#john might have asked for a copy

[ringosmistress]

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (3)

previous | next

tw: canon-typical violence, bad accents

"Wut?" Simon stutters, in a voice you've never heard before. You've been on comms with him when missions have gone to shit, and he has never sounded as nervous as he does right now.

"It's just-" You huff out a breath. Why does this have to be so hard? Usually conversation flows with Simon like a stream over rocks, smooth and unhurried. "It seems like you're upset. You looked like you wanted to hide when John introduced us, and now..." You let the sentence trail off. "Where's the man who, two weeks back, spent watch sharing the worst puns I've ever heard?"

Simon looks at you, finally meeting your eyes, before glancing quickly away. "I dunno wha' 'cher talkin' about," he mumbles.

You can't help but snort in response. "That's such bullshit, Simon! You forget I've heard you lie before," you remind him. "You're usually much better than this."

Simon's mask twitches and you glimpse little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. You think maybe he's smiling a little behind the mask.

You decide to push your luck, knowing your Simon is stuck somewhere in this man who seems to sit so uneasily in his place. So you smile and say, "Go ahead and give me another."

Simon holds your gaze a few moments longer than last time and mutters you, "I don' like change."

You keep your eyes on his, on the parts of his face you can see, and on the way his hands are twitching against the table top. "Liar." You're grinning at him now.

Simon flattens his hands against the table and leans forward a little bit. Lowering his voice, he says, "We don' need help."

"Eeeh!" You make a buzzer sound and tell him, "Wrong answer, but thanks for playing." He chuckles like you're used to, low and dark. "I've seen the same intel you have, and you're going to want me on the other side of those comms."

This time he looks at you and holds your gaze. "Yer right, Oz. We will."

You're so shocked at the first honest response from him you don't know what to do. You gape at him for a moment, unsure of what to expect next, when he floors you again.

Simon looks down at the table and, so quietly you think you misheard, says, "Yer prettier 'an I thought you'd be. An' I knew you'd be pretty."

You're saved from having to respond at all as Kyle, Soap, and John finally come back with food.

"Scran's nae bad teday," Soap says, sliding a tray in front of you. You mumble out your thanks and catch John looking between you and Simon. You hope he can't see how nervous you are. Simon's posture gives nothing away, which might be his biggest tell right now.

"Solid copy, Ghost?" John asks him, and he merely grunts as he digs into his food.

The rest of your day is spent going back over the information you have. Laswell agreed with your idea for transport, so you spend a few hours arranging something both more discreet and reliable, calling in a favor or two in her name.

By the time dinner rolls around, you have given yourself no less than a dozen pep talks about your interaction with Simon at lunch. You've played out a million different scenarios and finally opted to take your cues from him.

You don't have long to wait as he and Soap come to your office at 6:30. He stands back and lets Soap do most of the talking, which he does all the way to the barracks. When you get there, you give him a quizzical look. "I don't know the base well, but isn't the mess the other way?"

Soap's smile borders on feral. "Aye, but Cap'n decided, 'cuz a yer bein 'ere, to take ye off base tonight." Beside him, you catch Simon's eye and the eye roll he gives to Soap's back.

"Cap'n jus' wan'ed tuh show ya some 'a the city, seein' as you'll be here instead 'a home when we're gone." He finishes quietly. Seems like no one is happy when reminded the whole reason you're here is to support them while they're gone.

Simon unlocks the barracks and ushers you in, following behind with a gentle hand on your lower back. Now three of your boys have made the same unconscious motion. When will Soap? "We're gonna head out in 20. Tha enough time fer ya ta get ready?" he asks.

You look at him and Soap and notice they're dressed in civvies. You're not sure how you missed that detail before because now that you really look, it's clear they've cleaned up and changed since lunch. "Twenty should be fine. I mean, it's not fancy, right?"

Soap winks at you, "Nah. Ya look perfect already, bon. Yoo could go as ya are 'n be feen."

You pause, smile frozen on your face. You don't know how to take that compliment , so you stammer, "Uh, thanks. I'll just..." You point towards your room. "Meet you in the rec room?"

Simon nods, and you walk away. You hear a light thump and an "Oi, Lt, wha' was tha' fer?" as your door closes.

It turns out John's idea of a tour of the town is more about how to get off base and where not to go alone. "Unfortunately, can' let ya borrow a military ride, Oz. Yer not cleared for 'em." So instead he shows you where to catch the bus - "ne'er do a ride share. Can' have 'em on base" - and where some key places in town are. "Asda's gunna have e'rything ya need 's far as snacks 'n toiletries. An' if ya want food tha's not from the mess, pick somethin' over 'ere," he says, sweeping his arm to the streets northwest of where the bus would drop you.

He doesn't take his own advice though, parking in a lot several blocks south and taking everyone to a pub bearing the name The Dancing Bear. The others walk ahead of you and John. Clearly this is a place they've been before.

As you follow the group into the space, the man behind the bar calls out to John who simply raises a open hand. You watch the man's eyebrows rise while he looks over the group, finally landing on you. You can't quite interpret the look he gives John, but he points to a table towards the back. You notice it's nestled in an area not immediately viewable from the door but with a line of sight to most of the room. As they had at lunch, Simon and John take up positions along the wall where they can see almost everything. Kyle and Soap are sat next to John and Simon respectfully, which leaves you to take the seat between the two sergeants.

You hear heavy steps come up behind you, and while your first instinct is to tense - you completely understand why soldiers and cops try to not put their backs to a room - no one you're with seems concerned.

When the footsteps stop, a gruff voice says, "Nice ta see ya, boys. An' ye've brought a friend."

You assume this is the same man from behind the bad, but while John was smiling a moment ago, you can tell it's now strained. You can only guess what caused the change.

"What've they got on you, dollface? Ye're too gorgeous to be here, with them, by choice." The man laughs at his own joke as you turn. You don't know how often the boys come here, and you certainly don't want to burn bridges if they think the joke is funny, so you simply give the man a tight smile.

John gets his attention and orders drinks for the boys then looks to you. You order a soda; these guys do not need to see what a lightweight you are, and you definitely don't need your inhibitions lowered. Kyle orders chips and curry for the table as you all decide on your meals.

The atmosphere is much different than at lunch, when the lore of being the 141 kept you insulated. John and Simon are scowling more than before, to the point where you suggest everyone heads back to base.

"Why?" Simon asks.

You look at him then over your shoulder to the small group playing darts, the few people at the bar, the man who was at your table and another woman, both making drinks behind the bar. "Oh, I don't know," you drawl. "Maybe because it looks like you're trying to stare the place down."

Simon's eyes snap to yours as Soap giggles. "She's got a point, Lt. Yeh look right pissed."

He turns slightly to see where Simon has been staring, his own face morphing from carefree to annoyed as Simon says, "It'd be fine 's long 's other people'd mind their fuckin' business."

You look at him pleadingly. "Then let's go, really. I want this to be nice for us all, and clearly you're bothered by something."

Simon looks at John who claps a hand on his shoulder. "Oz's right, Ghost. Let it go or we're gone." Though he's calm and the tone is light, John's words come across as a mild threat.

You make it through the meal without another incident, but as you get up to leave, the guys take up positions around you. It's impossible to miss the way John leads the way with Kyle and Soap chatting your ears off while Simon trails you silently.

Back at the barracks, you say your goodnights and turn in while the others meet in John's office. "Tha' was a bad idea," Ghost says. "Too many eyes on 'er."

"Not sure base is any better," Gaz says. "Plenty a' the rookies saw 'er as I walked 'er to lunch. Got the feeling some idiot is biding their time 'til we're gone."

Price looks around at them. "Is this something ya want? Truly?"

"How can we not, Cap?" Soap asks. "She's perfect. And perfect fer us." Gaz nods, and Ghost meets Price's eyes unblinkingly.

"Alright then. We got less than a week to get this done."

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write

[oceantornadoo]

where you’ve been assigned to working with john price on a report and the proximity is getting to you both…

(f!reader)

-

late nights pouring over reports in the base conference room with price. he tries to bring you coffee the second night and adjusts to black tea after watching the displeased twist of your lips. you start across the table, a respectful and professional distance, but by the third night, you’re shoulder to shoulder, peering over at each other’s screens silently. the information you’re reviewing is grave, life changing to the folks who live it, but you can’t help your laugh when john struggles to turn a pdf into a word document.

you give up on wearing business professional after the incident. the rip of your skirt as you jumped up from excitement, finally finding a breakthrough in your work. john’s eyes practically burned into your thigh, like the sight of your tights over newly bare skin offended him. you didn’t even notice until he pointed it out, swallowing thickly as he muttered “got a problem there, love.” before excusing himself to bring back more tea.

when you switched to wearing jeans, john started wondering if he had offended some sort of god in the past life. why was there so much bending involved in your work? bending over the table to find a report in the mess of papers, your ass practically wiggling in his face. sneaking past his shoulder so you can see if he’s made any progress, the glimpse of your thigh off the chair reminding him of what it would like if- never mind. he swore your perfume was laced into your clothes, a cloud of it remaining after you went home for the night, your familiar scent searing itself into the back of his brain.

“john?” your voice pulled him out of his trance of wondering how he’d gotten here. it had been a week of this proximity torture with no end in sight. “yeah?” your pen tapped the picture in front of you. “this guy’s copying your muttonchops.” snorting, john leaned over, staring hard at the suspect’s picture as he tried not to focus about being six inches from your lap. “nah, ‘s a different style. mine’s more grown out, his is jus’ a shadow.” you hummed thoughtfully. “didn’t realize there was so much discourse in the beard community. seems a bit confusing.” he laughed, that short bark that made you smile despite yourself.

“‘s not all that confusing. here, y’ can feel the difference.” he grabbed your hand and pulled it into his beard, manicured fingers diving into his facial hair. you scratched it on instinct and were rewarded with a low throaty groan and a fluttering of his eyelids. “so soft, john.” the normally serious captain seemed like putty in your hands as your fingers explored the line of his jaw. it was quiet for a long moment, john’s eyes closed as you took him in without his usual surly stare. “yeah, honey?” his eyes flicked open as you stopped your movement, thumb near the corner of his mouth. your mouth gaped open, the moment broken.

“fuck, i’ve made you uncomfortable.” john pulled away fast, your hand dropping his face as he moved farther and farther away. “i can ask the lieutenant to finish up ‘ere, should only take a week more.” he tried to get up from his seat but you were more determined, beating him to the punch with a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “john, stop. it’s okay.” you’d never seen him like this: unsure. “didn’t mean to say what i said, love.” you shook your head vehemently. “it’s okay, i just…no one’s ever called me honey before. kinda thought it was a sitcom thing.”

he was doing the math, picking apart every word you said, every inflection of every letter. you could see it in his eyes, the realization that you weren’t uncomfortable. the change might have scared you if hadn’t been so damn attractive. his posture perfect again, thighs flexing as his hands, big calloused hands, laid relaxed against them. he wasn’t grinning but you saw his cheek pull up, the movement of the beard you’d just been touching. it was instantaneous; the captain was back.

“and?” he stood up, your hand still on his shoulder. “and…i don’t mind it.” he was forcing you to look up, a height difference between you that you’d never notice because you both were always sitting.

“c’mere, honey.” you stepped closer, your other arm wrapping around his other shoulder. those hands wrapped around your waist and dipped lower to your upper thighs. he picked you with ease, all protests of your weight dying on your tongue as you let out a squeal. john sat you on the conference table, pushing reports and laptops out of the way to make space for his meal. “fuck, ‘ve been wantin’ you on this table for a week now.” he rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, tracing the denim of your pants. “and these jeans.” you frowned. “you don’t like my jeans?” he shook his head, thumbs exploring your waistline, tucking under your shirt to meet bare skin. “i love ‘em, darling. want t’ see you in them everyday.” he popped the top button then looked up at you for permission. you nodded, lying back on your forearms, restraining your hips from canting.

he chuckled at your confidence, unzipping you then sliding down the denim from your legs and off, along with your shoes. maybe it had been a form of manifestation or delusion, but either way you had worn your favorite pair of lacy black underwear. john seemed to appreciative, growling at the sight as his fingers brushed over your clothed pussy. “were you expectin’ someone t’ see these?” you grinned. “maybe i was hoping.” he brushed over your entrance and your hips chased the feeling, riding up to meet his fingers. “someone’s eager.” he didn’t let you reply, pressing his thumb over your entrance, rubbing up and down around your clit as wetness pooled in your underwear. you whined at his teasing, a coil building low in your stomach. “john…” he dipped his thumb under the fabric of your underwear, tracing the slickness of your slit. “hm, honey?” his low tone sent a rush of warmth into your body, a combination of domesticity and restraint. “want you, please.” he was playing down, putting his thumb inside you but knowing the angle was all wrong, it barely brushing your entrance. “want me where?” he finally pulled down your underwear, leaning his body over you, putting you face to face. “want your fingers inside me.”

john captured your lips with his own, pushing a thick middle finger into you as he pressed his thumb to your clit. you moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in further. “so wet f’ me, baby. you been wantin’ this?” you nodded eagerly, shutting him up with another kiss. he pumped his finger in and out as he circled patterns on your clit, the feeling of it overwhelming. you were so wet and hot, this big strong man panting into your mouth as he made you feel so good. your nipples scratched the inside of your bra as your cunt clenched around his finger. he added a second one, the fullness of it almost overwhelming. “john, i’m gonna…” he gave you another rough kiss. john pulled you closer using those fingers inside of your messy cunt, thumb pressing hard on your clit. it was so possessive and dirty that you could feel the start of your orgasm. “come f’ me, darling. go’on.” you let go, clenching hard around him. he kept going unless you went limp, finally removing his fingers with a pop. his other arm was holding you up as he tasted you on his fingers. “sweet like honey.” you rolled your eyes at his cheesiness. “you’re so full of shit.” he kissed you again, short and loving. “‘m not lyin’.” another kiss, this one to your forehead. “you wanna stay here tonight? ‘s already late.” you squirmed at the realization you were half naked in a conference room, your colleagues fingers dripping with your wetness as he stood fully clothed, his cock straining against his pants. “is that weird? or too fast? i don’t even know what you want or what i want-��� he kissed you again, this time gruff, like a captain. “jus’ come home with me, honey. ill handle the rest.” and to that, you nodded.

[imbadatwrighting]

𝐇 𝐄 𝐘 𝐉 𝐔 𝐃 𝐄

𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑗𝑢𝑑𝑒, 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑏𝑎𝑑, 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟

𝐒𝐏𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒: 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰. 𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 john winchester was a lot of things, stern, strict, tough, absent. but that didn’t change your view of your father, he was still good to you. so he was a little hard on dean and sam, but with you? he was different. he took care of you… or tried. and yeah, he wasn’t perfect, but he was there. though so was dean. he was the one who made sure you had food, always watching over you, always steady. but dean wasn’t your father. john was. …except he wasn’t really, now was he?

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 coming soon…

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 coming soon…

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 coming soon…

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 coming soon…

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑒𝑡…

asks/requests are open for this au and do not have to revolve around the chapters. they can be standalones!

a/n: i am actually so excited about releasing this and i really hope it turns out good 😭 only thing is while i’ll be trying to post quickly, i have depression and currently going through a rough depressive episode so it might take me a little long… so sorry in advance. taglist for this series is open btw! just lmk if you’d like to be added 🫶

© 2025 imbadatwrighting. all rights reserved. original stories by goose. sharing is cool, copying not so much! if you plagiarize… sleep with one eye open.

[bloodanddiscoballs]

Texas Residents!

Help us stop HB 3225 in Committee. HB 3225 to be heard by the State Affairs Committee Meeting on Monday, April 14 at 8AM

Provide In-Person Testimony (ATX) or Submit Written Comment (Online) against HB 3225

What does the bill do?

First, it forbids municipal public libraries from allowing anyone under 18 to access “sexually explicit” materials (the quotation marks are important). It also says a public library may not “curate, display, or make available for checkout any sexually explicit material in any minor ’s section of the library.”

The bill also uses an exceptionally broad definition of “sexually explicit.” It defines sexual conduct as “sexual contact, actual or simulated sexual intercourse, deviate sexual intercourse, sexual bestiality, masturbation, sado-masochistic abuse, or lewd exhibition of the genitals, the anus, or any portion of the female breast below the top of the areola.” No, it doesn’t define what “sexual contact” means—does kissing count? Petting?

The bill defines “access” as “the ability to check out “be provided a copy” of a book in either a physical or electronic format. It’s not totally clear to me whether just browsing shelves counts as access or not. But even if not, in order to comply with the law, libraries would have to audit their entire collections for any possible book with any possible description of sexual contact and flag those books as off-limits for checkout by anyone under 18. Which would be a massive undertaking. Practically speaking, the only way a library could comply with this law is to segregate its adult and “minors” sections.

That means two things: First, that libraries would have to restrict anyone under 18 to children’s/teen/YA sections—they could not be allowed into the library’s sections for the general (adult) public, where they might encounter “sexually explicit” books. Second, it would restrict the books that can be made available in those children’s/teen/YA sections. No sex-ed books, no descriptions of “sexual contact” in YA novels meant for older teens. Art books would be at risk, as would innocent books like Eric Carle’s Draw Me a Star and Maurice Sendak’s In the Night Kitchen.

How Can You Help?

1.) Written comments (can be submitted remotely and ahead of time): Can't testify in Austin on Monday? Texas residents can submit written comments through the Texas House's Online Public Comment form HERE. Be sure to select HB 3225. State that you are against the bill, and share why. The Committee Meeting Agenda states written comments will be accepted until Monday's hearing is adjourned.

2.) In-person verbal testimony:  Witnesses are usually given 1-2 minutes to make their public comment on the bill they wish to speak about. You will need to declare your name, and whether you are speaking "for" "against" or "on" (neutral) HB 3225. Note, if you have more to say, than can fit in your given time, you can provide both in-person verbal, and online, written public comment. Be prepared to stay all day- bring food, water, chargers, electronics, books, and patience. Find out more about how to register, once you arrive at the Capitol, HERE.

For in-person verbal testimony, witnesses (you!) will need to arrive at the Texas Capitol and make your way to the John H. Reagan Building Room 120 (1400 Congress Ave., Austin, TX 78701) in time to sign in at a kiosk outside the meeting room before the meeting begins. Paid parking is available at the Capitol Garage found at 1201 San Jacinto Blvd, Austin, TX 78701.

Other Things To Keep In Mind:

The committee members may ask witnesses questions, so be prepared to answer them. It is okay to answer that you do not know and offer to get back to them with more information.

Emotion in your testimony is okay - just be respectful and speak calmly, clearly, and with purpose.

Write down and practice your testimony ahead of time. You can read from it during your turn to speak.

If you hear upsetting or inflammatory comments from other speakers, you need to maintain your composure in the room. Exit quietly if you need to excuse yourself and take a break.

Suggested Talking Points:

Speak from your heart and include short personal anecdotes.

Consider how HB3225 will impact access to books and resources for children, teens, and families in your community.

Consider how HB3225 limits your rights as a parent since there is no opt-in, opt-out requirement for you to decide what books and sections of the public library your minor child may access.

Share how unrestricted access to "adult" sections of the public library helped you grow, develop and learn as a child or teen, or how you have seen unrestricted access meet the needs of children in your life.

Share your thoughts on the government interfering with your rights as a parent to decide what books are not appropriate for your minor children and teens to read.

[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 12)

I'm gonna say that I'm sorry again for this part 💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 13

Warnings: Feelings of worry, car chase, car crash, mention of blood, paramedics, ambulances. being unconscious

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

Simon was on edge, leaning against the kitchen counter, rarely even blinking, a hundred scenarios racing through his mind.

John shared Simon’s feelings; he was sitting at the table unable to stop his right leg from bouncing up and down in worry. 

“I shouldn’t have let her go,” Simon mumbled; his eyes continuing  to stare at the wall in front of him as though he was going to burn a hole through it. 

“She’s with Y/f/n,” Kyle began, trying to get the two stressed men in front of him to calm down, “she’ll be safe,”

“Aye, Y/f/n might hate us but they care about Y/n,”

“Doesn’t mean shit,” Simon grumbled in response, tearing his eyes away from the wall to Johnny, “Graves could’ve gotten to her,”

“We don’t know that,” Kyle countered softly; but Simon shook his head dismissively at Kyle’s words.

He knew under normal circumstances Y/f/n wouldn’t betray you. 

But these were not normal circumstances. 

Graves could’ve threatened Y/f/n…threatened people they care about….or they could’ve hurt Y/f/n, they didn’t look like they’d been tortured but that didn’t necessarily mean they hadn’t been. 

“We couldn’t keep her here,” John sighed, turning everyone’s attention to him.

He wished they could’ve. 

Wished that they could’ve kept you here, with them, safe, away from any type of threat or harm. 

But he also knew that you being around them all was a risk in itself. 

He broke your heart; persuaded the others to side with him; then they came along and ruined your life again when you were happy again. 

He hoped Y/f/n took you as far away from them and Phillip as they could. 

John understood Simon’s worry. 

He felt it too. 

But he didn’t want to believe that Y/f/n would betray you. 

He couldn’t bear to think of you losing another person in your life that you trusted. 

Simon remained silent; lost in his own thoughts, your words continuously replaying through his mind.

“Trust me” 

The trust he had in you was the only reason he let you go….he just couldn’t be convinced by what his partners were saying; couldn’t allow himself to trust anyone except the people in this room with you. 

“She’ll call us if she needs us-”

Kyle had barely finished his sentence when Simon’s phone began ringing in his pocket. 

Everyone’s eyes locked on to Simon as he answered the call; his words indicated enough to the others that something bad was going on. 

“Turn the car around and drive back here,” they heard Simon instruct clearly; before he pulled the phone from his ear, putting it on loudspeaker as he placed it in the centre of the table.

His hands were gripping the table like he was about to flip it over.  

“They’re being followed,” he stated quietly, gritting his teeth as his grip on the table edge tightened.

“Shit!” They heard Y/fn shout, their panic evident in their voice. 

“What’s happening?” John asked, leaning forward across the table, his brows furrowing in concern when there was no answer to his question. 

All the four men heard was the sound of a car crashing. 

John picked up the phone quickly and handed it to  Kyle.

“Keep talking to her,” the captain ordered, wishing that he could do it himself, but unable to trust his own voice,  already feeling his stomach twisting at the thought of you being hurt. 

Kyle nodded, taking the phone carefully and continuing to say your name as well as Y/f/ns, in a desperate attempt to get some sign of life from you both. 

Twenty seconds. 

That’s all it took for the four men to put on their shoes, leave the house and get in the car. 

Simon was driving, not giving a single fuck about the speed limits along the country roads; the only thing he and the others cared about, was finding you. 

“C’mon baby…say something,” Kyle spoke through the phone, his voice trembling slightly now as he desperately tried to get an answer from you. 

But his attempts were unsuccessful; only being met with static and the occasional muffled crackle, sounds that made his chest tighten in fear. 

They couldn’t lose you. 

Not like this.

Not now…

“C’mon baby,” Kyle repeated his plea desperately; his eyes going wide as he heard the echoing sound of sirens through the phone. 

The sound only made Simon drive faster; his knuckles going white as he gripped the steering wheel, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.

They soon heard the sirens that had been coming from your phone; all of their hearts dropping in their chest as they drove towards the crash, each of them mentally trying to prepare themselves for the news they were about to receive. 

~~~~~~~

The flashing red and blue lights painted the trees in strobing bursts of color as the car skidded to a stop just behind the ambulances. 

None of the men waited for the engine to fully die, they threw the doors open and rushed towards the scene of the wreckage in front of them. 

“Jesus,” Johnny breathed out.

Y/f/ns car was mangled against a tree, the front end completely crumpled in.

Smoke was coming from the front of the damaged vehicle and shards of glass were glittering across the side of the road like freshly fallen snow. 

It was like they’d walked into one of their nightmares; their biggest fear somehow becoming a reality. 

There was a young uniformed responder who tried to stop the men from approaching any further; but they quickly failed, each of the men walking past with ease.

“This is a secure area, you can’t just-” the responder tried to argue; before John turned around for a brief moment.

They were only doing their job. 

But right now; he didn’t care.

“We know the people in that car,” he snapped harshly; before turning back around and following his men towards the car. 

“How is she?” Kyle asked, his voice unsteady as he stumbled forward, towards the paramedic, his eyes locking onto you instantly. 

Blood was running down the side of your face; and you weren’t moving much, your chest rising and falling in shallow, laboured breaths.

The paramedic was understandably startled by the appearance of them all, but quickly answered Kyle’s question. 

“She’s lucky,” the paramedic said quickly; allowing Kyle to release a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

A similar relief washed over John, Simon and Johnny, who were all crouched alongside Kyle. 

You were alive. 

The relief they all shared was short lived though as the paramedic continued to say, “The drivers side took most of the damage.”

The paramedics' words caused the four men’s attention to go to the driver's side of the car. 

To Y/f/n. 

Blood was trickling down their face from their forehead; their eyes were closed, and for a moment, none of them knew if Y/f/n was even alive…unable to see past you to see their injuries. 

“Are they-?” Johnny began; not being able to say the last word of the question he was asking. 

“We have a pulse but it’s weak and they are currently unresponsive,” the paramedic on the driver's side stated, with a solemn look in their eyes as they slowly and carefully extracted Y/f/n's limp body from the car and onto a stretcher.

A small cough fell from your slightly bloody lips, causing all of their attention to go back to you.  

“It’s okay, baby,” Kyle cooed softly, quickly taking the paramedics place as they went to go and get another stretcher. 

“We’re all here, Bon,” Johnny softly added, gently taking your hand in his, rubbing small circles like he had done before at their house. 

“Let’s give the paramedics some room,” John said to Johnny and Kyle; noticing how reluctant they were to leave your side. 

He didn’t want to leave your side either, but he knew the paramedics needed to remove you from the wreckage and get you to a hospital.

Johnny and Kyle nodded hesitantly, rising to their feet and shuffling back slightly to allow the paramedics the room they needed. 

John took one look at you on that stretcher and felt his heart break completely; this, this was everything he wanted to protect you from. 

He took a few steps away from you and the paramedics; joining Simon who was standing in the road, surveying the scene around them. 

Memorizing and cataloging everything in his mind. 

Simon knew, just like the others did, that this hadn’t been some random car crash.

It was too coincidental.

They didn’t have any proof, but they knew for a fact that Graves and Shepherd were involved somehow. 

But did whoever caused this mean to leave you alive?

Were they going to come back and try to finish the job?

Or was this all simply just a threat towards them, warning them all to stay away from you?

Realistically it didn’t matter all that much; because they weren’t going to let anyone hurt you ever again….

Taglist:

@imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @s-void @lilyalone @salemlovespies @z-wantstowrite @maryrhodalouandted @uraeus56 @skipping-throughlife @backalleytimetravel @fruitymoonbeams-blog @alejandro-vargass-wife @dasphinxone @magicwriterinspo @lilylovesliterature @tabbslouuformer @disasterofastory @yearninglustfully @therapyneeds @beautifuleaglealpaca @mischievousprincess01 @rite-te-suli-kireysi-ite @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @ontopofthefridge @rosecastiello @harrys-ravioli @hypertail @hahaifolded @felinegaymerl0ver @little-mini-me-world @noheadcanons-juststories @nocturnal-nyx @ilovesoapandnotthebar @leon-thot-kennedy @astridbaby @galactict3a @k-dinosaur @famouspoetrydinosaur @rivwritesiguess

[ninii-winchester]

What’s a girl gotta do

Pairing: S1! Sam Winchester X Reader

Word count : 1.7k

Warnings : heavily based on s1 ep3 (Dead in the water), mentions of drowning, fluff, no Jess au.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Y/n was driving to Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. An eighteen year old girl went swimming into the lake but never came back, no body found. She figured it might be her thing. She was driving to her destination but she saw a very familiar car parked outside a diner. It was the infamous black Chevy Impala. She should've know he'd be here. She parked her car right beside it and got out of the. She watched Dean walk out of the diner with the car keys in his hands.

"As soon as I saw this beauty I knew an ugly Winchester would be around as well." She commented leaning against baby.

"Y/n/n." Dean exclaimed opening his arms for her to jump in. Y/n hugged her best friend. "What are you doing here?" He asked pulling apart.

"Same as you. You're going to Lake Monitoc too?" She replied. "Sophie Carlton I'm guessing?" he nodded.

The diner door opened again and Sam walked out. The tall boy watched Dean talking a woman, her face was hidden by Dean's broad shoulders. Sam rolled his eyes as he approached his brother but froze when he saw who he actually was talking to.

"Sammy?" Y/n questioned as he appeared behind Dean. She pulled him in for a hug and he blushed slightly. "I thought you were at Stanford?" She exclaimed.

"Yeah i was but we're looking for dad, now." He replied with a tight smile. "And it's Sam." He added remembering she called him, 'Sammy.'

"Is it now, Sammy?" She teased making Dean laugh out loud and he blushed furiously.

Y/n had been Dean's best friend since they were thirteen. They met each other when Dean was hunting with John and Y/n was with her father but she got separated from him. The Winchesters found her, helped her reunite with her father. Dean and Y/n clicked immediately, finding friends your age as a hunter was a difficult task, so the two of them jumped at the opportunity to become friends.

They visited each other frequently, Y/n played with nine year old Sam and was always friendly with him. As they grew up, Sam quickly developed a crush on the older girl. He was blush immensely when she would ruffle his hair or tell him he looked cute. It wasn't often a pretty nineteen year old girl noticed fifteen year old boy, even if she didn't mean it romantically, Sam basked in her attention.

Every time he watched his older brother drag her away for a hunt or even to show her something cool, he felt disappointed, he thought that someday his older brother will sweep her off her feet and she'd be much more interested in him rather than a little boy like Sam.

For years Sam thought he never stood a chance with his older brother in the picture, he thought his brother might feel something for her and he didn't want to break his brother's heart. But his doubts were cleared when Dean once kissed Y/n to get rid of his latest hook up, but he pulled away yelling,

"Never let me do that again. Ew you're like my sister."

Sam thought Y/n might feel something for Dean, thinking he's older and probably a better choice. But after watching her beat his brother into a pulp for the stunt he pulled, Sam felt relieved that it was all platonic. Even then he didn't think he'd ever get the chance to be with her. He thought he'd always be four years behind.

Then, Sam left for Stanford, cutting off ties with his father and brother. He never thought he'd get to see her again. Seeing her again made him feel giddy, the butterflies in his stomach were doing summersaults.

"Alright folks, you can catch up later we have a case to work." Dean said walking towards the drivers side.

"Let me drive." Y/n said to her best friend before he could deny she shot her best puppy dog eyes.

"Good try but no." Dean said getting in the car.

"Fine. SHOTGUN!!!" She stuck her tongue out at Sam before opening the passenger's side door and getting. Sam shook his head with a smile gracing his lips. He wouldn't have fought with her to sit in the front seat, hell he would've fought Dean to let her drive if she'd asked him to. She's got him wrapped around her finger and doesn't even know it.

Sam got into the confined backseat, struggling a bit to fit his long legs in the small space. Y/n placed her get over the dashboard as Dean drove to their destination.

"Hey feet off the dash." Dean remarked tapped her calf, shooting her a glare, one she was immune to. "Y/n/n I will cut your hair in your sleep." He threatened knowing how much loved and cared for her hair. Sam thought she had really pretty hair. And it smelled so good all the time.

Y/n rolled her eyes before pulling her feet off the dashboard, letting out a huge sigh.

"Oh man, what's a girl gotta do to be loved around here." She spoke dramatically. She grinned at Sam in view mirror, "what do you think, Sammy?" She asked him and his face turned red.

She enjoyed watching him get all flustered and squirmy when she teased him. She thought Sam was cute, not in a chubby little boy kind way, but cute in a charming way. She like his smile, and that messy mop of hair on his head. She wondered how it would feel to run her hands through them.

"How about shutting up, sweetheart?" Dean quipped watching the interaction between his best friend and his little brother.

Dean knows his brother is whipped for Y/n and she has talked his ear off, gushing over his brother. He's all for them being together, in fact he's rooting for them. But if he has to sit through their miserable attempts at flirting or giving each other sickeningly irritating heart eyes when the other isn't looking. He will throw up.

The trio soon arrived at the victim's house. They talked to the vics brother finding out that his sister was a varsity swimmer and it was impossible for her to drown. They asked Will a few more questions before heading to the police station.

After talking to the Sherrif they found out that they didn't find anything in the water, which could've done that, dam is falling apart so the lake won't be here any longer, since they're not getting any money to fix it.

After Will Carlton was found dead, the trio did alot more digging around for a while and found out, that Sherrif and Bill Carlton had a friend named Peter Sweeney who disappeared years back. It become clear that Jake and Bill had a hand in his disappearance. They found Peter's bike buried in Jake's backyard.

It took a while before Jake confessed, that he and Bill accidentally pushed Peter in the lake and they let him drown, so there's no body to salt and burn to put the vengeful spirit to rest.

It all happened too fast when Lucas was being pulled into to the lake, it was Peter. He wanted  Jake to suffer, watch all his loved ones die, just like he did to Bill. Just like, how Peter's mother felt when he disappeared.

They heard Andrea call out for her son, it only took Y/n and Dean a second to jump in the water to save him. The two kept looking for Lucas but he was nowhere to be found. Sam held Andrea back from jumping into the water.

Jake walked into the lake willingly, hoping Peter would take him instead of his grandson and in hopes that after getting his revenge he'd leave his family alone. Y/n felt something pulling her under the water and she felt herself drowning. She could make out a shadow, which looked like a pale little boy. But then suddenly, it let her go.

Dean came above surface with Lucas in his arms. Sam helped the two up and Andrea hugged her son close to her chest. The brothers looked at lake, Y/n should've come up by now. Peter took Jake, it should've been over. But Y/n fell unconscious under the water, intaking too much water in her body and unable to swim back up. Sam immediately jumped in the water to search for her.

"SAM." Dean yelled as he watched his brother jump into the water.

A few minutes later Sam surfaced ashore with Y/n in his arms. He laid her on the wooden dock and knelt beside her, his heart pounding. She was unconscious and not breathing. He quickly tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth with his, giving two rescue breaths. Then, he placed his hands on the center of her chest and began chest compressions. A few seconds later Y/n shot up with a loud gasp, coughing out water as she sat up.

"Oh god." She wheezed holding her head. "Is Lucas okay?" She asked looking at the little boy. His mother nodded in acknowledgement.

"You okay, Y/n/n?" Dean asked kneeling beside her.

Before she could reply Sam grabbed her by her neck and pulled her in for a harsh kiss. He kissed her like his life depended on it. His lips moved against her with fervour, his heart was hammering against his ribcage. She kissed him with equal force, her hands grasping at his damp hair. He rested his forehead on hers as he pulled away.

"Don't you dare scare me like that, ever again." He breathed heavily, his chest puffing with each breath.

"Drown!!" She chirped with a grin on her face. Sam looked at her, confusing lacing his handsome face. "A girl's gotta drown to be loved around here." She added with a giggle. Dean barked out a laugh at her stupid comment.

"I hate you so much." Sam rolled his eyes but had a huge smile on his face. Sam gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/n's face, and she smiled up at him, eyes sparkling with happiness. They leaned in for another soft, lingering kiss, sealing their new beginning.

[hughiecampbelle]

Thunderbolts Preference: Favorite Ice Cream Flavor

A/N: Not requested, just a silly idea I had while eating ice cream lol. These kinds of ones are my favorite!! It's so fin to imagine them arguing over who orders the best and why Johns is the worst lol. Enjoy my loves!!! Feedback is always appreciated! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Bucky love mocha ice cream. He's not typically a sweets eater, but when the team goes out for it, it's his #1 go to. He gets chocolate sprinkles on top, nothing else. He doesn't mix flavors or go all out with toppings, he knows exactly what he likes just how he likes it. The team definitely call him an old man stuck in his ways, but he's heard that a thousand times and refuses to be peer pressured into getting something he doesn't like just because they think he's boring.

Alexei considers himself a man of elite taste and that's why he gets roasted by everyone for continuously ordering bubblegum ice cream with gummy bears and whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. Yelena especially thinks it's the grossest order she's ever heard and refuses to try it no matter how much Alexei offers. Despite being one of the oldest on the team, he is notorious for eating too much and complaining of a stomach ache afterwards. He won't hear the slander of his choice (the best choice, as he calls it) and will sit by himself to eat it in peace. Bob is the only one both brave and foolish enough to try it and though it's not for him, he thinks it's fitting for Alexei.

Yelena almost always orders birthday cake ice cream. It was her and Natasha's favorite growing up and she did everything to be like her big sister. She orders it more for the nostalgia and less for the taste, though she is a huge fan of the frosting swirl and cake batter chunks. She doesn't put any toppings on it, she gets just how Tasha did. Alexei notices this, but doesn't say anything about it. He worries it would upset her. She gets it in a cone, high enough for it to fall over and splat on the ground, which has happened more than once, but she's completely against eating it from a cup. The cone is part of the whole experience, she's adamant about that.

Ava is such a fruit girl. She loves strawberry, raspberry, mango, blackberry, jackfruit, etc. Strawberry is her go-to, but if there's something interesting like kiwi ice cream on the menu, she's getting it. She gets fruit chunks and whipped cream on top, too. It's not as "out there" as Alexei's order nor is it as boring as Johns, so no one has anything to say about it. Sometimes she'll get chocolate syrup on top too, but just a little. She doesn't want to overpower the fruit flavor. She loves sharing with Bob, who thinks she has great taste and will, if he can't decide or there are too many options, copy her order knowing whatever she decides, it's going to be good.

John is notorious for having the most boring order. It's not even worth it for them to make fun of him. Soft serve vanilla in a cup. He likes that it's simple, that there are zero risks in change of flavor or texture. It's the same wherever they go to get ice cream. They gave up a long time ago trying to pressure him into being adventurous. Even sprinkles are too much for him, to Alexei's horror. He *might* get a chocolate vanilla swirl if he's feeling "fun" to which Ava can't help herself and will make jokes at his expense until she's blue in the face. They compare his order to saltines or cardboard, something so boring and flavorless, and even ask him if he hates flavor. John doesn't budge. He likes it and it makes him happy.

Bob doesn't really have a go-to order, it all depends on what he's feeling as well as what the others get. When he was a kid, he loved cookies and cream, and still loves it, but there are so many flavors and combinations he's never tried, he doesn't want to miss out. He's not afraid to order things that don't go together (last time it was a scoop of pistachio with a scoop of superman with peanuts and gummy bears on top) and still eats it even if he thinks it's a little gross. Putting enough whipped cream and chocolate sauce and anything will taste good, right? The others love waiting for him to decide and often bet on what he's gonna try. Alexei especially loves trying his orders. He's the one who introduced him to bubblegum.

[wrizard]

wrizard's super basic guide to y-chromosome-based identification!!

for those interested, on this fitzcovery day:

a dear friend asked me to explain why i felt completely insane about the phrase "genetic distance of one" and, as usual, i got overexcited and wrote an entire thing about it complete with goofy images! it's on twt HERE, but i figured it would also be nice to pop it up here also. SO. with the caveat that it has been many years since my last bio class and this is VERY OVERSIMPLIFIED. here's

Human DNA is grouped into chromosomes. We generally have TWO of each chromosome: 22 pairs (numbered 1-22), plus one pair of sex chromosome (typically either two X-chromosomes (XX), or one X-chromosome and one Y-chromosome (XY)). That's 23 pairs, or 46 chromosomes, in total.

When producing sex cells, matching chromosome pairs will RECOMBINE (swap bits of information) - eg. one Chromosome 4 will remix itself with the other Chromosome 4, making TWO UNIQUE C4s. When the cell splits into two sex cells, each sex cell will carry ONE unique C4.

That's sexual reproduction! Every new offspring is genetically unique - new combinations of traits pop up quickly, and if they improve reproductive fitness, can be passed on to future offspring. This allows for rapid adaptation and changes in a species over time.

But what about Y-chromosomes, which don’t have pairs? They can't recombine in the way paired chromosomes can - which means Y-chromosomes pretty much only change via mutation (errors in copying DNA). Mutation is VERY slow, especially compared to recombination.

This means that when an XY parent passes down their Y-chromosome to a child, chances are high that chromosome will have few, if any, changes – as opposed to X-chromosomes, which recombine in both XX parents and children, shuffling genetic information all over the place.

Due to this slow rate of change, Y-chromosomes can be more easily tracked through the generations than other human chromosomes. A Y-chromosome might be passed down nearly unchanged for hundreds of years from genetic father to genetic son.

GENETIC DISTANCE refers to the measurement of difference between two sets of DNA. The lower the genetic distance, the more closely related the two samples are likely to be. A genetic distance of 1 means the samples are close to identical.

Because we know how slowly Y-chromosomes change over time, we know that if the Y-chromosomes of two people have a low genetic distance, this implies that those people are paternally related – even if the two people live/lived hundreds of years apart.

In the case of Captain James Fitzjames, genetic data was extracted from a set of unidentified remains (a molar from a disarticulated mandible). 17 genetic markers from the molar’s Y-chromosome were compared to the Y-chromosome of a confirmed paternal relative of the Captain.

Those 17 markers were the same in both samples, giving the two Y-chromosomes a genetic distance of one – meaning, with the genetic information available, the living relative and the unidentified decedent are more than 2000 TIMES more likely to be paternally related than not.

EDIT: DOIP I MISREAD THE CHART 16 of 17 match, not all 17!!

Along with all the information we have from the historical record, the context of the remains, and this new comparative genetic analysis, we can safely conclude that this particular set of remains belong to Captain Fitzjames.

160 years isn't long in the grand scheme. Every identified set of remains is another reminder that these were people, not just a distant curiosity. It's humbling to remember not just that we have identified Cpt. Fitzjames, but that still, today, we have a genetic distance of one.

Photos and Y-chromosome comparison chart taken from Stephen, Fratpietro, and Park's paper "Identification of a senior officer from Sir John Franklin’s Northwest Passage expedition" from the Journal of Archaeological Science: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352409X24003766?via%3Dihub

hope my nonsense is helpful and/or informative and/or at least made you smile!! if you like this sort of thing :) cheers doves

[longing-for-the-past-times]

Their reaction to seeing you reading

Task Force 141 x Reader headcanons

notes: I don't know if this was done before, but once I got the idea, I couldn't get it out of my head before writing it down. This is my first time writing headcanons, I hope I did the characters justice :). Let me know what you think about it!

find it on a03 masterlist

Captain 'John' Price

He is headed towards the lounging area after staying overtime because of due paperwork. It is already dark outside and, when he sees the lights on, he thinks someone just forgot them that way.

You may understand his surprised reaction when he sees you sitting cross-legged on the couch, a book in your hands.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack, kid!”

You give him a sheepish smile and hide your face behind the book, staying true to the principle: out of mind, out of sight. You didn’t mean to stay long - you just wanted to finish the chapter. But it ended in a cliffhanger so you had to at least begin the next chapter and the vicious cycle went on.

It doesn’t take him long to realise that you are, in fact, holding a book. And he can’t hide his grin when he figures you must have lost track of time because of it.

“Didn’t take you for a reader, kid!”, he raises an eyebrow as he joins you on the couch, his eyes drifting to the cover. “And certainly did not know you read classics!”

“Always full of surprises, Captain!”, you smile at him as you look around, searching for something. A triumphant smile graces your lips when you find the piece of crumpled paper, and you proceed to put it on the page you remained at, before closing the book.

Definitely asks you about the book you’re reading and what else you’ve read, proceeding to compare your literary preferences

He may not read as much as he did when he was younger, but he can and will boast with the filled bookshelves he has at home

Encourages your reading habits when you are at the base and brings you reading snacks when you decide to spend your evenings in the base’s lounging room, curled up with whatever book you’re reading at the moment

Might sometimes join you with a book of his own. Nobody dares to say anything about the two operators who occasionally spend their lunch break with their noses stuck in a book.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

Never been much of a reader as he simply did not have the time, or the available resources

So at first, he does not understand why you are sobbing by yourself in the kitchen, frantically highlighting something with a neon marker

Who did that to you? Did he need to hunt down someone?

It was when he got closer that he realised you were actually reading something and the content must have made you upset

No problem, he’ll track the writer down and-

"Oh, Ghost, didn’t see you there!", you looked up at him, a shy smile on your face.

He is at a loss for words and ends up nodding towards the open book: “Is it any good?”

“Well, I think it would be an insult to say Shakespeare is ‘just good’, don’t you think?”

All he’s thinking of are those literature classes he should have paid more attention to.

He quickly steers the conversation in another direction, asking you about training and whatnot. Something blooms in his chest when he sees you setting the book away in an instant, a warm smile gracing your features as you turn your attention towards him.

He spends the following evening researching Shakespeare’s works as much as he can. He’d caught a glimpse of the book you’d been reading, Hamlet, and he ends up ordering an annotated copy.

It takes him an entire week to get through it, but the look on your face when he asks you about the book is priceless.

You spend the entire afternoon talking about it (you talk, he mostly listens), and he was surprised he didn’t notice your reading habits earlier. When you talked about books, you could light up the room with your enthusiasm and passion.

Is the kind of man who would build you a bookshelf from scratch

“Your books wouldn’t fit in a standard bookshelf anyway. And I can paint the wood to match the tone of your walls.”

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish

The type of man that says he’ll wait for the movie to come out

And if there is a book adaptation, he'll definitely make you watch it with him to prove his point

You spend the next hours pointing out why the book was better than the movie, while he tries to convince you otherwise

Constantly teases you about your reading habits, but secretly, he loves to watch you read. The array of emotional states you seem to go through when reading fascinates him.

"Maybe we should start calling you Belle from now on, bonnie. You know, the Belle from Beauty and the Beast - the one who's always with her nose stuck in a book?"

One day a recruit decides to prank you and hides your current read in the men's showers.

Soap takes note of your distracted state, but doesn't push it. He knows you'll come to him when it feels right.

Until he stumbles upon what was left of your book when preparing to take a shower. He recognizes it only by the vibrant colour of the cover as the pages are wrinkled and illegible, due to the water exposure.

It does not take him long to find the culprit. He was too busy boasting about his "achievement" to his team-mates, in the locker room.

Soap makes sure he regrets his actions by assigning him to latrine duty for the following month.

He also makes it his personal mission to buy you another copy of the book. The only problem is that he does not remember the title. Or the author. Or the plot.

"It has this orange cover, with two people on it! And there's white text on it too!"

Safe to say, the librarian is unimpressed by his comprehensive description.

So he has to spend an entire night scrolling through an online library page to find it.

But it's all worth it in the end. He'll never forget the shocked expression on your face when he handed you the hastily wrapped book. Or the wide smile that spreads across your face, followed by a tight and warm hug.

He might buy you more books in the future, just to have you grin at him like that.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Like Ghost, he didn't particularly care for reading. It was not that he didn't like it, he just had other priorities

He wasn't even aware of your reading habits until you were both stuck in a safe house, waiting to be evacuated.

You were leaning against the wall, next to him, when you pulled a book out of your pocket.

He had to do a double take- why did you have a leatherbound book in your pocket? Were you carrying it throughout the entire mission? What if you got shot - was the leather thick enough to stop the bullet if it got past your tac vest?

"Gaz, you're staring."

"Just took me by surprise, love."

You playfully rolled your eyes at the endearment, your hand leafing through the pages.

He knew you could feel him watching you, but he couldn't help himself. He felt like he just unlocked a new part of your personality.

"Is it any good?"

"Do you want to read it?"

"I wouldn't mind you reading to me..."

Once again, you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance but complied with his request and went back to the beginning of the chapter.

The story was quite gripping, something about a rich bachelor who must be in search of a wife. Kyle tried to focus on the story, but he was more intent on enjoying your calm and soothing voice.

He unintentionally fell asleep and you did not realise until you felt the weight of his body leaning against your shoulder.

As retaliation, you forced him to join you on a trip to the library. He did not bother to hide the fact that he did not see it as a punishment, not when he knew it would make you happy.

He let you drag across the entire fiction section and patiently listened to you describing all the books you've read. He also took a lot of mental notes on the books you intended to read in the future- if only the covers did not look so similar!

Eventually discovers he's more of an audiobook person.

So he would listen to the novel you were currently reading, excited to meet with you at the end of the day and discuss it with you.

[intuitively-her]

Pile 1)- This is someone that you've closed a cycle with. This person feels like they fumbled so badly with you. I feel like this person was more focused on money, so they put you on the backburner a lot. You are EVERYTHING that this person wants. They didn't realize what they had until it was too late tho. This person wants to start over with you. I feel like they're literally feening for you to come back.🤣 They're like, "I need to talk to him/her NOWWW👹". Lmfao. Especially if you have this person blocked or you left them on delivered. They will find a way to contact you even if they're blocked. My advice: don't let them back in so easily. make them work for it.💋

Pile 2)- Mutiple people have their eye on you right now.🤭 Firstly, I'm picking up on someone from your community. This is someone that you see pretty often. This could be a co-worker, classmate, neighbor, etc. For someone specific, you may see this person at your local grocery store a lot. You make this person soooo nervous. They might stutter when talking to you lol. I don't see this person coming towards you anytime soon tho. They think that you're out of their league, so they just prefer to admire you from afar for now. The other energy that I'm picking up on is someone that helped you work through something or came to your defense in a situation. This part will only resonate for a few of you. This person could be a doctor/therapist/ or work in law enforcement. This is someone that you've known for a while. This person could be apart of your friend group or they're just a mutual of yours. They have watched you go through a glow-up and transform. They love this new you.😍

Pile 3)- This is an ex fling/sneaky link. You know that this person is not good for you AT ALL. This person was non-committal af. Ewww I don't like their energy. This person is a f*cking DOG, and they don't try to hide it either. This person brought a lot of unnecessary chaos around you. They definitely had you in 3rd party situations. I wouldn't be surprised if their other partners knew about you as well. They were very messy with their affairs. It makes me think of that movie "John Tucker Must Die". This person is exactly like that lmao. They may have asked you for a 3sum in the past, or they would flirt shamelessly with others in front of you. A real piece of 💩. My advice: NEVER let them back into your energy. They never deserved you.

Pile 4)- This is someone that you're trying to move on from. You may be giving them the silent treatment right now. I feel like this person breadcrumbed you A LOT and failed to give this connection any effort. They were more focused on making money. You should also know that this person is still dealing with another connection that they are trying to close out. This person recently made a judgement call about you. They feel silly now that they wasted so much time and basically lost their shot at ever having a real relationship with you. My advice: trust your intuition when it comes to this person/situation.

*ONLY TAKE WHAT RESONATES*

💖Please DO NOT copy, repost, or steal my work. Thanks!💖

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 12 - Epilogue

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: PTSD, use of weapons, canon typical violence, death, alcohol, military inaccuracies.

Previous parts - masterlist AO3

6 months and 5 days. That's how long it took them to track Sayyid down. 189 days. 

You did take a month off with Johnny, it was good, a nice distraction to dote over him while he was recovering from his surgery. It was just enough work to keep you distracted and busy, but not enough that you didn’t have time to make it to regular psych appointments. And even when you did go back to work you could still keep them up, you’re not sure if it’s helping but you don’t mind, it’s nice to just talk. 

John keeps a close eye on you, only giving you as much as he thinks you can handle. You tell him you can handle more but he won’t have it. It was only a month after Johnny had officially been back on duty you got the call from Laswell. They’d tracked Sayyid to Iran and marines were ready to move in and take him. 

“We’re not letting the Americans get him again!” You shout, slamming your hands on the table. Everyone looks at raising eyebrows or letting out sighs. 

“We might not have a choice.” Simon said, looking over at John who's standing at the head of the table with his hands on his hips. 

“We need him to find Khalid and Jamal.” Laswell says through the phone. 

“Fuck that, you’ll just want to use him to trade again.” You snap.

“Calm down.” John says, you can hear the warning in his voice. You don’t care there is no other end for him then death. You don’t even care if you’re the one pulling the trigger or not. 

“What if we can find them?” Kyle asks, everyone looks at him. “We’ve done it before.” 

“With Farah’s help.” Johnny reminds him. There’s a sigh down the phone line. 

“I can give you 10 days. Then shepherd wants the marines to move in. Find the whereabouts of Jamal and Khaled before then and Sayyid is all yours.” Laswell says. You smile looking up at John, he doesn’t look as sure. You’ve all spent the last 6 months just trying to find one of them. 

“10 days.” John nods. “I have to make some calls.” 

…

It only took 7. 

You remember the wave of relief you felt when Johnny came crashing into your room with the folder in his hands. 

“We fuckin’ got ‘em.” You jumped off the bed throwing yourself into his arms. You both ran to the conference room, you almost couldn't believe it. But there it was in black and white; satellite images courtesy of the Russians. 

You don’t care how you got them-just that you had them. You had them which meant Sayyid was yours. Even John was smiling when he saw you. 

…

The night was cool. There's a gentle breeze. 

You’re crouched behind the wall with Kyle. As soon as Shepherd gave the go ahead you were all on a plane to Iran within 24 hours. Now you’re here, ready to raid the compound where Sayyid has spent the last few weeks hiding. 

Shepherd wanted to call in an airstrike and just blow the place. You needed closure though, it took alot of convincing but finally he relented and allowed 141 to go in with help from the Americans. 

“Bravo-2 in position, got eyes on the target.” Ghost says, you look over at the ridge where you think him and the other snipers are hiding. He’ll be the only one not coming in with you. You lean back down against the wall. Johnny shuffles up next to you. 

“You ready?” He asks. You nod, you’ve been waiting for this moment. You’re not one to seek revenge, you don’t exactly fantasise about killing people. Even ones you hate. But Sayyid has hurt so many, killed so many innocent people. If you're not going to do this for you, you'll do it for Naajiya, because she definitely didn’t deserve to die.  

“Copy, remember Sayyid is ours, as soon as we’re clear we’ll blow the place.” John says over the radio. You watch him as he stands up with the 2 random soldiers following him. 

“Let's go.” Gaz says next to you and you nod standing up with Soap following behind you. 

“Entrance looks clear.” Ghost says. You all walk down the dune hill to the compound's gates. Price is already there with one of the soldiers using bolt cutters to destroy the padlock around the gate. You follow them through the gates and up to the main door. Everyone stacks up and Price checks the handle, it's open and he looks back at everyone. 

“No friendlies through this door. Let's keep it tight.” He says in a low voice, it’s met with a string of copies and nods. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your hands sweaty under your gloves. The weapon feels heavy in your arms, you bring the sight up to your eyeline as the door is thrown open. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you make your way through the building following Price’s lead. You listen to the coms moving where you're needed firing off shots when people pop into your vision. None of them are Sayyid though, Ghost said he saw him so you assume he’s on the next floor. You’re already moving to the stairs before the ground floor is clear. 

Johnny follows behind you and you both make it up the steps. At first you don’t see anyone but you keep pushing hearing Price call that the ground floor is clear. Johnny tells him you’ve already moved up. The smell of blood and gunpowder fills your nose. It makes your heart race even faster as you let Johnny take the lead as you clear the rooms with him one by one. 

When you make it to the last room you kick the door in, as soon as you do shots ring out. You and Johnny dive to opposite sides of the door. Price and Gaz come up behind you a few seconds later helping you to your feet. This has to be Sayyid, the rest of the place has been cleared, and if there was someone on the roof Ghost would have got them long before now. 

“Sayyid!” You shout. You hear an angry voice shout in Arabic. Johnny peaks the door before swinging and firing off a shot. You swing too, it’s not a kill shot but he hit the weapon out his arms. Sayyid is rolling on the floor holding his shoulder. 

Johnny kicks his weapon out the way and you lower yours going over to him and unclipping his pistol, pulling it off his hip and unloading it.

“What here to take me back to the Americans?” He asks looking up at you. You throw his pistol to the side. Soap and Gaz keep their weapons trained on him, he sits up still holding his shoulder. He looks around at everyone else. “Bought the whole gang. Where’s the Ghost?” 

“None of your business.” Soap snaps, taking a step closer to him. You pull your pistol off your hip and click the safety off. He puts together what's happening, sighing and dropping his head for a second. 

“This doesn’t make you a good person. You know that right? Killing me won’t stop Al-Qatala, it won’t even help you sleep at night.” He spits. 

“What happened to the guy with the crush injury? The one you were praying for?” You ask. He frowns, the scoffs. 

“Is that how you do it? For everyone you kill you save another.” He chuckles, it makes you mad. You should just do it now, kill him and get it over with. “He died. It was a blessing to be honest especially after you sliced him up.” You don’t believe him. This time you can’t help yourself and you cry out smacking him over the head with the butt of your pistol.

He drops his hand and braces himself on the floor before sitting back up again and looking at you. You’re trying really hard not to let him know how much he’s getting to you. How much you just want him wiped off the face of the Earth.  

“Do no harm.” He says, his eyes digging into yours. You move your finger to the trigger. 

“You’re right. You won’t be doing any more harm.” You don’t let him get another word off firing the pistol point blank at his head. You look over at the blood splashed across the room and the pool coming from his head. His eyes are open, you should bend down and close them, it’ll be the last piece of respect he deserves. 

You can’t do it though, instead you put your pistol away and turn back. You look up at John before picking your weapon up and heading out the room. You don’t say anything, Just listen to the coms as everyone finishes clearing the area before you all leave. Not that you really needed to do that anyway, there’s about to be an airstrike on this place. 

It’ll be reduced to a crater in the sand and Sayyids body will be buried along with it. You hope it's something at least. Johnny’s hand lands on your shoulder when you make it to the top of the dune. 

“You good?” He asks. You nod looking back down at the now abandoned building. You hear Ghost say he’s clear too as you continue to walk so you’re out of the firing range. When you make it to the rendezvous, Ghost is already there waiting, you turn to look back at the building as Price calls for the airstrike. 

Soap’s hand comes around your back and Gaz steps up next to you. “Feel better?” He asks. 

“No.” You say. You feel like shit, you killed someone in cold blood, Christ even your therapist said it wouldn’t help you. Maybe it was Sayyid who got the last laugh after all. You hear the whooshing of a rocket and a second later the building explodes. You let out a sigh clutching your weapon, he’s gone he can never hurt anyone again apart from you and you’re okay with that. 

You look down at your feet digging your toe into the sand, before looking up at Price who’s turned to you. 

“Good job. Let's get back to base and I’ll buy you all a drink.” He says. 

“As long as it’s none of that American shite.” Johnny says cheerfully. It makes you smile and John smiles back. 

“It's fucking water mate.” Kyle seconds as you all turn to walk back to the trucks. You see Simon with his sniper thrown over his shoulder. He waits for you, letting everyone pass first before you follow at the back with him. 

“Don’t ask me how I feel.” You say. 

“I won’t.” You smile nudging him. His hand comes to pat your back. 

“I think we’re quick, we can sneak into the Germans tent and swipe a case of beer.” He says. It makes you chuckle. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

…

Instead of stealing the beer you trade a couple of packets of cigarettes for them. They even threw in a few packets of some German crisps Johnny ended up snacking on straight away. Johnny and Kyle took some chairs from the rec room and John picked out a quiet spot on the roof of a building at the edge of the base, away from prying eyes that looked out into the seemingly endless desert. 

You were already on your second beer and letting yourself relax when Kyle's hand came to land on your thigh. 

“Shame there wasn’t any ice.” Johnny says as he finishes his second can and goes for a third. 

“Wait till you find out what we traded for them.” Simon says, chuckling. Johnny looks over at you but you hide your smile by taking another sip. You look up at the sky, there is no light pollution here but the lights from the base are blocking your view of the clear night sky. 

Kyle squeezes your thigh and you look over at him smiling. You didn’t need to kill Sayyid to feel whole, you just needed this. Surrounded by the people you love doing a job you love. Nothing else should matter. You reach down for his hand, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. 

“We should take a holiday.” You say looking over at the others. Johnny leans forward in his chair to see you better past Simon and Price. 

“Where would we go?” He gestures out over the wall to the desert. “This is already beautiful.”

“Maybe somewhere where we won’t get shot at.” you say. 

“Or blown up.” Kyle seconds. 

“Somewhere cold.” Simon says, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Iceland.” John says finally. Johnny sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“We could see the northern lights.” You say excitedly. 

“When this is over.” John says. “When this is over we can go wherever we want.” He turns to you and smiles, you smile back and nod at him. 

“What the hell!” You all turn to look down at Laswell with her hands on her hips. “I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour.”

“Laswell. C’mere, put your feet up, grab a can.” Johnny says throwing a can at her. She catches it but doesn’t open it. 

“Shepherd wants you in Urzikstan.” She says.

“Now?” John asks. 

“There’s already a flight waiting for you.” She says with a smile. 

“We’ve been drinking.” You say. 

“You can sleep it off on the plane.” She says. John chuckles and jumps off the roof to stand with Kate. 

“No rest for the wicked huh?” Johnny asks, picking up the rest of the crate. 

“Leave it for the Americans.” Simon says, jumping down next.

“Yeah, let them know what real beer tastes like.” Kyle says jumping down next and looking back up at you. You smile and jump down. Johnny lands next to you throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“I’ll let you sleep on me, lass and we’ll get a few hours kip before we land.” he says.

“Then what? Are you going to take me out to dinner, treat me like a real princess?” You joke. 

“Fuck, on my salary? Dream on.” He laughs, you laugh with him and walk as you walk back to dorms. You watch John get caught up by Laswell, in a few hours you’ll be in Urzikstan, you’ll be after a new target probably Jamal or Khaled if you’re lucky both. 

Your taste for revenge has gone, maybe you’ll always hate him and maybe you’ll never forgive him, but he’s gone and he doesn’t deserve anymore of your tears or your energy. He’s buried in the sand where he belongs, and anyway you have other people to worry about. You smile as you look up at Johnny throwing his arm around Simon’s back. 

Kyle’s arm is around your waist and he pulls you closer to him. You look up and smile at him.

“Thank you.” 

“No thanks necessary, love. Besides you’ll make it up to us.” he says, slipping away from you and winking. You laugh, he’s just as bad as Johnny. You finish the rest of your can and throw it in the bin. 

At least you won’t be back here for a long time���hopefully.

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[frostyharbor]

warrior / diplomat - chapter one

F!READER/JOHN PRICE ■ EXPLICIT ■ IN-PROGRESS

SUMMARY:

You're a junior diplomat at the American Embassy in Bucharest. Even as tensions with Russia threaten to boil over, by the very nature of your job, you're more of the "ask questions first, shoot never" type. It's too bad military men don't really follow the same creed. tags: slow-burn, canon typical violence, minor character death

CHAPTER ONE

You have a feeling that nickname is going to stick, and decide Captain Price and his silly hat and ridiculously blue eyes can go to Hell. In which you collect a runaway VIP, things in the city begin to go south, and heightened security concerns at the embassy summon unconventional aid.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

MASTERPOST

A junior member of the American Embassy in Bucharest, you’re often saddled with the privilege of playing chauffeur to the various VIPs who fly into Mihail Air Base.

You don’t mind it, usually. But today’s visitor, Michael Black, is playing the part of dutiful politician, swinging by every corner of the base to personally greet every unit and squadron. Ever since arriving, you’ve constantly been one step behind him, but the soldiers are more than happy to point you in the right direction.

“He’s over with the 101st,” one Army lad laughs, smirking at your flushed face and irritated expression.

You grit out a thank you, hoping the malice behind the words is clearly implied. It either isn’t or you’re just not threatening enough, because the kid only laughs harder and walks away.

You have a vague understanding of where the 101st Division is located. As you drive up to the barracks and see the crowd that has formed outside of them, you eye the scene with no shortage of apprehension.

This is a corner of the installation you usually avoid if you can help it. It might be owned by the Screaming Eagles, but they often play host to the Delta boys, America’s elite. You don’t doubt their prowess in the field, but their manners outside of it leave something to be desired. They’re arrogant and cocksure and have an irritating habit of strutting around the base like they own it. They flaunt regulations, wearing what they like and growing out their hair and beards to ridiculous proportions.

Though you’ve never personally witnessed a confrontation because if it, you know that this is a headache for leadership. The young privates on base, striving to copy their heroes, take to following their example whenever they’re around, rolling up their sleeves and relaxing their grooming standards. They beg the D-boys to give them tips and advice, and when their actual supervisors try to correct them on it later, dig their heels in and stubbornly insist they learned it from the real professionals.

If it came down to it, you’re certain they’d follow the operators before they followed their own officers. The fracturing of the chain of command leads to tension that even you’re aware of, and you’re thankful that your trips to this side of the base are usually few and far between.

But there’s no tension here today. Bored and blessed – or cursed – with an abundance of energy, the operators had apparently convinced one of the pilots to fly them over the local forest to go hunting for wild boar. Their success was obvious – the grills have been fired up and the meat roasts on the rack, filling the air with smoke and the delicious aroma of wild pork.

You spot Michael standing about in the crowd, holding a paper plate and gesticulating wildly with his fork. His audience laughs at something he says, but you suspect it’s the type of laughter that's meant to be kiss-ass rather than genuine; you’ve heard your boss talking to this guy on the phone, and you know he’s not that funny.

He calls your name with delight when you appear at his elbow - he must have been given a picture and a name so he knew who to look for when he arrived. Not that he had been bothering to look. His cheeks are suspiciously flushed, and you wonder if there’s a bottle of alcohol being passed around. You don’t think that’s allowed, but these guys aren’t beholden to the same rules as everyone else.

“Isn’t this something?” he bellows directly into your face. It’s a good thing his plate is empty – it tips dangerously in his hand as he uses it to indicate the rolling crowd and smoking grills. His breath smells like meat and whiskey, and it takes everything in you to not recoil in disgust. “Did you see what they were cooking when you came in?”

Your irritation makes you short-tempered. “Yes, the massive dead pigs were a bit difficult to miss.”

Some of the gathered men titter. This laughter is meaner but more genuine than before. There's nothing egotistical men like more than seeing another man with an ego be put down.

But you’re not here to impress them. You touch Michael lightly on the arm to urge him towards the fringes of the gathering. “We should move on to the embassy as quickly as possible if we want to keep your schedule.” They needed to be back in Bucharest an hour ago – your supervisor has been blowing up your phone for the last ninety minutes and you’ve only just been able to hold him off over text.

But you’ve learned from experience that men like these don’t like to be told what to do outright. With your hand still resting on his arm, you look up at him from under your lashes. “Is there anything I can do to help you get ready to leave?”

He blinks his bloodshot green eyes down at you and blusters. “No need, no need! I’d hate to make a pretty lady like yourself go out of her way! We can head out now.”

Thank fuck. You flick your eyes skyward and say a quick prayer of gratitude for stupid drunk men as you make your way back through the crowd.

Within the throng of men is a small knot of soldiers. You’re passing by them on Michael's heels when you catch a burst of ribald chatter. The accents are distinctly un-American, and you tilt your head to listen. British and Scottish.

It’s a strange group, even considering the strange company. A young man with a mohawk catches your eye first. He’s the Scottish one, and you can tell from the gleam in his eye and the curl of his mouth that he’s trouble. Leaning on the wall beside him is a man dressed all in black with a balaclava pulled down over his head. A skull mask of all things hides his face, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. It’s the sort of thing a fifteen-year-old boy might find cool.

Further beyond this odd couple stands a handsome man in a ballcap and another, older man with a full beard and mustache. A cigar that you can smell from where you stand is balanced between his fingers, and he raises it to his mouth as he leans in to speak with Ballcap in quieter tones.

Mohawk catches you staring and grins. “Whatcha think, bonnie?” There’s a crude necklace of boar’s teeth circling his throat and a fresh cut across the bridge of his nose. Skull-mask watches you with a cool stare. The smell of cigar smoke hangs like a cloud over their ragtag ensemble.

I think this whole gathering’s just one mammoth short of a cave painting, you want to say, but don’t. They all have a wild and cunningly primitive air about them, predators in a way the average soldier isn’t.  Military men can be so doglike in their service, tamed and eager to please. These men, though…

They remind you of wolves.

So, you let your eyes run over them with an air of polite curiosity rather than disdain and force your lips to curl into a diplomatic smile. “Very impressive.”

Mr. Cigar, who has stalked closer, watches you knowingly. His hat casts a shadow over his face, even in the full sun of afternoon, but his eyes are very alive. His condescending expression puts your back up, and you fight the urge to sneer. “You’ve just arrived, love. Embassy isn’t going anywhere.” He puffs on his cigar and releases the smoke like a looming dragon. You keep your eyes on his, not giving him the satisfaction of looking down at his mouth. “Might as well eat something.”

The fact that he must have been watching – and listening? – makes your skin crawl. “I’m afraid we’re already late, sir.” A glance over your shoulder tells you that Michael has bumbled his way to the car. You don’t trust him not to tell your driver to leave without you. “I need to go.”

The man smiles. His eyes crinkle in a friendly sort of way, but you trust these operators as far as you can throw them. Friendly or not, he’s probably hiding a dozen weapons under his shirt, and he’d probably still be smiling if he carved your lungs out with one of them.

He touches the brim of his hat, says “safe travels, Ms. Diplomat”, and is turning away before you can answer. Someone says something – it must be Skull-mask, you don’t see anybody’s mouth move – and they laugh. Feeling distinctly like you’ve been made into the butt of a joke but helpless to do anything about it, you rage silently all the way back to the car.

“Make any friends?” Michael asks when you climb into the back seat and slam the door. He tips his chin to indicate the tight-knit little group, who hadn’t even bothered to watch you go.

“No,” you growl immediately, trying to jerk your seatbelt down and wanting to scream when the locking retractor engages and the strap locks in place. With deliberate patience, you slowly pull the belt back out and buckle up.

Michael snickers as the driver starts the car. “That’s too bad. SAS, you know. Best of the best.”

You feel a sudden surge of uncharacteristic loyalty for the American operators, deciding you loathe the British ones more. “Not better than the D-boys.”

“’Course not,” the man agrees, nodding stupidly before slumping against the car window, fast asleep.

When you had joined the Foreign Service, you hadn't exactly expected much. Getting to see the world while gaining work experience sounded like a dream, and getting to rub shoulders with budding politicians along the way couldn't hurt, either.

It had been foolish not to expect trouble.

Years ago, the Romanian government had agreed to overhaul Mihail Air Base into the largest NATO base in Europe. Even now, though the project hadn't reached completion, you knew over twenty thousand new troops and civilians had already descended on Constanta. It was boon for the local economy and gave NATO a powerful foothold in Eastern Europe, but the organization's increased mobilization so close to the Russian border had raised the hackles of enemy officials.

Romania had pushed on in spite of Russian threats, and now were beginning to feel the pressure.

The Russian terrorist groups springing up across the country wouldn't have much influence, but they were being backed by Romanian ultra-nationalists. The Romanian Nationalist Front had no love for Russia or its leaders but fiercely opposed foreign interference in their country. They eyed NATO's expansion on the Black Sea with nothing short of vicious resentment. As progress continued to be made on the base, their actions were becoming desperate - desperate enough, apparently, to reach across the aisle and shake hands with terror groups that attacked their own countrymen.

Thus far, the disturbance had been minimal and largely centralized in Constanta, over two hours away. The reports that cross your desk that speculate on local attitudes and threat levels include the protests as a footnote in the grand scheme of things, watering down the violence to a few incidences of arson and brick-throwing.

So when chaos erupts in the streets of Bucharest and the rumor reaches your ears that the British ambassador has been assassinated, nothing can stop you from bursting into your supervisor's office.

Jack Surace is a stern man and doesn't likely being interrupted at work as a rule, but this time he only holds up a hand to forestall your questions. "She was shot, but she's alive. They got her to Royal Hospital in time." You slouch down into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, raising a trembling hand to your face. You had met the ambassador, Susan Finch, only once at an event when you had first arrived in Romania. An intimidating and stalwart woman, she had nonetheless struck you as a kind individual and had been patient with your curiosity.

"You've got more to worry about on the inside rather than out," she had told you, her eyes glittering wickedly. "Jack's all work and no play."

You hadn't been at the embassy long enough to feel comfortable in joining the good natured ribbing. "He's not that bad," you had managed to pipe up loyally. You boss had given you a long-suffering look and said, with faux-offense, "not that bad?". Taking the remark seriously and mortified over accidentally insulting your new boss, you had stumbled over apologies. The pair had let you carry on for a good minute before exchanging smirks and shooing you off to join the other new officers. Dismissed to the kid's table.

The thought her now lying in some cold hospital room with a gunshot wound sends a chill down your spine. 

Someone follows you into the office. It speaks to how close you are that you can recognize Chrissy Nour from the tap of her heels and the smell of her perfume. Only two years older than you and outstripping you in seniority by a whole ten months, she had been the one to welcome you to the post and drag you out to the local bars to distract you from your homesickness. She comes up behind you now and rests a hand on your shoulder. You blindly reach behind you take it. Jack acknowledges her with a tired wave. 

"Christ, Jack," she says. She must have walked in in time to hear his update. "It might have been one of us." 

The it could have been you goes unspoken, but if Jack is shaken by it, he gives no indication. He takes off his wire-frame glasses to clean them on his shirt. Without them, his narrow face looks even skinnier, and the shadows under his eyes are more pronounced. When he replaces them on the bridge of his nose, his hand is remarkably steady. His staff jokingly calls him Surice for his unflappable personality and his ability to stare down other negotiators from across the table, but you're grateful to have him at the helm now.

You're almost afraid to ask, but it needs to be said. "What's going to happen now?"

"Nothing is certain yet, but it's likely the British embassy will close." He looks at something on his screen. It's an email - you can see the familiar formatting reflected in the lenses of his glasses. "What that means for us..." he trails off and shrugs. You think of one of the last times British diplomats were withdrawn from a country and Americans were left behind. Benghazi. You and Chrissy exchange nervous looks. Jack doesn't miss it.

He gives you both a considering look. "I'll have to stay for as long as the embassy is operational, but if the department bans travel to Romania, there won't be much for you to do." That much is true, at least - no travel means no American citizens abroad, and you can't picture many VIPs being interested in touring a country whose citizens are trying to kill them. "I can see about getting the staff reassigned if things get worse."

Chrissy voices her approval immediately, but you hesitate. You've worked in Bucharest for a year and a half now under Jack and couldn't have asked for a better supervisor for your first posting. You don't particularly want to get caught up in whatever is beginning to boil over in the capitol, but the idea of leaving him behind strikes you as betrayal. "I'll stay, if I can."

Jack's grim expression softens slightly. "They'll increase security in the city so this doesn't happen again. I won't say we don't have anything to worry about, but the outlook might not be as terrible as we're imagining. Worse things have happened and we've weathered the storm." A scowl turns his mouth down and deepens the lines on his forehead. "I asked Michael when he visited about more security for the compound, but he's been putting me off."

You shudder at the reminder of the man's visit several weeks prior. Thankfully some other poor junior had been pulled to escort him back to the base - getting him to Bucharest and having to deal with him lumbering around the offices for a week had been bad enough. You weren't surprised that he hadn't taken the request for stronger security seriously. 

Silence falls over the office. Jack is staring somewhere over your shoulder, but you recognize it as the spaced-out look of someone who has fallen into a deep bout of introspection. As worrying as the situation is, you feel sad for him - it must be difficult to work towards maintaining ties between nations only to have to worry about getting a bullet in the back for your efforts. Only to have things fall apart anyways.

The door to his office is thrown open again with a bang, and the three of you nearly jump out of your skins. But it's only Chris Severino, come running up from the cafeteria on the first floor if his panting is anything to go by. "They're saying on the news an ambassador was killed-"

"Not dead," Jack corrects patiently. 

You and Chrissy slip out of the office as he begins to tell the story over again.

Later, you're both watching the news in your living room. You have an apartment right next to the embassy, and seeing the walls of the compound outside your window is comforting even though, at the current moment, you'd feel safer inside them. 

Before you had left for the evening, Jack had tasked you both with scanning the local news and online articles to gauge public opinion. You've got laptops balanced on your thighs and the coffee table is a haphazard mess of empty coffee cups, files, and stacks of printed reports. The centerpiece of the table has been removed to accommodate the collection of beer bottles that had turned into the preferred drink of choice as the night wore on. Every now and then, one or both of you takes a break to rub your eyes and stare at the subtitles on the television.

The RNF had earlier claimed responsibility for the assassination attempt. No update had come on the ambassador's status or the future of the British embassy, but you knew that if something developed, Jack would call. For now, you stare blankly at the news reel as the footage loops for the third or fourth time that evening, showing the panic in the streets from that afternoon. The assassin hadn't even been dressed in black, or some other ominous getup - he looked like an average guy. Someone you might talk to if you ran into him. For the fourth time that evening, you watch him sidle up to the Susan's right side, reaching swiftly under his shirt. The footage freezes there, stopping short of showing the actual shooting, but gooseflesh pimples your skin all the same.

It might have been one of us.

You take a sip of water for something to do. 

"I don't want to stay," Chrissy says suddenly. You look at her, surprised. She's closed her laptop and is picking at her nails, looking down at her knees. "It feels like the right thing to do, you know? To stay. Not leave Jack and everyone else." She peeks over at you and you can see her eyes beginning to water. "But I don't want to die here." The streetlights outside the window cast long shadows in the living room. "I don't mean to be such a...you know. Such a coward."

"You're not a coward," you correct immediately. You reach for her shoulder and she lets you take it, quietly accepting the same comfort she had offered you early in Jack's office. "We didn't exactly ask for this. I mean, there's some danger inherent in going to a foreign country, I guess, but..." you gesture to the television screen. New footage is beginning to appear. An angry, masked mob has gathered in Old City. They get close to the crew, harassing the cameramen and the reporters. One of them has gotten ahold of a British flag, and the camera pans to where the Union Jack is being burned and stomped into the street. "I don't think anyone could have expected this when we took the FSOT."

She gives a weak laugh. "Definitely not. I wanted to go to Greece."

"Italy."

You both laugh at the audacity of your younger selves. Foreign Service Officers with more seniority might get their pick of postings, but the State Department wasn't always so accommodating with fresh blood. 

As your laughter quickly fizzles out, Chrissy fixes you with a keen look. "You shouldn't stay, either."

You falter, wondering what to say. You've just said that she wasn't a coward for leaving, so you can't say you don't want to leave Jack. In all honesty, you're not sure whether you regret your offer to stay or if you still stand by it - watching the footage of the mob on the screen as well as the video of the completely harmless-looking man stepping up beside the ambassador with his hand under his shirt...your heart pounds just with the memory of it. Your hand tightens on your glass. It might have been one of us. It still could be. You don't like your chances against that crowd.

But you opt to wave off her concerns. "We're well-protected at the embassy. Besides, Jack's probably right. People are angry now, there's a lot of chaos, but they'll send the police out and increase security. Things'll return to normal."

"I don't know about that." Chrissy is watching the television, too. You can see that her face is creased with worry. "I think they'll get worse before they get better."

Chrissy's prediction turns out to be truer than Jack's.

Unrest rocks the streets of Bucharest. The Romanian Police have been turned out, but they've severely underestimated just how many of the population have fallen sway to nationalist propaganda. Sector 3 is slowly becoming a battleground, with every night ending in a standoff between protestors and the police. But the crowds are swelling every night, and the police are running out of options to disperse them.

The American embassy being located at the fringes of Sector 1 has saved it. Your compound is walled and likely too far away from Downtown Bucharest to present a convenient target. The other embassies close to the heart of the city haven't been so lucky, but the damage has thus far been limited to a few small fires and broken windows. Ambassador Finch has not only left the hospital, but the country as well - the British embassy has closed and all of its officers have been sent home. You wonder if you and the rest of the American staff are close behind.

Throughout the day, you peer out your window to look over the wall, anxious about what's on the other side of it.

Sgt. Collin Safin teases you for your paranoia. One of the Army boys assigned to guard the compound, he's only been here for about six months. He only smirks in that annoying way of his when you ask him if he's seen anything on your way in one morning.

"They're not going to come all the way out here." He insists, tapping you on the shoulder. You like him, but the action makes you want to strangle him. "Only a few of these guys are actually serious. The rest are just vultures lookin' to steal and cause trouble."

He's arrogant in the way that only a soldier in his early twenties can be, confident and easy-going. You'd absolutely loathe him if hadn't spontaneously flipped over his helmet one day to show you the picture he had taped inside. It's a newborn baby, wrinkled and wet and alien-looking in the way most freshly-born babies are, but Collin had looked at the picture like it was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. "My daughter," he had explained, quite unnecessarily. He had had the sort of starstruck expression that only a new father could have. "She was born a couple of weeks ago, but I just got the photo yesterday."

He's still arrogant, but you had mentally shuffled him after that from "insufferably arrogant" to "tolerably annoying", and carved out a soft spot for yourself in his heart when you went out of your way to ask him about his wife and daughter.

You disagree with his cavalier attitude now, but let his words comfort you anyways. He's probably right.

Two days later, someone lobs an IED over the wall.

You don't hear the explosion, only the following alarm. Chrissy bursts into the office you share with a few other juniors and gestures to the window, where you can see smoke beginning to cloud beyond one of the neighboring buildings. You press your face to the glass, but can't see much.

"They've locked down the compound," Chrissy groans, sitting in the extra chair beside your desk. The other employees step up to crowd around the window when you return to your computer. You reach automatically for your desk phone and dial Jack's office number, but get a busy tone. By the time you're returning the phone to its cradle, your work cell lights up.

It's a text from Jack. 'On phone now. Stay where you are.'

Chrissy peers over your shoulder, chewing her lip. You fire back a response. 'Anyone hurt?'

'Don't know yet. will update when I know more.'

Between you and Chrissy, you shoot off a flurry of texts to your other contacts at the embassy. Most of their answers are the same as Jack's - 'no, I don't know what happened, we've just been told to sit tight' - but Chrissy strikes gold when her screen lights up with an incoming call from Savannah Miles, one of the consulars who works near the entrance of the compound.

Chrissy puts her on speaker phone and waves for quiet. You and Savannah aren't close, but you know her as a generally confident woman. She sounds timid now.

"Everyone's ok that I know of. We didn't really see it when it happened, but we heard the explosion when it went off."

"What was it?"

There's a break and the sound of muffled conversation, like she's put her hand over the speaker to talk to someone else. After a minute, she comes back. "The guys are saying it was an IED. They just threw it over the wall and it went off inside."

They. You and Chrissy exchange worried looks. One of the juniors now crowded around your desk leans in. "Is the wall still good?"

"Yeah, it left a pretty decent crater in the ground and some scotch marks, but I think the wall itself was still pretty solid. We can't see it anymore though, they moved us away from the windows..."

After a few more back and forths, Savannah hangs up. 

News is slow to come. The other employees speculate in a corner, but you sit at your desk and bring up the local news online, scanning the headlines for any update of the attack. When that fails to yield results, you swap over to the major media stations. Most of them are reporting some disturbance at the embassy, with a few grainy photographs of the same smoke you had seen earlier, but their update is limited to a headline designed to shock - Attack at American Embassy! Terrorists Launch Assault at the Wall - and you already know that no one's been hurt, so you ignore the clickbait and turn off your monitor. Obviously, they don't know any more than you do.

Gradually, the chatter dies down. You hazard a glance at Chrissy, who's still sitting quietly at your desk with her arms folded around herself. She had already been afraid, had already wanted to leave...you hope that she still gets to have that option. You tap her foot with yours and she smiles at you briefly before looking down again, her brow furrowed. 

A few juniors do what you had done, making half-hearted attempts to hunt down outside news articles to see what's going on. Either it hasn't been released yet or there's nothing more to report, because there's still no update. Every now and then, someone's phone pings with a text from a coworker that they read out to the rest of the room. 'We've been escorted back to our office' or 'Our boss told us no one was injured'. But it isn't until the sun has begun its descent that you get any type of official update. Footsteps echo in the hall outside your door, and you perk up like a watchdog.

Jack enters in a flurry, throwing the door open with none of his usual self control. Anyone that hadn't noticed him come in jumps at the bang, whirling with wide eyes. You realize that he's pissed, and sink down into your chair. A pissed Jack Surace is a Jack Surace who isn't particularly choosy about whose head he collects. 

But it quickly becomes clear that his anger isn't directed at his staff. "Everything is fine, and they don't expect any further attack. At least not tonight." He jams his hands in his pockets and looks around the room. "I'm going to Mihail. Chris will be in charge while I'm out."

"You can't go out there," you protest before you give yourself permission to speak. Jack turns his fierce gaze on you, but you don't falter from it. You're thinking of Susan Finch. 

Some of the others back you up, but Jack cuts across them all. "I have to go. I'm going to Mihail, and I'm not coming back until I've gotten us some actual fucking security."

"I'll go with-"

"No." His voice is so sharp and cold that your eyes water, and the kid who had started to offer sits back down like he's been slapped. "Stay here, look out for each other. Any trouble and you call Chris. Understand?"

When he's satisfied with the round of affirmatives, he turns on his heel and sweeps out of the room, taking all the air with him.

Chrissy puts her head in her hands and cries softly. You put an arm around her shoulders and hope that you haven't seen the last of the old man.

Either your hope is what keeps him alive or you had never needed to worry, because Jack returns to the embassy in more or less the same condition as he left it. When you see him again, his shoulders are tight and he wears on his face an expression most mothers and kindergarten teachers might recognize - the look of someone who has spent an entire week trying to deal with very immature children. But he's whole and unharmed, and that has to be good enough for the time being.

"I fucking hate military bigwigs," is all the elaboration he offers, and reaches into his bottom desk drawer to pull out an amber bottle that's saved strictly for emergencies.

You can't deny that his trip yields results. The day of the incident and in the days immediately following, the embassy had been swarmed with both the Romanian Police and private contractors alike, along with the usual minor military presence, but that's nothing to what starts to flood in after Jack returns. Humvees roll in at all hours of the day and aggressively patrol around the compound in a show of strength, daring the attackers to return. Though the embassy lies at the edge of the city, even the protests Downtown are cowed by the increasing show of force, and, for a few nights at least, there's an uneasy truce in Bucharest. 

As more military force pours in, however, civilians begin to pour out. The staff of the embassy is being reduced by half, and the soldiers move in to the newly-empty office space to set up temporary headquarters and barracks. 

On the day Chrissy leaves, she hugs you fiercely and begs you to reconsider. But you had seen your boss drag the military into the city by sheer force of will alone, and if you ever want to emulate that kind of authority someday, you know you aren't going to get it by running away. That, and you're moved by his dedication to his people, and feel loyal to him now more than ever. You hug her back and comfort her with a few rehearsed platitudes, and promise to keep her updated every night. She waves before she gets into the car that will take her to the airport, looking miserable, but she doesn't look back, either. Some people are made for conflict, and some aren't. You can't tell which kind you are yet, but you know which camp Chrissy lies in, and you're glad that she's getting out of here.

With the reduction in workforce, you begin to take on more responsibility. Jack is reluctant to take anyone deeper into the city unless he absolutely has to, but that means that while he and Chris are gone meeting with Romanian politicians, you help the more senior staff run what's left of the office. You still write the same reports, but you're no longer expected to submit them to another, more experienced staff member for review. There's just not the time nor the manpower for it. Handing things in directly to Jack adds another level of anxiety to your day that you don't really need, but you can't help but feel a spark of pride at his faith in your work. 

You and the other juniors have also began the laborious process of scanning files into digital databases and shredding whatever's left behind. It was a task that needed to be done anyways that you've all been putting off because it's tediously irritating, but the threat of possibly being attacked again at any time adds to the level of urgency and you can procrastinate no longer. It isn't entirely bad - commiserating with the other employees while scanning and shredding helps to fill the lonely gap that had been left behind when Chrissy went home. There's some humor in it, too, and some of the guys make a game of who can flop the most theatrically whenever one of them gets another papercut. There's also a lottery going for who's going to find the oldest document. A shy and polite man named Chase is winning so far in that department, having unearthed a positively ancient file from the 1970s that had practically flaked to pieces in his hands.

You take turns bringing the bags of scrap paper to the maintenance building across the lawn to be incinerated. Your turn comes on a breezy day with clear blue skies and, for a moment, you can forget where you are and enjoy the fine weather. As you cross the lawn, returning to your building empty-handed, you spot Sgt. Safin strutting through the buildings with a gaggle of soldiers in his wake. His voice carries across the lawn - he's giving a tour of the compound and is clearly in his element, and you smile to yourself.

Someone calls your name, and you turn to see Jack strolling towards you, his hands in his pockets and his grey hair ruffled by the breeze. You meet him halfway and pivot to walk in the same direction, matching him step-for-step. You realize he's headed for the entrance of the embassy, and feel a stirring of curiosity.

"There's a few more guys coming in. Military," he elaborates, seeing your confusion. "Chris and I are gone pretty often these days, so I wanted to introduce them to my staff before you came across them unawares. You shouldn't have to deal with them much directly, but just in case..."

This strikes you as odd, and you say so. "We haven't really been introduced to any of the other troops who have come in, sir."

He nods carefully. "True, but these guys are...different. A little intense, from the sound of it." He seems to be searching for a way to explain. "They don't really follow the same rules as the regulars, and I want to make sure you're all prepared for that."

You've reached the main road that leads from the front gate. There's already a small fleet of vehicles parked just inside the walls. They're not military - they're blacked out SUVs and vans with tinted windows and no plates. Most of the men that must have been inside have already gotten out and are stretching their legs, shaking out hours of travel. They're dressed in a casual mix of civilian clothes and military gear that you think you recognize.

You stop short a few yards away from the foremost vehicle. "Oh god, not those Delta guys."

Jack smirks. He knows something of your disdain for operators, having overheard a few of your rants after a particularly colorful visit to Mihail. "You're right, it's not those Delta guys." He gives you a sidelong glance. "Be nice."

Before he can elaborate, the herd of them starts moving in your direction. There's maybe fifteen to twenty in all, and, for the most part, they ignore both of you in their usual arrogant manner. A few call out a greeting to Jack or pause to shake his hand before moving on but, aside from a dismissive glance, none of them pay you much attention at all. They just hike their gear up over their shoulders and disappear into the nearest building. You realize that many of them have British accents, and the feeling of impending doom intensifies.

Your attention shifts to the little group that brings up the rear, somehow knowing who it's going to be before you even lay eyes on them. Your intuition doesn't disappoint. There they are, walking four abreast - Mohawk, Skull-mask, Ballcap, and Mr. Cigar. Any hopes that they might not recognize you from your last VIP run to the air base are dashed when you see Mohawk nod in your direction and tap Ballcap on the shoulder. Mr. Cigar glances at you from under the brim of his hat and winks.

For fuck's sake.

"Good morning," Jack says as they approach, offering his hand. He's just one unarmed man standing across from four soldiers bristling with weapons, but he stands straight-backed and tall, giving nothing away. Mr. Cigar takes it first, and they size each other up in the manner of men who have each recognized power in the other - quickly, shrewdly, and hiding any judgment behind a cool expression. The other three offer handshakes and brief greetings as well while Jack introduces himself.

He waves you closer. "This is one of my staff members. One of the last ones left, anyways." He doesn't smile at his own wry humor and neither does anyone else. He introduces each of the men to you - apparently, he had been given a brief dossier of names before they had arrived. "They're not here to guard the embassy, specifically, but they'll be based here while they work in the city. This is Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, and Sergeants Garrick and MacTavish."

Though you've already met, you let Jack make the introduction official. A part of you would like to be snide and dismissive, to fold your hands primly behind your back and scorn any overture of camaraderie. But you're still a diplomat, and you're painfully aware that you're not in a position to turn down allies in the present climate. 

Plus, you've already been told to play nice.

So, you smile politely and take each hand as its offered to you. MacTavish is the Scot with the mohawk, and his smile is almost blinding as he shakes your hand with all the exuberance of a golden retriever puppy. Garrick takes his place, charming and friendly, clasping your hand with exaggerated grace as though to show MacTavish how it's done. Riley's greeting is clipped, his handshake brief and professional. He isn't looking at you - he's eyeing the Captain slyly, who returns the look with an air of warning before turning to you. He may have ditched the cigar from last time, but the stupid hat is still the same, and so is his confident little smile.

His hand is large and warm, engulfing yours with ease. You look up into his face and see his eyes are the same too, creased again in the same friendly way. "Hullo, Ms. Diplomat."

You have a feeling that nickname is going to stick, and decide Captain Price and his silly hat and ridiculously blue eyes can go to Hell.

"Hello, Captain Price."

[lostintransist]

The Real Problem With The Trolley

Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 5

Part 1 here. AO3

Simon hadn’t been surprised when Kyle said he invited someone to drinks. He had been surprised to see a woman step through the door. What surprised him was not the fact Kyle had invited a woman but that Kyle had invited a normal woman. He attracted beauties the world over. Simon thought back to a day the week before when Kyle had trapped him into listening to a rant.

Simon has watched his sergeant rant and pace for going on ten un-hyperbolic minutes. Kyle had never been one Simon would choose for having woman troubles.

“I bring her flowers and she gives them away!” He is spinning to pace back the other way.

“Does she like flowers?” Simon can’t keep his thoughts to himself any longer.

Kyle stops, foot falling heavy onto the concrete masquerading as carpet on base. He looks at his L.T., incredulous.

“Women like flowers, Simon.”

Simon would have punched the man square in his pretty face if it didn’t require standing. He had sustained a back injury on their last job and had been relegated to desk duty and PT.

“I’m not asking if ‘women’ like flowers Kyle.” Simon failed to keep the snark from the word women as he put air quotes around it. “I’m asking if your bird likes flowers.”

Kyle’s teeth snapped shut as he stared at his L.T. Simon took pity on the younger man.

“I know your mum and sister like flowers. What do they like?”

“Orchid and Sunflowers.” Kyle straightened, tucking one hand into the collar of his shirt in lieu of a tack vest.

“And your bird?”

“She’s not my bird,” he mutters to the floor.

“But you want her to be. Quit treating the woman who bests you in philosophical discussions like the ones who throw themselves at you and would take any crumb of affection that might fall into their mouths. She doesn’t sound like the type to accept scraps.”

Kyle’s nose scrunch gave away the depth of his emotions.

“And what if she doesn’t like me after?”

“After?” Simon prompted.

“After she knows that I am not a good man?” The brusque quality of his voice does not mask the fear, pain, rejection there.

Wincing, Simon stood with back stiff and straight.

“Kyle.” He waited until the man looked up from his boots. “If she’s worth having around at all she’s worth being a friend.”

Simon recoils from the pain when he lifts a foot. Damn. He was getting too old for this life.

“If you meet her would you tell me what you think?”

Introductions pulled him back from the edge of his memories. Kyle had passed your name around as they sat in a booth at a bar that looked like any number of them on this street. His arm is stretched across the back of your chair, possessive. You lean forward, elbows on the table to avoid touching him. Simon didn’t plan on watching you to inform Kyle of his thoughts but the attentive distance you kept drew his interest.

“This is Soap, and this is Ghost,” Kyle pointed to each man in turn.

Johnny held his hand out for you to shake with his signature woman-eating grin.

“Call me Johnny.”

“Simon,” he nods at you instead of offering his hand.

The side eye you send Kyle speaks of familiarity and a solid foundation to your friendship.

“So they do have normal names.”

Kyle cracks with laughter. “I never said they didn’t. Can’t help that you assumed.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to Johnny and Simon. Kyle slips off to grab drinks from the bar. Credit where credit is due, you are interesting and pull everyone into a discussion. Simon even shares his opinions on whether or not trees have domesticated humans, he does not think they have.

When drinks, beers for the guys, are running low a round of rock, paper, scissors sends Kyle to the bar and Johnny nips off to the john to relieve himself.

A deep frustrated sad sigh from Kyle’s bird has Simon looking over at you.

“How copy?”

You glance up at him, to Kyle with a beautiful woman dripping off his arm at the bar, and then turn back to the small drink in your hand, swirling the red-tinged liquid. You had been nursing the single drink the entire night.

“He’s too damn pretty for my good.”

Humming in agreement Simon thought of Johnny.

“He’s loyal though,” he sips his beer to give himself a moment to grab more words. “Kyle has walked through hell for us. He would do more than that for you.”

A snort escapes from you. Simon catches your look of self-derision.

“Kyle wouldn’t want someone like me. I’m a good friend, not a hot fuck.” You sip your drink as if to stop the flow of words.

“Friendships are the best basis for more. He only talks about three women at work. His mum, his sister, and you.”

You would have replied, brows pulled together as if looped together with a stitch tugged taut, but Johnny threw his body onto the bench next to you.

“Lass there are so many men looking for someone to take home. Interested in playing the field?” Johnny waggled his eyebrows in your direction before throwing a wink at Simon.

The bark of laughter from you has both men returning their gazes to you.

“The last time I took a man home from the bar he stayed the night and then hit on my supermodel hot roommates all breakfast. I’m not looking for a repeat of being the ugly step-sister.”

Kyle returns to the table, catching your words’ tail end. Before he can say anything you smile up at him and tap Johnny on the arm.

“I’m gonna head on home.”

Johnny stands and offers you a hand you take as you pull yourself across the bench seat until you can twist to escape.

“Already? You’ve hardly touched your drink?” Kyle gestures to your half-full glass.

Simon watches, eyes moving like he watched a match at Wimbledon.

“I don’t drink much to begin with.”

“I barely got to talk to you.” The sadness in his eyes is clear to Simon, the innumerable missions, plane chats, exfil being delayed times teaching him what that ache looked like on his sergeant.

You must not see it.

“That’s okay, we talk all the time. It was nice to meet some of your teammates though,” you toss a smile to Johnny who returns the gesture. “Good luck with whoever you end up going home with tonight.”

A wave to Simon, a nod to Kyle and you are off. Weaving through the tables and returning the goodbyes from the bar staff. Simon and Johnny watch you go, your absence absorbed by the hum of conversation filling the bar.

Kyle jerks forward when Johnny slaps him on the shoulder.

“I like her; now if she ever gives you a shot don’t fuck it up,” the Scot laughed and settled back into the booth.

When Kyle sits it is with folded arms spread across the table and his nose kissing the wood.

Finishing his beer Simon sets it softly on the table.

“You really like her.”

It is not a question.

“I want my mom to meet her.”

The look of shock on Johnny’s face as it swung to look at him would be comical if Simon didn’t also understand the gravity of that statement.

“Damn Kyle, you got it bad.”

Kyle’s response was to thump his head on the table three times, sit up straight, finish the abandoned drink, and then slam his own.

“I’m going home.”

Simon struggled to stand and Johnny left the booth behind him, hand heated against his shoulder blade. Johnny took care of paying for everyone’s drinks and met them at the door.

Kyle ignored any heated look sent his way by hopeful women, head down and shoulders crunched. Simon had no words of advice for this; he also yearned with no recourse.

Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist

@soldierservant @demothers-empty-blog

[cheriladycl01]

Ghost - Oscar Piastri x UnknownDriver! Reader Part 2

Plot: Reader is the first female F1 driver of the century, however no-one knows that as you are a ghost on the grid. You started in 2022, coming in P12 in the championship. You get moved to Red Bull Racing in 2023 with the off year for Sergio Perez.

"Ghost, Radio Check Please" you engineer says as you pull from the pits.

You hadn't got a win yet, of course you'd had many podiums. Some even last year when you were with Alpine, more this year with Red Bull.

You wanted the win, even though it meant showing who you were and that came with a price, you felt ready. You just needed a reason to come forward with it.

However, even with Oscar's assuring words earlier in the day your P15 start because of the way qually went for you didn't feel like a win was applicable.

"Check" you say before driving out of the pits and into P15 behind Sargent and in front of Tsunoda. You really though that today might be the day and it would have been iconic it being your home Grand Prix and all. But it just didn't look possible when you weren't even in the middle sector of the grid.

You released a big breath as the red lights went out, you dived forward taking over Sargent gaining one place. Esteban who was ahead of him, seeing your Red Bull immediately forgot about Stroll ahead of him and starting defending against you.

For the first 14 laps, in your sector there weren't many changes in positions. Up ahead you had no idea what the grid looked like. But nothing much had changed behind you.

It wasn't until you could feel your tires both getting warn out and starting to struggle with the typical UK drizzle that was upon the race.

"Need to pit soon, cars getting harder to manage with the rain" you admit, knowing that the pit crew already probably have the intermediate tires ready for you.

"Pit on the next lap. Max will pit after you" he advises. However as your coming into the pits, you can see that Vertsappens Red Bull is currently there having its tires changed.

"What the fuck is going on?" you ask pulling up behind Max just as he leaves making you pull forward.

"Copy" is all you get and you let out a frustrated sound that was between a yell and a grunt.

Red Bull made up for it with an exceptionally quick stop for you and you got out on the track again. Luckily, others had pitted as well due to the weather conditions, so you came back out in P15.

"Look, I'm sorry about the incident Christian and the strategists are looking into it but there something I got to ask you, because clearly these methods are no longer working!" you hear you engineer say, you ignore him for a split second taking the corner before you throw back your moody reply.

"What?"

"Who runs the world?" he asks and a smirks comes onto your face. Lewis may have hammer time, but boy oh boy...

"Girls, John, Girls run this mother fucker" you shout into the radio before breaking late and overtaking Lance who was the unfortunate soul currently trying to defend from your driving.

You gain further up, Ocon ahead of you.

"Gap to Ocon?" you ask.

"0.3" you hear, you drive up so your behind him, you swerve the tiniest bit right, he does the same making for a accelerated swerve from you to the left and a clean move up to P12. And just like that you started combing through the grid, Hulkenberg, Gasly, Alonso, Albon, Russell, Sainz and Leclerc all got combed through until you were sitting sweetly in P5, Max, Lando, Lewis and Piastri just ahead.

"Lewis and Piastri are ahead. Fighting for P3, if you catch them both by surprise thats a podium. Gap is 1.2 seconds. Increase on Sector 2"

"Copy that" you say, both the McLaren and Mercedes drivers once you get closer to them are dancing around each other slipping in and out of P3.

"Like two ostriches doing a tango up ahead John" you laugh into the radio.

Just as you manage to overtake the two distracted drivers down the small straight John comes back onto the radio.

"Max has damage to his car. He had to come pit and he's currently P9. You can win this, go prove Beyonce right" he says, this was all you needed. You were currently P2, Lando the only driver ahead of you and thanks to the straight a significant gap had been created between you and Lewis and Oscar.

"Distance to Lando"

"2.4 seconds, speed up that Sector 3 now and you've got him. He's on the newer tires but you can get him. Bring it home" he tells you and you go very serious. No thoughts just the track, you catch up to Lando within a lap, fighting with him for P1.

"Max has climbed back, he's P5 and Oscars trying to defend" you engineer says, you didn't currently care about how close Max was to you, just getting that stream on Lando that would get you the overtake.

SKYSPORTS LIVE: David Croft- Can i just say Martin todays race has been one of the best of the season, for some reason we haven't been allowed to aire the radio between Ghost and his engineer but whatever was said... he's had an amazing drive today, going from P15 all the way to P2 and potentially P1 depending how Norris actually ends up defending against him. Its just been tremendous Martin Bundle- Yes its been amazing from Ghost's comeback to, Lewis a 7 time world champ struggling to overtake and defend the current rookie on the grid, to Max Verstappen reporting car issues, to the lack of DNF's we've had here today at Silverstone David Coft- Oh my lord whats this? He's going for the overtake

Lando goes too wide, his wheel clipping against the track edging making you be able to accelerate past as he struggles to re-gain control.

You manage to get a good gap ahead around corners that prove difficult for the McLaren now behind you.

"One lap Ghost, hold" John advizes and you keep driving, the last lap feeling like a cool down, the sweat drenching all around you due to the panic and sheer oomph of the driving conducted today.

SKYSPORTS LIVE: David Croft- AND WITH THAT FOLKS, WE HAVE THE FIRST WIN FROM GHOST WINNER OF THE SILVERSTONE 2023 GRAND PRIX, LANDO NORRIS BEHIND HIM AND OH MY GOSH A LAST MINUTE OVERTAKE FROM HAMILTON MEANING A TRIPLE PODIUM HERE FOR BRITAIN! Martin Bundle- What a day here at Silverstone, and now three brits are on the podium at their home race

You took yourself out the car, handing the wheel to a Red Bull member before pulling yourself with the halo to stand on the front of the car. John and a few other members pull you down to celebrate with them, before you are ushered off to be weighed.

The cool down room was awkward as you could never speak to the people in there, so you would shake hands before excusing yourself. You took the balaclava off, before tucking your hair in and placing your helmet back over your head.

Now it was time for the podium! Your first winning trophy and you couldn't be more excited, nothing could bring down you mood!

Or so you thought.

You went onto the stage, knowing this was the reveal. You and Christian had spoken about it, knowing your first win was inevitable.

"Today has been a historic day at Silverstone. Not only do we have three Brits standing proud on their home podium, we've had one of the biggest comeback of the year today, despite the mistimed pitstops and the weather, he has pulled his first win out of the bag!" an announcer says coming onto the stage.

"Before we go any further Christian Horner would like to say a few words" an announcer admits, Lewis and Lando turn to you excited to finally see the person behind the helmet. Lando had this running joke that you must be obscenely ugly which is why the helmet is kept on because 'Ghost' is intimidated by him and all the other attractive faces present on the grid.

"Hello everyone. Today doesn't just mark historic reasons for the ones just said. Ghost joined us at the end of the 2022 season when we brought them out of their 2 year contract with Alpine, there was ability and promise there that the team didn't want to both miss out on or go to an enemy team and become a menace on the grid. However, Alpine let a few of us at Red Bull in on Ghost's little secret and to say we were excited was an understatement. This year they have proved their worth and i cant wait for their future at Red Bull. That being said, i think its about time i introduce you to Ghost" he says gesturing towards you.

"This is Y/N Y/L/N" he shouts as you take of the helmet displaying your face to the world. Not only could gasps be heard from the drivers right next to you but from the whole crowd not expecting this outcome.

Lando was in a state of shock, he didn't know what would unveil from that helmet but Oscars longtime crush Y/N Y/L/N the sweet Social Media Manager for Ghost was not one of them.

He was confused at how she had managed to pull of this double life, but ultimately was so happy. This was an important day for her, being the first female to ever win a F1 race.

His eyes flicked down to Oscar in the McLaren section as he'd promised to come watch his best friends win, even if he wasn't up there with him. Lando's gaze met his and there were too many emotions upon the usually chill and placid male that he couldn't dechiper what he was feeling.

There was anger, sadness, frustration, betrayal. And he could have sworn, there were a couple of tears brimming the edges. Lewis had you pulled into a hug right now, congratulating you for everything you've achieved up until now, as all of your achievements were bigger and meant more.

As you went to turn to Lando to pull him into a hug, seeing as you guys were friends as yourself, but seeing his gaze fixed on Oscar a feeling of hurt formed in your chest. His gaze locked onto you and the force of his anger and betrayal could have knocked you back.

He ran off into the crowd back towards the paddock, you wanted to go follow but Lando shook his head. As much as this had hurt Oscar, you deserved to enjoy this moment.

But knowing you'd hurt Oscar, you didn't enjoy a single moment.

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