#Kitchen PMC

[navyaassociates123]

Navya Associates is dedicated to Expert Interior Project Management in Kolkata. Offering PMC services for homes, offices, villas, hotels, restaurants, and more. Professional and reliable solutions.Read More at https://navyaassociates.in/

[diejager]

Please, I need a continuation of the story of !kidnapper Krueger and Nikto! Please!!

New Neighbours Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, obsession, non-con touching, condescension, manhandling, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1k Boy, it been a fat minute since I wrote that small Drabble.

There was a knock at the door, three blunt and powerful hits of sturdy knuckles shaking your door with how strong - you presumed - the person was. Dropping whatever you were working on, you walked to the door and peering through the peep hole, shocked to see the familiar black and khaki fabrics of your new neighbour. You’ve seen them once or twice in the month between their first move and today, the grizzly look and scarred skin of a brash-toned and brutish man you came to know him as from the few times you met him. He would stare at you, wide, owlish gazes that left you shuddering from the gleam in his brown eyes, a deep-seated darkness as he… appraised you. 

He called himself Sebastian, presenting himself one night when you were stumbling home from a tiring day at work, stopping to help you up the stairs since his door was right across from you. You thought he lived alone, but was surprised to see another man, covered from head to toe in black and army green, hiding any identifiable feather apart from his pale, blue eyes and his broad shoulders, big and bulky even in his skin tight clothes. Sebastian’s roommate had only stared at you, unblinking and unmoving, seconds spent gazing at your anxious and uncomfortable form, messing with your sleeve while Sebastian helped you moved the bags to your kitchen table. 

If you thought Sebastian the weird one, then Nikto - he was spoken for - was the odd one, a fierce man that only knew how to stare silently to upset whatever and whoever he was glaring at. You only saw him once, and that was a blurry and tired view of him from the open doorway across yours when Sebastian was helping you. You had little to go on for him, being more familiar to his roommate and occasionally exchanging a few words when you crossed path —though rarely, the seemingly never left their home.

“Hey, Sebastian,” you tilted your head in greeting, opening your door only wide enough to pop your head out and kept a hand firmly wrapped around the knob in case he did something. You’d always been cautious, and Sebastian and Niktowere suspicious men, “How can I help you?”

“Ja, I need help with something,” his soft, yet brash tone made his accent more apparent, something small but attractive despite your apprehension towards him, “A woman’s touch.”

A woman’s touch? You didn’t know what he meant exactly, but when you looked down to his thick and crooked fingers - perhaps from his work, broken and reset too many times that it started to heal crooked - you could guess what he implied. Your fingers were smaller, lither than his with fat on your knuckles and smaller palms, it made working through small and complex affairs easier. Despite your understanding, you grew uneasy, squinting at him from the safety of your door, but Sebastian was nothing if not determined. So you nodded, excusing yourself to change your clothes from a small top and shorts for a t-shirt and sweatpants before you met him at his entrance, locking your door behind you.

This was your first look into the world they lived in, a bare and minimalist home, scantly decorated apart from the few vests and- was that a gun? And knives littering the kitchen counter with other dangerous items… Seemingly aware of your fright, Sebastian explained how he and Nikto were private contractors, working for a PMC, a private military company, and that they were just on leave, but would always be ready for a call back. Shaking off your paranoia, you followed him deeper into the kitchen, seeing the machinery littered on the table and beside it sat Nikto, ramrod and tense in his seat.

“женщина,” he growled out, his voice so raspy and low that you wondered if it hurt to speak a single word. [Woman]

“Nikto,” you returned, following Sebastian to the table and ignoring Nikto’s wide stare, his vacant eyes and lingering gaze, roving over your body and obsessively admiring you like a hunter would, “Is this what you needed help with?”

Sebastian showed you what he needed, explaining where each small piece went into the box, guiding you around the confusion machinery while Nikto watched, a sentinel in his own flat. You were so engrossed into fixing this small box, brows pinched with concentration get this thing fixed as quick as possible to return to the safety of your apartment, that you missed Nikto’s silent stalk towards you, his broad and silent figure looming over your unsuspecting form until a rough hand gripped your hip. 

You jumped, dropping the box and turned your head to gawk at Nikto, looking back at his - still - vacant eyes and wide and hungry glint. Frowning at him, you sunk your fingers into his hand, trying to move an unmovable wall that pushed himself against you, backing you into the table until he bent you over the now broken box you were first invited to fix. You struggled against Nikto, growling out a warning and clawed at his covered forearms, but it only riled him up. Sebastian stood and watched with a perverted eagerness as Nikto rutted against you, holding you down by the nape, scruffing you like you would a misbehaving dog. 

“Get off me!” You yowled, reaching back with your arms, trying to elbow a man you knew you wouldn’t be able to forcefully remove with how built and big he was, “Get off me, Nikto!”

“Shut up,” you could hear his bared teeth, the cold and condescending tone of his rasp, sliding his knee between your kicking legs, your feet arbitrarily hitting the air, “Stop struggling and listen.”

A low rumble left the man before you, your glare meeting the Austrian who found this situation funny, his chuckle slow and mirthful, finding enjoyment in your useless struggle and hissing. 

“I would listen to him, Schnuckel, ” he lowered himself to show the eagerness in his dark eyes, a cruel smirk curling the corners of his lips and a teasing tilt of his head, “Be good for us, nicht?”

You shouldn’t have accepted to help him, you should have listened to your gut feeling, but you have no one else to blame expect yourself.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[artbyblastweave]

Recently a post has been doing the rounds about military propaganda in the latest COD, yea yeah, sky’s blue, fork in kitchen, et al et al. This got me thinking about the shooters I actually play, and one thing that strikes me about the multiplayer shooters I play is that a lot of them dodge that same major discourse bullet by expressly grounding themselves in amorality and Kafka-esque dysfunction- a structural fingerwag towards their own content, acting as a paradoxical green-light to enjoy the game with no sense of moral injury. And there’s a big example of one that didn’t do this that kinda winds up with egg on its face as a result. 

To start with, I’m thinking about Team Fortress 2. The original Team Fortress, inasmuch as it’s possible for a game where you shoot each other with real firearms to be apolitical, was fairly apolitical. The soldiers had no markers of identity beyond their arbitrary team affiliation; the fighting was over no discernable real-life resource or point of political tension; the environments were decontextualized labs and facilities. It was platonic violence. 

Team Fortress 2 rolls around. Now that the general novelty of a 3d multiplayer class shooter has eroded, development stalls out on the following aesthetic problem; you can’t have semi-realistic militaristic character models rocket-jumping themselves across the map in the early 2000s. The cartoonishness is too dissonant when you’ve got similar semi-realistic militaristic characters in much more “grounded” games. Eventually they resolve this by taking the other tack, leaning into the cartoonishness, crafting character models so completely bombastic and over the top that no action taken in gameplay, no matter how absurd, will ever feel dissonant. This philosophy extends into the map design; the environments are farcical. Military instillations built mere yards from each other, with paper-thin pretenses of being civilian facilities despite the constant gun battles occurring inside. It’s self parody. And when the game extends to the point of having lore and worldbuilding, the idiocy becomes diegetic. This is a conflict fought on the behalf of idiots, by idiots, over idiot-goals, in spaces designed by idiots. It’s completely amoral, but it’s also contained amorality, since the fighting doesn’t spill out of these Helleresque Designated Pointless Fight Zones- and that leaves the mercs sympathetic enough that you can play them as protagonists in stories that take place “off-the-clock” without a ton of tonal dissonance. I can’t stress enough that the TF2 protagonists are amoral PMCs who work for callous megacorps. In a vacuum, this is not a well-regarded Kind Of Guy around here. There is some implementation of this broad concept that would invite a shitload of discourse that I’ve never seen materialize!

A lot of hero-or-character-based multiplayer games do this, abandoning any pretense of player heroism or productivity in the conceit in a way that shields them from a lot of moral and logical criticisms. Apex Legends and Monday Night Combat are explicitly in-universe bloodsports. Atlas Reactor and Rogue Company are cyberpunk corp-on-corp warfare. Dirty Bomb is about loosely affiliated mercenaries picking over the remains of an evacuated city. I think that Valorant is PMCs in a resource war (Not completely sure on this one.) The never-released Battlecry was expressly tied to actual nation-states, an alternate history where great powers fight wars via singularly-powerful champions instead of via traditional warfare. And in Battleborn the PCs were a hastily-assembled coalition of smaller hastily-assembled coalitions, which means that it makes perfect sense that any combination of these people might be fighting alongside or against each other, at any given time.

Here we see commonalities. Amoral participants. Larger governing bodies delineating clear fight zones centered on specific, if deliberately silly or petty, goals. Most crucially, PCs that are very loosely affiliated with each other, such that you’d see them in different configurations, fight to fight, day to day, as they’re contracted or shuffled around by the powers that be.

You know a game that doesn’t do any of this? Overwatch. 

Overwatch gets 80% of the way to being a superhero universe; it falls short primarily because Blizzard chose not to explicitly market it as such, but it’s got everything short of the purposeful brand designation- powered heroes, super science, codenames, Faceless Hydraesque terrorist groups with shadowy, powered enforcers. There are specific allegiances implied by this; specific policy and interpersonal goals implied by this that aren’t really reflected in six-on-six grudge matches in a smattering of inexplicably depopulated civilian environments. There are roughly half-a-dozen villains associated with Talon, four or five independent villainous mercenaries, and everyone else is a would-be superhero. Why is most of the core roster of the world’s premier superhero team performing some kind of terror attack in London? Why is a woman who murdered a civil rights leader trying to stop them, with the help of two avowed anti-Omnic mercenaries and three Omnics? Why did a cryogenics researcher weaponize her tech and come along for the ride? Why are a dozen envoys from tech conglomerates, grassroots movements, and paramilitary defense forces throwing down over a Gazebo in a charming Greek resort? Fuck if I know. Fuck if the writers know!

So, to round it out, I think that there’s a structural difficulty for multiplayer shooters to stand for something, or advance a philosophy, or whatever. The smart ones embrace this by shielding themselves in ablative nihilism, preemptively deflecting criticism by painting the gameplay as hollow and barbaric, but fun! But Overwatch- Overwatch 2′s tagline is “Get back in the fight.” What Fight? Why? Against Who? Call Of Duty might be a horrific mouthpiece for militarism and imperialism, but when it valorizes the military, it’s at least picking a side! Overwatch is just so strange to me because it’s somehow got the worst of both worlds- it uses these heroic, aspirational language and visuals to hype up a gameplay loop that’s ultimately the exact same kind of cynical, aimless abattoir as the games that are smart enough to explicitly be about amoral paid killers!

[katz-chow]

deranged!reader & her task force (katz's version)

me & ur mother @moongreenlight are genuinely insane. this is basically us if it even care 😞

a/n: fem!reader all military names fake, processes fake; mostly it'd be classified, not just not done...well we wouldn't know for sure. medical shit also real. i’m in both of those fields irl. no i am not a swifty

clinically insane reader doesn’t rampage kill. art has many mediums; regular people choose acrylics, watercolor, culinary, pottery…reader chooses murder. it’s a meticulous process that depends on the person, it’s slow, drawn out. which makes her a great torturer. thing is, she was part of SEAL team tango-8 but focused more on SARC stuff (search and rescue). she knows her way around a suture kit—and, fortunately, surgical instruments.

laswell knew reader for two reasons: odd separation orders and her confirmed kill count. there was barely anything documented about her medical discharge which was weird because 98% of the military is just paperwork (a fucking pain btw). only thing noted was “medically discharged” and “0% disability”. her confirmed kill count? 43. happy to be back in uniform, she skips around the hallways to price, giving him a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering threats in his ear. “if you ever discharge me, i’ll dip you in concrete to be my custom statue.” a sickeningly sweet smile follows. as he furrows his brows in confusion and bit of horror.

soap tries really hard to like her and he really does. she's so sweet and always tries to include him in things and bakes him cakes and always somehow includes almonds, joking how it's actually just cyanide. soap laughs until he sees her have actual cyanide in the kitchen, carefully dropping it into the batter with an eyedropper. then a tsp of almond extract. it wasn't enough to hurt or kill anyone, but it scared him

he told ghost and ghost goes and investigates. then he sees reader one night, cleaning her instruments, different mallets, scissors, blades and knife handles etc. and they are pristine...not surgically pristine but definitely floor grade. he continues to watch her at 2100, without fail, and cleans her surgical instruments. until he sees her missing from her barracks from her open curtains. he goes and finds her carefully dressing a man like a buck. she sees him and smiles at him beckoning him closer. after he puts an end to that, with cuts and bruises, he goes and tattles to price. reader crying in the prison about how much she'll "miss her uniform" price and laswell speak about it and they finally know what the fuck us going on. they send her out on the field.

its just gaz, a few recruits, and reader in a safehouse. they've captured one prisoner, a soldier of the pmc against them. he's tied to a chair and after gaz runs over his psychological warfare in him. gaz fails and tiredly beckons for reader to come in. he finds her staring dead straight ahead, looking like she was falling asleep with her eyes wide open. he slowly calls out her name, no response. he calls again, same outcome. he taps her on her shoulder and her eyes fall into a "normal" state and smiles brightly at him, "my turns?!" gaz films it, the blood, the slow agony-per laswell and price's request reader starts to skin the soldier. starting with just a silly little joke about cuticles and then it goes higher and higher, the piece of skin never tearing. it's superficial, it barely draws blood. "does that hurt? don't worry, i'll help!" she blows cold air onto the exposed skin, drying out his flesh slowly while the blood keeps it from fully drying. gaz gulps, the camcorder on a tripod next to him. "it's okay, you're not going to die. and if you do...i'll make use of you, no waste! promise! gaz, can you pass me the kerrison rongeur, please?" gaz scrambles around in her kit, metal and metal clinking together in the heavy duty box. "the fucking hole puncher, gaz." she screams at him, causing him to jump. he finds the long, gun-like instrument, its blade pokes and punches together. he hands it to her, the work end first. she yanks it from him, nails scratching his hand in frustration, but that same smile on her face. she takes small chunks of flesh from the man, blood gushing and pools. she digs dipper until she hits an artery, blood splattering over them all. "the mosquito! give the fucking mosquito." she screams as the man in front of them bleeds out. she launches for it in her box and clamps down. the man half awake. gaz's chest heaves up and down, his face in shock and fearful freeze. reader storms out, face falls flat, no more smile, no brows furrowed, just a dead stare in front of her. "pieces of shit, human bodies are."

laswell pulls out any psych eval documents she can find. she finds exactly one set of documents: your medical discharge. price shows ghost and they stare at the replaying video on his monitor. the image of a wide, blank-eyed reader, hair and face dripping with crimson blood, a small clamp clicked to close an artery. they keep her. soap is the one who finds your bloody kit left in your barracks. chunks of flesh, blood, bone... and other bioburden seemingly never there at all. the shiny chromium finish looking as if they were never used at all. reader who failed out of medical school because of the lack of moral and ethics her professors and physcians saw in her. they banned her from residency.

"can i...have him..? please?" "why would you want an execution order? aren't you an interrogator?" "i want to see the peristalsis!" "the fucking what?" "how his intestines move in his body and squirm around like snakes!!!" she dissects the man in a way only a careful surgeon could. doyen clamps closed off certain sections as she sits and animates the movement on her ipad. the man inhales and exhales evenly, a bandage over his throat, eyes wide and dry from the lack of tears.

soap, as empathetic as he is, sees reader in chow, sitting by herself as she stares dead ahead, mind clouded in thoughts. her arms moves a bit, twiddling her thumbs under the table. he sits down across from her, her gaze staring pass him, face unreadable and almost bored looking. "you alright bonnie?" reader's face smiles, her eyes still dead and still as they lag behind the smile she puts on. her eyes squint. "yeah! why?" "twiddling your thumbs there, anxious about your second mission?" she puts her cupped together hands onto the tabletop. her hands unclasp. she twirls the severed thumbs around. "just a lot on my mind, yeah..."

"can i have it?" reader asks when she sees gaz's shiny teeth.

reader takes interrogations very seriously, taking souvenirs for herself. a finger carefully dried out, teeth, an ear, hair, vital organs in formaldehyde, eyes into earrings, tendons as rings and bracelets.

she gave price a birthday present which included a human heart, dried and shrunk in a glass displayed case. "made it myself", she says. "...on your own time, my love?" "yes, never company time!" his birthday is not public imformation.

ghost was missing a pow. he asks reader. "where is he?" "who?" "the prisoner..." "i let him go." "why the fuck would you do that?" "i'm going hunting, do you want to join? we can dress him in the field!"

"i got you flowers, ghost, for your mother's grave." "how the fuck do you know about that?" "you told me!" "i fucking didn't! now tell me who the fuck told you that shit?!" "you did, don't be silly. you told me over a glass of scotch...or many glasses actually!" she giggles as he slams her against the wall.

price wakes up one night, the spine-chilling feeling of a pair of eyes stalking him. he picks up the gun from his nightstand, clicking off the safety. he blinks a bit, vision clearing and seeing a figure in the shadowy corner. "go back to sle-" her body is slammed against the wall, gun to her head. "go to bed, price." "what...are you doing here?" price breathes out, trying to steady his racing heart, popping the gun back to safety. "wanted a piece of your hair."

gaz finds reader in his room after work one day, reader sweeping his house. he changed the locks within a week, locking all external doors and windows. reader leaves him breakfast every morning still. he trashes it after the cyanide incident. he wakes up to reader with a plate of eggs and toast over his bed. "please eat it and don't waste food :("

the task force lives their day to day lives with the feeling of impending doom, paranoia, and a feeling of dread washing over them all at once whenever they catch a glimpse of you. they beg price to remove you, but price would rather not be covered in cement while still alive.

[squiddy-god]

his ugly orange hair

This is a vent fix I wrote so please keep that in mind lol

CW : young! Konig (just joined the military) roommate reader, civilian reader, trans man reader, ftm reader, bad breakup, hurt comfort, panic attack,

1.4k

They had left. You had tried, Lord knows you tried. Again and again tears rolled down your face, cheeks red and eyes darkening with the slow flood of stains that painted you like glass after rain. Your chest heaved with the great weight of your lungs and the world, again… again… again again again Again Again AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN OVER AND OVER. until you choked on your breath and tongue, tears stinging until you gaged and sputtered. Left a hopeless sobbing puking mess on your bed. The bed was cold, soft quilted sheets like a prison. 

Several days were spent in a spiral of thoughts and flurries of emotions. You hadn't told your mom yet, didn't think you could bear to, but the long dragging scrape of your eyelids forced you to blink back tears. It had been a day and in cliche of a cliches you rifled the cabinets of your two bedroom apartment. Yours- you laughed, you had shared it with your roommate for 2 years now. A tall young man about 19 like you. Unlike your study abroad program that had accepted you on a small but feasible scholarship, he was a military man partnered with a pmc. Really it was his apartment. Over the years you grew close as friends when he was home for the time between deployments. You didn't even think in your delirium and haze that today was the day he'd get home. 

The sound of rustling cardboard and the gentle noises of bathroom products sliding against the shelfs of the small closet filled your ears. Half empty jar of manic panic sat temptingly in the back, behind body butters and discarded Colognes. Not what you where looking for. Finally you found it. Reaching in you grabbed a reflective box, iron brand permanent box dye. Better then splat red, you thought to yourself as you cut the box with your kitchen scissors. 

Looking down at your hands you felt the bile rise up in your chest, the burning in your eyes as you blinked back tears. Your hair had gotten longer, shaggy and slightly unkempt in the recent weeks leading up to the cat and mouse game that was scheduling a haircut. It brushed uncomfortably against your neck and that gnawing feeling from your childhood returned. It was like your face morphed in the mirror, hideously soft, lashes too long, and you wanted to look away. Lose ,bright shirt, the sleeves and neck cut off and the thing ruined by stains of black and red and blue. The dye shirt, a staple and testament to your love of this particular activity. 9pm bad decisions. Your chest is devoid of its usual bindings and it eats at you a little until you find yourself rifling to find a hair tie. 

Snip snip snip, clips of uneven hair fall until you are happy with the slightly uneven results and scraggly look it gives. It makes you smile.

First wash, then dry before you once again clumsily drag out a mixing bowl and brush fully determined to make this a masterpiece. But as you slipped on your blue gloves, once a pretty flower design now covered in blue and black from the last incident, you couldn't help but give into that child.the urge to dip your hands into the goopy mix. In goes the bleach, followed by a sloppy measure of vol. 20 developer. 

And the goop called your name- brush discarded as a mixing tool alone you slathered the goopy mix into the strands of your short hair, realizing in panic as you didn't mix enough. Struggling with your nemesis the gloves you cursed under bated breath before managing to get one off so you could once again arduously unscrew the caps and re-mix in another sloppy bit of measuring. 

The counter of the small bathroom was a mess. Neither you nor Konig were particularly neat- a mouth watch in the corner and on the other side a clear blue cup with two toothbrushes inside it. Behind the rim of the white sink were two razors, one missing its guard from frequent use and the other beginning to rust because you forgot to dry it. Sprawling in the mess was a small vial of your testosterone, and also the gell. Closest to the door was a box of tampons and- only now- vol. 20 developer. Ibuprofen next to Tylenol and a children's cough syrup that was God knows how old. Vix vapor rub and a tooth paste. Messy. The hair in the center of your head gradually turned a light blond as your sides and back didn't take the same. Disgruntled you at least hoped for a cool effect. Your scalped itched and nose burned at that familiar comforting smell that was hair bleach. Bowl and brush discarded into Water and sink, you braved the cold frigid touch of the shower head to rinse your bleach soaked hair. 

Should you be going into this right after bleaching and drying? No. But hesitation seems foreign to you as you take out a second brush and bowl, mixing the copper orange until your concoction looks about right. 

You look like a highlighter and it brings out all of your joy. You stare and wait as time ticks by with your head slathered in that ghastly orange. “Heilige Scheiße, sehr orangefarbener kleiner Herr” his voice heavy with his accent and light laughter. He towered in the doorway, arms raised as his large fingertips hug on the top of the frame. He leaned down slightly to watch you and your bright orange hair. Your position didn't go unnoticed by him, sitting on the floor by the tub and showering with a bowl of orange remnants on the toilet. It also didn't go unnoticed by the glassy look in your eyes or the almost imperceptible darkness forming around your waterline from the tears. Your chopped up hair and of course the slightly patchy orange. “I'll help wash your hair, ja Süße?” You smiled and he stalked off the few paces to his room in order to strip his tactical gear away. When he returned he wore a black compression shirt and plaid red lounge pants- the ones you got him last Christmas- and his mask, a nasty habit he picked up from his time serving. He almost never takes it off, when he has it off the gnawing feeling returns. That paranoia and anxious scratching that just won't quit. He doesn't go out much either, preferring to stay home where his face can be on display without anxiety overcoming him in that snippy aggression that seized him. You knew being at home in the little apartment would take a few day before the mask slipped off again, yet to your surprise as he kneeled down he pulled it off. His naturally ginger hair had once again lost much of the length it usually held, although somewhat more lax and not buzzed, you missed the usual small man bun that would hold back his deep auburn hair. His face was aged beyond its years by suffering and work, sharp angles and elegant defined slopes covered with the light scruff of his facial hair that he probably had not had a chance to shave in a few weeks. His cleft lip pulled slightly on the shape of his lips but blended in for the most part with the silver scars littering his face. Next to his mouth and along his jaw, under his eye on his cheek bone, threw his right eyebrow and most concentrated in the area of his mother and lower jaw the pale scars decorated his skin now don't peppered all across him. You smiled seeing his face, interesting and handsome. The latter a thought you beat down with a stick. “Want to tell me why you've been crying huh?” He asked as if he already knew. You nodded and squeaked out a strained yes before leaning over the tub to rinse the dye. His large palm cradled the back of your head as the cold water rushed past your eyes in a stream of orange. Thick fingers pressing ever so gently into your tender scalp scrubbing the remains of orange goop and leaving only one the patchy hair behind. He rubbed the dampening towel  against your hair as you explained to him you ex and how you where now on the hunt for a partner. He chuckled, that deep rumbling sound that was a endless source of delight. “kleiner Schlingel- you don't have to look far” he said confidently, yet his piercing green eyes normally devoid of much feeling searched yours for a sliver of Reassurance. 

You delivered, leaning against his massive shoulder as your ugly orange hair soaks his shirt. But he didn't mind. He loved your ugly orange hair. 

1.4k words

[femoso-seben]

Humanoid Monster

Part 1, Part 2, Next

Graves followed Mother Maia as she got everyone fed and clothed the babies. The wit was other humans, most of them worked with the infants. Most of the older children begin to pack up and head out.

“Where are they going?” Graves asks as Gaz and Soap follow the herd of children.

“School.” Graves gives her a shocked expression before nodding and following her.

“Maia,” a woman walks in.

“Ruth,” Mother Maia nods.

“We have a new one.” Behind Ruth was a small vampire girl, she was pale and small. Mother Maia sighs and walks closer to the child.

“She’s blind and her drinking fangs were pulled out,” Graves froze and moved closer to the child, his blood boiled, who would do this? Who would hurt a young child?

“Who brought her in?”

“I don’t know she was left there,” Mother Maia sighs and she covers where her eyes should be.

“Alright leave her to me until the other vamps come back then they can figure out the story.” Ruth nods and walks out, her hooves clicking on the ground.

“You're going to let children figure it out—”

“Not all children trust humans, not all children trust other monsters,” Mother Maia interrupts picking up the shaky child. the little girl’s mouth begins to water as she smells human, but as her mouth opens her fangs clearly broken off. Vampires’ fangs don’t grow back.

“How do you feed her?” Graves asks. This was his kind, though he has no love for others not of his blood, and even if their his his level of love is low, for the monster runs on strength and power. Graves couldn’t help but pity this pathetic thing.

They walk into the kitchen and she reaches into the blood bank refrigerator and pulls out a blood bag, type O. Type O is the most palpable for vampires, it wasn’t offensive or overly tasty just nourishment. The little girl begins to babble her words foreign.

“Все в порядке, пей из этой соломинки,” Mother Maia said in Russian. Graves stiffened, this Mother knew Russian, was she originally from Russia? Maybe that’s how she knows Makarov.

“How do you know Russian?” Graves asks leaning against the door. The little vampire sucks greedily for the blood.

“Switzerland teaches other languages, it’s a point all the nurses, and orphanage workers know at least two languages for communication.” Mother Maia said before walking over to the phone and calling her counterpart.

“Abraham,” she calls, “Yes I need one of the older vampires, Dimitri to come back we have a new fledgling.” Mother Maia set the child down at the dining room table.

“Why do you wear a veil?” Graves asks. She looks over the outline of her head twisting to him.

“I’m disfigured by war, these children seem enough horror let them not see another one.”

——————/\———————

Soap crouched down with the other werewolves, all of them trying to beat him at arm wrestling. “Ye’r gaun doon,” Soap laughs as all the young werewolves fail to beat him.

“What’s yer opinion o' Mither Maia,” all the werewolves stop and turn to him.

“Why do you care?” Liam asks, as the alpha of this pack Delta.

“Is she a guid mither ” Soap asks. Liam looks around before sighing.

“You don’t like her,” Liam said with a smirk.

“She’s a vicious killer, she kills oor kind —”

“She kills you, not us. We aren’t soldiers,” Liam growls his fangs shown. Soap glares at Liam and leans back in his seat.

“How come dae ye defend her?” Soap asks. The pack growls and storms off.

“Don’t mind them,” Soap looks up to take the ancient dragon Abraham, a legend in the monster community one of the elder dragons. “They were raised by her Liam especially, he was a runt and she spent her time raising him.

“When did she stop being the pale death?” Gaz asks from across the room, his feathers covered in glitter and glue random colorful duck feathers glued to him. Abraham stroked his beard before sighing.

“She was coming from the Americas and went through Alaska to get to Europe. Meet up with a human PMC and continue to Switzerland. With her daughter.”

“She has a daughter?” Gaz asks.

“Priscilla,” Gaz from, and his jaw set angrily. “She also had a small pack of baby werewolves with her, pack Delta. She was disfigured by a werewolf that tried to kill the pack.” Soap felt his blood run cold.

Pack Delta looked strong healthy a good squad of boys that make fine soldiers. Who would try to kill them?

“So they were her first pack?” Abraham nod.

“Then as other werewolves came in they found allegiant to different packs. Werewolves are the biggest military population most were outcasts.” Soap nods, werewolves are notorious for having strict rules for soldiers and regulations to become a soldier.

“How old is Mother Maia?” Gaz asks standing up but small harpies cling to his arms giggling as if this was all a game. Gaz picked up one of the harpies girls.

“She is rather young in human age, ask Priscilla, she knows the most about Mother Maia.”

“How come dae ye ca' her Mither Maia?” Soap grumbles like an annoyed puppy.

“It is only natural we give respect to each other. I have the name of Grandfather. She is very respectful she protects her children and so do I,” the old dragon said smoke smoldering from his mouth an obvious threat to these soldiers. He went back to his Victorian pipe smoking calmly.

——————/\———————

“Why does everyone respect her?” Gaz asks.

“Who knows,” Soap grumbled.

“Let’s hope the others have information.”

“Alright men,” Laswell said sitting around the table.

“Mother Maia is disfigured,” Graves said.

“Priscilla is her daughter,” Gaz added.

“The Harpy?” Ghost grunts out. Gaz nods.

“One of the wolf packs was with her before they arrived in Switzerland. She moved in from North America through Alaska through Russia to Switzerland.” Soap adds in.

“Gaz will you ask Priscilla about this Mother Maia.” Graves asks.

“Alright, I have flight training later this day, Ghost what did the Gargoyles say?” Gaz asks.

“They stonewalled me.” Soap sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Why is she… so mysterious?” Laswell mumbles mostly to herself.

“Who knows.”

——————/\———————

Gaz looked at Priscilla who was wrapped up in a blanket as the night was cold. The small harpies flapped their wings hard in the air trying to fly higher and higher. Gaz promises to give the highest flyer a daring race in the air.

“Priscilla,” Gaz walks closer keeping one eye on the little chicklings, the other on Priscilla. She was a very beautiful young woman.

“Yes?” She said her accent was the very Hispanic accent.

“How old is your mother?” Priscilla frowns and thinks about it.

“She’s only a few years older than me, I’m seventeen and she’s twenty-seven.” Gaz eyes widen.

“She’s that young?” Gaz's mouth fell open.

“We harpies age slower so the age difference really looked grande but she isn’t that much older than most of us.” Gaz nodded and then another thought came into his mind.

“Why did she become the Pale Death?”

“To protect us, we were hunted so Sue hunted them back.” The further he learns about Mother Maia the more she becomes a saint. It was so fucking creepy.

“How did you two meet?”

“I was kicked out of my nest after my wings were ripped off she picked me up and that’s it,” Priscilla said as the younger harpies began to fall out of the sky Gaz went to catch everyone before they got hurt.

“Your mother,” Gaz said as all the chicklings ran to Priscilla and hid in her blanket for warmth. “Did she ever hurt you?” Priscilla said quickly but her tone was unusually shaky not due to the cold but to nervousness.

“You're scared of her.”

“She can be intimidating and harsh but she never hurt us.”

Gaz nods. Mother Maia isn’t all that saintly.

_______

Taglist: @kkaaaagt, @kaoyamamegami, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

[foreverrandomwritings]

HAPPY PRIDE M 🌈

I am humbly requesting the gayest headcannon you can come up with about natasha realizing the new girl at the avengers compound isn’t shy around her bc she’s an assassin but bc she’s got a huge crush on her

thank you I adore you mwah ♥️

Summary: Natasha is super fucking oblivious when it comes to the new girl at the compound having a massive crush on her.

Pairing: Natasha "Black Widow" Romanoff x New Girl!Reader

Warnings: mild angst kinda, guns, murder, knife, swearing, uhm that's it?

Word count: 740

Masterlist M's PMC Masterlist

~Firstly I am super fucking excited to write this. 

~Secondly I adore you as well Darling <3.

~Alrighty let's get going.

~The new girl is the girl behind the computer for the avengers.

~She’s the one back at the compound doing all the logistics, diagnostics and evacuations. 

~Basically coordinates everything for them. 

~She works for all of the avengers when they go on missions. 

~Solo or group ones.

~She gets along well with all of them and has become really fast friends with Thor when he comes to midgard. 

~Also super close to Sam because they have the same sense of humor.

~But for some reason every time she's around Natasha she clams up and blubbers about. 

~She has tripped over chairs, walked into walls and almost sliced a finger off while making something because she had suddenly noticed Natasha hanging around. 

~Sometimes she will completely stop talking mid sentence and get up and go to her room whenever Natasha enters the room.

~Natasha came to the hasty conclusion that the new girl was terrified of her. 

~Which made sense, she did have the most blood on her hands.

~For some reason though it upset her.

~She didn’t normally care what other people thought of her but the new girl was different. 

~She had become completely infatuated by her since the first time she saw her. 

~So as the weeks turned into months she figured she would avoid her to save her from the fear.

~Little did she know how much this upset the new girl.

~She figured Natasha had enough of her clumsy awkardness.

~The new girl confided in Sam about her worries.

~He boldly decided to confront the red headed assassin. 

~Because “ain’t no way someone was gonna hurt his new found bestie for the restie.”

~He cornered the woman at the firing range.

~Which yes was kinda stupid on his part but he’s kind of a dumbass.

~She gave him a confused look as he sauntered up to her with a scowl on his face.

~ “What the fuck is your problem with NG?” He asked her, pointing a finger at her.

~ “I’m not the one with a problem, she's the one scared of me.” Natasha told him as she smacked his hand away.

~The look on Sam’s face had her pausing in her cleaning of the gun in her hand. 

~ “What is that look for?” she asked him hesitantly. 

~He bent over laughing at her question.

~She rolled her eyes and went to move past him, deciding to leave the gun for another time.

~But Sam stopped with a hand on her arm.

~ “For a trained assassin that is supposed to be so skilled at observing people you sure are terrible. She is head over heels for you Nat.” he told her as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

~She stared at him for a long moment before everything started clicking into place.

~The pride flag pin on NG’s backpack.

~The girls love girls shirt she had seen the new girl in on many early mornings in the kitchen.  

~The constant girl in red coming from her room as she screamed the lyrics dancing around with a hairbrush in hand.

~She thought back to all the times a blush had bloomed across the girl's face when Nat tried to talk to her.

~The way she squirmed in her seat as Nat came back from training with Steve and had been covered head to toe in sweat. 

~The new girl did have a crush on her.

~Nat didn’t know how she’d been so stupid and oblivious to the fact. 

~It had been right in front of her face for months now. 

~ “She’s in her office.” Sam told her as he saw everything click into place in the redhead's eyes. 

~She nodded her head swiftly and was heading towards the girl’s office. 

~The new girl jumped as Nat shoved her office door open.

~ “Uh… Can I help you with anything Agent Romanoff?” she asked her nervously. 

~Nat then proceeded to jump forward and land a kiss onto her lips. 

~New girl sank into the kiss and when they pulled away she stared open mouthed at the woman standing in front of her.

~ “Let’s go on a date tonight.” Natasha nicely ordered her.

~ “Yeah…. That-Uh. That sounds good.” New girl said and then Natasha was leaving the room with a shit eating grin on her face.

A/N: I love writing gay shit. I also still have 4 days of headcanons left so if anyone wants to request anything feel free to send something in. My character list is in my pinned post on my blog.

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @theeleggymeggy

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter was very fun to write. I listened to SUPERBLOOM by Silent Planet on loop (it's really good and underrated), if you want to get into the mood you can go listen to it too ig

The plan is practically complete now, the fact doing nothing to calm either Ghost or Soap. The Vaqueros who have been monitoring the bar have informed them they found the PMC’s base of operation - a compound deep in the desert surrounding Las Almas.

They will start by spreading around the compound suspected to house the soldiers of the PMC revenant. 4 teams will form a half-circle, the fifth, composed of himself and Soap, opposite to them. Soap will infiltrate to commence the distraction, Ghost acting as a barrier for any stray soldiers trying to escape, pushing everyone towards the other teams.

Keller and Commander Karim will be the closest team, Farah protecting Alex while he surprises the soldiers, funneling them further towards the Vaqueros and Shadows, Price and Gaz lifting in the air to snipe and allow the Captain to attempt to connect to the revenant’s mind through their servants.

If that fails, their orders are to exterminate all hostiles. Soap was initially charged with that, but the Sergeant vehemently refused, stating his powers are too unpredictable for that.

What interested Ghost is that Johnny didn’t say he couldn’t do it. He just doesn’t want to.

They’re to be deployed tomorrow, using the cover of night to get to their positions covertly. 

Ghost rummages around the small kitchen in one of the common rooms, sighing frustratingly when he goes through the same drawer for the fourth time. Where the fuck does Rudy keep all the bloody teabags?!

Gentle footsteps catch his attention, and he instantly turns to watch the door open. Soap stumbles inside, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, clearly not clocking in the other person in the room.

Johnny crashes into a couch, exhaling loudly and leaning his head back on the headrest. Ghost watches him for a moment, examining the exhausted scrunch to his shut eyes. He steps silently closer, leaning forward to stare directly down at his Sergeant.

“Bed too comfortable, Johnny?”

Ghost smirks at the Scot startling, eyes now wide open glaring at him, “yer a right menace, ye know that?”

His smile widens, “not my fault you all have zero spatial awareness.”

Soap grumbles something under his breath, and shoots an arm up towards his mask. Ghost barely has time to react before Johnny shifts the mask to cover his eyes, “the fuck are you-”

He hears Soap get up, the old couch screeching in protest, and the Sergeant pounces on him, starting to attempt to tackle him down.

Ghost almost laughs when he actually pins him to the back of the couch, his petty technique shifting the fight to his favor.

“What’s that about ‘spatial awareness’, LT?” Johnny breathes in his ear.

He moves slightly in Soap’s hold, “ah, I’m at a disadvantage here, Sergeant. It’s barely fair.”

The arms around him tighten as Soap leans in to whisper, “thought yer good enough to win without sight.”

Ghost turns his head to where he assumes Johnny’s is, “it’s not the blindness that got me. Didn’t have my nightly tea.” he states innocently.

Soap pushes off him with a groan, “awa an’ bile yer heid, fuckin’ Brits…”

Ghost chuckles as he rights the mask, finally seeing Johnny frown at him with (mock) disgust. He can’t help provoke him further, “any chance you know where Rudy hides his stash?”

Soap smiles sarcastically, “aye, I blew it all teh high hell, LT”

Ghost gasps, growling, “you didn’t” 

“Aye, smelled quite nice, burnt to a crisp.”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run, Sergeant.” Ghost starts stalking closer to Johnny, who continues to smirk confidently at him.

“How generous of ye.” Ghost’s face hurts from smiling.

He stops in front of Johnny, reaching zero in his head, and swiftly crouching to grab Soap by the torso, slinging him over the shoulder while the man thumps at his back, “Oi! Put me down, ye feckin’ brute!”

Ghost hums, “I warned you, Johnny. It’s only fair, no?”

He drops Johnny on the couch, quickly wrapping his limbs around him to cage the Scot.

Johnny wiggles for a few seconds, until the fight in him runs out, and he settles against Ghost’s chest with a small sigh. Ghost tilts his head to look at Soap’s face, the smile slowly melting off his lips.

Johnny lifts a hand to caress the forearm pinning his chest, a mellow and quiet air hanging around him. “I can’t stop having… nightmares.” he starts unprompted, his voice weaker than usual. “Every night, I kill someone. I wake up and remember I didn’t, but it doesn’t change the fact I could.” his eyes look up at his, “I could kill you tomorrow, Simon.”

Simon relaxes his hold on Johnny into something more comfortable, pressing him closer to his heart, “I told you, Johnny. I’m strong. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Johnny twists to face him more properly, “promise me if yer in danger, don’t hesitate to use Limbo. Even if I’ll be in range, even if it kills me.”

His arms flex involuntarily, as if Johnny will fall apart otherwise, perish under his fingertips. He watches fire reflect in blue eyes, sun in grey skies. He wants to be angry at him, for asking something so selfish.

Johnny may follow him anywhere, but Simon will do anything Johnny asks of him. In that way, perhaps they’re both doomed.

Simon sighs, lowering his head to rest on Johnny’s shoulder, murmuring in defeat, “...I promise.”

Johnny pushes further into him, a gentle fire stroking his cheek in gratitude. Something breaks deep inside him, and Simon lays them down on the small couch, hugging Johnny tightly, letting warmth cradle him.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the crackling flames and soft snores became a lullaby for his aching heart, and he drifts off to eternal darkness.

Ghost watches the last team drop off, their Humvee now driving towards the fifth team’s position. Soap has a serious expression, hands grasping tightly at his own tac vest with a white-knuckled grip.

They jump off, the driver shifting gear immediately to return to Los Vaqueros base. Soap comes closer to fist bump Ghost’s shoulder, “I’ll see you on the other side, LT. Don’t miss me too much.” Johnny turns away with a forced smile, Ghost forlornly gazing at his descending figure.

“First team in position.” Commander Karim radios in. The rest of the teams give their own affirmative, and Johnny finishes with, “fifth team in position, awaiting green-light.”

“Good copy, Soap.” Price responds, “you’re authorized for explosion creation.”

Ghost observes the foreboding walls of the compound stand silent for a minute, before brilliant fire erupts and takes them down. The explosions ramp up, the blaze so hot, he feels it several hundred feet away.

He scans the horizon for soldiers, finding none attempting to save themselves from the blasts. 

Did they assume wrong, that the revenant PMC would try to fight back? Ghost grabs his comms, “Sergeant, have you seen any hostiles on your end?”

Soap replies a few seconds later, a little out of breath, “negative. Did you?”

“No, keep burning it down-”

Someone, several hands, tackle Ghost from behind. He growls in surprise, twisting his body to shoot behind him blindly. A body falls to the ground. Three others take its place, grasping at his arms, cold limbs pushing his face to the sand.

Soap shouts in his comms, “Ghost?! Ghost, what the fuck is going on?!”

His comms are still on, he realizes with a flash, “Johnny, get out of there! We’ve been compromised!” he snarls desperately.

“Where are you, I’ll- oh fuck.” Ghost’s rib cage is aching, pressure building inside and out.

“Ghost, there are ballistic missiles here. They’re locking onto something.” 

Fuck, FUCK! Ghost fruitlessly tries to shake off his attackers.

Price’s voice rumbles through the radio, “Soap, Ghost! Get yourself out of there, NOW! The revenant, he’s-!”

One of the soldiers crushes the radio, Ghost gasping at the pain shooting down his left shoulder.

“Ah, Captain Price… figures he’ll be the first to find out. Always was such a pain in the ass.”

Ghost stills, craning his neck to lock eyes with the blank faces of the soldiers. The voice echoes from all of them, surrounding him.

The PMC revenant… he clenches his teeth.

One of the soldiers crouches down, taking hold of his jaw, Ghost unsuccessfully trying to shake him off.

“I told you, you will regret not giving the Sergeant to me.”

Cold ice pours down his veins, and he stills.

It can’t be…

“Graves…” Ghost gasps.

Laughter erupts around him, voices overlapping and distorting, “you really thought I’m a fuckin’ non-rev, Simon?” Graves spits his name like a snake’s venom, “I tried to play nice, I really did. But you…”

The faceless soldier tightens his grip on Ghost, “you decided to fuck it all up. I hope you were happy with your ‘Johnny’, because it’s time we have a little fun.” 

Graves hums, “I’ve always wondered just how strong Soap is… after the carnage he left in Verdansk” the American whistles in reverence, “only you would be able to match something like that, wiping a quarter city in a flash.”

“Ghost! The soldiers activated the missiles, I have to detonate them before the launch, please just fuckin’ answer me!” a desperate voice calls behind him through comms.

Graves clicks his tongue, “well, Ghost? Wouldn’t wanna leave your boyfriend hanging, do we?” he holds a radio in front of Ghost’s face, “you can either let the missiles launch and erase Las Almas off the map, or you can die. Your choice, really.”

Arctic ice numbs his insides. The missiles hit Las Almas, they kill everyone… including their entire team. 

The choice is obvious. And those are the hardest ones to make.

“Johnny…” Ghost rasps at the radio.

“Simon, thank the fuckin’ Reapers-!”

Ghost closes his eyes, indulging in Johnny’s voice for just a little longer, “detonate them.”

A shaky inhale passes through the comms, “are ye far enough?”

Ghost’s neck bows, “I remember the promise.”

Static fills the air for a moment, his breaths loud in his ears. Ghost bites on his tongue just to feel something other than freezing pain.

“It was my choice, Simon. Don’t feel bad about it later, alright?”

Ghost’s voice trembles when he whispers, “I hate you...” 

Johnny laughs for him one last time, the sound bringing tears to his eyes, “I knew you’ve taken a shine to me, LT. I’ll see you on the other side.”

He doesn’t want it to end, not yet, not when he just started to feel like he could have this, not like this, not with those words as the last he ever hears “Johnny, I-”

Graves takes away the radio, “now isn’t that heart-warming? You even got your goodbyes in.” Graves sighs, “it’s an honor to see the Ghost die a second and final time. I’ll make sure they’ll know just how you died, Simon Riley. Alone.”

His voice fades away, only heartbeat and rushing blood passes through his ears.

A deafening sound crackles through the air, Ghost’s eyelids glow reds, oranges, yellow, as the wall of inferno comes closer and closer.

For a moment, he can’t feel the cold anymore. He considers letting go, leaving the world by Johnny’s hand, as he was destined.

For a moment, he considers breaking Johnny’s trust, sacrificing himself to let the other live. He imagines how he would react, how he would hate Simon for the rest of his life. He wants to smile. At least he would be alive to despise him.

He imagines, only for a moment.

Ghost opens his eyes.

Limbo envelopes the world, the dark, cold realm curling around him like death’s last hug. He screams, pushing the soldiers off, leaving them to be consumed by his victims.

Molten light leaks from Ghost’s eyes, pain like no other spreading through him. He doesn’t want to look ahead, to see where the residents run towards, to watch as Johnny is being ripped apart by his own murdered souls.

A strange creature moves in Ghost’s peripheral. He shakily lifts his gaze from the empty ground. A… moth?

A burning moth, wings fluttering and shedding embers of vibrant colors, circling his protective light.

Ghost tilts his head, the creature gentle and soft as it lands on his shoulder, warming him like a small ray of sunlight.

It reminds him of…

Someone screams. Not the gurgled wails of Limbo, a clear, anguished voice.

Ghost finally looks at Johnny.

He stands tall, fire covering his arms, trailing up his shoulders, lighting his back with white flames. Leaving a halo behind him. A single holy being in the void.

 Dark hands grasp at his fire, try to steal it for themselves.

Johnny takes a hand, shouting. 

He explodes the arm. Everything that touches his Sergeant, ignites in beautiful colors, lighting up Limbo in a way Ghost hadn't thought possible. Everywhere he steps, leaves marks of warm light. Everywhere he looks, moths flap softly and spread little sparks.

Johnny’s eyes are glowing, rapidly moving from shape to shape, decimating everything in his path.

Light traces its way down Ghost’s mask.

Johnny is breathtaking.

Their eyes meet, beyond the vast fields of the void.

“SIMON! I CAN’T HOLD ON MUCH LONGER-” One hand leaves a path of shadow on Johnny’s arm, “MAKE IT STOP! SIMON, MAKE IT STOP-!!!”

Simon’s breath restores, he inhales sharply and sends his arms forward, palms taking hold of the imaginary reins on Limbo.

One heartbeat passes.

“ARGHHH-!”

Simon pulls back his arms, yelling as he feels tendons snapping. Limbo swirls, fights back against him, tries to sink its claws back into Johnny.

He pulls harder.

Simon is flung back several feet as the void rushes back into him. His head hits the ground and then-

Darkness.

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 16 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10, pt. 11, pt. 12, pt. 13, pt. 14, pt. 15, pt. 16

AN: Sorry updates have slowed! Uni has be so busy and I'm starting a new job tomorrow! Missed you all though x

Synopsis: Closely follows the “El Sin Nombre” mission from mw2 (reboot). Rights to the game developers &lt;;3 Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: canon divergence, canon typical violence, guns, wounds, swearing, brief sa etc Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags)

✧˚ · .

You’re still in the kitchen with Ghost when he gets the call. It’s Price. Laswell’s been taken hostage and Shepherd is refusing to help. Price reassures him that both he and Gaz have it under control; they’re meeting up with allies in Urzikstan to intercept Laswell’s captors before they can move her across the border. 

It takes days before you hear back from the Captain and you, Soap and Ghost all take a collective sigh of relief when Laswell appears on the video call next to Price. She’s a little roughed up but safe and sound nonetheless. The woman gives you all a smile and accepts the short stream of well wishes from you and Soap before launching into the intel.

“The missiles were never in Spain.” She says, voice firm and eyes like steel. “The guidance systems were.”

You turn to Soap and Ghost. The lieutenant has a blank expression but Soap’s frown matches yours. 

“Guidance systems?” The scot inquires, leaning more into the view of the webcam.

“Where did they get those?” You add. That was not cheap hardware nor was it easy to acquire. 

“Russians.” 

“Where are they now?” Ghost finally speaks, voice like gravel – low and severe.

“They’re on the missiles.” Laswell replies, “And besides Hassan, there’s only one person who knows how to find them.”

✧˚ · .

Of course someone dubbed “The Nameless” was their only lead on the missiles. El Sin Nombre was a plague on Las Almas; Alejandro and his men had been hunting them for years to no avail. Though they had a significant amount of intel, they’d never had the authority to utilise the kind of resources the taskforce and Shadows brought to the table.

Till now. 

“La casa de Sin Nombre?” Soap asked in spanish as he viewed the sprawling villa below you through a scope.

He was adamant on learning the language and you sent him an encouraging grin as he passed you the scope. The nights in Las Almas were warm and clear but the breeze brought a chill as it whipped around the group. 

“No.” Alejandro replied, “One of his Lugartenientes.”

“A cartel Lieutenant?” Soap guesses and Alejandro claps his shoulder with a nod.

“You’re learning.”

“I coulda guessed that.” You mumble as you adjust the scope and Soap digs you in the ribs with a scoff.

You pass the scope to Graves as Alejandro steps forwards.

“My sources tell me all the VIPs in Las Almas will be there tonight.” He grips his vest, turning from the villa to look at you all. “Some are invited, others are, umm…”

“Volun-told?” Graves offers snidely, stowing away the scope.

“Yes.”

“What’s the meet about?”

“Us.” Alejandro replies, rocking on his feet. “Las Almas is burning and they want to know who lit the fire.”

“Sin Nombre will be there, yeah?” Ghost asks, his blunt Manchester accent a stark contrast from Alejandro’s melodic pronunciation and Graves’ drawl.

“No guarantees,” Alejandro says, looking to Ghost who stands at the very back, “but this is our best shot.”

“Then we take it.” Graves says, stepping closer, “I’ve got enough Shadows here to take over the whole damn country.”

You frown and flash your eyes in Ghosts direction. He meets your gaze briefly, acknowledging your caution towards the PMC leader before flicking back up to Alejandro.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

Graves laughs, “I’m just sayin’ – one house shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Don’t we need Sin Nombre alive?” You say, raising a brow at Graves. “We can’t just raze the place to the ground – though I know that’s your preferred style.”

The American eyes you for a moment, lip curling like he’s got you all figured out. You glare back. 

“Well.” He replies, gaze shifting from you to the others. “Then we need to meet him.”

Soap tilts his head. “How?”

“One of us …” You say, and Graves nods.

“Give ‘em what they want. Intel.”

You cross your arms, plan clicking into place. “They want to know who is here, right?” You look at Alejandro beside you for confirmation and he nods.

“Ok.” You continue. “So let’s tell them.”

“In person?”

You nod. “Exactly.”

“Get one of us inside, find the boss –” Graves flexes his fist and pushes it into his palm – “roll him up.”

“I’ll do it.” Soap volunteers immediately, a determined look on his face, and you go to open your mouth but Alejandro beats you to it.

“You go in there, and they’ll kill you, hermano.”

“It’s true,” you say turning to Soap, “it’s to suspicious. We need someone less …conspicuous.”

“Like who?” Soap asks.

“Like you.” Graves states from behind you and you look up in surprise. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea –“ Alejandro starts but Graves cuts him off.

“They’ll never suspect a woman to two time ‘em.” He says clicking his tongue. “Think about it – women are the weaker sex –“

Four eyes fix a glare at him and he raises his palms in defence.

–“I’m not saying’ that, but she’ll be underestimated. Their guard’ll be down.”

“No.” Ghost finally says but you’re too busy studying the American to notice. Though you don’t trust Graves, the man has a point.

“He’s right.” You say, tearing your gaze from the PMC leader to meet the rest of the men. “It has to be me.”

“No it doesn’t.” Ghost growl from where he stands opposite you, arms folded tightly across his broad chest.

“It makes the most sense, LT.” You argue and turn to the man to your right, “Back me up here, Alejandro.”

The man you’re referring to bites his lip and shakes his head with a sigh. “She’s right, hermano.”

“We came here to stop a missile,” you say, bolstered by his support. “This may be our only way. I’ll trade intel for a meet with Sin Nombre.”

Soap nods from beside you, “And if he’s there, we pounce.”

“You make it in, you’ll need eyes and ears.” Alejandro says and Soap nods, agreeing.

“I’ll go.” Ghost says immediately and you frown.

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’ll go.” Alejandro says instead, “I’m sorry, hermano, she’s right. Your pronunciation will get you nowhere.”

You watch as Ghost clenches his jaw but you can tell he agrees. “Then I’ll take overwatch while Shadow circles the target in a helo.”

“Roger that.” Graves says with a nod before ripping off his patch and passing it to you. “They are going to want proof – show ‘em this.”

✧˚ · .

You’re dropped off a klick away from the villa and make your way through the shadows, avoiding the headlights of cars as they pass. It’s imperative you make it to the gate before being detected – any further out and it’s likely you’ll be shot on sight.

You’ve got no comms or vest and feel naked without them but trust your lieutenant has your back as you duck behind a blue Volvo P1800 and into the light. Two men stand, masked and armed at the gate and yell out in spanish as you approach, shooting a warning shot at the cobbled drive in front of you. You flinch and take a step back, arms raised as the other man rushes forward and digs the butt of his rifle into the back of your knee. The stones bite through your cargos and into your knees as they meet the ground with a harsh thud. 

“¿Quién eres? ¿Cual es tu propósito?”

“No hablo español.” You reply, as the cool barrel of a rifle is pressed to your forehead. “I’m here to see El Sin Nombre.”

The men look at each other, guns still raises and laugh.

“Mujer estúpida.” The one holding the gun to your head scoffs. “Even we do not see Sin Nombre.”

You glare up at them through your lashes, heart racing. “I’m military. I have intel.’

They look at each other and speak rapid spanish before the one behind you raises a hand to his ear, radioing in. A voice crackles through and he nods.

“It’s your lucky day, chica.” He spits, wrenching your arm behind you and hauling you to your feet. “We’ll have to play another time.”

They roughy palm you down and one of them gives your butt a playful squeeze. You snarl and flinch away but hands grip your shoulders and a sack is thrust over your head. You’re shoved forward and almost trip, the men laugh and press you onwards, conversing between themselves in spanish.

No going back now.

✧˚ · .

Taglist

@crosshairs773fp @alanalanalanalanalanna @ghostlythots @hyperfixationwhore @shinebright2000 @sae1kie @hotaruteba @karurururu @rorel1a @http-paprika @thriving-n-jiving @lazybutsmexy @zozosrandomthings @jinxxangel13 @tumblinginoz @kee-0-kee @moonsua1 @freeseeker @kaoyamamegami @01trickster10

Reply if you want to be added :)

Masterlist

[silverefflux]

Headcanon: If Graves had a son, he had to be the "man of the house"

Request by @alejandro666meow. Here ya go fam!!

So let's say you got Graves, Mrs. Graves, their daughter and then their son in the household

Graves is def the type to tell his son every time he's gonna leave for duty: "You're the man of the house now, buddy, okay?" *ruffles the little boy's hair before going out the door*

Assuming Graves is like the Southern typa American, I'd understand the emphasis on this kind of masculinity

This leads him to think at an early age that he has quite the responsibility, which he embraces in an innocent, Superman typa way

Pretty odd given he's the younger child, but I assume he and his sister are pretty close in age anyway so there's barely any struggle to figure which sibling has "more authority"

Was a tough child but not in the aggressive sense. More like that quiet responsible kid who takes no bs and talks like an adult

The kid who's seen as "wise beyond his years"

Did not draw too much attention to himself growing up. It was mostly on his sister

When Graves is home, he showers him with love too, but in more of that typical American masculine way

The whole playing catch and teaching to fish and stuff

But yeah ofc Graves is away a lot

He and his sister definitely have the same dynamic as Eric and Laurie in That 70's Show

Constant bickering, but never from anyone else. The only people who can annoy them is each other

As many traditional families would, if daughter gets attached to dad, son gets attached to mom

Has huge respect for his dad, but has deep love for his mom

Yeah he's mom's fave too

After all, when dad's away for months on end, he's the one left to comfort his mom

Literally has seen her crying in the kitchen from pure exhaustion as well as the uncertainty of when (or if) her husband's coming back. And he knew he had to step up for his mom

Grows up to be that football-player typa person in his teen years because of how his dad expects him to be + the fam dynamics, but still not the most outgoing guy in his friend group

Lowkey likes the attn he gets from his friends that he doesn't get at home

When he's old enough to understand what his dad does, he understands it pretty well and is stoic about it

After all, he's probably looked into soldiers and military stuff growing up so he has an idea how things are

Knows his dad isn't the straightest morally

Still wants to be like him though, but with a cleaner conscience

Ends up joining the military like his dad, but vows never to go the PMC route once he's done with service

[navyaassociates123]

Navya Associates is dedicated to Expert Interior Project Management in Kolkata. Offering PMC services for homes, offices, villas, hotels, restaurants, and more. Professional and reliable solutions.Read More at https://navyaassociates.in/

[cephalopodvictorious]

I saw your post about the Golem that you made from precious metal clay. I love it and I think it is adorable. I was also curios what you use as your method of firing it?

Thanks!

One of the reasons I love silver PMC is that you don't need a kiln, you can use a piece of steel mesh and a stove burner or a kitchen torch and a firing brick. So for me, I have a mesh strainer I picked up cheap, and I just set that straight on the burner and

[rahili]

The Story of Rahili

[Begin Log] [30/11/2278] [Name: Rahili] [This blog serves the purpose of documenting and sharing the events of my time stationed on the human PMC ship "Hestia's Embrace"]

3:00- I woke up today after a 4-hour sleeping cycle, no one else was awake and the ship was dark. I decided to explore the ship, the kitchen was missing many of the necessities for avali life, and we would need a resupply today as the food that I packed would not last me long. I studied the sleep cycle of Human Alex, they slept until 7:00. I have attached my report of their sleep cycle below.

[Begin Alex's Sleep Cycle Report]

Human sleep cycles are much longer than that of an Avali, essentially being all three Avali rest periods in one Eyes were rapidly moving from 3:00-4:00, 5:00-6:00 Body was colder than usual Breathing and heart rate were slowed Motor cortex was inhibited Body was covered in fabrics

[End Alex's Sleep Cycle Report]

6:00- Alex awoke to me observing them with various scientific instruments and was understandably confused. I commented on their sleep cycle and they understood but requested privacy as they prepared for the day. I composed a shopping list as they prepared.

6:10- Alex emerged from their quarters and I sent them the shopping list. We went into the port and purchased everything I would need to eat and drink for the next few weeks. I organized my foodstuffs into my refrigeration units and grabbed a container of liquid ammonia for later.

6:20- Alex started work on breakfast for the crew. I have attached a report on the food prepared below.

[Begin Food Prepared for Breakfast] For the Humans: 12 Eggs (Scrambled) 18 Strips of Bacon (Fried) 24 Pancakes (Fried) 6 Cups of Coffee

For me: 1 Breakfast Burrito 1 Cup Herbal Stimulant Tea

[End Food Prepared for Breakfast]

7:00- Commander Graves awoke along with the rest of the crew and Alex served food in the "Mess Hall". During breakfast, Graves discussed what we would be doing today for work, "Alright crew, today we have been hired to transport some cargo, you all know what this means so I don't need to explain. They are paying us very well, and we would fools not to take advantage". When I mentioned that I didn't know what she meant, Graves took me aside and told me that we would be smuggling illicit goods and that it would be best if we were not caught with it.

8:00- As I was performing some routine cleaning and tuning of my augments and refilling my coolant tanks, Jonas walked in to check on me and asked, "Rahili, what are you doing?", I told him that I was performing maintenance on my augments. Jonas was immediately curious, "What augments do you have and can I make a report of them?", I allowed this and have attached his report below.

[Begin Augment Report by Jonas]

Cooling systems keep Rahili at -50°C Neural Co-Processor allows for constant communication with pack-mates and The Nexus Built-in oxygen tanks allow for breathing in thinner atmospheres, like our ship Enhanced eyes to improve the poor eyesight that the Avali have

[End Augment Report by Jonas]

10:00- We picked up the cargo and are making final preparations to leave the port, I purchased some stimulants and more nutritional supplements.

11:00- As we left the port, I ate some beef jerky and slept for my second daily sleep cycle.

15:00- I woke up to Commander Graves on the PA system making an announcement, "Attention all crew, we will be entering the jump gate within the hour, I just wanted to let you know", After the announcement I decided to go to the bridge and see what a human jump gate looked like as I have never seen a jump gate(Avali don't use gates, we have jump ships that generate a wormhole)

16:30- Going through a jump gate was a nauseating experience, with all the twists and turns and g-forces in different directions. I must have blacked out because I woke up in the infirmary with Alex staring at a medical readout looking very confused. "What… happened?" I mumbled as I sat up. "You blacked out during the jump" "My head hurts" "The g-forces must have been too much for your body to handle, we pulled around two to three G's" "For future reference, my species is from a moon that has about one-third of Earth's gravity, tell me if we are going to pull more than two G's next time" "Are you sure you are safe to be on this ship?" "Yes, I was simply unprepared for such a rough ride through a jump gate, Avali jump ships provide a very smooth trip"

18:00- I have decided to end my blog early today and rest after what happened with the jump gate. I prepared a tea to help with healing and sleep.

[End Log]

[argyrocratie]

"According to the National Police of Ukraine, since the beginning of the full-scale Russian invasion, about 8 thousand criminal proceedings have been opened in the country for evading mobilization.

(...)

A typical example from local social networks of how a summons to a unit can be issued looks like this: the day before yesterday, on Kibalchich Street, cops probably forced a 56-year-old man into a car and took him to the enlistment center, where he became fit for duty in 20 minutes. The next day he already had to show up with his things. Then such people join the ranks of refusers in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, as our magazine told about earlier.

Since the beginning of August, the list of the first instance sentences under Art. 336 has been added by 12, and by 6 cases under Art. 408. During this time, the Leninsky District Court of Kharkiv set a record, sending five evaders to jail, despite one of the convicts has a minor child to support, another is a volunteer of the charity foundation Help Save Kharkiv, and the third explained his act by his reluctance to leave his elderly mother alone. There are no examples of suspended sentences under this article for the specified period in our region: everyone is given 3 years of actual imprisonment.

The Parliament of Ukraine is preparing for voting bill No. 10062 of September 18, 2023 on the creation of a unified electronic register of those liable for military service. According to it, the Ministry of Defense will have access to information about such citizens from all official databases, and the list of information that must be transferred to the register by various authorities will also be expanded. This was done taking into account the experience of Russia, where, together with the electronic register, the practice of sending summonses online is being introduced.

(...)

One way or another, everything is going to the fact that instead of a simple kitchen grumbling about the authority, Ukrainian workers will have to become real lifestyle anarchists. Not only to avoid official employment, as now, but to strive to sever all ties with the state and live cladestinely, including stopping seeking medical care, selling cars and resetting bank cards being ready to blocking for failure to appear on a summons. The ever-increasing blurring of the difference between the occupation and “their own” will affect the political atmosphere of Ukraine, where war fatigue and distrust of any government are already beginning to dominate, especially in the front-line regions. Although until a social explosion breaks out in Russia, of course, passive protest will prevail: maximal going to underground, withdrawal of assets abroad, flight from the country by any routes that are not yet blocked.

One of the main reasons for increasing mobilization, Ukrainian propaganda cites the fact that the Russian Federation monthly recruits tens of thousands of contract soldiers into the army, but at the same time, recruits are combined with those already serving. Contracts are signed by mobilized, by mercenaries of the disbanded Wagner PMC, and those who decided to renew the contract after expiration. At the same time, instead of the ideological component, the Kremlin is increasingly relying on money and hints to resume open mobilization if it fails to recruit enough contract soldiers.

(...)

The Russian liberal-pacifist Telegram channel ASTRA counted on October 24 at least 173 Russian military personnel placed in illegal camps for refusers in the occupied territories of Ukraine over the past 10 days. In their opinion, this is just the tip of the iceberg – what they managed to establish through appeals to the channel. Messages came mainly from the Kupyansk direction on the Kharkiv-Lugansk borderland; they are full of the same complaints about drunken commanders, lack of ammunition, reconnaissance, artillery support, food and water. Some people do not want to fight at all, others refuse precisely to go to the slaughter. Most often, stories feature a torture basement in the village of Zaytsevo, which began to fill up en masse last fall, then was dispersed after publicity, and is now operating again. How many people are sitting there at the moment is unknown."

...

[themultiversemercs]

The Cutting Room Floor: Betrayal

Affected Timeline ID: 099 @koikuro101-rp-hub (Formerly @unbreakablevalentine

Context: Arch being absent putting his PMC back together, he let the other facets of his life slip, with disastrous results.

Grandad's notes: Nasty one, this. Part of the reason that 096 and associated timelines are disavowed from active duty for the time being, that and with being the origin point of... Him.

Ryan nodded and chugged his beer. At the mention of the time, he looked at the clock on his wall. "It varies. Not sure what they're even up to these nights." He tried to take a chug of his beer before he realized he was out. He groaned. "Follw me. We can continue chattin' in th'kitchen. I'm fuckin' starvin'." He stood up and headed into the kitchen. Arch nodded, getting up off the couch, and suddenly picked up the pace, tapping Ryan's shoulder, tapping his ear before gesturing to the door, mouthing "They're coming back."

Ryan turned and looked at Arch. He was confused but before he could say something, the sound of the lock on the door could be heard unlocking. But it was a moment before the door even moved. A muffled voice, one sounding like Jill's telling someone to stay on their best behavior, could be heard before the door opened. There was still a wide smile on her face as she walked in but she didn't look around. "I'm serious, Chris, don't be an asshole. Not even jokingly." "I can't promise not to make a joke or two," Chris said as he walked in after her. "Chris!" she scolded him through chuckle before he gave her a kiss on the lips of all places. Ryan was about to walk around the corner to grab their attention but instead looked at Arch as if waiting to see what he wanted to do.

Arch took a couple small steps out of sight of the front door, shaking his head at Ryan as if to dissuade him from saying anything, also pulling him quietly out of view. He pulled his phone out and typed out a message to show Ryan on screen. "Let's see how far they go." He had already seen them kiss, but was curious to see if they'd go any further. Ryan read the message and looked at Arch. He wasn't too pleased with the idea so he pulled out his own phone and typed out, 'You can't be serious. That's supposed to be you, man.' Jill did kiss him back, showing little sign in regretting it.

It wasn't the first time this had happened and it was because of that Chris would always keep trying. "Chris, really? I told you not to be an asshole and you're doing exactly that." "What? Do you see him here?" Chris asked. "You obviously don't remember him. He could be hiding somewhere. He’s really good at his job," she reminded him, “I thought we were going to go slow with this.” "Then why were you okay with me kissing you before? Then there’s the big elephant in the room.” Jill knew what he was referring to, casually putting a hand on her pregnant belly and sighing heavily.

"Chris. Can we talk about that another time?" Then she laughed to herself, "Why do I always end up in fights with men I'm with or used to be with?” "Maybe because you can be a bitch sometimes," Chris said. Jill was silent for a moment before she finally spoke. "Excuse me?" Arch would be lying to whoever would listen if he said seeing her kissing *him* of all people did not hurt. But given how he had acted to end up like this, he figured he deserved it. That didn't stop the falling feeling in his gut, his brows furrowing as he watched them for a little longer. Something felt off about this. "Do you think I'm too late?" He showed the typed up message to Ryan.

Ryan looked at the message. But from the look on his face, his eyes still on the screen, it was obvious even he didn’t know. But seeing as he worked with the two of them, he knew more than Arch did. So the silence from him could be a bit deafening even if they were talking through text on a phone. "I've known you for how many decades? You can be a bitch sometimes. But that's one of the many things I love so much about you," Chris said. "I,,,don't know whether to be touched or irritated," she said, a hint of an annoyed laugh in her tone. "Touched, huh? If that's what you want, I can do that, too." “Chris. You already know I’m not going that far with you. Not until this is resolved." "Why? Cuz you have a ring on your finger? A ring from the same guy that didn't even give you or his unborn child the light of day for several months? Besides, we already have, Jill. And there’s proof of it…” Chris put his hand on her belly.

Jill stiffened for a moment before relaxing. She had been lying to Arch all this time, saying the baby was his. When she knew full well it wasn’t… "I'm not even sure what you see in him. He's ex Umbrella and obviously doesn't want anyone around him. For all we know, he could've just married you as a part of whatever scheme to keep a low profile for his jobs.” He did not initially see the look on Ryan's face, instead his eyes were fixated on the two before him seemingly... Playing nice? Someone was smelling off more and more with each line from their mouths. He finally did turn and see Ryan's look of disgust, just in time to hear... That.

She had lied to him, despite how the voices in his head told him she was and she initially squashed them down. Arch's face twisted, into pain, to anger and finally after clenching his fists hard enough to draw blood. Nothing. There was quiet fury behind the eyes, but the face looked to be numb. Then he walked out, as casual as could be like he was passing them in the street, even managed a small smile. "Hey you two, you okay? How was your date?" Ryan didn’t need to see Arch’s reaction to know what he was thinking and doing. He had seen too many soldiers go through the same thing. Only difference was they were an ocean away from their wives… Jill and Chris turned their heads just as they heard Arch’s voice.

Chris managed to muster a half smile, trying to act like nothing between him and Jill had just happened. “Arch. Good to see you actually showed. I was worried you wouldn’t with how busy you’ve been,” he said to him. However, he didn’t even realize his Jill was acting. She was still where she was with no emotion on her face. She knew. With how Arch had suddenly come out, she knew he had been there the whole time. And then Ryan stepped out, looking like he was going to intercept if anything went horrible. "Oh don't worry. I just came to drop this off, buddy!"

Arch stepped closer to the pair and reached for Chris' hand to place the ring into it, before turning to Ryan, a genuine smile on his face, even if the tears were starting to fall "Thank you for showing me this, Ryan. I think I needed it." He turned back to the pair, the orange showing in his eyes as he pushed past both of them towards the door. Chris guarded himself and stayed in front of Jill, waiting for something to happened. But when something was out in his hand, he looked confused. That was until he looked at what it was. Arch’s wedding ring. Jill had seen what it was and felt her own eyes watering. She knew she did wrong. But that was why she wanted to talk to him. Chris was to be her support in doing so. She supposed Ryan was the same for Arch. When Arch pushed past them, Chris balled his fist before throwing the ring to the side. “You know, at least I was there for her when she needed it. Which is way more than she can say for you.”

"Then I guess we're fucking even then, boulder boy. Like when Jill came back from Africa, all you cared about was the fact she was hanging around me!" He stopped in his tracks, turning and striding back to get right in Chris' face. "How long has this been going on? Since you were first pregnant?" He turned his aggression on Jill next, glaring daggers at her for a moment or two before looking back to Chris. "You were just waiting for your moment to strike weren't you? Just waiting for your opportunity to get back in, you fucking snake!"

Chris stood his ground, even straightening up even more to show that he, too, wasn’t joking. He would be ready to throw down if he needed to. Especially if he started going after Jill. Jill looked at Arch but she didn’t respond verbally. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked away as a tear fell down her cheek. Apparently it had been going on before then. Before Chris could even say anything, she finally spoke up. Time to come clean at this point. “Remember that talk I kept trying to have with you? The one I had to corner you with about to tell you what you were doing?” She paused for a moment before immediately adding. “Of course you don’t. You were too busy like you have been for almost a year now. I have tried so hard to get you to see what has been happening. And it was just with me! Would anything change if this child was yours and then born into the world? No! You would still have your head buried in your work still ignoring me and the baby.” She paused for a moment and took a deep breath so as to not get stressed out. Chris put his hand on her shoulder gently, trying to help ground her. “I went to Chris. And Chris was there when I needed someone. And best part about it? He didn’t even know this child was his until about a week ago. He thought he was yours! And he still helped me!” “By tha’ time, y’all were’n item,” Ryan cut in, looking like a disappointed big brother. “This doesn’t concern you, Cooper,” Chris snapped. “Bullshit it don’t! Y’all’re m’family and y’think this ain’t gunna slide with me? Frankly I’m disappointed in y’two!” “Cooper, I swear to god-“ “Wha? Y’gunna kill me? Good luck, asshole! I have halfa mind t’wringe yer neck first!”

Arch knew she was right. Hindsight was also 20/20 after all, and he could come up with excuse after excuse to justify his actions. But not this time. When he saw her start to cry he had to look away, a long sigh leaving him. His fists balled up again as he listened to Chris and Ryan bickering until his hand moved seemingly on his own, drawing his magnum and pressing the muzzle underneath Chris' chin. "Need I remind you I'm the one who helped get your darling girlfriend out of Raccoon City. Need I remind the pair of you that I'm the one who found out she was in africa and informed your steroid abusing ass so you could go and get her, and you couldn't even do that! I had to come and save your sorry arses! And you didn't even fucking kill Wesker in the end! Can you two fucking fathom where you would be if not for my help? I wanted to like you, Chris. Really I fucking did. I wanted you to be best man at the wedding because of how close you are to Jill!" He then turned his attention back to Jill, his firearm still pressed to her boyfriend's chin. "And need I remind you I wanted to leave? To let you have this with him. I was supposed to end my contract with the BSAA, and move on like I always do but no, you insisted I stay because apparently I fuck better than him? Or was it the money? I'm not supposed to interfere with outside affairs like this!"

Jill’s immediately instinct was to protect her belly, wrapping her arms around it. Ryan’s instinct was to pull out his concealed 9mm put his hand on his own and pointed it at Arch’s temple. He would’ve said something but Jill then stormed right up to Arch, tears still falling but faster now. “Chris was sent on a ‘vacation’ to shut him up about the Spencer Mansion! All of STARS was! I was on my way out but that…that…THING found me first! Or did you forget that? As for Africa, I told him to leave me and go after Wesker! I told you that! So don’t you dare put any of that on him.” She put a hand on head, feeling a little light headed.

“Val. Don’ over work yerself with this. Jus’ leave’n git sum rest,” Ryan said kindly. But Jill ignored him, going right back to it with her voice cracking. And the shouting fire she had was gone. “I loved you so much. I still do. You know damn well that it wasn’t the fucking or the money. How dare you say that! But you are married to your work. There is no room for me or a family in your life. I truly didn’t want to cheat. I didn’t! I was planning on having this conversation with you earlier than this. But my judgement was impaired by trying to get you to see me that I went through with it.” Ryan let her words sink into the every single one of them before softly telling Arch, “Arch. Y’don’ wanna do this. Y’know as well as I do that this ain’t the answer. Put th’gun down, bub.”

There was silence from him as he looked to his weapon, pressed to Chris before lowering it and holstering it once more. When she brought up love, he shook his head quickly, looking back to her. "Don't. Don't act like love could be anywhere we what have now. Don't act like there would be any vain chance of saving or reclaiming anything. I told you it was a bad idea, being with me." He turned from them once more, wiping his eyes. "Ryan. Your contract with the BSAA, is it still in place?" Jill looked away and hugged herself, her voice soft and low. “I wasn’t…” When Arch put his gun away, so did Ryan. But he was still hesitant and keeping his wits about him. At the mention of his contract, he sighed heavily, “Unfortunately. This ain’t ‘bout me, though. Not now.” Then he looked at Chris and Jill. His tone became clearer and more authoritative, making his accent nearly disappear.

“You two. Git outta my sight. And I’ll see you, Chris, at work.” Chris looked at Ryan with the respect of a soldier. Despite the two of them being the same age and rank, he still treated him like he wasn’t in that moment. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. He put his own body between Arch and Jill protectively. If he was willing to point a gun at him, he feared what he would do to Jill. Then he said in a whisper, forgetting that Arch would most likely still hear, “Told you he was a dangerous man.” Ryan put his hand on Arch’s shoulder in hopes to keep him from doing anything else.

"Good. Means I don't have to fire you." He interrupted Ryan before letting him finish. "I have one more thing to warn you two about before I go. Because of Jill's interaction with my predatorine, there is a minute, and I mean billionths of a chance, that they will be born with my mutagen. If that happens, contact Junkie. Otherwise. This is where our paths separate." He put a bit of distance between the three of them, looking back to Jill one last time. "I'm sorry I abandoned you."

Jill stopped in her tracks for a moment after he said that. Then she silently sobbed as she continued to walk out with Chris. When it was just Ryan and Arch, Ryan looked at the other, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry bout pointin a gun atcha, bub. Force’o habit.” Then he put a caring brotherly hand on his shoulder, “Lissen. I know we got our differences’n we ain’t ever seen eye t’eye…or at least mostly…but I’m here if y’need someone, ‘kay?”

Arch was quick to move Ryan's hand off of his shoulder. "Don't be sorry. But I'm going now, I don't want you involved in this anymore. Lose my number if you wouldn't mind. I want to start putting this behind me as soon as possible." As he spoke he was typing something out on his phone, before putting it back into his pocket and turning for the door. "Good luck out there mate. And take care." And with that, he was gone.

[molsons112000]

So turning these seven foods that stop alcohol cravings into a drink... And selling it at liquor stores, so people can control their drinking habits. This also can be sold over-the-counter at bars and grocery stores and everywhere liquor is sold. They can Make this a federal law that if you have any parties containing alcohol You must have this beverage available.So people who have had too much We'll be able to put the liquor aside because you can stop the cravings........ So save a soul, teach him how to control their drinking. And this can be sold by every liquor company alcoholic beverage company. They can even make it a combination pack. Where you buy liquor and this comes along with the liquor or alcohol.

Compassion Behavioral Health

https://compassionbehavioralhealth.com › ..

7 Foods That Can Help Stop Alcohol Cravings

Aug 11, 2023 — Find what are the 7 foods that stop alcohol cravings and their role in recovery. Learn more about tips and helps to fight alcohol cravings ...

Priory

https://www.priorygroup.com › al...

Ways to stop alcohol cravings

If you're recovering from alcoholism, dealing with cravings is going to be vitally important. Here are some expert tips on managing alcohol cravings.

National Institutes of Health (NIH) (.gov)

www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov

Medications and Alcohol Craving - PMC

by RM Swift · 1999 · Cited by 110 — The use of medications as an adjunct to alcoholism treatment is based on the premise that craving

Here's how you can turn left over food But just food in general into a drinkable beverage.

Condé Nast Traveller India

https://www.cntraveller.in › story

How to turn your kitchen trash into cocktail ingredients

May 13, 2020 — 1. Make citrus syrup from lemon peels · 2. Make a kombucha-like drink from pineapple scraps · 3. Blend leftover pulp to make

Mention this to the elderly black gentleman. Who's the gas station attendant at the shell gas station? On Milwaukee and lake cook In Illinois.