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emmaschoutenwrites · 5 years ago

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Peace or War

A short story with a prompt. This time it was “The attack was over in seconds.”

Under the cut, you will find an extended version of this short story adapted to another challenge I participated in on Discord. The theme was “Lies grow bolder in the dark.” so I had to adapt the story a bit. But I like how it turned out :)

It’s just under 5k in words.

Lies grow bolder in the dark

Kara stared at the night sky from the balcony. Tomorrow night, she would be under the same sky but a different roof. If any roof at all. There was nothing quite like the beauty of the stars in the dark blue sky, and yet her eyes were constantly drawn down to the courtyard where only that afternoon she had fought the guards protecting the keep. The courtyard where their previous ruler had hidden himself like a coward and where his usurper had entered and claimed the throne.

King Luca Henni, first of his name, twelfth king to take the throne by force in less than three years.

The courtyard had already been scrubbed clean of the blood of the dead. Blood Kara had helped spill. Luca had sent those who had surrendered home - 'a ruler needs to know when to show mercy,' he had said - and had started to implement his own rule within the hour following his victory. It had been a busy day during which Kara had often thought about her earlier observation. He would make a good king; fair and inspiring. He would be a new wind their kingdom could definitely use.

At the same time, there were much darker thoughts at the edge of her mind. They demanded to be acknowledged even though she might not want to. Kara had helped put the previous three kings on the throne as well. When the next man thinking himself capable of ruling raised an army, odds were that she would accept the offer of gold once again. As a sell-sword, it was what she did. She could not imagine herself putting her knife at Luca Henni's throat but could not dismiss the thought of fighting against his own army one day in the future either.

It left her with quite a dilemma.

Armies were massing at their borders, others had already crossed into their lands. This new king would be required to make difficult choices that would not be ideal for the beginning of his rule. He would make them because he had too though. He might try to negotiate for peace. It was what he ultimately wanted; peace for their people, a people that did not want peace. How long before the next revolt?

"Won't you come back to bed? You promised you would not leave until dawn."

She turned to the origin of the husky voice. Luca lay on his stomach on the bed, his hair tousled and his eyes barely open. He patted the space she had left behind when she had gotten up. The temptation to return to bed was as big as the one to leave right now. She should have left as soon as she had been paid her gold. She should not have stuck around any longer. Yet, this was the first time she had fought for a man she had thought might be worth fighting for.

"You need your sleep far more than me," she replied softly. She slid back to the bed nevertheless.

Luca didn't say anything more but pulled her close against him. Her mind had been telling her this was a bad idea for days now. She knew it was true. She wondered what would happen once she had to leave. No, she wondered what would happen once she would be part of the army raised to remove him from the throne she had helped him win. She kept telling herself any history with him wouldn't matter. Business as usual. He would not even remember her.

Or you could stay, whispered a hopeful voice. One that had steadily grown stronger and stronger over the last days.

And then what?

Fight for a king you believe in.

She didn't argue with that. There was no point in arguing with herself, she decided sleepily. Come dawn, she would have to make up her mind. Until then, she might as well enjoy the warm bed and the strong body against hers.

***

The attack was over in seconds.

Kara was disappointed it was so short. But it had been bloody so it hadn't been a complete waste of time. She watched as the new ruler entered the courtyard, surrounded by his personal guards. He looked all high and mighty. Kara had heard him speak; she had seen him pass his judgment. He would make a good ruler. For as long as he would rule. She gave him two years at most.

Their people didn't live for peaceful times - that was only a lie they told themselves to sleep at night. They craved the bloodshed and chaos. Peace and prosperity were foreign concepts to them. They belonged to their enemies. Kara had decided to be honest with herself a long time ago. Now, she earned her goal by selling her sword, rather than pretending to be an honest businesswoman.

She wiped her bloodied blade clean on the shirt of the last peasant she had killed and watched the light catch the metal. It was a fine sword, though the edge would need sharpening before she found the next rich man who thought bloodshed was the best solution to his problem.

Kara glanced at the new ruler again, just in time for their eyes to meet. He had a long road ahead of him; Kara wouldn't stick around to see him try his best. She would be there just long enough to collect her bag of gold. Meager compensation for such a disappointing battle.

***

Ripped from her dream version of that day, her eyes flew open at a sound. It hadn't been more than a whisper but it had been one that didn't belong to the quietness of the night. Her ears strained to pick it up again. it didn't take long for her to hear the call of what might have been an owl. Of course, she had slept under the starry skies of this region often enough to know there were no owls. For the second time that night, she threw off the sheets and went to the balcony.

She watched the darkness and listened intensely. She heard a shuffling of feet, then the faintest whistle. Then her eyes caught a movement by the main gate. It opened slowly, which didn't make any sense. Where were the guards? Who could possibly need entry to the castle at this time of night? As the first shadows entered, she realized that there were far too many of them. All her instincts screamed at her; this wasn't good. It wasn't good at all.

Kara went back into the room where she woke Luca. He mumbled half asleep so she decided to slap him in the face. That opened his eyes.

"Get up," she hissed, dressing quickly. "It would appear the rebellion against you has come early."

She grabbed her bow and arrow - not her weapon of choice but one she always kept at hand. She returned to the window, fully aware of Luca stumbling out of bed and joining her. The shadows had gathered in the courtyard; they were a large group, one that might very well have succeeded in whatever they were planning had Kara not woken up and didn't intend to make sure everyone was awake. What struck her as odd was how they had gathered there but had not moved on with their attack.

"Look, it's Micheal," Luca whispered, pointing at the tall figure that strode out to meet the assembled. "He probably called for reinforcements."

"Did you know about this?" she asked, knowing very well that he didn't. He shook his head. "I hate to break it to you, but when a large group of armed men comes into your castle at night without you inviting them, it usually isn't for a social call. It would appear your trusted adviser has turned on you."

"Michael wouldn't." He stammered, sounding confused. "We have been friends since we were boys."

Kara could hear the hurt in his voice; she could not imagine what he must feel now. To be betrayed by one's oldest friend was a blow. He might never trust anyone ever again. Yet she couldn't say she was entirely surprised by the betrayal. As much as she had watched Luca during his speeches, she had also watched the man who stood to his right. They had been the unlikely pair; like day and night. The sun and the moon. She had never had good reason to mistrust him but her instincts rarely led her astray.

"Do you want to kill him yourself?" she asked, not knowing what else to say. What comfort could she give him?

"What?"

Kara let out a sigh. "He is not your friend; he is about to lead a group of heavily armed men into your new castle to kill all your men and you. I could shoot him now and call out; alert everyone of the enemy’s presence. Or I could climb out this window and disappear into the night; we would never meet again, and, in a few months’ time, I will march on this castle as another man thinks he can rule better than Michael. It is entirely your choice."

Kara meant every word. She would fight for him now, even if there was no sack of gold at the end of the night for her hard work. If he did not want her to, she would willingly step down and leave. She would have to leave; she couldn't stick around to find out Luca's fate or her own. She would never look back, never think back until she returned to depose Michael.

She knew it was a lot to ask of this new King. He was new to everything; to the castle and to the title, to the harsh decisions and the painful truths. To the betrayals and the hand offering help without anything in return. How his mind must race to consider all options; to make the right decision. A decision that would be right for his people, not a selfish one. He would consider everything; if they had the time, he would no doubt ponder the question for hours if not days.

They didn't have that kind of luxury.

Kara nocked the arrow and drew back the drawstring. "I need to know." They had already wasted too much time; Michael would soon be out of shot and in the castle. The slaughter would begin and it wouldn't matter what Luca decided. Another noise caught her attention, drawing it away from the traitor. It had sounded like a stone hitting the opposite wall. It drew the attention of the group as well.

"Come on," Luca urged as he grabbed her hand and drew her back inside. It took her a moment to realize he had been the one to throw something to distract their assailants.

In the bedroom, they paused long enough for them to buckle their weapon belts around their hips before leaving the room altogether. The guard outside the door looked surprised to find them sneaking out fully dressed and armed. He rushed to straighten out his slouched frame and hold his spear a little tighter. Luca didn't care.

"We are under attack. We have been betrayed." Luca’s voice was cold and hard. It was scary. Kara had only heard that voice once before when he had condemned the actions of the previous king. "Michael has betrayed us. They don't know we know. Go wake the others, but tell them to be quiet. We will fight for this castle and we will fight these traitors from the shadows, as they would have fought us."

The guard nodded and rushed down the stairs. Then he stopped and turned back around. "What about Sir Michael, my lord? Do we capture him?"

Kara met Luca’s questioning gaze. She shook her head. He swallowed but nodded. "No, kill him if you get the chance." Shocked, the guard cast a quick glance at the woman who could influence the new king so but hurried off without another word.

"It's best to kill him now rather than risk him escaping and coming back on a later date. Or him playing on your emotions."

"You are quite ruthless, are you not?"

She shrugged. "There are times for mercy. There are people who deserve you to be merciful. Tonight is neither the time nor are they those people." She unsheathed her sword and passed him, following the guard down the stairs. "What is your plan exactly?"

"Ambush them the way they had planned to ambush us."

She nodded. It was a plan. She was unsure whether it was good or bad though; come dawn they would know.

***

"Go check it out," Michael barked before pointing at two of the men. "You two, follow me."

He led them into the castle and while they had only arrived the same day, he had made it his mission to learn the layout as well as he could. The last thing he wanted was to be stumbling around in the dark, offering Luca a chance to potentially escape. The castle was quiet, the torches burning low in their holders. There would be only a few guards about; no one would ever suspect anyone to attack the castle after it had been taken by the most recent victor in the fight for the throne only hours before.

No one would expect anyone to come for the new King barely hours after he took the crown.

Michael had not considered it until a few weeks ago. Until then he had thought Luca might have a good chance at conquering the castle and taking the throne. Once he had seen the possibilities, Michael had started to wonder why his friend should get the throne. What would make him a before king than Michael? Why should Michael accept to be the second man rather than first?

He would not accept it, and at that point, he had started to plan a coup of his own.

He and the two men behind him climbed the stairs of the royal tower as silently as possible. They did not come across another soul; Luca, the idiot, had not even thought to post a guard at his door. Michael didn't care; it would only make it easier to get to this man he had once considered his best friend but was only an obstacle to what he truly wanted. He nodded at one of the men, who promptly threw himself against the door. It flew open, the man stumbling after it.

Michael stepped into the room and surveyed it. It was a sumptuous room, fit for a king. Two velvet armchairs faced the fireplace where the dying embers glowed softly. Between the two chairs stood a table with a carafe and two glasses. A wardrobe stood against a far wall, a chest rested at the foot of the bed. He recognized the chest as Luca's; it was the one item he had taken with him wherever they traveled.

The double doors to the balcony stood open. From there, he would be able to look out onto the courtyard below. His attention finally drifted to the canopy bed. The noise of the door would have awoken Luca; he would have shouted and demanded to know what was going on. There should have been noise.

There should have been but there was only silence. The bed was empty.

The covers on both sides had been thrown back and Michael's eye was immediately drawn back to the two glasses by the fire. Luca had had company. He had lied to Michael when he said he would retire alone for the night. Michael knew why Luca had lied; since the beginning, he had warned his friend after the black-haired beauty that had caught his eye. There was something about her that Michael didn't trust; Luca hadn't listened. He would have brought her up here.

"Fuck," he swore as he kicked at the chest. "That bitch!" She was used to a life where one learned to sleep lightly. Any noise would have pulled her from her slumber. It wouldn't have taken much to alert her. He swore again, kicking the chest a few more times. He was aware of the two men watching him. "Don't just stand there!" he spat at them. "Find him, and find that bitch. Bring them to me. Alive."

The anger that burned in him was already planning to get revenge. This should have been simple. Quick and easy. Yet one woman was enough to mess up all his plans. He wouldn't let her. He would get to Luca and he would get his throne. The girl should have left when she had the chance; now she would forever regret that she hadn't.

***

Kara was silent as a shadow. The man she followed hadn't heard her. It was how she was able to sneak up on him and reach around him. With a hand pressed to his mouth, she used the other to slit his throat. Luca was right next to her to help her catch the deadweight before it hit the floor and could alert anyone. Together, they carried him out of sight.

He was the third one they had gotten that way.

"It would seem they don't know their way around," Luca commented.

"And they also aren't smart enough to stick together. Better for us."

He nodded. "Only it will take all night to get them all at this pace."

"You don't know how your men are doing."

And that was the problem. After they had sent the guard to wake up the others, they had seen no one in the corridors who actually belonged there. Kara was worried he might have been intercepted and killed. She refused to let that stop her. If it was true and the enemy had gotten to Luca's men, she would do everything her in power to get him out of their alive.

They went down the hallways silently, keeping an eye on all openings. Luca suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her back against him. She heard the footsteps then. Right around the corner, she saw two men coming down the stairs - stairs that led up to the royal chambers. It would appear they had known where they had needed to go for their main target. Luca didn't release her once they had gone and she didn't move. There were more footsteps.

It was Michael who appeared next. His face was red and his hair a mess. He was angry. Furious even. Clearly, he hadn't found what he had been looking for. Luca and Kara exchanged a look. Once Michael had disappeared, they slowly set off again. Neither of them knew the castle very well, which made it quite difficult to find a good place for an ambush. Hunting them one at a time worked relatively well, though it was too slow. The risk of someone getting to them did not decrease fast enough.

What they needed to do was find some allies. In the meantime, Kara pushed her sword through the back of a man's neck, causing a gurgling sound to echo softly through the corridor. She caught Luca's grimace right before he caught the dead man and dragged him out of sight. Killing was a messy business; one that Kara had become quite skilled in.

It wasn't long before they turned the corner and walked into the throne room of the castle. There, they were very nearly killed by Luca's men, who only just managed to hold back their blades. Luca was about to give them a stern warning about whom they wanted and did not want to kill when more footsteps approached. Kara grabbed his hand and pulled him to the side, out of sight from the door opening. The others did the same.

As they waited, Kara didn't dare breathe. Two close calls too many in her opinion. As she listened and hoped the people outside would move, her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the throne room. Against one of the walls was a sight she wasn't sure delighted or disturbed her. It would appear the guards had had some luck with their own fighting. Sitting against the wall as though they were resting were seven men. They sat propped up against the wall, shoulder to shoulder. Except, focusing on them a little more closely, their eyes were all unseeingly staring ahead, their heads rolled forward with their chin resting on their chest, or staring up at the ceiling.

She pointed them out to Luca, who stared at them with a blank face.

The footsteps had only grown closer and it would appear whoever was out there was willing to take a peek into the throne room, risking their lives as they did so. Kara and the guard on the other side of the door opening exchanged a look and a nod. She gripped her blade tighter and waited for them to appear. It was a group of five men. Immediately Kara wished that there was a place for them to hide. There was no way they could all take them out without attracting more attention to themselves. There would be noise.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She counted down from three and once she hit zero, she opened her eyes and jumped onto the first guy, driving her sword through his side. The others had joined her in her attack but were not all successful in their initial attack. One of the men had managed to block Luca's blade and immediately went onto the offensive. One of the guards had wounded his target but hadn't moved fast enough to finish him off. The man attacked the guard just enough to throw him off balance. Then he hobbled back out of the room.

For a wounded man, he moved rather quickly. Kara took off after him and tackled him to the floor as she saw him inhale to call out no doubt. She had hoped the fall would have knocked the breath out of his lungs. No such luck.

"They're in the throne room. They're in the throne room. They're in..."

The rest of the sentence was lost in a gurgle as blood welled up there where Kara's blade had pierced his throat. She gave herself a moment to twist the blade before pulling it out and rising to her feet. She listened. The sound of fighting could clearly be heard in the throne room. Nothing else caught her attention. For a moment - however brief and fleeting - she hoped no one had heard the man before he drowned in his own blood.

No such luck.

She rushed back to the throne room where she witnessed Luca pulling his sword out of the last man. "There are more coming. I think this might be it for tonight." Luca nodded, using the bad of his hand to push a lock of hair out of his eyes. The gesture left a bloody smear across his forehead. "We are still killing them all, right?"

"Yes. Every one of them. No need to save Michael for me; if you can take him out, do it."

Kara was glad to hear him say the words. If she could, she would like to go after him herself. It wasn't that she had a strong moral compass and hated traitors - as a sell-sword, as she herself not a kind of traitor - but betraying a friend was something she could not understand. It would be a kindness if Luca didn't have to take out Michael himself. She would do it herself and let him know that Luca didn't care whether he lived or died, who killed him. A last betrayal for him to take to his grave.

With no more time to think about it, Kara threw herself into the fight as more enemies rushed into the throne room. While they might have outnumbered them at first, their mad dash into the room allowed the King's men to take down quite a few. They were organized the way these new assailants were not. The opponents Kara had faced that morning had not been organized either. It might make a difference in the long run for Luca.

She swung her blade, gripping the hilt tight as it clashed against another sword. The fight that morning had not lasted long enough for her tastes. Kara liked a good and deadly fight as much as the next sell-sword; the rush of the moment, the risks of an opponent's sharp edge. She threw herself from opponent to opponent, not allowing a blocked blade to block her attack entirely. Most were surprised when a short dagger appeared in her hand and she twirled into their defenses. Her movements were quick and precise; she did not stick around long enough to watch the light in their eyes fade.

As the blade was pulled free from another man's neck, she allowed herself a moment to take a deep breath and a look around the throne room. In her fury of movements, she had not noticed Michael had stalked into the room and surveyed the room as she was. Except, he was searching for his target. She knew the exact moment he spotted Luca in the crowd. His body stiffened, straightened. His hand went to the hilt of his sword and he pulled it free from its scabbard. Then he strode passed the fighting to his friend, ready to drive his blade through his back.

Kara was running before she fully understood what she was doing. He did not hear her over the noise in the room; he did not see her coming. He could do nothing but stumble and fall to the floor when she tackled him. He rolled in his fall and finished the movement so as to easily rise to his feet. His eyes locked onto her and she could read the hatred for her in them. She was unfazed. It was not as though he was the first to stare at her that way.

"You are a thorn in my side," he spat, rising to his feet and slicing at her.

She jumped evading the blow and coming in for a hit of her own with her danger. "You mean like that?" she teased when she got him in the side. "You are a traitor; not sure that's much better." She avoided another attack only to have the tip of his blade nick her arm. She hissed, bringing her own blade back up. He wasn't playing. She was though; she could see everything she said and did get to him. It was no secret that someone blinded by rage made for a terrible opponent. All anger, no finesse.

He sliced again and she blocked his hit this time, bringing her dagger around to slide at his fingers. He hissed, then roared as he threw himself into another attack. Kara did not expect the quick succession of blow and was caught off guard. She barely blocked the first few and stumbled. She regained her footing but her block was sloppy; he knocked her off balance. His next attack was a back-handed slap across her face. It sent her to the floor. The room spun; she took a deep breath to regain her bearings. By then he stood over her with his sword pointed at her throat.

"You were more trouble than you are worth. A sell-sword should do what they are paid for and move on."

"And not be around to watch your plans fail? Now wouldn't that be a shame?" She spat out the blood filling her mouth, hoping to distract Michael. She needed him to focus on her only a few more seconds. A few more seconds and it would be over.

"Fail? They would have succeeded if it hadn't been for you. No one would have even known we entered the castle; it would have been quick and painless. Now, look at how they suffer."

"Your very betrayal will make Luca suffer. What do you know of suffering; you are a liar and a traitor."

"I-"

The rest of the sentence was lost as Luca drove his sword through his friend's back. He pushed it through until it came out of his chest covered in blood. Michael gasped, glancing down at the blade. He tried to look back. Kara grabbed her own sword where it had fallen onto the floor and stabbed him in the stomach with it. He gasped as blood ran down his chin, throat and soaked his shirt.

"There are times for mercy. There are people who deserve me to be merciful. You are not one of those people," Luca told him. His voice was cold and emotionless. Then he and Kara pulled their swords free simultaneously and Michael's legs could not hold him up. His eyes were on Kara as he tried to inhale. Finally, she saw the light go out and knew he had gone.

Luca held out his hand to her. She grabbed it. "I would have liked to spare you this, but he threw a spanner in the works."

"It's okay. I think it is good that I did it. A king can't be soft."

"No, he needs to know when to be soft and when not to be." Then looking around, she added, "He should also know how to scrub a floor because this place is disgusting."

#amwriting #writers of tumblr #writing community #lies #betrayal #prompt #writing challenge #flash fiction #short story #250words #battle

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realm-sweet-realm · 5 years ago

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Into the Void

So. Chapter 1 of the bodyswap to the death AU is here. I can’t lie, this one has a lot of setup. Sorry about that. The next chapter is going to be much more exciting. It centers around Allison, and my Allison is pretty twisted.

Also, I’ve decided to do this as a sequel to Defining Memories so that the group will have a reason to know the first thing about each other. Don’t worry if you haven’t read it, though, all the information you’d need from it is made clear in chapter 1.

Chapter 2 should be out be Friday at the latest. I know that weeks is a long time to dwell on a comedy AU, but I want to finish this and can only write so fast.

---

It was 7:00 pm on a Sunday evening when Joey Drew found himself pulled straight out of his regular life and into a purple, mystic void. Strangely enough, this wasn’t the first time this had happened: about two months ago, he and twelve of his employees had been gathered into a void just like this, then allowed to leave once they had watched each others’ memories.

This was different, though. Then, well, the mystic void had seemed a little much, but Joey had been expecting some supernatural events. You could even say he’d unleashed them. Now? Joey was clueless, and his heart was like a lead hammer pounding at his chest. What had he done?

“What’s going on, Joey?” a voice asked. He turned to see that it was Henry, and the other eleven people from last time were there, too, looking confused and, in most cases, worried. Joey’s throat was so tight that wasn’t sure he could speak. “We’re just here to watch more memories, right?”

Just then, a maniacal laughter emanated from all around them, loud and high-pitched.

Oh, absolutely not! The void mocked. It was jaunty and garbled and high-pitched. I paid you my favour, and you didn’t pay me back. And you didn’t put me away properly, either. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do: now that you all know each other a bit, we’re going to play a game. You hear?

“Joey, get us out of here!” Sammy yelled. There was fear evident in his voice. “Do it. You know how, right?”

Joey stared vacantly into the void as it laughed and laughed at them.

No one here is getting away until you entertain me. Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to take your souls, and put em’ in random bodies. And you’ll want to keep up the performance of being whoever you’re supposed to be, because at the end of the week, you’ll all get a chance to guess each others’ identities. Anyone who can guess more identities than their identity was correctly guessed will be put back into their bodies. Anyone else, the voice giggled, DIES! I’ll give you all, hmm... about two minutes to work out the practicalities. Bye-bye!

The thirteen people got a good look at each other, perhaps so they’d recognize who they were five minutes from now. Strangely, the strongest reactions in the room seemed to be nervousness and stunned shock, most likely because the reality of such a bizarre scenario hadn’t sunk in yet.

After a while, Thomas spoke up on the practicalities of the situation. “Alright. Here’s what I propose we do,” Thomas said, trying to sound perfectly calm. He wanted nothing more than to wring Joey’s neck, but now was not the time. “Let’s all write any important information about how to handle each other’s lives on pieces of paper and leave them taped to our own lockers, or offices, or whatever it is we have. That can include any meds we have to take, how to interact with family members, details about work, whatever. Alright?”

Allison’s sobs were the only answer.

Thomas blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was still hearing those same sobs, albeit in a somewhat deeper voice, but he was in an apartment he didn’t recognize and looking at the face of Sammy Lawrence. Looking down at his own hands, he saw very thin arms coated in inky black gloves.

“Oh, Sammy, what’s wrong?” Thomas cooed in the girliest, most sympathetic tone he could muster. The game had begun.

The next day, the thirteen took to their roles. Thomas hated his new body. Susie hadn’t been kidding about not producing body heat because she was made of ink, and he was freezing cold whenever he was outside of her well-heated apartment. On the plus side, the note said that Joey Drew had her scheduled to do some bit parts for an upcoming episode because he hadn’t been able to find a replacement voice actress yet, so at very least he wouldn’t have to do her usual performances and meet-and-greets as Alice Angel. He barely knew a thing about this studio’s characters, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to sing.

Sammy didn’t mind being Allison too much. He could sing. He had a feeling that living with “Thomas” wouldn’t be such an issue, either. While he was experimenting with his new singing voice the night before, Sammy caught “Thomas” bundling up in a heavy sweater and heading out to stargaze in the crisp night air. “He” walked so delicately when he thought no one was watching, and the way he was holding “his” arms to his heart- there was no doubt about it. This was Susie rediscovering life in a human body. He even caught her feeling her pulse, unaware that she was being watched. It crushed Sammy’s heart to see, but at least he’d figured out an identity.

Allison didn’t like Sammy, and not just because of the air of snobbery she got from him, or all the contemptuous looks he gave to Tom. By his memories, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d had a part in Susie’s death and rebirth. Now that she had his body, well, she’d figure out a way to make things even. She knew she would. And in the meantime, there were certain ways that she planned on taking advantage of it.

Bertrum had ended up the body of the lyricist, Jack Fain. He supposed there were worse things- writing song lyrics sounded like something he could learn. He, like many of the other players, had to ask where his office was. To his dismay, he learned that he had no office: he usually worked in the sewers. Was there anyone in this company who wasn’t either incompetent, a psychological mess, disrespectful, or massively lacking in self-respect? Worse, he had no idea where to put his note, since, as Bertrum could work out ride designs at home and only ever came in occasionally to check on the Bendyland workers or meet with Joey Drew, he had no office or locker. He had to find whoever was piloting his body so he could tell them about the dinner party with the Georgian investors on Thursday evening and make sure they didn’t ruin it. Thus, Bertrum found himself working as close to Bendyland as he could without setting off anyone’s radar, hoping to catch a glimpse of himself.

On the other hand, Jack didn’t mind being Bertrum. He worried about how things were going with his husband and adoptive kids, of course, and the situation was scary in general, but at least his form put him at an advantage. This way he would have an excuse to interact with “Lacie” for as long as he needed to in order to figure out her identity, and wouldn’t need to interact with too many other participants of the game. He could focus on designing attractions that weren’t rides, since he had no mechanical knowledge, and keep his profile down for the week, and he would be just fine, he hoped.

Norman was relatively unafraid. He was Shawn- more or less a best-case scenario. Shawn’s job didn’t require much skill, and he was gregarious enough that it wouldn’t be out of character to interact with almost any of the players. Plus, from years of watching from the shadows, Norman knew almost everyone’s secrets- this was a bloody game and Norman took no joy in that, but it was his game.

Shawn was Lacie. Okay, someone he knew well and who wouldn’t interact with other players much. A fair deal. He could handle this. Thankfully, she had been outside when the transformation had occurred, so no one who knew her personally heard Shawn’s existential screams.

Lacie barely knew Norman beyond his reputation for watching people and rarely talking, but he seemed pretty easy to pretend to be. She had to ask a coworker what her job was, and almost laughed when she got the answer. Much of it was sitting high and mighty above the recording studio, which periodically contained four of the players of the game. She’d been terrified at first, but all things considered, she’d have to really screw up to lose this game.

Joey also thought he had a good deal, playing Henry. Joey knew Henry so well, and already knew wife and his children (they loved their uncle Joey). Heck, Joey had even envied Henry’s home life. And Joey knew how to draw, and how to put on a persona. It seemed like a best-case scenario! That was, until it was ten a.m. and Joey was sick to death of drawing. Henry had an ability to do repetitive work for hours that Joey quite simply lacked, and Joey found himself without an excuse to visit anyone. Often, during his first day, he would just walk somewhere where he knew other players would be, and just stand there, watching, hoping for a clue to anyone’s identity. It was a very un-Henrylike thing to do, but at least it wasn’t Joeylike, either. He was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be guessed for it.

Henry, in the meantime, was thrilled to be Joey. He’d worried himself to the point of vomiting the night before, thinking about how he’d have to contribute to the deaths of others for a chance to see his family again. But now, he was planning- working out misguided, Joeylike decisions that would test the nature of the players, starting with the music department. He was ready to do anything to secure his life, and being someone this powerful could only help.

Grant was in full-on panic the second he was out of the void, and the noise from that brought over a somewhat familiar-looking golden retriever to lick his shaking hand in concern. Grant had moved to another room and shut the door to keep the retriever out. It had startled him enough that he’d almost struck it, and he had no intention of hurting someone else’s pet. As soon as he came down from panic, he realized where he was: Wally’s home. Alright. This could be worse. All he had to do was clean the studio and pretend to be goofy and energetic. For a whole week. He hoped he could keep it up that long.

Wally wasn’t faring much better. He knew he couldn’t handle the studio’s finances, and he didn’t know anything about Grant. Since it had been so long, Wally couldn’t even seem to remember Grant’s memories. The note he’d been left didn’t help. Most of it was pretty mundane: the first two bullet points were about where he kept his medications and a list of scheduled meetings. The next one read,

Do not get help with my job. I have a reputation to maintain. At least, don’t get help with anything too simple.

Not exactly what Wally wanted to hear, but still a clear message. The next point, however, was a lot more cryptic.

Expect a visit at 10 a.m. on Monday. Have the second folder in my filing cabinet (the blue one) out. Have the door closed.

Well, it was 10 a.m., and Wally did have the folder out and the door closed. He heard someone twist the door handle. “Slide it under the door.” Came a deep, gravely, and very artificial-sounding voice.

Wally tried opening the door, but whoever was on the other side of it was holding it shut. Knowing that he needed to find at least one identity to stay alive, he pulled harder, but whoever was on the other side of it was much stronger than him.

“Don’t even think about it. I know exactly who you are, and if you open this door, I will tell the other eleven. Just slide that folder under the door, and keep the door closed for five minutes afterwards.”

Slowly, carefully, Wally obeyed. On the other side of the door, Grant picked up the folder and backed away slowly. He felt sorry for whoever he’d threatened, but these forms needed to be complete before the end of the week, and he was quite sure that Joey would kill him if they weren’t done properly. The second he was around the corner, he collapsed against the wall in relief. Hopefully this would be the most ridiculous thing he’d have to do this week.

“There you are, Wally,” a voice came.

Grant quickly hid the folder behind his back. “Thomas! Uh, hi!” Was that how Wally greeted Thomas? He hoped so.

“Uh, hi. So, your note probably said something about how I’m supposed to teach you to maintenance the ink machine.” Indeed, it had. “Well, that would be pretty useless, now wouldn’t it? Listen, I’ll promise not to try to figure out your identity if you can answer me this: do you know anything about machinery?”

Grant had worried that being caught ten feet from his office would have been a dead giveaway. Maybe “Thomas” was just that desperate. “Sorry, no,” he said.

“Okay,” “Thomas” said. “Guess I’ll just have to teach him next week. Best of luck not dying.” Susie left, making sure to walk heavily, as Thomas would have. She’d just have to make sense of Thomas’ instructions on her own. Maybe calling GENT or getting some books on machine maintenance from the library would help. One week. She had to keep the ink machine, whose pipes and various machinery extended from one end of the studio to the other, in one piece for one week, plus keep up with the pipe installations Joey had wanted. Plus find at least two identities (she wasn’t sure how long she could hide her true colours from “Allison”), and keep her own hidden so that she could survive.

This was going to be a week.

#body swap to the death au #my fanfiction #joey drew crew

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x688plsloveme · 6 years ago

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Characters reactions to sole being blind? Both romanaced and friendships if that's okay?

ADA: To the surprise of absolutely no one, she was just very curious. She was always asking how Sole could shoot with such accuracy, or how they were able to keep sure footing in a rugged wasteland. Ada was also the only one to ask about how Sole became blind in the first place. Turns out they were just born with it. They made Ada swear not to tell anyone else though, cause the rest of their friends kept coming up with wild story after wild story, and it was hilarious to Sole.

CODSWORTH: If it wasn’t for Sole reprogramming him pre-war, Codsworth would be constantly trying to “assist” them despite the fact that they definitely didn’t need it. Now all he does is quietly make sure the floor of their house is free of clutter. He’s also responsible for informing Sole whenever someone moves the furniture around after stubbing their toe so hard, they almost broke it. thanks maccready

CURIE: She is definitely the biggest worry-wart that Sole has ever met, but it just makes their girlfriend even more adorable in their eyes. Besides, the attention was nice. But only from her. If anyone else tried to treat them like Curie, they’d get knocked down flat. Curie pretends to be embarrassed whenever she hears someone talk about how soft Sole is for her, but she secretly loves being the only one Sole trusts enough to let down their walls a little bit and be taken care of.

DANSE: Danse will never admit it, but the first time Sole knocked him flat on his back in a sparring match, he fell in love. It was probably because he was just so awed that someone was able to use their senses so acutely, they were actually able to bring him down without being able to physically see his fists coming. They were a weird couple, to say the least. Danse’s favourite dates were the ones that Sole and him sparred. He respected Sole so so so much. Even things like Sole just cooking a simple meal left him awe-struck.

DEACON: The first thought Deacon had when he met Sole was “Those are some sick shades.” He didn’t even realize Sole was blind until they took their sunglasses off. They worked flawlessly on the battlefield and Deacon thought it was the coolest thing ever. He never tried to disguise himself as a blind guy before, but after meeting Sole he got inspired. He tries very hard, but it turns out it takes more than a few weeks of practice with a blindfold around his eyes to get on his friend’s level. Or any level really. At least him running into things and tripping all over the place was amusing to everyone else.

DOGMEAT: Dogmeat has probably saved Sole’s life more times than they can remember. He’s a smart and loyal dog, and he helps Sole with all the dangers that aren’t obvious to them immediately. He’s also really soft, so as someone who has to rely on their sense of touch, he’s basically the best cuddle buddy ever!

GAGE: Gage, like everyone else in Nuka-World, was clueless to the fact that their overboss could not see. At all. He didn’t even find out until they slept together and Sole had to take their shades off. He thought it was pretty neat that his partner was so talented that they were able to beat the all mighty Colter while using one less sense.

HANCOCK: To say he was protective was an understatement. Hancock was downright hostile to anyone who messed with his sunshine. One snide comment will have you on the ground within seconds. He wasn’t about to let anyone make the one good thing he has in this screwed up world feel bad. In turn, Sole practically makes it their past-time to mess people up who insult their boyfriend. They both have insecurities, and to them, this was as healthy a way to help each other out as it would get.

LONGFELLOW: As long as Sole was competent with a gun, he didn’t really care. At least, that’s what he’d want you to think. In reality, Longfellow was always keeping an extra eye out for Sole whenever they traveled together. He really cared about the kid, and if anything happened to them on his watch, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. So like the emotionally constipated grandpa he is, he never outwardly shows he cares.

MACCREADY: During his travels, MacCready’s seen his fair share of wastelanders with their fair share of both physical and mental disabilities on his travels, so it doesn’t really phase him. The only thing that surprises him is that, even with all their skills, Sole can never kiss him on the first try. It’s terribly endearing. He definitely likes that it makes Sole easier to prank too. They never get mad about it though. His playful nature was part of the reason why Sole loved him. Plus, they always get him back way worse anyways.

PIPER: Piper is the kind of person to go out of the way to try and make things as comfortable as possible for her lover. She’s always finding music and food Sole likes. She buys simple presents that just feel soft because Sole once told her soft textures help ground them when they’re nervous or scared. And even though she knows they can tell where she is at all times, she still likes to keep constant contact with them. Holding hands are her favourite.

PRESTON: Out of everyone, Preston was the most respectful about Sole’s blindness. That may have been how they ended together in the first place. He knew what to say and when, and knew not to treat them like glass all of the time. Sole appreciated everything he did. They would often just cuddle and talk for hours about things that were bothering them both. Their relationship was all the stronger for it.

STRONG: Unlike Longfellow, Strong actually did not care. He saw them fight, and they knew they were tough for a human. That’s all he worried about. It’s unclear whether or not he even realized they were blind for a while. He’d sometimes see them trip randomly when they were in a settlement, but other than that nothing really ticked him off.

VALENTINE: Nick thinks it’s pretty amazing how someone can get through life-let alone an apocalyptic one-while being blind. He distantly remembers a pal the old Nick had that was blind and had lots of trouble with just walking place to place sometimes. For Sole to be able to not only keep up with everyone around them but surpass them and help as many people as they do... Is just so inspiring.

X6-88: Besides Codsworth, X6 was the only one to know about Sole’s condition before meeting them. He first thought that they were going to be a liability no matter what the dossier says about their fighting abilities. They were probably talking them up so that he’d be more willing to go with them. He was pleasantly surprised to say the least. They earned his respect straight from the get-go. After seeing them fight, it wasn’t farfetched for X6 to imagine Sole taking down a courser and Kellog all by themselves besides a dog.

I liked this prompt anon!!! All I could think about was a bad*ss Sole gunning down a bunch of supermutants with some killer shades on then tripping on some furniture when they got home. Thanks for putting that in my head so I can bother my sister into drawing it. 👌😘

#im not gonna bother with all their names #its midnight #and im tired #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 companions react #fo4 companions #fo4 #fallout 4 #minexthree

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curlzformetal · 5 years ago

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Episode 12, Midnight Espionage

Okay, so first off, I will address dropping out from this for like five months. Uh, it happens…? Idk what ep I left off on typing up, but we’re gonna start back here for funsies. But I’m back!! With más reactiones! (Listen, u take Spanish for two years in high school and then. and then this happens.) So!! Episode 12!!

the whole plan,, is so goddamn smart. like how they talk throughout the ep is consistently considering all the angles, to steal the handwriting, to copy it, to do all this shit and,,, in any dnd campaign I’ve played all the people just want combat and it’s so nice to see dnd used in a ,,, varied environment i suppose? Idk I just love the (heh) espionage that goes down this ep, and it’s so goddamn cool.

another thing before the character breakdowns: the subtle,,, foreshadowing? That Marisha did w/o even thinking or knowing??? “We all think Matt’s managing three storylines but little known to us, he’s managing a fourth seCRET STORYLINE” and then shIT hits the FAN AT THE END OF THE EP and there’s,,, explosions and towers crumbling andAND AND PEOPLE. GETTING STRUCK BY L I GHTNING AND TURNED TO A SH. that,, was nice. everything went to shit but tbh I agree with Travis. “That went perfectly.” something is afoot my dudes…something is aFOOT.

okay so, we’ll start off w jester: fave moment was more a joint Nott and Jester moment. Nott asking Jester when they break into the attic if Jester wants to draw a mustache or a dick on the giant art piece…was priceless. I’ve mentioned that i really love their dynamic and that certainly holds true this time, and the jester is like… I think I studied this artist. And I?? Jester studied art?? I mean I used it makes sense but I,, can’t see Jester studying? Like I just don’t see it.

Speaking of Nott, the,, mage hand…mistake?? (Missed opportunity?) With the grappling hook and how upset she was like,, idk what that says about her and Caleb bc I almost get this vibe like she desperately needs to impress Caleb and always be as smart or only a little less smart than him bc she needs to prove to herself that she deserves his love and affection. And like that…really hit home. Very much so. The way she says, “I want to see you succeed,” really tells me that Nott feels like she needs to work to help Caleb not only because she loves him, but also because she might need to feel like she’s earning her place with him. And then after everything goes sideways, she still takes that moment to grab the scroll that Caleb wanted before leaving the High (Richter? Riktor?)’s home sort of cements that for me. ((okay, something else that fucking GOT ME. the whole hospital scene was a jam. a bop. Nott,, continually asking about doing this one plan and Caleb just,, keeps,, “No that sounds a little extreme” like…yeah. but the whole situation had gone extreme Caleb, or haven’t yOU NOTICED?? I just really love Nott and Caleb as a friendship. Like,, really badly. But also Nott hissing was fucking PRIME. the bEST. 111/10 you’re doing amazing sweetie.)) Also, Nott,,, is so funny. Like…the messages?? Every message she sends is,, the best. I think everyone absolutely knows they can respond to this message, but it reminds me of like those automatic email sign offs, and it’s just…great, it’s great okay, I have a terrible and easily pleased sense of humor and thIS PLEASES ME.

Speaking of the hospital scene, @Molly you know what you did. I am both disgusted…and very impressed. Good plan, terrible execution, it’s okay if you blame the dice. But Molly really goes that extra mile every time without it…striking me as a need to be extra? Like he does it, but it’s not for praise or good attention bc I feel like Molly almost…doesn’t care about that. It would be nice to see him get it, but I think Molly is so used to not receiving positive attention at all (take how the guard shooed him away when he has the little bus set up, take how suspicious the guards to the Trispire were and that’s just this ep) that it’s not an attention thing for it. And like…I don’t think it’s a fun thing either? He didn’t sound like he was having a good time cutting himself open or smashing through a window or acting possessed and like…in context (and out of it) it’s funny, but at the same time, Molly takes to it without he levity that would make him the comic relief. (That probably atm goes to Nott. Read: Sam.) Molly’s just…flashy? Without wanting the attention or having fun with it, he just is. Like…like he’s going through the motions of putting on a show without actually enjoying any aspect of it.

Whereas Jester absolutely enjoys putting on a show. She enjoys attention, she adores it, she has fun with it. Her and Molly are so similar in…genre (?)….but not in motive. Jester does things a certain way or does them at all purely bc they are fun. She enjoys playing dressup, she enjoys acting…she enjoys imagining things. (I almost wonder…if she didn’t imagine her mom?) It’s a really fun compare and contrast between her and Molly and I think they foil each other really well even without interacting that much.

You know who does interact with Jester a lot though? Beau. And while Beau doesn’t put on a show to be flashy or to have fun, I still feel like she is putting on some kind of show. Maybe not directly, but almost in a kind of…lie of omission way. Is an act of omission a thing? But anyways, it’s really interesting, Beau having secrets, Beau doing and saying true things, and pitting both of those things against each other. Beau is…almost her own foil, which is just weird but it really works for her. (10/10 moment: Beau trying not to bleed on a magical rug that is literally in fucking tatters.)

Which brings me to Fjord. Full disclosure, some of the spoilers I’ve seen for like eps 60-74 make me love him, even though atm Caleb is really stealing that cake, but what would have tipped me off is that when Caleb goes for the scroll in the High (Richter?)’s house, Fjord doesn’t hesitate the tiniest bit to threaten him. He threatens to dump (and HARM) Caleb, and by extension Nott, and he does it without any outer evidence of inner conflict which really…mhmMM is there inner conflict at all? Cue gif of there’s a lot to unpack here. It’s really interesting because he does this, but five minutes later Fjord shoves a health potion down Caleb’s throat and the words that stick with me are “We’re either a team or you’re working for yourselves. Decide.” because it’s so obvious that Fjord himself has decided that he’s a team. This is his team. He’s decided, he is invested in the Mighty Nein, not as individuals who are his friends, but as a group that’s HIS group. (Look at how the moment he escaped the hospital, he instantly turns around to help Molly.) Fjord believes in all them, together, in a way I don’t think anyone else quite does yet. It’s…a really really really good and fun thing to see, for sure.

Also the plot is so goddamn thick. Almost as thick as Molly’s cosplayed dick. (I really hope in EP 13 that comes back I wanna know.) And like,, the way Matt describes things, the fact that Marisha accidentally foreshadows the whole thing?? I am DYING to know what’s going on. Im so curious. Matt drags not opy the players (with characters who are invested) but he immediately drags the Audi in with him. I wanna know what’s up!! What the fuck!! What the hell!! What the HECKIN!! so.

im gonna go find out what the HECKIN, n I’m gonna start ep 13 despite the late hour. hopefully the next Critical Reaction won’t take, u know,,, five months. :) :) :)

#critical role #cr caleb #cr nott #cr mollymauk #cr fjord #cr jester #cr beauregard #critical reactions #meta...?? I guess??#does this count as #critical role meta #?

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olicitysecretsanta · 6 years ago

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Trapped

A gift by @leuska for @hope-for-olicity

This has to be the worst Christmas Eve ever. Not that she minds that it’s Christmas Eve. No, that’s just the icing on the whole fracking cake.

Her back hurts. Her left hip throbs uncomfortably, courtesy of the massive cabinet currently pinning her down. It’s just so damn heavy. She had already tried to shift it off of herself multiple times to no avail. The heavy cow just wouldn’t budge an inch. Not even enough to relieve the pain of the metal edge cutting into her skin across the underside of her ribs. She doesn’t know how long she lies there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. She’s long since lost track of time.

Felicity’s trapped.

The chill of the stone floor doesn’t help, sending unpleasant shivers up her spine. But Felicity can’t bring herself to worry about the chill in that moment, because she has a more immediate problem.

The fire.

She has yet to see the flames; but she can hear them, somewhere above her on the ground floor, cracking merrily, slowly but surely making their way down to her.

The walls and beams of the building above groan before falling eerily silent again. Darkness envelops her and Felicity tries not to succumb to the crippling hopelessness and fear that had been creeping up on her ever since the first crackle of the flames.

No one knows she’s down here. She could die here and no one would find her body for days.

Well...Perhaps that’s a little melodramatic. And probably not true. Laurel knows. But she wouldn’t be much good to Felicity if she happened to be in a similar predicament, somewhere a floor or two above her, also trapped, seriously injured, or even worse, dead.

She hates the darkness of the basement. She hates darkness, period. Even as a child, she would sleep with a lamp on, and did so until well into her teens. But the electricity is gone, courtesy of the fire.

She wishes suddenly for her menorah. She doesn’t care how ridiculous the thought is. It would’ve brought light.

She had celebrated Hanukkah this year, if only because her mother had pestered her about it. She had lit the candles, done the rituals, all alone in her small apartment, and yet, didn’t feel any more enlightened nor spiritually illuminated, nor anything else that one was supposed to feel during as a result of such ceremonies.

She could really do with some light now though, spiritual or otherwise.

Because with the way things are looking just now, Felicity Smoak is going to die on Christmas Eve in a dark, dingy basement, struck down by a cabinet whilst trying to troubleshoot CNRI’s recent server issues.

Life is indeed not fair.

Felicity’s chest hurts, but it has nothing to do with the dust and debris she is lying in. A tight fist of fear and regret closes around her throat and heart.

She doesn’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this.

A single tear slips from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hairline, causing a tickling sensation to run through her.

This is it. This is how her lonely existence ends at mere 23 years of age. Another statistic of young people tragically dying before their time. Millenials doing it again: killing safety in IT jobs.

A sound comes from above her, but this time, it’s not the building groaning as it burns on its less-than-stable support beams. No, this sound is deliberately and distinctly man-made. Someone or something is banging against the door to the basement, trying to get inside. Then she hears the voice.

“Hello? Is anybody down there?!”

Oh, God, yes. YES!

“Y-yea, I am…” Felicity croaks, her voice a feeble cough cracking through her body, dust filling her lungs. She gives another mighty cough before trying again, voice stronger this time.

“Help! I am down here! I am trapped down here!”

There is a moment of silence, nothing but the groaning of the building that’s about to collapse on top of her, accompanied by the ominous crackle of the fire. She starts to think she’s imaged the whole thing, wished the voice into existence. Then:

“Just hold on—stay calm—I am coming down!” the voice calls through the still closed metal door that she can hear is being attacked by something heavy from upstairs.

“Not gonna be a problem,” Felicity murmurs to herself, her head flopping back to the concrete, her body once again wracked with coughs.

The door above her suddenly bursts open, a ray of light spilling down the stairs to where she’s trapped.

She would smirk at the trite nature of the words which come to mind – and then there was light – were she not trapped, tired, hurting and so very scared.

Instead, she tries to crane her neck, see the person hurrying down, but with the way she is pinned, it’s just her luck that her back is to the stairs. All she can do is listen as a heavy pair of boots clomp down the stairs, their echo bouncing off the walls of the basement as well as Felicity’s skull. Despite the inharmonious thunk of the sound, it sounds like music to her ears.

“Okay miss, I am here,” says a masculine voice and Felicity squeezes her eyes tightly shut as a ray of light from a strong, heavy-duty flashlight hits her face.

There is movement above her and she squints when the beam slips from her face and hits the floor. A black and yellow blur flashes in front of her eyes. She hears the flashlight clatter to the floor and it bathes the room in light shadows.

The quick transition from lying unmoving in the dark to sudden light and movement is more than a bit disconcerting, but Felicity fights to adapt, wracking her brain to make some sense of the situation. She wonders if this is all just a figment of her shock-riddled imagination.

“Hold on, I am going to try and lift this a little so you can wiggle out.”

Yellow and black flashes again and she finally puts it all together. A firefighter. Of course. Who else?

And a pretty strong one, too, if the grunts and groans coming from him are any indication as the man tries to shift the cabinet off of her. Suddenly, the weight lifts from her hips and she can move again.

“Can you–“ a heavy groan, “–maneuver yourself out?” the Hulk of a man grunts, holding the cabinet an inch or two above her.

Awed, Felicity takes her first free breath; then forces her mind to take a quick inventory of her body. Her hip and legs are prickling with pins and needles shooting down to her toes as proper blood circulation resumes, but nothing feels too severely damaged.

“Ye-es,” Felicity stammers. “I think so.”

She lifts her body to her elbows and pulls back, slowly and painstakingly shuffling herself out from underneath the cabinet.

“Just don’t let it fall on me again,” she whimpers, the words escaping her mouth on their own when she sees the man’s arms shake with the exertion, sweat running down his face.

“I won’t,” he bites out through clenched teeth. She absolutely believes him.

It takes longer than she expected, but once her legs are free, she hastily pulls the rest of her body out and draws her feet underneath herself so the man can let the cabinet fall to the ground with a grinding crash.

For a moment, Felicity just sits there, gawking up at her savior, still in awe of the man who just single handedly helped her out from the death trap that would have buried her alive.

And boy, upon closer inspection, he is one fine specimen of a savior. A hunk of a savior, her mom would say.

The firefighter’s uniform is bulky on his fit frame, hiding the finer contours of his body, but Felicity can still see that he is tall and broad. Her eyes seize him from head to toe, her mouth slightly agape. When her gaze falls to the ground, she spots his helmet he must have pulled down while heaving the cabinet off of her, and Felicity now has the perfect view of him panting and wiping his sweaty brow with one huge glowed hand. And if his body looks massive and strong, it definitely doesn’t take away anything from the man’s handsome face.

The firefighter gives one final sigh before directing his eyes at her, stepping closer and oh boy, is he even more handsome up close.

“Are you okay, miss? Are you hurt?” he asks urgently as he crouches down to her, his face coming impossibly close.

Even in the flickering light, she notices that his eyes are blue. Impossibly blue.

Wow.

They are still shrouded in dimness, the only two sources of light coming from the flames upstairs and the beam of his flashlight.

Yet she can still see that his eyes are a very distinctive blue. Dark brown hair, angular broad jaw deliciously peppered with stubble. Unfairly handsome, indeed.

And very concerned for her, obviously.

“Lady, are you hurt? Can you stand?”

Lady. Now that sounds super weird. Shaking her head like a dog, Felicity forces herself to concentrate on the question.

“I don’t think so…” she murmurs and almost panics when the man reaches for her, before realizing he is just trying to help her stand.

“Time to find out,” he murmurs in a deep, caring voice and Felicity realizes that it’s a very nice murmur. And what the hell is wrong with her? Before she can finish the thought, however, she is standing, half on her own, half supported by the man.

“You good?”

It’s that damn sexy murmur again, so close to her ear now that it makes her jump in surprise.

“Ye-yes.” She stammers, a shiver running down her spine. She takes a step back from him, trying to find her center.

“Wonderful, because we really need to get out before the whole building collapses,” he says urgently and she nods, the reality of their situation crashing back down to her.

It started with Laurel Lance’s call, begging Felicity for a Christmas Eve favor – a Christmas Eve miracle, Laurel called it. Then the sudden explosion and subsequent fire. The blast had shaken the whole building, causing a heavy cabinet to turn over, effectively trapping her.

“Hey,” a gentle voice brings her back from her spiraling thoughts, a gloved hand closing around her arm and squeezing reassuringly. “Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”

“Fe-Felicity.”

“Felicity. That’s a nice name.”

She likes the way he says her name.

“Can you breathe for me?”

Those intense blue eyes are on hers again, urging her on as she steadily takes one breath after another, long enough to stop the ringing in her ears.

“Okay,” she manages to bite out through clenched teeth. “I’m good.”

She isn’t. But the groaning of the building above her doesn’t really leave her any choice but to be ready and face whatever awaits them above.

The man gives a short nod, then crouches down to pick up his dropped flashlight and helmet. Pondering something for a moment, he makes a quick decision and instead puts the helmet on Felicity’s head.

“Here. It’s dangerous up there,” he explains with a small smile.

The helmet is heavy and dwarfs her head. Still. Everything Felicity can think about is that the man has a really nice smile. Which only serves as clear proof of how mentally unstable she currently is, swooning about the handsomeness of her rescuer instead of the very real danger of her dying in the next couple of minutes.

The man silently directs her to follow closely behind him before he starts walking up the stairs again.

“My God, what happened up there?” Felicity asks with a gasp, because now that they are half up the stairs, she can actually see all the damage lying behind the door to CNRI’s server basement.

“We don’t know yet,” the man replies, not turning or stopping to give his explanation. “But considering the part of town we’re in, probably a gas leak that caused an explosion. It doesn’t take much where these particular buildings are concerned. They are old and not very well maintained. It actually, sadly, happens quite often.”

They reach the top of the stairs and the sight in front of her as she peaks around the man’s broad back makes Felicity freeze with shock.

What greets her eye can’t be described any other way than utter wreckage. The CNRI building – or what’s left of it – looks like it’s been bombed in air strikes. There is rubble everywhere, multiple small fires crackling all around the place, concrete pillars that used to support the building not an hour ago now cracked or outright ripped apart, some completely blown from their fundamentals. There are burning documents, computers and furniture everywhere and considering what lays ahead of her, it looks like a very deadly obstacle course. Or simply a death trap, there is no way around it.

Felicity gulps again, taking an involuntary step back before she remembers not to move any further so she doesn’t fall down the stairs again. Her rescuer turns to her, a silent question in his eyes. Maybe this is the time to lay her cards on the table and admit she isn’t much of an athletic person. Or, you know, not athletic at all, period. Oh, who is she kidding, she only bought that stationary bike because she was feeling guilty for not exercising in the first place. The very same bicycle that now serves as a fancy coat rack.

So no. There is absolutely no way she can make her way through this.

“Felicity?” the man questions, and her eyes fall shut with embarrassment and shame.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers, barely over the crackling of the fire.

“You can.” The man says with conviction Felicity doesn’t feel.

“I’m scared,” she involuntarily whimpers, her cheeks growing warm at the admission. Here he is, a firefighter ready to risk his own life to save hers and she is stalling out of fear and insecurity. By now, the man sure must regret finding her alive in the first place.

“Hey, don’t be scared, Felicity. I am here to help you. I know it looks bad, but you are not alone and I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

She already loves him. Like not loves loves him, not like being in love with him, but loves how wonderful of a rescuer he is. And she wants to believe him. Actually, Felicity realizes as she looks back into those gorgeous blue eyes of his, she does believe him. At least she believes the part where he won’t willingly let anything happen to her. As for herself and her own abilities…

“Okay,” she nods and takes a deep breath before she realizes what a stupid mistake that is. Her lungs instantly fill with hot smoke and dust, wrecking her body with a violent fit of coughs causing her mangled hip and side to burn with searing pain.

Frack! Frack, frackity-frack!

“Here.”

Something presses into her hand, a cloth the man must have wet with water.

“Press this over your nose and mouth.”

The Hunk – cause yeah, she needs a name for him, even if only in her own head, and it is the very first description that originally came to her mind. Well, no, actually it was Hulk, but that nickname is just stupid, because he isn’t mean nor green nor violent, so Hunk will have to do. The Hunk is now looking an her urgently, his eyes still gentle but more insistent.

“We really need to keep going, Felicity. You ready?”

She is not. God, she so is not. But she bravely nods anyway.

He takes her hand and starts directing them through the maze that was once the cubicle-ed offices of CNRI. Only now, the space looks nothing like what Felicity remembers.

Using one hand to press the wet cloth against her face while the other clutches the gloved hand of her rescuer for dear life, Felicity stumbles behind him as they painstakingly and slowly make their way through the rubble. It’s not easy, because they have to crouch underneath fallen pillars, and crawl over overturned furniture, chunks of blown apart walls or walk around the small fires that burn everywhere.

The environment is also very hot. And not only because of the proximity of her handsome rescuer, who is definitely a solid ten on the hotness scale, if Felicity does say so herself. No, it’s the smoke and dust and fire that are making her eyes water and lungs seize, her abused body tiredly stumbling behind the man whose step never falters.

They are proceeding slowly but safely, inching towards the door where Felicity hopes the exit lies. In the smoke and dust and rubble, she is absolutely lost as to which room exactly they are currently walking across.

Making a short stop in a small niche in the doorway between two rooms, her firefighter silently offers her the bottle of water before he takes out his radio, reaching out while she drinks hastily, the water a welcoming balm against her parched throat.

“Queen here. I found the woman. We are on our way out now.”

There is a short moment of static crackling before a deep rumble of a voice responds. “Queen, you son of a bitch. You better get your ass safely out of there or I will kill you myself. Waiting on standby. Boys are trying to contain the fire from outside. Make it quick though, the building doesn’t have much time.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, the man – the Hunk – is done and once again looking expectedly towards her. She gives a slow nod and he silently takes her hand again as they make their way towards the next door in what feels like a sick game of walking through a minefield.

They are close, so close in fact, Felicity can almost feel the cool draft of wind coming from somewhere in front of her when it all goes straight to hell.

The ceiling in the very last room they need to cross caves right in front of their eyes, and the Hunk barely has time to jump back and turn towards her, roughly showing Felicity back and against the doorframe they just came through, shielding her as huge chunks plaster, wood and concrete come raining down onto them.

It’s sheer luck they weren’t too deep in the room yet, otherwise they would have been buried alive.

There’s a little break in the collapsing and before she knows what’s happening, Felicity is pushed backward further into the previous room, further away from the longed-for exit.

Somewhere behind her, she can hear the deep male voice from before call to them, repeating ‘Queen, Queen’, which doesn’t make any sense at all, before she realizes the Hunk is not hot at her heels anymore but cursing and diving back into the caving room. And that’s when it clicks to her; the radio.

He’s lost the radio.

She just manages to turn back and grab him by the arm, yanking him back violently, surprised at her own reflexes as well as strength, but she manages to pull him back just in time for the room he was just about to enter again into completely caving in on itself, debris of several floors crashing down with deafening racket. And it doesn’t end there, the whole statics of the building is compromised now and there is no way the building can remain standing anymore.

“Back!” Felicity shouts, orders really, once again surprising herself by her decisiveness. “We need to get back to that basement before it all comes crashing down on us!”

Before she knows, the Hunk is already pushing at her from behind, urging her to move on as she speeds through the rooms they so carefully maneuvered before, not caring about possibly catching her clothes on fire or scratching her hands against obstacles standing in their way anymore, only going forward, always forward, running until they reach the door to the basement again. Without thinking, she flies down the stairs and is once again back where it all started.

That’s when the building above them completely gives way, all three floors pancaking on themselves. The sound is deafening. Felicity has never heard anything as ear-splitting and utterly scary in her life. The ceilings and walls crash down and rubble flies down the stairs of the basement, effectively burying them alive.

Felicity stands frozen, just at the bottom the stairs where rubble and debris still falls, but she is unable to move, paralyzed by fear. She feels herself being swooped up just as a large chunk of concrete lands at the spot she’s just been standing at and she is pushed under the metal stairs and pulled against a solid chest, strong arms enveloping her as everything else around them collapses.

She clutches at the Hunks uniform, her face against his throat, absolutely certain they are about to die any second, squashed to a bloody pulp by tons and tons of concrete and construction material.

But death never comes.

It could have been moments, it could have been hours, but finally, there is just silence, darkness, and the heavy breathing of two very much alive people.

She feels movement, then sees a flicker and the room is suddenly bathed in the harsh beam of a flashlight cutting through whirls of dust. The Hunk is directing his flashlight towards her even as she is still cowering in his arms, a concerned look on his face.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice ragged and slightly out of breath. When she doesn’t answer, he asks more urgently, addressing her directly by name to drill his point across, “Felicity, are you hurt!?”

She shakes her head against him.

“No.” It’s all she is able to mutter before her whole body begins to shake, her teeth rattling.

“Y-you?” For some reason, it is paramount to her that he is okay too.

“Fine,” the Hunk sighs, finally pulling back and away from her. She nearly whimpers.

Instead, Felicity follows the flashlight’s light as it dances around the room and bounces off the walls, or at least what’s left of them. Half the space is filled with rubble and debris, the metal stairs practically the only thing that saved them from having their heads smashed by falling chunks of construction material.

What’s left free is a space of a couple of feet that stretches from underneath the stairs to – ironically – the very cabinet Felicity has been trapped under earlier.

This is…it’s bad. Very bad.

The Hunk gets to his feet and makes a quick scoop around the room, assessing the damage, as if trying to find some miraculous way out of here. Without having to look herself, Felicity knows with absolute certainty that they are effectively trapped. The Hunk must have reached the same conclusion, because his shoulders sag. To his credit though, once he turns back to her, he’s straightened them out again while speaking in a steady, calm voice.

“Don’t worry. My colleagues know we are here. They will come searching for us.”

She really wants to share his enthusiasm. Only, she is a very practical and rational person. And she knows things aren’t that easy.

“Only your colleagues think we got smashed to a pulp by the collapsing building.”

The Hunk shakes his head disapprovingly. “No, they heard we were okay when I radioed us in.”

“Yes, but that was before the building fell in on itself like a damn house of cards,” she counter-reasons. “And you lost your radio.” It’s only sheer luck she doesn’t say ‘drop’.

“I know,” the Hunk says, tightness for the very first time entering his voice and posture as he lays his hands on his hips, his breathing growing heavier. He is agitated, but that doesn’t stop Felicity from voicing the obvious problem.

“I am just saying. When your colleagues try to call again, all they will get is radio silence. Which to them will appear as if we--”

“Could you maybe tone it down with the pessimism? I am trying to keep a cool head here, but your pinpointing of everything that’s wrong in not really helping,” the man hisses, shooting her a disbelieving glare.

Its intensity makes Felicity flinch. “I’m sorry,” she utters, bringing her knees to her chest, trying to ignore how her eyes, lungs as well as half her body burn and hurt.

“It’s just that when I am stressed, I talk,” she squeezed out through clenched teeth before nervously picking a loose threat of her already completely destroyed skirt. With a start, she realizes she isn’t wearing the helmet anymore. Duh. Must have lost it somewhere while running back for cover.

The Hunk gives a heavy sigh, air leaving his lungs in a whoosh.

“No, Felicity,” he tells her in a surprisingly gentle tone. “It’s me who’s sorry.”

He takes the few steps, circling back to where she is sitting pressed with her back against the wall underneath the stairs. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That was unhelpful and very unprofessional of me. I apologize.”

She only nods in response, not trusting her voice just yet.

The Hunk puts the flashlight between them on its rear end, its light hitting the ceiling and casting the room in a greyish half-light. He proceeds by unzipping his heavy fireproof jacked, pushing it from his shoulders with a wince before plopping down to the ground close to her in nothing but a black shirt (and suspenders!), gingerly laying back against the same concrete wall but keeping a respectable distance of a couple feet between them.

“Are you hurt?” Felicity asks, noticing the way he unsuccessfully tries to mask his discomfort.

“Just bruises and abrasions,” he brushes her off. When she silently pins him with a look, he sighs and elaborates. “When the ceiling came down in the last room and I pushed you against the doorway, some of the falling debris caught me on the back.”

Felicity thinks that’s a very nice way to put how he literally wrapped himself around her to shield her from the falling pieces of ceiling. She can’t dwell on it however, as his next words knock the breath out of her.

“You saved my life back there,” he says with a gentle smile. “Thank you.” It’s not even a question, just a statement. But for the life of her, Felicity can’t come up with what he means by that.

So the only thing she manages in response in a stupid, “What?”

“Back in the room, when I dropped my radio. I dived back for it. It was a stupid, instinctive reaction. You pulled me back in time not to be crushed. Thank you for that.”

Felicity’s cheeks grow warm. She didn’t think about it like that, not at that time. It doesn’t even make sense to her like that now. She didn’t think what she was doing, she just reacted.

She clears her throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be put into the spotlight.

“So. Since it looks like we are going to be here for a while, what do I call you? Mr. Sexy Firefighter is kind of long.”

Her eyes fall shut. She can’t believe those words actually left her stupid, stupid mouth. “Not that being sexy qualifies you to be a good firefighter. Which you obviously are, though. Since you rescued me. You’re sexy too, but that’s beside the point here,” she heavily gulps down, squeezing her eyes tightly. How can she be so devastatingly embarrassing even in a life-threating situation like this? “I just mean that I would really like to know your name, if that’s okay with you. Since you already know mine, it would only be fair.”

She dares to open her eyes then and the small smile playing over his lips in the dim light almost makes her embarrassment worth it. Almost.

“Oliver. You can call me Oliver, Felicity.”

Oliver. She tries it out, likes how it rolls on her tongue. And oh my god, what is wrong with her? They are fighting for their lives here and she is drooling about a sexy firefighter’s name. A sexy firefighter who sure as hell has some hot lawyer chic like Laurel Lance waiting at home for him to carve up the Christmas turkey and scoop up the stuffing.

That puts a damper on her absolutely inappropriate thoughts. Because there won’t be any turkey carving tonight. For either of them. Not that she has any plans or a turkey or a hot boyfriend waiting at home for her. Nope. But he might. And instead, he is stuck here with her.

“Thank you, by the way. For coming and saving me from underneath that cabinet. And then trying to get us out,” she says in barely a whisper.

“It’s my job,” The Hunk-- Oliver shrugs. Like it’s no big deal. When it’s everything to another human being. Everything to her.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I am grateful. I mean, look at you! Good looking and saving lives on Christmas Eve. It doesn’t get any better than that. Sorry for that, by the way. Ruining your Christmas. Surely, you girlfriend or family will be pissed I took you away from them on such an important evening.”

“Actually, you didn’t ruin anything. I am on shift today as well as tomorrow. Well, not anymore. If we get out tonight, I’m sure they’ll order me to take tomorrow off.”

That catches her by surprise. And sure enough, her big mouth runs away with her once again.

“So…No Mrs. Sexy Firefighter waiting for that broad chest with a six pack back at home? That’s kind of a waste, if you ask me. Not that you’re asking me. Or that I’ve seen your chest. I just assumed. You know, how you picked up that cabinet all by yourself? That was really impressive. And also indicative of the fact that you must indeed have a pretty neat six pack in order to do that.”

It was his answering breathless chuckle that made her realize how very uncomfortable her words have been making him. Well, that made two of them. Only, she was the idiot who couldn’t stop them from leaving her mouth.

“Sorry. Again,” she murmured in embarrassment, “It’s probably the lack of oxygen talking. I don’t usually ramble like this. Actually no, who am I kidding,” she sighed unhappily. “It’s exactly what I do. It’s my very own specialty; a superpower, really. And my personal kind of hell. Duh, maybe that’s why I have so little friends. I guess it must be pretty hard to hang out with a person like me with her thoughts completely scattered all over the place all the time. Talk getting awkward on the go. Anytime, anywhere. I can make the both of us feel uncomfortable in no time. Anytime. So I will shut up now. No reason to waste precious oxygen on my rambles. Which will end. Right now.”

She does fall silent after that, hiding her face against her knees, still not able to believe she actually unloaded all that on her fancy rescuer. Felicity doesn’t dare to look at him, not interested to see the embarrassment on his face. Or pity, or annoyance. That’s probably the top three emotions she gets from people whenever they catch her during one of her nervous rambles. She hates this personal trait of herself and yet for the love of her, she can’t change it. The more she tries, the more awkward and mortifying she gets.

Been there, done that. It’s how it is with her. She’s made her peace with that. But she doesn’t have to subject innocent bystanders to this horrible habit of hers. And definitely not such nice ones as hot men trying to rescue her from a burning building and endangering themselves in the process.

Or just one hot and nice man. She feels bad for him. He might die here because of her. They might both die here. Handsome and skilled as he is, his death would surely be a crime against humanity. She doesn’t want that on her conscience.

But she manages at least one thing. She stays silent. Doesn’t need to incriminate herself any further. Definitely doesn’t want to embarrass either of them any more than she already has.

Her cheeks are aflame, eyes burning. She tells herself it’s because of the exertion, smoke and dust.

“How did you know I was down here anyway? How did you know where to look?” She utters after a while, unable to stand the stretching, uncomfortable silence any longer. Well, maybe it was just her. Maybe he was perfectly comfortable with the silence.

Felicity always hated silences with a vengeance. She always felt the compulsive need to fill them. With whatever happened to come across her mind. With her track record, she always managed to fill them with the worst possible type of word-vomit. At least this was something sensible to ask.

Maybe they could even have a casual conversation like two normal people. She desperately needed to take away the edge of her fear that neither of them would make it out of this stupid basement alive.

“Laurel Lance told me,” Oliver replies after a while, effectively cutting through her spiraling thoughts. Her mouth shapes into a perfect ’O’ before the meaning of his words fully registers.

“Oh! Oh my god, Laurel! Is she okay?!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oliver is perplexed.

And no. It’s not the fact that a rescue mission has gone so terribly wrong. That’s just the way his work is, risk of being hurt or dying on the job comes with the territory. So it’s not the fact that he is stuck in a basement low on oxygen in a building that had previously collapsed onto him with a woman he was supposed to rescue only to be rescued by her in return. Not even the fact that he might not make it out of here alive tonight is the reason for his shock.

What has put his whole system into a state of utter bewilderment is the woman sitting just a couple of feet next to him. A woman that utterly baffles and intrigues him at the same time.

And that’s the thing. She shouldn’t. It’s what he does every single day. He saves people from the most dangerous or risky situations. Sometimes it’s injured people, sometimes it’s hysteric people, sometimes he has to deal with utterly stupid people (like those two drunk college kids who got stuck trying to climb down a chimney, Santa-style). He rescues very badly hurt people, people with deep wounds or missing limbs, people shouting in agony from terrible burns, people crying because they saw their loved ones die in front of their own eyes. He’s seen it all.

And still, seeing that young woman helplessly trapped under the heavy cabinet, utterly alone waiting in the dark to possibly die, on Christmas Eve no less, in a dingy server basement of a non-profit organization’s collapsing building – it did something to him. Moved something in him it shouldn’t have.

Yet it was cruel somehow, that this would possibly have been the way she would’ve died if he hadn’t done what he’d done. It was in times like these when Oliver really appreciated his job. This was the very reason he did it. Why he put his life on the line.

He’d quickly run down the stairs and heaved the cabinet off her, relieved that she was in a state to cooperate. Once free, he prepared himself for possible hysterics and subsequent gentle persuasion, a lot of convincing and the possibility of having to somehow carry her out himself if she proved unable to follow him outside through the wreckage on her own. But despite her injuries, fear and apprehension, she cooperated flawlessly.

That was something he’d appreciated very much, although it was neither unique nor unheard of. Different people coped in different ways. She was one of the tougher ones, apparently, despite expressing her fear to him. It was the fact that in spite of her fear she followed his instructions to a T that told Oliver she underestimated herself, big time.

What truly surprised him was her saving his own life a mere fifteen minutes later by making the smart, logical decision of not letting him leap after his lost radio. It was a rookie mistake that Oliver still couldn’t wrap his head around making in the first place. Such mistakes usually cost you your life. And he knew that had he been with anyone else, he would be dead by now, buried under the rubble.

So much for his professional pride.

Then she did another amazing thing, in a split decision that spoke of a very sharp mind. Once again, she’d saved both of their lives. Truth was, it had been Felicity’s idea to return to the basement, which was, in fact, the safest and only place they could possibly survive the building collapsing.

It could still cave under the pressure of three stories, but given the fact that it hadn’t yet proved Felicity’s decision had been right.

Once again, she mesmerized him when she didn’t even acknowledge how she’d saved their lives twice in the course of five minutes. Instead, she‘d rambled her way through their rather unorthodox introductions, something Oliver suspected she did quite a lot. A quality – according to her – not many people enjoyed. He could understand why. And yet, he didn’t mind it, not coming from her. She was genuine. Constantly full of surprises. Fascinating.

This girl – woman – Felicity. She really was quite something. And despite knowing it to be very, very unprofessional, Oliver Queen was very much intrigued.

And then he’d told her about Laurel being the one who’d tipped him off, and despite being buried alive under tons of rubble and concrete herself, no doubt hurting from the injuries caused by the cabinet she’d been trapped under, Oliver can still see how affected she is by the prospect of Laurel Lance being hurt.

Therefore, he hurries to reassure her, to give her at least something to bring her a little peace of mind.

“Yeah, Laurel’s fine. She got out in time, looked relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t tell her about the gash across Laurel’s forehead or the blood trickling down her throat. Doesn’t elaborate on how the she’d looked like a mirage, a ghost, running from the burning building, clothes and face white as a sheet covered in dust and plaster, hands trembling and hair disheveled, a wild look on her face as her eyes sought him out.

They’d always had a connection, he and Laurel, back during the time they’d dated, on and off and on again. Despite it being a long time ago, her uncanny ability to always seek him out even amongst a crowd always stayed. He never could do that. Never even cared to try, if he was being honest.

But Laurel’s always known.

“Ollie!”

Immediately, she’d crossed the space between them, her cries directed at him even as his other colleagues reached her first.

“Ollie, there’s still a woman in the building! You have to help her!”

She knew he didn’t need to hear more. That’s why she’d sought him out, specifically him. Laurel knew he wouldn’t think twice to rush in, knew his reckless nature would propel him into action where others would have hesitated. After all, it was one of the reasons why they’d split. Well, that, and the fact that he just hadn’t cared about her enough. However, that was a long time ago.

Still, Laurel knew Oliver wouldn’t hesitate. Maybe it was her karmic payback, using one of the things she hated most about him against him, though Oliver didn’t mind or dwell on it too much. The outcome was just the same for him, he would have gone no matter who’d told him there was somebody left inside. It was what he did. It was also the thing that made him one of the best and at the same time most dangerous men in his unit.

He liked it. He liked doing the risky thing, going places no one else dared to go. He liked feeling the rush of carrying a person, still alive, from a burning building. It was gratifying, sure. It was also absolutely daring and reckless as hell. He wouldn’t want to live his life any other way but it didn’t do him any favors with his superiors.

John Diggle was the only person able to handle him. To deal with the hot-headed side of him. He managed – to a certain degree – to reign in Oliver’s impulsive behavior, or so their superiors thought. Tonight was not one of those days. Oliver had gone in, not sparing his Captain – his boss and his friend – a second glance, even though he knew very well the structure of the building had been severely compromised and a further plan of action needed to be coordinated.

He knows Diggle will give him an earful for this, if he survives. Not for the fact that he tried to save someone. No, that would make him a hero in the public eye, Oliver already knew from so many brushes with death in the past.

The problem isn’t his drive to save someone, but his lack of discipline while doing so. There is a clear chain of command he blatantly disregards whenever it suits him. He doesn’t listen, doesn’t wait for backup, doesn’t talk strategy. He acts as he sees fit in moments like these. It doesn’t bode well with the Battalion Chief and Oliver knows it’s only thanks to Diggle that he still has a job.

One of these days, you will get yourself killed out there.

It’s what John keeps telling him, always angry and aggravated after whatever stunt he has just pulled. Oliver doesn’t particularly care about that thought. He never really had. Not if the alternative would be this woman dying here in agony and fear, alone in the dark. She still might die. But at least she won’t die alone.

Of course, Oliver hopes it won’t come to that. He is reckless and driven, not suicidal.

“Are you and Laurel friends?” he asks Felicity, willing to stop his dangerous train of thought. Felicity – he really likes the name – just shakes her head.

“No. I just do some work for CNRI.”

The rubble above them shifts, something in the ruins above them moaning dangerously. Felicity flinches before cowering in fear.

Oliver desperately wants to keep the conversation flowing, keep their mind of the sword of Damocles hanging above them. So he inquires further.

“What kind of work?”

Felicity shrugs. “Mainly system maintenance, installation of upgrades, checking the firewall, you know. Usual boring IT stuff. Sometimes,” she points to the back of the room where the corner of the now completely destroyed server is peaking from, “fixing server issues. Something tells me that one is beyond repair, though.” She huffs, and there is an annoyed lilt to her voice. “I spent over two hours working on that stupid thing and it’s all for naught.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Oliver’s mouth, but he tries to rein it in. It doesn’t seem fitting to smile in a situation like this.

“Again, sorry about all of this.” Felicity says, making a circling gesture with her hand. She tries to play it nonchalant, but Oliver can see the current situation weighing on her. “You just tried to help me. And now we are both stuck and might die here.”

Her voice shakes at the end and that’s when Oliver notices a couple of silent tears slipping down her cheeks. It makes his chest hurt. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling his fire safe gloves off his hands so he can curl his fingers around her forearm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

“Felicity, hey. It’s not your fault, okay? We’re gonna be fine, you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, but there is no conviction in her voice as she retreats even further into herself, her knees pulled tight to her chest, her body curled into a ball. He lets his hand drop, at a loss for how to comfort her. It takes a while before either of them speaks again.

“I know you said you’re on shift both, today as well tomorrow, so I didn’t ruin any Christmas plans for you,” she quietly states. “But I’m sure your family won’t be pleased when they find out that you are trapped under a collapsed building, possibly already—” she harshly stops herself from finishing that sentence.

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to reassure her that what happened today is not much different from what he does regularly. That people sometimes think he is on a suicide mission, with the way he leads his life, conducts his work. He just wants to make her feel better about the situation and the misplaced guilt she obviously feels for his being stuck with her.

“Nah,” he shrugs. “Even if I die tonight, trust me, not many people will shed a tear. See, I have what most people would call a bad reputation. Which is just a nice way to say that most of the time, they consider me a real dick.”

He flashes her a half-cocked smile, expecting her to give an indignated laugh or a roll of her eyes at his drama. She does neither, only studies him intensely. It makes him uncomfortable.

“That’s a horrible thing to say. Besides, I have a hard time believing that,” she argues. “I mean not the part about your reputation. For all I know, that could be perfectly true.”

Amused, Oliver raises an eyebrow and her brain finally seems to catch up to her mouth. Realizing how that must have sounded, she quickly hastens to elaborate. “I mean I hardly know you to be able the judge that. Maybe you are an awesome rescuer and firefighter but a dick of a person, making farting noises when your colleagues sit down or stealing their food from the fridge at work. God knows I’ve met plenty of such assholes in my days as a corporate IT girl. That said, I didn’t want to imply I think you are dick-”

She is rambling again. Oliver is surprised to realize he actually likes it. He isn’t just impartial to it anymore, he genuinely enjoys observing how her mouth runs away from her and how her statements snowball as she goes. It has an awkward yet endearing quality about it. It’s like she genuinely doesn’t have a filter. It makes her speak honestly. He’s always appreciated honesty and hated any kind of sugarcoating of the truth. But then, why is he doing the very same thing to her right now? Because, Oliver knows, he is sugarcoating. About himself. About why he is sitting here, with her, in a bubble of air left under three stories of collapsed glass and concrete, on Christmas Eve, not the least concerned about whether he lives or dies tonight. Why, if he dies tonight, there won’t be no big hole gaping in anybody’s heart.

“Both my parents are dead,” he blurts out of the blue. Felicity blinks, her mouth falling agape. Yeah, no wonder. Way to kill the mood. Not that there was any mood to begin with. But that’s what it basically comes down to. His voice is quiet when he continues, his eyes wandering away.

“I do have a sister. Thea. She’s younger than me, way younger. She only turned 20 a couple of months ago. I know she would miss me. But she lives with the constant knowledge that the day I won’t return from work might come. It comes with the territory. An occupational hazard, if you will. She would understand, would – hopefully – be proud I died trying to save another person. It sucks that it’s Christmas, cause it’s her favorite holiday and it’s been only the two of us for so long. But she has a fiancée now. A good guy in her life. She will be hurt, but she will make it.”

He doesn’t even realize when he slips up and transitions from hypothetical would to certain will. Maybe that says something about him. The certainty that he will die on this job one day not too far from now. He is glad Thea is settled. It makes it easier to lead the life he does, with no regrets.

He clears his throat. “I have a best friend, Tommy. He is a billionaire who is disgustingly rich and who loves to party, so he will probably throw a big bash in my name and hope to pick up some girls in the process,” it makes him smile, even as he hears Felicity gasp. That’s Tommy for you, but he doesn’t dare to look at her. He has no idea why he is telling her all this in the first place other than he feels like telling her. Like telling someone. Because maybe he won’t ever get a chance to do so again.

“The guys in my unit, they’re great. My Captain, John, he’s a true friend. They will mourn the loss of a brother and pay their respects. And then they’ll move on, get back to their own families with their daily day to day problems. It’s what we do.”

Oliver realizes he’s saying that quite a lot. It comes with the territory. The risk is part of the job. It’s to be expected. Suddenly, it sounds like an excuse, but he doesn’t want to analyze it too much, and merely clears his throat once again.

“What about you, Felicity? Who would you be leaving behind if we died tonight? Which we won’t. This is purely hypothetical,” he adds with a reassuring smile. “Any boyfriend who would build you a Taj Mahal?”

He doesn’t know what makes him ask that question. It’s extremely unprofessional, inappropriate on many different levels and borderline unethical. He just blurts it out. He’s fishing. That’s what it is, if he’s downright honest with himself. Despite the inappropriate comments and innuendos Felicity has made about him and his physique through the evening, Oliver still wants to make sure. That there is no wonderful, caring boyfriend waiting for her behind the red tape just outside. He doesn’t even fully understand why exactly he needs to hear that.

Maybe nearly dying is making him bold.

Maybe he wants to know if he even has a chance.

Whatever the reason, he regrets his audacity the moment he sees how his question hits her in an almost physical way, her hands resting on her knees curling into tight fists.

“I am sorry, Felicity,” He instantly apologizes, backtracking. “That was way out of line. When I told you I was a dick, I wasn’t exaggerating.”

Surprisingly, her lips twitch at that. “You really weren’t,” she huffs with amusement and he winces, knowing very well he earned that one. She sighs then, laying her head onto her knees, silently regarding him for long moments.

Oliver is puzzled. Not by her reaction, but by his own behavior this whole night. Nothing makes sense anymore. He’s a firefighter, for Christ’s sake. He is trained better than that. He should stay professional, assure her all is going to be okay and that they would make it. He could even talk about weather. Anything would fly but bringing up his dead parents or potential scared boyfriends due to his fishing for her private details he has absolutely no business asking about.

But nothing about their situation right now is conventional. And for once, Oliver doesn’t want to be the aloof professional, he doesn’t want to keep his distance from her. Doesn’t want to be the detached rescue worker you won’t ever see again. Quite the opposite, in fact. He feels a surprising pull to give and get more information about this woman he was brought together with by sheer chance. He can’t explain it other than that she genuinely intrigues him.

He can’t help but think back when she claimed she had no friends. He can’t wrap his head around that one.

She is remarkable. Adorable, charming and smart. Kind of quirky, yet utterly fascinating. And beautiful, in spite of her face currently smudged by smoke and dust, cheeks stained with tear tracks and rundown mascara. There is an element of innocence and vulnerability about her, something he’s only ever seen in his sister. She is funny, too. Quick witted, cheeky even. And yet, there is also something fragile and broken about her, something that calls to his own emptiness.

She has managed to make him smile, even under these dire conditions, more than once. Which is no small accomplishment. And Oliver feels like under any other circumstances, he would most definitely want to be her friend. Maybe more.

She carries both a lightness and heaviness about herself at the same time. And it intrigues him to no end.

Felicity sighs again before opening her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it.

“No, please. You don’t have to say a thing. You don’t owe me anything.”

She regards him a while longer, mulling over his words, her eyes analyzing as she regards him. Her silent scrutiny makes him slightly uncomfortable. “I know I don’t owe you anything. But strangely enough, I want to. You shared something personal with me, even though you didn’t have to. And I feel like extending that courtesy.”

He nods in acceptance, yet is barely able to breathe.

Then, the words spill from her lips like a confession. “The truth is, my situation is probably even bleaker than yours. I am the daughter of a single mom living in Vegas. No immediate family, no siblings, no boyfriend or close friends. Which is usually fine with me.”

“Usually?”

“Yeah. I am kind of used to being on my own. It’s sort of par for the course of being me,” she admits, shrugging casually.

It hurts him to hear her say that. Even he, Oliver Queen, the womanizing and reckless firefighter, is not completely alone in the world. He has a sweet, loving sister, a handful of close friends and the brothers from his unit. The way Felicity talks about her life, however, truly sounds lonely. There is a difference between liking being alone – which he can absolutely understand – and being lonely. And Felicity, no matter how she tries to play it, sounds the latter. From what she tells him, outside of her mom, there is literally no one in her life. How can she be fine with that? How could anyone be fine with that?

“My mom…Oh god, my mom,” she suddenly sobs. “I can’t even think about what would happen to my mom if anything happens to me. She would be crushed. She lives vicariously through me, not that there’s much exciting going on, but I am the only one she’s got.”

Her distress grows and tears flood her eyes again before they start to fall. “God, who would even tell her? They would have to track her down and it might take a couple of days for someone to even figure out how to contact her.”

It’s perfectly possible. Still, it shocks Oliver to the core. His partner, his team know where he is. Despite working, he knows that Thea will call him tomorrow. Actually, she will call and call and call until he picks up just to wish him “Merry Christmas, you grouchy, anti-social jerk! I love you, big brother. I know you are working, but at least stop by and give your little sister her well-earned present!” Thea’s customary passive-aggressive yet still very loving Christmas calls always make him smile. It is a certainty he can always count on.

Felicity, however, obviously doesn’t have a single person in her life outside her mom to even notice if she’d be gone. That’s just not right. That shouldn’t even be possible.

“Wouldn’t your mom miss you for Christmas?” Oliver asks tentatively, hoping to offer a possibility she hasn’t considered yet to make her logical conclusion less depressing. After all, everybody gets calls from their relatives on Christmas – wished as well as unsolicited alike. “I am sure she will try to call you tomorrow.”

“Nah.” Felicity sniffs, shaking her head. “We are Jewish. Don’t really celebrate Christmas. That’s why Laurel called me in the first place. She knew I had nothing better to do during the holidays.”

Oliver is well aware it was him who had chased and pressed this heavy topic. He realizes now how utterly unprepared he was to hear the answers. He desperately wants to take it back now, or at least make Felicity feel a little better. If the ceiling caves and crushes them right now, he wants her to have a smile on her face. Or at least not cry because he made her.

His voice is steady when he reaches out to cup her shoulder in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “We are not dead yet, Felicity. You will call your mom tomorrow.” He’s never wished to speak the truth like he does in that moment.

Felicity sniffs and shrugs her shoulders, seemingly unimpressed by his pep talk. He flounders for something, anything, to say.

“At least it pays well working through holidays, right?”

She barks a small laugh at that. Score!

“Nope,” she says, accentuating the ‘p’ while shaking her head. “CNRI is part of my pro-bono work. Since, you know, CNRI as a non-profit is not known for its vast resources. So I offer them my expertise. Feels like the least I can do to help the people who in turn actually help the less fortunate.”

She shrugs again, like it’s no big deal, like everybody does it, lifting her head from her knees at last and letting it fall back against the wall, her eyes momentarily closing.

Oliver is beyond impressed. Literally struck speechless. Beautiful, funny, smart, and with a giant, compassionate heart. She appears almost too perfect. How come it has to be a stupid gas explosion for the two of them to meet?

Not realizing his amazement, Felicity quietly admits, grumpy annoyance entering her voice. “You wanna know what sucks the most about today?” She sighs dramatically. “I am starving. Literally starving. All I had today was my regular coffee in the morning and a stupid meager salad for lunch because I felt like I could use something light.” She makes air quotations around the last word. “Let me tell you, this is the most brutal reminder of life’s too short. Next time, I will go straight for the dessert cart.”

She pouts in honest disappointment and he finds it so adorable, he’s a goner. For now though, he plays along.

“Okay. Despite the threat of being considered a mean dick again, what I’d like to know is this: if you could, what food would you choose to eat right now?”

Without missing a heartbeat, Felicity perks up, her eyes shining with longing, a dreamy gaze on her face. “Burgers! With fries. And a strawberry milkshake. With ketchup. Loads of ketchup and mayo and oh, oh! Onion rings!”

He scrunches his nose in order not to laugh outright at her enthusiasm, because he really doesn’t want to make her self-conscious despite finding her obvious love for burgers adorable.

And okay, seriously, what has this woman done to him? Since when does he even have the word adorable in his vocabulary?

Felicity scowls at him, misinterpreting his grimace to hold his laughter for disapprovement.

“Let me guess. You are the type of guy who has a kale smoothie for breakfast and steam cooked salmon with peas for dinner.”

When he doesn’t reply but merely chuckles at her in response, she takes it as a confirmation, glowering at him. “Of course you are. A person with a physique like yours surely views eating a burger as a crime against humanity. Or at least against their abs.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-blown chortle. Which is something, and not only because they are trapped and possibly about to die. The sound leaving his lips takes him by surprise. He hasn’t laughed so freely, so openly in quite some time.

“Actually, it’s you who is being judgmental right now, Felicity,” he points out good-naturedly, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “My unit’s Captain, John, remember? I mentioned him earlier. His sister-in-law works at Big Belly Burger a couple of blocks from here and we frequently eat there at the end of a shift.”

Her eyes grow huge at that. “No way! And you still look like that?? That’s so unfair on so so many levels,” she groans, burying her face against her knees.

He just smirks back at her, but he likes what he’s seeing. She’s not so coiled anymore, not so uptight. Her hands are not gripping her knees until her knuckles turn white anymore, just resting on top of them comfortably, and when she turns her face back to him, her face is illuminated with those huge, animated eyes of hers. They are blue too, he just realized, his own eyes finally having adjusted to the darkness around them enough to be able to tell for sure. He wants to see more of her like this. More of her light spirit.

He decides on the topic of his next question in order to keep the conversation light. “So miss-“ he frowns, realizing he doesn’t know her second name.

“Smoak,” she supplies easily.

“Okay, miss Smoak. If Christmas Eve is of no interest for a Jewish girl like you, what are your plans for New Year’s Eve?”

At that question, Felicity surprisingly turns a lovely shade of red, which only piques his interest to an impossible level. He absolutely has to know.

“Well, mister-”

“Queen,” he supplies without missing a beat.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows pull together as she contemplates something, “Queen. Okay, now that makes sense. I thought you had some weird code name going on with your boss back there on the radio. And regarding my plans…well, what the hell, we might die here anyway, so you might take my secret to your grave.”

His eyes grow huge.

“What, too soon?” she asks innocently.

Another hearty, breathless laugh escapes his lips. “You are quite something, Felicity Smoak, you know that? Too soon, she asks,” he grumbles, good naturedly. “Felicity, it didn’t even happen yet!”

“Yeah, but if it does, there will be no opportunity for me to make that joke anymore, so-”

“Don’t try to weasel your way of answering my question, Felicity,” Oliver warns and she deflates.

“Ugh, okay. You got me there. New Year’s Eve. Okay. Big plans. A date. With my couch, a pint of ice cream, a bottle of red and a re-watch of the 22. season of Doctor Who.”

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They are trapped, having met under the worst of circumstances. And yet, talking to her feels like the most natural thing in the world. They continue their verbal dance, the back and forth, for a couple of more hours, until Oliver notices Felicity growing more and more tired. She’s also holding her body more stiffly, her side probably already heavily bruised from the injuries caused by the falling cabinet. She doesn’t complain though, not once, keeps her spirits up as they talk, and Oliver is once again mesmerized by her.

She tells him a little about her work, about her life. The small one-woman IT company she runs from home and the big plans she has for it. She tells him about some of her freelancing work and shares a couple of funny stories about the more difficult clients. She even tells him a little about growing up in Vegas. He tells her a little about himself in return. His sister, his work. Those two idiots he had to rescue from being stuck in the chimney. It’s only fair, after all.

They share the water that’s remained of his bottle, the same one he used earlier to wet the cloth he gave her to wear around her face. He pretends to drink, but he barely sips at the liquid despite his throat being parched, leaving the water for her to drink when it’s her turn. He is better trained for such circumstances, after all, and she is the one who was trapped and hurt by a cabinet, lying on a cold basement floor for a long while. If anybody needs the water, it’s her, but he doesn’t tell her that, pretends to drink too, because if he’s learned anything about Felicity Smoak tonight, it’s that she’s not person to wait for hand-outs. She obviously has also a very high sense for justice and fair distribution of resources, so he plays along.

In short, she’s absolutely got her hooks into him.

And if their predicament wasn’t so dire, Oliver would love to spend more time just talking to her. There is much, much more hiding underneath that plain, boring look she tries to pull. But Oliver’s seen enough to be fooled. There’s just something about her that pulls him deeper in the more he spends time with her. And it goes beyond the adorable rambles and obvious superior intellect, beautiful smile and captivating blue eyes (she tells him, with regret, that she usually wears glasses but she must have lost them when the cabinet fell onto her. He even tried to look for them a while back, but to no avail. She still thanked him with a sweet smile playing over her lips that made him feel like tearing through the rubble with his bare hands just to find those damn glasses for her.)

Their situation is almost like a plot of a rom-com movie. A man and a woman meet by getting stuck together in an elevator, or during a storm while both hiding under the same tree. If it weren’t for the bruises currently making her shift uncomfortably on the hard ground or the very real possibility of them still being crushed by the ceiling caving above them, it would have been an utterly delightful night.

Somewhere in the past couple of hours, Oliver has shifted closer to Felicity, her head tiredly resting against his shoulder as she squirmed closer to find a more comfortable position for her sore body.

He could almost pretend this was a very, very nice and successful first date. Only, it’s not. Because she is hurting, they are both hungry and thirsty and beyond tired. And slowly loosing hope for help to even come or come in time. The silences between them grow more and more prolonged. Not uncomfortably, but heavy still.

It’s during one of these silences when Oliver feels a violent shiver run down Felicity’s body.

“Hey,” he whispers, “you cold?”

She shakes her head with a wince. “No. Just sore.”

Yeah, right. More like bruised black and blue, with smoke inhalation and dehydration and God knows what else. She should be being checked out by a doctor in a hospital right about now, anywhere really but here.

“Hey, did I tell you that I am a paramedic too?” Oliver suddenly blurts out.

“What?”

“Just that…I am a firefighter slash paramedic. That’s my official position.” Once again, he doesn’t know why he’s telling her this.

She is quiet for a moment. Then, “So what? Are you trying to tell me that if we got out of here earlier, you would be the one checking me out?” she asks cheekily and he honestly has to chuckle again.

“You, Felicity Smoak, are something else,” he tells her in a playful, appreciative tone and he could swear he feels her smile against his chest at that. “And yes, I probably would. But that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” she asks, growing more serious.

“I- I don’t know anymore,” he says honestly, realizing it’s partly true. The other part of him knows that for some reason, he wanted to impress her. For some reason, he wanted her to think good about him.

“So that’s what you do?” She picks up the conversation. “You go to burning buildings and rescue damsels in distress and put out fires and then patch the cute girls up?”

“I also helped a pregnant lady deliver her baby in the back of her car when she got stuck in traffic and rescued a kitten from a tree once-- and oh God,” he groans, “I have no idea why I just told you that.”

Felicity’s peal of laughter is almost worth the embarrassment he is feeling. “I am afraid you are starting to rub off of me,” he complains.

That makes her laugh even harder before she grows quiet and one of their silences falls over them again. Oliver thinks she might have dozed off, when she suddenly speaks.

“When I was seven, my dad left us.”

His heart stops at her words, his breath catching in his chest.

“Just like that. One day he was there, the other he was gone. No explanation whatsoever. It’s like me and my mom didn’t even deserve an explanation. I’ve never heard from him since.”

“I am sorry,” Oliver utters. And it’s the truth.

“Thank you,” Felicity acknowledges. “My mom worked a lot. I was alone a lot of the time. One day, when she was at work, I discovered my father’s secret stash of computer components. It felt...comforting, for some reason. Although he was the one leaving us, I blamed my mom a lot. So to spite her, and to remember my dad, trying to prove something to him, perhaps that I was worth it, I threw myself into computers. I found them easier to understand than people anyway. People are hard. Computers are easy. Sometimes I think...sometimes I think if my dad didn’t leave us, I would have turned to people for comfort rather than computers. I wouldn’t hide behind a screen in order to avoid living my life, scared of getting hurt again by someone else important to me leaving because I was just not worth it.” Her voice trembles at the end.

She breaks his heart. She utterly breaks his heart, devastates him with her words. He keeps silent, not trusting his own voice, but he tightens his arm around her, brings her even closer. The only thing he finds worthy to offer in return for her honesty is his own.

“When I was younger, I was a real fuck up. I drank a lot, a screwed around. I didn’t much care for the world, for my parents, for school. I could never keep a single relationship longer than a couple of months. I never wanted it. My parents…they were good people who loved both of their children unconditionally. And they had money. Which meant that any problem I had, any problem I caused, they made it disappear. I was never accountable for anything, never had to carry any responsibility. Until the day they died in a car crash, leaving me as the sole custodian of a little girl that barely turned a teenager. It was a harsh reality check.”

He felt silent, reminiscing for a while. Felicity kept silent too and he was glad for it because it was easier to confess like this.

“One of the reasons I do this job is to honor them. They were good people, and they wished for me to grow into a good person. I don’t know if I achieved that. But every time I pull someone out of a wreckage, every time I help saving someone else’s property, property they’ve spend their entire lives working for, when I cut someone out from a wreckage of a car the same way someone once tried to help my parents, I feel closer to them somehow. And most of the days, that’s the sole most important reason I do this job.”

“What’s the main reason on those other days?” Felicity asks quietly and Oliver is once again faced with the harsh truth of his existence. Only this time, he doesn’t run away from it.

“The other reason is that my life is so empty that I need the adrenaline – the thrill of the often too close calls – to even feel alive. Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I love helping people. But I also like the risk of tempting fate. The possibility that at the end of the day I might not be coming home makes me feel alive.”

For a long while, she doesn’t say anything. Then, “That’s a pretty bleak outlook on life.”

He doesn’t reply to that. She is right. And he just begins to realize how tired that kind of life is making him.

“Who am I to speak, though?” sighs Felicity. “Abandonment issues from early childhood, some bad experiences at college. The same way you hide in your work, I hide in mine. I hide behind computers because they are easier to understand. They never lie or let me down. They don’t walk away when things get tough. I love my work. I love my company. I have great plans for it. But the honest truth is, that at the end of the day, when I come home, I feel lonely. I never admit it to anybody. Least of all to myself. I pretend it’s what I want. But today made me realize.”

Her voice trembles before gaining a desperate quality as she suddenly whimpers against his chest. “I don’t want to die! I want to experience all that life has to offer. I haven’t been living until now, not really. I’ve been living buried in my work and avoiding personal relationships because they are messy and require a lot of work and still, in the end, people might leave. I am socially awkward, not particularly pretty and I talk a lot. Building relationships doesn’t come easy to me. But I want a chance to try.” Her sniffs grow into steady sobs and Oliver’s heart breaks for her again. She is so wrong, on so many levels, her view of herself completely askew, but he lets her voice everything she’s never dared to admit, listens to her without interruptions, his own breath hitching in his throat.

“Dammit,” she suddenly swears angrily. “At least I want a dog! That was actually going to be my New Year’s resolution. Getting a dog. Nothing fancy. Just a sweet shelter pooch. One that is just as lonely as me so maybe we can be not so lonely together.” Tears are falling down her face, but she is either unwilling or too tired to wipe them away. “I just wanted to have one thing in my life, one living soul that in case I wouldn’t come home one day would actually give a crap.”

Oliver doesn’t know her. Not really. Yesterday, he didn’t even know a Felicity Smoak existed. Today, however, he doesn’t want to imagine a world without her. There is something pure and sweet and innocent about her that should be preserved. And still, circumstance and bad experiences have made her completely oblivious to how special she is. It shouldn’t be like this.

Oliver observes how heartachingly sweet she is. How compassionate. Intelligent. It physically pains him to see her stuck in life like this. He knows her for less than six hours, but he feels – no, he knows – she definitely doesn’t deserve this. Either of this – this shitty building collapsing onto her or the lonely life she’s leading.

“You know what, Felicity Smoak?” he says, forcing his tone to be light despite the heaviness in his heart. “I’ll make you an offer.”

Her head perks up at that, those huge, impossibly warm blue eyes still glistening with tears as she silently observes him.

“When-” (he deliberately omits using if) “we make it out of here, I’m going to take you out to dinner,” he smiles at her then, honest yet unassuming.

“You don’t have to-”

He suspected that’s what she would say. A self-preserving reaction, but one he is quick to dismiss. “No. It’s not because I feel like I have to. It’s because I want to. Do you understand?” He’s holding her eyes, willing her to understand this is not a pity invite by no means.

She studies him for a long time, is if trying to find a catch, but she doesn’t find any, because there’s none, and her lips form into an adorable ‘O’ he has a hard time not to kiss away.

“You mean dinner like a date? A date date?”

His lips stretch into a huge smile, because finally, they are on the same page. “Yes, Felicity Smoak. Exactly like that.” And he means it. He doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything more in his life.

“It’s a date,” she whispers back.

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Oliver doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to scare her. No more than she already is.

But they are running out of time. The ceiling above them cracks and creaks, things shifting, giving in. It will cave soon.

It’s the very first time in his life when Oliver doesn’t feel like tempting fate. When he feels like he wants a chance at life instead, absolutely risk free.

He wants that chance. Wants a date with the girl he only met today more than anything.

Felicity has fallen asleep a while ago. Well, more like her body has given up. He is glad for her sake, even if he could use her company right now. He misses the bubbly laugh, the rambles, the nervous jokes. Those eyes seemingly looking directly into his very soul.

Something has changed today. And Oliver Queen doesn’t want to go through the motions anymore, expecting death to come and claim him. He wants to live.

There are sounds, noises. Rumbling and tearing and things-hitting-ground noises, something heavy right above them giving way.

He presses her to his side in a ridiculous attempt to shield her. He has absolutely no chance, but still, he feels an overpowering urge to protect her. The shakes and vibrations rouse her and she wakes with a start, a coughing fit seizing her as she trembles in his arms like a leaf.

“Oliver?” she asks in a small voice and it’s his undoing. She knows that this is it. She knows and she presses against him even tighter.

He’s never felt anything as intense as he feels right this very moment. Not with the adrenaline rush, not the chase from his brushes with death, nothing compares to the feeling of how very much he wants to protect this other human being in this very moment.

The ceiling howls over them, but there are new sounds, something cutting through metal and concrete, and then Oliver finally realizes. These sounds are manmade.

Hope floods him, desperate, exhilarating hope and he can’t help but take a deep breath before bellowing at the top of his lung: “HELP! WE ARE TRAPPED IN THE BASEMENT!”

It takes another twenty minutes before a small ray of light appears in one of the basement walls and another ten before a very sweaty and tired face of John Diggle peeps inside, uttering a simple: “Told you I would kill you myself, Oliver.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She spends two days at the hospital. Nothing major, she is assured, at least nothing with long lasting effects. A couple of deep hematomas where the cabinet squashed her, a few mild skin abrasions. The doctor’s most severe concern is her prolonged smoke inhalation plus making sure there are no other underlying internal injuries they are not aware of. She’s given an IV to restore fluids and a leaflet about iron deficiency because that’s apparently the important thing her blood tests unveil and what has absolutely nothing to do with the ordeal she just survived. Thank you, near death experience, for bringing the point home of how she has been failing at regular life even before the whole CNRI collapsing fiasco.

Christmas Day is spent in a blur of being wheeled in and out to various tests and poked by sharp objects, being asked questions about way too personal things.

Later in the afternoon, tired but finally allowed to take some rest, Felicity asks the nurse for a phone to cross off the last thing on her to-do list and finally calls her mom.

Donna Smoak is a wreck. She is halfway out the door to the airport when Felicity finally manages to convince her there is absolutely no need for her to fly out to Starling. It’s Christmas, she wouldn’t find a last-minute flight even if her life depended on it anyway, and besides, there is no need. Felicity is okay, she is not injured, merely being kept for observation. Yes, yesterday sucked – an understatement in the history of understatements – but she is absolutely okay and scheduled to be released the following day, so there will be no major changes to her original holiday plans of doing nothing while laying on her couch watching reruns of her favorite shows.

It takes another forty-five minutes for her mother to finally settle and accept her daughter will survive even without her personal motherly care and Felicity – now utterly spent – ends the call with a tired ‘love you’ to her mom and the elation she won’t have to deal with Donna Smoak in person on top of everything else. Don’t get her wrong. She loves her mom more than anything, but she can be quite… intense. And overbearing. And Felicity just… she could really use a bit of silent and quiet for a while.

Laurel visits her the day after Christmas, just hours before Felicity’s scheduled to be released. She brings her a beautiful bouquet of flowers and in a surprisingly thoughtful gesture a change of clothes to go home in. Felicity is beyond touched. Her eyes almost fill with tears when the next thing Laurel produces from her miraculous carry-on is Felicity’s own handbag, a bit charred and destroyed by smoke, but her wallet and its contents – even her freaking phone – are untouched and that, at least, is a blessing and a small miracle on itself. She doesn’t dare to ask how Laurel’s got her hands on it, how it could be salvaged from the wreckage of a multiple story building. With shaking hands and a little thank you that’s a little more teary than she would have liked, Felicity accepts the items.

The whole time while visiting, Laurel is wearing a guilty expression on her face, apologizing to Felicity profusely before the other woman can even try to stop her. Laurel’s own bruises are testament enough the other woman’s been through the same ordeal as herself and for Felicity, Laurel’s escaping the building just a tad sooner doesn’t take away from the horror of having it explode and fall on you unexpectedly.

Later in the afternoon, Felicity changes into the clothes gifted by Laurel (Oh, look, this could be considered her very own Christmas gift!). They are a little tight and longer than Felicity would normally wear, but otherwise fit just fine. She takes the flowers along with her charred handbag and after signing what feels like dozens of forms, Felicity Smoak finally walks out of the hospital. Right there, in the hospitals parking lot, she takes a moment to look towards the skies and take what feels like her first free breath in days, thanking whatever deity out there for being granted another chance at life.

Five days later, Felicity has to admit her bruises are healing quite nicely. Though currently still sporting a very bright shade of maroon, some are already turning green. Iron deficiency her ass, she thinks before she grumpily gulps down her iron supplements.

Her eyes fall on the bouquet of flowers, a beautiful batch of still rather fresh-looking white and pink lilies that emit a heavy, heady fragrance which is almost too much for Felicity’s small apartment, but she doesn’t mind that much. It was a very nice gesture from Laurel. Felicity can’t remember the last time she received flowers from anyone, if ever, and she likes to see them in her apartment. They remind her that it all really happened. And that in fact, she might not be as alone as she had originally thought.

Back at the hospital, Laurel apologized time and again for calling Felicity so late and on Christmas Eve on top of it to work on a server problem that could have very well been put off for a couple more days. However, what Felicity remembers most from that afternoon, was how later Laurel went out to grab them some coffee, and how they talked for quite some time over their wonderful caramel lattes, mostly about CNRI and what its destruction would mean for the non-profit’s future. Once again, like a broken record, Laurel thanked Felicity for her help, but it was Felicity who felt like the one thanking Laurel. If not for her, no one would have even suspected she was still inside the building and there would’ve been no Hunk of a rescuer to save her life.

Speaking of which. Oliver Queen. There is no way around the subject. It’s been a week – exactly seven days – since she’s been pulled out of the wreckage as the first of the two of them – Oliver insisted and she didn’t argue – and brought to the hospital. Felicity hasn’t seen or heard from the man since.

She hasn’t expected to.

She is glad it was him she was stuck with, though. Immensely glad. That ordeal had made her realize a lot about herself. Not only thanks to the gas explosion and subsequently being trapped for hours underground, not sure whether she would survive the night, but because of the man himself and the gut-wrenchingly honest confessions that had transpired between them during those long hours of waiting for a miracle.

Everything else that was said and done that night was relative and would stay in that basement forever. Felicity doesn’t begrudge her rescuer not contacting her afterwards, neither is she too disappointed in him for not making good on his promises made during their shared time. Statements made under duress, albeit made sincerely at the time, were often seen under a different light once the threat of death was gone. It was perfectly understandable.

Even if it all felt a little…unfinished. For a while, Felicity plays with the idea of writing him a thank you note, as well as with the idea of stopping by at his station to personally thank him – he had, after all, saved her life and almost lost his own while trying – but with everything else, with how achingly personal that rescue mission had turned out to be in the end, Felicity doesn’t want to make him feel any more awkward about it.

She is no fool. Of course she thought about it, about how he promised her a date if they got out. And she would have loved to go on that date. Oliver Queen seemed like a really nice guy that she could really grow to care about and his promise had felt really really nice at the time it was made, but in hindsight, Felicity now sees the promise for what it was. A nice gesture offering her hope, nothing more. Now that the danger is gone, there is no reason for him to make good on that promise. He did his job, he rescued her. Maybe in more ways than one. What he did for her back there was more than any human being could ever do for another human being, and she was beyond grateful. He has allowed her a second chance at life and Felicity won’t tarnish that memory by feeling sour about possible maybe’s and what-ifs.

The bottom line is, Oliver Queen has saved Felicity Smoak’s life. And she is finally ready to live it.

Starting today. Well, no, not really, tomorrow more like.

Cause she has a date tonight. With her couch, and a pint of mint chocolate-chip ice cream, a celebratory bottle of red and The Doctor, with whom she would kiss the old year goodbye.

Oh, but tomorrow! Tomorrow, the world would get to see the new Felicity Smoak emerge from the ashes, like a Phoenix she would rise and show the world she was not scared to live anymore.

Or…well. Live a little more fearlessly. Be a little more open and outgoing. That was the plan. After all, she does have a lunch date with Laurel Lance tomorrow. It’s a start, right? Maybe it will even become a regular thing.

With a tablespoon full of ice cream in her mouth, Felicity makes herself comfortable on her couch, doing a mental inventory of everything she will need tonight. TV remote, check. First DVD in the player, check. A bottle of red – uncorked, check. A glass – because she does have that much self-esteem not to drink directly from the bottle – check. A duvet to cover her soon to be freezing toes nearby – check. Favorite comfy pajamas, hell yeah, check.

Just as she’s about to press play, there is a soft knock on the door and it makes Felicity jump. There is absolutely no one who should be visiting her, certainly not on New Year’s Eve, only mere hours before the big ball on Times Square is supposed to hit the ground. Weird. She hasn’t ordered any food and as long as she knows, Mrs. Fitzpatrick found her cat just that very morning. No way the bloody tabby run away again!

For one dreadful second, Felicity wonders if it might be her mom – it would be so much Donna Smoak’s style – but then she remembers how her mom texted her a picture of her and her girlfriends at a bar preparing to celebrate New Year together at Vegas only an hour ago.

Phew, dodged a bullet, there.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time and Felicity mentally shakes herself, jumping to her feet and quickly making her way to the door. She checks the peephole first – of course she does, she has seen all the true crime series and documentaries the Crime and Investigation channel (her guilty pleasure) has to offer, after all. Once realizing who stands at the other side of the door however, she doesn’t hesitate a second and rips it open, almost missing catching its edge before it smashes against the wall.

“Oliver,” she breathes out in surprise. “What are doing here?”

He is standing there, in all his glory of six feet plus, handsome and charming as ever, a boyish smile stretching across his lips as he takes her in. Only then does Felicity realize what a picture she must make standing in her door, barefoot and braless, in her flannel pajamas with tiny grumpy cats printed all over it, her spare pair of glasses slipping down her nose and hair fixed in a messy bun at the top of her head, clutching a half-eaten spoon of ice cream in her right hand.

She must make quite the sight, Felicity thinks, groaning inwardly. Why couldn’t she wear makeup and something sexy when she finally meets the Hunk – her personal Hunk of a rescuer – again? Or, you know, at least wear a freaking bra!

If Oliver has any objections to her look however, he keeps them to himself while his eyes roam her, his eyes shining in almost the same intense way as she remembers from the basement, causing a light shiver run down her spine. Must be the draft from the doorway, she stubbornly tells herself as she takes her own time to fully take him in.

It’s the first time she sees him without the uniform and a face blackened by ash and dust. She’s finally allowed to ogle him in full light, and she must admit, she likes what she sees. He wears a pair of loose, washed-out jeans, a simple grey V-neck shirt and a brown leather jacket. She wonders how he got here, because even despite the casual clothes, something suggests to her he’s exactly the type to ride a bike. There is no evidence supporting her claim, nothing other than maybe his disheveled hair sticking in all directions like he let the wind blow through it carelessly, along with slightly reddened cheeks – but that might be nothing, it’s December, after all.

But that doesn’t matter, because his smile’s easy and relaxed and his eyes are their usual sparkly blue, that strong jaw deliciously peppered with scruff that only begs for her hands to run through it and oh God, the man has a mole – the tiniest mole near his bottom lip and nope, nope, she will absolutely not survive this encounter.

“Nice to see you again, Felicity,” he finally speaks in that deep, gentle voice of his. It’s a voice that’ll be seared to her brain forever. “I hope I am not intruding,” he says, still smiling that trademark million-dollar smile of his and Felicity almost narrows her eyes at him in a glare, because she knows he knows he is not interrupting anything; they’ve had this discussion before. And yes, she would be annoyed with him, if only her stomach wasn’t filled to the brim with happy butterflies at the sight of him.

She still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t even stepped aside to invite him in, is instead standing frozen on her spot like a stupid, dumbfounded block of wood, but he doesn’t seem deterred by it (there is a God, after all).

“To answer your question,” he tells her in a nonchalant, flirty voice (the bastard), “I am here to collect on your promise.

It’s a date.

Her knees almost give out.

“I brought food,” he smiles further, uncovering a big paper bag from behind his back, a bag adorned with a huge BBB logo, and where she might have had a crush on him before, she is halfway in love with him by now. “I believe you have wine and dessert to go with dinner,” he adds, rising his eyebrows and hinting with a pointed look at the melting ice-cream dripping from the spoon she is still stupidly clutching in her hand.

The ice cream, however, is not the only thing melting at this point. Because he came. And what’s more important, he intends to make good on their mutual promise. The blinding smile she offers him in return almost splits her face.

Lost for words, Felicity only nods enthusiastically and steps back to let him in, her heart filled to the brim.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three hours later, laughing over Doctor Who with feet propped on her coffee table littered with burger wrappers, greasy napkins and empty strawberry milkshake cups – because yes, he remembered that too – along an empty bottle of red that’s fallen to its side and bickering about who the best Doctor ever was while eating ice cream from the same bowl, the clock strikes midnight.

Oliver freezes, looking at Felicity, and she almost laughs at the apprehensive, deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. She isn’t deterred by it whatsoever. If the past couple of hours have proved anything to her, it’s that Oliver Queen isn’t merely doing good on his word and fulfilling a promise he has given her under duress, but very much wants to be here with her and is enjoying himself as much as she is.

And with that realization, another comes.

It’s a New Year.

The first day of the new her. A week ago, she would say she didn’t know what possessed her. But today, she knows. The deep blue eyes crinkling with a boyish smile and a little mole at the side of his lips are calling to her, pulling her in.

And this new Felicity? She is supposed to be bold. Fearless. She’s supposed to live her life to the fullest and risk her heart.

So she does.

She kisses him.

She goes all in, and it’s a risk well taken, because Oliver doesn’t skip a beat in kissing her right back.

END

A/N: Happy Holidays!!!

#arrow #olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity secret santa 2018

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thedazedyouth · 6 years ago

Text

It’s You Who Hung The Moon 4

This is just the prologue

There are many kinds of fear, Trevor learned this the hard way.

The fear he felt sleeping on the streets for the first time was suffocating, freezing his body in place. The fear when he was far too young to be alone and a strange man followed him down a dark alleyway was empowering, pushing him to fight and leaving his mind no time to think, only act. And the fear of being kidnapped, left disoriented and alone made him cautious, sure to never repeat the same actions that landed him there.

But this kind of fear. . . this fear was reserved for completely powerless moments.

A kind of fear he hadn’t felt for years.

Until he met a hitman that was too trusting and somehow not trusting enough. Until he and Alfredo Diaz were separated from each other’s side for the first time in days, and left in the hands of a man that wanted them both dead. Trevor felt that pounding fear slither across his chest and tangle itself in his brain.

Trevor sat on the damp and cold ground, hands tied behind him and a blindfold placed over his eyes.

He was alone.

He didn’t know where Alfredo was.

And he was scared.

This wasn’t apart of his plan. Trevor didn’t predict this outcome. They were supposed to be together, captured yes, but able to fight together; but Sparks had put them in different cars with no way of knowing if the other followed. Alfredo might not even be alive, butchered as soon as they got Trevor.

It would’ve been his own arrogance that got Fredo killed.

Trevor sat there for roughly an hour, drowning in his guilt before he heard someone enter.

“Oh, how the mighty fall.”

Trevor could hear the smugness in Sparks’ tone, and practically snarled in response. Although he was blinded, Trevor wanted to test his luck against the man; but he was learning not to underestimate Sparks. Trevor needed to know where Alfredo was, if he was still alive; but couldn’t show the clear attachment.

“Just wait, Caden,” Trevor said, smoothing his emotions into a cocky attitude. “The Fakes don’t take it lightly when someone kidnaps one of their own.”

Despite his warning to the crew, Trevor still had hope that someone, anyone, had noticed something, heard even a small rumor that would alert them to his predicament.

Sparks chuckled. “Really? Well, last time I checked they were a bit preoccupied with the Vultures and haven’t even noticed your absence.”

So now they decide to listen to me? Trevor couldn’t blame the crew though. The deal was more important than pretending the Fakes would even know where to start looking for him, more important than even bothering to find him. He understood completely. Probably would’ve yelled at them if they did drop everything.

“Oh, and before you try anything,” Sparks said, “Mr Diaz will be the one to pay for it.”

Trevor never liked religion, couldn’t get behind it, but thanked every god he could name. At least Alfredo was alive, there wasn’t much Trevor could ask for.

While now he had reason to fight, something to push through the fear with, Trevor still couldn’t move. Not with Alfredo on the line. Trevor would never do anything to intentionally hurt him; although it was his dumb plan that put them in this situation. Trevor had spent too long trying to help him, he wouldn’t throw it all away. If they lived through this, Trevor would be sure to apologise for all the risks.

So he waited.

“Is that all you wanted, Caden? To gloat and make threats?” Trevor asked. He still couldn’t figure out Sparks’ plan.

If Trevor died, then the Fakes would be sent into a fury, a cold and calculated attack that would reduce Sparks and his crew into nothing but ashes. They wouldn’t unravel, wouldn’t turn into anything less than the sadistic, mad men and women they were known to be. Trevor trusted that much to be true; but he also trusted that he wasn’t the right person to target if complete chaos was wanted.

“No, Mr Collins,” Sparks said. “I want so much more. While your crew hasn’t noticed your capture yet, they will very quickly realise their mistake in leaving you alone.”

Sparks paced, walking in circles around Trevor; who despite the blindfold was always acutely aware of his position. Even as Trevor’s mind raced through all the information he had, he still wasn’t able to understand anything Sparks was doing.

Trevor was worth so much less than anyone else in the Fakes.

Sparks sighed, deeply and clearly annoyed. “You don’t get it, do you Mr Collins? You’re worth more than you think.”

No, I know my worth and I’m perfectly okay with it.

Sparks left as suddenly as he entered, leaving Trevor to his thoughts again. He pushed away the voice that whispered just how worthless he was, everything he’d done that put him below human, with a promise to wallow in his self hatred later; and put his focus onto what was more important: Alfredo.

The fear that threatened to consume him had moulded into a burning rage, a fury that demanded revenge to quench it.

Trevor knew exactly who Alfredo was; he had been the same person only a few years ago. He understood the loneliness that comes with survival, knows the struggle of trusting and opening up after a lifetime of reason not to. And he knew where Alfredo was heading.

That is, if Trevor hadn’t stepped in.

The Fakes joined Trevor’s life too late, yet still when he was reparable. They couldn’t save him from every horror, but they found his broken pieces and held them while he slowly put himself back together; although one or two pieces may forever be missing, he was still more whole than before.

And Trevor knew it wouldn’t take Alfredo long before he was a shattered remain of who he once was. Even if Trevor didn’t fully believe that he would be the one to help Fredo, he would at least start the process.

That’s why he jumped in to save Alfredo from Sparks only a few days ago. A glint in the sniper’s eyes was enough to let Trevor know. From then, every action Alfredo made reminded Trevor of himself; drawing away to stitch his own wounds, keeping a clear exit in sight, but once that guard was dropped, they both became different people.

Trevor wouldn’t be himself if the Fakes hadn’t scooped him from the streets, and he wanted to do the same thing for Alfredo. Give him the idea of home, of a family, and let him choose to save himself. It wouldn’t have been fair to let Fredo rot in the Los Santos streets, everyone deserves to be redeemed, and Trevor would be damned if he took that away from Alfredo.

He didn’t have much time to brood.

Sparks only left ten minutes ago, but it had to be him that entered again. And when Trevor listened, he wasn’t alone.

There was someone scuffling against the ground, fighting and struggling against every step. Trevor let his head roll back and didn’t fight the smile when the person spoke.

“Get your fucking hands off me.” Alfredo fought against the men that half carried-half pushed him into the room with Trevor.

The blindfold was removed, and after adjusting to the sudden change of light, Trevor finally saw Alfredo again. He was relatively unhurt, just a couple bruises littered his face and a hardened glare. But his eyes softened the moment they landed on Trevor, his expression relaxing only for a second before he eyed Sparks.

“I thought I’d be generous, let you two see each other one last time before I kill you,” Sparks said.

Alfredo was thrown onto the ground just a few meters away from Trevor, who resisted the urge the move closer. They both kept their gaze forward, to Sparks instead of each other.

Sparks paced in front of them, rolling up his sleeves and grinning like he’d won the lottery. “You won’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do this. But know this, it ain’t gonna be pretty. I want to make a statement with you, Mr Collins,” he said. “Something no one will forget.”

Threats didn’t cause any fear in Trevor anymore, but what did was the panic that warped Alfredo’s face.

The first punch came without warning, Sparks’ fist connecting with Trevor’s nose with a familiar crack. He barely noticed the warm blood trickle onto his chin; Sparks struck again, and again, and again.

After one particularly hard punch, Trevor found himself staring at Alfredo as he attempted to regain his senses; but between the stinging pain and Fredo’s worried face, Trevor couldn’t think about anything else. Couldn’t figure out a plan to get them both out safe, couldn’t even think of anything to say to possibly stall Sparks.

He might have said that out loud, that or Alfredo read his mind; either way, Trevor realised he wasn’t alone.

Somewhere along the way he had forgotten that Alfredo was living a life similar to his, and that meant that the sniper was a much better fighter than any random civilian.

Alfredo charged Sparks, slamming his body into the side of his; sending them both tumbling to the ground.

A hand gun slipped from Sparks’ waistband as he collided with the floor. With Alfredo in a different kind of danger, Trevor worked fast. His hands slide from their binds, like he desperately wanted to do an hour ago. Trevor moved for the gun; barely registering what he’s doing as he shot the few lackeys standing guard.

He turned, looking for Sparks but froze just before pulling the trigger. His scuffle with Alfredo ended with a knife to the latter’s throat. They were only a few steps away.

Trevor almost smiled at the blood dripping from Sparks’ nose, like his own wound, and the blood that was wiped on Alfredo’s forehead. At least he had gotten a few solid hits in, Trevor felt his heart swell with pride.

Sparks wasn’t feeling the same joy, he pushed the edge of the knife deeper into Alfredo’s skin; not hard enough to break it but it served as a warning enough.

“Drop the gun, or he gets it,” Sparks hissed.

Sparks had wisely positioned his body almost directly behind Alfredo’s; who seemed unfazed by the ordeal. He kept his gaze on Trevor, don’t do it, I’m not worth it. He knew Trevor could hear his silent plea, but just hoped he’d actually listen to it.

Trevor’s heart beat just a little bit faster when he understood what Fredo wanted.

“What do you want, Caden?” Trevor asked, c’mon think of something. “Money? Power? Killing me, killing Alfredo won’t get you that.”

Trevor knew it was stupid to give Sparks time, knew that the longer he stayed, the less chance he’d have at getting out. But right then, he didn’t know what else to do.

He might be able to shoot Sparks, but the only open area was his head, and he’d end up deafening Alfredo if he even made it.

Sparks laughed. “Well, he,” Sparks pushed the knife deeper, “is going to die because he failed me. And like I said, you are worth more than you think.”

Trevor had an idea. As subtle as he could, he made a few gestures and prayed that Alfredo could read him just as well. Fredo seemed to get the gist of it, his hand hung low as he counted using his fingers.

On three, Alfredo moved his body to the side, ignoring the knife nicking his neck.

Trevor fired.

Sparks howled in pain as the bullet ripped through his shoulder, and howled again when Alfredo brought his head back against his already damaged nose.

Trevor fired, but the chamber was empty. He tried again, but nothing. He knew instantly that the single bullet would’ve been used on Alfredo, shot in front of Trevor before he was likely beaten to death.

Trevor and Alfredo ran.

They were sprinting out the door before Sparks had a moment to react. They were let out into a white hallway, it twisted at either end with no clear sign of where they went.

Trevor took a second to think, before choosing left and taking off at full speed once he knew Alfredo was following him. He expected to run into some guards, run into anyone else, but the compound was empty. The only sound was their feet slapping against the tiled ground, and Sparks yelling in anger.

The hallway twisted again, taking them right. There was no windows, no way of knowing where they were, only closed doors spread out.

They were at a disadvantage, Trevor knew it, Sparks would have more knowledge of the layout of the place with they were running blind. They needed to regroup, plan their attack.

So without warning Trevor slowed, Alfredo almost slamming into his back, and attempted to open one of the doors. The third one he tried was unlocked, and they quickly entered, shutting it gently behind them to not alert anyone who might be around. It was a small storage closet but was good enough for a breather.

“So. . .,” Trevor started but found that no words would come. It seemed that in the presence of Alfredo, Trevor’s poisoned dagger of a tongue refused to work.

Fortunately, Trevor didn’t have that effect on Alfredo.

“How bad is it?” Alfredo gestured to his face and shoulder, the stab wound would not go unacknowledged by him.

Trevor tried to smile, tried to play it off but Alfredo’s hardened stare killed any lie before he could speak them into existence.

He breathed in deeply. “Face hurts a shit ton, nose is broken but nothing that would slow us down. My shoulder is killing me though, running just made it worse.”

Trevor was rarely that honest that quickly. It was a shared trait in the Fake AH Crew to cover injuries, even though everyone else would yell at anyone who tried it; they’re all a bunch of hypocrites.

Alfredo nodded. “Yeah, okay. Look, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to just run away from this. We gotta end this.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

Trevor followed Alfredo through the building, keeping pace with a small jog; just slow enough so his shoulder didn’t burn too much but fast enough so they made progress.

The whole building was mostly empty, in the whole five minutes they crept around they only ran into two people; both alone and too easy to take down, even in their injured states. It seemed that Sparks was all bark and no bite. Alfredo and Trevor were both armed now, it didn’t take much to scare one of the guards into showing them the armory; because of course Sparks had a whole armory.

With plenty of ammo and an assortment of weapons between them, Alfredo and Trevor looked for Sparks.

But there was never a change in the building, never a new colour wall or door, never even a sign pointing somewhere; and it was hard to believe that they were going anywhere and not running up and down that same hallway.

Finally, there was something, an indication that they were in fact moving.

They approached a door slowly, Alfredo leading them towards the grey metal door that stood out against the white walls and doors. Fredo counted silently again, on three Trevor ripped open the door, while Alfredo looked for enemies.

It was a plane hangar that they entered, a big one. It turned out that Alfredo and Trevor were a level up; despite never seeing a staircase or elevator in the building. But they stood on a platform that circled around the walls of the hanger, a staircase to their right.

They ducked immediately, thankful for the boards covering the railing so that when they peered over top, only the tips of their heads would be seen.

Down below stood Sparks and a couple dozen men armed to the teeth. In small groups, the pair could easily take them down; but so many would be a challenge. It wouldn’t be enough to deter them, though.

No, it had to end right there, right then.

A silent agreement passed between Alfredo and Trevor, whatever this was, it was fun.

There was no need for a plan, no time for words; they went in guns blazing and hoped to see each other at the end of it.

#fake achievement hunter crew #FAHC #Trevor Collins #alfredo diaz #geoff ramsey #Jack Pattillo #jeremy dooley #Gavin Free #michael jones #it's you who hung the moon series

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amillionmillionvoices · 7 years ago

Note

"You should know better than that." ~ Hicsqueak

“As pleased as I am with the final result,” Ada says, fixing her gaze on Pippa over the rim of her glasses, “I have to say I’m disappointed in you, Pentangle. Going in without backup was foolish, and more importantly dangerous. You should know better than that.”

Pippa nods, sneaking a glance at hecate out of the corner of her eye. She’s sat next to her across from Ada, ramrod straight, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. She stares straight ahead, jaw clenched, and Pippa knows there’s going to be hell to pay.

“I understand. But there was an opportunity I couldn’t ignore. We’ve been tracking this buyer for months and the tip—“

Ada holds out a hand to silence her. “I’m well aware of the importance of this case,” she says. “But that doesn’t excuse your actions. I’m putting you on desk duty until the end of the month—“

“But I—”

“Hardbroom, you’ll work with Drill in the interim.”

Hecate nods stiffly, and Pippa tries not to glower. She wants to argue, but there’s a look in Ada’s eyes she knows all too well, and knows it won’t do any good. Her mind is made up.

Standing, Ada circles the desk and places a hand briefly on Pippa’s shoulder. “I’ll give you two a minute,” she says, closing the door behind her.

Pippa swallows tightly and sneaks another glance at Hecate. Her partner hasn’t so much as glanced at her since she got back to the precinct, and Pippa can feel the tension crackling from Hecate like a live wire.

Biting her lip, Pippa turns to face her, debating what to say as the silence stretches. She needs to be delicate, contrite, to let Hecate respond how she will and then do her best to diffuse the situation.

Instead, she opens her mouth and what comes out is a short, “I’m not going to apologize.”

So much for delicacy, she thinks, watching as Hecate’s eye twitches, her only outward response.

“It was a last minute tip, and there was no time to wait. If I hadn’t gone in, Gullet would have gotten away again.”

Hecate doesn’t move.

“I called for backup, they just didn’t get there in time.”

Nothing.

Pippa huffs. “Are you giving me the silent treatment?”

Hecate clenches her jaw. “I’m waiting for you to say something reasonable.”

It’s the first thing she’s said in hours, and Pippa nearly wilts in relief at the sound despite its bite.

“I am being reasonable. It was a logical decision—“

“Nothing about your decision was logical,” Hecate snaps, still not looking at her. “It was pigheaded and arrogant.”

“Arrogant?”

It’s odd, having a conversation with her when she refuses to turn her head. “You went into a highly dangerous situation, entirely alone, based on an anonymous tip that could have been from anyone. I can only assume you felt confident enough or egotistical enough to believe you could pull it off.”

Pippa gasps indignantly. “I did pull it off!”

Hecate stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, her voice like a crack of a whip, “You got shot, Pippa!”

“In the arm,” she stresses. “I’m fine.”

Hecate positively glowers at her, and Pippa stands as well, uncomfortable with the way Hecate is looking down on her.

“Honestly, it was barely a graze. I’ve already been cleared for duty.”

“A mistake,” Hecate says tightly, “You should have your head examined.”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same,” Pippa says, and Hecate turns, pacing away from her. Pippa hides her flinch by folding her arms across her chest. “You’d have taken the chance too if you were in my shoes, so don’t play all high and mighty—“

Hecate faces her, arms tense at her sides. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

She falters, opens her mouth then snaps it shut, says stiffly, “I’ve been on the force longer, I know how to take a calculated risk—“

Pippa tries not to let the hurt bleed into her tone. “So you’re saying you’re a better detective than I am?”

“Why must you turn everything into a competition?” Hecate hisses, and Pippa drops her arms, gaping.

“You are, aren’t you?”

Working her jaw, Hecate says slowly, sharply, like she’s trying to reign herself in, “I’m saying you rely too much on instinct and less on hard fact and one of these days it’s going to get you killed.”

Part of her knows Hecate is right, or at least partially. But the part of her that so desperately wants her approval, wants Hecate to be proud of her, to take her seriously, bristles at the accusation, and bites back,

“I can handle myself just fine, but if you’re concerned about it you could always put in for a different partner.”

For less than a second, Hecate looks like she struck her. Then her expression hardens and her lip curls and she snaps,

“I might have to if you continue these asinine stunts—”

“It’s not a stunt! I was doing my job.”

“Badly.”

Pippa winces. She’s seen Hecate angry before, usually smirks and feels varying degrees of pity for the person on the other end of her ire. Hecate can be sharp with her, with everyone, but Pippa can’t remember the last time she was this livid, cutting this deep.

“What are you so angry about?” she demands, watching as Hecate’s eyes crickle and her lip twitches. “Everything worked out fine. We should be out having a toast to putting Gullet behind bars not—”

She stops at the way Hecate’s face contorts, intense hurt followed by a cold, quiet rage that makes Pippa take a step back.

“A toast?” Hecate repeats, her voice so low Pippa almost doesn’t hear, so strained, and she knows she’s put her foot in her mouth, again.

“Hecate—” she starts, but her partner ignores her, marches toward the door. Pippa reaches out and grasps her elbow lightly, then lets go. “Hecate, stop, wait.”

Hecate pauses, stares at her, and her eyes are slightly glassy. “You could have been killed. Do you understand that? I can’t protect you if you continue to run in guns blazing with no thought for your own safety—”

“Hecate—“

“What if she hadn’t been alone?” Hecate snaps. “What if Mould had come back? You could have been outnumbered and outgunned—”

“I wasn’t and I knew that. You may disapprove of my methods but that doesn’t make them wrong.”

“It does when you put yourself in the danger.”

“We put ourselves in danger every day how is this different—”

“Because I wasn’t there!” she cries, voice cracking and for the first time Pippa notices how badly her hands are shaking, the tears behind her eyes, the fear masquerading as anger as she says, “Because you are too precious and too important to risk your life like it means nothing—”

“Hecate—”

“And I refuse to watch you hurt yourself in some desperate attempt to please—”

“Hecate—”

“Did you even think about anyone other than—”

Pippa lets out a short breath and lurches forward, Hecate’s cheeks between her palms. “Shut up,” she says, and kisses her.

Hecate freezes, and for a long, terrifying moment, Pippa thinks she was wrong. That her fear isn’t born out of love, that she doesn’t feel the way Pippa has felt since they were teenagers, dreaming of the Academy. She feels her heart split, knows she’s ruined everything—

And then Hecate’s hand curls into her blouse, drawing her closer, her other hand so soft on Pippa’s arm, like she doesn’t dare push too hard or want too much, and Pippa can’t bear it—her arms slip around Hecate’s shoulders and she opens her mouth and kisses her desperately, hopefully.

Hecate responds in kind, tentative but passionate before she pulls away, breathless, eyes wide.

She swallows tightly and licks her lips.

“Why did you do that?”

Her voice is gravelled and quiet and Pippa softens, brushing her thumb over Hecate’s cheek.

“Because you’re precious to me, too.”

Hecate blinks, clearly startled, unsure and embarrassed and Pippa smiles sadly at the insecurity so plain on her face.

“You really think I don’t feel the same way about you?”

Hecate opens her mouth several times, finally manages, “I—hadn’t considered it, no.”

Pippa kisses her again. “That’s because you’re a big dummy.”

Hecate doesn’t reply, just stares, like she’s seeing her differently, like she doesn’t fully understand. It breaks Pippa’s heart, how little Hecate thinks of herself. How they’ve done this dance for years as far as Pippa is concerned, and Hecate hasn’t even heard the music. Didn’t know there was music to hear.

But she hasn’t let go, hasn’t run away, not this time. She stays, and stares, and finally says,

“I didn’t know. There was gunfire and I didn’t know if you—”

She bows her head, voice breaking.

“I’m fine, Hecate. Look.” She tips Hecate’s chin up, meets her gaze. With her other hand, she presses Hecate’s palm over her heart. “See? I’m perfectly fine.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“I can’t promise you that,” Pippa says gently. “You know I can’t promise you that, and you can’t promise me.”

Hecate’s shoulders slump, and for the first time, she looks so tired. “I know.”

Biting her lip, Pippa hesitates a moment, then offers, “What do you say we get out of here? We can get a drink, or go back to my place and talk?”

Hecate panics, stuttering, and Pippa tries not to let the disappointment show. “I—I need to—”

“Okay,” she murmurs, squeezing Hecate’s hand before she lets go and steps away.

Hecate curls her fingers into fists at her sides, like she wants to reach out again. “Pippa, I—I’m not—I don’t know how to—”

Pippa hushes her softly. “Take your time, darling,” she murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#hecate hardbroom #hicsqueak #pippa pentangle #the worst witch #catherine writes fic #this one got away from me #also have more aus #queenology

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a-lil-bitch-named-breakfast · 6 years ago

Text

Arsitolius: Chapter one

Early Sunday morning brought about the loud humdrum of the copper Church Bell that loomed over the city streets. The mundane sound almost seemed to be like a beat that herded the numbers of crowded people across the streets as if it were some boring dance.

A group of Raven’s scattered themselves upon the roof of a building, pecking strenuously at an unidentifiable object that had been scattered across the shingles. They’d appeared to make a snack of whatever the substance was. Suddenly, they scattered in a flurry as a red boot planted itself between their cluster, sending them flying in all directions as they squawked and screeched in an ear piercing outcry.

Ateri knelt in the spot they’d moved from, white hair falling down over her shoulders as her red eyes scanned the people on the street below. She was a young, short, petite elven woman, with a cantankerous personality almost as blazing red as the bright crimson of her boots. Her hair was crystal white, and any strand that the sunlight could reach glimmered with utmost beauty; like fresh sparkling snow in the morning. Her skin was fair, face soft and slightly rounded with light freckles scattering her cheeks and button nose. She wore a hood silver in color and rimmed with red fabric that shined like silk. She seemed to be armored underneath the silver fabric, dressed far less femininely than most women her age.. But what had to be the strangest yet most alluring thing about her was her eyes. Each one of her glossy orbs were a deep, crimson red, round and almost curious about the world around her. As far as her appearance, she was strangely stunning.

Tucking a strand of hair behind the distinct point of her elven ear she pressed herself closer to the roof below her so as to not be seen by the masses below. No, being seen certainly would not be in her best interest. You see, three officials of the highest capital estate had been been murdered on trips to the third estate within the past four months; slaughtered where they stood amongst the city streets. They’d been dead before they’d even flashed a glance at their killer, and the crowded people had gone into a furious flurry at the shock of the bloodied body suddenly hitting the ground.

Ateri had been responsible for all three murders, but she took no guilt in what she had done. The first official she’d murdered was a thief, taking money and lives just like her, yet he’d gotten away with it. He’d planned to come down from the all mighty golden palace for a brief three day trip to work on getting an order for higher taxes in the third estate only to find he’d be staying for a lot longer than that. Ateri dealt with him discreetly in an alleyway late one evening. To say the least the tax rates of the third estate were so far left unchanged.

The other two had come to do despicable things not much different if not worse from the first. Ateri had dealt with them in the same manner, getting more and more daring with each attack. However, her impulsive temper and ego had gotten the better of her, to say the least. Her most recent assassination had not gone as well as the others. The senator from The west of the first estate had come down for a weekend to get some things in order with the people, as well as to collect those who hadn’t paid their dues in taxes. But the last two murders had made the capital weary. They had begun to send more guards with each visit. Senator Riley Malyon’s Plethora of armored body guards could quite possibly be described as a whole fleet, and Ateri knew full well that attempting to pull him away from the crowds would only end in failure and quite possibly her untimely demise. She wasn’t risking it. At first she thought it would be best to just back off; to let the fear she’d already caused die down a bit and lay low till an opportunity was open. However, like i’d stated before, she was an impulsive young woman. Many of her decisions were based on nothing but pure emotion. Not many of those said decisions were good. This happened to be one of those cases. Upon seeing a young housewife getting pulled away from her children by a guard she’d made a dumb decision, and in the brief second that Maylon was vulnerable she’d lept from the roof of the building above and struck as hard and as fast as she could. The brief overwhelming shock of his strangled cry and splattering blood had been enough of a distraction to give her an escape, but it was narrow. She was lucky to be alive. However she hadn’t gotten out completely scotch free. Her brief appearance in the pale moonlight had been just enough for her appearance to finally be seen by weary eyes. And even though her hood had covered her eyes and most of her nose. The public now had her approximate age, height, stature, hair color and build. A watchful guard had given her full description to officials following the morning after Maylon’s death. Everyone knew who to look out for on the streets now. They’d even given her a name, which shockingly Ateri quite enjoyed. The public seemed to take a liking to calling her the silver hood, since they had no other name to call her by. Ateri thought it had a wonderful ring to it, feeling it gave her a mysterious vibe. However she knew she couldn’t just go around claiming it on the streets. She hadn’t even been caught yet and the sentence hanging above her head was death. The bounty on her head to anyone that could bring her in was a copious amount. It would be near enough to move a man and his family from the third estate to the first. Ateri couldn’t help but wonder if that wealth would be given to her if she were to turn herself in. it was a joke that she’d made with herself quite some time before, and a joke that she still found funny even in her current state. She laughed slightly at the thought of iit as she leapt down from the roof and rounded the corner, catching a brief glimpse of a poster hanging upon the wall, the words ‘WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE.’ written in large red letters across the top of the page. She smirked slightly, pausing to step back and pick up the page.

‘The silver hood, wanted for four counts of capital murder. If seen do not approach. Run to get a guard immediately. DO NOT go after her yourself. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.’ She couldn’t help but raise a brow slightly, irked by the statement. She wasn’t going to just start killing random civilians! She stepped back throwing the paper to the ground and giving a good stomp just for safe measure before turning and walking off. The less drawings of her just hanging around the city the better. One less for people to see. She grumbled slightly before carefully peaking around a corner to assure that the path was clear. She hummed as in the distance as the bell rung for the third time. It was noon, perfect. You see, today wasn’t going to be another day where she could let herself lay low. No, today was the day she planned to start preparing her next move. She was going to rip the capital apart bit by bit until shed made her way to Serphentez herself. She didn’t care how long it took. However, she knew if she was going to keep up like this she couldn’t just keep using a dagger for every attack. She was going to need something bigger, sharper, stronger. She’d recently made a deal in the shadows with blackmarket salesman of sorts. And he’d offered her an incredibly sharp sword in exchange for a gracious price. Ateri had agreed to the deal, offering him the money she’d taken off Maylon in exchange for the blade. And so it was a set deal. He’d get the sword for her, without any questions as to who she was and what she needed it for, and in exchange she would pay him for his trouble. It seemed fair enough. All she knew was this was the set date she was to pick up the sword, at exactly noon in the red sales tent by the clock tower. She’d been watching the tent for an hour or so from a rooftop already to secure her safety, watching for anyone else that could have possibly entered or left that strange tent, but nobody did. It appeared to be forgotten in the sea of other colorful tents with shopkeepers screaming about sales and good prices. She figured this would be an easy pickup, in and out with no suspicion. So as the clock struck noon she pulled the brown fabric of a beggars cloak from her bag, wrapping it around herself and pulling the hood over head head to cover the telling greys and reds of her signature garments. She stepped into the crowd of people, head down and eyes to the floor as she made her way through the stampede.

“Excuse me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My apologies.”

“Hey- watch it chick these boots weren’t cheap!”

“Hey!”

Through the crowds it seemed everyone seemed to be shouting, though none seemed to be directing said shouts at her. She grumbled slightly, squeezing through a crowd of a mother with her six children.

“Sir, please... there has to be something you can do i have a family to feed!”

“Listen here wench. No money, no bread.” She paused in her tracks.

“Excuse me....?” Her voice rang out quiet, yet enough for the man to hear. He looked up.

“Yeah- Ya heardz’ me. So beat it kid.” She turned slowly and let one hand slip out from under her cloak, tossing a singular coin onto the counter. The man eyed her in shock, not seeming to understand why she’d done such a thing. She huffed slightly.

“God are ya so dang stupid ya can’t figure it out? Get the stick out of your rear and give that woman the bread before i make ya regret it got me?” The man seemed to hear from the tone of her voice that she wasn’t playing around and nodded, slowly sliding the loaf of bread across the table towards the young woman. She couldn’t have been older than twenty five, with stress lines creasing around her lovely blue eyes and hair already going gray. A spot of dirt was smudged against her cheek, which Ateri noticed as the woman turned to start hysterically thanking her for her generosity. Ateri cut her off with a shake of her head and reached up to wipe the smudge from her cheek.

“Don’t thank me. Just take it.” She mumbled. The woman watched for a second in shock as she disappeared around the corner without a word.

Slipping into the tent she dusted herself off. It took her eyes a moment to adjust from the light outside to the sudden darkness within the closed tent. But a voice rang out, catching her attention.

“You’re quite the patron.... for a thief.”

She paused, read eyed glancing up from under her hood.

“You’ve been watching me?” She mumbled, shocked that he’d picked her from the crowd.

“For as long as you’ve been watching me from that rooftop.” He hummed back in reply. Ateri froze. He’d seen her watching him....? That must have meant he saw her without her-.... she narrowed her eyes, preparing herself for a fight if there was one to be had. Surely if he knew who she actually was things couldn’t end pretty. The man seemed to sense exactly what was on her mind.

“Oh don’t tense up like that. I know what you’re capable of I’d have to be an idiot to take you on myself.”

Now that her eyes had adjusted to the light she could clearly see him standing there next to a table, a chair pulled out for her. He was young, but definitely older than her. She assumed him to be in his early thirties, with muscular arms and dark smooth skin. His eyes were narrow and refined, like a sly fox in the dim light. However, taking his words to mind she cautiously stepped forwards and ushered him out of her way, muttering a soft

“Thank you.” As she seated herself and he pushed her chair back in. This was an under the radar black market sale she wasn’t so sure why he was going to the trouble of being so polite. It unnerved her to say the least.

The man gave a humble nod in reply as he leisurely sauntered his way around to his side of the wooden table, kicking up dust as he did so. Pulling his chair out with a loud screech he plopped himself down, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers. Ateri attempted to mimic his actions, hoping it would make her seem like she knew what she was doing. It didn’t work as planned however and the mysterious man seemed to get more of a kick out of it than she’d wanted him to.

“Drink?” He offered graciously, pouring himself a glass of whisky before looking up at her as he held the bottle over the second glass as he waited for her reply.

“Yes that’d be nice.” She mumbled out, graciously accepting the glass as he slid it to her. She nursed it in both hands, taking a sip before cringing slightly at the strong taste. He cackled slightly.

“I take it you’re not a drinker?” He hummed softly, raising a brow curiously as he gave a sly smile. She didn’t look up but quite rudely retorted.

“No i live in the third estate and I’d like to not starve. I do suppose that when i get Zygerot I’d like to spend it on food, not booze.” She sneered slightly. The man put his hands up defensively.

“Okay okay. Don’t get yourself all in a twist sweetie i was just asking. The name’s Vynos. Your’s?”

“I’d prefer to remain anonymous, and don’t call me sweetie.”

The man frowned.

“Well then what am i to call a fair maiden such as yourself by?” He smiled slightly, leaning down slightly to try and get a peek under her hood. She literally placed the entire palm of her hand over his face, pushing him back with a dangerous growl.

“Anything but sweetie.” She spat. The man sighed.

“Okay, fine honey.”

Ateri growled angrily which seemed to bring a sleazy smile to Vynos’s face as he leaned back in his seat. Ateri decided not to protest any further. She just wanted to take her sword and get out of there.

“Look-“ she growled.

“I didn’t come here to stick around and chat.” She laid the bag of coins on the table.

“So give me the sword and let me go.”

“Awe.” Vynos pouted slightly, giving her a look that she wanted to punch straight off his face.

“You’d aren’t gonna stay around to chat?”

“Sorry.” She grunted insincerely.

“I’m not a chatter.”

The man sighed but shrugged.

“Fine.” He reached for the sword before pausing. Ateri stiffened slightly, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly standing up. Something didn’t feel right. He smirked slightly.

“But i do want one more thing.....”

Ateri raised a brow.

“That wasn’t the deal.” She spat.

“Well my deals change.” He sat back up with a grin. Ateri’s hands balled into fists. She wasn’t leaving this tent without that sword.

“Don’t worry don’t worry!” Vynos waved her off.

“It’s nothing you can’t handle! I don’t want anymore money from you my sweet... sweet flower.” Ateri narrowed her eyes as he reached one hand out and gently brushed his fingers under her chin.

“I just want the truth.” He breathed. She growled slightly, about to stand up and flip the table on him when he grabbed her with such a sudden force that she couldn’t breath, and she was yanked back with her back against his chest..... and a dagger to her throat.

“You’re the silver hood aren’t you?”

Ateri swallowed harshly, closing her eyes and cringing.

“And if i tell you what will you do?” She breathed out shakily. She knew she’d been pulled into a position where she couldn’t fight back. She could practically feel his smirk.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve already given yourself away.”

Ateri’s eyes widened and she gulped before growling.

“What the hell do you want...?” She hissed through bared teeth.

“Well, my dear Silver sinner....” he breathed.

“The bounty on your head is 20’000 Zygerots. Do you know how much that is....?” A wicked smile spread across his lips.

“I’m well aware.” Ateri spat.

“So what.. ya gonna take me to the guards?”

“No.” He said.

“I’m going to take you out to the woods far outside the walls of Serphica. I have somebody waiting there for me who seems to want you... very badly my dear. So much so that they’re willing to pay me for your delivery.” He smirked

“And while we’re on the subject of money.” He cooed softly, voice laced with underlying venom. Ateri suddenly felt his hand in her pocket, and gasped, squirming as he used two fingers to pluck her dagger away from her. She snarled as he laughed.

“After i turn this into the capital... they too will pay me for finally getting rid of their greatest nuisance...You”

Ateri spat, struggling pointlessly against his grasp as her chest rose and fell rapidly and her nostrils flared with rage.

“Oh please.... you really think they’ll believe you over a damn dagger!”

“Oh i do...” Vynos chuckled.

“But it doesn’t matter to you anyways now does it? By the time I’m turning that dagger in. You’ll most likely be dead....”

Ateri gulped And She couldn’t help but think

‘Dear god... what have i gotten myself into’

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foreverlilaclies · 7 years ago

Text

Sending a Message: Chapter 3- Negan/Rick

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14405442/chapters/33545652

There was too much blood. That was what Carson had said after he looked Rick over after he had been brought to the Sanctuary by a seething Negan. Carlson had gotten to work as quickly as he could, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get into the exam room with Negan hot on his heels with Rick in his arms. It had not taken him long to realize how bad the damage was, expression a mix between mortification and bewilderment. That expression had left Negan uneasy. Rick had yet to wake up again and honestly, Negan was relieved. He did not want him to wake up while Carlson was looming over him. He had been planning on sticking with Rick throughout the entire checkup, but with Carl lingering at the door, he found he did not want to leave the kid alone. So, after giving Carlson his regular threats, he sat outside the door with the little serial killer and waited for the checkup to be over. Naturally, Carl refused to leave, needing to hear for himself and Negan was not about to deny him.

Carlson had dealt with rape victims before. As much as Negan tried to keep it out of the Sanctuary, there was always someone in the mix that was rotten to the core. He hadn't seen anything quite like this.

"There has to be more to it. There's too much damage." Carlson had muttered after leading Negan and Carl into the infirmary. Rick was covered by the blankets, curled up on his side. Carl had darted forward to take the seat next to the bed while Negan lingered by the door, eyes fixed on Carlson as he waited for him to continue speaking. "There's extensive damage to his rectum. Extensive bruising and lacerations...sir, no human could have done this much damage. I did find semen..." Carslon trailed off, uncomfortable with the way both Carl and Negan were staring at him. "They had to have used something during the assault." Carl looked over at Negan, eye narrowed in confusion and Negan found he couldn't look at him. Carlson's words didn't make sense. He could barely focus on the man.

Instead, he looked back to where Rick lay, that disgusting coil of guilt flaring back to life once more. "Have him brought up to my room. I'll be able to take care of him there...and bring more pain medication."

Later, after Rick had been settled in Negan's room, he finally woke up. He was still too heavily drugged to move, managing only to release weak noises of pain, eyes half lidded and limbs trembling. It became obviously pretty fast that he didn't know where he was. He had struggled for a brief moment, hands clawing at his own flesh as though it burned. Negan had never seen him brought this low. Carl had been rooted to the spot, looking all of fifteen and helpless as Negan tried to calm Rick down enough to not hurt himself.

It took another few hours for him to wake up again. Carl was settled on the red leather couch, knees pulled up against his chest as he slept, cheek pressed into the armrest. Negan had been at his desk, fiddling with one of his knives when he heard Rick's breathing hitch. He set the knife aside and turned his head towards the younger man just as Rick tried to sit up, looking panicked and confused.

"Mornin' Rick." Negan greeted softly. Rick's head turned towards Negan, eyes wide and looking as if he was fucking terrified. That dry, uncomfortable feeling lingered in Negan's throat at the sight of it. He didn't dare move and escalate the situation, sitting with his hands visible, Lucille hidden away. He nodded towards where Carl lay and Rick's eyes followed him, landing on his son. The creepy priest was onto something with Rick waking up in a foreign place, but with Carl there, it seemed to relax him enough to where he didn't start yelling. He really didn't do much of anything that Negan could have expected. Just looked at him with those sad baby blues of his.

"Why am I here?" He finally spoke, voice wrecked and brittle.

"You're at the Sanctuary for medical treatment," Negan slowly explained, not daring to get closer to Rick and frighten him. "Do you remember what happened?" Rick closed his eyes, managing a weak nod. Negan's eyes flickered away, fingers drumming over his thighs. Carl shifted on the couch, arm dangling over the edge.

"I'm going to find them, Rick." Negan whispered, looking back to Rick. "I'm going to kill all of them." Rick showed no physical reaction to this, simply slumping back and fixing Negan with a steady gaze.

"They were yours." He replied.

"I know." Negan didn't bother to argue it. Even if he wanted to claim that he had no tie to those scum. They had been his. He had allowed them to leave the Sanctuary alive.

"They wanted revenge."

"I know."

Rick turned away and Negan found his eyes drawn to the blossoming purple bruises lining his throat. Funny, how he couldn't find words. How the man who always had something to say was now struck silent. Rick looked towards Carl, fingers gripping the edges of his blanket as if wishing to fling them away. Negan watched him with baited breath and when Rick finally looked back at him, his expression was so raw and vulnerable, it had Negan's own eyes stinging. "I'm so tired, Negan."

Negan knew he didn't mean physically. He pushed off the chair and approached Rick, slow and steady until he was beside the bed. "Don't you worry, darlin'. I'm gonna take care of everything." Negan whispered. He wanted to reach out for Rick. To take his hand and hold him. Instead he sat down on the floor next to Rick who didn't bother to draw away, simply blinking up at the ceiling even as tears slid down his temples and into his graying curls.

"When does it get old Negan? When is it enough?" He asked, voice small and weary. Negan could not find an answer for him. Neither spoke for a long while. Carl's breathing became the only noise in the room, both men lost in their own thoughts. Negan sat slumped against the side of the bed arms draped over his knees and fingers could he offer Rick? What could he possibly give him that would take away what was done to him? He could find those men. Negan knew it was only a matter of time, but what would that do for Rick? For the first in a long time, Negan felt truly and utterly helpless. Suddenly, Rick released a brittle laugh and Negan tilted his head up in confusion. Rick's expression was anything but joyful.

"His name was Shane," He whispered morosely, blue eyes teary and lost as he stared out wards the dingy window. "Why did it have to be Shane?"

Later, when Carl had woken up, Negan had left the room to allow Rick to spend time with his son. He kept himself busy by checking in on his boys and going over rations. He knew it was a distraction, but he needed it. Rick's battered body was cemented in his mind and it was something he didn't want to think about. Not now. Not when it was still so raw. So, he worked. He moved shipments with some of the boys and looked over paperwork with Simon who looked at wits end with the ongoing lists.

"Sir, there's a box at the gate." One of Negan's men had approached him, looking twitchy. Negan couldn't remember his name. Negan nodded to Simon who scurried off with the paperwork.

"Someone delivered it?" Negan asked as he fell in step with the man. The man looked confused, shaking his head.

"They must have come by foot if they did. Tori didn't see anyone in the perimeter."

"Well, shit," Negan hummed in approval before patting the guy on the shoulder. "Make sure it's not some explosive. Hopefully it's something useful." He strode off with a jaunty wave and released a whistle as he walked. Everything was going to be fine.

Less than twenty minutes later, Arat found Negan rummaging through the plant seeds. He looked up, hazel eyes wide like the deer caught in the headlights as Arat rounded the corner. She gave no indication to finding his actions odd and informed him that the package had been cleared. Negan thanked her and went to continue looking through the packs, when Arat caught his attention again.

She held the case up, lips pursed. "There was a video. It has your name on it."

Negan's brows raised and he strode over to Arat, looking down at the video, curiously. There his name was in silver sharpie no less. He offered her a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Ohh, let's hope it's a spicy video." Negan teased, pleased to have a distraction from Rick. Even for a little while. Arat snorted, lips twitching as she handed the video to her leader.

Negan was a naturally curious man and it did not take him long to find an empty room with a television waiting to be used. He'd go up and check on Rick and Carl afterwards. He pushed the video into the VCR, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter, eyes on the screen. For a moment there was only static on the screen before it came to life. Someone was trudging down the slope of a hill towards a group of men. Whoever was holding the camera stumbled for a second before reaching the bottom of the slop and lifted the camera towards the men. One man in particular was talking while three others stood behind him, one holding onto that guy, Aaron with a knife to his throat. Once Rick came into view, Negan found it was difficult to breathe.

They videotaped it.

"...are my manners? I never introduced myself! I'm Shane." The man speaking called out and instantly, Negan recognized him. One of his former men. Negan tried to wrack his mind to what happened to him, but found that he barely recalled they guy. "You're a favorite of Negan's. He's got a soft spot for you a mile long. Stupid bastard didn't even bother to hide it." The guy circled Rick, like some kind of vulture. Negan could see guy leaning in the foliage, holding onto a bloodied nose.

"Mighty dangerous for Negan to have favorites like this." One of the men spoke up and Shane laughed.

"Right you are, Dwayne. Mighty fucking stupid of him." Shane came to a stop in front of Rick, grinning down at him Rick stared back in that no nonsense way of his that had pride welling in Negan's chest. "Well, boys I think Rick's a little overdressed. Let's help him with that."

Negan bit the inside of his mouth at that comment. Rick put up a fight, but was quickly taken down and beaten viciously.

Shane walked over to Rick and pressed his foot against his chest. "Don't be movin' now, dear. We're not done, yet." He cooed, foot slowly crushing down on Rick's chest. "We've still got a letter to deliver to the boss." Negan was going to kill them. Going to peel the flesh from their bones and force them to eat it.

The Aaron guy tried to plead with Shane but Shane brushed him off. "Don't try with me, faggot. You think I'm stupid? Negan's got blue balls for Ricky here. I'm gonna make sure to ruin it for him." He nodded to two men standing behind Aaron. They walked forward, setting their guns aside and reached for their belts.

"No, no stop-" Aaron tried to yell only to be cut off quickly by the guy holding him. Negan couldn't her what was being said, but Shane's voice was loud and clear.

"No, no. I want him to watch. I want him to be able to tell Negan what exactly we did to his boy." Negan could barely breath at this point, standing tense, arms crossed and fists clenched. The sick bastards had video taped it. He needed to see this through. Wasn't it his job as 'Savior' to save those under him? Hadn't he failed that with Rick? The least he could do was not pussy out and look away. One guy offered for Shane to go first and Negan could here the faint breath Rick released as Shane touched him. Shane easily flipped Rick onto his stomach and tore his jeans down his hips. Negan didn't look away when the assault began, but it didn't stop him from shaking.

"Didn't he already fuck you like this, Rick? Didn't you already bend over for him?"

Rick was trying to hold back noise, face turned away. Shane shoved him onto his back and pushed his legs up. As he continued, his hands found Rick's throat and began to squeeze. "Oh Negan chose the wrong guy to fuck with. He thought he could just kill my brother and I wouldn't do anything about it? I wish I could be there to see his expression when he gets a load of you. You'll tell him about me, right?"

Rick was releasing these awful choking noises until Shane eased his grip, allowing the man to finally breathe again in ragged gulps. The assault continued. At some point Negan had bitten clean through his lip. He could past blood on his tongue.

"C'mon Rick, say my name," Tears rolled down Rick's cheeks and he shook his head once, expression screwed up as if trying to keep himself from bawling. Negan leaned heavily against the wall, breathing hard through his nose. Shane turned towards Aaron. "I bet I can get him to say it."

Rick sobbed at this. He breathed sharply, uneven. "Shane." He whispered and Shane laughed.

"Good boy."

It wouldn't stop. Just when Negan thought that it was over, it only continued to drag on.

"How many times were you on your knees for him? Bet that's a pretty sight."

Three men. It was three men that assaulted Rick. Negan made sure to memorize everything about them. Their eyes, their scars, their voices. Negan found he couldn't look away. It was like a damn car wreck.

At some point, someone brought Shane a bat. Negan cursed softly, not daring to blink.

He looked from the bat to Rick the faced the camera, offering it a wicked grin. "Negan, you son of a bitch," Shane crowed, holding up the bat. "You thought you could fuck with me? Seems only fair that I fuck with your little bitch with a bat of my own." The guy holding the camera fumbled, mumbling something only for Shane to quickly put him back in line. A blind panic started in Negan's chest. Rick hadn't been beaten by a bat. All those marks on Rick had been by hand. Negan knew that injuries from a bat looked like. His mind was a jumbled mess. Rick had not been beaten with a bat.

"So I'm gonna give you a choice, Rick," Shane hummed, spinning the bat. "You let me use this on you as I please or I use it to kill him." He pointed the bat to where Aaron was kneeing, weeping weakly into the dirt. Rick blinked, not seeming to understand what was being said. He looked towards Aaron and there was no hesitation.

"No..." Rick's voice was hoarse, barely audible from the violence. "Do what you wa...what you want with me...leave him..." There was no fight left in him. Shane hummed in approval, winking at the camera. He sauntered over to where Rick lay.

"I want you to beg me for it, Rick." Shane knelt down beside Rick. He motioned for Roy to videotape Rick's face. "Beg me." Rick's eyes were dazed, lips bloody.

"Please," Rick breathed weakly, eyes dazed as he looked up at Shane. "Kill me." Shane released a sharp laugh at this, as if Rick had made some great joke. Slowly, it began to dawn on Negan what exactly Shane had planned. Hadn't Carlson mentioned that the damage was too great to be human?

No...

Negan had always had an overactive imagination. Negan had always thought the worst of things. This couldn't possibly be what was happening. Shane couldn't possibly... "Oh, sweetheart," Shane cooed, stroking a large hand through Rick's sweat slicked curls. "I ain't gonna kill you with this bat. Try again" Rick stared, looking so damn confused as Shane stroked his cheek with the bat. He looked from Shane to Aaron, as if a silent question to what Shane wanted from him. He looked so damn lost, as if the idea of...what Shane had planned was so far fetched and unrealistic. It damn broke Negan's heart to see him look like that.

Realization slowly dawned on Rick and he closed his eyes, throat bobbing. Shane reached to cut his chin, tilting his head up. Rick's eyes slowly reopened and he stared up at Shane. There was a mix of exhaustion and hatred in his eyes and it had Shane grinning at him. "Again." Shane smacked the bat down beside Rick's head into the dirt. Rick released a shuddering breath, fingers digging into the foliage beneath his hands.

"Well, Rick?" Shane breathed, a hitch in his breath as he waited.

Rick spoke again, voice brittle and afraid but expression steely and Shane knelt down, bat trailing over the ground as he pushed Rick onto his back. "Don't clench too much, okay babe?" Shane teased. Bile rose in Negan's throat. He had caused this. He had allowed this to happen. He felt his legs slowly lose strength and he sank heavily to the floor, eyes remaining fixed on the screen as Rick's legs were spread.

This time there was no silence. No amount of pride on Rick's part could have prepared him for it. The screams Rick released would haunt Negan for the rest of his life.

"I want them found. Alive." Negan's voice had nearly shook as he gave out the order to his gathered people. He stood, gripping the railing as he overlooked the crowd. His fingers ached with the force he held the railing and he fought to keep his composure. He wondered if they could see it. If by looking at Negan, they could see what he had. There was such rage and emotion in his voice and in his face that it had the Saviors shifting uneasily. This was not something they were used to seeing. This was not normal. Arat had easily taken over her own faction in the group, calling out orders to head out in fifteen minutes, prepared to do Negan's bidding with her usual, unwavering loyalty.

He knew he could count on her. There was never any doubt. The truth was, Shane had been right; About nearly everything. Negan favored Rick. Negan had a soft spot for Rick and Negan and Ricked fucked each other like rabbits on pick up days in a beat up RV, miles from the town.

But Shane had been wrong about something.

He assumed he won.

#twd #the walking dead #negick #negan x rick #rick grimes #negan #regan #rigan #dark af #ignore me

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avalindin · 7 years ago

Text

Precious Cargo

Ronan/GotG fic

Chapter 12: Moving forward

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Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

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He sealed his eyes and was glad that Thanos chose to spare him for the moment or else he would have gotten sick of his pain. Behind his eyes, he saw her. He always envisioned Katja in any form, carnal or as plan and dull as day, tied bare or clothed and hold their child so that his suffering was eased a fraction. Ronan lost count of the days and the others that were in the cells near him. His bones were familiar with the strength of Thanos’ fury but soon it would all be over.

Whatever thoughts weren’t of Katja and their son, they would be of his failing to will his body to repair itself. As time went by, his bruises took longer to heal and his words became more erratic. Katja was safe and no matter how much blood the titan made him draw, he would know that his wife was safe. His heart was failing him as he laid bleeding out and internally, so close to death. His heart broke, feeling he may have had to break his promise to Katja, never to see their son or her ever again.

His sight blurred, seeing the rock cell around him dance with shadows and light. He couldn’t keep track of time with the days bleeding together. Another bone to snap, more dark blood to fall for the floor.

He woke with a hit to his head and his large body pulled along for only more pain and suffering. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it. He was a radical bastard long before he’d met Katja. Flickers of doubt crossed his mind many times.

“Fear not, child of Kree.”

It was a voice that did not belong to Thanos or one that he had known before. It was almost comforting; a male’s tone that was similar in content with his wife’s. The voice appeared again and so that it would hurt less. He forced his unswollen eye to see a flicker of an illusion staring to him. One moment, a bruised young man with hair as dark as his own soul had once been, and another, he turned aged and weary as a single golden eye looked to him.

“Our freedom will come soon enough…”

A hard hand struck him awake again as he coughed out the blood lingering in his mouth. Ronan’s painful groans echoed the sanctuary as Thanos began to smile less. He longed to stomp the Kree deep into the recesses of his domain. His body was dragged through the valley beneath him and he was growing tired of accommodating to the Kree traitor’s anatomy. Thanos waited on the edge of his balcony as he looked down to Ronan stretched as far as his limbs would allow.

His eye opened again, seeing he golden demon titan looking upon him. The humming sound under his chin turned his attention away as several large needles inched closer to his skin. His head was forced back as Thanos’ voice rang clearly in his ears.

“Now you will know an eternity of hell, boy…”

The voice in his throat was unable to scream in complete agony as the needles pierced his skin again and again.

“Worry not…”

He forced himself to focus on the voice.

“Find the Midgardian, child…”

Ronan involuntarily saw his one, his Katja. He knew her and his child were safe enough after all this time. He saw her hair still far and long and miscolored as it cascaded down her tattooed back. She turned to him at the feel of his shoulder. Katja had a moment to gasp in surprise as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back to the sheets. He knew her mind went for their baby.

The touch on her cheek was very much real as was the scent of her hair and skin. His lips caressed her neck. He would never forget it. Her skin prickled with feeling as she felt air sting her lungs. Something was wrong. She could no longer feel Ronan.

“Trash, trash. None of this is worth anything. Keep looking before we leave out.”

“Yes, sir.”

There were many things to do on the barren wastes of Contraxia. Machina brothels as far as the eye could see and it was a better dumping ground for those needing to let off the weight that they needed. Ravagers stayed behind, grown bored with the laughter and harbor liquor to keep them company. A shift changed as the tired ones before shuffled back to the ships as the rested, perturbed ones stretched their legs for the hours ahead.

There was a shoulder here and there that were pushed aside. Voices rose and guns were cocked. Punches flew through the air as the Captains were forced to break up their people. A single pistol fired into one of the frozen lakes on the edge of town causing the hundreds of men to watch the cracking ice beneath them.

“Who in the hells fired that?! Guns down!”

They all almost turned for their business when the ice hundreds of yards ahead of them spilt open with a strange heat to melt the snow before it would hit the ground. A worn bio-container appeared from the cracked ice as more heat reached the edge of the lake and melted the ice back to dirt. Its’ walls of scorching heat dimmed to a bearable sight. The men stared in awe as the container hit the side of the land, stopping safely.

“What the hell are you doing? Get it now!”

The men boarded scouting ships and gathered what equipment to pull the container further onto land. The large white bin cooled the more snow it was covered in. The fatigue soon disappeared as the captains stepped through the crowds of their men to properly examine the lit panels.

“Six years? Well, seems this piece of treasure is now as good as ours. Let’s get it opened!”

The captains left their Ravagers to work on the bio-container so they could celebrate the coming money they would get from their future findings. Raised voices from behind them stopped them as they reached the edge of the closest clamoring town as attention was brought their direction.

“Sir!”

“Just get the cargo to the barter station.”

“Sir! The barter station will turn us away.”

“Why would…”

The captain turned and absent mindedly looked down to the still frozen young woman with long flowing hair that rained behind her. Her blue skin was covered with bits of frost and ink.

“The hell?”

He pulled the covering from her frigid arms to see a small baby tucked away in her grip. The concern of the growing crowd forced them to shuttle her inside and into the barracks of the Machina’s workshop.

Katja could feel the world moving around her as she felt her arms forced apart.

No. No!

She felt the warmth of her baby gone as everything around her felt like a nightmare. His cries filled her with fear and forced the stinging breath in and out of her lungs. Her lashes stuck together but she could feel people around her and holding her fucking baby.

“You know the code. No dealing kids.”

“Think we can raise him better than Yondu did with Quill?”

“Pro’ly. Look how cute he is. We can give him back to the Kree war slavers.”

Peotrick wailed louder as he was handed from one Ravager to the next. Katja stumbled to her feet and launched herself forward onto one of them. She could feel the snap of two necks as she turned and heard the cry of her baby behind a closed door. Her hand wrapped around one of the Ravagers guns and set the firing rounds to the highest explosive round.

Stakar Ogord poured a round around the table for each of the other captains that rallied for the loss of Yondu. Well, they would when the rest arrived in a few hours. For now, he wanted to be with someone special

“Five years,” he beamed, “a record of new beginning for the team.”

“Then why are we the only ones here?”

Stakar took a shot of liquid for himself before pouring another for his woman, Aleta. She smiled and downed the shot her lover set before her.

“Just some time to reconnect, just the two of us like old times.”

“The old times was what disconnected us.”

The moment so easily turned sour as Stakar tried to smile. He enjoyed their time when he could.

“We’re still good for business.”

“Always good for business,” she smiled, giving him some hope for a remaining connection after so many years apart.

“Here’s to stealing shit.”

“To stealing shit.”

A loud explosion rocked the bar as many of the patron screamed and took cover. Stakar and Aleta rushed to their feet as their ears filled with screaming orders of their men. Stakar lifted his boot and kicked open the brothel door as their men had their guns pointed to a young pale woman panting in anger. Her gun was pointed to one of Stakar’s men as his own pistol was pointed to something in his arms.

“Don’t think I won’t kill you.”

“Don’t think I won’t kill it.”

Stakar fired a warning shot next to the Ravagers head, making the baby wail louder.

“Why don’t we all just lay our guns down and talk this out?”

“I want my baby.”

Katja coughed some rough vapor from her nose as she was distracted as the Ravager kicked her gun away. She stood terrified as the Ravager cocked the gun to her face. He smiled as the tattoo on her naked arm glowed.

“A purist goes for a lot of money in the right places.”

Aleta rolled her eyes and moved quickly through the crowd. Her eyes went for Katja’s changing skin. She’d never known a hybrid before but certain fascinations would wait for the time being. Stakar slid through the crowd with his hand to his gun and waited for Aleta. Katja met her eyes as she looked to the Ravager and pointed to her own self, then to his neck.

“Look, just give my little boy. Please…”

Stakar saw Aleta step forward and pulled the gun up. Aleta wrapped her arm around the Ravager’s arm and twisted it up as the baby slid from his arm. Katja sprang forward and snatched Peotrick to the safety of her arms while her body hit the dirty metal floor. Aleta tossed the Ravager over her shoulder. The throw was mighty enough for him to spin up through the air. Stakar blinked as his gun fired and put an empty space between his former worker’s eyes. The heavy dead body hit the floor in a wet thud. Onlookers were silent as Aleta stripped her long coat and covered Katja.

She nearly jerked the woman to her feet and pulled her to the nearest room that had a breakable door. She was stopped as Katja kicked up her foot into the woman’s face, knocking her down. She coughed her pain away.

“Look. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“It’s happened before and I’ll fucking gut every last one of you if you fucking touch me again!”

Aleta looked to her shaking as one hand slowly rocked her crying baby and the other with pointed a knife in her direction. Aleta undid her uniform and placed as many of her weapons on the ground as she could. She stripped the outer layer of herself so that she wouldn’t seem as threat.

“Please, let us start over. You have my word that these events were not supposed to unfold. What would I have to do to make sure that this will not escalate?”

Katja felt a great amount of discomfort run through her body. Her legs and arms were rubber and her sides still hurt like she had just given birth. That was when she thought of Ronan.

“I-I need to find my husband.”

“Is he here?”

Her hazed thoughts remembered the last time she saw him.

“Where am I?”

“Contraxia. An outpost for outlets you could say.”

Her ears were filled the soft techno music from outside. Over the rough looking woman’s shoulder were other types of creatures and identical yellow and silver robots that all looked to her.

“Your name? I am Aleta. He sounds hungry.”

Katja looked down to Peotrick as tears stained his perfect blue face. His small fists clutched at Nebula’s suit that was straining her post-birth body and her aching breasts.

“Katja. My name is Katja.”

“That’s good and his name?”

“We aren’t there yet,” she snarled.

“That is fine.”

“Aleta!”

Stakar stormed the room as Aleta shoved him back into the hall before Katja could react. Katja tried to keep her head on straight as she looked to the frozen scene around her. She remembered the sea that stretched out around her and Ronan’s voice.

I love you…

Katja emotions rushed out as she clung to her baby and pushed herself between the bed and the wall.

“This place has rules and she was disoriented at best.”

“Sir, please.”

“Let her stay and I will invite the other factions of Ravagers back. You have my word.”

The Keeper of the Machina brothel forced herself to nod and turn to deal with other matters of the establishment.

“Now what?”

“That was one of your undisciplined men with a weapon pointed to a newborn. She’s coming with me.”

“That was my man and for that, I’m granting her passage to my ship.”

“She woke, thought she was being captured again and I doubt it was a group of females that put her to slavery.”

“That makes her cargo, her and the baby.”

Aleta rolled her eyes again.

“Were you really not paying attention? She had Purist ink on her arm! She belongs to a high Kree husband.”

He arched his lip up, remembering freeing Yondu from the Kree.

“No. I know that look. She wasn’t forced into marriage. Kree don’t do that. For now, she stays with me.”

“Ah, which Captain do I speak to?”

Both turned their attention to one of Aleta’s female group as she held a copied manifest of the box. Aleta snatched it first and read it top to bottom as fast as her eyes allowed.

“Six years,” she huffed, “my women were mothers. She stays with me.”

“Is that all you’re gonna say?”

“Stealing shit was fun. Now we go back to how things were before.”

Aleta shut the door and pushed the heavy bed to keep it that way. She turned for the pale Kree and her loud baby. She stooped down to their level and wiped away a fraction of her tears. Katja snapped herself awake as she looked to Aleta fixing the coat to cover her chest for the baby. She took over and worked herself from the suit.

Aleta sat on the bed as Katja helped a starving Peotrick eat. Katja kept her eyes to the flashing lights outside the large windows.

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know…”

The suit fell down her back but she felt like she didn’t care. She was scared and tired and… safe as her eyes closed. Aleta moved to the floor and carefully wrapped her strong arm around Katja so she would not hit the floor.

“It’s been six years. Everything is going to hurt for a few days. We have the means on our ship to help you. For everything that has happened, we will help you look for your husband.”

“He’s not dead. I know…”

The bright lights blended together as she sighed and fell asleep.

Ronan…

His eyes snapped open, blinded by three suns on the edge of the sanctuary. He opened his mouth and pulled in what breath he could. He roared with life as his veins stung with the feel of her. Ronan screamed in joy, fading quickly into pain as it hurt him to use his voice. His limbs were heavy as he tried to lift them to no anvil.

“He’s marked you, Kree.”

His first eyes was still swollen to the flickering old man chained and bloodied. There was a smile in his old face as Ronan watched him be dragged away by his heavy chains. The familiar large hand wrapped around Ronan’s throat as Thanos lifted his failed child from the ground. He closed it a faction, sending pain to every point of the Kree’s body.

“Welcome back, Kree. Shall we get started?”

Thanos closed his hand around Ronan’s throat, using all of his strength to snap his neck. Ronan’s hands fell to his side and... he blinked. There was no way for his journey to be over so soon. A tear fell from him as one bone, two bones snapped back into place. Pain filled his throat.

Thanos smiled to the Kree slowly clawing his hand as he came back to life. It would keep him alive longer and the more he killed Ronan, the easier it would be to bring him back to life. Ronan gasped as his neck healed back to the eay it was before. Thanos dropped him to the ground and chuckled.

Ronan was confused as he rolled coughing to his side. Thanos jerked him up by his hair and kneed him hard in the face. His scream of pain filled him with joy. He reached for his arm next and snapped it clean in two. A few more bones here and there and he had to stop to catch his breath. Thanos fixed his armor and sat on his throne, observing the Kree.

Ronan’s head spun in agony as did the rest of his body. What hurt worse was when his body snapped back into place. As his arm fixed, he could no longer take the pain. He passed out, leaving Thanos to comb through his most sadistic thoughts to the fun he would have with the Kree. He motioned his servants and watched as Ronan was carried away. He kept his focus to the way he would make the Kree scream and forgot about the woman and the baby.

Katja sat up straight as she laced her boots and fixed her pants. After a few weeks, her stomach snapped back but her fingers would always trace the stretch marks. She struggled to close her jacket.

“Don’t worry. Take this one. I used it after I lost my gal.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“No, my gal was my sis. It was hers.”

Katja pulled her long hair up into a high bun and fastened her jacket a bit easier. It fit great across her chest and snapped to the belt of her waist. She pulled the knife and glanced to the long blade.

“Not much but it get the job done. Sorry those wankers can’t trust you with a gun.”

“The knife won’t miss.”

“We’ll see what your broker will think. He moved but he ain’t git too far to the other side of Xandar.”

“Hey, Pale Kree. He’s at it again.”

Katja rolled her eyes and ran down to the bunker that she was given. She slid down the ladder to the barracks as Peotrick’s cries were heard. She passed the other women that didn’t want to touch her child. They did, all missing the feel of a baby but they didn’t want to mess with the Kree.

“Who fucking touched him this time?”

Four women backed away from the baby and pointed to one another. Katja didn’t feel like dealing with them. She snapped her fingers and pointed to her bag on the other side of the room. One of them grabbed her bag and tossed to her. Katja reached into the bag frantically and pulled the folded tunic.

She stepped forward to her baby and leaned over so he could grab her. His tears streamed from his eyes as she could do nothing.

“Alright, fine.”

She shook the tunic loose and placed the unfolded mess in Peotrick’s arms. He turned his small face into the fabric and calmed his squealing. His small heaving breath stopped and he buried his nose deeper into the shirt.

“Amazing. How did that work?”

Katja stroked his head and kissed him goodbye for the time being.

“It was his father’s. That should keep him busy until I get back. I dare one of you fuckers to try and wash that tunic again.”

She didn’t trust but a few, Aleta and the women directly at her side to be near her child but hshe guessed babies of any species would have the same effect on women. Katja tightened her long brown and newly blue strands higher on her head.

“Ladies! Let’s go. Xandar awaits. Main group goes for supplies. Katja and the twins are with me. Once we touch down, meet back in an hour. We’re not staying.”

Katja held on to her part of the seat as she stared across to the twins. She couldn’t remember what they were but their scaled olive skin were identical down to the scales and sliced eyes. They checked their weapons and all strapped themselves in as the smaller ship broke the atmosphere and cleared themselves with the Nova Corps airspace.

Katja closed her eyes and held on to her seatbelt and remembered tumbling through the clouds to Contraxia’s summer water back when there was no ice. She exhaled and forced the memory away. Her mind did find Ronan for a moment but she had to focus.

Ronan laid weak on his cell floor and watched through her eyes the putrid sunlight of Xandar. He had an idea of where she was going.

“Katja...”

He touched her cheek and made her turn back to the ship hull. Her face was still so beautiful. Her returned hair sat recolored on her head, so majestic.

“Ronan?”

Her voice disappeared under the roar of the engines as they moved closer to the ground. Her seatbelt snagged on her jacket, forcing her down as she saw his face for a moment. He arched his head up and kissed her before the recoil pulled her back.

She gasped with tears in her eyes as the feel of him returned. She covered her mouth and was ignored by the other female ship mates. She waited for Aleta and the twins as they started their journey into the city. Katja took in the faces of the city, so many different features and races passed her by. Aleta looked over her shoulder to a silver spiral pyramid that had grown from the ground. The arcitecture here was far more advanced than earth was.

They followed the longer pathway to blend in with the crowd, in case of witnesses; Aleta’s words. The closer they came to the pyramid, the deeper the pit in Katja’s stomach grew. She doubted herself for a moment but it was part of the deal to join the ship.

She could not stay on Contraxia and Aleta was a woman of her word. Katja was allowed to board the ship and join the crew, learning to fend for herself as well as finding out where to find her husband. She never told them his name but he heard his name on their lips when her back was turned. The first night, she locked herself in the ship’s library with Peotrick and learned about the monster she had married. Katja found it hard to sleep a few days after that but when she looked to her baby boy, she knew she had to find Ronan.

The women stopped and with everything she knew then, she didn’t know what she was going do once she saw Ronan again. Aleta opened the heavy doors and closed them behind her crew. She pressed a button on her gloves and jammed all of the exits to keep their guest still.

“Welcome...”

His voice dropped as he caught sight of the lady Ravagers and sighed. He didn’t have the best temperment with them.

“Aleta.”

“Sir Broker. You’ve gotten old.”

“And you are certainly an adjective I cannot use without knowing you’ll shoot me again. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“No. Only looking.”

He turned for the twins.

“No,” they answered at the same time without a look in his direction.

The Broker rolled his eyes at Katja and returned to his desk.

“If this is a shakedown, then I suggest you leave. As I remember correctly, that was Yondu’s job. Oh, my condolences.”

“Thank you and as you mention his name, there is something you can do.”

“Oh?”

“Almost seven years ago there was a manifest that was supposed to come with cargo from Terra.”

“How can I possibly remember that far back?”

“Because,” sighed Aleta as she tossed the intact manifest to his counter for him to ignore, “You signed off on living cargo.”

he huffed his breath and kept his eyes downward.

“You cannot prove it. Even if it was that cargo is far gone.”

Aleta turned her eye up and nodded to Katja. She reached forward for the Broker’s tie and jerked him forward. His head slammed against his papers and startled him. Katja pulled him up and glared him in the eye.

“I was your cargo. You took me from my home, you bastard. I almost want you to make this difficult for me.”

“Please! Don’t hurt me.”

“Where was I supposed to go?”

“Knowhere! To the Collector, he didn’t have a Terrian for his collection. When I gave him news, he didn’t even care so I let the units go! I swear!”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” flinched the twins.

“Yeah but I say we do a little window shopping while we are here.”

“Oh? W-Would you like a trinket for your ship, Miss...”

“Katja,” she smiled as she jerked a pipe from the wall, “Katja Harding.”

She swung the pipe and smashed the display nearest her.

“No! What are you doing?”

“Lemonading. Because of all of you, don’t worry Taneleer will get his too, I was taken away from the only person that really loved me.”

The pipe sailed through the air again as tiny glass shards fell to the cheering twins feet.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know!”

“I became someone’s whore, almost died of hypothermia,” she smashed his treasures as well, “forced under Taneleer’s payrole, got caught in slavery, and taken away from my husband, leaving me as a fucking single mother!”

She didn’t stop until the only things unbroken where them. She heaved and smiled, glad that some of her frustrations were gone. Her hand opened to drop the pipe in the valley of broken glass. There was no pity for the Broker’s sobs as he looked around to his destroyed shop.

“Ladies, we’re done here.”

Aleta snapped her fingers and unlocked the doors, leaving behind the Broker and hoofing it so the Nova Troops wouldn’t catch them.

He inhaled and saw her. She was a woman on a mission.

“Katja...”

She stopped at the sound of his voice.

“Ronan?”

“Don’t find me. It is not safe.”

She closed her eyes and found herself in a rock cell. In the shadows, she knew Ronan was waiting.

“That’s your problem. We’re fine so thanks for asking.”

“A visitor?”

She turned to the golden hand that passed through her. She stumbled back and landed on her back on the ship. Ronan forced the connection to weaken so that Thanos could not toy with her.

“You think that will stop me? If I don’t find them, they will perish when the universe becomes mine...”

Tagged: @808-anon @angelus80 @angryschnauzer @antyc67 @atinyfangirl @audasia25 @cerys1212 @clairelovexo @damageditem @echantedbytwh @eve1978 @hallotom @inkededucatednnerdy @itsjustelen @jennphoenix @justahopeless-dreamer @lokilockedcougar @lovehiddles4everme @marvelousmissfit @mazda098 @missdibley @mrshiddelston @mypreciousmind1 @nicole-stewart-loves-cookies @osb1anon @ourladybinxthings @peskipixi @prplprincez @quoting-shakespeare-to-ducks @roamingbadger @ririsutty @sarabeth72 @servent-alearika @sevanya @shamvictoria11 @siyoteodiara @starrynight35 @startingtoenjoylife @the-lady-mischief @tinaferraldo @tomkurbikston @vdcster @wolfsmom1

#Ronan the Accuser #GotG #no smut #feels #heavy angst #fanfic

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scottyunfamous · 7 years ago

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#RunningWilde Ch. 30 | Commitment Issues

I won't be lonely

And you won't be silent

And we will be dancing

The way that we're wanting each other to be

If you could commit to

Making me happy

And stay with me in this

Stay with me in this

-In Time

FKA Twigs

What do you do when you're in enemy territory, surrounded by said enemies, without the closest thing you have to a hero there to defend you?

Heaven laid in that stark room for hours, unmoving, watching the dust motes glitter and fall to the ground in the thin strip of light that sliced across the floor from beneath the door, breathing in the stale air of her breath, sweat and bed linen, afraid to make a noise that might alert Aiden's Diamond Mafia family of her consciousness lest they enter. She was afraid of being more trapped with them than she already was, and the thought of one of them shut in this stark room with her, with its high ceilings, windowless walls and no Aiden on hand to come to her rescue should she decide to scream for help made her bones rigid. She'd heard Aiden leave this morning; he hadn't bothered to check in on her or left her any instructions as to what she was meant to do or how she was to conduct herself in his absence. He'd left her all alone to fend for herself with people who trusted her even less than they trusted their boss's irrational keeping of her. He clearly trusted that they weren't stupid enough to disobey him, no matter how badly they wanted to.

It had been close to terrifying last night, sat in the meeting room with Aiden, surrounded by Mighty, Stone and...Dougie. Just the thought of his maniacal Cheshire cat smile made the marrow in her stiff bones freeze up and a metaphorical chill up her spine made her teeth chatter. Aiden had become her safe place in that room of drug dealers, killers and thieves, and knowing what she knew of him so far, Aiden being the one who calmed her nerves said a lot about the kind of danger she was in. He was the worst of them all.

Heaven planned to stay in that stark room with the stale air, high ceilings and windowless walls until Aiden returned, but as the minutes and hours ticked by she became restless, hungry and desperately in need of the bathroom. When she could take it no more she stood and dressed herself in a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then dragged a brush through her tufts of knotted candyfloss hair and slicked it up into a soft afro puff.

Upon opening the door Heaven came face to face with one of the Mafia maids, uniformed in the body hugging black catsuit, slicked back no-nonsense ponytail, eyes hidden behind dark glasses and the ever stoic expression which concealed any semblance of true emotion. It bothered her that Aiden employed these women; they were like sexy robot assassins in human flesh. She'd only ever seen two to three of them at any given time, and though they all looked the same, they never were. They varied slightly in skin tone, height and build, and unless you paid attention, the way Heaven paid attention, you would never know that there were more of them than the ones that were around you at the time. This one was just as intimidating as the rest. She wondered how many of them Aiden had, why he ordered them to dress this way, why they never spoke...and why they were all female. Heaven knew as much about gang life as what she'd seen in the movies and from BBC and Channel 4 documentaries and it was abundantly clear to her that the Diamond Mafia didn't operate the same way. For a crew that came up from Brixton they were quite eccentric in their way, more like super villains than street thugs, but then she supposed that it was probably their eccentricity that had catapulted them up the underworld's food chain. The maids though...they looked like walking fetishes, but not ones to be taken lightly.

She began to wonder...did Aiden like these women? She studied the maid a little harder. Yes, they looked deadly, she had no doubt that they were, but that was a dominant trait, which wouldn't work for someone as overbearing as Aiden...but they followed his orders like a submissive would, and they were annoyingly easy on the eyes. Something about their deadliness reminded her of Ash and it made her dislike them even more, because if they reminded her of his dead lover, did they remind him too? Once again she found herself feeling threatened by another female; another sensation that hadn't struck Heaven until Aiden came along.

She wished he didn't matter to her so much.

She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders so as not to look as afraid or threatened as she felt. "Hi." The maid said nothing. The only indication that Heaven had her attention was the slight inclination of her head as if she was awaiting an order. "I need to use the bathroom."

The maid led her down the corridor. As she walked past one of the other maids stationed along the compound hallway, this one about two inches shorter with broader shoulders, she whispered something to her so quiet that Heaven couldn't make out what she sounded like. Now it bothered her how mysterious they were; it only added to their assassin allure. The second maid turned towards Aiden's room.

When Heaven remerged from the bathroom Trish was waiting for her with maid number one with a false accommodating smile, which she guessed was meant to set her at ease. It had the opposite effect. She kept her hand on the door knob and rocked back on her heel, leaving enough room to slam it shut should she need to.

"Are you hungry?" The pleasantness of Trish's tone was more convincing than her face.

Heaven opened her mouth to say no so she could go back to her room, but the amplified grumble of her stomach gave her away. "A little," she admitted.

"What would you like?"

"Granola and soy milk..." It sounded like a question, as if she was checking with them that it was okay to make any demands. It wasn't really what she fancied but she didn't want to make herself more of a nuisance than necessary. She'd gotten used to indulging in Aiden's specially prepared vegan breakfasts that he made for her back at his out-house, and now standing in the compound corridor, barricaded in the bathroom by Trish and the assassin made her appreciate his effort. She doubted that they were willing to go through the trouble he did, so a basic breakfast would have to suffice.

Trish nodded at the maid, approving Heaven's request. The maid nodded back and disappeared from sight. Trish turned back to Heaven, "Get dressed and I'll meet you in the kitchen," she said ushering her back into the bathroom. "There are towels in the airing cupboard and spare toothbrushes under the sink."

At last Heaven was alone again. She contemplated drawing herself a bath, but the deep oval tub didn't seem as enticing as it had the night she'd spent drunk and high, nestled between the thick firmness of Aiden's thighs. She doubted any bath she took after that would be as thrilling without him in it. It had been the first time she'd seen a naked man in real life and what a magnificent sight he was to behold. Her virginity had still been intact that night, but she recalled the way she'd wanted it not to be, how she'd whined, and purred, and begged him to take her then and there, but he'd waited until she was of sound mind and unmistakably willing to do so.

Ever the complicated gentleman.

Heaven opted for a shower and tried to draw it out as much as she could to delay being out in the open with Trish and god who knows else was wandering around. Forty-five minutes later she was escorted into the kitchen area by the maid apparently assigned to her for the day. With as many people that occupied the compound she expected it to feel more homely, but it was sleek and shiny, like a Stoneham showroom kitchen; it was as if no one lived there at all. This undisturbed theme resonated with the bathroom, with her room, the meeting room...the playroom. She had yet to see the rest of the compound but she imagined it was the same throughout. Should the Diamond Mafia choose to disappear from their beloved compound one day, they would always be prepared to leave without a trace. Heaven figured that doing what they did they'd had to be ready to leave at a moments notice.

There was a rectangular table at the far end with six chairs around it and two place settings. Trish occupied one, sipping coffee and nibbling on toast. A bowl of granola and a small jug of soy milk sat untouched next to her. Heaven walked barefoot across the cool slate grey tiled floor, her arms tucked tight against her sides careful not to touch the polished black surfaces and chrome fixtures.

Trish's false smile was back in place as Heaven took her seat next to her. "Would you like tea or coffee?" she asked like a rehearsed hostess. Heaven noticed the maid suddenly at her side awaiting her order.

"Tea, please -green if you have it," she replied quietly. She really did not want to ask for anything else. The more things she had, the longer she had to stay out in the open. The maid went to fix her a cup. Heaven fiddled with her fingers unsure of what to do next. Sensing her hesitancy Trish leant in with near enough a genuine smile and stage whispered, "You can start eating now."

With a nervous giggle Heaven tucked into the granola. It was easier to eat and keep her eyes on the bowl as its contents decreased than to force herself to make eye contact and small talk with the other red mouthed girl, but it couldn't last long; eventually her food would run out and try as she did to fill the other half of the silence with her tea drinking, it still came to a rapid end anyway. She hoped that Trish would be the one to break the silence; she'd been a tad chattier when she revamped her hair but within the confines of the compound her pleasantries were even more strained than they were before.

Heaven set her cup down, "Is Jamie asleep?" she forced herself to ask.

"He's with Aiden."

"Oh."

...What now?

They fell back into silence.

The sound of the front door opening made Heaven's mood brighten like a summer morning in July. Though he wasn't her favourite person in the world, she found comfort in the thought of Aiden's return. She wasn't sure how much more of this forced girls brunch date she could take. The door shut and then there was no sound until Trish looked lazily up into the doorway of the kitchen and her posture became erect. Her eyes flickered to Heaven then back to the door.

"Dougie."

Heaven stiffened, the marrow in her bones froze, a chill ran up her spine and she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. It wasn't until the chair next to her scraped against the tiled floor that she even knew he was near.

Dougie sat in the chair the wrong way, his body positioned over the side so that he was facing her, glaring at her and smiling in his way.

"Dougie," Trish repeated his name with a warning lilt, praying that he wouldn't do anything reckless –like kill Heaven.

"Why's she with you? Where's A?"

"He'll be back in a minute," she hoped.

"So he's not here?"

Heaven's hands started to tremble. She gripped the teacup with both of them in an attempt to disguise her terror, but the little liquid that sat in the bottom rippled, giving her away and answering Dougie's question.

His smile widened. "Would you like a top up?"

Heaven wanted to believe that he was talking to Trish but he was still staring directly at her, looking more menacing than usual with his baseball cap on and his hood up, his white teeth gleaming from within the shadows. She shook her head, staring into the rippling tea water at the bottom of the cup, wishing she could dive in and swim far, far away from him.

"You're scaring her," Trish said tightly, annoyed but, Heaven detected, slightly amused.

"Am I?" he asked Heaven. Trish's amusement irritated her, but Dougie's scared her half to death. The things that made him happy generally didn't bode well for the source of his entertainment.

"Yes, now stop it. If you're bored go and do something."

He continued to smile and stare, unmoved by his little sister's mild hostility. Trish had a temper and this wasn't it. If she was really that concerned about what would happen to 'the Lockewood girl', she could make Dougie leave her alone, but she didn't.

Heaven knew that it was up to her to remove herself from the looming threat that was Dougie Monroe. "Well, I'm done so I'm gonna go." She hurriedly pushed her heels against the floor to slide her chair away from the table.

Her feeble escape was abruptly interrupted by Dougie's hand slamming against the back of it. "Stay," he purred. Maybe it was supposed to sound like and invitation, like, 'No, don't be silly. Stay here, talk with me,' but it sounded more like a 'Don't you dare move.'

Heaven placed her trembling hands on top of her thigh and waited with baited breath.

"You," he looked at Trish, "Leave."

"Aiden said_"

"I don't care what Aiden said."

Trish attempted to stare down her big brother. He shouldn't defy Aiden's orders and he knew it, especially when it came to the Lockewood girl. Trish hated it as much as he did; Heaven was the daughter of the man who'd killed Keegan. She didn't understand how Aiden could stand to look at her, let alone let her live when the only purpose she served was to remind him of what he'd lost. That's what the rest of them felt when they saw her –loss. But he'd saved her, and Aiden was particular about who he saved. Trish knew better than to defy Aiden when things were personal, but her big brother, with his calculating smile and his unnerving stare that peeked out from under the peak of his black baseball cap, felt like more of a threat than Aiden at that moment, though had Aiden been standing there she'd have felt a lot differently.

They all would.

"Fine, but don't hurt her. Aiden left her with me and if anything happens to her you know who he's gonna blame, so don't fuck about," she snapped. Dougie's smile changed and his eyes became less formidable. Where Keegan had needed monitoring, Trish had been the opposite and was the one who looked out for everyone –she had a reputation as the 'little mum' of the crew. She touched Heaven's shoulder, "If he so much as breathes on you, you call me. I mean it."

Heaven's eyes widened and she wanted to scream, 'Then why leave me with him?' but her fear of Dougie had a chokehold on her throat and all she could do was release a raspy panicked sound.

Trish looked back at her brother, "You have five minutes." She marched out of the kitchen, her fluffy heeled slippers click-clacked against the floor, the sharp sound growing quieter as she until there was silence.

Heaven's eyes were stuck in the empty doorway, too afraid to turn back and acknowledge that she had been left alone with the quite smiling man.

He stopped smiling and folded his hands in his lap, "What's going on between you and Aiden?"

Heat flushed her neck, "Why are you asking me that?" she replied too embarrassed to confirm what everyone already knew.

Dougie grabbed the front legs of her chair and swung her around to face him. Her first instinct was to make a run for it but his quick hand shot out again, blocking her escape path. "Sit. Down."

She settled back into her seat.

"What are you doing with Aiden?"

"I'm doing as I'm told," she trembled, pressing her body against the back of the chair as if the millimetres of space she regained would make any substantial difference. She was still alone, sat face to face with Dougie Monroe. The negatives outweighed the positives.

"Because you want to or because you think you have to?"

She wasn't sure how to answer that. It wasn't like things were black and white when it came to her and Aiden. It was more a kaleidoscopic grey area; some brighter spots tinged with everything that was wrong with them, and some darker spots blessed by everything that was right. They were fifty shades of grey, a roiling storm cloud ever on the brink of bursting, a film noir made reality. What was she supposed to say? What was the right answer? Was there even a right answer? If it was because she wanted to, she was bad. If it was because she had to, he was bad, but when they were together, really together, just the two of them, they were good. They were spectacular. She blinked. "I...I don't know."

"Let me make this simpler for you; you don't have to, so if you don't mean it, stop it or I will," he leant in closer, "Permanently."

#running wilde #Fiction #literature

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cacophonouscatharsis · 6 years ago

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DM’s Log #5.1: The big day is tomorrow! Also lore

Tomorrow is the big day, the first session where we’re actually playing my campaign! I’m super excited! Originally I was worried because I didn’t exactly have a whole lot planned, but I did a huge time crunch tonight and I got some maps done, definitely enough to span a full 3 hour session! Now that I actually have the monster manual on me it’s so much easier compared to when I didn’t have it. Before I had to homebrew everything and I didn’t even think to have ability modifiers or anything so I kinda winged it or just didn’t bother. Now I have everything on paper right in front of me in detail ugh it takes a big load off my shoulders. I’m also not restricting myself to a bit outline either. The first time I DMed I had this big summary of the campaign and what I wanted the players to do and go. I gave the party a big objective right off the bat and it culminated in banishing a god which was pretty over the top for first level honestly.

This time I’m dialing it back, giving the players more breathing room and choice in what they want to do. I don’t have an outline, just sort of a basic idea of what’ll happen in my head. Which I know probably doesn’t sound good but I also don’t want to be forced to look back at notes and revise them and shit. Maybe I’ll start doing that down the road when I actually have to remember shit the players have done, but for now it’s not something I need to worry about. Anyway now I’m just worried I’m making my encounters too hard for my players. Especially this short dungeon I made that’ll lead them to a prophecy that will foreshadow things much later down the line. I put several thugs, animated armors, and even a Helmed Horror at the very end as a sort of boss. I think the players will be okay though, after all it’ll be the four of them versus the one boss, so as long as they didn’t take too many hits from the previous enemies it should be a challenging but overall not life threatening battle.

Also I figure this is probably the best time to start posting some lore about the world of Lhorvash and its four continents! I’ll have some drawings I’ve made of them below. They ain’t good but they do the job

Lhorvash is a world that is caught in a cycle. The drive for war is built into the very heart of the world and it’s inhabitants, and if this war is not carried on a regular basis, the world will be purged and reborn anew. All life will be reset and begin to create civilizations once more. However some species have an unexplained innate ability to live on through this process. Dragons, Giants, and select few Animalfolk from Midoraka are able to live through one or even multiple cycles. In the most recent cycle, what most historians believe to be the third iteration of the world, dragons ruled for several thousands of years. However a species only known today as the Progenitors, rose up and drove them to near extinction using strange yet powerful weapons. After that they ruled Lhavosh with impunity. That is until one day, they all mysteriously vanished, and in their wake they left a cataclysm that split the once giant continent into four smaller ones. The only thing that remains of their legacy are massive stone superstructures beneath the earth.

Of the four continents on Lhorvash, Vuusrin is the most diverse, in virtually every way. Ethnically, politically, and also in terms of landscape. It has also been at constant war, it’s once lush forests cut down and used to forge great siege weapons. Only once has a single civilization came close to ruling the entirety of the land. At its most powerful moment, its king stood upon the tallest tower in all of Lhorvash, and called to the gods to grant him strength. Strength enough to conquer all he could see. In that very moment his entire country, which had occupied land from one end of Vuusrin to the other, was suddenly broken apart and submerged beneath the waves. The castle and the tower the king stood upon was made the epicenter of what is now known at the divide. This epicenter is a massive whirlpool that devours any ship that dares get too close. The reason for this catastrophe is only explained in legends, by the most commonly believed one is the gods struck the king down for his arrogance, as an example to the rest of mortalkind.

Lork is the largest continent out of the four, and is also the harshest. Most of the land is a barren desert. A massive rock worm named Kavkor stalks anything foolish enough to roam above ground in large groups. On top of that one of the last living dragons, Adramorgeth the Everlasting, patrols the sky, routinely perched upon its mountain, Charred Rock. The only civilizations that have a chance of surviving are those that are built deep underground. These subterranean metropolises are inhabited mostly by Dragonborn,Draconians, and more recently, Tieflings. However these people do not have the luxury to pick and choose who they share space with. The only thing that matters to them is if you can prove your worth and earn your keep.

Midoraka is a mysterious country, ruled today primarily by elves. A strange aura that surrounds the land boosts the power of all forms of magic. However due to the potential for mages to gain untold amounts of power within the boundaries of the continent, strict laws are placed upon its citizens, and those wishing to take up the arcane arts much first acquire a government issued license to perform magic. This also opens them up to routine inspection by the military police, which does not require a notice beforehand nor a warrant. The government is controlled by a council of individuals voted in by the many lords of Midoraka. Before this council system became a reality, the land was ruled by the Erna Empire. Back then the Elves were at their strongest, due to two powerful allies. The Animalfolk in the north, and the Tieflings to the south. This peace did not last forever, and without warning the Empress Imbryl Erna ordered for all Tieflings within her borders to be immediately slaughtered. Most of the military followed their orders, and got to work exterminating all Tieflings they could find. The walls of the city of Zithrindar became a prison for the victims, as the military burned it to the ground. The few that managed to survive fled to the nearby continent of Lork, and luckily for them the indigenous Dragonborn welcomed them in to their fold. A select few military generals rebelled against the empire, and shortly after the massacre committed a coup d'é-tat. The Empress was publicly before her once loyal people, and those that followed her heinous order were imprisoned for life. For the elves transgressions, the Animalfolk retreated into the Ancestral Forest, never to be seen again.

Depending on who you ask Borshaub is even more dangerous than Lork. If the Remorhaz and Frost Giants don’t kill you, the blistering cold surely will. Only the hardy Dwarves and Orcs, as well as the crafty Gnomes have managed to make a home here. However none of them are willing to venture further north, into the land known only as the Great Freeze. A land of never ending blizzards, where any mere mortal creature will freeze to death in minutes. Separating this frozen wasteland from the rest of Borshaub are the Walls of Hesret. Four barriers that connect mountain ranges on either side, made of stone lined with sacred runes. They’re believed to have been built by the Progenitors thousands of years ago, what their ultimate function is though, no one can be certain. The walls are carefully maintained by both the dwarves and gnomes, who are part of an uneasy alliance. Said alliance formed due to the Orc Rebellion that took place twenty years ago. The gnomes considered the Deadlands to be a part of their territory, and began to venture east of the Shivering Chasm. The Orc tribes had been at constant war with one another ever since there was more than one tribe, leading the gnomes to thinking it would be an easy victory against a fragmented opponent. The Orcs don’t go down easy though, and before a war could break out, Brakuung the Mighty defeated every other orc chieftain in single combat, proclaiming himself to be the Godchief of all Orcs. for just less than a year, the thirteen tribes were united under a single banner, and went to war against the would be gnomish invaders. It would have been a total massacre, if the Dwarves had not intervened. They knew if Brakuung was allowed to live, he would lead his armies further west and conquer their kingdom as well. They made a hasty alliance with the gnomes, less to help them, and more to save themselves. After months of seemingly endless carnage, the newly formed Alliance was able to incapacitate the Godchief and his only son Virmalk. He was beheaded before his own people, and his eight year old child was stripped of his tusks. The tusks of an Orc are considered sacred, and if they are removed in any way that does not involve combat, it is seen as a disgrace. What remained of Virmalk’s tusks were soaked in an acidic substance created by the gnomes, preventing them from ever growing back. He was banished back to the Deadlands, to live on as an example for the rest of his kind of what happens when you rise up against the Alliance.

Sorry for clogging up your dash with my lore. I’ll put out another DM’s Log summarizing the events of our first real session. See you then!

#DM’s Log #DMs log #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #D&D #DnD

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imagine-loki · 8 years ago

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TITLE: Fear and Other Related Emotions CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter-2 AUTHOR: latent-thoughts ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine meeting Loki to interrogate him while he is incarcerated in the Helicarrier glass enclosure. He initially tries to scare you away but then becomes interested in you as you keep talking to him. RATING: NC-17/ MA NOTES/WARNINGS: Warning for sexual situations, slightly dubious consent and violence (combat/fighting/interrogations).

This chapter picks up after the events of Thor: The Dark World and just before The Avengers: Age of Ultron. The events have remained canon so far, but it will turn AU soon.

(A year later)

Reva was listening to her client as she explained her recurring nightmares to her. It was only their second session and there was much to learn about her still. So far, she had come to know that the poor woman’s nightmares featured a pack of feral dogs chasing her into the darkness.

Involuntarily, Reva compared them to her own. Hers featured a feral space Viking. The nightmares showed him as angry and spiteful, wicked and seductive, cunning and calculating, all at the same time. Sometimes she was being murdered, and sometimes, seduced. She always woke up in panic, with sweat running down her back.

Loki was stuck in her head in the worst way. She was one of the few who he had personally terrorised, and even after a year of him being gone, she still felt the lingering effects of it on her psyche.

However, in her case, it wasn’t just the terror that kept bringing Loki back to her subconscious. Her thoughts about him tended to vacillate between resentful and grateful. Yes, he had deliberately toyed with her on the helicarrier. But he had also saved her life that day, having been the one who rescued her from the tarmac of the helicarrier.

The memories were vague, but she remembered being carried in his arms, hearing his voice barking orders at someone as she had slipped in and out of consciousness. She had fully awoken on a hospital bed a few hours later, briefly wondering how she had ended up there. Only one assumption seemed plausible, even though it went completely against Loki’s character. He had indeed dropped her at the hospital before going on his merry way to wreck New York.

She didn’t tell anyone about her rescue operation by Loki, and thankfully, no one asked. At the time, everyone had all but forgotten about her in order to save the world. It was a small mercy. She didn’t want the slightest focus on herself, and she was mighty glad that the attack had been thwarted by the heroes.

Loki had been captured and taken back to his home planet, Asgard. She had Tony Stark to thank for that information. He had sought her out after the dust had settled and was relieved to see that she was alright. He had told her that he felt a bit guilty about involving her in the mess with Loki, and in return, she had joked that she probably needed a therapist of her own to deal with the aftermath. Only… it wasn’t a joke.

However, things were looking up now. Life was getting better. She had gained more clients than ever in the last few months, most of them due to Stark’s recommendation. That more than made up for being manipulated by Loki.

The good thing was, her Loki related nightmares had reduced in their frequency and intensity over time. That may have been aided by the fact that Loki was dead, as conveyed to her by his own brother—Thor. It was the first time she had seen him after the attack of New York, about a month ago.

She had been attending one of Stark’s parties when Thor had approached her. At first, he had apologized for whatever had happened at the helicarrier. Then as she was trying to downplay the whole helicarrier incident, he had proceeded to tell her about his personal losses. His mother had died trying to protect his love, Jane Foster, from an attack by an alien species known as the Dark Elves, and Loki had apparently died protecting him.

The news had shocked her, and she had offered her condolences to Thor. She had wanted to offer free therapy sessions as well, but opted against it, in the end, not wanting to look desperate and creepy.

As for Loki’s death and the reasons underpinning it, Reva didn’t want to examine any of it. She was just glad to be back to a normal life which didn’t involve any alien attacks. Also, she often liked to remind herself that Loki had taken more lives that he had saved. That kept her opinion less ambivalent towards his ultimate fate.

After the session with her client ended, Reva went straight home. It was a Friday, the weekend was finally here, and all she wanted to do was unwind and watch TV. Boring, but satisfying. She was never a very social creature, so weekend outings were few and rare.

As she entered her apartment, Reva immediately felt an odd feeling creep up her spine. Her apartment looked the same as she had left it in the morning, but something seemed amiss. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but her home didn’t feel as inviting as it usually did.

Hesitating in the doorway, she tried to look around to see what was wrong, but nothing seemed out of place. Perhaps she was just tired and it was messing with her head. Nothing a little junk food and TV couldn’t cure.

She sighed and dropped her bag in its usual sitting place—a little table by the door. Only, it dropped on the floor with a thud. She looked down at it and then at the table. That never happened. How did she miss the table? Sighing, she picked up the bag and carefully dropped it onto the table.

Then, as she proceeded on to the living room, her knee banged against the sideboard right next to the entryway. She cursed and rubbed the ailing spot, blaming her typical clumsiness. However, the bumping-into-random-stuff thing kept happening.

The bed, the coffee table, and even the dining table, all of them had hurt her like they had some personal vendetta against her today. Thankfully, her bathroom fixtures had spared her as she freshened up and changed into more comfortable clothes.

When Reva came back into the living room and sat down in front of the TV, she noticed that her ass landed not directly in her spot on the couch, but slightly towards the armrest. Something was seriously wrong.

Then it struck her. Her furniture had moved. No, it had been moved by someone. Not enough to draw immediate notice, but enough to make it so that she bumped into things. The scariest part, though, was that no one else lived in this apartment except her, and no one had access to it when she was gone. It wasn’t like she had housekeeping staff.

It could only mean one thing. Someone had broken in, or, her furniture was possessed. The former seemed more plausible.

Very slowly, Reva got up from the couch and started for her bedroom, where her phone was lying on the side-table, getting charged. Whoever had broken in was probably still here, and was probably watching her. Why the intruder hadn’t acted at all wasn’t her concern, getting out of this situation was.

The bedroom door creaked open as she pushed it casually, trying to act normal for her hidden audience. Her eyes straight away landed on the side-table.

The phone was gone.

Reva’s heartbeat surged. She turned around and made a dash for the main door. Only to be blocked by a tall, familiar figure clad in green and black armor.

“A nightmare, I need to wake up,” she muttered, discounting reality immediately.

Because how else could Loki be standing in her doorway when he was dead?

He appeared to be confused for a moment, then his eyes twinkled with mirth. “I’ve been called worse things. A nightmare is fairly mild.”

“No…,” she whispered desperately as he moved towards her. Now would be a really good time to wake up. “No, please god, no.”

Loki just rolled his eyes and walked right past her to sit down on the couch. Her body trembled like a leaf as she squeaked and jumped away belatedly.

On the couch, Loki spread his long legs and settled in as if he owned the place. Meanwhile, Reva contemplated her absolutely rotten luck, to be facing the crazy space Viking for the second time in her life.

“You moved my furniture.” Not the first thing she thought she’d say, but she considered herself to be on auto-pilot anyway. She was pretty sure screaming would not help anyway. Not this time.

“Just a bit of fun.” Loki chuckled and splayed his arms on the back of the couch. He made it look tiny as he hoarded almost the entire sitting space. “It was amusing to see you fumble around.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she accused, backing into the wall furthest from the couch. Interacting with Loki from the barrier of a cage was bad enough, interacting with him without any barriers was nearly wrecking her.

He rolled his eyes and huffed in response. “It seems my brother has already spread the news about my untimely demise.”

“And to think he’s still mourning you…” she muttered all to herself, eyeing him cautiously.

“It’ll not be the first time that I’ve purportedly died and come back.” He seemed really nonchalant as if discussing the weather and not his own death.

“Great, even hell doesn’t want you.” Reva hugged herself nervously, rubbing the prickling goose bumps forming on her bare arms.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t actually die. I cheated death.”

“Sure you did.” She nodded, fighting hard not to roll her eyes.

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice husky and inviting. She knew that voice very well by now. “You aren’t going to escape through that wall by pressing yourself to it.”

“I’m kind of comfortable here, thanks.” She gave him a derisive smile—her attempt at being brave. Loki was dangerous. She wanted to keep as much distance between her and him as possible.

Loki sighed dramatically, mocking her. “Come now, Reva. You’re going to act all coy now? After that conversation filled night we spent together, after I saved your life on that wretched air-ship, I thought we’d be on better terms.”

“You and I remember that night quite differently. And pardon me for not trusting you with my life, irrespective of what happened on the helicarrier a year ago.”

“I think you are astute enough to note that if I had any plans to kill or harm you, I’d have successfully executed them by now.” There was an edge to his voice, but his expression remained serene. It made him sound like an exasperated adult dealing with a child.

There was some truth in his words, though. After all, Reva was still alive and breathing and he hadn’t made any move to kill her. But then again, who could trust a trickster?

“Do you need something from me?” she asked cautiously, her back still stuck to the wall.

Loki appeared right beside her then, leaning against the wall. Reva instinctively leapt back, nearly colliding with the sideboard right next to her. Loki’s hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders before she could.

“Of course I need something from you, why else would I be here?”

“I don’t th-think I have anything to g-give you,” she stammered, feeling the cold of his hands seep through her top and into her skin. Oddly, it didn’t feel repulsive. Instead, it summoned the memory of how pleasant his cold hands had felt on her heated skin that night in the helicarrier.

Loki pulled her close and tipped her chip up with his finger. “Don’t assume, little one. Let me explain my motivations to you, and then we can discuss how you will assist me.”

“I didn’t agree to assist you in anything,” she protested as he took her hand and led her to the couch.

“At times we all must do things we don’t want to, for the greater good.” He pushed her down on the couch and settled in next to her.

Reva couldn’t believe she was back in the Trickster God’s clutches. It scared her, for obvious reasons. Fear and Loki went hand in hand. However, what scared her more was her instinctual draw to him despite the fear.

“When did you start bothering about the greater good?” she asked, trying not to fidget as he trained his sharp gaze on her.

“Ever since it aligned with my designs and purpose.”

“Hard to believe.”

Reva surreptitiously slunk as far away from him as possible while still remaining on the couch. His keen eyes followed her movement but he didn’t react. Instead, he turned his attention towards the coffee table as his hands hovered above it.

The familiar glow of magic emanated from his hands and a strange, dark box materialised on the table. It was so dark that it appeared to be two-dimensional to her untrained eyes. She had to squint and tilt her head this way and that to see if it was actually a box or just an illusion. It was non-reflective, like a little black hole shaped into a cuboid. It was messing with her visual perception.

Feeling curious despite her fear, she reached out to touch it. The material felt similar to velvet, but not quite the same. It was solid but non-metallic. Reva rubbed her fingers on its top, wanting to decipher what it material was. She was unable to come up with any plausible answers.

Loki smiled at her inquisitiveness and moved to open the box. She couldn’t even see the opening mechanism, it was that dark.

“What kind of material is this?”

“The darkest substance ever created. It doesn’t reflect light at all. It was conceived and forged by the Dark Elves first, now only Asgard possesses the means to produce it. I’m not sure your language has a name for it.”

“The same Dark Elves who attacked Asgard?”

He seemed suddenly irritated by her questioning and gave her a curt nod.

“Interesting. You know, us lowly humans are also developing a non-reflective black coating quite similar to this.” She pointed at the box. “It’s called Vanta Black.”

Loki just rolled his eyes and opened the box, clearly not impressed with human innovations. Placed within the box were a hovering, glowing blue gem and another small box with swirling red light emanating from its centre. Reva sat riveted as she stared at them. They seemed to emit a low hum.

She briefly noted that the box had six slots, in six different shapes, with only two of them presently occupied. But her attention was once again ensnared by the blue stone. It was especially mesmerizing, drawing Reva in like a magnet.

Instinctively, she reached to touch it but Loki grabbed her hand immediately and pulled it away. Her questioning eyes met his and he shook his head.

“Do not touch either of them. One will possess you and the other will incinerate you.”

Alarmed, Reva lurched away from the box. “Should’ve told me that before opening the box like a Christmas present.”

Loki sighed and closed the box, waving his hand to make it vanish. Reva kept staring at the spot where the box had been, wondering what he had just shown her. Whatever those things were, they weren’t to be trifled with.

“They are two of the Infinity Stones. They were created from the singularities of the Universe before it took its current form. The stones possess immense power and hence, cannot be handled by just anyone. One has to be very careful when wielding their power.”

Reva was intrigued and wanted to know more. But she was also apprehensive, not knowing whether she should be getting herself involved this cosmic intrigue. Biting her lip in contemplation, she turned her gaze to Loki, who was looking at her expectantly.

“I kind of understand,” she said, trying her best not to sound dumb. “I suppose you meant that these stones were formed before the Big Bang?”

He nodded and sat back against the couch cushions languidly. “Yes, these strange Midgardian terms are infinitely amusing.”

Reva ignored his taunt and continued. “Okay, I get it. These are powerful things, not to be messed with, blah blah. But why and how are they in your possession?”

It was worrying that this kind of power was in the hands of someone like Loki. She shuddered to think what he might do with it.

“Well, the blue gem was previously housed inside the Tesseract, which I took in my possession the last time I was here. It can be used to open doorways through space, among other things. And—”

“Holy shit!” Her eyes widened in realization. “That was the thing you had used to call in your alien army!”

“Do not interrupt me,” he snapped, his eyes flashing in annoyance, making her recoil. “The other one, the Aether, was discovered due to the meddling ways of Thor’s precious lover, Jane Foster. It possessed her, and Thor had to resort to my help to save her life. I nearly died in the process, but in the end, it landed in my hands.”

A shadow passed over his sharp features, conveying a deep, unspeakable sadness. The easy going façade of the quintessential trickster dropped for a second there. Reva wondered what else happened in the struggle for the Aether that he wasn’t telling her.

He noticed her scrutiny, and that seemed to snap him out of his funk faster than she could blink.

“I know you want to know more,” he said with a pitiless sneer, “but I’m not here to regale you with tales of my valiant endeavours.”

Reva rubbed her eyes in frustration. Keeping up with him was exhausting. “Then please let me know the reason that brings you here, to my humble abode.”

A cold finger touched her bare arm, making her jump. Loki seemed to enjoy her reaction as he stroked the length of her arm with that offending finger. She wanted to shrink back, but there was no room left to do so.

“I need to retrieve my sceptre. It contains something precious that I want to add to my… collection in the box,” he stated, watching the rising goose bumps on her arm in the wake of his touch. “I believe it is in the custody of Anthony Stark, the man of iron, as he prefers to be called. You know him.”

She stiffened at the mention of Stark. “I’m not that close to him, if you’re thinking of using me to get that thing—the sceptre, whatever that is.”

His hand now reached up to pull gently at a few strands of her hair. He was driving her insane with these little touches here and there. The temptation to lean into him was getting stronger with each touch.

Instead, she resisted and turned, shying away from him. He, however, snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. The sudden proximity made her panic and she grabbed his arm reflexively. However, instead of trying to remove his arm, but her traitor hands settled in to trace the engravings on his vambrace.

“You are so soft and pliant, just like I remembered,” he hummed seductively, brushing her hair with his other hand. “And don’t worry, I have a plan for you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all,” she breathed, not sure how to react to his advances.

The feeling of being this close to Loki wasn’t at all unpleasant and therein lay her problem. It was like staring down a sheer drop from great height, feeling terrified but also exhilarated, the urge to jump as strong as the urge to retreat.

“Hmm Reva,” he continued, now nuzzling her hair, “what are your thoughts on the Midgardian courtship ritual called dating?”

“Dating?” Surprised, she whipped her head around to face him. Bad decision, as she found her face merely inches from his.

This close, she couldn’t help but admire his sparkling green eyes. They were gorgeous, with long, dark lashes lining them. She could get trapped in them if she let her guard drop. The trouble was, her guard was already slipping.

“Yes, we will go on a date.” His cool breath fanned across her face as he spoke, making her shiver. “And our destination shall be Stark Tower, attending one of his extravagant soirees.”

That threw her off and jolted her out of her Loki-induced reverie. “What?!”

“You heard me,” he replied, raising an eyebrow, still holding her close. “I believe the celebrations for one of Stark’s obscure achievements will be happening in the next week.”

That, right there, was the reason for his visit, the purpose Reva was going to serve. She wanted to slap herself now for not realizing it sooner. Loki had bigger plans. She was but a mere pawn in his elaborate chessboard setting.

“It’s next Saturday,” she huffed, turning her face away in annoyance. “Wait, how did you know?”

He handed her mobile to her then, as the obvious answer, not even trying to appear guilty. She gave him a look of pure indignation, wanting to deck him for going through her texts. Also, she was kind of impressed at his familiarity with human technology and gadgets.

“So, Saturday it is,” he said, ignoring her glare. “We’ll attend the event as a couple, we’ll socialize as per Midgardian customs, and then I will go in search for my sceptre when everyone is sufficiently inebriated to not care about my absence.”

Reva groaned in dismay upon hearing his plan. “I’m not fake dating you and becoming your accomplice in a crime.”

“I never said anything about it being fake,” he stressed, sliding his palm over her cheek. “And pray tell me how is it a crime to take that back which belonged to me in the first place?”

“Whatever, Loki, I don’t want you to start another war,” she confessed, squirming in his grasp, “and I don’t want to help you in that.”

“War might actually be the opposite of what I want now.” He pulled her closer, cradling her face fully in his hands now.

“What is it that you want then?” Her voice wavered as he drew closer still. Her gaze involuntarily dropped to his lips, wondering if they’d feel cold on hers.

“I want a lot of things, but right now, I want to kiss you,” he rasped, his voice sending tingles between her legs. “I have wanted to, ever since that night when we first met.”

“But I’m a lowly human,” she reasoned, wondering if he was toying with her. “Am I not beneath you?”

“You mortals have your merits,” he admitted with a wink, “and I’d very much like you beneath me, quite literally. But first, I’d like to explore this…” He traced her lips with his thumbs, making his intent clear.

She gulped and gave him a nod. Oh, she was so damned curious to see how his kiss might feel. Just one kiss—it couldn’t hurt. One kiss and she’d be done. It was for personal research purposes…

Reva’s eyes fluttered close as his lips brushed against hers, cold as his hands were. He seduced her mouth slowly, with a gentle suction. She had assumed that he’d be harsh and brutal, but he was surprisingly gentle and sensual.

His arms encircled her fully as he turned her whole body towards his. Reva broke the kiss with a gasp, needing a breath. He proceeded to kiss the side of her mouth and lick her lower lip.

She heard him hum something in an unfamiliar tongue as his lips brushed against her again and again.

A warm glow burst behind her eyelids and she gasped in surprise. He chose the moment to deepen the kiss. His tongue, cold and delicious, teased hers languidly, coaxing her with the promise of pleasure and fulfilment.

Reva was pretty sure her mind had melted away by the time he broke off the kiss. No, it couldn’t be called a kiss. It was a possession.

Loki looked back at her with a self-satisfied smirk as he licked his lips. “Mmm, that was a good beginning.”

“You can kiss,” she panted, eyeing his lips in awe. In the back of her mind, though, she wondered what all she was willing to put on stake for Loki’s kisses. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face the answer to that yet.

“I offer more than a mere kiss, little one,” he said, easing her back against the cushions. “I’d like to taste more of you… in time.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled, willing herself to resist his charms. “I still don’t want to help you.”

“Oh, but you will.”

“And then what?”

“You’ll see.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek, the gesture coaxing her eyes open. It almost felt affectionate, if not for his condescending tone.

“So once you get your toy, you’ll leave me alone then?”

He chuckled, and she wished the sound didn’t make her stomach flutter. “Once I get what I want, I very much like to keep it close to me.”

His cryptic words nearly gave her a headache. She deliberately ignored his last comment. “But everyone will recognize you at the party, especially Stark. Being my date won’t change your face.”

“No, they won’t recognize me,” he said, as his green-gold magic shimmered all over him, transforming him into a perfect duplicate of none other than Captain America.

“Holy shit!” She jumped in disbelief and nearly fell off the couch. “You can do that?”

He transformed back into himself and nodded. “I believe that should convince you.”

She was pretty sure she was gawking at him like a lunatic but she didn’t care. This little stunt of his reminded her of how little she knew of him.

“Is there any limit to your magical abilities?”

“A conversation for another day.” He got up from the couch and looked down at her regally. “I will come to fetch you on the eve of the party. Till then…” He seized her hand and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles. “…farewell, my lovely lady.”

Reva rubbed her knuckles unconsciously after he let go. His lips were so sinful, they were evil incarnate.

“Oh, and don’t bother trying to tell anyone about me or my plans,” he said with a knowing smirk. “Or mayhap, do try. You will soon realize it’s futile.”

And then he was gone, poofing away with that same green-gold shimmer of his magic.

His words registered a few beats later, and Reva felt a growing dread inside her. Grabbing her phone, she immediately started typing a text to see if she could write anything about Loki in it. Her fingers froze every damn time she tried to type anything relating to him or his name. She couldn’t even type mischief or space Viking.

She opened her mouth to call his name, and it would not come out. She could feel it on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t utter it.

“Such a dick move!” she grumbled in frustration, tossing her phone away. “I don’t understand how you can be so cruel and yet, so likeable at the same time!”

Reva hadn’t really thought about tattling against him or his plans. She knew better than to trick the ultimate trickster. And she valued her life. She wondered why he felt the need to bind her in this manner, if he wasn’t planning something sinister, like attacking the Earth or something equally bad.

And then came the penultimate question… Had Loki lied to her about his true plans? He was the lie-smith after all.

Reva shook her head, wanting to dispel her growing distrust in Loki. He had toyed with her before, what was to say that he wasn’t doing it again?

However, she could do little more than sulk in indignation. The trickster had tricked her into remaining silent.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Others #Imagine #Submitted fic #submission #latent-thoughts #fear and other related emotions #chapter 2 #interrogate #Reincarnation #Helicarrier #enclosure #scare #interesting #=interest

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ladlewritings · 4 years ago

Text

Pathfinder

I mentioned this story some while ago, it was unfinished at the time. Since then I completed the first draft, rewrote it, had a couple of other people read it, left it in a virtual draw somewhere at the back of my computer for about two years, then did a final copy edit and decided that now was as good a time as any to put it up for your reading gratification/disappointment.

Let me know what you think?

It had been three long years since the first astrophysicist’s alarm had sounded. In that time every resource available had been drawn upon to build mighty ships capable of carrying sufficient technical and scientific citizens, animals, plants and knowledge away from the Earth to seek somewhere to settle and terraform as a replacement home. Perhaps one which would be far enough from any asteroid belts to minimise the risk of a similarly catastrophic meteor strike to the one which currently threatened the end of existence on this planet.

Hank still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been selected as a “Chosen One”. A geologist by profession, his main interest was in palaeontology – Precambrian for preference. It was a bit of a niche field of study, and for some reason it had removed him from his comfortable laboratory and his sedimentary rocks and placed him here amongst the intelligentsia and those with recognised special technical abilities.

There were some up-sides, of course. For one thing when the town-sized meteorite Delendis actually struck destroying an estimated 95% of life on Earth, he would no longer be there to suffer the resulting climate swings, which were estimated to last 30,000 years, and the accompanying environmental upheaval. There was also the fact that he would be heading off into the infinite blackness of Space – it was what every child dreamed of and many adults aspired to, but he wasn’t so sure it was as exciting in actuality, when the crew was 2,000 strong and he personally wouldn’t have anything to do with pressing the buttons that changed course, accelerated or slowed down “Pathfinder”, as the craft had been unimaginatively designated following a six month long world-wide brainstorm.

Another advantage that he hadn’t originally foreseen was that the average age of people picked for the mission was 23. Hank was slap bang in the middle of this demographic and couldn’t help but notice that a good percentage of the other passengers were quite attractive. He wasn’t sure that anyone in the planning consortium had thought about this, the sexual tension that these circumstances were creating would be created under these circumstances; a couple of thousand frustrated scientists, engineers and, for the most part, geeks, who weren’t generally used to hanging out with the opposite gender, let alone being stuffed into a flying box with them – even if the box itself was about the size of a large tower block, albeit one designed by someone who had spent too much alone time in a darkened room without air conditioning.

Still, Hank had always been more comfortable around the fairer sex than a lot of his contemporaries and optimistically hoped this might give him a bit of an advantage when it came to finding something to do on those long, or in fact constant nights!

The overcrowded living conditions were also leading to tensions of other sorts. On more than one occasion Hank had entered a room to be greeted with angry silences from the engineers and aerospace technicians who were attempting to get the machine ship-shape, before the planned take off in less than six days’ time.

Just now though, this was none of his concern. Hunger had visited early tonight, so he headed to the eating quarters at around seven o’clock, instead of his habitual nine. He’d always tended towards a nocturnal lifestyle and the habit had persisted, even after leaving university.

What a difference a couple of hours made! There were people from wall to wall and conversations bounced off the ceiling, almost deafening in their intensity. Hank squeezed in at the food bar and grabbed some salad and something vaguely resembling meat, then looked around for a seat, which seemed to be in short supply. He had to jostle through the crowds of bespectacled people to wedge himself unceremoniously between a thin, drawn looking guy and a woman with a long scar across her cheek, both of whom appeared uncomfortable at his incursion.

He started eating, slowly becoming aware of the conversation taking place next to him. The scar-faced woman was trying to speak quietly to a muscular man across the table, but the volume of people and conversation made this difficult. What they were talking about sounded like it should have been more confidential. Apparently, ‘One of the rocketists,’ this being slang for the actual rocket scientists, ‘was telling the flight planner that he didn’t think the materials they were using were man enough to take the strain. He said that they were better before we went all biodegradable! Apparently a thousand years ago we’d have been using carbon fibre and metal, instead of all this Plastech and Polymet garbage. It wouldn’t be so bad if we hadn’t returned all the non-recyclables into the earth, let alone the fact that it seems to have upset the tectonic stability of the planet.’ cleverly managing to argue for and against environmental sustainability at the same time.

The talker’s confidante leaned back in his chair and placed his long, sturdy hands behind his shiny head. ‘Last I heard they were worried about the lateral stabilisers. My guess would be that we’ll get into space and start spinning like a Ferris wheel. On the bright side, at least we might improve the Grav-Lock mechanisms in the process and be able to stand up without floating away.’

Hank had heard many such conversations in the two weeks since his relocation to Pathfinder, most of them were one sided put-downs of another worker’s or divisions’ attempts to fix things and keep to schedule. But the volume of complaints had been steadily increasing over the last week and everyone was getting close to breaking point.

He finished his meal and left the table, shoving his tray through the hole beside the doorway which took the dirty dishes to who knew where, to be cleaned and redeployed. As he walked out of the room he almost bumped into Maggie. ‘Hi Hank.’ She had a way of talking which twanged at his baser instincts, but he didn’t know if it was the tone of voice or the fact she managed to make a flight-suit look like a fashionable ensemble for a night on the town. It certainly didn’t help him think.

‘Hey, Maggie. How’s it going? Have they fixed that air conditioner in your room yet?’ His eyes attempted to find somewhere innocent to rest his gaze but had to give up and settled on her face.

‘No luck! On the bright side, it makes bedtime interesting when you don’t know if you’ll need to wear a fur coat or a negligée until you step into your bedroom.’ She accompanied Hank as he walked down the corridor, ‘what’s happening in the world of prehistoric beasties?’

Hank vaguely studied the back of his hand as he thought about an answer, ‘To be honest, I think the only reason I’m on this trip is to pad the numbers and give the botanists someone to ridicule.’

Maggie put her hand on Hank’s shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine, ‘I can’t imagine anyone laughing at you. I tell you what, do you want to come back to my room for a drink?’

Hank was momentarily taken aback but managed to gather his senses and form a reasoned response, rather than blurting out “really?” Which was the first thing that came to mind. ‘Yeah, I don’t seem to have a lot on until we make planetfall, which should be in about fifteen thousand years’ time.’

Maggie led the way as Hank tailed her, wondering which of the 439 decks her quarters would be on and whether she would have time to realise her offer had been a mistake before they got there. But it was only a couple of levels up and, before he knew it, he was standing in a strangely perfumed room, while Maggie went to find “something more comfortable” to wear – which in Hank’s estimation was always a bit of a misnomer.

He visually investigated the room, although there was no reason for this as pretty much every berth on the ship was identical. His eyes soon alighted on the display stretched across part of the wall opposite the bed. The screens had their own power supply and turned on as soon as you entered the room, or at least they were meant to… more often than not though you came in to find it merrily announcing current mission stats and a likely launch date to no one at all, or it’d turn itself on at three o’clock in the morning just after you’d got to sleep because of some badly timed ventilation testing in the laboratory down the corridor.

There was currently a news story playing which showed the projected date – roughly three weeks away – for the impact of Delendis into Earth. Hank stalked over to the monitor and popped out the fuse holder at the bottom left corner, the screen showed an agonised pattern of random noise before it lost its picture and became just another section of the plain matt white wall.

The sound of the door to the bathroom sliding open reminded him where he was. ‘Sorry, I might have disabled your monitor.’ Hank turned around to see what Maggie’s idea of “something more comfortable” was. She appeared to have gone for the less is more approach, the diaphanous material hung in just the right way to make Hank’s major intellectual functions temporarily abandon him for a better viewpoint, he realised his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut, nearly severing his tongue in the process.

Maggie stood by the bed, ‘Are you planning on using that for something?’ She pointed towards his hand. Hank looked down, as if seeing the fuse and his hand for the first time. He reached back and placed it gently on the desk without removing his eyes from the sinuously seductive prospect in front of him.

Hank massaged his forehead to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating then walked towards Maggie while loosening his flight-suit. Probably not the attire he would have chosen for such circumstances, but with a choice limited to that or nothing, it was probably preferable.

The two stood in front of each other, Maggie patiently waiting, Hank struggling with the unforgiving fastenings that held the suit in place. When he had finally removed the top, he looked into her piercing and intelligent green eyes, which looked back at him with dividends. He glanced down, then up again and started to think of a polite way to suggest they might be more comfortable on the bed, ‘Well I don’t know about you but…’

Suddenly the lights went off, Maggie gasped, ‘Hey, how did you do that?’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Hank replied, ‘probably just another power cut.’ As he finished saying this a red light started flashing in the corner of the room. It was the sort of light that suggests to the observer that its presence is not a sign of forthcoming gaiety. ‘What on Earth is that for?’

Maggie motioned towards the small piece of electronics laying on the desk, ‘It might be a good idea to plug that back in.’ Hank almost managed to pull off a casual walk over to the screen, trying not to look as worried as he felt.

After a couple of abortive attempts, the fuse slid back into its housing and the screen crackled back into life, a calm voice droned out of it “… please prepare yourself. An error has occurred. Await further instructions.” The screen showed a live shot of the Pathfinder in its entirety, lit up from below, with the night sky framing the uneven crenelated upper surface of the ship.

Her smooth face creased, ‘How can we prepare ourselves if we don’t know what’s going on?’

Hank shrugged, then moved his head closer to the screen and squinted at the ultra-high definition picture, ‘Hey, come take a look,’ he continued to inspect the night sky as he felt Maggie’s body press into his back, this close contact should have set his teeth on edge, but his mind was too busy trying to make sense of what he was looking at, ‘Is that what I think it is?’

Maggie’s eyes flashed back and forth with the small moving objects on the screen, ‘Comets? Lots of comets! You don’t think that’s why the alarm’s going off, do you?’

Hank thoughtfully scratched his chin, ‘I’m not sure but I think it might be a good idea if we go to bed,’ Maggie gave him a look which suggested that wasn’t the suggestion she was expecting, ‘for our safety,’ he added, completely failing to sound as authoritative as he was aiming for.

Maggie’s frown turned into a grin, ‘I was at those safety briefings too. They mould to your body contours when the ship’s taking off.’ Her eyes widened when she realised what Hank was suggesting.

The screen blustered back into life, flashing red and white out of time with the light in the corner of the room. “Attention. The estimated time for the impact of Delendis has been adjusted. Impact will take place at twenty-one hundred hours tonight.”

Hank and Maggie both glanced at the clock next to the screen. It read 20:23. Hank looked at Maggie with his lip curling in consternation, he was about to tell her he would go back to his room and leave her to prepare when the voice inexorably continued. “Please find your nearest launch berth and assume positions for take-off immediately. This is not a drill. Launch sequence will commence in T-minus two minutes.”

Maggie launched herself towards the bed and flicked the launch mode switch, Hank looked uncertain as to what he should do until she said, ‘What are you waiting for, get on.’ He assumed the correct position, on his side as the plaque above the bed instructed, trying to lay facing her, in as professional a manner as he could while she was wearing something which left so little to the imagination. Why he thought this necessary, when five minutes before he had been assuredly stripping off in front of her, was not something he cared to think about as he settled back feeling the odd clamminess of the biomech mattress subside wherever his skin pressed into it.

Maggie moved her head into a more comfortable position, which meant they couldn’t help but stare into each other’s eyes, ‘I didn’t even think the ship was ready yet.’

Hank reached out for her hand and squeezed it in as reassuring a manner as he could muster, in lieu of actually finding something to say which might make her feel better. The screen on the wall showed decreasing numbers, while the computer-generated voice droned through a 120 second countdown, which seemed to take forever. Eventually the last five digits elapsed then, nothing happened. Hank glanced awkwardly towards the screen, which showed 00:00. ‘Looks like you could be right…’

An ear-splitting creak thundered through the ship, followed by the sound a planet sized central heating system would make getting ready for winter. Finally, a noise like a concert hall full of radios picking up the static from the start of the Universe signalled the first Grav-Lock Impulsion engine firing, it was shortly followed by many more. The initial feeling of heaviness passed through Hank’s body and he wondered if it would get worse, just as the ship juddered off the ground with a crunch and pushed him against the padded mattress so hard that he couldn’t even turn to look towards the window.

Maggie’s hand pressed down on his, but he didn’t know if this was voluntary or because of the acceleration, he hoped it was the former. The speed of the ship seemed to constrict Hank’s lungs, it was almost unbearable and lasted, as close as he could estimate, for at least as long as the countdown to take-off had. Although there was no reduction in the ongoing acceleration of the ship there was suddenly a lurch which left Hank and Maggie floating five centimetres above the bed. Maggie huskily reminded him, ‘Don’t move yet,’ as another static crackle and an almost gentle descent back to the welcoming surface indicated that the internal Grav-Lock systems were now on-line.

‘Come on, I have to see’ she said, as she sprung off the bed towards the small semi-spherical window. She looked out, her jaw dropping at the sight of the Earth dropping vertiginously away behind them.

Hank squeezed his way in next to her and saw the inspiring sight of the planet – on which every single thing in recorded history had ever happened – drifting serenely into the starry night sky. Not far away from the big blue/green ball of everything they had ever known, a city sized rock outlined by red fire was drawing towards the planet, leaving a stream of particulate residue in its wake and preceded by many smaller meteors and meteoroids which were clustering round the larger carbonaceous motherlode.

‘Well, that’s it then. We’re off.’ The situation was affecting Hank in psychological crevices he didn’t even know he possessed, ‘No more sunny days and walks in the park, no more birds singing in the trees, no more waterfalls, no more lazy days hammering at rocks in the middle of nowhere. I’ll miss it.’

Maggie looked askance at him, ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. Get a grip on yourself, this is exciting!’

Hank shook his head and dragged himself out of the introspection. ‘The worst thing is that it’s the big ones that go first,’ Maggie gave him a quizzical glance, ‘in mass extinctions, which is what this is likely to be. It’s the megafauna and flora that go first. The Permian-Triassic extinction took out 90% of all life on Earth. Funnily enough we’re probably about the biggest thing that might survive through the radiation, re-entry firestorms, dust and debris fallout, earthquakes, hurricanes, acid rains… You get the idea!’

‘So, wouldn’t be much fun then. Makes you glad to be the most intelligent creature on the planet, or off it, in fact.’ She turned and kissed him. ‘Well, we seem to have a little free time, shall we find something useful to do with ourselves while everyone else is still panicking?’ She moved back to the bed and slid on seductively, patting the empty spot next to her, ‘Come on, before it gets cold.’

Hank stared at the retreating planet for a while longer, before turning and taking in the full glory of Maggie’s curvaceous body. ‘Ah, why not?’ He pounced across the space and landed next to her, ‘I guess we have a duty to propagate the species. After all, apart from the livestock and specimens down on the zoological decks, we Troodons are going to be the only dinosaurs that live on after Delendis wipes out all life as we know it.’

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#Fiction #Dan Ladle #Hank #Maggie #Pathfinder #Sci-Fi #Science Fiction #Space #Writing

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