#POV military tank

[randompolykin]

I was not chosen for a certain reason I was just next in line, and was in the right conditions to be used, so you took me, and I was out out into the world, since I was made, I had known my purpose.

My tire tracks rolled on the flat ground. The dark sky surrounded all around. I knew to keep going, for we were not yet there, and you were still up, showing me I was still supposed to be moving, the world breathed all around us, in a different way that you did, yet still much more fuller and cluttered then how I did.

As the sky grew lighter, you all started to awake, and you became different then each other, your souls carrying different baggage and your hearts filled with different wants, your complexity and ability to fight change in a way that changes you was something my machine mind could not understand. Yet your strange presence inside of me felt calming, like a balance. As some of you were bitter and full of hate and anger, others soft, scared, and full of a kindness they thought would be a good reason for coming here, so different, that it adds a balance to my walls. You are my family, and I shall protect you with my walls, you shall use me in the battle. For I am yours, and you might not realize, but your are also mine.

We get to the forest, and the battle draws near, you cover me in the forest, to hide me, therefore hiding you, I feel safer covered in leaves and moss and sticks, the forest is protecting me, as I protect you.

The battle comes, and I let you use me, I let myself be a calm in the storm.

And then it ends, and we either go home, tired, barely still working right, and slowly going back, or to another post, I may see you again, maybe never, I may be used like this again, or be taking apart and my pieces scattered, reborn into parts of other things.

Or maybe I am stuck here, maybe you are bleeding out, stuck dieing inside of me, and as I sallow you, the earth sallows me.

Or you escape, leaving me here to be consumed my the earth alone, along with the other machines. My metal digges into the earth, as the earth grabs me into it. The moss no longer keeping me hidden, but keeping me trapped. But it is alright. This is another stage of my existence. A time far away, the moss will cover us halfway, we and nature will be at a snug point, and people will find this place, hear the trees whisper of the battle once fought here, the names of the soldiers that died, and the ones that escaped. And we will whisper with it. They will stand before us, and take little pieces of us, for even though our original purpose is gone, we are still beautiful, wise, important things, for we are history now.

Maybe the earth will just consume us, and our stories only told in documents, maybe in history books, or stories of tragedy and glory told around their granddad's kitchen table.

Or maybe or story isn't just about the battle, and the humans in it. Maybe it's about us, and the forest.

Maybe it's about nature reclaiming us, the machines of war created my human and fellow machine hands, maybe it's about the graffiti they drew on us as they came by, maybe we became a reason for them to go out into the forest.

Maybe we are so many different stories in one. With so many different purposes.

[evieismol]

Chapter One: Earth

Easton's POV

Content warnings for this chapter: mentions of anxiety, mentions of hurting humans (doesn't happen)

So this was Earth. 

I had known things would be smaller on the distant blue and green planet, but as I stared down at the assortment of vehicles and people in front of me, it hit me that knowing and experiencing were two very different things. It wasn't like I hadn't seen humans - or human sized things before - but I'd always seen them on Aphiria. Where they were comparatively tiny to everything around them. As I took in the trees that didn't quite reach up to my ankles, it hit me that I was now the one that was mis-sized for my surroundings. My stomach turned at the realization of just how big I was compared to my surroundings.

The familiar, sharp edge of anxiety began to slice at my brain once more. It would be so easy to accidentally break something. Or hurt someone. 

Or worse. 

I'd thought I was used to those fears after spending a not insignificant time around humans on Aphiria. Now, though, they felt like they'd doubled. Or maybe tripled. 

“Mr. Parks! Welcome to Earth,” A soft voice from below pulled me from my rapidly spiralling thoughts. I focused on the source of the voice. A neatly groomed man, probably in his thirties, in an equally neatly pressed suit, stood on top of a tank below. I briefly wondered if I should read into the apparent militarization of the group in front of me, before deciding that was best left to consider at another time. 

“Uh, thank you. It's good to be here. And Easton's fine.” I said, making a conscious effort to speak softly. I hoped it was softly enough. The humans didn't flinch, so I took that as a good sign. 

“Easton, then. I'm John O'Riley, the IMA agent assigned to work with you. And likewise, John is fine.” John seemed fully comfortable and confident as he spoke, despite having to crane his neck up to look at me. I'd been told on Aphiria about the IMA - the Interdimensional Management Agency. They apparently oversaw and handled all matters relating to non human issues on Earth, not just interdimensional ones. It had been mentioned that I'd be working with an agent. Though “working with” was maybe the wrong term, since the impression I'd gotten was more that said agent would be supervising and managing me. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” I said politely. “And an honor to be here.” 

“Well, we're happy to have you.” John replied. Based on the nervous looks from the men surrounding him, I wasn't sure if that sentiment was shared. It was, for lack of a more elegant term, really weird to be the source of unease for what looked like a group of highly trained soldiers. Last name aside, I didn’t cut a particularly imposing figure back on Aphiria. I was a bit on the short side and far less outgoing than I would have liked, and combined, that meant that for the majority of my life, I had been the one being intimidated. Not being intimidating. I was anything but short compared to humans, of course, which I’d quickly learned upon first meeting the group of them I’d found stranded on Aphiria some time ago. Even still, being intimidating to a stranded group of then strangers and being intimidating to what looked like a very well prepared military were two different things. 

I wondered, not for the first time, if agreeing to work on Earth as part of a “diplomatic endeavor” was really a good idea. It was so much responsibility. Way more than even being a park ranger back home had been, which had already felt like a lot of responsibility. 

My sister really can talk anyone into anything, I thought. 

“So, I'm guessing you've noticed the entourage,” John said, gesturing to the men surrounding him. “It's just standard IMA policy to take precautions, not that we think there'll be any issues. I was told you were briefed on the ground rules put in place as part of this agreement?” 

He paused, waiting for my response. I nodded. “Yes, of course.” 

Said ground rules included things like absolutely no picking up humans, animals, or property without explicit permission. As well as some understandable but also anxiety inducing clauses like what would happen if I were to hurt any humans, accidental or otherwise. It would void the agreement, of course, which wasn't the anxiety inducing part. No, that was just the idea of accidentally hurting a human. An idea that felt way too possible looking down at the miniature army. 

I should have taken a second dose of anxiety medication, I thought, swallowing nervously. 

“Great! Great. So, there's a temporary IMA outpost nearby. We were thinking you could follow us there, and then we could go over more of what to expect for your job, including timeline, accomodations, and so on. For safety reasons, we'd prefer if you kept a decent distance behind our little group when walking. I'll let you know when to start following us, how does that sound?” 

I nodded quickly. “That sounds good to me.”  

John smiled again. He seemed entirely unphased by the fact that I was dozens of times his size, and I found it a little ironic that I seemed to be more anxious than him. Then again, he worked for The IMA, and from my understanding, their agency dealt with all manner of non human beings. So maybe he was just used to it. 

I, on the other hand, felt entirely out of my depth as I watched the group turn around and begin to move. 

“Alright, you can start following us! Just keep about this distance!” John called. 

Well, too late to change my mind now.

Next

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Hi, I had a random thought about Wylan Van Eck and it accidentally turned into a world building rant so enjoy… I guess?

Every so often I randomly remember that Wylan has canonically been to the races at Caryeva in Ravka and I just can’t help but wonder what the hell this situation was like. I don’t recall a lot of specific descriptions about Caryeva so correct me if I’m wrong but I believe it’s an environment quite similar to that of the Barrel and that boy was not thriving in the Barrel okay the stress of imagining young Wylan stuck with his father at the Caryeva races is so real. Like I’m not saying the entire place must be a hellhole but the key information we know about it (at least to my recollection and what I gathered about two minutes ago from the Grishaverse wiki) is that its main points of interest are gambling in horse races and producing alcohol, and we know that Vasily gathered a less than pleasant reputation whilst spending most of his time there gambling away what little fortune he had left. And also what the hell was Van Eck doing there in the first place? The version of Jan Van Eck we see him present to the other characters and therefore to us as the reader (since we don’t ever get his POV) would simply cease to exist at the impropriety of it all, he can’t get through a conversation about the Barrel without cringing and you’re telling me he went on a trip to Caryeva and took his presumably very young son with him? (I’m assuming this bc Wylan says he *used* to take him everywhere with him and Van Eck found out he couldn’t read when he was about eight). What was this situation???? Why was he there???? I wonder if this is another subtle hint towards the potential extent of less than savoury business Van Eck is involved in beyond Wylan’s knowledge, like when he suggests meeting on Vellgeluk (an island used mostly by smugglers and traffickers) and Inej is surprised he knows about it and Kaz responds something along the lines of “perhaps he’s not so much the upstanding merch he claims to be”.

The reference to Caryeva just always sticks out to me as slightly random in comparison to the other places Wylan lists his father as having taken him to - the Shu oil fields? Absolutely, this is a world (at least as I’ve understood it) currently moving towards its Industrial Revolution at top speed of course Van Eck of all people is looking to invest in oil futures he may be the worst but he is clever; the Ice Court? It’s a diplomatic event between the leaders of two countries, one desperately trying to maintain its neutrality to hold tightly to its place in the world economy as it very quickly develops (Kerch) and one desperately trying to impose itself as a greater world power than its being given credit for via violence and focusing its development on military-based progress like the tanks (Fjerda) (btw I think I’ve talked about this before in my worldbuilding posts but I have thoughts about the tanks and the general global development of the grishaverse so if anyone wants more theories/analyses on that let me know), so yes it absolutely makes sense especially since we’re starting to see (or at least I think we are but I’m not a historian I’m basing this on my understanding about how these things happened in our world and how they would develop in their world based on the distinctions between the two) the globalisation of the Grishaverse beginning; the Jurda farms in near Shriftport? We all know Van Eck has a vested interest in jurda and we also know it was a big part of his business long before parem came to the scene because it is a massively used stimulant throughout Kerch; Weddle? Absolutely, I don’t know if it’s been confirmed as the capital but if it isn’t it’s still a major city in Novyi Zem there are a thousand reasons Van Eck could’ve been there; Elling? Once again it’s entirely reasonable to imagine Fjerda having a vested interest in an alliance with Kerch to secure their place in the global economy and to manipulate what is almost definitely and imminent and unavoidable collapse of the country’s questionable neutrality; Elling makes sense because Van Eck probably visited Fjerda a lot and even if there wasn’t anything about alliances and military tactics and etc going on Elling is a port settlement and it makes plenty of sense to assume large amounts of trade take place here. (My theory about the military stuff if below, sorry the paragraph was too long to get it all in together)

(Ravka is in severe debt to the Kerch government and we know Fjerdan intelligence is well aware of this, especially since Matthias knew when he hadn’t been in the government for over a year and never worked anywhere near espionage, and Kerch is also a massive global power. Support for Fjerda from Kerch would mean support from the Southern Colonies and possibly even division in Novyi Zem, and whilst it would probably prevent the Fjerdans from any kind of alliance with the Shu due to the tension between Kerch and Shu Han being so high it would also probably not be necessary for them to make a deal with the Shu if the had the support of the Kerch. Ultimately, Fjerda and Shu Han are fighting for control of the same land, they just haven’t reached each other yet because they’re still stuck on opposite sides of Ravka. If either country gained control of the majority of Ravka’s land then it would lead to a fight with the other; Fjerda need global support if they have a chance of winning two wars immediately after each other and if Kerch are in fact going to have to lose their neutrality, as it seems they are being forced to do and definitely would have been forced to do if parem became a global resource (Van Eck even says himself on the matter that Kerch has enjoyed neutrality for too long), and already have high tensions with Shu Han and rising tensions with Novyi Zem (due to the assassination of the Zemeni ambassador, which I do believe was an attempt to start a war btw, that they blame the Kerch for and the Kerch suspect the Shu for) then they are the perfect target for Fjerda to form an alliance with. Kerch also has a very strong navy which Fjerda presumably lacks since their efforts have all been focused on Ravka, where they share a land border, so to enter a larger scale/global war they would need a navy on their side. Again, I want to emphasise I know very little about military tactics and history I am approaching this by imagining that it’s a logic puzzle, so you might be reading this and this and thinking that it makes no sense in realistic scenarios but this is just my theory)

But Caryeva???? Even if there weren’t standing for Van Eck and the Merchant Council to be plotting against Ravka, which I personally believe there is, it STILL WOULDN’T MAKE DIPLOMATIC OR BUSINESS SENSE TO GO TO CARYEVA. So in summary I think Van Eck was doing lots of messed up things that young Wylan didn’t understand because he was a small child so why would he, plus this was a time in his life when probably trusted his father, and I think that this is yet another of the very subtle ways Leigh Bardugo shows us that there is a lot more going on beneath the surface than we notice or that the characters have comprehended because it does!’t fit into the focus of the story. Whether or not Van Eck was planning on building his diplomacy towards Fjerda into an alliance or not (but I do want to add that the only other language he hired someone to teach his son was Fjerdan, so that may also be a hint), I definitely think that he was involved in something illegal to specifically be at the races in Caryeva. Like to vineyards or something for a trade deal, sure. But why, after going on and on about the questionable version of Ghezen he believes in and how the Barrel is a “den of filth” and calling gambling a “vice” and arguing with Kaz because he was offended when he said that speculating on the markets was a form of gambling, would Jan Van Eck be at Caryeva horse races?

Anyway I’ve been going on about this for way longer than I intended, hope this made some semblance of sense and thanks for reading

[canadianfangirl-95]

Karma 

Frankie Morales fanfiction x f! reader pov 

Summary: Triple Frontier guys attend a night club to see a band that isn’t typically their style. Frankie seeks solitude at the bar but becomes entranced by a mysterious stranger on the stool next to him. 

No mention of the events of Triple Frontier, character based only. 

Rating: 18+, minors DNI 

Warning: smut, p in v, oral m receiving, alcohol consumption, talks of anxiety, mental health and therapy (we love a king that goes to therapy) 

Word count: 8600+ 

Loud rock music sounded in the club as Frankie, Santiago, Benny, and Will squeezed between the crowd of people to find a tall table to lean against. The floor was sticky, and the music was so loud they had to all but yell at each other to talk. There were lights flashing everywhere to go along with the music the band on the stage was playing. There was a dance floor where a mosh pit of customers collected to head bang to the heavy metal music the band was currently playing. Frankie looked around feeling completely out of place from the small-town tavern he was used to.  

“This place is fucking nuts.” Will shouted at the group.  

They all nodded I agreement, trying not to talk if they didn’t have to in order to save their lungs the exhaustion. They would normally never come to a place like this, but Benny wanted to see the main band that was going to be on stage shortly because the drummer was a buddy of his at the gym. The rest of the group obliged as he had promised to buy a couple rounds and of course they didn’t have much better to do that night. Frankie was soon regretting his slow social life as he would definitely prefer to be anywhere he wasn’t getting shoved up against as people moved past him.  

Frankie leaned into the group, “What’s this band called anyway?” 

“Karma and the Catastrophes!” Benny shouted back at him.  

Santiago interjected, “Where are those beers you promised us? Definitely gonna need it with this crowd.” 

Benny reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, “Can one of you get them I’m gonna go see if my buddy is backstage before he goes on.” 

Frankie reached over and snagged the money out of his hands. “I’ll go, it looks a bit quieter over there.” 

They all nodded as Frankie broke from the group and made his way to the back of the building where the bar was nestled. He noticed a considerable difference in the noise once he got back there and there were less people as most of the crowd was still enjoying the current band.  

He leaned into the bar and got the attention of the bartender, signaling for four beers with his hand. He looked over to his right and noticed you sitting on the stool beside him with a glass of water. He was taken aback by your beauty. You were wearing a black tank top and ripped black jeans with leather boots. Your arms were adorned with various traditional Sailor Jerry tattoos.  

He didn’t have much luck talking to women, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart skipped a beat the second he saw you. He leaned in and said hi shyly.  

You turned your head towards him, “Hey.” You smiled.  

He drummed his hands for a beat on the bar before the bartender brought the beers back and he handed him the bills.  

“This place gets pretty crazy huh?” he asked, trying his best to make conversation.  

“Yeah, I don’t mind it though. I like the energy.” You responded, eyeing him up and down. He had a rough looking baseball hat and stretched grey T-shirt with jeans on. You could see a chain hanging underneath the v line of the shirt and assumed it was dog tags considering there is an army base on the other side of town. Military guys didn’t typically like your exciting lifestyle, but this one seemed harmless enough to at least flirt with.  

“You come here often?” You asked, turning to him in your seat.  

He grinned at you sheepishly, “Isn’t that my line?”  

You smiled up at him, “Well I guess I’m better at this than you are.”  

He nodded, “Yeah, I’d say you probably are. I’m a bit out of practice.”  

“Don’t worry you’re doing fine. What’s your name?” You winked with a devilish grin. 

“Frankie, and yours?” he asked, reaching out his hand.  

You gave him your name with a shake of his hand. 

He repeated it and immediately felt the noise of the crowd lesson. Suddenly it was just he and you and the beers that were slowly warming on the bar top. 

“So, what do I say now since you’re so much better at this than I am?” He leaned in and you could feel his breathing against your cheek. The closer he got you could almost see your reflection in his deep brown eyes. 

“Hmm, you should probably start with some cheesy pick-up line.” You replied, keeping your tone light, and popping your eye brows up and down. 

Frankie thought for a second, “Oh so I should say something like; you should feel my shirt.”  

You looked at him puzzled for a second, but obliged and reached your hand up to run the material on his arm between your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin as you did so. The fabric was so tight on his flexing arms you had to do your best to not skip a breath. 

“Know what’s that’s made of?” he asked, slightly giggling to himself.  

You shook your head and pulled your hand back to rest on your lap.  

“Boyfriend material.” He said with a wink.   

Your face went red, and a laugh came tumbling out as you swatted him playfully. He joined in on your laughter and covered his face with his hand.  

��Wow, if that’s you out of practice you must be just swimming in women on a good day.” You jousted back at him.  

Frankie shifted and leaned with his back on the bar. “If my friends ever found out I said that they would never let me live it down.” He smiled at you, one of those big dork smiles that always made you melt.  

“Oh, I will absolutely tell your friends when I meet them.” You grinned at him. 

He nodded back at the bar, “Can I get you a drink?” He asked.  

You were suddenly very aware of what the night was to bring, you weren’t exactly in the bar for a social visit. “No, I’m sorry I’m uh- working tonight so I need to stay sober.”  

“Oh, are you working here? Like your shift hasn’t started yet?” he asked intently.  

You nodded, “Uh yeah something like that. Hey, Frankie I should really get going but can I find you before the end of the night?” You asked as you climbed off the bar stool and nodded at the bartender as he took your glass away.  

He stood up straight, “Yeah that’d be great, I’ll see you later.” He smiled as you retreated through the crowd. He watched as you left, replaying your conversation back in his head as he finally turned his attention to the beers he was supposed to be bringing to his friends.  

Frankie grabbed the four bottles in his hands and held them high enough as he walked through the crowd that he wouldn’t get them spilled by some drunk idiot getting too rowdy. The first band had seemingly ended during your conversation, so the room was now filled with the sound of voices from the customers. He set the beers down on the table when he finally rejoined his friends. Benny had also returned before he did.  

Will reached for his drink, “Geeze took you long enough Fish. Get lost back there?” He asked.  

Frankie took a sip from his beer and leaned with his forearms crossed on the table. “Actually, I was busy talking to a very pretty girl I met at the bar thank you very much. Now drink your piss warm beer.”  

Santiagos interest was suddenly peaked, “A girl? Really? Frankie Morales actually spoke to a living, breathing woman?” His eyes widened with his sarcastic tone. 

Frankie rolled his eyes, “Yeah I did, Pope.” 

Santiago pressed on, “Well, come on now. Tell us all about this totally real girl.” He put quotations around real girl to prove his point that he didn’t entirely believe his friend who has always been the worst at picking up woman. Normally needing to send Will or Santiago in first to act as a wing man. He never used Benny anymore. Benny gave off too much of a golden retriever vibe and women instantly wanted to keep him.  

“If you must know she is beautiful and funny and,” His voice trailed off as his attention was caught by the stage. You were walking out onto it with the rest of the band and situating yourself in front of the microphone in the middle of the stage. “Right there.” he said inquisitively.  

“Hey Houston, are you ready to rock tonight?” You shouted into the microphone and were met with a roar from the crowd.  

“What do you mean right there?” Santiago leaned in; Frankie still unable to take his eyes off you.  

He stuttered, “She’s, right there that’s her on the stage.”  

Benny yelled back at him, raising his voice now that the instruments had started up again. “Who, Karma?” 

“What?” Frankie asked, confused by the name. 

“Karma, the lead singer.” He replied.  

Frankie turned his face back to the group, “Well, that’s not the name she told me.” He scratched his chin as he knew he heard your name right.  

Will spoke up, “That’s probably just a stage name for band.”  

Frankie nodded, realizing he must be right.  

“So, you’re telling me you just picked up the lead singer from the band tonight?” Santiago asked, even more skeptical.  

Frankie hummed to himself, realizing he didn’t actually pick you up. He was so dumbfounded by the conversation that he hadn’t even asked for your number. “We had a great talk and she said she would come find me before the end of the night.” He looked down, slightly dampened by the fact that you may have just been being nice and you might not actually find him.  

The show wore on and he was amazed by your talent and charisma. You enveloped the stage with your big personality and had an amazing voice to boot. The guys all watched on and nodded their heads along with the rock music. Frankie was falling even more for you, watching your body as you danced along to the music in your tight black outfit. He grew a bit of jealously at the men gawking at you on the dance floor but held his head a bit higher knowing he was the one you were flirting with earlier.  

You finally ended the show with a big thank you to the crowd. The guys all clapped their hands and whooped along with the rest of the club. He watched as you collected your things on stage and disappeared behind the curtain. Frankie turned his attention back to the group.  

Santiago said, “Wow, they were really good. Not totally regretting the hearing aides I’m gonna have to get after tonight.”  

Ben patted Frankie on the back, “So you gonna try to find Karma before she leaves?” 

Frankie looked flustered, “I don’t know man did you see her up there? She’s this beautiful, fun, rock star and I’m well. Not that.” He sipped his beer and looked down, unsure of himself.  

The guys all looked to each other with empathy, their friend never had the confidence they had. Santiago conceded in an effort to make Frankie feel better. “Oh, come on man, she’d be lucky to have you. I’m sure she’ll find you before the end of the night.” 

You finished packing up for the night and said goodbye to the band and crew. Except for the guitarist who drove the equipment van and was your ride home. You promised him you wouldn’t be too long, you just had one thing you needed to do before heading out. You were adamant about finding Frankie before the place closed down for the night. You had to move quickly though, as your cool down took longer than you thought it would.  

The crowd was still bustling as you made your way out of the backstage area. Fans cheered for you as you walked by and you smiled at them, trying to scan the crowd for the baseball hat you had seen earlier. Luckily that wasn’t really the look for this kind of crowd so you were hoping he would stick out fairly easily. Just as you were about to give up, you found yourself on the far-left side of the venue and caught sight of a silver chain poking out of the top of a grey T-shirt. You were elated that you had finally found him and pushed yourself through the crowd to tap him on his shoulder. He turned and his eyes went wide at the sight of you standing in front of him.  

“Hey!” He gasped.  

You bit your lip, slightly nervous. “Did you enjoy the show?”  

“Yeah, I did you were awesome!” He said, “I’m so sorry I had no idea who you were when I was talking to you earlier.” 

You smiled back at him “That’s okay, it was a nice talk. I’m glad you didn’t know. Guys tend to act a little differently when they know I’m headlining. They get a bit of a complex about if they can get me home that night.” You answered honestly. 

Frankie nodded; he definitely did not want to be thought of as one of those guys, so he knew he had to play it right. “Well, I really liked talking to you too.”  

Your heart fluttered, he seemed so nice. You didn’t normally have a connection with the guys you met at your shows, but there was something about him that made you want to see him again. “Um, Frankie, I’m glad I caught you and I know I’ve already done this once tonight, but my ride is waiting for me, so I have to get going. Could I give you my number?” 

His mouth gapped, “Yeah, yes that’d be great thanks.” He dug into his pocket to pull his phone out and give it to you.  

You took it from him, after entering your name and number you handed it back to him and motioned you were leaving.  

He nodded goodbye and then thought for a second, “Hey, wait! What do I call you?”  

You winked back at him at him and pointed to his phone before slipping through the crowd. 

Frankie looked down at the contact you had just created on his phone.  

Karma ;)

He looked back up and you were gone, he felt like all the air in his lungs had disappeared in an instant.  

The next morning, you were moving about your kitchen with a spring in your step. You were so used to the punk, tattoo covered guys that frequented your shop and shows, so Frankie seemed like such a breath of fresh air. He was so innocent and spirited. You couldn’t help but check your phone on the kitchen island as you made your brunch. Hoping a text would pop up and you would get to see him again. He didn’t seem the type to take a girl’s number and ghost her, and he definitely didn’t seem like the kind to wait the typical three days before texting a girl to not come off as eager. No, Frankie was different, and you could tell right away. The way his smile was so big when he laughed and he snorted a bit. The way he leaned in to talk to you with so much respect and ensuring not to touch you even once before you’ve shown real interest. The steam coming off the stove top finally snapped you out of your trance. You carefully finished your omelet and settled onto the couch with your coffee to continue your annual binge of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  

Meanwhile, across town, Frankie was doing his own daydreaming about the night before. He sat on the couch with his phone flipping up and down in his hands as he rested his head on the back of the sofa. He let out an agonizing moan as he continued to think about what to do next. He hadn’t felt this lovesick in forever, and you seemed so confident, so he didn’t want to mess it up and scare you off.  

Santiago rounded the couch and sat down on the opposite end. “You gotta calm down man it’s just a text.” He sipped from his coffee and turned on the tv to find a sports channel to play in the background.  

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut, “It’s not just a text, you’ve said it yourself man.” He propped himself up straighter on the couch, “I’m shit at talking to women. I know I’ve only talked to her for like, five minutes but I like her. I don’t wanna screw it up before it even starts.” 

His friend shook his head, “Look man, she could had gone home with probably a dozen guys last night but instead she found you. Asked to give you her number and then went home. She obviously likes you too. Just be yourself and it’ll be fine.” 

Frankies head spun, he knew Santiago must be right, but it was so hard to trust the process. Be myself, he thought to himself. What would Frankie do if he really liked a girl and wanted to see her again. He’d probably call her if he was being honest with himself. However, that seemed so old fashion, and you were a rock star with tattoos and a confidence that would shake the ground. Would you like old fashioned? Or would it be annoying? He figured there was no time like the present to find out.  

He stood up and patted his friend on the shoulder as he made his way to his room for some privacy, closing the door behind him as paced in his room for a minute before finally dialing the phone. He stood with his hand on his hip and bit his lip waiting for the call to connect. 

You had finished your meal and were scrolling on your phone as the show played in the background when it suddenly started ringing. It startled you so much the phone nearly flung out of your hands as you tried to calm yourself. An unknown number, but definitely local based on the area code. You don’t normally answer calls right away, preferring to send it to voicemail and then call the person back if needed, but something about the timing of this call peaked your interest so you decided to answer it on speaker.  

“Hello?” you said, holding the phone just below your mouth with a curious look on your face. 

“Hey, uh- it’s Frankie.”  

Your mouth gapped, you couldn’t believe he was calling you so soon. It made your head spin at his forwardness, but your heart flutter at how old-fashioned he seemed to be. 

“Hey Frankie, what’s up?” You asked. “What’s up” you thought to yourself. What are you seventeen? You rubbed your palm on your forehead. 

“Oh, nothing just at home. I hope I’m not calling too early I’m sure you had a late-night.” 

“No, no it’s fine I’ve been up for an hour now.” 

“Good, good. So, I hope I’m not being to forward but I was uh- wondering if you would be interested in going out sometime?” 

You bit your nail in your nervousness, “Yeah I would love that.” 

“Great, what are you doing tonight?” 

“Nothing, tonight would be perfect actually. This is one of the only Saturdays this month I don’t have a show.” 

“Oh perfect, uh- do you want to go for drinks or dinner or,” 

“Uh- drinks and some appetizers would be good if you want?” You held your breath.  

“Yeah, that sounds great, how about I pick you up at 8?” 

“Okay, I’ll text you my address.” You replied.  

“Sounds good, I’ll see you tonight.” 

You grinned to yourself, “Okay, bye Frankie.” 

“Looking forward to it, bye K-, uh, what do you actually want me to call you?” 

“Oh, yeah you can call me Karma. Kind of a nickname, I think there’s only like, four people that call me by my other name.” You scratched your head, hoping he wouldn’t think your sultry nickname was a red flag.  

“Oh okay, cool. Well than, bye Karma.” 

“Bye.” You said as you clicked the phone off.  

You rocked your head back against the top of the couch and then looked down at the time. You had nothing else planned for the rest of the day other than tidy up the shop and apparently figure out what to wear tonight. He obviously liked your edgy style as he had seen what you were wearing the night before, but a part of you wanted to mix it up a bit and give this old-fashioned guy a treat.  

You got up and immediately ran to your closet, throwing dresses and rompers and shirts all over your room. Trying to find the perfect ensemble to hypnotize your new gentleman friend when your eyes locked onto something in the far back corner of your closet.  

Frankie returned to the living room, grinning at his phone as he sat back down on the couch and looked up at the tv, not saying anything to his friend who was looking at him with squinted eyes.  

“What’s that face all about?” Santiago asked.  

Frankie leaned forward to slide his phone into his back pocket. “Just got off the phone with Karma, we’re going out tonight.” He looked over at his friend with a sly smile on his face.  

Santiago tapped his hand on Frankie’s chest, “Well hot damn, look at you go. Wait did you call her?” he asked, puzzled. 

“Yeah, you told me to be myself and that’s what I wanted to do.” He shrugged.  

“Huh, well more power to you. I like this confident Frankie. Where are you gonna take her?” 

Frankie thought for a second, he would very much like something quiet considering his ears are still ringing from last night, “I think that one pub downtown by the Walgreens is nice and quiet?” He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered a few other options. Ultimately deciding to just go with that place as it isn’t nearly as busy as some of the other options around town. 

He waited patiently for your address, which you texted to him around dinner time. His face lit up when your name came across the screen with the wink emoji.  

It was 7:55pm when Frankie rolled up outside your house. He looked up at the sign on the front, “Karmas Chaos”. He figured you must run a business out of your house and wondered what it was. He got out and rounded the front of his truck when you opened the front door, and he was suddenly star struck.  

You stood before him with your hair curled in a summer like wave, your white converse on and a beautiful yellow sun dress that showed off your many tattoos. The dress had small straps and a low neckline, it dipped at your waist to accentuate your curves and then flared out to rest at mid-thigh. It had a knot on the back with a cut out just below. It was far more feminine than you were used to, you think you bought it years ago for a cousin’s wedding, but something drew you to it and you thought it would make a good first impression on Frankie.  

He stood there mouth gapped as you walked down the steps, “Hi.” You smiled at him and gave him a little wave. You hiked your shoulder bag higher as it had begun to slip, and you needed something to do with your nervous hands.  

Frankie stalled for a second and finally replied, “Hey, you look great.” He said with a big smile. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscience about the fact that he is wearing an outfit almost identical to the one he wore last night, except now his T-shirt was black with a band logo on it from a concert he can’t even remember. The material long stretched and over washed to point where the logo had begun fading and breaking apart.  

“You do too.” You responded before leaning in for a quick hug.  

He shuffled his feet, “I was thinking we could go to Burt’s, downtown if that’s okay?” 

You beamed up at him, “Yeah that would be great.” You broke your gaze to round his truck, but before you could reach for the handle Frankie appeared beside you and opened the door. You looked startled, but really you were just amazed by his chivalry. You’ve never had anyone open your door before, so you just nodded your thanks and stepped onto the step bar to jump up into the truck. He swiftly closed it behind you and made his way to jump into the driver’s side.  

As he turned the ignition, the radio fired up again and a familiar tune from Motley Crue came through the speakers. “Oh, I love this song.” You remarked.  

He smiled, “Me too, they’re probably my favourite band.”  

You hummed along to the music. He glanced over at you, “Well come on now, don’t keep that beautiful voice to yourself.” He smiled, the curls peaking out from under his seemingly signature hat dancing in the wind.  

You felt yourself blush but obliged, singing along to the music with the windows down, blowing your hair about as the music filled the cab. When the chorus came around Frankie gave his best imitation of the lead singer and you laughed. He chuckled, “Maybe I’ll leave the singing to you.” 

“No, no you’re great. I could listen to you all night.” You winked at him and he grinned, finally taking his attention back to the road. The rest of the commentary for the drive continued to be about music and favourite bands to see in concert, yours being his new favourite of course.  

You thanked the waitress for your seats and settled into a booth along the wall of the restaurant. It was a little more modern than you thought it would be given what you’ve seen from Frankies taste but definitely not a chain restaurant. There were vintage movie posters adorned on the walls giving it a warm look, but it was met with modern furniture and paint to keep it lively. There was a poster hanging in your booth of a movie you guessed must be from the 50s at least and you stared briefly at the faded colour, reminding you of the faded T-shirt currently sitting across from you.  

Frankie looked at you nervously, “So, I saw the sign on your door. Do you run a business out of your house?” 

You nodded confidently, “Yeah I’m a tattoo artist.” He nodded along, listening intently. “I have a shop in my house that is just me. It’s nice because then I get to choose my hours and can line things up really well with my band practice and shows.” 

“Wow, that’s great. You must be pretty busy balancing both those.” He stated.  

“I try to take Sundays and Mondays off and then I never work before 11am so I definitely still get some free time. I was supposed to have an appointment today, but they rescheduled so I got a totally free Saturday for once.” You smiled; very glad you had the extra time to get ready for this date. “What do you do?” you asked as the waitress reappeared with some waters.  

“What can I get you for drinks?” she asked.  

You replied, “I’ll have a whiskey sour, please.” 

She nodded and looked at Frankie. “Just a Corona, thanks.” 

With that she left the table, leaving you and Frankie alone.  

You looked back at Frankie, unsure if you needed to repeat yourself but before you could speak, he replied, “I’m an instructor at the base, I was a pilot in active duty.”  

Hm, your suspicions on the dog tags were correct. “How long have you served for?” You asked, leaning with your forearms against the dark wood table.  

“Since I graduated from high school, I enlisted right away.”  

You popped your eyebrows up, that’s a long time to be in the service. Most guys you have met from the base were a five-year contract and then out.  

“Wow Frankie, that’s really really amazing. I’m not surprised by the way you carry yourself though that you’ve been in that long.” You said, slightly bashful.  

He looked confused, but still flattered, “Why do you say that?” 

“You just, uh- you know you seem really old-fashioned and proper.” You replied sheepishly, tucking your hair behind your ear, and averting your gaze back to the poster.  

Frankie looked down for a second, “Oh, do you not really like that?”  

“No, no, it’s great.” He perked up at your response. “I actually love it; I’ve never been out with a guy that’s treated me the way you do.” You smiled at him and reached your hand out for him to take. He let out a relived huff and reached his hand up to take yours and give it a slight squeeze.  

“Well, I don’t know hermosa. You just deserve to be treated the best and I’m sorry no guy has ever done that for you.”  

You both beamed at each other, eyes sparkling with desire when the waitress seemingly appeared out of nowhere with your drinks. You quickly broke your hands apart and nodded politely. You wrang your hands together, still feeling the warmth of his much larger hand on yours.  

“Do you know what you’d like for food?” The waitress kindly asked.  

Both of your eyes widened, neither of you had even thought about the food as you were too busy making googly eyes at each other. You looked at each other and gave out a chuckle. “Um, I think we’re gonna need a few more minutes actually.” Frankie nodded along as the waitress left.  

The evening wore on and you shared food and stories. He told you all about his time in the service so far and the friends he’s made along the way. You told him about your business and band and how you’re a really creative person and need all these outlets. You also spoke about your anxiety and how when you’re focused on a tattoo or a song, you get to ease your mind and allow yourself to relax. He commended you and spoke about his time in therapy for some anxiety he had after he was done active duty. None of your exes ever went to therapy or spoke about mental health, so your heart warmed listening to him speak so intentionally.  

Frankie’s truck pulled up and parked out front of your house and you gave a huff of disappointment that the night was coming to an end. You looked at your phone and noticed the time wasn’t too late. You bit your lip and thought to yourself, would it be too much to ask him inside? Would he want to hookup, or would he think that’s all you’re interested in? He looked to you with a sheepish smile on his face, he was clearly disappointed the night was slowly coming to a close as well. You thought it couldn’t do more harm than good if you at least asked him inside for a little bit.  

“Hey Frankie, um- do you? Do you want to come in for a drink?” You asked, trying not to make eye contact so you could hide your reaction should you be met with rejection. 

His face lit up at the suggestion, “Yeah for sure thanks.”  

Your face darted up to meet his and you smiled, getting out of the truck and wandering up the steps to your house. He followed closely behind, placing his hand on the small of your back as you went up the steps, seemingly ready to catch you should you trip.  

You eased the door open and stepped aside to let him in. He passed you with a nod and stood in your living room looking around as you flicked on some lights, kicked off your sneakers and settled your bag on a counter. The room flowed from the living room to a dining table and a kitchen with an island. There were band posters and your own artwork on the walls. The furniture had a 50’s vibe with lots of red and black and white checkers. Your kitchen cabinets were an emerald green with gold accents. He loved how much personality you put into the space and stood staring at one of your drawings of a mermaid covered in tattoos on the wall beside a door.  

You approached him with your arms crossed and looked to the drawing as well. 

“You’re incredible, this is such a cool piece.” He said, smiling at you.  

You nodded back, “Thank you, if you like that you should see the one’s I have in my studio.” You tilted your head to the door beside you and opened it. He followed you in and was greeted by the smell of cleaning products and alcohol wipes. Your studio was small with one tattoo chair in the middle of the room and a workstation along the back wall. The walls were covered in photographs and drawings you’ve done.  

You plopped down on your wheely stool as he lingered around the room, looking at seemingly every piece you’ve posted. “So, mister military.” He looked down at you, resting his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t ask, do you have any tattoos?” 

He looked slightly embarrassed, “No, no I never did. I’ve thought about a few but never pulled the trigger.”  

You nodded, “Well,” You spun in your chair and grabbed your tattoo gun behind you. Spinning back around his eyes went wide, “you want one now?” you giggled to yourself.  

“Uh- hm.” He laughed, looking nervous. “Fuck it yeah let’s do it.” He clapped his hands on his thighs and shook out some nerves with his fingers.  

You beamed at him, extremely excited for the turn the night took. You rolled over to your drawing board, “Okay so what are we thinking? A little cartoon helicopter, a bottle of tequila, a tramp stamp?” He laughed at your line of questioning.  

“Actually uh- there’s this one helicopter I loved flying. The code was UH-1N. I think I’d like that, just something simple.” He kneaded his hands together.  

You started writing, doing a couple different styles of handwriting. You leaned back and showed them to him, and he picked one of the more structured looked fonts. “Alright, get in that chair and I’ll get you prepped.” 

He sheepishly moved over to the chair and rested himself in. “So where do you want it?” you asked as you collected your supplies and prepared the station.  

“Just here below my elbow on the forearm.” He pointed to his right arm.  

 Frankie sat still, watching you work. He could see the wheels turning in your head as you laid down the plastic wrap on the arm rest he would be using, getting the ink ready, sanitizing everything and getting the stencil cut.  

You finally pulled some gloves on and placed the stencil on his arm. “How’s that look?” 

He shifted in the seat to look at his arm, “Yeah that’s great, thanks.” He smiled at you.  

You started buzzing the tattoo gun, “Alright I think we’re good then.” You could feel the heat of his arm through the gloves and your glance waivered slightly to his bicep in his sleeve. Pulled tight from his straining muscle trying to stay still.  

“How much does it hurt?” he asked? 

Your attention went back to him, “Hm? Oh, um, not bad at all. What’s the worst pain you’ve ever had?”  

He took a beat, “Well, I’ve been shot so.” His voice trailed and your eyes went wide. He said he was in active duty for a long time, I guess it makes sense that he was in live fire. However, the thought of him going through something so traumatic made your stomach flip.  

You stuttered, “Yeah, um, that would definitely hurt more than this will, so I think you’ll be fine.” You did your best to put on a confident smile, but really you were now nervous.  

He nodded as you began. His arm didn’t even flinch beneath your hands. You held your head as close to it as you could so you wouldn’t get too distracted by the burning eyes you could feel coming from him.  

Frankie looked at you so intently and he felt a familiar twitch in his pants as he glanced down and caught a glimpse of your cleavage as you were bent over. He tried his best to look around the room, until his mouth gapped at the sight of a photo on the wall which featured a woman topless, holding her breasts showing off a colourful butterfly splayed out on the top of her ribs. The face was cut off, but he instantly recognized the tattoo on the left hand, as it happens to be the one holding onto his arm right now. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling the stretch of his jeans even more now. He couldn’t even feel the needle of the tattoo gun anymore, too busy trying to pry the unholy thoughts from his mind. Everything about you made him burn with desire. He didn’t know where the night would lead, but he was aching to feel your touch more.  

You wiped the last bit of ink off him and smiled at him. “Okay, here you go. Take a look.”  

Bringing his back up from the seat he pulled his arm forward and looked at your work, “That’s great thank you.”  

Nodding, you started cleaning the site and then placed the second skin on it tightly. Pulling off your gloves you grabbed one of your standard info flyers and a small tube of cream. “So, leave that on for a day, take it off in the shower with some soap. It will hurt like a bitch, sorry about that.” He smiled along with you. “No hot tubs or pools and keep this moisturizer on it for a few weeks as it heals. Oh, and no itching. It’s gonna suck but just don’t do it.” You stood from your stool and reached out your hand to help him stand from the awkward seat.  

He grabbed your hand and stood, looking down at you as your faces were so close. “What do I owe you?”  

You flushed, the tone in his voice was suddenly so deep and arousing. You did your best to not show how flustered you were with the sudden change in his demeanor and took a step back. “Oh gosh nothing, I do little tattoos for free like that all the time.” You waved your hands casually. “Plus, I kind of peer pressured you into it so.” You had backed up enough that your ass was now resting against the drawing table with your arms crossed. You hadn’t meant to back up that much, but as you kept stepping, he had followed you. His body still so close, you could see his eyes flick around your face, seemingly taking in every little bit of you.  

He breathed out of his nose deeply, “You wanna go sit down? You look a little lightheaded.” He said as he tucked your hair behind your ear.  

You nodded, looking up to him with sparkling eyes. Full of lust and need. He turned his body so you could pry yourself from the desk that had been digging into you and followed as you headed towards the living room. You positioned yourself on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you as he sat beside and rested his arm on the top of the couch behind you.  

Nervously looking around, trying your best to ignore the ache between your legs as he looked at you with darkened eyes. “Do you need a drink or-?” 

 “You know, I never did ask you why your nickname is Karma?” His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply.  

Chest turning red, pupils dilating. You were so entranced by this man, you answered softly. “I’m just a uh- big believer in karma and I’ve always really seen it around me. You know, people are good to me, and good things happen and then people who have really wronged me, they uh- don’t always have things work out for them. So yeah, just became something I grew a lot of interest in and then others started noticing it with the people I had in life and so the nickname sparked. Almost like I entice karma into people’s lives, who surround me.” 

He peered down at you, usually this explanation makes people nervous. Frankie only seemed challenged, like he wanted to prove something to you. You’re not sure what happened during that tattoo, but something flipped in this seemingly wholesome man which resulted in him growing a hunger towards you.  

“So, you’re saying if I do good things to you, good things will happen to me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. You could hear only his breath and your heartbeat.  

“Yeah, I guess.” You lightly giggled, not breaking eye contact with him.  

His eyes grew even darker, and he leaned in. Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt the intense ache between your legs watching him lean into you. His eyes flicking to your lips, you turned your head slightly and leaned in as well, meeting him in the middle with a soft kiss. He brought his hand to your knee and started drawing circles with it on your soft skin. Your hand rose up to cup his face and the intensity suddenly grew. You didn’t expect this first date to go this way, but now you’ve found yourself straddled on his lap on your couch making out like you may die tomorrow. Pulling each other’s hair, nipping at jaws and necks, the incessant moaning growing between you. You felt like you were drunk, but this intoxication wasn’t from any kind of substance, no this was all Frankie. The way he ran his hands all over your body and pulled you down to grind your hot and wet core through your panties on his hard bulge made your head spin.  

He grabbed the bottom of your dress and looked to you with pleading eyes, “Is this okay?” 

You took a deep breath, “It’s more than okay Frankie, I need you.”  

His face turned to a smirk, and he pulled your dress up and over your head, throwing it aside. You had thankfully chosen to forgo your usual everyday bra that gets washed once a month and went without one altogether. He sat back and basked in your exposed breasts. You shivered as he traced a finger on your butterfly tattoo beneath them. His mouth curled into a devilish grin leaning down and sucking on one of your nipples as he palmed and squeezed the other with his hand. You moaned and began grinding on him harder. He pulled himself off and you reached down to pull his shirt off him. The chain and dog tag laden on his chest made your knees quiver. He was so broad and full, a real man you thought to yourself.  

You rejoined your lips, sucking on each other’s tongues as his hand moved down and swiped around on the front of your panties before dipping a finger in and starting to draw little circles on your clit. You bucked up at the sensation and started to lose your technique with your kissing. Your head fell to his shoulder as his pace picked up and he sat there watching you break resolve and come undone to his touch. You felt the build up and then suddenly the knot in your gut broke and you flowed into your orgasm. Frankie somehow knew exactly when it happened because just as you started, he slipped his fingers further down and slid two of them perfectly in your pussy. You groaned at the relief of being able to squeeze onto something. He pumped you slowly as you came down from your high and peppered kisses along your neck while you slumped over him, regaining your breath and strength.  

He pulled his fingers out of you, and you leaned back, holding onto his broad shoulders for balance. He looked at you intently, and you burned for more. You reached between the two of you and startled pulling apart his belt as he held your waist to keep you balanced. He lifted his hips so you could get up and slide his pants and underwear down to the ground. You saw his length spring free and felt your mouth water, it was so perfect in every way with beads of precum seeping from the tip. You quickly fell to your knees and in one fell swoop took his member completely in your mouth. His head fell back at the sensation as you sucked and bobbed your head up and down. You used your hand to stroke the part of it that couldn’t fit into your mouth even if you tried. You worked him up and down, doing your best to take as much as you could down your throat, he reached down put his hand along your neck, feeling it throb with his cock inside.  

“Oh, baby, you keep doing that I’m not gonna last much longer.” He finally sputtered out, trying to keep himself composed.  

You glanced up and finally popped his soaked cock from between your lips. You hurriedly pulled your panties down your legs and took your previous position on top of him.  

“Do you need a condom? I’m on the pill and I’m clean but if you,” you said, scanning his face.  

He ran his hands down your back, “I’m clean too so as long as you’re comfortable.”  

You nodded quickly, kissing him to assure him of your consent and then raised yourself up. His hand slid between the two of you to guide his cock into your wet entrance. You felt it line up and started to slowly ease down onto it. The stretch both burned and excited you.  

His mouth fell open and his head fell back against the couch, “Fuck – baby you feel so good.” 

You smirked at him and groaned when you finally had sunk entirely onto him. He quickly encapsuled your lips in his and squeezed your ass with his hands. You took that as a hint to start moving, so you slowly rocked up and down, rubbing your clit on his hair above his cock. He steadied you as you quickly lost your resolve again, head spinning and becoming more and more heavy as the feeling in your gut grew again. You suddenly felt it happen again as your orgasm crashes into you, squeezing him so tight he moaned and rested his head against yours as he tried to pump your seized body through the feeling. You slowed and looked deep in his eyes, he was truly so handsome, and sweet and fuck was he good at this. You felt something in your chest, a warm feeling that you hadn’t felt in years. You liked this man so much, holy fuck did you like this man. You wanted to spend all your time with him, you wanted to learn everything about him, and learn each and every part of his body.  

You were snapped out of your lucid trance when you felt him buck into you, chasing his own high. You braced yourself by holding onto his neck as he rocked further into you. He bit his lip and held your hips so tight it might bruise. He came to a slow stop when his orgasm hit and he pushed into you one last time, coating your walls.  

The last thing you were expecting was for his cock to swell so much in it’s release that the sudden change in stretch would barrel you into a third orgasm. You squeezed him tight, and he moaned as your bodies slowly fell into one another and stilled. He breathed deeply into your neck as you ran your hand on his chest.  

Through stuttered breaths he said, “You know, I’m really starting to like this whole karma concept.”  

Snickering you pulled your head up and matched his gaze. He too looked like his brain was spinning, trying to analyze everything that just happened and everything that he felt for you.  

Pulling yourself off him, you quickly found your underwear and retreated to your room, excusing yourself. 

By the time you had cleaned up and thrown on a loose band shirt and sleep shorts, he was dressed again and had taken it upon himself to fill a glass of water for each of you. You liked the way he looked in your kitchen, so domestic and loving. You graciously accepted the water and walked back to the couch with shaky knees, he followed you sitting on the couch and putting his arm around you as you both sipped from your drinks.  

Frankie put his glass on the painted black wood coffee table, “So, rock star, what do you typically do on your nights off to relax?”  

You hummed, “Well, I don’t know if it’s your thing but I’m rewatching one of my favourite shows right now if you’d like to stick around for a while?” 

He smiled back at you, “Oh yeah, what is it?” 

“Buffy the vampire slayer.” You looked to him, worried he may be turned off by your choice in television, you pegged him more for a sports or war show guy.  

Thankfully, he was nothing like you thought he was going to be. “Buffy really? Fuck I love that show, watched it when it came out.” 

“Really?” You gapped, “Well then, we’re definitely watching it. I watch it every year at least once.” You reached for the remote on the coffee table and started queuing it up.  

“What’s your favourite episode?” He asked.  

You looked up, trying to figure out your answer, “Oh man, that’s hard. I really like the majority of the episodes in the first season to be honest. That season is by far my favourite. How bout you, any episode in particular?” 

“Oh yeah that’s easy, season four, episode one. Best episode in the series for me, it’s a classic. Great guest actors.” he says confidently.  

You looked to him, taken aback by the fact that he even knew episode numbers, “Really?” you ask, “Well I guess I know which one we’re gonna watch right now.” You scrolled through the series and selected the episode he requested.  

Both of you fell into each other and snuggled on the couch, watching the show and talking about anything that came to mind. It felt so easy you thought, and maybe that’s okay. Love is supposed to be easy after all. It will take time to accept that, but if Frankie continues to be the man you think he is, you’ll be falling endlessly for him.  

It will be easier than singing on stage, it will make you forget about your troubles more than the sting of a tattoo needle, and soon enough, he’ll make you forget all about karma because he’ll bring nothing but good into your life.  

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 1 - Dark Paradise

Pairing: John Price x fem!oc (oc: Rory Sinclair - 3rd person pov)

Word count: 4.2 K

Warnings/tags: MINORS DNI, Vampire AU, smut, p in v sex, biting, consensual blood drinking, established relationship, unprotected sex with a vampire, swearing, pet names, roleplay scenario, John Price POV for this chapter

A/N: the first chapter and we're opening with a "bang". In this universe Rory is a previously turned vampire and member of TF141. The canon she has otherwise still holds, she just happens to also drink blood now.

Releasing the first chapter in time for Halloween, not entirely sure how regularly this fic will be updated.

And then the door to his quarters creaked open —

Goddamn tired.

He’d been awake for nearly 36 hours straight, finally given a chance to rest after prepping for another mission. The briefings had become the least of his worries, the same old-same old, but still every possible scenario circled his thoughts like he was a bloody clown with spinning plates on sticks, making sure not a single one fell on his watch.

Laying back in his bed, Price released a long, burdened exhale up towards the ceiling. Staring at the boring beige paint that was military standard as if he had expected it to change, running his hands back and forth through his hair. Thoughts of pouring himself a drink or perhaps lighting up a cigar for a little stress relief sparked behind his eyes.

It was the silence of the night, the others long since turned in, and while everyone else on base should have been sleeping, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone. 

She appeared like an apparition. The door closing shut behind her with the flick of her delicate wrist, the lock clicking just as he gulped down a heavy swallow, his saliva thick in his throat, his tongue feeling sizes too large for his mouth. 

His heart thundered in his chest, pounding in his ears, silencing any of his previous worries. White noise blanketed the gray matter. A haze as thick as fog blurred his vision, tunneling it until all he saw was her – everything else was just background noise. Non-existent. 

Her lithe form crawled up from the foot of the bed. The mattress creaked, bending to her weight, and his stomach dropped as something feral coiled inside him. Survival instinct. Fight or flight. Nerves fired, synapses screamed every red flag and siren and they died away before his body was even given a chance to react. Years of experience, training, battle readiness, all made into myth as big, beautiful hazel doe-eyes locked onto him from under long, dark lashes – the gleam of a predator within them. Hunger. A starving beast. Stalking towards him with the sleek sway of a panther. Slithering up the bed, an adder – deadly, dangerous. Intoxicating.

His breath came in short and heavy. Sitting up against his pillows, his whole body felt like it had been entombed in earth, muscles unable to move without the use of brute force, and he’d been made docile under that singular stare, crushing him beneath it. His chest compressed, suffocating, squeezed tight until it hurt just to breathe.

Pale, slender fingers stretched out, and with the reaper’s touch, they pushed him down onto the mattress, forcing him down. His struggle, entirely futile under her feather-lite touch. The strength of a two tonne tank contained in her fingertips and total control slipped through his fingers the way the fibers of the sheets within his fists did. A shuddered breath tumbling over his lips before he sucked it back in through gritted teeth with a labored hiss.

Frozen hands traveled down arms that could toss a man over his shoulder or throw them over a barrier wall, and he’d never felt so unbearably pathetic. Held captive, imprisoned in his own bed like a child who’d woken from a terrible nightmare and didn’t even have the strength to scream. Soft palms drifted along his limbs, marble-smooth, stone-cold. Shivers slid down his spine, fractals of ice freezing the blood, spreading through his veins and making each pump of the work-horse muscle in his chest painful. Fingers slipped around his wrists, manacles that made his own digits lock like the blistering wind of a frozen tundra had chewed its way through his gloves and began to gnaw at the skin below.

His jaw clenched, heels digging into the mattress in some feeble attempt to break free from her hold as she settled herself on his lap, straddling him, milky-white thighs trapping him between them and each desperate attempt to flee only caused the blanket covering him to slip further down his hips, revealing the dark curls that bordered the root of his cock. He bit his lip, chewing on the flesh as his hips bucked, groaning, deep and low from the back of his throat.

“Christ, Ror. Please, darlin’...”

“Please what?” She purred, leaning towards him, her mouth inches away from his. Testing him, toying with him.

Her soft breath ghosted over his lips like a cool breeze in summer, chilling the heat that simmered beneath his flesh, sending yet another shiver coursing through him as the sweat that began to slick his skin and dampen the hair on his body was wicked away by her frozen touch rather than the evaporation of body heat. The soft swells of her breasts pressed against him, but there was no heartbeat there, the cavity may as well have been hollow below. It didn’t rise or fall either, her lungs lying as still as the grave.

“Fuck, woman, can’t just come in here and tease me like this,” he gruffed, teeth gritting together, brow furrowed. With each lift of his pelvis, he would grind against her, stroking his thick length against her velvety soft folds, and despite the icy temperature of her flesh he still hardened to the stiffness of a glacier in return.

She giggled and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard – it was bloody torture. He was more worked up than usual, desperate and aching after days without rest, and she was playing him with the gall of a cat whose claws had managed to curl themselves around the tail of a rat.

Lifting his arms above his head, manipulating and maneuvering him like he was a poseable doll, she pinned his hands above his head and brushed the tip of her nose against his, paying extra attention to the little mole that sat there.

“Gonna get you back for this, sweetheart.” An empty threat. “Mark my words.”

Her hum in response vibrated through his skin and rattled his chest. “Promises, promises.” That sweet voice of hers melting his urge to flip her over and take the upper hand, conquering her gorgeous body – not that he could if he would, she was much too strong for that now.

Growling, his eyes narrowed at her, the piercing blue stare holding her dead to rights. “You’re bloody cruel.”

“Oh, shut it,” she said with that goddamn smirk of hers curling her mouth and awakening her angelic dimples. 

His brow cocked and a short huff fluttered the dark waves that framed her face. Much too fucking pretty a face. “Am I not allowed to indulge in a little fantasy, my girl? How many men get to say their lady is a bloody vampire? Doesn’t mean I want to be left in the cold though, Ror. Driving me mad here.”

The nip at his lower lip, her pearly white fangs pricking against him, caused another groan as his hips rolled towards her. Trying – and failing – once more to lift his arms from beneath her grasp.

“So impatient, my darling. Think I never get you off with the way you’re acting.”

Brows knitting together, he looked up from beneath them with a darkened expression. His mouth scrunching in frustration, his square jaw cut with sharp edges as he lifted his chin defiantly and a low rumble built like rolling thunder in the distance.

“Do not give me that look,” she scolded him, “You’re the one who asks for these bloody games, love.”

“Party pooper,” she muttered before capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. Each press of her lips to his seemed to last forever, languid and slow, as sensual and seductive as the very aura that surrounded her since being turned several years back.

Her lips, like the cool side of the pillow, were refreshing, invigorating. The taste of her was sweet, the spoonful of sugar that made the shitshow of life go down a little easier. Grunting as he shifted beneath her, her hardened nipples brushed over his chest and she whined into his mouth.

He’d give anything to break free, to run his hands up and down the smooth curves of her waist and over the round of her hips, squeezing her firm little arse cheeks in his rough palms. To be able to grip her tight and drive her back and forth on his shaft, directing her, watching pleasure wrack her body, making her moan the way only he could; but instead, he was stuck there like a bug pinned under the glass in some hobbyist’s collection. 

“Sweetheart…” He hated to plead, hated how weak it made him sound, hated giving anyone that sort of power over him but Christ, if she couldn’t pull every little whimper and moan from him like it was second nature to her.

“Oh, my darling,” she cooed, pulling away, her lips glistening with the sheen of his saliva upon them. “You really must be suffering.”

Price nodded, jaw tense, his throat bobbing as the pulse point in his neck hammered so hard it nearly strangled him. “Can only take not touchin’ you for so long, darlin’.”

Her hands squeezed around his wrists a little tighter, constricting the blood flow, the flesh growing hot and red below as his life’s essence pooled in place. Closing her eyes, she sat there silently, unmoving – like a corpse. She used to only be able to read him by memorizing his tics and tells, perceptive in her approach to dealing with him. Now, she could hear his heartbeat, the change in his breath, smell his sweat, feel the blood pump in his veins through his very skin. It had been an unnerving development at first, the woman he loved becoming an undead lie detector with blood-sucking instincts.

“Rory,” he husked her name, a quiet whisper traveling in the space between them.

Her full lips curled into a half grin and she gazed down at him, her eyes warm and brimming with life despite her circumstances. “You really want your hands free, don’t you?”

She gripped his shoulders, snaking her arms around the back of his neck. Her body rocking against his. Hips grinding, rotating. He was faced with Heaven on Earth while buried deep inside her. Price nuzzled in against her neck, breathing in the decadent scent of her perfume – sultry, heady, unfathomably deep. His mouth trailed along the smooth column, laving his tongue over the cool flesh as his beard rasped against her. 

Pulling her hands away, she sat back, her back arching in a gentle curve as she leaned away from him. The entire swath of her silky flesh available to him to roam his callused hands against, appreciating every inch to his heart’s content.

Sitting up, moving with the reflexes that made him so dangerous in the field, he wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tight and pulling her against his chest. “Lift up, sweetheart,” he ordered, slipping a hand between her legs and teasing the entrance to her core with the head of his cock.

As she lowered onto him, his breath hitched. Taking all of him, every last inch, they groaned in unison. “Fucking hell, love,” he purred in her ear as her hips started to roll against him, her slick coating his shaft as tight walls clenched against him. His eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled back, exposing the flesh of his neck, releasing an inaudible moan. One arm coiled around her waist, pressing her body to his, as the other slid up her back, his hand delving into the strands of her hair, bunching it up in a fistful. Straining to maintain clarity of thought, his whole body stiffened, his tendons all standing in stark relief.  

“So damn beautiful,” he mumbled, lost in the feel of her undulating, of being inside her.

Trapped in a daze of passion, a dark paradise with a woman cursed with everlasting life so long as she had a constant food source, he was lost in the sensation of reaching the precipice she was leading him towards in her thrall. Losing track of time and space, her soft lips grazed against his artery and the barely there touch of pillowy flesh pulled him back into reality. 

The hushed slurp of her open mouth wrapped around him reminded him of biting into a ripe peach in summer and the juice that ran down the chin with it. Succulent, sweet. And as her hand caressed his jaw, gentle and tender, coaxing him deeper into her maw, he was sure that was how her brain had learned to rewire itself with her change so she could stomach what she was forced to do for sustenance.

With his jaw cupped in her hand, holding him in place, her thumb brushed softly through the whiskers of his beard and the stubble of the five o'clock shadow on his neck and jaw. The quiet hiss of her parting lips was the only warning he received before the tip of her tongue flickered out tasting the beat of his heart. Fangs descending against his skin, she dragged them gently and pierced the flesh with all the pain of the prick of a needle.

Gasping, he gulped air like he was drowning. The pinch of her bite soothed by her plump lips wrapping around the wound and sucking on the flesh, drawing out more of his blood that bubbled to the surface.

His fingers dug into her, searching for but never finding any source of heat while warm blood trickled down the contour of his neck and over his barrel chest, pooling where their bodies met as she continued to drink. The suctioned sensation was just enough to keep him from falling over the edge, maintaining at least a portion of lucid thought before the lightheadedness started to creep into the corners of the little world they had created together.

“Rory,” he murmured, knotting her hair in his fist as he tried to pull her mouth away.

It didn’t take much for her to get the hint, panting as she tore herself away from her source of fresh blood, drips of it curling down her chin from the corners of her mouth.

“Sorry, love,” she breathed, her tongue darting out to clean her lips as she wiped the traces of claret from her face with her hand.

“‘S okay,” he rumbled before pulling her in for a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. 

Redoubling his efforts to reach their shared climax, the metallic tang lingered in the air and in his mouth, clinging to his gums and inside his flared nostrils with each heaved breath.

Her moans were better than any song he’d ever heard, a siren’s call to his most base of instincts – the ones he’d trained to ignore, to forget, to rise above. He was a veteran of the SAS for a reason, and yet, their bodies moving in tandem eradicated any of the drilled in logic. 

“Fuck, John,” she cried out, her voice straining, trembling as her nails dug into his back. “Right fucking there, don’t stop.”

Hips snapping, he’d never refuse to follow her orders, not when she was in his lap like this, when she was helping him unwind in the best way possible.

“Never, darlin’. Never.”

Bed creaking, the headboard knocking against the wall in time with their passion, he stopped caring if anyone else on base could hear them, he just wanted to keep her making those pretty noises for him.

Stiffening in his arms, her body turned rigid, muscles all tightening, locking up  – Rigor mortis. A choked groan escaped her as her eyes rolled back in her head, fluttering shut as she went limp and rested her head on his shoulder.

The fact that he could still cause this sort of reaction in her, make her tremble and whine like the pretty, sweet and soft thing she used to be brought a hazy smile to his face. Panting as he felt her mouth wrap around the bite marks she’d left behind in his neck, her tongue dragging against it with the same attention she used on his cock. A growl rumbled in his chest as his thoughts drifted to that scenario for a fleeting moment. 

That tongue of hers trailing along his skin, cleaning up the mess from his still draining veins, made his toes curl and he surged forward, thrusting into her with the force of a man possessed before grabbing her ass and bouncing her up and down on his shaft, punching out warbling mewls from her. Slick, wet – cunt, tongue, the blood that pumped from him. His fingers kneaded into her flesh, rough and possessive, if she still had a working pulmonary system she’d likely bruise with how hard he was gripping her. 

So close. Right fucking there.

Her tight, velvet walls clenched around him, pulsing with contractions (like the heartbeat she no longer had), milking him and bringing him to the brink. The heat in his core made his cock throb, and all sense – his seat of control – was stolen from him. Filling her, flooding her with his come, continuing to fuck into her straight through his own climax.

Nuzzling his face into her, their necks curled around each other like mated wolves, mumbling and moaning, quiet ‘thank you’s’ tumbling from his lips. His thrusts slowed, becoming lazy and languorous, while labored puffs of exhausted breath fanned over her flesh, moist not with her perspiration, but his.

In the daze of his afterglow, his brow furrowed as her fingertips began to lightly massage the wounds on his neck and a tingle radiated outwards from the point of origin. It was the same feeling he received when she’d heal his wounds after a clash against whichever enemy it was they were being sent in to deal with. Smearing her blood on him like it was antiseptic ointment and he’d skinned his knee. It was a miracle, able to save him and the other lads from ever needing stitches.

But it came at a cost. 

There were times when he wondered what it might be like to be the same thing she was, not dead, not truly alive, existing in a limbo state somewhere between the two. Free of the fear of dying. Stronger, faster. Able to heal from her wounds, and save others. That wasn’t even counting the other benefits: hypnosis and compulsion, flight, shapeshifting. She was already a damn good recon specialist, but once she’d changed she was damn near unstoppable, leaving him in the dust. 

Cradling her in his arms as they lay together on his bed just wasn’t the same anymore and even after the last few years it still took some getting used to, especially after making love. There was no racing heart, no sweat slicked skin or panting breaths. She was cold. Still. Like sleeping next to a marble statue of the woman he loved, a replica of the real thing. He knew it was still her, she had all the same thoughts and feelings. Hell, she even had the trauma. But her warmth, the bit of her he clung to when her curves slotted against the stiff planes of his body – it wasn’t there anymore. The best he’d ever get was room temperature. 

Carding her fingers through the hair at his temple, he was sure she could probably count the gray hairs that were there, the way they kept increasing while she would stay young and beautiful forever. Like the Picture of Dorian Grey, she’d never age while he just kept getting older, more tired, more grizzled, worn down and callused. 

Left behind to rot.

He cleared his throat, pushing away the cobwebs that ensnared him about the life he could have in some alternate timeline where he’d been bitten and she wasn’t. The one where she was still the gentle little lamb he had sworn to protect. Pulling her in tighter against him with a grunt, his arms surrounded her in a bear hug that pressed her cheek against his hirsute chest before his meaty hand began to aimlessly drift down her side, appreciating her form and its every peak and valley.

“Are you okay, love?” Her voice was a soft whisper as she looked up at him, holding his gaze. “Looked like you were a million miles away.”

“‘Course,” he said with a curt nod, his brows stitching together. 

God forbid she ever found out he was jealous of what she could do, at how it would make him a better soldier. He’d never have to worry about retiring, finding something else to do to fill his time, finding his place as a civilian in a life free from danger. He could handle the struggles that came with turning, just like he handled everything else that was thrown at him – he was sure of it. But he’d never dare ask her to turn him, he already knew she’d never agree to it. Never willingly “curse” him the way she was. He couldn’t blame her for that either, she hadn’t volunteered. She was attacked, forced into being what she was now. She saw it as just another burden she needed to carry with her for the rest of her life, which, in this case, was forever.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a damn thing, sweetheart.” His hand stroked lovingly over the curve of her spine, tracing along the slope of her lower back. “You let me handle it.”

“John?”

“Yeah, love?” His eyes were getting heavier, drowsiness catching up with him as he lay there spent and sated.

“You’re exhausted. I’ll clean us up, eh?” Lifting her chin and stretching her neck, she kissed him. “Stay right there.”

“No, love,” he husked. 

Peeling away from his arms, there was no sudden hit of cold air against his body when she evacuated the bed. Her side was left empty, lacking, as if she’d never been there at all. He sighed and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing his cigar, clipping the end and flicking open his lighter. The dancing flame drifted back and forth over the end until it started to glow and smoke. Puffing away, cock still half-hard, he watched her pad over and collect the wet wipes he’d stashed, the plastic pack crinkling against his stomach as she tossed them at him.

“Oi!” Smoke shot out of him as he pulled the cigar from his lips, a wry grin on his lips as she laughed at his reaction. “Show me a little respect, yeah? Just gave you dinner and a dance,” he said with a smirk, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“That was terrible,” she groaned, snickering as she climbed back onto the bed. Collecting a handful of wipes, she started to clean off the glistening remains of their union from his softening shaft. Her large doe eyes lifted to gaze at him, biting her lip, the smile fading from her face. “Didn’t take too much from you, did I?”

“You’re not just saying that?” Her head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing slightly. “I can tell if you’re lying.”

“I swear.”

She licked her lips, wetting them before speaking again. “You need more iron in your diet if I’m going to keep doing this. Whiskey and cigars don’t cut it, my darling.”

He glanced up at the ceiling and sighed with a low grumble. “Nurse, soldier, vampire… what can’t you do, darlin’?”

“Piss off,” she said, tossing the dirty wipe across the room, the damp, rumpled cloth tumbling into the rubbish bin.

Giving herself a wipe between her thighs, she lay back against the pillows beside him, the smoke from his cigar coiling around their faces. Leaning down, her head rested on his broad shoulder and she sighed heavily. “You need to start taking better care of yourself, love,” she murmured. 

“Why not? What’s so bad about being damn near unkillable, able to live practically forever?”

He grit his teeth, clenching them tightly around the cigar between his lips. “Or you could just put me out of my misery…” He tried to make it sound like a joke, adding a smirk after he uttered the words, but the bitter taste in his mouth was hard to ignore.

“That’s not happening, and you know it. You don’t want to be like this, trust me.”

“Exactly that. I have to keep watching the world as I know it end, over and over again, and I have to sit there and take it. It’s not like I’m going to forcibly turn everyone I love just so I don’t have to lose them. I’m not a fucking monster.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “I mean I am, but…” she sighed once more. “Not like that.”

It was exactly what he’d expected her to say. Despite the darkness inside her, despite the violence of her profession, somehow this woman had managed to hold onto a shred of humanity, and it still felt like she was a better person than he was most days. 

“You’re not a monster. Bloodsucker or not. You’re still my girl, and nothing’s gonna change that,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, holding her tight to him. 

tagging: @cassietrn

[melishade]

I'm curious what was the pov on the General Brice/US Military when the AOT world's population was in their world when they entered the Space Bridge/Nemesis? I'm guessing it was pandemonium that the US army had to scramble their forces to assess the chaos that is happening.

I won't write this portion out in full and put it on the New Age Anthology, but I will give a play by play.

So Fowler is the first to be taken off guard when Jack, Miko, and Raf are leaving, saying that they need to help the Autobots and there's a chance that Optimus is alive. General Bryce comes to the base while Jack, Miko, and Rafael are gone for a surprise inspection, and Fowler is trying to cover up the fact that they are missing. Next thing Agent Fowler knows, Jack comes back in through a spacebridge with Onyankopon, Colt, and Gabi, causing all soldiers in the area to train their weapons onto them.

Jack is quickly barking out orders, saying they need fighter jets and tanks for an extinction event, and that he needs help gathering water. Jack points to some hoses and tells Onyankopon, Colt, and Gabi where to get some extra buckets. General Bryce demands to know what's going on, and Jack shows them a video of the Colossal Titans walking before also telling them that Optimus is alive and trying to stop it. Fowler immediately barks orders at the soldiers to get ready to fight while General Bryce is demanding that Jack have actual confirmation. Jack has to contact Ultra Magnus in order to back him up before going to help Oyankopon, Colt, and Gabi with the water. Bryce notices that Jack is comforting Gabi, telling her that she can opt out of the fight and stay on Earth where it's safe but Gabi chooses to stay and fight.

The jets go to fly off and help, while the tanks have to stay behind because Jack told them that the Colossal Titans started running. Then moments later, Fowler tells General Bryce that they are going to start transporting some of these humans to Earth. And Bryce has no time to protest as humans start flooding in. The soldiers are on high alert as they aim their weapons, but Bryce sees their panicked and crying faces, begging for salvation. Bryce orders medical staff to be on standby and he thinks that the U.S. will be prepared, but the overflow of humans continued, healthy and injured. Bryce had to set up protocol to ensure no one left the military base. He had to call in others. Bryce was uncertain if this chaos would end until he heard the announcement from Erwin that the power of the titans were no more.

[yopapiishere]

04. Solace

Just Breathe Modern Warfare II x Reader

(A/n): Took me way too long to finish this, I also already finished chapter five so something to post so I can work on chapter six right away.

Trigger warnings: Medical happenings, swearing, sad Reader, OOC characters

Word count: 3,937

(Y/n) POV

Glancing towards the clock, the harsh digits of 5:57 AM pierced through the dimness. A soft, weary sigh escaped my lips as I wrestled with the remnants of a nightmare that had clung to me like a haunting specter. The images had etched a grim portrayal of my own reality, leaving no room for peaceful slumber.

Tears had been my reluctant companions as I finally succumbed to sleep, yet their solace was fleeting. Hours had passed, marked by the weight of dreams that wrapped around me like tendrils, each one a painful reminder of those I had left behind in my abrupt departure from life. The faces of my family, frozen in moments forever lost, haunted the corners of my mind.

The hour was caught in the liminal space between the dark of night and the dawn of day, a time of transition when the world seemed to hold its breath. In the realm of military life, early mornings were often embraced as a routine, a symbol of discipline and dedication. As I lay there, restless and unsure, I contemplated the enigmatic cadence of a soldier's life, one that had eluded me in my former existence.

Shifting in the bed's embrace, I pulled the light blankets closer around me, seeking both physical warmth and a shield against the emotional chill that had settled in. The fabric whispered a delicate reassurance, though its comfort couldn't bridge the chasm between my past and this unfamiliar present. And so, in the gray haze of predawn, I lingered, suspended between the remnants of sleep and the reality I was now forced to navigate.

Time stretched out in a languid dance as I lay there, a mere five minutes feeling like an eternity in the hushed barracks. A sigh escaped my lips, and I found myself pinching the bridge of my nose, a gesture of frustration and weariness.

"Fuck," I whispered, the word heavy with annoyance, a sentiment that cut through the quiet morning. With a glance at the clock, I noted that it was just past six, a consolation in the midst of my restless wait.

With a resigned exhale, I slid out of bed, my movements deliberate and silent as I swapped my current state for the uniformity of the plain clothes laid out for me. The black tank top embraced my skin, hidden beneath the equally black crew neck. The plain light blue jeans offered a stark contrast to the military surroundings, a small reminder of individuality in a sea of conformity.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me, a longing for the familiarity of my own closet, where clothes weren't just fabric but statements of identity. Each piece, carefully chosen, was a snapshot of who I was, a way to communicate without words. I shook my head, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips, as I recognized the insignificance of such concerns in the face of the life I now led.

The door swung open on silent hinges, and I stepped into the corridor, treading with a practiced quietness. My path led me to the personal bathroom, a solitary space where I could steal a moment of privacy, besides my own ‘bedroom’. The mirror revealed a tired reflection, and as I mechanically brushed my teeth, the image before me seemed to blur with memories of a time when I didn't have to be constantly on edge, in an unfamiliar place.

My hand moved absently through my hair, a futile attempt to restore some semblance of order. The splashes of water on my face were refreshing, but they couldn't wash away the fatigue etched into my features.

"I look like crap," I mused, the words a whisper of self-critique. The ache of homesickness surged within me, a longing for the comforts and vanities I once took for granted. With a resolute shake of my head, I silenced the yearning, reminding myself that the past was an anchor that couldn't hold me anymore. Yet, as I prepared to face the day, traces of my former life etched themselves into my thoughts, a testament to the depth of what I had left behind.

Stepping out of the bathroom and reentering the barracks, my gaze settled on Price, his stance relaxed as he balanced a cigar between his lips while tending to a brewing cup of coffee. The aroma of the freshly brewed drink mingled with the air, a comforting scent in the otherwise sterile surroundings. At the sound of my footsteps, his head turned, and a brief smile graced his lips, a small gesture that managed to ease the weight of the morning.

"Mornin'," his greeting resonated in the quiet space, carrying a sense of camaraderie that was both familiar and new.

His offer for coffee was met with a simple nod from me, and I settled onto a seat at the island adjacent to the makeshift kitchen. As he poured the steaming liquid into a cup, a sense of ease enveloped me, a surprising comfort that countered the inner turmoil I was battling. There was a sense of refuge in his presence, a respite from the harsh realities that often threatened to overwhelm.

The simplicity of the moment was a stark contrast to the complexity of emotions I grappled with. My body seemed to yearn for solitude, to process the memories and nightmares that relentlessly haunted me. Yet, as I sat there, a cup of coffee before me and Price's presence nearby, the quiet companionship whispered of the strength in solidarity.

"How did you sleep?" Price's question broke the silence as he settled into a seat beside me, his presence a subtle reassurance amidst the barracks' stillness.

"It was...different," I replied, my voice carrying the weight of the restless night that had preceded this quiet morning. The black coffee offered both a physical and mental respite, nudging me away from the edges of the sleepless void that had consumed me.

His understanding nod conveyed a sense of shared sentiment, hinting at the possibility that he, too, found solace in the stillness.

"You'll get used to it," his words were a prediction wrapped in a simple statement. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, the idea of growing accustomed to this unfamiliar environment a thought I wasn't quite ready to embrace. My heart ached for the distant memories of my family's lively home, a place where noise was comfort and chaos was love.

"I hope," I murmured, the words carrying a weight of their own, a sentiment that held both truth and deceit, a yearning for a past that was forever out of reach.

Price's long sip seemed to mirror the quiet contemplation that hung in the air between us. His next words drew my attention, a reminder that the world beyond the barracks still pressed on.

"The nurse you met yesterday, Ayan, will want to speak to you around 7 am," he informed me, his gaze directed at me as if to ensure I understood the importance of the impending conversation. My hands instinctively cradled the coffee cup, its warmth seeping into my bandaged hands, soothing the rawness of my injured skin.

As I stared into the dark liquid, the impending conversation loomed before me, a reminder that even in this unfamiliar territory, responsibilities and realities remained. The coffee's comforting embrace seemed to shield me for a moment longer, a buffer against the challenges that awaited me beyond the boundaries of this fragile morning sanctuary.

I nodded in acknowledgment, the silence between us a welcome respite as we both focused on sipping our coffee, each passing moment a small reprieve from the weight of the day ahead.

"You'll have a busy day today," Price's words broke the quietude, drawing my attention back to him.

"Busy?" I echoed, curiosity piqued by his statement.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady as he met my questioning look. "Mostly tests," he clarified, his words revealing a glimpse of the challenges that lay ahead. With a deliberate final sip, he finished his own cup, while my eyes dropped to the coffee still cradled between my hands, its contents barely diminished.

The impending flurry of tests stirred a mix of emotions within me. The idea of facing unknown individuals and navigating the complexities of my new reality was both daunting and strangely intriguing. As I stared into the dark liquid before me, I couldn't help but wonder about the path that awaited me beyond the realm of these quiet mornings.

The cup in my hands seemed to hold not just coffee, but a brief moment of respite before the storm. As a sense of relaxation finally washed over me, allowing my guard to momentarily lower, the abrupt sound of a door slamming open shattered the tranquility. My attention snapped towards one of the rooms , where Soap's arrival was announced with a wide smile.

"Mornin'," his cheerful greeting broke the stillness, his presence injecting a burst of energy into the space. He wasted no time, deftly reaching up into the cupboard to fetch a cup of coffee, his movements fluid and purposeful.

Price exchanged greetings with him, and I followed suit with a quiet acknowledgment, the words exchanged barely more than a whisper in the early morning hush. Despite my initial reluctance to embrace company, Soap's entrance seemed to bring with it a kind of camaraderie that was both reassuring and unexpected.

As the moments passed, the three of us surrounded by the lingering scent of coffee and the soft glow of dawn, I found myself gradually adjusting to the ebb and flow of this new life. The ease with which Soap had integrated into the scene, his presence a testament to the bonds that formed amidst the chaos.

"Soap, gonna need you to take care of the rookies today, hands are full," Price's words carried a sense of delegation as he looked towards Soap, his request tinged with the weight of responsibility.

Soap's sigh held a mix of reluctance and understanding as he nodded in response to Price's instruction. "Havin' trouble with this specific group, Price. No matter how many laps I make them run, they think it's fun to disobey higher ranks," Soap's frustration was evident in his words as he leaned against the counter, casting a glance in our direction.

The exchange between the two men painted a picture of the challenges inherent in their roles, a reminder that even in this environment of protection and camaraderie, discipline and order remained a constant struggle. Soap's words also offered a glimpse into the dynamics that defined this space—the delicate balance between authority and camaraderie, where respect had to be earned rather than assumed.

As I listened to their conversation, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy for Soap's predicament, his efforts to instill discipline met with the playful defiance of the rookies. It was a reminder that even in the face of extraordinary circumstances, the human spirit still found ways to assert its independence and individuality.

In this unfolding tableau, I saw a microcosm of the intricate dance between hierarchy and friendship that defined their lives. And as Soap's gaze swept over us, I couldn't help but wonder how these roles would eventually intertwine with my own as I navigated the path that had been carved out for me in this complex world.

"Keep makin' them run laps. You're a soldier, so make them into one," Price's firm instruction resonated in the space, his arms crossed in a stance of authority.

Soap's agreement, though reluctant, mirrored the understanding of the task at hand. The conversation shifted, and the entryway once again came to life, this time with Gaz's arrival. The sound of earbuds being pulled from his ears punctuated the hushed air, his huff of breath a testament to the morning's exertions.

"Mornin'," his greeting was casual as he made his way toward us.

Soap's question about the morning run elicited a hint of amusement from Gaz. "Shit, did I not wake up early enough to join you for your morning run?" Soap inquired, his watch a point of reference for his concern.

Gaz's response carried an air of incredulity, his words a reminder of a familiar routine. "Yea you did, I've told you this, 5:30 every day," he clarified, his movements focused on retrieving a cup for himself.

The scene before me unfolded with an almost choreographed precision, each interaction revealing the intricate relationships and routines that had taken root within these barracks. The camaraderie mixed with a touch of discipline painted a vivid picture of a life where every action held meaning, where bonds formed amidst the challenges of their shared existence.

As I observed these interactions, a mixture of emotions swirled within me—curiosity, admiration, and a yearning to find my own place amidst this intricate tapestry of relationships.

The entrance of Ghost added another layer of presence to the room, his arrival marked by a sense of gravitas. As he stepped into the space, his eyes scanned the area, settling on the group gathered before him. The distinctive skull balaclava and hood that concealed his features only added to the aura of mystery that surrounded him.

Price's introduction cast a spotlight on Ghost's imposing figure, his stature commanding attention. The simple statement—"This is Ghost"—held a weight that spoke to his reputation and position within this group.

Meeting his eyes, I couldn't help but feel a shiver of apprehension. His gaze bore a cold intensity, a reminder of the seriousness that defined his role. The connection that formed in that brief moment was a silent exchange of acknowledgment, a glimpse into the complexities of this new dynamic.

In this encounter, the diversity of personalities within the barracks became all the more evident. From camaraderie to authority, from familiarity to reserve, each interaction revealed a layer of the intricate tapestry that wove these lives together.

As the morning continued to unfold, Soap's exasperated sigh reverberated through the room, a reminder of the urgency of his impending tasks. "Shit. It's already six thirty. Gotta get going, those rookies better be up already," he muttered, glancing at his watch as he mentally prepared for the day's responsibilities.

"See ya," Soap's departure was swift, accompanied by a casual wave that held a promise of the day's challenges.

Ghost's enigmatic presence remained unchanged, his stance against the counter speaking volumes of his quiet watchfulness.

Gaz's inquiry turned my attention, his raised eyebrow accompanied by a question about my night's rest. "How'd you sleep?" he asked, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of curiosity.

"Peaceful," I replied, though the words were tinged with the weight of an unspoken truth. The tension in the room seemed to shift as Ghost's gaze bore into me, an unspoken skepticism that sent a chill down my spine.

Price's voice intervened, redirecting the focus as he mentioned a task for Ghost. "Ghost, can you walk down (Y/n) to the medical unit. I have to run, meeting with Laswell," Price's words were met with a simple acknowledgment from Ghost, his deep British accent punctuating the brief exchange.

The next instruction revolved around the cups that still sat before us, a tangible reminder of their shared routines. "Don't worry about the cups, it's Gaz's turn for dishes," Price's directive was directed towards Gaz, who nodded in understanding before reaching for the cups.

In these interactions, the interplay of responsibility, relationships, and routines continued to weave a complex tapestry of daily life within the barracks. As the minutes ticked away,

As I rose from my seat, Ghost's silent presence was a steadfast companion by my side. An unspoken understanding seemed to settle between us, the weight of his quietude a stark contrast to the cacophony of thoughts swirling within me.

As we walked together towards the entrance, the absence of conversation was palpable. I couldn't help but bite my lip in mild frustration, grappling with the unfamiliarity of prolonged silence. While I understood that some individuals preferred solitude, the prolonged hush felt like a barrier, a reminder of the challenges of forging connections in this new world.

My steps were punctuated by the sense of his eyes upon me, his gaze a constant that seemed to draw attention to my every movement. The lack of verbal exchange intensified my awareness of his presence, the tension of the morning's interactions lingering like an unspoken dialogue.

Unexpectedly, Ghost's stride came to a halt, and his gaze bore into mine. The weight of his words, when they finally came, cut through the silence. "I know you didn't sleep well last night," his statement was both jarring and oddly perceptive, his cold eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. His crossed arms revealed a tapestry of tattoos, a stark contrast to the enigmatic silence that had defined him thus far.

Caught off guard, I met his gaze with confusion, my thoughts racing to grasp the implication of his words. Before I could respond, an interruption broke the moment—a discreet cough that redirected our attention. I turned towards the source of the sound, my eyes falling upon the Southern man I had previously observed amidst a room of masked soldiers.

As the southern man's voice cut through the air, his words bore a sense of recognition. It was clear he had heard about me, becoming a topic of conversation among this close-knit group.

"Graves," he introduced himself, his handshake firm and uncompromising, in stark contrast to Price's gentler greeting. I bit my lip to suppress a wince as the raw skin of my bandaged hand met his rough grip, the contact an unintended reminder of my vulnerability.

"Nice to meet you," I replied, my response careful and measured as I took in his presence. He was tall, not quite as towering as Ghost but still commanding in stature.

A smirk played on Graves' lips, his words dripping with amusement. "Can't believe they stuck you with babysitting duty," he quipped, the sentiment laced with a sense of camaraderie as he turned his attention to Ghost.

"I don't need a babysitter," I retorted, my tone sharp as I glared at the man before me. There was a fire within me, a determination to assert my independence even in this unfamiliar environment.

His smile widened, and he raised his hands in a placating gesture, clearly sensing the intensity of my response. In this brief exchange, the dynamics between us became clear—Graves was a figure of familiarity, someone who knew the ins and outs of this world, and I was an outsider attempting to find my place amidst their established connections.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Graves' words held a touch of cockiness as he smiled down at me, his demeanor making it clear he enjoyed getting a reaction.

At that point, the frustration within me was palpable. His casual condescension was like a trigger, pushing me to the brink of annoyance. Yet, before I could respond, Ghost's voice cut through the tension. "We have places to be," his calm assertion was accompanied by the touch of his hand on the small of my back, a subtle signal that we should move on. It was as if he understood the effect Graves was having on me.

As we walked away from Graves, I couldn't help but glance up at Ghost, my curiosity piqued. "The hell is his problem?" I voiced my thoughts, wanting to understand the underlying dynamics that had sparked such a reaction from him.

"He's an American," Ghost's response was succinct, his tone implying that the explanation should be self-evident.

"I'm an American," I countered, crossing my arms as I looked up at him.

His gaze met mine, and though I couldn't see his expression beneath the mask and hood, I could almost sense the amused smile in his voice. "Only difference is you're from up north. He's southern. It's a big difference," he explained, his words carrying a mixture of familiarity and playfulness. I couldn't help but roll my eyes in response, a playful gesture that hinted at the rapport developing between us. In this brief exchange.

As we arrived at the medical unit, Ghost's gesture of opening the door took me by surprise. He paused at the entrance, his words a quiet assurance that he would be waiting outside.

"You don't need—" I started to protest, but he interrupted me with a simple declaration. "It's part of my job." His response was resolute, leaving no room for argument. I nodded in acknowledgement, silently appreciating the unexpected reassurance he offered.

Just as I was about to step inside, Nurse Ayan approached with a smile, his presence a welcome distraction. "Hope you're ready for tests," he remarked, his gaze directed at me.

"Thanks, Ghost," Ayan's acknowledgment resonated with gratitude as he turned his attention to him. Ghost's nod served as a silent affirmation before he closed the door behind me, leaving me in the capable hands of the nurse.

"Today, (Y/n)," he began in a calm and reassuring tone, "our primary goal is to uncover the underlying cause of the water accumulation in your lungs. To achieve that, we're planning to safely drain the excess fluid and closely monitor your breathing patterns during the process." As I settled onto the medical bed, he pulled up a chair and meticulously arranged his medical instruments. With a deliberate air of professionalism, he extracted his stethoscope, its cold metal glinting under the clinical lights. With a gentle smile, he prompted me to take deep breaths, guiding me through each inhale and exhale. His attention to detail and soothing guidance created an atmosphere of confidence and trust, helping to alleviate my apprehensions about the procedure.

"It appears that the fluid in your lungs hasn't subsided," he remarked, his tone thoughtful, as he carefully set aside his stethoscope. With a decisive nod, he continued, "For the next part of the procedure, I'll need you to remove your sweater." His gesture was gentle, motioning towards my crew neck, and his professionalism helped ease any lingering unease I might have felt.

"Don't worry, only staff members are allowed here at the moment. I just need some improved access to take care of removing the fluid," Ayan explained with a reassuring smile that managed to calm my nerves.

I gave a slight nod, taking my sweater off, noticing a chill swept through the cold room. Wrapping my arms around my exposed neck and shoulders, I hoped to find some warmth and reassurance. He wheeled over a machine topped with a long, needle-like tube. My eyes instinctively squinted at the sight, a reflexive reaction to the imposing instrument.

"Will that cause any pain?" I inquired, my focus locked onto the extended, pointed needle.

"You'll be unconscious during the procedure," he remarked, gesturing for me to lie down on the bed.

"Wait, what?" I responded, my uncertainty evident.

"(Y/n), when you wake up, you'll be given medication. It's a brief process. It shouldn't last more than an hour," he explained before getting up. I nodded, a sense of unease settling in as I reclined on the bed. He brought over another apparatus, this one consisting of a plastic mask attached to a long tube—a form of anesthesia.

"Take a few breaths," Ayan instructed, positioning the mask over my mouth. I nodded and began inhaling slowly. Suddenly, everything went dark as I slipped into unconsciousness.

[observeowl]

Her Assistant | Chapter 13 - Pietro Maximoff

Summary: After losing her family, Natasha Romanoff builds her company from the ground up. During the rise of her company, she decided she needed an assistant, one that works in her office and her house. That's when she saw your resume. After working five years for her, how was it like working for her? Or more importantly, how things progress?

Series Masterlist

Third POV Even in such a close distance, Pietro managed to dodge the bullet and swung a punch at Natasha with all the betrayal he felt causing her to drop her gun. All he wanted to do was to bring his sister to safety even though she may be in captivity.

This time Pietro was on top strangling Natasha and pointing his gun at her. "If only... if only... you didn't come... Wanda would...!"

Bucky knew he wasn't going to be able to reach Natasha in time and she was left defenseless.

"Is it time for someone to pick up your messes?" Someone came to her rescue and kicked Pietro's gun away from her before he managed to shoot. However, he maintained his balance and pulled out his knife trying to stab the person but it was blocked by their gun.

"Strange?"

"I never knew you had a younger sister." He joked. "Hey you!" He brought the attention to Bucky who didn't know who he was. Pietro turned to look at Bucky thinking they were in cahoot and were planning for a double attack.

"Just joking." He kicked Pietro away and shot his arm that was holding the knife. Knowing he was at a disadvantage now, he retreated slightly since Strange was still shooting in his direction.

"Thanks Strange, but what are you doing here?"

"You just laid your hands on something terrible."

"If you're talking about the gas, it's already..."

"NO! Not just that, in this forest, the army is-" From the corner of his eyes, he saw something and pushed Natasha on the ground before the trees around them got obliterated into bits.

"Shit- too late." He mumbled under his breath.

"Miss Romanoff, are you alright?" Bucky asked as he went unsteady on his feet. Everyone felt the ground shaking and thought that an earthquake was happening.

Instead, it was a tank moving in the forest! Everyone started running knowing they were not able to take down the tank with what they have with them.

Inside the tank, they were adjusting their aim for the cannon while the infantry moved forward.

"How did you think you could run away from that?" Strange asked as they were running away.

"I wasn't expecting something like that!" Natasha exclaimed.

"On the eastern side of the forest, there's a military railway that was used to transport the materials used to build the village. If the train is still going we can escape on that!"

"Good, let's bet on that- uuh" Natasha fell to the ground after sustaining all the injuries from earlier. Pietro sure knows how to pack a punch.

"Miss Romanoff!!" Anyone who was in the war knows that you should never stand still on the battlefield. You would just be sitting ducks waiting for the enemy to shoot. The cannon fired and as much as they wanted to hop in and save her, they couldn't.

"Ouuu you're pretty battered." Y/N said when she brought Natasha to the side and took in her bruises. "You went as far as to dress up and this is the result..." Clearly she knew her boss couldn't do anything to her in this state. "You should have left everything to me."

"Shut up. You should've come earlier then." Natasha scolded her lightly.

"Hurry up, another one's coming!" Strange couldn't stand their bantering and chased them.

"What about the Raven?" Natasha asked.

"It's here, I took all the samples." Y/N presented it in her hands.

Natasha nodded and quickly formulated a new plan in her mind. "Bucky, follow Strange to the railway. Also, show the way to Wanda with a flare. Strange, you carry the Raven."

---

As the fight continued, Pietro realised that they didn't hesitate to shoot even though they still didn't know that it's not Wanda. The army was planning to kill her!! He went around the side even in his injuries after learning of their plans.

Y/N and Natasha stayed behind to deal with the tank. Since it was the latest technology, the tank was moving very quickly even through the dense forest.

"This is an order, destroy that tank!"

"Yes, Miss Romanoff."

Y/N went around the tank trying to spot any weakness but the minigun was able to turn 360 degrees around. Bullets weren't able to penetrate the tank's body as the armor was very thick and the infantry was in the way. Natasha doesn't think that the entire body is covered in solid steel as it would be too heavy to move at such speed. A part of it must be thinner to make it lighter, somewhere that doesn't need to be protected...

"Y/N, we'll scatter the flies first." She followed her orders and began approaching the infantry at the same time as Natasha. She dropped a can on the ground and Y/N only had a short second to see what it was before it blew up.

"It was a good idea to get this from Bucky. The hors d'oeuvre is over. Now to the main dish!" She said as she held it in her hands. Before the tank could finish reloading its cannon, Y/N ran up the tank and smashed a rock on top of the tank making a hole.

Indeed as Natasha thought, the top is soft and thin. Y/N squatted and peeked inside the tank and looked at the soldiers operating it. "You look just like mice caught in a trap. Trembling close to each other inside that box. Since you look so pathetic, Miss Romanoff decided to present you with special supplies prepared by us."

Once Y/N finished talking, Natasha dropped another can in the tank and it exploded soon after. "Now it doesn't look like a moving battleship, more like a moving oven." Natasha laughed as she saw the tank burning.

While Y/N and Natasha settled this problem and Bucky was trying to get to the railway station, Wanda was running towards the exit that Natasha had told her earlier. Even though she may not have gone further than her village, her genius brain was more than enough to guide her through the forest.

Once she saw the flare she knew that Natasha had changed course and needed to head to another direction.

Bucky and Strange were already there waiting for her when she arrived. Bucky placed finger on his lips asking her to keep quiet as he heard people inside. This made Strange excited because it meant the railway was in use and could start immediately.

They told Wanda to stay put as they went in and wreak havoc, quickly killing the guys with accuracy. The soldiers panicked when they were ambushed and with no one to give them any orders they were flustered and did not know what to do.

When they confirmed they were safe, Bucky told Wanda to come with them and have her settle at the back of the train. (note that it's for transport of goods hence there are no seats. Just an empty platform to place the crates.)

They went to get the train to working condition as quickly as they could and the horn sounded as soon as they took off.

"WANDA!" Pietro's voice echoed in the room.

"Pietro?" She didn't think he managed to follow them here. He raised his gun and aimed at them. Wanda was shocked that even at this point, he was trying to kill her. She shut her eyes tightly waiting for the pain to arrive but it never did.

"Pietro... you betrayed us..." Pietro shot Hilbert who was on the other side of the platform.

"Piet... why...?"

He dropped his gun and started running after the moving train that was already reaching the exit. "Wanda! I'm sorry for lying to you all this time! You can hate me, you don't have to forgive me but, Wanda... you... you are-" He didn't get to finish his sentence as someone shot him from behind and he fell on the tracks.

"Traitor...! Die, Red Witch!" Hilde shouted even though her body was all battered up. Her clothes were torn apart and blood and dirt caked her face.

"Oh... it seems some food escaped from the oven. I guess the fire wasn't strong enough." Y/N said as she slit a knife in her throat.

"PIETRO!"

"Wanda... you are not a witch, you are a normal girl..."

Pietro POVIn my world, everything was grey. From my earliest memories, people and places were all grey. I didn't even know that other colours existed. I never knew I had a sister.

We were told to fight and protect our country but the reason was never told to us.

Despite my training being completely focused on techniques to kill people, I was awarded the mission to watch and protect the Red Witch. And in case of emergency... I would have to kill her.

You could only imagine my frustration when I'm not able to use what I thought I was good at, what I have been training for my whole life just to babysit a lady. She's constantly irritating, annoying and on top of me and I know nothing of being an assistant.

It was until I found out her birth certificate by chance that I realised she was my sister. We had the same birth date and I realised we were twins. I have been kept away from this fact for so long and my sister was next to me all these time?

I finally felt the desire to protect some and discovered the bright colours of the world.

So... Wanda...

"Pietro!" My sister's crying face came into sight and I realised I got on the train with them and had left the station long ago.

Reader POV "Get a hold of yourself!" Miss Romanoff shouted at Wanda.

"You said it yourself, it's your duty as the Red Witch to protect your villagers, isn't it? He's the only one left. In the external world, there is no magic or miracles. You have to save him. With your own hands!" Miss Romanoff shoved the glowing red knife into Wanda's hand.

Wanda turned and looked at Pietro with the knife shakily in her hands. "Pietro, if you die now... I will never forgive you."

Under the circumstances, there wasn't any pain medication to give to Pietro and he had to endure the entire process and feeling all the pain until he passed out.

"He stopped bleeding. If he can get proper care... he will probably be fine." I told Wanda as she finally finished bandaging him up who also passed out after a tiring day.

"We can't take him to a hospital. Give us a place to hide, Strange." Miss Romanoff told him. I've never seen this guy before but Miss Romanoff seems to be very comfortable with him.

"I was surprised that you ordered me to pick him up, Miss Romanoff." I said after preparing a seat for her.

"In the external world there are monsters worse than werewolves. She'll need someone to look after her. Plus, she's my insurance. To avoid that someone tries to kill me because I know too much."

Behind the scenes, people from Hydra went to Germany to check the casualties and to scan the area to see if there's anything they could use.

After a much needed rest during a long journey, we have finally reached Strange's mansion where he was able to provide us with some shelter. His house is almost as big as the mansion that Miss Romanoff has at the edge of New York. Germany sure has a bigger plot space.

His housekeeper helped Bucky to bring Pietro to a spare room where he could rest along with Wanda.

It was very late by the time we reached Strange's place so everyone went to have a shower to wash off the dirt and grime and quickly went to sleep.

However, this doesn't mean it was time to slack. My job continues the next day until Miss Romanoff gives me a break. I got up and made coffee for Miss Romanoff before waking her up. Strange gave Pietro a brief check through and said that he should be able to move tomorrow.

I could tell Pietro had something to say as he looked at me and I gave him a small smile to encourage him to continue. "Y/N... wasn't it? Why did you save me?"

"Miss Romanoff ordered me to." I replied.

"It was quite irresponsible of you to try and leave some stranger to take care of your sister, as if your job is already over." Miss Romanoff crossed her arms in front of her and said.

Wanda and Pietro were too guilty to say anything. "Wanda, I-"

"You don't need to say it." Wanda interrupted him. "I'm the one who betrayed you first." She took a deep breath before explaining. "I accepted Natasha's proposal to see the outside world and tried to leave that forest. I was about to abandon you all, losing to my own greed. Yet.. you protected me..." She sighed. "I won't deny that I'm angry because you deceived me. But... I also did something bad to you..."

"So.." Wanda held Pietro's hand. "It's a draw. From now on, stay with me. We'll see the outside world together, Piet."

Miss Romanoff clapped her hands to gain their attention. "Now that that's over..." I sighed, shaking my head. She should have given some more time for the siblings instead of jumping straight into business.

After planning what's going to happen after we arrive in New York, Strange's housekeeper prepared lunch for all of us.

The most important priority on the list was getting Pietro to learn English. Speaking German in America is going to raise a lot of suspicion especially for those around Miss Romanoff.

"Thank you for your help, Strange." Miss Romanoff said as she stood at the door front and the rest were getting in the limousine that Strange had gotten for us to get to the airport.

"Jeez, keep me out of your trouble next time." He complained.

"Next time? So it's okay to come again then?" Miss Romanoff teased.

"Ugh, don't come." He shooed us away. "Oi, Romanoff. You made it out alive this time. Be careful."

"Yeah, you too."

As we arrived at the airport, I went to check the plane along with the Captain but Miss Romanoff leant against the stairs of the private jet even though the rest of them had already boarded the plane.

"Something you need Miss Romanoff?"

"Just call me Natasha, Miss Romanoff is too long." She said randomly before heading up. I stood there in shock for a moment before the Captain patted my shoulders.

 5 years... and she wants me to change now?

---

When we arrived in New York, Pietro and Wanda were amazed by all the high rises and buildings made out of glass, a stark contrast to what they have been seeing in their village. The industrialisation they have never seen before

"This is... New York..."

"Shh... speaking German here will be suspicious. From now on, please speak in English." I told them and Wanda was very excited about the change as she has been speaking to us in English and has no problem doing so. However, Pietro needed a bit more help and motivation in his learning process.

Whenever Miss Romanoff- or rather Natasha, told Wanda off for doing something wrong, Pietro would stand up for her and stare at me talking in German, telling me that Wanda was feeling sad.

"By all means, complain to me in English. That way, I will actually listen to you." He would go off flipping through his dictionary trying to find the words in English.

Third POVFinally, Fury has been pestering Natasha to bring Wanda for a visit. She has been putting it off because she needed to tend to her business and teach Wanda how to manage one. Natasha was yet again trying to expand her business and trying to hand one part over to Wanda for her to manage.

Honestly, bringing Wanda to see Fury isn't going to add much. Tired of putting it off and getting numerous calls from Fury, she's finally bringing Wanda to see him. Y/N wasn't going into SHIELD with Natasha this time as she has given her another task to do.

"Coffee?" Maria asked Wanda but had already prepared Natasha's even before they arrived.

"Sure, thank you."

Fury went straight into business as soon as we were ready. "So, you're the one who allowed so much chaos to happen." He said in his intimidating voice, scaring Wanda slightly. She tilts her head down slightly not daring to look at him and Natasha found this sight to be amusing. She took a small sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

Just then, Maria came back with Wanda's coffee along with some creamer and sugar. She thanked Maria for the coffee before adding the sugar that was given. However, even with the sugar added, she was not used to the bitterness of the coffee and almost spit it out. She politely placed the cup back on the saucer and left it there.

"As per the report you received, the curse was in fact the poisonous mustard gas which we have halted production due to its dangerous nature."

"So, you're telling me, this girl over here can provide us with even more amazing feats of magic?" Fury looked at Wanda for an answer.

"... No."

Flashback "When we escaped from the forest, you said you wanted to attempt developing a magic remedy to help people. Are you still resolved to do so?" Natasha asked when they were still in Strange's mansion.

"Of course!"

"If so, when we meet Fury, give him the process to make mustard gas."

Wanda and Pietro were shocked at what Natasha had suggested to them. "If you do, SHIELD will have to deal with you cordially. The fact that you can make mustard gas will come out anyway."

"Wait! Then Wanda will be used to make the gas again!" Pietro said.

"Isn't it up to Wanda whether she is used or she uses others?" Y/N stepped into their conversation since Pietro was speaking in German. While Natasha was able to understand some of their German he was speaking, she wasn't really confident in speaking them. "Even in global terms, Wanda is an extraordinary genius and possesses information that could allow her to negotiate her personal treatment on an international scale. But I think whether she puts that into practice or not is entirely her decision."

"Even so..." Pietro was still uncertain about the decision to be made.

"If you want to go live with your brother in the backcountry, and be a doctor or something, I won't stop you... because I'm your friend. But, because I'm your friend I know. You'll never be able to stop studying." Natasha smirked at the end of her sentence.

"New knowledge, new experience, the more you gain, the better. The more you push the boundaries, the more you'll want to create new things." Wanda was at the edge of her seat, looking really excited at the opportunities and the new things that she can be doing.

"But you need money for that. National level amount of money. I don't think that speed guy over there can raise that kind of money." Natasha put the facts out for them. "All that you have in your possession now is your intellect and that information. That is where it all begins. However... you are never to breathe a word about the Raven gas that you created."

"Mustard gas does not even compare to Raven in lethality. What happens if that were to be used in America. I'm sure someone as clever as you understands?"

Wanda had a scene flashed in front of her eyes. Seeing countless amounts of corpses pile on top of each other makes her shiver.

"That will not help anyone in this world. Not even you."

"...I understand. I will carry the secret of Raven to my grave."

"Don't forget. From this point on, think of everyone as an adversary who is trying to use you. I am no exception. And so you must try to use everyone else. In order to obtain the future you desire."

Flashback End

"No?" Fury was surprised at her answer.

"I refuse to provide the method for mustard gas." Wanda confirmed her answer.

Fury stared at Wanda for a few seconds before nodding his head. "I would like to see what you can provide us in the future."

"I'll do my best.."

"You'll do more than your best."

--- meanwhile ---

Y/N was by the port ready to take the boat she rented into sea. Once she made the payment for the rental, she hopped into the boat and drove as far out as possible, wanting to get to the deepest part as possible.

Behind her was the case she retrieved in the village containing Raven. After their discussion with Wanda at Strange's mansion, Natasha told her to destroy the bio-weapon so others couldn't take and duplicate it.

Y/N put on her wet suit and made sure the case was secured with weights before diving in. She found a cave nearby and decided that it would be a nice hiding ground there. In order to make sure it doesn't float up, she placed additional rocks on it before heading up the surface.

Once she was back, she checked her phone and saw that Nicole had asked her out for lunch. Seeing as Natasha hasn't sent a text that she was done, she figured she could use this spare time to meet her friend.

Going to the location that Nico has sent, Y/N realised this must be the new place where Nico has either bought or rented. It looked to be in the high class residential area, somewhere Natasha would most probably set her eye on as well.

Pressing on the doorbell, quick footsteps were heard before the door opened. "Y/N! Didn't expect to see you here so fast." Nico said excitedly, ushering her inside.

"I was in the area, plus I'm on limited time." Y/N explained.

"Then, let's not waste any more time." She happily dragged her further in the house and settled on the couch.

"It's only in the afternoon, I still have to work." Y/N said when she saw the bottle of wine on the table with two glasses.

"Just one glass won't do anything to you." Nico said as she started to pour the contents into the glass. Y/N took the stem of the glass as it was handed to her and started a conversation. It was always like this with Nico, they could spend a year not having contact with one another and still be able to have a conversation flowing like they meet everyday. There wasn't any awkward moment where they had to think about what to talk about to keep the conversation flowing.

One glass turned into two and many more until Y/N phone started ringing. It took a few tries for her to pick up her phone before she finally answered it and placed it next to her ear.

"Y/L/N! Where the hell are you? I've been trying to call you numerous times!" Natasha shouted through the phone, making Y/N pull her phone away from her ear as her head was pounding. Y/N widened her eyes when she saw the time on her phone that it was already close to 5pm. She has been staying at Nico's house for close to three hours without realising.

"I'm- I'm sorry Miss Romanoff, I'm coming back now." Y/N immediately said as she got up only to realise she was without clothes and on the bed with Nico. She had no recollection how she ended up here but quickly found her clothes while Nico was still on the bed and got out. 

[themagnificentmags]

Saving this for fun later: a month ago I read a book (Out of the Dark by David Weber) and did not like it. and then I wrote an essay about it in the group chat.

I'm gonna actually give a book ANTI-rec here because I finished it last night and I'm still thinking about it: Out of the Dark by David Weber. tl;dr the last 10% of the book wrenches the genre away from hard sci fi in a way that undercuts the first 90% of the book and comes across as a huge ass-pull

The premise: aliens (the Shongairi) are attempting to invade modern-day Earth to bring it into the fold as one of their many pre-FTL slave/"client" states

The first 90% of the book is basically a brutal beatdown of humanity. The Shongairi start off by destroying every major city and military base via orbital kinetic strikes, then move in with ground troops across the world. Since it's military sci-fi there's a lot of enthusiasm over all the cool military tech humans have (fighter jets, tanks, machine guns) and some dubious politics about US intervention in afghanistan/iran (again par for the course), but the overarching theme, over and over, is that despite any individual battles humans win, they always are losing overall -- even if the Shongairi are comically unused to fighting anything more sophisticated than crossbows and plate armor, they always control orbit and frequently use more orbital bombardment to deal with human insurrection. Again: it is brought up by basically every POV character that it is completely impossible for humans to win the war, but every human of course chooses to go down fighting. (There are a lot of sad dads with dead wives and children.)

Eventually the Shongairi decide to cut their losses and start working on how to kill all humans without getting in trouble with their bosses (they try to develop a bioweapon and are thwarted, then they decide to pull out their troops and just crack the planet with massive bombardment). However, only now, like 4 months into the invasion, 90% of the way through the book, does one of the secondary characters show up with a solution: actually, the entire time, he's been Vlad-the-Impaler Dracula, and he has magic powers that can kill entire Shongairi bases, steal their retreating ships, and capture their flagship (including "neural education" tech to train humans in galactic tech and the intended industrial base for Earth-the-client-state.

So instead of, like, a heavy and kinda depressing alien invasion novel, we get an 11th hour shift to fantasy when it was not remotely foreshadowed (yeah he's good at woodcraft/stealth, yeah he's a little weird and possessive of the POV character that interacted with him but TBH I thought he was just gay, yeah I looked it up after and it says the name he gives is one of Vlad's brothers/father/whatever) and like! Why now! Why not 4 months ago before billions more people died! Who gives a shit what the rest of the cast have been doing, them trying to survive in the unpopulated wilderness of South Carolina/Russia/Romania literally doesn't matter when fuckin Dracula could have saved the day any time! It just completely undercut the stakes of the rest of the novel.

also at the very end of the novel someone had squished a full mosquito between the pages. chefs kiss

if it had been the middle of the book turning point (or, to be fair, if it wasn't rather dry military sci fi that I was already skimming the "play with military toys" bits), I think I could have enjoyed the twist, even! like it's a cool concept! You just can't do it in hard sci fi yknow?

I think there's also a connection somewhere between the Ur-Fascism [Fascist societies rhetorically cast their enemies as "at the same time too strong and too weak".] (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Definitions_of_fascism#Umberto_Eco) with how the Shongairi occupy the equal categories of hypercompetent interstellar conquerors and comedically incompetent commanders and footsoldiers, who throughout the course of the novel never even discover that humans can hear their stealth drones coming and react to counter them. They're strong when the story calls for humans to lose, and weak when the story calls for humans to win.

Ok I should get back to work but I have one more gripe. The pacing on the Dracula reveal is also fucked. The reveal, from the reader's POV, is: Romania POV character has most of the civilians he's protecting killed by Shongairi and he nearly dies. Dracula-as-human says "ok we're [me and my elite Romanian army unit] gonna Really kick their ass now" and POV army guy demands to go with them. Cut to aliens getting killed mysteriously. Cut to aliens in orbit saying "they were killed so mysteriously, go on high alert! Also they stole some tech and tortured the lead scientist alien for info". Cut to some Carolina crew filler. Cut to aliens getting killed mysteriously, this time the soon to be dead alien sees some gas, maybe it's a gas? Some speculation about illusory hologram humans being backed by other alien factions. Cut to aliens in orbit saying "fuck this, everybody leave and we'll glass the planet." Cut to aliens in orbit realizing some of the returning alien ships were highjacked, and then Dracula and Co rock up to the alien flagship, magically paralyze everyone but the commander, and save the day wooooo!!!

In a different, better book, we could have spent so much more time on like getting to know Dracula and his newly made vamps, doing prep and buildup for highjacking the ships, etc, but instead the writing is contorted to preserve the twist for the reader as long as possible. No dramatic irony, no tension on "but can they make it?", no possiblity to do character building with Dracula since preserving the twist is more important.

[badwasabi]

Me: This Mass Effect fanfic seems pretty generic. And the writing itself is mediocre.

Me: I hope something interesting happens soon.

Story: Introducing Admiral Adama from Battlestar Galactica 2003.

Story: Not even trying to hide it. Just straight up Adama. In a pointless, random cameo.

M​e: That's not what I meant by “interesting”.

So, yeah, I stopped reading.

And now,

----

I keep making the mistake of reading old fanfics I liked years ago, even though I know my tastes have changed, and I've become a lot more...detail oriented.

For example, take this one fic. War were declared, and a naval force and their marines invade a rural town. Our heroes are the local forces trying to defend against an enemy that is tactically inferior, but strategically superior, because they have a air cover and artillery support.

If you're not familiar with warfare, let me use a metaphor; the good guys can punch the enemy in the face, but the enemy's big brother can show up and kick the good guys' collective tails.

One particular sequence; good guys are in the town. They're on a street, trying to get away from the enemy foot soldiers.

And their tank.

One of the POV characters is a sniper posted up in an apartment building, near other snipers. The apartment is still occupied.

Specifically, by a dad and his daughter.

As the sniper shoots at the enemy, she keeps thinking about how the kid is getting traumatized by every shot. And blames the enemy.

When the tank says "MINE'S BIGGER", it blows open the front of the house. And blows the sniper across the room.

Well, half of her anyway.

Sniper realizes what's happened. Sees the "dead" look in the girl's eyes. And manages to say "forgive me" and realize she's basically “killed” the kid, then dies.

Wow. Very dramatic. Not a dry eye in the house.

Except for one glaring, obvious issue. See if you can guess.

Times up!

Why didn't the residents *move*?

The story claimed that everywhere in the city is "a warzone" with the enemy on the streets, so the civilians might as well stay put. Also, she didn't have time to find someplace better, with no civvies.

Okay. But why are they in the same room as the sniper? Why did she leave a distraction in her rear, and not even just try to tell them to go? And she is clearly distracted, because she keeps paying attention to how the kid is reacting.

Tornados and hurricanes are devastating and deadly, but authorities still tell us to go to shelters. Even in olden times, people would take shelter in churches, which were often highly sturdy and defensible, sometimes built specifically for the latter purpose. 

Heck, many of them are still official emergency shelters. Sometimes the only one some small towns have.

The authorities had hours of notice. Why are people still in their homes?

More locally, why didn't the dad just...go into another room with the kid? Or even just into the hall?

Maybe the family does go into the hall, but the first tank shot barely misses the sniper and blows the door/wall open, the sniper tries to run, then gets tagged and sees the traumatized girl?

Or the tank shot just happens to blow her to a spot the little girl can see?

Also, "forgive me" seems a bit too studied and formal for someone dying. Let's assume that is possible to talk with half your torso missing, and the sniper is hallucinating.

She should've said something simpler, like "I'm sorry."

Also, why bisection? There's a lot of injuries that could be obviously fatal, traumatizing to the kid, and left the sniper actually able to speak. Like losing her arm and leg, and she knows she's going to bleed out.

Maybe the sniper could have a relative who was a military veteran, and got that thousand yard stare on his face sometimes, when he thought about some horrible conflict. Maybe he taught her to shoot a rifle. Tried to discourage her from joining the military, because "sometimes you don't come home" or something like that.

Then the dying sniper sees the same blank look on the kids face, and realizes what she's done. And what her relative really meant.

As written, the character arc is a flat line. It's a light switch. One opinion, another opinion.

 She doesn't even consider the idea that she's doing wrong, until the plot demands it, and the writer's hand has clearly contrived the whole situation for drama purposes.

Like the late Shamus Young said about Mass Effect 3's heavy-handed opening, "a kid died!"

Just emotionally.

[sims2veronaville]

anyway so Buzz is like fuck I need to provide. So he drops out of school to join the military and Lyla I think does try to continue her schooling, but eventually bc of general stress or maybe her parents' (or even Buzz's parents') influence, she drops out as well and stays home with baby Tank. which ok. I have this picture in my head of Buzz being like such a doting dad while Tank is a baby 😭😭 like he's all excited and proud about his son and constantly talking about him to his work buddies. as soon as he gets home it's straight to Tank to play with him and things are like soooo good in the beginning. At least from Buzz's pov. I think Lyla is more unsure/more concerned for the future, but is able to pretty easily convince herself that yeah, things will work out & they will be ok. Soooo yeah within a couple years they want another baby, and feel like they're stable enough to manage it. They do NOT talk to anyone about this, get any outside advice, and they turn out to be entirely wrong 😌

& if it isn't clear already with the way I'm talking about it, I 100% believe Tank was an accident baby. My timeline of events goes like... maybe sophomore year of college Lyla falls pregnant, and it's already during a rough patch in their relationship. Maybe "rough patch" isn't exactly the right phrasing, but they were definitely drifting apart, and Lyla, at least, had one foot out the door. Bc of their upbringings and values, I don't think either of them would've considered terminating. Maaaybe Lyla would've, but only really as a fleeting, what-if sort of thing... never as a real option. For Buzz, it was like a switch flip... there was no real question for him as to what he needed do. I think his parents did help out a lot, and while they weren't thrilled at the prospect of their son being "tied down" so soon, they liked Lyla and they pretty quickly accepted it bc again... they never considered it would be anything other than it was. Buzz and Lyla would get married, the baby would be born, life would have to go on.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: some military jargon, mild angst, brief mentions of sexual activity in the past, brief mentions of violence

Summary: Sgt. Rory Sinclair with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment of the British army has been called on to assist with a joint US/UK operation. Quickly discovering that her Commanding Officer for the mission is a man she's met before...

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis. Will also be available to read on AO3.

October 13, 2017 09:37 - Special Reconnaissance Regiment Headquarters, Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom 

Rory sat in her cubicle, grey plastic walls surrounding her, free of any personal items. Scouring hours of footage shot during a scouting mission in thermal vision, taking note of timestamps and important location details for her report, she couldn’t help but taste the acrid pang of jealousy. It was the duty of her and the other SRR operators in the office to painstakingly comb through reports and footage, collecting intel. The nerve center for army intelligence. Keyboards clacked and phones rang as information was filtered and passed along to where it was needed.

"Sgt. Sinclair."

A deep voice broke the monotony around her, it was one that few ever heard unless the powers that be deemed it so. She’d only heard it once before when her transfer to the SRR was approved. Spinning in her seat at her desk, she rose to stand, her hand raised in a salute as she stood at attention. "Colonel Rourke, Sir?"

Rourke, a man with decades of experience as part of the British army, stood at her desk. Brusque and stern, he was a bulldog of a man trapped in an office space. He would have been more comfortable leading a fleet of tanks rather than an infantry of analysts. "At ease, soldier." She relaxed, hands held behind her back as he continued, "I don't make a habit of personal visits, but I've just left an important meeting and I need your attention for a moment, Sergeant."

"Of course, sir."

“Follow me.” Leading her away from the bullpen she was sitting at and towards a quiet corner, a potted plant was the only company there. Free from prying eyes and ears, he turned his back to the rest of the room, and lowered his voice. "There's a joint operation happening between the Americans and the SAS, and they require our assistance. However, they're looking for boots on the ground experience, and a fair portion of the SRR operators currently available for missions of this sort of nature just don’t have that. But you –"

She nodded, her face falling somewhat. She'd only transferred six months ago and was still settling in. The SRR HQ provided a different type of work than she was used to, but she appreciated the change of pace it gave her, utilizing a different portion of her skill set. It also meant she was closer to her father rather than being half a world away in the middle of a war zone – but a soldier could only be at peace for so long. 

"I understand you were transferred here to clear the headspace, but I can’t think of anyone better suited. You have an impressive record, Sinclair. A real asset. You’ve a history with counter-terrorism, been in the thick of it, and I have a Station Chief with the CIA here who wishes to speak with you."

It wasn't a question or an offer. She had been selected. An honor bestowed upon her. There was no turning it down. Not that she would. Ambitious, career-oriented – she had no reason to say no. Walking past the cubicles of operators, it was a stark contrast to where she was less than a year ago. The ground no longer shook as bombs dropped overhead, bullets didn’t tear through the air or rip through kevlar, it was quiet here. Safe. She still played an important part in the war effort, but without the risk to life and limb. The blood no longer dripped from her hands, though that still didn’t make her clean. 

The colonel stopped outside a large meeting room and opened the door for Rory, directing her inside with his hand. The room was empty except for one woman with a coffee and a laptop sitting at a long table. Dressed in business casual clothing, she looked prepared for a day at the office compared to the soldiers around her wearing their uniforms. Looking up, her face serious, she tilted her head in Rory's direction but spoke with the Colonel, "Is this her?"

"Yes, this is Sgt. Sinclair."

Like a child being spoken about between a parent and a teacher, she was recognized as being there, but not as part of the conversation. Things had been set in motion, all of which she had yet to be made privy to. Rory was no stranger to working on a need to know basis, moving up the ranks meant for much of her career she often merely had to follow in the direction she was being pointed. This was certainly no different.

"Good to meet you," the American said with a nod of her head. "I'm Kate Laswell." Holding her hand out to the open seat beside her, she directed Rory to it. "Take a seat."

Appearing sure in her steps, even while the stress took hold, she stopped at the table and took a seat, exhaling her breath finally as she settled into the chair, still trying to hold the proper decorum expected of a soldier. 

"You can relax, Sinclair. It's just you and me." Laswell looked at the Colonel and the door quickly closed, leaving the two women to sit alone in the large, echoing, blank slate of a room. She sipped her coffee, her eyes shifting to the screen of her laptop before speaking again. "I assume the colonel didn't reveal much about what's going on here, did he?"

Shaking her head, the short choppy locks of her chestnut bob hovered around her neck. "No, not really. Just that you're looking for boots on the ground?"

"Not exactly. We have the boots, it's more so a certain expertise." Kate glanced over at the younger woman, her brow lifting. "Why's a soldier like you working behind the scenes?"

Rory stretched her neck from side to side, cracking her knuckles. A cigarette suddenly seemed like a very good idea to her. "It was suggested I take a transfer from the field after I completed my last tour.” Glancing over at Laswell, she noticed the woman had begun looking right at her, scrutinizing her. “I spent the last several years in Iraq during the civil war. Working with CIA, PMCs, whoever my unit was assigned with." Her eyes fell to her fingers as she started to pick at the hangnail on the edge of her thumb, the skin underneath as sore and raw as the memories.

"Off the books?"

She cleared her throat and returned Laswell’s eye contact. "Oftentimes, yeah."

Kate paused, her head tipping to the side. "Seen some things, huh?"

Rory tried to get a read on the woman, it was hard to get much from her face or her demeanor. There was empathy or at the very least some form of understanding. Was she a soldier in the past? Or just an overpowered cop like some of the other CIA agents she'd met? She scratched her brow, clenching her jaw. "Did some things too."

"Not afraid to get your hands dirty then." Laswell’s face never seemed to change, her mouth drawn in a straight line as she folded her hands on the table. 

"I did what was asked of me."

"Like?" The station chief seemed genuinely interested in her, trying to get a beat on her all the same. Both of them were in the process of figuring out who they were about to get into bed with. 

"Primarily I focused on targets of high importance to prevent further incursion from the insurgency. Assassinations, interrogations – been there, done that."

"Assassinations?" Kate's voice rose, her interest piqued.

"I”m SSC trained. Ran a fair few missions that left me in some nests in high towers."

"A sniper, huh?"

"Yeah. When needed."

Nodding, Laswell’s straight face seemed to break for just a brief moment into a nearly unnoticeable grin. "How many confirmed kills?"

"High importance targets? Thirty three. I lost count of the random sods," she said with a shrug.

Laswell sipped her coffee, unfazed, hearing news like that was just a walk in the park for this woman. "No stranger to deep recon then?"

"It's in the name,” Rory confirmed. “It's what the SRR does. It used to be part of the SAS, but broke off and focused on the intel part of things. It’s why I was specifically transferred here and not just put on leave. Command didn’t want to lose someone with my experience."

"You have some connections with intelligence?"

"I have friends at MI6."

"Good.” Laswell’s attention fell on her completely. “Well Sinclair, I have a friend who's running this op – he's SAS – and you sound like just what he's looking for. If you're up for it, of course." 

Rory contemplated the decision for a moment, she hadn’t thought she’d be back out in the field quite so soon, and considering the fact that none of the details of the mission were being revealed to her until she agreed to come, she assumed she was heading into some real shit. Her hands slipped from the tabletop and into her lap, a tremor shaking through them out of sight, before she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great." Laswell shut her laptop and scooped it under her arm as she stood, collecting her coffee cup in her other hand. "Come with me."

Her brow lifted. "Just like that?" She was well accustomed to the bureaucracy and strict measures the British army seemed to enforce, things didn’t just happen, not without cutting several layers of red tape and after being passed through multiple hands first.  

"Just like that."

She stood up and followed behind the Station Chief, keeping pace with her as they moved through the halls. Rory was in no position to argue, nor would she want to, it was nice not to be beholden to the rigidity of the chain of command. This was more cavalier. Very American. 

"So, you straddle the line between spy and soldier, huh?" Kate asked, her eyes kept forward.

"Sort of like you, I assume?" Rory asked with a sideways glance, her lips curving into a half grin.

"Sort of." Kate huffed out a laugh. "Yeah."

They turned the corner and headed down the stairs, the reverberations of their shoes on concrete bouncing off the walls. Once an RAF base, now the headquarters of the SRR and the 22 Special Air Service Regiment in the midlands, it was sprawling with large open fields. Out on the parade, a helo sat waiting, it’s rotor warmed up and the blades spinning. There was no time to grab her things, it was get up and go, the moment she said yes she was being tossed from the frying pan into the fire. The urgency was clear, she had likely already been transferred and meeting Laswell was simply a courtesy. 

Ducking under the blades, the shadow of each one cutting across the sun as it broke through the dense cloud cover above, Laswell pulled open the door of the helicopter. “Head inside,” she said with a tip of her head towards the waiting entrance into the vehicle, raising her voice to be heard over the engine. 

Rory climbed in and looked over at the row of seats, noticing another soldier sitting there, already strapped in. His face stern as he shifted, adjusting his hat, the overwhelming scent of cigar smoke drifting from him. Scratching at his cheek, his nails dragging through a thick fuzz of facial hair, he glanced over at her and then turned back to Laswell who took the seat across from him. "I assume this is the one, Kate."

"Yeah, John, this is her.” Laswell pulled on the front of her jacket as she sat back and got comfortable. “Sergeant Sinclair, meet Captain Price."

Rory's brow furrowed for a moment at the name. It was familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint how. Was it one she'd seen in a report? As she strapped into her seat, steely blue eyes measured her up before turning his attention to lighting the Villa Clara cigar he’d pulled from one of the pockets of his vest. 

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant."

His voice was deep, rumbling, and it stirred something in her. She was no stranger to appreciating someone’s timbre, but this was something different. He seemed so familiar, she couldn’t place how, but she knew it. Intimately. And then the memory hit her – the bathroom stall. Five years prior, one night in a bar. The sheer chance of them meeting like this damn near improbable. Her stomach dropped. Jesus. His face was nearly recognizable beneath the facial hair that hadn't been there the first time they met. His voice had become more gruff, lower than she remembered. The cigar he was currently smoking gave a clear indication as to why. Swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to burn at her cheeks as she looked at him, gauging his reaction to her name - if he recognized her the way she suddenly did him, he didn't show it.

"Good to meet you too, sir," she said. Her gaze fell to her hands, remembering how it felt when he had held them. Trying her damnedest not to look at him, she preferred to appear nervous over the mission and not the man who had suddenly become her commanding officer. 

Tugging at the tactical vest he wore, Price tilted his head back, puffing on his cigar and looking out the window as the helicopter began to move, the inside shaking as they lifted up off the ground. 

There was no backing out now.

Laswell passed her a tablet, and started giving her the brief. “That is Igor Zorokov, Russian oligarch and alleged trafficker. Weapons, drugs, information…people.” Rory’s eyes locked on the screen, scanning through images of the man. Older, blond, in relatively good shape. Not the type someone might assume as a master criminal upon first inspection. “He has ties around the globe, but his stronghold is in Eastern Europe. Supplying several military coups with funds and weapons, he’s a dangerous man with people at disposal in his back pocket, and we have reason to believe he’s funding terrorist activities.”

“And we’re investigating him? Or taking him out?” Rory needed to prepare for exactly the type of mission this was going to be. Recon was one thing, taking someone’s life was another. 

“Erring on the side of caution. The Russian government could easily sweep just how far his global reach is under the rug if he’s brought to light, especially since it’s been beneficial for them. We want to find out who he’s funding and put a stop to the pipeline he has through his many ventures.”

Rory hummed, muttering, “Putting a tourniquet on before cutting off the arm.” 

“Exactly." Price's voice cut through the roar of the engine. "First stop is Kastovia, have a friend who’ll meet us there and get us into Russia undercover.”

“Nikolai?” Laswell asked.

“Yeah.”

It was clear these two weren’t just casually paired together for the mission, there was a long-standing relationship. Trust. She certainly understood how being a soldier who just so happened to have a friend who could get into the places they normally couldn’t would be beneficial, having an American ally even more so. 

“I hate to be a bother, ma’am," Rory spoke up, "but I’m not exactly prepared.” She felt damn right naked. Her duffel was down in the red brick complex below that was steadily getting smaller and further away. Her gear, her weapons, all of it was disappearing out of view as she sat there in her fatigues.  

“No need to worry about that, Sergeant.” Price replied instead, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Nik’ll have us covered when we land.”

All she had to do now was sit back and relax (as best she could) and try not to let her mind stray too far afield as the memories flashed before her eyes of the man who sat six feet from her.

[ashiemochi]

pussidon - ACT I | i

✠ Pussidon ↳ sounds like trouble ↳↳ can we eat it?

➶ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ➶ genre: fluff, angst, gore, smut/suggestive themes ➶ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

✠ -> next

February 25th, 2011.   Eastern Slavic Republic, Holigrad.

Civil wars were never fun – let’s get that out of the way. Not to mention, bioweapons were involved in this specific one – specifically, Lickers. You’d guess they’d stop getting elements from the demise of Raccoon City, but no. 

Raccoon City was just the start. 

Needing the best of the best in this objective, FOS operator – Ingrid Hunnigan – watched over the DSO agent – Leon Kennedy – through her screen map as he made his way through the roughed-up alleyway. Just outside of it were the military, soldiers and tanks passing on by. From what she can see, they were shooting the rebels just as the rebels were shooting back. 

You know, like it’s some civil war – which it was.

Problem was – the U.S government was pulling out to discuss some new policy in regards to the civil war – which meant even Leon was supposed to be on his flight back by now. 

Hunnigan rang his device, deeply hoping he’d cooperate but knowing his inclination to help others and his understandable loathing towards bioweapons, she knew he’d put up a fight. 

“Moving into position.”

Not even a hi or anything – gotcha.

“Copy.” Hunnigan responded as she zoomed in on his figure from above, “I’ve got a clear view of you from the sky.”

She could see him looking up as if right at her.

“Great.” Leon praised nonchalantly but sarcastically, “Maybe you can help me find a clear route to the CIA drop-off.”

Before Hunnigan could open her mouth, her eyes widened behind her specs when her screen brightened up from some explosion. The call hadn’t dropped off, meaning Leon was still more than okay at a safe distance. 

Hunnigan was in charge of being his support on his mission – as usual – and she had the responsibility to keep him safe for both himself and the government. 

Oh, and his girlfriend back home – that’s one of the main reasons why she needed him to return. 

Leon peeked at the aftermath of the rocket from the tank and then back at Hunnigan, “Looks like they’re doing some serious renovations down here.”

Here goes nothing.

“Listen to me carefully, Leon. Your mission has been aborted,” Hunnigan started, voice firm as she informed him, “The U.S is going to pull out of the country.”

“What? I just got here.” Leon’s brows furrowed in shock, frustration oozing through his tone, “After taking me off furlough and sending me to this god-forsaken place? What the hell?!”

Hunnigan sighed through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment before she continued, “Washington and the government there have decided to go their separate ways so everyone has to leave – not just the embassy staff. All American citizens have been ordered to evacuate the country.”

I think I worded it perfectly – there’s no way he’d refus–

“I don’t give a damn about the politics.” Leon snapped, crushing that small proud voice in her head. 

Why am I not surprised?

“We’ve got confirmation that BOWs are being used in this war. If we don’t stop them now, the same shit will happen everywhere else –” Then he narrowed down his eyes at her, challenging, “Do you really wanna see that?”

“This is a war and things are different.” Hunnigan countered, “No one can do anything without backup from the American government. Not even you.”

Leon's sharp eyes widened for a split moment before the corner of his lip irked up, a glint appearing in his blues, “Well then, I guess my only option is to lose my American citizenship for a while.”

Hunnigan shot forward, “Leon!”

Then the call was dropped, leaving a popup on her screen showing just how long the call had lasted; a minute and twenty-five seconds. Hunnigan stared in surprise at being hung up on then leaned back against her seat with a huff. 

“Unbelievable…” Hunnigan muttered, shaking her head as she glanced at the wall adorned with clocks of all the different timezones. 

It was to keep some sort of respect for all the other agents from numerous countries and not end up calling them in the middle of the night – yet that never seemed to stop the government. Given it was currently close to nighttime in Washington, most agents were out considering it was Friday.

Hunnigan removed her glasses to rub the sore spot on the upper part of her nose bridge, I’m missing out on my show for a man with a brick wall for a brain.

“He didn’t listen?” One of her coworkers came in with two cups of coffee, setting the foam cup on her desk.

“What gave it away?” Hunnigan mumbled, taking the offered hot drink into her hand as she slipped off her headset to set it on the table.

The woman laughed, patting the operator’s back, “That’s Kennedy for ya’. I feel bad for whoever’s going to end up with that stud.”

Hunnigan forced a chuckle, watching as the woman turned around the corner back to her desk. She looked back at her screen as a thought weaselled its way into her head and she opened the lid for the sweet vanilla aroma to take over her senses. A pleased sigh was released from her lips, glancing down at the ground cinnamon on top of the creamy foam.

Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

The idea made itself clear in her head and Hunnigan perked up. If she couldn’t get him back, then she knew someone who would. 

Setting the cup aside after closing the lid back on, Hunnigan put the headset on and scrolled through the contacts on her screen. Finding the soldier she needed, she pressed ‘call’ and heard it ring.

“I hope she isn’t doing something too important.”

✠✠

February 25th, 2011.   Kennedy’s Residence, Washington DC.

An Animal Crossing tune rang from a phone on the art table, instantly catching the artist’s attention. A small pout settled on her plum lips, hating that her art session was interrupted. She tried to ignore it but the call only continued. Sighing out exasperatedly, the hand on her hip slumped down in defeat. The brush clinked lightly when she set it into its cup and made her way to the art desk behind her. 

It was a video call. 

Anxiously, the girl fixed her appearance up through the window walls. She wasn’t wearing anything extravagant; her usual chaotically painted short-sleeved beige shirt and a pair of shorts. She had thin white fancy gloves on specifically made for painting to protect her skin from the powerful chemicals. Her hair was up messily, letting her bangs and sneaky strands fall down to frame her face. 

It’s just Hunnigan – relax.

Finally picking up the call, she smiled as she pushed her glasses up higher, “Hi, Innie – I thought you were out.”

“I should be but Leon’s being Leon.” Hunnigan exhaled tiredly, flashing her a smile, “What are you up to this weekend?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” The Han girl shrugged, flipping the camera to show her the piece she was working on, “Enjoying the last few days of my week off – the BSAA’s ruthless.”

Hunnigan hummed, impressed with the use of colours, “That looks lovely.”

So Ah blinked at the trailing tone, furrowing her brows as she twisted her phone back to her and she gave her a suspicious look, “Why do I feel like this call isn’t just you checking up on me?”

Hunnigan pressed her lips into a thin line, “Okay, I hate to cut your vacation short but I need you to call Leon and convince him to abort the mission. It’s too dangerous.”

“He’s a big man, Hunnigan. I’m sure he can handle it.” So Ah gave her a knowing look, setting the phone perched up against the brush’s cup before taking out her previous brush and then she stilled, looking back at the woman on the phone. 

“... How dangerous are we talking about?”

✠✠

You know how you’re supposed to run away from a ravaging and destructive creature?

Leon was chasing the licker. 

It can’t be that dangerous, right?

It wasn’t like the agent was going to get knocked out and kidnapped.

… RIGHT?

✠✠

“So Ah, you don’t understand – we were asked to retreat. The US government is pulling out.” Hunnigan pressed on, knowing it wasn’t too hard to convince her.

“And you assumed Leon would listen?” So Ah asked, resuming her brush strokes on the canvas with a subtle in-love smile. 

Hunnigan tilted her head to the side in silent agreement, “Okay – I believe he told you about the BOWs' involvement, right?”

“Mhm.” So Ah hummed, pointing the end of the brush at her phone briefly before dipping the brush into the oil paint, “Which explains why he’s stubborn to leave the mission unfinished.”

Keyboard tapping sounds came from Hunnigan’s end followed by a chime coming from her laptop. So Ah glanced behind her then at Hunnigan with a puzzled look. 

“I just sent you a footage of the bioweapon that was sighted in the capital of the Eastern Slav Republic.”

Begrudgingly, the brush clinked when it was set down and she took her phone with her on the way to her art desk once again. Tapping the file, she clicked on the video she had received. It was taking a while and she frowned at the sight of destroyed buildings and people being crushed beneath them. 

Then a muscley creature skittered on by, raising tiny hairs down her spine. The horror straightened her up as she stared speechlessly as even more of those bioweapons ran past the screen, some leaping with their massive sharp claws. 

“What… The hell is that?” So Ah whispered in shock.

Hunnigan frowned deeply, “They’re called lickers – they’re a bioweapon made to hunt. They’re completely blind but have a heightened sense of hearing and –”

“Can you prepare a flight for me?” So Ah interrupted, closing her laptop and started closing all her paint bottles, setting them in their designated spots. She turned off the lights in her art room and started making her way down the hallway. 

“Right away. It should be good to go by the time you’re here.” Hunnigan looked so utterly relieved, writing in for one of their pilots, “I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” So Ah gave her a small smile, “Leon’s just being Leon – right?”

Hunnigan actually laughed a little, “Yeah.”

✠

“Leon should be in the capital’s market street. The orders are strict to abort the mission completely, even for us FOS operators – so I might not be able to keep in contact as much.”

Holigrad was in ruins. The stores were crashed, windows and glasses shattered and scattered all over the streets similar to the giant boulders of debris. Chills ran down her spine, the cold air usually smelled fresh this late – but the scent of bullets and ashes only made her nostrils sting. 

“It looks so bad, Innie…” So Ah whispered to her device, looking down at Hunnigan worryingly. She was growing antsy. 

“I know. Try to avoid the military as much as you can. Stay safe, So Ah.”

The call ended, leaving the soldier alone with her anxious thoughts. Another shiver ran down her spine and she internally cussed, wishing she brought a jacket along with her. 

A long-sleeved black fitted shirt wasn’t doing much, despite being a turtleneck. It was tucked into her olive-coloured circle skirt with the tactical belt keeping everything tugged in. She also sported her usual thigh highs and combat boots. The weapons she was provided with by the DSO were a powerful handgun and a semi-auto sniper rifle as that was what she was most comfortable with. 

Her birthday was yesterday, having entered her early thirties – thirty-one to be specific. She fully expected it would be filled with hard work and positivity despite her new line of work. It was all to clear her family’s name. The need to meet someone who doesn’t know jack shit about the Hans was immense – at least she won’t be judged by her family status. 

Leon was able to spend the entire day and night with her, spoiling her with anything she had ever wanted. Even though she tried to convince him that she just wants some time with him, Leon still took her around the city. Guess that was why she was a thousand miles away from home – she was going to try and convince him again. 

His gift to her was quality time, brand new paint, and a handcrafted tactical combat dagger. The handle was black with the texture being easier to hold and not slip. Along the side of it was a line of a beautiful deep green marble engraved into the handle, not to mention Han So Ah etched into it.

The blade was professionally made and she truly wondered just how much it cost him to get it done. 

Oh, yeah, and mindblowing sex when they got home.

Said dagger stayed hidden in its cover under her skirt, tucked into the belt around her thigh. 

“EVERYONE, EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. THE OPERATION BEGINS AT 2000 HOURS.”

With haste feet, So Ah made her way down the road with her pistol in hand. The sound of heavy footsteps followed by a low rumble of a military tank urged her to dip down the road leading to a somewhat of an underground parking lot. It seemed like a better idea to go through the city underground. 

“Too dark…” She whispered to herself, taking out her flashlight and keeping it up under her pistol as she observed the parking garage from her position. 

She wasn’t going to lie – it looked fucking terrifying. 

“You got this, Soo…”

In her mother tongue, the little pep talk seemed to calm her down a bit but hushed commotion echoed inside. Instantly, the image of those lickers appeared in her head, making her freeze on her spot again.

Nope, I’m gonna die tonight.

Yeah, she did try calling Leon, thinking he’d pick up when it’s her but his device was shut off. Hunnigan was currently no help because of her orders. So Ah whined a bit, hating the anxiety rushing through her veins. 

Her missions were team-based, meaning she was recruited with other trained soldiers. She never had a solo mission before. Not like Leon. 

“What are you doing here?”

Wait, was that –

“If they attack the capital, it’ll make my job a lot easier. That’s all.”

Hold your fucking horses, there’s no way that’s –

Without even thinking about it, So Ah ran towards the source of the familiar voices. She halted when she saw her loving – stubborn as shit – boyfriend of four years and the mercenary in red. They were aiming at one another but there was clearly no intention in actually pulling the trigger.

“Leon!” So Ah uttered, lowering her aim when they looked at her and Leon’s eyes widened when he saw her. 

“So Ah?” Leon asked, dropping his aim and he furrowed his brows at her, “What are you doing here?”

Her breathings were on the heavy side from the relief and she glanced at Ada, finding her coy smile widening. 

“Well, well, wherever Leon goes, a Han is always nearby, hm?” Ada commented, earning a side look from the agent.

It clicked in Leon’s head when he picked up on his girlfriend’s subtle lost but relieved look. He shook his head in disbelief, eyes lowering in expected disappointment. 

“She really contacted you to get me to fall back, huh?” Leon scoffed, raising a brow at his lover. 

So Ah pressed her lips in a thin line momentarily, “... Maybe.”

A faint laugh came from Ada, arm dropping in amusement as she gave Leon a knowing look, “That’s all the proof you need to put a ring on that finger.”

“Huh?” So Ah hummed, confused as hell as Leon only looked as if he was caught red-handed, “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you’re always the naive one, aren’t you?” Ada teased, flashing her a quick wink, “Suits you.”

Then she raised her Hookshot up high, pulling the trigger and the hook flew through the massive opening above. The hook clung onto one of the broken pipes and she released the trigger, allowing her body to be pulled up. 

“Quick word of warning, this town will be purged soon!”

That was a quick word of warning. 

Slowly, So Ah made her way towards Leon and stood next to him as she kept her eyes up to where the mercenary had just left. Not wanting to jump to conclusions and embarrass herself, she chose not to mention the ring.

“She’s one confusing woman.” So Ah commented instead, earning a huff from Leon. 

“Uhuh.”

She watched him as he rechecked his rifle, feeling like she did something wrong. 

Leon had grown so much in the past six years – the “job” sucking the life out of him with each mission yet he never seemed to stop. He still accepted any mission that included BOWs, having vowed to scrub the virus off the face of the Earth. 

She somehow knew there was no need to convince him otherwise. 

“So,” Leon broke the silence once he was done, turning to face her with an expected look, “Are you really going to be trying to take me back?”

“If I said yeah, would you?” So Ah returned the question.

“Not really.” Leon shook his head with a huff, a thin smile on his lips before it dropped as he held her arm gently. 

His voice dropped to a murmur, trying to convince her and his hand trailed down to hers, “Buttercup, you’ve seen the files – you know how bad this is.”

Like Hunnigan had mentioned, So Ah doesn’t really need much convincing when it came to Leon. She clearly should’ve thought this through and not sent his own lover to pick him up. Despite his hand being gloved completely, she could still feel the tickling surges of love emitting through them. 

Hunnigan was going to resent her for this. 

Defeatedly, she released a sigh, unknowingly receiving a glad glint from her man. 

“... At least let me come with you.”

[angelapleasant]

this is honestly the biggest compliment anyone could have given me (i’m taking it as one LOL). i love how you said that ripp pushes boundaries, buzz pushes back, ripp pushes back, it’s never ending because yessss and that tank doesn’t realize he isn’t under the same expectations as ripp (because he doesn’t need to be?)

i wrote all that word vomit background about buzz because i realize i’m waaaay the opposite of what anyone is doing and i’m mutuals with a lot of ppl who straight up hate him (i agree with them if he’s characterized as the fanon does LOL) and i didn’t want anyone to be overly put off since they hate the most common version of him. i really wanted mine to be a separate entity and that just wasn’t possible with tank’s limited POV since he is so anxious/ putting himself under so much pressure 😂

like for mine, buzz could have used some therapy before lyla got sick/ passed (but good luck getting him to admit to it/ agree to it) and they def all needed it after but at least buck got to grow up watching the others’ mistakes and learning from them/ buzz didn’t make the same mistakes with him he made with the others

i feel like my ripp is such a stressor for the whole household bc of how he rebels for no reason— buzz doesn’t want him to ruin his life/ not be able to take care of himself when he’s gone. he’s not getting any younger and lyla proved that you can die unexpectedly. he also doesn’t want him to destroy the house by being a slob and he has to wake up early to work to support them and the loud music blaring is bad for everyone. getting arrested for doing dumb shit is bad not only for him but also for a high ranking military officer in their small military town. ripp is obviously struggling and no one understanding how to help just makes it worse

i’m just so pleased that i could have inspired a new and unique take on him/ the rest of the family! i based mine loosely on my late dad (also military, a little gruff and his speaking voice was unintentionally louder than it needed to be, expected us to be good students/ people/ be respectful of others and was stern when we weren’t, etc, but of course my dad was a bit more affectionate and fun, and made sure we knew we could go to him for anything rather than just assuming we knew. also the standard “doesn’t want a pet/ loves the pet the most” dad haha) so he’s one of my favorite characters i’ve written and i fully respect, appreciate, and encourage everyone’s right to write how they want to/ in a way that’s meaningful to them but i still feel a little :((( when people are like he is so evil!!! like sir/madame/otherwise or nongendered entity… you wrote him that way…

also tank is my favorite grunt but i feel like i would get along with buck the best bc tank would give me anxiety but me and buck could sew together

i didn’t proofread this at all and i’m tired from sewing and grocery shopping all day (please free me from my xmas chains) so i hope it was coherent. really i just got so excited. this is like. my fav thing i could have read after posting my story

so thanks to angelapleasant's take on Buzz in Something Wicked (brilliantly written btw), I've been thinking about how I want to do the Grunts, because I was never satisfied with how I was writing them. If I ever bring back my modern uberhood (I have the canon URL!) or if I want to play them in medieval PV or what have you. and well.

I do like the fanon more than she does, but I also want it to be more. complicated. tastier. a bit less... teenage. and seeing angelapleasant's depiction of Buzz and Tank made it click, the exact dynamic I want.

so in order to make this work we first need to accept a postulate: all the Grunt boys are neurodivergent. yes, all. None of them will ever get a proper diagnosis while they're living under Buzz's roof. But...

Buzz is the kind of middle-aged white guy who yells at everyone if he can't keep to his strict routine, and only eats three foods, and has Strong Opinions about sportsball statistics. He's very invested in Looking Like The Right Kind Of Person-- he's constantly masking, honestly-- and very invested in Being Normal. (Incidentally, this is why Buzz hates PT- not aliens in general, PT and the Smiths. He can't stand that someone so Weird is better at Being Normal than his family.)

Tank takes after his dad, and also has the profound misfortune of Taking Ideas Seriously. When Tank believes in something, he genuinely believes it with his whole chest. This is a rarer quality to have than one might think. It is also a deeply unfortunate quality to have in a place like Strangetown.

Ripp doesn't like routines. Or being told what to do. Or having to focus on anything but the, like, three things he cares about. And none of those things are Normal- he likes art and music and writing terribad romance novels. He's also flamingly bi, and since he's a Romance sim, he's not very good at keeping it under wraps. He started talking about having crushes on boys in kindergarten.

Buck has exactly one interest (pet fashion!), is also an incredibly picky eater, doesn't like loud noises or crowds, and can't tie his shoes or tell time on an analog clock. He talks a lot with family and friends, but completely clams up around strangers.

And so we've got this family dynamic where...

Buzz is harder on Ripp than he is on either of his other children. Buzz desperately wants Ripp to be Normal, for both selfless and selfish reasons. The world's a cruel place to be Not Normal, after all... and it's a cruel place if your kids reflect Weird back on you.

Perhaps a bit too hard. Perhaps pushing into the realm of "asking Ripp to do the unwise or impossible". Perhaps getting worse and more unreasonable the older (and surlier) Ripp gets.

Ripp resents this, ofc, and pushes back. They've got a vicious cycle going where Ripp rebels harder every time the General puts more expectations on him, which makes the General push back harder with more expectations, which makes Ripp rebel...

Tank has been watching this horrible cycle his entire life. And no one bothered to tell him that the expectations Buzz puts on Ripp are not the same expectations that Buzz wants him to live under.

And Tank takes ideas seriously.

So Tank is desperately struggling to live up to this impossible ideal that no one asked or expected of him. He's trying to be the perfect soldier, get perfect grades, be perfect at his job, keep his room perfectly tidy, be Better At Being A Good Normal Person than anyone else in the family, hate the people the General wants him to hate...

If Buzz knew what Tank has internalized, at this point, he'd be horrified. He mostly just wants his kids to do their best... and mayyyybe not publicly embarrass the family.

Buzz is also easier on Buck than either of his other children, because he's the baby and you just kind of ... instinctively want to take care of him. It doesn't hurt that Buck looks more like Lyla than either of the other kids...

So Tank is desperately struggling to live up to an impossible ideal that no one asked him to live up to; Ripp is desperately kicking against the pricks of an impossible ideal that everyone seems to want him to live up to; and Buck is alternating between Getting Forgotten and Getting Spoiled Rotten.

You've got this horrible, horrible family dynamic, that could probably be resolved with, like, three honest conversations and some honest renegotiation around expectations. But all of these men (except maybe Buck?) are incredibly emotionally constipated and Will Not Talk To Each Other without some severe goading from an outside force.

idk, that's just where I'm at at this point, and I don't think I've seen anyone else with this specific headcanon. especially not neurodivergent!Buzz.

[squishmallow36]

Uh. So. I was bored in study hall. And i started rambling ideas for this into a google doc. No guarantee they're even coherent but brain was in full microwave mode. Under a cut because it got longgggg

Idk if this is actually gonna happen but I’m gonna worldbuild for it anyway

So Juline is gonna be the one to inherit the kingdom from her parents. Has to be older than Edaline then. She’s gonna marry a commoner (how scandalous)--Kesler

This is not a very popular move within the court (ie the council) and well i think we’re gonna have to pick out who sends the assassin at some point

But canonically the dizznees aren’t liked by society…Okay hear me out

To stay in power, you’ve gotta pay people off. Like the high level military leaders (eg alden) but then you’ve got corruption and that’s gonna mess with the economy

And if the economy is messed with, then prices go up

And if prices go up, people get mad

There are two time periods I was thinking would be interesting to use but the 21st century is an option…i guess.

First - late 1700s/early 1800s. French revolution era. I’m thinking shortly after the start because we aren’t in france. The dizznees are not french. and the court is going to use this opportunity to overthrow the ruling family and be able to blame it on the people (note: i have not watched les mis)

Second - WWI era. That whole thing started with the assassination of Franz Ferdinand. There’s a feeling of nationalism going on. Close to the Russian revolution. Similar reasons as prev. But also you’ve got the mustache cousins (King George V, Kaiser Wilhelm II, Tsar Nicolas II) idk what you could do with that but ~mustaches~

Overall not a very popular govt because any time they try to fix one front the other one gets mad so there’s a national feeling of unrest. Though, kind of like the WWII triangle of ideologies, none of the parties actually like each other. Except for the people still getting paid off but the economy is tanking and that list is shortening

Cue the assassin - my first instinct is to blame emery because I don’t like him. Also he’s the council’s canon mediator, so you know he’s gotta be close to a breaking point at all times. <- not me justifying after the thought lol

Now all of this historical context is gonna go out the window the moment we get into Dex’s pov because xe isn’t gonna be aware of this (note: neopronouns? Anachronistic but also xe/xem!dex owns my soul). Well xe’s gonna be vaguely aware but not have ALL this historical context by any means

Which is why xe allows Fitz to bodyguard even if xe doesn’t like it.

Another fun thing if we wanna lean into this revolution idea i’m already leaning into: alden being the peoples’ choice as the new leader and then we get some ~fitz angst~ because he’s stuck between worlds

(Gay world and alden world which is just like gay world but in denial)

The assassin themself should be someone in the neverseen - if it was alvar that would be so horribly devastating and kind of canon supported bc alvar is a (alleged) murder child and alden doesn’t seem to care (flashback)

That does imply that the neverseen is working with the council in some capacity (and also alden is neverseen which is close enough to canon for me) but triangle of ideologies they don’t like each other so it’s fine.

Plot events:

Open with vivaldi spring on something like a nice family dinner. I don’t think it should be too fancy of an event. And that does allow some triplet content as they start a food fight. If we’re in Dex pov, we can start laying the groundwork of fedex by noticing Fitz across the room. At this point we don’t have an opinion other than that he pretty

(fitz pov could also be interesting there with the internalized homophobia i always give him. And the fact that i wouldn’t have to write the actual assassination attempt. But that does make it more tell not show so dex pov is probably better narratively)

Don’t waste time getting into the actual story - assassination attempt. Idk what it should be. I do like the idea of trying to poison because of the chem knowledge.

(also there’s a page of poisonous plants and I already know too much about that. I also know too much about knives but that’s dangerous if you stabby stab in the wrong place)

Next scene we have dex laying in the healing center, half conscious. Elwin Juline Kesler discussing things that are scary - details about the assassination attempt so the audience can know how much i over researched (i haven’t yet. I just know I will end up doing so if i actually write this thing)

Also going to reveal the fact that fitz is gonna be dex’s personal bodyguard and that makes dex anger

Definitely draw from the end of book 1 when Sophie got sandor because that parallelism would be interesting. Same situation different character…was that even book 1 though? Double check that. I don’t know canon as well as i should

Spend a couple days in the healing center before being allowed out on parole. Can either use this time for sophie/dex bonding time or the more likely route time skip. While we’re in there, no fitz because he’s studying current events like the little nerd /affectionate he is so the first time they’re stuck together is after escaping from the healing center

When fitz and dex meet formally, most of the historical context i spent too long thinking about goes on the back burner to the gays (another nice thing about french revolution era - the napoleonic code (1804) did legalize gays in france and a couple of other countries napoleon took over so no sodomy charges in this house. Also the fact that kesler and juline are bi they would’ve legalized it long ago)

I have an idea!

We all know how in royal AUs Fitz is a prince and Dex is not. Change it! Dex is the price in this AU, while Fitz is the son of a respected Army General. 

Now there the idea for the story: There have been threat on the royal family and Dex’s parents are like “Ah nay bitch.” and give their kids personal bodyguards. The tripalest, they cool with it. Dex is not. He doesn’t want to be followed wherever the heck he goes and to add sault to the wound; Fitz Vacker is his bodyguard. But Dex wont let this get him down. No. He’ll make it Fitz’s problem.

Fitz can’t let his dad down, this is a very important job. But oh boy its so hard to keep it together when the person you’re supposed to keep alive is teasing the every living hell out of you!

Does anyone what to be a group writing project with me? I need this in my life.