#Death Dealer Tactical

[deathdealertactical]

5 Tips for Protecting and Storing Firearms at Home

Firearm ownership comes with significant responsibility, including ensuring that your guns are stored safely and protected from damage. Proper storage not only helps maintain the condition of your firearms but also keeps them secure from unauthorized access. At Death Dealer Tactical, we offer products like the Viper Double Pistol Case and 38-Inch Padded Double Rifle Case to help you transport and…

[bumblingbabooshka]

The Doctor turning into women and having romantic dalliances with men is every kind of queer...to me.

[star-girl69]

Your Girl

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: late at night, you and clarisse get to know one another.

a/n: ykw i dont even know what i write anymore just enjoy it i truly just listen to the wind oh my god

Your Girl - Lana Del Rey (Unreleased)

warnings: im sorry im obsessed w the nightmare trope, friends to lovers MEYOW, HURT COMFORT, clarisse just wants to KISS, light tension, very light and fluffy tho…. not a lot of angst tbh, POSSESSIVE CLARISSE I SCREAMED, mutual pining YESSSSS, they’re in love but they don’t think the other could be in love w them, clarisse knows what she wants and sets out to get it, monsters- again it’s a drakon bc i’m evil, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of weapons, weed and smoking, substance abuse idk if it’s addiction my health teacher would be so disappointed, shotgunning weed, idk what’s happening honestly we’re all along for the ride, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You don’t know where Clarisse gets it from, but she has good weed.

They’re these perfectly little rolled blunts, with some sort of amazing concoction inside- you can’t even be bothered to care that it’s bad for you. Not when it makes you feel so good, not when it makes everything else fade away.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Sitting in the woods, leaning against a rock covered in moss, staring up at the stars. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you’re just here next to each other. But tonight, you think you took one too many hits, so you’re feeling a little sentimental.

“I would fucking die without you, Clarisse.”

She snorts. “Yeah, probably.”

“No, no, not just like- because you’re so strong, and stuff, but because of this fucking weed. I can’t sleep without it, y’know.”

She hums.

“And, like, you need sleep to live, or else your brain will like eat itself, or something ridiculous. Did you know that?”

She looks at you, mouth curved into an unimpressed smile, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t, and I care so much. Thanks for telling me, leech.”

“That’s mean,” you huff.

“Then stop leeching off of me and stealing my weed.”

Clarisse always looks so pretty in the moonlight. You would never admit that to anyone, but in the dark when your head is all hazy- you know she’s pretty. She’s beautiful, if you’re being honest, but she’s also your dealer- you can’t risk upsetting her. But still, sometimes you’re not sure how she isn’t a daughter of Aphrodite.

But you know better than anyone else that she gets everything from Ares, like she’s a carbon copy of him.

She gets her precision, her strength, her tactical mind, her rolling storm of emotions from him.

Except, there’s a softness in her. Only here, in the moonlight. You don’t know if it’s you or the weed, but you like to think it’s you. You like to think that Clarisse likes you as much as you like her, not just tolerates you for your mediocre company.

She’s sitting with one foot planted onto the ground, hair pulled back all messy, her arm balancing on her knee. The joint is held out conveniently towards you, lazily in between her fingers, so you flip yourself onto your stomach and reach out with open lips.

She smiles and flips the joint around, placing it onto your lips. Your close your eyes and your mouth, breathing in deeply. Gods, does it taste horrible, but you love it too much.

You pull back and breathe out the smoke.

“You love me, and my weed-stealing tendencies.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” she rolls her eyes.

—-

Clarisse probably trains more than any other demigod at camp. Thirty minutes after dinner, like clockwork, you can find her heading to the field where all the sparring dummies live.

Clarisse is probably your only true friend at camp. You stick to yourself for the most part, hang out with your siblings, but besides for that it’s Clarisse. And she’s the same way. She hangs out with her siblings, and then you. Of course- everyone at Camp knows her name and her ruthless reputation.

You’re unknown, she’s known. She’s the best fighter you’ve ever seen, you’re mediocre, compared to her. She helps you at every turn, you’re the one getting helped by her. She’s mean to everyone, and you’re kind to whoever happens upon you.

You force each other to bring out the other sides of yourself no one gets to see. Clarisse gets to be soft, you get to be loud and annoying. You’re friends, but you both get something out of it.

She’s your friend, your dealer, your savior.

If the first day you came to camp, running through the woods with a drakon hot on your heels and your mouth split open into a scream- maybe Clarisse and her siblings wouldn’t have turned around and noticed the drakon.

Of course, Clarisse was the one who actually killed it, and she was the one who hoisted you up from where you had collapsed, breathing heavily. She was the one who actually made sure you weren’t hurt while your satyr protector panicked about having to face the Cloven Council.

She was the one who found you in the middle of the night, that drakon hissing in your ear, she was the one who gave you the claw she had pried from it’s dead body, she was the one who told you it was dead and nothing could hurt you in Camp.

“Clarisse!” you call, running towards her. Most campers like to wind down after dinner, so the field is empty.

“Leech,” she says when you reach her, leaning her spear against a dummy and stretching her arms above her head.

You always come everyday. You ask her the same question.

“Do you have it?”

She digs under her armor, pulling out the small cloth containing the blunt. “You would probably go insane if I didn’t.”

You feel calmer just looking at it. You smile sheepishly up at her.

“You know I can’t sleep without it, Clarisse.”

She looks away, stuffing it back under her armor, against her stomach.

“Maybe you should try and skip one night.”

You scoff. “I don’t feel like pulling an all-nighter, Clarisse.”

She nods, but her face is riddled with concern. “Okay, angel,” she mutters, so low you can barely hear it. But you do. You hear her call you angel, and you turn away instead of slamming your lips into hers.

—-

After that first night, you slept with that claw tight into your hand. And it was fine. You still had the occasional nightmare, but every demigod had those. But the older you got, the more monsters you learned about, the more comfortable you got with being a demigod- the more the nightmares came. Knowing the drakon was dead didn’t help, and the nightmares got worse and worse until Clarisse found you again one night.

You had drifted apart from her. She had her life and you had hers, but ever since you’ve been bonded by the nights.

She wrapped her arms around you and let you cry, mumbling about how she was the strongest demigod at camp, and there was the barrier, and nothing would ever get through to you.

She was soft in that moment. And you could tell she regretted it, because she ignored you for the next few days until one of her siblings pushed you to the ground. She appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his shirt, yelling that if he ever touched you again, she’d fucking kill him.

While he sputtered and asked why she cared about some stupid weak girl, she helped you up and said: “She’s my girl.”

And since that day 3 months ago, you’ve always been her girl. Neither of you really knew what that meant, except you liked being around each other and you liked this transaction. Clarisse liked owning something. You liked belonging to someone.

That’s what this entire friendship is about- convenience.

So, that’s why Clarisse being concerned about you makes you feel weird. You care about Clarisse, she cares about you- but only enough that she doesn’t want to see you hurt by someone else. But who is she to stop you when you’re the one hurting yourself?

You arrive at the rock in the forest, fingers twisting together. Clarisse is already there, lighter and blunt set out on the ground, polishing her spear.

“Hey,” she says, looking down.

“Hi.”

You sit down, eager to get your hands on the weed and forget about the way Clarisse’s concern confuses you.

You stare at your shaking hand.

Gods, are you really that nervous?

Clarisse’s eyes are sharp, she notices everything, she processes it much faster than you can ever dream to. It’s why she’s so quick in battle. She’s a well oiled machine and you’re the one job she’s assigned to do- she knows you by heart after all these nights.

Her spear is pushed off her lap. “Why are you shaking?” she says, voice low and raspy, her hand cupping yours.

“Low blood sugar,” you lie. “I’ll grab a snack before I go to bed.”

She says nothing, but you watch her hesitate as she grabs the blunt and the lighter from the ground, you watch her hesitate again as she goes to light it. But she lights it, she sticks it in between her fingers and holds it out to you.

“C’mere,” she mutters, and you lean forward and let her place the blunt on your parted lips. You breathe in, only for a few seconds, and you could go for a lot longer.

“I wasn’t done,” you huff as she takes her own drag.

“My weed,” she shrugs. “I decide how much you get.”

“You’re a bitch.”

She laughs. She laughs and it makes your stomach twist in such a good way you can’t feel like this anymore, you can’t remember what she does to you, what she called you.

You reach out blindly for the blunt, biting your lip as you practically climb on top of her.

“Clarisse!” you yell, but she seems to find your desperation hilarious, holding the blunt out as far as she can. “I fucking hate you, oh my Gods.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” she says, pushing you off of her. You realize you’re laying on your stomach in between her legs, one hand planted to the ground around her leg, the other reaching out.

She leans back and takes another drag. You roll your eyes and move to attack her, but she’s too fast, sitting up and holding your hand down, her other hand grabbing your chin. She breathes out the smoke right into your lips that are parted in shock, smiling as you stare right into her amused eyes.

She leans back while you sit there stupidly on top of her, blowing out the smoke. “That- that’s- I hate you, did I mention that?”

“You did,” she muses. “But we both know you’re lying.”

You look at her, at her wide smile, at the look in her eyes. You want nothing more than to be her girl- her girl in the way that she’ll kiss your head, tell you about all the things you’ll never do, she’ll lay down with you in a bed of soft pillows. Her girl in the way the reason she’s soft in the moonlight isn’t the weed, it’s because of you. Her girl in the way you can run to her, the way you do now, but with the added connotation of love.

You grab the joint, and she lets you, watching intently as you breathe in and blow out the smoke. She has no right to be worried over you. Not when you’re the one making the choice to waste away your youth. And especially when you’re not her girl- not in the way you want to be.

—-

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” she hums.

You sit back against the rock. Normally, you would have been here 20 minutes ago.

You didn’t catch her after dinner, and you stayed firmly in your bed until it all got to be too much. You’re terrified of sleeping, of the nightmares that will come- but for some reason, the weed just puts you at such ease that you don’t have any nightmares.

You didn’t want to be near Clarisse tonight. Not after yesterday, not after the way she’s been making you feel, and the fact that you know she could never really like you. Why would she? You are the stupid weak girl who gets pushed over. You run from drakon’s and can’t even sleep because of nightmares.

Clarisse is fiercely protective of those she loves, but you’re too much work.

You wanted to go one night. One night without the weed, and prove to her and yourself that you don’t need it. You’re not that weak.

But you couldn’t.

You sit down, she looks at your tense shoulders and doesn’t tease you, just hands you the blunt. You mumble something of a thank you, looking up at the stars, shoulders relaxing after a few more breaths.

“I, uh, I tried to skip. Tonight, I mean. I tried not to come.” It’s embarrassing to admit this. You’re so scared of the nightmares that even if it’s a placebo effect, you come back to this clearing every night.

“But you couldn’t?” she asks.

“I couldn’t,” you affirm, staring at the ground.

“Well, you can’t just go cold turkey, dummy. You have to wean yourself off of it. Do you not remember, like, any of those nicotine patch ads?” she laughs. “You’ve got a good memory, you remember.”

“Shut up, meanie,” you mumble, raising the joint to your lips. She stops you.

“Ah-ah. Starts now. Make it a good one, ‘cause that’s your last, baby.”

“Fine,” you mumble, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You breathe in for a long time, tempted to go a little longer, but Clarisse reaches over and pinches your cheek. “Okay!” you yell, throwing the joint back to her.

She laughs and raises it to her own lips, taking in another long drag before putting it out.

You look at her, silent question in the air. She shrugs.

“Been meaning to slow down for a while, why not do it together?”

“Yeah,” you hum, looking back towards the stars. “Oh, hey, Ares is out tonight.” She looks over.

“Yeah,” she muses. “Fuckin’ Ares.”

“It’s still beautiful,” you say, stars in your eyes. “You have to think about it the way mortals do. They don’t know the Gods put them up there- they think it’s just some random spotting of stars, they think they made patterns out of it. Isn’t that beautiful? To make patterns and people out of stars? To look for humanity where there is none?”

“I never thought about it like that,” Clarisse says.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” you ask. You can feel her eyes on you.

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Beautiful.”

—-

The next two weeks goes by the same. You don’t catch Clarisse after dinner, but you come every night, you smoke a little less, she teases you and gets closer to you. She gets bolder and bolder and you get shyer and shyer.

You still feel like too much. If she just lets you prove this to her and to yourself, the maybe you can lean against the rock with her and flirt back.

—-

You meet Clarisse by the rock. She’s still standing, waiting for you. She takes the last of the blunt you’ve been using for the last few days and lights it, taking one small drag before she flips it around and holds it out to you.

“C’mon,” she guides. “Not too much, I’ll stop you.”

You feel kind of like a baby as Clarisse puts the joint on her lips, fingertips against your face to steady her hand. You breathe in for just a second, tempted for more, but she takes it away. You look up at her, fingers twisted together.

“Clarisse, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

She leaves the blunt to blow out in the wind in the natural dip of the rock, your own little ashtray at the top. Of course, Clarisse will come and collect it the next morning- you don’t want to upset the nymphs and satyrs in the forest.

“It’s a good idea,” she affirms. “Don’t worry, okay?”

You’re scared. You remember being chased by the drakon even now, you remember it’s snarls, you remember it’s claws moving through the air. You remember your heart pumping in your ears, you remember the stones in your stomach that were supposed to be fear.

You feel like Kronos, but what you swallowed wouldn’t just sit idly inside of you- no, your fear would rip through your stomach and your skin and burst out of you in an explosion of blood, like some sick joke of a firework.

She grabs your wrists. Clarisse is soft, here, in the moonlight.

“Hey, it’s okay. I-I was thinking, I didn’t know if you were gonna be okay, but why don’t you sleep in my cabin?”

You shift on your feet. “Clar, no, I can’t ask you to do that. What if we get caught? And I-I- it’s embarrassing, what if your siblings see? What if they tell everyone?”

Clarisse rolls her eyes and tugs you closer from where you had subconsciously started to drift away.

“They already think we’re dating, anyways. Besides, Y/N, no one cares. Most of my siblings have secrets anyways,” she smiles.

“Wh- we’re dating? They think- why?”

Her face is deadpan. “‘Cause you’re my girl.”

You pull back. “Clarisse.”

“What?” she says, slightly incredulous. “You are. You’re about the only person I can tolerate at this camp. I hope you know that. I know I can be horrible, but really, I… care about you a lot.”

You look in her eyes. There’s no lies, no insincerity.

“I know, Clarisse. And I… I appreciate it so much. You’re, like, my only friend,” you smile.

She smiles back but it’s tight. “Friend, yeah.”

You put your arms around her neck and hug her. It’s the first time you’ve ever really hugged her, and her arms wrap tight around your waist. Her mouth presses against your hair. You let yourself be her girl in this moment.

Clarisse is your best friend. She cares about you. Of course she helps you with this. She’s your best friend. Of course you let her.

—-

You do follow Clarisse back to the Ares cabin, back to her bed- and she points to one of her siblings you can’t see in the dark, but there are two figures in the bed. She smiles and you stifle a laugh.

You know better than anyone else that big bad Ares kids are like a marshmallow on the inside. They act all tough, and they are pretty tough, but there’s a soft spot inside of them only unlocked by one person with the right key.

You notice her sibling has their arm around the other person. You wonder if Clarisse will wrap her arm around you like that too.

Clarisse climbs into her bed, opening the covers for you. The beds at Camp are twin sized, but you can fit two people on them if you’re close together. You don’t hesitate, not anymore, not when you have one chance to pretend you’re really hers.

You lay on your side, facing her, hands tucked up by your chest. Her eyes meet yours, she brushes her curls out of her face.

“Good?” she asks. You nod, breathing out.

“‘M fine,” you say.

She rubs your arm, cold from the dark night. “Just relax, okay? Just close your eyes, Y/N.”

You do, you close your eyes, but you’re so fucking terrified you can’t.

“Clarisse,” you breathe, a plead. For what, you don’t know. You want a million things from her in this moment. It’s not fair of you to ask her, you know this, but it doesn’t stop you from asking.

Your breath comes fast, your nails dig into your palms, but you keep your eyes screwed shut like sleep will just magically hit you like a train.

“It’s okay,” Clarisse says, firm. “Why are you so scared?” she whispers.

“They’re so real,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“They’re not.”

She wraps her arms around you so tight you feel like she’s crushing you. But it keeps you in the moment. If you focus on the way her skin feels against yours, on the way her thumb brushes your shoulder blade, her fingertips scratching the back of your scalp.

If you focus, if you imagine all the thing you and her will never do, if you imagine being her girl, then you can fall asleep.

You dream of her lips pressing against your head, her voice in your ear, calling you her angel.

—-

You wake up, Clarisse still wrapped around you, and slowly detangle yourself. Drool pools at the corner of her lips, and you have to bite back a giggle as you slip out of the blankets and into the warm riding sun.

She looks just as pretty in the sunlight as she does in the moonlight. You feel like a lover slipping out of a bed of secrets. But you’re not. You’re just a friend slipping out of a bed of rumors.

She looks so peaceful, you can’t help but wonder if she always sleeps like this- or if having you next to her had the same effect on her sleep as it did to yours.

—-

There’s a loud knock at your cabin door.

There’s only you and a few of your siblings in here, putting the final touches on their outfits for the day, grabbing the last items they need. One of your younger siblings open the door, and you look around the pillars- maybe it’s a counselor doing some sort of inspection? You take a glance around your bunk- but it’s all clean.

Your eyes meet hers.

“Out,” she says, roughly. She looks at you so intently you almost wonder if she’s talking to you. But when you siblings stand there in shock, she looks away. “Well? I said get out, dummies.”

They exchange looks with you, but eventually shuffle out, not wanting to risk Clarisse and her wrath.

She shuts the door behind your last sibling.

“Being tough has it perks, huh?” she smiles, leaning against the door. Your shirt isn’t even pulled on properly, one of your bra straps is already falling down your shoulder from the act of putting your shirt on, and you’re staring at her with your mouth wide open.

She looks you up and down.

“C-Clarisse, what-?”

She walks over to you, frown etched onto her face.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Oh,” you say. “I… I thought you would have wanted me gone-”

“Don’t care. If you’re going to sleep with me then you need to wake me up and tell me you’re leaving.”

She rolls her eyes at your confusion. She sits on your bed and then gestures animatedly for you to sit down.

“Did you not sleep well?” she fusses. “What’s up with you this morning?”

“I slept great, Clarisse, it’s just- why are you here?”

“To tell you that you can’t leave,” she deadpans. “I mean, you spend all night shaking in my arms, terrified, and then I wake up and you’re not there? I almost killed someone. You’re lucky I decided to check here first, Y/N.”

She laughs. She laughs like it’s so funny.

“Why?” you ask.

“‘Cause you’re my girl,” she shrugs. “And-”

“Clarisse, what does that mean?”

You know what you want. And you’re not dumb, but you’re the only friend Clarisse really has- what did you have to compare it to? You’ve been thinking about it in your head, rolling it around like a diamond- each side reflects something you want from her. Her love, her protection, her touch, her time, her.

She plays with her fingers. “It means… I like touching you. I like protecting you. I like being near you. I like your voice and your face.”

She stares at you blankly, like she’s recounting a grocery list, waiting for an affirmative “yes, I heard you.” But all you can do is stare in shock, trying to make your brain catch up with your heart- Clarisse likes your face. Clarisse feels the same way you do. You can be her girl, and you’re not too much for her, you’re not just friends.

“Oh, fuck it,” she mumbles. She places her hand on your face and pecks your lips. “That’s what it means, okay? I’m, like, embarrassingly in love with you, if you haven’t noticed.”

Clarisse is so blunt and forward it makes your head spin.

She stares into your eyes, searching them for something other than shock and confusion.

“Okay,” she says. Shuffling back. You can tell she’s hurt and embarrassed, but her face reveals nothing other than faux confidence and indifference. “I’ll go, I guess-”

“Bitch,” you mumble, slamming your lips onto hers.

It feels so overwhelmingly right and fills you with such a calmness that weed could never compare to. If you were dependent on the joints, then one taste and you’re addicted to Clarisse. She kisses you back with just as much ferocity, throwing your arms around her neck, trying to swallow you whole with her mouth as she grabs your neck with one hand, your face with the other.

It’s months of tension and wanting, lips touching through the passing of a joint, all of it coming down to this moment that feels so bad, so sinful- surely the Gods must frown upon loving someone this much. You would never pray to any of them again if it meant Clarisse would keep kissing you like this.

When she finally pulls back, you’re both smiling wide, leaning into her palm, hands playing with the curls at the base of her neck. You feel like a giddy school girl. You feel like a lover discovering something wildly new and unknown, promising to keep it secret, sealing it with a kiss of pure fire.

“That was such a mean way to confess to someone,” you say. “Just bitchy. Brass and blunt- harsh, even.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, pressing her face against yours.

“Yeah, it’s okay. I know you’re a big softie who drools in her sleep.” She pulls away and glares at you.

“I don’t fucking drool, Y/N. You’re seeing things.”

You fake frown, bringing her closer to you. “Such a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend?” she breathes, swollen lips parting like she’s aching to kiss you again.

“Your girlfriend,” you affirm, staring straight into her eyes.

You sunk more into becoming a demigod and all it got you was nightmares and a fear of sleeping. But the more you sunk into being her girl, the more you sunk into loving her and being loved.

You don’t know where Clarisse gets her softness from. Certainly not from her father. She didn’t learn to kiss your head from him. She didn’t learn how to hold you, how to call you hers, how to whisper in your ear from Ares.

You don’t know where Clarisse gets her softness from, but it’s good.

—-

SHOUTOUT TO clarisse “cause you’re my girl” la rue LOVE YOUR POSSESSIVE ASS!!!!!!!!

—-

clarisse when y/n smokes weed: oh so pretty……

clarisse when y/n can only fall asleep bc of her arms or her weed: my girl fr……..

clarisse when y/n: oh my wonderful perfect angel

—-

y/n: BITCH

clarisse: YOURE SO HOT FUCK

—-

where did clarisse get her weed from you may ask? me that’s where she got it from i ripped through the fabric of reality to give it to her to make this happen actually and you’re welcome

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

@sincerely-silk

[k4marina]

— Prologue: Who is She? || The Night We Met

synopsis: While investigating some suspicious movement by Flacone and the Penguin, Batman encounters a mysterious female vigilante.

warnings: drugs & implied drug overdoses, brief mention of death, brief mention of rapists, cannon typical violence and themes, gotham (cuz why not ig?)

bruce wayne x fem!vigilante!reader

2.6k word count

Gotham city at night is always a sight to behold. The tall skyscrapers reached up into the cool night sky. The blend of different types of architecture in the city was oddly appealing, an aesthetic that only Gotham could pull off. Despite it being so late, the city was still awake, but not for any good reason. 

Criminals freely roamed the streets, terrorizing any poor individual that may be out. Over the decades Gotham had been slowly being eaten away by criminal scum on all levels. The streets where children should be playing and growing up were now littered with drug dealers, murderers, and rapists. 

The GCPD, sworn protectors of the city and the law, reeked of dirty cops openly taking bribes from criminals and other corrupt individuals. They swept things under the rug, turned a blind eye, and threatened the other officers to do the same if they knew what was good for them.

Elected officials who were chosen by the people to better their city were no better. Bribes were exchanged, cases were either dismissed or the guilty were given slaps on the wrist for their crimes. The city's politicians were in the pockets of either mobsters or other crimelords and the ones who suffered were the people. 

But things were slowly changing. 

The Batman: a crime fighting vigilante that had appeared one night two years ago. He dawned a black cowl, obscuring the top half of his face, tactical armor and an assortment of gadgets, and a long black cape. 

Despite his sudden appearance he was a force to be reckoned with. He had a clear mission that everyone was able to pick up very quickly; protect Gotham and its people from criminal scum. His first year was the hardest, butting heads with both criminals and the police, especially one James Gordon, but the Bat learned quickly and grew stronger day  by day, or rather night by night. 

For the past few weeks Batman had been investigating the Falcone crime family and Oswald Cobblepot and their suspicious movements. The two criminal organizations were quite the opposites of each other. While the Falcone were both wealthy and feared in all of Gotham, the Cobblepots were looked down upon for falling from grace as one of Gotham's founding families.

Originally, Gordon was the first to get the tip on their movements. At first it was just a rumor that Falone’s men and Cobblepot’s men were seen meeting together until an undercover officer who’d been stationed at the city docks spotted a group of Falcone and Cobblepot  muscle together unloading a mysterious shipment. 

After that Gordon informed Batman of his suspicions and the weeks-long investigation began on the two. They did their best at hiding any connection with each other and truth be told if it weren’t for the undercover cop spotting the groups working together no one in the GCPD or even the Bats would know what was going on. 

But now he's done it. Batman had finally found someone linked to the two who knew about their operations. All he had to do was interrogate him. 

The man, George Kosavo, lived not too far from the infamous Crime Alley. He worked closely with Falcone and Cobblepot acting as some sort of middle man. He worked mostly at the docks and kept records of where the goods came from and where they went. If anyone knew what the two mobsters were up to, it would be him. 

Batman watched below, peering down at the entrance of the old apartment building. He silently surveyed the area, planning his line of attack. So far only George was in the apartment, that he knew, which lowered the level or risk of an ambush. 

Batman grappled down, landing onto the sixth floor balcony. He reached into one of the many pockets of his utility belt and pulled out a jackknife folding locksmith set. He crouched and unfolds it, revealing the different kinds of picks. Carefully he selects the right pick and slots it into the keyhole of the sliding door and shimmy-ins the tension wand. He works diligently and with the right movements the door unlocks with a soft click. 

He shoves everything back into his belt and opens the door, stepping into the grubby apartment. The place was as you’d expect; rundown and poorly maintained. The living room was bland, a small couch on the back left wall, a small table in front of it with an unloaded gun and two magazines on top of it, and a TV perched up on a small rectangular stand. The kitchen was behind the right wall, the top half left open and replaced with a counterspace. It gave the apartment a somewhat open planned space, allowing him to see through the two different areas. 

He makes his way left and down the hallway, opening a door to the right that led to the bathroom. There was another door to the right that opened into a small closet space that held the washer and dryer and a small shelf that held the laundry detergent. He turned his attention to the last door, at the end of the hall, slightly ajar. Light poured into the dim hallway from the room and an eerie feeling started to creep up Batman's spine. He readied himself for an attack as he silently crept up to the door. 

He swings it open, anticipating an attack, but is only met with a body laying face up on the half made bed. The top of the night stand on the left side of the bed had three lines of cocaine, a rolled up fifty dollar bill, and a half empty dime bag. Batman carefully assessed the area, quickly deducing that the man, George Kosavo, died of an overdose. 

He sighed inwards, this was going to be harder.

The room looked as clean as it could get for a mobster lackey who was almost always stung out on drugs. The small table and shelf to the left were mostly bare safe for some porn magazines that were most definitely used. Batman didn’t bother touching them and turned to the closed doors near the right side of the room. He pulls the doors open and finds the clothes rummaged through, exposing a hidden safe that was left open.

Gone, he thought. 

“Looking for this?” 

Batman’s head snapped back to the doorway, setting his eyes on you. You leaned on the door frame, a manila file in hand. Batman frowned, assessing you fully. You wore a domino mask and a full armored bodysuit with subtle metallic accents and paneling and black gloves with reinforced armor around the knuckles. Everything seemed to be meticulously handmade and thought out. 

“Don’t worry, he was like this before I got here.” You motioned towards George's lifeless body.

“Who are you?” 

“Anapófefktos¹” You replied. Batman's frown deepened, was that Greek?

“Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.” You joked. 

“You work for Falcone.” He accused. 

You scoffed. “Ew, no. Do you really think I’d work for him? No no, I’m more like you than him.” 

“Why do you need that,” he glanced over to the file in your hand. 

“Because I’m working a case, which I’m guessing you are too. But don’t worry, I’ll return it to you once I’m done with it.”

“And you really think I’ll let you walk out with the file?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Even in his tactical armor his muscles were still bulging out. You couldn’t help but run your eyes down his form, admiring his physique

"Well, it's not up to you really." You give a mischievous smile. "You see, our friend there was supposed to make a phone call to his criminal friends, some sort of business talk. But now, because of his untimely death, they're on their way here. And I am going to leave."

Just as you finished you said, the sound of a car engine could be heard outside. The sound of doors opening and closing could be heard as well as a few hushed voices. Batman looks out the window facing the alleyway. There were two cars, black four door sedans. A group of men could be seen walking up to the apartment building. 

Batman looks back at you only to find you gone along within the folder.

––

When Bruce finally pulls into the Batcave it was just reaching four in the morning, the sun barely ascending the horizon. Like always, Alfred was there waiting with a cup of tea and his med kit ready for any possible injuries.

The doors to the sleek batmobile open and Bruce steps out, removing his cowl with ease. He sets it down somewhere as he steps deeper into the cave. 

“Long night, Master Wayne?” Alfred asks. He hands the cup of tea to Bruce and removes his cape from his shoulders. 

“Something like that,” Bruce replied, rolling his shoulders. He took a sip of his tea, a specific blend made for his sore muscles. He lets out a groan and slumps down into his high back chair in front of the huge batcomputer. 

After you left Bruce to deal with the armed thugs he’d called Gordon over to deal with the rest. He’d asked about you, hoping to find some answers only to be left with more questions. He pulls up the search feature on the computer and types in "Anapófefktos" and looks for any vigilante activities in the country. 

“Inescapable?” Alfred translate, standing behind Bruce. “Is this some sort of clue?” 

“Seems that way, but it’s not related to the case.” Bruce takes another sip of his tea, setting the cup aside onto the matching china plate. “There was a vigilante, a woman, there. Said she was investigating Falcone and Cobblepot, but left before I could question her further.” 

“If she is another vigilante, as yourself, then surely we’d have known.” 

Bruce shakes his head, “I’m not sure, Alfred. It’s like she appeared in Gotham out of nowhere.” 

Right on time, the computer chimes, having finished its search. Multiple articles and images popped up. Bruce clicks on one of the articles, his eyes quickly reading over the words. 

< Adrasteia takes down the Infamous Odessa Mafia >

→ As of late last night the infamous Odessa Mob has been dismantled all thanks to the vigilante, Adrasteia. After a month-long operation between the New York Police Department and Adrasteia the Odessa Mafia have finally been apprehended. The powerful Ukrainian mafia dealt in human trafficking, weapons dealing, drug smuggling, and a dozen other crimes. 

“She sounds impressive.” Alfred comments. Bruce clicks off to another article, this time explaining the origins of your name. 

< Adrastiea >

→ In Greek Mythology is a minor goddess whose name means “Inescapable” or “Unavoidable.” Her attributes and roles vary depending on the source, but she is often associated with justice, retribution, and fate. 

“Seems this goddess not only nursed the young Zeus as a child, butshe’s also attributed with divine retribution.” Said Alfred. “She seems like an interesting Goddess.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s here.” Bruce muttered. 

The pair read through a few more articles, creating a small file about you. You were a vigilante from New York, appearing not that long ago and seemed to have gotten to work fast. It started off small, handling petty crime before moving up to taking down rapists and murders until you took down one of New York's biggest mafia. After that, it seems that you vanished and reappeared in Gotham.

Another thing about you, that rubbed him the wrong way, was that you weren't afraid to kill if necessary. You went after everyone, and like your namesake, you were inescapable. You delivered divine punishment on those who you saw fit, which left a bitter taste in Bruce's mouth.

Alfred glances down at his wrist watch, “it looks like it’s time for you to sleep, Master Wayne. I hope you remember we’re hosting a charity gala tonight.” 

Knowing that he had no room to argue, Bruce gives in and gets up from the computer and makes his way to his room. He strips himself of the Batman suit and takes a quick hot shower and collapses onto his bed. Exhaustion takes over Bruce’s body and he soon falls asleep.

––

The Grand Hall of the manor was the embodiment of elegance and refinement. The curved vaulted ceiling adorned with cascading strings of warm fairy lights that shimmered like the starry sky. Crystal chandeliers refracting the light into soft rainbows. They hung proudly above a gleaming dark wood floor polished to mirror perfection. Rich velvet drapes framed tall arched windows that looked into the open courtyard of Wayne Manor.

Rectangular tables, draped in white linen table cloth, were adorned with tall floral arrangements of lilies and roses. An assortment of appetizing finger foods were laid out in front of them. Round tables draped in the same white linen were scattered around for a way for people to gather around in small groups and enjoy themselves. 

Along one wall, an ornate bar made of dark mahogany held a selection of fine wines and cocktails. A line had already formed with men and women waiting for their drinks. A small string quartet was placed by the staircase, their beautiful sound filling up the room and perfectly setting up the tone for the rest of the night. 

They played Felix Mendelssohn's String Quartet in A Minor, Op. 3. The music began softly, the first violin’s bow gliding softly across the strings. The others joined, their sounds harmonizing together into a sweet melodic sound.

There was a back and forth in the music, like a conversation between them. It passed from the Viola then the Violins and then the Cello before the four joined in together as the music quickened in tempo. 

The music soon faded into the background as Bruce Wayne entered the hall, dressed in one of his many finely tailored suits. Conversations hushed into whispers as he descended the stairs and was handed a glass of champagne by a server. He takes a sip, readying himself for what tonight had to offer and begins making rounds. 

The facade of Bruce Wayne, billionaire, play-boy, philanthropist, who was an occasional airhead, easily slips on with ease. He shakes the hands of investors, businessmen, and local politicians and kisses the back of the hand of a dozen different women, giving them his signature charming smile that would make any woman on earth swoon. 

He’s finally pulled away by one of his close confidants, Doctor Leslie Thompkins, one of the very few people who knew about his nighttime activities and Godmother. 

“Slow down Leslie, I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce chuckles. The older woman barely pays him any mind as she pulls him to the other side of the room.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” She explains. “I’m sure you two would get along real nicely.” 

Bruce pushes down the urge to say "That's what you said the last time,” but decides against it and lets the older women, who’d been a mother figure to him, ramble on about the person she wanted him to meet. 

His eyes land onto a woman wearing a sleek floor-length satin gown in a soft metallic blue color. He could only see the back of her, as she was busy talking to another person. Leslie called out her name, exited, and the women turned back to her and Bruce. She gave the older woman a warm smile and shifted her eyes to Bruce. Bruce, for the first time in a long time, felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His blue eyes locked on with the woman’s eyes and he could only think of one thing. 

Have I met her before?

(1) Anapófefktos - Greek for Inescapable.

real ones know that this is a rewrite

TAGLIST:

@nyxthedeity @wackyaussiegiraffes @llynx7 @multifandomgirl2018 @radiantdanvers

[water-loos]

Chocolate

“We’re dressed in black from head to toe, we’ve got guns hidden under our petticoats”

dealer!eddie x witchy!ditsy!fem!reader

cw: drug mention, drug use mention, tooth rotting fluff

wc: 1,504

“Babe, just because they’re purple and you like the color does not mean that the Blazy’s are better,” Eddie groaned for the umpteenth time, looking at the older man behind the smoke shop counter for a lifeline.

“They’re the same price as the RAW cones! You’re the one who said we should expand the market and try and get some new customers. I’m telling you, all of my friends would start buying from you if they were getting a purple preroll. Even better if it’s a purple preroll of the special dreaming blend that I came up with,” You smiled brightly, long, dark nails tapping excitedly on the glass countertop. “It’s a great marketing tactic.”

“Sweetheart—“

“She’s got a point, Eddie. The ladies love it when their shit is all pretty,” The shop owner snorted.

“Thank you, Dennis!” You motioned toward the man, rings clacking on the counter as your hand came to rest on top. “A little sexist, but correct. Please, Eddie?”

When Eddie looked back at you, you could see his eyes melt. “Fine. Give me two shorts, two regulars, and two kings.”

“One pink, one purple?”

“Yes please!” You reached up to kiss your boyfriend right on the apple of his cheek, leaving behind a black cherry-colored lipstick mark. “I promise it’ll be worth it. I’ll pinky swear on it.”

“You get your cones and your blend, that’s it,” His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as he looked down at you pointedly. “That’s it. I’m not having you take over my business, alright?”

“Mhm. That’s it. Just those,” You confirmed, nodding your head. “Can you ring up a few of those fun little incense cones in a separate order, Dennis? I’m running out and I need some for my altar.”

“Will do, sweetie. Just don’t give your man any more trouble, alright?”

“On my life, I will not give him any more trouble.”

——

You swore up and down that you would stop at the cones and the special blend of weed and other herbs.

But then you found a pack of navy blue mesh bags covered in tiny stars that could comfortably fit half an ounce at the craft store. In the clearance aisle. For $2.99.

“Baby, you have got to be kidding me,” Eddie sighed, watching you come in the door, platform boots stomping excitedly as you bounded into the living room of your shared trailer, the bags clutched in your hands. “Don’t tell me those are what I think they are.”

“They are that exactly! Aren’t they cute? Look,” You swung yourself into his lap, legs hanging over the arm of the rocker he had been lounging in. His arm instinctively wrapped around you and rested on your hip, making sure you wouldn’t fall off. “They can fit at least half an ounce and still have room. Not to mention the amount of prerolls you can fit! And they tie super nicely so you can keep everything together!”

His head buried into the crook of your neck, his dramatic groaning rumbling against your skin. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Is that a yes? Please tell me that’s a yes,” You immediately get excited, dropping the bags into your lap and looping your arms around his drooping shoulders. “Have I told you I love you this afternoon? If not, I love you. I love you more than the sky and the sea and the moon and the stars—“

“Yes, angel, you’ve told me you love me more than I can count today,” He laughed sweetly, lifting his head to look at your expression. You could tell he was trying so hard to stand his ground, but the smile on his lips gave him away. “I can’t let you use the bags, though. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

“What, your reputation among college kids who invite you to every function even though you graduated two years early?” You joke, nodding toward his high school and college diplomas, which were framed above your fireplace. “What a thing to ruin!”

“Are you really going to bring up me graduating every chance you get?”

“Absolutely,” You kissed him sweetly, one hand smoothing over his hair. “My smart boy.”

“Okay, now you’re just buttering me up, you sap,” He ducked away, watching you cackle with a grin on his face. “How about we compromise?”

“A compromise?”

“Yes. You can make your fancy little prerolls with your mix and put them in your pretty little bags,” Your eyes widened, surprised that he was letting you do it that easily. “But, nothing else. No edibles, no flower, and none of the raw cones I’m still working through, okay?”

“I can work with that! It’s like a little side business! A partnership!”

“Yep. A partnership,” He tapped your hip and sat up slightly. “Let’s go get some stuff ready for later, alright? I’ve got to drop off to those monthly guys up in Chicago tonight.”

“Let me text some people and see if they want anything,” You got up off his lap, handing the bags off to him as he rose. “Can you put these at my seat while I go grab us some drinks?”

Eddie sighed heavily, rolling his eyes playfully. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“I love you, just a reminder!” You called as you left the room, a shit-eating grin on your face.

——

You ended up finding a few friends from college who lived in the city and wanted to try the new “dream bundles” as you called them. Each bundle was packaged with care and love, and Eddie watched endearingly as you meticulously packed each and every cone, lined them up in the bags, and even included some candies from your personal stash. The bags looked almost comical next to the brown bags that your boyfriend’s regular orders were in, but as you piled into his van, both his and your bags piled into one of your many tote bags, they looked perfect together.

He held your hand the whole two-hour drive into the city, a mixture of alternative rock and metal blaring through the speakers as you both sang along at the top of your lungs, a smile permanently etched into your lips. Eddie even let you be the one to run the bags up to each of his clients, watching with a lovesick smile and your favorite puppy dog eyes as each and every one of them smiled, happy to see you and your bubbly personality.

You practically skipped away from the final house of the night, grinning from ear to ear. You had sweet-talked the customer, a 6’3 and honestly terrifying security guard, into buying a couple of your special bundles for his girlfriend, who had waved at you from behind the open door.

With your empty tote bag swinging from your hand and your front pockets full of cash, you pranced up to Eddie, who leaned against the side of his van with a grin that could stop hearts on his face. Except, he was looking at you, who was the picture of joy.

“D’you see? I got him to buy three bundles! I told you they’d be a big seller,” You smiled brightly, chains jingling as you rocked back and forth on your heels. “He got them for his new girlfriend and he said he’d let you know how she likes them.”

“That’s great sweetheart,” He reached forward to pull you close and kiss your cheek. He watched you pull the big bills of cash out of your pocket, folded perfectly and all in the same direction and put it into his pocket instead. “We make a good team.”

“The best! You’ve gotta let me keep doing this, babe,” You pull your tote bag over your shoulder and loop your hands around his neck, stepping on the tiptoes of your boots. “They love me. And it’s so fun!”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “What kind of influence am I, huh? Getting you to enjoy this whole thing?”

“The worst ever,” You hum, smiling at his almost drunk expression as he looked at you. “I think my parents would have a conniption if they knew what I was out doing right now.”

“Oh, what will I ever do if your parents find out that I’ve corrupted their precious angel?” He laid the sarcasm on thick, reveling at the giggle you let out as he smushed a kiss to the soft skin of your cheek. He pulled back after, pecked a quick kiss to your lips, and tapped your hip with the hand that held his car keys. “C’mon. Let’s get home and pack a bowl with some of that mix you’ve been selling. I wanna see what it’s all about.”

“Really?”

He stepped back and opened the passenger side door for you. “Really really.”

“Yes!” You celebrated, grabbing his face and smacking a kiss to his lips before you leaned down into your seat. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

[lanymme]

Thinking about the fact that Penguin Logistics always seems to get up to crazy destructive cartoon antics when they’re together, but when deployed separately they’re highly efficient and a lot more serious.

Like, Lungmen appearances? They do shit like turn a mafia story into a silly zany animated car chase story with rubber band guns and explosions and still came out on top.

But main story chapter? Texas and Exu are mysterious suspect “Logistics” experts who lead a very tactical and efficient extraction. In Il Siracusano, Croissant comes across cheerful and practical straightforward, while Sora is a mix of mature and naive with a very developed perspective on the world, chasing a woman with a dark past…

When they get together, the Zany Particles build up and make them into a cartoon gang.

So maybe that’s why Texas talks about how she doesn’t enjoy battles without the rest of the crew.

Without them, she’s Cellinia Texas, trained and exhausted killer, living in a world of death.

But with them, she’s just Texas the Deadpan Dealer. The getaway driver. The voice of (relative) reason.

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

Predictions / wishlists for tsc2 & 3

1 - We heard Edgar Allan might bring back some graduates to coach for them, so one or more of the napkin-worthy backliners could make an appearance. Our new villain?

2 - Jeremy and Jean’s first kiss is on the back of a motorcycle. Maybe Jean learns to ride so he can show Jeremy PCH at sunset, and is sufficiently exhilarated to get out of his own way…

3 - Jean gets his bear magnet with the red beret replaced by someone… and you can’t prove it won’t be Zane. Gasp in horror if you want but there was a time when all we knew of Jean was that he helped Riko torture Neil. If anyone told me after that scene that he'd end up being our boy I’d have wanted to hit them.

4 - One of the female characters gets to have an issue. KUST KIDDING! The girls are all fine, only the boys get to have issues.

5 - Jeremy and Jean each fuck someone else to try to prove something to themselves. At least one of those is probably (not) Kevin.

6 - We know someone’s getting themselves punched and my money’s on Andrew punching Jean. I think they’d talk things out afterwards, but that would need to happen first.

7 - I can also see Jean punching Jeremy - see earlier point. (Wow this post is getting bloodthirsty.) His mental state is fragile you guys. There will be drama.

8 - Jean gives his first ceramic creation to Renee. It has rainbows on it.

9 - At least one of Jeremy's secrets involves him being a lot less pure than he looks. (Does/did he pay for sex? Why did my mind go there? I just feel there’s such a strong virgin/whore theme to Jean’s story.)

10 - Jean hugs Wymack, resulting in my untimely death.

11 - We find out exactly which aspect of history holds Kevin so enthralled. Yes I want to see how close my hc was, but I also desperately need this insight into his character.

12 - Nora continues to unapologetically portray Thea in a way that doesn’t beg for our sympathy or affection, because she is the goddess we need but don’t deserve.

13 - Jean has way too much fun remorselessly prickteasing Jeremy.

14 - We learn what the fuck dealers do. I mean I’ve seen the description but how does this play out from a tactical perspective? We’re only here for the sport, ma’am.

15 - Jean recites a French quote in a tv interview that translates to ‘The King is dead long live the Queen’. (Yes punks that’s my username)

16 - Someone gets to end Tetsuji. And by someone I mean Wymack.

17 - Jean and Jeremy live happily ever.

Yeah I know... whatever’s coming will be both better and worse than anything we can dream up…

[uriekukistan]

hiii i wanted to reiterate my participation in the @ficsforgaza initiative, since it's been a while since i mentioned it, and i have a few new wips :D for more information on how to participate as reader, or as a writer, you can visit this post!

how it works: in exchange for donations to vetted fundraisers, i will write at a rate of 100 words per $1. as a reader, you can either choose to "sponsor" one of my current wips/ideas, or you can make a request! please send screenshotted proof with your personal info blocked out.

even if you aren't interested in sponsoring my writing, please consider donating to one of the fundraisers anyway, if you're financially able!

SPONSOR A WIP!

send proof of donation along with which fic you'd like to sponsor :)

untitled megumi/itafushi psychological horror fic (Jujutsu Kaisen) : In the aftermath of the events at the detention center, Megumi struggles with his grief and controlling his own technique as the lines between fantasy & reality blur. - 0/9,000 (anticipated) sponsored / 5,000/9,000 written

forget-me-not (Jujutsu Kaisen, No Curse/Reincarnation AU, Tattoo Artist x Florist, Itafushi) : Megumi stumbles upon Yuuji's flower shop by chance and wonders why he looks so familiar. Then the dreams start. - 0/25,000 (anticipated) sponsored / 2,000/25,000 written

the imposter (Jujutsu Kaisen, Geto character study with a side of Satosugu) : Suguru goes from "weird and possibly mentally ill freak" to one of the most powerful modern sorcerers overnight and struggles to manage the implications. OR a study of insecurity and imposter syndrome through the life of Suguru Geto. - 0/15,000 (anticipated) sponsored / 600/15,000 written

ShokoHime x 5 + 1 Times (Jujutsu Kaisen) : 5 times Utahime wanted to confess to Shoko, and one time she actually did. - 0/18,000 (anticipated) sponsored / 0/18,000 written

untitled heian sorcerers in a modern college au (Jujutsu Kaisen, Crack Treated Seriously) : Mad scientist by day, party girl by night, Kenjaku is used to getting what they want. What happens when they meet the one person that won't cave to their manipulation tactics, the mysterious campus drug dealer, Sukuna? - 0/15,000 (anticipated) sponsored / 2,500/15,000 written

MAKE A REQUEST!

please note that i am only taking requests through august 21 because i will be returning to full time university. send proof of donation along with an outline of your request!

i will write for jujutsu kaisen, tokyo ghoul, or death note.

open for fics or headcanon requests (my hcs tend to be long & more like mini-fics (example), so will do a rate of $3/5 hcs).

i won't write: x reader (sorry 🙏), proships, nsfw

other than that i don't have any hard lines for what i won't write

capping requests at 2.0k words/$20 donation

my ao3 so you can get a feel for my writing

[jamneuromain]

Hello,

Congrates again Sweetie, you really deserves it ❤️

I don't know how many asks we can send and I had so many ideas of combinations

I am sending two of them depending on what's inspiring you. If both of them inspire you, it's even better. 🤭

🥳😶❤️ Steve Rogers

👇🕯😈 Jake Jensen

Good luck 😘

Okay this is definitely a brain teaser

but still, I'm going to go with 🥳😶❤️ Steve Rogers, because this reminded me of an idea I once had...

Disguise

Captain America!Steve Rogers x You

Warning: A little cursing but that's all.

Summary: It's your first mission, and Captain America has told you to disguise yourself. You've followed that order to a "T".

A/N: Hiya! Sorry it took so long to get it out :( I have to say, originally I wanted to write a short drabble where Steve was teaching her a lesson, but then I wondered, why is she on this mission in the first place? and I can't control this drabble which turned into a ~2k one-shot....

"... and the last item on our agenda," Maria took a brief stop from her briefing and looked around the room like a hawk, scanning everyone with her sharp eyes until they landed on the selected few, "congratulations on our fellow analysts who have applied for the field agent assistant position and passed the final test."

With a few claps from the fellow analysts, she paused again, waiting until the claps died down before quickly gathering her thoughts and assigned a few missions to three other analyst/field agent assistant, "And Y/N, I will brief you for your next mission, please stay for a few more minutes after this meeting. The rest of you, keep up the good work. You are dismissed."

It had been an eventful six months with all of your trainings - basically starting up from the ground up, no previous experience being an agent whatsoever - but you made it till the end, even though barely passing all the bars that are required for a field agent assistant. You felt very lucky as field agent assistant only requires 60% of what full-time agents can achieve, and watching your once muscle-lacking arms and legs, now turned out to be somewhat of an amateur wrestler, half of a professional boxer, and a sprinkle of assassin (thanks to Clint for his dart training).

You felt good about yourself. Truly, good.

Maria handed you a slim brown folder with a few pages in it. Opening it with sheer curiosity, you hear Maria picking out a few important points to brief: "There is rumored to be a highly dangerous neurotoxin in the black-market with more than a dozen buyers interested. This mission would be an undercover job in Venice, where the said toxin would be sold to the highest bidder."

The first page had a few sentences of what the said toxin could do. It evaporates soon but kills just as quickly. Victim's skin turned purple in contact with this chemical, looking as if they had suffocated to death. Word on the street? It was responsible for the terrorist attack in Paris last month.

"You would be posing as Mrs. Anna Dashevsky, wife of Mr. Vlad Dashevsky, the notorious couple of wreaking havoc: the train accident in Germany, the bombing in L.A., and a few other dozen of suspected murders and attacks. We have apprehended them both from their Belarus safe house twenty-four hours ago, safe to say that your cover would not be blown since the auction is fully anonymous." Maria had her skeptical look on you, her cold voice brought chills to your spine, "Unless of course, you got made."

"No, I won't, Ma'am." You replied on instinct, knowing fully well that the danger of arms dealers and terrorists gathering in such an auction could possibly be the end of your career - and your life as well, which was why you took a glance at the page of Mr. and Mrs. Dashevsky, making a mental note of the couple's information.

"Good. I shall hope not." Maria gestured you to turn the file to the next page, "You would be working with an Avenger for this mission. Your task is to provide tactical analytic support on the ground. Locate the position of the toxin, get it out, our team would be picking you up two miles south of the venue -" She pointed to a red cross marked on the map, "which is this bridge. If you missed the rendezvous, retreat to the safehouse." Her fingers tapped the red circle on the corner of the map, "Proceed as Protocol 4-12 Agent in Distress."

You scanned over the map to remember the extraction routes, noticing that these are the only pages in the thin folder, "There's no teammate information - am I going in there as Anna alone, or ...?"

Maria shook her head lightly, "You would be greeted by your teammate once you land in Venice, and your teammate would be posing as Vlad, your husband - I noticed you've got a B+ in Russian?" Seeing that you've nodded in confidence, Maria continued, "Good. Practice your Russian, might be handy. Your flight takes off at Runway Charlie in thirty minutes, I'd suggest you head off to the equipment room right now for the gadgets."

"Yes, Ma'am." You dared not linger a second more and headed straight to the equipment room.

First mission on the ground. You could not be more excited.

Turned out, you could. When the famous Captain America greeted you once your plane had landed on a small airstrip in the outskirt of Padova. Where he was leaning by a smooth silver sedan with a fake nose and a fake moustache.

You almost did not recognise him until he spoke.

"Steve." He introduced himself briefly, extending his hand for you to shake. Didn't take much to know the only one named "Steve" existing in the Avengers team was Steve Frigging Rogers, Captain America himself, the golden boy of the States, and the man with the plan.

"Hi! I'm Anna." You put down your briefcase of trinkery, took his hand and shook with a firmer grip than you had imagined. "Well, my name isn't Anna," You smiled apologetically, "It's ..."

"I know, Y/N." He chuckled, opening the car door for you, gesturing for you to sit, "I've got the files Maria sent. We'll talk on the way."

Yeesh, such gentleman. You bit back the grin and sat in the passenger's seat, while he put the case into the backseat.

The drive from Padova to Venice took about forty minutes, during which he briefed you the latter half of the information required. You switched to one of those little boats - which Italian name you still couldn't pronounce - on entering Venice, by that time you were picking up something casual to talk about, just in case the toxin seller had eyes and ears around the potential buyers.

"First time leaving the office, huh?" He teased you lightly, rubbing small circles around your shoulder blade, pretending to be intimate as he spoke softly.

"Yeah." You murmured, clasping and un-clasping your hand due to obvious nervousness, "It's the first time, well ... ever."

"It's okay." Steve smiled warming, practically glowing kindness when he offered to soothe your nerves, "I'd say you would forget about it ..." He shrugged, "But then I would be lying. Truth is, it's always frightening for the first time, but you will be fine." Steve beamed at you, scratching his fake nose, which you thought must be some kind of silicone that created authentic skin-like appearance, "Just give it time."

Your destination was the safehouse marked on the map. After Steve tipped the boat guy generously, he made sure no one was lurking before tugging a key out of his pocket and opened the door.

Maybe it was your expression that betrayed you, because Steve read something from your looks and grinned, "You want to ask me something? Go ahead."

You're that obvious? But you decided it was best to follow orders.

"This safe house doesn't look so ... safe." You commented, "How are we supposed to defend ourselves, if it comes to ... you know," you chuckled drily, "shooting and stuff?"

Steve seemed stunned for a moment, before really taking a good look at the plain wooden floor and the almost ancient decor in the kitchen, the rusty oven, the missing cabinet door, the whole lot suggesting this place hadn't been set foot in years.

"What, this?" His brows furrowed into a knot, as if seeing completely different things.

You nervously waited for his reply.

"Oh..." Realization hit him as he slapped himself on the forehead, pressing a button below the kitchen table, "You mean ... this."

The noise of machine operating out of nowhere startled you, almost immediately sent you into a defensive position. But as the old crappy oven flipped to the other side and showed an array of guns, bullets, knives, and tasers, the dusty kitchen table pulled the planks to its side and revealed a huge tactical screen, and the fireplace tugged a secret passageway open for an escape route, your jaw fell on the floor.

"I might have told Tony about the whole disguise idea for the safe houses and uh," Steve chuckled, "He and Bruce took it way too seriously. Probably got a bit carried away too."

"One little problem, though," You raised your index finger and swiped a line along the greasy stove, making a face, "I don't think there's anything we can find here to eat ...?"

"Don't worry about that." Steve waved his hand dismissively, "We won't be here more than an hour before heading to the auction place. There's a full wardrobe and weaponry upstairs, first door on the right - but I'm sure you have already got plenty in your case - But by all means, take half an hour to adjust, rest, grab what you need, and I want us out of here by an hour. That sounds good?"

"Good. Okay. Thumbs up." You confirmed and headed upstairs with your suitcase, only to close the bedroom door and squeal into your palms.

O.M.FUCKING.GEE!

Captain America. In the living flesh!

On your first-ever mission!

Three soft knocks came through the thin wooden door.

"You alright in there?"

"I'm okay Cap - I mean, Vlad!" You called out, realizing as soon as you spoke that your voice was hoarse than usual.

"Careful there. The wardrobe door is on the left-hand side. Give me a shout if you need anything."

After that, small trotting noises, probably from the footsteps of Steve Rogers going downstairs.

Left-hand side? You eyed the dusty place curiously, poking and prodding the moldy wallpaper. You didn't see any wardrobe, other than -

Your nail bore contact with a piece of metal, from which a grey-ish camera leapt out of the wall, and nearly hit your hand.

It scanned your face, before emitting that rumbling Transformer noise again, revealing a wall full of weapons, money, and of course, clothes and wigs for disguises.

You gasped at the brand-new Magnums on the wall. You took your word back. This was the safest house in the fucking galaxy.

"Ta-da-" You walked down the stairs, "What do you think, Ca - Vlad?"

Steve had his gaze pinned on you for a moment. His expression was close to blank, which was giving you a hard time figuring out what he was thinking.

"Am I overdoing it?" You clenched the collar of your coat nervously, "Anna - I mean, I came from a Slavic root, so this is ... alright? No?"

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the corner of his lips from the uncontrollable grin. "I would say, that this outfit is ... " He tried hard not to laugh, "It's good, great. Could use a few ... improvements, though."

You were wearing a thick fur coat and a fur hat, sunglasses too, dressing up like a polar bear rolled over in red and brown paint.

"Just because the Dashevsky's are from Slavic roots doesn't mean we have to dress up as good-ole fashioned Russian villains." Steve helped you take off the thick fur coat, smiling to himself, "We still have some time. Care to go through Disguise 101 with me?"

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[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

what about mc who's very flirtatious and blunt?

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a flirtatious and blunt MC

~ oh dear, all the flirting I've done has either been painfully underwhelming (read: handing someone a can of monster and then walking away) or entirely on accident. Maybe writing this will give me the chance to take notes from MC lol - brainrot ~

Julian

Look, he's used to being the one with his heart on his sleeve. He's used to initiating relationships

He has no idea of how to respond to someone else doing that too

Seriously, every time you beat him to the charm he bluescreens

If you keep this up he's going to overheat, he already falls for people quickly and intensely and you are not helping his case

He's very happy to get swept up in it though, so once he can get his heart rate somewhat under control he will take things as far as you let him

He deeply admires your honesty

It's a trait he's not used to seeing in people, but it annoys him a little when it prevents him from being as melodramatic as he wants to:

"Ah, Pasha, give your wretch of an older brother a hug. He needs it after the trials of this cursed day."

"What? MC, did something bad happen?"

"Yeah, the leech dealer wouldn't give him a discount."

Your bluntness cuts through his constant kerfuffling but it helps him keep things in perspective and he can respect that

Asra

They're really not sure what to do with you at first

He's plenty practiced in being a flirt himself, but he's not the type to grow attached to anyone. When you flirt with him it hits different

Which means that they blush and fumble and maybe trip on a few things while they try to collect themself and maintain their cool, calm, mysteriousness

Speaking of which, your bluntness completely freaks him out (in a good way)

They're used to living in secrets and whispers, always slipping through the crowd and somehow convinced that they go completely unnoticed and unremembered by the people they meet

You, on the other hand, always cut straight to the point, and he doesn't know how to maneuver around that:

"Asra, I'm taking care of dinner, what do you want to eat?"

"Are you cooking, my love? Can I help with anything?"

"Sure, but that's not what I asked you."

They admire the courage behind your honesty, though, and they try to be more like you in that way

Nadia

She's delighted by your flirting

She normally prefers to take the lead in wooing her partner, but when you reciprocate it means she gets to test her mettle against yours and it's positively thrilling

It also means that you're not just going along with what she's suggesting, you're communicating on her wave length

And it tells everyone around her (especially her family) that she is desirable to you

She's not used to your bluntness at all

Her family doesn't trade in schemes or secrets, but they were all raised to be diplomatic

Bluntness and diplomacy don't always go hand in hand

"MC, what do you think of this hat the chamberlain selected?"

"It's too big to match your dress."

"I - I supposed you're right. I rather agree with you myself. Let's not tell him though, shall we?"

Does she find your honesty refreshing? Yes. Does she still prefer to keep you within earshot whenever someone important visits, just in case? Also yes

Muriel

Your flirtatious habits are going to be the death of him

"Here lies Muriel of the Kokhuri, who died of dehydration from nervous sweating."

- that's exactly what he's convinced his tombstone is going to read

It doesn't help that Inanna thinks it's hilarious and likes to egg you on

However, he loves your bluntness. Please don't stop

He knows exactly what to expect from you. If he asks you a question, he can believe your answer. He doesn't have to be afraid of ulterior motives or manipulation tactics with you

He's pretty blunt himself, so if he hurts your feelings he can ask you to tell him instead of trying to cover it up

"MC, when I told you that you weren't welcome here ... did I hurt you?"

"A little bit, yeah. I know you don't mean it anymore though."

"I'm sorry anyways. I do like having you around, very much."

If you use this as a chance to flirt with him he will dash outside to cool off, but he'll be smiling because he knows your affection is true

Portia

Yes! Yes, marry her please!

She loves your flirting. She loves how straightforward you are. Now please, let her put a ring on your finger already

Having you flirt with her is like a dream come true. While she knows she's quite the catch herself, her older brother is much more attention-grabbing and she often gets overlooked

Being noticed and wooed by an attractive magician who's caught the eye of the Countess herself? It's like she's a main character in a story or something

She gives as good as she gets, too, so you can expect a lot of teasing in return

And don't get her started on how much she loves your bluntness

She lives in all the intricacies and layers of palace gossip while being entrusted with state secrets herself, having to keep her own mouth shut and the guests around her happy. You ground her so wonderfully

"Ugh, that nobleman was really tricky to deal with."

"Yeah, he kept talking over you and he had food in his beard."

"I know, right? THANK YOU!"

Lucio

Not gonna lie, talking to you was a mind bender at first

Is he used to being flirted with? Obviously, he was a dashing Count, people were flattering him wherever he went, duh

Of course, that doesn't mean they actually meant what they were saying, but he would punish them if they didn't so they had to

In their eyes, he was perfect!

And in your eyes, he's not, and you keeping pointing out all of his oopsies and he doesn't like it

And then you keep turning around and flirting with him!

You know all the things he's done wrong! It's not very convincing if you pretend to like him right after you watch all of his mistakes play out in front of you and then force him to acknowledge them!

Unless of course, you're not pretending, because you are being honest, which means that when you do flirt with him it means -

- oh Oh. OOHHHHH

He still doesn't like it when you call him on his BS, but it keeps him on the right track and it means that you're being honest when you tell him that you love him. He'll have some more of that please

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … December 20

1785 – The last known execution for sodomy in the United States occurs in Pennsylvania. Joseph Ross is the victim.

1904 – The American actor and director Albert Dekker, who died in unusual circumstance in 1968, was born in Brooklyn, New York, as Albert Ecke. His films include the classics The Man in the Iron Mask (1939), Beau Geste (1939), The Killers (1946), The Sound and the Fury (1959), Suddenly, Last Summer (1959), and The Wild Bunch(1969). He replaced Lee J. Cobb as Willy Loman in the original production of Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman, and during a five-year stint back on Broadway in the early 1960s, he played the Duke of Norfolk in Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons.

Dekker appeared in some seventy films from the 1930s to 1960s, but his four most famous screen roles were as a mad scientist in the 1940 horror film Dr. Cyclops; as a vicious hitman in the The Killers; as a dangerous dealer in atomic fuel in the 1955 film noir Kiss Me Deadly; and as an unscrupulous railroad detective in Sam Peckinpah's western The Wild Bunch, which would be his last screen appearance.

Dekker's off-screen preoccupation with politics led to his winning a seat in the California State Assembly in 1944. Dekker served as a Democratic member for the Assembly until 1946. During the McCarthy era he was an outspoken critic of U.S. Senator Joseph McCarthy's tactics; to avoid being blacklisted he spent most of the period working on Broadway rather than Hollywood.

For his contribution to the motion picture industry, Dekker has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6620 Hollywood Boulevard.

On May 5, 1968, Dekker was found dead in his Hollywood home after failing to answer numerous phone calls for two days. Although money and camera equipment were missing, there were no signs of forced entry. He was found naked, kneeling in his bathtub with a noose wrapped around his neck that was looped around the shower's curtain rod. He was also handcuffed, blindfolded, gagged and had "make me suck" and "slave" and "cocksucker" scrawled on his body in red lipstick.

The police toyed with a theory that Dekker was a closet homosexual who practiced his eccentricities very discreetly with anonymous male prostitutes, and that this time, something had gone wrong and the frightened partner had quietly let himself out. The coroner's ruling was accidental death by autoerotic asphyxiation.

1955 – Frank Kameny is fired from his job as an astronomer in the United States Army’s Map Service in Washington, D.C. because of his homosexuality. A few days later he is blacklisted from seeking federal employment. These events spur Kameny into being a gay rights activist.

1962 – Doug Wright is an American playwright, librettist, and screenwriter. He received the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 2004 for his play, I Am My Own Wife.

A Texas native, Wright was born in Dallas. He was the target of schoolyard teasing and playground attacks throughout elementary school. Overweight and awkward as a child, and not athletically inclined, he was routinely taunted by classmates as a "sissy," a "queer," and worse.

Despite the torments he was forced to endure in elementary and middle schools, once he entered Highland Park High School, outside of Dallas, Wright found acceptance in the theater department.

He entered Yale University in the fall of 1981. He achieved early success while still an undergraduate, when one of his first works, The Stonewater Rapture (1983), a two-character play about teenage sexuality and religious repression in a rural Texas town, was performed to acclaim at Scotland's Edinburgh Festival Fringe in August 1984.

The works of Doug Wright often focus on the unconventional lives of society's outsiders. Among these are the iconoclastic artist Marcel Duchamp in Interrogating the Nude; the Marquis de Sade in Quills; Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, an East Berlin transvestite who survived persecution by both the Nazi and Communist regimes, in the Tony Award and Pulitzer Prize-winning I Am My Own Wife; and "Big Edie" and "Little Edie" Bouvier Beale, two eccentric American aristocrats who ended up living in squalor, sharing a once-elegant mansion, in the musical Grey Gardens, based on the cult classic documentary film of the same name.

Wright also helped adapt the animated Disney film The Little Mermaid into a Broadway musical.

He currently lives in New York City with his husband/partner, the singer-songwriter David Clement.

1980 – According to recently released stats, at least one person is physically assaulted in New York City each day because they are gay or lesbian.

[deathdealertactical]

Why You Need a Dedicated Rifle Case for Range and Travel

Transporting your firearms safely and securely is essential for protecting your investment and ensuring compliance with local laws. Whether you’re heading to the range for practice, embarking on a hunting trip, or traveling long distances, a dedicated rifle case is a must-have piece of equipment for any firearm owner. At Death Dealer Tactical, we offer a range of high-quality rifle cases in…

[sebastianstansqueen]

Lost In The Shadows: Part Seven

A/N: Back with another update to this story. If you want to be Tagged, either send an ask or comment on this or click on Taglist open.

Wordcount: 1,503

Warnings: Angst, reader’s ex, Something go's good for the Reader and Bucky- sort of, if I forgot anything let me know please!

Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Taglist open// 

Tags: @cherryblossomsky- - @babylooneytoonz - @wonderlandfandomkingdom - @miraclesoflove - @amelia-song-pond - @leyannrae - @avengerlex - @pineprincess - @nik2write - @dorothea-hwldr - @rosie-posie08 - @scxrletrecsmarvel - @sebsgirl71479 - @missvelvetsstuff - @hadesownhell - @casa-boiardi - @winterslove1917 - @hallecarey1 - @ash-craze - @barnesxstan - @unaxv - @bethexo07 - @itsmytimetoodream - @sebastians-love -

Bucky woke up alone in the house, having slept on the couch the night before, as for today, would end in another fight or Bucky understanding more about Y/n, hopefully. He got somewhat ready for the day and ate, before setting out to scour the whole compound by the time her friend got there, and definitely before Y/n got back. He started with the office opening drawers and filing cabinets, looking through old business transactions made, even by Y/n’s grandfather, but nothing on anything she said last night, or about her. 

He moved on to a completely different side of the compound that was used for storage, he did find a little mention of having to pay back an airline for a table but that didn’t raise any red flags. After trying to find anything about Y/n on his own and coming up with more of nothing, he realized this friend coming later might be his only chance to know Y/n. 

Y/n had left long before James woke up, she passed him asleep on the couch, before leaving. She drove on her way to a meeting to get her day started, with work, but she knew eventually she did need to talk to James again and explain but that wasn’t probably going to be happening today. Y/n shook her head clear as she walked up to her father’s old club irritation in every step. “Mis. Carter.” Brock Rumlow’s lips pulled into a smirk.

“Mr. Rumlow.” She gave him a curt nod, before sliding into the booth across from the man. “So what is this meeting about?” She asked as she folded her hands on the table.

“I simply want to become a business partner. I've seen what you have done with your fathers empire, and now look at how far you’ve come since his death.” Brock was trying to sweet talk her and Y/n wasn’t having it she easily saw the facade. 

“Rumlow I don’t need praise, I came here for a meeting. So if I decide to do business with you what am I promised in order to not kill you.” She said bluntly looking into his brown eyes, that began to fill with irritation, she had no clue what business he had and she wasn’t going to be sweet-talked into something she didn’t know about. 

“I want to sell my drug on your territory.” Brock was bluntly as well now knowing his first tactic wasn’t working. 

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not that stupid, besides Rumlow I’ve already got my own dealers, I don’t need your help.” She stood leaving him, giving order to someone who was cleaning up from the night before to make sure he leaves.

She walked up to the doors of her headquarters, Andy waiting out front greeting her. “Give me a minute before coming up to my office.” She told him, before going in and taking the elevator up to the top floor, she walked to the end of the long hallway opening the frosted doors. 

Y/n poured herself a drink, and then a few more, before Andy came up. “So it didn’t go well?” He asked, walking in.

“Believe me I can handle pricks like Rumlow without needing a drink.” Y/n leaned back into the chair relaxing slightly.

Andy nodded. “What’s the morning drinking about then?” 

“James, we got into an argument last night.” She sighed out shaking her head. “He wants me to be open with him.” 

“Okay. That’s understandable Y/n’s he’s your husband, you wanted him to marry you, you’ve got to be open, the two of you have been living together I’d assume that wouldn’t be hard.” Andy reasoned with her, he did understand where James was coming from in the situation, and Andy was possibly the closest person to Y/n that was still alive. 

Wayne walked through the front doors of the house, Bucky’s brows furrowed when seeing him. “Wayne?” Bucky guessed getting up and going to shake his hand. 

Wayne didn’t take his hand.“Uh yeah, you're the husband, Mr. Field?” He tilted his head looking at Bucky.

“No, that was her fir-er-second husband, I’m Bucky.” He introduced himself now. 

Wayne’s face fell in his own confusion. “When did you two get married?” the blond asked. 

“Two months give or take ago.” Bucky shrugged his guessing the time period.

Wayne nodded. “Huh, okay, I’m gonna go find a room for while I’m here I’ll be back.” He smiled making his way up the stairs.

 Bucky, though, had a guard follow Wayne, not fully trusting the stranger, Wayne protested once up stairs when realizing someone was following but they went on deaf ears. This guy wasn’t at all what Bucky was thinking. He had long blond hair and sunken features, he didn’t know how Y/n would have ever known this guy.  

When Y/n did come home that evening right before dinner, she didn’t arrive with the car that she had taken that morning and Bucky knew that from a little peek in the garage earlier, his brows furrowed, as Andy helped her out of the SUV, the door was pushed open and both of them walked in. “Oh my god Andy is this where I live?” She asked, looking at him with wide eyes, her voice was slightly slurred as she spoke in the background looking around. 

Andy nodded. “Yeah it is.” He entertained her before turning to Bucky. “She’s been drinking all day, so I’m going to suggest she doesn't come in tomorrow, tell her I have it handled.” Andy stood in thought for a moment. “She’s probably going to drink more, and she will not listen to anybody when it comes to that so, I’m bidding you good luck.” He turned to leave but just as he turned the door knob, he stopped. “Give her more time, she may be twenty five but she’s been through hell. All I can say is give her more time.” Then Andy walked back out the front door. 

Y/n was walking around in amazement, Bucky came up to help her if she needed. “Y/n, dinner is going to be ready soon. Do you want to eat?” He asked, this other than last night probably had to have been the most he’s said to her since the wedding. 

Y/n began to eagerly nod. “Yeah, that would be nice.” He began to lead her to the dining room, when they got there all the food was already on the table, and Wayne was there. “Wayne?” She tilted her head in confusion. “You're dead, how are you here?” 

“You weren’t much of a drinker last time we saw each other.” Wayne said like it was obvious, Bucky noted this. 

“You weren’t as skinny.” Looking at him and talking seemed to have sobered her up just a tad. “What happened to you?” It came out less slurred unlike everything else she said before. 

“You remember how we eloped.” He started, Y/n nodded giving him an annoyed look. “Well your dad apparently had plans to marry you to some really rich guy, and he said that he’d pay me every month until I die nine hundred thousand dollars, and you know that's a lot of money.” 

“Your fucking shitting me right now right?” She asked with wide eyes.“Right, you're telling me my father gave you one percent of what I make, once a month until you die, and you're calling that a lot of money. You do see the fucking compound your standing in I’ve completely redone it and I could to it a million times, and I would still have more than fucking nine hundred thousand dollars!” She began to laugh, which melted into sobs, Bucky was just watching all of this not knowing what to do. She walked out of the room she came back in with a gun. She pointed it at his head with a slightly wavering hand because she still had alcohol in her system. “I’ll fucking kill you right now. Just because I loved you doesn't mean I’ll give you mercy.” Shook her head. “In fact killing you with a gun is mercy.” And then she pulled the trigger missing Wayne.

Bucky swiftly walked to her grabbing the gun. “Give it to me.” He said softly into her ear, her grip loosened. “I think you should get the fuck out, now, not packing your shit, just run and leave I don’t care if you can’t go back home or if you have no money, just get the fuck out now.” Wayne noded seconds later and soon after the front door slamming echoed out. Bucky turned to Y/n. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

As she and Bucky bothe laid in bed preparing to go to sleep with another day of learning nothing Y/n turned to Bucky. “I do care.” She said it so softly to the point Bucky almost couldn’t hear. 

[rascal-xo]

The Angel of Death Part 2 - Simon 'Ghost Riley' × Fighter Fem Reader

Summary: You and Simon finally talk which leads to a realization...

Warnings: Violence, language, Action!Fic, bodily injuries, Overlapping of timelines and characters, FLUFF, ANGST

Tags: @pukbadger @fiveshelmet @myguiltypleasures21 @madamemelaninn @emmaadlerrichtofen1 @swissy23 @thatchickwiththecamera @glitterypirateduck @glitteryeggalmondherring @allaboutirem0

A/N: Question for the culture… part 3???

You stand leaning against one of the large cement pillars in the arena behind Laswell as she briefs the undercover agents on their task at hand. Under the dim light, sit 4 combat agents, courtesy of the CIA special forces. As Laswell speaks, you can hear the unwavering confidence in her voice, the way she lays out the plan with precision and clarity.

You scoff in your mind, thinking about how you swore you would never go back to the military, and yet here you were, letting the military come back to you. Funny how life worked that way. The Pit, once a symbol of your freedom and a way to leave the past behind, now becomes the stage for this dangerous dance with Al Qatala.

As Laswell continues, your mind drifts back to the memories of the past few days. The reunion with Simon had been bittersweet. The emotions were raw and overwhelming, yet it felt like coming home after a long journey. He understood you in a way that no one else could, and his presence brought a sense of comfort and support that you desperately needed.

But the weight of the mission still hangs heavy on your shoulders. The prospect of facing Al Asad again, of confronting the organization that once held you captive, brings a mix of fear and determination. It's not just about taking down the arms dealer; it's about reclaiming a piece of yourself that was lost in those dark days.

"Y/N?" Laswell's voice breaks through your thoughts, and you refocus your attention on her. "We need you to take the lead on the secondary extraction route. We can't afford any slip-ups."

You nod, snapping back into the present. "Got it, Laswell. I'll make sure everything is in place."

She gives you a reassuring nod before turning back to the agents. "Remember, this is a high-stakes operation. We need to be precise and quick. Any deviation from the plan could put all of us at risk."

As the hours pass, The Pit fills with spectators, the air buzzing with anticipation and excitement. The fights that take place here are raw and intense, but they remain off the books, hidden from the public eye.

This clandestine nature adds an edge of danger to the atmosphere, reminding you of the high-stakes mission that awaits.

In the backroom, you put on your gear, your mind focused on the task at hand. Just as you're adjusting the straps of your tactical vest, you hear the door creak open, and there stands Simon, his presence like a beacon in the darkness.

He looks at you, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "I know that look." he says, his eyes locking with yours knowing your mind. His face is bare for the sake of the mission, which still shocks you a bit knowing the lengths Simon is willing to go for this operation.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the past weighing heavily on your shoulders. "Its the only look I got." you reply, your voice humorous but honest. After a few beats of silence you finally let out a breath you don't realize you're holding. "I'm sorry." You admit, meeting his gaze.

Simon's expression softens as he listens to your voice. He reaches out and gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "We can't change the past, Y/N" he says, his voice tender.

You feel a lump forming in your throat, the weight of the past few years crashing down on you. "I should've said something before leaving." you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know how to deal with everything."

Simon pulls you into a comforting embrace, holding you close. "I should have fought harder for you," he murmurs, his words tinged with regret. "I let you go knowing it was what you needed, but I was angry for not being there for you when you needed me the most.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. For so long, you had carried the burden of leaving him behind, thinking it was the right thing to do.

But now, as he holds you in his arms, you realize that you weren't the only one affected by the aftermath. Simon places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his touch sending warmth through your entire being. "I'll see you out there, Y/N." He says, before walking out.

As you walk towards the door, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and for a moment, you don't recognize the person staring back at you. The face in the reflection is strong, resolute, with eyes that hold a flicker of determination you haven't seen in a long time.

The dim light in the backroom casts a soft glow on your features, accentuating the lines of resilience etched into your expression. Your eyes, once clouded with uncertainty, now burn with a fiery resolve.

In this moment, you see the reflection of the person you were, the person you are, and the person you are becoming.

As you continue to study your reflection, a switch is turned inside of you. The weight of your past no longer bears down on your shoulders, but instead, it becomes the fuel that ignites the fire within. The determination in your eyes deepens, and you know that you are no longer running from your demons; you are facing them head-on.

"Y/N, all ready on your end?" Laswell's voice crackles over the comms.

"I'm ready."

[princess-of-the-corner]

Been having thoughts about the Fathoms as villains in S6 again. See- we got haha fuck you TA American sterotype for Colt Fathom (Cowboy hat, Lord of War) bit what if we ran with it?

What if the Fathoms were a huge extended family/clan of Arms Dealers/Weapons Manufacturers from Texas? What if they really held to the idea that blood was thicker than water?

Now what if Colt wasn't silent in his final days about the peacock? The Fathoms in this scenario are a family that would feel *entitled* to the peacock miraculous. They paid the blood price for it with Colt's death. Maybe Colt was an asshole, bit he was *family*. So now you have a rogue's gallery of potential antagonists in over the top violence merchants bent on getting that Miraculous and woe betide whoever gets in their way.

Buuuut... Under all of it they are a *family* and a very close one. Maybe A.R. Fathom is a despicable slimeball suing Amilie about the will and trying to connive Mayor Bustier into buying new arms for the Paris police (after all Tsurugi enterprises is still here and we know those robots went rogue) Maybe he things cuffing his son behind the ear is just proper encouragement. Maybe his son thinks holding people off the ground by their throat is a valid negotiation tactic. But they are still weirdly a *family*.

Like the power of love but the funhouse mirror version. Very much a 'defeat me and more will come.' scenario.

Oh that would be dope as FUCK for actally!

[swiftfootedachilles]

Hi! 47, 48 and 49 for the headcanon tag if you are still writing them please ty ily 🧡🖤

47. AU if they had a more normal childhood- How would they be in high school? (Would Ian be a jock? a cheerleader? would he be popular? Would Mickey enjoy studying? what's his favorite subject?) i don't think there's a universe where ian and mickey have normal childhoods and still come out the other end as ian and mickey. but if they had somewhat-stable childhoods? i think they would still be the goofy army kid and the drug dealer. mickey would barely make it to graduation and he would be a class behind, but he wouldnt drop out without even finishing freshman year like in canon. ian loves rotc but he doesnt have tunnel vision fkr joining the military, because hes not as desperate to get away and start a new life. maybe ian gets his math tutoring from mickey, and mickey studies for english tests with ian. i love aus where they are more than just secret fuckbuddies in high school. i need more of them holed up in ians room at dinnertime, passing cigs and joints, teaching each other about inverse trig functions and symbolism in the great gatsby. yeah a lot of things are still shit and they still make a lot of mistakes. yeah mickeys dad is still a piece of shit and ian barely makes it through senior year from the stress of his diagnosis. but it's better. and they are still ian and mickey. so it's all still worth it in the end

48. After awhile, do you think people got to Ian and Mickey for relationship advice? (Gallaghers / friends / franny ) i definitely think debbie tries to subtly hound mickey for info about sandy. what she's doing, where she's at, who she's hanging out with. at first mickey tells her to ask sandy her fucking self, but he realizes 1. he has to be nicer to the only free welder he knows 2. nothing he does to deflect the questions actually makes debbie leave him alone. so he answers her curtly and holds in his annoyance for debbie's obsession with his cousin. eventually he actually tells her something worth listening to, and debbie takes the hint and tries a new tactic for approaching sandy (debbie hasn't been able to get her out of her head and she needs closure or she's gonna combust)

i think lip and tami also sometimes try to drag gallavich into their fights. "you know what it's like living together in a small space, tell her im right." "you've made your relationship work for a while, why dont you give him some advice on how to do the same thing." ian tries to stay out of it because hes very biased toward lip, but mickey honestly dgaf about lip and tami's relationship so he tells them they're both equally and dumb and annoying and they better find someone else to talk to about all this relationship shit before he rigs their duplex with c-4s

49. Gallaghers post canon: Does Lip go back to school/ gets a profession? Do all of them talk to Fiona? What happened with Debbie and Heidi/ Sandy? Franny? Does Carl open the cop bar/ stays a cop? Does Liam live with Lip and Tami? How does he deal with Franks death? okok i have many thoughts about post-s11. i will be as succinct as possible as to not write a 10 page essay about my fanon theories. if y'all want that you'll have to pay me to go on a podcast or smth.

i don't think lip goes back to school, at least not in the near future. maybe further down the line, but for now he's in the mechanic and refurbishing business. which honestly he can make a hell of a lot of money doing so i see no reason why he would feel the need to go back to school and burn himself out and be in debt all over again.

the siblings keep in contact with fiona. i like to imagine she eventually moves much closer to chicago like fort wayne or springfield. somewhere that makes long weekend visits possible. they definitely facetime and are on good terms. if she moves closer i can see liam possibly moving to live with her? or at least stay with her during summer break

fuck heidi i really dgaf about her. i hope debbie and sandy can at least make up and be cordial with each other. i think they are very off-and-on for a looong time. toxic situationship that neither can seem to get away from. they both got shit they gotta figure out if they ever wanna be girlfriends again. sandy throwing debbies trauma in her face was FUCKT UP. and what the hell was with her secret son?? that plot was weird as hell😭

carl dont need to be a cop so yeah i will make him a bartender instead. fuck the cop bar thing, but they can have, like...a cop night or something. like tuesdays and thursdays during happy hour they get a discount or smth. but i REFUSE to turn it entirely into a cop bar. carl lives in the apartment above it

ummm okay so first and foremost lip is NOT selling that house idc what anyone says I AM NOT LETTING HIM DO THAT. DO YOU KNOW HOW BAD THE HOUSING MARKET GOT IN 2021? FUCK OFF. he and tami are either gonna have to suck it the fuck up and live in the gallagher house (ITS A FREE FUCKING HOUSE!!!!) with liam and probably also debbie and franny at least for a little while longer, or lip has to stop being an idiot and live in one of the MANY FREE HOUSING OPTIONS TAMIS FAMILY GAVE THEM. DONT piss me off phillip. with carl, ian, and mickey out of the house i don't see why they can't live there for at least a couple years. debbie can take her time finding an apartment while still living there, liam can have some semblance of normalcy in his life without having to move schools, the older sibs can get their own room (lip and tami, debbie, liam, franny and fred), if they can't make it work then they can't make ANYTHING work. it's literally half as crowded. and i think liam takes franks passing really hard, but i like to think everyone is much more supportive of him than ian was toward mickey when terry died. liam, carl, and mickey can have a heart-to-heart about their complex relationships with their dads. i dont think fiona comes up for the funeral - she probably goes on a bender in miami lbr. but i imagine liam has a decent enough support system that he won't be traumatized by franks deathl