#big masked military armed men can do whatever they want

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Maybe this is too hyper-specific but I just fucking love??? the stance??? of whumpee lying on the ground and whumper standing over top of them???

"But Danny that's so generic--" yes, okay, but listen. Listen...I am talking about whumpee on the ground, injured, unable to get up, had probably just been crawling away before the last of their strength gave out. And then there comes whumper's legs into view. Whumpee doesn't even have the strength to look up, doesn't know if they'd even want to. And here's where the good shit comes in:

Whumper nudging Whumpee's side with their shoe like they're playfully checking if they actually died, or maybe really checking, or maybe just testing to see if there's any fight left

Whumper kicking a weapon that had been mere centimeters from Whumpee's reach, bonus points if they purposely catch Whumpee's hand under their foot and bear their weight down

Whumper using their heel to kick Whumpee's shoulder and force them to roll over on their back, now forcing them to look up and see Whumper (plus the beautiful imagery of Whumper leering down at them while Whumpee is symbolically beneath them...*chef's kiss*)

Whumper straddling their feet on either side of Whumpee's hips, or chest, or head; anything to have them confined between Whumper's legs from where they stand

Whumper suddenly dropping down into a crouch when Whumpee had only been able to look at their shins before, startling them, now hyperaware how close Whumper has made themself to accommodate this new position

Whumper instead continuing to go about their business, completely ignoring Whumpee on the ground, who can now only helplessly watch their retreating form as Whumper carries out whatever they originally had planned before Whumpee got in the way

Whumper stepping on fresh wounds, stepping on Whumpee's neck to choke them, stepping on Whumpee's head and holding their foot in place until they're done speaking whatever it is they want to say

Whumper that asks "are you done?" "that's it?" "so, was it worth it?" because if Whumpee is already at their feet, they might as well grovel a little

[riverbutghost]

Why?

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon made it clear that he disliked you. But after you were captured by the enemy, he decided that was far from the truth.

Warnings: Military stuff (wounds, blood etc.), Slight sexual themes, violence, detailed descriptions of torture but not too much. (I don’t know if I’ve missed anything else. The italics are flashbacks btw.

Masterlist

“Ты говоришь на р��сском языке?” do you speak Russian?

You tried to catch your breath while the two men were talking in Russian. A cold water was thrown at you.

“посмотри на нее, она такая американка. я чувствую его запах.” He scrunched up his face and looked at you with disgust. look at her, she’s so American I can smell it.

“Aren’t you going to beg, my dear?” He patted your head a little while smiling like a maniac. The Russian accent was so strong that you asked yourself if you knew Russian.

“Aww, she’s such a cutie with a crying face. I love making little girls cry.”

Your face scrunched up and you looked down, not letting them see your tears anymore. It was embarrassing for you, a soldier who was known for her strong facade on the field. But only on the field, they used to say. You smile a lot, lass, Soap used to say. Now you wondered if you were going to see him again.

“Well, either way we will keep you until you die, sweetheart. Take care, Милая.” darling.

The other man smirked and they both got out of the room.

You couldn’t remember what had happened, but you were taken by the Russians.

Your head was pounding and the punch you received from the guy who had called you disgusting pet names was dreadful.

You wiggled your arms, wiggled your neck but no. They weren’t even ropes. They were metal bars. They had pinned your arms, legs and neck to a metal bar.

You were sure you were going to die here.

Suddenly, you remembered your lieutenant’s words from earlier.

He had said, “don’t leave my side. I didn’t want you in the first place but they gave you to me so do as I say. Also, I don’t want to hear you chitchat.”

It hurt you a little, pinched your already broken heart. But you knew better than getting sad. He was Ghost, always mean, always bored. He only joked around with Soap, which was a rare sight. You promised to yourself that whatever he would say, you were going to befriend him. But that didn’t end up like that.

It was rare for you. Usually you would get along with anyone, but Ghost was different. From the beginning, he would always make you feel small, making little comments about how you had a big mouth and he knew how to shut it and blah blah blah which made your face flush.

You were starting to get him though. Or so you thought.

-

“You know I don’t care what you say, right?”

Your shoulders slumped a little. But your smile came back.

“Well, I don’t care either. That makes us a good team.”

You smiled at him sweetly. Like a child who got what they wanted. He gripped the folders harder.

“Stop smiling and get these papers to Price.”

You kept smiling and took the papers from him.

“We will be friends eventually, sir.”

“I hope not.” He mumbled, making you chuckle a little.

-

You were always hurt after talking to him, but sucked it up eventually.

He had his issues. He knew better to trust a new soldier. But you were insistent. He was insistent either.

“Are you okay?”

He tensed at you sudden voice, eyes dropping at your soft tone.

“Yes, is there a problem?”

You bit your cheek.

“Why are you so persistent about this?”

He was taken aback by your question. He turned towards you, his skull mask was on.

“What?”

You gripped your blade harder. It was one of those ‘nightmare’ nights. You couldn’t sleep and thought it would be easier to clean your blades. You should’ve known better.

“You try so hard to ignore me or shut me up.”

His eyes were staring right at yours and you felt the need to remove your eyes from his.

“I don’t like bubbly people. And you talk too much, my ears can’t take it anymore.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“You’ll like me eventually-“

His sharp breath shut you up instantly.

“Why do you act like everyone likes you? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

You were taken aback by his sudden harsh words. You opened your mouth to speak, again thinking you were going to make him like you. So you said the thing that came to your mind to stop him from breaking your heart more.

“Chill dude-“

You were flushing. What the fuck was ‘chill dude’ ?

“Don’t” He stopped for a second. “don’t ‘chill dude’ me. I’m your superior and you will respect me. Understood?”

You felt your body freeze. He was making it so hard, so hard to befriend him.

“Ghost-“

“Sir, you’ll call me sir from now on.”

You looked down at you hands, trying to find something to look at.

“Yes sir.” You mumbled eventually and got up, scoffing at the tears which were threatening to fall down.

-

You still remembered the stinging feeling his words had caused you.

You stopped trying to be one of his mates. You stopped talking near him. This made everyone question why, but never asked because Ghost was never in the mood to talk.

.

Simon thought about the last time he had cared about anything. He couldn’t remember.

But you, you…

You were like a rainbow after a terrible storm. Your smile could lit up the whole world. And after just one look at your face, he knew he should distance himself and not get close to you.

But you had other plans.

After your first mission, he was sure he would get lost looking at you smile.

-

“How is your leg, sir?”

You asked him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“Fine.” He grumbled, voice vibrating through his chest. Your cheeks started getting pinker and he cursed himself.

“Can you get out and call the nurse?”

Your smile wavered a little and you finally turned around. You mumbled under your breath, he figured you were hurt by his words.

“No need to be rude, Lieutenant.”

He couldn’t help it though. You were a ball of happiness and he was overwhelmed. He couldn’t help himself.

He regretted it, but still said nothing.

-

You didn’t shut up. Ever.

Even if he said the most hurtful comment, you would still forget about it and smile at him. He sometimes questioned your ability to be happy all the time. It was a gift, he was sure.

You were a gift. He wasn’t religious at all, but after seeing you for the first time, he was sure you were a gift from above.

He fucked it up.

He should be relieved, but no. He was angry at himself for attacking you in a sort of fucked up way.

He was using his fucked up mentality to push you away, but he knew better.

Deep down, he knew why he was treating you that way. But he wouldn’t let anyone know this. Not even himself.

“We have to do something, y’know?”

Simon pushed his thoughts away and looked at his superior.

“Yeah, no shit.”

Price pressed his lips harder than usual.

“I interrogated them, they say different things.”

Simon pulled his mask down and got up. He turned towards Price.

“Then maybe you should let me interrogate them.”

Price gave a long and sharp breath.

“What will we have if you kill them?”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows. You don’t understand, he wanted to say.

“What do we have, then?” He gave up for the sake of finding you.

“4 locations, Soap searched them. They are all Russians’ and we have to be quick.”

They were more then ready to find their little sunshine. But Simon was stressed, he was freaking out.

They got ready, hopped on their truck and the mission was started.

-

You weren’t okay.

You were far from being okay.

“Oh, look at her. So sad no one is coming for you?”

You clenched your jaw, immediately regretting it because of the massive headache.

“Speak when I ask you a question, got it ?”

A noise came from your neck at the sudden blow to your cheek.

“Let’s get rid of these bars,”

Your neck suddenly fell down after the metal bar opened. You couldn’t find the strength to look at them.

He gripped your hair and jerked your head to him.

Another guy kicked your abdomen, making you whimper in pain.

“Bastards!”

The guy gripped your hair harder and smacked the back of the gun to your head.

You unintentionally whimpered again.

“What was that? You little pig.”

You were sure there was an internal bleeding in your abdomen.

“That’s enough brother, let’s eat.”

The guy kicked you again in the abdomen and the metal bars opened.

You fell down from your chair.

Your vision was blurry, you were sure you wouldn’t survive in two days. It has been so long, so long.

They were coming, you knew it. Deep down, you were wondering if Ghost was finally relieved. No one was talking his head off or cracking dirty jokes now. Was he keeping them away so you would die alone here?

You closed your eyes, shaking the ridiculous thoughts.

You were tired, so you let yourself go.

-

“Hey, be fuckin’ quiet!”

Soap gulped and apologized at his Lieutenant. He was extra angry today.

“Sir, what if she’s already dead? This would be a suicide mission then.”

Simon turned towards the recruit.

“Shut your mouth and do what you’re told, kid.”

The soldier fell silent after that. They knew better to piss Ghost off.

“Okay, get ready. In three, two… one!”

Shots were suddenly fired. The Russians were not expecting this, at this hour especially. They were on edge, but their superiors were busy having dinner.

“I’ll look inside!”

Ghost shouted, immediately followed by Soap.

The two got in, killed the guards.

It had been a fucking week, and Ghost felt pathetic to hear your voice. It effected him more than he thought it would.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going downstairs .”

Soap nodded and returned his killing.

Ghost kept his steps low, head raised high in confidence. He pushed through everything in front of him, trying to save his pain in the ass.

He pushed every door, even broke the locked ones down.

There you were, laying on the ground. Looking dead, but your back was slightly moving up and down.

He immediately scanned the room, with nothing he rushed to get you out of there.

He kneeled on his knees and turned you around carefully.

“Sir?”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re strong, sergeant.”

You smiled a little. He checked your injuries’ severity and got you on his back.

“I didn’t think I would- uh- be alive to be honest.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows.

“Bite your tongue, Sergeant. You’re one of the strongest soldiers i’ve ever met.”

You smiled a little again. Proudly you closed your eyes.

“Stay, yeah? Don’t want you to die on me, gonna get in trouble because of you.”

Your smile faltered. Here you were, naive little girl.

“Right.”

He knew he fucked up again. But his first mission was get you out of there safely.

You whimpered at the sudden pain in your abdomen.

“What’s wrong?”

Your arms tightened around his neck, not enough to hurt him.

“Hurts-“

A sudden explosion made you two flew into a wall. Ghost groaned and quickly grabbed his gun. He looked around for you.

Everything was happening too quick for his liking. He reloaded his gun and jumped up to his feet.

“No…”

He fired his gun nonstop at the men, who were trying to shoot both of you. He was actually scared for the first time.

He reached to his comm.

“Soap, fuck- come downstairs!”

He swung his gun to the man beside him and rushed to your side. He lifted you bridal style and turned his back on the men.

“Fuck,”

A bullet pierced his shoulder. He eventually put you down behind a desk, flipping the desk over to cover you.

Soap, Gaz and Price came into his view and he relaxed all of a sudden.

“Ghost?!”

Ghost put his arm up behind the desk to show them where you were.

“Are you hurt? You’re bleeding.” Gaz looked at him in concern.

“Oh, so I’m not hurt then.”

Ghost scoffed at Gaz and picked you up. Gaz rolled his eyes.

“Let’s get you two to the heli.” Price tried to pick you up, but Ghost mumbled something and pulled you to him.

“Ghost-“

Ghost brushed him off.

“Let’s go.”

It had been a week.

After multiple surgeries, you were in intensive care for give days.

The internal bleeding had caused you to lose consciousness and when you woke up in the heli, you vomited blood. On Ghost.

Ghost felt his heart beat faster at that because for a second, he thought you were dying.

You didn’t.

You were awake but still in bed. Soap came to your visit, Gaz did, Price did, even Alejandro did but Ghost didn’t.

You received a lot of gifts from recruits which made you smile. But something else was occupying your mind.

You wondered if Ghost was okay. Soap told you he was shot, said it was nothing for him.

You got up to a sitting position. Immediately holding your abdomen, you cursed. It still hurt like a bitch.

You stood up from the bed and checked the nurse. She wasn’t there so you took the chance to escape from your prison.

You were in a white oversized sweatshirt and nothing else. You weren’t wearing a bra and you thanked the nurse.

You pushed the doors open. You had forgotten the sweaty smell of the hallways. You missed it.

“What are you doing? Go back to bed.”

You flinched at your nurse’ tone and turned around to her.

“I feel good, Amanda. Please,”

Amanda sighed then nodded, allowing you to leave.

“I didn’t see you, then.”

You chuckled a bit and left.

Your mission was now to find your Lieutenant. Ghost. Simon. You never tried to call him by his actual name, knowing his temper and dislike towards you.

You felt nauseous all of a sudden. You didn’t want to find him, you didn’t want to feel unwanted and alone again. Even though your other teammates were always there for you, you wanted him. Why? You didn’t know. Or didn’t want to admit.

You took a deep breath, forgetting about your abdomen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You held your abdomen and mumbled curses.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You froze and licked your lips. That wasn’t the scenario you thought it would be. You turned to your side.

“Hi, sir.”

You smiled at him through your pain.

He was wearing his balaclava, his eyes red. You wondered why, then remembered he was shot.

“Are you okay Ghost? I heard that you were shot.”

You took a step forward. He took a step back. You pressed your lips together.

“I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“No.”

Ghost looked straight at your eyes, his bloodshot eyes looked concerning.

“Do as I say, sergeant.”

You shook your head. Not today.

“I’m okay. I wanted to see if you were okay too.”

Ghost’s eyes left yours for a second. He looked down at your abdomen.

“You’re going to open your stitches.”

Your head fell to your side slightly. He looked at you again.

“Are you, okay?” You punctuated for him to understand what you were trying to say.

He sighed.

You took four more steps towards him until you were chest to chest.

He looked defeated.

“I am.” He answered your question, eyes flickering between your mouth and your eyes.

“Can I look at your shoulder? It’s bleeding.”

Ghost furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his shoulder. He knew he shouldn’t be working out in this condition.

“Please let me help, Simon.”

His breath hitched a little, but you heard.

With a newfound courage, you took his hand and lifted it slightly with a cloud-like touch.

“I’m sweaty .” He looked at your eyes.

“It’s okay.” You smiled at him. His eyes traveled all over you and suddenly, he took your hand and started dragging you.

You gasped in shock, but didn’t say a thing. He was acting strange, you didn’t mind it.

Ghost opened the door to his room and after pulling you in, he closed the door.

“What now?” He asked out of breath. You flushed a little.

“Uhm, well. I’ll get your med kit.”

He nodded and showed you the place. He sat down onto his bed.

You came with the medkid, a little shyly.

“Take off your shirt.”

He gulped. You didn’t mean to sound so authoritatively. You helped him by lifting his arm slightly then took off the shirt.

Holy shit, you thought. He was ripped. You cleared your throat and opened the medkit.

“Just try not to move your arm.” He nodded.

You were working on his arm, but his eyes were on you. You shuddered a little feeling goosebumps all over your body. He smirked under his mask.

“I’ve never seen your face.”

“I know?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah no shit. Are you going to show me?”

He shook his head. You pursed your lips in a mock sadness.

But you felt your body freeze as he pulled your bottom lip.

You swallowed hard, forgetting about his wound. He groaned, sound vibrating through his chest. You were melting.

“Oh God, sorry.”

He pulled you on his lap, pulling your legs apart with his hand. You gasped again, feeling a sensation in your lower parts.

“Ghost-“

“Hm?”

You took a deep breath and averted your eyes from him to focus on his wound.

Quickly cleaning it up then bandaging it, you looked at him.

“I’m going to wash my hands.”

He got up with you on his lap. His hands were on you thighs and your legs were hugging his waist.

“What are you doing?”

“Never letting you go.”

You licked your lips, they suddenly felt dry.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for the way I treated you. But fuck, you are something else. Fucking pain in the ass.”

You chuckled a little and he dropped you near the sink.

“Stay with me?”

You dried your hands then turned around. He was hovering over you, and you liked it.

“Let’s sleep.”

He gulped then grabbed you up in a rush.

“Ow, be careful you ass.”

He put you on to the mattress.

“Let me make it feel good, yeah?”

All of the playfulness left your face after he had said that.

“Oh fuck.”

[sentientcave]

Fuck-ass Mohawk

Contains: Alcohol, smoking (cigarettes and cannabis), Soap being Soap, Ghost being Ghost, uninvited touching, tall fem reader

Short little thing about Johnny liking it a bit when you're a bitch to him (And Ghost likes it too)

868 Words ~ MDNI

You’d rather stay home and play board games, but Laurie had convinced everyone that it was a good night for clubbing. You hated clubs— The noise, the crowds, the smell of sweat and alcohol and hormones— and spent the better part of club nights standing outside chain-smoking, or crammed into a dirty bathroom stall holding back a friend’s hair as she threw up blue curacao because she didn’t listen to you when you told her to eat dinner before going out. Tonight didn’t look like it was going to end up with anyone puking their guts up, at least. Laurie’s flirting with a gorgeous hunk with a devastating smile, and Alex and Hannah are dancing, so you go out the side door into the alley for some fresh air. Or air, anyway, since the alley’s where folks go to smoke. You light a joint, because at least that will dull the effect that the sound is having on your head. It’s getting close to midnight, which at least means the night is almost over, so long as someone doesn’t drag you along to some weirdo’s house. “Hey, wha’s a bonnie thing like ye doin’ out here all alone?” A voice purrs in your ear. You jump, surprised that he could get so close with out you noticing him, especially once you turn and really look at him. He’s huge, not that tall, probably your height when you’re not wearing boots (You have about an inch and a half on him in your shit-kickers), but broad and way more muscled than anyone has any reason to be, wrapped in a too-tight shirt, and smiling at you, bright blue eyes fixed on yours with unnerving intensity. He pats your shoulder. “Didnae mean to scare ye, lass, just wanted to say hello.” You take a big step to the side, establishing a new bubble of personal space without him in it. “Well, hello,” you say dismissively. “Goodbye.” There’s a snort from a few meters away, a big fellow with a kn95 mask dangling on one ear, his hand up in front of his face, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. “Och, dinnae be like tha’, hen.” “Don’t like it?” you ask, glaring at him. “Go away. Plenty of girls in there’ll go for whatever all this is.” A sweeping, unimpressed glance from his boots and ripped jeans up to his stupid mohawk would usually do the trick, but it only made this fellow smile wider. “No’ enough fer ya? I can sweeten tha deal some. The big fella doesnae mind sharin’ a sweet lass with me noo and again. There’s plenty of ye ta go around.” “Johnny,” the big fellow in question says sternly. His mask is back in place, covering the lower half of his face. “Dun’t look like she’s interested.”

“Tha’s where you’re wrong, LT. She just doesna want to admit it. Hen’s got pride. Wants to make me work for it, right lass?” He winks at you. “No. Don’t like your fuck-ass mohawk.” You puff on your joint, keeping your face still while he splutters, indignant. “Fuck-ass mohawk?” he asks. “What do ye mean by tha’?” “I mean it looks like you have a contentious relationship with your father,” you say. Maybe you’re being a bit mean, but it’s always fun to take a cocky fucker down a peg or two. “I don’t fuck with men with daddy issues. Most of ‘em are cops or military lads.” The big guy— LT?— laughs aloud at that while Johnny’s still looking at you with his mouth hanging open. The side door opens, and your friends pile out, Laurie arm in arm with her hunk, and Hannah and Alex clinging to handsome fellows of their own. “There you are,” Laurie says. “We’re going back to Hannah’s. Are you coming?” “Uh. I guess.” Laurie beams at you, and looks up at her hunk. “Kyle, do you need to find your friends?” “Nah. These lads right here.” He gestures at Johnny and LT. with a grin. “Knew Ghost would be out here, and Soap’s always followin’ him around like the big puppy he is.” “Ah’m no’!” You fall into step at the rear of the group. You’ll probably head home rather than join them, but Hannah’s flat is on the way to your own. Johnny and his handler flank you, matching your stride when you slow down or speed up. Annoying. “So what, is the big guy your replacement daddy?” you ask. “Wha— No!” Johnny says hotly. “He’s just my lieutenant.” “Could be your daddy, if you like,” Ghost says, putting a heavy hand on the back of your neck. “Got a thing for caustic little cunts.” “Oh fuck off,” you say, trying to shove his hand off. His grip squeezes a little tighter, and you try to ignore the way that core clenches around nothing. You channel the heat into anger, and dig your nails into his wrist hard. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He grunts, but doesn’t seem all that affected by your claws. “Look at you, ‘issin’ and spittin’ like a puffed up alley cat. S’cute. But save it for later, eh? Don’t want you to tire yourself out too early.”

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Cafe Fare

You own a small café off base. Most of the time, you just see people hurrying through wanting a ready-made meal, a coffee, or energy drink. Then, a masked man stops in for lunch. Something fresh from the kitchen. He stops in the next day and the next. The fourth day, he drags along a flirtatious Scot who gets a head slap when the skull-faced man tires of him not ordering. They're gone the next few days, but then the skull man is back alone. The day after, the Scot, Soap, as he insists you call him, brings in another soldier. Gaz, he introduces himself as. All three men become regulars, typically dining apart when they have time. Then Gaz brings in The Captain. You never catch a name beyond that, but you quickly make another regular out of him.

It's only a few months later when a man nearly too big for the booths sits for lunch. A mask covers his face even more thoroughly than Ghost, the name you have finally wheedled out of your masked man. The others shoot glares at this new man, and he retreats behind a menu. When you take his order, you smile just as wide as you do for those regulars, and he seems to relax. Especially when you call him Sugar, Dear or Honey. Those remnants of your American upbringing always seem to disarm even your big tough SAS regulars, and the Austrian is no different.

The other men try to warn you off of König and you tell them this is a no conflict zone. You're a civilian, and this is a café, not the barracks. They bite back protests, agreeing to keep the peace for your sake. As a concession, you try to always seat them away from each other, preferably so they can't see the other table at all.

Time goes on, and the café gets busier and busier. You have to hire more people to keep up. It seems that your regulars have brought in a whole wave of soldiers who want to try the food that is better than any chow hall on base and always treats them with a little love. Civilians pour in, too, as you get consistent five-star reviews.

One day, you have two full tables and then some of KorTac and 141 men, as they seem to refer to their separate factions. The rest of the cafe is packed full as well, and yet again, a young officer is demanding that you serve him first instead of the enlisted men at other tables. He oozes self-importance, and it makes you want to gag. Putting on your customer service persona, you tell him that rank doesn't matter here. He will be served when his food is ready and not a moment sooner. He stands, towering over you and gets in your face, yelling about teaching you your place and obeying orders. You cock an eyebrow, ready to fire back when a wall, no two walls of flesh are suddenly between you and him. König and Ghost stand shoulder to shoulder glaring down at the man. They begin to argue over who should be allowed to deal with him.

"He's an officer in my military. He's mine," Ghost growls.

"But we are off base in the civilian world. That makes him mine." König's higher pitched voice sounds just as deadly scary. They go back and forth for a minute or two before you tap them both on the back.

"Luv?"

"Liebling?"

You hide a grin as they both use the same term of endearment. "Why not compromise and do both? König, you handle it now in public, and Ghost, you handle it on base after whatever complaints roll in as an officer. Because I bet there will be complaints." They think for just a moment before nodding at each other. Ghost wraps an arm around your waist and guides you over to the counter where food is waiting to be dropped off. Meanwhile, König is giving the ass chewing of a lifetime to the officer who has nearly pissed himself by this point. When König finishes, the officer runs out the door, and you can guess you will never see him again.

You give both men their meals on the house despite their protests.

"Next time, you can pay me then. It's not like that was the first, and it won't likely be the last time that happens." The men mull over your words, and you miss their exchanged look. You don't know it now, but you have fundamentally changed the dynamics on base. KorTac and the 141 cooperate on and off the field, realizing that working together is far more entertaining and satisfying than constantly arguing. The Captain gifts you a bottle of top shelf bourbon that Christmas in thanks.

Ghost and König are not best friends, but more often than not, the two teams now eat together, prompting you to reserve a table for them at lunch every day. The number fluctuates, but König and Ghost are there every chance they get. When one or both are down range, as they call it, you miss them fiercely. When they return, you always excitedly hug them to welcome them back home. At first, they had frozen under your hugs, but when you greeted them and only them with a hug, Ghost and König felt themselves hugging you back possessively. Soap and Gaz loved to complain about their lack of hugs, but you notice they never even try to initiate one, and a glare from Ghost has them shutting up.

It's been nearly three years since Ghost first tried your food, when you see them loitering around near close, looking nervous. You've never seen these men nervous, and it has you on edge. You hurriedly work through your closing duties, locking the doors and pulling the blinds shut before sitting heavily across from them.

"What's wrong?" Your question seems to surprise them. "You two are more nervous than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest." They break out in laughter, much of the tension bleeding away.

"Luv, what the 'ell kind of sayin is that?"

"A good one, now spill." They sober up, and you see them exchange a look.

"We.. fuckin Hell. How do I word this?" Ghost's nervousness is back already. You've never heard his voice waver before.

"We want to court you. Both of us, if you're interested. We have fallen for you." König reaches a hand out as he speaks, lacing his fingers with yours. You are too stunned to speak for a moment but squeeze his hand.

"Umm... I was not expecting... what I mean is... yes?" You clear your throat. "Yes, I would like that." They seem almost as surprised at your answer as you were at the implied question. You stand and walk around the table, resting a hand on each of their shoulders when they go to stand. "Can I kiss you? I've wanted to kiss you both for a ridiculously long time." You are blushing deeply but determined to push past it.

Ghost tugs you into his lap and tugs his mask up, kissing you deeply. You feel him smile against your lips when you moan quietly and wrap your arms around his neck. After a few moments, he pulls away and passes you over to König's lap. You smile up at him in a bit of a daze but reach up slowly to lift his mask above his lips. He leans down while lifting you up a bit. Kissing him is different, but just as satisfying. He nips at your lower lip, making you gasp into him. He plunges his tongue into your mouth, holding you tight against his chest and groping your ass. When you finally pull away, your eyes are lidded, and all you can think about is doing more. So you do. It's a few hours later, after more than a couple rounds with them, that you teasingly ask if this is how courting is supposed to work. They stumble over their words, but your cheeky grin has them promising revenge soon.

That Christmas, you attend the joint KorTac and 141 holiday party with your men fussing over your every step. When The Captain tries to give you another bottle of bourbon, you pass it over to Ghost politely. He huffs, complaining that the bottle he gets is never this good. You roll your eyes and pass the Captain a box. When he opens it, he freezes, just looking. Soap, the nosy bugger tries to see what it is, and The Captain slams the box shut. His eyes bore into you while you giggle at him. He grabs for the bottle, but Ghost pulls away, having anticipated the move.

"What is going on, Captain? You get a gag gift?" Gaz teases him, knowing that you would never give a bad enough gift to prompt such an action.

"No! I gave a bad gift! I need to exchange it!" He cautiously opens the box again, seemingly to confirm what he saw.

"Captain, just hold it up already." Ghost is a bit impatient to get this over with now, and you rub a hand down his back. The Captain pulls out a small piece of fabric and holds it up. A onesie, well two onesies, he realizes. They read "My Grandpa goes by Captain"

"Two onesies? Did ye gettae discount for buying an extra?" Soap's voice booms with laughter.

Ghost pauses a second, wanting to time it perfectly. "We bought two for the same reason they issue me and you separate uniforms, idiot." Soap chokes on his drink, coughing while trying to talk. The room is silent for a moment before cheering excitedly, congratulating all three of you. Your men don't stop smiling all night, not even when they carry your sleeping form to bed after falling asleep on the couch at the party, curled up like a cat in König's lap.

[way-of-love]

Mayor Que Usted (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x LatinaFemPregReader) (ONESHOT,MAYBE?)(R-RATED) (NO MINORS)

A stop in Puerto Rico can mean a lot of things, refuel, some R&R, family vacation or maybe just hiding from the Cuban drug lords. Simon Riley didn't think this tropic island was a good spot to stop before heading back t base in the U.S. but Price called the shots so there they were. But while watching the locals gather for Halloween and doing their little celebration he didn't expect to be consumed by such spice and fierceness from one little local woman who seemed to know his type just fine.

I hopped on the trend, I apologize

(UPDATE: The name of the female character is Amelia Cruz)

Old San Juan, Puerto Rico.

2018

After a drug bust in Cuba the 141 needed a place to lay low before heading back into the states for a reassignment or further instructions. The Cuban cartel were a relentless bunch in their pursuit for the men who blew up their entire operation and chased them all the way to Jamaican and Hatian waters before they stopped their effortless pursuit. Whatever information Price pried out of one of the major drug lords had to be why they kept chasing after them, whatever it was it was dangerous.

Price told the crew they had to lay low and separate throughout the island to keep a watchful eye on not only their hides but the people here as well. There could have been a few men who continued their pursuit for revenge.

Simon knew it would be no good to stop and lay low here on yet another tropical island where its people just wanted to live peacefully. But what else could they have done? What if they brought the fight here? It was a very slim possibility considering it it was national waters but it was never impossible. He knew that danger lurked in every corner. This whole island was big enough to hide both Simon, Price and company but it wasn't big enough to protect its people.

That's what kept Simon up every night. Always the ‘what if’s’. People on the island were kind, too kind and accepted him with open arms even even with the mask. He liked that, they didn't ask questions. They probably thought he just had a nasty face or maybe was really enjoying the month of October getting ready for Halloween. It didn't matter to him the reasoning as long as he blended in like the tourists that seemed to be scattered around the entire area he stayed in then laying low would be no problem.

And it wouldn't have been a problem if he didn't meet her.

Simon usually didn't intervene in any festivities or parties even as a teen because there was no need for it. Nor did he have the privilege to attend one while tending to his military duties but tonight while he resided in the shadows he found himself nearing a small little street festival. Music was blaring, laughter filled the alley that he watched from and lights... goodness the lights were so bright a flash grenade would be a better comparison to it.

It amazed him how bright and merry the people on the island were, as if they had no care in the world for anything. Not even the danger he thought the 141 may have brought upon them. Simon hoped their happiness lasted.

There was a grand stage with barriers placed on the side to keep control of the crowd, a DJ playing on the stage, lights floating around the stone road where people mingled.

Puerto Rico's people were laughing and dancing around the blocked street dressed in costumes from head to toe, well most of the adults anyways. Some dressed as devils, nurses, fictional killers so he fit right in with his mask. He examined the mass of bodies mash together dancing with one another in time with the beat of the music, music was meant to be enjoyed yes but this obscene touching and grinding made him wince a bit. Did they always have to do that?

His gaze soon landed on one particular woman who stood out amongst the rest, wearing a deep red sundress that hugged every ounce of her body and complimented it very well. Many things popped up in his head that kept his gaze on her. First, she wasn't wearing a costume. Second, she was dancing by herself by the mouth of the alleyway where he was currently hidden in. Thirdly, her movements were like fluid water. Her hips swung side to side and her hands slid up her thighs, her hips making her dress lift up higher upon her slender legs. Was she aware he was here?

Simon wasn't about to make his presence known. He didn't want to scare her or break her concentration because it was mesmerizing for him, as thought she were trying to seduce him with just the movements of her body.

Soon, her friends showed up, they chatted a bit and began to dance altogether. And again Simon watched the brunette in the red sundress sink into that headspace and move her arms, her hips, her waist and move with her friend molding against her back. What would happen if he took his mask off, even just for the night and danced with her, just to see what it would be like?

He knew he couldn't. He was a dangerous man who did dangerous things and who knew if someone thought of him as suspicious and sought him out. Price would then be pissed. And Simon would have lost his touch.

Instead the ghost silently stood from where he sat upon the crate and dusted himself off ready to go back to the safe house by the pub or bar some would call it and have a whiskey before turning in for the night, try to at least. But he felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand and even with the mask on he felt it. Quickly he turned around and came face to face with the girl he was watching not even a few seconds prior.

She stared at him with a lovely little smile on her red stained lips, hands on either side of the alley way walls, yes it was small enough to fit one person down it, and her bangs covered her dark eyes. He didn't move, something in him felt caught in her gaze and prevented him from moving.

Fuckin' hell Simon.

The tall man stood across the dancer who she's been keeping an eye on ever since he sat in the alleyway most kids ran through during the day. Tilting her head she slowly approached the strange masked man who seemed to enjoy watching her dance and as she approached the man she spoke.

"Hablas espanol?"

Simon closed his eyes briefly. Even her voice sounded seductive. But he didn't respond.

She noticed the lack of response but didn't mind it one bit. When she was but a foot away from him she smiled sweetly at him.

"So, English it is then?"

He was supposed to be laying low, there was no mingling with the locals if he could help it. Groceries, markets and even getting a drink were an exception. Not for conversation.

"You know, starring at a lady is kinda creepy. If you wanted to dance all you had to do was ask," The woman bit her bottom plump lip and looked directly up into the eyes of soldier who had killed countless of men and who had done unimaginable things, in the eyes with no fear. She didn't know who he was nor will she ever know. One night should be fine, right?

"I can't be in the light."

Was that the best thing he could say? Bloody Jesus he was out of practice trying to talk to a woman. Before he could fix himself and say something else he was blessed to hear her soft giggle over the music down the alley.

"Well, if you can't fully be in the light I'll bring some to you. Everyone deserves a little bit of light to enjoy, no?"

After that, no more words were spoken. She reached out palms up and Simon with hesitance placed his hands in hers and their little dance begun.

The woman showed him how to step and where to step when a salsa song came on. He wasn't the best but he did learn fast. She liked that. A few more songs came the same way until one came that made her gasp and squeal almost immediately. This scared Simon into thinking there was danger and quickly looked up and down the alleyway with a glare of a killer, sensing no danger he looked down at the female already swaying to the annoying beat of the music. What did the locals call it? Reggae? Reggaetón.

It was too modern for Simons taste but he was glad to watch her dance to it. This time what he was hoping for did happen. She molded herself against his front, bending a bit at the waist and pressed her full rear against his groin moving like a true dancer. He starred down at it wide eyed not sure what to do or where to put his hands but he remembered what her girl friends did when they were placed in this position.

Simon Riley placed his hands on her hips and pressed himself back into her, moving his own hips as best as he could without feeling embarrassed or even trying too hard but it was futile. He felt a tad bit embarrassed.

Nevertheless she continued to show him just how much fun just the two of them and music, can have. And deep down inside his dark heart he was fully enjoying himself, well up to the point where she straightened out and began that movement of sliding her hands up her thighs and took the hem of her sundress up, pulling out from under his hands.

If she did it on purpose or not didn't matter because he got an eyeful of the black thing string on her hips that his thumb was barley a hair close to. What was she trying to do? Whatever it was he took it as permission. He slid his hands further up her hip and hooked his thumbs under the soft dark material, gently tugging it down.

To say he wouldn't dare grow an erection here would be a complete and utter lie. He was carrying a hard on the whole time she pressed herself against him, he just maneuvered himself enough so she wouldn't feel it but he let her. This time he showed her just how much he was enjoying this little dance of hers.

She didn't stop when she felt the hard long mold of his print against her semi bare rump because she wanted to feel it. She watched him and he watched her, the meant he was interested just like she was. So, why not approach him if he was too chicken to do something. Women can take initiative too. The woman turned her head peering at him from over her shoulder with a smirk on her painted lips. Now Simon could see her eyes, they were dark, like chocolate.

He wasn't a fan of sweets but he'd enjoy hers.

And he could feel the heat practically pouring out from her pores. The way she was suggesting to continue with her hips, he knew all too well. She wanted to be fucked and not just a practical fuck in a motel room but a fuck that that Simon Riley could give right now. They didn't know each others names, occupations or even if they'd see each other again. What mattered was the here and now.

The tall British man had her that night. Bent over the large wooden crate he sat on to watch her dance in the street in her red dress. Now she was moaning like a bitch in heat with her red dress bunched up at her waist with his cock dipping into the welcoming depths of her cunt. He rocked back and forth with vigor, with malice. How dare she seduce him when he was just trying to mind his own business? How dare she approach him and make him sin like this?

Yet, Simon was groaning above her making sure he pounded her cervix. He wanted her to remember this coupling for as long as she lived. Her heels were discarded to the side and she was on her tippy toes, legs spread receiving him so very well. Simon couldn't remember the last time a woman's cunt fit him so well like hers, it was like...it was like it was made to fit him and only him.

The woman in the red dress was dancing no longer. The music may have changed and the people may have begun to head home but she would still be here hidden by the darkness of the buildings on each side of the two beings shielding her from the gazes of people who wondered what that sound was. Simon made sure to cover her mouth if he believed she was being too loud and he was glad he did because she came with shriek into his palm after just a few minutes.

No ones ever indulge in her like this nor have they ever took control in fucking her like a wild dog before. She was always the one to do things for her boyfriends, suck them, ride them, tell them what she wanted done, she was tired of being like that. Being the leading hand in sex because the other person was just too lazy and wanted a quick nut. This man though; was the complete opposite of that.

He took her without hesitation. Didn't bother to ask her of her wants and needs he just somehow knew. He made sure she was comfortable though, made sure she felt every caress, every tug, nip, slap, and flick of him on her skin.

Simon Riley wasn't going to let her go. Not until he had his fill.

-------

The woman stirred awake finding herself starring at the open window, the curtains flowing about with the breeze that entered the dim lit room. So the sun wasn't fully up, good more time to sleep. Before she could close her eyes again she heard shuffling and turned her head to see the British man who rocked her world sitting on the side of her bed getting dressed. His back was all scarred, with old and new ones she made just a few hours ago. His skin was pale compared to her tanned one, looked like he'd be a cherry before he ever tanned. His head was...bare. Simon wasn't wearing his mask.

Well, it was completely dark when they got to her tiny little home a few blocks where his safe house was so it made it easier to keep his face secret while leaving his marks on her skin. Now, it was time to go. He received a call from Price while the woman he laid with slept, on a burner about finally leaving the island in the early hours of the morning.

The woman he spent the whole night with seemed to stretch behind him making a soft pleased sound as she did so. The bed dipped a bit behind him and her arms wrapped lazily around his middle while she rested the side of her head against his back.

As mind blowing as the sex was he couldn't get attached. It was dangerous to drag one good thing into his hectic and bloody lifestyle he lived.

"Simon, stay with me a little bit longer. I'll make you some really good coffee y yo te cocino," Her voice was laced with sleep, hoarse because of her moans and screams the night prior but she still managed to make him shudder in the heat.

There was nothing more that he wanted than to stay and do just that. He was a dangerous man. He couldn't be in the light, because he'd consume it. The ghost shook her off as gently as he could and stood while pulling the mask over his head covering his face again. Walking forward towards a chair she had in the corner of her small room, picked up his shirt and dared to look back at her body covered with a sheet on her bed. Her hair was all askew and she looked more inviting than the night before, it stirred his loins.

His eyes trailed back to her face, her expression was...sad, confused even. She should've know it was a one time thing. He wasn't even native to the island nor was he a tourist with the way he held himself and she knew that. She knew he was dangerous and yet she pursued him anyways.

"It was fun, but that's all it was," He was cold, distant and hardened his emotions. It was for one night only, it wasn't night anymore.

So, he was going to leave her just tike that? After they shared an amazing night? She stood up in bed with her hand griping the sheet to her chest hoping it hid her nakedness'.

"No, no you can't just leave like that Simon, you said you were going to be here for a few more days. Por favor," The woman that was in a red dress was just about to stand from her bed and drag him right back, whatever means necessary even if she had to yell and scream.

"I told you I probably would be here for a few more days, nothing was permanent girl," Now that fully roused her out of her honeymoon like state. It was like a bucket of iced water was poured all over her. Where was his attitude coming from? And girl? He knew her name so why wasn't he saying it?

He slipped his shirt on over his head and made a beeline to her bedroom door, she scrambled out of her bed with her legs feeling like jelly going after him barley catching herself when she tripped. She would never do this for just any man, never would she do this for any man but Simon was different or so she thought.

A memory came to mind of her own mother scrambling after her father when she was only a child. Her mother ran after the man in desperate pleas to not leave and abandon their family, they had little but her mother was so caring. Her father on the other hand was evil.

"Simon! Stop pendejo!" She yelled at him hoping he'd stop but he kept going, moving through the kitchen, the living room before making it to the front door. The woman he spent the night with couldn't keep up with how her legs gave up and made her fall down half way to the door. Her chest ached watching him continue on without a care for her or how she felt.

That night was the only night she's ever felt complete, she felt alive for the first time with anyone and it had to be with this stranger who you barley knew. And that feeling was walking right out of her home.

Simon looked back at her seeing her on the floor with only a sheet to cover her nakedness tugged at his chest. Only for a second though.

"Take care of yourself, love."

And that was the last time the woman in the red dress saw Simon, the tall British man who wore the skull painted mask.

------------------------------------------

It didn't take long for Simon to forget about that night in Puerto Rico, but it always came back to haunt him in his dreams. His mind played movies of the time they've spent together, the hour long conversation before he went at it with her again and again. Colors, foods, places he's been and places she wanted to go to, he probably knew more about her in that hour than any other man could in months. He felt more like a normal man with you for those few hours than he did commanding a small squad. And when darkness clouded his mind your words came to him.

"...Everyone deserves a little light, to enjoy, no?"

It brought him out from time to time.

Recently, the 141 hired a new medic or at base doctor who Laswell says she's the best of the new generation. Finished school in less than eight years and performed eleven successful surgeries within that time frame. Some minor and some major. It was impressive but the information was all the same to Ghost. New doctor, same shit. He didn't even catch her name, didn't bother for it.

Currently, the infamous Ghost sat on a stool in the med bay while holding a cloth to his upper arm trying to stop the blood from making anymore of a mess. Apparently Johnny thought it would be funny to toss a piece of useless metal from the top of the weapons wrack, why was it there? Who knows but he certainly gave Johnny an ear full before he was forced to come here to get it checked out.

The said doctor had her back turned to him when he entered and sat on the tall stool with a leg stretched out. She looked like she was doing something important so he just grunted while she told him to have a seat. Her voice sounded oddly familiar and Ghost couldn't put a face to it.

"Mr. Ghost, no, Simon?" The small looking woman with her dark hair held up with a clip tilted her head reading what little she could from his medical file. There was absolutely nothing here. No medical history, no medication history, surgeries, nothing. It was as if he were a ghost. With a soft sigh she full turned but never lifted her head.

"That's funny, I knew a Simon once. Spelled the same way,"

Simons eyes widened just a fraction when he saw those red painted lips and that golden tanned skin, she was here. It couldn't be. She was supposed to be back in the island living her life in peace. Not here tending to him and his team! Did Price do this? Laswell? No, they didn't know about his escapade with the young doctor here all those years ago. He made sure not to speak wind of it to anyone.

Anger bubbled up inside of him when the shock left him. Was she doing this on purpose? Did he know who he was?

The tall man stood when she was only a foot or more away and she finally looked up from the manila folder, craning her neck her eyes widened seeing the familiar tattooed arm and skull mask covering the face of the mystery man she spent the night with all those years ago.

The folder slipped from her hands and onto the floor, papers scattering about as she starred at him, as if seeing a ghost. And he starred down at her with stone cold glaring eyes of a man who did not want to see her, again.

So, this was the Simon that she'd dream about from time to time? Tall, dangerous, cold and still as mysterious as the day she met him. It couldn't be him. The Simon she met had kinder curious eyes, yes he was cold but that night he made her melt with just a stare.

Quickly she averted her gaze to the side and cleared her throat. No, it really couldn't be...but the tattoo was unmistakable and if not that the mask was a dead giveaway.

Closing her eyes she took a deep breath feigning innocence. Turning back to look at him she smiled sweetly," Dios mio, I'm just clumsy today I'm sorry about that. Why don't you have a seat and tell me whats going on,"

So she was going down this road huh? Simon took in a breath and sat back down on the stool keeping his cold unwavering stare on her as she crouched to collect the folder and papers that scattered about. He could have helped her but the less he interacted with her the better. He left her back in Puerto Rico for a reason and this was not that reason.

As she collected her paper work she stood straight up and turned back to her small little desk where a few little picture frames decorated the surface along with some medical instruments. She took one frame in particular and tried to quickly put it face down blocking his view with her body. She was living her life perfectly fine without him, they both were and she would be damned if he found out about her. That early morning he decided not to say a single thing that could help her find him, only his voice and name, it was all she had.

Ghost looked at her and saw her movements. She was trying to hide something and he already was on it. He remained seated examining her backside. She still looked the same, petite, small but she looked fuller now. Hips wider, legs and arms a bit thicker too. It seemed she put on a healthy few pounds while away on the island, or maybe it was due to age? Whichever it was she looked absolutely stunning even with the white lab coat on.

"Sargent found a piece of shrapnel or scrap metal, tossed it back and it nicked my arm," Cold, to the point.

With a small nod she quickly slipped on some black latex free gloves and grabbed what she needed to clean his little nick.

The next few minutes were excruciating between the two of them. The silence felt heavy in the air and the poor doctor felt so burdened by it she felt like she had to say something but refused.

Pretend not to know him. She had to pretend she was just patching up any soldier from the 141 but her body kept reminding her and even her mind reminded her that he wasn't just any soldier. He was of high rank, under Price and that had to stand for something.

Ghost, shifted a bit when she applied pressure on the now cleaned gash which was in fact not a nick, it needed to be stitched shut so she was preparing for that.

"Why are you here?" His question was so unexpected the doctor paused right before she pierced his tattooed skin with the needle and thread.

There were so many reason as to why but it depended on which reason he wanted to hear. Releasing a heavy sigh she tilted her head keeping her gaze on the suture.

"You knew I went to college to become a doctor. Turns out I was very good at it. I stitched nerves together and helped those wounded soldiers regain feeling back to their separated limbs. Laswell thought I'd make a good doctor here for the base or 141 and company, the money was good, the housing was and the education is phenomenal too."

She was still young so education must've have been her second reason as to why she decided to come here but there was still one question in his mind.

"Who's the girl?" The one question that she dreaded. She suppose she wasn't as fast as she thought when she tried to hide it. Simon always looked around his surroundings so her desk was also apart of the surrounding and noticed a small girl no older than three or four smiling with two front teeth missing. Eyes blue, green or hazel, hair almost brown or red. Didn't look like it was her daughter now that he thought about it but again, it was just a quick look.

"She's my niece."

"You have no siblings."

"Step-niece then."

"That's not a thing."

She huffed giving him a look of 'you are unbelievable'. Why did it matter to him who the girl is? When she went looking for him when she found out she was going to be a mother he was nowhere to be found like a ghost. She suffered through out university with morning sickness, cravings of foods she didn't think were even healthy and doctor appointments where only her mother attended with her.

Even after giving birth she didn't give up her dream of becoming a good doctor or surgeon to help people on the island. But when the opportunity arose for her to live in the U.S. she didn't hesitate to take it. And now here she was with the father of her daughter who currently was at a daycare right across the road from the base that Laswell told her it was safe.

Now she wasn't too sure with Simon around.

"Why do you want to know so badly?" She finished stitching up his gash and was currently placed a gaze on his arm and securing it.

Why did he want to know? Was there some hope that he was still somehow connected to this woman he found himself thinking about more than often recently? No, it couldn't be they were careful that night, they...

Then it dawned to the ghost. Slowly he stood up pushing her to the side and marched straight to the faced down picture. There's no possible way that the little girl in this picture could be his.

The doctor already knew where he was going and tired to stop him from reaching her desk by puling on his arm and tried with all her might to stop him but he was too strong and made it to her desk.

The first few rounds, no all of them were unprotected. He assumed she was either on the pill or even doing something to prevent pregnancy while she was out and about dancing away. Who wouldn't with a body like hers? He should've known yet they never talked about it. Not once did the topic of protection come up.

He picked up the frame and examined the child who smiled so happily without a care in the world similar to the woman who birthed her. While he starred at the picture the mother of said child was cursing at him in her native tongue and snatched the frame from him holding it against her chest.

"She's not even yours!" She exclaimed placing the photo down on top of the file cabinet glaring up into the cold eyes of the ghost who leaned forward placing his hand over hers the kept the photo down.

"You're lyin' again love," He said it low and so harsh to her and she flinched. It didn't matter if she was lying or not because her daughter will never know who her father was and her father will never ever get a chance to see her.

"Fuck you, pendejo," She spat out with so much venom Simon was ready to tear his mask off and devour her mouth and swallow every bit of venom she had in the tank. That's the least thing he deserved. He was close, his gloved hand went up her covered arm, her shoulder then up her neck.

Simon cupped her cheek while his other arm wrapped around her waist, she hesitated and placed a hand on his forearm ready to push it off if he said something or did something really outta pocket. Though she couldn't lie, she missed how close he could get without really trying.

Even if it was one night, she could never forget him.

"She's ours isn't she Amilia?"

She had to close her eyes because the intensity behind his were too much. This answer could either make or break their future relationship if there ever would be one. But deep down she knew that if she were to say 'yes' he'd step in or at least try to.

Simon knew it was his fault for leaving so suddenly but it wasn't anyone's fault he wasn't there or that she didn't tell him. The universe made it so that they could meet again under these circumstances. A deadly father and a bright mother. What a strange combination.

"Yes, Simon. She's... ours."

--------

PART 2

A/N

Ya' liked what I did there huh? CLIFFHANGER!

Please leave a comment, reblog and like so I may be MOTIVATED to press forward with more writing and no think I SUCK!

Thank you so much! MUAH!

[khancrackers]

this is an excellent analysis and I agree with pretty much all of it but will address a few finer points.

basically, Overwatch IS a superhero universe, but not one where Superman or Thor live. instead, it is a universe based in GI Joe. GI Joe is a line of military-ish action figures. they're a ragtag group of colorful characters fighting against their mortal enemies, the sinister world-dominating organization called "Cobra." it's a superheroic world because ninjas, secret agents, big men with machine guns, and drill sergeants can coexist with iron-masked arms dealers and european aristocrats without either group really fitting the strict definition of "superhero" or "supervillain."

the comparisons to Marvel is apt, because marvel WAS licensed to do their comic series for several years in the 80s, and a lot of that set up is based heavily on the 60s Marvel comics series 'Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.', and most of THAT story is based around their conflict with Hydra.

so anyway, after the project called "Titan" collapsed, Blizzard worked on a way to turn those resources around into a workable game, and that became Overwatch, inspired by GI Joe (and by extension, Marvel comics). several times, they have said in interviews that the reason why characters in opposing sides and philosophies can play on the same team is because the game is EXPLICITLY a toybox mode where you are bashing the action figures together just because you can.

which makes sense, but also, fucking sucks.

again, this was in INTERVIEWS. they would have avoided a lot of the criticism if it was an EXPLICIT part of the game. it wouldn't even really need to do much! just like, put a single-paragraph description that talks about how "the only thing stopping the villainous TALON dominating the world is the heroic OVERWATCH" on the main menu screen! make some elements of the UI look like action figure packaging! divide the character select screen into "overwatch" and "talon" and "other" but ALSO let players pick whatever they want!

instead we get this, which is clean, but also doesn't show any intention.

tl:dr, overwatch should have leaned further into its action figure inspirations

Recently a post has been doing the rounds about military propaganda in the latest COD, yea yeah, sky’s blue, fork in kitchen, et al et al. This got me thinking about the shooters I actually play, and one thing that strikes me about the multiplayer shooters I play is that a lot of them dodge that same major discourse bullet by expressly grounding themselves in amorality and Kafka-esque dysfunction- a structural fingerwag towards their own content, acting as a paradoxical green-light to enjoy the game with no sense of moral injury. And there’s a big example of one that didn’t do this that kinda winds up with egg on its face as a result. 

To start with, I’m thinking about Team Fortress 2. The original Team Fortress, inasmuch as it’s possible for a game where you shoot each other with real firearms to be apolitical, was fairly apolitical. The soldiers had no markers of identity beyond their arbitrary team affiliation; the fighting was over no discernable real-life resource or point of political tension; the environments were decontextualized labs and facilities. It was platonic violence. 

Team Fortress 2 rolls around. Now that the general novelty of a 3d multiplayer class shooter has eroded, development stalls out on the following aesthetic problem; you can’t have semi-realistic militaristic character models rocket-jumping themselves across the map in the early 2000s. The cartoonishness is too dissonant when you’ve got similar semi-realistic militaristic characters in much more “grounded” games. Eventually they resolve this by taking the other tack, leaning into the cartoonishness, crafting character models so completely bombastic and over the top that no action taken in gameplay, no matter how absurd, will ever feel dissonant. This philosophy extends into the map design; the environments are farcical. Military instillations built mere yards from each other, with paper-thin pretenses of being civilian facilities despite the constant gun battles occurring inside. It’s self parody. And when the game extends to the point of having lore and worldbuilding, the idiocy becomes diegetic. This is a conflict fought on the behalf of idiots, by idiots, over idiot-goals, in spaces designed by idiots. It’s completely amoral, but it’s also contained amorality, since the fighting doesn’t spill out of these Helleresque Designated Pointless Fight Zones- and that leaves the mercs sympathetic enough that you can play them as protagonists in stories that take place “off-the-clock” without a ton of tonal dissonance. I can’t stress enough that the TF2 protagonists are amoral PMCs who work for callous megacorps. In a vacuum, this is not a well-regarded Kind Of Guy around here. There is some implementation of this broad concept that would invite a shitload of discourse that I’ve never seen materialize!

A lot of hero-or-character-based multiplayer games do this, abandoning any pretense of player heroism or productivity in the conceit in a way that shields them from a lot of moral and logical criticisms. Apex Legends and Monday Night Combat are explicitly in-universe bloodsports. Atlas Reactor and Rogue Company are cyberpunk corp-on-corp warfare. Dirty Bomb is about loosely affiliated mercenaries picking over the remains of an evacuated city. I think that Valorant is PMCs in a resource war (Not completely sure on this one.) The never-released Battlecry was expressly tied to actual nation-states, an alternate history where great powers fight wars via singularly-powerful champions instead of via traditional warfare. And in Battleborn the PCs were a hastily-assembled coalition of smaller hastily-assembled coalitions, which means that it makes perfect sense that any combination of these people might be fighting alongside or against each other, at any given time.

Here we see commonalities. Amoral participants. Larger governing bodies delineating clear fight zones centered on specific, if deliberately silly or petty, goals. Most crucially, PCs that are very loosely affiliated with each other, such that you’d see them in different configurations, fight to fight, day to day, as they’re contracted or shuffled around by the powers that be.

You know a game that doesn’t do any of this? Overwatch. 

Overwatch gets 80% of the way to being a superhero universe; it falls short primarily because Blizzard chose not to explicitly market it as such, but it’s got everything short of the purposeful brand designation- powered heroes, super science, codenames, Faceless Hydraesque terrorist groups with shadowy, powered enforcers. There are specific allegiances implied by this; specific policy and interpersonal goals implied by this that aren’t really reflected in six-on-six grudge matches in a smattering of inexplicably depopulated civilian environments. There are roughly half-a-dozen villains associated with Talon, four or five independent villainous mercenaries, and everyone else is a would-be superhero. Why is most of the core roster of the world’s premier superhero team performing some kind of terror attack in London? Why is a woman who murdered a civil rights leader trying to stop them, with the help of two avowed anti-Omnic mercenaries and three Omnics? Why did a cryogenics researcher weaponize her tech and come along for the ride? Why are a dozen envoys from tech conglomerates, grassroots movements, and paramilitary defense forces throwing down over a Gazebo in a charming Greek resort? Fuck if I know. Fuck if the writers know!

So, to round it out, I think that there’s a structural difficulty for multiplayer shooters to stand for something, or advance a philosophy, or whatever. The smart ones embrace this by shielding themselves in ablative nihilism, preemptively deflecting criticism by painting the gameplay as hollow and barbaric, but fun! But Overwatch- Overwatch 2′s tagline is “Get back in the fight.” What Fight? Why? Against Who? Call Of Duty might be a horrific mouthpiece for militarism and imperialism, but when it valorizes the military, it’s at least picking a side! Overwatch is just so strange to me because it’s somehow got the worst of both worlds- it uses these heroic, aspirational language and visuals to hype up a gameplay loop that’s ultimately the exact same kind of cynical, aimless abattoir as the games that are smart enough to explicitly be about amoral paid killers!

[bdbdhdjdhdh]

It is the year 1942.

It is the second month of the year.

It is the 15th day of the month.

The Japanese are here.

They have invaded Singapore.

The British have done nothing to defend against their attacks.

It is hell.

Pain.

Torture.

Everywhere you look, you see Japanese soldiers violently beating innocent passing civilians who happened to look them the wrong way.

Everywhere you go, the blood of soldiers and young children alike are spilled.

The blood of women.

The blood of children.

-----------------------------

It has been 3 hellish years and 7 torturous months since then.

The Japanese have surrendered.

We are free.

Not for long.

With no government to keep us in check, it was chaos.

People were stealing.

People were killing.

Nowhere you ran to was safe.

Gangs were formed. Be under the leader's protection, and you could keep your head away from any cleavers or axes.

Anger the leader, be prepared to be smither.

---------------------------------

It is now 1984.

The government has introduced... what? Total Defence Day? Pillars of defence, psychological, military, economic, whatever.

The government has signed a contract with the pillars.

"Keep Singapore safe at all costs. I do not know who you are, where you come from, or who you serve, but I am entrusting this fertile land to your defence. We'll even dedicate a holiday to you, and give you your own victory cry,"

Those were the words of the government.

"Of course, as long as you provide us with a safe space to live, we'll defend this land to our deaths, that was the agreement,

But I think we do not need to put in too much effort, for your people seem extremely eager to defend this land, they will surely do really well without us,"

Those were the words of our pillars too, as we know them.

--------------------------------

It is now the present-day 2023.

It is a peaceful time.

Everyone is living happily and enjoying their lives without a care in the world.

"Looks like this place really doesn't need us anymore, people can't even be bothered to conduct fire drills properly," Mendax? That you?

"What do you expect? It's meant to be a peaceful time, isn't it disgraceful to us if there's still war after so long?" Ah, Sicarius.

"Do you think they'll still let us live here? I mean, this place doesn't need us anymore," Sunda was ever so straight to the point.

"Of course they will, they've seen what we're capable of in the war, they wouldn't risk that being deflected back on them," Now there's my optimistic Laju!

Fentanyl and Pertama kept silent as ever.

"BAAAAAAADDDDDDDDUUUUUUUMMMMMMM" Uh...what was that sound?

"A ranged firearm, 6 bullets fired... it's a terrorist attack," Fentanyl made his diagnosis based on his prior experience.

"EVERYON PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR, PUT YOUR BELONGINGS IN THIS BAG, AND STAY WHERE I CAN SEE YOU!" An armed man bellowed loudly into the air as he walked into the shopping mall while shooting away at his gun. He was followed by at least 8 men, all armed and wearing ski masks as well. So the one with the big mouth should be their leader.

"YOU SIX! I WANT YOU TO COME HERE AND GIVE ME ALL YOUR STUFF!" The leader snapped at the pillars. Yep, it was definitely a case of religious radicalisation.

"Uh... do you really think you're in a position to ask questions?" Mendax spoke up first. He must have annoyed the leader, because his men immediately opened fire on them, sparing not a single bullet.

But mortal weapons were no match for pillars. Our six heroes calmly dodged every single one of them.

Pertama then proceeded to shoot them down and beat the shit out of their limbs so that they wouldn't be able to escape.

They must shown some of their supernatural powers when dodging the bullets there, because one of the leader's men immediately screamed, "Demon! Demon!"

Sunda then smirked, turned around and announced to them, "Oh we are demons indeed, but you might know us better as the pillars of total defence,"

"Now, we really don't like it when people threaten the safety of this land. How shall we have our own fun with you now, then,?"

idk honestly 3am can't sleep, wrote shit about the pillars

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, mentions of murder, unclear timeline, blackmail, unprotected sex, fingering (F!receiving), smut, esoteric references to past abuse, manipulation, Dark!Fic

Words: 5.2k (holy fuck?)

Summary: You need his help. He names his price.

Notes: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 and her incredible 5K Soft!Dark Challenge and I can't believe I wrote over 5k words for a oneshot, making this the longest piece I've ever written. I took a blend of prompts: Mob!AU; “When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this;” and “That’s a big favor you’re asking for, I think you need to make it worth my while.”

And this was intended to be a oneshot but now I can't stop thinking about it so thanks Siri, I think this is now a part of my WIPs too! Your work is amazing and I had a blast being able to take part in this!

As usual, my work is 18+ ONLY, Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You went to him first.

You went to him, handed them your business card and I want to speak to Steve Rogers.

Honestly they almost threw you out with an extra hole in your head but then the man of the hour walked right in.

So now you’re here. Now you’re here, sitting across a gorgeous dining table with a ten-course meal laid out and honestly you’re surprised they didn’t tie your wrists to the arms of the chair while you watch him eat and take in the look of those baby blue eyes scanning you over.

He even brought you non-alcoholic rosé, when you said you didn’t drink.

So.

So.

You wanted to talk to me?

Yeah, I do. Thought you’d just sit me in your office, have a consultation.

I like breaking bread with new friends. Have a nice dinner, get the wine flowing — of course, that’s not gonna loosen your tongue, but we’ll forgive it.

Oh. Cool, I like being forgiven.

He laughs at that one and the room, strumming with tension, snaps into amusement. So do you, cracking a half smile on dark red lips, before swallowing down the lump of anxiety threatening to break through and destroy everything. You need this. You need this and you can’t let anything — not your nervousness, not your morals, not him — stop you. You need this and it needs to be done and if this is what justice is in this fucking city then so be it.

Well, sweetness, you’ve got my attention. You want to talk business or pleasure?

That one makes you laugh, a little sharp and a little cruel, and the curling smirk on his face gets a little furrowed because he hears it too — pain.

It could be both, you say finally, picking up the glass of rosé-that-wasn’t, if your reputation is as real as they say it is.

He lifts a bite of cheesecake into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue while he watches you, somewhere between impressed and incensed. You know the look — you saw it the last time he met you in court, but you weren’t there as allies then. Never thought you’d come to me, he admits finally, sounding halfway bemused at the idea, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Counsel?

You wince, or maybe smirk, eyes on the man before you.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse, and the woman you thought you were thirteen months ago when you put four of Steve Rogers’s best men in jail for fifteen years — fifteen years longer than any District Attorney had ever managed to do before you, and you were just the rookie they handed a shit case to — is leagues different from the woman you are now, seated prim and proper in the lion’s den.

You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years — this life doesn’t leave room for innocence, it tears at you, leaves you tired and broken and ill.

Your colleagues learned to fear him a long time ago, the man before you. Captain America, leading the city, the country, the world into a new era of high tech crime all under his thumb. It’s a pretty shiny shield, the one that sits behind him, but mirrors are black on the other side and his soul is dark as coal.

You’re not an angel yourself, and this deal with the Devil isn’t for anyone but you.

I need someone taken care of.

So you come to me? I thought you were a lady of morals, Counsel.

Certain kinds of morals.

You can see him smile, see the way he raises his glass, the glimmer of malice and amusement in his eyes. So tell me. What’s the name?

You give it.

He’s not in the city, your target, but he will be. A Judge, an activist, real tough-on-crime-sweet-on-justice type of shit. You don’t tell him the reasons why, because those are yours, but you tell him the name. You tell him he’s a problem, you tell him he’s dangerous, you tell him you’ll pay to have him taken care of, you tell him you don’t want to practice in front of that black, black robe.

And he smiles like the Devil he is, watches you with a grin and drinks his whiskey in one last shot before slamming it down, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You said that when we met the first time.

He’s a hunter, you can see it in his eyes. That lion’s mane might be tamed right now but it won’t be for long and you’re playing with wild animals. The eyes on you are ice and daggers, daring you to do the one thing everyone in the office has been begging you not to do.

(Drop the charges, Rookie, the case is just to get your face in front of the judge.)

You upped the charges.

(Rookie, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, there’s other cases.)

You subpoenaed his phone records.

(Rookie, don’t make me drag you off this case!)

You won.

You had no witnesses and a jury you had to drag in from god-knows-where after you proved, over and over again, that he’d paid off the cohort in the courtroom. Finding people with nothing to lose and a desire to do their civic duty wasn’t harder than you thought — it was exactly as impossible as you expected.

But you did it.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Push and push and fight, claw your fingers at the ledge and pull yourself up, you pay for your crimes in your blood, sweat and tears you pay for the things you could have done then and didn’tdo.

You pay.

And sometimes, that payment bounces back.

And when it was all said and done, when the closing statements were delivered, when the Jury came back out and the Judge — hands shaking, mouth agape, eyes wide — read out the verdict no one expected, you… didn’t feel any better, did you? There was no justice for you in that room, just the searing glare of ice-blue eyes and the burning of your steel spine.

Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

First words he said to you, while the courtroom emptied out and you stood there, facing the man you’d just made an enemy of with your briefcase in your hand and your eyes aflame.

I did my job.

Did you? Is that what you think your job is?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

You leave him with a smile on his face and the scent of your perfume in his memories.

He leaves you with the pride of victory in your bones and a reminder that your strife could be worth it.

One day.

How do you plan to fill that pit, the one you tossed the corpses of your old self into? The one you let them claw up out of, to haunt you? Remind you?

You’re digging your own grave and you know it, but you won’t let Steven Grant Rogers be the first one to toss a handful of dirt over your corpse.

But now here you are.

In his dining room, enjoying dessert and some sort of after-meal coffee. In need of him…

This might almost have been a date, if not for the topic of conversation.

So. You want a Judge taken out. What if he’s already on my payroll?

Why would you keep a dead man in your pocket?

You like the sound of his laugh, and you don’t even have the excuse of wine to fall back on when it warms your core. Don’t admit it though, don’t say it aloud, don’t let him get an in. Be smart, cross your legs tighter, keep your eyes on the prize.

You’re so close to the finish line.

That’s a big favor you’re asking for, Counsel, I think you need to make it worth my while.

Worth your while?

I’m not a charity. And since you put the guy I usually use to handle these things behind bars for a few years—

You know I can get him out too.

That’s not payment, that’s putting things right.

You take a drink. Steady on, girl.

I’m leaving the DA’s office.

That stops him.

Oh that stops him good, and he looks fascinated. Interested. You’ve said something he can use as leverage and it’s not just about a job. That smirk on his face is smug and his eyes are darker and he has to know the impact that look has.

Can’t falter, don’t falter, don’t give in.

Am I allowed to ask why?

No.

You’ve done your research. You just don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. Steven Grant Rogers, “Captain America,” leader of a crime family that had too many names to stamp out, bolstered by a mad scientist, a military man through-and-through who turned New York into his own private base against whatever stood against his way.

Get in his good graces and you’re set for life. Get in his good graces and you’re safe, you’re protected, you’re good.

Get on his bad side and you only make that mistake once.

There are no second chances in this game, and here you are, asking for one.

So what? You leave the DA’s office, you leave yourself open to me — you think leaving New York is going to be the thing that stops me, Counsel?

No.

Then what?

Breathe. Steady.

I know you gave me that win on purpose — you could have taken out my last jury cohort. This isn’t about the four men… and you know I’ll get them out. This is something else, but I’m not here to ask about what or why.

He falters just briefly, like he’s surprised you knew, but the crack in his mask smooths itself over as soon as it forms and he’s back to watching you, nodding along in silence while you breathe and watch him and keep talking.

But even then. I got four of your guys in prison. And I know how your organization works — I subpoenaed the documents, remember? Your lawyers are good, but they’re not used to people asking the right questions. You want someone to seal up the cracks you need someone who actually knows what to look for.

You have more than his attention, you have his interest, and now he’s leaning in a little. Imperceptibly, but enough. Scanning over you from across the table, like he’s thinking how you managed to get so impertinent in the face of the likes of him but that’s the thing — when the only thing you have left to lose is your life, you’ll risk everything.

So what are you offering?

Breathe. Don’t. Stammer.

Myself.

The chair scrapes and suddenly there’s the clicking of guns, aimed and ready until his hand rises up and he stops them and he’s stalking towards you.

This is the lion’s den, sweetness.

The stakes are higher and you ought to be braver and he’s got your chin in his hand before you have a chance to react, dragging you to your feet. Do you know what you’re offering me, Counsel? Low and hissed and hungry, like those perfect teeth might be sinking into your throat in the next moment.

Oh, you have no idea.

You get me. On your payroll — you know. The offer you sent me a year ago.

You think it’s still open?

If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have met with me.

The chuckle in your face makes your cheeks warm and you’re looking more flushed than you would like, the open shoulders of your dress suddenly feeling a lot more like a mistake the more you realize just what kind of meal he might make out of you tonight.

We might need to have a discussion about your workplace duties, Counsel.

You don’t notice the hand near your thigh until it’s too late, sliding up the soft fabric of your skirt until it’s squeezing your ass, until it’s jerking you towards him, until you’re pressed against his chest and the hand on your chin is now hooked around the back of your neck, thumb pushing your jaw until you’re forced to look at him. Won’t lie, when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this, having your pretty little body in my arms,and you can look as indignant as you want but he’s got the upper hand and you only thought you were two steps ahead of him.

You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to put you in your place, Counsel? You’ve got a smart mouth — I wanna know what else it can do.

He doesn’t give you a chance to use that mouth to lash at him, lips sliding over yours, swallowing that indignant yelp with a punishing kiss. Nipping at the plushness of your lower lip until you open your mouth and yield to him with a sigh of reluctant surrender, let his tongue slide past that barrier for him to explore. He’s got his fingers wound through your hair, just a little too tight and whether the whimper in your chest is because of the pain or because of the want, he doesn’t care.

Knew you’d be sweet, Counsel… softly, when he pulls back to look at you, take a look at those love-swollen lips and your ruined lipstick, the pretty way you pant at him already, the heat burning your cheeks. Pay no attention to the slick warmth between your thighs, pay no attention to the way he makes you burn already, pay no attention to how your fingers have curled into the lapel of his coat to hold yourself steady, pay no attention to how you suddenly miss the pressure of his lips.

All that smart-talk and now you’re quiet, Counsel? F’I knew it just took a kiss to get you to shut up, I would’ve done that at trial, he’s purring in your ear, soft and sweet and you should push at his chest, so uncurl your fingers girl and push.

I didn’t say I was selling my body, there’s your harshness, and there he is, laughing at you again, the grip on your hair jerking your head back until you’re looking into those dagger-cold eyes again.

You don’t make the rules here, Counsel, I do, and you need me more than I need you. So if you want to make sure your Judge can’t start wreaking havoc on your career… you might want to get used to readjusting it for me. I promise I’ll make you feel nice, if you let me…

And if I don’t?

Then I take what I want and I don’t feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain. Your choice, Counsel, you cum willingly and I’ll give you everything you want. Don’t, and it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me.

That’s not a threat, that’s a promise, and suddenly you’re more scared than you ever thought you’d be, wondering if you’ll need to sell another part of your soul to take him down after. How much of yourself will you put up as collateral to get justice for the wrongs you were never able to correct?

You’re afraid.

Oh sweetness, you’re afraid.

Here? Now?

No, Counsel, we’re gonna do this right, aren’t we? You wanna be in bed with me, I’ll take you to bed with me. Come on, say it. Say the word.

Say no. Say no, rail and fight, stamp your heels into the expensive leather of his shoes, jam your knee into the sensitive between his legs, scream and yell and tell him you will never let another man take advantage of you again to help you reach your goals. Do it. Do the thing you swore you would do the next time a man like him — men who think they can take anything from anyone, men who think they own the world and the women in it, men who think you aren’t strong enough to fight back — propositioned you just like this.

You’re selling your soul to get rid of a man just like this.

But that’s coiling heat in your core that wasn’t there the last time, was it? That’s want. That’s the realization that you like the way this predatory smile feels, that you like the way this one wants you. You’re not her, not scared and alone and helpless. You could fight back and run and maybe escape if you were lucky.

You could choose.

He’s let go of your hair to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers, soft and sweet, You gonna give me an answer, Counsel, or am I gonna have to take it?

Say something. Say no. Scream. Say no say no say no say— Yes.

It’s a whisper. A desperate, soft whisper. A helpless, lonely whisper. It’s enough.

He sweeps you around until you’re pressed with your back against his unyielding chest, feeling him flex with every movement, broad arm wrapped around your shoulders from the front. All of you are dismissed, and that’s when you remember there were others in the room with you. Others who just watched you concede to becoming Captain America’s newest plaything and the burn on your cheeks is more shame than lust. You pull at his arm briefly, futilely, earning a tighter hold for your efforts and a whispered don’t make me choke you, before you are half-walked, half-dragged out of the dining room.

The walk to his room is slow and agonizing as you’re pulled along, barely struggling but barely helping at the same time, tears sliding down your cheeks as you come to terms with what’s going to happen next — no one is going to save you tonight, no one’s going to interrupt and drag you out, this is your job and this is your place and here you are.

No one speaks. There’s no sound but the steady tap of your heels and his shoes on fine marble. Even your sobs are silent, even your breathing is muffled, until the stairs are traversed and the faintest click of a lock turning opens the door to the rest of your life.

You made a deal.

Time to pay.

Sit on the bed.

You move as if in a trance, and he watches your face, the hint of waterproof mascara failing to do its job, the smudged ruby red of your lipstick. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked into this house, Counsel.

His hands are gentler than you’d expect, when he wipes away the streaks your tears leave down your pretty cheeks, coaxing you to look up at him, We’ll set ground rules later. Tonight? I wanna see if I can get that mouth of yours to beg for me.

It won’t, you snap without thinking, knifeblade sharp and cruel, ready for a fight again. He promised you that once, in a hiss you thought you’d misheard but no, you heard him just fine and now if he thinks he can quench your fire and have you pleading just because you sold your body for the prospect of revenge then he’s wrong.

Thing is, he laughs like that’s a challenge, and the hand holding your chin so gently is wrapped around your throat before you know it, silencing your voice with just the right application of pressure. I can do this all night, Counsel. Do you think you can last that long?

Fear. Anger. Indignation. You are fury made flesh and he is manipulating you with just the barest press of his palm and sliding over you, until you’re laid out there on soft sheets and he’s looming over you, splaying that big hand out and sliding it down your throat, over your chest, feeling the ruching of the fabric under his palm. You wrapped yourself up like a present for me, didn’t you sweetness?

The change in nickname isn’t lost on you but here you are, glaring up at him while he smiles so beatifically it leaves your blood boiling and your skin steadily warming. The rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, every angry breath a swear you don’t utter, every inhale your protests dying in your throat. What can you say, what would you say, right now? There’s nothing that can change the way he looks at you, or the way his eyes flicker from ice to blue fire the more he takes stock of the pretty little thing he’s about to start sharing his bed with.

Fuck, you’re beautiful, that one shocks you, but not as much as the sudden rush of cold air when he tears the emerald green fabric of your dress down and reveals the soft swells of your breasts, nipples peaked from the sudden cold.

You don’t get much time to gasp, just something soft and strangled before he turns your voice to whimpers, wrapping lips around that pebbled tip and laving his tongue over sensitive flesh. Where are your words now, Counsel, while he threatens the softness of your chest with the scrape of his teeth, when he slides his hands over the round curve of your thighs and parts your legs so he can press himself between them, so he can press himselfagainst you? Where is the knife-dagger of your wit to protest each soft, suckling kiss to your skin, each press of his fingers like he could just squeeze his ownership of you into the plushness of your hips, into the sweet swell of your ass? What do you say to the dirty little thrust of his hips as he bucks with his own burning need, reminding you just how much this is for hispleasure as he will make it for yours.

You would, could, should push him off and instead what are you doing? Curling your fingers into the silk-smooth of his comforter, desperate to writhe out of your own skin away from the burning pressure between your thighs, the foreign, unfamiliar heat you suddenly feel like you might be craving.

Anyone ever touch you like this before me, Counsel?Warm breath splays across your skin when he questions you, eyes fixed on yours and he waits. Answer him, answer him, tell him he’s nothing, tell him you’ve had better, lie and destroy that ego, lie lie lie lie—

Nnnh—no.

He looks like you’ve just told him the best news of his life, eyes wide and blown with lust, Oh is that right? You’re saying no one’s ever touched you this good? Or just no one’s ever touched you at all?

You don’t have to answer. The furious blush on your cheeks? The way your eyes slide away from his? The way you writhe, trying to press your thighs together to relieve the pressure and finding the effort futile? If the man’s grin could get any wider, it would, right now. Oh sweetness, we’re going to have so much fun exploring your body together…

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, already flushed and writhing and overwhelmed and if he could take a picture of this right now he would. He’ll save that for later though. Tonight? Tonight is just the two of you, and his hands are back to your skirt, pushing the tight fabric up over your round hips and revealing the lace of your panties… just before he rips them off, to the sound of your indignant yelp Steve!

You’re going to call me Captain, sweetness, we’re not close enough to use my name just yet.

No. No you’re not, and he’s not sure you’ll ever be — he rather likes the idea of hearing you whimper out his title when he gets you desperate and wanting.

He touches, slow and steady, watching you try to jerk away and tutting at you when you do, fingers at your delicate nerves like an assault on your pleasure. Bite your lip, bite back the moans, whine at him like he’s wounded you, You’re so wet, sweetness, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you, as he palms his cock to relieve the pressure on himself. You’re going to beg before he does and he’s patient, he’ll last the night.

St-stop it, it’s too— he shushes you ahtahtaht and rests his free hand on your mound, holding you down so his probing, inspecting fingers can take stock of the velveteen plushness of your delicate cunt. It’s too much, too much and you want to scream the moment he presses one finger into you, already overwhelmed, already so tightly wound the barest touches are unraveling you steadily.

You’re such a pretty thing, all desperate and needy, sweetness. You wanna cum already, don’t you? So busy, never gave anyone the chance to fuck that stuck-up bitch right out of you, did they? It’s almost pitying, isn’t it, the way he talks, hums at you while you’re reduced to a whining, whimpering mess so soon, so desperate for the release he’s on the edge of denying you, feeling you flexing around his finger and then the second leaping jolt of your body when another joins the inspection. Taking careful stock of the pretty cunt he owns now, and he’s careful to curl his fingers just right as he seeks the spot to hammer just to get you to scream.

You don’t, not yet, but that’s okay too, because he sees the way you take desperate hold of the sheets, the way your eyes roll backwards just slightly, the way you strain against his heavy hand to arch your back. Gotta tell you, sweetness, I imagined you under me a thousand and one ways but this one, right now? Tops the list. You ready to beg for me?

Do it. Do it and end your pleasurable torment. Do it and be released from the pressure, the coiling want. Surrender to him. Let him have you.

The white hot rush of your orgasm is not unexpected to him, his curling, cruel fingers having found the sweetness of your g-spot, but — you, too busy climbing the ranks to think of your own pleasure, too busy demanding your due from an unjust world explore your own warmth beyond that of a memory of a college hookup you would rather forget — you left breathless and wanton in the heat of the explosion he draws out of you, mewling something desperate and pleading against your own will and the song of it fills his ears like it’s all he’s ever wanted. There it is, and I thought we’d be here all night. A thumb flickers over the nerves at your entrance and you practically jump, something between a yelp and a moan escaping your lips.

First one’s just a treat, sweetness. Now on, you cum when I say you do, understand?

You nod.

Oh you nod, and you are lost, here and now. Sensitive and broken and there is so little of that steel spine here, writhing in his sheets and ohyou don’t know the things you do to him.

Think you can go again, sweetness? He’s purring, smug, twisting fingers stretching you slowly, muttering under his breath about how fucking tight you are around his fingers, how good you’re going to feel for him, and the smugness on his face is slowly fading into a dark consternation, brows furrowed like he’s somehow angry at you for being plush and delicate and fuckable.

You’re almost begging him to stop, and yet the pressure is building again, the twisting, coiling heat that leaves you breathless and mewling and he looks like he might be trying to immortalize this moment forever. Say it, sweetness. Say you need me. Beg me for my cock.

That’s it.

That’s what you need to, you need to beg, you need to give in. No more fighting, no more arguing no more —

Please…

Please what, sweetness, come on now. You got a way with words. The snarl is so barely contained.

Please, Captain, please just…

What do you need, sweetness? The fingers are relentless, the buzz in your nerves is overwhelming, you can barely even hear yourself talk, much less him.

Please just fuck me, Captain, I need your cock! It’s hurried and it’s crude and it’s desperate and it’s exactly what he wants as just another wall crumbles and you fall off your pedestal right into his arms.

He’s barely able to resist the buck of his hips, the need to be inside you, the knowledge that you are soft and velvet and you could be all over his senses just like this.

When did he free his cock? You don’t know, you just know it’s practically salvation when he sinks into you, when he fills you like you’ve been desperate for and Oh sweetness…pours from his lips just as you hiss out something like praise right back at him.

You’re so full and he’s so gentle, at first, like you’re made of crystal in his arms, like the slow shifting of his hips might have you shattering underneath him if he’s not careful. Cradling you, even, sliding your legs around his narrow hips as he leans in and takes a hungry kiss from your wanting, whimpering mouth.

Love this look on you, all wrapped around me, whispered low and slow into your ear, sweetness you have no idea how good you look…

Melt into those compliments, melt into him, because the way he’s holding you is divine and you can feel him so deep in you it’s making your head spin. When did your arms end up around him? When did you start clinging to him like an anchor, start winding your fingers through his hair, start leaving the marks of your nails on his back to the sound of his own needy groaning?

He noses your cheek and leaves a mark of ownership on your neck with hungry lips, knowing you’ll bruise a beautiful flower right over your pulsebeat and continuing the steady assault on your nerves, cunt-first.

Harder. Faster. More.

And oh, sweetness, you do shatter.

You shatter all around him, you shatter into something divine and rapturous, full of him and filled with him and he cums so deep inside you as you do, still fucking you through your joined climax, hips rutting and breath hitching and nearly furious at you for the way his vision whites out too, the way he feels like he can Never get enough and so he hisses that at you like an accusation while his thoughts reorient back to reality, back to smugness, back to the control you took from him while he tried to strip you of yours.

In the end, as he pulls away from you and sinks to the side of you, watching your sweet expression as you return to the reality of your new situation, he is satisfied… thoroughly.

Oh yeah, I think we can make this a working relationship, Counsel.

[yoonsshadow]

ETERNAL - i

➳ summary ; They have died so often that death has lost its meaning; hurt so regularly that pain has become inconsequential; lost so much that they hold each other to the light of the stars. They have nothing yet they have everything, as long as they have each other. And, after centuries, they now have her.

➳ pairing ; bts!ot7 x fem!reader

➳ genres ; The Old Guard au; fantasy, historical, action, romance, alternate universe

➳ themes ; angst, fluff, death

➳ warnings ; murder, death, violence, blood, guns, burnt bodies, nudity [nonsexual], nightmares, drugs? [sleeping pills], a bunch of boys being in love

➳ word count ; 4.8k

➳ note ; I watched The Old Guard on Netflix [a serious recommend if you haven’t already seen it] and got hit with major inspiration. Nothing better than found-family and immortal soulmates. I put of a lot of time, effort and love into this, so please treat it with delicate hands. And please, please, give me feedback if you like it. Thank you, and enjoy :)

They have done this before, enough times—too many times—to be familiar with the routine. 

The nightmares, all too vivid and yet frustratingly vague, of blood and pain and death. Glimpses of a face they have never seen, memories that do not belong to them. The lingering thoughts of why another, why now, why at all?

They have done this many times, and yet it never gets easier, never makes sense.

⎯⎯⎯

When they submit to the clutches of slumber, it is beneath the glowing moonlight that shines through the broken ceiling of an abandoned church. Overgrown with vines that hold the crumbling walls together and hidden behind bushes and weeds and shadows, this building will be safe, for them. For now. It may not provide much warmth, or much shelter, but it gives them a sense of anonymity that they so desperately depend on. Right now, it hides them from the world. They are nothing but each other’s, so long as they are here.

Usually, sleep brings peace. Long ago did they learn how to banish demons from their dreams, memories of pasts both true and terrible, and so through sleep they find temporary solace from the demands of their long lives. They hold each other in their warm arms, forget about their worries if only for a brief moment. They are but seven men, seven soulmates, seven loves, existing together without burden.

Until tonight.

It is familiar, the weight that descends upon their chests, pushes against their rib cages. An invisible force both squeezing them and pulling them apart, flooding them with vague images, sounds, feelings. In sleep, they hold each other tighter, safer, but they cannot escape the myriad of memories and thoughts that fill their minds.

A pair of eyes, so brown that they are pure, so dark that they are nearly black, blink at them as sweat begins to shine upon their skin. These eyes are young, but they hold wisdom, maturity, that can only come with death. Witnessing it, causing it, experiencing it. These eyes are filled with desperation in this moment, but also a stubborn determination; they know what is coming, and yet they will continue to fight until their dying breath, as they vowed⎯⎯

⎯⎯a uniform, black, stained with dirt and blood, without any identifying marks. No dog-tags, but a tan line around a soft neck where they would normally hang. Trained muscles behind firm fabric, knowledgeable fingers clutching a military assault rifle. Steel-toed boots, scuffs through the polish, dirt in the seams and drops of red in the laces⎯⎯

⎯⎯heart beating through chest, adrenaline spiking, but something’s wrong, this isn’t supposed to happen, how did they know we were coming? Need to get out, need to get to cover, need to save⎯⎯

⎯⎯the enemies found them, caught them, have them, bound and bloodied in a dark cave or dungeon, they can’t tell. Chains rattle against stone where bodies shift for comfort, but no comfort can be found for bleeding wounds, broken bones, bruised skin. Eyes connect, know they’re saying goodbye, can’t speak but wish they could say something, apologise, curse, plead, pray. By the time footsteps stomp their way in, handgun cocked and aimed at their foreheads, they have already accepted that⎯⎯

Gasps echo in the silence as seven bodies jerk awake, trembling and sweating and aching with pains that another is experiencing. Their minds are still clouded, submerged within their dreams, but they know this routine. They know what they have just seen.

Hands scramble beneath their makeshift bedding as they reach for their journals, their pens, and begin to scribble whatever details they can remember ⎯ eyes, blood, pain, death. They’ve all clung to different images, and they desperately remember everything they can before it washes away with their wakeful clarity.

“I saw, um, eyes,” chokes the youngest, his pencil already sketching the eyelashes with careful precision. “Brown, dark. Looked like a girl’s.”

“She had to be military,” says another. “Maybe special forces? No insignia on the uniform and dog-tags were taken off. Black-ops?”

“I saw a glimpse of a scar on her hand. Might help to identify her.”

“There were others, too; a team. I have a feeling she was the leader.”

“It was a rescue operation, but I don’t think they succeeded. The enemies saw them coming. She was confused as to how.”

“Did you see the gun she was shot with? That’s military grade. It was either supplied by somebody on the force, or they were the force.”

“God, I have a headache.” Seokjin rubs his temples, a pain lingering behind his eyes but never ceding. “Never thought after three-hundred years that we’d get another one.”

Arms curl around him, a sigh breathed into his neck. “Me too, hyung.” Jeongguk nuzzles closer, finds comfort in the warmth of his lover’s broad shoulders. “I feel sorry for her. Now she’s going to have to deal with this too.”

“Hey, what did I say about pessimism?” Namjoon’s pointed look is directed towards the youngest, but the words are for everybody to hear. A reminder. “Our lives may be long, and hard, and difficult to deal with at times. But we have the opportunity to help people, to affect change, and, most importantly,” his eyes soften, “to have each other.”

“Wah, hyung’s going soft on us,” Taehyung grins, leaning his head on Namjoon’s shoulder.

Behind him, Jimin clings around his torso like a koala. “Yeah, those are big words for somebody who so often tells us how insufferable we are,” he agrees.

Sitting up, Yoongi joins the conversation with a voice still deep with sleep. “That’s because you are insufferable. But that doesn’t mean that hyungs love you any less. Eternal life would be extremely dull if we didn’t have you annoying us constantly.”

Taehyung and Jimin smile at each other, eyes glittering with something devious, and something close to love. “You all just bore witness to that,” Jimin says, pointing at Yoongi. “You all heard him say that, so you can’t yell at us for being annoying ever again!”

“Free pass!” Taehyung agrees.

Hoseok, still lounging his head in Yoongi’s lap, rolls his eyes. “Yoongi-hyung said it, but none of us did, so we can, and will, still yell at you.”

The two pout, but question it no further. They could spend centuries arguing over petty things⎯have, regrettably⎯but they’d much rather get along. For now, forever.

“Hyungs,” a small voice whispers into the silent air, drawing attention to where the maknae still hugs into Seokjin’s back. He’s pouting, and they want to coo at him, but his next words break them out of their reverie of adoration. “What about the girl?”

Your ears are ringing when you finally wake, images of your nightmares still clinging to your mind, so vivid, so real. They were filled with pain, and fear, and the bloodied faces of your soldiers as they were shot one after the other. You remember screaming for them, pleading, hoping against hope that they’d listen. But, instead, you had watched them die.

You hope that you didn’t scream aloud, didn’t wake your team. They deserve the rest, even if you couldn’t have it.

Muscles stiff and aching from a restless slumber, you shift in your cot, move to adjust the blanket. But your cot is harder than you’d like, your blanket out of reach. In fact, you can’t move your arms at all.

When your heavy eyelids finally open, you realise why your dreams had felt so real.

The stench of blood and death is so thick in the air that you can taste it, that bitter tang against your tongue bringing bile up to the back of your throat. Your body isn’t just sore, it’s screaming; it’s as though you can feel your muscles re-knitting together after being torn apart. And maybe it’s panic that crushes against your lungs, constricting your airways, or maybe it’s grief.

Because as soon as your eyes land on the dead bodies of your teammates, you can’t breathe.

Your throat is so sore from screaming and crying that the sounds escaping it are torn and scratchy, but you can’t hold them in. Not when you see your friend’s brain splattered over the wall behind her; not when you see your second-in-command holding her hands together, mid-prayer when the shot was fired.

You sob, and yell, and cry out until your throat is raw, and then when you have no voice left, you continue. You may not be dead yet⎯and for what reason, you don’t want to know⎯but you don’t think that you’ll ever truly live after this. How does one move on from their friends, their family, being slaughtered before their very eyes? How does one process the fact that they were left behind?

Through the crushing weight on your chest and the searing pain in your throat, you hear footsteps approaching. The heavy boots do nothing to hide their owner’s steps, impatient and strong, but you can’t find it within yourself to be afraid. The worst thing they can do is torture you some more, maybe even kill you, but you’d welcome death at this stage; you’d welcome reprieve from the sorrow that threatens to swallow you whole.

It’s a man, unsurprisingly, who walks through the mouth of the dark cave, ugly face covered by a mask pulled up to his eyes. He looks at you, something in his half-hidden expression that you don’t have the energy to place, and then says something in a language that you cannot understand.

Heaving a breath and swallowing blood, you meet his sharp eyes. “I don’t understand you.” Your words scratch their way out, hardly discernible, so you try again. “I won’t tell you anything, so just kill me and get it over with.”

This time he shouts, still angry but this time not at you, though he never tears his gaze off your crumpled figure. Like if he blinks, you may disappear.

Once again, hurried and heavy footsteps make their way into the room, a pair of men joining their comrade. These ones are holding guns. You can’t find it within yourself to flinch.

More foreign words are thrown at you, some that seem like questions, but your mind is too rattled, head too sore, to even try to comprehend what they might want from you. Your shoulders ache from where your arms are secured behind you, and your legs ache from hours⎯maybe days?⎯of disuse. So you sigh, level what you hope is a glare towards the two newcomers, and repeat, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Looks exchanged between them, hesitation, and then, “You should be dead. Why are you not dead?”

In a moment of weighted silence, you try to determine if they’re serious. Because surely they aren’t asking you how you are alive while being held captive by them. But they don’t elaborate, so you’re left with an even greater migraine than before. “Are you fucking serious?”

The expletive makes them simultaneously point their rifles at you, and this time, you do stiffen. You may be feeling slightly suicidal right now, but you also have reflexes.

“I don’t know why I’m alive.” The admission is spat from between your teeth, reluctant and bitter. “Why don’t you ask whoever it was that killed the rest of my team?”

“I killed your team,” one of them says. The first one. Without a gun, obviously having thought there would be no threat in entering this dungeon. “I killed you, too, shot you in the head myself. So tell me again. Why are you alive?”

“Maybe you’re a bad shot,” you reply. “How am I to fucking know why you let me live? Now do me a favour, will you? Either let me go or shoot me for real this time.”

You don’t have time to register the sound of the gunshot before the bullet goes through your forehead.

“Anything?”

A sigh is the only response that Namjoon receives. 

“Alright,” he continues, “what do we know for sure about her?”

“Honestly, hyung?” Jimin looks up from the laptop he’s perched at. “I don’t think we even truly know if it’s a woman. We saw her⎯their⎯eyes, but not much else. Like, sure, we think it’s a woman, we’re pretty sure of it, but nothing’s certain. The visions were really vague this time around.”

“He’s right,” Yoongi agrees, never looking up from the screen of his own computer. “I’ve been searching the military databases, but it’s hard to pinpoint covert operations that don’t technically exist. We didn’t get a dog tag number, or an insignia, or even an idea of which country’s military she’s in. I hate to say it, but we might just need to wait until tonight. Get some more pieces of the puzzle.”

This is what Namjoon was afraid of, not that he was expecting anything else. His boys are good, but even they can’t work miracles.

“I feel sorry for her,” Jeongguk hums, cheek pressed into the couch cushion where he’s taken a rest from research. Not that he ever really started; that was always his hyungs’ strong points. “I mean, she’s all alone right now, probably really confused, really scared. I know I was before you all found me.”

That sentence strains their hearts, makes them pause. Jeongguk had been alone for nearly a decade before they had finally found him, lonely and of unsound mind, unaware of the curse he’d been unwillingly given. They’d spent years helping him heal, helping him accept, and now they can proudly say that he is stable and content. Happy, even, sometimes.

You, however. You are in the exact same place that he was. Maybe worse, they don’t know.

Taking slow steps towards the couch, Hoseok gently lifts Jeongguk’s legs to place them on his lap when he sits. He feels the strong calf muscles beneath his fingers as he strokes the uncovered skin, bare only for their eyes, until the young one has relaxed his worried muscles.

“I know it’s hard, Jeongguk-ie,” Hoseok says, voice just above a whisper, soft and yet sure. “I know that we all want to find her as soon as possible, but we can’t just yet. Hopefully the next dream will give us more, but until then, we just have to stay focused. Let’s not get lost in that mental spiral, okay?”

Jeongguk hums, not fully sated with the answer but understanding nonetheless. “M’kay, hyung.”

The comfortable silence in the room following their conversation doesn’t even stretch five minutes before a figure slams into the building, flourishing his arms and announcing his arrival enthusiastically.

“We’re back, bitches!”

Seokjin follows behind Taehyung, closing the church doors after the younger had slammed them open and looking exhausted. “Taehyung chatted with the cashier for half an hour before he even asked for help. We could have been back hours ago.”

“Hey.” Taehyung directs a look at the oldest. “Her outfit coordination was unlike anything I’ve seen this century. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s as old as Hoseok-ie hyung!”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Hoseok asks Seokjin, who is smiling despite himself.

“Definitely a compliment. I’ll admit, she reminded me of that one fashion mogul we knew in Paris. The one...Jimin, you know the one I’m talking about. Red hair, lazy eye?”

“It wasn’t a lazy eye, hyung,” Jimin corrects, “she was just keeping an eye out in all directions.”

“Yeah, anyway,” Seokjin says, “none of that matters. We got the stuff. Took a while, but we got it.”

Taehyung empties his plastic shopping bag onto a wiped-down old table, cardboard boxes falling onto the surface. “I’ve got to say, modern medicine is pretty ground-breaking. I wish we were smart enough to have invented it earlier.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Yoongi asks, sounding a lot less interested than he actually is. “I wouldn’t think that sleeping pills would affect us.”

At this, Namjoon bites his lip. “Usually, I’d agree with you, but I’ve been doing some thinking. If the pills aren’t hurting us, our bodies shouldn’t heal too quickly; they should still have time to take effect. Just like how we can get drunk but not have liver issues, or smoke but not get cancer.”

“But smoking’s still gross,” Jeongguk mumbles.

“So,” Hoseok ponders aloud, “if we take the pills, it should prolong our sleep so that we can lengthen the dream? Do you think it’ll work?”

“We’ve never been able to test it,” Namjoon shrugs. “The worst thing that could happen is our body processes it quicker than it works, and we have a normal night’s sleep with normal visions. It’s worth a shot.”

“I think a few of us should not take the pills,” Seokjin says. “That way, if the pills really do work, some of us can still wake up normally in case of an emergency.”

Namjoon nods his head in agreement. “Okay. We’ll rock-paper-scissors it tonight. Until then, let’s rest.”

The second time you wake up, you are significantly less disorientated. You know where you are, what has happened and, most importantly, that you should definitely be dead.

You’d seen the gun, heard the click, felt the bullet spilt through your skull. You know what a killing shot is, have dealt a few yourself, so you know that you should not be opening your eyes to an intense headache right now.

An acrid odour drifts through your dazed thoughts, a stench so strong, so unpleasant, that bile immediately rises and spills from your mouth. You don’t have much to vomit, so you spit mostly water and stomach acid onto the ground beneath you as you wretch from your aching throat.

No, not the ground. Something far worse.

When the tears from your eyes clear away and you look to the ground, you see what is digging into your skin, jabbing at your muscles; you aren’t sure why, or how, but you are lain across a pile of bones and scraps of cloth, sizzling flesh still warm to the touch and sticking to you in chunks. You are atop a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and soaked to the bone with the reeking smell of charred flesh.

Your stomach is empty, and so you can only scramble from the pile and retch.

For several minutes, all you can do is allow your body’s attempt to empty itself on the ground. Even more so than before, your mind is overwhelmed with thoughts and questions and worries, most of which lead to the fact that you are lying naked in the middle of a desert, next to a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and somehow alive.

You are at least thankful that you are already lying on the ground when you faint.

*

There are seven pairs of eyes⎯brown, warm⎯that look at you, look at each other. Words remain unspoken, for the pupils reveal every thought, every emotion. I care for you deeply, they say, now and forever. The words are not meant for you, not yet, but they feel familiar. As if you have heard them in every past life⎯

⎯Surrounded by trees, a sight which would usually calm you but now only acts as a hindrance, you run through the familiar forest without grace. Bare feet bleed trails of red through the undergrowth, sore arms never dropping the heavy weapons that slow you down so. You should not be alone, never usually are, but now you are accompanied only by your panic and the wolves that chase you. These ones, however, do not howl or gnash their feral jaws; they calculate, the way only a human can⎯

⎯Metal hangs heavy around your lithe neck, skin raw and bleeding beneath its unrelenting grip. Fingers grab into your filthy hair, knotting into your bun. Worthless piece of filth, growls a man. You are not unfamiliar with his tone, nor his insults, though this is the first time you have felt a glob of saliva being spat onto your cheek. Can’t even follow the basic rules. Somebody really ought to make an example of you⎯

⎯This room is bright, brighter than the last, and yet somehow glooms darker than all. Shadows hang heavy in the corner where invasive eyes hide, but you can look only to the man who sits in front of you, posture relaxed despite the tensity that thickens the air. Go on, he taunts as you are shoved to your knees, the pain nothing compared to the fear that fills you at the sight of the executioner’s sword. Show us that smile of yours. Grant the world one more. Grant him, he nods towards another figure who you refuse to meet gazes with, one last dazzling grin. You do not, but you do whisper an apology under your breath, one that will never be heard⎯

⎯Gold silk hangs from your broad shoulders, the fabric draping gracefully down your tall body. Each detail stitched into the delicate robe sparkles in the candlelight, patterns that tell stories of love and power and beauty. Jeonha, somebody says to you, a face that is hidden from your view. I am sorry for this, Jeonha. Gold silk soon turns crimson when the knife plunges into your back. You are not even allowed the courtesy of looking into your killer’s eyes⎯

⎯You had always thought that you would live longer, survive the odds set against you, but you know now, as your mother tends to the gash carved into your chest, that this time, luck is not your benefactor. It is not so bad, she assures, though you know the look in her eyes, see the light in them dimmed with grief of a life not yet lost. You wish to tell her everything, anything, but the words bubble up in your throat and you struggle to spit them out. She knows, though, you can see that she knows, and her calming hand rests over your heart, which beats slower and slower with each moment. I love you, my sun, my son. Rest well. Her hand grows cold, or maybe that is you. For you no longer feel, no longer worry, only close your eyes and fall⎯

⎯Urgency pumps your blood faster, the sound echoing in your ears, as your weeping eyes search around you. Nothing, not the chaos around you nor the wound in your shoulder, can stop your wobbly legs from moving, not when you have to find him. There you are, comes his voice from behind you, and you turn so quickly that you become dizzy. But he is there, wounded yet alive, and he is offering you a smile that you struggle to return. You fall into his arms, he into yours, hold each other with all the strength that you have. And when an arrow pierces through your heart, spearing through his chest, you are connected even when you fall, lifeless⎯

*

This time, you wake with a gasp and a speeding heart, images so vivid still lingering in your mind. Your chest is still sore where your heart lies, the organ heavy with another’s grief, and you are surprised to find yourself covered in your own tears.

Still in the dirt, still nude, still alive, and still confused, you know that the only way to survive is to keep moving. Memories of dreams that had felt so real may plague your mind for a while, but you cannot dwell. You have had nightmares before, strange and also plausible ones, and you know. You know that to submit to the darkness of your own mind is a death sentence in itself. So you stand up, dust off your bare skin, and begin walking in an unknown direction.

You only cast one glance back at the bodies behind you. Your team, in all probability. Your friends. You are leaving them in the middle of nowhere.

This, too, you do not allow yourself to dwell on. Not now. Not yet.

Though the night has long since begun, darkness creeping into every corner of the room, one figure lies awake, thinking. Listening.

He is selfish, he supposes, for choosing not to sleep in a time when it can be so important. He should be allowing the visions to greet him, remembering the details, soaking it all in. Instead, he blinks away his exhaustion in exchange for wandering thoughts. He is not ready to allow another’s memories into his mind; for his to enter their’s. He has unwillingly revealed his sins to far too many already.

Hoseok is afraid. And he is tired.

Around him, his six loves breathe deeply, bodies relaxed in slumber and minds lost to the visions of their eighth soul. Some stir, occasionally, and he is sure he’s heard one of the maknaes whimper, but all is otherwise silent.

He would die a million painful deaths just to ensure that they could maintain this peace forever. He supposes he has, already. But he doesn’t regret it. Not for them.

Though the silence is calming, it also beckons his eyes closed and his mind into darkness. So, in an attempt to battle the tantalising call of sleep, he rolls over, stands up, and quietly sneaks out of the crumbling building they’ve taken shelter in.

The air outside nips at his skin, prickling goosebumps down his back and arms, but it is always chilly at this time of year, in this part of Europe. He forgets which country they’re in. Possibly close to France, but likely somewhere in Italy. He can smell salt in the air, the ocean not far away.

Yes. Italy.

Through thick undergrowth and overgrown weeds he wanders, mind idle and busy all at once. His feet take him around the perimeter of the area⎯a consequence, he supposes, of living a paranoid life⎯but his thoughts are elsewhere. On a girl he has yet to meet. On you.

How will you react, he wonders, to this life? To them? Through the brief flashes he has seen of you, you are a woman who seems steadfast, capable, and determined. But he’d also seen your team; felt the love you hold for them. Will you be able to part from the life that you can no longer lead? Will you eventually accept them as your new family?

There are too many questions, too many things to worry about. This is why he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind until two arms wrap around his shoulders.

“You should be asleep.” The words are whispered beside his ear, warm breath fanning down his neck. He shivers, but doesn’t respond. “What’s wrong? Let me help.”

Hoseok sags into the strong embrace, allows the arms to tighten around his chest, and sighs. “I’m worried, Namjoon.” Namjoon hums, doesn’t say anything. “Is it selfish of me to not want to see her memories? To not want her in my head?”

A pair of plump lips kiss the tip of his ear. “Perhaps,” Namjoon says. When Hoseok stiffens, he pulls him closer. “But being selfish is not necessarily a bad thing. You are allowed to prioritise yourself every once in a while.” Namjoon can sense that Hoseok is not yet appeased, so he adds, “There are six of us here to take the visions when you can’t. And if you do decide to rest, there will be six of us here to hold you through it. Being selfish does not mean that you are alone.”

“I’m so tired,” Hoseok whispers, and they both know that he is not referring to his lack of sleep. “We’ve all got such baggage, so much hurt, and I wonder if adding the weight of an eighth will be too much.”

“Hey.” Namjoon gently turns Hoseok in his arms, holding him close still. They look into each other’s eyes, see everything that they have grown familiar with. That they have grown to love. “We will also have another person to help share the load. For now and forever, we are in this together. It’s okay to have doubts, or worries, but never forget that you are ours and we are yours.”

Foreheads touch and eyes close, the silence of the night engulfing them as they share each other’s heat. And here, they are okay. They still have fears, still have troubling thoughts, but they are not so bad when they are together.

“C’mon,” Namjoon mumbles. “Let’s go back inside. Whether you decide to sleep or not, we should stay with the others. You know how they can get about cuddle piles.”

This does make Hoseok breathe a laugh. “Okay. And hey, Namjoon.” He presses their lips together in a brief, soft kiss. “Thank you, my love.”

“My eternal,” Namjoon replies.

That night, they both allow sleep to take them. They join the others in dreams of bloodshed, heartache, and death. And they hold each other a little closer. And they are okay.

< prev ⎯ next >

[weclassygirl]

𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟑

Word count: +2.4k

Pairing: neil x reader (tenet)

Warnings: none, tiny bit of violence

Author’s note: hello! i feel like the chapters are getting longer, the next one (which will be the last one) will be long, i really hope my logic in this will be correct for the next one. anyways, enjoy! as always, i’m not a native english speaker. take care love! <3

Previous part (x)

Gif credits (x)

You wake up as the car stops in front of an entrance to the destination place. You see Ives going around the car and into the building. Neil reaches for your door, ready to wake you up but already sees that you're up. 

"Finally awake? You've got us worried." he says and you massage your temples. You reach to your arm to see how bad the wound got, it began to scar. You get out of the car and move towards the entrance with Neil.

"I'll have a beautiful scar to remember by." you tell him and he chuckles. Both of you enter the building. It’s different than the one in Tallinn. You see that Ives is nowhere in sight, probably already on the other side. You look at the proving window before you enter and see yourself on the  side in the red room. This time you enter without hesitation, Neil follows you. You feel the machine move and shortly after you see the now familiar red light of the room. Both of you exit the machine and move towards the exit, Ives already waiting by the door. 

“I’ll meet you in a few days.” he says and you see Neil nodding. “We have to wait for Wheeler and the others to come back and see if our new friend somehow followed us here.” this time you nod and take off your mask, hanging it on the wall beside you. Your eyes follow Ives' figure as he disappears behind the steel door. You turn to Neil.

"Where to now?" you wonder as he hangs the mask on the wall. 

"Another country. Safety measures but this time we need to find a hotel." he informs you as both of you move to the exit. 

"No more safe houses?" you question from the side. 

"It will be a safehouse if we remake it into one." he says, his eyes lighting up. You chuckle and enter the car that will take you to the airport and then to Romania. 

When you land in Bucharest you're driving straight to the hotel. You see Wheeler already waiting at the reception, not in her usual military uniform. 

"Got out safely?" Neil asks her. He takes the keys to the room and the three of you move to the elevators. 

"Barely, some of the guys got injured, but nothing major thankfully." she informs him. The elevator moves rather quickly and soon the doors open. Wheeler moves to her room which is placed in front of yours. Neil puts the key in and turns it, opening the door. He gestures for you to enter first. You walk into the corridor and into the living room. The walls in front of you are covered in roof to ceiling windows, the whole room has a nice beige tint to it. You go around and find two bedrooms, you walk into one and put your bags down. 

Outside you can see that it’s already getting dark, you go to the living room and see Neil talking on the phone with someone that you assume is Ives. He sees you enter and hangs up the phone. He looks at you for a moment before speaking. 

“Everything alright?” he asks. 

You nod. “Yeah, just gonna head to shower, clean off all the blood from my arm.” you see him nod and move to the bathroom. You close the door behind you and take off the dirty clothing, being careful around the arm. The blood has already started to dry. You enter the shower and clean rather quickly, you see red water going down the drain beneath you. You  exit it and look at your reflection in the mirror. You look tired, exhausted really, the wound is not as big anymore, it began to scar. 

You leave the bathroom and walk into the living room, Neil nowhere in sight. You go to the bedroom and see the door next to yours slightly ajar. You open them carefully and see Neil already asleep, his phone next to him as well as some notes. You take the blanket from the chair and place it on him, gently so that you don’t wake him up. You close the door and head to your bedroom, falling onto the bed from exhaustion.                                                         

You wake up to the sound of muffled voices coming from the living room. You see it’s light outside, probably early morning. You get dressed and go to the living room, you stop near it when you hear them talking in hushed tones. 

“We can’t get it out right now, it’s too risky.” you hear Neil say. His voice worried.

“What else do you want to do? Wait here and let the others find the algorithm and use it?” Ives whispers loudly. You try to turn back to your room but they hear the shuffling of your feet. 

“(Name)?” Neil calls out. You stop in your tracks and turn back to the living room. Both of the men look at you and you press your lips into a thin line. 

“Hi. Sorry, I heard some voices.” you quickly explain. “What’s the algorithm?” you question hesitantly. Ives' side glances Neil and looks back to you. You look at them suspiciously. 

“Just tell her. She’s as much a part of it as we are now.” Ives urges Neil and he sighs. He comes closer to you. 

“An algorithm is a device that has been split up and hidden in the past. If a person were to combine all of the parts, they would be able to invert the entropy of the whole world.” he explains to you as you nod along, trying to understand what you just heard. 

“But… that would mean that…” you say slowly. 

“That the world would be destroyed when they’re joined and used.” you hear Ives say. You look at both of them in shock and fall down onto the seat near you, trying to comprehend the situation. 

“And you guys found it?” 

“Yes. And we’ll be leaving soon to get it.” you turn to Ives and nod. He looks to Neil and seems to be having a silent conversation with him, after a moment he leaves the room, only you and Neil are left in it. 

“Not what you expected right?” he speaks up and you chuckle. 

“I think this might be a bit better than someone trying to kill me for whatever reason.” you see him smile at your response. He looks at you for a moment and observes you. He sees you still a bit tired, but now more alert with the new found information. 

“How’s your arm?” he asks. You look towards it and move it experimentally. Your face scrunches at the faint feeling of pain. He goes to the cupboard and takes out the first aid kit. 

“Better I think. Started to heal and not spread further.” you inform him as he sits next to you. He reaches to your shirt trying to remove the part from your shoulder. You do it for him and carefully give him better access to it. The bandage around your arm started to bleed through a bit in the night. Neil takes it off gently and starts cleaning the excess blood. You wince at the sudden feel of a pad soaked in alcohol. You hear him whisper a small “sorry”. He wraps a new bandage around your arm and stands up to put the aid kit back to its place. 

You observe him for a moment before he sits across from you pouring some water into the glass and handing one to you. Both of you start to talk about the smallest things, trying to fill up the silence of the room. You talk about his passion for physics and you tell him why you chose to study at a university so late. You wanted to give yourself a break from studying nonstop, try to find some calling in life. The two of you seem to fall into a routine, to find a topic to talk about for hours, that could even extend into late nights. You enjoy talking with him and he feels the same. Both of you talk like you’ve known each other for years. 

You stand up from your seat after a few hours of talking. “Where are you going?” you hear Neil ask as you move to the door. 

“To find Ives and Wheeler. I want to ask them some questions about that algorithm and probably the mission.” Neil nods at your answer and you leave the room. In the meantime Neil has been writing some notes on the inversion and the all possible scenarios that could come up with retrieving the algorithm. 

He turns his head at the sound of opening doors and tenses for a bit before seeing you walk through them, he immediately relaxes. He goes back to his notes and you walk into the room slowly, walking around it for a bit, looking out the window. Neil watches your movements with furrowed brows. 

“Everything okay?” he asks and you turn to him with a bit widened eyes. You nod your head and sit close to him, looking at his notes. 

“What are you working on?” you question. He looks at you for a moment before answering.

“Plans for the mission, in case something goes wrong. Did you find out everything you wanted from Ives and Wheeler?” once again you nod your head all the while looking at the notes spread on the table. There’s an unfinished coffee laying next to them. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says as he stands up to fill up the glass with water. 

“Sure.” you say and stand up to, getting a glass for yourself. You sip from it as you wait for his question.

“Why did you start your university so early? Why not take a break from studying?” 

You look at him, thinking for a moment. “Wanted to learn more. Gain some more knowledge, maybe find some job or try to at least.” Neil nods at your answer and puts the glass on the table. You turn to do the same but are suddenly gripped by Neil and pinned to the wall. His arm across your chest, holding you in place. You try to free yourself from his grip but he only pins you harder against the wall.

“Who are you?!” he asks you. You don’t answer and he only presses harder against you. “I’m not gonna ask you again.” he warns you. You’re about to respond but you hear the doors to the apartment open and in them stands… you. 

Neil looks at you and back to the you that he still holds in his grip. From the doorway you look at the scene with wide eyes. Neil lets go of the person and she steps away from him. You close the door and walk into the living room, standing beside Neil. Both of you looking at the woman with the same face as you. She puts her hands up as if to reassure you that you mean no harm, Neil already points his gun at her. 

“Who are you?” he asks again but you respond from beside him, already knowing the answer. 

“You were the person in the mask.” you state, still not believing what you’re saying. “At the highway, outside of the safehouse.” 

The woman nods slowly. Neil looks at you from the side and you put your hand on his gun, lowering it. You step closer to the other you, she steps back a bit. “We can’t touch each other, it could erase us from the universe.” she tells you and you stop just a few meters from her. You look at her. She looks exactly like you, the same hair color, features, eyes. The eyes that you’ve seen through her mask, that seemed so familiar. Familiar cause you were looking at them everyday in the mirror. 

All these days you thought the person behind the mask was a man sent to kill you but it was you all along. The only question left is why. 

“You’re me.” you tell her, she nods. “From when?” 

She looks to Neil for a moment before turning back to you. “The future. A few years from now, at least.” you look at her with wide eyes still not believing that the other you is standing right in front of you. Neil speaks up from behind you, his hand still on the gun now hidden away. 

“Why did you try to kill her? She’s your past self. If you succeeded that would create a paradox. You would cease to exist.” he tells her. You recall him telling you about that paradox. How would a future version of you be able to commit the act in the first place?

“They needed to know that I was loyal to them, needed to prove myself to them.” the other you says. Neil comes a bit closer, his hand still on the gun, waiting to be pulled. 

“Who’s they?” he questions. The woman looks at him, a softness crossing her features as she takes him in. She composes herself quickly and says only one word. 

“Tenet.” 

Both of you look at each other not believing what you’re hearing. Neil comes closer to you and takes you to the side to make sure that the other you is telling the truth. You tell him that she does, you know when you lie, you see that she’s truthful. Neil hesitates but trusts your judgement. Both of you go back to the living room and see the other you sitting on the chair. Neil sits across from her while you stand beside him, not wanting to risk accidentally touching your future self. 

“Why would Tenet send you to kill your past self?” 

“They don’t want you ruining their plans concerning the algorithm.” she turns to you. You look at her confused, you only learned about the algorithm a few hours ago. How much could you be involved so that Tenet wants you eliminated? 

“We only found out about where it is a few hours ago, how does it connect to this?” you ask her. Your future self leans back in her seat, sighing deeply. 

“Because Tenet wants to use the algorithm for their own needs, to their advantage. Not all of them are on the good side. There are some that want to do more bad than good.” 

[babi-correia]

Guardian Angel

Words: 3083

Pairing: Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, drug abuse, poorly written medical stuff and PTSD.

From Anon:

“Hi there, can I get a Greg Gerwitz x reader, please? So reader and Jay are cousins and when Jay enlists, he starts writing about his friend Mouse so reader when sending care packages will always include things for Mouse and when Jay came back for his mum's funeral, Mouse came with and he falls for reader and vice versa but remained friends while he's in the rangers still. When he was discharged and eventually involved in some shady shit, it was the reader who gets him back on track. Thank you x”

Here you go, kind friend.

[(Y/N/N)=Your Nickname]

One thing you knew for sure: nothing in your life could have possibly prepared you for the moment when your cousin, Jay, had been deployed to Afghanistan. His mother, your own mother's sister, was devastated, but his father had shown nothing but anger and disapproval at his career choice, as he had with Will. It seemed like no matter what, the man would never approve or support either of his sons, and it annoyed you to no end. So, logically, when he went away you took it upon yourself to make sure he knew that at least one person back home cared about him and wasn't completely repealing him. 

He mentions his friend and teammate Greg Gerwitz in one of his first letters, as Jay had taken to personally protect Greg, as he was a very valuable communications expert; although you could read right through that Jay began projecting himself as an older brother for Greg, who he affectionately called "Mouse". From Jay's reaction, you gather that Greg probably didn't have that much of a support network back home, or any at all, other than Jay, so you include him as well in your silly little personal mission.

The first care package goes out a month into their deployment, filled with energy bars, sunblock, beef jerky, some pain-relieving topical cream, and deodorant, along with a picture of you, your mom, and Jay's mom holding a sign saying "Counting the days for the two of you to be back". It finds them well, and Jay's letter is full of little round wrinkly spots when you open it, its' content nothing but praise for the care package. He writes that Greg cried like a baby when Jay told him that the packed box was for the both of them and not just him. 

--

When you have to write to Jay about his mom's illness, it breaks you. Your whole purpose with the letters and care packages was to brighten their mood, often including bad jokes you had happened to hear and you knew they would get a kick out of because of how bad they were. But you had to tell him. You end up rewriting the letter more times than you cared to count, searching for the best way to say "hey, your mom's dying". This time, it's your letter that's filled with little round wrinkly spots when you seal the envelope. 

Jay's response takes its' time, and comes right in the week of your exams. Between helping your aunt and studying to get a decent internship, you were left with very little time to do anything else other than sleep and eat. You put a hold on the anatomy book you're studying, deciding to pick it up after you prepare everything to do with Jay and Greg, refusing to let them go without a letter or care package. You fill the letter with crappy jokes and complaints about how dumb you were to want to become a doctor, because clearly, the exams were driving you mad. You try to put some hope in the letter, saying that Jay's mom looks better than before. 

--

The next month makes you nearly drop out. Your aunt's condition worsens too fast for there to be anything left to do, and you have to be the one to let Jay know that his mom died because dear old Pat could still not be bothered to talk to his son. 

You manage to catch one of your dad's old army buddies, one who is still in the military, and make him pull some strings to get both Jay and Greg back in US soil for the funeral. 

You pick them up at the airport, noticing how thinner Jay is, how his face looks so sunken, how he looks almost broken. He barely has time to drop his duffle bag before you wrap him in a hug as tight as you can give. He hugs you back before backing away and wiping his eyes.

"(Y/N), this is Mouse. Mouse, this is (Y/N), the angel that has been sending us goodies." Jay introduces. Greg goes to shake your hand but you hug him, feeling him reluctantly hug you back. 

"I wish we had met under better circumstances." You say to Greg, pulling away from a hug and giving him a tired smile. "We should get back, you can still catch the wake, Jay."

The car ride is silent, and you can't find it in you to say anything at all. You pull up to the mortuary house, parking the car and taking a deep breath. 

"You want me to go in with you?" You ask, seeing how Jay is looking out the window. 

"No, I think it's better if I go in alone." He says before pausing. "Is Pat in there?"

"No. We haven't seen much of Pat lately." You admit, knowing Jay knew how much you despised his father.

He exits the car and you sit in silence, Greg still in the back seat. It takes a while before he breaks the ice.

"So... Jay tells me you want to be a doctor?" He asks meekly, his eyes on everything but you. 

"I do. I'm about to start my residency, hopefully at a big hospital like Chicago Med." You say, the usual excitement that comes paired with your passion and the opportunity to talk about it significantly dulled. 

"What's your expertise?"

"I'm going for trauma surgery." You say, turning around in your seat to face Greg. 

His heart skips a beat when his eyes finally meet yours. No one in his life had ever looked at him with the sheer kindness you did. He had grown a crush on you without knowing you at all, and seeing you look at him like that only reinforced it. 

"Look, I just want to say thank you for including me in the care packages." He manages, breaking eye contact and looking at his hands, which rest atop his knees. He can barely mask the gasp he makes when you put one of your hands over one of his and give him a reassuring squeeze. 

"It's my pleasure." You say, greeting him with a smile when he finally looks at you again. "I enjoy doing it, and it makes me feel better about the whole deployment situation that I can at least give you guys something to brighten your day."

Over the next couple of days, you just chat your mind out to Greg and read your medicine books to him, sometimes making him quiz you on the subjects. He generally looks confused, but he also seems happy to help you. It makes him giddy on the inside to see how much you know about whatever he's quizzing you about, and the focused yet excited look on your face makes his heart flutter. It's only during the night before they fly back that he realizes: he's head over heels for you.

You wake up ridiculously early the morning of their flight; well, you don't wake up, you just get out of bed, because sleep had ever so expertly evaded you due to your overthinking of what would happen to Jay and Greg back in Afghanistan. Your mind keeps racing, running multiple scenarios but not seeing a positive outcome in none of them. And even though of course you worried deeply about Jay, since he was your cousin and you two grew up together, your stomach twisted in itself at the thought of Greg getting hurt. 

You slowly realize that you had begun to harbor feelings for the man, and your mind reels. You hide your face on your hands as you try to process everything before you give up and go out to sit in your back yard and stare at the sky. 

You take them to the airport at around 5 am, the drive there being awfully silent. You feel the tears prickling at your eyes as you drive the car and grip the steering wheel with everything you have. You could tell Greg about how you felt, but you couldn't handle the fact that he was going back when he was barely your friend, much less if you uncovered your feelings. Besides, nothing guarantees you that he would like you back, so you decide to keep your mouth shut. 

You bid your goodbyes and hug the two men outside the airport, your hug with Greg taking a little longer than it should - not that he seemed to mind. They head inside and you return to your car, sitting behind the wheel and crying all of your emotions out. When you look back to maneuver your car, you notice something glinting in the back seat and pick it up. The small metal plate is cold in your hand, and you notice a little post-it attached. 

"Thank you for caring so much about someone you know so little about. Please don't forget about me."

You turn it around and see the engraving: Gregory Gerwitz. Tears well up in your eyes again, and you hold the dog-tag to your chest, closing your eyes.

--

You keep sending them letters and care packages as part of your routine, sometimes struggling to get time to do it. You had managed to land your internship on Med, and they liked you enough to keep you around as an ED doctor. 

On your day off, just as you're about to head off into the grocery shop to gather goodies for the next care package, your doorbell rings and you open the door to find your supposedly deployed cousin.

"Jay!?" Your voice is squeaky, but you can't find it in you to care. "What are you doing here?" 

You hug him carefully, noticing some cuts and bruises on his face and arms. He hugs you back and lifts you slightly. 

"I was medically discharged a few weeks ago, I've been crashing at a friend's but I owed you to come here." He explains as you guide him inside. "Also, I need your help with something."

"What's wrong?" You ask, sitting beside him on the couch. He points at your chest, where the dog tag rests, hanging from a simple chain. 

"It's about Mouse. He isn't taking it well and I'm afraid he's going to do something that's gonna hurt him." Jay sighs. "He really likes you, but he doesn't think of himself as deserving of someone that cares about him and wants to help."

"Where can I find him?" You ask, feeling your chest tightening. 

"Not even I know that, but as soon as I find out I'll let you know." He stays, prompting himself to get up. "By the way, I'm in the police academy and it'd mean a lot to me if you could attend my graduation in a few months."

"Of course!" You beam at him before hugging him. "Just let me know when, and I'll ask for the day off."

--

After your conversation with Jay, you can't bring yourself to stop thinking about Greg and how he's doing. One day, you're getting in your car to get home after a shift when you get a call from Jay.

"Yes?" You answer your phone.

"(Y/N), I need you to come to your house quickly." Jay's voice seems distressed. "It's Greg, I have no idea what happened."

You make the drive back in record time, grabbing the emergency medical kit from under the passenger seat before rushing inside. You notice Jay has used the spare key you gave him to get inside, finding him and Greg on the floor of your bathroom. 

Your heart drops and you join them on the floor, quickly assessing Greg; his skin is cold and clammy, his breathing and heart rate slow, and he seems to be slipping in and out of consciousness. 

"He's overdosing on opioids." You realize aloud, quickly opening your medical kit and retrieving a small vial and a syringe. Jay watches you as you charge the syringe and push out the air before administering it. 

"What is that?" He asks, watching as you set the syringe on the bathroom counter.

"Naloxone. It reverses opioid overdoses, technically." You say, observing Greg's reaction. "We have to get him to a hospital, Jay."

"No, that may screw whatever little chance he still has at getting a job." 

You shake your head as you move your hand to gage Greg's heart rate, noticing it seemed to pick up a bit.

"Let's see how he progresses. If I don't like anything in how he develops, I'm taking him to the hospital, and that's not debatable." You state, moving behind Greg and sitting him up, noticing as he begins to shiver. You lean his back against your chest as he begins to move slightly. "Stay still for a bit, Greg. Please."

You feel him tense up, his breathing labored. He looks at Jay, who shakes his head.

"I don't know what's going on Mouse, but you need to get it together." Jay says, his face serious as he gets up. "I have to get to the academy, but I'll come by later."

You hear the front door shut as Jay leaves, and just sit on the floor in silence for a while. 

"What's going on, Greg?" You ask, your voice barely a whisper. He feels his chest tightening at your sad and defeated tone. This was exactly why he didn't want to come to you, he was a broken man and he knew you'd be disappointed in him. "Why didn't you ask for help?"

He doesn't even have a chance to respond before he scrambles forward and wretches into the toilet. You just brush your hand up and down his back, feeling him shake as he starts to cry. 

You wet a towel and run it through his face to wipe the sweat gathering on his forehead. You hook your arms around his chest and help him rise to his feet, supporting most of his weight. 

"Can you work with me and get to the living room? We'll be more comfortable there." You ask softly, holding him up and helping him move to the living room. You sit him down on the couch and take a seat next to him, wiping some hair sticking to his forehead. You take one of his hands in yours, and his heart just about shatters when he sees the look you give him: it's still the same pure kindness from the first time the two of you met. 

"I didn't want to disappoint you." His voice is barely a whisper, and your brows knit in confusion. "I'm not the same person from when we first met, I've gone down a dark path, I didn't want to disappoint you or get you involved."

"Greg, you'd never disappoint me." You say, your voice soft. "It's normal, it's a whole different reality. I'm here to help you however I can."

You hug him and cradle him against your chest, his arms snaking around you to hold as tight as he can. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He mumbles, his voice shaking. You rest your chin atop his head and caress his back as he keeps on trembling. "I should've come to you sooner, I should have told you about everything a lot sooner." 

"All that matters is that you're ok, Greg." You whisper, holding him. "We can work on this from now on. You're not alone."

--

You end up offering Greg the spare bedroom on your house, on the condition that he must stay clean and out of trouble, and at least try to get a legitimate job. 

One day you get home after working a double shift, your head pounding and your emotions all over the place: you had lost a patient. You know that there wasn't anything you could have done, but that doesn't make you feel less shitty. Entering the house, you make a beeline for the living room and flop face-first into the couch, laying there for a while without moving.

"Hey (Y/N/N), you ok?" You hear Greg's voice as he kneels next to you. You turn your head to face him and he sees the tears in your eyes. "Woah, what's wrong?"

"I lost a patient today. Nice old lady, came in because she slipped and fell on the icy street, hit her head pretty nastily. She was talking when she got there, but then she passed out and just like that she was gone." You vent, tears streaming down your face. Greg holds your hand and rubs it softly. "I just wish there had been something I could have done for her."

"You have a heart of gold, you know that?" He says, pushing some hair out of your face. "You can't save everyone... Just cherish the ones you did save, like me for example."

He always jokes around about you saving him, but it was the truth; without you, he'd probably be dead in an alley somewhere. 

"I think it's mutual saving." You whisper, smiling at him. "I would probably have gone mad by now if you weren't around."

You maneuver yourself and sit normally on the couch, and he sits next to you, pulling you into a hug. 

"It's a nice little deal we have, then." He says, holding you to him. You nod, eventually separating from him. "I still think you're my private guardian angel."

You laugh at him, and his belief solidifies further: to him, you were exactly like an angel, from your laugh to your personality to your selflessness, and you had given him a second chance at life. 

Before either of you realize what's going on, he leans in and cups your face, resting his forehead against yours. You can feel his breath on your face as you take in the beautiful blueness of his eyes. 

"If you don't want it, say so." He whispers, his eyes riddled with both fear and excitement. Your heart beats out of your chest as you close the space between you and kiss him, feeling him smile against your lips. It's short and chaste and sweet, but it's everything you had imagined. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that."

You laugh, cupping his face as you kiss him again, the two of you giggling like a pair of kids and forgetting everything else in the world other than the moment that you were having.

[stillness-in-green]

MLA Week, Day 2: Judge/Shackles/Freedom

A threefer!  Spinner and his brand new lieutenants.  (Look, until Horikoshi starts deigning to give these guys names, they are free real estate.)

I was originally going to use this day to write about one of the more thuggy or delinquent-looking lieutenants, spin out an ex-con not being able to get his feet back under him and so sliding into the MLA’s sphere, but then I remembered this three foot tall goblin in a drugstore Halloween costume and decided to go with him instead.

Also included is Spinner’s number 1, this gal: 

Content Notes: Discussions of disability, portrayal of the marginalized having become the radicalized.  The Liberation Army’s really fascinating, y’all. 

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

«I think you’ll like this one,» Nimble announces, the rainbow-colored letters of her quirk dancing in the air.  

“You thought I’d like the first two, too,” Spinner replies skeptically, looking away from the floating words to focus on his brand new number one, a woman with a face like a doll whose sculptor had gotten as far as the eyes—huge and green—before giving up on the rest, little things like a nose and a mouth.  She breathes by absorbing air through her skin like a frog, apparently, which is why she dresses the way she does, a distractingly low-cut tank top and a sweater jacket that he has never once seen covering her shoulders.  

She shrugs, expressive eyes briefly fluttering closed, and movement in the air draws Spinner’s attention back over to where her quirk—Sky Write—has spelled out her response.  

«I thought you’d like them too.  Can I call him in?»

“Yeah, go ahead.”  Just as long as he’s not a not surly bastard like the last two.  They’d had good quirks, the last two, but damned if Spinner’s going to work with people who can’t even manage to keep resentment out of their eyes for the length of a job interview, or whatever this process of picking subordinates out of an army full of people that were trying to kill him less than two weeks ago is called.  

Nimble’s letters dissolve into a shapeless blur as she looks over to the door, eyebrows briefly lowering in concentration.  A few seconds later, the door to Spinner’s makeshift office opens. Spinner’s eyes drop almost half-a-person’s length in height and he tries to keep the surprise off his face.  

“A kid?”

«He’s twenty-one, actually.»  

“What she said.”  The voice comes out a bit muffled through the black hood covering the kid’s—okay, the twenty-one-year old’s face.  But if he’s the same age as Spinner, he sure as hell doesn’t look it.  He can’t be over a meter tall, with the skinniest legs Spinner’s ever seen sticking out from under the hem of the black robe he wears like a kid running around the house beneath a sheet.  A big feathery ruff sits around his neck like a dried-out wreath.  

“Scarecrow, reporting in.” The weird little gremlin settles into a military rest in front of the desk, far enough back that it’s not too obvious that he has to tilt his head to look over it.  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”  

Spinner stares at him, trying to suppress a grimace.  Scarecrow stares back through little eyeholes cut in the hood, but without being able to see more of his face, it’s impossible to tell if he’s glaring or just has really piercing eyes.  

“Right.”  Spinner glances over at Nimble, who nods.  Her response scrawls itself in the air between them, facing first him, then angling to face the gremlin.  

«Show him your meta-ability, Scarecrow.  Catch!»  

She pulls out a 100 yen coin and deftly balances it on her thumb before flicking it out into the air over the desk.

Spinner bites back a yelp as bug legs unfold from beneath Scarecrow’s ruff, long, segmented things that narrow down to sharp points at the tips.  Two thin lines of silk jet out from the knobby second joints, catching on the spinning coin, and the legs reel it back in, bouncing it in the air, spinning it like a weight on a string, then cocooning it up with quick efficiency.  It falls neatly into his hand—not a normal human hand, Spinner notices belatedly, but a prosthetic, hard plastic and super articulated, with cables visible beneath the individual parts.

“I can fully cocoon up to twelve adult men a day,” Scarecrow rattles out.  “I can also pull myself up the sides of walls and move between buildings, if they’re close enough together.  I was inducted into the Meta Liberation Army on my sixteenth birthday; my parents have been members for ten years.  I know we’re a relatively new family, but—”

“I don’t—”  Spinner stops himself from finishing that sentence with care about that stuff, amending to, “I’m not worried about your—generation or whatever.”  Is that better?  Neither Scarecrow or Nimble react to it with narrowed eyes or a snarl, anyway. Promising?  “Why’d you join up?”  

Jumping on a bandwagon is one thing, but at least that takes a running start and a leap.  Not like joining a cult because it’s just the family business, Spinner thinks viciously at his memory of that greasy asshole Trumpet’s plated mask.

Scarecrow stares at him for a long second.  Spinner does his best to look serious, like he’s actually got a whole prepared list of questions or whatever.  Like he knows what he’s doing.  

Finally, Scarecrow holds up his hands, both spread wide, both obvious prosthetics.  His bug legs twitch and probe at the air.  

“I was born with no arms,” he says.  “Just my forelegs.  It’s not the same as having opposable thumbs, obviously, but it’s better than you’d think. But my teachers used to scold me for raising a foreleg instead of a hand to answer a question or carry things.  The kind of stuff a kid who didn’t have a birth defect could use their quirk to do and no one would look twice.  If I go out in public and so much as open doors for myself with them, people look at me funny.  Because I look funny.”

Don’t use your quirk at school outside of training lessons, Shuuichi-kun.  Spinner remembers that kind of bias, yeah.  All the non-heteromorphic kids could run around the schoolyard playing tag with snowballs in July, but heaven forbid he use his quirk to climb a tree so he can get away from bullies for the length of a lunchbreak.  

He pushes the memory away and nods at Scarecrow to keep him talking.  Not that the guy needs much pushing—he talks like someone who’s told the story before, hard-edged, voice intense despite a mid-ranged pitch.  He’s got just a hint of a—a hiss or a lisp, something that muddles the edges of his hard consonants.  The hood doesn’t move like he’s hiding mandibles under there, but…

“I’ve been wearing prosthetics for longer than I can remember.  The government pays for most of it, since I was born this way, but there’re a lot of limitations on it.  How often they’ll replace them, what my folks got charged for them.  It was always tight, and the kinds of prosthetics government money buys definitely weren’t as nice as these.”  He flexes his false fingers demonstratively.

“My folks and I met Re-Destro—” and there’s that note of reverence, the same tone Re-Destro himself’s using about Shigaraki these days “—when I was nine.  A family friend recommended Detnerat’s products to us, and he took an interest. That’s how we found out about the Army.”

“Yeah?”  Spinner crosses his arms over his chest.  

“My parents joined up because of me.  But I joined up for myself.  Because people think that because I have prosthetics, I shouldn’t need to use my forelegs in public.” Scarecrow’s voice sharpens.  “Like I don’t have the right to use the limbs I was born with.  I should have that right.  We all should.”

“We’re not out to reform society, you know,” Spinner cautions him.  He’s had to tell Re-Destro that too many times already, and that’s just having grasped it himself there in the ruins of Deika.  “That’s not what Shigaraki’s after.”  

Scarecrow gives him another long, quiet look, unreadable behind his hood.  Finally—slower, less practiced—he nods and answers, “Destro’s teaching was that oppression will always lead to revolution.  The Grand Commander of the Liberation Army is the one who’ll throw off those chains.  Whatever he makes of the world, I want to be there to help, not sitting in my shackles waiting for someone to hand me an answer.”

Spinner breathes out hard. He scratches at his hair.  

“…Right,” he manages. Don’t admit he said it better than you could.  “Well put.” He turns to Nimble and adds, “Well, he didn’t offend me.”

«I know you’d like him.»  Her words practically shimmy in the air, flickering green and yellow and pink.  «Then do we have our number 2?»

Spinner glances back over at Scarecrow, who’s staring determinedly out the window behind the desk, his back toy soldier straight.  He still looks more like a kid in a costume than anything else, but…  

Well, I like him better than people like the politician.  And we need to keep things moving, anyway.  Don’t stop running or someone might catch up.  

“Yeah, I think so” he says aloud, then takes a breath and leans over the desk, offering a hand.  Scarecrow takes it without a second’s pause, plastic clicking against Spinner’s scales.  “Welcome to the Support Regiment.”  

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

I’ll have some links up about things here when I post this to AO3, but in the meantime, Scarecrow--whose condition at birth was called amelia--wears a hood not because he’s embarrassed of a bug face, but rather because he’s embarrassed of the way various surgeries to repair cleft palate and cleft lip have left his face looking.  He’s much more confident in showing off his meta-ability than what he thinks of as his disability.  

Scarecrow is also vaguely modeled on an insect called a webspinner, a tiny little bug that lives in big communal web “galleries” and has the unusual feature of its silk production apparatus being located on its front legs rather than the base of its abdomen like spiders.  The choice felt appropriate for an unusually tiny cult member with top-mounted spider legs.   

[arcticdementor]

Angelo Codevilla is one of the most vigorous polemicists in American politics. He is one of the pioneers of based politics — eyes open to the madness of the times, heart on fire. He doesn’t hide the bad news or the ugly truths. The FBI and CIA are rotten, the military is corrupt and being turned against America as we speak, elite institutions are now in the power of a minority that hates most of us openly. But he also doesn’t run away from politics into cultural commentary or metaphysics. We have a fight on our hands and we have to want to fight in order to find the leaders willing to risk everything on our behalf.

…

What follows, is an edited version of our conversation, recorder on March 18th, 2021.

…

Titus Techera: Sir, you write about we the democracy destroying the oligarchy. Where do we start?

Angelo Codevilla: Well, the very first thing is: Take away respect. Cancellation is inherently a two-way street: They’re canceling you and you are canceling them. You can’t simply say: Oh, let me in, let me in! No, you say: You don’t like me? Guess what? I don’t like you either. Buh-bye!

The number one practical problem we’re facing is inherent in oligarchies, namely that state powers, public powers, are being wielded by ostensibly private organizations. You try to fly in an airplane without a mask and you’re in trouble. You go into a national chain store without a mask and they try to throw you out. Well, the only way to deal with that is to do it en masse, and to say: OK, starting on April 1st, if this store, airline, or whatever tries to enforce masks on anybody, it will be boycotted by everybody. Thank you and good night!

…

This is one of the things we are shocked most to see happening around us: Supposedly private corporations busy as bees in the free market are in fact private political authorities. Privilege is the right word, because it means private law. Any corporation big enough can now act like it’s a feudal fief in the oligarchy, lording it over mere serfs who don’t dare talk politics. How do we get back from serfdom to political protest?

There are all sorts of examples out there already. They’re not particularly happy examples, but ever since 1964 [the Civil Rights Act], if you own a bakery or a lunch counter, you cannot turn away someone for service, on the ground of race or anything else. Public accommodation law means that if you are open to the public, you must serve the public, period. Now, it’s entirely logical to add political statements to the list of things that may not be discriminated against. There are all sorts of things that can be done, but all of these things take leadership, and that’s what we haven’t got.

Yes, we should make it the law that being a normal citizen isn’t a crime you can be punished for. No power can discriminate against ordinary people, indeed. It seems much of your polemic is trying to remind us that we should behave with self-respect, to not let ourselves be trampled.

Yes. Look, politics is inherently a collective activity. For example, during the Occupation in the 1940s, Charles de Gaulle warned the people against individual acts of resistance. This is something I’ve pointed out before: Don’t do these things individually, do them only as part of a larger national political enterprise led by… Well, at that time, Charles de Gaulle.

What we need here is for someone to step forward and say: “I will lead the Deplorables out of slavery in Egypt, yeah? And I will organize: Follow me!”

…

But again, the condition for that is that some prominent person �� or two, or three, or four — stepping forward and saying: OK, this is the way it’s gonna be. Follow me and we’ll wreck these bastards! You know: Follow me and I’ll take you out of here. Right now, the closest we’ve got to this is Gov. DeSantis of Florida. The other one is Gov. Kristi Noem of South Dakota… [The interview took place before Gov. Noem vetoed a bill intended to protect women from trans-gender competition in school athletics.]

But there has to be national-level leadership. That’s the way it’s always been! Think back in the 1780s and 90s, there were a whole bunch of Washingtonians. Well, there wouldn’t be any Washingtonians without Washington — there wouldn’t have been any Jeffersonians without Jefferson — any Jacksonians without Andrew Jackson. And on and on and on. The reason that the country was rallied as it was to stop the spread of slavery had a lot to do with Abraham Lincoln, who stepped forward and made the argument and sustained it.

…

We talk politics each from his isolated perch on top of a computer, and we don’t see how people might come together in revolt. It seems like all the powerful institutions are against us and we have no memberships or contracts to trust in. We need some way of organizing so we can be less scared of our individual vulnerability. We tried with the Trump rallies and what do we have to show for it?

Donald Trump was something like that, except that Donald Trump barked a lot and bit only a little. You know, you can’t go around saying big things and then letting the bad guys run all over you.

…

That’s maybe the strangest thing happening to us. There are so many of us, yet all so vulnerable to cancellation, to threats of losing jobs, or just losing job opportunities. The internet should mean we can band together, communicate, but it’s not happening yet. The only organizations up and running are the ones trying to indoctrinate us into woke.

If you don’t go to one of these sessions where you’re told about white privilege, you’re fired? Alright, but if your national leader has organized ten thousand or one million people to protest on a particular day, well, then it’s different. In that situation, you’re in power, they’re not. You simply can’t fire everybody…

So we need organizations just so people can go on with ordinary life without feeling afraid?

Look, in politics, as well as in economics, there is a law of supply and demand. Put yourself in the shoes of someone with national ambitions on the conservative side of things: Well, you know what you’ve got to do! Number one, get out in front — number two, you know that you’ve got to actually deliver safety.

It took the political strife after 2016 for people to realize how much demand there is for safety on the conservative side. Does this create opportunities for the leaders now only beginning to come up?

That’s right. They know they’re not going to go anywhere by being recycled versions of Jeb Bush. Or Mitt Romney, or McConnell… If you have national ambitions and you present yourself that way, you’ve just committed hara-kiri! The only way you’re going to go somewhere is by being literally to the right of Donald Trump. And I don’t mean in terms of rhetoric, I mean in terms of real leadership for real safety and promotion of our way of life.

…

I wrote an essay for American Greatness, Clarity After Trump. Clarity means a lot — there’s no doubt about what’s going on. I mean, cancellation of Dr. Seuss? You gotta be kidding me! Bugs Bunny? No, no, no — that’s not normal in anybody’s book. Even the president of France, Macron has said that this movement coming out of America [Critical Race Theory] is a danger to all countries, to all people…

There was a time not long ago when the woke left was claiming that their culture, what they’re pushing, was inclusive, and it was really the culture of cultures — that it was friendly to all cultures. Well, the truth, as it turns out, is now pretty indisputable: the woke movement is the reverse of all that; a very, very peculiar culture that is meaningful only to a very small number of people.

So is this the revolutionary woke democracy, where the demos is the first to be excluded?

Yes, politically and culturally they have painted themselves into a corner and the corner is getting smaller and smaller. They hold all the power, but the number of people on whose behalf they wield that power is small and shrinking.

…

But let’s now go back to the original question: What is to be done? It would be counter-productive for the right to struggle for control of the institutions, because those institutions are now so thoroughly identified with the people who run them that it’s extraordinarily difficult to unseat them all and reseat other men. Plus why should we even try? Why not just make our own and say: OK, you want Facebook and Twitter to be organs of wokeness? Take it, all yours, now go away! Except none of us are going to be involved with them…

…

You said we need to deny respect to those who would humiliate us. But another part of the problem is that conservatives are learning, shocked, that institutions they used to believe in, above all law enforcement and the military, are at least at the top corrupted and against conservatism. Something that has been going on for a long time.

Oh, yes. Absolutely. You don’t hear it anymore, but up until recently, you could turn on the Hannity show and hear: “Oh, these wonderful policemen! The police are on our side — the police, the police, the police, the police…” No, no, and no! The police work for whoever pays them and that is the problem. The police will taze a lady or arrest somebody because they violate what the mayor or the governor says ought to be done. So — no!

It was in the news the other week that Tucker Carlson was being criticized by various generals and other high officials in the military. How do we come to grips with these big national problems?

As far as the armed forces are concerned, this cannot be allowed, and the way to disallow it is for conservatives to vote as a bloc against appropriations for the armed forces. Not so long ago, bills that fund the armed forces used to come in many pieces and each of the pieces was voted on separately. There used to be personnel account, a military construction account, weapons, etc. That used to give a great deal of power to whoever would make a point out of particular problems. Now, these terrible personnel policies are in the process of ruining the armed forces. If conservatives can protest the bundling of all military appropriations into one lump, and if they can go back to the system of having hearings and votes, they can darn well kill or cut the personnel counts.

…

Sure, but the Senate it’s mostly a free enterprise institution. I served in the Senate for eight years [as staff] and I know for a fact that whoever is bloody-minded, whoever really has a bug up his rear, and really wants to have something done, can have his way, because most people will not oppose him. Those who are really interested in something generally can get their way.

And so it should encourage ambitious politicians to pursue something of great importance to their electorate. Can a Senator become the voice of the people by denying approvals?

Yes, that’s it — you just put your finger on it: Denying something is a lot easier than affirming it. Saying no in Congress is a lot easier than saying yes…

…

We have ended up in an America where the former director of the FBI or of the CIA can turn into a partisan pundit on MSNBC, and people don’t even blink. How is this possible, for such high officials?

Well, this is the problem. See, Donald Trump was a jerk, a complete jerk. He could have stopped that instantly. There are laws on the books — black letter, clear as a bell laws — against these people even mentioning or hinting at information obtained through communications intelligence. Those laws, unlike the Espionage Act, do not require all manner of proof about intentions or anything like that. They are what are called strict liability laws. You reveal or purport to reveal something gained through communications intelligence — you go to jail, period.

Now, Donald Trump could have appointed — should have appointed — an Attorney General to do exactly that. This is black letter law, not legal reaching — this is plain black letter law. He didn’t do it! He was scared of the agencies. This is one reason why I think the prospect of Donald Trump running again would be a disaster. Tell me, Donald, what are you going to do now that you didn’t do your first time around?

…

So this would seem to be the most important thing we have achieved: Political clarity about just how serious the problem is. Couldn’t we say that this is a reason to hope? Isn’t this is how American politics works: Each major change in our politics has begun with an attack on centralized oligarchy, usually in Washington D.C. This is how Jefferson did it, Jackson, and Lincoln. This is what Reagan did, too.

Yes, and again, I hate to sound like a broken record, but it’s leadershis, leadership, leadership.

…

That’s right. Donald Trump handed the keys of the country to Anthony Fauci. We can’t say: Oh, the left, the left, the left! Trump did it!

The point that I made in the original Ruling Class essay, is that this ruling class is a bipartisan thing — the oligarchy is a bipartisan thing, which is why we have to sort of exit these institutions and forget about a lot of so-called leaders. The nicest thing about the 2016 election happened during the primaries, when it was impossible for anyone to get traction who wasn’t against the ruling class. So it really came down to two people: Trump and Cruz, and Trump won because he was more adamant. Never mind that it was a multi-candidate field and in a multi-candidate field, the choice is never between A and B.

In the future, it’s not going to be any different. The only people who are going to get any traction are people who are going to make Donald Trump look like a moderate.

…

Victory has to be bold.

Look at Nancy Pelosi. Back in 2009 when Obamacare was being cooked up, some reporter asked her: In what way is this constitutional? And her answer was: Are you kidding? I don’t give a damn whether it’s constitutional or not. We’re gonna do it!

Nobody follows an uncertain trumpet. That’s why the motto of the Marine Corps Officer Candidate School is: Ductus Exemplo, “Leadership by Example.” Follow me!

[confettipizza]

Lunar Recap

How it started. How it’s going. How it ended for the last lunar cycle of 2020.

This lunar cycle began with the New Moon on Jan. 12, 2021 @ 11:01 PM CT (Jan. 13 @ 05:01 UTC). It was the 13th Moon of 2020 according to the lunar calendar. And it ended Feb. 11, 2021, just before the 1st Moon of 2021! Happy Lunar New Year 2021, Year of the Ox!

South Korean Court Orders Japan to Compensate Women Forced into Sex Slavery

Colorado AG Opens Grand Jury Probe of Police Killing of Elijah McClain

Guantánamo Bay Prison Starts 20th Year of Indefinite Detentions

Pfizer to Boost COVID-19 Vaccine Output as WHO Warns of Vaccination Inequality

Lawmakers Catch COVID-19 After Sheltering in Room Where GOP Reps Refused Masks

FBI Warns of “Armed Protests” in All 50 States and at Biden’s Inauguration

Tomorrow is Sun conjunct Pluto. Something that’s been lurking in the shadows bout to jump out. Might be pretty big, but there’s also the individual personal experience of this event and might feel more like an early Full Moon for you.

House to Impeach Trump as GOP Shows Signs of Backing Removal

Well this is dumb. Sun conjunct Pluto?

The $3,000-a-month toilet for the Ivanka Trump/Jared Kushner Secret Service detail

I also remembered/realized how much I really love Anna Sui designs since I was a kid which is pretty random to pop up on my radar, but this woman gets that all I want is sparkly heart shaped objects in lacquered black and flowy hippie dresses

Trump Tells Aides Not to Pay Giuliani’s Legal Fees as Bid to Overturn Election Fails

All I know is talking about dreams and discussing them with others makes you feel better. The tarot angle is there to shed some light on what the dream is actually telling you.

Joe Biden Unveils $1.9 Trillion Coronavirus and Economic Relief Package

ICE’s Acting Director Resigns After Two Weeks on Job

Found out today the woman at the car mechanic I've been faithfully taking my car to for the past two years can speak to the dead and had some messages for me from my dad who passed in October-

Intuitive guided tarot card pull.

Waxing crescent into Aries Monday, January 18, 2021 at 1:06 AM CT Today’s Astro x Tarot forecast valid for the next 24 hours: Feelings are flaring up for you to make a statement, a very zippy move or a quick decision about someone or something.

So long as you remain flexible and agile, whatever you choose to do with them will work to your advantage. If you decide not to impose hyper-agility into your decision making rn, then kudos to you! You’ve gained practice points in self-control experience.

More Than 760,000 Pounds of Hot Pockets Recalled

‘I Answered the Call of My President’: Rioters Say Trump Urged Them On

Raphael Warnock and the Legacy of Racial Tyranny

The Extraordinary Courage of Aleksei Navalny

Whoa, I was like a cycle early on celebrating the lunar new year! I’ve been a month into the future for a week now. My bad! I apologize for any confusion.

I was thinking that the soul's law of attraction is probably pretty unstoppable even concerning partners, so like, if someone didn't love you back then it's not some mistake or human misunderstanding that you or they need to fix.

To find one's soulmate looks something like 2 souls flying towards each other from opposite ends of the galaxy to join their physical selves together in a collision force so brutal you're stuck like that and if that's not what yours looks like then maybe that ain't your soulmate?

All the men going to jail for their poop smearing Capitol rioting have online dating profiles and that’s reason no. 2 I do not date online! Reason no. 1 is ain’t nobody cute on there.

The Witch’s Myth: The true story of the crane husband

Where are your witch stars, Circe and Hekate, located? Their location can explain your relationship to witchcraft. Circe is in my 1st house influencing my outer appearances and Hekate is conjunct Jupiter influencing my domestic style and home to be distinctively witchy.

Sun into Aquarius Tuesday, January 19, 2021 at 2:33 PM CT Here is your Sun into Aquarius forecast effective for the next several weeks of Aquarius season. 

Down to earth and grounded is our most qualified position to receive everything we need and use everything we receive. This is the reality of ourselves, the human condition.

We love reality based reality.

Get ready for reality-grounded White House press briefings

Why do people believe the lies they’re fed? Because those lies are designed to be more palatable than reality. Lies offer a quick easy patch, but what you’ve gotta ask yourself is are those lies actually designed to support the flow of all things into your life?

~* First Quarter Jan. 20 3:02 PM CT (21:02 UTC) *~

Biden and Harris Attend Memorial to Honor 400,000+ COVID-19 Victims in U.S. on Eve of Inauguration

Steve Bannon Among Final Trump Pardons and Commutations

Trump Admin Declares Multiculturalism Is “Not Who America Is” as WH Releases Racist, Revisionist Report

4,000+ Columbia Students Back Largest-Ever Tuition Strike

Today, whatever you’re doing or are wishing to become will be to the benefit of this unifying, love-aligned uprising.

Joe Biden Sworn In as 46th President of the United States, Ending Trump Era

Good inauguration Astro climate this morning feels like. #BidenHarrisInauguration

“What has shaken the U.S. population so badly, this assault on the Capitol yesterday, is really nothing by comparison to what U.S. operations have done in Latin America, in Asia, in Africa, in the Middle East, to other democratic movements and elected governments over the years.”

Progress towards wholeness can’t be made until we own up to the roles we’ve played in the past.

Read the full text of Amanda Gorman’s inaugural poem ‘The Hill We Climb’

When did politics get so vibrant and fashionably uplifting? Please and thank you! #Inauguration2021

The two of wands says to review your options, do your research, crunch the numbers, imagine the outcomes, but there’s no need to force making a choice if you don’t have to. Buy yourself some time and let the plans for a resolution find you, not the other way around.

Donald Trump Leaves Office and Washington, D.C., Threatens “We Will Be Back”

Watchdogs Demand Transparency as Corporations Pour Millions into Biden-Harris Inauguration

Senate Dems File Ethics Complaint Against Sens. Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley over Jan. 6 Insurrection

Federal Forces Arrest Ex-Marine for Beating Officer with a Hockey Stick During Capitol Riots

It’s Friday and it just feels good to be alive, a socialist and calling Bernie Sanders cute on Inauguration Day week! What a difference a pandemic makes.

Instacart Lays Off 2,000 Workers, Including Group Who Started Company’s First Union

Mars square Jupiter January 23, 2021 @ 1:49 AM CT (7:49 GMT) Someone wants you to know that you are ready to conquer your perceived limits to arrive at expansion in your thoughts, feelings, emotions and understanding today.

Waxing gibbous into Cancer January 25, 2021 @ 12:51 PM CT (18:51 GMT) It’s a supportive Moon for dreaming for mental health and well being. Begin a dream journal or review your latest dreams, reflecting on them for a few minutes today.

You are opening yourself up to an emotional practice that includes care for yourself in ways no one else (besides you and your connection to the Moon) can provide.

And too my Tarot Dream Readings are open if you would like guidance or support on a particular dream. See my pinned tweet for how it works.

When one’s soul is allowed to lead one’s life, working in the dark shadows, the invisible silence, the soul’s manifesting results are way more lasting and way more powerful than egocentric anything.

Good morning, self! A reminder my ego has never done a thing for me my soul can’t do better.

National Guard Deployment at U.S. Capitol Becomes COVID-19 Superspreader Event

Russia Violently Cracks Down on Protesters Calling for Release of Alexei Navalny

Trump Plotted to Oust Acting AG, Use DOJ to Force Georgia to Overturn Election Results

Hunts Point Market Workers in the Bronx Win Wage Increase After Week-Long Strike

This mourning brooch is a mindful way to mark the death of a loved one while paying tribute to the impact it has had on you. Bring back this Victorian trend!

Veteran Talk Show Host Larry King Dies After Hospitalization for COVID-19

Hank Aaron, Who Overcame Racist Barriers to Become Home Run Record-Holder, Dies at 86

We don’t give our bodies or our intuition enough attention and nourishment a lot of the time, so today’s the day we practice finding and sitting quietly with our inner voice.

~* Full Moon Jan. 28 1:17 PM CT (19:17 UTC) *~

House Delivers Article of Impeachment to Senate, Triggering Trump’s Second Trial

Dominion Voting Systems Sues Rudy Giuliani for Lying About 2020 Election

President Biden Increases U.S. Vaccination Goal to 150 Million Shots in 100 Days

President Biden Reverses Trump’s Transgender Military Service Ban

Biden Restores Plan to Feature Abolitionist Harriet Tubman on $20 Bill

Value is further added the more you mint your words with a most whole and complete love. Love is the greatest asset we can let appreciate in our lifetimes.

This Full Moon tomorrow sends a flash point that reminds you to circulate this wealth because it’s the greatest emotional gift we can bestow upon our loved ones, family, friends, neighbors, elders, members of our community, etc.

Venus conjunct Pluto in Capricorn January 28, 2021 @ 10:18 AM CT (16:18 GMT) Going through your day today uncovers a forgotten desire or creative goal. You find yourself asking something like: Remember when I wanted to become a pastry chef?

Although you decided to pursue a different course, take a moment to focus on and honor this memory when it arrives and then release it. What did you become instead and why?

45 Senate Republicans Back Dismissal of Trump Impeachment Trial

Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene Supported Violence Against Pelosi and Others in 2018 Facebook Posts

Taking the time to recognize and honor your past desires gives the respect these memories deserve and it integrates them into the whole wider scene of the individual, both shadow and light on your path builds confidence in your steps, confidence in yourself.

You are who you are for a reason.

Had no idea how literal this grassroots King of Pentacles card was gonna materialize today, but here it is folks! When a subreddit takes down a hedge fund!

Leader of Proud Boys, Enrique Tarrio, Was a Government Informer

U.S. Freezes Arms Sales to Saudi Arabia, Reviews Deal with UAE Made Under Trump Admin

Poland Enacts Near-Total Ban on Abortions, Triggering More Protests

Honduras Locks In Total Ban on Abortions, Attacks Marriage Equality

Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene Confronts Parkland Survivor David Hogg in Newly Resurfaced Video

The stock market this morning: Sh*t! Normal working class people read the market and figured out the game! Time to change the rules again. Let’s write it in ancient Babylonian hieroglyphs this time. They’ll never figure that sh*t out.

A message crucial to promote the awareness of your personal role in the collective will become evident over the next three weeks. You will come to ask yourself, What am I doing with my life?

If you aren’t familiar or comfortable with seeking your inner journey, then the greatest clue I can offer you at the start is to become open to the invisible world within you. How you learn to relate to it is completely personal and uniquely your own

Speaking in more concrete terms the next few weeks may manifest a life event for you where you must apply both logic and feeling in order to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion concerning an interpersonal relationship or the question what am I doing with my life?

This Mercury retrograde should be a cinch, but during it don’t buy tech if you don’t have to. And remember to triple check communication before hitting send. If you arrive at conflict be quick to apologize and say no more until tomorrow 

President Biden Expands Affordable Care Act Enrollment Amid COVID-19 Pandemic

House Speaker Blasts GOP for Assigning Racist Conspiracy Theorist to House Education Committee

Lawmakers Demand Probe into Trading App Robinhood After It Blocked Stock Sales That Hurt Hedge Funds

Pioneering African American Actor Cicely Tyson, Winner of Two Emmys, Dies at 96

Sun in Aquarius square Mars in Taurus February 1, 2021 @ 4:33 AM CT (10:33 GMT) The warrior’s edge has melted away and now you can take the scenic route through a field of wildflowers and mushrooms instead of blasting your way through a hillside of obstacles.

This energy catalyzes a scene that supports growth through varied experiences and it encourages everyone to seek their own way to resolutions, conclusions and understandings that are uniquely their own. Searching out your own way illuminates a strategic aspect of your purpose.

Happy Venus in Aquarius! The idea to refresh your wardrobe, hairstyle or redecorating by public opinion can be too hard to ignore under this influence. Your personal style will be influenced by the collective for the duration.

Burmese Military Stage Coup, Detain Aung San Suu Kyi

FBI Uncovers Evidence Jan. 6 Attack Was Premeditated as More Far-Right Rioters Face Charges

Trump Faces More Businesses-Related Woes as His Legal Team Departs a Week Before Impeachment Trial

It’s only the 21st day of the lunar cycle and already we’ve gone from the end of a rotten presidential era to the people’s revolution of the stock market, ok? And this moon ain’t even finished yet!

~* Last Quarter Feb. 4 11:38 AM CT (17:38 UTC) *~

U.S. Tops 26 Million COVID-19 Vaccine Shots, Surpassing Confirmed Coronavirus Cases

Moon Last Quarter in Scorpio February 4, 2021 @ 11:38 AM CT (17:38 UTC) A time for Descending, settling, closure, receiving compliments for doing a good job. Prime time for tying of loose ends and wrapping up unfinished business.

Democrats Say Trump “Singularly Responsible” for Jan. 6 Insurrection in Impeachment Brief

With consciousness humans are able to transcend the unconscious and reconfigure our relationship to it.

Though we can transcend the unconscious through viewing ourselves objectively, we are still apart of the the unconscious. Those rules still apply to us even as we contemplate their logic.

Jeff Bezos Steps Down as Amazon CEO After Amassing Huge Personal Fortune

Amazon to Pay Contract Drivers $61.7 Million After FTC Probe Finds It Stole Tips to Pay Wages

Republican Leader Won’t Punish Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene over Racist and Violent Rhetoric

Prosecutors Seek Rearrest of Kyle Rittenhouse, Wisconsin Teen Charged with Killing 2 Protesters

Sometimes the right thing to do is protect your one actual valuable thing not by defending it, but closing up all the channels the valuable thing is being attacked from the outside. Sometimes you just gotta block, delete or remove your account and move on with/to what's good.

What if we wake up one day and COVID has disappeared, like poof! It vanished into thin air? Maybe it’s the moon opposed to Uranus that’s got me wishing wild problem solvers would pop up overnight.

Poll Reveals 25% of U.S. Adults Plan to Gather at Super Bowl Watch Parties

VP Harris Casts Tie-Breaking Vote to Move Ahead with Democratic COVID Relief Bill

House Removes Marjorie Taylor Greene from Committees over Violent, Bigoted Rhetoric

Smartmatic Sues Fox News, Rudy Giuliani, Sidney Powell for Election-Related Lies

I unfollowed some lawmakers this morning after feeling second hand anxiety over the handling of their interpersonal conflicts. Realized they were me on IG two years ago and I’ve moved on since. Can relate, but don’t wanna relive, thanks!

I just want to let y’all know that I’m coping w insufficient candle syndrome & will be studying the art & science of candle making to save myself potentially hundreds of thousands of $$ by making my own delicious smelling coconut wax babies in diy terra cotta flower pots.

Wyoming GOP Censures Rep. Liz Cheney for Backing Trump’s Impeachment

Mass Protests Continue in Burma Opposing Military Coup, Removal of Aung San Suu Kyi

You may tell others like it is today, but hopefully this inspires you to check in with yourself and be honest/come clean about something you've been overlooking.

Indian Farmworkers Blockade Roads as Mass Protests Show No Sign of Slowing Down

Black Sheriff’s Deputy in Louisiana Dies by Suicide After Condemning Police Violence and Racism

Amazon Workers in Alabama Begin Historic Vote on Unionization

Second Impeachment Trial of Donald J. Trump Opens in the Senate

Georgia’s Secretary of State to Probe Trump’s Efforts to Overturn 2020 Election

Mercury square Mars February 10, 2021 @ 6:14 AM CT (12:14 UTC) Still talking about talking, it’s also Dark Moon time to shape or let a habit form. This practice can come from breaking free of outdated relationships with yourself or with others in order to spur growth.

Dreamed Jungkook was correcting my pronunciation of Korean last night. I’m sorry! I’ll try harder to take this lesson seriously

Senate Votes to Proceed with Impeachment as Managers Present Harrowing Video of Jan. 6 Insurrection

Gov’t to Send Vaccines to Community Health Centers as U.S. Continues Ramping Up Vaccinations

WHO Team Confirms COVID-19 of Animal Origin; Ghana Shuts Parliament After Outbreak Infects Lawmakers

Journalists Decry Raid on Progressive Indian News Site NewsClick

U.S. to Pursue Extradition of Julian Assange as Press Freedom Groups Warn of Dangerous Precede

Fossil Fuel Pollution Causes One in Five Global Deaths

Four Louisiana Officers Arrested over Police Brutality Cases and Other Misconduct

Two NYT Journalists Exit Paper Following Revelations of Improper Conduct

Venus conjunct Jupiter February 11, 2021 @ 8:59 AM CT (14:59 UTC) Receive the overflow of creativity into your life. Welcome it even if you aren’t sure what to do with it. Write down project ideas if you don’t have the energy to start on them now. You can work on them later.

I'm cool with double masking, but a lot of folks still aren't even doing the one :|

“The Inciter-in-Chief”: Democrats Accuse Trump of Being “Singularly Responsible” for Insurrection

U.S. COVID Death Toll Tops 471,000; Half of All Deaths Occurred Since Nov. 1

Saudi Women’s Rights Activist Loujain al-Hathloul Released After 1,001 Days in Prison

Biden Administration to Continue Trump-Era Policy of Turning Away Asylum Seekers at Southern Border

Sen. Bernie Sanders Grills Neera Tanden, Biden’s Pick to Head OMB

Sen. Bernie Sanders: “According to The Washington Post, since 2014, the Center for American Progress has received roughly $5.5 million from Walmart, a company that pays its workers starvation wages; $900,000 from the Bank of America; $550,000 from JPMorgan Chase; $550,000 from Amazon; $200,000 from Wells Fargo; $800,000 from Facebook; and up to $1.4 million from Google. In other words, CAP has received money from some of the most powerful special interests in our country. How will your relationship with those very powerful special interests impact your decision-making if you are appointed to be the head of OMB?”

Neera Tanden: “Senator, I thank you for that question. It will have zero impact on my — on my decision-making.”

[yourfriendlysummoner]

Analyses of Inspector Thauvin chapter 1: Harsh Glances, Proof of Worth

Noxus. A mighty and fearsome expanding Empire that is never satisfied of its hunger for more power and lands. This desire can be extinguished by the great Trifarian Legion, an unstoppable and dedicated army that spreads rampage on its path.

But, like every regime, Noxus has its weaknesses. There are threats from the inside that can ruin everything in a heartbeat with any tragic mistake the Grand General can make. And because he has foreseen it – like everything after all – he has taken his very drastic measures to combat the possible treason from faces that wear invisible masks…

~~~

“It’s him, step aside!” One of the guards whispered nervously to his companion to the sight of the new superweapon Swain hired for his mysterious plans and military success.

The soldiers stared with faces that betrayed their fear for the unknown, their teeth were almost showing in fear and instinct to put the tail between the legs.

A quiet, almost unnoticed scoff could be heard. It couldn’t remain hidden. It shouldn’t. They are Noxian soldiers that have seen so many battlefields that something like that shouldn’t bother their eyes so much…

“G- Grand General! Your weapon is here…”

“Excellent. Bring him in.”

“Move it!” The guard yelled with the most nervous voice he had ever heard, as he shoved his axe threateningly at his direction. The uniquely for the Noxian standards armed man tried to hold his mocking smile. The bloke was too desperate to show his rank superiority, and it was something utterly futile.

He held his smile for the very special moment of standing in front of the Grand General himself, in his own noble mansion.

“You must be Inspector Beau Thauvin.” Swain sounded very sophisticated as he asked.

“In flesh and bone, your weapon is here. At your mighty will, Grand General.” Inspector Thauvin is rarely the one that will talk big and fanfaring  words, its other people that will usually flatter him unnecessarily. But, this time he decided to allow a change.

“I cannot hide my enthusiasm that you honour us with your services, Inspector.” Indeed, Swain’s boring, merry impatience couldn’t hide deep behind his aged and refined facial features.

“I can see it…” Thauvin didn’t hesitate to intensify his remarkable unimpression in his aristocratic leader face. Risky, but that’s him, either you like it or not.

Swain shook his head and raised his brows in neutral shock the Inspector’s behaviour caused, but soon his expression changed dramatically to being more interested. He stroked his chin with a stoic face. “You have the privilege to determine when do you wish to start your work, since it is you–”

“Right now.” The robotic determination of his clear and silvery voice cut Swain’s easiness in pieces, along with his intendedly causal phrase.

Don’t try to be at ease with me, General!…

Jericho’s breathe was cut and hitched to the sharp suggestion, if you want, that the man voiced. He froze for several second clusters, but it was enough to get noticed by the sly agent’s eye.

He cleared his throat. “Very well,” He drowned his uneasiness. “You have to know, however, that my bidding is never built on a silky, straight road, Inspector…”

“If this really was a threat, m’ Lord, then I’m deeply sorry, because, for your information, I never apply for a task that is easy. I don’t play the dolls, and I seek to be effective to the common cause I eventually share with my employer.” His eyes were shining threatening bravery and fatal truth. His arms audaciously folded close to his chest, after his rudely bold words towards the very first man of Noxus…

Well, this wasn’t really wise of him to do. But he knows. He never lets uncalculated actions pass, and knowing his necessity and utility to Noxus, Swain would never had the guts to risk the Inspector’s safety for his pride.

“Whatever, Thauvin…” His sharp tone indicated his very restrained attempt to hide his lost patience. “Shall we move to the main reason you are here then?” Thauvin laughed so hard in his head with how hurt Swains good intention to be polite was, but outside he looked stern and imperious to the simplest and humblest way.

“That’s why I’m here, Grand General. Move on, then.”

Swain calmed his tension down with a deep breath before moving on to explaining his first mission as an agent of Noxus.

“Since you have lived by us for quite a while, you have probably heard of or seen with your eyes the occupied by deviant protesters north-eastern suburban territory.” Swain explained.

“Have heard of it.”

“It’s a pain in the arse the recent weeks!” Swain’s voice cracked with laughter. “Counsellor Darius’ Trifarian Legion is off to occupation missions, and my capital patrols are pretty inefficient against the savage brutes.” Noble opponents of the Trifarix are a bit more easily controlled in the Empire than openly protesting savage brutes.

“I understand.” That is all he had to say.

“Don’t you have anything to add?”

“Not really. Can I have some of your inefficient patrols?”

Swain raised an eyebrow.

~~~

“What is the plan, Inspector?” The patrol’s commander asked. These soldiers where more civilized than the guards of Swain’s mansion. Beau liked that.

He didn’t answer him immediately. He had to first spectate the situation by himself. That was exactly what he expected: an angered handful of folks gathered in a group, united like a fist and overly concentrated to their pitiful riot.

“Inspector?…” The soldier repeated, this time seemingly hesitating to do so, but impatient for an answer as well. Weak minds…

“The plan is the following: you go and trap them into a circle made of your unit’s men.”

“B- but, Inspector? Our unit can easily be decimated by these angry people! I- I mean, these treacherous dogs!!” His voice was so nervous in fear of having sounded more compassionate than he should be, he almost bit his tongue. Thauvin really has his time in that city, very fun idiots to work with. A shame he can’t show it, sacrificing his urge to laugh on their faces to professionalism.

“You didn’t let me finish.” The rudeness in his phrase didn’t drown in his sternness’ deep bottom. Instead, it floated on its surface, seemingly shaming the commander.

Beau broke the silence again, with his more defined explanations of his plan. “Your circle is going to both trap them and bamboozle them. Here I have a paralyzing detonator that will make them have some sweet dreams for a good while, allowing us to disarm them and send them to the justice they deserve without killing them. This is for the Grand General to decide. They are simple citizens after all. But: be careful not to stand too close to the area the detonator will affect, otherwise you’ll get electrocuted as well. Five feet are a good distance to keep from my target. Was I well understood?”

He always uses his charisma in leadership in his tone, combining it with his influencing and confident body language, while at the same time being extremely simple and direct, so he is easily understood. Perfect, as he always aims to achieve by practicing his profession.

And as he predicted, everyone said no more. A positive nod was enough to pass into action.

However, predictions always have their holes…

“I don’t think it will work.” A young man, at least in his early twenties, voiced with pure audacity and steadiness in his voice.

Thauvin looked at him with serious, half – closed eyes of caustic humiliation.

Silence. Many of the soldiers turned to each other with confusion and a chilling but suppressed fear.

“And who are you to determine it, o genius from nowhere?” He asked, faking suspicion in his tone.

“I’m Tommy Brant, sir! Co – commander of the Capital Patrol!” The boy stood straight with too much pride filling his lungs…

“Interesting… And how someone as young as you gained such a high rank in this armed force?”

“I—”

“He has just returned from the Tokogol fort, sir, one of the best soldiers that got this promotion as a reward!” A woman answered nervously instead of Brant. Her name was Myriam Cole, Captain of the Patrol.

“Hmm… Weird reward. Oh, and I was asking him not you.” His harsh glance made her look down to her feet in shame.

“Yes, sir…”

“What was I saying? Oh, yeah. You shouldn’t question me, Co – commander Brant. And you really can’t, since Commander Achim here takes my orders today.”

The young soldier prepared himself to talk back, but Thauvin’s collected voice was faster than his.

“With my signal! Ready!…”

The anticipation and worry about failure had filled their hearts. This was probably the riskiest strategy they had ever faced in their lives. Some even though that the Grand General was very desperate to hire such a mad guy to lead them, but obviously kept them for themselves, a thought that should never be revealed for their sake…

Nevertheless, they tried their best to have bodies and minds alarmed for the signal and therefore the action.

Foreheads wet in sweat, breathes hitched, weapons grasped in fists…

But most importantly…

“Go!”

And the mission started. The soldiers ran as fast as possible, choosing paths behind buildings to go unnoticed by the crowd in the square of the north–eastern suburbs.

Thauvin used his long-range binoculars to spectate. He let a small, crooked smirk on his lips, in approval of their clever action. At this rate, no one would get fatally hurt. They weren’t that stupid then…

Enough about the police though. He had to think about his own part as well. The easy stuff. He used his Hextech jet boots to reach the target faster. He jumped on a balcony with the boost of his jets, so he could have a better view of the situation.

He reactivated his binoculars, this time on sniper mode. With the help of his precise rifle, designed by himself to be foolproof like a preying vulture, he would shoot his detonator at the protesters.

Meanwhile, down there the nervous Patrol Unit soldiers were ponting their axes and swords at the people they had trapped – that seemed to be the case. The angry citizens yelled at them, cursed Noxus, demanded more rights and freedom, threatened to attack them and even spat on their faces.

Brant wiped spit from his eye and yelled for order nervously. Some others, more brutal and experienced went farther than just a harmless threat, even on unarmed protesters.

“I should make this quick or it will turn to be a tragedy. I won’t tolerate  making a bad name of myself…” Beau’s voice sounded quite at ease, despite the pressuring time that threatened his plan tremendously…

He just stood there, placing his feet steadily on the narrow surface of the balcony’s railing, and aimed with concentration at the rioters…

Steady….

The situation was about to worsen at the square. Someone could be heard warning that he’d light a fire to burn the statue of some forgotten warlord very few speak of nowadays. This wasn’t good, Thauvin thought. He had to act quickly, so that he wouldn’t lose his unit to a bunch of random people that disliked their country…

His earpiece was unfortunately connected to the commanders, to be able to have control of the situation in all the possible senses. “What takes you so long, Inspector!?!”

“Shut the hell up and let me concentrate, do your job, Commander!”

“Whatever, be quick, they are trying to-“

“Much better.” He smiled at himself for deactivating the earpiece and turned to his target with the greatest focus possible. Let’s end this quick…

It all depended on a press of his trigger, lucky for them, it had to be his.

One last deep breath and the missile went to find its target on the ground. The force that was created by the shot threw Thauvin inside the balcony, causing him to reflexively backflip and accidentally break the window with his heavy equipment.

He swore under his breath as he shook his head to ease the bodily shock. As he turned his head to witness the damage he caused, he faced a scared woman in her nightdress and facemask.  

“M’ lady? Don’t worry about this mess, I’m paying for it. Oh, almost forgot this.” He pressed a button on his modified ATLAS glove and a bright blue light could be seen from the square, accompanied by a considerably loud noise.

He smirked. “Finally, I started getting bored of this.”

“H- he… Actually did this…” The Commander said in his relieved breath, and almost passed out of shock.

The other soldiers cheered and thanked the gods for surviving this craze. But the three in command still quietly questioned Thauvin’s method, even after observing the paralysing detonator electrocute the protesters that fainted right away in front of their eyes.

However, some reckless and ignorant soldiers were affected as well, as a result of not keeping the right distance like the Inspector warned… “His crazy plans will kill us all! Imagine going on the first mission with someone so popular of his kind and getting blasted men in the process!” Commander Achim exclaimed at Cole and Brant.

“I honestly don’t understand what the Grand General had in his mind when he hired that madman…” Brant touched his chin. His gaze on the ground betrayed his insecurities.

“Whatever he is up to, we must

“Whatever he is up to, we must remain quiet. Any reckless move and we lose our power. Both of you, remember that you are not on top of this anymore.” Cole’s voice sounded sharp and plain, indicating that she was completely serious and plain, indicating that she was very serious.

The two men nodded with clear dysphoria, but as much as they hated to admit it, she was right…

~~~

Swain was more than pleased to observe on his balcony all of the protester’s hands bound with cuffs behind their backs and lead in a line to jail by the Patrol Unit. He lowered his telescope and smiled at Thauvin that stood at attention behind him. “Congratulations, Inspector!

“You promised difficulty.” He faked serious disappointment to bluff, once again interrupting his sentence.

The Grand General almost held his breath. Then a sigh followed. “Not your level, I suppose…” His husky voice was quiet. “Never mind, you won’t get away with so relaxing missions, I assure you… Dismissed…”

Thauvin nodded and left his quarters with his hands clasped behind his back. He surely expected something actually difficult, but kept that day’s event in the back of his head nonetheless…

[doctorslippery]

Something bad is happening in Kansas. A strange meteor fell from the sky and the government has sent you to sort it out. A yellow brick highway leads between cornfields towards a distant green glow on the horizon.

This is a depth mechanic. Take a step into the zone by rolling d6 on each table and adding 2 for each step you've already taken. Keep going until you destroy the Super-Wizard. Or you could put it on a grid and treat it as a squarecrawl, it's up to you.

LANDMARK

Big white cross on the top of a hill. Crows circling overhead. Grants a blessing to anyone who's willing to kneel before it and commit their soul to Jesus Christ.

Gas station. Wizened old man with shotgun behind the counter. He'll sell you snacks and potions if you can convince him you're not a thief or a jayhawker.

Old-fashioned wooden grain elevator. The inside smells of sweet corn. Mutilated, rat-chewed bodies hang by necks from rafters. SLAVER written on walls in blood.

Row of oil derricks. Guarded by a creaky, rust-riddled mechanical man. The slightest disturbance to the pumps will cause an explosive gusher that spews crude oil everywhere.

Abandoned farmhouse. Haunted by spooky ghosts. In barn, covered by tarpaulin, strange machine of coiled glass that can project people into the Phantom Zone.

Corn maze. Grows new walls to trap sinners. Scarecrow men lurk in the corn. Farm princess trapped in the longhorn minotaur's central lair - only her kiss can slay the beast.

Wagon train. Pilgrims terrified of "Injuns", have circled their wagons to protect against surprise attack. On their way to ask the Super-Wizard to help them get to Oregon.

Cheap motel. Clan of desperate bank robbers hiding out in room one through four. Innocent travelling salesman in room five. Pimpled teen on counter reading comic books.

Revival meeting. Big white tent. Preacher baptising converts in a tin tub and inducting them into the Army of Gilead. Wants you to join and won't take no for an answer.

Baseball field. Overgrown. Mechanical men play ball, their rusty joints squeaking, in front of the empty stands. Score a home run off the batter and he'll spit out a prize.

Railway station. Glum hobos dwell in forgotton freight train, its wheels rusted to the track. Manic mechanical station-master insists on taking your ticket.

Sculpture garden. Grotesque scrap-metal caricatures of celebrities and politicians. Owner has declared himself the Kansas antipope and wears a tinfoil mitre.

Applebee's. In every way a fully-functioning, completely regular Applebee's. No trick whatsoever. Try the shrimp 'n' parmesan sirloin or the double-glazed baby-back ribs.

Bible museum. Sleepy tame dinosaurs inhabit a life-size model of the Temple of Solomon. Friendly pastor explains how God created them to show that evolution is a lie.

Saloon bar. Piano stops as you walk in. Whiskey-sodden desperadoes slump against the bar. Football plays on TV in the corner. High-stakes poker game going on upstairs.

Wal-Mart. Libertarian management policies have led to a civil war raging between the aisles, with every department ruthlessly competing for your business.

Meatpacking plant. Blood-smeared mechanical men herd screaming cows across the factory floor, slaughter them and extract their organs for use in Super-Wizardry.

Clockwork factory. Mechanical men labouring tirelessly to produce more of their own. Interlopers have their brains chopped out and used in grotesque experiments.

The Perfect City of the Super-Wizard. Lobotomised suburbanites with gleaming, drool-slick smiles shuffle between rows of identical green houses, watched by mechanical police.

The Atomic Fortress of the Super-Wizard. Citadel of green crystal, home to a legion of mechanical men. Grew from a seed in a crashed alien spaceship.

ENCOUNTER

Looming grey tornado, slowly rolling towards you. Cows and houses orbiting around it. Psychic baby with giant brain levitating serenely in the eye.

Jayhawkers from the Army of Gilead. Men in red trousers and floppy hats, armed with rifles and broadswords, hunting down pagans and industralists in the name of Free Kansas.

Satanist serial killer with mask made of human skin and swastikas carved down his arms, armed with an iron sickle, preparing to chop you up. Surprisingly stealthy for such a big guy.

Phalanx of mechanical men, armed with axes, out looking for human brains to extract and return to the Atomic Fortress so the Super-Wizard can make more of them.

Cynical teen genius with a laser gun. Perfectly bald. Cannot be restrained from denying the existence of God. Obsessively tinkers with every machine they can find.

Longhorn minotaur. Hideously overmuscled from bovine growth hormone. Twelve-foot hornspan makes doors difficult. Wants to bring you back to the corn maze and eat you.

Pack of masked harlequins with blood-stained teeth and wheels for hands and feet. Act like rabid wolves. Scarily quick on flat ground, but have difficulty turning.

Red-haired boy reporter looking for the story of a lifetime. Excitable. Prone to ludicrous bad luck but is never actually seriously hurt. Constantly needs rescuing though.

Stone-faced war preacher and band of jayhawkers looking for recruits for a military raid on the Atomic Fortress, intending to abolish the Wizard and all his sinful works.

Woman in aviator goggles and diaphanous white robes. Claims to be the rainbow's daughter, fallen out of the sky. Can only eat the purest dewdrops and is therefore slowly starving.

Shaggy-haired sasquatch in a battered top hat, wielding an enchanted magnet that compels people to love him. Depressed. Seeking someone more deserving to give the magnet to.

Robotic flesh-eating worm with the head of Hillary Clinton. Wants to take your guns, raise your taxes, drink the blood of aborted children and convert Kansas to Islamic communism.

Flock of yellow-fanged baboons with vulture wings, in comical blue jackets. Vicious, but crave discipline. Looking for a witch to govern them and keep their mischievous impulses in check.

Giant hungry tiger. Wants to kill and eat some big fat babies, but can't, because she's born again in Jesus Christ and very active in the pro-life movement. Won't stop talking about it.

Barber-surgeon with tuberculosis and a huge bushy moustache, looking for tooth-pulling work. Expert gunfighter but won't admit it, since he keeps getting challenged to duels.

Obese purple leech-mouthed parasite man that drains energy by touch, getting fatter and stronger as it goes. Leaves behind a trail of smouldering skeletons. Scared of eggs.

Four-faced brass helicopter heads kept in air by impractical Da Vinci corkscrews. Loudly announce their intention to devour you. Easily distracted by philosophical riddles.

Reverse-talking bizarro clones of the PCs with chalky white skin and inverted systems of morality. Want to do exactly the opposite of whatever the PCs want to do.

The Green Guardian. Secret weapon of the Super-Wizard. Muscled adonis in acrobat's tights with magnificent emerald beard and moustache. Impossibly strong, naive, refuses to kill.

The Super-Wizard. Toymaker in a checked waistcoat with pockets full of marvels. Pretends to grant wishes with holograms. Planning to conquer the world with mechanical men.