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charcoalgrayswriting · 3 months

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Just Hold Me Part 1

Let Us Just Pretend

Bell/Adler if you squint

Words: 2603

Summary: After the events of Solovetsky, Bell has been overworking themselves, much to Adler's displeasure.

Jolting from their sleep-deprived daze, they blink blearily down at the papers in front of them. They knew the second they ceased to be useful, they would get a bullet to the head. It was this fact that pushed them to work tirelessly, hands cramping as they wrote, attempting to decipher Russian codes. They had to be good enough. Their life depended on it.

A steaming cup of tea was placed in front of them, and they glanced up at Adler, emotionless behind his signature shades. He was probably just waiting for an excuse to kill them, to tie up his last loose end in his hunt for Perseus.

They grunted in thanks, pulled out of their focus, only just now realizing how thirsty they were. The cups' warmth seeped into their hands, cold and slow to react because the safehouse had sub-par heating that was rarely enough to warm the building to a livable temperature. Truly, the CIA spared no expense.

Letting the steam warm their face they savored the soft herbal smell and the feeling of the warmth against their cheeks before downing the drink in a few gulps, eyes watering as it burned their mouth and down their throat. They could track the path it took through their body, feeling the heat spreading slowly through them. It was nice. Like a hug.

When was the last time they had been hugged?

Turning back to their work, again they buried themselves in the codes and ciphers, mind frantically searching for clues and connections. Adler hovered behind them, and they pretended not to feel his gaze on their back like a brand, silently and irrevocably marking them as his.

A few minutes after they had consumed the tea, they really began to feel tired, slumping forward before jolting back up, the letters and numbers on the page doubling and blurring as their eyes unfocused. Pinching the skin of their wrist between their fingers, they attempted to focus on their work again.

“Bell,” Adler’s voice rumbled from behind them, and they flinched.

Bloodshot unfocused eyes turned to look at him, swaying as they craned their neck to face him, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the safehouse.

He was much closer than they thought he was, only a few inches away from them, a hand on the back of their chair.

Blinking up at him, they huffed, “Yeah?” eyes threatening to close, despite not wanting them to. They still had work to do.

“You should get some rest, you haven’t slept more than three hours since we got back from Solovetsky.” he was right, they had returned from the islands over a week ago, but they needed to be useful.

“I’m fine.” they dismissed him, turning back towards their work. This had to be a test, somehow, some way.

“Like fuck you are,” Adler’s hand landed on their shoulder, solid and warm as he spun them around on the metal chair. They swayed, black dots swimming in their vision as they gripped the back of their seat for support.

“Fuck off,” they grumbled, swatting at his hand and missing completely. It stayed, squeezing their shoulder tighter in a once comforting grip.

“I’m giving you a lift back to the hotel, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, but either way, you will be sleeping in a real bed tonight.” for someone supposedly attempting to take care of them, he sure made it sound like a threat.

They scoffed, “Wow it almost sounds like you care.”

“God damnit Bell,” he almost yelled, and they shrink back into themselves. Not noticing, or just not caring, Adler reached under their armpits and yanked them up, sending their chair clattering to the ground as they stood.

The quick ascension made their head spin and their knees buckled almost as soon as they put their weight down. Grappling for Adler, they wrapped their arms around his neck, the only thing keeping them from crashing to the floor was him.

“You call this fine, Bell? You can’t even stand by yourself.” he scoffed, wrapping an arm around their waist, and an arm around their shoulders, pulling them flush up against his warm solid chest.

Their chin landed hard on his shoulder and they inhaled the comforting scent of cigarettes and whatever cologne he used, his hair tickling their temple. As soon as the scent hit them, they relaxed in his arms. A Pavlovian response artificially implanted in their brain.

“I just need to–” they weakly pushed at his firm chest, but Adler cut them off, holding them still.

“What you need is to sleep.” His tone changed from one of annoyance to one of concern, “C’mon Bell, you’re running on fumes.” He shifted them in his arms, sweeping their feet off the ground, one arm braced against their back, the other under their knees.

“Put me down you fucking bastard!” they shouted, words slurring ever so slightly, as they struggled against his iron grip. Unfortunately, they were running on fumes, and their disjointed flailing did less than nothing.

Staying stoically quiet, Adler simply tightened his grip on them, marching towards the safehouses exit. Their pathetic attempts at deterring him did nothing to stop him as he carried them outside into the frigid air.

Opening the car door, he tossed them none too gently into the passenger side. Slamming the door on them, he hurried around to the driver side.

Attempting to orient themselves, their head spun as they sat up on the seat. By the time they had recovered enough to get their bearings, Adler had already locked the car doors and was pulling out of the back alley the car was hidden in.

“You fucker,” they grumbled, flopping down against the seat, head sliding towards the window, feeling the chill radiating from it. Might as well settle in, they were already in the car, and no matter how hard they fought, sleeping in a real bed did sound nice. Not that they would tell him that.

“You need rest if you’re going to be effective Bell.” Adler admonished them, and they laughed brokenly, choking on a sob, leaning against the window of the car, eyes listing closed.

“Oh so that’s your play,” Adler gave a confused grunt, so they continued, voice cracking and words slurring, “Gonna keep me in working shape ‘till I’m all used up, then put a bullet in me.” they sighed, keeping their eyes closed, sinking into the comfortable leather of the seat they dozed on.

“C’mon now Bell, it’s not like that.” one of his hands snuck over and grabbed theirs, warming their cold fingers in his firm grip. It was nice, almost felt like he cared.

“Don’t bother Adler. I’m a loose end.” they sighed, clumsily attempting to pull their hand away from his, and failing, before muttering. “The second Perseus is dead, I will be too. We both know I wasn’t supposed to survive Solovetsky.”

He was silent for a moment, only the sounds of the city filling the silence between them, “That’s what you think? S’ why you’ve been burning the candle at both ends?”

Listlessly, they replied, “My life is determined by my usefulness.” The rest of the ride was silent, at some point, Adler turned on the radio, and soft German singing filled their silence. Weaving in and out of consciousness, they thought that the ride was taking longer than it should, but was too comfortable to care, or to open their eyes.

When the car came to a slow stop and Adler killed the engine, they knew it was time to open their eyes. But they couldn’t bring themselves to do it, even when they heard his sigh and felt his warm hand leave theirs.

Adler must have been feeling kind, because he caught them before they fell out of the car when he opened the door they were leaning on. Grumbling, he picked them up from the seat he had tossed them onto, slamming the door shut with his hip.

God, that should not be attractive, They thought to themselves, allowing their head to rest under his chin, looping one of their shaking arms around his broad shoulders. They watched the scenery go by through heavily lidded eyes.

“Gonna go in the back entrance, don’t want people seeing you and asking questions.” Adler explained, entering through an employee door. Instantly, their body was surrounded by warmth, even warmer than the car. Maybe they had died, and this was Heaven. They probably wouldn't be going to Heaven.

“Just tell ‘em I’m drunk.” they snorted, nestling further into his comforting hold, closing their eyes against the bright lights.

Just for tonight. They promised themselves, unconsciously relaxing into him.

“Close enough to the truth,” Adler murmured, pressing his lips to the top of their head.

“Th’ fucks that mean?” they asked, cheeks flushing. Obviously because of the sudden warmth, and not his actions.

“Mmm,” they felt his chest rumble as he declined to answer, pushing open a door that led to a dimly lit staircase. “Most people use the elevators nowadays, so we can mostly use these things unseen,” he informed them, beginning a slow, steady ascent up the stairs.

“Doesn’t answer my fucking question,” they grumbled, not really expecting an answer from the cryptic bastard anyway.

The asshole just huffed a laugh in response. They weren’t sure how many flights of stairs he climbed, but they did notice when he stopped climbing them, his steps evening out.

Listening to him fumble for the key to the door, they kept their eyes closed. When the pair entered the room, they were quickly deposited on the large plush bed.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, They acquiesced, curling into a ball where they laid, not bothering to undress or get under the covers.

“Bell,” Adler groaned, and they pried an eye open, staring at his exasperated expression.

“Mmph?” they grunted, not bothering with words.

“You gotta get some pajamas on before you sleep.”

“Oh f’c ‘ff,” they groaned, closing their eyes again, listening to Adler’s long-suffering groan. The sound of a door clicking open and closing was almost interesting enough to force them to open their eyes, but they stayed shut, already halfway to sleep, thinking Adler had just left them.

A few seconds passed before the door opened and closed again. Surprised, they listened to the sound of his feet shuffling across the carpeted floor, the mattress dipping as he sat down at the bottom, pulling one of their legs onto his lap.

Grunting in confusion, they craned their neck, eyes squinted as they watched through blurry vision as Adler began carefully unlacing their boots.

“Wh’t r’e you doin’?” they grumbled, head flopping back down, limbs refusing to respond to them. He still didn’t respond, seemingly entirely focused on removing their boot. Once the first one was deposited on the floor, he grabbed their other leg and repeated the careful process.

Finished, he let them go, and they curled back up and were about to get comfortable before a bundle of clothes hit them in the face.

They startled with a yelp, eyes flying open as they jolted, ready for an attack. Blinking blearily, they stared at the clothes in front of them, a white mens undershirt and a pair of red and black plaid flannel pants.

Locking eyes with Adler, the pair engaged in a staredown, neither willing to break first. When their eyes began to water, they blinked, looking away with a defeated sigh. Clumsily, they sat up and began to shuck off their turtleneck.

Jolting, Adler made a distressed noise, and they couldn’t do anything other than roll their eyes as they looked up at him, top half on, half off.

“You’ve seen me in less,” they grumbled, finally pulling the tight fabric over their head, messing up their hair. Receiving no response from the man, they huffed, beginning to shimmy out of their jeans.

Once they had removed their top layer, they were left in just their underwear and amusedly, Adler still refused to look at them. Stripping the rest of their clothes, they sat naked on the bed, swaying. They reached for the clothes he had brought them, shimmying into the soft, well worn pants.

After wearing jeans for so long, the soft loose fabric felt heavenly against their skin, and they rushed to pull on their top, hands trembling slightly. As they pulled it over their head, they inhaled and stopped short, letting the top fall down their torso, arms still up in the air.

It smelled like him.

“This yours?” they accused, glaring at Adler, who glanced back over at them, face giving away nothing. Sometime, when they had been changing, he had too.

Shrugging nonchalantly, like this wasn’t a major gesture, Adler grunted, “Couldn’t find yours.”

“Coulda jus’ asked.” they squinted suspiciously at him before laying back down, snuggling on top of the warm comforter.

Adler gave a put upon sigh as they closed their eyes again, “Bell,” he groaned, and they heard him begin to walk towards them.

Grumbling, Adler flipped back the covers, “Gonna make me do everything for you?” he scooped them back up in his arms before gently placing them on the uncovered section of bed.

They allowed him to situate them on their back, leaning into his gentle touch. When he pulled away, they pried open their eyes, staring up at him.

He looked so different like this, glasses off, hair disheveled, wearing an old olive t-shirt and worn gray sweatpants. They could almost call this, soft. Domestic.

As if he could read their mind, his face softened, and Adler brushed a lock of hair away from their face before he tucked the covers around them. Unable to help themselves, one of their arms snuck out from the heavy comforter, clumsily grabbing ahold of his shirt, just before he pulled away.

Looking down at their half-lidded eyes, Adler hummed, taking their hand in his. It was rough, calloused from years of hard work in the field.

They tugged at his hand, cheeks warming. “Stay,” they whispered, looking away from his intense gaze.

“You are in no condition–”

“No! Not… not like that.” they stuttered, “Just hold me close until I go to sleep.” they blinked up at Adler, and could see his hesitation.

Disappointed, but not surprised, they slowly began to withdraw their hand from his. Scrambling, Adler gripped them tighter, and they looked back up at him.

“Scoot over,” he demanded, and they smiled up at him, just a small thing. Complying, they shuffled over, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He stared down at them for a few seconds, “You sure?”

They groaned, rolling their eyes again, “Let us just pretend, if only for tonight?” they blinked up at him, eyes wide.

He is silent as he slides in next to them, rolling onto his side to face them. They copied his movement, hesitantly snuggling into his open arms. Placing their head under his chin, they allowed Adler to roll onto his back with them now half laying on top of him, their only protest a small squeak.

Slowly, they melted into his embrace, muscles relaxing as they rode his chest up and down. A contented sigh left them as Adler began to play with their hair, his hand warm and firm against the back of their neck.

His chest rumbled underneath them as he whispered, “I’m not pretending,” just as they tipped off the cliff of wakefulness and into the deep ocean of sleep.

Part 2 will be Adlers POV of this interaction

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#bell x adler #black ops cold war #call of duty #bell cod #russell adler

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 months

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Five Fics Friday: Oct. 27/23 (Spoopy Edition)

Happy Friday everyone!! It's almost Spoopy Day, so I've gone through my MFL offline list, picked four random fics that came up in my "Halloween" term search, and I'm promoting them here for you today!

AND the boosted fic this week is a mystery, so it works!!

Happy Haunting!!

SIGNAL BOOSTING

Reichenbach Falls by VeeTheRee (M, 551,435+ w., 105/303 Ch. || WiP || Gravity Falls / Multifandom AU || Alternate First Meeting, Gay Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Unilock, Summer Romance/Love, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Villain Mary, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Canadian John, French Canadian Lestrade, Insecure Sherlock, Mystery, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship Summer Love, Light Angst, BAMF! John, Case Fic) – Two Canadians, two Brits studying in Canada, and an upkeeper walk into a Mystery Shack…. and live there. Summer holidays are here, and the step-siblings, Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, find themselves in a boring town called Reichenbach Falls, Oregon, USA. It isn’t as boring as it seems, however, once Sherlock stumbles upon a mystery journal, and the author is unknown. The journal contains ciphers, a strange colour wheel, and information about magical creatures that are said to be looming in the Northwestern forests. With mysteries to solve in hand, he and Irene set out to get to the roots of the town, and the abrupt disappearance of the author of the journal. But they’re not alone - John Watson, quite the handsome nephew of the Mystery Shack owner Greg Lestrade, is on their side to help out, plus mess with Sherlock’s feelings, in a good way. Shenanigans, romance, fun, danger, and deductions ensue. Oh, and there’s also occasional SuperWhoLock and two dorky Winchester brothers to spark up the action later on. Part 1 of the Reichenbach Falls series

MARKED FOR LATER HALLOWEEN FICS

One Good Scare by blueink3 (M, 17,386 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Holmes Family, Parentlock, Misunderstandings, Family, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Halloween, Happy Ending) – Mummy invites Sherlock, John, and Rosie to the country for her birthday, which just so happens to coincide with the annual Harvest Festival, an event Sherlock loathes. With John seemingly making the wrong move at every turn and with ghosts hiding in each of their closets, what will it take for their (Halloween) masks to finally come off?

the napoleon by darcylindbergh (E, 24,823 w., 4 Ch. || 1980′s AU || Halloween, Action & Romance, Costumes, Costume Parties/Masquerades, Mutual Pining, First Kiss / Time) – Halloween, 1989: John and Sherlock both have big plans for the night, but serial killers have the worst possible timing.

From a Well, Dark and Deep by Vulpesmellifera (M, 32,691 w., 18 Ch. || Post S4, Supernatural Elements, Horror / Milld Body Horror, Bed Sharing, Possession, Hand Holding, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Alternating POV, Nightmares, Caring John, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is desperately trying to reconcile his newfound memories and feelings within his transport—a transport that won’t quit with the nightmares and the strange, fiddly anxieties that crop up at the most inopportune moments. On the advice of his psychiatrist—not that he’s thrilled to be taking the man’s advice, but needs must—he's going to mark the anniversary of Eurus’ torments. That explains why he visits the well. What he finds at the well, though, is entirely unexpected. Meanwhile, John Watson has finally come to terms with something he’s ignored his entire life. He’s ready to share that something with Sherlock, except Sherlock isn’t acting himself. It's not the time for confessions, and John determines he must get to the bottom of his best friend's affliction before he can reveal anything. Part 3 of Vulpes' Halloween Johnlock

This Is Family by SaraStarchild (T, 39,840 w., 16 Ch. || Hereditary AU || Psychological Horror, Body Horror, Demonic Possession, POV Third Person Limited, Protective Mycroft, Cults, Mycroft Whump, Sherlock Whump, Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Retelling) – When the Holmes family's secretive mother and matriarch, Ellen Holmes, passes away, the family she leaves behind – father Martin, sons Mycroft and Sherlock, and daughter Eurus – begins to unravel cryptic and increasingly terrifying secrets about their ancestry. The more they discover, the more they find themselves trying to outrun the sinister fate they seem to have inherited. This is, pretty much, a word-for-word retelling of the 2018 Ari Aster film, Hereditary. Part 1 of Sherlock Halloween Stories

#five fics friday #my fic recs #johnlock fic recs #halloween fics #spooky fics #mystery fics

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srusjust · 2 years

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animefreak1145 · 3 years

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The Irony of Adler and Bell

Call of Duty: Black Ops Analysis of Adler’s Brainwashing

It’s me again. And I’m here with another analysis! This time based solely around Adler. It’s always about Adler. But also Bell.

And this is about the brainwashing of not Bell, but Adler.

We have all had our theories since we first saw Adler getting tortured in the Cinematic Warzone Trailers, shown in Season 3 of COD:BOCW. Our suspicions growing when we see Sus Adler™️ doing what he does best in Season 4 by stealing an important looking chip within the crashed satellite that was taken down. (Also, Hudson, what is wrong with you letting Adler be cleared for a mission when he was just rescued like two weeks ago?!)

And although we did not see him in Season 5, we can all gather that anyone could be potentially brainwashed if you have a certain brand of earpiece. (Woods and Stryker appeared unaffected despite having their own earpieces). So the naive hope and calming words to others that Adler being different and strong is out the window. All it takes is hearing the numbers. What do the numbers mean, Mason?

Besides Bell wasn’t your average run of the mill agent either. An amazing decoder and created codes(I am with the theory that Bell did create the codes for Perseus that we have to decrypt in the game for Operation Chaos and Red Circus) with a brutal close combat skill as well as charming based on how one could talk to everyone and be a social butterfly. Also, able to handle and withstand torture after one hour of leaving Cuba despite previous injuries AND be able to go to Solovetsky/Duga and able to aim and shoot despite having a needle shoved in their eye a few hours earlier.

Bell had crazy skills. Just like Adler does. Bell was brainwashed. So is Adler.

Confirmed with this bundle that will be released. Thank you to @reclaimedbythesea who first found it and pointed it out.

We have the confirmation—the amazing, horrible, war criminal man we all love has become an agent of the man who he swore to chase down and capture/kill for longer than a decade. (Adler said thirteen years in COD:BOCW universe, so 1984 it would be sixteen years. Sheesh. Correct me if I’m wrong. I may be mistaken.) Is it wrong I kinda find it funny? Especially since he did the same thing to Bell—believing it to be necessary. Just as Stitch I’m sure finds it necessary.

It’s just a big brainwash back and forth between these two countries, a race to see who has the most mindless agents on their side in the end. But we’re not focusing on that.

We’re focusing on how Adler’s karma finally caught up to him with all his war crimes. We can infer that he hasn’t just done a cruel action like that to Bell, but to others. “Whatever it takes.” That’s his motto. He’s messed up other’s lives—hundreds, maybe even thousands. The Vietnam War has a deep dirty history, such as the real operation of Fracture Jaw, Operation Ranch Hand with the use of Agent Orange, the Mai(My) Lai Massacre and who knows how many other operations that would/did affect civilians. Not that I would see Adler doing anything like the massacre, but you can’t expect me to not believe that he may have been involved with Agent Orange somewhat? And who knows what other operations and missions he’s done as a CIA agent after the war?

My point is, the man has been gathering karma for awhile. Not just with Bell(I am aware he had his orders in the war, I’m just saying I’m not sure if he feels much guilt about some said orders. Guilt I believe he may has, but I’m not sure it’s a high degree.) Of course, Bell isn’t a saint either. They were willing to kill millions with Perseus after all. A wayyyy higher body count than Adler. And who knows what Bell did with Perseus even before the Greenlight plan? Didn’t seem to mind millions blinking in an eye, so must be pretty cold or delusional about the whole free world killing their country thing. Thank you @yunatheintrovert for this post pointing out and showing a hint of just how not good a person Bell was.

I’m not going to say they deserved what happened to them due to Adler. I feel for Bell. I really do. Just like I can’t say if Adler deserves it for everything—just can’t say that because I’m not at liberty to judge other’s actions and claim what is deserved and undeserved. Leave that to judges.

But now I’m going to point out certain things—other things. Such as what I think to be Adler’s “new” name. At least to those in the Perseus Collective/Stitch.

Do I realize that “Cipher” may just be what this awesome skin is called? Yes. Will I rather ignore it and rant about the name for two ten minutes? Also yes.

On to the analysis!

ci·pher/ˈsīfər/: a secret or disguised way of writing; a code.

This first definition is what we can all gather of what the numbers represent—the code and simultaneously the key of brainwashing others in earpieces with just a certain order of number together.

Stitch and co. used said numbers on Adler, so why not call him Cipher? The Code? Funny, cause he killed Bell—the Decoder. Maybe Bell would’ve helped him out if he didn’t kill them.

Another hammer to the irony of between these two.

But no. The name gets better. Second definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/: a person or thing of no importance, especially a person who does the bidding of others and seems to have no will of their own.

PAHAHAHAHAHA! *clears throat* Now, this, this is what I think Stitch calls some true vengeance. Not only did he get to torture the man who did the same to him before, but made Adler a shadow of who he was before. A husk. Nothing really there. “Whatever it takes” indeed but for the opposite side now—a puppet with numbers for strings. Stitch did a good job in naming Cipher—I mean Adler. We don’t even know how far Adler shall go now, will the CIA have to kill him or will they be able to recondition him when/if they capture him? Will he even be the same? Nope.

Why do I find that definition funny? Well, I think Adler had a multitude of reasons for naming Bell, Bell. Just like Stitch did with Adler. And not just the obvious reasons of him ringing the bell at them to condition them as he was torturing/brainwashing them(we love Pavlov!). Let’s get the first definition out the way.

bell /bel/: a hollow object, typically made of metal and having the shape of a deep inverted cup widening at the lip, that sounds a clear musical note when struck, typically by means of a clapper inside.

I wonder if anyone knows where I’m going with this or I’m starting to seem like a madwoman.

I’m going to ask you guys to focus on the word, “hollow” for me. Hollow, as in not filled. There’s something in the bell alright, but it doesn’t do enough to fill out the hole does it? Like Cipher is now made a husk. Bell was made hollow—only a little bit filled with the little memory they got back before they were killed(maybe they weren’t, let’s just go with it for now). Or perhaps just a bit filled with false memories of Vietnam, of camaraderie. I doubt Stitch did anything like that.

Also, Bell is just an instrument for someone else to play. Play the right tune, and the Russian agent will do anything for you. Right, Adler?

Cipher is the puppet, just doing what he’s told when they give the orders. No will or thought. Just how Stitch likes it.

I’m not done yet! Second definition!

bell /bel/: a. A stroke on a hollow metal instrument to mark the hour.

b. The time indicated by the striking of this instrument, divided into half hours.

Another play on words of Bell being struck(jabbed with needles) to do what needs to be done. But it also represents the limited time that Bell has. Bell needs to help to stop Perseus and quick, Adler will make them go faster if needed by putting the highest dosage as possible without killing them to accomplish it. Or maybe it’s also a representation that Bell does actually have limited time left—Park did say MK—Ultra will be hard on the body physically and mentally. Perhaps MK-Ultra was slowly killing us and Adler just decided to give us a mercy kill while he was at it as he “tied up our strings.”( @cryinginthebackseat does point this out in their Adler/Bell story, go check it out!)

Let’s focus on the instrument thing again though, but back to Cipher. The third definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/ : a continuous sounding of an organ pipe, caused by a mechanical defect.

Oh man. Sounds like Adler is being played like an instrument too, continuously due to all the numbers and how the numbers can be everywhere if one is in the armed forces since they all use earpieces. Interesting shape too, a pipe. Long and thin and has two holes, a beginning and an end but which one is the top or the bottom? The beginning and the end? We don’t know how far Adler will go like this—as Cipher. It will eventually come to a point, where something squeezes within the pipe and manages to get out. Maybe. Or maybe Adler is just forever defected, like the definition suggests.

Not quite Adler anymore and just Cipher.

Just like Bell will always just be Bell. The other self practically gone.

It seems these two will always somehow reflect and affect one another, whether one is dead or not.

I swear I love Adler, so don’t mind some of my dark humor about him and this situation he’s in. It is pretty funny. At least to me. Stitch is funny. And petty.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

@salvija @smokeywhalee @quizzyisdone @efingart @samatedeansbroccoli @weirdoartist21 @tr1ppylady

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floweringcryptology-blog · 6 years

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❝ You’re her, aren’t you? ❞ - @msiadler

“So what if I am?”

The pang of surprise echoing in her chest did not show on her face or in her voice as she looked up at the other woman. For a moment she simply stared, unmoving. Then, Enola’s fingers went to where her false hairline met her scalp, and she peeled away the wig and the putty she’d added to lengthen her forehead, letting her natural hair fan around her face. “Go on then, enlighten me,” crossing her arms, she unsquared her shoulders and leaned back into the slouch she’d not yet corrected from her teenage years. “What gave me away?”

#msiadler #a woman with a dress is a frightening and powerful thing (irene adler)#the other sister (main verse)#the cipher is your scar (answered)#((hello!))#((thanks for sending in a thing!))

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adleryoung · 2 years

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Now this was truly odd. Apparently Elvish was a completely different language from whatever the lowfolk spoke ... no, that couldn't be right, because we had been talking all this time and could obviously understand each other. Maybe Elvish was written in a different alphabet? I racked my brains trying to remember if I had ever read a lowfolk book, and recalled that Percy le Gobelet's seditious publication had been fully intelligible to me, as well as Rebecca's journal which I was holding right now. Burnside also had been able to read all of the journal except the "lorem ipsum" passages. So, a cipher alphabet couldn't be the answer either ... unless this was a different type of magickal screen, like the lorem ipsum text.

How common was this lorem ipsum encryption, anyway? I had never seen it outside the scry tower library, until now. My experience with it showed that certain passages would become un-encrypted as the reader's knowledge base expanded to enable comprehension. But ... if Rebecca thought it said "lorem ipsum" and had copied it down as such, why could I read fragments of an astrological guide there? This meant that text could be copied even though the copyist had no idea what it actually said. This could be very bad. Ciphers were theoretically crackable, especially this one which unlocked itself if you knew enough about the subject, and I didn't like the idea of a bunch of Elvish books circulating among the lowfolk. If, for example, they learned the breeding techniques from the Fuma Sutra, this knowledge coupled with their natural vitality would cause their numbers to overwhelm the world!

Then I realized with a sudden shock that Rebecca was reading an Elvish book right now. The Foxspell I had given her was partly cloaked with "lorem ipsum" but the rest was apparently legible to her. She was turning pages and laughing at something, and I doubted that even she was crazy enough to be that amused by page after page of incomprehensible gibberish. Why would a copy of the Foxspell from the Vulpitanian Embassy be written in the alphabet that lowfolk could read, instead of in the coded Elvish alphabet?

Then again, was I really certain it had come from the Embassy? I had apported it seemingly from nowhere, and had given it to Rebecca to read. Perhaps my permission had unlocked parts of it for her ... or perhaps I had magickally created this book from thin air. Was it possible to do that? I recalled what Estvan had told me, about elfly powers being stronger in the lowfolk world than they were in Faerie. Perhaps I wouldn't be able to perform such feats at home. I made a mental note to test this hypothesis when I had time to go through the Gate.

Meanwhile, I needed to do something about this loose book situation. I summoned a squad of Ixies for a special mission.

"Reporting for duty, Sire!" they exclaimed, with a snappy salute.

"Oh hey," I said. "I remember you. Angela, isn't it?"

"OMG U REMEMBERED!!1!!!" she squealed excitedly.

"I haven't seen you in a while," I continued. "Where have you been?"

"Ive been following Ash Marten," Angela explained.

"Oho!" I chortled. "Despite all the gambling and bickering, this generation of Ixies shows the most promise! Good initiative there, Angela! That old scoundrel probably didn't even know I had anybody spying on him."

"Im sneaky & sly, Sire," she beamed proudly. "Ash nevar suspected a thing."

"Excellent, excellent, using the Vulpitanians' own tricks against them. This is good! So, what intel were you able to gather?"

"Oh, I learned that he is Super Dreamy & Pretty Hot 4 a portly older gent. That bad boy act he puts on is like TEH SMEX 4 realz, LOL but he has his Sensitive Unseelie side 2. He has a different cravat 4 every day of teh week. He collects soggy old books & teeth of people who owe him money. He likes wry toast with black current jam & a fried egg 4 breakfast. ZOMG!!!1! I just realized that with Adler & Adoyret Sam & now Ash, my love triangle is now a love rectangle! Or a love square! Or a love parallelogram! Love trapezoid! Ooooh sisters, how many shapes have 4 corners??"

"There is also a rhombus," one of the other Ixies added glumly as Angela twirled in the air and foamed at the mouth. "Come on back to the hive, Weakflit. Thou hast done enough espionage this day."

"Have her report back to me after she's been thoroughly debriefed," I ordered. "The rest of you have a mission to track down all of the Elvish books left behind by the Duchess of Daisies, and destroy them."

"Oh my delightfully wicked lord," Rebecca called from the other side of the clearing. "When you're done parlaying with your insect-devil servitors, I have come across part of the Overspell. You wanted me to stop and consult you when that happened."

#furry #story #plot #elf #cartoon #adventure #tboay

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yunatheintrovert · 3 years

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just like old times pt. III | Stitch/Bell

TWs: Blood, Accidental tasting of Blood (there's context I swear), Forced Attempted Vomiting, and Minor Character Death. There's some scenes in here that may be subject to different interpretation.

“As you know, Perseus continues to be at large. However, there’s been a significant shift in his operations towards chemical warfare production in Rebirth Island. We suspect the operative behind this is Vikhor Kuzmin-”

Having been previously grounded to paperwork duty in the safehouse by Hudson, you were one among some of the few analysts to help Adler prepare the briefing. There wasn’t much point in you devoting your full attention to something you effectively helped create.

You tried to ignore the eyes that proceeded to look at you at the mention of his name. You turned your attention to the nagging irritant that had been tearing at you for the past hour.

She was a walking airborne toxic event of bright hints of green soon drowned by overpowering artificial fruity notes with orange blossoms accenting the scent. However, beneath the bombastic scent, there was something there that just tore at you.

You tilted your head to the side, trying to avoid being so subtle about sniffing. Although, the scent she left in her trail as she walked past you at the table was anything but subtle. Suddenly, Nancy whipped around on her heels, scowling at you with an offended look.

Apparently you hadn’t been so lowkey about it.

“Are...are you smelling me like a dog?” It came out as almost a defensive sneer with her lip curled in disdain.

You once again leaned your head to the side, trying to guess what that damn scent tearing at you was, “You smell -”

“Oh, screw off,” Nancy scowled down at you before storming off in those heels of hers.

She was a hotshot analyst with a stellar education from Yale, according to the briefing. More specifically, she was a new analyst brought to cover your workload. After all, you were assigned to focus on identifying and decrypting any and all weaknesses in the cryptography of the Underground Collective.

As she stormed off, she left a thick and heavy trail of that bombastic scent. Giorgio , she had called it rather proudly and imperiously.

This scent , you thought, massaging your temples with your hands. The nausea had developed into a migraine with a steady throb in your head. It was only when the pulsing slowed that you focused on the scent finally.

You hid your grimace with a hand over your mouth and nose, not wanting Adler to notice your lack of attention on his briefing. And then you recognized the scent.

Peaches.

________________________________________________________________

You sighed, passing the monitors surveillance station yet again. You had been making rounds around the safehouse with the files casually clutched in hand. Your Walkman played Pat Benatar’s “ Hit Me With Your Best Shot ”. It took your mind away from the still nagging scent of that damn Giorgio perfume accented by the smell of peaches .

You didn’t know how many times Nancy applied that cursed fragrance. She must have done it recently because you could have sworn the smell of peaches got stronger .

You shook your head to yourself. You were going to focus on work, not that godawful scent.

You proceeded to go over the files in hand. Numbers and encryptions swirled in your mind. Perseus must have assumed his crypto communications had been compromised. They reverted to a new system soon after Solovetsky. However, one couldn’t re-engineer and rebuild an entire encrypted communications system in six months.

Not without mistakes.

Even though they used one-time pad ciphers, there were always those weak links.

Mistakes.

A little slip up here and there in sloppily reusing certain one-time pads is all it took for just a little part of the communications to be compromised.

However, even as you made progress in identifying the surprisingly many mistakes of the past and present encrypted communications of the Underground Collective, your thoughts soon wandered.

After all, that sickly sweet fragrance of peaches lingered in your thoughts. You had been grounded to fieldwork upon Hudson’s insistence.

You knew the looks they gave you after that operation in the Mall at the Pines. Up until then, there weren’t any living witnesses to encounters with Stitch, however rare his appearances were until that point.

Yet he spared you.

Perhaps, he wanted to torment you under Perseus’ orders to make your death slow and painful, fitting for that of a traitor to the collective. That’s something you took cold comfort in.

At least there was a logical reason for it , you thought with the upbeat tunes of a song in your mixtape playing through the headset at your ears.

Just as you walked past the caged in areas where the sensitive cryptography machines were held, you blinked as everything suddenly went dark.

You quickly removed your headphones to your neck, pressing pause on your Walkman at your waist. You could hear the click and rumbling of the backup generator kicking on. The emergency lights suddenly flooded the safehouse with crimson lighting bathing the room you were in.

Suddenly, you heard gunshots coming from the other side of the safehouse. Close to the entrance where the surveillance monitors were , you guessed. That made sense. What little security was at the safehouse was located there. It was the most efficient way to secure the site.

As you heard the sound of gunshots come to an abrupt end and heavy footsteps rushing around, you immediately dropped to cover under the desk you found yourself standing beside. It was only a matter of time before they swept the entire safehouse, securing or eliminating any sensitive intel and remaining personnel.

You instinctively reached at your hip in a familiar motion only to silently curse when you only found your Walkman there.

After the operation at the Pines, you noticed the rather uneasy looks some of the personnel sent you. They had been filled in on the bare details of your background, omitting MK Ultra of course. All they knew was that you used to work for Perseus and that you weren’t completely stable mentally as shown by the medications you had to take.

Ultimately, that had culminated in Hudson strongly suggesting that you didn’t carry around a handgun in the safehouse. Sims managed to make a compromise between the two of you by offering for you to have access to the weapons locker anytime in the safehouse. Although, you always had to go to him for that.

And Sims was not here.

Based on the number of footsteps you heard a distance aways, you guessed the strength of the attacking force to be around 4-6 at max. Outgunned and outmanned, you thought to yourself. If you had your weapons...it’d be a different story.

But there was one thing that you had: a knife.

And most importantly...

Closets.

You pressed yourself close to the walls with your ears alert for any approaching sounds. When you heard a single pair of footsteps coming closer to your corner, you withdrew the knife from its sheath at your waist.

As soon as you saw the back of the operative, you lunged forward quietly. You pressed one hand against the mouth of the operative, muffling the yell of surprise from him, before slamming it into his jugular. His body soon sagged against you in a matter of moments.

Immediately, you let his body go down to the floor silently while you looked for any weapons on him. You grabbed the Krig 6 assault rifle from his hands and the Makarov pistol from his holster.

Knowing what Belikov taught you over a few bottles of vodka, you dragged the operative’s body over to the nearby maintenance closet. You quietly opened the doors and propped his body against the interior of the closet. Then you shut the doors.

Checking the ammo count on the Krig 6 and the Makarov, you smiled to yourself as best as you could in the present situation. It sure as hell was better than taking on the attacking force with just a knife in addition to making sure other safehouse personnel weren’t caught in the crossfire.

Speaking of the personnel, how many were left alive in the safehouse? There were at least 4 analysts not working anywhere near the entrance of the safehouse where you heard the gunshots originate from.

You knew what your priorities were.

Secure or eliminate sensitive intel and technology in addition to ensuring the safety of the analysts from the attacking force if possible.

________________________________________________________________

The radio crackled to life at your hip, sending a note of alarm through you. The noise was impossibly loud in the quiet of the corridor you were in. As you crouched behind a wall with your rifle ready for an ambush, you cautiously reached for the radio at your waist, lifting it up while dialing back on the volume.

“I know you are here, маленький предатель.” A voice nearly rumbled over the radio. You grimaced at the familiar muffled deep voice. The sickly sweetness of peaches always accompanying his presence was something you could nearly taste in your mouth.

It didn’t help that Nancy’s fucking perfume was accented by peach fragrance.

Resisting the urge to leave a few choice remarks, you reduced the volume of the radio to little more than a slight whisper into the air. You scanned the empty hallway ahead of you for any sign of movement.

All clear-

“You cannot hide, Зая ,” Stitch said, his voice carrying down the corridor. There was something about his voice almost savoring the dread it got from you. You risked leaning out once more to peer down the seemingly empty hallway. Where could he be hiding?

“I will find you.”

You further pressed yourself against the wall with your breathing coming out in halting little breaths in anticipation. You could hear footsteps from a distance coming closer and closer-

And then those heavy footsteps stopped .

“Oh, Bell.” Stitch sighed out in his thickly accented voice. You nearly swore that you could hear your very own heartbeat in that moment. There was something, daresay, intimate about the way he said your name for the first time. It was as if he savored saying those words.

“We’ve got a job to do.”

And then your vision flashed white.

How odd, you dazedly thought as you found yourself staring up at the large familiar, hooded figure. Instinctively, you reached for your Makarov at your waist and aimed it at him. Strangely, he didn’t react aside from the rather amused and muffled breath of air he let out from behind his mask.

You twitched at the scent of those damn peaches yet again. Damn it. Nancy and Stitch would make quite the pair considering how they both favored annoying the hell out of people with obnoxious scents like peaches .

“Hey, Peaches.” you said easily with your Makarov aimed at him. Yet the Perseus operative remained nonplussed.

He tilted his head to the side slightly before chuckling lowly, “Drop the gun, Bell.”

You nearly laughed with him at the ridiculous order. Yet when you tried to raise the gun higher to his head, you found yourself paralyzed with something clawing at your mind.

Don’t.

It was all too easy to let the hand aiming the Makarov fall to your side with the gun’s safety on as it dropped to the floor. Your fingers trembled with effort, trying to pick up that gun again because why why why couldn’t you raise the gun enough to shoot him-

“Isn’t it funny?” he said while amusement danced in his lone cerulean eye as he shook his head, “Adler put that crimson bunker door in your mind.” he said with a little mutter about амерѝка̄нскӣ and their foolish games.

Stitch took several sauntering steps towards you. Yet you couldn’t even bring yourself to step away with just one quick little order from him telling you to be still.

“But he forgot to throw away the fucking key.” he said, his face inches from you. You tensed at the smell of peaches growing stronger to the point where you could taste its sickeningly sweetness in your mouth. You bit your lip, instantly tasting the familiar metallic taste in your mouth.

His lone cerulean eye looked down at your lips in some kind of interest...fascination?

As the taste of peaches and blood mingled in your mouth, you felt something twitch inside of you.

You took a step back.

In that moment, you could have sworn Stitch smiled beneath his mask.

Suddenly, you lunged forward, driving your knee into his solar plexus, ballistic armor be damned. His shoulders moved, giving you just enough time to brace yourself when he slammed his fist into your abdomen. All that was on your mind was one thing:

He exploited something in you. And you needed to end this before he could do it again.

You made a desperate move for his rifle, gripping the stock as he turned it towards you. All you could hear was the crack ringing through the air.

You instinctively looked down, expecting to see a bloom of crimson on your clothing. Yet you saw nothing.

Against your better instincts, your attention was compelled to your leftside where there was...crackling of static coming from a radio. Strangely, you could hear distorted voices coming from it again and again.

That static, you winced.

You whipped around to face the current problem. Stitch tilted his head as he looked down at you, interest dancing in his eyes.

“ӱ̷̨̡̢̨̧̧̨̡̛̛͖̘̲̬̼͉̺͇̟͍̗̟͉̪̹̬̘͚̖̞̪͔̫̳́̋̇͛͗̃̈̈́̀̌̊̓̇̿̇̈̆̽̅̓͂̿̏͑̇̍̿͗̎̑̄͒̇̋̔͆̏̆̔͂͒̆̋͑͘̕̚͠ͅͅͅв̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̛̙̱̩̞̙͓̣͔͈̞͇͚͔̤̞̼̯̻̭̘̩̗̻̜̗̝͓̞̠͚̗͖̹͉͖͍̮̮͉̗̤̞͈̰̳̞̤̠̦̟͙̜̤̩̮̠̤̠͚̖̪̜̱̓̾͑̄̈̅̽̓̉̃̇̔̅̋̃̓̓͋̌̉̀̃͌͑̇̚͠͝͝ͅͅл̷̢̢̢̧̨̡̧̡̨̢̡̢̡̡̡̢̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̻̲͓̤̞̟͉͕̙̙̝̳͍̝̪̤͓͕̠̤̹̺̺͔͍̯̯̹̤̜̱̺̩̯̣̯͎̺̗̰̪̘̼͈̟̯̣̜̬͓̞̠͉͔̼͔̥͉͓̦̫̼̟̜̖̬͙͇̠̠̪͍̣̱̰̦͖̹̮̠̝̪͔̬̺͓̩̜̪̼͇̞̳͙͍̝͚̰̳̥͍̯͙̼̙͚̬̭̤̺̮̝͍̯͚̜̼̰͕̜̱̟̖̠̻̹̙̭̲̺͎̮̙̹͙̳͚̹̭͍̘̯̝͖̝̼̬̜͉̟̫̮̹̳̥̝̤̹̫̖̻̗̲̣̘͉̲͉̞̘̥͔̯͔̼͙̼̣̪̰̣̼̰̼̱̼͆͐̋́̆̾̿̓̉̑͌̅̏͊̏̀̍̿̊͑̓̇͗͊͗̅̉̅́̎̂̄̎̌̏̊́̐̐̎͐̉̔̄͒̿͑̉̈́̏̂̒̈̐̔̑̄̌͊̂͐̐́́̔͊̋͑̅͗̊̂̔̃̄̓̇͗̽̔̈́̽͊͂̄͗͛̌̇̃̈́͋͋̋͋̐̆̅̎̈́̊̇́͒̑̏̈́̈́͑͛͌̎̆̓̕̕͘̕͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅе̷̨̢̧̨̢̡̡̧̢̧̨̡̨̧̢̧̢̧̡̡̛̛̛̛͈͍̬̝̭̻̺̬̭̞̖̠͓͉̟̻̲͓̭͈̗͈̖͙͙̱̹̜̫͈̖̟̟̪̰̗̗̻͚̹̩͇̺̞̫̥͇̮̱̤̪̩̘͕̝͙̠̥̹͓͙̼͚͔͙̫̖̜̠͕͈͔͚͎͙͇̙̥̹̥̼̲̖̟̺̗̜̭̠͈̩͈̤̳͖̬̳̜̺͈̯̣͔̮̲̻̯̹͍̞͇͎͈̦̯̘̱̩̤̟̪̘̺̘̳̜̱̮̪̬̪̭̯̳̖͍͉̗̣̣̠̥̞̯̝̝̭̰̞̠̲̞͙͙̠̹͍̮͖̪̖̗͔̬̘̮̪̱̤͉̖͔͇̞͈̭̗͖̹͕͚̩̼͙̤̗̥̭̞͔̪̙̹̥̼̜̳͙̞̤̬̖̺̩̜̤̲͉̊̇̆͋̔̑͑̄̈͊̋̔͐̾̍̔̇͗̀͗̑̽̄̔͂͐̓̎́̽̐̋͊͗̓̈́͒̄͂̈́̏̃̿͗͛͂͂͛͗͒͋͊̌̾̅̆̃͋̇̈́̆̊̾̐͋̅̾̅̄̉̋̊̉́̿̾̊̏̈́͒͛̊͂̐͆̅̈̂̑̈́̄̔̾̉͒̿͛̓̏͑͌̽̽̿̒̿̃̐̒̂́̒̑͆̅̎̆͌̌̌̓͆̈́̂̌͛͒̀̋̾̄̿̽̐̃͐̉͊̐͑̈́̑̒̓̉̊̈́͂̐̑́̆̌̃͊̓̊̀̓̇̅̓͊̈̑́̃͐͋̌͂̈́́͊̐̋̈́̏̇͂̉͌̅͛̓̃͊̋̾̒̓̃͗͗̌͗͌̂͐̈̑̍͒̔̽͆̒̎̂̌̿͗̄̓͋̈́̇̃̇̿͌̎̕͘̕̚̕̕̚̚̕̕̕̚̕͘̕̚͘̕̕̕̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅк̷̧̡̨̨̧̛̗̲͓̞̠͎̤̙͓̤̳̩̖̼̟͉̘̣͎̼̦̼̭̥̥̘͉͙̠̣̫̻̭͚͍̦̹̭͕̹͓͇̹͍̖͍͖̙̟͂̄͑̓̽̂͂͑̉͑̅͒͊̆̊̋̌̒̈́͌̓͊̃̄͆̃̽͂̂̓̍̊͌̒̒̒̂̕̚̕̕͘͜͝͝͠ͅͅа̶̢̡̡̨̨̤̠̖͕̗̖͚̩͈͉̟͇̥̹͚̩̰̳͔̝̗͓̭͙̪̺̰͔͚͖͎̼̩̥̖̠̼̬̩͈͙̠̞̮̻̗̜͇̫̯̠̫̙̗͚͈̭̟͎̘͍̩̗̖͕͍̮͙͓͕͈͖͙̱̳̇̅͋̒̆͊̚̕͜͜ͅт̸̧̢̡̨̡̧̨̧̢̧̡̢̢̨̧̨̨̢̡̧̧̧̛̛͎̤̝̤̯̘̰͙̳͎̣̪̹̻͙̤̦͎̬̼͎̮̬̺̼̣̟̠̖͙̠̰͙͕̭͉̖̲̜̙̫͇̜̤̥͓͎͙͈̞̱̪̙̱̺̝̰̳̰͙̩̰̳͚͎̖͍̱̰̺̟͓͇̮̰̦̞̮̼͖̺̖̘̜̘̼̱̤͎̘̳̙̩̦͍͚̤͇̭̗̜̪͕͙̦̗̪̮̤̣͈͓̺͔̩̮̞̹̬̙̪̱̝̫̮͈̫̤̫͉̘͔̤͈̻̝̙̖̺̼̩̠̗̞͕̘̭͚̦̬͓̮̲͖̺̤̝̖͇̜̱͓̭̙͉̗̬̹̞͎͎͙̱̳̦̩̭͎̩̜͔̼͕͕͕̦̜̦̮̪͔̝̩͍̥̯̜̲͍͕̹͕̲̠̫͈͕̞̖̹̭͎̰̘̮͔̞̲̳̭͓͉̗̯̩͖͈̖͚͇̭͙̫̤͓̘̖͇̤̩͈̺͇͔̙͕͈͍̂̒̊̆͐̓̒̀̀͂͂͂̄̒͋̓̍̅̈͗̀̽̑͆̉̂̀͂́̓͋͒́̍́̅̀̈́̒͑̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅе̸̡̢̢̧̨̧̢̡̡̧̢̧̢̡̨̡̡̨̨̢̡̛̛̛̛͎̝̝̲͕͖̮̗̠͈͓̞̮͍̻̝͉̗̤̺͕̮̭͇̬̦̰̩͎̹̥̼̮̺̞͙̮̟̠̦͇͓͈̹̰͎̹̙̟̮̬͚͖̘̙̞͉̯͖̳̼̺̭͕̯͍̟̥̫̱̠͍͎̬͍͕̦͈̗̭̙̺͎͉͉͇̤̬̟̪͙̳͕͍͔͓̙̜͍̮̟̞̙̦̲͈̼̘̬͈͈̜͙̺̤̭̯̮̺͇̱͚͓̪̲̦̳̥͕̤̜̘̰̺̯̺̣͎̗̯̯͎͍͙̮̘̭͍͇̝̳͍̜͍͚͔̥̜̯̻̺͓͕̰̞̝̱͎̘͔̗̣͈͚͔̝̫͉̘̤̳̹̖̣̲̺̮̼̦͙̳̦̝̭̭͕͖̦̦̦͓͚̦̱͔͉̯̤̩̝̟̪̥̭̭̜͍̺̔͂̆̌̀͐̈́͒̌̍̉͂̾̔͆̀͒̿͋̋̆̑̌̑̊̏͌͊̄̽́͌͆͛̄͒͋͛̈́̒̓̌̇̔̇́̀̓̉̈́͗͆̈́̎̂͐̔̔͊̏̀̉͌̂̑̊̈̐̈̽̎̽̾͐͂͊̀͛̒͌̽̏̉̽̿̒̿͑̍͗̾̽͆̄̾̈́̅̄͂̽̿̀̀̈́̄̄̈́̓͒́̐́͑̐̈́̓̏̇̏̌̄̽̂͗͂̌̅̄̽̂̀̐̒̈́͋̿̃̒̔͐̾͑́͐͗̈̽̅̍̊̓͆͋̍͐̇̒̄̅̔̒͒̈͊̾̒̉̑̒̌̀̊̒͑̊̅̓̀͊͒̌̏͂̑͛͘͘͘͘̕̚͘̚̕̚̕̚̕͘̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅл̴̡̨̡̢̡̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̧̲͓͉͍̱͕͖͕͎͉̞̘̖̼̠̭͇̳͈̭̠͎͕͈̯͍͖̘͓̗̰̩̥̯̫̗͉̘̮͔̳͔̫̪̻̣̼͉̗̳̬̯̱̹̙͍͇̬̜̥͇̬̻̗̭̼͖̤̟̺̖̪̭̗̬̟̠͚̠̲͍̟̥̖̟̥͖̼̻̞͚̖̙̲̗̩̼̣͖͈͈̭̫̺̪͇̤̳͓̠̙̠̹̖͈̰̭̖̜͈̤̙̳̲̤̗̩̤͚̮̰̰̖͇͕̝̬̘̠͎̖̻̬̟̞̺̠̥̫͎̜̠̤̘̗̝̳͉͎̩͖̹̭̱͈͇͍̤̞̮͔̲̮̪̙̫͕̖͈̜̣̜̪̜͔̮̣͔̲̪̪̤̱̰͎̣̻͈̖̜̦̣̣̪̈́̂̈͌͊̈́̎́͐̓̉͊͊͐͆̾͒̓̏͘̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅь̷̡̧̨̧̢̧̨̢̧̡̨̧̨̨̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̘̻̲̙̦̹̯͈̯̤̫͍͈̗͔̭̙̘͉̳͙̰̖͔͔̗̤̰̭̹͚̟̟͉͙̹̬̰͉͇͔͔̯̝͓͓͚̩̘̜͕͔͈̤̘̹̣̳̫̘̝͉̖̯̪͇̹̼̗̻̮͙̠̬͍̠̮̯̘͖͕̝̭̲͉̰̻̩̤̲̺̗̘̲͚̤͎̙͇̲̠̭̦͓̦̤̥̫͖͕̤̗̹̹͕͇͇̗̳̯̠̥̱̱͔͖̗̹̠̫͕̠̗̱̤̦̙̯͙̗̰̞̮̮͔͍̭͚̖͎̪͎͈̥̙͕͍̣̤̭͈͔̼̫͍͚͈̝̇̇͆̉̇̾̑̓̃̓̆̉͋̈́̌̾̆̅͆̿̉̓̾̆̉̏̉̃̿́̍͒̓̋͑͐͒̓̌̂̀͒̈́̆̊͗̈̇͌̾͌͆͌̎̉̅̉͊͆͒͑̑͐̆͆̏̊̌̎̂̏̈́̑̅̈́̎̀͛̏͋̂̐̾̌̇̒̏́̎͗͗͂̾͌̅̅͌͘̚͘̚͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅн̶̧̡̧̡̢̧̧̧̡̢̧̨̧̧̧̨̛̛̛̬̣͇̥͓̪̖̺̥̦͚͚̼̲̬̙͈̲̰̬̬̩͇͎̪͔̤̯̼̥͔̫͚̗̩̫̗̩̭̯̯͔̝̯̹͚͖̪̼̘͍̞͇͖͓̲̺̤̞̠̮̰̩͉̟͖͈̫̦̟̘͕͚̲̟͍͉̹̳̗͈͇̱̮̜̞͎̼̥̗͚̮͇͓̮͍̞̠̻̮̳̳̣̲͔͉̥͎̮͚̥̪̮̺̫̙̭̭̞͚̱͇̝̤̥̭̺̙̯̩̦̠͔͙̘̯͖̯̗͕͇̭͈͙̫̦͆̑̅͐́̓͛͆̇͗̐̋̑̈͌̽̌̇͋̿̍̌̑͆̀͊̅̑̒̏̈͌̇̆̆̃̽͗̈̐͐́̊͂̊̉͌̑͒͌̚̚̚͘̕͘͘͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅы̷̡̧̡̨̢̧̢̢̢̡̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̛̤̘̥̦̞̳̖̲͇̮̝̰̰̣̖̹̜͔͎̱̱̠̺̼͙͖̫̳̼̺̞̻̻͉̮͔͉͙͙͔̳̰̼̲͕̭͓͍̪̬͎̙̝̤̝̜̻̩̼͖̜̝̤͈̝͔͈͚͖̘̜̭͈̦͕̬̠̖͚̳͚̙̥̲̣͚̩͈̬̯̙̘̠͎̻͎͈̜̜̣̬͎̱͔̪̙̜̯̮̐͆̿̓̓̈́̒̃̎̄͊̈́͋̏̍̈́͗̒̒͛̓̔͐́̅̈́̈͋̓̇̓͒͊̑̀̏̊̿̊͐̾͊̐̆̅̀̈͒͆̒̈̎̉̌̀̏̎͒̓͂̎̽͆̍̂͂̈́͊̓̾̏͑̇̕̕͘̚̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅй̸̨̢̨̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̠̲̟̘͚̼̬̫̬̼̮̼̮̤͈̫͙͈͉̝̬̻͈̤͙͍͍̈́̇̎͌͋̀̒̾̌̓̍̈́̒̎̓́̃̑͂̈́͑͋͛͊̎̏͗̅̆͒̍͂̈́͗̒̏̑͆̐̃̇͋͐̃̿͑̅͛̓̎͂͒̋̃́̐̾͌͑̈́̂͂̂̍̓̂̓̓̈́̎̏̊͐͌̆̑̎̂̊͌͐̋̀̊̆͆̂̓̐̔̄̐̓̂̐̿̏͒̔̂͛̄͗̑͋͂̔̔͗͐̇́̋̑͐̅̈́͗̓͒̓̍̿̈́̒̉̀͒̃͒̊̈̌̍̔̌͊̄̓́̔̅̃̏̇͆͒͆̐̉͑̐̐̑̐̉͋͐̄̾͊̽̐͋̊̂̂͛̆͆̿̑͂͗̍͊̀͗̍̒̇͂̍͛̕͘̚̚̕͘͜͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͠,”Stitch rumbled out, something in his voice almost excited. Before you could even react with the static crackling in your ears, you saw the blur of the butt of his gun coming at you.

And suddenly your vision went dark.

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You blinked. The crackling of static distorted your hearing as it overlapped with the words and sounds around you.

You saw Stitch walking alongside the lined up analysts with his soldiers standing behind them, their rifles aimed and ready.

“The first one to give us the microfilm will be…” Stitch trailed off, pondering over what word in English to use, “-pardoned,” he finished with a rather disappointed tone.

Any volunteers?” he asked dryly, looking over the hunched over forms of the analysts. Some trembled while others were simply frozen in place. You noticed how his attention leaned towards a particularly trembling figure.

“I know where it is,” Nancy piped up.

You blinked dazedly. It was almost like watching a drama, you laughed quietly to yourself. The twist of betrayal.

“̵̨̢̨̧̡̛̛̱̻̠̩͕͍̯̲̺͇͈̮̤͖̰̜̭̘̙̣̱̗̻̩͓̝̻̞̟̱̹̜̞̘͈̼̞̃̎̂̉͗͛̔̾̈́̃̈́̓́̿̾̽̅̔́̂̎͒̀̈̈͗̌͛̓͛̈́̕͘͝͝ͅН̸̛̰̫͖̭̼̬͈̯̲̪͇̅̂̊̈́͂̈̏̐̋̀̔̈́̐̾̌̏̄̏͆̑̂̍̐̽̍͊̍̃̎͝͝е̵̲̘͖̲͇̲̼̬̹̪̞̬̗̲̜̦̪̒͊̔̽̐̊͒̄͊̒̈́̎̌͜͝ ̸̜̩̤͚͉̠̦̇͗͛̇̋̐̈̉̾̽͒̅̆̍̂͌́̑͐͋̈̇̐̀͑̅̊̿͊̆̋͘͘͝͝п̸̢̨̡̣̤͖͉̦̟̭̤̻͕̙͉̖̮̤̩̮̭͉̮̭̺̦͈̠̲̮̙̠̻͙̙͕̣̳̣̙̪̙̬̠͒̌̊͐̃̾̅͗̋̋͒̐̒͝ͅͅͅо̶̢̢̧͍̰͔̺̝͈̤̰̥̦̭̬̠̗̖̩̯̱̖͈̳̙̗̞̗̠̻͔͉̰͔͉̠͓̼̬̝͚͍̟͌̇̈́̄̽̊̈́͂͒͒͜͠ͅз̷̢̡̡̢̡̰̯̪͎̗̭̘͍̺͚̳͓͎͍͚̥̰̬̬͔̰̰̹̞̪̰̲̺͓̗̪͖̮̮͎̞̙̪̝̙̰͎̞̪̭̠̭͎̻͑̉̓̆͌͌̊͌̔̾̅͆̽̃͌̋̏̈́̇̒̆̚͠ͅв̶̧̢̨̢̢̨̛̙̟̫̜͚̦̖̘̼͙̰̺̗̳̪̳̲̟̪̠̘̻̖͎̬̫͎͈͇̘̗͉̙̉͆͐̌̈͋̾͊͌̔͂̆̈́̎͑̐̈́͒̐̈͑̐̌̾̑͊̂͛̔̓̋̌̏̀̃̀̇͐͐̈́̾̀͘͘͘͜͝͝͠ͅо̵̡̜̞̖̱̰̙̫̝͎̰̻͈͓̓̏͑̅́̓̌̍̄̃̆̎̄͋̋͛͘͝͠л̷̏̎̀́̌̏̈̆͗̽͂̆̈́̉̿͐̒̊̀͆̾̇̕͝͝��̡̢̡̡̧̨̡̡̖̥̮̭̺̞̪̩̤̯̰̖͉̙͉̖̘̰̝̟̗͖͉̝̞̝̤̪̭͈̮͎̻̩̙̼̏͊̔͜ͅͅя̴̡̨̨̨̢̢͇̥̳̥̱̥͎̟̤̳̣͓͈̣̬̖̯̟͎̜̤͉͔͍̭̩̱̟͉͚͍̩̰͈͈͙͔̳̝̝̞̜͓̠̟͍̮̘̤̠̑̓̿͛̃̓̿̾͛͜ͅͅй̴̢̧̛̛͇̪̬̦͓̙͚̭̭̗͙̳̩͙̬̜͈͉̘̖͔̫̳̤̭̮͔̰̠̜͈̥̭͉͚̣̥͉̼͓̳͔͕̙̲̟͖̣͖̲̺̳̝̩̬̬͍̰͍̈̄̆̓̽͑̏̆͐̏̑̊̐̂̃̅͛̽̾̋̌̐͆̓̀̃͂̓͗͂̄͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅт̸̧̧̨̡̛̦͈̮͙̹̖̦̯̯̠̜̖̰̘͙͉̞̱̔̋̋͆̾͊̒͂̓̃̊̓̿̾͑̀͗͋̋͐̍̾̍͗̅̑̀̿̽̑̈̓͂͒̿̃̔̈̇̆̈́̐̈́̃͒̚͘͘͘͜͠͠͝͝͝е̵̢̛͎͖͉͎̜̟͋̏̓͆͊̾̉̀̇͊̏̌͊̈͒͑̔̐͌̄̌̈́̊̏͑͛̈́̈́̈̄̈̎̄͐̏̄́͒̋̇̈́̏͘̕͝͝͝͝ ̵̡̧̧̨̢̩͍͚̫͍͙͈̱̭͕͓͇̱̠̯̼̳̂̑̆͐̀͊̽̒̓͊͂̾̈̽̍͒̈́̈́̊̄͆͑̾̒͗̋̉̓̋͂͌̔͛̊̅̏̈́͒̀̽̃͂̊̕͘͘͘͘̕͜͜͝͝ͅе̴͉̥̻͙͈̥̙̭̞̗̖̪̜̫͎̝̱̺̌̉̄̀̄̈́̂͋̔̇̓̾͋̇̈́̎̍͂͑̃͘̕̕͝ͅͅй̷̡̹̼͙͖̜̅͊̍͗̚ ̷̨̢̨̧̨̧̧̲̜͖̙̪̟̝̰͈͇̙͔͇̣͙̘̖̻̝̪͓̪͚̼̱͙̦̰̯̥͕̫̞̼̖̝͉̯̯̱̳͖͓̜̭̖̻͕̙͑̿̿ͅй̶̨̧̨̡̛̛̳̜̥͎̘̳͎̭͎̘̦̬͔̼̖̭͙͇͖͖̭͓͔͔͚͇̞̟̤͍̫̪̞͇̟̗͚̦͖͕̲̙̳͔̇̂͑̽̎̈̋̊̈̇̒̂̇̌̊̆̄̉̍͆͗̐̈̔̚͜͝ͅͅд̴̡̨̹̣̭̱̈̔͗̌̎̃͊͂̀͊̃̾̂̌̽͜͠͝ͅͅт̵̡̛̯̙̲̮̟̬̺̤͕̤̩̳̖̣̩̠̣͌̀͑͆͊̈̊̊͐̃̿̓͌͊̇̿̇̌̎͋̋̂̒͒͋̐͐̆̕̕͠͝͝͝и̸̢̡̢̡̨̗͎̣̦͖̭̥̯͈̠̫͙̯͖̪̝͚̥͈͕̘̫̤̻͇͙̜̘̞͎̭̲̞̱͈̙̝͖͓̠̣̺̗͔̭̖͚̹̱͓͔͛̈́̉̒͌̓̄̒́̓̈́̓̂̓͗̃̍̏̚͜͜͜ ̴̨̨̡̢̧̛̛͙̤̻͉̤͈̳̮͎͚͙̯̰͉̖̹͔̙̱̖͈͉̳̖̊̑̓̔͒̐̔̋́͆̂̓̇̉̎̽̈͆́̌̽̓͊̊̇̈́͗̎̓̚̕̕͘͘͠͠н̴̨̢̧̢̨̝̟̗̳̙̭̖͇̩͓̮͓̳̘̙̝̺͎͉̰͕̘͔̙̰̲̥̪̦̗̬̥̩̩͂̉͌̋̋͋͗̈́͜а̴̨̧̧̨̨̨̧̛̩̜̜̝̘̜̰̮͎͍̼̬̪͙̜̯̺͎̟̪͉͉̻͖̘̖͉͍͇̜͍̺̭̙͇͑͐͛͌̎͐̌̽̈́̿̎̉̍̓̈́͐̅̅̓͆͗̑͌̏͊̅͛̎̈̏̑̒͑̆͋̈́̎́̔͂̀̔͛̅̀͑͊̄͐͋̌̈́͑͘̕̕͝͝͝͝ ̸̨̧̢̨̨̡͚̯͚͕̳̣̝͈̥̭͔̮̜̗͚̠̰̣͇̞̱̦̣̫͚̞̘̘̗̠̞̤̤͍̼̮̭̮͇̘̥̜͕̔͌͆̅͆̉̀̈́̄͒́̍͊̎͆̍̈́̔͑͆̋͆̓̋͒̈̓̍̎͐͐̌́̑̈́̄͒͛͐̄̃̈́̿̏͆͛̽̕͘̕̕͝͝͝к̶̧̡̡̨̢̛̛̛̩̬̠͖͍̫̱͖̲̩̪͕̲͎̖͖͕̝͗̑͐͒͂̓̏̔͆̐̐̽̔͆̽̍̅̔̈́̊̽͒̆͌̏̈́̒̋̂̃̿͒͛̈́͒̓̃̈́̂̐̆͆̌̾̋͛͛̈͒͘͘̚͜͝͝͝͠о̸̡̡̛̩̯͇͙̜̘̠̘͓̗͚̖̖͇͇͉̠͚̣͍͇̞̯̝͎̮̦͔͎̩͓̜̘̖̼̠̳͉̣̭͉̱̘̙̠̘͉̫̫͎͉̀̎̋̄̑̅͗̇̍̏͆͊̽̂̍̎̾̊̎́̾̀̎͌͂̓̓͗̇̈́̎̀̈̇̑͠м̶̛̠͈͙̒͛̈́̒̓̍̾́̉̏̉̌̂̽̈̒̇̈́͒̓̾̇͗̑͊̂̎͆́̕̚̚͠͠п̴̨̢̢̢̨̛̛̬͕̬̣̳̖̬̫͎̬̬̘̰͖̠̠̰̟̫̹͙̺͔̘̤͙̱͈̪͍͚͍̥̙̙̩͚̱̹̯͕̻̃̂͑̅̅̐̑̈́̇̍́̔̉̋̉̍̈́͘͘͘ͅр̶̧̢̯͈̣̱͔̰͍̝̖͖͇̤̮̗̲̣̰̺̟̘͙͉͓͎̖̼͕͇̞̦̤̤̞̹̜͔͔̘̗͍̣͔͇̊̃̽͂͗͐̅̔̍̇̍̈́͒̅͊͘͜͝о̵̠̺̘̹͓̖̣̋̊̂̕͠м̴̡̨͖͕̙̝̮̩̠̻̺̣̫̲̘͎̪̝̻̼̳̼͕̖̊͐͗̉̊̽́̊̓͐̒̾̆̑͋͑͌̿̈́̂̓͛͒̓̑̇̂͊͘͘̕͜͝͝͠ͅͅи̸̡̢̧̡̢̨̡̛̭̦̺͓̞̩̪͕̠̞̗̗̯͙͚͓̦͍̖̟̗̜̤̣̝͓̪̣͔͍̰͉̙̱͖͙̩͚̲̥͔̼̤̫̪͕̣̪͍̘̰͎̪͐̄̄̄̑̂̈́̾̉̈́̒͌̿̎͋̃̇̿͑̇̈́̊̈̏́̿͌͑̀̚̚̕͜ͅс̷̨̹̹̳̣͎͎̳̦͎̥̪͕̭̞͇̜͉̟͍̣̰̻̺̪̠͈̟̞̠̮̫̬̞̬͈̰̳̱̹͙̞̖̜͍̜̲̈͗̂̇̀͜͝ͅс̴̧̨̬̜͖͔͓̹̠̩̟͈̘̟̘̳̙̙͔̻̫͎̤̲̠̫̞̳̝̻̯̮̹͌.̴̨̛͖͈͎͈͑͆̃̔̉̊͛̍̾̂͌̅̈́̌̾͗́̉͗̂͒̑̌̄͌́͒̅͋̈́̏̍̀̐̉͒͑͋̚̕͘͝͠͝”̵̛̛͓̬̲̟̋̈́̏̐̇̀̍̎̃̏̈̌̿͑̑͆͂͌͌̓̌̇̊̓̾͋̋̌̃͂͋͌̊̓̕͘̕̕̚̚͝͠͝͝

Something urged you to move , a nagging instinct clawing at the back of your mind.

And so you did.

You kicked at the legs of the Perseus operative standing guard over you, making him shout and pointing his rifle at you.

“Нет! Не убивайте ее! ” Stitch barked out.

Much to your surprise, the Perseus operative hesitated. You didn’t take a moment to indulge in that as gunfire erupted around you.

You instantly ducked behind the closest thing to you. After hearing the brief pause in gunfire, you made a mad dash to the cover of the desk. There was only one thing on your mind, more than the hostages, more than getting out of there alive.

Microfilm, you thought distantly.

You needed to prevent it from falling into their hands.

Somehow, your eyes locked onto that little container containing the microfilm filled with sensitive intel about the operations of Adler and his team. It was slick with blood and your eyes followed the trail of the blood to its originator.

Nancy.

She was shot several times in the shoulder and abdomen.

You blinked. That source of momentary cover had been her.

Н̷̧̧̡̨̧̛̲̣̳̭͇͎̻͇͙̪̰͎̟̫͖͍̭̤̜̟͈͔̠̖̪͔͙͇̱͈̹̳͉̫̖̻̖̱͓̰̞̙̫͖̿͌̄̾̂͑̆̌̐̽͗͂͒́̄͐̏̾̆́̒͋̈́̌͗͛͘͜ͅе̸̢̧̬̞͔̹̘͖͓̼̲͔̫̟͚̯̝͔̤̺̲̹̲͓̩̝͔̼̳̼̉̆̏̆̀̅̐́̈́̃̍͐̇̾̏̈́̑̽͗̆̽̄̋̑̓̃͐̽͊̒̃̾̿͆̅̄͆̿͐̇̏͗̆̕̕̚̕̚͜͠͝͠ͅ ̷̨̛̛̺̥̝̤̬͉̦͚̙͓̞̖̩͇̪̺͚̰̱̫͍̪̺̫̪͐̐̓̌̆̈̋̌̄̐̎̈́̐̎̑̑̃̈̂̓̈̃̂̉̓̉͑̈́͌̅͒̌͌̀̚͘͘͜͝͝д̶̡̢̧̧̨̨̛͈̣͈̘͕̲͉̭̠͈̫̬̺̝̟̳̺͎̣̞̰̼͎̯͕̮̤͎̪͚͖̞̤̠͚͉͓͙̼̠͔̞͕̉͗̎̂̎̎̍̒̀̈́̒̃̒͊̄̌͑̋̒͘͠͝а̶̄̉̈́̀̉̃͊̈́̋͒̾̓͛̌̂̏̋̈́̒͐́̾̏̿͑̓͆̚̕͘̕͝͠��̨̨̢̡̨̨̨̛̩̜̜̠̞̝̟͖̞͚̰͖̦̖̲͕̤̘̤͙͉̭͙̠͔̗̠͉̱̯̭̺͓̣̭̜̞͕̬̮͚̩͉̹͓̓͆͂͌̄̚ͅͅͅй̵̡̢̡̨̡̢̨̛̩̰͚͔̪͙͈͖̝̦̥̰͉̬͙̱͈̹̼͇̩͎̙̦͔͉͓̭̰̼̰̙͕̣̙̬̮̠̯͎̳͓͔͖̯͇̱͎̭̻͌̑̎̆̄̔̎̊̾̍̅͗͛͐̂̑͂̆̔͗̌̈́̒̆̿̈̋̽̎͗̓̊͑̈́̋̊͂̌̐̾̈̚͘͘͜͠͝͝͠͠͠ͅͅт̴̛͉̲̘̳̬̘̖͙̀̍̉͛̿̃͗̈͂̓͑̈̌͋̍̅̓̏̓̂̓̽͌̓̂̐̉̉̽̂̑͑̆̊̔̈́̅͋̊͆̊͒̄̽̋͗̅̎̽̌͘̕̚͠͝͝͝е̷̧̨̧̨̘̳̝̱̰̭̘̟̝̯̘̯̤̖͓͍̦̯̝͖͎̠͓͍̳̺̘̞̖̪̓̃̋̀͐̃͒͑̾̏̊̌̕̚ͅ ̶̡̛̮̜͎̯̣͑̂͑̄͑̈̔̕͝ͅе̴̨̨̧̛̞͕̤̻͈̺̱̮̩̲͎̝̱̮̱̹̙͉͈͎͈͎̠͊̒̏͛͗̇̇̔̄̈́͊̇̒̍̓̂͒̈́̉̕͘͝͝͝м̴̛̛̦͍͙̱̹̦̼̱͍̤̺̮͈̓̿͒́̂̐̊͌̾̒̈̿̄͂̿̉͗̈̉͑̽̾͑͆̊̃̐̂͑̔̀̋̇͛͆͊͊̐̆͋̈́͗̐̚̚͜͝͠͠у̴̢̡̦̭̟̤͚̜̹̯̺̜̦̬̠̫̱̦͓̭͎̩͎̫͙̗̒̈́̓̿̓̄̊͗͛̐͛́̌̉̋̔̾̑̔̈́̓͗͂̈́̂̿̽͒̚̕̕͝͝͝͠͠͝ ̶̛̛̛̬̬͕͍̱̯͍̰̰̭̹̱̤̹̼̙̬͒̈́͛̀̾̎̃̉̍̑̉̇̅̈́̈́̓͛͒͑͊̉͛̋̆̍͗̋̅̄̽̃̈͘̕͜͝͝п̴̧̢̨̧̨̢̧͇̠̯̫̺̤͇̖͚̱̫͈̺̮̹̹̦͕̤̝̣͚̹͔̞̹̣̺̤̯̹̮̜̲̟̩̟̹̪͈̤͔̳̪͙͖̝̐̈́̈͐͑̏̓͑̔͆̐̌̐̎̽͛͐͒͂̔̈́̅̆̏̑̈̏̌̈́̇̕̕͜ͅͅӧ̷̡̨̡̢̢̨̘̟̫͚͕̮̟̻̹̺̝̦̪̮̦̖͎͖̩̮̤̗͎̦̼͇̙̳̲̜̖̳̗̭͇̦̣̣̞͙̙͔̹̱͔͔̣̑͋̋̒͐̐̍̏̈́́̈́̏͌̿̔̌̂̄̔̂͊͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅп̷̧̡̜̩̘͎̼̥̤̥̩͕͙̭̠͇̙̞̲͍͍̬̅̐̊̂̐̅͂̊͂͗̐͗̊̌̂͆̉̀̀͂̌͊̋͂̎̐͛̅͗͋͂̽̍͜͜͜͜͝͝а̶̡̬̳̜̹͍͖̥̱͈̭͇̣͙̪͖͓̙̯̙͓̮͖̗͔̲͔̳̫̳͎̱̱̩̮͉͓̙̣̤͙͚̻̏͒͊̎̄͗̋̽̂̾͆̋̃͑͌̑̎̐̉̐̽͒͆̓̄̍̇̅̾̈̑̌̿̂͂̉̉̐̔̈́̉́̏̒͒́̏̈́̑̾̎͆͘̕̕͜ͅс̴̨̧̡̨̡̢̨̦͇̪͙̲̙͓̦͚͕̝̖̤̩̥͎͚̥͙̘̘͈̪͕̦̻͖̤̜̠͖̼̗̦͉̫̱̥̩̯͕̱͇̜̱̪̬̯͙̞̝͑͗͌̌͆̈́̂̈́͂̽̄̏̓̀͐̂͗͌̄̄̐͒̍̾̽̄͑͑̈́̔͘͘͜͜͜͠т̶̨̢̛̛͖̙̬͓̼̞̳͉̜͚͈̬͉̫̣̻͖͎͕̭̙̼̪̪̟̹̲̝̙͔̝̲͙̎͋̔͋̓̋̿̓͑̇̀͋͛̅̈́͊̚͝͝͝ь̴͚̈́͜ ̸̧̭̦̦̟̼̩̪͓̥̮͖̻͙̦͎͎̲̙̙̱͖͉̮͎̙̲̼̈́̃͜͜в̵̧̨̨̡̨͚̤̻̯̬̞͉̗͚͇̮̺͙͔̺̘͔̭̫̗͉̺̹̮̖̙̩̣͙̈̽͗̎͊̉̔̌͋̔̂̍̕͜͝ͅͅͅͅ ̴̛̛̛̤̖͖̈̎͋̈̐̃̔͊̔̓̎́̑͐̌̊̂̓̀̀̌̎͆̈͊̎̃͌̎̒̏̏̕͘̕̚͝͝͝͝͠и̷̨̡̛̛̣̩͈̬͍͓̲͉͓̠̙̬̖͔̦̯͓̣̟̻̺̼̓͆̃̈́͑̑͋̔͋̌͋̑͆̊̂̿̋͊̔̏̃̈́̃̽̓͌̈̀̆̍̔̅͋͂̈̆̈́̔̆͐̽̈́͂͘̕͜͜͝х̴̢̡̛̠̼̲̼̗̣̲̫̗̖̰̣̩̼͓̣͚̜̜͎̮̖̟̗͉̠̝̺̞̯̪͇͓͕͎̰̘̞̜͈̝̺͎̥͎̣̬̞̤̼̥͙̲̮͕̙͋̔̽̐̍̌̆̓̈́̋̀͋͐̾͗̈́͆͘͜͜͜ ̶̨̧̢̡̡̰̟̭̪͙̻̩͎̩̦̰̼̗͚͓̗͉͎͈̮̭̠͚͙̙̬͈̳̳̬͇̘̙̖̘̖̤͉̘͈̯̹͓̬̳̹̳̍̍̄̑̋̈̓̌̄̈́̂͐͆̏̾̌͛̑̋̌̈́̎̈́̌̽̃̎̄̆̈́̏̑̑̃͒̈́̆̓͌̄̿̂̒̾́̍̃̉̏̈́̎͆̉̎̕͠͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅр̴̛̛͇́̓̄͌͆̀̏́́̈́̈̃̏͒͐̅̇̔̾͂͛̒͛̋̒̒͂͋͑̓̓̌̽̑͒̎̽͗̔̈́͒̏̚̚͘̚͘͝у̷̡̧̢̢̧̧̛̠͖̬̹̣̣̫͚̰̝̹̫͍͖̱̬̞̦͍̜̟̣̬̳̱̤̙͎̙̖̗̮̤̤͓̦͉̘̩͖̠͔̪͕̎̓̈́̒̍̔̆̍̒̿̐̅̃̈́̈̊͌̉̑̍̂̚͠͝ͅк̶̨̧̧̧̨̛̜̠̞͖̻̹͇̥͍̳̪̣̙̜̣̘͖͎̮̙̳̭̳̲̤̥̥̬̗͚̟͍̦̘̟̟͕̫̲̬̹͓̠͈̤͓̦͕̝͋̌̆̿̉̃̆͑̎̇̄͂̓̈́͒̓̂̌̓͛̂̆̓̌̋̍͊̐͆́̔̏̆̍̈̉̔̓͋̽̏͋̚͘̚͜͠͝и̶̨̡̨̨͓͍͈̝̞̤̰̳͉̜̮̰̖̝̼̜̰͈̖̯̣͔̻̪̲̟̜̹̟̥͍̭̱͔̜̘̝̱̫̭͎̪̤̖͍̠̉̏͒̐̉̉̇̑͋̓̓͛̅̕͜͜ͅͅ.̴̡̢̡̛̘͉̥̜̮̜͓͎̪͍̖͉̗̯͖̞͓̰̪̺̥̫͕̩͙͚̺͉̗̜̰̺͔̬̲͖̼̣̙͉̯̞̜͇̞̣̺͇̞͛͒̇̅͊͊̇̈͌́̑̈́̃̓̊̏̇̈̂̑͌͒̈́̂̐͂̍͊̐̐̃̌̎͛̊̅̄̑̽͐̆͂̆̄̑̓̏͘̚̚̚̚͝͠ͅ

The static grew louder and louder. Distantly, you snatched up the microfilm roll and looked down at it. It left a crimson mark on your hands with the blood.

It was almost instinct , you thought numbly. The metallic taste of the microfilm’s blood-slicken surface was acrid in your mouth as was the bombastic peach fragrance aftertaste of Nancy’s Giorgio peach-accented perfume. You swallowed the microfilm container quickly and turned your attention to securing yourself next.

As you found a pistol on the floor, you hastily gripped it despite the slicken feeling to it. It was covered in blood. You immediately took the safety off and leaned slightly out from the cover of the desk to take aim at the boots walking towards you.

And then you heard it click.

It jammed.

Shit.

The static grew stronger. You winced at the intensity. Where the hell was it coming from? You sure as hell didn’t see any radios or monitors on nearby since the main power was cut by Stitch and his operatives.

Forcing the static from your mind, you nearly growled in frustration…

—And promptly threw the gun at Stitch.

You blinked in surprise at the sound of metal hitting the material of his gas mask. He even recoiled slightly in surprise before a feral look entered his eyes.

Payback was one vindictive thought that entered your mind.

Oh shit was another that soon followed.

“I will kill your comrades one by one.” Stitch warned. Although, something in his voice easily told you he wouldn’t mind that outcome, “Stop.”

You stared at him through the fuzzy distortion of your vision.

Comrades , you pondered.

They took priority over you.

You relented, going down to your knees as he wanted.

Still, you refused to look up at him but rather gaze at the analysts still lined up, ready to be shot dead from a single order by Stitch to his soldiers.

“Give it up,” he demanded, gripping your face tightly with one hand. You simply looked up at him calmly. No .

“Приведи ее сюда .” Stitch gestured over to Nancy.

You watched as his operatives hauled Nancy’s body to your feet, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. Her hazy eyes stared up fearfully at you.

Gardenias and jasmine , you noted vaguely. You hadn’t noticed that about her bombastic Giorgio scent until it had been stripped away of its grandeur right before you in the blood and gore.

“P-please,” she begged, not looking at you but up at him.

Stitch chuckled lowly. He too must have been rather amused by her attempts for mercy from him of all people.

“Look at her,” he gestured to you with the Makarov in hand.

And so those watery cerulean eyes of Nancy’s gazed at you.

“...please.” she said quietly.

You only stared at her back blankly.

She was going to give up the microfilm and anything she knew to Stitch.

With this thought in mind, you watched the muzzle of the gun press against her head before you heard the gunshot. You only blinked when you felt something wet and warm on your face.

Distracted by the sensation, you were pulled away from your thoughts when leather stroked against your cheek in an almost affectionate fashion. You felt something wet smear against your cheek as his gloved hand stroked the skin there.

“Ruthless as always,” Stitch said with a rather approving yet feral look in his eyes as you gazed up at him. He laughed a little to himself before adding, “I’m glad the CIA did not make you soft.”

You blinked. Why...why hadn’t you said anything when they were going to shoot her?

She was a traitor, the thought came to mind instantly. But you nearly winced at the thought.

So were you.

You pulled away from your thoughts suddenly when you felt a firm pressure at your lips. His gloved fingers were pressing against your lips insistently with the wet metallic-smelling substance still on them.

Stitch stared down at you with that milky eye of his blank and emotionless. It contrasted sharply with his cerulean one filled with a rather keen interest, “Open,” he demanded.

You glared up at him.

“If any of your piece of shit comrades swallowed that, I would have cut them open like pigs,” Stitch casually said resting a knife at your abdomen as if he contemplated the threat of gutting you open.

However, the pressure of the knife against your abdomen lightened as he stroked a gloved thumb over your lips. He seemed a little too preoccupied with doing that for some reason…

“But you, Зая, I will make an exception.”

You blinked once again.

Somehow, that didn’t sound like a good thing.

Suddenly, his large gloved hand moved to grasp at your jaw, pressing down on it harshly. You nearly winced at the pressure, preparing yourself for the inevitable. He was definitely going to break your jaw as expected…

You glanced quickly over to the analysts still lined up like ducks to shoot down before Stitch’s operatives. They looked at you rather nervously and with concern. You blinked at them. Sure, you were about to get your jaw broken but you were sure you’ve had worse in the past considering your scars. Besides, it was hard to top MK Ultra...

Suddenly, you felt him press down on the joint and his hands forced your mouth to open even as you desperately tried to fight it. What the hell was he doing-

You blinked. Your eyes glanced down to confirm that yes-

Stitch actually was shoving his fingers into your mouth.

You struggled to bite down but that insistent pressure at the joint of your jaw kept you from doing so. His fingers forced deeper into your mouth until they reached the back of your throat. The moment they pressed there you felt your throat convulse and your eyes watered.

However, even as your throat convulsed as you gagged on his fingers, you tried not to dry heave.

But then underneath the dull taste of his leather gloves, you tasted that familiar metallic taste.

Blood.

There had been blood on your cheek which he had stroked with a gloved hand before brushing your lips with that same one.

Suddenly, you felt saliva run down your throat alongside his fingers.

And it was at that moment you felt yourself choke.

“сдавайся уже.” he said impatiently, withdrawing his fingers at last when he noticed you just couldn’t breathe. You only glared up at him with teary eyes blurring your vision with your hand immediately rubbing tenderly at your throat as you struggled to calm both your stomach and your breathing.

You opened your mouth to say something but then you heard something...beeping in the background. You turned your head to the side, seeing that it originated from one of the large cryptography machines sent from the highest levels of the cryptography department of the CIA.

You briefly glanced at the analysts who were nodding at you.

You blinked. What were they trying to say-

Suddenly you heard a deafening bang with a ringing- not static -in your ears-

And then everything went dark.

________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @samatedeansbroccoli for beta-reading this late at night last-minute! Without their feedback, I probably wouldn't have been able to post this chapter and this chapter would have been in a worse condition.

Thanks for reading!

#stitch/bell #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: minor character death #tw: attempted forced vomiting #Stitch x bell #vikhor stitch kuzmin #vikhor stitch kuzmin x bell #cod cold war fanfiction #cod bell #fic: just like old times

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nanobyting · 2 years

Text

ii.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

His ears are ringing with rapid gunfire and the sound of screaming. His nose is being assaulted with the smell of napalm and burnt bodies. Wet earth pressing against his back, not helping how the sticky heat makes his clothes cling to his skin and -

“Bell,” he croaks, straining to look down, finally getting his bearings and realizing the weight on his chest was her. He puts a hand on her hip to jostle her awake. The blast of that explosion must have -

Her side is wet.

He pulls his hand back and blinks at the bright red liquid dripping down his arm.

He realizes he’s lying in a pool of her blood. “Bell!” He quickly moves to get up, gently grabbing her to lay her down next to him.

Her eyes flutter open and searches her surroundings - and he can tell the moment the pain hits her. She hisses while he tears open her jacket, then she whimpers when he reveals the wound to fresh air. She still hasn’t said a word, but her body’s reacting on its own as she grabs onto his wrist to anchor herself, needing to hold onto something for dear life.

She’s in shock.

“Bell, stay with me,” he says, not wasting a single second because it looks bad. It is bad. Something ripped open her right side when she got in front of him to protect him - she didn’t have to do that. She always does this. Gets herself in damn trouble for me. Gets in the line of fire for me. He never asks her to do this. She always acts as if he was the most precious damn thing in the world. Says things like life wouldn’t be worth living without him.

He hurries to get the gauze out of his pack and presses it against her wound to stop the bleeding, ignoring her cries. “I know, I know,” he shushes her, trying to keep his own nerves steady as he glances around to make sure that they weren’t going to get shot at while Bell was -

“Russell,” she whines, glancing down at her body again and reaching for his red red red hands, “it’s not - ”

“Move your hands, Bell, move your hands,” he growls. Too much blood. It isn’t stopping. Seeping through the gauze. Can’t stitch it up when it’s still bleeding like this.

“Cipher.”

A whimper.

“Stay with me, Bell. Just focus on me. You’re gonna be alright.”

“Cipher.”

“Russell.” She barely gets his name out and it makes him finally snap his attention to her even though he doesn’t want to.

“CIPHER!”

They aren’t in Vietnam anymore. They’re on the cliff side of Solovetsky and the Arctic air is burning the inside of his lungs as it carries the scent of Bell’s perfume mixed with the blood seeping out of her chest. She’s gasping, struggling to breathe because her lungs are filling with blood - she’s drowning in her own blood.

He stares, frozen in place. His hands felt so warm against her -

“It’s not - ” she gurgles, coughs, and spits, “ - it’s not your fault.”

“Stop,” he murmurs, staring at her as his hands tremble. Her own hands reach to settle on top of his, trapping him in this moment. “Bell, you - “

“Heroes - “ she led him and “ - have to make - ” stood at the edge of the cliff “ - sacrifices.” and fell.

06͠7 ̶06͘6͏ ̷0̷40͟ ̛0̴62 06҉0҉ 040 0͟66͡ ͞14̶1 04͟0 ҉0͞67̶ ͜0͞66͜ 040 ̴0͜66̴ 06͢6͘ ̧0͡40̸ 0͝6͠7҉ ̨06͘5͏ ͠040 0͏62́ ͝06͡0 ̴0̢40͟ 0͞6̷6 ͡14͝1 040 ͜0̨6̷7 ͘06͝2͘ 0̡4̀0 ͞0̶6͠2 0͘6̴0̴ ́04̧0 0̶6́7 0̶65 040̨ ̛066͝ ̛145҉ 04̛0̨ ̵0̕6̵7 06̶1͟ 0̡40 0̀6̴2͢ 0͜60̡ ̨0͘4͏0 ̶0͠67͢ 141 ͘0̶4̶0̕ 066 0̛62҉ 0͢40 ̛06̨6̴ ̵0͡65͡ ̶0̛40̀ ͡0̛67 0̸6̀2 04̷0 ̧0̵62 ̵0҉6̨0 04̕0 0͜6̨6 0̀6̸7 ̴040 ͜067̸ 06͠6̨ 040 ̴067͘ ͜1͜4̨1̨ 04͡0̧ 06̨7 06̢2́

The world comes crashing down around him.

With Bell dying in his arms, peering up at him as if he was her whole world while her blood seeped deep into his skin, into his bones, into his soul.

“This isn’t how it happened.”

He looks up and there’s Bell standing over them. Healthy, no gaping wound in her chest, looking at him and her dying body with concern. Her hand reaches for him by the shirt and he’s pulled up and back into his living room, panting heavily as he stares at her blankly.

Bell sighs and caresses his face. He leans into her touch.

“How many times have I told you? You can’t keep re-creating these fake memories, Cipher.”

“It isn’t fake,” he says, “not to you.”

She smiles, amused. “It’s fake to you.”

“No - it was real to you. I was there,” he breathes, “I was there. We made those memories together.” Halcyon days in Vietnam. How did she make memories where she yearned for those days in Vietnam? All because it was a time where she supposedly met him - where they grew close. In that corner of the world, far away from anything they knew, surviving against all odds together.

She considers him and drags the back of her hand down his cheek that has him shuddering. “Not those memories,” she says, “memories of me dying.”

“No,” he says urgently, “no. You - when he was scrambling your fucking brain, you kept - you kept going off script and trying to kill yourself in the scenarios.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“While protecting you?”

“Yeah.”

“... What does that mean?”

“... I don’t know.” Bell frowns and he grabs onto her hands.

“You feel guilty. That’s all. You shouldn’t keep forcing yourself to go through those scenarios, Cipher.”

“I’m not forcing myself.”

She takes his hands in hers and squeezes them tight. Steps closer and tilts her head back to look up at him. She stares into his blue eyes and he wonders what she sees. Some days he wonders if she preferred him or who he used to be.

“You should rest, Cipher.”

He stares into her. Those green eyes. He feels like they were brighter when she was alive. Sometimes her smiles wouldn't reach her eyes these days. He leans down to kiss her only to be stopped by her fingers pressing against his lips. He frowns and narrows his eyes at her.

“Don’t play this game,” she murmurs, “you always regret it.”

“You said you’d do anything for me.”

“Cipher...”

“Were you lying?”

“Of course not.” He stares at her, expecting more. He always expects more out of her. She doesn’t squirm like she used to. “I would never lie to you. I love you.”

“Show me, then.”

Bell tilts her head, the corner of her lips raising just a bit as her eyes squint with amusement. “You want me to?”

“Yes.”

“How badly?”

“More than anything.”

She laughs and presses against him as he wraps his arms around her tighter. “Oh, Cipher,” she sighs happily, lifting a leg up behind her as she wraps her arms around his neck, “what would you do without me?”

She licks into his mouth and he buries himself deep inside her with no hopes of crawling back out.

#my writing #point of no return (side b)#im just throwing random things together bc i couldnt get this scene out of my head which isnt really related to point of no return #but it could be #and almost has a parallel #snippet #cipher wishing he was a corpse too so he can bury himself in her 😩😩😩 who said that #SDIGHSDHG #dont take that seriously that pick up line has been stuck in my head all day #also yes those numbers aren't actually random this time #if you wanna solve it octal > hexadecimal > rot13 #cipherbell #if this feels all over the place that's because it is and i wrote it over like ... some days and just filled it with #whatever mood i was feeling iSDHGSDG #russell adler #adlerbell #bell

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wazafam · 3 years

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Some episodes of the BBC’s Sherlock had to get rid of a couple of scenes for different reasons, and here’s every deleted scene and why they were cut. Created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes made his debut in the story A Study in Scarlet in 1887, and became widely popular after the short story “A Story in Bohemia” was published in The Strand Magazine in 1891. The detective appeared in a total of four novels and 56 short stories, and his stories have been adapted to all types of media for over a hundred years, with recent ones reigniting interest in the original adventures of the character.

Among those is the BBC’s TV series Sherlock, created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, and which aired from 2010 to 2017. Sherlock brought the famous detective (played by Benedict Cumberbatch) to modern-day London and combined the cases written by Conan Doyle with new ones in order to adapt them to a modern context. Along with Sherlock came some of the most important characters from his stories, such as his partner and best friend John Watson (Martin Freeman), Irene Adler (Lara Pulver), and the detective’s archenemy Jim Moriarty (Andrew Scott).

Related: Sherlock: Every Book Case Referenced By The BBC Show

Like any other TV show, not all scenes made it to the final cut of the episodes, and Sherlock has its own collection of deleted scenes – some were cut due to time constraints, others because they messed with the pace of the story, and some of these would have greatly pleased fans. Here’s every deleted scene from Sherlock and why they were cut.

“The Blind Banker” is the title of season 1’s second episode, and it follows Sherlock and John Watson as they are hired by an old acquaintance of the detective who asks them for help. The main case of the episode, then, is all about a Chinese smuggling ring ready to kill in order to retrieve a stolen item, and in the process, they left a series of ciphers representing numbers in an ancient Chinese numeral system. Two scenes were reportedly cut from “The Blind Banker” due to time constraints, and they didn’t really add much to the story, so they weren’t a big loss. First, a scene right after the opening credits and before John was seen struggling with the checkout machine at the supermarket, introduced the audience to Edward van Coon and followed him during his final moments. The scene saw Van Coon jumping out of a cab as soon as he got home and before the driver could ask him if he wanted a receipt. Van Coon rushed up the elevator, locked the door of his apartment, took his SIG-Sauer P226 from the kitchen, ran to his bedroom, and jammed a chair against the door, but as viewers now know, that wasn’t enough to save himself.

The other cut scene from “The Blind Banker” was part of the final moments of the episode, after Sherlock took the jade hairpin from Van Coon’s secretary. He and John took it back to the museum, where the hairpin was added to the costume of Empress Wu mannequin. Later, a close-up showed Soo Lin Yao’s (Gemma Chan) name on the list of museum benefactors, as she was killed due to her links to the criminal ring “Black Lotus Tong”. As mentioned above, these scenes don’t change the story of the episode nor add much to the case, except for showing how dangerous the “Black Lotus Tong” were and the impact that Soon Lin Yao had on the museum.

The finale of Sherlock season 2 saw the detective killing himself after being tricked by Moriarty, but by the end of the episode, his survival was teased. Sherlock made a full return in season 3’s premiere episode “The Empty Hearse”, and John was understandably upset about him faking his death. To Sherlock’s surprise, John was in a relationship with Mary Morstan (Amanda Abbington) and was planning on proposing, but those plans were postponed once he made his unexpected return. Although it took them a while to go back to the partnership and friendship they had before Sherlock’s fake death, they eventually did and by the next episode, “The Sign of the Three”, they were the best friends they were before.

Related: How Sherlock's Reichenbach Fall Survival Explanation Was Almost Different

In that episode, Sherlock and John were getting ready for the latter’s wedding, and during his best man speech, Sherlock began to ramble about John’s role in some notable cases, including one they attempted to solve while drunk from John’s bachelor party. According to Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch (via Digital Spy), there’s a deleted scene from the bachelor party where Sherlock and John got drunk at a gay club. Freeman shared they “got mullered in a gay club and all these topless guys were going by”, while Cumberbatch said he had no idea why his and Freeman’s characters were there and “why they didn’t have their clothes on”. Sherlock fans, and especially those supporting the “Jonhlock Conspiracy Theory”, would have surely loved to see Sherlock and John getting drunk at a gay bar during such a special occasion.

Sherlock season 4 began with the episode “The Six Thatchers”, which followed the aftermath of the reveal of Mary’s real identity, as she turned out to be a former assassin. The episode saw Mary giving birth to her and John’s daughter, but their relationship was already fractured due to her lies, and John ended up cheating on her with a woman he met on the bus (who later on in the season turned out to be Sherlock and Mycroft’s sister, Eurus Holmes). According to Amanda Abbington, there was a dinner scene with John and Mary where she “was just saying that she’s flying out of control and she doesn’t feel like she’s grounded”, thus introducing the idea that the couple was drifting apart, which led John to cheat on her. It’s unknown why the scene was cut but it was most likely due to it messing with the pace of the story, and getting rid of that scene actually helped make the subsequent events more surprising and heartbreaking, as at the end of the episode, Mary is killed when jumping in front of a bullet shot at Sherlock.

Next: Sherlock: What Went Wrong With Seasons 3 & 4

Sherlock: Every Deleted Scene Explained | Screen Rant from https://ift.tt/2OxYoAk

#Blogger

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 months

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Hi Steph! i messaged you a while back because someone recommended my fic, and it was very touching. well after hiatus, I finished the entirety of season 1 of Reichenbach Falls! one third is done, which comes up to 550K words! I am so excited to have actually pulled it off, oh my god it was like birth, and i was hesitatnt to post because, well, it was a long time since my last update. but of course I'm not done with it LOL, it's gonna haunt me more as I publish s2 which is the next 110 chapters out of 303(https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233390/chapters/128797882#workskin). Season 1 can now be read as a standalone, since it is all finished and came full circle. I just had to share because I am so proud of myself for once??

oh and i wanted to share my friend Bee's illustration of Jim Moriarty, who is the bad guy, of course, a mixture of himself and Bill Cipher. He's gorgeously MURDEROUS!

he is the GOAT. as is my lovely friend who drew him over a year ago when we brainstormed season 2. He's just the perfect little meow meow.

I guess that's it C: I am just excited, and proud, and ready to write the sequel hehe *hides away from exam season*

I started this fic when I was 20, now I'm 23 and it's like having a toddler, IT WONT LET ME SLEEP AT NIGHT!

That's it I guess haha, sorry for the chaos (it's thematic with Jim, tho), but I'm a little ball of emotions and I actually managed to log into this tumblr lmao

I hope you have a lovely day, as everyone else too :) you guys are the best here! thank you for being so kind :)

MWAH

Reichenbach Falls by VeeTheRee(M, 551,435+ w., 105/303 Ch. || WiP || Gravity Falls / Multifandom AU || Alternate First Meeting, Gay Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Unilock, Summer Romance/Love, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Villain Mary, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Canadian John, French Canadian Lestrade, Insecure Sherlock, Mystery, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship Summer Love, Light Angst, BAMF! John, Case Fic) – Two Canadians, two Brits studying in Canada, and an upkeeper walk into a Mystery Shack…. and live there. Summer holidays are here, and the step-siblings, Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, find themselves in a boring town called Reichenbach Falls, Oregon, USA. It isn’t as boring as it seems, however, once Sherlock stumbles upon a mystery journal, and the author is unknown. The journal contains ciphers, a strange colour wheel, and information about magical creatures that are said to be looming in the Northwestern forests. With mysteries to solve in hand, he and Irene set out to get to the roots of the town, and the abrupt disappearance of the author of the journal. But they’re not alone - John Watson, quite the handsome nephew of the Mystery Shack owner Greg Lestrade, is on their side to help out, plus mess with Sherlock’s feelings, in a good way. Shenanigans, romance, fun, danger, and deductions ensue. Oh, and there’s also occasional SuperWhoLock and two dorky Winchester brothers to spark up the action later on. Part 1 of the Reichenbach Falls series

======

HEY LOVELY!!! <3 <3 <3

SO happy to hear about the progress of the fic! I know you have a small fandom here who are eager to read the next season, and we're happy to hear that it's on its way!!!

And NEVER apologize for being chaotic!! I and everyone here loves it!!

Everyone go give this fic some love, and, if you haven't checked it out yet, give it a read! <3

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #signal boost #gravity falls au #fic reichenbach falls

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idv-murder-mystery-utopia · 4 years

Text

IDENTITY V SURVIVOR OC: ADALYN ADLERE ; THE NOVELIST

RUMOR:

A well known novelist in London, with a few cases including her and her past. Due to a major case of disappearance 15 years ago, she had been written off in history, alongside the other missing women of the town. What is the owner's offer to a woman full of secrets and deceit to convince in playing a game that can seal a deal to the devil?

CLASS: Rescuer

QUOTE: “This is my world now, and only I can control my utopia at my will!”

ITEM: Scriptbook and Pen

- The Novelist can only have 10 pages of her scriptbook. If another survivor got the Scriptbook, they will instead only have 5 pages. (May be changed to no limit, but the limit the survivors will have won't change.)

INTERMISSION:

The Novelist has a 5 second cool down for using her scriptbook, and the hunters can destroy her portals. They, however, will get a 4 second stun if they chose to destroy the portals. The portal only last for 10 seconds before destroying by itself. If a hunter goes through, they will get a 3 second slowness as a result. This doesn't stack up.

SKILLS:

External Traits

Multifaceted Choice:

- The novelist is often used to portraying each character she makes as herself, making her have multiple advantages and disadvantages in the match. She will gain 10% decoding speed if decoding with a female, and a 5% decoding debuff if decoding with a male. This can stack up to 3. This can only last up to 20 seconds (it does not affect the first cipher she decodes). If a survivor she's decoding with is injured, this stacks up her debuff to 10%.

Choice of Fiction and Reality:

- Seeing that the novelist is used to writing books back in her time, she has got used to delving in her mind and recording everything she sees. If a survivor is chaired, she can record on their coordinates and the last point she was standing to set up a portal. This will take 15 seconds to make, and this causes a 5 second cool down before she can use it again. The survivors will get a 5 second speed boost upon going through her portals.

Deceptionist's Reality:

- The novelist doesn't do well with being alone. For every survivor that gets sent off, this increases her paranoia up to 3 stacks. Her paranoia hinders her decoding speed by 5%, but increases her vaulting speed by 10%. However, if she is chaired, the chair's speed will increase to 15%. This can stack up to 3.

Murder Mystery Reveal:

- With the hunter being labelled as the "suspect" of her world, she gets a slight kick to being chased and finding out the truth— even if it meant risking her life. Rescuing chaired survs (speed wise) increases by 3%, and getting pursued by hunters for 15 seconds increases her speed by that as well. It doesn't stack, and lasts for 12 seconds.

HUNTER / SURVIVOR COMP:

- Counter to (Hunters that would suffer against her): Hastur, Robbie, Leo, Clown, Dream Witch

- Counter against (Hunters that would benefit against her): Joseph, Antonio, Bloody Queen, Mad Eyes, Jack

- Team Comp/s: Anyone who is good with tight and transitional kiting :)

#finally done her form 😔#I know I drew her eyes wrong but I'm tired and I just want to publish this #lifelike paragraphs || musing #divine voices || admin #written notes || not an ask #wanderer's mentor || adalyn #rescuer bab #aight time to get used to drawing her sjdbbd #might do some doodles for her skills who knows #identity v ask blog #idv ask blog

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animefreak1145 · 3 years

Text

Decoded Cipher(Oneshot)

Description: As Adler slowly turns into the husk Stitch wants, hallucinations start to come about.

“You’ll always be the worst.” Adler’s lips moved, a shadow of a smirk. “This whole situation is ironic, you ever thought of that?”

Adler’s lips flattened as he moved his head away from them. The red shuffled away.

“It hasn’t escaped my knowledge, no. I’m growing insane, not stupid.

“You think you’re going insane?”

His ears ring with chimes.

Warnings/Tags: Mature Warning/Graphic, 18+ Dark Themes, Hallucinations, Torture, Body Horror, Trauma, Brainwashing, Mental Anguish, Mind Games, Angst

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34155400

A/N: Due to this fic being so long, Tumblr doesn’t let me post it so I’ll just post the link! Made last minute changes due to the trailer. Hope you guys enjoy the long journey with Adler! 💗

Post that gave me the push to write this by @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler

Post with analysis of Brainwashed Adler.

Requested Tags: @weirdoartist21 @mayaibnlaahad @kylezkie4adler @stupid-stinky @jimmothyjimmothy @aurora-windu @gojocat247 @parkeepingparker @animecriminal @nocturnalblurbee

#mature rating #russell adler #call of duty #black ops cold war #cod #call of duty cold war #cod cold war #cod bell #russell adler fanfiction #Frank woods #Jason Hudson #Alex mason #cod:bocw season 6 #vikhor stitch kuzmin #kapano naga vang #russell adler x bell #Adler x Bell #perseus cod

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veliseraptor · 4 years

Note

I was just about to Ask you on a related subject... do you think it's possible to write a feminist story (let's say, in any of those categories) where the female lead has the least screentime, or is even offscreen entirely? The closest I can think of is "A Scandal in Bohemia".

(Relating to this post from a while ago because I took approximately forever to answer it.)

I guess…I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I’m gonna say no? Because at least to me it feels like for a story to have any kind of “feminist” aspect to it (whatever that means! and I’m not actually all that interested in the question of whether or not a text is feminist, tbh! I do not find it a productive point of discussion!) it should probably at least…have a woman in it somewhere, and not just as…well, what I feel like Irene Adler kinda is in “A Scandal in Bohemia,” which is to say, a plot device.

She’s there to drive the action forward, but at least in my recollection she is more cipher and mystery than person or character. And that’s the problem with having a character be largely absent - it’s hard to build a significant character without giving them that space, and without a significant character I’d say it’s hard to fit any of those categories.

I think I’d feel a little funny about calling something “feminist” in the absence of a significant female character who not only plays a driving role in the narrative but also has a character of her own.

But, and honestly this is the bigger thing I think I was wrestling with while I was working on answer this ask, this is exactly my problem with designating a story as feminist/not feminist (usually with the implied division of good/bad). I’m thinking of things like the Imperial Radch series, which engages (or perhaps, doesn’t engage) with gender in a way that has nothing to do with the category of “women,” or The Left Hand of Darkness, which also futzes with gender but I wouldn’t necessarily call “feminist.”

I think that’s what I mean when I say I don’t have a lot of interest in the “is this feminist” question - I’m much more interested, overall, in asking “how does this text engage with gender?”

#anonymous #conversating #is this coherent? good question!#sometimes i read things #actual english major lise #that's...the closest things i've got anyways #lise has opinions

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ao3feed-johnlock · 4 years

Link

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3gNbYs8

by VeeTheRee

Two Canadians, two Brits studying in Canada, and an upkeeper walk into a Mystery Shack…. and live there. Summer holidays are here, and the step-siblings, Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, find themselves in a boring town called Reichenbach Falls, Oregon, USA. It isn’t as boring as it seems, however, once Sherlock stumbles upon a mystery journal, and the author is unknown. The journal contains ciphers, a strange colour wheel, and information about magical creatures that are said to be looming in the Northwestern forests. With mysteries to solve in hand, he and Irene set out to get to the roots of the town, and the abrupt disappearance of the author of the journal. But they’re not alone - John Watson, quite the handsome nephew of the Mystery Shack owner Greg Lestrade, is on their side to help out, plus mess with Sherlock’s feelings, in a good way. Shenanigans, romance, fun, danger, and deductions ensue. Oh, and there’s also occasional SuperWhoLock and two dorky Winchester brothers to spark up the action later on.

DISCLAIMER - you needn't have watched Gravity Falls to understand or read this fanfiction, even though it is its AU, just enjoy! This is Season 1 of a 3-part series.

Words: 6488, Chapters: 2/101, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Reichenbach Falls

Fandoms: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Gravity Falls, Supernatural, Doctor Who, (Doctor will be relevant a bit later on), Queen (Band), (also a bit relevant later throughout), Superwholock - Fandom

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Irene Adler (Sherlock Holmes), Greg Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes), Kate (Sherlock), Sally Donovan, Henry Knight, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Janine (Sherlock), Philip Anderson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper, Mary Morstan, Sebastian Moran, Sebastian Wilkes, Eddie Van Coon, Bill Murray (Sherlock), Sarah Sawyer, Violet Hunter, Tenth Doctor, Donna Noble, Redbeard (Sherlock), Mummy (Sherlock), Jim Moriarty, Freddie Mercury, Dimmock (Sherlock), Angelo (Sherlock), Anthea (Sherlock)

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Irene Adler & Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler & John Watson, Mary Morstan & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Dean Winchester, Sherlock Holmes & Sam Winchester, John Watson & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Additional Tags: Gravity Falls AU, Gen Z AU, Johnlock Roulette, Johnlock - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bisexual John Watson, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Lesbian Irene Adler, Mutual Pining, papa lestrade, Paternal Greg Lestrade, grunkle!Greg, Canadian!John, French Canadian!Lestrade, Uni!lock, Sort Of, Summer Romance, Summer Love, Summer, Mystery, Mystery Shack, Mystery Siblings, Adler-Holmes Siblings, Deja Vu, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, Light Angst, Developing Relationship, Developing Friendships, The M Conspiracy, Evil Mary Morstan, Mary Morstan is Not Nice, Hamilton References, Homestuck References, Musical References, superlock, Wholock, Superwholock, Queen - Freeform, Mystery!Boyfriends, Irene ships Johnlock, mrs hudson ships johnlock, Greg ships johnlock, everyone ships johnlock Oprah style, BAMF John, BAMF Greg Lestrade, BAMF Irene Adler, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, BAMF Anthea (Sherlock), First Kiss

September 01, 2020 at 03:28PM

#AO3 works tagged 'Sherlock Holmes/John Watson'#ao3feed #fanfic #johnlock #sherlock/john <a rel="au

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