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[pricegouge]

the welly boot incident, a silly little meet cute inspired entirely by this post here cause i'm an absolute slut for the swamp thing look.

pricegaz x fem!reader one shot. A little bit of subspace as a treat but nothing explicit. Still mdni please

"Brassard, what the hell am I looking at?"

It's been a shit job from the start. Bad contractor, bad intel, bad campaign all around. John supposes he can only be happy that for once in his life, the quality of intel seems to be off in the 'right' direction - which is to say he'd rather be posted up in a field for hours with too much manpower than not enough. He's got Gaz on his right, deadly still and silent despite being hours past projected time of contact with no sign of the target. Price is spotting, growing more irritable by the minute. There's supposed to be a watch up on the south ridge to announce any incoming traffic - op related or otherwise - but the sudden arrival of one garishly dressed civilian meandering through the meadow toting a Hubble sized macro lens seems to suggest that while eight hours of fruitless vigilance may not test the most seasoned of soldiers, it is enough to beat the handlers hired to assist them. 

The silence on the comms grows long enough to get even Gaz squirming, a subtle rotation of his boot the first move he's made in hours. In his ghillie, the movement is swallowed by the shifting of grass in the wind.

"Brassard?" Price growls, inspecting this newcomer through his scope for potential threats. She certainly looks unassuming enough, as he's never known any faction of armed services to issue woven fuschia caps, long purple cardigans, or yellow welly boots. Still, confirmation on anything useful like 'where the fuck she came from,' 'was she driving a civilian car?', or 'should we take the fucking shot?' would be ideal.

"Cap?" Garrick's voice is low, smothered, cheek sealed against his rifle even after all these hours. Still lethal and ready to trust his captain's call.

John waits another beat, hoping for some forthcoming intel. Doesn't get any. "No."

"She's gonna blow our spot."

'Against who?' John wants to ask, but the question of where their overwatch disappeared to is a toss up, and while every hard-won instinct in his body tells him this whole mission is a bust and the man likely fell asleep, the paranoid option must always outweigh the most likely if one wants to see the next sunrise, and it's entirely possible the man was eliminated. 

"Well, shooting her won't make her any less hi-vis," Price sighs. Abandoning his lens, John raises his head enough to take in the whole scope of the meadow. They're posted on a small hill, sights trained down into the shallow basin where a derelict road ambles parallel a small brook, currently overflowing with springtime runoff. It's beautiful, really, dotted here and there with early blooms which nod in the gentle breeze. With the low ridge to the south simultaneously blocking most of the sun's glare and offering a great position for extra coverage, the area had presented itself first and foremost to him as a sniper's delight; but faced now with an artsy-type civilian wandering around and looking for all intents and purposes to be in her natural element, he supposes his assessment probably laid outside the norm.

"We could use her like dazzle camo," Gaz suggests instead and John's mustache twitches with a suppressed snort. It's almost tempting, except if the target does ever drive through, John doesn't trust him to simply be confused and gape at the spectacle uselessly.

John drums his fingers off the dirt irritably, returns to his scope to see if he can pick out where their backup is situated. "Shit," he hisses, taking in Brassard's limp form up on the ridge.

"Dead?" Gaz asks, voice returning to the low hum that tells Price he's slipping back into professionalism.

"Looks like," John confirms, disassembling his tripod. 

"We retreating?"

"'Course not. We're containing the civilian." Beginning to crawl forward, John spots Gaz break his scope seal for the first time since establishing it out of the corner of his eye. 

"How?"

"Physically."

***

You never even see them coming. One minute you're humming to yourself as you stage a close up of a bee and the next you're squawking and thrashing while being pulled to the ground by your ankle. Before you can even make sense of what's happened, a man settles his considerable weight onto you and clamps a hand over your mouth. "Easy," he murmurs into your ear as a mass of twigs and grease paint pulls up next to him. "Not gonna hurt ya, darlin'."

You only realize how hard you're shaking when the man next to you starts setting up a tripod and the kind of gun you've only ever seen in movies and your teeth rattle behind the calloused grip that covers them.

There's a hand on your head, palm flat and heavy as it pulls your hat off. The weight above you shifts, hips digging briefly into your ass as he moves to pocket your cap. It's slow, movements steady and calculated as the voice that continues in your ear. "I'm Captain John Price. This is my sergeant, Kyle Garrick, and unfortunately you've found yourself in a bit of a pickle."

Next to you, the man with the gun - Kyle - spares a small, commiserating smile. It does not calm you.

"If I take my hand off your mouth, you gonna stay quiet?"

You're nodding before you can even think it through, surprising yourself when your new found freedom only draws rapid pants from you instead of screams for help. 

"There's a good girl," John rumbles, lips still pressed close to your ear. His voice is low like oncoming thunder, and despite yourself, the next shudder that racks your body isn't entirely fear based. He's got a mustache of some sort, bristles soft where they press against the shell of your ear. You were set up for failure, really.

"Can you get off me?" You mean it to sound pricklier, blame it on all the hyperventilating when your voice comes out breathy.

John huffs, breath warm as it fans down your neck. He's wearing some sort of armored vest from the feel of it, but you can still feel the abs of his lower belly jump with his laughter. "What's your name, darlin'?" You don't answer him at first, still weighing whether or not you believe him. "How 'bout 'flower', hm? Look like one out here in all these colors."

"A buttercup, in those wellies," Kyle agrees and you side eye him, for the first time noticing how upsettingly handsome he is under all that grease paint. Full, pretty lips and the kind of big soft cow eyes that always turn you to putty. If you find out the man on top of you is also handsome, you're toast.

"Right, those bloody boots." John's weight shifts off you a bit and you try to scramble forward. You make it maybe an inch before he plants a wide palm on your back and pushes you back to the ground. "Hold still, flower," he rumbles and you're helpless but to comply as he kicks at your boots with his own. You ask why he's stripping you but he ignores the question, reaching back to snatch up your discarded shoes instead. "Clear?" he asks, and Kyle takes a minute to swing his scope around.

"Far as I can tell."

And then John tosses your boots into the nearby brook with an unceremonious plop.

"Hey!" you gripe, only to be silenced by John's hand clamped over your mouth again. 

His voice is sterner now when he speaks, the low murmuring from before replaced with a harsh grumble. "Hush now petal, we have to be quiet. Look at me, yeah?"

You regret it the second you do. Like Kyle, John's covered in leaves and debris and greasepaint. His eyes glint menacingly from the depths of the shadow cast by his low brim, his chops a thatch of hair only distinguishable from the mass of brush that covers him by the fact it's too well-kept. He looks like a swamp thing. He looks like the earth itself come to swallow you whole.

"I'm gonna take my hand away now, but you're going to be a good little flower and stay quiet, yeah?" You nod. His grip is so strong on your jaw that you drag his hand along with you. When he calls you a good girl this time, you can't help but melt into the grass beneath you. John seems to take your laxness for acceptance of your situation and he squeezes the nape of your neck when he pulls his hand away to set about erecting some sort of tiny telescope. He murmurs to you as he works, voice gone back to the quiet, calming rumble from before. 

"I can't get off you because you're not wearing appropriately camouflaged clothes. Even if I were to strip you of this fucking cardi, you'd still stand out like a sore thumb. That's why the wellies had to go in the stream. No good place to hide 'em." You frown back toward the brook, watch as one of your shoes goes bobbing along out of sight. The other probably sank already.

"My car's too far away to walk barefoot."

"I'll carry you," John suggests casually. He's got his little scope established now and when he lowers his eye to it, his cheek sits flush against yours. "This position is shite," he grumbles.

Kyle hums in agreement. When he speaks, his voice is teasing. "We could carry petal here back up on the hill."

"Watch it," John warns. Kyle doesn't so much as smirk. Their talk turns mostly technical after that, muttering about degrees and cardinal directions, calculating inclines. You let it wash over you in favor of contemplating your predicament. 

You trust they're military, at least. Kinda hard to fake the funk to this extent. That fact doesn't necessarily soothe you, but knowing this about them is at least better than knowing nothing about them. You suppose it doesn't matter either way though, as there's not a whole lot you can do to get yourself out of here if the way John bears down on you every time you try to wriggle out is any indication. Sometimes he breathes soothing words against your cheek. Most times, he just ignores you.

They slip into silence eventually, which makes the long, boring minutes drag even worse. You know enough to figure this is a sniper mission which means it's possible you'll be here a while, but that doesn't make you physically prepared for it. You check the positioning of the sun from time to time, but frown when you find it unchanged. You tell yourself it's only because you don't actually know how to gauge time like this.

You crack after what feels like an hour but is probably only fifteen minutes. "What are you guys supposed to be doing here, anyway?"

"Classified." John's eye is still glued to his scope, barely giving you the time of day. 

Should've figured. "Aren't I going to see it unfold anyway?"

"Might not." You're not quite sure what that means, but something about the tone makes you nervous.

"Are we gonna be here all day?"

"Hot date?" Kyle's also still glued to his scope, but something about his tone is less dismissive so you latch on.

"Yes, actually."

Finally, a break from contact as John pulls away from his scope to look at you. There's a spot of paint missing just above the trim line of his beard and your stomach flips in guilty excitement when you realize it might have transferred to your skin. Of course he ruins it, "In a fuschia cap?"

"I'll have you know I made that cap," you squawk and John only needs to twitch his mustache at you to get you to shut up. He may also raise a brow. Hard to tell under the low angle of his brim.

It's Kyle who apologizes. "It's a lovely hat, flower."

John grumbles while you thank his friend, returns to his scope as he mutters about it still not being good date attire.

"I was going to change first." You're not sure why you care what either of them think of your date outfit, but you do what the record to show you're capable of dressing sexy when needed.

"What you're wearing now looks nice." Kyle's cadence is complementary, but it's the same tone he had used to pick on John earlier so you know he's referring to the absence of one cap and a pair of silly wellies.

Well, you can be quippy, too. "Think I'm currently wearing your boss."

Both men laugh. Kyle takes his eye off the scope to take in the spectacle on his left for the first time since setting up. "Like I said, looks good on you," he winks.

"Eyes on the prize, Gaz."

"Were, sir." Kyle - Gaz?- cackles when you have at him, but ducks back to his scope and you huff, already bored again.

John notes your frustration and decides to make it worse. "Might not make your date, flower. At this rate we'll be here all night."

"'Course," you mutter, tucking a bit of bramble more thoroughly into the netting that adorns the sleeve in front of you. "First date I land in months, and then comes you lot."

"Sure he'll understand." John sounds distracted. When you glance at him, he's staring down at the way you're weaving into his equipment.

"He'll understand I got pinned under an army sniper?"

"Could tell him you got laid up with -."

"Shouldn't you be keeping quiet, sergeant?"

"Sorry, sir."

You glance between the two of them, but they're both resolute in their professional silence now. You sigh again, folding your arms under yourself to rest your head on. 

A moment passes. Another.

"Got a fox in my shot."

"Two o'clock?"

"There 'bouts, yeah."

"Saw 'im poking 'round a moment ago."

You nearly knock John's chin with how quickly you raise your head. "I wanna see."

"Hush," John instructs dismissively. 

You huff, and then remember you don't need him anyway. Wriggling your hips what little you can, you feel the hard cylinder of your lens press against your right thigh and you squirm around until you can feel it under your fingers.

"What're you doin?" John's lifted slightly off you, but you think it's a move probably rooted more in curiosity than an actual desire to make your task easier. Still, you'll take it.

Grinning triumphantly, you pull your camera up until it rests next to John's tripod and then frown, dejected, when you spot the snap halfway up the barrel. "Must've fell on it," you pout.

John is unsympathetic. His hand is big enough to encase the whole unit when he grabs it, flinging camera and all into the stream with another disheartening splash. 

Your cry dies in your throat this time, the fight gone out of you. When you slump back onto your arms dejectedly, John pats your elbow. "Material could've caught the light, flower. Had to be done."

You pout anyway. "Bloody expensive."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"You will, cap? Or will the service?"

"You will, if you don't shut up." 

"Wouldn't mind. Get 'er a real nice one. Anything you've had your sights on recently, buttercup?" 

"Don't have my sights on anything, currently," you snark and you can practically feel John roll his eyes. 

"Christ, here." He fiddles with the device a bit, then leans back enough he can guide your face up to the viewfinder. You keep a squeal of delight bottled in your throat when John's hand lingers over your jaw, reminding you how you need to keep quiet.

You watch the fox happily for a moment, content to let the boy's low conversation wash over you as you let this new amusement pass the time. Except then the fox wanders out of frame and when you move the scope in order to follow, you only seem to muck it up more. 

"Give me that," John grumbles, not unkindly. You slump back down anyway, like a child.

"Forearms, cap," Gaz drawls and you see John peel away from his scope long enough to look down at you. He grunts in acknowledgement, fiddles with his tripod, and then lowers himself even further onto you, wrapping one scraggy arm around your own to block you in completely.

It's so much worse. John runs hot, apparently, and without the breeze on your face at least, you're sweaty within minutes; or maybe hours, hard to tell. 

You've nothing better to do so you try synching your breathing with John's, thinking maybe that's the secret to his seemingly infinite patience. It's hard work, though, his breaths somehow both shallow and slow, and you wind up counting them instead to pass the time. 

Eight sets of one hundred later, Gaz breaks the silence with a low murmur which may as well be an explosion with how much it startles you out of your reverie. 

"Gotta piss." 

Your voice is floaty when you complain, head wobbling up to eye him. "Ew." 

John's stern chastising Kyle, calm when he brushes his lips against your ear. "Quiet, sergeant. Go back under, petal." You hum in agreement, duck into his arm, count his breaths again.

You lose track after another five hundred, content yourself to feel the warmth of him contrast with the cool damp of the soil underneath you. You remember the sight he makes above you, a rolling crest of greenery pulling you under. You blame your sleepy state when you begin to fantasize about it like some old myth; Hades collecting his dues. When he does speak again it's low enough you're not sure it actually comes from above you, half convinced you're hearing the movement of tectonic plates deep below instead. He sounds pissy though, despite his low, soothing tone, and you try to blink yourself into wakefulness, peering around to find Kyle unloading his gun with distractingly deft fingers.

"What's wrong?" You ask, dumbly, and John drops his hand from his radio back to your shoulder, rubbing at you with a heavy, steady hand. 

"Nothing, flower." To Gaz he adds, "Liked him better when he was dead,"

Gaz side eyes him, begins to load his gun back up. "Say the word, cap." His voice is so serious you only figure he's joking when John puffs a laugh across your cheek. 

You watch as John disassembles his own equipment, the weight of him almost fully pressing down on you now that both his arms are raised and busy. It's strange but you're almost sad it's over; it had been oddly relaxing, tucked away underneath him.

"You awake yet?"

"Wasn't asleep." He keeps pulling away from you, but the ground is cold so you get your hands underneath yourself and push up, following.

"Right. You ready to get up, then?"

John's movements are still slow and heavy. When you nod, he levers himself up to a kneeling position, wraps his hands around your tummy to bring you up as well. He sits there a minute while tucking various tools and things into his pockets and placing your cap back on your head. It takes you a moment to realize the way he's seated has him straddling your calves. He doesn't seem to mind how you lean back into his chest. 

"What time is it?" 

"Still hoping to make your date?" Gaz teases. He gets his equipment settled and holds out a hand to you to help you stand. When your feet catch on John's big boots, the captain steadies you with a hand on your back.

You'd nearly forgotten about the mousey little man who would likely be left waiting for you downtown. He doesn't hold much appeal anymore but you lie anyway and tell Gaz yes.

"More bad luck there, petal," John commiserates. His voice should be further away now that he's not laying on you, surely? When you turn you find him standing far too close, somehow seeming even larger now despite no longer crushing you into the ground. Gaz is tall too, you note, and between the two of them in their ghillies, you imagine you look like some illustration from a fairytale book: the barefoot maid and her two elements, maybe. It's silly, distracting, which is why you've already forgotten what he's talking about when John continues, "'fraid you still got debrief to sit through." 

"Huh?" You ask stupidly, and then yip when John throws you over his shoulder.

"Debrief. Could take all night," Gaz winks. "Looks like you're ours for the evening, flower."

"Oh. Well, you do still owe me a camera."

Gaz laughs, neat white teeth splitting his face in a handsome smile. "That's right, and cap here owes you some boots."

"Any color you want, flower," John agrees.

next>>

[ltash]

Forever

Ep-7 "The Valkyrie" SimonGhostRileyxFemaleReader

"I am a Valkyrie. And I will take the dead to the feast."

**Kabul, Afghanistan. 

5 years Later:**

Special forces had been deployed to Kabul to restore order. Special Agent Activities Andrea Shepherd sat in a helicopter, her eyes scanning the barren landscape below.

"How long until we land?" Andrea asked the helicopter pilot over the roar of the engine.

"Just about an hour, ma'am. We're reaching the hills now," the pilot replied, his voice steady.

"Hmm," Andrea mumbled, gazing down at the sparse, rugged terrain.

The hour passed slowly, but eventually, the helicopter descended, touching down on the roof of a building. Andrea was the first to step out, her boots hitting the ground with purpose. A soldier approached and guided her to a corridor where her superior awaited.

Laswell, a white, middle-aged woman with short hair, stood with an air of authority. Andrea snapped to attention and saluted. "Agent Andrea Shepherd, at your service, ma'am," she announced.

"Andrea!" Laswell's voice was warm but firm as she shook Andrea's hand. "You're our most trusted agent. That's why you're here. Al Qaeda has become a significant threat. I know you won't hesitate to take action if needed."

"Thank you, ma'am. I won't disappoint you. I promise," Andrea replied, determination gleaming in her eyes.

Laswell nodded approvingly. "Good. Let me show you your room, Shepherd. Follow me."

As they walked through the narrow corridors, Andrea glanced at her watch. It was 4 p.m. The base was a hive of activity, soldiers moving with a sense of urgency and purpose.

"How's the situation on the ground?" Andrea asked, breaking the silence.

"Tense," Laswell admitted. "The locals are on edge, and the insurgents are getting bolder. We need someone with your skills to tip the balance."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Andrea assured her.

They reached a modest room, sparsely furnished but functional. "This will be your quarters," Laswell said, opening the door. "Settle in. Briefing is at 0600 hours."

Andrea nodded. "Understood, ma'am."

Laswell placed a reassuring hand on Andrea's shoulder. "We're counting on you, Shepherd. Welcome to Kabul."

"Thank you, ma'am," Andrea said, stepping into her new room. She set her bag down, the weight of her mission settling over her. There was no time to waste. She had work to do.

"It's your room. Inform James if you need anything," Laswell said, pointing toward a young soldier standing nearby.

"Okay, ma'am. Thank you," Andrea replied. She headed into her quarters, took off her coat, and tossed it onto the couch. Moving to the window, she looked out over the city, a mix of large and small buildings sprawled before her. The reflection of the narrow, muddy roads and bustling market filled her blue eyes.

The city was small, its bazaar filled with people scattered about, creating a lively, if chaotic, scene. Andrea took a moment to absorb the view, letting the reality of her new surroundings sink in.

Later, as she entered the briefing room, she noticed a group of Special Air Service soldiers. Laswell introduced them with a firm, confident voice.

As Andrea entered the briefing room, her eyes scanned the gathering of Special Air Service soldiers before her. A mix of anticipation and uncertainty washed over her. Each soldier embodied the raw intensity and determination that defined the elite unit. These were men who had seen the worst the world could offer, and yet continued to fight on, their spirits unbreakable.

Laswell stepped forward, clearing her throat to get their attention. "Everyone, this is Andrea Shepherd, our CIA field agent. She'll be joining you for this mission."

Captain Price, a seasoned veteran with a steely gaze, stepped up and extended his hand. "Captain John Price. Welcome to the team, Andrea."

She shook his hand firmly. "Thank you, Captain. It's an honor."

Beside him, a younger soldier with a focused demeanor nodded in greeting. "Sergeant Kyle Garrick. It's good to have you with us."

Andrea nodded back. "Likewise, Sergeant."

Laswell continued, "This mission is critical. We have intelligence on a Taliban compound where women and young girls are being held captive. Our objective is to infiltrate, secure the hostages, and extract them safely. Andrea will breach the security code and enter with the women, disguised in an abaya."

Price's face hardened with determination. "Consider it done."

Andrea appreciated the confidence in his voice. "I'll make sure the security systems are down before we go in. We won't have much time once we're inside."

Laswell handed out the mission details. "You'll need to be fast and precise. We don't know how many hostiles are in the building, so be prepared for anything."

Price looked at his team, then back at Andrea. "We move out in ten. Gear up."

The soldiers quickly gathered their equipment, checking weapons and ammo. Andrea followed suit, ensuring her M14 rifle was ready and her combat knives were in place. The weight of the mission pressed on her, but she channeled it into focus.

As they boarded the helicopter, the rotors cutting through the air, Andrea felt a sense of unity with the team. These men were her brothers in arms for the duration of the mission, and they all shared a common goal.

The flight to the target was tense but silent. Each soldier was lost in their thoughts, preparing for what lay ahead. When the pilot announced they were approaching the drop zone, Andrea tightened her grip on the rope.

Descending onto the roof, the team moved with practiced precision. Andrea's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her breathing steady. They kicked the door open and stormed into the building, Price leading the charge.

Inside, the chaos erupted. Gunfire echoed through the corridors as they engaged the militants. Andrea moved swiftly, her training kicking in as she neutralized threats with deadly accuracy.

Inside, one of the women wearing an abaya had gone to the bathroom. It was Andrea. There, she unbuttoned her long black abaya and removed her veil, revealing a black T-shirt and jeans underneath. She was armed with combat knives and an M14 rifle. Her mission was to rescue the captive women from the Taliban.

Silently opening the bathroom door, she emerged, ready for battle. As a trusted CIA agent, she was a lethal fighter who never hesitated to kill, yet she carried a deep sense of justice, especially for the women held captive and abused.

She began shooting the Taliban soldiers, aiming for their heads and chests. The women screamed and ran in panic, trying to avoid the bullets. This chaos was happening on the first floor of the building.

Captain Price and Garrick methodically cleared each floor, breaking down doors and neutralizing militants. As they reached the second floor, Price saw Andrea running down from above.

"Get them out of here," he shouted to one of his men, hearing gunshots from below.

"Who's down there?" he demanded.

"I don't know, sir," a team member replied.

"Let me see for myself," Price said, descending the stairs. He was shocked to find Andrea in the lounge on the ground floor, fighting the militants with incredible skill and agility.

"Holy shit," he muttered, awestruck. He had never seen a woman fight with such precision and ferocity. She moved like a seasoned warrior, dispatching the militants effortlessly.

Price took cover behind a marble statue, watching her in awe. Despite his admiration, he knew he needed to assist her. As he stepped out to shoot, his rifle jammed.

"Shit!" he cursed, expecting to be gunned down. In a flash, Andrea grabbed a sword from a fallen militant and hurled it toward an attacker. The sword pierced the militant's chest, killing him instantly. She used his body as a shield and shot another militant, eliminating both threats.

With the area clear, she stood with her back to Price, breathing heavily. Price emerged from his cover, stunned by her prowess.

"That was impressive," he said, his voice filled with respect.

Andrea turned to him, her expression unreadable. "We need to get those women out of here. Now."

Price nodded, signaling his team to proceed. Together, they escorted the rescued women to safety, ensuring no one was left behind. The mission was a success, but for Price, the real revelation was Andrea's extraordinary capabilities.

Back at the base, as the sun rose over Kabul, Andrea felt a sense of accomplishment. The war was far from over, but in that moment, they had made a difference. And for Andrea, that was enough to keep fighting.

Laswell stood in the small, windowless room, her attention focused on a series of screens in front of her. Each screen displayed a different camera angle, offering unique views of the mission unfolding before her eyes. The hum of electronic equipment filled the cramped space, punctuated by the occasional static crackle or murmured radio conversation.

Her eyes flicked from one screen to another, absorbing the details: the movement of soldiers, the flash of gunfire, the chaotic dance of a mission in full swing. Each screen told a part of the story, and she stitched them together in her mind, forming a comprehensive picture of the operation.

"Agent Shepherd is in position," a voice crackled over the radio.

Laswell leaned closer to the screens, her eyes narrowing as she watched Andrea move with practiced ease, dispatching enemy combatants with lethal precision.

"Good," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else in the room. "Let's get those women out of there."

On another screen, she saw Captain Price and his team advancing, methodically clearing each floor. Price's voice came through the radio next.

"Laswell, we've got heavy resistance on the second floor. Shepherd's engaging the hostiles on the ground level."

Laswell's jaw tightened. "Understood, Price. Maintain your position. Shepherd, do you copy?"

Andrea's voice came through, steady and controlled. "Copy, Laswell. Engaging hostiles and securing the captives."

Laswell watched as Andrea moved through the building, a blur of motion and efficiency. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face remained impassive, her focus unyielding. Every second counted, and she knew the stakes were high.

"Price, Shepherd, proceed with extraction," she commanded, her voice cutting through the static. "Let's get them out safely."

The room fell silent save for the soft, constant hum of the equipment. Laswell's eyes remained glued to the screens, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities, each one more dire than the last. But she trusted her team. She trusted Andrea.

The mission was far from over, but in that small, windowless room, Laswell held on to hope, her belief in her team unwavering. They would succeed. They had to.

As the team returned to base, Andrea felt a surge of satisfaction. The mission had been dangerous, but they had succeeded. She had proven herself once again, not just to the CIA, but to her team.

Price approached her as they disembarked from the helicopter. "Andrea, I've worked with many soldiers in my time, but you... you're something else."

Andrea smiled slightly, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you, Captain. Just doing my job."

Price nodded, respecting her humility. "Let's debrief and get some rest. We've earned it."

As they walked away, the sun began to rise over Kabul, casting a new light on the city and their mission. The war was far from over, but in that moment, they had won a significant victory.

The debriefing was a long and arduous process, but necessary for them to discuss the mission's successes, failures, and ways to improve their tactics for future operations. The team gathered in a small conference room, their eyes heavy with exhaustion, but their minds still focused. Captain Price stood at the front, while Laswell sat beside him, her gaze moving across the room as she listened to the different reports and observations.

Price cleared his throat, commanding the room's attention. "Alright, let's start with a rundown of the mission. Shepherd, you first."

Andrea leaned forward, her expression serious. "We breached the building as planned. Encountered heavier resistance than anticipated on the first floor. Managed to neutralize hostiles and secure the captives."

Laswell nodded, making a note. "Good work, Shepherd. What about the security breach? Any issues?"

"No issues," Andrea replied. "The code was simpler than expected. We were able to move quickly."

Price turned to his team. "Garrick, your report?"

Garrick rubbed his eyes, fighting off fatigue. "Second floor was a nightmare. More militants than intel suggested. We cleared it, but it took longer than planned."

Laswell interjected. "Do we know why there was an increase in numbers?"

Garrick shook his head. "Not yet. Could have been a recent regrouping or reinforcements we weren't aware of."

Price nodded. "We'll need better intel next time. Any injuries?"

"Minor ones," Garrick replied. "Nothing that would compromise future operations."

Laswell leaned back, absorbing the information. "We need to review our intel sources and ensure this doesn't happen again. What about the extraction? Any issues there?"

"Smooth," Price said. "Once we had the captives, we faced minimal resistance on the way out. The helicopter extraction was on point."

Andrea spoke up again. "The women were in poor condition, but they responded well to our presence. They're safe now."

Laswell made another note. "Good. We'll arrange for their care and debrief them separately."

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed the debrief. Price broke the silence. "Any suggestions for improvement?"

Andrea glanced around the room. "We need better intel, as Garrick mentioned. And perhaps more support on the ground for unexpected increases in enemy numbers."

"Agreed," Price said. "We'll adjust our protocols accordingly. Anything else?"

The team shook their heads, too tired to think of more at the moment.

"Alright, get some rest," Laswell concluded. "We'll reconvene tomorrow to finalize our report and prepare for the next mission. Good work, everyone."

As the team began to disperse, Andrea caught Price's eye. He gave her a nod of respect, which she returned. Despite the exhaustion and the lingering adrenaline, there was a sense of accomplishment in the room.

Andrea sat in the dimly lit conference room, the quiet hum of the ventilation system the only sound breaking the silence. The mission had been intense, the rush of adrenaline now slowly ebbing away, leaving her with a sense of weariness that seemed to sink into her bones. As she replayed the events of the night in her mind, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her responsibilities as a part of her job.

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when Captain Price's voice broke through the stillness, clearing his throat to get her attention. Andrea looked up, her senses sharpening as she focused on him.

"Andrea! Can I have a moment?" Captain Price's voice was calm yet firm, the kind of voice that demanded attention in any situation.

"Yes, of course, sir," Andrea replied, straightening up in her chair. She was always respectful of Captain Price, admiring his leadership and experience.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured to the chair opposite him at the conference table. Andrea complied, her mind racing with thoughts about what he could possibly want to discuss.

"Why don't you join the task force with us, Andrea?" Captain Price's question hung in the air, his tone serious yet inviting. "Your father, General Shepherd, has founded Task Force 141—a team comprised of the best of the best. Judging by your skills back there, I'm amazed. You did a fantastic job. We could put your skills to good use."

Andrea's heart skipped a beat at the proposition. Task Force 141 was legendary in military circles, a covert unit known for taking on the toughest missions with unmatched precision. The idea of joining such a team was both thrilling and daunting.

"Thank you, Captain Price," Andrea responded, her voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within her. "I'll talk to my dad about this."

Captain Price nodded, a hint of approval in his expression. Andrea couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his words. She knew that whatever decision she made, it would mark a significant turning point in her career—and possibly her life.

As she left the conference room, Andrea's mind raced with possibilities. Joining Task Force 141 would mean stepping into a world of secrecy, danger, and unparalleled skill. It was a challenge she was ready to face, knowing that her father's legacy and her own abilities would guide her through whatever lay ahead.

[rascal-xo]

Hi hope you're doing good!!! Can I request ghost with a GN reader that suffers from hypersomnia and is sad that no one is taking their fatigue seriously and just think theyre lazy lol. Just some comforting stuff if that's OK with you!!

Surface Tension | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN Reader |

Chapter Summary: Ghost comforts you after a hard week in the field :)

Warnings: mentions of mental health, cursing, FLUFF, hypersomnia, angst

Word Count: 913

A/N: Thank you for sending in this request! I hope I was able to bring your idea to life :))

You watched the clock tik, and every second the hand moved was a second you felt yourself losing your focus little by little. No matter how hard you tried to get a good rest after a long mission, or nap when you had the time off, exhaustion always hit you like a bag of bricks.

You knew something was off about your rest, but the fastest way to push it aside was to ignore the feeling and try to stay focused on your tasks at hand. Being in the 141 meant that you were the best task force there was for any job that came the teams way.

You were the youngest recruit, and for the past year you’ve pulled more than twice your weight to stay above the water. You were a damn good sniper for your age but not as seasoned of a soldier when it came to time in service.

The rest of the men had years of experience on you, which showed. Determined to show your worth you began to take on more than you could carry, and it had proved right until now, when it started to take its toll on your physical and mental wellbeing.

Captain Price cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to the briefing. “Am I boring you, Sergeant?” He cocked an eyebrow. You suddenly felt the entire rooms gaze on you. Ghost met your eyes from across the table small table , turning his head in a ‘You okay?’ type manner.

“No Sir, just a little tired this morning.” You admitted, playing with the strap on your tactical pants.

“Let’s stay awake now. Can’t have you lost during the mission.” He answered back sternly, turning back to the pictures on the board and continuing his meeting.

Ghost’s foot brushed yours from under the table, nonchalantly. He had noticed you were more fatigued than usual lately, zoning out on the comms, failing to remember to do certain tasks on base. Every soldier met obstacles once a while, but he realized it was getting serious.

As the mission commenced, you took your position on a secluded hill a few hundred feet from the targeted site, as the sniper, scanning the area for hostiles. The rest of the guys were broken up into 2 separate ground teams in order to infiltrate the site.

Alpha team successfully took down the main set of guards, moving onto the next wave of security forces. This would be sending hostiles your way.

Then, suddenly you saw movement in the corner of your eye, and your heart skipped a beat. You adjusted your scope and aimed, but your hands were shaking, and your vision was blurry. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but it was too late.

Captain Price's voice boomed in your earpiece. "Bloody hell Sergeant! You’re supposed to be our cover!”

You flinched at the harshness of his tone. You knew he was right, and it only added to your frustration. You tried to shake it off and refocus, but the fatigue was overwhelming.

The mission continued, more smoothly this time as you regained some strength to finish somewhat strong. Taking the win, you couldn’t help but feel like you were letting them down. Even if they didn’t say it to your face, you could read between the silence.

You found yourself away from the post mission celebration happening on base. You stood outside near the outlook facing the distant terrain, with a cigarette between your fingers.

It was impossible to win this never ending exhaustion that had decided to become a weight on your shoulders. You inhaled into your lungs, as the night time air blew past you taking the exhaled smoke with it moments after.

“Smoking the sleep away isn’t going to help, sergeant.” You suddenly heard from behind you. Ghost had a way of sneaking up on you undetected, certainly living up to his name.

“Maybe it will.” You say, as he comes up to stand next to you, leaning his elbows against the railing. He had changed into a more casual look, now only sporting a thin black skull balaclava as opposed to the full ghost mask.

Ghost looked at you, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. “I know it’s tough, but you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You’re not a machine, and even machines need maintenance.”

“They think i’m lazy, Lt.” You said, not meeting his gaze. “You saw the way Price talked to me. I’m letting you all down.” You sighed, taking another drag of your cigarette before flicking it off the railing.

“Sometimes, he keeps his muppets on a short string, that captain.” Ghost replied, “Don’t let it get to you.” He placed an arm over your shoulder, leaving it there as you fell into his touch. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, especially not to us. We know you’re a damn good soldier, Y/N.”

You nodded, taking in his words. He was right, of course. You couldn’t keep sacrificing your own wellbeing for the sake of trying to impress others. “I’ll be better, I have to be.” You said, almost a whisper.

Ghost continued, “Talk to Price, let him know what’s been going on. He’ll understand, and he’ll help you. We all will.” You nodded again, realizing that Ghost was right.

It was time to swallow your pride and admit that you needed to put yourself first. You turned to him, giving him a small smile, as you continued to watch the horizon ahead, together.

A/N: Requests are still open, send in your ideas!

[atonalginger]

Through Plasma and Flames, update #11

Chapter 11: Percolating Thoughts, is now live on ao3!

Dawn takes her first real rest in memory, reflecting on that fact and more. As she realizes she hasn't heard from Preston in a week and resolves to radio the Hills she and Vadim get a visitor.

You can find it on ao3 by clicking here!

To start from the very beginning you can click here.

Note: as of 7/8/2024 my fics have been set to registered users only. I apologize for the inconvenience.

and, as always, a short preview below the cut:

What was supposed to be one night before they all sat down to discuss plans turned into a weekend. Then a full week of rest. Once Dawn’s head hit her pillow in the former back office of the Red Rocket she was out like a light, her body demanding sleep, sleep, and more sleep. Vadim appeared more than happy to oblige that demand, bringing her food in bed and playing interference with the others as they came to check up on her. 

At one point she woke up long enough to catch the tail end of a conversation between Vadim and Yefim over the ham radio. It was clear the rest of their talk had been a terse exchange, with their tones both clipped short as they spoke. In spite of that they were still showing concern for one another.

“I know you can find someone to manage the bar but it won’t be the same,” Yefim had said, “people are complaining and when they find out you plan to stay out there longer they may decide to go elsewhere.”

“Where would they go?” Vadim had asked with a chuckle, “we’re the only well stocked bar in Diamond City that will serve anyone who walks up. The noodle stand has beer but it’s stale and the robot cuts off customers after two. Wellington won’t serve anyone he deems undesirable. They’ll bitch and moan and then come crawling back when they realize the Dugout Inn is the only place to get a proper stiff drink.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Yefim was quiet for several beats, “Just don’t go getting yourself killed out there, alright? I can’t do this without you.”

“You hold all the brains between the two of us you’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Yefim had sighed, “both of you be careful.”

Vadim’s voice was soft, all irritation gone, “We will. You take care of yourself, Fima. I’ll send a bartender soon.”

“Find time to come home, Vadik,” Yefim had grumbled.

Dawn had begun to doze again before Vadim could see she’d been awake, barely alert enough to catch him adjusting her blankets and feel the loving kiss on her scarred cheek. She felt a pang of guilt as she drifted back to sleep over the pain she was causing Yefim. It was her fault his twin was out in the Commonwealth instead of safe behind the walls of old Fenway Park. 

The week had been the longest she’d just rested since she could remember. Even before the bombs dropped Dawn had never really taken time to just rest and reset. There was always something that needed done, something to take care of, someplace to go. She always told herself later, after the next mission, after her contract was up, after she signed a lease. Then it was once she got her bearings, once she asked after Shaun and got a lead, once she got the Quincy refugees settled in the old cul-de-sac, once she got to Diamond City. Even when she stayed with the Bobrov’s in the Dugout Inn she found busy work to keep moving. Later was always just out of reach.

Her recovery at Bravo didn’t count in her mind. Nothing about the nagging pain, regular cleanings and check-ins felt like rest. Those two weeks were an internal fight to stay sane and recover. Long days left to plot and plan. Things she thought she’d be doing at the Red Rocket instead of resting in the dimly lit room in the back of the service station. 

[riley-phoenix]

Pairing: Malia X Reader(Male)

Canon: Teen Wolf

Content: Smut, friends to lovers

Author's Note: -

Summary: While on a mission out of Beacon Hills, you and Malia find you need to book into a motel. Everything seems fine until you realise one thing: There's Only One Bed.

The wind blew relentlessly, rustling the trees and forcing leaves off their branches while a constant, sharp noise, perhaps the swooshing of the ice-cold midnight breeze, filled the air.

There had been a surge in supernatural emergencies lately, leading Scott to order the pack to split up in twos and deal with them. To your absolute surprise and delight, he had paired you with Malia. You could work well together with anyone, but given the choice, you'd pick her. You'd always thought fondly of her. You admired her curt responses and found her honest --sometimes brutally honest-- personality irresistible. Not to mention; you found her attractive, gorgeous infact, but you weren't going to make a move tonight, not so soon after her breakup with Stiles. Besides, you were out on business.

This little crush had always made you nervous around her, leading you to be unnecessarily nice to her. Wether it was always paying attention to her over the chaotic exchanges of dialogue during a pack meeting or leaping out of your seat at her mere mentioning of needing a favour, you couldn't control yourself around her, but you were aiming to keep yourself in check tonight.

You were lost in the middle of North Louisiana with no service and the rain had just started coming down. You and Malia jogged through the muddy terrain until, finally, you stumbled upon a motel.

"This should do for the night", Malia says, to which you nod.

The door creaked open slowly as you stepped inside. You approached the front desk while Malia squeezed the water out of her hair and scraped some mud off her boots.

There was an old, wrinkly woman with grey hair and pale skin behind the desk. She held a curmudgeonous expression and never broke eye contact with you. You approached her and lifted a finger so as to speak, and, just as your mouth had opened, you were subsequently interrupted, "Only one room left", she said in a shrill voice.

"We'll take it", you said without further inquiry about the accomodations as you gazed out a small window and took in the inclement weather outside. You threw a few dollars onto the desk and she handed you a pair of bronze keys in return. You turned around and jingled them at Malia, signalling her to follow you to the room. Before you left the lobby you picked up your bags, and, being the gentleman that you were, carried both your luggages, of which there were only two medium sized suitcases filled with clothes and essential supplies.

The hollow floorboards echoed the sounds of your footsteps as you ascended the staricase. You placed the suitcases on the floor and the key in the lock, moving it slowly in a clockwise motion before opening the door.

Grabbing the suitcases by their handles once more, you lifted them off the ground and swung the door open as you stepped inside. The room was small. It had an antique, wooden style of interior designing that, despite not being of the greatest quality, constituted a warm, cozy feeling. It seemed fine until you noticed one problematic detail: There's only one bed.

"Crap!", You exclaimed.

Malia, who was standing behind you, surged forward in a small panic. "What?", She asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"There's only one bed".

"Oh... Well, we'll make do", she said as she shrugged her shoulders.

You were shocked. It baffled you how nonchalant her response was and how she dismissed the situation as if it was nothing. You pulled out your blanket and started setting it on the floor when Malia questioned you.

"What are you doing?".

"You can have the bed", you said chivalrously

"*your name*, that looks extremely uncomfortable. Plus, I'm pretty sure there's termites on that floor".

"I'll be fine".

"We can share the bed".

"Oh, no I- I couldn't".

Malia rolled her eyes, grabbed your blanket and threw it onto the bed, "Really, it's fine".

"Don't you... Uhh", you started nervously.

"Yeah?", She asked.

"Don't you think sharing a bed is kinda... Intimate?".

She chuckled. "That's cute", she said jokingly, to which you didn't laugh, but rather looked on nervously. She sighed. "Look, we had a long day, we're both really tired. We're probably gonna fall asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows. Nothing's gonna happen, I promise".

"...Okay", you said hesitantly, before removing your shoes, climbing onto the bed and turning the lamp light off.

Later that night...

Neither of you were asleep. You twisted and turned, trying to do anything to force yourself asleep but nothing worked, you just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

As you adjusted your pillow, Malia pulled the blanket you were sharing closer to her, leaving a part of your body exposed. "Rude", you joked. Then you heard her shiver, and you knew something was wrong. It was the weather, it was getting to her.

"Hey, are you sick?", You asked.

"Shapeshifters can't get sick", she replied.

"Then what's wrong?".

"Incase you forgot I used to have a fur coat", she said curtly as she shivered again.

"Oh, right... Is there anything I can do?".

She paused, "...Yeah, actually... There is". She turned around to face you and brought your body closer to her's. You were chest to chest. She placed one hand on your abdomen and the other around your neck as she brought her head closer to your's.

"This making you feel better?", You asked as you furrowed your brow.

"Yeah. Your body temperature is hotter than mine, it's helping me stay warm so the cold doesn't affect me as much".

"Anything I can do to help", you said hesitantly. It made you nervous when you noticed just how close your bodies were.

She paused again. "Are you ok?", She asked.

"Yeah, of course. Why?".

"'Cause your heart is beating like, really fast".

You noticed she had her hand on your chest. "Yeah... I'm fine".

"That was a lie".

"What?".

"Your heart rate increased again... Something's bothering you". She pulled your face closer to her's so that you were looking at each other eye to eye. "Tell me what's wrong".

"I guess... I was kinda nervous about sharing a bed with you".

"Why?", She asked, to which she recieved no response. "*Your name*, do... Do you like me?", Again she recieved no response.

You simply turned your face away from her, almost in embarrassment. Your response, or lack thereof, said everything.

"Why didn't you say something before?", She asked.

You struggled to respond, "I don't know... I guess I just thought it was so soon after you broke up with Stiles; I didn't say anything because... I didn't know if you'd feel the same way".

"That was stupid...", she said bluntly as she ran her hand through your hair and placed one finger on your face, "...Because I do". She brought her lips to your's as she cupped your cheek.

You pulled her closer by her waist and reciprocated the kiss, gently moving against her tongue and softly squeezing her lips. Then, you pulled apart. A look of uncertainty on both your faces. Malia pulled her hands away from her body and reached down, to the edges of her shirt before pulling it over her head. "I thought you said you were cold", you said playfully.

"I was thinking we could heat things up".

You chuckled and did the same. Pulling off your shirt before helping Malia onto your waist as you slid under her. She ran her hands over your abs and as you reached for her, she grabbed your hands by the wrists and pushed them down against the bed. You struggled against her grip as she held you down, "I have super strength", she said. Eventually you stopped, and allowed Malia to take control. Still pinning you down, she kissed you on the cheek and made her way down. She left a trail of kisses across your neck and even on your chest, each one earning a small moan from you.

Then, she released her grip on your wrists. Letting you free. Waisting no time you flipped both of you over, now you were on top. You followed suit as you kissed her, then moved down, to her neck, and to her torso, enjoying each small moan she let out.

"Unhook my bra", she commanded as she lifted her body off the bed, allowing you to reach behind her and undo it before tossing it aside.

She pulled playfully at the elastic fabric on your boxer shorts, awaiting your consent. "Do it", you said breathlessly as she slipped them off.

"Now me", she said, to which you obliged and removed her pants. You were both fully exposed now. Vulnerable to each other in the highest form of intimacy.

You brought your head down, closer to her's, and once again kissed her on the side of the neck. This time you spread your legs apart, prompting her to do the same as you grabbed her by her lower waist. You moved into her slowly, earning one long, audible moan as she threw her head back in delight. She placed one hand on your buttocks and squeezed it hard as she guided you into a motion. You moved in unison, by the waist, front and back, creating a pleasurable sensation for the both of you.

"F-f-faster", she said as your hips started to press against each other even harder. As the springs in the bed started to break under pressure, it coincided with the noise of your moans, growing louder and louder until it burnt you out.

After some time, you slowed down. Tiredly, you laid your head against Malia's chest as she fell back into the pillow until finally; you achieved a mutual climax. Both your hands fell to your sides and you pulled away from her, falling to her side once again, and eventually, somewhere in the night, you fell asleep.

Masterlist

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Tags: @cactuwus @melthedwarf

[justwriteryan]

Sunrise on a Manhattan Wednesday morning. All across the city, alarm clocks go off, people stir in their sleep. In the liveliest city in the world, every home, every workplace is bracing itself for day. And Avengers Tower is no exception.

Within the enormous skyscraper, Edwin Jarvis, the elderly butler quietly walks down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for his employers. He stops. There’s a figure at the windows in the upper lobby. His six foot frame is silhouetted in the rising sunlight.

JARVIS: Good morning, Master Steven.

Steve Rogers, the former Captain America, turns to face his loyal butler.

ROGERS: God morning, Jarvis.

JARVIS: Up early again, sir?

ROGERS: I make a point of watching the sunrise as often as I can. I’ve been in hundreds of fights over the years, Jarvis. Odds are, I’ll die in one some day. I like to take a second to enjoy the beginning of a new day before we launch head-first into all the madness.

JARVIS: Very good, sir. I’ll prepare your morning espresso, shall I?

ROGERS: Thank you, Jarvis. That’d be great. And wake up Maria please.

MARIA: No need, commander.

Maria Hill, Steve’s second-in-command, enters the room. She’s already dressed in her uniform with an electronic tablet in her hand and a pistol strapped to her waist.

ROGERS: Good morning, agent. Run me through the morning’s reports.

MARIA: Yes, sir. Sharon got in touch during the night to say she’s proceeding with the final phase on that mission in Egypt, and that the team will be out of touch for twenty four hours..

ROGERS: Okay…

MARIA: Intel picked up a cell of H.A.M.M.E.R loyalists in Montana. They’ve stockpiled some of Osborn’s nastier tech, and I don’t think they’re planning on building a fort with them.

ROGERS: Put a call into Victoria Hand over at the mansion, have Luke’s team investigate.

MARIA: You got it. Oh, and Sue, Reed, Johnny and the kids are on vacation in another dimension, but Ben’s decided to stay. Guess he enjoys being an Avenger better, huh?

Steve turns and smiles.

ROGERS: Whats not to love?

Maria returns the smile. For a few seconds, neither of them speak.

ROGERS: So, who do we…

BOOM!

ROGERS: What the…?

The building shakes. Across town, a column of smoke is rising.

ROGERS: Maria! Intel, now!

At that moment, several fireballs appear in the morning sky. One by one, they crash, hitting various points of the city. Explosions are heard. The city shakes again.

ROGERS: Missiles?

MARIA: No sir. They seem to coming from space. Meteors I think!

ROGERS: A meteor shower? Of this magnitude, hitting this city, with no advance word from NASA or the Baxter Building’s satellites? I’m not buying it!

The building trembles again, with more ferocity than before.

ROGERS: Another meteor?

MARIA: No, sir. That one shook the whole city! More like an earthquake! Although the seismic readings I’m seeing here…

A new sound. Gunfire. Lots of it. Mingled with explosions and for the first time, screams.

ROGERS: Computer: on!

The dining room table in the middle of the room separates in the middle. Out of the space large flat computer screen rises.

ROGERS: Show me what the situation is in Midtown!

The screen flashes on. We see various security feeds a bustling city street, thrown into panic. Marching through the streets are these horrible, grey-skinned, humanoid creatures with yellow eyes. Each one is six foot in height with a strange kind of machine gun and are mowing down anything that moves.

Steve Rogers watched the screen intently, his temper rising. Maria Hill is too shocked and scared to speak. In spite of the maelstrom on the streets and on the screen, the room is deathly quiet.

ROGERS: Computer: initiate Stark Emergency Frequency Sigma Seventy-Two.

COMPUTER: Emergency Frequency Sigma Seventy-Two activated, Commander.

ROGERS: Maria, get me S.H.I.E.L.D, S.W.O.R.D, the military, the navy, the fire department, the ambulance services and the police on the line the second I finish here. And the President too, if he isn’t trying to reach me already.

MARIA: Yes, sir.

ROGERS: People of New York, this is Commander Steven Rogers.

All at once, the former Captain America’s face appears on every television, computer screen and phone across the city. It appears at Grand Central Station and Time Square and in the homes of families huddling together for support.

ROGERS: In the last few minutes, the city has come under attack by an as-yet unknown alien invasion party. Before we tackle this threat, our first task is to prevent any more casualties. I ask you to stay indoors and only leave your home or place of work if your life depends on it. Rescue teams are coming.

Throughout the city commuters in the subway, men and women in office buildings, customers in grocery stores and families of all races, colours and nationalities watch with fear in their hearts as Steve delivers his message.

ROGERS: If you are already outside, find somewhere safe and stay there. If you’re on our way into the city at this time, use whatever means you have and evacuate the vicinity. Once again, this is Commander Steve Rogers asking you to stay put and stay safe. God bless.

The computer screen goes blank, then lights up again as the President’s face appears on it.

PRESIDENT: Good speech, Commander. I hope you have a plan to back it up.

ROGERS: Of course, Mr. President. I want as many available armed and emergency services committed to the immediate evacuation and rescue of civilians, sir.

PRESIDENT: You got it. But what are you planning on fighting these bastards with?

ROGERS: With your leave, sir, I’d like to deploy the super heroes. If this is in fact an alien invasion, then they would be the natural front line.

PRESIDENT: Very good, Steve. And this is definitely an invasion. I’m hearing that whatever these things are, wherever they came from, they’re attacking every major city in the country, maybe even the world.

ROGERS: Yes sir. Rogers out.

Steve turns back to Maria as the screen goes black.

ROGERS: Maria, patch me through to the All-Call Frequency.

MARIA: Yes, sir.

She types something onto the tablet in her hands.

MARIA: Good to go sir.

ROGERS: Attention! This is Commander Steve Rogers issuing a code red All-Call! This is a priority alert! All metahumans respond immediately! In other words…AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!

An old idea I had for a crossover where the Marvel 616 universe gets invaded by the Locust horde from Gears of War. Stay tuned!

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

House Speaker Kevin McCarthy on Tuesday officially denied seats on the House Intelligence Committee to Democratic Reps. Eric Swalwell and Adam Schiff, the former chairman of the panel.

The decision reflects the increasingly politicized nature of one of Congress’ most important national security committees and was swiftly met with outrage by the two California Democrats, both of whom played key roles in the impeachments of former President Donald Trump.

“I cannot put partisan loyalty ahead of national security, and I cannot simply recognize years of service as the sole criteria for membership on this essential committee. Integrity matters more,” McCarthy wrote in a letter to House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries that he posted on Twitter Tuesday night.

McCarthy has cited a “new standard” from Democrats for why he would strip Schiff and Swalwell, both of California, of their committee assignments. The Democrat-led House in 2021 removed GOP Reps. Marjorie Taylor Greene of Georgia and Paul Gosar of Arizona from their committees for inflammatory rhetoric, including support for violence against Democratic members of Congress.

In the letter, McCarthy added that “it is my assessment that the misuse of this panel during the 116th and 117th Congresses severely undermined its primary national security and oversight missions – ultimately leaving our nation less safe,” and that he wants the panel to be one of “genuine honesty and credibility that regains the trust of the American people.”

‘POLITICAL VENGEANCE’

“It’s political vengeance,” Swalwell said following the decision on Tuesday. “It’s too bad because that committee has always been a bipartisan committee, and he’s taking one of the most precious pieces of glassware in the congressional cabinet and smashing it, and the damage is going to be irreparable.”

He added that “if a Democrat advocated for violence against another member of Congress, I would support getting rid of them.”

Schiff told reporters that “if McCarthy thinks this is going to stop me from vigorously pushing back against his efforts to tear down these institutions, he’s going to find out just how wrong he is.”

“I think this is a terrible move on his part and once again, showing McCarthy just catering to the most extreme elements of this conference,” he added.

Schiff will sit on the Judiciary Committee, according to a Democratic aide, while Swalwell told CNN he will sit on the Judiciary and Homeland Security panels.

Some House Republicans have criticized McCarthy’s move ejecting Democrats from the intelligence panel. GOP Rep. Victoria Spartz of Indiana said in a statement that she opposes the push to remove the Democrats.

“I appreciate these Republican members speaking out against what McCarthy is doing,” Schiff later told CNN’s Anderson Cooper on “AC360.”

“I think it does show that there are Republicans who understand this is very ill considered. It’s just going to damage the institution, it’s not justified,” he added. “These efforts are not at all bipartisan. Indeed, the opposition to it is bipartisan.”

The three Democrats whom McCarthy ousted or plan to oust stood in unity at a Capitol Hill news conference Wednesday.

“The three of us have chosen to stick together because this isn’t about any individual committee assignments, and this is about an institution where the Speaker of the House is using his power to go after his political opponents, and to pick them off the field,” Swalwell said.

They all seemed in agreement that the “destructive move” was especially hypocritical, given embattled Rep. George Santos has been seated on committees. Democrats and Republicans have called on Santos, a freshman Republican from New York, to resign following a series of false statements he has made including misrepresenting parts of his identity and his resume.

“This is a Republican Speaker who is seating a human fraud, George Santos, on committees, a serial fabricator about every part of his existence. He’s perfectly comfortable with it,” Schiff said.

MEMBERS APPOINTED TO SELECT SUBCOMMITTEES

McCarthy on Tuesday also announced the list of GOP members he is appointing to serve on the select subcommittee on the weaponization of the federal government, with Ohio GOP Rep. Jim Jordan to serve as its chair.

GOP Reps. Dan Bishop of North Carolina and Chip Roy of Texas, who were part of the initial holdouts against McCarthy in the Speakership race, also gained spots on the panel. Democrats will have the opportunity to appoint members as well.

The Speaker also announced appointments to the select subcommittee on the Coronavirus pandemic, with Greene among the members chosen.

McCarthy expanded both of the select committees, naming more people to the rosters than initially expected due to “overwhelming interest” from members, according to a GOP source familiar. House Republicans will have to put forward a floor resolution to formally amend the ratios, the source added, but doesn’t anticipate it will be an issue.

[arthurmorganstb]

Isn't This Price's Job? (Ghost x Reader)

I can't say I know Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley 'well'. I think that goes for everyone at the base, and even everyone in Taskforce 141. Except for Soap. After what happened in Las Almas, they've become close. A lot closer than Ghost is to anyone. He also calls Soap Johnny. I could never think of Soap MacTavish as anything other than...well Soap. I've been a part of the Taskforce for six months now, and still feel as if I know Ghost as well as a deer comprehends quantum physics.

"Sergeant First-Class Myra Park," the private greeted me. He was young, nineteen at most. He fidgeted with his vest. This would be his first mission apart of the Taskforce, and like many members would be for that mission only. Still, as a new enlistee, any mission was scary. "Usually, on missions it's customary to just call your fellow mission members by their last names, Park works fine. And in any other context, you can drop the 'First-Class'." He nodded appreciatively. "FNG! How are you? Did you piss yourself yet? Pack extra diapers?" Childish. "Sargent Odson," I said in service of a greeting. He had been a pain in my ass since we first met, an overly cocky Londoner who had no place in the military. "Myra! Are you excited to kill some bad guys?" "First of all, you're a Staff Sargent so no matter what I should be Sargent Park to you." This wasn't necessarily true, as I had just told the private something very different, still I enjoyed lording it over Odson that I had been promoted faster than him. "Second of all, Price put me in charge of this mission so I recommend you shut up before I report you for insubordination. Third of all, our mission isn't to 'kill some bad guys' it's to gain intel from a stakeout. Shooting is a worst-case scenario."     He nodded emphatically, a cocky smile playing on his thin lips. "Of course...Sergeant."

     We arrived at the nondescript old factory in the dead of night, nothing but the moon for lighting. A large hill overlooked the building, large willowy golden-yellow plants swaying in the breeze which would, most importantly, make us virtually invisible.     All three of us pulled out our field binoculars, surveying the factory. No movement except for the wind.     Hours passed by before anything happened. At four in the morning, a large dairy truck rolled up to the factory. The painted-on Shamrock Farms peeled back to advertise itself as Samck Frs.     The large semi door rolled up, and two men jumped out from the truck. The driver joined them, seemingly yelling, throwing his arms up in the air at the end.     Once the diver stalked off and opened the factory door, the two other men got to work. Our view of what was inside the truck was obscured, but as soon at the men started unloading, it was clearly many bricks of cocaine.     "Just as we thought," I softly muttered to my subordinates. "Cartel activity. Laswell isn't going to like this."     "Well, what does Laswell like?" Odson snarked. I ignored him. "Mexican Cartel?" The private interjected. "No, Laswell's been tracking these guys for months. Colombian." "Muy buena." I whipped my head around to come face to face with two Colombian Cartel members. "We can either do this the peaceful way and come with us, or we can dump your body in that river over there. Your choice." The taller of the two men said, AK-47 casually pointed towards the star-speckled sky. Within half a second, I had signaled to my men and aimed my gun, safety off. The shorter of the two cartel members fired into the private's arm, knocking him back. Odson and I both fired into the taller man, dropping him dead. With the momentary distraction, we stood, conscious of how close we were to the edge of the hill. The private dropped the other member, but I could see more coming up the hill. "We've got to move," I said. Turning to the Private, who was bleeding profusely, I asked "You good to walk?" He gave a single nod. As we made our way down the hill, we dropped member after member of the cartel, our military training superior to their street-acquired gun fighting. But they were too numerous. More and more streamed up the hill, the long grasses stained crimson. "Jesus," Odson said. "They've got to have the whole cartel on our ass." Another bullet entered the Private, hitting him squarely in his other shoulder. When he dropped, he didn't get back up. I had been shot before. It didn't hurt at first. The pain would come after, maybe once the bullet was dug out. Maybe a minute after you get shot. Then it would be searing. Blinding. I had been shot many, many times. It didn't do anything to negate the shock I felt once the bullet tore through my thigh. "Shit!" I heard Odson exclaim. I continued firing, most likely not hitting a single target. When the second bullet hit, I went down. It's a funny feeling, your life force being drained away. The scarlet substance left my body in mass amounts. My eyes slowly glossed over, barely aware of the one-man versus cartel army battle raging on around me. As sensibility left with my blood, I dipped my hand in the pooling blood, cheek pressed against the ground. And like the cards in Alice in Wonderland painting the white roses red, I covered the long yellow grasses. My last conscious thought I need to paint them all... Read the rest here

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[lucifra-writes]

Oak Leaves in Autumn

Rose Wellwater did not, as a rule, move quickly.

Granted, at least part of that was a result of spending long enough to lose track of time in the service of a fae noble- even if the magic that had been built up around her life-bone and soul over so many years protected her from the normal aging process, she was still ultimately human, and being the de facto gofer for any fae, let alone Sevren the Oakroot, entailed more than a little disregard for mere human limitations and weaknesses.

As such, she had more than her fair share of scars and aches, just as she had her share of prides and joys. For one, despite how her hair was so raggedly kept as a result of his almost unending stream of tasks and errands for her to go on, it was still as sakura-pink as it had always been, no matter how much blood (either hers or others’) ever stained it.

This didn’t take away from the cane she’d been forced to use so that she could walk, or the untold horrors she’d been subjected and, indeed, forced to fight off, but it was the pride she took in her hair, and the opportunities that awaited her upon her final return to the mortal world, that drove her forward with the unyielding determination through everything Sevren could squeeze out of her. All the while she cursed her younger self for accepting a client while clearly struck by a glamour, and the Keepers of the Laws for ignoring her petitions for redress, and the Oakroot for casting the damn thing to begin with, but onward she continued, with all the implacable drive that any knight would be in envy of.

Still, when she finished her final mission for the Oakroot, one last coating of blood for her aching hands that were already too red for her tastes, she didn’t exactly move slowly on her way to report back to the man-shaped being.

His personal guards almost stopped her when she came to the room she could only think of as his throne room, but a five foot girl with pink hair, leaning heavily on a cane, didn’t exactly scream dangerous (purposefully so, at that), and while it was a façade, Rose didn’t rely on the glamours or shapeshifting that most of the fae did to achieve that. As such, between her not looking threatening and her having legitimate business with him (well, that and the fact that she didn’t have any intent to harm him), she was shown into his throne room in short order.

“Ah, little flower!” the man said, the oak tree he’d grown into a throne in all but name providing dappled shadow over his whole frame, which was more on display than normal since he’d forgone his standard bark-pattern jerkin to have all the oak-leaf-green flesh of his torso on display. “What have you for me today?”

“As ordered,” Rose replied, flourishing her hand to present the vial she’d been bade to claim for him. “One vial of Northerlandic steelblood.”

Sevren nodded, then rose from his throne, too-long limbs gangling as he strode down from the top of the grassy hill he’d crammed into the room. After he reached down and plucked it from her hand, he beheld her, eyes looking almost like the sun glinting through pearls of sap as he seemed to look at something deeper than mere flesh (and, given his fae nature, it was very possible that he was).

“This was to be your last task for me, was it not?”

Immediately, Rose found herself on edge. Something about the ancient entity’s tone set her instincts on edge, and his word choice tickled something in the back of her head as well. “It is, as per the contract that we both signed before I began my term of service for you.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving the hand that wasn’t tucking the vial she’d stolen for him into an extradimensional space. “The contract that you signed. The penalty clauses, as signed, declare that if you remain within my realm after the sunset after you complete my tasks, you forfeit a year and a day’s worth of time in service to me once more.”

“You bastard,” snarled Rose- she’d not be able to get to the nearest exit from his realm within the hour and a half until sunset, not unless she twisted time far enough to draw attention from the Pendulum.

“Not so, in fact,” he replied glibly. “My parents were quite happily married when I was born. Now, for that insult, I do believe… ah, yes, I believe I shall be extracting my price in the sharing of a memory. Please, don’t move too much…”

His hand reached out, and before Rose could gather the wherewithal to react somehow, his fingers were already pressed to her forehead, smooth in a way that no human could ever match, and time fell away as he reached into her mind for a memory to suit his tastes.

-----

It never got easier to watch yourself die.

Dying, that was easy- just an instant of “oh, damn” and then blinking five minutes or ten or however long in the past that it would take to sidestep whatever it was that would leave your innards outards, or however it was that the universe was conspiring to leave your body nothing more than just a chunk of cooling meat.

But seeing the light go out of your own eyes in third person, that was something that in all her deaths-that-weren’t, Rose Wellwater never got over.

Then again, she didn’t need to get over them, at least not now.

No, as long as she could ride out the rest of her term of service (inasmuch as one could call a quest that one had been enchanted into performing for a fae noble that they no longer were quite so moony-eyed over a term of service), she’d be able to retire to somewhere she could actually afford the time and space to process her own death countless times over, as long as she managed to escape the worst urges of the fae upon returning to them.

As it stood, though, she had a battle to fight, and the Carnellan combat squad, all well-worn armor, pale flesh, and hair to match that had just had their heavy knight hew her head from her shoulders wasn’t going to just line up for her to kill.

Drawing as much mystical energy into herself as she dared, Rose compressed it down into a spell matrix, broadening the targeting with the extra power, and then clenched her fist to seal the matrix and finish casting the spell, more than used to the brief spike of pain that came with using the magic that deflected the Old Potter’s grasp on her life-bone in such an unusual way.

The spell flashed out, all creeping mycelia and stench of rot, and in a visual effect that resembled nothing so much as a time-lapse of moss growing over a rock, the Carnellan combatants (who were, as a rule, in the prime of their physicality or at least close to it due to stringent fitness requirements for each combat role in the elite combat force) aged into wizened, almost stick-thin forms.

Naturally, their older forms were not capable of carrying the heavy combat kits that Carnel liked to issue to their combatants, dragging them to the ground (and snapping multiple suddenly-brittle bones), and the two who wobbled without falling under the weight of their practically plain armor were more likely than not magic users of some stripe who could use the supernatural forces at their fingertips to lighten the load in a very literal sense (either that or augmented in a way that didn’t degenerate as a result of age, as rare as that was outside of some of the Northerlandic countries). Either way, they were still working on a human physiological plan, and one (less complicated) spell matrix later, and both of them had been overbalanced by intensely localized gales. Another spell matrix had roots growing out of the path that they were standing in, and once these roots had bound the whole squad to the ground, she clambered up the rocky area next to the path to stand over the squad.

“What the fuck! I killed you,” snarled the heavy knight, held down at least as much by his armor and almost impractically large sword that was holding down his right arm.

“Evidently not,” replied Rose, a hint of a smirk making its way onto her face as she made the fact that she wasn’t looking at her body look natural (watching it rot into nothing in fast forward was, if anything, more unnerving than watching her own death). Interestingly, his piercing blue eyes, still bright despite the wrinkles and wrongly-bent limbs, flickered through sorrow and back into fury at the sight of her smirk. “Now then, people who could have been friends if you hadn’t done… that… I have questions that I would like answered before I undo what has been done to you.”

As Rose took in the various reactions to this (ranging from resignation to rage), she held back a sigh. One day, this would be over and she’d be free to live her life. Until then, she’d have to keep working towards the Oakroot’s goals, and doing his dirty work.

-----

“Ah,” he said, teeth glinting in the orange-yellow light of the setting sun. He inhaled strongly through his nose, as if smelling a flower garden, then turned to regard Rose with a gaze she couldn’t see as anything other than predatory. “I think I’ll keep you around as a memory bank for until I tire of the flavor of your emotions.”

“That’s not something you’re legally allowed to do, under the Compact of the Starsworn, even if it was something that I signed a contract for- hells, your little trick there was illegal too. Memory manipulation is-” she began.

“No one needs to know, my little flower, not even the Keepers of the Laws,” he said, and with how he loomed over Rose, the nickname took on a new, chilling subtext that set her teeth to grinding against one another. “No one will know, either- all of my guards and servants are sworn to secrecy, and as for after I’m done with you… well, we can handle that when it comes time. Who knows, I might even wipe your memory and set you free, just to see the despair on your face as you realize how much time you’ve truly lost before I tear your protection away and let the Potter claim your life-bone.” He reached out, his fingertips glowing with what would ordinarily be a soothing golden color but some magical sense told Rose should be setting every hair on her body on end as well as some not on her body.

“Don’t worry, your body is made for this. It won’t hurt one bit.”

Rose blinked, closing her eyes with his hand closing around her head and opening them from just in front of his tree-throne, watching her body collapse almost bonelessly into him, with slowly rising fury bubbling within her chest.

“I would not do that if I was you,” said Rose, feeding her fury into a spell matrix as the Oakroot turned, triumph leaching away in favor of confusion in his glowing eyes.

“What in the Eldest Tree- you were supposed to be alive, just dead to the world!”

“Dumbass,” she said, swinging her right arm (and, with it, the spell matrix) back to point at the tree-throne that had, subtly, been glowing in time with every time he used any form of magic. “You cannot kill me in a way that matters.”

The spell matrix detonated in a flash, the pain that twisting time into decay once carried with it long gone, and splotches of rot started appearing on the oaken throne’s bark.

“What have you done, foolish girl?” snarled the Oakroot, the deep green of his flesh starting to yellow around the edges for the first time she’d seen.

“Seized my freedom in both hands. Don’t worry,” she said, all sickly sweet mock sympathy, “I’ll be sure to preserve your realm after you die, at least for long enough to claim redress from the Keepers of the Laws.”

“You bitch!” He lunged for her, but it was too late- as the rot expanded, it drew more and more strength from the enchantments no doubt woven into every cell of the tree’s being, and expanded faster.

Before Sevren got even halfway to Rose, his legs crumbled away like so many leaves, dust blowing away in a breeze that failed to so much rustle the grass on the hill.

“I would say I hope you enjoy the Potter’s attentions,” she said, years of rage leaking into her voice, “but I would be lying more egregiously than anything you’ve ever done to me.”

He opened his mouth, glaring from between rotting eyelids, but before he could say anything, the tree finished crumbling, and the lights behind his eyes winked out, leaving two teardrops of amber to drop to the floor in a pile of leaf mulch.

Rose sighed, pushing her hair back, then limped down the hill and scooped up the amber and slipped it into a pouch. “Wherever what’s left of you is,” she said, “I hope you get exactly what you deserve.”

She said nothing else as the starry-armored knights of the Keepers of the Laws arrived and took her away through their swirling, star-dotted portal.

-----

And that's that!

Not a whole lot to say here.

If you want to support me as a writer, I got me a Ko-fi (https://ko-fi.com/lucifra) and a Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Lucifra), and if you become a patron, you can see my chapters a week early.

Speaking of which, my thanks to NotableRonin and Ember for being patrons!

I have a discord sir ver for author stuff - if you have questions or comments that you’d like a more direct answer to, that’s another option: https://discord.gg/NHRUKz8jyy

That’s about it, so read, review, enjoy, and have a nice day!

[aimhighmoversllc]

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[usafphantom2]

Georgia base tapped to host F-35 fighters as A-10 fleet retires

Rachel S. CohenJun 27 at 04:15 PM

Moody Air Force Base, Georgia, is the service’s top pick to become the next active duty home of the F-35A Lightning II fighter.

The Air Force said Monday it plans to bring two F-35 squadrons to the Valdosta base starting in fiscal 2029, when it hopes to complete phasing out its fleet of A-10C Thunderbolt II attack planes.

The service must first study the proposed move’s environmental impact on the surrounding area before formally green-lighting the project. That review is slated to finish in fall 2025.

Switching missions at Moody isn’t expected to create any new jobs on base, the Air Force said, although it had previously announced that the U.S.’s most advanced fighter jet would bring in another 500 or so workers.

It’s unclear what other bases were considered as part of the process.

Winding down much of America’s combat operations overseas has prompted a significant shift in Moody’s missions at home. For almost two decades, the base’s A-10s watched over ground troops and strafed enemy forces with the Warthog’s iconic, armor-piercing 30mm gun.

Moody airmen also flew search-and-rescue missions in Afghanistan since the early days of the U.S. invasion and trained Afghan pilots on the A-29 Super Tucano ground attack aircraft to build the country’s fledgling air force.

The Air Force’s plan to swap A-10s for F-35s at Moody is emblematic of the Pentagon’s pivot from its longtime War on Terror to instead focus on military competition with China.

The service argues that the Warthog fleet must be retired because it is ill-equipped to face off against advanced air defenses, stealth jets and the vast distances of the Pacific. Critics say the A-10 can perform the close air support mission far better than the F-35, which was designed as the high-tech “quarterback” of the battlefield rather than to hunt convoys.

Georgia lawmakers hailed the decision as a long-term investment in the region’s military community as the country’s priorities change.

“This is a major step forward in our ongoing effort to strengthen and sustain Moody Air Force Base for decades to come,” Sen. Jon Ossoff, D-Georgia, said in a release Monday. “I will continue to champion Moody AFB and its future as a home for U.S. Air Force tactical aviation.”

“For decades Moody AFB has been key for our nation’s defense,” Republican Rep. Austin Scott, who represents the base’s district, said on Twitter. “I am pleased that Secretary Kendall has selected Moody as the preferred location for the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter. Moody is proud to maintain a fighter mission, carrying its strong legacy long into the 21st century.”

Active duty F-35 units already handle test, training and combat operations from Edwards Air Force Base in California, Nellis AFB in Nevada, Luke AFB in Arizona, Hill AFB in Utah, Eglin AFB in Florida, Eielson AFB in Alaska and RAF Lakenheath in England. Three more squadrons will start arriving at Tyndall AFB, Florida, this summer.

In May, the service announced that the Oregon National Guard will likely host the Air Force’s third F-35A training squadron at Kingsley Field, pending an environmental study. The decision would bring 20 jets but no new jobs to the installation.

“The Air Force needs F-35 squadrons available and fully mission-capable to prevail against peer adversaries,” the Oregon Air National Guard’s 173rd Fighter Wing said in a release. “That means they require more F-35 pilots. Team Kingsley’s adaptability and excellence allows us to fill this Air Force need.”

The U.S. plans to purchase 2,470 F-35s overall, more than 1,700 of which will be flown by the Air Force. The jets remain the Pentagon’s most expensive weapons program, at more than $1.7 trillion to buy, operate and maintain, the Government Accountability Office said last year.

Rachel Cohen joined Air Force Times as senior reporter in March 2021. Her work has appeared in Air Force Magazine, Inside Defense, Inside Health Policy, the Frederick News-Post (Md.), the Washington Post, and others.

[whitepolaris]

Beware the Banditos

If San Diego’s Whaley House is too far out of the way, the next best place for ghosts-on-demand in southern California may be Ventura’s Olivas Adobe. Local ghost-hunting legend Richard Senate has recently completed a documentary about the site, and the spirits apparently obliged him, making a few fleeting appearances on camera and before witnesses. A midweek afternoon visit, when the place is relatively deserted, is perhaps the best time to look for the disturbed ghost of Senora Teodora Olivas. 

Senora Olivas has good reason to keep watch over her home, which was completed in 1851. Her husband Don Raimundo Olivas, was deeded 2,200 acres of land bordering the Ventura shore in appreciation of his service in the Mexican army under General Santa Barbara.  He named his property Rancho San Miguel. By shrewd political maneuvering and hard work, Olivas became one of the wealthiest ranchers in Alta California. Fiestas held at the adobe lasted for days. All of this of course made him a target for bandits, who staged a vicious riad on his home in 1855. 

The robbers rounded up the family and servants and then searched the grounds for valuables. Here, the story gets fuzzy. One version maintains that a trusted Indian servant was secretly given Don Raimundo’s treasure box, reportedly containing anywhere from $3,000 to $75,000 in gold coins (depending on which story you choose believe), to bury on the grounds while Raimundo stalled the outlaws. When the servant successfully completed his mission, returned to the adobe and was shot before the desperadoes realized that he was the only person who knew where the stash was hidden. 

The banditos fare slightly better if you go with the second version of events: After one of them struck Senora Olivas to the ground and ripped off her earrings, the group managed to carry off the treasure and make for the hills. They soon realized that a sizable posse had been rounded up to track them down, so the box was buried in the mountains somewhere between Ventura and Santa Barbara. No one has yet found the lost gold. According to Senate, at least one of the criminals got away-but not forever: “A follow named Encarnacion Berryessa was in a bar in L.A. boasting of his many evil deeds-one of which was the robbery of Olivas adobe,” Senate reports. “The good patrons of the car took him out and hung him.”

Visitors have seen Senora Olivas nervously pacing the high porch along the rear of the house. She is dressed in black and usually disappears in mid stride. She is dressed at the adobe often hear footsteps going up the creaky stairs or pacing on boards above, but see no one when the area is checked. Rocking chairs in the restored rooms tilt back and forth when no one is near, and objects move from their usual locations overnight in the deserted house. Figures have appeared in the upper windows, looking sternly down on startled witnesses. One night in 2004 Senate managed to capture on a digital camera the image of a bearded male face peering into one of the upstairs windows. The window is eighteen feet above the ground, with no balcony or ledge. A bit of research determined that the face resembles Nicolas Olivas, eldest son of Don Raimundo and his wife. Perhaps he was looking for his fingers, which was shot off in the robbery. 

The Olivas Adobe is a State and National Historic Monument, and is located at 4200 Olivas Park Drive, south of the town of Ventura, near Highway 101. Although the grounds are open daily, tours are offered only on weekends from ten a.m. to four p.m. 

[apricusnights]

Chapter Seven: The Templar, The Witch and The Warrior.

Location: Smokey Gardens.

Lapis: "That's the fourth time in the past two weeks."

Lazuli: "I don't want anything to do with them, I don't even know how to control this power...if it even is a power. I've only been able to use it twice."

Cordelia: "The Templars are getting more and more persistent. This might have been the last time they stop by just to chat."

Styles: "Could always cut off all essential services to their fuckin church, see how that makes em feel. I've already got half a mind to go down there and have it out with Luci myself."

Cordelia: "As much as I would like to see that..it's likely a bad idea right now. Every organization in this city is on the brink of war. You go down there and start wrecking shop and the powder keg goes off. Suddenly we're all tearing the city apart."

Myte: "Well one thing is for damn sure, the kid can't stay here for a while. The asshats are gonna come back until they get what they want. We need to get her out of here."

Styles: "Sounds easier than it is. We got people out here that are freaked out by what Lazuli can do. Never thought I'd hear someone called a witch just cause of their damned awakened ability. They'll be more than happy to report if we hide her."

Lazuli: "I am NOT going back to Cherry Hills. The Bell family is nice but something creeps me out about that place."

Lapis: "Wouldn't work, they know we've had you stay there before. It'd be the first place they look. That happens and we're right back to the whole "war" thing since Darcie would likely be less than cordial about templars in her district."

Myte: "I got an idea."

Cordelia: "That's a first."

Myte: "Ha ha. Anyway listen up. President Styles is gonna be the one who takes Lazuli out of here for a while. Cordelia and myself will stay here. Styles won't tell us where he's going so we won't be able to say anything anyway."

Lapis: "Won't they see this happening?"

Myte: "Not if she's already gone by the time she leaves with the boss."

Lazuli: "I don't follow."

Styles: "I think I do..."

Location: Cathedral Of The Sun, Delta Town.

Violet: "Sister May? I thought you'd be going with Brother Julius."

May: "I do desire to visit the Cathedral site but Brother Castor and I were requested by the High Priestess for an important task. We'll be heading out with a small group of brothers and sisters soon."

Violet: "This is probably gonna be like talking to a brick wall but I have to ask. What kind of a task are you being sent on?"

May: "I'm afraid I'm not allowed to give many details however I assure you it's for the greater good of both the church and our organization."

Violet: "Fair enough, I hope your mission goes smoothly Sister May."

May: "Thank you Sister Violet." Bowing before walking out of the room.

Nothing about this seemed right, nothing about anything seemed right. Violet made her way down one of the long hallways to where the High Priestess's office was located. She hoped to have a few minutes to perhaps get answers.

Violet stopped just short of knocking on the door when she heard voices. Seemed someone was already having a rather heated conversation with the High Priestess. It sounded like..her father? She moved to the side and pressed herself against the wall, listening as best she could.

Location: High Priestess' Office.

Lucianna: "I appreciate your concern Brother Shin but I assure you everything is being handled accordingly."

Shin: "Accordingly? According to what? Last I checked, we didn't keep sending entire squads of Templars to try and recruit someone who clearly has no interest in joining."

Lucianna: "According to me! You're forgetting your place Brother Shin."

Shin: "And I think you forgot yours a long time ago. The Church and the Templar order are meant to be separate. This entire Ascension Protocol is ridiculous. Julius should have never been put in charge."

Lucianna: "Who's fault is it that it had to come to that? As I recall you were the one continually vouching for the former first templar. The one no one else ever knew the identity of! I wonder if perhaps you're harboring jealousy over not being named first templar yourself."

Shin: "I was retired, I had no desire to come back to the order. I came back because.."

Lucianna: "Because you do not trust Brother Julius. I've heard your arguments before and you have no basis for them. Brother Julius has done more for the church AND the order than anyone else in recent memory."

Shin: "Is he the one who suggested you should have full control of the Delta Town restoration project?"

Lucianna: "Why shouldn't I? It's MY district. Why do the rest of the council need to be involved? What do they know about my people? Why should I listen to Cheshire, or Ciar? Why should I entertain anything that Merek or his heretic followers have to say?"

Shin: "Because right now..more than ever we need to all be working together. This city is about to burn itself down. The nations of the world are at each other's throats!"

Lucianna: "The rest of the world is not my concern. MY district, MY people are my only concern. I will do what I must to maintain order, to protect my people. If that means more aggressive recruiting for the order than so be it. In the end they'll see the.."

Shin: "Greater good? Nothing about this is for the greater good. I can not stand by and let our order become something it was never meant to be."

Lucianna: "You're welcome to take that up with Brother Julius. I've already made my decision. We will bring the girl into the fold, no matter who I have to send, no matter how many times I have to send them, and no matter who they have to go through.."

Location: Cathedral Of The Sun, Delta Town.

Violet had to back away from the door when she heard someone else approaching. Being caught eavesdropping wouldn't look good on her record. She made her way down the hall again, waving to Sapir as she passed her.

Wait..May had mentioned a task from the High Priestess. She was suddenly filled with dread, everything was suddenly adding up. She couldn't let this happen. May was a friend, Castor was a friend..but this was wrong.

She hurried out of the cathedral and pulled up her aShine. She had to tell someone..she had to get help. The only question is..who could she ask? Who could she trust? As she scrolled through contacts she found a few names, some she had added during her combat training during the checkmate invasion..

The first thing she did was send a message to Lapis. The other contacts would follow. Onyx Cheshire, Ivory Reynard....she could only hope they'd be willing to listen..

Location: Solis Heights.

Onyx glanced down as his aShine alerted him of a message. Raising an eyebrow before excusing himself from the current useless meeting he'd been in.

Location: Cherry Hills.

Ivory wiped the sweat off of her face as the game of tennis she'd been playing against Molly came to an end. She reached down and tapped her aShine when she noticed a new message.

Location: Smokey Gardens.

Styles: "I'll give it to ya Myte, it's a solid plan."

Cordelia: "Much as I hate to admit it, I agree."

Lapis walked over and held up his aShine.

Lapis: "Well we better get goin..cause we're about to be out of time.."

[swldx]

Voice of America 0307 25 Apr 2024

6080Khz 0259 25 APR 2024 - VOICE OF AMERICA (UNITED STATES OF AMERICA) in ENGLISH from MOPENG HILL. SINPO = 55233. English, s/on @0259z w/Yankee Doodle int fb news anchored by Richard Greene @0300z. Ukrainians welcome long-awaited US aid package. News of the U.S. approval of a $61 billion aid package for Ukraine is raising optimism in that country in the face of an expected Russian assault this summer. Israel’s military said Wednesday it is deploying two reserve brigade divisions to the Gaza Strip, a move that comes as Israel prepares for a ground invasion in the southern city of Rafah. The military said the brigades would carry out “defensive and tactical missions,” without offering further details. Israeli officials have said an offensive in Rafah is necessary to achieve their goal of eliminating Hamas terrorists. Russia blocked a U.N. Security Council resolution Wednesday reaffirming the need to prevent a nuclear arms race in outer space. The measure was proposed jointly by the United States, a nuclear power, and Japan, the only nation ever to be attacked with nuclear bombs. “We have only begun to understand the catastrophic ramifications of a nuclear explosion in space,” said U.S. Ambassador Linda Thomas-Greenfield. “How it could destroy thousands of satellites operated by countries and companies around the world — and wipe out the vital communications, scientific, meteorological, agricultural, commercial and national security services we all depend on.” Niger's junta asked the U.S. to withdraw military personnel from the country over disagreements with Washington on issues including progress on the country's transition to democratic rule, a U.S. official said on Wednesday. The United States has said discussions have begun on the withdrawal of forces from Niger, which until a coup last year had been a key partner for Washington's fight against Islamist insurgents who have killed thousands of people and displaced millions more. U.S. university campuses are seeing pro-Palestinian protests daily. Students are demonstrating against the Israel-Hamas war in Gaza and demanding that humanitarian aid be allowed to flow into the territory. Students are also demanding schools cut financial ties to Israel and divest from companies enabling its monthslong conflict. Dozens have been arrested on charges of trespassing or disorderly conduct. Some Jewish students say the protests have veered into antisemitism and made them afraid to set foot on campus. @0305z “Daybreak Africa” anchored by James Butty (w/African accent). MLA 30 amplified loop (powered w/8 AA rechargeable batteries ~10.8vdc), Etón e1XM. 100kW, beamAz 138°, bearing 82°. Received at Plymouth, MN, United States, 14087KM from transmitter at Mopeng Hill. Local time: 2159.

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