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jackie-shitposts · 3 years

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I Thought Thieves Love Jules!

Carmen strolled out of the elevator, feeling pretty beat after her workout with Shadowsan. Not that she would ever admit that- she had wanted to keep going, but it had only been two days since she got electrocuted in Egypt, so Shadowsan made her cut her workout short while he continued. Carmen sauntered over to the counter, taking a long drink from her water bottle, just as Player’s image appeared on her laptop screen. “Check it out, Red. Julia just posted a new entry on her blog, about a recent find in Columbia.” Player said, ”But it totally digresses into fun facts about fair trade coffee, including a “Red Blend.” Carmen leaned onto the counter. “Could be another riddle to solve?” “Good thing I learned a thing or two about code-breaking from Julia.” Player smirked, clearly excited to show off his new skills. “Every paragraph ends with a number. If you line ‘em up like they're a date and time, it’s tomorrow at 8am.” “Seems Chief wants an opportunity to thank me over coffee.” Carmen quirked an eyebrow. Seems as though she’d be seeing her favorite agent-turned-historian-turned-agent-again in the field, per Chief’s request. “How can you be sure it’s not a trap?” Player asked apprehensively. “If it were, Jules would’ve worded it differently.”

“OoOoO, are we talking about Jules?” Zack asked, peeking his head out from the doorway.

“That ACME gal Carm has a crush on?” Ivy chimed in, peeking her own head out from under her brother.

Carmen rolled her eyes at the sibling’s cartoonish antics. “Jules and I are just friends, you two.”

Ivy scoffed, entering the room and flopping onto the couch. “Yeah right- then why did you specifically go to her when you needed help decoding the relics?”

Carmen casually took a sip of her water before answering. “Jules was already familiar with VILE- getting a stranger involved would’ve only made things more complicated and dangerous than it already was.” Zack hopped onto the couch opposite of Ivy, resting his feet up on her knees. He pointedly ignored Ivy’s protests of, “Zack, gross!” and smirked at Carmen. “Oh? Then why did you ask Devineaux where she was in Louisiana?” “Hey, you never told me about that one!” Ivy gasped, feigning betrayal. “I was just surprised ACME let that driving disaster use a car,” Carmen quipped. Player laughed on his side of the screen. “Don’t act like you’re any better, Red. Don’t you remember your first caper?”

Carmen gasped, pretending to be insulted. “Says the 17 year old without a learners permit.”

“Not like I have anywhere to go.” Player laughed, before refocusing on Carmen’s interrogation. “Speaking of firsts, how about when you first met Julia? I listened in, and it totally sounded like you were flirting with her. You called her “Jules” on your first meeting!” Carmen narrowed her eyes at Player in defiance. “I was just sitting across from Jules so I could blend in while keeping an eye on Paper Star. And what’s wrong with nicknames? I called Crackle “Gray” and Ivy “Ives”. I don’t see what the difference is.” “The difference is that you and Cracker used to be best friends, and now we are best friends. However, you and Jules were not friends at the time.” Ivy said, emphasizing the nickname. “His name is Crackle now.” “He went and rejoined VILE, I think I get to call Gary whatever I want.” Player chimed back into the conversation. “Why did you leave the Magna Cartas with Julia, anyway? You had one conversation with her, what made you think leaving them with her meant they were in “good hands?” “While sitting next to her, I noticed Devineaux’s briefcase, and she said they were travel partners on business. I figured that meant they were law enforcement also trying to recover the documents. Leaving them with Jules simply saved me the hassle of returning the documents myself.” Carmen explained casually. “What about the fashion show in Milan, Carm? Why’d you have Julia help us then?” Zack asked, a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. Carmen sighed in annoyance. Why won’t they just get off her back about this already? “Jules was the only ACME agent around, and I knew that ACME would be able to get the gowns to safety. And before you ask,” Carmen pointed at Ivy, whose mouth was already open with some smug retort, “I put her in charge instead of you because she would know where the gowns could be put for ACME to return.” At that, Ivy simply leaned back onto the couch and mirrored her brother’s smug grin. “Yeah, that was a fun night.” She smirked, and Zack tried to hold back his laugh that came out as more of a snort. Carmen raised her brow at the untold story, but she decided not to press. For the sake of her sanity.

“Well, what about Stockholm?” Zack blurted. Ivy and Player’s eyes snapped to Carmen, looking for any hint of discomfort, and Zack immediately tried to rectify the situation. “I-I mean, yknow, you just were gonna go try to get her help before-”

Carmen cut off his anxious rambling, smiling warmly. “Don’t worry about it Zack, I know what you mean. I wanted to talk to Jules to see if she could get ACME to back off. While that obviously didn’t happen, I know Jules didn’t try to betray me.” Carmen glanced out the window for a moment, whispering quietly to herself. “I don’t think I could be angry at her if I tried.” Carmen turned back to her friends and smiled. “Plus, she helped me out in Monaco and Ile De L'oleron afterwards, so-” Player practically leapt up from his chair, causing a loud crash as he knocked the fidget spinners off his desk and dropped the rubix cute he was playing with. “Yeah, let's talk about Monaco! You can’t tell me you guys weren’t flirting at the party. She was so confident you were going to deliver the goods to her door, and you trusted her not to stop you when you stole the eggs. Come on, Red, you know she was flirting with you!” Carmen felt Zack and Ivy’s eyes on her expectantly, and she chuckled at Player’s exasperation. “Player, I’m pretty good at reading people, and I’m fairly certain she wasn’t flirting with me. Even if she was, I was not flirting ba-” “Then what about the roses?”

Carmen’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. How did Zack, of all people, know about the roses?

“Oh my god, the roses! Carm, why the fuck didn’t you tell us about the roses?” Ivy exclaimed, springing up from her relaxed position on the couch.

Carmen bit her lip before answering. “They were just flowers, as a thank you gift for the help. How do you know about them, anyway? I didn’t buy them until after you guys left.”

At that, Player piped up once again. “So Red, you know how at the end of each month, I look through our funds and see how much we spend on capers, to set our budget for the next month? Well, it was pretty interesting for me to see that you used our encrypted card to buy a bouquet of red roses from the flower shop across the street from Julia’s apartment, on the same day we left her the goods.”

Fuck. Carmen needed to shut this down, now. “They were just a thank you gift guys, nothing more. Just something Jules could keep for herself. And red is my color, so the roses seemed like a good gift. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Carmen glared at the redheads sternly, daring them to stop her, before looking down at Player with the same forbidding look. ”I’m going to take a shower. Player, let me know when you’ve got a red eye to Seattle ready.” Carmen closed the laptop, tucked it under her arm and walked out of the room without looking back. ~~~

The video call flickered to black, and Player leaned back into his chair, sighing. Red can be so thick-headed sometimes. As he booked her flight, he thought back to their teasing and banter from moments before.

Red seemed pretty genuine- maybe we were wrong after all.

Player took a deep breath- he didn’t want to call Carmen back so soon, especially when she seemed pretty pissed at the end of their last call- but he had booked her flight for a short two hours from now. So, Player reconnected to Carmen’s laptop, still looking at the red eye information on his other monitor, before hearing a loud, exasperated groan coming from his speakers.

“Holy fuck that was such a mess!”

Player’s head snapped towards his other monitor. The laptop had been set on the dresser across from Carmen’s bed, where she was laying sprawled out in agony. Player quickly hit his mute button and sat back to watch.

Carmen’s arms raised up to cover her face- though Player couldn’t see it, he was sure her face was covered in her signature color. “God, and the roses- why did I use the card for the roses? That’s a basic credit card slip, how am I so stupid!”

Carmen sat up, hands still over her flushed face. “I’m so fucking lucky they didn’t hear us on the ferry or at her office, there’s no way they would’ve ever let that go- I thought I wasn’t being obvious about this stupid crush-

That was all the confirmation Player needed. He clicked unmute and nearly shouted, “So you do have a crush on Julia! I knew it!”

Carmen’s head snapped up to the source of the sound, her face as red as her coat hanging on the wall’s hook. “Player! What the fuck are you-” Carmen froze as she watched Player pick up his cell phone. “Player, if you do what I think you’re about to-”

“Then what? You’re two thousand miles away Red, I'm practically untouchable.” He laughed and grinned smugly at the webcam as he dialed a number.

“Player, you are so dead next time I visit Ontario!” Carmen yelled before she threw her door open, barrelling down the hall to the stairway.

~~~

Zack and Ivy watched in silence as Carmen walked out of the room. When they heard the door to the stairway close, they looked at each other, before they couldn’t take it anymore and burst into laughter.

“Holy shit she looked so mad!” Ivy wheezed through her laughing fit.

“I know! Do you think that means she was telling the truth?” Zack questioned as he tried (and failed) to calm his giggles.

“No way.”

“But she seemed pretty-”

“What are you two laughing about?” Shadowsan’s stern voice stopped the twin’s giggling dead in its tracks. Just as Ivy opened her mouth to make an excuse, since she doubted Carmen wanted Shadowsan involved in her love life, (he is like her father, isnt he?) Zack spoke up.

“We tried to get Carm to confess that she likes Julia, but she kept on telling us she just likes Julia as a friend. Maybe she wasn’t lying, most of her reasons were pretty solid.” Ivy would’ve smacked him then and there if Shadowsan hadn’t interrupted her train of thought with a small chuckle. Since when did Shadowsan chuckle? “On VILE Island, Carmen was trained to be a master of deception. Do you not realize that she was also trained to survive any interrogation?” Shadowsan said, with…humor in his voice? Zack and Ivy were silent for a moment. “Wait, does that mean she actually does like Ju-” The moment was interrupted with a call on Ivy’s phone. When she looked at the caller ID, her eyes widened as she answered it and put the device on speaker. “Carmen does have a crush on Julia!” Player shouted from the phone, just as the Crimson Gay Ghost herself burst into the room and crashed into Ivy. “Dammit!” Carmen yelled, taking the phone from Ivy who was now on the floor with Carmen and laughing. “Player, I’m going to fly to Ontario and kick your ass!” Player’s laughing from the phone was almost drowned out by Zack and Ivy’s. “Oh no you’re not, you’ve got a flight to catch in two hours!” “OoOh where to? To go see your “favorite ACME agent”?” Ivy teased through her laughter. “Yeah Carm, I thought thieves love Jules!” Zack said as he laughed. Carmen jumped off of Ivy, her voice a noticeably higher pitch and her face extremely red as she shouted, “No! I mean- well, that is- I just-” As Zack, Ivy and Player continued to tease an extremely red-faced and stammering Carmen, Shadowsan smiled and quietly walked out of the room. It seems the war may be coming to a close with ACME on their side, but that doesn’t mean Carmen has to stop chasing someone.

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

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Friday Night Stabby best quotes (Tango birthday edition) part 18 (16/04/21)

Impulse: *zoomies into admin and stands by the table for about 3 seconds* Impulse: OH I don’t even have [the swipe card task]. *laughs* Etho: Uh… Impulse. I did kinda notice that. Impulse: I zoomed in here so fast I didn’t know I didn’t have a task. Etho: You ARE zooming around. Okay, I’ll let it pass. Impulse: *dashes to shields and does the task there* Etho: Actually, I dunno if I’m gonna let it pass. *leaves* Impulse: What?! I just did shields! Impulse, running after Etho: Etho! Love me! LOVE ME!

...

Endless: I think I might be invisible. Etho: Oh no, I was just ignoring you, Endless. Sorry. Skizz: Somebody say something?

...

Skizz: It has to be Mrs Tango. Mrs Tango: Why?! Skizz: It doesn’t have to be, I just feel it.

...

Impulse, running up to Skizz and Etho standing together on a task: Are you lovers? Are you lovers? Should I leave? Skizz: You know what, this is a monogamous relationship, buddy. Impulse: Do you need- Do you need help? Etho, if you are in need of help, wiggle twice. Skizz: *laughs* Etho: Well, he hasn’t killed me YET...

...

Evil: I found a dead Impulse in upper engine. Skizz: Cuz you killed him. Evil: Nope. Skizz: Cuz your partner killed him. Evil: Nope. Skizz: Cuz you called in a hitman and had him killed. Evil: ...Do you WANT me to vote for you, Skizz? *pause* Skizz: Cuz Joker killed him. Joker: Wow. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, there, Skizz. *pause* Joker: Just like that hair.

...

Joker: I wanna say it’s Skizzle cuz it looks like he’s wearing the head of Geoffrey the Giraffe’s sister. Skizz: Alright, listen. Listen. ‘Kay? You’ve gotten across how superficial you are. I know my hair is not to your liking, clown. Okay? You just sit over there and lemme be beautiful. Tango: Yeah, don’t be judgey.

...

*Brody’s body is reported* Endless: Aww, we miss you, Brody. Skizz: Eh. Let’s not get carried away. Joker: *laughs* I approve of this message.

...

*Skizz has a sheep accessory on his head* Evil: Skizz, are you feeling sheepish? Joker: DANG IT! I was gonna say that joke!

...

Skizz: Alright. I’ve disclosed myself as the spy so if I die, you know it was the imposter. Tango, laughing: If I die, an imposter killed me.

...

Astro: Can we vote for Joker for many reasons? But mostly because- Joker: What?! Why?! Tango: Oh, Etho’s the snitch! Astro, continued: -he just zoomed by Etho. I just saw Joker swoop by Etho and kill him. Joker: I did not! I did not do that! Tango: That’s the first time we’ve seen snitch. Joker: I’ve been running this whole time! What’re you-?! Astro: Yeah, you ran right by Etho and killed him! Impulse: Wait… Tango- Joker: I DID NOT! Impulse: Tango, Tango. How do you know? How do you know we saw snitch? Tango: Cuz it says… snitch next to his name…? No…? Astro: Okay so Tango’s the other- the other imposter, cuz- Impulse: Ohhhh!!!! Tango: OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! Impulse: Technicality!! Joker: Well it’s Tango but it’s not me! Tango: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! WHYYYYYY?!!!!!!!!! Endless: Why’s it- Where does it say snitch? Tango: I mean- No, guys, we should work this out. There’s a chance- *mumbles* I got nothing… Astro: I still think it’s Joker but it’s definitely Tango. Tango: WHY?! STUPID MODS! Impulse: You’re the only one that saw the snitch reveal! Tango: WHYYYYYYYY?! Endless: C’mon, let’s do Joker first, and THEN get Tango.# Joker: NO, it’s NOT me! Endless, why are you pushing to kill me so quickly?! Endless: Because Astro called you out! Astro: But- But Tango called HIMSELF out, so I think he kinda deserves this. Impulse: Tango snitched himself!

...

*after the round* Joker: Goshdarnit, Tango! Tango: That was the dumbest round ever and it’s full of dumb and you’re all dumb. Impulse: Ouch. Joker: Tangooo! Impulse: Yeaaah, the snitch callout was pretty bad. Tango: I assumed that once it was revealed, everyone knew it. Astro: It’s revealed to the IMPOSTERS and- Tango: I GOT THAT. GOT IT. THANKS. GOT IT. Joker: Happy birthday, Tango :)

...

Mrs Tango: I just walked into the room and I watched [Tango] stab Astro. He didn’t even care that I walked into the room. Tango: Nope! Nope! Do NOT let her trick you, okay? Do not let this happen. I’m not saying anything else. Impulse: I’m gonna trust Tango cuz it’s his birthday. Mrs Tango: You should NOT trust Tango. He’s a dirty liar. Skizz: Oh man, she-! Impulse: And this is why I will never play this game with my significant other.

...

*Etho is claiming that Evil and Joker are lovers* Impulse: How do you know that, Etho? Skizz: Yeah, how do you know that? Joker: Yeah, how DO you know that, Etho? Etho: They confessed their love. Joker: I love everybody. I love you, I love Impulse. Dunno about Skizz, but… Skizz: Come ON, Joker!

...

Joker: Impulse, would you like to say what happened with Brody after you guys left together? *pause* Impulse, in a small voice: I know it looks bad…

...

Evil: So we start the game voting Tango out, right? Tango: Wait, what?! Why?! Brody: I’m down. Sounds good. Tango: Listen, I got a finger on my head and I’m not afraid to use it. Endless: You put that finger away, sir!

...

*a meeting is called, interrupting Joker and Endless’s conversation* Joker: What proposition? Endless: You missed out on the proposition. Joker: Endless is propositioning me and I dunno how to feel about it.

...

Joker: I’ll be honest, [Skeld] is my least favourite map. I absolutely hate this map. Tango: What?! Impulse: Skeld?! Joker: Yup. Tango: Joker, you are dumb with a sprinkling of dumb. Skizz: This is my favourite map. I like actually knowing where stuff is. Tango: Skeld is AMAZING. It’s so balanced. Endless: Joker’s favourite map is MIRA, so… Tango: Yeah, he just wants to get lost and press buttons and ride riders. Joker: I just don’t like this map. It’s too easy to find people together. I like it when people are spread out more. Tango: It’s perfect. Joker: No. I hate it. You’re dumb.

...

Skizz: You know what, Joker? I hate your hat. Joker: What? Skizz: I hate your hat. Joker: *scoffs* I don’t care.

...

Skizz: *changes his accessory back to the hair Joker hates the most* Skizz: BOOM. That’s just for Joker! Joker: OH! Oh come on, Skizz! NO!!! Skizz: You crawl inside this hair! Joker: Oh GOD no! Why would I do that?! Skizz: It stinks in here. Come on in, the water’s fine. Joker: Skizz, that’s the WORST thing you’ve ever said!

...

*body is reported* Evil: Why were you screaming, Tango? Tango: I just wanna say that when I see Evil approach me now, I pucker and I- I wait. It’s just- I have this thing now. Every time Evil approaches me, I assume I’m going to die. Joker: Hey Skizz? Can I use your hair to scrub my brain so I don’t have to hear Tango say “pucker” again?

...

Tango: It wasn’t Etho. I feel bad now. Skizz: You shouldn’t. I hate Etho.

...

Astro: *calls a meeting* Astro: I hit my button cuz at least I can now for two seconds use a non-vanilla role and be Button Barry. Tango: I like that the button was actually three feet away when you pressed the button there. Astro: Yup. Didn’t care. Tango: Nice, that’s- Well done. All you had to do was take three steps. Astro: I wanted to use that button. That’s it, that’s all I got. *pause* Astro: Enjoy the 40 seconds we’ve got left.

...

Brody: Astro, what are you doing? Astro: I’m following you. Brody: Why? Astro: I dunno. I’m done with my tasks. Impulse: Are you his… Are you his lover? Are you his LOVER, Astro? Astro: Nah, I did that once. We broke up. Brody: Awww, we did??

...

*after Astro sheriffed Skizz* Evil: But nobody died, so why are you trying to pin something on me? Tango: I’m tryina pin something on somebody. Brody: Ahh, that’s not a good thing. Astro: I killed someone. Evil, laughing: Well yeah, nobody died this round except the guy Astro admitted to killing.

...

Skizz: I hate Joker, Endless, Brody, and Impulse. Oh I’m sorry, I was talking to my chat. Joker: I didn’t vote for you!! Endless: Joke’s on you Skizz, I also hate me.

...

Tango: I’m trying to scan my bitties and you guys are all pressing buttons. Joker: Nobody wants to hear about your bitties. Tango: Well, they’re being scanned. Joker: I don’t care about your bitties, dude.

...

Astro: Did Impulse even say where [the body] was? Impulse: It’s between office and storage. Joker: I thought it was between electrical and office. Impulse: Electrical, storage, office. It’s kinda like in the middle there. Tango: What are you even saying right now? Impulse: Okay, okay. Pull up your maps, make a triangle between electrical, storage and office. The body’s RIGHT in the middle of that triangle. Tango: The triangle’s pointing to your name and *votes* OH! WHOOPS! Impulse: Isosceles triangle. What? Tango: Sorry, I made a triangle but clicked your name by accident. Impulse: Oh my gosh. Joker: I’m clicking your name, Tango. Cuz that’s weird. Impulse: What is happening…?! Evil, laughing: I don’t know, we’re jumping the shark. *everyone has skipped except Joker voted for Tango and Tango voted for Impulse* Impulse: Are you mad that you can’t make a triangle?! *everyone laughs* Joker: Tongo don’t make triangle! Etho: Tongo smash triangle!

#friday night stabby quotes #friday night stabby #impulsesv #tangotek #skizzleman #etho #misterjoker #brodyman #mrstango #theendless #evilnotion #astrozoan

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

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Ao3 prompt by strwbrystars : my first is to do another chapter focusing on jake protecting amy in a similar situation as the closet one in this chapter pre-relationship or established.

This turned surprisingly long...

(thanks to @dolston17 for the mafioso names :D)

They’ve made all the wrong decisions right from the start, Amy thinks later, as she’s trying not to hyperventilate, with Jake’s breathing next to her not much slower than her own.

Well, maybe not the very first decision. When the radio crackled on in Jake’s car, asking for an EMT and back up for two beat cops a block down from them, there really was no other option but to turn and drive down to join them. But once they did find them, every decision made after that came straight from the ‘What Not To Do’ part of her training manuals.

_+_

Officer Rogers was sitting on the ground with his back to a wall, his partner Carols squatting in front of him, and he was obviously injured. Amy noticed the trail of blood leading back into the building behind them as they ran up towards the beat cops.

“Two guys. Possibly gang-related. They were fighting over a drug delivery or sale, we’re not sure, and we tried to separate them and question them when the taller guy pulled out a knife and went for Rogers.” Carols informs them straight away while putting pressure on the large wound in his partner’s thigh. “In the fight the other one, probably Italian background, short and stout, managed to unclip my gun - he must’ve known how to work a holster - god, this so - unprofessional, I’m sorry -”

“S’all good.” Jake interrupts him, and Amy wants to interject that no, it’s obviously not good if a criminal manages to take a gun away from a uniformed officer, but the short relief washing over the young, newly instated beat cop at hearing a detective calm him stops her. “Any more info?”

“They ran deeper into this building. We’ve patrolled it before - this is the only exit, so they must still be holeing up inside. They probably thought I was going to follow them, but I carried Rogers out instead so we could radio-”

“Yes, that was absolutely the right decision.” Amy joins in to support him, and it works maybe half as good as Jake’s casual reaction had before. She squats down too, to inspect the wound that Carols is pressing his jacket onto. “The EMTs are on their way, and this doesn’t look like too deep a cut for any lasting damage, even if it hurts like hell, I’d guess. Good, quick reactions, from both of you.”

“Thank you, detective.” is the first thing Rogers says, but Amy barely hears him when she looks up at Jake. He’s staring straight into the building doors, and she definitely, absolutely doesn’t like the look on his face.

“Jake-” She says with both a questioning and warning tone to her voice.

“This is Mancini territory.” He says out of the blue, and she can see his deducting brain working. “If it’s drug-related, and the other guy looked Italian, must be… Chiellini.”

“Chiellini, like Mafia boss Chiellini?!” Carols asks with shock in his voice, and Rogers hisses as he lets the pressure on his wound go for a second. Amy can’t fault him for that moment of surprise.

Roberto Chiellini, one of the two guys Jake’s undercover sting with the Ianuccis hadn’t been able to pin to any crimes, had quickly worked to establish himself as the new family leader of some Brooklyn areas, focussing on heavy drug trafficking for easy profits. They’d had more and more cases and minor arrests coming across their desks lately that mentioned his name in hushed tones, but had still been unable to actually go after him for any of it. Amy knows it’s been costing Jake sleep, but she still hates to see the conclusion he seems to be coming to right now.

“Jake, even if it is, that goon is way to low-level to have any useful info-”

“Stealing a government-issued gun, and assaulting a police officer? We’d have some leverage-”

“We’ll have absolutely nothing if he decides to use that gun-”

Right at that moment, the sound of a gunshot rips through the air, as if she’d predicted it, and silence falls around them for barely a second before Jake unholsters his own gun and starts moving.

“I’m going in there.”

“Jake you are not- Jake- JAKE!”

_+_

She ran after him, of course. He was her partner - she had to be his backup. Backup that could hopefully talk him out of this entirely once she caught up, but still backup. Most of all, though, he was her partner - running gun-first into what was clearly unnecessary danger. She’d be an absolute fool not to go after him.

Even if it did go against the manual.

(She realised a lot of things she was willing to do for Jake went against any manual she’d ever read, but maybe it was too early in their relationship to admit that, even to herself.)

But she has no time to talk some sense into him, or scold him, or really say anything when she rounds the corner of the hallway he’d stopped behind with his gun up, freezing in point for the scenery before her - the ‘tall man’ Carols had described splayed on the floor, with about 70% of his brain blown all over the concrete behind him, the ‘stout Italian’ standing over him with Carol’s gun still smoking from the shot.

Jake’s hands in her periphery, holding his own gun straight up at him. Jake’s hands, shaking.

“Drop the gun, Riva.”

Gianluigi Riva, Amy’s brain supplies even in her frozen state. The other one of the two men that walked free after the Ianucci wedding. The one that very definitely could’ve been arrested for various things after, if he hadn’t been so perfectly elusive.

The one Jake had a picture of stuck to his computer screen at work ever since he came back from that undercover mission.

“Jakey the Jew.” she hears through her freeze in the most hateful, spite-dripping voice she’s ever heard. “Or should that be Detective Peralta, I guess?”

“Drop. The gun. Riva.” Jake repeats through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t you love that.”

She thinks she sees Jake’s finger actually move for the trigger, but that is before Riva’s attention turns towards her , and suddenly all bets are off. And Riva’s gun is on her.

“That your little bitch, Jakey? The one you whined about?”

“I’m not playing this game. Drop your gun.”

“What a shame if she got caught in the crossfires on your mission, huh?”

“One last warning-”

“Get fucked, pig.”

And then, one strong, big hand against her shoulder, pushing her backwards with force before another gunshot sound.

Another hand, pulling her up, pulling her forward, running, dodging, running, slamming into a wall as they round corners, more gunshots behind them, and shouting, curses, screaming, rage-

They dodge around several more corners as the noises trail further and further behind them, Jake running at a speed she didn’t think he was capable of and pulling her along. There’s a barely visible door she notices before him, and uses her full body weight to drag him towards, opening and slamming it closed behind them so quickly she can only hope that even if Riva had followed them close enough, he didn’t see it.

And then complete silence falls over them in the dark room they find themselves in, safe for their ragged, exhausted breathing. Amy can feel her pulse pumping in her ears, even as Jake nexts to her drops against the wall and slides down, not fully hitting the ground with a quiet ‘Fuck’.

“What the hell, Jake?!” Is the first thing she manages to whisper-shout through the heaving, and maybe she should pick her words more carefully right now.

“Riva.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Ianucci’s torture guy.”

And that certainly shuts up whatever angry rant has been bubbling up in Amy’s throat about following procedure and not running in eyes closed, head first like he always does.

She knows barely anything about Jake’s time undercover, safe for the ‘funny’ stories he’s been willing to share at Shaw’s. Even now, as his girlfriend, there seem to be walls around the subject - for obvious reasons, if she thinks about the many little scars and marks on his skin that her fingers keep trailing over. Some that make his breath hitch when she kisses them. Some that he pulls her hands away from almost on instinct.

“Fuck.” She simply echoes him, and he nods before pressing the back of his hand to his lips, trying to keep from being sick - whether from the unbelievable running they’ve just gone through that is still wrecking his body, or from memories that Riva dredged up, she’s not sure.

She turns to inspect the too dark room instead, trying to gather her bearings as best as she can before her brain can switch into panic mode completely. It’s not as small as other places she’s had to hide in, luckily, so her claustrophobia is yet to rear its ugly head, but it’s not exactly spacious either. She can’t make out much that could be of help, a few shelves that have seen better days, an empty barrel or two in the far corner. A lot of darkness. She can’t exactly retrace their steps through the building, but they must have ended up in a half-basement level, the only light coming from a small set of windows a few metres up the wall.

“Okay.” She manages to level her voice to a normal whisper. “Carols and Rogers must have heard the shots. They definitely called in more back up. All we need to do is stay hidden and wait-”

“They don’t know it’s him. They won’t send much backup.”

“They know two detectives went into a building with an armed criminal and did not come out yet so yes, they will send heavy backup, Jake.”

His voice is still muffled through his hand near his mouth, strained but for something else.

“He was gonna shoot you.”

She doesn’t have much to say to that.

“Because of me.”

She has even less to say to that. Yes, is pretty much all she can think of. Yes, because you ran into a building without backup, without a vest on, without so much as a plan. Yes, because you didn’t think . But given the wavering of his voice, the way he’s still breathing like they’d only just stopped running, the way she could see his hands shake even in the darkness, she’s not going to say any of that, ever. There’s something else on her mind, anyway.

“He recognised me?” She asks as she sinks down to Jake’s level, squat-sitting against the wall. The one you whined about is stuck in her memory, but Jake only shakes his head before dropping it to stare at the ground.

“They- the guys- they kept pushing me to gossip and trash talk about the ‘pigs I left behind’.” He coughs as quietly as he can, and she tenses for a moment trying to listen to any sounds from outside of their room. “I tried with the others but- I just couldn’t say anything bad about you.”

Her hand finds its way into his hair, sweat-sticky on his forehead.

“They picked up on that and kept teasing me about it. Then they started finding hook-ups for me to ‘forget’. I think I got too drunk once and told them to fuck off, or something.”

She scratches over his scalp down to his ear, rubs a soothing circle into his cheek as best as she can.

“I know it was stupid and I put you in danger and we weren’t even- you were with Teddy and I-”

“Hey.” She drops her hand to his upper arm and squeezes for support, wants to say something calming before he spirals, but is met with a quiet hiss and - a wet patch on her hand, the feeling of ripped fabric and skin and blood.

“You were hit?!” She gasps before easing the pressure she was unwittingly putting on his wound.

“Grazed. It’s okay.”

“It’s not, it-it’s-” Her fingers are shaking as she pats around her suit to find something to wrap around his arm to stop the bleeding and comes up empty until she shrugs off her jacket. She won’t ever get the stain out of the light fabric, she thinks for a second as she bandages his arm as best as she can in the dark, but who cares?

Who the fuck cares when he got hit by a bullet that was aimed at her? When he pushed her out of harm's way instead of following protocol and shooting the attacker instead? He could’ve had Riva down and out for the count, he was in perfect position for it, and even gave him ample warning. But he might’ve had her on the ground as well if that’s the option he’d picked.

Something tells her that simply because of that, it was never even an option for him.

Their eyes meet, close enough in the dark to really see each other, and they’re swimming with emotions before Jake’s flinch shut as a distant “Jakeeey~" echoes through the halls they’ve just run through.

“We need to get out of here. We- you don’t know what he’s willing- if he finds us-” Jake is up, all of a sudden, the motion making her sway and almost topple over. He’s scanning the room just like she did earlier when she stands up next to him, and his eyes lock onto the barrels and windows.

“I can give you a leg up high enough to reach the window if we climb that barrel. You’ll fit through it, and get over to Rogers and Carols and see if the backup-”

“And you stay here?” She finally scolds him with a look. “With the man who wants you dead? The one you called ‘torture guy’?”

He’s quiet at that, but she can see on his face that the decision was clearly made in his mind.

“You got any better ideas?”

“Like I said, we wait until backup gets here.”

Almost as if to prove the faults in her argument, another “Jakey boy! Get out here and face me, bitch!” drifts in from outside - closer than it was before, and Jake throws her the most panicked ‘told you’ look she’s ever seen.

“We’re still two against one. He’s emptied half his magazine earlier. If we corner him right, we get the element of surprise in the room as well-” her mind continues to work as her eyes settle on the door- “hug the wall next to the door, and we can disarm him or get him down before he’s even barged in completely.”

Jake seems to want to protest, even as the logical part of his brain is clearly telling him she’s right and that this is the best way to go at it, so he ends up simply nodding before gripping his gun and leaning against the wall next to the door, Amy following him suit on the other side.

They’re staring at each other while the noises outside the room seem to creep ever closer. ‘Come out and plaaay~' almost makes her snort for its ridiculousness if it wasn’t so terrifying, thinking about the things Jake has probably seen this man ‘play’ with.

She tries to calm her mind by focusing on him, instead. On his face in the hazy dark, the curls on his forehead she managed to jostle free earlier, the tense line of his neck, the glare of her beige suit jacket tied around his arm. The way he looks at her, even amidst the panic, amidst all the fear and worry stuck in the room with them.

He pushed her out of Riva’s aim. He dragged her close to him as he ran. He ignored his own injury, offering to lift her up to an escape he wouldn’t be able to make after her. It’s… it’s a lot. After barely two months of a relationship, it’s a lot to take in.

Except she knows - she knows deep down that he would’ve done all of this three months ago, too. Six months ago. Maybe years ago, even.

“We need to switch.” He whispers suddenly, pulling her out of her deep thoughts, and is already stepping over to her before she can ask. She feels his hand on her shoulder, nudging her back to where he’d been standing, and squeezing three times while doing so.

Sometimes she almost hates that squeeze. She knows what it means now, even though they haven’t said those three little words his squeezes represent yet, but in situations like these - it never forebodes anything good.

And she realises what it really means now, too, as she sees the hinges on the door on her side. The door that opens inwards. The door that will completely hide her behind it once it opens, and leave Jake alone in -

It opens before she can say anything, and then things happen way too quickly - there’s noise and shouting and she thinks she hears Jake’s “Down on the floor!” in between Riva’s angry screams and then there’s another gunshot. A single gunshot, and all she can see is the back of the door in front of her, frozen to the spot, unable to run around it and see if- see who-

“Fuck, Amy. Help me pin this fucker!” She hears the next moment and breathes out in relief. Her feet find themselves again as she runs over to where Jake is kneeling on Riva’s back, struggling to hold him down even with the gunshot wound in his thigh. He’s shouting obscenities, screaming and thrashing around, and Amy is so, so tempted to embed a bullet into his other thigh to get him quiet, but she joins Jake’s knees on his back instead, yanks his arms back in a way Jake couldn’t with his injury, and they click the handcuffs around him together at the very moment a team of heavily suited up officers rounds the corner.

_+_

He’s sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a brightly lit, wide open room of the hospital, squeezing her hand that is holding onto him while his other arm is propped up on a table and getting stitched up.

The EMTs that were taking care of Rogers checked him, too, but the injury wasn’t bad enough to warrant a ride in their ambulance with him, so Amy took over the keys for his Mustang and drove him after briefing the backup team and handing over a still cussing Riva to be brought into Holding. She put in a whispered request to be the one questioning him - with Rosa as secondary - to Terry, who was part of the backup team, and only gave her a quick look and then a nod after Riva screamed something about how he ‘shoulda offed that snitch when he had a chance’, watching Jake several feet away from them twitch and turn towards the EMT handling his arm.

The young doctor stitching him up seems suitably impressed by both his badge and his injury, remarking something about ‘bravery’ and ‘sacrifice’ he would usually eat up with glee, but all he’s doing is smile at Amy while his fingers intertwine with hers, squeeze only once before his thumb rubs circles across her hand.

They’re left alone soon enough while the doctor gets his painkillers subscription, and Jake takes the chance to lift Amy’s hand up to his lips and kiss it.

“Jake…” she begins when their hands drop again, and she can tell he’s getting ready for a lecture. “You risked too much back there.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in without backup, and made a lot of wrong decisions, and-”

“No.” She interrupts him, much to his surprise. “I mean, yes, obviously, and I’m glad you see that now, but that’s not what I meant.”

She sighs, deeply, and stares at their still interlocked hands.

“You risked too much for me.”

“Not possible.”

“Jake!” Her eyes dart up again, want to level him with an angry stare, but can’t help but soften when met with the absolute shine in his. “Jake, you got hit because you pushed me, you wanted to bail me out of the room to leave you with even less backup, and then you manoeuvred me into a dead corner to face a Mafioso on your own-”

“Yeah.”

“Why?!”

“Because it would’ve kept you safe.”

“That’s not how police work is supposed to-”

“Am I not supposed to keep my partner safe?”

“Not when it puts you in danger instead!”

“Hm.” He hums and looks at the bandaged up stitches on his arm. “Gotta rework the manual for that, then. Because frankly I don’t give a shit about me when it means helping you.”

“But I do.” She almost whispers, but he still looks back at her immediately, balks at the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I give a shit about you. You think I want to see you shot on the ground? You think I want to run away from a building when I know you’re stuck in there? You think I want to stand behind a door and only hear you get- get-” She bites back a sob and fixes him with a dedicated stare instead, a look on her face that makes his heart clench and dance at the same time. “We’re a team, Jake. In the field and off it. You can’t- you can’t play the hero and leave me behind.”

Her mind jumps back to an empty parking lot, the cold wind rushing over her flushed cheeks as she watches him walk away with his little box of things in his arms, not even waiting for her answer. Maybe not even hoping for one.

He sighs and nods back in the present, squeezes her hand again, twice.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, and she squeezes back once.

She knows they’ll probably be talking about this again in the future. She knows it’ll come up repeatedly until he learns. But she also knows, with a certainty that should maybe scare her after their short time together, why it’ll happen again in the future - because he’ll still be by her side no matter the situation. Because she’ll still be the one thing on his mind, no matter how panicked he is. Because they’ll go through it all together, as a team. As partners.

And deep down, she knows with an equal certainty that if the roles were reversed - she would probably rework the manual herself in her mind, to keep him safe. Would do anything and everything she could, no matter how many protocols it went against, to help him, save him, protect him, make him feel safe and secure.

Right now, she’s glad all it takes for that is a little lean into his direction to kiss him before the doctor comes back, and squeeze his hand three times before letting go and holding onto his face instead to deepen the kiss.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet #fic

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infinitebells · 3 years

Note

Maybe some angst if you're ok with that? Moran loves you, but had gotten carried away and during one of his missions he had slept with a random woman from the bar. A year has passed and he still can't get over you and wants you to forgive him, but to his surprise the next time he sees you, you're pregnant and Sherlock is parading around how beautiful his pregnant fiance is. Moran still chooses to talk to you and maybe try to convince you to come back. (if you're not ok with this I understand)

this makes me sad, my two favorite boys omg. i listened to yellow as i wrote this and had to stop myself from crying LOL

p.s. my sister violently cried when i made her read this

“i slept with someone during our mission,” he says, voice wobbly. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen his composure break, but your head is in too much of a disarray to notice it. white noise roars through your ears and your vision almost goes too, but you force the darkness away. tears immediately pool on your lower lash line as the words leave his mouth.

“are you being truthful sebastian? or is this some sick joke?” you ask quietly. you pray to every god that he’ll burst out laughing and apologizing for such an awful joke, but nothing of the sort happens. instead, his gaze falls to the floor, unshed tears shining in the light. he doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. instead, he watches as you leave the room, returning a few minutes later with a suitcase full of your things. panic sets in at the sight, and he rushes forward, gripping your arm tightly to keep you from walking out of the front door.

“wait princess please, it was an accident i sw-”

“don’t call me that,” your voice is trembling. you had hoped your words would come out harsher, but even in your sadness you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him. “please, don’t,” you whisper.

“please let me make it up to you. what can i do?” he’s kneeling in front of you now, holding your arm close to his chest. his heart breaks in two at the tears streaming down your cheeks. a few stray ones land on his hand, and he grabs yours, kissing the back of it before looking back up. his tears match yours now. and even as he cries he’s still one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid your eyes on. a sob you had been repressing breaks free, and your entire body trembles at the force of it.

“sebastian please, don’t make this harder. please let go,” you’re full on sobbing now, your cries echoing throughout the manor. the rest of the boys are quiet in william’s office down the hall.

“i can’t let you go my love, i can’t,” he exclaims, pressing his forehead into the back of your hand. his whole being shakes with his silent sobs, and he can’t bring himself to look up at you anymore. his guilt eats him alive from the inside out, and your next words only serve to completely shatter his spirit.

“i’m begging you, please let me go sebastian. i need to be alone, i can’t look at you without imagining you sleeping with someone else,” your voice is louder, your agony seeping through. he can hear how desperate you are, and everything in his body seizes. his breathing stops as he looks back up at you. your hand covers your mouth to muffle your sobs, and your eyes are squeezed shut as tears leak out of the corners of your eyes. his grip loosens on your hand, and when you open your eyes, his hands are off of you, and he’s looking up at you like he’s lost.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice cracking on the last syllable. it’s the last thing he says to you before the dam breaks and you rush out of the manor, your cries following you the entire way. sebastian moran has never felt more broken than when he heard your screams of pure sorrow pierce the otherwise quiet night. and he doesn’t think he’ll ever hear anything as heartbreaking.

✧ ✧ ✧

even though one year has passed, the colonel can still feel a unique hollowness deep in his chest. it grows more painful as he passes your favorite restaurant, flashes of your dinner dates playing in his head. it grows more painful when he sees a bouquet of your favorite flowers being handed to another woman. it grows more painful when he sees the constellations hanging in the sky, your favorite ones standing out to him.

all of these instances make the pain grow sharper in his chest, but nothing quite hurts him as much when he sees you in the town square, another man’s arm dangling off of your shoulders, and your hand placed on top of your semi-swollen belly. the glint of your engagement ring blinds him, and he can almost feel his senses fail him as he sees it. what hurts the most is how beautiful you look with sherlock holmes at your side, raving to his partner about which baby names he likes best.

“i really like the name sebastian for a boy, what do you think love?” sherlock’s gaze is trained on you, and his words send a fresh shot of pain barreling through his chest. he can feel his throat constrict as he accidentally overhears sherlock, but he can’t pull away from the conversation now.

“i don’t know, it’s a nice name, but can we look at others too?” moran can’t detect any hidden malice in your words, but he doesn’t know if that only serves to please him or poison him.

“of course! will you wait here while i run into the bakery with watson? i’ll get you some of those muffins you’ve been craving recently,” he’s cheeky with his words, and you can’t help but giggle at them, pecking him on the cheek before shooing the two men away before sitting down on a bench and looking down at your stomach. your fingers find the golden chain resting on your neck, unconsciously playing with the thin strand. you’d never bothered to rid yourself of it, choosing to associate it with the friendship you and the colonel had once had instead of the romantic relationship.

“i thought you would have rid yourself of that necklace by now,” your heart skips a beat at the deep voice, refusing to turn and look at the man now sitting next to you.

“it’s a nice necklace. why would i rid myself of a gift given to me by an old friend?” you force your voice to stay steady as you finally turn to look at moran. his dark green eyes haven’t changed at all.

“am i simply known as an old friend now?” he questions, hands clasping together as he leans forward, forearms resting on his thighs. his gloved hand twitches beneath the fabric, and he’s thankful it’s covered so you can’t see it.

“i don’t think i could refer to you as anything else at this point,” you reply. your voice is dry, but he knows it’s an act. after having been with you for five years, he knows everything about you. and he can see the front you’re putting up.

“you could refer to me as your new lover, should you choose to leave the detective,” his words surprise himself, but he can’t go back now. your eyes widen in disbelief, and your hand grips the side of the bench tightly.

“why would i do such a thing colonel?” the nickname used to be affectionate, one you used when you wanted to tease sebastian. now it’s harsh, sharp on your tongue.

“because i’m still madly in love with you,” he murmurs, staring directly at you. his eyes don’t leave yours, fearful that he’ll miss any indication of your feelings on your face. he watches as your bottom lip is tugged harshly between your teeth, a nervous habit you’d always had.

“sebastian i am with another man now,” you speak slowly, his given name tasting bitter after months of being unused. his face remains slack, his eyes the only indication that he’s serious.

“i know. and i know that you and i were once together as well. so why not try again? we were together for years love,” his once affectionate name for you slips out on accident, but he can see your eyes soften at it as he speaks. the soft gaze is quickly replaced with withering sadness. it chills him to his core.

“yet you threw those years away the moment you slid in bed with another woman,” you whisper, fingers tugging tightly at your necklace. you feel as though it’s choking you. moran’s quiet, defeat flowing through him. he nods, standing from the bench and turning away. he stops before walking, looking back over his shoulder.

“sebastian is a fine name for a young man, but fred is much more suitable for a boy who would take after the kind and caring tendencies of his mother,” he speaks, smiling sadly at you. you can feel tears pool in your eyes, and you return the smile. you missed the young boy who had treated you like his older sister for the years you and sebastian had been together. you two still exchanged letters sometimes, meeting for lunch occasionally.

“both would be wonderful names for a boy,” you say, finality laced in your tone. he nods, offering you another smile before turning around and walking away. his large form disappears into the crowd, and you turn back to look down at your belly. a stray tear landing on your swollen stomach.

“who was that my dear?” sherlock’s voice catches your attention, and you quickly wipe any tears away before looking up at him.

“an old friend i hadn’t seen in a while,” you don’t expect the voice crack, and alarm spreads across his face. he kneels in front of you, holding your hand lightly as the other one rests on your cheek, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your cheekbone.

“what’s wrong sweetheart? why are you crying?” he asks, gaze tracing your features.

“i just hadn’t seen them in a while and i though they had passed on, so i was relieved to know they were safe,” it wasn’t a complete lie, and he bought it without hesitation. helping you stand up, he keeps your body close to his by looping his arm around your waist.

“okay, as long as you’re okay now,” he reinforces his words to a kiss on top of your head, and you grin involuntarily at his gesture.

“he did recommend a good boy name that i like,” you speak up, bittersweet warmth spreading through your chest.

“oh yeah? do enlighten me!” excitement bursts on his face like fireworks, and you can feel your own smile grow. unbeknownst to you, sebastian walks slightly behind you two, needing to hear your voice one last time before leaving.

“he suggested fred, which i think is my new favorite choice. although, i like sebastian for his middle name,” you say, looking up at sherlock to gauge his reaction.

“that sounds like a wonderful idea my love,” he says, leaning down to press a loving kiss to your lips.

even though one year has passed, the colonel can still feel a unique hollowness deep in his chest. as he walks away from you, back to the manor, where he sleeps in a room you two once shared, he doesn’t know if that hollow feeling will ever recede.

#yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot x reader #sebastian moran #sherlock holmes #bells responds

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downwiththeficness · 3 years

Text

In the Bond-Chapter 2

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~2,300

Warnings: None

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

Start from the beginning Next Chapter Read on AO3 Masterlist

Lilah slid into a chair and regarded the lovers. Kate was sitting in Richie’s lap, rolling her eyes as he pressed intermittent kisses on her cheeks and neck. She’d grown used to their easy affection since the brothers had saved Kate from Amaru. For the first few days, Richie had hardly let go of Kate’s hand, would go where she went, snarling at anyone who came a little too close. Even now, he didn’t go very long without touching her, no matter the situation—a hand on her thigh, a the small of her back, toying with her hair. Kate seemed to take it all in stride, a soft smile that somehow made her look impossibly young.

It was Kate’s eyes that Lilah noticed first when she’d stepped through the doors of Jackknife Jed’s. They flashed with gloom, aging her in a way that in no way reflected in her actual face. Looking at her made Lilah feel so disjointed that she still struggled to hold the younger woman’s gaze. Still, despite the unease, Lilah liked Kate. She certainly made dealing with the ever-arguing brothers just a little bit easier. Lilah couldn’t so easily be out-voted any more, and that was worth the disquiet she sometimes felt in Kate’s presence.

The door to the office flung open, Seth barreling through with no regard for how it hit the shelf behind it, a few of Richie’s knickknacks shaking in their stands. He was wiping sweat from his brow, his ever present frown just a little deeper than normal. Lilah’s eyes narrowed as she watched him come closer.

“Hey, watch the merchandise,” Richie called out, one hand lifting from around Kate’s middle to gesture broadly at the memorabilia.

Fandom was the one thing that Lilah and Richie really agreed on. They’d spent a lot of time on stake outs talking Star Trek, and then Firefly, followed by a whole host of niche geeky topics. He was surprisingly insightful about the little details that made each show unique. And, Lilah had spent a lot of time in hotels watching old B horror movies to be able to hold her own when he went down a rabbit hole. It made the fact that she disagreed with him about the tenants of Jedi life acceptable, in his mind.

“We’ve got bigger problems than Obi Wan’s lightsaber, Richie.”

Seth was definitely in a mood. He might not understand Richie’s interests, and he might roll his eyes when his brother went on a tangent about canon timelines, but he at least respected Richie’s belongings enough that he didn’t intentionally screw around with them. This, whatever it was, was serious. Lilah eyed him narrowly, waiting.

Eyes vaguely betrayed, Richie muttered, “Its Mace Windu.”

Kate patted Richie’s arm lightly, saying, “What’s the problem?”

Rounding his desk, Seth sat heavily. After a deep sigh, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, tossing it on the desk in front of him. It bounced, making a soft ‘shhh’ sound as it slid across the pressed wood of the tabletop.

“We got a message today,” he explained, “And I don’t know what to make of it.”

Lilah leaned forward and plucked it up with two fingers. The paper was a heavy vellum, thick woven. She unfolded it, curious. The ink was a deep red, the lettering thick. As she brought it closer to read, Lilah caught a fragrance that had followed her in the weeks since their last failed mission.

Oh, no.

The letter was meticulously worded. The writing thick and bold, swirling softly around the crosses. Formal. Elegant. Commanding. Brasa.

Lilah read and re-read it, “He’s asking for peace.”

She looked at Seth, brows lifted in surprise. Then, she stood, stepped to Richie’s desk, and handed it to the younger brother. All the while, she tried to keep her face as neutral as possible. Lilah was grateful that Seth never bothered with the overhead lights, that only the lamps on either desk illuminated the room. Her face was hot, her hands shaking. She didn’t know how to stand so as to draw no attention to herself while she internally panicked.

“He’s playing a game,” Seth said as he opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a bottle, yanking out the stopper, and drinking straight from it. “Its a trap.”

Richie took a few moments to read the letter before Kate took it from him. She stood and read it, as well. Lilah watched her face, trying to discern her reaction. Kate chewed her thumbnail as her eyes flicked over the page, her brows together. A shadow passed over her expression.

“No,” Kate uttered so low that Lilah almost didn’t hear it, “He’s really asking for peace.”

Lilah didn’t have the time to think about how she might know that, or the implications. Or, how she might feel about those implications.

Seth scoffed, “How the fuck do you know that?”

Setting the letter down on Richie’s desk, Kate shrugged, “I spent a lot of time with him when I was...when she was inside me.” She sniffed, “Even though Amaru thought they were bullshit, he obeys the old laws. This is a formal call for peace talks. He’s written it in his own blood.”

Lilah felt her eyes widen, shocked that Kate could tell whose blood was on the paper. Shocked even further that someone would write a letter in their literal blood. Shocked still further that she cared how he might have procured his own blood in enough supply to write such a letter.

There were a few side effects from Kate’s possession, little quirks that Kate would sometimes display without really thinking. She’d stand up way too fast, know who might walk through the door next, hear conversations from the next room. Lilah did her best to just roll with it, but this was a little bit too freaky for Lilah’s normal ‘roll with it’ sensibilities. She deliberately set it aside, hoping that she wouldn’t need to examine the thought later.

Richie lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke through his nose, “Why now? We’ve spent the last six months fighting and killing each other, and now he wants to talk peace.”

Lilah sat down, folding her hands in her lap as she tried very hard not to think this was about her. She could not be so self-centered as to think that Brasa would give up a war just because she happened to be on the other side. A war he was, by all accounts, winning as the Gecko’s ceded more and more territory to the culebras he seemed to govern. There had to be another explanation. A trap, maybe, a false sense of security.

“Alright,” Seth drawled, “We get him in a room and gank him.”

Kate gasped, looking horrified, “We have a chance to get real progress, here. Do you want to fight forever?”

Lilah definitely knew the answer to that question. Seth’s entire life was a fight—physical or otherwise. He wasn’t comfortable if there wasn’t some sort of conflict to battle through, his brother at his side. Even if they achieved peace, he’d be at someone’s throat within twenty four hours. It was both endearing and utterly frustrating to watch him cycle through the same motions over and over.

Seth rose, leaning his hands on the desk, “You, more than anyone, have a reason to want every one of those snakes dead.”

Sneering, Kate crossed her arms, “I, more than anyone, have a reason to want all of this to stop. I don’t want to see any more death.”

Behind her, Richie shifted uneasily in his chair. Lilah took each of them in, knowing there was far more history than she was privy to playing out right in front of her. It left her feeling like she couldn’t make a good decision, didn’t have enough data to create a strategy. This was not her preferred method of moving through life. She remained still, waiting.

“We should meet with him,” Kate asserted, hip cocking to the side.

It was not a rare occasion that Kate would insist that they act in a certain way. She had a strong moral compass that clashed with the brothers’ more criminal predilections. More often than not, Kate centered them, kept them from going too far. Lilah was grateful. She had never been successful in stemming off their momentum, once they got started.

“Absolutely not,” Seth shot back, his mouth a firm line.

Lilah surprised herself by adding, “I agree with Seth.”

Richie stubbed out his cigarette, “I’m with Kate.”

This was not surprising. Richie tended to side with Kate on most things. Lilah caught the look he sent Kate, though Kate was still looking at Seth. His eyes were following the line of her petite body, admiring in a way that made Lilah look away, embarrassed.

Seth circled his desk, leaning his hip against it, “Two against two. How’re we going to break the tie?”

There was a beat of silence, then Richie stood and offered up his fist, “Best out of three?”

When Richie beat Seth two to one, Seth gave him a hardy ‘fuck you’ and strode from the room. Richie heaved a beleaguered sigh and followed him. Lilah dropped her head in her hands, boggled by the decision making skills of her partners. Rock, paper scissors...honestly.

“Why don’t you want to meet with them?”

Lilah lifted her eyes at the question, feeling her chest constrict, “I won’t have to do the actual meeting, Kate.” Lie, lie, lie, Lilah, “I just don’t think we’ll be successful.”

Kate tilted her head to the side, “You think its a trap?”

Lilah grabbed onto that line of thinking. It was logical, far more logical than ‘No, Kate. I just don’t want to meet up with someone who claims I am his bondmate and with whom I have exchanged blood’. Even in her head, it sounded so incredibly stupid. Not to mention the fact that she’d been hiding it long enough that admitting it would only lead to suspicion.

“I think Seth is too hot headed,” Lilah clarified quickly, “I think that it’ll fall apart before it even gets started.”

There, that was a convincing lie that was pretty grounded in enough truth that even Lilah half believed it. She very carefully did not study Kate’s face to see if the lie had landed.

Kate moved closer, her ancient gaze peering at Lilah carefully, “You’re right.”

Oh. Okay.

“Thank you.”

“You need to go with them.”

Ah, fuck.

“What?”

Kate nodded, her expression hardening, “You go with them, keep things level, make this work.”

“Me?” Lilah didn’t like how high her voice came out. She cleared her throat, “No, you know them better than I do. You go. Bring me whatever contract they draw up, I’ll red line it, make sure its fair.”

That was her role. Look over the game plan, find the flaws, work out the kinks. In that, Lilah was comfortable and safe. No need to put herself back in a room with Brasa. No need to let this get even more out of hand. No need for the messiness that would come from that.

Shaking her head, Kate took a step back, “I can’t. I can’t face him. What I did to him was,” she searched for words, “terrible.”

The sudden turn of Kate’s tone, the way her face screwed up in real disgust, made Lilah sit up and stake notice. Where had this come from?

She inhaled, trying to parse the words, “What does that mean?”

Kate’s eyes were focused on the middle distance, her mouth quivering, “Amaru loved torture, all kinds of torture. She didn’t care who it was that she hurt. I—she liked,” Another breath, “Brasa was blood bound to her, she could make him do things, do anything. She never got her hands dirty, but him…”

Lilah waited for more, but Kate simply stopped speaking. She looked shell shocked, tears welling up. God, but Lilah had been completely fooled by Kate’s frequent smiles and clear headedness. She hadn’t known how much trauma the hell queen had put Kate through, hadn’t even thought that Kate was conscious of the things that she’d done while trapped inside her own body. Moved to action, she stood and embraced Kate, saying to her the only comfort she could think to give.

“Its the past. And, it wasn’t you.” Then, “Are you still blood bound?”

She felt like real shit for asking, but she needed to know what Brasa’s relationship was with Kate, and if it would make their own relationship (did they even have a relationship?) more complicated. Kate made a soft sound in the negative and Lilah let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. That was one complication she had, thankfully, avoided.

Kate’s body was taut, “When she first brought me back, when I met him, I felt the power I had over him. And, she abused it. I drained him dry that first night, to regain her strength. After three days, when he managed to stand up off the ground, she did it again. Because she could.” Kate pulled back and looked at Lilah, “That wasn’t even the worst of it. How can I look him in the eye after all that?”

Lilah shook her head, “Like I said, it wasn’t you. And, if he really wants to talk peace, he’ll set it aside. If not, fuck ‘im.”

That, at least, was the truth. Lilah had been fighting his kind of less than a year and she was tired of it. She wanted peace. She wanted to go on nice, normal jobs—jewel theft, a bank heist, possibly even some fine art that they could sell on the black market. Stuff that was in her wheelhouse, in her comfort zone. If he was going to hold Kate responsible for the actions of Amaru, then he wasn’t worth negotiating with. Full stop.

Kate loosed a soundless laugh, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

#from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #brasa #In the Bond

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

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Whirlwind Part III - Sirocco

DAY 3

As Aella sits in the campus refectory, her mind is still reeling from her fight with Harry the day before. She fins herself pushing peas around her plate as though the therapeutic movement could help her instill some order among her thoughts. Or just quiet them altogether. Someone like you. The cringeworthy words have been playing on an unfaltering loop since their author lashed them out to her face without a care. Someone like you. She desperately wants to tune it out, but it's like the record is trapped under the broken turntable needle and launched in endless revolution. Someone like y-

A pea is about to fall over her plate from the pushing, when she's greeted by a rowdy Dazzler and a quiet Tigger. The two form quite the complementary duo she notes, their polar dispositions counterbalancing each other in the most endearing way.

"Hiya, dear Aella. I believe it's story time for you!" Daz exclaims after jumping on the seat across from her, a large smile lighting up his face. Aella wonders for a second if it's not stapled to his skin instead; she's never seen Dazzler sport any other expression than pure elation. His singular request stops her musings in confusion, however.

"Story time?" She inquires with a perplexed frown.

"Love, you have no idea how badly my ears want to be graced with the very details of how you whipped Rex's sodding arse." His enthusiasm for such a mundane thing truly amazes her. And admittedly, she quite envies him and his talent for finding happiness in the smallest things.

"Ah yes, the highlight of my week," is all she acknowledges.

"Mine too, had I been there to witness it. That's why I need the next best thing: an exhaustive report of the whole scene." Dazzler explains, tailgating his answer with a suggestive double-nudge of his eyebrows.

"Well, it's nothing much really." She says looking down at her plate. But once she brings her eyes back to her two companions, she realizes they won't waver until she parts with the story. "Let's just say my uncle taught me a thing or two about pressure points, and that knowledge came in handy a couple nights ago." Aella refrains from giving out the full transcript of what really transpired despite Dazzler's request. She doesn't like bragging about such things. Even if Rex's mortified expression did bring her considerable satisfaction, she still hates the fact that she had to get physical with her peer for her to be respected. Besides, she has an inkling Dazzler's imagination is perfectly operational to fill in the blanks.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm gonna dream about this tonight!" True to his words, there's a childlike wondrous gleam in Dazzler's eyes, making his aversion for Rex almost tangible. And Aella can't help but rejoice in knowing she's not alone in her rancor against the jackass. "So you got him good?"

"Sent him to his knees." Her voice is still leveled, though her own delight at the memory is betrayed at the corner of her lips.

"Oh Aella, you are my new favorite person!" Dazzler's jubilation earns him a smile but the sentiment is quickly washed off her face and replaced by a heavy sigh.

"Yeah well, I wish your mate Harry shared the feeling." Aella says dejectedly, the peas once again holding more interest to her battered brain.

"Ah...so it's not all rainbows and unicorns between you two then?"

The question makes her scoff in exasperation."Try like...tornados and trolls. I mean, does the guy even know how to smile?" Aella doesn't want to get worked up about it, but the fact that she has likely 5 more weeks to spend as Harry's partner is quite a hard pill to swallow if he proves to be the prick she thinks he is.

"Hey now come on, he's been trough a lot recently. He's actually a pretty sound guy." The remark sobers Aella's anger for a moment as she remembers the very reason behind her presence at Top Gun. She knows how loss can shatter parts of the soul that makes us who we are, leaving only but time to glue back the pieces. To some extent she understands the void that Harry must be aching to fill, but her compassion for his pain is short lived. Grieve doesn't give anyone the right to act like a senseless prick. Aella can deal with his sullen attitude but in no way she'll ever put up with blatant disrespect for her mere identity.

"Well, sorry if I don't take your word for it, but all I've seen from him is the same cold and sexist shit I've dealt with since I enlisted." She says, moving on from absentmindedly poking the peas to forcefully stabbing them into a green mess.

"Hang on, Harry may have a stick up his arse from time to time, but sexist? That doesn't sound like him." Dazzler is quick to defend his friend. Of course, she interiorly sighs though she has to admit his disbelief over Harry's allegedly misogynistic behavior seems rather earnest.

"Well, you didn't hear him yesterday. Or seen the look in his eyes."

"Aella, I really thi-"

"Just forget it, okay. I'm use to it and I'll deal with it like I always have." While Dazzler seems to be adamant about his friend's righteousness, Aella doesn't want to here much of it. She just wants to move on, like she'd planned all along. The two men across from her exchange a quick look at her rebuttal and it hits them then, how different it is for Aella to be a navy pilot compared to their own journey. "Besides, I didn't come here to complain. I came to be a better pilot" she asserts in response to their sympathetic glance. It resembled pity too much for her to lay in it.

"Right." Is all Dazzler can muster as opposed to his partner who finally decides to speak up.

"I'm sorry you have to go through that Aella." In truth, she's never really cared for those apologies much since they most never come from the people who actually have apologizing to do. Nonetheless she can't deny how heartwarming it is to hear the sweetness and sincerity of both young men sharing their lunch with her. They can't do much about her situation but at least she now feels supported.

"Thank you Tigger." She replies in genuine gratitude, her smile shyly returning. "At least I have you both on my side."

"You've got Harry too, Aella. You don't know it yet, and he may not either, but he's on your side too." His gaze is heavy on her, the statement coming out in a solemn tone as if it was murmured by a prophesier.

"Don't hold your breath Daz."

DAY 6

"Ready?"

Although she knows they were bound to communicate at some point, Aella is startled when the sound of Harry's filtered voice echoes through her headset. After checking that her straps are tightly locked, she mutters a faint 'yeah' in response and wills her brain to stop overthinking the upcoming mission. It is to no avail though. The oxygen inflating her lungs is saturated with awkwardness and reticence, making her second-guess every choice she's made in the past few months. They can still make it, right? This tension didn't stop them from succeeding the last time after all... Alas, her mind won't let be duped by her feeble encouragements and for the first time in her life, Aella is dreading flying. She doesn't have the time to dwell on it however, as the roar of the F-14's afterburners fills the cockpit and before she knows it, the sky is welcoming them back.

"Alright, let's kick the tires and light the fires." Harry murmurs as the runway keeps dwindling away from their vision, and Aella remembers him whispering the same line before their first venture. She makes no comment though, many pilots come up with little habits and small routines of their own to help them reach the headspace suited for flying. Some disregard it as superstitious gibberish, but in Aella's opinion it can save precious seconds in dire moments. And in the Navy worlds, every second counts.

As Commander Berks laid it out moments ago, this assignment slightly differs from the last one. The level of difficulty is tuned up a bit by the accrued competition: this time all 8 units are flying simultaneously as they battle for a single target towed by Berks himself. The task in meant to improve both aim and awareness as they are still being chased by the other instructors throughout the task. All in all though, it is the same 'target without getting targeted' acrobatics they are all familiar with.

"I've got my eyes on the target, can you read the positions please?" Harry suddenly inquires. The mission has run smoothly so far with few interactions between the two. It seems that's about to change however, as they get in the thick of it.

"Target at reach in 3 miles abeam, 5° on your left, lower, flying South." Aella starts reading her radar at her copilot's request. "Bogey one mile ahead at your ten. I think it's Rex, tailing target at 900 knots closure."

"Shit." Harry curses. Though Aella remains quiet, none of them are thrilled to realize Rex and his radar intercept officer Kurt (or the Zodiac as per his callsign) are ahead of the game.

"You've also got contact 2 miles behind, flying your speed." Aella adds in a poised manner. "Hold on, there's two of them."

"Are they closing in on us?"

"No. Looks like someone's got Rogers on their ass."

Harry briefly smiles. "Good." Whoever might that be, it means one less competitor trying for the target and one less instructor on their case for the time being. That's a win-win in his book.

"Careful though. He might turn on us next." She warns in anticipation.

"Not if I win this mission first." Harry retorts in confidence. His partner wishes she had the same optimism but there is an odd feeling festering in the pit of her stomach.

For a hot minute, there is but the consistent whirring of the engine disturbing the otherwise eery silence permeating the air. Harry seems to be slowly yet surely catching up on Rex and more importantly Berks, when the latter suddenly swerves upwards in unexpected fashion.

"Berks' barrel-rolling." Aella immediately calls the change in movement, the peaceful flow they were reveling in, already coming to an end. "New angle, 2 o'clock high." Harry slightly reduces his speed as Berks executes a vertical U-turn, effectively putting him out of Rex's range and at a higher altitude.

"I see that. I need to get ahead of Rex, can you call the speeds please?" He's trying to determine his best course of action in order to recover his advance on Berks before his opponent does.

"Target going 700 knots, Rex 630 and we're flying 650." Aella answers quickly although she has a plan forming in her brain as always. She's not as forceful as she was during their first operation, already apprehensive of her partner's reaction. "Listen Harry, if you do a J-turn you'll overshoot past Rex right on Berks' tail."

Admittedly her plan is once again on the daring side of the spectrum, so part of her knows Harry won't gleefully jump on board at the mere suggestion. And sure enough he proves her right as soon as the last word is out of her lips.

"Do a Herbst maneuver?! Are you batshit crazy?! That's not even in the program."

She refrains from rolling eyes since they ought to be scanning the data on her flight system at all times. "Fuck the program, you don't end up at Top Gun playing by the book. We can win this mission now, just trust me." She almost cringes at the last words, knowing they were uttered more for the form than their meaning. God knows they are lightyears from trusting each other.

"Jesus, this isn't free-style flying Aella for fuck's sake, this is air-combat." Harry doesn't care that he's letting all his frustration out. Knows he shouldn't be having 'land-talk' whilst they're up in the air on a mission (there will be plenty of time to tell her off once they've landed) but his mind is completely overladen.

"That's right, and you're fighting like a 6 year-old girl. Stop pulling hair and grow up!" Whoever said 'don't fight fire with fire' was obviously never launched at supersonic speed in 25 tons of steel with a person they despise a great deal. Reason seems to have been forgotten on the tarmac by both acolytes as they keep arguing ten-thousand feet above grounds.

"You're delusional, have you even ever done one?!"

"I'll guide you through it, trust m-"

"No! No fucking way, it's too dangerous." His tone is adamant, once again leaving Aella no room for discussion. She hates that he has the final word when it comes to flying, but alas he's the one in control of the aircraft.

"Urgh!" She cries out in irritation before mumbling under her breath "fucking coward."

Harry tries to ignore the silent dig taken at his expense as he focuses back on the problem at hand. His jaw is clenching so hard underneath the helmet, he can almost hear the sound of his teeth grinding. He is in the middle of regulating his breathing when Aella speaks up again bringing his heartbeat back into tizzy.

"Great, now we got Rogers on our case. Congrats."

"Fuck." He doesn't even register her passive-aggressive jab, more so preoccupied with the new threat charging after them.

She'd been right. She knew Rogers would be coming for them next if they didn't change tactics. Now all she can do is calling positions and silently cursing the stars for putting her on Harry's path. "800 knots closure, he's coming at your six."

"I'm well aware Aella, thanks." His voice overpowering the loud beeping noise echoing through the cockpit. They're about to be figuratively shot but not so figuratively eliminated from the competition, as Rogers is one second away from locking in on them and firing.

"He's not budging, you need to bug the fuck out." She discloses her input even though she feels like no matter what she suggests, he's gonna opt the other way.

"Like hell! The target's not bugging out." Harry quips back, once again confirming her assumption.

"You won't get the goddamn target if you're down." In a different world - and let's face it, in a different life - she might applaud his resilience, but in this universe she loathes his stubbornness, especially since she's the one enduring its wrath.

"Fucking hell, just call the bloody positions. I can't let Rex win this mission." Or any other for that matter, is what he thinks. A sentiment that, any other day, Aella would reciprocate but she's given up for the day. If he doesn't want her opinion, fine. Let him get shot, that'll teach him.

"I told you, he's in the fucking saddle, at your six. Closing on 800 knots. 850. 900."

She knows it before she hear it then: another ear-splitting beeping erupts within the cabin, dramatically informing Harry of their defeat. Rogers took the shot, it was over.

"Dammit!"

As soon as Aella steps back on solid grounds, she's overcome with a lingering sense of déjà-vu. The horizon incessantly spiraling in her vision surely doesn't help quell the dreadful sensation, though she doesn't dwell much on her lack of visual focus. No, her mind is completely consumed by the urge to rip Harry a new one. And she doesn't usually indulge in those urges. Seldom lets her resentment out in the open, for fear of appearing too "emotional" for some people's taste; and because quite frankly, she has better things to do. But this is killing her from the inside. Cutting right into the flesh of her dreams and strangling the part of herself that only bows to freedom. This is the other half of her unit dismissing her talent on the basis of her gender. And that she can't take in, much less bottle up and store away in a sealed chest at the bottom of her mind.

"For fuck sake Harry, you're supposed to be my partner!" Aella cries out to him.

He doesn't want to make a scene any more than she does, but likewise has tremendous difficulty keeping his rage all in. As Aella chases after him, he keeps stomping away from their shared TomCat. He doesn't think he's capable of facing her without loosing his shit. "That's a two way street Aella, and I don't reckon flying us both to the grave is part of 'the partner's' job description." The air quotes he uses at the mention of the word partner does nothing to assuage Aella's already blazing fury. She thinks he couldn't be more obnoxious in that moment if he tried.

"That's because you don't listen to me!"

"Damn right I don't!" He shouts back while spinning around to finally face her. "And you can thank me for still being alive because of it." Aella feels like she might implode like a pressure cooker forgotten on the fire. The audacity...the insolence... Each word he breathes out is wracking one by one every single nerve ending of hers. He's so full of himself, she wonders how she could fit in the cockpit without his human-size ego crushing her. She might have joked about having to find a 3-seats Tomcat for their next mission to fit them all, if the situation weren't so seriously heart-rending for her.

"You. Are. Such an asshole! Why am I even here? Huh! Why am I even sitting in that fucking aircraft with you?" She's about a wit away from yielding to the pressure boiling in her chest; still Harry is relentless in his comebacks too.

"Funny, I was wondering the same thing." He knows he's being harsh but his mind won't give in. Won't let him cut out a fragment of trust to share with her rule-breaking mentality. Not after what happened with Fox.

"You're despicable. I can't believe I actually hoped you'd be a decent guy. But god no! Mr Styles is too precious to be paired with a woman, so why should he give her the time of day? And why did he have to be partnered with a lady in the first place, yeah? All they can do is sit pretty or unleash their crazy, imma right?" She realizes how close she's gotten to him during her diatribe and has half the mind to push at his chest but somehow she doubts it would make him budge much. Once again she finds herself inches away from his stiff stature, as she fervently tells him off. "Dammit, you're just like the others, it makes me sick."

That's the final stroke for Harry. She can deem him as stuck-up as she pleases but he won't have her repeatedly question his integrity. "I don't fucking care that you're a woman, alright! Christ, you care about it more than I do!" Admittedly, he's had a couple sneak-peaks at her mistreatment and while he sure does feel for her struggle, sometimes she's too in her head about it to see good from bad. And he's tired of being at the wrong end of it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She questions half-offended and half confused, as she can't fathom any sense to the statement.

"It means, I know some guys don't treat you right because you're a woman; but I never did, and I'm sick of you accusing me of it anyway." His eyes are sharp when they connect with hers, compelling and brutally honest, yet they send a chill down to her toes. "But you know what? The world is unfair. Tough love, darling. You have to prove yourself more than us but think for a minute who's against you and who's on your side, because it seems to me that you waste a lot of energy fighting the wrong persons." He's the one who delivered the words, yet Aella is the one out of breath. For a hard second, all she does is frown as a dizzying silence takes over the heated exchange. Their staring hasn't relented, in fact Harry's eyes are agitatedly seeking question-less answers in hers in a mirrored frown.

When Aella finally speaks up, her voice is hardly louder than a whisper and that's how she knows she has Harry's full attention. "You don't know the first thing about being a woman." She notices him gulping as if preparing for the sobering speech he knows is coming, so she indulges. "You don't know what it is to live in a men's world and not be man. You don't know how it feels to be stationed at the same base for months and still be treated like a stranger. You don't know how it feels to work twice as hard if not more, to get one iota of the same recognition men do. You don't know what it is to be picked last by your superior for any given promotion even though you know you've got the best stats of the whole squadron." Though she's kept a reasonable volume, she pauses to regain her countenance over the ever-growing pain in her voice. "And you sure as hell don't know what it is to be your only ally."

Her harpooned gaze never unhooked from its two emerald preys, and for once Aella feels like he's listening. So on she goes. "Today, up there, I had more balls than you did. Tough love, you said? Well same goes for you, Harry. Because no matter what, you're stuck with me. I'm your copilot and you may hate it but you can't do anything about it. So, please do yourself a favor and grow a pair when you need to, because I sure can't "prove myself" if I'm flying with a coward."

Aella is quite satisfied with her tirade, almost certain she's had the last word once again but one look at Harry's face is enough to make her doubt that. Though he's been towering over her smaller frame for a bit, he looks downright threatening now with flaring nostrils and figurative smoke steaming out of his ears.

"You don't know what you're talking about either. You fly as recklessly as your arrogance will let you. That's dangerous, thoughtless and most of all, selfish." She's starting to recoil, having taken one step backward, but Harry barely registers her uneasiness. She's the one gulping the wounding words now. "I should be ashamed of flying with you and your crazy decisions." Ouch "Oh and one more thing. Don't you dare call me a coward ever again, understood?"

She doesn't give him the satisfaction of a nod but his spiteful prose successfully rendered her speechless. And Aella is not one to relinquish her self-assurance or fold under any man's intimidating number. But somehow this feels different. Harry is not a halfwit who can't handle women's ascent into the Navy world. No, Harry just plainly hates her guts, regardless of her sex. And that hurts more than she'd ever expect to. So much so, she can't bear to look at his chiseled features anymore and recoils a step further away from his hurtful disposition.

It's only then, Harry finally picks up on her shrinking form and bruised spirit. He didn't want to go this far. Didn't intend on carving her confidence right out of her chest, but now that he sees the anguish embedded in her delicate traits, he fears he might get sick on the spot. He's had the most strenuous past few months, staggering from loss and numbness to longing and grief, but this had to top all pains: he didn't know who he was anymore. When had he turned into such a inconsiderate prick? Self-loathing took over his sense, the feeling unwelcome yet familiar, and all Harry could do was turn around and run away from the crime scene.

And run away from Aella.

#harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles series #pilot!harry #harry styles angst #ofc #Whirlwind #part3 #Sirocco #creative writing #enemies to lovers #TopGun!Harry

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thewayofthetrashcompactor · 5 years

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November 2019 Empire Magazine The Rise of Skywalker Article Transcription

IT ALL STARTED with a Jane Campion retrospective. The Lincoln Center in New York was entering night two of an in-depth celebration of the Kiwi filmmaker’s work when, during a sold-out screening of The Piano, one member of the audience received a text message. He then received another. And another. Hunched down in his seat towards the middle of the auditorium, screenwriter Chris Terrio glanced furtively at his mobile as yet another text pinged to life on his screen. It was from J.J. Abrams. Just like the last. And the dozen or so before that.

It was 10 September 2017, and several hours earlier Terrio had received the first in what would become a torrent of communication. “I’ve just signed on to Episode IX,” it read. “We’re gonna write a new script. Would you consider writing it with me?”

“He didn’t even say the words ‘Star’ and ‘Wars’,” recalls Terrio, with a laugh. “He didn’t have to. I’d been about to go off and direct a small movie, but when you hear Star Wars, everything else goes away.”

Terrio agreed on the spot, planning to join Abrams in California as soon as his schedule would allow. But the texts kept coming. Throughout the afternoon, thoughts, ideas and questions popped up one after the other; Abrams’ frantic thumbs tapping out the first seeds of story and flinging them across the country to his newfound partner. And so, with Michael Nyman’s haunting score swelling around him and a still-buzzing handset in his grasp, Terrio stood up, shuffled apologetically along a row of seats, and walked out of the cinema, leaving Campion’s Oscar darling behind.

[Above image caption: “Director J.J. Abrams, cast and crew confront Klaud, the Resistance’s newest addition, at Pinewood studios”]

“J.J. is constantly brimming with ideas and, in the very best way, he’s very impatient about them! So we just started getting into it then and there. I got on a plane to LA the next day.”

Less than a week earlier, however, Episode IX’s future hadn’t looked nearly as certain. In development for the past two years under the auspices of Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow, the film had abruptly flown off the rails on 5 September, when it was announced that Trevorrow was off the project. Rumours of script disagreements circled, but regardless of the reason, Lucasfilm had a serious problem: arguably the most important film in Star Wars’ history suddenly had no director, no story and a release date drawing nearer by the day. So Lucasfilm President Kathleen Kennedy sent up a flare to the one man she knew without any doubt could safely take Star Wars over the finish line.

“Getting involved in IX came as a bit of a shock,” recalls J.J. Abrams. “I had completed VII, Rian [Johnson] was doing VIII, and I was not meant to do IX at all. But the opportunity to not just finish the trilogy, but to finish the story that George began -- this trilogy of trilogies -- was too compelling and too tempting to reject.”

After delivering The Force Awakens, then the third-biggest movie in history, Abrams had taken a bow and walked away, returning to Bad Robot and a pair of TV pilots he’d been meaning to write. It was here, in his self-imposed exile, that Kennedy sought him out. Sure, it was an office just over a mile from Santa Monica pier rather than the grassy bluffs of Ahch-To, and Kennedy hadn’t so much climbed 500 hand-carved steps as punched ten digits into her phone but, like a vision of Episode VII’s final moments, there she was. Unexpected. Holding out something Abrams had thought lost and daring him to take it back.

“It’s exponentially the most daunting thing I’ve ever been involved with,” Abrams admits, eyebrows raised as if he still can’t quite believe the magnitude of the task. “But it was more exciting than it was anything.”

The director sits across from us in his suite at Beverly Hills’ Montage hotel, not far from where we last met, six years previously, when he’d just started work on a treatment for what would eventually become The Force Awakens. Abrams’ return as Star Wars’ Supreme Commander was announced just one day after Trevorrow’s departure, allaying the fears of both fans and shareholders alike: voices just a day before crying out in terror, now suddenly silenced. But with only two years to end a saga that had been four decades in the telling it was clear from the outset he was going to need some help. And so he composed a text (then several more) and sent them flying towards a movie theatre 3,000 miles away, where the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Argo was attempting to watch a film.

“I’ve admired Chris Terrio’s writing for a long time. I called on him because I knew it would be a challenge. But I didn’t know it would be quite as challenging as it was.”

[Above image caption: “Top: Martial art experts put Daisy Ridley through her paces. Above: Abrams with Oscar Isaac in Jordan”]

In a time when vast, interconnected stories have become commonplace, and breadcrumbs to the payoffs in Avengers: Endgame can be traced back ten or even 20 films, it’s hard to believe that the Star Wars sequel trilogy didn’t have its course firmly locked in before Episode VII ever left the spaceport. But, just as Abrams himself left neither chart nor compass for Rian Johnson to navigate with, so he began work on The Rise of Skywalker with nothing to guide him but his wits. It is, by Abrams’ own admission, his preferred method of working. An instinctive storyteller by nature, his impulse is to do what feels right in the moment, rather than slavishly adhere to some pre-ordained master plan. Very appropriately for a franchise so rooted in this exact philosophy, Abrams’ inclination has always been, as Alec Guinness once safely advised, to stretch out with his feelings.

“You can’t plan everything in advance -- which my ‘Revenge Of The Jedi’ poster proves,” he says. “You have a better idea and then you implement it. When I was working on VII, I’d be lying if I said I knew everything that was gonna happen in VIII and IX. I had some ideas, but we had a release date the required us to work on VII!”

So Abrams and Terrio started from scratch. They spitballed ideas during the day, swapped rapid-fire texts at night and, piece-by-piece, set about exploring the fundamental questions this movie had to address. Not least of all the aftermath of The Last Jedi, in which Rian Johnson, continuing Abrams’ story, had made some rather significant changes.

[Death Star section break]

[Above image caption: “Really big space dog just out of shot”]

THERE’S A WELL-WORN dramatic principle most commonly ascribed to Anton Chekhov that insists if you see a gun in the first act of a play, it must go off by act three or you’re simply wasting the audience’s time. The same, it appears, is true of dark side degenerates as, despite being sidelined in The Last Jedi, Chekhov’s Knights Of Ren will finally go off in The Rise Of Skywalker.

The Knights -- from which Kylo draws the latter part of his name -- are a nightmarish squad of enforcers who do the bidding of the former Ben Solo. A rag-tag band of thugs and killers decked in black just like their leader, though far more battleworn. Armoured in disparate styles -- one sports a cowl, one an angry welders mask, another a checkered draughtboard faceplate -- they pack a similarly eclectic arsenal, from multi-barrelled assault cannon to oversized, anime-style sword, poleaxe and a wicked-looking mace.

Referenced so portentously in The Force Awakens and glimpsed so very briefly during Rey’s vision on Takodana, the Knights and their role in Kylo’s fall from grace were set up as a major piece of the Star Wars puzzle. That is until Johnson, who clearly didn’t share Abrams’ interest, dropped the idea, sweeping them briskly under the rug next to the mystery of Rey’s parentage and the bisected corpse of Supreme Leader Snoke. “Let the past die,” instructed Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi. “Kill it, if you have to.” A sentiment, one could argue, that cut to the very heart of Johnson’s film.

“We thought about that line a lot,” says Terrio. “Rian did something that any good second act will do, which is create the antithesis. In The Force Awakens Luke Skywalker is a myth Rey’s obsessed with and there’s a warm embrace of the past. What Rian suggested is the past is a mixed bag and you can’t rely upon it to tell you where to go in the future. What we’re doing with Episode IX is trying to create a synthesis between those two points of view.”

And so, just as the investigation into Rey’s lineage looks set to be reopened, so too are the Knights back with a vengeance (not to mention Abrams talisman Greg Grunberg as pilot Snap Wexley). With Johnson’s tenure over, we’re playing in Abrams’ yard once more, although our suggestion that he might somehow be trying to course-correct is given short shrift.

“I never found myself trying to repair anything,” Abrams interjects. “If I had done VIII, I would have done things differently, just as Rian would have done things differently if he had done VII. But having worked on television series, I was accustomed to creating stories and characters that then were run by other people. If you’re willing to walk away from the thing that you created an you believe it’s in trustworthy hands, you have to accept that some of the decisions being made are not gonna be the same that you would make. And if you come back into it, you have to honour what’s been done.”

And what has been done is significant. Luke Skywalker is dead, passing on his knowledge and the mantle of last Jedi to Rey; The Resistance has been all but wiped out; Snoke is gone; and Kylo Ren -- now Supreme Leader Ren -- is more broken than ever, riven by conflict through the unlikely bond he forged with Rey. Bold and decisive, Johnson’s directions changed the board entirely, his sharp turns and gear shifts delighting some while earning the ire of others.

“Any time you are telling a story that people deeply care about, there is bound to be discussion and debate,” says Kathleen Kennedy. “That is something that has always been fundamental to the fabric of Star Wars.”

For Abrams and Terrio, meanwhile, the new landscape also brought with it new possibilities.

“Some of the most interesting scenes in The Last Jedi are the conversations between Rey and Ren,” says Terrio. “We’ve tried to pick up that complicated relationship that really has been present ever since the interrogation in Episode VII. When Ren takes off his mask, there’s a nakedness about him with Rey that he doesn’t express to anyone else. Rian developed that in fascinating ways and we’ve been able to develop it even further.”

Ren, left pointedly bare-faced by Johnson throughout VIII, now hides his face once more. It’s a development that, while not a rebuke to The Last Jedi, demonstrates the different touchstones that resonate with each director. Although, Abrams expands, reuniting Kylo with his mask is about more than just sinister aesthetics.

“Having him be masked, but also fractured, is a very intentional thing. Like that classic Japanese process of taking ceramics and repairing them, and how the breaks in a way define the beauty of the piece as much as the original itself. As fractured as Ren is, the mask becomes a visual representation of that. There’s something about this that tells his history. His mask doesn’t ultimately hide him, and his behaviour is revealed.”

Ren’s temptation by the light, like Rey’s temptation by the dark, forms the spine of a moral ambiguity that Johnson build on in VIII and very much carries over to IX, bringing with is a sense that George Lucas’ more clearly defined duality might be a relic of a simpler time. Neither light nor dark, The Rise of Skywalker and its characters exist more within what could be considered the grey side of the Force -- something underscored by the tantalising footage of ‘Darth Rey’ (complete with cowl, hangover pallor and double-bladed red lightsaber) that closed Abrams’ D23 Expo footage presentation in Anaheim in August.

“I’d rather let that one lie,” he deflects, when pressed on the subject. “But I will say that the movie has a number of things that you wouldn’t expect to have happen and you wouldn’t expect certain characters to do. There are surprises along the way.” He smiles, mischievously. “And that’s one of them.”

[Death Star section break]

[Image captions: “Top to bottom: Rey (Ridley), Finn (John Boyega), Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), and BB-8 listen intently to C-3PO (Anthony Daniels); Billy Dee Williams returns as Lando Calrissian; Joonas Suotamo, in Chewbacca’s threads, plays with his son on set.”]

THE VALLEY OF The Moon in Southern Jordan has seen its share of action. Cut into the red sandstone cliffs near Aqaba, the striking lowlands known in Arabic as Wadi Rum have been visited by both real and fictional Lawrences of Arabia, stood in for the face of Mars, been the birth place of the Alien in Prometheus, and will next year double as the eponymous desert planet in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune. It’s no stranger to stormtroopers, either, having played host to the ill-fated Jedha outpost in Gareth Edwards’ Rogue One. Today, though, Wadi Rum is a different part of the galaxy entirely, standing in for Pasaana: a new locale in the canon, and home to the bedouin-like Aki-Aki: a nomadic race of walrus-lie aliens with twin tentacles dangling from their maws in place of tusks.

Pasaana, along with the nippier climes of snow planet Kijimi, is one of several new worlds visited by The Rise of Skywalker. But most importantly, it’s a place where the heroes we’ve become acquainted with over the past two films will come together at last.

“The heart of Star Wars for me is the group of unlikely bedfellows on a breakneck adventure,” says Abrams. “And in Rise Of Skywalker it’s the biggest and most dastardly threat the galaxy has seen. The opportunity here was to have this group that has now become a surrogate family have to deal with this massive horror: the war to end all wars. Not just on the outside, but one the inside, which is to say it’s meant to be as much of a challenge personally as it is physically.”

Abrams’ war of wars has been well equipped: The First Order is stacked with new brass in the form of Richard E. Grant’s Allegiant General Pryde, neo-fascist ranks swollen by triangular-winged TIE Daggers and blood-red garrisons of newly commissioned Sith troopers, their angular crimson armour giving a fresh twist on the faceless squaddies -- much to Hasbro’s delight. The Resistance, too, will see its share of reinforcements, including Billy Dee Williams’ Lando Calrissian -- reprising the role after 36 years. Even General Leia Organa will return: the late Carrie Fisher making an appearance thanks to the discovery of unused footage that somehow fit the narrative perfectly.

The action itself has been teased in the barest glimpses: Rey and Kylo duelling on the wreckage of a Death Star; Rebel X-Wings and blockade runners fleeing destruction; a sky bristling with Imperial Star Destroyers, their numbers great enough to block out the star.

The presence of Old Empire firepower, easily overlooked, points to The Rise Of Skywalker’s biggest curveball to date. Back in April, when Abrams showed the first trailer at Star Wars Celebration in Chicago, the reveal of the film’s title was almost eclipsed by the familiar cackle of the original Emperor echoing over those final frames. When Ian McDiarmid himself walked out to demand, in full Palpatine rasp, that the projector “roll it again”, all present lost their shit in unison. How could this be? Is he a clone? A Force projection? Did he survive that fateful plummet down the Death Star shaft” Could Palpatine have been telling Anakin the truth when he spoke of Darth Plagueis The Wise’s cure for death? Irrespective of the fine print, Star Wars’ biggest of bads is officially back in business.

“Some people feel like we shouldn’t revisit the idea of Palpatine, and I completely understand that,” Abrams concedes. “But if you’re looking at these nine films as one story, I don’t know many books where the last few chapters have nothing to do with those that have come before. If you look at the first eight films, all the set-ups of what we’re doing in IX are there in plain view.”

The sheet scale of the task he’s undertaken cannot be overstated. Star Wars has been, by far, the most enduring and influential story of the modern era. Having to put the capstone on a saga that has shaped both childhoods and adult lives for several generations is something neither Abrams, nor producer Kathleen Kennedy, looking ahead to what the future holds for Star Wars, take at all lightly.

[Above image description: “Is it time for now Supreme Leader Ren (Adam Driver) to fulfill his destiny?”]

“We don’t have a crystal ball,” says Kennedy. “We tried to look at Solo and see if we could do two movies a year, and we found, ‘Hmm, that’s not going to work.’ So we backed off of that a little. But that doesn’t mean we don’t think about lots of different stories. That's the exciting thing about this universe.

“It’s been an honor to inherit and continue this iconic saga that has touched audiences for so many years, and we feel the weight of that every time we set out to tell these stories.”

The wider universe will, of course, live on. Whether through The Mandalorian on TV, or all-new movie sagas currently in development by Johnson and Game of Thrones’ David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. But for the core story, what for so many people is Star Wars, the final destination is now in sight.

“I’ve always loved the start of something,” says Abrams, “because of what it promises. Endings are hard. A great ending not only needs to honour everything that’s come before but, whether it’s a novel, a series or a film, you want to have it feel like it could end no other way.”

And so it comes back to feeling. In a world of meticulously planned franchises and strategic, multi-phased rollouts, Star Wars, as its core, has always trusted in The Force. Abrams had not expected to be here, had not expected to finish this tale. But now, as he places the final pieces of the puzzle, he feels like it was always meant to be. There’s a symmetry to him being the one to deliver The Rise Of Skywalker, just as there is in the fact that, faced with this near insurmountable challenge, his impulse was not to assemble story groups or worry about the top-down view, but to switch off his targeting computer, let go his conscious self and act on instinct.

“This story is alive, and you have to listen to it,” he says. “When you land on something that gives you the chills, that’s the only way you know if it feels right. You can deconstruct it all you want and try and make sense of how you found it, but somehow it finds you.”

He pauses, reflecting for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just the way I can’t quite explain how we had this footage of Carrie that we’re using. You can say, ‘Oh well, it’s just luck, it just happened to be,’ but it feels like something else. And I neither can nor want to explain any of it.”

Just as every saga has a beginning, so too will this one find its end. Abrams and Terrio have taken Lucas’ vision to its conclusion, and the story that began on 25 May 1977 will end on 19 December 2019.

“It’s been a pretty crazy ride,” reflect Terrio. “When I was a kid watching Return Of The Jedi on loop, I felt like I was the only person Yoda was speaking to. And then there I was all these years later, sitting in a tent in Jordan doing this film. You have this highly personal relationship to Star Wars, and then, suddenly, you find yourself right in the middle of it. That feeling is sort of indescribable.”

It’s one that, at the very least, is almost certainly worth having a movie interrupted for.

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER IS IN CINEMAS FROM 19 DECEMBER

((Thank you to users @arlath_ma and @chinchingin on twitter for their photos of the article))

Article images can be found here: https://twitter.com/arlath_ma/status/1178648719325093888?s=19

#star wars #the rise of skywalker #episode ix #star wars spoilers #kylo ren #jj abrams #chris terrio #kathleen kennedy

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thewritewolf · 4 years

Text

Two For Two Chapter 18: Close Call

A team of four enemies might be a little too much for our heroes to handle... especially with the elemental powers each of them possess.

@ladynoirjuly2020

Enjoy!

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Read on Ao3

“Okay, Hawkmoth is definitely getting some extra power somehow,” Dragonbug said as she did her best to hold off what appeared to be a person made out of fire and a living whirlwind.

It was a frustrating combination - the whirlwind was scattering embers from the fire akuma, leading to a blaze that was slowly spreading across her city. A glance at the scene around her - all fire and smoke and heat haze - was enough to make her grateful once again for her miraculous cure. Soon enough, neither of them would be able to breath in this arena, let alone fight in it.

“Four akumas seems like an awful lot,” Snake Noir replied as he tried to stay ahead of two more enemies. “Do you think he’s been doing his homework? Or did he just find a new magic crystal or something in his cereal box?”

One of his opponents was similar to Stoneheart in that it looked like a person made out of boulders. The main differences were that this one was more the size of a large person rather than a giant, and it lacked a face. The other looked like a rolling tidal wave with a giant human face in the seafoam. As much as she would hope the water would cancel out the fire, it was doing a great job avoiding being helpful, instead constantly striving to slam into her partner.

“Only two of them are akumas,” Dragonbug corrected, using her yoyo shield to block a heat blast and getting a little singed anyway. “I think the earth and air ones are amoks.”

“Great, so Hawkbutt still has help. At least I feel better about this!” Snake Noir slammed his baton full force into the earth amok’s side, sending it flying into one of the burning buildings.

As glad as she was that they’d managed to get all the citizens out of the area before Hawkmoth’s crew arrived, she also recognized a losing fight when she saw one. And seeing the building collapse into a hellish blaze reminded her that they still had options.

“Chat, follow me!”

Latching onto an as-of-yet intact piece of masonry with her yoyo, Dragonbug pulled herself away with the wind roaring in her ears.

Or so she had thought, until she realized it wasn’t the usual wind whipping past her, but the living whirlwind assaulting her. She was being battered all around, her grip on her yoyo slipping as she held on for dear life.

It ended in an instant. There had to be something solid inside the air amok, otherwise Snake Noir’s baton extending into it at max speed would’ve done nothing. With a nod of appreciation at her partner, she pulled on her yoyo and they both got out of there.

A few streets over and they leapt through the windows of an abandoned office building.

“Over here!” Snake Noir grabbed her hand and pulled her into a bathroom. He let go of her and rushed into one of the stalls. She took the one next to his.

“Longg, Tikki! Divide!” Longg’s powers left her and for a moment, Ladybug stood in the bathroom stall. It didn’t last long before she called off that transformation as well. “Tikki, spots off.”

While the kwami looked up at her expectantly, she heard Chat go through the same process, less than a meter away from her.

“Sass, Plagg! Divide. Plagg, claws in.” Whoever it was behind his mask addressed her. “So, my lady. What’s the plan?”

“Well, the red potion for Tikki and Plagg, for sure. I'm not sure what else we should use, though.”

“‘Cause of all the fire, yeah, I figured.” There was a pause. “Wait, does that mean…?”

“Yes.” Marinette looked into her kwamis eyes and saw some surprise, but also steady resolve. “I think it’s time to use two potions at once.”

“Well,” Tikki said with some uncertainty. “You won’t have access to both at the same time, I think.”

“How would we use both then?” The boy who was Chat asked. “Is it wasted?”

“No…” Sass said. There was a hint of worry in his voice, but Marinette couldn’t figure out why. “You’d have to either turn off your primary miraculousss or redo the unification.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Marinette nodded. “Got it, Chat?”

“Y-yeah,” he said. Before she could wonder about his uncharacteristic nervousness, he pushed on. “So, second potion. What are you thinking?”

“Well… ideally we’ll be beating the fire akuma with the red potion.”

“It might be good to take out the water guy at the same time,” Chat added. “That way, we can put out some of the fires.”

“And if I’m right about them being the two akumas-”

“-which you no doubt are, knowing you-”

“-then that means we can focus on the mindless monsters afterwards. So maybe something that gives us some leeway. Flight again?”

“No orange?”

“If its true that Hawkmoth is copying the potions we use, then I’d like to keep that in the bag for now. I think we can manage with the others.”

“Spot on as usual, my lady. Ready to feed the kwamis and suit up?”

A smirk crossed her face. “Always.”

-----------

Snake Noir was working hard to keep the whirlwind and boulder monster at bay for his lady. Teaming up on the fire guy had ended up in disaster, but a quick reset and a change in strategy later and things were going a little better now. Even if he felt the loss of having more allies now more than ever.

Against his better judgement, he snuck a look over his shoulder toward Dragonbug while his opponents were still reeling from one of his attacks. Black covered her hands and feet, with bright flame markings ending the soot-like marks at her wrists and ankles. A scale pattern had replaced her usual suit texture, and gleamed like hot embers. He caught a look of determination as he saw through the blue tinted visor of her new helmet.

Then she swung her sword turned axe, its blunt side sweeping against the water monster and splashing the fire guy with a sizzling hiss. His attention was pulled back to his own fight just in time to dodge a rocky fist.

In comparison, his suit hadn’t changed all that much - instead of his smooth black leather, his suit almost looked like bronze. Tufts of tawny fur edged the cuffs of his gauntlets and boots, and a whole mane of it surrounded his head - a head which was now completely covered in something similar to a motorcycle helmet.

Which was topped with cat ears, naturally. A perfect match to the lion’s tail that had replaced his leather belt tail.

In this fight, the tail was less useful than the ears, which often gave him his only warning about when an attack was coming in. Sure, he didn’t need much help when it came to the rock monster since it telegraphed its attacks in what felt like hours ahead of time. But that wasn’t the one he was worried about.

No, what he had to listen for was the whistling wind that rapidly built to a howling gale as the air amok tried to slam into him. There was never much time to evade since it came so quickly, but the trade off was that it didn’t hit all that hard.

The problem was that the rock monster did pack a punch and being hit by the gale stunned him long enough for the boulder fist to wind up and hit him, something he’d figured out the hard way. Thank all the kwami for Second Chance or this battle might have been over already.

All that to say, this fight was on a razor’s edge but only for him. He was struggling to make any offensive moves, but then again, he didn’t really need to.

“Found you!”

The eager shout from his lady saw him look back just in time to see a splash of water reveal a necklace around the fire guy’s neck, buried in flame. But while she was busy rushing for that, he caught a glimpse of something in the water akuma as it took a moment to recover. Something weirdly shaped located at the core.

On the bare-looking akumas and amoks, odds were that it was the source of their power. He waited and listened, staring intently at the rock monster as he positioned himself just right.

The whistling started just where he thought it would, but even then he waited, tensing all his muscles, until the howling gale were nearly on him then-

He threw himself to the side with as fast as he could, at the very last possible second. The living whirlwind breezed past him to slam into the stone beast, staggering it back a step and stunning the wind as well. The two of them distracted briefly, he whipped around and ran.

As he approached, Dragonbug was making desperate grabs for the now freely dangling necklace, but the fire akuma was keeping just out of reach. The water akuma, trying to support its ally, was too focused on Dragonbug to notice him. At least until his baton was slicing through it. It connected with something solid which shattered satisfyingly.

The water creature began to shrink in on itself as it transformed back into a human. The sight of which must have surprised the fire akuma and uncertainty flickered in its flames. A moment of hesitation, but more than enough to give Dragonbug the upper hand as she lunged forward and yanked the necklace off it. A swift punch shattered it and the fires coating the person extinguished.

Two purifications later and two citizens in The Last Airbender cosplays stood blinking in bewilderment on the battlefield. Trusting Dragonbug to fix things, Snake Noir returned to the remaining amoks who were even now barreling down on them.

“Water Dragon!”

A sudden rain, like a tropical deluge, fell all around them. The fires were extinguished, leaving the area much colder and darker than before.

“Chat, come on! Get the civilians out and swap out!”

After blocking a swing from the rock monster and dodging the whirlwind, he nodded and scooped up one of the civilians. Dragonbug got the other and they escaped the area. The whirlwind seemed to be playing it safe now, since it didn’t chase after them.

The four of them landed on a rooftop, where they dropped off the civilians.

“I’m super sorry about all this,” the woman wearing a Water Tribe cosplay said. “I didn’t think an argument would be enough to cause… that.” She gestured toward the scorched section of the city, now dripping wet.

“Just an argument turned you into such powerful akumas?” Dragonbug’s eyebrows rose.

“Well, it was a pretty heated fight,” the man in a Fire Nation outfit said with a smirk. Snake Noir chuckled appreciatively.

“Any clue where the… control thing for those things are?” Snake Noir tapped his chin in thought. “It’ll probably be something tied to your fight.”

The man and woman glanced at each other, then patted themselves down.

“Uhh… Do you have that wood leaf?”

“The one painted to look slightly burned, like Aang had practiced firebending on it, right?” The woman shook her head. “No, I don’t. Do you have the glowy crystal, like from the cave of two lovers?”

“Nope,” the man replied, popping the ‘p’. He turned to the two heroes. “Looks like you’re after a crystal and a wooden leaf.”

Dragonbug tapped her chin. “I bet the leaf is lightweight, huh?”

“Oh for sure,” the woman said. “It kept getting blown away by the fan.”

“I see…” Dragonbug took out her yoyo and jumped up onto the roof ledge, Snake Noir following her lead. “Thanks for the help, you two!”

Snake Noir waved at them as he jumped off the roof after her. “Stay out of trouble!”

“I’ve got-” Dragonbug stopped when Snake Noir’s bracelet let out a shrill beep. “Take care of that first and meet me at the amoks. Just follow my lead and we should have this one in the bag.”

“I never doubted it for a second.” He gave a quick bow and dashed off.

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

“Perfect timing, Chat,” Dragonbug said as she engaged in an aerial duel with the living whirlwind and nimbly dodging the occasional thrown boulder from the rock monster.

Snake Noir’s emerald green wings carried him into a flanking position, no doubt intending to help her beat up on the wind amok. But she had different plans. It had taken her a while to figure out which piece of floating debris was the leaf in question, but once she saw it she had refused to take her eyes off of it. All she had to do was wait until-

Now!

“Wind dragon!’ A gust of wind, even stronger than her enemy but very short lived, blew straight at the leaf… and right into her partner.

Although he was surprised at the sudden attack, it all clicked for him once the leaf smacked him in the forehead. A quick punch shattered it and the winds finally died down around them.

The purification must have been the final straw for Hawkmoth and Mayura, since they retracted the feather from the rock monster’s amok after a moment of hesitation. The feather slipped from between the monster’s fingers, causing it to drop the crystal the cosplayers had mentioned. Despite its best attempts, the feather didn’t get away either and it too was purified.

“Lucky Charm!” A first place medal landed into her hands and a smirk crossed Dragonbug’s face. She immediately tossed it back into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Dragonbug put her hands on her hips and watched with satisfaction while the city was mended before her very eyes. Snake Noir stepped up to her with a smile and a raised fist.

“May I interest you in a ‘pound it’ for a job well done?”

She pretended to consider it for a moment before nodding and returning the fist bump. “You may.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Snake Noir #Dragonbug #Ladynoir #Ladybug #Chat Noir #LadynoirJuly2020 #ml fanfiction #my writing #Two For Two

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moonbeambucky · 5 years

Text

Baby

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 5860 Warnings: fluff, angst

Summary: A bad date turns around when you find love in the last place you expected.

A/N: This is my submission for @interestedbystanderwrites 2k MCUxDirty Dancing Follower Milestone Challenge My prompt was “Go back to your playpen… baby.” Thank you as always to Sam @buckyofthemyscira for beta reading 💕 gif not mine

Terrible weather began a terrible day but it all turned around when he walked in…

Winter’s icy grip still held on firmly despite it technically being Spring. The temperature was barely climbing higher each day as thick grey clouds settled themselves in the sky making you wonder if you’ll ever feel the sun’s warmth again. It was cold and being near the banks of the Erie made it colder.

Rain beat against the window of your office from steady flows to heavy downpours that rattled you in your chair. You gave a quick glance at your umbrella at the foot of your desk, thankful for its companionship on a day like this when the clouds can’t make up their minds about whether or not today would be when they decide to unleash an apocalyptic flood upon the world.

The end of the work day was nearing and you were looking forward to going home so you could get ready for the first date you’ve been on in a while. After your previous relationship ended it took you a while to get back on your feet and put yourself out there.

It had been about a month since you matched with Danny. He was a junior partner at a law firm not far from your own office making you wonder if you’ve ever unknowingly crossed paths before. After all the talking and texting you decided to go on a date. You were down for a more casual meeting at a coffee shop but he insisted on a traditional first date dinner.

That wouldn’t have been so bad except his choice of restaurant, the most upscale and expensive place in the heart of Cleveland, made you extremely nervous. You weren’t going to disagree with his suggestion, even though you’d be a lot more relaxed getting to know him over tapas and drinks. Danny seemed really excited to go there making you think maybe he was trying to impress you.

A chill had set in the air causing you to shiver and regret not wearing pants. Your navy dress was form fitting and a modest length, and any remaining skin was covered by dark tights and tall boots. Tiny pebbles of gravel crunched underneath your footsteps along the soaked brick of the paved road. Large puddles reflected the lights of the bars and restaurants flanking both sides of the street covered in a sea of pedestrians enjoying their weekend despite the day’s weather.

You spotted Danny under the sign outside the restaurant, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. As you approached him you called out his name and were greeted with a bright smile as he looked up to see you. His arms wrapped around you for a welcoming hug bringing you in close.

“I’m so glad you look like your picture,” he said, pulling back to look you over again. “It’s such a turn off to meet someone that looks nothing like their picture.”

Your head quirked to the side thinking that was a very awkward statement to make especially to someone you’re first meeting. Still, you brushed it off thinking maybe he’s had a few experiences where people tried to present a version of themselves they no longer are.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I’m a little nervous and you’re… so beautiful,” he continued, a wide smile plastered on his face.

Danny held the door open for you and when you were led to your table he helped you out of your coat and pulled out your chair.

He peered over his menu to smile your way and when you caught his gaze you smiled back.

“That’s a beautiful dress.”

“Oh thank you I– ”

“I’m so happy you dress classy. Men don’t actually want their girls to show off a lot of skin in public, some things are meant for their eyes only.”

What… the fuck. Your classy dress was hiding the steam that was rising from the blood boiling beneath your skin.

“Well it’s not up to men or anyone to tell someone how to dress,” you sneered.

Danny’s smile turned sour on his face. “Comments like that are probably the reason you’ve been single for so long. Now that I’m here I can teach you how to act like a lady.”

“What you need to do is learn manners and respect,” you said, placing the menu on the table.

Pushing out your chair you grabbed your things and headed for the door. There was a bit of commotion behind you with Danny calling you a bitch but you held your head high, with pride strengthening your stride as you walked out of the restaurant without turning back.

Deliberate heavy footsteps carried you down the block and away from your disaster date. So much for putting yourself out there again. If Danny was able to fool you so easily by hiding his true nature it didn’t give you a lot of hope for the future. You were tired of being alone and were really hoping that Danny could have been the connection you were looking for.

Playful laughter of a couple walking hand in hand passed you only twisted the knife in your broken heart. You felt like shit and truthfully didn’t want to feel anything at all for the rest of the night. There were plenty of bars along the street you could have chosen to drown your woes in but they were filled with too many happy people that you could not be around for fear of bursting into tears. You wanted– no, needed to go somewhere quiet; a place where you could disappear.

Thunder loomed in the distance making you walk faster, hugging your coat closer to yourself with your hands shrugged together in the pockets, distancing yourself from the lively streets, walking quickly so you could get to the outskirts of the trendy neighborhood.

The journey to your unknown destination ended when you stumbled upon a bar that called you like a moth to the flame. Dingy, black exterior with peeling paint and no discernible name. The weather had fogged up the bottom half of the windows with mostly-working neon signs advertising name brand beers, blocking the rest of your view into the place.

Flashes of red peered through the soot black door, also peeling, covering up the former bright entryway for one shrouded in mystery. It seemed like a place you expected would offer moonshine from a questionable barrel and considering your current state of emotions you wouldn’t be surprised if you took up the offer.

Silver numbers of the address were drilled into the heavy door you pushed open revealing everything you expected. Rock music from decades past drowning out the groans of people that want to escape the world outside. It was loud but not blaring, just enough to fill the void of empty space in the room.

The long bar glows like whiskey in the sun. An older woman with dark hair shows off defined arms in a black muscle tank top, popping the cap off a beer she slides to a man at the end. There are only a few patrons sitting far enough apart from each other so they don’t have to make conversation. This place doesn’t look like it gets much traffic but what it does have seems to be familiar faces; a home for those who don’t fit in anywhere else, and right now that included you.

Boisterous laughter roared over the guitar riffs and you look to see a group of denim clad men crowding around the only pool table in the back. Dry, dusty hands chalk the pool stick as dry, dusty men make the best of their evening, just as you planned on doing.

Cracked peanut shells that litter the floor crack even more as you walk towards the bar. The old stool squeaks as you settle on it, slipping your arms out of your coat you hang over the back. Twisting forward again you see the bartender walking towards you. A friendly smile wrinkled the corners of her thin lips set against leathery skin as her smoke graveled voice asked what you’ll be drinking, because she knows you’re not there for the nuts.

“Jack and Coke,” you replied, not bothering to force a smile back.

It’s understood in the downward slope of your eyebrows and the corners of your lips that feel too heavy to ever lift again. A worn coaster is set in front of you with the mixed drink followed quickly behind it and soon you find one corner of your mouth twitching with gratitude for her haste.

“Name’s Sally. Let me know if you need anything else,” she offered before settling back towards the middle of the bar to get another round for those playing pool.

The glass is cold, the drink is strong and instantly you feel relief along with the urge to hiccup and burp at the same time. Your hand covers your mouth as you try to do both silently as your other hand digs out your phone so you could delete your dating app.

For now this is what you needed, to delete the memory of Danny whose name burned your mouth worse than the strongest liquor. You didn’t want to deal with any other potential matches either, not tonight, not for a while. With another gulp of your drink you confirmed your decision, to delete men (temporarily) from your life, and that’s when you saw him.

Tall, tan, toned… he was… making your brain stutter or maybe that was the alcohol? Possibly both considering he was the most good looking man you had ever seen. He was photoshopped perfection in real life, an actual god. But what the hell was he doing in this place?

Sex on legs strutted out from the back, looking unfairly handsome in black jeans, a simple white t-shirt and a blue track jacket. He reclaimed his spot at the bar, the corner seat at the end leaving only a chair between you.

The glow of the bar bathes him in honey and his voice was just as sweet as you overheard him order a drink, flashing Sally a megawatt smile, the slightest crinkles surrounding his smoldering blue eyes. That’s when you recognized him. He was certainly a god made flesh, the god of gymnastics Lance Tucker. A gold and silver medalist that somehow ended up in some shit hole bar in Cleveland.

Blue eyes shifted your way making your face burn under the realization he caught you staring. Your lips pulled to a half smile before taking another gulp of your drink and grab your phone, highlighting with a notification. It was an automated text reminding you of your hair appointment tomorrow but it served as the perfect distraction to keep your nose down at your phone and not at the face of the man whose eyes you felt were burning through you.

A smooth voice pulled your attention away from your fake distraction. “What brings you here?”

Looking up you see Lance, elbow propped up on the counter and leaning his dimpled chin into his hand while the other was loosely splayed out beside his drink.

“You don’t look like someone that comes here a lot,” he continued, since you were in a slight state of shock by the fact that he was speaking to you in the first place.

You swallowed a smile, noting the way his body angled towards you now, awaiting your answer. There was no sign of impatience anywhere, but a genuinely curious smile slowly stretching across his face.

“I could ask you the same,” you said, lifting your drink to your lips to mask the surprise you felt by replying in such a bold manner.

“So ask me.”

The bubbly drink lifted up a burst of laughter with equal parts shock. You were surprised enough by your own response to him, never expecting him to reply this way. With no expectations from him you decided to roll with this conversation, knowing it would serve as a better distraction than dwelling on your bad date.

“Okay,” you began, shifting in your seat to face him. Shifting your eyes towards his hand you watched as he played with the condensation on his glass, dragging the wetness in slow circles as he anticipated what you might say next. “What brings Lance Tucker to a no-name bar in Cleveland?”

His face scrunched together as he held in a mixture of pride and embarrassment, licking his lips before swallowing back the rest of his drink. “So you know who I am,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded and broke the slightest bit of tension that hung in the air, remarking how you didn’t think anyone else had recognized him. He seemed to relax under that notion, hoping it was true. Lance has had a good portion of his life publicized but now things were different.

“Well that’s not fair, I don’t know your name,” he smirked.

After telling Lance your name you watched his lips whisper it back slowly, as if it was a secret he wanted to keep all for himself.

He leaned in closer and you felt compelled to do the same, bringing you inches away from his enticing features. “So, you want to know why I’m here?” he said, dragging the suspense out of every syllable.

“Yes!” you shouted.

Lance smiled and chewed on his bottom lip as he watched you laugh as a result of enthusiastically shouting. Your laughter washed over him in calming waves that lifted his heart. A year ago he would have rattled off some line that would guarantee him getting laid but a lot has happened in that time and he was a new man, trying to make the best of his new life in a new city.

“I’m here because of my daughter,” he said low and soft, with happiness lighting up his face like a sunrise over the horizon.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed, regardless of knowing the details he was about to explain, it was sweet to see the love he had for his child. Lance continued filling in parts of his story you had heard bits and pieces about. To be honest before meeting Lance you didn’t care about celebrity gossip, learning most news involuntarily through social media posts or the occasional office buzz.

Lance’s story in his own words was more fleshed out from what you knew and strikingly honest. He began coaching Maggie Townsend after her win in Toronto, he slept with her because she was “young and hot” and for nine months they tried to be in a relationship for the baby but that ultimately failed due to countless fights with Maggie screaming at him for ruining her career.

“To be fair, I kinda did,” he admitted.

Lance left Los Angeles for Ohio to be near his daughter Olivia who was now nine months old. He had an apartment in the city because “Cleveland is better than that shit town Amherst” and also because he needed space from Maggie. He hates it here but it’s a sacrifice he’s making to be there for his kid.

“Your turn,” Lance said, nudging a glass your way from the next round Sally poured.

Whether it was Lance’s candor or the Jack Daniels you felt comfortable in opening up to Lance as well, telling him how excited you were to go on this date, the first one since your breakup with your ex.

“It felt like I had been talking to one person this whole time and then he sent his evil twin to go on the date.”

“What an asshole,” Lance said, swallowing back his drink. He was thankful you walked on out that idiot because it lead you here with him.

Lance was easy to get along with as you slowly empted your glasses discussing this new city he moved to, finding out as many tips as he could about the best places to go while you listened to all of his complaints.

“It’s not that bad,” you joked. “Wait until winter though. That’s the worst.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not looking forward to that. Maybe I could take Livi to LA for a few months…” he wondered out loud, knowing he was lucky enough to have her for a few days a week. “You ever been?”

“Once when I was a kid. My family went to California and did all the touristy stuff, Hollywood Boulevard, Disneyland.”

“Well LA’s a lot better as an adult,” Lance playfully chuckled. “Plus it’s got everything, except winter.”

Lance winked and you burst out laughing, watching as his own eyes crinkled with delight as he joined you.

“Another round?” Sally asked, clinking the empty glasses together as she grabbed them.

Mischief simmered in Lance’s eyes as he asked you, “Want to have some fun?” Your brows knitted with confusion until you heard him ask Sally for two shots of tequila. Ahhh, fun.

She came back with three glasses, one filled with lime wedges and two empties, setting a salt shaker down beside them. You thanked her as she filled the shot glasses as Lance picked up the salt.

Your cheeks were already burning from the drinks you had but now it felt like every part of your skin was scorching under Lance’s gaze as he watched your tongue dart out to lick the back of your hand. With a smirk plastered on his face he poured out the salt to cover the wetness on your skin. It was difficult to not look at him do the same, watching his bright pink tongue expertly swipe at his hand sent an ache straight to your core.

He lifted the shot glass waiting for you to do the same, and with a nod to show you were ready you both licked the salt from your hands, swallowed the burning liquid in one gulp and sought out the lime for relief.

The glasses slammed on the table with vigor, a bit sloppily in your case as you realize a shot after two drinks and no dinner might not have been the best idea. The music has faded to a loud hum as you sit as still as possible, trying to reign in your head that felt like it was floating like a balloon through a storm.

Lance’s tongue darted out once more to swipe over his lips. That shot hit the spot in helping to erase the memory of an earlier fight with Maggie that had him seeking out a bar to begin with. Meeting you certainly kept his mind off things. You were easy to talk to, funny, beautiful and as he looked over towards you now, spacing out hard.

“You okay?” he leaned in to ask, as you felt his hot breath against your ear.

Your head felt miles away while your eyes, glossed over with a haze, were focused on seemingly nothing straight ahead of you. “Yes,” you lied at first, “No. Can we maybe get something to eat?”

You didn’t hear Lance’s answer but saw him leave money on the counter to cover the tab for both of you. You stumbled a bit to get off the stool but he was there to hold you steady. With your coat slung over his arm, Lance helped guide you to the door.

The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool enough to feel amazing against your heated skin and instantly you felt a little bit better. With Lance’s arm around you tightly you walked a few short blocks to small plaza with a lineup of food trucks. There was a variety to choose from, some with just desserts that looked so good but you knew you needed something a bit more substantial.

“Burgers?” you suggested, looking at Lance for any objection, not that he would; you were his top priority now and he made sure you got whatever you needed to feel better.

The line for the truck was long but it seemed to go by quickly and once you had the food in your hands you could not wait to dig in. Your mouth opened wide to take a large bite of the burger, loving the way the juicy meat mixed with the melted cheese and buttery bun.

“This is so good,” you attempted to say with a mouth full of food, chewing as much as you could while trying not to spit anything out.

Lance smiled at the way your face glowed under the fairy lights strung throughout the tree branches above you. He was happy to see you smiling, knowing he had a small hand in turning your night around.

“Feelin better?” Lance asked as you both threw away your trash and began to lazily stroll down the sidewalk.

“Much, thank you. And thank you for paying back there.” Your steps were small and deliberate, unsure of where you were walking with him but it felt like the end of the night and truthfully you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“It’s nothing,” Lance said, smiling as his fingers accidentally brushed against yours. He wanted to take your hand, lace your fingers with his and see where the night would take you.

Reaching the corner of the sidewalk you waited to cross as cars zoomed by, not paying attention to the car that drove through the giant puddle of water by the overflowing sewer. Dirty water splashed and rained down on you and Lance as you shrieked out of surprise by the freezing cold wetness.

“Oh my god!” you shouted, wiping water from your eyes.

Lance stood there in shock, his white t-shirt now see through and clinging to the sculptured muscles of his stomach. You couldn’t help but laugh some more at his face, his wide gasp turning into a wider smile as he saw your drenched hair and clothes. He remembered a time with Maggie before they had gotten together, screaming at the top of her lungs when a teammate threw a water balloon at her. But here, drenched in disgusting water that’s been pooling on the dirty street you were laughing your ass off.

Lance cupped your face and crashed his lips to yours, abruptly stopping your laughter that quickly turned into moans he was desperate to swallow. His lips were soft against yours though his tongue was rough, on a mission to taste every part of your mouth. Your hands ran through his damp locks in an effort to grab hold of anything that could confirm this was real.

Reluctantly you broke away for air but kept your forehead pressed against his as you panted heavily, desperate to feel his lips against yours again. The blue of Lance’s eyes retreated fully, revealing a deep lustful gaze that spoke volumes for how you both felt. Your tongue glided over your lips as before you closed this distance this time, kissing him with no intention of stopping.

Lance’s apartment wasn’t far and you found yourselves there, removing sodden clothes from your bodies in a frantic haze. His body was burning hot with desire and your lips traveled all over his chiseled form. Skin to skin, slapping against each other in the throes of passion. Sweaty, hungry, eager kisses chasing after your swollen lips.

“Baby,” he grunts, gruff and needy with every thrust inside you. “Baby,” he whispers, soft and sweet like a prayer as you soar to the heavens together.

Every inch of the room is coated in a primal musk as two sweaty, sticky bodies rested together under the cool thin sheet, with sleep overtaking you both.

Warm light filtered in through windows gently stirring you awake, making you wish you remembered to shut the blinds like you normally would. Your fingers dug at crust from your eyes as your head pounded against the pillow that felt too soft. Looking over to the nightstand you searched for your alarm clock, instead finding an unfamiliar lamp. This morning seemed… off.

The bright light was too painful so you turned your back to it, coming face to face with the reason why everything felt different.

Lance Tucker was fast asleep, his face smushed into the pillows; his pillows in his apartment where, judging by the clothes strewn across the floor and delicious ache between your legs, you had sex.

Your hand rubbed behind your neck, feeling a sore trail of love bites left from the night’s activities. Now you remember, and quite frankly you don’t know how you could have ever forgotten your mind blowing time.

If the Sex Olympics were a thing Lance should win the gold in every category. He was a generous and skilled lover, who brought you tumbling over the edge several times. But now with the sheet wrapped closer to your chest and your head feeling like it’s in the middle of a construction zone, you worried about what he might say with a more clear headed mind.

Would he regret taking you home? Should you slip out while he’s sleeping and forget this ever happened?

It was too late to make any decision, Lance groaned sleepily, opening his eyes to find you beside him.

“Mornin’ baby,” his parched mouth groaned out, his lips pulling slightly into a smile.

Baby. The pet name you apparently earned last night, falling sweetly off his lips. Lance pulled you close to him so your head could rest on his shoulder. You were both exhausted and hungover, but spending a lazy morning tangled in each other’s arms didn’t seem so bad.

A few hours later you woke up for real, with a splitting headache you wish wasn’t real. Lance made coffee that helped a little bit, though when he pressed his lips against your temple for a soft kiss you definitely felt something. Not cured of your hangover but the stirring of butterflies in your stomach. You left shortly after with his number in your phone, a wrinkled dress and sex hair that was worth missing your salon appointment over.

You hadn’t expected to hear from Lance, in fact you convinced yourself he wasn’t going to text, making each day you hadn’t heard from him a lot easier to deal with but as your phone buzzed with an alert a big smile overtook your face and instantly you felt relief.

Lance had apologized for not being in contact, he had Olivia for the past few days and he was focused on her. Of course he had nothing to apologize for, you really enjoyed hearing about the mess she made while eating or how he played with her.

“If you’re free tonight I’d like to see you again.” He held his breath hopefully letting out a sigh as he beamed widely at your answer.

Seeing Lance became a regular thing except on the days he had Olivia. You respected the time he spent with his daughter and didn’t dare intrude. Other times you were together, back at the food trucks trying a bit of everything, exploring the city hand in hand with Lance slowly coming around to other positives about living there aside from you.

Most nights were spent at his place, cuddled up together on the couch binge watching the latest series or in bed where your body trembled with aftershocks of the Earth shaking, hot white pleasure you had experienced. Above all, Lance had found a way into your heart as if he was always meant to be there.

Lance’s handsome face appeared on your phone and you quickly swiped to answer the call.

“Hey baby,” Lance greeted through a yawn. “Livi had me up all night, I’m exhausted,” he continued, trying to talk above the noise of traffic around him but not too loud to wake up Olivia in the car seat.

“I’m sorry about that babe. I could have driven if you wanted,” you offered.

“I’ll be alright, plus…” he sighed, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to bring someone new around Maggie. I don’t need the headache, I’m sorry baby, but I appreciate it.”

After driving back and forth Lance came over for dinner since he was too tired to make something himself. Above the sizzle of the frying pan you heard his groans, looking up to find his shoulders slouched, head in his hands on the table.

Adjusting the knobs on the stove you stepped away briefly and walked towards Lance. Your hands skimmed across the hard planes of his back up to his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles as he groaned appreciatively under your touch.

Maggie had fought with him again, this time about Olivia’s first birthday. She wanted to plan an extravagant party and got angry that the children’s party venue, that she had months to book in advance, would not squeeze her in.

“She’s so frustrating. She got it in her head that LA was bad and things would be better back here but clearly she forgot that Amherst hates her.”

“Why?” you asked, applying more pressure as he you felt his muscles tense up the more he spoke about her.

Lance reached his hand back to cover yours. “It’s my fault. It always is,” he sighed.

The sizzling grew louder so you placed a kiss to his cheek before going back to tend to the cooking. “Don’t say that Lance.”

“It’s partially true. She abandoned this town for me, to train, and then…” he gestured with his hands. “She hates me because of everything that happened.”

The opportunity to talk about Maggie seldom appeared. You had a lot of opinions about her that you kept to yourself. It wasn’t your business and you didn’t need to add fuel to the fire they were trying to curb for Olivia’s sake but something inside was itching for you to find out.

You and Lance had been seeing each other for a few months and you loved him though you hadn’t said it out loud yet. You hoped he knew it in your actions, just like you felt it from him in the gentle ways he held you at night, the longing looks, the bright smiles. You wouldn’t push him to say the words to you but part of you needed to know how he felt about her.

“Do you hate her?”

Lance straightened up in the chair, staring contemplatively before answering. “No. She’s the mother of my child, I don’t hate her.” But do you love her?

Lance’s warm scent invaded your senses as your lips were pressed together. He would be leaving for Olivia’s birthday party, with your colorfully wrapped gift in hand. You wished you could go with him, hoping that one day everyone would be able to get along.

That night Lance was supposed to call but you didn’t hear from him. Before bed you said goodnight via text, figuring he was tired after such a long day. He didn’t return your text until the following day, apologizing for the delay. He had caught a stomach bug and didn’t want to trouble you with anything.

Two days later you finally heard his voice. “I’m sorry baby,” he weakly groaned. He was cancelling your weekend plans again, needing more time to recuperate.

Lance didn’t sound like himself, but you attributed that to all the vomiting. He was a nightmare when he caught a cold last month so you can’t imagine how he’s been handling everything a stomach bug entails.

A week had passed and each day without him felt like an eternity. Lance was surely better now so you decided to surprise him, hoping he regained enough of his strength to go for a stroll with you on this beautiful day.

As soon as the elevator doors opened to his floor you wished they hadn’t. At the end of the hallway was Lance, his hand cupped around Maggie’s cheek, his tongue going further and further down her throat.

The ding of the elevator alerted them to your shocked presence. You wanted to run, to go back home, to somehow wake yourself up from this nightmare because that’s what this had to be. Instead, your shaky legs carried you towards them against your will in search of answers.

“Lance, I…I don’t understand…” you began.

A sharp laugh pierced your heart like a million arrows, each one tipped with poison in the form of lies and betrayal.

“Is this who you’ve been wasting your time with Lance?” Maggie asked incredulously, still laughing as she looked you up and down.

The ability to speak had left, your voice abandoning you when you needed it most. Your mouth hung open, trembling as you looked at Lance wondering why.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said softly with regret. “Maggie and I are… we’ve been…”

“We’re together,” she smirked, lacing her arm through his as if she was claiming her prize. Maggie won the gold, again, this time in the form of Lance.

Lance couldn’t meet your gaze. He stared at the floor, lifting his eyes to your trembling hands. He felt terrible lying to you and even worse now with you standing in front of him, deserving of a better explanation than what he could give.

“We thought it would be best to try… for Olivia. After her birthday we…”

It made sense now why he hadn’t called when he came home that night, he hadn’t; and he had been lying ever since. You broke at the realization.

“How could you do this to me?” your voice cracked as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“I thought we had something… I lo…” The word died on your tongue, you couldn’t say it. It wouldn’t change what happened and you couldn’t forgive him.

Maggie rolled her eyes hard, “Pfft, this girl whines worse than Olivia. Go back to your playpen… baby.”

Baby. The nickname that rose from the flames of lust now turned to ash.

Muffled cries from inside the apartment draw everyone’s attention towards the door.

“Great, now you woke up our daughter,” Maggie huffed, stomping off into Lance’s place.

Silence drowned the hallway as you stared at each other. With every tear that fell Lance felt worse He fucked up, big time, and there was nothing he could do to fix this.

“Y/N.”

He whispered your name like the first time he said it, the night you found each other in the last place anyone would think they could find happiness. Lance took your hand and you wanted to pull it away but you couldn’t. You were pathetic, still desperate for his touch, one last time.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed back a tear before it could drop, letting go of your hand and going back inside his apartment.

You were paralyzed, crying like the baby you truly were, moving only when you heard their voices through the wall. Slowly you turned back to the elevator, descending to the lobby and back out onto the street with nowhere to go.

Beautiful weather began a beautiful day but it all turned around when he walked out…

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

Text

2x08: Crossroad Blues

Welcome to this season’s real hellatus! We’ve got a little theme for the episodes we’re recapping. Try and guess what it is :D Also, we have some good news and bad news. Good news: We’re going to do a whole week of recaps towards the end of the break! Yay! Bad news: They’re all episodes that we hate. We need to get them off our recap plate before the show ends. Enjoy the hellatus (*crying noise*).

Then:

Sam Winchester, professional puppy dog

Now:

Greenwood, Mississippi

August, 1938

Robert Johnson plays Crossroads Blues on a stage to a crowd at a bar. He briefly hears growls but continues to play. He stops again when he sees shadows race outside. The crowd looks confused. Robert runs outside after hearing barks. He races to a shed, but the unseen source of the barking follows him. He kneels to await his fate.

The door bursts open to find a woman and two men from the bar. The men run to find help and the woman pleads with Robert to stay with her as he mutters, “Dogs, black dogs.” He dies in her arms.

Sam and Dean are at a diner and Sam’s researching how much of an outlaw Dean is. Sam is upset because it’s going to make their job harder now that the feds have them on their radar. Well, they have Dean on their radar. Dean thinks Sam is jealous.

Sam’s got a case. An architect jumped off a building he designed, after calling animal control about seeing wild black dogs in his condo.

There’s a ton of lore on black dogs. Dean brings the real insight to the situation when he tells Sam, “Bet they could hump the crap out of your leg.” AND I MISS THIS DEAN SO MUCH SOME DAYS.

They interview Gunner Lawless his business partner under the guise of writing a tribute for Architectural Digest. His partner is resentful but admits that the man was a genius. He wasn’t always that way though. He wonders why people with true talent die young.

The brothers’ next stop is at an area animal shelter. Dean flirts his way into learning more about black dogs in the area. Dean Bean got Carly’s MySpace address too.

They next head to interview all the people that reported the black dogs. The first on their list is Dr. Sylvia Pearlman. She hasn’t been home in two days. Dean notes that she’s chief of surgery at her hospital, a position she’s had for ten years. She’s only about 42, so she’s very young for that position. They also find a connection to their vic and the doctor. They both visited a place called Lloyd’s Bar.

Meanwhile, the doctor is hiding out in an early season dingy motel room. She’s frazzled and petrified when someone knocks on the door. The motel staff is there demanding money for another night’s stay. She grabs her money and turns to the man in the door, only to see his face warp unnaturally.

The boys find Lloyd’s Tavern next. On the cross road outside the joint, Dean notices yarrow flowers growing alongside the road. These flowers are used for summoning rituals. They put things together and start digging a hole in the middle of the crossroads. They find a tin with various items in it.

People have been summoning and making deals with a demon. “Y’know cause that always ends good.” EAT YOUR WORDS DEAN. Sam says that these people aren’t seeing black dogs, they’re seeing hell hounds.

Meanwhile, the doctor meets her end with a visit from her own date with the hell hounds.

Rosedale, Mississippi

1930

We witness Robert Johnson make his crossroads deal with a demon.

Sam notes that whatever they’re dealing with is a lot like the Robert Johnson lore. Dean notes that Johnson’s music is full of references to hell hounds, demon deals, and the occult. Dean’s barely-tolerating-this-bullshit eyeroll is truly a wonder. (Objectification Sidenote: Damn, Dean’s pretty in this scene.)

Anyway, they have a picture of another person that made a deal, George Darrow. They head to where he lives. They notice pepper on the doorsill. George answers his door but doesn’t want anything to do with them. They reveal that they know about the supernatural and tell him they want to help. Sam asks about the pepper and George tells them that it’s actually goofer dust. It keeps out demons.

George talks about making his deal and reveals that the demon stayed around Lloyd’s for a week making deals with other people. George mentions the architect and doctor. There’s one other person that also made a deal ten years prior, a man named Evan Hudson. George is resigned to his fate and tells the brothers to leave.

Evan Hudson works in his home office late at night and flinches at hell hound barks. His wife peeks in before she heads off on a trip.

As she’s bidding him farewell, her face warps into a dead zombie howl. WHEE HALLUCINATIONS!

Sam and Dean arrive at Evan’s house. Dean opens with asking about Lloyd’s Bar, and Evan immediately slams the door in his face and retreats into his home. That went well! Dean kicks down the door and I’m FINE WITH THIS and not objectifying him at all.

The Winchesters corner Evan in his office. Yes, he knows hell hounds are coming for his soul. Dean’s bitterly dismissive of Evan’s distress, joking about potentially frivolous reasons for him to bargain his soul away. Evan reveals that his wife was dying of cancer, and he made a deal for her health. While Sam melts into a puppy-eyed puddle, Dean still reacts to this with anger. “You ever think about her in all this?” Dean asks. “I think you did this for yourself. So you wouldn’t have to live without her. Well guess what? She’s gonna have to live without you now.”

Dean’s anger is...counterproductive. So Sam pulls Dean away and they consult in the hall. Dean instructs Sam to spread George’s goofer dust around while he high tails it to the crossroads to summon himself a demon. He’ll exorcise it, and that will buy them a little time. Sam calls this out as a reckless plan and speculates that Dean’s only doing it because he thinks their dad made a deal. “What if he struck a deal?” Dean asks. “My life for his soul?” OH this SWEET EMOTIONAL TORTURE! He heads out to summon the demon.

Dean buries his offering in the crossroad and turns around to find a woman smirking at him. She’s a crossroads demon! They take turns objectifying each other and then Dean invites her to meet in his car for a little privacy. Classic serial killer pickup line.

Dean tells the demon his terms. He wants Evan released from his deal and he’ll barter himself for it. “You’d sacrifice yourself for someone else?” she says with a devilish smile. “Like father, like son.”

DRAMATIC MUSIC BREAK

The demon gleefully taunts Dean about John’s deal. When Dean tries to usher her into his car, she balks at the edges of the devil’s trap she sees peeking out from under Baby. Nice try, Dean Bean!

Meanwhile, Evan does his best dramatic chipmunk (prairie dog) impression.

The hell hounds are now growling from INSIDE THE HOUSE! Sam and Evan watch the doors warily.

While the hounds close in, Dean gets emotionally traumatized by the demon. (Side note, her breath is visible in this scene and she’s wearing a short sleeved, thin dress. I’m cold in sympathy.) She taunts him about his man-pain and terrible guilt about John’s death. She has the power to bring back John. Dean seems...interested.

The hell hound at Evan’s house stops rattling the door and the room goes silent for a moment until...the hound bursts through the ventilation grate! What a smart doggo!

Dean wants to learn more about the potential to bring back his dad and mopes under a wooden structure until the demon joins him there. She tells him she can give him a ten year deal: John’s life for Dean’s, and they get ten years together before Dean heads below. She plays Dean like a fiddle, and we get a callback to Dean’s feelings in Faith - that he’s not supposed to be alive. Dean experiences VERY LARGE EMOTIONS before wandering out of the structure. “You think you could throw in a set of steak knives?” He directs her attention upward, where he’s painted a devil’s trap on the underside of the structure. What a smart Dean Bean! Excellent misdirection.

Dean reels off HIS deal: Evan lives, and the demon goes free. If she doesn’t strike a deal, she gets exorcised. (Which is SO embarrassing amirite?)

Dean starts the exorcism and it starts a fierce wind to howling. The wind gusts into Evan’s house and blows away Sam’s goofer dust circle. Sam and Evan run for safety. The hell hound barks fiercely...until it doesn’t.

Cut to Dean angry-kissing the demon. A kiss seals the deal (apparently all demons like to slip a little tongue). (Insert crack headcanon that this is Crowley in an alternate vessel, when he first gets heart eyes for Dean.)

The demon tells Dean that her word is her bond, but if Dean breaks their deal then the first thing she’ll do when she escapes Hell is tear into Evan like he’s wet paper.

The demon can’t resist one parting shot. Dean should’ve taken the deal. John Winchester’s torture is unimaginably bad. Dean charges for her, the demon smokes out, and Dean’s left with a scared woman in the middle of the crossroads and way too many feelings.

Driving away, Sam and Dean listen to the blues and contemplate John’s deal. Sam tries to focus on the people John saved, but Dean’s stuck in a sadness pit of his own making. Sam asks him if he considered actually making the deal. Dean doesn’t answer, instead just turning the music up.

Oh, Dean.

The Quotes Bark at Midnight:

Dude, I'm like Dillinger or something

I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg

MySpace, what the hell is that?

Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save 'em?

You're lucky I've got a soft spot for lost puppies and long faces

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 2x08 #crossroad blues #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 2

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uomo-accattivante · 5 years

Text

The upcoming (November) online issue is still sold out, so below is a transcription of the Empire Star Wars article:

(NOVEMBER 2019)

IT ALL STARTED with a Jane Campion retrospective. The Lincoln Center in New York was entering night two of an in-depth celebration of the Kiwi filmmaker’s work when, during a sold-out screening of The Piano, one member of the audience received a text message. He then received another. And another. Hunched down in his seat towards the middle of the auditorium, screenwriter Chris Terri glanced furtively at his mobile as yet another text pinged to life on his screen. It was from J.J. Abrams. Just like the last. And the dozen or so before that.

It was 10 September 2017, and several hours earlier Terrio had received the first in what would become a torrent of communication: “I’ve just signed on to Episode IX,” it read. “We’re gonna write a new script. Would you consider writing it with me?”

“He didn’t even say the words ‘Star’ and ‘Wars,’” recalls Terrio with a laugh. “He didn’t have to. I’d been about to go off and direct a small movie, but when you hear Star Wars, everything else goes away.

Terrio agreed on the spot, planning to join Abrams in California as soon his schedule would allow. But the texts kept coming. Throughout the afternoon, thoughts, ideas and questions popped up one after the other; Abrams’ frantic thumbs tapping out the first seeds of story and flinging them across the country to his newfound partner. As so, with Michael Nyman’s haunting score swelling around him and a still-buzzing handset in his grasp, Terrio stood up, shuffled apologetically along a row of seats, and walked out of the cinema, leaving Campion’s Oscar darling behind.

“J.J. is constantly brimming with ideas and, in the very best way, he’s very impatient about them! So we just started getting into it then and there. I got on a plane to LA the next day.”

Less than a week earlier, however, Episode IX’s future hadn’t looked nearly as certain. In development fo the past two years under the auspices of Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow, the film had abruptly flown off the rails on 5 September, when it was announced that Trevorrow was off the project. Rumours of script disagreements circled, but regardless of the reason, Lucasfilm had a serious problem: arguably the most important film in Star Wars’ history suddenly had no director, no story and a release date drawing nearer by the day. So Lucasfilm President Kathleen Kennedy sent up a flare to the one man she knew without any doubt could safely take Star Wars over the finish line.

“Getting involved in IX came as a bit of a shock,” recalls J.J. Abrams. “I had completed VII, Rian [Johnson] was doing VIII, and I was not meant to do IX at all. But the opportunity to not just finish the trilogy, but to finish the story that George began - this trilogy of trilogies - was too compelling and too tempting to reject.”

After delivering The Force Awakens, then the third-biggest movie in history, Abrams had taken a bow and walked away, returning to Bad Robot and a pair of TV pilots he’d been meaning to write. It was here, in his self-imposed exile, that Kennedy sought him out. Sure, it was an office just over a mile from Santa Monica pier rather than the grassy bluffs of Ahch-To, and Kennedy hadn’t so much climbed 500 hand-carved steps as punched ten digits into her phone, but like a vision of Episode VII’s final moments, there she was. Unexpected. Holding out something Abrams had thought lost and daring him to take it back.

“It’s exponentially the most daunting thing I’ve ever been involved with,” Abrams admits, eyebrows raised as if he still can’t quite believer the magnitude of the task. “But it was more exciting than it was anything.”

The director sits across from us in his suite at Beverly Hills’ Montage hotel, not far from where we last met, six years previously, when he’d just started work on a treatment for what would eventually become The Force Awakens. Abrams’ return as Star Wars’ Supreme Commander was announced just one day after Trevorrow’s departure, allaying the fears of both fans and shareholders alike: voices just a day before crying out in terror, now suddenly silenced. But with only two years to end a saga that had been four decades in the telling, it was clear from the outset he was going to need some help. And so he composed a text (then several more) and sent them flying towards a movie theatre 3,000 miles away, where the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Argo was attempting to watch a film.

“I’ve admired Chris Terrio’s writing for a long time. I called on him because I knew it would be a challenge. But I didn’t know it would be quite as challenging as it was.”

In a time when vast, interconnected stories have become commonplace, and breadcrumbs to the payoffs in Avenger’s Endgame can be traced back ten or even 20 films, it’s hard to believe that the Star Wars sequel trilogy didn’t have its course firmly locked in before Episode VII ever left the spaceport. But, just as Abrams himself left neither chart nor compass for Rian Johnson to navigate with, so he began work on The Rise Of Skywalker with nothing to guide him but his wits. It is, by Abrams’ own admission, his preferred method of working. An instinctive storyteller by nature, his impulse is to do what feels right in the moment, rather than slavishly adhere to some pre-ordained master plan. Very appropriately for a franchise so rooted in this exact philosophy, Abrams’ inclination has always been, as Alec Guinness once sagely advised, to stretch out with his feelings.

“You can’t plan everything in advance - which my ‘Revenge of the Jedi’ poster proves,” he says. “You have a better idea and then you implement it. When I was working on VII, I’d be lying if I said I knew everything that was gonna happen in VIII and IX. I had some ideas, but we had a release date that required us to work on VII!”

So Abrams and Terrio started from scratch. They spitballed ideas during the day, swapped rapid-fire-texts at night and, piece-by-piece set about exploring the fundamental questions this final movie had to address. Not least of all the aftermath of The Last Jedi, in which Rian Johnson, continuing Abrams’ story, had made some rather significant changes.

THERE’S A WELL-WORN dramatic principle most commonly ascribed to Anton Chekhov that insists if you see a gun in the first act of the play, it must go off by act three or you’re simply wasting the audience’s time. The same, it appears, is true of dark side degenerates as, despite being sidelined in The Last Jedi, Chekhov’s Knights Of Ren will finally go off in The Rise Of Skywalker.

The Knights - from which Kylo draws the latter part of his name - are a nightmarish squad of enforcers who do the bidding of the former Ben Solo. A rag-tag band of thugs and killers decked in black just like their leader, though far more battleworn. Armoured in disparate styles - one sports a cowl, one an angry welder’s mask, another a checkered draughtboard faceplate - they pack a similarly eclectic arsenal, from multi-barrelled assault cannon to oversized, anime-style sword poleaxe and a wicked-looking mace.

Referenced portentously in The Force Awakens and glimpsed so very briefly during Rey’s vision on Takodana, the Knights and their role in Kylo’s fall from grace were set up as a major piece of the Star Wars puzzle. That is until Johnson, who clearly didn’t share Abrams’ interest, dropped the idea, sweeping them briskly under the rug next to the mystery of Rey’s parentage and the bisected corpse of Supreme Leader Snoke. “Let the past die,” instructed Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi. “Kill it, if you have to.” A sentiment, one could argue, that cut to the very heart of Johnson’s film.

“We thought about that line a lot,” says Terrio. “Rian did something that any good second act would do, which is create the antithesis. In The Force Awakens Luke Skywalker is a myth Rey’s obsessed with and there’s a warm embrace of the past. What Rian suggested is the past is a mixed bag and you can’t rely upon it to tell you where to go in the future. What we’re doing with Episode IX is trying to create a synthesis between those two points of view.”

“I never found myself trying to repair anything,” Abrams interjects. “If I had done VIII, I would have done things differently, just as Rian would have done things differently if he had done VII. But having worked on television series, I was accustomed to creating stories and characters that then were run by other people. If you’re willing to walk away from the thing that you created and you believe it’s in trustworthy hands, you have to accept that some of the decisions being made are not gonna be the same that you would make. And if you come back into it, you have to honour what’s been done.”

And what has been done is significant. Luke Skywalker is dead, passing on his knowledge and the mantle of last Jedi to Rey; The Resistance has been all but wiped out; Snoke is gone; and Kylo Ren - now Supreme Leader Ren - is more broken than ever, riven by conflict through the unlikely bond he forged with Rey. Bold and decisive, Johnson’s decisions changed the board entirely, his sharp turns and gear shifts delighting some while earning the ire of others.

For Abrams and Terrio, meanwhile, the new landscape also brought with it new possibilities.

Ren, left pointedly bare-faced by Johnson throughout VIII, now hides his face once more. It’s a development that, while not a rebuke to The Last Jedi, demonstrates the difference touchstones that resonate with each director. Although, Abrams expands, reuniting Kylo with his mask is about more than just sinister aesthetics.

Ren’s temptation by the light, like Rey’s temptation by the dark, forms the spine of a moral ambiguity that Johnson built on in VIII and very much carries over to IX, bringing with it a sense that George Lucas’ more clearly defined duality might be a relic of a simpler time. Neither light nor dark, The Rise Of Skywalker and its characters exist more within what could be considered the grey side of the Force - something underscored by the tantalizing footage of ‘Darth Rey’ (complete with cowl, hangover pallor and double-bladed red lightsaber) that closed Abrams’ D23 Expo footage presentation in Anaheim in August.

“I’d rather let that one lie,” he deflects, when pressed on the subject. “But I will say that the movie has a number of things that you wouldn’t expect to have happen and that you wouldn’t expect certain characters to do. There are surprises along the way.” He smiles, mischievously. “And that’s one of them.”

THE VALLEY OF The Moon in Southern Jordan has seen its share of action. Cut into the red sandstone cliffs near Aqaba, the striking lowlands known in Arabic as Wadi Rum have been visited by both real and fictional Lawrences of Arabia, stood in for the face of Mars, been the birth place of the Alien in Prometheus, and will next year double as the eponymous desert planet in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune. It’s no stranger to stormtroopers, either, having played host to the ill-fated Jedha outpost in Gareth Edwards’ Rogue One. Today, though, Wadi Rum is a different part of the galaxy entirely, standing in for Pasaana: a new locale in the canon, and home to the bedouin-like Aki-Aki: a nomadic race of walrus-like aliens with twin tentacles dangling from their maws in place of tusks.

Pasaana, along with the nippier climes of snow planet Kijimi, is one of several new worlds visited by The Rise Of Skywalker. But most importantly, it’s a place where the heroes we’ve become acquainted with over the past two films will come together at last.

“The heart of Star Wars for me is the group of unlikely bedfellows on a breakneck adventure,” says Abrams. “And in Rise Of Skywalker it’s the biggest and most dastardly threat the galaxy has seen. The opportunity here was to have this group that has now become a surrogate family have to deal with this massive horror: the war to end all wars. Not just on the outside, but on the inside, which is to say it’s meant to be as much of a challenge personally as it is physically.”

Abrams’ war of wars has been well equipped: “The First Order is stacked with new brass in the form of Richard E. Grant’s Allegiant General Pryde, neo-fascist ranks swollen by triangular-winged TIE Daggers and blood-red garrisons of newly commissioned Sith troopers, their angular crimson armor giving a fresh twist on the faceless squaddies - much to Hasbro’s delight. The Resistance, too, will see its share of reinforcements, including Billy Dee Williams’ Lando Calrissian - reprising the role after 36 years. Even General Leia Organa will return: the late Carrie Fisher making an appearance thanks to the discovery of unused footage that somehow fit the narrative perfectly.

The action itself has been teased in the barest of glimpses: Rey and Kylo duelling on the wreckage of a Death Star; Rebel X-Wings and blockade runners fleeing destruction; a sky bristling with Imperial Star Destroyers, their numbers great enough to block out the stars.

The presence of Old Empire firepower, easily overlooked, points to The Rise Of Skywalker’s biggest curveball to date. Back in April, when Abrams showed the first trailer at Star Wars Celebration in Chicago the real of the film’s title was almost eclipsed by the familiar cackle of the original Emperor echoing over those final frames. The Ian McDiarmid himself walked out to demand, in full Palpatine rasp, that the projector “roll it again”, all present lost their shit in unison. How could this be? Is he a clone? A Force projection? Did he survive that fateful plummet down the Death Star shaft? Could Palpatine have been telling Anakin the truth when he spoke of Darth Plagueis The Wise’s cure for death? Irrespective of the fine print, Star Wars’ biggest of bad is officially back in business.

The sheer scale of the task he’s undertaken cannot be overstated. Star Wars has been, by far, the most enduring and influential story of the modern era. Having to put the capstone on a saga that has shaped both childhoods and adult lives for several generations is something neither Abrams, nor producer Kathleen Kennedy, looking ahead to what the future holds for Star Wars, take at all lightly.

“We don’t have a crystal ball” says Kennedy. “We tried to look at Solo and see if we could do two movies a year, and we found, ‘Hmm, that’s not going to work.’ So we backed off of that a little. But that doesn’t mean we don’t think about lots of different stories. That’s the exciting thing about this universe.

“It’s been an honour to inherit and continue this iconic saga that has touched audiences for so many years, and we feel the weight of that every time we set out to tell these stories.”

The wider universe will, of course, live on. Whether through The Mandalorian on TV, or all-new movie sagas currently in development by Johnson and Game Of Thrones’ David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. But for the core story, what for so many people is Star Wars, the final destination is now in sight.

And so it comes back to feeling. In a world of meticulously planned franchises and strategic, multi-phased rollouts, Star Wars, at its core, has always trusted in The Force. Abrams had not expected to be here, had not expected to finish this tale. But now, as he places the final pieces of the puzzle, he feels like it was always meant to be. There’s a symmetry to him being the one to deliver The Rise Of Skywalker, just as there is in the fact that, faced with this near insurmountable challenge, his impulse was not to assemble story groups or worry about the top-down view, but to switch off his targeting computer, let go his conscious self and act on instinct.

“This story is alive, and you have to listen to it,” he says. “When you land on something that give you the chills, that’s the only way you know if it feels right. You can deconstruct it all you want and try and make sense of how you found it, but somehow it finds you.”

He pauses, reflecting for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just the way I can’t quite explain how we had this footage of Carrie that we’re using. You can say, ‘Oh well, it’s just luck, it just happened to be,’ but i feels like something else. And I neither can nor want to explain any of it.”

“It’s been a pretty crazy ride,” reflects Terrio. “When I was a kid watching Return Of The Jedi on loop, I felt like I was the only person Yoda was speaking to. And then there I was all these years later, sitting in a tent in Jordan doing this film. You have this highly personal relationship to Star Wars, and then, suddenly, you find yourself right in the middle of it. That feeling is sort of indescribable.”

It’s one that, at the very least, is almost certainly worth having a movie interrupted for.

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER IS IN CINEMAS FROM DECEMBER

###

Il materiale di origine: Empire Magazine via Imgur

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bleepblopbloop56 · 4 years

Text

The Murder In The Dressing Room

Chapter 9

Mostly unedited.

Warnings: blood, major character death, guns.

For an update on the situation read this post

"He's so tiny…" Logan laughed lightly, watching as Patton's little hand wrapped around his pinkie, not even closing all the way around it. He tried to pull in his hand to his mouth before Logan tutted and pushed a pacifier in instead. The news that he now had a real human child still hadn’t fully sunk in yet. He was properly accommodated, of course- the apartment was stuffed with cribs, bottles, pacifiers, toys, baby clothes (including Patton’s current light blue onesie dotted with little white cupcakes- which, as a police officer, Logan could say with authority was illegally cute), and diapers galore- but that didn't make it any less terrifying.

"He looks like a baby doll," Virgil commented, playing with his toes. Patton squealed and drooled around his pacifier.

"He is rather perfect, don't you think?" Logan giggled. A lot had happened in the last few months. Roman had cheated on him, his best friend had died giving birth and he’d had to fight to adopt her child as soon as possible… but now he was here, holding Patton in his home for the first time.

"Uh oh, is Detective Grey getting all emotional?" he giggled, tickling Patton lightly. "You hear that? Dadda's getting all emotional over you! Your dadda looovesssss yooooou!" he baby talked, punctuating each sentence with a tickle. Patton kicked his little legs the best he could in fits of giggles.

"He loves you so much Patton! He's gonna be the best dad in the whole world!"

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up,” Logan chanted as if it would actually do something as he shot down the road. He had barely had enough time to shout out directions and get his gear before racing down the street like his life depended on it. If Logan had his way, he'd make the forty minute drive in ten or crash trying.

“Yellow?” Emile's typical greeting was as cheerful as ever, despite the obvious grogginess in his voice. That was what he got for being an old man who went to bed at 6 o’clock.

“Patton- where is he?” Logan demanded, taking a turn a little too fast and sliding off the road for a moment before straightening out, mumbling obscenities under his breath all the while. How many traffic laws was he breaking? What would he do if he came across another car on the road? Did it even matter?

“He's in the living room- Logan, what's wrong?” he started sounding more conscious, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Go check on him right now," Logan ordered, “and don't let him leave your sight until I tell you its safe.” Another car swerved around him, nearly hitting him. Distantly, Emile could hear a horn honking and Logan shouting curses in return.

“Logan what's happening?” He shuffled on a robe, pulling himself up and towards the door. A quick peek into the living room verified that the toddler was sleeping peacefully on the baby bed Emile had managed to stuff in his car while picking Patton up. As if he could sense Emile’s gaze, Patton sputtered a bit before rolling over, the picture of peace. “He's fine, fast asleep, but Logan, are you okay?”

“Go get him. Now. Don't let him out of your sight until I say so, okay?” There was only hesitant silence from the phone. “Okay?!”

"Okay," Emile whispered back softly. He picked Patton up with shaking hands, shushing him when he started to wake up. But it was to no avail: despite his best efforts, Patton started to cry on the walk back to Emile’s room. "Logan," he pleaded, "just tell me what's going on."

Hearing the sound of Patton's voice made him slow down significantly. Getting killed in a car crash would only hurt Patton; besides, if Logan was going to die, that son of a bitch would have to kill him himself. Logan wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of doing it without putting in the work.

"There's been a threat... I can't come get him until we know the suspect is in police custody." Logan faltered, his attempt at a neutral voice failing, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "They got Remy… my partner. We have a significant lead, but that's all I can say. This is all going to be over soon." He didn't mention that by "lead" he meant "I know who killed them and I'm currently speeding to his house to either kill him or get killed."

"What does that mean?" Emile put down Patton on his bed, rubbing his hand through his hair to get him back to sleep. His brother had always told him everything, and him evading the question like this was enough to make him feel as if the world was ending. Logan didn't lie, and he didn't avoid questions. No matter what you asked him, Logan would respond quickly and honestly, even if that answer was I don't know.

"Someone’s made a threat on Patton's life," he said quietly, pointedly not vocalizing "and mine as well.'' "I need you to double check your doors and windows for me, make sure everything's secure, and call 911 if you hear anything at all, okay?"

The other end was silent as Emile struggled to think of a response.

"Please be safe" he settled on. Logan nodded, mumbling an "I will" before hanging up, grip on the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Roman?!" Logan screamed. Distantly, Logan wondered what his colleagues would think if they saw him like this, wild-eyed and hoarse from shouting and breaking down doors in a house he didn’t have a permit to enter. He wasn't clearing rooms, he didn't have his gun in his hand; he was just ransacking the place in a blind panic. All of it went against protocol, and right now he couldn’t care less. "Roman, where are you?!"

His mind jumped back to the text he'd gotten right after he had found Remy’s body. Logan had been standing in his office- the room he worked in nearly every day, defiled by the blood of one of his closest friends- when his phone chimed. He could only stare dully at the words flashing there. 'I can't do this, I'm going home,' they read, and for a second Logan wondered if this was it- if he was going to lose Roman as quickly as he’d gotten him back.

But that hadn’t been Roman. It couldn't have been. Logan wouldn't believe it. And the only thing worse than the idea of Roman leaving was the idea that Roman had left because he was in trouble- that Ethan had gotten to Roman before he could.

Logan froze at the sound of the front door slamming behind him, the noise cutting through even Logan’s shouts. He had known, at the back of his mind, that he was being unforgivably reckless. He had entered Ethan's territory disregarding the fact that he had proven himself more intelligent and capable than any criminal he faced before. But he had still thought that he would get farther than a few rooms into the house before being caught.

And now he was going to die.

"God, this is so fucking sad," a voice hissed, the telltale noise of a gun cocking behind him far too close for comfort. "You couldn't just stay put, could you? I was JUST about to go find you, and now I have to worry about fucking blood stains on my white carpet…"

Logan whipped around, only to freeze again at the sight of the barrel of a gun in his face, Ethan behind the trigger. Ethan kicked him in the stomach before he could reach for his gun, knocking him to the floor. Logan wheezed, desperately trying to regain his breath and get back up, but Ethan loomed over him, pressing his gun to Logan's forehead.

Logan braced himself. He'd been a detective for a long time- he knew what was coming next.

But Ethan only made a tutting noise, wagging his finger disapprovingly. "Silly little detective…" he laughed. "If you behave, I might just kill you the easy way! Let's not make this harder than it has to be…" He traced the gun down Logan's face, the cold metal gazing his eye and cheek before landing on his lips. "Well, let's see how well you roll over for me. Why don't you give it a kiss, huh?" The look in his eyes dared Logan to say no. Like he wanted to see how long he could drag out his little game before either he or Logan snapped.

It would be beyond degrading to kiss the gun that would most likely end him, to look his killer in the eyes when he was on his knees. But between the choice of humiliation and survival… Logan puckered his lips and lightly kissed the gun. If he could just keep Ethan distracted until backup arrived everything would be okay, it had to be…

"Good boy!" The sick feeling in Logan's gut only worsened at Ethan's tone- it was as if he was talking to a dog who had successfully performed a trick rather than a human being he was threatening to murder. "Good boys get treats! You know what your treat is?!" He spoke in high trills, happy hisses filled with poison. Logan noticed Dee had scale tattoos crawling up his arm, starting presumably from underneath his yellow glove. "Your treat is a quick and easy death! Do try to keep it down, we don't want the noise to scare Roman. " Dee traced the gun around his face again before pressing it against his temple. He pushed Logan's head gently with the gun, moving until his cheek pressed against the wall, and Logan could tell instinctively that this time Dee wouldn’t hold back.

"Wait!" Logan shouted, the refrain keep him distracted, keep him distracted running through his head. "I want to have another… treat." Over the blood thundering in his ears, a thought reverberated in his head, slamming like a wave against his brain again and again: This is the lowest moment of my life.

Ethan perked up, happy his little toy was playing his game so easily, but the suspicious glint in his eyes told Logan he didn't have long to talk.

"Let me say goodbye to Roman.." The words ached in his chest. Logan knew he had to play up the pathetic factor to get Ethan to humor him, but they came out too honest and real for him to convince himself it was all for show. Somewhere behind the desperation, it was a legitimate request.

Ethan hesitated like he was thinking about it, clicking his tongue a few times in thought. "I don't know if you've been that good" he said slowly. "I think I'd rather just kill you!" He smiled, and Logan suddenly thought back to the brief personality profile that had been pulled together on him when Roman was deemed a suspect. Everything about Ethan seemed to point to a perfectly friendly, if slightly closed-off, man with a clean record and plenty of friendly acquaintances. Nothing to suggest someone like this..

Logan was out of options, out of time, and he decided if he could just drag this out, just long enough to keep roman alive.. If he could just llay into what ethan wanted from him...

Put on a show…

He hunched his shoulders and began to cry.

"Please," he begged, hoping that Ethan would enjoy seeing Logan in pain enough to let the scene last longer. Maybe not long enough for Logan to come out of this alive, but long enough for the cops to arrive, long enough to save Roman… "I know I took him from you-" appealing to him directly- "and I know that you're angry, but please… Just let me see him one last time."

His shoulders were heaving now, real tears falling to the ground. It wasn't just Roman he was crying about- it was all of them. All of the innocent lives taken simply because they knew the wrong people, caught in a spider web of murders only because they had offered a home to Roman or a helping hand to Logan. He cried for how he had screamed and broke things after finding Virgil in the bedroom until he heard the sirens approaching his apartment. How he'd pulled Roman away from his brother, lying in a pool of red, the one and only time Remus had ever been quiet. How he had said goodbye to Thomas one day and then hadn't visited him again until he had been murdered. How not even an hour before now he had seen his partner, his friend, Remy sitting where he did so often, coffee cold on the desk and glasses broken on the floor. How Patton could be next, and by association Emile.

And Ethan laughed.

"Oh, alright!" he giggled, high-pitched and manic. He pushed Logan's chin up with his gun to look at him. "No need to look so pathetic, little detective! This'll be good for Roman, to see you die."

Logan moved to stand up, but Ethan leaned down and grabbed his hair, shoving him back down.

"Nuh-uh-uh!" Ehtan chirped, bringing the gun up to Logan’s forehead again and pressing down. "Be a good little boy and crawl for me?”

Logan froze, his thoughts from before echoing. But he had no way out, and they both knew it. Ethan grinned like a hunter watching their prey walk into a trap. "Come on, let’s go."

It couldn't have been comfortable for Ethan to pull Logan forward through the whole house, but for the pleasure of humiliating his victim, it was worth it. He dragged Logan all the way to the back of the house until they reached a door so small Logan probably would’ve skipped it while searching for Roman. He flipped open the lock and turned the light on one-handedly before starting down the stairs, allowing Logan to walk while keeping a firm grip on his hair.

"Logan?" Roman's voice was scratchy from crying, but it flooded with disbelief, wonder, hope- until he registered who Logan was with. "Ethan, what are you doing, let him go!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet.

Ethan shoved Logan to his feet, sauntering forward to Roman. "Little Detective Grey here cracked the case, and this is his reward! He wanted to say goodbye to his precious little baby." The fake pout in his voice was somehow more disrespectful than anything he'd done so far. Roman's lip trembled heavily, crying despite having no more tears.

"But I followed the rules!" he pleaded. "I didn't run or yell or call anyone- Ethan, I'm sorry, I'll be good- I followed the rules, please! Please, don't hurt him-" He clutched onto Ethan's shirt, shaking enough to match his stuttering, but Ethan just shoved him off forcefully.

"This is for your own good, Roman," he sneered. "You have sixty seconds to say goodbye. Play nice, boys," He let go of Logan's hair and let him lurch for Roman, like a dog being let off their leash.

"Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!" Roman began to sob as the countdown started, loud and He started counting down loudly, Logan hushed the apologies and sobs from Roman, trying to get him to quieten down for long enough to hatch a plan.

"Roman, listen to me, he'll be watching my hands. I need you to grab my gun and when I say go I need you to use it," he mumbled quickly in his ear. He was trembling himself despite trying to keep things together for Roman. "It's loaded- all you have to do is pull the trigger, okay?"

"Logan-" he sobbed, hand fighting Logan's as he led it down and on top of the gun.

"It's gonna be okay, Roman… I love you," he said quietly, in the background he could tell they were running out of time by Dee's counting, his numbers getting faster and more gleeful as he counted down.

"I love you too," Roman said through sobs, gun fully slid out of the holster and now in his hand.

"Ready?" Logan asked. Five seconds left…

"3… 2… 1," Logan counted down alongside Dee, jumping out of the way of Roman as he pulled up the gun and pointed it towards Ethan's chest.

It was as if time slowed down to make a frozen tableau- Logan slamming into the hard floor, Roman's shaking hands pulling the trigger, Ethan's expression dropping as he was forced to face the consequences of his actions for the very first time. The noise of the gun was deafening within the small basement, ringing in their ears for what felt like hours after it went off.

One shot, straight to the chest, and Ethan was done, flung backwards by the impact.

Roman dropped the gun after he hit him, flinching at the crash of it hitting the floor and wrapping his arms around himself.

He looked down at the man in front of him, not dead yet but not alive either. In that state of being where Roman assumes you see your life flash before his eyes. Roman wondered what he saw...

"I'm sorry..." He cried, jerking away when Logan touched him, hitting the wall and closing his eyes, sobbing as hard as when he had seen remus, shaking like he had been dunked in ice water and left in the arctic, and breathing as if he never would again.

A door above them bursted open police shouting and flashlights searching every room. "DOWN HERE!" Logan called, flashlights shining in his face when they reached the basement door. Roman raised his hands above his head, now a murderer no better than Ethan.

Taglist

@cataclysm-al @knightinsoftpastels @intruality-fusion @katie-the-noble-fangirl @whizzie72 @grayson-22 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @winterwonderland7669 @missieluvsmurder @sign-from-god-complex @dragonindigo245 @angryfanboyscreaming @ninja-wizard101 @sombraookami @crystalistrappedintheinternet @imtooaromanticforthis @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @dragon-hair @satanblessi @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @skruffy901 @selectivereality @nonbeenary-enbee @imbasicallyshakespear @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @incoherentfangirl @oofmood @nonbinary-pineapple @royalnerd829 @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @magma-llama @chumo-cookie

#the murder in the dressing room #logan sanders #roman sanders #logince #unsympathetic deceit #blood tw #gore tw #guns #major character death

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falseroar · 5 years

Text

Goretober Day 22: Broken Glass

((Day 22 of @purple-anxiety-blog‘s Goretober prompts. Took a bit of liberty with this one, mainly so I could use it as a follow-up for Day 17: Chains, aka the one where Y/N gets abducted by a serial killer. Hey, remember that one story I wrote where the DA took over for Y/N for a night, because technically they share a same body but have different consciousnesses/memories? Yeah, that kind of comes up. Also, this one is rough, even though I tried to skim over the worst parts.

Warnings: Mainly implications here. Stabbing/threat of knife, torture, person bound against will and drugged, broken bones, attempted murder))

John waited for the scream to end before speaking again. “You’re not going to go quiet on me now, are you Y/N? I’m sure you must know something about Abe and the other man.”

He grabbed you and pulled down again, causing the chains supporting your weight to send a fresh fire down your arms and shoulders. “Or do you want a little taste of what I’m going to do to you first? Because after the hell they put me through, I have so many ideas what to do with Abe’s precious partner before he gets here.”

You could barely string two thoughts together, thanks to whatever the detective had put into your coffee. Despite the pain, despite your fear, it still pressed down on your skull, threatening to pull you back under again. As much as you wanted to escape this nightmare, there might be no waking up again.

You took a breath of the stale, oily air in the dark warehouse and gasped as the blade in John’s hand rasped against your ribs, in time to the fresh spasm of pain lancing through your back with just the effort it took to breathe. Despite the darkness, broken only by a light outside, you could see the black edges of your vision creeping in, threatening to drown out everything else.

“Abe—” You gasped as the blade found you again, unable to finish the thought.

But John was more than willing to pick it up for you. “Will come and save you? Please, I’ve seen his track record. As for the other one, well, I’ve got a few safeguards. Ever heard of a dead man’s switch?”

You didn’t dare speak again, and John didn’t wait long for a response. “Let’s just say, if I were to suddenly stop breathing, well, you won’t live long enough to know what happens next. Not that any of this ends with you walking out of here alive.”

John grabbed your shirt and pulled you closer, the chain overhead rattling in the darkness. “They took everything from me, they tortured me and then left me in the hands of my former colleagues to rot away the rest of my life.”

Were you supposed to feel sorry for him? Exposed for the murderer that he was? He killed one of the other officers, his own partner Sam had spent 72 hours missing and he looked you right in the eye and told you he could have stopped it at any time. And you’d comforted him when he cried to you about it, no clue what he really meant.

The pain began to recede along with everything else around you, even the point of the knife becoming a distant concern as your control and consciousness slipped away. Not to the drugs, not to the pain, but to a deep, bottomless well of anger.

“Thing is, I have nothing to lose,” John said with a laugh, a humorless sound closer to tears or a snarl than an actual laugh. “But they still have so much left to take away, and we only have so much time to do it in. So if you’re not going to play along—”

“…I’ll talk.”

The rasp of a heavy object being dragged across the concrete floor filled the silence before a box of some kind beneath the feet eased the weight on the chains overhead. John stepped up onto his own platform, putting him on the same level as the face before him. If he heard a change in the voice or sensed anything different about the person hanging before him, John made no sign of it. Instead he smiled, teeth and blade catching the little light in the warehouse as he spoke. “What was that?”

Sam had been defiant to the end. Others before them had tried to reason with the killer, to plea for mercy where there was none.

“I’ll tell you everything.”

The District Attorney would speak, and give him a name for everything he would learn to fear.

---

John paused and sighed.

“Again?”

There was no response from the body hanging in front of him, and after a moment’s consideration, he reared back and kicked the box out beneath their feet. A strained gasp erupted from the District Attorney as a fresh wave of pain lanced through their shoulders, feet desperately reaching for anything to take the weight off.

Even these movements were sluggish. Just as John was considering how best to infuse some new, if short, life into this little game, a clang came from a distant corner of the warehouse. He could hear the hushed whisper cut off too soon and knew there was someone else here now.

Finally.

“Didn’t hurry, did you?” he called out, his voice echoing in the large space. “I was starting to think your little friend and I would have the whole time to ourselves. What about you, Y/N?”

The only response from them was a raspy breath. Throat raw and dry from talking for as long as John was willing to listen to their little ghost story, and then after that from all of the screaming. He really should have paced himself better, but they reminded him so much of Sam. It made him want to snap their neck.

The crack of iron striking iron was the response from the darkness, and John chuckled. Planning and setting those traps had been a good use of his time after all.

And then the second trap triggered, the crash of barrels slipping their bonds and banging on every step down from the upper balcony until they spilled their contents all over the floor. The smell of gasoline filled the air, but John saw no sign of a body among those barrels.

He did, however, hear the crash of a steel girder striking the floor, just above the main entrance, and then another trap went off behind him.

Just as John spun around to face the detective, or perhaps the other man, the Host they had called him, there was a snap and crackle of electricity before light flooded the warehouse, temporarily blinding him. Without hesitation, John lashed out and hit the nearby switch that sent the conveyor overhead into life. With a jolt, the chains began to move down the line, taking their burden with them toward the large machine that stood between yourself and the incinerator. After all, scrap metal needed to be condensed down before it reached the fire, hence the metal plates that clanged together at regular intervals. It didn’t take much imagination to consider what it would do to a human body.

With one hand on the waist at roughly eye level, John followed along, waiting for his eyes to adjust even as he called out in a singsong voice, “Oh, A-abe, come out and pla-ay! Or at least say goodbye to one more partner before they go.”

A bullet ricocheted off of the warehouse floor near John’s feet and he looked up at where it came from, in time to see the familiar face ducking behind a crate. Even with his not yet fully adjusted eyes, he could see the detective trying to stealth his way closer, while still sticking out like the fool he was.

“Not sure you want to do that, Abe,” John said. “Shooting me would be so easy, but, well, if my heart rate stops then so does your precious partner’s. The signal connecting me to the device dies, so do they. I let go of this button, and you let go of any chance you have of saving them.”

With that, he raised his hand, showing off the band on his wrist, and the wire running up to his thumb. Its mate was on your back, where even such a small explosive would be enough to finish the rest.

Which is why John could only laugh when another bullet missed his face and uselessly struck the machine behind him. Even accounting for his movement backwards, the shot was awful.

“I don’t know how I could have made that any clearer! Do you want to kill Y/N that badly? Or do you not know how to do anything but shoot at your problems?”

Really, he had expected more, even from Abe.

“Signal acquired.”

John lurched around, sure that he had heard the voice of the Host, but there was no one there.

The body on the chains moved slightly, and behind him John heard the dry, cracked voice, although with the ring of the gun still echoing in his ears it took him a second to recognize the sound.

They were laughing.

John turned back to face them, the stained knife in his other hand turning up to stop that sound, to do it while the worthless detective watched—

Only for his hand to stop short, a grip so tight around his wrist that he felt something snap as the knife fell to the ground. Cold seeped in to his body, starting at the wrist and flooding his veins as the light in the warehouse began to seep away, drained by the growing darkness of the…thing standing behind him.

John could not see what held him, not clearly, but he could hear the whispers, the crack and groan of something not fully contained as the very air strained and flickered with energy.

“Da—” he started, only to scream as the broken wrist twisted behind him.

Over his shuddering breaths, the figure behind him leaned in close and whispered, “If we wanted you dead, we would have brought Wilford. He, at least, knows the meaning of the word mercy. I cannot say the same for myself.”

John screamed again and tried to pull away from the spreading shadows, his thumb feverishly pressing the switch but with no reaction. He glanced at your body, saw Abe lifting you up as another man, much like the monster behind him but so very not, pulled the chains around your wrists off of the hook overhead.

Catching his stare, the android removed the small device taped to your back with a smile. Despite John’s efforts, even as his ripped his switch off with his teeth and let it drop without a contact to keep it going, the light on the small explosive continued to blink, very much armed and ready.

A light that blinked in unison with the ‘G’ on the android’s shirt, as he turned over the device with a professional curiosity. “Crude, but effective. Assuming, of course, the signal to detonate is not hijacked and mimicked.”

“John Booth flails desperately, searching for any escape as Darkiplier’s aura surrounds him, but there is no release from the darkness. There will be no timer to countdown the end of his punishment,” said a voice he was already intimately familiar with, the narration that had mocked and tormented him once before but now sounded empty and tired.

John’s screams continued, but Abe could care less as he held his partner’s body, as his legs gave out beneath him and he sank to the ground, tears streaming freely down his face.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over again, barely sensible of the android leaning overhead to scan your injuries.

“Y/N is still alive but has lost a lot of blood. Muscle and nerve damage also detected. Dr. Iplier has been notified and is making preparations for treatment now.”

He could hear the Host and Dark talking, arguing maybe, but if there was any blame to go around Abe had no doubt exactly where it lay as he apologized over and over again.

“Tried to…protect…”

The voice was so faded that Abe was sure he was the only one who heard it, and even then it took a second to register. “Yeah, yeah, we tried to protect you, but we should have told you—”

They shook their head slightly, but even that small movement was enough to make a shudder run through their body. “Thought…could keep them…safe…”

They took a shuddering breath and for the first time their eyes flickered open. Abe saw the sharp edge of broken glass, the brief, painful anger in the District Attorney’s eyes, felt the shard pierce his heart as he realized what had happened. How the District Attorney, the one who remembered, had stepped in to protect you from another memory that could splinter and shatter any mind or soul.

“I was wrong.”

But broken glass was still fragile, could break again just as easily.

He felt the twitch in their shoulders as they tried and failed to reach out with a torn and numb hand as he pulled them closer. Felt the sobs shaking their body as Dark’s aura spread to take everyone back to the house, to the infirmary for help too late in coming, the Host silent as his narration failed to provide comfort.

Felt their tears become yours before the pain and drugs overwhelmed you once again. Felt your breath as you whispered his name.

Felt his heart break.

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm district attorney #wkm detective #serial killer #torture #blood #broken glass #angst #i'm so sorry

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elena-mayfair · 5 years

Text

Shadow from a past

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader, Ethan Hunt x reader (it's complicated), John Wick x reader (wait for it)

Warning: None

Word count: 4842

Disclaimer: I don’t live in New York and never been there so everything is based on my own imagination and sources like movies, tv and games. Forgive me any inconsistencies with a real world. Also I do not own the gifs, credits to the authors. Also also, English is not my first language so I apologize for any possible mistakes.

Summary: I don’t want to spoil to many details so lets just say it is crossfiction between Supernatural and John Wick with a bit of Mission Impossible.

Shadow from the past: Chapter 1

“Be careful while looking into the darkness. Be careful because you might like what you find there”

Dreams. They can be blessing and the curse at the same time. When you hope for them to come usually they are nowhere to be found. Or worse, they are coming but they are not exactly what you were hoping for.

***

“Concierge. How may I be of service?” soft male voice with a slight French accent spoken to the phone.

.........

“It’s Y/N/L. Is he back?”

…

“Miss Y/L/N. I am sorry but I have not seen him tonight”

…

“Thank you. Please let me know if he shows up”

….

“Of course miss Y/L/N.”

….

“Thank you”

….

“Miss Y/L/N…” soft voice spoke again after brief silence “I don’t mean to overstep any boundaries here but how is your wound?”

“What wound?....” no response on the other side of line “Charon? What wound?”

“There is a bullet in your arm....there is a stab wound in your abdomen and left thigh. You are going to die…and there is nothing he can do about it. You are going to die….and no one will mourn after you…”

….. … … … …..

***

You abruptly opened your eyes. You were lying in the bed breathing heavily trying to pull yourself back from a dream. Room was completely dark, one of the benefits of not having a windows in the bedroom. You slowly started gaining conscious. Your hands drifted to your stomach subconsciously but your cold fingers did not found anything suspicious. You slowly and gently got up from a bed trying not to wake up man who was sleeping right next to you.

“It was just a dream” you thought to yourself rubbing your eyes “just a fucking dream”.

You got up from a bed and quietly went to the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and turned on the light. Sudden, sharp and unapologetic whiteness of the celling lamp was hurting your eyes but at the same time it was good for bringing you back to reality.

“Fuck I look like shit” You looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes seemed to be tired and sad at the same time, there were visible dark circles below. You haven’t dream this kind of nightmare for years.

“Screw it…there is nothing I cannot fix with a make up” you thought to yourself while splashing cold water on your face.

“Hey sweetheart” you felt a hand wrapping around your waist. You stood up from a bathroom sink with your eyes still closed only to feel him standing right behind you “Having hard time to sleep?” he asked with a husky voice burying his face in your neck and kissing you lightly.

“Dean...” you whispered and put your hands over his wrapping his arms tighter around you “Did I wake you?”

“Nah…alarm clock did” he replied brushing his lips over your neck.

“Liar” you whispered “what time is it?”

“After 6am”

“Damn… it is way too early to be awake” you sighed “Coffee or bed?” you asked turning yourself in his arms to face him. He looked adorable with his messy hair and sleepy green eyes.

“Sweetheart as much as I wish to go back to bed with you….” he started

“I know I know…research, we got work to do blah blah blah” you cut him off annoyed a bit “I’m gonna make some coffee than” you kissed his cheek and left him in the bathroom for his morning routine.

You dressed yourself quickly. Black sweatpants and black tank top seemed like a good option for not such a good morning. You tight your hair in loose messy bun just enough so they would not fell on your face. You grabbed your phone from a night stand and brown leather which was hanging loosely on the chair. Coffee was the mission but on your way to kitchen you decided to take a small detour and walk outside for some fresh air.

Morning was cold and gloomy, dark clouds were all over the sky and morning sun was nowhere to be found. You reached to your pocket for a package of cigarettes and a lighter. It was a routine already. After a nightmare like that you needed some cold air and cigarette.

“What the hell was that” you thought to yourself inhaling a smoke. You closed your eyes enjoying a morning cigarette and you saw it all flashing back. This elegant, modern classic room…old rotatory phone, black satin sheets on the king size bed, Blanton’s Single Barrel Bourbon on the night stand right next to fully loaded Glock 26 and your body cover in blood. You put a cigarette into your mouth and started rubbing your left shoulder “Some wounds will never heal” you thought to yourself.

Dream caught you of guard. True, you were used to a nightmares, you had them since you could remember, way before you entered supernatural world. Perks of being a witch. Your dreams were always vivid and felt very very real. Sometimes there were more than just a dreams. Premonitions would be more accurate, visions of…you didn’t know exactly of what. It’s not like you foreseen the future. It was more a feeling, a warning manifesting through your dreams. Sometimes you had hard time to interpret them correctly and you never talked about it with Dean or Sam. They would understand but you didn’t want to worry them. Especially Dean who was worrying constantly even if he was doing his best not to show it. And there was of course another site to all of it…he did not knew everything about you. There were things that you left hidden from everyone, well almost everyone, but Dean was one of the people that you kept secrets from. Not because you didn’t trust him, you did. He was your friend, your partner, your safe haven and for over 6 years now. And that was the reason why you kept a secrets from him. You didn’t want to ruin what you found here. But past is a past...it creeps out in the darkness, lurks form the shadows, and you can never outrun it.

You inhale thick smoke one last time and you went back to a bunker. Smell of coffee hit your nose and you smiled to yourself hearing Gimmie Shelter by The Rolling Stones playing in the kitchen. You entered a kitchen and saw three steaming cups of coffee on the table, two black and one white, just as you liked it. Sam was sitting in front of his laptop going through morning news as he did every day. Dean on the other hand was behind stove waiving plastic spatula to the beats of music and humming words of the song under his nose.

“Rise and shine Y/N!” he smiled to you “bacon and eggs what you think?”

“Nah thank you I had a breakfast already” you smiled sarcastically sitting down opposite to Sam.

“Yeah… I can smell your breakfast up here” Dean frowned “I thought we’re passed this subject”

“Oh gimmie some brake Dean!”

“I’m just saying smoking ain’t good for ya sweetheart”

“Yeah yeah…and your greasy bacon is?” you snapped back “Dean I don’t have a strength to argue with you before my morning coffee”

“How about some smoothie?” Sam asked lifting his head from a screen of his laptop.

“That sounds more like it. Thank you Sammy” you agreed with a smile

“Oh so that’s how it is?!” Dean teased “smoothie over bacon and eggs?! What’s wrong with you people? Smoothie for god sake…”

“I prefer something energizing and easy to swallow at the morning. You know that hun” you replied with a slightly apologetic voice “I appreciate a gesture but I’m really not feeling like eating anytime soon” you added.

“That bad huh?” Sam asked placing a banana-strawberry smoothie in front of you “Dean mentioned that you had a rough night” he added seeing your puzzled face.

“Yeah, but not that bad as he described it. I had worse”

“You looked pretty freaked out” Dean said sitting to your right with a plate full of eggs, bacon and crispy toasts on a side.

“Like I said…”you said changing your voice slightly to emphasize your words “I had worse. Can we change subject? Sam, you found something good?”

“Yes actually. I believe I found us a case” Sam replied looking back at the screen of his computer.

“Great!!” you almost clapped your hands with excitement. You were feeling very much like hunting today “what is it? Ghost, demons, werewolves, shape shifters, vampires? Please say vampires” you added with a childish voice.

“Someone is eager to hunt…” Dean noticed.

“What?! Don’t blame a girl for need to hunt things and save folks” you replied with most innocent smile that you could master in this moment.

“Mhm…”Dean hummed “more like to put a bullet or ten in some monster head” he pointed out sarcastically.

“I don’t know yet to be honest” Sam continued ignoring your little exchange with Dean “Twelve bodies dropped dead”

“Where?” Dean asked chewing on his bacon.

“New York” Sam replied “One witness reported over dozen of dead bodies in one of the fancy clubs in Manhattan. All brutally murdered, at least 3 bullets per body”.

“That doesn’t sound like us. It’s more Gangs of New York than Ghostbusters” Dean mumbled through eggs.

“Maybe. But there is more to the story” Sam scrolled a bit through the article “Witness is 25 years old Karen Davis, collage student. She stated that over the course of about 5 minutes she heard multiple gun shots and saw bodies dropping on the floor. She run outside along with other people. She called police and when cops showed up she went back to club with a company of three officers. And this is where it’s getting interesting. All bodies were gone. No trace of a gun shots, blood, bodies or anything. Like nothing ever happened”

“So what cops are saying?” Your interest definitely peeked.

“Nothing. Mass hysteria caused by a prank. No bodies, no case” Sam replied.

“Worth checking out” you stated “maybe it’s a hunting. It’s a New York. Lots of people could die in there. We’ve seen that before. Ghost trapped into loop reliving their own death”

“Alright looks like we do have case” Dean drank what left of his coffee and stoop up “You kids go grab a gear and pack our stuff and I’m going to check on baby. It’s a day ride to New York”

“Fancy club in New York…” you sighed “That means suits, heels and ties”

“That’s right baby! It is time for tight skirt and heels!” Dean smirked at you and left to garage.

***

Two days later you stood in front of NYPD 14th precinct in Manhattan New York. It wasn’t your typical hunting area. Rarely were you hunting in the big cities like New York, frankly you could remember one or two cases which you took in big cities. All of it due to the fact that it was definitely tougher to do your job here than in small cities. People were tougher to crack, harder to talk with and they usually pretended that they see nothing even if they undoubtedly saw something. And police…police was whole different story all together. Let’s just say that it was easier to fool small town cop then big city cop. But couple last weeks were quiet and frankly you all started to actively search for a job. You especially were bored out of your mind and annoyed with your daily routine. Because what hunter can do when there is nothing to hunt? Argue with Dean over socks he left again next to the bed in your shared bedroom. Or his boxers he left on the floor in the bathroom. Or how messy bathroom sink looked like every time after you finished your make up. Or the fact that he wants to watch Aliens six time over last two weeks. Or about how much he drinks, or how much you smoke. Or how much Sam is annoyed by both of you. Or the fact that you forgot a pie…again.

It was about time for a hunt because you all were starting getting on each other nerves.

“Alright, time for a show” you thought to yourself looking at your reflection in the Impala windshield.

“You look absolutely amazing” Dean complemented sizing you from head to toe.

“Well thank you mister” you smiled with a charm. You knew very well how good you look. You did your absolute best today. When putting your outfit today you decided to look professional but sexy and dangerous at the same time. You decided to wear black leather-ish fitted pants with high waits, black sleeveless satin blouse unbuttoned just enough to cause a distraction to any cop that you will talk to today. You left your heels home, only woman knows how hard it is to run in heels, and you bet on your trusty suede booties which looked like they were one with a leather pants. On top you put your favorite brown leather jacket which was always useful, especially for hiding gun on your lower back. Hair you put into tight, sleek high pony tail.

“Still got it” you thought to yourself satisfied of the look that you managed to put together. It was New York, and you had to be honest with yourself, you and New York had a history together. As much as you wanted to suppress memories creeping out in every corner you couldn’t. There was something odd about being back in Big Apple. Something strangely comforting and familiar yet oddly unnerving at the same time. Something was off and deep down you felt that clearly.

Dean stood right next to you and fixed his tie just to teas the fact that you were checking yourself out in the windshield.

“Well how do I look?” he winked at you.

“Dangerous… if you get any lucky maybe some foolish girls will end up in your bed today” you winked back at him and walked towards the precinct.

“If you get any lucky maybe you will score today too. With this ass it won’t be hard” he teased quietly but loud enough so you could hear him.

“Hush! Behave yourself” you scolded him with a smile “Be professional, we got work to do”

“Yes mam!” with that Dean approach the counter “Agent Page and Tylor FBI” he introduced himself and you flashing badge in front of the officer.

“We’re here about shootout in the Skyfall club” you followed flashing your badge and slightly hovering over the counter. You didn’t even have to think about what you do or what you say, it was routine already for Dean and you. You did that together way too many times.

“Follow me agents.” Police officer replied shortly with a slightly shaky voice and he led you to the commissioner office.

“Like taking candy from a baby” you thought to yourself satisfied that everything was going smooth like usual. Until it didn’t…

….

It was only split of second, you weren’t even truly sure if you really saw what you thought you saw. Or more like who you thought you saw. Maybe it was a wave of brown hair, or way he walked, or the smell of leather, fresh air and Code by Armani which followed him. All of that was more than enough to lose your cool for a moment. You slowed down loosing your rhythm with Dean and your eyes followed the smell and the felling.

….

“Was that…” you thought to yourself.

……

“Agent Tylor?” Dean voice brought you back to reality “Everything alright?” he was looking at you disoriented.

….

“Yeah…” you said with barely audible voice “Yes agent Page, everything alright. It was just a hunch. Though I saw something” you added out loud catching up to him. “Shall we?” you added and you entered commissioner office not waiting for Dean.

Office was dark, full of boxes, office containers, coffee cups and papers lying all over. Cigarette smoke was floating in the air clearly visible in dimmed light which immediately caused irritation in Dean. Commissioner was old school cop who surely seen too much in his long years of duty.

“Commissioner Loeb” he introduced himself not lifting his eyes from the document he was trying to read “Agents…?”

“Tylor and Page” you introduced yourself and Dean “We would like to talk to you about…”

“Yeah Skyfall club shootout. I heard” he cut you off with his eyes still focused on the document “Nothing to talk about here. There is no case. There never was one to begin with”

“We will decide if there is a case or if there is none” Dean spoke up with cold gruff voice “We would like to see case files” he added.

“Of course you would like to see case files” still looking at the document “But let me ask you this one agent” he emphasized last word “Why FBI is suddenly interested in none existing case involving shootout which never happened?”

“Well commissioner” you spoke up “it is none of your business I believe. And correct if I’m wrong but I believe we are the one here who are asking a questions. Your job is to politely answer them and help us do our job” you added with a smooth voice at you sat down on the opposite side of the desk. “You don’t mind?” you asked rhetorically reaching for a cigarettes in your pocket and lighter on his desk. That move definitely caught his attention, exactly as you hoped it would.

He finally looked up from the document which he was so stubbornly reading just in time to see your cleavage exposed while you were hovering over his desk.

“I definitely don’t” he said firmly not even trying to hide his interest in your breasts. You could swear that you heard Deans jaw clench while he took two small steps to stand right behind you.

“Stupid rules don’t you agree?” you said lighting up your cigarette “No smoking indoors. I wish I could find an asshole who came up with this rule and show him what I think about it”

“I completely agree with you agent Tylor” commissioner replied. You knew you had him on a hook. Just like you planned.

“Call me Y/N” you replied looking him directly into eyes “So about this non existing case involving shootout which never happened” you continued “Files? I’m sure you have a report somewhere here”

“Of course, of course” commissioner started going through pile of folders stacked on the side of his desk “Got it! Here you go agent Tylor” he handed you over a folder with a smile that immediately created in you need to punch him in the face.

“Thank you commissioner” you smiled charmingly and passed folder to Dean without even looking at it. You played your part, you got a files.

“See…that wasn’t so hard wasn’t it?” Dean uttered with a snarky voice taking a files from you. He quickly went through the pages “That’s it?”

“Well that’s all we could gather” commissioner defended himself “Like I said there is no case.”

“Let me make this straight. You did get 911 call from a panicked girl who reported that she heard multiple gunshots and she saw at least dozen of bodies dropping on the ground and you didn’t even bother to take an official statement from her?” Dean summarized.

“You forgetting agent that after my guys arrived to check out so called shootout they found absolutely nothing. No guns, no blood, no bodies, no tracers of any shootout” commissioner defended again “You won’t tell me that someone wiped this place clean in a matter of less than 20 minutes”

“Yeah that is exactly what we could expect from you and your guys” Dean snapped back “We gonna keep this and do expect visit from upstairs” he waved the folder and started to walk out.

“Thank you for cooperation commissioner” you put down your cigarette and followed Dean.

“Agent Tylor!” commissioner rose up from his chair “Let me know if you need any help. Any help at all”

“We won’t” you replied with charming smile and you walked outside with Dean.

“Like taking candy from a baby….”

***

“Well that was a bummer” Dean stated and open passenger seat doors for you “We got stinking pile of nothing”

“I kinda expected that to be honest, we knew right from the get-go that this case stinks for miles” you took your gun out of the holster on your lower back and sat comfortably in passenger seat.

“Yeah we did but I kinda hoped that they will give us something y’know, anything to catch onto. And we don’t have even witness address.” Dean took his seat in the driver seat “Let’s hope that Sam had a better luck with researching on history of the building”

You stayed quiet, your eyes focused on the entry to the precinct.

“But let me tell ya sweetheart it was pure pleasure to watch you in action” Dean smirked and turned on Impala’s engine. She purred pleasantly. “The way you played that cop! You were on your A game! New York is bringing out your inner famme fatale” he continued but you were not there anymore. You drifted in your thoughts thinking about smell of leather and Code. Impala purred quietly trying to bring you back from your thoughts but you drifted even further.

…..

You thought about dark grey 1969 Ford Mustang that you used to love so much. You could see him quietly driving with his hand on your knee. You could see his small smile and his stealthy looks in your direction when you were looking outside of the window relaxing while wind was blowing your hair. You could feel his gentle touch, you could taste bourbon on his lips and you could smell Sauvage by Christian Dior on him mixed with gun powder and something else…something dangerous.

…..

“Y/N you with me?” Dean gave a worried look pulling you back to reality.

“Mhm…” You couldn’t shake of that feeling that rising up inside you. Feeling which was telling you that this case is far from your normal supernatural gig. That there is no hunting, no ghosts trapped in the loop and that you should have never come back to New York. There was a passed creeping in the shadows and you knew very well that you cannot outrun it.

“I’m sorry babe, I zone out” you looked back at Dean “I was thinking you know….we don’t have any lead except the club so let’s go check out the club. What you think? I bet we will spot our witness there”

“You really think that three days after shootout she will be already back on the dance floor?” Dean hesitated.

“I’m sure of it. See this is a New York it’s Manhattan and Skyfall is apparently hot in this season. If you want to mean anything in your little social world you gotta be there. Shootout or no shootout. That’s how it is here”

“You would know would ya’. You used to live here” Dean pointed out”

“Yes I did. Many many years ago” you replied shortly” “In a very different life” you added silently and you drifted again in your thoughts.

***

Two hours later you were standing in front of the Skyfall club waiting for your partner who was on “finding parking spot” mission. It was Friday evening and lack of a parking spot was something that you very much expected. But Dean being Dean wouldn’t agree to leave baby and take a cab. Even when faced with all the logical reasons presented by you he still stubbornly refused. You were wondering which was more inconvenient for him, the fact that you dared to suggest that taking a cab is a better option or the fact that you decided that he needs to go shopping. While going through his clothes you sadly discovered that you have only two options, suit or flannel and destroyed denims none of which was suitable for high class club in Manhattan. You forced him to where simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up to an elbow and dark blue denims the only one which didn’t have any history of hunting on them and not because they were the only one clean, it was because he hated them and never wore them. He claimed that he looked like a hipster douchebag and never listened to your counterarguments.

“Where are you Dean” you thought to yourself looking at your watch. It’s been over 20 minutes and you were starting to feel like ditchable prom date. You took a deep breath scouting your surroundings. You knew this area very well, you recognized the streets, the corners, the alleys… there was history looping in every one of them. Couple blocks away there was a small jazz club which you used to visit very often, and a bit further the hotel in which you stayed way too many times. You knew it was there without need to see it. Beautiful Neo-Renaissance building glooming on the corner of the street, inconspicuous on the outside, with a velvety black canopy above the entrance and two doorman standing on both sides of the stairs. Suddenly the strange feeling from earlier came back and hit you with twice of a force. “Fuck it, I need a drink…or ten” you thought to yourself and entered the club alone.

Place was crowded with people in their 20’s and 30’s searching for a glimpse of happiness. It wa lighted with warm yellows, browns and golden lights spreading more exotic and cozy vibe, something you definitely did not expected. You were expecting more cold blues and whites and silvers and more modern vibe. It was a pleasant surprise none the less. You smoothly maneuvered through the dance floor to the bar. You leaned over the bar waiting for a bartender to come to you.

“Whisky on the rocks” he said with a wink and placed a glass in front of you “Something good am I right? Glenmorangie 18yo” he poured you double with single ice cube.

“Well…impressive” you stated taking a sip of your favorite whisky.

“Oh honey I’m good but that that good” he smiled “it’s from guy over there” he pointed with his eyes to the booth in the corner behind you.

You smiled and turned back thinking that Dean finally manage to find a parking spot but there was no one there. Only an empty whisky glass on the table and empty sit.

Hundred thoughts went through your head all at once and felling of unease rose up deep inside. Your heart started pumping much faster than usual. You knew you lied to yourself. You never said a word to Dean about 18yo scotch that you’ve been currently drinking…how he would know. You took a glass and walked straight to a booth. You didn’t know what for honestly. You wanted to check for a clues, you wanted to find out if your felling was correct. Or perhaps you wanted to prove yourself wrong. Memories flashed through your mind…

Mustang, jazz, Sauvage, Glenmorangie…his love voice, his gentle touch, his small smile, his “This won’t end up well”…

You were making your way through the crowd, eyes focused on the glass, trying to suppress all the memories coming back to you. You forgot about case, about witness, about shootout about everything else. You were almost there, you could see clearly that ice did not melted yet, you could smell…

….

Code

…..

You froze in your place for a moment absorbing sudden shift in the atmosphere around you. You knew that this time you did not imagined it. Everything else disappeared, loud music seemed to be distant, dancing people seemed to dance in slow motion, reality shifted and slowed down.

You slowly turned around and you saw him walking directly towards you with his big brown eyes focused like a laser. Light was twinkling on his face almost masking curiosity mixed with anger, surprise and a bit of happiness… perhaps?

“Y/N” he said without braking an eye contact. He stood few steps away from you his hand dangerously close to his side, where he most likely held his gun.

….

“Ethan” you replied with trained, polite voice.

…..

“You working again?” he asked still completely focused on you. His face tense in the anticipation.

And with that question you knew, you were sure that there was no case, no ghost, no hunting and there was definitely a shootout. You knew that he was here, he order you a drink and he is involved in all of this. Past catch up with you, there is no other way than forward. You knew that to that question there was only one correct answer.

…..

“Yeah, I am”

***

Chapter 2

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