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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 3 years

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Welcome Home | Chapter Ten: Still Breathing

Finally—finally—, the day comes to rescue Sean. You honestly don’t know what to expect. Most of the others in camp aren’t much help, referring to Sean with a roll of their eyes and something along the lines of: “half a mind to let the bounty hunters keep him.”

They should be saying that about Micah, you think to yourself as you watch Charles and Arthur saddle their horses. Maybe then Dutch’ll kick him out.

Still, Sean is a bit of a wildcard to you. You won’t figure out what he’s really like until you meet him, and until then, you decide to keep an open mind. Worst case scenario? He’s Micah’s long-lost brother. Best case scenario? He’s… well. Maybe it’s best not to think about all the things he could be. Keep yourself on your toes.

You sit on a tree stump while the boys get ready. Taima is an absolute beauty of a horse, and you can tell by the way Charles dotes on her that she’s got a good life. Briefly, thoughts of having a horse of your own cross your mind. That appaloosa gelding is probably still for sale in Valentine. Maybe if you can get enough money, you can buy him.

Arthur and Charles take their sweet time packing more than enough ammo, which means you quickly get bored. Every scratchy detail on the tree stump bothers you, too. Hopping to your feet, you decide to get some chores done. Everyone’s been so preoccupied with the big upcoming rescue, they’ve neglected some of the finer details in camp.

The ax is in its usual spot, surrounded by whole logs that need to be chopped. You grab ahold of the handle. It feels lighter than it used to, and you realize you’re getting stronger.

Goodbye noodle arms, you think as you bring the ax down on to the first log. You don’t quite split it, but it’s getting closer than ever. And hello Jack Lumber.

A few chops in, you feel the muscles in the back of your neck tense. Someone’s behind you, and you’re not quite sure who. But soon enough, a low, sinister chuckle reaches your ears. Micah.

“Well,” he says. “Looks like the camp nuisance is finally doing some work.”

You slowly count to three before turning around. Micah stands by you, a little too close for your liking, and he’s got a smirk on his face that twists your gut something awful. You’ve started wearing a gun belt, and the hand that isn’t holding the ax inadvertently twitches toward your revolver.

“You know something, Y/N?” He takes a step toward you. “I think you’re starting to wear out your welcome.”

Fire ignites in your chest. No. No. Micah doesn’t get to do this, try and make you second-guess yourself and your place in the gang—especially not after you’ve just started feeling comfortable.

“Back off, you useless mineral,” you hiss.

Micah’s lips curl into a snarl as he takes another step toward you. This one feels infinitely more threatening, and you barely keep yourself from taking a step back. You’ll be damned if Micah wins this fight.

“Take another step,” you warn, “and I’ll jump rope with your intestines.”

Honestly, you don’t really expect him to feel threatened, but the odd choice in words is enough to throw him off. You can see him trying to process everything you said, which gives you enough time to throw the ax down and skedaddle.

Your heart thuds frantically in your chest as you hurry to Arthur and Charles. Micah won’t try anything if you’re with them; that much, you know for sure.

“We ready to go?” You ask as nonchalantly as you can. “If I chop one more piece of wood, I’ll have to start wearing flannel.”

Charles looks confused at “flannel,” but Arthur frowns as he glances over at the chopping block. His expression hardens when he sees Micah storming away.

“Micah giving you trouble?” He asks, a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You go to lean against the hitching post, miss, and almost topple over. Face burning, you settle for folding your arms over your chest.

Arthur and Charles exchange looks.

“If he tries anything,” Charles tells you, calm and steady, “let us know. We’ll take care of it.”

We’ll take care of it. How a statement so simple and so general can sound that dangerous, you’ll never know. You wordlessly nod, not knowing how to respond.

Charles leaves, then, to go saddle Taima. You look to Arthur, ready to follow him to Florence, who’s already tacked up and ready. But he doesn’t move.

“Micah been buggin’ you a lot?”

You shake your head. “Not really. I mean, he gave me a hard time when I was cleaning up Pearson’s wagon a while ago, but Hosea scared him off.”

Arthur turns to look at you. “And today?”

“Oh.” You think back to the confrontation. “Well, he called me the ‘camp nuisance’ and said I was starting to wear out my welcome.”

A glint of fury flashes through Arthur’s eyes as he throws a glare in Micah’s general direction. You shiver involuntarily. Thank goodness you’re not on a certain cowboy’s bad side.

“I’ve been called worse, to be honest,” you say with a shrug, and smile slightly when Arthur looks at you again. “I’m kinda used to it.”

He gives you a troubled frown instead of sharing your nonchalance. Confused, you feel your smile waver a little.

“What?” You ask.

“You…” Arthur begins, trails off, then continues: “You know it ain’t true, right?”

“What isn’t?”

“The part about being a nuisance. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either.”

Something pulls at your heart, something strong, and you’re suddenly at a loss for words. You’ve had so many doors slammed in your face, so many people come and go, never staying, never even wanting to stay… And you couldn’t do anything but watch them leave.

“Oh,” is all you manage around a tight throat.

Arthur looks at you some more. His eyes are soft now, soft and full of what you think is understanding. He reaches out, maybe to put a hand on your shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and instead motions for you to follow him. You trail a little behind as he walks toward Florence. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either. Did… did Arthur really mean that? Does that mean the rest of the gang, minus Micah, feels the same way? You can’t help but shake your head in wonder. You don’t think you’ll ever understand these people.

Once you catch up, Arthur easily swings himself on top of Florence, then hauls you into the saddle behind him. You’re starting to get used to horseback. Florence may be absolutely massive, but you don’t feel so unsteady anymore. In fact, you might actually like riding.

“We’re meeting up with Javier just outside of Blackwater,” Charles says as he brings Taima over. “Trelawney thinks the bounty hunters will bring Sean upriver.”

Arthur nods and sets a steady trot out of camp. “Good. We can probably cut ‘em off when they reach the border. I think there’s a canyon that’ll give us some decent cover.”

“Any luck, we’ll take them by surprise.” Charles urges Taima into a canter, which Florence matches. “How many do you think there’ll be?”

“For Sean?” Arthur laughs, and you try not to look too enamored. “Any pair of fools could handle him. But there’ll be a lot of ‘em, no doubt.”

Charles hums in thought, but doesn’t say anything else. Much of the ride passes in comfortable silence. Although you want to focus on admiring the scenery and marvel at the lack of, well, everything, you find yourself thinking about the upcoming fight. You may not know a lot about the past, but you’ve seen enough Westerns to know bounty hunters always put up a hell of a fight. That, and they always keep coming right when you think you’ve killed them all.

Your revolver suddenly feels heavy in its holster. You bite your lip, a little unsure. Yes, you’ve used it once at Six Point Cabin, and yes, you’ve managed to hit a few bottles, but those were honestly lucky shots. And neither of them were shooting back.

Bounty hunters, though? Different story. For as much bravado as you showed Dutch during his little tirade, you have to admit that you’re a little nervous. It’ll be your first real gunfight. You’ll have Arthur and Charles looking out for you, but you can’t help the anxiety knotting deep in your gut.

If I die, I die, you think. No going back now.

///

Conversation lags for the remainder of the ride. Eventually, after crossing a small river, you’re in what Arthur tells you is West Elizabeth. It looks… well, it looks like a perfect snapshot of a history textbook. Rolling hills and open land, bison… it’s absolutely stunning.

Off in the distance, you see two people looking over the edge of a cliff. You recognize Javier, but you don’t recognize the other man, with his mustache and mischievous eyes. He smiles when he sees Arthur and Charles, then peers at you curiously.

“And who might this be?” He asks as Arthur dismounts, leaving you alone atop Florence.

Your brain goes into a blue screen of death, and before you know what you’re doing, you say: “My name is an enigma and holds all the secrets of the universe.”

“That would be Y/N,” Arthur says, exasperated. He helps you down and grabs his rifle from the saddle. “Y/N, this is Josiah Trelawney.”

Trelawney bows with a flourish. “At your service, my dear.”

You instantly decide you like him. Waving hello to Javier, you approach the edge of the cliff, crouching low like everyone else.

“Sean?” Arthur asks as he looks down the scope of his rifle.

“I think he’s in that boat over there.” Javier gestures to a small vessel upriver. “Think they’re docking to take him further inland.”

Arthur turns the scope, then gives a hum of confirmation. “That’s him alright. Giving those bounty hunters hell.”

Trelawney nods and rises before mounting his horse. Setting a slow walk, he motions for everyone to follow him. Arthur helps you on to Florence, and then you’re off once more.

“If we do this right,” Trelawney says, “we can cut them off. Remember: we’re just innocent folk out for a ride on the trail. Let’s not draw their attention just yet.”

The five of you ride toward a canyon. Ahead, you can see the boat docked at the shore, along with several well-armed, intimidating bounty hunters standing guard. They don’t look like they’re in much of a mood to negotiate. In fact, they look ready to shoot on sight.

Everyone takes cover around the bend. Trelawney, odd man that he is, seems more preoccupied with his coat than the problem at hand.

“Now ain’t the time for a fashion statement,” Arthur drawls.

“Au contraire, my dear fellow,” Trelawney says with a smile. “Bounty hunters are even more gullible than hillbillies. I have to look the part if I’m going to make the proper distraction.”

Then, before any of you can say a word otherwise, Trelawney strides confidently toward the bounty hunters. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you just know he’s spinning a tale bigger than the Grizzlies. He waves his arms in a grandiose gesture. In another situation, you would have mistaken it for part of the act. But now, along with Arthur, Charles, and Javier, you recognize it for what it is: a signal.

Arthur fires a quick shot, striking one of the bounty hunters between the eyes. From there, it’s chaos. All you can hear is the sound of gunfire and shouting. You take cover behind a rock, firing your revolver without really trying to hit anything. You don’t know if any of your bullets find their marks. Honestly? Probably not.

“Let’s push up on ‘em,” Arthur commands.

You stick close by him as you make your way up the canyon. The bounty hunters have regrouped by now, which lets them put up more of a fight. A bullet whizzes by your ear—too close for you to ignore—and you yelp and duck further into cover.

Arthur quickly lays down some cover fire, then hauls you up and pulls you behind a larger rock. You don’t even have time to tell him thank you. The firefight picks up again, bullets flying, ricocheting, sometimes hitting their targets, sometimes hitting the canyon walls. It takes nearly all your self-control to keep a level head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier reloading his guns, but also just barely peeking out of cover. You look up the canyon trail. There, off in the distance, half-hidden by gun smoke and dust, you can just barely make out the silhouette of a bounty hunter—and he’s aiming right at Javier.

You steel yourself. You’re not some useless coward who needs to be protected. You’re a member of the Van Der Linde Gang—an outlaw. And one of your own is in danger.

Your anxiety flees, replaced by determination. Edging ever-so-slightly out of cover, you fire off a shot toward the bounty hunter, then duck back behind the boulder. A pained yell tells you that you hit your mark, and it’s followed by silence.

Javier looks at the fallen bounty hunter, then at you. He nods his head in thanks. Smiling, you tip your fingers in a mock-salute, then follow Arthur as he pushes further up the canyon.

It doesn’t take long for your little group to reach a clearing. Right away, you see someone dangling upside down from a tree. He’s also surrounded by vicious-looking men who you would honestly rather avoid.

Well,you think to yourself. That must be Sean.

The bounty hunters have been expecting you, and they fire several warning shots into the tree line. You duck behind the trunk of a massive pine. To your right, you see Arthur considering the situation, trying to figure out the best approach. On your left, Javier and Charles wait on a signal. You don’t know what happened to Trelawney, but you think he’s alright.

“If we can get around them,” Arthur eventually says, “we can come at them from all sides.”

Javier grins. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Charles gives him a look. “Only the fish can shoot back.”

Arthur nods, then looks back toward the clearing. “Someone’s gotta get to Sean quick as they can. I got a feeling he’s gonna be bait.”

“I’ll do it,” you tell him. “There’s enough cover behind that tree he’s tied up in. I’ll be fine.”

For a long, long moment, Arthur looks uncertain. But when you give him a pleading look, silently begging him to let you prove yourself, he sighs and folds the cards.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Wait until you got a clear opening, then go for it.”

Everyone heads off in opposite directions, leaving you to prepare yourself for the sprint of the century. One by one, the boys shoot the bounty hunters, hitting each with impeccable aim. Then, almost before you’re ready, you spy the perfect opportunity.

Making a beeline for Sean, you dive behind the tree just as the bullets start flying again. You sit there for a few seconds, catching your breath. You can’t believe you’re still alive. All that time in open space, and not a single scratch on you.

“It’s over!” You hear one of the bounty hunters shout.

He sounds dangerously close to you. Peeking around the tree, you see him standing not a foot away, pointing his rifle at Sean.

Shit.

You duck back into hiding before you’re spotted. This is exactly what you didn’twant to happen, and it happened anyway. Wracking your brain for ideas, you look around for anything that could be of use.

Think think think think think think—

There’s a corpse not too far from you, and you spy a knife on its belt. Moving purely on instinct and adrenaline, you snatch it from its sheath, turn back to the bounty hunter, and shove it through his throat right in the middle of his next sentence. He stays on his feet for maybe a second longer, then collapses.

You slowly back away from him. Dimly, you realize that the fire fight is over, that everyone else is okay, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on that. All you can do is stare at the body on the ground… the man you just killed.

“You alright there, friend?” Sean asks, still upside down.

“Uh,” your voice sounds far away to your own ears, “yeah. I’m fine.”

After that, you have maybe five seconds before your stomach lurches. Doubling over, you heave violently for a while before coughing, spitting out the taste in your mouth, and wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“Hiya Sean. I’m Y/N.”

Accompanying Music: Still Breathing | Green Day

Ko-Fi

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fic #welcome home

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parjiljehavey · 4 years

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Lost Shadows Left Behind ii

Summary: Dante meddles, once again. Hopefully, the results are what Nero is after.

Read on AO3 for details notes at the end!

3rd of May, 1:43pm

One year, ten months and eighteen days after the events of Redgrave City

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It had been some months since Vergil had divulged the name of the woman who had clearly ensnared his heart. Things had improved between Nero and Vergil; they were actually starting to bond, sometimes at Dante’s expense, but hey, Dante was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Dante’s brother had gone off on his own for a hunt, heading over to Siberia after they'd gotten word that locals were claiming vampires were running around several villages.

Vergil went because Dante didn't speak Russian; he only knew Spanish, Latin, and Italian with a smattering of German; mostly because Dante had liked how foul language sounded in German. Vergil, on the other hand, was a damn polyglot.

Nero had called off and on, busy with the mobile branch and the kids he and Kyrie were raising. Last time Dante had talked to Vergil, the elder twin had actually gotten a letter from Nero with a post script calling him an asshole for forcing Nero to write an actual letter like it was the 19th century because Vergil didn’t have a cellphone.

Vergil, of course, went out and bought the cheapest cell phone he could find after receiving it. Dante had been wheezing for air over Vergil’s grumbling over technology and uncooperative locals. The phone number scribbled on a piece that Dante handed to Nero was met with a nose wrinkled with disgust after the kid had racked the balls for a game of pool. Nothing like a game of pool after pizza, in Dante's opinion.

"Dante, a three year old can write better than this."

"Hey! That's not anyway to thank your amazing uncle for writing down your old man's new phone number. Especially when said uncle is letting you drink his beer." Dante was grinning despite the reprimand. Nero took a drink from one of said beers, raising an eyebrow. "Don't text him by the way. Stick with phone calls; he's still figuring out how to play Tetris on the piece of crap he got. Wait until he gets a smart phone for texting." He broke the rack. A stripe went in. "Solids are yours."

"You mean like the one you broke by falling into a river?" The kid was leaning on his cue, watching as Dante lined up another shot.

"I was thrown into that river, you little punk. I didn't go out that day looking for a swim. If I wanted to go swimming, I would have packed my broad shorts." Dante could have cleared the table if he had wanted to; but this was bonding time with his nephew, so he intentionally messed up his shot.

Nero gave him a look that conveyed that he knew what Dante was doing as the kid set down his beer next to Dante's own to circle the table for a good shot. After pocketing one, Nero did the same thing Dante had and missed on purpose. They fell into a good silence; the crack of the cues hitting the balls as they took turns making their shoots.

“How’s the search for momma doin’?”

Nero grunted, clearing not happy. Oh, he knew that look. It struck Dante for not the first time that this was Vergil’s son and they made similar facial expressions. Dante sighed. “Alright kid, spill it. Tell Uncle Dante what’s buggin’ ya.”

Nero snorted, as he always did when Dante called himself ‘Uncle Dante’ in a conversation. Dante waited, taking his time with his next shot to give the kid some time to get his thoughts into order.

“There’s only two women that it could be. One died in ‘94 and the other disappeared a month or so after I was born. The problem is that the woman who died was a nun; the Spardan nuns took their vows of chastity seriously and very rarely left the convent’s tower. When they did, it was documented for what reason and when, right down to the time. None of the nuns left the tower around the time Vergil would have been in Fortuna.”

Dante leaned against the table, twirling the cue stick in his hand. The kid was pacing, not even paying attention that it was his turn now. “So that leaves the one who disappeared, right? Where’s the problem there?”

“The problem is that she didn’t disappear in Fortuna. There was a group that helped those who became disillusioned with Sanctus get to the mainland; to start over. The majority of that group was... eliminated. A surviving member recalls taking a woman to the mainland shortly after I was born.” Nero trailed off, scowling as his grip tightened around the cue. Dante could hear the wood beginning to creak.

“Nero.”

“What?”

“Wanna put the stick down before ya break it?” Nero looked at the stick and set it down on the table after a moment. When his nephew remained silent, Dante sighed. This kid was too much like his old man sometimes. “I take it the trail went cold after she hit the mainland?”

Nero sighed, moving to sit down heavily on the new couch Vergil had gotten for the office. The old one had kicked the bucket finally while Dante was taking a nap, making Vergil actually laugh. Nero eventually nodded, head in his hands. “The trail went cold when she arrived in Genoa. There’s literally nothing left to go on.”

The earlier anger that the kid had was gone and now he was just deflated. Dante really didn't know what to do or say; so he did what he did best. He created a distraction by knocking the beers from their perch on the table. Nero snorted despite himself; kid probably knew what Dante was trying to do but if the kid was laughing, Dante'd take it. Dante looked at the mess on the floor, sighing. He shrugged, “Wanna get us some new ones while I clean this up?”

“Actually wipe it up, Dante. Putting the rug over it doesn't count.”

“What if I roll Vergil's chair through it? The wheels getting gummed up will annoy him.”

“Dante!”

—————————————————————-

3rd of May, 3:32pm

—————————————————————-

Dante stared up at the ceiling above his desk, processing everything from the past few hours. Nero had volunteered to go pick up pizza, and Dante was sure that it was both for the kid to clear his head and to talk to Kyrie without Dante teasing him too much for it. Dante really didn’t want to make a habit of meddling in affairs that weren’t his (First giving Vergil a kick in the ass about Nero's mom and now this?), but this was for family right?

Family helped family when said family needed help. Dante picked up the phone and dialed one of the numbers that he pretty much knew by heart now.

“Hey Morrison! I want to know if you can dig up some information on somebody for me. You can have whatever you want.”

Got a name?

“Yeah, Lucrecia.”

Lucrecia? Dante heard the information broker repeat it several times under his breath and then heard a rustle of paper.

“From what I understand, she arrived on the mainland sometime in the nineties from Fortuna, ended up in Genoa. Trail went cold on our end of things there.”

Lucrecia Capello?

“Dunno. Never got her last name, if she had one. Why?”

I’m thinking that the Lucrecia you’re looking for is the same one I’ve got in mind. Remember that coalition that formed about ten years ago?

“Yeah? What about it?” Dante remembered it; some hunters pulled together to train up new hunters in a manner that meant less of them dying on their first couple of hunts as greenhorns and a more accessible list of jobs. Readily available backup and access to an arsenal of weapons were big enough bonuses that had a lot of human hunters signing up.

They had extended an offer for him to join when the coalition had first formed, one that still stood because he never responded one way or the other. Lady had actually considered joining up, but Dante couldn’t remember if anything came of that or not.

She’s part of it. One of their top ranged hunters, as it turns out.

“Ranged as in what? Bazooka?” Explosives were a popular choice amongst human hunters.

No, son. Sniper on the rooftops. She can shoot doublets .

Dante let out a low whistle. Doublets, as it was called amongst sharpshooters, was two shots hitting two targets in quick succession. Very impressive. “Where is she right now?”

Got that right here, son. ‘Bout a hundred miles up north of you last I heard; been there for a while actually. I believe she’s training a new hunter; took on a couple C rank jobs off my hands. Want her number?

“You mind?”

Nah. It’s for your nephew ain’t it?

“There’s nothing that gets past you is there Morrison?”

Afraid not.

—————————————————————-

4th of May, 7:38am

—————————————————————-

One year, ten months and nineteen days after the events of Redgrave City

For the second time in just as many days, Dante had given him a phone number. His uncle had handed him a piece of paper with a grin after Nero had come back with the pizza, stole a couple slices and went off on a hunt. All the hunter had said was, “Think this might be the woman you’re looking for, champ.” and out the door he went for a job. Nero looked at the number again, scrawled in Dante’s horrendous handwriting.

It had taken Nero hitting a This number has been disconnected message twice before he realized that Dante’s nines were written like fours. Seriously, the five year old Nero and Kyrie were raising could write better than this. Nero grumbled, leg twitching as he listened to the phone finally dial.

Password?

“Are you Lucrecia Capello?” Jeez, it was hard to talk. It felt like he was swallowing his tongue.

Depends on who’s asking. Do you have the password? The voice was melodic, with a dry wit.

“No. Listen, this isn’t about a hunt.” There was a snort on the other line. “Don’t hang up! My name is Nero. I-” He cleared his throat, “There’s no easy way to say this. I think I’m your son.”

...When were you born?

“September 19th, 1992.” The sound of a sharp inhale.

And where were you born?

“I’m sorry?”

Where were you born?

“Fortuna.”

The other line was silent for several long moments, and Nero would’ve thought the call had been disconnected if he wasn’t able to pick up the sound of choppy breathing and someone in the background asking if something was wrong. Nero jumped when he heard a door slam shut. He thought he could hear a racing heartbeat; he didn’t know if it was from the other line or his own. It was just now hitting him that he was more than likely speaking to his mother.

“Hello?”

What would be a good time and place to meet, Nero?

—————————————————————-

tagging: @queenmuzz and @starrymindgurl

#devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #vergil x nero's mom #vergil #Vergil Sparda #even though vergil is only mentioned #dante #Dante Sparda #nero #nero sparda #nero's mom #nero's mother #uncle dante #dante's trying to be a good if meddling uncle #we met momma next time~

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scribbling-stiks · 3 years

Text

AAR - XIV - Reconcile

Russia relaxes back against the bed and fights back a yawn. He stares down at America, who sleeps soundly with tinted sunlight filtering through the curtains and onto his face. It illuminates his face in a way Russia couldn't describe.

Dumbstruck, Russia tenderly brushes a few strands of wet hair off America's face.

He tries to memorize the image.

America's cheeks are still flush with fever, but he had stopped shivering, which is relieving. Russia looks up again as a thought strikes him, snapping out of his daze, and he grabs his bag. He pulls it to his side and begins digging through it, looking for the little arctic fox he had taken to calling Katya. He pulls it carefully out of his bag and cradles it in his free hand.

The little thing sits in his palm, and he pets it with his thumb. The plush animal is fuzzy and white. Its eyes smile.

"Hey, what's that?" Arizona asks, pointing to Russia's hand.

"A little fox America gave me," Russia replies with a small smile.

"It's cute," Philippines comments.

"Yes, it is," Russia agrees, smiling.

'Maybe I could put it in my hat.'

He pulls his hat off his head and finds that only one of the pockets opens anymore. The stitching on the patch closed the second pocket. He shrugs.

'The patch looks nice. I don't use that pocket for much anyway.'

He tucks the plush animal into the right pocket, and its head peeks out from under the flap of the pocket. Then, one of the burner phones begins to ring. Philippines grabs it and fumbles for a second before answering.

"Hello?...Hi Dixie...Yeah, I'll hand it over to Russia...Papa is sleeping," Philippines says before handing Russia the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Ruski. I was just checking in. How's everything going so far?"

"It is alright. We are stuck in a motel, and America is ill, but everyone is alright."

"Stuck in a motel?"

"Some things outside are waiting for us to open the door."

"Oh. Anything else?"

"America is sleeping right now."

"He has been actin' weird, right?"

"Yes. Conflict between his people and his government."

"God help him. Will he be alright?"

"He says he will be, but he is feverish. I worry for him."

"And thank the Lord you do, because I can't be there to do it for him."

"He says he'll be fine with more sleep."

"Did he sleep last night?"

"No. The knocking started an hour after we arrived."

"Well, sleep would do him some good. But y'all should try to leave by around noon. York-y says the place y'all stopped at is pretty sketchy, and y'all shouldn't be staying there for long."

"Okay."

"And you should probably call your dad if you haven't already."

"What?"

"'m sure Amy would be buggin' you about it if he wasn't sleepin', and if you're gonna be stuck for a while, so you should do it while you can. Sides, I'm getting kinda tired of taking calls from your family. Ain't no understandin' 'em when they're angry."

Before Russia can respond there is shuffling and a distance shout of "No! Sett!"

"Tell New Hamshire I said 'F*** YOU!'" Massachusetts shouts into the phone before cackling and the phone is audibly snatched out of his hands.

"Sorry 'bout the Mass-hole," New York says, an annoyed tone in his voice, "also, Oregon says hi."

"Tell him I say hello," Russia responds with a chuckle, "and tell Dixie that I agree and will call my family."

"You betta. They're some angry b******s," New York replies.

Russia opens his mouth to retort, but the call ends. He sighs and shakes his head with a good-natured smile. He pulls the phone away and dials the number for his father's home phone. It rings for a few moments before someone picks up.

"Hi! Who are you?" Alaska says. It startles Russia a little, but it does make him happy to know Alaska is okay.

"Hello, little one. It's Russia."

Alaska gasps. "YOU'RE OKAY! 'waii said you might not wake up."

"Yes, I am alright. Could you bring the phone to Soviet?"

"Yeah!" Alaska chirps, "Grandpa! Russia's calling! I think he's in his office."

Then he can hear her running through the house and kicking open the office door with a thud.

"Russia wants to talk to you."

There are some muffled noises as the phone is handed off.

"Hello?" Soviet says.

"Hi, Papa."

"Have you come to your senses?"

"I am not coming home. I can't."

"Why not?"

"They need me here. America's home has been ransacked and his country is dealing with a lot of turmoil. I need to stay here."

"That would not keep you from getting a plane ticket."

Russia feels annoyance bubble up his throat, but looking down at America causes it to fade. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"It's dangerous for you to be there Russia," Soviet insists, "I know New York mentioned that you were getting close with America, but that is not a good reason to put yourself in danger."

"I'm already in danger!" Russia shouts before sighing, "Sorry. I should not be shouting. I am already here, and I'm with America and some of his children. We are trying to figure out what's going on and why. I'm not going to leave them without help and on the run. America can't trust his own government, and it puts his entire family in danger. Besides, we don't have enough money for a plane ticket. They are tracking us by paper trail and potentially by phone locations. It's too risky."

Soviet sighs.

"I'm sorry Papa, but I can't leave them. Not now. I won't let America or any of his states get hurt."

"I do not think this is a good idea."

"I have already made my decision."

"Fine," Soviet bites out, "but you will relay any information you find to me."

"Yes, Papa."

"Goodbye, Russia. Stay safe. Tell me if anything happens. You will come home safe."

"Okay, Papa. I will."

Russia hangs up the phone and sits back with a sigh.

"Texas! Give me the remote!" California shrieks.

"No! You already had your turn."

"You're just hogging the TV!"

California grabs Texas's arm and tries to wrestle it out of his hands. Texas falls back and carefully tries to kick her off. Russia sighs.

"Either give it to me or fight back!" California says.

"No! I don't want to hurt you!"

"I can fight you! Don't underestimate me!"

"I ain't hitting a girl!"

"Stop," Russia says, but the teens ignore him.

"*Stop! Stop fighting!* I will take the remote," Russia threatens.

California scowls and Texas smirks. California climbs off and crosses her arms. Texas holds the remote above his head with a proud smile.

"D***head," California sneers. Texas grins.

"Give it to New Hampshire," Russia demands, and Texas glares at him. Russia scowls right back.

"Fine," Texas grumbles, handing the remote over with a grimace.

Russia sighs and returns his attention to America, who had begun shivering. He pulls America up to his chest and holds him up by his shoulders. America begins to thrash against him, and pushes away. America sits up and gasps, his eyes wide. Russia offers his hands but gives America some space to calm down.

America takes a few shuddering breaths.

"They're okay. See, they are alright," Russia says, waving to the teens watching from the other bed.

America's head whips around and Russia watches as America scans them over for injuries. He turns back and stares down at Russia's hands. He reaches forward with shaky hands and takes them in a tight grip.

Russia takes deep breaths and America tries to copy him. America's shaky breathing finally calms down and he leans forward against Russia.

"Sorry for hitting you," America mumbles.

"It's okay. Everything is okay," Russia says reassuringly, "I'm here, they're here, everyone is here and okay."

"I know. I know," America mumbles.

They sit quietly together for a few moments before America begins to move closer to the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Russia asks curiously.

"Gonna see if those 'kids' are still there," America replies, pulling back a curtain. After a moment of peaking out the window, he drops the curtain.

"Russ, could you move the shelves back?" America asks, "They're gone. At least for now. Kids, start getting ready to go, okay?"

The teens nod and Russia walks forward and moves the shelves back to their original places. America tries to lift one of the mattresses, but Texas has to help lift it so New Mexico and Mississippi could retrieve the firearms and money hidden.

Russia opens the door and helps Philippines and Alabama pack luggage into the back of the truck. Wyoming trails behind them and begins snacking on some of the food in Delaware's car.

They finish packing up around 10:00 AM, and Russia takes one last look in the rooms for anything they may have forgotten. After looking through the bathrooms, under the bed, and flipping the mattresses, he collects a few stray socks belonging to the states before he walks out and sits in the driver's seat, and America sleeps in the passenger seat, one hand on the center console. Russia pulls out and Texas follows shortly behind. California takes the map, and she and Kentucky navigate Russia toward Denver.

They stop for gas an hour later, and Russia goes into a nearby fast-food restaurant to get food, drinks, and a few treats for the kids. He hands out the refreshments to the teens waiting in the car and truck. Then he gently shakes America awake.

"What's going on?" America mumbles.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Russia asks.

"I've been better."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah."

Russia reaches in and places a hand on America's forehead.

'At least his fever broke.'

"I got some food for everyone. Do you want some?"

"Yeah, please," America replies, sitting up and accepting it with a grateful smile.

He scarfs it down and grins.

"Thank you. It's definitely better than the snacks we've got in the cars," America says with a smile.

Russia drives through the afternoon and into the evening without incident, America snoozing away in the passenger seat. Russia was admittedly getting tired from the driving and the lack of sleep last night, so it came as a relief that America woke up when the sun began to set and stayed up to keep him company through the night.

"When Ari was little, she used to sneeze flames. Flames!" America exclaims his hands in the air.

"Really?" Arizona asks enthusiastically.

"Yes. You won't believe how much paperwork I had to replace because of it," America says with a laugh.

"I was never close to any of my states. I'd meet with them occasionally, but only for political matters," Russia says with a shrug.

"Dad found most of us, right Dad?" Kentucky adds.

"Yup. You guys were a handful. Almost all of you were babies when I found you, and let me tell you, watching a dozen toddlers at once," America says, directing the last part to Russia with a smirk.

"How'd you find us?" Arizona asks.

"I thought I already told you this story."

"Well, I want to hear it again."

"Well, I've got a bit of a sense for it, I guess," America says with a shrug, "I guess it's kinda like I got a metal detector and compass in my head. I know the direction to look and relatively how close I am. I'd be riding horseback for days trying to bring you guys home safe."

Russia smiles, admiring his determination.

'I am so happy you are feeling better.'

Table of Contents

#rusame #ch russia #ch america #statehumans #countryhumans

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1-0-1-9archived · 4 years

Text

PART TWO OF FILLING ALL THE HEADCANONS ON THIS LIST - continued from here!!

Next up is 5 and 6...

5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

BAD. [Swipes newspaper through the air.] BAD! BAD! BAD! BAD!

God Lucas is the kind of person who has absolutely no consistency when it comes to cleanliness habits or… anything that could even pass for such, necessarily. 8,)b He’s terrible at keeping himself clean, his workspaces clean, his room in general clean, his clothes clean, etc. unless he does just either, one, suddenly “feel like it” (e.x. “UGHHHH IT’S REALLY HOT AND I FEEL SO SWEATY THAT IT’S WEIRD - GONNA HIT THE SHOWER REAL QUICK, SEE HOW THAT HELPS”, “y’know what, the layout of shit on my desk is buggin’ me and for some reason by extension so is how stuffed this little wastebasket by my chair is?? Gonna take away all the trash, fuck it”) or two, finally find himself really not able to ignore it (e.x. “...okay I almost tripped on some o’ the parts I had lyin’ around while going to work on the project they’re for; should probably reorganize some stuff”; “nnnnnhhhhh dammit this shirt has a bigass stain on it and Mom and Dad are gonna be pissed and ask questions about it I ain’t got time for if they see it - time to throw it into the laundry bin…”; “blugh my mouth still tastes like that crappy moonshine I tried to make… will brushing my teeth help…?”)

6. Eating habits and sample daily menu.

He eats like a bird. 8,)b This is right along with anything pertaining to cleanliness in being a matter of either “when he just feels like it out of the blue” or “when he really can’t ignore that he needs to tackle it”, also, in terms of more precise habits/patterns beyond “barely”. He’s very much a snacker - he doesn’t like having scheduled mealtimes/habitual meal periods (outside of special occasions on which he will absolutely be all “I WANT TO EAT A PERFECT BREAKFAST FEAST TO START THE DAY OFF AND THEN ONLY EAT MY FAVORITE SNACKS THROUGH THE REST OF THE DAY UNTIL I GET TO EAT MY PERFECT DESSERT TO CLOSE IT ALL OFF”), and large meals kinda feel to him, basically, like “unnecessary commitments”.

Sample daily menu is basically to the tune of…

Whenever He Happens To Wake Up: Cup of black coffee… By his own choice, he may just wait until later to put any solids into his person, but if he is hungry, he might barely-milk-splash a bowl of cornflakes or grab an apple or just straight-up grab an energy bar or the like; if he’s “forced” to sit and have breakfast with the rest of the clan, assuming pre-infection, what he eats will probably look more like… “some French toast… not very much, but it does disproportionately have a bunch of powdered sugar and berry on it”, despite Lucas generally not sweet things, a small cut of eggs however they’re served, and… similar - in this event, what is next will be later!

The Next Time He Just Freakin’ Wants Consumables: An energy drink or couple of bottles of soda - and also probably, like, one-or-two-packets-from-a-vending-machine-type fare, an unheated shoveling of leftovers that he may or may not finish onto a plate, etc.

Dinnertime: ...Pretty much the same as above, except he’s more likely to be in the mood for cheap takeout (basically any fast-food-type thing is fair game) if permitted to acquire it he also wants beer and will count getting blazed as part of his whole... dinner-having process. (If he does end up getting coaxed to family dinner, then the part about it being the same as above will not count; he will not want the energy drink or snack foods or leftovers, but will still want the beer and/or weed once he can be alone and count that as dinner.)

#EYE IN THE SKY | OOC #DRAW THE JOKER | Asks Answered!#IT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT SEEMS | Headcanons #CW: Alcohol Use Mention #CW: Drug Use Mention

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batfam-imagines · 5 years

Text

Air

Prompt: Hey I don’t know if your taking requests but if you are I had an idea form the writing prompts list. With 1,19 and 20. Like your Oliver Queens daughter (so basically Roy’s sister) and you have a lung condition and have an oxygen thing - like the fault in our stars-. your together withJason and they come home from patrol or something and see the reader cuddled up in a blanket fort watching something like to all the boys I’ve loved before on Netflix. And they get all protective over if she’s taken Her medications and stuff and she gets all ‘sit your asses down and cuddle with me’ sorry it’s a terrible request xx

#1: “If you’re not nice I won’t let you in my blanket fort”

#19: “I am not cleaning this up.”

#20: “Stop with the puppy dog eyes, that’s cheating.”

Authors Note: So I don’t CF, but I know and have helped treat several patients with it. I’m sorry if I offended anyone, but I did my best not to. I really hope this fulfilled your request, Anon!

———————————————————————————–

Having cystic fibrosis isn’t the easiest thing in the world, especially since you were diagnosed a little later in life. Between the lung physiotherapy several times a day, the frequent infections, and the constant worry from your family and your boyfriend’s family. It’s like they all think you’ll drop dead tomorrow just because you need to be on oxygen and can’t be around anyone who’s sick.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be alright, Y/N? You haven’t even done your treatment yet, I can postpone going out for a little while …”

You roll your eyes, “Jay, I’m pretty sure I know how to put on my own vest. I did have to do this before you and I got together. Dad made sure that Roy and I knew how to do this just in case he wasn’t there to help.”

“I know that, but I still don’t like leaving you here alone. What if you choke while you’re coughing up the mucus? Or what if you need something while you’re hooked up?” Jason hovers over you, making sure that the oxygen is firmly in your nose before he helps you slide the vest on.

“You’re even more of a mother-hen than Roy is, you know that? I do know how to take care of myself, I’m not a child” Flicking the machine on so it makes your entire torso vibrate as you glance up at Jason, “If you really want to feel useful, go get me a glass of water for afterwards, and hand me the remote, please?”

Jason’s smile softens, and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, “Alright, babygirl, whatever you want. Remember if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away, and Roy’s in the city tonight, so he might be coming over after Patrol”

“Perfect! Have all the guys come over! I’d say have the girls come over too, but Cas is in China, Steph is in San Francisco, and Bab’s is having a family night with her dad”

“I will, Dick has been buggin’ me about stopping by, and Damian has been threatening to kidnap you and move you to the Manor, even the Replacement has been bugging me for a visit. I even made sure he went to the doctor and got a clean bill of health before he was allowed come over.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at Jason’s paranoia, “Just because he doesn’t have a spleen, and gets sick easier doesn’t mean he can’t come visit whenever he wants.”

“I don’t want you to get sick, Y/N. Last time you ended up in the hospital!”

The vibrations from the vest make your voice come out a little warped, “I’m always gonna end up in the hospital, Jay! I have a chronic disease! That’s just what’s gonna happen!” You roll your eyes at Jason’s crossed arms, “You’re such a pain in my ass, Jay. Go out on Patrol, I’ll be here when you get back and we’ll watch movies with everyone, okay?”

“Alright, fine. Whatever you say, babygirl” He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead before sliding the window open and swinging out of it.

It’s around two in the morning when everyone finally swings in through the unlocked living room window.

“Dude, I know you’re always saying that you Bats don’t need any help, but an eye in the sky is always something good to have. Just as backup, you know!!”

Dick rolls his eyes at Roy, “If we let anyone with arrows into this city, B would have us all sent to Arkham for going insane!”

“Father would never allow someone trained by Queen to protect this city, it needs only the best vigilantes” Damian rolls his eyes at the red-haired archer and starts peeling off his domino mask.

You let out snort, “If you’re not nice I won’t let you in my blanket fort, Dami.”

Roy grins, “Thanks, little sis! At least I know someone will always have my back! Us Queens need to stick together around all these damn Bats”

“Did you seriously drag all the cushions off the couch, and drag all the stuff from our bed to make your fort? I hope you know that I’m not cleaning this up for you”

Knowing that they won’t work on your boyfriend, you turn to look at your brother, “Aw come on! Stop with the puppy dog eyes, that’s cheating!” Roy groans and collapses inside the fort with you, “Fine, I’ll help you clean-up tomorrow since your boyfriend’s an asshole”

Tim snorts, “Everyone knows Jason’s an asshole, Roy, come on that’s old news”

“What did I say? Be nice, or you get kicked out of the fort. Everyone is being kicked out anyway, I’m not cuddling with a bunch of people still wearing Kevlar”

All of the boys settle in around you after changing into more comfortable clothes, “Did you take your meds today, Y/N?”

“Yeah, Dick, I did. I have reminders in my phone to take them, you guys really don’t need to worry about me. And yes, Roy, I already used my vest tonight, so you don’t need to worry about that either.”

“I make sure she’s taken care, guys, I’m not just going to let her die!” Jason rests his arm over your shoulders, being careful to avoid your oxygen tubing.

“You guys do realize that I’m a functioning adult that can take care of her own treatment, right? I pinky promise that I take care of myself and am doing my best to live” You turn back to the TV and cue up Netflix, “Now, stop worrying about me. I promise I’ll let you know if I’m about to die, but right now I want to watch cheesy Rom-Coms and cuddle”

“Alright, alright. We’ll leave you alone tonight … as long as you drink one of those nutrient shakes that the doctor gave you” Tim smirks when you let out a groan, “Come on, I’ll make popcorn too”

“Fine! If it’ll get you guys to leave me alone! Geeze, you’re worse than my Dad sometimes”

Roy lets out barking laugh, one leg reaching out to nudge you, “No need to be insulting, Y/N. Go and grab the snacks, Tim, we’ll wait to start the movie for you”

“Hurry up though! If you take too long I’ll fall asleep before we even start the movie”

Y/N falls asleep half way through “To All the Boys I've Loved Before”, curled up on her side and partially in Jason’s lap.

“Just turn it off, man. I’m about to pass out and you know she’ll be pissed if we watch the ending without her, at this point we’ll have to watch the whole damn movie over again” Roy has already spread himself over the bare couch with one of the blankets from the fort.

Dick nods, “He’s right, Tim, just turn it off and go to sleep. It’s almost four, so that doesn’t mean sitting up and working on cases, that means actual sleep.”

“I demand pancakes for breakfast if I am to sleep on the floor like a heathen. Todd, do you have the ingredients for pancakes?”

“I don’t know, Dami, maybe? I’ll look tomorrow morning and if I don’t we’ll either go out for breakfast or I’ll run to the store. Is that acceptable, little prince?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Whatever, demon, everyone shut up I’m trying to sleep” Tim puts a pillow over his head and curls into the smallest ball possible.

“All of you better shut up. If you wake up Y/N I’m gonna kick your ass. Got it? Good, now go the fuck to sleep”

“So grumpy, Little Wing, geeze goodnight”

Soon everyone is asleep, somehow touching at least one other person. No one is awake to notice the dark shadow that hovers briefly outside the still unlocked window, checking to make sure everyone he cares about is safe before he turns in for the night.

———————————————————————————–

Let me know what you think! Send any ideas or requests you have to my Ask Box!

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imagines-tmr · 7 years

Text

imagine #14

character - Newt

words - 2056

warnings - kinda sad and angsty

description - Despite having made it to Paradise, you keep having nightmares about your trials. [based on this theory]

a/n - requested by the lovely @coconcovers ; i strayed so far from your request omg i’m so sorry but i hope this makes up for it <3

“For an experiment to provide accurate results,” the Rat Man said, “one needs a control group. We did our best to keep the virus from you as long as we could. But it’s airborne and highly contagious.”

Thomas had warned you already about how some of the people tested by WICKED were not immune. It kept chewing at your gut like a rabid rat. Control groups. What if you were one of them?

“Just bloody get on with it,” Newt groaned. “We all figured we had the buggin’ disease anyway. You’re not breaking our hearts.”

“Yeah,” a girl named Sonya from Group B added. “Cut the drama and tell us already.”

You clung to Newt’s sleeve. He paid no attention to you, eyes fixated on Rat Man.

“Okay, then. Most of you are immune and have helped us gather invaluable data. Only two of you are considered Candidates now, but we’ll go into that later. Let’s get to the list. The following people are not immune. Newt …”

It was like someone had taken you atop the highest building and slammed you down hard onto the ground below. Your vision blurred. Not Newt, you thought. Not my Newt. A thick knot settled painfully at the back of your throat, sucking the air out of your lungs until your chest threatened to cave in.

Thomas had a similar reaction. He doubled over in shock; it was a surprise your legs hadn’t given out too.

“Tommy, slim yourself,” Newt said. His voice was stern and hard, despite the grin he was struggling to keep on his face. “You too, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t find your voice, but Thomas spoke for the both of you. “Slim ourselves? That old shank just said you’re not immune to the Flare. How can you—”

“I’m not worried about the bloody Flare, man. I never thought I’d still be alive at this buggin’ point— and living hasn’t exactly been so great anyway.”

It was like a jab straight to your heart. You let go of Newt’s sleeve, shakily breathing out. After all that Newt meant to you – after all you’d thought you meant to him – you’d figured that even though the two of you had been through hell and back, at least you could say you’ve done it together. You figured wrong.

You bolted up in bed with a cold sweat down the back of your neck. Every muscle in your body ached from memory like they’d been doused in gasoline and set on fire; with each breath you took, you felt your chest contract painfully in protest.

You’d had the same dream again. Always the same dream. Without fail, the moment you closed your eyes was the moment every horror you’d ever endured replayed mockingly beneath your eyelids.

A sob escaped your lips, making you clasp your hands over your mouth in fear of waking up the boy beside you. Though boy didn’t really seem like the right word to describe Newt anymore; he’d seen and lived through more than anyone else you knew. He was a man, whittled and beaten down, but still a man nonetheless. A warrior.

A survivor.

You found comfort in staring at him as he slept, even though he’d been the subject of most of your pain, as you were so carefully reminded by your subconscious only a few seconds ago. You hated those nightmares. Absolutely despised them. You were safe – there was nothing more to be afraid of.

Was there?

You and Newt had made it out alive; had found each other, time and time again; had fallen in love repeatedly, even when you both warranted nothing but hate. And yet he brought tears to your eyes again. You’d come so close to losing him – too close. And then where would you be?

Getting up slowly as to not wake him, you slipped on your shoes and headed out of your room, following the hallway outside with your hand dragging against the wall for guidance in the dark. When you reached the staircase at the end of the corridor, you followed it all the way down and went out through the front door and into the open air.

Paradise. It was much like the Glade, only there weren’t any walls to keep you prisoner anymore. It hadn’t taken long for the same kind of discipline to set in; only a few months ago, Minho had become the Leader of your new community and had organized a building committee to create about a dozen wooden communal houses, much like the Homestead in the Maze. And you reckoned it was a much nicer setting to live in; the Maze didn’t exactly have an ocean view.

You headed down to the shore, kicking your shoes off as soon as you hit the sand. The sun was already beginning to come up over the horizon, lighting up your little slice of safe haven. As you sat down close to the water, your mind wandered off against your will to a time when things weren’t so peaceful.

“I didn’t think you’d lose it so fast, but glad you’re back,” Minho said. “We might need a Crank to sniff out these other Cranks if they really broke in.”

You wanted to rip Minho’s teeth out of his mouth with your bare hands. The tension had been building up for a while between him and Newt, but you never thought he would take a jab at the blond like that. They were supposed to be like brothers, especially after having endured all the terrors WICKED had thrown their way. It was easy for Minho to talk; he hadn’t been the one whose entire sense of security and hope got yanked away from with just a few words. He wasn’t slowly losing his mind, not the way Newt was.

“You never have known when to shut your hole, have ya, Minho?” Newt spat. “Always gotta have the bloody last word.”

“Shut your shuck face,” Minho replied. You wouldn’t have known the two were arguing by the tone of his voice, but if looks could kill, they’d both be dead.

Newt moved towards Minho calmly – and then punched him in the face. All hell broke loose; Minho tackled the blond, who retaliated with more hits. It took several attempts for you and Thomas and Brenda to pull them apart.

“How stupid can you get?” Thomas yelled, restraining Minho’s arms. “We’re running from at least one enemy, maybe two, and you guys are gonna brawl?”

“He started it!” Minho shouted like a bratty child.

“What are you, eight years old?” Brenda asked, eyebrow raised in scorn.

Slowly, Newt got up. When he left, you followed, albeit reluctantly. You didn’t like the person he was becoming, though you knew it wasn’t entirely his fault. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were scared to be in the same room as him. He was a lit fuse, ready to blow up at any second.

He had seated himself in the hallway with his back against the wall, a solemn expression on his face.

“I don’t want to hear any of it,” he said. “Whatever you’ve come to tell me, leave it alone.”

You had half a mind to obey and go back with your tail in between your legs. But that was not in your character and he wasn’t going to be let off that easy.

“I won’t sugarcoat things for you just because you’re being pissy, so listen here and listen good,” you told him harshly. “You’re the only reason I’m sticking around – the only damn reason why I’m still putting up with their shucking Variables and tests and things. And if you’re not going to take this seriously, then you’re letting me down and you’re letting them down.”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like such a child!” Your voice cracked miserably. “My God, Newt, it’s like you’ve given up already! You’re the only good thing in my life and now I’m losing you–”

“Slim it,” he snapped. “Things are already messed up in my head. I don’t need this gnawin’ at me too.”

His coldness towards you shocked you right down to your bones. You couldn’t recognize the boy you’d fallen in love with anymore. You searched his bloodshot eyes for a sign of affection but found nothing. The stranger in front of you wasn’t Newt. It couldn’t be.

You cleared your throat, trying to rid yourself of yet another knot that had formed. “Well, if that’s how you feel.”

You didn’t know how you found the strength to go back to Thomas and the others, but every step was like walking on glass.

“You promised you’d wake me if you had any more nightmares,” you heard a voice say behind you. You didn’t bother to turn your head until Newt took a seat on the sand beside you. He took your hand in his and kissed it, first the knuckles, then the tips of your fingers.

He was beautiful, though different from the first time you’d seen him in the Glade. He had faint scars on his face from his time in the Crank Palace, scars that seemed to slice your heart into a thousand pieces every time you looked at them. His hair was shorter too, having had to regrow the patches that had been ripped out previously by the other Cranks. But even so, he was still handsome the way he’d always been.

You couldn’t believe he was yours.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “You know I never will.”

Newt lowered his mouth to yours and kissed you, slowly, firmly, lovingly. The hand that wasn’t holding your own found its way into your hair and to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer to his reach.

He laid you down on the sand, palms straying down to your waist and then to the curve of your hips. His fingers gripped the soft skin there a little harder, eliciting a gasp from you in which he reveled.

Still, as good as it felt to kiss him, your dream kept coming back to you in threatening flashes. You broke apart from him as if burned, sitting up.

“You’re still thinking about it?” he asked. “Well, bloody stop. It’s over, (Y/N), you know it is.”

You clutched onto his sleeve the way you’ve always done. “Then why doesn’t it feel like it?”

Newt didn’t say anything for a while. The only thing you registered was your heavy breathing and the sound of the ocean’s tide rolling in, and while the latter should have soothed you, it didn’t.

“Do you remember when you and Tommy found me?” Newt began after a while. “I thought I’d already lost the better part of myself. You remember when I begged Tommy to kill me?”

You nodded mournfully. How could you forget? You’d been this close to losing everything that ever meant something to you.

“Then you also remember how you knocked the gun out of Tommy’s hands,” he continued, “and how you told me it had all been in my head, and that I was just like the rest of you – Immune.”

“And you thought I was lying to you, but I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t.”

More silence. Newt wrapped his arm around you and kissed your forehead. “You saved me,” he said. “Give yourself some credit for that.”

“I hate them,” you whispered, a fat tear rolling down your cheek. “I hate them so much for what they did to you. They let you lose your mind – let you think you were becoming a Crank – just so they could get more data for their stupid research.” Your voice rose. “I could have lost you.”

You buried your face in his shirt and cried until the sun went up. Newt said nothing, because no words could make you feel any better, not until you released all the poison you were feeling out of your system. You kept telling yourself you were both safe, but it only made more tears come.

You’d almost lost him. How were you supposed to get over that?

Newt’s hand was in your hair again, tucking loose strands behind your ear. Finally, he pulled your chin up so you could look at him, blotchy eyes and all.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “I’m here with you, and that’s how it’s gonna stay.”

And it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start.

[part 2]

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blacklister214 · 7 years

Text

Second Son Chapter 7: Lucky

I checked and apparently it has been almost a year since I’ve updated this one...so sorry about that and thanks for sticking with the story! Here’s the url for the whole story on Fanfiction.net. Enjoy!

Jacob glanced at the dashboard clock and found to his dismay He’d only been on the interstate for eleven minutes. It felt much longer. His gaze traveled to the grim-faced occupant of his passenger seat. Jacob’s stomach clenched in an unfamiliar way.

This should have been a good moment for him. It had been less than an hour since Jacob and Elizabeth Scott had left the Nebraska Department of Health and Human Services and begun the drive to the girl’s home. She hadn’t argued with him, or tried to renege on their deal. In a few hours all of his efforts will have paid off and he’d be returning to Reddington’s side with his mission accomplished. This should have made him happy. He was going back to where he belonged.

Over the past few weeks Jacob had found that he missed the older man’s company. He missed Reddington’s quirky anecdotes. He missed being prodded to try some seemingly inedible dish. He missed sharing a quiet drink after a successful business negotiation. Despite wishing to return to his long-time companion however, Jacob’s feelings about leaving Nebraska were muddled.

Elizabeth Scott shifted slightly in her seat and Jacob forced himself keep his eyes on the road. He knew exactly what was wrong with him, of course. It was the girl. He was unhappy because the girl was unhappy. Why was anyone’s guess.

According to the file he’d once stolen from his social worker, Jacob had an ‘attachment disorder.’ He ‘lacked empathy’ and ‘struggled to form emotional bonds’. For the most part Jacob couldn’t argue with that assessment. Even with Dembe, the caring had come gradually. With Liz it was different. He only spent a few hours in her company and yet somehow it had been enough for him to connect with her. It was probably for the best he’d be cutting with the farm girl sooner rather than latter. If she had this effect on him now, he couldn’t imagine what would happen if he stayed.

Jacob shook himself. He couldn’t believe he’d even allowed himself to entertain the thought. Jacob Phelps, settling in Nebraska, just to be close to some girl? It was beyond ridiculous. He had to do something, distract himself from his errant thoughts.

“You okay?” Brilliant opening line. Reddington would have been so impressed with his conversational skills. Liz didn’t even bother to turn her head away from the window.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jacob’s mind flashed to Elizabeth as she’d been inside Reeves’ office. The caseworker had been jumpy when he’d passed the file into Liz’s eager hands. Jacob had forced himself to respect her privacy and not read over her shoulder. Instead he’d kept his eyes on Reeves, who he’d been concerned might pass out from the terror over breaking department policy. He’d been sweating like he’d just turned over nuclear missile codes to the Russians. They’d all sat in silence for ten minutes as Elizabeth read and re-read the documents. At last she’d stood, put the envelope on Reeves’ desk and told Jacob she was ready to go home. That was the last thing said to him in the past forty minutes.

“You seem quiet.”

“Unlike some people, I don’t talk unless I have something to say.” Jacob was silent a moment as he weighed his options. Clearly Elizabeth wasn’t eager to share her thoughts with him. On the other hand she was obviously having some kind on internal struggle. If he kept prodding she might change her mind and choose to vent to him.

“Do you regret reading the file?”

“None of your damn business.” Jacob smirked at Elizabeth’s increasingly spiky tone. If he kept going, she was definitely going to explode.

“I’m just saying if you wanted to talk about it-” Elizabeth suddenly turned to Jacob eyes flashing dangerously.

“I don’t, so stop bugging me!” Jacob glanced at his passenger’s face and registered that the expression was very similar to the one she’d wore before she’d flipped a table over and attacked him. Under ordinary circumstances he wouldn’t have minded sparring with Elizabeth Scott, but given that he was currently driving at over 60 miles per hours, now probably wasn’t the best time for a physical altercation.

“Copy that.” It was time to change tactics. Fortunately he had a plan B already in place and Liz’s comment had inspired him.

Jacob kept his left hand on the wheel of the car while his right groped for the top of the storage compartment between his and Liz’s seats. He flipped the lid open and withdrew a plastic case.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting in a CD. You clearly don’t want to talk. We have two more hours on the interstate, and radio reception tends to be unreliable.” He slide the metallic disk into the player and advanced to the fifth track. He grinned as the rapid beats blasted out the car’s speakers.

“Are you serious?” Jacob turned to her, his face a picture of innocence.

“What? I like this song.” It wasn’t a lie, technically. Admitted he’d had hadn’t been an immediately convert to Destiny’s Child, but there was something catchy about the rhythm of this track at least.

“Bullshit.” Jacob’s smile widened. If she didn’t believe that he was indeed a fan, he’d be more than happy to demonstrate for her. He started bopping his head to the music.

“I wanna put your number on the call block. Have AOL make my emails stop, cause you a bug a boo. You buggin what? You buggin who? You buggin me, and don’t you see it ain’t cool.”

As Jacob sang, he watched Liz out of the corner of his eye. He could see the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought to suppress a smile at his antics. This spurred him on to an even more impassioned performance, until finally he had her laughing.

“You’re an asshole.” There was no venom in her insult, in fact it was almost affectionate. A warm feeling washed over him, as he looked at her chuckling over his clownish behavior. He’d made her happy, if only for this brief moment. He took a strange amount of pride in that.

“Come on, you know you want to...” He nodded at the speakers.

She rolled her eyes, then began half-heartedly, “When you show up at my door you're buggin me.”

Jacob joined her, “When you open up your mouth, you're buggin me. Everytime I see your face you're buggin me, you're buggin me, you’re buggin me.”

By the time the song finished they were both in stitches. Jacob was perfectly willing to continue their car karaoke, but Liz reached out and hit the stop button on the player.

“Why’d you kill my jam?” He was genuinely confused. He had thought they were both having a good time.

“Destiny’s Child is not your jam. You got that CD because of me.” Jacob considered lying, but found he didn’t really want to. Instead he decided on the route of verbal ambiguity. It was a technique he’d learned from Reddington, who was a great fan of obscure truth.

“I noticed their poster in your bedroom, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like them.” Jacob answered Liz’s sceptical look with a shrug. “It’s true. I travelled a lot growing up and the man who raised me believed in embracing a broad range of cultural experience. Have you ever heard of Tuvan throat singing?”

“No.”

“It’s impressive. These guys can sing two to four notes at a time. Of course it isn’t always melodic. At certaining points the singer can sound like they are burping for a really long time.” Jacob’s mind flitted back to the festival Reddington that dragged him and Dembe when they were 15 and 16. At one point they’d looked at each other and burst out laughing. Reddington had scolded them, but the glint in his eye had told Jacob that he hadn’t really been angry.

“You’re making this up. I bet Tuva isn’t even a real place.” He wasn’t surprised Liz hadn’t heard of it. American public education didn’t really bother with world geography, at least beyond the “big name” countries.

“It is...though now it’s called Tyva. It’s on the northern border of Mongolia.” Jacob’s seven years with Reddington had been much informative than a high school and college education would have been, at least were global knowledge was considered.

“And you’ve been there? To Tyva?”

“Yes.” They’d spent two weeks hiking, rafting, and trekking through the Sayan mountains. Jacob had appreciated the aesthetics of the landscape, but he was thrilled when they had finally returned to civilization. He could only take so much tranquillity, not to mention time away from hot showers.

“Where else have you been?”

Jacob shrugged. “A lot of places. Greece, France, South Africa, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, Thailand, England, Argentina, Poland, Columbia-”

“You bullshitting me right now?” He could understand why it would sound far-fetched. Elizabeth was seventeen and she hadn’t yet left her home state, let alone the US. Jacob was only four years older than she was and had already visited six of the seven continents.

“I was raised by an international businessman. We travelled a lot.” Of course most of the places he’d visited hadn’t been for vacations. There’d been quite a few times they’d been crossing borders to evade police authorities and then departing immediately for a destination across the globe.

“You’re telling me, you’ve been around the world and yet you choose to set up shop, here, in Nebraska?” Jacob paused a moment, wanting to be careful with his answer. Elizabeth believed he was a local private eye hired by her father. Reddington had made it clear that no one know should know anything about his investment in the girl, including the girl herself.

“You don’t think much of your home state do you?” Liz snorted, apparently accepting his deflection for the moment.

“We both know Ohama isn’t exactly Paris.” Jacob smiled. Why was it girls were always so obsessed with Paris, like it was some romantic Mecca. The reality wasn’t quite what they imagined.

“Which frankly is a good thing. Paris smells like pee.” The horrific odor was the number one thing that tourist brochures did not advertized about the ‘City of Lights’.

“What?”

“If you’re a man it’s totally legal to urinate on the street, so the city smells like pee.” Jacob was pretty sure people peed in the streets in every city in the world, but at least in most of them it was frowned on, if not illegal.

“But it’s not legal for women?”

“I know. Sexism, am I right?” Liz laughed, then her express sobered.

“I still rather be there than here. Nebraska feels so small sometimes I can barely breath.” Despite the miles of nothing currently surrounding them, he understood what she meant. Nebraska was in many respects a nice place to live. It was scenic. It was safe. For many people it would be idyllic. Unfortunately for her, Liz clearly wasn’t ‘many people’. It was too static, too dull for someone like her. She needed a challenge, an adventure.

“Do you mind if I give you some advice, as someone who has travelled pretty much anywhere you can imagine?” Liz made a face as though she’d swallowed something sour.

“Let me guess: ‘There’s no place like home?’” Jacob smirked at the Wizard of Oz reference. Having never had a home, he was in no position to assess the veracity of that statement.

“No. Traveling is great, but where you go doesn’t matter nearly so much as who you go with.” Jacob thought of Reddington, Dembe, and Mr. Kaplan. Any memory of wonder, discovery, or joy that he’d possessed had been with one or all them beside him.

“You really love them, don’t you?” Jacob glanced over at Liz sharply, “Your brother and foster Dad.” Love? Liz threw out that word like it was so simple. It wasn’t, at least not for him.

“I’d have nothing without them. I’d be nothing without them.” If Jacob had never met Reddington he would have probably spent his life on the streets, until the police eventually caught him. Then it would have been off to Juvie for him. He wouldn’t have met Dembe. He would have grown up alone, with no one caring if he lived or died.

“I get that. Sam is...my whole world.” Jacob felt a wave of mutual understanding pass between them. As different as their childhoods had been, they both knew what it was to be saved.

“You’re lucky. We both are.”

“You never finished the story about your brother. What happened after he threw you into the dresser and cracked your skull?” Jacob was surprised she remembered what he’d said to her in the waiting room, let alone was interested in hearing more. Even more astonishing was that he wanted to tell her. He let his mind drift back to the day that had changed the course of his life.

The address on Dembe’s card didn’t belong to a doctor’s office or a clinic. Instead he found himself sitting in basement of a Brooklyn brownstone. There was medical equipment, and what appeared to be a patient table, but somehow Jacob doubted that this practice was listed in the phone book. That probably wasn’t a bad thing. Reddington clearly had money, and he wouldn’t have instructed Dembe to use this physician if the man didn’t know what he was doing. A competent doctor willing to overlook legal restrictions was a good acquaintance to have.

“You’ve been to this guy before?” Dembe nodded once. Jacob waited a moment before determining his babysittee wasn’t planning to elaborate.

“Why?”

“I was unwell.” Before Jacob had a chance to deliver a sarcastic retort, the door opened and a large bearded man strode in. Dembe stood immediately and extended his hand in greeting.

“Dr. Koslov.” The bearded giant laughed, crossed the room in two bounds, and seized the offered limb.

“Dembe, my fine lad. It is good to see you looking so robust. Mr. Reddington was right when he claimed you had a strength many growth men would envy. Your recovery is nothing short of miraculous. I am confused to see you here alone, without him. He is well I trust?” The man’s English was perfect, but his ascent was definitely foreign. Definitely eastern European.

“Yes, he is well, but Jacob is not.” The doctor turned his attention toward Jacob, who pulled off his cap.

“Come here, boy.” Jacob complied and the man began removing the bandages Dembe had wound around his head. Jacob winced as Koslov inspected his head wound.

“You are fortunate. I think we can get away with two staples. I assume this will go on Mr. Reddington’s account?” Dembe opened his mouth to speak, but Jacob cut him off.

“Actually no, I’d like to cover this myself...assuming we keep this visit between us.” Dembe’s face darkened with disapproval.

“You should not ask Dr. Koslov to lie to Raymond.” Jacob shoot a return glare toward Dembe.

“I’m not asking him to lie, just to not to volunteer the information. That’s covered in patient confidentiality, isn’t it?” Jacob twisted his head to check the doctor’s expression.

“For ordinary doctors, yes, however I am not an ordinary doctor, nor is Mr. Reddington an ordinary patient.” Jacob’s stomach sunk. Of course this guy was in Reddington’s pocket. He should never had come here.

“So you won’t do it?” The doctor studied Jacob’s face for a moment before sighing.

“Given that the injury isn’t too serious and that you are not Mr. Reddington’s ward, I’m willing to hold my tongue on two conditions: 1) You can pay me the $500 fee and 2) You can convince Dembe to likewise maintain his silence. I’ll give you a few minutes alone to discuss it.”

Jacob waited until Koslov had left the room before turning to Dembe. Everybody had a price, Jacob just needed to find his. “How much is going to take to keep you quiet? $100? $200?” Dembe’s glower became even more pronounced.

“My honor is not for sale. I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions.” The ward of the shady Mr. Reddington was a damn choir boy. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Easy for you say. What’s the worst Reddington’s going to do to you? Ground you? That will a real hardship for the guy who didn’t even want to leave the hotel room. Versus me, who will be out of the best paying job I’ve ever had. The job that was going to keep me fed for months. Have you ever been starving, Dembe? Not hungry… but starving?” Self-righteous was easy for people who had nothing at stake.

“Yes.” Jacob blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. It was hard to imagine the huge boy having ever missed a meal. Then again the doctor had mentioned Dembe’s ‘miraculous’ recovery. Maybe the kid’s life had been harder than Jacob had assumed.

“Then do you get why I might not be real eager to feel that again?”

Dembe was silent a moment before nodding. That was a promising start. What else could Jacob say to convince the guy not to rat him out? Would an apology work? Dembe had cracked his skull, but Jacob had deliberately provoked him. They both shared the blame for what happened.

“Look...I was a dick. I know that. And I get that you don’t want me around. That’s fine, that’s nothing new for me. If you want me to not say another word to you for that rest of the week, I’ll do it, but I need this job. Please.” Jacob couldn’t remember the last time he’d used that final word with anyone. He only hoped it would pay off here.

Dembe was quiet for nearly thirty seconds before reaching a decision. “I won’t lie to Raymond...but I won’t expose any falsehood you tell. You can even tell him we left the hotel, if you’d like. Get your $200 bonus.”

“You know about that?” Had Raymond told Dembe before Jacob’s had arrived about the details of their deal?

“I was listening at the door.” Yet again Jacob’s massive charge surprised him.

“Kind of sneaky for someone as honest as you.” The kid clearly had layers, Jacob would give him that.

“Raymond is honorable is his own way, but I have found him less than forthright, on occasion.” For a non-native English speaker. Dembe sure knew some fancy words.

“Forthright? Seriously? Do you read the dictionary for fun, or something?” For a moment the older boy looked almost embarrassed.

“I enjoy books. Raymond reads to me, when he has time.” Jacob pushed down the unexpected feeling of jealousy. It was stupid to envy Dembe his relationship with Reddington. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He certainly didn’t need anyone to read him bedtime stories.

“There’s a library near the hotel. I can bring you some books tomorrow, if you want.” Jacob had ‘borrowed’ one or two in the past and had yet to be caught. He could probably sneak out a few more if Dembe was interested.

“I would appreciate that. Thank you.” The older boy smiled at him, and Jacob unexpectedly found himself smiling back. Maybe the week wouldn’t be a nightmare after all.

“So then what happened?” Liz’s voiced pulled Jacob back into the present.

“The doctor fixed me up, good as new.”

“And your brother kept your secret?” Jacob nodded. When Reddington had returned that night, Jacob had told him that they’d hung out in the room all day. Dembe had seemed surprised, given that he’d agree not to contradict any story Jacob came up with. He’d assumed Jacob would want to take advantage of the opportunity to get the extra $200.

Jacob had considered it, but in the end he’d decided not to. He told himself it was for practical reasons, that such a lie would be more easily exposed, but in reality it hadn’t felt right, particular after Dembe had reimbursed Jacob for the money he’d spent at the doctor.

“Yeah. First time anyone ever did anything like that for me.” Dembe had shown him mercy that Jacob had done nothing to deserve.

“He sounds like a good brother.”

“The best.” Jacob felt an unwelcome pang of loneliness. It had been over a month since he’d spoken to Dembe. He hoped his brother was keeping himself safe. Jacob didn’t know what he’d do without him.

“You’re lucky. I always wanted a sibling. A part of me was hoping that maybe I already had one.” It took a moment for Jacob to realise Liz was talking about the file. It was funny that she wanted to discuss it now, when less than thirty minutes go she’d nearly bitten his head off for asking.

“You were an only child?” Liz nodded.

“As far as the State of Nebraska knows I am. Although apparently my biological father was a con man who ditched me to go the lam, so who knows.” Jacob could hear the undercurrent of anger beneath the flippant tone.

“And your mother?”

“Died in a fire, that she may have started herself. The report was ‘inconclusive.’” No wonder Liz hadn’t felt like sharing what she’d found in the file. She was probably expecting him to respond with an ‘I told you so.’

“Could have been worse. She could have been a negligent crackhead like my birth mother.” Liz turned sharply to look at him. Jacob shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that after all these years he wished he could actually feel. “Family isn’t blood, and blood isn’t family. I think we both made out alright.”

“Yeah, I think we did too.” They fell into a companionable silence, very different from the one they begun the trip with. Jacob found that he no longer dreading the length of the ride, but rather it’s conclusion. He didn’t want to drive away from Liz, knowing he’d never see her again. Stupid and sentimental of him, but it was what it was. Jacob looked over at Liz and found her looking out the window, smiling at the seemingly endless fields stretching to the horizon. She was happy. They were both going home. It was enough.

#blacklist fanfiction #Second Son #keen2 fanfiction #I finally updated!

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dingoes8myrp · 7 years

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BotB: The Spaces in Between, Pt. 25

This is part of an ongoing Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfiction piece called Belly of the Beast.

One: The Out-of-Towners

Two: The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Three: The Spaces in Between, Part 1

Three: The Spaces in Between, Part 24

Buffy opens the door to her room, poking her head in.

“Dawn?” she calls.

A beat. No answer. Buffy sighs in semi-relief and enters the room, leaning her back against the door to shut it, eyes closed. She’s tired, worn. She shuffles over to one of the two beds and eases onto it, wincing when she bends to sit. After a moment of careful positioning, she sits on the edge of the bed. The room is quiet. Buffy’s eyes scan the area and she realizes the room is clean: everything put away, beds made. Buffy rests her face in her hands, elbows propped on her knees. She sits there in silence for a long moment and her shoulders shake with quiet sobs. A knock on the door, and she snaps her head up, eyes wide. For a second she’s stunned. Then she wipes her cheeks hastily.

“Just a second,” she calls.

Buffy slides off the edge of the bed gingerly and sniffs, wiping at her face for remaining dampness. She stops in front of the door, takes a breath, and opens it. Faith stands on the other side. Buffy’s a little surprised.

“Faith.”

Faith gives a nod.

“Hey.”

She looks Buffy up and down, trying to gauge her health at a glance.

“Got a minute?”

Buffy regards her with cool suspicion. Faith sighs.

“We need to talk.”

Her tone is level, no B.S. Buffy straightens, folding her arms over her chest, considering. She nods slowly.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We do.”

She turns and takes a few steps away from the doorway. Faith walks in behind her, shutting the door and looking around.

“Nice room,” she observes. “It’s, like, spotless.”

Buffy smiles.

“Yeah. I think Dawn did it. The cleaning.”

She turns to Faith, who nods.

“Bet she was glad to be doing something.”

Buffy frowns.

“Yeah… I guess.”

Her voice is small, distant, as her thoughts wander to Dawn. Faith studies her. Buffy’s gaze ticks over to Faith.

“You wanted to talk?”

Faith shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yeah. I, uh…”

She pauses, considering what topic to tackle first. Buffy stares at her, waiting. Faith straightens, resolved.

“I talked to Angel. Where you at with this whole Wolfram & Hart thing?”

Buffy blinks at her, surprised, but slightly relieved.

“Oh, God. Don’t get me started.”

“You talk to him, too?”

“Yeah.”

Faith raises an eyebrow.

“How’d yours go?”

Buffy shrugs.

“Probably about as well as yours went.”

Faith sighs and shakes her head.

“Man, what the hell’s he thinking?”

Buffy smiles sadly, commiserating.

“I wish I knew.”

Faith paces the room a little.

“He tell you anything?”

Buffy thinks.

“Not really. But I sort of got the feeling he was hiding something.”

“Yeah, ya think?” Faith barks.

Buffy glares at her and Faith smiles.

“Sorry. It’s just frustrating, you know? On top of everything else goin’ on. I’m buggin’ out over here.”

Buffy smiles warmly.

“I know what you mean.”

Faith stops pacing.

“He’s just bein’ so cloak and dagger about the whole thing. I don’t like it.”

Buffy looks down at the floor, debating how much to tell her.

“I think maybe he’s protecting someone. Or trying to.”

Faith creases her brows.

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy says. “But he mentioned sacrifice. Said what he’s doing… It’s not so different from some of the stuff I’ve done to protect people.”

Faith nods thoughtfully.

“He told me he did what he had to to keep everyone safe. You think these guys threatened somebody?”

“That’s my working theory,” Buffy says.

“Holding Angel hostage. ‘Come to the dark side or else.’ Damn.”

She goes and sits on the edge of the bed.

“What do we do here, B?”

Buffy smirks.

“You’re asking ME?”

Faith shrugs.

“Only idea I got is training all the newbies and storming the place, but that’s a long way off. Figured maybe you were workin’ some other plan.”

Buffy shakes her head.

“My plan was to talk to him and that was a bust.”

Faith studies her.

“He didn’t listen to you?”

“Oh, he listened,” Buffy said. “He just didn’t like what I had to say. Can’t say I was thrilled with his side either.”

Faith sucks air through her teeth and winces slightly.

“Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation.”

“It got a little heated,” Buffy admits.

“Bummer.”

They’re quiet for several seconds, the silence looming.

“There’s something else we need to talk about,” Buffy says.

Faith frowns at her.

“Yeah?”

Buffy nods, gaze on the floor.

“Yeah.”

A beat and Buffy looks at Faith.

“I know you talked to Xander,” she says.

Faith straightens, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So?”

“So, if you had something to say to me you should have said it to me instead of dragging someone else into it.”

Faith stares at her.

“I did talk to you, and you weren’t havin’ it.”

“Oh, so you went behind my back and talked to Xander?” Buffy snaps. “That is not okay, Faith.”

Faith stands and holds up her hands.

“Woah, back up. You’re gonna get all pissy with me over this? I was worried about you, Buffy. I AM worried.”

Buffy’s angry expression falters.

“I saw it happen, B,” Faith reminds her. “That thing went right through you, and you went down hard.”

“I know that…”

“No, you don’t. You don’t know what it was like, watching the fight go right out of you like that.”

Faith shakes her head, her mind going back to that moment.

“I didn’t think you were getting back up,” Faith says. “And that scared the hell out of me. It’s still scaring me. Because you’re not okay, Buffy. You can hide it from your friends, play it cool like everything’s fine, but not with me, B."

Buffy drops her gaze and Faith steps closer.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Faith asks.

Buffy nods.

"Anybody know?"

"Angel. And apparently Xander."

Faith shrugs.

"Sorry about that… But I'm kinda not. If we don't deal with this now, we might not get a chance to deal with it 'cause you'll be dead. And I'm the one who has to carry the torch for you, and guess what? That ain't happenin'. You think you're gonna dump all these newbies on me with no backup, you're nuts."

Buffy gives a small laugh and Faith smiles.

Part 26

#buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series #buffy summers #faith lehane #fanfiction #dingoffabtvs #dingobotb

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womenofcolor15 · 4 years

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Presidential Hopeful Kanye West 'Upsets' His Kardashian Family After 'Problematic' Rally Revealing Kim Contemplated Abortion, Divorce Talk & Harriet Tubman NOT Freeing Slaves

Kanye West is seemingly going through another episode and he’s allegedly pissing off the Kardashian Klan and a couple of celebs who were brave enough to speak up. Over the weekend, 'Ye made a campaign appearance in South Carolina where he talked about his wife contemplating abortion, how she might divorce him and made problematic claims about abolitionist Harriet Tubman.

While some folks are asking "Whose mans is this?," others are pleading with friends and family of Kanye to come get him and give him the mental health care they believe he needs.

Kanye West is back in the headlines for making controversial statements about slavery yet AGAIN! Last night, the Jesus is King rapper hosted a political campaign rally in South Carolina (for registered guests only), following his 4th of July announcement that he was running for president this November. Ye is looking to qualify for the ballot in S.C. as an independent candidate via the “Birthday Party.”

Kanye walked in the Exquis Event Center in North Charleston like a walking billboard with “2020” shaved into his head and he rocked a flak jacket (body armor) that said “SECURITY” on it.

While speaking before potential supporters, the 43-year-old revealed he and his wife, Kim Kardashian West, seriously considered terminating their first pregnancy. He first talked about how his mother, Donda West, "saved his life" after his father wanted to abort him.

Kanye West gets emotional while speaking about abortion in South Carolina:

"My Mom saved my life. My Dad wanted to abort me... There would have been no Kanye West."

"I almost killed my daughter." pic.twitter.com/jiGuODxAno

— Daily Caller (@DailyCaller) July 19, 2020

”My dad wanted to abort me. My mom saved my life. There would have been no Kanye West because my dad was too busy,” he told the crowd.

”I almost killed my daughter,” he screamed while fighting back tears, opening up about how he and Kim thought about aborting their first pregnancy.

Peep the clip above.

'Ye said abortion should be legal and that there should be financial incentives to help struggling mothers to discourage the practice.

“Everybody that has a baby gets a million dollars,” he said as an example.

This statement wasn't the only reason so many are calling and pleading for him to get help.

Kanye shared a message from God changed their minds and they ended up welcoming their first child, North West, in 2013. After sharing the story, he mentioned his wife could possibly be so upset with him for revealing “his truth” that she may want to divorce him.

"So even if my wife were to divorce me after this speech, she brought North into the world, even when I didn't want to," the Chi-town rapper said. "She stood up, and she protected that child."

So he revealed this extremely personal medical information of hers without her blessing? Oh.

And that’s not even the most...interesting...part of his appearance. This man had the audacity to say abolitionist Harriet Tubman didn’t actually FREE slaves.

”Harriet Tubman never actually freed the slaves. She just had the slaves go work for other white people,” he said. Sounds like when he said 400 years of slavery was a CHOICE two years ago.

Check it:

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Naw but forreal. This was honestly my reaction to #Kanye take on #harriettubman ... “y’all we LEAVING”.

A post shared by @ toi_island on Jul 19, 2020 at 7:16pm PDT

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A post shared by @toi_island on Jul 19, 2020 at 6:25pm PDT

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Are you excited??? Tshirt link in bio blvinsomething.com

A post shared by @ toi_island on Jul 19, 2020 at 5:43pm PDT

Ye's "political rally" is pissing folks off - reportedly - especially his wife and her family.

As always, "sources" have hit up TMZ about Kanye and here's what they had to say:

Our sources say those around him believe Kanye is in desperate need of professional help and is in the middle of a serious bipolar episode, but he won't listen to them.

Suffice it to say ... we're told the family is upset that Kanye talked about Kim's first pregnancy and how they discussed abortion, something he says he wanted. Then he blurted out that Kim might divorce him for saying that, but even if she does, he'd thank her for having North.

The "source" went on to say they believe Kanye is hurting his own businesses with comments like the Harriet tubman one, but Kim's won't be because she has distinguished her brand from his so thoroughly.

We see where certain folks' priorities lie.

Rapper T.I., R&B singer Trey Songz and photog Mel D. Cole shared their thoughts about Ye's rally:

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Nahhhh WE Can't let you do that Ye'.... What WE NOT gon do is slander nor disrespect the legacy of our heroic Queen Harriet Tubman by telling falsities in an attempt to discredit the contributions she made to LIBERATE OUR PEOPLE‼️ Cuzz U BUGGIN‼️ THIS IS ABSOLUTELY TOO FAR‼️ I truly hope you either have a logical explanation for all this... or get the medical attention you so desperately need Bro. I say this with love and sincerity.

A post shared by TIP (@troubleman31) on Jul 20, 2020 at 9:14am PDT

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A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Jul 20, 2020 at 4:18am PDT

Disability activist @crutches_and_spice broke down the difference between a disability and a chosen behavior, targeting Kanye's antics:

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A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Jul 20, 2020 at 4:57am PDT

Oh, and get this....

Kanye said he would like to have Jay-Z as his running mate. During an interview with local Z93 Jamz radio host Kris Kaylin, Kanye said he came to a revelation that Jay, whom he has had a broken relationship with for years, should be his Vice President.

He explained his current running mate Michelle Tidball - a Wyoming preacher - would happily take another position in his cabinet if he found another running mate. Ye mentioned he hadn't spoken to Hov in a long time, but considers it a good thing because it proves he and Jay are actually brothers and bonded for life....

Take a listen below:

youtube

By the way, Kanye announced he's releasing a new album July 24th, so this easily could be PR stunts (in addition to MANY other things) to get album sales:

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“New album DONDA coming JULY 24 #2020VISION” #KanyeTweeted (now a deleted tweet)

A post shared by TeamKanyeDaily (@teamkanyedaily) on Jul 18, 2020 at 3:31pm PDT

It's important we point out the WHY and the motives behind certain actions, since he has a large enough cult following - who are already co-signing his every word and ready to write him in on the Presidential ballot - to actually sway the election in Trump or Biden's favor. That's a problem.

The presidential hopeful already appears on Oklahoma's presidential ballot, but he missed the deadline to qualify for the ballot in several other states.

Hi guys please sign up to put me on the ballot in South Carolina at any of these locations You can also sign up at the websitehttps://t.co/ZURvTEW9ee pic.twitter.com/3rV5ujExPm

— ye (@kanyewest) July 18, 2020

The PABLO rapper needed 10,000 signatures by noon Monday to appear on the South Carolina ballot, but he didn't make the cut. According to TMZ, the State Election Commission hasn't heard anything from Ye or his campaign before the deadline.

Photo: Lauren Petracca Ipetracca/The Post And Courier via AP/Tinseltown/Shutterstock.com

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/07/20/kanye-wests-pisses-off-the-kardashians-after-ranting-about-kim-getting-an-abortion-divorc

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foodselfiesandstuffblog · 7 years

Text

Fader: Remy Ma Never Rests

Everyone around Remy Ma says she’s never been better, but she isn’t convinced. “I have people like my husband and Joe and the Cool & Dres and the DJ Khaleds being like, ‘Omg you’re phenomenal. You were good before but now...’ and I’m just like, whatever,” she says over the phone from New York, feigning annoyance but unable to stifle a laugh. “I feel like I was as good then as I am now; y'all buggin’.” One of the most formidable rappers in the tri-state area and beyond, Remy is indeed as sharp today as she was when she guested on Big Pun’s posthumous 2000 album Yeeeah Baby or when she stole the show on the 2004 chart-topping Terror Squad cut “Lean Back.”

In the 18 months since serving an eight-year sentence at New York’s Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women, she’s ripped through remixes of Dej Loaf’s “Try Me” and Phresher’s “Wait a Minute” with punch-heavy bars, and earned two Grammy nominations for the breakout hit “All the Way Up.” Her dedication is clear: in summer 2014 she was back in the studio just hours after being released from prison; she skipped her honeymoon to record a banger; and now just months later is gearing up to release Plato O Plomo, her collaborative album with Fat Joe. Mostly celebratory, the record mixes raucous turn-up anthems with more R&B- and island-tinged escapist jams. In a way, it is both the epilogue to her prison term and a prelude to a more personal, forthcoming solo record that recounts the story of those days on the inside, removed from her family and surrounded by women “abandoned” by the outside. In the interview below, Remy opens up about reconnecting with her Terror Squad roots, fighting for prison reform and awareness, and prepping a sophomore album about the seasons she lost.

What prompted you and Joe to come together and do this album now? It feels like a full circle moment?

I think it was just time. I was doing my own thing. I've been gone for a while. He's kind of been on hiatus for a little while. But one day we had done a performance together in the Bronx. That was probably the first performance we did in I don't know how many years. And the response from the crowd was just so crazy. I was just like, "You know what, maybe we should give this a try. Let's just see what happens." It was like a shot in the dark type of thing: We'll go in the studio, we'll record some songs, and if it comes out dope then we'll go from there. It can't go halfway, it can't be alright, it can't be okay. It has to be crazy because the last thing that people heard us on together was "Lean Back," which was Grammy nominated. So we have to be at least up to that par. We went in the studio and we started recording and it was just coming out amazing. Actually, the first song that we recorded together was "All the Way Up."

Some people might expect the album to be 12 versions of "All the Way Up," but there are a lot of different sounds and ideas on it. Did you guys have an agenda when you made it?

It wasn't even like we were trying to do a lot of different things. It was just that was the way it came out, and we took the best of the best. It was executive produced by Cool & Dre, who are like geniuses as far as I'm concerned. I've been working with them since I was young. As they cranked them out on the production side, we just went in and did what we did.

Fat Joe, what I can say about him — what people in the industry but not too many fans know, his ear for good music is like none other. He can smell a hit a mile away. Me, I don't have the patience. I cannot sit there and listen to a hundred million beats. He will sit there and listen to beat after beat after beat until he sniffs it out like a bloodhound. So that process took a little long. I give him all the credit. He sat in the studio and listened to beats for months. The whole summer and maybe even some of the fall. He was going to clubs seeing what songs was popping, trying to see what people was really feeling, what the vibe was and once he picked all the production and things like that we went in there and we probably spent like two weeks, three weeks tops, and laid vocals down. And that's how we've always worked, even when we did the Terror Squad album. The one that I was on — True Story that had "Lean Back" and "Take Me Home" — we did that the same way. We picked the production, then flew down to Miami for like two weeks. And it's crazy because it seems like a fast process, but when we're in there we're just locked in the whole time.

You've been in the game a while now. How would you say your music is different now than it was when you started, or even than it was even a decade ago?

You know what, it's weird because due to the timing of when I first did my verse on Pun's album to now, yes, that's a long time. But there was an eight year period in the middle of all of that where I couldn't put out no music at all, period. So, to me, everything is still fresh and new. I only have one solo album under my belt. This is just the third album that I've even worked on. I feel like I missed so much. As far as how much I've changed, I think everything is just growth. I feel like I'm as good as I was then, but then I have people like my husband and Joe and the Cool & Dres and the DJ Khaleds being like, "Omg you're phenomenal. You were good before but..." and I'm just like yeah, whatever. I feel like I was as good then as I am now, y'all buggin'. But apparently, they all think I'm much better now. I don't know if I should take it as a compliment or what. But if I never put out another record or album in my life, I'd still record music. That's just in me.

“Everybody always tries to pit women against each other. But I feel like we’re so different. We aren’t even in the same lane at all, period.”

How do you view your role in music now? You've always called yourself the "Queen of New York," but it seems you're talking bigger now, and taking more shots.

Every artists has that braggadocios streak in them. I've always felt like, when it comes to this rapping, I think I'm the best. And I say "Queen," but god-honest, put my life on it, I feel like I'm better than a lot of guys. I hate that there are instances where I just get compared to females. And that's not just for me, I feel like there are other females that are better than some of the guys. I just tend to think that I'm better than a lot of the guys. I feel like it's time to stop all of this "she's dope for a female" shit. Nah. Stop playin'. My pen has never been questioned.

Anybody can get it. That's how I be on it. If you listen to my old mixtapes, if I ever had a problem with any female or anything ever in life, I will say your name. But I'm not just gonna go and come at somebody just to do it. Even when I first came out I never felt like in order to get on I had to tear down this female or that female. I've never done that in my life. But the problem is, there's only been one person reigning for so long, so any time I say anything it's, "Oh, she gotta be talking about this person." I'm open to working with anybody and I don't have any problems with anybody. I don't want no problems with anybody. I'm very happy and I'm in a good space in my life, and I don't want anyone to feel like I'm ever coming at them. That's that.

Everybody always tries to pit women against each other. They make it seem like there can only be one female at a time. But I feel like we're so different. We aren't even in the same lane at all, period. We are on total different ends of the spectrum. But whatever.

How has your life changed post-prison? How has your outlook changed?

Well, I would definitely say I'm not as reckless as I used to be. Would've probably been totally different ten years ago. I'm a little bit smarter now, and more worried about my business. Before, when I was young, I just wanted to be the best rapper. I didn't care about all the other stuff, I just wanted them to be like "shorty is dumb nice, she's crazy." Now, it's not even about that. I think differently now. I don't even care about the things I used to care about. And I think that's something that just happens with growth. I'm not 25 years old anymore. I don't think like a 25-year-old. Before I was like, I just want to put out this mixtape. I just want the streets to hear this. I just did this freestyle, it's crazy. But bruh, a mixtape is free. I'm not doing that shit anymore, really.

“I’ve met women that haven’t seen their children in a decade that live 40 minutes from them. Women who have husbands that they haven’t seen since they got incarcerated 20 years ago. Women whose friends have signed them off as a loss.”

Can we talk a bit about the prison system for a bit because you've talked a lot the past few months — and just in general — about women, particularly black women, being abandoned in prison, and just the way that the system is totally corrupt.

Well, first let me say, people be like, you're out of jail now — and by people, I mean idiots on social media who just type because they have fingers — why do you talk about prison so much? I'm almost positive I have some type of PTSD. I really went through a traumatic experience. Almost a decade of my life was consumed by the prison system. Of the past 15 years [as a rapper], I've spent most of that time in prison as opposed to the "free world," so I don't think I'm going to forget any of the things I went through, and I still have people that I have learned to care about that are there, and will probably end up having to spend the rest of their life there. So, if I can do anything or create any type of awareness — because honestly I know I didn't even know.

Prior to me actually being there, I didn't know any women that went to prison. So I've gotten to meet women that haven't seen their children in a decade that live 40 minutes from them. Women who have husbands that they haven't seen since they got incarcerated 20 years ago. Women whose friends have signed them off as a loss. And it was even more hurtful because I had such a strong support team in my husband who visited me every single day the first year, and then every year after that as much as he possibly could. And I had a visit every single day. So any day — in a prison of 900 to 1000 women — I would be down there with a visit and there would be like two or three other people. There was times where I was on a visit and I was the only person that had one. These are people that have husbands and mothers and sisters and children.

And it was so sad to me because I've been to visit floors at male facilities, and it is so crowded that they cut visits short so that the next people can come in. It's so crazy. You'll have girlfriends and baby mamas and pen pals and friends. People with babies and strollers and packages. And most of the visitors there were women. But when it came to the women it was like tumbleweeds blowing through the visiting floor. And I just didn't understand, especially coming from a community where women are the heads of a lot of households. These households are held together by women. The backbones of these families are women because a lot of the men are either gone or in prison for that matter, so seeing these women thrown away like trash just bothered me. Even as I'm going through this ordeal, I can see my children or my husband — there are these women around me who have it way worse. And statistics show women get harsher sentences than men for the same crimes committed. And seeing it firsthand was just really sad.

There's too much room for opinion in something that determines people's lives. One of the guys in the Bobby Shmurda GS9 case ended up with 117 years, and the headline said he was originally offered a 15 year plea deal that he rejected. Okay, I don't know what his case is, I don't know what he did, what was his charges, or whatever. The point that sticks out to me is if you offer me 15 years, how regardless of what happened at that trial do we end up at 117? How? That's life. This is what I be talking about. That doesn't make sense. If I commit a crime that warrants 15 years and you're willing to give me 15 years, that's it. There's no way after trail I should end up with 117 years. And I'm very passionate about it. Not just because I lived it but because I've seen it. When you're in there seven years you get to hear so many different stories, and it's disgusting the way this country operates off the prison system. We have the most people incarcerated out of every country in the entire world. Countries that have five and ten times as many people as we do have less people incarcerated. Why is that?

“When you’re in prison, they do a go-around every hour in the middle of the night, just to make sure that everyone is alive. And I still wake up now. I do not sleep through the whole night.”

What do you think it's going to take to fix the system? Is it even possible?

The first thing has to be the deprivatization. We have to end the private prison system. If you have something that is ran for a profit, and I invest 10 million into a prison, I'm not going to make any money off that prison if I don't have any prisoners in it. That creates a motive to incarcerate people. That's one thing.

The second thing: there are certain rules where once you have a felony or you're on parole or anything like that you can't vote. What does me being on parole have to do with voting? If you're in prison, you can't vote. If you're in prison, your right to vote has been revoked. But these are the people that are making the laws. I can't vote and these are the people that are making the laws that effect my life. If you have a felony, you can run for certain offices, you can't have certain jobs. You can't own certain businesses. And when you look at the majority of people in prisons, they're minorities. So who is this really stopping from voting? Who is this really keeping out of certain jobs? So there's so much that has to be changed, and I don't even know where we have to begin because they all go hand-in-hand. This system has to be attacked on so many different levels through so many different outlets just to get it right.

And it can't be, Oh, if you did this crime, you get anywhere from 5-25 years. Five years and 25 years is a big difference. I know that if I do something and I get five years for it and somebody else does it and they get a year, I'm going to feel some type of way. The guidelines are too large. They've done an excellent job sabotaging things.

So much of it is racially motivated, too.

Absolutely. It's racially motivated. It's financially motivated. You can be the wrong color, but if you have the right amount of money at the right time you might be good. If you get caught in an election year, it's over for you. That's kind of what happened to me. So they had to act like they were cracking down on crime and all this stuff. It's crazy because I can count numerous times I went to court and it'd be me, Ja Rule, Busta Rhymes, Lil Wayne, like literally we all would have court on the exact same day. That's no coincidence. We get there and the news outlets would be there, TMZ would be there, the [New York] Daily News and every one of us ended up doing time except Busta, he got a crazy fine. Ja got a couple of years, Wayne got a year, and I ended up with the most. It was just a bad time to be doing anything at that time, and that's how it is sometimes.

There's actually a line from "Dreaming" on the new record where you say something like "Used to be in a cell dreaming of home/ Now I'm at home dreaming of a cell." That's one of my favorite lines from the record. Can you talk about the idea behind that?

It's crazy because I would be in jail and I would have dreams that I was home. They would be so real and so vivid, and I would wake up and be in this stinking-ass cell. I would literally start crying because that's how real it would get, and I wanted to go home so bad. And now that I'm home, finally after all of these years, I spent so much time there that it haunts me. I have dreams — while I'm in bed with my husband, my son and my daughter in the next room and I just finished performing or whatever is going on — and I will have nightmares that I'm in jail, and they seem just as real as the dreams would feel when I was in jail. I have dreams that I'm still in prison and it's horrible. You would think that it makes sense to be in prison and you dream that you're home, but I never thought for a second that I would be home and still seeing that place.

When you're in prison, they do a go-around every hour in the middle of the night — an officer on duty goes around just to make sure that everyone is alive. At 5 a.m. they do what's called a live body count where you actually have to move. So, whenever they would walk around every hour it would wake me up. And I still wake up. I literally wake up almost every hour now. I do not sleep through the whole night.

Prison affects everything. That's why me even sitting here sitting here talking to you and being able to be successful and take care of my family — that's not normal. Like, I know that I am super blessed and God has shined some other type of light on me. All of the people I know — like some of them haven't even did half the time I did — they aren't doing good. You can't get a job. Everywhere you go you're labeled this felon. And you have to put it on there, and if you don't put it on there when they find out, you get fired. You can't get a new place to live because that's a question that they ask on your housing application. And in many cases whatever support system you had is gone. It's just like starting from scratch but with all these strikes against you.

“Prison affects everything. That’s why me even sitting here sitting here talking to you and being able to be successful and take care of my family — that’s not normal.”

Last year, you said you had a solo album that was coming out called Seven Winters and Six Summers, and that it had writing from your time in prison. Is that still happening? What can we expect from that release?

The title is still Seven Winters and Six Summers. That's exactly the time that I was gone. I would count my time where my window was. Where my cell was you could always see the trees. So when the trees were bare, I'd be like, just five more times I gotta see these leaves blow off the trees, five more winters and I can go home.

I wrote when I was there, and when I let certain people hear it they'd be like, "You gotta put this out." But I wanted to keep it so I could go to that place. Like, I can never write from that place again. You literally have to be there to do that.

All of the raps for the collab with Joe were written in the studio. That's usually what I do. I'll wait until the day I'm in the studio, even if I have the beat for a month. If have it that long and I write that long ahead of time, I'm going to change it a thousand times. So, I usually just go right in a write it that day. But with this project, for one, it's going to be my sophomore album, and two, it's talking about something that it's very important to me to get it right. So, I wanted to be able to keep these thoughts.

There's a wave that you're on when you're away. You start appreciating the people in your life and reflecting on the hardships in your life. You realize all the things that could've been or may not have been. You have so much time to think. I wasn't drinking. I wasn't smoking. I had all this time to myself and it's the most clear your brain can ever be. There's no way I could ever try to duplicate the feeling that I had in there. It was the same way when I was inside: I couldn't write rhymes about being out. I wouldn't have been able to write "All the Way Up" when I was in prison. You just don't feel like that. You feel like shit. People would be like, "I know you in there writing something crazy." And I'm just like, what? First of all, you don't have all this free time. Second of all, you feel horrible. It is the worst mind-state to ever be in. There's no creativity in there. You're drained.

If you could go back, knowing what you know now, and tell '06 Remy anything, what would you tell her now?

You know what. I would just tell her treat your music and your career like your job. I'd treat it like a job. Then it was just like fun. And I tell this to any artist that I meet that hasn't really been through anything like that. I tell them, "This is your job." If you worked at a office — a blue collar job — would you bring all of your friends and your family members to hang out in the break room? Would they come to your office parties? No. Only the people that work there go. That's what I would do. I would definitely tell her to take this serious. This is not for everybody. You can't try to give your blessing to somebody else. Only God can give a blessing.

This article was written by Sheldon Pearce and published in Fader Magazine.

#Remy Ma #Prison Industrial Complex #Fat Joe #Papoose

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