#but he still keeps his mouth shut about his weapon in front of everyone else

[ratwithhands]

I'm drafting a sketch comic rn since my friends wanted a better visual on Emmet's lobotomizer 💀 This hopefully shouldn't take too long, here's my favourite page so far.

Not that it affects the story in any way but I think it'd be cool if the respirator and visor just form over top of his face when he needs it, like a force field. The electricity is coming from them activating and spreading over his face.

Also fun fact about Emmet and his weapon: Emmet refrains from talking about it to new recruits or people he hasn't spoken to before because it inevitably ends in disgusted faces and mental notes to not hang around him. It's one of the things he especially doesn't like about getting transferred to the JAKDF because he has to explain it to several new captains and commanders, as well as officers and recruits. In the meantime, he at least gets to utilize some more normal weaponry as he adjusts to the new people and routine.

[grapejuicestyless]

Letter To An Old Poet

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: She would have given him the moon, and he only ever realized he wanted it until she couldn’t anymore. Part two to Moon Song

“I think that you’re special.”

He smiled, hands wrapped around the dead lumber he sharpened with his pocket knife, the scraping sound was unavoidably heard swirling around the July fog. The rope creaked each time the wind blew us into a soft sway, and the grass beneath us tickled our bottoms as we hung dangerously close to the soil and it’s roots.

“You think?” He laughed through his teeth, scoffing softly, the breath between his sighs confirming he didn’t really care about my choice of words.

“I know.” I promised him, looking at the way the moon highlighted his waves and the stars casted a glow over his cheeks.

He was focused on his makeshift spear still, carving away like his life depended on it, like it meant something to him.

The rope threatened to snap when I crawled over to him. I didn’t even have the heart to pull his knives and his weapons from his palms, I simply settled between the bends of his arms and laid contently on his chest. I felt the flakes of oak falling on my back, and his arms squeezed me a little tighter as he worked.

“So needy.” He laughed, because he knew it was true. I would lay between him and a flame to feel the comfort of his touch.

I loved him irrevocably, naively, delicately. My whole self was poured into the glass that was him. Yet, he hadn’t been able to fall in love with my overflow. Maybe I didn’t under it yet then, but soon I would.

“I just want you all to myself.” I breathed against his chest, my fingers fiddling with the loose threads on his shirt, one I was already planning on fixing for him. Little acts of service, touch, kindness, and pure love. All languages I spoke only for him.

“You’re so selfish.” He joked.

“Shut up, you dork.” I love you.

“Oh, so now I’m a dork?” I love you.

I nodded my head, smiling and pressing my forearms against his broad chest. I felt his knife settle against the back, closed and not wielding any threats. JJ would never hurt me, not yet, anyway.

I love you.

“Maybe I should just find someone who appreciates me.” He teased. Did he know how hard I loved him?

“Shut up, Maybank!” I laughed into his shoulder. I love you.

“Make me.” He retorted.

So, I shut him up, and I kissed him hard, in the dark, in the hammock.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I loved you.

“How many more times do I have to promise you I don’t want her!” JJ shouted. It seemed like that’s all we ever did anymore. Fought, cried, hugged, and disappeared from each other’s lives.

“You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t, please, enlighten me, Y/n. Because I’m fucking confused and nobody’s telling me shit!” He pulled at the roots of his hair, dirt kicking up behind him. We walked along a windy road, the one that branched off from the Chateau. I had simply left the last things of his I had left to remind me of what I lost in a box on the porch. But he’s a leech, and he had to have known I would give him back his clothing, because even as selfish as I was with him, it wasn’t mine to keep to myself anymore.

“You think you’re a good person, just because you won’t punch me in the stomach.”

Silence fell over us, my eyes looking up into his, and his mouth hung open like a fish out of water, an idiot trying to make himself sound like a poet. But he never had a way with his words, that was always my dealing of cards.

“And still, I loved you. I don’t know why, I just do.” I spoke softly, sniffling as I used all of my willpower to not cry in front of the man I swore would never see me weak again. Not after he made a fool of me in front of everyone I cared about. The same people I would never get the privilege of meeting again, because our friends were just his at the end of the day.

“Good, then love me. Let yourself love me, because I love you. I love you more than anything else and I can’t…I can’t lose that!” He pleaded, grasping at my limbs like threads that clung to the sleeves of his shirts.

“No, no. JJ, I can’t. You’re not someone who gets to be special in my life anymore. Not then, and not now. Maybe I believed you deserved it then, maybe I believed it when I watched you kissing her, and maybe I believed it when you promised me she meant nothing, but I can’t believe it now.”

“Why not!” He begged for an answer.

“Because you’re not special, you’re evil.” I spoke softly. “You don’t have to hit a girl to hurt her. And you’ve hurt me more than you could ever have known.”

He could have watched me fall down the stairs, and he wouldn’t have shown remorse, so I wasn’t shocked at the stone faced boy that stood in front of me, confused, conflicted, maybe.

“I still think you’re special. No, I know you are.”

I nodded as he spoke. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. The girl he loved would have laid on a wire for him, but the woman I was now would tell him to find another way. She wouldn’t sacrifice herself for a boy who couldn’t love her the way she deserved, and she was coming to terms with understanding that, that was okay. Because the truth was, he had treated me like his equal, and so I became that, but I’m better than him, and he should know that by now.

“You don’t even know me.” I cried, pulling myself together as soon as I broke. I sucked up my tears in a wet mess, my knuckles shaking, dripping with the tears they tried to stop.

“Of course I do, I know you. I love you.”

I shook my head, backing away, even as he followed in my footsteps.

“You hesitated, JJ. You hesitated when I asked if you loved her. When you love someone, you don’t even have to think about saying no to a question like that. If you knew me, if you knew what I would have done for you, for us, you would have known I would have never done that to you.” I spoke bitterly, closing my eyes to stop the tears, I hiccuped between breaths.

“She’s my best friend.” JJ spoke like his reason was obvious.

“And you were mine.”

Silence. Cold, hard, silence. It’s what hits when both people realize they’ve come to a silent ending in their conversation. We didn’t have to keep arguing for us, because there was no more us, and the silence was just the fact of that settling in.

I’m ready to finally walk into a room without looking for JJ. My eyes wander over every corner looking for the boy whose arm I hung off of for so many years. The boy who ripped my youth from me, and the boy I will always be thankful for because now I know that only dogs appreciate the gifts I brought for him.

I want to be happy, with or without him. And soon, I know it will happen for me. I am too good to waste my energy on someone who couldn’t love half as hard as I did.

Maybe he couldn’t have. But maybe he just realized it too late for us.

But I’m ready to love without him, and I’m ready to be happy.

I can’t feel it yet, but I am waiting.

[awkwardgtace]

Good Hunting

hey hey gt july day 6. Stories might slow down after this one. Been a bit busy and couldn't prep plus a week long trip in less than a week. I will still do the entire month of them though!

Ian goes out into the forest to prove he can be hunter like the others in his village. It doesn't go as planned.

Good Hunting

“You’re weak.”

“A waste of our time.”

“Just be quiet and accept what you get.”

“All you are is a burden!”

The words echoed in Ian’s head as he trudged through the forest. He would prove he could be useful to the village. A hunter like everyone else. He’d said as much as he left. On his own he would hunt something for the village. Something the others had to use a group for. He’d bring it back and prove they were wrong. Prove he belonged.

Ian ran all the lessons through his head again and again. All the ways to stay undetected. Keep his movement slow and quiet. Avoid anything that could potentially make a noise under his weight. He wasn’t the perfect choice for a hunter, but he could do it. He’d prove it to the village and himself.

The sound of a snort made him freeze. Luck could be on his side just for once. He held his breath, pulled a sword from his side, and waited. The snort sounded alongside a rustle in the brush. It just had to walk away. The easiest kills were from behind. That’s what he’d been taught.

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side. A gigantic boar’s face broke through the brush in front of him. He fell back in shock. The warm breath against his skin made him shudder. Ian forced himself to his feet. The boar snorted at him. It was bigger than anything the others brought back. That didn’t matter. If he was smart he could win.

Ian inched back from the boar. Its beady black eyes stayed trained on him, but it didn’t charge. His sword felt heavy in his hand. The boar scraped one hooved foot against the ground. He tensed. It moved.

As he dodged to the side, Ian swiped his sword at the boar. The metal snapped on contact. Ian’s blood turned to ice as he watched half his sword hit the ground. The boar reared on him again. Ian turned and ran.

The boar’s steps matched the loud thumps of his heart in his ears. There were two options. Take the path towards the village or go deeper into the forest. It should be an easy decision, but the sword made it hard. He was given one supposedly used by the other hunters, but it snapped. Ian closed his eyes and veered off the path into an unknown danger ahead.

He tore through the brush as he neared it. Stumbled over roots and fallen branches. Begged for some the boar to lose interest. The heavy grunts of the animal were right on his heels. He tried to duck under a low branch, but his foot got caught in an exposed root. He fell forward, the boar’s shadow eclipsed him immediately. He flipped onto his back, forced to face the monster about to kill him.

The boar knew it had won. It sauntered over lazily. Confident its prey couldn’t escape. The awful stench of its breath was the last thing Ian would ever smell. The thing's mouth came close to him. The snout pressed against his head. He could feel as it smelled him. The way the air was pulled in.

The idiocy of his choice settled on him then. This boar was big enough to bite him in half. He never could have escaped. Ian tried to use the broken sword to at least injure it, but the metal wasn’t strong enough. The boar knocked it out of Ian’s hand with a huff. He watched, tears in his eyes, as the broken weapon landed just out of reach. Even if it wouldn’t help, it gave him hope while he held it.

The boar’s mouth settled right above his head. He stared at what was about to kill him. Tried to be brave, but couldn’t keep himself from squeezing his eyes shut. That only made the moment worse. The boar’s weight grew as it settled in for its meal. It knocked the breath out of him. He swore it was enough to crush the life out of him. That would be a better way to die than the boar eating him. 

The boar squealed. Loud enough it made his ears ring. If that wasn’t bad enough he heard a loud, familiar crack. A bone had broken. He waited for the pain, but it never came. Instead the squeal grew louder.

Ian tried to move his arms. The boar’s legs started to scrape the ground around him, the squeal morphed into more of a screech. He never would have imagined this was how boars handled their prey. Another crack. Louder. Sickening. The boar’s weight increased. Ian couldn’t breathe. It lasted for only a moment before the weight was gone.

He took deep breaths as he tried to sit up. His body was sore. Only sore. That unfortunately made sense once he looked up. The boar, its body rather, was in the air. Held by a hand that went up and up and up to a person’s pale face. Ian hadn’t heard of giants before. For a second he thought he might be saved.

Then the stranger opened his mouth. Ian watched as a forked tongue poked out between fangs. Dread filled him. There was only one creature that big with those features. He couldn’t pull his eyes away as the being shoved the boar into his mouth. It was gone after a few swallows. Ian was so much smaller than the boar; he wasn’t even enough for a mouthful.

“Lucky I showed up, kid,” the giant creature said. Ian scrambled back as a scaled green tail slithered into view. The man rested his arm on it, as if it was natural.

“A-a n-naga?!” Ian croaked. The naga’s slit blue eyes rolled. The green tail slithered out of view. Ian scrambled away from it. He couldn’t let this happen.

“Yeah, yeah,” the naga waved a hand, “I’m a big scary naga. Clearly here to eat you after I saved you.”

The biting sarcasm told him enough. At least that he wasn’t a meal, but Ian couldn’t get rid of his fear. He looked towards the sword. He knew it wouldn’t help, but he’d feel safer. The naga’s eyes didn’t leave him. It wasn’t smart to dive for the sword… He did it anyway. 

As soon as his body left the ground, hands surrounded him. It was more terrifying when he saw the skin was a rich brown rather than rosy pale. He tried to fight against the hands holding him. This one had to be a lot smaller. It needed both hands to hold him. The sword could maybe pierce this skin.

“Calm down,” the new naga said. Ian ignored the way it sounded. Focused only on escape. If he got out, maybe he could hunt something smaller. With a sword barely stronger than the wooden training weapons…

Slowly, the fight left him. The swords of his village were known for their strength and durability. A hunter’s sword never would have broken against the boar’s hide. He was given that one on purpose. The village didn’t want him. There was no one there for him since his brother died. Going back would only bring him more pain.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” the one holding him said. This time Ian couldn’t ignore how familiar it sounded. That made the idea of giving up all the sweeter. “I’m going to take you home.”

“I can’t go home,” Ian whispered as he went limp. Apparently that made the naga want to see him. One of the hands moved. It took a while for him to choose to look at this naga’s face. A naga was a better death than a boar. They might at least make it painless. 

“Ian?!” the naga shouted. It made him flinch. He stared up at the eyes of the naga. A bit of his fear came back. He didn’t know any nagas. “You shouldn’t be out here… what happened? Why can’t you go home?”

A finger rubbed his arm. It was familiar. Just like the voice. Ian forced himself to really look at the naga that held him. He recognized the green eyes, even if they had slit pupils now. The face was one he’d seen a million times. The sharp features that almost hid how kind the person really was…

“Mik?” Ian asked, his eyes wide. “Is that really you? Y-you’re alive?!”

“Wait, this is the one you always talk about? The little brother?” the other naga’s voice made Ian flinch. The fingers around him curled in. Shielded him. It reminded him of the way his brother would protect him from the others in the village.

“Alec, not now,” Mik’s voice was stern. The glare was familiar too. The second the eyes were back on him they were soft and concerned. Just like his brother… “It’s me Ian. You’re safe, I promise.”

“How-I-” Ian swallowed to try and force the words. “You died… You never came back after a trip to gather herbs. That’s what everyone said.”

The fingers curled in around him more. He was brought up to meet Mik’s eyes. Now he could see the fangs the brother he knew didn’t have. A finger curled over him and Ian finally noticed the sharp, black claws. He wanted to trust this version of his brother, even if it ended in his death.

“Well, that’s a bit of a long story,” Mik said. The way he turned his head away was the same. How he looked up to avoid answering. A lot bigger, but the same.

“Come on Mikhail,” Alec said. Ian jumped as a massive arm landed on Mik’s shoulders. He could see just how small his brother was in comparison. “You’re gonna avoid it still. I’ll tell him if you won’t.”

“Alec let me-” Ian was grabbed by the bigger naga. Dropped in a palm with fingers he couldn’t hope to match.

“The kid here was always a naga. Sometimes a kid hatches that looks human. Sometimes they are human. Either way they’re given to a village that knows about the situation. Didn’t happen for Mikhail here.”

“Why not?” Ian asked. Mik’s fingers were on Alec’s hand. Clearly trying to take him back.

“Hunters from your village saw two nagas with a little human. Killed them and took the kid. Brought him home and gave him to some others.”

“Alec!” Alec’s hand moved down enough that Mik's fingers found him. Ian was wrapped in them. It almost made him feel like a doll. He was set back in Mik’s cupped palms. “None of that matters anymore. Ian, why can’t you go home?”

Ian looked back up at Alec. The larger naga shook his head and looked disappointed. Mik was probably right. The past didn’t matter anymore. At least not all of it. Ian had questions he needed answered. Ones that he had to know before he could explain why he couldn’t go home.

“Why did you leave?” Ian asked. His voice cracked as he did. Revealing his pain.

“Ian…” Mik pulled him close. Pressed him against his chest. The closest thing to a hug Ian had since the day his brother never came home. “I didn’t have a choice… The others saw scales on my legs and made me leave. I was going to leave on my own, but they noticed my height change… I’m actually still growing.”

“That’s right,” Alec said. “Kid’s gonna be as big as me eventually.”

“Is that why you didn’t come get me?” Ian wiped at the tears he couldn’t stop. “I’m just a human. Is it because I’m too small or because they killed your parents? Do you hate me? ”

“Of course I don’t hate you!” The pressure around him grew. Only for pale fingers to force their way into the small spot of safety. Ian was forced to stare up at Alec. Face a lot softer, kinder.

“He did try. It’s how I found him. Those hunters nearly killed him when he got close… Which reminds me, why didn’t that sword of yours hurt the boar? The metal is strong enough to cut my skin.”

Both nagas stared at him. He couldn’t avoid the question. Alec had a knowing look. As if he had the answer Ian didn’t want to give. Why he couldn’t go home. Why the sword broke. He bit his lip, but Alec moved away. Came back with the sword pinched between claws. Ian wanted to come up with a lie, but the larger naga smelled it.

“This isn’t the right metal,” he growled. Ian hugged himself. Mik’s fingers curled in around him.

“Ian, did you sneak out? Is that why you can’t go back?” Mik asked. Ian didn’t want to answer. They said Mik tried to get him, but that didn’t mean he was wanted. Two gigantic nagas and he was a human. Eventually he’d barely be the size of Mik’s fingers. He would be a burden around the naga too.

“No…” he whispered. The fingers surrounded him completely. He couldn’t see anything but skin anymore.

“They sent you out here, didn’t they?” Mik’s voice was harsh. Angry. Ian shook, he couldn’t remember the last time he heard Mik angry. The fingers moved and revealed him again, he didn’t want to see him. “With a bad weapon… You can’t go back because they don’t expect you back.”

Ian nodded. The words wouldn’t leave him. He expected to be dropped. Left behind how the village expected. Killed by something big enough to crush him. Maybe Mik or Alec would take pity on him and kill him fast. So he didn’t starve or get crushed later.

“Guess you should go get the kid set up,” Alec’s voice snapped Ian out of his thoughts. He looked up, shocked to see tears on Mik’s face. That one he’d never seen. “I’ll catch something for you kids to eat. I’m the adult and all that.”

“You still haven’t told me your age,” Mik mumbled. 

Fingers curled over Ian again. He was brought close to his brother’s heart. It sounded the same. Just how it did when they were the same size. After nightmares or bad days of training. There was just enough space he could see the trees pass by. He had no idea what it meant to get set up.

“...I tried to get you a lot Ian,” Mik whispered. “Even after Alec found me. I couldn’t get close enough to our house to get your attention without alerting the whole village.”

“What would you have done if you got my attention?” Ian asked.

“Asked if you wanted to come with me.” Mik paused and opened his hands enough Ian met his eyes. “Neither of us ever fit in there.”

“So… you aren’t going to send me to some other village?”

“Not unless you want to go. Alec actually knows a few of the villages that talk to nagas. He’s gotten stuff in case I managed to reach you and you wanted to stay. I told him you were good at making weapons so he got some of those tools. Mentioned using his claws to make them so you could go in the forest and keep the danger away.”

“So… you really want me to be around?”

Mik brought Ian up to his face. It was intimidating and comforting. A face Ian knew well. One that had been his rock. The only one who tried to understand him. Now they were literally different species. They weren’t the same or even close to being similar. Ian was going to be smaller than his fingers. That didn’t stop Mik from pressing his forehead to his hand. Just like all the times when Mik would talk Ian out of his spirals. Foreheads pressed together so he couldn’t look away.

“I missed you Ian. Of course I want my little brother around,” Mik whispered.

“I missed you too,” Ian sobbed. An action seeded in idiotic bravery turned out better than he could have imagined. His brother was back and he’d figure out Alec eventually.

[emma-m-black]

The Daughter - Chapter Ten

Tim Gutterson x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

This chapter contains an explicit sex scene(s)

Tim Gutterson comes to the unconventional aid of one Elenora Crowder, ward of Art Mullen and daughter of Raylan Givens.

This will be a multi chapter story and will get spicy as it goes. This is a rough draft and only slightly edited for grammar and spelling. Just needed to finally get it out because Tim Gutterson is one of my favorite characters, and there is not nearly enough fanfic for him.

Author Master List

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine,

I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this story, makes me wish I was actually editing it to give everything more substance lol 🩷

CHAPTER: Ten

Elenora and Tim had fallen into an easy routine. In the bit they had been seeing each other, things seemed relatively easy and quiet until Elenora decided to pick today as the day to bring coffee to the office. Now she was standing, looking down the barrel of Tim’s gun as the man behind her held a shiv to her throat.

“PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN!”

It had all happened so fast. She was walking by two security guards and the next thing she knew the inmate they were transporting had her flush up against him.

“Let her go.” Tim spoke calmly as he kept his eyes and gun trained on the man holding Elenora.

“Do as I say or I’ll gut her!” The man yelled again, and Elenora could feel the press of the weapon on her skin. Elenora watched as Raylan and Art emerged from the office, guns drawn and pointing towards her, and her eyes got wide as she watched her father grit his teeth before opening his mouth.

“Don’t...” Elenora whispered as she looked to her father.

The man who grabbed her began to back up and Elenora saw the body of an unconscious guard on the ground. She had not seen him go down, everything had happened so fast. “Who are you? You someone important to one of them?” When Elenora did not answer she felt his hold on her tighten uncomfortably and his warm breath hit the side of her face. “What’s your name.”

“Elenora...Elenora Crowder.” She stuttered out as the man continued to back them up and into the locker room. The man kicked the door partially closed so that he and Elenora were just peaking out.

“So who is it? The old man there, is he your daddy?” The man asked as he pointed her towards Art. “Or what about pretty boy there? Got up pretty fast, had his gun on me faster than I would have thought. You belong to him?” The man questioned, and Elenora was sure he was referring to Tim.

Elenora could see her father take a small step forward so quickly she averted her eyes to Tim. “He’s my fiance. He just became a Deputy. We just moved...”

That seemed to tell the man enough, as he pulled them both into the room and slammed the door shut. Once they were inside the room, she watched through a window as everyone in the office moved to keep both her and the man in their sights, and then he pulled the blind shut.

“I’m gonna need to you to move that locker with me. You think you can do that without trying anything?”

“I just want to go home in one piece. I won’t try anything.” Elenora whispered and then she helped to shimmy the locker in front of the door they had come through, blocking that entrance entirely. They then moved towards another window and closed the blinds there as well. Then they reached the door that led into the conference room and the man leaned himself and Elenora into the doorway ever so slightly. It was then she saw her father standing there with his gun in his hands but pointed to the ground.

“There is still a chance to walk back from the cliff here, Wallace. If you just let the woman go, I’ll make sure to it personally that you don’t see any retribution.” Said Art calmly.

“Don’t blow smoke up my ass. Else I might have to bite into this pretty neck and spit blood back in your face!”

Elenora felt a shudder go through her. She had gotten herself out of a scrape not too long ago, but this, this was different, and her purse with her gun was sitting on the floor next to Rachel’s desk. There was nothing to get her out of this situation except for the lawmen in this office.

“Now, Mr Wallace, I’m just trying to resolve this situation before the tactical team gets here and takes all the credit for bringing you out of there.” Art spoke again in a calm voice.

Wallace’s head pushed forward and got closer to hers, his cheek touching her own. “You the shit? They send you in here to ghost me in case this goes further south?”

“The Chief’s a pretty good shot himself.” Raylan said as he cocked his head to the side where Art was standing with his gun drawn, but also pointed to the ground.

“But you’re better.” Wallace spoke and Elenora watched as Raylan nodded his head.

“Yep.” Raylan said simply.

“I’ll talk to you, cause you don’t bullshit me!”

Elenora tried to focus on her breathing as she listened to the two of them talk. She could see her father talking, and another man, shorter and in a suit. She was not sure who he was, but then she saw Tim out of the corner of her eye. He was hugging the wall and watching her with hard eyes.

“You have to resolve this situation without drawing your weapon. Prove something to this suit?” Wallace asked.

Raylan shrugged his shoulders and holstered his weapon. “You were moving around, dragging this poor woman around. I figure it was a fifty fifty I put you down before you cut her. Besides, the point of this exercise is everybody lives.”

Then Elenora was backed up, and the door slammed shut in front of her. Now it was just her and Wallace. “Mr. Wallace?” Elenora whispered, and she felt him pull back slightly from her, but he did not loosen his grip.

“Mr. Wallace. I like that.” He said with a throaty laugh.

“You know this isn’t gonna end well for one of us, right?”

“I am well aware.” Wallace said simply.

Letting a shaky breath leave her lips, Elenora did her best to keep herself calm. “I’m not gonna try anything. Just so you know.” She turned her head just slightly so she could connect her eyes with his. “At the end of all of this, I want us to both be able to walk from this room.”

“You trying to psychology me? Let me guess, you some kind of doctor?”

“Actually, I’m a teacher. Just graduated. Daddy wouldn’t let me go into law enforcement, so I figured teaching was the next best thing.”

“You about to tell me you're pregnant? That you want nothing more than to have kids with that fiance of yours out there? Try to win my pity?”

Elenora actually let out a laugh. “Fuck no, we both decided we are too selfish and too irresponsible to have children.” She thought back to a prior conversation with Tim. That day, they were in the parking garage.

Wallace then pushed her forward and opened the door to look out into the office. He wrapped his arm around tight once again and soon she was looking at her daddy once again. “You think you can pull this off, get everyone safely out of here? Let this pretty one go home to her fiance?”

The hand next to Raylan’s pistol twitched, and Elenora watched as her father’s eyes connected with her own. Normally, she had a good idea of what was going on in his brain, but right now, she had no clue what he was thinking. “I’m sure my colleague would appreciate that.”

“Yeah? Where is he, anyway?” Wallace asked.

It was then the Elenora saw Tim walk out from Art’s office. His gun was holstered and his hands were at his sides. “I’m right here.”

“You gotta tell me how you land this one? She looks way out of your league.”

Tim smiled. “Your tellin’ me. Don’t know why she said yes.”

“I didn’t see no ring on her finger.” Said Wallace.

Shyly, Tim tipped his chin down. “We’re a little untraditional.”

“Really, how’d you two meet darlin’?”

Thinking back to the night she saw Tim in the bar, the first night they slept together, she smiled. “He arrested me.”

Wallace let out a throaty laugh. “Really?”

“Really.” Said Tim. “Indecent exposure. Got naked and stood in a city fountain as part of some scavenger hunt.”

A smirk rose on his lips and for a second Elenora felt like things were going to be okay, that maybe this would all end well. “I broke out of the handcuffs. Think I impressed him.”

“Well shit, woman, I’m impressed.”

“Think you might let the lady go, then?” Raylan asked. “Perhaps we can make a trade of some kind. Is there something you want?”

“You want a list of my demands? You gonna offer me a chopper, a plane, a suitcase full of money?”

The world came crashing back to Elenora as Wallace’s grip tightened painfully around her and she let out a small squeak. “You want a chopper or a plane?” Raylan asked, his eyes going wide as Elenora saw the edge of the blade come into her vision.

“That’s funny, he’s funny. Had any numb nuts ever fallen for that? I mean, really thought he was gonna walk out of a hostage situation, take off in a seven forty-seven and get a hand job of the stewardess, huh?”

“I suppose you’re right? So you gonna offer to exchange yourself for her? Or you romeo, gonna offer yourself up?”

“Nah, don’t think that would be a very smart idea.” Raylan replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I was just thinking that I’m so happy that’s not me with that shiv against my neck. How’d you get that in there, anyway?”

“Keister’d it.” Wallace said simply.

It took everything in Elenora not to dry heave at the thought of the man shit on the knife against her skin.

“Keister’d it?” Raylan said and the vague sound of impressed layering his voice.

“Uh-huh.”

“Now I’m really happy not to be the one with it up against my face.”

With that, Elenora felt herself being pulled back into the locker room and the door being shut once again. Walace moved Elenora to the wall and turned her around, pushing her face into the drywall. He held the back of her head to keep her head in place. “I want you to take that shirt of yours off. Nothing funny and I won’t have to hurt you alright.”

Elenora took a shaky breath in to calm her now wildly beating heart. “I won’t try anything.” She then felt the hand on the back of her head pull away. Keeping herself facing the wall, Elenora unbuttoned the blouse she had been wearing and shrugged it from her shoulders. Thank goodness she had an undershirt on. Once it was in her hand, she held it out to the side of her and waited for Wallace to give her more instructions. She did not like the situation she was in, but he was not coming off as someone who was going to rape her.

“Good, now turn around.” Elenora did as she was told and slowly and with no excess movements, turned herself to face Wallace. “Can you tare a strip off, or do you need me too?”

“No, I think I can do it.”

Wallace waved the shiv at her and Elenora took that as her cue to begin. Pulling at one of the seams, Elenora gave a hard tug, followed by another before the fabric gave way. Once she had torn a strip off, she held it out to Wallace, figuring as to what he was going to do next.

“Good girl, now turn around. Drop the rest of the shirt and hands behind your back.”

Doing as she was told, Elenora let go of the remaining shirt and put her face to the wall once again. Slowly, she brought her hands to rest behind her on the small of her back. A few seconds later, she felt Wallace’s hands on hers as he tied her wrists together. “That tactical team is gonna be here soon, so I’m gonna need you to keep doing as you're told, alright. I’d hate to have to cut that pretty throat of yours.”

Once her hands were secure, she saw Wallace bend over and retrieve her discarded shirt. Quickly, he cut a chunk of the fabric off and then he grabbed her shoulder. Wallace spun her around and pushed her back into the wall. “Sorry miss, but that tact team is going to be here soon and they aren’t going to give me a whole lot of options.”

“I understand.” Whispered Elenora.

Wallace stuffed the wad of fabric into her mouth tightly, and once it was secure, he grabbed her once again and held her in front of himself before opening the door once again. “Hey shooter?” He greeted to those in the room, and Elenora watched as the worry filled the eyes of everyone there at the state she was now in. “You got much experience with this sort of thing?”

Raylan took a deep breath in as he obviously tried to calm himself. “Negotiating with a barricaded suspect? Not really.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job so far. You have established a rapport with the subject. But now you got to make a determination. Is the subject emotionally disturbed?” When Raylan did not answer, Elenora felt the grip on her tighten and the shiv at her neck come into view at her peripheral. “Well, you got an opinion on that?”

“You seem pretty stable. Although you did spend all morning with a shiv up your ass.”

“Well, that leads us to the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Is this situation negotiable? Has the subject expressed a desire to live? Has the subject given a list of needs and demands, and are those needs and demands realistic and achievable? See, I’ve done this before, shooter.”

Raylan spread his arms out to his sides. “Tell me what you want, and we’ll find out.”

“Well, we got a big problem. I’m serving four consecutive life sentences, and there is no parole board in their right mind ever gonna let me back on the street.” Wallace said matter-of-factly.

“So, as part of establishing a rapport with the subject, am I supposed to weep with him over all the unsympathetic parole boards who refuse to release him back into society when he clearly poses it not further danger?”

Wallace let out a laugh, and the shiv backed off slightly from Elenora. “To tell you the truth. I wouldn’t put me back on the street, either. I am dangerous. I just want you to know to stop wasting your time. I mean, you ain’t got nothing you can offer me.”

“I understand my problem.” Spoke Raylan slowly. “What do I get for the man who has everything?”

“Well, when you figure that out, shooter. Why don’t you let me know? Until then, I’m gonna stay in here with my new friend.” Wallace made to pull Elenora back in, but Raylan shot his hands out in surrender.

“No, no, listen. Now wait.” It was now that Elenora could see the wheels turning in her father’s head. Maybe now it was the moment that he realized there was perhaps a way out of this, that Wallace really was not just going to kill her on a whim. “Now, again, I haven’t done this as much as you, but I don’t think that’s the way this works, me guessing at the key to your heart. The way this works is you tell me what you want, and I’ll see if I can get it.”

“You done?” Asked Wallace.

Elenora noticed Rachel enter the room and hand a picture to her father. “Who is she?” Raylan held the photo out so that Wallace and Elenora could see it. “Who’s Simone?” When Wallace did not answer, Raylan pulled the photo back. “Mr. Wallace? You want to tell me who she is?”

“What do you know about Simone?”

“Well, nothing. I just looked at some photos of your tattoos.”

“She’s my daughter.”

It was probably for the best that Elenora had been gagged. Right away, she knew this had to be a lie. When she had told Wallace about Tim and her not wanting kids, had he had one he cared about, she was sure he would have said something.

“Well, where is she?”

“I don’t know. With her mother, I guess.”

Raylan was falling for it, hook, line and sinker. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“When she was three. Most beautiful little girl in the world.”

“How old is she now?”

“Fifteen, I guess.”

Now it was just turning into entertainment for Wallace. Elenore was not sure why he would waste his time in this way, but he must have been enjoying it.

“Would you like to see her?”

“Could you do that?” Wallace asked with just a little to much happiness in his voice.

“Well, I...we could try.”

“You could bring her here to me? Well, Marshal, that’d be a miracle.” Elenora noticed the change in her father’s demeanor immediately. The gig was up. “It’d be a real miracle, considering she doesn’t exist. The Simone on my chest, that’s David Simone. He was an enforcer for the wizards MC. I killed him. He was my first. That’s why I hold him dear to my heart. I don’t got no kids. At least none that I know of. Hell, I wouldn’t give a shit even if I did. We got a big problem, shooter. It don’t matter what you offer me.”

Wallace kicked the door shut once again and pinned Elenora’s front to it. “You improve my circumstances. You say you’re gonna get me extra time in the yard, a job in the kitchen.” Wallace shouted through the wood, and the volume made Elenora flinch. “It don’t matter, cause I won’t believe it. I know, just like you know, that I’m headed to Supermax. And I got no reason to believe that the asshole guards at Supermax are any different than the asshole guard’s right here. They enjoy turning men into animals.”

“Don’t you? Don’t you enjoy it?” Asked Raylan from the other side of the door.

“They take away your toilet paper. They don’t let you shower for a week. They feed you juke cakes. You know what juke cake is shooter?”

“Well, I’m guessing it’s unpleasant.”

The blade retracted from view and Elenora closed her eyes for a second as she tried to keep herself calm as Wallace seemed to get more adjusted. “It’s when one of those son of a bitches takes your meal and they dump it in a blender, blend it together, then they bake it in the oven like a casserole, except they burn it black on both sides. Then they feed it to you. I pretend like it’s fried chicken from prince’s hot in Nashville, and I enjoy every finger-lickin’ mouthful.”

“Well, I love fried chicken. Never had any in Nashville. They call it hot ‘cause it’s spicy?”

“Hell, yeah!” Wallace called out. “You take one bite of prince’s and you start sweating like a whore in church.”

“Well, the best fried chicken I ever had was the takeaway at Joe’s stone crab in Miami. Can you believe that?’ A Kentucky boy, I got to go all the way down to Florida just to get my favorite.”

Wallace moved Elenora to the side of the door frame and he cracked the door ever so slightly. “Well, I ain’t never been to Florida, so I, I couldn’t pass judgment, but I will say this. I find it hard to believe you can get any good chicken at a joint with ‘crab’ in its name.”

“That why you’re doing this? Screw with the guys who screw with you?”

“Maybe I just plan on taking one more soul out with me.”

“I think if you wanted to do that, you would have done it already.”

“I got plenty of time. Honestly, I was looking forward to the trip down here. I know how it’s gonna turn out. I mean, I’m under no illusion about that. At least three or four days of nice scenery on the van ride back and forth. Oh, but those two seen that it all turned to shit. Rolled me out of my bunk at three in the morning to feed me cold eggs. Drive me in a van with no goddamn windows. I get here, they put me in a cage, and then they go about tapping on the window like they’re screwing with a monkey at the zoo. Maybe when I gut this one.” Wallace pulled Elenora back in front of himself. “They will get to spend the rest of their lives knowing that her death is on their hands.” Then he shut the door once again.

They stood in the locker room with Wallace’s body holding Elenora against the wall in silence. She couldn’t hear much besides the beat of her own heart as she now started to panic. After what felt like hours, she heard her father’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Did you hear I ordered some chicken?”

“Fried chicken?”

“Well, all that talk about it, you know, got my mouth watering. If you want some, I mean, you can come out of there. I’ll share some with you.”

Once again Wallace opened the door and stuck Elenora in front of himself. “You know a box of chickens not gonna resolve this. But I would have loved to have seen the look on your boss’s face when you told him you were ordering out lunch.”

Elenora was having a hard time focusing on the conversation as she could feel her body starting to panic, and she worked to calm herself. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when suddenly Wallace had opened the door once again and Elenora could see her daddy standing there, with a takeout bag of chicken and a glass of bourbon.

“No one’s trying to play you for a fool here, Wallace. Way this works, you hand me your weapon and these guys are gonna come in. They’re gonna haul you out. They won’t be gentle. Aun’t nothing I can do about that. But you got, what, three days left in your hearings? Every day you come here, I’ll get you a chicken dinner, or whatever, you want something else? You can sit, eat it.” Raylan said before bitting into a piece of chicken.

“We could sit together, shooter talk shit like regular, old human beings.”

“I don’t know if it’s prince’s, but it’s hot. Oh, and looky here.” Said Raylan, as he raised a glass of bourbon to his lips and took a sip. “Ahh, if that, don’t cool it down and heat it up at the same time.” Reaching into the bag, Raylan took out a chicken leg and wrapped a napkin around the bone. “You’re gonna want a napkin. Don’t touch meat with that hand, where it’s been.”

Wallace’s hand reached around Elenora and took the offered piece of chicken. The next thing Elenora heard was Wallace chewing on the bone. “It ain’t prince’s, but it’ll do in a pinch. Don’t suppose I can get a shot of that bourbon?”

“Well, two cups aren’t just for me.” Raylan then handed a cup to Wallace, and Elenora heard him swallow back the liquid greedily. Then she felt the grip on her loosen and then leave her all together. Elenora chanced a quick look behind her and saw Wallace throwing his weapon to the floor. Before she could process what she was doing, she was out of the room, and men in tactical gear were rushing past her.

Elenora rushed forward and felt a pair of arms latch onto her and pull her from the conference room and into Art’s office. The sudden shock of it all caused Elenora to rip herself away from the arms that had held her. She needed to get her bearings; she needed to slow her mind down from the panic that was setting in.

“Hey, it’s me.” A voice pierced through her thoughts, and Elenora’s eyes snapped to find Tim’s. Tim approached her much like he had that night in the parking lot. His hands up, palms facing her. “I’m gonna take that thing out of your mouth, okay?”

Nodding her head, Elenora allowed Tim to pull the gag from her and once it was removed she let out a sob.

“Here.” Whispered Tim as he motioned for her to turn around. She felt the fabric on her wrists loosen and soon she was able to pull her shoulders back into their proper position. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Asked Tim as he looked her over.

“No. No, I’m good. I just need a minute.” Elenora sat herself down on the couch in Art’s office and Tim moved to crouch down in front of her.

“He didn’t cut you? Nick you? Do you need me to get Rachel?”

She knew what the question was implying, and that Tim had not really touched her yet. She could not see through the windows into the other room as the blinds were closed. But she did not need to as her father was stood in the doorway between the two rooms, staring down at her. “No, he didn’t...he didn’t touch me.”

“Can I have a private word with my daughter, please?” Said Raylan.

Elenora looked back at Tim and she noticed that she was able to finally focus. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked at her. It was that look that told her Tim was doing everything in his power to ensure he did not explode in this moment. Standing up, Tim looked down at her for a moment longer and then left the room out the other door.

“Sunshine?” Raylan moved towards her and sat himself down next to her on the couch. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just need to settle myself back down. I think, at one point, I knew he wasn’t going to kill me, but that still is something I would rather not do again.”

“Tell me about it.” Raylan said as he leaned back on the couch and threw an arm across the back of it. “Seeing him, holding that shiv up against your neck. That is not something I want to see ever again.”

“It was in his butt.” Elenora said and then a laugh left her lips.

“It was in his butt.” Raylan repeated, and he to let out a laugh. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Elenora moved herself on the couch, putting her back to the arm and tucking her legs up underneath her. “Yeah. I just, I just need a few minutes before I can attempt to be a functional person again.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Raylan spoke. “I’m proud of you, you know. You kept your cool. You didn’t seem to do anything to anger him, seemed to actually seem remorseful for holding you.”

“Well, my daddy taught me well.”

“And that bit about you being Gutterson’s fiance...” Raylan spoke as he looked down his nose at her. She had wondered how long it would take for him to get to that part of the day. “Why you do that?”

“I needed you to get me out of that, and you weren’t going to be able to do that if Wallace knew that you were my daddy. He assumed I had some relation to someone and when he mentioned Tim, I rolled with it.”

“So that whole thing about him arresting you...” Raylan’s hand waved around in front of him.

“Oh no, he arrested me.” Elenora began and Raylan dropped his hand as his eyes went wide. “That wonderful apartment I have. I needed to cross off being arrested in order to get it, so Tim helped me. Hauled me out in front of my friends. I did use that pin trick you taught me to get out of the cuffs, though. Think I did actually impress him.”

“Why am I just hearing about this now?”

Elenora shrugged her shoulders. “Didn’t seem important. He didn’t actually arrest me, just helped to make it look like I was. So I could get the apartment. We never said anything, scared Art might get upset at Tim for going along with it and for me for doing it in the first place.”

“That why you two seem so friendly?”

“Yeah, I guess. Hit it off after that. He’s a good guy. Think you would really like him if you weren’t breathing down his neck all the time, and you wonder why I don’t wanna introduce you to the guy I’m seeing?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to protect you, sunshine. I find it hard to imagine that someone would ever be good enough for you. Maybe you will finally let me meet him?”

“When I trust that you aren’t going to shoot him.”

Chapter Eleven

[final-girl96]

Killer Geek Chapter Six

I sat in the chair behind the desk, my hand hovered over the phone. Before I could pick it up off the base I heard a loud pounding coming from the lobby. I jumped and looked around the desk to find something I could use as a weapon. My breathing was unsteady, my hands still shook, and I could feel the fear coming back, slithering up my body to wrap around my throat. I grabbed a letter opener, got up, and stood in front of the door. My hand hovered over the door knob and I took a deep breath before unlocking it and swinging it open.

Another knock came from the lobby and sounded through the theater accompanied by a muffled voice. I slowly pushed the door open that led to the lobby. “Yn!” I relaxed a little more when I saw Randy standing there. I walked over and unlocked the door. He pushed past me and started to look around the lobby. “What're you doing?” I asked. “Are you here alone?” He asked. I nodded my head, “Yeah, everyone else left. But…” I paused, not sure if I should tell Randy about Parker. “But?”

“Parker was here. I don't know how he got in, but he snuck in and waited for me to be alone.”

“Did he hurt you? Touch you in anyway?” I shook my head. “No, I didn't let him get anywhere near me. Once he left I locked myself in the office.” Randy looked around again, “Go get your stuff, Billy will probably be here shortly,” he said. “You called my brother?” I asked. He looked at me and sighed, “Yeah, someone slashed my tire. I ran here.” I raised my eyebrows and thought back to what Parker had said. “He's going to be a little late.”

“It was Parker. He's the one that slashed your tire. He knew you were going to pick me up today. He did it to stale you so he had time to do whatever his plan was but that didn't work out. He isn't happy that I keep rejecting him. He didn't do anything though so please don't tell Billy. He'll only make shit worse. Besides, Parker apologized.” Randy cleared his throat, “Well, I kind of called Billy before I ran here.” My mouth fell into the shape of an O. “Why?” I asked.

“Because my tire was slashed and I didn't want him to kill me for not getting you home safely. He and Stu are probably on their…” he didn't get to finish his sentence before someone was banging on the doors. Billy was standing on the other side with Stu. “Let us the fuck in!” I rolled my eyes and walked over to the doors, unlocked them, and stepped back. “Where is he?” Billy asked. “Where's who?” He turned and glared at me. “Parker? Who the fuck elsea5?” I rolled my eyes again, “He's not here, Billy.” He narrowed his eyes, “But he was or Randy wouldn't have called me yelling me his fucking tire was slashed!”

“Well, he's gone now. Nothing happened,” I told him, pushing past him to go get my stuff. After I locked up we got into Stu's jeep, heading to the video store, and Stu helped Randy put the spare tire on. I said bye to Randy and thaneed him for coming to check on me by running from the video store to the theater. Then we left and Stu dropped me and Billy off at home.

“Where the hell were you two?”

Billy and I stopped in our tracks and looked into the living room. Dad was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. Billy's jaw clenched, “I was picking her up from work.” I nodded my head and he hummed. “And where were you while you waited for her to get off work?” Dad asked. “Over at Stu's.” Dad stood up then, looking at us. “Get to bed it's late.” He walked away, going upstairs, and slamming his bedroom door shut. “What the hell is his problem?” I asked. “Who fucking knows!” Billy says, stomping up the stairs, and slamming his door.

I let out a long sigh and headed up the stairs to my room but I didn't slam the door. Instead, I grabbed pajamas and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. I felt dirty; Parker made me feel dirty even if he hadn't even touched me. Just his attempt to flirt made me feel gross all over. I scrubbed my skin as hard as I was willing to until I felt clean enough and then got out. When I fell onto my bed and got under the covers, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillows.

The next morning I was woken up by pounding on my door. “Get the fuck up!” I groaned, turning onto my stomach and covering my head with a pillow. “If you're not up and ready in ten minutes I'm fucking leaving without you!” What fucking asshole. How was I so lucky to have a brother like Billy. That was sarcasm by the way.

I threw the pillow to the side and crawled out of bed. I didn't have the effort to really do much, so I just brushed my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. Pulled a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt out of my dresser and got dressed.

When I got down stairs Billy was sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal. I opened the fridge to pull out the orange juice and set it on the counter. “So are we picking Sid up on our way?” I asked, getting myself breakfast. Billy didn't answer at first, just got up, and put his bowl in the sink to wash it. “Well, considering she won't even give me the time of day, no!” I rolled my eyes and took a bite of my toast. “She won't even left me fucking hold her hand!”

“Her mother just fucking died, Billy. She's grieving,” I told him, washing my dishes and putting them away. “I didn't pull away from her when mom left! She's completely pulling away from me. I touch her and she recoils from me!” God, he is so fhcking selfish. “Our mother left on her own free will; she's still alive! Sidney’s mom was raped then viciously murdered! Sidney walked into a room that was splattered in blood and found her mom dead! Maureen was so many fucking times! You would be a little fucked up too if you found our mom like that.”

[summercourtship]

this is my second time posting this here- I had to fix a few things with it so here it is again!

contamination, pt two. (originally called first day)

DBD!Wesker x Reader | mature | warnings: canon typical violence, some sexual themes, my stupid glove kink(TM) | word count: 3250

part one | ao3 link

After your first time meeting Wesker, you thought about him more often than you would ever admit. His identity hadn’t remained a secret for long, what with at least six survivors knowing him.

And word spreads fast in the Fog. It's not like there's anything else to do.

Soon, everyone was privy to the various misdeeds from his past- from not showing up to (most) of the STARS teams’ bar nights all the way to trying to unleash a bio weapon onto the world.

It was quite a rap sheet he'd built up.

Even though your interest was piqued, you rarely found yourself asking those who knew him for more information. Not because you didn’t want it, no. You craved it. But even you couldn’t figure out why you were reluctant to acknowledge his existence to others. Was it because you were afraid that they might see through your carefully neutral face right to the real reason why you wanted to hear more about him? Maybe.

Or maybe you wanted to pretend like you were the only one who knew of him, that you had something special. You didn’t want to hear that he toyed with everyone like that, or that he probably didn’t even remember you. That it was all just part of a larger game that you couldn’t see.

For just a little while you wanted to pretend that someone wanted you. You had so few things going for you anymore that you almost felt owed this. You overanalyzed his words to you, the way his gloved thumb traced your lip and held your face, how he watched as you dangled on a literal hook in front of you.

Maybe you’d run into him and realize you had read much too into it. But for now, you only had your memories to hold onto, to try and seek answers from.

Over and over you ran through it, barely stopping when you were called into a Trial. You allowed yourself a few gloriously anxious moments to hope for Wesker to be your chosen foe only for it to be revealed that it was the fucking Nurse. Again.

By then, you’d all but give up. You wouldn’t let yourself die, per se, but any spark- any true fight- you had would leave the moment you realized it wasn’t him.

It was a vicious habit, one that would not sustain itself for much longer. You were on the verge of going foraging only to throw whatever plants you could find into the fire in the hopes that it might appease the Entity and let you see Wesker again.

“You okay?”

You looked up from where you had been staring into the flames of the Campfire. Chris stood next to you, the orange glow casting his face in a shadow.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been keeping to yourself lately.”

“Have I?” You were obviously distracted, from life in general and this conversation. Your feet still itched to go- to enter the woods and find some flower that would do the impossible and match you in a Trial with Wesker.

Chris gave you a look- the kind that said don’t kid yourself. You didn’t know what to say in response, so you kept your mouth shut.

“Just-” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “if you ever need to talk…”

“Got it.” Just give him a thin lipped smile. Enough to say I appreciate it but I’m not in the mood to chat.

“I mean it.”

“Okay. I’m fine, Chris, really.”

The way he stood there squashed any desire to forage. You were sure that if you left, he would follow you. And nothing is more awkward than that, right? Someone thinking that you’re in a worse place than you really are and so they think at any moment you’re gonna try and off yourself.

Jokes on you, Chris. That doesn’t work here.

That, or he suspected something else. Maybe Chris was more astute that you first realized. ___

The cold of Léry’s was different from that of Ormond or the Red Forest. It was dull, the kind of cold that you don’t realize has set into your bones until you begin to shiver.

You quickly begin to search the labyrinthine halls of the hospital for a generator, knowing that getting one out of the way early could help you later. If you couldn’t find one quickly, you’d just head to the center room where there was almost always a gen waiting. Sometimes when you were feeling particularly brave (as you weren’t right now) you would seek out some sign of the Killer. Just so you could know who you were up against, what you had to do to avoid being Sacrificed. The quiet Killers thrived here and the long hallways sometimes actually helped the ones with projectiles.

But something in your gut told you to lay low. Do not seek out trouble right now, it said, it will find you soon enough.

So you listened, sitting down at the first generator you saw. The window above you rustled from the constant gusts of wind, letting in small bursts of biting cold to add to the wintery ache you were already in. The only warmth came with the sparks hitting your skin from the wires and gears inside the generator. And that barely lasted a second, tiny pinpricks of heat burning you for a moment before they disappeared.

Your ears picked up the sound of someone walking towards you. Tensing, you look out of the corner of your eye and only relax when it's clear it's just Chris and he is alone. Wordlessly he kneels next to the generator and picks up two wires.

“Any sign?” You ask, your voice quiet underneath the slow crescendo of the gen.

He sighs and you’re not sure if the furrow in his brow is from frustration with the situation or concentration on his task.

“Wesker.”

Your hand slips. The generator blows, the noise echoing in the dusty hallway. Waving the smoke out of the way, you dive back in, ignoring the curious look Chris threw your way.

“How-” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat. It’s just the dust, right? “How do you know? Have you seen him?”

“No but I got this.” He removes his hands from the gen, pulling a green aerosol can from his side. He’d kept it in his now empty gun holster and you envy it- extra pockets were nice. “D’ya want it?” He had caught how you were eying it. Truthfully, you didn’t necessarily want the canister- there were plenty around the map, you were sure. But your eyes where fixed on it and that was because it was tangible proof that he was here.

“Keep it.” He nods and turns back to the generator, which was almost done. Somewhere across the map a chime rings out. It seems your other teammates have been busy, too. But their completion of their generator triggered the Entity’s claws to spring up around the machine you’d been working on, you and Chris both jumping out of the way to avoid being cut. They hissed and clicked like some sort of insect, the generator chugging on underneath. So close to being finished, but thwarted at the last second.

It seems that Wesker has learned some new tricks since you saw him last.

Chris sighs. “C’mon, let’s go find another.”

You knew that with every passing second the likelihood of running across the Killer was larger and larger, especially since it seemed he had no attention on anyone else. Then what, exactly, was he doing?

“Hey, Chris-” You paused, your ears perking at an unfamiliar sound. He turned around, and you barely registered his eyes widening before you took off running, vaulting over the nearest window. You landed in a shower room, the air dank with stale water. By the sound that followed, Chris was right behind you. Part of you wanted to yell at him not to follow you but you figured he had a plan. You paused for him and only started moving when he grabbed your arm, almost throwing you forward. But your feet felt cemented to the ground.

“You go, I’ll take the heat!”

You need to run. You need to, but you can barely lift your feet for a few seconds. Chris is still standing there, obviously to get Wesker’s attention.

“Chris!” It was his voice, the voice that had haunted you, snide and sneering, and you couldn’t help yourself. You looked behind you, desperate to confirm that it was him.

He was vaulting over the window into the room, his boots scuffing on the loose tiles. His knife was drawn, and his hair slightly tousled. You couldn’t tell where his gaze was fixed through his dark glasses but a silly part of you hoped that he at least glanced your way. Like this was a normal interaction in a normal world where the only thing you had to worry about was the object of your infatuation not thinking about you.

Chris looked back at you and you couldn’t tell if his expression was exasperation or desperation. But he yelled your name and a quick “Go!” before he ran right toward Wesker. And as much as you would like to see what happened next, you knew that to keep standing here would be a certain death sentence. You finally turned and ran, only stopping when your heart stopped racing from Wesker’s presence, when you couldn’t hear his and Chris’ exchange of words. You had no doubt that Chris would run soon, given the (unfair) advantage that Wesker held. But the Chris you knew also wouldn’t hesitate to physically fight Wesker, no matter the advantages given to him by the Entity.

You pressed yourself against a wall, the tiles cool against your back- even through your clothes. Just need to catch my breath, then I’ll continue on. Maybe find that generator, it should be fine by now, right? You didn’t bring anything into this Trial but you now wished you had, if just to have something to distract your hands with. Gradually your breath slowed and you could continue on down the hall.

Another gen chimed and you thought that if you got out, you would have to remember to thank your teammates. It was a good team, to be fair. You, Chris, Adam, Jake. A team of serious men… and you. But you weren’t going to let being the only woman on the team freak you out. Sure, with a Killer like the Clown or Doctor it could suck since they seemed to relish in torturing you because you were female. But you hoped that Wesker wasn’t like that.

But then, given what your mind had been like recently, would you have truly minded? Yes, you answered yourself. Because deep down you wanted him to be intrigued by you, not your sex or something as superficial as that.

Your thoughts were interrupted by one of the worst sounds in the Fog- the cry of someone being downed, which was (normally) followed swiftly by their shriek after being hooked. Surely enough, Chris’s guttural scream broke through the hospital. You immediately turned and started to run to him, guilt gnawing at your gut when you realized he was in the Basement.

He, like Jill, yanked Wesker’s attention away from you and ended up on a hook because of it. And you weren’t able to save Jill last time- maybe you could help Chris, give him a temporary reprieve from being the target. You could handle it.

There was no sign of the Killer as you entered the center room, not hesitating in running down the wooden stairs that seemed oddly out of place in the cement and metal room. The stairs creaked under you, their uneven boards squeaking and groaning. You could hear Chris’s moans of pain, and hurried into the dark room.

There Chris was, hanging from the furthest hook from the entrance. He, like most smart Survivors, simply hung there, not bothering to try and lift himself off. That was an action you only took when you had no other hope of escaping.

You rushed over to him, not hesitating to put your hands on his hips. You lifted, grunting as Chris did his best to aid you in lifting him off the hook. You practically drop him after, gasping from exertion. But Chris was already pulling you towards the stairs, his other hand holding his wound. You stopped on the landing, moving so you could see what he needed to be patched up. Chris wasn’t having it, tugging on your arm again. You didn’t doubt that if he needed to he could physically drag you away.

“C’mon, we need to get out of here-”

“Just let me heal you-”

“I just left to find you.” A third voice, a hauntingly familiar one, chimed it from above you. “But it seems you’re faster than I gave you credit for.”

You raise your gaze up the stairs, even though you knew what you’d see. Wesker stood, looking down at the two of you, his frame lit by the orange glow of the basement.

Chris pushed you behind him, shielding you from the heat of Wesker’s eyes. But no matter what happened, you both were trapped. If you made a run for it, it was likely you’d both be downed before you could even leave the center room.

“You think you can protect her?” Wesker chuckled. “That you can distract me just so you can stab me with a hidden shard of glass you have tucked away in your pocket and then you both get away from me?”

“Chris, let me distract him, please.” Your voice was barely audible to your own ears but you knew he heard you from the way he glanced at you from the side of his eye. A subtle nod. Your plan wasn’t smart and wasn’t guaranteed to even do anything. But you had to try, at least so Chris could leave and heal himself.

Wesker had started to walk down the stairs, languid in his movements. He knew you two were fish in a barrel. He didn’t need to move quickly. You took a deep breath before darting around Chris and running straight to Wesker. You thought he’d be surprised, and maybe he was for a second. But he didn’t show it, instead immediately grabbing you by the throat, pulling you towards him and twisting you down, your back hitting the stairs. Pain blossomed where the edge of each stair dug into your flesh, Wesker’s grip tight on your neck.

You pulled at his hand, trying to get him to loosen his grip. Chris was still at the bottom of the stairs, yelling something. Your head was ringing and you couldn’t be bothered to try and figure out what exactly he was saying.

Wesker leaned over you, his face twisted into a snarl. “First Jill, now Chris. Why are they so intent on protecting you?”

You couldn’t speak. Even if you could, you wouldn’t know what to say. The only thought running through your mind was let me go. Chris might have been echoing the sentient, you didn't know.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Don’t listen to him, your mind supplied. But it was impossible not to hear the words he was hissing in your ear. “If you can hide from me until I kill the others, I’ll let you go.”

What’s the catch, you wanted to ask. Maybe he saw it in your eyes because he chuckled again, the dark sound echoing in your mind.

“No catch, I promise.” He pulls back slightly, but still speaks so quietly that Chris cannot hear. “But if anyone gets out, I’ll see that you pay for it.”

With a final squeeze of your throat he lets you go and you greedily gulp in air even as he still looms above you. Your chest heaves as you gasp and struggle to pull yourself into a slightly more comfortable position. Wesker turns to Chris.

“I’ll give you a five second head start, for old times sake.”

___

But despite the head start, it didn’t take long for his scream to break the eerie silence of the hospital again.

This time you just turned your head away, ignoring the pull in your gut to find and help him. This is your fault.

You wander through the halls, freezing at every noise. Wesker had never said what would happen to you if he found you before the others were dead. He had only offered two options- freedom for their deaths or punishment for their lives. But nothing about the third, obvious outcome.

Besides that, there wasn’t much you could do to keep the others from escaping. You weren’t about to sabotage them or their generators, no matter what threats Wesker threw your way. So the only thing you really could do was pray to the Entity, of all things, that Wesker proved more than capable of taking Adam and Jake out before they completed three more generators. You hadn’t seen either of them all Trial and doubted that they had gone to save Chris. With how quickly he had been put back on the Hook, it would seem like the Killer had tunnel vision for him.

Passing by a dull Totem, you shrug and kneel by it. Cleansing had never really been your thing but you had nothing else to do now that you were officially playing Wesker’s game.

You just finished pulling the bones apart when Jake’s short yelp reached your ears. And then Adam’s. You froze, waiting for their screams of being hooked.

But they never came and you realized the catch to your game. You knew neither of them had the ability to pull themselves up from being on the ground which meant they’d be bleeding out slowly over the next few minutes.

Wesker had only one goal now, and that was to find you. And you had no idea what would happen when he did. Would he simply kill or torture you? Or would he continue to toy with you, give you more of a reason to think about him when you were back at the Campfire?

Shakily, you stood and crossed the hallway into one of the long rooms with hospital beds. For a moment you considered hiding underneath one, when a force struck you from behind, lifting you.

The sensation of being literally thrown through the air was one that was hard to get used to. Your shoulder caught the brunt of the momentum as you hit the nearest wall, your entire right side crashing against the tiles with a sickening crunch. You slid down onto the floor, too disoriented and weak to consider picking yourself up to continue running.

Two black boots stepped into your vision but you couldn’t lift your head. Just pick me up and get this over with. You’d lost.

But instead, Wesker kneeled in front of you. You started to lift your head to look at him but he beat you to the punch, his hand coming to clench in your hair with a vice-like grip and wrench your head up. You stare up into his face as he looms over your crumpled figure.

He had no right to be as handsome as he was.

“Such a mess.” He tutted, the sound sending shivers across your skin. His thumb stroked against your jaw, almost comforting. But you knew, even through your disoriented haze, that it was a mocking gesture.

“You tricked me.” It sounded petulant even to your ears.

“I never said it would be a fair fight, dear.” Teasing. You swallowed, and you could faintly see his gaze behind his glasses flicker as your throat bobbed.

“What do you want from me?” It came out a whisper.

He hummed, as if he hadn’t thought of it. As if you hadn’t thought of what you would give him. But then he grinned like a cat that got the cream, a cruel glint in his eye.

“I’m going to break you. And I’m going to make you enjoy it.”

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[whumpflash]

cw: forced drinking/intoxication, adult language, held at gunpoint, violence, unintentional misgendering (Evyr is female)

masterlist ///// next

×××

The sun burned hot over cracked earth, and Judd scowled down at his shadow. He'd been up at the asscrack of dawn when the news broke that a supply craft had gone down over the wastes, but even after hours of combing, he had nothing to show for his work but a few protein bars and some scrap metal. Crash was already picked clean when he got there.

Lousy tip. He should've just left in the middle of the night, taken his chances in the dark like all the other scavengers apparently had. 

Judd briefly considered going back over the remains, checking for anything he might've missed, but dismissed the idea. It was too hot to put out any more effort. Better to get back and try to get a good price on the metal.

As he turned to make his way back to camp, a shape in the distance caught his eye.

A crate, he saw as he drew closer. Some scrawny kid was bent over it, trying to pry it open with a knife. Judd came up from behind just as the kid managed to get the top off, keeping quiet as he got a look at its contents.

It was a full crate of wine, of all things. Luxuries intended for the rich assholes who lived in the floating cities. Shit like that would fetch a huge price if he could find someone who could afford it.

"Whatcha got there?" he said, and the kid jumped a foot in the air, scrambling to his feet and standing protectively in front of the crate. Like he actually stood a chance at fighting Judd off if he decided to claim the goods.

"Nothing," the kid said quickly. "It's– it's mine. I found it fair and square."

"That so?" Judd looked past the boy, at the crate. Sixteen bottles. A fucking fortune, and it was in the hands of a twerp who'd gotten lucky. "Looks heavy. Maybe I should do you a favor. Take some off your hands."

The kid had the balls to put a hand on his knife—a tiny thing that looked homemade—and glare up at Judd.

"Finders keepers," he said, and the man laughed.

"You must be new to this," he said, enjoying the way the boy paled as he drew his own weapon, a knife with a blade the size of his forearm. "Finders keepers only works when you're strong enough to keep the big kids away."

He didn't realize they weren't alone until he felt the muzzle of a gun on the back of his head.

"Haven't heard that particular rule before," a low voice came from behind him. "Fancy yourself a big kid, do you?"

Judd heard the click of a hammer being cocked. He dropped his knife.

"That's what I thought. Get on your knees."

Seeing no better option, Judd obeyed. The kid looked irritatingly satisfied with this development. Couldn't he see that this was worse? He was only going to claim half of the bottles. This new fucker would probably take everything.

"Thanks Skye," the boy said.

Or not.

The gunman—Skye—moved around, putting himself between Judd and the boy. And the crate. He wasn't much bigger than Judd. Definitely a bit older, with a weathered, scruffy look about his face and a grim set to his mouth.

"I know your type," he said. "Loud-mouthed asshole who thinks he can bully anyone smaller than him." He raised an eyebrow. "How's it feel to be on the other side?"

Judd kept his mouth shut, staring the stranger down. Skye, who didn't seem to be after an actual answer, continued.

"Folk like you are the reason living down here is such a hell. Preying on the weak like you're the poster child of 'every man for himself', 'stead of building up the community."

Skye was right about the wastes being a living hell, but how the fuck was that Judd's fault? He was just trying to survive, like everyone else. Unlike the kid, he didn't have a fucking knight in shining armor to watch out for him.

"You gonna shoot me?" he said, glaring up at Skye.

"Not unless you make me," the other man replied. "Scavs need to stick together. Funny as it may sound, I'm not your enemy here."

Sure you're not.

"But you still need to be taught some manners," he continued, glancing around as if searching for an idea. "How about… Ah." His gaze landed on the crate behind him. "Y'like wine, bully?"

The fuck was he supposed to say? It wasn't like he was trying to drink something that could keep him fed for weeks.

"You were so eager to snatch it away from Evyr here. Must mean you're a connoisseur, no? Tell you what. You can have a bottle. Evyr?" The kid darted back to grab one from the crate, handing it to Skye. Judd watched warily. Whatever was about to happen, he knew he wasn't gonna be let off with a fucking party favor.

Skye uncorked the bottle with his teeth, a feat that wouldn't be possible were it not for the crack in its neck, running up to a chipped rim.

"Here." The man extended the bottle to Judd. "Drink."

"What?"

"Did I stutter? Drink." He shook the pistol, as if Judd were capable of forgetting it was there. 

He grasped the bottle with one hand, taking a slow sip. He'd had booze before, but never wine. It was tarter than he'd expected, like someone had mixed rotten fruit with vinegar, and it burned his throat like the cheap alcohol that got sold at market sometimes. Judd lowered the bottle, trying to hide the way that one sip made him cough. 

"Did I tell you to stop?" Skye said, pressing the gun to Judd's head when he made no move to continue.

"Fuck you," he muttered, but he drank.

And drank.

And drank.

He tried to ignore the burning in his throat, the dizziness that was already beginning to reach his head, tried to focus on the cool barrel of the gun. 

The bottle was half gone, and still Skye didn't give any sign he should stop. Was he supposed to drink the whole thing? It was at least a liter, if not more, and even a half-drunk bottle was worth its weight in gold.

But the pistol in the other man's hand insisted Judd finish it.

So he did, letting the bottle drop once it was empty. The world spun around him, worsening the nausea that now built in his stomach. When Skye at last holstered the gun, Judd dropped forward, catching himself on his hands. Then, with a surge of brazen stupidity, he lunged for the older man. 

Skye sidestepped his graceless attack easily, dealing him a swift kick to the face that rocked his head to the side and sent him sprawling.

He didn't try to get up.

It didn't cross his mind to struggle as his hands were moved behind his back and tightly bound.

"Gotta leave him on his side," Skye was telling the kid. "Should keep him from choking." He clapped a hand on Judd's shoulder in a manner that was almost friendly.

"You rest up now, bully. The walk home's gonna be real shitty."

[winksasleeplesseye]

obscura (one)

SUMMARY: Six years have passed. And Amara can't help but think about them as she heads for her next mission, recounting a pair of blue eyes and blonde hair and just what the government has done thus far.

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: mentions of violence, cursing, experimentation implied, angst

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

London

October 2004

Amara’s headspace had become more and more frequently a comfort these days. A more refined person would call it a mind palace, a memory palace, etc. 

She found living in memories, in moments of calm, had become an anchor for her. Between every punishing mission, she’d find a quiet place and drift and daydream into this place. Her mind conjured up images of a familiar, yet slowly unfamiliar pair of blue eyes and blonde hair but she couldn’t produce much else. But it was enough for her. 

Leon was becoming a distant memory since Raccoon City and that scared her more than anything, not being able to see him or talk to him after everything is agonizing. 

Sure, she had her outlets like kickboxing classes in the gym down the street from her apartment with that stupidly hot instructor John, sporadic visits coordinated by that weasely bastard Simmons with Sherry and Claire, and other things like music and painting but companionship was something she’d craved. Maybe too much sometimes. That was something that still made her just like everyone else. 

Things moved at a breakneck pace after they’d been picked by the government in the aftermath. Once it became known just what Amara carried now forever in her blood, did the threats come for her by the very same government that she thought would protect them. 

Now, she’s just a weapon—correction, an agent to do their bidding, their science experiment. Wesker did this to you. Keeping her mouth shut about Raccoon also guaranteed her safety and not just hers but Leon’s, Claire’s, and Sherry’s safety. 

Another part of her wanted desperately to find the man who put her in this position in the first place. But that didn’t matter now. Wherever he is, she hopes it’s nowhere good.

Above everything else, Amara wanted nothing more than to keep her new allies—friends safe. Most of all, Leon. 

She lets out a pitiful laugh to herself, thinking about him, her eyes focused on the road ahead. If she’d known everything that would’ve happened after that night in the motel, she would’ve held him longer, tighter. Kissed him more and savored the taste of his lips on hers, the feel of him inside her. 

Even in their last interaction, deep down she knew she shouldn’t have let go. 

See you later had shifted from what she thought would only be days, weeks, months…to six long years. 

Rain pelted down against the tan leather of her jacket, she couldn’t find it in herself to even wear a helmet as she weaved through the traffic on her bike. Something about the rain against her face reminded her that she was alive. 

With what she’s paid? A quick trip to the salon would fix her right up anyways. She actually didn’t quite mind when her hair reverted to its natural state. 

Cutting down a narrow alley, she stops short in front of a parked van in front of what seems to be a derelict building. It’s black, inconspicuous, and with this weather? Practically invisible. 

Her eyes venture up at the dilapidated sign above the said building. King Arthur’s Sword in the Stone attraction.

“There seems to be a fine line between coincidence and irony.” She says to no one in particular. The window of the van rolls down and an unfamiliar man sticks his head out. 

“Good evening, Agent Moore.” The man smiles, a little too cheerful for Amara’s taste. “I’m Joe, I’ll be your support on this mission from here.” 

A crack of lightning brightens the area momentarily. “I thought supports usually stayed in an office?”

“Courtesy of the government, this is my base of operations,” Joe, with a hint of a British accent she notices, gestures to the back, Amara briefly sees the high-tech screens and monitors. 

All to keep her in line, she’s sure. For a brief moment, the lyrics of that stalker song by The Police play in her head. Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you take, every step you take, I’ll be watching you… “Right. So you’re telling me there’s an old Umbrella facility underneath a King Arthur attraction?” 

“According to our intel, yes, unfortunately. There was actually some nonsense of the real King Arthur’s tomb here years ago…soon discredited.” 

“And yet another roadside attraction was born,” she jokes. “Let’s see what we can see, shall we?” 

She doesn’t wait for Joe’s answer, opting to head to the wall to climb up from the gutter into an open window at the top. Dropping gracefully into the expansive space, decorated distastefully and quite cheesy for a King Arthur attraction. 

“Joe, hear me loud and clear?” Amara pressed the comms system on her ear. 

“Clearer than clear, love.” 

“Good, hopefully, this will be educational for you.”

“Learning from one of the top agents in the US division is more than an honor.” The thought of being a top agent at one point would’ve made Amara proud but now it felt like a stain that's never washed clean. 

Covert operations never did seem like things deserving of the honor. 

Crates and other knick knacks lay about haphazardly. “If I were an evil pharmaceutical company, where would I hide a lab?” 

“I thi-“

“That was rhetorical.” 

Amara ventured further in, finding more opulent, ornate items scattered throughout the various ridiculous set pieces. Jill would’ve thought it was a good score. The goofy narrations made her chuckle; were they really trying to actually educate anyone about the King Arthur tale?

Many times in her schooling, particularly on the subject of English literature, her teachers would talk of how King Arthur’s life and deeds gave way to the Arthurian legends. The once tried and true history nerd inside of her would’ve devoured this silly attraction.

Now, she can’t exactly imagine sitting down to read much of anything except lots and lots of mission reports. When she wasn’t reading them, she was certainly writing them.  

At least going on missions broke up the monotony. The routine that had become so much of her life as of late. Another side objective to this mission, one that HQ told her not to really divulge anyone of, was her search for paintings. Not just any paintings either; these ones were linked to Umbrella’s former leader, Oswell E. Spencer. 

She had found 4 out of about 5 (luckily the man never quite got them all in his possession), spanning across the globe, each one portraying demonic, disturbing imagery. HQ claimed they held “power” within the paint which was just about the stupidest thing she’d ever heard but in a world with the most grotesque monsters created by a human hand, was it that stupid? 

Something about each one, despite the thoughts of its stupidity, intrigued her because of the symbols within the image but she did as told, destroying them (and those who protected them). All her intel pointed her to this place but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in July that it was actually here. 

“How long ago did this place close down?” Amara asks, tiptoeing over water-damaged pieces of wood. “This place certainly is not up to code.” 

“The illustrious owner, a…uh, Professor Kenneth Whitman went bankrupt in 2003, it’s been closed ever since then,” Joe answers, “Madness, right?”

“I shudder to think that that man had students, but shudder even more at how much disrepair this place has fallen into within a short amount of time.” 

Amara attempted to test her royalty, pulling up the aforementioned sword in the stone with no luck. No power. No King Arthur glory for Amara. And certainly no way further inside. “Looks like I’ll need to switch on the breaker, wherever it is.” 

“Map shows a side alley entrance, check there?” 

Ugh, back out in the rain? She really didn’t want to go through another period of drying out inside this dank, almost humid place to getting soaked by London’s neverending rain again. This is what I signed up for, remember? 

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. She sighed, following the map displayed on her communicator, the newest gadget added to her gear. 

After traversing over the cast iron gates outside to switch on the breaker, only then does the power cut back on. Light pours out from the windows of the attraction, illuminating the rain as it hits the pavement. 

“And let there be light,” she deadpans, it still earns her a chuckle from Joe through the comms in her ear. 

Through all the narrations and displays, somehow Amara finds that she’s disappointed just a tad that the very room that supposedly was meant to get to the truth of the myths of King Arthur had now been converted into a storage facility.

“So much for getting to the truth of King Arthur.”

“Give the Professor some credit, at least he chose the most boring part to convert. Besides, who wants to know the actual truth anyway?” 

“You’d be surprised,” Amara responded, finding a crack in the wall furthest from an exit beaming red from the fluorescent light above it. She knocked on it, finding the whole wall is hollow. Her eyes also happen upon a forklift, just asking to be used. 

Operating it should be simple enough, right? It’s like operating a claw machine…with two metal sticks on the front. Joe seems to scoff, obviously watching her feed. “Is this what they teach you agents in America?” 

“No, we usually just shoot our problems. But I thought I'd give this a try." Amara quipped. 

He laughed. “I don't know about the forklift, but they definitely teach the sarcasm."

“Oh no, sarcasm is when I say the opposite of what I mean. Wit is when I say exactly what I mean, but in a way that makes you wish you had thought of it first."

“Lesson number one with Agent Moore? Wish I had grabbed a notepad.” 

“I charge for lessons by the hour, Joe. Hope you’re ready to pay up when I get back there.” 

“I’m good for it, love.”

The forklift did its job, taking down the wall to reveal…a secret entrance to a cavern. Amara pretended to be shocked, but she’s not. “Oh, wow, they hid that sooo well.” 

“Is that sarcasm?” 

“Yes, Joe,” she answered, hopping off the forklift. “This next part will require some silence, mate.” 

All she hears is a small hum from Joe in her ear before the line is dead silent. Thank the gods above he knew when to be quiet. 

The cavern is shrouded in darkness just beyond what Amara can see with the forklift’s headlight, so she flicked on her flashlight finding the craggy rocks bending and forming crudely to reveal a path. It seems to descend rather than just go straight forward. Huh, so it goes underground? This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it, Amara? 

It’s a bit of a tight squeeze in some places, especially with all her gear, but she manages. More and more static filters through her comms in her ear the deeper she goes, so she lowers it. She almost wanted to let out a sigh of relief at the fact that she was finally alone even momentarily. 

Eventually, the cavern begins to open up, an almost ominous humming echoing off the walls of the cavern as she gets closer to…

…a lab? Down here? 

Well, at least the intel was correct. 

The humming, she found, emanates from a big generator nearby which is hooked into a cavern wall. The wires seemed to lead nowhere, perhaps they were powered on with the breaker above ground? It looked more and more likely. 

“Does this shit ever get less complicated?” 

In 2003, after a lengthy trial that led to the dissolution of Umbrella and loss in stocks, the US Government, in a rare show of giving a shit, went after all involved with the company but that didn’t absolve their part in blowing Raccoon sky high. Hence, why she was here, partly. 

While she’d been on other tasks (very much like the government’s goddamn lackey), this one was of the utmost importance. After RC, the government under USSTRATCOM formed the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. To no surprise, she alongside Leon are their main operators (though it wasn’t like they had much of a choice). 

The current administration, Graham and his lovely cabinet, actually seemed to want to take down as many Umbrella adjacent so she’d spent the better half of last year during the RC trials and this year doing this. 

Outside of her Umbrella pursuits, she’d heard of something going on with the President’s daughter but that currently wasn’t under her jurisdiction, technically she wasn’t even supposed to be aware of that.

There was some…mole within sectors so while usually Amara would be flanked by at least two other agents, now it’s down to just her. For reconnaissance purposes, it makes sense. The fewer agents, the less information could slip between the cracks. A smart tactic at the time, smart keeps most people safe. 

But now in hindsight, it seems kind of absurd that one lone agent is tasked to find what could very well be an active Umbrella facility. 

A sleek doorway stood before her, a sense of deja vu took her by surprise. The doors opened with no trouble, and the overwhelming smell of rust and damp concrete mixed with unused chemicals lingered in the air. Almost by instinct, Amara drew her Beretta, taking a moment to scan the surroundings. 

The eerie silence was only broken by the sound of her footsteps echoing off the walls. 

Dimly lit corridors made her a little cautious, only her trusty flashlight in her other hand guiding her next steps. The place was in disarray, with broken machinery, debris, and paperwork scattered everywhere…it must’ve been a hell of a time escaping this place. 

Amara didn’t scare easily but she couldn’t shake the chills up her spine and flare in her nostrils. Taking in deep breaths, she pushed on and focused on what she came here for. The facility is empty as she suspected, so her next steps were getting information and finding the painting. 

A glint of something shiny on the ground just so happened to fall in the line of her sight. 

“Well, hello there,” she bent down and picked it up. A small metal disc with Umbrella’s logo shines briefly in her vision, a small bit of her reflection displayed within the iridescent surface. 

She pockets it and keeps moving. 

Chancing it, she raises the volume back up on her comms. There’s no longer static so that’s a relief. Except now, she had to work a little harder to hear considering the comms tended to block out sound quite well when cranked up, so well, in fact, that she could hear her own footsteps reverberate through to her skull, maybe even hear her own brain knocking around it if she focused hard enough. 

“Joe?” She speaks and for a few seconds, there’s a nerve-wracking silence. 

His one-syllable answer practically rattles her skull from the vibration, “Yes?”

Oh, thank god. Joe may be a tad annoying but at least there was someone to get her through this creepy-ass atmosphere. “Nothing. Just checking that you’re still there.” 

“Were you getting lonely?” There’s a teasing tone to his words that she doesn't appreciate. Fuck, especially here of all places. “If you needed a big, brave man to accompany you, all you had to do was ask.” 

And there he goes ruining it. Some support he is. “Shut up.” 

“No need to be touchy.” 

One thing she’d learned about these paintings is that they tended to be within a shrine of sorts, or blatantly on display. Judging by the narrow hallways and the dim lighting, barely even lighting as much as the shoes on Amara’s feet, she definitely doubts that the painting is here. Seriously, who would even have a shrine down here? 

She paused in front of a rusted door, her hand hovering over the handle. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed it open and stepped into the room beyond. The final room within the lab is a computer lab of sorts, though all the computers are ten years behind. Blocky, huge, and ugly to look at.

As she began to sift through the piles of documents laid atop the desks, Amara's eyes fell on a computer with its screen turned on, nestled in the far corner.

It’s sleek, newer, and curvier than blocky. Someone was showing off to their colleagues. 

That same computer spits lined papers of what seems to be numbers onto the floor. It must’ve also cut back on with the breaker. 

“Joe? You seeing this?” She raises one of the pages to eye level. 

“Yeah, what are they?” 

40.4637° N, 3.7492° W…that layout…these were coordinates. She ran her fingers over the papers, reading them out quietly. Where could these lead? 

“Coordinates. Think if I give you a few, you could find where they are?”

“Give me—“ Joe cuts himself off, shuffling sounds coming from her comms, “alright, give me the numbers.” 

She reads them out at an even pace, making sure that Joe could catch every number. 

This time, his brief silence has her on the edge of a hypothetical seat. It annoys the shit out of her. “Well?” 

“Hmm…” Joe’s small noise is filled with confusion, a first for him that she’s willing to bet on. “These coordinates were pulled recently. Coordinates are in Spain.”

Spain? Pulled recently? So maybe the heebie-jeebies she was getting from that place meant someone else was there not too long before she got there. But, her senses had been too good, she would’ve picked up on someone sooner.

“Think it’s another former Umbrella researcher? Trying to reach out? Maybe another facility?” Amara hypothesized, it was the only logical thing that came to her. 

Joe laughs, though it doesn’t sound like he finds any of this particularly hilarious. “Highly doubt there’s people still that devoted to Umbrella.” 

Amara always divided former Umbrella employees into two categories: the devoted and the wise. She always liked the wise, for one thing, they weren’t as dumb as the devoted (for researchers, they sure didn’t use their brains). The wise researchers knew to get the fuck outta dodge as soon as they even whiffed the brewing disaster. The devoted? Oh, they’d been drinking the red Kool-Aid for so long.

Apprehending the devoted made her feel as though she’d left the real world behind and entered the world of Alice in Wonderland. They’d taken to the primrose path, the path of fantasy and illusion, believing themselves to be doing right with Umbrella as their guide through and through. 

Regardless, both bled the same.

“I think these coordinates will be worth a look. At least I won’t be leaving here empty-handed,” Amara replied. No painting, though. Guess that’d be for another mission. 

The return to the above ground is far less treacherous, a bit anticlimactic but she likes that. She’s well-equipped to engage in a little hand-to-hand combat, all thanks to Uncle Sam but these jeans were far too nice to get messed up. Who knew that she could throw a man off balance by just using her legs? Those were the better parts of training, the others she hoped would never resurface in her brain. She’d gotten good at dividing parts of her life now into sections. 

Climbing up the way she came in, she drops right down outside into a puddle, splashing a bit of her bootlaces with rainwater. It already seeped into her socks. Gross. 

She lets out a deep breath as she walks back over to Joe’s van (she’s not calling that thing a base, no matter how much he convinced her), holding out the disc she’d found earlier. “Mission accomplished?”

He runs it over and over through his fingers, appraising it for its usefulness to the reports he’d no doubt have to write too. “Mission accomplished. Well done, Agent Moore.” 

“Now you and your mystery van can skedaddle.” Amara waves her hands towards the road, chancing her eyes back towards the attraction. She sees a flash of red atop the roof. 

Joe chuckles briefly, turning his attention to starting up the van. He’s none the wiser to what Amara has her eyes set on. 

No fucking way. 

Talk about a ghost story. 

Amara makes sure that Joe drives off before following the trail. Could she have left well enough alone and got back to her hotel? Yes, absolutely. But at her core, she knows she’s curious as hell. Always had been. Besides wanting to protect others, she always had a curiosity to know all there is to know. 

And right now, she wanted to know why Ada Wong is haunting this attraction. 

Amara carefully plans her steps, trying to avoid detection by the woman as she watches from afar. Ada moves through as if she knew the place like the back of her hand. 

The path narrows, making it more than a little difficult for Amara to conceal her presence. 

“Well, well, well…” Amara announces herself, and for the first time since she’s known Ada, she notices a minute jump in her shoulders. “Didn’t take you for a history buff.”

Ada is slow to turn around but wears what seems to be a trademark smirk on her face, like she always knew something that no one else knew… most of the time she does.

“I could say the same to you.” 

Ada and Amara now faced each other in the dimly lit hallway. The only sound that could be heard was the stupid, cheesy narration about the Lady of the Lake.  Amara was tense, ready to fight, but also conflicted. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn't quite bring herself to hate Ada.

"So, you're the one who's been tailing me," Ada said, a smirk still ever present on her face. "I'm flattered."

Amara is puzzled by her words, she only stumbled upon Ada by chance. If anyone was tailing anyone, it had to be the other way around. 

"I'm not here to tail you," Amara said, raising her fists. "I'm here on a different mission but stopping you from causing any trouble would be a benefit.” 

Ada laughed. "And here I thought we were friends."

"We're not friends," Amara retorted. "But I don't hate you either."

"Good," Ada said, as she lunged forward with a swift kick. Amara blocked it easily, her training kicking in. The two women traded blows, each trying to gain the upper hand. Amara was quick and agile, an added benefit to whatever pumped through her blood, but Ada was more experienced and calculated in her movements.

As they fought, Amara couldn't help but think about the strange friendship that was developing—well, redeveloping— between them. She and Ada were on opposite sides, and now they crossed paths once again. Maybe it was just the adrenaline talking, but Amara found herself almost liking Ada.

"You know," Amara said, as they continued to fight. "I really don't hate you, Ada. I kind of like you, in a twisted sort of way."

Ada raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by Amara's admission. "Is that right? Well, that's good to know. Maybe we can be friends after all."

Amara smiled, just as she landed a punch on Ada's jaw. Ada stumbled back, but recovered quickly, launching herself into the fight.

Despite their differences, Amara and Ada fought with fierce intensity, each determined to come out on top. In the end, Ada emerged victorious, but as she helped Amara to her feet, the two women shared a small, knowing smile. Maybe they weren't enemies after all.

“With that in mind, you’ll have to forgive me, friend.”

Ada moves quickly, too quick for Amara to stop her. Jabbing a needle into her neck with efficiency. Not even her body could fight whatever was within the syringe. 

Things become unfocused, and blurry as she stumbles back, away from Ada. She clutches her throat, every muscle in it closing up. The last thing Amara sees is Ada standing over her, she fights to get out one crucial word, “Bitch.” 

Hours later

Amara jolts awake, gasping for air, expecting to shoot upwards but she finds that she can’t move. At all. Upon further inspection, she realizes she’s strapped down to a cold, hard table. 

The brightness of the light above her blinding, making it hard to see beyond its edges. How long had she been unconscious? 

The last thing she remembered is London, King Arthur, and…Ada. God damn it. That’s the last time she lets her defenses down so easily. So much for being friends.

She pulled and struggled against the restraints, hoping that “enhanced strength” would actually come in handy but found they were very unbudgeable.

“I wouldn’t mess with those if I were you,” a voice with an accent sounds off, “they were made just for you.” 

Amara turned her head, finding a curly-haired man leaning against the adjacent wall, his eyes scanning between her and the lab equipment next to him. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Eso es irrelevante, encantador, ¿no?” There’s an almost sleaziness to his tone, it reminded her of the creeps you’d find on a busy street as they tried to catcall. 

Amara sneered. “Considering you’re holding me captive? It’s very relevant.” 

“I don’t find pleasure in this, precioso.” 

She laughs lightly, he was laying it on pretty thick. “Amara. As much as I love an ego boost, call me by my name.” 

“Amara, I am not the one holding you captive.”

“Okay…if it’s not you, then who is it? How long have I been here?”

“Long enough for me to take your blood,” he gestures to a machine, about 3 vials of red liquid sitting inside it.

“What?!”

“Relax, eh, I haven’t done anything with it. At least not anything they’d want.” 

Amara couldn’t find it in herself to put up with the back and forth anymore. If she’d learned anything from Raccoon City, it’s that time is of the essence and mincing words and being secretive got you nowhere good. “Enough with the runaround what you really mean bullshit. Get to the point.” 

The man comes close to her side, eyes darting around quickly before focusing his attention on her. Apprehension seemed to spring up in him on a dime. Whoever he worked for certainly must have him spooked. 

“There’s an infection, a virus, going around this village. I believe with your blood, they want to strengthen the strain. They call it Las Plagas.” 

So that’s why Ada brought her here. To be used in someone else’s nefarious game. Using her own bioorganic chemistry against her, against others. Amara was really beginning to think whoever Ada worked for and her own government was one and the same. Two sides of the same fucked up coin.

“Great, you’ve already stolen my blood, so why tell me this?”

“I’m a biologist. I think—no, know that I can reverse engineer a vaccine. Something to stave off symptoms.”

With his admission of this, Amara senses a serious case of deja vu once more. It’s John all over again. The intercepted email he wrote echoed in this man’s words, “Seriously, fuck these guys. Innocent people are getting hurt.” 

“How long would that take? I can’t imagine your employers are just going to let that happen under their noses.” 

“This is my lab, not theirs,” Luis said simply. “Think you can stand being strapped down a little longer?” 

Amara didn’t exactly want to trust this man. He’d given up this information so easily, what was to say he wouldn’t turn on her at some point? But, throwing caution to the wind, she goes along. Well, it’s not exactly like she had much of a choice, considering she’s the one strapped to a table, god knows where. 

“Just get on with it.” 

“Name’s Luis, by the way. Luis Serra.”

She nods in understanding, training her eyes on a corner of the wall to try and take her mind elsewhere. The hum of the lab equipment takes over the silence of the room. At least Luis seems to realize that he didn’t have to take up the air in the room by talking every second. Amara appreciates that. 

Her eyes move towards the other end of the lab, scanning over tubes filled with bubbling liquids, diagrams of molecular specifications, X-rays of subjects unknown to her, and, on the far wall, calculations of specific chemicals and their reactions. Whatever was going on, Luis’ employers had been going at it for quite some time. 

Amara is certainly no biologist but training in the government, you had to know some science. It wasn’t just close-quarters combat or weapons training, agents needed an analytical mind and the ability to recognize specimens, especially biological weapons now. 

Training with the government wasn’t too unlike the police academy, though there was the unfortunate thing of everyone, everyone, keeping their eyes on her. Her reputation preceded her and the same could be said for Leon.

There wasn’t a place in training where she didn’t hear utterances and whispers about him but he became just as elusive there as he was to her now. Upon learning that Leon was there, to begin with, pissed her off, they’d clearly gone against their deal but it’s not like she could do anything about it. 

And anyway, the government must have a personal vendetta about keeping them apart. But for her in the same circles, she was the subject. The Subject. Never her and never by name. There was another one she’d heard from recruits as she passed. Dark Angel. 

Dark Angels were known for their inability to fall and their brutality, well, at least to the mythos Amara had read. Still, she couldn’t stand either choice of names bestowed upon her.  

In a way, both were dehumanizing. A reminder of the distinction between her and everyone else. Amara certainly didn’t want to be separated from everyone else. It’s not like she asked to be turned into some science project. As much as Amara hated to, she looked on the bright side…it certainly made her infinitely more interesting than she actually was.

At some point, Amara found that she couldn't keep her eyes open, her eyes fought against the almost burning lids, but it was no use. 

She drifts off, finding that familiar set of blue eyes calling to her again. Man, were they pretty. 

Amara is now sitting up when she wakes up for the second time. Still strapped down, still not-so-cozy and there was a very chilly draft that lingered around, thanks to whoever stole her jacket—but overall this was much better than the hard table.

Shit, they took her sidearm too? Why is she only just now noticing? This place is beginning to suck more and more. 

One thing she hadn’t been warned of was her lungs burning, her eyes stinging, she had to fight for her first breath. She lets out a few coughs, her breathing returning to its normal pace. But, a weariness sat in her muscles that she couldn’t shake. 

Luis…

…where was he? How long had she slept this time? What the hell had he done since she’d been asleep? 

As if to answer her question, Luis runs inside the lab, with an urgency he didn’t possess before. At first, she couldn’t hear him, her senses hadn’t quite progressed past pain. Then she heard shouts. Whispers. Murmurs. 

Luis was yelling. Yelling at her. He was trying to coax her into consciousness in any way he could. “We have to go now!” 

“Go? Go where?” She asks while Luis undid the straps. Her legs wobbled as she stood, all the strength was gone momentarily but she regained her footing quickly. 

“Anywhere but here,” Luis pulls out a Red9, places a magazine in it, cocking it, and holding it at the ready. “You ready for an escape, Amara?”

“Is that even a question?”

He grinned and cocked his head towards the door. Amara hadn’t felt a rush like this in a long time. Something about it reminded her of Raccoon City in a sick, twisted kind of way. Luis grabbed her wrist and tugged her along, setting them both off into a sprint down long corridors and dimly lit passages with side doors and passcodes.

Amara’s eyes widened at just the enormity of this place, this was all Luis’ lab? There was no time to pause and gawk; getting the fuck out of here took priority, otherwise, both of them would be dead. 

“I guess this is a bad time to ask, but why are we running?” She questions between heaving breaths. Running and talking at the same time especially after only just being able to breathe again are not things Amara enjoyed doing. 

“Do you really want to-”

“Yes!” Amara interrupted him, ripping her hand from his to get a better pace going. 

Luis stops short as the hall opens up to a big space. Amara barely has a second to register his ceasing movement, preventing herself from all but crashing into his back. “That’s why.” 

Amara follows his line of sight, upon seeing what he’s referring to, she laughs bitterly. “Are you fucking for real right now?” 

This gigantic asshole stomped in through the door that Amara assumed was their ticket to freedom. He was dressed not unlike a monster she’d seen before, but this guy had a beard, yellow eyes, and sickly pallor to his skin and could talk. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had been kidnapped? But now she had to deal with this shithead? God must be playing a cruel joke on her.

Luis reached for his gun, but before he could draw it, the man’s towering figure charged at them. Amara tried to dodge, but the giant man grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her against a nearby table. She felt a searing pain in her side as something sharp pierced her skin.

He’s not here for me.

Luis fired his gun at him, but it had no effect on the hulking monster. As he advanced on him, Luis ducked out of the way, practically army-crawling to get to her.

"We have to go, now!" he yelled, dragging Amara behind him as they ran towards the door.

Amara stumbled, her head spinning. She could feel blood oozing from the fresh wound in her side and knew they had to keep moving if they wanted to survive. 

Just as she thought they might make it out alive, Mendez lunged towards them, his massive hand closing around Amara's neck from behind. The man was quicker than she thought he’d be. She gasped for air as he lifted her off the ground, the world spinning around her.

Mendez's grip tightened around Amara's neck as she struggled to breathe. She clawed at his arms, but it was no use. She was trapped.

"At least buy me dinner first!" Amara gasped out, her eyes flickering with anger. 

But it was too late. Mendez hurled her across the room, her body slamming into a nearby table with a sickening crack.

Everything went black.

[blushingdread]

When Mylah asked to be in the front line Gael, Gael hadn't even entertained the idea of saying no.

"I want to try a new application of my magic." She said shyly, like she was embarrassed of her diligence with her magic. A slightly blush and smile making her look almost angelic.

She was the smartest in their party and he was completely smitten with her, a frankly horrible combination for his ability to say no to her but it had never backfired before.

As soon as the yes left his mouth Mylah smiled at him like he hung the stars in the sky, immediately wrapping him in a hug and running off to consult her notebook.

The day they went to confront the Bandit King the sun was high and beating down on all of their backs, as they walked into an arena with a skull throne in the middle. A man sat tall on the bones, surrounded in a crescent of his men with the weapons out and ready.

It was going to be a long day.

The Bandit's were among the worst kind of extortionist skum. Forcing the villages they frequented to pay them to not ransack them, and destroying the ones that can't comply. There presence was consistently in each of the villages affected, at least ten men at each, lying that they were there to keep the peace. It made Gael so disgusted, seeing people's lives ruined, seeing mother's going hungry to afford their child's food, all because some assholes decided they should be able to take what they want.

Mylah marched up, stopping only about five sword lengths away from the throne. "Surrender or else." She said, and her words were more confident that he had ever heard them.

"Or else what, sweetheart?" The Bandit King asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll make you wish you were dead." It was cold, clinical even. Like she was explaining the weather, not threatening a man.

The Bandit King laughed. His full body shook with the weight of it, eyes crinkling up with tears, as the man attempted to catch his breath.

It was the most condescending sound Gael had ever heard in his life.

Once the Bandit King finally stopped laughing, he leaned back languidly on his throne of bones.

"How about this, doll face?" Gael wanted to gag. "If you can defeat me in a battle my men will retreat." The King purred after Mylah in a way that made Gael shiver in disgust, but Mylah herself seemed unaffected. If anything, her stance only got more confident and assured.

"So be it." Mylah responded, and if Gael wasn't imagining it, a hint of excitement in her voice.

The Bandit King unsheathed his sword, and sprinted at Mylah, who simply raised her hand magic shining brightly from her palm.

The first thing that happened was the King's eyes fused shut. Gael couldn't see it clearly, but the way man flailed, screamed, and began clawing at his eyes was a good indication.

His mouth sealing shut was more noticeable.

The King closed his mouth and suddenly there was a layer of skin between his two lips, keeping it from opening again. Gael watched in horror as the King attempted to open his mouth and the layer of skin between his lips only got thicker and thicker till it was indistinguishable from the rest of his face.

The King tried to scream.

It went dead half way though.

Gael knew with sickening certainty that the man's throat was fused together. Leaving him incapable of making noise.

A silence washed over everyone present, or maybe Gael lost the ability to hear anything but the man's screams. He couldn't tell the difference, the idea of looking away didn't even cross his mind. The other spectators seemed distant and hazy. Like they didn't exist, and the only real thing in the world was the Bandit King and his flesh binding him still.

As the leader of an adventuring party, that roams the lands fighting monsters and evil men alike, Gael had never understood how someone could be scared still. Scared into freezing, giving up on all of their options, refusing to move. Run away, fight, it doesn't matter. He never could understand how someone just couldn't move.

Until now.

Not a hint of shock touched his mind as the King's hands fused to his face. The thought of what would happen if he was on a horse briefly crossed his mind and he immediately dismissed it. There is no need to think about that.

"Well," Mylah said, coldly with a bit of the sweetness Gael always heard from her. "Since you can't move, or speak," She giggled at that, and Gael was finally struck with the fact that he barely knew her. "Kick your legs to surrender and I'll reverse the process!" Mylah's smile was bright and competitive. Like when she figured out a puzzle, Gael had no clue how she did this without flinching once.

The Bandit King kicked his legs wildly, and that was the end of that conflict. The disbandment was a quick and silent affair, and no one breathed too loudly where Mylah could hear for the next week.

---

"You guys are such babies." Mylah said, rocking back and forth on her heels. "That wasn't even the coolest idea I had. Next time I was gonna keep growing their teeth and other stuff."

Gael looked a bit queasy as she spoke.

"Maybe you should stick to the back..." Gael said, avoiding her eyes. "We should only bring out the big guns if someone is really a problem

Mylah rolled her eyes and nodded in false agreement, and watched as Gael scurried off to who knows where like he's been doing for the last week or so.

"Babies." She muttered under her breath.

This is what she gets for adventuring with a group of people who have never seen a proper undead before.

The rest of your party is always making sure that you, the healer, stay in the back. Not because they don’t want you to get hurt, but because they all still remember the last time you took the front line and nobody wants a repeat of that.

[buckyodinson]

Warmth

Helmut Zemo x F!Reader

Summary: you’re cold and Zemo offers you his coat

Word Count: 1k~

Warnings: minor tfatws spoilers ep3 (edit: now this is a series, I will add a warning for eventual smut)

A/N: look I’m confused too 😂 but I’ve found myself a tad obsessed with Zemo the last couple of weeks, and this just kinda happened. I don’t know if there’ll be a big audience for this, but if anyone has any Zemo requests, send them on in and I’d be excited to give them a go! Also, since Sokovian isn’t a real language, I went with a tiny bit of google translated Latvian as a substitute!

Edit: the response to this was pretty big (THANK YOU!), so I’ve turned this into a series! You can find the next part here!

Sam and Bucky had asked you to keep an eye on Zemo while they went back inside to grab some weapons before you guys left for the docks. You were missing the warmth of the party now you were outside. The night air was biting at your skin as you stood outside Sharon’s place. The skimpy dress she’d told you to wear to fit in with the crowd was fine while you were inside, but now you were out in the night, it wasn’t so great.

You tried to muscle through it, but the occasional shiver wracked through your body, prompting you to quietly hiss at the cold.

Evidently, Zemo noticed.

“Would you like my coat?” He offered, starting to shrug the coat off his shoulders

“No, thank you, Zemo.” You shook your head and held a hand up before crossing it over your chest in an attempt to conserve some warmth.

“Please, call me Helmut.” He drawled, and you looked at him in disbelief for a split second before composing yourself.

“I think I’ll stick with Zemo.” You pursed your lips and looked away.

You were having some conflicted feelings about Zemo recently. As far as you were concerned, he was a bit of an asshole. After all, this was the same man who tore your friends apart only a few years back.

But here he was, flying you guys around in a private jet, acting like you’re all best friends. He’d taken a particular liking to you, which concerned but intrigued you at the same time.

You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you were falling for him. Jesus, the awful things he put your friends through should be enough to turn you off him completely. And yet...

For starters, he was an attractive guy. You couldn’t deny that. You’d caught yourself staring at his hair several times. You wanted to run your fingers through it, tug on it... something. And the little bit of scruff he had been sporting too? You’d thought about that a bit too much.

And his accent... it had an effect on you, for sure. He could read a phone directory to you and you’d probably hang onto every number. You especially liked when he spoke Sokovian. You had no idea what he ever said, but you had noticed he’d use the occasional word when talking to you, or referring to you to someone else. You’d have to ask him about those at some point.

And for a dangerous criminal, he sure danced like a dork at Sharon’s place. You watched him from the bar as he was seemingly in a world of his own on the dance floor. At one point he caught your attention and beckoned you to join him, but you simply raised your glass at him and stayed put, smirking as he carried on.

While you were lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice Zemo shuck off his coat, and the next thing you knew, you felt the soft fur of the collar around your neck. You desperately wanted to protest but the coat was so warm, both in itself and because Zemo had been wearing it just moments before. The smell of his cologne lingered in it too, and you tried your best to ignore it.

“...thank you.” You murmur as you slip your arms into the sleeves and wrap the coat around you properly.

“It is my pleasure, mīļā.” He flashes a smile at you and you turn away, hoping he doesn’t catch your shy smile and the blush creeping up your face.

When Sam and Bucky finally return, they both narrow their eyes at Zemo when they see you’re wearing his coat.

“The lady was cold, I did what any gentleman would do.” He smirked as you all started walking down the street.

“Gentleman... sure.” Sam didn’t look convinced, and you chuckled at the look he gave Zemo.

You walked down the street and Sharon pulled up in a car, gesturing for you all to get in. Sam was closest to the passenger door so he just got in the front of the car, leaving you to squeeze in the back with Bucky and Zemo.

You rolled your eyes at the way Zemo’s face brightened up at the prospect of being so close to you in the car, but you found yourself hiding a small smile too. You edged yourself a little closer to Bucky though, and once he realised how close you and Zemo were, he shuffled himself as close to his door as he could, giving you some room to move.

The journey to the docks took a fair while, but it dragged on tortuously with Zemo sat so close to you. You started to get hot in his coat quite quickly, but there was no room to move in the car for you to take it off, so you just had to stay in it. You weren’t complaining too much though, because you were still quite enjoying the comfort of the coat.

When you arrived at the docks, Zemo hopped out of the car quickly, turning around to offer you his hand, and as much as you didn’t want to accept it, you didn’t want to trip over in your heels so you took his hand and let him help you out of the car.

“Thank you, Helmut.” Your eyes widened as his first name escaped your mouth, and he smirked in response. You felt your cheeks heat up, and you were just glad the others seemingly didn’t notice your slip up.

“You’re more than welcome, mana mīlestība.” He shut the car door with one hand, but kept a hold of you with his other hand, and it took you a second to realise and let go.

A deep chuckle rose from his throat and he winked before walking to catch up with the others. You took a deep breath and followed everyone, cursing yourself for letting Hel- Zemo get under your skin.

What was wrong with you? Where did these feelings come from? What were you going to do about them?

You’d have to worry about that later though, because shit hit the fan at the docks very quickly...

~

mīļā - sweetheart

mana mīlestība - my love

If anybody has any Zemo fic ideas, I’m all ears!

[neoncrowpen]

Hey Crow, can you write male reader as a young mechanic who (sadly, tragically) happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, witnessing a killing that could trace back to the Shelbys? Now, instead of bribing him, Tommy decides to "take him in" - make him a blinder. Reader is terrified of all of them but surprisingly he's a very good shot which makes him reliable in both close-and-far-range fights so Tommy checks up on him, keeps him close. He's very valuable to the gang - like a good investment on a race horse. Reader is shot one day and ends up at the hospital. He's so blurred by medication that he thinks that Tommy is his father, and when he comes to he finds Tommy still seating by his bed. Reader tried to escape from Birmingham which got him shot, and like a good 'parent' Tommy just couldn't allow for that to happen. No happy ending, please? And don't hold back from making Tommy absolutely terrifying. You know I love how you portray him, Crow.

Pairing/Characters: Tommy Shelby/Male!Reader

Work Summary: After witnessing the murder of your cousin, Thomas Shelby makes you a Peaky Blinder. As his new favorite, you told as you're told until one night you decide to run.

Words: 2383 (Ao3 Link)

You weren’t very good at running. Your chest heaved as you sprinted towards the shop. Your uncle was going to kill you for being this late. You shouldn’t have stayed out so late last night. It didn’t matter now. What mattered was whether if your uncle was in a forgiving mood or not. You were a good boy. You worked hard, always showed up on time, and kept yourself honest. Still, you couldn’t bear dealing with the disappointment.

So, you ran.

You slowed your pace when you saw the closed garage doors. Your heart sank past your stomach. No one even opened the garage yet. Your fingers ran through your hair as you cursed at yourself.

“Fuck!” you yelled out of frustration. Resigned to your fate, you walked past the lobby and into the garage. The first thing you heard was your cousin’s pleading voice.

“Wait! Please! P-please! I have a family! Wait!” Your cousin walked backwards. His hand waved in the air as if his surrendering words weren’t enough.

You spied to two Peaky Blinders pointing their weapons at your cousin. Their guns shot off. Your cousin’s body hit the concrete floor. You covered your mouth in shock, hoping they couldn’t hear the sudden gasp that left your mouth. As you tried to make sense of what was happening, your foot kicked away a metal car part. It scarped across the floor. Both Blinders looked your way.

“Oi! You!” They pointed you out. You sprinted towards the side door, hearing a bullet fly by your ear. You dove down to the ground. If you kept low, they couldn’t hit you. You didn’t account for the lookout. The third Blinder was twice your size. He grabbed your arms as you collided into him. Where was everyone? Where was your uncle? You shouted out your uncle’s name and then your comrades. Your feet kicked into metal parts and into the sides of other cars. You looked around for anyone else.

Without warning, something blunt wailed on your head, knocking you out.

You came to after a pail of water splashed down over your head. You woke up running, but your feet were bound to the chair legs, so were your arms. You shook the chair enough to send you forward, but a force caught you. It seemed like the only thing could move was your head.

Clarity returned to you to reveal the top dogs in front of you. You were somewhere in their territory. A secret distillery hidden in some building you didn’t recognize. Arthur Shelby threw the metal pail aside. His brother, Thomas Shelby, stood perfectly with his hands behind his back.

“What’s your name?” Thomas lit a cigarette in his mouth.

You decided to not lie. “Y/N.”

“Peter’s boy, from East Birmingham,” Arthur smiled. “Sorry about your cousin.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone!” You immediately cut in. “It’s none of my business anyways. I can keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh, I know you will,” Thomas’ words contained a threat in them. You hated the way he spoke to you. “Now, was it you or your cousin that was the good shot?”

“It’s me,” you answered. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” Thomas nodded his head towards his older brother. Arthur dutifully untied you, placing a gun on your lap. You looked at both of them with wild eyes. What the hell were they thinking? You stayed frozen to your chair, knowing that was the easiest, smartest thing you could do. It had to be a trick.

Thomas held up a glass in his hand. His empty eyes dared you to do your worst to him.

“Shoot it out of my hand.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not. Arthur here says you’re good at it. Shoot it out of my hand and I’ll let you walk out of here with a new job. Can’t really work at a shop that’s closed now, can you?” Thomas said.

You swallowed the fear that you wanted to scream out. The gun shook in your hands at first, but then they steadied as soon as you pointed towards your target. Wanting to get it over with, you pulled the trigger. The bullet shattered the glass in Thomas’ hand. He barely flinched, and you were solely convinced you were speaking to mad men.

“Oooh, he’s as good as gold,” Arthur laughed, clapping his hands together. Thomas shook off his hand.

“Good. Report to Delacey on Main Street,” Thomas told you. “He’s got your first target.” And just like that, without much consent on your part, you belonged to the Peaky Blinders.

They quickly dubbed you ‘Goldshot’. Not many of them had nicknames, but considering you were the new favorite all of them decided to play along. Thomas used you wherever he could. As long as you had bullets in your pocket and a gun in hand, you were almost invincible.

You earned your cap faster than most. Turns out, when you’re desperate and need to keep Thomas happy, murder became that much easier. Killing people for the Peaky Blinders earned you a good, solid profit as well. Your uncle’s shop did close, but you provided the family with an income that kept everyone around you afloat. As long as your mother didn’t know and your father kept his mouth shut, everything turned up roses.

A month into your new job, you reported to Thomas Shelby’s office. The door closed behind you. You smelled the cigarette smoke seep into your clothes. His set up had gambling papers and horse race news stacked neatly in piles. Nothing was out of place.

“Seven targets,” Thomas listed off the names. “All of them terminated. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir.” You cleared your throat. His eyes stayed on you longer than you wanted. They were cold. You were sure you could replace your dead cousin’s eyes with his and no one would tell the difference.

“Do you know what a calculated gamble is?”

“No. I don’t gamble.”

Thomas offered a ghost of a smile. “It’s when you understand all angles of a risk, and you take it anyways. You were a calculated gamble that’s paid off.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Thomas opened a drawer in his desk. He tossed a brand new pistol onto the desk along with two fat stacks of cash. You eyed the money more than the weapon. You did notice the vanity detail on the gun. Goldshot was engraved in the barrel.

“You’re a good soldier. Always do what you’re told. Always gotten everyone done correctly and on time,” Thomas said. “It’s true what the others say. You’re a favorite. The family is fond of you so, we’re offering you something bigger.”

“I’m not sure I understand. I already thought I was a Peaky Blinder, part of the family already.”

“You are. But, you’ve been taking orders from Delacey. Now, I want you to take orders from me. These targets aren’t going to be people who couldn’t pay their debts anymore. That’s child’s play. These people are threatening this family. Our family. Can you do that? Can you protect us?” Saying no to Thomas Shelby was a fatal mistake you were never going to make. With extra cash on the table, it was clear. The benefits outweighed death.

It was never your business why anyone wronged Thomas Shelby. You didn’t know what they did with their lives or if they had children. It was easier to not care at all. All you understood was that Thomas gave you a name and you delivered death unto them. One last gift from the Peaky Blinders. Your targets were mostly corrupt police officers, high-ranking gang members, and worse, one or two government officials.

The bodies you left behind were dealt with, of course. Thomas made sure his favorite never had to dirty his hands more than he needed to. For months, you succeeded in your singular task. You started to hear ‘Goldshot’ whispered underneath breaths of strangers. Those who knew your face looked at you sideways or not at all.

You started to wonder what kind of person you were becoming. You kept to your new method of dealing with things. You called it ‘Tommy’s Eyes’. Whenever something became too much, you emptied yourself of anything good. All hope and empathy left your head, like Tommy’s eyes. It was easier, better this way. Hot bullets seared through the targets’ chests, heads, and ears. Death threats toward your family became nothing but words.

Arthur Shelby bragged about you to enemies. Goldshot seemed like a curse words one would say three times in a mirror and then you’d appear, shooting behind the victim’s head. Thomas toasted to you on your birthday that year. He held his glass high in the air and declared that it was you, not God, that decided who lived and died. You wondered if God was testing you as you received your next slip.

George Sims. Garrison Bar. Midnight.

The bar wasn’t as packed during the weekdays. Regulars lingered there like the spirits on the shelf. Your target sighed in his seat. He dragged his hands over his face. His eyes sagged. He must be exhausted. Good thing you were here. Your gun provided all men a good night’s sleep. Midnight waned as the bartender’s voice rang through the emptying place.

“Last call!” her voice not as warm as when the night started. George Sims paid his tab and left. You followed. You mastered stepping around like a cat. You called your method to yourself. As easy as actors could change characters, you inhaled thoughts of Thomas Shelby. As you exhaled, you became him.

You followed George Sims down a street, far enough away from the Garrison. Your muscle memory locked onto him. You fired off no warning shots. The first bullet landed in his neck. He fell forward. You heard his satisfying cry. He writhed and coughed, turning to you. His eyes pleaded as much as his broken words.

“Please!” he choked out. He gasped for air, coughing up blood. His hand pressed into the wound. “I—have,” he wheezed out the words. “A family. Please.”

George Sims triggered the memory of your late cousin. You remembered him gasping at the mercy of the Blinders. How he begged to live for his family. George gasped on the ground, spitting up blood onto his shirt. The rush of all of your sins appeared at the forefront of your mind. What have you done?

You dropped your gun. It wasn’t worth it. None of this was actually worth it.

You stepped back in horror of what you’ve accomplished. George Sims continued to writhe on the ground. Your feet flew away from him and further away from the Garrison. If you could make it home first, your family could get out of Birmingham. London was big, and with the money you had, your family could set up nicely there. All you had to do was make it there.

After all these months, you still weren’t any good at running. Your chest heaved with air yu didn’t have. Your feet did not fly far enough. You heard a crack ring through your ears. It was all too familiar. Someone shot right through you. You landed on your knees first, and then everything went black.

Bright lights blurred your vision. This couldn’t be heaven. Heaven wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy. Every time you squirmed, you felt like you moved in phases. Slow and unnatural, your hands reached in the air. You clawed at the air, trying to block out the light. Your head turned to see your father sitting next to you in bed.

“I’m sorry.” Your first words to him sounded off. Your voice deeper, your pace slower than you intended. What the hell happened to you? Your eyelids grew heavy, but you fought against yourself. “It’s my fault. I was stupid and got shot. I should’ve listened.”

“It’s alright, Y/N.” Your father reassured you.

“I want to stop. I don’t want to do this anymore,” you cried. You felt the hot tears fall from your eyes and down the sides of your face. You tried looking at your father’s face. He seemed too far from your touch. “I don’t want to be Goldshot anymore. I’m not bad. I don’t want to be bad. Dad, help me. Please Dad. I hate it so much. I hate it all so much. Fuck the Peaky Blinders. Fuck Thomas Shelby. I want to leave.”

You couldn’t hear your father’s response. Exhaustion took you from the conversation too soon. You didn’t know how long it was. There was no way of telling time in a purgatory-like hospital room. Your eyes opened with clarity this time. Your eyes searched for your father, but they widened as Thomas Shelby came into view.

“Mr. Shelby?” you said. “What are you doing here? Where’s my father?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

Your brow creased. “He was here. I talked to him.”

“No,” Thomas stood up. He hovered over your bed. “You were talking to me.” The horrid realization drained all words from you. Everything you said in confidence now felt like a dreadful confession. You were going to die in this hospital bed.

“I didn’t mean it, any of it.” You said immediately.

“I know, you’re a good boy.” Thomas fixed your shirt collar. “Good boys don’t abandon their families. They don’t disappoint their fathers.”

“My father hates you.”

“I wasn’t talking about him.” Thomas told you. You noticed two Peaky Blinders standing outside your door.

“Tommy, where’s my family?” you asked.

“I’m right here. We’re all right here,” Thomas answered. “It’s going to be alright. As soon as you’re healed, you’ll be back at it. I’ll ease you into it.”

“I quit.”

Thomas laughed at you. He approached your bedside. His hand rested on your hot forehead. “You don’t know what you’re saying, and you’re running a fever. Good parents don’t let their children just quit especially when they want to throw their life away. Do you want throw your life away? Do you want to destroy what I’ve built for you?”

You met Tommy’s eyes. They were filled with something new now. Wrath.

“No,” you said.

Thomas patted your head. “Good boy.”

[n1ght5h4d3]

i came across this while writing my shockwave/whirl fic and I!!!!!!!!! THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm gonna use this time to shout about them bc i love them and they both deserve to be happy.

SO!

In the au that I'm writing, Shockwave is taken onto the Lost Light in the Good Ending of ll (the only ending imo). He's obviously still incredibly dangerous, even though all of his weapons have been shut down and he's limited to a very small part of the ship. However! He needs someone to watch him, someone to keep an eye on him who is Not Afriad Of The Cybertronian Version Of The Boogeyman.

In comes Whirl! Whirl, who looks death in the face and demands a refund bc WHAT THE HELL TOOK YOU SO LONG?! Whirl who is rough and tumble, who has so much trauma behind his optic that unpacking all of it would make Rung faint. Whirl, who is one of the only members of the crew who was Empurata'd.

Whirl knows what Shockwave went through, everyone does. But Whirl understands Shockwave at a level that no one else really will ever be able to, because he went through a very similar thing. Whirl doesn't jump at the chance to be Shockwave's "babysitter", but he also doesn't say no when offered the chance.

After all, its uncommon for a bot who went through Empurata to become something bigger than what they were changed for. In a tiny part of Whirl's spark, he admires Shockwave for how he was able to push past the agony and terror of his new body, and wield it better than he ever could have in his previous body!

Shockwave sees Whirl in a sort of similar light, but more in the way of "if you tried to cut my main energon lines with your claws, I would not try to kill you". He's seen Whirl, seen what he can do, how rough he fights and how he puts on a front that is so strong it's almost covered who he actually is.

Whirl looks at Shockwave and sees both an adversary and an equal. Shockwave looks at Whirl, and sees an angel with a gun ready to put a bullet in his helm and he's excited about it.

They're together all the time, and there isn't really any butting heads between them because of the mutual respect between them as well as the mutual knowledge that the other went through the same trauma that they went through, and made it out without a scratch on their paint.

And since Shockwave isn't allowed anything that he can make anything dangerous out of, Whirl teaches him how to make clocks. It's clunky and awkward between them, with Whirl's masterful claws being able to navigate the tiny machinery, and Shockwave's one hand being shaky and creaky (because it was made to be weak) and his one blaster hand that is eventually replaced with a rolling magnet in the place of where his blaster was! So he can pick up very small things (CLOCK PARTS!!!)

It's a learning process for the two of them, but it's also therapy. Being Empurata means that you have to learn how to be yourself, when you aren't yourself. How to communicate without a mouth, without hands. How to show affection without lips. Most of their time spent together is quiet, filled with the sounds of them tinkering with a clock. But there is also another sound. Whirl's claw tips clicking together, followed by the mechanical up and down of Soundwave's finals on his helm. When they get closer, Whirl actually bumps their helms together so that their optics look right into one another. Its incredibly intimate, sort of clumsy, but it brings a sort of lightness to the both of them.

Being together, and eventually becoming Amica Endura (bc all of their bits were removed, and shockwave doesn't like sex anyway) they find a connection with each other!! And they're no longer alone!!!

Okay I'm done <3 just had to get that out of me hehe

one eyed war criminals >>>>>>

[solarwriting]

guns and gifts

carl gallagher x fem!reader

request: Hey! I hope I can send you a request for Karl Gallagher of Shameless. Maybe Karl and y / n were a couple before jail, and after leaving jail he came to her to ask her for forgiveness. y / n doesn't forgive him and he starts giving her gifts and apologizing every day. Then everything is at your discretion. Happy ending please💛 from @powerpuffluuvv

genere: fluff + angst

word count: 2.1k

warnings: swearing, ooc carl

posted on april 18, 2021

puppy love. thirteen year-olds holding hands and sharing stolen kisses. it was a sweet relationship that could’ve grown and matured with the two teens as they did. instead carl found himself a job on the corner and when he got caught y/n was done. fiona tried to get through to the boy, asking him to apologize but he brushed her off.

“can i please just talk to him? maybe he’ll listen to me.” y/n pleaded with the lawyer.

fiona stepped in, “it wouldn’t hurt to try it.”

“five minutes.” the lawyer relented.

y/n thanked him and rushed into the room where he sat. he squinted at her through the glasses fiona gave him. “i’m not fuckin’ sorry. i wish i was smarter about it. i wouldn’t have used chuckie as a mule.”

“you know what. if you don’t tell that judge you’re fucking sorry and that you’ve learned from your mistakes i will never speak to you again.” y/n exited the room quickly letting the ultimatum hang in the air as the door slammed behind her.

during the hearing her eyes were trained on the back of his head, hoping she could somehow will him to do the right thing. she kept her arms crossed as she leaned back. kev and v were sat next to her, waiting anxiously to see what he’d say.

“i’m going to make juvie my bitch.” as soon as he said those words, y/n sighed, getting up from her seat, shouldering her back and slipping out of the courtroom as they hauled carl away. he caught her eye before she left, she froze for a moment before shaking her head and making her exit.

time passed and she still spent time with the rest of the gallaghers, she lived across the street so it would have been hard not too. she helped take care of liam when needed and she got a job at patsy’s with fiona’s help.

the day carl came back had been a surprise for everyone, y/n was helping fiona with making dinner after a shift at patsy’s. the front door had slammed shut and, thinking it was debbie, fiona asked if she got a message about hamburger buns. y/n’s eyes shot up when a much deeper voice responded, “nah, it’s just me.”

excited, fiona rushed towards the boy, wrapping him up in a hug. hugging back, he looked up throwing a wave to y/n who was rooted in place, “hey, y/n.”

snapping herself back into reality she lurched forward wiping her hands and grabbing her things, pulling her bag over her shoulder and gripping her keys tightly she looked back at the boy as fiona fussed over his new appearance. “fuck you, carl.” she spat, slamming the back door shut behind her.

y/n managed to avoid carl at school the next day, he was too busy with “his boy” nick and his new white boy carl personality and selling illegal weapons in the bathrooms to bother her anyways. she rushed to patsy’s as soon as school ended and began her shift.

she spent the afternoon rushing from table to table, taking orders, passing out food, and pouring coffee. she was pouring coffee for a couple sitting near the front door when the bell twinkled, signaling a new customer.

her back turned to the door and her focus pointed and the coffee she was pouring she greeted the customer quickly, “take a seat anywhere and i’ll be right with you darling.” she smiled at the couple before turning around, finding herself face to face with white boy carl himself. “get the fuck out.”

y/n rushed away from him, pouring coffee for a man sat at the counter. carl followed, “please just talk to me, y/n.”

“she doesn’t want to talk to you, man.” the customer spoke up as y/n placed the coffee pot on the burner.

“what the fuck did you just say to me?” carl asked the man.

he stood up, “i told you she doesn’t want to talk. so leave.”

y/n stepped in before a physical altercation broke out, “thank so much, sir, but i can fight my own battles.” she pushed carl towards the door, “out.” she kept pushing him despite his protests, “get the fuck out. go.”

the door slammed behind them, and carl began to speak, “no, you’re going to shut your fucking mouth and listen. i don’t want to listen to you. i don’t want to talk to you. and i don’t even want to see you but that last one might be a little fucking impossible since we’re neighbors and i work with your sister so i’m going to be civil towards you but i will only acknowledge your existence when it is absolutely necessary. clear?”

carl began to protest but y/n cut him off, “are we fucking clear?” carl grumbled an agreement and y/n sighed, “good, now get the fuck out if here. i have to go back to work.”

y/n rushed back into the diner, throwing herself back into work. hoping she looked busy enough to keep the nosy man from before to leave her alone, she poured more coffee, took orders, passed out plates. until her shift ended and she could finally take the l back home.

the next run in with carl happened two days later, she was walking home from school, thankful for the day off from work when carl and nick pulled up on a bike. “y/n! wait!”

sighing, y/n whipped around, “i thought i told you i didn’t want to talk to you.”

“i have something for you.” carl explained as he got closer, y/n ignored him and started walking again, the bike quickly catching up with her. “here.”

y/n scoffed, eyeing the bag, “whatever it is i don’t want it.”

“it’s a book, debbie told me you wanted to read it.”

y/n sped up, “no thanks, already read it.” she didn’t care what book it was, she didn’t want anything from him. she took this moment to cross the street, the passing cars making it difficult for the boys on the bike to follow.

she entered the gallagher house hoping carl would be too busy to come home for a few hours while she watched liam. “i get off at nine, if anyone else comes home you’re welcome to leave but i plan on bringing something back for dinner if you want to stick around for that.”

“of course i’ll stay. me and liam are going to have a great time. isn’t that right liam?” y/n asked the toddler who nodded enthusiastically. fiona thanked her and rushed out the door.

y/n put on a movie, which liam fell asleep watching about thirty minutes in. y/n got up and stretched when the movie ended, adjusting the blanket she threw over liam when he fell asleep. she walked in the kitchen, stiff from sitting for so long. she pulled out a can of pop from the fridge and leaned her back against the fridge, using to stretch her body more.

the door swung open and carl walked in, “good you’re hear, i have something else for you.”

“whatever it is, i don’t want it.” y/n sighed into her drink.

“it’s a necklace, here.” he opened the velvet box to show her an expensive looking necklace.

she turned away from him, “no thanks.” walking back into the living room. “go somewhere else please, i have to watch liam.”

carl sighed before exiting the house with nick, who had been hanging back by the door during the exchange. he nodded to nick and the two rolled out to go do god knows what.

that night fiona came home with food, the entire gallagher clan plus kev and v enjoyed. there were enough people that y/n managed to avoid speaking to carl the entire evening. every time he tried to speak to her she’d find someone to talk to, she talked lip about something she had to do for school, ian told her about trevor, and her and debbie talked about anything.

v even pointed out the strange behavior when carl was left looking slightly dejected to fiona, who just shrugged in response.

“thank you fiona, goodnight everyone.” y/n called as she stepped out the back door. she crossed the street quickly and made it home, which as usual was empty, the rest of her family nowhere to be found.

she sighed, grabbing a beer from the fridge and kicking of her shoes as soon as she made it to her room. she threw herself back on her bed yelping when she collided with something hard. she jumped up only to see the jewelry box and book carl had bought her. she set her beer down and pulled the box open, smiling at the necklace. it was gold, with a small tear shaped pendant that held some sort of crystal or diamond.

she set the box next to her beer, which she grabbed and took sip of as she grabbed the book. it was actually something she’d been wanting, she rolled her eyes before opening it to the first page.

the next fee days followed a similar pattern, carl would stop her at school and work and even his own house to offer her gifts, which she would refuse, which would always end up on her bed at the end of the day. on a particularly rough day, y/n had enough. she was walking home from school, carl (who was alone this time) behind her, like clockwork offering another gift.

“carl, please just leave me alone. i don’t have the energy to deal with you.” y/n said not stopping. carl made a comment and y/n snapped, “god i’m not going to forgive you because you chose to go to juvie. you could have just apologized and gotten parole but that didn’t happen. and i’m not going to be your girlfriend again because i don’t even know who you are any more, this thug personality doesn’t look good on you.” y/n sighed rushing away before he could answer.

she was suddenly thankful for the day off, deciding to spend it all alone at home. it was a friday and her weekend was also free so she spent the next few days home alone. her family was gone of course, they only only seemed to show up once a month just to leave again the same day.

sunday evening y/n laid in the couch watching what was on tv when there was a knock on the door. y/n groaned, getting up to answer it freezing when carl was revealed on the other side. he looked small, he was curled into himself and he looked sad. his braids were out, soft curls in the place. “hey, y/n.” he said softly. y/n wordlessly moved out of the way to let him in.

“i’m done. no more sell drugs, guns, anything. something happened, with nick and i don’t want that to be my life anymore.” his voice cracked and y/n instinctively wrapped him into a hug, squeezing protectively. he cried into her shoulder, holding her tightly, scared to let her go.

“hey,” y/n spoke softly, running her fingers through his hair, “you’re okay. i got you.” once carl calmed down, he pulled away but y/n held onto him, hands on his face.

“i really miss you y/n. and i know i was awful before but all i want to do is be with you. i love you.” he sighed, his hands holding her wrists.

y/n pulled him closer, “i love you, too, idiot.” carl gave her a lopsided smiled before surging forward to connect their lips in a hot kiss. y/n stumbled backwards before backing into the wall behind her. carl bit on her lip softly causing her breath to catch in her throat. she tugged on his hair and he squeezed her hips. she pulled away for breath, pressing her forehead to his, “my room?” breathless carl nodded pressing a quick kiss to her lips before they rushed to her room.

the next morning the front door slammed opened, “y/n! i’m going to kill fiona!” debbie stormed through the house bursting into y/n’s room where she was laying next to a topless carl, wearing only his t-shirt, “oh my god! ew!” debbie shielded her eyes from the sight before her.

“hey, debs.” y/n mumbled, sheepishly.

debbie groaned, “just get dressed, we have school.”

[thebadchoicemachine]

Scout Goes To The Dentist and everyone suffers

Ao3 Link

(recommend reading there bc tumblr screws up the format)

Summery: Scout needs to get his wisdom teeth out. Scout does not want to have any dentist stuff happen at all ever. Medic and Spy decide to fix this, and the rest of the mercs react without context.

100% Crack. a bit of fluff. 

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

The mercs were driving back to base after another (relatively) successful mission. Sniper drove with Engie in Shotgun and the rest of the crew resting in the back. 

  Scout tentatively checked his teeth with his tongue, brow pressed in worry. He’d been feeling an ache in his mouth for weeks but it was growing sharp. It was starting to interfere with work. He’d screwed up way more than usual on this contract and everyone knew it. He just couldn’t concentrate with this freakin’ pain!

  More importantly, however, his pain was also affecting Spy’s ability to concentrate. The constant smacking and gashing and groaning was driving him insane. 

  “Pour l'amour de Dieu. Scout, will you shut ze hell up?”

  “Why don’t you shut the hell—AHHH! ” He screamed as a bump caused his teeth to bash together, sending a horrific jolt of pain through his jaw. 

  Everyone in the van shot up, weapons drawn. At least, everyone but Demo and Pyro, both of whom were thankfully still passed out in the corner. The mercenaries probably wouldn’t have survived if either of them panic-pressed any buttons. 

  “Y’all alright back there?” Engie asked.

  “What in the great flag’s name what that?” Soldier demanded at the same time. 

  “Yeah, I just got uh… bit of a bruise,” Scout shrugged casually, failing to hide his nervous shame. 

  Sniper chuckled from the front, “Wuss.”

  “Hmm.” Medic leaned over to stare at Scout. His freaky beady eyes glinted behind his glasses, but he didn’t do anything else.

  Scout awkwardly turned back around and kept his tongue between his teeth the rest of the ride.  

  ——

  The next morning:

  Scout was awoken by a quick rapping at his door. He groaned, falling out of bed face first. The polite knocking continued at the same pace. 

  “OKAY, I’M COMING!” He growled. He pulled himself to his feet and blindly smacked his nightstand until he felt his bottle of Ibuprofen. He popped open the lid and downed four with a half-empty can of bonk he’d left out. Energized and assured the pain in his mouth would subside, he shuffled toward the door and creaked it open. 

  Medic’s imposing figure peered down at him, grinning. 

  “JESUS!” Scout jumped back. 

  Unfazed, Medic stepped into his room. “Hello, kleiner Freund,” he said in his usual chipper tone, circling Scout. “How are ve today?

  “Uh, fine.” Scout turned alongside the circling doctor, trying to keep eye contact as Medic observed every angle of him. “So, what’s up, exactly? Why are you here?”

  “Oh, apologies! I am here to take care of that ache you were complaining about yesterday.”

  Scout froze. “Ah… that. Nope! No, no need. Thanks, pal, but I really feel—EEP!”

  Medic’s hand shot out and grabbed Scout by the jaw. He pressed Scout’s mouth open and peered inside at his teeth. “Just as I suspected.”

  “Uhat?”

  “You have been expiring pain in your mouth for a while now, ja?”

  “Uoah!” Scout shoved himself away, getting the gloves out of his mouth. “I mean: no! Why—haha—what makes you even think that?”

  Medic placed a hand on his chin, looking pensively upwards. “Vell, I thought it was strange. I healed everyone with my medigun before we left. That ought to have cured any remaining wounds, bruises, or strains you had from ze fight, so it must be a reassuring issue that started again afterward. Also, Spy has been complaining about your mouth sounds.”

  “That smelly French rat,” Scout cursed. “But, he’s wrong. And you’re wrong! Sorry, doc, but I don’t have any cavities or nothin’. My teeth are my best feature. I care for them perfectly.”

  “You do!” Medic beamed. “Even just from this quick examination, I can tell that your teeth are pristine. No, you don’t have any cavities.”

  “Phew.” Scout relaxed in euphoric relief.

  “I would have cured it with my medigun if it were an infection like that,” Medic continued. “Your wisdom teeth are just overgrowing their stay! Worry not, I can remove them—”

  “Oh, fuck no!” Scout yelped. He jumped past the medic and took off as fast as he could. 

  “Huh. Interesting reaction,” Medic shrugged to himself, watching the boy disappear over the horizon.

  —

  “Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, NOPE!” Scout repeated as he tore through the base, dying to get as far away from that Freaky Von Frankenstein as fast as possible. 

  In his panic, he ducked into the place he figured he was least likely to be caught: Spy’s room. He slammed the heavy door behind him and slunk against it, his chest puffing in and out like crazy as he tried to catch his breath. Not from running—he could run much further than that and still have enough wind to heckle—but rather from his fear. 

  “Scout, what are you doing... uh…” The cold blade of Spy’s knife spurred such intense joy that Scout shot forward and wrapped his arms around the man before he was even visible. Spy decloaked and stood there, absolutely unsure of what to do next. He waited for a moment, looking around, and then carefully tapped Scout on the back. “Scout?”

  “Ah, sorry, man.” Scout detached himself, trying to play it off as him brushing something off Spy’s suit. 

  Spy caught his hand before it touched his precious threads again. “Explain yourself.” 

  “Right, haha, so…” Scout clapped his hands together. “I am. Hiding from Medic.”

  “Why?” 

  “Why not? The dude’s nuts!”

  Spy had to give him that, but he could tell there was something else going on.

  A polite knock at the door interrupted the two of them. “Hellooo? Scout?”

  “Aw crap, he found me!” Scout darted behind Spy. “You gotta protect me, hide me, please!”

  Spy ignored scout and opened the door. 

  Medic smiled pleasantly at the two of them, a dove now perched on his shoulder. “Archimedes, look at zat! You vere right, he IS here! I never would’ve guessed.”

  “A fucking BIRD sold me out?”

  “Quiet,” Spy scolded. “Medic, do you mind explaining to me what zis iz about?”

  “Scout is in need of a simple medical procedure. His wisdom teeth have betrayed him and must be removed. That vay his pain vill cease and he’ll stop having to make those annoying sounds all the time!”

  “NO,” Scout shouted from behind Spy. “Ain’t no way I’m letting you put your creepy tools inside my beautiful mouth.”

  “Strange,” Spy raised an eyebrow, “You’ve never had much issue with Medic’s healing methods before.”

  “Ja! And you left before I could finish telling you the best part! I can remove them almost entirely painlessly.”

  Scout glared at him suspiciously. Spy didn’t really buy it either, but he didn’t make a show of it. 

  “Vhat? I mean it! And I’d be more than happy to!”

  “Why?” Spy squinted. 

  Medic tapped his fingers together. “I mean, I am getting a very nice set of teeth out of this whole situation…”

  “Of course,” Spy rolled his eyes. “Scout, why don’t you just get this over with?”

  Medic agreed, “Surely even you aren’t that self-conscious about your mouth. This pain vill go away and your teeth vill look even better!”

  Scout couldn’t take it anymore. He burst out, “I lied, alright? I lied! My teeth aren’t my best feature (that’s obviously my amazing physique). The real reason I take such good care of my mouth is ‘cause… because…” The waiting faces of his colleagues assured him there was no way out of this. He hung his head and sucked in. “Because I’m scared of dentists.”

  There was a beat of silence, then Spy burst out laughing. 

  Scout was not amused. “No, you don’t get it. Scared doesn’t even begin to cover this. I am straight-up phobic, you got it? Do you know how many dentists’ faces I’ve beaten in just because I freaked out and lost it? A lot. A LOT.”

  “Vell, I assure you that vill not happen to me.” Medic cheerily clapped him on the back.

  “Okay…” Scout gulped, looking shakily from Spy to Medic. “Okay,” He stood up taller. “I’ll do it.” 

  ——

  About twenty minutes later:

  Demo and Soldier sat playing cards on an overturned barrel. In the distance, a faint buzzing sound grew. They both ignored it, happily focused on their game, but it continued getting sharper. 

  Pyro, who was sitting a few feet away helping Engineer with fuel, looked up and asked a muffled question. 

  “I don’t know,” Engie answered. “Sounds like a speaker is busted. I’ll check it out after this.”

  “aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Suddenly, Scout burst past. He jumped the barrel Soldier and Demo were playing on, scattering their game everywhere, and tripped straight into Pyro. 

  “Mmphh?” They asked with a tilted head, pulling Scout to his feet.

  “HE’S GONnA TAKE MY FUckIN TEEth!” Scout sobbed. 

  Engie took Scout by the shoulder. “Hold on now, son. Who’s gonna take what?”

  Right then, Medic came running up. His glasses were cracked and there was a shoe print on his face. “Vait! I haven’t even started yet!”

  Scout shrieked. He stumbled over Engie’s toolbox and rolled, taking off again as soon as he was on his feet. 

  “Sorry!” Medic called as he raced after his patient. “He’s evidently VERY dentophobic!” 

  Soldier, Engie, Pyro, and Demo were left to stare as though that cleared up anything. 

  Scout was, in all honesty, tripping absolute balls. He’d gotten as far as Medic’s lab before he decided to nope out again, but not in time to dodge the syringe Medic was sneakily placing in his back. Unfortunately, because of his fleeing, he only got enough of a dose to put him out of it and numb his physical senses, not his fear. 

  ——

  Heavy was enjoying a quiet break. Music was playing from his radio, Sasha was sitting by his side, and he had a sandwich he savored while watching the sky. Then, instead of a sandwich, he was holding Scout. Scout had crashed into him at full force—barely moving the giant of a man but shattering his momentum—and knocked the meal out of his hands.

  Heavy held Scout up by the arm so they were face to face. “Vhat’s wrong, little man?” 

  “The med… the medic…” Scout wheezed, unable to speak anymore with the effects of the anesthesia reaching his tongue. 

  “Something’s wrong with doctor?” Heavy stood up, dragging poor Scout along with him. Alarm and determination were hot on his face. 

  “HE—“ 

  *Fwwit*

  Scout slumped over onto Heavy, a dart stuck in his back. 

  [  Several meters away, Sniper and Spy breathed a sigh of relief from a tower. 

“Many thanks,” Spy said. Sniper nodded. 

After Scout had fled again, Spy went to find Sniper with another dose of the anesthesia (this time with more of a tranquilizing effect).  ]

  “Ah, zer you are!” Medic called, finally catching up with Scout. “Hi, Heavy!”

  “Doctor?” Heavy quizzically looked from the sleeping Scout, who he’d taken to holding in his arms, to the slightly ruffled Medic.

  “It’s a long story,” Medic laughed, frazzled. “Come on, I’ll explain it while I finish this surgery.”

  ——

  One week later: 

  Scout smacked his lips, fluttering open his eyes. He stretched out and ungraciously yawned while scratching the back of his head. He was so thirsty, as he always was when waking up, but hunger pains also jabbed at his stomach. Instinctively, he began to feel for the ache in his teeth, but it wasn’t there. More alarmingly, his wisdom teeth weren’t there either. 

  The previous events spurred his mind. He let it sink in, just glad he couldn’t remember any of the actual dentist parts. He shuddered just thinking about it. 

  Intent on wiping all of this from his mind, he hopped out of bed. Oddly, he was in his own room, not the chair in Medic’s lab. He grabbed some mouthwash and swished It around, amazed at how he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his jaw. Weren’t these surgeries supposed to hurt like hell after?

  “Huh, guess the doc wasn’t kidding,” he said to himself. 

  His stomach grumbled. God, he was starving. He grabbed a can of bonk to quench his thirst while he searched for breakfast and tried to open his door. It didn’t budge. He frowned, jiggling the knob more to no avail. 

  “Stupid door,” he murmured. “Let me out, I wanna eat!” 

  The door didn’t listen. 

  “Alright, buddy. You asked for this.” Scout walked back to his bed and pulled out his bat. With one well-placed swing, he knocked the handle off entirely. The dumb plank of wood still wouldn’t open, so he took a few more swings at its hinges. He’d get someone to fix it later. For now, he just wanted out. 

  After a while, he finally managed to push the door out of its frame. He rolled his shoulders and stepped happily outside… only to be greeted by two sentries aimed right at him. 

  “AUGH!” He fell back inside, hiding behind his wall. “Yo, what the fuck?”

  “Mey! Mees Mawake!” Pyro’s muffled voice called out. 

  Scout heard some hushed shouting and shuffling footsteps. He peeked his head outside to see the whole team surrounding his doorstep. Weapons were drawn and hesitance/caution was drawn on everyone’s faces in thick lines.

  “Uh… guys?” Scout called. “This is hilarious and all, but I just want some breakfast, okay?” He took a careful step outside with his hands raised. The sentries followed his movement but didn’t shoot. 

  Everyone visibly relaxed. Some audible sighs of relief were even heard from Spy and Medic. 

  “Hurray! He’s really awake!” Medic grinned, giving a thumbs up to a very tired-looking everyone else. 

  “What?” Scout was stiff and hungry, but he needed answers to this weird show first and foremost.

  Everyone turned to Medic, who sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “Vell, I may have underestimated your fear. Just a bit.”

  “What happened?”

  “You sort of turned into a zombie…? A very powerful, frantic, mindless thing that destroyed everything it touched.  I mean, every time you woke up you went absolutely berserk! It was a fascinating reaction, really, but—“

  “Ehem,” Spy cleared his throat, glaring at Medic. 

  “Right, so, after like the twelfth time this happened and we managed to subdue you I just put you in a coma until we could be sure the effects wore fully off.”

  “Oh.” Scout blinked, not sure how to react to that. “So, I beat all you guys up?”

  “Several times, ja! You also destroyed several structures.”

  Scout grinned. His now-truly perfect teeth glinted. “Awesome. Let’s never do this again.”

  “Agreed,” Medic said. 

[oh-no-a-whovian]

Despite my claws (love me) part 10

18+

Summary: Missy Moreno is missing right after fighting a notorious villain. Marcus will do whatever it takes to save his little girl. Even working with that villain to find her.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x villain-reader

Warnings: Swears, violence, injury, weapons, Mentions of abuse and trauma, death, blood, gore? If there’s others let me know

Word count: 3570

Masterlist P1 P9 P11

The rich smell of coffee barely registers in your mind as you sit at the booth alone, nursing a warm cup in your hands. The early morning crowd chatters around you, talking about some bull shit that barely even matters to them. The café is filled with unnerving pleasantries, everyone acting like they care when they’re far too exhausted with their own lives to care about others.

A month has passed since Missy decided to ignore your warnings and tell her mother everything and so far, nothing catastrophic has happened. Your current theory is that it was meant to happen. Why else would the woman have come to you for help and spent so much time with you if not for the fact that she knows that her family has a future safety blanket in you. You’re definitely not fond of the idea that she might have thought of you as a safe place for them to land. You’re not exactly a safe person to be around half the time. You’re still a villain after all.

You buried Colette… you were able to afford a nice plot at the local cemetery, even a gravestone, her name carved and painted in gold. It always was her colour.

You dug the hole and fought your emotions as you wrapped her body in a dark cloth and lowered her into the ground yourself. You didn’t tell Marcus when you did it. He’d asked a few days after what your plan was and you just shrugged, telling him you’ve already done it.

You spin a coin tiredly as you wait for the person you’re meeting. You knew you’d have to meet up with him eventually, you only brought so much money and it’s not exactly a liveable amount. It definitely wasn’t enough to get three people out of Canada, especially with no forms of ID. Can’t even get temporary jobs without them. 

You were able to contact a trader in fake IDs that owes you and that you know you hadn’t cashed in. all he needed was the pictures and he’d made them, one for each of you. He didn’t even question why the other two look like Marcus and an older Missy Moreno.

“Not like you to be hiding out in Canada.” He starts as he takes the seat across from you, glancing around and waving to the waitress. “Finally do something that the Heroics will actually execute you for?”

“We’ll go with that.” You roll your eyes, covering your mug to signal you don’t want more coffee as the waitress approaches with the jug. “You bring what I asked for?”

“Of course, I did.” He says, pulling the envelope from his pocket and waving it in front of you, yanking it away when you reach for it. “Our deal will be concluded with this, right? I’ll owe you nothing?”

“Unless you decide to make another deal at some point, then yes, you won’t owe me a thing.” You tell him, leaning back in your seat but keeping your hand out for him to give the item to you. “The keeping your mouth shut will remain though.”

His eyes flick between the envelope and you. For a second you think he may decide not to give it to you, but he nods and hands it to you. He made the right choice. It would have been unfortunate trying to get his blood out of your clothes and you’re not fond of being yelled at by Marcus.

“Thank you” you say, finishing your coffee and rising from your seat.

“I know it’s not really your style, but did you have anything to do with the weird goo creatures that have been attacking farms up north of here?” he asks. You freeze, turning to him with concern. “just weird you’re here at the same time…”

“What are you talking about?”

“a bunch of black goo creatures have been spotted at the farms about an hour north.” He tells you, an eyebrow raising at your reaction. You tap the table in thought as you look around the diner.

“Thanks for telling me.” You say, racing off to return to Marcus.

~~~~

“We might have an issue.” You say as you slam the hotel door shut, dropping your jacket on the table by the door.

“You kill the man you’d asked to make us IDs?” Marcus asks as he watches the news, sharpening the blade in his hands.

“What? No.” you huff, unable to fight the smile on your lips. He knows you so well. “Apparently a bunch of black goo creatures have been attacking farms about an hour north of here.” You explain as you sit beside him. Marcus pauses his ministrations, both him and his daughter looking at you.

“Are you sure?” Missy asks, worry crossing the young girls features.

“I don’t see how he’d have known about them if they weren’t actually there.” You tell them. “So, we have two options. Try to get rid of them ourselves or dip and hope someone else will.” You smile, hoping they’ll go with the second, they’re gross and they smell bad, you don’t wanna deal with that shit. Going by the unimpressed look on their faces though, your hopes may have been a bit too high.

~~~~

Snow and ice crunch under your boots as you step around the rubble of a burnt down barn. Black slime trails off in multiple directions, mixed with blood from innocent victims. Whoever lived here is most likely dead, but they clearly didn’t go down without a fight, burning down their barn in a blaze of glory.

Bones and viscera from the farmer’s cattle are strewn across the snow-covered field, a sick display of those goop creatures’ blood lust. You wonder if they actually stopped to eat any of it. and you also wonder how many there are. Surely not many could have stowed away upon the train. Marcus didn’t see any when he’d checked the whole length of the vehicle.

“You were right…” Marcus sighs as he joins you at the edge of the ashen rubble. “there’s blood inside… no one survived…”

“Not even the kid?” you ask as you look over the kid’s toys scattered around the outside of the burnt down barn, rubbing his arm as he shakes his head. “where’s Missy?”

“She was feeling sick… it’s not a pretty sight in there.” He tells you, glancing back at the nice little farmhouse. “it’s safe, there’s no creatures.”

“They would have moved off the moment they ran out of things to murder… probably looking for the next farm animal to massacre.” You nod, seeking out the monster’s tracks in the snow.

“How many do you think there are?” he asks cautiously, following you as you trace the black slime trails.

“Probably a few… they’re ninety percent slime, they may reproduce asexually. Perhaps by mitosis…” you ponder, following the trails with your eyes as they head south.

“They have skulls, how would they get those through mitosis?”

“That… is a good question...” you say, turning back to the bloody field, your eyes casting over the brutal scene with indifferent curiosity. “there’s no skulls…” you mumble, unable to see even one. “What if, they use the skulls of their prey? The adult creature takes them, hold them until they’re ready, then when they divide, each one has their own.”

“you’re really smart.” He smiles, affection held strong in his eyes.

“Well yeah, I was raised by an evil genius. I’m crazy not dumb.” You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking as he shakes his head. “Are you sure you want to bring Missy along for this? I’m not sure how long this is gonna take or how many there will be when we find them.” You ask him, putting your hands on his hips and pressing your body close to his.

“I don’t wanna leave her alone.” He sighs “she’s already struggling with everything; I don’t want to make her worry about me too.”

“As opposed to the potential horror awaiting in the form of several carnivorous slime monsters?”

“She can handle herself.”

“I’m sure she can…” you sigh “We should at least head back to town and get some supplies, maybe a flame thrower or two. Canada sells those right?”

“I doubt it… why would we need them?” he questions, apprehensive but curious.

“Colette said they had an aversion to fire. we’ll have to make some then.” you shrug. Behind Marcus, Missy finally reappears, looking pale and wobbly, trying to walk down the steps without tipping over. “I’ll be in the car” you say, nodding to toward Missy for Marcus to see she needs help.

"we’ll be right there” he says, racing to help his little girl.

As you sit yourself into the driver’s seat, you’re tempted for a moment to drive off and deal with the creatures yourself. You just want to keep them safe. you also know that you can’t do this alone. So, despite how much you wanna just take off and deal with the creatures alone, you wait for them to get in the car you stole.

~~~~~

No matter how much you protested, Marcus wouldn’t leave Missy at the hotel and the little girl was just as determined to come along. Eventually you gave up, growling that it was his responsibility to make sure she wouldn’t get eaten. It was petty but you were pissed. She’d be safer watching the tv in the hotel room, wrapped up in a nice warm blanket, eating snacks. Instead, she wants to trudge through the snow along the frozen outskirts of the town searching for goo monsters. Go for it! just don’t expect me to save you.

You sigh quietly as you scan between the trees, your home-made flamethrower ready to roast some slime monsters. Wind and the crunch of snow under feet seem to be the only sounds within the frozen forest. Corrosive black trails lead through the trees, about a dozen different tracks leading the way.

You’re sure you’re getting close now. You’ve been following the creature’s disgusting trails for nearly an hour now, and the fowl smell that follows them is slowly getting stronger.

You notice Marcus starting to show concern at the first signs of another farm nearby, worried that you’ll soon find another massacre. Goo drips along the barbed wire fence, corroding the metal the point it falls apart the moment you touch it.

“We should hurry, maybe there’ll still be someone we can save.” Missy says, passing through the disintegrated fence and rushing ahead, her father following close behind.

“Sure, let’s throw caution to the wind and send ourselves balls deep into death. I don’t care about living past today either. I’m sure my skull would look great as the centre piece to a slime monster as it feast on the corpse of humanity.” You quietly rant to yourself, questioning your life choices as you follow them.

smoke and screams meet your group as you step out from the tree line. High upon a grain silo, a family fights for their lives. The man has a fan of spray in one hand and a lighter in the other, holding the creatures back with short bursts of flame. Huddled behind him and screaming are two little kids and another man holding them close.

Fifteen of those beasts surround the silo, trying to climb it to get to the only living things in their sight. As one almost reaches the top the man standing his ground releases a burst of fire into its face, making it fall back to the ground with a wet splat, only for it to reform and try again.

“there’s people down there. help! Help us please!” the man screams when he spots the three of you approaching across the field, each with a flamethrower in your hands.

Flames burst forth the moment you’re in range, making the creatures screech and recoil as their gloopy forms start bubble in the heat. They lash out and swipe at you with tendrils, screaming as they too bubble and dissipate.

You move Missy back as one almost grabs her ankle, cursing as it gets yours instead, tripping you up and making you drop your flamethrower.

“Dad!” Missy shouts for help, unsure how to free you from the monster without burning you to.

You scramble to get a hold of anything that might save you from being a slime beast’s lunch. You turn to meet the eyes of the beast. glowing red orbs meet you with indifferent hunger from within the sockets of its appropriated cow skull. You sneer at the monster as you pull a blade from your other boot, jamming it into the eyes socket and hoping there’s a reason they adapted the ability to take skulls to wear.

It riles back dropping your leg as it tries desperately to remove the blade from its eye. Pulling you back, Marcus releases a massive burst of fire at the one that grabbed you, disintegrating its slimy body and leaving the skull charred skull and blade behind.

Marcus and you quickly dispatch of the rest, leaving nothing more than puddles and burnt skulls behind. Silence falls across the farm, only your breathing can be heard as you hope with bated breath that its over.

“You can deal with that.” You tell Marcus, walking away when you notice the people atop the silo making their way down the ladder. It’s hard enough getting used to being on Marcus’ side, you’re not sure you can handle being thanked by random civilians that you don’t really care about.

Instead, you wander back toward the tree line, your flamethrower still in your grasp. You check the ground for more trails, making sure that all of them had gone to the same place and didn’t diverge.

The air surrounding the farm is foul, their already nasty burnt smell made stronger when melted with fire. their slime trails have melted the grass and snow, leaving nasty mucky divots in the dirt. From what you can tell though, none changed directions, they all headed as straight south as they could.

You follow the tracks back to Marcus and the others, noticing the point they’d swerved to get the family, frowning at the one track that didn’t change course.

“Hey! Thank you...” the man with the children starts when he notices you approaching.

“Yeah, whatever” you dismiss his attempt “there’s at least one left.” You tell Marcus, pointing to the trail that continues south. “I’m going to follow it. you and Missy should go back for the car.” You lower your voice so only he can hear it “unless you wanna just take theirs?” you gesture to the family.

“they’ve been through enough.” He hisses.

“Fine, at least ask if they’re willing to give you a lift to it. I’ll go find it and hopefully meet you on the road.” You shrug, following the trail without another word.

~~~~~

Marcus POV

The sky is growing dark as he rolls slowly down the road, trying to see anything between the snow-covered trees. the snow grows thicker on the ground as more falls from the sky, soon it’ll be nearly impossible to drive on these roads.

He shouldn’t have let her go by herself. She could have been killed by now and he’d have no idea, The images his mind are providing for her potential fate aren’t making searching for her any easier.

He can feel his daughter’s eyes on him as he watches out the window anxiously, searching for the woman he’s fallen so hard for.

“she’ll be okay, dad.” His little girl says, breaking the silence. “I’m okay with it… just so you know.” She tells him, making him cast a quick glance her way. He’s been disappointed in himself for not trying to talk to her about it over the past month. it’s this big important elephant in the room that he’s been pretending isn’t an issue.

“Are you sure?” he questions, worried his daughter is just saying it for his sake.

“Yes. It will take getting used to, but I want you to be happy.” She explains “I also think, maybe, you could help her… dad, look.” She says, pointing to the side road.

Some way down the snow-covered tar it sits, three times the size of the others and flailing its tendrils into the tree line, trying to get something. Sitting beside it are the broken remains of a DIY flamethrower, the fuel that’s left melting the snow around it.

“stay in the car” Marcus orders, slamming down on the brake a little too hard, rushing out of the car and snatching his flamethrower, moving to catch the creature by surprise. He can’t see her even as he gets closer, and he starts to fear the worst, until he hears cursing behind the trees.

“Fuck, I wish stabbing you fucking works.” He hears her shout as he creeps closer to the beast, ready to burn it once he’s close enough. “can’t believe you broke my fucking flame thrower.” She groans. “you’re smarter than you look, oh horrible slime monster. I hope I taste disgusting!”

“it’s not gonna get the chance to find out” Marcus calls out, his weapon roaring to life and the flames engulfing the monster.

“Took you long enough!” she shouts at him, glancing around the tree.

“you’re welcome!” he replies over the loud screams of the slime beast. It swipes in all directions as it turns to him, a human skull staring back instead of the animals the others had. Sharped shards of bone launch out from its body toward him, and he struggles to dodge them, rolling to a new position.

He continues his assault as the creature screams, shrinking as more of its slimy flesh melts into a useless puddle. It tries to protect the skull it’s stollen as the fire engulfs it, bubbling the black slime around the bone. With a final shriek the skull cracks under the heat, the grotesque beast losing its form almost instantly.

“it’s dead.” He calls out, putting out the flamethrower as he makes his way over to [Y/N]. “Are you okay?” he asks when he steps around the tree she was sheltering behind.

“Ugh yeah! Absolutely! I have a sharpened bone in my leg that that slime monster could shoot for some reason but apart from that. A-ok!” she chuckles, using the tree against her back to pull herself to her feet. “let’s get out of here” she says stumbling into Marcus the moment she put weight on her leg.

“let’s” he smiles, lifting her into his arms to carry her back to the car.

~~~~~~

[Y/N] POV

You groan in pain, sitting on the edge of the bathtub as Marcus tries his best to pull the foreign bone shard from deep within your thigh. Blood trickles down your calf and the side of the tub, making the area look like a murder scene as it pools at your feet.

Missy is watching tv on her bed, unwilling to witness the amount of blood pissing out of your leg. she was worried about you initially but knowing her father was taking care of you and that you’d survived a bullet to the gut, she quickly relaxed.

“Doing, ok?” Marcus asks gently, rubbing your unwounded leg affectionately.

“peachy” you breathe, glaring at him as he pauses the pliers in your leg. “don’t fuckin’ stop, Marcus, just get it over with.”

“Lo siento” he mumbles. “What is the plan after this?” he asks, digging the pliers deeper.

“Well, we’ve got ID and passports now… I was thinking Europe or ooooh Australia? Other you isn’t gonna show up in those places, right? You mostly stuck to America?”

“Went to the UK a few times but Australia never needed anything.” He tells you, finally getting a grip on the shard in your thigh.

“Hmmm that makes sense. Everyone seems to ignore Australia. Like have you seen some of those movies where they show shots of something affecting earth and there’s not even a glimpse of Australia? It’s usually a shot of America, a shot of Europe, maybe some of Asia, then no Australia. So Fucking weird” you curse as he yanks the item from your leg. “Ow!” you glare.

“Very weird.” He agrees. “You good?”

“I’m fine” you growl.

“So, you’re thinking Australia?” he questions, prepping curved needle and suture thread.

“We can’t stay this close to the US. I know for a fact past you will visit Canada several times over the next three years.”

“Been keeping an eye on me?” he asks, trying to hide the little smile that seems to spread on his lips. “Not sure if I should be flattered or concerned.”

You hum, smirking as you lift his chin with your fingers, your face mere inches from his. “Maybe a little bit of both.” you say, your voice low with hidden promises.

“Let me finish this up. Then we can figure out what we’re gonna do for the next three years.”

“Sounds like a plan” you smile, leaning back and watching the man work.

You wonder what will come of the next three years. Will you and Marcus make it work? Will you find a home with Marcus and Missy? Or will something happen, and you’ll be resigned to your ways, alone and a villain?

A/N: this was on hiatus for ages! Finally managed to get my shit together when it comes to this story! I know there used to be a tag list for this but I’m not gonna use it because it’s been so long that I doubt they even remember they were on it. one part left! Remember! Like and reblog to share the love!!!

[milehighmechanic]

feralego​:

          Efren had made a deal with the cashier currently on duty months ago, keeping tabs on her schedule and only coming in to get supplies when he thinks she’ll have a shift on her own. She’d been sympathetic to his plight, more so than most, and he hates to cause trouble for her.

         That happens more often than not, unfortunately.

         Someone bumps into him, and he holds his breath, every muscle in his body a springtrap of tension as his vision tunnels to to focus solely on what this stranger might do; how he might react. But the moment passes with rare nonchalance–with a quick apology and a shuffle on by–and as the adrenaline dumps, unused, out of his system, Efren shakes.

         He’d been lucky. Though he’s never lucky for long.

         The front door to the store opens as Efren is still shaking off his fight, freeze, or flight response, slowly filling his basket with items he can’t do without at his campsite. But the basket is quickly abandoned, dropped to the floor when he’s approached.

         They surround him, flanking him before he’s able to unfreeze himself to bolt for the door. And their eyes… They’re cruel and sharp and full of malice. So reminiscent of his old way of life, under a microscope; on display for hateful mockery.

         He can taste the venom on his tongue as his production increases and it begins to leak from his fangs in response to the active and clear threat to his safety. But he keeps his mouth shut, locking his jaw; locking his fangs up against the roof of his mouth.

         No matter what the security footage shows–if there’s any at all in this run down old place–he knows that if he defends himself with what nature had given him, he will never again know peace. So he must prepare another defense.

         One clawed hand closes over a canned food item at his hip, squeezing it tightly and preparing himself to bash it against one of their thick skulls should the immediate need arise.

         Efren is still cornered when the other kid draws their attention. He’s still backed up against the shelving unit, even as all eyes swivel to follow the other boy to the counter, and he can’t find a crack to slip through.

         The friendlier, younger stranger talks. And he talks. And he talks. And Efren isn’t exactly a fan of how he’s riling the college students up when they’re all still so close, packed in around him. Because even if he’s centering their ire on himself for now, when he leaves– What then?

         The venom channels in his claws open, and a thick amber begins to ooze free of their points, leaving a sticky trail on the weaponized can of ravioli, and a series of small puddles on the yellowing linoleum under his dirty, holey shoes.

         The banter keeps up for a short while longer, until the group of college boys have had enough, and one of the moves to take a swing. And Efren is surprised to see the boy duck under the wil haymaker only to grab at him and pull him out of the huddle, out the door, and around the corner.

         And it’s not long until he hears the clamor of boat shoes and sandals pounding the ground, and angry exclamations breaking through the stiflingly humid air. Efren stays very, very still, and very, very quiet; he scarcely breathes until the sounds of their impromptu hunting party echo off toward the beach, where they will become everyone else’s problem.

         Once he deems it safe to do so, he slides down the gas stations’ sunbleached siding, dropping himself onto the hot, weed-cracked sidewalk.

         Efren can’t talk yet. He’s overwhelmed; scared witless about the what ifs of the situation they’d just escaped. And he’s still clenching his jaw tight to keep his venom contained while his production of it slows to a stop. But he’s thankful, and hopes the other can read it in his eyes.

Tony has to catch his breath---- not, particularly, from the running, or even the talking, but that surge of adrenaline and other neurochemicals that feels a little too good and a lot too overwhelming, just for a second. He stretches his arms out, still, listening for a moment, but yeah, the other guys are definitely gone. 

Tony laughs, easy and triumphant, just an edge of nerves in there. Relief and elation and something smug all rolled into one bright sound. 

He turns back around to the other boy, surprised to find him slumped on the ground. It makes Tony pause, reassess a situation where he thought he knew what was going on. Well, the guy doesn’t look angry at least, even if he’s yet to say anything. 

“Are you okay?” 

This is hardly Tony's first time starting a fight, or being chased, or getting punched in the face. He's scrawny still, for his age, which doesn’t help when all his classmates are years older than him anyway. They see him as a little rich boy who got into college on daddy’s money. They see him as a genius brat who doesn’t know when to shut up, when to stop showing off. Usually Tony figures that if he can’t prove them wrong he might as well prove them right, but usually Rhodey is his more or less willing partner in crime, not some stranger who was just trying to do his shopping.

“Did you--- I don’t know what you were buying but I can go back and get it for you, if you want. I'm Tony,” he adds. Shoves his hands into his pockets to avoid holding it out to shake the way his father trained him. He still hasn’t got out of that habit. 

He’s trying not to stare, because that would be rude. He’s used to the idea of people that are different, a lot of his dad’s friends are weird, sneaking in and out of the mansion as though Tony's not going to notice odd meetings at odd hours of the morning. He's not an idiot. ( No doubt that’s why dad was always so keen on getting him to boarding school. ) But the hair and eyes and everything are kinda hard to ignore now, the bright sunlight beating down on them and, well. the entire reason for their hasty exit. 

Tony rubs a hand along the already sunburned back of his neck. His sheepish grin starts to fade.

“I guess that kind of thing happens to you a lot, huh?”