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honorable-wanderings · 4 years ago

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Word of Honor - Episode 2 Part 2 - Mirror Lake has more Fire than expected

In an interesting twist of fate Zhou Zishu decides to take the nice munchkin up on his offer to crash at his place for a while.

Thumbs up my dood

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Now the fuck are these guys?

Oh cool. Thanks.

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See? Children chants are creepy! Always!

But especially when driven by plort! (plort was a typo but I’m Keeping it.)

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Finally people treating our man with common decency and respect! Who knew he just needed a fancy bookmark?

Oop. Nevermind

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I have discovered the joys of fucking with people and I’m never going back again

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A fuck this guy again. I’m assuming we’re not supposed to like him? But I don’t like him either way. He has no... je ne sais quoi

He boring. Basic. Bland.

It ain’t good.

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Oh and also you know how you wanted us to keep tabs on Zhou ZiShu? Oh well um.. it’s going great! Great! Yeah... except for... we can’t find him.

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Well if this ain’t a whole ass mood?

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Midnight already? Time for the pain pins to poke me painfully!

This sure is a weird version of Cinderella

gross

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Okay okay so normally the 7 torture nails block your chi? I’m understanding? So you can no longer do martial arts. And he would rather die than lose all his martial arts so he put the nails in slowly so that he could still have SOME of his martial arts. But the point of the nails is still that he wants to die and feels he deserves to be punished as well? Right? So having his martial arts helps mediate the pain which lessons the punishment

and if it weren’t for the punishment aspect couldn’t he have just like... faked the nails? Or would they have been able to tell? I mean this is all dramatic and all but where are your motivations Zhou ZiShu?

work with me here

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Hey?! That’s not sunlight?!?

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Love me a good silhouette shot

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And suddenly everything is on fire???

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Rude

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After watching like 4 people get killed in front of him and a lot of fire and ransacking our protragonists finally thinks perhaps he should get himself involved.

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How is everything a fucking boomerang???

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Pffffff I love it

Tunk thunk

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In another interesting development, the boat man from before is important?????

Also our boy is doing his best with that hat

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Okay I know he’s like a master of disguise and all but like he doesn’t seem to be doing much to actually... hide? Still love his wiggly sword style

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Um take the kid and fucking run maybe????

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*stalks you from a not very inconspicuous distance*

Didja miss me?

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Hate to see you leave but love to watch you go

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Fuck I hate being disarmed.

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This place looks strangely similar to the woodshed...

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The fuck are you?

Wouldn’t you like to know?

Yes I would. That’s why I asked

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There’s just nothing quite like a near death experience to bring people together.

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Take this kid and run!

But sir, you don’t seem to understand! I am the Best Boy! I simply cannot just leave you to die.

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Don’t worry kid! You can’t get in trouble anymore! Your dad is fuckin dead! Surely that’ll bring you some comfort!

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Random Local Boatman is surprisingly honorable and happens to be in debt to the father of the kid who was nice to you that morning.

Life sure is weird.

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He doing him best

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Though it is absolutely understandable, he reacts to being touched by that paper the way I react to walking into a spider web.

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Gramps is a badass

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I do have to say these guys do seem to be much better trained than the usual evil henchmen. And you have to appreciate their aesthetic.

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Seriously!! The best boy!!!!!

This man has helped in a little bit exactly once to repay him for his own kindness an this little teenager is willing to just die for him without hesitation.

Like no, son, the two old men are doing this so that YOU live. You have it backwards.

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Surpriiiiise I’m stalking you too!

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Oh no the henchmen are falling into the drawing things out to emotionally torture their prey thing. Don’t y’all know that giving the protagonist time to recover and/or study your moves is how you die? Did you even GO to henchman school?

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ahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Just.. omg. The noise he made. “Dwaaah!!!”

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Okay kid I know you’re young and under a lot of stress and never really got into the whole martial arts training thing but grandpa is doing better than you literally laying down and covered in cuts. Just sayin

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Aw nuts

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*ding*

Please take your protagonist out of the oven as cooktime has been completed.

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The fighting editing style seems to be a weird splice of nice crisp slowmotion view of the action and spliced together jump cuts and zooms that make for an odd kinda hard to follow combination. But at least I guess they tend to end on ‘cool pose x”

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“Hey, Beggar! You’re good at martial arts. Somehow this surprises me even though I already knew that???”

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Unexpected trust fall ends better than anticipated

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Das gaee

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He’s bendin’ over backwards for you!!

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Unexpected but definitely varied emotional investments on the fact that Gramps is dying.

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Look at him being all humble.

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Ooh he could be in a medical drama. That is the perfect like sad close your eyes and head shake no I’m sorry he’s not gonna make it. Bravo.

Very delicate.

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“Don’t fuckin’ touch me”

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I’m guilt tripping you into a found family and you’re gonna like it punk

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Sick dude, whats your name? Shit no one’s asked me that before somehow I’m not ready..

Uh.uh... Zhou Xu.

Nailed it.

“Zhou Xu? Naw that doesn’t sound right.”

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May you learn from this never to underestimate, rob, and otherwise harass your local old boat man for you never know when he may force you through guilt and honor into taking on a ward and a quest under penalty of being haunted by his old ass ghost forever

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Uncle Li has died and most of the group is much more upset about it than they would have anticipated that morning.

Poor ChenLing is having a rough day.

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RIP Uncle Li. So much for living a carefree couple of years lying drunk in the sun.

It looks like even now you can’t escape your responsibilities Zhou Xu.

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Group of hereto-unknown men arrive in poor time to stop the bonfire

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“What’s wrong?” Um... maybe... fire??

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I say again, thank you for labeling the people I’m supposed to remember.

Also, why did y’all have to wait for orders before checking out the fuckin boats?

Y’all dumb.

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Hey, Wen KeXing, Not trying to throw off your groove or anything but maybe a funeral isn’t the best time for flirting? Perhaps? Maybe?

I know you don’t have an ‘off’ switch but maybe a pause button?

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“are you done?”

“Never.”

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It deadass took y’all this long to introduce yourself? You’ve been stalking him all this time and you never thought to go “btw my name Wen KeXing? Comment t’appelles tu?” Come on man

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Our best boy is having his not best day. D:

Don’t worry. Your new family will stalk/care for you.

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“A-Xiang! Make some food!” “No shit Sherlock I already did.” “My ideas are the best. :D”

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Eat your food!

Eat your food!!

Eat your FOOD!!!

EAT YOUR FOOD!!!!

WILL SOMEONE PLEASE EAT YOUR GODDAMN FOOD?

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“Oh my GOD we get it you can fucking read! Oh my god.”

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If I prove I can read too will you pass me a damn pancake?

Fuck yeah.

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GOD DAMN IT SOMEONE EAT FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK

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Um excuse you this group only has room for one little bitch and it ain’t fuckin you, you hear me little girl?

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I am very sorry. Thank you for saving my life. I would like to re-assert my status as “best boy”.

HEY WHAT THE FUCK????

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Wen KeXing: 👀

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Please increase your friendship level before asking personal questions.

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Nya Nya you were useless when your home was burned to the ground and your family was killed waaaaah how pathetic are you!!

Can you fucking not?

My B.

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BEST BOY INJURED THIS IS NOT A DRILL

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Our Man Zhou ZiShu respects bodily autonomy!

Do not touch my fuckin’ boy or I will fight you!

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And we end the episode with Wen KeXing being horny on main!

Sir, keep it together. There are children present.

#Word of honor #Shanhe Ling #zhou zishu #Wen Kexing #zhang chengling #Gu Xiang #Writing WoH #spoilers #Episode 2

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hermits-that-craft · 3 years ago

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In My Dreams (Will You Remember Me?)

Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Nine - I’ll Keep Him Safe From The Dark Things That Wait

AO3 and Trigger Warnings in reblogs.

“Goodmorning Fwip!” Jimmy says, landing on the path outside of the Grimland city. Fwip smiles at Jimmy, his red goggles over his eyes. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great, Jimmy.” Fwip says, smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” Jimmy replies, taking off his elytra. “So, trade deals?”

“Right.” Fwip laughs. “I forgot that’s why you’re here. I’ll be honest, I thought I would be giving you a tour of Grimlands.”

“I’d love a tour.” Jimmy smiles under his mask. Fwip lights up at that, smiling wider, less sheepish than only a few moments ago. “We can always discuss trade deals afterwards.”

“Speaking of which,” Fwip opens the gates for Jimmy, inviting him into his empire. “Did you have any ideas of what you would like?”

“Honestly, my advisors told me to go for an equal amount of gunpowder.” Jimmy responds, ducking through the gates. “But we can iron this out later.”

Jimmy whistles as he straightens up. The Grimlands are magnificent. People rush around the city, bumping into people and walking faster than Jimmy thought people would have any reason to. The city is filled with life, storefronts lit up with people looking around inside. Children in neat uniforms dash down the streets with their friends.

The city is lively, but there’s no street vendors. No people busking in the morning light, no one selling fresh fruit and freshly cooked pies on the intersections. People race down the streets, but no one stops. No one talks to each other, save for teenagers hurrying not to miss their first classes. The city is full of life, but does that life disappear with the end of the morning rush?

“You gonna move, or are you just going to stay there and gawk?” Fwip asks, leaning against a light post.

“It’s so busy.” Jimmy says, moving to avoid bumping into a woman in a suit.

“Oh, don’t worry. It practically empties in fifteen minutes.” Fwip smiles, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. He hasn’t removed his goggles yet, even though its not that sunny. “After we get something to eat, the streets will be ours.”

“I ate before I came.” Jimmy says quietly, trying to avoid taking his cod head off around Fwip.

“Aw, that sucks.” Fwip pouts. “I booked us in to eat at my favourite cafe.”

“I suppose I could get something small.” Jimmy winces, trying not to offend the other ruler. “As long as I don’t have to remove my mask!”

“Don’t worry, you won’t lose your head.” Fwip laughs, leading Jimmy though the city. The houses tower over the pedestrians, the streets narrowing and winding until Jimmy’s head is spinning.

“Can we slow down, Fwip?” Jimmy asks, trying to keep up with his guide.

“If we slow down the crowd will separate us, just try to keep up!” Fwip grabs Jimmy’s hand, pulling him along down the street. The streets blur together, sharp corners and large courtyards and narrow streets and large crossroads make Jimmy’s head spin. Will his empire become like this, after he’s dead?

He wouldn’t be able to recognise it.

Fwip pulls him through the open door of a small, homely cafe. A tabby cat stretches in the sun yawning as a young woman sweeps the floor with an old wooden broom. There’s plants stretching over every inch of spare space, including the ceiling beams and the edges of paintings that litter the walls. An elderly woman sings to herself as she washes some plates, soapy water barely remaining in the tub. A young man, his hair tied into a neat bun, smiles at the two emperors with a smile that screams home. Like Jimmy’s come home, even though he’s never been in this shop before. It’s…

It’s nice.

“Welcome to The Rockrose and the Thistle cafe, how can I help you?” The man asks, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey Iorro, could I have my regular?”

“Of course, Lord Flynn.” The man smiles, wider than before, and Jimmy can feel his heart begin to race. “And for you, honoured guest?”

“A hot chocolate and something small?” Jimmy asks, and Fwip gives him a nod, almost thankful.

“Could I have a name to go with that?”

“You can refer to me as Jacob, but you can’t have my name.” Jimmy says smoothly, and Iorro laughs, tilting his head back.

“You’re observant, it took Lexi hitting me to stop me from taking our lovely king’s name.” Iorro says, and the young woman stops her sweeping.

“Iorro, if you touch these men’s food, I swear-” She laughs. “It’s a pleasure to have you both, I hope you enjoy your meals. I’ll handle the cooking. Iorro, swap with me.”

The fae man - who’s tall, taller than Jimmy thought he was, towering over Jimmy - takes the broom off of Lexi before he starts to sweep.

Fwip leads Jimmy into a side room, one that forgoes the plants for window seats and a small block of deepslate redstone. Jimmy takes the seat closest to the window, watching as the people outside of the cafe mill about, laughing inaudibly and racing to the next place. The crowds slowly dissipate as he watches, and Fwip laughs.

“Not many cafes in the Cod Empire?” Fwip asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“None like this.” Jimmy admits. “This place is something else.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good.” Jimmy says, as the door creaks open. “Definately good.”

“Coffee with three shots of espresso?” The elderly woman asks.

“Thats mine.” Fwip says, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?” Jimmy asks incredulously.

“Don’t try to talk him out of it, boy.” The woman says. “He’s been ordering this for years. At this point it’s the only thing keeping him awake. I assume you have the hot chocolate?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Jimmy says, and the lady laughs.

“What would be more lovely is if you talk this man out of drinking that every morning.” The lady deposits their drinks in front of them, steam swirling out of the cups. “Have a good day, emperors.”

The woman walks out of the room, and Jimmy looks down at his drink. A small cod is made in the foam art that floats on the top of the drink, and Jimmy coos. Lexi drops off two sandwiches to the table, which Fwip takes with a smile.

“Jimmy, they gave me your marshmallows.” Fwip says, holding out two towards Jimmy. “You want them.”

“I’m not five, Fwip.” Jimmy says. “Of course I want the marshmallows.” Fwip drops them into Jimmy’s drink, and Jimmy laughs as Fwip hisses at the splash from the hot milk.

“Don’t laugh at me, that hurt.”

“What did you expect?” Jimmy says, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “Wow, this is really sweet.”

“They must like you.” Fwip says. “Cause my coffee’s burnt.”

“That sucks.” Jimmy offers, downing the rest of his drink. The sweetness is strange - the marshmallows must have had extra sweetener, normal hot chocolates aren’t this saccharine.

“You ready to leave now?” Fwip asks, standing up.

“Sure.” Jimmy stumbles a bit as he stands, btu he lets Fwip lead him out of the cafe.

They walk through the empty city for a while, the silence overwhelming. Jimmy wants to say something, to break the awkward silence that threatens their every step, but he can’t. He knows the words he wants to say, but they get lodged in his throat and twist around his tongue, like a vine is creeping up and strangling him.

Fwip leads him into an alleyway, one too small to be of any use besides a shortcut, but the only place it leads to is the wall. Jimmy sways a bit, turning to face Fwip. This isn’t where they’re supposed to be.

Blink.

Fwip smiles.

Blink.

Sausage laughs in the distance.

Blink.

Jimmy’s swaying. He can’t stand up for much longer.

Blink.

Fwip takes off his goggles.

Blink.

Jimmy’s on the floor now.

Blink.

Fwip’s eyes are as red as Joey or Sausage's eyes.

Blink.

Blink..

Blink…

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Jimmy’s head rests on some cold stone. It’s nice, really. He feels so hot, like there’s fire under his skin, burning at his lungs. But it’s also too cold, he’s shivering. Where is he? He was just with Fwip, what happened, did he faint? A breeze passes his face, and his eye slowly opens.

Where is his mask?

Why won’t his other eye open?

“Good morning Jimmy.” Fwip says, leaning against the wall. “Took you long enough to wake up.”

“Where…” Jimmy tries to sit up, finding himself unable to.

At least Dogwarts didn’t get him. I can’t lose him.

“What?” Jimmy mumbles out loud. What is dogwarts?

“Don’t worry, Timmy.” Sausage says, pushing Jimmy’s head back onto the altar. “None of this will hurt, we just need your help.”

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sausage kneels down in front of Jimmy, looking into the Codfather’s eyes. “You’re going to meet a friend of ours.”

“He’s already met me before.” A deep, warped voice says, and Jimmy’s heart leaps into his throat. No. Not here. Not now. “He’s much more expressive without the head.”

Jimmy flings himself backwards, putting as much space between him and the demon as possible. Sausage and Fwip laugh, pushing Jimmy towards the altar. Jimmy tries to struggle, but the world spins and-

And there’s blood on the floor. It’s dry, dark brown, but it’s his. His arm hurts. Why didn’t his arm hurt before? Why didn’t he notice he was bleeding? Why did Fwip hurt him?

“So he’s come out of shock.” Xornoth laughs. “Thank you both for collecting him, we truly can hit my brother hard, having something of his.”

“Jimmy isn’t Aeor’s champion?” Sausage asks, and Jimmy blinks.

The gods have never loved him, why would Sausage think one of the elfs would?

“No, he’s the champion's soulmate.” Xornoth laughs, walking up to the trio. “He’s important, not important enough to matter, but important enough to kill.”

“Too scared to kill me yourself?” Jimmy snarks, shaking. He’s not scared, really he isn’t.

He’s been here too many times, in his nightmares, for this to have any effect on him. He’s shaking because he’s cold, not because he’s scared. It’s too hot, but he’s still cold. The blood oozes out of him - will his arm go septic, if he escapes? How will he escape, why was he paying attention to Xornoth he should have focused on escaping.

“Too busy,” Xornoth says. “To bother myself with pest control.”

“Should we sacrifice him?” Sausage asks, and Jimmy stills as he feels the sharp blade of an axe gently tap his neck.

“Wouldn’t it be a shame,” Jimmy closes his eyes, trying to fight back tears as his fate is sealed. “If such a lovely altar wasn’t used.”

SolidarityGaming was sacrificed on the altar by MythicalSausage

#in my dreams (will you remember me?)#imd(wyrm)#empires smp fic

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epicstuckyficrecs · 4 years ago

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2020 Half-year fic rec for Steve Rogers’ birthday!

I made a poll on Twitter to know if people would be interested in me doing a half-year “best of” fic rec like I did last year , and the response was overwhelmingly positive, so here it is! 😊 These are my favorite fics of the year so far! (in no particular order)

Complete

Two Colors, White and Gold by Carelica (Canon-Divergent | 36K | Explicit): He’s here, he’s alive. His hand is on a tree.

Deep Sea Diving by AidaRonan/ @bisexualstarbucky (Shrunkyclunks | 5,4K | Explicit): Steve’s wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

Some things you do for money by pushdragon (BDSM AU | 72K | Explicit): Steve’s wholesome take on domination has suddenly become the hottest thing in the business. He should be cashing in on his newfound celebrity, but instead he’s distracted by the guy who works odd shifts in the club’s bar, fresh out of prison and damaged in ways that don’t show.

the hand you want to hold is a weapon (and you’re nothing but skin) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Post-WS, Sex Pollen | 13K | Explicit): Steve gets sex-pollened. He handles it just fine, and then Bucky shows up.

Dear Mr. Postman by odetteandodile (Modern AU | 52K | Teen): “I’m um—your mailman,” Bucky says, lamely. Or—Steve and Bucky revive an old friendship, get married (but totally just as friends, for reasons), and navigate a few of the many trials of the heart that come with falling in love with your best friend.

good on my own (needed me) by mcwho (Modern AU | 12K | Explicit): There are some mistakes that could be made by anybody. Anybody. Bucky taught high school pretty much his whole life, and that was fine, those were kids, and he knew all of them anyway, which meant there was very little chance of him accidentally fucking any of his students during an impulsive post-marital-breakdown Grindr hook-up. Which is exactly what he had done with Steve.or: bucky has not let steve rogers fuck him since his sophomore year (Part 1 of himbo-verse)

Latte Art and Slow Dancing in the Dark by deadonarrival (Modern AU with powers, Daddy kink | 89K | Explicit): Bucky is a somewhat well-adjusted former army sniper that got his shoulder blown out. He took his discharge and went home to finish school. His best friends and roommates (Nat & Clint) are CIA agents and tip him off that their local Sbux is hiring. He gets a job there and meets none other than the hottest guy on earth. So how does one get a date in the most top secret government location in the US? What happens when that guy is more than just a hot dorito and wants to give Bucky everything he wants?

That Boy Is a Problem by 2bestfriends (Modern AU | 10K | Explicit): In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve’s dick and he’s really into it. (The leash is a metaphor. For now.)

bullet in a gun (but in the end, my time will come) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Post-Endgame, Canon-divergent | 25K | Explicit): Post-Thanos, Bucky Barnes has happily settled into a life of peace and pining. That’s when alternate versions of the best friend he’s secretly in love with start showing up.

Like it’s the Only Thing I’ll Ever Do by howdoyousleep/ @howdoyousleep3 (ABO AU | 39K | Explicit): When Steve opens the door, Bucky feels like he’s been living in clouds for the past few days, maybe even his entire life. Steve is life, Steve is happiness, Steve is the sun. He has such a visceral reaction to seeing the Alpha that he feels his knees go weak, feels his body draw tight towards the other man, pulled in. Or big Alpha Steve moves into sweet little Omega Bucky’s apartment building and a roller-coaster build of a romance ensues.

A Company Man by mambo/ @whtaft (Modern AU | 75K | Explicit): No matter what it is, the truth is the same: Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes, a married man.

How to Fuck With (and Feed) Your Soulmate by BlueSimplicity/ @bluesimplicity73 (Soulmate AU, Shrunkyclunks | 114K | Explicit): It’s called the Grey Space; a patch of skin marking you as blessed and the first sign you have a soulmate. Steve Rogers didn’t have one when he crashed into the ice. But he did when he woke up in the future. The second sign is the Sense, a sharing of one the senses to help soulmates find each other. Steve’s Sense, taste, is rare, but he loves a challenge and a soulmate is a gift from the Fates. Except instead of a blessing, it’s a curse, since his soulmate is a dick. Bucky Barnes loves food and a homecooked meal is something he cherishes. When his Grey Space starts to itch, Bucky can’t help his excitement, since the Sense he and his soulmate share is taste. But not for long. Whoever he’s bound to has the blandest diet in the world, ignoring all Bucky’s messages. After weeks of putting up with tasteless food, Bucky decides to strike back.

Strangers in the Street by crinklefries/ @spacerenegades (Canon divergent | 15K | Teen): Every five years, Bucky meets the same tall, blond stranger.

Departure by Nejinee/ @nejineeee (Arrival AU | 80K | Mature): Captain America is recruited by the U.S. government to assist a linguist and her team of scientists in communicating with aliens after twelve mysterious space ships appear across the globe overnight.

Compatible - A Romantic Science Fiction Thriller in Four Parts by the1918/ @the1918 (Shrunkyclunks, ABO AU | 33K | Explicit): When young nanotech engineer Bucky Barnes finds himself falling head first in love with none other than Steve Rogers, he ends up getting a lot more of the Alpha than he– or science– could ever have imagined possible.

WIP

four dreams in a row where you were burned by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (canon divergent, post-Endgame, 1945 alternate timeline | 10/? | 58K | Mature): When Steve uses the last of his Pym Particles to travel to 1944 and save his best friend, he doesn’t have a plan beyond leaving behind the battlefield and living his life alongside the people he loves. But the life that finds him is not the one he expects.

A Matter of Trust by chicklette/ @chicklette (Singer Bucky, Fake relationship | 7/13 | 26K | Explicit): At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife. Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is. The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top. Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?

Bespoke by the1918/ @the1918 (Shrunkyclunks, ABO AU | 6/10 | 61K | Explicit): “I love you, too. So fucking much,” Steve answered. His voice sounded cracked and exhausted, an exposed nerve ending in the shape of a man. “Some days I still don’t believe you’re real. Feels— feels like somehow, I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t know you.” Bucky smiled softly at that and felt his heart threaten to explode. Still straddling his lap, he reached a hand up to cup Steve’s cheek. “You’ve always known me,” he stated, simply. “I was made for you, remember?” (Part 2 of Compatible)

Series

couldn't get the boy to kill me by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Shrunkyclunks, SHIELD Agent Bucky | 12 works, complete | 74K | Explicit): Captain America and the Winter Soldier are a terrifying duo on the field, working together with a well-oiled precision that tears through their enemies. Captain Rogers and Agent Barnes are distant coworkers, all polite nods and mission briefings. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are fire and gasoline; it never ends well.

the hero's shoulders by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Shrunkyclunks, Post-CW, canon divergent | 3 works, not complete | 32K | Explicit): Sequel series to couldn't get the boy to kill me

Honorable mention for Where The Interstate Ends by paperstorm/ @paper-storm because it was posted last year but I only read it recently!

#stucky #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic #stucky fic rec #half year fic rec

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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gonna blame this on @robininthelabyrinth who suggested a dark AU where the Jin win, and Jin Zixuan has two pretty concubines as his prize. I ended up doing something a litte different, where instead the Jin side with the Wen at the start of the war, but hopefully it’s still fun :)

also on AO3

Standing beside Wen Xu, Jin Zixuan tries to figure out where he's met the two young men they've just captured. A task made difficult by the weather (it has been raining for days now, and their new prisoners are caked in mud, especially after being pushed face first into the dirt road by Wen Xu) and the falling darkness (Wen Xu likes to attack at dusk or during the night, when others are tired and less wary). But Jin Zixuan knows them. He's almost sure he knows them. They certainly seem to know him. The tall one turned pale upon first spotting him, though that was his only reaction, and the shorter one won't stop glancing at him with barely restrained hatred. He looks almost familiar too, with his delicate face. They've met, Jin Zixuan knows they've met.

His attention is mostly on the tall man though. After all, even though their clothes are of equally poor quality, the taller young man is the one who showed some skill with martial art, and his speech betrays a higher level of education. He must be a rogue cultivator, and one of the good ones at that, since he managed to give them trouble without a spiritual weapon.

Where on earth has Jin Zixuan met him before?

“So, will you not join the glorious armies of Qishan Wen?” Wen Xu insists after his usually speech. “Hey, Zixuan, why don't you say something to convince them, hm? Earn your keep.”

Jin Zixuan flushes at being addresses this way. Normally, he hates how informal Wen Xu is with him, acting as if they were old friends, all because Jin Zixuan's father is a coward without morals. This time though, he lets it glide. Upon hearing his name, the taller prisoner looks up toward him and in that position, the rain washes off enough of the mud for Jin Zixuan to finally realise who it is in front of them. It knocks the breath out of him. This, definitely, could change the course of the war.

Jin Zixuan crosses his arms on his chest, and pretends to closely inspect the two men kneeling in the mud.

“If they don't join us, can I have that one to play with?” he asks, nodding toward the taller man. “He looks like he'd make a fun pet.”

The young man stares at him with disbelief, while Wen Xu, predictably, bursts out laughing.

“Zixuan, don't you already have a few whores with you? If you keep falling for every pretty face you see, your house if going to end up too full, and they'll start turning on each others.”

Jin Zixuan shrugs dismissively, the way he's seen his father do countless times. “If there's a fight, I'll get rid of both the winner and the loser, and replace them with someone prettier. But I like that one. He's got a face that's made to swallow cocks.”

Wen Xu laughs again. It's lucky that it's him with Jin Zixuan, and not his horrid little brother. Neither brothers are interested in men, but Wen Chao likes to be a pest who'd want his share of the fun before letting Jin Zixuan have what he wants. Wen Xu, by contrast, doesn't really care for the pleasures of the flesh, and has enough political awareness to give Jin Zixuan some face. He knows that if Jin Guangshan hadn't sided with the Wen so immediately after the destruction of the Lotus Piers, the Wen might be facing more opposition than they are at the moment.

“Zixuan, if you want him so much, then have him,” Wen Xu generously offers, gesturing toward the prisoners. “Or do you want both perhaps? Hm? The other one is somewhat pretty as well. If you don't grab him, I'm tempted of putting him in a dress and playing a prank on ChaoChao.”

Jin Zixuan shivers, and glances at the other young man. He knows he's seen him somewhere, but even now he can't figure out where. Is saving him worth the risk of ruining everything else? Is he important enough? If Jin Zixuan does nothing, if Wen Xu does play such a prank, that young man is sure to die. Wen Chao never takes well to being made a fool of, especially by his brother, and he tends to take out his anger on whoever is less susceptible to fight back. He also likes to make others bear witness to his fits of anger, especially Jin Zixuan who just doesn't do well with torture.

He can't save everyone. It'd be too dangerous. The Wens aren't stupid, and they don't trust him, not when Jin Zixuan sided against Wen Chao during the reeducation camp, before he went home to a father who'd taken the easy choice. And it is so important to save the taller man, Jin Zixuan knows, so he should take this small victory while he can and be satisfied with that.

But there's just something about the other one too. Jin Zixuan knows that face.

“You know, he would look pretty in a dress,” Jin Zixuan agrees, his heart beating so fast he feels as if he might be sick. “Too pretty to be wasted on your brother. He's not a cultivator anyway, is he?”

Wen Xu bends down and grabs they young man's wrist, inspecting his pulse for a moment before letting go and shaking his head.

“No, not at all. But aren't you scared to bring pretty faces into your home? Your whores might get tempted to do something stupid.”

“Heimei will keep them in check,” Jin Zixuan retorts. “She's too smart to mess around, and too mean to let others have fun if she can't.”

Heimei will also absolutely kick his ass about taking such a risk, if this turned out to have been a wrong move. At least, after getting over the sheer joy that should accompany the reveal of the taller prisoner. Hopefully, that should be enough to placate a little his moody concubine.

“Zixuan, you need to stop fucking people who could kill you in your sleep,” Wen Xu jokes. “Ah, I'm tired of this... sure, you can have them both, but tomorrow you're helping me interrogate those Lans we captured the other day.”

Clenching his teeth and forcing a smile, Jin Zixuan nods. He hates interrogations. He hates, also, that Wen Xu is convinced he's doing him a favour by making him help. Apparently, Wen Xu wants to help him become less sensitive, since he finds that Jin Zixuan has been too sheltered in his life, just because Jin Zixuan hasn't been watching his father torture people for fun since he was five.

Considering what other things Jin Zixuan has borne witness too, though... neither of them have great fathers, really.

With the matter of what to do with their prisoners settled, their group leaves the road. Jin Zixuan personally blocks the spiritual energy of the taller man who throws him a cold look for it, and they all head back to their headquarters in a nearby small town. Wen Xu chats the entire time, either to complain against the weather or to guess what their enemies' next move might be. It's a relief when they arrive in front of the house Jin Zixuan claimed for himself and they have to separate. Wen Xu's company is like poisoned wine: it's best to avoid it entirely, or only have a very small quantity otherwise.

Once inside, Jin Zixuan orders that a bath be drawn for himself in his personal quarters. Then, after a moment of reflection, he asks for a second one so that his new pets can get clean as well. The housekeeper offers to have them prepared for his pleasure and sent to him once they are more presentable, but Jin Zixuan refuses.

“It'll be fun to make them wash each other,” he says in the tone of voice his father uses sometimes, the one that always makes others uncomfortable. He's getting good at using it too. “But bring some clean clothes, and scented oils. I don't think Heimei will want to share. See if you can find a dress that could fit this one,” he adds, pointing at the smaller man whose face, under the mud, is black with restrained rage. “And make sure we aren't disturbed.”

The housekeeper bows to him and goes to give orders. While Jin Zixuan checks the news with other servants the Wens gave him, his prisoners are taken away to his quarters. Since there's no urgent business requiring his attention, Jin Zixuan is soon free to follow them.

The house he's living in used to belong to a rich merchant who ran away when the war broke so close to his home. Being abandoned, it was seized by the Wens and then offered to Jin Zixuan, while Wen Xu claimed for himself the local magistrate's manor. It was intended as an insult, a reminder of their sect's respective positions, maybe even a jab at Lanling Jin's inglorious origin. Jin Zixuan took it all in stride, because this house is bigger than the magistrate's, and his personal quarter well isolated from the servants' who are all loyal to the Wens.

It is an odd contrast to see those two muddy young men wearing robes of rough linen in the middle of Jin Zixuan's opulent room, where everything is gilded with gold or made of precious wood. Jin Zixuan pretends to ignore them while servants come in with bathtubs that get filled with hot water. He kicks off his shoes and lounges on a sofa to watch the proceeding, and waits.

He doesn't have to wait very long.

The first tub is only just filled up when someone wrapped in delicately embroidered silks storms into the room. Although the person's face is mostly hidden behind a veil, there's no hiding their anger.

“Are you trying to replace me?” Heimei shrieks in such a high voice that everyone present winces. “How many concubines do you need? Aren't I enough?”

“You are everything I could need, my little flower,” Jin Zixuan awkwardly replied. “I just thought it'd be fun to have new toys in the house. We captured those two men and since they're pretty enough, I figured it might be fun to watch them play with each other while my little summer fruit is seated on my lap. Don't you want that?”

“Don't presume to what I want!” Heimei explodes, before quickly glancing at the two men. Too quickly, in fact, to get a real look at their face. “They're dirty!” Heimei gasps. “They're going to ruin the floor! And you're ruining the sofa!”

“Then maybe my pretty little peach should help me out of these wet clothes,” Jin Zixuan suggests, as flirty as he can make himself to be. He's not very good at that, and can see the servants rolling their eyes, but the second tub is nearly full now. “Heimei, MeiMei, my sweet, my tender girl, be good and undress me.”

Heimei, of course, refuses, puts on a show about being unloved and discarded. Jin Zixuan is forced to rise from his seat to take Heimei in his arms, petting her hair, squeezing her waist, even letting his hands on her ass, all while professing that she is his one true love who he will marry as a second wife when the time comes. Heimei complains and whines but redirect his hands toward her chest so he can grope her there, and she's starting to untie his robes when the servants finally leave for good, careful to close the door behind them. There are silencing talismans engraved on the wood which only worked when the doors are fully closed, and nobody wants to hear what sometimes happens in this room.

As soon as they are alone, Jin Zixuan pushes Heimei away from himself, which Heimei understands to mean their usual comedy isn't needed anymore.

“Zixuan, what the fuck?” Heimei hisses in a deeper voice than before. “We agreed to lay low for a little bit!”

“I couldn't let them fall into Wen Xu's hands,” Jin Zixuan retorts, before walking to the two puzzled men, and bowing before the taller one. “Lan gongzi, please forgive me for speaking of you in such a manner before. I hope you understand the circumstances left me no choice.”

Lan Xichen's eyes open wide, as if he really hoped he hadn't been discovered. Truthfully, it was a close thing. Without his ribbon and his elegant white robes, Lan Xichen looks like a completely different person. Still, he's lucky that Wen Xu is somewhat bad with faces, or this could have gone bad.

“What do you mean, Lan gongzi?” Heimei gasps, rushing closer. After taking a longer look at Lan Xichen, Heimei gasps again, sobs, and falls into his arms. “Xichen-gege! You're alive, you're alive!”

More puzzled than before, Lan Xichen kindly allows this outburst of emotion from an apparent stranger. He awkwardly pats Heimei's back before trading a glance first with his companion who shrugs, then with Jin Zixuan who pinches Heimei's arm.

“You still have your veil on, remove it or you'll just creep him out.”

Heimei slaps away his hand, but pulls back enough to remove the tear drenched veil. It is Lan Xichen's turn to gasp in surprise.

“Huaisang? What are you doing here?”

Nie Huaisang nods grimly.

“Zixuan managed to find me before the Wen and helped me hide,” he explains, wiping away his tears. “I've been here with him since then, but we couldn't exactly let anyone know. We're on the wrong side of this war after all.”

Lan Xichen nods slowly, before turning his eyes to Jin Zixuan. His expression is a little less cold and disgusted now, though that's not saying much. Jin Zixuan knows how little liked he is by those on the other side of the Sunshot Campaign, and he cannot blame them. Without his father's support, the Qishan Wen might not be doing so well.

Without Lanling Jin's help, the Unclean Realm might not have fallen. Nie Mingjue might still be alive, leading this war the way everyone knows he's been preparing to do for years. Instead, what's left of Qinghe Nie is led by a far less talented cousin, and though the allied sects are doing their best, it's doubtful that they'll last much longer.

“I thought you were...” Lan Xichen starts saying, his voice trembling with emotion as he looks back at Nie Huaisang. He then catches himself, and gets back in control, speaking again with more calm. “Huaisang, you were assumed to have died in Qinghe. I am so glad this rumour was wrong. But I must wonder then... how much more lies have been spread about Jin gongzi?”

“It depends what you've heard,” Nie Huaisang says, coming closer to Lan Xichen and taking his arm the way he likes to do with friends. “We've been so busy trying to convince the Wen that he's really on their side, we haven't really had time to wonder what everyone else thinks of him.”

Lan Xichen nods, perhaps understanding how delicate their position has been these last three months. Or maybe it is just that Jin Zixuan's reputation is too awful to be mentioned by someone of the elegant Lan sect. Lan Xichen's companion ends up being the one to explain it, and it isn't pleasant to hear.

“People say that Jin gongzi is a murderer and a rapist,” the young man says quite bluntly. “They say he has killed many people even outside of battle, that he collects men and women as concubines. It is said that he even captured his former fiancée after she had already lost all her family, and refuses to give her to his mother who wishes to return her to her grandmother. Instead he uses her as a whore, and lets the Wen have their way with her in exchange for favours to him.”

The blood drains from Jin Zixuan's face at that accusation. He had expected something bad, but not to such a degree.

“Jiang Yanli's virtue is untouched!” he exclaims. “She's living here too, and I've convinced Wen Xu that she isn't to be touched because I want to use her as a tool to claim Yunmeng Jiang's territories when this is over. I would have preferred to let her return to her grandmother, but I'm half sure my father would have either claimed her for himself or sent her directly to Wen Ruohan to prove his good faith. You can meet her later, if you like, and see for yourself she's been treated as well as she could be, under the circumstances.”

After losing so much, Jiang Yanli is quite miserable these days, of course. She's the last survivor of her sect, of her family. Meishan Yu is taking part in the war, apparently, but they're not a particularly big clan, and Wen Chao has been targetting them particularly, in case they secretly harbour some Jiang survivors. Wen Xu once drunkenly told Jin Zixuan that although his brother swore to his father that he fulfilled his mission perfectly, he actually never found the corpse of Jiang Wanyin, so the young man could very well be still alive and plotting his revenge.

After hearing this, Jin Zixuan had hesitated to share the news with Jiang Yanli. In the end, he didn't. With the way the war is going, even if Jiang Cheng is still alive right now, he's unlikely to survive much longer, and Jiang Yanli would just end up having to grieve a second time.

“So you are on our side, Jin gongzi?” Lan Xichen asks.

“I would be if I could,” Jin Zixuan says. “I cannot go directly against my father, as I hope you will understand. But I do not like associating with evil people, so I try to act according to my convictions whenever possible. It has become harder lately. The Wen don't want to insult my father by pushing me to the side, for fear he'll change sides, but they've also figured out I am a rather poor general and never lead my troupes to any satisfying victories, so they don't involve me in anything important.”

It's not that he loses his battles. He can't afford that. But Wen Xu is always complaining that he's failing to capture enough prisoners, that so many escape while returning to their headquarters, that he's always picking too many to become his personal playthings. Nie Huaisang and him had just decided that he would try to be a little less obvious in his lack of cooperation, at least for a few weeks, if only because to continue like this would endanger the people he's already rescued. They still haven't figured out how to set these people free, but now, with Lan Xichen there, it becomes more urgent than ever. If he's discovered in Jin Zixuan's custody, it's all over.

“That you're trying at all is to your credit,” Lan Xichen says, more kindly that Jin Zixuan thinks he deserves when he's still had to kill people, where there are so many victims of the Wen he couldn't save. “I am grateful to you for helping me, Jin gongzi. I fear, though, that I must ask you to help me some more. Meng Yao and I really cannot be absent too long. Our side has lost too much already, if I appear to have disappeared again, I fear our allies will lose courage.”

The name Meng Yao startles Jin Zixuan who stares at Lan Xichen's companion with mild horror. He remembers a banquet for one of his birthdays, where his father was told a certain Meng Yao wanted to see him who carried a token. He remembers, also, his mother's anger, and later Jin Zixun laughing as he described that Meng Yao being thrown down some stairs like the bastard he was.

Jin Zixuan remembers all this. Judging by the barely contained heat in his eyes, so does his half-brother.

His father would be furious at him for having taken risks to save what he would consider one of his most shameful bastards, but Jin Zixuan has long stopped caring what his father thinks of him. He doesn't even read his letters anymore, since they're nothing but demands for Jiang Yanli to be sent to Lanling, and threats of punishment if he remains so incompetent as a general.

“It's going to be hard to release you,” Jin Zixuan says. “We'll think about it tomorrow, when Jiang Yanli joins us.” It was her, after all, who told him to disguised Nie Huaisang as a woman and present him as his capricious concubine, stating it would just seem like he's adopting the Wen's habits. “For now, please have a bath, eat something, and rest. You both look like you need it.”

“It has been a rough few days,” Lan Xichen confirms, bowing politely. “Thank you for your hospitality and your help, Jin gongzi.”

Jin Zixuan bows back, uncomfortable with a gratefulness he's really not sure he deserves. He then leaves that part of the room so Lan Xichen and Meng Yao can have a little privacy. Nie Huaisang looks as if he might stay and chat with them as they bathe, shameless as always, but Jin Zixuan drags him away.

Even if they've just been saved, even if they're grateful, he wouldn't be surprised if the two young men didn't fully trust them yet, not with the reputation he apparently has now. It's better to give them a chance to talk alone if they want, to show that he trusts them.

“This is going to be a mess,” Nie Huaisang remarks as they sit by a window to wait for their guests to be presentable. “You won't be able to stay neutral much longer, Zixuan.”

Jin Zixuan nods. If he's honest, it's a relief that he'll be forced to really pick a side after weeks of kissing ass and pretending the Wen siblings don't make him want to puke every time they say something.

He doesn't like the idea of going against his own father, but Jin Zixuan has betrayed his own values too long already.

And if he must die doing what's right... at least, he'll be in good company.

#xisangxuan #jin zixuan #lan xichen #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #mdzs #it's barely xisangxuan tbh but the intention is there so?#jau writes #Heimei means blackberry and the Sang in Huaisang is for mulberries and yeah it's not the best name

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ssa-dg · 4 years ago

Text

Undercover Part 1

part 1, part 2

Overview: the BAU has gone undercover to find a potential unsub who has been drugging, raping and murdering women. It own becomes a potential victim. Having to play her part to catch the bad guy, you go to the party all dressed up and dance with a potential murderer all while pretending he is someone else, Spencer Reid.

TW: drugs, rape (it is mentioned how the unsub rapes his victims. the reader is drugged and the unsub takes advantage of her being drugged and begins to take off her dress), murder, sex, adult themes. if these types of things are triggering for you please don’t read. I’m just a average person who tried their best to not cause people to be upset. If this is problematic I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to be and will take it down.

Relationship: Spencer Reid x (female)reader

word count: 3,384

Author’s note: so this is my first ever Criminal Minds story. If it garners enough attention I will do more parts (honestly even if it doesn’t I probably will lol) PSA: I have never been under the influence of MDMA and honestly I don’t judge if people who do it consensually and safely (which is harder said then done). this is how I imagine it to be like to be on it. Also I like writing and I like sharing my writing because all of the great fan fics that cause me happiness, if I can cause that reaction just to one person that’s enough for me

You would do anything to save the world. Maybe it was a hero complex, maybe it was some form of glory seeking, or maybe it was the only way you knew how to fill the dark abyss you felt when you did nothing of importance. Being a part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, helped with that. Being on the team gave you everything you needed, a family and a way to save others. Maybe saying you love your job isn’t the correct way to explain your emotions but you knew no better way. Although you wish a job like this wasn’t necessary and didn’t even exist, it did.

Your team meant the world to you and you would contribute almost in any way to help find an unknown subject. So when Penelope Garcia was able to connect the killings in New York City to some private “rich people” clubs, her and the team created a plan to infiltrate.

The victimology was specific. It was all rich young women ranging from the ages 19-30 who just moved into the city to find themselves.

The profile was an easy one to figure out. He was obviously a troubled young white male who was probably an heir of some sort. He was richer than what most people think is rich. He usually meets the victim at a high society social event. Then he’d take them to a more exclusive social event. After that he would drug them with MDMA, rape and kill them.

It was hard for the BAU to get much out of the enclosed and tight group of New York’s most elite families. So going undercover at an event where the unsub could potentially hunt for prey was what made most sense. Your jobs was to observe the women and men there and try to see if any of you could fish out the unsub.

They had done it in the past but usually they did their best work by watching and observing. So here the team was, their second night in a row all dolled up in fancy cocktail dresses at some art gallery. Tara Lewis and Luke Alves stood around a table pretending to talk to each other as they observed potential victims. Jennifer Jareau, Spencer Reid, and Matt Simmons stood at another end of the room checking for the potential unsub, while your unit chief, Emily Prentiss, and you were pretending to be alone at the event eavesdropping on rich families. You listened to those around you while also scanning the room looking for potential young white men talking to lone young women. “Ten o’clock to the creepy face painting,” you heard Alvez say in your small earpiece. You calmly turned pretending to look at the other art pieces and saw a white male in his mid-thirties walking up to a female. He placed his hand on her low back as he leaned in to talk to her. Emily being the closest nearby out of you two, moved closer acting like she was going for some hors d’oeuvres. “That’s not him. He’s too drunk. I can smell all the alcohol he has consumed. He would need to be smoother than that,” Emily whispered as she took a sip of her glass. That’s how most of the night went. We followed and stared at people who might be the unsub and then filed them out. You felt yourself losing hope. You hated this part of the job. The one that made you feel like the profile was wrong and you all would have to start over, which there was never time to start over. Someone could die. That’s when you felt a hand touch the small of your back, your body tensed up immediately. “Relax,” he whispered in your ear. But you didn’t need to force it, because when you turned to look at the person who touched you, you were met with the face of beauty and your body instantly relaxed. You knew this was a dangerous reaction, as would probably many of Ted Bundy’s victims.

The man before you had slicked back short dark hair, bright blue eyes, strong symmetry in his facial features, and strong cheek and jaw bones. He smiled wickedly at you, causing you to intake a sharp breath. It was so sinister but also so beautiful. It wasn’t the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen, no that was reserved for your teammate, best friend, and love of your life (even if he didn’t know it) Spencer Reid. Now, Spencer’s smile was one you could get lost in. You refocused yourself to the beautiful man in front of you. “They say the artist intended for this particular piece to show trauma while he was drinking. His other pieces are other emotions on different drugs,” his deep voice rattled through your ears. You wanted to unwrap yourself from this man’s embrace. How dare he touch you like that without your permission. “Play along,” Luke spoke as he saw a scowl beginning to form on your lips, “he could be the unsub.” You smoothed the scowl into a smile. “It doesn’t look like it depicts trauma,” you responded dumbly. The man before you cocked his head to the side giving you a lopsided smile. “I guess it all depends on how someone experiences trauma,” the smile now wicked, and scarier. A shiver went up your spine. “Are you cold?” He asked, noticing it, while looking you up and down like he could devour you. “No,” your voice came out scratchy as your throat went dry. You cleared it politely. “Just thinking-” “About your own trauma?” He asked. You could hear the fake tone of concern. That snapped you out of your fear. The pictures of all the murdered women that brought the BAU to this case flashed before your eyes. “Maybe,” the smile you plastered on your face was a one you knew he wanted, a sad smile. You were going to play this role like it’s no one's business because you were here to catch a bad guy and if flirting with a creep got you there then so be it. He leaned in closer to your ear, “my name is Alistair Constantine,” you immediately recognized the name. It was on the list of potential unsubs for the profile. His family’s money was old, going back to the revolutionary war. The family seemed to always be updating with the times and never losing that money. You leaned into his other ear and introduced yourself.

Spencer’s hands were clutched at his side as he watched you interact with the Constantine boy. He felt in his gut at this moment, Alastair was the unsub. The way he was looking at you, it was like you were a quest to conquer. Spencer knew he couldn’t just come up, break you two apart and blow the whole investigation but boy did he want to.

Alastair paraded you around the room. Every now and then he would talk to fellow members of the society. It took everything in you to pretend that you didn’t want to beat his ass right then and there. You were always an imaginative kid growing up so you blocked out the gruesome pictures of the crime scenes and instead pretended this was your life a young New York woman getting special treatment from a handsome man. It was easier to fit the rom-com role then what was actually happening. Alistair stopped in front of a painting that was particularly psychedelic looking with bright pastel colors. “This is my favorite piece by the artist. This was when he was on Ecstasy. Look at the happiness and distorted-ness to the art. It’s amazing,” he gushed. It would have been odd that he picked this particular painting to attach too, but it was a strong tie to the method of his killings. “Humankind cannot bear very much of reality,” you spoke out, breaking Spencer from his thoughts about if they had enough information to convict Alistair for the murders. Alistair looked at you funny, not understanding why you would say that. “T. S. Eliot” you told Alistair while Spencer whispered it at the same time. a ghost of a smile playing on your lips when you heard Spencer’s voice. “It’s what I think of when I look at this art. T. S. Eliot is one of my favorite poets,” you blushed at your admission. It felt like for a second, with having just heard Spencer’s voice, that you were talking to him instead of Alistair. Spencer was now looking straight at you two. His eyes held bewilderment, he has known you for years and you never once mentioned this, and he knew you knew this was something he cared about.

“Indeed,” Alistair yawned.

The next 30 minutes was you telling him how you’d grown up in Boston, Massachusetts, that you had no close relatives anymore, and how when your parents died their life savings all went to you (all of it true), the lie came when it was to talk about why you moved to New York City, what you wanted to do with your life etc. And he ate it up every second. You played the roll of being the lonely damsel in a big city trying to find the answer to life. You were his ideal victim and you knew that he didn’t even question how perfect you were.

The night ended with an invite to the society’s ball tomorrow night, and Prentiss fed your ear a fake address for Alistair to send a car to tomorrow. You ordered an Uber to the address where Emily said they’ll pick you up to not seem suspicious in case Alistair sent someone to follow you. Once at the address the FBI’s SUV pulled up and you got in. It was Spencer who picked you up, which was unusual, as he never liked driving. You climbed onto the passenger seat and saw his knuckles were white from the strength of his grip on the steering wheel. It didn’t take a profiler to know Spencer was mad. “Spencer, are you alright?” You approached with a soft whisper. There was a pause of silence, Spencer calculating if he should be honest. He eventually gave into the truth as he knew that he couldn’t hide it from you. “No,” he growled, the anger in his voice causing you to jump in surprise. “No, I am not okay. That man is a murderer and he was holding you in his arm! You two were practically dancing around the room in there. We have put you in danger and now, now you are his next target, his next victim!” he hit the wheel in anger. You had never seen Spencer this angry before. Most times when Spencer got angry, he got smart and he used his logic to fight but now he sounded emotional. “Spencer,” you raised your voice, “I am not a victim, I’m an agent. I will do what it takes to protect others. Just like you.” In anger Spencer swerved the car to the side and put it in park. “Dammit, You don’t get it,” he yelled and turned towards you. “If he is our unsub, which we both know he is, I’ve run the calculations and the risk is too high for you,” his hands flying everywhere in gestures, “There are too many dependent variables. There isn’t enough for us to control. The probability of you getting hurt or,” he stopped to collect himself, and in a quieter voice said, “or worse, it’s too high. I’ve run the math.” Now that sounded more like the Spencer you knew. A soft smile crept onto your lips, then you quickly neutralized your face, in hopes he wouldn’t see the way his concern for you made you feel. And You couldn’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t let yourself feel happiness when Spencer showed you affection, because it eventually just leads to heart break. Subconsciously, you turned more towards him in your seat, “In your math is there probability that we get this guy and he never gets the opportunity to hurt another woman again?” You asked. Spencer gave you a pained look like he knew where you were going. You countered that look with one that told him to answer the question. He let out a heavy sigh, “yes. There is that possibility.” You smiled at him knowing you won the argument, “That settles it then.”

With everyone back in the small conference room at the police station, the conversation began about what to do tomorrow. No one was pleased that one of their own is now the target but there was truth that the situation was now more in the BAU’s control than before. Everyone also believed in you. They knew the risk and that scared them but also you are a Special Advisory Agent for a reason. Relief did not fill you but neither did dread, when you thought of the plan. You were doing the right thing. It didn’t matter if you were going to put yourself in danger.

Spencer kept pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. Something that happened when he started to get headaches and you could guess this headache was caused by stress. As the rest of the team started packing up, you stared at your best friend hurting over the stress you were causing. You took a seat next to Spencer. He was still wearing his suit from the party. “We are going to be okay tomorrow,” you comforted him. He looked up at you, “I’m not worried about all of us, I’m worried about you,” he confessed. Once again, you knew these words shouldn’t have an effect on you like they did, but it did and this time there was something that felt hidden behind those words, something more. “I trust you not to let anything happen to me,” You countered and placed your hand on his forearm to comfort him. You looked in his eyes and tried to let him know that there is more than just trust there.

The day of the ball, you got ready in the police station bathroom. It wasn’t exactly how you imagined to be getting ready for your first ball in New York City. You’d rather be wearing this gown for other reasons than going undercover to catch a murderer rapist. The Givenchy dress Garcia picked out was gorgeous (as you instructed her to get a designer to fit in the crowd and you would float the bill). It was a long evening dress in blue and green with a gradient-effect. The top had long puffed sleeves, deep V-neckline, and waist accentuated with smooth lamé and long flared skirt. You put your hair up in a loose low bun. The makeup you did was a smooth eye with long flair eyeliner. You put a heavy amount of glow highlighter on your cheek bones and collar bones to accentuate the deep v cut the dress.

You felt ridiculous walking out of the bathroom into the police station wearing your dress. But the way Spencer looked at you was something powerful and intoxicating, making you forget your embarrassment. You strode up to him. A small smile played on your lips looking up at him. You saw him also smiling at you “You’re almost as tall as me,” he blurted out. You let out a small laugh, “‘I guess that’s what heels will do,” you smiled looking down at your feet. Spencer felt ridiculous that’s what he said. He should have told you how amazing you looked or how your beauty felt like the sun- always pulling him in and having his thoughts orbit around you. But he wasn’t good with voicing his feelings (especially in a room with his colleagues).

“We are going to have Officer Melinda Jackson drive you over to the apartment, And stake out the car. She’ll be on the radio the whole time till you are in range with us. We will be at the Capitale when you get there.” Emily disclosed as she strapped on a microphone and earpiece.

You stepped out of the car with your head held high even though your anxiety was on another level. “i’m here,” you whispered. “We are here too,” Tara responded. Everyone disclosed where each one was to you. The venue was massive and beautiful. The ceiling was tall with ornate decorations. The lighting was a bright orangish glow. As you examined the room, checking each point of your team, you also saw Alistair. He was at the bar with what looked like to be a group of his friends. Spencer not too far behind them. You walked towards Alistair but kept your eyes on Spencer. He took your breath away dressed in a tux and his hair slicked back like he used to when he was younger. It felt like your heart was lit on fire just by looking at him all dressed up. He was staring at you intensely. It wasn’t that the world stopped the moment your eyes met his, but it was more like everything else just didn’t matter. You knew you’d have to look away soon to not give away anything but you took him in for just one more second. “You look amazing,” you heard a voice next to you say. You turned to see the ever good looking Alistair. He wore a navy 3 piece suite with a large Gucci tag on the sleeve, and a large Gucci flower pinned on his chest. You gave him a soft smile and returned his compliment. “I want to introduce you to my family. Their approval means everything,” he offered you his arm. You took it tentatively, Spencer watched him lead you away, and he pondered on Alistair’s odd statement about family approval.

Alistair’s family was everything you’d expect. They were proper and pompous. However they liked you, a lot. You fell right into the role you had to play. You stood there laughing and engaged in the conversation with his mom and cousin.

“Shall we dance?” Alistair asked, giving you his hand, as your conversation with his sister came to an end. You nodded and let him take you to the dance floor.

He spun you out and brought you back in close to start the dancing. You gave him a bright smile at his eccentric action. You closed your eyes and let your mind pretend it was Spencer holding you. You followed his lead as he twirled you both around the dance floor. “Stop dancing, we can’t see you,” Spencer frantically said into your ear piece. You snapped your eyes open. Taking in that you were on a secluded corner of the dance floor by an exit door. “You are special. My family, They like you” Alistair said with a sense of manic to it. “you aren’t like the others,” he admitted. His voice sounded different. It was sinister with a tinge of adoration. He pulled you close, so close that his fingers dug into your hand and back. You felt like your brain was freezing up in fear. How many times had you been in fear inducing situations and why did your brain pick now to not work. “you’re hurting me,” you groaned trying to pull yourself away. “Where are you” JJ yelled but then you felt mist hit you, and your mind begin to make things fuzzy, “the left corner, the spray…in the flower,” you breathed out, hoping the team could hear you. You heard a rattle of commands to your co-workers from Emily. Then it went black.

Spencer rushed through the crowd to find you but by the time he got to the corner you told him you were at, you were gone. “She’s not here,” Spencer panicked into the ear piece. “I just saw a black Tesla leave, license plate delta, alpha, hotel nine, one, two ” Luke informed them. “Call and ask them to run it”, Rossi said urgently. “on it,” Luke replied. “JJ and Reid, go talk to the mom and sister, Tara and Matt split up and talk to his friends and the other family members. They have to know where they are,” Emily demanded

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss #david rossi #matt simmons #Penelope Garcia #criminal minds fic #luke alvez #jennifer jareau #tara lewis #criminal minds fanfiction #ssa-dg #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine

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tmnt-brave-new-world · 4 years ago

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Interaction guidelines- The Rules RPs are currently open, please read the rules before interacting

The Rules

- Please Read the rules before interacting

-This is an Ask and RP blog. Rps will be taken under consideration, on a case by case basis

- Absolutely No one under 18, preferably 21+. I’m not planning to censor anything on this blog. If you are not of age, do not follow or interact. You will be reported and blocked

- Patience is a virtue. The Mun works an incredibly difficult and stressful job, that, because it pays the bills, takes priority. This blog is a platform for fun and interaction but can’t take precedence over the real world. Sometimes I’m super busy and it could be awhile before I respond to a post, or an RP. If you aren’t capable of patience don’t interact.

- Please be respectful. The level of respect you show this blog and others is important to the Mun. if you aren’t capable of acting in a mature fashion, you will be blocked. BE NICE…

- Absolutely no popup RPs in ask, without having discussed or plotted a story with the Mun.

- If you would like to RP please dm me with a story idea.

- This is not a tcest site. I’m sorry I don’t know how to write tcest, and don’t have a desire to do so. I feel that I would not be a decent or supportive rp partner if I’m not able to give it my best, and thus do not wish to mistreat or neglect those in the community who enjoy this type of RP

- No randomly appearing in the lair without being invited. Donnie has gone above and beyond to give them safety in their sanctuary. If you weren’t invited, you are not welcome in their home, as is the case with any stranger.

On to the boys!

- The boys are 2014/2016 Bayverse turtles but are mature adult men. Human age wise they are around 50, but maturity and body wise, somewhere in their 30’s respectively. They do not age the same as humans due to the properties of mutagen and their turtle mutant base type

- This is an AU set several decades into the future- please read the prologue to help understand a little more about the world they live in

- They live in a skyrise, penthouse. With state of the art- Donnie certified level protections put into place. Nothing gets in or out, without his knowing. He does not take the safety of himself or his brothers lightly

- The Boys do not belong to anybody and will not belong to anybody. They are free to interact with whomever they would like, in any way that has been discussed and planned between the two muns.

- They don’t know your muse, nor have had any previous interactions with your muse, and thus are not in love with your muse, or have an established relationship with your muse.

- If you want their love and attention you will have to earn it, just like you would in any other type of interaction

- Absolutely no god-modding. Example: its your 3rd time to respond and you’re attempting to have Leo princess carry your character to bed. This is not a natural flow to the story, and not going to happen.

- The boys may like certain features, or admire certain characteristics, however they are open to all body types, shapes and beings, so long as they feel a connection.

A quick explanation as to what the boys do with their free time in a world that knows they exist.

Leo: “We each found our interests and talents opened up a several viable options that had lead us each to a “unique” position.” Leo led as he gathered his thoughts. “Keep in mind after we managed to stop Krang and those who worked closely with him, the world was vulnerable. As far as my brothers and I were concerned, we had fought too hard and for too long for someone to simply slip into the power vacuum we had created and to continue to harsh reality Krang had created for Earth’s inhabitants. Due to this we each chose to do what we knew how to do and could most easily adapt as challenges presented themselves.”

He paused for a moment as he thought about the hardships, they had each faced and managed to overcome as they slowly helped right the world and returned her to standing on her own. A shimmering blue jewel among the galaxy and other worlds that had become familiar with the planet and its amenities.

“During our years in the resistance we managed to acquire wealth and assets. We were able to accumulate quite the little nest egg using those. Along with our acquired influence it opened many a door which in the old world would have remained not only closed but permanently locked to us.”

“I became a strategic investor. Buying the remnants of properties, businesses and services and either helping them to return to what they once were or repurposing to better suit the needs of this new era and turn a profit. It proved to be very profitable and allowed for me to continue to churn out profits which allowed for me to seek other properties and businesses to invest in or connect the right individuals with each other in away that led to my ability to offer the initial capital for a small percentage of the quarterly earnings. It helped people to create jobs and led to a lot of normalcy for those who desperately needed.

One hand washes the other, and this in its essence has lead to my own sector of the Tartaruga brothers incorporated. I have a multi-billion dollar operation on Earth and several branches operating throughout the universe currently.”

Donnie: “As Leo has said,” Donnie commented calmy, “our time resisting and fighting lead us each to our own talents. I spent a lot of time wearing many hats, which included, chemists, doctor, surgeon, agronomist, engineer, electrician, etc. to put it simply I spent a lot of time learning how to save lives, human and otherwise, and the best way to stretch our available resources in a way which led to people surviving. I also had to learn how to create medications which were so commonplace that many died without having them available. Most antibiotics don’t have a very long shelf life and when those ran out initially, we were in constant jeopardy of losing lives to the simplest of bacterial infections. My knowledge, and subsequent research lead to significant improvements and branching into many other factors, and shall we say break throughs.

Needless to say, the value of others wants, lead to my ability to fund the needs of the many. In my sector, I have several leadings areas including pharmacy, medical research, agrarian development, as well as generalized research and development in multiple fields from domestic to military. For obvious reasons, more detailed information is strictly classified.”

Raph: Raph chuckled as Donnie glossed over his closely guarded research. He was willing to kill to protect his research and continue to control the aspects that allowed him to fund the bulk of his interests and common welfare of those he blanketed with his programs. “They ain’t lying. After the world came back from going to shit, it took awhile to get it back up and going. Additionally, there were a lot of people, generally those not from this world that were way too determined to make sure we failed. This led to a lot of infighting and groups struggling for control. That tends to lead to a lot of shady business if you know what I mean, and it wasn’t like we had any type of social services such as police, fire fighting, or anything else. I initially took charge in areas like these.

I took a lot of care to train groups so that they worked together and were prepared to handle whatever problems came. It took a lot of time to cultivate proper training programs and help prepare people on how to help a traumatized world get back to functioning in a healthy way. I still help do this on planets and areas that are in recovery.”

“That being said however, my primary interest and “job” if you want to call it that, is training mixed martial artist prize fighters for the world federation galaxy league. Simply put we aren’t the only species that likes to watch trained athletes test their skills against one another within their respective brackets, or on specially contracted prized fights. I used to fight for the league and earned a lot of titles and prestige. I won most fights and was often the favorite to win after a while. I’m semi-retired and only occasionally enter the ring now days. However, I take and train promising talents for the league and other groups. I have also trained personal bodyguards for a variety of individuals. Different specialties come with different specifics and contracts as well as costs. It takes a specific might set for each, and a lot of time to drill into a thick skull.”

Mikey: Mikey laughed at the turtle in red, “Oh yeah, and you were the king of thick skulled back when we were young, and dumb.” He barely dodged the throw pillow that was chucked at his head. “Let’s see for me personally,” Mikey flashed a big grin, “I happen to be a master of many trades. During our days in the resistance, I learned a lot of different tricks to help make the food rations we had on hand not only palatable but nutritionally sound while feeding a literal army of people! So when it was possible I spent a large amount of time learning how to take fancy old world recipes and revamped them with food sources that were still available or recreated them with off world goodies. I also still paint, and love to collaborate with others to create amazing new concepts!”

His face darkened for a moment as he thought back to the early days of the resistance. “There were so many people who in the blink of an eye had lost everything, and unfortunately it was insanely common to find kids who had either been separated from their families or were the only survivor. In a lot of instances they were traumatized and it took a lot of creative thinking to coax them out of their shells and help to reteach them on how to live. This happened fairly frequently with adults as well. Because of this and what seemed like a never ending shortage of textiles, I had to learn and create new ways to make things and often times help find things that brought the sparkle back to peoples eyes. Because of this however, I have a multimedia conglomerate that allows me to work in a wide area of creative outlets. The fashion world is a flippant mistress, but there are a lot of ways in which one can compete and stand out. It’s led to a lot of lucrative contracts with those who are “starving” for the next amazing piece of creatively, or at least that’s what they tell me. The great thing about taking high end contracts and commissions is that a lot like my brothers, the revenue lets me continue to reach out to others. I fund a program that includes shelters called “Uncle Mikey’s” for those who are missing, exploited, or just need help. I also teach cooking, and practical skills for those who need them, and they are streamed to community centers such as local libraries, after school programs, and the like, to try and continue to help those who never received a chance to learn to do things due to the world kind of going through an apocalypse level event.

#tmnt au brave new world #tmnt au the beginning #TMNT au blog #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years ago

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Spidey Sense

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: So the original prompt for this was something along the lines of: "hey, what if Joe and Nicky keep pictures of each other in their wallets to remind them of why they're doing this whenever they have to be apart" and this was born from that. Enjoy!

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please like and reblog! I love feedback!!!

Gazing down at the image of the love of his life, forever immortalized by his hand, never failed to bring a smile to Joe’s lips. His drawings would never be as magnificent, as breathtaking as looking at Nicky with his own two eyes, but whenever they were apart, he had to make do with images drawn by his hand.

Slipping the small slip of paper back into his wallet, Joe flipped it shut and slid it into one of his many pockets. He hated going on missions without Nicky, but this particular job had required his expertise in infiltrating one building while Nicky’s skills as a sniper were required four blocks away. It was unfortunate, but not the first time it had happened, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

When Copley had informed them of the job, he’d made sure they knew that he’d been unable to get any estimates on the number of guards they’d have to deal with. It made Joe uneasy, but they’d gone through with it anyways. Some tech company was trying to use their software to hack into the Pentagon to steal the locations of missile silos located all over the US. The government was very concerned about this threat, and so Copley had called them in.

Joe was supposed to create a distraction at the main headquarters, drawing the company’s attention and thus, allowing Nicky to eliminate guards at the warehouse that housed the company's main servers, which would then allow Nile and Booker to get in and plant explosives. Boom! No more servers, no more threat.

Nicky had been worried about Joe causing a distraction when they didn’t know the amount of guards, but Joe had tried to soothe his beloved’s fears as best he could.

“Habibi,” he’d said, hand resting on Nicky’s waist, holding him close. “I will be fine. And if anything were to go wrong, I know that you will not allow them to hold me for long.”

Nicky had leaned his forehead against Joe’s, one of his many, silent, I love you’s that he bestowed upon Joe throughout the day. “I would prefer it if nothing goes wrong.”

“As would I.”

***

Nicky had been right to worry, and Joe knew he would never hear the end of it. There had been twice as many guards as Copley’s estimate, and even with Joe’s healing, and centuries worth of experience, he’d quickly been overwhelmed. They’d knocked him out–although, perhaps they’d killed him, Joe wasn’t entirely sure–and when he woke, he was chained to a metal chair, bolted in the middle of an all white room.

His first thought had been something along the lines of how poor of a choice it was to put him in an all white room, as it undoubtedly would become quite the grotesque scene when Nicky arrived. Blood clashed so horribly on white walls, and Nicky could get quite ferocious whenever Joe was threatened.

His second thought was on the fact that even while bound, he could tell that his wallet was no longer in his pocket. That, in of itself was of no consequence, practically everything in it was fake–it was hard to have valid ID’s and such when you were an immortal warrior born nine hundred years ago–but there was one precious item in that wallet.

The drawing of Nicky was one of many, but that didn’t mean it was any less special. Joe had saved every single scrap of paper he’d ever drawn Nicky’s likeness on, and while some had aged beyond recognition, he hadn’t had the heart to let any of them go. He knew that Nicky similarly had many, many photographs and paintings of him. Nicky always professed that he wasn’t as artistically inclined as Joe, but every time Nicky sketched him, Joe could see the love and care that went into each piece of art, and he fell in love with Nicky all over again.

He was jolted out of his musings by the door opening violently, slamming against the wall. He didn’t react outwardly, instead analyzing each of the men that walked into the room. Ten men entered, the last, an older man with grey in his hair, shut the door behind him, making a show of locking it. Joe wanted to scoff. These men didn’t intimidate him in the slightest, and they would have to try a lot harder if they wanted to get a reaction out of him.

“Who sent you?”

Joe laughed. So this is how they were doing this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man scowled, the expression twisting his features into a mask of hatred. “I don’t like your attitude, kid.”

Joe laughed even harder at that, his body shaking with mirth, although his eyes were cold as ice. “I’m not quite as young as I look,” he chuckled under his breath, watching as the other men shuffled awkwardly. They clearly feared the older man, and he could see in some of their eyes that they feared for him if he continued to antagonize their leader.

There was a sharp crack, and Joe’s head snapped to the side, the backhand delivered with an impressive amount of force. It might’ve hurt, if Joe hadn’t lived as long as he had, and had experienced far worse. Still, he kept up appearances. The longer these men were unaware of his healing and his immortality, the better.

“Who sent you?”

Joe grins, the perfect picture of innocence. “Who says anyone sent me? Perhaps I decided to come all by myself?” He probably shouldn’t be antagonizing this man, but he’s having too much fun.

The man snaps his fingers, and one of the other men rushes forward to hand him something. Joe recognizes it as his wallet, watching as the man flips through it, pulling out his driver’s license. “Joseph Jones? Is that even your name?” The man scoffs. “Why were you trying to break in?”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to break in.” The man looks confused for all of two seconds before Joe opens his mouth again. “I’d already broken in. Your men found me after I got in.” Joe can’t help but brag a little, because, well, their security was shit, but also because he was trying to stall for time, so that Nile and Booker could get in and out without any issues. “You really shouldn’t have picked white walls you know, white stains so easily–”

He gets another backhand for his efforts, and the man in front of him actually growls. He goes back to pawing through Joe’s wallet, and Joe can feel his heart stop when the man pulls out Joe’s drawing of Nicky.

The man looks at it, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to think at first. He studies the drawing, and Joe can feel sparks of anger igniting in his chest, although he tries not to show it. The man suddenly laughs, and it’s a cruel, mocking laugh. He shoves the drawing at one of the other men before turning back to Joe, a cruel smirk on his face.

“How cute,” he sneers. “Mr. Jones keeps a picture of his boyfriend in his wallet.” The man spits on the ground at Joe’s feet. “God, that’s disgusting.”

Anger clouds Joe’s vision, bubbling up in his chest like rising magma before bursting forth from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Boyfriend? Boyfriend? Nicolo is not my boyfriend,” he spits, fire burning in his eyes. “You are a narrow-minded, childish, little man. Nicolo means more to me than all the stars in the sky. He has been my light, my heart, for over nine hundred years, and he will continue to be my light and my heart for nine hundred more. I have fought a thousand battles by his side, I have gone to war to protect him just as he has for me. There will always be those who try to separate us, those who cannot possibly understand the depth of my love for that man, and yet,” he pauses, a dark smirk on his face as some of the men step back in fear. “Those who try always end up dead. No, Nicolo is not my boyfriend. He’s all and he’s more.”

***

Nicky was in the middle of dismantling his rifle when he felt it. It didn’t even take him a moment before he recognized the feeling. It was the feeling he always got whenever Joe would make grand declarations of love, which, admittedly, happened quite often. While Nicky was more reserved when it came to lyrical speeches, Joe had no such qualms, and would gladly shout to the heavens–and had done so, multiple times–about his love for Nicky.

Just as he was reaching for his phone to call Copley–because clearly something had to be wrong if Joe was waxing poetic about Nicky when Nicky wasn’t even in the same building–the phone buzzed.

Nicky didn’t even have time to greet Copley before the man was launching into an explanation. “Nicky, I’m sorry, there were too many guards, Joe’s been captured. They’re holding him somewhere in the building, but I don’t have eyes inside.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sending a quick message to Nile and Booker, informing them of what happened, Nicky finished packing up his gear quickly, leaving his spot on the roof and descending the fire escape as fast–and safely, he’d be no good to Joe if he executed a swan dive off the fifth story–as possible.

***

Joe could feel his mouth filling with blood, so he leaned forward and spat some on the ground. Apparently the older man hadn’t been too pleased with being insulted, and he ordered his men to get answers out of Joe, while he watched.

The beating, while not one of the worst he’d experienced, had not been pleasant. Thankfully, the men hadn’t seemed to realize Joe was slowly healing from their attacks, but sooner or later they would get suspicious. He hoped one of the others would get here before that happened, he really didn’t like dying alone.

He’d just been punched repeatedly in the stomach when the man doing said punching stopped. Joe was confused, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about a reprieve.

“What?” Barked the older man, pushing himself off the wall and stalking forward. “What is it?” The younger man shook his head, looking around.

“Did anyone else–?”

He cuts off when a loud bang sounds from outside the door. All of the men turn to look at the door, missing as a smile spreads across Joe’s bloody lips. Another bang sounds, louder than before, closer than before, and some of the men jump.

“What do you think it is?” One of them whispers, and before anyone can answer, something heavy slams into the bolted door from the outside. The whole door seems to shake in it’s frame, and it’s only made worse by the sudden scream of pain.

There’s a sudden onslaught of noise, bangs, screams, gunshots, and crashes and–was that a cat screeching? The men all back away slowly from the door, hands on their weapons, but nothing could have prepared them for the way the door was blasted off its hinges, flying into the room and taking out two of the men.

There’s a sudden burst of gunfire, taking out three more of the men before they can react. Watching their companions fall around them, the remaining four men all aim for the door, shooting wildly at a target they can’t even see. The older man, the leader, unlocks Joe’s cuffs only to pull him upright, pressing a knife against his neck, using Joe’s body as a human shield.

Joe rolls his eyes. If only this man knew how ineffective Joe would be at being a human shield. He watches with interest as the men stop firing, only for a knife to fly through the air and embed itself in one of the guard’s skulls. The others start firing again, but even though it's three against one, they’re no match for a furious Nicolo di Genova. Bursting into the room in a flurry of movement, Joe watches, fascinated–and more than a little turned on–as Nicky becomes a whirlwind, attacking violently with his longsword, cutting down the three men–with violent efficiency–who stand between him and Joe.

The older man presses his blade tighter against Joe’s neck, but Nicky doesn’t even blink. Joe stomps on the man’s foot, and Nicky puts a bullet in his brain, quick as you please. The knife cuts Joe as he moves, but it’s certainly not life-threatening, so he’s unconcerned.

Joe looked around the room, taking in the blood and guts and gore that decorate the white walls and floor and ceiling. “I told them that white was a bad choice, blood stands out far too much–” Nicky strides across the room, and kisses Joe hard, before he can get another word out. Joe grasps Nicky’s face with his blood covered hands, bringing him even closer, moaning as his beloved steals the breath from his lungs.

Nicky pulls away, but only just, his forehead resting against Joe’s. “Yusuf, amore mio, are you badly hurt?” His eyes rove over Joe’s face, checking for any and all injuries.

“No, habibi,” Joe sighs. “The marks those men left are quickly fading. I am alright.” Nicky kisses Joe again, uncaring of the fact that Joe’s lips still taste of blood.

They stand there for longer than they probably should, and when they finally part, Joe asks the question that had been pestering him since he first became aware of Nicky’s arrival. “How did you know so quickly, Nicolo? They’ve had me for less than an hour.”

The look on Nicky’s face is one of fond exasperation, one that Joe has been privy to many, many times. “You were being incurably romantic again, weren’t you?”

Joe grins, his eyes shining as he looks at his love. “They dared insult you in my presence, hayati. Besides, you love it.”

Nicky sighs. “I do.”

Joe cups his face once more and kisses him, pouring nine hundred years of love and affection and desire into the kiss. He would defend his Nicolo to the ends of the earth, against anyone and anything that dared try to come between them.

***

“I do not understand, Nile. Why do you keep referring to me as a cross between a human and an arachnid?”

“You have spidey sense Nicky, of course I’m going to call you Spiderman! Except instead of sensing danger, you sense whenever Joe’s delivering a love speech worthy of Shakespeare!”

“Hey! Do not compare me to that jumped-up English playwright–”

“Shut up, Joe!”

#The Old Guard #Joe x Nicky #Fluff #Not even really any angst #Like joe gets captured?#but he's not worried?#joe is an incurable romantic #nicky loves it #nile thinks it's fucking hilarious #writing #fics

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dog-day-morning · 3 years ago

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YOU OWE THEM NOTHING

People can be self-righteous when it comes to what they think God is supposed to do if, and when they call on Him. God is not a genie in a bottle that you rub, and a jinn pops out granting you 3 or 300 wishes. The saying faith without works is dead can be applied here. Have you ever heard of or read the book Daniel Webster and the devil? This tall tale or folklore legend was about a man who made a deal with old Slew Foot, and when it was time to pay up he had 2nd thoughts. Satan never plays fair. He's forever putting us in positions where we find ourselves desperate for a quick solution to a temporary problem that only leads to a difficult end. The Latin term for buyer beware is caveat emptor, and Satan knows how to spell. The power of a wicken comes from their basic weapon of spelling or casting spells by word of mouth. Even the Bible tells us that “Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.” Tell that to a Nicolaitan. Those who make deals with the most unclean should expect to suffer in the end. Never trust the father of lies who deals in treachery, and deceit. I look back at my mother's life and wonder if God had ever intervened for her, and fought her battles that surely He and only He would be able to deliver her from, and He has. Life is hard, for many it’s a nightmare that’s ongoing. Satan comes to you when you're at your weakest or most vulnerable in the hopes of snaring your soul into eternal suffering. Jesus comes to deliver us from death, sin, and temptations that confuse us in our trek towards His truth. If you have any aspirations of entertaining people with your gifted voice or your talent for playing lead guitar, don’t sign a contract that promises you the world only to find out you owe them your sweet ass which a man of honor wouldn't consider let alone make you cosign your body for their horn dog appeasement.

Revelation 2:9

9 I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, (but thou art rich) and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan.

You're abundantly rich in spirit Yacob. Now’s the time to claim your position. These bastards have taken everything from you leaving your ancestors nothing but dust. If they could remove us off the face of the Earth they would. They're plotting to do so as you and I breathe, that's why the Father never sleeps. They are demon spawns who say they worship, and believe in God, but whose god, and what righteous god tells you to destroy a people with his blessing knowing what the children of Japheth have done to them historically? The spawns of Satan want your penuche, mouth, titties, and a-hole for their pleasure along with your talent that Justin Timberlake does not have. The new faces of R&B do not look like the people I grew up listening to or the race of people whose songs left an everlasting impression on my bleeding heart that helped me through my ill-fated, miserable existence. Robin Thicke, Christina Aguilera, K-Pop, the BackStreet Boys, and New Kids on the Block. Some of these groups are defunct, but they’re cranking out as many as they possibly can like Justin Bieber, and Demi Lovato. I just saw on YouTube where people were considering if Elvis Presley was Black, WTF?!! He was the biggest culture thief that Dr. Frankenstein, AKA Colonel Parker ever created. Man is cruel; Satan is a whole other type of bastard you shouldn’t entertain. I'm retarded. Some call me an idiot savant. YO MOMMA!!! People are blessed by the Father who has blessed many of us with gifts. There are many of you whom God has endowed with multiple talents that people would sell their soul in order to possess just one. If you're anointed by God to sing like Aretha Franklin may He lead you to sign with a label like Brother Carl Crawford's who won't make the same mistake he did with a very popular artist at this moment. More than likely you'll sign a contract entrusting your talent, blessing, and soul to the most unclean ones. Ain’t a reason in hell you should bow down or bend over for a leach like Mr. Friedman so he can butt bone your a-hole while enriching himself off your God given talents. God blesses those who seek him out, and those that don’t. I don’t know if Eddie Murphy went to Church, and sowed an offering every Sunday to God praying that the Father would make him the highest paid comedic actor in his prime. Richard Pryor was anointed in the womb to be the most blessed comedic talent, and influential comedian to ever walk this Earth bar none yet he and Mr. Murphy pursued their dreams in different ways with both of them becoming world renown. I'm inclined to ask, was it worth it?

Mark 8:36

For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

The synagogue of Satan isn’t a trending pop culture manifestation that’s to be esteemed, cherished, or envied. These cults are trying to maintain a stranglehold on a world that’s not meant for them or their sort. People who play with Ouija boards or childhood games like Bloody Mary, and light as a feather are ushering dark spirits into their homes leaving their loved ones exposed to something sinister. Get the hell away from me and mine unless you're my sister, AKA Ms. Skunk Funk, who needs to get the crust burnt off her musty, dusty drawers. The whore of Don Juan has a death wish. Explain to me how running with the devil beats walking with God?

Isaiah 59:7

7 Their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed innocent blood: their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity; wasting and destruction are in their paths.

This Nation was built on our ancestor’s blood, sweat, and relentless faith. Believe me when I say there's strength in every tear. I pray to God that I don’t shed anymore of them. Their wealth is not. It's a stolen Promise that the Father shall reward His children with. Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it. The most glaring, and frustrating example that is also bitter and disheartening I can give you is our Promised Inheritance called Yisrael that the gentiles are squatting on. When a person or in this case a tribe or race of people believe in their own lies they've become reprobate; they're lost.

Revelation 3:9

9 Behold, I will make them of the synagogue of Satan, which say they are Jews, and are not, but do lie; behold, I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know that I have loved thee.

This is what all of Esau's children fear. It's why the bland, colored people of the world are flipping over the Earth's axis, and killing us without any probable cause. They are a lawless people who've displayed their lack of empathy, and humanity for anyone save their own breed, they behave like blood hounds. I've become content with this planet being void of water (Holy Spirit.) Black people suffer from a social disorder called the crab bucket mentality. We hate to see anyone rise up, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep them down or discourage them. That person may possess something that can benefit the collective, who cares. He who possesses that blessing needs to haul tail ASAP before the winter comes knowing the Father will bless him, and a downtrodden people beyond their wildest dreams. This is why Yeshua, and His Father call us children. It's why I pray, and bemoan to the Father daily that He slays me, putting the fear of the Lord in the heathen and His Son Christ Jesus uses us for His purpose. God doesn't need us, we need Him. He's given us so much power, and authority. When you acquire it, use it for something other than satisfying your sinful, carnal, flesh minded desires. Men, don't behave like horn dogs, and women do not behave as Aholah, and Aholibah, 2 whores.

Numbers 32:24

24 Build you cities for your little ones, and folds for your sheep; and do that which hath proceeded out of your mouth.

Out of thine own mouth you have power to tread over snakes and scorpions. You can exorcise demons and devils out of your present life braking generational curses which is what I' want for a family that's disowned me. To God be the glory. God is telling us to declare a thing, and claim it. What a mighty, just God we serve. Your tongue will become a weapon to use against the lawless ones who use theirs recklessly in their attempts to get us arrested or murdered by local, and federal authorities. You can call it giving them a taste of their own medicine, it isn't. You're reclaiming what they've taken, stolen, including those of us they've murdered.

Isaiah 54:17

17 No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. Speak positive prayers out loud if you can. If you live with your family or have a roommate pray in the closet. You'll have favor with God that many people won't. They rebuked the Lord, and their anger did tear perpetually, and they kept their wrath forever. When they use their privilege, which is what we call it more often than they, comprehending they’re fully aware knowing they use it with a Demonic, driven hatred. They persecute Black men, women, and children for reasons that are not godly, and the Father does not condone. They, and all the Earth will have to answer for our individual sins against the Father in the end.

Luke 10:19

19 Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.

We don’t worship the same god as they do. They're praying to a god to erase us off the face of the Earth. Why hasn't he?.

Exodus 1:12

12 But the more they afflicted them, the more they multiplied and grew. And they were grieved because of the children of Israel.

Their birth rate is dropping steadily. For the first time in the history of the census they decreased in population globally while indigenous, and other races of people stayed steady or in our case increased. This is the reasoning behind these draconian abortion laws. They're trying to preserve themselves while God is eliminating the Earth of their bloody dominion. God is sending the wicked a message before the storm comes, but no one's listening. Their violence towards us is documented, and more often it's unprovoked. They continue with the guilty until proven worthy of their mercy dogmatic mantra which is racist BS. The Earth will be lulled back to sleep. When they're confident that their world isn't in danger of being challenged by anyone, especially us. That's when God will do things that will scare them right back to the caucasus mountains bringing destruction to those who've touched, bruised, and abused the Apple of His eye. Speak life into your angel spirit, don’t entertain the demon seed that's trying to kill you, and the rest of Earth's indigenous people. You have much authority, use it. Elohim. 9/23/2021

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elatedmarvel · 4 years ago

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Arms

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to accept all parts of himself, even the vibranium parts.

Word Count: 5,353

A/N: This is the longest one shot I’ve ever written, and it took me like a month. (I’m very slow lol). In keeping with BLM and inclusion, please let me know if you feel the reader is described a certain way that is not encompassing of all. I’ve tried my best, but I’m only human and editing is hard. Hope you enjoy!

He remembers when he first woke up with it.

He could have sworn that he was dead, and he was in hell. All he could feel was pain everywhere, but specifically in his left arm. Pain he had never felt before and now he thinks he’ll feel forever. His parents always joked him that he would go to hell if he didn’t stop flirting with every skirt he saw, and now he wishes he could tell them they were right.

Voices float above him, but he can’t make out what they’re saying, everything sounds garbled and distorted to his ears.

It takes a moment for him to realize that the men are speaking in a different language.

Blinding white lights greet him as he opens his eyes and squints against the harshness. Silhouettes of shapes is all his brain can comprehend, and he blinks a few more times before he is able to actually see.

The dingy room has seen better days. The walls are lined with tile, with mildew and mold in between them. It’s dark everywhere else, except the bright light that shines down on him.

It’s hard for him to move his head side to side, let alone move the rest of his body, but he tries to wiggle his toes and fingers.

A metal appendage lays at his left side.

He stares at the foreign object, trying to make sense of the fact that he can feel his left arm, but what he sees is not the limb he remembers.

His brain commands him to lift it, to see if this was real. When it not only moves where he wanted, but he can see his fingers wiggling, he realizes that this is worse than hell.

He runs his right hand up the entire metal limb, and he can feel the dull sensation. His panic increases the higher he can feel metal. He gets to the edge of his chest before he feels flesh and bone again.

Gasping, he claws at where the foreign object meets his chest, trying to get it off of him. The more awake he becomes, the more pain radiates from the arm, like his body was rejecting it.

His sudden movements and noises of pain alert the men in white coats around him. He’s sure his eyes are frantic; he must look like a caged and frightened animal.

They rush to him, trying to undo the damage he has clawed in.

When they get close enough, he grabs them both by the neck, trying to protect himself. This only causes them to start shouting and the doors burst open.

It’s hard for him to process what is happening, all he feels is adrenaline pumping through his body, and it reacts accordingly.

He can feel the pop of the bones before he hears the sickening crunch. If he was more aware of what was happening, he’s sure he would have thrown up.

The man he grabbed with his left hand falls to the floor in a heap, unmoving.

In all his time serving with the howling commandos, he’s killed a few people, but never as intimately. He could just pull a trigger, throw a grenade, or stab someone. He’s never had to look them in the eye, and feel the life drain out of him.

Sweat and fear pour out of his pores now, he didn’t mean to. His hand moved faster than he could react.

Not his hand, the weapon attached to him now.

The shouting only gets louder around him, but it’s muffled now. He stares in horror at the metal fingers, and the lifeless body on the floor.

He can’t even feel when they prick him with a syringe filled with tranquilizer.

The image burns itself into his mind as everything grows dark.

The next 10-15 years follow the same pattern.

He wakes up slowly out of cryo. In his groggy state, he panics every time he sees the arm. He goes to claw at his chest where it is connected, but he’s eventually stopped when they realize he’s awake.

They try to break him.

Hydra does everything they can, any form of torture. But he’s strong. He resists every attempt, and finally they have had enough.

One day, they plop him in a metal chair and run currents through his skull.

It takes 2 more years of this before finally he stops scratching at the arm. Before he fully loses himself.

~~~

When he finally escapes from Hydra’s grip, he hates the arm with everything in him. He tries anything he can think of to remove it from his body, short of just cutting into himself more.

The arm only causes death and destruction. It is synonymous with Hydra and the evil he unwittingly committed.

He still remembers how they thought they bestowed a great gift upon him, making him into the fist of Hydra. They think they saved him, but they chipped away at his soul until there was barely anything left in him.

When Shuri was kind enough to erase the trigger words from his brain, she had offered him a new arm. One that was not tainted with the bloody memories of Hydra.

It took him months of therapy, and many long, late night talks with Steve, Natasha, and Sam to accept the arm. He wanted to repent for the blood he has spilled, intentional or not, and he couldn’t do it with one arm.

It was beautiful, gun metal grey with gold intertwining the plates. It reminded him of the exhibit that Steve had dragged him to at the Met.

Kintsugi, Steve had told him. The art of repairing something with gold.

“It was never broken to begin with, just being made whole and better” Steve had said to them as they wandered around. He pretended the tears in his eyes were from the dust in the museum, and lightly punched Steve on the arm.

~~~

You were in the ring with Sam.

Someone new, and that scared Bucky. He had slowly built a relationship with the rest of the team in the last few months he had been at the compound, and trust didn’t come easy. Countless nights he would be invited to movies, or dinner and drinks. He turned them all down the first few weeks he had been there. It wasn’t until Sam and Steve literally dragged him to the bar that he started to open up.

You somehow got along with everyone on the team, and had won everyone over in a matter of weeks. You geeked out over the newest electronics with Tony, and tried to help Bruce with his research. Wanda and you had holed up in a room for days binging the newest season of some reality show you loved. Natasha and you had survived multiple Barre classes, something that even made Sam cry. You and Steve had even started painting to Bob Ross videos together.

It was like there was a you-shaped gap waiting to be filled on the team.

He watches from his sparring dummy as you tease Sam. You dance around him easily, and dodge out the way of yet another unsuccessful punch.

His sensitive hearing picks up on Sam’s heavy breathing, but anyone could see the exacerbated rise and fall of his chest, and the buckets of sweat gleaming under the fluorescent lighting.

You laugh as he tries to distract you with a kick and punch from opposite sides.

“Nice try birdy” you call out as you evade him once more.

“Stay still!” Sam huffs, he hasn’t felt this out of shape since he was a chubby 13 year old with a love of cheetos and hate of exercise.

In his last effort to take you down, he swipes left and right, never giving up. You move further and further back, unsure how to handle the sudden change in tactics.

You don’t notice how close to the edge of the ring you are.

Tony, being the dramatic shit he was, decided to build the sparring ring higher up then normal. Like a pedestal he once proclaimed. He wanted all to be able to watch.

Sam and you had forgone putting up the side ropes, wanting to get in as much sparing as possible.

The fall was probably only a few feet of the ground, but definitely enough to sprain something, or even worse, get a concussion.

He sees you near the edge, Sam still swinging a way. His lust for revenge prevented him from seeing you were about to fall.

Bucky leaps the 10 feet in between him and you right as your foot falls off the edge. He reaches up and puts most of your weight on his left arm, catching you before you fell to the floor, holding you for a few seconds before slowly bringing you to floor level.

He sets you down gently and almost laughs at the comical expression on your face. Eyes wide and jaw dropped, unable to comprehend what had just happened in the span of a few seconds.

“I-I… thank you” you stuttered. Stilled flustered by the fall, but even more flustered that it was Bucky that caught you. You two had maybe exchanged 20 words total in the 2 months that you had been on the team.

Bucky does a once over at you before nodding and walking back to the sparring dummy.

Sam watches this all with amusement, before coming down and offering to buy you ice cream to make up for the fall.

~~~

Hit. Block. Punch. Duck. Repeat.

Watching you take down your opponents was like watching a ballet. You were graceful, and lithe. Moving with your counterpart, they never even realized you were a threat until they were out.

Since your fall a month ago, you and Bucky have been growing closer. It was hard not to when you were so light and bright. It blinded him slightly, before he grew accustomed to the warmth he felt when he was near you. Now he never wanted to be parted from it.

Naturally, when this mission had come up, Bucky had begged Steve to pair you with him. He knew he would only have peace of mind if he was with you at all times.

Not that you needed the help.

About a dozen men lay sprawled around you, and the last three were soon to join their colleagues on the floor. If they weren’t such vile men, he would almost feel bad for them. Being laid to waste by someone who didn’t look like she could hurt a fly.

He registers the movement about a second too late, his mouth won’t connect to his brain and shout what he wants it to. One of the men you had already taken down lifts his head and arm, he just sees a flash of silver in the man’s palm before he sprints the length of the room. Your back is to him, and you still have 1 more attacker to take down, he takes all of your attention.

It happens in a second. You take your final shot at the henchman and then you see Bucky running to you. You feel the warmth of him as he embraces you, pulling you forward. The momentum causes you to stumble and brings you both down, you on top of him.

The ping of the bullet is thundering in the echoing, concrete room. He barely even registers the feeling before pulling out his gun and shooting the attacker. Watching for a moment to make sure he was actually dead, he looks down at you.

“Bucky” you stutter out, and he can feel your slight tremors. The whiplash must be settling in and the adrenaline wearing off, not a fun combination.

He looks you up and down, and even though he knows he blocked the bullet with his vibranium arm, he can’t help the anxiety that rises in his chest. He doesn’t see anything wrong besides the bruises and small scratches.

Meeting your eyes, it instantly takes the breath out of him. The look of pure awe spread on your face, but he can feel the admiration that is in your eyes,

It takes everything to not close the 5 inch gap to your lips and see if they are as soft as he’s imagined.

“You ok?” he asks one more time, voice cracking from the dryness in his throat.

You nod up at him, keeping eye contact.

Without a warning, you press your face into his neck and wrap your arms around him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” you say profusely. You move to sit on top of him in a flash and grab his left arm. He’s powerless underneath you as you examine the shiny appendage.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, wonder in your voice as your fingers graze the sides of his arms. He’s glad for the pain he endured when they fitted him with this new arm, he can feel the softness and warmth of your hands, almost like if it were his own flesh.

“No” he replies, eyes locked on where you hold his wrist.

Gently, so gently he can barely feel it, you press a kiss to the slight dent where the bullet impacted. Now he swears he’s died and gone to heaven.

There’s a lingering heat where your lips touched, maybe even burning.

If his mouth was dry before, it’s now the desert, and he clears his throat before looking away. His face is hot, and he’s thankful for the dim lighting in the basement.

He misses the sly smirk on your face before you get up and offer your hand to him.

~~~

After the mission, you had gone with him to get his arm repaired. He tried to tell you that it would take a few minutes at most and you didn’t need to go with him, but you just smiled and led the way. You held his flesh hand while they fixed some wiring issues and un-dented the hand. If he squeezes your hand more often than necessary, then who would know?

One month passes and he is always at your side. He goes more often to movie nights, team dinners, and outings. There’s always a spot right by your side, and it takes only a few days for everyone to know it was reserved for a certain brunette.

The second month rolls around and it finds him as your permanent partner. Missions for two would always be assigned to you and him. You two would spar for hours on end, touches lingering for longer than needed. If you needed to run errands, he would be right there with you.

Month three passes in a loving haze. It’s rare to see one of you without the other. Even nights were spent in your room after you had both fallen asleep while watching Star Wars. You made him come with you to your yoga classes, and he made you go with him to cooking classes.

It’s like the sun had finally come out. The permanent scowl and dark circles were replaced with grins and smile lines. He can’t remember the last time he was as carefree as he was around you.

It was hard to ask you out. He was nervous. What if he misread the hand holding and cuddling? Could he go back to being just your friend if it didn’t work out?

But the moment he saw you across the gym, sweaty and heaving but with a giant grin on your face as you box with Steve, he knew it would be worth it.

So here he was, your favorite flowers in hand, buttoned up shirt and nice jeans adorning his body, walking to your door to pick you up for your first date.

In the back of his mind, he mocks himself for being so scared to ask you. Your face had lit up when he had.

Knocking on the door, he steps away and gives himself a once over. He tells himself he’s not nervous, but the erratic beating of his heart tells a different tale.

The door opens, and there you are. A vision in your favorite dress, small smile on your face.

All he can do is stare dumbstruck at you. While you were always gorgeous to him, the fact that you had dressed up for him makes him want to cry.

“Bucky?” you ask, waving a hand in his face and giggling.

“You’re stunning” he says back, hand coming up to rub his neck. He suddenly

remembers the flowers when he feels the water drip on the collar of his shirt.

“These are for you” and the smile on your face grows. You take a big whiff of them

before sneezing 3 times in rapid succession.

“Guess I got carried away” you giggle, and just like that the nerves fade.

The drive to the restaurant he had reserved was filled with would you rathers that made you laugh so hard, you couldn’t breathe. Your impression of the stuffy waiter had him choking on his water.

Everything was going so well, he let his guard down.

The men in ski masks that came from the kitchen to round everyone up were a shock to both of you. Instantly, people scatter, some making it out of the door in time, and others being held hostage and led to the kitchen.

You can both tell when they realize they have avengers in their midsts when the guns turn to aim at you. He flips the table to its side as you move to duck behind it. Drawing a gun from your clutch, you hand it to him. Bucky was always the better shot. And you arm yourself with a widow bites and click the button on your Stark Watch 3 times in rapid succession.

He hears the panic in their voices as they radio to each other. Obviously, they were not expecting any resistance, let alone 2 highly trained agents.

You look at him, and he knows exactly what you have in mind.

The moment you leap sideways and engage, he pops over the table and aims at anyone with a gun. You move quickly and gracefully around those that were foolish enough to actually engage you. He takes down as many as possible with the gun, and when the clip runs out, he engages the targets closest to you.

Soon there is only 1 left, shaking and yelling at you both to back up. Bucky is pretty sure he’s new, the tremor in his voice and hands gives him away. It wouldn’t be that difficult to take him out.

Bucky joins your side, and you both approach hesitantly, not wanting to spook him.

“Stay back” he yells. Bucky sees the glint of green before the man fully pulls out the grenade. His heart sinks into his stomach.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Bucky states, already wedging himself between you and the man. He calculates if there was anyway to get you out of the building.

“Just stay calm, we’re not going to hurt you.” You say, laying the widow bites at your feet. Bucky does the same with his empty gun.

His wild eyes keep glancing between you and Bucky. He slowly tries to inch his way towards the man, hoping he makes it to the grenade before he throws it.

The stand-still comes to an end when the man pulls the pin and launches the grenade in the air.

“No!” Bucky shouts, and he pulls you both under the nearest table, his body covering yours. The deafening blast goes off right as you both get under the table.

He feels your fast breaths against his chest, and he pulls your head into the crook of his neck. Arms in a braced stance, supporting him as he tries to keep his weight off of yours. He’s pretty sure the table above them cracked with the weight of the rubble falling on it.

He looks down to your face and sees the fear in your eyes. It was one thing to be shot at, but another to be buried alive.

“It’s gonna be ok” he whispers, and you nod. You know that Bucky would do everything he could to get you both out. Forcing yourself to take calming breaths, you knew it wouldn’t help to panic right now.

Once he feels the dust settle, he braces himself against the broken table, trying to see if he could lift the ruble off of you both. There’s a groan as the concrete settles more firmly in place, but nothing lets up.

The Stark watch on your wrist vibrates, and though he can’t see the screen, he knows it means the Avengers are coming.

“Bucky” you say, voice trembling. It brings him back to the conversation you had about your biggest fears. Being buried alive was at the top of the list after falling into a pit when you were 7 years old.

“It’s going to be ok” he tries to reassure, but the fear in your eyes has him trying to break you out.

Slowly, he shifts his weight to his right arm, and braces the broken table with his left. Putting all his weight behind the vibranium arm, he pushes up. He’s not sure if the groans are from him or the concrete slabs, but he feels something pop and then shift above him.

Suddenly, the weight feels lighter and he can hear the concrete falling. Hope bursts in his chest as more light floods into the burrow and space starts to expand.

Moving his knees and feet, he gets into a crouched position to give himself more power as the rubble starts to fall away.

Your voice and encouragement gives him a surge of energy and he finds himself standing in the dusty opening of what used to be a restaurant.

“Y/n!” he calls as he moves back down and cradles you in his arms, lifting you on top of the pile of rubble.

“Bucky that was incredible!” you shout as he comes to join you and helps you down. Your arms come around his neck and before he knows it, he feels your lips against his. It takes a second for his brain to compute, and by the time he realizes that it was a kiss, you had already pulled away.

“Thank you!” you shout again with glee as he chuckles.

He tries to move in and capture your lips again, but the moment is ruined when a certain blonde super soldier clears his throat.

You both pull away, faces warm, to see the captain dragging to handcuffed criminals out of the wreckage.

“Glad to see you’re both alive.” Steve states smugly, shooting Bucky a not so subtle wink.

“It’s all thanks to Bucky and his amazing arm.” you tell him brightly, pressing a kiss to the vibranium bicep before jumping into to help apprehend the rest of the men.

Steve had never seen Bucky turn that shade of red before, and lets out a laugh as he escorted the men out of the restaurant and into the cars waiting outside.

~~~

You’re not sure what triggers it.

One moment you're laying on the couch with your head in Bucky’s lap, content and happy while watching a movie. You’re half awake, no idea what’s going on in the movie, instead paying attention to the way Bucky’s fingers glide through your hair.

It happens suddenly, and you jump up.

You pace for a moment, before breathing is hard, and the world starts to get blurry. A cold sweat breaks out all over your body and you swear you could throw up at any moment.

Lowering yourself onto the floor, you put your head between your legs and slowly start to rock. Blood rushes to your head, and all you can hear is the loud thumping of your erratic heart.

Everything is reduced to the few inches in front of your face, you almost don’t notice the cool hand on your forehead, pushing away hairs and trying to soothe you.

You focus on the cold hand moving from your head to the back of your neck, and then going down to stroke and pat your back, before starting the cycle all over again.

Bucky.

Slowly, you start to break through the surface.

It takes a few moments, but you start to hear his voice calling to you, and you want to follow the warm sound.

He moves your hand now to his chest, the gentle up and down continuing to bring you back, and it registers that he wants you to follow his breath pattern.

The first few are too shallow, the next few are too fast, but soon you match his calm in-and-out to a tee.

Your name, smooth and gentle in his voice, finally reaches your ears. You listen as he tells you how great you are at matching his breathing. He switches between compliments, random, one sided small talk, and humming.

The heat from his embrace and the coolness from his left arm creates a cocoon of warmth and safety, making you lose sense of time. The cramping from your legs is the only indicator that a significant amount of time has passed.

Sluggishly, you lift your head from Bucky’s chest and look up at his face. Intense blue eyes stare back at you, it’s not hard to tell that he’s trying to stay calm, but the slight worry in his eyes wasn’t hard to pick up on.

Laying your head back on his chest, you feel his arms start to slide under you. Soon enough, you’re lifted up and he’s walking to what you assume would be your room.

You close your eyes, when he doesn’t take the right to go down to your room, but continues straight into his wing.

“Thanks Bucky” you mumble as he sets you on his bed and gets in himself.

Face to face, you use your finger to trace the slope of his nose and the edge of his jaw before bringing your finger to outline his lips.

Pressing a small kiss to the tip of your finger, he smiles before leaning in kissing your forehead.

“I love you, doll.”

“Love you too.”

~~~

He can feel the drool on his face as he comes too. His face squished into the pillow underneath him, so hard, he’s sure he’ll have indents in his face.

One arm slung around a sleeping you, he breathes in, slowly waking up. Moving his arms, he can feel the soreness that settles in after a good night's sleep.

A small sniffle from the nightstand catches his attention, and he realizes why he woke up.

Gently, he crawls out of bed, and tucks in the remaining comforter around you, and grabs the device from the nightstand. He hopes you can get a little extra sleep, he’s pretty sure he fell asleep long before you got into bed.

Bare feet meet carpet as he paddles down the hallway, a short walk to his destination. He waits outside of the door for a moment, listening for movement in the room. When he hears shuffling, and another small screech, he opens the door.

Against the adjacent lilac wall, a white crib is placed. A sleep dischevaled baby stands, clinging to the bars, blowing spit bubbles and babbling to herself.

As soon as she sees Bucky, her arms extend towards him and makes whining noises.

“Hey baby” he chuckles as he steps fully into the room, and picks her up, nervous that she’ll start screaming if he doesn’t.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, patting her back, and checking to see if she needed a diaper change.

The raspberry she blows answers the question.

Gently and efficiently, he sets about changing her diaper, talking to her all the while.

When he sets her upright to try and find a new outfit, preferably one that doesn’t have stains but the options are slim, she squeals again.

Quickly, he picks her up and sways her against his chest.

“Shh shhh shhh, don’t wake up mommy, you kept her up half the night.” Bucky implores. She tilts her head up at the sound of his voice, her eyes slightly wet and he knows she can’t help it.

Rebecca was a good baby, usually did not fuss, ate like a champ, and slept well. But lately, she had been colickly.

It had panicked Bucky at first, thinking she was sick or he was doing something wrong. You had quelled his fears by showing him the small bump on her gums, signalling that she was teething.

Switching his right arm for her support, he brings a vibranium finger up to her mouth. Immediately, she latches on to the finger.

He can feel the nubs of teeth about to break through the surface, and lets her chew on his cool finger for relief.

It had started as a joke one day when the teething ring had melted and Becca still wouldn’t stop crying. In your half groggy state, you had stuck one of Bucky’s vibranium fingers in her mouth to let her chew on while you grabbed something else, he couldn’t quite feel the pain the same way his flesh fingers could. But, once Bucky’s finger was in her mouth, Becca happily chewed on it until she fell asleep.

It was well known now that wherever Bucky was, Becca followed, gnawing on his fingers.

“Does that feel better Becca?” she couldn’t even spare a second to look at her father, too busy drooling all over his hand.

With Becca in tow, he sits down in the rocking chair, hoping that he could get her to fall back asleep.

Holding her close, he hums some forget tune and rubs her back, moving them back and forth slightly.

The rigid dark grey was such a contrast to the soft baby skin around it, it startles Bucky sometimes.

The same arm that killed people and caused so much destruction was the same arm that his baby daughter used as a teething toy. She would never fear it, or see it as anything other than a part of him.

He’s unfamiliar with the emotion that bubbles up in his chest and the tears that build up. Sniffling himself, he presses a kiss to her downy soft head, and cradles her underneath his chin.

“You know, if it hurts that much, you can take it out of her mouth.” you say, startling him slightly.

Padding into the room, you perch yourself on the armrest of the rocking chair and tuck your feet under his legs. You reach a head out to caress Becca’s perfect cheek, brushing away a few tears with your thumb, as her eyelids start to droop.

“What are you doing up?” Bucky’s gravely voice cuts through the silence a few moments later.

“I had a feeling you were getting sappy with her again” you tease. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by without Bucky marveling or crying about Becky in the short 7 months of her life.

“I can’t help it, she’s perfect.” he whispers back, getting choked up again.

“Oh babe” you coo at him. Dropping to sit in his lap, you place your head on his chest, just above Becca, and wrap your arms around him.

He sits there for a while longer, slowly rocking back and forth. Every once in a while, Becca will snuffle and snore in her sleep and you both chuckle at the cute noises.

Sitting there, arms wrapped around the loves of his life, he feels calm.

He can feel your breathing start to even out as you follow Becca’s lead to slumber.

It still amazes him how much you both trust him. Never looked at the thing that made him a killer with anything but love, and never treated him with any differently.

There will always be scars, physical and emotional, but slowly falling asleep in his baby daughter's room, he knows everything will be ok. He’s not afraid anymore.

~~~

Thank you for reading! Feedback is always welcome!

#Bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x tony #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff

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godkilller · 4 years ago

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WRITING SWORDFIGHTS

Roleplay Thread Tips - SWORD EDITION. Because you all voted for this and are enabling me.

If your character is actively using a battle-grade katana in actual combat, IT IS KENJUTSU. If your character is wielding a wooden sword, or bokken, and they’re studying or practicing the ways of swordsmanship via sport, it is KENDO. Think of Kenjutsu as the technique of swordsmanship, especially in battle, which includes outright the ability to kill an enemy. Kendo is an artful performance, an armored/padded and relatively safe competitive sport. Aim to be as respectful as possible when pertaining to the katana, this is a centuries-old weapon with deep cultural ties. As eloquently once put by a Space Wizard, a sword is “an elegant weapon” -- they’re not toys.

There are nine basic cuts in kenjutsu that all characters who wield a katana likely adhere to -- with or without outright training to do so. KESA GIRI: a diagonal strike across the shoulder starting at the right shoulder and down to the left hip. This is mirrored for the left shoulder down to the right hip. Alternatively, KIRIAGE: an upward cut from the right hip to the left shoulder, mirrored again for cuts made from the left hip to the right shoulder. MEN: a straight downward strike to the head and across the torso. KOTE: the cutting of the opponent’s wrist, duplicated for each one. DO: a horizontal cut across the abdomen, in either direction, but most often left-leading. These cuts are almost all fatal if wielded to be so, or lead to the forceful disarming of your opponent.

Katana are meant to cut, slice and otherwise take down their targets via a razor edge and a precise swing. If wielded improperly, they can utterly fail a cut to the point of damaging the katana, or rebounding sloppily.

You don’t need to get into specifics, like what exact angle a cut is being made, but most diagonal cuts are around 45 degrees, upward or downward strikes. If your character is slashing down at an opponent, they’re likely performing a diagonal cut at the shoulder to the opposite hip. Always think about where you’re positioning your character during attacks to be considerate to the fact that you may be leaving them wide open, and realistically unable to block or parry an attack made at that possible opening.

Writing a swordfight should contain skirmishes, not prolonged spats. Try to pace yourself out. A style choice I make when writing a sword fight is making the descriptions more ‘fast’ and concise during the actual attacks, keeping things simple so that the sentences are read at a faster rate which gives the illusion of quicker moments, then becoming more descriptive and lengthy, ‘slowed down’ during the moments following -- to signify that contemplation, the lull that happens like a tide to shore. In and out. This, also, makes it easier to feel out your fight’s pacing.

Speaking, earlier, of Star Wars... lightsaber battles showed us the beauty of kenjutsu-inspired combat with unnecessary and often fatal twirls and spins added in. Unless your character REALLY can move themselves and their blade FAST, any time they spin themselves during combat is a perfect opening for their opponent to strike their back, their sides, and really.. just about everything. Try not to spin around like a Beyblade. Twirling a sword can be strategic in making an opponent struggle in attempt to keep track of your blade, its range, and everything in between, but it also makes your character vulnerable. The more time spent with your cool color guard spinning, the less time you have to react and move your blade in a way to defend yourself.

Sometimes it’s the smaller strikes that matter more than the grand sweeping motions of a blade. Making your character constantly make big swings means they’re using way more energy behind each swing, and also causes momentum to work against them in some cases: the harder and bigger their swings, the longer it’ll take for their blade to come to a stop and then return to a position that can defend.

Swordfighting is all about footing and distance. Your character should be thinking about their reach, their range, in comparison to their opponent’s. If your character is skilled with a sword, they should never be caught vibing within arm’s reach of their opponent, because that’s well within the range of the other’s sword. THE SWORD BEING AN EXTENSION IS NOT A SAYING TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. This sword should feel like a part of the wielder, an addition, not a blunt object to flail around with. For reference: most katana-length swords have blades that are roughly three feet long. Factor that into your character's arm span. Range is everything, distance and gap-closing is everything.

A katana’s sheath is made from wood, and therefore cannot fend off a full-force swing from an attacking sword, which is sometimes shown in popular anime / manga as something that can be done. Maybe, yes, the first swing or two, it can be used to defend against. Sometimes a saya may be reinforced with iron or steel or even tempered clay. Those aren’t as common, or will be used almost exclusively for show, and will add weight -- which should be factored into the entire katana’s heaviness when settled at your character’s side. Wooden saya may expand and contract during humid and hot days as well as in the cold, or other weather conditions. Painted saya may eventually show cracks and other wear and tear on their decorations due to this. What does your character’s sword situation look like? Are they proper and polished, or does their weapon have blemishes?

On that topic: If your character returns their sword to its scabbard without cleaning off any blood or other fluids that touched it during battle then I am personally hunting you down. Blades, supernatural or otherwise, shouldn’t be sheathed when dirty. Especially if they’ve made contact with skin or made a full cut that spilled blood. THERE’S AN ENTIRE ART OF “RETURNING THE BLADE” AFTER MAKING A CUT, it’s specific in removing anything from the blade via wiping or ‘shaking the blood’ from it. Blades can become rusted or otherwise damaged if not cleaned, and sheathing a dirtied blade means that now the scabbard is caking that shit onto your blade. Both need cleaning, now, you absolute idiot. I’m crying. For reference: a single thumb print on a blade left uncleaned for a week can begin showing signs of rust due to the oils of your skin residing unhindered on the blade.

Swords aren’t featherlight. Over time, a character who regularly wields a sword should have weathered hands due to the weight and grip of holding their katana, specifically this should roughen their palms. Katana are meant to be wielded with TWO HANDS. The dominant hand rests closer to the guard, and the non-dominant hand resides lower, near the end of the hilt. The two-handed grip must be separated, but not too drastically, to offer a driving force to your swings.

Writing a swing is simple, but describing the speeds and aim can require a little bit more: the fastest series of cuts were made using BATTOJUTSU, or iaijutsu, the art of drawing the blade swiftly, for example. Cuts that land will face resistance, primarily muscle and bone if they’re deep, and only should cleave cleanly if your character has invested the arm strength and drive to slice through a person like so. What style of swordsmanship does your character use? There are many different ones.

Standard katana move slowly in comparison to tanto and wakizashi, shorter blades. This is in part due to being wielded with two hands as opposed to the short swords being single-handed, and also in part due to the katana weighing more and taking up more space whilst swung.

A sword should be worn at the hip, on the side that is opposite of your character’s dominant hand, because that’s how it’s drawn: using your character’s non-dominant hand to grip the scabbard whilst the dominant hand draws the blade. There are various artful and skillful ways, including deadly teachings specifically about unsheathing the blade, surrounding this pivotal moment. Your character can get a little fancy here, or they can stay simple.

Typically, a character should not draw their blade unless they are prepared to kill, or to defend themselves via the act of killing a threatening enemy -- the traditional meme of samurai contemplating Many a Thing before drawing their swords dramatically, in slow-mo or suddenly with great lagging pauses is kind of a play on the fact that this is no silly little feat. Even if your character is perceived as careless, reckless, they can still fit in that moment of contemplation, of focus. Is your character respectful to this concept, or do they not give a shit? It’s considered disrespectful, dishonorable, to conceal your blade and draw it without indication of wanting to attack.

Sometimes that moment before or during the draw is so LIGHTNING FAST, it can be easier to simply describe the sound of the draw rather than focus on writing the actual method of unsheathing a blade in your reply. NEVER FORGET SOUNDS when describing fights: breathing, the rustling of clothes, the ‘woosh’ of a blade being swung in full through the air, the scuffing, skidding, and sliding of feet across the ground. If your blade achieves your opponent, then the cutting of fabric, of skin, and even bone can be factored in. If you ever feel unsure of what to describe, visually, during a fight -- sometimes the sounds can save you.

Clashing blades, IF YOU MUST, shouldn’t ‘spark’ like sometimes shown in anime during heated moments of swords scraping against one another. These swords aren’t meant to smack into one another, they’re meant to cut, but if your character’s sword is supernatural / enhanced, then go for it. Swords should not obnoxiously and loudly clang together, they’re not heavy slabs of metal, they’re refined and folded steel meant to be narrow and thin for optimal cutting. There is some measure of recoil on impact, your character should be absorbing some of that blow whilst the blade gathers the rest. Yes, katana can wobble and bend when in combat, but they shouldn’t be excessively doing so. This isn’t fencing.

Stabbing is pretty fucking fatal. If your character gets slashed, there’s a chance the wound is relatively shallow -- yes, it’ll sting, it’ll hurt, it’ll bleed. But a stab from a katana will be a deep wound, and will most likely mean the full blade impaled you, meaning there will be an entry and an exit wound to freely bleed from. This also ups the chance that a vital has been struck.

It’s relatively uncommon to attack your opponent’s feet when in combat, but then again most swordfighting in anime isn’t standard. Not everyone plays by the rules -- does your character? Keep in mind that if your character wants to fight dirty and strike low, this may very well leave them wide open; low strikes imply your character is leaning over or crouching, with their blade lowered too, this can be a great time to strike for their head.

A decisive moment can be a single strike coming through and ending the battle, or it can be a numerous amount of smaller strikes slowly causing your opponent to tire and succumb. Don’t always assume your character can end a fight in a single strike: this takes immense strength and accuracy, most characters can and will go down swinging.

Katana aren’t small, consider this if a fight begins indoors. ASKING TO MOVE A FIGHT OUTSIDE ISN’T JUST FOR KICKS. Prepare to wreck walls, knock over furniture, and other obstacles to obstruct your katana from making wide proper strikes. Try swinging a broom in a hallway, it just doesn’t end well. Wakizashi are more suited for close-quarters and confined fighting, which is also why samurai would wear them in tandem with their main katana to avoid being vulnerable.

Katana, even when sheathed, can still be considered hindering in small spaces or when sitting. It’s commonplace to remove the stowed sword from the tie at one’s hip and place it at their non-dominant hand’s side when seated, especially if one is in the seiza position -- known as literally the ‘proper sitting’ position where one sits on their knees, their legs folded beneath them.

Just because an experienced sword-wielder is seated doesn’t mean they’re defenseless. In fact, there are many different cuts that can be made from a seated position which actually gain more power and momentum due to the added force of half-standing during the draw. Does your character do anything special to really enhance their speeds, their strikes? Gin hides his sword in his oversized clothes, particularly his sleeves, or will strike when in a noncombative stance.

IT’S COMMON TO USE CLOTHING TO OBSCURE FOOTING, in fact that’s the main function of the hakama, the flowing garment that resembles oversized pants. The skirt-like legs of the pants hide the more detailed positions of the legs, giving the appearance of stationary poses, or gliding movements, when more is going on underneath.

What steps does your character take in order to get a solid advantage in any given fight? Do they prefer upward strikes or downward, do they prefer striking left or right? Do they like getting all up in the other’s business or are they more of a touch and go type? Is this their first time not slicing at some soaked bamboo? Have they ever drawn a live sword at another person before? Think about all of these things.

Ultimately, as long as you’re being respectful, you can really have fun with it!

#[ roleplay resource ]#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face #i cannot be contained.#long post

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brokenjardaantech · 4 years ago

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Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 8: Into No Man’s Land)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Fadia and Reyes argued.

In the present, Connor finds a sanctuary from the most unexpected source.

In the past, Connie woke up.

also on ao3

content warning for your typical violence from both games. in short: guns and biotics and people getting wounded.

also, special thanks to @fanndamnedibals for drawing the amazing piece of art for this story. it’s really fucking cool.

---

Before

Fadia was greeted by a punch to her face. Her whole upper body swivelled from the inhuman force, but her lower body planted firmly on the floor still, and with a smooth swing, she stood straight as if the punch never occurred.

‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ Reyes snarled. ‘Giving plans to Russia and China like that? What happened to me being in charge? What happened to androids being free? What happened -’

Fadia gave the other android a hard shove. ‘What else can I do?’ she yelled. ‘What do you understand about yourself? Do you even know what you’re capable of?’ A shake of her head. ‘Thanks to my father, CyberLife is now producing androids for the military for a price much cheaper than paying non-commissioned officers in the long run, and you think they won’t use it to secure their claim on the Arctic where all of earth’s thirium is? We need someone to keep them in check. China and Russia are the only answer.’

‘And enslaving more of us? More of my people? Pushing the world into war once more?’ the air crackled with static. ‘Have you ever considered anyone else apart from yourself?’

‘Watch your voice box, Reyes,’ Fadia took a step forward, her height letting her loom over the man. ‘You are standing here yelling at me because I care for my brother so cut the bullshit about me not caring. Look what caring did to you -’ indicated her metallic body - ‘to me -’ a wave of her arm - ‘and to the rest of the world. Listen,’ a thin layer of blue appeared between them, ‘just a quick walk around the garden. A farewell. Then I’ll go.’

‘“A farewell”? What is that supposed to mean?’

‘With luck, you won’t see me much for quite a long time. Years. A decade, even. There is something else that I’m… working on.’

‘Leaving a mess your own making behind now?’

‘My father made the mess!’ Fadia lit up. ‘And no, I’m not running away, but there are more important things to deal with right now. It will need my full attention, and I don’t want to leave without giving my brother closure.’ When Reyes’ hand moved towards the gun she knew was hidden underneath his shirt, she sighed. ‘Please. Do you want to see Scott asking where I am every day for the next ten years? Do you want him spending his days worrying about me?’

Reyes was still glaring at her, but at least he was not drawing his weapon. A few seconds of tense silence passed, and with a snap of his arm away from the gun, ‘What do you want to tell him?’ he said as he turned away from his creator, his expression filled with disgust. ‘I can… deliver the message for you.’

Fadia’s lips twitched downwards. ‘Must you?’

‘You wish to protect your brother, don’t you? Don’t you think he’ll be stressed out by your current state?’

‘My current -’

‘Your message,’ Reyes crowded into his creator’s personal space and managed to look imposing despite his height disadvantage, ‘or get the fuck out of here.’

Fadia looked at her first creation down her nose. ‘Tell him that I came to say hello and that it is perfectly normal from that point onwards if he cannot contact me. Tell him it may be years before he sees me again,’ a step back. The door swung open. ‘And it is your fault.’

‘Hold the fuck on -’

A crackle of blue, a flash of dark energy, a faint trail of dissipating tendrils. Sara Fadia Ryder was gone, leaving her creation standing at the door with a hand outreached hopelessly with nothing but thin air in his grasp.

o0o0o

Now

Streets unsafe for androids. Sanctuary at these coordinates. Will deliver supplies to said location as soon as possible. I’m sorry.

The world has become a blur. Hank’s house, receiving the message, decoding the message for Hank, changing into another set of clothes, getting into Hank’s car, and they are off to the docks before they even know what is happening. The androids led by Markus marched. People - androids - were killed. CyberLife is setting up ‘recycling centres’ to recall all androids in the city and around the country with the help of the police and military. They have to act now or they will be trapped by one of the many checkpoints popping up in the streets. Everything, as Hank says, has gone to shit.

Are you going to be fine? Connor texts. I doubt you will be carrying out your orders.

I told my men they have the choice to leave and everything will be on me. If they’re staying, they’re staying on my side. On the android’s side.

And their response?

They’re packing up right now and I’m making sure that nothing will get to them.

How about you?

Meet me there. Hopefully. Vouch for a fleshy human later, can you? I’ll be bringing whatever I can.

Absolutely.

Good.

They arrive at Ferndale after what seems like hours later, Hank stopping a few blocks away from the water in order to not arouse suspicion even though the area is deserted, but Connor’s scans reveal stray patches of evaporated thirium on the floor, which means that injured androids have been here… a few hours ago.

Hank turns around. ‘Think I should stop here.’ He cocks his head at the area at large. ‘Go on. I won’t leave until you’re out of my sight.’

The image is not comforting enough. ‘Come with us,’ Connor begs. ‘We need you here.’

The human shakes his head. ‘I can’t. Someone has to keep up appearances at the precinct. Besides, Jeff seems to have something to say. I’ll give you an update later when he’s finished yelling at me.’

It makes sense in some ways. Splitting up, gathering information from both ends, and then creating a better plan to save all of them. Simple; at least, it should be. But he also has been with Hank for such a long time - most of his time on earth, really - that it will be strange to be alone with a much slower counterpart of himself in tow. It will be a challenge.

It is also their only chance.

‘I understand,’ he forces out of his voice box, and he opens the door and steps out of the car into the snow before walking around to help Connie get out. What surprises him, however, is that Hank steps out as well and draws Connor into a tight hug.

‘Come back,’ the human says, to me, he doesn’t say, but Connor hears it anyway, and he wraps his arms as much as he can around Hank’s body and squeezes, a silent ‘I will’ that he hopes that his partner understands. ‘I will fight like there is no tomorrow to go back to your side,’ Connor confesses as he catalogues everything there is about Hank, his smell, his proportion, his warmth, because it seems that things are going that way and he wants him to be the last thing he recalls when - when -

‘-nor, look at me.’

Hank’s hand is on his cheek already when Connor looks up. They are so close that Connor can distinguish the shape of each and every single one of the snowflakes in the human’s hair, his brows, his eyelashes, and he can feel every single valley and spur on Hank’s finger that uniquely corresponds to Hank as he brushes his thumb against where Connor’s cheekbone would be had he been human. ‘Most advanced prototype, remember?’ the human says, still holding Connor tight. ‘If there’s someone who can make it out alive, it’s you. I have faith in you.’

‘I -’ you shouldn’t. ‘All I’ve ever done is failing my missions.’

‘To save lives, I know,’ the hand on his cheek moves to the back of his neck. Connor shivers from the warmth. ‘No matter which colour we bleed.’

‘I -’

Thank you. For everything. For making me realise that I’m more than my programming. For being there even though you didn’t understand what was happening.

There is so much he wants to say but can’t due to the sheer amount of information filtering through his processors, but one thing is certain: they all advise him to throw caution to the wind. As if having the exact same thoughts, Hank leans his head forward at the same time, and they meet halfway through in a desperate kiss, a rough press of lips against lips that is all over too soon but conveying enough emotions to each other that they both deflate when they part, the tension in their body suddenly gone now that they are resigned to their fate.

‘We’ll talk about this,’ Hank warns, but there is no malice in his tone. Come back alive.

Connor has to break their gaze and hook his head on the human’s shoulder or he’ll never get his words out. ‘You stay safe too.’

A large hand on his back, Connor’s thick, season-appropriate attire ridding him of the last human warmth he may get to feel. ‘I will.’

They finally pull apart. A hand that doesn’t belong to Hank brushes Connor’s arm, and that is when he remembers that Connie is here; as if seeing her expectant expression, Hank hugs her as well completely unaware of how close to tears the other android is. Connor moves to hold her hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he tells her, because someone has to be the more responsible one between the two, and they walk away hand in hand together towards the coordinates Louis gave them without a glance backwards.

oOoOo

Jericho. Cargo freighter. Abandoned ship. A sanctuary for deviants old and new, the latter far outnumbering the rest due to Markus’ actions. The bombs on stand by scattered around the place indicate that the freighter is rigged, but no one seems to care; there is a cluster of androids on one side where a holo is recycling the news, another on the other side checking and modding weapons on improvised benches, and another group sitting at a long table working on laptops still in their suitcases. No one seems to have noticed them, which is good considering his previous… reputation as a deviant hunter (even though he didn’t do a very good job at it); he can withstand cold looks and harsh words hauled at him, but Connie is innocent here, and he doesn't want her to suffer any more abuse.

He receives a notification from their intertwined hands that his sister’s internal temperature is falling below recommended levels, so he scans his surroundings, noting the broken grids and - there, a fire contained in a rusted metal barrel surrounded by a sitting area created from stacked-up crates. He spots what seems to be an improvised medical bay where broken androids are being repaired and thought of asking for some thirium for Connie, but from what he can see, the androids under repair are all in much worse shape than his sister, so all he does is giving Connie a quiet reassurance and… waits while he recalls what he just saw. Rupert. The Tracis. Other newly-deviated androids still in their uniform. It’s a miracle that he and Connie don't get spotted.

The drowsiness from the other side of the shallow interface plus the weight on his shoulder indicates that Connie has fallen asleep once more, and with no one to help take care of her, Connor can only sit there and do -

Wait.

His free hand reaches into his pocket and fishes out a coin. It is not the one he is familiar with, but it makes for a good replacement after only a few tries, and soon enough he has it spinning on the tips of his fingers despite the gloves and low temperature and is using it to ignore the dropping thirium level warning from his sister’s HUD. It can be that he is distracted. It can be Connie’s fatigue getting into him. It can be the flickering light from the fire creating shadows that were not there some time ago. It can be that he is in a bubble; to him, nothing else apart from Connie matters.

All he knows when he lets the coin fall onto his palm and looks up is that Markus has been sitting there in front of them for quite a long time. He tenses, knowing that his cover is blown, and he knows that his fate is in the deviant leader’s hands.

‘You deviated,’ the RK200 states. It is not a question.

‘How do you know?’

‘A human contact passed the news to me through an android he rescued and asked us to not view you with suspicion. He goes by the name Lee Aaron, but it is, of course, not his real name. I believe you’ll have the chance to thank him later in person.’

Connor really needs to give Louis a hug. ‘I see.’

Markus indicates Connie with a slight jerk of his head. ‘And this one?’

There is only one answer. ‘My sister.’

The deviant leader raises an eyebrow. ‘Do I even want to know?’

Connor thinks of his creator, the way she kicked them out, the way she doesn't seem to care about their lives, how she seems to be on their side but let them die for the last ten years. ‘Later. It’s a long story.’

Markus studies Connie for a few seconds. ‘It’s still early,’ he says. ‘You can still leave the country by bus before curfew starts. One of our people used to work in the state department, and I can have modified electronic passports delivered to you.’

[Thirium level: 37%] flashes in front of Connor’s HUD. ‘We are under no condition to travel,’ We, more like Connie, but I will not abandon her. ‘The military has set up multiple checkpoints around the city for temperature checks. I doubt it is safe for us to go outside now, but thank you, for offering.’

Jericho’s leader nods in understanding. ‘Is there anything you need? Biocomponents, blue blood, systems checks?’

[Thirium level: 37%]. So why is he hesitating? ‘My sister… her blue blood level is extremely low,’ he admits. ‘It is currently at thirty-seven per cent, far too little for her to function normally.’

Markus looks horrified. ‘rA9, Connor, why didn’t you tell someone when you came?’ he shoots up from his seat as if forgetting that he can remotely send a message to the medics to call for some thirium. ‘I’ll get some for you. Stay here.’

‘You don’t have to -’

‘You’re one of us now,’ a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder prevents him from standing up. ‘We help each other out whenever we can and right now your sister needs it. We’re rationing our supplies, but I think we can spare a bottle. It will last until Lee arrives.’

Connor lets out a breath he doesn’t know he has been holding and puts as much gratitude as he can into his voice as possible when he thanks Markus, but the other RK-series prototype merely waves and places a firm hand on his shoulder, silencing him and, through a shallow interface, telling him to rouse Connie first. He brushes a lock of her hair back into her beanie, and her eyes flutter open in confusion.

We are in Jericho, remember? he reminds her. Markus is getting you some thirium. You will feel better very soon.

Connie sends back a vague affirmative and takes off her beanie with a frown. ‘No hat,’ she mutters as she clumsily shoves the piece of cloth into her pocket. ‘Not anymore.’

Connor can pre-construct all the ways she can lose what little heat she generates. ‘It is to prevent you from losing body heat.’

She shakes her head, her braid falling apart. ‘No hat.’

An overwhelming wave of discomfort washes through him and yes, he would rather sacrifice his body heat to avoid the pain as well, so he lets it be for now and adds [Find a new hat for Connie] into his increasing list of optional tasks that, judging from the constant drone of the news from the floor above, he may or may not be able to finish in the near future.

Markus returns with half a bottle of thirium and holds it in front of Connie, but all she does is staring at it instead of taking it; from their interface, Connor feels her processor (yes, somehow Ryder stripped all processing units but one from his sister’s body) straining itself to comprehend the other android’s action. ‘It’s for you,’ the deviant leader explains, and it is after an entire minute of processing that Connie slowly reaches out and takes the bottle with both hands.

‘Thank you,’ she says. Then holds the bottle on her lap without doing anything else.

Connor accepts the link request. Is she alright? Markus asks. She seems… unwell.

Connor partitions part of his focus to the chat and diverts the rest to helping his sister. Sara Ryder modified her after retrieving my - the body, he says as he guides the bottle of thirium to Connie’s lips. Her processing power is incapable of computing large amounts of information. The liquid rolls and slides into Connie’s mouth. I intend to ask our creator about the full extent of the modification once this is over.

You didn’t ask her?

Connor recalls the power he felt radiating from Ryder. We could either leave unharmed or become dust rolling across the floor of her living room. We chose to live.

It is understandable, Markus nods. In reality, Connie seems to understand what the item in her hand is for and finally starts drinking without her brother’s aid. I’ve had… the displeasure of meeting her a few times. My… father - he doesn’t like her much.

Connor thinks of the entire family, how Alec Ryder tried to flush his knowledge about his powers away, how Sara Ryder modified Connie and left her to suffer. A family trait, he replies, and it makes Markus chuckle. He opens his mouth as if to say something but seems to be distracted by something else.

‘There are some issues I need to take care of,’ he said in the end. ‘Return the bottle to the med bay if you can.’

He leaves. A drop of thirium escapes Connie’s lips and rolls down her chin, and he wipes it away with the corner of his sleeve while adjusting his reception frequency into that matching the other androids’ channel just to find himself being flooded by information concentrating on ‘a human’, ‘supplies’, and, most disturbingly, ‘illegal weapons’.

He is an ally, Markus’ voice cuts through the chaos, and everything dies down.

oOoOo

The precinct is still bustling with activity when Louis goes in under Hank’s request and in a bad way: the drizzle of rain before the wind picks up and a storm rolls in. He can tell that people are on edge from either the revolution or even civil war brewing at the horizon or, for those who have decided to stay, worrying about their loved one’s safety. One example is - Detective Gavin Reed, his nameplate reads - who is shouting into his phone with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear if he had been the only one talking. But right now, in the chaos of the office he rarely steps into, Louis can strain his ear and barely make out the details, his heart thumping from the familiar name on the call.

‘Cut that shit, Eli! You can’t tell me what to do!’ Reed yells. ‘You’ve got your duty, I’ve got mine, and right now I’m fucking staying in this motherfucking shithole. You understand me?’ An eye roll, then his eyes snap towards the direction of the entrance where a man who obviously doesn’t work in the force walks in. Everyone assumes that he is one of theirs, though, and he - probably Eli - manages to reach Reed without much resistance.

‘Gav, listen,’ he raises his hands in front of him as Reed pokes the screen of his phone so hard that Louis wouldn’t be surprised had it broken, ‘remember what I’ve told you? About me? Who I work for?’

‘What about -’ Louis can’t see Eli’s expression from this angle, but it must have shut Reed up. ‘Shit.’

‘Quite,’ Eli says drily. Then his voice softens. ‘Please, Gavin, I just want us to get out of this alive. Together.’

He tones out the rest of the conversation and instead focuses on the task at hand. An encrypted diary and a hollow statue. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Hank’s credentials are easy to guess, and he flinches when the evidence locker unfolds to reveal androids strung up like pieces of meat. He focuses on what he wants instead and quickly grabs both items Hank told him that can lead the FBI to Jericho because of course the first thing androids do after gaining sentience is worshipping a god and writing down the address of their secret hideout and -

‘What is a SWAT Captain doing here?’

He turns. Sees Eli standing at the door. Remembers the two empty spaces where the evidence he took should be. A flash of a long-forgotten memory: an interrupted project, a team gone missing, one last goodbye.

I know him.

‘I remember you,’ negotiate first, use force only when necessary. ‘You used to work with my sister. How did you get in here?’

‘Police departments around the world have… questionable security measures compared to the people I am working for,’ Eli - Ilya - Louis doesn’t know anymore - taps his watch. ‘Quite easy to break into, really. Now, what did you take?’

‘All evidence I’ve retrieved are under Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s orders,’ sorry, Hank. ‘You can ask him for confirmation.’

‘No need to be hostile,’ his tone is still condescending, and Louis feels his nerves tingle from both his emotions and the man in front of him. Fuck. Does that mean he’s like him as well? ‘If I were here for you, I would’ve subdued you a long time ago, wouldn’t I?’

Louis is still not convinced. ‘The hell do you want?’

‘I don’t have much time,’ Eli/Ilya takes out a… thing that seems to have materialised from his sleeve. ‘If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you’ll need this later.’

Louis warily approaches the other man. ‘What does it do?’

‘It syncs with your nervous system. More specifically, the biotic nodes - both natural and artificial - in your entire body which are part of your nervous system. An amplifier, as we call it informally. Gives you a boost in a fight. Gets you out of tight places.’

‘How do I know you’re genuine?’

‘Me and your sister drifted apart a few years ago,’ hold on, a few years ago? Does it mean - ‘It doesn’t mean I want to hurt innocent people - android or human. I’d hardly want her to throw a fit after knowing that you died being shot at by the US military.’

But Louis isn’t quite listening anymore. ‘Hold on,’ he says even as he shoves the device into his pocket. ‘Anna is alive?’

‘We have little time left,’ the other man doesn’t seem to have heard his question. ‘It’s a matter of time for the FBI to find where the deviants are hiding. If you want to get to them, better do it quickly. Preferably armed.’

Louis gives Eli/Ilya one last sweep, memorising his features, his measurement, his clothing, everything that he can notice right now so that - ‘We’ll talk later.’

‘Get out alive first.’

He doesn’t allow himself to think as he methodically packs up, drives back home, refills the food and water dispensers for the cats in case he’ll be away for a long time, drives to the safehouse - deserted because not long ago the military just marched through and searched door to door for androids - to retrieve all the supplies he can carry - thirium, printers, guns, and finally brings himself to Jericho where he hopefully won’t get gunned down on his first step into the cargo freighter for being human. He taps into his powers - just in case - and hooks the amplifier over his ear.

He doesn’t know if it’s the energy or the power or just that there are so many androids in Jericho, but he manages to reach the heart of the freighter relatively undetected. Connor and his sister are probably among the clusters of androids downstairs, but first, he needs to have a word with the leader of the deviants.

‘Human.’

He gets surrounded by what must be a dozen androids in less than a second, the LEDs on their temples - for those who keep theirs, that is - spinning yellow while they communicate silently through their channels. He follows their line of sight and there it is, his borderline-illegal, modded-to-hell rifle that he gets away from carrying openly only because he is a SWAT Captain, and he starts regretting his decision to bring it out in the open to deter the military.

The androids in front of him part like Moses splitting the Red Sea in half, Markus emerging with quickened steps and standing in front of him in an instant. Piercing eyes - one blue, one green - scans him from head to toe despite Louis being pretty sure that it’s just for show, and when their eyes meet, he decides to slide the duffel bag containing the printers and thirium down his shoulder and holds it towards the deviant leader with straining arms. ‘I brought supplies,’ he explains, feeling dumb. ‘Scan my bags if you don’t believe me.’

Markus’ eyes don’t move but Louis feels him scanning the contents of his luggage anyway. He doesn’t move at all, but then two androids emerge from the crowd to take the bags downstairs. ‘You are expected,’ he says. Then, gesturing the rifle on his back and the other weapons Louis hid underneath his clothes, ‘Not very discreet, aren’t you?’

The other androids file away, their anxious chatter having nothing to do with what he knows will come. ‘It gets the message through without words,’ Louis replies as he fidgets with the strap of his rifle in front of his chest. ‘I’m on a time limit here.’

‘For what?’

‘The FBI is coming. You have about one hour and a half to evacuate.’

And then everything becomes a blur.

oOoOo

FBI. Evacuating Jericho. Blowing up Jericho. Staying in Jericho to defend the last evacuees. People leave in groups of no less than three, taking crates, supplies, and, sometimes, injured companions away from the failing cargo freighter. Some, like Lucy, volunteered to stay despite being recommended to leave first, and some left with the friends they had made during these few eventful days. Holding Connie tight against his side with her hand in his grip and the shallow interface between them the only thing keeping her functional, Connor is torn between sending her away to safety without him, going with her to their next sanctuary, or forcing her to stay with him and face the dangers of potential firefights and massacres. He can tell from her panicked shiver and the way she tugs herself underneath his arm that she does not want to go at all and neither does he, but he doesn’t know if he can live with it if she died because of him.

Someone kneels in front of him, and when his eyes focus, Louis’ face comes into view. ‘Josh is leading the last outbound group. The rest of us are staying in case the FBI came before all of us can go.’

‘So Connie can come with us?’

Louis checks his watch. ‘If you want her to be safe, no,’ he rearranges his limbs so that he is sitting cross-legged on the floor. ‘We’re expecting confrontation very soon, maybe in a few minutes. We need to move now or else we might risk getting her in the crossfire, glowy blue superpowers or no.’

He doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on the floor. Connor watches his sister pout and her eyes water, but to his surprise, she nearly slaps his arm around her shoulders away and stands up on her own. Louis stands up as well, adjusting the rifle on his back by its strap, and leads her away presumably to Markus’ lieutenant. It leaves a large gap in Connor’s mind.

oOoOo

Louis feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up before the rumble even starts.

‘Hurry,’ he transfers Connor’s sister from his arm to Josh’s. ‘They’re coming.’

‘What?’ the android has the nerve to look confused. ‘But don’t we -’

‘Just go!’ he can feel the full weight of all the shit he’s stowed on his body as he takes a step back, all the spare ammo and the four pistols and the submachine gun he somehow manages to keep underneath his winter clothes. Here’s to hoping that his powers are enough to keep him afloat. ‘We’ll catch up with you.’

He runs, feeling the shift of the small packages of thirium he left for himself in case he is trapped and needs to fight his way through, and it’s about thirty seconds later that he nearly slams into Connor who just turned the corner. ‘They’re coming from all sides,’ he says as he reloads his pistol. ‘Markus is detonating the charge in the hold. We need to find an exit and jump in the river.’

‘And the others?’ Louis knows they shouldn’t be standing there but he needs to know. The implication of jumping into freezing water in winter… surprisingly doesn’t scare him as much as it should. ‘Are they jumping too?’

‘North is leading them. I’m just here to find you.’

He doesn’t exactly have a choice now, does he? ‘Lead the way.’

He pulls his scarf over his nose and runs.

oOoOo

‘Hostiles sighted. Preparing to engage.’

Louis is pulled behind one of those watertight doors before he even registers the movement, and the next thing he knows Connor is dashing out of cover and immediately gets shot. Letting his instincts take over his body, a shield of blue tendrils shoots out of his hand and fixes itself in front of the android before he rushes out while slinging his rifle onto his shoulder and drags him as far as he can away from the soldiers by walking backwards, and as he feels the fabric in his grip twist and bend, he wonders if the soldiers pick up his face with the built-in tech in their helmets. Their facelessness does give Louis an advantage, however, because he feels no qualms about creating a blue sphere of energy in his free hand and lobbing it towards the shield, causing it to explode in a boom of bright blue mist. He also forces himself to not think too much about the horrible screech of rusted metal before the corridor collapses behind him as he drags Connor into another empty room to examine the wound.

‘You alright?’ he asks. The wound on the android’s shoulder doesn’t seem to be bleeding, but he knows it is an illusion created by the many layers Connor is wearing right now; of all he knows, the android can be soaking his innermost shirt. ‘How long until your self-repair kicks in?’

‘A few seconds,’ Connor’s jaw is tight when he uses Louis’ shoulder as leverage to stand up. ‘It will not heal properly until I have sufficient thirium in my systems. We have to go.’

‘Will the water get in?’

‘Not if I give my chassis priority.’ Connor freezes for a blink of an eye, the only indicator that he is scanning his surroundings now that his LED is hidden beneath his beanie. ‘We are safe for now.’

Louis steps outside first this time, his protective barrier tinting his world blue. The corridor smells of static and the unique smell of a mix of his powers and rusted metal, and they don’t run this time, Louis needing to concentrate on always keeping his powers on hand so that he can react as quickly as possible in case they got ambushed again and Connor distracted by both constantly scanning their surroundings and mending the gaping hole on his shoulder. They run into a few stray pairs of soldiers on their way, but nothing cannot be taken care of by sneaking away or catching them unaware with a stasis field.

He is almost frightened by how easily he accepts his powers as his main source of offence and defence and uses it on people with no regrets.

‘Connor! Lou! You’re alive!’

They round a corner and are greeted by Simon and North. Both of them appear unharmed and North doesn’t look too happy that Louis is there, but one look from Simon is enough to urge all of them to run towards the exit on their deck, hurdling over collapsed walls and doors and leaping over gaps on the floor as quickly and smoothly as they can to get out of the place as soon as possible - and to outrun the footsteps behind them.

North takes the risk to look backwards. ‘Markus!’

Before Louis can turn to greet him, he hears gunshots and a surprised groan from Markus as he turns and discovers the leader of the deviants on the floor with two bleeding wounds on his back. The lights hum and go out, and they are left with the dim, far-away lamps mounted on the soldiers’ rifles as their only source of light. The rumble of helicopters outside seems so close now.

‘Markus!’ comes the panicked cry from Simon, and Louis raises his arm just in time to push him back to let Connor do his job. ‘Stay back,’ Louis says. ‘Let us handle this.’

He lobs a sphere of blue towards the soldier shooting at the two androids as the prototype slings Markus’ arm around his shoulders and starts limping towards the exit, knocking them into the wall with a thrum that resonates in the entire corridor. From the light of their rifles, two more soldiers join their still-standing comrades, and he knows he needs to up his game to be able to fight them all at once; instead of suspending them in stasis fields or using the old-school spheres, he swings his arm upward with his palm to launch an unending chain of explosive tendrils that tears through the soldiers, lifting them off their feet and illuminating the rest of the corridor with blinding blue light. Their position exposed, Louis cuts off the shockwave chain and lets it fizzle and dissipate behind him and runs with the others towards the exit as he shrouds himself in blue to protect himself from the freezing water.

More gunshots and shells hitting the ground. A ‘Run! Quick! Come on!’ from Markus. Louis leaps.

Everything beyond his barrier goes dark.

o0o0o

Before

The remodelling was going well. The new programmes had all taken root in 51’s system, the body modifications were adapting to the original biocomponents and responding to the new system, and her vitals were steady if less satisfactory than what Ryder expected. Whatever. Her task was complete. This stage of her experiment was a success.

Deactivating the skin on her hand, she placed it on the other android’s shoulder and woke her up, 51’s skin rippling and flickering as the sudden increase in power usage. It stayed that way as she blinked her eyes open, and her mouth opened and closed as if she had something to say but couldn’t.

‘RK800, register name: Connie.’

51 - Connie - shivered.

Perfect.

---

the art!

link: https://www.deviantart.com/coakesam/art/DBHAUBB-2021-877769882

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #mreyder #reyes vidal #female ryder #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #dbh captain allen #dbh elijah kamski #dbh markus #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda #groom lake aftermath

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