#they're a cia agent

[raspberry-gloaming]

Can anyone tell me if there is a Gallifrey discord server for fans of the audios? I'm really loving them and I want to scream to other people about it too! On dishoard the only one I could find is called "GalliGong" but says it's invites are invalid 🤷‍♀️

So if anyone knows of any servers, or group chats, or anything that would be amazing id love to get more involved with the community

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Also I love how half of the Bad Kids are All-Powerful, Semi-Immortal teenage girls and the other half are Just Some Guy™. Truly the dynamic of all time.

But I also love how these ridiculously ultra powerful girls (AKA the Immortal All-Seeing Elven Oracle, Saint Applebees Creator and Destroyer of Deities and the Spirit of Rebellion, Arch-Devil of Hell, Wizard's Paramore, Fig Faeth) do not give a single flying fuck about their magical responsibilities and duties.

You want the Elven Oracle to actually live with the Elves and foretell the future? Bitch, she doesn't have time for that, she has straight A's, anxiety and she's going to be late for her part-time job if you don't leave her alone with this oracle stuff.

You want Saint Applebees, Creator and Cleric of Cassandra to... pray? Grow her religion? Talk to her God? Mmmmmm.... No. Sorry, but she's a teenaged lesbian with ADHD and trauma. She doesn't have time for, I don't know, that, she's got her own thing going on. Like her breakup, and working out, oh, and did you hear about her campaign for class president??

And you know that the Spirit of Rebellion won't be found living in or, really, doing anything remotely close to ruling over, her domain. She's not even going to pretend to be interested in her duties as Arch-Devil, just like she wouldn't be caught dead actually showing up to class. The only duties Fig actually takes seriously is that of a ✨Wizard's Paramore✨

[fantastic-nonsense]

it's the way Wonder Woman comics constantly redo the same five or six stories because none of her writers ever actually bother to read her comics and Tom King is showing himself to be no exception

also this plot is just. so bad. Not only is it a rehash of stories that have already been done (Tom King read the fallout from Amazons Attack/52/One Year Later challenge), it's just bad. The human rights violations inherent in forcibly expelling an entire population from the US, the disproportionate response to ONE AMAZON potentially committing mass murder, the fact that two of the Wonder Girls are American citizens and all three of them are currently based in the US, the complete lack of care or understanding for the diplomatic role the Themisycrans have at the UN, him wanting to write Diana as an outlaw when Artemis is right there...why are they letting him do this

[medicalgoodpractice]

i love you forever gregory "stick it to the man" house

[that-cia-agent]

Nardeth: Meeting Abraytha was fun I liked Abraytha let's go back to Abraytha

Mrellin: you literally spent the whole time cowering

Zerlan: and I nearly died.

Nardeth: mmm

Mrellin: you're drunk again, aren't you. *Crosses arms and turns away*

Nardeth: pthhh no! So what if I am? What's the big deal? Mrelly, come on, what's the problem?

Mrellin: don't. I can't do this right now.

Nardeth: Mrell-

Mrellin: just don't. *Walks away. Zerlan doesn't know what to do*

[sweetenby]

my toxic trait as a dnd is player is that I'm obsessed with making fantasy communities and if you leave me alone with my thoughts for too long I'll turn my characters simple backstory into a whole fucking town that has its own history and culture and then walk up to my dm and be like 🥺 "Can you put this in your world please?" 🥺

[wokeuplaughing]

I need a boyfriend who is more online then I am so I always know what's happening on the deepest corners of the internet without having to be involved at all like I come home from work and he's on the computer and I am like "my coworkers explained magic the gathering to me today and I had a pretty good sandwich for lunch how was your day" and he's like "the mars-truthers on 4chan are in a heated debate over how many anons are cia agents"

[medicinemane]

I really like Le Carré's work, I really like that it portrays espionage realistically, which is to say bleakly

[apas-95]

the more well-known the agency confronting you is, the less trouble you're usually in. like if it's the cops at your door, it could just be a noise complaint. FBI might just be there for tweets. obviously, still bad, but... here, a comparison. if you have a run in with the CIA you're probably in trouble, but if you have a run in with the Office of Naval Intelligence then you've definitely fucked up. did you know the USPS has its own investigative force? and you might be thinking like, oh, as in some dudes in baby blue button-ups who search for missing mail - but no, these are uniformed, armed federal agents with all the authority that entails. they've got squad cars and such. and, like, these guys are serious. back in the late '80s to the early '90s, when electronic mail sorting first started to be rolled out, there were consistent issues with the machines having trouble scanning letters. it wasn't a super common problem, but it happened a lot, in multiple states. anyway, the USPS eventually realised two things - first, that the problems persisted even after the machines themselves were replaced (at great expense); and second, that they were really limited to michigan and some surrounding states, with only rare occurrences elsewhere which might be unrelated. anyway, that was enough to get the United States Postal Inspection Service to take interest. if somebody was sending dangerous materials though the mail which were messing with the scanning machines, it was probably endangering postal workers too. this was pre-9/11, so the idea it was terrorism wasn't taken too seriously, and the investigation didn't get much support. anyway, it takes months of waiting for machines to break down, cataloguing the mail they'd been handling, cross-referencing it, etc, to narrow down the source of the mail to somewhere south of detroit. kinda goes cold for a while, since the mail's scanned in big batches and finding the common link takes a *lot* of data and work. anyway it's like october '91 now and they think they've finally got it. they've found a specific batch that's tripping the machines up, and they're going over it with a fine-tooth comb when an agent's pager starts freaking out. after experimenting, they realise that whatever's fucked with the scanning machines has also fucked with the pager, and they realise it might be putting out radiation. biiig 'oh shit' moment. they isolate the whole batch and get a big medical checkup, but they're alright. geiger counter picks up nothing. what they *do* find, however, is that there are like 60 letters in there that are each putting out small amounts of non-ionising EM radiation. so, basically safe to handle, but together they're enough to flip some bits in the janky '80s tech they've got and cause occasional scanning errors. and, get this, they're all from the same address. they track this place down, and it's this guy running a sort of bird sanctuary in his backyard. he's australian, and sells like, courses for avoiding getting attacked by birds - and he spends a lot of time hanging around these birds, right? so they take the guy in for questioning, and they literally can't even have recording equipment on the table with him without it glitching, he's almost cooking popcorn here. they question him, and he tells them about his business, how he like, teaches people specific hand gestures to scare away birds and whatever, and they start grilling him on whether he's been exposed to any chemicals or anything, because of the letters. and the guy, when he hears about the letters, suddenly goes like 'ohhh', and explains. cus he gives people grades on their performance and sends them a handmade certificate after they complete the course, right? so they're like 'why the fuck are your letters irradiated' and he just tells them 'Thats My Crow Wave Gradiation'

[cryptotheism]

I don't understand why conspiracy weirdos always take it as given that the "bad guys" will put hints they're abusing children or killing people or whatever in innocent places. Like, why would they do that when they could just... Not do that?

Conspiracy thought can basically be summarized as "everything is connected, without exception"

Eventually, the theorist may be faced with overwhelming information that suggests they are wrong. The only response they have at that point is "You are being paid to fabricate evidence" which raises the question "by who? For what reason?"

See, for most of real history, answering that question is usually pretty easy. It's "the CIA has openly admitted to financially benefitting from spreading this form of propaganda." Or "It would be very embarrassing for the Secret Service if the public learned that an agent accidentally shot JFK."

The real world is banal and complicated and morally grey. But with conspiracy theories, there's no room for "ordinary profit motive" or "human error" because that's never a good story. Conspiracy Theories are deeply emotional things, they need to be a good story.

This is where you get this recurring motif that I call The Great Enemy. It's satanists, it's the illuminati, it's the Jews, it's the deep state, the shadow government, the CIA, the reptilian empire, it's the Ultimate Other that is responsible for everything evil in history.

When your thoughts become "all evil comes from the Great Enemy." It erodes your ability to actually discern real world human motivations. The world becomes a game between The Good Guys and The Great Enemy. Every event, every movie, every book, all become pieces in that game.

It's why so many of these deep conspiracy people talk about the world like it's a giant play, as if all politics is just a big stage show put on for them. It's because once your brain becomes steeped enough in conspiracism, you genuinely lose the ability to tell fact from fiction.

[incorrectbatfam]

the times the batfamily gets a visit from the alphabet agencies. i remember Barbs homework got her a visit by CIA in one of the ask.

Babs had a computer science assignment examined by the CIA. The CIA also paid her a second visit when she tweeted the location of the Navy's largest aircraft carrier

The FDA had to set more specific guidelines after Steph filmed herself cooking Benadryl Chicken

Wayne Enterprises got a visit from the EEOC after Tim jokingly called himself the token bisexual

Kate has beef with the TVA. No one knows why

Damian is banned from within 500 feet of USDA offices

Carrie got told off by a retired EPA worker for accidentally forgetting a water bottle at the park

Duke got an internship at NASA

Harper can't ship her taser parts through USPS

Cullen's fanfic was taken down by the FCC

Cass actually found the FBI agent watching her. They're getting coffee on Sunday

TSA pulled Selina aside for further inspection because of cat claws in her carry-on

Dick butt dialed the DOJ

Bruce got the Batmobile registered at the Metropolis DMV after a worker at the Gotham one said Batman looked like Bruce Wayne

Jason visited the Marvel universe and pissed off SHIELD

Alfred is always one step ahead of the IRS…

[mistydeyes]

Thinking about the scenario where secret agent reader (so like CIA or MI6 and things like that) meets Gaz at a bar and scores. Drinks and talking and dancing, until Gaz suggests you go back to his place. Once there, before things get steamy, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready, but it's actually to stash away your hidden weapons you carry with yourself all the time. Only, when you figure out a good spot, you already find weapons there already.

And it clicks. How he gets dodgy when work comes up, how his dance moves vaguely resemble basic fighting regiments, etc... Seems theres more to the man than just his charm.

THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA! thank you so much for submitting, I had so much fun thinking abt this funny scenario. also fr peep the side eye because that's how he'd be looking at you during the reveal HAHA

the intertwining of secret lives

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summary: When you meet a handsome 20-something in the club, you look through your rose colored glasses and ignore his eccentricities. However, when it comes time to hide a few of your necessities, you are absolutely blindsided.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of weapons/violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Two men by the door, performing a sweep across the dance floor in opposing schedules. They're standing in front of the primary exit with another guard standing at the emergency exit. The solo guard appears 5'10-5'11, weighing around 200lbs and the bruised knuckles means he's accustomed to rowdy customers and bar fights. Based on his wide stance, I could probably sweep at his leg befor- "Hey, want to take this back to mine?" Kyle's voice whispered in your ear, interrupting your covert surveillance. You blinked a few times as you took in his offering. It was difficult for you to shut off your years of CIA training and actually relax for once. Even now, you were slightly suspicious of this unemployed and handsome 20-something who was holding you by the waist at the bar. Yet since he locked eyes with you in the crowded room, it was clear the tension was palpable. Before he could ask again, you put a hand on his.

"Is it close or do you plan on carrying me, Kyle?" you winked, and even under the dim lights, you could see his cheeks slightly heat up. As he tried to stifle down the remainder of his drink, you decided to interrogate him a bit more before he took you to his. "Your silence is telling me, you haven't been to the gym in a while," you teased as you eyed his fit figure, "you look like you're more of a cardio man anyways." He shook his head at your not-so-subtle observations, having an endearing chuckle at the comment. "Well you did say my dancing looked like some silly American MMA thing," you giggled as he said that. It was just a sarcastic comment you made as you saw him methodically make his way across the dance floor, dodging the various drinks and drunken moves of the other patrons. "Anyways," he continued, downing his drink, "you might have just revealed my love for some combat training." With that, he gave you a wink and you melted in your seat. You found yourself endeared by his subtle jokes and shining smile. It made you push aside all the stress of work and effortlessly lie through your teeth about your hidden life.

After you closed your tab, Kyle held the door for you and ushered you politely out of the loud club. He walked beside you, hand in pockets and a relaxed smile on his face, as he navigated through the streets. You made small talk about some of the wild moments from the club and the fact you had both spent a fortune on drinks and shots. "Glad I saved up for this vacation," you lied, continuing with your story of an American tourist in London, "the 9-5 was all worth it for some strong drinks and a pretty face." In the cold night air, you could see his face become illuminated with the street light and the way his cheeks curved up in a hearty laugh. "You Americans and your toxic work culture," he chided as he bumped you with his elbow, "hopefully I can show you how to take it slow tonight." You blushed profusely at the comment and bit your lip as Kyle took a turn to a row of flats. 

"This one's mine," he whispered and fumbled to find his keys. You stood there idly as you looked down at the street. It seemed quiet, nothing, particularly of notice. In fact, if you were looking for a safe house this would be ideal as it was perfectly tucked in between mundane families. "Home sweet home," he presented and you walked into the furnished flat. You peeked around and noticed the lack of personality within the home besides some paintings and postcards. A thin layer of dust lay amongst everything and the house smelled distinctly of a wall plug-in, probably bought this morning. He noticed your gaze and shrugged slightly. "I haven't had time to make this place nice," he sheepishly confessed, "been helping out with my family for the last few weeks." You nodded before you walked closer to him. "So what do you want to do now that I'm here?" you flirted before you closed the gap with a soft placement of your lips on his.

You felt a mix of happiness and uncertainty in your stomach. To the special agent inside you, it was the sign things were going a bit too well. But to the normal person, it was the presence of butterflies in your stomach. He tasted of a mix of alcohols and smelled vaguely of wood and santal. He wrapped his strong arms around you as you shuffled backward to the bedroom. You could feel him lower you softly onto the bed before you pulled him a bit closer with your arms around his neck. As he pulled up to look at you in this vulnerable state, you realized you were being poked by an object. Your mind went to a certain place for a moment until you realized it was actually the knife strapped to your thigh that was poking you. Your face dropped when you realized where things were going. You hastily pushed Kyle off of you before running off unceremoniously to the bathroom. "Sorry just have to pee! Those drinks are running through me," you joked through the door as you navigated to the master bathroom across the room.

"Take your time," you could hear him echo through the door as you put down the toilet seat. You looked around the small bathroom and tried to figure out where to hide the knife. More like knives, you thought when you realized you had another two strapped to your boot. "Oh fuck me," you whispered as you tried to look around. Within the bathroom, there was a small medicine cabinet with a mirror and a few drawers underneath the sink. You flushed the toilet hurriedly and ran the sink as you opened up the bottom drawer ever so carefully. When you opened it, you were not expecting to see another collection of tactical knives and a gun facing back at you. You tried to stifle your surprise as you gently picked up the firearm. You turned it to see it was inscribed with PROPERTY OF THE ROYAL ARMY etched into the side. You placed it down gently as underneath it lay an official-looking ID. You read the details quickly as you focused on the serious face of one Sergeant Kyle Garrick. You looked at the picture resembling the man in the next room, verifying all of the signature markings of an official government ID. "You alright in there?" you could hear his question as you quickly shut the drawer. You hastily turned off the tap before returning to the bedroom.

Kyle was lying casually on the bed and you could tell he had generously sprayed some vanilla room spray to cover up the mustiness of the unattended flat. Explains the dust and lack of furnishings, you thought as you stood leaning against the doorway. "Find anything interesting?" he flatly asked and you couldn't help but be caught off guard for the first time this evening. "What do you mean?" you bluffed but he stopped you with a flick of his hand. "The sink was running for a bit too long," he joked, "plus I know what those drawers sound like when they slam." You let out a dry laugh before sitting back next to him. "Well, I guess I should say I did find something," you said as you looked at his eyes, mixed with uncertainty, "you really should keep your weapons in a better location." As he tried to come up with a myriad of excuses, you put a hand on your chest. "As long as you don't mind if I put mine away, I won't question it, Sergeant," with that, Kyle tried to hide his surprise as you unsheathed your weapons from your person. "Do I want to know?" he joked hesitantly before you made your way on top of him. "You can ask in the morning, Garrick."

The next morning, you raced over to your hotel and barely made it to your 9 am meeting in the office suite. "Wonder who Laswell has me working with now," you mumbled as you nodded to the agents guarding the secured room. You should have seen the look on your face when you locked eyes with Kyle, who sat equally as shocked and secretly sporting a hickey underneath his uniform collar.

[efingcod]

From the CIA website itself

As we're getting into Black Ops, I need to put this one out there. People who work for the CIA, like Russell Adler, they're Officers, not Agents. Hudson even refers to him as such during the briefing at the start of Cold War.

Ultimately, you can write whatever you want and I'm not your boss. I just see it a lot and I blame pop culture (hell even Black Ops 1 gets it wrong).

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 12: Fake Dating

When You're Lyin' Here in My Arms | @nickelkeep Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 7,240 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Idiots to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Everyone Thinks They're Together Summary: Cas' twin sibling Hannah is getting married. No big deal, right? But when the invite comes asking who his plus one is, well... Cas knows that it's not a good sign. In a panic, he asks his life-long best friend Dean to pretend to be his boyfriend. There's no way that can go wrong... Right?

A family affair | @milfdean4dilfcas Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7,332 Main Tags/Warnings: idiots in love, fake/pretend relationship, light angst, pining, Post-Episode AU: s15e18 Despair (Supernatural), the finale does not exist in this house, toddler jack kline, Parent Dean Winchester, Parent Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, the smut is in the last chapter Summary: When the preschool director mistakes them for a couple, Dean and Cas decide to play along to avoid awkwardness. As they pretend to be a loving pair, they're forced to navigate the challenges of hiding their true feelings from each other. But as they fake romantic gestures and affection, the lines between reality and fantasy start to blur. Will their fake relationship become the catalyst for real feelings, or will it drive them further apart?

Welcome to Pit & Paradise | @seidenapfel Rating: Mature Word Count: 11,193 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The Empty deal never happened, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Coming Out, First Kiss, First Time, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester Summary: When Claire calls, asking for help to hunt a shifter in an LGBT+ resort, Dean and Cas suddenly find themselves as husbands on their honeymoon. Forced to play a couple, Dean and Cas both have to face their hidden dreams and feelings. It’s all fake, or isn’t it?

The Exception to Every Rule | @mittensmorgul Rating: Mature Word Count: 58,784 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Actor Dean, Bodyguard Castiel, Stalking, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed Summary: When Sam was accepted to Stanford, he finally convinced Dean to move to Los Angeles to pursue his acting dreams after sacrificing for four years to support Sam throughout high school. Dean never imagined landing the starring role in a Hollywood blockbuster film franchise, but in just two years he’d gone from obscurity on the Lawrence Community Theater stage to become one of the fastest rising stars in the country. He's adapting pretty well to this new life in the spotlight-- until one unhealthily obsessed fan prompts Dean’s agent to hire a specialist from Seraphim Security to watch over him. Enter Castiel, one of Seraphim’s newest “Angels,” and the only one available to take on Dean’s case a week before Christmas. With Dean’s life on the line, Castiel does his best to maintain a professional distance, but with every passing day they’re both finding themselves making more and more exceptions to their rules.

A Crash Course in Computer Safety | @debatchery Rating: Explicit Word Count: 85,269 Main Tags/Warnings: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Slow Burn, CIA!Cas, nerd!Dean Summary: On the day of his 29th birthday, Dean receives an email from his old nemesis: Michael Milton, the guy who got him kicked out of college and stole his girlfriend. The email contains encoded images with top secret CIA/NSA intelligence – and now their only copy is in Dean’s brain. Both agencies send their best operatives – Castiel Novak and Victor Henriksen respectively – to handle their accidental asset and protect the invaluable data in his head. To justify their sudden appearance in Dean’s life, they adopt covers: Victor as Dean’s new co-worker and neighbor, Cas as his new boyfriend. Needless to say, Dean’s brother and his girlfriend are thrilled to see him in a relationship they believe to be real. Clearly, there’s no way this could go wrong. (NBC’s Chuck AU).

[wordstome]

Endless Nights - Price x Reader

I started thinking about Sandman again because of Barry Sloane as Destruction of the Endless and went back to reread everything Destruction is in, including his Endless Nights story. Now I can't stop thinking about Price x archaeologist reader...

1.7k, please forgive any archaeological or military errors I only took like 1 anthropology class two years ago

You've been on all sorts of digs, but this has got to be one of the most chaotic. Your team's been sent to this peninsula to unearth some recently discovered artifacts. They think it's remnants of a little-known indigenous population, and it's your job to dig everything up safely.

Only problem is, there's a military base on top of it.

"Maybe it won't be so bad. Military personnel are good at following orders," your coworker says while you're unpacking your tools.

You snort. "Yeah, but they're equally good at putting holes in things and blowing things up. I don't think they have a lot of respect for fragile ancient artifacts."

"Ouch," your coworker says, wincing and putting a hand to his chest in a mock expression of pain. "No love for our nation's bravest?" You roll your eyes at him.

"It's not like that. I'm just saying we need to be vigilant about keeping them away from work sites. Take no shit, as it were."

"With the military? Good luck, I guess."

It's not that you dislike or even distrust every single person who's ever been in the military, it's just that you don't have much faith in their ability to hold respect for your work. Archaeology is quiet, meticulous work, a far cry from gunfights and kicking doors in. You're going to be here for quite a while, and if you don't establish boundaries right out of the gate, you'll be fighting an uphill battle for the rest of the dig.

That's what you're telling yourself as you sit in a gray, featureless meeting room. You and your supervisor are supposed to be meeting with a John Price, a British SAS captain. Kate Laswell, an American CIA agent, told you he's the proxy you'll be cooperating with during the dig.

You're prepared for all sorts of men to walk through that door: a balding middle-aged man with a power trip, or perhaps some blustering meathead whose voice no longer goes lower than a shout. Instead, the man that walks through the door and shakes your supervisor's hand leaves you staring, just barely keeping it together enough so you're not drooling with your jaw on the floor.

He's hot.

Your head fills with static as he turns to you and hits you with possibly the most endearing smile you've ever seen on a man. It's not just that he's somehow pulling off the beard and mutton chops look, or that his rough British accent is making you feel some type of way down there. It's the way he walks, like it's heavy—

"Pleased to meet you," Price says, shaking your hand. His hand engulfs yours as he gives it a brief squeeze. It takes your every last brain cell to answer with something other than Please tell me you're not wearing a wedding ring because you're actually single.

The meeting consists of him and your supervisor laying ground rules while you nod mutely and try not to audibly moan when Price adjusts himself in his seat, his hips moving in a way that is definitely going to undo you if you think about it too hard.

You walk out of the meeting having barely survived, but confident that the whole ordeal was a one-time thing. He's just who you complain to if one of the soldiers stumbles into a work site and smashes one of the artifacts, after all. You'll never have to see him.

Except you do. Every day, multiple times a day, he's there. He's obviously got his own shit to do of course, but it's like you can't get away from him: walk into a tent, and he's there chatting to one of your coworkers. Eat a meal, and he's there talking to a squad of soldiers and clapping someone on the back with a hearty laugh. Turn a corner, and he's there to full-body slam into you—

"Pardon me, sweetheart. Didn't see ya there." You're ashamed to say you don't do much more than stare at him with what must be the most pathetic petrified doe eyes as he gives you a pat on the shoulder and goes on his merry way. That was like running into a solid brick wall...

It would be fine if it were just you having a silly little unreciprocated crush. You've had those before and survived. But what starts to get to you is the little things: the way his eyes flick to you when you enter his vicinity, accompanied by a nod. The way his eyes linger on you for a moment too long before looking away. The brief touches against your shoulders or hips when he's maneuvering past you in a small space.

Frankly, it's driving you crazy, and it's starting to show.

"If you dust that piece any harder, you're going to damage it," your coworker scolds you. You all but jump backwards from the piece you're working on. You'd been so absorbed in mentally dissecting his body language the last time you were in the same room as him that you'd brushed the piece far beyond the point of being clean.

This won't do. You have to do something about this.

Mercifully, you've been given your own individual room to sleep in, which is quite the luxury after a career full of sleeping in dusty tents or sharing bunks with coworkers. It also gives you enough privacy to...take care of business, as it were.

Obviously, you didn't bring any "tools of the trade" that weren't useful for your work, so it's just you and your hand past 11 pm. You feel beyond perverted, slipping a hand between your thighs as you think of Captain Price.

You can still feel the weight of his hands on your body, brief though they were, and picture what else those touches could be doing. Your own voice slips out in a moan as you imagine his, low and grumbling yet soothing while he pushes you into the sheets, that endearing smile turned devious and devastatingly sexy as he spreads you open for him with those hands of his and collects your wetness on his fingers...

Your heart jumps out of your chest as you hear a knock at the door. You all but fall out of bed, scrambling to pull on enough clothing to be decent. "J-just a minute!" you call, inwardly cursing yourself for how breathless you must sound.

You answer the door, flustered and a mess, to see the subject of all your fantasies staring there. For a split second, you're petrified by the possibility of Price having heard your desperate whines and whimpers and knocking on your door to politely ask you to quit cranking it in his barracks.

"Apologies, sweetheart. Hope I didn't wake you up?" His eyes are so striking, so sincere, that you know he could have woken you up from the best sleep of your life and you'd still be unable to be mad at him.

"No no, I was...no need to worry. What can I do for you?" you say, relief flooding through you. Of course he didn't hear you. He's not a total pervert like you.

"Well love, I...it's probably best if you come take a look for yourself," Price says, looking almost sheepish. Your heart sinks a little—this cannot be good.

He leads you out of the barracks towards one of the job sites, directing you towards a table with several excavated artifacts laid out. "One of my men thought it'd be wise to steal his mate's torch, had him stumbling around in the dark out here. He says he bumped one of these tables and heard something fall on the ground, and I figured you should know right away instead of waiting 'til the morning and having all sorts of people tramping through here."

You give him a brief grateful look before crouching down with a flashlight. After a bit of looking, you find the missing object: a thick shard of pottery, lying forlornly on its side by a table leg.

You reach forward to pick it up, but the captain has spotted it as well, resulting in his hand landing on top of yours over the pottery. For a brief, dizzying second, his hand lays heavy and warm over yours, and you could have sworn that his fingers had shifted as if to take your hand in his.

In a blink, the moment's over, and the captain's hand shoots back to his side. Trying not to make an utter fool of yourself, you push yourself back up to a standing position, examining the pottery shard with a discerning eye.

"Looks like no harm was done," you say to him with a smile. "Mayday averted."

"Good to hear. I'll make sure the knuckleheads who did this receive a thorough dressin' down for this incident." You're grateful that the warmth rushing to your face at his stern tone can't be seen in the dark as you carefully set the pottery back in its place on the table.

"I'll walk you back to the barracks. Can't have my favorite archaeologist stumblin' their way around themselves, now can I?" You nod mutely, unable to look at him for much longer than a few stolen glances.

The two of you are quiet all the way back to your door, where you stand in the hallway, fidgeting with your hands and feeling the urge to say something, anything. "Thank you," you blurt out. "For not waiting until tomorrow morning. There's no telling what foot traffic would have done before we noticed the missing piece."

"Your work's important, love. And while you're here, you're our guests. It'd be rude to not be taking care of your work, wouldn't it?" You nod shyly, basking in the warmth of his attention.

You're frozen to the spot as he leans in to whisper directly in your ear, his lips brushing against it. "Next time you're relievin' a bit of tension, feel free to stop by my quarters, yeah? I think you'll find there's a lot more I can take care of than just your work."

Your eyes go as wide as saucers as he winks at you. Before you can even process what just happened, he's already walking away from you down the hall.

Feeling like you've just been handed some delicious and forbidden secret, you whirl around to shut yourself into your room, sliding down with your back against the door to sit on the floor. Did that truly just happen? Are you hallucinating? Or had you fallen asleep by accident and you're really just having some beautiful, delusional dream?

It doesn't feel like a dream when you realize you're soaking wet.

God, I cannot wait until Barry Sloane's Destruction promo images drop. For reference, these are the posters we got for season 1:

To be very honest, I wrote this like a possessed woman in the span of like an hour. I don't think there's going to be a part 2 unless you guys really get me going with some new ideas 😅

Also, I don't have a tag list (because I write almost exclusively for one particular Austrian), but I will tag my beloved @danibee33, and @ceilidho, as thanks for giving me Barry Sloane brainworms.

[that-cia-agent]

Okay, I'm kind of drunk on regeneration energy, but this is my thirrrd body, so, cool! Very trans of me!

Don't need these anymore- *tosses away the gel inserts for their old bras, then looks down at their chest* woahhhh. Neat.

I can't believe the CIA killed me for real ): so not fair)):