#this is one of them ‘multi-layered’ sets

[sunlightfeeling]

Engine: Episode 1 (2005)

[wyldblunt]

wanna finally do a proper fullbody ref/scar map for glyn but i struggle w ref sheets so much bc like.... i looove doing dynamic action poses, those come easily to me, but a standing reference pose that still FEELS dynamic/conveys character personality is somehow so so SO much more challenging for me... which like. it's a ref, it would be completely fine for it to just be a normal static drawing (probably BETTER frankly esp if i want to use it to order commissions and stuff), but i never end up happy with it... but then i can never figure out a more dynamic standing pose either.... and then as a result it just never gets done lmaooooo. GOTTA PUSH THROUGH "perfect" is the enemy of "done"

[bobcross1010]

Guys World Link Tsukasa and Colfes Tsukasa are in the same fucking month. What the fuck do I do.

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How To Plan A Book Series: Ultimate Guide

Writing a book series can be an incredibly rewarding experience for authors, but it also requires careful planning and execution. A well-crafted book series can captivate readers, build a loyal fan base, and provide a steady stream of income for writers. However, planning a successful book series is no easy feat.

It demands a deep understanding of world-building, character development, and plot progression. In this ultimate guide, I'll help you explore the essential steps to help you plan a compelling and cohesive book series that will keep your readers hooked from start to finish.

Develop a Compelling Premise The foundation of any successful book series is a strong premise. Your premise should be unique, engaging, and have the potential to sustain multiple books. Consider exploring a complex world, a captivating concept, or a character with a rich backstory that can evolve over the course of several books. Ask yourself: What makes your premise stand out? What will keep readers invested in the story for multiple installments?

Create a Detailed Outline Before you dive into writing, it's crucial to create a detailed outline for your entire book series. This outline should include the overarching plot, major story arcs, character development, and key events for each book. Having a solid outline will help you maintain consistency, avoid plot holes, and ensure that each book contributes to the overall narrative. Don't be afraid to make adjustments as you write, but having a roadmap will keep you on track.

World-Building: Crafting a Vivid and Consistent Universe One of the hallmarks of a successful book series is a richly developed and immersive world. Whether you're creating a fantasy realm, a futuristic society, or a contemporary setting, pay close attention to world-building. Establish the rules, customs, histories, and geography of your fictional world. Consistency is key, so ensure that the details align across all books in the series. Consider creating a "bible" or a comprehensive guide that outlines the intricacies of your world, making it easier to maintain continuity.

Develop Compelling Characters Great characters are the heart and soul of any book series. Your protagonists, antagonists, and supporting characters should be well-rounded, multi-dimensional, and undergo significant growth and transformation throughout the series. Craft backstories, motivations, flaws, and strengths for each character, and ensure that their actions and decisions drive the plot forward. Remember, character development is an ongoing process, so be prepared to explore new facets of your characters as the series progresses.

Establish Recurring Themes and Motifs Themes and motifs are powerful tools that can add depth and resonance to your book series. Identify the central themes you want to explore, such as love, redemption, power, or identity. Weave these themes throughout the series, allowing them to evolve and deepen with each installment. Motifs, like recurring symbols or imagery, can also create a sense of cohesion and add layers of meaning to your narrative.

Plan for Cliffhangers and Resolutions One of the key strategies for keeping readers engaged in a book series is the strategic use of cliffhangers and resolutions. Cliffhangers create anticipation and leave readers craving for the next installment. However, be cautious not to overuse this technique, as it can become frustrating for readers. Balance cliffhangers with satisfying resolutions that tie up loose ends and provide a sense of closure, while still leaving room for the story to continue.

Consider Pacing and Narrative Structure Pacing and narrative structure are crucial elements to consider when planning a book series. Each book should have its own narrative arc, with a beginning, middle, and end, while also contributing to the overall story progression. Vary the pacing between books to maintain reader interest, alternating between action-packed and slower, more introspective sections. Experiment with different narrative structures, such as multiple perspectives, non-linear timelines, or frame narratives, to keep the series fresh and engaging.

Manage Continuity and Consistency As your book series grows, maintaining continuity and consistency becomes increasingly important. Keep detailed records of character descriptions, plot points, world-building elements, and timelines. Regularly refer back to these notes to ensure that you're not introducing contradictions or inconsistencies. Consider creating a series bible or a wiki to help you keep track of all the moving parts.

Plan for Character Growth and Evolution In a book series, characters should undergo significant growth and evolution. Plan for character arcs that span multiple books, allowing your protagonists and supporting characters to face challenges, make difficult choices, and emerge as changed individuals. This character development will not only add depth to your narrative but also keep readers invested in the journey of your characters.

Anticipate and Address Potential Plot Holes As your book series expands, the potential for plot holes and inconsistencies increases. Be vigilant in identifying and addressing these issues during the planning stage. Regularly review your outline and notes, looking for any logical gaps or contradictions. Enlist the help of beta readers or critique partners to provide fresh perspectives and catch any potential plot holes you may have missed.

Consider the Overarching Story Arc While each book in your series should have its own narrative arc, it's essential to plan for an overarching story arc that spans the entire series. This overarching arc should tie together the individual books, building towards a climactic conclusion that resolves the central conflict or mystery. Ensure that each book contributes to this larger narrative, advancing the plot and raising the stakes for the characters.

Plan for Marketing and Promotion Finally, as you plan your book series, don't overlook the importance of marketing and promotion. Develop a strategy for building buzz and engaging with your audience throughout the release of each book. Leverage social media, author events, book tours, and other promotional opportunities to keep your readers excited and invested in your series.

Remember, writing a book series is a marathon, not a sprint, so be prepared to invest time, effort, and dedication into crafting a truly remarkable literary journey. Hope this helped!

Happy Writing - Rin T.

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[skeletonh0e]

Darling, just start the Chase

Description: You unfortunately go into heat, dealing with that alone is unpleasant but your pheromones trigger each of their own respective heats. Four of the most deadly men in the multi verse are desperate to compete for the right of mate, can you escape or will the boys kill each other trying to get to you? A/N: Extremely self indulgent that's been rumbling around in my brain for a bit, had to write it out. There will be multiple parts, rest assured. Fem Reader with AFAB anatomy, x Killer Sans, Horror Sans, Nightmare Sans & Dust Sans. Everything is consensual (though not safe or sane), but it's a heat fic with the typical elements of dub con/cnc, lost of control, possessive behavior, etc. Reader is a monster, species is vague, kinda went the route of them having an implied romance with all four Sanses going on already but it kind of left all up to interpretation regarding the exact history with each Sans. I did my best to spell check and beta read but it's probably still messy, sworry

MINORS DNI

You're up early, really early. The sun hadn't even properly risen yet, your body felt flush and the moment you went to simply sit up, your nearly groaned as something extremely sensitive coursed through your sex. It didn't quite click yet, you've woke up horny before but as you got onto your feet properly you feel the sheer dampness in between your legs.

Then you remembered the time of month and the year.

Fuck.

This was not the ideal time for this, far from it, your heat cycle was never a pleasant time. You always rode it out alone for better or worse, the thing about it was that once you really got going on it you just couldn't stop. And it tended to go on for a week at best, only cutting short if you managed to get yourself properly knocked up within a few days. Having a kid was one thing but going deep into a craze of non stop week sounded nice at first but it'd leave you tired after the fact as well as throw all current ones out the window.

That couldn't happen you had plans, that's not even mentioning you promised to meet with Nightmares Crew, fuck, those stupid toxic assholes

You nearly whine, flashes of their faces coursing through you and images of being pinned underneath him. Fuck, your insides clench and your can't help but wonder how fucking ruined your underwear is. Your pussy is so fucking ready for this, that instictinual part to be claimed, fucked, breed good and proper. You cringe a bit, it's hard to tell how much that idea naturally appeals to you and how much of it is hormones going crazy. It's probably just both when you get down to it.

No, you cannot see any of them like this. That's not even mentioning how they might react to this news, you could trust Nightmare and Axe to be mature, maybe Dust, but Killer? You're already dreading the thought.

You'll make up some excuse, for now...? You gotta take care of this, wasn't there some medicine that helped with the severity of these? You should get on looking into that. Quickly, your force your feet to your closet, picking out....whatever. It was a pretty boring set of clothes, but it gave you some much needed layers to your sensitive body. More skin covered the better.

The moment you have your bedroom though, there's someone in the hallway. Someone you just decided you were going to try to avoid right now,

"Dust...." you breathe out in clear surprise.

He's leaning against the wall, face completely covered though from his posture it didn't seem like he was looking at anything in particular, he doesn't respond at first but slowly turns to look at you, "good mornin' sleeping beauty"

"I think I'm the one that should be saying that to you....you've been up longer," not that you minded too much, though him visiting was one thing him doing so while you were asleep? That was new, "Do you...uh, need something?"

"boss ordered me and the others to escort you today somethin' happened and he wants look outs on all our resources" he's not telling you everything.

You frown trying to put the pieces together....something was concerning enough for Nightmare to send all his goons to look after you? You'll need to get onto that but, "Where are the others?" you ask, trying once again to ignore your clit throbbing at the idea of the other two here

"on their way here soon I imagine I got here early," he stops leaning on the nearby wall, taking a step closer to you, "seems like a good thing I did"

There was something....strange in how he was looking at you, a brief flash of his multi colored eyes and you felt like prey under the gaze of a far large more dangerous animal, it triggers your instincts to run away but you resist. "Guessin' there's no point in telling ole' Mare that I'm fine for today?"

"cut the shit," his tone was unusually blunt, "I can smell that"

You frown again, about to ask him to elaborate but he motions to your hips, taking another step closer and you take a step back.

"don't think boss knows, would have come to get you himself otherwise, but i'm glad for it I get you all to myself," he presses forward and you're slowly being backed up before you know it.

Your mind is racing, arousal surging through you as you're both scared as hell yet impossibly aroused by the scene unfolding before you. He's already figured out you're in heat? You wanted to hope you had been at least a little subtle but your back is pushed against the wall and loud thuds ring out against both sides of your head. His hands tightly planted on both sides of you as you're face to face with him.

You can even make out a decent chunk of his face from his hood, that's saying something.

"Back off," you hiss out, but he doesn't even falter.

"do you actually want me to?"

You don't respond back instantly, your expression clearly mirroring the flurry of conflicted emotions. You know you want this, need this, but you also know once this starts it's not going to stop. That's not even accounting for other factors like how you liked Dust but you've never gone as far as to sleep with him or even any of them before.

Your lack of immediate response was confirmation enough, as his hands are then placed on your shoulders, an alarming amount of force added just to keep you pinned and in place. Another factor that was added to this already intense situation getting tenser but his forcefulness turned you on even more. You can call it you being a freak or pure instinct but it's there

"you like making us work for it? you like knowing your struggling gets us off?" his voice is nearly a growl, the sound rendering your mind blank enough you don't think about what the implications of 'us' means here, "i'm not much better honestly keeping you here, holding you down, not lettin' you escape, it does something for me"

You're starting to question where all this aggression is coming from, not that Dust was ever gentle in the sense but less violent than Axe or Killer. However his hips grind against your own and you can feel how fucking hard he is through both of your clothes. Heat shoots through your core, further empathized as you manage to fully smell him.

He's in heat too.

You're still tightly pinned underneath him, Dust goes to lean down to bite your jugular, it wasn't extremely painful but it was firm, definitely felt, definitely leaving a mark and the mewl you make in response to it is nearly embarrassing as his hands go to grope at your body, hurtedly burying themselves underneath the several layers of clothes.

How can he be in heat? How? There ain't no way you two both happened to have perfectly synched cycles unless you were truly unfortunately unlucky, did...did you do this to him? Fuck, does it even matter? His smell is making you further messy and needy and your smell is fueling his growing aggression, it's so fucking tantalizing

"Dust," you grasp out, his hips continuing to rut against yours desperate for some frition.

Fuck, what would the others say? They were coming soon weren't they? Is this how it's going to be? The other two walking in on each other dry dumping like horny teenagers trying to hide from their respective parents?

He certainly doesn't seem to care, if you probably asked he'd probably like the idea of fucking you right in front of them. Once again it's hard to tell where these are natural desires you're both having or just getting pushed on by the pheromone filled heat.

"god fucking damn," clearly getting frustrated with all the clothes in-between you two, his hands curl into tight balls clutching your attire clearly about to rip the fabric off you, "inside. i need inside you now."

Was this happening? He was going to rip off your clothes then mate you here probably in front of his other coworkers once they arrive? And how bad was it that at this rate you'd happily let him? Even if resisting would have encouraged him more.

"Dus-" you were going to rasp out his name again, parts of your shirt already torn and the chill of the room hits you, but the scene is quickly stopped as in a blur of red and black, Dust was kicked off you.

Literally. Kicked. And flung across the room.

"You fucking slut," Killer arrived, clearly less than amused by the sight before you. His annoyance at Dust, not you, "You know damn well boss has a soft spot for this bitch, if he finds out you were trying to put your dick in her, he'd be pissed as all hell, especially if I let you."

Dust didn't respond as he got back onto his feet, glaring daggers at the other. Killer already dawning his knife as if expecting a fight already. "And if I'm getting his trouble it's because I put my dick in her, capiche?"

"fuck off" was the only reply that Dust barked back with,

Killer actually looked disappointed, "C'mon your comebacks are usually better than that, don't tell me that-" he froze, smelling something and that's when he turned to look at you. Something...changing in his expression, one that made your stomach twist.

Okay, clearly you and Dust weren't the only one being affected by your heat. Is this going to be the case with Axe too? Nightmare even? That odd mix of both fear and arousal shot through you again, unfortunately Dust and Killer took note of this.

"Oh ho, maybe I was wrong, does Boss know she's all like this?" he took a step forward, you were worried you were about to be pinned for a second time but Dust immediately stands in his way, the two glare at each other but you take the opportunity to shuffle to the other side of the room to gain some much needed distance.

Your pussy was going crazy with want, there were now two other monsters both in heat here and the desperation of your state was starting to show. Mentally you were cursing yourself, at this rate you're starting to think you might as well give up on your plans for the week, the universe was clearly conspiring against you in the best worst way possible.

"I see what's going on here, you were trying to keep her all to yourself? If Boss sent us all to take care of her, we should share shouldn't we?" Killer hummed, though honestly it didn't seem like he actually believed Nightmare sent them out for this reason alone. But it's clear that he wasn't willing to back down and let Dust have you either.

Your eyes scanned the area, you knew your own home like the back of your hand though you weren't aware of how familiar the boys were with your universe in particular. How far could you actually get?

The hooded skeleton let out a huff, "you won't share, I won't share, Axe ain't gonna fucking share either, you know that."

"he's right on that part," the gruff voice startled you as you turned around to see Axe looming off in the shadows, he's....salivating....okay the heat is affecting him too. Fuck, you have not one not two but three lust filled unhinged skeletons in your house, your thighs desperately clenched together.

God dammit....

"H-hey guys, don't I get a say in this?" your voice comes out a bit strained, "I don't want to be with any of you."

That's a lie, it's a bold face lie, the boys can all smell how it's a lie. But you don't want to just give in to it, not yet at least.

"you wouldn't be smellin' that good if that was really the case," Axe informed, his gaze inherently predatory as the others also stalked forward.

"I think she just wants us to chase her? Don't you? She loves being a tease after all," Killer laughed, "Or maybe she wants to see which one of us can successfully hunt her down."

"you both seem to be forgetting that I got here first," Dust added on.

"This isn't dibs, you don't win the game by being first," Killer chuckled, "It's a matter of who gets to her and who keeps her, she's already planning to run away. And when she runs from you she'll run right into my arms."

What is even happening? God, things are escalating, how long can you outrun any of them? They all have shortcuts, maybe Axe uses them far less than the other two but they still have them and how far can you get from three dangerous killers. You feel like easy prey in a growing impossible situation. Maybe you should just summon Nightmare to have him call off his lackies, but that's assuming he wouldn't be affected by his heat.

But honestly even if he wasn't there's no guarantee he might insert himself as a player in this game, despite what he claims he could be just as immature and petty as his underlings.

"You all couldn't even manage to catch me if you tried," you hissed out, playing along for now. If you actually did manage to escape them, then good, you could continue the rest of this week out mostly according to plan. If not well....it took everything in your will power to stop your legs from trembling.

Worst ways to spend a week you guessed.

"so it is a challenge then," Axe hummed, an sinister sounding chuckle erupting from him, "you might wanna be careful with those words, unlike these two i actually have experience tracking down prey and with that scent you won't get far"

"You underestimate me," Killer cooed, Dust pointedly saying nothing. "Let's be a little fair to her, hows about a five...maybe ten minute head start?"

Neither of them interjected, guessed that was agreed upon. Only ten minutes? How much ground could you cover in that time? Does it matter when it doesn't even seem like they're willing to negotiate on that?

"Clock starts now rabbit," Killer informed, pointing to his non-existent watch.

You took a deep breath, this was definitely happening. "Catch me if you can, boys." was the only response you could properly huff out, before immediately turning to book it out the back door. Not before hearing Killer smugly shout out,

"Nine minutes left!"

Silence lingered in the room among the three Sans as they allowed you to at least gain some ground, Dust being the one to break it with a realization.

"boss isn't gonna be happy about this," the one thing Killer was right about.

"What? You gonna snitch?" Killer asked, his tone making it clear that he was against the very idea of this getting back to their boss in any form. "If he finds out, worst case scenario we're all punished for it....best case scenario he joins in on our game."

"you mean he'll cheat," Axe informed tactfully, "already don't trust you on that front,"

"What?" Killer huffed, clearly offended, "I would never!"

"you would," Dust snarled, "so here's the deal, any of us start playing unfairly then we call boss, got it?"

Killer and Axe shared a look, no one wanted Nightmare involved. They were all under his thumb in some form or another and his "soft spot" for you was fairly well known at this point, he'd just steal you away before any of them could come close.

Silently they just both nodded.

"how much time does she have left?" Axe asked, eyes scanning to the door you left open in your haste.

Killer's smirk widened, "Five minutes."

[lostinlovingrevery]

You Set Me Free

Weapon X! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: Weapon X? More like Weapon SEX, amiright? Huh? Huh?

Logan gets some serious post nut clarity in this one

Plot: You'd been watching the secret research lab at Lake Alkali, searching for a way to save your husband who's been turned into a weapon. You find one night that your reunion may come sooner and more differently than you think...

Warnings: SMUT, 18+!, MAJOR DUBCON/NONCON/CNC ELEMENTS YALLS, Unprotected PiV, multi creampies, feral Logan, oral (F! recieving), logan sniffs reader a lot, mentions of fluids, rough sex, outdoor sex, a nice reunion I guess?, I didn't mean for this to go on as long as it did., yall are prob gonna judge me when you finish reading. Maybe this be seen as an analogy for sex connecting people? idk

Word Count: 4453

The wind blew softly through the trees, making leaves and branches rustle through the warm spring air. Crickets chirped rhythmically. Stars, nearly hidden by the green canopy of pine trees, twinkled in the night sky.  The forest was dark, and mostly quiet, save for a distant noise that was approaching slowly. A deer runs by - stopping first with its tail up, and a twitch of its nose, before disappearing between the trees. 

It was observing you as you walked through the forest, each step crunching the leaves and sticks underneath. 

You were coming back from an unsuccessful reconnaissance mission. Walking back to the cabin you were temporarily calling home. The cabin, conveniently located on the other side of Lake Alkali, allowed you to observe the activities at the concrete giant posing as a regular dam for the lake- when inside you knew the horrific truths that were happening. 

It’s been 6 months since you last seen him. Well, see him as…him. The real him. Not the weapon they turned him into. It pains you to see what they’ve done, and what they will continue doing to him. 

You deemed Logan the love of your life almost immediately after you met him- about 6 years ago. When he was brought to the mansion, he nearly pummeled you after running into you in the hall during his confused haze where he was trying to figure out where he was. After that, he was nothing but polite and apologetic, and soon you two got to know each other and eventually fell in love. 

You continued walking through the forest, your hand unconsciously moving to your ring finger, twisting and fiddling with the ring that Logan had given you. It was nearly a year ago when he proposed- and you two got hitched a month after. You were too impatient to plan a wedding, and neither of you was much for throwing big parties after all. You were lost in thought, not paying attention to the surroundings you have become so familiar with in the last 5 months. 

You didn’t notice how the sound of nature has stopped. 

Only the quiet crunch of your footsteps echoed through the woods. 

A few months after Logan came to the mansion, the team got into a nasty skirmish with Dr. Stryker and his group of scientists and military officials that worked under the radar of the U.S government, performing illegal and immoral experiments on mutant kind. It was found out that Logan had apparently been a victim of those experiments years and years ago, and he had supposedly gotten his revenge on Stryker, leaving the man for dead, wounded and bleeding, in the cold, secluded forests that Lake Alkali was found in. 

Only years later, the X-men find out the bastard escaped his fate, and had still continued his operations after successfully alluding and then tricking the U.S. government, which allowed him to continue his research. It led to a complicated scheme that captured Logan, your love. 

They broke him down and practically tortured him, turning him into the base layer of his mutation. A beast. A creature they themselves could barely control, having to create a device that allowed them to track his movements and monitor him- and make him come back to the base once the mission was complete. They used him for countless assassinations- another part of Stryker's plans, in order to gain more power over the government. 

It practically destroyed you. It took the entire team to talk you down from storming into the secret base of operations alone with your powers and wiping out every single fucker in the place, and saving your love- and the other victims trapped there. It was Hank really, who managed to calm you down, since his position as secretary of Mutant Affairs allowed him to be able to get to the right people that can help. It wasn’t that the X-men couldn’t do it, but Stryker's operations have grown, with a lot of loyal subjects and a lot of controlled and dangerous mutants- Logan being one- that would make things even more complicated. 

The plan was reconnaissance- something you quickly volunteered for. Someone who will stay nearby and observe the base- learn the schedules, the people- whatever information that could help. Your powers helped you with that, allowing you to get close and learn much information needed. 

Some days you’re able to get some real information, but other days- like today. It was dead quiet. The usual trucks moving in and out, scientists and guards on smoke breaks, talking about their plans for the weekend. You saw no sign of Logan, so you assumed they must be keeping him inside today, no “missions” for him to complete. 

You continued twisting the ring on your ring finger, a comforting habit that you have developed when you found yourself missing him. You counted the days when you’d see him again. Looking up at the sky, you noted how the stars always looked bright and beautiful around here. 

When will Logan get to see those stars again? 

You suddenly felt your hair rise along your arms and neck, and a sudden sense of danger was screaming at you. You stopped in your tracks, slowly glancing around at the dark forest that surrounded you.

When did it get so quiet?

Fear crawled up your throat from your gut, as you took a few steps backward, staring straight ahead. Something, someone was watching you. There were predators in the forests, coyotes, bears, whatever, you’ve encountered them a few times but never actually had an issue with them before. Whatever was stalking out there, hidden in the darkness and tree lines, was something you felt was more dangerous than a bear. 

Turning on your feet, you took after back towards the small cabin. Your footsteps echoed through the trees as you ran down the path, weaving through trees to hopefully throw off whoever was following you, someone was certainly following you though- because you could hear the sound of footsteps that weren’t your own closing in behind you. 

Your heart was pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You don’t know what or who was chasing you. The closer the sound behind you got, the more your limbs began to feel like jello- and you prepared yourself for a fight. It was when you turned your head to try to get a glimpse at your pursuer- that your blood ran cold.

You could see Logan, chasing you on his hands and feet. Snarling face, wild untamed hair, with that metal cage-like helmet on his head. He had next to nothing on, aside from some cloth that looked like shorts or boxers. He looks like an animal. You knew you would not be able to escape him- Logan was too fast. Just in the few seconds you had looked at him, he had already closed in several feet between you. 

You turned forward, and could see the silhouette of your cabin in the distance. 

Maybe I can make it

Your thoughts were drowned out by the loud growl emitted from Logan, and you felt your body being tackled to the ground. The harsh tackle knocked the wind out of you, and your head knocked to the ground.

You were barely able to comprehend what was happening, feeling a heavy weight pressed on top of you- at first you only saw stars, before Logan’s snarling face came into view. 

He was so different. His hair was wild and grown out, and face twisted and contorted into something you didn’t recognize, wrinkled nose and bags under his eyes. His teeth bared- his canines sharp like an animal. He looked at you with murderous intent- yet you couldn’t bring it in you to use your powers to fight back. You couldn’t hurt him even though you knew that he was likely about to kill you right then and there. 

You reached your hands up to cup his face, his own hands roughly grabbing yours and pinning them on either side of your head. You gasped- 

“Logan-” You breathed. There was no change in his expression- except…He sniffed. You blinked, staring up at him in confusion. He took another sniff, his face relaxing into something more bewildered, as he leaned down into your neck, and took a deep sniff, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck. 

Confusion wracked your brain, and then you heard him grunt. 

Wait a minute, did he recognize you? Your scent?

You always teased him over that. The way he liked to deep inhale of your hair or neck. He’d always rolled his eyes and smirked. 

“Can’t help it, princess, you smell so damn good all the time.”

You felt his hip press into yours, as he groaned again before his tongue licked against your skin, hot and wet.

You’re fucking kidding me,

Is he seriously getting fresh with you?

You’re never going to let him live this down if you get out alive

His nose brushed up the crook of your neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps down your skin. His hips started to grind against yours. You’d almost laugh at the situation you found yourself in; if it weren’t for the fact that you were getting wet by his mere rutting over you. You didn’t know what to do, what the hell do you do in this kind of situation?

One of his hands let go of your wrist that he had trapped, and came down to grope at your breast, soft and careful at first, before he gripped it, fondling it roughly. His head came up to lick the space behind your ear. You swallowed, your eyes watching his every movement when it occurred to you that your hand was free- and he was close enough for you to rip off that helmet. 

You waited, letting him grunt and lick at your skin, keeping him distracted with…Whatever he was doing. You counted the seconds- hoping that Logan's superior senses were clouded by his pure animalistic horniness to notice the change in your body. 

In a quick movement, your hand reached up, yanking the metal cage of his head with a rough movement, and throwing it to the side. His head shot up - eyes wide and angry, staring at you and then to the helmet, where it rolled across the ground before finally stopping, upside down, a few feet away from where you and Logan were. 

Not paying you any mind he climbed off of you, walking on his two feet over to the helmet. You turned to your side, panting as a little relief climbed over you. 

Did you do it?

He bent over, picking up the metal cage, his eyes examining the object. There was a quiet neutralness in his expression, and you wondered if your Logan has come back.  He looked insane, with his hair and beard grown out, bulging muscles all the way from his shoulders down to his calves, cloth- which looked similar to some type of jean shorts was the only thing covering him- still, tight enough to leave little to imagination, you could see his erection pressing against the cloth. He looked like some rated R version of Tarzan. 

A beat passed, and he suddenly tears the metal apart with a roar. You watched in terrror- and slight arousal- as he raged against the helmet, tearing it into smaller pieces- shrapnel flying into the woods and landing on the ground near you. You could make out small pieces of electrical wire and circuit boards scattered in the grass and dirt. 

Bastards, you thought to yourself, as you moved to push yourself up from the ground. Logan finished his rage, yelling into the forests with a fierce roar that echoed through the trees and sent fear up your spine. You were up on your knee when Logan turned out- looking straight at you. Your stomach sank at the sight of his eyes- still wild and frenzied. 

It wasn’t him, whatever part of Logan you knew was still deep asleep inside the beast of the man you were gazing at. 

You were not safe yet.

You pushed up to your feet, and quickly turned to continue running back to your cabin. It was stupid, considering you barely got two steps before you were knocked down to your stomach. You attempted to crawl, but his hands grabbed your ankles, and pulled you under him- flipping you roughly onto your back. 

You didn’t have a minute to process when his hands went to your shirt and r i p p e d it apart. He ripped your bra apart too, baring your stomach and breasts to him. You gasped, your hands went to his shoulders, some attempt to regain control that was completely futile. 

He dipped his head down to your chest, his tongue running over your nipples, his hands roughly gripping your waist and pulling you onto him, grinding against your core. 

“Logan-” You gasped- your hand moving to press against his forehead to push him off you. “Lo- I know you missed me and all-” You say, some feeble attempt to calm yourself and your pounding heart to add some humor to this…situation you found yourself in.

He growled, shoving your hand off him as he lurched forward, licking and biting your neck roughly, making you whimper at the feeling of his teeth scraping over your skin. You attempted to crawl out from under him, but he held you in place. 

You couldn’t run, you couldn’t fight. 

You managed to turn your head to look at him, grunting and grinding against you. A deep part of you wondered if maybe there was some part of him inside that was reaching out to you. Did your scent trigger a memory? Does he recognize you through his animalistic haze, and he’s desperately trying to connect with you in the only way he knew how due to his brainwashing? 

It was Logan. He could never hurt you. 

He sat up, his attention moving to your jeans, a deep growl escaped him as he reached down and grabbed where you jeans were buttoned together and pulled them apart, ripping them open at the seams, exposing your panties to him, wet with your arousal due to his grinding and licking at your skin. He lifted your hips ups, face planting against your mound as he took a deep inhale of your scent, making you gasp. He stuck his tongue out, running it up your clothed pussy- and letting out a deep groan, almost a whimper.  

It made your skin hot, the way he groaned at the taste of you. You’ve heard him let that same noise out countless times, the way he inhaled your scent like you smelled like a fresh baked pie. He’d act like you tasted so sweet, like he could never get enough of you. 

He let out something resembling a whine again, and his hand came up, grabbing the hem of your panties and ripping them off you- the fabric scratched your skin- but you could barely register the pain of the fabric because Logans mouth crashed onto your wet pussy. You squealed, the feeling of his tongue running up and down your folds, not in any particular pattern, it was like he was drinking every ounce of you, unable to quench his thirst as you swore you could hear him audibly gulping your fluids down.

 His tongue came over your clit, making you involuntarily thrust into his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked up at you- filled with a hazey lust, his brows creased angrily. His beard and hair scratched your inner thighs, leaving them red, but the juices of his spit and your fluids coated them as he carried on practically eating you alive. His nails dug into your hips, tight enough to scratch you. 

You felt your stomach getting tight. He wasn’t even doing anything particular to stimulating you other than his tongue running over every inch of your slit, occasionally dipping into your hole- pulsing around him. The wrongness of it all, the animalistic nature of him though- you couldn’t help it. You attempted to push his head off you, snapping out of your lustful state, I shouldn’t let this happen. Both your hands came up pressing his against his forehead, as you started to squirm in attempt to get away. 

He grunted, attempting to continue devouring you, before anger flashed across his face. He snarled, shoving you into the ground and flipping you onto your stomach.

“Ah! - Lo!” 

You yelped, as he pulled off the tattered pieces of your clothes still on you, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable to him. He leaned over you, his tongue running from your back up to the back of your neck, you felt drops of his spit on your shoulder- as he shuffled behind you, desperately pulling off his pants. You attempted to crawl away one more time, but his hands grabbed you, pulling you back under him. One hand went into your hair, fingers gripping and pulling your head back and to the side eliciting a cry from you, as he leaned down and bit into your shoulder.

His other hand, brought your hips and ass up- and you felt his throbbing member press into your soaked folds, grinding into you. His legs pressed against the outside of yours, your body tensed, your toes curling as you waited for the inevitable thrust. You knew this was so goddamn wrong, but your body hummed in anticipation and excitement. 

It had been a kinky pleasure between you and Logan, the way he would let his animalistic side out on you, pinning you down and fucking you until you nearly blacked out. What was happening now was no different, other than the fact that the Logan you knew was not there to control himself from going too far. 

His tip found your leaking hole, and pressed into you. He let out a harsh pant against your shoulder, where he was still biting down on you, before fully thrusting himself inside- a shriek escaping you. Your legs kicking from the intensity of him forcing inside you. It didn’t matter how many times you and Logan had been together- the size of him was always intense the first few minutes. Your body trembled, your hands digging into the dirt below you. You could feel his chest heaving against your back, and his other hand went and grabbed your hip, before he pulled out nearly to the tip, and thrusting back inside harshly. 

He began to pick up pace, the weight of his body pinning you to the forest floor, he was grunting with every thrust, your body bouncing with his movements as he took you with a ferocity you never felt before. His hands gripped your hair tighter, yanking your head back farther, as he moved to clamp down on your neck, leaving a deep bite mark in your shoulder that was turning shades of blue and purple, a whine escaping him as he continued thrusting. You felt him slamming into you, his large cock molding shape inside of you, and eventually you melted- pleasure fully enveloping your body. 

“Oh god- Logan-” You cried, hot tears pricking your eyes from the stimulation of him everywhere. 

It’s been so long.

You attempted to arch your back, trying to get that perfect angle so he could hit that sweet spot that would send you careening. Logan hissed at how tight you pulled around him. He let go of the clamp he had on your neck, pulling your hips and angling you to be practically folded in half. His large arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed his face into your mid-back, and you felt his drool falling against your skin, practically burning from how hot it was. 

He thrusted into you with an inhuman pace, you could barely keep up, your eyes rolling back as you felt your stomach tighten, your hole squeezing tight around him, and your thighs began to tremble. His tip repeatedly thrusted into you, hitting the sweet gummy spot inside you- and sent you over the edge. 

You cried out his name, as he fucked into you through your orgasm that seemed to never stop- you body shaking and you could barely focus on anything. He fucked into you one more time, and a loud roar slammed his hips into your ass, burying deep inside you and you felt spurts of his cum covering inside your walls. He kept thrusting, burying himself over and over inside you, making sure every bit of his seed is buried inside. It felt neverending the way he seemed to keep cumming in you. 

With a harsh grunt he finally stopped inside you, his arms still wrapped around your waists holding you tight against him. He was panting, his large chest heaving- your body still trembling. 

He pulled out, pushing and manuevering you onto your back. Your arms laid out on either side of your head, your hair tangled into the dirt and twigs below you. Your legs spread wide, as your combined fluids soaked your thighs and lower stomach and his cum slowly leaked out of your hole. The strength of your muscles felt utterly depleted.

 Your eyes took in the wild man sitting up before you. Sweat dripped down his body, your arousal from earlier covering his lower face and beard. His muscles flexed and veins popping out down his arms and stomach. He panted, as he stared down at you, his eyes still wild- but not as quite ferocious. Your eyes trailed down to his cock, hard and swollen already, his tip beet red and leaking generous amounts of pre-cum. You swore you could see him throbbing. 

Oh fuck

He climbed back over you, and you couldn’t bother to try to move. Your legs were spread wide for him, and your body was pliant. He braced his hands on either side of your hips, and thrusted back into you with a swift motion of his hips. You gasped, the feeling of fullness returning but not as quite overwhelming as the first time. 

He grunted as he begin bouncing in and out of you again. You were overstimulated, your heart was pounding in your ear, and pleasure enveloped your body as he took you roughly again. You could barely move, as his large cock moved in and out of you with ease. It wasn’t quite as rough as the first time, but you swear he was being gentler with you. 

You felt yourself relaxing this time around, letting him do what he wanted. Your mind pictured all the sweet moments you and him shared in the past together. If he wakes up out of this haze, break free from the brain washing- you’re not quite sure if he’ll remember this...Or how you’ll explain it to him.

He watched your breasts bounce with his movements, fascination and enjoyment in his eyes. If you hadn’t felt so weak, and fucked-out, you’d probably laugh. His hands grabbed your legs, the space under your knees and pushed them up towards your chest as he went deeper, angling himself inside you and once again hitting that gummy spot. You thought you were crazy, but you swore he was trying to hit the spot that made you cum the first time. 

He leaned back down over you, his chest pressing against the back of your legs, as one hand braced next to your head. You moaned, tipping your head to the side as you weakly brought your hand to grab his arm and hold onto it. He seemed to be spurred on by your moans, and picked up his pace, thrusting into you with a renewed vigor. Wet noises echoed through the forests as his hips slapped into yours.

You felt your body tensing again, a second orgasm quickly approaching, a white hot burning in your lower belly building up with each hard and quick thrust into you. He was whining, leaning down to bury his face into your neck, tongue coming out to lick the sweat off your skin. 

“Oh- Logan-” You whined, arching your back, and he growled, bracing his arms on either side of your head, pounding into you once more until you both snapped, your greedy pussy squeezing tight around him almost painfully, as he filled you up again with his hot cum. He yelled out in pleasure into your neck, as ecstasy rolled between both your bodies as he continued thrusting. 

Your body went slack, your muscles occasionally twitching from being pushed so far. Logan was panting, his breath hot on your skin. You felt him move, pushing himself up and looking down at you. 

You gasped at the sight of his eyes- his face. An expression of regret, and a little confusion. His eyes- It was him.

“Logan?” You whispered, your hands coming up to cup his face. 

“Baby I- I’m so sorry I don’t know what-”

You cut him off; pulling him down to kiss you. Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest. You didn’t care how it happened, why it happened. You just had him back. Broken free from the tortured recesses of his mind. His arms wrapped carefully around you, kissing you back gently, almost as if he was scared he was going to hurt you. You pulled back, looking up at him. 

“I missed you.” You say softly. He looked at you with small relief. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, brushing hair out of your face. “I didn’t- fuck I didn’t know what I was doing. I just could smell you and then- you took that helmet off. I’d be fighting for so long and…” 

You shushed him. “Doesn’t matter. You’re back now baby.” You brought him down to kiss you again. “Typical that it takes sex for you to wake up...” You mutter. He let out an exhaling laugh. His arms cradled you safely against him. “You need a shower by the way.”

He chuckled again, looking down at you and looking up around him, then up at the sky. The relief that flooded his face as he saw the stars.

"I couldn't control myself. It was...Like I was trapped in my head, watching someone else control me." He says. "They'd do these things that send me into this...rage. Nothing would stop me. But no matter what I did....You were always in my thoughts. I think that's what happened. I think I smelled you and I recognized you somewhere...You got me free." 

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can���t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

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[writing-with-sophia]

How to develop the enemies to lovers trope effectively

I wonder why I didn't write this post sooner. The enemies to lovers trope is so fascinating! I think I love it from now!

Establish Strong Conflict: Create a compelling and believable conflict between the characters that sets them up as enemies. This conflict can be based on opposing goals, ideologies, or personal histories. The more intense and fundamental the conflict, the more satisfying the resolution will be.

Show Layers and Complexity: Develop multi-dimensional characters with depth and complexity. Avoid one-dimensional stereotypes and explore the reasons behind their animosity. Give each character strengths, vulnerabilities, and compelling motivations that contribute to their dynamic.

Gradual Shift in Dynamics: Allow the transition from enemies to lovers to happen gradually. Start by depicting intense clashes and heated interactions, gradually revealing glimpses of vulnerability or shared experiences that challenge their initial perceptions of each other. Show subtle shifts in their interactions and emotions over time.

Moments of Connection: Create opportunities for the characters to have genuine moments of connection or understanding, even amidst their conflicts. These moments can be brief and subtle, such as a shared joke or a moment of empathy. These small sparks of connection build the foundation for their evolving relationship.

Forced Proximity or Collaboration: Place the characters in situations that force them to spend time together or collaborate on a common goal. This could be a mission, a project, or a circumstance that necessitates their cooperation. Develop shared goals or a common cause that forces the characters to work together despite their differences. As they face obstacles and make sacrifices for the greater good, their bond strengthens, blurring the lines between enemies and allies. Proximity also allows them to see beyond their initial prejudices and discover shared values or unexpected qualities in each other.

Natural Development of Chemistry: Develop a slow burn in the characters' romantic feelings. Craft witty and engaging dialogue between the characters. Use banter, verbal sparring, and playful teasing to create chemistry and showcase their evolving relationship. Allow their emotions to evolve naturally. The chemistry between them should build gradually, fueled by their changing perceptions and shared experiences.

Internal Conflict: Explore the characters' internal conflict as they navigate their shifting feelings. They may struggle with their attraction, question their loyalties, or wrestle with the fear of vulnerability. Internal conflicts add depth to their journey and make the resolution more satisfying.

Growth and Change: Show personal growth and development in both characters as they navigate their shifting relationship. They should evolve beyond their initial roles as enemies, confronting their flaws, and challenging their beliefs. This growth is crucial for a believable and satisfying transition from enemies to lovers.

Mutual Influence: Demonstrate how the characters influence each other positively. Through their interactions, they should inspire growth, self-reflection, and change. Each character should have a transformative impact on the other.

Authentic Resolution: Ensure that the resolution of their conflict feels authentic and earned. The characters should confront and address the issues that initially made them enemies, finding common ground and genuine understanding. Their resolution should be based on mutual respect, trust, and a genuine emotional connection.

Vulnerability and Emotional Depth: Explore the characters' vulnerabilities and emotional depth as their relationship evolves. Allow them to gradually open up to each other, sharing their fears, dreams, and past traumas. This vulnerability creates an emotional bond and deepens their connection.

Conflicting Loyalties: Introduce conflicts of loyalty that challenge the characters' evolving relationship. They may have allegiances to different groups or individuals that complicate their feelings. This internal struggle adds complexity and raises the stakes for their choices.

Remember, the enemies to lovers trope is most effective when it is supported by strong character development, realistic conflicts, and a gradual evolution of emotions. And don't forget to maintain a balance between conflict and romance, allowing the characters to evolve while staying true to their unique personalities and circumstances.

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[kabr0ztrousers]

Being a polite and charming lady at the useless desk jobs on chitinid earth and she gets a notification that she is being given an ambassador role. She thinks “finally something useful I can do!” but surprise! The ambassador role? Yeah it is dressing up in a skimpy outfit and being someone's pet. A population of humans, similar to a small country, is being given to a different alien species as a trade agreement. She is given to their emperor as icing on the cake. At this moment she is internally panicking because while Chitinids don't eat intelligent life this species does (she witnesses it). She is at least good at buttering people up. Fear fucking, giving body worship, and giving praise on this one.

Kabr0z Writes episode 131: Ambassadorial Duties

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

There's an AO3!

CWs: Minor gore; dubcon; sex with an audience; size difference; oral sex;

#####################################

You'd only received a memo from central governance once before. Just after the Chitinids won the war, to inform you of your new position at a former law firm. It's not like your life was awful now, you didn't need to worry about rent, or losing your job. Quarterly reviews were still a thing, but only to preserve the "authentic" Human culture for academic study. In reality they were just you and your manager discussing metrics that didn't matter, setting meaningless goals, then filling out a meaningless spreadsheet. Considering you worked data entry for a slightly scummy ad agency before the sixty minute war, this was almost a welcome change. Still the same drudgery, but minus the precarity of potentially being automated out of a job. It could have been a lot worse, but what's the point of belonging to a sprawling star empire if you live out your days on Earth?

So you put in an application to move offworld. You had enough presence of mind to request not to be put into agricultural work, knowing precisely the role human women played on a Chitinid farm. Maybe some people were into that, you'd heard of one guy who ended up on reality TV doing it, but being a dairy cow wasn't entirely your speed. Months passed, and you heard nothing. Just the usual humdrum of emails, reheated nutrient blocks, and omnipresent gunship patrols. Then it arrived.

An item in your "in" tray. Not an email, an honest to god letter, sealed with a crimson ribbon and a blob of wax. It felt good in your hand. The paper was thick and weighty, the ribbon was smooth and felt like it might be actual silk. You cracked the seal and read the neatly typed message. You'd been appointed as part of a diplomatic attaché, to travel to the capital of a nearby pre-FTL civilization and extoll to them the benefits of joining the Chitinids. You'd be picked up from a spaceport in what used to be Heathrow in a week. No need to pack, you weren't being allowed to bring any personal effects with you. Not that you really cared about the collection of tat you'd accumulated with your government mandated paycheck. You were just excited to finally be leaving the ball of dirt you'd lived on.

Before you knew it, you were in orbit. Shuttled up to an interchange station from Heathrow, then moved onto a pleasure yacht escorted by corvettes. A sleek, glimmering civilian craft flanked on all sides by menacing, spiky warships, bristling with armaments. A human attendant issued you all with clothing appropriate for your postings, as well as datapads containing assignment dossiers. You and about twelve others were to be sent to another world. The geographic brief indicated the planet was warmer than Earth by a few degrees, and more arid. Which explained the clothes. Flowing linens dyed in purples and reds, edged with gold. You dressed in your quarters, getting out of the governance-approved pantsuit and into your new robes. You looked resplendent in the robes, long and flowing, multi-layered and decadent. You knew you were a walking propaganda piece, tailored to show wealth and opulence, but damn if you didn't almost believe it yourself.

A chattering came across the intercom. A gentle knock came at your door a moment later "Jumping to Witchspace in five minutes, you might want to hold onto something if it's your first time"

Witchspace. You'd read about the altered reality used by Chitinids to accelerate faster than light, crossing lightyears in hours. It didn't bother them, but it was... Interesting for humans. You sat on your bed, expecting the worst. Rhythmic chattering crackled across the speakers. A countdown. You braced yourself, clinging to the mattress. You felt the jump. It was like being turned upside down and punched in the gut, except without the pain. A queasy feeling, like you'd drank far too much the night before and woke up still drunk, unable to tell if you're going to spend the morning vomiting or not.

Then it passed. A feeling like a headache in reverse came over you as the ship's normality fields kicked in, shrouding the vessel in a thin film of realspace, coasting through unreality at several thousand times the speed of light. It defied everything Human physics thought it knew about, well, physics, but it worked. The secrets to the drives were closely guarded to prevent any unauthorized FTL travel, but no information seal is perfect, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time. Maybe that's why there aren't any teachers any more, just legions of office drones, cattle, and pets.

You shuddered at the thought. Pets. In a way that's what you're going to be. Except instead of a Chitinid master, you'd be putting on airs for whatever the native population of this new world would be. You checked your dossier again. The planet was called Suum, apparently they'd had their own Alexander the Great a decade or so ago, but instead of dying of disease, he'd had chance to consolidate power and groom an heir who finished the work of world conquest. Now his successor was on the throne, a powerful god-king whom you would be personal attache to. For now, you stretched out on your bed, trying to catch what sleep you could before your new life.

You slept fitfully. The humming engine and the strange sensations of Witchspace travel, combined with the uncertainty of your future kept you tossing and turning. Even after you'd shed your new clothing, you couldn't sleep properly. You were already awake when a chattered phrase came over the intercom again, you'd guessed what it meant before the knock came at your door. Imminently dropping back to realspace. You dressed and went to the viewing gantry. A dozen of you, all dressed similarly. One moment you were gazing out as the light purple of Witchspace, the next the gate was behind you, you jolted back into reality like jumping into a swimming pool. Your bubble of normal causality merging with the stock-standard three dimensions you were accustomed to.

The planet lurked below you. A dustball, tan brown instead of green, a single huge continent rather than several, a great ocean covering well over half the surface of the world. The usher from before led your group to a shuttle, a shining golden needle-shaped vessel that you all filed into, sitting down and strapping yourselves in. For how sleek the exterior of the ship was, inside it was little more than a dropship, exactly large enough for you all to cram inside. The usher waved you off as you left the hangar, going into orbit before the shuddering re-entry. A moment later the vessel landed, the door opened and you filed out.

The Chitinids have been busy here. The spaceport wasn't as sophisticated as Heathrow, but it looked sufficient for the needle you were riding. Four armed Chitinids flanked your group, escorting you from the ship through the town. The market was in full swing, and you caught your first glimpse of the aliens who called this place home. They were pretty universally tall, and heavily muscled. Greyish skin, the colour of light stone, and two sets of arms. They bartered and shouted over the crowd, though what they were bargaining for sent a shiver up your spine.

Body parts. Human limbs mainly, though you're sure you'd seen a heart changing hands. You blanched, you'd not considered the possibility of becoming lunch for your hosts.

Stills the guards marched you on, through the city, into a palace where the lead gave a chattering speech to the assembled aliens. The largest, a hulking figure twice the size of the others, looked unimpressed, but kept a polite silence while the Chitinid spoke. Once the formalities were dealt with you were pointed to your assignments, though you didn't need to be directed. You could see which one of them fit the description you'd got from the dossier. Yours was the big one.

He displayed you like a prize. You didn't speak the local language, and you weren't sure if any of them spoke yours. You doubted it. At least none of them looked like they were eying you up for the main course. You avoided meat at dinner time, though there wasn't much else on the menu until someone noticed and gave you a chunk of coarse bread.

At last, night started to fall. The men took seats as more people entered the room. You noticed they were all dressed like you, flowing silks in purples and reds, edged with gold. They carried ewers, settling behind courtiers and starting to oil and massage their muscular shoulders. You looked around a moment before another servant gave you a similar jug. Taking some of the strong-smelling oil on your hands, you began to rub at the emperor's shoulders.

Your mind raced with questions: do these people really eat humans? Why are the Chitinids looking to convince them to join rather than just swooping in with gunships like on Earth? Were you really just to be a concubine?

The emperor answered your last question for you. He twisted in his seat, grabbing you and pulling you into his lap. The instruction was clear, whether or not you could understand the words. You pulled down his waistband, revealing his cock. He wasn't hard yet, but it was already as long and as thick as your forearm. You looked up at him a moment, before he pushed you back down with a grunt. Another courtier called out something, drawing a laugh from the huge one with his hand on your back. Your oily hands slid over the skin of his cock, feeling it harden in your grasp.

You took your time, hoping he wasn't going to try and stuff this monster inside you. Every stroke, every twist of your wrist caused it to thicken and throb. He was still holding you down, leaning you over one of his legs as you worked over it. You glanced around, the other concubines were doing similar with the others. The formalities of holding imperial court gone, replaced by the brewings of an orgy. Seeing everyone else doing the same thing made you a little bolder. You still didn't want to try and negotiate putting that thing up you, but the self-consciousness was gone.

You relaxed your shoulders, getting into a stride of jacking him off, feeling the length of him, finding the parts that made him groan when you played with them. For an alien species from across the stars, he worked a lot like the human men you'd been with. His tip seemed very sensitive, and he definitely liked it when you played with the ridge where it joined his shaft. Your other hand drew down to the base of it, cupping his balls. You smiled, of course he had four of those too. You rolled them around, listening to his deep breathing as you edged him.

You had an idea, rolling yourself over his leg so you knelt between them. Here you could see all of him, towering over you. You held onto his cock while you kissed his balls, licking and sucking the soft skin, slick with the oils you'd applied to him.

He was groaning now, restless in his seat. You could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on you as you went, jacking him off with your face nestled at the base of his cock. Maybe this was some great social faux pas? Oh well, you're here to do some cultural exchange, and you've never had a man complain about this back on Earth.

You could feel his balls tightening, He was trying to control his hips bucking. The cock in your hands was twitching and a thin stream of precum was flowing over your hands.

You knew just how to finish him. You straightened up. The huge cock pointed at you, curving towards you. The tip was already right where you wanted it. You opened your mouth and took the end of his cock inside you, filling your mouth with just the end, forcing your jaw open wide to accommodate it. You leant over him, baring your tits and rubbing them against either side of his cock while he leaked in your mouth. Your tongue flicked against the underside of his head. He grabbed the back of your head, holding you in place as he grunted, pushing you to the edge of your gag reflex.

You grabbed his balls, holding onto them as you felt them clench. Thick cum filled your mouth, leaking out of the sides of your mouth as you struggled to swallow it all. more and more pumped into you, you gave up trying to gulp it down, instead feeling it flow out of you.

He softened in your mouth and let go, letting you pull back from him and wipe your face. A servant brought you a goblet of something smelling like wine. The other members of the emperor's court were pointing at you, instructing their concubines.

You might not understand the lingo yet, but you'd waited enough tables in your life to understand "I'll have what he's having"

###########################################

At long last! The story that's been 3 sessions of writing, rewriting, editing, re-editing, I'm not refactoring it again so have fun with it, take it as it is and I wash my damn hands of it.

[four-loose-screws]

Hi! I’ve seen people people say that Dimitri speaks in an informal rude manner in Japanese so him being super polite in English is weird changes his character a lot, but I’ve also seen people say the localization is just fine. Could you clear up please? Thank you!

This ask has been in my inbox forever, and I know other ENG/JP bilingual FE fans have weighed in on this topic before. But exploring the nuances of Japanese formal vs. casual speech is always super fun, so I want to share my own thoughts too. There's always a chance there will be more to learn with each new person's input on the same topic. Plus, I discovered some things even I didn't expect! So, I'll still offer everything I have to say!

First, I'll explain the full background this ask is referring to. Japanese has 2 major distinct speaking styles - casual and formal. I was taught to call the formal style "distal" - because it is more about respecting distance in social standing than being formal specifically. But formal is the more common term, so I tend to stick with saying formal most of the time.

The distinction between casual and formal is made with pronoun choice, word choice, and other factors as well, but the fastest way to differentiate the two is to look/ listen for the use of desu and masu at the end of someone's sentences. Formal uses them. Casual drops them. This concept is entirely foreign to English speakers!

Dimitri drops desu and masu most of the time. His "I pronoun" is also ore, and his "you pronoun" is omae - both casual, blunt, and masculine choices. But does speaking casually to most of the cast make him rude?

Short answer is... no, not at all! There's 2 major reasons for this.

Reason #1 - the rules for casual vs. formal speech are a bit different in reality vs. fiction:

Partially, Dimitri speaks casually because he is showing his personality. He's got all those traits most standard FE protagonists share - he's strong, straightforward, and wants to connect directly on a personal level with everyone he meets. He tries to convince several characters that they can speak casually with him, because he sees people as people, and doesn't want social status putting distance between them.

Fictional characters generally speak more in-line with their personality more often, rather than following the socially acceptable speaking rules of the real world. (Though don't get me wrong - casual real Japanese people will speak casually in more circumstances than the average Japanese person.) This is simply the style that Japanese writers largely choose. And I think it is one of the great benefits of Japanese - anyone can start to pick up on a character's personality archetype almost instantly, thanks to their speaking style!

Reason #2 - Dimitri is a prince, making him of high social rank:

Here's the second nuance to this - it is absolutely standard for a superior to talk to their subordinates in casual style.

In modern times, this is shown in the workplace. Bosses and those in other leadership positions will frequently speak casually with the staff in a lower-ranking position than them. The president of the office I now work at is Japanese, and he speaks very casually with me - I have to be formal in response though, because he's at the top!!

But in the past, this would have been a distinction made between lord/ royalty, and those beneath them. Which is the case that is relevant in Fire Emblem's setting.

Dimitri can also speak casually without coming off as rude, because he is one of the highest ranking people across all of Fodlan.

-

Okay, so that's the answer in broad strokes - but let's get a bit more nuanced, go down Dimitri's support partner list, and confirm whether or not he always speaks casually!

Group #1 - Dimitri and the other citizens of Faerghus (8 other Blue Lions + Gilbert)

Dimitri has a multi-layered relationship with all of the other 8 Blue Lions. They are citizens of the country he is a prince of, therefore he is ranked very highly in social standing above them. But they are also his friends, classmates, and later, war allies; placing them on the same social level in that regard. So the way they speak to him comes down to a little bit of column A - personality, and a little bit of column B - which aspect of their relationship with Dimitri they feel is the "main" one.

Gilbert is also here in this category, as another person from Faerghus.

Dedue: Dimitri speaks casually, Dedue speaks formally, as they have a lord/ servant relationship. Dimitri wants Dedue to be a very close friend to him though, and wants Dedue to speak casually with him - this is a major source of tension in their supports. In the end, being able to mutually speak casually with each other and be friends, is a place they may reach one day. With other characters, Dedue speaks casually.

Felix: As royalty above Felix's noble house, Dimitri speaks casually. Felix is Felix, so he speaks casually too. I imagine he sees Dimitri quite literally as more of a wild boar than a human being, much less royalty.

Ashe: Dimitri speaks casually, Ashe speaks formally. However, pretty much the whole point of their supports is Dimitri attempting to get Ashe to speak casually with him.. Ashe tries in earnest to switch, but in the end sticks with speaking formally, otherwise he feels too uncomfortable. His view of Dimitri as his prince is too strong for him to let go and speak casually.

Sylvain: Dimitri speaks casually, and Sylvain speaks casually more often, but actually switches to desu and masu more than once. When a relationship is "in-between" higher/lower social standing and friendship, it's not uncommon for at least one person to switch back and forth between casual and polite speech, depending on which side of the relationship they are appealing to more at the moment. This happens in real life too as people shift from strangers, coworkers, etc. to friends.

Mercedes: They both speak casually. In Mercedes' case, I think she's speaks more in-line with her personality rather than paying attention to social status.

Annette: Both speak casually, but Annette is well aware that there's something a little wrong with that - her father would never let her get away with it if he knew!

Ingrid: Dimitri speaks casually, Ingrid speaks formally. But I think Ingrid speaks formally with everyone.

Gilbert: As you can probably guess based on my comments in Dimitri and Annette's analysis, her father most certainly speaks formally with Dimitri! He is very formal and takes social heirarchy very seriously. Dimitri, as the prince above him in social status, speaks casually.

Group #2 - The other characters at the monastary:

Since the remaining characters are not from Faerghus, Dimitri is not their prince. They'll be more likely to view him through the lens of a different relationship than royalty/ subject.

Catherine is originally from Faerghus yes, but she has cut her ties from her homeland completely to serve Rhea, so she fits into this group now.

Raphael: Both speak casually. I think Raphael treats everyone like a life-long friend!! He at least attaches san or sensei (teacher) to the names of his instructors, but that's about it for formal language for him.

Marianne: Dimitri speaks casually. Marianne speaks formally, as she does with everyone. I think she even attaches san to everyone's name, conveying how much she keeps her distance from people, trying not to form close relationships.

Flayn: Dimitri speaks casually. Flayn speaks formally, as I think she does with everyone.

Hapi: Both speak casually. I think Hapi speaks casually with everyone.

Alois: Now *here's* where things get interesting! At this point, I really thought I would discover that Dimitri speaks casually with everyone. But alas, he does NOT! Dimitri speaks formally with Alois, while Alois speaks casually to him. Why? Well, while Dimitri is a prince, he's also a student at Garreg Mach (in Part 1 of course). In this way, he is below all Garreg Mach staff and professors in social standing. So it makes perfect sense that he'd speak formally and Alois would be casual in this case.

Catherine: Same situation as Dimitri and Alois - as someone who serves as an instructor at Garreg Mach, all students like Dimitri are below her in status at the monastary. So Dimitri speaks formally, and she speaks casually.

Byleth: I left Byleth for last, because while Byleth is a professor at the monastary... Dimitri speaks casually with them. I imagine this has more to do with Byleth being the self insert than anything. Everyone bonds to Byleth on a deep level faster than magnets stick together.

And that's all I can think of to say for now! This is a super fun example of how nuanced Japanese's casual vs. formal language can get, and showcases one of the many reasons why Japanese has such a high barrier of entry for anyone learning it - including young native speakers! You don't get all this desu and masu stuff, until finally you just do.

Let me know if I missed anything, or if anyone has any follow up comments to make!

I apologize it took me so long to respond to this one! Thank you anon, and all readers, for waiting! I hope it helped explain even more of the trickier nuances of Japanese.

[spenglernot]

STORIES TELLING: NED LOWE AND THE DEATH OF POOR REPRESENTATION IN OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH

In history, Ned Lowe was one of the most sadistic and violent pirates in the early 18th century, so he’s an obvious choice for a villain for season 2, episode 6 – Calypso’s Birthday.  What is interesting is what the OFMD writers chose to do with him.

Lowe announces himself to the crew of the Revenge with great fanfare (cannon ball attack) and gets right to the point.

Ed is thoroughly unimpressed.

Cut to Ed and Stede tied up while Ned attempts to set the mood so he can monologue about why he wants to kill Ed.

Ed knows what’s coming. He is going to suffer but he still can’t be arsed to meet Ned with anything but vaguely bored dismissiveness (and Stede is happy to play along).

Up on the deck, Ned prepares the crew for his big, dramatic moment of symphonic torture.

Note that the Revenge crew is tied down, braced by vices and generally unable to protect themselves from imminent torture and possible death, but their spirits are up. They don’t seem terribly fussed.

Then Stede uses his people positive management style to happily orchestrate a worker uprising in Ned’s crew.

Ned’s crew responds instantly; severing their allegiance to Lowe and telling him off.

The crew sails away and talks profit sharing while Ned dully threatens to hunt them down.

Ned is now a prisoner of the Revenge crew and seems entirely disinterested in his own survival.

And Ned sinks to the depths, without struggling at all.

There is a lot going on in this episode: pay and labor equity direct action, gay love engagement bliss, kink humor, Stede being a hero and saving his crew by playing to his strengths, then having to decide whether to kill in cold blood and feel the consequences of that choice. Ed having one more reason to be done with piracy (while being so impressed with and fond of Stede), and then watching his man make a fraught choice and having to deal with the fallout from that. (And, damn, I haven’t even mentioned the passionate sex bit.) Anyway, back to the point.

Now for the the meta part

The Ned Lowe sequences are perfectly in keeping with OFMD’s signature blend of madcap violence, humor, and big emotional gut punches. But something about Ned Lowe just strikes me as off for this show.

Ned is seriously threatening the crews’ lives, so why don’t they take him seriously?

Why does Ned have such a boring, throwaway backstory?

Why is Ned so nonchalant about his own death; like it’s a foregone conclusion?

Why does Ned have a silver violin and silver spurs on his slip-on dress shoes?

Why is Ned sartorially monochromatic?

And then I realized who Ned reminds me of.

This guy,

Earnst Stavro Blofeld in the James Bond film Diamonds are Forever (1971)

And this guy,

Scar in Disney's The Lion King (1994).

And this guy,

Xerxes, 300 (2006).

And it sure seems like Ned Lowe isn’t just an episodic villain. He is an archetype of the one-dimensional, stereotypical queer-coded villain that has been endemic in film and television throughout history. The OFMD writers have a lot to say about what to do with this kind of character:

Don’t respect him.

Feel free to openly mock him.

Don’t let him take your joy, even though he will hurt you.

He won’t disappear on his own. You have to throw something at him (take action) to make him go away.

Once he’s in the water, he’s content to drown. He’s not into what he’s doing any more than you are.

Oh and, just to be clear,

The LGBTQIA+ community has a very long history of turning shit media into better stories. So, hey, big media, prepare to have your crap characters wrecked (improved).

Now, back to our transformative pirate show with rich, complex queer characters and a multi-layered plot that surprises me every week and makes me feel big feelings - most of all, joy.

Final thought: I do wonder if Ned Lowe is monochromatically silver as a tribute to/poke at, Hollywood and the silver screen.

This meta was written before OFMD season 2 has fully aired. No idea what’s going to happen in the finale (and I’ve generally fled social media to avoid spoilers). I’ll be back, looking at everyone’s fascinating posts after episode 8 airs.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[bonesxbows]

Once Upon A Dream - Chapter 1 (Lucifer X Reader)

My Masterlist

In a sleeping beauty-inspired AU, a curse is placed over you when you strike up a deal with Heaven to protect baby Charlie, causing you to lose your memory. You remember nothing once the curse takes over; not your marriage with Lucifer, not the family you had with the two of them, nothing. So when a strange smiling demon offers you a place to stay when you can't remember where 'home' is, you take him up on his offer. 

(WARNINGS)

Gendered terms used (mom, good girl, wife) but otherwise gender neutral pronouns used

Heavy depressing themes

Loss of a parent (temporary)

(CHAPTER WARNINGS)

None

Major thanks to @voxslays for letting me borrow their idea, this is the most fun I've had writing a multi-chaptered story in a while. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Comments and likes are much appreciated!

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17

Banners by @strangergraphics

“I don’t like this.” 

It had only been the thirteenth time you had heard him utter that phrase since you had left home and you hadn’t even reached the main steps of the Angel Headquarters clocktower yet. 

“I know, Luci, I don’t either. But we don’t have a choice.” 

“What could they want? I mean I haven’t- Do you think- They usually want nothing to do with Hell so I just don’t-“ he had begun to click his cane on the ground as he walked, abruptly interrupting his own thoughts before he could form them into sentences. You grabbed him by the shoulders gently, stopping him in his tracks. He was overwhelmed with worry; the crease lines surrounding his furrowed frown and strained brow spoke for him. 

“You’re rambling again.” You spoke softly, without a hint of malice or annoyance to be found. 

He huffed out a sigh in reply. “I just…I know them. Too well, actually. Nothing good comes from them wanting to meet.” 

“Whatever they throw at us we can face it, together. There’s nothing we can’t handle.” You threw on a comforting smile, amping up the airs of false positivity you were creating. 

“You’re right…Although…you know we could just not go…?” He smirked and flashed his sharp toothed smile, he knew his attempt to persuade you was futile but you admired his reliance to try anyway. 

“And bring the wrath of them down here to hunt us down and force us to meet with them anyway? At least this way we’ll have some ground to stand on should they start making wild demands.” 

That was one on the long list of reasons of why he loved you; you were always the logical side to his impulsivity, guiding and directing his ideas like a shepherd. Though he felt less like a lamb and more like a cow being led to the slaughter, currently. 

“You really think they’ll listen to us?” His words spoke of hope but there was a layer of undeniable implausibility. 

A sad smile spread across your face as you tangled your fingers in between his. “No, I don’t.” 

And with that the two of you turned to face the towering white and gold structure, reluctantly taking a step towards your impending fate. 

The room the two of you were led into was set up like a courtroom, but one that placed emphasis on making the defendant feel as small as physically possible. Whom you could only assume were angels were seated in boxes raised along the walls, the higher up they sat the more foreboding they seemed staring down at you. 

You felt doomed already and you had just walked in the door. You were nothing compared to these people. A stained soul compared to their combined holiness. A mere speck compared to their immense power. A meager sinner standing before those who took part in deciding your fate with a snap of their fingers. In the midst of your fear, you snuck a glance towards Lucifer and found him to be surprisingly confident. Gone was the worry that had plagued his face moments before stepping foot inside and now he held an air of unbreakable smugness. He was undoubtedly the smallest man in the room but the way he held himself would have fooled anyone. The cockiness oozed from his posture like toxic sludge.

The two of you were led to a seating box of your own on the main floor, where you both took your seats, a thousand pairs of angel eyes staring down at you. You couldn’t help but squirm under their gazes, you could feel sweat start to heat up the back of your neck and you couldn’t decide what to do with your hands. You eventually settled on sticking them under your thighs so as to not make a fool of yourself. Lucifer on the other hand was the very definition of composed; his spine ramrod straight, his hands clasped together on top of the table, and his face set sternly in a stone-like scowl. 

“Lucifer.” You heard a voice. Deep, but ring-y, like a church bell in a steeple. The commanding tone immediately made your head snap towards the sound, though it hadn’t been your name being called. A low growl could be heard next to you, so low that you knew no one else could’ve heard it but you. You flicked your eyes back to Lucifer, not moving your head from its forward positioning. 

His eyes narrowed into a glare, a fire burning behind them that pleaded to be released. “Micheal.” He spat out, venom practically flying from his lips. 

Someone cleared their throat from high up above and everyone turned their attention towards the noise, everyone except the two brothers who continued to glare at each other. You couldn’t quite make her out, she was seated so far away, but you could see long grey ringlet curls of hair that cascaded down onto her white angelic gown, her entire form being framed by six massive wings and a massive glowing halo sitting atop her head. She was magnificent. And the vilifying holy energy irritating from her made you want to wretch. 

“We have gathered here today to assess the crimes committed by a former one of our own, and what actions must be taken in such unconventional circumstances.” The room filled with a high-pitched ringing as she spoke. You didn’t have time to process what she was implying before Lucifer snapped. 

“Crimes?! You banished me into a realm full of nothing but crime and now suddenly my behavior is a problem?! Since when do you care what I do with my time after you cast me out?!” He was on the verge of yelling and you watched as the tips of his horns tried to pierce his skin near the crown of his head, but never fully making it through. He was resisting his changes, refusing to show them any signs of his demonic-ness. He would not show them the monster they claimed him to be. 

“Since your behaviors have created an heir to your throne, Lucifer. This is not even to mention your involvement with a sinner, whom you also deemed to bring with you today, as if bringing a soul like that in front of an angel audience was also a sensible notion on your part.” Her voice remained calm, but his name fell from her mouth like fire. You shrank in your seat as much as the cushioned wood would allow when she started to mention you. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Sera. And you leave my little girl out of this, she’s no threat to you.” He was out of his seat now, the chair screeching backwards against the tiles as he sprang up. 

“Everything you do is our business, you child. You wreck the perfect order of Heaven by coercing Adam’s chosen to follow you instead and then you dare parade around in our presence with a lowly mortal like them.”

“Lilith left on her own! I have no control over her actions! Would you rather I forced her to stay with me?!” Lucifer slammed his hands onto the table, his eyes narrowing into a glare up at the judging angel.

“We would have rather you not sired a vile descendant with the chosen and then very likely drove her away, only to be replaced by a lesser.” You watched as she returned his glare with just as much fierceness. You had to tear your eyes away, the holy energy radiating from her stare turned your stomach sour. 

Lucifer curled his fingers into fists, opening his mouth to say something, but then clamping it shut instead and curling his lips into a snarl that displayed his sharp teeth to their full effect. He had lost his steam, his argument dying on his tongue. He crumpled back into his chair, but not before slamming his fist down onto the table, the bang reverberating throughout the room. 

“Your actions are incorrigible, thousands of years and you’ve still yet to change your callow ways. For this, we have come to the conclusion that an angelic curse is a fitting comeuppance. Once your daughter reaches the age of five, the time of which she will likely start to learn the ways of one day taking over Hell, she shall hear the sound of trumpets on high and fall into a deep slumber.” A collective gasp rang out across the jury of other angels that then gave way to a whispered chatter, but the high seraphim’s face was steadfast; not a twinge of regret or remorse to be found, and she left little room for any debate. Her decision was final in this court. 

But you would twice be damned if you were going to let that stop you. 

You stood up calmly, the screeching of your chair against the tiled floor ceasing the endless murmuring in the room as all eyes turned to you. “If I may, Your Highness, I would like to object to this ruling.” You spoke calmly, coolly, and collected. You would not let them break you. But you could tell she wanted to laugh at you, you could see it in the way her hand shot up to cover her mouth and her eyes began to crease. The rest of the room fell silent, an eerie tension that everyone else felt but you. 

“You most certainly may not, but you are a bold soul for believing that you could. I would expect no less from a sinner. Pray tell, I’m curious, what grounds would you have presumed you would have had to stand on?” 

You felt something tug at your clothing, coming from the direction of where Lucifer sat next to you. You glanced at him and instantly you could feel your heart squeeze inside your ribs. His eyes were wide with worry, his face frozen with fear. His clawed hand still hung onto your clothes as he whispered to you, “What are you doing…?” 

But the only response you could give was a soft smile as you quickly whispered back, “What I have to do,” before you returned your attention back to the seraphim. “I offer myself as a replacement for Lucifer’s daughter. I will take the weight of this curse instead.” 

At the mention of his name he sharply inhaled and began to cry out your name, followed by pleas of begging you to stop this nonsense, whispered only loud enough for you to hear, but you ignored all of it, no matter how much it broke your heart to do so. Meanwhile, she snickered in her chair up high, easily looking down her nose at you as a smirk spread across her face. “Your once mortal soul means nothing to us. It holds no worth to Heaven. What would convince you to think it would have any value in regards to making this offered trade appealing?” 

You held up your left hand for all in the courtroom to see, a glittering golden band carved into two wings with a red ruby chipped into the shape of an apple set in the center adorned your ring finger. You had to hold back the smirk that wanted to crawl onto your face as you watched the angel’s face shift from amusement to horror within seconds. “Surely Lucifer’s wife, the future queen of Hell, would have more of an impact that you’re hoping for than his daughter, wouldn’t it? Because that’s what this is all about, making him suffer, isn’t it? That’s your end goal. Not the protection of Heaven, not to teach him or the denizens of Hell a lesson, no, you simply want him to suffer. So I offer you a better solution to achieve your original intention, but you spare the child if you agree to do so.” You had spoken your peace, and the entire room fell still. The silence was antagonizing, all of the witnesses in the room, including Lucifer, waited with bated breath to see which of you would snap first. You were certain it would not be you, your composure was concrete, unlike the angel’s, who was currently dazed as she tried, and was failing, to contain a million different emotions that threatened to spill through her features. 

“You certainly are an…ambitious little cretin, aren’t you? Very well, your recent spectacle has been mildly entertaining and therefore we will accept your deal. The child will not be affected and instead, the curse will befall on you.” The room uproared with applause once the angel finished her statement, the jury of other witnessing angels apparently pleased with the outcome of your objection. You couldn’t help but smile at your victory. But the executioner was not finished with you. “However,” she spoke again, her voice booming above the clapping and causing the noise to cease. “It shall henceforth take effect immediately. The next time you feel sleep call to you the trumpets will sound and your fate will be sealed. You will close your eyes and you will not rise again.” Malice flashed in her eyes and for the first time since you had stood up to her, you felt fear shoot through your heart again. 

“No! That isn’t fair, Sera!” Lucifer shot up and yelled, his eyes now filled with red leaving nothing but his yellow pupils as tears streamed down his face. His horns he could control if he tried, but his eyes he couldn’t, not when he was crying. 

“The deal was not made with you, Lucifer, so your opinion of whether this constitutes as fair or not matters very little to me. The verdict of this matter has been reached, this court ruling is now over. You may now all be dismissed. God be with you.” 

“Wait! You-“ Lucifer tried to argue, but the gaggle of angels had already disappeared into a puff of shimmering white and golden smoke. A second later the two of you were phased out of the building, now standing on top of the stairway right outside of the main door you had entered not that long ago. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, the weight now placed on your shoulders fully sinking in, threatening to bury you. But a sniffle made you stop your mental spiral. Lucifer was crying, full-on ugly sobbing, and you had caused it. He had covered his face with his hands, tears and no doubt snot as well running down his fingers and the sides of his hands. His tail had also appeared and had wrapped itself around his ankles, a comfort tactic you recognized. 

“Lucifer…” you called out his name softly and placed a hand on his shoulder. He immediately pulled his hands away when he felt your presence, his red filled eyes making contact with yours, his pupils close to nothing but a snake like sliver. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, a part of you scared he would snap. 

“What are we going to do?!” He sobbed, throwing his arms around you and shaking you gently. Even in times of upset and panic, he was never rough with you. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think! I…I didn’t know what else to do!” You wanted to scream but you remained calm. You couldn’t tell if he was angry at you particularly or at the situation as a whole. You didn’t want to snap at him if it was the latter. 

“I can’t lose you, ducky.” His voice cracked, his words barely above a whisper. The way his eyes shone with a twisted mixture of fear and worry made your heartache. 

You placed a hand on his face, cupping his jaw in your palm. He instinctively nuzzled into your warm touch, sending a small, but sad, smile tugging at the corners of your lips. How long did you have left to savor moments like this? “You aren’t going to lose me, Luci. They can’t take me away from you. No matter what happens I’ll still be right here with you.” You slid your fingers down to his chest, stopping where his heart thrummed under his ribs. He huffed, at a loss for words, his eyes glued to your hand still on his heart. He placed his own over yours, giving it a slight squeeze and dragging his clawed thumb over your knuckles gently. 

The deal was made. There was no turning back now. You had made your bed, now was time to lie in it. 

To be continued in Chapter 2...

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Creating Compelling Character Arcs: A Guide for Fiction Writers

As writers, one of our most important jobs is to craft characters that feel fully realized and three-dimensional. Great characters aren't just names on a page — they're complex beings with arcs that take them on profound journeys of change and growth. A compelling character arc can make the difference between a forgettable story and one that sticks with readers long after they've turned the final page.

Today, I'm going to walk you through the art of crafting character arcs that are as rich and multi-layered as the people you encounter in real life. Whether you're a first-time novelist or a seasoned storyteller, this guide will give you the tools to create character journeys that are equal parts meaningful and unforgettable.

What Is a Character Arc?

Before we go any further, let's make sure we're all on the same page about what a character arc actually is. In the most basic sense, a character arc refers to the internal journey a character undergoes over the course of a story. It's the path they travel, the obstacles they face, and the ways in which their beliefs, mindsets, and core selves evolve through the events of the narrative.

A character arc isn't just about what happens to a character on the outside. Sure, external conflict and plot developments play a major role — but the real meat of a character arc lies in how those external forces shape the character's internal landscape. Do their ideals get shattered? Is their worldview permanently altered? Do they have to confront harsh truths about themselves in order to grow?

The most resonant character arcs dig deep into these universal human experiences of struggle, self-discovery, and change. They mirror the journeys we all go through in our own lives, making characters feel powerfully relatable even in the most imaginative settings.

The Anatomy of an Effective Character Arc

Now that we understand what character arcs are, how do we actually construct one that feels authentic and impactful? Let's break down the key components:

The Inciting Incident

Every great character arc begins with a spark — something that disrupts the status quo of the character's life and sets them on an unexpected path. This inciting incident can take countless forms, be it the death of a loved one, a sudden loss of power or status, an epic betrayal, or a long-held dream finally becoming attainable.

Whatever shape it takes, the inciting incident needs to really shake the character's foundations and push them in a direction they wouldn't have gone otherwise. It opens up new struggles, questions, and internal conflicts that they'll have to grapple with over the course of the story.

Lies They Believe

Tied closely to the inciting incident are the core lies or limiting beliefs that have been holding your character back. Perhaps they've internalized society's body image expectations and believe they're unlovable. Maybe they grew up in poverty and are convinced that they'll never be able to escape that cyclical struggle.

Whatever these lies are, they'll inform how your character reacts and responds to the inciting incident. Their ingrained perceptions about themselves and the world will directly color their choices and emotional journeys — and the more visceral and specific these lies feel, the more compelling opportunities for growth your character will have.

The Struggle

With the stage set by the inciting incident and their deeply-held lies exposed, your character will then have to navigate a profound inner struggle that stems from this setup. This is where the real meat of the character arc takes place as they encounter obstacles, crises of faith, moral dilemmas, and other pivotal moments that start to reshape their core sense of self.

Importantly, this struggle shouldn't be a straight line from Point A to Point B. Just like in real life, people tend to take a messy, non-linear path when it comes to overcoming their limiting mindsets. They'll make progress, backslide into old habits, gain new awareness, then repeat the cycle. Mirroring this meandering but ever-deepening evolution is what makes a character arc feel authentic and relatable.

Moments of Truth

As your character wrestles with their internal demons and existential questions, you'll want to include potent Moments of Truth that shake them to their core. These are the climactic instances where they're forced to finally confront the lies they believe head-on. It could be a painful conversation that shatters their perception of someone they trusted. Or perhaps they realize the fatal flaw in their own logic after hitting a point of no return.

These Moments of Truth pack a visceral punch that catalyzes profound realizations within your character. They're the litmus tests where your protagonist either rises to the occasion and starts radically changing their mindset — or they fail, downing further into delusion or avoiding the insights they need to undergo a full transformation.

The Resolution

After enduring the long, tangled journey of their character arc, your protagonist will ideally arrive at a resolution that feels deeply cathartic and well-earned. This is where all of their struggle pays off and we see them evolve into a fundamentally different version of themselves, leaving their old limiting beliefs behind.

A successfully crafted resolution in a character arc shouldn't just arrive out of nowhere — it should feel completely organic based on everything they've experienced over the course of their thematic journey. We should be able to look back and see how all of the challenges they surmounted ultimately reshaped their perspective and led them to this new awakening. And while not every character needs to find total fulfillment, for an arc to feel truly complete, there needs to be a definitive sense that their internal struggle has reached a meaningful culmination.

Tips for Crafting Resonant Character Arcs

I know that was a lot of ground to cover, so let's recap a few key pointers to keep in mind as you start mapping out your own character's trajectories:

Get Specific With Backstory

To build a robust character arc, a deep understanding of your protagonist's backstory and psychology is indispensable. What childhood wounds do they carry? What belief systems were instilled in them from a young age? The more thoroughly you flesh out their history and inner workings, the more natural their arc will feel.

Strive For Nuance

One of the biggest pitfalls to avoid with character arcs is resorting to oversimplified clichés or unrealistic "redemption" stories. People are endlessly complex — your character's evolution should reflect that intricate messiness and nuance to feel grounded. Embrace moral grays, contradictions, and partial awakenings that upend expectations.

Make the External Match the Internal

While a character arc hinges on interior experiences, it's also crucial that the external plot events actively play a role in driving this inner journey. The inciting incident, the obstacles they face, the climactic Moments of Truth — all of these exterior occurrences should serve as narrative engines that force your character to continually reckon with themselves.

Dig Into Your Own Experiences

Finally, the best way to instill true authenticity into your character arcs is to draw deeply from the personal transformations you've gone through yourself. We all carry with us the scars, growth, and shattered illusions of our real-life arcs — use that raw honesty as fertile soil to birth characters whose journeys will resonate on a soulful level.

Happy Writing!

[quirkwizard]

It’s kinda funny how much 1B got ignored in the final arc, and from a narrative perspective it makes sense not to clutter things up to much but aside from a few brief appearances the arguably best attention they get is for monoma for copying warpgate and eraser. With that being said assuming anyone cared enough what do you think the class B “Iron Might” items would be like?

That just makes me think that All Might just has another car full of tech just for the 1-B kids. All For One thinks he's got Toshinori dead to rights and his second car, Heracles, comes out of nowhere with another suit like it's the second stage of a boss fight.

-Awase: Giant metal pillars that fire out and sear themselves onto the target to deal damage and weight them down.

-Kamakiri: A giant sword. Would it be more fitting to have swords pop out of him? Yes, but I want him carrying a buster sword.

-Kuroiro: A cape-like extension meant to camouflage with it's surroundings to hide the user.

-Kendo: Giant fists. Just a ton of armor all coming together to make a giant set of meaty claws.

-Kosei: Sets of floating plates that act as both platforms and shields as All Might needs them.

-Komori: Sprays that activate a fast growing mold meant to fester in wounds and inhibit breathing.

-Manga: A series of marked grenades around the suit that can disperse various effects, such as a flames or electricity.

-Juzo: A set of drills from the hands that can help him rapidly dig underground.

-Reiko: A series of drones meant to latch onto and control anything All Might sicks them on.

-Rin: A set of tiny, jagged plates that can stab anyone the user grapples and be fire out like bullets.

-Shoda: Pilebunker. Just a giant hydraulics system meant to add some extra punch to his fist attacks.

-Ibara: A series of cables to coming from the back of the suit to tangle and bind with.

-Tetsutetsu: It's a giant suit of armor that helps protect All Might from bigger attacks. It's literally the same as Kirishima's.

-Bondo: A cannon near the upper back of the suit that fires out the same face acting concrete used in the License Exam.

-Sen: Various gyros around the suit to make parts of the armor spin and help improve the damage of the other weapons systems.

-Jutora: An additional layer of armor meant to augment the user's natural strength and give a more beastly appearance.

-Pony: Missiles. Just a bunch of homing missiles centered on whomever is unlucky enough to be in his line of sight.

-Setsuna: A series of small, multi-purpose drones linked up to the suit's sensory system. Maybe they could double as quick replacement parts.

-Kodai: Various pieces of micro tech that's meant to unfold and expand into larger weapons. Possibly used in tandem with ome of the other weapon systems.

-Monoma: An operating system meant to monitor and redeploy the various tools in play, effectively acting as the reserve for all the other gadgets.

[electraslight]

What's witch culture like in your au?

What's Viney up too and is she dating emira?

pretty similar to in the show!! i just added some BI-specific fashion norms (theyre pretty dated in terms of dress and VERY elaborate bc most ppl only have one set of clothes, that set is just multi layered) and some character specific culture changes

for example, Willow and Viney are both from (separate) barbarian clans! before Belos showed up, the only real threat BI residents were under was from clans of roving barbarians who would pillage and murder wherever they went (one of the reasons belos was successful in convincing witches that wild magic was evil was bc of these clans) Barbarians have genetic traits that lead to them being insanely powerful and built like brick shithouses, but that's not really advantageous during the reign of Belos, so barbarian children like Willow and Viney are purposefully stifled during their magical education to prevent barbarian typical beserking.

Viney's family are now currently scavengers, a bit like Eda, except they have an actual storefront. There are rumors that they secretly harvest bile sacs and sell them, not helped by Viney's back-alley doctor vibe. she cares not for hygeine and will pierce any piece of skin you give her, for the low low price of some raw meat for Puddles.

I havent considered her and emira, but i support it!! yuri wins.