#another rabbit hole to go down

[brokenpieces-72]

Task Force 141 gangster! X f!reader

Started with a Tagger

You can do this…you can do this… you’ve done this before… in a classroom…

You stood there in front of a bare brick wall holding a spray paint can and debating what to do. This was undercover, you wouldn’t get caught by cops, only the thugs in the area. You had the go ahead from the chief and inspector Graves was getting into just as much, if not more trouble than you would be. It was part of the plan. Go undercover, get close with the gang members, find their main boss and evidence of their crimes, and you might actually be taken seriously at the precinct! Simple, easy, nothing to worry about… except your cowardice goody two shoes attitude! It was just paint. You’d done this before. You just had to paint on their turf and they would come looking for you. Then everything was a piece of cake. Right?

You pulled up your scarf and raised the paint can again, ready to spray. Wait, had to shake it first. There was something you already had in mind to paint, ready to get started. You lower the paint can again. Maybe you should try a different spot? An alley would keep you hidden from your fellow officers, but it also meant you were in danger of any of the street gangs coming up and chasing you away. If you were fast enough to get away.

You set down the spray can and reached into your back pack, pulling out chalk and a notebook where you scribbled some ideas of what you would paint. Plot it out first, make symbols to better map where each colour and line will go. Chalk can wash off, build yourself up to it. You zipped up your brown leather coat and pulled down on your dark red beanie. One step at a time. A few symbols at a time, using your notebook as reference. Don’t worry about the gang. Just engaging in a hobby. One step at a time…. That’s what your father told you.

“You tryna summon somethin lass?” You heard someone ask behind you making you whip around. Casually, leaning against the wall wearing a leather jacket, old jeans and fingerless gloves was a man with a mohawk trying to light a cigarette. He looks up at you with his eyes, while still flicking the lighter.

“Uh…n-no…” you said. You knew who he was based on the description and police sketches they had on file. John MacTavish, or Soap. He’s a big name on the streets, second only to Simon Riley, the supposed leader of the gang. Now here you were faced to face with him. He’s known for roughing up officers, and giving them a hard time during general procedures. They didn’t have any evidence to convict him of anything, or at least not enough. Now here he was struggling with a lighter, and cursing under his breath.

“H-hang on.” You set down your things before digging into your bag and taking out your father’s old lighter. You stood in front of Soap and lit his smoke for him. He took a drag and blew it away from your face.

“Thank ya. So wha are ya doin?” He asks.

“Plotting.” You said, closing the light and shoving your hands in your pockets. Stay loose and relaxed, don’t act afraid, don’t give away the fact you’re trying to get him arrested.

“Plotting? Oh I see.” He gives you a sarcastic smile, waiting for you to go on.

“Yeah, I use the symbols and match them up to the sketch,” you say getting your notebook to show him. “That way I can make the painting without making too many mistakes, and don’t get the sizing wrong.”

John took the notebook and looks at it. He had to admit you were good.

“And ya decided ta do it on my turf?” He asked with a raised brow. You shifted where you were standing a bit.

“Y-yeah…so what? Free wall, free space.” You said shrugging with your hands in your pockets again. You made slight glances to either side of the alley, making sure no one else was around. John smirked at your attitude.

“Free wall… on my turf.” He pointed out again, before taking another drag. This time he blew it towards your face. You wince but try to hide it.

“You gonna do something about it?” You asked. Yeah great idea, offer yourself up to get beaten up and get him arrested for that… with how many broken bones? He chuckles at your taunt.

“Yer adorable ya know that?” He says. Before you could sputter a response he pushes off the wall, and steps closer to you. “Ya hungry?” He asks.

“What? Uhm… a little.” You said shrugging.

“Come on then.” He walks off further into the alley. At first you stand there watching him. Then he calls back, “Quit enjoying the view, come on.”

You grab your stuff and shove it into your backpack, and run after him, falling in stride next to him while you struggle with your backpack.

“You live round ere?” He asks. You nod. “John MacTavish by the way.” He says offering a hand to shake.

You shake it. “Y/N L/N.”

“L/N?” He repeats. Maybe you shouldn’t have given your full name. Or at least given a fake one. You nod. And he looks forward again, as if forgetting the whole word. “There’s a nice diner close by. Get you something to eat.”

“Th-thanks.” You said. Wasn’t expecting him to be this friendly. He takes you to the diner and sits you down, talking as if you were new friends. You hadn’t expected it to go this way. Though you weren’t sure you were in the woods yet.

“So what’s a nice kid like you doing out ere tagging walls?” He asked, slouching in the booth seat across from you. You lowered your head faking shame, while also trying to think of a reason.

“Got rejected… keep getting rejected.” You said, rubbing your neck. “Galleries, shows, schools… work. Everyone sees me as just some, y’know, naive tagger. Just want to be taken seriously.”

“It takes time.” John said. You’ve heard that one before, too many times. You sat back and looked at him.

“It takes too long! I know what I’m doing! I know what I’m capable of! No one gives me a chance! I can prove myself, but how am I gonna do that if no one lets me!” You said. There was some repressed emotion behind that. You sigh and look down playing with your hands. Emotions weren’t very professional in the force. “Sorry… didn’t mean for that you come out.”

“I ge it.” John said sitting up. “You ave to keep searchin for those chances.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” You said.

“Good. If ya don finish yer work someone’ll think yer summonin somethin.” John teased. You smiled back. Soap told you to go to home and finish the spray paint tomorrow. In return you offered to buy him dinner tomorrow. Fair deal. Soap watched as you walked away, heading back to your apartment, before texting his boss.

Soap finds his boss, who’s sitting in an old beat up apartment crouching near the corner when Soap walks in. Soap stays quiet, not wanting to bother him.

“Quit yer skulking MacTavish.” said a low British voice. His boss turned his head slightly to ensure it was him.

“Wanted to giv ya some privacy sir.” John said stepping further into the room. Ghost stood up and turned to his right hand man. Soap leaned over to see a small cat licking at a small saucer.

“Your message was vague. What did ya find?” Ghost asked, stretching a little and wandering to the kitchen while removing his hoodie. Soap stepped over to the bar counter, sitting on of the stool while Ghost got them both a drink.

“Need to see Price.” John said, setting his phone on the table.

“Yeah I know that, what for? And since when do you tell me first? Not your dad.” Ghost comments, adjusting his balaclava to take a sip of his drink.

“Price woulda told ya anyways. Easier to tell ya first.” He sips his drink.

“Out with it.” Ghost orders.

“L/N.” Soap looks into his bosses dark eyes.

“They’re dead Soap.”

“Not all of em.” Soap says with a cheeky smirk. Ghost tilts his head intrigued. Soap opens his phone and shows him a photo of you he took while you were setting up in the alley. Ghost takes the phone, examining the photo.

“They’re a tagger Soap, wha of it.” Ghost says shrugging it off, and returning the phone.

“I wone tell Price than.” Soap responded, shrugging nonchalant. There’s quiet between them while Ghost considers the information. You could be useful. Laswell should already know, but Price hasn’t said anything about you. Your presence may be unknown to even Laswell which was certainly impressive.

“Tell Price.” Ghost says. Soap nods and holds up his drink. Ghost toasts him. Things were about to get interesting.

[lichqueenlibrarian]

CALL A RABBIT A SMEERP?

diane

[sysig]

Two skeletons in a trench lab coat (Patreon)

Bonus:

He’s very careful! Everything was fine before you interrupted!

[raapija]

They did everything in their power to fruitify F1 and it's not talked about enough

[gilbirda]

"Can't find a fic that hits all the good spots and now you are opening a new Word Document with ideas" Moodboard

[tetzoro]

the day the earth stood still is the day i felt your presence leave it, and then every day after that.

[somereaderinblue]

Haven't fully gotten into Revolutionary Girl Utena yet but from what I've found out, I need to ask.

Is it just me or are there a lot of eerie parallels between Vash & Anthy?

TW: brief but non-graphic mentions of violence, SA & abusive relationships

Like, the big round glasses & red color scheme? The fact that both put on a smiling facade to hide the (rage and) agony they choose to bear out of a tragic sense of responsibility & repentance? How both have become desensitised to the casual violence inflicted on their bodies & psyche? The sense of devotion & loyalty towards someone/thing that's never stable? That they're seen as weapons & vessels instead of people?? The allegories for SA, lack of autonomy, the isolation, the abusive sibling, etc.???

Trigun RGU AU wHEN-

[sometinysludge]

What the hell is mouthwashing, and who is this loser jimmy?

[red-moon-at-night]

The Trojan Horse/La guerra di Troia (1961)

Ignore the complete mischaracterisation of Helen and the inaccuracy of events, you need to see this sequence of how Paris dies. It's absolutely WILD.

[sengokubasara3]

the eternal sore spot that is namagomi

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

💀B O R L A N D & D U R S T🧢

[brokenpieces-72]

Task force 141 gangster! X f!reader

Right. Right?

This is part 2. Part 1 is here.

TW/CW: Mentions of deceased family, power abuse, discipline, shaming, let me know if there’s anything else

It had been about a month of you working with Soap and his gang, meeting a couple of others and doing some more graffiti. You can’t lie, making some graffiti that took shots at your so-called peers, was nice. All the while you took note of anything and everything you did with Soap and other thugs. You reported it all in and eventually Graves made his way into the gang himself. Any interaction you two had was kept as strangers. Until you retired for the night. Then he was at your apartment ready for a report. Everything was scribbled down and noted, and you’d either hand him the papers or relay it verbally.

One night it was pouring and despite Soap offering to let you stay the night at one of the hideouts you insisted on returning to your own apartment. You ran quickly through the cold freezing fall rain. Maybe staying with Soap couldn’t hurt. Simple text to Graves letting him know of a change in plans. No. Rain or shine you were determined to prove you could handle anything. As you walked through the alleys you came across a large crouching figure, and a mangy cat. The figure petting the cat, while trying to keep it dry with an umbrella. You’d heard about Simon Riley before but never brought him up with Johnny. Too much risk of blowing your cover. Now here he was petting a stray cat. Softer than you had given him credit for. The cat noticed you watching though, and before could turn and see you, you bolted. The last person you wanted to suspect you of anything was Ghost.

You arrived at your apartment, tired, wet and cold. You opened the door and saw Graves inside waiting and pacing.

“The hell have you been?” He asked, southern accent strong as always.

“I got held up. Sorry.” You said taking off your bag.

“Report?” He asked.

“Can I change first?” You asked.

“No.” Graves orders. He’s barely wet himself, likely took his own car to get to your place.

“There’s nothing to report. Same as before.” You explained.

“There’s something to report. Where did ya go, what did ya do today, who did ya talk to?” Graves asked and you felt your body and patience saying, ‘done’.

“I met two other gangsters, Alejandro Vargas and Rudolfo Parra. They mentioned medicine but didn’t go into much detail, not enough to confirm drug trafficking. We had a few meals, and they asked me about doing another art bomb.”

“You getting paid for it?” Graves asked.

“No. I offered.” You closed your eyes as you realize that you let it slip. If you were getting paid they could get an arrest. But offering…

“You offered to vandalize for them? Are you fucking kidding me Y/N?” Graves is pissed. “This isn’t an art exhibition this is an investigation, get that through your fucking head!”

“It gets me closer to them.” You exclaim. “If I offer services for free they don’t question it, they think I’m a street artist.”

“You’re a glorified tagger and you have been at this for month with nothing to fucking show for it!”

“And you do?” You asked. Emotions took over before you could stop it. Graves was in the same boat as you. But he was also your superior. He marched up to you getting in your face.

“Watch your fucking mouth sergeant, or the next time you’re on the streets you’ll be begging for change. Understand me?”

“Yes sir.” You said quietly.

“You want to prove yourself so much I’ve given you that chance. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Yes sir.” You repeated.

He opened the door to your apartment to leave before saying, “You make your father look like joke being his kid…”

Graves slammed the door closed and you stood there. You’re dripping on the floor for a few minutes before you go to the bathroom and get yourself cleaned up, hanging your wet clothes to dry and taking a warm shower, before curling up in your bed. You sit there for a moment, and think about what Graves said.

“You make your father look like a joke being his kid.”

You sniffle, wiping your tears.

Your father was a great man and a great cop. He was a greater dad. When he passed you felt that becoming a cop was the only way to honour him. Following in his footsteps put a great deal of expectations on you. Ones you never seemed to reach. Graves was your father’s partner. At first you felt he was keeping you safe, not wanting to lose his late partner’s kid. Now you weren’t so sure.

You feel your phone buzz and it’s a text from Soap.

S: Hey kid, you get home okay?

Y: Got drenched. Took a shower, warming up.

S: If you get sick, text me. I’ll bring some food over.

Y: That’s okay I have food.

S: Can’t wait to see what you come up with for the Los Voqueros. Nite.

Y: nite.

You lay back in bed, and think for a bit. You have to remind yourself that Soap is a criminal. He has to be. The police were doing justice. You were doing justice… but you aren’t. You’re running around with criminals, doing art commissions.

You needed to step up. You needed answers.

“Alejandro?” Rudolfo called over his boss, from his computer. Alejandro looked over his shoulder.

On the screen was your file. Your police file. Alejandro cursed under his breath.

[vikingpoteto]

Me core

[giftedpoison]

no cause we can shit talk tiktok all we want but oh my god what creators are doing with Operation Olive Branch is living in my head.

A creator by the name of Erin Hattamer started doing a "pass the hat" thing where content creators can fill out a form and they'll be assigned a Palestinian family's go fund me and their entire job is to keep posting about that family until they meet the money goal.

and I have seen so many goals being met???

And like at first Erin was reaching out to major content creators to try to get people on board, but after those first couple she got so many people willing to continuously help and "adopt" more families after they reach the goal.

And on top of that her and a lot of creators are donating all their tiktok earnings, and taking donations on their venmos to then send to gofundmes (some people can't afford the five dollar minimum) and those doing that are genuinely showing proof of where that money is going.

And it is so fucking wholesome and it's made it a lot easier to manage than looking at a spreadsheet and getting decision paralysis. Now I can just boost videos I see and donate where I can

[thee-morrigan]

me: okay! time to finish this chapter you've been 2/3 of the way through for 40932 years!

also me: *research side quest* *research side quest* *research side quest*

[bookwyrminspiration]

she doesn't know. oh my god she doesn't know that in two decades dozens of people will be debating the ass size of a silly little man that came from her head

(this is Shannon Messenger in 2000. yeah I know if you look it up it says she was born in 1990-91 so she'd theoretically only be 10 but I've double checked several times and places this is 100% from 2000. she's never disclosed it herself and the internet is lying about her birthday. this photo is from May, 2000. i can show my work)