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tacticaldiary · 1 year

Note

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

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Part 2

(09/07/2023)

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sharmtours-blog · 2 years

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moondirti · 6 months

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sorry, this was born out of a need to indulge myself featuring: gaz, ballerina!reader, stalking, intrusive thoughts, delusion, mentioned SA and kidnapping

Kyle first spots you on the Piccadilly line in London's underground.

He's usually wary of public transport – would really rather walk the hour from Knightsbridge to Hammersmith than risk the inevitable unsavoury interaction bound to happen in an overcrowded tube – but it was late at night, he'd just spent his day sitting in a hotel lobby gathering intel for Price, and the idea of ducking down narrow streets in the blistering cold was the last thing he wanted coming to fruition. That's how he ended up in a (thankfully empty) train car anyway; hoodie up and hands stuffed deep into his pockets, thumb brushing over the handle of a switchblade.

He's focused on the shady character stretched across three seats adjacent to him when you happen to prance in. Perhaps prance isn't that accurate an account either, but it's hard to attribute much else to you when you're dressed like a character from one of his sister's childhood storybooks. Angelina ballerina, or something of the sorts – mismatched leg warmers, knitted bolero sleeving a black camisole, basketball shorts over nude-coloured tights, and dance booties that look like little puffer coats for your feet.

The duffel bag slung over your shoulder concerns him briefly – it's hard to look at carryalls the same after serving the military, he finds – but the tired look on your face pacifies any suspicions he might have of your intentions. Wouldn't be wise to execute an offensive when one of your operatives is weary, especially given they're the only agent in sight. Regardless, he's hit with a distinct trepidation that takes a while to name.

You slide past the figure he'd been observing early, hop over Kyle's boots as well, fingers clasped over your behind as if to protect yourself from any wandering hands. The feeling rippling in his chest worsens, yet it's only as you slot yourself onto a far-away seat is he able to recognise it.

You shouldn't be here this late. This isn't the place for you.

With your hair neatly pulled away from your face, he's given full reign to ogle at your darling features. Round cheeks. Hydrated lips. Pretty thing. His molars grind against each other. There are no doubt men on this train that'd want to take advantage of that. Press your mouth open with a thumb on your tongue, rub themselves raw just to see cum decorate your lashes and drip over your brow. Barrack talk, the type of shit he hears floating between his comrades-in-arms when missions drag a little too long. Perversion brought on by desperation.

The intercom dings, and the lady with the soothing voice announces their arrival to Hammersmith. His stop, yet the thought of getting off and abandoning you is enough to keep him stuck to his seat. His stomach upturns as possibilities occur to him like frames in a technicolor film; none pleasant, all ending with you tied up in the trunk of some random van. Some part of him recognises his paranoia, the ridiculousness in his attachment to a perfect stranger (which chides him in a voice eerily similar to Price's, all gruff vowels and whispered consonants), but it does not change the fact that when the doors open to his station, he does not move.

Yeah. He stays on so long as you do – which fortunately is not an extensive length of time. You collect your stuff one stop later, standing to wait at the door once the lady announces Acton Town. He doesn't get up until you're a few seconds out though, slipping through the closing panels of the entryway to follow a few paces behind your heel. Up the escalator and down the block.

The night air nips at his nose, chilling his knuckles so they creak if he curls them. Are your nipples knotted under your layers? Or would they need the help of his fingers to perk up? His throat stiffens. He shakes the thought from his head.

You make a turn. Kyle stops for a second, breathes in, before veering left behind you. Heading towards the west part of town, now. It's a good place to live, all things considered. Still, he wonders if you deadbolt your doors, if you keep yourself safe online. You seem smart, but there are people who won't rest until they get their way. People like the one's he deals with at work – amoral men with biceps that could crush your head. Rotten, horrible men who are only rotten and horrible to cope with the tasks assigned to them. Depraved enemies, depraved friends. Only difference between the two being which flag they fight for.

You throw a look over your shoulder, shoulders shrinking as you wrap your arms tighter across your chest. He looks around, seeking the threat you seem to be so put off by. Nothing but brick-and-mortar storefronts and flattened cigarette butts.

He's compelled by the urge to shush you, to scratch your back as he tells you that there's no need to worry. He'll walk you all the way home. Make sure you get nice and situated, listen for the tell-tale lock of your deadbolt, watch for the dimming of your light. He'll stay until you fall asleep, then walk back to where he came from, take the returning line to Hammersmith – so when he flops back down into his own bed, he'll be reassured by the knowledge that you're safe a mere 4 miles away.

Might take a shower before then, though. Your arse looks great when you're speed-walking like this, pronounced even behind the loose material of your basketball shorts. He hopes the image remains as vivid when he's attending to the heavy mass between his legs later.

Kyle halts right in his tracks.

What is he doing?

You're nearly running now, shrinking away from him at an exponential rate, and duck another corner when you look back to see that he's no longer in pursuit. Completely out of sight.

His Captain’s voice comes to life once more, echoing in the part of his brain he has yet to compartmentalise.

You draw the line wherever you need it, Sergeant.

#unedited and probably bad #tbh this is a character study poorly disguised as a fic #lmk if yall want a part 2 tho #kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #x reader #x afab reader #call of duty #cod

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beautiful-basque-country · 5 months

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Hey, I've been reading through your posts about how tourism and digital nomads and expats are gentrifying all kinds of cities and places in Spain and price out the locals and don't respect the culture and only put money in the hands of the wealthy.

I completely understand where you are coming from and what you're saying makes a lot of sense, but as an extranjero who wants to visit Spain, what are some things we can do to support the locals and also celebrate your culture while visiting?

Kaixo anon! Thanks for your message ^_^

I know that we all travel on a budget and are very much used to low costs in everything, and many of the suggestions I'm gonna write are quite more expensive than maybe other alternatives. This is another issue: affording ethical tourism is a privilege not many visitors have.

avoid big hotel chains and AirBnB. Instead, choose little, family-owned hotels. They usually are in villages not far from the big touristy town and also provide a calm space out of the noisy crowd.

avoid restaurant chains and fancy ones, since 99% of the times they're owned by a board of investors. Run away from those with menus displayed on blackboards written in English, they're usually unauthentic tourist traps with poor quality food. Instead, choose family restaurants offering homemade, real Spanish food. There are maaany of these, and they're a terrific experience.

if you're willing to buy some groceries, avoid supermarkets. Choose any good-looking fruit shop, or butcher's, or fishmonger's. Go to local markets and buy local produce.

if you're moving around, use public transportation or a bike. Avoid renting a car or boat and polluting our hometown and seas. If you're moving between towns, choose the train if possible instead of booking a flight.

And regarding the celebration part, some simple pieces of advice:

unless you're Latin or Mediterranean-looking, you're gonna be spotted as a guiri at first sight. You can do nothing to stop being a guiri, but don't behave like one. Since you're an easy target, be especially wary with your belongings and with people that suddenly approach you, they might be thieves. Don't walk with your map in hand 24/7. Leave your valuables at home or at your accomodation. Don't think Spain is your playground where local law doesn't apply to you because you're spending your money there. Behave like you would normally do at home.

many foreigners don't understand Spanish service. Waiters and waitresses won't be all smiles, sweet as candy, asking you non-stop how everything's going. That doesn't mean they're being rude to you and want you out, it's just a different culture: their job is to take your order, get your food, and give you the bill when asked for it. That's all the interaction you'll get. If you need more drinks or bread, you'll just have to politely attract their attention and they will help with your needs.

flow with Spanish schedule. Many tourists are entitled enough to ask for lunch at 12 or for dinner at 7. Of course this won't be a problem in tourist bars and restaurants, but everywhere else this just won't happen. Make sure to ask for the kitchen's working hours if you're interested in having a meal in a certain place and don't ask Spaniards to follow your guiri schedule.

use basic words in Spanish to be polite: buenos días, gracias, hasta luego. You don't need a Spanish proficiency certificate to leave a good impression after you leave and avoid that everyone thinks putos guiris again.

Learn about the different nations inside Spain before your visit. Don't expect flamenco shows in Donostia, or sangría in Santiago. Respect our pride: dressing up as a matador, donning a hat with the Spanish flag, or wearing it as a cape may be very unpleasant and rude for the locals in Catalunya, Euskadi, Galiza, etc. Do your homework prior to your visit and you'll enjoy it much much more, since you'll be able to appreciate all the different cultures that live together around here and what each of them has to offer you.

#euskal herria #pays basque #basque country #pais vasco #euskadi #spain #personal #tourism #travel #what to do when in spain

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alpaca-clouds · 1 month

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Public Transport COULD Be Great

Americans visiting Europe, especially those more left-leaning Americans, will always be so impressed when it comes to our public transport. And it does not matter where they visit here. Netherlands? "Amazing Public Transport!" France? "Amazing!" Germany? "Amazing!" Even in the UK they will be impressed.

And I kinda get it. While once upon a time the US made a conserted effort to get people moving via train, that has been almost two centuries ago and by now they just decided that people having cars is making more companies more money, so who needs cheap public transport? And while I personally actually kinda liked the public transport on the east coast while I was visiting the US... Yeah, I am well aware that the east coast (especially the area between New York City and DC) is not quite representative for the US.

However, here is the thing: If you ask most Europeans about their public transport... Well, we'll complain as well.

Because they fucking ruined it!

See, here is the issue, in a lot of parts in Europe, at some point or another the government privatized some or all of the public transport. This hit some countries like the UK especially hard, but Germany was hit also quite a lot.

Because of that a lot of things happened that happened when you try to use capitalist logic onto something that cannot work under capitalism.

For example a lot of rails have been removed in areas where it was not "cost efficient" to run trains. Or if they have not been removed, they are at least no longer used. In Germany you will find that in the area where I am living (North-Rhine-Westfelia) we have somewhat good running public transport. Meanwhile a friend of mine is living in former East Germany. And something you gotta understand about former East Germany: After the reunification a lot of people from East Germany tried to move away from there, thinking they would do better in "West Germany". So you will find a lot of mostly empty villages and towns there. And you know what does not pay under capitalism? Right: Running trains to fairly depopulated villages and towns. So... This friend is forced to use a car all the time. Because the next train station that is actually still in use is 45 minutes by car away.

Sure, technically there is a bus running through her village... It comes 3 times a day mondays to fridays, 2 times a day on Saturday and not at all on Sunday. Also to reach the aforementioned train station, the bus connection would take her almost two hours.

Now mind you: There is a train station about 10 minutes by car from her. But that one has not been in use for almost 20 years. Because, again: It just does not pay. It is not profitable for the company, so it is no longer in use.

And here we get to the issue: Public transport is an amazing thing... But we see again and again, that it really only works in those cases where it is state-run and paid for with taxes. As soon as it is privatized it will just not work. Because, well... In general public transport really is not a thing that will be paying for itself. It is fairly expensive, and to keep it profitable you need to keep raising the prices. (As a German: Believe me, I know!)

Not to mention that company policies will lead to weird stuff happening with the trains. Here in Germany? Well, the biggest train company (that is kinda partly state-owned, but not state-run, so it is run under capitalist ideas) has promised their investors that the trains will not be as delayed as before. But given the piss-poor state in which the rail network is, this is just not feasible. So, what will they do? Simple! If a train gets too delayed they will just cancel it. Will that fuck everyone travelling over way more than letting the train delay for 20 minutes? Yeah. But they do not care. They only care about the investors.

And this is the general issue.

For public transit to work, you need to design the transit network to serve the people - and not to make money. Because it does not matter that there are only some old people left in some depopulated little town in eastern Germany or western England... Those old people deserve to be able to get from their depopulated little town to the next big shopping center and cultural center as well.

As long as you do not design the stuff with those people in mind...

Sure, it is better than no public transport. But it still sucks.

#solarpunk #anarchism #communism #anti capitalism #trains #railroad #trains are awesome #busses #public transport

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batfamscreaming · 4 months

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Once again trapped in trying to figure out what Wayne Industries actually Does. "Everything!" yeah sure but they had to get there somehow. Amazon was an online bookstore at first there was a lot of very rapid growth between then and now.

Usually I hear that they started as a shipping business which makes sense when Gotham is 90% waterfront, but at some point they had to transition from just shipping other people's things to shipping things they made as well. I suppose if they started making their own transports for shipping (starting with their own steamboats and later trains and cars) that would make sense. Maybe in the industrial revolution they even bought their own steel mill upon getting tired of having fluctuating prices or a steel shortage and just deciding they were going to get their own damn steel and sell the extra instead. If they chose to manufacture higher quality steel instead of cheapest possible steel that's also laying the groundwork for them to be well liked by their customers. Not railroad barons but making the steel to lay the railroad and build the trains. It's the 1800s so they have a couple patented medicines by then as well that are.... not really medicine but no one has officially noticed yet. They ship their own chemicals out west for a good time.

In 1880s Alan Wayne makes the building that becomes Wayne Tower?? Which I think is much too early, but apparently we were building sky scrapers in 1888 so business must have been booming I fucking guess. This is also the man that has them go corporate.

Of course the railroads start to fall out with the growth of cars and car lobbying. They are still used along with boats for transport but with railroads not being built as much and not being maintained and the union wars, Wayne Industries has to make a pivot somewhere to stay in the race. The family can have a lot of personal money but the business itself is still going strong in Gotham even before Bruce takes over.

I guess if they're already in shipping, they're probably importing as well by then. They may have started with steamboats but then in WWI and WWII all steel factories started producing things for the war efforts, surely they made a couple big ships by then capable of crossing the Atlantic, if they weren't already in oceanic shipping by then. It lets them ride out the great depression because of government maritime subsidies that were a little out of control until the new deal kicked in. That would've also presumably kept WI employees working in the depression and cemented them harder in the city as smaller businesses closed around them.

The patented medicine starts shifting to actual generics that are a little less Heroic post 1918.

Maybe at around that point was when WI started manufacturing... sort of everything. You get your ships, and all the things on board that you need to run a ship. You get your ovens and stoves and big pots and your radar and hell your sailors can even buy their boots and uniforms from us.

When WWII ends they shift back to transporting other people's goods but also maybe more luxury vehicles as well. Cruise services. Some nicer kitchen installations. Kitchens on land even. Get a nice WI electric mixer. Get your waterfront boots. Get your generic ibuprofen.

At that point we're closer to Martha and Thomas' era and they're just... Along for the ride I guess. Thomas is a figurehead CEO. He's off doing medical school and mostly just shows up for formalities, while Martha works in the Wayne Foundation (either the only thing Thomas really made or opened in the 60s to try and get Gotham really booming) as a charity liason. They're still not really celebrities as much as a charismatic couple in high circles. WI doesn't need them to function. It's basically just funding them as they do their own things.

And then the murders happen

And then Bruce, over eighteen, shows up having inherited the figurehead CEO title and his entire family's controlling stock in WI, and announces they're going to be doing things his way now.

The CEO/Board of directors is supposed to do things in the best interest of their stock holders.

If Bruce is the controlling stock holder, they do what he says his best interest is.

#trying to sort of talk it out to myself #wayne enterprises #wayne industries #bruce wayne

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packersandmovershhp · 7 months

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fuck-customers · 1 month

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I'm sorry this isn't exactly what this blog is for, but I was hoping it could slide. I have something at work that I'd like the opinions of mods and followers, if possible please.

I was wondering if I should ask for/pursue a promotion to store lead, as several people in my life, including friends, family, and a very persistent (annoying) coworker, have been pressuring me to do so. But I have several cons and pros about it. And since all the people in my life are blindly telling me to apply to be a lead, they won't listen to what my concerns are and say that I'm just being stubborn and difficult without listening to why I'm hesitating. So here's why

Pros:

•it would look good on my resume

•get paid $2 more per hour

•I'd get paid for training. Yay

•it may force me to get better at responsibility, as I'd be in charge of keys and codes

•I'd get slightly more hours per week (more on that below)

•I would get to freely move around the store as I'm doing my tasks vs. being trapped at the register area as I've currently been, which is great for me personally, because I hate being trapped at one station

•I may be able to fix some things around the store that have been driving me nuts as a result of being free to move around (such as changing the godawful music)

•it would probably be a needed confidence booster

•I have several ideas of things we could and should be doing that would greatly improve the store and maybe my manager would actually listen to a lead vs. a regular employee, as she currently refuses to listen to my suggestions (which, for the record, are things like "hey maybe we should put price tags on the products" not only does she refuse to listen, she actively goes out of her way to undo the work I do and tear down price tags/signs)

Cons:

•store leads ≠ full time and current leads get the same amount of hours that I do, give or take 3 hours or so (for example, this current week I have 9 hours, the lead who has been pressuring me to become a lead has 10 hours, and other leads have between 10-15 hours) I would already be a lead if it was a full-time position, but that will not happen. I'd even consider it if there was a significant increase in hours while still being part-time. 1-3 hours more is not an increase in my opinion

•the store is severely understaffed by design and leads have to do several tasks alone at once, such as: run the service department alone, unlock anything customers need throughout the store, fill online orders, backup the cashier when needed (the only other employee in the store) get yelled at by angry customers who demand a manager and do a daily checklist from the store manager that consists of 20 or so tasks to do in a 3 hour shift.

•store leads have nearly all of the responsibilities of the store manager, except they can't hire or fire anyone and they get paid less than half of what the store manager gets paid while having to do all of the same tasks, minus the fun ones (hiring/firing people)

•there are many signs that the company may shut down in the near future, but the company and my store manager are pretending like everything is fine and refuse to discuss it with employees

•leads are also expected to go to the bank for cash deposits for the store/to get change, etc. and I do not have my own car or license (which is not something I want to mention to my manager, as I'm required to have reliable transportation to work there, I just don't have to specify whose transportation it is) and that is a job requirement of a lead that I straight up cannot do. And the public transport in my city is lackluster and taking the bus to and from the bank would easily be an hour long trip or more, when it takes someone with their own car 15-20 minutes.

•I have a very bad memory and I am not confident that I could remember all of the procedures and passcodes that managers are required to remember. I could technically write it down, but I don't want to draw attention to my terrible memory, as I've been successfully hiding it for years. Nor am I confident that I could be responsible for keys and not lose them. And realistically, I'd lose the book/accidentally delete the notes app I made notes on.

•I've been able to hide it for now, since as a regular employee, I am not watched very closely, but I cut a LOT of corners and there are several store policies that I think are extremely stupid and I either straight up don't follow them or have workarounds for them. Obviously as a lead, I'd have to stop doing that, but some of these policies strongly go against my morals. This is just a whining bulletpoint lol

•I'm not great under pressure, and I'm even worse when someone is yelling/swearing at me or talking down to me. I've seen leads get talked to like they're trash by customers and they have been able to successfully stay calm and collected. In situations where I have been yelled at or talked down to, I call a manager to back me up, but that doesn't work if I am the manager. And I don't mean that I'll cry, because in some situations, that may help. No. I mean that my natural response to stress, especially someone yelling at me, is to fight back. I will cuss them out, yell back and I have been known to physically attack. Not at work, obviously, but that's because up until now, I've been able to push aggressive customers off onto my managers. I've also successfully hidden my anger issues from management and coworkers to the point where they think I am always happy and never get mad. It helps to have someone to back me up/deflect off of, but if I am the backup, no one can defend me.

•There are several things wrong with the store that are completely out of the control of any of us employees at the physical location and are the fault of corporate, but customers blame the employees personally and as a lead, I'd have to answer for the fuckups of corporate that I genuinely cannot answer for. (Such as return policies and inventory inaccuracies)

•My manager is very shitty at communicating with her team. I've personally witnessed several incidents that were caused by her not properly communicating with her leads and I don't want to wind up in a position where I'm responsible for resolving the conflict she caused by not communicating. Also

•I have nearly zero respect for my manager. I think she is an absolute moron, but I've been able to hide it as I don't have to work/interact with her very often. As a lead, I'd have to work with her more and it may slip.

•I don't wear a nametag. I very strongly believe that nametags are a great danger to the employees, especially employees like myself who have a very uncommon name with a very uncommon spelling. Yet as a manager, I'd have to "lead by example" and wear a nametag. I would ideally wear a fake name or have several fake nametags to rotate, but my coworkers obviously know my name and would call it out.

•I'd have to double-check on this one, but I think leads, as members of management, are required to watch potential shoplifters and confront/track them down. I'm not sure if this is a requirement of a lead or if the particular leads at my store are going way beyond their job requirements/have been coached incorrectly by the store manager. I know I, as a regular employee, am not required to chase after thieves and I actively refuse to confront/chase thieves for my own safety. But I am not sure if that would change with becoming a lead. My work does not have a security guard.

•I have several ideas of things we could and should do to improve the store, but my manager is very arrogant and refuses to listen to constructive criticism or constructive feedback in any form. It would drive me insane to have to keep doing things the wrong/difficult way just because she won't listen to suggestions. And this isn't just an assumption by me. I have personally suggested things that she blatantly ignored and so have other leads.

Posted by admin Rodney

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