#karmicagent

Send me a ship and I’ll list 5 things that come to mind (accepting) ● @karmicagent​

Emmreth ‘don’t talk to me or my noodle boy ever again’ Took. She is really just SUPER protective of him and ready to fight anyone who so much as insults him tbh. She’s not even that motivated to protect herself from insults, but it’s a different story when Quade is one being attacked.

But, of course, Quade is protective of her too. I can’t help but think about Driver and all the types of things he did to protect his own love, and I also think about Won Bin’s character in Man from Nowhere and what he did for the little girl. So all I can see is it being like God help anyone who hurts Emmreth, or even tries to hurt her. Especially when they become even closer.

The Purest™ moments of affection. Hand holding. Soft kisses on lips, foreheads, cheeks, temples, and so forth. Sex with lots of really sweet moments probably, when sex does become a thing. Although, I do see their displays affection being more passionate at times too ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Whenever it does come out that he’s synth, she accepts him as he is and as a person. Although, that could be said about everything about him. She will accept him as he is, no matter what. But she would also be scared of someone hurting him because he’s a synth, or of the Institute managing to take him back. But I also have this image of someone saying something anti-synth about him or their relationship and her just being like (ง'̀-‘́)ง

Gears held his hands up, unsure of what sort of reaction the man was going to have to the teen trying to pickpocket the man and ending up being caught. That was fine, he wasn’t a good pickpocket anyhow and that just meant he needed practice. 

Tasteful.  Refined.  Excellent.

@karmicagent

They’re toying with her now. 

She can tell by the way they keep shortening and lengthening the distance between them; giving her just enough room to feel like she might actually lose them through the trees, before rushing in seemingly out of nowhere and reminding her that at any point they can snatch her out of thin air. Raiders are known for their cruel games, so she has been told a thousand times by now, usually in warning to stop her from leaving Diamond City without some kind of escort. 

Ivy didn’t listen then. She wishes she did this time. 

They’ve already proven they won’t shoot her -- not fatally -- which is even more terrifying. The bullets occasionally whistling past her are all part of the game, herding her through the skeletal woods in a zigzag formation that rapidly sees her lost and directionless. They want her alive. She can guess why. And while part of her wants to scream at the unfairness of it all, that she should be ripped from her own time, her own world, just to die out here on the run like a panicked animal, there is no air left in her lungs. She has been running for so long, and they’ve let her, knowing she’ll soon be too tired to take another step. Too tired to fight back, or so they think, but she has no desire to make any of this easy for them. There’s a loaded pistol strapped to her side, hidden by the oversized jacket Patrick gave her before he left, and she is pretty sure they haven’t seen it yet. They will soon. 

Maybe sooner than she planned. She keeps looking over her shoulder, braving these little micro-glances to try and get a head count. The number keeps changing, ranging from three to five to seven, but there could be more somewhere out of sight. She hasn’t fired a shot of her own yet, and won’t until she can line up a target -- 

Her foot pulls up short, snagged unexpectedly under a protruding tree root, and there’s an awful wrenching in her ankle as she pitches forward. She lands in the brittle leaves with a half-scream-half-sob, disoriented and sick from the shift in gravity. For a few blinding seconds there is no more fear or exhaustion, nothing beyond the throbbing pain radiating through her ankle. Then her hand is scrambling, tearing through the leaves for the gun that yanked itself out of its holster and buried itself somewhere just out of sight. 

“No,” she whispers raggedly, blinking sweat and tears out of her eyes. “No no no, please --”

Footsteps fan out around her, slow and predatory, followed by a menacing chorus of laughter. “I gotta be honest, Blondie,” a voice chuckles behind her, its owner swaggering closer. “For a while there, I was kinda rootin’ for ya.”

Stomach heaving, Ivy rolls onto her back to see his face grinning emptily down at her. It’s an odd sensation, to have someone look at you and know -- know right down to your core -- that, to them, you are nothing. Not even human. Her heart plummets at the thought of how they’ll leave her. She doubts they’ll so much as throw her in a ditch when they’re finished. Will they abandon her, wherever she dies, to be claimed by the elements? How long before some animal finds her and starts picking the flesh off her bones? How long before she is nothing but dust?

The ringleader, or whoever he is, crouches down practically on top of her and reaches out to touch a damp lock of hair plastered to the side of her face. “Christ, you’re a pretty one. Couldn’t really tell until now. We might just keep you a while. What do you say, boys?” 

His fellow Raiders, still closing in but keeping a respectful distance from the man clearly in charge, echo their agreement. Ivy wants desperately to be brave, to go out with dignity and whatever little pride she can hang onto before the end, but the prospect of having her fate dragged out at their hands is more than she can take. A fresh wave of tears stings her eyes, but she can’t even blink them away. Another sob bubbles out of her lips, and she knows it’s useless to beg but she does anyway.

“Shhhh,” the lead Raider soothes, with haunting gentleness. “Shhhh, none o’ that. Y’ain’t gotta do anything now but relax, sweetheart. Just rela --”

Her gun fell, but the knife in her sleeve didn’t. He doesn’t have time to react before the blade arcs seemingly out of nowhere and plunges squarely into his jugular. Ivy uses it to pull his face closer to hers, grateful that his rancid breath has stopped. “You relax, asshole,” she hisses. 

It wasn’t often that Pelayo found himself in the back of a vehicle - he was a helicopter pilot, not a footsoldier. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and today he found himself in the back of an APC assigned to a "Bravo Company” along with a dozen other members of the Guard.

Pelayo stared outside from the APC he was riding in. He was in the center of a convoy of consisting of six or so vehicles, heading in the direction of Central Park - not far from the hot zone in Lenox Hill. In addition to the military vehicles in the convoy, there was a handful of police units leading and trailing them. He hadn’t been given many details on this op, but to have this many units assigned to it it had to be regarding something - or someone - important.

Pelayo briefly checked his gear. Three 30-round mags - probably more than enough. He went right back to scanning the destruction on the city streets. It’d been a week since they started evacuating people from the island, and four days since they closed the bridges. Shops everywhere were deserted, and fires burned high in the skyscrapers above. Bodies, both of those turned and their victims, lay strewn on the streets. Cars were abandoned on the side of the road, or crashed at roadblocks. A handful of surviving civilians were running in the direction of the East 34th Street helipad, one of the few centers still evacuating at this point. A number of infected roamed the streets in this area, but the gunners on the convoy vehicles made short work of ones they encountered.

“Okay people, listen up!” the unit commander yelled. “We’re extracting an High Value Individual from the South Korean consulate. Contact has been made with the Individual and his family, and they have indicated they are secure on the top floor of the building.” He paused. “However, we have no intel on the status of the rest of the structure. The bottom floors are likely roaming with infected - which is why we've made the decision to move in now.”

“Alpha is going in first to clear out infected and assess the situation. Bravo, you’ll follow in after the initial sweep and join them to escort the HVI. The police units and Humvees will secure the street perimeter until we can move to extract.”

Moments later, the convoy stopped outside 460 Park Avenue - the South Korean Consulate. A few minutes of gunfire followed; the gunners eliminating any infected out on the street. “Clear!” their gunner yelled. Suddenly, the back door of the APC swung open - “Move, move!” the commander called out. Alpha Company had begun moving already, and was entering the building as Bravo stepped off.

Pelayo had a moment to assess the situation before he was to follow them in - like many other structures in the city by now, the building was in bad shape. Fires raged on floors further up, and the Korean flag hanging over the street was torn and dirty. It seemed there was a sign hanging off the side of the building, but at this angle he struggled to read it.

It happened from time to time, more than one person would offer up the same job, not realizing another already had, so Raserei would show up to a place and find his work already done. Sometimes it was just because nature or gods knew what else took care of his work for him. 

Slightly aggravating because it meant he wasn’t getting paid, and time spent traveling was pretty much wasted. But at least there were fewer raiders, that in the end what mattered.

The mercenary started picking around the area seeing if there was anything worth picking up that might not make this thing an entire waste. 

When he stood back up from picking through a body he noticed that whoever killed these raiders was still there. The state of undress the stranger was in caught him off guard and cause him to freeze a bit as his brain stuttered over how much danger he may or may not be in.

Raserei rose his hand to where his head was showing he was unarmed, at least for the moment.