#calling people infiltrators. good God

[theinfinitedivides]

also Bollywood related but 1. can we throw Lara Dutta in a hole somewhere pls until she makes better social media choices and 2. why on earth does Amitabh's upcoming sci-fi film have better split second de-aging technology than Shah Rukh's Red Chilli team 😭😭😭😭

[foldingfittedsheets]

Come with me now on another story adventure.

Some types of hardship do start to feel like curses if they happen often enough. One thing I’ve experienced a lot- or at least enough to posit a curse- is my apartments flooding.

I’ve had flooding in three separate apartments I’ve lived in.

The place I lived with Betty flooded due to a massive rainstorm and poor placement on a downhill slope. Betty’s room was more effected than mine, but due to poor handling by the management it resulted in some rampant black mold and my eventual falling out with Betty as we broke the lease to escape.

My first flooding though. Happened when I lived in a third floor apartment. How, you might ask, is that possible?

Oh, Reader. Prepare yourself.

Now, I need to set the stage. Because you see, I shared this apartment with the last boy I’d ever date. For the purposes of this story let’s call him Connor. We’d known going into the relationship that I had a predilection for pussy but it finally clicked that I was just not attracted to men.

This was particularly devastating because I still loved that boy with all my heart but neither of us were getting what we needed out of the relationship. Suffice it to say, the atmosphere in the apartment in which he was sleeping on the couch was A BUMMER.

We were both sick, probably from stress, and had bad coughs. It was the night before midterms.

I was tucked up into bed, with little kitten Leeloo, ready to get to sleep. It was about 10pm. Connor knocked and poked his head into the room.

“It’s raining in the bathroom,” he said.

I got out of my comfy bed, and joined him in the bathroom. Raining was an exaggeration but there was definitely water dripping down the door jam and pooling up under the paint.

“That’s not good.”

We both stared at this problem together, sick and sad.

Finally, I suggested, “Go see if the upstairs neighbor left a faucet on. I’ll try to call maintenance.”

He left and I started making calls. At 10pm it was understandable that I was getting a lot of voicemails. Two maintenance lines deep, Connor returned.

“The people above us are getting drops too, and the place above that won’t respond.”

Four defunct numbers later, I finally got ahold of an emergency maintenance guy who was on call. “It’s raining in our bathroom.”

He was befuddled and said he’d be in soon.

That was about when it really actually started raining. Drips began pouring out of light fixtures. Terrified, we turned off the lights we could, setting out bowls and towels to mitigate water damage. Water dripped from several lights and started pooling ominously in the long flat kitchen light.

The maintenance man arrived around midnight. There was bowls and buckets littering the ground as Connor and I watched in abject misery as water filled them. The maintenance man was wildly out of his depth, having been left in sole charge while the entire rest of the staff was on vacation.

As we spoke to him, the water infiltrated our smoke alarm which began screaming in earnest at this wet invasion. The maintenance man promised to try to see what was causing the issue and fled. Connor and I regarded each other. We coughed, sick and exhausted, then went to empty the water buckets.

An hour passed. The smoke alarm persisted, it’s three shrill screeches pounded relentlessly into our ear drums. We stopped existing as individuals and became vessels of suffering. The paint in the bathroom started sloughing off the wall in wet ripples.

Connor tried to rouse the neighbor again and returned unsuccessful.

The maintenance man returned. It was 1am. He couldn’t get ahold of the apartment causing the flooding. He couldn’t get ahold of his bosses. After the update he made to leave and we begged him, please, just make the beeping stop, please. It can rain inside, and I can get no sleep the night before midterms, and I can cough miserably all night while I empty water bowls, but please, god, please, just make the beeping stop.

He promised to try and left. At some point around then, the flat kitchen light shattered under the pressure and gushed out a fall of water. Connor and I gave a bleak half hearted startle and tried to scrounge up more towels.

I started slipping into madness. The unceasing blaring beeps. The rain. The misery of being in this wretched situation with someone I used to be able to reach toward for comfort who I couldn’t anymore. This was hell, I decided. This circumstance fits into how they torture people, and I live here in this torturescape now. The maintenance man was never coming back.

The maintenance man came back with a ladder eventually.

Connor and I watched with blank hungry eyes as he fussed with the alarm and at 2am it finally ceased its shrieking klaxon of madness. I cried. The man left again. We emptied the bowls.

And finally, half an hour later, the rain began to abate. The maintenance man returned to inform us that he’d entered the upstairs unit.

Someone had become incapacitated and left their bath running. He was not at liberty to disclose what happened so presumably someone was sauced out of their gourd and fell into a deep stupor such that several hours of sustained door pounding couldn’t rouse them.

People all down the row flooded, and he looked near tears himself. We thanked him and went to collapse into bed. Neither of us took midterms the next day.

Connor and I are still friends to this day, even after a night fit to drive someone mad.

My last event of apartment flooding was a sewer main getting blocked. It was when my betrothed and I had just started dating and they were hanging out at my place while I was at work. Due to this good fortune, they were able to move my couch, entertainment system, and electronics out of the path of the flood.

It took a week and some extremely pointed emails to get the landlord to comp me rent for the week I couldn’t live there and the entire time I was just thankful I wasn’t stuck with water dripping from my lights while a fire alarm drove me to the brink of madness.

[hyperactively-me]

Hear me out for King! Ghost…the kingdom is under attack and (Y/N) is trying to find Simon through the chaos. She finds him in the castle garden, on the ground with the enemy standing over him with their sword raised. The next thing (Y/N) sees is her driving her sword into the enemy’s back, killing them. When she realizes Simon is okay, it dawns on her that she has killed a person…I’ll leave it up to you finish this prompt.

Btw your king! Ghost fic has had me on a chokehold it is SO good

thank you for the compliment :) i'm not fully satisfied with this, so i hope y'all like it lol

(noncanon)

king!ghost x reader -- like you've seen a ghost warnings: physical violence, descriptions of death, injuries/blood, heavy angst; this is NOT canon

How did it end up like this?

How were Kastron's forces overpowered, leading to the castle getting infiltrated and overran by enemy forces?

The first signs of trouble came when the castle guards, stationed at key points, were ambushed from within. Chaos erupted as the enemy struck swiftly and decisively, disabling communication and creating confusion amongst the guards and knights within the palace. Betrayed from within, the castle fell into disarray, and panic spread like a wildfire.

Simon shoves a sword in your hand and forces you into a closet, your fingers trembling around the hilt as Simon's urgent eyes bore into yours. "Remember what you've learned," he says, motioning to the sword in your hand. "And, for the love of God, do not move from this spot."

He presses a fleeting kiss to your lips, then shoots you a final lingering gaze before he slips his skull balaclava over his face.

As the closet door closes behind you, the muffled sounds of chaos outside become amplified in the suffocating darkness. The minutes crawl by like hours as you strain to hear any sign of Simon's return or the advancing enemy forces. The closet offers a stifling refuge, and each passing second intensifies the pounding of your heart. The distant echoes of the struggle outside seem to become more muffled.

A sudden hush falls over the room, and you feel a shiver crawl down your spine. The eerie silence is shattered by the creaking of the closet door as you cautiously open it, the cool air of the corridor rushing in. You twist your sword in your grip, angling it in a way that would let you strike anyone who came across you. You emerge from the closet into a scene of devastation—broken armor scattered across the stone floor, the faint scent of blood lingering in the air.

With trepidation, you move through the corridors, heart racing in your chest. There was no one to be found, not even a single knight.

As you round a corner, you stumble upon a grisly scene—the lifeless bodies of Kastron's guards and enemy fighters, the remnants of a fierce battle. Bile rises in your throat, panic gripping your chest, and you quicken your pace, desperate to find Simon. You don't dare call out for anyone in fear that the enemy will attack you.

Dizziness washes over you as you run down the corridor, stumbling upon the double doors that lead to the gardens. Outside the doors, you can hear yelling and the clashing of swords.

Simon wouldn't want you out here, you know it, but how could you stand by whilst Kastron is being invaded? The need to protect your home was overwhelming, so you stood as straight as you could before stepping outside. You shake your head, steadying your breathing as you push open the doors. The clash of steel and anguished cries intensify as you step outside, your grip on the sword tightening. The scent of crushed flowers and damp earth fills the air as you push open the doors, incongruous to the bloodshed within the castle walls.

No one seems to notice you, too caught up in their personal battles and one-on-one combat.

Your eyes dart between the people fighting, searching desperately for any sign of Simon.

In the midst of the tumult, you spot him, a lone figure fending off multiple adversaries. His movements are swift and purposeful, each strike of his sword fatal.

Until now, you've never seen Simon engaged in battle. Of course, you had heard tales of his skills and prowess before you even got married, but witnessing him in action sends chills down your spine. The stories did not do justice to the raw power and grace with which he moved through the battlefield.

You don't know whether you want to beg him to stop or stay back and observe. His skull balaclava looks even more menacing and deadly than ever.

Simon's blade is deadly, each swing and parry precise, calculated, and unforgiving. Each strike finds its mark, taking down each assailant efficiently, knocking them down one by one. Once he finishes off the hoard of people, he takes a shuddered breath, standing up tall as he surveys his surroundings.

Unbeknownst to him, one person had snuck up behind him, kicking Simon down with a loud thump.

The world seems to freeze for a moment as Simon crumples to the ground, caught off guard by the unexpected attack.

"No," you whisper to yourself, eyes going wide at the person pushing your husband to the ground.

Your heart skips a beat, and instinct propels you forward. The enemy, emboldened by their surprise attack, raises their sword for a final, fatal strike.

Time slows as you charge towards them, the sword in your hand cutting through the air. The enemy, unaware of your presence until now, turns too late to defend themself from your onslaught. Your strike stabs straight through their back, a fatal blow.

The enemy gasps, dropping their sword before they could drive it into Simon's chest. They crumble to the ground, lifeless.

Your action hits you like a tsunami, and you stumble backwards, breathless. The world blurs around you as guilt and horror consumes your senses. He looks up, his eyes registering surprise and relief as he sees you unharmed.

Simon's voice pierces through the chaos as he rasps your name once, twice. You still don't fully register that he's calling for you, saying your name.

The ground beneath your feet feels unsteady, and you gasp for air, caught in the grip of a suffocating terror. You sink to your knees, the reality of what you did crashing over you. Your sword slips from your fingers, clattering on the ground. Your attention finally snaps back to Simon, who is still on the ground, momentarily incapacitated. He's struggling to rise, but determination glints in his eyes.

"Simon," you manage to croak, the taste of bile in your throat. You crawl towards him, desperate to reach him and make sure he's okay.

"I told you to stay in the closet," he manages to say.

But you can't comprehend his words. Panic tightens its grip around your chest, and your vision blurs with tears.

"I had to protect you," you whisper, the words barely audible over the din of the ongoing conflict. But the justification feels hollow, and a heavy weight settles in the pits of your chest.

You reach Simon, your trembling hands desperately searching for any sign of injury. His skin under his armor is battered and bruised, and thin trail of blood escapes from a tiny cut on his forearm, but other than that he's fine. The sight of the trickle of blood sends a surge of naseua through you, and you clutch his arm, as much for your own support as for his.

"Simon, I- I..." you stammer, unable to form words. Your eyes dart from his forehead to the attacker laying lifeless on the grass next to you two. Simon's gaze follows yours, and there's a silent understanding in his eyes.

"We need to move," Simon urges, his voice penetrating the disorienting fog in your mind. He starts to stand up, yanking your arm along with him.

You still don't move, too caught up in the way blood seeps into the earth.

"We have to go," Simon insists, his grip on your arm firm. The touch feels distant and disconnected. The urgency in his eyes is undeniable, and you force yourself to nod, pushing back the emotions that threaten to engulf you.

Simon's grip tightens as he pulls you up from the ground, dragging you by your arm harshly. You glance once more at the fallen enemy, anxiety gripping at your heart.

Together, you and Simon stagger away from the battleground unnoticed, moving through the castle's corridors. Simon's pace is brisk, purposeful, but the tension in his movements is palpable. He's still on high alert, ready to defend himself and you from any potential threats.

As you reach his study, Simon locks the door behind him and releases his grip on your arm. He moves to the bookshelf against the far wall and shoves it aside, grunting as he moves it. Behind the wall is a stone door, heavily fortified. With another aggressive movement, he's able to shove the door open, throwing his shoulder against it.

The hidden door reveals a dimly lit room. Simon motions for you to follow him, and you do so without a word. The air in the room is cool, carrying the scent of damp stone.

Simon leads the way with a determined stride, his jaw set. He pulls his balaclava off, revealing the frustration and concern on his face.

Simon finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he speaks.

"What were you thinking?" Simon's voice is low, his words weighted with disappointment. "I told you to stay in the closet, to keep yourself hidden."

Your eyes dart down, guilt and fear rendering you speechless. The images of the lifeless enemy you just struck down replays in your mind, each moment tormenting your senses. You feel trapped, and panic continues to tighten its grip on your chest.

"I... I couldn't just stay there. I had to do something," you stammer, your voice barely audible, tears now freely flowing down your cheeks.

Simon's gaze doesn't waver, his expression stern. Still, he reaches out to cup your face, swiping away some of your tears with his thumb. "You were meant to stay hidden, not to charge into the middle of the fuckin' battlefield. You put yourself at risk, and you put me at risk. I can't protect you if you don't follow orders."

Numbly, you manage to nod, your eyes finally meeting Simon's.

Guilt gnaws at you, a heavy lump in your throat. The reality of your impulsive actions sinks in, and the consequences unfold in Simon's disapproving eyes. You tremble, unable to shake the vivid images from your mind; the smell of the blood, the way it felt when your sword pierced through the person.

You start to breathe rapidly, the small room closing in on you. Everything feels too big, too much—

Simon's stern expression softens, replaced by genuine concern as he sees the panic taking hold of you. He leads you to a dingy chair in the corner of the room and he crouches in front of you, his hands gently holding yours.

"Easy now, love," Simon murmurs, his voice calm as he breaks through the fog of your panic. "Focus on your breathing. In and out. Slowly."

The panic continues to claw at your throat, choking on your tears and inability to get enough air to your lungs. You follow his lead, trying to match your breaths with his. The rhythmic inhales and exhales provide an anchor, helping to alleviate the panic that threatens to consume you. Slowly, you try to regain control over your breathing, clinging to the physical sensation.

"Thas' it," Simon encourages, his voice low. "In and out. We're safe."

Gradually, the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the room seems a little less suffocating.

"I know it's a lot to comprehend right now—"

"I killed someone," you whisper, voice shaky and raw, tears welling up in your eyes once more. Simon doesn't move an inch.

His gaze doesn't waver, and he maintains a steady grip on your hands. "I know," he says softly, his voice a comforting anchor in the chaos. "It was self-defense, dove."

"I was trying to protect you," you mutter, your eyes dropping to the ground.

A sigh escapes Simon, and he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "You had to protect yourself and, by extension, me. It's a brutal reality, but it's the world we find ourselves in right now."

You look up at him, searching for any sign of anger or blame in his eyes, but all you find is understanding. He pulls you into a reassuring embrace, his arms enveloping you as if to shield you from the harshness of the outside world.

"You did what you had to do to protect me," Simon murmurs against your hair. "But, charging into battle like that... it was reckless. I can't lose you."

You swallow thickly, squeezing his hand. Simon's thumb brushes against your knuckles, a gesture of both comfort and concern.

"I trust you, I do. But I need you to trust me," Simon continues.

He pulls away slightly, holding your face gently between his hands. His eyes search yours for assurance, a plea for understanding. "We're in this together, and I need you safe. Promise me, even if things get hard, you'll follow the plan and trust that I'll come for you."

You nod, your voice barely a whisper, "I promise."

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 4

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction. 

Chapter Synopsis: While you are alone in your own hotel room, the men talk about you over Italian cuisine. This includes speculation on Ghost’s feelings for you. Meanwhile, you are already gearing up for infiltration to tap the target building. Ghost decides that he wants a front-row seat to your show.

A/N: I am adding a taglist from now on for those who want to be a part of one. I made a post asking people to like it if they wanted to be part of it. If you would like to comment that you want to be in a taglist, you can do so on this post~

Taglist: @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @dory-98 @cum-tea-and-towels @completelymarveltrash

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Good God, authentic pizza was absolutely amazing. The standard for pasta was incredible as well. It beat the standard cafeteria food back on base by a landslide. The 141 grimaced as they thought about someday having to return to the food back home. Even the food they’ve eaten out of your fridge has been refreshing to their taste buds. Soap was the most vocal about his dread of the mass-cook cafeteria food as he devoured another slice of heaven. “Christ, going back to bland spinach and soggy rice is going to be fuckin’ painful!”

“Remember when they tried to do a taco night. Fucking hell, the lettuce was dripping fat like a sponge.” Gaz added as he took a swig of whiskey. It wasn’t the Italian choice of liquor to pair with food, but it was the 141’s choice. Not Ghost’s though. He missed his Kentucky bourbon. 

“Last Thanksgiving was the most painful for me. Turkey was drier than my fuckin’ belt.” Soap chuckled, trying not to drip sauce onto the bed with how his whole body laughed with him. They were eating in one of the double queen hotel rooms, away from the public eye. When they were all together in a group, they often garnered attention. Such was the price for being such large, capable men.

“Anyone reckon that Hex is up yet? Food is gonna get cold.” Price inquired. They had saved some food for you. A plate full of different things since no one knew what you liked. Even Kate didn’t know when they called to ask her. Still, they tried their best anyway. And their best was getting cold on a ceramic plate.

Soap shook his head in refusal. “I’m not gonna knock on her door. The lass scares the shite out of me.”

Gaz laughed out loud. “Soap? Afraid? Never thought I’d live to see the day.” 

“Hey, you weren’t the one that nearly lost an ear! With fuckin’ car keys of all things.” He defended, taking a long swig of his own drink. He clearly wasn’t going to forgive you for that any time soon. It made him annoyed when he thought about the fact that you probably didn’t care. 

Price shrugged and poured himself another drink. “You were kinda asking for it, Johnny. I think I would’ve nearly killed you too if I’m being honest.”

“Well, Lt. made the joke first and he didn't nearly get stabbed.” He continued to argue, looking to Simon for an answer on how it was different when he cracked the joke. Ghost just stared with indifference, sitting in the corner with his mask halfway up. Even if he was with the people he trusted with his identity, he just felt more comfortable hiding his face while he ate.

The room went quiet for a moment as the men thought about it. Out of all of them, Ghost seemed to be the one that was able to get the closest to you. You still pushed him away by miles, but it was definitely closer than they were getting. Kyle took another slice of pizza, the fresh basil so vibrantly green that it looked like it was glowing. “How do you feel so comfortable pushing her boundaries, Lieutenant? One attempt at our lives is enough for us to back off. Yet, you seem to keep going back for more.”

The men waited for an answer, an idea crawling into each of their heads. Price had already picked up on it by now. He noticed as soon as Ghost lifted you in his arms. Gaz vocalizing his observation out loud just now triggered Soap to realize it too. A slow, knowing smirk crept along Soap’s lips. Simon scowled at the insinuation, reading all of their minds. “All of you can bury your ideas six feet under. I’m just trying to get her to trust us. The mission will go a lot smoother if she does. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can go home.”

All of them returned to enjoying their meals, unconvinced by Ghost’s protest. Was Simon attracted to you? Absolutely. Did he like you? Well, he certainly didn’t hate you. The biggest problem for him was that you were dangerous. Not just from an ability standpoint, but from an emotional standpoint. While he did want to get close to you, he still wanted to keep you just out of arm’s reach emotionally because he knew that you would burn him. Poison him with that venom of yours. He knew if he really did fall for you, he would never stop falling. 

For the sake of the mission and his own preservation, he convinced himself that you were only a temporary attraction. A beautiful woman with incredible power that will return to the unknown as soon as this is all over. His teammates knew better, though. In all their time of knowing Simon, he has never shown interest in women. Always too busy. Always too focused on work. Not even making time for hook-ups. When you came into the picture, you got his attention in a way they have never seen before. That meant a lot to them.

“Regardless, you have the honor of delivering our assassin her dinner, Lieutenant.” Price smirked, abusing his power as Captain to avoid feeding the feral woman next door. Ghost clenched his jaw, cursing out John in his mind as he got up.

The men continued their lighthearted conversation as Simon walked out, plate of food in hand. Taking a deep breath, he walked to your door and knocked. When there was no answer, he thought that perhaps you were still asleep. So, he took out his spare keycard to the room and welcomed himself in. 

The room was dim, large shadows casing over the beige walls. A few laptops were running on the desks, already hacked into the security cameras of the target building. You’ve actually been up for a while and have been busy getting things ready for your infiltration. It was alarming when you woke up in your hotel room instead of the car at first. However, it didn’t take you long to figure out that someone must’ve carried you. You were pretty sure who it was, but you didn’t dwell on it. There was work to be done and you had wasted too much time with sleep. 

Kate helped you get into their systems. From there, a layout of the building was mapped out along with the IDs of everyone working for Makarov. You have watched enough security footage to take note of the guard routes. All that needed to be done was planting the taps to allow you to listen in on everything. Nothing was going to be unheard. Not even the sound of a guard taking a bathroom break.

Simon watched you fasten a black belt tight around your hips that carried a collection of small throwing knives. You wore new pants, a long sleeve turtleneck with a hood, and boots. All tight. All black. His hands ached to reach out in order to trace your prominent curves. He wanted to feel the thin fabric of your shirt, the heat of your skin exuding through it. 

Instead of that, he placed the food down on top of your dresser, resisting the temptation. “Not going to eat first?”

You didn’t even glance his way, something he wanted to fix immediately. “No. It will weigh me down. I had room service bring up some fruit earlier. It will tie me over until I get back.”

“You’re leaving now?” He questioned, anger rising in his tone. You should have let them know that you were awake. That you were set up with the tech. That you wanted to proceed with the mission with a lookout. You shouldn’t have intended to do this alone.

But, you couldn’t help it. This is how you have always worked. Besides, to you, there was no reason to waste time with unnecessary things like knocking on their door to let them know you were ready. What were you? A fucking dog looking to be let out? “Now is better than later. Security usually lets their guard down after meals. It’s not too late in the night to expect intruders too. Now is the optimal time for me to place the taps.”

Simon scoffed at your unapologetic reasoning. “And you were just going to do this alone? Not even someone to watch the cameras out for you? What if you get compromised?”

Here we fucking go again. You grabbed the taps sitting on the desk, putting them in a small satchel securely tied to your belt. “Can you not criticize the way I do things every fucking conversation? I’m doing what I do best, Simon. I’ve never been compromised before. That’s a streak I intend to keep.”

He stepped towards you, his frame menacing as he towered over you. Hearing your name come from your lips was still something he wasn’t used to. Despite that, he wasn’t going to let you do this alone. This time, his tone was gentle yet resolute. “I’m letting the force know and I’m going to monitor the cameras.”

Looking up into his eyes, you could see that he wasn’t going to waver from his decision. There was no point fighting about this, you finally decided. Not even twelve hours ago was your last fight with him. A part of you was getting tired of it. Stepping back towards the hotel window to leave, you threw in the towel. It wasn’t going to stop you from getting the job done anyhow. “Do whatever you want. I don’t give a shit.”

“Hang on.” Ghost stopped you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He pulled you towards him, using the advantage of his strength to have you close to him. Anticipating you to either reach for your knives or strike him with your other hand, he prepared to guard himself. However, you never used the same trick twice in a row. 

Like a forceful tango, you stepped your full weight forward to catch him off balance. You then pushed further as he was forced to step back lest you headbutt him, your hand now having the room to land on his chest with a quick, sharp force. In Simon’s fall, you swiped his sheathed knife from his own belt. Before he knew it, he was laying on his back on your bed, you straddling him, his eyes locking with yours that blazed with victory. 

Ghost’s strong hand was still wrapped around your wrist, but your free hand had his own knife pressed against his chest. Right over his heart that was thudding against his chest like it wanted to break out. The hot blood in his body was pumping into overdrive. Not in fear of death. No. In pure, passionate attraction. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to still pull you down and kiss you through his mask. Even if it would cause the knife to be plunged into his heart, the thought of being able to share a passionate kiss with you didn’t seem like a bad tradeoff.

Tendrils of your hair fell past your face, framing a beautiful jawline he wanted to trace with his lips. The image of you gasping in shock and pleasure as he squeezed your hips flashed in his mind for a second. It wouldn't have been hard to do. His other hand was still free but frozen as you pressed the tip of the blade into his chest. He also imagined the potential sweetness of your tongue, giving him a taste of dessert after dinner. He wanted to be the one to catch you by surprise and submit to his will. Only, you would love it and beg for more through feverish kisses and the grinding of your hips against his.

Christ, he was getting a boner. 

He wasn’t the only one who was feeling it, though. The sound of your own heartbeat was flooding your ears. You couldn’t seem to pull away from his blue eyes that so heatedly begged for you to come closer. The heat already felt from your body pressing against his didn’t feel like enough. Especially when you began to feel his growing hardness pressing against you. That just made your own sex tingle with need.

You got off of him quickly, putting distance between the two of you. What the fuck were you doing?! What the hell was wrong with you?! You haven't been with anyone for so long, but it was no excuse to get so swept up like this. Not with someone like Ghost. Not with someone like Simon Riley. You needed to get a fucking grip. Get your head on straight. Damn it, you were better than this!

Slowly, he sat up and cleared his throat, trying to pretend that what just happened wasn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever been through. His knife was tossed onto the bed next to him, your movements quick as you rushed to get the fuck out of there.

However, when Simon called your name, you froze. He sounded a little breathless, his voice making you shiver. “Hex, wait.”

Simon stood from the bed to grab something from the desk. Cautiously, he walked towards you, now learning his lesson that it wasn’t a great idea to just grab you so suddenly for multiple reasons. At a slow pace, he opened his large palm to show you a small earpiece. Still being careful with his speed and touch, he lightly brushed your hair behind your ear and inserted the earpiece for you. You flinched as his fingers brushed against your jaw, butterflies erupting within you.

“You’ll be able to hear me through this. I won’t say anything unless I really have to. You’ll be able to talk to me through it too. Whatever you want, whatever you need, just say it.” Ghost promised. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You feared that using your voice would reveal just how flustered you were over what just transpired. Instead, you gave a simple nod and headed back to your window.

The nighttime breeze flooded in as soon as you opened the window, the chill seeping into your bones. Good. You needed to cool off. Without looking back, you slipped out into the night, leaving Simon behind to wonder if supposed enemies were supposed to be attracted to each other like this. 

~

The shadows concealed you, the moonlight accentuating them on every surface they could touch. Quietly and quickly, you moved from shadow to shadow until you stumbled upon the targeted building. From the outside, it looked like a rundown, abandoned office building up for sale. The place was hidden away, tucked behind the forefront of what Italy wanted to offer instead. Beauty. 

You watched armed men standing guard, looking out into the alleyways for enemies. Sticking to the shadows, you crept along the side of the building before spotting an open window just above you. Taking a deep breath to focus your mind, you sprung into action. With a few wall jumps, you were right in one of Makarov’s weapons depot. 

From the laptops back at the hotel, Ghost carefully watched the footage, almost holding his breath as he searched for you. His team gathered into the room once he told them you had left already. They had assumed that all the time he spent missing with you was just him helping set up the tech. He didn’t correct them on this. Like you had said before, never underestimate the power of assumptions.

Relief washed over his shoulders as soon as he saw your figure invade the building. Just as fast as you had entered, you hid, dropping a tap that was modeled to look like a dead fly onto the dirty tile. The place was dusty, the smell of stagnant air filling your lungs. The men here didn’t care about the cleanliness of the place. Fortunately for the 141, that meant that they wouldn't have to worry about anyone cleaning up the “dead flies.”

All of the men watched the footage as you swiftly made your way from room to room dropping flies. Soap double checked to make sure that the enemies’ own footage was still scrubbed as you worked. Regardless, you moved so carefully that any video of you just looked like a weird, black glitch. You were in your zone. This is what you did for years. This is what you have secretly missed doing.

Every move you made was calculated, following a strict regime based on the men’s own schedule. As you dropped more and more taps, Price began to check if they worked on his end. Sure enough, they could hear everything.

Gaz noticed that Ghost’s body was rigid, his eyes refusing to leave the screens. He was keeping track of you like he would lose sight of you if he blinked. Wanting to ease his worries, he began to prepare some tea using the hotel’s electric kettle. Kyle was always one to look out for his friends like this.

A hot cup of black tea was placed in front of Ghost, the smell already releasing the tension in his muscles. Gaz pat his stiff shoulder. “She’s gonna be alright, bruv.”

Ghost gave a silent nod, finally taking a moment to let his eyes wander off of the monitor to have a sip of tea. Now that he was more relaxed, he viewed your movements in a more admiring way. None of them could pull off how smoothly you moved. How easy you glided through like a gust of wind passing through. Even when you were close to an enemy, you kept your cool, refrained from killing, and moved on without detection. 

You were a god damn modern-day ninja. A fine one at that.

In less than an hour, you had swept through the whole building without detection. Every tap was planted. Not once did you hear Simon in your ear either. You were glad. You felt like if you heard his voice through the earpiece it would break your flow. But, a part of you did yearn to hear his deep voice so close to you. 

Getting out was the easiest part. Having no one seen you come in, you took the same route out. When you came back through the window, you were met with grateful smiles and words of praise that were foreign to your ears. Ghost wanted to be the first one to say something about your skills, but loud-mouth Sergeant Soap beat him to it. “Damn, Lass! I think you just set a record for 141!”

“That was quite impressive stuff there, Hex. It was like you were never there. Kate was right about you.” Price grinned as he thanked you in his own way.

Gaz hopped on the headphones to listen to the taps as soon as his Captain moved. “All of them are working just fine. I’ve only ever seen moves like that in movies and video games. Job well done!”

You were unsure of what to do with all of this attention, never having experienced it before. When you worked alone, there was no one to tell you that you did well when you got back. You didn’t know if all of this flattery made you feel good. In all honesty, the confusion you felt about it made you a little sick to your stomach.

Weaving past them all, you grabbed your cold plate of food that Simon brought to you earlier and left without a word through the door. After receiving some worried glances from his soldiers, Price provided some words of reassurance. “Don’t worry, men. Hex probably isn’t used to having people wait for her like this, let alone praise for good work. Give her time.”

As the team brought back some of the tech to monitor from their rooms, Ghost stepped out into the hallway to look for you. He initially thought that you would be in one of their rooms to use the microwave, but you were nowhere in sight. While he wanted to keep looking, a call by his Captain to help made him call it there for the night. 

And so he spent the rest of the night bunking with Soap, listening in on private conversations and thinking about you. Meanwhile, you spent your night eating a cold dinner alone on the hotel rooftop. Overlooking the city, your own mind occasionally wandered against your will towards Ghost and how it would feel if his heat saved you from the autumn winds chilling your skin.

[rayclubs]

Which tf2 merc do you think gets mischaracterized the least?

Good question! Let's do a rating.

In my opinion, there are three aspects to characterizing someone.

Facts - you have to get basic character backstory right. This includes all objective canon truths, events, and, well, facts about said character.

Behavior - you need to understand how the character acts, how their interpersonal relationships function, what they're like in their day-to-day life. This is the nitty-gritty of fanfic and fanart, this is dialogue, line-to-line characterization.

Integrity - you need to understand the character's core beliefs and principles, what their values are and how they view the world around them. This isn't something you can easily quote or point to as a mistake in fanfic, it's more of an overall idea of a character.

Each of these is going to be worth up to three points, with zero for terrible characterization that gets everything wrong. This would ideally total to nine points. I'll be awarding an additional bonus point for character interpretation that doesn't make me scream "he would not fucking say that". Let's go.

Scout:

His backstory is fairly simple. He has an absent father, half a dozen siblings, and a crush on his boss who doesn't reciprocate. People mostly get this right, except they also call him a virgin despite the fact he canonically lands the fried chicken queen, and seems to do it with ease. 2/3.

His behavior is also mostly portrayed accurately, in that he's loud, obnoxious, self-absorbed, and can be kind of a dick, though not completely without endearing qualities. The fandom is, admittedly, guilty of making him more insecure and self-conscious than he actually is, to amp up the drama. 2/3.

His core values, however, are completely off. The main interpretations I see of him are "depressed Scout", "homophobic Scout", and "baby Scout", neither of which is true to his character. This is a grown man with a force-a-nature complex. The homophobia is just projection and internalized prejudice, but that phenomena is too complicated for me to dissect here. I talked about it before and might make another post later. Anyway, 0/3.

Scout does not get a bonus point. He would not fucking say "poggers" but he would say "daddy-o".

Overall characterization score: 4/10

Soldier:

Very little is known about Soldier's backstory so there isn't really any room to be wrong about it. What we do know is also vague and unreliable, so it's open to interpretation. Given how little room for error there is, I'll give him a 3/3.

His behavior is completely off in most cases, often shown to either be overly aggressive or so dumb you start to question how this man functions in his day-to-day life. Canon Soldier has plenty of endearingly stupid moments but a lot of them can be read as deadpan jokes on the character's part, and many turn out to be secretly clever moments, such as him infiltrating the robot base with a goofy cardboard disguise. Likewise, canon Soldier has plenty of aggressive and mean moments, but he's not cruel and very clearly not a threat to his teammates, which isn't captured at all in fanworks that decide to go that way. 0/3.

Soldier's core ideals are mostly captured well, as in - yeah, he calls people communist as an insult in fanfics. I feel like he should mention God more often than he does in fanon, it's, like, one of the two ideologically meaningful things he ever talks about. The importance of "America" as a concept to him is mostly preserved but left unexplored. 2/3.

Soldier does not get a bonus point, he would not fucking say [homophobic slur] yet here we fucking are.

Overall characterization score: 5/10

Pyro:

His backstory is nonexistent yet people still fuck it up. His technical knowledge is clearly extensive and impressive, as shown by the complexity of his weaponry - which, mind you, looks HAND MADE - but people treat him as if he's altogether incompetent and maniacally stupid all the time always. He also ran an engineering company for hell knows how long and people just forget about it because they're allergic to adults or something. God this pisses me off so much. I mean for fuck's sake, people act like his full job description is "Pyromaniac" and not "Pyrotechnician". I'm so tired. 0/3.

His day-to-day characterization and dialogue is also completely off. People treat him as if he's INCAPABLE of communication, make him obsess over childish things he's only shown a moderate liking to in a manner that's borderline creepy and insulting, and take away his whole entire agency in everything he ever does. I will literally not give y'all a single point, you do my man Pyro so dirty. 0/3.

His ideology is complex and vague in canon, and I don't blame people for getting confused by such things as Pyrovision, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. In my time on Ao3 I've seen animal Pyro, cryptid Pyro, monster Pyro, alien Pyro, evil mindless maniac Pyro, incompetent baby Pyro, nonbinary Pyro (HENCE MY PROBLEM WITH THE HEADCANON, do you see how it looks next to all these other interpretations?) but I've rarely, if ever, seen competent adult Pyro with actual hopes and dreams and agency. 0/3.

Pyro does not get a bonus point because he would not fucking say "uwu" but he would say "fuck", let Pyro say fuck.

Overall characterization score: 0/10 are you fucking surprised

Demoman:

Oh poor lad what have they done to you. So, Demo's backstory is arguably the most detailed and fleshed-out in the entire canon. Too bad nobody fucking read it. Admittedly, in the recent years I've seen people mostly manage to remember he has several jobs and is overall a competent and successful man, but it's rarely - if ever - explored, I've seen exactly one fic where the author bothered to explore what one of his other jobs might be (and it was not a good fic for many other reasons, don't ask me for a link), and it honestly feels like people don't want to dwell on it? Like, they mostly mention it to fill a quota, y'know? Here, I'm not racist, I've acknowledged one of this character's achievements, leave me alone. Also the subject of him being fucking adopted as a kid never comes up. 0/3.

His day-to-day characterization suffers a lot because people think alcoholism is the most morally repugnant thing that can ever happen to a human being. This man honestly barely even has a presence in the fics he's in. Are you wondering where Demo is? Well, he wasn't there! He was BUSY! He couldn't come! There is a handful of writers who bother to write his actual inner monologue and point of view, and this point goes out to them only. Also there was a pretty good Boots and Bombs fic in which Demo was a dick to Soldier but then got better, and it stuck with me. 1/3.

His core character is fucked up by fandom because he's either all flaws or not allowed to have any flaws, and there's no in-between. Ever since I joined the fandom I've seen a lot of critique floating around, and people mostly seem to listen and realize they've been mistreating the man for long enough, but it created a whole separate problem of Perfect Demoman which is bland and boring. People don't want to write an offensive caricature but don't feel like fleshing him out either, so they just make him great at everything and never let him fail and grown in ways that are meaningful. Except that one fic I mentioned earlier, but I've already awarded a point for that. 0/3.

Demo does not get a bonus point. I couldn't find a meaningful example of bad dialogue because, like I said, he has no presence in any of the fics he's in. He would fucking say something.

Overall characterization score: 1/10 and honestly it's too generous on my part.

Heavy:

Okay so Heavy's backstory really confuses people. I've got like a dozen asks in my inbox when I called his father a revolutionary AND a counter-revolutionary. Wait till I call him a royalist, it'll blow your tits clean off. I don't feel like explaining the history of the communist regime in the USSR on this post, let's just say people are mostly faithful to canon but don't really "get" Heavy. 2/3.

His day-to-day characterization is plain bad. He's treated like a mother hen to the mercs when he's more of a stoic friend with a mean streak and a crude sense of humor. I think the main problem is the dialogue, people just can't give him the dignity of speaking in an intelligent manner. It's honestly also pretty bad in the comics. 1/3.

His core ideals are fine, if oversimplified. He's not a complicated man, he loves his family, his guns and his doctor. People rarely give him any more depth than that but it's not offensive to his character or anything. I feel like he should have more political opinions than people give him. I also feel like people make him way more protective of Zhanna's romantic pursuits, to a creepy degree. I mean, yes, he's annoyed by her marrying Soldier, and seems horrified for a brief second, but it's not like he's against it or anything, he's just kinda surprised? Anyway, 2/3.

Heavy does not get a bonus point because he would not fucking say "da". Pizda.

Overall characterization score: 5/10

Engineer:

Yeah people mostly get him. He's got 11 Ph. Ds. Some treat him like he grew up as an actual cowboy or something but most remember he's a nerd. I'd actually give all the points here because Engie's backstory is NOT complicated. 3/3.

His dialogue and day-to-day characterization is also okay, though people really mellow him down a lot. I had a bit in one of my fics where he said something like "let's teach those sumbitches how the real killin' is done" and like three different people commented on it saying they liked or were surprised by his mean energy. It's not even that mean, I think it kinda shows my problem with his interpretation. 2/3.

I asked about mischaracterization once and a lot of people replied "Engie is the most mischaracterized because people treat him like he's good but he's actually evil" which I think pretty much covers it? It's hard to write someone who is not implicitly strictly good or strictly evil. Engie treads this balance really well, I'm actually convinced his demeanor is not a facade, he is nice at times and mean when he wants to be. Fanon Engie can only be one of two things and neither is right. 0/3.

Engie gets a bonus point as an exception. I actually can't tell why, people just have his voice on-point. Is his accent and manner of speaking really that easy for you? I struggle to write him a lot. I think he should say "bitch" more.

Overall characterization score: 6/10

Medic:

People focus on the fact he lost his medical license more than on the fact he HAD a medical license in the first place. Other than that he really doesn't have a backstory. I dislike that people try to give him a sad one, I think he grew up loved and maybe even a little spoiled, but I can't fault others for not following my headcanons, so. 2/3.

His dialogue is the WORST because it's written phonetically. His goofy yet self-confident energy isn't captured well at all. The best I can put this is "people wife him" but it sounds kinda mysogynistic so really I'm at a loss. Submissivepilled breedablemaxxer. 0/3.

His core values are also all over the place. The complicated thing about writing Medic is that he actually doesn't come with pre-packaged drama. His backstory is vague, his demeanor is optimistic, his vibes are fun, and the worst thing that happened to him in canon was working with the classics for a bit - people amp it up to squeeze hurt out of it, which is fine, but not many people actually like going there. Thing is, fanfic writers aren't that good at writing drama when it hasn't been established before. They have to warp his character, make him edgy, self-conscious, or plain mad evil without redeeming qualities. I remember really struggling with my big Medic fic because I wanted it to be dramatic but had to put a lot of work into actually building up the emotion, because Medic is fine. He's fine. He's alright. He's fine. He's doing well. 0/3.

Medic does NOT get a bonus point, he would not fucking say "babygirl" and I'm not even sure if he would say "yass queen slay" I'm SORRY

Overall characterization score: 2/10

Sniper:

People mostly get his backstory right, probably because it's the most well-explained in the comics and it gets the most "screentime". It's also literally a Superman parody which is funny and memorable in concept. 3/3.

People can't find a good balance between stoic professionalism and social anxiety. I think Sniper is actually pretty simple, in that he's a little self-conscious which pushes him to actively better himself as a professional, but also makes him a little awkward so he comes across as standoffish and a little mean. He's a solid bloke that's balanced and feels real. Fandom has to go for the extreme every goddamn time with him. It sucks. 0/3.

People kind of get his drama, his relationship with his family and whatnot - mostly because a lot of us losers can relate, I bet - but, again, go for the extreme in making him anxious, whiny, and sad as a wet kitten. Unless it's a porn fic in which case he's an absolute freak that growls at people. I don't know what it is about Sniper that makes him so difficult to characterize. Manic pixie dream boy. Dark and moody lover love me like no other. 0/3.

Sniper does NOT get a bonus point because he doesn't say "cunt" nearly as often as he should. Also send me asks about my Sniper takes I want to stir up some shit.

Overall characterization score: 3/10.

Spy:

The only piece of his backstory we actually know is that he fathered the blight of the earth that is Scout TF2. 3/3.

His obnoxious and insufferable demeanor is mostly captured well. A lot of his portrayals aren't nearly as classy as people think they are, but that's because most authors are themselves proletarian, myself included, which is fine. Not many make the effort to pepper his speech with French words it would actually be natural for him to say, and blame it on the nonsensical complexity of the French language, but I'm not buying it as an excuse. 2/3.

His core values are off in regards to Scout - he's often portrayed as soft, mellow, overbearing, and critical of Scout's love life to either a comical or an uncomfortable degree. His fandom portrayal often also lacks the self-confidence he's demonstrated in the comics. Spy is not above strangling a man with a chain that holds the shackles around his ankles, he wouldn't consider it a blow to his dignity to fuck any of his coworkers either, come on. He's also funny and goofy but the fandom tends to neglect that. 1/3.

Spy does not get a bonus point because he would not say "perchance" but he would say "your mother".

Overall characterization score: 6/10

The final scores are:

Spy - 6/10

Engineer - 6/10

Heavy - 5/10

Soldier - 5/10

Scout - 4/10

Sniper - 3/10

Medic - 2/10

Demoman - 1/10

Pyro - 0/10

There we go! Pyro is the most mischaracterized, Demoman is a close second, and nobody is characterized well. Cheers!

[orangecarton]

Nordic Bunny x Reader WP (W.I.P.)

(Sorry in advance ;-;)

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TW: Swearing

Honestly this isn't your best moment. You kinda got scammed out of 20 bucks for what you thought was a cheap cosplay of an alien soldier and when you put on said costume you got screamed at to "get back to the ship" and got kidnapped by some purple fish looking creatures. Next thing you know you're in outer space in, what you can only assume is, some sorta Ren Faire for space dorks. It looked pretty cool, but people kept trying to put you to work and getting you to larp with them, talking about some "Ruler of the Galaxy" and "Nightmare to Humanity". It was all really charming but right about now is when you were starting to get the munchies, so naturally you went on the prowl for some poor vending machine and/or food cabinet.

Without any helpful signs around to guide you through this maze of Star Wars ride at Disneyworld and Metallica's love child, you got lost. After walking for a while you start to hear shouting. A sign of life, and perhaps snacks (or at the very least water. Because GOD DAMN was it getting hot). Walking closer the shouts got louder and you could make out some words.

"ANOTHER FAILURE! WHO THE HELL THOUGHT CRABS WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA?!"

"Um, you did... sir."

"SHUT UP, DUM DUM! Are you calling me STUPID?!"

You reached the door and it automatically slid open, just in time for you to see one of your fellow cosplayers get zapped and turned into feathers by an extremely tall guitar monster. In this life or death situation you know it is important for you do react with dignity and poise, as to survive and stay alive. So you respond in kind,

"HOLY SH*T, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! OH MY GOD?!"

Your panicked state causing you to just freeze in place, stuttering and mumbling utter nonsense.

"Excuse me? YOU DARE INSULT AND MOCK ME?? YOUR FEARSOME RULER??!?"

The guitar man struts closer, is it wearing platforms??? He (???) Raises his hand, the one that shot the guy before you (rest in piece). You stumble back and scream,

"AHHHH DONT SHOOT ME PLEASE!! I HAVE BANANAS IN THE FREEZER I STILL NEED TO BAKE INTO BANANA BREAD. They've been in there for months, BUT I PROMISE I'M GOING TO GET TO IT I SWEAR!!"

He falters, and in this moment you take in his appearance. He had a dark robotic and skeletal build, donning some sick ass platform boots, a leather cap, a red tie, and huge shoulder pads. His face was that of an electric guitar, rocking red eyes and scarlet lipstick, and... wait is he just in his underwear?

"What the- You're a human?!"

He lowers his hand and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Yeah... I'm a human. What about it?"

"How did you get up here?! Into my IMMENSELY IMPENETRABLE EVIL HEADQUARTERS?!"

"... I walked."

"...Oh."

You both kinda sat in awkward silence for a bit. The issue from before had presented itself once again when your stomach let out a noise that even Godzilla would be jealous of.

"You uh... got any snacks man?" You asked, the fear from before subsiding and your fallen brother in arms forgotten (R.I.P Nathan). Guitar man™ looks at you quizically, then turns around and whispers to himself (you could still hear though because he isn't a very quiet person).

"If I befriend this human... I'll be able to infiltrate the Earth AND TAKE IT OVER THUS BECOMING THE GRAND IMPERIAL EMPORER AND MOST EXTREME BEARER OF AWESOMENESS WHO HAS LOTS OF FRIENDS AND NEVER HAS TO HANG OUT ALONE!! MUAHAHAHA!!!"

"Sooooo... is that a no?"

He turns back around and smiles wickedly,

"Come now human! I will grant you snacks and in return you will become my friend, hang out with me, tell me all of humanities weaknesses and how to defeat Shred Force!"

"Yeah ok." You shrug.

He grabs your arm and just about drags you with him as he strides down the hallway. You stumble but manage to keep pace.

"Hey what's your name anyway?"

"You, my fair accomplice, can call me Nordic Bunny. RULER OF THE GALAXY AND NIGHTMARE TO HUMANITY"

"Cool cool."

What the hell have you gotten yourself into (Seinfeld credits play)

(Sorry for the bad grammar, here's a little doodle for compensation)

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[sarahghetti]

mcu masterlist

steve rogers

[ one-shots ]

we might fall | 2.9k, angst Steve has to fake his death for a mission, but no one can know outside of the Avengers. This includes the reader.

war of hearts | 2.3k, hurt and comfort Sequel to we might fall.

“This won’t happen again,” he said, reaching for your hand but you pulled it away.

“Can you promise me that?” He hesitated.

long time coming | 2.5k, angst, hurt and comfort Thoughts ran through your mind – what if you didn’t really break free, what if HYDRA was planning to infiltrate the tower through you – what if you hurt him again?

tall and two sugars | 1.4k, fluff There was a quaint little shop that he and Bucky would walk past everyday a lifetime ago and the smell of coffee replaces the one of sweets now, but she’s sweet enough.

cookies and coffee | 0.7k, fluff The team get curious about this little coffee shop that Steve loves so much. Sequel to tall and two sugars, but can be read as a standalone.

family relations | 2.9k, hurt and comfort Howard has a sister, and she has Steve’s heart. Then, seventy years later, she has a nephew named Tony and Steve is fast on his way to becoming his uncle-in-law.

collateral | 2.0k, angst The reader during the events of The Winter Soldier.

damage control | 0.7k, hurt and comfort Sequel to collateral. The reader after the events of The Winter Soldier.

catching up | 2.0k, fluff You’re on Coulson’s team and are dating Steve. Naturally, he’s curious.

countdown | 1.3k, hurt and comfort Soulmate AU. His mom tells him that it was nearly 85 years away, but smiles, saying how magical the moment would be regardless. Steve almost mentions the fact that people barely lived to be seventy-five.

heart hope | 1.3k, hurt and comfort, smut Steve visits the reader before the Civil War.

golden days | 1.1k, hurt and comfort Steve finds Pierce’s former right hand, the reader, after the fall of SHIELD.

salience | 1.7k, fluff, hurt and comfort Your relationship with Steve through the eyes of the rest of the team.

hesitance | 0.8k, hurt and comfort Steve's girlfriend saves his life by killing another person without hesitating and he’s not sure how to feel about it.

connection | 3.6k, hurt and comfort You woke up in an unfamiliar room, dazed and confused. There were dozens of guards outside who’d shoot you on sight and all you had was an earpiece with one voice on the line.

He said his name was Steve, and he promised to get you out of there.

[ drabbles ]

late nights | 0.6k, fluff You and Steve stay up late, only for him to confess something while you're asleep.

reality | 0.2k, hurt and comfort "This is real. You are real."

new objective | 0.9k, fluff "I'm going to be a dad."

"Correction, you're going to be a great dad."

et toi? | 0.2k, fluff French lesson with Steve.

ring toss | 0.2k, fluff Steve is stupidly good at carnival games.

redolent | 0.6k, fluff He’s handed a bottle filled with a thick liquid and Steve has to hide his reaction when the smell hits him, pretending to be hungry when he feels like he might throw up.

bucky barnes

[ one-shots ]

loose ends | 1.2k, angst He picks up a photo on a bookshelf and Bucky sees her face, her smile between him and Steve and-

He’s breaking down a door, she’s screaming. Metal around her throat, nothing more than choked gasps from her mouth

-he does not want this memory back.

even a broken clock | 1.6k, hurt and comfort The scientist barks with laughter as he sees the timer on the severed limb, frozen at 25497:01:23:02. Bucky doesn’t understand.

“We’re doing you a favour, kid.”

And closes the door.

[ drabbles ]

a different kind of love | 0.6k, fluff “Our best friends are that awful ‘cute’ couple that make-out in public and call each other “sweetie” and “sugar” and “babe” and god they’re awful let’s talk about how awful they are – develops into “shit we’re the awful couple now”

make-believe | 0.2k, fluff “I told my sister I have a boyfriend so she’d stop trying to set me up with people but now she’s coming to visit and I’m in too deep I need a fake boyfriend ASAP"

alias | 0.4k, fluff “You give me a different fake name every time you come into starbucks and I just want to know your real name bc ur cute but here I am scrawling 'batman' onto your stupid cappuccino AU”

misunderstandings | 0.6k, fluff Could you write a story where Bucky is your new neighbor and you’ve talked but not much, but he likes you and wants to ask you out. But he hears you talking things like “hey handsome?! I’ve missed you!” and stuff like when you’re home and he assumes you’re dating someone… but what he doesn’t know is that you have a cat?

best of wives | 0.3k, fluff can i request a bucky or steve x reader where they’re not married but he keeps accidentally referring to her as his wife and doesn’t realize hes doing it until someone points it out to him?

tony stark

luxuries | 1.3k, hurt and comfort He’s not ready for this – he’s never been loved, not in the way she loves him.

thor odinson

limited | 0.4k, hurt and comfort "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."

matt murdock

exs and ohs | 0.3k, fluff The reader is in the apartment when Elektra breaks in.

[cyborg-squid]

One of the many things that really struck me about Come Catastrophes or Wakes of Vultures is how Cliff's actions... really seemed to parallel those of the Lateran state? Like, he seems to be pretty clearly not affiliated with it and might be disconnected from the Sankta Empathy, but if you look at his actions and intentions, they pretty clearly parallel those of Yvangelista XI with the Summit of Nations. Both Cliff and Laterano aim to, in my eyes, use violence to control violence. Cliff puts it excellently when he says "Because if I can never end war, I have to settle for the next best thing. To hold its on-off switch in my hands." And Yvangelista basically tries to do the same, on a larger scale, trying to bring all the nations of Terra to the table for world peace, but such a meeting is only possible because of all the guns Lateran has. Cliff spent years building this mercenary empire of his, doing what sounds like black ops coup stuff for the American government.

And we see that the violence these two systems enact, in hopes of one day controlling it, isn't limited to physical violence. Wake of Vultures shows us very clearly how the bank is abusing and killing the people of Davistown, backed up by this idea of violence from mercenaries or government, but isn't called upon until the last minute. And in Lateran you have this literal ethnostate, in Guide Ahead you have these armed civil servants tripping over each other looking for this one mixed-race girl. And it's not directly in the Lateran events, but with the Lateran Church and the 'hands-off' approach it takes with regards to it's influence in Iberia, that's part of what ultimately allows for the Church of the Deep to infiltrate it. These systems, the Lateran government and Church, Blacksteel Worldwide and the Columbian government, don't need to be threatening you directly at gunpoint to get what they want, they hold enough power that simply the idea of them is enough to extort and influence people. And this is the type of power that Cliff and Yvangelista, two entirely different Sankta, independent of one another (afaik), spent years cultivating.

And this kind of brings me to something i'd been thinking about with Andoain (who also parallels Woodrow in his role vs the Pope). There's this Dorothy line, "There's no such thing as mad science", and that's a way you could certainly describe her as a good Mad Scientist, and it's in that way that I kinda think of Andoain, as someone who has, with whatever supernatural thing happened with the Lock and Key that drove him to try and kill his squad, gone Mad With Power, but in a way that's... not entirely wrong. Because so many of his critiscisms of Laterano are correct, and the way he's been building his faith and followers is this creation of the 'Sankta' Empathy, of understanding one another, just without the supernatural component. He's right! And even when he sees God in the Basement, when he realizes that his quest to change Laterano is fruitless, that still doesn't stop him from attempting to help and save those he can, with the power he has.

Similarly, you can see some of this with Woodrow, when Cliff hands him the tablet/phone and he sees the nature of Cliff's war and control, he knows he personally can't control this, but says that no one should. "...They shouldn't. There shouldn't be nobody else like you." Then he shoots the communicator. This is one of the moments that shows, despite Cliff's claims to have his hand on the lever of war, he is not the one in control, in this moment, Woodrow is, by choosing to walk away. And earlier, the bank manager demanding Franka and Liskarm disperce the crowd, they refuse, despite the bank and Cliff ostensibly being the ones in 'control', the possibility of violence at the moment didn't depend on them, but on the individuals, with Franka and Liskarm. And Jessica's "My gun will cry for their sorrow"! The system that Cliff is in 'control' does not do anything for the people of Davistown, in fact it is the one hurting them, but it is the individual violence that Jessica and the others commit through their robbery that enables change, for while they're not able to save Davistown as a whole from being consumed, they themselves are 'saved'.

And one last parallel on an already rambly post: the calls. I couldn't help but notice, the calls Cliff mentions getting from governments, from the ones ultimately in control of him, reminded me of the call Malkiewicz gets at the end of Maria Nearl where he's made spokesperson for the Chamber of Commerce. Here you have Cliff, the 'old', and the calls he gets and is beholden to, that he never thinks of just "letting ring" until Woodrow suggests that to him, and Malkiewicz as the 'young', not seeking power like Cliff did but having it thrust on him, feeling like he can't escape from it, and bound to pick up and answer the call. This idea of the 'old' feeling that they can change the system from the inside with the power they have, yet not doing so and instead perpetuating it, and this idea of the 'young' being so caught up and entwined in a system that they feel they can't move apart from it, and being unable to affect change with the power that he eventually has. I don't really know, but I just felt like there was something there with these phone calls that control.

[ericityyy]

Good afternoon, I just recently came across your blog and I really liked the way you write.

Can I request a story about how Sheldon found a new friend fem reader.

The two of them have a lot of common interests:she also loves comics, video games, science fiction, and so on, just like him.

Thank you in advance for the answer and also apologize in advance for mistakes English is not my native language.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 (𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤)

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 692

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

“I’m telling you, Shelly, there will come a time when all versions of Spiderman will meet.” Y/N argued with the boy, “And if that happens, you’ll owe me 10—scratch that, 50 bucks.” The girl crossed her arms smugly.

Sheldon, who always loves being right, stretched out his hand with a nod of his head and said, “Alright, I’ll bet on that. But only if it was made into a movie. If not, then you’ll owe me 50 bucks and be my servant for the whole week.” Y/N shook his hand with one movement as they both looked arrogant and smug. People would believe that they’re the actual twins because of how similar their personalities and expressions were.

“Dinner’s ready!" Mary called out from the dining room of Cooper's residence. Both Sheldon and Y/N stood up and walked toward the living room, each carrying a pair of mittens for the both of them. “Oh, Y/N, will you be staying for dinner?”

Y/N nodded her head politely, her hands on her back. “Only if I am not intruding, Mrs. Cooper. Your cooking always tastes divine.”

“Of course, hun. You could always eat here.” Mary laughed as she watched the two kids sit down on their respective seats, Y/N being in between Georgie and Sheldon’s seats.

After a while, all the Coopers are now present at the table. “Let’s say grace.” Mary put her hands on the table as did everyone else, except Sheldon and Y/N, who were in the process of putting on mittens and being watched by the family.

“I hope you do not mind me wearing my mittens; I just have a hard time making skin-to-skin contact, not knowing whether you washed your hands or not," Y/N said as she placed her hands on top of Sheldon and Georgie’s. George Sr. smiled stiffly at the girl as he gripped in his hands his wife’s hand and Sheldon’s.

“We don’t mind, dear, not at all.” George Sr. then made eye contact with Mary as the woman just mouthed to him, ‘Let them be.’

“Thank you, God, for the food we are about to receive and for the nourishment of our bodies, and bless the hands that prepared it. Amen.” All of them then released hands and then dived into eating the food prepared by the matron of the house.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, Sheldon?”

“To continue our conversation earlier, who do you think would win between Captain America and Iron Man?” Sheldon took a spoonful of his food as the rest watched their conversation.

Y/N seemed to be thinking of an answer: "Well, Cap has strategy and can be cool-headed at times, making him able to think of what to do next; his leadership skills are also there. Iron Man, on the other hand, is a genius, no doubt; he made all his suits himself, and he could totally make any weapon with any material given to him, so I vote for Iron Man.

“What?!” Sheldon dropped his utensils hard on his plate, which made the whole table quiet. “You’re letting your biased thoughts infiltrate what is the truth.”

“It may be so, but you asked who I think will win, and I gave you my answer," Y/N calmly stated while eating a spoonful.

“No! You’re wrong; if you take out Iron Man’s suit, what is he?”

"He is a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and he is Tony Stark. Like I said, he can make any weapon, whatever material you give him. I’m not saying that Cap is weak or something, but everything special about him came out of a bottle; without that, he would be this twig honorable soldier with good morals.”

“But…”

“You told me if I took out Iron Man’s suit, now that I have listed out the possibility of Cap not having his serum, what then?”

And for once in his life, Sheldon kept quiet. He was flabbergasted that it left his family speechless, until Missy spoke, “Oh man, now there’s two of them.” She leaned her hand on her face before smiling at Y/N, “But you’re tolerable.”

“Hey!”

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

thank you so much for requesting this! i am so sorry for posting this late but i hope you like this!!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@bellaisswagger // @somesimpformen

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Bex would you be down to write a dom ethan and sub reader type dynamic smut? This isn’t a request just wondering if it’s something you’re into 😻

Anon of course this is something I am into. First time writing more dominant Ethan! I hope you like it Anon, I haven't posted a fic in over a fucking month! Everything has been so hetic and nuts, I've been working on this behind the scenes and I am hoping this gets me back into the swing of things! Let's go!

---

Now Or Never.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.5K. Ethan Landry X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Warnings: DUB CON! Stalking. Creepy And Delusional Behaviour From Ethan. Obsessive Ethan. Man Handling. Degradation. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Raw Sex. Implied Cream Pie. Hold The Moan. Don’t Get Caught. 

---

Ethan has never been the kind of guy to really go after what he wants. He is much more passive, go with the flow, he doesn’t want to upset the apple cart nor ruin the image that people have of him. He knows it isn’t the best practice, he wants to get out of that, he wants to start doing things for him, maybe he should have made the call to start standing up for himself before agreeing to help his family avenge his brothers' death via a complex murder plot. However, Ethan was committed now, and he wasn’t going to back out, more importantly he saw no way how to, and so he stays. 

Assuming an identity in a new place and pretending to be someone he isn’t to infiltrate a group of people, pretend to be their friend just to be close enough to kill them was stressful. It felt like it was consuming his whole life, losing who he actually was in some regard, he needed a distraction, something to help give him purpose, ease his worries and the harsher edges of it all, or he’d go nuts. 

You were his outlet. 

Stalking just went along with what he did in service of the grand plan, you were not part of it, not involved, but you caught his eye in one of his classes. The first time, he was just going the same direction as you, he swears to God, he wasn’t being a creep, at first. That did not last long. He started to watch you, learn your schedule, get into your routine, and whenever he wasn’t having to continue his charade he was consumed getting lost in you. 

He knows where you live, he knows your class times, the coffee shop you frequent, your order at said shop, he knows what soap you use, the part-time job you hold and that one of your biggest pet peeves is when the tag in an item of clothing itches against your skin. 

He’s been watching you for an amount of time that he is sure if you knew would make you very fucking uncomfortable. You seemingly hadn’t caught on to what he was up to, which was good, it meant he could keep it up without worry, watching you living your life while you were totally oblivious. To be fair, how observant you are or are not, is not what he liked best about you, honestly what he liked is that you were the opposite to him in a lot of ways. No real responsibilities other than the ones you wanted to have, just living the way you want to, he felt some modicum of jealousy over that, he imagines what life could be like if he could get out of his current situation and have a more normal existence with you, it’s a good escape, but it’s just that, a fantasy, an unattainable one. 

It is getting harder and harder to ignore the situation he is stuck in, the same way it is becoming impossible to ignore the clawing feeling of dread in his chest. He wanted to stop feeling so helpless, wanted a sense of control, to feel like he was living for himself, even in a tiny sense. 

Time is running out, and he needs to correct this, or he might fuck up everything without some serious stress relief. 

Ethan learned about the Halloween party you were going to attend, and he thought maybe that would be good, to go and cut loose a little while near you. That plan changed, morphed, got away from him once he was actually there and near you in the costume you chose. 

He tried to keep distance, to just watch but between observing you having fun, the mounting pressure and the frankly bordering on painful erection in his jeans that would not stop throbbing finally a piece inside of him broke.

You had to know what you did to him. You had to know the effect you had on him, it was like you were aware you were being watched, doing this on purpose, it’s maddening. He could crush the red solo cup in his hand as he observes you dance with a friend, the way your hand rests on his arm, your head tips forward to press against his shoulder as you laugh, the sway of your hips, it should be him, why not him? He stews in his thoughts and the anger, the unfairness and the budding arousal threatening to boil over inside himself. 

He’d brought his Ghostface costume along, had it in his bag for something he needed to do later, it was like he acted on autopilot. He sneaks off, he got into the costume, and then he waits for the right moment. 

You are on your way to the bathroom, but not the main one people use, no these were your friends, and you knew about the lesser used one, he knew about it because of course, creep that Ethan was, he followed you there. When you are close enough he strikes, his hand over your mouth, his other arm loops around your middle, and he drags you the rest of the way to the bathroom. The door is already ajar, it’s no trouble to get you inside, a backwards swing of his foot to the wood makes the door close. The light is dim, there is a nightlight plugged into the wall outlet near the counter top by the mirror, so someone stumbling from the basement guest bedroom can find their way to the bathroom he assumes. 

You are struggling against him, squirming, muffled sounds trying to get out from behind his hand, but he is struck by just this. He is touching you for the first time, holding you, he draws you closer, makes it so you are flush against him. He’s thought about this countless times, you are warm and softer than anticipated, he can fucking smell you and it is intoxicating. He is so caught up in this, taking in every detail and small movement, he presses his hips forward, grinds himself on you through the layers of jeans and black fabric as he smells your hair and then what you do next? Ethan never would have thought in a million years you’d respond like this, by your eyes closing and you grinding back, pressing your ass closer to him with a sound behind his hand that might sound like a moan if he let you express it fully. 

You aren’t fighting him, not any longer, no you are rocking with him, trying to stimulate yourself in any way possible against him-

Oh.

You are better than he thought, he knew you were a slut, he’d seen you in your place, knew your porn search history and the collection of toys you owned, but to be down to fuck a masked stranger you hadn’t exchanged a single word with? You were a world-class whore, he was going to take advantage of this opportunity to the fullest. 

He knows he doesn’t need to hold you so closely, his arm releases your mid-section, his hand slides down your body and between your legs and up the short skirt of the costume you wore, fingers press to your underwear. You are already wet enough he can feel it through the thin material and his gloves. Your hips buck, wanting to get closer, feel more of him, it feeds his ego and emboldens him, you want him, and he isn’t going to deny you. 

He gets his glove off, he needs to feel you, skin on skin. His hand slides into your panties, his fingers dip as low as they can and feel the source of your extreme wetness, he presses, tease the hole carefully before his digits slide up through your folds, and he knows he finds what he needs when you gasp, head thrown back against his shoulder. 

His hand works, fingers circle over your clit, and you inhale sharply through your nose, brows furrow, and he watches you in the mirror. The way the pleasure plays out on your face as he teases you, he enjoys how your body responds, the small tremors of your limbs, the twisting and squirming of your form, the way your clit throbs under his touch as he presses harder. 

He needs to feel you inside. Fingers move, you whine, he dives inside, and he curls them, it causes the biggest reaction out of you yet. Your body pitching forward, hands on the counter and your walls clenching around his fingers. You are so soaked, soft, hot and so thoroughly alive. He can barely move them inside of you, but he does, he slips them in and out, presses to that same spot that got such a big reaction out of you, and he moans quietly, he swears he can feel you getting wetter. 

In and out, flex and push, you writhe, and he wants to hear you, he pulls his hand away, but before he does, he has one finger over your lips, that classic symbol of “shhh” and you nod, eyes half lidded and lust filled. You let out quiet moans, his palm grinds against your clit as his fingers fuck in and out, he can’t take much more. The simple movement, the motion, how hard he is rocking against your ass, he wants to be buried in you, wants to fuck you. 

So he does. 

His hand moves, fingers pulled out, and your eyes had slipped closed again, at the loss of him they open, confused and when you see him pulling the robe up you get the hint. You make your own move, shaky hands lift off the counter and your fingers hook under your skirt, you tug down your underwear and you step one foot out, leaving them hooked around your other ankle. He has the robe up and his pants open finally, the relief of pressure on his straining erection has him letting out a small sigh. His hands are on you, he adjusts you, one knee on the counter and pushing you forward, your hands braced on the sink, and you adjust too, your hips tilt and soon with a hand on your back and the other on the base of his cock he is lining up. 

It’s rushed and faster than he wants, but he just wants so much, it’s been so fucking long he can't stop it, can't help himself. He feels you, the heat coming off of you, the wetness on his tip, he lingers for only a moment before his hips move involuntarily, and then he is helpless. The first half inch pops in with no resistance, and you are perfect, you feel incredible it makes him let go of himself, hands lock on your hips, and he pushes further, slides deeper, and he watches you in the mirror. The way your mouth falls open, the exhalation, the way you tense in some regards and relax in others, but mostly he can’t focus on much else other than how your cunt feels around him as he settles in, finally to the base. 

He soaks you in for a second, you are more impatient than he, you whine again, needier than before, and you move first, pull your hips forward before sliding them back, and it makes any semblance of control break. He takes over, the grip on your hips tightens, and he pulls out almost totally before driving back in, you have to bite your lip to hold the moan back enough to not be overheard. The party is on the main floor, you are in the basement, but you are sure that he could make you alert everyone up there. 

This was insanely hot for you, a masked stranger pulling you away and touching you, groping you, fucking you without you seeing his face or uttering a single word? Unbearably hot, his fingers were good, but even two minutes in his dick puts his hands to shame. He is greedy. He touches more, he didn’t touch you enough before, his other glove comes off, and he touches your legs, your thigh, a firm squeeze of your ass, he feels up your sides and your chest. You lean closer into his touch, moving still with him, loving the pace he took as he fucked you, rough and quick, he pulls the top of your costume down, exposes your tits, palms them, and you moan louder than you probably should. 

This is good, but it could be better still, your hand is between your legs, you stroke your clit as he fucks you, the stretch of him is delicious, you find yourself gasping, arching your back a bit more so he hits that spot inside just a bit harder, a touch better. You are so close to the mirror you are in danger of fogging it up, but you want to look at him, you’d been staring at his masked face this whole time, wondering who is under it. 

You move back, press yourself closer to him and away from the mirror, and you get this urge. This urge that you don’t question or think about. Your back is to his chest, he is still preoccupied with fucking you and rolling your nipples between his fingers, perfectly distracted, huffing and letting out small sounds of pleasures, groans, you reach back behind him and the move is fast. You push the hood back, fingers grip, and you pull and twist, the mask comes off. He’s shocked.

He was so consumed with the feeling of getting to have you, with the mounting pleasure, he even had his eyes closed like an idiot, you got the drop on him. He stopped, held deep, and your eyes met in the mirror. 

He’s hot. Hotter than you thought possible, dark sweat soaked curls and hard eyes, pretty pink lips are wet and parted, he’s strong and has had no issue throwing you around and holding you down. The low orange light playing off your body and his face is going to be burned in your mind forever.

You don’t want him to stop, you want to keep going. You maintain eye contact, you move again, pull him out slightly before bucking back, he inhales hard, and you do it again, and again, slip more out and take him harder on every movement, and he comes back to himself. 

You like this, like him, you liked him as a stranger doing this, but you were still into this now made it even better. He takes over again, he fucks you harder while still meeting your eyes in the mirror. He wasn’t going to stop now until you came around him, and he filled you up.

God, he needed this. 

[ellieluvr420]

We meet again, darling pt.10 (detective Abby Anderson x criminal reader)

Synopsis: Abby Anderson is a skilled detective that's never let a criminal escape her grasp, until you. You've infiltrated every part of her life and she still can't get you. As she grows more and more intrigued by you she finds herself descending further into darkness until there's no way back. She takes your hand and follows you as if your presence is the only thing giving her life knowing that you are the most dangerous thing for her. Her life will never be hers again and she will stop at nothing to keep following you down your path of corruption.

Abby woke up alone again Monday morning, she immediately jumped out of bed panicked until she walked into the kitchen to find you standing at her coffee pot.

"Oh you're awake! Figured you'd need some of this before work." Abby breathes a sigh of relief as she takes the mug you're handing to her, she takes a sip without thinking and notices its exactly how she likes it.

"You're really fucking creepy."

"What?" You scoff.

"How do you know how I like my coffee?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

"Okay... I'm going to get ready. Thanks for the coffee." She pulls you into a hug by your waist and kisses the top of your head. As she's walking away you call her name and she turns back to you.

"I want you to start mission take over today, only the first package but it's time to start, look through it before you go to work and be as subtle as you can okay?" She nods and smiles at you. "Oh and can you keep an eye on Williams please? I listened to her phone back whoever she called and she did a good job taking back what she said about you but we still need to air on the side of caution."

"Got it."

"Okay, thank you. I need to go. Places to be, people to see. Call me on this when you're home. My numbers already in it." You place a burner phone down on the counter next to you and begin gathering your things at the door. "See you soon Abby."

"Yeah, see you soon." With that you were out of the door and she walked in her room to rip the parcel open. She put some gloves on just to be safe and opened the first package. There was a picture of a man moving drugs and weapons as well as pictures of him doing deals. There was a picture of his passport as well as pictures of him at his address with the address written on the back. There was an anonymous tip she assumed you had written with an envelope that had her precincts P.O box's address written on as well as 'Please hand this to a detective, help me'. When she read the tip she was impressed by your story. You had written as if you were a prostitute he had used and abused one too many times, you wrote that you were turning this in because he had threatened your life and you were terrified. "God you're good." She muttered to herself as she put everything in the envelope and ripped the piece of plastic off the sticky part of the envelope, noting that you didn't use a lick to seal envelope, and closed it.

Abby looked at the time and realised she needed to get a move on so she jumped in the shower only to jump back out again because the water was so hot she felt like her skin was going to melt off. She looked at the temperature dial and assumed you had showered before she woke up. "Of course you need your showers to burn your skin." She turns the shower down so the water is lukewarm and gets in for the second time. Abby had never liked hot showers, they always made her feel her sick. As she's throwing on her clothes and pulling her hair back into a ponytail she notices the small bruises over her neck accompanied by a faint bite mark. "For fuck's sake." She buttons her shirt up to the top and breathes a sigh of relief that they're all covered, she puts on a tie so the shirt doesn't look strange buttoned to the top and cringes at herself in the mirror. She's always dressed smart for work but she never wears a tie. She grabs everything she needs including the handcuffs she had used on your last night while giggling at the memory and goes to the coffee pot to fill her thermos. She tucks it into her bag and grabs her breakfast that she had meal prepped earlier in the week from the fridge and rushes out of the door.

Everything is going to plan until the elevator opens at her floor to get in and she's greeted by the elderly woman that lives above her flat. She huffs and walks in and tries to avoid any interaction with the bitter woman. The woman had never liked her since she moved in, she's old fashioned and assumed Abby was a lesbian from the way she looked. She was right but the assumption still pissed Abby off.

"You know if you're going to be engaging in sexual activities late at night, you could at least do your neighbours a favour and keep it down." Abby choked as she's caught completely off guard. She laughs and sees the woman scowl at her. "I don't know what you're laughing at, I should not be forced to listen to you and your sinning." Abby's face dropped at that comment.

"It was no later than 8pm... when we started, and do you think I enjoy hearing your awful game shows and soaps playing at full volume constantly throughout the day. Or the constant thumping of your walking stick that I swear you just use to annoy me because I've seen you walk fine." She turns and bends down to be eye level with the woman and smirks as the woman steps back. "I'm sorry that you feel like who I sleep with is a sin, but if you mention it to me again, you will see where you think I'm going all for yourself. I'll send you there and then I'll find you there too." She gives the woman a menacing smile and as she's walking out in front of the woman she laughs and says over her shoulder. "I'll tell her to be 10 times louder next time."

As she walks to work smiling about the look on her elderly neighbours face she realises you've rubbed off on her. She threatened to kill her and didn't bat an eye at it. Her stomach churns but she reassures herself that the woman deserved it for her hateful comments and pushes it to the back of her mind and besides she'd never actually do it.

Abby walks into work, trying to ignore the way her palms are sweating. She walks straight past Ellie but doesn't miss the dirty looks being thrown her way. If looks could kill she'd be a dead woman. She sits at her desk and pulls out the envelope, she focuses on being as convincing as possible as she reads the tip and flips through the pictures. She glances up at Ellie once to find she's already staring back at her and gets up to knock on her captain's office door.

"Come in."

"Morning sir, I thought you'd want to see this." She hands the envelope and its contents to him and he starts reading the note before flicking through the pictures. "I checked the P.O box on the way in, always do." That wasn't a lie she had always checked it every morning on her way to her desk. "This was in there."

"Hm, we should check this out immediately. Whoever wrote this thinks they don't have long before he finds them so let's not waste any time. Leave it with me, I'll let you know when it's time to head out."

"I'm coming?"

"Yes. Don't make me regret that."

"No sir, I won't. I promise."

"Good, I'll walk you out I need to go arrange a raid."

Abby walks out of the Captains office and he follows behind her. As she sits at her desk he nods at her and walks off with an urgency in his step. She goes back to the paperwork she didn't finish on Friday until she notices Ellie standing at her desk, scowling down at her.

"Everything okay Williams?"

Ellie bends down and lowers her voice to a whisper, a hiss really. "Don't give me that shit. Your little girlfriend paid me a visit."

"No idea what you mean." Ellie slams her hand down on the desk and Abby looks up at her face for the first time. "Don't be stupid, Ellie. You wanna go talk somewhere private? Fine. But you need to back the fuck off and stop drawing attention to us both."

"Meet me in the toilet in 2 minutes." She storms off and Abby goes back to her paperwork. She tries to be as unsuspicious as possible as she walks to the toilet 2 minutes later to find Ellie pacing. "I should report you, I should get you thrown in jail."

"Yeah you do that and then she kills everyone you love" Abby has no hint of emotion in her face, she's completely monotone.

"Do you even hear yourself? That's who you want to go into business with. I don't even think I actually believe she would do that. You have to be some next level fucked up for shit like that."

"Trust me when I say she would. Don't be an idiot, do what she says and no one gets hurt and you end up richer for it. Its a win win."

"Oh my god, you're as bad as her. You don't even care that's she a cold-blooded killer. I bet she killed Luke, right? That's why he's disappeared." Abby shrugs and Ellie grabs her stomach like she's trying not to be sick. "What the fuck has she got you doing for her?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned with. I'm done talking about this Ellie." She backs Ellie up against the wall and grabs her by the shoulder as hard as she can. "Don't fuck things up for us and you'll be fine and so will everyone you love. She keeps her word, make good on your end of the deal and she'll make good on hers." Abby practically growled the words out and then stood back and smiled at Ellie as she patted the shoulder she had squeezed and walked out without another word.

Over the next few weeks, you would tell Abby when to feed the parcels to the investigation and the Metorinni was collapsing, fast. You were right when you said they would all turn on each other so between your evidence and their confessions, the gang was dwindling. Ellie's vicious demeanour towards Abby had only worsened and Abby had only felt better and better. Her captain was commending her for her work any chance he could and that respect she had harboured from her peers was back in full force. She had seen you a lot throughout the weeks and you had shown your gratitude to her for what she was doing time and time again. She had never felt this sort of power but now she had she vowed that she would never go back.

You're sitting in Richter's living room drinking with him, celebrating the downfall of the Metorinni when Richter gets a very serious look on his face.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" You nod with a small puzzled expression on your face. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" He tilts his head at your obvious feigned ignorance.

"How did you get the cops to take them down?"

"Have you ever considered they did it all on their own?"

"Don't be like that. We don't keep secrets and I know you're keeping a big one from me right now. Whatever you've done its working but I need to know."

"Fine. I have a cop on our side. She's been feeding all of my information on them to her team, so that we can put them down and take what's theirs without too much fuss."

"How did you get a cop on our side? Blackmail or money?"

"Bit of both, kind of neither. Remember that party we had here and that woman that crashed it with a gun to my head."

"She was a cop?" You nod and sip your drink. "And she's working for us now?" And another nod. "Damn, you never cease to amaze me."

"Don't be too proud yet." His face drops. "Don't panic, its dealt with but I'm telling you so its on your radar. Another cop, woman called Ellie Williams, caught on to Abby. She's cunning, I actually think she could be a good asset. I did what I do best and made sure she stays quiet but I'm telling you in case we have to go a different way to deal with her if she gets stupid."

"Okay, so you've got two cops on our payroll now."

"I guess you could say that yeah."

"You are unbelievable." He laughs and then goes quiet. "Do you trust her? The one from the party."

"Yes. I do, she's different Johnny. She's one of us, I'm just making her realise it." You grin as you drink the last of what's in your glass and he chuckles too. "I might make her do the next kill, just to really seal the deal."

"You're evil."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before."

psa: I am SO excited to write the next two chapters. I really hope anyone who has read this far is enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. For the people that are interacting with the posts, thank you so much you guys are too cute!

[emanation-aura]

Nahida currently has (one) secret agent. Wanderer, the unknown entity, who has the insanely cool ability of being able to fly and speed around, making him an intimidating aerial combatant. Apart from his combat capabilities, Wanderer is also a totally unknown entity thanks to his trauma-induced spree into erasing himself from the Irminsul and thus can go anywhere on the pretense of being someone else.

But. There are two types of secret missions Nahida wants done. One is the "please fight the Abyss Order and make their Heralds give up information" type of "die die DIE" mission. These are the type of missions Wanderer excels at.

The other is the "wine-dine-steal-something-of-mine" types. As the Wanderer, he should theoretically be excellent at this, but factoring in temperament, it is nearly impossible to make Wanderer play nice enough to seduce/socialise/steal anything.

So... who else could Nahida hire to cover the diplomatic infiltration missions? Someone who is not actively hostile to humanity (which is a very low bar, admittedly), who can travel freely in their spare time because they don't have anything better to do, who has high enough Clearance™️ to access all the diplomatic and social places Archons would want to know about...

The first answer is the Traveler. The second answer is Alhaitham.

"Ok, look, this is utter insanity," the Wanderer says, pointing at the (no longer?) Acting Grand Sage like he's an attraction at the zoo. "I'm supposed to be sharing a job with this guy?"

"This guy has a name," Lesser Lord Kusanali smiles benevolently. "It's Alhaitham, although call him by his preferred codename on missions."

"Vulture," Alhaitham drawls unenthusiastically. Lesser Lord Kusanali grins; he may sound unenthusiastic, but his Dendro Vision thrums in her presence and aligns with her aspects: knowledge, sagacity, puzzles, analysis, praxis. (Ok, maybe it also has to do with the pay rise she's giving him.) "Who is this...?"

"Just call me the Wanderer," the Wanderer says, the same time the Lesser Lord cheerfully chirps "Hat Guy."

"Wanderer is no good," Alhaitham points out quite reasonably, "it's a job, not a title. Same with Hat Guy. How am I supposed to tell you apart from everyone else who wears hats? Pick something else."

"Justify the existence of the Traveler," the Wanderer sneers.

Lesser Lord Kusanali silently points to a corner of the office with two chairs labelled "time-out corner". Both men fall silent.

"Both of you begin tomorrow," she speaks quickly, confident both can keep up. "I will keep a running list of things I need done, hm... here." She points at the holographic display on the wall, which currently lists "purchase the mythical 'Sea Ganoderma' from Inazuma" and "arrange meetings with other Archons to discuss jurisdictional issues". (Alhaitham thinks she is trying to sound too much like an administrative, executive leader— when she is a god, who has people to do this for her— ah, fuck, this person being him, of course.)

"Hat Guy, all combat missions are yours, and if we need to use... ahem, your special identity, then I will mark it down. Alhaitham, all diplomatic missions are yours, except when marked otherwise." Lesser Lord Kusanali puts her hands to her hips and smiles. "Any questions?"

"Hat Guy..." Alhaitham says, and oh shit, she is the Lord of Wisdom and can Hear His Brain Whirring, "the hat is distinguishable, at least. That's an Inazuma kasa hat worn by vagrants, and you have a strange accent. お前は本当に態度が悪いな, Ублюдок."*

She materialises a bar of soap in Wanderer's mouth before he can respond, but his rage is palpable, and it is clear he understood what Alhaitham said. Frankly, she is too interested to intervene, wanting to see what Alhaitham deduces about Wanderer's identity.

"Likely Inazuman by origin, given his hat and accent inflection, while also understanding Snezhnayan. Very rare combination, isn't it?" Alhaitham doesn't smile, exactly, at the squirming Wanderer, but he is gloating in his own way. "The Fatui Harbingers are missing an Inazuman for their roster, actually, and we know they like recruiting a couple from each region (under his breath, confirmed placements are Fair Lady to Mondstadt, Regrator to Liyue, Doctor to Sumeru, the Marionette to Fontaine, the Captain to Natlan, with the rest unknown or native to Snezhnaya). And it is said that they've been missing a Sixth for a couple centuries, have they not?"

"So, in conclusion, this... Hat Guy is the former Sixth Harbinger that either was fired, escaped, or rebelled. You've defected to the side of the Archons by joining Lesser Lord Kusanali."

It is indeed Haravatat that sniffs him out, Nahida thinks with amazement. She removes the bar of soap from Wanderer's mouth, which causes him to unleash a litany of curses in all four languages he knows (Common, Sumerian, Inazuman, Snezhnayan, with some Seirai Dialect thrown in for fun). Perhaps out of respect for her, though, he does not attempt to immediately throttle Alhaitham. Nahida takes it as a win.

"Well, this has been a productive first meeting for you two! I look forward to working with you guys in the future."

Lesser Lord Kusanali smiles benevolently. And the rest, while not history, will eventually sort itself out.

*Japanese: roughly "You have an attitude problem", and Russian: "you little bitch". I do not speak these languages, so native speakers feel free to interject.

[Fatui Harbinger nation-of-origin ideas are not to be taken as canon]

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Part 7

The Infiltration Plan

Part 1 | Part 8 | Table of Contents | Read this on A03

Characters: female reader x Ace Word Count: 4.1k CW: None i can think of

“Hey,” Marco’s soft voice woke you from your sleep, and you groaned as you flipped away from him. Of course Marco had woken you up. Your dreams had been too good to you. Now that you were awake, your head was pounding.

Marco shook you lightly. “I think Whitey is about to head out.”

That got your attention. You sat up, awake and alert. You quickly jumped off the mattress and ran out the door without another word to him. You had to find Whitey, you had to say goodbye one more time before she was gone. 

You dashed out onto the deck, wildly darting your head from left to right. There were so many people awake at this early hour, it was hard to look past the people directly in front of you. You had forgotten what island days were like; everyone was desperate to get off the ship in search of new treasures and new company. 

You finally found Brew, and ran over to him. In your time planning for Whitey’s departure, you had forgotten that your other two close friends were leaving as well.

“Brew!” you called out as you approached him. 

Brew held out his arms, waiting for you. He wrapped you in a strong hug, and you let yourself sink into his big strong arms. 

“Hey! I was afraid I wasn’t going to see you before we left!” Brew squeezed you extra tight, and you had to tap on his arm to remind him to let you breathe. 

He finally released you, and you pulled away from him. “I’m going to miss you so…” his bewildered stare made you stop. “What?”

“Girl,” Sally interjected. “Your neck is covered in bruises.”

“Hickeys,” Brew corrected. 

It took you a few moments to process their words. And then the night came flooding back to you. The dreams you had last night hadn’t been exclusively dreams. You and Ace had made out, and probably would’ve gone further, if you hadn’t been interrupted. 

“Can we not talk about that right now?!” you squeaked, pulling the neck of your shirt up to cover the bruises. 

“Oh my god you slept with him, didn’t you?!” Brew shouted. You could see a few people pause and glance over at the three of you, and you shot daggers. 

“Brew!” you hissed. “Keep it down!”

“Who slept with who?” Epoida asked, suddenly appearing behind Sally. When her eyes landed on you and your stance, she gasped. “No way.”

“I didn’t sleep with anybody,” you said. 

“No. Way!” Epoida was getting louder as you were frantically shushing her. 

“Show me!” Epoida screamed. “Show me right now!”

“Epoida! Keep it down!” you hissed, looking around. There weren’t many familiar faces on the deck at the moment, but you didn’t want to risk it. 

“Let me see, then!” Epoida threatened. “Or I’ll make a scene.”

“Fine!” you pulled your shirt collar back now, revealing your neck. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but Epoida gasped, her eyes wide. 

“Oh my god,” Epoida breathed. “Who did that?”

“Ace. Obviously,” Sally said, watching your reaction closely. You did your best not to respond, but the smirk on her face made you think you weren’t succeeding much.

“She was making out with that one guy though,” Epoida pointed out to the group. “Ozzo?”

“Uzzo,” you corrected. 

“Aha!” Epoida shouted. “We have our culprit!”

“What?!” you demanded, extremely confused about how a simple correction of a name meant anything. 

“Was he good in bed at least?” Epoida asked.

“We didn’t make it to bed!” you hissed. Everyone’s eyes exchanged sly looks, and you groaned at their responses. “Wait, I didn’t even-what is happening?!”

Epoida, Brew, and Sally all busted into laughter, and you found yourself smiling along with them. 

“I’m really going to miss you guys,” you said, going in for a group hug. They all wrapped you in an embrace, and you did your best to hold in your tears. 

“We’ll see each other again real soon,” Brew promised. You all finally broke from your hug, and you gave him a tearful nod. 

“Now go find Whitey,” Epoida said. “She’s a mess.”

It didn’t take you long to find her. She was standing at the center of the deck, bossing people around. You stood and watched her, realizing she really was going to make a good captain. You couldn’t wait to see the reports of the things she would accomplish. 

“Oh!” Whitey cried, seeing you. She handed off her checklist to another crewmate and rushed towards you. She stopped a few feet, looking at your bruises.  

“Oh?” Whitey’s fingers brushed over your neck as she examined the marks littered across it. 

“Please don’t ask,” you groaned, rubbing at them in hopes it would go away. 

“Don’t need to.” Whitey grabbed your wrist and led you off to the girl’s bath house. “Let’s get you fixed up one more time.”

You did your best not to cry at that statement. Whitey always helped you look presentable. She had always helped you pick out outfits, pour drinks, and find new guys to flirt with. You hated being away from her for two years, and you hadn’t expected your reunion to end so suddenly. It truly was bittersweet to think about. 

You glanced at yourself in the mirror as you walked in. It hadn’t felt like it in the moment, but Ace had been rough on your skin. You ran your hand across your neck, goosebumps forming from remembering the passion that had lit inside the two of you the previous night. At that time, you hadn’t cared who would see you. But now, you wanted nothing more than to cover it up. 

You hopped onto the sink counter as Whitey pulled out her makeup bag, searching for the right shade of concealer and foundation. You sat in silence, watching her find the perfect match for your skin. 

“Aha!” she cried, holding it against the light. “Okay, look up.”

You did as you were instructed, and she dabbed concealer onto the most obvious parts and began blending it in. 

“What am I going to do without you?” you said, trying to keep the sadness out of your voice. 

“You’ll manage,” Whitey said. “You always do.”

It was silent for a while, both of you just enjoying the other’s company. A few other females came and went during the process, everyone looking exhausted from last night’s party. Whenever someone came in, Whitey smoothly switched to applying makeup to your face so you wouldn’t get too many odd looks. You exchanged friendly conversation while they were in, but nobody stuck around too long to chat. 

When you were alone again, she switched to the foundation and continued blending the colors to erase the hickies that were blotted across your neck. 

“Ace apologized to me last night.”

“For what?” you asked. You had tried not to sound too interested, but Whitey smiled at your interest. 

“Said he knew how it felt to be me now and wanted to apologize for being a real dick through the whole thing.”

“I see,” you said cautiously. Your breath was caught in your throat, unsure what else to say. 

Whitey gave you a mischievous smile. “Wonder who he meant.”

“Dunno,” you choked out. It was all you could do to pretend you weren’t affected by her words. 

“He shouldn’t have apologized though. Looking back on it. I was the real asshole.” Whitey went back to dabbing at your neck. “Did you know I tried to get him demoted for sleeping with subordinates? Went to Pops and everything.”

“What?” Ace definitely hadn’t told you that part of the story. 

Whitey nodded, her cheeks beginning to pink with embarrassment. “I was awful. In my mind, he made my life hell, so I had to ruin his too. Tensions were really high for a few months. It was all so childish, looking back on it now.”

“And you forgave him because of an apology at a goodbye party?” you asked, looking at her. “Last week you were so upset at the mention of his name.”

Whitey scowled at your sudden movement. “Look up-” You obeyed her, and she continued her work. “Anyway, we had a good heart-to-heart last night. We both did bad things. But maybe he’s not so bad now.”

You gave a dry laugh. “Well alright then.”

“All done,” Whitey said as she capped her foundation. She held the concealer and foundation out to you. “For next time.”

“Whitey-”

“I’m not going to use it. I kept it around for you, so take it.”

Your eyes welled with tears, and you wrapped her in a tight hug. “I love you so much, Whitey. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Hey now.” Whitey’s voice was gentle and soft as she spoke. “I’m still going to be here. Just a transponder call away, okay? Now stop smothering me, you’re going to wipe off all my hard work.”

You finally released her, and the two of you walked up to the deck together. 

“Time to go?” you asked. 

“You’ll have to come see the ship sometime, okay?” 

You nodded, wiping another stray tear from your eye. Whitey gave you one last nice, long squeeze. 

“Be careful with that boy, okay? He may act carefree and wild, but behind that wall, he’s got a sensitive soul.”

You nodded a quiet acknowledgment of her words and pulled away from her. “Take care of yourself, Whitey. Call me when you make it to Fishman.”

“I’m calling you before I make it Fishman!”

“Deal.”

“Oh!” Whitey cried. She dug around in her pocket and pulled out a paper. Then she ripped off a piece and handed it off to you. “Now you’ll never lose me.”

You clutched her vivre card tightly to your chest and did your best to smile through the tears. “Bye, Whitey.”

As you watched her leave, you remembered your own departure, two years ago. You wondered if this was how Whitey felt then, when you had gone off on your own journey without her. Had she been this sad? Had she wondered who she would eat meals with, or who she would get ready for parties with? You never even thought to ask her. Now it was too late. 

“Hey.” Your commander’s cool voice broke through your thoughts, and you jumped slightly at how close he was. 

“Ace.” Your smile grew when you realized it was him. 

“Can we talk about last night?” he asked.

“Yes!” You giggled lightly. “I mean honestly, Ace, if you had just-”

“Last night was just a casual kiss for you, right?” he interrupted. His voice was calm, with a slight touch of panic in it. 

You stopped mid-sentence and stared at him. You felt a pit forming in your stomach, but you pushed it away. 

“What?” you asked. He was looking out on the island, ignoring your sharp gaze. 

“Was that kiss just some drunken makeout session for you?”

You wanted to be honest. You wanted to tell him that his lips had shaken your world, causing tidal waves to engulf your heart. You wanted to tell him that you dreamt of him and what could’ve been if Marco hadn’t found the two of you. 

“Yeah, totally.” You gave a nervous laugh. “That’s what it was for you too, right?”

Ace let out a sigh of relief. “Good. It was just some drunken kiss with no meaning. It was just to make up for-”

“Embarrassing me in front of all our friends and colleagues?” you finished, raising your eyebrow at him. 

Ace finally looked at you and offered a nervous smile. “Right. That. I’m still sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” you said. Now that you had his attention, you gave him a playful wink. “You know how to make it up to me now.”

Ace quickly looked away from you, and you giggled at the blush forming on his cheeks. Cat and mouse. Chasing each other around and around. He had told you it was his favorite game, and you were beginning to see why. 

Whitey must’ve misinterpreted whatever Ace had said to her last night. It was clear that Ace was still the same Ace you had heard so much about. The one who had a reputation for being a ship-wide flirt. It was the reason Marco had pulled you away, you knew that now. He didn’t want you heartbroken and alone. 

But that was fine. You could keep your tiny crush on Portgas D. Ace tucked away, and it would fizzle into nothing after a while. If Ace wanted a simple fling, you were more than okay with that. You would take whatever you could get. 

“You’re up early,” Marco commented, looking at Ace. “I was banging on your door for 10 minutes.”

“Just wanted to see the captains off,” Ace said, his stiff and awkward tenseness returning. “I wasn’t-”

“Don’t care. Emergency meeting for division leaders and strategists,” Marco said, looking at you. “We need to go now.”

You and Ace were some of the first people to arrive, which was definitely a change for the second division. After a few minutes, only about half of the leaders and strategists were there, but Namur spoke up. 

“I’m assuming the rest of the commanders are working on the departure ships, Pops.”

“Yes,” your father hummed. “Let’s get started.”

“Of course,” Namur said. “There's been an issue with our intel. My men have heard that the Navy is planning to adjust their schematics for Port Logel, but those schematics are being kept under heavy guard. Our only chance to access them is tonight.”

You had been so busy planning a party and saying goodbye to your friends, you had forgotten about your work. There was a mission in a few days. One that you were in charge of the strategy for. 

“So what’s the problem?” you asked. “We’ll still be on the island tonight, right?”

“The problem,” Namur said irritably. “Is that the plans are heavily guarded. Division Eight does recon, not infiltration.”

“So we get another division to go,” you offered. 

“It’s not that simple,” Thatch said. “We have very few people who can successfully operate any kind of infiltration mission. But this level is another ballgame.” 

Everyone looked at you, waiting for you to take the bait. 

“Fine!” you huffed. “What’s the infiltration mission?”

Namur looked around the table. “The plans are only accessible tonight, at the Almus Shores Navy-Maritime Ball.”

You raised your eyebrows. “A ball?”

Namur nodded. “Sengoku will be making an appearance, as well as several high-ranking admirals. Which means half of this table can’t attend. They know our faces too well.”

You scoffed. “That’s highly unlikely.”

“Are you willing to risk them recognizing Marco? What about Curiel or Fossa?” Atmos asked. “There's so few of us that would even fit in at a formal occasion. It’s not worth the risk.”

You looked around and realized Atmos was right. Almost everyone at the table had a bounty of at least half a million berries. They would be well known by the Navy. And most of them didn’t exactly…blend in.

“We need those schematics,” Namur said. “There has to be someone we trust that can go.”

“I’ll go,” you said, looking around. “The Navy still thinks I’m dead, right? I heard that rumor while I was in Wano.”

Ace shot you a look. “Wait, you were in Wano?” he muttered. He said the place as if he had an attachment to it. 

You were about to respond when Whitebeard cleared his throat. “Y/N,” he said. “I should remind you that your two-year gap is not public knowledge.”

You gave a nervous smile. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’ll go too,” Ace offered. “My bounty is only 120,000 berries, and the Navy hasn’t discovered that I’m the second division commander yet.”

Whitebeard frowned. “I’m nervous about you going, Ace. Truthfully, you could be the easiest one to give us away.”

“I’ll clean up!” Ace said desperately.

Your father chuckled. “I’m not sure if that will do it.”

“So let’s bleach his hair and clean him up,” you offered. “We need a B-Team though. Just in case we get caught.”

“We won’t get caught,” Ace said, his words teetering on the edge of cockiness. 

“You’re right,” you agreed. “But we should still have a Team B.”

“Mihal and Kala,” Ace said confidently. “They can keep a low profile.”

You didn’t recognize their names. “Are they a part of the second division?”

Ace nodded. “They were a part of my crew before we joined Pops. We can trust them.”

You nodded. “The four of us should be enough. We’ll go in as pairs. If Ace and I fail, we’ll change tactics to create a diversion while Mihal and Kala grab the intel.”

“Very well,” your father said. “Thatch, go inform Mahal and Kala of their assignment. Y/N, go get fitted for a dress. Ace, I need to speak with you.”

Ace looked nervous, but he hung back while everyone was dismissed. You shot him a thumbs up before Marco shoved you out of the room.

“You’re only making it worse,” Marco muttered. “Let’s go.”

“Making what worse?” you asked, shooting a glance back at the meeting room Ace was now alone in. 

“There’s a policy,” Marco said. “With Commanders and Strategists. You should know this.”

“Know what?” You were starting to get irritated by the secrecy. 

“A disclosure policy,” Marco hissed. “With Pops himself.”

Your heart dropped. “Marco. What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t see shit, so I didn’t say shit,” Marco muttered. “But someone did. Ace can sleep with whoever he wants unless it's another commander or strategist. Then he has to tell Pops about it.”

“But we didn’t do anything,” you argued.

Marco stopped in his tracks and laughed at you. It was clear he thought you were lying.  “Really?” 

His sureness made you second guess yourself. You ran over the past few weeks in your head. “Besides last night, no.”

Marco’s eye twitched. “And the night you stayed in his room? What were you doing then? Just cuddling?” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Well…yeah.”

“Bullshit,” Marco laughed. “Don’t lie to me. You know how pissed off that makes me.”

“Marco, I’m not lying! I swear!”

His eyes narrowed at your words and the desperation in your voice, and he examined your face for a long while. 

“Don’t believe me if you don’t want to,” you spat. Your skin was starting to sizzle with your emotions. “I’m going to find a dress.”

“Don’t burn them!” Marco yelled after you, and you slammed the door to the fitting room in response.

You had wished Whitey were here. You all always got dressed up together. Now you tried on dresses alone and walked out to show Marco, who you were still partially angry at. 

Most of them hadn't even been worth showing. A pink dress that was too pale, a mint green gown that made you look too boxy, a purple dress that was covered in hideous rhinestones. Whitey would’ve been able to find the perfect dress for you in one or two rounds. She knew what flattered you better than anyone. 

You were about to give up and just pick one at random when a royal blue gown caught your eye. You would have to wear a corset, but the bottom was loose enough for you to run in it if things got bad. It was satin, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it getting caught on anything if you needed to make an escape through the woods. The only bad thing about it was the few gemstones scattered across the top. It would be easy to see if you weren’t hiding properly. Nevertheless, it seemed like the best option, so you slipped it on and spun around a few times in the mirror. 

You felt like royalty in it. You put on white gloves and emerged from your dressing room to get Marco’s opinion. 

“Practical and gorgeous,” Marco complimented. “Well done. I’m glad at least one of you gets it.”

You looked at him confused. “One of us..?”

Ace emerged from the other dressing room with a Navy Captain’s outfit on. Your heartbeat quickened at his arrival in his new outfit. You were slightly disappointed that he was wearing a shirt, but he looked good in his Navy outfit. 

“I want to be an admiral!” Ace argued. He was pulling at the collar, clearly uncomfortable in his attire.

Marco smacked him upside the head. “Admirals are too well known, idiot! Captain is the best way to blend in.”

“But Captains are lame!” Ace whined.

“This isn’t about being cool!”

“The Navy suits you, Ace.” Your eyes scanned his body. “You should consider a career change.”

Ace seemed to only now realize that you were in the room, and his mouth dropped open as he looked at you. 

He stared at you for a long time, and you started to feel self-conscious about your dress decision. Perhaps you had been too confident in your appearance. 

Marco finally nudged his fellow commander, and Ace blinked a few times as he came back to reality. 

“You look…” Words seemed to fail him. “Great. Amazing. Beautiful.”

You blushed at his words. “Thanks.”

Marco rolled his eyes and blocked the two of you from staring at each other any longer. “I’ll pick out jewelry for you and dye Ace’s hair. You need to go talk to Pops.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Pops?”

Ace’s eyes darted down and stayed glued to the floor, and Marco nodded. 

“Keep Ace’s dye a soft blonde,” you commented, trying your best to act natural as you turned to go change. “Don’t dye his hair an ugly yellow like yours.”

“Don’t lie!” Marco called after you. You didn’t acknowledge him. You just kept walking, trying to keep your breathing even. 

You changed out of your dress and back into your regular clothes and walked the long journey to your father’s office. As you stood outside the door, you realized how small you were. You really weren’t much different than when you had been three years old, running around the ship and struggling to reach the door knocker on this massive door. 

“Come in,” your father called. You reached out for the handle. With a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped inside. 

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, looking at him. 

“How do you feel about the mission tonight?” he asked. 

You nodded. “It’s rushed. I haven’t had much time to prepare anything, but I believe me and Ace are both excellent at thinking on our feet. We’ll find the opportunity to look at the schematics.”

Your father hummed, thinking about your words. “You and Ace…do you have anything to tell me about that?”

“Are you asking as my captain or my father?”

A vein popped out on your father’s head, but his voice remained even. “They are one and the same on this ship. For everyone. Let me remind you: you do not have special privileges because of your birthright.”

You wondered if his words were supposed to be offensive. You felt no malice behind them, so you let it go. 

You chose your next question carefully. You weren’t about to tell him everything if it wasn’t needed. “Is there anything I’m obligated to tell you as a strategist?”

“Not as a strategist,” Whitebeard pulled out a paper. “But your division commander does have to report sexual or romantic relationships and any overnight stays with any commanders or strategists.”

So technically you wouldn’t have to report anything, which was a relief to know. Only Ace would, which made it a bit more uncomfortable standing in front of your father knowing that. Ace wasn’t a liar, he would’ve told your father anything he needed to know. 

You chose your next words carefully. “Then you know that while me and Ace may have had a small intimate moment, it ultimately means nothing. I can still strategize logically and effectively with him by my side.”

Whitebeard hummed, processing your words. “And you’re sure you can strategize without biases if something were to happen?”

“Of course I can. Are you doubting my capabilities?”

He snorted. “No need to be a little shit about it. Go get ready, you’re dismissed.”

You tried not to let the conversation get to you, but as you walked down the hallway to the bathhouse, it was more and more unnerving. Had Ace said something to your father to make him doubt you? Was he anticipating you screwing up this mission because of Ace? 

You had to push that all from your mind now and focus on forming a solid strategy. You could ask Ace about it all later. You had a ball to crash.

--

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[youcalledsworld]

The church of Phantom

S.H.I.E.L.D had been investigating a cult that's been around for thousands of years called the followers of Phantom. From what S.H.I.E.L.D has learned the group follows a deity known as Phantom. From the text they've read, Phantom seemed to be a benevolent god helping wherever they could even laying the ground work for numerous civilisations to grow and prosper, helping humanity make discoveries that helped push technology advancement.

With all of this no wonder Phantom had a huge following, Natasha even heard that some S.H.IE.L.D. agents talk about converting. Not that she'd blame them a benevolent god that helps and asks for nothing in return and also urges their followers to help others regardless of whether they follow Phantom or not.

It just seems too good to be true. So Fury sent her to infiltrate the church in hopes of gathering information. What she learned was really surprising, normally churches would have followers act a certain way to conform to the way churches wanted to be seen. But not this church, she's met so many people whose personalities should have them fighting and hating each other's. They ranged from shy and meek to loud and asshole ish. But they all follow Phantoms teaching.

So when she heard that Phantom needed a vessel to interact with the material world she was suspicious. The upper echelon had been looking for the perfect vessel to sacrifice to Phantom and when she heard they already found one and sacrificed him to Phantom she called in S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers.

She knew when she was in over her head and dealing with a god as seemingly powerful as Phantom was definitely over her head. Everyone knew the severity of the mission. They needed to not only capture the followers but somehow stop Phantom from destroying everything by either fighting or escaping.

So they quietly took out all the followers and made their way to the room Phantom was in. She had Tony scan the area for anymore followers and he found some in the room with. Thor took the lead with Captain America behind him and barged into the room. Only to find a boy with black hair and blue eyes around 14 - 15 reclined in his chair being fed by girls the same age of older fawning over him.

He looked over to them and started to blush.

"Hi I'm Danny," The boy nervously introduced himself.

[thiccowlladylife]

So, I lied about soon. Sorry!

Anyways thoughts on Unhappy Campers...

Good:

Nurse at the beginning being a decent plus-sized design and not taking Blitzø's shit? Chef's kiss (She looks like a Rebecca. I'mma call her Rebecca from now on)

Little aquatic sinner dude design is cool. Plus, he seems chill!

What's this??? Millie finally gets some character development? Holy shit!

Barbie Wire debut! And she still hates Blitzø by the end of the episode, justifiably so!

No real Loona scenes and/or Stolas.

Bad:

Why is that sinner dude in hell? What did this guy do to end up in hell? Unless the whole shtick is that heaven is way too strict that almost no one gets in (and that's why hell as an overpopulation problem in HH, which leads to a whole other issue I'm not gonna start on here)

Also, I don't think the sinner dude specified he wanted his killer killed? He just wanted to know who did it? So why is Moxxie/Millie so determined to kill him? (Also, we never see the prices that IMP sets for their hits)

The entire premise of the camp guise. Why is Moxxie so petty about doing this whole routine when he's always been the efficient one before? (Although, I'm certain the only reason they "solved" the identity of the killer immediately instead of making the whole episode a who-dunnit has to deal with my next point...)

Speaking of the guise, the hired assassins doing drag to infiltrate a kid/preteen camp and harassing the campers the entire episode (with really gross sexual undertones the entire time)... really underscores bad stereotypes and paranoia bigots espouse about drag performers and trans people, too, to a lesser extent. They only barely saved their asses by making it obvious early on that the target wasn't a camper so they wouldn't have the implication that these "drag performers" were possibly going to kill a child on top of grossly harassing them for a week.

And... Barbie is a p*d*philic groomer... god dammit (bUt hE'S nINEteEn... then make it obvious in the actual episode dipshits and don't cover your asses in a twitter post viewers might never see)!

And... Vivzie is really leaning into incest jokes now... god fucking dammit... Combining it with drag too... Fan-fucking-tastic!

Also, RIP Millie's character development. Completely destroyed as soon as it was built up in the slightest.

All that's left is Fizzarolli/Asmodeus and Mammon episodes... then I think I'm tapping out. I can't deal with this series anymore...

And I swear the Fizzarolli/Asmodeus episode review is coming soon... for real this time!

[beatrizonfilm]

living in the smallest town

I think they're going to destroy my favorite apocalyptic building in the city, it's like how I see the future. I'm not scared at all to see vegetation, nature finding a way to infiltrate the world we've created; in fact, it gives me peace to know that when we're all gone, it will find a way to stay here, in the buildings, swings, all forms of human construction. So, this building brings me an inexplicable peace; I'll miss it.

In the morning, the city is charming, people smiling while sweeping the sidewalks with the loudest bird noise I've ever heard in my life. Everyone says good morning as if they were family, the humble houses with details that only make sense to the locals. You find all kinds of gossip in the squares, just don't make the mistake of believing it; take it lightly like idle chatter. In these squares, there are also elders (at least 20) every day playing cards, and I have no idea how to play that but I'd like to stop and learn. Now there's a square for kids; if you arrive in the late afternoon, you'll see laughter, tears, laughter, and more tears, then laughter again.

The trees in the square have grown back; my mom missed them, and I'm grateful too to sit here and breathe and smell the scents that only here has, to see the leaves falling so slowly that if you look too much, it seems like time stops. She tells me that when she was a teenager, this square used to fill with people from all over to dance, I can't imagine it, but it's comforting to know that it was like that once.

I've never met people with so much faith like here; they really believe, and one day, I hope to be like that. I went to church, but like when I was a child, I didn't know what to pray 'dear God, no wait, Father, is this right...? Somehow, you must know what's in my heart, so just let me cry.'

Now I'm going for a walk; on the way, maybe I'll meet my godmother, and she'll give me a hug and tell me how she's doing health-wise, and I like to hear her talk. She has a pure heart; she can't even see me grow, but I feel like she loves me. I was right; I was home, and it welcomed me with all the love and affection, for her, everything is family; she welcomed me with cake and coffee, my two favorite things, so I asked her to tell me about the love of her life, and they make me believe; they seem like they were made for each other, they call each other 'my dear', she kissed him for the first time (on the first date), she said he was 'terrible,' according to her, and jealous. At the end of our long conversation, she hugged me and said she loved me.

(that was my morning)