their lack of focus, of ambition… disgusting. They could be so much more, if only they’d let go of their stupid fetters of morality, of propriety, of the rules of engagement. They had passions inside them, buried so deep… if only…

The pendant felt warm on her skin, nestled between her breasts. She couldn’t explain it, but it was whispering. It was beckoning. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel like an uncaged beast… and she could tell the others were starting to feel it too. Their bodies told the story in a million small ways. A small shiver there. A discreet glance there. A conversation without words, the air around them almost vibrating. No, not a conversation. This was conversion. Luna could feel it between her legs, sense the blindfolds falling from their eyes, the repressed passions bubbling just under the surface, ready to guide them, to take control. An inescapable truth of the Galaxy was starting to take hold: the strong took what they desired, and deserved everything they took, because they were powerful enough to take it. That was it. A simple, elegant truth. Luna slowly pulled the zipper down. All eyes were on her now, shame long gone, replaced by a primal hunger. Yes, she could feel them… and it felt so good, their passion was like a million electrical pulses starting right in her pussy and coursing through her body. She moaned and let one of her hands wander inside her pants. They were at a tipping point. Her smile was the final push.

It was glorious, a symphony of grunts and they all lost control at once and tore off their clothes. The men were so big, towering over her, hungry expressions in their eyes. Finally. Strength. Something she could respect. Something she could… kneel for. Beside her, the other female rebel had gone on all fours, her head pressed on the cold, metal ground. Ready to be taken by those with the will to do so. And now the men had the will. Luna focused on worshiping their cocks, licking them and kissing them and using her new gigantic tits to jerk them off, letting the men use her as nothing more than a living sex doll. She moaned as a rebel thrust inside her fellow woman without mercy, without pity. She could feel it all, beyond physical sensations. She felt their lust and their frustrations and the anger they blew off using Luna’s mouth, her tits; using the other girl’s tight, eager holes. She was all of them. Fucking and getting fucked. Slave and master. She was attuned to the energies saturating the room, sending her deeper and deeper into a state of complete, savage pleasure.

At some point someone pushed her on her back. She was too far gone to fully register who. All she knew was she was being conquered, and it felt so fucking good… Her ass burned as a man rammed inside her with not care as to how she might feel, with hatred for all the bitchy things she had done, with rage and a red retribution. A hand shifted her head. The other girl was positioning Luna’s mouth, so that it may be used by a worthy cock. The girl’s eyes looked… delighted. Evil.

Luna shaked as cumshot after cumshot painted her skin, aiming for her face, her tits. It was suddenly so obvious. So simple. She knew it, and she sensed they all knew it now. She didn’t have to tell them. She managed to get on her feet, feeling their eyes on her. Strength was Right. Those who conquered deserved power. Power deserved more power. The Empire was powerful. The Rebellion was weak. Nature had to take its course.

She put in the code enabling communications and typed the coordinates to her own base in. She set the message to be unencrypted, ready to be picked up. She set it to repeat, over and over.

She fell on the floor, an orgasm racking her body and whatever was left of the rebel she had been. The Empire would come. They would take. They would conquer. Because they were stronger. Because they deserved to rule over the silly rebels who deluded themselves by thinking they had a chance. Now the truth would come.

They would all be fucked, as they should be. Maybe literally. Luna didn’t care. All she knew, and all everyone in the room knew was that the base would fall to its superiors. As nature intended. As for them… they would wait for their conquerors. They would wait on their knees. They would wait sucking and fucking and letting their passions run wild.

The pendant hummed. It knew better than anyone the power of power, the allure of conquest. And now, after centuries underground, it had found a vehicle to spread the truth. It would make sure Luna was spared. It had great plans for the young woman, after all.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

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matttgirlies · 4 months

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months

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Brian Melley and Jill Lawless at Associated Press, via ABC News:

LONDON -- Britain’s Labour Party swept to power Friday after more than a decade in opposition, as a jaded electorate handed the party a landslide victory — but also a mammoth task of reinvigorating a stagnant economy and dispirited nation.

Labour leader Keir Starmer will officially become prime minister later in the day, leading his party back to government less than five years after it suffered its worst defeat in almost a century. In the merciless choreography of British politics, he will take charge in 10 Downing St. hours after Thursday's votes are counted — as Conservative leader Rishi Sunak is hustled out. “A mandate like this comes with a great responsibility,” Starmer acknowledged in a speech to supporters, saying that the fight to regain people’s trust after years of disillusionment “is the battle that defines our age." Speaking as drawn broke in London, he said Labour would offer “the sunlight of hope, pale at first but getting stronger through the day.” Sunak conceded defeat, saying the voters had delivered a “sobering verdict.” For Starmer, it's a massive triumph that will bring huge challenges, as he faces a weary electorate impatient for change against a gloomy backdrop of economic malaise, mounting distrust in institutions and a fraying social fabric. [...]

Britain has experienced a run of turbulent years — some of it of the Conservatives’ own making and some of it not — that has left many voters pessimistic about their country’s future. The U.K.’s exit from the European Union followed by the COVID-19 pandemic and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine battered the economy, while lockdown-breaching parties held by then-Prime Minister Boris Johnson and his staff caused widespread anger. Johnson’s successor, Liz Truss, rocked the economy further with a package of drastic tax cuts and lasted just 49 days in office. Rising poverty, crumbling infrastructure and overstretched National Health Service have led to gripes about “Broken Britain.” While the result appears to buck recent rightward electoral shifts in Europe, including in France and Italy, many of those same populist undercurrents flow in Britain. Reform UK leader Nigel Farage has roiled the race with his party’s anti-immigrant “take our country back” sentiment and undercut support for the Conservatives and even grabbed some voters from Labour. The exit poll suggested Labour was on course to win about 410 seats in the 650-seat House of Commons and the Conservatives 131. With a majority of results in, the broad picture of a Labour landslide was borne out, though estimates of the final tally varied.

[...] The Liberal Democrats won more than 60 seats, on a slightly lower share of the vote than Reform because its votes were more efficiently distributed. In Britain's first-past-the-post system, the candidate with the most votes in each constituency wins. The Green Party have won four seats, up from just one before the election. One of the biggest losers was the Scottish National Party, which held most of Scotland's 57 seats before the election but looked set to lose all but handful, mostly to Labour.

In the United Kingdom, the Rishi Sunak-led disaster class Tories have been sent packing at the ballot box and fall down to Official Opposition Status at around 120 seats, as Keir Starmer’s Labour is set to make mammoth gains. The Lib Dems have recovered to become the 3rd largest party in Westminster.

#2024 UK Elections #2024 Elections #United Kingdom #Liberal Democrats #Labour Party #Conservative Party #Keir Starmer #Rishi Sunak #UK News #Reform UK #Nigel Farage #SNP #Scottish National Party #Green Party of England and Wales

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cazzyf1 · 6 months

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Some of my favourite quotes from David Benson's 'Hunt v Lauda'

'He was nursing a toy yellow-eyed gorilla which made alarming noises and clapped a pair of cymbals attached to its hand.

"Whats with the gorilla?"

James looked tired. "It's called smiler. Alistair and Teddy gave it to me to celebrate my championship."

Teddy smiled benignly: "The gorilla was not very popular in first-class lounge I'm afraid."

"No," said James, "and they wouldn't let me blow my whistle either." He produced a police whistle and blew it.' - p7

"When we boarded the plane, he (James Hunt) insisted on joining mechanics in touring class until the lights were turned down for passengers to sleep." - p8

"Niki had always wanted to marry Mariella but she had refused to do so until he had become world champion." - p21

"The unsuspecting young actress Marlene Knaus was going to endure a trial that few women, even with a tremendously experienced and well-founded background, could have endured." - p21

"I telephoned James Hunt in Johannesburg where he is preparing for the South African Grand Prix. He told me, "I have been in daily contact with Susy and am fully informed about what is going on. I wouldn't stop her getting a divorce. I am trying to help her as much as I can so that she makes the right decisions. Obviously if she wanted to come back to me, I would help her do that." - p40

"I walked out of the dinning-room to an annexe alongside it, and sitting in the corner with a lady I didn't know was Niki Lauda; he smiled and asked a Carol and me to join him for a cup of coffee. He introduced the girl alongside him very simply, "This is my lady," She was, of course, Marlene Knaus, a very beautiful girl, with her hair in a rather severe style, brushed back, and a bun on the top of her head. We had a long chat about seat belts - both were empathetically in favour (that evening the house of commons in the UK were debating on making seatbelts in cars compulsory) - but the important thing was that I established a friendly relationship with Marlene when other people on the racing circuit cold-shouldered her, thinking she was merely some local pick-up. In fact, she and Niki were planning to get married as soon as they flew back from South Africa." - p44

"The main topic of conversation was the break-up of the long relationship between Niki Lauda and Mariella. Helen (Stewart) offered, with the best possible intentions, to get in touch with both Mariella and Niki is necessary to heal the breach. Having seen how close Niki and Marlene were in South Africa, I doubted if this were possible. As it turned out, a day after we had our discussion in Nina's home, Niki went quietly to a register office near Vienna and married Marlene." - p47

"He tried awfully hard not to hurt me." - (Susy about James) - p58

"James was standing right alongside me. Tears welling in his eyes. "It's stupid," he said, "It does not affect the performance of the car or make it any faster. Not even the Ferrari team protested and they were the ones who have the most to win..." - p62

"It was in triumph, therefore, that Hunt, six weeks before his 29th birthday, left for Britain in preparation for the John Player Grand Prix at Brands Hatch. With good humour and in high spirits, he took part in an event before the race and revealed another facet in his talents. It was at the Albert Hall at the Grand Prix Night of the Stars, a concert in aid of the Graham Hill Memorial Fund. The hall was packed with evening-suited celebrities who had paid up to £500 for a private box. Hunt was introduced by astronomer Patrick Moore who had just done a soft-shoe shuffle. Suddenly, Moore reached for a trumpet left behind on the bandstand by Chris Barber, who had done an earlier turn. "You're supposed to be good at blowing your own trumpet," he said, "so try this one." The audience dutifully laughed expecting a knockabout comedy turn. But Hunt took the trumpet, the studio band started to play and Hunt's clear, clean notes echoed through the vast auditorium. It was a memorable moment. When the audience realised that Hunt was playing for real, they roared their approval and then sat in silence as James plaved like a professional. Hunt's brother, Peter told me later: "I had a hell of a job convincing the BBC, who were recording the show, that James really was a good enough trumpet player to perform on TV. He learned to play at about 12 or 13 when he was at Wellington. He was in the school orchestra and the school band and played solo at concerts. Stuart Turner, Public Affairs Director of Ford of Britain, had a box at the Albert Hall. He turned to me after Hunt had finished his solo and said: "Now I have seen everything: James Hunt playing the trumpet at the Albert Hall we'll have Niki Lauda doing a comedy act next." - p73-4

"Niki himself, having almost killed himself in a first-lap accident there in 1974, has always campaigned against the Nurenburgring. He argued that the 1976 German Grand Prix should be switched to the Hockenheim Ring, a purpose-built circuit with outstanding safety facilities installed after the death there of Jim Clark in 1968. But Lauda was reviled by the Germans for his attempt. In practise at Nürburgring spectators displayed a huge poster of Lauda and his car. Across it was written, 'Lauda 20 kilometres per hour. Aus.' Ring bystanders are hard on anyone threatening the thrill of the race." - p80

"Sunday's race day was altogether depressing from the start. The young American driver Brett Lunger had heard the night before that his father had died unexpectedly in the United States and Brett decided to stay and go on with the race before returning home. It was to be a vital decision in the saving of Niki Lauda's life." - p81

"Jackie had a remarkable story to tell that Niki's agents had telephoned him soon after the crash and asked him to appear at a promotion for a new line of jeans which were being marketed in Niki's name. Jackie refused, saying he would only appear with Niki's permission. Niki was telephoned and they were told that he was determined to be there himself." - p86-7

"What would the situation be if Niki was fit to drive and Ferrari still wouldn't come to the track?" I asked Alastair, without hesitation he replied: "We will lend him a car so he and James can fight it out." - p89

"Then Niki arrived in his Jaguar with Marlene and Willi Dungl, his masseur/confidant, the man responsible for building Niki up physically in preparation for the race. There was a last-minute panic when it was discovered that Dungl had left his passport back at the house but he had an identity card and Niki knew that with Ferrari influence we would have no trouble getting Willi into Italy. Niki insisted on carrying out all the check-out procedures himself and we made a beautiful take off from Salzburg Airport." - p95

"At one point I was asked if I wanted to see a priest. So I said: "OK." He came in, and gave me my last rites - crossed my shoulder - and said "Goodbye My friend". I nearly had a heart attack! I wanted someone to help me live in this world, and not pass into the next." - p98

"I was watching his wife Marlene's eyes as she protectively, solicitously, studied her husband. She seemed almost proud of his scarred features." - p101

"A beautiful elegant grey/green-eyed young woman by the name of Marlene Knaus enjoyed life of a promising screen actress and model. A member of one of the most respected families in Austria she fitted easily into the jet set world of show business. She moved easily too in the rarefield world of medicine in which her grandfather was a renowned gynaecologist and in the artistic circles into which she was born as the daughter of a famous painter." - p101

"I used to smoke maybe one or two cigarettes a day, but from the time of the accident I have become a chain smoker. I know that this is not good for my health but it helps me through the crisis." Niki does not smoke and he says that this fact helped him recover from his lung injuries, but he does not reprove Marlene for smoking." - p102

"Marlene is a delightfully warm person. Her handshake is firm. Her eyes are steady and constant. They are the eyes of a woman who could inspire a man to great things, and she likes to touch the person that she is talking to. She looks at her husbands scarred face and gently strokes it." - p103

"Hunt, who had trotted through the driving rain along the length of the pits to salute the supreme courage of his world title rival Niki Lauda." - p104

"I just wish there bad been no accident, no disqualifications, no aggrevation, and Niki and I were fighting it out fair and square on the track. After what Niki has achieved, he deserves that at least. What Ferrari have done is to devalue the world championship and to cloud Niki's brave recovery. His recovery is absolutely amazing and he really is fit again." - p125

"His wife Marlene was happy with his decision. She had said earlier; "When he got into the car and drove away, I wanted to throw myself in front of it and stop him." - p140

"All Hunt knew was that he had to pass everything in sight. It took him two laps to catch and pass Alan Jones in the Surtees. Now he was fourth. Almost on the same bend he came upon Regazzoni in the Ferrari. Would the Swiss Italian let him through or hold him back? Ostentatiously Rega moved over and waved Hunt through ar a point where the Ferrari pit could clearly see his manoeuvre. As Rega passed his pit he gave them the two finger sign to show his disapproval that he had been dropped from the team for 1977." - p142

#niki lauda #classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #james hunt

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universitypenguin · 1 year

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Chapter 15

Summary: Lloyd takes things too far in his threat against Deputy Russell and has to change tactics mid-stream. Princess and Zach decide to push back against Detective Roth's allegations.

Word Count: 3,936

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of drug trafficking, murder, legal proceedings, spy/intelligence agencies, corruption, stalking, violence, threatening, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

The Princess & the Lawyer Chapter 15

Lloyd stood at the stove stirring a noxious mixture of gasoline and aluminum hydroxide. Pungent fumes hung thick in the air, forcing him to cover his mouth and nose with a bandanna.

The screen door slammed, and familiar footsteps echoed through the hall.

“Ugh! What is that stench? Did a gas line rupture?”

Elliot’s voice rang through the house before he came around the corner into the kitchen.

His bright-eyed appearance was in sharp contrast with Lloyd’s sleep-deprived state. Knowing his cousin had been left in charge of their captive all night, Lloyd couldn’t help but draw the obvious conclusion. Elliot’s excessive cheerfulness was derived from a more potent source than caffeine - he was smoking ice again.

“I followed your instructions and made a copy of Carl’s phone,” Elliot said, buzzing with excitement. “Guess what? Sheriff Holbrook’s texts are still on there, tucked away in some encrypted app. We could use it as leverage!”

Lloyd shook his head. “No. We can’t deviate from the plan. Did Russell agree to a meeting time?”

“Eleven o'clock at High Meadows.”

“Not a bad choice. Lots of entrances and exits,” Lloyd said. “I’m almost finished here. There’s water cooler jugs filled with this stuff piled up on the back deck. Bring your truck around and start loading them for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, man.”

Elliot bounded down the hall and Lloyd rubbed his tired eyes. He desperately needed some sleep unless he planned on asking Elliot for a bump of meth to keep him going. Lloyd shut off the stove, checked the final batch of chemicals, and rinsed his spoon in the sink. He stuck his head outside to inform Elliot he was going to bed and headed up the stairs.

Just as he lay down, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Hansen? This is Judy Lange from the HOA. I wanted to let you know that the association swimming pool has been fixed and approved for reopening on Monday. Should I leave your keys in the mailbox for your house sitter, or wait until you’re back?”

Mrs. Lange didn’t actually hold an official position with the Homeowners Association. Her husband had campaigned for the post out of pure spite. His single-minded crusade against Della Collins’ window box planters and their “busy-looking” Ultra Star Petunias earned him a landslide victory in the election. He’d passed a statute banning all multicolored blossoms from public spaces and after his triumph, lost interest in executing the duties of his office.

Despite her eccentric husband, Lloyd found Mrs. Lange to be a reasonable person. Her annoying habit of speaking at a million words per minute was made up for by impeccable manners and a sharp sense of humor. Even Mrs. Collins, who was still torqued at Mr. Lange a year later, couldn’t resist her charms.

After his brain finally managed to process her rapid fire words, Lloyd grunted.

“The mailbox is fine. I’ll text my friend and let her know to pick them up.”

“Excellent. I apologize for calling you at such a time, Lloyd.”

Mrs. Lange’s voice carried a hint of horror, as if she’d just realized she had contacted someone in the midst of a family tragedy. Lloyd didn’t view the situation as such, but he recognized the apologetic shift in her tone as she launched into a long winded explanation.

“With everything going on, I am sure now is a terrible time for you… I just didn’t want to forget. You’re the most frequent patron of our athletic facilities. Well, usually the only patron to be frank. Mrs. Collins isn’t getting around like she used to after her knee surgery. Anyways, I’ll personally take those keys to your friend so they’re ready when you get back. And if there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

She really meant it, Lloyd thought, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. If only she knew what the man who he was supposed to be grieving had done to him.

“Thanks, Judy. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, darling. I’ll see you around.”

Already half asleep, Lloyd hung up the phone. His last thought was that he needed to call you. Hearing from Judy reminded him of home, and of you. It had been days since your last talk and that was far too long. Before the meeting with Russell, Lloyd promised himself he’d make time for a conversation.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You stalked back and forth in front of Zach’s desk, breathing hard, your fists clenched in frustration.

“I can’t believe his nerve! Can you believe this? Can you?!”

“Uh-huh.”

Zach grunted and continued tapping on his keyboard.

“He has the audacity to accuse us of leaking information to the media, without a shred of evidence? It’s unprofessional!”

Zach nodded, seemingly absorbed in his work.

“I spent so much time building them a database and now no one can use it. The whole process was exhausting and tedious and… are you even listening to me?”

“Yes. Roth is an infuriating bastard. I knew it from the start, and you thought he was cute.”

“I did not!”

“Did so,” Zach said.

“Did not.”

“Let’s not lose sight of our most important objective here.”

“Yes, let’s not. What is that objective, again?” you asked.

“Getting back in Roth’s good graces and thereby, restoring our access to information and resources.”

“I’m sorry, were we just in the same room? About twenty minutes ago, when Roth kicked us to the curb and Bishop had a melt down?”

“We’re not going to let our hard work go to waste. There’s more than one key for every lock, you know?”

“Uh… that’s not how locks work.”

“It is when you know how to pick locks,” Zach quipped.

“I haven’t even told you about my conversation with Mr. Liu!”

He resumed typing, his attention focused on the monitor. “No sister?”

“Well, that’s a very anticlimactic way of putting it, but yes. He’s certain that Julia didn’t have a sister.”

“That’s the conclusion I ended up at too.”

“Should we tell Roth?”

“I’d rather clear our names first,” Zach said.

“How?”

“Look at this.”

Zach pivoted his monitor to show you the screen.

You stared at a map of Arlington with a route highlighted in purple. Squinting, you noted the web address of a popular running app called PacePal. The account’s username was generic and the profile picture was an image of a man's athletic shoes.

“What am I looking at?”

Zach smirked. “This PacePal profile belongs to Peter Shaw. The account photo is of the same running shoes he’s wearing in the Twitter he shared last year of himself finishing the Miami Marathon.”

“Okay, not to make myself look like an idiot, but who is Peter Shaw?”

“A very tenacious investigative reporter with Rolling Stone Magazine. He’s also the only person who knows the real identity of the leaker, and thanks to his lax attitude toward social media security, we know where Mr. Shaw will be at two o’clock this afternoon.”

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, we’re going to give Detective Roth a taste of his own medicine?”

“I intend to serve him a fresh plate of crow as soon as humanly possible,” Zach said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Ruthless much?”

“I didn’t pull in that jackass Lattimer without a damn good reason. We’re onto something with Julia’s supposed sister and if we don’t keep pushing the trail will go cold. What do you say, Princess? Shall we go put Shaw on notice?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lloyd called you when he woke, but reached your voicemail instead of you. He sent a text instead and dove into the shower to scrub off the lingering stench of gasoline that clung to his skin.

None of the clothes he’d packed suited the character he wanted to portray tonight, so he rummaged through Joe’s closet in search of better options. In the back, he discovered a garment bag containing the winning ensemble: a navy suit with wide lapels, bootcut trousers, and a matching waistcoat. It screamed 1970’s gaudy at the top of its lungs.

To complete the look, Lloyd installed the hair extensions he’d sent Elliot to acquire from a beauty supply store two towns over. Cutting the remaining extensions into three-inch pieces, he applied them carefully across his jaw, smirking as he remembered April's suggestion that he should grow a beard. The overall effect was a cross between Jerry Garcia and Medusa on a bad hair day.

For accessories, Lloyd raided Joe’s dresser. He added rings, a gold chain necklace, and a pair of lightly tinted orange sunglasses. The oversized frames elevated the look from vintage inspired to unmistakably costume like - a perfect fit for the character he was putting on. He slapped on a strongly scented aftershave he found in Joe’s medicine cabinet and instantly regretted it when his eyes watered from the fumes.

Resisting the urge to wash it off, he turned his attention to more practical matters. Joe’s gun cabinet yielded a wide assortment of armaments. He owned weapons from every firearms manufacturer on the market in the past fifty years. Lloyd wasn’t keen to give a hopped up meth addict a gun, but circumstances demanded it. He picked up a Winchester Renegade and checked the ammunition.

“Hey, Elliot! How’s your aim these days?”

Elliot turned around from his task of cleaning up the kitchen and did a double take of Lloyd’s outfit.

“Better than most people’s. What are you wearing, dude? Are we going to make a drug deal or audition for Saturday Night Fever?”

Lloyd snorted at the question and held out the Winchester Renegade.

“I need you to watch my back while I’m meeting with Russell. Just in case things don’t go according to plan.”

“Understood. I’m the second shooter on the grassy knoll,” Elliot said.

They took back roads to the meeting spot. By the time they reached their destination, Elliot’s old truck was covered in mud from the unpaved roads that cut through the vast Idaho landscape. They were deep in the countryside, hidden from prying eyes of passersby on the highway by miles of barren hills.

High Meadows had once been a thriving venue for team roping and barrel racing events. Now, the clay earth he remembered as being meticulously groomed played host to an invasion of dandelions and scotch thistle. The red aluminum roof over the pavilion had faded to a dull rust color and the cedar panel fencing that encircled the space was bent with age and broken in several places.

He helped Elliot unload the water cooler jugs filled with the gelled fuel that he’d spent the morning cooking. Lloyd marked out a circle, about twenty feet in diameter, in the middle of the arena and cut a small trench into the ground. With Elliot’s help he poured the viscous mixture into the trough and raked the displaced dirt back into place.

They hid their equipment in the bed of Elliot’s truck and moved the vehicle into a ravine near the main access road to High Meadows.

Lloyd turned to his cousin. “Go take up position on that hill over there.”

He pointed to a spot beyond the dilapidated grandstands. “It has the best vantage point. Also, there’s a thermal scope in your backpack in case the night vision doesn’t cut it.”

Elliot slung his backpack over his shoulder and disappeared into the hills. Lloyd took his position in the arena as the sun settled behind the horizon. He lay down on one of the risers in the grandstands, propped his feet up, and dozed until the sun went down. Suddenly, the crackle of the Bluetooth in his ear brought Lloyd back to the present as Elliot’s voice broke him from semi-unconscious.

“Russell is pulling in,” Elliot said.

“I see the headlights,” Lloyd confirmed.

The beams of Russell’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the arena. Lloyd leaned casually against a pillar on the far side. The position gave him plenty of time to observe Russell as he approached. The deputy was clearly spooked - he’d worn a bulletproof vest over his khaki uniform.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Lloyd called out in greeting.

Russell stepped into the arena, his eyes scanning the space, trying to assess the situation.

“Who are you?”

“Didn’t Carl tell you? We’re the Canadians,” Lloyd said, flashing a mischievous grin.

Russell’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Now, let’s get down to business!” Lloyd clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Don’t look so tense, Luke. I’m here to make you rich, and myself even richer. You see, I came here to shake down a former associate, but the trouble is this jackass died before I could get to him. So, I found a locally connected businessman and squeezed until he spilled your name.”

The deputy’s nostrils flared, a warning sign Lloyd waved off dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of him.”

“What do you mean you ‘took care of him’?” Russell demanded.

“I took him for a swim in Redfish Lake, the kind you don’t come back from,” Lloyd said, punctuating that statement with a wink.

Russell’s shock was palpable. Lloyd gave him a beat to recover, but when he just got a blank stare in response, he shifted tactics and threw his arms out in exaggerated frustration.

“Oh, come on! Be fucking for real, bro. Do you have two brain cells left rattling around in that ugly mug, pig? I got rid of your dealer because, number one, he’s a snitch and I don’t fuck with snitches. Number two, getting rid of Carl gives you the opportunity to set up a more reliable distribution system. Isn’t that nice? An open playing field with no territorial disputes from the locals? You can thank me now, or later.”

Russell hesitated. Lloyd didn’t let the silence linger.

“Okay, then. You’ll thank me later. Look, about-”

“You really killed Carl?”

Lloyd sighed. “Would I lie to you? Me? I have a reputation to uphold, Deputy.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath, that’s what you are,” Russell said, edging backwards.

“Hey! We’re not done talking business!” Lloyd yelled after the man as he turned away.

“Yes we are. Go to hell!”

“Don’t walk away from me, pig! This isn’t the kind of conversation you can just walk away from!”

Lloyd’s voice echoed through the pavilion, ringing with anger.

Russell glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, Luke… My number one rule is simple: I don’t fuck with snitches. Rule number two? Dirty cops who know your face are bad business. You see, they always end up being snitches. It’s like different flavors of the same ice cream. Triple chocolate fudge or brownie delight, who can tell ‘em apart?”

As Russell’s hand went for his gun, Lloyd flipped open his lighter and tossed it on the ground. The carefully prepared mixture of gasoline ignited instantly, shooting up and forming a wall of fire that raced around to encircle them.

Taken by surprise, Deputy Russell instinctively moved away from the searing heat of the flames an action that inadvertently drew him closer to Lloyd.

“Isn’t this nice? I find it rather cozy, like stepping into a bubble of security.”

Lloyd chuckled, his smile twisted with madness.

“This is how you conduct business?” Russell hissed, eyes glinting with shocked desperation as the flames continued to roar around them.

“I find it refocuses the attention when a deal starts getting off track.”

“What the hell do you want?!”

“I’ve made myself very clear, Russell. You need to work on your attention span. Here’s the deal: we become business partners… or you become a victim of what I like to call ‘spontaneous human combustion.’”

“Spontaneous,” the deputy muttered, looking at the flames.

“I never really plan on cremating anyone,” Lloyd said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world to discuss incinerating your business associates. “Every time I’ve actually gone through with this, the whole thing happens so fast, it really does look spontaneous. Now, Deputy… What do you say? Ready to make a deal?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sat beside Zach on a park bench, trying to make the most of the slight shade of a tree that offered a tiny bit of respite from the blistering August heat. The sound of approaching footfalls was a major relief. Five more minutes out here and you would have melted. You glanced up to see Peter Shaw, a man of average height with close cropped dark hair, nearing your bench.

Zach stood up and moved to the center of the path, blocking access to the parking lot.

“Peter Shaw. I’m Zach Hightower and this is Y/N. I assume you know who I am?”

The journalist stopped a few feet away from Zach. He was dripping with sweat, but still had the energy to offer a cocky smirk. He glanced in your direction and arched an eyebrow.

“The investigative duo. Where’s Hansen? Isn’t he usually your partner?”

“I read your article this morning. It was very interesting,” Zach said.

“Thanks. What part did you enjoy the most?”

“I thought it was very well researched. You even knew where the recent evidence was being stored. That was a very… interesting… detail to include in the article.”

Peter shrugged. “I take pride in my work.”

“The other little thing that jumped out and grabbed me was about the evidence collected in the Nguyen case twenty years ago. Your source criticized the chain of custody related to Shun Nguyen’s cell phone. That was extremely specific.”

Shaw’s grin turned from smug to sly. “I always make sure my sources have a keen eye for detail. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“One more thing. The criticism you leveled at the State Police for handling the digital evidence from that cell phone? Well, it went over my head, but I’ve got a guy who’s a genius with that kind of thing. When I showed him the article he said you’d need to consult with an expert in digital forensics to break down those kinds of technical concepts as clearly as you did.”

“Actually, I’m just that good,” Peter said, crossing his arms.

“You have a degree in English and absolutely no background in tech. You’re not that good… but I believe your source is. The level of insight they gave you left their fingerprints all over that article, Shaw. Your man’s days are numbered. If you were as good as you think you are, his head wouldn’t be heading for the chopping block.”

The journalist snorted. “Do you run, Mr. Hightower?”

“Only when someone’s shooting at me. Why?”

“Just wondering if you get any other forms of exercise, besides jumping to conclusions.”

“It’s more of a step-by-step chain of logic that links together quite nicely. You really are a good writer, Shaw - very organized. That made it much easier to fill in the blanks. Does the name Leo McKenzie ring a bell?”

The blood drained from Shaw’s face, turning his lips white. Zach grinned.

“Good talking to you, Pete. Thanks for your time! Come on, Princess, let’s go.”

“You’re way off base, Hightower,” he called after you.

Zach gave him a cheerful wave. “Hey, Pete, since you’ve undoubtedly got my number, why don’t you give me a call next time you need a source? I can teach you how to cover your tracks so you don’t keep burning through informants.”

Then he lengthened his stride, forcing you into a jog as you tried to keep up. Once you were in the privacy of his vehicle, you gaped at him.

“Are you crazy? Did you just invite that sleazebag to call you?”

“Sure. He’s made more progress on this case than anyone else. We can’t ignore that.”

“How did you know who his source was? Did you guess?”

“Deduction isn’t guessing and that look on his face was all the confirmation I needed.”

“We should tell Detective Roth.”

“No. Let him figure it out on his own. He won’t believe anything we tell him at the moment.”

“But the security of the investigation is at stake!”

“Not for long. Shaw will contact his source and alert them that we’re onto them. I want to give Detective Roth the chance to redeem himself. Also, if he can’t find a mole in his own department, I’m not sure I want to work with him.”

“Right. Hey, where are we going?”

Zach turned onto an unfamiliar exit, one that headed away from his office.

“I’ve got to make another stop. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Elliot drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You really freaked him out."

"Mmmhh."

"He's going to send those drugs up in flames."

The insight was spot on. Deputy Russell’s wavering commitment to the sale was becoming more evident as dawn broke. He had raced back to the security of the Sheriff’s Offices after meeting with “the Canadians” and spent the rest of the night holed up there. Through the front window, Lloyd watched his shadow move behind the blinds.

The silhouette moved from left to right, and then crossed back again, from right to left. Russell was already a paranoid bastard and introducing a real threat to his life may have been a step too far. His restless actions raised a red flag in Lloyd’s assessment of the situation. Watching him through binoculars from their high vantage point in the parking lot of the White Rivers campsite, Lloyd decided it was time to ease the pressure and give Russell an escape hatch.

He was too spooked to hand the drugs over directly to the Canadians. After the ring of fire incident Russell was probably more likely to shoot Lloyd if he ever saw him again instead of cooperating with him.

“We’re going to plan B,” Lloyd said. “Give me a burner phone.”

He held out a hand and Elliot pressed a device into his palm. Lloyd dialed and watched through the binoculars as the blinds of the Sheriff’s office raised. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew Russell was somewhere inside.

The call connected.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Lloyd spoke hoarsely. “Hello. Deputy Luke Russell?”

“This is he.” Russell sounded suspicious.

"This is Agent Ambrosio of the ATF. Do you have a moment to speak with me? Somewhere private would be best if possible."

"Yeah, yeah. I can do that," Russell said.

There was feedback as he moved, the the sound of a door closing. He must have gone to his office.

“Okay. I can talk now.”

"Russell, I'm calling about your boss, Sheriff Holbrook. Are you aware of the case against him?"

"Uh… you mean that thing from last year?"

"Eighteen months ago," Lloyd clarified. "The federal investigation into Holbrook's involvement with the drug trade has continued, which is why I'm reaching out. We need your cooperation."

"What can I do to help you, agent?”

"We have everything that we need to make an arrest. This is a courtesy call, Deputy. We're moving on him tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

"Oh… Wow… Okay, is there anything I can do?" Russell asked.

"We're still organizing things. Holbrook is constantly armed, and we're aware of how high-risk this operation will be. I’d be more comfortable with the situation I’m sending my men into if we had your cooperation.”

“Absolutely. Whatever you need, sir.”

Lloyd’s mouth curved into a smile. Pushing too hard may have been the right play after all. His prey had just swallowed the bait without noticing the hook that pierced his lip along with it.

Game. Set. Match.

All that was left to do was reel in his catch.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next - Part XVI

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Masterlist

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