Ride or Die, Remember? @mayaalliot - Tumblr Blog

my past needs to stay where it is.

H O M E

He had heard the loyalist standing before, but he hadn’t spoken a word. Oliver Parra swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head as if he was trying to clear his thoughts. Fingers wrapped around the glass seemed to choke it tighter and the onlooking loyalist wondered if the glass was going to shatter in his grasp. His eyes narrowed on the young loyalist, a fresh face tasked with a job that nobody had wanted.

Today he had drawn the short end of the stick.

“Say it again.” There had been no question; he had heard him clearly. This time Oliver was met by silence the fresh-faced loyalist afraid to speak. The young man unconsciously took a step backwards bringing him closer to the door. He himself had never met Maya Alliot but he had heard the stories of her greatness. He had heard the stories of their friendship...him, Maya and Laurent - they had been everything that he and the others wished to embody someday.

“I. SAID. SAY. IT. AGAIN.”

Each word angrier than the last as the glass flew from his hands and collided with the wall behind the loyalist. The liquid cascading down slowly.

“Maya Alliot is dead.”

Oliver turned his back to the loyalist, hands gripping the desk tightly as he felt the realty of the words set in. The reality that Alliot was no longer on this earth to sit in silence with. Oliver hadn't needed to know the how or why but he would figure out the who and he would see that they paid. The sound of the loyalist cough behind him brought him back to realty and without turning Oliver dismissed the loyalist.

Turning he picked up his phone thumb sliding over the screen and going to his text messages. Eyes lingering on the phone screen

Maya: For the love of God, can I come visit. I need figure some things out.

Oliver: You do?

Oliver: Si t'viens, laisse cette putain de bague derrière toi. Je ne pense pas que vous aimerez l'alternative, alors réfléchissez-y. I'll be seeing you.

For whatever reason she hadn't come to visit nor had she ever had a chance to reply to his text. Something about that unsettled him enough that his next movements were to his brother.

"St. Pierre," He paused a moment. "Tell me...tell me what happened"

ii.

She lingered just beyond the thresh hold for a while listening to the sound of live music. The door was ajar and the familiar smell of The Vault took over her senses. This place was her baby before she had actually had a baby. It had been where she had grown as a person...where she had realized she could be more than just a St. Clair loyalist. That she too could make something of herself with her skills.

Finally, Maya stepped over the thresh hold and inside the smoke-filled bar. Her eyes landing on Reagan who was laughing with a patron. Reagan paused as if she had known Maya had just walked in - as if she had been expecting her. Reagan stopped talking and raised the shot glass in front of her before tossing it back.

Maya weaved her way through the crowds of people slipping around a table only to catch another familiar face. She paused taken aback by the older man looking up at her. She hadn't remembered Nicolas ever visiting The Vault but anything was possible when you were dreaming. A hand reached out for hers and gave it a light squeeze.

What was happening? She was dreaming, wasn't she?

"Adrienne?"

"It's okay, Maya. He's at the end of the bar."

The man at the end of the bar hadn't looked towards her yet but she could him out of crowd any day. Maya closed the space until she was standing behind the empty bar stool. She hadn't even had time to pull it out before his hand was patting it.

As she lowered herself onto the stool, Fran shook his head before pushing the drink towards her.

"You missed me so much, you had to go and get yourself killed."

Her hand dropped from the glass as it all came rushing back. Her eyes scanned the room again. Reagan. Emily. Adrienne. Nicolas.

Everyone they had lost was here.

Everyone she had lost was here.

One by one they raised a shot glass.

"What are they doing?" Maya questioned Fran who had lifted his own glass for her.

"They're welcoming you home."

#selfpara

nefertiris

#jessica alba did THAT

#musing

Her back was to them though occasionally she took a quick glance over her shoulder to see where they were at in gaining access to the building.

“Our window is running out,” Maya commented as she send another glance over her shoulder. When the sound of metal clattering against the ground echoed in the night Maya let out a sigh. She turned quickly and closed the space between them. Her hand reaching out and physically moving them out of her way. “I got it.”

She worked quickly, silently and meticulously - with in seconds the lock clicked and the door opened. She placed the lock aside and pulled the caged door open.

“Let’s go,”

#mobstarter #FLASHBACK #french

“I used to have nothing. And then I got this. This job. This family. And I was.... I was better because of it. And even though they’re gone... now I’m still trying to be better”

#musing {i'm not the hero of the story}#musing

Note: Adrian dropped Mayas body off at Mistrals. Feel free to respond to it. Obviously they could probably assume it was Adrian and not the Russians because he was respectful / merciful and returned her body.

castillo-adrian

Part 2. The Reckoning.

The absence of Rutherford siblings had infected every part of London. Even though Damon was said to be vacationing in Mexico and Lara recovering swiftly, the hushed whispers told a more sinister story. Certain uneasiness had descended over the city, affecting even those who were completely oblivious to the mob war. London hadn’t forgotten about Belgravia. And now, HCA struck again.

At least that’s what Adrian Castillo had them believe.

But Damon’s absence had confused everyone. The tabloids had a habit of photographing his every move, even when vacationing in exotic locations, but two months of no sign of Rutherford had raised questions.

As Adrian sat in the freezer room, waiting for Maya, he replayed his last conversation with Lara in his mind. He wondered when he started to care for the Rutherford children, when he never extended the same to the St. Clairs. He’d never put this much effort with them. Was it him just doing his job as Melissa’s right-hand man? Or did he actually want to keep Rutherfords safe? Had this been a result of pure egotism from his part? That he cared for only those who rose him as a leader and had no qualms betraying those who merely saw him as a weapon?

The out-of-place surge of existential contemplation had ended once he heard the sound of engine revving nearby, followed by approaching footsteps.

“Expecting somebody else?” The assassin asked and rose to his feet.

“Adrian,” Maya smiled bitterly, “what took you so long?”

He saw her reach for her gun, but before she got a chance to point and shoot, Adrian closed the distance between them. His fist grabbed her wrist and elbow knocked out the pistol from her hand.

Maya would not go down easy, though.

She kicked Adrian in the knee full force, making him stumble.

“You’re a fucking traitor,” the woman hissed at him and attacked like a rabid animal, ready to tear her victim to pieces. But Adrian had managed to steady himself, grabbed the Frenchwoman and slammed her against the wall.

“You could’ve walked away,” he told her, as he held her pinned against the concrete, “you didn’t have to die for them.” A there-and-gone flicker of remorse, an image of what she could’ve been if she had stopped being a martyr for the St. Clair family.

“It’s not like you’d understand,” Maya breathed and summoned the strength she had to grab a crowbar laying nearby. “Oliver, Laurent, Richard… they’re my family and you betrayed yours.”

Adrian’s fist collided with her collar bone, rendering her unable to lift her arm and deliver the hit. The iron dropped on the ground. Adrian wrapped his arm around the beck of her neck and slammed her head on the table. It was an act of mercy, an attempt to knock her out.

Now on his feet, Adrian reached down for his gun, but felt a sharp pain stab his leg.

He was done playing nice now.

Twisting her wrist, Adrian forced Maya to drop her knife, delivered a strong blow to her abdomen with the bottom of his boot, and dragged her across the floor. He pressed his knee into her chest, and fired the first shot.

“Was it you?”

He hadn’t expected this to be the last question Maya would want to ask.

In another life, Adrian would’ve felt sentimental that in her last moments, her thoughts drifted to Fran.

“Yes.” The second shot.

Blood pooled in her mouth, and spilled out as she attempted to speak.

“Laure is here and she is looking for you.”

That, he already knew. Third shot.

“Nicolas didn’t really give you a second chance at life, did he?” Adrian said bitterly, “You were so eager to give it back anyway.”

Fourth shot. “You’ll rot in hell, Castillo, and I will be waiting for you there.”

Dying had never been apart of plan but on some level maybe she had known that this was how her story would end. At least she had felt she had revenged Fran and the St. Clair organization her only wish was that she had killed the Rutherford bastard.

After the first round, she didn’t beg. She would never beg Adrian to not kill her. It would be both pointless and against her moral fiber. The man standing above her had once been a great loyalist and now he was a coward.

Mayas only wish as she lay there had been that there was a way she could have told Oliver and Laurent it was going to be okay. That they would be okay without someone to nag them.

Without her.

A small pulled at the corner of her lips as her eyes fell shut as her body started to succumb to its wounds.

Fran.

The fifth and the final shot pierced the air one last time. She was off duty now.

#Selfpara #para #save #my heart breaks for you bby but im so proud of the development over the years

castillo-adrian

Part 1. The Rescue.

“So, yeah, the rat spoke. You were right, the Alliot cunt has him,” announced Maksim Kurylenko over the phone.

“I see,” it was a relief. About fucking time. Andrew Rutherford’s patience was thinning with every hour. Two months later, his son had been missing still. Thank fuck, Adrian had a definite answer now.

“We are almost done here,” the Russian said, “I’m texting you the location.”

“Thanks for the assist, Maksim, we’ve got it from here. Say thanks to Sveta and Aviv for me, too.”

Adrian knew what he needed to do.

He packed light – a handgun, and a combat knife.

“Let’s go,” Adrian turned to Divya, “oh, and don’t forget to bring a crowbar. Might come in handy.”

The drive to the location had consisted of Adrian sitting in silence whilst Divya cursed in every language she knew, threatening to flay every single St. Clair if Damon turned up dead. The navigation brought them to what seemed to be a former restaurant, now out of business. Adrian gestured at Divya to check the back entrance as he headed towards the front.

“Nobody here,” Divya’s voice echoed in the empty hall.

“Check the basement,” he suggested.

When the assassin heard another wave of Hindi curses, Adrian made his way down the stairs to find Divya struggling with a giant padlock guarding what seemed to be a freezer room, now out of commission.

“Divya, the crowbar…”

“Right.”

When she returned with a piece of iron in hand, the woman hit the padlock with a surprising force, shattering it into pieces after only a couple of swings. The fear of losing a friend had a miraculous effect on people.

Once the doors swung open, they had discovered a broken, beaten and most likely tortured Damon, chained to a chair. There was no sign of Damon Rutherford they knew. His jaw seemed dislocated, ribs probably broken, the old wound leaking, blood streaming from his face. The fiery glisten of his eyes had gone out, all the life and colour had left his once lively face, his black curls were dripping blood.

“I swear to fuck, if he’s dead…”

“He’s not,” Adrian declared with a deep exhale of relief. When he pressed his index finger on his throat, there was a pulse. A weak one, but a pulse nevertheless.

They unchained him as carefully as they could and carried him to the car. Damon had been unconscious the whole time.

“Call Gideon. Tell him to arrange a private entrance and a discreet nurse. Go!” He instructed, but Divya needed no reminder to hurry.

“Adrian…” her eyes were radiating fury, “don’t make it quick. The bitch doesn’t deserve it.”

He simply nodded, but they both knew he wouldn’t drag it out and make her suffer.

But he would make sure this would be Maya Alliot’s last day on Earth.

#selfpara #save

mayaxalliot-blog

Some people are just born to fight, I think. It’s not that they’re born brave. It’s not that they’re born strong. It’s just that the universe has decided that this one, this one will have grit and fire and steel in their blood. And it’ll be tested, this cosmic mettle of theirs. They’ll face trial after trial, be broken and damaged in countless ways. But this one was born to fight. Maybe it’s not the life they would have chosen. Maybe they’d love to lay down their arms. But they were born to fight. It’s what they know. It’s what they do best. It’s all they can do.

(via mayaxalliot-blog)

#musing

damon-rutherford

@Maya

mayaalliot

damon-rutherford‌:

A pain stabbed his heart.

His body refused to take a breath, as if his soul was begging for time to cease moving so he wouldn’t have to exist in a reality where his sister didn’t. The sadness that descended left no room for anything else. Not even anger.

A long time passed before he was able to speak.

“You think this is your victory? Ask the man you loved if this matters and let his silence be your answer,” when Damon looked at Maya, there was no hatred, no anger, just pity. If she felt the tenth of what Damon was feeling now when her friend died, what else was there to do but to pity her?

He thought of Gideon and he could almost feel his heart physically break. What else could this pain could possibly mean? His eyes welled at the thought of Gideon thinking he lost both of his siblings.

Damon closed his eyes. He saw Lara, from the moment when Cerys first walked her into the room, till the last time they spoke, when he tried to console her, but failed.

And now, he could see her walking away in the opposite direction from him, from this big world into the Great Perhaps, leaving him in the Horrible Definitely.

The satisfaction she felt as the emotions spilled onto his face had almost been enough to last year the week but the pain he felt wasn't nearly enough of a payment for what they had done. How they had caused the St. Clair family to suffer.

More blood needed to be spilled.

She closed the space between them her hand coming and laying on her face gently. To think they were once kind to one another was a foreign concept now. Maya soft-touch turned brutal as she fingers gripped his jaw and turned it, so his eyes were locked with her own.

"It is not about winning for me, amusement maybe. I enjoyed the moment just now and wondered if they were going to bury you next to her. That is, of course, if I give them back your body." She paused a second to dig her fingernails into his face. "I haven't decided how many pieces to send you back in."

His body had already taken so much damage from her wrath. Bruised skin, broken ribs, black eyes. malnutrition. dehydration. She was sure from the bags under his eyes that he was growing tired. To say she wasn't proud of him in some twisted way would be a lie because, through all the beatings and violent lash outs, Damon Rutherford had handled it well. His screams had been little, but it had been enough. Enough for her to know that all of what she was doing was worth it.

Too bad, she wasn't done.

The familiar sound of the knife opening had brought a devilish smile to her lips.

"On the off chance I decide to give you back I want you to always remember this moment. To always remember what the fuck happens when you come after the French."

With the knife pressed against the edge of his eye brow, Maya started dragged it downward and in. Her other hand had moved to the back of his head and held him in place. Blood pooled around the edge of the blade and started dripping down his face, down his neck, and slowly started to form a puddle on the floor. Maya Alliot had cut deep enough that there would undoubtedly be a thick scar running down the ride of his face from his eyebrow to jawline.

"As for the man I loved," She laughed as she said as she wiped the knife off on his shirt to clean it off before sticking it in her back pocket. Maya turned on her heels and grabbed hold of the tire iron. Maya took a step back and won up with it before swinging, fast and hard, sending it colliding into his jaw. The familiar sound of bone breaking filled her hears. "he says hello."

#para: damon

mayaalliot

olivier--fontaine‌:

Olivier pulled his gun when he saw how close her hand got to her own. “If I did, I’d make a great deaf actor,” he quipped, winking as he kept the gun drawn in the hopes she would know he’d never pull a loaded gun on her. “We’ll make this quick, if that’s cool? My brother got a little fucked up by our guys the day after the party. Figured if I put a few bullets in your walls it’d help appearances. I’ll take a graze on the arm or leg if you want to hit back with any damage. But first, how’s Aurélie?”

“You don’t think its a pretty big risk coming here?” She questioned as she rose from her seat and walked past him and straight towards the front doors. Maya locked them quickly before turning back to face him. “I’m going to assume you took all the right precautions but next time come through the back.”

“She’s alive.” Maya perched herself against the table top. “How’s the Rutherfords?”

#convo: olivier

mayaalliot

emilia-lefebvre‌:

Emilia dropped her purse and sat down on one of the chairs. Every moment was painful, it seemed. She took the drink from Maya and took a sip, sighing at the taste before turning her attention back to the woman in front of her.

“I’m…existing.” She said, trying to smile back. “I keep dropping by the hospital, but I can never stay long. Seeing Aur like that is just…” She shrugged, almost like a shudder and closed her eyes. “I keep hoping it was all a bad dream.” She was quiet a moment. “Fran…I’m so sorry about Fran, Maya.”

“She’s going to be okay,” The words left Maya’s lips as if she new them to be true. There was a confidence in them that even she believed. She took a small sip of the water in front of her before leaning back in the chair. When Emilia said his name she swallowed hard, her bottom lip pressed hard to her top as she nodded her head. “Yeah, me too.”

What else was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to tell Emilia how angry she was? That she was so hurt and angry that she had Damon Rutherford hanging by his limbs in a basement. Maya forced a small smile as she set the glass down.

“You were hurt that night right?” She questioned softly.

#convo: emilia

style-in-style

#photos

In a world where Maya was a Rutherford, would she have risen so high within their ranks?

I think so. She’s a determined little shit. Though while she may not have lead a city she would definitely be high in the ranks. Though on the other hand maybe not because I think her connections to the french bros played a part in her growth.

#answered #chardev #Anonymous

Grief is like the ocean.

If you had asked her if she ever thought this was possible. That she would be standing above her best friend's casket. She would have told you no. Not because he was invincible but because she should have been the one to die first. A first full of dirt was held tightly in her hand as she took a silent step forward. So many others had already left leaving her alone to be with him one final time. Slowly fingers pulled back allowing the dirt to fall from her hand and onto the casket.

She hadn’t cried since getting to Launceston. Had not allowed any sort of emotion to be present in the face of so many loyalists but now as she was faced with the reality that he was no longer on this earth with her it she had felt her chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” Her bottom lip barely trembled as the words came out in a hoarse whisper. “This is my fault. I should have seen it coming. I should have saved you.”

It was her job. It had always been her job and she had without a doubt failed at the one thing she was supposed to do.

“I’m going to fix this,” Her voice no longer trembled. “I’m going to make them suffer.”

It comes on waves ebbing and flowing.

Liquor ran down the wall as the glass smashed against it. Maya Alliot hadn’t stopped there though. A hard blow to the liquor bottles behind the bar had sent them all flying in different directions.

She was alone now.

No Fran. No Oliver. No Aur. Laurent was in Launceston.

Any person whom she truly felt she could lean on was either dead or emotionally unavailable.

Maya let out a scream in frustration as she picked up another glass and hauled it across the room. Today she wasn’t mad that he was dead. She was mad that he had died with the only trace of her daughter.

“You fucking asshole,” She drunkingly laughed as she threw the next closest item. “You just had to punish me one last time. You were the one who got me pregnant. I never asked for this. I just hoped-- I hoped I’d see her one last time.”

Her slurred words fell on deaf ears as she rounded the bar. Strong hands grabbing a hold of a chair and lifting it before sending it crashing down causing the leg to fracture from its base.

Are you done, Alliot?

His voice was as clear as ever in his head as she stumbled backwards until her back collided with the bar. Slender fingers wrapped around the neck of the liquor bottle as she pulled it into her chest. She had sworn she wasn’t going to drink. Telling herself that staying sober was the only choice.

That if she teadered on that ledge; she was surely going to drown.

Maya brought the bottle to her lips and closed her eyes as she took a long slow pull.

Sometimes the water is calm,

She stood before them arms folded over her chest , a unwavered calmness on her face. She knew there was so much happening around them and within the organization. Fran had died. Aur status was still critical and Laurent had gone back to Launceston to run things there. While things seemed rocky now they could not allow it to overtake them.

They were members of the St. Clair Organization and anyone who questioned their capabilities would be reminded of that. Maya Alliot looked at the loyalist of KC, eyes drifting over them one by one. She had known there had been whispers about whether or not she was capable of leading after losing someone she loved but she wouldn’t let them down.

She couldn’t let them down.

“There has never been a time more than now that we have to be on top of our game. Watch your backs, watch your friends back. We take care of our own and if anyone tries to press you into a corner, you call me.” She offered a soft smile before nodding towards the bar. “Now go have a drink and then get back out there.”

And sometimes it is overwhelming.

Her fist collided with mans jaw repeatedly.

Each blow caused her arm to grow heavy but she hadn’t stopped, she couldn’t stop. It was as if with each blow she had the ability to mend the brokenness in her heart.

The loneliness.

Maya’s fist collided with the face again until a strong arm engulfed her waist and lifted her off her feet. The man lay bloody and bruised on the wet dark alley pavement. He was alive but barely.

“Thats enough, I got you.” He quipped silently as he ushered her away and towards the awaiting car. Thierry had his arm around her shoulder, pulled her as close to his body as he could as he lead them father into the darkness and to safety.

He too understood the grief and the need to release the pent up aggression she was feeling.

The familiar sound of her watch beeping brought her back to reality. She looked up at Theirry offering him a soft smile.

“I’ve got to go take care of something,” She hesitated a moment before stepped forward and into his arms. Thierry without question wrapped his arms around her and for the first time since the funeral he thought he felt her relax.

“If you need anything let me know, okay, Alliot.”

She merely gave him a nod before taking a step back and heading down the street parallel to them. While she would have liked to stay and chat there was something else that demanded her attention.

Someone else was waiting for her.

The Rutherford whose life literally lay in her hands would also be reminded of a few things that evening.

The first would be that Maya Alliot was relentless and unforgiving. Much like the organization that made her.

All we can do is learn to swim.

#selfpara #this low key sucks #it was good and then welp