#Spy Switch Secret Camera

[eilishalways]

Hiii! So i see that you are taking requests, would you mind writing about billie being jelous? Thanks 😊

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are you… jealous?

summary: billie gets jealous of your date, and decides to crash it.

warnings: none i think? tell me if i missed any!

a/n: ofc!! AAAAA MY FIRST REQUEST IM SO HAPPY

“and she’s taking me out for dinner tonight as well! isn’t that so sweet of her?” you said into the phone, waiting on billie’s response. billie sighed, but you didn’t hear. “yeah, that sounds nice,” she said, hiding her displeasure at the news, “what restaurant is it?” “it’s a surprise, apparently.” you giggled. “look, uh- i’ve got to go. talk soon?” billie said abruptly. “oh, ok. talk to you soon billie!”

billie hung up and put her phone down on her pillow. “why not me?” she said out loud, “why that girl? i could treat y/n way better.” you had just gotten back with your ex two weeks ago. the girl had cheated on you and broke your heart, but came crawling back to you once the girl she had cheated with dumped her. billie had voiced her concerns when you told her, but you had refused to listen to her, saying that the girl had changed.

after about twenty minutes of scrolling through instagram, billie got a notification that you had gone live. she switched to her secret account and joined it. you were just chatting to your fans, nothing special. but billie stayed, hopeful for any information about your date. she watched you reply to comments your fans, smiling as you laughed. one fan then asked you about your love life, and billie knew she had to pay full attention now.

“what’s my love life like? well…” you started, “i actually have a date tonight! how about you guys help me choose what i wear?” you asked the viewers, hit with instant replies of “YESSS!!”. you beamed, and said you’d be back in a second before running to your wardrobe, which was off camera. you came back with a few different options, and showed them to the camera. the viewers, including billie, cast their vote. the overwhelming majority was option 2, a red minidress. you thanked your fans, and soon got back to chatting to them. billie stayed til the ends of live, and when you turned it off, billie put her phone down and sighed yet again. she lamented how jealous she was, wishing it was her taking you out on a date, not that horrible ex of yours. and soon, a plan came to mind.

“thank you for doing this, zoe.” billie said, smiling at her friend. zoe smiled back, “no bother.” she said. billie had managed to find out what restaurant you were at by looking at some photos you had posted from inside the restaurant and some other stalking she did. she entered the establishment without any paparazzi noticing, much to her relief. if things went as planned, she and zoe would be placed near you, if not beside you. she looked around at the ceiling, floor and general aesthetic, confirming to herself she was at the right place. then, she saw you. red minidress with matching makeup and shoes; you looked amazing. you were looking at your ex with a sort of love that made billie sick to her stomach with both worry and envy. zoe spyed you too, asking the waitress if her and billie could be seated in the right hand corner or near it, where you and your ex were. the waitress complied, bringing her and billie to a table diagonal from you.

billie and zoe sat down, and billie snuck a glance at you, careful to make sure it went unnoticed. you looked beautiful. billie looked back to zoe and began chatting with her, stealing glances every now and then at you. the waitress came over five minutes later and billie and zoe ordered. after a while, they got their food and began eating. “so,” zoe started, “is it… working?”. she gestured subtly with her head towards you. “man, how am i supposed to know?” billie said, “but i hope so.”

you said something to your date and headed to the bathroom. billie saw this and smirked at zoe. “i’ll be back in a bit.” she said. she walked to the bathroom, just a little bit behind you. she stood awkwardly in one the stalls, waiting for the creak of your stall door. when she heard it, she walked out of her stall and pretended like she hadn’t been stalking you and didn’t know you were there.

“oh hey y/n! didn’t expect you’d be here.” billie lied, smiling at you. you didn’t give the same reaction. “what do you think you’re doing?” you said angrily, staring at billie. billie feigned innocence, asking what you meant. “don’t act all innocent. why are you here? why can’t you leave me alone for one night?” you hissed. billie frowned, but didn’t say anything. “you always do this, billie. any time i’m trying something new with someone, you get in the way of it. it’s so annoying. i wish you would just-“ you stopped yourself, hitting a realisation point. “wait…” you laughed as you looked at billie’s guilty expression. “are you… jealous?” billie looked down, not saying a word. you laughed again. and then billie spoke.

“yes, ok? i am. i am fucking jealous, y/n. i’m jealous because i’ve liked you since i met you, and i’ve had to watch you get your heart broke and i’ve had to fix you up just for you to go back to bitch who did the damage to you! i could you treat you so much better. i could-“

billie was cut off by the feeling of your lips on hers. she jumped out of surprise, but quickly returned it. she was happy, finally.

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Donatello's First Love—Splinter's Talk

mostly bayverse, could be 2003 if you squint hard enough. did it a little different with this one compared to the others :0 word count: 1.6k

Spanning his messy corner of the Lair, Donnie's many monitors mounted to the wall were alight with a blue glow. The same few camera feeds rotated between the locations outside of their home and other places, monitoring, and allowing surveillance to take a backseat in his mind while he worked. At his desk, he gently squeezed a pipette into the mouth of a breaker, waiting for the reaction he was looking for to occur. 

"Interesting," he mumbled to himself, "I wonder what happens if I were to supercool the mixture." 

He placed the substance in a tray and prepared another batch, this time, much more concentrated. There wasn't much to do around the house besides experiment with the materials he'd salvaged. That was fine; he enjoyed the process, and filling notebooks—and his walls—to the brim with chemical equations, notes and mathematics that hardly anyone but he could read. 

Careful with his large fingers to not drop the pipette, he sucked a few drops up from the test tube, going in to add to the mixture. He squinted, almost there. And then the startling alarm pinged on the screen next to him, making him jump and squirt the chemical on his work surface. He quickly wiped up and looked over at the computer. "'Motion detected: [y/n]'s apartment complex'," the screen read, switching camera feeds to one of the multiple tiny cameras he had set up. He only put cameras where he thought it mattered; he was paranoid about an ambush, and even more so at her place than theirs, now that she was coming and going from the Lair. The likelihood of their enemies finding out her association with them was about a fifty-seven percent chance, fifty percent too much for Donnie.

He scanned the monitor for signs of anything suspicious, but it turned out to be only a friend dropping by with a key to put a package inside, with [y/n]'s permission. 

"Oh," he muttered, suddenly feeling silly. He made sure the person left her apartment—and locked it back—before quickly switching the feed. That was his one secret nobody had managed to catch him out on yet. Even so, he felt slick and a little guilty for spying. But, justifiably, they needed to know if she ever was in danger! He dismissed the notification and rotated the feeds manually. "Whoops. Sorry, [y/n]...yeah, I'll just switch that back." 

He shuffled around to resume his work titrating. Except Splinter stood curiously behind the desk, eyes trained close on the monitors, and then Donnie. Donnie flinched—Splinter usually didn't come in or near his lab. In fact, none of his family normally bothered him when he had his nose in his work, because none of them understood it. Not even Leo bothered to try to get the details. The details went over their heads. 

"So, Donatello, what is it you are working on?"

"Oh, Master Splinter," Donnie greeted him, glancing back to make sure the monitor was no longer on the door to her apartment. He picked up the pipette and test tube he'd knocked over before, "What is it?"

"Refer back to my last question," Splinter replied. He leaned calmly against his cane and looked all around the cluttered lab. Notes taped, tacked, even glued to walls. A whiteboard full of impossible equations, various pieces of technology in disrepair he'd picked up from trash and things going to recycling. Quite the mess, but Donnie knew where everything was. Splinter cocked his head slightly. "What disorganization," he commented.

"Disorganized to you," Donnie corrected with a smile, "but I can find anything I'm looking for—it's actually 'unorganized', implies that it never was organized. The definition of 'disorganized' suggests that something once was organized but now isn't, but I never once had this place in order," he rambled. 

"Donatello," Splinter interrupted. Once his son got talking, it was hard to stop him. He just had to interject to get a word in. "What is it you are doing? You have been very unfocused lately. This is strange for you."  

"Unfocused" was an understatement. With a mind already running miles per minute, he was getting caught up in his own head. Getting his work station back to a functional state, he set up his tube tray, answering, "Titrating these and writing out their chemical equations. The brain's like a muscle, gotta exercise it and stay sharp," he said. And with all that sharpness, he was only half-suspicious as to why Splinter was suddenly interested in what he was doing. 

Splinter nodded. "Then I must not have seen miss [y/n]'s apartment complex on your screen. Carry on." 

Donnie froze, watching Splinter out of the corner of his hazel eyes. His stomach dropped. So, it was one secret—they weren't going to understand, he was just as protective of their home, too! What if she couldn't call the police, or even them in time if someone broke in? Her apartment wasn't in a good area, Donatello already didn't like that. What if someone grabbed her? He couldn't put his mind at ease without knowing. 

"I—well, this was a recent development, you see," Donatello stuttered, fidgeting with the purple wraps around his hands. He realized then how weird it all looked and panicked. He'd never meant for it to go this far; his cautionary measures just kept escalating more and more with his feelings for her. "I swear, it's just outside of her place! I would never put a camera in her apartment, that would be creepy, and way overstepping," he explained. "I told her I'd always look out for her and that she can count on me."

"Oh, I suppose it's no problem, then, since she gave you such consent," Splinter said, looking away momentarily to scratch his chin. His eyes snapped back over to his anxious son and popped a hairy brow up as he knocked the end of his cane on the floor to grab his attention further. "Is that right, Donatello?" 

He wanted to go into his shell. I'm busted, this is not good. "Don't tell her! So, I, um…I didn't exactly…" The thought trailed off. He didn't need to finish that sentence for both of them to know. 

"Precisely my point. Now that we have made that clear, would you like to tell me what this is really about?" 

"No! I mean, I will, since you're asking, but—agh, I swear, I'm not a creep," he said. "I just wanted to make sure she'd be okay. That's it." 

Splinter crossed behind his desk, slipping an arm around his son's shell. Donnie wanted to pull away. "Come with me. Let's take a walk." 

He led them out of the Lair into the tunnels outside their home. They could loop around easily and end up back at the Lair, and Splinter knew Donnie was going to resist talking if the others could be around to hear. Sometimes, you must play on other people's terms, he thought, listening to the quiet drip echo as they ambled through the sewer. He figured it was time to do a little damage control, although he normally pledged not to interfere with his sons and them making their mistakes. However, he didn't want to see Donatello make a potentially hazardous one to himself. 

"Now, you must understand, my son, you cannot know everything at once," Splinter said, avoiding an accusatory tone. "You have a brilliant mind, but you certainly don't tend to see the obvious." 

"What do you mean, master?" Donnie questioned. The "obvious" being under any other circumstances, his actions would definitely be seen as "creepy". The notion flew right under his radar as something to worry about, as their circumstances were anything but normal. 

"Of course, you are a young man, you want to watch out for the one you love," Splinter pointed out. Donnie cringed, even though he hasn't made much of an attempt to hide that fact. He was excited to explore something new, why should he have hidden thos feelings? He didn't shout them to the world. But it was well-known among their family that he'd beaten his brothers to the punch when it came to her, and no going for it was an unwritten but understood boundary. Still, this wasn't a conversation he was prepared for have tonight; his mind was still back at his lab.

"About everyone but Michelangelo has noticed you've been retreating to your lab more often recently." He chuckled. "And your antics around her are obvious, again. Loosen your grip a little. You are annoying your brothers vying for her attention." 

Donnie felt a rush of embarrassment come over him. Yes, he was showy—expressive, maybe too quick to whisk her away to demonstrate his new inventions, the stuff he'd discovered. Donnie knew he could hyperfixate on and obsess over things; she was on his mind more than not. As for annoying his brother, he wasn't the strongest, but he was the smartest. He was much more eager with his staff and putting his siblings back in their lane when she was around. The electric component on his weapon came in handy for quick corrections, and goofing around. 

Through all of that, he remembered having a moment of clarity when she was inspecting his computer setup one night and the camera almost flickered to hers, to which he scrambled to shut it off. Conveniently, he brushed that aside. 

Donnie lifted his goggles, rubbing his face sheepishly. "I guess you're right," he admitted. 

"The things you do for love," Splinter shook his head. "Be sure you do not push her away by accident. You are fortunate I had the mind to come talk to you about this before you made a mistake and a fool of yourself. Consider it a fair warning," he said as he looked over at his son, who waited quietly for him to continue, "to not overstep." 

"I understand, loud and clear." 

Splinter nodded in agreement, "Good. I trust you will take this advice well. You have a good heart and good intentions, Donatello, do not be clouded by your mind. Your brain is not your only quality."

"Thanks, master Splinter. I'll let up on it," Donnie relented with a small smile. He was still uncomfortable, feeling a bit dumb. He always was so caught up on making predictions, keeping everything running smoothly and safely that he didn't always consider how that worked for other people. Just because it made sense to him, didn't mean it made sense to them. Note that for later, Donatello, he reminded himself. He turned around to head back to the Lair. 

Splinter stopped to take in a little sunlight from the grate above his head, stopping Donnie in his tracks. "Oh, and Donatello," he called. 

"Yeah?" 

Splinter assumed parental status, and Donnie knew that scolding tone all too well. "Tell her about it, or turn that damned camera off." 

~wooOoOOOoooOooOooo partitionnnnnnn~

Side rant: I actually hate it when people portray Donnie (except for 2012 iterations) as shy and unconfident. He is literally the opposite in 2003 and Bayverse. Donatello is not "a little baby uwu" and I'm tired of people making him look so meek 😭

[ineffablyruined]

A Game of Spy vs Spy

(Or is it more Mr. & Mrs. Smith?)

Buckle up, because this one's about to get a little.. out there? Maybe. You decide for yourselves. I had this thought at 3am and I couldn't get it out of my head.

This following is based on two assumptions:

1. Aziraphale has a Plan (capital letter included) - see my explanation of why I believe that's the case in this post.

2. Crowley has been working on his own Plan since he dawned there Tactical Turtleneck - see this brilliant post by @justhereforthemeta .

Putting the rest under a Read More because it's a little lengthy.

To summarize both in case you don't have time to read both posts:

1. I believe Aziraphale's scary smile in the elevator is a smile he learned from spending so much time around Crowley and that it's reflective of him coming up with a plan to avert the Second Coming that he thinks is so clever that Crowley would absolutely approve.

The fact that Crowley is seen wearing his Super Secret Spy Gear multiple times throughout the series means he's actively working on his heist. He's plotting, he's planning. He disappears on Aziraphale when the angel is remembering Job. Disappearing on Aziraphale? That's not like Crowley at all.

2. Crowley is so enamored with the spy life (bullet hole decals anyone?) that he begins plotting a heist as soon as he finds out the Book of Life is a threat to Aziraphale. And the turtleneck is his spywear.

Crowley saves Aziraphale. It's his thing. He's done it over and over, countless times throughout history.

But listen to what Aziraphale says. Rescuing me makes him so happy. Rescuing me.

And the times Crowley asked Aziraphale to run away with him? Well, those times, it wasn't Aziraphale's life that was threatened. It was Crowley's. Hell found out he screwed up the baby switch? They were coming for him, not Aziraphale. Armageddon't? Isn't it demons that burn in a fiery pit for eternity when the world ends, not angels?

My point is.. M' point is..

Crowley isn't asking Aziraphale to run away with him at the end of Episode 6 only to chance The Metatron erasing Aziraphale from the Book of Life when they get there.

Crowley already has the Book of Life.

My bet? He had a little side project up in Heaven with Muriel off-camera. He was wearing the beige turtleneck after all.

And when we leave Heaven?

Turtleneck gone. Mission accomplished.

But let's not stop there!

Because Aziraphale has a Plan of his own now that he's returned from Heaven. And I'm betting at least part of it involves the Book of Life. And when he goes to look for it? GONE! And when he checks the files? Sure enough, there's Crowley sneaking it into his pocket. (And if we get an "Oh Good Lord" repeat at seeing Crowley's Heaven outfit, I'm not going to complain).

Alternatively, Heaven is going to find it missing, and they're going to know it was Crowley who took it and Aziraphale has to get it back to try to save Crowley.

Either way, he's going to have to get it.

And I'm betting Mr. BackOnHisOwnSide Crowley isn't going to be too forthcoming when the Supreme Archangel asks for it back.

And let the Spy vs Spy hijinks commence.

..................

Below is one conversation I've dreamed up in my head about all this, if you're into that kind of thing. Enjoy:

Crowley: If only I had access to a place with a truly ridiculous number of old books where one new addition would go completely unnoticed.

Aziraphale: Well, it's a good thing I know this bookshop better than anyone then, isn't it?

Crowley (bearing his teeth): I've reorganized.

Aziraphale: *gasp*

[ultracreativelywritten]

A bad things happen bingo for the Elite trine?

Thundercracker petted Starscream’s wings as his trine leader laid next to him. On the other side of Starscream, Skywarp was snoring away. It was a rare moment of peace for them. There was no Megatron to worry about, no blasterfire aimed at them. Starscream’s optics shuttered off and his vents slowed. It was almost impossible to get Starscream to recharge at night. Most of the time, it was just him and Skywarp.

Well, he made it look like him and Skywarp were there all night. He was sneaking out to a hideout most nights to give Jazz information on upcoming raids. While he looked like one of the more loyal members of his trine, it was far from the truth.

He knew that Megatron was behind the bombing on Vos, and how he was manipulating the other seekers with doctored evidence of the Autobots doing the deed. Ever since then, he had been working as a spy. Being the trine mate to the second in command gave him access to information the no other spy could acquire easily.

One thing he didn’t expect to do was get attached to Skywarp and Starscream. At first, he found the two annoying and screechy. Overtime, he saw their behavior for what it was worth. Starscream had been hurt so badly by everyone and everything around him, he was trying to save himself from being hurt again. Skywarp’s pranks were him just trying to cope with the horrors of war.

It would break both of their sparks to know that their trine mate was a traitor. That he was always an Autobot. That every secret they confessed to him could be in some Autobot report. It would break his spark as much as theirs when he was forced to betray them. Maybe he could convince them to join him, join the Autobots in creating a new and better cybertron.

___________

Soundwave scowled at the monitor. At this hour no one was awake, except for himself. There should be absolutely no one roaming the halls. Most mechs knew better than to break curfew. Switching to a camera with a better view, the cassette player could make out a pair of blue wings.

Thundercracker was the only one who matched the description of the mech on the monitor. Soundwave silently wondered why the blue seeker would be out this late. Nothing good, but was it a late night flight or treason. The cassette player had to find out.

"Ravage: eject." Soundwave said. The cat cassette jumped out of his loading dock, glaring at her creator. Soundwave knew that she didn't appreciate being woken up.

"Ravage: follow Thundercracker." Soundwave in structed. Ravage let out a little hiss but ran off. Soundwave started to right up a report for the cassette's recon mission. If the blue seeker was betraying them and not going out for some late night excursion, then this had to be by the book. Treason was not something to be taken lightly.

[hype-blue-fixation]

Spying from the Bayou (SFW tickle ficlet)

One sided radiostatic and implied platonic radiorose.

Vox spies on Alastor doing self tickling while talking to Rosie through his voodoo dolls.

He was hopeless. Obsessed. Pitiable. Always one step behind no matter how far forward he thought he was. His name was Vox. Even today, he thought he'd won some sparkling victory for having snuck a camera into the Radio Demon's tardis room. Normally he would be met with fuzzy images of the demon from where his stupid outdated power messed with the technology.

Now he watched crystal clear as Alastor entered, locking his door with comically sized chains and locks. Whatever he was about to do was something he really didn't want anyone to see, and Vox sat on the edge of his seat to drink every second of it. Perhaps some blackmail or a dirty secret would come of his spying.

Alastor began unbuttoning his jacket. Then suddenly his clothes poofed away into a closet, replaced by a vintage women's night gown and pants. No doubt a gift from Rosie. Alastor yawned and stretched his way into bed. Fluffy fur poured out from the gown collar, getting thinner toward his hands and hooves. Vox's heart melted at how soft the radio demon looked. Not at all like his usual conniving and murderous self. The TV demon was already drooling over the headlines. Slandering his rival's foreboding reputation. Imprinting the image of a delicate fawn into the eyes of the public.

He continued watching as Alastor cozied up in bed, pulling his pillows around him and summoning plushy voodoo dolls to his side. God, how much better could this get? He hugged the dolls close and picked at their stitched faces, absent-mindedly tearing the thread out as he stared at the ceiling. It was obvious his mind was wandering in far away places. If only Vox could see those thoughts.

The claws that had been picking at the doll eventually reached up to touch the corners of his own permanent smile. Picking away as if he could remove the invisible thread in his face, too. A small pang of guilt tugged at Vox's heart. A feeling he quickly overwhelmed with quips about how weak and dumb Alastor looked. Vulnerable. Exploitable. How so very exploitable.

Alastor suddenly rearranged himself into a sitting position. His dolls close, friends that had no choice but to do his bidding. Stay exactly how he posed them with their stitched up grins. Then he began talking to them as if they were alive or possessed the ghost of someone special.

“Rosie, dear. Are you there?”

Of course it would be Rosie. Who else? The dolls didn't make a sound, but the way that Alastor smiled…genuinely smiled with his eyes…made it seem like he could hear her voice through them.

“That's good to hear. Unfortunately my day hasn't been quite so bright. I wish I could come see you. I'm in one of…those moods. How do you call it? Yes, that word.”

Vox leaned forward as if he could step into the room himself and hear the other side of the conversation. How frustrating.

Alastor went quiet and brought his hands up to his neck. At first looking like he was trying to strangle himself, but a shift in the camera view revealed that he was spidering his hands from the top and bottom of his neck. Lightly scratching his nails across the pale, sun deficient skin. His eyes fluttered closed, his head tilting from one side to the other as if he couldn't decide which side felt better.

A deep sigh of genuine relaxation echoed in the large room. The hands moved from his neck and took turns rolling up the gown sleeve of the opposite arm. Exposing more skin and thin fur that faded out into a beautiful shade of ebony. One hand scribbled on the underside of the other forearm. Extremely slow and teasy, all the way from the elbow to wrist and back. His eyes opened, but his gaze floated off into some unknown space.

When he switched arms, his body twitched and his breath hitched. Whatever he was doing, it made him feel good. Relaxed. Cuddly. As his claws kept dancing around, he melted against his bed and hid his face in a pile of plushy dolls. Hiding the genuine curls to the edge of his smile, muffling the soft giggles and whines that threatened to be heard.

Vox was livid. He wanted to see that dumb silly little grin with a spaced out stare. Catch those disgustingly adorable sounds on record to broadcast all over Hell. Even when Alastor wasn't aware of the camera, he still made his likeness impossible to capture.

Out of what seemed like nowhere, Alastor removed his gown top. Revealing an upper body full of fluffy, curling fur. One arm tucked behind his head as the opposite hand explored with tickly touches. The fleshy underside of his upper arm, toward the armpit, down the side, and back up again. His body jerked when certain spots were grazed along, especially close to the armpit and over his ribcage. Sometimes even pulling out a sweet little giggly hum.

Vox wanted more. To have his claws dancing on those sensitive spots, eliciting those sickeningly adorable little sounds. Imagine the blackmail. Imagine the stories. Imagine his own exploding heart and popping circuits from how cute it was. He could feel his screen heating up to a point where the fans nearly kicked on.

“Rosie, shush! You're not helping! Shut up!” Alastor playfully bantered, saying mean things in the purest way. Whatever she was whispering through the dolls, given that this whole thing wasn't just imagination, had the radio demon's face turning a healthy shade of pink. He switched to the other side, playing with a fresh set of nerves. 

His little hooves shivered and clicked against each other as he tried very hard not to break into a giggle fit. His smile growing with his need to hide it in the pillows and dolls.

“No,” Vox whispered at the screen, “you're going to show me that ugly little smile.”

As if he could hear him and obey his command, Alastor turned his face up. The smile completely true and bright, not hiding any shifty schemes behind its sharp teeth. Only genuine joy and fuzzy feelings. This only happened by accident, but Vox felt like Alastor was looking directly at him. Oh how his digital heart leapt at the mere fleeting thought. Hopeless.

Alastor's claws moved from his sides and both settled on his soft belly. Scribbling up the sides, over the top. His fingers moving in such an eye-catching and fascinating way. Like spider legs barely contacting his skin. it almost looked like art. The reactions even more so.

Little fawn-like bleats. Biting his lip to dam up the embarrassing noise. His hooves still clicking and kicking ever so slightly.

A single claw circled around his belly button, and that seemed to be the absolute end of his patience. He melted into a pile of giggling goo. Draping the idle arm over his mouth to muffle the sound. Such a shield could only hide so much. Eventually his giggles and sighs rose higher.

Locked away emotions bubbled up inside Vox. The desire to make those giggles fill up that entire room. To see his rival reduced to a fuzzy mass of useless goo. Unable to look him in the eyes because he was too busy hiding in dolls and pillows. Exploiting the demon wasn't even part of these strange desires. What could these feelings even be called? They were too pure for him to apply any label he knew.

Alastor's self teasing came to an end. He stretched out on his bed and sighed deeply. Fully relaxed like a baby in a warm cradle. And for the first time, Vox actually witnessed the overlord sleep. Gripping tightly to his voodoo dolls. Curled up in a fetal position with his head folded back on his body uncomfortably. His eyes stayed wide open, but Vox somehow knew he was sleeping inside that empty head. Creepy. Unsettling. Adorable. Charming.

After witnessing that pure little scene, Vox couldn't bring himself to do any of the things he'd originally planned. Exposing Alastor in this way felt morally wrong, like stealing a baby's candy or kicking an old woman who's already on the ground. At least he forever had the footage to go back and watch again and again. To obsess over.

Except that he forgot to hit the record button.

What a shame.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Cruel Summer (Superstar Chapter 7)

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

New faces at Nelson Road cause quite a stir.

Roy Kent x Reader

7.5k words

Warnings: Language, angst, drinking, Roy flirting hard, my heart breaking if you listen closely

Thank you so much for all the love! This chapter was probably the hardest for me to write so far, so I hope you enjoy- even if it hurts!

~

Bzzz!

My phone vibrated in my hand as I sat in Rebecca’s office. It was packed: Rebecca, Ted, Beard, Keeley, Higgins, Roy, me. We were a tense party as we waited for word that Dario Vargas had arrived at the Dog Track, staring at our phones in anticipation. All eyes turned to me the moment my phone went off, wondering if this was the signal.

Looking fucking fit in that skirt. Think anyone would notice if I dragged you into the boot room later so I could show you how much I like it?

Heat flooded my face. “Just my Mum. Wants to wish us luck with the big announcement today,” I lied. My eyes flickered across the office to Roy, who stood in the far corner of the office, hands in his pockets as he gazed at the ceiling, acting as if he hadn’t just made me blush through a text message. With the amount of time I’d spent looking at his face over the past few months, it was easy for me to spy the tiniest smirk hiding under his bored expression.

It was nice that Roy noticed the difference in my appearance, though. Usually, I wore jeans and a sweater to the office, often Richmond ones, especially on match days. Today called for something a bit different though; it was press conference day. We all knew that meant to look camera-ready, even if we weren’t the ones behind the microphones. For me, that meant a pencil skirt, blouse, and heels. And apparently Roy didn’t mind the change of wardrobe one bit.

Leaning back so Ted, who sat on the couch beside me drumming out a beat on his thigh, couldn’t see my screen, I switched my phone to silent and quickly typed a response.

Honestly? Once Vargas is in the building I doubt anyone would notice if we went at it in the middle of the changing room.

I eyed Roy discreetly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it. His jaw twitched as his thumbs flew across the screen.

Thanks for the new fantasy.

My face burned. This man is going to be the death of me.

Before I could figure out some clever response, Rebecca let out a sound, a loud, high-pitched mix between a laugh and a gasp. We all turned to look at her.

“He’s here,” was all she said.

Everyone stood and filed out of the office; Rebecca and Ted to the parking lot, the rest of us to the changing room, where the team would be waiting.

“Down, boy,” I whispered to Roy as he walked just a smidge too close, letting his hand softly graze my skirt. In response, he smirked and nudged me playfully, but returned to a respectable distance.

Unlike Rebecca’s office, the air in the changing room was filled with a tense excitement as the guys chattered amongst themselves. They all waved and called hellos to us as we entered, their expressions contrasting ours. Of course, it was different for them than for us; they were excited, even thrilled to have a new teammate to help the team succeed and push them to be better versions of themselves. For the rest of the staff, there was a shared sense of anxiety. Would this player be that “thing” Richmond needed to win? Would he mesh well with the guys? Would he be easy to get along with, or a prima donna even worse than Jamie used to be?

“-and here is the changing room,” Rebecca was saying as she held open the door.

Everyone straightened up as Dario Vargas entered, followed by a small entourage made up of Ted and a photographer. He was exactly the way I remembered him looking in the magazine: light brown hair just past his ears, blue eyes, clean-shaven, and a megawatt smile. If he was as exceptional on the field as he was to look at, Richmond’s prospects looked great.

Ted led Dario around the room, introducing each player to him with a fun little fact; Sam owned a restaurant, Isaac loved the movie Age of Innocence, Jan was into true crime, Dani “hablas Español!”.

“And this here’s some of our staff,” Ted continued, turning his attention to the rest of us. He quickly introduced Dario to Beard, who tipped his hat, and Roy, who scowled. Then Ted turned to me, proudly presenting me as “the glue that keeps this whole operation together”.

Ted went on. “Seriously, though. This right here is the nicest gal you’ll ever meet. Goes infinity and beyond for this team like she’s Buzz Lightyear. Hell, even grumpy ol’ Roy here’s got a soft spot for her.” My cheeks warmed as I refused to look anyone in the eye. “Anything you need, Dario, you just ask this one. She’ll take care of ya.”

I blushed at Ted’s praise as I faced Dario Vargas. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

Dario took my hand and planted a small kiss on it; the team whistled like boys on the schoolyard. “Mucho gusto, belleza,” he purred.

Beside me, I could feel Roy cross his arms and stiffen. Great. As soon as they moved on to Keeley and took the attention with them, I gave Roy a miniscule bump. He glanced down at me out of the corner of his eye, his mouth curved down. I raised my eyebrows, hoping that just looking at him would be enough to calm him down.

Keeley cleared her throat, catching everyone’s attention. “Alright, well now that introductions are out of the way, why don’t we head to the pi-”

“Hello, Richmond!”

A knot formed in my stomach as soon as that syrupy voice reached my ears. Bursting through the doors looking like she’d just stepped out of a magazine was Brittany Brett. She sauntered up to Dario, who grabbed her and kissed her, dipping her slightly as the photographer’s camera click click clicked and the guys tittered. I inched closer to Roy, barely brushing my arm against his, as if the feather-light touch would somehow brand him as mine, mine, mine.

Apparently, my brilliant plan didn’t work, because, while Keeley ushered Dario and Ted out so they could head to the pitch for some quick photos before the press conference, Brittany Brett strolled in our direction. My fingers were trembling as my throat dried up. There she was. Brittany Brett. Standing in my changing room, with my team. Staring at my Roy.

A smirk played on her glossy lips as she gazed up at Roy through the longest, thickest lashes I’d ever seen. “Coach Roy, aren’t you happy to see me?” She opened her arms as if for a hug and raised a playful eyebrow, a pout on her pump lips.

Arms still crossed, Roy grunted and rolled his eyes. Without a glance in her direction, he turned around and grabbed my arm gently. He looked down at me, mouth set in a straight line. “I’ll be in our office. Tell me when it’s time for the shit show.” He stalked off, slamming the office door behind him.

Brittany Brett’s eyes fell on me as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. She smirked. “Roy’s always been a bit of a wanker, hmm?”

Oh, fuck you. I stood up a bit taller, still nowhere close to Brittany Brett’s statuesque height. “Actually, I think Roy’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

“Hmm.” She looked me up and down, her cool expression making me question each article of clothing I’d put on that morning, right down to my knickers. “You work for Roy, don’t you? As his assistant, was it? I saw you hanging around him at Rebecca’s darling little charity gala.”

Heat surged through my whole body. “I’m the coaching staff’s administrative coordinator.” No one would correct the slight promotion I’d just given myself. “Roy and I work together.”

Her eyes narrowed microscopically for a moment, her smile never fading. “Guess we’ll be seeing loads of each other then. Nice to meet you.” She icily turned on her ridiculously high heel and strutted out of the changing room, taking several gazes with her.

“Wow, she does not like you.” Jamie had appeared at my side. “You alright?”

I glanced around at the guys, milling about and chattering excitedly about their new teammate as they prepared for the day’s training. “Just annoyed at how pretty she is,” I grumbled. “And that she used to shag Roy.”

Jamie snorted. “I get that. I hate every guy Keeley’s ever been with.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “But just remember.” He looked over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Roy loves ya.”

“Thanks, Jamie,” I muttered, giving him a soft punch in the arm. “See you in a bit, yeah?”

I quietly walked into the office, where I found Roy leaning back in his chair, head tilted back, eyes closed. He opened one at the sound of the door opening and closed it again when he saw it was me.

“She gone?” he growled.

“Back to the pits of hell I hope,” I answered, closing the door and the blinds that looked into Ted’s office. “I kind of hate her,” I mumbled as I sank onto his lap, tossing my phone onto his desk.

Roy grunted and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Just my fucking luck that of all the footballers in Europe, she’s shagging the one we sign.” He buried his face in my neck. “Wanna fucking quit our jobs?”

I snorted. “I actually quite like my job. I can’t quit just because a model is rude to me.”

“At least Vargas seems to like you. A little too fucking much, I might add,” Roy grumbled, his scruff rubbing against my skin.

“Oh hush.” I lifted his chin so he could look at me. “I only like cranky retired footballers-turned-coach, alright?”

That earned me a smile from Roy. “Alright.” He kissed me gently, his hand finding its way into my hair, ignoring the fact that we were in the middle of our office on a day where the press was crawling about. His lips against mine was enough to make me forget until I caught sight of my mobile screen lighting up with a text alert.

Heading to the press room, the text from Keeley read. I reluctantly removed myself from Roy.

“Time for the shit show.”

~

I smiled as I watched Roy lay on the floor with Phoebe after dinner. From the look on his face, the ongoing drama between Phoebe’s dolls was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard in his life. His eyes flickered to me for a brief moment, his face softening into a look of complete fondness before turning back to his niece.

I wasn’t the only one to notice.

“I have never seen my brother love someone so much,” Roy’s sister murmured, handing me a glass of wine as she joined me at the table.

I nodded. “Oh, he adores Phoebe. Talks about her all the time.”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Not Phoebe. You.” She smiled. “You’re really good for him, you know that?” Before I could deflect the compliment, she held up a finger. “Don’t play humble. He’s really happy. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. He’s got a dog, he’s swearing less around Phoebe, he smiles all the time now.” She paused. “At least, all the time by Roy standards.”

“He makes me pretty happy too,” was all I could think to say. After a heavy silence, I added, “Thanks for inviting us over, by the way.” I smiled.

She shook her head. “I’m really glad we could finally do this. You’re so important to him. Which means you’re important to us.”

My heart swelled at her words. “I love how much time he spends with Phoebe,” I said, attempting to redirect the attention. “She’s great.”

“She thinks pretty much the same thing about you,” she chuckled. “Absolutely obsessed with you. Every day she asks if she can go over to Uncle Roy’s so she can play with you and Oscar.”

Right on cue, Phoebe bustled over, squeezing herself into my arms; I obliged and pulled her into a hug.

“Will you come to my ballet recital?”

The recital in question was still a couple of months away; for weeks now, Phoebe had asked me the same question every time she saw me. And each time, I answered the same.

“Of course. And I’ll bring you pink roses, alright?”

Satisfied with my unchanging answer, Phoebe gave me a small squeeze, took a sip of her juice that sat on the table, and ran back to her Uncle Roy, who was now wearing a tiara and holding a wand. He rolled his eyes lightheartedly as the small girl tackled him, roaring like a dragon.

I chuckled and turned back to his sister. “Alright, where’s that album you were telling me about?”

“Right here.” She nudged the bright blue photo album towards me with a sly grin. “Don’t let Roy see,” she stage-whispered.

“Don’t let me see what?” Roy called, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as Phoebe pretended to breathe flames out of her mouth.

I waved him off as I opened the book. “Never you mind.” My eyes were glued to the page before me. “Oh my God, he’s adorable,” I gushed, pointing at a picture of a young Roy hugging a football, mop of thick black hair on his head. “How old was he here?”

His sister squinted at the photo. “About five, maybe?” She pointed to another photograph. “That’s the first time our grandad took him to a match. He came home babbling nonstop about becoming a professional footballer when he grew up.” She rolled her eyes. “And of course, he was right, the bastard.”

I laughed and turned the page, pointing at photos and letting Roy’s sister tell me the stories behind each one. My eyes travelled with joy from image to image, watching Roy grow from an adorable child with a football at his feet to a surly teenager with his arms crossed to a grumpy adult only smiling when he was with Phoebe. His whole life right here, between the pages of a book. Despite spending an embarrassing amount of years with his face plastered on my walls, I could feel an intimacy as I looked at these photos; I was glimpsing the Roy Kent that no one else got to see, the Roy that looked at me tenderly and wrapped his arms around me at night. And a not-so-small part of me couldn’t help but wonder if I’d make it into that photo album someday.

“You are not looking at that thing,” Roy growled as he sat at the table, picking up the beer he’d left there.

“’course I am,” I scoffed, turning another page. “You never know when blackmail is going to come in handy.”

He shook his head and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close so he could plant a kiss on the top of my head. “You can fucking keep her,” he offered to his sister.

She laughed, taking a drink of her wine. “If you were smart, you’d keep her.” She shot me a wink.

Another kiss landed on top of my head. “I plan to.”

~

“What d’you want for lunch today?” Roy raised his thick eyebrows at me while slipping on his leather jacket.

“Hmm…” I tapped my pen against my desk. “We haven’t had gyros yet this week. Kinda been craving one lately.”

He nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Oh, is this your office? How cute.”

I whipped my head around. Brittany Brett. Of course.

Roy scowled and looked back at me. “’ll bring you two gyros. Be right back.”

A silence settled over the office once he left. I glanced at Brittany, who was looking at Roy’s desk with far too much interest. For a few minutes I tried focusing on my work, hoping she’d take the hint and go away. Instead, she leaned over Roy’s desk to pick up the photo I’d taken of him and Phoebe at The Sound of Music. Finally, I cleared my throat.

“Need something?”

She looked up at me, her expression telling me that she’d completely forgotten I was there. In my own office. “Oh, nothing really. Just waiting for Dario to finish training.” Her gaze fell back to Roy’s desk; apparently, she was not going away anytime soon. I saw her do a double take at the simple heart I’d drawn on a sticky note and stuck to his desk a few weeks back. “So, Roy Kent’s grabbing his own lunch then?” She let out a small laugh. “Wow. On every job I’ve ever been on, it’s always the assistant’s job to grab lunches. They do all the little jobs, you know.”

My eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s not how we do things at Richmond.”

Brittany smiled at me- one of those smiles that horribly beautiful people have perfected, the one where you know they’re laughing at you on the inside- and nodded. “Clearly.” Her eyes flickered to my work area now. “What’s this?” She strolled over, eyes skimming my orange sticky note, mumbling the words To my biggest fan. XOXO Roy Kent. “Well, isn’t that just cute, you made him sign an autograph.”

I crossed my arms across my chest with a huff. “It’s an inside joke between Roy and me.”

“Oh, you have inside jokes together, hmm?”

“Yup. Coworkers sometimes do.” Go away, go away.

She remained in place, gazing at the photo of my family that suddenly felt juvenile. “Bet you just love working here. Being surrounded by all those footballers, fit and handsome and rich.”

I snorted at the implication. “Surrounded by the smell of their sweat is more like it,” I muttered, feeling riled up by the absolute condescension in her voice.

She knew she was getting under my skin. “Oh, do you prefer grumpy coaches?”

Alright. She won. “So did you need something, or can I get back to work?”

Before Brittany could answer, Dario Vargas poked his head into the office. “There you are,” he said to Brittany. His face lit up when he saw me. “Hola, belleza,” he greeted. While I didn’t love the attention he paid to me, I couldn’t help but enjoy the slight annoyance it brought to Brittany Brett’s face whenever she heard him call me beautiful. He turned back to his perturbed girlfriend. “Ready?”

She tossed a little smirk in my direction as she took Dario’s outstretched hand. “I’ll see you later, Roy Kent’s biggest fan,” she called over her shoulder in a sing-song voice.

“Freaking cow,” I muttered under my breath as I returned to my laptop.

“Who’s a cow?”

Keeley bounded into the office, ponytail swinging behind her. She perched herself on my desk, curiosity playing on her face.

I hesitated a moment; I still wasn’t sure how Keeley felt about Brittany Brett. But the earnest interest in Keeley’s eyes encouraged me. “Brittany Brett,” I muttered.

“Ooh, really?” She leaned forward, that devilish smile on her face. “Hmm, you don’t like Roy Kent’s ex-girlfriend. Why would that be?”

“You know, if I did fancy him- which I’m not saying I do- you’d be doing a shit job of helping me keep it secret,” I pointed out.

Keeley shrugged. “What if I wasn’t interested in helping keep it secret? What if I’m interested in telling him all about how hot you are for him so he can stop being a knob and ask you out already?”

Why is my office being bombarded by models intent on annoying me today?!

“Keeley-”

She shook her head. “Babes, stop denying it already! I’ve seen the way you go all red every time the man walks into the room. And on press conference day, his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw you in that little skirt.”

I blushed at the memory of the way Roy had looked at me that day. “Keeley, are you in here for a reason?”

“I was just popping in to say hi,” she admitted, glancing at her impeccable nails. “And you still haven’t explained why Brittany Brett is a cow.”

I winced. “She’s not a friend of yours, is she? Because I know you’ve done a couple shoots together and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if you like her and-”

Keeley wrinkled her nose. “Nah, she is a bit of a cow. She once tried to hit on Jamie at a wrap party when I was standing right next to him.”

“See, that absolutely sounds like her,” I scoffed. “I know everyone’s excited about this Vargas thing, and I am too. I want to win, but shit, what do we have to put up with to get there? She’s here all the damn time, and Rebecca says she can’t exactly tell Dario she can’t hang around when you’re always here, but you work with us, so I think it’s a shit excuse because we all just want to make Dario happy. And she just hovers and flirts with the boys and I dunno what business she has in my office, looking at my things, touching Roy’s shit. Like, fuck, doesn’t she have a camera to go stand in front of?” I paused. “Shit, no offense, Keeley. Scratch that last comment, I’m just being a grouch.” I let out a deep breath. Ranting felt good.

Keeley stared at me with wide eyes. “Wow. You’re really jealous of Brittany Brett, babe.”

I sighed. “It’s not that. I just hate that she called me Roy’s assistant.”

“Um…” Keeley cocked her head at me pitifully. “You are his assistant.”

“No, I’m the coaching staff’s administrative coordinator or assistant or whatever the fuck you always call me,” I grumbled. “Assistant makes it sound like I spend my time picking up Roy’s lunch. Everyone knows he brings me lunch.”

A softness appeared on Keeley’s face. “And everyone knows you are an absolutely essential part of this team, babe.”

I nodded. “Exactly. Those idiots wouldn’t be able to function without me.”

“What idiots?”

Roy stood in the doorway, takeaway bag in one hand, and a cup with a straw in the other. He took a sip, looking at me expectantly.

“Ted. Beard.” I nodded in his direction. “You.”

He furrowed his brow. “’m not a fucking idiot.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. Roy, you’re just as useless as Ted and Beard. Maybe worse.” I could feel Keeley’s eyes bouncing back and forth between us like a tennis match. “Like, what time’s that interview Keeley set up for you?”

“Whatever time you drag me out of my chair and tell me to go to my fucking interview,” he answered, shrugging as if it were obvious.

“It’s at three. And what is the interview about?” I raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Roy took another sip of his soda. “Whatever the wanker journalist asks me about.”

“It’s for a piece on the football club you founded for underprivileged children in your old neighborhood. Also, in about fifteen minutes, you’re going to get cold and go looking for your jacket. You left it in the weight room when you were screaming at Jamie.” I reached my hand out. “I’ll take my gyros now.”

Even with Keeley right there watching us, Roy couldn’t hide the small grin on his face as he handed me the bag of food. “Here, you bossy thing. Let me know when I’m allowed to eat.”

“Fuck. You two are like, work married or some shit,” Keeley giggled. “Now, kiss.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You can leave now, Keeley.”

She hopped off my desk, shooting me a wink. “Aww, do Mr. and Mrs. Kent need some alone time?” She giggled as she passed by Roy, giving him a soft nudge. “You two make a lovely couple,” she called over her shoulder as she left.

Roy slumped into his chair, swiveling it around to face me. “I do like the sound of alone time,” he hummed.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Then hurry up and eat your lunch,” I retorted. “I’ve got you scheduled for a quick snog before your interview.”

~

Richmond wasn’t supposed to beat Man City. Everyone knew that.

So, when the final whistle blew on a 2-1 Richmond victory, everyone went berserk. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought we’d won the whole “kit and kaboodle”, as Ted would say, rather than a regular season match of little consequence. On the pitch, the boys leaped into each other’s arms, laughing and shouting at one another. In the dugout, Ted, Beard, and Roy shook hands, smiles all around. I stood off to the side, clutching my tablet and shaking my head, a laugh trapped in my chest. Normally, I’d have watched this game with friends at home or in a pub, beer splashing all over us with the final whistle. Instead, I now stood on the pitch at Nelson Road, feeling the roar of the crowd and players burrow beneath my skin.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind. When I looked up, Roy was grinning down at me. “Get the fuck out there!” he yelled over the noise. Without warning, he grabbed my tablet and tossed it to Will, then lifted me off my feet and carried me out to the pitch as I squealed with laughter, Ted and Beard running just ahead of us to join the team.

In an instant, I was swallowed into a sea of bright blue as the boys jumped up and down, shouting with the fans in the stands: “We're Richmond till we die. We know we are, we're sure we are, we're Richmond till we die! We're Richmond till we die. We know we are, we're sure we are, we're Richmond till we die!”

A pair of hands reached out and took mine; it took a moment to realize it was Jamie. He pulled me into a tight hug before I was grabbed by Sam, then Isaac, and in time I had been embraced by each member of the team, pats on my back and kisses on the top of my head. Eventually, I found my way through the throng back to Roy, who pulled me into the tightest hug of all, his embrace letting me know that he would give me a proper celebration kiss the moment we were alone. For a brief moment, I didn’t care where we were; I wanted that kiss now.

Before I could lift my face to Roy’s, Ted grabbed me and wrapped me in a bear hug, babbling about how happy he was and something about a pig and slop. I nodded and smiled, the way I always did when I wasn’t quite sure what he was saying, as we took the celebration into the changing room. Over my shoulder, I could see Roy and Jamie chattering and walking together with springs in their steps, Roy’s bright eyes on me.

In the changing room, the boys continued their celebration, blasting music and dancing around. Somewhere in all of it, the decision was made to move the festivities to a local club. I eyed Roy, who I knew hated clubs even more than I did. He met my gaze with a defeated shrug; he knew we really had no choice.

That’s how I found myself in a dark club, drink in hand, surrounded by Richmond players and staff. Keeley had insisted I go home and change out of my Richmond jumper and into “something you’ll look fit in”. In the back of my closet, I had found the little black dress I often wore when my girlfriends took me on a night out. With a little extra makeup and a pair of heels, I felt strangely confident as I arrived at the club. My confidence amplified when Keeley shrieked at the sight of me.

“Fuck, you look great!” she gushed, squeezing me. “Roy’s gonna drag you out of here all caveman-style.”

I rolled my eyes, pretending that wasn’t a very real possibility. “You act like my world revolves around the man.”

She smirked. “I bet his revolves around you. Look.” She nodded across the club, pointing out Roy, who stood with Jamie, beer in hand, eyes fixated intensely on me. “That is a man planning on getting lai-”

“I’ll go with you to say hello if you don’t finish that sentence,” I promised, linking my arm with Keeley’s. The offer seemed good to Keeley, apparently, because she kept her mouth shut as we made our way over to the guys.

While Keeley threw her arms around Jamie, I turned to Roy. He smirked down at me as he took a sip of his beer.

“You wanna dance?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

He shrugged. “It’s a celebration. Everyone’s fucking sloshed. No one’ll notice, ’cept maybe Keeley, once she removes Tartt’s tongue from her throat.” Sure enough, Keeley and Jamie were locked in a pretty intense embrace against a wall.

“Then let’s dance,” I agreed.

Roy set our drinks on the bar and slipped his hand into mine, guiding me to the dance floor. Normally, I hated clubs; too loud, too crowded, too lonely. But when Roy planted his hands firmly on my hips and pulled me closer to himself, I found myself wondering if maybe I’d misjudged clubs. Part of me again wished I could just reach up and kiss him, the way other couples like Jamie and Keeley did. Maybe the time was approaching to rethink the whole “keeping things quiet” thing. Maybe Roy felt the same way. After all, this was something serious. We’d met each other’s families. I had my own key to his house. There was a dog that I had named that slept at the foot of Roy’s bed. We were building a life together. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep it a secret anymore.

A buzz of chatter interrupted my thoughts. I craned my neck and saw what- or who- had caused such a commotion: Dario Vargas and Brittany Brett had arrived, looking more like they were going to a movie premiere than celebrating a regular-season win with the team. As I took in the sight of Brittany in her cutout dress that was more skin than dress, my outfit suddenly felt like something a uni student would buy for her first night out with her girlfriends.

As if he could feel my insecurities bubbling to the surface, Roy grunted to get my attention. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” he called over the music. “Can’t believe I haven’t seen that dress yet.”

I offered Roy a tight smile, my heart not quite in it. It had been exhausting since Dario- and Brittany- had arrived at Richmond. The paparazzi were hanging around much more than usual, Dario was constantly trying to find an excuse to talk to me, the players I loved turned into drooling children when Brittany would walk in the room, and I had to have this constant reminder about the kind of girls Roy usually went for and how vastly different I was from them.

Trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach, I danced with Roy to a few more songs before I finally suggested we grab drinks. We found Jamie and Keeley still at the bar, but at least now they had come up for air. We had just settled with beers when someone- probably Isaac- suggested the whole team take shots. It wasn’t long before someone else- maybe Dani this time- suggested another round. And on and on until the night started to become a blur of alcohol and music and Roy’s smile and Brittany Brett hovering on the periphery.

I was on shot number who knows when Roy stood from the couch we’d been sitting on and announced that he’d be right back with another drink and some water. I had been alone for all of two seconds when I felt someone sit on my other side. Fully expecting Keeley or Jamie or literally anyone else, I froze when I saw it was Brittany Brett.

“Having fun?” she hummed, her eyes travelling over my dress, the dress Roy had assured me he liked.

I cleared my throat, determined to be nice. “I am, actually. Yourself?”

She shrugged, a bored expression on her too-perfect face. “I guess. Getting a little tired of all the papps following Dario and me around, you know?” She scrunched her nose. “Or maybe not.”

Cow.

She continued. “You and Roy seem very chummy,” she observed. “If I didn’t know his type, I’d think there was something between you.” The fakest smile I’d ever seen appeared on her face. “Not that anyone could blame you for having a crush on Roy Kent. He’s fit and famous, not to mention loaded. Quite a catch.”

The number of shots I’d taken didn’t let me resist. “That’s not why I like him,” I disputed. “I like him because he’s kind and he’s funny and he takes care of the people he loves. I like him because he’s a fantastic uncle, and he’s passionate about coaching, and he sings along to Julie Andrews movies.” I shook my head. “Sure, I had a crush on him before I knew all that, but that’s not why I’m dating him.”

Fuck.

If this was news to Brittany Brett, she did not show it. Instead, her lips formed a tiny smirk as her eyes flickered somewhere behind me. “Oh. You are shagging Roy Kent then?”

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the way Brittany Brett made me feel so fucking small. Maybe it was the months of pretending that Roy and I were just friends. Maybe I just wanted to see what would happen.

“Yeah,” I confirmed, sticking my chin out. “I’m shagging Roy Kent.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And let me guess. He’s sweet to you, even though he’s an arse to the rest of the world. He lets you wear his Richmond shirts to bed. He tells you all about Phoebe and their little uncle-niece dates. He likes to sit and read together on rainy days. He lets you pick the movies, even if he knows he’ll hate them.” She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Yeah. I know what it looks like to be with Roy Kent. Hell, I know what it looks like to have Roy Kent want to marry you.” She tilted her head, her voice dripping with condescension. “Do you?”

My mouth was dry as I tripped on my words. “That doesn’t- we’ve only been- he’s-” I swallowed hard, taking in only air. “He loves me.”

Brittany nodded patronizingly. “I’m sure you think he does. But let’s be honest, you’re just there to fill time until I take him back.” She sipped her drink. “Which may be sooner than you think,” she added with a smirk.

The pit in my stomach grew. “You dumped him,” I said dumbly. “What makes you think he’d want to be with you again?”

She leaned in close, her smile now completely evil. “Love, stop kidding yourself that you matter to him. You’re just a distraction. You just remember that, hmm?” She stood, leaving her empty glass on the low table. “Why else would he not tell anyone about you?” With a tiny wave of her fingers, she was gone in the crowd.

It was a good thing I was already sitting, because my legs were weak. The entire club was spinning as the pulsating music attacked my ears and confused the rhythm of my heart. As I debated just running out of the club, Roy came back, smile on his face and drinks in his hands.

“Sorry,” he called out, sitting back beside me and slipping one of the drinks into my grasp. “Lasso insisted on fucking ‘coach shots’ with him and Beard. He sent me to find you so we could do a round together all four of us, but I was actually wondering if you wanted to get out of here.” He raised his thick eyebrows at me. “It’s about Oscar’s bedtime,” he joked.

“I want to tell people about us,” I blurted out.

Roy blinked a few times, clearly taken aback by my sudden demand. “Oh. Wow. Fuck.” He leaned back onto the couch, eyes still on me. “Alright, well I guess tomorrow we could talk about-”

I shook my head. “No. Roy, I want to tell people right now.” I gestured around us. “Our families already know. The whole team’s here. Hell, there’s even reporters wandering around somewhere. All we’d have to do is kiss-”

The frown on Roy’s face was deeper than I’d ever seen. “Reporters? You want to tell fucking reporters about us?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Roy, I didn’t mean that-”

“Well then what the fuck did you mean?” His face was so twisted that his eyebrows nearly touched. “You know I fucking hate the tabloids. We can talk about how to tell the gits at Richmond, but fuck reporters. Fuck photographers. Fuck all of that.”

My grip tightened on the untouched drink in my hand. “Because I’m a nobody, right? Because you’re scared of all the shit they’re going to say about me, your measly little assistant?”

Roy shook his head incredulously. “The fuck are you on about? I don’t want fuck all to do with them because I find them annoying as shit. They’ll just go on and on about me being an old geezer shagging some twenty-year-old girl. You don’t know what it’s fucking like to deal with all that bullshit.”

“No, I guess some twenty-year-old girl isn’t worth all the hassle,” I spat back.

“What the fuck is this about?” He set his glass down and held his hand out to me. “Come on. Let’s go home. We can crawl into bed and talk about this without some shitty strobe lights making my night vision worse.”

“Because you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?” My voice was tiny, so tiny I wasn’t sure if Roy even heard me.

But he did. “Embarrassed?” he repeated. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I want to go home because I’m fucking old.” He stared at me in disbelief. “Why the fuck do you care about anyone knowing about us? I mean, fine, let’s fucking tell Keeley and Rebecca and the gaffers so we can stop sneaking about. I don’t mind telling Isaac and them. But why the fuck is it anyone else’s business but ours?” The panic in his eyes made it clear: He still doesn’t want anyone to know about me.

I slammed my glass down beside his. “Because I’m fucking tired, Roy. I’m sick of the sneaking and pretending and of feeling like some shitty little secret.” Fuck. There were tears forming in my eyes now. “I feel like fucking nothing. Like, I’m invisible and everyone knows who you are. Fucking ‘He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where’, fucking Roy Kent Effect, fucking Chelsea legend with his thousands of models and shit.”

Even in the shitty club lighting, I could see Roy’s face turn red. “Hey. You knew exactly who the fuck I was when we met. How could you not with all those fucking posters plastered here, there, every-fucking-where?”

His words knocked the wind out of me. The posters. It was a joke between us, one we shared fondly. An embarrassing story I felt sure he would tell at our wedding someday in the future. The adorable meet-cute we’d share with friends, colleagues, maybe even our kids someday. But now it was being thrown in my face like something to be ashamed of. As if I was still nothing but that stupid little fan I’d felt like the moment Roy had first seen those fucking posters.

“If that’s how you feel.” I stood, rummaging through my clutch until I found my keys. “Here, don’t want a fucking stalker like me having this.” I yanked off his house key and dropped it on the table. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the press about how you love Julie Andrews or about your dog being named after a Sesame Street character or that thing you do with your hips or any of the nice shit you deigned to do for a fucking nobody like me.”

Roy’s face crumpled as he looked at the key on the table. “Is this really what you fucking want?”

No. I want you to fight for me. I want you to tell me how much you love me. I want you to tell me we can figure this out. I want you to tell me that I matter to you. I want you to tell me that I’m not just some fan you had a good time with. I want you to want everyone to know you love me. I want you to be proud of me.

“Yeah,” I heard myself say. “It’s what I fucking want. ’m sick of being some slag assistant shagging her boss.”

I turned and stumbled away, forcing myself to keep looking ahead; a glance of Roy would have me losing my resolve. As I made my way to the exit, a hand landed on my shoulder.

“Alright there?” Concern covered Jamie’s face.

Tears threatened to fall as I nodded. “Yeah. No. Jamie, could you get Keeley for me?”

“’course.”

It was the longest minute of my life before Keeley hurried to me, her pitiful expression similar to Jamie’s. “What’s wrong, love? Jamie said you looked completely freaked out.”

I shook my head. “I… I need to go. Can you come home with me?”

A smirk played on her face. “Don’t let Roy hear you say that, he might get jeal-” Her eyes widened when the first tear finally fell down my cheek. “Oh. Oh shit. Okay, hold on.” She disappeared and reappeared with Jamie in tow. “Stay with her,” she hissed before turning back to me. “I’ll get a car. Be right back, babes.” She hustled off towards the exit.

Jamie turned to me, placing his hands on my arms. “You alright?” he repeated. When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “Is it Roy?”

More tears fell at the sound of his name. “I think we just broke up,” I whimpered.

“Oh fuck. Shit.” Jamie pulled me in close for a hug. “You’ll be alright,” he assured me, speaking directly into my ear. “I know you’ll be alright.” He held me like that until Keeley returned.

After Jamie released me, Keeley took my hand and led me outside, where a taxi waited for us. She loaded me in, gave the driver my address, then turned her attention to me.

“You ready to tell me what happened?” she asked as she wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Something with Roy?”

I took a deep, shaky breath. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

She shook her head. “Babes, I could never be mad at you.”

“Roy and I have been dating,” I admitted, burying my head in my hands. “For months. The only people that knew were my folks and his sister and Phoebe. Oh, and Jamie. He walked in on me in Roy’s kitchen while I was wearing nothing but one of Roy’s old kits.”

“Hot,” Keeley noted, trying to make me laugh.

Despite the aching in my chest, I snorted and lifted my head. Almost immediately, the pain came back to me. “Keeley, I fucking loved him. Roy. And I think I just fucked things up beyond repair. And I don’t even know if I’d want to fix them if I could.”

“How d’you mean?”

I sighed. “Roy had asked me about keeping things a secret when we started dating. And I didn’t really mind. Kind of agreed with him, actually. Didn’t want shit from everyone. And honestly, I liked him so much, I would’ve done just about anything he asked anyway. But things just got fucking hard and then Brittany fucking Brett told me all about how I’m just into Roy because he’s Roy fucking Kent and that I’m basically a placeholder til they get back together.”

“Fucking cow,” Keeley hissed.

I continued, “And when I told Roy I was ready to tell people, he freaked out a bit. Made me realize that maybe there’s some truth to all the shit Brittany Brett was telling me. That I was just another one of Roy Kent’s girls. I just happened to last longer than most.”

“Oh, no love,” Keeley murmured, stroking my hair. “No, no. I don’t know anything about your relationship, but I’ve seen the way that man looks at you. You’re not a placeholder. You’re special to him.”

I shook my head, sobs in my chest. “Then why have I been just a secret all this time?”

Of course, Keeley couldn’t answer that. What she could do, however, was hold me while I cried in the back of the car. What she could do was walk me up to my flat and grab me some pyjamas to change into. What she could do was crawl into bed with me and hold me until I cried myself to sleep. And for the now, that would have to do.

~

Taglist: @optimisticsandwichgladiator @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @sonyume @djarindroid @reading-blogs @thezimi @benedictscanvasmain @wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff @puckyou-forpuckssake @old-enough-to-know-better73 @ladygrey03 @soundofboots @justsomefunshit @geekgirl1996 @tedssweaters @queen-of-dumbasses @miaalltheway @di-essere-amato @shakespeareanwannabe @mal-adaptive-dreams @allthetroubleiveseen @netflix-addict

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Adopted Dadmas: Dadmas versus Haven

The red light was blinking on Jak’s talk-box again. Damas was no fool, he knew that meant someone was spying through the floating comm -- or attempting to. Doubtless, the eavesdropper thought they were being very subtle, keeping silent whenever adults were present. As if they believed Jak would keep their presence a secret. As if they believed he would never tell.

Damas tore a circle of flatbread into pieces and used them to scoop a mixture of cooked peppers onto his plate. He pretended not to notice the talk-box hovering next to Jak’s elbow in a terrible attempt at stealth, instead choosing to engage Daxter in a conversation. He was determined to get the kid apprenticed to the head of the merchant guild one way or another. Daxter had a head for business and trade that Jak, simply put, did not. He nodded along when his friend talked, but privately Damas thought it would do Daxter good to be around adults who could encourage his interests.

Periodically, Jak cast swift glances at his talk-box during the meal. He seemed like he was expecting someone to speak at any moment -- or more like he was expecting orders of some kind. His shoulders were tense, and he was shoveling down food much too quickly, like he thought he wasn't going to have time to finish it.

"Slow down, young one. The shrimp isn't going anywhere, and neither are you," Damas admonished.

Jak didn't slow down much, but he did start chewing a little more thoroughly. Small victories. Still, he looked tired, and on-edge. Had Ashelin or the sage been badgering him again when no one was around?

The initial idea had been to lay a trap. To feign ignorance and bait the spy into speaking aloud, thus forcing Unpleasant Diplomatic Discussions with Haven's motley assortment of would-be leaders. But just now, Damas decided, the health and wellbeing of his son took precedence over strategy. And he still had the element of surprise, anyway.

"Talk-boxes off at the table, Jak," he announced, gesturing directly to the lens watching them, "This is a meal, not a media interview."

The boy flinched and looked guilty. He had no reason to; he'd been open with Damas about the demands for labor since he first returned from Haven. But then, he'd been groomed from such a young age to believe that bad things happened because he didn't work hard enough for his "friends". Perhaps he still feared retaliation for establishing healthy boundaries? Better to confront the issue head-on then, Damas decided.

"If your uninvited watcher has an emergency, they are free to petition me directly," he said, leveling a stern glare at the talk-box. "On their own time, not yours. Come on, switch it off."

Someone made a muffled sound, barely picked up by the talk-box's speaker. It seemed they were not expecting to be so casually acknowledged.

"Jak-!" the watcher tried to protest, but Jak reached for the power button.

"Right. Sorry, Pa."

Once the light had faded from the little camera, Damas nodded, satisfied. He picked up a shallow bowl with tomango in it and held it out to Jak.

"Here. You need the vitamins."

Begrudgingly, Jak took two slices, then a third when Daxter gave him The Look across the table.

The ottsel cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Pal, you gotta get better at telling those people no. They can't hurtcha!"

Jak hunched over his plate, frowning.

"I know," he muttered sullenly. "I- I do know that, okay? They just don't listen!"

Daxter sighed and his ears drooped. "Yeah...I know. Old Greenstuff only hears what he wants to hear. Always has."

With a frustrated groan, Jak rubbed his eyes. "After everything he's done, I shouldn't be having trouble cutting Samos off. Why do I keep going back?!"

"He's familiar," Daxter admitted, and not without a touch of loathing. "He was all we knew for like, our whole lives. I hate him -- I'll always hate him -- but I get being afraid to lose that last connection to Sandover."

"....yeah." Jak winced. "I um...I think you're right. It's just. It's hard."

"I know, pal."

"And he knows I have two artifacts that go with those weird pillars in the forest!" Jak continued, "What do I do when he starts asking why I haven't brought them?"

"You end the call," Damas interrupted firmly, "or you give the line to an older Wastelander. Collecting those relics serves the interests of our people, and our people will be working in teams to locate them."

Perhaps this was Jak’s fight as much as anyone else's -- this Daystar and its coming threat -- but Damas was reluctant to involve him. Wasn't losing one son bad enough? He'd never survive losing a second one!

Besides, even someone as talented at sneaking into hidden places as Jak couldn't infiltrate places locked by the Seal of Mar. Whatever the Grand Council of Haven wanted with the catacombs, it was a matter for Damas to deal with, not the boys.

Jak picked at his tomango slices almost glumly. Whether it was his own struggles with setting boundaries that bothered him, or Damas’s advice for dealing with future calls, no one knew. But Daxter and Damas both knew that Jak wouldn't keep it bottled up for long. Sure enough, after a couple minutes of mangling his food without eating it, Jak finally looked up.

"You didn't tell me you were sending other people to look for the relics I told you about."

It was almost a question and almost a complaint.

"No, I didn't," Damas acknowledged, and sipped his tea. "The topic hadn't come up between us yet. Is there something about it that concerns you?"

Jak had difficulty putting his thoughts into words. He started and stopped three times before muttering, "It's dangerous. What if someone gets hurt and I'm not there?"

"What if someone doesn't get hurt and you're not there?" Damas countered. He leaned an elbow on the table and gestured to himself almost self-deprecatingly. "Age does not grace the Spargan who is careless, nor are many years added to the foolish. Do not worry so much about people who were hunting metalheads for sport before you were even born, son."

"Admittedly," said Daxter, "We're still getting used to the concepts of adults who can actually fight their own battles. Am I complaining? Only when they decide it's "Take Your Ottsel To Work Day". But even I still go into jobs expecting to have to save everyone's butts at some point."

"Justified with the monks." Jak pointed a piece of tomango at his best friend.

"Yeah, justified with Mime Club."

Damas threaded his fingers together under his chin and watched the boys a moment.

"How about this," he offered, "If an artifact is located but not yet retrieved, I will give you the option of participating in the mission. Or, you can wait until everything has been gathered, and we will go to the pillars together."

For a moment, Jak brightened. Then he looked pensive again. "What if there's trouble? I mean. I was never really- I never claimed Haven, but they act like I belonged to them. What if me bringing another nation into their forest makes trouble for Spargus?"

"Hmph. Perhaps it is better to settle this now, rather than engage in hypotheticals."

Damas held out one hand.

"Give me your talk-box."

Jak narrowed his eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"Not your concern."

"Papá...." somehow Jak managed to sound both suspicious and scolding.

Damas remained unmoved. "Hand it over, boy."

Reluctantly, Jak did so. He cringed when the device powered on, and Keira's voice poured out.

"Jak? Are you okay? Daddy came in fussing about someone interfering with- you're not Jak! Where's my friend?!"

By the mortified expression on his son's face, Damas guessed this was the sage's daughter. The childhood friend Jak still sort of had a crush on.

"Tell your father to stop harassing my son," Damas said shortly. "Especially during hours set aside for family meals. Was he raised in a barn? In fact, ask him that for me."

"Pa, no!" Jak hissed, making a futile grab for the talk-box.

"Your son?! Who are you? Who- hey, Daddy, c'mere. You know this guy? He says he's Jak’s dad!" Keira became muffled for a moment, stepping away from her own device to drag her father over. "Why's this guy think you're harassing Jak? We've only called him twice since he left. Right?"

"Insisting he keeps his comm on at all times so that you can all monitor every moment of his day is not an acceptable use of Federation communication lines," Damas cut in. "I shouldn't have to tell you that spying on the nation of Spargus in such a way could be taken as an act of war."

"This-! This is bigger than Haven or the Wastelands!" Samos sounded flustered- even a bit nervous. "Surely you understand the claim destiny has upon Ja-"

Damas made a dismissive sound in his throat, cutting the sage off. "Pah. Destiny. I should think the recent Praxis regime and my own continued existence would be enough to call concepts such as destiny into question. As it stands, my claim on Jak supersedes "destiny" -- or more accurately, you."

"The fate of the planet hangs in the balance!" Samos cried, though somewhat subdued compared to his usual confidence. "Can't you see that?! Don't be so bullheaded, Jak is needed-"

Jak recognized the glint in the king’s eyes as mischief. Daxter looked a little too eager to see where this was going. Jak resisted the urge to cover his face in embarrassment. Why and oh why did Keira have to be the one to answer the line?!

"Oh? Are you planning to challenge me for custody of my son?" Damas bared his teeth in an unfriendly smile. "Please, by all means! The Arena is ready whenever you are."

"Pa!" Jak gripped the sides of his head and stared at the man. "Not in front of Keira!"

"Look, old man-" Damas ignored Daxter's delighted cackle. "This planet will survive through united efforts, not by sitting back and hoping one boy alone will get the job done. Now, if Haven wishes to negotiate a temporary alliance to get this done sooner, there is no one stopping them from requesting a meeting with the Wasteland Federation. In the meantime, the Federation intends to continue preventing the apocalypse with or without your participation."

"You are?" Keira cut in over her father again, sounding genuinely curious. "You mean there's more people who can get into ruins?"

Jak got up and moved to the head of the table. Damas moved the talk-box out of his reach preemptively, but Jak made no move to grab it.

"That's their whole thing, turns out. You know Krew? Yeah, everything he sold you, he bought from Wastelanders. Even the defunct power cells."

The slightly warped image of Keira on the screen flickered as she leaned closer.

"Seriously?! I could've cut out the middleman and just worked with them all this time?! Ughhhhh. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess. You want to show them my research from the palace library?"

Behind her, Samos jumped. "The what?! Keira, the library was destroyed with the rest of the palace!"

"The building collapsed, sure," Keira retorted, "But the data cores are still mostly intact in there. If you don’t mind crawling through some tight places and bringing lots of Scout Flies, it's a cinch to get the files for Vin."

Samos looked apoplectic. "Keira! That's far too dangerous for you!"

His daughter rolled her eyes. "What? Jak and Daxter can do it but I can't? Don't you trust me?"

Damas stifled a chuckle and elbowed Jak. "I like this one," he whispered. "Invite her to Spargus sometime."

Jak wished the floor would swallow him.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

#20yrsago Tech-support generation spends Thanksgiving patching for parents https://web.archive.org/web/20041120052426/http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6522314/site/newsweek/

#20yrsago Neal Stephenson’s System of the World concludes the Baroque Trilogy https://memex.craphound.com/2004/11/20/neal-stephensons-system-of-the-world-concludes-the-baroque-trilogy/

#15yrsago Owner of trendy Manhattan restaurant Paradou plumbs new depths of evil bad-bossitude https://gothamist.com/food/restaurant-owners-email-to-staff-belongs-in-tyrant-hall-of-fame

#15yrsago Traffic cameras used to harass and limit movement of peaceful protestors https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2009/oct/25/surveillance-police-number-plate-recognition

#15yrsago Owner of trendy Manhattan restaurant Paradou plumbs new depths of evil bad-bossitude https://gothamist.com/food/restaurant-owners-email-to-staff-belongs-in-tyrant-hall-of-fame

#10yrsago Firefox switches default search from Google to Yahoo https://www.cnet.com/tech/services-and-software/in-major-shift-firefox-to-use-yahoo-search-by-default-in-us/

#10yrsago Blackpool’s Broadway Hotel fines guests £100 for negative review https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-30100973

#10yrsago Hacker, Hoaxer, Whistleblower, Spy: why only an anthropologist can tell the story of Anonymous https://web.archive.org/web/20141122163653/https://www.spectator.co.uk/books/9373852/the-anonymous-ghost-in-the-machine/

#10yrsago Secret history of the poop emoji https://www.fastcompany.com/3037803/the-oral-history-of-the-poop-emoji-or-how-google-brought-poop-to-america

#5yrsago In an age of disappearing prison libraries, jail profiteers provide “free” crapgadget tablets that charge prisoners by the minute to read Project Gutenberg ebooks https://appalachianprisonbookproject.org/2019/11/20/how-much-does-it-cost-to-read-a-free-book-on-a-free-tablet/

#5yrsago DoJ to scrap the Paramount antitrust rule that prohibits movie studios from buying or strong-arming movie theaters https://www.reuters.com/article/us-usa-film-antitrust/justice-department-asks-court-to-scrap-decades-old-paramount-antitrust-decrees-idUSKBN1XS2G0/

#5yrsago When Republicans say “How will you pay for Medicare for All?” Democrats should answer: “Mexico will pay for it” https://theintercept.com/2019/11/20/democratic-debate-budget-deficit/

#5yrsago Twitter censures UK Tory Party for changing its blue-check account name to “FactCheckUK” during the prime ministerial debates https://edition.cnn.com/2019/11/19/world/conservative-party-fact-check-twitter-intl/index.html

#1yrago Larry Summers' inflation scare-talk incinerated climate action https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/20/bloodletting/#inflated-ego

[allisquish]

Gold-plated Silver Lining

Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Theres one more part after this, because I didn't like how this ended. I'm still not happy with the final ending, but the next part is done, and hopefully will be up in a couple days!

-

Neither of you spoke as you left the bus station. And what was there to say? You were at a loss after seeing Dipper and Mabel leave Gravity Falls. And you couldn't even imagine how Stan felt, sending the twins off like this. If Stan couldn't get the Shack back, or somehow get himself back on his feet again, what was this going to mean for the future? Was this going to be the last time he'd see his niece and nephew?

You prayed it wouldn't be. You weren't a long time Shack employee like Soos, but long enough to know that Stan was different around the twins. That he was more open, more joyful, just so much fuller of life and light than you'd even known him to be.

And now that light dimmed, and barely flickered as he drove back to your apartment.

The deafening silence from the car continued, as you unlocked your front door. Stan shuffled in behind you, heading straight for the couch. You left your bag and keys by the door, then went to the kitchen. 

You hoped a cup of tea might help you gather your thoughts.

While waiting for the kettle to heat, you heard the tv turn to the news channel. You pulled a second mug out of the cabinet. Maybe the weight and the warmth of a cup of tea could soothe those feelings that left you both adrift.

Once the water done boiling, and you had two warm mugs of seeping tea, you went to find Stan in the living room. You could hear Shandra Jimenez continuing some report, but you were still too lost in melancholy thoughts to pick out what story she was running. You registered the program switching to an ad, as you placed both mugs on the end table by the couch.

Stan, half out of his suit, staring at the Gideon pin in his hand.

"How'd he do it, kid? How did he manage to stay one step ahead?" Stan deflated against the couch cushions, his tone weary and defeated. "Maybe he actually is psychic after-" Stan whinced, grapping his ear, "Aah! My hearing aid! What keeps causing this?" You grimanced at the audible feedback from Stan's hearing aid.

Before you could say anything, Stan was back on his feet,  a huge grin breaking across his face. "Wait a minute, that's it! I know Gideon's weakness!" His excitment was infectious, and you couldn't help smiling as well.

You reached out, lightly touching his arm. "What is-" Barely passed your lips; Stan grasped your upper arms and pulled you close. Your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. Had you ever been this close to Stan? Had his gaze always glittered like that?

Then he kissed you.

It was nothing like you had daydreamed about during slow days at the Shack. It wasn't slow and sensual or full of heat and longing. It was more teeth than lips, as he pressed against you. His lips chapped, and rough where they slotted awkwardly against yours.

Before you could process the sudden onslaught to your senses, Stan pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. "I know how to get the kids back!" He dragged you out the door of you apartment, running back to his car.

What in the world just happened? Had that really happened?

There was barely any time to process as Stan sped his way through town, breaking every driving law until you reached the outskirts of Gravity Falls. It looked like the whole town had gathered there already.

Jumping out of his car, Stan ran towards Gideon's destroyed statue. You followed, trying desperately to keep up with him. He kicked open a door on the statue-robot, revealing that all Gideon's pins were secret cameras. You could barely believe it; the kid was spying on the town this whole time?! The town was, justifiably, in an uproar over the reveal, turning on the fake child psychic. You found yourself standing with Stan and the kids as Gideon was arrested and taken away.

Everything happened so fast, it left you spinning.

As the dust settled, the last thing on your mind was Stan's kiss. At least, until you were back in your apartment, alone with nothing but your thoughts. That night, you laid awake, your brain running in circles, over and over again.

It was just a kiss. Barely even! Just a press of lips between two adults, nothing more.

It didn't mean anything.

Right?

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

In the Background - Chapter 3.5

Summary: You’ve been dating Natasha in secret since her early days in SHIELD, and you’ve been in the background of all her missions since.

Word Count: 3839

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and canon violence

A/N: Last time I updated this series was April 😐 I really, really lost motivation, but for anyone still willing to read this, or for anyone who starts reading it now, thank you so much! you’ll be much appreciated, and any comments you wanna leave will spur me on so much faster :)) it’s basically only because of an ask that I came back to this at all.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part

—————————————————

A spy must keep moving if they want to stay efficient.

That was one of the rules Natasha had taught you when you first met. She was only 24, but in all those years, she had never stayed put long enough for someone to truly know her. 

When rustling sheets woke you the next morning, you realised that had changed. 

“Are you off to the hospital?” you murmured, voice laden with sleep. 

Natasha still faced away from you, dressing for the day, but she didn’t startle at your voice. Instead, she just nodded.

“D’you want me to go with you?”

“As much as I would love that-” She turned, smiling softly when her eyes met yours, “-something is going on here, we don’t know if Steve is at fault, or who sent the Winter Soldier, but the best way of knowing-”

“-is for me to go into work.” You groaned. “For the record though, I don’t think Steve is the kind of guy to willingly get involved with this.”

“Neither do I, that’s why it’s important you stay at SHIELD, I’ll need your help.” She punctuated her sentence with a kiss, “maybe this time you’ll be in more danger than me.” With that, Natasha spun on her heel, gathering her items quickly, while you flopped back onto the bed.

“Like that ever happens,” you called after her, “you’d find danger on the fucking toilet!”

Her scoff echoed until the door clicked shut.

—————————————————

By all logic, Natasha’s path should have been far safer; visiting a hospital as opposed to armed field work, but, of course, you were proven wrong. You were still heading through reception when the glass ceiling shattered, an echoing thud and several screams following, you flinched, but soon turned and ran towards the sound. This was the entrance hall, most people there weren’t spies or soldiers, just ordinary people hired to do the mundane jobs of the building, or visitors coming for tours – they weren’t equipped to handle an attack.

You squeezed your way through the developing crowd, just to see the unmistakable figure of Captain America struggling on the floor. He staggered to his feet with a groan, making direct eye contact with you. You followed his gaze to the sky, seeing the shattered elevator shaft and following the broken glass back down to where he now stood. The man nodded at you slightly, and you stepped back, an arm raised to push those behind you to the side. With a path cleared, Steve took off, running immediately in the direction of the garage.

That was your cue to leave, walking swiftly in the opposite direction. The situation, and Steve’s role in it, was clearly larger than you or Natasha had thought, and doing your job would be the only way to find out more.

You had just enough time to scan in, make it to your desk, and set up before Sitwell stormed into the room, the door slamming behind him. “Eyes here. Whatever your op is, bury it.” He commanded. The monitors on the screen switched to footage of Steve’s escape.  “This is Level One. Contact DOT. All traffic lights in the district go red. Shut all runways at BWI, IAD, and Reagan. All security cameras in the city go through this monitor right here. Scan all open sources: phones, computers, PDAs, whatever. If someone tweets about this guy, I want to know about it.”

“With all due respect,” Sharon said, “if SHIELD is conducting a manhunt for Captain America we deserve to know why.” There were some mumbled nods and agreements. You took a mental note of those who did.

Sitwell opened his mouth to –likely– retaliate, but Alexander Pierce spoke first, emerging from the corner. “Because he lied to us. Captain Rogers has information regarding the death of Director Fury. He refused to share it. As difficult as this is to accept, Captain America is a fugitive from SHIELD.”

He soon left, Sitwell following behind him, and an uneasy quiet fell over the room. Every set of eyes scanned their coworkers, gauging reactions before any actions were taken. You looked for affirmation, for someone to meet your eyes and wordlessly acknowledge the absurdity of the situation. For one of SHIELD’s own to become a fugitive would have been a shock enough, but Captain America was a beacon of all things good, and the best known employee SHIELD had. You found the camaraderie from Sharon Carter, her clenched jaw and widened eyes were telling of her stance. You matched it, then followed your coworkers’ lead to take your seat.

Someone’s chair rolled back to their desk, and a faint tapping began. Nobody had said a word, but there was a universal agreement: things weren’t going to be the same.

—————————————————

“STRIKE team to the garage. Urgently.” Sitwell’s voice sounded over the PA, and the few of them in your section of the office stood immediately, gathering their weapons and filtering out of the room. You left it a few seconds, then packed your own gear; for it to be that urgent, they must have located Steve.

“-so get to the mall. Bring him in.”

“Send me with them.” Your voice was unwavering, even with the glares of your teammates and commanding officers on you. 

Sitwell waved the team away, starting them on their mission as he dealt with you. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“You’ve located Captain America, he’s at the mall 9 miles south-east of here, you’ve sent STRIKE in to comprehend him, any means necessary.”

His silence only confirmed your statement.

“I’m not as brainless as those agents you just sent out. So send me with them.”

“You’ve been on numerous missions with Captain Rogers, how are we to know you’re not colluding with him? We can’t send you out, it would just be too risky.” The man sneered, his falsely sympathetic expression showing just how confident he was in his argument. There would be no victory from you, but perhaps it was a chance to find out more.

“Those missions…with Captain Rogers. The STRIKE team were on every single one of them; if I’m compromised, then they would be too.”

“I trust that team.”

“What’s different?”

Sitwell hesitated, his immediate answer ready on his tongue, but then he sighed. You took note, whatever he said next would not be the real reason, the one he’s stopped himself from exposing. “Natasha is involved. We know the two of you are close, but she is protecting Rogers, making her a fugitive of SHIELD by extension. Stay back, watch the cameras or something, maybe even take tomorrow off. We cannot trust you to bring Natasha in.”

Sitwell dismissed you, forcing you to leave the interrogation and return to your desk. “Day off my ass,” you muttered; it would have sounded great that morning, but something was amiss, and you could no longer trust SHIELD enough to return home.

SHIELD was staffed at all hours, but they had a dedicated operations sector. Where you worked was empty by 6pm, save for you and Sharon. You couldn’t risk voicing your concerns aloud, but she lived opposite Steve, and you lived with Natasha… SHIELD would be monitoring both of you. 

A light beeping from one of the monitors had you two jolting your heads up; bleary, sleep-deprived eyes searching for the source. Sharon spotted it first. “They’ve sent a missile.”

“To Camp Lehigh. Isn’t that where Steve was trained?”

“Sending a missile at 2am to an abandoned military base? Why…” Sharon trailed off, the lightbulb clicking for you both. “Steve is there.”

“And Nat– Shit. I gotta warn her.”

Your text was brief and blunt, sent to the burner number you’d learnt for emergencies. You watched to see it had sent, then dropped the phone down, your hands moving up to grasp your face. For now, all you could do was wait, and hope they made it out okay.

—————————————————

A ping.

N: *Thanks for the head up. We’re okay.*

N: *Heading back to DC; Steve has a friend. Sam Wilson – works at the VA.*

You were on your phone in an instant, typing out a reply.

*I’ll background check*

N: *Thank you xx*

Access to SHIELD servers made background checks easy, you could find out everything about Sam Wilson - including his past. It was an interesting one, but nothing to indicate an allegiance to Pierce, or anyone associated with him. Wilson seemed to do good, and stand by his word, and you told Natasha as much. His history, however, was something she could find out herself.

—

Fort Meade. Not the hardest place you’d ever broken into, and at least this one was close to the office. 

“Taking a quick break.” You informed Sharon, then finally left the office just after dawn. Sam had not just welcomed Steve and Natasha in, but volunteered his services; he just needed his equipment back. 

You were there within the hour, and out 10 minutes later. After this had all blown over, you should probably mention the security concerns. You scanned out at the front gate, smiling at the receptionist and standing still as the guard patted you down. They didn’t find anything. Of course they didn’t, the exoskeleton was already out of the walls.

Your path didn’t stray until you left the cameras’ sight, then you turned sharply left, heading into the woods. It had only been a day since you last saw your girlfriend, but you ran into her arms in an instant, leaning back only to assess her for injuries, before she drew you in again, her hand supporting the back of your head as she pulled you in for a kiss. 

You couldn’t help but check the area for the others afterwards, while she smirked at your flustered state. “Sam’s trying on the suit, Steve’s keeping guard. I said I’d meet them after.” You nodded, still beaming at being reunited with your girlfriend, even though her face fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“Um… at the mall yesterday…” Natasha was uncharacteristically meek, her head bowed and hands fidgeting with themselves. “I kissed Steve,” she confessed. With that, she braved a look at your expression, before returning her attention to the ground. “I shouldn’t have, but I had to, to stay undercover and-”

“It was for the mission?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

You took her hands in yours, prompting her to finally meet your eyes. “I’d say you’re forgiven, but there’s really nothing to forgive,” you laughed, “I was scared it was something much worse than that, but I trust you, and I’d much rather you kissed Steve than get arrested and killed.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“No, not at all. You’ve known me six years, love, when have I ever been mad at you for something like this? You told me about it and that’s all I ask for; especially with our jobs, things like this are bound to happen so as long as we communicate, it’s nothing to feel guilty for.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“You were you.”

You kissed her again, softer now you’d had that talk, and the both of you grinning through it. 

“When you said you were scared it was something worse though…” Natasha said

“What?”

“HYDRA are running SHIELD”

—————————————————

Natasha talked you through everything she knew, warning you to stay safe at work. You nodded, promising to try, and wished her luck before you parted ways once again.

You scanned into work alongside the stream of others entering the building, fitting in as you returned to your office, taking your seat beside Sharon just 2 hours after you’d left.

“Long time, no see,” she muttered.

“Hope you enjoyed the break while you could. It’s gonna be another long day.”

“You got a source?”

“Sure do. Not telling.”

“‘Atta, spy. What are you up to today?”

“Checking security cameras,” you answered, “I’m very receptive to Sitwell’s instructions.” Sharon noticed the smirk on your face, watching exactly which security cameras you pulled up on the monitor. On the screen was Sitwell himself, accompanied by Senator Stern and several security guards, leaving a restaurant. You both watched as Sitwell received a call, before the camera moved, pointing to the street on Sitwell’s left.

“Nothing interesting there.”

You sustained the activity until late afternoon, diverting or cutting the feed of cameras before they espied the interrogation of Sitwell. When they started diving off of bridges and blowing up cars, however, that task became a lot more difficult; but by then, the whole world was watching. News helicopters rendered your mission useless, and STRIKE soon descended on the scene. All you could do was watch, along with the other agents in the room.

Natasha, Steve, and Sam were forced to their knees, guns pressed to their heads. Suddenly, you became thankful for the news teams – SHIELD could not kill them so publicly, so they had more time. Your phone pinged. You almost didn’t check it, but the notification was not from your main phone.

A message from Maria Hill. It was an address, “get here quick” attached underneath.

“I have to go,” you mumbled. Sympathetic looks followed you out.

—————————————————

“Nat, oh my god.” You’d arrived at the safehouse just before the others, but soon ran out to see your girlfriend bleeding from her shoulder. You looped an arm around her and let her lean into you, the two of you staggering into the building.

After a brief talk with – an apparently living – Fury, you brought Natasha to the medical bay, sitting by her side as the doctor patched her up.

“He does trust you, you know that?” you said. 

Natasha’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for you to notice the shock. A spy must keep moving if they want to stay efficient; if they stay too long, someone was bound to notice the miniscule tells they tried so hard to cover. Never had Natasha stayed put long enough for someone to make such observations, but you were beginning to, and because of that, you knew it scared her.

“I prefer to stare at you than him,” you joked, “means I saw your face when he said he ‘wasn’t sure who to trust’.”

“Well,” Natasha huffed, “I wouldn’t trust me. I don’t blame him.”

“I’d trust you,” you murmured. “Steve’s America’s golden boy and he didn’t get Fury’s trust either. This isn’t about your past. And besides, Fury does trust you, he just pretends he has no feelings.”

“He trusts me to do the dirty missions because he knows I already have that in my past. How do I know that relates to trusting me as a person? He didn’t tell me about Project Insight, or this. Even when I defended his ‘phase 2’ back in 2012, he didn’t tell me anything about it.”

“Natasha,” you said, “if you think Fury only wants you for missions, then maybe you’re not as good a spy as we all thought. Remember when he found out we were dating, and he came to give me the dad talk? And made sure we got our locks changed? Then he kept our secret but always made sure we were paired up? He won’t say it out loud, but you’re special to him, and he trusts you completely. He’s just stubborn about admitting it, a bit like another spy I know.” 

“Now that’s not fair, I’ve said ‘I love you’ at least once in the five years we’ve dated”

“Mhmm,” you hummed through a smile, “and can I hear it again?”

“You’ll have to work harder to earn it.” Natasha’s deadpan delivery broke into a grin, culminating into a light peck on the lips, and a huff from you.

—————————————————

“You know, sometimes, I do think we live odd lives,” you said. 

“Oh yeah, what exactly makes you think that?” Natasha smirked.

“I don’t think most people’s ‘getting ready for work’ routine involves strapping two blades and three guns to their person. You can correct me if I’m wrong though, I’ve never had a normal office job.”

“You’re right. When I worked in an office, I had three blades on me, we must just have it easy.” With that, Natasha slid the knife into your back pocket sheath and pulled your jacket back over it, stepping back to check it was covered. “You can reach that okay?”

You put a hand to the pocket, mimicking a quick retrieval. “All good. Are you ready?”

“Help me with the wig?”

When you turned around, your girlfriend’s face was very much…not your girlfriend’s face, though her red hair was yet to be covered with the dirty blonde bob she held up to you. You took it, moving behind the assassin to tuck her hair up and under the disguise. “Of course, my love, always happy to transform you into a GILF.”

Standing behind Natasha was a bad idea, something you learnt when an elbow jabbed you in the stomach.

“Sorry, my love, just getting some practice in.”

“Pierce doesn’t stand a chance,” you wheezed.

“No he does not. Now off to work you go, you have people to protect.”

“I’ll see you later, Councilwoman Hawley,” you said with a salute.

Natasha laughed, “I love you. Stay safe and I’ll see you later.”

“Ha, I got you to say it again!”

“Mmm, I guess you did, now are you going to say it back?”

“You’ll have to work harder to earn it,” you mimicked, jogging away to begin a day of work.

—————————————————

“Attention all SHIELD agents, this is Steve Rogers. You've heard a lot about me over the past few days, some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it’s time you heard the truth. SHIELD has been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and insight crew are HYDRA as well, I don’t know how many more, they could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Nick Fury, and it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, hydra will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot. The price of freedom is high, always has been, and it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, so be it, but I’m willing to bet I'm not.”

With that speech, the carnage began.

Rumlow – of course Rumlow – started it off with a threat. Then guns were drawn and shots were fired. You couldn’t tell if the bullets hit anyone, but so long as you were uninjured, then you had to carry on. Someone had deployed the helicarriers in the midst of the chaos; you had to hope Steve and Sam could handle that, and continue to disarm and incapacitate those who fought against you. 

These were people you’d known for your entire time at SHIELD. Years of cooperation made them no less willing to kill you, so you could be no less willing to oppose them. 

Eventually, Hill’s voice came through your comms: “Rumlow’s headed for the council.”

You scanned the room, realising the man was gone.

“I’m on it,” was Sam’s reply. 

“I’m closer,” you confirmed, “I’ve got this.”

You caught Rumlow coming out of the stairwell, landing a punch immediately. 

“Is this why you didn’t like me? Or was that personal?”

He scowled, fighting back and knowing you to the floor. “It’s personal, and I’m gonna make it hurt. There are no prisoners with HYDRA. Just order. And order only comes from pain. You ready for yours?”

“Was that rehearsed?”

He surged forward, yelling as the two of you duelled. The spar went back and forth, neither of you maintaining the upper hand for long – it was a downside to years of teamwork, you had practised sparring, learnt each others’ moves. He knew your technique, and you knew his. What he didn’t know, however, standing over you and boasting of his prowess, was what caused your eyes to widen, and why you scrambled up and ran.

The helicarrier smashed through the window, engulfing Rumlow in its smoke immediately. 

“Natasha, you better be coming!” you yelled, the collapsing building testing your sprint like no SHIELD exercise had done before.

“We are, where are you?”

“41st floor! Northwest corner!”

“We’re on it!”

You leapt. The helicarrier’s descent helpfully smashed the glass for you to go straight into free fall. With the chopper below you, you tucked up tightly, hoping to everything that you and Fury had aimed this right.

Natasha’s arms enveloped you, sliding to catch a grip on your ankles and pulling you up.

“Back in your arms sooner than I thought.”

“Never do that again,” she scolded.

“I don’t plan on it, but hey, good catch!”

“We are still at work, you two,” Fury called back.

You waved him off, though Natasha did return to her work, assessing the situation through her headphones. Without them, the noise of the helicopter was too loud, and all you could do was sit back and wait. 

—————————————————

“We’re out of a job.” 

Natasha hummed. You felt the pillow rustle and turned your head too, meeting her eyes. Her face was clear of grime, and her hair freshly washed, but exhaustion still claimed her features. It had been days without rest or safety, to lay in your own bed was a welcome normality.

“We’ll find a way. Maybe Stark’ll rehire you.”

“I do have 2 years of work experience with him, ignoring the spy thing, that should make me qualified”

“Mmm, it’s a tough market these days, love. Now let me sleep, I have a court hearing tomorrow”

You grumbled, but  both you and Natasha were asleep within minutes, the days of exertion finally taking their toll. It was an afternoon hearing, luckily, allowing for a restful morning. Then you were driving her to court, the nerves in the car coming solely from you, despite it being Natasha on trial. With everything released, she was not a popular figure for the American government, but she was confident and powerful. The beacon of what they feared, but couldn’t afford to rid themselves of.

“Good luck,” you wished

“I’ll see you soon.”

The wait was short, and Natasha walked out moments after arranged start time, flocks of photographers and journalists following her out. She slipped into the car quickly and you drove off, before the crowds had even followed her around the corner. A life of espionage is hard to shake.

“It’s all sorted,” she reassured, “Fury wants to see us, and then we can do anything, Damage Control are sorting out the rest.”

“Thank goodness for Damage Control.”

“Oh, and I talked to Tony,” she continued, “the Avengers are in free fall right now, becoming their own entity away from SHIELD, so there’s a lot of openings for trusted assistance…”

She looked over at you, the grin visible even in your peripheral vision.

“Welcome to the Avengers.”

Next Part

—————————————————

Tag list (it's been so long I don't know if y'all are even still around/wanting to be tagged, but if you see this you can lmk 😊) @trudyhopehunter @catswag22 @sapphosclosefriend @romanoffsgal @taliiiaasteria

Extra note: Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed! Depending on how long my motivation lasts, I will continue to write this series and only update regularly once it is finished. Though if I get the whole of A0U written quickly, I might post those chapters when it’s done :))

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

The Jackal

Whooaaaaa we're almost caught up I swearrrr WHOOAAA living on a prayerrr (Fic number 8 and it is currently the 9TH!) @narcosfandomdiscord

Enjoy <3

Prompt #11, Book Of Pit Stops: Rush

Word Count: 1.1K

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal"/Nuria

Warnings: SPOILERS! Spoilers galore!! Episodes 1-5 of this show have been watched by me, and thus, a patchwork of spoilers throughout this rambly fic! Beware if you're a spoilerphobe!

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

The Jackal lives in secret. He hides from everyone and everything.  

He dons disguises and becomes people who he’s not meant to be, for example, a certain Herr Thirsk, who, to The Jackal’s knowledge, may or may not be real. 

Passports are essential if he’s globetrotting. No one bats an eye at the switches, at the effortlessness of it all. If it says he hails from Germany, that’s where he’s from. Then France? He’ll be a Frenchman for a day, who cares?! 

The information is proper, organised, and it looks legitimate. That’s all that counts in The Jackal’s line of work: Efficiency, quality, and legitimacy. 

After all, someone is set on hiring him, paying him grand amounts of money to make as many kills as possible. A hitman does what he needs to do, whatever it takes to target the best of the best. 

He uses bespoke weaponry and state-of-the-art prosthetics. His materials, his safes, all of it, are top-notch. There’s nowhere in the business that he can fail, except for his own human error. 

He trusts his gunmaker to the ends of the earth, he trusts his aim to make the kills, and he trusts others to give him whatever he requires. 

Because, as he tells Nuria one sunny day in Cadiz, it’ll hurt the brand if people don’t pay him what he needs. It’s not all about the money, though, and even worse if people don’t follow his orders. 

If he sets instructions, they’ll be met. If someone fumbles, then they’re out of the game. 

The Jackal avoids taking unnecessary phone calls and explicitly warns his loveable Spanish relatives not to post whatever photos they take of him. As beautiful as celebrations and warmth and memories may be, he simply can’t risk being exposed. 

***

After the ordeal with Manfred Fest, a very classy and striking ordeal if he does say so himself, he’s attracted attention. Or, at least, a ‘killer’ has done so. A killer could be anyone, but only someone of his expertise could make the shot from 3815 metres away. 

He travels in taxis from one place to the next, keeping his language fluency intact with every country he visits. He passes Nuria after she’s dropped him off at the airport, but is his cover blown? 

If he’s not answering his phone, then it won’t be. 

Besides, he has a tingling, almost unwelcome feeling that his wife will find out. And, if she does? If the other Charles, Jackal’s in-law, helps her, then he’ll know.

He doesn’t have a safe without passwords, a lock without a key, or a room full of secrets without protection. 

A camera inside a prosthetic face. A marvellous touch. As his wife snoops around, horrified by what she’s seeing, he’s seeing her right back. 

It’s harmful to the relationship, detrimental, in fact, but he’ll just class it all as ‘industrial espionage’. You know how it goes, Nuria, a bit of spying, a bit of illegal activity, and… 

A lot of murder, but The Jackal doesn’t reveal that much.  

***

It’s so satisfying to see people at his mercy, to watch their trembling hands as they kneel before him. Whatever string of ‘oh, god, spare me, please, no!’ that escapes people’s mouths never deters him. Unless there’s something more to offer, The Jackal will do away with them. 

Man, woman, guilty, innocent… Doesn’t exactly matter. If they’ve misunderstood their obligations to him, then, their time is up. 

***

The Jackal bites back a laugh as he gets wind of recent news: A girl, one named Emma, dies in custody. The police are legally responsible. Whoever sent her into custody is feeling guilty for the rest of their lives. 

Isn’t it perfect, for the authorities to be in the wrong? In their attempts to catch a criminal, a killer, a hitman, they misstep. 

Well, they don’t just misstep. They’ve killed a daughter. They’ve ruined a mother, a father, a family. All of the girl’s friends will be devastated, all the good she hoped to achieve in life has been thrown into the gutter. 

He stares at the article for a while, never once losing his focus. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. 

When Nuria catches him in the act, swiftly barging into his study, he hums and settles. The rush almost becomes too much, but he closes his laptop. 

Her gaze implores him to talk, so he does. 

Still, he demurs and deflects, “No, no, it’s nothing, really,” A certain twinkle in his eye reveals everything to her, “Well, if you must know, my work has just become very interesting. ” 

“You’re in that place again!” She hisses, but he remains unfazed, “You’re always there, and never here… Come on , Charles. Come back to me.” 

He leans back in his chair and shrugs, “I’m here, darling. I’m here. ” 

“You don’t get it,” She shakes her head, “Because, sometimes, I look at you, and I just see–” 

“What?” He intervenes with a lazy smile. A gentle tilt of his head. Charm, suaveness, everything in between, “Tell me. What do you see?” 

With a sigh, she decides she can’t help herself, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She holds onto him, lets her smaller body sink into his lap. 

“I’ll tell you what I see,” She whispers, “I see a motherfucker. ” 

“Oh, fuck you!” He replies, equally as quiet, and their lips meet not long after. 

It’s just one of the many games they play. Teasing, banter, time alone, they cherish it. Nuria can tell when he’s drifting away, off with the fairies of business and stocks and, well, whatever he actually does. 

So, it’s her job to bring him back to reality, to remind him of the people he has: It’s her and her love, it’s little Carlito, turning two years old tomorrow. 

He goes for long periods of time, doesn’t come back for a few days, then a week, then two. He tells her, over and over, the same sentiments: People are too inconsiderate, they have no empathy, he’ll be back as soon as his shifts are over. 

Whatever he does, the majority of it is out of her control. 

She can only hold onto him when he’s physically here, when Charles is in her reach. 

Otherwise, she is full of doubt, confusion, and emotions that extend beyond herself. Her family can only calm her so much. 

She needs Charles, the lover, the husband, the family man… Not Charles, the sketchy, flighty businessman. 

Not Charles the hitman, Charles the plotter, Charles the ruthless manipulator and assassin. 

‘Industrial espionage’ is all it is. And hopefully, that’s all she’ll ever know. 

[elizaviento]

Take Me to Church

(Stardew Valley — Pierre x Female Farmer/Reader)

NSFW — 2762 words. Adultery, guilt, pussy eating, fingering, pegging, and a dash of tasty blasphemy.

Summary: The farmer and the shopkeep practice their own religion and services have just begun.

Note: Y'all out here pretending to hate Pierre but I'm about to prove you wrong...

*****

The farmer slyly peered over a row of shelving closest to the register in Pierre's General Store. The shopkeep, Pierre himself, stood at his post with a notebook in one hand. He seemed to be in deep concentration, a pencil caught between his teeth while his other hand stabbed at the buttons of a calculator on the counter in front of him. Curious, the farmer seized the opportunity, approaching with a confident sway to her hips.

"Hi," she said, placing a bag of sugar on the counter. Pierre gasped, obviously startled, and the pencil clattered to the floor.

"Oh! Hey there, farmer. I, uh – didn't know anyone was in the store," he replied, pushing his glasses further up his nose and flashing her a welcoming smile while his eyes nervously scanned the immediate vicinity.

"I've been here a while," she admitted coyly. "Whatcha working on?"

Pierre fidgeted, pointedly avoiding her intense gaze. "Going over inventory. The numbers aren't adding up, so I think Abby miscounted something," he explained.

"Mmm," she hummed in response, feigning interest. She boldly reached forward and snatched the notebook from his hand, not particularly concerned with the shopkeep's inventory woes. The chicken scratch on the page meant nothing to her, unlike the current abandoned state of the store. "You looked stressed. Why don't you take a break?"

Pierre cleared his throat, his eyes following the farmer's movements as she dropped the notebook on the counter and sauntered toward the store entrance. Before he could protest, she locked the deadbolt and flipped the sign on the door: Sorry, we're closed! 

"Sweetie," Pierre sighed as she switched off the overhead lights. The harsh fluorescent glow winked out instantly, bathing the pair in an awkward gloom. "I can't close the store in the middle of the day…"

"Hush. You know everyone is at that new resort on Ginger Island. I'm the only customer you've had since 10 am."

"How do you know that?" he asked, swallowing thickly as the farmer approached him again, seeming to float through the semi-darkness like a disembodied spirit. 

"Take a guess," she purred, hoisting her bottom up on the counter before swinging around to face him. When he didn't make a move to escape, she grasped the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward, circling her legs around his waist and locking her ankles behind him.

"I… keep forgetting about the cameras," he said, his eyes flicking upward toward one of the light bulbs in the ceiling. Several more of the hidden spy devices were littered across the building, giving the farmer a bird's eye view from every angle with a single tap of a finger.

"You know I like to keep an eye on my favorite pet at all times," the farmer whispered as she leaned forward and brushed her lips against the shell of his ear. The shopkeep shivered, and she tightened the grip of her thighs, drawing him even closer, their bodies flush enough to share breath as she leaned back slightly to look him dead in the eye. "We have the afternoon to ourselves."

"What – um… what if they get back early?"

The way he stumbled across his words was oddly endearing to the farmer. It betrayed his continued bashfulness toward her aggression in a way that sent tingles down her spine. For as long as they continued these secret rendezvous, she never wanted him to get too comfortable.

"Then I suppose you'll have some explaining to do, won't you?" she teased, rubbing the tip of her nose against his playfully. "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't exciting to imagine Caroline discovering our little secret. Do you think she'd be mad? Would she cry? Or would she want to join in?"

Pierre sucked in a ragged breath through his teeth and stiffened, leaving the farmer unsure if he was repulsed or turned on by such a suggestion. Until the bulge she still had pressed between her thighs began to swell, applying delicious pressure right where she needed it most. Silently, she thanked herself for wearing a skirt, the thin barrier of her panties already dampening as she shifted her hips to grind across the rough fabric of his slacks. 

"Why do you do this to me?" he practically whined. His large hands finally moved to touch her, tentatively landing on her waist before sliding down to settle on her hips. His fingers flexed, massaging her soft flesh. 

"Because I can. And because you fucking love it."

He kissed her then, rough and insistent, pulling her closer and holding her fast against his crotch as he sloppily dry-humped her like a hormonal teenage boy. The farmer smirked against his lips, enjoying how he fell apart and succumbed to her with so little effort. A few bats of her eyelashes, a filthy word or two, and he was like warm putty in her hands. Malleable, influenceable, controllable. 

"Take me to church," she cooed, pulling back to observe the delightful pink dusting his cheeks and the way his lips swelled from her not-so-gentle love bites. "It's time to pray to your true god."

With a throaty groan, Pierre hoisted the farmer from the counter, his hands moving to cup her ass as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She kept her eyes closed as he carried her, listening intently to his rapid breaths coupled with the echo of his footfalls as he crossed the common room and entered the chapel.

"Let there be light," she joked as he sat her atop the altar next to the statue of Yoba. Several floor candelabras littered the chapel, and Pierre lit each one with a pack of matches he pulled from a tiny drawer within the shrine. Once finished, he returned to stand in front of the farmer, enraptured by the reflection of flames flickering in her ravenous eyes.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, stepping closer to cup her cheeks in each hand. The room's ambiance felt heavy and foreboding, weighing Pierre down with the utter sinfulness of it all. He'd never been a religious man, but something about this woman had made him reconsider. She smelled of sweat and earth. She spoke bluntly and plain. She took what she wanted, regardless of the consequences. And, for some unfathomable reason, she wanted him. "I felt like I was sleepwalking until you showed up. I can't deny you anything."

"I know," the farmer replied, placing a tender kiss on the inside of his wrist. "We take care of each other, don't we?"

He nodded, even as he sank to his knees before her. Instinctively, her legs fell open, allowing him room to shuffle closer until the tip of his nose made contact with the crotch of her white cotton panties. She jerked and giggled, fisting a hand in his hair to keep him there, anticipation coursing through her veins like molten lava. He exhaled deeply, humid breath warming her core as one of his fingers slowly traced the seam of fabric before hooking and pulling it to the side.

The second Pierre's tongue made contact with the farmer's bare flesh, she hissed and tightened her fist in his hair, giving her enough leverage to tilt her hips upward and drape her bare legs over his shoulders. Her opposite hand thrust behind her, palm flat on the altar's surface to hold herself upright while she writhed against his face.

Pierre was nothing if not a good pet. Ever since their first lewd encounter behind the cash register one snowbound night during the farmer's first year in the valley, he'd dedicated himself to pleasing her. She'd tattooed her face upon his very soul that night, her intense gaze holding him fast while she sucked his cock until he felt as if he would pass out. The door leading to the common room and his private bedroom with Caroline sat open a crack, a tiny sliver of yellow light slicing through the total blackness shrouding them. It was utterly insane. Reckless. Shameful. Pierre had never come so hard in his life.

"Fuck, that's it," she sighed, clutching his hair tighter, thrusting him back into the moment. He'd gone on auto-pilot, tongue probing her folds aggressively until it located her clit and circled the tiny bundle of nerves relentlessly. A delicious sting radiated across his scalp as she tugged again, encouraging him to continue. He moaned, and she yelped in turn, falling back to lay flat against the altar, her thighs closing in around his head. She was close.

"Make me come on your face, and I'll give you what you want," she panted, rolling her hips across his now flattened tongue. The slick glide across her heated flesh was what she dreamed about when her favorite pet was otherwise detained. She'd taught him well.

Pierre moaned again, guttural and deep, digging his fingers into the meat of her thighs as he spread them farther. Her breathy promise had ignited a fire in his belly, and something primal took hold, demanding he did exactly as she said so he could reap the sweet rewards. His still confined cock ached with the prospect, and Pierre cupped himself with one hand while the other took the place of his tongue, two fingers effortlessly sliding through her slick folds before plunging knuckle deep. He gave her no warning, but that's how she liked it, and he aimed to please. 

"Pierre! Fuck!" she spat, rising back up to lock her eyes with his. His glasses were slightly fogged, and she snatched them from his face, tossing them behind her unceremoniously. He didn't even flinch, only held her gaze as he finger fucked her into oblivion – hooking and pressing just how she taught him, drumming the thick, soft place inside her with expert precision.

"Do you use any of these tricks on Caroline? Does she wonder where you suddenly learned them?" she asked, her voice hitching with each rough thrust of his hand. She was dangerously close, the pressure building as her cunt locked his fingers in place. So. Fucking. Close.

The expression on Pierre's face at her absurd line of questioning – a mixture of shame and intense arousal – sent her over the edge. Her body stiffened as it shot through her, then rendered her completely boneless as it softened and seeped through her limbs. Toes curling, spine tingling. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with unshed tears, wavering the world around her as if she were viewing it below the ocean, unseen depths of debauchery and pleasure pulling her down, down, down…

He said her name then, soft and beseeching. It was almost childlike and innocent, and she had to suppress a giggle while scrubbing her wet eyes with her fists.

"Yes," she confirmed, gathering her wits. She sat completely upright and motioned for him to stand. His face glistened with her juices, but the boyish excitement it held was so evident that this time did she giggle, capturing his wrists and pulling him toward her for a sloppy kiss.

"Mmm, I love the way I taste on your tongue," she cooed before shoving him backward. He stumbled slightly but recovered quickly. Familiar with the routine, he circled around the altar and located a locked cabinet built into the wall. The jingle of keys followed by the soft click of a lock disengaging gave the farmer all the encouragement she needed to hop from the altar and approach the frontmost pew. Then, she stripped, tossing her grass-stained jean skirt and tank top aside while her favorite pet prepared his favorite toys.

"What size?" he asked, voice strained as he approached her carrying a black satin bag. He had retrieved his glasses in the process and took pleasure in drinking in her nearly nude form, even as his fingers worried at the ribbon holding the bag closed. 

"The pink one. You've earned it."

He exhaled shakily, like he'd been holding his breath for years, and nodded. The next few moments consisted of the shopkeep removing each item from the bag and displaying them prettily across the pew: Thick, nine-inch dildo, leather harness fit specifically for the farmer's hips, and lube. Lots of lube.

Satisfied with his presentation, the farmer took her time undressing him. Popping each button of his shirt agonizingly slow, chasing her fingers with her lips across his surprisingly toned chest. Moving downward, she cupped his cock through his slacks while her teeth nipped below his navel. His small twitches and gasps, his fingers sliding through her hair, his words of praise all drove her wild, whipping her into a frenzy. Before she knew it, she'd ripped his pants and boxers down, spun him around, and shoved him to his knees before the pew.

Panting heavily, she watched as he shuffled into position, arms folded on the seat, head down, eyes closed. Even from her vantage behind him, she could see how relaxed he was, and it touched her in a way she hadn't expected. He trusted her… implicitly. She could ruin his entire life with one word. Tear his family asunder. Destroy his business. Tarnish his reputation. She held him in the palm of her hands. He was hers.

Armoring herself with the strap-on made the farmer feel powerful. Formidable. Like she could conquer the world with a silicone cock. But plowing a vulnerable shopkeep was good enough, especially with how he sighed and jerked when the cold lube made contact with his asshole. And the way he tensed and subsequently melted as her fingers circled the ring of muscle and pressed inside, stretching him  just  enough. And the way he squealed when she replaced her fingers with his favorite dildo, short and shallow thrusts slowly giving way to long and deep strokes, stoking the embers in his belly until he practically sobbed beneath her.

"Sweetie – ah!  I'm gonna – I need to come soon. Please… please let me come."

He was being so good for her, asking for permission. Grunts and gasps escaped him with each thrust, and she quickened her pace, wrapping her hands around the front of his thighs, pounding into him with as much force as she could leverage. It was exhausting, and, not for the first time, she was glad she wasn't a full-time dick haver.

"Tell me I'm the one who owns you," she demanded, punctuating her point with another particularly rough thrust. "Tell me I'm the only one who makes you come this hard."

"Yes!" he sobbed, body taut as he held back. She hoped it was painful. "You're the only one. Fuck… please!"

"Then do it."

The cry that escaped him was inhuman, and it reverberated off the walls of the chapel like a thunderclap rolling through the valley.

-----

The guilt never settled over Pierre until the afterglow burned to soft embers, and he was tasked with cleaning up his mess while the farmer redressed. They'd sung this song and danced this dance many times over, but he was always struck by how transactional it felt once the fog had been lifted and he saw the world through the eyes of a husband and father once again.

"I'm a piece of shit," he mumbled as he shoved the black satin bag back into the locked cubby hole, concealing his dirty secret for another day.

"Yes, you are."

The farmer's tone was matter-of-fact, and he hadn't expected anything less. From here on out, they'd treat one another with subtle disdain until his shame ebbed to a dull point that no longer stabbed him in the gut like a hot poker fresh from the pits of hell. Then, she'd roll back through his life like a hurricane, destroying his sense of duty one shameful orgasm at a time.

Once the evidence of their coupling had been scrubbed away, Pierre followed the farmer back into his abandoned shop. The gloom was a bit darker now, the sun sinking low in the west, casting long shadows across the floor as it seeped through the glass door. His wife and daughter would make an appearance soon, panic seizing his heart when he spotted their silhouettes approaching in the distance. 

"Don't worry, I'll sneak out the back door in Caroline's sun room," the farmer said, picking up the bag of sugar she'd placed on the counter earlier. She actually needed it for a cake she was planning to bake for Abby's upcoming birthday. "Put this on my tab?"

Pierre simply nodded as she disappeared into the common room, his pride flush on her heels. 

The End.

[rubberstains]

lestappen secret Santa

words: 1k

pairing: max/charles

warning(s): little explicit at the end

Charles deals with his new feelings regarding Max, like Max's hair, his eyes, his hands... Whilst an oblivious Max receives a funny secret Santa. They're both idiots.

Charles felt like he was always chasing Max, scurrying after the trail Max’s tenacious shoulders had cleared. When Charles’ hair flopped down into his eyes, they had karted against each other, but Max was first to progress into Formula One. Charles chased him, joined Ferrari, and felt the ever-present weight of expectations gnawing at his muscles just like Max surely had. 

But every time Charles would spy the angled eyebrows and pursed lips, the icy blue stare, Max seemed to be unfazed.

The impulsive snap of his jaws mellowed after his first championship. The frostiness in his eyes melted, darting pupils seeking out Charles in the paddock. He would gaze unabashedly at Charles, squinting in facile joy, relentlessly littering fleeting touches along the grooves of Charles’ back and waist. Max’s long fingers easily engulfed him, broad palm a steady, heavy weight on Charles’ skin.

So Max occupied Charles’ thoughts in a different way. No longer did he have to swallow down the ugly bile of jealousy clawing up his throat. Or lock away the frustration accumulating into incessant throbbing headaches. 

Charles would flinch awake, chest heaving, skin glistening under the pale moonlight that sneaked through flailing curtains. He could only remember a vague blur of his dreams; the golden flash of skin emphasised by the intense embrace of sunlight, the murky gradient of blues, and a blase rasp of laughter. 

He would fling the damp sheets off his body and rub his thighs together to confirm the stickiness painted along his skin. Blood would rush through his head like sand grains in a timer. He stripped off his underwear, silk boxers ruined, and carelessly chucked them into a laundry bin. A cold shower eased the erratic gush of blood in his heart. He’d flick the switch for the fan off, then the lights, hastily rub a towel over his body, and trundle back to a sheet-less bed and fall asleep. It became a routine that Charles found himself having to repeat at least twice a month. 

The sexual frustration was beginning to rattle Charles and his ability to function normally. A track walk became precarious, eyes itching to spot a glimpse of any Red Bull team members so he could avoid them. Max’s pallid, calloused fingers grazed the fine hair on the back of Charles’ neck. Max’s frame caged Charles in inadvertently, the sharp lines of his jaw and nose daring Charles to move away. 

Charles felt his dick twitch in his pants whenever he replayed that particular memory. He squeezed his eyes shut almost painfully, reopening them when pulsing patterns of white and black swam under his eyelids.

A woman handed him a bright, childish Santa hat which he pulled over his ears. Her hair was brown with streaks of blonde that reminded Charles of—

“Alright. Ready to find out who you’re going to be secret Santa for?” A nondescript crew member behind the camera asked, handing over a pouch with strips of paper inside.

Charles tentatively reached inside and grabbed the first piece of paper he could.

His eyes wrinkled subconsciously. His lips parted to emit a light, disbelieving giggle. 

“Max Verstappen,” he said, still laughing, unable to mask the glee blooming across his face. 

xxx

Thanks for the gift mate. Haha! Loved it.

The text was so Max, breezy and sincere all at once. Pierre had told him Max had asked for his Whatsapp so he could thank Charles for his present. 

When the video finally came out, a few days before Christmas, Charles was hunched over in his bed, sheets messily drawn around him like a nest. He turned the brightness up on his laptop and sunk back into his pillows. 

Max’s Santa hat rested atop his Red Bull cap, of course, and his erupting throaty laughter as he ripped open the wrapping paper and saw a photoshopped Charles tripled across the cover of the F1 video game, made Charles pause the video and collect himself. 

Max’s lengthy fingers delicately cradled the Ferrari notecard, turning it over and laughing that raspy, breathy chuckle of his. "For my biggest fan" he read out, voice delectable. The combination made Charles distinctly aware of the prickly sensation dancing above his skin. 

What he did next Charles was not proud of. He dragged his hoodie over his head in one rapid pull. The heater whirring through Charles’ apartment did little to alleviate the balmy flush of his chest.

The video, forgotten on Charles’ laptop, had ended. Charles manoeuvered his laptop off his lap so it lay to his left. 

With his right hand, he rubbed loose circles on his naval. With his left he replayed a section of the video, chewing on his lip as he concentrated on how tight Max’s shirt was around his upper arms. 

Charles snaked his hand under his boxers and hissed at the dry scrape of skin against skin. He’d been hard since the first viewing of Max’s portion of the video. He gathered the pre-cum that had accumulated at his tip and used it to soothe the glide of his hand. 

Max’s section ended and Charles dutifully rewound to play it back. He briefly wondered if he should try and loop it. 

Charles’ groan snagged on his throat, hand working faster as Max giggled again, eyes narrowing until they were two arched slivers of blue. 

Charles could not help his eyes fluttering shut as he spilled into his hand, the image of Max in a stupid red hat and navy team shirt burned into his eyelids. The whisper of Max’s name curled around Charles’ tongue. 

Dick barely softened, Charles smacked his laptop shut and stretched for his phone. He unlocked it and located Whatsapp. Max’s profile picture glared at Charles like he knew what the Monegasque had just done. His face erupted into a shade resembling vermillion. The colour bled through to his neck and sweat-covered chest. 

Charles swallowed the guilt. It instead settled in his gut. 

With his clean hand, he slowly typed out a message.

Hey Max. Would you like to go to Jimmyz tonight with Pierre and me?

His phone buzzed with Max's reply as he was crumpling dirty tissues.

Yeah sure. See u tonight.

[satoshi-mochida]

‘Modern retro stealth action’ game Spy Drops announced for Switch, PC - Gematsu

Publisher Rainy Frog and developer Rainy Night Creations have announced “modern retro stealth action” game Spy Drops for Switch and PC (Steam).

Here is an overview of the game, via its Steam page:

About

Modern retro stealth action. Experience PlayStation generation, low-polygon, 3D stealth action updated with modern effects such as lighting and shadows, randomly generated levels, modern equipment, and head-to-head local multiplayer.

Story

An eco-terrorist organization is threatening to plunge the world into digital darkness, wiping out all digital records and sending the world back to the stone age. As a member of the counter terrorist Spy Drops team you are tasked with neutralizing the threat, but soon begin to question the mission objectives and uncover a deeper conspiracy.

Covert Black Ops

Dropped behind enemy lines, your covert ops are to infiltrate infrastructure and undertake secret ops that includes gathering intel, installing spy devices and rescuing prisoners.

Randomized Missions

Mission layouts are randomly generated producing a tense gameplay experience as you never know what is around the next corner. Everyone’s game will be different.

Tackle the Mission Your Way

Explore enemy bases room-by-room, choosing how to tackle each one. You can dodge, hack or shot cameras, knock out or kill guards, stick to the mission objective or explore further. Scout the area first with a drone, hide in lockers, or even use sponge boots to move around quieter. Stealth is always rewarded and you will earn more experience for not killing and remaining undetected. You select what equipment to take on each mission, choosing from a range of items and weapons such as drones, hacking devices, night vision googles, sniper rifles, taser guns, mine detectors and many more. New equipment is researched and added as the game progresses.

Dream Catcher

Accumulate Target Points by extracting intel from unconscious guards using the Dream Catcher. You cannot extract any intel from dead bodies so always avoid killing when possible.

Level Up

Gain experience to level up your stats including health, stamina, aiming accuracy and luck.

Spy Against Spy

Go up against a friend in local head-to-head multiplayer!

Key Features

Nostalgic, low-polygon, 3D stealth action.

Randomized mission layouts, enemies and items.

Modern effects including real time lighting and shadows, changing times of day and varying weather conditions.

Choose what equipment to take and how to tackle each mission.

Tense stealth action with enemies that can see your shadow and hear your footsteps.

Original character designs by acclaimed Japanese studio ArtePiazza.

An intriguing story of cyber terrorism set in modern-day, exploring the challenges of the world adapting to new resources and technologies including AI.

Go up against a friend in local head-to-head multiplayer with spy against spy!

Three distinctively different environments: Military base, jungle and desert, each with different areas, obstacles and challenges.

Elaborate boss fights!

Watch the announcement trailer below. Visit the official website here.

Announce Trailer

[paxesoterica]

Some Thoughts About the First 3 Episodes of Mobile Suit Gundam [0079] Part 2

*Spoiler warnings again for both Mobile Suit Gundam and The Witch from Mercury.

*I forgot to mention this in Part 1, but the first time I saw Amuro in animation isn't 0079, but was instead the time he met Hello Kitty, who proceeded to transform his enemies into super deformed versions of themselves:

*And yes, you should watch this, even if you know absolutely *nothing* about Hello Kitty or Gundam (or, perhaps especially if you know nothing). Incidentally, super deformed (SD) Gundams have a long history in the franchise, so what Hello Kitty does isn't even that weird for Gundam (just imagine if she met Suletta instead, and transformed Aerial).

*Another thing I forgot to mention, was that the show's pretty competent about transitions: the Zeon's soldiers earlier were scouting Side 7 via binoculars, which led to them spying Fraw's buggy and switching to her perspective, and her discussion with Amuro about his dad incidentally transitions to scenes with the folks working on Side 7's secret military projects. While the titular Gundam is one of those projects, it's not the only one: I've mentioned before that several characters will be joining White Base, which is a new battleship the Earth Federation has been constructing:

*Shiny! And yes, very toyetic, though I'm growing to get very annoyed at people who refer to Gundam shows as toy commercials as a pejorative about their storytelling quality (some folks have been especially fond of talking about Witch from Mercury that way, and always for the same reason).

*Aboard White Base, we get to meet Amuro's dad, Lieutenant Tem Ray.

*The book he's reading is the instruction manual on how to pilot the Gundam, which I believe was written either partially or in whole by him (yes, this will be important shortly). The other guy with him is Bright Noa.

*So, Bright is rather (in)famous for slapping Amuro at least once during Gundam (maybe more?), so much that there's memes about it, and that, along with the fact that he's a captain, is probably one of the first things you'll hear about him. However, this is an excellent example of how memes decontextualize stories, and fun though they can be, can give you an extremely wrong impression. See, when I first heard 'Captain Bright Noa slaps Amuro for insubordination', it gave me a rather negative impression of him, since it sounded like a military officer flexing his rank against a kid who was drafted into battle (and understandably not okay with this). But if you actually *watch* 0079:

*It turns out Bright is only a few years older than Amuro, and is very much a teen himself who's only been in the military for half a year. Meaning the only way he's becoming a captain anytime soon is if he's the highest ranking officer who's not dead or incapacitated.

*In short, yes, Bright Noa using physical force against Amuro still isn't a good thing, but this is also very much the story of (essentially) someone who'd normally be a freshman at college being put in charge of a bunch of high-school-aged kids in a life-or-death situation and finding himself a bit in over his head, so I'm inclined to be a bit more sympathetic than I might otherwise.

*I really like this scene, even though I find it sad. Tem is very clearly talking to Bright here, but the camera notably focuses on Amuro, and it's pretty good foreshadowing if you didn't know Amuro was getting in the Gundam. With the passage of time, this scene has also taken on a layer of dramatic irony as well.

*I'm also not sure what to make of Tem from this scene. He seems friendly enough to Bright, and seems distressed about the idea of kids like his son fighting in wars, so he doesn't really come off as someone bad (except for the naive belief that you can build a weapon strong enough to end war, of course). While Amuro and Miorine seem to have a bit in common, I'm not sure yet how much that's true of Tem and Delling, aside from being military officers who want to protect their children, since Tem doesn't really seem like the sort of guy who'd authorize the UC equivalent of the Vanadis Incident. I'll have to mull this one over a bit more.

*It seems that unfortunately the White Base was followed by a Zeon ship, which was where the Zaku pilots were dispatched from, which segues into the audience meeting this guy:

*Char Aznable, whose very first lines instantly reminded me of this exchange between Belmeria Winston and Prospera Mercury:

*Char is is quite possibly the most (in)famous Gundam character, to the point that he's featured in commercials for cars and fast food (in Japan at least), and, of course, a number of memes. An examination of Gundam as a whole will reveal that many shows feature at least one mask-bearing antagonist or rival, who's typically manipulative and/or vengeful, and all of them can be traced back to Char. While I will be mentioning points of similarity between him and Prospera, I honestly feel like the connection between these two is by far the most obvious, and that it might be more worthwhile to discuss the ways in which they differ.

*Case in point. In addition to having unusual perspectives on luck (likely influenced by their high levels of confidence), Char and Prospera also have a good grasp of tactics, and are generally skilled at predicting opponents and choosing good moves to counteract them (though they are not always completely successful).

*Their attitude toward subordinates is also noteworthy. Prospera doesn't have a lot of interactions with her Shin Sei staff, but her calmly interrupting the one in the screenshots above (during the stress of the attack on Plant Quetta no less) is the rudest I've ever seen her act toward any of her them. In general, she seems to be a congenial boss who doesn't seem to get angry at her employees for disagreeing with her, a trait Char seems to share with how he treats his followers (so far anyway), and which is probably remarkable to me due to how often I see antagonists act like jerks to people loyal to them. Of course, both Char and Prospera are also known for manipulating people close to them, so how much this might be an act versus how much they genuinely care about others is ambiguous (and, admittedly, makes them interesting characters to observe).

*Char's mention of mobile suits shifts the scene back to the three Zeon pilots from the start, and one of them, Gene, decides that spying on the mobile suit project isn't enough, and opens fire.

*Amuro leaves the shelter to look for his father, and has his first encounter with a mobile suit.

*Anyone who's seen all of Witch from Mercury will already be aware that, leaving aside any armaments, the sheer size of a mobile suit is already incredibly dangerous to a human, as the Zaku simply taking a step knocks Amuro around a bit and prompts him to get in the buggy he and Fraw were in and drive.

*Amuro finds some soldiers and asks for help, but they meet a very abrupt end:

*You have absolutely seen shots like these before in anime, but I recently learned that they're typically referred to as postcard memories, a technique pioneered by Osamu Dezaki back in the early 70s, and since made ubiquitous. It's use is particularly interesting here for a couple reasons, the first being that MSG was made less than a decade after Dezaki started using this animation technique, meaning it would still feel relatively 'new' to audiences at the time. This shot also experiments by including some more traditionally animated objects in the scene, namely the transparent books and papers flying forward on the left side.

*The other reason, is that typically these were shots shown (at the time they were first used at least) to mark a transitional point, either narratively or in a character's arc, and while my knowledge of 70s anime is currently impoverished, I think Gundam may have been among the earliest to use this in such a tragically violent way (possibly beaten out by The Rose of Versailles since that also came out in '79, but I'm not familiar enough with that one to be sure). In any case, this a transitional shot, as it marks Amuro's first encounter with the horror and death caused by war, and the end of his childhood.

*This is a rather somber note to leave on, but at least next time we'll be finally seeing the eponymous Gundam, so hopefully that's somewhat comforting.

...to be continued in Part 3

[kpop-stories-21]

Duty | Prelude: Kyungshi

Group: SuperM

Pairing: ??? x Fem!OC

Word Count: 439

Rating: 18-21+

Genres, Tropes, & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Secret Agent/Spy AU, Good vs Evil, Colleagues to Lovers, Angst

Content & Trigger Warnings: Agent!Reader, Agent!SuperM, kpop companies as agent companies, mentions of past death, violence, guns, blood, death, murder

Summary: Kyungshi finishes an assignment and receives news that sets everything in motion

General tags: @kpop---scenarios @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @bxffietheblxxdy

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet | @cultofdionysusnet

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Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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Jun Kyungshi exhaled softly as she tiptoed through the darkened car park, taking care not to trip while still keeping an eye on her target.

The man she followed was 27-year-old Kim Yugyeom, a former JYP agent. Yugyeom, along with the rest of his agent group GOT7, had gone rouge a few months earlier. The seven men had then split up, taking on solo missions as assassins, bounty hunters, and other similar dirty jobs.

Yugyeom's current occupation was that of a "janitor" for a local gang; that is, he cleaned up loose ends by bribing people in power and killing allies who were likely to spill their secrets.

His most recent job had been securing the death of Taeyeon, a solo agent working undercover for SM, the very agency that Kyungshi was under. Kyungshi had been a close friend of the older woman, and was devastated to hear of her death. The Boss had not objected to Kyungshi going after Yugyeom, so there she was.

Yugyeom froze suddenly, and Kyungshi cursed mentally as he began speaking to someone through what was obviously an earpiece. A quick glance at her surroundings showed a single security camera that was fixed on her. Damnit, how could I have been so careless?! She berated herself.

Deciding to act while she still had some element of surprise, she stood to her feet and leapt forward, clearing the large Volvo in front of her in one smooth motion. Out of its holster came her beloved .32 mm Glock, a silencer attached to the barrel. She lined up her shot and fired quickly.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three shots echoed through the silent night air. Yugyeom turned, gazing at Kyungshi in shock, and for a moment she feared that she had missed. But then she saw the rapidly growing patches of crimson that stained his white button-up, and she allowed herself a small smile as the older man crumpled to the ground without a word.

She fired off a fourth shot, destroying the camera that had followed her movements before it could record her face. Then she climbed into her own black BMW and sped away from the scene.

As she drove, she switched on her own earpiece and spoke. "Agent Jun reporting mission accomplished."

The static-laced voice of her friend Selgui responded immediately. "Good work Agent Jun. The Boss has summoned you to headquarters, so you'd best clean up and head straight there."

Kyungshi frowned. Usually the boss only called on agents when something bad happened. "What happened Selgui?"

Selgui's voice was soft and sad as she replied "Hybe has struck again."

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