#MISS RUSSELL HAS A RIFLE

[topsee-turvee]

Keri Russell in the Cocaine Bear (2023) trailer

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Committee of Three (Issue #4)

Moon Knight, Issue #4: A Committee of 5

Written by Doug Moench and drawn by Bill Sienkiewicz

I’m back! Took a little break to get caught up on some more modern Moon Knight and now I’m ready to jump back into the past! 

Now this is an interesting one because “The Committee” was the original group of people that first hired Moon Knight to hunt down Jack Russell (Werewolf by Night). But back then, he and Jack took down the Committee. What could they possibly want with Moon Knight now? Let’s find out! 

"Life is seldom easy for the mysterious man called Moon Knight--And it's about to get a whole lot harder! Five seasoned hit-men are out for his blood! They are a committee of: 

One: Boom-Boom, explosives expert. 

Two: Razor, blade freak. 

Three: Ice. Sniper assassin. 

Four: Dragon, karate black belt. 

and Five: Bull, just plain animal!

All five are professional killers--and they enjoy their work. So it's rather simple really, either they're put out of business--fast--or the shadows will soon run red and echo with ghastly laughter." 

I feel like Moon Knight faced a lot of professional assassins in the early runs. The one with them in the snow, then the one with him in Israel...  

Also, LOOK AT THIS ART! I love this! Look how they put the words in his cape! 

Also LOL. 

We see Moon Knight landing awkwardly next to Rockefeller ice rink while a sniper lines up a shot. He takes aim and fires and we see Moon Knight fall! 

He runs down to the rink to check the body. He needs proof of the kill for his bosses. But there is no body! 

Moon Knight drops down behind him. 

"Still alive--If you believe I have nothing worse than a bullet-hole through my cape... Or still dead--If you prefer to believe that I really AM a ghost. Take your pick, Annie Oakley." 

I miss the days when Moon Knight really had a hard time convincing himself that he was alive. He played up the ghost angle so much. 

He charges the gunman only to have the gun go off in his face, blinding him! Good job. 

The sniper takes the opportunity to smash him in the head with the butt of his rifle. ....Moon Knight sure did take a lot of blows to the head in his early years. 

Lucky for him, the gunman is still rattled by the whole ghost thing and flees in a panic, rather than finishing him off. 

Recovering, Moon Knight wonders how long the assassin has been stalking him and who sent him. 

On the other side of town, The Committee meets to get an update on Moon Knight's status. 

Ice, the gunman, tells them that he had him but he's some sort of "spook"! 

Ah! It IS the same Committee that hired him to hunt Jack Russel back in his first appearance of Werewolf by Night!!! 

One of the guys was apparently on vacation and missed the memos so he asks who they're going after and why. 

I love a good excuse for exposition. 

"These five gentlemen have been retained to dispose of our personal Frankenstein monster. You DO recall our creation--Moon Knight-- Don't you? He nearly destroyed the original Committee. Now that we've reorganized, we owe it to the committee's honor to settle the score." 

The assassins review their plans. 

The dynamite guy, Boom-Boom, plans to blow up Moon Kight's vehicle. (Not the cab! Or maybe the Chopper?!) The rest just want to get up and personal. 

The guy that was on vacation takes a minute to ask if going after Moon Knight is actually a good idea or not. You know... considering... 

The other guy is angry at Moon Knight for taking their money and not delivering the wolf. Also because he turned on them and pretty much nearly wiped them out. 

This is just a petty revenge mission. 

Back at Grant Mansion! 

We find Marlene working out and Moon Knight changing out. 

"Well, aren't you the bundle of joy this morning, Mr. Grant? Or is it Mr. Lockley? Spector? Moon Knight--?" She takes playful jabs at him. It's...It's early in the comics so I'm not going to harp on this. Early enough where he himself really doesn't know what's going on and the others are still just him pretending to be someone else. 

"Every identity has its place, Marlene, and every identity IN its place. We're in Grant Mansion--Ergo, I've just become Steven Grant." He's a bit snappy about it. He's still trying to compartmentalize and in deep denial. 

"Okay, Steven. Bad night?" 

"Routine. Seen Frenchie around?" 

Frenchie has a place in the committee so he can keep track of their movements. This dates back to WBN. 

Frenchie tells him that they've reorganized but he hasn't attended enough meetings since to know what's going on. But he has a feeling that something is going on behind closed doors. 

Steven tells him that someone tried to knock off Moon Knight and they weren't an amateur. 

The Committee predates Marlene. Or at least they never brought it up to her. 

She asks just who these guys are that want him dead so badly. 

Frenchie answers for them. "Several years back, Marlene, I learned of a group of international financiers...So I told Marc and we decided to investigate... posing as a French industrialist, I infiltrated them... I told them of a mercenary named Marc Spector who might take zee job, were he provided with anonymity and suitable weapons." 

Marc approved the plan and they went back to the committee to introduce Moon Knight, who up to that point hadn't been a household name. Only Bushman had delt with the Moon Knight. 

They detail about their efforts fighting the wolf. 

"At first it seemed like killing two birds with one stone--Getting to zee bottom of zee committee's crimes while ridding zee world of a monster. But when he saw zee tortured humanity of a young man named Jack Russell locked behind zee horror, he freed zee werewolf and together they destroyed zee committee. This was before Marc became rich as Steven Grant, so he took zee committee's money--ANd left zee werewolf go free to find his own fate." 

REALLY?! THAT'S where they got the money from!? What happened to all their money made as mercs? Did they blow it? No wonder Steven's so pissy all the time. He's worked his ass off to make their millions and Marc is just out there blowing through it. 

The next day, Jake hits the streets to see if Crawley has any tips. 

He does his usual 'gmorning to Gena and asks about her boys. 

Then he immediately sides up to Crawley: "Any hitmen in town Crawley?" 

Apparently there are five and they all hit the same nightclub in Queens. That's convenient. 

He hires Gena's boys to find out the names of all the assassins and if they'll be back at the club. 

He loves those kids. 

He calls up Marlene and tells her to have Frenchie attend the next committee meeting. He also tells her to "practice your bump and grind, Lady." 

Jake's got a way with words. 

Oh no. OH NO. I know what issue this is. 

The...The night club... It's an airplane. They have a theme. 

Gena's sons go to the club to get info. 

At the committee meeting, Frenchie busts in pretending to be pissed off not to be included in the previous sessions. 

"We were concerned that you might object." 

"Why shold I care? I knew zee mercenary Spector, oui, but he was hardly a FRIEND." 

Up on the roof, Moon Knight listens in on the meeting as they inform Frenchie of the details. 

In the club, the boys get into a bit of trouble but their manage to not only get out of it, but to also get the info they need. 

Outside, Marlene is applying for a job in the club. 

Yeah... It's...It's this issue. 

The meeting over, Moon Knight switches to Lockley to get the info from Gena's boys. 

A lot is about to happen here folks. Just…Just get ready for this. 

(early Moon Knight tumblr fandom… If you know you know.) 

Here we see Moon Knight startled by some firecrackers. He knows it’s a trap. But we see a cat sniffing at a box while Boom Boom waits. 

IN A RARE EVENT. Moon Knight is not left fighting a random animal, but being saved by and saving that animal. 

Boom Boom makes a run for it and Moon Knight stops another dynamite stick from going off with some sharp Crescent dart action! But Boom Boom manages to give him the slip and get away. 

He takes defeat so gracefully. 

So next day he heads out as Jake again. 

He patrols the streets in his cab looking for news. 

I just... I love Jake. 

We see Jake come into the mansion to see Marlene heading out to her new job at the club. 

Dealing with Marlene, he's instantly Steven. Then the phone rings and it's one of Jake's contacts so he's Jake again. That pose is 100% Jake. 

Early issue we see them just cycle through easy peasy but still acting like it's pretend. But it's SO obvious when it's with Marlene. Jake really has no interest in Marlene as anything more than the lady his headmates care about. 

It’s something I’ll contend with over and over again. Especially as the much later comics decide that Jake was really the one dating Marlene… But that’s an argument for another day. 

We head over to the Madison Square Garden where Marc and Frenchie attend a boxing match. 

They spot some that look like they might be the other assassins and move to follow them. Steven heads to the bathroom to change. 

There's so much going on here that I love so much. 

Steven changes in the bathroom. So a tuxedo man walks into the public bathroom... Probably in a stall... ANd changes into Moon Knight... 

He left his tux in the bathroom. Probably on the floor or in the trash? 

The jab that Grant can afford it. Poor Steven. 

The champion boxer being like "Oh man. That's one fast cat. I don't want to tango with that dude." 

Also him asking "Wonder if he's got any color under that white mask..." Implying that Moon Knight's so cool that he hopes he's a black man. Which I can respect. He’s got some style. 

Then we have Moon Knight jumping into a typical rich person car to tail a cab. 

I miss these simple Moon Knight days�� 

In the next panel we find that he didn't even ride IN the car, but hung onto the side as Frenchie drove. 

"Twenty minutes later, North of central park, Moon Knight vaults from the Limo's running board..." 

Moon Knight knows that this is another trap. It's a dark and abandoned building. 

Yup. As soon as he's inside, he's ambushed by Dragon, the karate guy and the knife guy. 

Karate guy pulls out his nunchak. Moon Knight also turns his truncheon into nunchak. 

It's the first time we see Moon Knight's new weapon and it remains in the comics for a very long time after this. I love seeing his weapons advance in the comics! 

He takes out the knife guy quick then turns to the Dragon. 

He comes at Moon Knight, who doges each attack then lands a blow, taking out the blackbelt. 

Which is hilarious because he's just a blackbelt in karate. We know at this point that Marc Spector had to learn a lot of different fighting styles in the Special Forces, not to mention his early street Boxing days as a young man. A simple black belt really has nothing on him. 

Two down, he gets clocked in the back of the head by the Bull. 

Moon Knight lands a few hits but he's still dizzy from the blow to his head. (again with the head). 

Frenchie rushes in with a gun and scares off the Bull, who busts through a wall and dissapears. 

"I'm getting just a little sick of this, Frenchie--That guy hits like a truck. Why didn't you stay with the limo?" 

"I got Board, Marc." 

I love Frenchie... 

"Now there's a refreshing complaint...But taking there two to the mansion for safekeeping--Blindfolded--Oughtta keep you busy. Then get over to tonight's meeting of the committee." 

Back at the club, Marlene has made it in with the head guy of the assassins, Ice, pulling her charms. 

Sitting down for a private drink, they are interrupted by a phone call. It's from Bull!

Seems Bull and Boom Boom have decided Moon Knight is more than they really want to deal with. 

"We're quittin'. Gonna put the squeeze on the committee instead--easier to just take the money than earn it by tacklin' Moon Knight again. You shoulda seen the way he took out Razor and Dragon! 

He's too much, Ice! He's got helpers everywhere--They found Eddie tied up in the back room of Inn Flight--Coupla kids took his gun! They'll pick us off one by one! He's got spies everywhere I tell ya!" 

Whoopse. Ice takes note of Marlene who is still sitting right there. 

Ice tells them to do what they want. He's still got a job to do. 

He tells Marlene he's got a meeting to get to, but she should stay there and wait for him. 

Marlene quickly leaves to a payphone (despite a phone being right there in the office. But I guess.) She calls Jake's cab phone to tell him what she just heard. 

Ice was waiting and watching the phone. He now knows Marlene is one of the spies. 

Back at the main office, Boom Boom and Bull make their play against the committee by rigging the whole building to explode! 

Outside, we see Ice climbing the outside of the building next to the warehouse to claim the money for himself! 

On the otherside, Moon Knight starts to scale the building itself! 

Boom Boom and Bull snag the money and move to make a run for it, but Ice has padlocked the exits! The building is set to explode in five minutes! 

Moon Knight figures it out and notes that Frenchie is also trapped inside! 

Ice makes it to the roof on the other building and spots Moon Knight on the roof, putting him back in his crosshairs. 

Bull manages to bust through the door like before, but Frenchie is still deep inside the building. 

Just as Ice takes his shot, the building explodes and collapses, sending the bullet right over Moon Knight's head as he falls with the building. 

Gotta love that glider cape. Also gotta love Frenchie’s smarts. 

Moon Knight makes a break for Bull. 

As he runs, Ice opens fire again. 

Moon Knight dives through the bullets, still after Bull. 

Yeah he...He takes another blow to the head, knocking him to the floor of the little motor boat. 

Moon Knight rolls, trying to knock Bull over. Unfortunately, this puts Bull right into Ice's bullets and he takes one to the chest. 

The boat crashes, sending Moon Knight flying. He's having a good night. 

Laing stunned on the dock, he's back in the crosshairs. Just before Ice can take his shot.... 

Marlene kicks the gun away! 

And we see Moon Knight again, a sad wet cat crawling on the ground. He does this a lot. 

"Like a ragged creature escaped from hell, he stands on the roof, the precious rifle clenched in granite hands..." 

Moon Knight snaps the riffle in two over his knee. Then he knocks Ice out. 

The cops later find all the remaining assassins on their door steps with a note "Night deposit" nailed to the door with a crescent dart. 

He's got class. 

Back at the mansion, Grand invites everyone over for a feast. 

Which is funny considering that it's not till a later episode that he reveals himself as Jake and Steven and Marc and Moon Knight and that he's rich. But who's keeping track of continuity? 

Grant reveals all the money that was supposed to go to the assassins from the committee. He divides it up among the friends, with a good amount going to charities. 

I love this issue. It’s fun, it’s quirky, it’s an early issue that is still trying to establish who everyone is and how the dynamic functions, and you have a LOT of Moon Knight getting hit in the head or having the bad guys get away with him getting frustrated over it. 

It’s got so much character! And maybe this is just me coming off of reading…the worst issues ever (Bemis, Aaron, Bendis)... But this was much needed. Really refreshing. Even the art style is so clean and just full of everything I love about Moon Knight. 

[christiangrest]

From the Back of the Safe…

My Dad who passed away back in 2017 was very fond of lever rifles. I remember as a boy growing up in the North part of Florida, not by the coast where there’s beaches and palm trees, but rather inland in a rural farming county, Suwannee county. My Dad always had a number of lever action rifles. Most of them were rimfire, either .22 long rifle or .22 magnum, but he also had one in .30-30 Winchester that he got from my uncle as well as a Marlin .44 magnum. Lever guns for the most part seemed to fit the bill for squirrel and rabbit hunting as well as hunting white tailed deer.

One of the lever action rifles my Dad owned, although purchased after I left home, was an old Marlin 39A Mountie. That particular rifle, with a cheap Tasco scope mounted up top was the dedicated squirrel rifle any time I came to visit. My parents used to have a Jack Russel Terrier and boy did she love finding which tree the squirrels were held up at. Knowing fully well that if she did this, I would take a shot at that squirrel. If successful, that squirrel would fall to the ground and she’d snatch it up and run off with it not to be seen for at least a half an hour. She sure was a smart dog.

The last time I saw my father, he gave his 1894 Marlin in .44 Magnum to my wife. She had borrowed it fairly recently to hunt pig and took a liking to it. We were talking about picking up a lever gun for her and he said to just take it home with her and keep it. Little did we know that would be the last time we saw my dad as he passed away a month after from a sudden heart attack. After he passed away, my siblings and mom thought that his Marlin 39A Mountie should stay paired up with Dad’s Marlin 1894 .44 Magnum rifle, so my wife and I also took it home with us.

Both of those rifles have been mostly sitting in the back of the safe. The Marlin .44 Magnum rifle was having some issues jamming, so I replaced the loading gate and cartridge carrier. Luckily at the time, Brownells had these parts available. That old Marlin 1894 was now smooth as butter after a trip to the range. The Marlin 39A Mountie hadn’t been shot since around the time my Dad passed. Recently around my Dad’s birthday…he would’ve been 69 years old, I took that old Marlin 39A Mountie out of the safe so it could see some sun. Shot some steel targets at about 25 yards… that little rimfire still has it even though the scope is in desperate need of replacement. I’m hoping to find a classic looking, but modern scope over at Brownells soon to replace it with. I sure missed shooting that little rifle and of course miss my Dad. Always great to handle something like that to remember him by. He sure loved his lever rifles.

[deityforged]

what does miss Ashmi think of other very dangerous animals that live either in Bengal or India besides Bengal tigers, such as russel vipers, the king cobra, wild elephants, crocodiles and the such? and in her story, has she met other's who were like her? as in being able to take the form of an animal

OOOOOOOO I LOVE THIS ASK SO MUCH!!!

First of all thank you for letting me get to lore dump about miss ashmi's little world, I appreciate it very much! Surprised I haven't talked about it yet!

Ashmi has ALWAYS been an avid lover of the natural world, and everything that belongs in it. Even after her husband's death, she never blamed the tiger that took his life - it unfortunately came with the territory of living in the way that they did.

I've mentioned it before but Ashmi's very presence is very unsettling, so there isn't a lot of natural wildlife where she lives - there is something about her being an apex predator that drives away small prey animals like sambar & chital deer, & langur monkeys. Even birdsong is few and far between the miles of her territory.

She genuinely has had no actual interactions with an actual tiger or leopard , even though she knows of at least two that overlap her territory - it's almost disappointing really, that she's never gotten a chance to see such elusive cats. HOWEVER, elephants travel through the jungle paths that make up the surrounding area around her village all the time, and she has been blessed to be in their presence a number of times - one of the few creatures that even a fully grown tiger as big as she wouldn't dare take on in a fight. There's a mutual respect between her and the herds, and often she sits down and watches them pass , sipping her tea as they disappear back into the forest.

Reptiles she holds fondness for, but from a distance !!! She has been bit a few times due to her own negligence, but as a result she always makes sure to look before she steps. And she doesn't fuck around with crocodiles - hence her bathing habits tend to be in a very shallow water, where she cna see the bottom.

She does have a few friends who are of a similar nature, though they certainly haven't had her same history - most are born a werecreature, such as her raven companion who rifles through her collection of jewelry, or catalina, who is a coati! I have a couple other ideas for animal shifters to introduce in her story, but for now those are the only two !

[darlingor]

Where do we go from here?

Adler x Bell

Part 2/2

“What do you mean Stitch has him?!”

She couldn’t believe it. America’s Monster got taken hostage.

“There was an op about four weeks ago. The team was too small. They got ambushed by Stitch and his men. A few of them got the best over Adler. He’s been off the radar this whole time.”

“And you’re just now calling me?”

“What did you want me to do, Bell? We didn’t even know you were alive until Park notified us.”

It had been two weeks since her encounter with Park, and now she was standing in the CIA headquarters speaking with Jason Hudson himself.

“Wait, has Park known he was missing this whole time?” She couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed at that.

Hudson let out a sigh.

“No, we’ve tried to keep this under wraps. Only a few close associates were notified. Woods, Sims, Mason. We tried to keep it inside the agency.”

“Okay so, how do we get him out? What’s the plan?”

She knew Adler was a tough son of a bitch, but there’s only so much torture a man can take. And knowing Stitch, he wouldn’t make it easy.

“Well that’s the thing, we don’t have one. We can’t find anything on his possible location.”

Bell was shocked at that. The CIA had no clue as to the whereabouts of one of their top agents. I thought they were better than that, she thought.

“Alright,” she clapped her hands together “let’s get to work.”

Over the next week, Bell assessed every piece of information that could be of assistance. Hudson told her the CIA’s best cryptographers had combed through the letters of correspondence between possible Perseus agents, but they came up with nothing.

Good thing Bell is better than the best.

She sat over the letters all night, trying to find at least a little something. It was at 2 am when she finally noticed the pattern, and it all snowballed from there.

Thursday of the same week, she had all the information she needed. However, Jason Hudson was not notified.

This was her mission, and she was not about to be accompanied by some random CIA agents.

She decided to take off a little before sunrise, 5:30 am. She was able to distract the guard and commandeer a small heli, she was out of Langley by 6:00.

“Let’s hope these coordinates are right. I can’t afford a screw up.” She laid out the piece of paper and map and settled in for the long flight to the remote island in Russia.

10 hours later she was trekking through the thick Russian forest in search of the “decommissioned” military bunker.

“Fucking hell. Am I ever gonna get there?” Her feet were sore from walking and her back hurt from the large bag of supplies securely strapped to her.

Suddenly she could hear voices talking lightly some ways away from her. She pulled her silenced rifle off of her back and crouched down into the brush.

Slowly continuing her approach, she propped her gun up next to a chick tree. When she looked through the scope, she was met with three armed Perseus agents guarding what looked to be a bunker door stashed in the ground.

“Alright, it’s time. You got this Bell. You’ve been preparing for this.” She had been preparing for her assault, yes. But what she hadn’t been preparing for, was a face to face encounter with her former crush CO.

“Breath in. And out.” With the air that exited her lungs, her finger pulled the trigger. The bullet landed right in between the first guards eyes, and he fell to the ground with a thud.

The other two began to quickly scan their surroundings, but they didn’t take a step before Bell released the next shot into the guards chest.

The third guard was frantic, and she saw him reach toward his radio.

“Not today pal.” The radio dropped out of his hands and he quickly fell to his knees with a groan.

She slid her gun back around and made her way to the guard. She grabbed his collar and forced his eyes onto hers.

“Is Russell Adler here?” She asked in a firm tone. The guard smiled, showing his blood stained teeth.

“You Americans are insufferable.”

“I’m not playing around you bastard. Is he here?!” She pushed her pistol into his forehead.

“Okay fine,” he held his hands up in a mock surrender “he’s here. But you won’t make it to him. Stitch will stop y-“

Before he could get the last of his sentence out, Bell put a bullet into his brain.

“Insufferable Americans my ass.” She mocked as she screwed open the bunker door. She walked down the small set of stairs with her loaded pistol. She wanted to remain undetected for as long as possible.

“Man this place smells like shit. I wonder how old it is?” She continued down the dark halls, alert and in search of a camera room, if there even was one.

She turned the corner and could see light filtering out from under a door. Maybe this is it, she thought. Couldn’t hurt to look.

She slowly pushed open the slightly cracked door, and peaked her head around it. Her eyes locked onto the wall of cameras, but more specifically, the guard situated in front of them.

She could clearly see the live footage from the entrance, and the three bodies that littered the ground.

Her breath hitched in her throat. What if he saw? Why is he not doing anything?

She kept her crouched position but slowly moved toward the guard. When she was about two feet away, she could hear the quiet snores coming from the man, and a sigh of relief escaped her.

Let’s do this. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his head and neck. His eyes shot open and his hands went to hers in a desperate attempt to stop her.

She yanked her arms and his head swiftly turned to the right at a disgusting angle and a loud crack sounded throughout the small room.

“Now that that’s over with.” She rubbed her hands together and made her way to the control panel.

She looked over the cameras hoping to find Adler on one of them. On the camera to the far left, she saw a small, dark room. She moved closer to the screen and narrowed her eyes.

On the camera, she could barely see Russell Adler tied to a gurney, surrounded by what looked to be hospital equipment.

She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness when she saw him writhing in pain. Anger began to rise in her. If Stitch was here, he was gonna pay.

She looked to the corner to see a number, 103. “I wonder if the doors are labeled? Time to shut these things off.”

“If I were a button that shuts off all the cameras, where would I be?” She put her hand on her chin as her eyes scanned over the panel. Finally, she noticed a red button hidden under a plastic cover.

“Bingo.” She flipped open the cover and pressed the button. All of the screens went to static and then cut to blackness.

She made her way out of the room and began her walk down the ominous hall, keeping her eyes peeled and her pistol ready.

She could hear footsteps and voices coming towards her, so she quickly ducked into a room and prayed that it was empty.

When she turned her back from the door, she was met with a board completely covered in pictures and information about Adler.

The pictures looked like off guard photos of him. Some of them he was walking into the CIA, others into the safe house. Almost anywhere he went, they had documentation of it.

They had been stalking him. “How long were they watching him? I’ll have to read over these when we get back home.”

She ripped the pictures and pages off of the board and shoved them into her bag.

She cracked open the door to check for guards, and when the hall was empty, she slid out and started back on her way.

She came to a corner, and when she turned she saw an armed guard posted outside of a door.

“Shit.” She said to herself as she threw herself back around the corner. She plastered herself to the wall, somewhat hoping it would swallow her.

“Just breath Bell. It’s gonna be alright.” She took a few deep breaths and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

She peeked back around the corner to see only one guard. That’s gotta be it. He’s gotta be in there. They wouldn’t be guarding it for nothing.

She took a moment to try to think up a plan, but when nothing came to mind, she decided to wing it.

She holstered her pistol and began to walk towards the guard. “Pardon me?” She said in Russian, “I think I’m a little lost.”

She saw the mans shocked face and couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Who are you?” He said angrily, “What are you do-.” She whipped out her pistol and unloaded one in between his eyes.

“That was pretty fun.” She said, as she chuckled to herself.

She checked the door for a number, but unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing special about this door.

She decided to put her ear against it to maybe hear the beeping of the monitors, and she almost cried tears of joy when she heard the slow, but audible beeps of a heart monitor.

He’s hanging on. That’s all she could’ve hoped for.

She opened the door, dragging the dead guard behind her. When she turned, tears sprung to her eyes at the sight of Russell Adler himself.

He was in rough condition. There was blood all over him. She could definitely tell a few ribs were broken by his shallow breathing.

He was extremely pale and his arms were cut and scratched, and there was an IV entering his wrist.

She slowly walked towards him, and laid a hand on his cheek. He was burning up.

“Russell” She whispered. She didn’t want to startle him. Lord knows how much adrenaline is running through his veins.

She gently shook him, and his eyes began to flutter open. She saw his brows furrow and his lips part slightly.

“Hey Russ.” She smiled down at him. God, how she had missed those blue eyes of his. Those eyes you could get lost in. She never got to see them very often when they were working together, so she took her time to commit them to memory.

“Bell? There’s no way. I’ve gotta bee hallucinating. I shot you after-“ She let out a sigh at his gravelly voice and nodded her head.

“Yea Russ, it’s me. Let’s just get you out of here. You’re safe now. I’m gonna pull out your IV and cut your restraints okay?” She saw him nod his head and she got to work.

She hadn’t noticed before, but her hand was wet. She looked down to see it covered in blood. “What the?” She looked back up to his cheek.

“Oh Russell. I’m so sorry.” His old scar had been cut back open, somewhat jaggedly as well. She knew he was insecure about it before, but now it was deeper, and there were a few new parts branching off.

“It’s alright Bell. Just-“ he paused for a moment. “Just get me out of here please.” The look in his eyes killed her.

She removed the IV and cut the straps tying him to the table. She noticed his slight flinch when she pulled out her knife.

“I didn’t tell them anything Bell. You know that right? They couldn’t break me.” He said, somewhat frantically. Who knows what they had been pumping into him, he sounded crazy maybe even paranoid.

“I know Russ, I know. I’m so proud of you.”

She grabbed his hand and put an arm around his back. She lifted him up to a sitting position.

“Do you think you can walk?” As the words left her mouth, a high pitched alarm began to ring through the bunker, as red lights flashed around them.

“Fucking hell. We’ve gotta go Russ. I know you probably aren’t functioning correctly, but here’s a gun. Who knows, you might hit a few.” She tried to lighten up the mood, and she felt better when she saw the small smile on his face.

She pulled out her earpiece and prayed to God that the CIA would be listening. “Radio to command this is Bell. I’ve got agent Adler I’m requesting immediate evac. I repeat, Adler has been secured.”

She was beginning to lose hope, but Jason Hudson’s voice over the comms brought her back.

“Bell this is Hudson. We tracked your position right after you left. There’s a bird on the way, it’ll there in 30.”

“I can’t believe it.” She laughed. “Thank you Hudson.”

She heard the man sigh.

“Bell, just bring him home.”

“Yes sir.”

She busted out of the door with Adler following closely behind her. A bullet wizzed by her head, and she turned to see a group of Perseus agents.

“Get back in the room.” She said sternly. She leaned out from behind the door face and fired off a few shots, hitting two of the guards.

She retreated back into the room and turned towards Adler. “Alright. I think we’re gonna have to book it. I know you’re not in top shape but I don’t see another way around this. Just try to shoot as many as you can. You’ve always been a good shot.”

Adler nodded in agreement and the pair busted out of the room. Surprisingly, Adler nailed all of his shots and the remaining guards went down.

The two sprinted down the hall, and Bell repeatedly looked behind her to check on Adler.

They hit a few more guards, but they didn’t cause a problem. The real problem arose when they were almost home free.

They climbed the stairs and Bell screwed open the door and pushed it open. When she stepped out, she had to squint and shield her eyes.

“Hello there, old friend.” Her eyes darted open and they moved towards the figure standing 20 feet away.

His scarred face was hidden behind his black mask. Stitch.

“Oh shit.” Adler soon appeared next to her, and she could practically see him freeze in place.

“Hello Stitch. Look, we’ve made it this far, why not just let us leave?” He chucked deeply at that.

“Why would I do that? You have what I want, and if I have to kill you to get to it, so be it.”

“Wow Vikhor, I didn’t take you to be the type to kick a man while he’s down. Not very honorable if you ask me.”

She could tell Adler was beginning to lose his patience, and a look of anger and disgust began to form on his face.

“Honor does not matter in war. You should know that better than anyone. Or did the CIA take that from you too?”

“Bell. What’s our plan here? We can’t just stand and chit chat.” Adler pressed. He had a good point, but what he didn’t know was that she was stalling, hoping the evac team would arrive any second.

Almost as if on cue, gunfire began to ring out in the woods in front of them. They heard Stitch grunt and turn towards the firing.

Bell took this as her cue, and she pulled out three smoke grenades and handed one to Adler. They pulled the pins and threw them in the space between Stitch and them.

His head shot back around quickly, but he was too late. The smoke had already begun to fill the air.

“It’s no matter. Our work with him is done!” Stitch yelled out in spite.

“Come on Russ, let’s get to the plane.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction she initially came from.

The gunfire had died down a tad during their walk, but they were still cautious. Adler had to stop of a few times to rest, but Bell didn’t mind waiting.

They finally arrived at the clearing and saw multiple CIA agents with their weapons pointed towards them.

“Woah woah!” She put her hands in the air, but Adler stayed in place.”We’re with you! Im Bell and I have agent Adler here.” She motioned to him.

Soon she saw a man towards the back with a look of disbelief on his face.

“Woods?” He smiled and walked over to her.

“Nice to see you kid. We thought you were dead!” Woods put his hand on Bell and gave a firm squeeze.

“Nice to see you too Woods, but we better get going. Adler’s not doing too well.”

His gaze shifted over to his former CO. He was wobbling a tad, and was pretty shaky.

“What do you say we get you home huh?”

“Yea, I’m ready to get out of this hell hole.”

They had a gurney waiting for Adler in the plane. They started him on some fluids and he passed out right after.

“So, what brought you into this mess?” Woods nudged her arm and looked down at her.

She let out a sigh and pushed her hair away from her face.

“Well. I’m assuming now you know what happened?” He nodded with a sad look on his face. “Once I recovered from the uh, gun shot, I wanted to find Adler and Park. Just so happened that the both of them were in deep shit when I found them. And really, I didn’t find Adler, Adler found me.” She chucked at that.

But it was true. It’s like the bastard has always had a grip on her. She would let him recover, but he wasn’t home free.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve been through a lot. How about you get some rest? He’ll be waiting for you.” He winked at her, and stood from his seat to move across the aisle.

Might as well. She leaned her head back against the wall of the plane, and she could feel the sleep begin to grip her tired body.

6 hours later, she was startled awake by yelling. Her eyes shot open to see Adler had one of the medics at gun point. Every agent on the plane was standing up with a weapon aimed, which she was sure wasn’t helping with his obvious anxiety.

“I’ll blow his fucking brains out if any one of you even takes a step.” She had never heard him sound this way. He was firm in his threats, but she could also tell he was scared, filed by paranoia.

She slowly stood and raised her hands.

“Russ.” She called out gently. He turned his and the captive agents whole body to face her. She could see his brows furrow.

“Russ we’re not with Perseus, you’re confused. We’re CIA. You know me, I’m Bell. And Woods is right over there.” She nodded her head towards the man, and Adler slightly turned his head to glance at him.

“You’re not in the bunker anymore Russ. We’re in a plane headed back to Langley.” She saw his grip on the gun falter slightly as the realization finally hit him.

“Holy shit.” He breathed out. He shoved the agent away from him and threw the gun on the ground. The agent practically scurried away, and Bell kicked the gun away.

She walked over to him, and pushed him to sit back down on the gurney.

“You alright?”

“Yea, yea I’m okay.”

“What happened?”

He wiped his sweat covered face and took a deep breath.

“I woke up to that little shit standing over me trying to inject me with something. All I could see was Stitch and Naga. I just lost it.”

Her eyes softened at his explanation, and she gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Well nobody got hurt, so that’s a plus. Look, we still have about 4 hours, how about you get some more rest?”

He looked as if he were about to protest, but he slumped his shoulders and nodded his head.

“I’ll be right over there if you need me.” She smiled at him and went back to her seat. The rest of the flight went off without a hitch.

When they landed, they got Adler admitted to Langley AFB immediately, and Hudson wrangled Bell into an interrogation room.

Though he claimed she wasn’t in trouble, she somehow doubted him. She sat in the sterile room and had her head propped up on her hand.

She heard to door click, and Hudson walked in.

“Bored are we? You’ll be out of this room soon, I just have to ask some questions.”

He settled into the chair adjacent her, and laid a couple of files onto the table.

“How’s he doing? Have you been told anything?”

“He’s in rough shape but you got to him just in time. He’ll be alright. Now, let’s get to the questions.” He shifted slightly and cleared his throat.

“How are you alive?”

Out of all the questions he could have asked her, she did not expect him to lead with that one.

“I waited until he was gone. I tore my clothes to cover the wound, and I drug myself off that cliff side. Some random hiker found me and well, now I’m here.”

“Quite a harrowing story Bell. Now, why did you decide to come back and save both of the people who oversaw your brainwashing?”

“I don’t want to hurt them. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I might have been a terrorist before, but that’s not who I am anymore. I just wanted to speak with them, mainly Adler.

I wanted to see the look on his face when he laid his eyes on me. But he had to go and ruin that, Park too. So then it was up to me to save them. I wasn’t just going to stand by and let them get killed.”

Hudson nodded his head with tight lips.

“I’ll ask more questions later. How about you go catch up with him?” He stood from his chair and quickly exited the room.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

“Thank God I’m not in trouble.” She made her way out of the CIA building and started on her way to the hospital.

She was filthy. Covered in dirt and dust, and even a little bit of blood. Her hair was all over the place and the bags under her eyes showed how exhausted she was.

As she walked down the street she earned a few skeptical glares from the people all around her. She just shrugged her shoulders and continued on her journey.

She finally walked through the hide double doors of the hospital and found the front desk.

“Hi, I’m here to visit.” She said somewhat nervously.

The lady at the desk looked up to her.

“What’s the name?”

“My names Bell. I’m here to see Russell Adler.” The ladies eyes opened wide, and they scanned over to a note that was left to her by a shady looking man.

“Room 204. Take the elevator up to the third floor.” She said quickly and sat back down.

Well that was weird. She got to the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor.

Her mind began to race thinking about all the things she could say to him. All she could do to him.

But that’s not why she’s here. She’s here to have the civil conversation he never could. But now he can’t hide from his problems behind a bullet. He was exposed.

The ding of the doors brought her back to reality, and she walked down the hall to find his room.

She stood outside and took a deep breathe before knocking softly on the door. I hope I’m not waking him. No Bell. Don’t be nice to him. You’re angry. He hurt you, he tried to kill you. You trusted him. You lo-

Her thoughts were cut short by the barely audible voice.

“Come in.”

She sighed, and pushed open the door. He was sprawled out on the bed with wires attached to him everywhere. He still looked to be in bad condition, but he looked better than he did at the bunker.

“Bell. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” He said weakly.

She chucked. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He laughed in reply and coughed a bit.

“I guess you’re right. You’ve proven it to me more than once.” He got quiet after that.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

He didn’t say anything. He merely sighed as if he had been expecting this exact question.

“The short answer, I had orders.”

“And the long answer?”

“I don’t leave loose ends Bell, you know that.”

She moved to the chair beside his bed and sat down.

“I trusted you Bell, I still do. But there was a thought, deep down, that you would deflect back to Perseus. I couldn’t take that risk, and neither could the CIA.”

“Even after I gave you the location of the detonation sight? After I fought alongside you while my eye pounded from the injection? You still thought I would deflect? I wanted to help you.”

“I know Bell, I’m so-“

“Sorry doesn’t cut it Russ. I trusted you and you left me on that fucking cliffside! I helped you, I stuck by your side through thick and thin, and you still shot me Russ. You shot me and left me to die. Alone. The least you could have done was stay with me until the end.” A tear began to slide down her cheek.

“And you know what? Even in that moment, I wasn’t mad at you. If you wouldn’t have walked away I would have forgotten all about it. I was so blinded by my obsession with you, that I couldn’t even hold a grudge.”

His eyes snapped to her with a questioning look.

“Obsession?“

My God is he dumb sometimes.

“Seriously? You still don’t know?” He shook his head.

“I would have done anything for you. I would have given my life for you. I loved you, you fucking idiot. And you had to go and fuck everything up.”

He sat there with his mouth open and eyes wide. She felt a pang of guilt for putting all of this on him after everything he’s been through, but she pushed that feeling down. It was her turn.

“And do you know how painful it is to think you’ve known someone for over a decade, just to find out it was fake? We never served together. I don’t really even know you.”

She broke down. Sobbing into her hands as she leaned her elbows on her knees.

She felt two hands grab her arms and slowly start to pull them away from her face. She looked up to see his crystal blue eyes staring down into hers. They were filled with sadness and exhaustion.

“Bell, I’m sorry, I truly am. You’re not a loose end, you’re my friend. And after all I’ve done to you, you still saved my life. Why?”

She put on a small smile.

“Because I love you too much to let you die.”

Now that shut him up real quick. She got a little nervous because of how quiet he was.

Did I break him?

“Bell you…” he trailed off. “You can’t love me. Not because of my position, but because of what I’ve done to you. It’s just not right.”

He looked, and felt, very conflicted. Did he have some sort of twisted feelings for her too? Maybe. Would he tell her that in this moment? Over his dead body.

But deep down, Bell already knew.

“You can’t control my feelings Russ. I can’t even control them. And I know that I shouldn’t have these feelings, and I feel almost… guilty for having them. But I can’t change them. And I think I’ve come to terms with that.”

In that moment, he looked at her with softened eyes that held the most love she had ever seen.

Wow.

“Okay” He said contently. “I’m sorry but I think I need some rest, my head’s getting foggy again.” This last part was risky, but he tried not to dwell on it. “Be here when I wake up?”

Butterflies filled her stomach.

Oh my God. She never thought she’d see the day.

“Of course.” And to her surprise, he flashed those perfect teeth at her. That obscure smile that just made her melt.

He laid back down and quickly dozed off to sleep. She never left his side.

——————————————————————————

Literally the longest thing I’ve ever written. I really enjoyed writing this and I think it’s actually pretty good. Maybe in the future I’ll write more, but for now, this is over. If you have any requests, just send them in and I’ll get to them!

[ramp-it-up]

Barbie and Ken 202

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Word Count: 3.3 K

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF  Back in time, Young Rafa, Poetry, Rap lyrics, Angst, Cheating, lying, mentions of breakup, unprotected sex, Baby Dom Rafa (its so cute) oral sex (F receiving) SMUT. Not Beta’d.

A/N: This is a sequel to In and Out, ( here you are @nissameta1782 😊) and also a response to this ask:

Something with Rafa that is inspired by his song “Bottom Bitch”

One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do

LA, December 7, 2006

College has a way of focusing you. On what you want to do, but also what you don’t want to do. 

After a year and a half away from home, you decided that you didn’t want to go back. 

You went to LA, which was both far from the Bay physically and in mindset. You wanted to be brand new.

You joined active organizations on campus, the BSU and the Events Committee.  And most importantly, you made the right kinds of friends in the right kinds of places.

 Two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one

You also found a boyfriend who always paid. He was helping to host the Russell Simmons Def Poetry Jam that the UCLA Events Committee was hosting that evening.

“You and Stephen are so annoyingly sweet. I’m gonna get a cavity just being in the same room with you two.”

You smiled brightly at your roommate. You felt the same way, but you wouldn’t admit it.

“Well, Stephen will be able to help you with that.  He will be applying to dental school in the fall.”

Michelle rolled her eyes again and made a gagging motion with her finger in her mouth as she called the hotel to make lodging arrangements for the talent, which was her job as VP of the Events Committee.

Michelle was blunt, but never wrong, and she always had your back. Which was perfect since you were her President.

Stephen came up to you and Michelle as you stood outside the Student Union.  He held up a flyer for the event.

“Say, this one guy here.”  

You groaned internally as you saw who he was pointing at. 

“It says he’s from Berkley.”  

Your mind was whirling as he asked.

 “Aren’t you from that area?  Berkeley’s right there next to Oakland isn’t it?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s all the Bay.”

“So, do you know that dude, the Casal dude?”

You looked him in the eyes. Might as well tell the truth. 

“Yeah, I do.”

But you were my main girl and I was your man

“Oh, wow.” Stephen snickered.  “You are almost a celebrity. Do you think he’d give you an autograph?  Better yet, write a poem and sign it? An easy one, like a haiku?”

You flinched at his obtuseness. 

“Haiku aren’t necessarily easy just because they are short, Stephen, and… Rafa might be all poetry’d out.”  

You looked at Stephen. “You know, performing it all over the country and stuff.”

The thing was, some of his poetry was already about you. You’d followed him on YouTube once you found out that he would be performing.  If you cared, it would made you feel some kinda way. 

But you didn’t care.

Stephen nodded thoughtfully.  

“Yeah, you’re right.  He’s probably sick of rhyming all the time.”  He laughed. “Get it? I rhymed…”  

You were not amused or entertained, especially at MIchelle who was silently cracking up behind him. 

“So ‘Rafa,’ huh? Do you know him well?”

You decided to tell Stephen a little white lie. It was for his own good.

You nodded your head slowly. 

“Yeah, you could say that. We hung out.”  

You never lied and I remember that shit girl

When Rafa gained the stage you were transfixed. He was there, holding everyone under his spell. You watched him with a mixture of pride and sadness. You missed him.

And when he performed that one poem, the one about you, the tears rolled down your face. The events of that poem ended things between you definitively; you didn’t have to look for an excuse. 

You put that life behind you and you just wanted to start over. 

You sat there, deep in your feelings as Rafa rifled through your darkest secrets. 

When I hated all the rich kids cause they'd never be broke

You watched as Rafael came straight for you through the crowd. And he didn’t say a word, he just picked you up to spin you around. He wasn’t letting go and soon you closed your eyes and went with it, forgetting that anyone else was around.

“Hey Baby GIrl.”  

“Hey, yourself, Rafael. You look good. As always.” 

Stephen cleared his throat.

“Oh!”  

You’d forgotten he was there. 

“I didn’t mean to be rude, let me introduce you. Rafael Casal of Def Poetry Jam, this is Stephen Booker, UCLA.  Stephen, Rafael.”

They stared each other down, pheromones about to make a show. You cleared your throat.

“Rafael is an old… friend, Stephen, and Rafael, Stephen is my….”

“Man. I’m her man.”  

Stephen’s chest was swole and he was standing tall at his full height, a couple inches taller than Rafa.  

Oh, shit.

Rafa chucked his chin up and went to give Stephen some dap. He awkwardly responded, not knowing what exactly to do. 

Rafael covered a laugh with a cough and then stood back, looking at you and Stephen from a distance.

“Y’all do make a nice couple. The perfect picture. Barbie and Ken.” 

Stephen, who had not been paying attention at all, beamed. He gazed down at you as you looked up at him, smiling but shaking your head at the statement that Rafa was making.

 Ass.

Stephen responded. “Yes, we do look good together, don’t we? I think we could be iconic, like Ken and Barbie.”

“Yeah, you’d get an A+. You two look like you been studying up.”

The conversation was polite on the surface, but Rafa was insulting you to your core.

“I don’t know about studying, but she’s practically perfect in every way.  We could get her in the gym a little more and work on that polish, but by senior year she should be there.”

You’d heard Stephen say some dumb shit before, but today it hit different. Rafa interrupted your thoughts.

“Oh really? I think she’s dope the way she is. Or, the way she was rather...” 

You gave Rafael a withering glare. He returned it, not scared of you. You felt some kinda way. 

“See you later, Baby Girl. Maybe we can hook up before we leave, yeah?”

You caught the double entendre in what he said, but Stephen was standing right beside you. You thought you were relieved when Rafa went to mingle.

But it was something else entirely.

Had plenty of random girls, but next to you they were none

 You and Rafa orbited each other all night, always keeping each other in your periphery, but never connecting.

Rafael admired you from afar. You were more graceful, poised, grown up. More confident. It looked good on you. Those legs in that little pleated skirt were getting to him. That joker next to you didn’t deserve all that you were.

Rafa got sentimental.

You caught Rafael watching you when you weren’t looking, blatantly ignoring the fact that Stephen was by your side all night. 

Once you looked at him, while he was taking to some poetry groupies who were fawning over him, and watched as he simultaneously engaged them in conversation and flirted with you.

You just laughed and shook your head. Rafa hadn’t changed at all. It only made you miss him more. 

The end of the night came, and you were closing the student union, part of your job as President of the Events Committee. But of course the night wasn’t over.

 Rafael came over to you, Stephen, and Michelle. He had a flyer and was writing something on it.

“So here’s my cell phone number, it’s new.”

Rafael looked pointedly at you, then your companions. 

“We’re going to the Whisky tonight. It’ll be a movie.”

 Stephen watched you put the flyer In your pocket. Michelle got excited, but Stephen spoke up.

“You don't want to go to West Hollywood. It’s trashy. And that club is mainly rock. I thought you were a hip hop head?”

Rafa stared at Stephen, opened his mouth to speak, then decided better of it and turned to you.

“See you later Baby Girl.” He gave you a hug and whispered in your ear. “Don’t let this be goodbye.”

You just smiled and waved as he walked out the door. 

“I see why you wanted to get out of the Bay.” 

Stephen was shaking his head. 

 Your blood was boiling.

Crashed parties and talked about life like we havin' a ball

You told Stephen you were going to bed, but as soon as he kissed you good night, only turned around and went to the Whisky a Go Go with Michelle.

 “And that’s the problem, if you feel like you’re sneaking out of your mom’s house to go to a party.” Michelle responded when you told her how you felt.

”You feel like your boyfriend is your mom? That’s gross and so not cool.”

You just watched the road silently out of the window. Maybe she was right. 

You arrived and Rafa found you right away. It was just like old times. You got wasted, and then went out for food with the crew to sober up a little. You wound up back at the performer’s  hotel. 

 You walked Rafa into the lobby to say goodbye as Michelle waited in the car for you.

You gave him a long hug and he looked into your eyes as he said goodbye. 

“I’m in room 1405 if you want to talk.”  

The grin he gave you told you he wanted more than to talk.  But you couldn’t do that to Stephen. You just shook your head and smiled.

“Bye, Rafa.  Maybe I’ll see you around Christmas in the Town.”

Rafa winked and gave you another hug.  Those lips grazed your neck and you could swear that he could feel your nipples through your shirt.  

It was 2 in the morning and dangerous.  You finally pulled away and walked out the door, looking back at him.  He watched until you were out of sight. 

As usual.

You walked back out to the car and got in. You rode to campus in silence, playing the scene back in your head.

“You good?” 

Michelle looked at you funny.  You looked back at her and took a deep breath.

I'm just takin' time to thank you for bein' my number one

You only knocked twice before Rafael pulled you into the room an hour later, barely making it inside before you two started grabbing at each other and tearing at each other’s clothes, both of you pulling each other’s shirts off.

“I knew you’d be back, but you took too fucking long Baby Girl.”

Rafa turned you around toward the bed and took control of your mouth, then kissed from your neck down to your cleavage.

“I’ve been missing the taste of your skin, beautiful.  I often wake up with the memory from a dream.” 

He could always expertly take your bra off with one hand; it made you wonder how much practice he’d had. But how you’d missed those words of his. They always got you there.

All thoughts of Stephen were gone.

Rafa pushed you back down onto the bed, and pulled your skirt up your waist slowly, trailing his long fingers down your skin. 

His eyes took in the skirt around your waist and your white cotton panties and brown skin. He’d imagined fucking you like this all night. His hands lingered on your thighs, teasing you as his fingers stretched toward his goal. 

He pulled your thighs open as you stared at him.

“I’ve learned some things too, while we’ve been apart.”  Rafa was stroking you outside of your panties now, licking his lips as you watched you squirm.  “I like fine dining now.”  

That eyebrow and that impish look greeted you when your eyes got wide when you realized what he’d said. Rafael had been too much of a pimp in high school to go down on a girl.  

“Shit, Rafa…”

Rafa leaned down and kissed your lips as his hands explored your body, reacquainting himself with your feel.  His lips followed his hands, caressing and gripping your nipples and breasts, playing with them roughly, the calluses on his hands giving you extra sensation.  

Your body curved into his touch, celebrating your reunion. Your pussy was quivering and flooding your panties, while you bit your lip to keep quiet.

 “Let me hear you Baby Girl.  Many a night I’ve gotten off to the wisp of a memory of those sounds you make when I make you feel good.”

Finally, finally, Rafa’s fingers reached inside your panties. It brought back a ton of memories, of the first time you let him get to third base, him reaching inside your panties to find you soaked for him. 

Rafa chuckled in your ear as he felt you, wet for him as always.  

“What? Stephen not putting it down?”  

You didn’t respond and you wanted to shut out his words as he started finger fucking you just the way you liked.  It had been so long. 

 He leaned up to look at you and he paused at the look on your face. 

 “Wait. Don’t tell me that you haven’t given Stephen any?”  

You shook your head. Rafa scoffed.

“We’ve messed around a little, but he thinks I’m a virgin.  Just… let’s stop talking about him…” 

“But.. it’s been almost two years… I figured....”  He looked right through you, eyes sparkling.

You huffed and sat up, wrapping your arms around yourself, cold.

“Don’t think I was saving myself for the off chance that I might see you again. I just wanted a new start.  You know. After… after what happened.”

Rafa sobered up.  What happened destroyed you and him.

 “I get it. And I respect it.” 

You looked into his sea blue eyes, trying not to drown in them again.  

“I’m just glad that you came to my room tonight to share yourself with me again.”  

That voice and that little boy smile warmed you. You smiled back.

“Are you gonna bless me, Baby Girl?”  His charm was at 110%

You slowly smiled wider and nodded, arms down, leaning forward to kiss him, on fire again as he stroked your breasts.

 “You sure?” 

 “Yes, Rafa… I want you…”

He started tugging on your nipple, your slick causing you to rub your legs together in anticipation.

 “Ok. You asked for it.”

Rafa reached down and grabbed your thighs again, planting you on your back and spreading you wide, looking down at your cunt.

 “So beautiful Baby Girl.” 

He gave it a light kiss as you moaned and grabbed for him. He stood out of his reach as he took off his pants and brought out his dick, stroking it a few times.  You made grabby hands for it and he just shook his head at you.

 “Be a good girl and hold your legs open for me.” 

You shivered at his command. He was what you wanted and what you needed.

You hooked your arms under your knees as Rafa went to his and started kissing up and down your thighs, playing in your slick with his fingers.  

You were a moaning, shaking mess when he finally made love to your cunt with his mouth, gentle at first, then licking and sucking at your clit expertly. 

You closed your eyes and thanked whoever taught him to do this.  It was the shit. 

You moved your hands so that you could grab his hair and your thighs wrapped around Rafa’s head.  He didn’t mind, because his hands came up to caress your thighs as he continued to eat you out.

When he moaned against your clit, you came, moaning wantonly and causing Rafa to moan and grind his cock into the sheets. He kept sucking as you came, extending the sensation, then he grabbed your hips and flipped you over.

 “I.”  

Rafa smacked your ass to see it jiggle. Once.  Twice.

“Have.”

He lined up with your crease, stroking his wet, fat head against your folds.

“Missed.”

 He teased your hole, barely pushing inside.

“Thisssss ssshitttt! Ahhhh. Always so fucking tight.”

When he breached you it was almost painful, Rafa had always been big for you.  But he always felt so right, and he was making you wet enough to make it pleasurable. Rafa’s noises caused you to clench around him even more so.

“But I guess, that’s because. It’s still mine?”  

You shivered as you tried to deny it. But you couldn’t.

“Ol dude couldn't do this to you. Not like this… Fuck, Baby Girl.” 

You threw it back on him as he kept talking. 

“No. He can’t." 

Rafa grinned as he pulled you by your hair so that he could bring you up against his chest and kiss you.  It had never been as intense as this. 

You leaned back against him while he grabbed your throat and squeezed.  You ground down around him and sucked his finger like it was his cock.

“Ohhh I missed that mouth baby girl. But I had to have this pussy.”

Rafa’s fingers dug into your hip, sure to leave a bruise.  But you didn’t care.

“Cum for me Baby Girl.  Shit.”  

He was trying to stay in control until you came again, but the way you felt around him was almost too much. So he moved his hand down to your clit, and circled it until you detonated, hips shaking uncontrollably around his cock.

Rafa savored it for a second until he pulled out, and you bent over so that he could finish on your ass.  The sight caused his cum to spurt out forcefully, and he groaned as he released all over you.

You about passed out, and were awakened by Rafa with a warm washcloth taking care of you.  He climbed into the bed and held you until you both knocked out.

 A couple of hours later, you started looking for your clothes in the dark.

“Running away again, hunh?”

Rafa was awake, watching you try to escape.

You pulled your shirt on and looked down at your hands, then back up at him.

“I’m not running away.  I’m just going back to school.  This was never about you and me being a thing again.”

“Nah, it was about you getting your rocks off after two years…”

You stared at Rafa, hurt.  You could tell he was too. But then he sighed.

“Come here.”

He stood up, clad only in sweats, and giving you a hug as you buried your head in his shoulder, fighting the urge to cry.

“I can ride back with you in a cab…”

“No, Michelle let me borrow her car.  It’s downstairs.”

“Ok. Let me put a shirt on and I’ll walk you.” 

He let you go and you finished getting yourself together.

You watched each other across the elevator on the ride down, just smiling at each other. He walked you out into the lobby and toward the concierge.  He waited with you for the car. When it pulled up, he hugged you again. You held on tight.

 “You were always ride or die.  I wanna thank you for that girl.  Take care of yourself.”  

 You looked up at him, smiling.

 “Maybe I’ll see you at Christmas?”

Rafa looked off.  And now you knew that when he did that he was hiding his own emotion. It always used to irk you.

“Dunno if I’ll be home.  But I will see you when I see you.  Mad love, girl.”

 He smiled and kissed you one last time.

“Love you too, Rafa.  See you later.”

You finally let the tears fall when you got into the car.  You saw him in the rearview mirror as you drove away.

One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do

Two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one...

 @braidedchallah @theatrenerd86 @sebastianabucknettastan @imatyoursurrvicesurr @riiyy @lonelydance @jbrizzywrites @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @anh1020 @sillyteecup @ohsoverykeri @theselilwonders @biafbunny @summerofsnowflakes @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs@sillyteecup @ohsoverykeri  @theselilwonders​ @ivycomet​  @einfachniemand​ @janthonybitch​ @curlyhairclub @nikole-witha-k @betterkeepmewetterthanabayou @id-do-it-for-free-babe

[gaming-universe]

Who We Are || Russell Adler

Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War

-PART TWO-

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY BLACK OPS: COLD WAR! IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/FINISHED THE CAMPAIGN THEN PLEASE DONT READ! Gore, violence, course language, mature content.

Summary: Betrayed and alone after surviving the events that took place on the Solovetsky Islands, Y/n ‘Bell’ L/n faces new and more dangerous threats when she learns that Perseus has other plans for his failed nuclear detonation of Europe. It was only a matter of time before Y/n came face to face with her old team. There is unfinished business between Y/n and Adler, as this operation proves to be more deadly than originally thought.

Author’s Note: So, after finishing the campaign, I needed to do Bell/Player and Adler justice. I loved this game so much, and chosing to play as the female character, I felt like there was a genuine connection between Bell and Adler throughout the game. There is a tag list open for anyone that wishes to stay up to date with the series. Simply comment below. Gif by @travelllar

|PART ONE|

For four months, you remained in the Solovetsky Islands, recovering and maintaining a normal life.

The old man that had rescued you, Viktor, welcomed you into his home, and offered for you to stay for as long as you needed. He did everything in his power to make you feel welcome, especially after you had opened up to him. You told Viktor everything; the trauma you experienced in regards to the brainwashing, the betrayal you felt as Adler turned, weapon raised, and fired that single shot which landed you here, your sleepless nights consumed by nightmares of memories you thought were long gone.

Everyone thought you were dead, and maybe that was for the best. You could start anew, build a new life for yourself, live in peace. But of course, there had to be one last cruel twist of fate.

You were sitting in the living room, reading a small novel when Viktor hurried through the door, his face pale and eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” You mused, tilting your head to the side in wait for his answer. Viktor swallowed thickly, approaching with stumbling steps. He sat down beside you, his hands trembling as he placed them gently atop his knees. “I was returning from my trawler when I heard some men at the docks talking...” He began, now turning to face you with a shaky sigh “some of them were saying that men, Russians, were returning to the ruins atop the clifface. With diggers, with machinery to rebuild the base you gave your life to destroy”.

You froze, the book in your grasp falling to the floor as your grip loosened. They were returning here? What on earth could Perseus be returning to the Solovetsky Islands for? If they were rebuilding that base, then that means that there must have been something worth saving up there.

But what could you have missed the first time?

You raised a questioning eyebrow at Viktor. “Do you still have my gear?” You asked lowly, the hidden anger within you slowly beginning to bubble. The old man nodded “It is in the attic, well hidden from prying eyes-”

“Good, I’m going to investigate those ruins tonight”.

“No, you cannot! If you are caught-”

“That won’t happen, I promise” You reasoned, standing up abrubtly before wincing lightly. Viktor stood to block your path “You are still injured. I will not allow you to do this”.

You groaned “If Perseus has returned to that base, then I need to put a stop to this before it even begins...” You spoke informatively “I can’t let him escape again. I might not know why exactly, but I can’t let him leave those ruins alive”.

With a long winded sigh, Viktor stepped to the side whilst giving you a pointed look. He said nothing as you passed him, beginning to make your way to the attic with a confident stride. Investigating that base was your best chance of figuring out exactly what was going on around this small town. You began to notice some subtle changes a few weeks ago. The people were growing scared, they were more cautious, and more suspicous of each other as days went by.

After clambering through the small manhole into the attic, you found your gear lying atop an old carboard box, neatly folded and out of sight. As you extended a hand out towards the pile of clothes, your hand faltered. Your eyes travelled to the round tear in the dark grey fabric, surrounded by a large red stain that refused to detatch itself from the fibres. As if in response, a phantom pain coursed through your chest, the ugly scar beneath your jacket aching with every awkward twist and turn of your arm, every deep breath you took. A reminder of the pain that had been inflicted.

Swallowing your fear, and suppressing the vivid flashes of you and Adler on that clifface, you changed into those old clothes. With no weapons, you would have to approach with stealth. They wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone breaking in to their new playground, especially if it were one who had been the cause of the base’s destruction the first time around. After making your way back downstairs, Viktor stood by the door. “You cannot expect to go in there unarmed...” He began, removing one hand from within his jacket to reveal a pistol, with a suppressor attatched to the end. “My son’s. It was his when he was with the Russian Army four years ago. He left it behind when he moved away with his wife. It would be more use to you than just sitting in a draw beneath old documents”.

Carefully, you took the weapon from his fragile hands, almost recoiling at the familiarity of the cool metal in your palm. You nodded gratefully, taking the firearm and securing it in the holster attatched to your right leg. Before you could leave, Viktor gently grabbed your upper arm, squeezing it tightly in emphasis to his words. “Be careful, and come back alive”.

With a light chuckle, you nodded your promise before walking past him and through the front door. You coudln’t help but feel incredibly nervous. There were two ways this night could go, and you hoped to god that everything worked in your favour.

Studying the ruins of the base atop your perch of a pile of rubble, everything seemed to be running smoothly so far.

You had watched several Soviet officers disappear through a single armoured door, only to return hours later. You assumed that that door lead either to an already rebuilt section of the base, which was heavily fortified and filled with armed guards at every turn. Or, that door lead down to subterrainean levels that hadn’t been affected in the air raid four months ago.

There was only one way to find out.

Checking that the coast was clear, you descended from your perch and kept close to the shadows. Taking the long way around was certainly not what you wanted to do, although you definitely did avoid several close calls. You only had trouble with two guards, who you quickly dispatched before continuing on your way.

You paused just out of reach of the doorway, crouching low to avoid the bright searchlight illuminating the grounds. Steadying your breath, you waited for the right moment to slip through the metal door without being detected. The door itself hadn’t suffered much damage, merely sustaining a few scratches and scorch marks against the olive green paint. When the search light moved on a second time, you took that as your opportunity to slip through, closing the door behind you with a small thunk, whilst completely unaware of the several pairs of prying eyes that watched your form in awe and disbelief.

After managing to sneak by several other Soviet soldiers, you found yourself descending a staircase that kept going down, down down. There was almost no end in sight, but you sighed with relief when a faint white light illuminated the end of the staircase. Upon entering the room, you almost swore that your heart leapt into your throat. There were several rows of computer terminals, but there was only one that was operational. As you approached, the screen flickered with two words. Two words that triggered a flicker of memory from your time with Perseus.

You were back in that bunker, the bunker with the red door. It was just you and Perseus, the rest of the room was dim, almost black and white. Perseus turned to face you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he placed a file onto the table before you. “I only trust you with this information. You are my most valuable asset, and I trust that you will keep this a secret from the rest of the table...”

You nodded wordlessly as Perseus continued, “If Operation Greenlight is to fail, I have a failsafe which I intend to initiate, Operation Hydra-”

You found yourself stumbling backward, breathing heavily as you tried to make sense of what you had just witnessed. Operation Hydra? Perseus’ most valuable asset? None of this was making sense.

You heard the heavy footsteps before you turned, perhaps a little too late. The end of an assult rifle collided with your jaw, sending you sprawling to the floor as your vision danced with violent stars. Several angry Russian voices echoed throughout the bunker, all of them shouting for someone to retrieve a General Nikiforov. Ungracefully, you staggered to your feet and lashed out at the closest soldier, tackling him to the ground with a loud cry of effort. After managing to wrestle the rifle from his grasp, and after knocking the soldier unconscious, you took cover behind one of the computer terminals as the remaining four soldiers opened fire.

You cursed under your breath, readying your newfound weapon to fire when several more shots echoed from within the bunker, this time, resonating from the bottom of the stairwell on the opposite side of the room. It soon became hard to differentiate between who exactly was shouting. There were multiple accents all at once, making it near impossible to find out just who was shooting at who.

Peaking around the corner of the terminal, you sighed internally with relief as the three soldiers were preoccupied with dealing with whoever was on the other side of the room. Wait, three?

You had no time to react as the fourth soldier appeared to your left in your peripheral vision. You released a small cry of pain as the Russian grabbed a fistful of your hair, dragging you out from behind your cover before letting go, and delivering a swift kick to your abdomen. You managed to avoid his attack, rolling away before quickly standing to your feet.

The soldier charged, swining his arms wildly. There was no rationality to his attacks. Making him vulnerable, and completely predicatble. You caught his arm mid-swing, twisting it to the side harshly before delivering a hard kick to the soldier’s stomach. With a pointed grunt, he stumbled backward against one of the terminals, giving you enough time to advance. But the soldier was ready, and produced a large combat knife from within his vest.

You hissed as the knife cut your forearm, recoiling away from the soldier as blood began to stain the sleeve of your shirt. Believeing that he had the upper hand, the soldier advanced, swiping in every which direction in an attempt to land a critical hit. Doging and weaving, you swore as your back collided with a seperate terminal, effectively trapping you between the desk and the soldier edging closer towards you. Shit, this was exactly what he wanted.

You were practically bent over backwards across the terminal, your back straining at the awkward angle as you caught the soldier’s hand in it’s downward strike, leaving the knife mere inches from your throat. The soldier was leaning on top of you, putting all his weight into trying to accomplish the menial task of ending your life. You could feel the knife’s tip pressing against your skin, the cool metal still flecked with traces of your blood a stark contrast to the warmth of your body. The knife drew blood as you tried desperately to push back with whatever remaining strength you had left. You didn’t know how much longer you could last.

Suddenly out of nowhere, the soldier was hauled away from your form and violently shoved to the ground by a figure clad in black. You forced your self to sit upright, one hand caressing your neck whilst the other was braced firmly against the desk. Taking a few deep breaths, you watched on as the figure kicked the knife from the soldier’s hand, before removing a pistol from his side and actively shooting the soldier in the chest, the single shot echoing loudly throughout the now silent bunker.

Your heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard, as you tried to regain your composure, as you tried to calm down. But four months of recovery certainly hadn’t prepared you for this. Your entire being became rigid with fear as the figure before you turned, your eyes widened with dread, you could have sworn that you had stopped breathing altogether. Those blue eyes beneath those goddamned glasses, the scars across his face...

Two other figures appeared behind him, their eyes wide, their faces pale. As if they were looking at a ghost.

“No fucking way...” Woods breathed, his eyes not once leaving your form as his grip on his rifle slackened. Mason nodded wordlessly, he too in a completely dumbfounded state. Your fear soon turned to immense anger, as Adler stepped towards you, his expression unreadable. “Bell” was all he said, nodding slightly in aknowledgement. As if what happened four months ago never took place at all.

A heavy tension filled the bunker, becoming broken when your clenched fist collided with Adler’s jaw, a sharp but impressive ‘crack’ echoing throught the room.

Tag List (Tags with lines aren’t working as of yet): @pookolokon @travelllar @basicwhiteasian @shellshockedbell @inteligentecat​ @staryozora​ @quietblogs-2-rd @lovinggooppalacebanana @ktdragonborn​

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [83]

xii. adjustment protocol

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: language, violence, fighting, death.

Summary: The plan to save your friends begins, but nothing goes according to plan.

a/n: i’m having a really bad anxiety day so i’m probably gonna post this and then avoid the internet. i love you all so much, i hope you enjoy. the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

As soon as Layla frees all of you and Nelson returns with the remaining Children of Gabriel, Gabriel finishes the device that he intends to deploy in the pond. He explains the plan to everyone, making sure you all understand what’s going on. Nelson arms all of you, giving Bellamy and Gabriel a rifle, you a pistol, and Octavia a sword. You also make a new thigh holster for your knife, and Bellamy rigs one up for his small skull knife that you gifted him, and all of you change into some of the Children of Gabriel clothes so you’ll blend in better. Within a couple of hours, you are all ready to go and begin your ambush on Sanctum.

You trek through the woods towards Sanctum mostly in silence, with you, Bellamy, and Octavia in the lead. Something about the trip reminds you of searching for Clarke after the Battle of the Dropship, before Finn lost his mind. You hope that this moment is different though, and doesn't end with the slaughter of innocent people in a village, though you guess that only time will tell. 

Before you know it, you can hear the quiet hum of the radiation shield up ahead, all of you disappointed to see that the shield is still up and running. You come to a stop right at the edge of the woods, staring at the shield, and behind you, Layla asks, “What do we do now?”

You turn and face her, but your gaze looks over all of them. “Now we wait. Clarke will get it down.”

They all nod, and you turn and stare back at the shield, thinking about how easy it would be for you to walk right through, find your twin, and keep her safe. You step away from the others, into the light bouncing off the planet that Sanctum orbits, listening to the buzz of the shield that quietly taunts you. You hear Gabriel tell everyone to get down and stay out of sight, but you stand frozen in place, the muscles in your legs twitching with the desire to follow your impulse and run into Sanctum. You almost jump out of your skin when you feel a hand clamp down on your shoulder, and you glance over to see Bellamy looking at you, worry etched into his face. “I should be in there helping her.”

On your other side, a hand slides into your own, and you turn to see Octavia looking at you, her hand squeezing yours in comfort. “They know what you look like, and you being there would just give Clarke away.”

Bellamy grabs your other hand, the two Blake siblings keeping you anchored, bringing you back to the side of reason. “Besides, that’s not the plan.”

Your voice is quiet, so low that the siblings both lean closer to hear you over the sound of the shield. “We left them.”

“And that's why they're still alive.”

You turn to Octavia, shaking your head. “You don't know that. You heard Murphy, they’re all in trouble.”

“They’ll be okay.”

Beside you, Bellamy speaks up, sounding just as haunted by the thought that everyone you love is on the other side of that shield and in harm's way. “Everybody always thinks that. The truth is, you're fine until you're not.”

“Murphy said he’d help.”

You and Bellamy both turn to Octavia, giving her matching skeptical looks, both of you thinking of all the ways Murphy has ‘helped’, but only made things worse. “Real comforting.”

“Have some faith.” She smiles and gives your hand a squeeze before dropping it and stepping back, slinking into the bushes to join the others. You look at Bellamy, his eyes already on you, and he smiles, “That look is gone from your face.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I’m about to take off running and do something really stupid’ look.”

You roll your eyes, “It’s gone. For now.”

He smiles at your vague threat before he backs away, towards the bushes, pulling you back with him. You follow, the two of you sinking into the brush with the other Children of Gabriel, hiding out and waiting for the shield to go down.

-

It turns out that the idea you all seem to have about the shield going down in a couple of hours was wrong. 

Instead, you all watch the suns rise in the sky and hang overhead, beating down on all of you as you hide in the bushes. You watch at least two guard changes, dozing slightly between them, nothing new happening for a while. It’s only in late afternoon when something changes. 

You all sit up a little straighter when you hear the sound of an approaching motorcycle, signaling a third guard change, and you watch closely as the guard hops off the bike and tugs off his helmet to speak to the other guard. “Sector D is all clear. You're free to head back to Sanctum with the Primes.”

“I thought I was gonna miss the namings.”

Tension washes over all of you in the group, and you’re almost surprised the guards can't feel the shift in the air, given your close proximity to them. You glance at Bellamy, both of you silently repeating the most alarming part of that sentence in your head. Namings. The guard passes another piece of information to the other before he hops on his own bike and drives off, and Nelson’s voice is horrified when he whispers, “Naming Day?” 

Layla bites back, “They said ‘namings’. Plural.”

Before any of you can get in another word, Gabriel stands from his place behind Octavia, stepping out of the bushes, ignoring her concerned whisper of his name. “Gabriel?”

Gabriel heads straight for the shield and passes through it, crying out in pain and dropping to the ground twitching, pretending that the shield is actually causing him damage. The guard mutters something under his breath that you can’t hear, and then he walks closer to Gabriel, gun slightly raised. As soon as he’s close enough, Gabriel swings a leg out and knocks the man on his back, and you and the Blake siblings all rise, looking at him in shock. “Gabriel, what the hell are you doing?”

You can see the guard’s eyes go wide with shock as he looks up at the feared man. “Gabriel?”

But Gabriel ignores him and glares at him, “You said ‘namings’. How many? Who's coming back?”

“I don't know. All of them, I think.”

Gabriel kicks the man in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him out, and you all run to the edge of the shield, yelling out to him, “Gabriel!”

He starts to pull off his jacket, tossing it to the side as he gives all of you a slightly apologetic look. “I can't have Russell murder more innocent people.”

“I know it's hard but we have to stick to the plan!” Bellamy’s voice rises the longer Gabriel ignores him, trying to get through to him. “Clarke will get the shield down and we use the toxin as a distraction to save our people.”

“Yeah, well, I have a new plan: use our distraction to stop Naming Day.” He tugs the guard’s jacket off and pulls it on, looking at all of you. “Look, I'm sorry, but unlike you, I can't sacrifice the few to save the many.”

He turns and starts to walk towards the bike tucked in between the crops, and this time you don’t hesitate to run through the shield, heading straight for him. Unfortunately, you don't make it to him in time, and he jumps on the bike and leaves you standing in a cloud of dust, looking at his retreating figure as you yell, “Gabriel! Gabriel, come back!”

You stand frozen and watch until he disappears from sight, and then you still stand unmoving, trying to figure out how Gabriel’s change of plans affects the rest of you, how it affects Clarke. You hear Bellamy start to call out to you after a few minutes, but you still don’t turn around, trying to decide if you should just take off running towards Sanctum. Bellamy must sense your impulse to run again, because his voice gets increasingly more worried the longer you ignore him. “La lune, get back on this side of the shield! Please come back over here. We’ll figure this out, okay? Clarke will still get the shield down, and we’ll come in then, just come back.”

You shift a little, the muscles in your legs twitching again, and Bellamy yells, “Natshana! If you leave, I’m coming after you! I’m not a Nightblood, and you saw what happened to Shaw.”

You freeze, the movement in your legs stopping, your desire to keep Bellamy safe stronger than your desire to run. You turn slowly and walk back towards Bellamy and the others, your fiance’s face overcome with relief. He is standing as close to the shield as he can without getting harmed, and as soon as you pass through it, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tight, clearly worried you were about to go where he couldn't follow. You feel a rush of guilt and you hug him back, whispering, “I’m sorry. I just don't want to lose Clarke again.”

He pulls away and nods at you, smoothing back your hair and whispering, “You won’t. But we have no way to contact Clarke and tell her that things have changed. So for now, we do things the way we planned, and hope it all works out in the end.”

You nod and all of you sink back down into the bushes again, despite the fact that the guard you were hiding from is now knocked out, courtesy of Gabriel. Still, you wait, the hours passing slowly, the suns getting lower in the sky and the darkness spreading across Sanctum. You get antsier with each passing hour, and you make a silent plan in your head that once the planet in the sky reaches a certain position, you’re running and leaving the others behind.

Miraculously though, as your deadline rapidly approaches, the hum of the shields stops, and you see all of the towers of the shield dim from their light blue color before going completely dark, the shield now down and ready to be crossed. You turn to Bellamy with a smile and he smiles back. “Told you she’d get it down.”

“Pretty sure I was the one that told you.”

The Children of Gabriel all stare at the downed shield in shock, and then Nelson abruptly stands and lifts his weapon into the air before yelling, “Death to Primes!”

Everyone stands and lifts their weapons too, repeating, “Death to Primes!”

They take off running, and you, Bellamy, and Octavia all share a look before you jump up and follow, blending in with the crowd as you run towards Sanctum. As you grow closer, the chanting stops, everyone aware that stealth is the way to go, and you creep up the hill as quickly as you can, bent low in the hopes that no one will see you coming. As you round the last corner and the stairs come into view, you see a group of people standing there, Clarke at the front, alive and still in one piece. 

You jog over and the two of you share a hug, and when you pull away, your gaze shifts to the people beside her. On one side, Gaia and Miller stand, smiles on their faces, and Miller nods in greeting. You nod back before turning to Clarke’s other side, eyes landing on Echo, grinning at you, clearly happy to see you alive and well. The two of you exchange a hug, pulling away so she can hug Bellamy too, and as they separate, Clarke looks all of you over. “Look, I hate to cut the moment short, but Russell told the people that it was a false alarm. They're not evacuating, we have no distraction.”

Echo adds, “The rest of our friends are still in trouble, and we don't have the people to fight our way through.”

“We're not here to fight. We're here to liberate.”

Layla chimes in from beside you, “Bellamy's right, and the only weapon we need for that is truth.”

“They won't believe us just because we tell them the truth.”

You look to Echo, evident from the expression on her face that a plan is forming. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking Ryker helped us start this, his mother will finish it.”

She motions to the hooded figure between Clarke and Gaia, the one that you’re just now noticing. Clarke reaches into her pocket and pulls out a mind drive, holding it out to you. “They think I'm Josephine, so it can't be me. Everyone is gathered just outside of the palace.”

“This is Ryker?” Clarke nods her head in confirmation, and you take the drive from her before turning to the others. “I’ll take Priya into the crowd and tell them the truth. She backs it up, and we go from there. The rest of you will sneak up into Sanctum and stay hidden until we see how this is going to go.”

Everyone nods, understanding their place, and Bellamy grabs your hand. “I’m going with you.”

You smile at him, hoping he was going to say that, not sure that you want to handle Priya on your own. “Okay, everyone move into position.”

They all break apart and head into Sanctum, Clarke giving you a lingering look as she goes, and you give her a reassuring smile in return. Once you and Bellamy are the only two left with Priya, you pull the hood off her head. “Did you get all that?”

She hesitates, and you hold up the mind drive for her to see. “You tell the people the truth, or Ryker dies forever. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good, let’s go.”

You and Bellamy each grab one of her arms, guiding her up the stairs of Sanctum as she tries to fight against the two of you, and once you reach the top of the stairs, you’re quickly noticed. One of the guards near the base of the stairs yells, “We've got movement on the far stairs!”

You see her lift her gun to peer through the scope, and the second she sees a Prime held between you and Bellamy she yells, “Priya Prime! Don't shoot!”

The crowd turns towards you, and you and Bellamy each lift the hand not held onto Priya in surrender as you shout to the gathered crowd, “The power is out, the shield is down, but we are not here to fight. We have something to tell you that will be hard to hear, but it's the truth. The Primes told you that we're your enemy, but they lied!”

The crowd starts to murmur and your turn to look at Bellamy, aware that he is always the best with speeches. He adds, “They lied about everything! They're not gods, they don't become one with their hosts. They kill them. They steal your bodies so they can live forever.”

The murmuring grows louder, the truth of the gods they worship shocking everyone. You nudge Priya, flashing the mind drive in your hand, “Tell them.”

She hesitates for a second, her eyes locked on the drive, and then she takes a breath to steady herself before backing you up. “It’s true! We're not divine. We survive because we have technology, but we need your bodies to do it. Delilah's not one with me. She's dead, killed so that I could return. It's all a lie.”

The crowd’s murmurs turn to yelling as their anger starts to grow, but you ignore it and hand Priya the mind drive, her part now done. Before the crowd can get unruly though, Russell walks out of the palace and up to the microphone, a small contraption in his hand. “I am disappointed in you, Priya. I'm disappointed in all of you. According to our adjustment protocol...”

As soon as you hear the words, you remember Gabriel's story to you and Clarke, and you look at Bellamy with panic, your voice quiet. “Believers killing non believers.”

“What?”

You don't get to answer him, because Russell’s voice rises to be heard above everything, “Non believers must be purified!”

He twists the device and throws it into the crowd, and you and Bellamy instantly duck as it goes off with a flash, a cloud of green toxin quickly shooting out into the middle of the crowd. The people erupt into screams of pain and paranoia, and you turn to Bellamy and say, “Red sun toxin, we need to get to the others.”

He nods and you form a human chain with him and Priya, Bellamy in the lead, you in the middle, and Priya in the back. Bellamy guides you and tugs you through the crowd that is already resorting to chaos, and in the midst of the scuffle, Priya’s grip is pulled from your own. You look back in alarm, catching only one glimpse of her before the crowd surrounds her, and there’s nothing you can do but watch her disappear. The crowd is already growing violent, and you and Bellamy are both still susceptible to the toxin until you get your dose of the antitoxin. Going back into the crowd while you’re undosed is not an ideal plan. 

You finally reach the others and Layla tosses you each an antitoxin, which you inhale quickly, thankful that you’re safe for now. All of you stand watching the growing chaos, the people already fighting and resorting to violence, and Layla turns to you with a concerned look. “Where the hell is Priya?”

“The crowd got between us.” You start to walk back towards it, ready to search for her now, but at least three sets of arms grab you and pull you back. “No, you can’t.”

“But-”

“No.'' Clarke's voice is firm, letting you know this is not negotiable, and you nod, letting her know you understand. Bellamy, Clarke, and Layla all drop their arms, satisfied that you’re staying put, and as you turn back to watch the crowd, you hear Miller shout, “Jax?”

You turn to him, his eyes locked on something in the distance. “Jax!”

You follow his gaze, watching as guards file Madi, Raven, and Jackson into the palace and out of sight. Clarke watches on in horror, her eyes welling up with tears, and Miller tries to run towards his boyfriend, prepared to risk his own life to save his boyfriend’s life. But Octavia stops him, holding him back, voice desperate. “You can't!”

He rips himself from her grip, looking at her with disgust. “I do not take orders from you anymore!”

Octavia looks at her brother for help, and he immediately jumps in, blocking Miller’s path. “Miller, she's right. You'll never make it past the guards.”

Clarke deadpans, “No, but I can.”

You turn to look at her, her gaze already locked on you, waiting for your approval, and this is something you know you have to give her. Madi’s life is at stake, and Clarke is the only person that can get in that room, no questions asked. You nod, letting her know you agree, and Gaia steps up beside her. “I'm going with you.”

“Gaia-” She cuts Clarke’s protest off, “They'll think I'm Josephine's guard. It's Madi, I'm going.”

Clarke nods, before turning to Miller. “Miller, stay here and protect the others.”

He looks at her, hesitant, clearly wanting to tag along with them, and your twin senses his turmoil and reassures him, “We’ll get Jackson back, trust me.”

He nods, and Clarke is about to ask all of you what you’re going to do, when Octavia’s shaky voice floats over to you. “Uh, guys? We've got a problem.”

When you turn to face her, you see that part of the crowd has now shifted, their gazes turning on you. They stalk over to you slowly, the glint of murder in their eyes, and you turn to your twin in alarm, pushing her away from you slightly, “Go!”

“Murderers! Kill the invaders!”

You try to ignore the approaching group and their bone chilling chants as Clarke grabs your hand, “What will you do?”

You shake your head, “Still working on that part, but there’s not enough time! Just go!”

She hesitates for another half second before she turns and runs off, Gaia with her, and Miller lifts his gun and points it at the approaching crowd that is closing in on all of you quickly. Bellamy pushes down the barrel of his gun, getting him to lower it. “Miller, weapons down. We don't want to kill them, okay?”

Miller lowers his gun, as you all draw closer together, facing in different directions so you can watch each other from all sides. As the angry crowd seems to grow even angrier, Layla watches them in alarm, “Well, they want to kill us.”

You turn to Bellamy, glancing at him quickly so you can also keep an eye on the crowd. “If we start fighting, it will turn into a bloodbath!”

“We need to take cover and wait it out.”

Over his shoulder, Echo seems to get an idea, and she calls out, “Follow me!”

None of you hesitate to follow her when she runs off, aware that you don’t have many options at this point. She leads you to a building that looks like a shipping container, one that locks from the inside, and you all file inside and pull the doors closed behind you, swinging the bar down to lock it. You back away from the door as the crowd starts to bang on it, trying to shrink away from the source of the chaos, but the banging starts up on all sides, sending a chill down your spine. Your entire group huddles in the center of the room, standing as close as you can, watching the door shake and move with the force of the people outside. But there’s nothing any of you can do, no way you can stop it, your only option now to sit back and hope for the best. Hope that you aren't just a bleeding fish in a circle of angry sharks or a rabbit caught in a trap, stalked by a hungry bear. 

You just have to hope that all of you aren't about to become martyrs in someone else's religion.

-

next chapter

[slversoul]

* taylor russell, demi woman + she/her | you know darlene wyman, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, six years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to hellmouth by choir boy like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole face always covered in half a shadow, two day old makeup because she didn’t care enough to take it off, smile that feels like she just signed off on your death thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is january 26th, so they’re an aquarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( cornelia, 21 )

tw: emotional abuse + general bullying, robbery

growing up, darlene was offered all of the freedom in the world, running around her family’s three acre plot of land. the yard was her escape from the suffocating air within the house. with three spare bedrooms, there should have been a place for her to hide, but her mother or her father or her brother always found her. her mother’s shrill criticisms. her father’s disapproving glare. her brother’s cruel smile. she was an ant under a magnifying glass as they watched with glee as she burst into flames.

her biggest escape in life was pottery. she’d sit far in the backyard, beneath her favorite tree, making pinch pots and misshapen animal figurines. 

went bowling one time and met this guy named nick. he was everything her parents hated, and that was part of his charm. one look in his eyes as their hands met when they both reached for the ball (a ploy he later admitted he used to talk to her) and she was hooked.

study groups were code for dates. it was rather easy to keep nick far away from her parents, always thinking of vague excuses why he could never come to her house. he was perfect. he was tough and intimidating, but he was sweet and considerate. darlene would have done anything for him.

things were getting worse at home. she was adamant about doing pottery and sculptures, but her parents refused to indulge her. they wouldn’t let her even look at the credit card. they wouldn’t drive her to the pottery place. instead, her father placed a pair of cleats in her hand and her mother drove her to practice. darlene was good at soccer; she had potential to be great. so her parents pushed her. practice every day after school. private lessons on the weekends. they wouldn’t settle for nothing less than a champion. 

her brother had found her clay sculptures she’d kept hidden away -- a hobby she could never let up. she had to watch with tears welling in her eyes as he stomped on them, smashing them into pieces. as he kicked them around he laughed and told her to watch and learn if she ever wanted to be good at soccer.

her coach had pulled her father aside to tell him that darlene was hardly trying, and that, she would never be great at soccer if she didn’t put in more effort. on the car ride home, her father told her that he wished she would have been a boy, that she would be something he could be proud of.

one day, she broke down and told nick everything. he comforted her and told her he loved her. they made plans to run away together. she gave him a house key to go get her stuff while she was out to dinner with her family. she would sneak out and meet him after.  when they returned home, the house had been robbed. mrs. wyman’s precious jewelry missing. mr. wyman’s hunting rifles gone. of course, darlene kept her mouth shut, not letting them know about nick. she tried desperately to contact him, but he blocked her, and she never heard from him again. she realized that there were no heroes; only villains masquerading as saviors.

she still tried to run away — hid in the neighbors tree house until her brother found her quickly and dragged her kicking and screaming back to the house. surprisingly, her mother wasn’t mad. instead, she pulled her only daughter close and let her tears soak her blouse. later that night, she darlene’s hair and told her that her heart would heal.

darlene let herself believe it was her mother’s love that motivated those actions. she turned a blind eye to her need for obedience because darlene fell into line after that. she stopped making her mud sculptures and turned all of her attention to soccer. 

she improved in every area of her life except social. aggression found an outlet in soccer. her school work served as an escape from other aspects of her life. but she didn’t trust anybody. she yelled at anyone who walked too close to her in the hallway. knocked the books out of the hands at classmates she thought looked at her the wrong way. she talked back to her teachers.

detention after detention stacked up and grades started to slip as she sunk further into her attitude. the tipping point happened after practice one day. her coach told her she was good, but not good enough. nobody wanted to recruit her for college. it was a dead-end, time wasting doing something she didn’t even care about. for weeks, she managed to avoid her parents until they forced her to sit down at dinner. told her she was a disappointment, bigger than they could have ever imagined. she was cut off, expected to leave after graduation. 

she hitched a ride with a friend who was moving to irving to attend the local community college.

currently runs a depop shop and has a garden, but those are her side hustles. her main gig is a hairdresser. she’s on thin ice because she’s messed up haircuts on purpose a couple of times when she gets annoyed with the customers.

PERSONALITY 

she’s so mean but it’s just to cover up her sadness. had big dreams growing up but those have all been crushed, so she doesn’t like getting attached. she will not say a single thing about her past and is not forthcoming at all. mean to keep people away. doesn’t want to bond with people. but she does deep down....darlene just isn’t aware. she’s a scared little girl and that dictates everything she does <3 would love to do pottery again but doesn’t want to be That Girl anymore.....doesn’t want to get pushed around anymore......in here mind there is a correlation between being dreamy and being weak. think kim kelly from freaks and geeks....that’s all for now....

WANTED CONNECTIONS

enemies! a classic but she loves having a list of enemies....the more people who don’t like her, the better she THINKS she feels....

something based on the first two quotes on this im begging.....someone she longs for from a far....she wants them but doesn’t know how to want anything.......hot n cold.....someone is going to end up so so so hurt.....

this! romantic or platonic but someone who puts her in her place....pities her which she hates but it’s because they can see into her soul...

someone who wants to help her despite everything and her resistance to help

like one or two friends.....people she can sit and stew with and there’s not an expectation that they are friends....it looks like they aren’t friends and yet it works somehow <3

[newagesispage]

OCTOBER                           2021

 THE RIB PAGE

*****

We miss U Charlie Watts!!

*****

The Stones performed at a private party for Patriots owner Robert Kraft of all people. The test run looked like just that. Shark jumped. I am becoming disillusioned.

*****

SNL is back with Owen Wilson as first host of season 47. Kacey Musgraves is the musical guest. Episode 2 will have a ridic choice for host. Halsey will sing. I suppose $ is power with the Kardashians. I could think of about 10 million other people to host but more and more Lorne goes for the shiny object , what he THINKS people want instead of taking risk. Beck Bennett is out.

*****

Is everybody watching the Amber Ruffin Show?? I loved her before but now… I learn so much from her show. Sometimes it takes a comic to get to the real serious shit. For example: Have you heard of drowning towns? Towns like Oscarville, Kowaliga, York hill, Seneca Village, Prentiss and countless other black towns that were drowned out to make lakes for the local whites. Central Park was also made after a black community was erased from history. Development displacement? Alleyway dwelling authority? Even those rabid for history can find out new things everyday. Thanks Amber!!

*****

Bob Woodward and Robert Costa are finally giving us Peril !!!!!!  I’ve been waiting!!** I was in political nerd heaven on Sept. 24 when Yamiche hosted Robert, Bob and Weijia Jang on Washington Week. All of my favorite pundits all together at one table, my dream team!!

*****

Iman looked great at the Met Gala!! Other great looks belonged to AOC, Tessa Thompson, Maluma, Helen Lasichanb and Pharrell Williams. Gigi Hadid, Kiki Layne, Ashton Sanders, Hailee Steinfeld, Kehlani, Zoe Kravitz, Michaela Cole, Lili Reinhart, Kate Hudson and Shai Gilgeous- Alexander were great. Whoopi Goldberg seemed a bit off.

*****

Jason Isbell is back with his latest offering, Georgia Blue.

*****

I see a lot of Title Max type establishment are closing down. Are they a thing of the past? Let’s hope.

*****

Law and Order is coming back to NBC for season 21. Dick Wolf will own 2 entire nights of television. Some of the old cast is reported to be returning.

*****

Britney Spears Father was suspended as her conservator.

*****

Timothy Chalamet, Rowan Atkinson, Sally Hawkins and Olivia Coleman will star in Wonka.

*****

The 2022 Super Bowl halftime show will bring us Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Mary J. Blige, Dr. Dre and Kendrick Lamar.

*****

People are doing test runs for school board positions to see if their political ideas will play well for the big leagues. If they don’t seem to work, at least they can sometimes change the rules in their own area.

*****

Joe Rogan got Covid.

*****

Lake Michigan beaches were closed down thanks to a US Steel plant chemical leak.

*****

Is this country the master of endless administrative work?  None of us should have been surprised at the red tape that the slowed down the end of the war in Afghanistan.** Uber donated 50k for rides and meals to the Afghans when they arrive.**And why do so many waste taxpayer $ on useless recounts and recalls when people need real help with food and healthcare? They must really hate humanity.

*****

R. Kelly was found guilty of 8 counts of sex trafficking and 1 count of racketeering.

*****

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. – Dwight D. Eisenhower

*****

Texas has put a law into effect to allow most Texans to carry open without permit or training.

*****

Texas has banned abortion at about 6 weeks. Uber and Lyft will pay drivers legal fees if sued under Texas abortion law. Lyft donated $1mil to Planned Parenthood. ** Look for the ruling in the Mississippi law over Roe V. Wade in June 2022.**Hear us roar!** BTW.. Go Jen Psaki!!!!!!!

*****

They seriously banned plastic straws and abortion before assault rifles? – Eden Dranger

*****

Please stop banning abortions, the last thing the world needs is more Americans. –Sarah Beattie

*****

Women don’t inseminate themselves. Vasectomies are reversible. Should every man have one until he’s deemed financially and emotionally fit to be a Father? – Bradley Whitford

*****

90 year old William Shatner will go to space for Blue Origin.

*****

The Q Anon Shaman pled guilty to a felony for obstructing the Electoral College proceedings. I say 20 years and a $250K fine.** 600 others have been indicted.

*****

Days Alert: The Beyond Salem thing was ridic but it was so great to see some old characters.  Days is so great at visiting old family. Who can resist Shane, Austin and Carrie, Billie and the old Kristen? I do wish that Peacock would get their kinks out!! Back to the real Days: Are we smelling an Emmy for Susan Seaforth Hayes and Bill?? ** Good to have Abigail back. It is always fun to wonder which actress and or personality it will be. ** Deidre Hall got her star on the walk of fame.**And just in time for Halloween, the Devil is making a comeback. The end of the year in Salem is always the best!! It is so brave to give the 96 year old man the old switcheroo into the Dark Lord.  It was fun to see the grandkids discover Grandma Marlena’s story. Delicious!! Hail Satan!!** It is past time for Tate and Teresa to come back to town. Brady needs to be put in his place. And thanks for the Philip and Chloe flashbacks!!

*****

The breakdown of the vaccinated: 90% of Atheists, 86% Hispanic Catholic, 84% Agnostic, 79% White Catholic, 73% White mainline protestant, 70% Black mainline protestant, 57% white evangelical. 1 in 500 Americans have died of Covid.

*****

So Mike Lindell and Jim Baker have teamed up to sell children’s Bible pillows.** Piers Morgan has returned to the Murdoch organization by joining Fox. That sounds about right.

*****

Please stop saying the vaccine does not have severe side effects, I took my shots and now I’m alive and have to keep working. –Mohand Eishieky

*****

In theatres Oct. 22: The French Dispatch.** October also brings us a new season of Curb your enthusiasm and Oct. 17 will catch us up on Succession. Whew!!!

*****

So people under conservatorship are not free to marry who they want? What?

*****

46% of Americans believe in ghosts.

*****

Simone Biles, Mckayla Maroney and Aly Rasiman testified at  the Senate judiciary hearing about the FBI’s handling of accusations against Larry Nassar and it was eye opening!

*****

We wanted a no -nonsense Dem who pushes on and does not puss out.  I am a bit surprised to see we have it. There are so many pressing issues that I hope Biden works a bit more on Haiti though.

*****

The National Police Act was passed to celebrate cops. Still no police reform.

*****

John Mulaney and Olivia Munn are going to have a baby.

*****

The Emmy’s were a little different this year with more of a Golden Globe look.  Cedric the Entertainer hosted with Reggie Watts as DJ. Lots of minority noms but barely a win. It was a white people night. Ted Lasso had a great night. Mare of Eastown took home a few with Evan Peters, Julianne Nicholson and Kate Winslet. Now, Kate is great but how did Anya Taylor- Joy not walk away with that? Queens Gambit did win a couple and gave the longest speech with the seemingly arrogant director Scott Frank who opened up 2 page acceptance. Categories were tough but I was routing for Renee Elise Goldberry and Bowen Yang but perhaps next year. The people in England who had their own party for all the statues that the Crown won seemed to be having more fun! Hacks won for writing and directing and Jean Smart!! It was nice to see the Norm Macdonald love which was barely mentioned by Lorne but celebrated by John Oliver. Colbert ‘s election night special won as did JB Smoove. Hamilton won and Debbie Allen got the big one. I do not understand why real singers and or musicians have to be there for the in Memoriam. It takes me out of it a bit and concentrates the focus on them. Do they think that people will pay attention more? Do they want to keep the home audience or live audience from the bathroom?  My best dressed were Anya Taylor-Joy, Michaela Cole who won for I may destroy you, Jean Smart, Josh O’Connor, Kathryn Hahn, Billy Porter, MJ Rodriguez, Keenan Thonpson, Leslie Odom Jr., Catherine O’Hara, Trevor Noah, Eugene Levy, Keri Russell and Matthew Rhys, Bowen Yang,  Anthony Anderson, Leslie Grossman, Amber Ruffin, Allyson Felix, Renee Elise Goldberry, Samira Wiley and Rege- Jean Page. My worst were Sarah Paulson, Gillian Anderson,  Beanie Feldstein, Elizabeth Olsen and Aidy Bryant. To me the best part of the show was the enthusiasm of Conan and the way he injected himself into much of the evening .He was the show.  Go Conan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*****

Next year there must be some Emmys for Sarah Paulson and Cobie Smulders in Impeachment!!!!!

*****

Oh Boy!! The Eyes of Tammy Faye!!

*****

Looking forward to the Electric Life of Louis Wain with Benedict Cumberbatch and Claire Foy.

*****

Abba has a new album!!

*****

Shang Chi is the biggest Labor Day opening with a $71.4 mil opening.

*****

Sen. Amy Klobuchar has announced she has breast cancer.

*****

Is it the 70’s? A streaker ran past the studio of the Today show.

*****

Rascal Flatts Joe Don Rooney was arrested for DUI.** Nicholas Cage was thrown out of a prime rib pace in Vegas after being drunk and disorderly.

*****

Jennifer Eckhart has filed a lawsuit against former Fox news anchor Ed Henry for rape and retaliation after allegedly being handcuffed and beaten.

*****

Scarlett Johansson has settled her Disney lawsuit.

*****

Pete Buttigieg and Chasten had twins they named Penelope Rose and Joseph August.

*****

I noticed a commercial for Dancing with the Stars. Are we onto the E list because I have heard of hardly any of these people. ‘Stars’is really stretching it. And as I post this I see there are some covid issues there as well.

*****

Virgin River was renewed for 2 more seasons.

*****

Trevor Noah is right? Why do they stop giving lollipops to adults at the doctor?

*****

Jon Stewart is back on Apple tv with ‘The problem with Jon Stewart.

*****

Brooklyn 99 had about the best finale (other than Newhart) that I can recall. I had my fingers crossed that Chelsea would be back. Will they honor us like they did in the show and come back for a special about once a year? That would be fucking awesome!!

*****

Don’t expect compliments from an insecure person.- Mr. Pickles

*****

Thousands and thousands of people are in need. Haitian refugees and other immigrants have seen nothing like this what with assassination, a hurricane and earthquake. The Southern border is a mess.** Why does Fox news keep telling refugees the border is open as they sit back and laugh at Biden’s predicament.  Spreading false info to intentionally hurt poor, distressed people has no end for them.

*****

Do companies know how fucked up their employment websites are? It is true that some people do not want to work. It is true that people schedule interviews and don’t show up. It is also true that companies have made it so hard to apply that many can’t. I suppose it is easier for them but the poor who may really want to work have a hard time. Paper applications are almost completely gone. The old fashioned way of walking into low paying job sites and finding a connection with a manager rarely exist. Some places only accept texts or have long ridiculous psych tests that a working Mother may not have time for. A Father working many hours already, may not be able to go to the library to get online if they cannot afford a computer. Many websites tell you that there no positions available in your area while there is a huge sign in front of the establishment. Can’t find people to work.. Gee I wonder why?? And treat people with respect once you find them, how about that?

*****

Keep your head up in failure, and your head down in success. –Jerry Seinfeld

*****

Hey.. There was a van air B’n B biz going that got busted. Hey.. The poor need vaca’s too. It is wrong but If they are willing to sleep in a van, why not. I truly think that many do not understand how much people are struggling.

*****

Free coffee day came and went but only a few places really gave you free coffee without rules to govern the promo. Some places wanted to sell you something else and some made you belong to their club. Starbucks held that customers had to come inside for the free cup of Joe, handicapped or not.

*****

One would think the Republicans would run out of $ for recounts but they have deep pockets. Just think how much good they could do for the huddled masses with that scratch.

*****

Sad to lose Mick Brigden, protégé of Bill Graham who managed The Stones and worked with Frampton, Dylan and Santana.** And the comics were very vocal about the loss of Norm Macdonald. He was one of a kind and he will be missed!

*****

R.I.P. Ruth Marx, Lee Scratch Perry, Willard Scott, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Isadore Bleckman, George Wein, Michael K. William,George Holliday, Anthony Johnson,  Basil Hoffman, Al Harrington,Willie Garson, Mick Brigden, Tommy Kirk and Norm Macdonald.

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers

Somebody else has come to claim their prize.  I’m afraid dogs die in this chapter.

-

The next day they continued their work to free Steve’s body from the ice, though they were careful to leave enough that they wouldn’t damage him.  It would be dreadful for children to come see the body of their hero lying in state and find he had pieces missing… and after a surprisingly good night’s sleep curled up with the warm, furry bodies of the dogs for heaters, Peggy found she could think about that now.  She could think about things like what to dress him in for the funeral – his formal uniform with the medals, surely, but with the shield on his arm and his helmet at his feet – and where to hold it, who would speak and what they would serve afterwards.  She was finished grieving, and now she could go through the associated rituals with no fear of breaking down.

Lake, oddly, seemed to have other ideas.  “I don’t know about cremating him,” she remarked when they stopped for a bite to eat.  “Sort of ruins the King Arthur aspect.”

“I beg your pardon?” Peggy asked.

“You know… King Arthur went to Avalon but will return when Britain needs him the most,” said Lake.  “Captain America will rise again when he’s needed.”

Peggy snorted.  “Do people really say that?”  It was ridiculous mythologizing if they did.  Steve was a real person and would want to be thought of as such.

“I don’t know,” said Lake.  “Just something I thought of.”

Peggy cocked her head, remembering the woman’s earlier comments about the narwhals as unicorns.  “You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?”  That seemed quite strange coming from somebody who’d been raised as an assassin.

“A little,” Lake admitted.  “Not something I get to indulge very often.  Are you telling me you’ve never imagined Captain America reappearing out of nowhere to sweep you off your feet?”

“He wasn’t the type to do the sweeping,” said Peggy.

“It was usually Peg sweeping him,” Howard added with a grin.

Lake nodded.  “You must have some great stories about him,” she said.

“Oh, you bet,” said Howard.  “When we were figuring out his uniform, he…”

“Howard,” said Peggy with a warning.

“Huh?”  He looked at her in evident confusion.

She tilted her head towards Lake, trying to remind him, without actually saying so aloud, that anything he said might be reported back to the Soviet government.

“I’m a spy,” Lake said helpfully.

“Oh,” said Howard, embarrassed.  “Right.”

By evening they had dug down far enough that they could see the entirety of Steve’s body, suspended in the ice just above the fuselage of the Valkyrie.  It was a surreal thing to see.  His eyes were closed as if he were sleeping, and he’d been frozen so quickly that his cheeks were still pink, rather than going white or gray like other corpses Peggy had seen.  It was almost more like an art exhibit than the remains of a human being.

How long would he have been there if Lake hadn’t led them here, Peggy wondered.  A hundred years?  A thousand? Would people of the unimaginably distant future have found this corpse and wondered who the man had been and why he wore those colours?  Or would the ice have eventually drifted south and melted, dropping him to the sea floor to be devoured by fish and crabs?

They bedded down for the night again, with the northern lights again dancing overhead in a clear, star-studded sky.  It was the sort of sky nobody ever saw from New York City. Peggy hadn’t seen one like it since the war, when Britain’s cities had turned off their lights so that German bombers wouldn’t be able to find their targets.  At the time she’d been too busy watching for the lights of approaching planes to appreciate the stars… now here they were, in all their glory.  This was the sort of sky primitive man must have seen, huddled in their caves.  What had they thought about it?  Nowadays the leading theory was that the sun and other stars were powered by atomic fusion in their cores, but people long ago would have had no such explanations. They would have known only the innumerable tiny lights.

To think… in a universe so very vast and beautiful, she’d been so worried about the fate of a single man.

- 

Peggy woke in the morning to the barking of dogs, and realized that she was cold.  The animals had gotten up and were outside, making a terrible racket.  Howard and Lake were also blinking awake, and there was a roaring sound… familiar, and yet Peggy could not immediately identify it. She crawled to the den entrance to look, and was immediately blasted in the face by cold wind and snow.  A storm?

No… that rhythmic roaring sound, that wasn’t made by nature.  That was helicopter blades.

“That was fast!” said Howard.  He put on his fur hat and held it tight to his head as he climbed out.  Peggy wriggled out after him, and Lake came third.  They found three or four helicopters, kicking up the snow as they lowered men and supplies to the ground… and Peggy knew right away that Jason hadn’t sent these.  Something was very, very wrong.

With the thunder of the blades all around them, Peggy knew it would be almost impossible for Howard to hear her, but she still grabbed his arm and shouted in his ear.  “Howard! Those are military!”  How had the Army Air Force found this place?

“What?” Howard asked.

One of the dogs ran up to a solider as he dropped from a rope to the ice. Whether it meant to greet him or attack him, Peggy couldn’t tell, and evidently the soldier couldn’t either. He raised his rifle and shot it between the eyes.

A split second later, Lake was on his shoulders with her thighs around his neck. The man fell on his face, and Lake took his gun and held the muzzle to the back of his head.

“What did you do that for, you goddamn bastard?” she demanded.

Other men were dropping from the other choppers.  Two of them ran up to pull her off the one who’d shot the dog, but Lake reacted almost before they’d moved.  One she hit in the face with the butt of the gun, then she grabbed his shirt and shoved him into the second so that the two collapsed together… but more were already on their way.  Peggy quickly realized that if allowed, Lake would try to take them all on herself, and she ran to intervene.

“Kay!  Don’t!” she took Lake by the arm.  “You can’t fight all of them!”

It was true – they could not.  There were far too many soldiers, and soon Peggy, Howard, and Kay were surrounded by men with guns.  They raised their hands as the helicopters landed on by one in a circle around the Valkyrie wreck.

“We’re not armed!” Peggy shouted.

One of the men stepped forward and motioned with his gun back towards the polar bear den.  Peggy, Howard, and Kay obediently turned and allowed themselves to be escorted back into it.  Men took up positions outside so that they couldn’t try to escape.

There were a series of shots at the rest of the dogs were killed.

“He’s down here!” somebody called.

“Excellent!  Let’s get to work!” another ordered.  “Carefully! No damage to the tissues!”  Their accents matched the insignia on their uniforms and vehicles – they were Americans.

Peggy heard an engine start.  They had brought jackhammers.  They’d have Steve’s body out of the ice in minutes, and then… then what? Where would they take him?

Wherever it was, Peggy knew it would be to exactly the fate Steve wouldn’t have wanted for his remains.  They would take him apart to extract the secret of the serum and make more super-soldiers.  Perhaps out of men who wouldn’t have Steve’s principles.  Had somebody overheard Jason’s message and passed it on to the wrong people?  Or… Peggy knew she hadn’t called the army, and Howard couldn’t have, because he’d been here with them the entire time.  That only left one suspect.

“Friends of yours?” Peggy asked Kay Lake.

“What?”  Kay stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what she just heard.  “No!” she said.  “Why would I call them?  When would I have called them?”

“I don’t know,” Peggy said, “I don’t know why you’d do half the things you do, because when I ask you questions you talk in riddles!”

“I did not call the army to come and steal Captain America for you,” said Kay firmly.  “That is the truth.”

Peggy wanted to believe that… but how could she?  This was the same woman who’d looked her in the eye and told her she was Agent Nadine Russel from the FBI.  How could Peggy ever trust her?

She didn’t dare poke her head out of the den, but Peggy kept close to the door to watch what she could as the men with the jackhammers worked.  From that vantage point the actual site of the wreck was hidden by the rocks and the rest of the Valkyrie’s severed wing, but she could see men coming and going and hear them shouting.

As she’d feared, it took them only twenty or thirty minutes to cut Steve free of the ice.  Men began climbing back in the choppers to take off, kicking up the wind again.  Somebody called to the two who were standing guard by the den, and Peggy realized to her horror that the soldiers meant to leave her, Kay, and Howard behind.  As the men walked away to catch their ride, Peggy squirmed out the entrance and shouted to them.

“Hey, you can’t leave us here!” she protested.

Kay climbed out after her.  “You killed our dogs!” she agreed.  “How do we get back?”

She was only half-done speaking when the helicopter engine started.  It was doubtful the soldiers even heard them, as they climbed into the chopper to take off. One by one, the machines roared into the air.  The men on board could doubtless see Peggy and Kay, and Howard scrambling to join them, but they evidently didn’t care.

From behind the rocks, the last helicopter rose – a block of glittering ice was dangling from a chain below it.  Peggy’s heart sank as she realized that was probably the last she was ever going to see of Steve Rogers…

Then the block shifted, jerking the helicopter sideways. The pilot took immediate action, reducing altitude again to set its precious cargo down on the ice, only perhaps thirty yards in front of where Peggy, Kay, and Howard were standing. Men climbed back down to tighten and re-secure straps.  They wouldn’t want to risk dropping Captain America’s body into the sea.  Buckles and chains were checked and double-checked, and the pilot tried lifting off again.  This time, the load must have remained steady.  The pilot raised it up fifty feet, then gently set it down again and let down a ladder for the soldiers to climb back up.

Peggy looked at Kay.  Kay nodded, and both of them took off running.

Moments before the block could be lifted from the ice again, Peggy threw herself on top of it and grabbed the canvas straps holding it to the chains.  The first thing she focused on was undoing the belt of her coat and putting it around the strap, so she could not lose her grip and fall.  Only then did she look to confirm that Kay was still with her.  She was, and was in the process of tying herself to the central chain.  The wind snatched her hat off her head and tossed it into the void.

Peggy watched it go, and then made the terrible mistake of looking down.  The ground was already a thousand feet below them, bright ice and dark rocks and the distant crack where the cetaceans came up to breathe.  A tiny moving point may have been Howard, alone in the cold with only eight dead dogs for company, but it might just as well have been Peggy’s imagination.

The air in their ears and the thunder of blades overhead were far too loud for Peggy and Kay to be able to talk to each other, so all they could do was cling on as best they could with numbing fingers, the wind eating into their faces as the helicopters headed roughly south.  Wherever they were going, Peggy hoped it wasn’t too far.  There was a very real possibility of freezing to death before they got there.

It wasn’t far by air, but it must have nevertheless been hundreds of miles, because they went all the way to the edge of the sea ice. In the water beyond, a United States aircraft carrier was waiting for them.  The other choppers landed first, letting men off who could help the one with Captain America’s body come in.  There was nothing Peggy and Kay could do but hang on as they were lowered towards the decks.  The gathered soldiers looked startled to see them, but when given orders they cut the two women free and held onto them while others got the block of ice onto a reinforced gurney.

Peggy’s ears kept ringing for minutes after the last blade had stopped turning.  Steve’s body was taken away, and a man wrapped in warm winter clothing approached.

There were several possibilities of who he might be, but based on his height and carriage Peggy had already settled on one by the time he took his scarf off to look her over.  Sure enough, it was Vernon Masters.

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Mexican standoff' : an new chapter for "The woman with an strange name" is out !

Chapter Summary : Bell's first task as an deputy is not simple but she got no choices to do it : escorting, with the sheriff, Adler to an important talk with the mexican gang and she doesn't have an good feeling about it.....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Taglist : @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart , @smokeywhalee (If anyone want to be added, feel free to tell me, same thing for my main fic "Redemption of an Spirit in an Cold War')

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It could have been an nice & warm day to take an break but of course, it couldn't be the case for Bell & the sheriff who has now the obligation to stay with Adler to accompany him out of the town for an meeting with his enemies and in all occasions, they couldn't step back and have to comply as it was dealed about : the sheriff was reinstated, along to offer Bell an job as his deputy but both are under his control, they took the risk but they had to....

Once out of the mayor's house, Adler's horse was already brought up by his men as Bell & the sheriff has to get their own horses, the two of them in the doctor's stables and since days, Bell was able to reappreciate to be back with her horse, in an better state than when she was in that box and even when Bell first entered in town. For the sheriff, it was an brown male horse that was mostly staying in the stables than been outside.

As the two were up from their both horses that they could join Adler at the main exit of the town before they could ride off away to join up the place the meeting was supposed to take place with the mexicans. It was in an small ghost town near the US-Mexican border named Nothing Gutch, Adler knows the town because it was one of the numerous town him & his gang raided before coming in to Redemption...an perfect place the mexicans chosed....

"So, what's the problems with the mexicans ?" Bell asked him as they were soon arriving at where they needed to meet up with the other part of Adler's men leaded by Hudson, their horses trotting after running for an while.

"The sheriff didn't explain that to you ?" Adler asked back and both nodded behind him as he was moving his hands to reach an pack of cigarettes out of his pockets of his jacket. "Like always, it's mostly confrontations that turned into an secret war." He fully replied.

"That's why the mexicans are banned in town." Azoulay revealed to her, raising his shoulders behind Adler's back to her. "They try to enter the city discreetly as you saw two days ago." He added.

"And it seems that you're mostly the causes of those talks, miss Bell." Adler turned his head around, an cigarette between his lips to her.

"Must be because we have prevented them to kidnap miss...your wife." Bell corrected herself, feeling an taste of bitterness in her mouth about the last words.

"They want to know more and also an deal with us." Adler continued, blowing up some smoke out of his mouth. "At what my men told me, the mexicans were talking about an mysterious lady called Bell that managed to beat two of them like that." He said, looking at this woman that was just behind him at his left.

"I wasn't alone." She whispered, looking at the sheriff who shook his head.

"Like I said, you're the one saving her, not me." Azoulay clarified about it before coughing an little, hand in front of his mouth. "I was just here to help."

"At least, you saved her both." Adler spoke up, facing back in front of him.

"And why are we here exactly ? Not because we're forced but there's something else, right ?" Bell demanded to Adler as this question was in her mind since the moment she stepped out of that house.

"You want to know why I bring you both here ?" Adler peaked his right eye towards her by curiosity, his cigarette in his hand, between his fingers. "Because of what I saw & know, you two are good shooters and I need your skills in any occasions." He told them both, also looking at the sheriff.

"I never saw you shoot, sheriff." Bell exclaimed, checking the sheriff to look for any guns and seeing an revolver and an rifle strapped to his horse saddle.

"It was because Adler's men stripped me out of my guns when they installed themselves in Redemption." He explained to her as Adler was smirking at hearing him without been seeing by the two. "They gave me back everything last day." He added.

"As long as you don't try anything, you can keep them." Adler reassured him, an smile on his face, not looking at him at all as the trio were soon arriving near the meeting point with his own men awaiting, all armed and on the ground. "Hudson, is everyone here ?" He asked to his lieutenant, going down of his horse.

"Like you ordered, Russ'" Hudson responded, taking the rifle he got leaned on the ground, the others behind him, waiting for the orders. "We now need to know what's your orders."

"Well..." Adler started, placing his hand below his chin after throwing away his cigarette. "I need men to intervene at the first shot fired if it's by us or them." He stated, looking at Hudson's right, gesturing to his men to go hide in an safer place as they were already knowing the place. "I premuse that the mexicans are already here ?"

"Exactly, we've been looking them since we arrived, Rivas is awaiting in the middle of the main street for us." Hudson said as Bell & Azoulay were staying behind Adler, both not having draw any of their guns for the moments. "Seems that you bring the sheriff and his deputy." He scoffed.

"We need them close to me during the deal, you know how much they can be used until we don't need them anymore." Adler whispered silently to him, not wanting to be heard about that subject. "You'll be coming with me and them, the others are hiding at safer places and you know the rules : first bullet to be shot and you all arrive." He added before going back to his horse to take an Krag-Jørgensen rifle from its saddle. "Come on, let's go." He ordered, gesturing to Bell, Azoulay & Hudson to follow him behind.

Their meeting point with Adler's men were just at 100 meters from the town and it was hidden by rocks so it was helpful for them to think of an strategy at hidden sight and now it was time to get along what Adler was planning, Bell & Azoulay walking with him slowly with Hudson on the road that were leading to the city and above everything, stress wasn't here at all despite Bell who knows that something not right will happen...it couldn't happen without any problem...

The ghost town was really an abandoned town : the buildings were in ruins, the church at the main entrance burned down and what was the former prison was no more and all of this could be observed by Bell as the group were entering the main street, thinking that everything was Adler's work, must be his work. As the group were advancing, everyone was now looking on top of the building to see if there weren't anyone to surprise them.

"Well, well, well...." An loud female voice was beginning to be heard, coming out of the former saloon and she wasn't alone, having two of her men along with her, holding two rifles in their hands as two other mexicans were going out of the building facing the saloon. "Russell Adler in person." The woman exclaimed as Bell could see an women with an skull painted over her face, all dressed in black too like him.

"Karla Rivas, what an surprise." Adler spoke up, stopping the group in the middle of the street, Hudson been the only one to have keep his rifle in hands while Bell & Azoulay were having their hands above their guns, Bell mostly her Colt and Lazar his rifle. "I didn't thought that you will come here."

"I'm an women of my word, not like you." She taunted him back, holding her belt around her pants, each group now facing each other.

"If I wasn't an man of my own word, I wouldn't be here." He told her back in an funny tone, his hands positioned like hers. "What do you want exactly ?"

"Well, I heard rumors about an woman in your town harrasing my men in work." She started, knowing that the woman she was talking about was just here near Adler. "I suppose you're the mysterious miss Bell ?"

"Yes." Bell replied in an normal voice, trying to keep her cool in that situation as she was thinking that they are probably encircled by Rivas own men...what an day....what an day...

"I'm very curious about why are you working with him ?" Rivas demanded to her.

"I'm not working with him, I'm helping him." She clarified, making sure that she was just here to help despite been obligated to be with Adler.

"Ya lo veremos [We'll see about that]" Rivas said, directing towards Bell.

"Podría ser ahora o en el futuro, estoy lista ! [It could be now or in the future, I'm ready !]" Bell commented to her, using her perfect spanish tone that caused everyone to look at her with great curiosity, been the only person in Adler's group to speak spanish.

"Oh....I didn't know that you start hiring people to speak spanish." Rivas scoffed towards Adler, an smile on her face.

"Let's just get down to business, shall we ?" Hudson suggested in an harsh tone, speaking about everyone here, he hate the place and he wouldn't want to spent any more useless time here.

"As you wish, gringo Hudson." Rivas muttered, taking an step forwards in the sort of no man's land between the two group. "At first, I want to make....an peace deal and also I want your ban on your city lifted." She proposed her deal as Adler shook his head away, not for not agreeing...

"But if you put conditions, I put mine too." Adler told her, also making an step forwards. "You let my men alone and you allow me & my mens to raid your side of the country." He put this on the invisible table of the deal, she wanted to make an deal, he willl give one.

"You think I'll accept that ?" Rivas stepped back, spreading her arms around to show that she wasn't going to agree.

"You wanted an deal, so let's make one !" Adler raised his voice but as the second he finished that one of the mexicans put his hand right on his revolver grip, causing everyone to do the same.

"No, that's not what we want !" Bell warned, her hand also on her Colt grip and putting her left hand towards the mexicans, everyone now frozed in place

Everyone was now looking at each other, the two group facing in an silence of death that will put the cemetery of the ghost town in shame with only the sound of the wind and the noisy cracks of the buildings ruins because of the wind, it was like an standoff, everyone waiting for something that will launch the inevitable confrontation and nothing could disarm the whole blood situation both groups were now...

Bell was having an drop of sweat on her face, the first in days as she was facing an mexican ready to draw against her and the others, she just needed to stay calm & cool, she got this well and she know how this will happen. She looked at one second at her right, seeing Hudson winking with his eyes towards the mexican he was facing before she could see from this distance, the mexican's eyes going wide, she knows now....

"Oh my god !" She spoke up, knowing that it was too late to back down as everyone was starting to draw their own guns, causing her to follow the movement and she was the first one to draw despite been the last to start it.

And of course, she was the first one to shoot, drawing her Colt to fire 3 bullets in an rapid succession against the mexicans that were facing her & Azoulay, hitting them successfully as the others couldn't fire any bullets that they were all going to run into an direction, Adler & Hudson going to hide in an building near the saloon, Rivas & her men going backwards as her men were making supressing fires as Bell & Azoulay quickly run to get inside the building the two mexicans she shot down came out.

"That escalated quickly." Azoulay stated as he was looking outside before putting his hand back into cover as the mexicans who were awaiting for the group fired at them and the reinforcements that Adler used to have were slowly arriving.

"Hudson started it all, I saw him wink towards the mexicans with an smile." Bell explained, taking back her Winchester 1886 in hands before trying to fire some bullets with her rifle. "It was sure that it was going to be like that."

"Hudson was always this ruthless so it isn't hard to prevent." Lazar said, peaking his head towards the direction they came from. "Seems that Adler's men are here." He added, watching Adler's men arriving and opening fire on the mexicans that were firying back at them.

"My first day as an deputy and it has to happen like that." Bell scoffed, trying to stay cool in that situation, firying bullets going towards some mexicans on the rooftop of the saloon.

"Welcome to be an deputy, miss Bell." Azoulay joked, opening fire with his revolver before watching from afar, Rivas entering the old bank with the two henchmen that were with her. "Shit, Rivas is going to flee soon."

"It's sure that Adler would want her prisoner or dead" Bell quoted, peaking her head towards the path she could take to get out and enter the bank while been covered. "I can try to make an path to the bank and persuade her to surrender."

"It's dangerous, how you will do that with the gunfight" Azoulay asked her curious.

"I heard that you were an good shooter so I'll let you cover me." She winked at him before she start to move near the door they used to enter, ready to make an run as Azoulay was getting ready without any choices. "You're good ?" He nodded at her and it was enough to make her go.

She started to run at high speed with her rifle in hand towards one of the multiples covers that she saw she could use to make an perfect path under fire to the old bank while been covered by the sheriff who proved to be exactly an great shooter with his rifle and his revolver, managing to kill with only two bullets two mexicans that were going to charge Bell's position and he continue to provide cover to her until she arrived near the bank and then, concentrate his bullets to help Adler's men to make an perfect path too.

Bell arrived in front of the bank, drawing her two Modele 1899 in her two hands after putting her Winchester in the back before she force open the front door with her feet and then, she started to blast with her two pistols, killing the two henchmen that were keeping Rivas alive and hidden behind the counter before Rivas actually try to charge her herself with an knife, Bell succeeding to counter her attempt by blocking her arm before it could hit her.

All of this while keeping her pistols in hands, she was dodging every attack that Rivas was trying to do on her until she decide to take the lead, to fight back as she managed to release Rivas's knife off her left hand before she throw her on top of an table after making fly away, an table that couldn't resist to the shock of her body and broke down, Rivas now on the ground and trying to crawl towards an revolver before Bell put her feet on her back, stopping her.

"Not an good idea, miss Rivas." Bell said, taking an breath after that fight, holding at gunpoint Rivas on the ground with her pistols. "You're under arrest !" She told her in an half-joking tone.

"Putà ! [Bitch !]" Rivas cursed towards Bell, all angry but powerless to remove her feets away from her after she flied through an table. "You're just one of Adler's good dogs !"

"No, I'm not one, never was one." Bell clarified, taking back an normal & serious voice. "He can burn in hell for what he has done." She revealed.

"But....why are you here to help him ?" Rivas asked in an shock, wondering why but she didn't receive any responses as some people were arriving near the bank to see the two.

"Miss Bell !" An voice spoke up, Bell seeing Adler arriving with his lieutenant and the sheriff as the gunfight outside was finally done, blood on their clothes, not theirs. "Oh...miss Rivas, seems that the sheriff deputy managed to arrest you."

"What are we doing now, Russ ?" Hudson demanded to his boss.

"Hogtie her, we're bringing her back to Redemption for some work on her." Adler ordered as Bell moved aside and let Hudson & two other men to get an rope and tie up Rivas with an rope and putting something to make her stop cursing around. "Well, you did all an good work here." Adler complimented especially the sheriff & Bell. "It's time to leave this place, bank's already been raided." He joked, breaking an laugh before leaving with Hudson and the hogtied Rivas and letting Bell & Azoulay in the bank, Bell still thinking about what just happened....

"I hope that this day isn't going to give us any more surprises !"

[pushspacetocontinue]

An American Survivor in London | Vampyr Verse Profile

I caved and I’ve put it back on the blog. See below for Russell’s Vampyr Verse, which is tagged ‘An American Survivor in London’. Mention of a minor character and a faction below, as well as mentions of violence, homophobia-related hate crimes, and abuse, so be aware of that.

Name: Russell Anderson (says it’s Tolbert)

Nicknames: Cockroach, Kid, Survivor

Age: 19

Birthday: 9th October 1899 (Star sign: Libra)

Gender: Cis Male (he/him/his pronouns)

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual.

Species: Human

Ethnicity: White

Current Residence: Whitechapel, London.

Former Residence: Boston, United States.

Nationality: French-American (French Father, American Mother). 

Mother: Cassandra Anderson - She was an awful abusive woman and he endured a lot of horrible things at her hands. 

Father: Jean-Luc Tolbert. He doesn’t know this. Jean-Luc left soon after meeting Cassandra, never realising she was pregnant. Russell was instead raised by Bill Goodwin, like a father would his son.

Siblings: None

Height: 5'4"

Weight: Fluctuates between 105 and 110lbs

Body Type: Thin but athletic.

Hair: Dirty-blonde.

Eyes: Blue

Languages: English, and a lot of basic words and phrases in other languages, like French and German.

Distinguishing features: His nose is slightly crooked and he’s missing a few of his back teeth. 

He also has a bullet scar in his right arm. He was shot during the war, and he was also left with mild nerve damage, which causes his arm to become stiff and twitchy in cold weather. He is left-handed so this doesn’t hinder him too much.

He is far-sighted but this has not been diagnosed. He’s often seen holding things away from his face to read.

His wrists and ankles are permanently scarred from rope burns. He also has some fire burns on his back and chest. He also a crescent-shaped birthmark on his abdomen. He is also absolutely terrified of the ocean. 

He also carries a crowbar around. He found it before he joined Priwen and just kept it with him ever since.

He also has a profound stammer; causing him to repeat words or syllables several times in a sentence.

Hobbies and Interests: Parkour and running, exploration, reading, space, mythology and the supernatural, and drumming. 

Occupation: Guard of Priwen; Gunner/Sharpshooter. Uses a rifle. 

Personality: Quiet and rather shy. He’s a bit of a doormat and finds it hard to speak up about a lot of things. But he’s also very kind and helpful whenever he can be, and has a lot of empathy and compassion for other people.

He is able to fight, and will fight dirty if he has to. He’s incredibly loyal to any friends he makes as well, willing to put himself them and any danger that might come their way, even at a risk to his own life. He also has a slight temper, particularly when frustrated or when he’s allowed negative feelings to build up inside for too long. He does his best to keep that reined in.

He has some hope for the future, despite his experiences, and a current battle with depression. He feels that things will look up. He’s trying to remain optimistic.

Basic Backstory: He lived a rather average (albeit not that happy) life while he was growing up. Cassandra Anderson was not a good woman, and especially not a good mother. She was abusive and nasty, which left him with self esteem issues and self-loathing. 

He was raised by Bill Goodwin, who was like a surrogate father, along with Freyde and Robert, his neighbours, and that helped to offset some of the damage. When he turned eighteen in 1917, he was sent out to fight on the western front a couple of weeks later as a rifleman in the American Expeditionary Forces. 

He managed to survive (which earned him the nickname of Cockroach among the friends he made), and was eventually due to go home November 1918. 

However, he was caught kissing another man, known as Walter, who he had been falling in love with over the last months. He took the blame, and was beaten and tortured and partially tied up. Despite this, he tried to fight and during the intense struggle that ensued, fell off the ship and into the ocean. However, he managed to get out of the ropes and find a kisby ring, before eventually washed up London’s docks.

Physically, he was mostly unharmed. However, due to the mix of the psychological trauma and the head injuries he endured, he was left with amnesia. He no longer had any idea of who he was, what his life was like before, or how he ended up in London. 

He started staying at Sean’s Night Shelter at first, and eventually joined the Guard of Priwen, a group of vampire hunters led by Geoffrey McCullum, although he still visits the shelter to help out and talk to Sean, eternally grateful for the man’s hospitality and help. He just didn’t want to ‘be useless’ as he put it.

He doesn’t remember why, but he knows how to fight vampires, along with their powers and weaknesses. That was why he joined Priwen, despite having no ill will towards them otherwise.

[davidpwilson2564]

Bloglet

Sunday, July 28, 2019

Trump continues to say awful things about Elijah Cummings and Baltimore.  His minions are stating that Trump isn't being a racist, he's just fighting back.  Trump says everything is fine at the Border.  No one in his base will bother to fact check. 

Monday, July 29, 2019

Trump has stepped things up a bit attacking Al Sharpton, calling Sharpton a racist.  This will delight Trump's base because he is saying what they are thinking. Both Sharpton and Trump are con men and cowards.

Evening: My Scarsdale routine.  An early train to the rehearsal.  Killing some time at Starbucks, where I can read and comfortably eavesdrop. 

Weather hot and humid.  Mouth pain somewhat better. 

The rehearsal goes without incident.   Some pages of the music are yellowed with age.  We do a piece by Robert Russell Bennett that I remember playing in college, made a torture because it was so difficult for the conductor (he didn't know what to do but rant at us; ranting was his specialty).  And, had I not escaped, I would have been under his thumb (perish the thought) for most of my adult life. 

My young band colleagues and I are able to make the ten fifteen train.  Missing it would mean having to hang out at the station for an hour.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

The consolation of music: WFCR plays Rachmaninoff's "Isle of the Dead."

The shootings now occur almost daily.  Gilroy, California (Sunday night.  Teen with gun purchased in Nevada)...Brooklyn (Brownsville reunion...possibly gang related killing)...Mississippi (disgruntled Wal-Mart employee)...but the deaths have to be in the double digits for these incidents to remain in the news for long. 

 This memory: in a car in California...seeing the sign for Gilroy...the air redolent with the aroma of garlic. Garlic is what their annual food fest is all about.  And some kid with an AK-47 assault rifle had to ruin it.

I run into Warren Odze, terrific drummer.  He says: how many gigs did we do together. Well, a few I guess but he did many more than me.  We says he thinks we met on a gig at Madison Square Garden, "playing a horse show."  It took a while for this to sink in.  He is right.  (He is playing the Broadway musical, "King Kong," soon to fold, big monstrous gorilla and all.)

[qqueenofhades]

Starlight & Strange Magic, Chapter 1: In Which Lucy Preston Makes An Entrance

Rating: M Summary:  Lucy Preston, a young American woman, arrives in England in 1887 to teach history at Somerville College, Oxford. London is the capital of the steam and aether and automatonic world, and new innovations are appearing every day. When she meets a mysterious, dangerous mercenary and underworld kingpin, Garcia Flynn, her life takes a turn for the decidedly too interesting. But Lucy has plenty of secrets of her own – not least that she’s from nowhere or nowhen nearby – and she is more than up for the challenge. Available: AO3 Notes: I made this edit a few days ago. We all knew this was going to happen next. I regret everything. Sort of.

From the air, London resembles a vast, sprawling clockwork curiosity, a city of wheels and gears and steel and steam, the gothic towers of Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament rising through the mist alongside the capacitor and telegraph aerials and the murky, coiling line of the River Thames spanned by new ironwork bridges. There is not much green, aside from the neat rectangle of Hyde Park and the smaller isosceles of St. James’. It is a world of bronze and brick and brass, stone and soot, burning coal to such a degree that faint yellow fog lies over the city even on clear days (and this being London in any century, there are not that many of those). But the yellow is mixed with the finer gold of the aetherium, which burns the brightest at sunrise and sunset and casts an eerie, lovely sheen over the crowded rooftops and old church steeples, the dome of St. Paul’s and the narrow crookback lanes that lead to forgotten medieval cemeteries and shops that murmur of magic. There is plenty about this London that is not at all beautiful, that is deprived and crammed and brutally poor in tenements and workhouses, opium dens and sleazy dancehalls, but when the aether falls on it, you tend to forget.

Lucy Preston sits by the isinglass window as the airship starts its final approach, firing its thrusters and easing down toward the Greenwich docks rapidly taking shape below. This is a comfortable passenger liner that nonetheless has made the transatlantic float from New York in only four days; its owners, the Great Western Airway founded by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, will be taking out advertisements in the papers to boast of speed records. Lucy has traveled second class, somewhat shockingly unaccompanied, and she glances at her faint reflection in the window. She is dressed for traveling in a striped-silk gown, belted overcoat, and broad-brimmed hat, parasol propped by one gloved hand and matching clutch held in the other. Women in 1887 require an obnoxious amount of accessories.

There are several bumps and jerks as the zeppelin’s crew throw down mooring lines and the well-dressed passengers get to their feet, preparing to disembark. Lucy subsides inconspicuously into the crowd and waits her turn in the queue like a proper Brit, feeling the cool, damp September air on her face as she starts to file down the ramp. Porters in caps and shirtsleeves are pulling the luggage off, trunks and portmanteaus and hatboxes, crates and birdcages and what looks like an entire household. Lucy waits until she is reunited with her own modest movables, pressing a penny into the porter’s sooty hand. She hasn’t gotten more than a few steps from the looming airship before a boy in a grubby neckerchief comes speeding up. “Carry your bags for a bob, mum? Fetch a hansom cab for you, mum?”

Lucy is aware that if she starts handing out too many tips, she will have half the urchins in London following her around (to say nothing of pickpockets) and she’d prefer to maintain close control of her possessions until she gets her bearings. She politely but firmly shoos him off, has to repeat the process five seconds later, and finally reaches the street. She could go by river, as there are plenty of small craft bobbing along the Thames, but decides she is not quite brave enough to step onto any of those. She hails a hackney carriage, climbs inside onto a hard velvet seat and a dim, musty interior, and gives the driver an address in Bloomsbury. He shuts the door, climbs up behind the horses, and with another jolt and a jerk, they roll off.

It turns out that it would definitely have been faster to sail. It’s a miserably slow, stop-and-start journey into central London, the cobbled streets crammed with horses, carts, broughams, hansoms, costermongers and their barrows, a reeking tarlike slop six inches deep that should barely be dignified with the name “mud,” and here and there one of the new clockwork carriages, running on steam and driven by automatons that almost look human until you get close enough to see their blank metal faces and spinning-gear hands. Strictly speaking, they don’t need to look like that, but the wealthy Londoners who can afford the carriages have a certain expectation of what they should look like. Still need to show that they have underlings doing their bidding, mortal or mechanical.

It’s getting dark, the gaslamps striking on in small islands along the street, by the time they reach the boarding house in Bloomsbury, not far from Russell Square, and the hackney rolls to a halt. Lucy accepts the driver’s hand down, pays him, and allows him to carry her bags up the front walk as she rings the bell. After a few moments, a maidservant in a starched black dress and pinned apron comes to answer it, and Lucy, with a final thanks to the driver, steps inside.

The boarding house is suitable, if plain, and the landlady, one Mrs. McBride, seems friendly enough, if clearly confused why Lucy is traveling alone. “Are ye meetin’ your husband then, mum?”

“No,” Lucy says. “I’m here to take a lecturer’s post at Somerville College, in Oxford. I’ll be traveling up there in a fortnight, when Michaelmas term starts.”

“Oxford, is it?” Mrs. McBride clearly is not sure how to react to that. She seems to decide that since Lucy is, after all, American, that may explain some of her more outrageous peculiarities. “They’re taking on ladies now, are they?”

“Not all of them,” Lucy says wryly. “Or most of them. But Somerville was founded for women, I’ll be teaching history there.”

Mrs. McBride nods cautiously. “Your husband will join you up the country, then?”

Lucy starts to open her mouth to explain that no, in case it wasn’t clear, there is no husband anywhere in this equation. But given as she is thirty-four years old, and spinster status starts anywhere past twenty-five, that seems likely to provoke an outpouring of sympathy as if she has a terminal illness, or askance looks as if there must be something seriously wrong with her to stop an otherwise eligible young lady from getting married (is it the books? It must be the books) or more questions than she feels like answering. “Yes,” she says. “He’s coming to join me later.”

This momentarily settles the issue, though it leaves Lucy wondering if she’ll have to invent a husband, and Mrs. McBride summons her son, a strapping seventeen-year-old redhead named Seamus, to carry Lucy’s things up to her room. It has a narrow bedstead with a brass headboard, a wardrobe and side table, and a roll-top desk with a chair, as well as a filament lamp. The lavatory, Seamus informs her proudly, is just through the door there, and they’ve got a toilet done by the same chap who’s done the Prince of Wales’ at Sandringham House, holds a Royal Warrant. None other than the famous Thomas Crapper.

Lucy chokes a little at this, though she manages to avoid letting him see, and goes in to look. The hot water is not unlimited, so there will be no long showers, but there’s a claw-footed bathtub, a sink, and a pull-chain toilet, CRAPPER emblazoned over the back in raised porcelain letters. Lucy thanks Seamus, assures him that it’s suitable, and waits until he’s gone. Then she ensures that the door can lock, glances out the window to check the sight lines, and draws the curtains. Goes to her suitcase, undoes the catches, and looks to see if the knots she did up in a certain way have been undone or changed at all, or if there’s any sign of her things having been rummaged through. She doesn’t think anyone could have gotten to it on the airship, but she needs to check.

As far as she can tell, everything looks the way she packed it, and she’s kept the most sensitive bits in her valise, which never left her possession during the whole trip. Lucy digs through the skirts and petticoats and jackets, stockings and garters and blouses, takes them out and hangs them in the wardrobe, then opens the valise. She removes a six-shot Colt “Peacemaker” revolver and a box of bullets, loads it, and spins the chamber with her thumb. There is also a smaller one-shot, pearl-handled derringer, a gun barely powerful enough to do more than threaten cheats at cards in a smoky saloon, and a disassembled Winchester Model 1886 lever-action rifle, the heaviest thing she’s got going. It should be enough to drop anything coming at her, as long as she doesn’t miss. And depending on who – or what – is coming at her, it is an essential precaution.

Lucy pauses, then hides the Colt in the side table drawer, assembles the Winchester, and stows it beneath a loose floorboard under the bed, finishing her unpacking and stifling a yawn. The bunk in the airship cabin was not particularly comfortable, she was close enough to the droning engines that it was always loud, and she had to maintain the same level of vigilance on the crossing, which means that she’s starting to run in a permanent state of sleep deprivation. That is not useful for the kind of work she is going to be doing, so perhaps she should try to catch up. Supper first, however. She doesn’t exactly have anyone to cable about her safe arrival.

Lucy changes out of her traveling clothes into a plainer shirtwaist and buttoned skirt, peering into the small mirror to tidy her messy bun. She briefly wonders if she should bring the derringer, then decides that if she really thinks she’s going to get murdered over dinner in the boarding house, she’s doomed from the start and all of this is a waste of time anyway. A bell rings to call the lodgers to mealtime, and she goes back downstairs.

Mrs. McBride dishes up portions of her hearty Irish cooking (Lucy has a feeling that potatoes in some shape or form will constitute a large part of her culinary experience over the next fortnight) for her current boarders: Lucy, a pale, wheezy young parson on his way to a new living in Hampshire, and a slightly self-important-looking fellow from Cambridge in the city to present a paper on aetheric science at the Royal Aeronautical Society. Lucy is the only woman, so after the parson has said grace (Mrs. McBride tactfully overlooking the fact that it is Protestant grace), the men both turn their feelers on her. The Cambridge fellow patronizingly congratulates her on a post at Oxford (the implication being that of course Oxford is a suitable place for someone of her second-tier intellectual caliber) and the parson wants to know about when her husband will be joining her. Lucy apologetically says that Mr. Preston is very busy in America and it may be several months. God, she hopes she doesn’t have to suffer through too many pleasant dinnertime conversations with these planks. Or perhaps she should search their rooms and –

No, no. She is getting too relentlessly paranoid (she has some reason, but still). Lucy makes a compromise with herself that she’ll look into them further if they do anything suspicious, but they’re both due to be gone by the end of the week. Neither of them have any particular reaction to her name or American accent, aside from the usual oh-dear expression of Brits confronted by expats from the colonies, and if she is going to suspect every condescending Victorian man of being a Rittenhouse agent, it will be a very long stay indeed. At least her polite fuck-you smile will get a lot of use, but that’s nothing new by now.

With that sorted, Lucy makes it through the rest of dinner, then graciously excuses herself and heads upstairs. As she’s reaching the top landing and about to turn down the corridor to her room, she pauses at the window, pushing the lace curtain aside for one last glimpse. She’ll just look, settle her mind that there’s nothing, and –

There’s someone standing just out of sight of the streetlamp, cast in shadow. They’re wearing a trench coat and bowler hat, initially looking like any other Londoner out for an evening stroll, but as Lucy looks harder, she can see the flat bronze gleam off its face that means it’s not a person, it’s an automaton. This one is entirely in a different mold from the ones that were driving the carriages, and for just as obviously a different purpose. Clockwork servants have been advertised as the new fashionable modern innovation (almost makes you wonder if the British Empire, currently at its height and owning a literal quarter of the earth’s landmass and population, would stop exploiting it, but nah) but this automaton has not been designed to scrub laundry boards or sweep floors. It is huge, square, and solid, has pneumatic pistons for arms and some kind of broad-barreled blunderbuss strapped on its back. Its head turns to either side with eerie, mechanical slowness, as if scanning the street and passerby. Back and forth, back and forth, for as long as it keeps ticking. It will need to return to its clockmaker to be re-wound at some point; most automatons can’t manage more than twelve hours independent, so they are still vastly inefficient for long-term operations. But who does Lucy know that got their – got his – start as a clockmaker? Who would be very interested in this new technology?

Rattled, she jerks the curtain shut, and speeds to her room, shutting the door and turning the key. Not that the door would be much deterrent if the automaton suddenly bashed its way in, and even her Winchester is not likely to drop a murderous metal giant that doesn’t feel pain and is operated according to esoteric scientific principles. God, she wishes Rufus was here, but even he is not likely to be much help. This is entirely different from anything he has ever studied.

Right, Lucy thinks. Risk or no risk, she needs to go out tomorrow and see about acquiring herself a weaponry upgrade. It could just be a coincidence that a skull-crusher of a mechanical soldier is stationed right outside her boarding house, but that is really pushing it, and it unfortunately seems to vindicate her fear that Rittenhouse is already on the lookout for her here. Is that thing going to be there every night? Don’t risk pushing curfew or coming back too late after sundown, or – squish? It can’t stand there all the time, the neighbors would notice, and as noted, it needs to get rewound. It has to leave eventually.

To say the least, however, this is not a recipe for peacefully catching up on lost sleep, and after she’s undressed and shrugged on her nightgown, she makes sure the Colt is in reach and warily closes her eyes. Opens them every time the floor creaks, of course, but it’s an old house and it does that often, and one advantage to the automaton being so godawfully huge is that it would definitely make a lot of noise breaking in. Not exactly a stealth operator.

Lucy manages to doze off, though it takes a while, and wakes in the morning without having been crushed into pulp by the rise of the machines. She washes in the small amount of hot water she can get, dresses and does her hair, and puts on her hat and gloves and boots. It’s grey and drizzly outside, so the parasol will function for more than just the aesthetic, and she looks out the window on the landing before venturing any further. The spot by the lamppost is empty; there’s no sign of the automaton anywhere. A solitary hansom cab clatters by, iron-shod wheels making a racket on the cobblestones. Otherwise, the street is quiet.

Lucy decides she’ll buy breakfast while she’s out, checks that the Colt is snug in its inner pocket in her belted tweed overcoat, and takes a deep breath. All right. She can do this.

She pushes through the door and out into the mist, adopting a confident stride as she heads south, toward Covent Garden. London at least looks mostly like she remembers, with the streets and neighborhoods in the same place, though there are of course countless new side lanes and unfamiliar buildings and no other familiar points of reference. But she has a good sense of direction and she doesn’t get lost, or at least too much. Covent Garden Market is just opening for the day, butchers hanging fresh-slaughtered pig carcasses, bakers and greengrocers and cheesemongers and milkmen setting out their goods, and all of it smells very good, but aside from paying a halfpenny for a hot roll, Lucy doesn’t stop. Makes her way to the back of the market, and the dusty door there, set down several steps and barely visible among the slimy bricks that surround it. Here goes nothing, probably.

Lucy finishes off the hot roll and then digs in her purse, pulling out a small bronze obelisk and fitting it into one of the carvings on the door. It briefly seems to glow of its own accord, casting the alcove in burnt-umber shadows, and she turns it, hearing a whirring of gears clunking and clicking behind the door. After another moment, it slides open to the side, as if running on a track, and reveals a steep, narrow staircase that descends out of sight under the earth. The steps are cracked and mossy, uneven underfoot, and Lucy keeps one hand on the wall as she starts down. The last thing she needs is a dramatic facer into the Croft.

The door rumbles shut above her, sounding like a tombstone, and for several moments, the way is entirely dark, so Lucy has to feel with each foot for the next step. The Croft is not the Night Market, which was raided, destroyed, and put out of commission thirty-six years ago, and it is much more prosaic in its goods and services on offer, but it’s the only place in London she’s going to find heavy automaton-killing weapons without immediately drawing unwelcome attention. Everything sold here is, strictly speaking, terribly illegal, but that is a trifling account in Lucy’s life now, and it’s not like any of its denizens are very fond of coppers (or peelers, she thinks that’s what they’re usually called right now, after Sir Robert Peel, founder of the Met). Especially if enough money is involved, nobody should be talking.

After a few more minutes, Lucy can see weak grey light ahead, reaches the bottom of the stairs, and steps out into a long, low hall of indeterminate placement whether above or below ground. There are windows, but it’s not clear if those correspond with any particular light from outside, and the water that drips on the walls looks as if they might be in one of the countless old tunnels under London, near the Thames. The Croft, like Covent Garden, is a market, with stalls set up and sleepy-eyed proprietors boiling coffee in tin pots and pulling colored scraps of cloth off their wares, but everything you can get here should not be tried at home.

Lucy glances around, spots something that looks likely to cater to her needs, and starts off in that direction. It takes all of two minutes, however, for the usual problem to return. “You want what now, mum? If it’s a lady’s pistol you’re looking for, I’ve some handsome ones here, fit into a handbag and not too heavy for a – ”

“I have a derringer,” Lucy says impatiently. “I want something that could take down an automaton. I assure you, I know what I’m about.”

“Something that could do for a tocker?” The proprietor does a double take that would almost be comical in other circumstances. “The bloody hell would – sorry, sorry for the language, mum, sorry – a lady like you need something like that for?”

Lucy senses that the fuck-you smile is going to get a lot of use indeed, but she still needs to convince him to sell to her. She’s just wondering if she should casually pull out the Colt and twirl it like a gunslinger, when the faded bit of calico in front of the stall is pushed aside, and a man comes strolling in. He’s slightly weaselly-looking, with a sandy mustache and a pocket watch chain looped across his dirty waistcoat. “Morning, guvnor. You got the guns ready?”

“Ah – ” The proprietor shoots a guilty look at Lucy, as if a lady should really not have to witness this grubby transaction. “Got as many as I could get me hands on. Given the trouble of collecting ‘em, I really think it should be another guinea on the price? Or – ”

“It’ll be two, like we agreed.” The man glances at Lucy. “Didn’t know you had your trouble visiting today, eh? Looks much too good for you.”

“No, not mine, she just – ” The proprietor is clearly hoping that Lucy will remember some pressing business and clear out on her own accord. “This bird turned up and wanted a piece as could do for a tocker, would you believe that?”

“Did she?” The man’s attention is now fully on Lucy. “Why’d that be, mum?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was the Spanish Inquisition.” Normally she might just go off and come back later, though she’s not certain that attitudes will have become progressively more enlightened in six hours, but now Lucy’s mad, and she isn’t leaving here without that gun. “Why exactly are you here, Mr. – ?”

“You can call me Karl.” He shrugs. “Don’t think I’ve seen you in the Croft before, Mrs. – ”

“You can call me Lucy.” She stares at him narrowly. “I’m new in town.”

“Apparently.” Karl raises an eyebrow. “How about you run along, then?”

“I want to buy a gun, and if that’s too – ”

“Can’t,” Karl interrupts, looking smug. “I’m here to buy all of them. None left for you anyway. Nothing against you being a lady, I’m sure, but – ” He reaches into his trouser pocket and after a brief interlude of digging, removes two tarnished but still-good golden guineas. “Go on, Dooley, there’s a good man. I’ve got the lads just outside, waiting to carry them off.”

There is another uncomfortable pause as Dooley, as the merchant’s name apparently is, glances between Karl and Lucy. Then he gives her an apologetic shake of his head and disappears into the back of his stall, reappearing in a few minutes with the first of several crates. Karl whistles, and several strapping-sized men troop in, crowding Lucy back against the plywood wall with no more notice than if she’s a wax figurine at Madame Tussaud’s (currently a highly popular attraction on Marylebone Road). There are three crates of guns, and these are not just polite little pistols that shoot ordinary bullets. Lucy catches a glimpse of highly modified stocks with aetheromagnetic receptors, electrical filaments and broad-bore muzzles, until it looks as if Guy Fawkes has turned up almost three hundred years later and really does not intend to fuck around. Who the hell needs this many guns? You could take down a whole airship. Or blow up the Tower or London, or –

It is obviously a less than advisable idea to be standing here as a clearly identifiable witness to a large-scale illegal arms deal, and unless Lucy is going to drive a private bargain for them to skim one off the top, she should in fact get out. She ducks out of the stall as Dooley is bringing the last crate out, but she has only gotten about a dozen yards when someone grabs her arm. “Where’re you off to in such a hurry, ma’am?”

Lucy turns and glares icily at Karl. “Let go of me.”

“In a minute.” Karl does not appear in any hurry to do that, until Lucy reaches up and pries his fingers off. He looks momentarily startled at the strength of her grip, and adopts an obnoxiously ingratiating smile. “Just thought – no need to make any trouble for anyone, now, is there?”

Lucy continues to stare at him coldly. She knows that no good can come of asking him flat-out why he’s buying so many guns, and she searches his face, trying to decide if he looks Rittenhouse. Not that Rittenhouse is so obliging as to wear a sign around their neck, but she does have some practice at it by now. Finally she says, as neutrally as possible, “Big party?”

“Something like that.” Karl shrugs. “Look, I’ll sell you one of the guns, if you really want. As long as you keep your mouth shut and don’t get in our way.”

Lucy wonders exactly what that means. Nobody is buying this amount of high-powered weapons just to put them into a cellar somewhere, and it seems more than likely that things are about to get very interesting, whether in London or outside it. She does need the gun, but she’s left unsure if this is a bargain she should be making. Is Karl a noted underworld figure? That is currently a thriving element in London, mundane or otherwise, and the Croft is, as noted, the hub for the extra-legal activities that spread their feelers through this strange steam-powered Victoriana. He doesn’t look like a feared crime kingpin, but that means nothing. They never do.

“Oy, Karl.” Right on cue, one of the henchmen pops up, gun crate in his beefy arms. “We got to get moving. Boss won’t be happy if we’re late.”

Karl turns to shoot an annoyed glance at his associate, even as Lucy notes that down with interest – Karl himself isn’t the boss, they’re working for someone else, though Karl seems to be some sort of trusted, arms-procuring consigliere. With a long look at Lucy warning her that he is definitely going to remember her face, but now is in a hurry to blow this joint, Karl opens the crate, pulls out a midsize, short-barreled musket with a heavy stock and an aether coil, and hands it to her. “On the house,” he says. “This time. Like I said, you better not arse it up.”

With that, and no apology for his coarse language whatsoever (not that she needs it, but still a decided contrast to Dooley), Karl jerks his head at his trio of muscle-bound thugs, and they make a smartly paced exit. Lucy is left with a gun that she doesn’t really know how to operate, a hundred more questions than when she entered, and a lingering sense that she might have just made (another) powerful enemy. Who, she has no idea, and after a long pause, she stuffs the gun into her valise and ducks back into Dooley’s stall. “So who were they? Regular customers?”

“Wha – Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you scared me.” Dooley was clearly hoping very badly that he was done with unexpected visitors for the morning, and Lucy does feel for him, but she also needs some answers, and she’s willing to play a little dirty to get them. “Mum, you just saw – they bought my whole stock, I couldn’t sell to you even if I wanted.”

“I believe you,” Lucy says pleasantly. “You clearly had prepared their order, though. Admirable service. Who in London is buying that many guns, though? Any chance someone might know that they all came from you?”

Dooley’s eyes flicker back and forth. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, mum.”

“I’m fairly sure you do.” Lucy folds her arms. She is definitely going to take the opportunity to make misogynists squirm. Though it isn’t really something outstanding or personal in any case, not that that excuses it, but just what polite Victorian society has taught them from the ground up. The National Society for Women’s Suffrage was founded twenty years ago, and Emmeline Pankhurst lives and works in Russell Square right now, but still, change is going to be slow. “You’re frightened of whoever Karl works for, aren’t you?”

“Be a bloomin’ idiot if I wasn’t, wouldn’t I?” It’s hard to place Dooley’s origin – his surname is Irish, his accent is generally working-class London, though at that, it turns broad Cockney. “You want to get in trouble with that maniac? Be my bleedin’ guest.”

“Maniac?” Is this some notorious local bruiser and small-time mafioso that Rittenhouse has recruited to terrify the London underworld and coordinate some of their incidents? Lucy leans forward. “What maniac?”

Dooley looks as if he very deeply does not want to be having this conversation, but out of an apparent charitable desire to help prevent her from getting herself killed, he sighs and begrudgingly spills the beans. “Name’s Flynn. His lads come along, it’s just better you do what they say, easier for everyone. Only been in London a few years, but he’s taken down big fish already, bigger than ‘im. You want some advice, mum, stay away from all that. And please, for the love of Christ, don’t go telling anyone about. . . all this. I’ve got me the three nippers.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” That, at least, Lucy can promise him. But since it is readily apparent that he owes her a favor, and she still hasn’t quite forgiven him for making it so difficult and inadvertently getting her entangled in this when he could have just sold, she pulls the gun Karl gave her out of the bag. “I need cartridges for this. And anything else it takes. I expect you’ll give me a good rate on the price?”

Dooley cringes, but can clearly tell that he has made his own bed with this, and busies himself in fetching the required items. Its bullets are an inch long and half as wide, looking heavy enough to take down big game on safari, and there’s a hand pump that activates the electrical current if it is to be used on, as Dooley calls them, tockers. Since the only legally owned military automatons are those belonging to the Army and the Met, it is plainly obvious that anyone buying this weapon is going to be getting into trouble with important people. And the mysterious Flynn sent his henchmen to buy three crates? Clearly, he is taking no chance that there is any important person in all of Great Britain that he might accidentally neglect to piss off. No wonder Dooley doesn’t want his name anywhere near it.

However, this fact is still gnawing at Lucy’s head as she leaves. Flynn could very easily be Rittenhouse, just because they like to have a monopoly on force and/or weapons of any kind, and certainly don’t give a Thomas Crapper whether or not it’s legal. But they have also always preferred to go the shadow-in-the-halls-of-power route. Recruit important people in high-ranking positions, get the system to work for them, turn the institutional wheels to their own advantage, rather than operate as rogues or outlaws. Rittenhouse is the law, that’s their strength. They make it, they are its organization and its enforcement. They’re much more likely to be using the automatons as their lethal weapon, in other words, rather than getting guns to destroy them. Flynn could be buying up the guns on Rittenhouse’s behalf in order to get rid of them, thus making it harder for the masses to oppose the tocker takeover, but it’s just strange enough that Lucy frowns. No matter what Dooley has said, she wants to know more.

By the time she climbs up the stairs from the Croft and emerges into Covent Garden, it’s midmorning, and London is awake and teeming with noisy, dirty, colorful life. Dodging past taverns, tenements, general stores, guildhalls, gentlemen’s clubs, booksellers, banks, hurdy-gurdies, townhouses, telegraph offices, tea shops, cemeteries, churches, more churches, insurance companies, statues, streetlamps, sideshows, park squares, museums, and houses of ill-repute, not to mention the countless boys flogging the Times or the Telegraph or other bastions of considerably yellower journalism, Lucy tries to think how to do some more digging without being totally obvious. She can’t get too far off track with her other little project either, but she can’t walk straight into Westminster and ask if anyone here is an agent for a dangerous American secret society. It’s always been hard hunting Rittenhouse, but here she feels like she’s doing it with a blindfold on and both hands tied behind her back.

Lucy stops to get a hot pasty for lunch, eats it while strolling down the Mall, and glances at the square grey oblong of Buckingham Palace at the end. Victoria has been queen for fifty years now; in fact, they celebrated her Golden Jubilee in much style and expense this past June. After a dip in popularity resulting from her decades of mourning and withdrawal from public life following Prince Albert’s death, she is once more a beloved, grandmotherly figure, prone to forming deep attachments to younger men – first John Brown, her Scottish equerry, and more recently to Abdul Karim, the Indian “Munshi.” If Rittenhouse was making some sort of play for her and her vast empire, wanted to make sure it was their sun that never set, would they send in a new favorite, a good-looking young fellow instructed on what to say and do to draw the aging queen’s attention? Disrupt Victoria’s attachment to Abdul before it becomes too deeply set (they only met a few months ago) and provide a more suitable (read: whiter) candidate for the tastes of the deeply starchy, conservative, and racist British court? It seems possible, at least.

Lucy tries to think if William Gladstone or Lord Salisbury is presently prime minister, as it changed back and forth several times during this decade, and that assumes that everything happened the same way here. It is obviously very close, with the addition of clockwork men and flying airships and other minor differences, but surely some things have changed, events nudged one way instead of another. How consequential is that? As well, it shakes up her usual rule of thumb for dealing with this. She doesn’t know what has happened, or what is going to happen, and that leaves her without any frame of reference for what she should or should not try to save.

After a pause, Lucy tosses the rest of her pasty to the ravenous pigeons, hails a hansom cab, and rides back to Bloomsbury, where she heads to University College, London. It started admitting women nine years ago, but that does not mean that the human fossil who peers down at her from behind a high wooden desk is happy to see her. “Can I help you, Miss. . .?”

“Professor.” Lucy smiles pleasantly. “Professor Preston. I would like to go into the Royal Historical Society’s library, please. I hold a position at Oxford – Somerville College, I’m on my way to take it up. So if you’d just – ”

She can sense herself about to be taking about her tenth Misogyny shot since landing, when there is a loud tut-tutting noise from behind her, and a small silver-haired woman, possibly in her seventies, appears from around the corner. “For goodness’ sake, Hubert,” she snaps. “I did promise I’d ensure you got the sack if I saw you being obnoxious to the lady students again, and I can entirely see to that happening. Surely you would prefer to avoid that? Otherwise do let me know, and we can make life altogether simpler for everyone.”

The porter – Hubert, apparently – opens and shuts his mouth, comes up with nothing, and is posthaste browbeaten into admitting both Lucy and the old lady, who is carrying a bronze-clasped case in one hand and her walking stick in the other, into the RHS archives. Lucy glances sidelong at her, feeling obliged to thank a fellow female academic, and someone who clearly has considerable standing around here to just sail in and shut people up. “I do appreciate it, ma’am. I’m Lucy Preston, by the way. I’m taking up a lectureship at Somerville in October.”

“I heard that.” The old lady regards her with a shrewd dark gaze, head slightly to one side. “Mary Somerville was my tutor and teacher, I knew her well. I am Ada King, Countess of Lovelace. She taught me mathematics as a young girl, and we were quiet close.”

“You’re – ” Lucy’s jaw drops. “You’re – oh my God, Ada – Countess Lovelace, I’m – I’m honored, I’m very honored to meet you. I just thought – well, never mind, I – I didn’t know you had – had a post here?”

“I don’t,” Ada says aristocratically. “I do stop by on occasion to tweak the Analytical Engine, though. It does need a terrible lot of fiddling, and I’m still really the only one who knows how to do it. Will you have read any of my papers, then?”

“I – yes, I’ve – I’m familiar with your work. You and – and Mr. Babbage, you managed to actually build the Engine, then? I didn’t think you did.”

“It was quite a trial.” Ada glances around the library, then starts toward a door from behind which a faint whirring and clicking is emanating. Lucy trails worshipfully after her – after all, it is Ada Lovelace, only legitimate daughter of Lord Byron, mathematical genius, and essentially the first computer programmer, in partnership with the great inventor and eccentric Charles Babbage. She has clearly lived well past the age of thirty-six, enjoyed a successful career, and become a respected intellectual powerhouse in the age of steam. Ada pulls a key out of her case and unlocks the door, revealing a room containing a large, clattering machine. Treadles stamp, cards are punched, pistons spin, gears clank, and keys slam, and it smells like oil and hot metal. “Don’t stand too close, dear. It can tend to spit.”

Lucy takes a precipitate step back as Ada forages in, removes a pair of goggles from her case and puts them on, and takes a wrench out, regarding the machine like a doctor preparing for a complicated surgery. She expertly ducks as it throws a bolt, shakes her head at it, and levers it back into place, tightening it a few turns and checking the cards that come chittering out. Then she tips her head at Lucy. “Here, give it a try. Ask it to find something in the library for you.”

“Is that what it. . .” Lucy supposes there must be several operable Analytical Engines, designed for different tasks, and that University College owns this one, at enormous pride and expense, so its students don’t have to dig through card catalogues like everyone else. Wary of any more bolts, she steps closer. “Do I just ask it out loud?”

“Yes. Just there.” Ada points at a bronze speaking trumpet. “Nice and clear.”

“Er.” Lucy glances reflexively over her shoulder. There’s no one there, but she feels nervous anyway. As quietly as she can, she says, “Rittenhouse?”

“What was that? Don’t mumble, dear, I can’t abide mumblers. The machine won’t understand you, anyway.”

Lucy raises her voice. “Rittenhouse.”

There is a corresponding clack and whir from the Engine, riffling through punch cards, but it does not last for very long, or spur a second phase of operations. Ada shakes her head. “Nothing on that topic, I’m afraid. What on earth is Rittenhouse?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.” Lucy considers, then clears her throat. “Flynn?”

This time, there is a louder and longer flurry from the machine, and a trapdoor bangs open, a tray comes rattling through, and then another, containing several stacks of newspapers and a few books. Lucy, after a glance at Ada to confirm that is what she is supposed to do, takes out the papers and carries them out to the reading room, spreading them on one of the tables. They are all the articles or other items containing the word Flynn, and Lucy quickly discovers she should have been a lot more specific, as it is a common Irish surname and there are apparently five hundred Patrick Flynns in the city, to say nothing of all the other names. Just as she’s about to give up, she comes across an article in the Times from last year, condemning the disruption and mayhem of one Garcia Flynn, and the lawlessness he has brought to London’s underworld (not, one has been given to understand, a particularly lawful place to start with – they probably don’t even take tea at four o’clock, the hooligans). It is the opinion of the Editorial Board that he is riffraff, and a gipsy to boot. They really cannot wait until some public-minded citizen gets him chucked into the Old Bailey where he belongs. Newgate gallows are not out of the question.

Lucy stares at it for a long moment. She can’t be sure, but this sounds like her man. She was figuring he was Irish, and a gipsy could mean that, as it’s used to refer to Irish Travelers, but it could also mean an Eastern European more generally. Garcia isn’t an Irish name, though, and the blurry, three-quarters photograph affixed shows a tall, dark, sharp-featured man, face turned away from the camera; he is obviously not about to sit still for the several minutes it takes for a full exposure. He is wanted for questioning in regard to several unexplained incidents of a violent nature. A substantial reward is offered for information.

Since this article is from August 1886, and it’s presently September 1887, Lucy can assume, given her run-in with Flynn’s boys this morning, that they have not in fact caught him. Dooley said he’s been in the city a few years – was this just the first time he brought himself to the attention of the authorities? Either way, he doesn’t fit the profile for a likely Rittenhouse mole, not if his name and (most of) his picture are in the paper urging the public to turn him in. Who the hell is this man? She’s heard of a lot of people, but she hasn’t heard of him.

Having sifted through the rest of the papers and not found much else, Lucy carries them back and puts them in the tray, pushing them back through the trapdoor. Ada is continuing her tinkering, and Lucy supposes it’s best to leave her to it; besides, she’s nervous about cutting it too close with getting back to the boarding house, in case the automaton returns at dark. It’s only midafternoon, but dusk comes increasingly early in London in autumn, and she can make a few stops beforehand. She tells Ada once more how amazing it was to meet her, and hurries out.

The rain has stopped, though it’s still murky and cool, and Lucy weighs up where she wants to try next. She’ll probably have to venture to the rougher parts of the city at some point, and even with a good deal of heavy weaponry, that will be a gamble as a woman alone. Her feet are getting sore in their fashionable buttoned boots, and she wants to sit down, so she crosses the road to a coffee shop and goes inside. The faint reminder of home briefly makes tears sting at her eyes. It’s been a long time, after all. In more ways than one.

Lucy drinks her coffee from a porcelain cup and saucer with a white-gloved waiter solicitously at her service, spaces out for a while, and then, hearing the nearby church bells call four, decides that she should definitely get a move on back to the boarding house. It isn’t far, since she’s still in Bloomsbury, and should be a swift walk, but the air is pink and blue and grey when she steps out, and it makes her hurry her steps. The automaton didn’t turn up at sundown last night, but if it – or rather, its masters – know for a fact now that she’s there –

Lucy is waiting at a corner for a trolley car to pass when she hears a murmur from around her, which quickly deepens into a shocked hiss. Fingers point upward, necks crane, and people stare at the sky. It is generally well-trafficked with airships – passenger cruisers, pleasure barges and tourist flights, cargo freighters, Royal Navy aeronauts, and steam balloons – but at the moment, there’s only one that has caught everyone’s attention. It’s a zeppelin about the size of the one Lucy arrived on, in fact might have been making its way to the Greenwich docks for a scheduled touchdown, but that will remain a mystery. It’s on fire near the tail, coming in hard and low, and there’s an alarmed outcry over the instinctive fear that it will crash directly onto their heads. As soon as that fire reaches the hydrogen supply – but while accidents are not uncommon, a world that relies so much on airships should have found a better way to –

At that, a dark, unformed suspicion crosses Lucy’s mind. She really does hope she’s wrong, and she will happily eat any amount of crow if she is, but she personally saw all those guns being bought this morning, and even had the thought that that was enough firepower to take down an airship. She should definitely get out of here, but she stares up at the burning zeppelin, hesitates a moment longer, then starts to run.

The airship swerves and veers overhead, almost close enough for Lucy to hear the flames crackle, as she tries to fight her way through the crowds running, sensibly enough, in the opposite direction. It’s not going to make it much further; it looks like it’s going to crash in Regent’s Park, which at least has a lot of open space for it, though it’s surrounded by expensive villas and has the possibility to put a lot of rich people unhappily out of their houses. The zeppelin is burning in good earnest now as it plunges, and there’s the sound of breaking glass as passengers decide to smash windows and jump out rather than wait for the crash. Lucy dodges as someone falls out of the sky in front of her and hits the paving stones with a gruesome sound, but doesn’t stop running. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to do or what she’s looking for, just that if this is what she thinks –

The zeppelin blocks out the sky above the street, its pilot house scraping on the gate with a massive fountain of sparks, as it does a half-somersault and plows nose-first into the green expanse of Regent’s Park. Lucy can feel the heat lashing her face, and skids to a halt, staring, at the oiled-silk skin charring away to reveal the bones of the frame. People are still stumbling from the wreckage, coughing and gagging on the smoke, and the distant sound of alarm bells means that the London Fire Brigade is on its way – there is nothing that Lucy can do to help anyone, and she needs to go, she needs to go, she needs to go. But for some inexplicable reason, her gaze is drawn up as if by a lodestone, across the way to where a tall dark figure is just turning as if to run for it. For a horrible moment, she thinks that it’s the automaton from last night, that it has somehow followed her here, or even that it downed the airship itself – but why?

And then, a gout of violent firelight falls on half of the figure’s face, and Lucy sees that it’s a man, not a tocker. A man that, even from distance and from a bad newspaper photograph, she somehow recognizes at once.

Garcia Flynn.

[glutton-ace]

Yall aight I JUST watched the new Gorillaz release and I’m calling it now before I look at anything else.

Somethin’ fuckys going on. It’s not as upbeat as it sounds. (shocker)

When Russel trips 2D he breaks him out of strange state he was in making his eyes turn back to black and then BAM suddenly he can’t rollerskate anymore. His eyes have been white before, of course, but this was a deliberate touch they added. 

Keep in mind Murdoc is the reason they’re black in the first place, so them being white after he’s gone is also a key point.

The entire video has this just....off vibe about it to me. Like I fucking LOVE it but it’s just....too peppy, too fluid, too...something.

I don’t have the official lyrics, of course, but these lines in particular peak my interest (basically all of them:

“Calling the world from isolation, cause right now that’s the ball where we be chained”

“And if you’re coming back to find me, you better have your amp”

“I need you in the picture ‘swhy I’m callin’ you”

“I don’t want this isolation to see the state I’m in now”

“I’m the lonely twin, the left hand” - As he extends his left hand

“If I pick it up when I know that’s it’s broken, do not put it back. Or do I head out on to the [“bouncing trail”???] and let you go”

“Callin’ to my heart with a rifle” ???

Also:

Which plays into Ganggreen Gang Ace and HIM from the powerpuff girls...very very well~

And, a smaller one but:

Iirc Murdoc almost (?) worships Pazuzu and owns things with his head on them.

I miss Murdoc, too.