#like Fran was straight up beating the shit out of locks to try and get Maya out 😭

[paeinovis]

I feel like people who think franmaya is just sticking two characters together haven't played the second game 😭

[velasnyx]

Emaziska 007 AU Sequel: Vindicta Chapter 8

I had her pushed up against the wall. Her hands ran through my hair as we were kissing. I wasn't like I usually was. I was a passionate lover. Even with women I barely knew. This time I had all these other emotions and I'm letting them out through sex. I was angry, frustrated and heartbroken. I'm too scared to express these feelings to Ema but I can't deny what I feel in my heart. As much as I want to, I just can't. I thought she felt the same. We were connecting. How could she say what she said? No us. There's no fucking us. Absolutely ridiculous.

I was putting my shoes back on. She sat behind me, sliding my shirt off my shoulder and kissing my neck and shoulder. “Something on you mind?” she asked. “On my mind?”. I acted confused to avoid talking about it. “I know when someone expresses negative feelings through sex,” Ms. Hawthorne said. I didn't say anything. “Is it the that woman with you? The one with tits out look”. “No… No, she's not important enough for that”. “Hm. I suppose it's important to refrain from making attachments in MI6,” Ms. Hawthorne said. Shit. Shit! She fucking knew. “Are you going to try and kill me, Ms. Hawthorne?”. She laughed. “No. That would be quite a waste”. “You said you stay with him because he cares for you. If he cares for you then why would he get you involved in something so dangerous?” I asked. She frowned and sighed. “I can help you,” I said. She looked at me. “No. You can't. He has Doug wrapped around his finger. We can't escape him. Even if we did, he'd find us and kill us,” she said. “I can kill him”. She laughed. “You can't kill what you can't see. He's a ghost. Nobody knows who he is,” Ms. Hawthorne responded. I was silent. She had a point. I have no idea who's behind this. I can't sit around and let her pay the consequences for her husband's actions but I can't fail the mission either.

“Should you really be drinking?” Gavin asked. “Excuse me?”. “Well, due to your condition, shouldn't you abstain from the alcohol?”. I shot him a mean glare. “Due to your condition, shouldn't you piss off?” I sneered. He frowned. “And what is my condition, 007?”. “Being a fucking nuisance,” I shot back. “I'm not sure I appreciate your hostility”. This fucking tosser. “Well, I didn't appreciate you getting into my personal matters. Mind your own damn business instead of sticking your nose in mine,” I sneered. “I want a mission complete just as much as you do but the only way we can do this is if you stay in line. You need a clear mind for this”. “Why the fuck are you still talking to me?”. He frowned and walked away with a scoff.

We were in the last round before the next break. I had a nine and eight of diamonds. I could get a straight flush. I raised $500. One by one, the other's folded. Except Swallow. He looked me in the eyes. “Raise”. “Raise $400,” the dealer said. I stared right back at him and raised another five hundred. “All in”. He better have a good hand if he's taking this risk. I looked at Ms. Hawthorne. She looked worried. I felt a bit guilty but I can't fail this mission. “All in,” I said. That's 5.3 billion in the pot. If he has a better hand then MI6 would be funding a terrorist organization.

“She better have a good fucking hand,” Kristoph said. “She does. She wouldn't go all in if she wasn't confident. 007 knows what's at stake,” I said. I said that but I had to admit I was a bit nervous myself. If she loses that money, a terrorist would gain billions of dollars. The next attack would be our fault. “Straight. Eight of clubs and nine of hearts,” the dealer said. Shit. Please, have a good hand, Fran. “Straight flush. Eight and nine of diamonds. Ms. von Karma wins again. Mr. Swallow is out of the game”. She did it! My God, she won. She took him out if the game.

She walked over to us. “Nice job, kid,” Zak said. “I'm impressed,” I said, smiling. “Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you,” she said in a disinterested tone. My smiled faded. “I'll buy you a drink to celebrate,” Zak said. They walked to the bar. “I believe what you said to her before didn't bode well with her. Better for you, 008. Someone like her doesn't settle for one. She would have just hurt you in the end,” Kristoph said. I'm not afraid of getting hurt. He doesn't know her like I do. But I know what I said wasn't a mistake. It's better like this. People like me, we can't have anything holding us back.

I drank half the bottle when I noticed him looking at me from across the room. He thinks he can scare me off with a stare down. He got up and walked over to me. “Ms. von Karma”. I didn't break eye contact. “Mr. Swallow”. “I didn't expect you to be so skilled at poker. I underestimated you”. “Well, you know what they say. Expect the unexpected,” I said with a smile. “ I hope you live by those words. Otherwise, you could pay the ultimate consequences. Much like myself”. He paused and took a sip of his drink. “But mine weren't as fatal,” he said with a devious grin. My smile quickly faded. Something was wrong. I started feeling ill. The beer! He must've put something in the beer! He held up his glass. “To the big win,” he said. I tried to keep calm. I lifted my bottle. “To the big win,” I said, my voice a bit shaky. He walked away. I hurried to the bathroom, grabbing a glass and salt shaker on the way.

I filled the glass with water and dumped the salt in. The effects were already kicking in. I felt extremely lightheaded and weak, like I was ready to pass out. I downed the salt water quickly. I threw up into the sink immediately. The room was scorching hot. Honestly, it was probably just me because I've been fucking poisoned. I undid the bowtie and first couples buttons of my shirt and splashed my face with water. I looked at my watch. It had only been a couple minutes since I threw up. Nothing's changed. My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour and I could barely breathe. I have to get to the car. There has to be something in there that can stop this.

I saw Franziska leaving. I checked my watch. The game won't be over until another hour. Where could she be going? I got up to follow her. “Where are you going?” Kristoph asked. “von Karma just left early. I want to see if everything's alright”. “She probably got herself drunk. Seems like something she'd do, considering her history with alcohol,” he said. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Kristoph”. I headed toward the exit but was stopped by security. “Ms. Skye?”. “Yes?”. I don't have time for this. “We need you to come with us,” one of the guards said. Jesus Christ, bother me later. “Can I just get something from my car real quick. It'll only take a second”. “I'm sorry but it’s urgent. I insist you come with us immediately”. I groaned. “Alright. Make it quick,” I said. I followed them. Suddenly I was pushed into the stairwell. I tried to leave but they closed and locked the door. An arm grabbed me from behind, putting me in a choke hold. I tried to push them back into the wall but that did not loosen their grip. I frantically looked around as I attempted to free myself. I noticed a window across from us. I writhed around, getting into a position where I could ram him into the window. I'm almost out of air, gotta do this quick. I ran backwards, causing him to crash into the glass. His grip on me loosened and I elbowed him. He kicked me and grabbed a piece of glass, bringing it down on me. I grabbed his arms, stopping the glass inches from my chest. I kicked him in the balls. He howled in pain and fell to the side. I took this opportunity to take the glass and stab him in the chest. The security guards from before came back. One had brass knuckles and the other had a pocket knife. Two on one, let's tango. They charged at me and I threw my jacket at them. When the guard removed the jacket from their face I threw a punch. He stumbled back and the guard with the knife swung the blade. I jumped back but the knife grazed across my abdomen. Damn, I really liked this shirt. He kept coming at me with it but only managed to cut me on my arm. I dodge rolled toward my jacket. He went for a stabbed and i wrapped my jacket around his arm, stopping the blade. As i pulled him down, I kneed him in the face. He fell to the floor and curled up in the fetal position. The other one managed to get the drop on me. His fist collided with the side of my face, causing me to stumbled back. He then kicked my stomach and I flew back, my back hitting the concrete stairs. I groaned in pain. The guard was coming in for another hit but I climbed up the stairs before he could land the hit. When I got off the steps, I got into a defensive stance. We watched each other carefully and exchanged blows. He didn't seem to notice i was going up the stairs. We reached the third floor and I landed a blow to his liver. This immediately left him vulnerable and unable to defend himself. I grabbed him and threw him over the railing. He fell down and hit the floor with a loud thud. I leaned back against the wall to catch my breath. I felt the pain ruah in. He got a few good punches in. Definitely got a couple cracked ribs from that. I collected myself and headed back downstairs. Just then, guard with the knife came around and swung at me. I just barely dodged it. He came at me again and again. I kept dodging, waiting for an opening. I was ready to strike but he kicked me. I fell down the stairs and hit the wall. He charged at me but I dodged onto the floor. I kicked his knee in and got him in a choke hold. He scrambled to get out of my grip. With a swift move, I snapped his neck. His body went limp and I dropped him. “Zak, I was attacked. There's three bodies in the stairway. I'll hide them under the staircase,” I told Zak via comms. “Leave the bodies to me. 007's been poisoned,” he replied. “What?!”. I tried to exit through the door. It's still fucking locked! Fucking. Stupid. Fire. Exit. Shit. I hurried onto the second floor to exit through there.

I stumbled over the car. “von Karma, can you hear me? I need you to listen to me very carefully. You're going into cardiac arrest so you need to do exactly what I tell you or you'll die,” an agent said. “We wouldn't want that would we,” I joked. Cardiac arrest definitely seems like the reason for the sorry state I'm in. I can barely breathe, my hearts is practically beating right out of my chest, Im drenched in sweat, and probably the most defining aspect: I feel like I'm going to die. “Take the defibrillator and attach the leeds to your chest”. I unbuttoned my shirt and attached the leeds. “Now turn it on and wait for it to charge the shock. While you do that, take the combipen and inject midneck, into the vein. That will detox you”. I did that while waiting for the defibrillator to charge. “Now press the red button”. I pressed the button. Nothing. “Press the button, von Karma. You're heart's going to stop”. I kept pressing it, each time becoming more frantic. Oh God, why isn't it fucking working? Then I noticed. The leed was plugged in. I grabbed the wire and tried to plug it in. I was having so much fucking trouble. I couldn't plug it in. I could barely keep my eyes open. I felt weak. I was barely clinging to life. Everything went black.

[blackbeltkitten2ficsnships-blog]

Bad, bad Alphonse Capone (Chapter 7)

Sainte-Hélène.

Fandom/Movie/Series/Ect: Night At The Museum

Setting: Larry is still the night guard, several exhibits from the Smithsonian are at the Museum of Natural History

Pairing(s): Eventual Capoleon, Jedtavius, Teddy/Sacagawea

Characters: Al Capone, Napoleon Bonaparte, Ivan the Terrible (Awesome), Larry Daley, Teddy Roosevelt, Sacagawea, Jedediah Smith, Octavius, Ahkmenrah, Shaka Zulu, several Zulu tribe members, Dr. Richard McPhee, several Mobsters, Antonio Villalobos, Mariana Villalobos, Ramón Espina, Doctor Jess McClain, Docteur Alain Chaput, Claude Travere

Genre/Warnings: Some slightly graphic violence, Foul language, Angst, Fic inspired by a song, I’ll come up with more tags later

Notes: I listened to the song “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” by Jim Croce about a thousand times and decided I just HAD to make a fic.  The reason Al and the boys get made into color (as a plot point) is so everyone can see what happens to Al.

If anyone is OOC or this reads like a Dick & Jane, this is my second posted fic and I haven’t done much writing in the NATM field. (Disclaimer: I don’t own the song, nor the characters.) (If anything suddenly changes, I had to fix a mistake I missed.)

ANGST ALERT ANGST ALERT, SOB TIME.

Word count: 1,460

Summary: Al and the boys practically beg (Though they won’t stoop so far as to say they were actually begging.) for him and his gang to be colored up like everyone else.  Finally one day they get a paint-job, despite McPhee’s ever-present paranoia; Capone and the gang being popular in grey-scale.  Several weeks after they finally get what they want, Al gets in a fight, and doesn’t come out of it well.  Luckily for him Napoleon is compassionate enough to put up with Al’s grating personality to help him.

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Al and Claude enter the lobby.  Two groups huddle on either side of the room, and British soldiers stand in the middle, creating a wall.  Larry stands at the information desk, eyeing the two groups.  You could cut the tension with a knife.

Al sighs and rubs his eyes.

“Alright Stache’, come on.”

Al practically drags Claude over to the information desk.

“Slim, what happened?”

Larry picks at the corner of his book, staring at the French soldiers, who don’t look happy to be in the same room as two groups they think of as enemies.

“I heard yelling and ran back here to find them mid-brawl.  Your guess is as good as mine as to why they were fighting.”

“Damn idiots, always raring to fight...  Claude, you talk to your men, I’ll talk to mine, and we’ll compare stories.”

Claude marches over to his men, and presumably orders them to relax and stand up straight.  They still give the British and Al’s men dirty looks, though.

Al is pretty sure Frankie would go off and Ralph would babble, so he’ll start with someone else.

“Hey Tony, come here a minute.”

Tony stares at the French soldiers as he walks over.

“Tony, what the Hell happened here?”

“Well...  Umh...”

“Tony, whatever it is, you gotta tell me.  We don’t need some kind of all out war with the French guys, alright.”

Tony grimaces and picks at his shirtsleeve.

“Ah, I wasn’t paying attention to everything...  Talk to Frankie, maybe.”

Al rolls his eyes.  He doesn’t know how Tony manages to be both secretive and gabby at the same time.

“Go sit down, send Johnny back.”

Tony slinks away like some kind of gumshoe and Johnny walks up.  Al gives him a questioning look.

“All I know is a fight started and I joined in.”

Al digs his nails into his palm.

“Fine, sit down and tell Ralph to get over here.”

Ralph, per usual, immediately starts shooting his mouth off.

“Listen boss, it wasn’t my idea, someone else started it!  I didn’t mean anything I said, it was the heat of the moment!  It’s not my fault Frankie decided to poke the Frenchies about Napoleon-”

“Ralph, Ralph!  Shut up, relax!”

Ralph clenches his hands and stand up straighter.

“Sorry boss...”

“It’s alright, Ralph, now what happened- Put it simply.”

“Uh...  So we were sitting around in the lobby, talking and laughing, the normal.  Then the French soldiers walk in, staring at us, sneering, babbling in French, ya know...”

Al motions for him to carry on.

“Frankie made some comment about Napoleon, I wasn’t listening so I didn’t catch it.  Whatever it was it pissed the French off.  Next thing I know we’re beating each other...”

“Frankie started it, great...  Go send him over.”

Ralph draws his shoulders up under the gaze of the French, and points Frankie over to Al.

Frankie marches up, head high, hands in his pockets.  The poster boy for defiance.  Al almost wants to slap that smirk off his face.

“It wasn’t my fault, they started it.”

“Ya sure about that?  Ralph says otherwise, Frankie.”

“You know Ralph, can’t tell a cow from a cat.”

“Hey now, Frank, Ralph might be a little scatterbrained, but he knows what he saw.  Now, what did you tell the French?”

Frankie leans his head back and crosses his arms.

“Why do ya care, Snorky?  You’ve hated the French since the Smithsonian.”

“Maybe I’m changing my mind about em’.  Spill!”

“Maybe I don’t want to spill, see ya later, Al.”

Frankie turns and walks a few steps away.

“Oh by the way Frank,-”  Frankie turns to looks at Al.  “-don’t call me Snorky.”

Frankie’s face drops but he doesn’t say anything, he just walks away with his head down.

Claude sneaks up beside Al, and makes him jump a little.

“Well, what did you get out of em’, Claude?”

“They won’t tell me what was said, only that your men started it.”

“Mine won’t spill anything either, but I have a feeling this is all wrapped around Napoleon.”

Speaking of Napoleon, he walks through the door.  Al jogs over and grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the room towards the night guard office.

“Wha-  Capone!”

Al doesn’t release Napoleon’s arm until the office door is closed and locked.

“What was happening out there, Capone?  Why did Frank look so upset?”

“Well...  It was a fight.”

Napoleon’s face wrinkles up more than Al has ever seen.  It was cute, if Al admitted it to himself.

“Fight?  Who started it?  Why did it happen?”

Al lays his hand on Napoleon’s shoulder, to get him to shut up.

"Ni- Uh, Napoleon, let’s not talk about it.”

Napoleon’s face smooths out, his eyes wide.

“Alphonse...  When do you ever call me ‘Napoleon’?  To my face?”

Al feels his face heat up and by the slight crinkle in the corners on Napoleon’s eyes, he’s turning red too.  Damn himself, and Napoleon too.

“Shut up.  Just shut up.”

There it is, that infinitely glowy smile, all tooth and joy.  Damn if he isn’t turning redder.

“I might, for a price...”

“Do I want to ask?”

Napoleon’s done it, he’s struck the nail on the head, finished him off, with that stupid, stupidly cute little giggle; the Goddamn one where his cheeks nearly force his eyes closed, and you can see him bite the tip of his tongue.

If Al had any less self-control, he’d cave right here.  Say “Whatever you want, I’d do anything.  Anything.”  A faint thought of him pinning Napoleon to the wall crosses his mind.

Luckily he yanks himself together in time to hear whatever Napoleon has in mind.

“Walk with me, let me tell you about the art from my time.”

Al stands there like a dope, glancing around the room, seeing if he has any fanatical excuse to say no.  He wasn’t going to say no anyway, but it made him feel better about himself.

“Fine.  But no three hour spiel on one painting alone.”

“You have a deal, Alphonse.”

It wasn’t nearly as boring as he thought it might be.  Napoleon told stories of kings and queens, myths of dragons and the French Revolution. Al doesn’t think about the quiet steps behind him.  He know who it is, and he plans to make him leave them alone for a few minutes.

Al muses about what his life would’ve been like during Napoleon’s time between paintings.  Mid-thought about what kind of clothing he’d have to wear, he runs into Napoleon’s back.

The painting they’re looking at now is of a familiar figure standing on a hill, facing the ocean, framed by blue sky.  Al would’ve said it was “Poetic” or some shit if it hadn’t been for Napoleon’s shoulders shaking a little in front of him.

Napoleon’s inhale was shakier than his shoulders.

“Me on Sainte-Hélène, by Fran Josef Sandmann in 1820, roughly one year before...”

Al lays his hand on Napoleon’s shoulder squeezing gently.

Napoleon swallows thickly, trying to steady himself.

“Roughly one year before I died...”

Napoleon shifts to move on to the next painting, when he notices just which one it is, the one of himself on his deathbed.  He jerks and bends over, choking on a sob.

Al just barely manages to keep him from falling over.  He pulls Napoleon around the corner, where he couldn’t see the painting.

Napoleon practically sits in Al’s lap when they get to a bench.

Napoleon looks Al in the eyes, his face red and scrunched up, tears running down his face.  His Adam’s apple bobs several times and he chews his lip, like he’s trying to think of something to say.

All Napoleon manages is a depressing moan before he buries his head in the gap between Al’s neck and shoulders.  Al takes both his and Napoleon’s hats off, intending to run his fingers through Napoleon’s hair, but he’s got a fabric cap covering his hair.

Absently Al wonders why he’s wearing a cap under his hat.  Maybe it’s to keep his hat from getting sweaty.

Napoleon squeaks out this pathetic little sob and Al forgets about the cap, and squeezes Napoleon tight, rubbing his back.

There’ll probably be wrinkles in the back of his jacket, the way Napoleon’s hands are clenching the fabric, but Napoleon is more important than something that can be steamed.

Frankie leans around the corner.  Al regrettably locks eyes with him.

Al can’t read Frankie’s expression, he almost looks sick, but he also looks a little depressed.

Napoleon lurches, slamming Al back into the wall.

“Sorry, I’m sorry...”

Al pats his back.

“It’s okay, Napoleon.”

Napoleon practically wails at that, and Al squeezes him tighter.

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