#corrections and more intel are appreciated!

[jinhogae]

idk if it’s interesting for anyone but the reason the hybe sm deal goes through with little economical fanfare is bc the fair trade laws surrounding big conglomerates like this are fairly weak sauce and what hybe (and kakao if they would have gotten the deal) is doing is basically just. buying off the market 101 in a chaebol-enforced economical makeup to keep kakao from creating their own bigger monopoly over the tech and entertainment sector. hybe is not yet in the process of aggressively and actively creating a monopoly, but they are creating an environment in the kpop industry that makes them the sole provider of artists / artistic labour etc. hybe buying into yg’s subsidiary shares and now making the deal with sm on behalf of lsm doesn’t make them seem like they’re forming an actual hostile monopoly bc they are moving through subsidiaries and ‘only’ acquiring shares in these companies through mutual agreement (lol) rather than downright buying them off. though we all know that is their end goal, especially when it comes to being the sole provider of kpop globally. sm basically handed the board to hybe while chris lee wanted kakao to have it. you pick your poison i guess … but it will still be poison.

[live-love-be-unique]

Crossing All The Lines

Summary: Callsign: Tink. Brought into the taskforce as a hacker/ intel specialist, you butt heads with your captain.

#47. Reader is a hacker or intel specialist for @glitterypirateduck O,Captain! challenge

Also, inspiration for a chubby reader and the death of a certain Austrian from @391780, Early I hope I did you proud.

Parings: Price x chubby f reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, female reader, smut with some plot, oral (f!receiving), vaginal sex 18+ Minors DNI

“It’s your eye in the sky, so to speak” you said, holding the small drone you had been tinkering with before he had walked into your office. You animatedly showed off the newest toy you had been tinkering with, pointing out the features you had added “it has the capability to record and store six hours of audio and video. I’m working on the signal range to extend…”

Price reached over the desk and turned off the screaming you called music that was blasting through your computer speakers “I’m not taking some flying toy into a war zone” he said with finality. Laswell’s recommendation be damned, he didn’t need some little dolly bird tottering around the base in ridiculous shoes telling him how to run his taskforce.

“Oh ok, so will you be letting Gaz know you’re planning on pitching him out the side of a helicopter again to run surveillance or am I?” you say, casting him a smirk over your shoulder as you place the drone on the shelf behind you. Price groaned and rolled his eyes away from you.

You were the newest addition to the taskforce, at Laswell’s insistence, she claimed you were the best intel operative she had encountered in years. She had pulled a few strings and called in some favours with the higher ups that Price could only fantasize about knowing to get you after you had saved their arses with some quite impressive hacking skills.

To say you weren’t what Price had been expecting was a massive understatement. The day you were introduced to the team, you were all bright colours and sparkles in a sea of soldiers. Hardly military issue, as you arrived on base, you had poured your soft, rounded curves into that dress. A wiggle-dress his mother used to call them, and ridiculously high heels. The sight of you made his mouth water and his hands itched to feel your soft skin and overflowing curves. Soap and Gaz took to you instantly, bestowing you with the callsign Tink because of your love for tinkering with random projects or Tinkerbell according to Soap, Ghost took a little longer but your preference for a proper cup of tea and non-judgmental attitude towards his unwillingness to show his face quietly won him over.

The only one you hadn’t bonded with was Price. You butted heads and frustrated each other. Trading snide comments and jabs. Price did appreciate the fact that you kept a jar of sweets on your desk that you made an effort to keep stocked with his and the lads favorite treats and he had to admit that, Laswell was correct, your hacking skills were second to none.

Price watched as you spent the first three weeks of your time on base bringing in new trinkets for your small office. Candles, figurines and a small cactus that Soap didn’t notice until he sat on one day. You admonished him for weeks until he brought you in another, non-spiky one. “I’m sorry, Tinkerbell, forgive me?” he’d pouted, holding out the small succulent towards you. Your office was an explosion of colour like you, and there was always music playing, you’d even created a playlist with Soap and Gaz.

But…on more than one occasion not that he would admit it, Price found himself in his office late at night surrounded by the cloying scent of artificial strawberries from the candles you preferred to decorate your office with that seemed to follow you around, with his hand furiously fisting his cock. Your bratiness was like catnip to him. Every cheeky little sass you threw his way made him harder than ever.

You yourself, never thought you would be one to enjoy it when a man yelled at you but with Price’s gravely, low voice and the sheer broadness of him…damn...you couldn’t count the nights you spent with the absolutely non military issue neon pink vibrator between your legs imagining it was Price instead, his booming voice echoing in your ears as you came. Your embarrassing crush on the captain had stopped you from dating, all bar a handful of dates with that very tall Austrian colonel from Kortac, you thought he had ghosted you after your dates but came to find out that he had died from ingesting strychnine poison in a Romanian brothel after sleeping with a married woman.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your voice pulled Price back to the present.

“There’s nothing to hear, we’re not taking that thing” he pointed towards the shelf.

“It’s already been cleared. You just have to control everything don’t you?”

“I’m the captain for a reason” he muttered, stubbornly.

You scoffed “god, I bet you couldn’t last one day without controlling everything”

Price leaned forward, open palms resting on the desk in front of him, staring down at you “try me”

“What?”

“You heard me…try me, doll”

You can’t tell who made the first move as your hair was wrapped tightly in Price’s hands as he pulled you against his lips in a heated kiss. He groans deeply as your teeth nip sharply at his bottom lip.

“That dress looks divine on you” he smirks, pulling away from your lips breathing heavily.

“Thank you-”

“How easy is it to take off?”

You smirked, turning your back towards Price, moving your hair over your shoulder and glancing over your shoulder at him.

Price licked his lips as his hands slid slowly from your waist up your back. His hands made quick work of the zipper as he slid the dress down over your shoulders, placing a gentle almost loving kiss between your shoulder blades.

You turned to face him as you dropped your dress to the floor. You felt exposed as Price’s eyes raked over your near naked form.

Price couldn’t take his eyes away from you. The lacy navy coloured lingerie hugged your soft, rounded curves perfectly. Your eyes locked with his as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

“Tell me you want this” his eyes bore into yours as his hands toyed with the waistband of your underwear “tell me you want me”

“Price…”

“John, call me John…please” he whimpered.

“Please, John”

“Fuck” he uttered as he dragged the lace over your hips and down your legs. You shuddered as the cool air met your soaking core.

He pushes your legs apart, pressing little kisses on your inner thighs, before nuzzling his cheek against you, breathing in your scent as he lifted one of your legs to rest on his shoulder.

He looks up at you, eyes blown out with desire. Before you had a chance to think of a witty retort, he dives in, tongue sliding through your folds. You fall back against the desk with a soft groan as your hands find his hair, gripping tight as he laps at you like a man starved. “Fuck,” he moans against you. “You taste so fucking good.” He spreads you apart, adding a finger into the mix, he thrusts it in and out of your eager hole as his tongue laps at you. You moan softly, hand still tangled in his hair as you arched your back, body chasing his tongue against your heated skin.

“Stop wriggling” he gritted out, his voice strained as his calloused hands gripped the plush of your thighs.

“Make me”

Price chuckled as he grabbed your waist and lifted you, you squealed and wrapped your legs around his hips as he sat you on your desk “just once, will you do as you're told?” His hands on either side of your hips, holding you firmly against him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You smirked, locking your ankles behind his back and pulling him closer.

Price grunts, gripping your thighs against his waist as he leans forward and leaves wet, sloppy kisses along your shoulders and up the column of your neck. His teeth nip and bite at the delicate skin, marking you, claiming you as his own.

“You have no idea how much I want you”

“Oh I think I get the idea” your smirk as his lips continued their path towards your chest. You ground against him and chuckled as you felt the rumble of a moan in his chest.

“I want to ruin you”

“Please…do it”

That was all the encouragement he needed as he hurried to undo his belt and shove his pants to his ankles.

“Your hand feels so much better than my own” he rasped as you wrapped your hands around him, lining his cock up with your pussy. You moaned against each other's lips as he sinks into you. The stretch to accommodate him is nothing short of delicious. Your grind against him as he bottoms out.

Your eyes meet as he pulls out of you before snapping his hips back against you, filling you so completely that it steals the air from your lungs.

Your hands grip anywhere you can as Price rolls his hips up into you, the way you squeeze him spurs him on as you writhe and keen underneath him. Your nails leave crescent shapes in the skin of his back as he looms over you, his arms caging you against his broad chest.

Price couldn’t stop himself, he kissed at the skin of your bare shoulder, bared his teeth and bit, hard, you yelped. Oh shit, he thought, have I gone too far?

He stopped and looked into your eyes, searching for any type of distress.

“More” you purred. You’d be the fucking death of him.

He smirks as he can feel your body tightening around him, you’re getting closer and he isn’t far behind as he slams into you with one final snap of his hips. His lips find yours as you moan into his mouth, tongue and lips clashing together as you come.

Your door swung open “about time” Ghost muttered as he closed the door again.

“So…that was…” Price stumbled out as he pulled out of you, picking up your dress that laid crumpled on the floor. He gently pulled it over your spent body. Resisting the urge to drop kisses to any sliver of skin he could see.

“Great, it was great” you smile, pausing slightly before standing up on your toes to place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head, chasing your lips as you shared a soft kiss.

“Yeah, it was great” he smiled, suddenly bashful.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, manipulation, broken promises, final straws.

Word Count: 407

Previously On...: Sam reveals his suspicious that Rhodey's injury might not have been the result of bad intel; Bucky promises to take you Upstate to make up for the celebratory dinner that you feel Carthage ruined. But what are his promises really worth anymore.

A/N: I am sorry for this entire chapter.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @sashaisready @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @doublejeon @pattiemac1

Unfortunately, the weekend away didn’t materialize. Bucky got a call in the early hours of the morning— Jade was in the med bay with a panic attack and was asking for him. 

“Bucky,” you begged, literally begged. “Please, don’t go.”

He sighed as he pulled on a pair of sweats. “I’ve got to, baby. She’s got no one else, and she feels like the whole Tower’s against her right now.” Well, that was because the whole Tower was against her, and if Sam was correct in his theory, rightly so. What did he expect?

“If you go,” you said, sitting up and holding the sheets to your bare chest, “I bet you every dollar in my swear jar that she’s just fine when you get there, but the second you try to leave, the ‘panic attack’ will start right up again.” Bucky frowned at you as he pulled a tee shirt over his head.

“Pocket,” he began, but you started talking over him.

“We’re supposed to leave in a few hours. I’m telling you right now that she’s going to suck up your entire day, and this make up celebration you promised me, to make up for her ruining my celebration dinner, mind you, isn’t going to happen.”

“I just can’t, in good conscience, leave her to suffer by herself, Pocket,” he said, and you could see the struggle on his face, hear the conflict in his voice. “You asked me to think of Steve in situations like this, and I’d want you to be there for him if he really needed you.”

“But she doesn’t need you, Bucky,” you said, voice now raised. “It’s a manipulation tactic, and you’re falling for it!”

“Forgive me for wanting to believe people are better than that.” Bucky reached the door, twisting the handle open. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and we’ll head Upstate. I promise.”

“Every time you walk out that door for her,” you said, your voice sad, “you’re increasing the chances that one day, it’ll be locked to you when you come back.”

“Are you… threatening to break up with me for offering support to a friend?” he asked warily.

“No, Bucky,” you said as you rolled over, turning away from him. “I’m warning you of what’s going to happen if you keep putting her first.”

You heard him sigh, and the door closed. You didn’t need to turn around to know that he’d left.

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

[lvlyghost]

I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS SO MUCH 😩❤️😍 the way you characterize ghost is so good I can't 😭❤️ I wanted to ask if you could maybe write something for me since your writing style is sooo good frfr

How about ghost and reader have an argument that was started by ghost and he goes a bit too far breaking the reader and making them cry and be just a shell of themselves how would he feel when he sees the readers state and how would he fix it with a happy end please

Broken Wings

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: After a night out, things seem to take a turn in your relationship with Ghost.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tw: angst, hurt/comfort, self doubt, jealousy, probably ooc!simon, curse words. lots of grammar mistakes, poorly edited you know the drill🐝

A/N: i loved this request sooo much, though i did have a lot of trouble when writing it since i wasn't feeling too inspired. also had two different stories but ended up deciding to post this one i might post the other one idk, hope you like this anon! I did try my best🫶🏻🤍🩷✨corrections are appreciated; remember english isn't my native language 🐸

Masterlist✨

"I like you." You said with big bright eyes.

"But no one can know about this. Just you and I. That's enough." He answered, hand tracing the side of your face.

You blink rapidly. You have always been daydreamer. It caused you tons of problems although you tried to do your best when you were out on missions. Ghost is walking ahead of you, boots sinking in the sand beneath your feet. The waves crashing on the shore is something you like listening to and seeing too but under different circumstances. Both of your gear clink with every step you take, it's the only sound as well as the sea that swallows the tense silence that falls between the two.

Things have been rather... strange since two days ago and you've tried to talk to him about it. It wasn't weird for Ghost to push you back every now and then, he was a complicated person and you couldn't be more different from one another.

You were the sun and he was the darkness that came at night or so he had said one night at the common room back at the compound. He was stoic, grumpy and hardly found himself enjoying somebody's company. You on the other hand, even though you wouldn't consider yourself the most outgoing person like Johnny, still you liked talking unlike him. You loved going out with the task force. And most importantly you loved when Ghost joined because you loved him, you loved having him around, despite his gruff responses or annoyed looks.

You jog though your legs shake and tiredness sets in your body.

"How much farther until we get there?" You ask, ignoring the fact that his frame goes rigid when you speak . He doesn't acknowledge you at first. All you hear is a small sigh leaving his lips. You kind of wish he wasn't wearing the damn sunglasses so you could see his eyes.

They always said a lot.

"Thirty minutes. Give or take." The answer is short and cold, breaking your heart a little more than before. Still, you decide to try again.

"Sir, is something bothering you?" Before he can stop it he scoffs, shaking his head. "What?" Brows furrowing on your features. "Simon..."

He stops all of the sudden, turning to face you with a tense stance.

"First of all don't bloody use my name out here. Secondly it's your own fault we've been walking for hours. So don't go asking if something's bothering me, Sergeant."

Taking a step back you open your mouth.

"My fault? I was doing my job!"

"Didn't know your job was to get your fucking head blown off!!" He seethes. "Fucking hell you can't be this reckless and expect me to clap at your poor acting on the field." Your heart begins to race, he had never said such things to you. Taking a small step back your grit your teeth, you hated that his words were making your eyes blurry. This was the Simon you never wanted to see. And yet there he was. "Now we lost the damn intel thanks to you." He spits. But something isn't adding up.

"It's not just that. You've been acting strange for a few days now, Ghost. Don't come and tell me it's just because I did what I was supposed to do!" He stiffs yet again. Jaw clenching so hard you fear he might break it. "Not missing the way you avoid me ever since..." you close your mouth shut. "The pub..." he shifts his weight from one foot to another. The waves are increasing and now reach your feet, dampening your boots. And then you remember him storming off the local pub before he even finished his own drink. Everyone had heard the hard slap to John's arm when he had tried to calm him down. God why didn't you pay more attention to that moment? Because you both had agreed to keep your distances? And going after him was out of discussion? Then the next day you'd barely seen him, just for a short moment during debriefs and that was it. The moment you had gotten up from your seat he was gone. And today you were supposed to go to a special op that had soon become a problem that eventually led to the two of you in the middle of a beach, it was a cloudy day and if it weren't for the heavy layers you wore you're certain you'd be shaking. Sometimes –and you were ashamed of it– you were oblivious to many things and it seemed that Ghost's anger toward you was one of them this time. "What happened?"

He inhales deeply.

"It's over. That's what happened."

Your heart sinks and you swallow hard. Your whole body loses color when he mutters those two words. Out of all the things, all the possibilities you thought he'd say to you, he decided to end everything. Shaking your head you try to touch his hand but he doesn't let you.

"Ghost where is all of this coming from I don't understand!" You choke out. "We were fine..."

"No. You were fine. If I wasn't enough you should've just said so."

"Stop... you... what the hell are you talking about???"

"Nothing that matters anymore. Keep walking and don't say another word. That's an order."

He turns and keeps walking as if nothing just happened. As if he didn't just completely broke your heart.

'You were fine'.

What was that supposed to mean? You think, walking a few meters behind him, scared to even say anything else; to even try to grab him by the arm and force him to talk. It would only make things worse right now.

By the time you reach the safe house it's started to rain the silence between the two is deafening and tense. Ghost's cold demeanor and hurtful words have left a scar. Never in a million years would you think you'd be here, with a broken, shattered heart and no explanation from his part.

Words that pierced through your soul.

That day something died inside you. And he was the reason.

-

Two weeks, three days and seven hours.

That's the time that's passed since that day at the beach. Two weeks since Simon broke you and gave you no reasons.

You're a disaster.

You barely eat or get any sleep. There's dark circles under your eyes and you're sure you've lost some weight too. Ghost has been gone on a mission alone with Johnny for a week now, which left you with a lot of spare time to think about the two of you.

More tears stream down your face when you remember that day. Had you missed something important? Was Ghost's mind somewhere dark? Somewhere it shouldn't be? God knows he was... difficult to say the least. But every single time you tried, tried to be there for him. Did those late nights at your home meant nothing? Had he not seen the way you looked at him? Had you not shown him enough of your affection? Everything you'd do for him if he simply asked?

Getting up from your bed you get ready for another day. Not bothering to lace your boots just shoving them inside your shoes you walk down the hallways until you get to the training room. Gaz is talking to John in the far corner, the Captain's arms are crossed over his chest while Kyle frowns and shakes his head. You don't to even go and salute them as you normally would do, instead you put your earphones on and hit the treadmill.

It doesn't last long though; after one minute someone stops it by pressing down the off button. Your brows knitted together as you stop, turning to look up at Gaz who smiles politely.

"Sorry for that, sweetheart. You okay?" You nod, but say nothing more. "Come here." He pats your shoulder and helps you down from the treadmill. If you could smile now you would. But no even the faintest, softest grin leaves your lips. Gaz takes a quick glimpse at your face and rubs the back of his neck. "You know, Soap and Ghost just got back. Heard Lt. was asking about you."

"Oh." You murmur. "Okay." You don't move nor dare to meet his eyes. "I'll just head back to my room."

"Uhmm. I- what I meant is he's looking for you..." Shaking your head you walk away, not having the energy to face Simon right now. And why did he need to see you? Made pretty clear that you two were done, therefore was no need to see each other unless it was work related.

-

"You really do like it here don't you." Your body goes rigid. This was supposed to be your safe place. The roof of the armory was rarely visited by anyone at this hour. Simon's voice seems softer than ever before but you don't answer. Not even turn to acknowledge him. You hear muttered words and then he crouches down to your level. "Price said you're not eating. Do we have to send you to the military counselor now?" How dare he? After all he caused this. You know he doesn't mean it in bad way, somehow he cares for you deep down. Your hands ball into fists, fighting the urge to snap at him, to push him down and just break him the way he broke you. But you don't because you still love him, and could never bring yourself to hurt him. Simon is staring intently at you, waiting, hoping for any sign. He knows he shouldn't be here. Bloody hell he knows you shouldn't even look his way never again. He deserves it. Every bit of it. "Talk to me, love. Please." It's a low whisper. A plea.

"What do you want Ghost?" You ask softly. Simon leans closer, sitting down with his legs propped up against his chest and arms resting on his knees. It's a funny look for someone his size.

"Jus' wanted to see you." You scoff playing with your hands, refusing to lock eyes with him because if you did you'd be done. "Wanted to explain..."

"Then just do it!" You sob. Your lower lip trembles. "And then leave."

"Fine." He agrees. "But I'm not leaving. I- I made a mistake, and took it out on you okay? I was scared."

"Scared?" Your head snaps to where he is sitting. It's painful just to look at him. "Why would you be scared Ghost?" You retaliate

He grumbles, never fancied when you called him that when you were alone. Quite the contradiction given the fact that he told you not to call him his name that day at the beach.

"Because I saw you." He points out. "That night. Everything you're missing for being with someone like me. Can't even show proper affection because it's not me... and you deserve more than that. More than me."

"Ghost..."

"No. Lemme finish, love." He swallows. It's always amusing how controlled he seems. "I lost it, yeah? You looked so happy. How on earth do I deserve you, on what universe do I deserve ya'?"

Sucking in a sharp breath you recall the moments that preceded the events. The sound of music blasting through the speakers, when you joined the rest of the soldiers on the other side of the pub. Private Miller had slung his arm over your shoulders in a friendly manner. You laughed and drank too much that night, it was joyful. Everyone was there, your team. You never thought he felt that way about it.

"Oh my... Simon." You cover your mouth and cry silently. He hesitated for a moment before pulling you close and into his lap. "Should've known something was wrong. Forgive me... I should've stayed with you, follow you after you left." You cry out.

You were scared too, for very different reasons. That he'd get tired of you eventually, that if you weren't cautious enough your secret would be known. Both would get suspended thus separated and discharged.

"No, love. You shouldn't have to go running after me. I should be running after you. Now forgive me, say you will. Or else I might just lose myself for good." You cradle his face in your hands lifting the balaclava just above the bridge of his nose. Thumb tracing his lower lip. Your tears have dried.

"I've missed you so much, Simon. All you gotta do is talk to me, always." He tightens his grip around you. "You think Price would let us go home tonight and not ask questions?"

His chuckle is short and soft.

"Yeah. I think he's known for a while now."

[fascinationex]

Sometimes I think TFP fandom would be so interesting if it had occurred a tiny bit later, especially with regard to Miko Nakadai. Because when I spy the ancient scripts (old fanfic notes, old posts, etc) talking about TFP, there was a lot of, "Yeah, I hate the kids though, Miko is really annoying..." and I bet if we were getting Miko NOW people would appreciate her a lot more. Fandom is still pretty misogynistic in some ways, but not quite like it was 10, 12 years ago. Now, people would be absolutely FROTHING about the Hardshell mini-arc, not to mention the whole apex armour thing.

At first Miko is presented to the audience as this loud, quippy, dramatic girl and she is initially placed as an obvious foil for Jack. That is, she is in the same circumstances as him (they are both human companions for the bots, keeping their secret, ultimately presided over by an extremely exasperated government agent and depressed dadimus), but she's clearly intended to be a contrast for the audience: Jack is responsible, Miko is irresponsible; Jack understands the nature and seriousness of war and worries about it, Miko thinks it's all cool and badass; Jack worries about endangering themselves and Raf, Miko throws herself into giant robot fights, takes a photo for posterity, and barfs on Bulkhead's interiors, etc. and so on.

But in a rare follow-through, they didn't leave her there. When she does get the rare Serious Miko episode, none of Miko's advanced goblin characteristics actually go away. There's no weird new serious Miko who is "corrected" by the narrative. She's not safer. She's DEFINITELY not more responsible — she's INCREDIBLY reckless. If you haven't seen it, there's an episode where she withholds intel from an Autobot officer (Wheeljack) until he agrees to take her on a completely unsanctioned revenge quest. They blow up a bunch of stuff and bait Megatron. And then she ignores Wheeljack's orders anyway.

When considering her character development, the show poses the question, "Does Miko REALLY not understand the gravity of the conflict she's embroiled in?" And then it answers it with, "She understands, but it's not stopping her from behaving like this. Also, she would pull the trigger."

And this isn't part of my argument, really, but she's just SO proud of herself when Starscream boasts to her of killing Autobots, and she stares him down ALL ALONE, IN FRONT OF HIS OWN MEN and tells him she's the one who killed Hardshell. Aw, Miko. ♡

(I love Miko so much and) I think 2024 tumblr would have loved her so much more than, like, the 2011 fanfic fandom seems to have.

[thezombieprostitute]

Nightmares - Part 2

Summary: You and Curtis are having to deal with literal and figurative nightmares while working to make sure the Garbage Men operation runs smoothly.

A/N: Reader is plus sized female. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Family angst, Fat shaming (a lot of fat shaming), Implied violence, Mentions of death, PTSD. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 1 -- Part 3

Series Masterlist

“Thank you, again, for agreeing to meet, Mr. Smith,” Bucky started. 

“I’ve been needing to catch up with Jonathan again so this was not out of my way,” Raymond replies after sipping his tea. 

“Were you informed as to the reason for this appointment,” you ask. “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Indeed,” Raymond nods. “I was informed one of your people had a contract out on them and you were seeking to have it removed.” He pulls out his tablet and asks, “may I have the name of the person on the contract?” Bucky gives him Hummingbird’s name and he appears to search for it. “That’s quite the price tag on her head,” Raymond noted. “Did Mr. Bounty Hunter explain the costs for removal?”

Bucky nods, “we’re prepared to wire you the money. Half now, half after proof of the contract being burned.”

“Oh, you’re going for the full burn,” Raymond intoned. “Please do keep in mind that’s only a five year warranty that the person will not have a contract out for them.”

“We understand,” Bucky confirmed. He nodded to you and, after getting the account numbers from Raymond, wired half of the required money. Upon confirmation, Raymond worked at his tablet to remove the contract. GBH was able to confirm it was removed and any attempts at posting a new one under Hummingbird’s maiden or married name was unsuccessful. With that, you wired the rest of the small fortune. 

“If that will be all,” Raymond went to stand, “I have a lunch planned with Mr. Pine.”

“Mr. Smith,” you interject, “I understand your policy on not sharing information on who posts contracts and I will not ask you to release anything that could directly identify them.” Raymond stays seated and nods at you. “However, as the target in question is important to our Family, and pregnant at that, I hope you can understand if I ask for any non-specific information without it hurting G– Mr. Bounty Hunter’s reputation.”

“Your politeness and understanding are greatly appreciated on this matter,” Raymond commented. “I understand how emotional these situations can be, especially where female targets are concerned. I also appreciate that you put her importance to you and yours ahead of her pregnancy. Many would consider me a monster for allowing a contract on a pregnant woman, but the fact is, I did not know and it wasn’t a consideration. I do not look into who the targets are, after all.” Raymond takes another sip of his tea. “You are correct that I have an obligation to not reveal anything and I can assure you that your professionalism has secured Mr. Bounty Hunter’s reputation. If anything, the fact that he brought along such level headed people encourages me to raise his standings.” He looks at GBH, “but that will be another discussion.” GBH nods his understanding. 

Raymond continues, “as to any information about the person who posted the contract all personal intel will remain locked up. But, for your politeness and professionalism, not to mention Mr. Bounty Hunter’s good clout with our organization, I will say that a contract with this kind of price tag is almost always personal. Whoever wanted this woman dead, they didn’t want it for professional gain.”

“So someone with a personal vendetta against Steve,” Bucky mutters. “Doesn’t narrow it down too much.”

“I never said it was against Mr. Rogers,” Raymond remarked with a raised eyebrow. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I really must get to my lunch appointment.”

“So we’ve got Jake poring over her socials, the contract is burned, I’m not sure how much more we can do at the moment,” you report to Curtis. He picked you up from the hotel and was now driving the two of you to lunch with your mother and aunt. 

He nods in agreement at your assessment, grateful to have something to think about other than finally meeting some of your family. He figured something like this would happen eventually but the reality of it is pretty daunting for him. Part of him feels like he’d rather go another round with Lloyd than do this. But you need him so he’s stepping up. 

“Any last minute suggestions before we meet them,” he asks you. 

“My mom and I are going to argue, that’s a given,” you tell him. “No matter how much you might want to, don’t try to get between us, just focus on talking to Aunt Jo. She’s the one who actually listens.”

“So, no advice on how to get mom to like me?”

“I don’t know if she actually likes anyone,” you confess. “We’ll just meet her for a quick meal and hopefully knowing that I’m in a relationship will give her one less thing to yap at me about.”

“We skip ordering a main course and just get appetizers, then?”

“Solid plan. I love it.” You lean over and kiss his cheek. “I hope you know I love you, too.”

“Always,” he promises with a smile.

You walk into the restaurant and spot your mom and Aunt Jo. Aunt Jo sees you enter and waves. 

“Remember, Curtis, you just talk to Aunt Jo.” He nods in confirmation as you walk over. You give him a small thank you as he pulls out your chair for you, setting you across the table from your mother. 

“What the hell is this?” Your mother’s tone is doused in acid. “You’re so desperate to get me off your back about dating that you hired a homeless person to play the role?”

Curtis’s eyebrows raise at the insinuation. He’d even made sure to dress up a bit.

“Mom, just because he has facial hair doesn’t mean he’s homeless,” you bite back. “We’ve been over this.”

“Well excuse me for thinking that any decent man would be clean shaven when meeting their partner’s family.”

“Not everyone has to abide by your standards.”

“You certainly didn’t,” your mother scoffs. “Look at you! It’s almost as if you’ve gained weight. Must be all the stress from losing your job with the author.”

“Oh, you’re no longer working for Mr. Drysdale?” Aunt Jo’s question is a welcome interruption for Curtis who is doing his best to follow your request and not intervene.

“Correct,” you smile at her. “I’ve got a much more satisfying, if busier, job. Still pays well and has great benefits, too!”

“If you’d kept the job with Drysdale you’d have a better chance at marrying rich and not having to work,” Mom accuses. “Honestly, your only chance before was attraction through familiarity. But now you don’t even have that!”

“Mom, Curtis, my boyfriend, is right here.” 

“And?”

“And Curtis appreciates me as I am.”

Mom huffs, “probably because with you around he’s doubled his wardrobe. Or maybe your clothes are too big for him.”

“Just like not everyone cares about facial hair, not everyone cares about weight,” you snipe back. 

“And from the intensity of his glare I think he’s quite taken with her,” Aunt Jo adds, smiling. “Seriously, young man, I’m so glad my niece is with someone who looks like he’d happily make a scene to defend her.” Curtis is caught off guard by the compliment but nods his thanks to your aunt. 

Thankfully Mom’s reply is cut off by the waiter approaching and getting drink orders. You inwardly wince when your mother orders a mimosa, reinforcing your resolve to just get an appetizer and get out. You order yourself a ginger ale, knowing you’ll need it to help your stomach. Curtis orders a root beer, his comfort drink, so you know he’s feeling it too. You go ahead and order the appetizer now. The sooner it gets here, the sooner you can leave.

“An appetizer? Really?” Your mother shakes her head. “It’s bad enough you refuse to lose weight but to flaunt it in front of me is just rude.”

“The appetizer is all we’re going to eat,” you reply.

“So you’re admitting you don’t want to be here,” she snipes back. “Why bother showing up at all if you’re just gonna spit in my face by throwing away everything I tried to teach you and walking out on me?”

“Because it would be more rude to ignore you completely and you know it. I’m trying, I really am, even if you can’t see it.”

“And she’s clearly doing well for herself,” Aunt Jo adds. “She’s able to afford to keep living in the city, has a boyfriend who looks like he'd kill to protect her. And do you see her business outfit? That’s high-end stuff.”

Mom huffs yet again and Curtis sends Aunt Jo a look of gratitude as the drinks are brought out. Curtis makes sure to keep his hand on the bottle so he doesn’t slam a fist on the table as you and Mom keep arguing.  

“They’re going to be like this until you leave,” Aunt Jo confides. “So tell me, how did you and my niece meet?” Curtis falls into a nice conversation with her, frequently glancing over at you, letting you squeeze his hand, sending glares to your mother. Aunt Jo smiles at him, “you’re taking good care of her. Thank you for that. She’s gonna need your support more than your anger after this.”

“Why are they like this?”

“Probably a strong dose of multi-generational trauma,” she tells him. “Women in our family have been strongly encouraged to go on starvation rations for generations with the ideal of marrying rich. Thankfully a few of us have broken loose, like our girl there. But, like a lot of women, she still wants some kind of approval from mother, you know?”

Curtis turns his attention to you, eyes full of adoration. He squeezes your hand, “how about we head home?”

“You’re living together?! I know I taught you better than to be a whore,” your mother loudly whispers. Curtis’s grip on the bottle goes so tight the glass cracks, getting the attention of everyone at the tables nearby. 

“Sweetie, is your hand okay?” You give Curtis all of your attention and go to check if he’s cut himself.

“I’ll be okay,” he says through gritted teeth. “How about we just go home now?”

“Of course. Aunt Jo, it’s been a pleasure as always. Mom, I look forward to your phone calls and emails reprimanding me for everything. I hope the two of you enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

With that, you and Curtis get up, pay your bill and leave.

Part 1 -- Part 3

Series Masterlist

@alicedopey; @alexakeyloveloki; @bigtreefest; @dontbescaredtosingalong; @fic-reblogs-0-0; @hisredheadedgoddess28; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @texmexdarling; @veltana; @winter-soldier-101

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 18. Reflecting light

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading <3

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: canon-typical violence, injuries, Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, protective Nadia, protective Pietro

“No, I didn’t.” His words were an exhale, the smile never faltering.

I breathed a laugh. “I have to keep things interesting.”

“You’ve never struggled to interest me.” His lips were back on mine within seconds before I even had time to process his words. Pietro tugged me closer to him by the hips, my hand slipping into his thick silver hair. My skin tingled as his chest pressed to mine, I needed to breathe yet the thought of pulling away was entirely unreasonable to me then. The buzzing of my phone in my pocket had him pulling back, a small smirk on his face. “Are you going to get that?” I rolled my eyes yanking the device out to see a text from Nat.

‘If the two of you are done eating each other’s faces the director of MI6 is here.’

I sighed exasperatedly. “Bureaucracy calls.”

Pietro’s smirk only grew. I turned to walk toward the conference room with the man hot on my heels. His choice to remain a few paces behind me rather than beside me had me narrowing my eyes. “Sorry, the view was just too good to pass up.” I followed his eyeline before stopping abruptly in my tracks when I realized what he was staring at.

“You are pushing it, Maximoff.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh, I think you like it when I push you.”

“You have the rest of your life to be an annoying prick, why not take today off?”

“Well, you could always punish me by kissing me some more, I think that might help.”

I turned sharply, entering the conference room to see Steve and Nat seated at the table across from the director of MI6. The graying man stood, turning to face Pietro and me.

“Agent Pimenova, good to see you again.” He held his hand out to Pietro. “I’m Director Abbott, you must be Pietro Maximoff. MI6 thanks you both for your assistance in the arrest of miss Janssen. There is just the matter of the leaked information, we are currently performing a formal investigation into this.”

“Are you?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. I’d worked with MI6 before, I’ve never liked them, I only ever agreed because of Anna. One thing I can say for certain about them is that they always have an agenda, one they’re not often forthcoming about. “Of course, is there an implication there?”

Cap spoke up then. “Not at all, it’s just that given that Tara Janssen accused MI6 of leaking the information the matter is complicated.”

“Well since a criminal said it, I suppose we just take her word?” Abbott retorted.

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “You plan to conduct an internal investigation into your organization when no one knows who exactly the mole is?”

“This is standard procedure. MI6 is highly confidential about our intel, bringing outside entities in is risky enough in the field, we don’t intend to contract outside the organization for such delicate matters.”

“Oh yes, because all delicate matters have been handled so well by MI6 up until now?”

“I don’t appreciate your attitude, Agent Pimenova, and we are not entirely convinced that it is one of our agents who is at fault.”

A humorless laugh fell from my lips before I could stop it. “So, who do you think is at fault?” Natasha questioned, giving me a look that urged me not to bite back.

“Well, it’s not a black and white matter, however, we intend to investigate all individuals who took part in this operation.” He glanced at Pietro briefly as he spoke.

“Are you joking?”

His gaze was firm as he turned it on me once more. “Does this really surprise you? Mr. Maximoff is a new hire who was intensely involved from the beginning, he had access to all intel and knew the ins and outs of the operation. Not only this, correct me if I’m wrong, but it was not so long ago that he and his sister were antagonists to the Avengers.”

I felt that familiar white hot rage simmering through my veins and I clenched my hands into fists at my sides to anchor myself attempting to subdue the anger. “Pietro is an Avenger and he had nothing to do with this so you can cross him off of your suspect list. Someone on your team nearly got us killed, if I were you, I’d spend less time throwing around bullshit accusations and more investigating the people you work with. It’s not exactly auspicious for an intelligence agency to have a link so weak its handing your confidential intel to criminal organizations on a silver platter.” My tone was glacial at best, Abbott opened his mouth to continue. “I can’t imagine what else you have to say on the matter, Director.”

Cap put his hands up. “Alright, I don’t think there’s anything further, Director Abbott.” The man glanced at Steve with a pleased expression that promptly dissipated after the former spoke again. “Obviously we would require the investigation to be a combined effort between our resources and the MI6 institution to ensure an unbiased approach. Agent Maria Hill has said she’d be more than happy to assist in the matter.”

I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow at the short man who was barely managing to contain his glower. “Very well then, we will be in touch in the coming weeks.”

Steve turned to me before he left the room. “I’m glad you’re okay, kid but you have got to stop almost dying.”

I smiled sheepishly, saluting him as he exited the conference room, flanked by Natasha who offered me a knowing look with a devious smirk attached. I glanced back at Pietro who leaned against the round table, a boyish smile painted across his expression. “What now?” I spoke, feigning annoyance, his smile only grew.

“I like it when you defend me.”

The tension between us was palpable, the air in the room thick with it. I narrowed my eyes at Pietro. “I wasn’t really defending you; I just like pissing Abbott off.”

“Whatever you say, Prinţesă.” His sweet smile had evolved into that smirk I knew all too well.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s funny, I seem to remember telling you not to call me that.” A smile tugged at my lips, but I fought hard to keep it down.

“Hm, I don’t remember that. Perhaps, it was back when you were pretending not to like it.”

I turned from him, walking toward the door before glancing back at him over my shoulder, a taunting lilt in my tone. “Who says I was pretending?” I didn’t manage to make it out the door before Pietro grabbed my wrist and spun me back to face him.  

“You have a lying problem.” He murmured; voice deeper than it was a moment ago. Before I could respond his lips were on mine. This kiss was different to the others, passionate in the same way but more fervent, hungrier. My back hit the now closed door firmly, arms winding around Pietro’s neck to bring him closer. The discomfort of being touched was the furthest thing from my mind as he kissed me. There was no room for thoughts that didn’t revolve around the way his lips felt. A warm feeling pooled low in my stomach, it was sweet like honey and caused a flush to travel up my neck, coating my ears pink and making my flesh burn. I tugged Pietro’s hair with one hand, the other gripping his shoulder and pulling him closer. His hands travelled from my cheeks, down my arms, landing on my hips and pushing me further against the door. One of his hands drifted to my thigh, tugging it to sit around his hip; a niggling anxious feeling wormed its way through me at the contact, my heart beginning to beat faster. I gripped his shoulder tighter, not realizing the way my body had tensed until Pietro pulled away to look at me. “Nadia?” I shook my head, taking a deep breath and attempting to move past the discomfort when Pietro’s hand slipped higher on my hip, his thumb putting pressure unwittingly on the recently sutured flesh. I gasped in pain and Pietro’s touch was gone in an instant, he pulled away as if he’d been burned. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think…”

“It’s okay.” I reassured breathily, swallowing the pain, my hand going to cover the now throbbing stab wound. His face paled, eyes falling to my hip. I followed his line of sight, a small crimson patch beginning to soak into my shirt. “Let’s just go to the medical wing and patch it up, it’ll be fine.” He didn’t speak a word to me as we walked, remaining a few paces away from me the entire time. I slipped onto the examination table and began lifting my shirt over my head, wincing slightly at the pain in my abdomen as I lifted my arms, in a millisecond Pietro was before me, helping me to pull the fabric from my body, careful not to touch me. I was left in just my bra before him, the stitches were fine, just irritated. I cleaned them quickly before grabbing the bandage and roll of gauze and beginning to cover them. “See, all better.” There was silence in the room, but I could feel Pietro’s eyes burning into me prompting me to glance up. He was gazing at my abdomen, at the bruises that were still prominent, the wound I’d just covered and the two scars that lived on opposite sides of the flesh. He took a step toward me then. “It’s okay, Pietro.”

“No, it’s not, I made you bleed, Nadia.”

“Well, you’re not exactly the first person.” I teased. His face remained sullen, no hint of amusement. “Okay enough with the face, it was an accident, you can put the hair shirt away.”

He shook his head, jaw clenching. “It’s not just that, you were uncomfortable when I was touching you, I went too far.”

“You didn’t go too far… I- it was just fast, I can’t go that fast, not with that stuff.” I was murmuring by the end of my sentence. He just kept staring at the bruised flesh. “I’m really okay, the bruises don’t hurt that much anymore, and Tara has terrible aim so she didn’t get anything important.”

He remained silent for a long while. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t even really know what was going through his mind, but then he opened his mouth, and his words weren’t at all what I’d been expecting. “That is from Ultron.” He pointed at one of the two scars before his finger moved to the other. “What is that one from?” I looked down at the marred flesh, closing my eyes for a moment. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I let out a heavy exhale, looking back up at him. “It was a long time ago.”

Whether it was February or sometime in June I was no longer sure.

The air was glacial around me, and I was sure I was dying.

There was blood pooling in the fabric of my suit, sweat plastering hair to my forehead even with the harsh winter air that bit at me. Annika was beside me; she was holding my hand as the snow at my side turned red.

“Отдыхай сейчас, сестра.”

Rest now, sister.

Saint Petersburg, 4 hours earlier

I gripped the sides of the porcelain sink, watching the water run down the drain. There was gold trim on everything in this fucking hotel and I felt like I was losing my mind. Exhaustion had made a home in the cave of my bones; my body had come to feel like a prison. There was a thin papery feeling that clung to me, seeping into my skin, disembowelling me to make room for the full breadth of it. Nausea washed over me, and a blink had me seeing nothing but red. I’d barely slept, the strange visions were becoming more consistent and Dreykov had been pushing all of us extra hard lately. I supposed it was the result of Natasha and Oksana’s dissemination from the Red Room.

“Sweet Anya, is everything alright in there?” Ambassador Schulz called from the other side of the door. I splashed some water on my face, looking up at myself in the mirror.

“Of course, I’ll be right out, любимый.” (Darling)

I adjusted the short black wig on my head, tousling the fringe before smoothing my hands over the top of my strapless dress. When I opened the door, the Ambassador was stood at the bar cart, pouring two glasses of whiskey from an expensive looking decanter. He crossed the room and handed one of the crystal glasses to me. He was a balding middle-aged man who was almost foot shorted than me when I wore heels. He reeked of pungent cologne and cigars, and I hated him. The ambassador was a disgusting man who’d spent most of the evening attempting to slip his hand beneath the slit of my dress. I clinked my glass with his before letting the amber liquid him my upper lip but never pass it.

“You know, Anya, I’ve been to a lot of countries, but Russian women have always remained my favorite . Although, you may be the most gorgeous of them all.”

I smiled at him, placing the whiskey on the accent table behind me and popping my legs one by one to slip my heels off. “You flatter me.” His hand grazed over my collarbone, caressing me in a way that had my skin crawling. “Perhaps you should check the door is locked, we wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt us.” He double checked the golden handle of the door, ensuring that the lock was indeed in place as I closed the curtains. After he checked the door he walked over the record player in the corner, letting the needle dance across the vinyl, classical music filling the suite. I returned to the middle of the room and Schulz’s hands were on me once again. He pressed his lips to mine roughly, biting and licking at my mouth like a rabid dog. I suppressed my cringe and kissed him back, shutting my mind off from the reality of what was happening.

“Turn around, whore.” He demanded. I wasn’t frightened by his tone; men like him didn’t hold that power over me anymore. His knuckles grazed my bare back as he moved to unzip my dress. I slipped the push dagger from my garter before the fabric fell to my ankles. The blade cut into my hand as I concealed it as he grabbed my shoulders roughly and pushed me down onto the bed. I moved quickly, swinging my legs to kneel on the mattress, slipping the knife into the back of my black underwear before beckoning Schulz to join me I pulled the jacket part way down his shoulders. He sat with his back to me. I left his blazer halfway down his arms, moving to loosen his tie next. I swallowed bile as he palmed at his crotch, grabbing a hold of my wrist and roughly pulling my hand between his legs. In a swift manoeuvre I pulled my hand from his grasp and wrapped my legs around him, one hand covering his mouth and the other grabbing the push dagger and dragging it across his throat.

“ Сладких снов, чувак .”

Sweet dreams, prick.

He thrashed against me, but I laid back and held tightly onto him, waiting for his to bleed out. I wasn’t sure exactly how long it had taken him to bleed out, it had felt to me like an eternity in but a moment. I shoved his limp body from me, his blood dripping from me as I stood pulling my suit from under the bed which had been planted for me whilst Schulz and I were at the opera together.

The clip of my belt almost covered the sound behind me, but I was far too adept after all of my cycles through the Red Room, there was no sneaking up on me anymore. I threw my arm backward, before I’d even looked, slicing through the air in the direction of the person who’d been behind me, they caught my arm before I could reach them, one of their gloved hands wrapping around the back of my neck and slamming my head against the table, knocking my glass onto the ground, whiskey splashing onto the marble as it shattered. I caught sight of the person in my peripheral, black mask covering all but his eyes and lips. He slammed my head against the table a second time, the turn of my head letting me see the gun holstered at his hip. I jammed the push dagger into the side of his thigh, pulling it out and stabbing him multiple times in the area, forcing him to release me as he groaned in pain. I ducked under the punch he threw, slipping beneath his arm and attacking him from behind and tackling him onto the ground and ripping the mask from him before grabbing onto his blonde hair and slamming his head against the marble tiles, red smearing across the floor when I lifted his head up again. He threw me off of him and grabbed a hold of my throat, straddling my waist as he choked me.

There was blood coating his lips and his nose was crooked to a painful angle. I pressed my thumbs into his eyes but he moved his head back out of my reach, grip tightening. He didn’t budge no matter how much I hit and kicked him. Eventually, I managed to get the gun from his belt holster, slamming the base into his head. His grip loosened but it took another hit to get him off guard enough to buck him off of me. I swung my legs around quickly, bringing myself into a crouched defensive position, it was then that I clocked the octopus skull tattoo on his neck. I didn’t know what it meant but I’d seen it before, these agents had tried to steal marks from us before, they would kill widows and take the credit for our hits. I swiped his feet out from under him, restraining him and punching again and again, he managed to get a hold of my wig, but it slipped from my head, light strands falling in front of my eyes. I punched him again stopping only when I felt the sharp pain in my side, glancing down to see the agent jamming a large shard from the whiskey glass into my abdomen. Blood poured onto his hand, he grabbed my actual hair this time, rolling over and pressing the side of my head into the marble floor. I steeled myself against the burning pain in my side reaching out for his gun that I’d dropped before, shooting him in the leg without a second thought. He cried out, gripping the wound on this thigh. I kicked him in the chest, attempting to crawl away but he was quick to grab my ankle and drag me back to him. Whoever the hell this guy was he was extremely well trained and evidently wanted me dead. He swiped my push dagger from the floor, swinging at my chest with it but I blocked his attack and used my free arm to twist his wrist before slamming my blocking arm against his once more. The dagger was still clutched in his fist as it impaled the under side of hit jaw, blood pouring from his mouth as I forced his to twist the blade, crying out in agony and exhaustion as I pushed harder, letting his lifeless body fall beside me. My cheeks were wet as I stumbled to the window, double tapping my comm to turn it on as I sat on the sill.

“Задание выполнено.”

Mission complete.

A long black rope descended from the roof then, a silver hook gleaming at the bottom of it. I clipped it onto my belt, sliding from the window and scaling down the building into the snow-covered street.

“Clean up required in room 103.” I muttered into the comm, pulling twice on the rope to signal I was off. The world was blurring around me as I stumbled into the open space behind the hotel. Blood covered my hand as I went, falling to my knees on the rough gravel path that was quickly being swallowed by snow.

I slipped the shirt back over my head with Pietro’s help. “He was Hydra, that agent, I didn’t really know what that meant back then though.”

“No wonder you don’t like being touched.” He had been completely silent for the entirety of my story, there were times when I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. I sighed, nodding gently as I watched the shadows that danced in his eyes.

I reached out for his hand, glancing up at him as my fingers wrapped around his wrist, using the grip to pull him closer. “This is different.” My hand smoothed over his knuckles and I laced my fingers through his, bringing his hand to my cheek. “I want you to touch me, Pietro.”

He exhaled deeply, letting his eyes close as his head canted forward. “Don’t say things like that, Nadia.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t understand the effect it has on me.”

I leaned closer to him. “So, make me understand.” His fingertips dug ever so slightly into my shoulder, brows furrowing, eyes still closed. His free hand landed on my other shoulder, gliding down to hold mine, bringing it to sit over his heart. The quick thuds matched my own beat for beat. I felt his breath ghost over my cheek as he leaned his forehead against mine.

The look he gave me was tender, gentle. “We can go slow. Whatever you want.”

[sorryseraphim]

helene x enver: first meeting

Helene basked quietly under the sun, the gentle breeze touching her skin, although dry and hot. Her eyes were closed, a smile plastered on her face as she listened to the buzzing of the people. Sitting on one of the roofs by the Lower City, she didn’t mind the heat and noise, for, in fact, she craved it. Most of her life spent inside her father’s temple is starting to take its toll.

“My lady, should we go now to Sharess’ Caress?” Sceleritas appeared on her side. Opening her eyes to welcome the sunlight, she took a deep breath before looking at the goblin, her only companion for the past decade and a half.

“They can wait. I intend to sit around here as long as I want.” She pulled out her dagger, crimson red shining under the sun. Its blade curved; an heirloom passed after her heritage was made known to her. She produced an apple from her pack, slowly cutting pieces using her blade and taking time to eat each slice she made.

“My lady, as much as I want to tolerate you in all your glory, we must also be punctual. 

Helene stood up and brushed the dirt from her pants. She lifted the hood of her cloak, concealing her pale hair. Sheathing her dagger, she walked away from the goblin before replying. “Who are we even meeting anyway? Is he a Lord? Is he the King of Faerun that my Father even urged me to come?” 

She checked her gloves, ensuring there was no visible blood that may become a topic of discussion for this meeting. Sceleritas reminded her that whoever it may be is crucial for the cults’ rise to power. That it will be important to further her goal–when all things end, and she remains the last living soul.

“A Banite, my lady. One I heard is to be chosen by Bane himself. From what I gathered, he is an infamous arms dealer. There are already talks of him running as a politician, aiming to be a lord of the city.”

“Ugh. A Banite, out of all people.” The thought of meeting whoever they were was already appalling to her. Hiding how much it bothered her, she huffed softly. “Name?”

“One is named Enver Gortash, my lady.”

She looked at the horizon, breathing deeply as she took another slice of the apple she’d been cutting earlier. She doesn't need any help; she knows she will succeed in doing it on her own, and yet if her Father commands, she will need to follow. 

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” 

At that exact moment, Gortash waited inside a private room in the brothel he had mentioned as their designated meeting place. He’s growing impatient; not only is it felt on the wooden floor of Sharess Caress, but it is also heard throughout the room. The men he dragged with looked at him nervously. In a soft, shaky breath, one leaned forward and whispered, “Sir, are we sure the Bhaalspawn really exists?”

“Are you telling me our intel is not correct? That you lot are not competent?”

“N-no, Sir.”

He closed his eyes, pressing his right temples. Bane, give me more patience, he thought. The Bhaalspawn may not show up, but he had his hopes. He sent them a rather tempting proposition: a partnership towards greater resurgence and, in time, take over the city from the shadows. It was not easy weeding out the Bhaalists. He had suspicions when the murders around the city increased tenfold; only one God reveled in such a gruesome act. 

He sighed; he might as well rethink the entire plot should the Bhaalspawn not show up when the door gently opened. A tall, slender, hooded figure stepped in. He noticed the curves of her body despite the cloak covering her torso. One of the girls below maybe, looking for coins, he thought.  He stared at her for a moment and let out a soft chuckle.

“Forgive me, lady, but this is a private room we have acquired. We’re waiting for valuable goods, but we do appreciate your offering to entertain us and—”

“I’m not a whore.” She said bluntly. Despite the low hem of the hood covering her face, he noticed how she was directly staring at him, with no hint of emotion as she spoke. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, the cogs working inside his brain as it dawned upon him.

“You were looking for me. Here I am. What do you want?” Helene said as she closed the door behind her. She lowered her hood and revealed the entirety of her face. Half-elf, she looked quite young, yet the intensity of her blood-red eyes held years of secrets untold, her face framed by her pale blonde hair, making him intrigued— interested even that Bhaal had chosen such a being to be his spawn. He smiled softly, laughing at himself. 

“You are the Bhaalspawn?” Amused that despite their intensive search to gather intelligence regarding her and what she looked like, they didn’t even come near to figuring it out. Rolling her eyes, Helene finally answered with disgust. “You are wasting my time.” 

“Forgive me, I am just quite surprised. I had expected someone entirely different. From what we have gathered, someone ruthless and feared by the Bhaalist initiates. I believe you made them swear a sacred oath not to reveal who their leaders are.”

She didn’t even flinch. With a quick gesture, a glowing figure appeared next to Gortash, followed by a quick choking sound and, finally, a crack. The man on his right lay dead on the floor, his neck bent at odd angles. 

“Hmmm…you were saying?” Helene pursed her lips, staring at him still. The man on his left stood at the ready, his sword pointed at her, although it was visible that their knees were starting to tremble, their beading sweat on their temple, awakening her lust to terrify them further after her show of skill. 

She tilted her head a little. If her eyes could devour him whole, she might have done it already as she stared at him intensely. “You wish to form an alliance? Resurgence for both our parties?” 

“I do. And we have a lot to discuss, but first…”

Gortash stood up, his hands clasped together as a smirk formed on his face. “Lady, you don’t need to be so worked up. Forgive me; I forgot my manners earlier. Enver Gortash, at your service.” He bowed briefly, showing that he recognized the divine blood coursing through her veins. He reached out, offering a hand. She didn’t move for a while, only studying how his practiced smile and eyes stared back at her, dark and intriguing. 

“I’m no lady of any house. And I know better that I am not here just for our respective cults’ resurgence. You yearn for something more.” She let a hand fall on her side, feeling the hilt of her blade underneath her robes as she waited for him to speak once more. 

“You’re clever.” He hesitated momentarily, his gaze falling on the wooden floor as he gathered his thoughts, carefully choosing his next words. “Yes, I didn’t invite you for our cults to simply rise. Say, would you be interested in raiding the House of Wonders?” 

For a moment, Gortash swore; she saw her lips curl into a smile, which, in a blink, faded immediately. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Wouldn’t it be polite if I were to know your name in return? Establish the basics of trust?”

She pondered for a moment before she quietly uttered her name– the name that would drive him crazed and close to madness for the years to come. The moment she let her name leave her lips, their lives were doomed to fall. 

“Helene.”

[breakfastteatime]

Alrighty friends, here we go, Breakfast Tea's Battle Scars Review. Putting it under the cut because spoilers, and also my levels of spiciness are at maximum. Lots of swears ahead! I don't tend to write book reviews (hi, unpublished author over here) but, uh, this is for science!

For the record, I have NO IDEA how these tie-ins are commissioned. So, for example, I don’t know if the author came up with the plot and it was okayed, or if she was told “do something with A, B, C and D and make it a book” so I appreciate that she probably didn’t have as much freedom as a fic writer.

Also, yes, I did get to the point where I was skimming chunks of the book, so if I'm factually wrong, feel free to correct me, but know that it won't make me like the book any better because my issues are layered and numerous👍

Also also, this is pretty stream-of-consciousy so go with me, okay?

Finally, there’s *one* spoiler that I’m guessing will tie into the game re: Greez.

Okay, let’s GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Plot Summary (warning, I haven't done a good job summarising it hahahahahahahaaa)

The plot is - the crew go to break into a Haxion Brood base because reasons. While they're there they find a bunch of stormtroopers, one of whom is actually Fret, who wants to defect because she's sick of the Empire. Merrin is instantly attracted to her which, okay, sure, fine, to the point of becoming completely giddy around her. Also, Merrin's been struggling with her powers because of all her trauma from Dathomir (a very good a legit reason but, uh, didn't we do that with Cal in the game ANYWAY AHEM) but DON'T WORRY, SHE JUST NEEDS TO HAVE SEX WITH THE RIGHT PURPLE LADY BECAUSE SHE’S ANGRY AT THE EMPIRE TOO AND SEX WILL SOLVE ALL OF MERRIN’S WOES AND LITERALLY ALLOWS HER TO ACCESS HER MAGICK AGAIN WOO! Oops, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Fret then reveals she's not actually a stormtrooper but used that as a disguise to escape because don't you know it, she's got intel that will lead them to something called the Shroud, which will essentially make anyone who has it invisible. Think cloaking technology from Star Trek. That's the best comparison. So, if the rebels have this, they'll be able to undertake sneak attacks, but if the Empire has it, BAD NEWS. ANYWAY, the crew go to the person Fret’s working with who claims he’s anti-Empire too and he’ll use the Shroud for good and everyone agrees they’ll go get the schematics and bring them to him. Off they go and find said Shroud schematics after Merrin totally gets her powers back after receiving some sexual healing (no, really), only to discover the Shroud’s schematics aren’t written down but are instead secure in Fret's oops-not-dead lizard girlfriend Irei's head... and she's vaguely Force-sensitive because OF COURSE SHE FUCKING IS. Oh and the Fifth Brother is here too because he naturally wants the Shroud and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The Mantis crew are all totally at odds with each other because it turns out despite living and working together for years they’re all after totally different things but have never said anything until now, which would be interesting if Fret wasn't there being all self-insert OC. And anyway, don't worry, the crew gets over it. Oh, and Greez loses an arm protecting Cal and Cere from the Fifth Brother about halfway through.

Uuuuh what else….??? Oh! Right, Fret’s dealer dude. They realise he’s bad, they defeat him. Boom. Can’t be arsed to go into more detail than that (also I was totally falling asleep reading this part, my bad???).

Fret and her ex(?) get back together (kinda??), leave the Mantis after the whole Shroud thing and the Fifth Brother are dealt with, Merrin opts to not go with them and Fret’s like “Oh, yeah, I see what you have with Cal” and Merrin’s like “??? Cal’s like that with everyone.” Interpret that at your discretion.

OH OH OH and Cere totally goes off to find some Jedi circlet thing that is LITERALLY A VIDEOGAME ACCESSORY USED TO BOOST STATS which is (unintentionally??) hilarious but fuck that it’s so completely lost in the rest of it, as is a lot of Cere’s desire to create a legacy for the Jedi.

The Good!

Hooray for LGBTQ+ representation!

Fight scenes are good when the action is happening.

Cere's characterisation is okay???? Like out of all of them, she feels the most in character... kind of???????? I get her motivation, and it feels fairly close to what I think she's gonna be up to in the next game. But her decision to… wait… sorry, this was meant to be positive. ARGH! Alright, let’s move on…

I really like the concept that, since the end of the first game, they’ve all been on the run from the Empire and the Haxion Brood. Excellent concept! I’m guessing Survivor will give us more.

I also really like the concept that the crew all want different things.

SPOILER!!! Greez loses an arm. This scene was pretty good and believable – Greez wants to save Cal and Cere and he makes a terrible sacrifice to do so.

The Everything Else

👎 Wish that LGBTQ+ rep was in a better written book. I do read romance sometimes (or, more accurately, books in which romance occurs) and I am not opposed to instant attraction. But I like it to be a bit less fire-hose-of-HAWTNESS to the face. It basically feels that Merrin has a week-long relationship with someone in which sex solves all her problems??? There's a lot of stuff in this book about why Merrin can't go to her actual friends with this (she's a Nightsister, dammit, and no one can understand how she feels but Fret is angry like Merrin is, therefore instacrush, lust, sex and AAAAARGH), but wouldn’t it be much more narratively satisfying if the people who support her through her troubles are the ones she has long-term relationships with??? Near the end Cal does become this person to her but it feels a bit awkward. Almost like he’s stepping up because Fret left. 👎 Merrin’s struggles here, while absolutely understandable, feel like a rehash of Cal’s entire journey in the game… except Cal sorts his shit out one way, and Merrin shags her way to better mental health. I mean, get yours, Merrin, but it feels like an odd choice, because… 👎 Fret, Merrin's love interest, feels like such an author self-insert it actually made me uncomfortable. Lady, I don't wanna read your fantasies!!!

👎 The plot doesn’t have room to breathe because there’s too much going on. And while I’m here, the Shroud feels completely universe breaking because while the prototype they wind up making is a fake and becomes a bomb, the fact that Irei designed it to hide herself (she’s Force sensitive, remember??!?!?!) means it could potentially work and literally change the Star Wars universe... But Irei’s a total non-entity in the rest of canon sooooooooo this universe breaking macguffin is pointless, making the plot largely pointless??? Or did I miss something when I got to the skimming part? WHATEVER. The Shroud thing… Aaaah, I’ll get back to that later… 👎 There’s too much authorial voice masquerading as the characters. In other words, I didn’t hear the characters, I just heard the author coming through loud and clear. (and okay, yeah, every time I have a character suddenly be British makes me guilty of this too BUT I like to think it’s not as bad as this. HEY! LET ME HAVE MY DELUSIONS ALRIGHT?!). For example, Cal goes off on this whole *thing* about the Fifth Brother's hat, which doesn't feel like him at all. At no point in the game did he go off about Trilla’s helmet (which he compares the Fifth Brother’s hat to) or trade really petty insults. He has his whole bravado thing going on, but not “dude, your hat looks STOOPID.” Seriously, it’s about a page of him being uncharacteristically cocky and sassy (more on Cal’s characterisation later). This authorial voice tendency makes everyone feel the same, especially when you’ll read one thing in Cal’s POV, move onto Greez’s, and Greez will think the exact same thing. There’s very little differentiation in character voice. The banter is BAD.   👎I'm not saying JFO isn't funny because it has some lovely moments (“Wait, do you have feet?”), but they are light touches. This book's 'humour' is like having an anvil dropped on your head. This is the book where subtly came to die until the VERY end where there’s some nice moments with Cal and Merrin… except it’s ruined by Cal CONSTANTLY thinking about how he needs to protect his family… Which brings me onto… 👎 This book is so repetitive. If Cal referred to the others as 'Family' one more time, or someone else said they wanted to make a dent in the Empire’s hull, I'm not sure my e-reader would've survived. I actually counted btw – pg 77 of my ebook edition has the word family on it 7 times. SEVEN TIMES. The word crops up 39 times overall and once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop. The phrase ‘making a dent’ appears 9 times and again, once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop. Oh editor, where are you?

👎 It’s also inconsistent in its storytelling. For instance, there’s a moment where Merrin and Cere go off on a mission together and Merrin reflects on how well they always work together… and then later on she goes off with Fret and is like “It’s so nice to not be alone for a change!!!” And while this is probably in reference to how her and Cal tend to approach missions from different angles (literally – above and below), it’s one of those instances where something here needed editing – e.g. actually Merrin and Cere have never done a mission together, therefore that’s nice, and so when she goes off with Fret she can be like “wow, twice in one day! I could get used to this!” It’s shit like that made the whole thing so frustrating. 👎The structure is bad. Midway through an otherwise good action scene, the POV character will stop to think for so long they would have been killed. It really disrupts the flow of the battle. The pacing just screeches to a halt. It’s the same whenever the characters reminisce on the events of the game, but I’ll come back to that. Stick a pin in it! 👎 The book also does a several days later flashback that wrecks the pacing. We’re at this moment of tension – they’re about to break into a compound but oh no – the access codes from Merrin’s girlfriend don’t work because GASP she lied about abandoning the Empire! Cue tension! Cue drama! Cue… romance in a ‘several days earlier’ flashback. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH. Honestly, poor, poor Cal the first time he gets to use his own room again. Echoes EVERYWHERE. He’s gonna go as red as his hair every time he looks at Merrin and everyone’s gonna get the wrong idea. Sorry, what was my point? OH RIGHT! Pacing! Pacing BAD.

👎 BEEDEE WUN. Get. In. the. Fucking. Bin. 👎 Speaking of our beloved BD, he is here, but he's referred to as 'Cal's droid' or Cal is referred to as his master, which... no. Absofuckinglutely NO. At one point, Merrin (who presumably has known BD for 2-3 years at this point), thinks of BD as Cal’s ‘strange but cute little droid’. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?! They are friends. Best friends. Cere, when thinking of the crew, her family, states there are "four and a half people" on the crew. BD IS NOT HALF A PERSON, AND ALSO OH GOD THE HISTORICAL CONNOTATIONS OF THIS ARE SO BAD, HOW THE HELL DID AN EDITOR NOT PICK UP ON THIS?!?!?!?

👎Cal's characterisation is NOT good. He is so inconsistent outside of I MUST PROTECT MY FAMILY. MY FAMILY, THE CREW OF THE MANTIS, WHO ARE MY FAMILY. I WILL DIE TO PROTECT THEM, MY FAMILY, THE ONLY PEOPLE LEFT TO ME THAT I LOVE, THE MANTIS CREW. Which, for the record, works as a motivator for him, but not when it’s done with all the nuance of a sledgehammer to the knees. When Merrin's busy having sex in the engine room (you know, where Cal sleeps, the guy with psychometry), he is initially naive to the point of stupidity. “Oh golly gosh, Merrin’s sealed the door, I guess that means her powers are coming back!” He was on Bracca for 5 years. I think he knows what goes on behind closed doors. When he realises what's happened, he is both totally blasé (the Jedi don’t have relationships so he’s never thought about it), and also jealous in a way that can be interpreted in one of two ways, depending on your shipping leanings. He's either jealous because Merrin is HIS woman (oh, no, sorry, I mean GIRL. Fucking HATE it when adult women are called girl), or he's jealous because Fret is inserting herself into HIS FAMILY, THE CREW OF THE MANTIS, THE FAMILY HE WILL DIE FOR when she’s a lying liar who lies. He’s *so* petty he refers to Fret as a ‘gal’ which, again, UUUUUUUUUUUGH. Oh, and he's seen an echo revealing Fret to be a liar, but he's not going to disclose it to the others because he doesn’t want to hurt Merrin when she’s finally happy and able to use her magick again and yet Fret might be about to kill his family, the crew of the Mantis, the people Cal will literally die for. Because they’re his family. PICK A MOOD, CAL. Actually, wait, I’m not done with what’s been done to Cal…

His characterisation makes me want to weep. He gets annoyed with Cere for wanting to find a Jedi relic despite... the entire... first game... being... about... this... exact... thing????? I think the author was going for “well, Cere wants to create a legacy for the Jedi so their history is not lost to time!” whereas Cal wants to (say it with me!) ‘put a dent in the Empire’s hull’ which, okay, there’s an interesting contrast, but Cal is someone who is inherently linked with the past so why is *this* the conflict between these two? It’s not quite working for me, probably because it’s just not central enough to the plot. If *this* was what we dug into, it would probably work really well. Unfortunately, we’re not here for that.

Cal also says shit like “What’s the problem here, team?” like he’s in middle management.

👎 The book is set somewhere between the two games and is purposefully vague, which *would* work if these characters *felt* like they'd spent years together instead of the author telling us they have. Relationship-wise, it feels like we're maybe a couple of months out from the game because the book wastes so much of its word count going back over events from the game… which happened years ago at this point! My guess is it was written with people who hadn't played the game in mind, which again just makes the pacing suffer. Plus, we’ve got five people who’ve lived together for years (they’re a family, a crew, they love each other like family, they will DIE FOR EACH OTHER!!!!!!), and yet all of them see their mission differently. Y’all have been at this for YEARS but it’s only now that you realise you’re not united?! This would work if we were closer in time to the original game… but years down the line?! And again, this is a GREAT concept! SO much to work with there… except we’ve got sexy purple lady and lizard lady in the way of what could’ve been an amazing character exploration of CHARACTERS WE KNOW AND LOVE. STICK ANOTHER PIN IN IT!

👎 The author struggles to integrate game mechanics into a n ovel. BD-1 will just randomly hand Cal stims because hey, I guess that’s what he does in the game????????? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 👎 The author hasn’t heard of show, don’t tell. Stop bloody telling me that Cal loves his family and show me – give me a scene where they sit down for a meal together. Give me a scene where Cal sits with Greez after he’s injured. ANYTHING that shows me rather than smashes me over the head with one of the 39 uses of the word family.

👎 Cere really randomly refers to Cal as her Padawan when he’s busy getting his arse handed to him by the Fifth Brother. Cal’s honest, he knows he didn’t beat Trilla because he was stronger than her, but this is YEARS later. Has he not gotten stronger in that time? SIGH. Also, Cal might be mentored by her but he’s not strictly speaking her Padawan? Okay, now I’m just nitpicking… 👎 WAIT, ONE MORE! Cal refers to Master Tapal as Master Jaro. That just irritated me.

How I’d Rewrite It

So, let’s take the pin out and examine the lack of character exploration (except for Merrin who we do get to have a good look at in a weird way). The main issue I have with this book is Fret and Irei get in the way of what could have been a really good character-building piece for the five characters we know and love from the game.

So, wanna know how I’d write it? Simplify and FOCUS:

The Mantis crew are infiltrating a Haxion Brood base because they’ve gotten their hands on a precious Jedi relic that the Empire are also after. While there, Cal and the others find the relic but are attacked by the Brood and the Empire. A defector (Fret) finds them and says the Empire is using the Fifth Brother to hunt for the Shroud’s schematics and its inventor (Irei), who’s in hiding. Fret gives them the name and location of the broker who will pay the crew for retrieving the Shroud and Irei – a man linked to the Rebellion known as Luthen Rael. He’ll also give them Irei’s location. While trying to escape, Fret gets shot and killed by the Brood or the Empire or WHATEVER and the crew feel somewhat obligated to carry on with her mission because the Shroud is a double-edged sword. Cere’s hopes of starting her great Jedi legacy have to be put on hold, Merrin’s still worried about her powers because she’s lost and doesn’t know if she’s getting the vengeance she seeks, Greez thinks finally Cal’s going to stop going for bigger and bigger gambles, Cal’s excited to be doing something really important, and BD-1 is happy to see a new world and meet new people. Also, there’s no breaking into anywhere without him, and they need to move fast.

Great, we’ve got our ticking clock – get the Shroud before the Fifth Brother!

However, because the crew’s been run ragged due to being hunted by the Brood for so long, they’re starting to make mistakes and Cal’s taking bigger and bigger risks with little pay out, so the crew goes into the mission at odds with each other. After BD hacks his way into the systems and locates Irei, Merrin gets her to safety. Cal and Greez get hurt when they go up against the Fifth Brother because Cere, convinced she needs to try and save him from the dark side because he too was once a Jedi like Trilla, tries to save him and it backfires horribly. They all manage to escape and get to the Mantis, fall out because they all want different things. They take the time needed to figure that out and reunite, take Irei to Luthen (they get out just in time when the Fifth Brother comes back again), Cal and Merrin fight him off together because Merrin’s got her powers back because she has a purpose again (working for the Rebellion) and off they go to the next adventure.

Your subplots are essentially the same:

Cal wants to stick it to the Empire and help as many people as he can, while keeping his family safe, however he needs to understand that doing this randomly is essentially pointless (which… okay, I have issues with this too but if I go off on that you’re never getting the next chapter of the Big Fic. I’m working with what I got, friends!!!)

BD-1 is just happy to go wherever Cal goes so long as he gets to scan new stuff and slice new systems!

Cere wants to build and protect the Jedi’s legacy by gathering everything she can of their history. She *is* tiring of the seemingly hopeless battle against the Empire and *wants* to put down roots, and she *needs* to be honest with Cal about this (who, once he got over his “you can’t leave me, Cere!” initial reaction would be absolutely fine with this??? HEY, WORKING WITH WHAT I’VE GOT!)

Merrin wants to regain her powers, and she needs to come to terms with the terrible trauma she experienced, but she can do this not through what is ultimately a fling, but by being honest with Cal, Cere, Greez and BD and working through it with her family. You tie it into the plot by having them working for the Rebellion, which means Merrin finally feels a purpose because it’s through the rebels she sees that she’s not the only one who suffered great loss and, like them, she can do something about it. And hey, maybe she hooks up with Irei in a much subtler and less SEXUAL HEAAAAAAAAAAAALING way because she wants to.

Greez wants to stick with his family, but he needs to be honest with Cal and say if they’re going to keep doing this whole kicking it to the Brood and the Empire, they’ve got to be smarter about it.

Basically, by cutting out all the OC bullshit, you focus on the crew we all know and love from Fallen Order without some rando OC being there to FLY THE MANTIS. Get the FUCK out of there! If I didn’t think Fret was a self-insert before, her getting to fly the Mantis sealed it for me.

There is a GOOD CONCEPT buried in the depths of this book. It’s just, y’know, not to my taste.

Alright, I think that does it for now. PHEW! That feels better ^_^

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱

Pairings:  Amado Carrillo Fuentes x f!reader(Latina Reader) x Walt Breslin  [From Narcos: Mexico TV Series]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Synopsis: You have to take on the role of a musician to infiltrate a restaurant filled with high-level international drug dealers.There, you meet Amado as expected, However, it seems that everything is not going according to the plan anymore.

AN : Just in case you're wondering, in this story, Pacho is the same person as in El Paraiso de las Pandillas. I imagine him as bisexual. (Please don't attack me; it's just my imagination and has no relevance to real individuals.)

I used to think that I wouldn't continue this fanfic, but because there are still people waiting to read it, I thought I would give it another try. However, if it doesn't really work out, I probably won't update it anymore. Thank you to everyone who has been following and reading it all along. I truly appreciate it.

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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[1]ᅳ 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐜��𝐩𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚 ✟

Havana, Cuba

1830(Military Time)

It has been over three hours since you sat and played the grand piano in the restaurant of the capital city. Your fingers ache from pressing down on the black and white keys as you continuously perform well-known classical pieces to entertain the sole guest here, who is seated at the large table in the middle of the restaurant.

A tall, dark-skinned man with an unruly beard and disheveled hair, always dressed in black and adorned with brand-name sunglasses hanging over his chest on the edge of his shirt

That is Amado Carrillo Fuentes, the target you've been waiting for.

You watch this man intently, alert and attentive. Since the mission began, this is the first time you have seen this man so closely. Close enough for you to shoot him dead without missing a beat.

But that's not the objective this time, and you're not playing the role of an assassin or a CIA agent. Here, you're just a "Camila," an ordinary female musician hired to provide some entertainment during an important meeting of the Latin American drug cartel.

"It's too long." Diego's voice crackles through the earpiece, sounding irritated. "Are you sure the intel is correct?"

It's not just him who feels irritated; you feel the same. "I risked my life to obtain this information. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be here," your words barely whispered, but the tone sounds like a shout

"I think this should be enough," says the voice that comes back, belonging to Waltz, with a Texan accent that is so familiar to you. "You find a way out, and then we'll discuss what to do next."

No way, you think, but you don't say it out loud.  You deliberately ignored that command.

Suddenly, your bare back under the yellow floral-patterned dress shivers as you notice three more individuals walking into the empty restaurant. They are dressed in vibrant, tailored suits, adorned with thick gold chains and expensive watches 'drug lord uniforms.' That's what Diego told you—the first rule of identifying suspicious individuals—and it proves very useful this time.

Those people are the most powerful drug lord syndicate in Colombia, called "Gentlemen of Cali" Today, they have appeared together, all three of them. You discreetly observe the two Rodríguez brothers, Gilberto and Miguel, They both seem like ordinary old men with no apparent threat. No one knows that beneath that façade, they are the heads of 'Cali Cartel' the most powerful drug cartel in Colombia, controlling over 90% of the cocaine market worldwide, ever since Pablo Escobar fell.

However, the most frightening person is Pacho Herrera, the second-in-command of the gang. He is still young, handsome, and charismatic, with a strong sexual appeal to both men and women (mostly men, as confirmed by one of the prostitutes who is your informant that Pacho is bisexual). His appearance is strikingly different from that of other drug dealers. The reason why this man often takes on the role of negotiating and bargaining for the gang's benefits is that Pacho is always able to fulfill his duties and responsibilities. He is clever, cunning, and ruthless.

Nevertheless, Pacho's relationship with Amado seems to be going well. As far as you have learned, Pacho greatly admires this Mexican drug dealer. Although it is uncertain whether their relationship is strictly professional or romantic, there is a high possibility that this negotiation will succeed without any issues.

Although you are sitting closest to them, you are still considered distant. There is no way for you to hear their conversation, but you can read their lips to some extent.

—I want to make an offer.

—What offer?"

—A transportation exchange with Cocaine and market sharing in America

—You want to compete with my gang?

—I don't want to compete, and what I'm doing will help your gang in America.

That's all you know, albeit not much. However, it's enough to confirm that these two gangs are indeed negotiating a drug trafficking agreement.

There was a tense whispering between the Rodríguez brothers before they abruptly stood up without touching the food on the table. They didn't look upset but rather seemed deeply engrossed in their thoughts about that proposal. As for Pacho, he remained seated at the table, continuing to sip his drink, and began to casually ask Amado, "How are you, friend?" while spraying empty words for several minutes before finally getting up and patting Amado on the back, saying, "Wait for a phone call tonight."

"What happened then?" asked Diego anxiously, but you didn't respond. At that moment, nothing else on that table could divert your attention from the remaining Amado.

Suddenly, he raised his face—the only moment you and he made eye contact without intending to. He smiled at you, and you felt an instant chill when you realized it was the most dangerous smile in both America and Mexico.

And the man slowly stood up before confidently walking towards you.

You stopped playing the piano immediately. The last note resonated in the air before it fell silent. One of your hands instinctively reached to the back, a familiar gesture, only to realize later that you hadn't brought your gun with you.

This was an unexpected situation for you, and the most unsettling part was that you had no idea of his intentions or what kind of danger might arise within the next few minutes.

Perhaps this plan leaked to Amado. Maybe you would die at his hands.

No matter how nervous you were, you tried to smile calmly back at him, the calmest you could be. Your heart pounded when he stopped right in front of you, closer than ever.

"You play the piano very well," was Amado's first sentence. "May I ask your name?"

"I'm Camila."

"And I'm Amado," he said, extending his hand. You shook hands, feeling like it was a dream, but the firm and rough palm confirmed it was real.

The man fell silent, contemplating something deeply in his heart. You didn't dare move again; you remained seated, still wary what was happening.

He must have a plan. That's what you're thinking right now

And Amado also had a plan for you, just not the kind you had imagined.

"I think I'll have to stay around here for a while. It would be good to have a friend with me. If you have no business and don't mind being my friend," he said,

You raised an eyebrow, almost letting your jaw drop.

You didn't react immediately. You knew what he wanted from you.

"Well, I'm just a musician. If you need..." You left a small gap for him to figure out. "I think you can contact some women from outside."

"No, no, not like that." Amado quickly waved his hand, looking surprised and chuckling at the same time. "I just want you to join me for a drink and sit with me as long as I stay here, that's all."

You blinked in astonishment, realizing that everything happening was beyond the mission and beyond expectations. No matter what, you have obtained what you want now, and you should leave as soon as you have the chance before anything bad happens.

But deep down, you also knew that this was an opportunity—a once-in-a-lifetime chance that might never come again.

You tried to smile again and chose to do the opposite of what you should do.

"Sure, why not, if you're paying"

You accept his offer

---------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Inside the modified black van, loud conversations in Spanish resonated. Before Diego's face emerged from the van's window, he glanced at his boss, who was waiting outside with American officers, his expression not looking too good.

"We can't contact Y/N anymore, but we know she's with Amado now."

The deputy police chief, who had just finished smoking a cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke before squinting at Diego. "What does it mean that She's with Amado? Did they catch her?"

"Nah, I think she chose to stay willingly." Diego took off his glasses, a rare occurrence unless he was feeling stressed. "That idiot lured her to drink, and she said yes!. I've invited her before, and she refused all the time. But now she chooses to go with that scumbag drug dealer without a second thought!”

Julio chuckled, He smirked before extending his hand to slap him on the back. "Because you're not as handsome as he is, little boy."

"I don't see what's so funny." Walt spoke up, leaning against the van door with a tense expression: "She's in danger, and we need to get her out of there quickly."

"Calm down, White Boy." Julio's voice remained relaxed, knowing that the American officer genuinely cared for their lone teammate. "She's C.I.A. Somehow she managed to survive, right?"

"But the C.I.A. isn't God," Walt retorted. "She could have been shot and killed just like me and you."

Diego glanced at Walt and immediately decided that this was not about himself. So he quickly turned his face and stepped back into the van. There was a faint shout from one of the Mexican soldiers on the other side, suggesting, "If you guys want to fight, do it in a secluded place." Walt responded to the advice by raising his middle finger in return.

Such situations were common in the battle against drug trafficking. Sometimes the tension of the mission led to heated arguments

If Americans were like tongues, Mexicans were like teeth. Julio knew this truth well, as did Walt himself.

The Mexican man calmly lit up another cigarette, exhaling a cloud of white smoke from his mouth and nose. "Listen, Walt, I know that the C.I.A. is not a god. Americans like you have never been my gods, and I know Y/N is going to do something by herself. No one is controlling her. That means she believes in herself, and you should have faith in her too."

With his long, pointing finger, he directed it straight at Walt, locking him in an intense gaze. Fatigued eyes still held a spark. 'We're all tired, and we don't want anyone to die’ conveyed Julio through his gaze, leaving the DEA agent at a loss for words.

Walt wanted to trust in you, as Julio told him, but that didn't help alleviate the anxiety in his heart.

Because you were the youngest agent Walt had ever worked with. You were the same age as his younger brother, and you had a bright future ahead of you. Walt didn't want you to make a mistake, and he didn't want to do anything that would restrain you in any way.

Walt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a fresh cigarette being offered to him by Julio. Walt accepted the gesture by taking it and holding it between his lips, whispering a soft thank you. As Julio lit the cigarette for him,

They both stood there, smoking side by side, exchanging understanding through the smoke and silence. Walt gazed at the darkening sky as the streetlights gradually turned on one by one, illuminating both sides of the road. He took another deep smoke before turning to the person beside him and asking, "So, what do we do next?"

Julio smiled briefly, tapped the end of his own cigarette against the side mirror of the van, and let the ashes fall to the ground.

"All we can do is wait," he said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------  

[ramzawrites]

ARIA - Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant | AI!Reader in the Krang Apocalypse

Gen

Part 2

Pairings: None

Characters included: Future!Donatello, Future!Michelangelo, Future!S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N

Warnings: n/a

Series: Part 1

Summary: Donnie is stretched thin in the apocalypse. Everyone needs the help of the genius but there is always so much to do, even with the help of his family and Shelldon.

But luckily Donnie is a genius inventor. Might as well create a robot that is simply there to answer everyones question.

Thus the Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant, aka ARIA, was born.

Word count: 2539

Authors Note: This is just a personal project I will work on in between Dream World and my college work. I just love the idea of Donnie creating a second AI and Shelldon immediately taking the mantle of the older brother. I just wanna write the robot siblings causing chaos while Donnie scrambles behind his robot kids to make sure no one dies. Also i just wanted to take the chance to maybe write in the future Casey jr and Shelldon hang out bc you can't tell me those two wouldn't kinda think of each other as cousins lmao

Also I gave Reader a name (Aria) in this one but Y/N will be used sometimes at some point in the future.

In the apocalypse Donnie’s mind has probably become one of the most important assets. He provides clean water, weapons, protection, and intel. And he makes it look so easy. You had a problem? He probably has multiple ways to solve it for you.

The thing was everyone had some kind of problem.

“Hey Donatello, we have problems with this water purifier. We can’t find the correct replacement parts, do you know what we can do instead?”

“Oh, Mister Donatello! We are trying to bioengineer crops that work well with the destroyed soil here somewhat. We need your expertise!”

“Aha, Donnie! Our weapons seem to be less effective against the Krang. Got something to juice our weapons up more?”

“Donnie, we really need you for this recon mission to determine what the Krang are building there.”

“Donnie, how is your research going into reversing the effects of Krang infection?”

“Donnie, we need more prosthetic limbs.”

“Donnie, medical supplies are running low. We need a proper substitute if possible.”

“Donnie, you really should sleep more.”

Hah, sleep.

Sleep felt like it was only a distant memory at this point.

He wanted to help! He really did but it was just impossible to follow every inquiry with the same priority. Either because some things were frankly impossible at the moment, they didn’t have the correct materials for the project or there just wasn’t enough time.

There was always so much to do and never enough time.

Even with the help of his brothers and sister. The work seemed never ending.

So, as a way to try to mitigate it, Donnie decided to upgrade Shelldon. Over the years the bot made great strides when it came to learning more about behavior and seemed to get better at interacting with people. His rebelliousness faded over the years. Understanding that there were more important things to do and if he can help his creator, or father as he began calling him over the years, then so be it.

That said he still acted often more like a young teenager than the recon bot he was supposed to be. Frankly Donnie giving Shelldon proper limbs like legs, arms and of course hands seemed to have enabled him more when it came to his mischievous behavior. Now being able to interact better with the world around him.

Still, he was reliable and was able to assist with recon missions and relay important information from one point to another in record speed.

Besides, Donnie would never admit it out loud, but he did appreciate Shelldon’s attitude somewhat. Somehow his mischievous behavior brought him a sense of normalcy. Something that survived the start of the apocalypse. Sure, he was an AI and part of this could be then attributed towards Donnie’s programming but still. A lot Shelldon learned himself. Even more he seemed to have picked up from Donnie’s family to his chagrin.

As much as Shelldon helped him out though it never seemed enough. Shelldon was meant more for recon rather than as an information bank to help other parts of the resistance.

There was a knock on the door to his workshop. Donatello didn’t even bother answering already knowing it was Mikey who would just let himself in. If Leo, Raph or April did that he’d make an annoyed comment. Mikey had the younger brother privileges. Not at all times but most times.

Enough to particularly annoy Leo with that fact.

“What can I do for you, Mikey?” Donnie asked as he hurriedly continued to type on his computer. New lines of code appearing on the screen in a scarily fast tempo. His battleshell was laying on the ground against the desk. The design having become more sleek over the years. Though even in the apocalypse Donnie couldn’t help himself adding a few LED lights for the aesthetics.

The Krang were the absolute worst thing that ever happened to the world and the universe but when they do manage to liberate a Krang labor camp they did get access to interesting Krang materials that he didn’t hesitate to use for his own projects.

One such project was currently sitting on a workbench on the side connected to his computer with a ton of cables. Charging as he worked on upgrading the programming of his new invention.

Mikey was now standing behind his chair “We haven’t seen you longer than a few moments the last few week. We’ve been worried about you. Gotta eat and sleep, Donnie.”

He wanted to roll his eyes but his eyes were too busy scanning his code since there seemed to be some kind of mistake. Probably a missing semicolon.

“I am eating and taking rests. Don’t worry. Besides once I’m finished with this I will hopefully have an easier time taking breaks.”

This obviously piqued Mikey’s interest “Oh? Why is that? What are you working on?” He finally moved to his side, his eyes now scanning the code as well which was amusing to Donnie. Mikey probably tried to gleam any kind of information from it while barely know anything when it came to programming. Not that Donnie hasn’t tried teaching him. He never got past the basics with him.

But this was way past the basics. This was genuine GeniusTech programming that can create a sentient AI.

“I’m making an assistant.” He simply stated.

Mikey paused “What like… what? Isn’t Shelldon already kind of filling that role?”

Donnie tilted his head to one side and back, as if he was mulling this statement over “No. I want to create an assistant that can store a vast amount of information on all kinds of subjects while being able to autonomously do research shouldn’t the correct answers be there.”

“So, we don’t have to bug you anymore when asking you how god and the world work, eh?” He didn’t need to look at his younger brother to know that he was smirking. At this point this has been one of his biggest grievances after all. Sure, he loved infodumping but topics like the filter of a water purifier weren’t exactly on the top of that list.

“But more importantly.” Mikey drawled out the last word “Does that mean Shelldon will have a sibling?”

Donnie bristled at that, as well as a turtle can bristle “No! This is just my Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. Nothing more. I’m building it to give us room to breath to work on more projects at the same time.”

His brother chuckled at his response “You say that but you aren’t even correcting Sheldon anymore when he calls you dad.”

He couldn’t even respond before Mikey spoke up again “Anyway, is that them?�� Probably pointing to the slumped over robot on his workbench.

The robot was just like all his tech purple. The head was more humanoid in nature with a screen for where the face would be. They also had a shell on the back. Knowing Donnie there were probably a ton of hidden compartments that held all sorts of interesting gadgets. It was probably only around four feet tall which would put it around the same height as Shelldon.

This actually felt rather short even for Mikey nowadays. All the Hamato brothers have had growth spurts over the years. All but Mikey were almost towering over other humans at this point. This just seemed to be one of the other effects of originally being created to be soldiers to fight in a war against humanity.

It was a bit ironic and almost heartbreaking that this gave them now an edge while warring against the Krang. Even though Draxum created them for this reason he still seemed somewhat sad about that fact now. Though Mikey was sure he was the only one who noticed that about the goat yokai. He was probably the only one who could read the yokai almost like an open book at this point.

Donnie’s gaze flitted over to his workbench, looking at the robot that Mikey was now closely scrutinizing without actually touching it “Yeah, yeah. That’s the Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. Or will be.”

Mikey furrowed his brows, his hand running through his short black hair that he was slowly growing out, mostly on Donnie’s orders since he was still a bit perplexed by his sudden hair growth “Why not just call them Aria. Seems easier than to say the whole name out loud.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Aria.” Donnie sighed.

“Shelly knows about them, right? Like he has to since you work on them in the open like that.”

Donnie scoffed at that “Of course he knows. He helped assemble the pieces and calibrated the joins while I worked on other things or the code.”

“That might explain why he has been more high energy than usual.”

“I swear if Shelldon touched one of the Krang energy cells again-“

Mikey laughed “Nah, I think he is just excited at having another robot around soon.”

Donnie didn’t respond to that. He was too busy adding more lines of code. Everyone seemed somehow way more excited at his new invention than he anticipated. Aria, as Mikey had dubbed it now, would be hopefully a big asset in the base.

“Anyways. Stop working on them. It’s Hamato dinner time. I was supposed to just grab you. Let’s go Donnie, we actually scrounged up some nice ingredients for once. Come on, come on. I cooked real food after ages.”

The prospect of honest to god real food sounded fantastic. It sounded so good after months of just military rations that he immediately saved his project and got out of his chair to put on his battleshell. It was just dinner with the family but especially nowadays he despised walking around without his artificial shell.

After being caught in a fight without it he almost glued the piece of tech on him. He even slept with it on for a while. His brothers had to practically peel him out of it. Leo then had to take care of any chafing on his soft shell. This whole experience was unpleasant enough that he learned to at least take it off again when he sleeps or when he is hunkered down for days in his workshop.

“Food sounds good.” He agreed as he followed his brother out towards where his family was undoubtedly waiting for them. If they started without them Mikey would probably beat them all up. Knowing him he probably wanted to see everyone’s reaction to his cooking after such a long time.

It took a good while longer for the work on Aria to progress. A lot came in the way of that but Donnie tried his best to work on this project whenever he could.

Donnie was currently working on Shelldon’s left arm that got a bit jostled during his last recon mission. He had to admit he always felt a few trepidations when he sent out Shelldon with others for missions. This time it seemed somewhat warranted since a Krangified human apparently got close enough to get ahold of him to pull his arm out of its socket. Were he a living being trying to set the arm back in would be painful as all can be but luckily for Shelldon this was mostly a thing of moving it back in and just repairing and fastening screws to hold it in place.

Maybe he should upgrade Shelldon again and give him even more defensive capabilities even if it’d slow him down.

A metallic scratching sound pulled him out of his thoughts “Shelldon. What are you doing?”

Shelldon was using his other arm to look at the exposed wiring and exoskeleton of the robot next to him. Aria was still sitting on the workbench slowly collecting dust.

“Just seeing if I can do something while you work on me, dad. I wanna see them finally come online.” He simply replied.

Donnie pulled one small screw tighter “If you want we can work on it more once I’m done with your arm.”

Even if Shelldon was incapable of an actual smile due to his build, Donnie swore he could see him do so in his own way. He obviously perked up at the prospect.

And as promised as soon as the arm worked again and was calibrated to Donnie’s standards, which took way longer than Shelldon would have liked, they jumped at completing the chassis.

Completing the code took longer than that. It took a couple more weeks between missions and work for Donnie to feel confident enough in his work to try to activate the robot for a test. He just wanted to see if his code started up correctly.

Shelldon was at Aria’s side while Donnie worked on the computer side of things. Starting up multiple of his analysis programs to record how the technology worked with each other. If there were parts that unexpectantly heated up for example.

He pressed on his enter key to start up the Aria program. Immediately turning around to see his GeniusTech logo appearing on the screen of Aria’s face.

A few commands appeared. Showing him exactly what programs started and loaded up only to disappear again and a pixelated face in a neutral expression appeared. Huh, he swore he designed it in such a way that it should start with a resting expression.

Aria blinked.

“Hello. I am your Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. How may I help you?”

Donnie couldn’t help his glee as he yelled out “By Galileo! It works!” It loaded up and reacted just how he wanted when being approached by someone else. There was definitely too much static in their voice and there was a weird echoing effect on it. Something he will have to work on.

But now to test its capabilities.

Something easy to test the waters.

“At what temperature does water boil?”

The response was immediate “Water begins to boil at 99.97 °C, 211.9 °F and 373.15 Kelvin.”

Ah just as precise as he had hoped.

“Explain to me what the measurement of metal strength is.”

Once again, the response was fast “Tensile strength is a value that indicates a metal's ability to resist deformation and failure when loads are applied that pull it apart. Tensile strength is typically quantified through units of pounds per square inch, PSI, or pascals, Pa.”

Perfect! Now what else should he ask to really test their ability to pull the correct knowledge out. What would be a complicated enough question?

“Brah. Come on. They just came online! Do you just want to quiz them?” Shelldon whined. Sometimes Donnie was really confused where he got his attitude and speech pattern from. Then again Leo did sabotage him years ago.

Sighing, he relented “Alright. Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. Register an alias for yourself.”

They tilted their head to the side to look at him inquisitively “What name do you want me to register?”

Shelldon’s head snapped up to his creator. There was something pleading in the way he acted and looked at him. Donnie nodded.

The turtle robot walked in front of the new one “Aria. A-R-I-A.”

“Aria.” They repeated. “The name has been registered as an alias. You may refer to me now as such.”

[tobiasdrake]

Well, that managed to be the worst night of my--

The eclipse.

Well, that managed to be the second worst night my life. Congratulations, Teaks; You had some steep competition.

Back on the road to find the Docarri.

Oh good, mirror puzzles. I love those.

I sound sarcastic but I'm not. I'm a sucker for slidey blocks and light reflecting and all that old-school adventurer stuff.

There is ALWAYS something behind waterfalls.

...something for Teaks, in this case.

Been back and forth trying to figure out where the light puzzle begins. The little white doodad over the face is clearly where it ends. But there's no sigil for this obvious Solstice Warrior timey-wimey crystal.

Maybe I'm missing something. I can probably come back to this on my way out.

OH GOOD IT'S THESE SHITWEASELS AGAIN

Hey Serai, I have a question. You use weird-ass portals and they use weird-ass portals. Any connection? And please take that in the least accusatory way possible because I have complete faith in you and am only seeking intel on them.

We know nothing about these guys other than that those masks look like they're really going to hurt when we shove them up their assholes.

You picked a bad day for this. My entire worldview cracked in half last night and I could really use some stress relief.

Oh no, we do. We do have to quarrel. On the grounds that I want to. I want to be very clear that what is about to happen will not be an act of self-defense.

You ruined my Fake Birthday.

Today, I choose violence.

You did not bring this on yourselves. I brought it. And I suddenly feel much better about my life choices right now.

Thanks, guys. I needed that.

I'm gonna hold you to that.

Well, that was weird. But it did help clear my head. And we're at the top of the waterfall, so from here it should be a nice and easy stro--

Rock climb. A nice. Easy. Rock climb.

I'm beginning to think the Docarri don't want visitors.

Moraine said to ring a bell. But we didn't pass a bell on our way up here.

Oh, there it is. Good eye, Garl. Sorry, Serai; Your dramatic reveal's going to have to wait.

Hey, can't you just portal over there and do it? It'd take you like five seconds, right? Do we all really need to go together? Or do you have, like, limited portal ammo or something?

Huh. I expected something a bit more exciting. Guess we did need to go together.

Hey, we're looking for the Oracle of Tides. Oracle, specifically. Not the Ruler of Tides. He doesn't like us very much.

Aww, that's nice! We would be honored to take advantage of your hospitality.

If everyone around here is this sweet, then this trip's going to be pleasant.

This trip is going to be unpleasant.

You said you foresaw us coming here! I have air lungs. How am I supposed to visit the lake floor!?

Is that a threat?

Because if it is, I should warn you that I just engaged in a rousing bit of violence and am now fairly tired, and not in the proper mood to defend myself. So. I would appreciate it. If you did not start shit for... one hour? Yeah. One hour, please.

Oh my god we get complimentary gifts

I want the pink one. Second from the right. Bottom row. It's so cute. I will... I'll... Uh....

I get hit with things a lot and seashells are breakable.

I will leave it on the ship in my private area but so help me I will be taking it out to play with every night we're at sea.

Oh, sure. Since it's you, Garl, I won't even be snippy. Go get us a seashell! I trust your judgment.

Choose wisely. And by wisely I mean the pink one. Second from the right, bottom row. You know it's the objectively correct choice.

You chose correctly. I don't know if that means we passed the ritual's test, but it does mean that you passed my test.

Failure would have resulted in no penalty of any kind, but success earns you my appreciation. Good job, Garl. T_T This is why you're my bestie. You know me so well. We are on a wavelength.

Does this have anything to do with me making paths over water? Or are we gonna sprout gills or something?

Oh, I am going straight for Torment Peak. You should not have said that. You gave me a pretty seashell for good luck and said "Don't go to the cool place". What possible reason could there be for me to not immediately beeline it to--

[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

This week, Jensen gets to see life on the inside when he's sent into the Pent House, a supermax facility for dangerous Augs, on a mission. There'll be a lot of drugs. But at least he gets to hang out with Jarreau for a minute. The whole thing is at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55686901/chapters/141357007.

Jarreau briefed him over coffee. Hector Guerrero had infiltrated Junkyard as one Oscar Mejia over two years ago. The silent agent was in Organized Crime, not CT, but he was in position to confirm or deny the intel on the widespread terror attacks allegedly planned for the second anniversary of the Incident. Junkyard had maneuvered him into the “Pent House,” the Penley T. Housefather Federal Correctional Facility, a super-max for Augs run jointly with the state government in the middle of the Arizona desert. No one knew why, but it had been intentional. And they couldn’t ask him: he’d gone “dark opal,” no comms contact whatsoever lest he blow his cover and lose his angle—and his life. Jensen’s mission was to be “transferred in,” make contact of a subtler sort, get the intel, extract Agent Guerrero if possible, and be “transferred out” to another facility a few days later.

He had a cover identity, too, as a hatchet-man for a gang out of Wisconsin, moved down south to get him away from his known associates. He was supposed to have received his augs after a self-sacrificing act of loyalty to his boss, who’d sprung for the good stuff out of gratitude. Jensen wasn’t sure it would explain how he’d become almost half Sarif-brand milspec carbon and chrome, but the cover only had to hold up for a few days.

The cover came with a set of charges, but they let him pick a name. He went with “Derrick Walthers,” an homage to his favorite boxer, a Detroit boy whose similar build had given Jensen a lot of inspiration back in the day, and to his sort-of godmother. He warned Malik and, after a moment’s thought, Pritchard that he was going no-contact himself for several days to a week, then hung up his coat in the Phoenix office and changed into anonymous street clothes. Jarreau wished him good luck.

And then he was in an automated VTOL on an automated route out over the Arizona desert to the rocky butte where the Pent House throbbed like a steel carbuncle of anti-Aug sentiment made manifest. The VTOL came in over the pad, stopped, turned, and dropped with a bounce on its shocks. Its flight was robotic, without spirit or grace or economy, either of momentum or of fuel. Jensen thought about the way Malik made the chunky Bumblebee dance like a hummingbird and shook his head minutely.

Processing sucked, despite his best efforts to appreciate the irony. They’d changed him into a red prison jumpsuit already, with an inmate number stenciled on the zip-off top and the trousers. He’d been put in leg irons and manacles that enclosed his entire hands, both made of titanium, neither enough to do more than slow him down if he tried to make a break for it. But the heavy collar around his neck was the worst. Two guards attached long poles to it and walked him into an elevator that took him down to the processing station, while cameras and turrets scrutinized his every move.

Then they opened up his temporal port and put a control chip into him, something from TYM’s labs behind American branding, no doubt. He suspected it built on Reed’s work, as subverted by Darrow: it wracked his body with pain every time he used bioenergy.

And whenever they aimed a little remote at him and pressed the button. Which they did, gleefully. And repeatedly. One guard kicked him in the kidneys once he’d dropped to his knees in agony, but it barely registered through the electric torment. The prison’s head CO, a tall man with iron-grey hair and a permanent sneer whose ID badge read STENGER, made sure he got the message loud and clear, staring him down while his muscles locked up, myomer clawing at itself just like the flesh beside it, a quivering, full-body rictus.

The pain coursed through him like he was burning up from within. He felt a flicker of sympathy for Zhao Yun Ru before the agony overwhelmed him and he blacked out.

[corpocyborg]

I decided I'd go ahead and start one myself this week, so I have a chance to tag everyone who usually tags me first! 😁

Tagging @merge-conflict, @luvwich, @wanderingaldecaldo, and @streetkid-named-desire.

And now... a sneak preview of SECURE YOUR SOUL from CHAPTER SEVEN: THE BEGINNING IS THE END IS THE BEGINNING

---

"Nostra, I told you, the deal's supposed to go down tonight."

"Yes. At Konpeki Plaza. I understand." 

“Then you understand why we can’t afford to wait.”

“I’m not telling you to wait, V.” Nostra’s face was carefully neutral. “I’m telling you that you need more proof.”

V was silent, her heart beginning to beat more rapidly. She realized what he was implying. He wouldn’t officially recommend that she obtain proof on her own, but he was letting her know that that’s what was necessary. It was a risky endeavor, and she wasn’t entirely sure yet how she’d accomplish it. But the idea filled her with eager anticipation. 

“Okay,” she told him, folding her arms neatly on the surface of her desk. “Understood.” 

Nostra nodded. “I hope so.” He stood. “Keep me updated, Director Locke.” He left the room with one last meaningful backward glance at V. 

His use of her official title was deliberate, she was sure. Almost everyone she knew at NCHQ called her V. The single letter alias had been assigned to her during her first year at Arasaka Academy as part of a particularly challenging group project—a simulated undercover operation. V’s plan had led her team to victory, and she’d spent a blissful two weeks of fame at the top of the student leaderboard before someone knocked her off it again. Since then, the nickname had just stuck, even though it was an atypical form of address between coworkers. By using her title instead, Nostra reminded her of her position and her responsibility to look out for Arasaka’s best interests.

V swiveled her chair slightly to the right so she had more room to comfortably cross her legs. She leaned back into the cool, supple leather. As always at the start of a new mission, V began by considering what she already knew about her enemy—Yorinobu Arasaka, Saburo Arasaka’s second-born son and presumed heir, since the death of his first-born son way back in the 2020s.

She’d never been particularly fond of him. The prevalence of familial-based inheritance was one thing V actually disliked about Arasaka’s social structure, even if she had personally benefited from it. This was a corporation, not a monarchy. The best jobs should go to whomever most deserved them, not just those who happened to be born with the right genes. But she supposed that was the voice of the residual American in her, and she wasn’t one to cling to a bygone era.  

Still, she'd typically thought of the day when Yorinobu would take over as CEO of Arasaka with some apprehension. She knew his sordid history, a rebellious youth messing around with Japanese gangs. He'd supposedly been brought back into the fold since then, and V had always hoped that was true, but this new intel showed her she'd been right to be doubtful. The idea of an Arasaka CEO who didn't appreciate his position or share the core values of the corporation made her bristle. If she could be the one to expose him…

V smiled briefly, then shook her head to clear it. She needed to focus. She’d never become the one to correct the path of Arasaka’s legacy if she wasted her time daydreaming about it rather than making actionable plans.

[mo0nfairy]

HELLOOO????? OMG THAT WRITING IS MAKING ME FOAM AT THE MOUTH-, ok, ok, can we take a moment to appreciate the writing about Carlos?, Jill, you're still my baby but Carlos has a place in my dump called heart 😫, the way in which you write his despair at not having Y/n or us idk, it's the same, it's impressive, how he went to the extremes of hallucinating day and night for 6 years in a row, scratching any limits of common sense and preparing us food that probably with the passage of time it becomes moldy and even rots-, the letters, the gifts, absolutely everything, and oh, my God, those lines where you wrote his suicidal tendencies, the crisis, the desperation, it's just incredible, I have no words to describe how I feel, and oh, that necklace, that cute bee necklace, I want one too 😭, as a person who grew up with Disney movies in their childhood it was really nice to see what you added from the movie the lady and the truly romantic tramp although it was definitely tainted by Carlos' obsessive and even slightly perverted tendencies, but okay, okay, I can help him recreate that scene as many times as he wants, besides one of my favorite foods is the spaghettis :D, I can't wait to have how rotten everyone else is, and oh, I'd also like to add something about Y/n or us, can we mention how their mental health is going to shit?, (more than I think I was already-) , right?, nobody? , oww... well, it doesn't matter, it will be for another comment, I really want to write more about your story but my stupid forgetful brain can't retain much even so, thank you very much for bringing us this wonderful work!, please, do not take it attention to those comments complaining that you do not publish "enough", each writer has his personal life, it is necessary to learn to respect it, keep up the good work!, also if you reply to me feel free to correct any errors Whether it's spelling or grammar in my writing, I'm Mexican and I really don't trust Google's shitty translator, apart from my English is too basic to write messages like this, so an apology in advance if I misunderstood any of your writings! Have a nice night/afternoon/day! I love you very much! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

eeeeeeek you are too damn sweet!!! your comment literally makes me smile so much. thank u so much for the kindness and giving me a good laugh, as well!! and i love your intel of my story cause YES, readers mental health is snowballing into a pit of sheer despair. like it is OVER for poor reader. thank u so so much and i love you, as well!! <3 <3 <3

[franceblr]

half-baked headcanon #2

initially, sasori didn’t understand deidara’s preference for keeping his hair long; it’s very difficult to mantain, takes up a lot of deidara’s time, is unpractical, attracts attention, and is an inconvenient handle for opponents to grab onto in battle. despite silently appreciating the aesthetic value of deidara’s blonde locks, sasori often made pointed remarks about his partner’s hair, openly suggesting deidara cut it off short for the sake of practicality. deidara of course never even considered the idea, as his mane is a great source of pride and vanity for him. like most neglected children, initially deidara didn’t have a very strong concept of self care and hygiene; sasori, who always keeps his clothes, puppets and workspace pristine and tidy, couldn’t bear to share his living space with a grubby and chaotic teenager, and he took it up on himself to correct deidara’s messiness, and teach him the very basics. but even back when deidara was a wild and filthy child, deidara always took great care of his hair.

this debate reached its climax when deidara was 16, and they were tasked by pein with a mission which required to track down three missing nin and extort the intel they possessed. easy enough. except they proved to be extremely hostile and caught sasori and deidara off guard, who in turn had to take on a more aggressive approach. sasori ended up taking on two of the missing nin, opting to keep one alive for the interrogation, but as he was finishing them off he was interrupted by the sound of deidara screeching nearby. Making quick work of disposing of his opponents, sasori rushes to deidara’s aid, finding him on the ground, clay pouches cut off and thrown to the side, fruitlessly struggling against the broader and heavier nin straddling him, clawing at his arms; head bent backwards by a hand harshly pulling his hair, holding him in place, sasori barely has any time to notice the glint of the kunai against deidara’s throat and the blood blooming underneath it, before the ninja drops agonizing on top of deidara, all blood and silent screams and no information. now, deidara is a formidable long distance fighter; but he’s still rather small, developing muscles not yet strong enough to take down an opponent without his explosions, and he’s no match in hand to hand combat against a skilled shinobi. but sasori sees red. his mission has been an absolute disaster: he failed to interrogate any of the missing nin, has no information to relay to pein, efforts and time wasted in pointless travel and preparation, simply because this fucking brat could not hold his own, and decided to keep his hair down. had it not been for sasori’s intervention, deidara would be choking on his own blood right now! hadn’t sasori told him that long hair was the most obvious of liabilities in battle? shaking with rage and deciding to teach deidara a lesson about pride, vanity and listening to his elders, sasori gets out of hiruko stalking over to deidara, fists his hand in his hair and grits out that now he’s fucking done it, violently dragging him away from underneath the ninja’s bloody corpse. deidara seizes with fear, resisting, pulls at his hands and kicks, screams and begs, something sasori has never heard him do, but his resolve is of iron. he gathers all of deidara’s hair in one hand, and that’s when the realization hits deidara: sasori’s going to cut all of his hair off. he pleads with sasori, apologizing, twisting his head to try and look at his face with tearful eyes and beg sasori to spare his hair. he cries loudly as sasori chops his hair off with a kunai, jagged strands hitting the back of his neck as the blade unevenly cuts through his beautiful golden mane. after sasori is done, he snakes his hand underneath deidara’s jaw, the blood trickling from the wound on his throat stains his wooden fingers, and he forces deidara to recline his head and look at sasori’s face, at his ire, as he cruelly seals his punishment spitting out that if deidara’s irresponsibility sabotages one more mission for the team, he’ll cut off all four of his tongues next. deidara says nothing to this, stays on the ground crying bitter tears even after sasori is done patting down the bodies of the dead shinobi searching for any clues on the information sasori and deidara were looking for.

deidara doesn’t say a single word for a very long time after that. not that night at the inn, when he assesses in the bathroom the damage sasori’s done to his hair (sasori had shown a little mercy, his choppy hair reaching slightly below his jaw, long enough for a small bun); not when they return to the base and all deidara keeps on getting from other akatsuki members is double takes and awkward silence. it’s clear it wasn’t something deidara did himself, and nobody dares to ask whether sasori really did do just that. shearing one’s partner felt like such a huge overstepping of lines that shouldn’t be crossed among teammates. but then again none of the other akatsuki were tasked with essentially raising and training an out of control teenager into a functional member of an international terrorist organization. or so sasori reasoned to himself. truth be told, he hadn’t thought much about the consequences when he did it, too blinded by his wrath and too fed up with deidara’s antics. but deidara going that quiet on him was something sasori would have never seen coming. he expected violent oubursts, screaming matches, dramatics and retaliation. he expected deidara to try and set hiruko on fire. he didn’t expect deidara to not be able to look at him, to not stand being in the same room as him. never had it occurred to him that instead of defiance and vengeance, he could be met with betrayal and avoidance. he didn’t know when that started to bother him; didn’t notice when deidara’s silence became defeaning instead of a relief. sasori didn’t feel guilty, but he didn’t expect his actions to have this big of a repercussion either. somewhere in the back of his mind sasori knew that if the mission had failed, it wasn’t entirely because deidara refused to tie up his hair, and that he was just as much to blame. somewhere deep within him grew the awareness that cutting deidara’s hair was less about the mission and more of a big show of power, of sasori’s dominance in their partnership; a tangible reminder that sasori was in charge, that he was to be respected and feared, and there would be sore consequences if deidara were to disobey him again. it wasn’t quite regret, but it was a growing weight in sasori’s mind, making him uncomfortable, and making him want to avoid deidara even more than usual.

it came to the point where pein had to summon both of them and tell them they had to straighten their shit out for the sake of the organization. once dismissed, back in their shared room, with a leaden tongue sasori gives his best shot at an apology. it does little to soothe deidara’s distress. truth is, despite deidara’s provocations, stubborness and rude speech, he really did respect sasori, and considered them to be kindred spirits to an extent; he didn’t expect the same level of consideration from sasori, he made it clear deidara wouldn’t get as much. nor was it the first time sasori got physical with deidara, his patience so thin and deidara reveling in any attention he was shown. but this… this felt personal and nasty to a whole new level, and it made his chest ache and his throat close up. it left him lonely and ashamed, and so very desperate. desperate to leave, desperate to retaliate, desperate to set the entire base ablaze, desperate to cling to sasori’s knees and beg for comfort, beg to be soothed, beg for forgiveness, or whatever it is sasori would give him. it left him feeling small and battered. yet sasori’s the only one he’s ever gotten this close with, even if the sentiment is one-sided, and deidara has nowhere else to go, the akatsuki will make sure of that. so deidara breathes in, and takes it for what it is, and quietly buries it all deep where he stores things like these. by the time his hair begins to grow back, he’s erased the incident and their relationship goes back to normal fairly quickly, but sasori doesn’t miss how when deidara smiles at him, it never reaches his eyes.