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Writing Request - Dark Hunter01Ash couldn't help but grin when he walked into the kitchen to find Madea and Simi talking.
"But I need the barbeque sauce."
"Little girl you keep eating all the junk and you gonna be bigger than my house!"
"AKRI! THE MEAN OLD LADY WON'T GIVE ME MY BARBEQUE SAUCE!"
Shaking his head he leaned against the wall, watching as both his beloved Simi and new neighbour/babysitter both looked at him with similar expression of exasperation. The similarity between the elderly black woman and the young female demon was astounding. It made him wonder if perhaps the two were related in some way.
"Simi, Miss Madea is only trying to make certain you eat properly."
"But, akri, I loves my barbeque sauce! Everything so much crunchier with it!"
Madea rolled her eyes and looked at Simi. "Girlie I'm telling you right now that you ain't putting that nasty stuff on my fried chicken! Ruin a perfectly good chicken doing that."
Ash shook his head. "Oh no," he said, holding his hands up and grinning
Ironhide and Annabelle drabbleIronhide watched Annabelle as she played with Wheelie and Brains.
She looked happy.
Her smile was bright and her laugh was like little bells.
It had been so long since he had last seen her. Last heard her voice. He may never admit it aloud, but he had missed her. When he was away he worried about her. Worried the Decepticons would find and hurt her. He worried that if he wasn't there to protect her, he would lose her forever.
Annabelle laughed again, drawing him from his thoughts that, for the moment, didn't matter.
Annabelle was all that mattered.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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