#im not tagging their callsigns that's enough

[tenaclty]

i have been holding on to this wip since catalyst was new and i think it is finally time to accept defeat

[nevadancitizen]

do you think you could write something where könig and/or ghost (separate) were nearby or watched reader try to participate in a conversation but constantly got ignored or talked over to the point where they just kinda go silent and walk away? they end up comforting the reader and just trying to be a shoulder to cry on while they talk about their frustrations because this is something that always happens to them <\3

it doesn’t have to be too long and you don’t have to worry about getting to this request too quickly!! thank u for reading anyways :3

-> THE SOCIAL WEAK LINK

synopsis: rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost's asses. rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

word count: 2.2k (~1.1k each)

characters: ghost, könig, awkward! reader (lol)

notes: (rings dinner bell) hey friend.. this req has been sitting since september.. im so sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)

-> GHOST:

Debriefings were always boring. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and just wanted a cold shower and a warm bed. But what else encompasses the military so eloquently except unnecessary misery?

And to add to the misery, some rookies had tagged along to the mission. “On-the-job training,” Price had prattled off as he read the mission statement. He had given you and the rest of the 141 an exaggerated look that screamed If these rookies compromise the mission I’m going to tear the Lieutenant Colonel a new one.

The rookies (with callsigns Quest and Cable) were nice enough. They weren’t given the opportunity to burn off their energy on the mission like the 141 – they’d stayed behind as backup while the 141 went in to deal with the bad guys. As a consequence, now they’re in the debriefing room, chattering away like parrots.

Ghost could fall asleep in the chair he was in, if Cable and Quest were a little quieter. He looks at the next spinny chair over, where you’re sitting. You’ve got your knees tucked to your chin and are silently tracing the patterns in the wood table with a fingernail. Every now and again, you glance at the rookies, but ultimately turn your eyes away.

You were always just a bit too awkward to fit in with the rest of the military. Either too quiet or too loud; you rambled too often and your voice cracked when you did. You slipped through the cracks, into the quiet background with Laswell and Shepherd. You’re one of the powerful hands that move the pieces on the chessboard, but not a well-recognized one. Well-recognized within the 141, yes, but not on a wider scale. 

Ghost can tell how you’re feeling by the obvious emotion on your face. It’s yearning – an emotion Ghost knows well.

His eyes sweep the rest of the table. Gaz is fucking around on his phone, probably making a new Pinterest board, while Soap leans over his shoulder and watches him. Price is in another room, talking to someone important. Ghost couldn’t really bring himself to care about who. 

The entire room is bogged down with an unmistakable tiredness that goes right over Quest and Cable’s heads. Really, the only sound in the room is their voices and, intermittently, yours as you try to inject yourself into their conversation. Each attempt is met with pursed lips that barely count as smiles and something along the lines of “Yeah. Anyway…”

Eventually, Price pops in, leaning his head on the doorframe. The brim of his hat crinkles and his nose wrinkles up in disdain. He sighs. “Everyone out. Lieutenant Colonel wants this meeting room for herself. We’ll debrief later.”

Quest and Cable pop up like excited teenagers and head for the door, continuing to talk. “I’m soooo goddamn hungry. Hopefully the mess hall has something good…”

“Hey!” You practically jump from your chair, your eyes on the rookies. “Um, I heard that they just restocked the vending machines? Do you wanna maybe chick – I mean, check – them out with me? They’re just down the hall.”

They both tense, and Quest looks over their shoulder. They smile awkwardly and exchange a look with Cable. “Uh… maybe another time?”

You visibly deflate and rock back on your heels. “Yeah, totally. See you later.”

They both nod tersely and exit. You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. You sit back in the spinny chair and it wheels backwards from the force.

Gaz shuts his phone off and groans while Soap sucks air through his teeth. 

“Not your best effort,” Gaz says. 

“I know,” you say. 

“Maybe you’re not just compatible with rookies?” Soap tries.

You roll your head back against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I know.” 

You sink further into the chair, then stand. “Whatever. Let’s clear out. Price will have our heads if we don’t.”

Ghost tails you out the door. You don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there (even if his footsteps are extraordinarily light for a man of his stature). 

“Pompous pricks, ay?” Ghost says. 

You stick your hands in your pockets, hiking your shoulders up by your ears. “Wish they were a little more personable. Wish I was a little more personable.”

“Why, you’re plenty personable.” Ghost laughs gruffly at his own joke as he nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Asking to go ‘chick out’ the vending machines is a personable interaction?” You relax your arms and knock your elbow against Ghost’s. 

“I thought it was funny,” Ghost says. “Even if it was just a slip-up.”

You sigh, but keep up with Ghost as he walks. “If it was funny, then why didn’t they laugh?”

Ghost thinks for a second. “Maybe they just don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You don’t have a sense of humor,” you jab.

Ghost scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Then make me laugh,” you say. “Make me laugh right now.”

Ghost breathes in and exhales slowly through the fabric of his mask. “Well… do you know why the Cold War was called the Cold War?”

“The supernations fought using proxy wars,” you say. “America and the USSR never really went head-to-head.”

Ghost sighs pointedly. “Yes,” he says, “but also because of the icy-BMs.”

“The what?”

“The Cold War?” Ghost repeats. “Icy?”

“ICBM stands for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.” You stop midstep, looking at Ghost with a disbelieving smile. “Ghost, don’t tell me you don’t know what ICBM stands for?”

“No, it –” Ghost sighs. “Icy sounds like IC? Icy-BMs?”

You burst out laughing, waving Ghost away like he was some form of stupid. “Ghost, seriously? You don’t – oh my God!”

“I’m not a fucking knob, I know what…” 

Ghost can’t bring himself to correct you as he watches you laugh like that. It’s a bit too loud and there’s a snort in there somewhere, but it rings true and warms Ghost’s heart. He doesn’t mind being seen as dumb for a minute if you’re able to warm his heart with a sound as nice as that. 

-> KöNIG: 

König nearly always hates going undercover. 

More often than not, the higher-ups stick him in some ill-tailored enemy armor and send him in with nothing but a less-than-encouraging slap on the ass. They know he’ll make it out alive.

On this mission, he feels a little more comfortable. It’s more than obvious you’re not. 

You and König are camped out on the edge of a ballroom, sitting together at a small table. You’re dressed in a fancy outfit that just screams decadence, and it fits your role well – the adult child of some rich, cigar-chomping tech baron. König is playing the role of your bodyguard, dressed down from his usual military garb in a plain black suit (with kevlar padding) and a balaclava.

You cross one leg over the other at the knee and look down at your flute of champagne as you swirl it. The bubbles rise to the surface and pop as the pale liquid settles. 

“I hate this,” you say under your breath, just loud enough for König to hear. 

He nods along, but straightens up when a small group of people approach the table. There’s an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a girl, maybe fifteen. 

“Hi, sweetheart!” An older woman croons at you. “You’re Bohumil Silvester’s youngest, right?”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter and put the champagne flute on the table. “Yes, I am. And, um – and who might you be?”

“I’m Laila Matthews.” Laila checks over her shoulder at the people accompanying her. “This is my daughter, Adine, and this is my husband, Keaton.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile politely, but König can scope out of the corner of his eye that you’re gripping a bit of the fabric of your too-fancy outfit like you’re meaning to rip it off. You spout your fake name to Laila with a cheeky “But you know that already, right, ma’am?”

Laila is utterly delighted with your carefully constructed persona. She throws her head back and laughs, one hand on her chest and the other finding Keaton’s shoulder. “Oh, Lord. Aren’t you just your father’s child?”

You nod and, once again, smile politely while exchanging side-eye glances with König. He’s just as confused as you are. 

As soon as Laila recovers, she’s talking again. She gestures vaguely in König’s direction. “And who is this? Security, for this casual meeting?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” you say. “You can never be too careful these days, with all the laws about concealed carry and everything.”

“Well, I’m 57, and I’ve only had security for a few occasions,” Laila says. 

“You’re 57?” You bark, a little too loud. You can feel a few heads turn your way and Laila’s stare turns withering. König’s shoulders shake as he coughs into his fist.

“I mean, um, you’re 57?” You try again, quieter. “Because you don’t look it. Like, at all. Ma’am.”

Laila’s tone is flat when she speaks. “Right.”

“I meant, um, you look younger? Uh, anyway.” You smile nervously, then pick up your champagne flute and take a sip. “I love your family’s outfits! And the, uh, the way they match.”

Keaton leans in and grabs a hold of Laila’s shoulder. He gets up on his toes to whisper something in Laila’s ear. It’s hard to hear over the ambient noise of the ballroom. Laila nods and Keaton continues to whisper.

“Um, Laila? Mrs. Matthews?” You try to get her attention, to no avail. She keeps nodding to Keaton’s words like you’re not even there.

You stand and turn to Adine. “Adine, right? Tell your mother it was nice speaking to her.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Adine nods absently, her eyes somewhere else on the ballroom floor. 

You toss the rest of the champagne in the flute down like it’s a shot and stand from the table. You make eye contact with König and nod towards the French doors that lead towards the balcony. 

People don’t notice as you and König step out. The sky is clear, yet the night is still young enough to be starless. 

“Christ, I hate rich people,” you mutter under your breath. 

König moves and leans his back against the wrought iron of the railing. His eyes sweep across the small area, then he nods. “Yes. That interaction was less than pleasant.”

You lean against the railing next to him. “Why was she even talking to me? And what did she mean, ‘Aren’t you just your father’s child?’ Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am… not sure,” König says. “Maybe it’s part of rich people code?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You huff out a laugh, then sigh. “I really wasn’t the best pick for this mission.”

“What do you mean?” König asks. “You are perfectly capable of fighting.”

“No, the, like…” you sigh again. “The talking part? I’m not fit for that. Never been a good conversationalist, never will be.”

“You are conversing with me right now, no?” König gestures between you and him. “This is a conversation. You are doing fine.”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “You saw me. I shouted her age out in front of everyone.”

König hums. “To be fair, it was a bit of a shock.”

You glance up at him and laugh, a pretty smile gracing your features. “Shut up.”

“But it was!” König insists. The fabric of his balaclava puffs out as he laughs. “I had to cough to cover up my laugh. I nearly had to excuse myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” You shove his shoulder half-heartedly as you turn and look out over the railing, at the courtyard. König follows your gaze.

The courtyard is illuminated by ambient lamps. Paths are laid with bricks, with neatly trimmed grass in between each one. Exotic plants from every corner of the globe line the pathways, some of their flowers closed for the night. A fountain is in the middle, with water spouting out of the trumpet of a cherub statue. A few people surround the fountain, talking quietly with drinks in their hands in the low light. 

You lean close to König and point at one of the people – a man in a navy suit. “That’s the target. Mister T. Kilgore.”

“So he is,” König says. He pats under his armpit, checking his sidearm. “We need to get moving. I do not like the way Laila’s husband was talking to her. Suspicious.”

You nod and send König a small smile. “We’re still going with the plan, right? I’m going in and playing drunk?”

“Of course.” König mirrors your smile even though you can’t see it. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to practice your conversation skills.”

You scoff, but you’re still smiling. “Yeah, if I’m planning on interacting with everybody as a drunk idiot for the rest of my life.”

“I’m serious!” König insists. “More likely than not, you’ll never see these people again.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re right.” You knock your elbow against König’s. “Let’s give them a show.”

[imdoingmybest0]

Sweetie; part 1 Bob Floyd x F! Reader “Sweetie” 18+ minors please do not interact :)

(Bob gives me soft-dom vibes and this is a reflection of that feeling)

Series with @blimpintime​, go check out the Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader story they’re writing, our stories are intertwined :) !!!!

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I pull my “uniform” out of my employee locker and slam the door to get it to shut. I sigh, this is what I get for picking up extra shifts, 8am private tours of Elite Naval Aviators. I really hope they aren’t a group of cocky old men ready to call me condescending names. I slide my thin vest over my clothes. Of course, I’d choose a pale blue tank top to go under a white crochet swimsuit cover. I was just glad I chose jeans today instead of a skirt, I didn't need more harassment than I already got. I button the vest at my stomach and pick my coffee up off the break room table. My early morning pick me up definitely helped make this shift more livable. I set it back down and make my way through the door leading to the hangar. 

I can see the aviators milling about through the glass lobby doors, luckily I spot a woman or two among them and none of them looked old enough to cat call. I walk quickly to the doors, checking my watch, 7:53am, right on time. I walk towards the doors and turn the lock. 

“Hello!” I say, trying to sound cheery and awake, “Welcome to the Naval Air Museum, Hanger four; the Cold War.”

The group gathers around and a few of them smile at me and one man with glasses gives a shy wave. I feel an abnormal heat spread at the back of my neck. I knew I was touring Aviators today but I didn't expect so many of them to be attractive. Actually all of them were attractive.

I force a smile, “Here at the museum all of the employees go by callsigns, mine is Sweetie and I'll be your guide today.” A few of the group chuckle and my neck heats up from the attention. “I’ll be taking you around and showing you planes from each decade of the cold war. Feel free to ask me questions at any time and I will try my best to answer them. If you have further questions, you can always scan the QR codes on the displays for more information.” 

Reciting the memorized script eased my nerves. I asked the group to follow me and I made my way through the tour, stopping at key planes to describe their uses or pilots or any of the many, many boring details of their reason for being in a museum. I saw a few of the group yawn on occasion and some had stopped to read other planes' descriptions. There was one person who kept their eyes trained on me, the same man who had waved at me in the lobby. He was tall and lean with wavy dirty blond hair. He wore thin gold glasses that suited his face. He wore a vintage t-shirt tucked into well fitted jeans. He had a worn blue carhartt jacket and he looked absolutely stunning. 

I stumbled over my monologue about the F-15 and he smiled at me and gave an encouraging nod. I feel my face turn red at his attention. I'm about to finish my tour when I spot a woman  walking between the exhibits, drink in hand and two kids running ahead of her, one with a tablet and the other with a bag of chips as big as their head. 

“Excuse me ma’am, this section of the museum is closed for a private tour until nine.” I say politely. She turns quickly on her heel and looks me up and down. My stomach drops, one of those huh. 

“I paid to be here,” she looks at my name tag and scoffs, “Sweetie.” 

I smile with my teeth gritted and try to remain courteous, “Im sure you did ma’am but there was a sign posted out front saying this section is closed. We have plenty of other wonderful hangars open to the public.” 

She rolls her eyes and places a hand on her hip defiantly, “Don’t ma’am me young lady. I will go wherever I please as long as I’m a paying customer.” 

Her grating voice attracts the attention of the pilots, a few start to move in closer to see what the commotion is. “Ma’a- Miss, I’m sorry this tour is a special request from-” I start. 

“I don’t care who's ‘special request it was’, I've been sitting in the car with those two,” she gestures to her two kids running  between the planes, “for five hours. So I’d like to enjoy the museum that I paid to see.” 

I open my mouth to say something else, getting frustrated, when I hear the door to my left slam open. I hear a voice echo through the hangar, “I know someone is not yelling at my employee at eight in the fucking morning.” It's my manager, Dynamite. 

“Oh, Dynamite you’re-” I start before she holds her hand up to me. I stand there shocked as Dynamite lays into the woman escorting him towards the door. I see one of the pilots, the muscular blond one, lean over to his friend and murmur, “That's hot.” 

Dynamite, returns to the group and smiles professionally, “Sorry about that y’all. I hope you enjoy the rest of your tour with our Sweetie here.” She gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder, “If anyone has any questions at all let me know, I’ll be over here figuring out paperwork at the side desk.” She points to a desk with the sign “Need help?” hanging off it., before making her way over, quickly tailed by the murmuring blond. 

“Sorry about the interruption folks. We have mostly concluded our tour. If you'd like to walk around we still have about fifteen minutes left.I’ll be over by the info desk if you have any more questions.” I smile at the group and make my way over to the info desk. I began to organize the leaflets that the Karens kids had strung everywhere. I’m so focused on my work that I don’t notice the bespectacled man approach. He cleared his throat soft and I jumped, almost dropping the papers I was holding. 

“Hey there,” he says quietly. 

My face warms and I smile at him, “Hi, did you have any questions?” 

He scratches the back of his head and looks at the floor, “Um yea could you tell me about,” he pauses and looks around the planes, “could you tell me more about the F-15?” His cheeks are flush red and so do mine. 

“Of course,” I say and lead him back to the plane. “The F-15 here has a wingspan of about 42 feet and ten inches, she runs on two electric turbofan engines, as well as being the first plane to have radar.” 

I try to sound excited but I’m slowly running out of facts, I only memorized a few per plane. The tall man trains his eyes on the plane and then looks back at me and asks, “Do you know how fast it can go?” 

“Uhh,” I say, “I’m sorry I don’t. I could ask Dyna if you'd like.” I’m a little disappointed that I don't have a reason to keep talking to him. 

“Oh,” he smiles down at the floor, “Its top speed is Mach 2.5. I just thought I might as well figure out a reason to talk to you.” I’m a little surprised. His face is red as a beet and adjusts his glasses. 

I feel my face heat up and my eyes widen, “To me?” 

He chuckles, “Well yea Sweetie, I really enjoyed the tour.” 

“I see,” I fiddle with my sleeve and shuffle my feet, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Most people get pretty bored but there are a few interesting parts.” 

“Well I think we just had a really good guide. I’m Bob Floyd by the way,” he extends his hand to me. 

I take it and ask,” No call sign?” 

He smiles at me, “No, just Bob.”

“Are you a pilot?” I ask, trying to find some reason to keep him talking to me. 

He chuckles and rubs his neck, “No, weapons systems. I back seat for Pheonix over there,” he gestures toward a woman with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail. “She flies, I just drop the bombs.”

My mind goes blank trying to think of something else to say, but Bob speaks up before I come up with something embarrassing, “Would you like to show me around again?” I look at him a little surprised and nod making my way around the plane. 

“I’m sorry I can't tell you much more about them. Usually people aren’t too interested in asking me questions after the tour.” I smile at him as we walk. 

He blushes a bit, “I’ve actually studied most of these. Kinda a hobby of mine.” 

“Oh,” I frown at the ground a little, “then why did you want to walk around again?” 

He blushes and looks down at the floor, “I thought it was obvious.” he glances at me, “I wanted to walk with you.” 

My face turns red and I touch my cheeks, “I see,” I look down at my feet and then back up a Bob. He has his hands shoved into his pockets and his face and ears are dusted pink. 

“Well,” I came to a stop and turned toward him, he did the same, “If you wanted to walk with me, I get off at four.” I look up at his surprised expression before he breaks into a grin. 

“Really?” he asks, I nod my head. “That sounds like you're asking me on a date,” he gives me a crooked smile.  

“Would you like to meet me back here at four then?” I question, “I don’t think I'll need to change,” I say and look down at myself.

“No,” he says suddenly, “uh, no, I mean you look perfect  just like that.” 

I smile, “Bobby? Are you hitting on me?” My hand goes up to play with one of my necklaces, his eyes follows the movement. A smile tilts his lips again, and his eyes quickly flit down to my body to my shoes and back up, before meeting my eyes again. 

“Would you like me not to?” he says softly, “It’s going to be difficult.” 

I choke at the boldness of his words. The shy, blushing man had disappeared and this flirty sailor had appeared in his place. Before I can respond he takes a half step closer and I don't want to back away from him. He smiles down at me, his eyes slightly lidded. “After we take a walk, I could take you to dinner.” his smirk gets bigger, “But I have to tell you.” He cranes his neck down to look me in the face, I inhale sharply at his expression. 

“I let very few people call me Bobby,” he looks like a starved animal that just found his next meal. He winks, one side of his lip following and a sharp, short click comes from his tongue. 

Then he stands straight and steps back, “I’ll see you at four then right Sweetie?” His smile could sweeten tea. At a loss for words I slowly not my head yes. 

“I’ll pick you up then,” he says scratching the back of his neck and takes two goofy steps backward knocking into a sign reading ‘No Outside Food or Drink’. I giggle at him and he looks up at me and joins in. He gives an awkward half-salute-half-wave before turning to meet the woman he had named as Phoenix earlier.  

When I stop giggling the reality of what just happened sunk in and a heat spread from the back of my neck and around my face. I hurry towards the break room glancing over at Dyna who is still talking to the Blond man who had followed her over. 

I bust through the door and open my locker, then shut it. I open it again, glance at the shelves and my bag hanging on a hook and then shut the door again. I lean my back against the door. What the hell was that?

..............................................................................................................................

AN; Hey look at me writing away, part. 2 coming up... sometime. :)

-okay, bye, thanks for reading, love you <3

[topguncortez]

Hello, sorry to be a bother I hope everything is going well with your graduation 💗💗

I just wanted to ask if you have any tips and/or thoughts for those starting out posting their fics and ect on tumblr

i meant to answer this the other day but things came up and i pushed it to the back burner.

anyway! my tips and tricks on getting involved in fandom writing (and it doesn’t just have to be this one. this goes for ALL fandoms)

1. use tags

tags are very helpful with organizing and getting your work out there. not only can people follow certain tags, but it’s also easier to search and find a certain fic. for example, if i wanted to read nico hischier fics im going to search “nico hischier imagines” i use the same 10-15 tags on all of my posts.

now ☝️ here’s one thing that butters my biscuit about tags, is when people misuse them. do not tag a fic about jake seresin with “bradley bradshaw imagine”.

2. headers & titles & synopsis

titles are hard. i’m pretty sure i have three fics all titled the same thing. however, titles are attention grabbers. titles are gonna make people want to stop and read your fic. my go to advice for titles, is find a song you like and use that. or maybe a line of dialogue. or in the TGM fandom, your characters callsign

headers also grab people’s attention. i almost always use a header image unless im writing a blurb or a one shot from an ask. pinterest is a great lovely tool that you can find amazing pictures to use as headers. and canva is a great free tool that’ll help you edit.

synopsis: also attention grabbers. a proper synopsis will give people a glimpse at what’s ahead. it can be as simple as “in this fic, jake is an asshole”

3. warnings

this is a big one. especially if you’re wanting to write smut or angst. yes, people are responsible for the media they consume, however it is the writers job to warn them about what they are going to consume.

i normally write “warnings: a…b…c…” in my angst and smut fics. however, if i’m writing about darker angst/realistic topics such as SA, abuse, gun violence, etc, i will put a “trigger warning” (tw) tag in my tags.

i can not stress this point enough. like i said, the reader is responsible for what they choose to read. but your duty as a writer is to make sure your warnings and tags are very, very clear. it does not matter if your warnings “give too much of the plot away”. that means your plot is probably very triggering for people and you need to tell them that.

be very clear with your warnings. crystal. clear.

4. the use of read more

please use the “read more” option when writing long pieces. the fandom will love you if you do.

5. reblog your work, reblog others work… build a network

reblogs are so so important especially on this app. tumblr is not tiktok. there’s no algorithm for what shows up first on your dash. the way to keep your fic and others fics alive is by REBLOGGING

also, reblogging of other peoples fics is what draws attention to your blog. and it’s how you start to create friendship networks.

i met most of my friends by reblogging their work or sneaking into their dms.

writers support writers around here.

6. make your blog personable.

no one likes a blank inpersonable blog. not saying you need to put your face as the icon. but make it look like you’re not just a bot blog.

find a cute color scheme and some headers. make it unique. make it you!

7. do not be afraid to tag people

some people (including myself once) are afraid to tag the “big blogs” (which i find to be a stupid term. no one here is a “big blog”, sit down charlie d’melio) but tagging people again is what catches peoples attention.

do not be afraid to tag some of your favorite writers and be like “hey i’m new look at this”

8. utilize online resources for writing help

there’s so many free writing resources out there! i’m seeing more and more show up on my instagram feed, tiktok, youtube. they are great apps that’ll help you get started!

i know this was a lot but if you have ANY questions or need someone to look over your fics, you can reach out to me!

i hope this helps:)