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labrxnth · 1 year

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Prison Break- Part 2 (Leon Kennedy x Reader series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

CW: Death Island spoilers (obviously), suicidal thoughts/tendencies

WC: 1858

Summary: You and your field partner Leon continue your search for Doctor Antonio Taylor on Alcatraz

A/N: Sorry This was late, I had a busy schedule and major writer’s block

The first thing you noticed about the harbor is that it smelled like salt. Saltiness and almost a tackiness filled the air as you looked out of the rolled down window. Your hand traced circles on the car seat absentmindedly as you watched the boats and people the car was speeding past.

“What’re you thinking?” Leon asked, his hand drifting dangerously close to yours. When he got to an inch away, he stopped, his hand giving a deadly space between the two. If you were paying full attention, it would’ve made you upset, but for some reason this mission really wasn’t sitting right with you.

Call it survivor’s gut or intuition, but this mission was sitting funky in your stomach.

You took a deep breath and turned your head to face your partner. “I don’t like this… Maria being involved with Taylor means that someone like Arias wants a robotics engineer,” You answered and shifted a bit in your seat.

“I don’t like it either,” Leon replied. The two of you were always good at having each other’s back and making the other one feel validated. That was your whole friendship, being the person that each other needed.

You were the person Leon needed after, well, everything he had gone through. Raccoon City, Project Javier, Los Illuminados and Simmons were hard for him to shoulder alone. His life felt like a dark and foggy hallway, a trail of blood and cynicism following him. But in the midst of everything, you were a light. You were with him through everything for the past few years, carrying a candle filled with your aura that scared off the darkness and the fog in his hallway.

You were the one person who hadn’t run away or died, and he’d like to keep it that way.

He was the one person he hadn’t run away or died, and you would like to keep it that way.

Leon S. Kennedy was an enigma to you when you first started working for the D.S.O. under recommendation from Hunnigan. Through the past few years of working together, the two of you started out as drinking buddies then quickly became actual friends. It was over for you when you looked into his eyes and saw who he truly was for the first time. The mission in New York, the summit, the look on Leon’s face were all seared into your mind. His blue eyes tossing your heart just like a human thrown overboard into a vast ocean.

But you were convinced the look he gave you that night was just for your façade; the role the two of you played. If you never spoke life into your feelings, he never had to reject you.

“You’re doing it again,” Leon’s voice cut through your memories; bringing you back to the streets of San Francisco and dragging you away from the dinner party in New York.

“Huh?” You asked, blinking a few times, trying to adjust to the setting Sun in your eyes.

“Getting lost in that big head of yours,” He replied and chuckled lightly. “You do that more lately…. Ever since that mission in NYC.” His eyes looked at you, almost as if searching for an answer for an unasked question.

“I’ve just been thinking about things,” You said, trying to pass it off as nothing.

“Thinking about…..?” Leon asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Life stuff… like if fighting half dead people and gross science experiments is gonna be the rest of my life,” you said, making an excuse. You didn’t like to lie to Leon, but this one thing you made an exception for. And it was true, sometimes you did think about how your life has taken a turn after college.

Leon hummed in response, looking out his own window. The autumnal setting sun reflected in his eyes and hair, making his irises shine like diamonds and his hair shining a dirty blonde in the rays. When the sun hit him, it was a reminder of who he was, the dirty blonde hair and full blue eyes that he had that night in Raccoon City. He thought that Rookie Cop died that day, but maybe all he needed was a constant sun in his life; someone who brought his hope back.

“Don’t start thinking about that stuff, it’ll drag you down,” he warned. “Trust me.” His voice had an edge to it that you had only heard a few times before. The edge that reflected a tinge of sadness, but resilience.

The car stopped at the dock, you and Leon getting out of the Uber and taking in your surroundings. To the public, the only way to get to Alcatraz was a ferry tour, but luckily the two of you could call in a few favors and pull a few strings.

“Follow me, the boat should be at the Marina.” Leon said. He walked in front of you, making his way towards the docks. With no other option, you walked with him, trying not to look at how his blue shirt hugged his biceps a little too well.

The two of you quickly made your way towards a boat with a big branded D.S.O. logo on it.

“Couldn’t have been more covert?” You asked flatly.

“Gotta warn them before we blow their shit up,” Leon said, half joking. He got in the boat, slinging his duffle bag off his shoulder and putting it on a seat. You climbed on after him and looked around the small speed boat.

“You sure this thing has ballistics?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s American, it can blow something up as long as you try hard enough,” He replied with his shit-eating grin. You chuckled in reply and got into the seat next to him, giving him the chance to drive for once. Leon noticed you not fighting for the wheel and he took the opportunity to start the boat and pull out of the Marina.

“So, (Y/n),” He said, putting the boat in drive and starting to steer to Alcatraz. “I’ve been thinking…” He added.

“That’s never a good thing,” You said snarkily and chuckled a bit.

“Very funny,” Leon said and rolled his eyes.

“But for real, what’s up?” You asked and looked at him. He was really focusing on what to say with how much his eyebrows were knitted and the lines next to his eyes were visible.

“It’s bad timing… we can talk about it later,” he said and looked at you, smiling.

You shrugged, thinking nothing of it. The sun setting over the bay was beautiful, it being the only thing that could peel your attention away from Leon. Your eyes tracked the sun, squinting slightly at how bright it was, but smiling at how the waves reflected the red and orange haze it was.

You went to say something to Leon and saw the same look in his face that you’d only seen once before. Amidst fancy clothes, cocktails, and fake friendships, was Leon’s face having the same look as he did now.

It was gone when he realized your eyes had met his. In a blink of an eye, he was back to his normal, scanning the area with a neutral facial expression.

Leon parked the boat at the back of the island and the two of you put on your combat gear: vests, harnesses, etc. once you two were ready to go, you were getting out of the boat and heading towards a tunnel opening.

“Munitions tunnel, should get us in,” You said and nodded towards it. Leon nodded in response and followed you into the tunnel. Eventually, the tunnel opened up to sewers, you two finally being able to fully stand up.

You turned to Leon to say something when you heard a loud BANG! The two of you locked eyes and your handguns were both drawn, aimed towards the other end of the sewers where the explosion came from.

After walking forwards a bit, the sewer split two ways, one to your left and one ahead. The sewers were set up on a block system, like a city.

“I’ll go forward, you go left,” Leon said and turned his ear com on. You nodded, copying his movements and doing the same.

The two of you gave each other a nod and separated hesitantly. Whenever the two of you separated, things never went well. Understandably, it was a necessity, but it still never went well.

You turned your flashlight on and walked to the left, then down the hallway. The light illuminated the tunnel and the sinking feeling you had gotten earlier hadn’t gone away. With Leon gone, it got more prominent.

Your boots hit the cobblestone, echoing with each footstep. Looking around, you were finding absolutely nothing. Out of the corner of your eye, the flash light reflected off of something metallic. You turned towards where the shimmer had come from and found an indented doorknob.

Silently, your hand opened the door and you slipped through it, closing it just as quietly as you opened it. Overhead lights turned on and revealed you to be in a hallway. Holding your gun up, supported by your flash light, you kept on forward.

The door at the other end of the hallway was open, revealing a more open hallway. As you walked, a small electronic buzz hit your ears as you saw one of the security cameras move.

“(Y/n), (L/n) how interesting,” A voice over the PA system said. You swiveled around, your gun up, staying silent.

A sharp pain hit the back of your neck and your hand shot to where the pain was coming from, feeling nothing unusual. Your eyelids fluttered shut as the world went dark and your knees buckled, sending your body falling towards the floor.

“At least you’ll bring me Leon Kennedy.” The voice added.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Leon marched on forward, trying to keep his head in the mission. Usually, he was good at compartmentalizing and having a one track mind for the mission. That was, until you became his partner; even now, he was worried about how you were faring.

He knew you could handle yourself, but still he worried about you. He didn’t want you getting hurt, or worse, like everyone else in his life.

Leon heard the sound of boots hitting the cobblestone path in front of him and held his gun up, ready to shoot. He rounded the corner and the barrel of his gun got grabbed, sending him into a sprawl. Him and the other person he was fighting with were both trying not to wind up in the sewer water, dangerously close to their feet.

After a few seconds of exchanges, Leon recognized the familiar brown color of hair he was fighting. His eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he took in the bigger picture, seeing an all too familiar face. The two of them backed off of each other and took the other in.

“Well, if it isn’t Jill Valentine.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Catch it early on my A03!

#resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction

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slyvester101 · 1 month

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Cough Power rangers au where the reds and blues are rangers and the freelancers work for the big evil bad guy, The Director (who also doubles as the rich snob who’s messing with their favorite hang out spot).

The freelancers were originally humans, but the Director turned them bad via hawkmoth shenanigans and now they’re his generals of evil. This means that in addition to the classic power ranger villain forms, they all also have a civilian human form they can shift into and basically act like asshole versions of themselves while under the Director’s control.

This is worrying to Tucker specifically because he and Wash were friends in pining before the Director got a hold of him and now Wash is being a huge jerk. It’s actually part of the reason Tucker accepted being a ranger; their guide (maybe Epsilon who ended up taking on Church’s form since he thought it’d make everyone more comfortable) explained how The Director nabbed a bunch of people and made them evil and while he doesn’t list any names, Tucker knows that Wash is one of the victims.

So now, Tucker is tasked with saving the world from total destruction while also trying to save his best friend/crush who is actively trying to kill him all while missing him horribly and aching for the day where he can actually go and hang out with Wash again.

(Caboose, Church, Simmons, Grif, and Donut are his ranger buddies but I’ll make another post about them)

(Sarge and Lopez are those side characters ranger shows often have, think Bulk and Skull but with more explosions)

COUGH

#rvb #red vs blue #lavernius tucker #rvb tucker #agent washington #rvb wash #tuckington #blue team #red team #au #power rangers au #uuhh i have a lot for this au in my head apparently #should not be a surprise since this is a long time hyperfixation of mine #but here we are

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hyperionhugo · 11 days

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A Hugo/Noa Simmons drabble I wrote during a writing sprint!

Based on this post by @buttercup-art :

This wasn't working. What happened to liquid courage?

Hugo tilted his head back, resting it against the back of the couch. He stared at the ceiling, or perhaps through it, past it, beyond it.

After a moment, the melting ice in his scotch glass shifted, clinking softly. He exhaled and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

He picked up the ECHO. The screen illuminated obediently, and he squinted slightly in the blue light.

He saw her name in his contacts. His thumb hovered over the selection.

He tapped.

His thumb hovered over the confirmation. And hovered.

Another moment passed.

"Dammit," he muttered, under his breath. He sat the device back down on the coffee table.

He reached for his glass and was irrationally annoyed that there was no more scotch in it.

"Dammit," he said aloud, almost emphatically. He rose to his feet and lumbered to the liquor cabinet, taking the bottle back to the coffee table. Who was he trying to impress, anyway?

He fell heavily back onto the couch, poured himself some more, and didn't even bother to drink it.

He picked up the ECHO again.

The confirmation prompt had timed out. He stared at her name in his contacts again.

He tapped. And hovered. And hovered.

"Fuck."

Was he overthinking it? No, he decided. He didn't overthink. He was thinking what was most likely a perfectly normal and appropriate amount.

The ECHO timed out again, this time in his hand.

He huffed and tossed the device on the couch beside him. He sat back with a wordless grumble, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He was sure she had seen him looking at her. He was also sure she had wanted him to look. There was no reason for her to wear a skirt like that, to wear a pistol strapped to her thigh, to cross her legs like that when he had a perfect view of the gun. The timing was too perfect.

So why couldn't he open the comms?

She could carry any gun she wanted, as openly as she wanted. But that, that had to be a statement, right? A message.

He picked up the device one more time and tapped her name with renewed resolve.

His thumb rose to just as confidently tap the confirmation --

And it wouldn't come down.

He caught himself before the device could time out in his hand again, and he canceled out of the prompt himself.

With a sigh he turned and laid down completely, across the length of the couch. The ECHO clunked softly to the floor beside him.

Hugo stared at the ceiling again with a sigh.

No more of that tonight. He was done.

He reached up to his collar, where his tie would normally be, and absently stroked a fingertip over the base of his neck. A lot like the way she had done it when she adjusted his tie.

It didn't feel the same when he did it.

It was the last thought he had before he fell asleep.

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

Noa Simmons sat in her bed, propped comfortably against the headboard with a couple of pillows. Her laptop tray lay across her lap and her nails tapped lightly on the keys.

She was almost done with this particular project, more or less. Not that it was especially urgent. She simply wouldn't sleep until she had finished this train of thought. A bit of fatigue couldn't penetrate her focus.

At the edge of her screen, a user's status was updating in her contact list.

Vasquez, Hugo:

Online. Active. Offline.

Noa's fingers hovered over the keyboard, her eyes drawn to the oscillating status.

Online. Active. Online. Offline.

But there was no more activity.

"Hm."

A moment passed.

She continued typing.

#golden shot #noa simmons #oc by buttercup-art #drabble #hugo vasquez/noa simmons #[ it was nice to shake the dust off and write for fun! ]

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donut-entendre · 2 years

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ultimate character exercise whatever is to put two of them in a waffle house at 3 am. why are they there and what are they talking about. I am very confident in this exercise. sorry if you aren't american you won't understand the waffle house at 3 am grind. this is cheating because I came up with this using the blues but literally in two seconds of thinking about it I was like oh my god tex smokes in a waffle house and her and kai make out in a truck afterwards. I had a second thought about sarge taking caboose and I really think you can't go wrong with it

tucker caboose wafflehouse 3 am. Tucker wakes caboose up maybe better but caboose wakes uo tucker is first instinct. Caboose drives and also eats waffles in quarters. Canned mushrooms & orange juice. Could also work as church and caboose or grif and simmons but tucker and caboose feels right? Goes to waffle house at 3 am. Caboose puts syrup on everything. Tucker has to sit funny so caboose doesnt kick him under the table. Tucker actually uses the jukebox? Why is my brain so attached to waffle house at 3 am talks. Is waffle house even popular in the north US. Has tucker ever even been to a waffle house before. Has caboose? You can buy bags of grits that sit on shelves like bricks and i know they sit like that because if you sit at the right booth you'll be right next to them. have either of them ever even had grits. Caboose gets the lone star or whatever its called and eats a monstrosity waffle that has blueberries and chocolate chips and he puts his hashbrowns on it (the hashbrowns have onion and mushroom and cheese and-) and he puts syrup and hot sauce on it and eats it because he is a horrible horrible creature. Tucker steals his burnt bacon (caboose would not have eaten it anyway.) Tucker hates coffee but he finds himself ordering it anyway and it's cheap and burnt and gross but all that just makes it all the stronger of a reminder of the lack of someone there, and he drinks the whole cup and gets some to go so wash can't complain about sleep schedules and why was he even up that late and- ALL STAR MEAL. 7$ for so much food. Caboose would love it. Customizable Mental image of tucker (shortass) smushed against the window or on the edge of the booth chair to avoid caboose legs. Booth too small for cabeese sized legs. Caboose is comedically large appearing in the booth with tucker in front of him Again. It is 3 am. The waffle house is empty except for them and the three employees on night shift. Caboose puts salt in his orange juice and tucker isn't brave enough to try it. Caboose loudly announces he'd like them to be billed together when asked. It is 3 am. Maybe it's raining outside. Maybe not.

i would not write this because it really needs to be tucker and caboose to me for some reason but if church was there with caboose instead he would order food and coffee and only drink the coffee but not on purpose it's just like. I imagine food would not be appealing all that much if you did not actually need to eat it. caboose would want it and church would bitch about it but ultimately surrender the waffles that he has taken a grand 1 bite of. caboose would want to use the jukebox and church would whine about how disgusting restaurant jukeboxes are and GOD they're so expensive dude come on but caboose is already picking songs so why the hell not and he gets caboose to pick a few he likes. what would really happen is church would get woken up at 3 am by caboose asking to go to waffle house and church would be like. no. and roll back over. then caboose picks him up and puts him in the car anyway because that's funny. unwilling participant in dark breakfast. church is the tiredest grumpiest little man in the world in this waffle house at 3 am he could be sleeping right now man (some amount of real annoyance but also it's not that bad. he's a robot it's not like he NEEDS to sleep. look me in the eyes and tell me he would not on some level enjoy getting dragged away to drink coffee and talk) church thinks there's fuckin ghosts there it's FREAKY why did caboose even want to go so bad. and caboose is just like. i wanted waffles

#im obsessed with 3 am waffle house experiences and im not sorry actually you should go there. at three am. 2 am even #nonsense thoughts #rvb

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otter-chaos-violence · 5 months

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Meeting

Whoo first chapter! meet my little beans as they meet each other.

Contains= Gun mention, usage of said gun, violence, attempted kidnapping, restraints, gag, swearing, minors using vapes

Tatiana

--- I felt a little empty. Like always.

Staring at the board, I waited for class to start, barely able to ignore the noise.

I heard the teacher yell for silence and stiffened, breathing in. My heart pounded in my chest and I had to resist the urge to run out of the room.

I gripped the edge of my desk, and my music blasted in my ear, and I practiced the breathing exercises my therapist taught me.

I somehow heard footsteps in my left ear and looked out the corner of my eye to see a ginger with blue streaks in her hair. She was tall, her shoulders broad, and she looked like a confused puppy. And I found her beautiful.

She wore sleek black headphones, a black leather jacket, and black leggings, and her gray bag had a keychain of a white, plastic balloon animal, as well as a blue wolf with wings. Her eyes were a strange mix of green, blue, and gray, with one much lighter than the other, and a few fiery golden flecks were visible.

I wished I were prettier in that moment, so I’d even stand a chance with her. I had blue beads braided into my hair, but that was only temporary. My olive skin was patchy and had darker discoloration, I was short, and my face had a beauty mark on my left cheek.

She looked at the teacher, who finally noticed her and told her to sit down next to me. I felt my skin burn and let her.

“Alright, class. First product of the quarter, we’ll be doing partner work. Pair up with your seat partners, and if you have any grievances, talk to me,”

She looked at me and whispered, “So, we’re doing this together?”

I nodded, and Mr. Simmons explained the instructions. We’d be researching what an assigned country did during World War one throughout the whole quarter, and I pulled out my mom’s old work computer when we were assigned Brazil. The other girl pulled out a nearly shattered HP computer, and Mr. Simmons took attendance.

Her name was Chamomile, and corrected him in a whispery, yet strong voice, “I prefer Cami,”

“Apologies, Cami. Also, please take off your headphones,”

Just as he had when he told me to take out my earbuds.

Cami pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her bag and said, “It’s in my accommodations list,”

She handed him the paper, then took it back when he read what he needed to.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “However, I’m sure you don’t need it,”

He took her headphones, as he had with my earbuds, and set them on his desk next to my things.

“You can collect them at the end of class,”

She tensed, and when people started working and we’d been assigned Brazil, she covered her ears and didn’t talk for the rest of class, only writing what she wanted to say down on a whiteboard she pulled out of her bag.

“Hey, are you alright?” I asked multiple times. Each time, Cami shrugged and wrote, ‘Could be worse.’

Eventually, the bell rang and she went and got her headphones as I got my ear buds, and she left.

I walked to my next class, where I saw my friend Ashley. I hugged her, and her feline pupils dilated to saucers. It’d been a week since we last saw each other, as she’d gotten covid, and while her voice still sounded scratchy, she wasn’t sick anymore.

As a kenomi, the last remaining kind of shifter, other than the dragon-folk, who refused most contact with society in favor of the non-shifting dragons, she was a tiny bit cat. She had cat ears, a tail, the amber eyes of a cat, while most didn’t have cat eyes, and all of them, but those afflicted by an illness that shifters could get, could shift at will. Those with the illness would randomly shift, and on full moons, they’d be too dangerous to be around. Most died after their first shift.

Ashley, thankfully, wasn’t one of them.

We walked into our class and the teacher told us we could sit where we wanted. We sat next to each other, and a girl with light brown hair and blue eyes that came in almost late, sat on my right.

We had a getting to know you activity for class, in which our teacher asked for us to answer questions on a survey, then write a short paragraph on our summers.

When the bell rang an hour and a half later, Ashley and I went to chemistry next, and Luna came by and hugged us both. Many people called her Moon, including us, not because of her name, but because her blond hair looked like the moon.

She was coming from AP biology and going to math class, as it turned out, meaning we had the same lunch, last lunch.

Ashley and I were not table partners, I had someone I knew from the psych ward, and their name was Bramble. Bramble was another kenomi, they had light brown ears and a light brown tail with a white tip, as compared to Ashley’s charcoal gray ears and black tail.

They hugged me and said, “Long time, no see!”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No, I’ve been out for the past- well, since you last left, actually,”

Three months.

“That is a shockingly long time for your parents,”

“Yeah- they tried, but I kinda ran away for two days, and they took the hint,”

Their voice broke into a song-like tone as they spoke those words, until they got to, ‘They took the hint’. There, it changed to a normal tone.

We’d exchanged numbers at one point, but we didn’t really use them considering Bramble’s parents put them back in the psych ward every few weeks when Bramble did anything vaguely ‘depressed’. Normally complaints about life in general. Bramble may have been actually depressed, but their treatments were working on them. Not like my treatment.

We weren’t doing much, the teacher just wanted to see what we already knew and getting to know us.

When the bell dismissed us for lunch, I introduced Bramble and Ashley, and they started talking to each other and exchanged information pretty early on.

They twined tails and we set our things at an empty table that seated eight, then saw Moon and waved her over.

Moon left her other friends and sat down next to me.

I saw Cami, and she sat at our table, the only empty spots. She didn’t interact with us, just stayed silent.

Moon tried to interact by saying, “Do you want to tell us your name or…?”

Cami looked up and mumbled, “Um- no- sorry,”

“So, what are your interests?”

“Medieval history,”

“Anything else?”

“Um- wars. Especially the goofy ones. The lobster war, Emu war, Soccer war, things like that,”

“Never heard of any of those,”

She immediately went into a tangent on the Lobster War, “fought” between Brazil and France.

I added that much of my dead family was actually living in Brazil at the time of the war and we still had one of their lobster costumes.

Cami looked like she’d just had the best pie in the world as her first pie.

“Can I see it?” she asked.

I texted my mom for a picture of the costume, and said, “By the way, my family couldn’t really afford to do the schools for dance, so it's very…” I paused, searching for the right word, “...strange,”

It was dulled, moth eaten red fabric with a rusted, ruined wire frame to keep it up. Strange was an understatement, but it was all they could afford. I was glad my family was better off now.

My mom sent me the photo and I showed it to her, and even though it was essentially over glorified garbage, she looked even more ecstatic than before, practically jumping up and down in her seat.

She then showed me a picture of a helmet and said, “This is a brodie helmet, I found it buried in a trench when my mom took me to visit her hometown in France,”

“You stole the lobsters?” I jokingly said.

“What- no my mom isn’t a fisher- she was nob- she’s a doctor,”

“It’s just a joke, sorry I confused you,”

Her eyes brightened and she looked a bit nervous as she stuttered out, “Oh- um, okay,”

“From now on, you can ask me if I’m making a joke, okay?”

She nodded and said, “Thank you. I just realized- I don’t know your name,”

“Maria Tatiana, everyone calls me either Tatiana or Tati,”

“Oh, cool,”

Cami took out a book called A History of France and started reading.

The bell rang and Cami stood, as did I.

We went to the same class, me, Cami, and Moon. The door was locked, and there wasn’t a teacher, so we waited, and Cami and I somehow veered the conversation to the dynamics of a steam engine, then to crocheting in about two minutes.

The teacher arrived and opened the door, and directed us to our seats. He prefaced that he’d heard about Moon and I’s friendship and had us separated, then told us to take our earbuds and headphones out. He was much more understanding to Cami and I than Mr. Simmons when we told him we had the accommodations and let us keep them with the preface any music played had to be low.

I sat in my chair, and Cami was sat next to me, and other students slowly trickled in. I recognized a few, one of Moon’s friends, a girl named Marina, and her twin brother with the scars on his face I could never remember the name of. He sat next to us, and Cami stiffened and made an almost dog-like whine.

He sneered at her and snapped, “Not so wolf-hearted now, are you?”

“Leave me alone,” she squeaked. “It’s been five years, please,”

“Well, wolf-heart,” he said. He leaned in close and whispered something, and she abruptly stood and walked over to the teacher, tears glistening in her eyes, before a light blue paper was handed to her and she left.

“What did you say to her?” I accused. He didn’t answer.

The teacher moved him to a solo desk next to him and started talking, introducing himself, then having the small class of about fifteen people say their names and one fun fact.

Mine was that I was bilingual, while everyone else’s was something goofy like the time that one kid broke his arm when he was two.

Then came Marina’s twin, Hunter, and his fact was that he was attacked by a wolf five years ago, giving him the scars on his face.

Cami re-entered eventually, and said, “Guidance wants to talk to you, Hunter,” before sitting down next to me.

“Okay, so, would you like to stand up and introduce yourself?”

Cami shook her head with her eyes wide.

“At least your name?”

“Chamomile, but most people call me Cami,”

“Thank you, Cami,”

She breathed out a sigh of relief, and her shoulders relaxed.

When class was over, Hunter still hadn’t returned, so we left and I didn’t think much on their interaction.

Cami

----

I left the audition, left the school, and got in my cousin’s car. She’d lied to me my whole life about her name, at least until about three years ago.

Lyorna’s girlfriend was in the car with her, meaning I had to call her by her given name, and Lyorna immediately started teasing me.

“So, how was your first day of school?” she said in a very joking tone. Some people I could read more than others. Lyorna was like a book at this point, Tatiana, though I liked her, was like a stone wall I had my eye pressed up to. I couldn’t yet tell if she wanted to be my friend or was just a sweet person.

Lizzie smiled at me, looked over at Lyorna and mouthed with a sleepy grin, “We finish later,”

“Finish what?” I asked. Lizzie’s lipstick was smeared, I realized. “Oh… never mind,”

“Good, unless you want all the smutty, smutty details,”

I turned up my music as Lyorna started talking.

Lizzie pulled out a vape, and used it. It was sticky sweet- too sweet.

I covered my nose and said nasally, “Please stop, it smells awful,”

“Oh. Sorry, Cami,”

She opened the windows and let the smoke air out as Lyorna started driving. I’d never understood why anyone liked vapes if they smelled like the embodiment of a sugar buzz, but that somehow worked for some people.

I looked out the window and eventually, Lyorna dropped me off, and I started up the long, windy gravel path to my house. My mother was an immortal being, and had bought this land roughly two hundred years ago when she’d moved out west. She had spent twenty years on the house and path. Twenty, long years. In those years, a friend of hers named Mary Magdalena Jones had died, and her husband at the time, a dragon-shifter named Balan, or Prayer, had been paralyzed waist-down by a tree collapsing on him in a storm. In the end, she had a house roughly five thousand square feet and eight bedrooms and she was pretty well off at the time for compensation of helping the union army with weapon supplies. The mansion had since been fixed up more and more until it resembled a big brick house, the only things that remained suggesting its ancientness being the cornerstone that said, ‘Est MDCCCXCVII,’ or for simpletons, 1897, and the inner walls being wooden slats.

Good ol home. I unlocked the door and set my bag inside, and my brother, Corey, ran up to me and gave me a tight hug.

He had no control over his shift, as he’d never been interested, and as such, he went to a private school that was all shifters. The same one I went to until I got expelled after I broke an asshole’s jaw after she called me the r-word and gave me a bloody nose. I still had to deal with her in my pack, and she still hated me.

I retreated to my room and stayed seated. Olivia texted me, and I went out to meet her.

She looked like what most people thought a dragon shifter looked like when in her hybrid form. Olive skin, big dark eyes, ears like an avali’s but scaly. She had white and gold scales in striped patterns, and serrated dragon-like claws at the end of her fingers if she wanted them out. Keyword ‘like’. Dragons’ claws typically weren’t serrated and therefore weren’t war crimes, they were more like a bayonet, triple edged. Just no gun underneath. But as we weren’t sure what she shifted into, she called herself a dragon shifter for simplicity's sake.

We walked along the path from my house to the hiking trail, and we walked along for a while. Eventually, Lyorna came by, and we talked and joked for a while, when Olivia squealed and said something amazing.

“Viper finally said I’m ready to be a healer!”

She was jumping up and down and her magic glow shooting everywhere.

“Funny, considering you still faint at the sight of blood,” I joked.

“We were twelve-!”

“I wasn’t,” Lyorna laughed, cutting her off.

Olivia stuck her tongue out at Lyorna and I heard a gunshot.

We instinctively hid under bushes, and in the earth; in Olivia’s case, and I felt someone grab me by the back of the neck and hold a gun to my throat.

I twisted before they could shoot, and flipped them over, then felt the bullet hit me in the foot. I shrieked, and Lyorna knocked out the other person, emerging from behind him and punching him in the back of the skull.

She lifted me and kissed my forehead, then called for Olivia.

Olivia emerged from the earth, the spaces between her scales caked with earth and grass. She shook her scales loose of dirt and put her glowing hand on my ankle and healed the foot over the course of an hour.

“Thank you,” I croaked.

I tried to stand and fell, and Lyorna giggled, “Oh, do you want mommy to come and kiss your little boo-boo-”

I stopped her and said, “Don’t finish that fucking sentence or I’ll take that gun down there and shoot,”

“Sorry,” she said, “Too far?”

“Too far,” I confirmed.

She carried me as a bundle in her red-mud wings for a while until I could stand again, and we walked for a while longer, when Lyorna’s ears twitched, and she pulled all of us off the path.

A blond girl I recognized as Tatiana’s friend jogged by, eyes filled with tears, an adult’s handprint on her cheek, and a small, half-filipino girl that looked about eight but talked like a ten year-old that followed after.

The little girl went ahead and Moon stopped, bending over and stretching.

The girl turned, and walked back to Moon, then Moon lifted her up, when came a gunshot, and Moon ducked to the floor, the little one almost completely hidden.

Someone walked by us, and I ducked further into the bush and closed my eyes.

“Where is Chamomile Malkom?” Hunter hissed.

“Hunter- What are you doing?” Moon whispered. I heard her backing away from the crunch on the gravel path.

“Luna, don’t play dumb. Where is she?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!” she screamed.

I heard rapid footsteps, and dared to open my eyes. From what I could see, Hunter had wrapped a pistol around Moon’s throat, and her face was turning red from lack of oxygen. The child was trying to pull Hunter away.

I decided to act at that moment.

I howled, and he let Moon go, who rubbed her throat and sank to her knees, tears falling even harder.

I crawled out in my wolf form and nudged her with my snout.

“Cami, what are you doing?” Olivia hissed in the dialect of the shifter tongue we spoke.

“Relax,” I said.

I nudged her again, and she took the hint and started running, when Hunter ran out of the bushes and laughed.

He shot me in the side, and I roared. Moon returned to me and I accidentally bit her. She collapsed, and Lyorna ran out of the bushes, grabbed her and the little girl, and flew upwards to get them to safety.

Hunter didn’t chase them.

“I’ve been waiting years for this,” he snarled.

I started laughing. “With your patience? You insist on using the scholar’s mate opening so the match is over quicker,”

He turned red and shoved his pistol into my mouth. With difficulty, as I was over a foot taller than him. And most people.

“Shut up,” he snarled.

I nodded.

He chained my wrists behind me, and I heard Olivia following us.

I didn’t really try to fight back, I have to admit. I was only playing a game with him.

He eventually settled for weakly punching me in the jaw, and I faked a blackout. He dragged me along for a bit, and I had to resist the urge to laugh at him.

---

Eventually, he stopped after dragging me down a flight of stairs and called, “I found a were-bitch!”

At that moment, I decided to open my eyes, and as the Critura of my pack, I was able to turn people into shifters if they made direct eye contact with me when I had my eyes glow gold.

One of them seized up, and they immediately blindfolded me and gagged me. I heard one of them approach me and kick me in the gut as I tried to spit out my gag.

I doubled over, and roared loud enough to make at least one person’s ears bleed.

Someone tilted my chin upward, probably to make me meet their eyes, and I spat in their face, then threw out one leg, swept the other person and pulled apart the silver cuffs with brute force.

I pulled off my blindfold and immediately ran away, ignoring the pain in my side.

Three chased after me. My history teacher, Hunter, and my guidance counselor. Mr. Simmons had a rifle that he periodically tried to shoot me with, Hunter had his pistol, and my guidance counselor had a dagger that she didn’t throw.

I eventually threw them off, and the adrenaline caught up with me.

I was aware when my cheek hit the ground and less so when Olivia and Lyorna lifted me.

#tw gun mention #tw attempted kidnapping #tw attempted murder #school writing thing #tw blood #tw violence #tw restraints #tw gag #tw knife #tw swearing #werewolf fic #tw vape #tw vape mention

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winksasleeplesseye · 1 year

Text

obscura (one)

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

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

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

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

London

October 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clearer than clear, love.”

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

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

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

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

“I thi-“

“That was rhetorical.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m good for it, love.”

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

“Is that sarcasm?”

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

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

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

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

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

…a lab? Down here?

Well, at least the intel was correct.

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

“Does this shit ever get less complicated?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pockets it and keeps moving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No need to be touchy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, what are they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regardless, both bled the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No fucking way.

Talk about a ghost story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could say the same to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hours later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just get on with it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luis…

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that even a question?”

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

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

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

“Do you really want to-”

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not here for me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything went black.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #Leon kennedy x oc #oc amara moore #leon kennedy x black oc #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #leon scott kennedy #re4 remake #resident evil #black oc #mixed race oc #mixed oc #original black character #luis serra #luis serra navarro #aod fic #ashley graham #Leon kennedy x mixed race oc

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eclecticmuses · 1 year

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Wedding Crasher

Author: @eclecticmuses, @mrsleopoldfitz Rating: Explicit Chapters: 7/31 Relationships/Characters: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Will Daniels, Bobbi Morse, Lance Hunter Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Light Angst, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, This Plot Gets Derailed By Smut, Background Huntingbird Summary: Jemma Simmons has her life turned upside-down when, on the day of her wedding, her best friend confesses his love for her. Making a rash decision to run away with him, can she put her life back in order? Can they put their lives back in order, and get past the pain they’ve caused to find happiness in their own right?

Excerpt from Chapter 7:

When Jemma opened her eyes again, the room was nearly dark. Blinking and looking toward the window, she found the sky shot through with the inky purples and blues of twilight. She could hear the TV droning quietly in the other room; she guessed Fitz must have left it on when he came to check on her. He was still next to her—he’d fallen asleep, too. She tilted her face up slightly to look at him. They’d shifted in their sleep, Fitz onto his back and Jemma curled up against his side, her head pillowed on his chest. Her arm was slung across him and his was loosely curled around her shoulders and it felt… right.

She snuggled a little closer to him. His chest was rising and falling evenly with every breath and it was soothing. There was a peacefulness in being with him in the near-dark of the room that she didn’t want to break. So she didn’t move too much, or poke him to wake him up. She just moved her hand to his chest and breathed Fitz in, content to soak in this new facet of their relationship.

Read the rest on AO3!

#Agents of SHIELD #Fitzsimmons #Leo Fitz #Jemma Simmons #eclecticfic #mrsleopoldfitz #fs wedding crasher au #happy Monday!

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cityof2morrow · 7 months

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OFB Props: Billboards 002

Published: 2-26-2024 | Updated: 6-21-2024 (no more blue flashing) SUMMARY “OFBProps is a series of posters, tags, area signs, and much more – all designed to help you better organize your commercial lots. The series is especially for those who play integrated economy themed saves with multiple farming and/or crafting mods. Sale! Sale! Sale!” Billboards 002 includes ten long horizontal billboards. The glass and metal are recolorable (1 recolor included) and all items are double-sided, hood visible, and low poly.

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. §100 | Buy > Lighting > Wall Lighting Images are reposited to Long Billboard 001 (1024x256 image) and frames are linked to Horizontal Billboard 001 from the Billboard 001 set (Simmons, 2023) – these are REQUIRED for textures to display in-game. The largest billboards only shift downward. Recolors should be available on this site under the #ts2recolors and #co2recolors tags. ITEMS Long Horizontal Billboards 001-010 (92 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) BILLBOARDS 002 from SFS | from MEGA *included in the same collection file includes with Billboards 001

CREDITS Thanks: TS2 folks all around. Repository Wizard (WHoward aka @picknmixsims, 20024). Sources: Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik), SimCity (iphone) (EA/Maxis, 2008), SimCity BuildIt (EA/Maxis, ), The Urbz (Xbox) (EA/Maxis, Griptonite Games, Glu Mobile, 2004).

#ts2downloads #ts2cc #sims2cc #ofbprops

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justabookworm39 · 1 year

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(and in the end) I’d do it all again

@whumpay Day 5: Passing Out From Pain

Red vs. Blue (mix of Red Team and Blue Team, but Tucker is the subject of the prompt)

Warnings: Canon-typical swearing, combat injuries, irresponsible use of a Covenant energy sword

Notes: Based on ‘I think you’re my best friend,’ a ‘fic I wrote for the RvB Angst Wars back in 2017!

I had offered at the time to write a happy-ending version if people were interested, and while nobody ever took me up on the offer I STILL get comments/tags/etc. with folks crying over the original ‘fic so this felt warranted.

Also it was the first time I ever cried while writing something and it felt wrong to not give credit where it was due so-

Just like the original, title is from ‘The Kids Aren’t Alright’ by Fall Out Boy.

---

They saw it at the same time. A hint of glowing blue peeking out from behind a nearby boulder.

Grif felt his hands clench on the steering wheel, and he almost felt Simmons holding his breath in the seat next to him. “Is…” Simmons muttered, horror quickly rising in his voice. “That’s gotta be–”

“Fuck.” Grif slammed his foot on the gas, not caring as he was slammed against the wheel. “Simmons, get the radio going.”

“But we don’t know–”

“Now!” Grif hated the way his own voice cracked with panic, but one glance in Simmons’ direction confirmed that he understood.

The jeep had barely stopped when Grif jumped from the driver’s seat, while Simmons powered on the radio behind him. There was a faint stench that Grif couldn’t describe, and the grass was stained with something dark and wet. He could guess what the stain was, even with the shadows cast by the boulder. His steps slowed, and he gritted his teeth as he walked to the other side.

Tucker’s armor was splattered with blood, a fine hairline crack spreading like a spider web from his side. His helmet lolled to the side, his body barely propped up against the stone. The handle of the keysword was sitting on limp fingers, still powered on.

A set of footsteps hurried up behind Grif, before retreating with a hissed expletive. Grif dropped to his knees with a grunt, wrestling Tucker’s helmet off. That somehow made it worse–seeing his ashy complexion, the way his sweat-drenched braids stuck to his head.

“Yeah, we found Tucker! He’s… he’s really fucked up though, I-I don’t–”

“He’s breathing.” But somehow–some-fucking-how, because of course the son of a bitch wasn’t going to just die–Grif found a pulse.

“Holy shit–” Simmons was cut off by a frantic mess of garbled yelling, which Grif didn’t bother trying to decode. Instead his focus shifted to the trail of blood leading up to Tucker.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. The trail led to–or from, really–a ravine several dozen yards back. Grif looked around, confirming to himself that no space pirates were nearby, and yelled, “Caboose! You there, man?”

There was a moment of silence, before a distant and tired voice called back, “Hello?”

Grif couldn’t help but laugh with pure relief.

“Holy fuck!” Simmons almost ran into Grif, grabbing his teammate's arm at the last second to catch himself. "Caboose, are you alright?!"

"Uh... not really!"

“Ooh my god, I’ve never been so happy to hear his voice,” Grif said. Clapping Simmons on the shoulder, he added, “Go check on him, I’ll get Tucker in the backseat.”

Simmons nodded, and Grif turned back to Tucker’s unconscious body. His arms already hurt thinking about it–Tucker may be short, but he was five-foot-five of pure muscle. Still, they didn’t have time to wait for a real medical team to get out there. So Grif took a deep breath, rolled his shoulder, and knelt on the blood-stained grass again.

“Okay, Caboose has a broken leg, but he seems to be in alright shape aside–”

Grif glanced over his shoulder, catching as Simmons froze in place. “What?” he grumbled. “Now’s really not the time to critique my form.”

“His side–”

“Yeah, he’s bleeding, I know–”

“No, he isn’t! That’s the thing!” Simmons ran up next to Grif, frantically waving a hand at Tucker's body. Grif still didn’t understand, not until he got Tucker balanced over his shoulder and wrapped one arm around Tucker’s waist.

Then he felt it. The lack of an open wound. The feeling of burned skin.

“Holy shit.”

The two turned, staring down at the keysword sitting in a puddle of blood. After a moment of hesitation, Simmons silently picked it up, while Grif finished hauling Tucker to the Warthog.

Tucker… wasn’t dead.

He really wished that wasn’t a surprise to him.

He groaned as he opened his eyes, trying to roll away from the blinding medbay lights. He didn’t make it very far, stopped both by the pain in his side and the weight of the bandages. With a huff, he settled on his back again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Well, look who’s finally awake?”

One eye opened halfway, and before Dr. Grey could say anything else, he interrupted. “Where’s Caboose?”

Oh, he's fine! Getting his fractured leg evaluated, but we should be able to piece him back together." Dr. Grey's typical cheery voice had the slightest edge of manic frustration to it, and Tucker didn't dare ignore it. "It’s been a bit slow given how much time we had to spend, oh, cutting out the bullet you sealed in your own body.”

“Shit... shit, that worked?!” Tucker almost sat up, but the flash of pain stopped him about two inches into that idea.

“Well, you stopped the bleeding. Or… half the bleeding, really. You only sealed about half the wound before you lost consciousness due to a combination of blood loss and a fucking energy sword.”

“Oh.” Despite everything, Tucker felt a bite of shame. All that, and he didn’t even make it far enough to get help himself. Not that it mattered, really, but…

You’re lucky they found you. Lucky Caboose was able to lift you out of there. Lucky that your bright idea didn’t get one or both of you killed.

He might’ve been able to make it without sealing the wound. He hadn’t wanted to take the chance. But if nobody had found him in the field, well… He’d be dead right now. Caboose might well have followed suit.

Fuck, there were so many different ways that could’ve gone wrong…

“Now, I think I’ll tell them you’re unconscious but stable, alright?”

“Huh?” Tucker shook his head, trying to set aside his spiraling thoughts. “Tell who? I mean I’m fine, I can–”

“Really now.” Doctor Grey tilted her head. “You think you’ve got the energy for a short-tempered smart A.I. and an ex-war criminal? Because I can assure you they’ll be the first two in here.”

Shit.

With a sigh, Tucker settled back onto the pillow. “Yeah, uh… tell Church and Wash that I’m still out, could ya? I think I need the sleep anyway.”

#whumpay2023 #my writing #red vs blue #rvb #lavernius tucker #dexter grif #richard simmons #michael j caboose #blue team brot3 #indirectly but still #also I haven't used that tag in. FAR too long

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