#SHOUT-OUT TO THE FLAG GUYS WHEN THE HELICOPTER TAKES OFF | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ornii · 7 months ago

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|| My Kind of Crazy: 2 ||

(Sorry for taking so long for Part 2!)

Part 2: Tension (mostly Sexual, Totally diagnosed by a Real licensed Therapist.)

The Squad mount up in the Helicopter and all are strapped down and in, Red Sits between Harley and Boomerang and Flag waits. Someone else finally arrives as well, a woman. Dawning a mask and a mysterious katana.

“You're late. This is Katana. She's got my back. She can cut all of you in half with one sword stroke, just like mowing the lawn. I would advise not getting killed by her. Her sword traps the souls of its victims.” He explains, Red Hood eyes the woman, Harley extends her hand.

“Harley Quinn. Nice to meet ya. Love your perfume. What is that? The stench of death?” She smiled, Katana turned to Flag and sat next to him.

“She seems nice. Harley whispers to Red Hood, who tries to ignore Harley. Harley turns around and looks out the window.

“Ooh. Look at the pretty lights! Are you guys seeing this?” She said, Red Hood decides why not and also looks, it was black clouds, gathering nearby a square and lighting surging through it, this was bad.. very bad.

“What happened?” Deadshot turned to Flag.

“Terror attack. Dirty bombs, bad guys shooting up the place with AKs. You know, usual shit.” He said, but Flint can see though the lie, and they argue.

“Right. Yeah, you're a bad liar. I don't know if they told you, but I'm a hitman. I'm not a fireman. I don't save people.” Flint shrugs and Flag calls him out.

“Anything for a dollar, right?”

“You know the dark places, too. Don't act like you don't.”

“I'm a soldier! And you're a serial killer who takes credit cards. When the shooting starts, and it will, you'll cut and run.” Flag glares at Deadshot, Red Hood turned back to his seat. “That isn’t a terrorist attack.. you’re probably a good soldier, terrible liar.”

Bullets tear though their hull, someone down on the ground fires at them, killing the pilot and forcing the helicopter to spiral.

“Six-one is going down. Six-one is going down hard!” The vehicle crashes and begins to flip, Red Grips the seat and holds himself tight. The helicopter finally halts down and the second carrier lands and soldier flood put to assist the living crew. The S.S and Flag somehow survive with minimal damage. Red Dusts himself off and looks around, city’s evacuated. This definitely isn’t a terrorist attack, something much darker is happening.

They begin to walk though the empty street, Red taking long looks around to figure out what’s going on, before he can, he hears shouting from behind. Turning around he gripped his pistols and watched as Katana Held Boomerang by her sword, Slipknot trying to grapple and rappel away. Flag shook his head and tapped the device on his wrist, and Slips head went splat, exploding. His corpse hangs on one of his grappling hooks. A grim reminder of just how quickly his life can end.

“You wanna keep playing the Hollywood Squares version of "I'll Blow Your Fuckin Head Off"?” Flag looks at the other inmates, all silent. “You next, Deadshot?” Flags attention turns to Deadshot, who points at him. “You just threatened me? Oh, yeah. He just threatened me.”

They all continue to walk. Deadshot, Red Hood and Harley in a trio.

“All right, I'm gonna kill him.” Deadshot grumbled.

“Well, you better make it quick 'cause he's gonna kill all of us one by one.” Harley adds in.

“I'm gonna drop him, the sword lady, five or seven of these SEALs. After that, I'm gonna need some help. You down?” He asked, and Red cuts him off. “Ain’t gonna work.”

“Why not?” Deadshot replies, Red Rubs the chin of his mask Coyly. “Well.. if only had to guess, Waller isn’t the type to leave well enough alone. You kill Flag and make a break for it, she’ll probably pop your head before you reach a block. She probably has a detonator too. Watching our every move. Red Hood explained, and Deadshot stopped him from walking further.

“You seem real calm, like you already got a plan..”

“I do.. If the HVT is who I think it is, we just have to bide our time. Keep your head on your shoulders and you’ll be fine. But I can’t say that for everyone.” Red picks up the pace and walks, they cut to another block and down a collapsed street. Flag and his men move forward and take a firing line behind a police vehicle, The Squad post up behind them a few feet back, watching. Flag gives an order and a large portion of soldier split off into the alley nearby, leaving him and a few men.

“Hey. I like these odds, mate. You just say the word.” Boomerang eyes Deadshot

“Yeah, uh... Hold that thought.” Red Walks forward to see what they’re focusing on, using his helmet he activates detective mode, standing against Flags men was a soldier who looked, not human. His body oozing black liquid and his head now nothing but eyes, glaring.

“Hm.. Terrorists, right?” Red sarcastically asked Flag, who didn’t say anything. Deadshot approaches too, looking and whatever this was.

“The hell are they?”

“You cut and run, I'll blow your head off.” With a scream a chunk of the charge at the soldiers and squad and the red hood attacked, his duel pistols tearing through the stone like heads of the former soldiers. A trained soldier by Batman made easy work crushing them.

After pinning one down with a judo throw and planting a slug in their face, Red Looks up to see Flag being dragged off by four of the stone monsters, he aimed his handgun and was cut off by one dropping down onto him, his chest clams against the hard asphalt, before Red can counter, a pair of sneakers was near his face, all he heard was a grunt, swing and stone hitting the ground. He pushed the dead soldier off him to Harley toying with her bat, she turns to Flag.

“Good riddance. Am I right?” She smirks at Red, who shook his head and loaded his pistol.

“He dies, we die!” He screamed, she rolls her eyes and the two storm over, laying fire and death on the stone soldiers. Flag looked up as they help him.

“Thanks—“ He starts

“Go Fuck yourself.” Red walks off, ready to lay more fire down. But he didn’t need to, he and many others watched Deadshot mow down soldier after soldier with pin point precision. Dropping the one at a time until they all lie there full of bullets. Deadshot drops down back to the crew, walking past Flag.

“That's how I cut and run.” Deadshot catches up to Harley and Red, as he leans against a car with his arms folded, watching Harley bash in the skull of whatever these monster soldiers were.

“Having fun?” He asked Sarcastically.

“Yeah.. good stress relief.. you should try it..” Harley smashes another head.

“No im good, trying to not be a full blown psychopath id rather just watch you go crazy.” He replies, Harley stoped mid swing and turned to him with a smile.

“Oh, you don’t want to smash heads in.. but there is something I know you can~” she mocked him, which had a flirtatious tone. She stopped her swinging and approached, leaning into his helmet slightly.

“Let me guess, you wear the mask as some type of symbol against the world that’s wronged you, and you do that… by killing bad guys?” She asked.

“I kill because heroes are too weak willed to put the dogs down.”

“But if you kill like they do, makes you just as bad.” Harley finds the perfect flaw in his logic.

“It makes the world a better place.” He retorts and Harley giggled, “A Sociopath with a Savior Complex, original.”

“I am nothing like any of you..” he thought, Harley can see the gears turning in his head. She smirked, and leaned in past his helmet. “Well.. if you want we can sneak away and you can show me just how different you are—“

“E-E-Excuse me?” He stammered slightly, Harley shrugged. “It seems like you have a lot of repressed sexual tension that you need to release, and I.. also might have ulterior motives but, a wins a win right?” Harley poked his chest, and she bats her psychotic eyes, she’s crazy, his type of crazy.

“Hey. Hey, come on.” Deadshot frowns, Harley moves away from (Y/n), who was trying to play it cool under his helmet. Harley kicks the corpse.

“What? I saw it move. See? It flinched. I think. Red agrees with me, right?” Harley kicks the corpse again, Red looked at the corpse in more detail and saw something that began to set more in motion, a dog tag. He shook his head and Approached Flag. “What are they?” He said, in a slight growl.

“I don't know.”

“Bullshit. We’re shooting soldiers, your soldiers.. aren’t we?” Red said, Flag for in the face of red who wasn’t backing down. And he heard Croc’s growl. Flag backs up and walks, “We got a job to do. We're moving.” Flag walks off and leaves Red to think, He shook off the cobwebs and follows, entering the building Red Made his way to the small desk, and checks the CCTV recordings to see nothing there. Boomerang laughs

“Whoo! Looks like we have a spot of luck, eh? Be a walk in the park. Easy peasy.”

“Stop talking” Red Grumbled, he looked up to the sound of dinging, as Harley takes the one working elevator. “Son of a…” they rush up the stairs, they await at the end for Harley, the door opens to her just fine, with dead stone soldiers at her feet. She smiled, and stepped out without a scratch. They kick open the door to the office and from the ceiling soldiers drop though it, another firefight breaks out, and Red begins to notice a pattern. Specifically flag.

Their focus on him makes this story more and more complicated. As the bullets settle, the group make their way up via a flight of stars, Red followed behind slowly, and Harley looks over the railing her eyes hazy, lost, devoid of love. Red Approached from behind.

“Harley?” He asked confused, she turned and drew her handgun, the magnum aimed right at his head. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t feel fear

“… Have you ever been in love?” She asked, sad, the question actually caught him off guard. Red saw flashes of someone in his life, just for a moment.

“I did.. once, not anymore..I don’t think I can love.” He admits.

“Bullshit.. it, has to still be in there, somewhere. What changed?” And asked, and a single manic laugh ringed in his ear.

“Joker..” he said with such scorn and evil, he gripped his gun. “That’s what changed… I don’t have the innocence to love anymore. Do you?” He walked past Harley.

“I wish I do.” She replies. Red turned around and looked at her, “You really love him.. don’t you? You’re a victim.” He turned back and went up the stairs, with, pity on his heart. They go to a large floor and a door beyond it. Before they can go in, Flag turns to them.

“Wait here, Please. I don’t want to give this dude a heart attack, okay?” Flag walks to the door and with caution, enters.

“Aww he’s embarrassed of us.” Harley jokes, but Red Hood turned to Deadshot.

“Remember when I said about the HVT? You want a chance to escape, it’s through that door.” Red Points to the door, and Deadshot approaches, as if to expect some evil monster, what he got.. was much worse.

#male reader #harley quinn x male reader #harley quinn x reader #harley x reader #harley quinn #dc #dc comics #dc x reader #Ornii #dcu #dc universe

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babblydrabbly · 3 years ago

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Trust Me Pt. 1 - (Rick Flag x Reader); (Harley Quinn x Reader (Friendship))

Pairing(s): (Rick Flag x Reader); (Harley Quinn x Reader (Friendship)

Characters: Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, Digger Harkness, mentions of Amanda Waller

Rating: General

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warning(s): Language, blood/violence, car accident.

Summary: Imagine you’re occasionally sent on Task Force X missions to back up Flag, but he knows Waller really just sends you to report back any dirt you can find on Rick. You’re a rat (No offense to Sebastian). He keeps you at arms length most of the time, and resents any attempts to be a part of the ‘team’, despite his big speech about treating each other like brothers and sisters. Still, you bond over all the literally suicidal missions, and really do watch each others’ back during the chaos. Rick Flag is torn between you being one of Waller’s spies and how much he cares about you. Part 1/?

---

You were uncomfortable with the assignment to begin with. You’d heard about what happened at Midway before you even transferred to Belle Reve, so when Waller said you’d be assigned to the next few Task Force X missions, you immediately knew why. Amanda Waller did not trust Rick Flag.

Without needing to say it, you were going to report back any and all chatter you considered insubordination between the members of the ‘suicide squad’. You were a rat. And Flag knew it right away. You were adequate in the field, but nothing spectacular; Your real job was working in the comms room during their missions. When the plane touched down on your first tag-a-long, Flag did little to hide the resentment he felt for you.

That was fine. You didn't need to be friends. He kept you at arms length, only speaking to you directly with orders or updates. You rarely spoke at all while out with the team.

That was, until Harley Quinn was reinstated a few missions into your assignment. During the take down of a moving convoy and extraction of an important meta-human asset, Flag looked happy to tell you you’d be driving a hundred miles out into the desert beside the bubbly criminal. He didn’t even give you the dignity of being in charge of driving.

You sat in the passenger seat of the hummer, as Harley blasted the radio and sang without any shame at all. You had a feeling Flag could see your silhouettes from his own vehicle one car back where he was driving with Harkness. You had literal hours to go before your four vehicle team (plus helicopter) even reached the convoy, and Harley’s energy was relentless.

“So, where ya from, hun?” “You got a cute outfit- I’m more prone to a pop of color myself.” “Hey, you ever try peanut butter on a cheeseburger? Hear me out-”

“—Teams report.” Flag’s voice came in through your earpiece after an hour or so. Were you imagining it, or did he seem amused? The members ahead of you check in before you grit your teeth and give a curt, “Fine. Over.”

You gasped as Harley let go of the wheel to stick her body out of the open window, her blonde pigtails whipping around. She waved enthusiastically back at Flag, and you could see in the rearview as he casually waved back from his sunroof behind you. You cursed and snatched the wheel as the hummer swerved, shouting for Harley to get her ass back in the damn car!

You heard a few chuckles and quips over the comms that made your cheeks burn, and you made a note to definitely mark this moment down in your stupid report. Fucking Flag. It wasn’t like you volunteered to be Waller’s little snitch. But you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face. He was getting bolder. It had been less than a year, and what was once just cold shoulders and dismissals between the two of you was slowly turning into harmless jabs like this one. You even found yourself leaving things out of your reports on occasion. What use was mentioning it if it wasn’t relevant to the task force? Lying by omission for a bunch of murderers and losers— Who were you turning into.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sudden absence of noise— Harley had stopped singing along, instead choosing to bob in her seat to the beat. She glanced at you with a wide grin. Then again. And again.

“Eyes on the road, Quinn.” You practically begged at this point. You pressed your body into your seat anxiously. The dust cloud from the incoming convoy was beginning to blow past your window. Flag’s voice crackled through the comms again to get ready.

“You’re one uptight broad, y’know that?” She said cheerfully. You didn’t know if you were meant to take offense or not. Then, “I like it! Got a real Restin’ Bitch Face.”

“Thank...you?”

“Don’t get me wrong— When a gal’s got on a good RBF, it’s in the name. You’re a bitch. But when a broody guy like Flag’s got one he’s a ‘serious leader’ and a ‘professional’ and a ‘dreamy hunk’.” Harley went on, taking her hands off the wheel to demonstrate her air quotes literally. You gripped your seatbelt in fear as the hummer began swerving again.

“Quinn...”

“Everyone’s always calling me a psycho bitch when I get in the zone, y’know. But then I’m just a crazy bitch when I’m tryin’a keep it fun—!”

“HARLEY!”

Your heart leapt in your throat. As Harley let the vehicle veer back and forth, your attention was suddenly taken by the flash of fire and an explosion just yards ahead of you. The hummer with two other squad members leading the line had been hit with a rocket launcher, sending their vehicle into the air in a burst of flame— and because Harley was driving like a maniac, the explosion had missed your own hummer. Harley and Flag broke the line in a single moment, dodging the car that was now overturned and engulfed in fire.

Hell broke loose then, as it always did.

You remember Harley shouting at you to take the wheel before climbing up to the mounted gun on the roof. Chatter erupted on the comms as Waller’s team directed the helicopter above and the rest of you still converged on the target. The plan was to never stop, to keep driving and extract the asset while all teams kept up with the convoy. You remember seeing a car pull up beside Flag in your side mirror, a rifle pointing right at him through all the dust and cross fire.

But the beauty of Task Force X was how laughably terrible these guys were at not following the plan. You catch a flash of red and blue as Harley leapt onto the enemy’s truck, abandoning her post on the hummer to go get the asset herself. Waller’s orders were meaningless in moments like this, and she knew it. They would either accomplish the mission their way, or they were dead.

That’s what the suicide squad did— was that really you? You looked in your rearview again in time to catch Harkness collapse onto the hood of Flag’s vehicle, a splotch of red visible on his chest even from where you were. You heard Waller’s voice in your head already dismissing Boomer’s loss by the end of all this.

But you also heard Rick, his voice concerned but steady in your ear as he ordered Harkness to hang on while he attempted to lose the car still beside them.

You sucked in a breath, and with a sudden jerk of the wheel, you lined yourself up with the enemy car behind you— And slammed on the breaks.

---

You had to come back to Belle Reve on a separate jet with Harkness, who also needed medical care before being sent back. Harley, despite her protests to see that you were both okay, was returned to her cell without so much as a ‘good job’ from Waller. Flag locked the caged door behind her with a murmur that he’d send word about Boomer soon.

You landed in Louisiana with a fractured arm and ten stitches along your right temple. They had to reset your shoulder too. The bruising on the right side of your face made you look worse than you felt, but you still had to keep your face still from pulling the stitches. As you shuffled down the exit stairs, dragging your duffle behind you, you were startled when you looked up to see Rick Flag on the tarmac approaching you quickly.

His brow furrowed, he immediately greeted you with a gruff, “Hey.”

“Hey—” You said back, feeling your bag being taken from you. He peels it from your fingers, your wrists brushing. No ‘[L/N]’, no curt nod. You watched as Flag slung the duffle over his broad shoulder and gestured back to the SUV he’d driven over to receive you from the Belle Reve air field without a word. When you approach your door, you stare as Flag uncharacteristically holds it open for you, then promptly shuts it, your bag placed down in the back seat.

The drive back to the main compound was usually brief, but today it felt like an eternity. You glanced over as Flag glared at the road ahead, and you remembered what Harley said about his... What did she call it? RBF? Dreamy bitch face?

Silence.

“Am I fired?” You finally said, your voice piercing the dead quiet of the car.

Flag blinked, looking between you and the road as if pulled from his own thoughts. “No, what?”

“Am I fired?” You repeated. Then grumbled, “Feels like you’re rushing me to an exit interview.”

“You're not fired.” He replied in his drawl, still distracted. “And I’m tryin’a hustle you to your debrief with Waller so you can get home and rest.”

He put the car in park, the silence falling over you again deafening now that the engine was off. You sneak another glance over at him to see him staring ahead, his large hands still gripping the wheel tightly.

“Are... You okay, Flag?”

“Are you okay?” He suddenly snapped. He released the wheel, turning his chest to face you in his seat. You reeled a little, confused at the sudden anger that seemed to release like a burst dam.

“Stitches, a broken arm. You got lucky, [L/N]. What the hell were you thinking?” He continued, voice raising. And it was like muscle memory, the way your uncertainty vanished, your body turning in your own seat to square up to Rick Flag, Colonel pain in the ass. He was chastising you now? After you just saved his fucking life?

You said as much, your face shutting down, on the defense. Typical Rick Flag. The thought was written on your face, your contempt like a flashing billboard.

Flag’s lips parted, a sharp intake of breath telling you he was about to fire back— because that’s what the two of you did— but instead he surprised you by promptly clamping the sharp line of his jaw shut. That silence fell like a wall between the two of you once more, and Rick turned to face forward, his gaze leaving you and taking all the fire with it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob minutely, something unreadable washing over his features before he mutters,

“Waller’s waiting for you in comms. Better hustle.”

#rick flag x reader #rick flag #harley quinn #tss 2021 #mywords*#reader is a genius. very smort.

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fa-headhoncho · 4 years ago

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Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt/Background: After turning yourself in to the government following the events of CA:TWS, they lock you up for the crimes you committed during your time at Hydra. Spending years there until Captain America got you on parole during the blip to help fight Thanos. Now, after doing community service acts and helping the broken society, when they give the new Captain America the shield, you’re thrown back into a life you didn’t want.

Word Count: 1719

Reader: Female

Warning: parole officers? canon level violence, john walker

Author’s Note: uh, hi. i'm shit at fighting scenes so... Also, slow burn, I'm sorry. I'm a whore for slow burn fics. GIVE ME IDEAS FOR A TITLE PLEASE

Masterlist Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

=====

“So, how’d you end up here?” Walker screams over the loud roaring of the helicopter, trying to make conversation as the pilots drive you where you were going. You roll your eyes at him, did he really not do any research before recruiting you on this mission?

“You’re the one who cut my parole.” You scoff, not looking up to speak to him. You were too busy fiddling with the tactical gloves they gave you. The velcro sticking to the material of the ridiculous suit frustrated you, it was too tight. It matched Battlestar’s, red and blue but yours didn’t have a star on the side and his wasn’t as fitted. “Why did you, exactly? I haven’t been on a real mission since my Hydra days and you bring me into what? Taking down a terrorist organization that we have little to no information on?”

The Captain shakes his head, a small smile slipping onto his face. “You’re a good asset, a great addition to the team I’m building.” He simply answers before looking out of the open door of the copter.

You roll your eyes once again, if he thinks you’ll be a part of his team then he’s really in for it. This was just one favor you were going to do for him before you would be released out into the public again. You owed him this but you weren’t about to become a team with this imposter.

Deciding it would be better to not respond, you just vaguely nod your head. You weren’t about to tell him off in fear that he’d just snap his fingers and have you back into jail for not complying with him.

“They’re right there.” He suddenly gets up and holds onto the tether above for stability. The helicopter carefully lowers as he exits, throwing his shield before hopping down onto the truck.

Standing up, you lean over to get a better look to see who else was fighting. Anger bubbles up as you see Sam being pinned down and Bucky being restrained by masked figures. “You guys didn’t tell me those two were going to be here!” You turn to shout at Battlestar.

The dark-skinned man just shrugs, a sly grin on his face, “You wouldn’t have come.” He merely offers before jumping out and swinging in to help his friend. Letting out a frustrated groan, you follow him.

Using the rope to drop down, you land on the other semi where Sam is. Two of the masked people have him pinned down. They were too distracted with the two landing and throwing the shield around to notice you sneaking up behind one of them.

You swiftly kick right under the back of their knee causing them to fold back slightly. You take the advantage and spin, the roundhouse kick sending them off the side of the trailer. Sam looks up at you from below, a pained expression on his face.

“Oh no, not you too.” He sighs out in which you return with a sad smile. He lets out a groan before turning to deal with the other enemy holding his right arm down. You help him stand up just as Battlestar lands right beside Walker.

“Sam. John Walker, Captain America.” Walker decides this was a good time for introductions and sends the Avenger a salute.

“Lamar Hoskins.” His sidekick steps in after they do their little forearm bang. The two look at you, waiting for you to introduce yourself but you just glare at them.

“And that’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” He points to you.

“Yea, we know.” Bucky spits out, side-eyeing you. You don’t even need to look at him to know he was pissed off. The guilt starts to wash over you but you push it down. It wasn’t the time now to talk to him, you needed to focus on taking down these abnormally strong people.

“Looks like you guys can use some help.” The Captain continues before turning and hitting the redhead with his shield. The rest of the Flag Smashers pounce as well. The four that were on your side try to come at you causing Sam to try to fly away. Noticing that they were all targeting Sam, you unhook the bolas from the side of your suits.

Using the rope to swing the balls at the end around, you throw it to wrap around one of the guy’s bodies. It tightens around him and you give it a hard tug, sending him to the floor. They still manage to pull him back down and attack him.

The guy you were fighting grabs the rope and pulls you towards him, you let out a surprised squeal at his strength. You release your grip on the rope before he could tug you down to his level but the person you thought you knocked off wraps his arms around your shoulders.

You struggle against the man, his fingers digging into your shoulders would definitely leave bruises but you didn’t care. It’s been a long time since you’ve been out in the field like this and you were trying to think back to your Hydra training to figure out an escape.

The man you pulled down finally gets up and drags his feet over to you. Behind him you see Bucky jump over and help Sam with the two other Flag Smashers. The man gets close enough and you use the leverage the other has on your upper half to lift your legs and swing them around his neck and jerk your body to the side.

The movement causes the guy to release his hold on you, letting you and his partner fall off the side. You luckily catch the side of the metal, watching the guy roll onto the grass on the side of the road. You turn back to see the other guy hovering above, his foot coming up to step onto your fingers that were gripping on for dear life.

Just as he was about the step on them, you see Sam’s wings hit him off. Letting out a sigh of relief, you pull yourself back onto the roof of the trailer. Sam was still fighting off two of the Flag Smashers but Bucky was nowhere in sight.

Then you hear grunting from below so you peak your head over to see Bucky hanging on by the bottom of the truck with a guy trying to stomp his arm off. Sam seemed to be handling the one person on him so you decide to help the super-soldier first.

“Bucky! Hang on!” You call out to him, looking around to figure out a way to get him safely off the bar.

“That’s what I’m doing!” He yells back while tightening his grip inside of the torn metal.

You watch the new Captain America and Battlestar struggle slightly to keep the soldiers off of them but you weren’t too concern about them, Bucky was your main priority now. Taking out your knives, you throw one at the woman attacking Sam. It slightly stuns her before she rips it out and throws it aside. “Sam! Go get Bucky, I got this.” You demand and he just nods.

The woman turns to you as Sam flies off right before the woman plows through the road sign. She lets out a roar before charging at you. She swings her arm to hit you in the face but you dodge it. It didn’t take a scientist to realize that these people were super-soldiers so you knew that the last thing you wanted to do was take a blow from them.

The years of training with the former Winter Soldier have taught you well for this standoff. She tries to recover from the miss but you elbow her in the ribs making her go off balance for a few seconds. Taking the opportunity, you kick her chest to send her lying on her back.

You walk over the woman, scowling down at her before leaning down and sending a hard punch to her head, knocking her out. You peak over at the other two just as the gunshot goes off. The person behind Battlestar retracts but doesn’t loosen his grip on him. The other takes advantage of Walker being distracted and throws him off the back of the trailer.

The man jumps over to you and tries to wind up a punch but you barely dodge it, tripping over the woman you just knocked out. “Fuck,” You whisper out, eyes flicking from the man in front of you over to Battlestar getting tossed off like a ragdoll. The rest of the group turns to you, seeing you as the last person standing.

They get distracted as the Captain appears again, a sense of hope washes over you but he just gets shit on. They were easily attracted to him since he was the star of the show so they let the one guy handle you. You look straight past him as he takes his time to stalk over to you. These people were cocky and you couldn’t blame them. They just took out four well-known figures, well-known fighters, and were left with you.

It wasn’t an ideal situation and you needed to find a way out. You couldn’t even keep count of the super-soldiers since they kept popping up and you weren’t enhanced enough to take them all on nor were you about to get captured. Seeing the road sign approaching from behind the man sparks an idea in your head.

Making eye contact with the Flag Smasher, you throw your last tool past him. He watches it zoom past his head and looks at the sign approaching. He braces himself for the impact, busting through the metal before whipping back around to look at you. But you weren’t there.

You used your last bola to wrap around the metal bracing and use a steel grip to hold onto your end. Letting out a grunt at the rough pull as the rope drags you off the trailer to hang from the sign. You let out a sigh, watching until the soldiers and trucks are out of view before jumping down onto the ground.

This was a lot more complicated than Walker said it was going to be.

_____

taglist: @crowleysqueenofhell @mischiefmanaged71 @thewinterrbucky @lizajane3 @ahahafudge @spookycereal-s @a-girl-who-loves-disney @kittengirl998

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter solider x reader #james barnes x reader #tfatws #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x y/n #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfic

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gellavonhamster · 3 years ago

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cold weapons

Suicide Squad (2016) || Captain Boomerang/Katana || post-canon

ao3 link eng || this was first written and published on ao3 in Russian in 2017 but I didn't attempt to translate it into English back then.

“So, what do you think of them?” Colonel Flag asks.

Tatsu puts the folder containing the rap sheet of Waylon Jones, better known as Killer Croc, on top of three other folders.

“They’re complicated,” she replies after giving it some thought.

The materials in these folders could have formed her first impression about the members of Task Force X – or, as Lawton has aptly put it, the Suicide Squad. Could have, but did not, because they were given their first task earlier than expected. Which is why she doesn’t say “villains” or “scoundrels” or “worst team imaginable” – her first impression of them was formed in combat, and then in an empty bar in Midway City where they all drank together thinking it may be the last drink in their lives. She remembers all of this and says ‘complicated’.

“Very tactful of you,” the colonel chuckles. Then again, what kind of colonel is he now – an unwashed shirt, black circles under the eyes. Just another guy struggling with a deluge of work, a hard-hearted boss, and a troubled relationship with his girlfriend. “But yeah, they definitely aren’t simple,” continues Rick Flag, one of her few friends in the country that will never become her home, and Tatsu cannot suppress a tired smile.

“You like them.”

“They’re… tolerable,” Rick admits, and takes another sip of coffee. Lately he seems to be living only on coffee and whiskey and the verb “must” and (so Tatsu supposes, although they don’t talk about that) the hope that June Moone, who still hasn’t fully recovered from all the horrors she’s been through, will be all right – and will stop isolating herself and avoiding him. These means for not letting yourself just fall down and never get up are far from being reliable, but Tatsu herself lives mostly on revenge and duty and, for that matter, whiskey as well, to a certain degree, so it’s not for her to judge. “Most of them, at least. All of them minus the Australian.”

“At least he’s a good fighter,” Tatsu points out. This is the only good thing she can say about Captain Boomerang with full confidence.

“He’s not cut out for teamwork.”

“When we were fighting the Enchantress, it didn’t look to me like that.”

She does not put much meaning into these words. It’s just that at some point Captain Boomerang saved her, and she saved him – and good thing they’re even, because the last thing she needs is to owe a favour to someone so incompatible with the very concept of duty. She could have said much about the man who tried to escape at the very beginning of the mission and got a teammate killed (and for some reason stood up for El Diablo when Harley Quinn lashed out at him at the bar, and for some reason came back before the battle after trying to desert), but the only thing she’s sure of is that he’s a fine weapon; she can confirm that, being a weapon herself. At the end of the day, that is all that’s required from him.

At the end of the day, that is all that’s required from her, too.

��***

It is possible that what she said about Digger Harkness sticks in Rick’s memory, because when the need to comb the area arises during the next mission, he sends the two of them to search through the same building.

“If he gets up to something, do whatever you want to him. No one’s gonna weep for him,” he flings off. This is in the heat of the moment, of course – Boomerang almost got into a fight with Killer Croc on the helicopter over some nonsense. Or rather, it was Croc that almost got into a fight with Boomerang after the latter provoked him. Complicated.

“You heard that, darl?” Boomerang addresses her with a smile so wide as if he hasn’t heard the last remark. “I’m all yours.”

Tatsu looks the other way and pointedly takes her sword out of its sheath – not completely, just a little. No further comments follow, and they part company – Deadshot with Croc, Flag with his team of spec ops, Tatsu with Boomerang – and go on a recce.

In the basement, they discover something that looks like a laboratory – if a place so far from being sanitary may even be called one. All their hopes to move without making a sound crumble as soon as they enter the room: the floor is covered with broken glass. Those who ran the place must have escaped in haste and couldn’t take the entire stock of the serum with them, so they opted to destroy most of it. Tatsu’s attention is immediately drawn to the object on the table in the middle of the room – a metal container with tubes going from it to several smaller vessels. She heads straight for the table, shards crunching underfoot. Boomerang follows her, apparently kicking the largest shards on purpose so that they fly in all directions.

“Looks like a hooch still,” he comments, having come closer, and gives a whistle. “Whoa, fuck, is that blood?”

Compared to the first task of their squad, this one looks almost effortless. Two gangs, the members of one of which possess the formula of the serum that grants superpowers to those who take it. A gun battle, collateral damage, the entire district on lockdown. If a few people weren’t noticed literally floating through the sky, the police would have been handling this. But this is an emergency, which is why they’re here, and the flying gangsters aren’t flying anymore, for Lawton is an exceptionally good shot.

As it turns out, the serum that sparked the conflict is based on metahuman blood – hardly donated voluntarily.

“I’ll contact Colonel Flag,” says Tatsu, eyes locked on the bloodied tubes, and then someone grabs her by the neck.

For the first time in her life, she really has to fight blindly – because her enemy is invisible.

Later, when the dead bodies gradually become visible on the floor like an eerie animated movie, it turns out there were four of them. Before that, Tatsu manages to lose her sword, recapture it, almost choke when an invisible hand squeezes her neck, slash one of the attackers in half, and plunge the blade into another’s stomach. Boomerang takes care of the other two, knocking over the container in the process.

Tatsu is listening to the silence that came after the fight, wondering if any other invisible foes are lurking around the corner, when she feels that something is wrong. Something is wrong with her – she just can't figure out what. Sometimes it happens that one feels unwell but cannot determine what exactly the problem is – she is experiencing something similar now. Until she realizes: the mask. Until she looks up and makes eye contact with Captain Boomerang, who is staring at her and grinning.

“You lost anything, doll?” Harkness inquires innocently, with an emphasis on the last word, and his smile grows even wider and cockier.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The invisible man she fought hand to hand tore off her mask, and she didn’t even notice. But her partner, blast him, did – and picked it up.

“Give it back,” Tatsu demands, hand outstretched. She feels naked. In combat, during the mission, she is Katana, a single whole with her sword. A cold weapon. No one needs to see her face. Truly, if she was wearing only the mask and nothing else, she would have felt less exposed – all right, this is an overstatement, and she doesn’t even want to imagine such a situation. Meanwhile, Boomerang is in no hurry to return the mask.

“What did ya call me when that fucker was about to stab me?” he asks. Tatsu clenches the sword hilt. There is no telling how many enemies drunk on the magic serum are hiding in this house, and he’s dawdling. “You said…”

Damn it, what did she say? She saw one of the invisibles creeping up on him while he was fighting another – a bloodstain was floating through the air. She shouted…

“I said ‘George’”. Isn’t your name George Harkness?”

“You bet it is. It’s just weird. Most people don’t call me George, y’know.”

“How do they call you then?”

“Digger. Boomerang. Boomer. That Prick. All sorts of things, but never George. But you,” he winks, “can call me whatever ya want. I liked the way you say my name.”

“Give. Me. The mask.”

“And the magic word?”

“I will chop your hand off,” as a proof of her intentions, she puts the blade against his extended hand that is holding her mask. In fact, she would face no consequences for doing so. No one’s gonna weep for him.

Harkness makes a helpless gesture and hands her the mask.

“Can’t say no to you, luv.”

The mask helps her conceal her identity, but what is more important is that it helps her conceal needless emotions. Tatsu really hopes that her facial expression isn’t giving away that she’s ill at ease now. This is a weakness; weaknesses are not to be demonstrated. She feels deeply relieved when she puts the mask back on.

“Let’s get out of here,” she commands, turns around, and heads for the exit. Harkness trails behind.

“It ain’t fair, by the way. You know my real name, but I don’t know yours,” he muses. “Care to introduce yourself, eh?”

He asks the same question at least three times more before they return to Belle Reve, and each time she ignores him.

***

A week later, he still doesn’t know her name – but he learns something else.

They do away with the last members of the recent gang on the outskirts of the city. Both wretches have overused the unfortunate serum, in keeping with the best traditions of the clichéd movies about superheroes and supervillains that Hollywood keeps producing for some reason, even though it is more and more often possible to see nearly the same thing on the news. As a result, one of them got puffed up almost to the size of the creature that Superman died fighting, and the other couldn’t control the flames bursting from his mouth. He burned half of the shopping centre with customers, retail workers, and guards. With teenagers in the bowling alley on the second floor and children in the playroom on the first.

Santana… wouldn’t have approved.

Both problems eliminated, they leave: the firefighters and the cops will take it from here. Flag’s spec ops stay behind, because officially it is their victory; the general public shouldn’t know about the existence of Task Force X. Through backyards, they retreat in the direction of the abandoned construction site on the other side of the street; a car has been sent to pick them up there.

There is a workers’ trailer still standing by the construction pit. The door is not locked, and Rick, Deadshot, Croc, and Boomerang go inside. Jones’s arm is broken: his inhuman strength notwithstanding, he still was no match for his enemy – not the fire-breather, but the other one. Tatsu leaves them to figure out how to make a temporary sling, and wanders away. Not far from the trailer, a piece of tarpaulin stretched over the fence has come off, and she can see the building across the street. Tatsu sits down on the ground, puts her arms around her knees, and stares at the dandelions growing by the fence.

In her head, flames are raging.

She doesn’t look up, neither when she hears the footsteps approaching, nor when Harkness – and it is him, no one else in the Squad reeks of the mixture of booze and cologne like that – sits down next to her and cracks open a can of beer.

“You want some?” he nudges her. What extraordinary generosity. It is, however, perfectly possible that if she says yes, he’ll reply along the lines of “Well, then go and buy yourself some.”

“No,” Tatsu replies without looking and, after a short pause, adds, “Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

With a sigh, she accepts the can from his hands, and takes a sip.

“This is disgusting,” she whispers, and takes another.

Harkness just snorts and opens another one. For a little while, they sit side by side in silence, drinking each from their own can, and study the wall opposite through the mesh of the fence – like out of a prison window. Old advertisements that are half torn off, graffiti, a writing proclaiming that life fucks us all – plenty of things to stare at to avoid looking the person next to you in the eye.

“So what the hell happened to ya?” Boomerang asks, and suddenly she could do with some serum for invisibility or, better yet, disappearing completely. Naturally, it is a fleeting impulse; she has no right to disappear. She has obligations – towards Flag, towards Waller. Towards herself.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You zoned out, Flag shouted himself hoarse before you heard him. Like you were someplace else. Didn’t ya?”

Why do you need to know? Tatsu thinks. If she almost rushed headlong into the fire, it’s her own business. If it only seemed to her that someone was there, it’s her own business. If she’s going to see things that aren’t there for the rest of her life, it’s her own business. He shouldn't have spoken. There is something comforting about being silent together.

“Nah, you don’t have to say if you don’t wanna,” Boomerang assents, and takes another pull on his can. “I just thought that you, well. Might wanna talk to someone.”

And they fall silent again. Yet now Tatsu feels awkward, which makes her angry at herself. She’s not obliged to pour out her heart to anyone who shows something that looks like care.

This silence doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have… bad memories,” she finally says. Now it won’t be as awkward: she answered his question. It won’t be, right? “About a fire”.

Harkness nods, looking at her attentively.

“Someone you knew died, aye?”

“My children,” she hears herself say, and wishes to disappear again.

“Fuck,” Boomerang says, embarrassed, and – unbelievable – looks like he actually feels bad about starting this conversation. “I’m sorry, I… well, uh, I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” Tatsu says mechanically. Nothing is okay: she can still see Yuki’s tear-stained face, still hear Reiko’s voice, she is still watching the flames run up the curtains that she and Maseo picked together, she is still breathing in the smoke and still cannot believe she deserves a gulp of fresh air. She should have saved them. All of them.

Boomerang looks at her incredulously but doesn’t say anything, and bit by bit, the silence that she doesn’t want to run from returns – the kind of silence in which one is not alone.

Then there are footsteps again, and Flag approaches them.

“There you are,” he says with relief as soon as he sees her. Rick does not let himself overstep the limits of formality – they’re on a mission, after all – but he has obviously been worried. At the sight of Harkness, he frowns warily. “You! Quit getting on her nerves.”

“Who’s gettin’ on her nerves, Colonel? I was just tryin’ to help,” Harkness protests. It appears Rick’s words have wounded him a little.

“He was,” Tatsu says. “It’s all under control, Colonel Flag.”

Flag shifts his gaze to her and then to Boomerang again, and nods.

“Okay. In any case… follow me. We’re leaving.”

Tatsu gives her unfinished beer to Boomerang.

“Don’t talk about this to anyone,” she tells him. This might be an order or a request; she doesn’t really know.

He nods, and she thinks absentmindedly: who would have thought this man knows how to make a solemn face.

“Thank you,” she says again, hoping that he understands that this is not just about the beer or his promise to keep his mouth shut.

***

After a few days, Tatsu comes to visit him. In prison.

Actually, she comes to visit all of them, of course. Not more than fifteen minutes alone with each of them – Waller wouldn’t allow more. This request seems to have surprised her, but Tatsu is certain that Waller is already picturing the new threads she can use to manipulate her special operations puppets. So it is possible that one day this decision will blow up in Tatsu’s face – or in the faces of all of them. But she cannot shake off the feeling that she must do this – so that someone except Rick, who is already dealing with a lot these days, would notice in time if the inmates are treated with undeserved cruelty. So that she knows what’s on their minds, because it is safer to fight side by side with the people whose line of thought she can understand at least roughly. So that there is some kind of variety in their lives between the missions.

This is why she visits all three of them. Killer Croc, who looks like he’s not surprised to see her in the slightest and doesn’t really seems to care that she came, but doesn’t have any issue with that either. Deadshot, who looks like he is surprised, but doesn’t seem to mind answering her questions when she notices a stack of letters in the corner and asks him how his daughter is doing. And Captain Boomerang, who, when she enters his cell, looks like he can’t figure out if he’s dreaming.

“Katana?” he frowns perplexedly. He’s stripped to his waist, so she can see a couple of fresh scars he brought back from the last mission, and he’s got a black eye – when Tatsu saw him last, he had not. Must have quarrelled with the guards again. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

For a moment he seems not to understand what she just said. Then he breaks into a smile – or rather a grin, wide and pleased. Very pleased.

“Aha! Knew it would end up like this,” he pronounces in triumph.

“Like this?”

“You,” he looks like he’s just proven a theorem of immense complexity, “missed me.”

“I haven’t missed you, Captain.”

A very, very pleased grin.

“And still you’re here.”

“I visited Deadshot and Killer Croc earlier,” Tatsu says, and sees his facial expression change instantly. Not for long: the grin is quick to return, and she wouldn’t be able to tell right away that he’s disappointed.

“Did ya now? And how are our fellas doing? Better than me, I reckon?”

“So it would seem. Did you fight the guards?”

“Why do you care, gorgeous?”

Indeed, why does she? Most likely, he picked a fight himself – and got his just deserts.

“Make up your mind,” Tatsu says, “if you think that I missed you or that I don’t care.”

Harkness chuckles and really seems to ponder over this for a while.

“Beats me,” he concludes at last. “Care to throw some light on it?”

No, Tatsu thinks, I don’t get it myself and I’m not sure I want to.

Instead of answering, she comes closer to him – so close that she can smell his sweat – and studies his face. She has to look up to be able to do that, which must look comical. Then again, he’s hardly stupid enough to laugh at her height or anything else about her, especially when she’s armed and he is not.

“You lost a tooth. What happened?”

“Didn’t get along with one of the Wall’s watchdogs.”

“You could have tried not to look for trouble for a change,” all of a sudden, Tatsu realizes that she’s mad. Really mad at him. They might get dragged to another mission this instant; whether they like it or not, they have to be in good enough shape to protect the society that the most of them have to atone before at least partially. They shouldn’t spend their energy and health on nonsense. Black eyes and knocked-out teeth are nothing, but it mustn’t come to any of them being out of action when all of them are needed. All their powers, all their skills. All the anger they should rather aim at something other than the people who can just press a certain button at any point – and dispose of the wilful weapon.

Boomerang bares his teeth – not like Croc, of course, but still threateningly. He looks dangerous now – big, sturdy, more than a head taller than her. But he still isn’t more dangerous than her – and both of them are aware of that.

“And they could have tried,” he speaks through his teeth, “not to talk shit about my mother for a change. They wanna talk shit about me, they can knock themselves out. I’ve heard enough ‘bout myself, I don’t give a flying fuck about what else they gonna say. But they’d better leave my mother out of it.”

So that’s what it is. They have found a quick and easy way to infuriate the man who has “MUM” tattooed on his chest. In uneven letters, like a child's handwriting. Tatsu noticed that tattoo as soon as she came in but didn’t look too closely at it. Now she feels like she has the right to look, to let her gaze slip lower, at the ridiculous writing that heaves with each furious breath of his, and then to avert her eyes at once.

“They have power, and you have nothing,” she says. “Do you enjoy being their plaything?”

“Oh, so I’m a plaything, darl? And do I have much choice who to be now? In these four walls, and,” Boomerang points at his neck, at the place where a bomb is implanted under his skin, “with this crap in my neck?”

Tatsu looks up again, right him in the eye.

“You already know who you are,” she tells him. “You’re a weapon. Broken weapons get discarded. And you’re letting them break you.”

He stays silent, just looks at her in an odd manner, as if she’s speaking another language but he has a vague understanding of what she’s saying and doesn’t like what he just heard – because it is the truth.

Tatsu still doesn’t understand why she cares, and with each passing minute she has less and less desire to learn why.

“Also,” she continues, “if you call me ‘darl’ or ‘gorgeous’ one more time, you’re going to regret opening your mouth.”

“Yeah? And how should I call ya?”

“Katana.”

“What, and that’s all? Nah, we might be weapons,” and she probably ought to remind him that there is no ‘we’, but in this particular case he’s right. Perhaps that is why Tatsu feels drawn to all of them: they’re cut from the same cloth, “but we’re alive as well. So far. Seriously, what’s yer real name? You know mine.”

“I should not disclose that.”

“Oh, come on. Listen,” he breaks into a pleased grin again. Another theorem proven. “How about a deal? You tell me yer name, and I will try to keep my temper if anyone else decides to stir me up. What do ya think?”

“As if you’re going to keep your word.”

Boomerang makes a show of putting his hand over his heart.

“For you, ma’am… anything.”

For you. All at once, she recalls Rick’s words: do whatever you want to him. How many minutes of the visit she has already spent on this predictably fruitless conversation?

“My name is Tatsu Yamashiro,” she says, tired, and then he smiles – not the way he did before, but in a calmer and more sincere manner. Gratefully.

“George Harkness,” he offers her his hand with an earnest air. “Nice to meet ya.”

Tatsu hesitantly offers him hers. Her hand looks very small and fragile against his huge paw, and he must be thinking the same because the handshake comes out very careful. He could easily break her wrist. She could easily kill him with one hand afterwards. But he holds her hand gently in his warm, pleasantly calloused palm, and Tatsu hastens to take her hand away, because this is a mistake of an even worse kind than the time he saw her without the mask.

“So you promise not to fights the guards.”

“I promise to try,” Harkness assures, but he’s keeping one hand behind his back.

“Don’t cross your fingers,” Tatsu says sternly. Real mature.

With a sigh, Boomerang repeats his promise, this time holding his hands within her view.

“But I ain’t promisin’ not to call you gorgeous,” he declares in the end.

“You know my name now.”

“But you’re still gorgeous.”

“Time’s up!” shouts the guard outside the door, and Tatsu cannot help feeling relieved that she has to go. She doesn’t regret visiting him, but all of this is too strange and awkward, and both of them might be weapons, but her position is different from his, and it is better not to forget that.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asks him on parting.

“Well,” Boomerang smirks. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“With something I would actually agree to do?”

“Come again. Will ya?” This time he isn’t flirting; this time she can feel his insecurity, even shyness. As if he doesn’t like to admit to himself that what she answers is really important to him.

“I’ll try,” she says cautiously. She’s not going to make any promises: she asked Waller about one time only. She doubts if she’ll be allowed to visit them again – to visit him again.

“Try,” Harkness repeats, as if weighing the word on his tongue. “This means no.”

“This means I’ll try,” Tatsu says firmly.

And she comes again in a week. And the week after next. And a week after that.

***

“Why didn’t you walk away in Midway City?” Tatsu asks him once. “When Rick broke the control panel. You left then; why did you return?”

A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since the time Captain Boomerang dared to smart off Amanda Waller. Several successful missions, slightly more respectful attitude on his part – and his cell already bears a passing resemblance to a place for living, even if for living quite miserably. Now there is even a table, and a chair that she gets to sit on as guest privilege. Harkness is sitting on the floor opposite her. The question seems to catch him unawares, but only for a moment.

“Huh? Why did I return? Gotta live up to my name, that’s why. Have you ever thrown a boomerang, luv?”

I’m going to throw you somewhere one day, Tatsu thinks, yet without much irritation.

“And jokes aside?”

Boomerang attempts to feign an offended sigh.

“How do ya think? Plenty of options, all right. You gonna try to guess which one?”

Tatsu frowns.

“Is this a psychoanalysis session? Were you bitten by Harley Quinn?”

“Nah, Blondie didn’t bite me, I would’ve remembered. So don’t be jealous,” his voice gets playful again, and Tatsu stifles the urge to roll her eyes. “Lookie here… suppose I suddenly realized that I can’t leave you guys! ‘Cause you’re my mates. One for all, and so on. Don’t believe me?”

“You said something about plenty of options. What are the rest of them?”

He scratches his chin thoughtfully.

“We-e-ell… the second, ‘course, is that I wanted to save the world. Not that the world smiles upon me every bloody day, but I still wanna live! And for everyone an’ their mother to know that the bastards like us can also be heroes. Don’t you like being one of the good guys, eh, Tatsu?”

“I’m not ‘one of the good guys’”, Tatsu protests. “And it’s not me that we’re talking about. Any other options?”

“There was no point in leaving. That was still gonna be the end of the world, aye? So I’d rather meet it in battle and in good company than on the run. All the same it’ll be the end. There you go.”

He stops talking, and in the silence that falls Tatsu can hear the footsteps of the guards in the corridor. Once again she wonders what the duty attendants that monitor everything through the surveillance cameras think of their conversations. They must make for the strangest and most pointless reality show ever.

“The third one,” she says.

Boomerang looks a bit disappointed.

“Why?”

“Not the first one, because none of us meant anything to you then. You had just met us. And it didn’t seem like you were upset about letting Slipknot down,” Tatsu explains. She doesn’t intend to offend him – she’s just saying the truth. Once, he claimed it himself that they understand each other – here’s some understanding, he’s welcome. “Not the second one either, because you’re not stupid – no, stop smiling. You never believed that if people like us stop the Enchantress, someone would learn about that. Only the third option remains.”

Harkness nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and his eyes turn pensive, abstracted, as if he is there again, in the night city frozen in anticipation of the apocalypse. As if he sees himself – and makes a choice once again. “And that’s what happened in the end, didn’t it?”

“So the third option, then?”

“So it is.”

But something in his face makes Tatsu think that he was hoping for a different answer.

***

Time flies; weeks and months go by. Tatsu spends them fighting, spilling someone else’s blood, occasionally drinking with Flag at a bar or in his apartment – a bachelor’s home again; reading books – most of the plots seem too naïve and unimaginative compared to what goes on in her life, and that is even for the best, and visiting the members of the Suicide Squad in Belle Reve. Some people go clubbing Friday evenings, and she goes to prison Friday afternoons.

“Don’t get attached to them,” Rick scolds her.

“That is rich coming from you,” Tatsu replies, and he has enough self-awareness not to argue. Lest he gets offended, she chooses not to tell him that sometimes she and Lawton talk a little about him good-naturedly behind his back.

During one of her visits, Harkness raises a topic she has totally forgotten about.

“Hey, come to think of it, we never had that drink,” he points out. Tatsu doesn’t understand what he’s talking about, and it must be written all over her face, because he continues. “Remember I asked you out for a drink? In Midway City, before we fought the witch.”

Tatsu has to make an effort to remember: indeed, he said something of the sort, but it never occurred to her to take those words seriously.

“We had a drink,” she counters. “When… when you shared your beer with me.”

He shakes his head, dissatisfied.

“At the construction site? That’s bollocks. I’m talking a proper bar… nah, a restaurant! With crystal glasses an’ candles an’ shit… Like normal people.”

“Candles,” Tatsu mumbles. She tries to imagine the two of them at the table at a restaurant; the picture turns out pretty absurd. On the other hand, a lot of what has happened in her life during the past few years can be deemed absurd.

“Yeah. Candles,” echoes Harkness, and continues with a crooked smile, “well, that’s me jokin’ around. In the near future,” he gestures in the direction of the small barred window of his cell, “I won’t be able to take you even to a fucking McDonald’s.”

They don’t talk about the hypothetical dinners at a restaurant anymore, but the absurd picture stays with Tatsu, who still feels somehow indebted to Boomerang – for no reason, as she keeps telling herself – for that conversation at the construction site. She doesn’t like to feel the weight of unpaid debts on her shoulders – yes, that’s what it is about.

One day, she finds a way to pay that debt back.

***

She waits for him in the car outside the prison gate. She hears him first; she cannot make out what exactly he is yelling at the guards, but that surely isn’t ‘good evening’. Then the door of the jeep is open, and someone must have kicked him in the rear because he literally falls into the car. Tatsu shrinks back on instinct.

Then Harkness looks up – and notices her.

“Katana?.. Hey, what the hell’s going on? They didn’t let me take the boomerangs, didn’t let me take anything…”

“Close the door,” Tatsu tells him, and when he, still confused, obeys, tells the driver, “Let’s go.”

The car pulls away.

“I still don’t get what’s happening,” Harkness reminds her. “Sure, I’m happy to see ya, but… you weren’t ordered to take me to the woods and finish me off under the radar, huh?”

“If Waller wanted to get rid of you, she would have had you killed in your own cell, and that’s all.”

“Wow, thanks for honesty. So where are we going?”

“To a restaurant,” Tatsu says, and turns away. Yet again it crosses her mind that it is a terrible idea.

“A restaurant?” Harkness drawls quizzically.

“As far as I recall, you said that the beer at the construction site is ‘bollocks’.”

She should turn back to him, of course. The problem is that Tatsu is ninety-nine per cent sure that if she meets his eye now, she will blush. And she is by no means going to give him any sign that might be interpreted as taking an interest… of a certain kind. She has already blundered more than a few times.

Therefore she stubbornly keeps looking out of the window. Then again, she doesn’t even need to look to picture how his facial expression is changing now; she’s seen this rakish grin enough times.

“Holy cow. Tatsu, are you serious? We’re really just going to a restaurant? We’re getting outta this shithole where they only give us porridge with rat crap to gorge ourselves on lobsters and drink wine? Oh, fuck me sideways,” in the end, she turns to him and sees him throw back his head and burst into laughter, narrowing his eyes happily. “I’ll be damned! Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Pinch me.”

“I can assure you you’re not,” Tatsu says, and realizes that she is also starting to smile despite herself. She has visited him and the others in Belle Reve often enough to know that porridge with rat crap, unfortunately, is far from being just a figure of speech. After such a diet, a meal at a restaurant must seem like the pinnacle of happiness.

Boomerang shakes his head, apparently still unable to believe her.

“Holy fucking shit. How did you do that? How do you even do all that? I’ve told ya you’re unreal, have I?”

“Yes, you have,” Tatsu confirms patiently. And more than once – too often for her to attach great importance to it, too fervently for it not to please her at all. “Let’s put it that way: this is Waller paying me for a… favour.”

“A favour, then. I take it a lot of some poor suckers died?”

“No,” she shakes her head. And it is true – but there still was a lot of blood. Both the man Waller indicated and his bodyguards turned out to be worthy adversaries. The whole thing went not as smoothly as she wanted it to – not that she wanted to; not that she would kill another person she knows nothing about if she could help it. Nothing to assure her: this one deserves it. Everything turned out rather… nasty. She had to burn the bodies. Then she got home in a haze, tended to a couple of fresh wounds – or rather, just scratches. And then she went to the bathroom and spent a long time soaping herself, as if the invisible filth that bothered her the most could be washed off with shower gel.

Afterwards, she rummaged through her modest wardrobe and dug out the only dress she has about in America. Nothing special: wine red, below the knee length, sleeveless but with a pretty high neckline – very demure. The first and so far the last dress she bought after… after. If she and Rick didn’t have to accompany Amanda Waller to some event once, she wouldn’t have bought this one either. She put it on, combed her hair, still wet after the shower, with her fingers, looked at herself in the mirror – and flew into a rage, pulled off the dress, and could barely stop herself from tearing it to shreds. Restaurant or not, what does it matter? The last thing she needs is for him to think she dressed up for him.

So the situation might be a little less absurd than it could have been. Both of them look like they’re going on another mission with the others, only she isn’t wearing her mask – he has already seen her face anyway – and he isn’t wearing his ever-present coat. It is no wonder he wasn’t allowed to take it – Waller wasn’t going to let him out of Belle Reve armed, and to let him wear his coat would probably be as unwise as to hand him all his boomerangs. Tatsu has no doubt that everyone and their dog have already searched through the personal belongings of the Squad, but she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that somewhere in his inside pockets Harkness has as many boomerangs as he is listed as having officially. She witnessed this man produce from his bosom at least four different lighters, a massive stack of dollars, a pocket knife, small binoculars, flat-nose pliers, and a toy unicorn. She has to admit: sometimes she doesn’t understand how he even does all that either.

It appears that the thoughts of Captain Boomerang also turn to the contents of his pockets.

“Hey, how the hell are we affording this, though? Make no mistake, I’d stand treat, but my stash is in the coat, and these assholes didn’t let me take it, y’know.”

“Don’t worry about that. Waller is paying for everything,” she explains, unable to suppress a grin, because this part, possibly the most unbelievable part of the entire affair, gives her a sort of silly, spiteful joy. Task Force X is a comparatively recent project, but they’ve already cleaned up so much mess for Amanda Waller that Heracles and his labours don’t even come close. A dinner at a restaurant is the least thing she could offer them. So when Boomerang explodes with laughter and gives her a conspiratorial wink, she looks him right in the eye and smiles. Another mistake. Then again, this is not the first time they share a secret.

He puts his hand on her knee, and she shakes it off immediately; this is way too far.

“I see you took your sword with ya,” Harkness observes, not giving any sign that something didn’t go the way he wanted.

“I am to keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah. How about…” he leans in closer, and the smell of cologne blasts up Tatsu’s nose. She can only hope it is due to external use only, “we chop off his head,” he nods at the driver, “and drive the fuck away from this? Huh?”

The driver, who can definitely hear everything, doesn’t turn, but Tatsu notices him tense up.

“You’re kidding,” she says dryly. He may be, or he may be not – with Digger Harkness, one cannot always tell.

“Why kidding, doll? Zip, and done. There’s no way you enjoy working for Waller.”

“I do not. But if you pull some stunt,” Tatsu feels for the sword hilt, and Boomerang sees that – very well, it is good for him to see that, “I will chop your head off. I really hope it won’t come to that.”

“And what’s it to you? Scared of me? But I’m unarmed,” he claps himself on the chest demonstratively, implying that he has no weapons on him. “Why do you care if it does?”

“I just wouldn’t like to do that,” she says firmly, and it’s true. It works well; he doesn’t even mention running away for the remainder of the day.

This might be the strangest evening in her life.

Waller’s man drives them to a French restaurant whose name she cannot read but is almost sure that the phrase was chosen solely because it sounds impressive. They are let in through the back door, so no one among the other guests, who are sporting evening dresses and suits, pays any attention to her crop top and sword or to his… appearance in general. Their table is one of those located in alcoves, away from prying eyes, but Tatsu feels they are being watched. Which means Waller doesn’t trust her too much – well, she can understand that. She is part of a special team composed of deranged madmen, and she must admit she likes these deranged madmen more than she likes certain normal people known to her. Of course, she is Flag’s right-hand woman, but it is most likely that Waller doesn’t trust Flag either. It is doubtful whether there are any people in this world that she trusts at all.

Waller is rich. Their little feast will not shatter her wealth, all the more so since the restaurant she sent them to is not the most luxurious. But they still have a field day ordering loads of food and a bottle of the most expensive wine on the menu.

“To honour among thieves?” she suggests, when they raise their glasses for the first time.

“Didn’t ya say yer not a thief?”

“That is true,” she admits, and adds inwardly, I’m a killer.

In the end, they drink to the Suicide Squad. Then to Lawton and Jones, currently languishing in their cells. Then to Zoe Lawton, who is acting in a school play next week. To a lot of things. He asks her about her life here, in America. At some point she finds herself trying to explain to him what taiyaki is, and him telling her about banana sandwiches, and she can’t remember why they started talking about this at all. The bottle becomes empty, and another appears as if by itself.

They don’t talk about the past. They don’t talk about the future, because there might be no future at all – they can’t know for sure, what with their way of life. That evening, Tatsu laughs and thinks: good thing I’m drunk – it almost gets easier for a while.

When it’s time to leave, Harkness gets pig-headed.

“Whoa, no, no, no. Already? It’s too early, are you kiddin’ me?” he booms out when they exit the restaurant. He protests, but she drags him by the hand and he stumbles along after all, treading heavily like a dancing bear. “Let’s go someplace else, luv. Look at the pretty stars.”

“We are already late. And you… you have to go back to jail,” Tatsu tells him. The stars are pretty indeed, but she regrets looking up at them, because her head begins to spin. Thankfully, she isn’t wearing high heels. Thankfully, she doesn’t have any high-heeled shoes at all, or she could have been possessed to wear them. “Sorry,” she adds when they get into the car and set off. “There is no other way.”

“Back to jail,” Boomerang repeats with disgust. Sprawling on the seat, he unzips his hoodie, and Tatsu is swept over by the smell of cologne again. Weirdly, it doesn’t annoy her as much as at the beginning of the evening. “I’m a fucking Cinderella. I’m not back by midnight, they turn me into a pumpkin.”

“Cinderella,” Tatsu echoes, and giggles: everything is way funnier now. The driver makes a sudden turn, and she is literally thrown at Boomerang. Her cheek presses to his chest – and stays there. Tatsu feels drunk and sated and drunk again, and sleepy too, and he makes for a decent pillow, and she can’t make herself move away.

“Oh, you think it’s funny,” Harkness mutters with mock offence in his voice. It seems he’s about to fall asleep too. “Well, go on, laugh.”

They drive back in silence, and through the drowse Tatsu feels the warm arm around her waist and thinks: good thing I’m drunk, I can pretend I’m asleep.

The road to Belle Reve is long, but it still feels like they reach it too quickly.

“Inmate,” calls one of the guards, “get out.”

Harkness, his eyes still closed, moans with discontent.

“Captain Boomerang,” Tatsu says softly, freeing herself from his embrace. “It’s time.”

There is nothing to be done. He’s already about to step out of the jeep, when he suddenly moves closer to her again.

“Hey, darlin’,” he says, looking her right in the eye. “Aren’t ya forgetting something?”

It takes her some time to realize what he means: he must be expecting her to kiss him. All at once she remembers everything that has happened this evening, and awful shame washes over her: it is no wonder he’s expecting that to happen.

“Inmate, get out!”

She shrinks back.

“Good night, Captain,” she tells him as dryly as she can. He looks wounded but says nothing, and almost obediently lets the guards escort him back to his cell. Tatsu closes her eyes and rubs her temples wearily. Tomorrow she is going to regret drinking so much. She already does – and that’s not the only thing she regrets.

She has to stop seeing him.

***

At first, she even succeeds. Next Friday Tatsu, as always, goes to Belle Reve to see the Squad – all of them save for Harkness. She feels sick at heart because if she did promise him anything, it was to visit him, and now she’s going back on her word because of her own stupid weakness. But there is no other way.

“He asked about you,” Waylon tells her a week later, when she brings him the latest issue of Playboy. Tatsu almost doesn’t feel weird anymore when buying it, and doesn’t try to imagine anymore what the news stand clerks think when she pays them for it. Such periodicals cause her a feeling of light disgust, but Croc, who gets let out of jail only to be thrown into another trouble spot, deserves at least some small joys.

“Who?”

Waylon, no doubt observant like all the quiet ones tend to be, bares his impressive teeth.

“You know who.”

It seems a logical solution to give up on these visits at all – but in that case she would betray all of them. Perhaps this little tradition is much more important to her than it is to the prisoners, but Tatsu is almost sure that it means something to them as well. She has no right to deprive the rest of them of this bit of understanding, companionship, normalcy because she wasn’t smart enough to stop the game she and Boomerang started before it became too late.

At home – not that the apartment she’s renting here deserves to be called ‘home’ – she, unable to fall asleep, unsheathes the sword and runs the tips of her fingers along the cool blade. A tender, habitual movement – like touching the cheek of a loved one.

“I’ve lost my way, Maseo,” whispers Tatsu. The place where the souls of the people struck down by this blade are trapped is still a mystery to her, but she knows that Maseo will come as soon as she calls him – as a voice from afar, as nebulous shapes in the swirls of smoke, as the peace and safety granted by the presence of someone dear. “I’m afraid of my own heart.”

I know your heart, Tatsu. You have nothing to be afraid of.

“It makes me act rashly. Makes me succumb to false feelings.”

I know your heart, Tatsu, and it incapable of falsehood.

Only the ones that are already far away can speak so vaguely and with such unrelenting honesty at the same time.

��I will always love you,” she whispers ardently. Not because she doesn’t want him to think it is not so; not because she herself feels like it is not so anymore either. She knows for sure that she is always going to love him, for she loved him as a lover, as a husband, as the father of her children, as the only thing she had left after all her life fell apart, burned in that damned fire. He will stay in her heart until her last breath – even if she has to close her heart to the rest of the world. Once she used to think that after all she’s been through, it isn’t going to be an issue.

And I will always love you, her husband replies, and Tatsu blinks back tears with a deep sigh.

“I just wish you were alive,” she tells him for what must be the hundredth, or maybe a thousandth time.

If he was with her – not as smoke or a voice, but as flesh and blood – he probably would have kissed her gently on the nape of her neck, as he often used to do.

I just wish, says her husband – no, the soul of her husband, which is already rushing away, deep into the world she shouldn’t hurry to go to if she doesn’t want this sword to fall into wrong hands, that you were happy.

***

Literally the next day there is a message from Metropolis that some giant snake-like beast is terrorizing the city and devouring people. The monster was last seen crawling into the building of the opera – which is where their squad heads to after reaching the city.

“Look at that freak,” Harkness comments in a low voice. The creature is curled up slumbering on stage, and they are watching it from the catwalks above. “Not a family of yours by any chance, eh, ‘gator?’

Waylon steps towards him, and the planks creak under his feet, threatening to break.

“Say that again,” he growls.

Tatsu bares her sword and wedges herself between them. Waylon backs off reluctantly.

“Knock it off,” she tells Boomerang. It feels like everything has come full circle – the day Harkness picked up her mask, he also had a run-in with Jones. The day they were sent to fight the Enchantress, she also put the blade of her sword under his chin. Why did she even think something would change?

“Oh, so you’re talking to me after all?”

“Enough,” Tatsu hisses. She really wants to try to explain everything to him. Maybe if she tries to put her feelings into words, many things will become clear to her, too. But if he thinks they are going to discuss this now, he is mistaken.

On the neighbouring catwalk, Rick is looking at them in a rage, gesturing both of them to shut up. Harkness steps closer; now the blade of the Soultaker is within a hair’s breadth away from his neck. A single careless movement, and blood will be spilled. A wild idea crosses her mind: it looks as if he’s into this. Tatsu licks her lips.

“Y’know,” Boomerang begins, lowering his head a little so that it is easier for him to look her in the eye, “I think you’re scared of me. Or of yourself, hell if I know. Am I right?”

A loud rustle comes from beneath, and the next instant the monster bites through the middle of the catwalk they’re standing on, and both of them are falling down. Tatsu manages to grab some rope, but when she tries to climb it, her hands slip, and she comes tumbling down.

The fall is far from being soft, even though she falls on the tatters of the curtain, which the snake must have torn earlier. She is lucky not to hurt her head, but her left leg and hip are aching. Only the awareness that there is no time to lie around makes her summon up all her strength and get up. Her sword is nowhere to be seen, and Tatsu is overwhelmed by fury: now she is useless.

The snake roars and shakes its head, trying to shake off Croc, who is trying to bite through its scales. Rick is shooting at the monster from above, and Deadshot, who is already on stage somehow, is doing the same from below, dodging the blows of its tail. Tatsu sweeps her eyes weakly over the stage and suddenly notices a hole broken in it. At the very edge of the hole, the hilt of her sword is sticking out of the floor. Moving as quickly as it is possible to do that with a limp, Tatsu hurries there.

The moment she pulls the sword out of the stage, Harkness’s head pokes out of the hole. Not waiting for him to ask for help, Tatsu helps him get out.

“Are you…” both of them begin in unison and drop it immediately, because the snake has managed to shake off the bothersome little crocodile – who is hopefully just somewhere on the floor and not in its belly – and is moving towards them, slower than before but still pretty speedily. They scatter, and Tatsu charges at the monster with her sword drawn. Harkness throws a boomerang at the creature, aiming at its eye, but it dodges at the last second.

Eventually, with joint forces they manage to kill the beast. To be on the safe side, Lawton fires a round into its open jaws. The long body shudders one last time and falls still. For some time, the five of them stand there looking at it.

“Where could this thing even come from?” Rick mutters.

“Remember what the Wicked Witch of the West said when she tried to get us to join her? The world is changing, the time of magic has come, blah, blah, blah,” Lawton reminds him. Rick nods absentmindedly; these are not happy memories.

Jones kicks the dead snake.

“Maybe it meant no harm,” he points out in his deep voice.

“Croc,” Rick says wearily, “it ate people.”

“So did I.”

“But at least you didn’t chew the curtain at the opera like a disgraced diva?” Lawton asks, struggling not to grin.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Well, then it’s okay.”

Rick titters nervously, and the next instant all of them are shaking with laughter.

Tatsu is drinking water straight from the tap in the restroom, when Harkness comes in.

“This is a ladies’ room,” she says reflexively.

“Hey, I just wanna wash my face, is all.”

Without waiting for her to answer, he comes closer and starts washing at the neighbouring sink. Tatsu casts a sidelong look at him and notices that the water is turning red.

“Show me your face,” she orders.

“It’s not a bad face, what’s yer problem?”

“I’m serious.”

He rolls his eyes, but stands still while she examines his face, only wincing when she dabs at the cut on his forehead with a paper towel.

“Just a scratch,” he assures at once.

“Just a scratch,” Tatsu agrees. She scrunches up the towel and throws it into the sink. She would like to keep her hand on his face, pretending that she’s still wiping off the blood, but she’s done pretending.

“How about you?” Boomerang asks quietly.

“Fine. A couple of bruises. You were lucky today,” she says just as quietly, and takes off her mask. Tomorrow they might not be as lucky. “I’m happy for you.”

“And I’m happy you got out alive… darl.”

For a moment she wants him to ruin everything. To reply with a jibe, to crack another dirty joke, to try to grab and kiss her only to get smacked. Not to stand motionless in front of her like he’s afraid to scare her off. It occurred to her once that from the outside their relationship might look like an attempt to tame a wild animal. Perhaps this is a mutual process.

Do whatever you want to him.

She stands up on tiptoes and kisses him.

For an instant, Harkness freezes – possibly trying to figure out again if he’s dreaming – and then pulls her closer and kisses back. Drinks her hungrily, like this is both the first time and the last. Bearing in mind what their lives are like, it really might be the last.

Tatsu doesn’t immediately realize why she suddenly doesn’t need to stand on tiptoes anymore.

“Put me down–” she starts, but gives up and wraps her legs around his waist. Boomerang grunts with satisfaction and switches from her lips to her neck. His beard, fortunately, is softer than could have been expected.

“Stop drinking so much,” Tatsu breathes out, now that no one is trying to shut her mouth. “You taste like…” all English words slip her mind, “like… a beer cask.”

It tickles her when he laughs into her neck.

Someone simply must enter now – Rick, Floyd, Amanda Waller, the president of the United States, but no, no one is trying to stop him from squeezing her hips, to stop her from running her fingers through his hair. Weapon to weapon, blade to blade. Red-hot metal to red-hot metal. Melting until something new is forged – without fear, without regret, without the past, without the future.

Clearly, Maseo wants too much: she remembers what happiness is, and she is sure she’ll never ever be happy again.

But she can take a shot at being alive.

#suicide squad #katana #captain boomerang #tatsu yamashiro #digger harkness #kaboom #captain boomerang x katana #boomerang x katana #dc #my fic #gella talks skwad #talk talk talk #my magnum opus lmao #amazed i managed to translate this. i am not a woman i'm a god indeed #once again i still know nothing about the geography of the dceu!united states #and whether a city like metropolis could have an opera house

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agent-breakdance · 4 years ago

Text

(Icarus Ch. 2) - Rookie Mistakes

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F! MC (Olivia Anika Cohen)

Word count: 3.1k words

A/N: ANGST

Warning: Language, mentions of small character death, war and violence.

Disclaimer: PB owns characters. There’s lots of Grey’s Anatomy references with some dialogue borrowed from Open Heart.

Tag list: @deliciouslydeafeningstarlight @drethanramslay @ohramsey @theeccentricbibliophile @justanotherrookie @kaavyaethanramsey @batgirlassociationofgothamcity @tyrilstarfury @lilypills @juneiswriting @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj @mvalentine @sanchita012 @choicesstan1 @junggoku @aylamwrites @whatsamottowithyou @utterlyinevitable @openheart12

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Song: 21 Guns by Green Day.

They all gathered at a nearby bar, Donahue’s to celebrate surviving their first week in the university. It was dingy and dim but completely packed.

By the time Olivia made it to the bar, the rest of the gang was already packed into a corner booth a little too small for them.

Before Olivia could slide into the booth, a very drunk Bryce held up a hand to stop her.

“Halt traveler! You must answer our riddle to take a seat.”

Olivia rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness but decided to roll with it.

“Here we go…”

“One of us only tells the truth. The other only tells lies.” Bryce said, gesturing to himself and Aurora.

“Jesus Christ, Bryce, I said I was sorry!”, Aurora said.

Olivia looked amused but puzzled. She looked over to Jackie for an explanation.

Jackie explained that Bryce and Elijah had had a drinking competition and Aurora had declared Elijah the winner.

Olivia chuckled as she sat down.

“Quick! There’s still sixty-seven seconds left in happy hour!”, Sienna said with urgency in her voice.

“Who cares? We’re all going to have a hundred grand in debt anyway.” Elijah retorted.

“Relax Sienna, I put in quite a few orders before the buzzer.” Jackie winked at her.

The waitress brought over a tray lined with tequila shots filled to the brim.

“You want to start with tequila?”, Aurora asked, eyebrows raised.

“Start, finish and everything in between”, Liv said.

Jackie laughed. “A woman after my own heart.”

They all clinked glasses and threw back the shots. The smooth liquid burned as it traveled down her throat.

“Whoa.”

“Again”, Jackie said as she flagged down the waitress for another round.

Bryce interjected. “No, let me.”

He got up and walked to the bar. Ten minutes later, he arrived with a tray lined up with mysterious blue colored concoctions.

“I call this Early Onset Alzheimer’s because you won’t remember a thing in the morning if you drink this.” He grinned as he handed the drinks out.

They all took a sip each only to set it back down.

“Yeah, I’m going to switch back to tequila.” Olivia said.

She was met with laughter and “me too’s” from the rest of the gang.

***

The door swung open as Ethan and Tobias walked into the bar. They took a look at the dark, packed place as Ethan asked Tobias, “Remind me again why I agreed to this...”

“Because you are a great friend, Ethan… and I agreed to buy you drinks.”

“What are you waiting for then, Carrick?” Ethan said as they took a seat near the counter.

Tobias waved the bartender over.

“Two gin and tonics.”

“What, are you just learning to drink? Make it two scotches, neat.”

Tobias was about to respond when they heard peals of laughter coming from a corner booth.

Ethan looked over to the booth only to see her face once again. Tobias watched as Ethan’s face took on an irritated expression which seemed focused on one person in particular. When he saw the girl approach the bar, his eyes lit up with an idea.

She walked up and ordered a tray of tequila shots. As she waited for her order, Tobias slid onto the stool closest to her.

“Hey, I think I’ve seen you around campus. I’m Tobias. The grumpy guy over there is Ethan.”, he said as he held out his hand.

Olivia smiled at Tobias and shook his hand. She gave Ethan a tiny nod to which he responded with one of his own.

“Olivia Cohen.”

She saw Ethan look up slightly as though he was registering her name.

“Nice to meet you. Can I get you a drink?”, Tobias asked.

Just then, the bartender slid over a tray of shots, answering his question.

She smiled and he gave her an understanding nod.

As she started to move back to the booth, he called out to her.

“I saw you in a few of our classes. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friendly face that's not Mr. Grumpy over here. You could sit with us...?” He trailed off with a questioning look.

Ethan discreetly rolled his eyes but Olivia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Somehow, the fact that their friendship would annoy Ethan made it all the more easier for her to agree.

“I don’t see why not, considering my friends have different schedules. I guess I’ll see you there. Tobias. Ethan.”

As she walked away, Tobias turned towards Ethan only to be greeted with a glare.

“What? I told you we need new friends. I don’t see the problem. She seems nice.”

Ethan shook his head. He did not like where this was going.

***

It was late.

They were in no position to drive. Olivia pulled out her phone to call them a cab.

Her friends all piled into a cab which left no space for herself and Sienna. She waved them on and tried to call another cab. Her phone had chosen an excellent moment to die.

“Fuck!” She threw the phone back into her purse.

Tobias and Ethan happened to be leaving at the time and Tobias offered to share a cab. Olivia seemed uncertain but eventually agreed.

Tobias stepped away to call them a cab.

Suddenly, she heard a loud noise like a gunshot ripping through the air. On instinct, she fell to the ground and tightly shut her eyes. Her mind started flipping through memories and it put her right back onto the battlefield.

She opened her mouth but no words came out, only whispers. “No…no…please, no.”

She heard clear gunshots ring through the air as people dropped like flies on both sides. She touched her arm and pulled away, only to find it slick with blood.

She felt strong hands grab her arm and the touch wrenched her away from her memories, back to the present. She opened her eyes to see his face. This time the concern evident on his face as he made no attempts to hide it.

“Olivia, are you okay?” Ethan asked softly.

“What happened?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“A car backfired.”

He saw a distant gaze in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She focused her eyes on him and nodded firmly. He decided not to press further.

Sienna got her into the cab and the rest of the ride passed in silence.

***

The next day…

Ethan entered the room only to find Tobias and Olivia already seated together, talking and laughing. A wave of jealousy passed over him which, to him, was completely unprecedented. The strangest part was that he wasn’t sure if his jealousy was towards Olivia for monopolizing his best friend or towards Tobias for being the one laughing with Olivia.

He broke out of his thoughts as he saw Tobias wave him over.

He took a seat near Tobias and leaned over to him.

“So you weren’t kidding about sitting with her?”

“Be nice, Ethan. She’s very funny. I bet you both would get along, if you just gave it a shot.”

“Oh, I’m sure”, Ethan thought to himself.

Two hours into the lecture, the professor seemed to have completely ditched the topic at hand and was focused on his personal exploits.

Olivia looked around the room trying to find ways to stay awake.

She looked over at Tobias who seemed to be…sleeping?

Fighting her laughter, she leaned over to look at Ethan whose gaze never faltered from the professor.

Her eyes finally settled on the ceiling fan. It was almost as though all other sounds had been muted except the whirring of the fan. She felt her mind wander and before she knew it, she was back on the battlefield.

Shouting all around her was drowned out by the loud mechanical whirring of the helicopter. It positioned itself to deliver medical supplies and food for the soldiers. The sand whirled around, forcing her to cover her eyes. Suddenly, she heard a deafening noise and shrapnel flew all around her. It opened up gashes on her arms as she threw them up to protect herself. The helicopter had been shot down. She saw as it came crashing down and with it their hopes of survival. She saw her comrade and friend, Mia Perez shouting for help to patch up one of the injured soldiers but her legs were frozen in place.

“Olivia.”

“Olivia!”

“OLIVIA!”

Beads of sweat clung to her forehead. She felt a hand on her shoulder as her visions dissolved. She faced Tobias who gestured towards the front of the class.

The professor looked at her expectantly.

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question please?” Olivia asked.

“What is histology? You’re sitting in a histology lecture. You should be able to answer that.” The professor said with an exasperated sigh.

Olivia struggled to bring her focus back to the present.

Ethan noticed her struggling. He remembered last night’s events and quickly cut in. “Sir, may I?”

The professor gave him a begrudging nod.

“Sit down, Rookie.” He whispered to Olivia.

“Histology is-” He began but was quickly interrupted as her voice rang out clearly.

“Histology is the study of the micro anatomy of cells, tissues, and organs as seen through a microscope. It examines the correlation between structure and function.” Olivia said with conviction.

The professor nodded. “Eyes on me during the class, Ms. Cohen.”

“Understood, sir.”

Olivia thanked Tobias for the timely wake-up call and shared a private smile with Ethan.

***

In the afternoon, the mess hall started to fill up with students.

“Hey Liv! Saved you a seat or five. Take your pick.” Bryce gestured at the huge table as she approached.

“Oh good. I thought I was going to have to answer ‘a riddle’ again.” She smirked at Bryce.

She looked over and saw Tobias and Ethan looking around in search of a free table.

“Gimme a sec, guys.”

She walked over to them. “Hey guys, would you like to sit with us? We have plenty of room. Besides, I thought all my friends should finally meet.” She looked straight at Ethan. He shook his head with a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Lead the way!” Tobias said.

Everyone looked up as she approached with two people in tow.

“Everyone, meet Tobias Carrick and Ethan Ramsey. My two new best friends.” She laughed at the annoyance in Ethan’s face.

They sat down after all the introductions were made.

“So, did you follow my lead and fall asleep during the lecture?” Tobias asked jokingly.

Olivia hesitated and caught Ethan’s eye. Recognition flashed in his eyes.

“Har har…it’s amazing that someone actually managed to stay awake.” She gave Ethan a pointed look.

“Oh, Professor Hardman? Everyone sleeps in his classes. Don’t worry about it, Liv.” Bryce said getting nods of assent from the rest of the gang.

***

Towards the end of the day, Olivia and Ethan made their way to the histology lab. Attendance was optional so Tobias had decided to opt out. His exact words had been, “If I have to listen to Hardman drone on for another minute, I might stab him with a pair of forceps.”

They took their seats and saw the equipment laid out in front of them.

“Usually computer applications are used to analyze specimens in histology labs nowadays but today, we decided to go the old school way. Each one of you has been set up with your own microscope and blood sample. Let’s begin.” Professor Hardman began instructing the students.

Olivia took the blood sample in her gloved hands and was about to set it up in the microscope when a loud crash caused her to spill the blood sample on her hands.

Her mind started spinning as she looked down at her bloody hands in horror. She was once again transported to the battlefield. She faced intermittent gunfire as she took her position behind steel enforced hideouts. To her left was Private Mia Perez, her best friend. The gunshots eventually halted and Mia smirked at her.

“Let’s smoke these suckers.”

Mia and Olivia stood up and opened fire on the other side.

As the gunshots from the other side started up again, they quickly took cover. “This won’t do. We need to get closer.” Mia said.

“Let’s go around and take them from the other side. They only have two privates stationed there.” Olivia said as they started moving.

They cornered the enemy from the back and Olivia took the shot. Mia looked around for a split second to see an enemy soldier hiding, rifle raised to take the shot at Olivia.

Before she could register what was happening, Olivia heard gunshots ring in the air. Mia’s body collided with her own as they both fell to the ground. Olivia touched her torso and found her clothes soaked in blood. She felt around but couldn’t seem to find the source of the bleeding. Her face paled as realization washed over her.

“No…NO! Mia!”

She rolled her over to find that the bullet had ripped through her best friend’s abdomen. She put her hands over the wound and applied pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding but the look on Mia’s face said it all. There was nothing she could do.

Tears streamed down her face as she held her dying best friend in her arms.

“It’s alright, Livvy. We got them.” Mia whispered before her body went limp.

“Rookie…you alright?”

The words jerked her back to the present and she found Ethan looking her over. She felt fresh tears run down her face. She looked up to see the professor chewing out a student for breaking the apparatus which was the source of the sound that startled her.

She felt her emotions overwhelm her and she knew she was about to break down. She quickly excused herself under the pretext of cleaning up and ran into an abandoned lecture hall.

The tears now freely streamed down her face as images of her friend flashed in her eyes. She broke out of her trance when she felt someone sit down next to her. Ethan had also excused himself to look for her. She looked over and tried to school her features but fresh tears pricked her eyes. Ethan pulled her into a hug as she let the tears run down her face.

“Flashbacks, invasive memories, extreme physical reactions like sweating even under the cool breeze of a ceiling fan. Rookie, all this coupled with personal experience leads me to believe that you’re suffering from PTSD.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Maybe I was just paying close attention.” Ethan gave her a small smile.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened-” Ethan started but was interrupted.

“I served in the Israeli military for two tours.” She paused before continuing.

“Long story short, there was an error in my judgement which led to my best friend taking a bullet for me. I held her as she died. She was an amazing soldier and an even better friend. Today is the anniversary of her death.” She choked up.

“That was a major factor which influenced my decision to be a doctor. I have harmed countless lives in the name of protecting my country but I can’t watch people die anymore and be able to do nothing about it.”

Her face strengthened with resolve. “I refuse to.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I know how it feels to be helpless and to blame yourself for their death. I did the same.”

"Right, you said you had personal experience. You don't have to share just because I did."

He silently handed her a handkerchief from his lab coat.

Bold letters stood out in black against the white background.

EJR.

She chuckled. “Monogrammed handkerchiefs? Really?”

“They were a gift from my mother.” He smiles as he reminisces.

He takes a moment to compose himself.

She sees him struggling to collect his thoughts and lays her hand on his, as a show of support. He interlaces their fingers, holding tight as he continues to speak.

“It was my 17th birthday. My father had taken me out to the bookstore and my mom made use of the opportunity to surprise me with my favorite funfetti cake but she realized that she didn’t have any sprinkles. She made a quick trip to the store but on the way back…she met with an accident and passed away.” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“She seems like a lovely lady. I would have liked to meet her.”

Ethan regards her for a moment and slowly smiles. “I think she would have liked to meet you too.”

His ocean blue eyes met her amber ones. It was almost as though they were pulled together by an invisible force. Their faces were so close that he could see the light catching on her eyelashes. She leaned into him, their lips meeting softly at first. They pulled apart, just an inch to gaze at each other. His lips then came crashing down on hers. Her fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer just as his arms encircled her waist. He kissed her with an intensity that made her cling to him.

A loud buzz from Olivia’s phone forced them to pull apart. She checked her phone and sighed.

“It’s Tobias. He’s asking where we are since Prof. Hardman’s class got over ten minutes ago. I think we’d better go.”

Ethan nodded and they both got up. Just as Olivia started walking, he grabbed her hand and turned her back toward himself. He kissed her again, slowly and deeply till another buzz, this time from Ethan’s phone forced them apart.

He checked his phone with a grimace. “He is very insistent on knowing where we are as I can only infer from the ungodly amount of question marks and emojis.”

Olivia took out her phone and tapped away before turning on her heel and walking out, leaving Ethan staring at his phone in confusion.

Rookie

5:47 pm

K imma dip.

“What in God’s name is she dipping?”

He looked it up on his phone.

Ethan made his way to the dorms only to find Olivia already standing next to Tobias.

“What took you so long?”, Tobias asked.

“I was dipping the lab.”, Ethan answered, clearly looking pleased with himself.

Tobias stared at him in confusion while Olivia couldn’t help but laugh at his miserably failed attempt.

Chapter 3: Flashbacks and Flashcards

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #dr ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices #OpenHeart

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devinsnewyork · 4 years ago

Text

Juliet and Thisbe’s Unexpected Adventure

(temporary title, will take suggestions)

It was the end of August; summer was still very much alive (the heat oppressive and the days long), but with two more weeks until Thisbe went back to college, it already felt like summer was taking his last breaths.

Thisbe had thought this summer would be The One. She’d planned to write a book and watch all the movies on her list and go to parties with her high school friends, but all she’d managed to do was befriend the local murder.

“Hey, Nigel.” Thisbe held out her left hand, which held a few pistachio nuts. “Here you go.” Nigel hopped onto her knee, black head twitching, shiny eye looking like a pebble glued to his face. Then he pecked at the nuts. Stretching her right hand out a few feet from her body, Thisbe opened her palm, revealing the peanuts for the other three crows, Sir Bird, Walter, and Captain Corvid, better known as the Captain.

It’s not that Thisbe hadn’t had human contact all summer; she regularly hung out with her friends. She just felt lonely in the way all people do, Carson McCullers’ the Heart Is a Lonely Hunter kind of loneliness. She couldn’t describe the feeling herself; she could just remember what writers had written in the past and feel it.

She watched the sun blink, his eyes drooping low, his tired sighs turning the sky orange. Her murder lingered for a few minutes, and Thisbe pretended that it was because they enjoyed her company, not because they were hoping for more food.

“Dude!” Nigel squawked. Thisbe beamed at him.

“Dude!” She shook her head, still smiling. Teaching the crows human words was definitely one of her better ideas.

“Come with us!” Thisbe snapped her head to the right and narrowed her eyes at the Captain.

“Since when could you say that?”

“Come with us! Adventure!” This time it was Walter who spoke, fluttering his wings by his side and tilting his head up, sending his calls into the sky. Thisbe kept shifting her gaze, taking turns on staring at all the crows, who were all remarkably still for such twitchy creatures, and she swallowed when she realized it seemed that they were all looking at her.

No. Thisbe shook her head vigorously and stood. Nothing weird here, no call to adventure. These are normal crows.

“Where are you going? Adventure!”

“Come with us!”

“No, guys.” Thisbe sighed and showed them her empty palms. “No adventure. Good night.” That apparently wasn’t the right thing to say because the crows started screeching angrily, a raucous, discordant orchestra composed of scratchy violins, piercing violas, and cellos with their strings snapping. “Shh! Stop!” But her murder, ever recalcitrant, continued the ear-splitting squawk fest. Thisbe grimaced and retreated indoors, where the shrill noise was much more muted.

Thisbe’s dad was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter, plate with crumbs sitting in front of him, his face in his phone. She tilted her head and looked at him.

With his wide eyes, high cheekbones, and square chin, he and Thisbe looked nothing alike. All they shared was their cool obsidian skin.

“What is wrong with those crows?” Thisbe’s mom walked in, eyebrows high on her forehead. Thisbe shrugged sheepishly and ducked her head, and her mom laughed. “You better apologize. I want to sleep tonight.” She threw Thisbe a pointed look, round face betraying amusement in the fullness of her cheeks and the topaz glow in her eyes.

“I tried, I swear.” Thisbe opened the silver refrigerator, grabbed a red apple, and made for her room, twisting away from her mother when she reached out to squeeze her shoulder. Ignoring the shrieks coming from her brothers and sisters in the living room, Thisbe took the stairs two at a time. She opened the first door on the right and closed it behind her.

She sighed and threw herself down onto her bed, biting into the apple and staring at the ceiling. The white fan circled around, and Thisbe tried to follow one blade around and around and around with her eyes until they started to water. She sat up and sighed again, glancing around at the computer that lay on the grey rug on the floor, the guitar leaning against a green wall, the stack of books she had piled in front of the much-too-small bookcase, and she only had to ask herself what should I do? once before her phone buzzed. She took another bite of the apple and thumbed open her phone.

Thisbe smiled so widely a bit of apple juice dripped onto her chin.

Juliet: what are you doing

Thisbe typed back Nothing.

Juliet: lame.

Juliet: you should hang out with me instead

Thisbe sent back Okay.

Juliet: good i’m outside your house

Thisbe barked a shocked laugh, then shot up. She glanced at herself in the mirror, making sure her afro wasn’t doing anything weird before jogging down the stairs, shouting “JULIET’S HERE I’LL BE BACK LATER BYE LOVE YOU” just as she pulled the front door shut. She turned and waved to her friend and walked around to the passenger side door of her little, black 2004 Volvo called Romeo.

Juliet’s long hair was pulled into a low ponytail, evidence that her curls were too frizzy to let loose tonight. Thisbe’s eyes lingered on the blue silk ribbon that complimented Juliet’s dark brown hair and made her look like Anastasia from that animated movie they both loved as kids. “So!” Thisbe waited for Juliet to look up from her phone. “Where to?”

Juliet shrugged. “Do you wanna get sorbet?”

“Duh.”

Juliet shuffled their favorite playlist and started singing along as she pulled away from the curb.

At the outdoor ice cream shop, Juliet and Thisbe ate their lemon sorbet with rainbow sprinkles from small cups and watched people come and go. Thisbe couldn’t stop laughing; she was so happy to be with Juliet. They weren’t best friends, but Thisbe always relished Juliet’s company, and eating sorbet with her in the dark while joking back and forth made her feel relished, too. How dare she let herself feel lonely! This is was love felt like. Thisbe wanted to hold on to this.

Juliet drove her home and was just pulling up to the curb, ready to drop Thisbe off, when there was a blurry shape and a loud THUD against the windshield. Both girls screamed. The shape moved, popped up, and tapped its talons against the glass.

“Thisbe!” Juliet gasped. “Is that one of yours?”

The crow twitched and glared at Thisbe, and she recognized the patch of feathers missing around her right eye. “It’s the Captain.” She opened up the door and shouted, “DON’T GO IN FRONT OF CARS YOU IDIOT! WE COULD’VE KILLED YOU!” The Captain flapped his dark wings that blended in with the night and flew forward, landing on the frame of the door Thisbe had just propped open. He turned his head to look at her sternly with one eye.

“Come with us! Adventure!”

Thisbe groaned. “Not this again.”

Juliet placed her hand on Thisbe’s shoulder, getting the other woman’s attention. “Um … we have company.”

Thisbe’s mouth dropped open. She stepped out of a car to get a better look at the tens of hundreds of crows that were coming to land on the hood of the car, the paved street, the sidewalks, even mailboxes and the roofs of houses. Thisbe couldn’t see all their bodies, but she could see their eyes, all of which reflected the white shine from Romeo’s headlights, and she could hear the beating of wings like the turning of thousands of pages.

“Adventure!” Nigel was there, his one white feather making him noticeable even though he was completely surrounded by crows in his spot by Thisbe’s feet.

“Thisbe. Are your crows giving you a quest?”

“No! They’re … they’re normal crows, Juliet.”

“Normal crows don’t give you quests.”

“They’re not giving me a quest!”

“Quest!” The Captain squawked from the door.

“Come with us!” Nigel hopped forward and landed on Thisbe’s sneakers, looking up expectantly.

“Thisbe …” Juliet turned and looked at her friend with wide brass eyes. “Follow the crows.”

“Are you joking?”

“Are you?” Juliet waved a frantic hand back and forth. “Do you see this? This is not normal. They’re talking. Follow them.”

“Are you gonna come with me?”

“Of course.”

Thisbe bit her lip, then turned and looked at the Captain, who stood just above eye level. “Okay. We’ll follow you.” The crow puffed up his chest and called out to the group. The mass of crows lifted from the ground, wings collectively flapping as loudly as helicopter blades, and they all started moving down the street. Thisbe and Juliet followed, glancing between each other and the birds silently with wide eyes and open mouths.

Thisbe’s hands were shaking.

They moved up the small street Thisbe’s house was on, past all the yellow and blue and brick suburban homes filled with sleeping, ignorant people. Thisbe hoped no one would decide to glance out the window to uncover the source of the deafening noise that almost sounded like hurricane winds. The crows all turned right, so Thisbe and Juliet followed. Then the crows veered off the street and started across a small field, headed towards the forest.

“Juliet … I don’t like this.”

“Thisbe, I think we don’t have a choice.”

The two girls trailed the mammoth murder into the woods, tripping over roots and uneven earth even when dimly lighting the way with iPhone flashlights. The crows started moving faster, then suddenly the flapping noise was above the women, and the birds tore through leaves and left Thisbe and Juliet alone.

The quiet rang in Thisbe’s ears. Her head hurt. “Where do we go now?”

“Look ahead.” Juliet pointed, but Thisbe couldn’t see anything. She followed Juliet through some more trees and saw some flags up ahead, red flags on a string stretching between two tall trees. Juliet marched right through.

Thisbe blinked. Juliet wasn’t there.

Thisbe choked on shock and for a moment was still, but then her legs by instinct carried her forward under the flags into a green clearing with withering purple asters shaking in the grass. The trees around were all bare, the sky above a sickly grey-blue.

Nigel, Sir Bird, Walter, and the Captain flew from behind and hovered in front of the women.

“Follow us! A quest!” Then the four birds started through the trees.

Thisbe looked over at Juliet. “I think we just answered our call to adventure.”

“Shut up and get moving, they’re not slowing down for us.”

Thisbe and Juliet left the clearing, jogging through a foreign forest after four feathery guides, and Thisbe wondered what adventure they could’ve possibly gotten themselves into.

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ahnsael · 5 years ago

Photo

Shout out to @the-disney-delete for making a dream of mine come true.

Just like Michael Eisner, this watch is right twice a day (and wrong for the other 1,438 minutes of the day -- good thing this watch doesn’t have a second hand -- otherwise I’d be talking about the 86,398 times he was wrong in a day).

But...at least Eisner TRIED. He sucked, but for his first ten years had Frank Wells as his personal Jiminy Cricket to keep him on track. After Frank died in a helicopter crash, all bets were off (there’s a whole story here involving Jeffrey Katzenberg and Dreamworks SKG, but this is not the place).

But...when I saw Mickey wearing this watch many years ago, even though I wasn’t an Eisner fan at the time), I wanted one. I used to collect watches. Most of my collection was sold by a roommate while I was at work (another story for another time, but while I have mentioned that I’m a pacifist at heart, and I make exceptions for Nazis, I also make an exception if I ever see this former roommate again).

You can see Mickey wearing this in the clip at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4TuB_cNIaY.

youtube

I don’t know whether this was an animator with a sense of humor, who talked Eisner into the gag, or whether Eisner’s ego actually produced something funny (this is the guy who wanted Splash Mountain to be based on the Tom Hanks, Daryl Hannah, John Candy and Eugene Levy, so I’m guessing an animator came up with the gag).

But I now have one of these of my very own. And...it’s a pretty brilliant thing to have.

I’ve seen @the-disney-delete do a couple “send me a few bucks and I’ll send you a surprise pack” things on twitter (they’re @TheDisneyDelete there) and this was the first one in which I partook. I mean, $3 through a trusted third-party vendor for a mailer of goodies? It was a bargain (even if all I got was the laminated watch -- there were also a few postcards, a (I think) fake “Anaheim Mighty Ducks” card for Sorcerers of the Magic Kingdom (but since I was a cast member when Disney owned the Ducks, it was great for me), and the kicker -- right up there (if not over and above -- I haven’t decided) == an “I Like Mike” button with Eisner’s picture on it. I truly have a love-hate relationship with Eisner. He was behind some things that I still LOVE in the parks (mostly from when Frank Wells was still around, though). And I also used to drive into BCML (Ball Road Cast Member Parking) with a “savedisney.com” bumper sticker on my car when Roy E Disney was trying to oust Eisner.

But I do prefer Michael to Bob, at this point. Eisner was not good at his job (after Frank Wells’ death), but at least he tried. He didn’t “get it,” but...he tried. I mean...the balls it took to try to host The Magical World of Disney, trying to follow in Walt’s footsteps in hosting The Wonderful World of Disney?” Wow, that takes some guts.

And he was NOWHERE as good as Walt as a host. But at least he gave it a shot at TRYING to be the Face of Disney.

I mean...Michael didn’t “get it” but he TRIED to “get it” -- he just failed miserably. But...he was a great executive for Paramount. So I mean, you ask a fish to climb a tree, and you discover that an amazing swimmer sucks at climbing trees.

Eisner wasn’t very good at climbing trees, but at least he wasn’t just a fish buying trees so the inhabitants of those trees would plant his flag on top and pretend he climbed it himself instead of just paying other people for THEIR accomplishments.

#Michael Eisner #TheDisneyDelete #work things #don't get me wrong you SHOULD be paid for accomplishments #just...not so a CEO who had nothing to do with it can claim your credit #yes this IS a slam on Bob Iger #who can't swim OR climb trees so he just buys out people who can do those things #I don't deny that Bob is good for business #but it's the death of Disney as we once knew it #and do you want Disney to be a family icon and moderately profitable #Do you want them to become a behemoth you controls everything or do you want them to hearken back to their old values?#I know I know a couple shareholders on here who love profit (and rightfully so)#but...as a VISITOR and not a shareholder...where do you stand?#(WE WILL STILL BE FRIENDS NO MATTER HOW YOU ANSWER I'M JUST CURIOUS)

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ecfandom · 6 years ago

Text

Polis 433 Ch. 12 Preview

It’s not clexa, but it’s a preview. Clexa to come!

Elliot and Taryn rounded the corner at sprint, their legs and arms pumping in unison. Had it been anyone else, Elliot would have pulled ahead with her years of military-backed stamina and strength, but Taryn had been an NCAA Division 1 track athlete in undergrad, and she gave as good as she got. Where Elliot’s solid build and strong thighs made her powerful, Taryn’s long legs and lithe musculature made her fast, and they matched each other footfall for footfall.

Grinning like idiots, the blew through town, racing along the docks, dodging the morning fisherman as they hauled in their catches for the day. The sun was barely up, but this port town was already awake and raring to go. The early-risers grinned, waved, and shook their heads at them as they passed, fond of this familiar tradition that livened the mornings and ushered in the new day.

“Flag pole,” Elliot huffed, indicating their final destination about a hundred yards away, initiating the last leg of their sprint. It would be a battle to the end to see who would come out on top and buy breakfast, per their tri-weekly tradition. They both kicked it up a notch, jostling for the lead. Neither were above a little light throwing of shoulders and elbows, and they both laughed as it happened, shoving the other off each time.

Elliot grinned when Taryn pulled ahead fifty yards out, predictable and eager as always. She waited until they were about twenty-yards out, and then she gunned it. She overtook Taryn in ten yards, just managing to keep her lead for the last ten as they flew past the flagpole.

“Mother fucker!” Taryn half-shouted, half-laughed as they slowed to a stop. Elliot dropped her hands to her knees and sucked in air greedily as Taryn flopped to the ground, a mess of red, gangly limbs. “How the hell do you do that?!”

Elliot brought her head up from between her shoulders and grimaced in Taryn’s direction. Their faces were a matching bright red, and sweat dripped from their hairlines generously. “Endurance,” she panted, dodging a rock that Taryn flung at her good-naturedly.

“I have endurance! I was a distance runner in college. I won every race!”

“And that was what? Twenty years ago?”

Taryn glared. “Sixteen, plus med school, a career and two children.”

Elliot shook her head, droplets of sweat dispersing around her. “God, we’re getting old.” She stood and held out her hand, helping Taryn up from the ground.

“So, where we going?”

“Like that’s even a question,” Elliot said with a laugh.

***

They sat at Sal’s, enjoying the peacefulness of being two of a handful at the restaurant that hadn’t yet ushered in the morning rush.

“You going to the game Wednesday?” Elliot asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

Taryn nodded, not taking a breath away from her coffee as she finished her cup in one go, set it on the table, and grinned at Betty who swung by and refilled it, used to Taryn’s habits by now.

“Bringing the girls?”

“Janie’s going with some friends from school,” Taryn said of her eldest daughter, the eight year-old spitting image of Taryn’s wife, Ella. “Ella’s bringing Lily by after her shift. I probably won’t get off until about the third inning. You going?”

Elliot nodded, shoveling more food into her mouth. The two of them were bottomless pits, as Ella often fondly referred to them. They were both tall and broadly built for women, but even so, they put away more food than even their large bodies should be able to old. It was endlessly amusing to the people around them.

“How’s Lexa?” Elliot asked.

“Discharging her tomorrow. Her last HBOT session is today.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“She’ll be off duty for another week and I’ve got her going to PT for respiratory. She’ll be light duty for another two after that, then we’ll check in.”

“She’s not going to like that.”

“Too bad,” Taryn said with a laugh, “orders came down from the chief.”

Elliot lowered her fork of food in surprise. “Abby? What’s Abby care?”

Taryn shrugged and wiped at her mouth, wondering how much she should say. They didn’t keep anything from each other, never had, but some things weren’t hers to tell. “How well do you know her daughter?”

“Clarke? ‘Bout as well as you, I suppose. From what I’ve seen, she’s pretty damn good at her job. Not a lot to tell in six months, though. Thompson likes her.”

Taryn nodded, her eyebrows flicking up in surprise for a moment before she schooled her expression. Not fast enough, though. Elliot leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, studying her friend.

“You know something.”

Taryn shook her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t like her?”

“No, no I do. You’re right, she’s good. Better than half my residents, honestly. But there’s something about her, though. I don’t know. She’s...elusive. It’s like she doesn’t want anyone close.”

“She doesn’t,” Elliot said.

“Well, Lexa apparently is.”

“Oh yeah?

Taryn grinned. “Lexa caught feelings.”

Elliot laughed. “For Clarke?”

“That’s on the DL. She told me when she was oxygen drunk.”

Elliot laughed again and shook her head. “Good for her. Now things are making sense.”

“How do you mean?”

“Ran into Clarke the day after we admitted Lexa. Thought she was going to kill me when I told her about Lexa’s MI.”

“You too?”

Elliot grinned. “Good, I like a little spitfire, and it’s about time Lexa found someone.”

“Yeah, but Clarke?”

“You don’t think it’s a good fit?”

“I think, for one thing, they don’t know each other. Hell, I don’t even know her and we’ve been working together for six months. I know her kid better than I know her. It’s like, what are you hiding? You know? It’s weird for someone so sweet and warm to be so distant.”

Elliot sighed and shook her head. “For someone else, maybe. Not for Clarke.”

“What does that mean?”

“She flinches all the time. You ever notice?” At Taryn’s frown, Elliot nodded and continued. “Loud noises, people coming up behind her, aggressive patients. She doesn’t let it affect her job, but it happens all the time.”

“I never noticed.”

“She’s not in the ER much, so you probably wouldn’t. She covers it really well, but it’s there. She’s got a strong startle reflex too, and she makes herself small when she’s panicked. Crosses her arms, hunches over,” Elliot said, demonstrating before relaxing back into her casual position, nodding like she’d just diagnosed appendicitis. Obvious, easy.

“Okay…” Taryn said slowly, trying to piece it together. She shrugged. “I’m not following.”

Elliot nodded, a slight grin on her face. Taryn was an incredible diagnostician, but there were some things she’d never seen, and Elliot was glad for it. “PTSD,” she said simply.

“You think she’s got PTSD?”

“I know she does. I’ve seen it enough.”

“She not a vet. Not that I know of,” Taryn said, musing.

“You don’t have to be a vet to have PTSD. Anyone can have it. I see it more and more at the clinic, especially in young women.”

“You think it was assault?” Taryn asked, taking the check from Betty with a smile.

Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. But something happened to her, that’s for sure. And you can tell whatever happened hurt her more than just her soul. She’s such a strong, independent woman, probably hurt her pride to boot. She’s got to trust you before she opens up to you, and that’s gonna take a lot. If she’s let Lexa close, then there must be something going on there, making it feel safe. And I’m glad. I like Clarke. She’s good, and she cares about her patients. I’d like to see her hurting less. Frankly, I think if anyone were good for her, it’d be Lexa.”

“And for Lexa?”

Elliot thought about it as she threw a handful of bills on the counter for a tip. She winked at Betty as she swooped in to collect it, and she and Taryn both graciously accepted the to-go containers of pie on the house that Betty pushed into their hands. They thanked her and headed out, squinting against the late morning sun as they pushed out of the restaurant and headed towards the hospital.

“As for Lexa,” Elliot finally said, “I don’t think I’ve seen her smile this much in the last ten years that I’ve known her. And anyone or anything that can make that kid smile…” She shrugged. “They’re okay in my book.”

Their beepers went off simultaneously before Taryn could respond. Despite their full stomachs, they jogged the rest of the two blocks to the hospital, skipped the ER, and ran straight up to the helipad.

The incoming Coast Guard helicopter whipped the air around them into a frenzied storm, forcing Elliot and Taryn to bend nearly in half as they ran to meet the gurney.

“What’ve you got?” Elliot shouted above the roar of the whipping blades.

Coast Guard AST Paxton Matthews, an elite rescue swimmer with paramedic training, shouted off the working diagnosis as they ran the gurney into the hospital. With a mild bout of dehydration and hypothermia, Taryn sent the lost hiker off with her residents and stayed behind with Elliot, wanting to catch up with her sister-in-law who’d been gone for the last month, deployed to Florida to help with the latest hurricane to hit the coast.

“Long time no see,” Elliot said, clasping hands with her, then bumping their fists together.

Taryn walked back over to them, and brought Paxton in for a hug. “How’ve you been, man?”

“It’s good to see you guys,” Pax said, her calm, low voice the same as ever. Much like Elliot, Paxton Matthews was the tall, dark, and handsome dreamboat all the girls swooned over, but was somehow always alone. She sported a similar military cut to Elliot’s, though hers was quite a bit shaggier in the front, perpetually wavy from the salty sea-water she spent her days and nights in. Handsome and charming, she was beloved by the people around her, especially the women, but she was just as reserved as Elliot, if not more so. Unlike Elliot though, Paxton lacked the brooding chill Elliot often carried around with her. Pax was simply an introvert, quiet and even a little shy, unless she was in the water saving people’s lives.

She turned to Taryn. “How’re the girls?”

“They’re good. Getting bigger, it breaks my heart.”

“I bet. I’ve got toys for them.”

“You spoil them,’’ Taryn said with a grin.

“Of course I do. I’m their aunt.”

“Is that Paxton Matthews I hear?” They turned, all three of them grinning at the sight of Dr. Ella Matthews-Michaels, Dr. M for short, walking swiftly towards them, her arms open wide for a hug Paxton pulled her into as soon as she was in reach. “I saw the page and hoped you were the one bringing the patient in. Oh my god, I missed you,” she groaned as Paxton gave her a squeeze and let her go. “How are you? I can’t believe you’re already out, you just got back yesterday!”

“Duty calls,” Paxton shrugged.

“You’re still coming over for dinner tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I want to hear about Florida. I’ve got to get back, I’ve got an anaplastic astrocytoma to remove in ten, but I’ll see you tonight. Don’t be late,” she said, turning to go.

“I don’t know what that is,” Paxton muttered.

“Brain tumor,” Elliot supplied.

“Hey baby,” Ella greeted Taryn, placing her hands on Taryn’s chest and lifting to her tip-toes. She kissed her, then wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower. You run today?”

“Mhm,” Taryn muttered, distracted by the sparkling green of her wife’s eyes. Elliot rolled her eyes and grinned at Paxton, who just shook her head.

“Who won?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ella snorted and patted her wife’s chest, kissing her one last time before leaving. “Better rest up,” she murmured, “I’ve got plans for you later.” She patted Taryn’s ass as she left, ignoring Paxton’s faux-disgust and Elliot’s protests of PDA in her vicinity.

“Don’t hate the winner, friends, hate the game,” Taryn said, quite proud of herself.

“That’s not how that goes,” Elliot laughed, shaking her head.

“Have you seen her, though?” Taryn asked. “I’m definitely the winner.”

“And I’m definitely still right here,” Paxton said, grimacing.

#polis 433 #update preview #clexa

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yuzusorbet · 7 years ago

Photo

Olympic Victory Parade Day, Sendai, 22 April 2018

(my personal account) (photos are mine, please do not repost nor use for other purposes)

Scheduled time of parade: 1.15pm to 2.10pm.

7am.... wearing my parade t-shirt and wristbands, I left my hotel and walked a short distance to the road where the parade would take place (Higashi-nibancho-dori 東二番町通り). People were already sitting in the ‘1st row’ of the roadside. I met my friend Ella and we decided on a comfortable spot where we could wait for the next 6 hours (omg) and we spread out our picnic mat.

We decided on this area because it was right opposite her hotel (Mitsui Garden) and it was in the middle of the 1.1km route. Ella’s friends would be joining us later because they were lining up to buy parade wristbands. Ella and I bought ours the day before as we arrived in Sendai earlier. (The wristbands were sold on these two days only, 21 and 22 April. Only 10,000 sets and limited to 2 sets per person.)

While I waited at our picnic mat to ‘reserve’ our spot, Ella went on a hunt to buy various local newspapers because Yuzu’s face was on all of them. Information about the parade was front page news, of course. :)

It was nice and cool in the early morning but soon it was hot. And it got hotter and hotter..... Umbrellas, hats, sunshades and sunblock came out of our bags. Later we saw news that it was the hottest day ever recorded for April in Sendai (29.9°C). I told Ella, “Cos Yuzu is sunshine.” She responded, “Cos Yuzu is the sun.” Right! :D

Even though it was very hot, everyone was just so happy and excited to be there. The event was very well-organised. Policemen and volunteers were everywhere to tell people where they can sit and where they can’t. There was always a path kept free for people to walk along the whole stretch of road. The parade planning committee had also asked convenience stores around the area to let people use their toilets, so that was not a problem. For us, we used the nice toilets in Mitsui Garden Hotel as Ella and two other friends were staying there. This photo was taken by me from the 7th floor hotel lobby at about 9.30am.

At about 8 plus, a TV station crew came looking for people to interview. There were 4 young guys who stood out from the crowd. They said they were very inspired by Yuzu and he gave them courage and motivation for their exams. As a result, all of them got into Tohoku University (one of the top universities in Japan). Wow!!!! They came for the parade because they wanted to say thank you to Yuzu. They had started waiting by the roadside since 3AM !!! I was so touched to hear that..... (pic below is when the crew came back to do the live news report)

These 2 ladies were holding a banner with the Japanese words “shiawase desu” (meaning ‘we are happy’) and they said it’s because Yuzu is always thinking about skating to give happiness to others. They want to tell him how happy they all are because of him. Yes! I want to tell him that too!

After hearing their stories, the TV announcer said he would be back in 20 minutes to do the interview on live TV news! Because we were sitting near them, the lady on the left (of pic above) told me to get ready cos we may be on national TV! (Ella quickly ran to the nearest convenience store to get a disposable face mask cos she was so shy, haha.....) Much thanks to a friend who uploaded Japanese TV news that day, we saw the programme that they appeared in: at 2.30 of this VIDEO. So happy to see it!

Later on, I chatted with the lady. Told her I really loved her banner and message and she told me how she carefully made it herself. The two of them were so nice and friendly. Much thanks to them for posing for my photo!

After the TV news excitement, Ella’s friends joined us. They managed to get their parade wristbands (they started lining up at 5am! Sales started at 8am. The previous day, Ella and I lined up from about 7am and sales started at 10am). Here are their Pooh bears happily showing off the precious bands. Behind them is one copy of the morning papers. Ci

Time passed quickly as we occupied ourselves with snacks, chitchat and more photos and selfies. I love my parade t-shirt. Bought both colours, wore the purple one on parade day and the blue one the next day. The S size fits me well and they are so comfortable.

We also took turns to walk around to see other parts of the parade route and soak in the atmosphere. At about 10.30, some volunteers (in light blue jackets) gave out Japanese flags. On the flag handles were the words “Hanyu Yuzuru senshu 2nd straight victory congratulations parade”. (’senshu’ = athlete)

All of us got a flag each.... so happy! Now, when Yuzu approaches, shall I wave my flag or hold up my blue CiONTU towel as a banner or just hold my phone steady to take photos??? hmmm........

At 11.30, the sidewalks were packed but there was always a part left free for for people to walk. (see pic below). The girl in the blue jacket was one of the many volunteers for the day.

At 12.30pm, the roads were closed to traffic. It’s finally almost time!! We all started to stand up to get ready for the parade. Our group was right behind the barricades. It was good that we came early to get this “front row” spot. :)

Pic below: friend sticking flag into hat so that hands are free to hold camera. xD Blue parade wristband on arm. Most of us wore both the blue and the purple wristbands, one on each wrist, haha.

After the traffic closure, there were some mass movements to be made. The crowd on the opposite side of the road was brought forward to the central divider because the parade bus would only be travelling down one side of the road. So people could cover the road on the other side. It was done really neatly even though the crowd was so huge..... I really love the Japanese for being so orderly. One man with a loudhailer went down the road telling people what to do. Essentially, it’s to hold hands and move forward slowly a certain number of steps on his count. And this was done section by section all the way down that 1.1km route. So now the people on opposite side of the road were much closer to us! (pic below) Our side was also moved forward in the same way by 5 steps. This also meant there was a lot more space for more people to join in and watch the parade.

Another TV news crew came by, and then there were helicopters flying overhead. It’s time!!!!

1.15pm, Yuzu is on the stage!!! So handsome!!! We watched the live stream of the opening ceremony on our handphones. I shared my phone screen with 2 older Japanese ladies near me and they were very grateful. :) Then, finally, Yuzu was getting on the parade van! Being in the middle of the route was good. We didn’t have to wait long to see the start of the contingent approaching!

When the parade van approached our area, Yuzu was looking towards the other side. We shouted loudly, “YUZU!!! YUZU!!!” And he turned to our side and waved!!!

[same pic cropped and enlarged:]

As he waved, he glanced down at our group at one point! I was so happy that my mind went blank! I should have shouted “omedetou!!!” (congrats) but I totally forgot! I just stood there holding my Ciontu towel and looking up at his beautiful face. Then he pointed at something in the crowd and laughed and said something (but we don’t know what)..... omg...... he was really too cute for words. I recovered in time to snap a few more photos before the van became too far away. Aww...... it was so awesome to see him so happy.......

After the parade van passed our area, the crowd slowly dispersed. We went to Ella’s hotel room to watch the rest of the parade on TV. She made coffee for us and we also had some sparkling wine to celebrate. Her friends thanked us for picking a good spot for the parade..... haha, we were really lucky!!!

After the parade was the press conference and part of it was aired live on that TV channel. As always, we marvelled at how well he answered the questions. When the programme ended, we all wrote postcards to ourselves to send back home, so that we would have one more souvenir of this fabulous day. We used Yuzu-postcards that were specially made by one friend. These amazing fans have really great ideas! Look how cute the cards are!

We went to the convenience store nearby to get stamps and dropped our cards into the post box outside the store. While walking through a shopping street, we suddenly saw some people near us giving out newspapers.... it was a free paper with the parade photo and news! Wow that was fast! We quickly lined up and got a copy each. How lucky we were to be passing by!

Being part of the crowd at the parade was a marvellous experience. It was so wonderful to be among Yuzu’s people and to show him our love and support together. Waiting at the roadside for more than 6 hours was fun, thanks to all the fans around me! I would do it again in a heartbeat. Thank you, Sendai!! Thank you, Yuzu-fans!! And finally, the words that I wanted to shout from the bottom of my heart but was struck speechless (Yuzu’s fault).....

YUZU, おめでとう！！！そしてありがとう！！！(congrats and thank you!!!)

--I really enjoyed my Sendai holiday. The local people were so warm and friendly and many of them thanked us for coming for the parade. I plan to write soon about other parts of my trip.... like chatting with locals while queuing for wristbands and realising how pure and simple their love and support for Yuzu is; going to Ice Rink Sendai and skating there; being moved to tears at Sunao Noto-san’s photo exhibition; eating delicious gyu-tan and zunda-mochi; visiting places with Yuzu’s signature and simply enjoying the beauty of his hometown..... Update: [Part 2 of my holiday] [Part 3] [Part 4]

--Except for the parade route map which is from Japanese news, all photos are taken by me; please do not use or repost without my permission. Thank you.

--For some numbers about the parade, see this post.

#olympic victory parade #sendai victory parade #Yuzuru Hanyu #victory parade #took so long to write cos I have so much to share and didn't know how to start #decided to just start with the most important day and main reason I was there

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veneataur · 6 years ago

Text

Prompt: Poisoned

Fandom: Salvation

Title: The Trial of the Fake President

Warning: violence

A/N: This takes place after the season 2 finale and references some events but not heavily.

First and foremost, his head aches in part because they pistol-whipped him to get him here. The man wearing an American flag-themed tank top in bad need of shower and breath mint yelling at him doesn’t help either.

“You are aware I’m not even president anymore. I have no control over anything,” Darius says with the energy of a man who’s repeated the same phrase far too many times to count, except he can because he has a photographic memory.

This time the retort earns him a stomach punch. He has to give it to this guy. He does shake it up with the hits leaving Darius guessing each time. His hands are tied behind him and then to the chair so he can’t hunch over in the aftermath of the punch to ease the growing ache. Perhaps it’s his stomach that hurts the most.

“We wouldn’t be working with the Russians and Chinese it hadn’t been for you and your lying regime. They are our enemies, not our allies.”

Darius ignores the spit that lands on him as the man rages. It’s really nothing compared to the sweat and griminess from having been held captive here for the better part of a week he thinks. He’s allowed up twice a day to use the toilet, which happens to be a bucket.

The questioning and the beatings are random. Questioning always comes with a beating, but then he supposes that’s because he’s insistent on giving the same answer each time. Beatings are sometimes separate of questioning and by someone other than the Americana man. He’s not sure what the beatings are meant to accomplish other than perhaps wear him down. What they don’t know is physical beating is nothing compared to sonic wave torture. For him, this is child’s play. It does hurt though. That he won’t deny except to Harris.

The hours and days continue on in the same way. Americana man rants and raves about the damage Darius’ regime did and how unlawful it was, blaming him for everything from looting to the not-an-asteroid and his hangnail, apparently. At various times in the beatings, he feels his nose break, a few ribs crack, and his left knee and right shoulder dislocate. They enjoy resetting those as he can’t contain his screams. His skin has broken in a number of places, leaving streaks and splatters of blood on him and the floor. His stomach’s no longer pained with hunger, however. No, it gave that up a couple days ago. He’s given water after his twice-daily walkarounds, which have become more difficult with a swollen knee after their poor attempts of resetting the dislocation.

Then, one day when he’s delirious with pain and what might be a fever, he’s gagged, a hood tossed over his head, which sends him into a flashback of drowning on land, miles away from a body of water and it doesn’t stop until he’s tossed in the back of a vehicle, a van he guesses by the situation and space. If he had a moment to recover from the flashback and rough landing, which leaves him with a brief period of unconsciousness, he might be wondering where he was going. As it is, the drive to wherever is rough, and he not only feels the poor road conditions in the various aches and pains of his body, he is knocked around, hitting the sides and being pushed back with a swift kick landing anywhere from his groin to his face.

The van stops suddenly, sending him to the front, hitting his already tender head. Two men pull him out by his feet. He cries out behind the gag, under the hood. Then he is taken, dragged because he can’t keep up with their pace on one leg, over more rough terrain. It’s bumpy with twigs and divots that scratch and tear up his bare feet. Despite this rough treatment and the warmth he feels emanating from him, he shivers from the cold. It is December, after all. Their nightmare year is almost over.

He hears voices, ones that are different from the hardened country twang he has been accustomed to since his capture. But he can’t make out a single voice and he doesn’t think it’s because of his condition. There’s a crowd out there and, as he’s pulled up what he thinks are steps, he suspects that he’s the main attraction.

He’s roughly sat in another chair and tied down again. His hands are tied to the chair as are his feet and a rope roughly tied around his chest, tightened down enough that he is left gasping for a breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he hears the Americana man say. “I have here, for your democratic judgment, the unlawful President Tanz.” In one sweeping movement, the hood is removed and Darius blinks against the harsh winter sun to see his apparent jury. As his vision clears, he sees it’s not a small group but a large crowd numbering in the hundreds, he thinks. And they shout various accusations at him, only a few of which he can decipher above their din: criminal, imposter, fraud.

“You, Darius Tanz, may have been able to coerce a badly injured chief justice, who you are responsible for nearly killing, into ruling in your favor but here, amongst the people you claimed to rule, you will face true justice.”

Darius knows that’s the furthest from the truth. Bennet had truly brainwashed his supporters, pitting American against American in a battle of real versus fake news. And in that wave of fake news had sprung up a rabid rebel force that had strained national guard resources country-wide well past the announcement of the Supreme Court decision and even Mackenzie’s death. Daily as President he was briefed on a new uprising and measures the national guards were taking to deal with them. The loss of hope during those 44 days he was in a coma had only stoked the anger, blaming him for the asteroid’s impending arrival. And now, the ‘facts’ are being laid bare for his trial. A farce if he’s ever known one.

The judgment, after the long list of indictments and reasoning for his guilt, is determined by the noise the crowd could produce. Americana man eggs them on for more noise, a stronger verdict he says. At first, he doesn’t understand what they are shouting out. It seems more like a cacophony than anything coherent. And then it becomes clear.

“Death to tyrants! Execute him!”

It’s then that he struggles, weakly because they’ve robbed him of his strength through the beatings and starvation.

“Look how he struggles. Even facing the will of the people, he thinks he can get away,” Americana man says. “Get him on his feet. He has crimes to pay for.”

A couple men, thick with muscle and stern-faced, cut the ropes that tie him to the chair and drag him up and away. He’s thrown face-first against a wall and starts sinking immediately. One of the men forces him upright and holds him with a rough hand on his back while the other cuts the binding on his hands. Darius feels the knife slice through the skin on his wrist. Then, he’s twisted around and his arms pulled up. His wounded shoulder screams at the movement and he passes out.

A bucket of water and sneering voice greet him on his return to consciousness.

“I always knew you were a coward. Trying to sleep through your own execution, You’re not getting off that easy, murderer,” Americana man says. Darius finds his arms secured to the wall behind him, out to the sides like a child might make a snow angel. As Americana man walks away, a cocky step to his stride, he sees the rifles and the men behind them. And though he should feel fear at the sight, he thinks instead that eight is rather overkill given it only takes a single bullet to kill and none of these people would lose a wink of sleep over having fired that bullet.

Americana man calls out the count to get the executioners ready and Darius knows from then that he’s not giving them the satisfaction of seeing him cower before his death. They will see his confident, proud look, eyes clearly looking back at them, daring them to be so bold. He straightens his back and forces the leg with the swollen knee back under him. He will not die like the coward they’ve branded him.

He prepares himself for the bullets to come as the count get closer and when the ‘fire’ call is given, he hears the sound of bullets traveling. Each hits one of eight executioners, causing them to twitch and then collapse.

“No!” Americana man looks around and Darius follows suit, looking for the source. Never so welcome has the sight of uniformed men with Harris in the lead been to him.

“Mark Lewis, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Darius Tanz,” a voice says on a loudspeaker as Harris and his men advance. The crowds, proving to be as cowardly as Darius expects, flees at the sight of a military presence. It means chaos for Harris, but the team pushes through coming closer every second to the stage.

“Attempted,” Americana man aka Mark Lewis says. “There’s no attempted here. This man must die for his crimes.” Lewis pulls a gun from his waist holster and levels it at Darius.

“You don’t want to do this,” Harris says. They’re feet from the steps. “Put down the gun or we will fire.”

“Go ahead, your false president will still be dead.” Lewis takes aim and shoots twice. Then his body twitches with a bullet and falls lifeless. It might be the other way around. Darius isn’t sure because, in that second, it seems, he feels Lewis’ bullets hit him. If he thought being shot with the bulletproof shirt hurt, actually being shot is a blinding pain worse than the sonic weapon. The pain radiates, overlapping such that he isn’t sure where he’s hit from the feeling alone. He looks down at the same time Harris arrives to start getting him free.

“Get the paramedics here,” Harris shouts. He cuts Darius free, catching his dirty and bloody body as his feet seem to collapse underneath him. He lowers Darius to the floor, laying him out on his back.

“Do you have him,” Grace asks through his ear.

“Yeah, but he’s hurt. It’s bad. We need a helicopter to evacuate him from here.”

“I’ll put in the request.”

Harris grabs the black hood that’d been discarded to put pressure on one of the bullet wounds. The stomach wound is undoubtedly the worst and once he puts pressure on it, it elicits a strangled gasp from Darius. It’s strangled mostly because Harris forgot about the gag, which he unties with his free hand.

“Darius? You with me?”

“Took your time, Harris,” Darius says with a moan. He scrunches his eyes closed at the pain.

“And you have a bad habit.”

Darius opens his eyes to fix Harris with a questioning look.

“This getting captured and tortured by your enemies.”

“Not my fault.” Darius coughs and gasps at the pain.

“I know. I know.” Harris scans Darius for injuries. Cuts, bruises, a formerly dislocated shoulder and knee from the looks of it, and probably broken bones. Then there was the unnatural heat coming from the man and the loss of what muscle he’d gained after coming out of the coma.

Paramedics arrive quickly and move him aside as they assess and treat Darius with practiced ease. In short order, the gunshot wounds are pressure bandaged, oxygen is set up as is an IV with saline, EKG leads are attached accompanied by a steady beeping, and vitals are recorded. The helicopter lands not far from them and a couple paramedics come with a stretcher. Darius winces as they load him up despite their best efforts to be gentle.

“’arris,” he calls out as they’re carrying him back to the helicopter.

“You’ll be fine, Darius. We’ll see you at the hospital.”

“Tell ‘race…”

“I’m not your messenger. If you want to pass love messages to her, you’re going to have to do it yourself. Now, behave and make sure you stay alive to annoy me with your unabashed arrogance.”

Darius manages a slight smile and Harris squeezes his hand before letting go. He watches as Darius is secured and the helicopter takes off. He’ll pass off processing of the scene to one of the generals and then go meet up with Grace and the others. They have a waiting room to occupy.

#salvation cbs #darius tanz #harris edwards #fan fiction #whumptober #whump

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cwnerd12 · 7 years ago

Text

Leverage

“Levarage” Reinhardt, still dressed for the coronation ball, marches down to the palace mall, giving orders to aides, “Get my car ready, I have to get to the office!” He has a black SUV waiting for him outside. He gets in. Driver, “Sir, all the exits from the palace are blocked, how am I supposed to get you anywhere?” Reinhardt, “This car is made from reinforced bomb-proof steel. Its path is only blocked if you’re a pussy. Let me drive.” The driver gets out and Reinhardt gets into the driver’s seat. The gates of the mall open. Reinhardt slams the gas and plows into a group of rioters, clearing his path.

In the ballroom, guests stand around as Thomasina tries to explain, “Due to safety concerns, we cannot let anyone leave the palace. We have accommodations to keep everyone comfortable.” An angry guest, “Do you have beds?! I have to go to work in the morning!” Thomasina, “The army is working to put down this riot!” In the back, Michelle slips away. Cut to: Michelle hurries towards the back of the palace, wearing pants, sneakers, and her AFG medic jacket. She finds the back service entrance and goes out.

AFG members get ready for a fight: they tie bandanas over their faces, load guns, await orders. Joel goes around, giving orders, “We’re going after the MSS building. We aren’t gonna get it without a fight, but by the end of the night, we’re gonna be flying the AFG flag from its roof.” Outside the MSS building, rioters throw bricks at windows. A group of riot police struggle to keep the rioters from reaching the front door. Shay leads a group of AFG snipers from rooftop to rooftop. They reach the building across the street from the MSS building, and set up. Shay speaks into her headset, “We’re in position, setting up.” Hidden in the crowd, Joel shouts, “Fire when ready!” Shay and the others set up their rifles. Shay looks through her scope, “Ready…. aim…” she aims at the police, “Fire.” The snipers all fire, and half of the policemen fall. One of the survivors, “Shit, they’ve got snipers!” In Reinhardt’s car, Reinhardt gives orders into a radio, “Then get our snipers out there! Hold the building!” Shay and the snipers take aim again, taking out more police officers. The rioters surge past them, reaching the door. Shay, “Come on!” She grabs her rifle and heads downstairs. Reinhardt ducks rocks and gunfire as he runs into the back of the building. Once inside, Reinhardt starts yelling, “What the fuck is happening?!” An aide rushes up to him, “They’re trying to take the building, sir!” An RPG is launched from the building across the street, and hits the front door. Reinhardt hears the explosion, “Shit! Bring in reinforcements!” AFG soldiers pour in through the smoking hole that used to be a door, Yuri at the front. Joel enters, firing at the guards and police who fire at the AFG. They secure the lobby. Joel goes up to the security desk and grabs the speaker, “The Army of Free Gilboa is hereby taking control of this building!” AFG soldiers begin to take the stairwells. Armored police cars rush up to the forces outside the buildings, but are met with gunfire. Reinhardt looks out at the scene from his office window, dismayed. A terrified aide, “Sir, they’re coming to the upper floors, what are we going to do?” Reinhardt, “They’re not interested in you, they’re here for me. If you have to, surrender, they won’t bother with small fry.” Aide, “What about you, sir?” Reinhardt, “I’m going to fight.”

Michelle helps an injured rioter into an ambulance. One of the EMTs, “You AFG?” Michelle, “I’m a medic.” EMT, “Do you know what’s going down at the MSS building?” Michelle, “What? I don’t know anything, what’s happening?” EMT, “Some kind of shit’s going down! The AFG is taking over the city!”

In the hospital, Jack sits in a wheelchair by a window, while nurses and doctors rush through the hallways behind him. He watches the rush of ambulances coming and going. A nurse, Christine, comes up behind him, “Jesus, how the fuck did you manage to get all the way out here?!” She pulls him away from the window. Jack, “No!” Christine, “Tonight is fucking chaotic enough, the least you can do for me is to stay where you’re supposed to be! I have no idea what your boyfriend’s up to, but he’s really fucking shit up.” Jack looks back at the window as he’s led away. She brings him into his room, and helps him back into his bed, “If you try this shit again, I’ll have you in restraints. I hate to do it, but tonight is not the night for you to be getting loose.” Jack gives her a contemptuous glare. Christine sighs and shakes her head, “I’m supposed to be keeping you on your sleep schedule. If you have a seizure tomorrow because you didn’t sleep, it’ll be my head.” Jack heaves a massive sigh of frustration.

At the palace, Rose tries her best to soothe the frustrated guests, “You’re free to leave if you want, but it means going out into the city during a riot. If anyone has special needs to be addressed, please speak to a palace employee, we will do everything we can to remedy the situation.” A security guy goes up to her and quietly says, “Ma’am, we can’t locate Princess Michelle.” Rose rolls her eyes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Don’t worry about her, she knows how to survive. She’ll come back.”

In the situation room, Abner sits with his military advisors, “Where the hell is Reinhardt?” Advisor, “He’s gone to the MSS building, he’s heading defense operations there.” Abner, “Son of a bitch.” Advisor, “We’ve tried sending in reinforcements with trucks, but the defenses around the building are thick, and nothing is getting through.” Abner, “Send in reinforcements by air, then! We aren’t going to let them take that building!”

Reinhardt and other soldiers engage in a fierce firefight with AFG forces. Downstairs, Shay leads a unit up the stairwell, “We’re coming up, the western stairwell, keep them firing at you guys on the east, we’ll get them from behind.” Joel, fighting next to Yuri from the stairwell, “Copy.” Shay and her unit reach the door of the western stairwell, and begin firing at the soldiers fighting with Joel’s unit. Above the city, a helicopter full of soldiers flies toward the MSS building. A voice speaks into Reinhardt’s headpiece, “Reinforcements are almost there!” Reinhardt, “It’s about fucking time!” The helicopter nears the building. Joel, “What the fuck is that?” Shay, “We’ve got it covered!” From the building across the street, a rocket is launched at the helicopter, knocking it off course. It crashes spectacularly into another building. Joel seeing the explosion outside of a window over his shoulder, “Isaiah’s still looking out for us!” Reinhardt hears the explosion and rushes back into his office. He sees the smoldering wreckage, and dread washes over his face. Joel sees the break in the firing, “Shay, if I send Yuri up, can you cover him?” Shay, “I think so.” Joel yells at Yuri, “Yuri, go! You’re gonna get Reinhardt!” Yuri nods, and then runs down the hallway, others behind him. Shay jumps out and fires at the soldiers trying to shoot Yuri, and then runs toward Reinhardt’s office. Yuri reaches the door, and fires at Reinhardt. Reinhardt spins around, and shoots Yuri dead. Shay jumps into Yuri’s place and shoots Reinhardt in the wrist, causing him to drop his gun. Reinhardt charges at her, trying to disarm her, but she easily bests him and pins him to the ground. She holds the gun against his temple and smiles, “What’s up, Caesar? Not having a good night, are we?”

In the safehouse, David, Asher, and Abby watch the news feed. David, “Holy shit, it actually worked.” Asher, “There’s no way we didn’t experience some losses.” Abby, “This is still a huge victory.” David, “It’s not a victory yet. We still have to see what Abner’s gonna do.” Abby, “So what are we gonna do until then?” David, “Let’s go join the party.“

Joel and Shay march up on to the roof of the building. They goes over to the edge, and sees the crowd cheering below. Joel reaches into his jacket, and pulls out a large AFG flag. He and Shay spread it out between them and wave it triumphantly. The crowd roars victoriously.

In the situation room, Abner watches a news feed of the AFG flag flying over the MSS building. Abner, “I am not surrendering. I am not going to surrender!” Advisor, “We can try sending in more reinforcements, but they’ll likely be fought off, just the same.” Abner, “God damn it!” Another advisor, “There are other options that aren’t explicitly a surrender, sir. You can agree to negotiate with Shepherd.” Abner, “He’s got the upper hand, what the hell is there to negotiate?” Advisor 2, “There’s the option of Royal Council.” Abner, “Silas was the one who liked council, he was good at it. I’m not the same as Silas.” Advisor 2, “Or you can keep fighting.” Abner sighs heavily, “I need time to think.”

Rose sits in Abner’s residence, wearing a fabulous and comfortable set of lounge pajamas, drinking tea. Abner enters. Abner, “What the hell are you doing here?” Rose, “I knew you’d be be, eventually. Emma is in bed, but I don’t know if she’s asleep.” Abner, “Why aren’t you with the guests?” Rose, “Michelle has found a way to disappear.” Abner, “What?! Jesus, I can’t even keep a princess in the palace!” Rose, “Neither could Silas. Don’t be too hard on yourself. She’ll be back.” Abner sits down on the sofa beside Rose. Abner, “She really is like Silas, isn’t she?” Rose, “She’s worse than Silas. She learned all his tricks and then found ways to improve them.” Abner, “I try so hard to be like Silas, and his daughter beats me at it without even trying.” Rose, “You aren’t Silas. You’re wasting your time trying to be like him.” Abner, “Then what the hell am I supposed to be?” Emma enters, wearing her pajamas, “Dad?” Abner looks over at her, “I thought you were asleep.” Emma, “I can’t fucking sleep. What the hell is going on?” Abner, “The AFG took over the MSS building.” Emma, “So what does that mean?” Abner, “It means I’m fucked and I don’t know what to do.” Emma goes over and sits down next to Abner, “Can I say something, Dad?” Abner, “What?” Emma, “Whatever it is you think you’re fighting for, it’s not worth it.” Abner, “After all the times Silas saved my life, fighting for his legacy is the least I can do.” Emma, “He’s dead, Dad. Whatever legacy he’s going to leave has been made.”

Downstairs in the MSS dungeon, Joel shows the captive MSS officers to David, “This is all leverage. Without its officer corps, the MSS is useless.” David, “I can’t believe we fucking pulled this off.” Joel, “We’ve had some losses tonight, I’m not gonna deny that, but we did way more damage to them than they did to us.” David, “We should set up here. There’s room to sleep, even a cafeteria so we can feed everyone.” Joel, “And an armory full of guns.” David, “That, too. Where’s Reinhardt?” Joel, “He’s locked up in his office. Thought it was better to keep him away from the others. Stop him from conspiring. Because if you were locked up with us, of course we’d be finding a way to get out.” David, “Smart thinking. I wanna talk to him. Maybe he’ll answer some questions.”

Joel leads David through the lobby of the building. Beth comes running up, tearful, “David!” Joel casts her a judgmental look. David, “Hi, Beth, what’s up?” She hugs him tightly and sobs into his shoulder. David tries to move away, but she clings to him. Other people stop and look. Beth, “Yuri was killed.” David, “Oh, shit.” Joel, “Hey, Yuri died a hero. You can be proud of him.” Beth, not letting go of David, looks at Joel, “What happened?” Joel, “He tried to take out Reinhardt by himself. Because of him, Shay was able to get Reinhardt. He made our victory possible tonight.” Beth cries into David’s shoulder. He awkwardly pats her back, “I- I’m sorry. Look, I’ve gotta go, I have leader shit I need to do, okay?” Beth sniffs and steps back.

Reinhardt sits, his arm bandaged and in a sling, the other one handcuffed to the sofa in his office. David enters, Reinhardt looks at him. Reinhardt, grimly, “General.” David, “General,” he looks at Reinhardt’s sling, “Matching hand injuries, nice. I’ll sign your cast if you sign mine.” Reinhardt, “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you planning on doing with me now that I’m your captive?” David, “I’m showing you mercy, is that not enough?” Reinhardt, “Bullshit. You’re using me for leverage.” David, “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” Reinhardt, “Y’know you could’ve had a nice fuckin’ life in the service of King Silas, and now look at what you’ve gone and made of it.” David, “Yeah, I could have. I think about the life I could have had a lot, actually.” Reinhardt, “And what do you imagine?” David, “Settling down with a nice girl, having kids, living in a nice home, and trying to ignore the fact that I’m in love with someone else, and all my luxuries come at the cost of brutality and blood.” Reinhardt, “Still going on with your moral righteous bullshit, aren’t you? I thought after all the shit you’ve pulled, you’d have given up on that by now.” David, “If you’re asking whether or not I regret not being like you, I don’t. There is something that I wonder about, though.” Reinhardt, “What?” David, “Do you ever think to yourself that you could have been me?” Reinhardt, “Why the fuck would I want to be you? You don’t even want to be you.” David, “You have a fair point, but right now you’re handcuffed to a sofa on my orders.” Reinhardt rolls his eyes, “So, are you going to interrogate me, or what?” David sits down at Reinhardt’s desk. He looks over the office imperially, “The spy you sent to poison me. You had to have known Jack would recognize aconite. Why didn’t you tell her to try something else?” Reinhardt, “Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I wanted to scare you without actually killing you.” David, “Were you the one who turned Doug against me?” Reinhardt, “I’m the one who sent him to you, but he already hated you. I had nothing to do with that.” David, “Why did you let Silas believe that I was the one behind the Amalekites? You could have saved a lot of lives.” Reinhardt, “I like my fuckin’ job, okay? I’m not gonna disobey orders and lose it. Besides, Frank Hatch tried to talk Silas out of it, and you saw what happened to him.” David, “What does Abner know about the AFG?” Reinhardt, “We found the location of one safehouse, and thought we could use it to find more safehouses, but you’ve kind of cut us off there, haven’t you? I know what you’re getting at here, and yes, the answer is you really do have us bent over and fucked right now.” David doesn’t say anything for a moment. Quietly, he says, “How is Jack doing?” Reinhardt, “Jack? I don’t know, I haven’t been to see him.” David, “Is he awake?” Reinhardt, “Yeah, he’s awake. He’s recovering. That’s all I know.” A look of intense relief and pain washes over David’s face. He shuts his eyes and lowers his head. Reinhardt, “Jesus, are you going to cry? Please do not embarrass the both of us by crying right now.” David, “You know, when we had dinner, and you said that I did my hero bullshit because I wanted to separate myself from my brothers, you were right. I liked being known as David, and not just the youngest Shepherd boy. But that wore off really fast. For a long time, I fantasized about being this beloved king, the man who freed Gilboa, and now I don’t know what the hell that means. Now, my fantasies are more along the lines of…” he drifts off, thinking for a moment, and the smiles faintly, “I make a nice dinner for Jack. We spend then evening watching TV together, and he falls asleep, curled up on my shoulder. That’s what I want.” Reinhardt gives David a look of bitch, really?, “Yeah, good luck with that. You want me to talk to Abner, or what?”

Afternoon, Michelle sits in the passenger’s seat of a car, being driven home from class. She examines her notes. She looks up as the driver makes an unfamiliar turn, “Where are you going? I want to see Jack.” Driver, “I have orders, you aren’t supposed to go there.” Michelle, “What?” Driver, “King Linus said you weren’t supposed to leave the palace last night, so now you can’t visit your brother.” Michelle, “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Driver, “Yeah, it sucks. I’m sorry, your highness, but you aren’t worth me losing my job over.”

Michelle barges into the throne room, fueled by lack of sleep and fiery rage, “YOU WRETCHED, EVIL MOTHERFUCKER!” Abner looks up at her, “Hello, Michelle.” Michelle, “I need to see Jack. Support from loved ones is a huge part of his recovery, and-” Abner, “I told you, I don’t give a fuck. I warned you what I’d do if you disobeyed the rules, but you didn’t listen to me, did you?” Michelle, “I was saving lives, you bald, useless shit! Even Dad wouldn’t do this! He’d want Jack to have all the support he needs!” Abner, “It’s been difficult, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m not Silas.” Michelle, “Jack has his cranioplasty next week!” Abner, “That’s unfortunate for Jack, then. I’m afraid you won’t be seeing him until he comes home, and neither will Rose.” Michelle, “Mom, too?!” Abner, “I said Jack would be the one I punished for your indiscretions, why are you surprised?” Michelle, “Collective punishment is defined as a war crime in the Geneva Convention!” Abner, “So your diplomat girlfriend taught you something, good for you. You know I’m not going to show her any mercy when I destroy the AFG, right? That’s why I suggested to Rose that she find you a new boyfriend.” Michelle, “Fuck you!” Abner, “Ah, I see you’ve run out of things to say. Can I get back to work now?” Michelle stands there, tears streaming down her face. She turns around and storms out of the room.

Rose sits in the residency. Michelle enters, still fuming, “What the fuck, Mom?!” Rose, “There’s nothing we can do, Michelle. I’ve tried.” Michelle sits down on the sofa and sobs. Rose goes over and pours a glass of scotch, “You want a drink?” Michelle, “I want to kill Abner!” Rose, tiredly, “It’s only until Council.” Michelle, “What, you think David is going to win?” Rose sips her drink, “Abner doesn’t know that Helen is visiting Jack, so he didn’t make any orders regarding her not visiting. Jack won’t be completely alone.” Michelle, “Why is Abner punishing Jack?” Rose, “He never liked Jack. He never liked anyone else competing for Silas’s attention. Jack’s behavior as a teenager made it worse, and then David happened.” Michelle, “Are you going to do anything?” Rose, “What can I do, Michelle? What can I possibly do?”

Reinhardt sits at his desk, surrounded by Shay, Joel, Abby, Asher, David, and other AFG soldiers. He picks up the telephone and dials in a number. In his office, Abner stares at the ringing phone for a moment, and then picks up, “Yes?” Reinhardt, “Your highness, this is Caesar Reinhardt.” Abner, “I was expecting to hear from you.” Reinhardt, “I’m here to negotiate on behalf of the Army of Free Gilboa.” Abner, “I’m not going to negotiate, but I’ll offer a deal. This will be the only offer I give.” Reinhardt looks at David, and David nods. Reinhardt, “What is it?” Abner takes a deep breath, “I will agree to Royal Council with Shepherd at the table. Any negotiating that needs be done will be done there. We will settle once and for all who is the rightful king of Gilboa.” David and Abby look at each other. Abby, quietly as not to be heard, “This is good.” David nods and looks at Reinhardt, “Okay.” Reinhardt, “General Shepherd has agreed to your offer. He looks forward to seeing you there.” Abner, “Very well. I’ll see him then.” He hangs up. Reinhardt hangs up the phone, “Is this what you wanted?” David, “I don’t know. Abby, is this really a good idea?” Abby, “Well, it is if we can find a way to get Council to agree to recognize you as king. If they don’t… well, we’ll have to keep fighting.” David, “I thought Royal Council agreements were final, no more fighting.” Abby, “Eh, most of the time.” David, “Most of the time?” Abby, “It’s supposed to settle one conflict. If you can find another bullshit excuse to keep fighting, technically, you aren’t defying Council.” David, “Carrying on a pointless war based on some bullshit excuse is exactly what Silas did, and I am really fucking tired of fighting.” Abby, “Then Council is a good thing. We jut really need to make sure that you’re the one who gets declared king.” Reinhardt, “Are you going to let me go?” Shay, “Oh, fuck no. We need a liaison to talk to Abner.” David, “Your release will be negotiated at Council.” Reinhardt, “So are you just going to keep me locked in my office until then?” David, “Pretty much. But it won’t be so bad. I’m gonna have someone bring a cot in here. I’ll sleep in it, you’ll sleep on the sofa. We’ll be roomies.” Reinhardt, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to kill you?” David, “You can’t, not with one wrist injured at the other handcuffed to something.” Reinhardt rolls his eyes. David, “I think the cafeteria is serving dinner now. I’ll have someone bring you something. As for me, I’m starving, I’m gonna go get something.” He stands up and goes out, everyone following behind him. Joel, “Are you sure Royal Council is the right choice? We can still keep fighting.” David, “I’m fucking tired of fighting,” he turns down a stairwell, “I don’t want to sacrifice anyone else.” He looks up, and sees Beth leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. She fixes him with a cold, angry stare. David eyes her nervously, but walks past and says nothing.

#Kings

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thewanderingknight · 7 years ago

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Honor & Thieves

“So, that was Drake, huh?” Jeff gestured toward the wooden doors that Nate and Chloe just walked through.

“Yep, that’s him,” Elena replied flatly. Jeff chuckled and shook his head as he sat down and adjusted the camera. Elena paced the corridor, playing with her pencil and notepad. “Hey, who do you think that woman is?” But Jeff continued fiddling with the equipment.

“Y’know, after what you told me, I thought he’d be taller,” Jeff cast his eyes up with a sly smile. She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t. Don’t start.”

“What!” His goofy smile expanded.

At least this time alone gave her a break from the awkward tension. Of course she would run into her ex in the middle of a war zone. The guy was a walking danger magnet. Of course. And Jeff…Jeff was nice, but maybe that was the problem. Maybe that’s all he was.

“What are we doing waiting around for them, anyway? We have our own story to find. Elena…” His jovial smile hardened when he realized she was rooting herself where she stood. He made for the door. She could see his eyes pleading, but she still had work to do. Truths to uncover. A war criminal to take down. “Are you serious? Elena, what is it about this guy? I thought—“

“He’s tied up with Zoran, Jeff. Honestly I’m not that surprised, but if we stick with him long enough, maybe it’ll provide a better angle on the story.”

“We have press passes, we’ve been getting along fine on our own so far.”

“Nate has a knack for getting himself into sticky situations…” She trailed off, knowing it was a weak excuse. She had just told Nate what Jeff was preaching to her now, but how could she just disappear? It’s not like Nate didn’t pull that same magic trick. It was too much of something. Seeing him here, in war-torn Nepal of all places with that woman, with Jeff, chasing after Lazarevic. It had to be something important, which she knew was a funny idea. “We’ll be safer with them, I think,” she finally stated. “Safety in numbers, right?” She paused. “Jeff I-” He started to shake his head seriously this time. “We both know Lazarevic doesn’t discriminate whoever happens to be in his path.”

“And Drake?”

“What about him?”

“Exactly! What about him!” Jeff blurted as Elena shushed him, eyeing the door to the courtyard outside. “What is it about him, anyway?” Secretly, she knew Jeff meant something selfish to her. In the littlest possible ways, he reminded her of Nate. Like light flickering through overhead leaves, small movements here and there. She knew it was wrong. But he was nice. Tall. Strong. Attentive. He stuck around.

A slam beyond the door stopped Elena before she could reply. They both ran to the door. Jeff pushed it open. “It’s raining,” he whispered. Elena’s hand moved down to her pistol. “I think I see – oh no. We should move.” They hurried through the door. He ushered Elena to the edge of the large staircase where they knelt beside a pillar.

“Hey,” she nudged him. “There’s a door over there.” She nodded to the far side of the courtyard. Elena lithely jumped down the ledge and scurried to a spot behind the large team of mercenaries starting to lurk up the staircase. “Oh shit, we gotta do something, they’re headed inside and Nate’s gonna run right into them.”

“Do what?” Jeff exasperated, as Elena shakily loaded her pistol and peaked over the top of their cover. “Oh, what about this?” He reached for an oil lantern and handed it to her.

“That’ll work,” she smiled at him, and then tossed the lantern in a clean arc where it landed near a barrel and an explosion of fire caught a few mercenaries in the maelstrom. “Shit, get down!” she pushed Jeff down and blindly fired a few rounds. Her arms felt strained from the kickback of the pistol. She reloaded, trying to steady herself as Jeff was hunched besides her covering his ears from the surge of gunfire. A blinking red grenade thudded to the ground a few feet away. There was a lurch in her stomach as Jeff sprang forward, grabbed the grenade and stood up to throw it back. The grenade had just left his fingertips when he looked like he had suddenly been pushed back. He fell to his knees and curiously checked his torso. He pulled his hand away to reveal blood on his palm.

“Oh.”

“Jeff!” Elena pulled him back under cover and flinched as the grenade exploded. Her hands shook as she tried to keep pressure on the wound. “Shit…”

“I’m…okay. Okay.”

“Jeff. Just. Just stay still…C’mon Nate, where are you?”

**********

Elena stomped down the iron staircase, almost daring the stairs beneath her to fall away. It wasn’t that she didn’t listen, he just couldn’t keep up with her when she had set her mind to help him rescue the woman who just had them both at gunpoint.

Her feet pounded the stairs and began to throb a little from all the force. She stopped, feeling like she forgot something, but she didn’t. Jeff wasn’t in her shadow anymore. She couldn’t stop, not to tremble and cry, or mourn. She pushed past it. Not now. Don’t stop now. She flew down the last flight of stairs, rushing with momentum and anger that before she could stop to assess the railyard she leaped over the railing and silently took down a patrolling mercenary.

“I will bet my next paycheck that Nate is going to find a way to mess this up.” She whispered aloud. “And now, I’m talking to myself. Perfect.” After searching the mercenary for a set of keys, she made her way to a row of 4x4s, sticking to the side of large cargo crates. She darted to the nearest one, hopped in and fussed with the keys for a moment. The ignition whined while Elena encouraged it with the accelerator. “C’mon, c’mon please.” In the distance, she heard the wicked whirr of a GAU-19 and the explosion of a grenade. “Oh, Nate! Come on! Don’t do this, come on, come on...” She turned the key again and slammed on the accelerator, and the 4x4 bolted to life. “Yes!” She exalted as she gained control and barreled toward the commotion. A few of Zoran’s men were closing in on a fallen train car. She slammed on the brakes and shouted, “Get in!”

**********

He always seemed to be just out of reach. She saw him look back just as the train was rounding the corner, heading up into the mountains. She stretched her arm up and waved at him, hoping he would see her one last time, but the train disappeared, and he was gone.

Elena sat there for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. The sounds of the forest began to magnify as the adrenaline faded away. Birds clattering, the distant train horn, the jarring vibrations of the idling jeep she could feel through her hands on the steering wheel.

She muttered to herself, “Okay, Nate’s got something to do, what do I do? Go after him? Ha, of course; of course I would go after him.” What else could she do? The camera…Jeff…were all but abandoned. She almost wanted to reprimand herself for helping him get on that train in the first place. Why should she help him? But she knew why. She had work to do. A few phone calls. Pack some things, and go. She pulled back on the shift gear and the car thrust into reverse and she followed the road back into the city.

*********

“Oh, man..!” Elena flung open the door of the jeep and raced to the edge of the cliff, slowly edging closer to lean over the expansive scene below. Not even the fallen snow could cover the broken skeleton of the train. The brilliant blue sky stretched over the impressive mountain range of the Himalayas. They stood confident and stoic, white with lazy scratches of gray stone throughout their bodies. Elena felt that they leaned in over her as she slid down toward the wreckage, hoping for any sign of Nate. She rubbed her hands together as she trudged through the snow. She couldn’t spend all day looking for him here, not that she was being particularly optimistic. She let out a hesitant call of his name. The wind whistled in reply through the sharp edges of the wreckage. She looked back up at the jeep parked at the edge she had just climbed down. If the train crashed here, there’s no way he could have gone forward. She decided to retrace the surrounding area for anything. A refueling village, a route to the Annapurna circuit, anything. That’s what Nate would do.

She crawled back up the ledge and leaned heavily against the jeep, letting the intake of air steady her. What was she supposed to do if she didn’t find him? Don’t cross that bridge. Her body froze for a moment. She could still feel the mountains on her back. She stood up, let out a controlled sigh and swiftly moved to the driver’s seat. “I can do this,” she announced to the jeep, and guided it back onto the road that ran parallel with the train tracks, again not knowing what to expect when it came to Nate, but refusing to rule anything out.

Before long, she spotted a stupa. The jeep turned onto the semi-hidden path marked by the tall structure, rumbling as it took Elena farther up the mountain pass. The sun was lower in the pink sky. She would have to find shelter soon, but the potential danger edged her on. She needed to find Nate, now. She took the jeep as far as the winding path would go. Colorful prayer flags whipped in the wind above her, sounding like the beating of helicopter wings. She left the jeep and hurried up the path on foot, practically racing until she reached sturdy square gates of the village. When a farmer approached her, it took her a moment to switch to Tibetan and stutter, “Um…have you seen a man? Tall, with brown hair? A foreigner?”

“Yes, the chief found him amongst the wreckage in the mountains.”

“Can you show me where?” She blurted this out all too quickly in English, and had to repeat herself again in Tibetan. The farmer pointed at Tenzin who was already waving her up the hill.

“He’s in here, come see,” Tenzin pushed the door open, revealing a cozy living space made of ramshackle furniture. Nathan lay on a cot in the corner, the slanting sun shining orange over his bloodstained shirt.

Tenzin left the room as Elena rushed to the cot. “Nate –“ she fretted over him as he lay still, first gently shaking his shoulders, then holding his face in her hands, his stubble scratching her fingertips, until she settled on gripping his hands in hers. “I hope this wasn’t ‘Plan D,” she choked out a laugh that bit back tears. But his chest lifted slightly. He was alive.

She settled back into a chair by the cot. It was so much easier for her to look at him this way. Without the danger of catching his gaze, without having to sneak glances between looking at him and Chloe. Then again, where was the fun in that? The small, selfish fun in making sure he knew that she was looking. Now, she could go over the lines on his face again and again. His face was pale, his hands loose in her own. A feeling of wooziness slithered through her body just looking at the injuries he accumulated, but she stretched out her fingers and balled them up to push past the feeling.

“Tenzin tells me he should wake within the next few days,” Shaefer stood close to the doorway. Elena jumped up, moving to stand in front of Nate. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Shaefer, Karl Shaefer,” he extended his hand.

Elena took it. “Elena Fisher,” she replied, “And, this is Nathan Drake.”

“Quite a story your friend will have when he awakes, heh?” Tenzin marched passed Schaefer and shooed Elena as he pulled back the blanket revealing the wound on Nate’s side. Elena pressed her hands to her forehead when she saw the blood, and Scheafer escorted her out of the house and up the hill, passing the business of village life. “Let me ask you something, Ms. Fisher. Do you know what this is?” He had removed a black cloth from beneath his robes, and unfolded it to reveal the Phurba dagger, ornamented with symbols and demonic faces.

“Nate had that,” She slowly confessed, “He said he was using it to help him find something called the Chintamani Stone.” Schaefer raised his eyebrows. “But Lazerevic. He took it from him. And, well, I’m not quite sure what happened. I’m just glad I found him. He’s lucky to have ended up here.”

“He’s lucky in more ways than one, I assure you, Ms. Fisher.” Schaefer led her up the stairs of the last house in the village. “Tell me something, are you a student of history?”

---

That night Elena stood at the edge of the village, overlooking the mass darkness that covered the world. Not knowing what was out there, with a blanket of stars above, she felt very small. Everything seemed so far away. A wind picked up the wisps of her hair. Her breath billowed in the cold air. Then, something occurred to her. She picked up a lantern, a lone, orange light that solemnly moved through the village and carefully made her way to the jeep that remained sitting on the trail. She searched in the back and grabbed the emergency bag. Once she had made her way back to Schaefer's house, she dug around until she pulled out a dull yellow satellite phone. Her fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, trying to remember the number. She let out a sigh and let the phone ring. “Hey, Sully. Yeah, I’m glad I called, too. You’re not going to believe what he’s done this time.”

---

In the morning, Tenzin shooed Elena away so he could redress Nate’s bandages. Elena wandered around the village, too restless to sit and wait. A yak huffed to her side, and she stopped when she saw a little girl awkwardly and hesitantly trying to reach for its face. She walked over and kneeled next to her. “Hey, what’s the matter?” The little girl pointed at a doll that was lying between the yak’s front hooves, explaining that he yanked it out of her hand while she was giving him his hay. Elena reached forward and patted the ox’s broad forehead, feeling his warm, wiry hair and quickly grabbed the doll. She handed it back to the girl who hugged it to her chest.

“I’m Pema.”

“Elena.”

“How did you get here? Who is that man, do you know him? He’s funny, isn’t he?” Pema began to ramble with questions and took Elena by the hand and led her into the house.

Elena sat and talked with Pema, all the while keeping the thought of Nate finally waking in the back of her mind. So when he finally strolled into the house, it caught her by total surprise. It was one of those moment where, it wasn’t that she hadn’t thought it through. She just kept thinking of that moment in only one way, so she was off guard when it happened in a way she didn’t expect. She was prepared, but not like this. She was not prepared to hurl herself into the distance between them and wrap her arms around him

#my writing #uncharted #uncharted writing #nate x elena #fanfic #I have been sitting on this draft for like literally a year #I just had to do something with it #Elena FIsher

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dangerousimagines · 8 years ago

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Burning (El Diablo x Reader)

Requested by @nerdygirl1219: “Hello! Can you do a Diablo x reader where like the reader has her own powers (You can choose what kind) and like she’s not in Diablo’s gang but her brother is in it, but she’s still close with some of the members. And the night Diablo accidentally kills his family, she was going over to his home to visit and she sees the house on fire and when the cops come not only do they arrest him, but also her because they think she was involved in it. So they go to Belle Reve together and stuff.”

A/n: I chose the powers that Scarlet Witch has in the marvel movies. I love Wanda so much and I really wanted to try something with her abilities. I tried to make this work so I hope you guys like this.

Warning: Violence, mild swearing.

Whistling echoed off of the walls of your glass cell. Your hand waved in the air, red particles flowed through your finger tips and danced in the air above you. Footsteps sounded towards your cell and you let your hand drop down beside you as you sat up.

“What can she do?” The voice asked as a woman you didn’t recognize approached your cell.

“The reports say she can manifest energy currents that appear in reddish, glowing mist-like shapes. When using those abilities of hers, her irises glow a dark, reddish color. She has the ability project energy blasts, waves, and bolts. She can also get into someone’s head and mess around in there. Using painful memories to create pain for her victims and even projecting visions into their minds to control their actions. Mental manipulation at its finest.”

You glared at the guard reading from a clipboard that explained your abilities, like you weren’t even there. Griggs had always been a pain in your ass and you would give anything to kill him with your bare hands.

“(Y/n) (L/n)?” She asked, her tone as cold as the expression on her face.

“The one and only,” you smirked, raising your hands in the air to mimic a bow.

“I’m Amanda Waller. I’ve come to see if your abilities are as good as they say or if they’ve been greatly exaggerated.”

“Well that’s pretty rude,” you stood, approaching the glass. “If my abilities have been so exaggerated, then I shouldn’t be locked up in a max security prison. I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

A man appeared from behind Waller, a solider-type guy. “You used those abilities to make an entire rival gang kill themselves.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “But how can you even prove that, if anything, it sounds like I’m just really good at persuading people.”

The man looked annoyed and took a step forward, towards the girls cell.

“Flag, don’t.” He looked back at the other woman before he returned to his original place. You eyed the two of them carefully. “Show us your abilities, if I like what I see, I may offer you a deal that gets you out of here.”

Your eyes widened and you nodded. “How about a demonstration then?”

Amanda looked over at the Bell Reve guards, nodding towards the glass cell. “Get in.”

The guards looked unsure but the look that woman was giving them made you wonder if that woman had some kind of abilities herself that made her so scary to everyone. The men walked towards your cell and from somewhere else in the prison, the door to the cell opened long enough to let the men enter inside. They looked nervous and they had every right to be.

“Sorry boys,” you whispered before you extended your hands in front of yourself.

They charged at her both at the same time. A flash of red shot towards one of them and the man went flying into the wall of the cell, a sickening crack sounding from him as he did. The last man looked terrified and you couldn’t blame him. You moved closer to him, the red particles flowed from your fingertips and into the guards temple. He backed away from you, unlatching his gun from his side.

Flag noticed what you were making him do, he stepped forward and banged on the glass. You ignored him and kept your red gaze on the guard. “Stop her!” He shouted at Amanda.

Waller shook her head but Flag was determined. He moved from the glass cell and ran over to the emergency button on the wall. He slammed his fist into the button.

You glared at him before the electricity coarsed through the cell floor. You screamed as it entered into your body through your bare feet. The guard luckily snapped out of the trance he was put in and as soon as the door opened, he was out and away from you. Flag ran back over to the guard. “Are you alright?”

The guard narrowed his eyes and looked back at the body of the other guard. “Better than him…”

Amanda stood close to the cell, her eyes staring down you, your body still convulsing. “I want her.”

Flag swallowed hard as he watched his boss leave. “God help us all…”

“Eh, (Y/n)!” You heard your brothers voice calling out to you from the main level of the house. Lazily, you made your way down the stairs and spotted him in the kitchen. He was counting an obscene amount of money and it made you feel sick. You didn’t want to know where he got it or what he had to do to get it.

“Whatca need?” You asked playfully, trying to keep your attention away from the illegal activities he was engaged in.

“I need you to run over this bag to Chanto,” he placed the heavy bag onto the table, his eyes never moving from the task in front of him. Your heart skipped when you heard his name. You never missed on an opportunity to go see him and you weren’t going to start now.

“Uh sure,” you picked it up and groaned as you placed the strap over your shoulder. “Damn this is heavy, what’s in it??” You complained.

“Don’t ask.”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll be back in a bit then.”

It was only a short walk from your house over to Chanto’s house. You hoped that he’d be home, you figured the contents of this bag were not exactly legal and you didn’t want to hold onto it for too long. You walked down the street, the night sky calming. You looked up at the sky and noticed the dark cloud of smoke coming from further down the street. Your eyes widened and ran towards the source of smoke.

Your heart pratically stopped in your chest as you saw the house ablaze. Shaking your head back and forth, you threw the bag onto the ground and went to run into the house. A hand grasped around your waist and pulled you back. You growled and you looked over your shoulder at the officer holding you back. His eyes went wide as he saw your (e/c) orbs start to glow red. A flash red exploded from you and the cop went flying. You made another attempt to go inside but you were tackled down by more officers.

Your eyes were wide as you watched the front door open as the house was completely engulfed by flames. Chanto stepped out, his hands above his head. His eyes never left the ground as the other officers approached him. You felt a tear roll down your cheek as you saw the pained expression on his face. He had lost everything.

The helicopter ride was something, interesting to say the least. They wheeled you down the helicopter ramp and into the courtyard. There you were met with the faces of the other criminals. Your eyes went wide as you saw him. It appeared as though he hadn’t noticed you yet. But that was for the better, you didn’t want these other criminals to know that you knew him. Not yet anyway.

Your eyes glanced over all of them. A hitman, a clown woman, a crocodile guy, an aussie, and a guy with dreads. Were you all suppose to be a serious team? What the hell were they thinking.

You let a sigh escape from you as they released you so you could get dressed. Once you were dressed, you noticed the blondes eyes on you.

“So what can ya do?” She asked in an excited voice.

You stared at her for a moment, “I can project energy and use it as a weapon. And a lot more.”

She looked excited and she moved closer to you, hooking her arm around your shoulders. “Let’s be friends~”

You sighed and nodded, “Sure, why not.”

She let go of you and walked off to go harass someone else. You carefully stepped over to Chanto. “Long time no see,” you said nervously.

His dark eyes looked at you and you were surprised to see the same sadness that had been there the day he lost his family. “I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he simply said.

“Same here, but here we both are,” you smiled brightly, hoping that you could cheer him up a bit. “Members of the ’Super Squad’.”

“I’m sorry for what happened, I never meant for you to get caught up in all of this.”

You frowned, “Don’t apologize. I attacked the police, I sorta asked for it.”

He was about to protest but you pressed your finger over his lips. “No, it’s not your fault. I don’t care about what you did. I’m still here for you, I always will be.”

He smiled softly and it nearly made your heart stop. At least we’re making progress.

You and the rest of the squad had reached the inner part of the city. Killercroc had gone with the other soldiers to prepare the bomb. You followed the others into the large room. You’re eyes were wide as you stared up at the swirling vortex that the witch woman had created.

“Well damn…”

Everyone headed over into cover behind some pillars. Your eyes moved to Deadshot who had been trying to take the leader role since you all left the bar. “So you got a master plan or something?”

“Uh no, out of worldly witch stuff really isn’t my expertise.”

“I’ve been waiting for you all night. Step out of the shadows. I won’t bite.” The voice was definitely the witch and it made your skin crawl. Did she think you were all actually that stupid to come out of hiding. Harley, of course, went to walk out and was pulled back into cover by Deadshot and Flag.

“Why are you here? Because the soldier led you? And all for Waller. Why do you serve those who cage you? I am your ally. And I know what you want. Exactly what you want.”

Her words felt heavy, as if something was covering you until your eyes drifted closed.

You opened your eyes. You were home, you think. It must of been around dinner time because you could smell food being cooked. You moved throughout the house, immediately seeing the whole gang hanging out outside like they used to. You smiled, stepping outside to where your brother was. Why did it feel like you had lost him. It didn’t make any sense. Your eyes moved to Chanto, his eyes were on you and you could feel your face heat up.

Your family.

Why did it hurt so much to see them all here. Why did it feel like you hadn’t seen them in so long. Something’s wrong.

“It’s not real,” you heard someone whisper from outside of this world. It sounded like Chanto, but when you looked over to him, he was gone. They all were.

“Its not real…” you whispered to yourself. Repeating it a few times until you realized that it was true.

When you opened your eyes, Chanto was standing in front of you, his hands on the sides of your face.

“It wasn’t real…” you said sadly, tears threatening to leave your eyes.

He shook his head and you could see the same sadness in his eyes. You wondered what he had seen. Probably his wife, maybe his children. Your heart ached and you knew you couldn’t do anything about it. You were still shaking off the dream as Diablo awoke the others.

Diablo looked at you, the look of regret clear on your face. He frowned, he could imagine what you saw. When he had managed to pull you from the dream,you only calmed when you saw him. He felt guilty, curious how he never noticed before. You had been sent to Bell Reve because of him and throughout this whole thing, he sat out on the side lines, watching all of you fighting. He was a coward, his family was gone but these people. They had become his new family and here you were, he wasn’t going to let you all die without a fight.

He stepped out from the cover, moving down the stairs. Your eyes widened and you were the first to follow him.

“How long have you been able to see?”

You glared at the witch as she came into view. You wanted nothing but to rip that god damn heart of hers out. You clenched your hands into fists and you glanced back at the rest of the squad as they emerged from behind the pillars.

“My whole life,” you heard Diablo say, you looked to him as he continued. “Look, Lady, they’re with me. You can’t have them.”

That was when Echantress laughed. “But it is our time. The sun is setting and magic is rising. The metahumans are but the first sign of the change, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend. I know what you are, and like me, you’re not suppose to be here,” Diablo moved closer, he wasn’t intimidated by her.

“We might be bad guys, but you, lady. You’re evil,” Deadshot told her as you joined the others to stand next to each other.

You were in this together.

“You were right, Brother. The pets won’t turn on their masters. Go ahead. Break their necks, but try not to disturb me. The machine requires my full attention now.”

She turned her back on you all to finish working on that strange ‘machine’ of hers. That’s when the a taller god walked out from seemingly nowhere. You had to admit, he did intimidate you. You looked to the others, hoping they were prepared for a fight.

The gods eyes flowed and a tentacle shot from him and destroyed pillars positioned behind you. You quickly jumped out of the way and looked back to make sure nobody had gotten hurt.

“This is going to be a long night,” you sighed, standing.

You winced in pain as you were thrown to the ground, rolling against the debris that covered the floor. Your hands and arms were littered in cuts and scrapes. A smirk appeared on your face as you pulled yourself from the floor, the room was doing more damage to you then this god was. You saw a tentacle go flying past you and you knew he was targeting a fallen pillar. The tentacle wrapped from the damaged pillar and lifted it, about to throw it at one of your friends. You ground your teeth together and rose your hands. Your eyes glowed red and particles flowed from your hands, taking control over the pillar, refusing to let him hurt your friends.

His eyes widened and he looked to you, you couldn’t help but smirk at him as you used your abilities to send the pillar flying into him. He was knocked off balance but he was more angry then anything. You felt something grasp your ankle and the ground disappeared from under your feet. You were lifted into the air and then thrown across the room. Your head hit the ground pretty hard, you winced, closing your eyes tightly as you tried to ease the pain.

You heard footsteps moving towards you, when you opened your eyes, Diablo stood in front of you. Incubus was moving towards the two of you. Diablo looked over his shoulder at you, nodding. You nodded, knowing that he would cover you for as long as you needed him to. He was in pain. His family was gone and they would never know what he did. It would stay with him forever but he could still do this. He could redeem himself, prove that he wasn’t just some monster that killed the only people he ever loved. He could prove it to himself that you deserved their love and yours.

Diablos arms shot out and a blast of fire was shot into the gods face. You knew it was no good, the armour Incubus wore could stand that level of heat. Your eyes went wide as the god lunged forward, slamming Diablo into the station wall. Fuck this guy, you stood and ran over to him. Power flowing from your fingers as you got closer to him. You shot your energy at him, sending him flying into a set of pillars he hadn’t destroyed yet.

Your red eyes found the others and you noticed Incubus standing, shaking the debris off of himself as he smirked at you.

“This battle is just getting started…”

You were on the ground again, your body aching as you slowly pulled yourself back to your feet. You had to admit that you had severely underestimated the powers of this god, you weren’t sure if any of you were going to be able to defeat him. This whole battle made you feel helpless. You hated it.

You looked over to Deadshot, he was sprawled on the ground, looking as if he was contemplating life. You moved over to him, reaching your hand out to help him out.

“Come on, I know you’re an old man but you can do this.”

He smirked at your comment, accepting your help.

“I’ll do it,” you heard Diablo say. You looked over at him quickly, wanting to know what he was volunteering himself for. “I’ll get him there. I lost one family, I’m not losing another.”

His eyes met yours and you shook your head. “You can’t. It’s basically a death sentence…”

He grinned, the smile sad but frightening. “None of you.” He paused, “None of you have seen what I can really do.”

He started to walk out, his eyes closed as he concentrated. You had heard him talk to your brother about it before and you knew that he had suppressed his powers so much that you were curious how much power he really had. He embraced the power he was given with every step.

Your eyes went wide as you noticed the god approaching you, you rose your hands too slowly and got thrown into the station wall behind you. You gasped in pain, sure that your ribs were bruised. You stared up at the god through watery eyes. He took another step towards you.

“Hey, you! Over here. Leave her alone.”

You followed the gods gaze, Diablo stood tall, arms spread wide with his hands open. He looked like he was levitating. Both the god and yourself just stared at him. Before you even knew what was happening, Diablo had lunged at Incubus, getting him away from you. The god shrugged off his attack and threw him back across the station.

But he stood, surrounded by a huge skeleton that formed around him. Harley had come over to you, helping you up as you both stared at Diablo with wide eyes. You had no idea that he was capable of this kind of power.

Diablo lunged at Incubus again, his fiery hands gripping the gods face and melting away at the flesh. Over and over again, he beat his fist into Incubus.

“Were running out of time! Drive him into the corner!” Flag yelled.

“Do it now!” You shouted at him.

Diablo held onto the god, forcing him back into the corner. Incubus however, kept fighting back. The god tried to block the fiery giants attacks, but Diablo kept hitting him. His fingers melted the metal of his armour, his hand forcing its way into the chest of the god.

Suddenly, Flag’s radio came to life. “Rick! Standing by. I’m in position.”

The sounds of Incubus howling in pain filled the room, there was something satisfying about it. “Drive him into the corner!” Flag shouted.

He pushed the god further towards the corner but you noticed that his power starting to lessen. “Now would be good! We need to hurry before he looses control of him!” You growled, worried for Diablos sake.

“No, I need him to be directly over the bomb. We can’t take the chance that he’ll survive. Diablo, I know you’re weakening, but I need you to keep pushing. Just a few more inches, man. You can do it.”

You watched as Diablo grasped he god as tumbled back into the corner right where he explosives were.

“Get out of there! It’s time!” Flag yelled.

Diablos fire skeleton dissipated, but he didn’t let go of the god.

“I said get out of there! Get clear!”

“Flag. I can’t let him go.” Diablo suddenly said. “I’m losing strength, man. Blow the bomb. Do it now.”

Your eyes went wide, too distraught to say anything. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“GQ, Diablo. The world owes you both.” Flag spoke reluctantly into his comm.

Flag gave the command and everyone went to take cover, tears streamed down your face but you didn’t move. Deadshot ran over and took hold of your arm, trying to pull you into the over. Instead, you ran forward and used what energy you had left to protect yourself and Diablo from the explosion. When the blast cleared, you collapsed to your knees. Diablo laid on the floor, his body seemingly undamaged but the fiery skeleton now gone.

Harley walked over, touching your shoulder as you stared at Diablos body. Something felt wrong, you scrambled to your feet and ran over to him. Pressing your ear to his chest. You heard nothing. No. You didn’t go through all of this for him to still die. It wasn’t fair.

“What have you done!!” Enchantress shrieked, standing on the platform, clenching her chest in pain.

You panted, your eyes returning to normal as you watched Flag crush Entrantress’ heart in front of her. You felt bad for Rick, he must of really loved this June girl. You heard a gasp, followed by coughing from behind all of you, you turned slowly, looking at the source.

“W-What happened…”

Your eyes went wide and you ran over to him as he sat up. “C-Chanto??” You had a huge smile on your face as your eyes became watery. He was in shock, did he think he was dead.

“I-I thought…”

“I saved you, so I guess you owe me.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Well you saved all of us and the world…so I guess this time were even.”

“No, (Y/n). I owe you for everything…You never gave up on me, you continued to see good in me even after everything I had done…”

You tilted your head, confused. His mouth suddenly covered your own, catching you off guard. When he pulled away, your face was red but you didn’t mind. The rest of the squad giggled and it wasn’t long before June emerged from the shell Entrantress had left behind. Things had turned out alright, well average, for the worst heroes ever.

#el diablo x reader #el diablo #suicide squad #suicide squad imagine #reader fanfiction #reader insert #reader #imagine fanfic #fanfic

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

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As Afghan Soldier Kills 2 Americans, Peace Talks Forge Ahead

NANGARHAR, Afghanistan — President Trump stood in a misty drizzle at Dover Air Force Base as the remains of America’s latest two casualties in the long war in Afghanistan arrived home.

The somber silence was shattered by anguished cries from the young widow of Sgt. First Class Javier J. Gutierrez, who sprinted toward the plane as the metal cases holding her husband’s body and that of Sgt. First Class Antonio R. Rodriguez were being pulled out. “No!” she screamed, calling out his name over and over.

Just hours before that brief ceremony on Feb. 10, President Trump had made a momentous decision, giving his diplomats a green light for a peace deal with the Taliban that would lead to an American troop withdrawal and, possibly, the beginning of the end of the United States’ longest war.

This was once called “the good war,” “the war of necessity.” When American soldiers invaded Afghanistan in 2001 — driven by the Sept. 11 Qaeda attacks on American soil — and toppled the Taliban’s oppressive government, they were welcomed by large parts of Afghan society.

But since then, the war has become a bleeding stalemate in which even some Afghan soldiers turn their guns on American service members, viewing them as invaders instead of partners. The American sergeants mourned at Dover Air Force Base were killed by an Afghan soldier whose uniform, salary and M249 light machine gun were paid for by the United States.

Of the roughly 3,500 total American and NATO deaths in this war, American officials say, more than 150 have been killed in such “green-on-blue” attacks — assaults so destructive to the American mission that they have their own terminology to describe them. The problem has been so pervasive that soldiers are assigned to guard their American comrades who mix with Afghan forces. They have a special name, too: Guardian Angels.

When the war began, in the autumn of 2001, Sergeant Gutierrez and Sergeant Rodriguez were just boys. Sergeant Jawed, the Afghan Army soldier with a single name who would become their killer, was a toddler. By the time their paths crossed nearly two decades later in a dusty, eastern Afghan village, all three men had become old hands at war.

The army’s Seventh Special Forces Group that the two sergeants belonged to had been in Afghanistan just a few weeks. But Sergeant Gutierrez, of San Antonio, Texas, and Sergeant Rodriguez, of Las Cruces, New Mexico, had joined in 2009. Sergeant Gutierrez, a father of four, deployed to Iraq as an infantryman before heading to Afghanistan as a Green Beret. Sergeant Rodriguez had completed 10 tours in Afghanistan, first as an Army Ranger and later with the Special Forces.

Their Special Forces team was back in Afghanistan just as peace talks were reaching a peak again, along with efforts to hold the line against the Taliban in the field and pressure them to stay at the negotiating table.

In Shirzad district, in the eastern province of Nangarhar, the Afghan Army had pushed back the Taliban. But the operations were stuck. So on Feb. 8, a group of Afghan commandos accompanied by the Green Berets arrived early in the morning in helicopters to see if they could help, according to interviews with more than a dozen Afghan and American officials.

The Afghan Army battalion had taken up as their base a two-story building that resembled office space more than military barracks. It was struck by a double car-bombing last year, so the belts of security around it had expanded. American soldiers climbed the towers around the base right away, keeping guard the whole time they were there.

Among the battalion’s soldiers was Sergeant Jawed, a six-year veteran of the Afghan Army and the oldest son of a brick layer. He left school in 10th grade, faked an ID that bumped his age by two years, and joined the security forces like several other of his relatives. For $200 a month, the army sent him to fight the Taliban.

An undated photo of the shooter, Sergeant Jawed.

He got married, and he and his wife had their first child, a boy, three months ago. Sergeant Jawed had managed a transfer just an hour’s drive from home but, busy with the fighting in Shirzad, had not been able to go home to meet him yet.

By dusk that day, the work of the Afghan commandos and their American Special Forces partners was over. They had met the leaders, gone over operation plans. They walked out of the building, into the compound yard, waiting for their helicopters to take them away. The sun had just gone down.

Sergeant Jawed, his weapon in hand, emerged from the side entrance of the building just after 6 p.m., took a dozen steps toward an Afghan Army vehicle where several other Afghan soldiers were. He aimed the machine gun at the Americans and the Afghan commandos huddled on the other side of a gravel path and began spraying.

The shooting didn’t last more than a few seconds. But an M249 can tear through a 200-round ammunition belt in less than a third of a minute. There were at least 43 bullet holes on the cement wall behind the Americans, most of them at chest height, and eight more on a taller empty oil tanker truck behind the wall.

A guard from one of the towers, unclear whether Afghan or American, fired back, killing Sergeant Jawed and leaving the wall behind him riddled with holes, too. But the confusion and suspicion continued for around 10 hours, until the U.S. Special Forces — with two of them dead and six wounded — could be evacuated. At least one other Afghan soldier was killed, and three wounded.

The first scramble was to find out whether they were facing just one shooter or many. One of the first steps the Special Forces took was to disarm everyone at the base, except for the Afghan commandos accompanying them, and ask them to file out one by one. At first the orders were shouted. Then they were announced over loudspeakers. One Afghan Army soldier who resisted being disarmed was badly beaten and had knife wounds, several officials said.

“I told someone next to me this Trump guy is super serious, what if he tells the planes to bomb us?” said one Afghan security force member holed up inside, speaking on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to speak publicly. “We put down our weapons and came out. But the whole time, helicopters were flying overhead and we were nervous that they would be striking any moment.”

The Taliban relentlessly pressure Afghan soldiers and police to turn and fight the Americans as invaders. And the insurgents bully the soldiers’ families to force them to switch sides or quit the fight altogether.

At the same time, as U.S. forces have shrunk their presence and interaction with regular Afghan soldiers, American airstrikes have reached record numbers, often pounding areas close to where the soldiers come from and sometimes killing civilians. In an age of social media and Taliban propaganda, the news of those attacks spread quickly, and outrage against the American presence rises.

In the days that followed, Afghan and American officials struggled to establish whether Sergeant Jawed had turned and joined the Taliban. In past insider attacks, the picture often became clear right away: the Taliban would claim responsibility, and the soldier’s phone records and movements would tell the rest of the story.

But no group claimed this attack. Sergeant Jawed’s background check was clean, a security official aware of the developments said. Afghan officials said he did not fit the profile of a Taliban infiltrator, though others have questioned that assumption.

Gula Jan, 70, Sergeant Jawed’s grandfather, disputed claims that anyone in his family had ties to the Taliban, noting the group had once raided his house because several of his relatives were in the Afghan forces. They even detained him once after he could not pay the fine the insurgents demanded of him because several of his relatives served in the Army.

“If my sons had been with the Taliban, then why would the Taliban open fire on my gate, why would they hold me for three months?” Mr. Jan said.

Mr. Jan spoke at his home just after his grandson’s burial. The military had refused to hand over the body for six days. A couple hundred people, many calling him a martyr, showed up at the burial. A large Afghan flag was planted near the headstone.

The silence from the Taliban about Sergeant Jawed’s attack was matched less than a week later by a muted American response to an airstrike that struck a pickup and killed at least eight Afghan civilians who were going to a picnic, local officials said. There was no statement from the U.S. military, which Afghan officials said had carried out the strikes.

The shooting and the airstrike couldn’t have come at a more delicate time — the peace deal with the Taliban had reached Mr. Trump’s desk.

In September, the two sides had nearly reached a deal. But Mr. Trump called off the talks, citing a bombing that killed an American and a NATO soldier.

This time, with progress in the talks seeming so close — a Taliban spokesman confirmed Monday that the insurgents had agreed to the terms and that the signing would happen by month’s end — few are talking much about the violence that is still happening, perhaps unwilling to risk any deal that carried a hope of ending it.

The remains of Sergeants Gutierrez and Rodriguez arrived in the rain late on a Monday night, their coffins met by a somber president and distraught families.

“It was very emotional,” said Senator Rand Paul, Republican of Kentucky, who watched the ceremony at Dover. “I don’t know how you could go through that and be in favor of or blasé about war.”

Mujib Mashal and Zabihullah Ghazi reported from Nangarhar, Afghanistan; Katie Rogers from Dover, Del.; and Thomas Gibbons-Neff from Washington.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/event/as-afghan-soldier-kills-2-americans-peace-talks-forge-ahead/

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emilylasalle-blog · 5 years ago

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My Story.

I guess I should start off by explaining who I am, where I come from, and the whirlwind story that is my Eating Disorder. I should also preface by saying that I have always had a negative relationship with food-- whether it be allergies, anxiety, or my Anorexia. My Eating Disorder has been present my whole life, masking itself and becoming like a chameleon-- taking the face of many different things, Eating disordesr can take the shape of any form. One doesn’t have to have Anorexia to have any “claim” to ED. Know that ED’s range from all different shapes and sizes just like body types, and yours is just as valid as the one next to you.

Okay, now that I have got that out of the way, I guess I should start at the beginning. For me, that started the day I was born. My mother has an anxiety disorder, and my whole mother’s side of the family is coursing with paranoia, fear, and obsession-- these characteristics have formed me to become the person I am today, flaws and all. So, yeah. I was born. I was also the first child, and definitely the guinea pig, which meant I was the one catching all of the helicopter-parenting. At age three, my mother put me into my first ballet class. Single-handily the best and WORST thing to ever happen to me. Best, because it gave my love of performance and helped me to become the actress that I am today... Bad, because it was the beginning of the end for my Eating Disorder and self-loathing. Ballet is a beautiful and breath-taking art form, however... the ballet world (at least growing up), was insistent on maintaining an abnormally skinny figure. They wanted twigs and if you were anything less, you would get phrases (and I quote) shouted at you such as: “Emily, I don’t want to see that bagel you ate for lunch today...” “Suck in DAMMIT.” “Have you put on weight? I see it in your face.” “You need to be able to fit into this costume.” Yup. Real things shouted at me, while a long stick was smacked onto my stomach and thighs. Absolutely brutal and cruel to be saying things like this to such a young child in the formative years of her life. So, I spent 15 years of my life constantly comparing my body to other girls, never feeling good enough, and constantly looking in the mirror-- I mean heck they were on all sides while I was exposed in a tiny leotard and tights.

So. Now that we know where my anxiety and OCD stems from, and why I had such negative thoughts drilled into my mind at such a young age, I’ll introduce the FIRST MASK my eating disorder took. SIDEBAR: let me be frank, I had a happy childhood, don’t get me wrong. My family loved me and fed me well, and they told me no when I craved fast food constantly. However, I didn’t have the enforcement for healthy eating that I needed. It was encouraged, but not enforced. So, my picky habits came into fruition. On top of that, I over the course of my short 10 years of life, had developed several food allergies-- deathly allergies-- to the point of having a significant number of shots a year. Food was scary. I was scared-- scared of everything in my later years of elementary school. My mom had drilled a significant number of scary thoughts in my head about food and my allergies. Don’t trust anyone, don’t eat without labels, check everything twice. It was my default state- anxiety. This is the first mask. I was scared to eat anything, even foods that I had eaten my whole life. I would ask my parents over and over again about whether or not I would have gone into anaphylactic shock already as I ate at meal-time. And I HATED meal time. I would create these psycho theories in my head about how my food could have cross contaminated in absolutely ridiculous ways. This mask was scary-- this mask could quite literally KILL me with one bite of egg, peanuts, tree nuts, coconuts, or sesame seeds.

Which brings me to middle school, where my anxiety was peaked at an all-time high. Not only was I petrified of food due to my food allergies, but I grew (due to events in my childhood) to have an IRRATIONAL fear of vomiting. And I mean, I would go days without eating for fear that the food would somehow cause me to throw up. I would eat dinner at 2pm to make sure I was “fully digested” before going to bed. I would call my mom crying, asking to be picked up because my anxiety had spiked so high and kids were pretending to throw up and be sick around me to watch me cry, It was a sick and traumatic three years (6th-8th.) I was so utterly and insanely scared of food. I had these insane scenarios built up in my head about food being able to “come alive” inside of me and chew me from the inside out. I had theories that all food was not FDA approved, and I would ACTUALLY call the companies to double check if it had been. So, I started to see Dr. G, my therapist of 12+ years, and a special doctor to help me gain weight (as I was like 70 pounds at MOST.) DR. G focused in childhood and familial therapy, and she saved my life. I was so hyper-fearful of everything. I couldn't eat without the huge fear of the risk of death, sickness, or worst of all... vomiting. So, that's tier number three. The second masked form my ED took on. Illness.

Which brings me to my last tier. I have grown up hating putting food into my body, for various reasons. But it wasn't until end of senior year the seed I had always had planted in my mind (ED) really began to sneak his way into my life. The first two years of high school were marvelous, I was gaining my womanhood (that's period), meeting new friends, finding my sexual awakening (thank you to the drunk guy at my first high school party for so effortlessly slipping your tongue down my throat that fateful sophomore year night), and loving my life. I ate what I wanted , danced in ballet, and didn’t give FUCK about what other people thought about my body (which is a lie because I always wanted to be skinny and I always compared myself to others). But, as rejection from boys came, jokes about unflattering pictures of me roamed about, and the yearning to look like other people began pressing in, ED began to stick his claws into my psyche. Junior and Senior year were... well, fucking awful. I was extremely depressed, ridden with anxiety, sadness as teenagers I knew in my class died, constantly stressed, and never feeling good enough. I began committing self harm to myself. Was it for attention? Was It a cry for help? I’ll never know. But, I’d cut myself with razor blades. Never super deep, but enough to hurt and bleed. I was able to CONTROL the pain. Control. CONTROL. That is a red flag to remember here, my anxiety and OCD all stems from loving to be in control of my surroundings. I hate feeling at loss. I NEED power. And ED was my sick and twisted form of that. So, I cut myself. And I made the brilliant and amazing mistake of telling my cousin who I adore, and she then proceeded to tell my parents. So, they bust into my room at approximately 11pm on a school night, crying and yelling, demanding that I go back to therapy. THATS RIGHT, BACK. TO DR. G I WENT. And she did help, a lot. Round two, and she still didn’t want to put me on medication, she said it wasn’t good for such young kids and that she wanted me to use my own power and tools within myself to conquer my anxiety and depression. And ya know what, I did. For a while.

Then I went to COLLEGE!!!! And oh boy, leaving a summer of romance from my high school boyfriend and entering college-- a whole new world of beer, sex, and theatre- I was a new woman. I quit ballet back in high school to focus on my musical theatre career, and I was in HEAVEN. I was cast in all the shows I wanted, I was in LOVE with a new boy at college, and I was making so many new friends. I ate whatever the HELL I wanted, because I was 18, on my own, and FREE! This meant pizza and fries at 2am, this meant buttered bagels for breakfast, microwaved mac and cheese for lunch, McDonalds after acting class, it didn’t stop. But, ED wasn’t gone... he was waiting patiently behind a nearby street corner, lurking, waiting, plotting. He had a plan, and was preparing the perfect attack. I was always his target. So, freshman fifteen happened. Maybe even 20, I don’t know. All I know is that I was at my college “dream-boats” house weighing myself, when I began to panic. ED was slinking back. The number had grown a lot since I weighed myself two semesters ago. I felt, “fat.” It was the first time I admitted to myself that that’s what I thought I was. And it was a nightmare. I was able to brush it off and push the thoughts away, I had a fun summer coming up, friends to see, etc. I managed to focus on the positives, that is... until the end of year banquet.

When I think about what propelled me into the next three years, which also happen to be the most unhealthy and sick years of my life, I think about this very moment. The end of year banquet. I like I said, was happy and healthy (I HAVE NEVER BEEN OVERWEIGHT. EVER.). I had my senior year prom dress picked out to wear to my first year of college, end-of-year banquet! Sure, my heart was broken from my college dream-boats dumping, my lack of summer theatre jobs, etc.... rejection was written all over me, but I DIDN’T CARE. Not until the dress. I put it on, a size 2-4 dress, that I had fit into snuggly the year before, wouldn’t zip. I panicked, thinking there MUST be something wrong with the zipper... only to have my mom tell me it didn’t fit. This. This exact moment. ED took a HUGE bite out of my soul and dug his fingernails in. He was mine. I remember screaming, crying, tearing my dress up into shreds, and screaming to my mother at the top of my lungs: “I AM SO FAT. I AM AN UGLY COW. I WILL LOSE ALL THIS WEIGHT IN ANY WAY POSSIBLE, I WILL STARVE MYSELF. I WILL NEVER EAT AGAIN. I WANT TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL, I’M SO SKINNY. I’M DONE,”..... my mother was horrified. But, if there’s one thing I’ve always been, its determined. Which brings me to Tier 3. The final mask of ED.

That summer I worked out like nobody’s business. Sweating outside in the blazing Georgia heat as I ran miles upon miles. I cut myself off from fast-food, I blocked all the asshole boys who dumped me, and I became a health fanatic. And then a friend of mine (who blames themselves, even though they shouldn’t), made the biggest mistake anyone has ever done... they introduced me to MyFitnessPal. The worst thing to ever get into my hands, and to happen to me. I slowly became obsessed with dieting. I began counting calories, comparing myself to her, treating our weight loss as a race (MIND YOU I WAS NOT FAT OR OVERWEIGHT AT ALL. I WAS 130-135 MAX AND 5.7-5.8!!!!!). She went along with it, and then slowly started to realize, that maybe I was taking it a little too seriously and a little far... she then backed out, started to become “worried” about me. Concerned that I wasn’t eating enough and dropping weight rapidly. Friends noticed, my parents noticed, but they all assumed I was just working out and eating healthier. No biggie. I dated a guy briefly at this time, and all I can remember him saying was, “you’re getting kinda skinny... build some muscle, eat protein!” Man if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that one... So, I continued to diet. I lost weight, but wasn’t deemed “unhealthy.” Just, “skinny.” They nicknamed me Chicken Legs, and... I liked it. I liked being told I was small. It fed ED, and kept him occupied. That is until three hours later when he shamed me for drinking a glass of skim milk, stuff I had been drinking for literally my whole life. So, I did what I always did. I listened to ED, and I cut out milk, cheese, butter (haven't had real butter in four years), potatos, etc. Any food that sparked “joy” I wouldn't eat. I counted my crackers, I measured my cereal, I went to bed hungry. As long as I didn't pass that 1,000 calorie goal.

The summer after sophomore year was the worst summer of my life. My hatred of rejection mixed with my fear of loss-of control, caused me to do things to my body that I am not proud of to this day. I was always comparing myself to other girls, checking to see if I was the skinniest girl in the room, and if I wasn’t, I let ED decide what my punishment was. I formed sick habits. I bought a scale, I bought extra small clothing as a form of forcibly maintain a bmi to match my clothing, I ate 0 calorie foods for meals, it got bad. I would weigh myself every day, so many times. Before and after using the rest-room, and I’d buy laxatives to make me shit so that I could see if my weight had gone down. The number that was “too low” continued to be pushed farther. It was scary, and the whole time my heart and soul were fighting ED so hard. It was a full on world war in my brain, fear and anger for letting myself get so unhealthy, and shame and disgust for letting myself get so fat. I wrote notes to myself on mirrors, telling me not to be weak-- to go hungry, you fat cow-- that skinny is the only way I’ll be successful. I’d push food around on my plate at group outings, I’d stuff it in my napkin, If I was starving, I would chew up food and spit it out. Just to get the sensation. I’d measure my arms and wrists with my hands, just to double check that everything fit inside my abnormally small hands. I’d wake up crying, go to bed crying, call my parents crying, because dammit-- I was so hungry, I was so sad, and I was so alone. Except for ED of course, he never left my side. He’s watching me as I write this.

My parents came to visit me, and the skeleton that faced back at them made them cry. And guess what, BACK TO DR. G I WENT. Everyone was worried about me, and I LOVED it. My best friends mom even had a heart to heart with me about her friend dying of a heart attack because of her Anorexia (God such a daunting word.) I didn’t want to get better, I pretended I did, so that people wouldn’t think I’m gross, but rather some kind of here. Alas, I WANTED to stay 100 pounds. I wanted to stay 99 pounds. I didn't care if it would “send me to the hospital” as my doctor said, I was happy with watching the number go down. I wanted the number at zero, because I felt like a 0. I felt like nothing. I wanted to be whisked away. My therapist says I allowed myself to get this ED because I seeked self control, she said however, that that’s the last thing I have. ED controls me. So, I took her advice, and we finally put me on anti-depressants. I looked up group-therapy, and I made a “plan” to get better. But deep down I knew I didn’t want to. I was loving the skeleton life so much. Hungry=Strong. And I was the reigning champ. But, school came back around and if there’s one thing I fear more than no control, is failure. And that’s what I was afraid would happen if I didn’t put on some weight... I would lose the leading lady role I had been dreaming about for the past year and all of summer. I didn't, but that fear was in my brain. And quote frankly, why I think Theatre LITERALLY saved my life.

The medicine helped, theatre helped, and I became happy again. I wasn't the weeping starving skeleton I once was... I was a happy one. My therapist explained to me why it didn’t feel real, and that it very much was. She diagnosed me and that was strange... but that’s another topic. However, I started noticing certain changes on my body. Things that other people didn’t have. Like: all my clothes were too big and falling off of me, I had brittle skin, I was ALWAYS cold (still am), I was always tired and it didn't take much to make me feel weak or out of breath, I even started losing hair. These were all consequences from my anorexia. And people noticed. In negative ways. However, I FELT better, and that's all that mattered to me. I still weighed myself, I still counted calories, I still made sure that if my parents found my scale and hid it, I’d get another one. I was sneaky. And they always say that ED’s are the most clever and manipulating people. And then I was off to summer-stock in Indiana. This was a dream for me, my first professional contract!! And just when I was feeling myself go down a dark path again. This was a miracle for me, I truly thought I wouldn't get a professional contract and was fully prepared to go back down the summer-rabbit hole as I usually do, as I have way too much time to think. But, this was not the case! I packed up my bags and flew to NYC for a trip to see family, and had so much fun I didn't count calories for three days. This was a huge deal for me, and I truly started to feel better. I got to Indiana and the biggest blast began. I made so many incredible friends, who supported me and my issues, I did some awesome theatre (and some shitty theatre lol), and I met my boyfriend at the time. I was happy, I had new people in my life who watched out for me. And I stopped counting calories! I ate more protein, I was doing well. I worked out a lot and attempted to get strong. But I felt my body deteriorating. I got dizzy very easily, I got extremely sick very easily, and I couldn’t keep up my stamina for very long. I also began birth control at this time, as I was in a new relationship and preparing to be sexually active. This changed my body in many ways, which we’ll get to later on.

However, the summer ended. I moved home, I got back into bad habits, and the comparison and “less-than” feelings returned. However, they got snatched away really fast and here’s why: I had been on my anti-depressants for over a year, and I was way overdue for a checkup at the doctors office. I hadn’t gained any weight, and they noticed my bad habits still being there-- and I hadn't seen my therapist since before I left for Indiana. They did some tests, and I was off. Then I got a call asking me to come back in. Turns out my blood cell count was irregular-- ie: my white blood cells were abnormally low and my red blood cells were enlarged. They believed this was due to vitamin deficiency. What I hadn't told them is I had been feeling heart palpitations for some time now. They drew more blood and ran more tests on me. Alas, I received another phone call telling me that I had to come back in, as my results left them clueless. So. They referred me to an Oncologist. This, was the scariest moment of my life. I had believed it had been vitamin loss, and that it was something I had done to myself-heck I literally was happy that maybe I was so skinny my vitamin levels were lacking. But nope. My boyfriend was amazing during this time, and encouraged me to continue to eat healthy and try new things to get better. During this long waiting period I ate like a normal person. I ate healthy. I stopped counting calories. I was doing better-- but not from a place of health, from a place of fear. That’s not how you heal healthily. I was scared I had cancer. I went to the oncologist’s and was tested for Leukemia. Suddenly, I didn't like feeling this thin. I didn't enjoy being breakable. I wanted to be healthy and strong. I continued with the visits to the Cancer Center. This was three of the hardest months of my life. And the scariest. I had one half of my brain telling me I was fat and needed to not eat anything, and the other half was telling me if I didn't eat, I’d get even sicker. And that I needed to gain weight, to prove I wasn't dying of Leukemia. After all of the blood tests, and the trips to one of the scariest doctors offices I’ve ever been in... we figured out:

I didn’t have cancer. But I realized how stupid I had been for the past ten years of my life. I had been given a TASTE of how scary and haunting being sick can be, and here I was destroying my own body. y healthy body, that people WISHED for. So, I stopped listening to ED, and I moved on. However, this didn't las long. Birth control changed my body. My boobs got bigger, my face filled out, and I noticed small changes. And I began to fall back into bad habits. Limiting foods, cutting calories, I went full vegan, I dumped my boyfriend so I could stop taking birth control, I stopped my medicine (as I didn't want to be mentally healthy anymore, I wanted to be sick so that I could lose weight.). Things got bad again. All the while, still having to go to an Endocrinologist. Since they realized I didn't have cancer, they did tests to realize I had given myself thyroid diseases, blood weakness, frail bones, and heart palpitations. All because I starved myself. But what did that make me? Happy. Happy to be ‘sick” and “skinny”. And that’s MASK 3.

And here I am today, still struggling. Better, but struggling. I try not to weigh myself anymore (some days I fail, it’s human). I still count my calories, I try to find protein substitutes, but it’s constantly an uphill battle. The calories control my life. I started this journey thinking that it would give me more control, however the exact opposite happen.

My eating disorder is a sickness. My ED and I are in an abusive relationship with myself and ED. There’s not enough space in my head for this. So here I am today, in therapy, doing everything I can to try and make sense of why I hate my body.

My therapist says that I have been “screwed from the get go.” I was brought up in the ballet world, with a mother who constantly self deprecates, constant comparison syndrome... Instagram is hard. Life is hard. But I will continue to fight so that I can be successful.

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