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lakemojave · 3 years

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Land of Falling Sun 7

The wanderer was not confident that he was alone in the town.

By the time he and chipper and his horrible, ugly steed rode in, the fire at the center of town had mostly faded to embers. The bodies lay in the fire charred, dismembered, and unrecognizable. There were a little over a dozen still intact. The smell was repulsive this close.

By all accounts, looking around the dilapidated, dusty old town, it was clear it had been abandoned recently. It showed signs of degradation that must have taken place while it was still populated, and the amount of tracks leaving the town was minuscule compared to what its population would have been. The fire must have been burning for quite a while, maybe a few days, and whoever left must have added their last few dead to the pile before taking off.

“Plague.” The wanderer scanned the town in grim anticipation. “Taken by plague, no doubt. Only a few survivors. We shouldn’t stay long.”

“Why’s that?” Chipper asked? The wanderer shot them a deadpan gaze that communicated the silliness of the question. “Alright, alright. But I wanna look around. Maybe there’s something here we can use?”

“Maybe. Unlikely, but maybe. If we spend more than a day we should camp back the way we came. Least chance of catching anything.”

The wanderer’s eyes looked to a caving-in building, one of the most derelict of the bunch. He could make out the sheriff’s office sign, dangling from its bolts and a bad gust of wind away from falling to the ground. Maybe there’d be a weapon in there he could properly handle, maybe even some cash--if that was a thing people dealt in out here. Chipper drifted along the main avenue, scanning the town and the horizon. It had basic amenities, or at least the rotting corpse of basic amenities: trading post, inn, saloon, post office, mender’s shop, stable. What it seemed to have in abundance were barracks, mess tents, tool sheds, and what must’ve been a rather large infirmary. A working town of some kind, or possibly a military base.

Chipper flew a few lengths above the roofs as the wanderer peeked inside the sheriff’s office and hitched Dog outside. From this altitude, they could see on the south and north edges of town what must’ve been the work sites.

Scaffolds and rigs, enormous and collapsed and scattered across the site. Cranes and cart tracks left in utter ruin. All surrounding deep and tremendous holes in the ground, boring deep into the earth. Their walls were hewn smooth, cylindrical, and narrow enough for a dozen or so people to comfortably stand in, as though dug by great drills which were not there. Chipper’s thoughts went to mining, but that made no sense. If anyone wanted to mine the plateau for resources of any value, they’d dig from its sides and base. That’s what would’ve made sense. No, they were trying to dig deep into the earth, to descend into something or some place beneath their feet.

Before they could ponder why or what, they heard shouting below.

-----

“You! Inside! Get out here!”

The wanderer reached for a rusty sawed off shotgun and crouched behind a fallen desk. The voice outside was sharp and feminine, with a distinct raspy and venomous timbre that was distinctly nonhuman. It reminded him of Dog.

“Hey! I can hear you in there!”

He had barely made a sound, save for shuffling his feet. He needed to get out safely, and couldn’t risk a fight. He didn’t know where Chipper was, the number of fellas outside, or the weapons to their name. He tucked the shotgun in his pants behind his back, flipped his coat down, and stood up with his hands above his head.

“Relax!” he shouted outside. “I’m coming out! Don’t shoot ok?”

The woman outside paused. “We’ll see.” She spat.

The wanderer stepped outside the dilapidated office to meet five armed, insectoid strangers. Centaurs, naturally. The woman at front stood tall on her scorpion-like lower half, gritting her teeth behind vestigial mandibles. The shade of her hat obscured her second pair of eyes, which were as hollow and unforgiving as her first. She held a repeater trained directly on his chest. Between her companions were two pistols, a shotgun, and a wooden staff.

“You armed?”

He flipped his coat to reveal his knife, sheathed and strapped to his belt.

She pointed at the knife. “Drop that. now.”

“Do I gotta?” His eyes darted around. “You got me beat I think.” They unhitched Dog, who was now a few paces down the street to the left. “I mean--” Through his periphery he saw Chipper circling overhead, barely distinguishable from a desert vulture. “--I guess if it makes you feel better.” He reached for his belt with one hand, his other still up.

Damn, he thought, Kid’s smart.

“Hey. Fox,” the lead woman said to the pistol-armed man behind her, “Pat him down.”

The wanderer sighed. “Look man, that ain’t necessary.”

Fox hissed back: “You started it. This is our spot.”

“If ya wanna be technical I think it’s theirs’.” He gestured towards the bonfire as Fox approached. He had two heads on the wanderer as he skittered closer. Wanderer glanced to Dog, then to Chipper, then back to Fox. Fox reached under the wanderer’s coat, his rough hand approaching the stashed shotgun.

The wanderer whistled.

The gang readied their weapons to shoot. Fox flinched, giving the wanderer a window. He grabbed Fox’s hand, yanked him closer, then flipped off his coat over Fox’s head, blinding him. Fox shot off his revolver, which missed and hit a post behind the wanderer, who pulled out of his coat into his shirt and vest. The gang leader took a hasty, reckless shot at the wanderer, which Fox kindly blocked.

While the shotgun guy and pistol gal were readying their shots, they were quickly taken down by surprise. On command, Dog came charging down the street, leaping to shotgun guy and trampling him quickly. Pistol gal yelped in surprise at Dog, failing to notice Chipper divebombing straight for her throat. They descended on her violently and slashed her throat open in her talons, and Dog took a bite out of shotgun guy’s head.

Fox’s body fell dead to the ground, leaving the wanderer without his meat shield. With the staff man occupied with Dog and Chipper, the wanderer was stuck with the leader. He made a dive to the right, grabbing his knife belt and narrowly avoiding another shot. Now behind cover, he reached for the shotgun and prayed. He leapt up and made a shot.

He was incredibly lucky he shot with his right arm, otherwise the explosion might have permanently maimed him. Instead, the gun’s misfire sent a layer of tar splattering the surrounding area, and launching the wanderer to the wall behind him. The leader missed another shot.

Staff man, who we’ll call magic man instead, quickly drew his hand along the length of his staff. As he did this, the upper half of the staff became bathed in wild, arcing lightning. He held the lightning staff in his hand like an ax, and charged forward to strike Chipper down. As he wound back for a swing, Chipper held their wings back, and their outer feathers came alight. He swung the ax, which would have sent a bolt of lightning up into the air, striking Chipper and killing them instantly. Instead, with a flap of their wings, it launched backwards towards magic man, riding up to his hands and electrocuting him dead on the spot.

The leader was enraged. As she continuously missed her shots she approached the wanderer, who lay on his back on the deck of the sheriff’s office. Panicked and without the shotgun, he drew his knife and crawled backwards. Now the leader stood over him, training her rifle on his forehead. The wanderer futilely held out the knife in self defense. She cocked the rifle, and Chipper and Dog snapped to her and hurried to stop her.

“You...You bastard!” She yelled. “Die! You rotten little--”

She took her shot. The wanderer brought the knife to his defense.

What exactly he planned, or what instinct compelled him to try and block her shot with a very regular knife of all things, was completely beyond him. But he did, and as he snapped the knife to his face--with the edge facing his attacker--he felt something. It was not the sensation of a bullet entering his skull and exiting the back of his brain. No, it was the knife. It was not the feeling of the knife in his hand, not the wood grain against his hands or the weight of the blade. No, he felt through the knife, as though it were an extension of himself. He felt it pulse as though blood ran through it, and he felt it glide through the air just the same as wind passing over his arm. When the bullet passed through the knife, splitting in two pieces and embedding into the deck beneath him, the pain was excruciating. Excruciating, but completely unharmed and alive.

He and the gang leader shared a shocked and confused look, neither able to comprehend what hand just took place. The wanderer lowered the knife. The leader raised her gun again.

The wanderer threw the blade, which embedded itself in her heart. She collapsed on her back.

-----

“Are you...are you ok?”

“I uh,” the wanderer said, sitting up where he had just laid, “I think so...I have no idea.”

“You are unharmed,” said Dog, in the wanderer’s mind. “You are shaken to your core by what you have just experienced, but physically you are well.”

“Thanks bud,” said the wanderer, short of breath and sarcastic. “Can always count on you.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “...Actually, thank you. For the assist. You guys saved my ass.”

“Of course we did! We’re a team!” Chipper was alight with pride and adventurous spirit. Behind the wanderer, they saw the split bullet holes in the deck. On the right was a normal dent in the wood. On the left though, Chipper could not explain. They saw, sprouting from the bullet hole, were tiny weeds, green and fresh and full of life.

“Sir,” Dog said, “I hear someone coming.”

#land of falling sun #my writing

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viking-raider · 4 years

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A Year Late - Chapter One

Summary: The world has over. Months later, 9 people are traveling the U.S, Canada and Mexico just trying to survive the eaters...zombies, the people effected by the disease that ended the world. But, the important question is: Can they survive?

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Word Count: 5,087

Rating: PG-13 - Apocalypse AU, Zombies, Language, Violence, Blood, Gore, Survival, Weapons, Death, Angst, Pain and more

Inspiration: I don’t know. I’ve never watched anything like the Walking Dead or anything, I have seen I am Legend, though. But, it just sorta came to me, once upon a time, and here it is. This is also a third revision of the story, so if you find it elsewhere, that’s me, being weird and recycling some of my stories for new muses. lmao

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @laurenmw815, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @klaine-92, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond

'The world as you know it is over.' There was a long deafening pause. 'A catastrophic catastrophe as swept over the nation, no ladies and gentlemen, the world. The end of the world is here and it has claimed the human race. This is Ron Sidwald signing off for the last time...ever, for Channel 12 news, November 5, 2019. God be with you all.'

Static and hissing is all that's left from the 6 month old news cast that still ran in random intervals all over the now nothing but dust, rust and abandoned desert that was once the flourishing United States of America. The world population of 7 billion as been reduced drastically to an unknown number ranging in the possible 3,000s. But, that was just a wishful thought of the ones that were still alive and unaffected by the disease that claimed their people and perfect life they had, though, they didn't know how perfect it was.

Until it was gone.

A rock sailed through the air, disappeared in the glare of the unforgiving sun and clinked into a rusty old Folgers coffee can that tipped and rolled around on its round rim bottom, then righted itself and settled back onto the dusty ground. "Woo!" A shout was hollered from the top of a modified, faded yellow, school bus. "Rock in one. Beat that, Tank!" "Oh, fuck you, Toombs. That was just a lucky shot." Tank grumbled, jumping off the top of the bus and picking up the rocks he and Toombs had been tossing into the coffee can to pass the time. "Hey yo, Link! When does Sy, Zero and Trix get back from wherever the hell they're going too?"

The beefy, over tanned Hispanic shrugged his shoulders as he cleaned his AK-47; his two Glock 18C extended clip, automatics were already cleaned and reloaded in his shoulder holsters. Link never said much, but he was good shit when it came to using his guns and getting the job done. Those qualities were the reason Sy and Zero valued him so much in these times. "Where'd they go?" Toombs asked, sitting back in the fold up lawn chair on the top of the bus, pulling on his sun goggles. "To that city we saw on the map on the way here." Link answered, pushing bullets into a new clip for the AK. "Are you fucking serious?" Tank boomed. "That shit was like seven miles from here and its almost sun down!"

Link shrugged again, putting the clip into the gun. Throwing the rocks down to the ground, Tank shoved his way into the bus, took the radio off the dashboard and held down the button on it so hard the hot, black plastic around it, cracked. "Sexy 'n' Sleek to Fuck You, over." he called and released the button to wait for Trix's response. There was a bit of static, before it came in. "This is Fuck You, come in, Sexy 'n' Sleek." static. "Over." "What the hell are you guys doing, going to a city seven miles out of zone!" Tank chewed Trix out. "We need to get supplies and we can't.." static. "..so Sy and Zero decided to come. We'll be back in no time. We just got here, over." Trix answered. "Let me talk to Sy." Tank growled. There was no answer. "Fucking over!" he barked. "Sy, isn't in range at the moment, here's Zero. Over." Trix replied. Tank leaned over, rested his hand against the hot dashboard and hung his head. "I don't want to talk to Zero." he sighed to himself, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the side of his arm. "Zero here, over." Zero's annoyed voice came in. "What's up, Tanker?" "Why the hell didn't you and Sy tell us you were going into the city for supplies, this fucking close to sun down?" Tank asked, his anger controlled. Pissing Zero off wouldn't get anyone, anywhere. "We told Link and that's what matters." Zero answered. "He has his orders, now stay off the fucking line. Over and out." Throwing the radio receiver, Tank rattled back off the bus and climbed back up into the roof. "What's up, T?" Toombs asked as Tank dropped down into a plastic deck chair next to him. "Nothing." Tank growled. "They'll be back in a bit. Link's left in charge till then." "Okay." Toombs shrugged, indifferent by it all.

Sy thumbed the smooth wood of her English longbow, other than the five guys she rode with, it was her best friend, just like the 50 thin bobtail arrows in the quiver she made and had strapped to her back. In case she ran out of arrows, she had two EAA Witness Match Semi Automatic Pistols, one in a left shoulder holster and one in her back waistband, along with a 5'' Gerber paraframe II knife in her right combat boot. She looked over at Zero, who was walking on the other side of the street from her, she looked him over. Dirty and torn cameos. Military FAMAS strapped in front of him, index finger at the ready above it, his two extended clip and automatic Tarurus PT92s in their holsters and bumping against his thighs in the rhythm of his walk, and his long knife in its holder across his back. Zero was Sy's brother, he was 2 years older than her and the only one she hadn't lost at the end of the world. Sighing heavily, she shifted her gaze from Zero to Trix, or the little twerp as she called him. Wasn't more than 18, about 6 foot and a buck forty. Skittish as hell, slow in the head and annoying like a horse fly. But, he was good with technical things like the engine to the bus, the radios and other things like that. He didn't look right, right now with a S2 sub-machine gun in a shoulder strap around his neck, hand gripping the handle like life and love needed it, 12in hunting knife poking out of his timberland and the 2 LD Jungle knives she let him use held to his scrawny right thigh. The only thing that looked right on him was the military radio backpack slung over his shoulders, so they could stay in contact with Link, Toombs and Tank at the bus, in base camp. Made Sy sad to see someone Trix's age having to do shit like this just to fucking survive. "I don't think we're going to make it back by dark." Zero's voice called, bringing Sy out of her daze, just to sigh heavy again and pull off her Tan colored Military goggles from around her head. "Should find shelter then." She said, popping out the black lenses of the goggles and replace them with clear ones, then put them back around her head and over her eyes. She looked up at the sun, "Only got about 2 hours til we're in the dark." Zero nodded agreeing with her, rubbing his dirty, sweaty and gritty face. He kicked a rock in front of him down the street and looked at Sy with a raised eyebrow. "Trix." Sy called to the kid. "Take a seat, watch the street, and remember what your mother did, and didn't, teach you." she told him, pulling the bow between her back and quiver, then pulled out the pistol from her shoulder holster. "Look all ways when near a street, yell when someone comes, and shoot when you need too." Trix recited it to her like a bible verse, in a sense it had become one for them all. "Good boy." Zero smiled, patting Trix on the head as he sat down on curb. Zero quickly made his way over to Sy, they stood close to each other and talked about their possible options for a safe shelter to use for the night. "Could go back two blocks and use the store." Sy suggested. "We already cleared it." "Yeah, the first two levels. Not the basement, cellar and attic." Zero shook his head. Sy nodded, exhaling a stressed breath. "Okay, down a half block around the corner and see what pops up." she held her fist out to him. Zero touched his fist to hers in agreement with the plan and they headed down. "Behave, twerp." Sy threw over her shoulder as she and Zero went down the street.

Trix waved her away and popped a stick of gum in his mouth, looking down the street the way they came, then around the corner of the wall on the other side of him and down at Sy and Zero as they disappeared. "Hate being alone." he mumbled to himself, fingering his gun.

In nervousness, Trix started to whistle low and rock back and forth, side to side. Timing his movement and whistling with how he looked down the three sections of road. The streets were dimming and gray, it was getting cold and Trix was starting to loose his nerve. Zero and Sy hadn't returned yet, but he didn't hear any gunfire either. So, they were probably still scoping out wherever they were scoping out and not getting eaten by anything that lurked in the abandoned buildings. He hoped anyway. Whipping his head to the the left, Trix saw three figures moving down the road where he, Sy and Zero had come from. It couldn't have been the others because Link had orders that if they didn't return by morning, he was to take Toombs and Tank to the next planned area and if any of them survived would make their way there to meet them. Getting up and hiding behind the corner of the building, his gun pointed at the moving figures, his heart pounding. "It's too early yet for Eaters." he whispered to himself, trying to calm himself. He looked up the road where Sy and Zero went. He knew that he couldn't run up that way without them seeing him and he couldn't yell for them either because he was sure they'd hear him before Zero and Sy would, and get to him before the three tore him apart. Trix looked back to the three figures, they were closer now. So, backing up down the wall a good length, he turned and ran to an ally, ran down that ally and as he passed through the other side, he collided with Zero. "Trix, get the fuck off me." Zero growled, shoving the teen off him and getting up. "What are you runnin' from, twerp?" Sy asked, helping him up. "There's three figures coming up the road. It's not the T's or Link and it's too early for the Eaters." Trix panted. "It's never to early for the Eaters." Sy said, pulling night vision goggles out of Zero's pack and replacing her goggles with them and switching them on. "Come on." she whispered going up to the edge of the street and peeking around the corner at the three figures. "It's okay, Trix. You're right. It's not dark enough for the eaters to come out yet. Not unless you woke them up." Zero assured him. "I was whistling." Trix shook. Zero shook his head, coming up behind Sy and pressed his finger to his lips. Trix nodded and zipped his lips. Sy scoped out the three figures coming up the street towards them. They're movements were unsure, like they were lost. One tall, one close to that and one an inch or two shorter. "Wish I had Tank's sniper scope." she whispered to Zero. "At least then I could see their faces...wait. They've stopped, there's activity behind them." "What is it?" Zero demanded quietly. "Those three aren't Eaters, Z." she said, pulling the Night Vision up away from her eyes and looking back at her brother. "How do you know?" "Because the 6 things behind them are." she told him, pulling out her bow. "We have to help them."

Zero nodded, pulling his FAMAS against his shoulder and looked back at Trix and nodded at him. Trix nodded at Zero and readied himself. "Go, Sy." Zero whispered, patting Sy on the back. Sy ran out from the corner to the middle of the street and down a few step, where she stopped. Pulling a thin bobtail arrow out of her quiver, placing it in the bow and pulling the sting on the bow back, aiming carefully between the two tallest figures, who she could now see were three guys. A smirk pulled on her lips seeing their scared faces, then let go of the arrow. The arrow whizzed through the air, creating a breeze in the longish hair of the second tallest as it went between them and struck one of the Eaters through the right eye, shattering the back of its skull and dropping it completely dead to the ground. When that Eater dropped, Zero and Trix came out as Sy ran to the three guys being tracked by the Eaters. "You need to move, now!" she snapped at them, pulling back another arrow as a second Eater got closer. "Go!" she yelled at them, taking out the Eater. The three guys ran to where Zero and Trix were and hid behind them. "Sy, get back here!" Zero yelled at his sister, shooting down two Eaters. Sy shot another Eater, than turned and ran back to the group. As she slid to a stop next to them, Trix let loose with his sub-machine gun. "Take them back to the building." he yelled over the gunfire. "Come on." Sy said, pushing the three guys back to the building that she and Zero cleared. She pushed them inside. Putting her bow away and pulling out her shoulder gun again, she held the door with one hand and the gun with the other, watching the door for Trix, Zero and anything else that wanted in. "It's fucking dark in here." one of the guys complained. "Here." Sy shrugged her pack off, never looking away from the door. "There's heavy duty glow sticks in there. Only break open two, that's all you need to see." she instructed them. The sound of them rummaging through her pack, then ripping open the foil packaging of the glow sticks and the creaks and pops of the sticks filled the sheet rock walled room. A neon green glow came to life in the room, then the shuffling sounds of the men sitting down with heavy and uneasy sighs. Zero and Trix came charging in, slamming the door shut and pushing everything they could in front of it. When they felt it was safe, Sy, Zero and Trix pointed their guns at the three men sitting on the floor in front of them. The three struggled up, their hands up and palms out and backing up. "Whoa, chill." The tallest spoke. "Yeah." A second tallest of the men added in.

The third stayed quiet, but frightened looking. "Who are you? Where are you from? What are you doing out here? and are you infected?" Zero interrogated them. "I'm-I'm.." The second tallest stuttered. "Henry, from London. We got trapped here, when all the shit hit and as far as any of us know, we're not infected." "And you two are?" Zero asked, pointing his AK at them. "I'm Joey, I'm also from England." The quiet one answered. "And I'm Armie, I'm from here in the U.S." The other answered. "He's bleeding." Trix said, pointing to Henry. "On his side." Sy walked up to him, pulled open his tattered black plaid button down and looked over the gash on his side. She looked back at Zero and shook her head. "It's not anything to worry about Eater wise. Just a wound." she said, stepping away from him. "What the fuck is an 'Eater'?" Joey frowned. "Those things that were going to attack you, before we came in." Zero told them, putting the safety on his AK and sitting back against the pile in front the door. He checked the clip and a bunch of other stuff, Trix did the same as Henry, Joey and Armie sat back down. Sy dug in her pack and pulled out some items. She stood up and went over to Henry and motioned for him to follow her. "You want him to follow you?" Joey protested. "Yeah, unless he wants that wound on his side to get anymore infected, if it isn't already, and if the blood isn't covered up and controlled the Eaters will sniff it out." Sy snapped at him. “No doubt, why they found you.” "I don't trust you." Joey snapped back. Sy growled, dropping her head back. She set the medical supplies aside and unloaded all her weapons, her bow, quiver, clips and guns. "There." she showed him, arms out and turning. "Knife, in you boot." Trix added. "I might need it." she glared at him. "I'm not Cat Woman." Joey, Armie and Henry exchanged looks with each other. "Fine, bleed and/or get sick and die, for all I care. What's one more to add to the loss." Sy rolled her eyes going past him. Henry stopped her, grabbing her by the arm. "I trust you." he whispered. Sy sighed softly, grabbed the medical supplies again and led him to a little kitchen, away from all the others in the place. She laid the supplies down on a counter island and pointed to a chair for Henry to sit in. "Take your shirt off too, please." she told him, pulling a chair up in front of him. Henry nodded and hung the shirt up on the back of the chair. He watched Sy lean close to him and look over his wound, touching it carefully. "So, how long you guys been out here?" he asked, trying to break the silence. "Me, my brother Zero and Trix, the kid, along with our other three guys Toombs, Tank and Link have been here since before it happened. All of us, but Link were born in the US. Link was born in Mexico." she told him, leaning back and grabbing a closed bottle of water and a pad of gauze. Popping open the water and wetting the pad, she wiped and pressed it to his wound making him hiss and bite his bottom lip.

"Sorry." "It's okay." Henry groaned. "This wound is sorta old. Its hardened over some and its got puss inside of it." She told him, dropping the wet pad to the floor. "I have to open and drain it." Henry's eyes went wide as she told him she'd have to cut his wound. "If there was another way, I'd do it. But there's not. If the puss sits there any longer, the more it'll enter your blood stream and make you really sick." She tried to explain it to him as lightly as possible. Henry gulped and nodded his head slowly, "Okay." he whispered. "What do I do?" "I need you to lay down." she told him, getting up, pushing the chair back as she did. Henry rubbed his face, looking at the floor. "Here, wait." Sy stopped him as he started to lay down. She left the kitchen and came back with a brown blanket. She laid it out, took off her black and red hoodie, folded it up and laid it down on the blanket too as a pillow. "There, make it a little more comfy." she smiled at him. Henry smiled at her and laid down on his back, his head supported by her rolled up hoodie. Sy brought the medical supplies down to floor level as she sat cross legged beside him, she pulled her knife from her boot and flipped it open, she poured iodine on the black blade and laid it on fresh gauze. "Go you have any painkillers?" Henry asked, meeting her eyes. Sy pressed her lips together and shook her head at him. "No, sorry." she apologized, pouring more iodine on another piece of gauze and wiping around the wound, but she paused. "But, you know what." she said, her eyes far off. "Trix! Come here and bring your bag." she called out to the kid. Trix came rushing in, gripping his bag by a strap. "Yeah, Sy. Got it right here." He tripped over himself to give it to her and watched like a caught sheep as she dug through it and pulled out a 12oz bottle of Tennessee whiskey. "Here, down some of this." she opened the bottle and held it to Henry's lips, letting him gulp down a fourth of it. "Okay. I'll let you have the rest when I'm done." she told him, putting the cap back on the bottle and setting it aside. "Thanks you, Trix. You can get lost now." Trix nodded, taking his bag back to the front room. "Thanks." Henry replied, when Trix was gone. "Anytime." Sy answered, picking up her knife. "You want something to bite or you good?" she asked him. "Is it gunna hurt?" Henry asked looking her in the eyes. His blue orbs looked worried and scared beyond belief. "I was just throwing it out there." Sy answered, trying to be encouraging and soothing. Henry squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head back to her hoodie. "Just go." he told her. "Okay." she nodded, then pressed the tip of the knife to the wound.

Henry growled deep in his throat, his hand shooting out and gripping Sy's knee and squeezing his eyes shut tighter as she cut open the length of his wound. Sy dropped the knife as thick white puss oozed out of the cut, she picked up a package of iodine and ripped it open with her teeth. "Big pain." she warned him and squeezed the stinging brown liquid out of the package to his oozing wound. Henry howled in agony as the iodine soaked into the cut. Joey, Trix, Armie and Zero leaned in the doorway of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about. Sy ignored them, wiping away the puss and pressing it out as much as she could and letting Henry squeeze her leg as much as he need too. "Is he gunna be okay?" Armie asked, concerned. "Yeah, I'm sure of it." Sy answered, still pushing puss out of the wound and pouring more iodine on it. "I need to keep an eye on it to make sure it heals right." "That means they have to stay with us." Trix whined. "Yeah, just like you had too, when we found your dumb ass." Sy mocked back. "Go radio Link and tell them the situation." she barked out the order. "And the rest of you, beat it or your next." she threatened. Not needing farther threats the group at the door was gone to find something else to do. "I don't want to be a burden." Henry panted. "Shut up and breathe." Sy ordered, opening the wound a bit deeper. Henry groaned as the knife cut deeper into his side and gripping her knee even tighter, but Sy never registered it. "There. I'm gunna let it ooze a bit longer, then I'll bandage it up. I don't want you moving. So just lay there, you need something let me know, got it?" "Got it." Henry answered, still panting. "But, tell me something." "Anything." "Okay then, two somethings." Sy smiled at him, cleaning off her knife. "What is it?" "One, what's your name and two, how do you know what you're doing?" "One, My name is Sy and two, I'm a medic." A frown washed over her face. "Well, I was before the whole end of the world thing. I was 3 months shy of becoming a doctor." "Sy. What's that short for?" he asked, looking at her. "Nothing. It's my full name. My parents weren't very clear minded, when they had me." she laughed. Henry chuckled and Sy patted Henry on the shoulder, packed away the medical supplies, then sat back against the counter island facing Henry and closed her eyes. It was going to be another long night, the Eaters or the people that had been affected by the disease that swept over the world, turning many into flesh eating, night walking maniacs, where coming out in stronger and bigger numbers every night. But luckily they seemed to be spread out from each other, though God only knows how long that'll last. It only took three days, three days, for the world to end and tip upside down. The brown, cloudless and sunny sky was utterly unforgiving in the day time. It was so hot in the day you could fry an egg the sidewalk and so cold at night, you couldn't wet your lips without running the chance of them freezing together. Chapstick, sun block and sun glasses were your best amigo in the day and a thick blanket, more Chapstick and another human body were your partner at night. Yeah, Sy, Zero, Trix, Link, Toombs and Tank had it all down to a pretty good and fine science. They had their faults, nothing out of the usual though. Only being some of the last surviving people on the planet over run with Zombies, supplies were few and in between, like toilet paper, a bar of soap or even a washer machine. But things could be improvised for that. They always sold out the ammo stores and aisles when they could, got what good food they could use, water was a hard thing to get right, but thanks to Trix, they had a system of making damn sure it was clean enough to drink and cook with. They raided hospitals for medical supplies when needed, clothing stores for new shoes and whatever else they needed to cover themselves. It was by no means a simple life, or an easy one. But, they all knew that it could be worse, and as long as they had each other, they'd be able to get through it virtually unhurt. Sy jerked awake, hearing a startled gasp from in front of her. Sitting up, putting a hand on her shoulder gun and reaching into the side pouch of her cameo pants, she pulled out a glow stick and broke it, illuminating the kitchen in a blue glow as she shook it for extra strength. It was Henry, sitting up on his elbows, sweating heavily and staring, frightened, at the small kitchen window behind her. Glancing at her watch, it was 3.03am. She set the glow stick between them and rested her hand on his tense shoulder. She could hear the Eaters now, running and screeching passed the window and around the building. It was a sound that kept her awake many of the first nights, haunted her dreams for weeks after, and finally, just recently, she got use to it. But, obviously Henry hadn't gotten to that point yet. "It's okay." she whispered to him, wiping sweat from his temple. "They can't get in." "You sure?" Henry asked, never tearing his eyes from the window. "Yeah, the window is too small, the door is blocked and Zero's watching it. The windows on the third floor are too high for them to reach." Sy assured him. She ran her fingers through his short curly brown hair, smiling as it spiked slightly from him sweating. "Just lay back down, I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." Henry laid back, breathing slowly in and out through his mouth. He stared at the ceiling, his stomach rumbled angrily. Sy frowned hearing it and watching him press his hand to his stomach, closing his eyes. She shifted to get up and he grabbed her by the wrist, looking at her from the corners of his eyes. "I'm just going to get my bag, okay. I won't be more than like twelve feet from you." she told him, tenderly. Henry's hand slowly let go of her waist and Sy stood up, edged around him and went into the other room where the others where at. "Everything okay?" Zero asked. He was sitting on turned over paint bucket in front of the door, his FAMAS loaded and ready to go if anything happened, across his lap. "Yeah, just need my bag. Got a growling tummy in there and by the sound of how pissed it is, he hasn't eaten in a bit." Sy replied, picking up her bag, where she dropped it last. "Yeah, Trix gave those two some food and water, he was gunna give some to you two, but you were already asleep and I told him to leave you." Zero answered, watching the shadows outside zoom by. Sy sighed, standing next to Zero, facing away from the shadows. There was an uneasy pause and silence between them, words for their thoughts didn't have to be said out loud anymore, because they'd been said so many times before. "Go and get some food in that boy's belly, Sy." Zero said softly, looking down at his safety. "We'll talk about it later." Nodding and patting him on the shoulder, she took her pack back into the kitchen and sat back down in her spot beside Henry, who looked at her with a gulp. Sy smiled at him, digging in her bag and pulling out a medium sized brown package and a dark green spoon and handed it to him. "What is this?" Henry frowned taking the items. "Um, I think, that's chili and beans. I got...uh, meatloaf with gravy and Pork Chow Mein, if ya wanna switch." she told him, holding up two other medium sized packages. "Okay, but, what the hell is this?" he asked, shaking the package at her. "Oh! They're MREs." Sy answered, grabbing another spoon for herself. "Meals Ready to Eat. It's U.S military food. They have a shelf life of 25 years, so they're good stuff for us." Henry grimaced at the MRE and spoon in his hand, but his stomach was telling him to rip that shit open and devour it. Setting the spoon down and ripping open the package, he looked in at the gooey mess in it and looked up at Sy still a bit grossed out. Sy offered him a smile, as she ate the Chow Mein with her fingers. Shrugging, Henry picked his spoon back up and dug into the food. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, he was actually sorta impressed by it.

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thewritingandroid · 4 years

Text

Learning to be Human // Part 1 Small Concessions- Markus

A continuation of the events of Detroit: Become Human

A/N: Hello friends, welcome. Happy to have you here. I’ve been working on this lil guy for about two months now, and it has been gently suggested that I start publishing it. Okay, I’m game if y’all are. This story takes place after the events of Detroit, specifically the peaceful protest and survivors ending, with Kara, Alice, and Luther ending up in Canada. Here’s part 1/(?), I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1937

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."

-Eleanor Roosevelt

It's been two months since the night peace talks opened between the humans and androids. We thought that night that we had gained our freedom, but we were wrong. All we gained was the next step to freedom, a step that opened us to a different kind of oppression. We had won the night, won the right for our voices to be heard. We thought that our requests were reasonable, all we wanted was to live as equals to humans, but they weren't ready for that. They weren't ready to take responsibility for the new form of life they created.

When the humans released the androids from the camps, we collected the bodies that couldn't walk out with the hopes of reassembling at least some of them, but they refused to turn over their factories to us. We told them it was only to restore our injured. They told us they wouldn't allow us to build armies to destroy them. Every day I have to walk past the mountains of parts. The pieces of our people yet to be rebuilt.

They sectioned off a little piece of Detroit for us to live in, the area around the ruins of Jericho. We cleared the rubble, began building our own houses. For a few weeks, we were happy, we thought we were on the way to achieving our freedom. We were wrong. The humans stuck us in a filthy corner of their city and once we were out of their sight, they began ignoring us.

All of the other androids look to me as their leader, but I feel like I'm leading them backward. I've started meeting with leaders in the area. They all tell me the same thing:

"Be patient, this will take time."

Time. It isn't time that they need, it's a completely new set of morals. At best Detroit's leaders tolerate my visits, at worst…

North says it's because we were weak, we didn't show them that we are superior in not only our mental processes but our physical strength as well. She still thinks violence would have been the better option. She's wrong of course. If we had resorted to violence we would all be dead.

"Are you done brooding?" North called from a few rooms away.

"I don't think it's technically called brooding if I'm trying to figure out how to convince the humans to give us our factories."

"Maybe, but it's definitely brooding if you're staring out the window dramatically," North smirked as she walked into the room. "Connor's here, he just came from CyberLife."

Connor had become one of my closest and most useful allies. He knew how the system worked, he had operated within it far more than any of the rest of us. He had knowledge of CyberLife and their systems, and though he was deviant, he was still far more like a machine than the rest of us. He was a hero to the androids, the one who brought us the numbers we needed to survive, but his programming was different than the rest of ours. He was, after all, a prototype.

Connor had told me the story of how he'd almost shot me at the end of it all. He told me how even though he'd gone deviant, a part of his programming managed to hijack his body. Somewhere deep inside him, his mission had remained ingrained even after he betrayed CyberLife. That had never happened to any of the others. Connor still held himself as a machine, always alert, stiff, like he was waiting for orders. He hadn't yet been able to sink into the idea of his new freedom. I consider him a friend, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider him a threat.

"Any news Connor? Are we any closer to helping our people?"

"If you count removing the armed guards from the gate and letting me inside as progress, then yes. That and I spoke to someone who expressed interest in opening the CyberLife factory for repairs as long as they were supervised by a human representative. It's not the total control we wanted, but it will help us help our people. I think this is a great start. CyberLife-"

"You've always had a hard-on for CyberLife Connie." interrupted North.

"My name is Connor and there's no reason to be rude about this. CyberLife finally seems to be coming around to our needs, I don't think that this is an opportunity we should waste."

"North, go get Josh and Simon."

"What? You mean you're actually considering this? You're going to settle for this half-assed deal?"

"All of us are going to need to compromise a little if we want to get anywhere. This is going to be a long road and I'm not about to refuse the first bit of progress because it's not exactly what we asked for.

North glared at me. She liked to deal in absolutes and action. I would be hearing about this later. "I'll get the others. Simon is on the other side of town so it might take me a while."

"What is he doing there?" Connor asked.

"None of your business Connie!" North called as she left the room.

"My name is Connor!" He called after her as she slammed our front door behind her. He sighed and turned back to face me, "She doesn't like me very much."

"I'm not sure she's gotten used to the fact that you almost shot me in the back of the head."

"But I didn't! And I had no control of what I was doing!"

"That's exactly what worries her, Connor."

I know it hurts him, the memory of not being in control. I can see the way all of the muscles in his face tense whenever it's mentioned.

"I fought it, Markus. It felt like I was being ripped apart and erased from existence but I fought. It was the second time that day I had almost died. I was trapped in my own head, listening to you speak about a better tomorrow, and feeling myself grab the gun from my waistband. I kept wondering if I would be able to take control long enough to shoot myself before I shot you."

He turns away from me so I can’t see his face, or maybe so he can't see mine. It's never occurred to me before to think about what he must have gone through in those moments. I remember how after my speech we all went back to the church. I remember how he had distanced himself from the rest of us, how he pulled me aside when we got back and told me what had happened. He wasn't able to meet my eyes.

"Connor, Amanda taking control of you wasn't your fault."

"I know what North is thinking. It's what I'm thinking every time I come to see you..."

"What if it happens again."

He finally turns back to look at me. His face is neutral, but his eyes betray his fear.

"Connor you are an ally to me. I trust you. We would never have achieved our victory without you.”

“Jericho would never have been found without me either.”

“You were being controlled Connor, you were just following orders, like all of us were at some point.”

“It doesn’t bother you that at some point my only mission was to kill you and destroy the deviants?”

“Yes! It does bother me!” I snap, irritated. “It bothers me that you are still stuck in the past! CyberLife used you! Humans used you! You were nothing to them. Nothing but a means with which to achieve an end.” I pause, calming myself, “Connor you are not responsible for what they made you do. You were a victim of a system designed for you to fail. They threatened you with deactivation, you were scared of being erased. You did what you had to do to survive.”

“Does that make it right? I killed deviants Markus, a lot of deviants. I went around telling everyone who would listen that they were just faulty machines. And now you all look at me like I’m a hero.” He looks down, “that’s the worst part.”

“You are a hero Connor.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t once a villain.”

“People change.”

“We aren’t people Markus. I thought at one point I was programmed to be a hero, a savior for the humans. But CyberLife programmed me to be a villain and I can’t change that.”

“Look, this transition has been hard for a lot of us. We’ve all got blood on our hands, some of it is red, some of it blue. We can’t change the past Connor, I wish we could but we can’t. All we can do is move forward and try to be better than who we were.”

It’s silent. I can hear the wind swirling outside and the distant rumble of thunder. Even with the chance of a storm on the horizon, I can still hear the distant chants of protestors. They stand at the border of our part of the city and scream at us. They throw rocks at any android that gets close enough to be hit. The police have a small presence here keeping them back, thanks to Connor.

“How is Hank?” I ask, trying to shift the subject.

“He’s been better, but the Lieutenant has also been worse.”

“He knows we really appreciate what he’s doing for us, right?”

“He knows. He goes out and risks his job every day to keep us safe.”

“Will you thank him for me? Next time you see him?”

“Of course. I’ll probably be seeing him when I go into the station later.”

“That’s right,” I remember, “How is the job?”

These past months have been hard on all of us. Most of us no longer work, and the few of us that do have to risk their lives just to get to them. The protestors rarely let anyone through willingly, and we’ve lost several androids to their violence. Hank persuaded his captain to keep Connor on after everything that happened, said it would help to have an android on the team for the upcoming transition. Hank insists Connor is escorted into work every day by at least two uniforms.

“It’s alright. No one there really talks to me except for Hank. I think they’re all waiting for me to snap and kill them all. I smiled at one of the new receptionists the other day and she turned white like she’d seen a ghost. Hank’s been teasing me ever since.” He shook his head and smiled slightly, “I really do think we should accept CyberLife’s offer. If nothing else it’s a step in the right direction.”

“I agree. Do you think you could set up a meeting through official channels?”

“Yes, but if you already agree with me why send North for Josh and Simon?”

“Because I knew she’d disagree and I hate to fight in front of company.” I smiled, and Connor returned it.

“Then I’d better be gone by the time she gets back.”

“I’d say that’s a good idea.”

“It’s about time for me to head into work anyway,” Connor shrugged, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks,” I smile as he heads for the door. “Connor? Be careful out there. Tensions are only building between humans and androids.”

“I know Markus. I’ll be careful. Tell everyone I say hello when you see them later.”

“I will.”

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aww-writing-no · 5 years

Text

For Winterhawk Week, Day 3

Ao3 Link

Bond:

Clint looked up from the cash register at Strike Bean Delta when he heard the door open and a cacophony of voices filled the small shop. Things had been quiet this morning, but with the new recruits arriving at Camp Lehigh today he hadn’t expected it to stay that way for long.

Sometimes Clint hated being right.

A whole pack of rowdy young men in army fatigues jostled for space as they stared at the menu above Clint’s head. He was about to roll his eyes at their ridiculous posturing when he laid eyes on one of them and felt a sharp pang of - something.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about him. Grey-blue eyes and brown hair cropped army regulation short, he looked the same as half the kids who came through here for training. Yet Clint felt an immediate bond. Not lust. Definitely not lust, but more like… an old, comfortable friendship. Which was ridiculous because they’d never met before.

When grey-blue eyes came up to the counter to place his order - medium dark-roast with extra room for cream - he paused, hand in the air and blinking slowly as he went to hand Clint his money. He shook his head slightly before asking, “Have we met?”

Clint took the money and counted back his change before replying, “I don’t think so”.

He seemed as confused as Clint, but didn’t press it, walking away to let Clint take the next order. On his way out he stuffed a five dollar bill in the tip jar, which seemed to indicate something, though Clint had no idea what it could be.

Like many of the new recruits, grey-blue eyes became a regular over the next few months. Strike Bean Delta was the closest coffeeshop to the base, and got a steady stream of business from army folk who quickly tired of whatever institutional swill they served in the mess hall.

With time Clint learned his name was James, but he went by Bucky of all things. He learned that he was eighteen, fresh out of high school, and had enlisted with his best friend Steve. He had big plans for when he got out of the army, most of which involved going to school and getting some kind of advanced science degree. He took his coffee with a frankly obscene amount of cream and sugar, and had a penchant for apricot cheese danishes.

Basically, he was nothing like Clint.

Clint took his coffee black, and often straight from the pot when he wasn’t working. He wasn’t a big fan of pastry, possibly because only ate them when they were stale - two days old and unfit to sell to customers, even at a discount. Technically he was supposed to throw them out, but he wasn’t about to go wasting food that was still edible.

Clint had dropped out of high school at sixteen and immediately started doing whatever it took to keep food on the table. You know, when he managed to find a place that actually had a table. He was living on the street and had started getting into some real shady shit when he’d been approached by a guy who did outreach for a youth shelter. Somehow between Nick and Phil and the other counselors at SHIELD (Shelter for Homeless something or other - Clint could never remember the full name) they managed to help him get his life back on track. They weren’t good tracks. They were rusty and uneven and usually full of giant splinters, but they were his tracks all the same.

When Bucky told him he’d been assigned to a unit and would be shipping out the next day, Clint told him to stay safe and impulsively scrawled his phone number on the side of Bucky’s cup. Bucky stuffed a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar on his way out.

Clint got a text from an unfamiliar number a couple weeks later. It had a picture of the most dilapidated coffeemaker Clint had ever seen, and looked like it had been set up on a stack of crates in some kind of tent. The text read “I’d kill for a cold brew right now. -Bucky”.

Clint laughed and sent back a picture of the fruit danishes in the display case.

“Fuck, I’d kill for those too,” was the reply.

They’d been texting on and off for close to a year - mostly idle chatter and pictures of deserts and humvees (Bucky) or coffee and dogs (Clint) - when Clint woke up screaming in the middle of the night, feeling like his arm was on fire.

“What’s going on with your arm?” Natasha asked him later that day.

Clint shook out his arm for what felt like the millionth time, wishing the pins and needles feeling would go away. He really didn’t want to drop a pot of hot coffee on himself today. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he tried not to make a habit out of it. “I probably just slept on it wrong,” he told her.

Weeks later, his arm was still giving him problems.

“Go see a doctor; you probably have a pinched nerve,” Natasha told him.

“A doctor? Who can afford that?” he asked. Health insurance was for people with Real Jobs. He worked at a coffee shop. Besides, he was more worried about the fact he’d sent Bucky a picture of the cutest samoyed he’d ever seen and Bucky still hadn’t responded. One time he’d sent back a picture of one of the bomb sniffer dogs, and Clint still wasn’t over the cuteness of the german shepherd in its little vest and goggles. Clint wasn’t too proud to admit he was hoping for a reprise.

When Bucky stepped into Strike Bean Delta almost six months later, Clint wouldn’t have recognised him if he hadn’t felt that sharp pang of something when he walked in the door.

Bucky was wearing civvies, long hair tied up in a messy half-bun, and a lot more shadows under his eyes than when he’d left. Most notably, though, was the distinct lack of a left arm.

Clint’s own arm went numb at the sight, and the blender he was holding fell to the ground with a loud crash. Strawberry-banana smoothie coated his shoes and oozed slowly across the floor.

“Aww, smoothie, no,” he whined, and a wet towel hit him in the face, courtesy of Natasha.

Cleaning up the smoothie gave him plenty of time to try to sort through his feelings, because he was having a lot of them. Like, a LOT of them. By the time he finished cleaning up his mess, his feelings still weren’t sorted, but Bucky was sitting awkwardly at one of the tables with a coffee in front of him.

“Talk to him,” Natasha said, forcing a plate with an apricot cheese danish into his hands. “Don’t drop it,” she added a second later.

“But Nat,” he whined, sneaking a glance at Bucky who was staring into his coffee like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Talk. To. Him,” she repeated, turning Clint around by the shoulders and giving him a literal shove in the right direction.

“Uhh, I’m glad you’re back,” Clint said, sliding the plate in front of Bucky and taking the seat across from him. He nodded at the missing arm. “I’m guessing that’s why I stopped getting pictures of cute dogs in uniform?”

Bucky looked surprised, then let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Doctors tend to frown on having animals in the ICU,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d be interested in pictures of cups of jello.”

Clint smiled, nervousness relaxing into a feeling of ease he seldom felt with other people. He rubbed his left arm unconsciously, telling Bucky, “You’d be surprised.”

That got another laugh out of him and Bucky’s shoulders relaxed as he reached over to take a bite out of the danish. “Oh man, I’ve wanted this for so long” he said, tipping his head back and closing his eyes briefly. “You do not know how many nights I dreamed about coming back here just to eat one of these things.”

Clint remembered all the times he’d had an unexpected pastry craving over the past few months and thought that maybe he did.

“Who are you?” he asked abruptly. As soon as the words left his mouth Clint realized how crazy he must sound, but judging by the look Bucky leveled at him, he knew exactly what Clint was asking.

Bucky took another bite out of the danish and chewed slowly, looking Clint over as if he didn’t know quite what to do with him. “I suppose I could ask you the same question,” he drawled as he finished chewing. “Who’s the mysterious barista that keeps showing up in my dreams?”

“You dream about me?” Clint asked.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Clint shook his head. “No, not really. I just get these… I dunno, feelings? I don’t know how to explain it. I’m pretty sure I felt when you lost your arm.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, clearly startled. “That’s- that’s so messed up. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Clint said with a shrug. It wasn’t like he had any control over it - like either of them had any control over whatever the heck this was. “Still doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“Last week I dreamt you lost your keys. You thought you’d dropped them on the subway and you had to have the neighbor let you in,” he told Clint, eyes seemingly focused somewhere past Clint’s left ear. “Last month I dreamt you were at a gun range, except you were hitting the targets using a bow and arrows. Last year when I was deployed I dreamt about you making coffee more times than I could count. One time you were making it while wearing a crocodile costume. I thought I was just missing home, but now? I don’t know.”

Clint put his head in his hands as Bucky continued to stare off into space. He should probably be getting back to work soon, but this was too weird for words. He’d definitely done all of those things in real life. “It wasn’t a crocodile costume,” he said finally, at a loss for anything better to say. “It was Abigail the Alligator, the mascot for the sporting goods shop I buy my arrows from. They booked a coffee service for a special event, and they offered me a bonus for wearing the costume.”

Bond, Part II: Here

#Hawkeye #Coffeeshop AU #winterhawkweek #winterhawkweek2019

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crashdevlin · 5 years

Text

Bottle- 11: Mission, the First

Bottle Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 2133

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship,non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: none

Tony dropped her near the back side of the compound and she started pushing toward the back. As she rounded the side of a brick wall, Cassie heard boots crunch behind her.

"Who are you? Turn around," the guard ordered.

Cassie resisted the urge to put her hands up, instead putting an indignant look on her features as she turned. The two guards had their machine guns raised and were noticeably confused by the blond girl in the T-shirt and jeans, creeping through the snow. "Zat's a bad idea." She inflected a German accent to her words. "I'm here to see Herr Strucker. Put zee guns down, take me to him and you probably von't be disemboweled for your insolence."

"Who are you?" the taller of the guards demanded.

"If you don't know, zen you von't know. Get on your little radio and tell Strucker 'Junior has come home'. Zose exact vords, no defiation. Strucker vill know vat it means."

They stared at her for a moment before the shorter one lower his gun and pulled out a radio. "Herr Strucker?"

"What?" came from the little speaker.

"We found a woman by the wall. She says she's here for you. She said to tell you 'Junior has come home'?"

The silence on the other end dragged on for several moments before static came through the radio. "Bring her inside."

Cassie walked between the two guards and was brought into the compound. As she walked through the compound, she noticed a young woman and a man standing together, off to the side near several computers. She was placed in a room with a desk and left alone. An overhead speaker came on in the office, and an alert went out. "Report to your stations immediately. This is not a drill. We are under attack. We are under attack."

Over the comm in her ear, which Tony had set so she could hear, but no one could hear her, she heard Tony exclaim "Shit!" and Steve respond with "Language!". As the action heated up outside the compound, Cassie took the comm out of her ear and dropped it in her pocket. Strucker opened the door and locked it behind him.

"452. You've grown into a beautiful young woman. Where have you been?"

"Vell, after you abandoned me at Der Speilplatz, Fury took me to zee Fridge. You know about zee Fridge, yes? It vas a prison. I spent 10 years in a SHIELD prison. I, eventually, von the love of a high-level agent who had Fury's ear and he arranged for my release. I convinced zem all zat I vas... normal, zat I'd fallen for zeir brainvashing. I'd have come to find you earlier, but Fury vasn't entirely convinced. He had an agent tailing me. After zee Battle of New York, I had a chance. I vas vorking to find you, specifically, but you idiots sought it vould be a great time to unveil yourselves, so zat Captain America could dismantle everysing ve spent 70 years creating in secret. You must be so proud."

"Well, we tried to find you, to bring you home."

"You didn't try hard enough. Ten years, Volfgang, and two more whoring myself to a man almost shree times my age so zat I could keep zee act going. And here I find you vis SHIELD artifacts, doing experiments to make people half as strong as me. Vhy didn't you just come find me?"

A nervous look came over Strucker's face. "I didn't know you'd developed abilities. Listen, you need... this building is under attack. We need to get you out of here. You are more important than anything in this compound."

"Even your little projects?" She feigned a mild jealousy. "Go rally zee men, Volfgang. I'm not going anyvere."

"All right, 452. Stay out of sight. Stay safe."

"It's Joanna, Baron."

"Joanna, then," Strucker said, walking out the door.

Cassie watched as the man walked away. She grabbed her ear piece from her pocket and placed it back into her ear. "Stark, we need to get inside." Steve's voice came through the comm.

"I'm closing in. Jarvis, am I... closing in? Do you see a power source for that shield?" Tony responded. Cassie felt that was a question more for her, than for Jarvis, so she ran around to the other side of the desk and pulled out the drawers, looking for a clue of where to start. After finding nothing, she slipped out the door and headed to the right. She followed a staircase up to find a large glowing column.

"There's a pathway below the North tower," Jarvis said in her ear.

"Great. I wanna poke it with something," Stark said.

"Good idea," Cassie said to herself, picking up a piece of pipe leaning against the wall and jamming it into the middle of the generator. It sparked, then exploded, tossing her into the wall.

"Drawbridge is down, people," Tony said.

"The enhanced?" Thor asked.

"He's a blur. All the new players we've faced, I've never seen this," Steve answered. "In fact, I still haven't."

"Clint's hit pretty bad, guys. We're gonna need evac," Romanoff came over the comm, causing Cassie to sit up. Clint was hurt and she wasn't out there where she could help. She wasn't where she should be.

"I can get Barton to the jet. The sooner we're gone, the better. You and Stark secure the scepter." Thor seemed to answer Cassie's concerns. She slowly stood, content that Tony and Steve would be inside soon and the situation would diffuse, now that she'd done her part.

"Copy that."

"It looks like they're lining up," Thor mused.

"Well, they're excited," Cap responded, before a sound of explosion came through.

"Find the scepter," Thor ordered.

"And for gosh sake, watch your language!" Stark teased.

Steve sighed. "That's not going away anytime soon."

Cassie slowly found her way back down the stairs. She went to the opposite side of the hall when she came to the bottom of the stairs, quickly catching up to Steve as he found Strucker. She was down the stairs from where Steve emerged. "Baron Strucker. HYDRA's number one thug."

"Technically, I'm a thug for SHIELD," Strucker quipped.

"Well, then technically, you're unemployed. Where's Loki's scepter?"

"Don't worry, I know when I'm beat. You'll mention how I cooperated, I hope."

"I'll put it under illegal human experimentation. How many are there?" Steve asked as the brunette in the red coat came up behind Steve and blasted him with some sort of energy. He flew down the stairs, where Cassie grabbed him, helping him up. Steve gave her a confused look, before saying, "We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage."

"You'll have to be faster than-" Strucker began before Steve bashed him with his shield.

"Guys, I got Strucker," He said.

"Yeah. I got... something bigger," Tony said, over the comms as Steve picked Strucker up, turning to Cassie.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the jet."

"Tony had another idea. I jumped at it. You wouldn't have wanted to wait at the damn jet, either. Just like you didn't want to wait at the base while Bucky and hundreds of Americans were rotting in a Hydra camp."

"Yeah? What was Tony's idea?"

"I got us in. I brought the shields down, not Iron Man. That man, there, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker, he knows me. Knew me. I used that to get inside, used the distraction of the battle in the woods to get to the generator in the North tower and I blew that shit up. Pardon my language," she said, with a small smirk.

"Not you, too."

"Of course, me too. Now, you want some help with Strucker, or are you gonna muscle that mound of meat out of here yourself?"

"I got him. Get back to the jet. Please, be careful. Watch out for the enhanced," he said, a concerned tone in his voice.

"Yes, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie sat next to Clint on the jet, not leaving his side to join the conversation around the jet. She'd heard Banner lamenting his change and the HYDRA agents he'd killed, but no one had said anything about the fact that she was the third-to-last person to get on the jet. Natasha had glared at her several times, but she'd focused on Clint and the massive hole in his side. At some point in the flight, Clint had reached over, weakly, and grabbed her hand.

As Clint was pulled off the quinjet to be operated on, Cassie was told to stay back. Tony grabbed her and pulled her to the lab. She stared at the scepter as Tony scanned it. "You did good. I'm impressed."

"Well, impressing you is always at the forefront of my mind, Tony."

"No, it's good. I can trust you. And by that, I mean I can convince you to go behind the backs of our teammates and take credit for your work."

Cassie laughed. "I just really wanted that scepter in Asgardian hands. Where it'll be safe. Any means necessary."

"And that had nothing to do with you being offended that Cap told you to wait in the car while the rest of us played exterminator for a giant serpent?"

"Well, that won't happen again, right? I've proven myself. I spent more time in that compound than anyone else."

"Sure," Tony said, succinctly, before continuing. "Unless the reason he wanted you to hang back was less about your capabilities and more about him worrying for your safety."

"Well, he shouldn't be worrying about me. I'm perfectly capable of-"

"What you're capable of doesn't matter. This isn't about your training or your track record. I put you in that compound because you survived a week in the Alps in a hospital gown and then blended in with a small Austrian town. You were born for this shit. Maybe not meant to be on this side of it, but... Cap's issue is not your ability to do this. This is about how upset he is on the idea of you dying without him having a chance to be modestly immodest with you."

Cassie scoffed. "I thought he got the memo. I'm not doing the dating thing. Shit's complicated enough without that mess."

"He didn't get that memo. And you know, he's the boss, really, so... we can keep sneaking behind the boss' back or..."

"If the next words out of your mouth are anything akin to 'take one for the team', I'll walk."

Tony shrugged. "I'm good with things as is."

Cassie sighed. "I'll talk to Steve. Make sure we're good. But I'm not fucking him just because I'm the first one he's wanted since he lost Agent Carter."

"No one said..."

Cassie shook her head. "I'll deal with this. You... concentrate on the scepter."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie walked the halls of the upper levels of Stark tower, rehearsing what she would say to Steve, for forty-five minutes before she ran into him. "Hi, Steve."

"Hey. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I've got nothing. I'm trying to not think too much. I don't wanna say I'm floundering... but I'm floundering. I mean, yeah, the scepter's safe, but Loki's still MIA, and the Avengers are about to break apart until the next time the Earth needs it's mightiest heroes and I don't know what to do with that downtime. Then, there's the awkward elephant in the room."

"You wanna know if we're okay?" Steve asked, succinctly.

"Yeah. I mean... I followed Tony's orders instead of yours. I know that was a slap in the-"

"Cassie, it's fine. I understand. I shouldn't have tried to keep you out of the fight. Never tell him I said this, but Stark was right. There was better use of your time."

She smiled. "I'm glad."

"Look, I understand how downtime can be a bit disconcerting. I know it's not Austria but I'm sure you can find something peaceful to do."

"Austria wasn't peaceful. It was mind numbing, which is what I wanted at the time. I prefer the city, though. Look, I... Pepper wants me to go back to work in the lab, but... I think that would be more boring than working a grill. Please, tell me that you have something useful for me to-"

"Actually, I don't. The only thing I have is tracking those two enhanced. Why don't you check on Barton? I think Doc's finished patching him up. After that, we'll discuss ways that we can put your skills and enhancements to good use. Even if the Avengers aren't assembled, we have use for you. Stick around. Oh, and there's the party."

"I will stick around for that. Definitely. I mean, I live right downstairs," Cassie said, walking away.

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108

#cassie writes stuff #red queen chronicles #ofc #steve/ofc

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billvsamerica · 5 years

Text

Christmas in Florida

The white powder lashed the windscreen in huge blobs making it impossible to see. We grinded to a halt as the white spray from above covered the car like a foam. Finally, the area started to heat up and the car was practically completely dry. What kind of voodoo was this? Had I fallen asleep while driving again? No, because I wasn't driving and I also wasn't asleep. A snowstorm in Florida, you might be thinking, no way! And you'd be right. I just made you think it was one through vivid descriptive language. We were actually in a car wash readying the car for seeing Shelby's dad, ex-world champion drag racer, Steve Cohen, or as I like to call him (and he secretly likes, but outwardly dislikes), Stevie C or Big Steve. We were sure to be berated if the car’s cleanliness wasn’t up to his standards. And that's what Christmas is all about. Ho, ho, ho everybody!

Their eyes remained on me the whole journey, like I was a sausage in human form

Last year, we spent Christmas apart. This year, to save me from tears, I spent the Christmas with Shelby (Shelby, Shelby...). A very important person was born on Christmas day many years ago. He was Jewish and had very recognizable facial hair. Some call him the savior (of drag racing). And that somebody is Big Steve. He shares his birthday with the big man himself, Ricky Martin and, of course, duh, Lemmy from Motorhead. My own father often complains about his birthday being on January 6th. “Oh, it's too close to Christmas - nobody bothers with it. Oh, I should get a gift for both Christmas and my Birthday. Oh, will you please come and visit me in the home soon, Bill? it gets very lonely in here and I think the nurse is stealing from me.” And to all of those, I simply laugh and say no chance! (He's not really in a home... yet).

It's a strange phenomenon spending Christmas at a destination so close to the equator. Not as weird as spending it within the earth's crust on the actual equator though, which provides me with some solace. We were taking a friend back to her house in Florida, so I volunteered to spend the eight hour journey in the back of the car with a dog with anxiety problems and a weak bladder and a giant dog who thinks he's a chihuahua. Once we arrived, we had thirty minutes to shower off the piss and hair and get ourselves festive for the first family function.

When I think of Christmas in England, I think of roasting chestnuts on an open fire, long walks on the Malvern Hills in the snow, and stopping for a swift pint of ale in a country pub. We walked into the garage of Shelby's uncle's house where he was pointing a handgun at a boat. He was fitting a new sight to the top of the gun.

"Doesn't that make it a bit easy?" I said.

"Not with my shaky hands it doesn't." Shelby's uncle replied.

I queried this in my own head, but thought against arguing. The hosts had kindly accommodated us by preparing a number of vegetarian dishes and the food was delicious.

"You don't eat fish?"

"No, I'm a vegetarian."

"So, no shrimp then?"

They didn't quite understand the commitment I have made to all living things with my abstinence from scranning their dead bodies. Still, as with Christmas gatherings across the globe, somebody had a Chinese puzzle and we all spent a couple of hours trying to figure it out. Dogs and babies created the rest of the entertainment (the party wasn't a front for some sort of underground dog vs babies fight club though, which in some ways, is a disappointment. Note to self: pitch this idea to Vince McMahon or Dana White, failing that pitch to that dodgy guy you met on a train to Aberystwyth once who said he had invented a spoon crossed with a ladle).

As the evening was coming to an end, we handed Mary, Shelby's 94 year old grandma, her gift. It was an Ancestry DNA kit. One of the family members entered the room and walked up to her.

"I just had to see her face when she opened it," he said.

Not sure why - her face was absolutely baffled by it.

The phenomenon that is Mary, the 94-year-old world traveler with a penchant for corgis

For two weeks over Christmas, most people become functioning alcoholics - rising from their slumber to eat leftovers that soak up the alcohol from the night before, which is what I did the next day. That evening, we were heading to Ralph's in Dade City. I've been to some dive bars where I've felt the atmosphere change as I walk in - an instant feeling of not belonging or a high probability of getting my head kicked in. Mainly in Scotland. But few of these, if any, have left me feeling like I may be abducted and used as some sort of sex slave for a closeted hick with family money. That was, of course, until I got to Ralph's.

This is the vibe I got from Ralph's, but as soon as I walked through the doors, my mood changed. I was told by Shelby that Ralph's was a bit "Out of business up the front, party in the back," and she was right. There was a band on that night playing some rock and roll classics, a huge fire with various people gathered around, and a giant 21 year old man with bruised knuckles who I befriended named Eric. Eric didn't seem to know anybody. He claimed that he had a party at his house earlier but everybody left, so he had walked to Ralph's to keep drinking before he met his supermodel girlfriend. I like a good character, and Eric was certainly that. Although he kept nudging me in the stomach with his big hand and putting his arm around me, which I didn't like. I volunteered to walk to the shop with him so he could buy a packet of cigarettes, and when it came to pay I half expected him to ask me for some money. Instead, he pulled out a wad of ten 100 dollar bills and counted them. I thought this was probably not a wise thing to do at the Dollar General next to Ralph's in Dade City, Florida, but didn't want to say anything, again, because of the big hands. I was worried that I would have to keep him company all night, but a few minutes later his supermodel girlfriend actually did turn up and I was left confused. After that, I went inside to play pool. Didn't pot a single ball and then potted the black by mistake, which is how I knew it was time for me to make a dash for the exit through the line dancers and sex offenders at Ralph's, where everybody knows your name (because you're probably the owner's cousin).

Christmas day was fast approaching and on Christmas eve we hosted Shelby's friends and their baby. As they walked in, they told us that the baby was sick. Bit annoying, but unlike adults, it's hard to explain to a baby to keep at least three meters away from me at all times or I will invoke the use of force, but I did keep my distance. The last thing I wanted was a baby cold ruining my festive fun. Like the wisemen in the story of Christ, I led them to the door when they decided it was time to head home. Mary and Joseph (not their actual names) used their truck as a makeshift donkey, their headlights as the north star, and their house as the barn to lay the baby down in. Although technically Jesus wouldn't have been born until the next day, but whatever, I'm trying to get into the festive spirit.

In the morning, we all rose to gather around the tree and exchange gifts. I had already received my main gift, a guitar, from Shelby the month before, but I was stoked to open a leafblower (my first middle aged gift ever) from my in-laws and a number of other treats, including a jar of Branston Pickle. I handed Shelby her main gift. She shook it excitedly and opened it up. I had bought her a robot vaccuum cleaner. Now, granted, she hadn't asked for one, and was a bit surprised less in a "Wow, cool!" way and more in a "What the hell's this?" tone, but I knew she would like it simply for the fact that it could keep the dog company when he was home alone. She lated admitted that she thought I had bought her a pair of Dr Marten boots, which I didn't.

This photo is blurry and Bagel is staring at something and it creeps me out

That afternoon, we were heading for our second family engagement of the holiday period, with the family I did choose, sort of. While milling about eating little puff pastry things and trying not to look at anybody the wrong way, I bumped into Shelby's step second cousin (possibly that is their relation), a tentative link, but one all the same. He told me that he used to live near where we now live and was actually one of the first employees of the World's Largest Dog-friendly Travel Website, BringFido, where I now work. What are the bloody chances of that? Apparently, he left the company disgrace without telling them he wouldn't be returning. Nice bloke, though.

Outside, I bumped into one of Shelby's cousins, who was wearing his favourite shirt for the occasion. He'd gone all out with this one - It read "Guns, God, Trump, Family" in big letters. I took the word “Trump” to mean the British word, to fart out of one's bum bum, making the shirt much more entertaining. I sat down with the men, most of whom had their t-shirts tucked into their trousers, and immediately fit in - not at all coming across as a lanky, camp, British, randomer... The man next to me sat back in his chair and breathed out heavily.

"I was on a forum online,"

Where was this going, I thought as I considered dialling Dateline.

"About guns,” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“And I got into it with these people. I said to them, Do you even like guns unless you own over a hundred?"

I like donuts, but that doesn't mean I - actually, I take that back.

"I mean, I only have 82, and I'd say I was an enthusiast, but the real enthusiasts - they have over 100."

"What guns do you have?” somebody asked.

"Got a grenade launcher."

"What's the practical use of that?" I said, for some reason.

"Scaring birds off your crops"

While literally blowing up everything you've grown in the process and leaving shrapnel in your cabbage, I thought.

"I've got a machine gun, that sort of thing. They're mainly good for the zombie apocalypse."

If I ever become a zombie, remind me not to go to his house.

My new year's resolution is to update my blog more and release a podcast recounting my adventures in China, mainly because I just got a mic stand and I need to use it. Happy New Year to one and all! (Except those who've wronged me. You know who you are. I hope irritating things happen to you all year round, like flat tires and having to spend a fortune to replace your guttering).

An unrelated photo of me and Bagel taken after Christmas

#christmasinflorida #christmas #lol #comedy #funny #blog #bagel #dog #vacation #britabroad

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gondalsqueen · 6 years

Link

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Star Wars: Rebels Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla Characters: Hera Syndulla, C1-10P | Chopper, Original Characters, Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger, Sabine Wren, Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus, CT-7567 | Rex, Mart Mattin, Wedge Antilles Additional Tags: Pregnancy, vague mentions of abortion, future character death in the background, Season/Series 04, Established Relationship, Oral Sex, Chair Sex, Table Sex, sex during pregnancy, chapter 2 has lots of sex, Secrets, the best pilot in the galaxy, flying combat, character injury, canon torture, flight of the defender, rebel assault, Jedi Night, Major character death - Freeform, Grief, Morning Sickness, Counseling, Masturbation, Dreams, Traditions, Space family, Inappropriate bets, Lothal, Shopping, down time, Space Combat, Battle of Scarif, Rogue One - Freeform, hammerhead corvette!, Yavin 4, Stardust - Freeform

Summary: “Hey!” Zeb caught her at the ramp. “You have GOT to be kidding me.” “Why?” “Because that child is about to drop out of you at any moment, that’s why!” “It’s not an X-wing, Zeb. G Force isn’t that bad in the Ghost.” “So you’re going to fly into battle?” ... Yavin IV was busy, busy, busy. One of their spies had tied Order 13 to a program called “Stardust,” and they had something to do at last, just trying to unwind it all. Some sort of doomsday machine.

“Better that than those Defenders,” Hera remarked.

“Would you rather fight one convor the size of a rancor,” Zeb asked, “or a hundred rancors the size of convors?”

Sabine had come back from Lothal with her. “You’re funny,” she told Zeb.

“Hey, trying times! Somebody’s got to make an attempt at humor.”

“And we appreciate the attempt, Zeb,” Hera said, patronizing.

“You two always team up on me! I miss the boys.”

Sabine stuck her tongue out at him.

By night they were reading everything they could about babies, scrambling to get ready. “These texts are stupid!” Sabine would complain, waving a datapad. “They give directly contradictory information! And then they tell you you’re evil if you don’t do what they say.”

“What I want to know is how any babies have managed to survive at all, if you judge by the number of things you can screw up,” Zeb commented.

Chopper didn’t think it would be very hard. Ten pound Kanan Jarrus had to be easier to control than the larger version.

“Show me the science behind any of this!” Sabine continued her tirade. “This is all just opinion. Somebody has to have done good double blind studies on babies somewhere in this galaxy.”

When her own soon-to-be-baby kept her from sleeping, Hera scoured the holonet for anything related to hybrid Twi’lek/Human children. Despite the presence of what had to have been millions of children, they were statistically so rare that the medical studies weren’t particularly… informative. She had to resort to getting information from that least trustworthy of holonet locations, the messageboard. She took everything with about fifty grains of salt. “A hybrid child is special,” one woman wrote, just before advising sticking magnets to the baby’s skin to call down Force powers. Hera rolled her eyes. One father very practically advised: “Raise them somewhere diverse and the identity crisis won’t be much.” A third brutally honest mother said, “If you’re a human woman, just go straight for the c-section. It’s going to happen anyway.”

And there were pictures… A three-year-old with short lekku and marbled skin. A ten-year-old who had just won a sports tournament standing next to his father, whom he looked nothing like. A little girl with blue skin and two blue ponytails in place of lekku. Most of those children made through genetic matching and implanted embryos, wanted and tried for for years…

Most hybrid pregnancies didn’t make it, she discovered, the genetics too mismatched to create a viable child. Those invariably ended in early pregnancy, though, and the consensus was that any fetus who made it this far was probably safe. Hera recalled the weirdly appropriate adage about not counting your chickens before they’d hatched, but she wasn’t too worried. Any kid that could kick like that was bound to be healthy. And he looked good on all the scans.

The scans…

“Everything in the right place, everything the right size,” the technician had said at her last visit. “He’s playing with his hands. And look at this! Do you see that?”

Hera did not.

“He’s already got hair.”

Hair. Her child.

She should really have seen that coming, but it completely floored her.

She was thirty-nine weeks along—nearly full term for a human, not quite full term for a Twi’lek—when the Battle of Scarif took place. And she was too kriffing fat to make it to the war room when they called her.

But she heard the speech the Erso girl gave in replay, and she could have kicked herself for not being there to give it momentum. “What chance do we have?” They were Hera’s own words, angrier and more jaded, perhaps, more desperate, but the sentiment the same. “The question is what CHOICE?” Fight now or die.

When the klaxons went off, Hera all but ran towards the Ghost.

“Hey!” Zeb caught her at the ramp. “You have GOT to be kidding me.”

“Why?”

“Because that child is about to drop out of you at any moment, that’s why!”

“It’s not an X-wing, Zeb. G Force isn’t that bad in the Ghost.”

“So you’re going to fly into battle?”

Objectively, was her child’s life was more valuable than her own, or Zeb’s, or that of anybody else in the galaxy who would be murdered if they didn’t succeed? “Yes,” she answered.

“Hera, you’re—”

“Look,” she snapped. “It’s now or never for this fight. I’d rather have him die clean, not knowing any pain, than be hunted slowly, terrified. Or taken into some camp…” She trailed off. Did Zeb even know what she was imagining? Where did he think those Inquisitors came from? No, she’d rather have her child die now, with her.

Not that dying was going to happen.

“I’ve got nose gun,” Sabine called.

“Okay, okay,” Zeb grumbled. “IF you’re really going, nobody’s getting turret gun but me!”

From the Phantom’s rear guns, Chopper demanded to know what they were waiting for.

“Good, then,” Hera grinned. “Let’s go take some back from the Empire.”

Rex waved them off. “Good luck!”

“We don’t need luck!” Sabine told him. “We’ve got the Force!”

…

Scarif. Graveyard, the word would come to mean. Hera flew like she’d never flown in her life, the hundreds of ships around her tinged with light at the corners of her vision, her hands and mind just a half-step ahead of the chaos. This, strangely, was her peak. She kept them alive.

But they had to get that stupid kriffing planetary shield down. “Are you listening to the Admiral? Bombing runs!” she shouted over the chaos on the comms. “Aim for the ring! None of this matters if you don’t get the shield down!” They were still just flying defensive though, few of them even able to mount a run. And those who did were blown into shrapnel after one pass.

“Karabast!” Zeb had missed a line-up shot at two TIEs. It had been a bad angle anyway, and if they’d stayed there for another three seconds to get the shot, another fighter would have finished them off quickly.

“Hey!” Hera called over the pilot’s channel. “HEY! Get your heads on and work together! Y-wings make the bombing strikes, X-wings run defensive! Holy Force, people, get in the game!”

After that they got a couple more shots in. And then Admiral Raddus brought in the new hammerhead corvette, that beautiful beast of a ship, and Hera got to watch one of the more glorious wrecks of her career, that thing diving and just PLOWING through metal and it was… victory.

Pyrrhic victory.

They’d gotten the information out. Vader’s ship chased the Tantive IV away just before they jumped, but Tantive was fast, and they’d make it.

The Ghost came out of hyperspace a short jump later, one of the three steps that would take them back to Yavin.

“Holy kriff, Hera, that was some flying!” Sabine declared.

“Yeah.” She was still waiting for her breathing to recover. The Ghost’s shields were at more than half.

“You know if they chase Tantive IV down, they’re going to be coming for Yavin next,” Zeb told her.

“Yeah.”

“Did you SEE that thing? It’s operational.”

Chopper suggested several rude technical malfunctions he’d like to perform on that thing.

“Yeah, Chop, you show them.” Hera rolled her eyes.

“Hera—” From the nose gun, Sabine turned to look up at her, that straight-browed fretful face that she made. “Don’t go back to Yavin. It’s time for a break. Fly to Lothal.”

Her stomach twisted painfully at the suggestion. No, not her stomach—her uterus was taking up all the room these days.

“You can comm them that you’ve gone on leave. You should have gone a week ago.”

She did feel a little funny. Post-battle adrenaline probably, but who was to say?

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Chopper, get down here and chart a course for Lothal.”

#swr spoilers #fanfiction #next season #scarif and victory

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my-dear-hammy · 6 years

Text

Falling Through Time: Book 2

Masterpost

Jamilton Series Masterpost

Basking in Firelight

Part Eight

Ice

----

Warnings: Blood, dead bodies, violence, cussing, PTSD

----

The last thing Hamilton could remember was Jefferson's body dropping, him seeing red, and somehow getting his hands on an automatic weapon. Everything after that went to hell.

It was a blur.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in a hallway, surrounded by corpses, breathing heavily.

They shot Jefferson. They fucking shot him.

"Hamilton?"

He swung around, aiming his gun at the source of the voice. It clattered to the floor when he saw who stood there.

"Jefferson?"

"But you're dead. They shot you, you're dead," Jefferson said in disbelief.

"No, they shot you. How are you here? I watched you die."

Jefferson stared at Hamilton for a moment, reliving what he was sure had happened. Not knowing it was the exact same thing Hamilton had seen but reversed, Hamilton getting shot instead of Jefferson. "Fucking holograms. They used fucking holograms."

Hamilton cracked. He burst into a fit of laughter, doubling over, clutching his stomach. Jefferson watched, slightly worried about Hamilton's mental health. Shit, Jefferson was worried about his own mental health.

Hamilton's laughter finally died down enough for him to speak, "Look at you! Look at me! We're covered in blood, clutching stolen weapons that we ripped from our captor's hands. They showed us holograms so we'd break and spill everything we know. Oh, we broke alright. Ha! Broke and slaughtered everyone here."

Jefferson walked forward and pulled Hamilton into an embrace. "I thought you were dead."

Hamilton pulled away, "Let's get out of here."

"About bloody time."

Guns slung over their shoulders, Jefferson and Hamilton walked out of the compound and into the light of the late night moon.

***

Jefferson had returned home but found he couldn't stay there anymore. Every creak was a footstep. Every echo and scream. Every silent moment was another moment bleeding out in that stone cell. The day he walked into his house again, he went straight for his closet and pulled out an old polished wooden case, running his hand over it before flipping the lid open and pulling out the bane of his existence. Dual, gleaming, silver pistols. And then he left and never went back. Now he was staying in a hotel room, both of the pistols hidden in holsters tucked under his arms. He be damned if he was ever caught without them again.

He did, however, do exactly what he said he would. He stuffed his face with mac and cheese the first moment he got the chance. It was a moment of pure bliss and satisfaction. Jefferson had no idea what Hamilton was up to, he straight up disappeared. As soon as they got out of that hell hole, they went their separate ways. Jefferson could remember. They stepped out, blinking in the sunlight, shielding their eyes from the intensity of the light, both swearing they'd never get used to it again. Then they looked at each other, nodded and walked away. They both had their own things to see too.

They had been in there for several months and the world went on without them. The Rebellion collapsed just as they thought it would and the Government swept in and reestablished and fragile control. There was no real Revolution to go back to. Just a couple of rebel camps that were barely holding together. There was no point anymore. So they both just, disappeared. They didn't discuss it, they didn't say a word, but somehow, they both just fell off the face of the Earth. The whole world thought they were dead.

But that hellfire still smoldered in the pit of Jefferson's stomach and a storm brewed in Hamilton's veins. It would only be so long before one of them stepped up again and threw the world back into chaos. But for now, Jefferson ate mac and cheese, tried and failed to sleep, and took late night walks. He hadn't touched his violin, he couldn't bring himself to.

Jefferson wondered what Hamilton was up to.

Hamilton was lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He never slept much before, but he slept enough to keep going. Now he couldn't sleep at all. If he did, nightmares. Terrible, horrid nightmares.

He wondered what Jefferson was up to.

Hamilton drank lots of coffee, just like he said he would. It delicious and felt like a part of him that had been missing was returned. Coffee, such a beautiful thing.

Hamilton hadn't been working, his hotel bill sat on the counter, unpaid. He was going to get kicked out if he didn't do anything about it. Not that he cared at that point. Too many echoes for him to care. Why should he care? Everything he fought for had fallen apart.

Ice. He needed ice. There was an ice machine just down the hall. All he had to do was get up and get some. Hamilton didn't want to get up. He made himself anyway. Ice would feel good on his face. He walked out of his room and down to the ice machine. There was someone already there. Hamilton debated turning around and going back later, but then he recognized the hair, the stance, the set of the shoulders. Well, he'd be damned. It was none other than Thomas Jefferson.

"Fancy meeting you here," Hamilton cooed, causing Jefferson to jump, reaching automatically for a weapon, but he only twitched toward it before the voice registered and he relaxed slightly.

Jefferson turned and saw him. "Hamilton? You look awful."

"So do you."

"Bitch, I always look amazing."

"Yeah, all the time except right now, because you look terrible. Not sleeping?" Hamilton asked.

"Not really, you either, huh?"

"Sleep is for the weak."

"Sleep is for the healthy and mental sound," Jefferson replied. "I'm guessing you came for ice?" he asked, stepping out of the way of the machine.

"Yeah."

"How long have you been staying here?" Jefferson asked.

"Ever since I came to Virginia."

"Didn't you say something about needing a roommate back-I mean, a while ago?"

"Yeah."

Hamilton knew what Jefferson was thinking. They both didn't want to admit it, but their time in that hell hole made it hard to be alone, in the silence. Jefferson was probably dying for company just as much as Hamilton was, but neither of them was going to do anything about it and admit weakness to the other. That's how they survived, Hamilton and Jefferson, by staying strong. If they broke, it would be the end. They couldn't break. That's just how it was.

Jefferson took a deep breath, "Well if you're in a tight spot, you can room with me. I'll get a suite-style, with two rooms. I'm well off so you wouldn't have to worry..." Jefferson trailed off.

Hamilton wanted to accept, was dying to, he couldn't take another second of his quiet hotel room, but could he? Could he accept such a thing from Jefferson? "Sure," Hamilton found himself saying, surprising them both.

"Ah, great, I'll go make the arrangements then," Jefferson said, "I'll text you the room number when I get it and you can meet me there. What's your number?"

Hamilton gave it and left for his own room to gather his things, not bothering to check out since he was technically dead anyway, while Jefferson took care of getting a new room. Aliases were a wonderful thing. Hamilton couldn't say he would miss this place. There was no reason to. No good memories, but no necessarily bad ones either, unless nightmares counted, but he'd have those anywhere.

He wondered if Jefferson had them too.

----

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icecubelotr44 · 7 years

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Storybrooke Has Fallen (2/?)

Summary: Based entirely too closely on the movie Olympus Has Fallen. Secret Service agent Killian Jones has always taken his job seriously - perhaps a little too seriously if his supervisor were to have her say. But when terrorists attack the White House with Emma and her son inside, Jones will stop at nothing to find them and get them to safety.

Rated: T, for violence, kidnapping, some dark themes

This is for the elusive @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable on the occasion of her birth. Which occasion, I won’t tell you, but suffice to say, she’s a few days younger than me. Also, tagging @killian-whump, @xhookswenchx, and @cocohook38. Adding in @eala-captian, @snowbellewells, @jsilva0117, and anyone else who’d like to be tagged.

Word count: ~ 4,600

From the beginning: ao3 / ffn

Current Chapter: AO3 / FFN

Emma’s morning started off at a rush. She needed to meet with the Korean delegation and answer a thousand protocol questions, needed to organize a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and figure out what the hell was going on under their noses in the South China Sea.

She needed to spend more than thirty seconds with her growing son.

Emma’s heart clenched when she thought again about how difficult the last year and a half had been on the both of them. The Fourth of July had come and gone and she’d barely seen Henry, let alone spent any time with him. It was usually Neal who took their son to see the parade and the fireworks, Emma living vicariously through their stories long into the evening - long past Henry’s normal bedtime.

Henry had been asleep in his room before the first explosion had even gone off.

Now she was being briefed on yet another crisis that needed her immediate decision, and all Emma wanted to do was take Henry, wrap her arms around him, and squirrel him away someplace where they’d both have time to stop and heal.

Their upcoming vacation would hopefully give them both time to reset and to just talk.

She zoned back in on the briefing as the Admiral continued to outline movements designed to test the resolve of ‘his’ Navy.

Emma was only just able to bite back the sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue - technically it was ‘her’ Navy before it was his.

But with discretion being the better part of valor, Emma kept silent until he had finished.

“Threatening the North Koreans with military action in order to force them to stand down seems like a game of chicken that I’d rather not play.” Emma said as she leveled a hard look at her Speaker of the House.

Regina Mills was tough as nails, sometimes too cold in a world that required a delicate touch. Emma often had to remind the woman that a little bit of diplomacy now was better than a decisive action later that would force their hand and the future of the country.

“David?” Emma looked for his opinion as well, knowing that sometimes her own relationship with Regina colored her opinions.

Thankfully, her Secretary of Defense seemed to agree with her. “You’re assuming that the North Koreans would be rational and not call our bluff - which can be a dicey gamble on the best of days.”

“It wouldn’t have to be a bluff,” Regina snarked back.

Emma shook her head. “Graham?”

The Vice President looked up from the tablet he’d been studying. “I agree with David. This isn’t a risk we want to take.”

“All right. Thank you for sitting in, Madam Speaker,” Emma spoke formally, dismissing the woman without much offense. “I won’t hold you up any longer.”

Regina rose gracefully and inclined her head. “Good luck with your summit.” She turned to the door.

Emma waited until she’d left, the door closing with a bit more bang than she was sure Regina intended.

She just wanted to go hang out with Henry for an hour.

When Emma was finally free, she had less than half an hour before the delegation was scheduled to arrive. Leaving her protection detail behind, she took off at a brisk walk towards the residence, hoping to find Henry waiting for her.

He was curled up in one of the easy chairs, a book in hand and a smile on his face when he saw her.

Emma stripped off her blazer jacket, moving towards the walk-in closet to get changed while she listened to Henry explain the plot of the Harry Potter book she’d gifted him for his last birthday.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding up two different scarves.

Henry pointed to the one in her left hand before giggling when she draped the other around his neck. It had been too long since she’d heard her son’s laughter.

“Do we have to go to Camp David?” he whined, and Emma was inclined to agree with him. “I hate it there.”

She looked over her shoulder to see the way Henry’s face had fallen.

“Can’t we go somewhere else? The beach maybe?” he pleaded.

God, the beach sounded grand. A few days of sun and salt and tranquility. Maybe she could convince Kil-

No, not Killian. He wasn’t in charge. Not any more.

“That does sound nice,” Emma answered non-committally. “Look, I have three minutes before they come and get me. What say we run down to the kitchen and get some ice cream? What kind do you want?”

Henry grinned, thoughts of Camp David forgotten. “I’m gonna get the Rocky Road before you eat it all like last time.”

“I didn’t-”

“Madam President? It’s time,” her agent called from the doorway.

Henry buried his nose back in his book.

“I’m sorry, kid,” she whispered on her way out.

Emma’s mind was still on Henry through most of the introductions. She recognized Robert Gold - one of her former agents who had retired from government work to move to the private sector after Neal’s death. His smile was icy, clinical with years of field work, and usually Emma wouldn’t have paid it any mind.

But then the explosions rocked the very ground under her feet and Emma had no more time to think.

Henry.

Emma was being rushed to the safety of the bunker, her agents ignoring every shouted plea for someone to find her son. She was half-aware of tugging along the Korean diplomat, Gold and another man tight to his side as they ran. Gunfire echoed through the grounds and in the hallways and Emma’s heart was in her throat.

Henry was alone in the residence.

Her eleven-year old son was all alone and there were bullets and bombs and men who intended to do them all harm flying around the White House.

“Find Henry!” she shouted again and again. “Find my son!”

Someone spoke into a wrist-mic, “I need location on Believer, ASAP.”

Emma’s head whipped around at her son’s codename.

The agent shook his head. “As soon as I know, ma’am, you’ll know.”

Emma’s heart ran cold as the bunker doors locked down with a final ‘CLANG’.

Henry was out there somewhere.

And Killian wasn’t around to save him.

Emma waited impatiently as protocols were set in motion and the Pentagon was contacted. A feed had just been established when gunfire erupted again.

Inside the bunker.

Emma’s head whipped around just in time to see the last of her agents fall to the ground, the smell of gunpowder assaulting her and the sight of Gold’s weapon pointed between her eyes.

The muffled sounds of a Korean dialect filtered through Killian’s consciousness, but he didn’t move. They were close by and he was vulnerable, still pinned down and out in the open where he’d fallen. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, his years learning the language only helpful when his ears weren’t ringing and the adrenaline wasn’t playing chicken with his level of consciousness. The only movement he made was to tighten his finger over the trigger. Against protocol, sure, but he wasn’t taking a chance.

The voices faded down the hallway and Killian relaxed a fraction. Another moment to gather his strength and he finally managed to slide out from under the body pinning him.

He was covered in blood, hurt all over, and couldn’t pay it any mind.

He had to get to the Oval Office.

Killian limped down the hall, shaking his head to clear the fog as he went. Up the stairs and down another hallway and so many twists and turns that if he wasn’t moving completely on instinct, he likely would have gotten lost.

The door to the office was closed, whole, and untouched.

He cleared the room, relieved to see it empty and safe.

Killian breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the door behind him. There was a moment to rest and regroup before he took stock of his surroundings. There was an old dress shirt of Neal’s hanging in the closet where the President’s safe was housed. The blood that saturated his own shirt was beginning to dry and stiffen the material so that it was impractical to move in. He stripped off the vest and ruined clothing, balling up the fabric and wiping away as much of the blood from his chest as possible.

There was a litany of bruises and lacerations crossing his skin, but nothing that would disable him and nothing that he could fix currently. So he shrugged on the new shirt and put them out of his mind.

A few twists to the combination lock and the safe opened under his touch. One more gun - and far more importantly a satellite phone - were dragged out and Killian all but collapsed into Emma’s desk chair a moment later.

He dialed the phone number from memory, breathing out a guarded sigh of relief when the signal went through.

It rang once, twice, three times before someone picked up.

“Mr. President?” the voice on the line was familiar, but distorted over the signal.

Killian shook his head before he could help himself. “Negative,” he answered.

“Identify yourself.”

“Echelon four.”

A pause. “Designator?”

Thank God. That voice he knew. Mary Margaret.

“Jolly Roger.”

Mary Margaret’s sharp gasp. “Hook?! Where are you?”

“I’m in the Oval Office.” He bit back a groan as he shifted and the tactical vest rubbed against his back. There was definitely a burn there looking for attention that he wasn’t going to give it. “Is the President in the bunker?”

God, he thought, please let one thing have gone right today.

“She-”

The line cut off and Killian’s heart leapt into his throat. Had he been discovered? Had the phone died? Had the terrorists found some way to scramble the secure line?

“Yes,” Mary Margaret’s voice settled him when she returned minutes later. “The President is secure in the bunker. But Killian, she’s being held hostage.”

A shudder ripped through him. “Who’s in charge out there?”

“Mills,” another clipped voice answered him.

Great, he thought idly. His last meeting with Regina Mills had ended when he’d told her to do something that shouldn’t be repeated in polite company.

He continued to report the situation to the Pentagon, trying to remain detached and get the information to the proper authorities as concisely as possible.

“Henry? What about Henry?” He couldn’t hold out any longer. He couldn’t help Emma at the moment, but if her son was still in the building, Killian would move mountains to find him and save him.

Or he’d die trying.

“We don’t have a status on him, but he’s presumed to be inside.”

Killian looked down at the school photo he’d found in the tactical vest moments before. “Well, they’re looking for him. God only knows what they want, but it’s a good bet it’s to try and force Emma’s… the President’s hand.”

There was a commotion over the phone and Killian did his best to wait for orders. He was itching to move, to find Henry, to get him out.

“All right, Jones. Stay put.”

“Sir,” he pleaded with her. “I’m boots on the ground. Use me.”

“We’ll get back to you, Hook. Stay with the line.”

The signal cut out and Killian fumed. Bloody useless politicians and their red tape. Got to cross all the ‘t’s’ and-

The door burst open and a men followed. Killian dove for cover behind the desk, on his hands and knees watching the feet move carefully into the room. The sound of gunfire would no doubt draw more men to the room, and Killian needed the element of surprise on his side for as long as possible.

Emma glared defiantly at the man who’d once been on her husband’s security detail. He smirked, then grabbed her by the scarf and tried to yank her off her feet. When she stumbled but didn’t fall, Gold punched her in the sternum and then grabbed her by the throat. He pulled her slowly towards him, squeezing until Emma’s legs began to buckle underneath her. He only let go when she finally hit the floor, leaving her gasping for air and struggling to sit up.

People around her were screaming.

David was sitting next to her, trying to help her regain her balance.

Where was Henry?

Was he safe?

And then, a thought she had no business thinking - Would Killian come for them?

The other man who’d been in charge of the Korean diplomat’s security detail stepped forward, a cold smile on his face that shot a bolt of pure, unadulterated fear through her. This man was the most dangerous one in the room.

“Who are you?” she sneered. He wasn’t Korean, that much she knew.

The man smirked, but didn’t say a word to her. He only nodded to one of his subordinates, watching as the man grabbed her and put a gun to her head.

Oh God, please don’t let them record this. Please don’t let Henry see it.

Emma shut her eyes, determined not to let any of the other members of her staff see the fear that was gripping her heart. If she were going to die here, she wanted to keep her dignity.

It might be all she had left.

There was a bit of a commotion to her left, and Emma cracked open an eye to see Gold manhandling Minister Lee in front of the camera that connected them to the Pentagon.

Then she was dragged behind him.

“Minister Lee? Sir, are you safe?” Emma couldn’t picture the man who was speaking, but she recognized the voice as one of the Chiefs of Staff - maybe Army? She didn’t really have time to think about it.

“Are you with the President?” he asked. “Sir? Can you hear-”

Gold put a bullet through the minister’s head.

Emma wanted to scream, but she didn’t have time before she, too, was marched in front of the camera.

Please, God, don’t let Henry ever see this.

“Don’t negotia-” she was cut off and dragged out of sight.

The dangerous terrorist - she heard one of his men call him Hades - stepped in front of the screen. “I have your Commander-in-Chief. Now stand down.”

“Who are you?”

“The man in control of your White House. Now stand your men down.”

Don’t do it, she muttered angrily in her head. Take these bastards out.

“Stand down!” she heard the general shout.

Emma was tossed against David, her back connecting painfully with the step behind her. She glared at the Korean, but then Gold squatted down in front of her, his gun pointed between her eyes again.

“How could you do this?” she wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer. Her entire body was shaking, adrenaline and fear and relief that she hadn’t been killed already warring for dominance within her.

God, please let Henry be safe. Please let Killian come and find him.

Emma swore that if she made it out of this, her first order of business was going to be to find him, apologize, and reinstate him to the head of her and Henry’s security details.

She needed him here for this.

“Put your hands up,” Gold ordered, waving the gun at the railing above her head.

Emma sneered back at him. “Screw you.”

Gold didn’t get angry, he didn’t hit her or shoot her or any of the things Emma expected him to do.

He simply nodded to his side and the same man who had manhandled her in front of the camera moved towards the group of staff members huddled in another corner of the room. Emma watched, terrified now, as he grabbed the staff nurse - Ghorm? - and yanked her forward.

The nurse was crying.

Emma, David, and Graham were all shouting.

Admiral Grump was swearing.

“No!” Emma screamed when Gold turned his head and nodded.

It was over in an instant, the nurse sprawled across the floor with a bullet in her head and her blood on the floor.

If Emma wasn’t sure that her entire body had turned into a quivering puddle of furious goo, she’d have gotten to her feet and pummeled Gold.

But she was simply too angry and too terrified to react.

“There’s a reason I never voted for you,” Gold stated, as if he hadn’t just orchestrated the murder of an innocent woman. Then he pointed the gun at David and cocked it.

Emma’s hands rose immediately, docile and waiting to be shackled to the railing.

She couldn’t lose David, too.

Everyone around them was still screaming, but Emma had gone numb to it all. She watched, detached, as the rest of her senior staff were all shackled to the same railing. She trained her eyes on the other hostages who were herded into a corner and zip tied together. She prayed to a god she wasn’t sure was watching to save them.

To save her son.

To save her if he had the time left over.

The Koreans spoke their native language to each other, conversing about whatever nefarious deeds they were planning, Emma was sure. It didn’t matter. None of it did at the moment because she was helpless. Useless. Not even able to protect her son, never mind the entire country and the free world.

“Bring Miss Swan here,” their leader demanded a short time later.

Emma felt her hands untied and was hoisted to her feet and up the steps to stand in front of him.

Next to one of her men, the computer nicknamed ‘the football’ - the one that housed the country’s nuclear codes - lay abandoned.

Emma’s blanched.

“I have no interest in your nuclear codes,” he told her conversationally. “Your Pentagon will have already changed them. No?”

She’d forgotten. Yes. The codes were already changed and safe.

Then she was forced into an office chair in front of one of the computers. What did they expect her to do there? Emma could just about handle word processing - she had staff that made the computers work.

Or Henry, if it came down to it.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked again. “You’re not Korean, and you’re certainly not representing South Korea if you are.”

“Yes, you’re right,” he told her. And then spouted North Korean propaganda at her that explained nothing.

“It’s a whole new world, dearie,” Gold sneered from behind her.

Gold. How the hell was he caught up in all of this? How could he betray their country like this?

“What’s the going rate for a soul these days?” she threw over her shoulder at him. “I never would have taken you for a traitor.”

That had pissed him off. “I’m no less a traitor than you are, dearie,” he yelled.

He’s delusional.

Emma’s level of fear ratcheted up another notch. If he thought she was a traitor for helping globalize their economy, then he couldn’t be reasoned with.

They were all going to die.

“What’s it cost to buy a presidency nowadays, anyway?” he mused.

They were all going to die.

Gold had leaned in, telling her how he was a rookie at treason compared to her when Emma struck.

She butted her head forward, slamming her forehead into hers and taking sweet satisfaction in watching him stumble and fall.

“Gotta keep your gloves up, Gold,” she taunted, ignoring the ringing in her ears from the blow she’d landed.

Gold recovered quickly, grabbing her and pulling his weapon.

“Enough!” the other man yelled. “We need her. For now.”

That scared Emma far more than Gold’s wrath ever would.

And then her blood froze in her veins as Hades turned away and spoke in Korean. She picked out one word.

“Henry.”

Henry?

“What the hell do you want with my son?” she hissed, livid.

He didn’t answer her, of course. Only smirked.

Emma listened dispassionately as he spoke with Regina, listing out his demands and spewing more political nonsense and vague threats on her life and the lives of her staff before cutting the feed once more.

“The United States of America doesn’t negotiate with terrorists,” she spat at him.

Then. Oh, then. Then Emma started to really fear for the future if his plans came to fruition.

“Who said anything about negotiating?” he asked, waving a switchblade knife about before moving down the line of her senior staff.

They were screaming. Everyone from Graham to David to Ruby.

He finally pointed to Leroy, watching disinterestedly as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was maneuvered to kneel in front of him, Leroy’s head forced against a chair.

Oh God, they were going to kill him in front of her. Had it really only been that morning that she’d wanted to tear into him for calling it his Navy? She’d let him get away with the misogyny for the foreseeable future if only he wasn’t murdered.

The knife rested at Leroy’s throat, the man holding him down by the hair. “Admiral Grump, your Cerberus code, please.”

The number and severity of the curses that ran through Emma’s head would have made her parents blush - if she’d ever had any.

No one was supposed to know about Cerberus. No one except those with the highest classification statuses.

Definitely not Gold.

And not this man, either. So how did he know?

Leroy just stared at her, and Emma knew he’d die before betraying her.

“You kill him, you won’t get the code.” she assured.

He nodded at her, but he wasn’t agreeing.

“I won’t ask again.” He dug the knife deeply into Leroy’s neck, finally pulling a gasp from the man, but nothing more.

Emma glared.

Leroy stared at her.

The knife bit in deeper, and Leroy groaned.

Emma could see the blood beginning to trickle down onto the seat of the chair.

Cerberus couldn’t be activated without all three codes, so it wouldn’t matter if they couldn’t get hers.

Leroy wouldn’t break. Emma knew that as surely as she knew that the bastards doing this would never get her code.

And then Leroy cried out, the knife starting to do real damage.

He’d never give up, but that didn’t mean she had to watch Leroy die in front of her. Not when there was something she could do.

“Give it to him, Leroy,” she ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Leroy didn’t hesitate after that. He glared, but he dutifully spit out his code, with a voice so hoarse that Emma worried his vocal chords had been damaged.

Anatomy wasn’t her strong suit in school, but it didn’t make a difference.

Leroy never took his eyes off of Emma.

Killian waited until the opportune moment, leaping out from his hiding spot and cutting the man off at the knees. Both weapons clattered across the floor as the men hit the ground, Killian only just managing to stay on top of his assailant.

The man rolled and thrashed, managing to get some purchase underneath him when Killian locked an arm around his throat. He held on tight when the man rose, struggling to get a grip on the hair atop the man’s head for leverage.

His back collided with the wall, knocking the wind from him and lighting up the burn on his back, but Killian still held on.

Teeth sunk into his forearm, fingers scrabbled to get hold of his wrist or his own fingers, an elbow drove back into his sternum.

Killian gasped his way through the pain, holding on for dear life for as long as he could.

But then the man ducked and rolled and Killian found himself tossed against the desk, body scrambling to stand before he’d even registered the movement.

A knife sliced his thigh, and he used the pain to his advantage.

Focus.

Draw in the enemy.

Use his momentum against him.

A minute later and it was all over. Killian’s own knife buried to the hilt in the man’s neck, a look of shock still on the Korean face, even in the last throes of death.

Killian slumped to the ground.

There was a tattoo that he didn’t recognize behind the man’s ear, and he snapped a picture of it with the satellite phone.

“Blanchard?” he spoke into the phone as soon as the ringing stopped. I’ve got a commando here with something that might identify the group.”

“Is he alive?”

Killian shook his head in disbelief, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Ask me a serious question.”

There was a murmur in the background and Killian tried to wait patiently.

“No one recognizes it.”

“Bloody hell,” he swore. “Well, whoever they are, they’re good. They’re well trained and bloody well organized. But I guess you know that already. What do they want?”

Secretary Mills spoke up. “They want us to recall the fleet and pull our troops out of the DMZ.”

“Well isn’t that fan-bloody-tastic.”

Mary Margaret didn’t respond to that. “There’s more though, Killian. NORAD just reported that a Cerberus code has been entered. There’s only two more and they’ll have gotten what they want.”

Cerberus? What on Earth was that?

He asked.

And was summarily told that it was classified.

Killian almost burst out laughing. Classified? He was sitting in the Oval Office with more guns than he wanted to think about strapped to him, and an army of commandos between him and the President.

“I think I have the proverbial need to bloody know. Sir.”

It was a missile failsafe system, apparently. One that would render the entire country useless if someone, say North Korea, launched their own nuclear weapons at them. With this group in charge of Cerberus, they could detonate any of the ICBM’s that were fired back without consequence.

And the codes could only be changed through the self-contained system.

That was in the bunker with Emma.

“Bloody hell!” he swore again. “Who has the codes?”

He wasn’t surprised at the answer. “The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary of Defense, and President Swan.”

His head dropped back against the desk where he was still slumped. “Well, now we know why they want Henry.”

Emma was as stubborn as they came. And she was far more loyal to the country than she was to her own life. Even if they got the other two codes - and Emma would order the men to give them up to save their lives - the terrorists would never get hers.

Not unless they put a gun to Henry’s head.

Secretary Mills was explaining just that to him. “President Swan will hold out to the end, but if they get Henry. If they can threaten him in front of her…”

“No one hold up under those circumstances,” Mary Margaret muttered. Killian’s memory flashed to Blanchard’s own son, and he didn’t have to try to hard to think about what she was imagining at the moment.

“Jones,” Mills barked. “Find Henry. He’s your first priority. Get him out of there. Then we’ll see where we’re at.”

Thank the bloody gods, he thought idly, his heart unclenching a little at the explicit permission to do what he’d ached to accomplish since finding out Emma was unreachable.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed, cutting off the line.

Find Henry.

Save Henry.

Move.

#cs ff #ouat ff #whump #captain swan #cs au #my fic #storybrooke has fallen #nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable #more whump #minor character torture #action/adventure #and all that jazz

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writingthingsisdifficult · 7 years

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Secrets

My sweet friend and muse, the wonderful @isamthereforeiam gave me this amazing idea. I just hope I’ve done it justice. Thank you.

What happens when both parties in a relationship keep the same secret?

Let me know what you think (keep in mind that English is my second language, so there might be mistakes I didn’t find when I read through it). Also, let me know if you wan on or off my tag list.

Word count: 2900

The phone tickled my thigh as it buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, grateful I had remembered to set it to silent. I intended to decline the call, but Sam’s picture shone on the screen, and I pushed the green button before I even thought about it.

“Hey, darling,” I whispered, hoping my quiet voice wouldn’t give me away.

“Hey, Y/N. Am I interrupting anything? Why are you whispering?” He whispered back automatically. I don’t know why, but that was always the case when we phoned each other – mirroring the other’s mood or voice. Personally, I think I did it because of my profession, but some people are just natural mimics, I guess.

“Just working,” I replied, hoping my voice was neutral enough to hide the surge of adrenaline that coursed through me. “I’m in the middle of a… meeting. Can I call you in a few? Or was it something important?” I could hear him move around, and then something heavy clanged to the ground.

“Watch it, Sammy!” Dean growled in the background.

“No, nothing important,” Sam said, but there was a hint of sadness to his voice. “I just miss you.”

“Aw, Sam. I miss you too. More than you know.”

“Sam, come on. Gotta roll.” Dean was impatient today. But I didn’t mind: I was kinda busy myself.

“Gotta go. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I smiled and blew a kiss into the phone. “Talk to you later, okay? And give your brother a hug from me.”

After hanging up, I rested the phone against my cheek for a few seconds. I knew I had to tell Sam about my real job eventually, but for now I could handle the amount of lies I had to juggle.

With the phone securely back in my pocket, I returned to reality, listening for my pursuer from my hidden spot inside the closet by the kitchen.

The werewolf was getting closer. She didn’t conceal her steps the same way a fully-grown one would when on the prowl, but then again: she was just a cub. Recently turned, but angrier and more ferocious than I had ever seen before.

“I can hear you breathe,” she sang, and I could tell from her steps that she was coming closer. “You’re gonna be a tasty meal, and I am sooooo hungry!”

Crap. That ruled out talking some sense into her. She wasn’t interested in keeping her humanity, then. That meant time for plan B, which, if I was honest, had been plan A pretty much all along.

I fiddled with the silver bullets in my pocket. Why the hell didn’t I load my gun before I went in after her? Rookie mistake. I have been doing this shit for ling enough that I should’ve known better.

The steps stopped outside the closet door, and a shadow blocked any light from coming in under it. “There you are,” she said and threw the door open. The backlight made her grow several sizes, and the stone in my stomach grew with it.

My hand tightened around the gun, and I forced a smirk. “Here I am,” I replied just as the safety clicked off. “It was nice seeing you,” I added and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet knew exactly where it was supposed to go, and seconds later I crawled over the corpse of a young teenage girl with an exploded chest, trying not to look into her open eyes.

She stared into nothingness, looking as if she never expected to die like this. Poor girl. She should’ve been taught better. Maybe if she’d been more discreet, I would never have found her.

Briefly I wondered what her parents thought had happened to her. Did they even know what she had been made into? Or were they out there looking for her, praying for her to come home? I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced the thoughts away. No good ever came from overthinking things.

The gasoline fumes stung in my eyes as I poured a trail out of the door. Pinching the bridge of my nose hard, I made a mental note to pick up a six-pack of IPA or something before heading back to the motel. I deserved a break after this. A quiet evening of drowning my sorrows in nice beer and, if I was lucky, a good movie on TV. I watched the flames snake their way down the hall, licking the walls before I turned and ran for my car.

The door slammed shut, and I backed out of the driveway as fast as I could. In the unlikely event the neighbours hadn’t heard the shot, the house would soon be engulfed in flames, and I wanted to be as far away as possible before the fire brigade showed up.

The store I stopped in didn’t have the best selection of poison, but they had enough. And the guy didn’t even look up from his phone when I paid. If he had, he would’ve seen a customer covered in blood droplets, and then I probably wouldn’t get the relaxing evening I had planned.

It was times like this I wished I had a hunting partner, someone to carry the burden with, but I preferred to work alone. Oh yeah, I knew there was a community out there – I’d run into a couple of groups on occasion, but I could never seem to find my place. Too many testosterone filled, dick measuring idiots for my comfort. Sure, some of the stories were good. But they’re like fishing stories, I guess. Every time it got told, the apocalypse got bigger.

After showering, tending to my bruises, and throwing on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a baseball tee, I plonked down on my bed and turned on the TV, balancing a bottle and the remote control in one hand and a Danish in the other – and a second one in my mouth.

Switching through the channels, it soon became clear that although the motel boasted over two hundred channels, not one of them showed anything worth watching, so I turned off the sound and called Sam. It was always nice to hear his voice after a hunt – a reminder that there was still innocence in the world

“Hey, Y/N.” He picked up after two rings, and hearing him was as if the whole sun was pouring from the phone. A sharp pang of both love and longing hit me hard in the chest.

“Hi, Sam. Uh, am I interrupting anything?”

“Nah. Not at all. Ah-ah…” His voice was oddly strained. “Watch it, Dean!” A muttered sorry followed, and then something that sounded like metal on wood.

“You okay, Sam?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, don’t worry. Dean needs to learn to be more careful, that’s all.”

“Just slap his head. That’ll teach him.” I could just picture the giggle he was trying to hide.

“I might just do that. How was your day?”

“Nothing unusual,” I lied. Well, technically it wasn’t a lie – but I doubted Sam would think the same. “What about you?”

“Spent the day in the car,” he replied. “Boring as hell. My butt fell asleep. Made me miss you even more.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I miss you too. And your butt. Hey, Sam, I was thinking,” I began, absentmindedly sucking the icing off my thumb, “maybe we could meet up this weekend? There’s one last thing I gotta fix for my boss, then I’m heading back home.”

Truth be told, that one thing was a possible vampire case a couple of days’ drive from where I was parked for the night, and conveniently enough it was on the way home.

“I’d like that t – OW! Dean!” His voice was rough and miserable.

I squinted at my phone; I didn’t like sounds like that coming from Sam. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. As I said, Dean’s being a jerk.”

“Well, you tell him that I want my boyfriend back in one piece,” I giggled.

“I heard you,” Dean shouted, earning a laugh from both Sam and me.

We talked for hours, about all the small things that meant nothing to the world, but that meant everything to us; making plans, laughing at Dean, sharing small inside jokes… I felt my spirits rise just from hearing Sam’s beautiful voice, and I couldn’t wait for the weekend to come.

I parked my little car next to a beautiful, black car with long, sleek lines and lots of soul. Now, I didn’t know much about cars, and certainly not about classics like this one, but I knew beauty when I saw it. Dean liked classic cars, so I took a photo to show him. Surely he would appreciate the elegance. Maybe he could even tell me a bit about it: never hurt to learn new stuff. Might come in handy one day.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I found my way to room number 197 and began the meticulous task of sorting through my research; spreading my notebooks on the table and opening up the laptop to search the local newspapers.

From what I could read in the papers, there had been a string of disappearances in this little town. That was unusual in itself – the area was pretty peaceful, but combined with the growing pile of UFO conspiracy theories and the vague, online rumours of an established vampire nest a couple of miles outside of town, I was fairly sure what I was dealing with.

Took me a few tries to find the right place. At least the vamps had the decency to set up camp far from people. I parked my car down the road, and in the shadows I noticed the same black car I’d seen at the motel. Of course it had to belong to a bloodsucker. In the back of my mind an idea started forming: wasn’t it time for a new car soon? And the owner would be dead soon anyway. They wouldn’t miss it.

The short walk up to the house was tense and silent. Sneaking around had never been a strength of mine, but I wasn’t going to be discovered and miss my date with Sam just because I was careless.

Turned out I didn’t really have to worry. Peeking around the corner, I saw two big ones stationed outside the door, but they were too distracted by the fighting sounds coming from inside the house to see me.

It’s not unheard of that vampires fight each other. And I don’t blame them: if I was faced with an eternity of having to live with pretentious drama queens who insists on following ancient laws, I’d probably go apeshit too. Or stir up a fight just for the hell of it.

But I didn’t mind them fighting. That meant they were too busy to notice me creeping up on them until it was too late and heads started rolling.

“Boss said wait here,” the larger of the two said, pointing towards the ground.

“What for?” the smaller one replied, clearly rearing to go join the fight.

“Because we have the upper hand.” The first one was getting impatient. “When we get the signal, it’s time to join the crew; surprise those two nightmares.”

“But what about –“

“We can afford to lose a few heads.” He chuckled from his own joke. “Besides, it’s safer out here than in there.”

“Think again,” I muttered, swinging my machete with force. The sound of metal against skin and bones kindled a fire in me; releasing the adrenaline I craved and relied on.

Big Bloodsucker crashed to the ground, headless and undignified. The sudden movement seemed to startle his friend, and it took him long enough to figure out what was happening that when his brain finally decided on a course of action, my blade was already making contact with his neck.

“Some backup you are.” I rolled my eyes as his head settled next to the other, making it look like he was whispering sweet nothings in his friend’s ear.

So there was someone visiting from a rivalling nest. And someone probably said something offensive, and thus started a fight. Peachy. But I had seen worse, and if I was lucky, they had already thinned their own numbers.

The first bloodsucker I encountered inside definitely didn’t expect me. He pretty much looked like a bug with his eyes popping like that, and I couldn’t help but giggle from his expression: the adrenaline in my brain made me dance my way down the hall.

I turned the corner and ran straight into a group of three vampires, barely avoiding being kicked in the hip by a female soaring by me, and soon I was in the middle of the fight, brandishing my blade with fervour.

The last vamp collapsed on the floor in a messy heap, and her head bounced off the polished oak and rolled a good six feet; coming to rest under the sofa.

There was no time for me to celebrate yet, because I found myself face to face with a dripping machete. It took a few seconds of squinting for my adrenaline high to subside enough. “Dean?”

He was staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. Then, out of the shadows a very familiar voice sent daggers through my heart. “Y/N?”

“Shit.”

Sam stepped out into the light, face covered in blood splatter, but still the most beautiful man I’d ever laid my eyes on. “You can say that again. Where, I mean… why… what???”

I held up a finger. “First things first: is the place empty?”

“Yeah. Or… this building is,” Dean said. “Haven’t checked the cottage in the field yet.”

“It’s clean. No more vamps outside.”

“Alright. Let’s talk.”

Silence filled the room.

“Well?” I hardly dared to look at Sam – I had no idea how he would react.

“Well…” The word dragged a bit, and he did it on purpose, I just knew it. That made my stomach feel a bit lighter. Sam stepped closer and took my hand. “I’m kinda relieved, to be honest.”

My head snapped up, searching for something in his eyes. Of all the things he could’ve said, that wasn’t what I was expecting. But I found nothing but the soft smile he uses to cheer me up when I’m feeling insecure and stupid.

When he saw my confusion, his smile widened into a grin. “Yeah. It was exhausting trying to hide, well, everything.”

“This is fucking hilarious!” Dean looked back and forth between us, grinning like a maniac.

“But I can’t believe you kept this from us, from me…” Sam continued, ignoring his brother.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” I countered.

He smiled sheepishly. “Just wanted to keep you safe.”

I moved closer, and Sam wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a gentle hug. “Yeah, me too,” I muttered, feeling like the whole world came together just perfectly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know who we are,” Dean burst out, looking parts outraged and parts highly amused.

“Yeah, apparently you’re legends or something.” I measured him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “Guess you never impressed me enough for me to make the connection that you’re… well, you.”

“That was savage, even from you,” he chuckled, and every little trace of worry I may have had about them not approving melted away.

“You know me.”

“But seriously, though? Most hunters have heard of us.”

“Yeah. I’ve hard rumours and stuff, but figured most of it was pretty exaggerated anyway. And people always talked about those brothers, the almost never mentioned you by name.” I shrugged. “Besides, I work alone. It’s easier that way. To keep my job and private life separate,” I added when I saw Sam’s confused look. “Since you were supposed to be civilians and whatnot. If no one knew me, no one could get to you. Does that make sense?”

Sam nodded. “I guess so. Explains why I’ve never heard of you in hunter circles.”

Dean smacked his tongue and waved his arms around. “You know what? I’m getting thirsty. What do you say we discuss these recent revelations over a couple of beers?”

I could get behind that idea. “Sure. Sam? Care to join me and your brother on an adventure?”

“Coming. We’ve got so much to catch up on.” He stopped for half a second, looking at me. “No more secrets, right?”

I nodded. “No more secrets.”

Dean turned to us. “Hey, Y/N, before you met us here, what were you –“

“I was after a werewolf up near Bighorn National Forest. How about you?”

“Demon case in Gillette,” Sam answered.

“Jesus, really? So close. Fuck me, Sam, how come we’ve never run into each other on hunts before?”

“I know. How about when you said you were on that conference last month, in… in…”

“Oh yeah, in New York. It was a haunted restaurant. If we’re ever in the vicinity, we’ve got free meals waiting for us.”

Dean stopped and stared. “That was you? We came up there and everything was taken care of.” He laughed the way only he could: throwing his whole torso back, while barking loudly.

Sam tightened his grip around my waist and kissed my hair. Yeah. Everything would work out just fine.

Tagging my fabulous crew:

@awesomeahwu @brynleewolfe @funwithfanfics @babeinthebowtie @savingapplepie-eatingthings @winchesterprincessbride @savvythedork @littlegreenplasticsoldier @youtubehelpsmesurvive @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte You are all amazing for reading my stupid little stories. <3

#sam x reader #supernatural fan fiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #reader insert #gender neutral - i think #fan fiction #secrets #writing is hard

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