#riskey

[trap-n-grime]

(OVE) Bagzoverfame x Riskey - Interrogation 

[shellalana]

Holding Hands

((Prompt taken from this post by @uhmmmsweetie))

“I f**king hate this.” Reyna had never been a fan of being on Tempest. The skies were too dark, the architecture was beyond hideous, and there were that infernal lightning and thunder everywhere. If she wanted to be on edge every minute of her waking life, she would have preferred walking into a Thrall nest with a bullhorn during mating season. “You’ll be fine. Just stop thinking about it so much.” Whiskey Foxtrot couldn’t understand her concerns or her phobia. Lightning was lightning, and thunder was just the result afterward. It wasn’t as if they could hurt her in any way. “How can I not think about it when it’s happening around me, you...!” Reyna ground her teeth together and shoved her hands into the folds of her jacket. What she wouldn’t do to hit him right now. “Fine, think about something else, then.” “Like what?!” “Anything. And I thought Shayne was supposed to be the baby of the group.” Reyna followed behind him, feeling less like herself. Having her phobia being put on display like this wasn’t becoming of the Rogue leader and she had a reputation to keep. The fact that the old clone was playing off her irrational fear like it was nothing wasn’t helping matters either. Honestly, if she could turn around and head back to the ship to cry, she would. But duty called, especially when it came to saving the galaxy. Foxtrot could sense the discomfort practically oozing off her. He knew he was being a little rough with her but it wasn’t every day that he’d get to see the Jennerit spy and his eagerness was getting in the way of his sympathy. Sighing, he stopped in his tracks and extended a hand towards her. “Since we can’t, you know, deal with this crap the usual way, at least you can hold my hand if it’ll make you feel better.” His tone was without the usual gruff bite, enough that Reyna almost thought it was someone else speaking. She wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity, especially if it kept her moving forward. Her small gloved hand was enveloped in claws and warm, purple skin. His hand was so big, it made her feel like a child being led by an adult. “... Deande know about us?” “No. I don’t kiss and tell, boss. It’s none of her business anyway.” Was there really a “them” to begin with? Reyna made it no secret that what they had wasn’t exclusive and that she had every intention of keeping it that way. “True. Just making sure. Thanks, by the way.” “It gets you to stop whimpering, I’m all for it.” Foxtrot had to admit that this was a little nice, even if the intentions behind their shared grip on each other were less than affectionate. It was a little piece of the dream he kept tucked away beneath his pillow, a small dose of a reality that could be. It would be so easy... were it not for her stubbornness and obligation to the job. He never faulted her for it; that was what made her so admirable. But for once, he wanted to be the thing that shone in her eyes, not the Ring. That sliver of a dream slipped away with the removal of her hand from his own. They were at the gates and the guards were on the other side, waiting for Deande to make her appearance. “Your girlfriend usually this late?” Reyna ran a hand through her crest, looking a lot more relaxed than before. He wanted to retort that Deande wasn’t his girlfriend. That she was just as dismissive of anything real as Reyna was; duties abound for the both of them. That admission would lead to conversations he wasn’t prepared to have in public. “Sometimes. She likes primping her hair, just like someone I work for.” That earned him a sharp elbow in the side. The Valkyrie was obviously feeling better.

[moneyca]

New new new <3

[shellalana]

Stat

((writing prompts from @whumpster-dumpster))

“Who did this to you?” A clawed thumb smeared the blood at the corner of her mouth. He’d seen her beaten up before. It didn’t make the song in his heart any less sad. “Does it matter?” She tried to swat his hand away. But she knew the anger was there, hidden beneath the soft tone he forced into his voice. “It does.” “It shouldn’t.” “That’s not for you to decide.” He was right, it wasn’t. She’d given him freedom. Choice. It was hypocritical of her to curb his desire to ensure her safety. “Fine. Get the medkit,” she sulked.

[shellalana]

World

((writing prompts from @writeblrs March Seuss Prompts))

Newshines Day. He was supposed to be out, walking the younger ones in the vacuum of space to ensure none of them drifted too far away from the ship. Watching them from the deck, however, it looked like Pendles had everything under control. Another year, another celebration. How had the time passed so quickly without his discovery? This was all supposed to be temporary, even more so after Rendain had been- A bump to his elbow drew his attention away from his thoughts. A cold, sweating glass was placed in the armrest of his folding chair, filled with something surprisingly non-alcoholic. The Valkyrie sat right beside him, staring out just as he had been. Practically glowing in Solus’ light, save for the lines of exhaustion that seemed ever-present under her eyes now. Even with Rendain gone, the Varelsi continued their assaults. With no one at the helm, they were even more chaotic than usual. “No beer? What’s the occasion?” To be honest, he didn’t mind. Getting shit-faced was nice but being sober for once meant there were no curtains for her to hide behind. “No occasion. Just didn’t feel like it.” Reyna slumped a little in her chair, and Whiskey swore he heard a few discs in her back pop. Maybe after everyone went to bed later, he could treat her to a nice back massage. A real one. Not the pretense they always danced around to lead to something else. “Hm.” He wished he sat on the other side of her, where he could watch her out of his periphery, catch glances of her bathing in the star’s light. Her being on his blind side didn’t afford him with such a luxury and that made the gap between them feel even larger. Hm. Iced tea. Not bad. A creak of the chair drew his attention once more and he found her curling her legs up to her chest and draping herself over one of the armrests. As if she was curling up for a nap. “You know if you’re tired, you’ve got a bed in your quarters.” How many times had he carried her tired form to bed? How many more had he physically wrestled her into it? “You know I wouldn’t sleep anyway. Too quiet.” Of that concern, he knew. Seen her pace about the hallways of the ship when everyone else was asleep, save for him. There was something about a quiet ship that never sat right with her. “I could-” he offered. She promptly shook her head. That was a first. “You wanna talk about it?” “I just wanna sit here and watch. That’s all.” Whiskey Foxtrot couldn’t understand the feeling in his chest, hearing her sound so tired and defeated. Not her usual, bubbly and cheerful self. So full of energy. Now she was wearing herself out and he didn’t know what he could do to make any of it better. His very own Star, his world, was running out. So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached across the space between them and took her hand in his own. It was so small compared to his but just as rough, having seen so many things he still didn’t know stories of. What else could he do, what else could he offer to the one who’d kept him going, who gave him a place, who gave him exactly what he’d been needing since he’d left the facility? He stared out the window and watched the tethered silhouettes of the other four Rogues drifting around. And yet those words would never make themselves known. Itching on the tip of his tongue, he’d tried too many times and had been met with deflected humour and teasing about being too emotional. No, she’d given him a place amongst them and he gave her what she needed him to be: a soldier. A pair of hands with a gun. There was that nagging feeling again, making his chest feel tight. What was more surprising was she hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t said one snide remark about them holding hands, nothing to indicate that she wasn’t taking this seriously. He leaned over for a look. Her eyes were still open. And that squeezed his chest even more. Made it hard to breathe. “You’re gonna be alright, boss,” he muttered, cringing inwardly that he hadn’t called her by her first name instead. “I know. You mean the world to me,” she replied. Her thumb grazed the side of his knuckle. He felt his stomach drop to his feet. “You all do.” The last part might have taken a little of the wind out of his sails, but that didn’t make what she’d said mean any less. It was the closest she would get to the words he wanted to hear, brought him just an inch closer to that impossible reality. “You mean the world to us too, boss. ‘d never let anything happen to you... You’re too stubborn to die anyhow.” Reyna let out a little laugh. He felt her tug of his hand, felt the warmth of her cheek resting on his knuckles. His fingers twitched with the desire to run them through her hair, curl them around the back of her neck to rub at the skin there. To hold his world in his hands...

[shellalana]

Spilled

((writing prompt from @corvidprompts))

A stroll around the ship with a mug of caffe tucked in her hand, Reyna was checking to see if all her Rogues had clocked out and called it a night. Orendi was curled up in her hammock over Shayne’s bed; Pendles lay in a bundle completely buried under electric blankets and stuffed toys; Toby... was likely asleep in his mech again, despite the Valkyrie’s constant persuasions to use an actual bed before she rented it out to someone else. Everyone was in and sound asleep. Save for one. He didn’t need minding over, didn’t need tending to in any respect. He’d survived on far less and didn’t require her sticking her nose in to see if he slept snugly in his bed. Made easier by the fact that he’d left the Favour at least nine days ago. Not out of the ordinary for him. Still, Reyna made sure to always leave a single light on in his room, just for her peace of mind. >>Approaching Vessel The words flickering on and off on her comms device sent her sprinting to the bridge. She couldn’t take any more of those UPR scuttle ships trying to reclaim what was no longer theirs. She thought she and Ghalt had an agreement, but he assured her that if any more came, it wasn’t by his command. The tiny familiar shuttle drifted towards the bay doors, the thrusters compensating to prevent collision with the massive freighter. A wave of tranquility undid the knot in her stomach she didn’t even know was there, had been there since he’d left. A good thing too, with everyone else asleep. She wanted this moment selfishly for herself.  She tried to appear nonplussed as she all but sprinted down to the shuttle bay, another mug of caffe in hand in case he needed it. Or wanted it. It was a gesture all the same to remind him that he could treat this ship as his home, if he chose to. There would never be the obligation to stay if he found somewhere better.  Of course, she went out of her way to ensure that there was no such alternative. She couldn’t afford for someone else to have his skills. That’s what she’d convinced herself of, anyway.  A clawed hand pulled the exhausted purple form out of the shuttle and, as he made his way out, caught his boot on the lip of it. Stumbled, but never fell. He was just stubborn that way. “You look tired,” she jeered, nearing with the caffe. Perhaps the smell of it would perk him up. “Yeah, thanks. That’s the exhaustion. Also, probably blood loss.” Whiskey’s glowing yellow eye rolled into the back of its socket as he collapsed to the ground. The mugs were forgotten, crashing into a million pieces on the floor as Reyna lunged forward to catch him as best she could. The pools of warm java started to cool, as was the clone’s skin once she got his arm wrapped around her shoulder. He was pretty much dead weight against her back. Without the others to help, she wasn’t going to be able to carry him all the way back to his room. “Hey. Hey.” A gloved hand smacked him on the cheek in an attempt to rouse him. It didn’t work. As she lowered him to the floor after a few minutes of struggle, she noticed her shirt and back felt wet and tacky. That was when she saw just how bad his condition was. His skin was pale and there were several injuries covering his body and bleeding freely. Some looked like stab wounds while others appeared to be the results of bullets. Bullets that hadn’t been dug out yet. “You’re a messed up piece of s**t, you know that?” Despite his bloodied appearance, Reyna had no choice but to remain calm. Panicking would send her into a spiral and they’d both be worse off for it. Pulse: check. Breathing: check. She cracked open a small vial of smelling salts: nothing. She started to retrieve a medkit from the wall when she heard the familiar clicking of nails against the floor. She’d forgotten about that pudgy mutt and now she was going to have to deal with his whining too. “I don’t think he wants to play,” she barked at Cuddles, trying to nudge him out of the way with her foot. He liberally licked his owner’s face, hoping it would wake him up so that he could cook him another healthy portion of bacon, and huffed a nasaly bark at him when he got no response. When he realized it was a futile effort, he busied himself with cleaning up the spilled caffe from off the floor. Reyna probably should have shooed him away from it but she had more important matters on her mind. A caffeinated pug wasn’t high on her list of concerns.

[shellalana]

Warmth

((writing prompt from @character-prompts))

I wanted to do a “monster” ficlet with Reyna and Whiskey, and make him into some kind of DnD-type Deep Dragon/Illithid creature. But then it hit me to flip the tables, since there aren’t many monster-women in the BB-verse. Timeline: Before Whiskey escapes the UPR facility, and everyone is dead.

The sun was setting, the last few shafts of light already fading as the planet continued its fateful spin on its axis. Fate... he’d been born into this life already decided for him, never given a choice in how he would live or die. One purpose: kill. And kill he did, all the other clones - his brothers - who’s been released from their tanks and had dared to ask one question. Why. It had been him, of course, that “fate” had chosen to let slip a single word that would change everything that day. “Do what we tell you.” “Kill our enemies.” “Die for us.”

WHY.

Why should they? Why should they listen to someone they didn’t know? Why should they throw their lives away for those who didn’t give a damn about them? Why should they bleed before they even knew what their hearts desired? That spark had ignited a fire within them all, and it wasn’t long the UPR had a riot on their hands. Blue flesh collided with human, and the halls were filled with the sounds of screams, gunfire, and anger. They’d made them to kill without expecting their own weapons would be turned on them. That was days ago, and it wasn’t long before the brothers turned on each other. Jealousy, envy, the want for more other than this life left them wanting, yearning for any kind of stimulation other than the programmed purpose within their minds. And without the access codes to get out of the building, that left them with nothing but each other. Whiskey could still smell the blood on the walls. Could still feel the pop-pop! between his fingers as he snapped the neck of a brother. Could still feel the rush of adrenaline tickling at gut and begging him for more. It made him feel, and though it steered him towards what he’d been searching for, he wasn’t sure if he liked it. And so he sat there alone, waiting for the darkness to reclaim him and return him to the nothing he’d come from. Starvation would take him eventually and remove any ounce of their existence. How it should be. A warmth suddenly bathed him, not only on his skin but also within. Was this... what was it? He didn’t have a word for it, having experienced nothing like it before in his short life. That’s when he spotted the smell burning form of a woman... no, a goddess. With skin like earth and eyes that radiated light that was brighter than the very star itself. Clad in strands of starlight and shards that jutted and curved around her shoulders, Whiskey found himself utterly speechless at the sight of her. His heart raced, his tongue felt dry, and his head pounded as she approached. ... was this fear? He remembered himself and the training they’d programmed into his head, and made a grab for the forgotten gun at his feet. He bared his teeth at the stranger of light and braced the gun between both knees to steady his aim. Why were his hands shaking so damn much? The closer she got, the more he could see that she was less human and more... What he’d thought was a crest of hair atop her head were actually a pair of smooth horns, curved back with the flow of her long reddish mane. Hands... were not hands at all, but large leonine paws tipped in claws that could rend him apart with a turn of her temper. And some part of him would have welcomed it, if it meant being no longer subjected to this shitty life. “Get away from me!” he snarled, the trigger dancing beneath his finger with his unsteady grip. His attempt at intimidation made him sound more like a scared child. “Or else what? You’ll shoot me?” The woman lazily stretched her arms over her head - was she getting bigger? - and yawned, baring teeth that were equally, if not more, vicious-looking than his own. “What do I have to fear from someone with no purpose?” She sat on the floor before him, curling her legs beneath her as the strands of light billowed across the floor around her. When had she gotten closer, he asked himself, as he felt the pressure of her chest against the barrel of his gun. “You can pull that trigger, and either nothing will happen or I’ll be dead. And you’ll be alone again.” Smooth horns became jagged, soft sunlight eyes burned brighter and seemed to pierce into his mind itself. Her smile told him she’d ripped throats apart with those very teeth, that she’d tasted blood and relished in it. That she was really no different from him. Only she was beautiful. Warm. Smelled like... he couldn’t put a word to it, knowing nothing outside these walls. But the scent of her made him want more. The gun clattered to his feet at her touch to his face, her hand so impossibly large against his skin, like it was warming him from the inside out. A sharp inhale stung his chest - when had he stopped breathing? - but as unfamiliar as the sensation was, he didn’t recoil from it. He found himself leaning into the velveteen paw, wanting to feel every inch of its glow across his skin and within.  And making him feel, but not like the adrenaline. That only increased the static in his mind, but this quieted it all. It was chasing away his darkness. This was anything but fear. Another word to discover at a later moment. He could feel her rumbling purr through her hand, and then both as she cupped his face and leaned in close, her mane tickling his neck and shoulder. She was so large now, almost towering over him. “Demon...” he whispered under his breath as he tried to make sense of what she was and why she seemed to have so much power over him. None of the intel they’d shoved into his brain covered this. “Maybe,” she replied, her voice so soft and resonating, it felt like she was speaking inside his mind. “But we all are, in our own way. You just need direction.” “Direction?” He ignored the prick and itch of the pinpoints of starlight against his skin as he allowed himself to be enveloped in her embrace. “Away from the darkness. Would you like me to show you?”

[doertewelti]

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