#task 02. the interrogation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveindefinitely · 2 years ago

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02 — 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, angst, graphic violence, slight power imbalance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, betrayal

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

"You assaulted two Special Forces Operators, kid," Price says, a barely veiled grimace contorting his features. "That's not a good look."

You tug against where your hands are cuffed to the metal bars, your brows furrowing. "Kidnapping the girl -- whose dad you killed after taking her virginity -- isn't a good look either."

...Alright.

So, if you could go back in time, and never eavesdrop on the four men who have completely ruined your life, you would take up the offer in a heartbeat.

Between landing your fist to Gaz's jaw, and where you are now, your life has become a total shit show.

Like, complete, this might just be a fever dream level of crazy.

It started from the moment you saw blood trickling from your now late father's forehead, and in the glint of the moonlight, seeing Ghost holding the gun.

Then, you'd turned, without another thought, and landed a punch right to Gaz's jaw. The man who had taken your first kiss no more than two hours ago.

You can relive the moment even now, under the harsh neon lights of an interrogation room, as if you're experiencing everything for the first time once more.

༊*·˚

Gaz hisses, wincing as he brings a hand up to the aching pain radiating from the bone that'd taken the brunt of your punch.

"You guys -- what the fuck --" You stammer out, eyes wide and borderline manic as you gape at the man before you. "You guys just killed my dad!"

"Yeah, but," Gaz starts, before backtracking. You figure he has enough braincells to realise that 'rationality and reason' isn't going to work with you, not in this state, and especially not after you just witnessed the murder of your only living family member. "Ah. Well. He wasn't a good guy."

You really, truly, cannot believe the audacity of this man.

Your mouth opens.

Gaz grimaces.

Your mouth closes.

He takes a step closer, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Take another step near me and I'll punch you again!" You threaten, with an aggressive point of your finger.

You're extremely aware that your punch had done next to nothing, and Gaz's reaction to it was more one of sympathy, but the threat lands nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, we're not gonna hurt you," he raises his hands further, eyes bouncing between your own. You're not sure what he sees -- maybe resentment, or horror, or fear.

Whatever it is, it makes his frown deepen.

He goes to say something else, when your bedroom door opens with a soft click. "Finishin' up, ya read--"

Soap pauses his whisper, ice-blue eyes meeting yours. His grimace isn't unlike the one Gaz is sporting, and it only worsens your mood. If looks could kill, he would be lying on the grass beside --

Oh god. Your dead dad.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap mutters under his breath, looking up to the roof in some semblance of a last minute prayer.

There's a moment, then, for a decision to be made. It's as if your brain can only come up with two options, and one of them will lead to your untimely death.

So, really, it's not entirely your fault when you pick up the salt lamp sitting on your bedside table and throw it right into the arrogant Scot's face.

"Holy shit," Gaz's eyes are comically wide as Soap cries out, the heavy pink rock slamming into his nose. He stumbles back, and the sound of your lamp hitting cartilage even has you wincing, panicked state or not. "How the fuck have you survived this long with those kinda reflexes, Soap?"

Soap drops into a squat, cradling his nose in his hand as he tilts his head back, squeezing the ridge between two calloused fingers. His voice comes out nasally as he mumbles, "Mighta' broke 'gain."

Your entire body is trembling, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you creep to the window with soft, quiet steps.

Maybe, you think, in the back of your mind, I can make the jump into the garden.

It's not to be, however.

"You're smarter than that," Gaz directs an unamused glare your way, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards your door.

Digging your heels into the carpet, you attempt to wrestle out of his grip -- but a trained military expert and you are no match, not even with the energy overtaking your body.

"Let go of me!" You grit out, tugging and displaying your weight in the opposite way to his goal. He doesn't even turn around as he drags you out of your room, slamming your door shut behind you.

"What the fuck is goin' on," Ghost's growl comes from the stairs, heavy bootfalls following until he's standing, gaze drifting from you, to Gaz, to Soap, back to you again.

"Fuck, man," Soap whines, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted back, blood running down his lips and chin. You somehow find it in yourself to feel slightly bad. Not enough to apologise, and certainly not enough to stop fighting back.

They were going to kill you. Probably. Or, like, what's the skin trade like in your area? Oh god. Fuck. Shit.

"She saw," Gaz mutters to Ghost, and his eyes narrow, black face paint crinkling where it's been put on the upper half of his face, skin not covered by the balaclava.

There aren't any lights on, and it's the lights on downstairs that cast shadows and highlights over the men's' faces.

"Fuckin' christ," Ghost groans, before turning and walking back downstairs without another word.

You continue to struggle against Gaz's hold, but both of your wrists have been collected in his hand, and he's pulled you so your back is to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, you'd be blushing, most likely turned on from such an embrace.

Right now, however, you're questioning every possible decision you've ever made.

"Ye Dad treated ya like shit 'nyways," Soap says, too loud to be under his breath, but too quiet for it to be conversational. "Dinnae why yer freakin''."

"You're murderers!" You hiss back, lips pulled back into a snarl. Your muscles ache from the punch, the hefty throw, and now from struggling against Gaz. "And I don't exactly have any other family, do I?!"

Gaz makes a sound of agreement, before shaking his head and countering. "We're not murderers, not really."

You choke a laugh, but it's entirely too wet and sad for it to be threatening or cruel. "So you guys didn't just shoot my father?"

"Si pulled th' trigger," Soap pouts, almost like a child would over a lack of candy.

"Soap," Gaz exasperates, and although you can't see his face, you're sure it's dismayed and annoyed. "Seriously?"

"What?!" Soap counters, and when it comes out high-pitched, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his nose tighter. "Jus' tha truth, dinnae why yer so shitty. Yer not tha one bleedin'."

Speechless.

You are fully, unbelievably, speechless.

What the actual fuck was wrong with these... men? And what was wrong with you for being more than ready to spread your legs for them not too long ago?

You needed therapy. And coffee.

And a time machine, preferably. If one was made available at this given moment.

"Get down here," the final man of the hour shouts up the stairs, and your blood runs cold. There's something about him that's not quite as threatening as Ghost, but somehow makes you even more fearful.

Gaz, with surprisingly careful and gentle movements, guides you down the stairs. The parallel of how Ghost's hand had been at your lower back as he invited you to the lounge room, mere hours ago, isn't lost on you.

His hand doesn't move from the tense grip it has on your wrists. You can't help but feel like it's a completely unnecessary gesture, considering the fact that any of them could take you down within seconds if they really needed to. Hell, they all had actual, military-grade weapons.

"Seriously, Gaz?" Price huffs, looking entirely like a disappointed dad in this moment as he stands, leaning against your kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed over. "One job, mate."

"You lot weren't exactly quiet," he retorts, but he slowly releases your wrists.

At this point, you know it's a lost cause to try and escape this situation, so you just ball your hands into wrists at your sides. You can't imagine it's an overly threatening position, considering how your entire frame trembles, and your lips wobble.

Your father was dead.

And the men that had made you feel so comfortable, so cared for, are the culprits.

Stupid, stupid girl.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

"Peas," Soap's voice is practically a beg as he stumbles into the kitchen, opening the freezer door with no preamble as he scours it for... peas.

They're in the far right of the bottom shelf.

You don't tell him that.

"Have some water," Price encourages, holding out a glass cup full of chilled water.

Your eyes narrow, standing your ground. "Not accepting drinks from murderers. Dad taught me that, y'know?"

Gaz chokes a laugh, before covering it up with a fist to his mouth and a clearing of his throat. It fools no one, and you allow yourself the tiny bit of pride that fills your chest at the reaction to your taunt.

"Ghost," Price mutters, resigned and almost frustrated as he looks at you.

You understand why, as soon as the feeling of a needle imbedding into your neck has you flinching, pain prickling at the intrusion in your muscle.

"What --" you begin, before your legs fall out beneath you, your eyes falling to half mast as Price hefts you up, beefy arms holding you beneath your armpits as your body becomes dead weight.

"Sorry, kid," are the last words you hear, before black overrides all of your senses as drugged sleep takes you.

༊*·˚

Sometime between then, and now, you've found yourself in a white-walled room, blinding lights turning the throbbing in your head from a low pound to an echoing boom of a drum.

"We didn't plan for... any of it to happen the way it did. This was our only choice." Price shakes his head, hands resting at the top of his vest as he studies you.

Right. The virginity, kidnapping and assault thing.

...Great.

"I must've forgot the part where I resisted arrest," you retort, forcing your eyes to remain open, despite the heaviness to them. It's as if a weight has been hung from your eyelids, and every blink drags them down more and more each time.

"Jesus -- you're not under arrest," Price rubs at his eyes, head dipped down as if he's recollecting his thoughts. You're not sure if he's had any sleep, although your sense of time has been completely thrown out of the window.

"Then release me," you say, voice softer than you'd intended, more pleading -- a truer reflection of your current state of mind.

The air is crisp, cool, like that of a hospital. Chemicals and bleach are a potent undertone to the clean scent, and it makes you question what could've previously been done in this room to warrant them.

Your heart pounds almost weakly, and you know if there's any more heartbreaks to come, it might just give out.

How you've resisted a complete mental breakdown is beyond you, and frankly, you'd give yourself a pat on the back if you could. Although, that act might in itself be a sign of insanity.

"Not until we can be assured you're safe," Price insists. "And not until we can clear your name from the books. We have enemies, sweetheart, and those enemies were also your father's. They are not above punishing you for your father's sins."

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to just burst into tears and pray. Pray that this is all some sick joke, some terrifying nightmare that you haven't woken from yet.

But you know it's a baseless hope. You know that this is real.

You're in a military base, somewhere, surrounded by the country's most dangerous men. The most dangerous men on their side, at least.

"So I'm not getting charged for assault?" Your voice is entirely too small for the situation, not for someone who's still cuffed to a bed, going through grief in the most ruthless type of way.

The worst part is that you don't entirely miss your father. You miss the comfort of having a family member, that's true, but he wasn't a good parental figure, and his treatment of you could be classed as abuse to most people.

And from what these four are saying, he wasn't a good man either.

People didn't often talk about how separate the two things were. It was possible to be a great man, but the worst of fathers, and the opposite could be true, too.

Fate had dealt you a bad hand, in giving you one who was terrible on both sides of the coin.

"Technically," Price leans back into his chair, his voice littered with exhaustion, "We... should report it."

Your stomach drops.

Price's eyes meet yours, and somehow, he must see the turmoil battling inside of your head, because he lets out a deep breath, deflating just a bit.

"No. You're not getting charged for assault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you reply, too quick for your brain to catch up. The endearment is entirely too wrong, smarting on a chafing wound, a reminder of the mistakes you'd made, and the deception these men had pulled on you. "...Please."

You refuse to meet his eyes as he nods, slowly, as if in understanding.

"What did he do?" You don't mean to utter those words, to ask that question, but after you do, you can't find it in yourself to regret it. "What made him worthy of death?"

Price rubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, you register the lines of his face. Lines of a story having been told, proof of a life lived. It makes you want to learn, to find the origins of the small scars you can see, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"He broke many promises. Betrayed his team," Price states, and you can tell the millions of words he leaves out, the context better off left unsaid. "He did terrible things. Killed people who had made no faults."

Oh.

For some reason, it hadn't truly hit you, not before now, the truth behind his death. What hadn't you been told?

How hadn't you been made aware that he was -- he was part of the special forces. He was a dangerous man -- he was one of the men he'd warned you about. How blind had you been? For so long? Those business trips, when he'd come with bruises, brushing them off whenever you gained the courage to make attempts of caring, of forming a relationship with the man who raised you.

They weren't business trips. They were missions -- ones with impossibly high death rates.

And he just.

Hadn't said a word. Just continued to treat you like you were worthless, a nuisance, a pain in his ass. Something worth protecting, if only so your weight in gold wasn't minimised.

What were you to do, if he just. Didn't come home after a mission gone awry? If he died on the field. If you woke up one day without a single living family member left.

You only realise that tears have fallen down your cheeks when Price's thumb brushes them away, your nose scrunching with a sniffle.

Jerking back, as if electrocuted, it takes everything in you to glare at the man whose gentle hands had led you to this position in the first place. "Don't touch me."

He backs away. Doesn't argue.

It hurts your heart in a way you don't want to touch with a ten foot pole. Not right now. Not ever, maybe. Preferably.

You let out a deep, stabilising exhale, before weakly meeting Price's gaze. "Can I sleep? Feeling kinda shit after the drugs," you mumble.

Price's lips twist into a grim line, but he nods curtly. "'Course, kid. Call out if you need 'nything."

You just lay back, turning on your side, facing the white wall as the lights turn off, leaving pitch black in its wake. Your wrist smarts where the handcuff has left a red mark, your free hand rubbing at the small patch of visible skin.

If you were more aware, more... ready for the conversations you needed to have, you would've demanded all four of them speak to you right this moment.

But your head is heavy, and thoughts are few and far between.

Grief and confusion cement in your brain like a thick fog, your emotions like cars without lights in the thick mist.

No directions, no ability to brake before crashing into one another.

You're an absolute mess, and you have no one to blame but you and your sick curiosity, your reckless decision making.

But, you realise, this was a long time coming.

Because there's one thing Price -- nor the other three men -- don't know.

Your father wasn't the only one who held secrets.

And it was you who held the key to this force's undoing.

a/n. lol so like. who's ready for some enemies to lovers? sorry to everyone who wanted immediate hurt/comfort!! for some reason plot lines and depth hit me and i was like. i need to do it justice. so here we are!!!

thank you all SOSOSO much for the reception of the first part. it genuinely means a lot to have people excited about my stories??? like omg youre all SO kind. comments and reblogs make my absolute week!! mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. @captainjamster @alfa-jor @simp4miguell @yaboibauldano @dreamaboutpinkk @guyser @lovewithasideoflust @redz0mbie @ghost-is-my-bbg @astro-ghoul99 @the-faceless-bride @casterousaudrey @cutiecusp @kit-williams @lilpothoscuttings @florabelll

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2kiran · 11 months ago

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I don't know if you are still doing the 3K event, but if you are, can I please request subbot!John Price and domtop!m!reader with prompt O3.(be a good slut f'me and bend over, yeah?) and prompt 02. (take it - fucking take it.) if you don't mind? Maybe reader and Price are in a meeting and Price decides to be a brat and trys teasing reader under the table so after the meeting reader drags Price back to his room and teaches him a lesson?

JOHN PRICE X TOP!READER

prompts, three + two

John Price, the legendary captain that brought in an equally legendary task force. An attentive, calculated man whose needs are given to him without complaint. As much as he likes to simply receive, he prefers to take. The opportunity that built this particular moment was too tempting not to seize. Men and women surrounded the table, with him next to you. All of them were distracted, focused on the discussion, so where’s the harm?

He nods along, stretching one arm towards your lap. You tense up when you feel a hand palm your groin, hissing when you realize it was Price. Looking at him would raise potential suspicion, so you kept your outward attention on the person who was speaking. His palm rubbed in a circle, quick and short-lived. You manage to mask a surprised grunt with a cough, his fingers locking and squeezing you through your pants.

You’re about to rut into him until he takes his hand away. There’s a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he pats your thigh, returning to crossing his arms. This man. He’s skin-deep into trouble.

“What’s wrong?” Price questions.

You hurriedly pulled him to his feet right when the meeting was over, ignoring the confused glances that your colleagues gave you.

He knew what was wrong. The bastard’s heart skipped streams, excitement drumming an erratic melody in his system. Your grip on his wrist was firm, giving him the best bite of pain that’s out of the range of his imagining ability. “C’mon,” His legs struggle to maintain your pace, breath coming quick, “Answer me.”

Price doesn’t register that he’s in his own quarters until you spin him around to face his bed. Heat spreads through him, rushing south. He bites his bottom lip, a shudder ripping through him.

“Shut up.” The familiar clink of your buckle giving way has him itching to look at you. “What were you trying to do earlier, huh?” He whines at your tone, interrogative and so fucking mean. “Tryin’ to get my dick wet in front of everyone?”

“I d-don’t know what you’re—”

“Quiet.” You demand, stepping closer to him and he’s reduced to full irrationality. “Be a good slut f’me and bend over, yeah?”

His feet stutter into a few strides, acting faster than he’s able to make sense of it all. Vision darkening, his body cognizes a single purpose and it was to obey. He bunches up the sheets, no thoughts in his head as he leans over the mattress. Ass tilted upwards, feeling bare in spite of his clothing remaining intact. His cock throbs, a yelp tumbling from his lips when you yank his hips towards you. “Fuck me already,” he whines, the bubble of stubbornness exploding into a puddle of eager submission.

You don’t get to remind him when he mutters out, “Please.”

That was all that was necessary. You help him slip out of his clothes, the air caressing his sensitive skin sparks a shiver that you catch. “Where’s the—” He immediately interjects, “N-no. Use spit.” Nasty, but it would suffice. He makes haste to bring up your hand to his face, taking in two fingers. Drool piles on the floor of his mouth, his tongue pushing to coat the digits. “Mmm..” he moans, drawing them deeper with little sucks.

His saliva leaks out, dripping to your wrist. Slowly, you retract them and one finds his rim. He soothes his breathing, releasing a trembling sigh when you painstakingly thrust that finger in, rocking until he’s no longer struggling in spasms. He grunts, driving himself backwards to have you knuckle-deep, offering him a second one appreciatively. “Giv’ me it- nnnfg, that’s an order.”

“Give you what?” You spread the digits, opening him up more for you.

“Your, ah, cock. Please, want it so bad.”

Not one to disobey a direct order—not today, at least—you slide them out and fish yourself out of the confinements. Your dick swelled from the sight, wet tip circling around his hole. “Sure you can handle it?”

Before he’s able to bark out another command, you sheathe an inch into him. “Y-you—Fuuuck-” He groans, body working to lead you out, but you’re persistent. He’s throbbing around you, desperate to rut against the silky covers. Remembering your insistent instructions, he focuses his energy on relaxing. Breath after breath, face warm and sensitive. His head shook in a nod, incapable of finding the words to permit you.

Drawing your hips out, he nods again. “Oh, oh ngh!” He whimpers when you sink into him, rolling your hips until your cock is completely enveloped by his clutching warmth. Whining, his back arches as he lowers his upper body to the bed. Chest pressed to the mattress, resting his head on his forearms as he aches for the bind of release to snap at your will.

His ass is raised, jolting with each pound, practically urging him to break. “Still gonna act like a needy whore, huh?” You grip his waist, tight and bruising which offers him the constant reminisce of pain. “Gghf, ‘m-m sorry,” He shudders, clenching, “won’t do it again, ha-aah, I’m sorry.”

John Price, a man composed of muscle and earned achievements, lessened into a cock-drunk bitch. He begins to babble out whines, his speech incoherent as his brains tangle into jumbled wires. You faintly pick up on a few words switching from ‘slower, 's too much’ to ‘more, p-please, harder’. Tears pool within his eyes, and he attempts to blink them away.

“Take it,” You grunt, grinding deep into him, “fucking take it.”

He gasps, his dick twitching and yearning for a release. Fuck, he is taking it. So well, and so beautifully too. He hums in agreement, letting out a strangled cry. “M-mhm,” he huffs, small ah’s slipping from his bitten lips. John Price was in for a long night.

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redislazy · 8 months ago

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Deadly Attachments, Chapter 01

Chapter 02 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI

> ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

Author's Note: i've been wanting to write a multi-chapter Ghost x female!reader fic for a while now, and i'm excited to finally share it! i've already written a lot of chapters in advance, though they still need tons of proofreading; English is NOT my native language, so i rely heavily on tools like Autocrit, Grammarly, and ProWriting Aid to help me with grammar and flow + my bf, who's a native speaker, has been super helpful with this project. <3 a quick heads-up: there are likely some military inaccuracies;; sorry in advance! comments and feedback are hugely appreciated; they help me know if i'm on the right track! (10/29/24) edit: i made a playlist on both Spotify and Youtube!! it’s not exactly tailored to the story’s vibe, but more like the songs that kept me in the zone while writing. have fun!

You stare at the dingy wall of the interrogation room, your body weary from being bound to the chair for hours. You've always been pretty damn good at your job, but somehow, you finally met someone that matched your skills, managing to catch you. You—a mercenary who's been in the industry for ten years, and never once have you been in a bind like this. You let out a loud groan, your frustrations growing the more they make you wait in the room. Typical for the SAS to waste people's time like this.

The door swings open and in walks a tall figure clad in tactical gear, a skull balaclava covering his face. His cold blue eyes peer through the holes in the mask, scrutinizing you. The sound of boots echoing against the concrete floor is the only thing that fills the tense silence. He takes his time to observe you, noticing the signs of weariness and frustration etched on your face. He takes a seat across the table, his movements deliberate and controlled, making sure you know who's in charge here. He leans forward, arms crossed, and studies you.

"Alright," he says, his British accent sharp and authoritative, "let's cut to the chase. We know you've been working with those Russian bastards. What we want to know is why?" His voice is stern and unwavering, making it clear he won't tolerate any lies or evasion. He takes a moment to analyze your body language and reactions, trying to read you like an open book.

His hatred towards you isn't personal, at least not yet. But you represent everything he despises in this world—mercenaries who sell themselves to do dirty work without considering the consequences of their actions. He hates the fact that he has to deal with your kind in the first place. But he also knows that sometimes, information is more valuable than a bullet, especially when it comes to taking down the enemy. So, he'll play this game of cat and mouse for now.

You take a deep breath, stopping yourself from popping up a vein at his question. "I've been telling you this whole time! I'm not one of Kozlov's men. I'm a merc, okay? I was hired by a PMC." You let out an angry huff.

Once a decorated intelligence officer within Russia’s GRU, Viktor Kozlov became disillusioned with what he saw as the corruption and moral decay of powerful nations. After a covert operation went wrong and exposed him to the brutal lengths governments would go to maintain control, he vanished, presumed dead. In reality, Viktor spent years gathering resources, supporters, and arms to launch his own crusade against the "imperialist and morally corrupt" systems of the world. Now, he leads The New Dawn, a terrorist network dedicated to dismantling global powers through calculated attacks designed to destabilize entire regions.

The masked man raises an eyebrow at your response, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He taps his fingers lightly on the table, the rhythm a silent countdown before he speaks again. "A PMC, you say? And yet, here you are, in the middle of our operation against Kozlov," he retorts, his voice still cold and calculating. In his mind, he's already running through various scenarios and possibilities, trying to piece together your story and find any holes in it. He leans forward once more, the dim light reflecting off his skull balaclava, creating an intimidating visage. "Who hired you? And what were your orders?"

You scoff at his question. "You think I'd just tell you who I work for? I may not look like it, but I have a decent work ethic."

Ghost chuckles darkly at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Work ethic, huh? You do know we have our ways of making people talk, right?" His tone turns icy, making it clear he's not one to be trifled with. "Look, we're not playing games here. If you're truly not one of Kozlov's men, then you'll tell us who sent you. If you don't, I can't guarantee your safety. We both know how things can go south pretty quickly in our line of work." He pauses, letting his words sink in before adding, "And if you are lying, well, then it's just a matter of time before we find out anyway. So, what's it going to be?" His voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

You take a moment to study the expression in his eyes, the only part of his face that is exposed. It's almost impossible to tell what he's thinking.

You sigh, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to prolong this game with the SAS any further. You've already been compromised. Hard. Is it truly worth it to hide details of your mission at this point? He's right; even if you don't talk, they'll find out eventually.

"Fine," you finally relent. "Aegis Black Ops. That’s who I work for. They’re a black-budget PMC; no official ties, just results. We take the jobs no one else can—stealing intel, sabotage, high-risk extractions. Founded by an ex-CIA agent, they run ops in total secrecy. Kozlov's been on our radar for a while now, and Aegis has a personal score to settle. We’ve hit his operations before, and my task was to steal data while he and his men are preoccupied fighting you SAS lot," you answer firmly, with no hint of any deceit in your tone.

Ghost listens intently to your explanation, his expression unchanging behind the balaclava. It's not uncommon for private military contractors to have their own agendas, but it doesn't mean he has to trust them blindly. After a moment of contemplation, he finally speaks up, "So, why didn't you just come clean from the start? We could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble." There's a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it's quickly replaced by curiosity. "What kind of data were you after? And what's so special about Kozlov that Aegis wants him out of the picture?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers together, studying you carefully.

You cross your arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “I didn’t ‘come clean’ because I know exactly how this works,” you say, keeping your voice cool. “You and the SAS might claim the high ground, but governments? They’ll weaponize any intel they can get their hands on. I’m not here to hand over data that’ll just end up as another piece on some political chessboard.”

You let out a low breath, fighting the urge to laugh at the irony. “As for Kozlov, he’s a threat, sure. But to Aegis, he’s also an opportunity—an unstable element that could bring a lot of secrets to the surface if we get to him first. I’m not here to play nice or pretend I’m on some noble crusade. I just know where my loyalty lies—and it’s not with any government.”

He maintains eye contact with you, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind. He nods slowly, acknowledging your position. "Understood." His tone is terse, showing no sign of taking offense at your blatant lack of trust.

He pushes himself off the chair, his military boots echoing in the cold concrete interrogation room. He paces around, his shadow looming over the data on the table. "We both want Kozlov gone," he finally says, stopping to look down at you. "That's enough common ground for now. But I'll need proof that you can deliver." He pauses, allowing his words to hang in the air. "Any proposals?" Ghost asks, his accent clipped and authoritative.

"I propose you untie me off this chair and send me home. I'm not going to get involved with whatever you're planning from here on out. I failed my mission already because of you, and that's where my role ended." You glare at him, each word sharp with irk.

He raises an eyebrow at your defiance, his jaw clenching slightly. He reaches up, running his gloved fingers along the edge of his balaclava. "Well, now that's a problem, isn't it?" he replies coldly. "Because I can't exactly let you go back to your merry little band of thieves after all this."

His eyes narrow, assessing your reaction to his words. "Besides, if you're half as good as you claim to be, then I could use someone like you. And it'd be a shame to waste talent like yours because of some misplaced loyalty." He closes the gap between you in a few short strides. Leaning in close, he looks down at you with an air of challenge. "So, what's it going to be? Are you going to be a liability...or an asset?"

You smirk up at him, not budging an inch as he closes in. “Oh, please,” you say sharply, mimicking his demeanor. “Let’s get one thing straight—‘misplaced loyalty’ isn’t in my vocabulary. I know exactly who I’m loyal to, and let’s just say it isn’t anyone waving a government flag.”

You tilt your head, meeting his stare without flinching. “And as for being a ‘liability’ or an ‘asset’? Let’s not pretend you didn’t decide to let me live because of my expertise in the first place. Maybe you’re starting to realize you need someone like me a little more than you thought, hm?”

You shrug, all casual defiance. “So, what’s your choice, skull-face? Going to trust a so-called ‘liability’ to get the job done, or keep playing it safe with your merry band of rule-followers?”

He straightens up, his gaze never leaving yours. "Skull-face, huh?" he replies dryly. "You think that name bothers me?" He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not the first to try to get under my skin." He steps back, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. He crosses his arms again, studying you closely.

You snort at his response. "Now, don't get me wrong, I simply just don't know what your name is. Until you introduce yourself to me properly, well, 'skull-face' it is." You give him an annoyed look, remembering how he just brought you in here with no pleasantries whatsoever.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Fair enough," he concedes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He takes a deep breath, contemplating his next words. "Names aren't important in our line of work," he says finally. "But since you asked so nicely, you may call me...Ghost."

A loud, audible chuckle escapes your lips as he mentions his name. "Ghost? Really? You think that sounds cool or so—"

But then it hits you, and your laughter dies mid-sentence. The callsign is strikingly familiar, and suddenly, the pieces fall into place. You let out a heavy groan, frustration washing over you.

In this line of work, you hear a lot about the big players, whether they’re on the right side or the wrong side of the law. Whispers swirl around powerful individuals, and one name always stands out: Task Force 141. Rumor has it they’re a unit of some of the most skilled soldiers, and one particular figure has earned a notorious reputation. A man who wears a skull balaclava and goes by the callsign 'Ghost'. Stories of his exploits send shivers down the spine of those who hear them.

Now that you’ve connected the dots, your previous confidence evaporates. The realization that you’re in the custody of this man sends a chill down your spine. The idea of wriggling free from his grasp suddenly seems a lot more daunting.

"Ah, so you're that 'Ghost'," you manage to say, the cockiness in your voice significantly dimmed.

He watches as your demeanor shifts upon hearing his name, and a smug sense of satisfaction fills him. He nods slowly, letting you process the information. "You might want to reconsider your choices," he warns, his voice low and serious. "You're in, whether you like it or not." He cuts off your restraints, freeing you.

You stretch your arms, letting out a sigh of relief. You get up from the seat, and you walk towards him, stopping right in front of him. His towering figure does not intimidate you at all.

"Just this one time. After I'm done being your lapdog, I'm out of here. Give me your word," you say commandingly.

Ghost studies you for a moment, your boldness surprising him.

"Very well," he agrees, holding out his hand. "One job, then you're free to go. But know this," he adds, his gaze hardening, "if you try to pull anything, I will make sure your name becomes nothing more than a whisper in the wind." Ghost's voice holds an underlying threat, but there's also a hint of intrigue.

Now that you know who he is, you no longer find it in you to scoff at his threats. You just silently stare at him, not saying a word any further as you accept his hand.

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Ghost remains silent as he leads you through the dimly lit corridors of the base, his mind working overtime, processing the unexpected turn of events. He hates being cornered, but something about your tenacity intrigues him. Upon reaching your designated quarters, he opens the door and motions for you to enter.

"Get some rest," he orders gruffly. "We leave at first light." Once you're inside, he closes the door behind you.

Relieved that the room includes a bathroom, you quickly take a shower, dressing in one of the spare outfits provided once you're done. You lie in the darkness of the room, attempting to ignore the creaks and hums of the unfamiliar environment, your mind drifting back to the mission, replaying every detail.

The plan had been flawless—or at least, that’s what Aegis led you to believe. They sent you in, banking on the fact that the SAS and Kozlov’s men would be too focused on tearing each other apart to notice you slipping in through the chaos. You'd timed it perfectly, darting through darkened hallways, avoiding the sounds of gunfire echoing down the corridors as you closed in on the server room.

The data was right where the intel said it’d be, and for a moment, you actually thought you’d pull it off without a hitch. You were halfway through the upload, the light on your drive flashing as it sucked in everything Aegis needed, little by little. The noise outside was just enough to cover the hum of the servers, your fingers poised, watching the data percentage tick up.

Then you felt it—that prickle on the back of your neck. Before you could even look, a shadow moved behind you, and the next thing you knew, a hand was on you, dragging you backward. You’d spun around, aiming to get the drop on him, but you barely managed a step before Ghost countered, deflecting every strike you threw. It was like hitting stone—unyielding, relentless. For every blow you threw, he responded faster and stronger.

You’d landed a few hits—felt the contact, heard his grunt—but it didn’t faze him for a second. Within minutes, you were pinned, arms behind your back, his grip ironclad. He didn’t even say a word, just hauled you up and marched you out, tossing your drive onto the floor like a discarded toy.

And now, here you are, lying in this cold, uncomfortable bed, running the event over in your head, wondering where exactly you went wrong.

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The following morning, Ghost knocks sharply on your door. When you open it, he sizes you up, noting your disheveled appearance. "Get changed," he commands, tossing a duffel bag at your feet, likely containing a fresh set of tactical gear in your size. "Mission briefing in fifteen minutes."

At the briefing, with everyone assembled on time, Ghost stands in front of a map, tracing a route over marked points as he speaks in a low, direct voice. “Alright, listen up. We’ve got a solid lead on Kozlov’s next location—a small compound just outside Grozny. Intel says he’s regrouping there with a skeleton crew. This isn’t one of his main bases, so we’re catching him at his most vulnerable.”

He glances around the room, making sure everyone’s focused. “We’re hitting hard and fast. The objective’s simple: we move in, locate Kozlov, and secure him. The area’s got minimal cover, but we’ll use the terrain to our advantage—come in from the east, using the tree line for our approach. Once we’re in, expect close-quarters combat. Kozlov’s men are few, but they’ll be armed to the teeth. Any questions?”

He pauses, scanning each face, his gaze briefly resting on you—a silent reminder of what’s at stake. “If we do this right, we’ll have Kozlov in cuffs by morning.”

As the briefing continues, your mind wanders to what comes next, once you’re out of SAS custody. You know that once this is over, things with Aegis won’t exactly be...friendly. They don’t take lightly to mercenaries who fumble, let alone those who end up in SAS hands. You’ll have to move fast, probably disappear, setting up somewhere under Aegis’s radar. Burn what few bridges you have left and start fresh—they don’t offer second chances to those who ‘compromise’ a job. Now, with the SAS using you as leverage, you’re as good as a loose end in their eyes.

Your gaze shifts back to Ghost, but he doesn’t notice, focused on the mission. To him, you’re just a tool—a temporary means to an end. Fine by me, you think. You just need to get through this. Once you’re free of their watch, it’ll be time to disappear.

As Ghost wraps up the briefing, Captain Price gives him a light tap on the shoulder, acknowledging a solid plan, then dismisses everyone. But Ghost’s gaze locks on you, silently signaling for you to stay behind.

When the others leave, he walks closer, standing tall over you. "What's on your mind?" he asks, his voice low and gruff, betraying none of the suspicion in his eyes. He noticed after all.

He leans forward, his gloved hands resting on the table, his presence imposing. He expects an answer, and he’s not accepting anything less than the truth.

You shift under his gaze, catching the intensity in his eyes. He’s watching too closely, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Your gaze drops to his shoulder, and you keep your tone casual. “It’s nothing,” you say, your expression unreadable. “Just keeping tabs on the mission, same as everyone else.” You shrug, crossing your arms, leaning back as if his scrutiny doesn’t faze you.

But the tension hangs thick, and his eyes stay on you, probing for cracks. He’s expecting something more, but you hold steady, giving him nothing. Just another merc playing the part—for now.

Ghost narrows his eyes, clearly not fooled. "Don’t play games with me. I don’t have the time or patience," he says firmly, a hint of a growl in his voice. "I’ve seen your type before—always thinking they’re smarter than the rest. But I promise you, testing my limits isn’t in your best interest." He leans in, his skull balaclava inches from your face. "I know you’re plotting something. If it’s against us, you’ll regret it." He straightens, his expression hard. Then, turning to leave, he issues his last command.

“Be ready in ten. We’re moving out.” He exits, casting one final, critical glance over his shoulder, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

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The night is thick with tension as you and the team approach the compound, faint lights flickering through the trees. You stick to the shadows, keeping a step ahead, while Ghost’s voice crackles in your ear, the only reminder you’re not alone. “Stay in formation,” he says in a clipped tone. “Just because you’re tagging along doesn’t mean you get to run off and play hero.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring his tone as you press forward. The plan is simple: sweep through, locate Kozlov, and secure him before he slips away. Gunfire erupts as the task force breaches the compound with their backup unit, everyone moving in sync while you keep to the edges, taking down guards with quick, silent strikes. But as the chaos unfolds, you catch sight of something—a narrow back stairwell leading out of the main area.

You slip through, already guessing where Kozlov is likely headed. If I’m right, I can cut him off before he even knows what hit him. You move quickly, your steps silent on the metal stairs, reaching the next floor and rounding a corner—only to nearly collide with Kozlov himself.

The second he sees you, he bolts, diving into the shadows. You raise your weapon, prepared to take him down. Ghost’s voice buzzes through the comms. “Report. Fall back to the main corridor.”

But you don’t listen; your focus is locked on Kozlov. He darts down a hallway, and you’re right on his heels, firing off a few shots that barely miss.

Suddenly, a strong hand clamps down on your shoulder, yanking you back. You spin around to meet Ghost’s glare, his jaw clenched in frustration. “You just couldn’t follow simple orders, could you?” His voice is ice-cold, and the disdain in his eyes is unmistakable.

You shrug off his grip, anger sparking. “If you’d just let me, we’d have Kozlov by now. I know his methods; he was one step ahead of your ‘perfect’ plan.”

“My plan doesn’t involve risking the mission for a mercenary who’s only here because she got caught.” His tone is biting, but before you can fire back, a gunshot echoes from the corridor ahead.

Both of you turn, watching as Kozlov slips through a hidden exit, vanishing into the night. Ghost swears under his breath, casting a look at you that’s a mix of anger and frustration. There’s no time to argue, and you both know it—but as Kozlov escapes, it’s clear Ghost won’t be letting this go anytime soon.

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The tension lingers all the way back to base, thick and unyielding. You can practically feel Ghost’s anger radiating as you step into the debriefing room. He barely waits for the door to close before he rounds on you, voice low and cutting.

“You just couldn’t stick to the bloody plan, could you?” he growls, his gaze cold. “You had one job—follow orders. But instead, you nearly compromised the entire mission. Kozlov slipped because of you.”

You cross your arms, not backing down. “Compromised the mission? I was the only one thinking on my feet. Your ‘perfect plan’ left Kozlov with an escape route I could’ve closed if you’d trusted me.”

“Trusted you?” He barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you. This isn’t a team exercise where you get a say. You don’t belong here—you’re only here out of mercy, and yet you keep acting like you know better than the people who do.”

Your jaw tightens, heat rising. “Unlike you, I’m not here for loyalty points, Ghost. You kept me because I know Kozlov’s methods. But when I try to use that knowledge, you shut me down.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping dangerously. “You think this is some mercenary gig where you’re the only one with skin in the game? Kozlov got away because you decided to act like a lone wolf. End of story.”

Your fists clench as you hold your ground. “Kozlov got away because you’re too caught up in hierarchy to recognize a good call when you see one. Face it, you’d rather let him slip than admit a merc might have a better idea than your so-called Task Force.”

Ghost’s jaw clenches as he glares at you, the air crackling with tension.

“You’re out of line,” he mutters, his voice low and full of warning. “Next time you pull something like that, I won’t bother hauling you back. You’ll be out there on your own—with nothing but Aegis breathing down your neck. Understood?”

You meet his glare, forcing yourself to stay steady. So he knows what fate awaits you after all of this. Of course he does. He's sharp.

“...Clear,” you reply, your voice cold. But you both know neither of you is letting this go.

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The morning drags on, with the wait for fresh intel on Kozlov stretching endlessly. Ghost’s words from last night still echo in your mind—“You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you.” As if you needed the reminder.

Stuck at the base with nowhere to go, you head to the training field. They won’t let you leave the perimeter, not while you're under their watch, so you decide to make use of the open space. You start running laps, each step an outlet for the irritation simmering inside.

The cold air bites, grounding you in the steady rhythm of your breath and the burn in your muscles. At least here, you don’t need anyone’s permission. A few passing soldiers give you curious looks, probably wondering why an “asset” like you is still around. But you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the field.

As you round another lap, you catch sight of Ghost by the railing, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable gaze. You keep running, refusing to let his presence disrupt your focus. But it’s clear he’s not here just to watch. Eventually, you slow to a jog, then a walk, meeting his gaze with a silent, unspoken challenge.

“Working off last night’s steam?” he asks, tone sharp, as if testing you. There’s a hint of something else there—maybe curiosity, or that familiar Ghost-brand amusement.

You wipe sweat from your forehead, catching your breath. “Something like that. Figured I’d make use of the time since I’m not going anywhere.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the type to sit around waiting for orders.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not much of a choice, is there? Last time I did things my way, you made it crystal clear why I’m here—to do your dirty work and get out. I’m not wasting energy pretending otherwise.”

His expression hardens slightly. “As long as you’re under our watch, you follow our lead. Whether you like it or not.”

You glance away, jaw tight, staring out at the field. “Trust me, I’m not here for team-building, Ghost. I’m here because it’s the quickest way out of your custody.”

A flicker of something—irritation, maybe—crosses his face, but he holds his gaze steady. “Then don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Kozlov’s all that matters right now.”

You don’t respond, just push past him and keep running. He doesn’t need to say anything else; you both know you’re not about to play the compliant asset. And as long as that’s clear, you’ll do what you have to—your way.

The intel finally comes through a few hours later, and the team assembles in the briefing room. The air is tense, thick with the urgency that always hangs before a mission. Captain Price stands at the front, a holographic map flickering beside him, casting an eerie glow over the room.

He gestures to a marked point on the map. “We’ve got eyes on Kozlov. He’s holed up in a safehouse just outside Nizhny Novgorod. Remote location, minimal personnel—keeping it small to avoid detection. But make no mistake, he’s got backup on call, so we need to be fast and hit hard.”

He pauses, letting it sink in before nodding to Ghost, who steps forward to take over. Ghost navigates through the map. “We’ll split into two teams. Bravo will handle perimeter control, keeping his reinforcements at bay. Alpha goes in through the main entry.” His eyes flick briefly to you, his tone unyielding. “That’s you. You’ll breach with me and clear a path. Once inside, we secure Kozlov. No deviation, no solo heroics. Understood?”

He doesn’t wait for responses, focusing back on the map. “Timing is critical. We’re on a tight window, so the moment we hit the ground, we move. Any questions?”

The room is silent, everyone aware of the stakes. Ghost’s gaze lingers on you a second longer, reinforcing his unspoken warning. This time, you nod curtly, already running through the plan in your head. The sooner this is over, the sooner you’re one step closer to freedom.

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The mission starts smoothly enough. Under cover of darkness, the teams approach Kozlov’s safehouse on foot, moving quickly and keeping low. Bravo team takes position around the perimeter, silently eliminating the sparse guards posted on the outskirts, while Ghost, you, and a few others on Alpha team make your way toward the main entrance.

As planned, you breach the door and slip inside. Ghost signals for you to split up, both of you sweeping the narrow hallways and checking each room. It’s quiet—too quiet, almost like Kozlov is baiting you. Your instincts buzz with a sense that something’s off, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

You clear the first floor quickly, then move up the creaky staircase to the second. Ghost leads the way, moving with controlled urgency. As he rounds a corner toward a reinforced door at the end of the hall, it happens—an explosion. A tripwire, hidden under a loose floorboard, detonates. The blast rips through the hall, sending Ghost flying backward. He slams into the wall, dust and smoke filling the air.

“Ghost!” you shout, ducking for cover, the ringing in your ears nearly deafening. Through the haze, you see him slumped against the wall, struggling to stay conscious, blood trickling down his forehead.

A flicker of movement catches your eye—one of Kozlov’s men, sneaking up behind Ghost with a knife. Your heart races, instincts taking over as you spring forward. Drawing your own blade, you lunge at the attacker, catching him off guard. You manage to twist the knife from his grip before he can strike. With a swift, decisive shove, you send him sprawling, finishing him off with one clean motion.

Breathing hard, you crouch beside Ghost, gripping his shoulder firmly. “You good to move?” you ask, your voice sharp but steady. His eyes clear just enough to focus on you, and he manages a slight nod, though he’s visibly shaken.

He takes a shaky breath, forcing out a half-growl. “Didn’t think… you’d bother.”

You roll your eyes, slipping an arm under his to help him up. “Yeah, well, we’re not done here. Let’s get you out alive first—then we can argue about it.”

With Ghost steadying himself, you both push forward, weaving through the remaining chaos to regroup with the others. The safehouse is cleared shortly after, but Kozlov is nowhere to be found—it was a decoy. Not the outcome you wanted, but you’re both alive.

And, at least for now, Ghost owes you one.

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Back at the base, the adrenaline from the mission has faded, leaving an unsettling quiet in its wake. You step outside, seeking a moment of calm in the cool night air. The stars flicker above, but they do little to soothe the turmoil in your mind. You can’t shake the image of Ghost slumped against the wall, blood trailing down his face.

Leaning against the cold metal of the building, you’re lost in thought when you hear footsteps approaching. You look up to see Ghost walking toward you, his gait slightly uneven, a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. His gaze is sharp, unwavering, all business.

“You should be resting,” you say, trying to keep any lingering irritation from your tone.

He shrugs, a faint, almost mocking smile visible beneath his mask. “Rest doesn’t come easy. Figured I’d check on you after today’s fiasco.”

“Fiasco?” You raise an eyebrow. “You nearly got yourself killed out there, and I had to save your ass.”

“True.” He crosses his arms, something resembling respect flickering in his eyes. “But you acted out of turn. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And what was I supposed to do? Watch you get stabbed?” You shake your head. “I’m not just some disposable asset.”

“Right,” he says, his tone hardening. “You’re still a merc, and I’m not sure where you fit in all this. Just curious—what makes you tick?”

You narrow your eyes, thrown by his sudden interest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you do this? You didn’t get into this line of work for the glory. What’s your story?” He leans against the wall, studying you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.

You hesitate, debating how much to let him in. “Does it matter? You don’t see me as anything but a pawn.”

“Maybe.” There’s an edge of sincerity in his voice that surprises you. “But you saved my life today. I’d like to know who I’m working with.”

You cross your arms, defensive but resigned. “Fine. I got into this for survival, for the money. Aegis found me on the fringes, and I’ve been making my way through the chaos ever since.”

He nods, taking in your words. “And what happens when Aegis finds out you’re working with us? Think they’ll just let you walk away?”

You shrug, a bitter laugh slipping out. “If I don’t find a way out soon, I’ll be in deep trouble. But I’m not worried about their opinion. Life’s unpredictable; this is just how things ended up.”

He studies you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze intense. “I know you saved me today, but don’t expect any favors.”

“Trust me, Ghost, I won’t be asking for any,” you reply, a mix of defiance and resolve settling in your voice.

The silence stretches, the night air heavy with unspoken words. You know you’ll have to carve your own path, but this unexpected exchange has shifted something between you. As you look back at the stars, you can’t help but wonder where this uneasy alliance might lead.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ -

Author's Note: my upload schedule will likely be on weekends since I work full-time (rip). some updates might even come a few days earlier if I finish proofreading faster. hopefully, the first chapter has grabbed your attention! if you have any questions, feel free to submit them on my ask box, it’s always open!

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lurksunderthebed · 2 years ago

Text

Ghoap Analysis/Meta (1?)

The Evolution of GhostSoap Redux

Continuing thoughts on how Ghost and Soap's relationship has changed over the course of mw(19), mwii(22) and mwiii(23)

Spread out amongst several posts. This will be long 😅

(Part 1)

BEWARE SPOILERS TO MWIII(23) !

I've had time to settle my thoughts on Ghostsoap in mwiii (23) and this will go more into depth of the re-contextualising of Ghost and Soap's relationship in mwii (22) from the verdansk mission: "Flashpoint".

Flashpoint is set 4 years to mwiii(23). The game places it as April 6, 2019. This is important to us because it sets a different potential first mission (meet cute lmao) between the two and thus changes the tone of their interactions in mwii (22)

So let's set up a timeline with the available dates. Thankfully, the game sets some very concrete dates for us. Not all missions are included.*

2019

Flashpoint - April 06, 2019

First canonical appearance of SAS Ghost and Soap

Ghost provides sniper cover for Soap

Price/Soap capture Makarov and transport him to a helo with Ghost and Shepherd

There's a failed interrogation by Ghost and Soap.

Makarov implies he has met Ghost before and thought him dead at an airport

2019 Mw(19)

Piccadilly - Oct 25, 2019

First canonical appearance of SAS Gaz

Gaz is attached to Met Counter Terrorist Police. This implies he has worked largely in his career in conjunction to the Police. It's unknown whether he met Soap or Ghost before.

First meet of Gaz and Price to combat terrorists in London

Old Comrades - Oct 31, 2019

Gaz meets Nikolai

Interrogation scene. Arguably strengthens Gaz and Price's relationship

Into the Furnace - Nov 03, 2019

Last mission, they kill general barkov

Credit Scene - Nov 03-04, 2019* (hypothetical)

Laswell and Price form task force 141

Price seconds Ghost, Soap, Gaz. This implies that Price has worked with Soap and Ghost on missions for x amount of years. It's Gaz who was the surprise recruit.

2020 Cod Warzone

Season 2 - Mar 2020

First appearance of 141 Ghost

Unknown amount of 141 stationed in Verdansk. Ghost asks for backup.

Season 3 - Apr 2020

Armistice dissolved

Price and Gaz show up to help Ghost

Implied- unknown amount of 141 to Verdansk (possible meeting of Soap and Ghost)

Season ? - Dec 2020

Price kills Zakaev

First appearance (via call) of 141 Soap asking for backup in Verdansk

Price, Ghost, Gaz, Farah etc backup Soap who is somewhere else in Verdansk getting pinned down by enemies

2022 Mwii(22)

Strike - July 15, 2022

Ghost calls an airstrike on Ghorbrani with the aid of Shadow Company

Hindsight - Aug 12, 2022

Shepherd/Shadow Company loses American missiles to terroists

Kill or Capture - Oct 28, 2022

Ghost gets assigned Soap as his sergeant for Al Mazhrah mission to kill or capture Hassan

They find American missiles instead

Cartel Protection - Oct 30, 2022

Ghost/Soap meet Ale/Rudy in Las Almas

They fight the Mexican army under control of the cartels

RV with Graves/Shadow Comp.

El Sin Nombre - Nov 01, 2022

Soap infils cartel mansion

Valeria is revealed as El Sin Nombre

They take her into custody

Dark Water - Nov 02, 2022

Boat/oil rig mission with Shadow company

Missile launch averted by Ghost, Soap and Graves

Alone - Nov 03, 2022

Graves and Shepherd betray 141/mexi bros

Ghost and Soap get out of Las Almas

RV at ale's hideout with Rudy

Prison Break - Nov 03, 2022

Ghost, Soap, Rudy break out ale from prison

Meet up with Price/Gaz

Ghost Team - Nov 03, 2022

141 with mexi bros take back mexi bros base

Soap and Rudy "kill" Graves

Countdown - Nov 04, 2022

Stop missile launch in Chicago

Ghost and Soap kill Hassan

2023 Mwiii (23)

Operation 627 - Oct 13, 2023

Makarov breaks out of prison

Reactor - Nov 10, 2023

141 find out that Makarov escaped

141 assaults konni base

Price finds chemical weapons (almost died)

Payload - Nov 11, 2023

141 split up to stop missile launch of chemical weapons

They fail to stop 2 missiles to Russia

Oligarch - Nov 12, 2023

Ghost/Soap island mission to find Makarov's financier

Interrogation of Milena for Makarov's location

Frozen Tundra - Nov 14, 2023

141 ambush konni convoy

Find Shepherd was Makarov's prisoner

Interrogate him on Makarov's location

Gora Dam - Nov 16, 2023

Ghost/Soap split up to stop chemical weapons in Verdansk

Trojan Horse - Nov 21, 2023

141 split up in London tunnels to stop Makarov from using chemical weapons in subway system

So now that's done. I've mostly ignored Farah and Alex and focused on Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap and Nikolai as it pertains to relationships within the core group of Price/Ghost/Gaz/Soap.

What can we make of this ?

Well, a couple things.

We can now say that from 2019 to the events of "Kill or Capture" in 2022, Ghost and Soap have most likely worked together on missions before. The timeline shows that they at least had to have met in Dec 2020 in Verdansk as Soap had called for backup to Price and group.

That makes it actually at least 3 years of knowledge of each other prior to mwii(22). So a total of 4 years + potentially at the start of mwiii(23).

It also shows us how quickly their relationship changed from the Alone mission in '22 despite the 3 years of prior knowledge they had since '19.

Let it be said that it took 1 week, ONLY 7 DAYS!! to change Ghost and Soap's relationship. 7 days out of a total at least 3 years total.

Ghost started at not even bothering to name Soap in 2019, to presumably basic Soap/Mactavish/sergeant for the next 3 years.

Cut to the events in mwii(22). Lets say beginning at "Kill or Capture" and finishing at "Alone" and suddenly Ghost ends up having made up his own personal nickname that no one else can use for Soap in just those 7 days.

I posit that this was in part due to "Kill or Capture" in '22 being the first mission that Soap has directly worked under Ghost's command.

This is all hypotheticals and guesswork so take it as you may.

Assuming Ghost was mainly a solo mission sort of guy, let's also assume he mostly helped as sniper overwatch if he ever had team missions (like in Flashpoint). Most 141 missions have him taking that position as well, so it's safe to say he is support most of the time.

Given that assumption, it's also likely that Soap and Ghost had to have interacted mainly on comms and any physical meeting would be restricted to transport via heli or otherwise.

It's possible Soap and Ghost have worked together on a more physical basis (aka Ghost leading Soap on a squad), but given how much Ghost seemed to be testing Soap in "Kill or Capture" I find that somewhat unlikely.

In 2019 we see how brusque Ghost is with Soap. It's very likely that Ghost was largely monosyllabic with Soap pre or post missions to Flashpoint.

Considering Soap's propensity to chatter in 2022 and 2023, it's also very likely Soap annoyed the hell out of Ghost on comms. Lol.

This could explain why Ghost was so dismissive of having Soap as his sergeant in "Kill or Capture", despite working together 3 years ago.

I, and arguably most of fandom had theorised that "Kill or Capture" was the first mission that Soap and Ghost ever had together. And we weren't quite right, but we weren't completely wrong either.

With Flashpoint, it's obvious now that was not quite true. It even suggests in it that Ghost and Soap had worked together prior to even that, as there was no formal introduction between the two.

This dramatically changes how Ghost's dialogue and Soap's to a lesser degree can be read in mwii(22) and implies much much more if you consider how they interact with each other in '23.

So why does it matter when Ghost and Soap's relationship started?

With mwiii(23) we can now definitively tell when Ghost and Soap's relationship changed. We now have a rough basis of a timeline and we can track down the differences between '19 -'22 and then '22- '23. Its important because we can see how their relationship deepens and how it changed within a span of 3 years, 7 compelling days and 1 heartwrenching year later.

For all that mwiii(23) was lax with explicit Ghostsoap moments, it's rich in how much context we gain to their relationship. We see how Ghost changes and how his relationships differ between 141. It's an interesting and compelling look at both Ghost and Soap's characters.

In this discussion I separate this analysis into 3 parts. Part 2 will cover the implications of "Flashpoint" on mwii (22), with discussion line by line. Part 3 will most likely go over comparisons a year makes from the events in '22 to '23. (This might be subject to change as I get further into the analysis)

Onto Part 2.

#ghostsoap #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghost x soap #simon riley #call of duty #meta #analysis #soap x ghost #soap mactavish #soap cod #mw3 spoilers #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare

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dhr-ao3 · 2 years ago

Text

The Hunt

The Hunt https://ift.tt/rI0SUX6 by costcowholsal3 WIP - Hermione Granger was the Order’s most lethal weapon. Her skills as the interrogator gave her power within the Good. She had never failed to take information out of the enemy. No one had ever sat through her torture and got out alive. It doesn’t hurt that she had the ability to track down virtually anyone. She was tasked to find The Hunter, the man that worked for the Bad. He was equally matched with her in power, and it may prove to be her most challenging assignment ever. Draco Malfoy worked as the right-hand man to the leader of the Bad. Ever since he killed Dumbledore in 6th year, he had to take on the task of The Hunter. It was simple enough. He just had to find the target, bring them back, see if they could give him any information, and then kill them. He could have done the job for the rest of his life, if not for his assignment to kill the Huntress. She had slipped from his fingers a few times, and he needed to bring an end to their chase. What happens when the masks fall down to reveal the others being a person from their past? A person that neither of them had been able to rid of from their minds? Words: 9588, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Daphne Greengrass, Astoria Greengrass, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Tom Riddle | Voldemort Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini Additional Tags: Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Sex Positive Hermione Granger, Rough Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Rough Sex, Mommy Kink, 69 (Sex Position), Murder, Sub Draco Malfoy, Dom Hermione Granger, Switch Draco Malfoy, Switch Hermione Granger, Sub Hermione Granger, Dom Draco Malfoy, Porn With Plot via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/acDjTsM August 02, 2023 at 04:21AM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

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ollieinoue · 2 years ago

Text

CONSPIRACY JOURNAL

Ollie has gone back and logged any journal entries from his bullet journal from the time, as well as thoughts he has currently along with news articles, or other info people have given him, and texts sent to him (and relivant self paras/tasks).

start of school (08/23/22)

any significant journal entries

N/A

any follow up thoughts about the time

we knew nothing of g at the time

no greer tho but I figured she just was on some kinda vacation or whatever

homecoming (09/03/22)

any significant journal entries

all hail the king, baby

any follow up thoughts about the time

I mean obviously weird that Greer was voted hoco queen when we all knew she was not here and there were rumors that she was missing.

I remember being up on stage and the person announcing it was really weirded out and maybe a little hesitant idk I was really high.

Why didn’t the Dean or anyone in authority just like fucking ... not allow that to happen lmao wtf

I think this was the first message from G but I think we all thought at the time G = Greer

first interrogations (09/04/22)

any significant journal entries

fuck the police

IC TASK 001

any follow up thoughts about the time

fuck the police

fuck attempting to be sober

OGDEN STUDENT OFFICIALLY DECLARED AS A MISSING PERSON AS THE SEARCH FOR GREER MORRISON CONTINUES Greer Morrison, a junior at the prestigious Ogden College in New Hampshire, has officially been declared a missing persons case, with the FBI starting their search at the Ogden campus this weekend. While her contact with family and friends abated over the summer, sources say her apparent travel plans made that a likely possible. However, with classes having resumed last week and Greer not returning to her studies, the Morrison family reported her missing after the school contacted them.

first letters (09/18/22)

any significant journal entries

weird shit happening

[gm] u okay?

any follow up thoughts about the time

I think this is when things started to get really weird but it wasn’t like ... too overly weird ig.

Greer could have been just fucking with us still.

follow up interrogations (09/28/22)

any significant journal entries

fuck the police

any follow up thoughts about the time

idr anything coming of this beyond the nate/jesse drama tbh

a bunch of bullshit. the police are really out here giving us nothing.

power outage (10/01/22)

any significant journal entries

fun!

[gm] was that u babes???

self para

any follow up thoughts

I saw greer?

maybe

there is no fucking way that greer is just around and nobody has seen her. not now and not then. it doesn’t make any sense. but like ... idk bro.

after the outage (10/02/22)

any significant journal entries

wonder what was taken

[ap] did someone over hear me talking to alethea .........

whoops

any follow up thoughts

still wonder what the fuck was taken and what came of that????? was it G trying to find more dirt?

idk how or why G knew my conversation with alethea but they DID?? they sent me a text about it at the pool party. so they were there.

but they can’t be everywhere at once tho. hm.

casino night (10/08/22)

any significant journal entries

fun!

any follow up thoughts

idk I was just hanging out w my parents the whole time

gossip blast & G’s texts I did not care about at the time

among the glitz and glamour of the night…

some of you have been hitting the jackpot while others burn holes in their pockets, but the lack of greer morrison’s presence can’t help but hover over the events of the night. some of you are GAMBLING like you have nothing to lose, but you could not be more wrong. remember the blackout last week? at LEAST two of you were whispering in the dark hours of that night how easy it would be to break into rooms in the school. is that how you spent your night? i guess that would explain why the police notes went missing. now we know what all of you SAID – the truths, the lies, the secrets. what we can deduce from the stolen notes is that the police believe this was very likely a RUNAWAY case. and that’s all there is to it at this time. but even if our GOLDEN GIRL did leave on her own accord, there was a REASON… PERHAPS the reason has something to do with the fact that there wasn’t just one sneaky link greer had on the side….and they weren’t just men. and that certainly wasn’t the only secret she was keeping. she had secrets that were quite literally LIFE AND DEATH. or maybe she is just taking a moment…biding her time planning revenge on those of you who were trying to get her to do something, be it a break-up, an ultimatum, or maybe just not spilling the secret that you mistakenly shared. just remember, secrets don’t stay secrets for very long here. soon enough, we’ll all know why she left, so you may want to hold your CARDS close to your chests. xoxo ...

G: YOU ALL MIGHT HAVE PLAYED YOUR CARDS RIGHT TONIGHT….BUT I KNOW EVERYTHING YOU’VE DONE. G: AND DON’T WORRY…THAT INCLUDES EVERYTHING YOU DIDN’T TELL THE COPS. G: ACTUALLY, I GUESS THAT MEANS YOU SHOULD WORRY… XX

they were extra at the time and they’re still extra that’s all we know for sure

looks like they did take something but like what tho. what was found in the school or police records? hm.

greer’s birthday (10/25/22)

any significant journal entries

fun!

ok so who the fuck is g?

[gm] hope ur okay babes ....

any follow up thoughts

still fun lmao but how fucked up bro

I think this is when things started hitting me how fucked up things were and that this G person really was out here just to fuck with us for fun.

still no greer I think that’s probably the last time I thought maybe it was possible she might show up some time out of the blue

the texts I got sent blackmailing me into planning this party

g [1:27 AM]: you didn’t think the 25th was just gonna arrive with no celebrating, right? well…._i think you’re just the person to throw a party for me. even though we both know there’s a guest who won’t make it. besides me, that is. but you wouldn’t dare to tell anyone the _truth about that, would you? anyways! give it your best, babes. and don’t worry, you won’t be doing it alone. boathouse. 2 am. tomorrow. xx

no thank you texts smh

the texts I got at the party mentioning they knew the things I said to alethea during the blackout

g: you mentioned on the night of the blackout that it’d be easy to break into school buildings, and now we know that someone did just that. would you dare to prove it to us all that you know what you’re talking about? g: break into a school building and bring a little souvenir back from your heist to show off at the party. don’t worry, you’ll have an accomplice xx

halloween (10/31/22)

any significant journal entries

fun!

fucked up

what the fuck

there’s a lot to unpack here

IC task 002

any follow up thoughts

okay so I’m just going to log all the notes I’ve seen, and heard from other people here just to keep them all in one easy to find place.

there are likely more out there that I’ve not heard about I wonder how many

Mine

FLIGHT 1728, NYC > PORTUGAL, JUNE 5, 2022

Parker’s

FLIGHT 1920 PORTUGAL > NYC AUGUST 29, 2022

Monty’s

THERE ARE MORE LETTERS EXPLAINING EVERYTHING.

Link’s

after the accident, I’m trying to keep reminding myself of what [redacted] last august. [redacted] is dead. at least [redacted] and I didn’t kill anyone.

Milo’s

MAY 2022 god, it’s so fucked. [redacted] knows about the accident. obviously, but…[redacted] it wasn’t me driving, since i let [redacted] drive that night.

Jesse’s

MAY 2022 this week has been the fucking worst. first [redacted], now [redacted]? motherfuckers are jealous and [redacted]. i can’t do it anymore. i just can’t.

IMPORTANT NOTES

Link has Milo’s little journal piece

Link promised he wouldn’t tell anybody about the one he has. Hopefully.

I showed Mari pictures of the ones I remembered to take pictures of (Mine, and Milo’s, and Parker’s) and she Milo’s was (probably) from Greer’s journal.

fake G (early-mid nov)

any significant journal entries

I hate technology

computers are dumb

oh I think I found sm

SELF PARA

like just no it doesn’t make sense

[mn] ?????

[mn] okay so the plan is ... just go ask and he’ll say no and it’ll be normal

[mn] prick

[mn] I hate him

[mn] I hope his life gets ruined

[mn] I hate him

[mn] I should just tell everyone. like I won’t but I should.

it still feels wrong tho right?

but how could it be wrong tho?

fuck

I hate technology

any follow up thoughts

I just need to know HOW

did G hire people to do all this?

like there’s no way they just ... out did me on this right? I looked SO FUCKING HARD.

I worked SO FUCKING HARD

I checked SO MANY TIMES

What the fuck happened? What did I do wrong?

Fuck G

also I still hate technology

second letters (11/27/22)

N/A (ollie does not know about any of these but just to keep track of all plot events I’m adding it in here)

time capsule leaks (12/12/22)

any significant journal entries

IC TASK 003

[g-] oh you bitch

fuck me

no it’s fine it’s cool just be normal it’ll be fine.

any follow up thoughts

not really tbh

G is a bitch

Honestly the fact that the news did not pick up on the fact that nude videos of ppl were leaked FROM A SCHOOL is kinda shitty

bet you anything the dean has done everything he could to cover it up

if anything this seemed petty as hell g what gives????????

post time capsule leaks (12/14/22)-(12/16/22)

any significant journal entries

[kk] there’s no way kit was juicing lmao what???

[kk] monty didn’t know about this either??? a little offensive bro

fuck the police

kinda shitty the cops are taking credit for the information parker & I gave them lmao

cops seem to at the moment trust me so at least I don’t have to worry about that

IC TASK 004

[g-] fuck off bitch

any follow up thoughts

texts from G I was sent immediately after the interrogation

g: well, it looks like the cops sure trust you. let’s not get into the merits of whether or not they should, and instead let’s figure if i should. or if greer morrison should. g: did greer ever mention wanting to go to the cops over anything? g: think…stalkers, fights, issues with drugs. anything like that ring a bell? g: think about it. even try to figure it out. what you do with that info? well, i guess that’ll let us know if the cops were right for believing what you said.

I still haven’t heard anything about any of this

idk dude

fuck G

new years eve (01/01/23)

any significant journal entries

( a full journal entry written after getting home from from the trip )

Everything is so fucked up. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m losing my mind and that everything just keeps spiraling more and more out of control and I can’t do anything to stop it. Every single day gets worse. I feel like I’m suffocating underneath everything. I literally feel like I cannot breathe. I can’t sleep, I haven’t been able to sleep in weeks. I feel like I’m on the cusp of a panic attack every single moment of every single day. And now this. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about seeing Penny’s dead body and I don’t even know if that was her fucking dead body or not but does it matter at this point? And that girl was covered in so much blood. And nobody will tell us anything going on. All I’m hearing on the news is that it was an accident. But fuck that. What the fuck are they going to say happened she tripped and fell and all of her blood left her body? Was she attacked by a wild animal and nobody heard anything. Me and Milo weren’t even that far away!

It makes me feel sick every single time I think about it. Like there is this horrible gnawing sensation in my stomach that keeps growing and growing and soon I’ll just be like nothing. I’ll be empty. And what happens then? How the fuck are any of us supposed to deal with this? My sanity is like being held on by a thread, and most of that weight is being carried by Monty right now, and that’s so fucking unfair of me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel like I’m not a constant burden. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel like I’m not just dragging him down every single time we talk. But I ... I need him. And I love him. And he knows now. Everything. Most things. And he’s still here and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.

Anyway. I feel like giving up on all of this bullshit. I’ve tried so hard ... and come so far ... and in the end it never even mattered. lmao I’m sorry... I’m serious though. But then there is the other hand where like ... Have I ever been able to let something go? Have I ever known when to stop? I’m so fucking tired. It’s constant. What the fuck am I supposed to do about this? By why is that on any of us?

any follow up thoughts

lmao yikes

after getting back to school Link told me when he and Mari went to find her dad at the staff chalet nobody was there. and what the fuck is that even supposed to mean?? idfk

penny’s memorial (01/22/23)

any significant journal entries

rip penny the dnd group was better without you but the school is not

g implied what happened to penny was not accident, that it had something to do with secrets she knew. like come on ... what the fuck

any follow up thoughts

the text G sent

G: IT’S NOT ACCIDENT THAT THIS IS WHAT PENNY’S SECRETS BOUGHT HER G: NOW IT’S TIME TO FIND OUT WHAT YOURS ARE WORTH

any follow up????? idk .....

some news (02/02/23)

any significant journal entries

embarrassing that the news is days behind the leaks we’re getting

penny knew why greer left OR did she know who was responsible for it

the dean????????

any follow up thoughts

the article

UPDATE IN SEARCH FOR MISSING OGDEN COLLEGE STUDENT Though it has been months of the investigation team believing that Greer Morrison fled from Ogden College willingly, recent updates have led to the belief that she may have been chased off, and that there are people out there who know why. In fact, an unnamed source has reported that they overheard the student who came to her tragic demise on a school trip, Penelope Klein, saying that she knew why Greer Morrison left only shortly before her death. In addition an anonymous source provided information about flights she may have taken out of the country last spring, though the flight returning to the states has no proof of her actually being on it. This lead has been investigation, and it has returned no further information about Greer’s whereabouts. We have also learned that the time capsule video of Greer had not been kept in the files where the rest of the students were when officers originally looked, and when leaked, it contained damning information on several students - like the allegation of her then boyfriend using steroids. This claim was corroborated when his room was searched previously this semester, leading to his expulsion. With all of this information coming to light, it has been confirmed Penelope Klein’s death is being investigated as a murder. Greer Morrison is still considered missing, and she may be aware of sensitive information. Any additional leads will be reported.

I still think it was the dean

heartbreaker social (02/17/23)

any significant journal entries

fuck g

what was the point of that?

fucking bitch

any follow up thoughts

how the fuck did g see our valentines?? so they were there or someone was there who was doing this for them.

G’s valentine to me

roses are red, lonely hearts are blue give me a dirty little secret and maybe i'll give you a clue it doesn't have to be yours, but it should be good and if you can't deliver....i could

My texts in response

( redacted )

the heart of the matter (03/18/23)

any significant journal entries

IC TASK 005

jesse’s dad sucks

I’m fucking onto you and the fucking dean

truly do not trust a single thing that comes out of either of these men’s mouths

any follow up thoughts

nothing new

just the same growing feeling

house of mirrors (04/05/23) - (04/08/23)

any significant journal entries

SELF PARA

I’m starting to think I’m just being gaslit tbh

am I crazy? ... I might be

any follow up thoughts

no thoughts brain empty

#self para .#kinda???#ollie is a the dean is g truther sorry #warning this is pretty long because there's been a lot of events!!#lmao worth it?? idk

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maria-mga2024mi5017 · 4 months ago

Text

Official Concept for the 11 second club animation

20/02/2025

Hi everyone! It's currently 12:48am in the morning, and I'm up to sort out the concept for my '11 second club animation'. I will mainly be talking about the rigs I've chosen, their personalities, their connection, environment for the animation, and finally, a scene breakdown.

Let's get into it!

Chosen rigs for this animation -

Waitress Rig

I'm going to call her Rachel. She reminds me of the time that Rachel in 'Friends' worked as a waitress at Central Perk lol.

Character name - Rachel

Age - 25

Place of birth - Manhattan, New York

Gender - Female

Nationality - American

Occupation - Waitress

Mbti -ENFP (This personality type is known to have a bubbly personality. Lively, upbeat approach to life, Life of the party)

Character note - Rachel is a waitress at a local diner. Although her job doesn't pay much, she finds some satisfaction in serving customers and making connections. Her friendly and bubbly personality has even earned some regular customers at the diner!

2. Punisher Rig

To be completely honest, I haven't downloaded this rig yet. But I hope and pray that the textures would appear because I want him to be Rachel's boss 'Joey' in this animation scene.

Character name - Joey

Age - 35

Place of birth - Manhattan, New York

Gender - Male

Nationality - American

Occupation - Diner owner, Underground Thug

Mbti -ESTJ (This personality type is often frank and confrontational when angered)

Character note - Joey is the owner of a family diner started by his grandmother back in the day. An unusual thing about Joey is that he is an underground thug. He uses the diner at times as a storage area for his guns. Most of the waitresses like Rachel are aware of this and have been assigned to keep the weapons stored safely when requested by him.

Connection between the two characters in the animation -

Rachel is one of the waitresses that works at Joey's diner. Although most of her job requires her to serve the customers and leave them satisfied with the restaurant's food and services, she also has to take care of secretive tasks assigned by her boss 'Joey'.

Manhattan is an area with a handful of popular underground thugs that people wouldn't dare to mess with, and 'Joey' is one of them. Joey uses his diner at times to story his weaponry/ guns for sale. He has assigned a handful of waitresses like Rachel to take care of his weaponry stock when he's out taking care of "other matters".

Idea on the environment for the animation -

I headed over to this site called sketchfab to take a look at some free 3D environments for this animation.

So, I'm visualizing a nighttime scene for my animation. The intense lighting at the diner could also create some harsh shadows on the characters to show an interrogation scene.

For the animation, both my characters Rachel and Joey will be seated down at one of the tables. I'm hoping to find a diner model with a long table so that one of Joey's guns could be placed there.

Animation scenes break down -

[ Before this scene takes place, Rachel was assigned to store a gun that Joey called 'Alden' in one of the storage rooms while Joey had to leave town to attend "other matters". Since it's usually difficult to take leave from work, Rachel leaves the gun in storage and takes a 2-day break from work.

However, when the owner returns back to the dinner, he notices that the gun that Rachel was supposed to be eyeing on in storage was left out in a completely different room of the diner. In this animation scene, Joey speaks to Rachel during her nighttime shift a day after his return, confronting her on her absence and mismanagement of his weapon.] ~ Rachel might be busted guys TOT~

The animation takes place with a rule of thirds framing of Joey from the front and Rachel from behind while Joey inquires on her work over the couple of days he was out of town.

The camera flips to a rule of thirds framing of Rachel in the front and Joey from the back while Rachel tries to convince Joey that she was working at the dinner.

Joey abruptly cuts Rachel while she was talking, confronting her on a absence and neglect of 'Alden'. Joey will be shown from a low angled shot to appear intimidating to Rachel and the viewers.

During the 2nd half of Joey's confrontational talk towards Rachel, the camera will focus on a close up shot of her frightened face.

While focused on the close up shot of Rachel's face, after the Joey mentions 'Alden', the viewers will see Rachel's head slowly turn towards the right to reveal 'Alden'.

As soon as Rachel turns to the right, the camera cuts to a rule of thirds framing of Rachel from behind and the reveal of the 'Alden' gun.

-The end-

0 notes

lay-z · 3 years ago

Text

under the influence | 18+

Summary: Instead of Soap, it's you who infiltrates the mansion of the cartel Lieutenant. Who could have ever expected the repercussions of your decision to volunteer.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x fem!Reader Warnings/Info: Reader has a call sign (Evil). | Set in MWII (2022). | fraternising; cussing; drug use; smut; w/w; canon-typical violence; dom/sub elements; knife play/blood kink; tw: dub-con to be safe

@bloodytalefeathers This one's for you:) | Updated/re-written: 02/24/2025

Location: Las Almas/Mexico Date: 1st November, 2022

“Negative. We cannot be taking chances like that, Sergeant.”

It's Commander Graves who's the first to object to your proposal, and one peek at Soap's relieved face tells you that he agrees with him which hurts you more than you'd ever like to openly admit.

A soft breeze sweeps over the rooftop, still warm despite it being well into autumn at this point in the year. You’re sweating under your long-sleeved combat shirt and the bulky tac vest strapped around your torso; skin pebbling with goosebumps when the cool air ghosts over the pearls of sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

The atmosphere is tense, laced with danger and that familiar, adrenaline-induced anticipation as your gaze drifts over the four men standing in a half-circle around you.

“I actually think it is a good idea,” Alejandro interjects thoughtfully, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “She could catch them off guard. A woman like her offering intel? No offense, amiga–” He holds his hands up in a placating gesture as he turns to you, offering a mischievous smile, “–but you seem less sketchy and threatening than this amigo right there.” He points his thumb at Soap, who’s being uncharacteristically quiet in the background. “You make it in; you'll need eyes and ears. I'll go, too.”

Soap has the audacity to look offended when all four sets of eyes shift towards him. Ghost, who is simply standing by like the menacing behemoth he is, sighs roughly and cuts him off before the Scotsman can even begin to defend his ego impulsively.

“Evil will infiltrate the mansion. I'll take over watch with Soap as backup. Shadow circles the target in a helo,” the Lieutenant announces with finality, agreeing to the plan.

Your stomach flutters with anticipation and excitement when your Lieutenant gives the green light, although you catch the disapproving look of Commander Graves. He doesn't trust your skills, never has since you first met, but you can’t give two shits about it, can’t let a man like him make you doubt yourself now. You’ve been proving yourself since joining the military; you've earned your rank, your spot in the task force.

The fact that Soap is starting to perhaps care a little too much about since you started working together, only makes things more difficult now—hence his reaction. And that is you ignoring the ongoing competition between the two of you on top of that.

“Roger that. They're going to want proof,” Graves announces before ripping a patch off his tac vest to hand it over to you. “Show 'em this, Sergeant.” He pats your shoulder after you take it, gives you a curt nod, and a muscle ticks in his cheek as he clenches his jaw tensely.

“Call me when you need me.” His gloved hand on your shoulder lingers briefly before he turns to the three other men. “Alright, let's gear up and get after it!”

You’re racking your brain trying to think of a more unpleasant scenario right now. Sure, you have done and experienced lots of crazy and borderline horrific things in your career, some of which only happened in the last 48 hours actually, but walking up to a private cartel party, vulnerable and unarmed, without comms, must be in your top 10 list of most reckless, idiotic missions—at least.

It's the thought of Alejandro being here with you somewhere, Ghost and Soap watching from afar, and having the Shadows as air support that calms your nerves down to a level where you can continue to function.

You will be interrogated by the cartel Lieutenant, fair enough, and you will tell the truth; give them what they want to hear—the intel they so desperately need. Just like Alejandro advised you. Of course, all of it makes sense in theory.

Diego, one of the more important henchmen, leads you further down the hallway after you let yourself get captured. He leads your through the cellar of the pompous mansion and only comes to a stop in front of a guarded and heavy-looking door.

“El Sin Nombre is down here?” you ask inquisitively.

He snorts. “Heh. No, but Sin Nombre's personal sicaria is.” There's a sardonic glint in his eyes when he looks at you and it matches the sly smirk on his lips.

The door screeches open as he yanks at the handle and you finally get a view of what awaits inside.

“Valeria! Una más. Una gringa!” Diego announces, his voice dripping with smugness as he walks ahead and enters the interrogation room while the guard behind you shoves you forward harshly.

There are three chairs, all equipped with restraints for hands and feet. There is a Mexican soldier on the chair to your left, judging by his uniform, a white hood over his head. He's either dead or knocked out cold. The one on the right is conscious; fidgeting like some prey animal caught in a trap; the fear in his eyes too evident as he looks around frantically. The third chair remains occupied by another soldier—this one most likely dead.

“Mhm... Sit down.” The sicaria, Valeria, orders and the guard pushes you forward once more, makes you stumble towards the chair after the unconscious soldier is simply discarded to the floor.

“Ten cuidado. Su nombre es ‘Malvado’,” Diego introduces you mockingly and she scoffs at your call sign. Evil. Who in their right mind would call themselves that? Well, you certainly didn't.

Her sheer confidence controls the room and the other goons scatter and make way whenever she moves. The atmosphere is tense and the skin around your wrists is getting raw by tight bindings while your palms begin to sweat.

She continues talking to Diego in Spanish, too fast for you to understand. His body language is submissive when he answers to her. The arrogant Lieutenant who’d brought you down here has now seemingly vanished in her presence, and it's almost admirable how much confidence and mischief she oozes.

Then she laughs, attacks Diego, and then threatens him with her combat knife. Your pulse throbs in your neck when she lets go off him eventually to turn her attention to you and the other soldiers.

“Niños! This is simple. I ask questions. You answer truthfully.” She announces firmly, waving a gun in her hand and patting the hooded soldier’s thigh condescendingly. “Do not lie to me.”

You hold her gaze and see the cold-blooded anger burning behind her eyes. She checks the gun and turns off the safety as she looks at the conscious soldier. You meet his eyes and notice the cowardice behind his dark irises.

“Recently we were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there... Who?”

The soldier tries to answer in Spanish but Valeria stops him angrily, her voice sharp and venomous, and he repeats his answer in English. “I–I think it was the Rivals Cartel,” he stutters.

Valeria clicks her tongue as she turns her attention back to you, obviously unsatisfied with his answer. “Your turn, gringa. Who attacked us?”

“It was the Mexican Special Forces,” you answer truthfully without hesitation, though it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It feels wrong to give up intel to the enemy, but there is no other way if you want to get to El Sin Nombre and find those missiles.

“We found the bodies. Fuerzas Especiales,” she purrs, a smile ghosting over her lips. So, she knows that already. “Now, how would an outsider know they were Mexican Special Forces and not you?” she spits, confronting the trembling soldier again.

“M–Maybe she was there!” The soldier stutters, trying to defend himself, but Diego approaches from behind and says something that makes the soldier's face drop even more.

“There were outsiders helping the Mexican Special Forces. Who were they?” Valeria inquires, her voice still firm and demanding; her impatience palpable.

“We heard them yelling some in English. They were with the gringos... like her!”

Her sharp eyes fall back on you and she waits for your answer expectantly. Choosing your next words wisely, you inhale slowly, licking your dry lips before you offer what they want.

“American PMC’s. A group called Shadow Company,” you tilt your head, almost playfully, as her eyes glint with both curiosity and doubt. “–led by a man named Phillip Graves. If you want proof, honey, go ahead and check my left pocket.”

Valeria raises an eyebrow at the pet name and shares a suspicious look with Diego before she reaches out to pull the Shadow's insignia patch from your left cargo pants pocket. She studies it, pondering for a brief moment and a small crease appears between her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

“Los Vaqueros están trabajando con mercenaries,” she mutters more to herself than Diego, then glances back at you. “What does Graves want, guapa?”

You give a small shrug before answering matter-of-factly: “He wants your boss. The one you call El Sin Nombre.”

And then her jaw ticks and clenches; tongue poking into her cheek as she searches your eyes then she flashes you a wicked smile that nearly makes your blood run cold despite the heat having gathered in the stuffy room, and she swiftly orders the room to be cleared.

She straightens up, rolls her slim shoulders and points her gun at the other soldier who’s nearly pissing himself in his chair at this point. “Take that useless motherfucker outside and kill him.”

“Valeria–” Diego tries to object, but one strict gaze from her silences him. “I said get out. I want to speak to her in private.”

Diego barks some orders in Spanish and the room clears of guards, the unconscious soldiers, and the one who will most likely get executed as soon as the door closes and Valeria waits for a few seconds before she focuses her attention back on you. She looks at her painted fingernails, pulls out her knife once more after holstering her pistol and begins picking at her nails with the sharp tip of the blade.

“Why do they call you Evil?” she asks, almost bored. “I'm curious.”

You huff softly, never taking your eyes off her. “I'll tell you after you take me to your boss.”

Her lips twitch and a smile ghosts over her lips. “You're brave, sí, and stupid, but evil? Huh–” She leans in, braces her hands on each armrest of the chair you’re still tied to. Her eyes are a deep shade of brown, almost mahogany; a shade of burgundy red in the yellow gloomy light of the interrogation room. A true devil in disguise.

“You told the truth so easily, no torture needed. Is that what they teach you in the British forces now? Being a coward? Or is your CO really that desperate?” She scoffs. “Sending his soldiers into the lion’s den, all blind, and unarmed.”

You lick your lips again, but your tongue is just as dry, like you’ve been chewing on a sponge that sucked all moisture from your mouth. It's hot, you're thirsty, and the drop of sweat running down your temple itches on your skin while the atmosphere is somehow beginning to shift. “Well, first of all,–you threatened to kill me if I lied, and second of all,–I have orders and I'm just trying to follow them.”

He purses her lips, lifts an eyebrow. “What orders?”

“Find out who El Sin Nombre is,” you answer with a nonchalant shrug, causing her to roll her eyes as if she's done hearing that. “And how far would you go to figure that out? Would you–” she clicks her tongue, pondering again before chuckling viciously. “–suck Diego's verga to get that info?”

You’re almost certain this is a rhetorical question, but something tells you, she’d absolutely make you suck that idiot’s cock just for her own amusement. Still, you frown playfully, and feign thinking about it before you speak. “That the chubby bald lad with the lovely golden handgun? Then the answer is fuck no,” you answer, scrunching up your nose in disgust at the sheer image of that happening. “Are there other options though?”

Valeria laughs at that, even snorts a little. It's almost a precious sound, and you can’t help but flash a grin before deciding to go all in now.

“Truth be told, Valeria… I'd rather eat your cunt to get to Sin Nombre. I feel like that would bring me closer to him,” you say, only half-joking, and observe her reaction afterward through hooded lashes as he keeps looming over you.

Her face goes blank and the tiny crease between her eyebrows reappears as she draws them together in thought. It's like you've caught her off guard again. “Perhaps you're right, gatita.”

Then she clicks her tongue, lifts her knife, holds the tip of the sharpened blade to your neck until it pokes into your flushed, sticky skin. She peers down at you, deep brown eyes carving themselves into your memory. You swallow thickly; feel the tip graze along your throat.

“I will free you and you will obey me, or else I will cut open your pretty little throat with this knife. Claro?"

You try to offer her a charming smile, but a cold shiver runs down your spine, and all you manage is a strained grimace as you shift uncomfortably against your restraints. Yes, perhaps you will die tonight, though it's far from the first time this thought has crossed your mind. No, not in the field you work in.

“Y–Yeah, of course, I wouldn't expect any less from you.”

She maintains eye-contact as she unlocks the shackles around your wrists and ankles methodically. It's intense and gut-wrenching and you suddenly feel even more feverish in her presence. You could resist and start a fight now, try to overpower her, but there's no way you could make it out of here alive even if you'd find out who El Sin Nombre is, so you decide to play along for now—and wait for a better chance to get rid of her.

“Come on, gatita, let's go.” She takes your hand, tugs at it, and urges you to stand, and you follow. “Where to?", you ask, almost innocently while you let yourself be dragged towards the heavy door.

“I will take you to the penthouse and we will continue talking business,” Valeria answers coolly before knocking harshly at the door, shouting orders in Spanish.

The door opens and Diego looks stunned to see you walk freely, led by the Sicaria herself, like you’re some puppy dog on her leash. She speaks to him, hushed words are swiftly exchanged, then Diego nods and Valeria pulls you down some other hallway towards an elevator. You make sure to step over the puddle of blood on the floor, ignore the deep red trail leading down another hall, where a body has been dragged along.

“You know, he's really sad that you don't want to suck his cock,” she remarks, amusement obvious in her low voice.

You scoff audibly; the image of his dick in your mouth nearly enough to make you gag once more, and she seems pleased with that as she shoots you a mischievous glance over her shoulder. The atmosphere keeps shifting and you're not sure where this is going, something tells you she’s most likely not taking you to her boss, and your guard is up now more than ever while your adrenaline keeps pumping through your system, making your chest feel tight as you suppress your instincts to fight or flee.

After stepping inside the elevator, bright and gold and too fancy for something so unimportant, Valeria pushes some buttons. The doors close with a soft ding, and the air is suddenly knocked from your lungs when she pulls at your arm and then you're pushed into a corner.

She is swift and merciless as she attacks you, digs her painted nails into your hips, squeezes and gropes your ass through your thick cargos. You squirm and try to resist for a few seconds, until she purrs into your ear: “Let's see what you are made of, eh, gringa? See if you are worth meeting el jefe,” she chuckles hoarsely and nips at your earlobe.

Your eyes widen, a gasp is torn from your lips. It's like she's everywhere, all at once. Touching, scratching, kissing, sucking, and biting you. She takes control of your senses and there is no doubt left inside your mushy, dehydrated brain that she is in charge.

She coaxes you back to pay attention to her, forces you to be present while she devours you; holding your face steady by cupping your jaw, nails dogging into your skin while she forces your mouth open to slide her tongue inside vigorously. It's velvety, it's raw, it's sensual, and aggressive. She’s everything you expected, everything you didn't know you could have ever wanted.

She smells like gunpowder, like guerrilla war, and cool blood. She tastes like hand-rolled cigars, suave wine, and dark chocolate. She’s an odd mix of violence and wealth. Danger and class.

It's intoxicating. She is intoxicating.

Valeria breaks the kiss, though only to mutter against your lips while her right hand slips past your leather belt, down the front of your cargo pants. You don't stop her, tell yourself it’s just out of curiosity, although you know better by the way your blood is currently buzzing, making your mind fuzzy and your pussy quiver with interest.

“What would your little comrades think of you right now, huh? If they could see how wet you are getting for the enemy.” She snickers cruelly and your breath hitches. A mewl slips past your lips when her slim fingers tease along your slit; dipping between your folds to gather your slick arousal before caressing your rapidly swelling clit.

There's a whole different war going on inside your head now—clash of morals, a match between your conscience. They’re seemingly the last few coherent thoughts while you're stuck in this mess; stuck in this elevator with a hit woman. She is the enemy indeed; a part evil of the world.

But, fucking hell, she feels too good, knows what she’s doing as she plays with your cunt.

Your pussy walls twitch eagerly around two of her fingers as she plunges them deep inside your sopping channel. You can feel your arousal dripping from your sex, coating her wrist and ruining your panties. She kisses your neck, licks the sweat off, bites, and sucks dark hickeys into your skin. It's even hotter in this crammed space, and you can barely breathe while she's leaving marks on you, evidence.

“I bet I could make you cum like this,” she laughs breathlessly, nuzzles her nose into the crook of your neck, and inhales deeply while she continues to fingerfuck you mercilessly, crooking her fingers to prod at your G-spot. The sicaria purrs something in Spanish and your heart skips a beat.

“Been a while for you, huh? How long have you been deployed now? You got no one to fuck you, hm? No one there to give you some relief?”

Your knees are weak, and the muscles in your thighs start to tremble. There is the familiar feeling of pleasure building and coiling in your stomach, tight and mind-numbing. You brace yourself on her shoulder with one hand, pressing the other against the cool elevator wall while your blunt nails dig into her tanned skin and tense muscle.

“Ah, uhm–‘s been a while,” you answer truthfully, repeating her words. You follow orders, that’s what you do best, and right now, you can't even begin to think of your own answer.

However, your thoughts do jump to Soap, and your pussy clenches around her fingers, wishing it was his fat cock stuffing you instead. What if he was here, too? Would he agree to fuck you while you ate the enemy's pussy out? Of, fuck, yes—he would, he’d do anything you ask of him as long as he could be involved.

Imagining it is enough to push you over the edge while she curls her fingers inside you, massaging that spongy spot that makes your vision go blurry and your jaw get slack as you moan huskily. You whimper and squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm nearly threatens to overpower you, but Valeria is there to catch you, and she pushes you back into the corner as she pulls her fingers from your cunt.

“That was easy, eh,” she chuckles and inspects her glistening hand. “What a good little soldier you are.”

The cold metal of the blade leaves a trail of goosebumps on your flushed skin. Your chest lowers and rises rapidly as you catch your breath. You feel thrilled and spent, high on orgasms and the cocaine dust still lingering in the cool air.

The night breeze sweeping through the large bedroom makes you shiver, but Valeria refuses you to cover up and insists on keeping you warm herself. You watch the white curtains sway in the open floor-to-ceiling windows of her bedroom.

She lays next to you on the king-sized bed, calm and content; one smooth, tan leg thrown over yours, her head resting on your stomach as she quietly hums a melody. You’re both messy, sweaty, high, covered in the evidence of passionate sex. Your feet are tangled up in white, silky sheets while your fingers comb through her coal-black hair; short strands slipping through your fingers like silk.

You’re surrounded by expensive fabrics, expensive furniture, stolen, rare paintings, guns, armour, hard liquor and drugs. The tip of the knife hovers over your belly button and you suck in a sharp breath when she dips it in playfully.

“So scared... and jumpy like a mouse,” she murmurs and laughs quietly. She pulls the knife back and peppers kisses over your stomach, making your skin and muscles twitch with overstimulation.

You rub your sticky thighs together, feel your abused clit throb and you tug on her hair when she bites you again. It's gentle, it's passionate, it's absolutely insane and against the rules. Your brain is mush; your limbs feel like Jell-O, your jaw is sore from licking her pretty cunt for God knows how long.

“I want to give you a present,” Valeria slurs as she braces herself on her elbows to peer up at you through long lashes. Her dark eyes are glazed, slightly bloodshot, just like yours.

You lick your lips and swallow thickly, tasting the bitterness of cocaine and the sweetness of her essence in the back of your numb throat. “What kind of present?”

She giggles, a girlish sound, too nice for her, then she takes your hand, kisses your palm. Your heart flutters, though you know it really shouldn't be doing that. The taste of her cunt, the tequila, the cocaine is still coating your mouth and you relish the taste as she bats her long eyelashes at you again.

“Something sweet, so you will never forget... Eres mia.”

You watch as she picks up the blade again, too curious about her next move to stop her.

“Esto podría doler un poco, mi querida.”

You should’ve stopped her, you realize, when your eyes widen and your back arches off the mattress with a choked whine. She draws the blade over your skin, slowly cutting a small, thin line into it before pulling back, shushing you as you try to wiggle away.

“Shhh, shhh, look–look, almost done,” she promises, then drags her tongue over your sliced skin, soothing the sting as she laps at your blood. “We are the same, you and I, gatita,” she murmurs, nuzzling your hip and peppering kisses along the wound. “Don't you ever forget that.”

Your heart races in your chest, urges you to flee, but your head is too heavy, and you're too dizzy to move, and... it does only hurt a little. The cut tingles and burns, but the pain is numbed by the adrenaline and cocaine in your system. Valeria smiles at you, her teeth and lips stained crimson, her dark eyes mirroring your dazed look as she daps the gushing blood with the white, silky blanket before she lifts the blade once more and connects the cut with another, straight, thin line.

“See? El Sin Nombre will be with you forever.”

Your brows furrow as she keeps wiping the blood from the motive she's carved into your skin. You should be furious, but you're not. It's a special gesture—No! it isn't! You're not part of the bloody cartel, you work for the good guys, and they're currently waiting for you to finish the mission, not to compromise it. Jesus Christ—

“What–What the hell does that mean?” you croak out, your voice husky from moaning and begging for more for the past—you’re not even sure how long.

She leans in to kiss the cuts and her lips are once more red from your blood as she pulls back. Your pussy throbs and your nipples harden at the sight. This really shouldn't make you horny again.

“Take a look–” she purrs, still caressing your naked body soothingly. “I will be with you forever.”

And then—

Shots ring out in the distance, the sound of weapons you’re all too familiar with. Explosions follow, rattling the whole mansion. There’s shouting, more commotion, and Valeria shoots up, dark eyes widening as she stares down at you, sobering up.

Your heart starts pounding against your ribcage. You took too long, and now they're raiding the mansion. The alarm goes off, men start shouting in Spanish, others barking orders in British and American English, and the real fighting begins.

A tickle above the skin of your hip bone draws you back to reality; calloused fingertips gently tracing the small V-shaped scar located there. It's healed by now, but not faded, the scar still prominent, puckered, and eye-catching on your skin.

It’s only been a couple of months since that mission took place, and so much has happened since, but the memories are still fresh; always lingering in your mind.

Your lashes flutter as you tear your eyes away from the bedroom ceiling to glance down at your boyfriend who’s still lounging between your naked legs. “What?”

“Ah jus’ keep wonderin’ where ye got this from, ye know?” Johnny marvels as he keeps caressing the odd scar. He pecks your flushed skin, gets on his hands and knees before he peppers more hot, open-mouthed kisses along your body, up to your neck where he meets your pondering gaze with his bright blue puppy eyes, curious and nosy as ever.

It's a strange feeling, not a good one you've figured, and your heart always skips a beat whenever he mentions it. Luckily, he never pushes the question, so you come back to the answer you always give him while you quietly wonder if she still thinks of you sometimes, too.

“I volunteered, Sergeant.” You offer him a fond smile as you rake your nails through his Mohawk, scratching at the buzzed sides until your hand rests on the back of his neck, ready to shut his mouth with a searing kiss.

#under the influence #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #los vaqueros #cod mw22 #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #task force 141 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #reader insert #valeria garza x you

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multiversecarnavep · 4 years ago

Text

10 Reasons To Love Pokémon

02:23

Dr. Mrs. The MonarchThe Venture Bros. characterFirst appearance

"The Terrible Secret of Turtle Bay"Last appearance

"The Saphrax Protocol"

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch (real name: Sheila, born 1969 or 1970) is the secondary antagonist of The Venture Bros. She was the professional sexy partner of her supervillain husband, The Monarch, and is now his boss since joining the Council of 13. Throughout the first two seasons she was known as Dr. Girlfriend, but she is now referred to as Dr. Mrs. The Monarch.

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Dr. Mrs. The Monarch is voiced by Doc Hammer, though she was voiced by Jackson Publick in her first appearance, "The Terrible Secret of Turtle Bay", albeit as a cameo.

Background

As a young woman, Sheila attended State University and was a student of Professor Fantomas. She has a doctorate in an unnamed field, and appears proficient in mechanics and general sciences, as evidenced by her having built the Monarch's first pair of functional wings, his ill-conceived "sunshine gun", and several tracking devices used for her own purposes.

Sheila later became the super-villain known as Lady Au Pair before serving as the second-in-command to many different super-villains over the years under several names. She soon went on to work for Phantom Limb under the name Queen Etherea, at which point she first met the Monarch. After falling in love with the Monarch, she abandoned working for Phantom Limb and went on to serve as the Monarch's second-in-command, Dr. Girlfriend.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch with her husband, the MonarchAt the start of the series, Dr. Girlfriend’s relationship with the Monarch had begun to suffer due to his vendetta against the Venture family. In hopes of trying to bridge the gap between the two sides, she convinces the Monarch to reach out to Hank and Dean Venture as a friend when Monarch confides that Dr. Venture emotionally neglects his children. Despite her efforts, the Monarch continues his vendetta against the Ventures throughout the first season, until their breakup in "The Trial of the Monarch".

In season 2, Doctor Girlfriend had gone back to working with her former lover Phantom Limb, going by Queen Etherea again. However, Phantom Limb's pompousness grated on her and she reunited with The Monarch, whom she married in "Showdown At Cremation Creek".

In the Season 3, she and her husband move into Phantom Limb's former home in the local villain community of Malice.

In the Season 4, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch continues to aid her husband. During this time she forms a friendship with Henchman 21 which leads to a kiss between them in "Assisted Suicide". It turns out in "Operation P.R.O.M." that the kiss meant nothing to her, which was a contributing factor to 21 officially breaking away from them.

In the season 5 finale, she, her husband and their sole henchman 21 (who returned to their ranks) move into the Monarch's old family home in New Jersey because Sergeant Hatred accidentally destroyed the Cocoon and their house in Malice. She is later offered a position as a member of The Council of 13, which she accepts. In "All This and Gargantua-2", The Sovereign arranges the deaths of most of the council when they refuse to participate in his plans to attack the space station Gargantua 2. She is one of the few survivors of this attack, and confronts the Sovereign in his home and asks him not to destroy Gargantua-2 because her husband is there. The Sovereign begins a self-destruct sequence at his lair, where Dr. Mrs. The Monarch is restrained and unable to free herself, but Watch and Ward arrive in time to launch the built-in escape pod (always installed right after a self-destruction button), and they escape to Meteor Majeure (saving The Monarch and 21 on the way) where Dr. Henry Killinger announces his plans to create a new council.

During Season 6, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch becomes a part of the new The Council of 13, which plans to reshape The Guild of Calamitous Intent which had suffered as a result of the previous leader's actions. During this time, she meets the villain Wide Wale, to whom she offers a position on the council and who demands that The Guild give all arching rights to Dr. Thaddeus "Rusty" Venture to him. Later on, she and the council are forced to deal with a vigilante who takes on the identity of the famous superhero (who may have been a bad guy) The Blue Morpho, who was, unbeknownst to her, her father-in-law). She and The Council later (incorrectly) believe that the new Blue Morpho is secretly Dr. Venture when in fact he is really The Monarch.

Later on, when a villain named The Wandering Spider arching Venture goes missing she and the other council members spot Dr. Venture dressed up like the Blue Morpho, which confirms their suspicions. At Wide Wale's urging, she is given a sniper rifle to shoot Venture to avenge their fallen comrades. At first, she hesitates, but finally takes the shot. However, because the Blue Morpho's jacket has a bulletproof lining, Venture survives. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch checks her phone and finds two messages: one from Wandering Spider telling her that The Blue Morpho is holding him hostage and the other from her husband torturing his new arch, Dr. Heinie, both of which occurred while they were observing (and shooting) Dr. Venture. When it seems clear that Venture was not The Blue Morpho, she reprimands the Council for pushing her to perform a pointless act of violence.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch and her colleagues then form a truce with the OSI, and set up a trap for The Blue Morpho in which some of the OSI and villains disguise themselves as the Ventures to fight against Dr. Venture's current nemesis Red Death. When The Blue Morpho doesn't show up, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch leaves. Furious that the vigilante didn't appear, she resolves to track down and kill the man herself.

Her vow to track down and slay the Blue Morpho ultimately comes to naught, for Henchman 21 eventually divulges to her that the Monarch is the true killer and was being held by Wide Wale before asking for her help. She enlists Red Death's help (in return for a promise of a Guild Council seat without killing her husband) to break into Dummy Corp and find the location of Douglas Ong, aka Dr, Dugong, Wide Wale's brother. Dr. Dugong, was hiding under OSI protection because his brother Wide Wale was a supervillain. Dugong is reunited with Wale, who believed his brother dead at the Monarch's hands, and the Monarch escapes murder. Furthermore, the original Blue Morpho, Vendata, resurfaces and is slain in an entirely unrelated incident. Following his death, the original Blue Morpho is blamed for all the Guild villain murders, and the Monarch is freed of any suspicion. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch learns that the original Blue Morpho's was the Monarch's father.

In "The Inamorata Consequence", Dr. Mrs. The Monarch and some other Guild representatives meet with the OSI at the Treaty of Tolerance Summit II to renew the agreement on organized aggression. During the negotiations, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch maintains a somewhat more civil disposition than most of the Guild or OSI emissaries there, but when negotiations break down into squabbling she too is sucked in. It is Dr. Venture of all people who shames both sides into coming back to the table and signing the new treaty. After the summit ends, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch learns of Guild Stranger S-464's secret tryst with Agent Kimberly McManus. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch correctly recognizes Fictel's comment of S-464 having "peepee" on his belt as in not urine but "P.P.", as in the marks of the Peril Partnership. S-464 was now uncovered as a mole.

In The Bellicose Proxy, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, with Watch and Ward's assistance, interrogates S-464 and gains his assistance as a double agent in return for helping him regain the love of McManus. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch engineers their meeting by secretly providing a level 6 ray gun to a level 1 arching, which would engender both the Guild and the OSI to intercede. When S-464 and Dr. Mrs. The Monarch encounter McManus, the latter shows only disdain and contempt for them. She expresses that she hates S-464 for his association with the Peril Partnership, calling them scum. When Dr. Mrs. The Monarch attempts to intercede, McManus's disrespect causes Dr. Mrs. The Monarch to fly off the handle even in the face of a peaceful resolution. the Monarch and Henchman 21, who had been mentoring Augustus St. Cloud during the arching encounter, intercede and break up the fight. They apologize to both McManus and S-464 before leaving them to settle their differences. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch thanks her husband for saving her life, but the Monarch says he only saved her career as she would have taken down McManus.

In "The Terminus Mandate", the conflict with the Peril Partnership seems to be coming to a head, but Dr. Mrs. The Monarch and Red Death meet with Blind Rage to discuss a peace agreement. Blind Rage loutishly demands that kickbacks formerly paid by Wide Wale be resumed, but Dr. Mrs. The Monarch only promises she will speak about it with the Guild. The Guild Council votes and ultimately agrees (though Red Death would secretly later scuttle the agreement by attacking Blind Rage and tying him to railroad tracks. After the vote to pay off the Partnership is concluded, the task of what to do about the Council's inability to fully restore itself is brought up. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch cites the Guild Charter which allows the Council to be reformed as the Guild's governing body. However, this development would require the Council members to retire from active supervillainy and become full-time Council members. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch breaks the news to the Monarch, and he reacts tempestuously before leaving for the Monarch Cave in a huff. Henchman 21 attempts to console her by saying that the Monarch isn't the type to do anything rash, but the effort is largely unhelpful.

Before their retirement, each Councilperson is given a final arching assignment to their worst foe, and Dr. Mrs. The Monarch is set up with her old nemesis Novia. For this encounter with her rival, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch assumes her old guise of Lady Au Pair and enlists the help of 21, whom dons a Moppet costume. Despite Sheila's hesitation upon sight of Novia, 21 approaches Novia, and the encounter commences. However, it is a heartfelt and emotional one as Novia and Lady Au Pair embrace. On the way home from the encounter, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch expresses doubts to 21 about the future of her partnership with the Monarch. At 21's behest, she cuts off his ponytail as a symbol of the change he's undergone in the past year. In addition, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch presents 21 with Novia's wallet, commenting that their encounter was an arching.

When the Guild Council reconvenes, most of the present members (Wide Wale a notable exception) accept supervillainy retirement to retain their seats. But when the question is posed to Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, she hesitates. "The Terminus Mandate" ends before she gives an answer.

Later episodes seem to confirm her decision to retain her Council seat at the cost of her supervillain career. In "the Forecast Manufacturer", she is seen in Guild uniform with Dr. Z giving the Monarch and Henchman 21 orders to infiltrate the headquarters of the Creep and ultimately assassinate him. In "The Saphrax Protocol", Dr. Mrs. The Monarch participates as one of the Guild Council in the Monarch's Tenning ceremony. The Monarch at one point comments the Guild has taken away the ability to work with his wife in villainy, although they seem to still be close, judging by how Dr. Mrs. The Monarch comments how proud she is of him, calling him "sweetie".

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aperrywilliams · 5 years ago

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New blurbs-series: 10 days to my birthday!! (Day 8)

(Not my gif)

Author Masterlist - Series Masterlist

My birthday will be in 8 days from now. So I’m going to celebrate myself with 10 Spencer Reid’s blurbs. Enjoy!

Day 10 | Day 09 | Day 08 | Day 07 | Day 06 | Day 05 | Day 04 | Day 03 | Day 02 | Day 01

Day 08: Spencer Reid hold your hand for the first time.

When you made the decision to apply at the BAU, you knew so well what you were getting into. You knew you would see horrible things and meet despicable people. Moreover, you knew you'd have to get into the minds of serial killers in order to stop them. That was basically your job. But human behavior never ceased to amaze. Even after working on Aaron Hotchner's team for over a year, it seemed like a every week you will face an even more twisted case compared to the last one.

One of the first things they told you when you were accepted to the BAU is that you shouldn't take cases personally. They told you that it’s okay to empathize, but that once the case was over, you have to move on. You tried to do that as best you could, but like your co-workers, there were times when was too hard to do that. There were cases that affected you more than others. There were unsubs who managed to settle in your mind more persistently than others.

John Rogger was an example of that kind of cases for you. He was a murderer of young women in Alabama. When the BAU was called to investigate, Rogger already had more than 15 deaths in tow and at least 3 more women kidnapped. In addition to identifying and arresting him, the purpose was to be able to save the abducted women alive. That meant that once arrested, the team had to apply several and intense interviews to obtain information, but Rogger didn’t say a word. So far, only Hotch and Rossi had conducted the questionings. According to the profile the team built, they concluded if someone of the opposite sex and young questioned him, a better result could be obtained. Given the physical resemblance and closeness of age to the victims, Hotch decided that you were the best option to do that.

So you found yourself locked in a room with one of the most despicable murderers you had ever met, trying to obtain information. Hours and hours passed, where your patience, your temperance and your profiling skills were tested. To gain his trust, you said things about yourself that you wouldn’t have told anyone. You had to 'empathize' with a serial killer. You navigated his disturbed mind revealing details that you would have preferred not to know. Every time you took a break between questioning, Spencer made a point of checking how you were feeling and if you needed anything. He knew - or at least suspected - that this case was draining what little energy you had left so far. In each new interrogation, Rogger tried to find out more about you, your family, your private life. It was as if he wanted to get into your mind in the same way that you tried to get into his. You felt vulnerable, exposed. Even knowing that the one who was handcuffed and locked up for life was him and not you, every time his eyes fell on you, you couldn't help but feel fear. Even so, you didn’t waver and continued with the interrogations until after 2 intense days, Rogger broke and you managed to obtain the kidnapped women’s location.

The team quickly mobilized to the rescue. When you were about to put on your FBI vest to go with them, Hotch stopped you.

“You won’t go with us. You'll stay here at the station until we get back,” he told you immediately as he saw how you were getting ready, fastening your weapon in the holster attached to your belt.

“But sir, I have to go. I'm the one with the most details about the location and the things that can be found there…”, you tried to convince him. But Hotch wasn’t going to back down on his decision.

“I told you (Y/L/N). You will stay here. The extraction team is now ready. You've done enough, it's not safe for you to go with us”. Clearly Hotch was trying to prevent you from collapsing on the field, already knowing that Rogger had absorbed all your energy, but you didn't see it that way, and you interpreted it as punishment for some mysterious reason that you didn't know. According to you it was unfair, you wanted to save those women as much as everyone else, why deny you that option?

Reluctantly you nodded and watched as the whole team rushed out of the police station towards the location where they expected to find the women kidnapped by Rogger. With a lump in your throat and a defeating feeling you sat on one of the benches that were in the hall of the station. You felt useless, why you had to sit and wait while everyone was doing their job? The same job you could be doing.

You were deep in thought when Spencer sat next to you. You hadn't even noticed that he hadn't gone with the team.

“Spencer... I thought you would go with...,” you trailed off in confusion. Spencer looked at you and shook his head.

“I think this time it’s better I stay here. Just like you,” he replied. You let out a frustrated sigh.

“Do you too think I would be an obstacle in the field? Like Hotch?”. You asked sadly. Spencer frowned and rushed to reply.

“I don't think that (Y/N), and I’m sure Hotch doesn’t think that either,” Reid said, staring at you and trying to read your micro expressions.

“So why did he leave me here? I don't get it...,” your trembling voice revealed that you were about to cry overwhelmed by frustration.

“Because you've already done all the work you could do (Y/N), that's why,” Spencer replied simply. You looked at him with teary eyes trying to understand what his words were referring to.

“What does that mean? Does it mean that I have to wait and do nothing?...”

“Do you think it’s nothing you participating in Rogger's arrest and spent two whole days in and out of that interrogation room, doing everything in your power to break him… and finally achieve it? I think you did enough (Y/N),” Spencer pointed out, not losing eye contact with you.

“But... what if they are not found alive? If they can´t save them?...”. Just thinking about that scenario made your stomach clench.

“It would be a bad outcome, no doubt, but sadly it’s no longer in your hands (Y/N), nor in mine. I know waiting is excruciating, but there are times when it’s inevitable. We must wait and trust the team will do the right decisions on the field. That's as teamwork works”.

Thinking of Spencer's words you could only sigh again and come to the conclusion that he was right. You put your whole heart in for hours and days to get some clue to help the case. You just wanted it not to be too late.

Your mind tried to convince itself that you should wait for news. But your body told you otherwise, you couldn't stop bouncing your leg, you sighed uneasily every two minutes, with the fingers of one of your hands you squeezed the fingers of your other hand, you rocked back and forth on the bench. Your entire body expression screamed unease and disturbance. Spencer was silent to respect your own process, but seeing you like this hurt him deeply. He just wanted you could regain some serenity and peace of mind, but he also knew that the body was capable of betraying you over and over again, ignoring your own will.

Without saying a word, one of his hands that was resting on his knee reached for yours and gave it a gentle squeeze to remove it from its task of digging your nails into your own palm. The first contact startled you a little, but you gave in to the touch and let him guide your linked hands, making it rest in the space of the bench that was between you. After squeezing it slightly, with his thumb he began to trace soft patterns over your knuckles, looking for to relax your fingers. The warmth of his hand and the softness of his touch made you give in as the minutes passed and the tension in your body managed to dissipate in part. Your breathing also returned to a fairly normal rhythm. Both in silence. But it was not an awkward silence. It was the waiting you both had to face. It was fate that was no longer in your hands. And that was the first time Spencer Reid held your hand and taught you about there are times you just had to let it go. And that there are times when you don’t have to wait and face destiny alone.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #10 days to my birthday #aperrywilliams #criminal minds #mini series #spencer reid x reader

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faantasm · 3 months ago

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⁀➴ task 02. first three texts

"If I get out of this, I'm making it my personal mission to destroy all flip phones." Archer whispered to herself vindictively, a deep frown etched into her features. "How do people live like this?" With thumbs that ached a little more with each text, Archer carefully typed one message after another.

[Message Sent To: Daddy Dearest (aka Casimir Drake)]

My phone was confiscated. Please wipe it ASAP. It started raining and I got a little wet. The forecast calls for more storms but no need to worry. I remembered my umbrella.

[Message Sent To: Batman But Cooler (aka Karuna) @wrathconsumed]

thnk i fnd smth. cn i cm ovr?

[Message Sent To: The People's Princess (aka Odelia) @ciirccee]

hate ths apt. cnt sleep. slmbr prty w th girls mb? wdyt?

#i'm going to keep trying to make this sleepover happen #once the interrogation public thread is over...#archer.#trialofheartstask #geist.#task 02.#task 02. first three texts #words.#edits.

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skyfire85 · 4 years ago

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FLIGHTLINE: 115 - EC-121 WARNING STAR

PO-1W (WV-1 after 1952) #2 at Barbers Point NAS in Hawaii in 1952. The WV-1 was the forerunner of the EC-121 Warning Star. | Photo: US Navy

In 1949, the US Navy began investigating the use of a suitably modified C-69 (the USAF designation of the Lockheed Constellation passenger/transport) as a patrol and airborne early warning craft. Two L-749 (the longer ranged variant of the L-649) were acquired and modified with a large dorsal radome and a smaller ventral unit. Due to the aerodynamic effects of these radar, the vertical stabilizers were enlarged. These two aircraft, designated PO-1Ws, proved that the concept worked, and were retained by the Navy for use in training crews for the production model PO-2W, which was based on the L-1049 Super Constellation. The PO-1W, redesignated WV-1s after 1952, were eventually transferred to the FAA in the late 1950s. The PO-2W (redesignated the WV-2) were initially built with the same dorsal AN/APS-45 height finder and ventral AN/APS-20 search radar as the WV-1, but they were eventually upgraded to AN/APS-103 and AN/APS-95 units respectively. The crew of a WV-2 normally numbered 18: 6 officers (2 pilots, 2 navigators, 2 weapons controllers) and 12 enlisted (2 flight engineers, 1 radio operator, 2 crew chiefs, 5 radar operators, 2 radar technicians), but could be increased as high as 31, depending on the mission.

Orthograph of a PO-2W/WV-2/EC-121. | Illustration: Lockheed Aircraft

I CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES...

Beginning in 1954 and running until 1965, US Navy Warning Stars participated in the "barrier" force, an extension of the Distant Early Warning (DEW) line of radar posts. Five picket stations off each coast were manned by radar equipped destroyer escorts, while WV-2s patrolled at altitudes ranging from one thousand to four thousand feet on missions lasting from 6 to 20 hours at a time, watching for a sneak attack from Soviet bombers or missiles. Aircraft on the Atlantic Barrier (BARLANT) flew from NAS Argentia in Newfoundland to the Azores and back, though beginning in 1961 the course was shifted to cover the Greenland-Iceland-UK gap. The Pacific Barrier (BARPAC) aircraft flew from NAS Agana on Guam, NAS Barbers Point on Hawaii and NAS Midway. Additional aircraft flew from NAS Rota in Spain and NAS Atsugi, Japan. Nine of the WV-2s were converted to WV-3 weather reconnaissance aircraft (the famed "Hurricane Hunters"), based at NAS Jacksonville in the Atlantic and NAS Agana in the Pacific. Thirteen other aircraft were converted to WV-2Q electronic intelligence (ELINT) aircraft. In 1962, with the tri-service consolidation of designations, the WV-2 were now EC-121Ks, while the WV-2Q became EC-121M and the WV-3 were now WC-121N. Four aircraft were modified under Project BLUE EAGLE in to NC-121 during the Vietnam War to act as airborne transmitters for American and Vietnamese TV and radio programs. Navy WV-2/EC-121s were commonly called Willy Victors, regardless of variant.

A WV-2 of Early Warning Squadron 15 (VW-15) flies over USS Sellstrom (DER-255) off the coast of Newfoundland in March 1957. The next year, the aircraft disappeared north of the Azores, with all crew presumed dead. | Photo: US Navy

An EC-121K Warning Star from electronic warfare squadron VAQ-33 "Firebirds" with an EA-4F Skyhawk and an F-4B Phantom II off the coast of Virginia in April 1973. This was the last EC-121 in service, being retired in June of 1982. | Photo: US Navy

A WC-121N assigned to VW-4 "Hurricane Hunters" at Naval Air Station Jacksonville, Florida (USA), August 1967. The plane was scrapped on 16 September 1976. Photo: US Navy

BIG EYE, COLLEGE EYE, RIVET TOP, KINGPIN, GOLD DIGGER, DISCO, BATCAT...

The USAF operated various marks of the EC-121 from 1954 through 1978, and the aircraft was used extensively during the Vietnam War. Like their Navy cousins, the USAF Warning Stars mainly flew early warning missions to compliment the Navy patrols, generally confined to orbiting 300 miles offshore. Declared operational on 21 December 1954, the 551st Airborne Early Warning & Control Wing at Otis AFB in Massachusetts started with EC-121Cs, and was subsequently upgraded through EC-121D and -H models. On 1 July 1955 the counterpart 552nd AEWCW became operational, based at McClellan AFB in California, with administrative control over the 966th AEWCS in Florida, which was tasked with monitoring activity over Cuba, including tracking of U-2 missions under the code name 'Gold Digger'.

View of the radar operators in an U.S. Air Force Lockheed EC-121D Warning Star aircraft of the 552nd Airborne Early Warning & Control Wing. | Photo: USAF

In order to bolster the US Navy's 'Crown' radar ships monitoring for North Vietnamese aircraft, four EC-121Ds were deployed to a forward operating base at Tan Son Nhut Air Base under the code name 'Big Eye'. Two aircraft were airborne at any given time, flying orbits approximately 30 miles offshore, which provided coverage of the main N. Vietnamese MiG base at Phúc Yên and the South Vietnamese capital of Hanoi. An F-104 provided MiGCAP to defend the Big Eye aircraft against interloping fighters. Flying these missions was decidedly uncomfortable, as the radar and other electronics produced copious amounts of heat, which, coupled with the heat and humidity of Vietnam, overwhelmed the aircon systems of the EC-121s. There was also the ever-present threat of being shot down, despite the MigCAP aircraft. Despite these challenges, the Big Eye scored on 10 July 1965, vectoring a pair of USAF F-4C onto a flight of North Vietnamese MiG-17s, resulting in two of the enemy aircraft being shot down. In February of 1967, the Big Eye forward base came under threat of Viet Cong attack, and the -121s were moved to Thailand.

Two F-104A Starfighters in formation with an EC-121D. Photo: USAF

EC-121 operations in Thailand were renamed to 'College Eye', and after temporarily flying from Ubon RTAFB were permanently moved to Korat RTAFB in October 1967. College Eye aircraft acted as directors for MiGCAP flights over the Gulf of Tonkin, as well as enforcing a "no-fly zone" over the North Vietnam-China border after a USAF F-105 strayed into China while chasing down a NVAF MiG. In 1967 an EC-121 was modified under the name 'Quick Look' with the QRC-248 Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) transponder interrogator, which allowed US aircraft to identify Soviet MiG radar transponders, vastly improving the detection range and ability to discriminate aircraft from ground-clutter.

In August 1967 another EC-121 variant began operating out of Thailand. Known as 'Rivet Top', it was a former USN EC-121K modified with the QRC-248, as well as interrogators capable of pinging two other Soviet IFF transponders. The aircraft, designated the EC-121M, was also fitted with stations capable of monitoring voice comms between NVAF MiGs and their ground controllers. These stations, manned by intel specialists fluent in Vietnamese, were known as 'Rivet Gym', and were eventually all College Eye aircraft were refitted with the equipment. The Rivet Top aircraft remained in Thailand throughout the war, flying missions over the Gulf of Tonkin. Due to spotty communications, an inability to correlate the voice comms with radar plots of specific MiGs, and secrecy rules surrounding the existence of Rivet Top and its IFF interrogators, the effectiveness of the EC-121M and the Rivet Gym installations on College Eye aircraft afterwards was questionable.

The EC-121M 'Rivet Top' at Korat RTAFB in 1967 or '68. | Photo: USAF

In October of 1970, two newly converted EC-121T, the last USAF variant, were flown to Korat to take part in the Operation KINGPIN phase of Operation IVORY COAST, a raid on the North Vietnamese POW camp at Son Tay Prison. The Kingpin EC-121s were to provide early warning of interloping MiGs and direction of USAF F-4s providing MiGCAP. The two aircraft call signs Frog-01 and -02, took off on 20 November 1970 and began heading towards their orbit points. Frog-01 suffered a ruptured oil line in flight, forcing it to divert to Danang for an emergency landing. Frog-02, now the primary Kingpin aircraft, continued on to its orbit, but once on station was beset with issues in its new equipment. Ground stations in Danang were unable to receive data from the plane, and its IFF processors, despite attempts to reset, would not display properly. The radar monitors were swamped with noise from Navy EKA-3 Skywarriors, who were jamming NVAF radar. Nevertheless, 02 remained on station to provide what data the crew could glean with the Rivet Top/Gym equipment. In any event, Ivory Coast was a failure, as the POW had been moved out prior to the raid.

An EC-121T, similar to Frog-01 and -02, at Korat RTAFB, circa 1971. Note the lack of the dorsal height-finder radome, a distinguishing characteristic of the type. | Photo: Jim Chandler

In October 1971 a number of EC-121T aircraft returned to Thailand under the callsign 'Disco' to provide support to USAF B-52s, who found themselves under threat from North Vietnamese SAMs and MiGs in the wake of Rolling Thunder. The Disco EC-121s took up orbits over Laos and the Gulf, though ongoing communications issues and the dated nature of their radar sets limited their effectiveness. All-in-all, Big Eye, College Eye and Disco aircraft flew nearly 14,000 missions by the time they were withdrawn in 1974, assisting in the downing of 25 MiGs and the rescue of 80 US and allied pilots. The EC-121s in the Southeast Asia theatre completed more than ninety-eight thousand accident-free flight hours, with zero losses.

Approximately four dozen ex-USN WV-2 and WV-3 Warning Stars were modified as part of Operation IGLOO WHITE, the deployment and monitoring of remote acoustic and seismic sensors along the Ho Chi Minh Trail through Vietnam and Laos. The Warning Stars were modified to collect and relay data from the sensors to Nakhon Phanom where the data would be collated and compiled for use in localizing and monitoring PAVN movements. The aircraft, designated EC-121Rs and nicknamed Batcats, were painted in the tricolor SEA camouflage, unlike the USN and other USAF Warning Stars. Concerns over the vulnerability of the Batcats led to their replacement in 1969 and '70 by QU-22Bs (unmanned modified Beech Bonanzas), though issues with those planes led to specially modified C-130Bs being introduced in 1971.

An EC-121R Batcat from the 553rd Reconnaissance Wing over Vietnam in 1969. | Photo: USAF

The EC-121 remained in USN and USAF service after Vietnam, being retired in 1978 by the USAF and 1982 by the Navy. The various Warning Stars were replaced by faster, more modern aircraft like the E-3 Sentry and models of the C-135 in the USAF, and by the E-2, S-3 and EA-6 in Navy service. A number of USAF Warning Stars are on display around the country, including EC-121T s/n 53-0555 at the USAF Museum in Dayton. Nicknamed "Triple Nickle" for its serial number, 555 recorded the first successful attack directed by an AEW aircraft on 24 October 1967.

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sunmoonandeddie · 6 years ago

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rosemary’s corner

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,788

summary: There’s something up with Bucky.

warnings: Some h*ckin’ words.

a/n: This is dedicated to @johnnynunzio. I love you so, so much and I’m so proud of you.

There was something up with Bucky.

And Sam could call him paranoid all he wanted, but at the end of the day, Steve Rogers knew his best friend—goddamnit—and he knew something was going on.

Bucky had gotten into the habit of disappearing for hours on end—sometimes entire nights—without warning, only to reappear and act as though he had been in the Tower the whole time. And even though he wasn’t big on hanging out with the rest of the team before, it had gotten even worse over the past few months. Hell, when he was with the team, he spent the entire time staring at his phone.

Steve’s brows furrowed as he stepped out of the elevator. He’d spent the past four hours down in the gym, desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on with his best friend.

But if he couldn’t figure it out, maybe FRIDAY could.

“Hey, Fri?” He called out as he shut his bedroom door.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

The heat of the water turns his skin pink as he scrubs at his hair. “Do you know where Bucky’s been going?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

When the A.I. doesn’t continue, he frowns up at the ceiling as though she was up there. “... Can you tell me where he is?”

The A.I. sounded almost sorry as she said, “I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but Sergeant Barnes asked me to not tell anyone his whereabouts.”

“Even me?”

“Yes, even you.”

And okay, yeah, that kind of really fucking hurts. It hurts that Bucky is keeping something from him because in their hundred years or so of being alive, they’d never kept secrets from each other. Shit, Bucky had even told Steve when he first got his hands up a dame’s skirt way back in ‘34.

They told each other everything.

“Alright,” the blond said as he shut off the water. “Guess it’s time for Plan C.”

Plan C, as it turns out, requires a little more time. It means waiting until Bucky gets back to the Tower and then waiting for him to leave again.

But apparently that’s even harder than he thought it would be since trying to catch the former Winter Soldier leaving is like trying to catch a ghost.

It took him almost two weeks to finally catch him. It was a little after nine, and the rest of the team had retreated to their respective bedrooms for the night.

Steve, however, spent almost half an hour by his door, ear pressed to the wood and listening for the tell tale sound of Bucky’s door opening from across the hall.

When he finally heard the creak at precisely 9:42 PM, he makes sure to wait a few minutes before following him out. He took the stairs, bolting down each flight. He had to wait several long minutes for the elevator to catch up, watching as Bucky zipped up his jacket before heading out into the cool autumn air.

Not for the first time, he cursed his best friend’s ability to sneak through the streets of New York almost undetected. Plan A had been Bucky just telling his best friend where he was going as he should’ve done as his goddamn best friend, and if that had happened like Steve had hoped, he wouldn’t be traversing down tenth, after having to follow him through several subway rides.

He’s even more confused when he started to spot the NYU signs littering the area.

He stopped in his tracks as Bucky stepped into a familiar looking store, a string of lights glittering brightly in the window display despite the late hour.

He vaguely remembered walking past the shop with him a few weeks before, but when he’d told Bucky that they should stop in sometime, he’d immediately clammed up and shrugged, claiming that it was probably too hipstery for either of their tastes.

Which, to be fair, it was really close to the New York University campus.

Steve got a little closer, just enough to peek in through the window that had ‘Rosemary’s Corner’ emblazoned across it.

The store was the perfect picture of cozy, though it did have that hipster feel that both him and Bucky tried to avoid. Shelves full of records lined the front end of the shop, lights hung up along the tops of each one. He could just barely see what seemed to be a coffee station towards the back, a menu with titles such as ‘Pumpkin Spice Marshmallow Latte’ and ‘Blueberry Delight Cappuccino’ hung up on the wall behind it. A vintage record player in the corner was crooning out the familiar voice of Billie Holiday, just barely audible outside the shop.

And there in the back, amidst the waist high shelves, was his best friend. Steve’s eyes widened as he watched him grab a record from a cart next to him, handing it to a girl who seemed to be the only employee present. There was a flush in his cheeks, a shy smile tugging at his lips, that the blond hadn’t seen since the forties.

The girl seemed to be just as enamoured as him as she placed the record amongst the stacks. Her movements were slow, unhurried, as she took each record that Bucky offered her. She seemed so content to just be in his presence.

Bucky’s mouth moved silently and he lit up like a Christmas tree as he watched the girl erupt into giggles. Her teeth caught her lower lip as she moved to shelve yet another record, but she froze as the man’s flesh hand reached up to gently tug it, releasing it. The two of them were stuck in place, too lost in each other to think about the task at hand.

And despite the fact that anyone could walk past at any moment and see them through the window, Steve felt like he was intruding on something… private. The intimacy between the two so apparent that it sent a blush to his cheeks to have seen it. Just before he turned to leave, he saw Bucky rub the back of his neck in embarrassment, the both of them attempting to pretend that they didn’t just have a moment.

He went back the next day, when he knew that Bucky would be stuck at the Tower for at least a few more hours. He wanted to be able to talk to her in private, to maybe ask her intentions.

And yeah, it was really shady for him to go behind Bucky’s back, but he wasn’t about to just let some girl walk in and fuck with his emotions if she didn’t intend on staying.

So he made the trek up to tenth once again, though it went a lot faster now that he knew where he was going and he didn’t have to hide.

Rosemary’s Corner looked almost the exact same during daylight, though Steve wasn’t sure why he was expecting any different. The only difference is that there’s a few more patrons than just Bucky during the day all spread out through the shop.

The girl’s sitting at the cash register towards the back, flipping through a book. She looked up as the bells above the door chimed with his entrance, an easy smile gracing her features. His eyes are drawn to her shirt, recognizing it as the flannel that Bucky had been wearing the night before over his t-shirt. The sleeves were rolled in order to accommodate her—she wasn’t exactly the size of the super soldier—but she looked so cozy it was hard to imagine her ever wishing him harm. “Hi! Welcome to Rosemary’s!”

He tried to pretend as though he’s not there to interrogate her, perusing through the stacks in what he hopes is a casual and aimless manner.

“Hi.”

Steve jumped, whirling around to stare at the girl. “Hey.” The super soldier was more than a little surprised that she was able to sneak up at him—he had espionage training from Natasha fucking Romanoff. But even so, she’d somehow managed to approach him without making the slightest noise.

“You’re James’s friend, Steve,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake as she gave him her name.

He eyed her hand warily. “How do you know me?”

Her eyebrows rose as she stared at him, reminding him a little too much of how a certain redhead would look at him when he was being particularly stupid. “It takes more than a baseball hat to fool me, Captain.”

Swallowing, he crossed his arms over his chest, going into full Captain mode. “Then I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

But she simply breezed past him, heading for a cart at the end of the aisle with a sign on it that read Don’t want it? Leave it here! Thanks!

He stood there in his spot for what seemed like ages, staring after her. Did she really just disregard him? He was Captain fucking America. No one had disregarded him like that since he was in the USO shows.

“You know, I used to come here everyday when I was a student,” she said, pushing up the sleeves of the flannel to her elbows, before nudging the cart towards the first row of stacks. “Back then, it was owned by Albert Cook. He opened it for his wife back in ‘97 because his wife, Rosemary, missed records. Everyone was using CDs at that point, and it just wasn’t the same. They added the coffee shop in ‘02.”

Steve followed her like a puppy as she reshelved the records. He wasn’t sure where she was going with all of this, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to put up with him pushing her around.

“They hired me here my freshman year, but I was here even when I wasn’t working. It’s my favorite place in the entire world, and Albert and Rosemary became my home away from home. It’s not easy moving so far from home for college, but they helped me. A lot. Two years after I graduated, it became mine.” She paused, staring at the Cher record in her hand. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and Steve could feel the sorrow rolling off of her in waves. “Albert passed and in his will… I told Rosemary that I wasn’t going to take the shop from her, that she could have it, but she insisted I take it. Apparently her and Albert had decided to put me in his will ages before he died…” Her eyes crinkled up as she laughed, “I thought their kids were going to shit themselves. They were so mad.” She shrugged as she finally put the Cher record in its place. “Rosemary didn’t really understand why they were so mad about me getting the shop when they never came in. But she moved upstate with her kids and I moved into the apartment upstairs. I still see her every week for lunch.”

“Excuse my interruption,” Steve said when he finally sensed a pause. “But why are you telling me all of this?”

She finally turned to him then, looking so open and honest that it took him aback. “You’re here to question me about James, and I get that. He’s been through a lot.”

“He’s told you?” He asked, blue eyes wide. “About all the… HYDRA stuff?” At her nod, he narrowed his eyes at her. “But he never tells anyone about—”

“Well, he tells me,” she snapped, her hands going to her hips. “I know about all the things he’s done and I don’t care. He’s the best man I’ve ever met.” The girl closed her eyes as she paused, taking in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, the storm in her eyes had settled. “I need you to know that I love James. I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt him. And while I can appreciate that he has a best friend like you—”

“You don’t like your loyalty being questioned,” Steve finished, much quieter. He felt as though he’d been put in his place, which didn’t happen often. “I… I don’t either. Not when it comes to Bucky.”

A sarcastic smile settled on her lips. “We have that in common, Captain.”

The two of them went quiet as she went back to her task, occasionally having to go to the front to ring up a customer or make a cup of coffee. At some point, Steve started helping her, handing her the records just as Bucky had been doing the night before. Customers came and went, but as it got later, it got less and less populated.

“I changed the hours a few months after I got the shop,” she mused as she glanced over at the few college kids studying at one of the tables. One of them had put on a Hozier album, the earthy songs sounding like they belonged on a record. “It’s better for college students. Gives them a place to study or just hang out late at night, and they can choose any album from the used record wall to play for free.” Her nose scrunched as she smiled. “And I’m not much of a morning person, so it gives me a reason to sleep in until noon.”

“Does he know you love him?” Steve asked suddenly, cheeks going a particular shade of pink. “Bucky, I mean.”

“Yeah, I got that,” she said, nudging him. But she was just as flushed as him. “I hope so. I haven’t exactly been subtle. But I might have to make a move soon if he doesn’t.”

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You should. Make a move, that is.”

“He can be rather shy, can’t he?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Both of them looked up, startled, to see the man of the hour standing there in the doorway. Neither of them had heard the bells above the door as he entered.

“James,” she breathed, a fond smile painting her lips as she saw him. “You’re early tonight.”

His ocean eyes softened just a tad as they flickered over to her, but hardened juts as quickly when he turned his attention back to the other man. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you last night,” he said, apology clear in his eyes.

“Why?”

Steve flinched at the harshness of his tone, but knowing that he more than deserved it. “I was worried, Buck. You weren’t telling me where you were going, and you disappeared for so long and I was just… I was worried.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Bucky said as he moved to stand in between his girl and his best friend. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know that.”

“Then why—”

“James,” she said, cutting him off, “He’s here because he cares. We both do.” The man searched her eyes, his metal hand gently resting on her elbow. “I’m okay. Captain America can’t scare me.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, once again feeling like an intruder. He’d never seen his best friend so taken with a girl, so... enraptured. “Don’t worry. Your girl put me in my place faster than I could blink.”

The brunet flushed, shaking his head. “She’s not—”

“I think I should go,” he said, backing towards the door. “I’ll leave you two alone. But, Buck—” He nodded towards the girl, who had slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t be afraid to bring her around the Tower. I’m sure everyone would love her.”

Bucky nodded once, his arm moving to wrap around the girl’s waist and bring her into his chest. “I will.”

As Steve stepped out into the night air, he was shocked by how late it had gotten, by just how long he’d spent in the shop. A breeze promising an early winter ruffled his hair and sent a chill through him. As he wrapped his jacket tighter around him, he took one last look at the two through the window.

The girl was pressed up against him, eyes sparkling as she stared up at Bucky. He could clearly read the words ‘I love you’ on her lips and the shock on his best friend’s face. Without a second thought, she pressed her lips to his, her fingers tangling in his hair. It took a few seconds for his brain to start working again, but when it did, his arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her in for another kiss just as she started to pull away.

Steve headed for the subway, a smirk on his lips. “You’re in good hands, jerk.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic

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solvina-archive · 4 years ago

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@tartarusdwelt ( prompt -- five times kissed ): five times kissed / TANKSWAP RUIN ME

01. 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

not the first, but a first: there is something carved into his chest, something cold and hard. maggots among the flesh. he can't put a name to it, but he knows it's there. all the scions are wrapped in their own problems, and he doesn't like putting his to name ( old superstitions, from those old sailors: the tongue is the most powerful muscle, right after the heart ). there is still something young and hopeful in him, something which looks over the future and only sees sunrises. heroic is just another word for naiveite.

so it goes. by the time the end comes, he knows he is too late. consciousness now, which flickers and fades, an ebb and flow between states. sometimes, he can fight the waves, and sometimes they pull him beneath.

" nothing to say? " she taunts, that hard edge of her voice pulling him back from the edge. they're discussing some sort of plans or tactics that he can't focus on, and with a hand shoved into his hair, he lifts his eyes to hers. the answer sits there, out of reach. instead, he smiles. a beat too late, off kilter, not the right shade of crimson, and he sees the suspicion that darkens her frown.

all he needs is air, but there's not enough no matter where he goes, and certainly not after he flees that meeting. her hand on his arm stops him, the severity of her accusation, the fleeting distrust ( he knows it, of course; the familiarity of a childhood stained ).

" you're hiding something. " and there goes all the oxygen with her.

" only how lovely i find you. " but he chokes on the words. all that constellation bright, the burn of sunlight, just a little dimmed in the wrong way. her mouth parts to interrogate, and instead---

instead, his hands find purchase in her hair, tilting her head just so ( a sweetness to the gesture -- he is always too sweet with her when he knows she wants violence ). his mouth presses against hers, capturing whatever she has to say, whatever questions he can't answer. quick and fast and evasive. he pauses there, their breaths mingling, eyes closed against the flood of darkness swallowing him whole to wait for her response, be it teeth or tongue.

when she kisses him back, it is a kind of salvation. he presses his fears and his vulnerabilities into the curve of her lips, hands tightening in the spill of her hair, and falls to prayers. his body says what his tongue won't -- save me, save me, save me -- until they are both gasping.

02. 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒉.

he is still finding shards of himself out of place, jagged edges that he runs his hands along. damage, irreversible. some scars don't get away -- this one, along his hands, against the curve of his palm, where the fire had singed. the healers had tried to fix it, put it back to rights, but he had been among the devastation for too long. it had settled into the marrow.

that's how he feels. wrung out, his body tired, overused. aether sickness, the hyuran medic had said with tender eyes. we don't know many who have survived an ascian possession, but i'd bet that's what it is. it'll go away.

meanwhile, the world spins. his friends throw themselves into the path of the knife, and he isn't there to help, to be a body between them and death.

she comes to his bedside looking disheveled, unexpectedly withdrawn, and the darkness of her eyes he can see the reflection of his own exhaustion. all those stories on heroes -- it was only one event, wasn't it? one great hurrah, one thrust of the sword, and the beast fell, and peace came next. but this isn't like that. this is bloody and violent, a slow crawl to the top of the mountain, until they are ragged and raw from the undoing.

" i wish i could be there. " he says. he doesn't say, wait for me. he doesn't say, stop throwing yourself into danger. the desire is there, but it will never come to fruition. he would love them less if it were any different.

" you will be, soon. " she answers, unexpectedly. he is glad it is anything except, how are you feeling? how are you doing? he is exhausted all the words, all the ways to dance around that topic, even as brilliantly evasive as he is. he should've known she'd never ask. neither want to be the knife, neither want to be the flayed chest.

" ah, the banquet. as if i would miss you in all your shining glory. " this, this is better. his soft laughter, her half-hearted glare. relearning the steps of this, whatever it is. he touches a hand to her chin and leans forward. a soft brush of lips to hers, coaxing ( alive, we are alive -- there is nothing more we can ask for ).

03. 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔.

he comes to gasping. the world, shimmering in all its awful glory, and he can't make sense of it. the leaves crunching beneath his palms are too loud, too much. stark and harsh and grating. y'shtola had saved him.

it is an ilm by ilm, gradual climb back into the body. it fits wrong in some places, and there is a piece of him, a chunk taken out of his solar plexus that he can feel the emptiness of when he looks a little too hard. somewhere out there, there are people that need him. and once again, this body is unfit for the task.

the day they find him in the highlands, he can't thumb away that shame, thick and cloying that makes work of him. everything feels different and new, and worse. had he never noticed how red her hair is, or how tired the curve of her mouth was? growing pains, for those transcending the divine. no one ever said sainthood was an easy task.

later, when the night falls and he is weathering the weight of it, trying to remember how the hands work and how the mouth works, and speech too ( he used to be a master of that ), she comes and they sit in silence between the fire. hip to hip. through their clothes, it isn't so bad. he can breathe through the electricity, until it becomes a low hum against his skin, and when her hand slides against his ( bone to bone, muscle to muscle; we are not yet transcendent ), that is okay too.

" you really are lovely. " he says, in a low voice, emptied of its platitude and laid raw. not this-- this flesh, he means, but whatever is beneath. this is his heart, if she deigns to swallow it, or they can both look away and pretend he is not skinned of himself. meat for the slaughterhouse, but as long as it is in her service, he doesn't mind.

a hand reaches to touch her hair, heated by the firelight, and that too settles against his skin. easy to the stomach. she always has been, for all her teeth. then it is desperation, mouth to mouth as he inscribes the shape of her against him, and him to her. something to remember him by. he doesn't want to be in the stories, just in hers.

she straddles him, and in the fall of clothes and mouths and traded breaths, she drags him back to himself.

04. 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎.

a clash of weapons. normalcy, in the movement of bodies, the shift of battle. his mind remembers the dance, the steps, the curves and tides and falls, but his body is less perceptive. she downs him for the fifth time that night, and laying on his back in the dust, looking up into her teasing face, he laughs.

the universe, inhaled through his lungs. a long, cold, chilling breath, something pure to ease the ache in him. they all speak of him in hushed quiet tones, their touches reserved -- he is simply glad to hurt again. he wants the bloodshed more than he wants the healing.

" a pathetic show, i'm certain. " the self-deprecation is easy. not an acerbic recrimination, but something gentler, something softer. the mud soaks into the tips of his hair, dying the silver into brown, and he pushes himself into a sitting position. her hands braced on her thighs, she leans over him, and a moment -- a moment, he is staring into her face, and she is the sun, spilling light across him.

his throat works a swallow.

" another round. " he says, around the dryness, and crawls to his feet. weapons drawn. feet at the ready. this time, he manages the twist, the draw, the dance, and they spin in planetary axis. constellations, twisting through the filth and the dirt, until he catches a foot at her ankle and she drops. they hit the ground together, his dagger a soft press against the curve of her throat.

he feels alive. something whole and human. and she is smiling at him in laughter, through the synchronized heaving of their chests.

he captures her jaw, weapon lost to the dirt, and kisses her through the reclamation.

05. 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.

five years, and there she is through the din of battle. a haze of red, like fire on the horizon, and all he can feel is the cold dread in his stomach.

( fear, that's what this is: this world is hungry in a way eorzea isn't. she shouldn't be here. anywhere but here. )

so here is the violence, for what it's worth: his own anger, that fury that has been clawing its way through the body. a slow and poisonous ache. when he kisses her now, he can taste the blood, the grief. he hopes she can't. the crystal exarch had succeeded, and he had failed.

her hands, tangled in his hair, pull, and he relishes that bite. the feast of her survival, and he the glutton. " took you long enough. " a half-gasp, even as his heart thuds out of his chest. it is in her palm and she doesn't even know it. hers to do with as she pleases.

she bites his lip and he can taste the flood of steel on his tongue. the taste of homecoming.

#tartarusdwelt #( 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒔 ) thancred.#( 𝒅𝒚𝒏: 𝒌𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒕 & 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅 ) you can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it.#hey ashhdhahsdfhahs haha im not okay #i have retconned SO MUCH here but i will simply not perceive it

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