#guerilla bars

[throwedgenji]

FREESTYLE RAPPING FOR STRANGERS IN BOSTON "LIKE HARRY MACK ?" UNEXPECTED...

[kinsey3furry300]

Disney's Robbin Hood marries Maid Marian at the end of the film. Since marriage between commoners and aristocracy were illegal in the time period, we can infer then that Disney's Robbin Hood uses the cannon from Richard Grafton's 16th century Chronicle at Large or latter, when Robbin Hood goes from a yeoman to a member of the aristocracy, either the Earl of Huntingdon, or the later lord Locksley.

This fox is, and always has been, a member of the aristocratic 1% defending his inherited wealth, power and privilege. His vendetta against Prince John and his denouncement of him as a tyrant is personal as Prince John infinged on the rights and privileges of the Nobles, which was illegal, and lead to him taking up arms abd leading a guerilla campaign, and as soon as a Absoulute monarch he personality agrees with returns, he bends the knee in exchangefor a pardon, the restorationon his estates, and a policaly benifical marrage.

Behold the friendly face of Absoulute hereditary power!

In DnD terms, this verson of Robbin Hood is Lawfull Evil, fighting to uphold his own legal power and staiuts against an usurper.

Sad to say it given, he gave me my sexual awakening, but this fox is, and always has been, a fascist.

I mean I'd still fuck both of them but the sex with Rob would be far angrier.

This fox, this guy right here:

He's just a depressed millennial with childhood trauma running a gig economy job. He's not even doing anything particularly illegal, as shown by the only thing Judy (a frighteningly effective cop) can find to charge him with is tax evasion. He's a high functioning borderline genius level guy running street scams due to racial profiling barring access to higher education and better jobs, and once someone gives him an in he proves very very good at solving crimes. He had no ideological stake in this, he's in DnD terms true neutral tending towards chaotic neutral, but he does risk his life to stop and actual fascist coup that was happening hidden behind a facade of public safety (looks at canera), which is something. He's an everyman antihero who sells out for a job with helthcare and/or bunny boobies at the first chance he gets, very relatable.

This Fox, is and always has been, Moray grey.

and he fucking knows it, the sexy beast.

In conclusion, Disney has always been a Conservative company filled with left leaning creators, and Sometimes thier furry kink critique of the current system leaks out and they are at their best when it does.

[sayruq]

For today's update, I'm splitting it into three - before Nasrallah's speech, the speech itself, and after the speech. If you don't know who he is, he is Hezbollah's Secretary General and he scheduled an important speech like a week ahead of time. The speech caused quite a stir to say the least to the point where there was a media blackout in Israel.

Before

The clip in the tweet above has gone viral. It shows why guerilla tactics are so effective and sheer bravery and discipline displayed by the Palestinian resistance (no gore).

People have noted that the IDF only announces the deaths of officers. You can imagine how many ordinary soldiers have died in the invasion in Gaza. Also, despite the fact that we know thousands of American soldiers have taken part, the Biden administration is keeping any news of casualties quiet. Eventually we will start to hear about those deaths, just like eventually the administration acknowledged the attacks on American bases in Iraq and Syria (while downplaying the severity of those attacks).

The speech itself

(I'm copying and pasting so I don't go above the max number of tweets embedded per post). Follow the link to see the whole thing. I'll be using OP's tweets for the next part

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: I salute the incomparable, legendary people of Gaza for their patience. Words fail to describe these people, their patience and their steadfastness.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Today, my speech will focus on what has happened, where our responsibilities lie, and where we are heading.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: I salute the Resistance of Yemen and Iraq who have joined this battle in its very heart.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Why are we here today? What ignited the Al-Aqsa Flood? There are several factors: the thousands of Palestinian prisoners in "israeli" prisoners, the besiegement of Gaza, the suffocation and oppression in the West Bank...things were bound to explode.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Al-Aqsa Flood put the righteous Palestinian cause back on the forefront of the causes of the world. It was carried out by the Ezzedine Al-Qassam (r) Brigades. This battle was 100% of Palestinian planning and 100% Palestinian execution.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The Resistance factions of Hamas completely hid their plans from everyone, even from the other factions of the Resistance Axis, who were very glad they did so. This secrecy is what guaranteed the legendary success of this operation.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: This is honest proof that the decisions of the factions of the Resistance Axis are own. The Islamic Republic of Iran does not control these factions or dictate upon them when to act or not.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: What was done on the 7th of October shuddered the ground under the occupation; it caused a security, political, and psychological quake whose repercussions will remain with this entity now, and in the future.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: This battle revealed the frailty and weakness of the Zionists; it proved that they really are weaker than a spider's web, that even they started to believe this!

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The Zionists have still not been able to take control, and the rapid involvement of the Americans is proof of the incapability of the Zionists.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: There is no other option to Al-Aqsa Flood. The other option would mean waiting for more death, more besiegement, more settlements. This operation was carried out in perfect timing and it is worth all the sacrifices made.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The gravest mistake committed by the Zionists is setting the bar of their goals very high. For example, today they set the goal of completely eradicating Hamas. Is this a goal made by a rational human?

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: They had set the same goal in 2006, complete eradication of Hezbollah and the unconditional return of the 2 soldiers. They had America, the West, and the Arabs on their side, and yet they failed to accomplish this goal.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: What is happening today is proof of the incapability and weakness of the "israelis." What are they doing today? They are killing innocent civilians. The Zionists have not been able to make any military wins.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The "israelis" resorted to the ground invasion when they saw that the Resistance was still capable of fighting despite the immense bombing on Gaza. They try to portray that they are carrying out a large operation, but in reality, they are terrified.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: How will they fight this Resistance? When a fighter walks toward a tank and plants a bomb on it. The scenes from Gaza, of the men, women, & children shouting in support of their Resistance as they are removed from under the rubble tell the Zionists a lot

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Today, the victims in Gaza, the martyrs, the injured, all expose the true nature of the barbarism of this entity, the complicity of the nations, America's responsibility in all the crimes committed, & the hypocrisy in applying international regulations

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The repercussions of the "israeli" attacks in 1948 were not only against the Palestinians. Every surrounding nation was affected. Today is the same; the effects of this war are not limited to Gaza or Palestine.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The first goal today is to put a stop to the war and aggression against Gaza, for humanitarian reasons, and the second goal is the victory of the Resistance in Gaza, specifically Hamas' victory.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Speeches today are not enough. Nations must cut ties and expell "israeli" ambassadors. You cannot give a speech [in support of Palestine] while you are exporting oil to "israel!"

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: There is an inability to transport the injured from Gaza. Are the Arabs this weak? Are they this unable to open the Rafah Crossing? We have reached a point where we are calling upon the nations to stop exporting oil to "israel" & open the Rafah Crossing!

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The Islamic Resistance in Iraq has taken responsibility and continues to carry out several operations. The honorable Yemenis are firing missiles and drones against Eilat. I salute them for their bravery.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Some were saying that the Sayyed will speak to announce Hezbollah's joining of the battle. The Islamic Resistance in Lebanon already joined the battle since October 8. What are they talking about?

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Some underestimate the operations of the Islamic Resistance conducted at the border, unaware of their significance and importance. These operations are very important, but anyway, they will not suffice alone.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: There is a real battle ongoing from the coast all the way to the Shebaa Farms along the border. This battle is unprecedented between the Resistance and the enemy, not before 2000 or even after.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The "israeli" army was meant to transport their specialty forces from the West Bank to Gaza, but were then forced to move them to the North. So yes, Lebanon has released some stress from the Gaza front.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: A third of the "israeli" army is now recruited at the Northern front, half their navy forces in the Mediterranean facing Lebanon and Haifa, a quarter of their airforce recruited in the north, half their air defense systems (iron dome etc) facing Lebanon,

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: A third of their logistic forces are recruited against Lebanon. Most of the troops recruited on the Northern front are specialty forces. These are real, accurate numbers.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Tens of thousands of settlers have evacuated from the northern settlements, which adds to the moral and economic stress. These operations have put the Americans and "israelis" in a state of fear and worry.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The possibility of matters escalating into an all-out war is very probable. We tell the "israelis" that if they are planning an attack against Lebanon that they are committing the gravest mistake in their history!

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: They told us that the US carriers came to target us, and the Americans threatened to not only bomb us if we continue, but to also bomb Iran. I tell the Americans: your fleets do not scare us, and we have prepared for them what is needed!

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: Escalation on the Lebanese fronts depends on 2 factors: the events in Gaza, and the acts of the enemy against Lebanon. We are a supporting front for Gaza.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: I tell the Americans to remember their defeats in Afghanistan and Iraq. And I tell them that the men who fought them in 1982 in Lebanon are still alive today, and have their sons and grandchildren along with them!

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: To the Americans: You are able to put an end to this aggression as it is yours. And if matters escalate to the a regional war, then your benefits and your soldiers will witness the greatest losses!

[Pause due to Tumblr's text per block limit]

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: The Resistance in Palestine, Lebanon, Iraq, and the entire region is making victories through its patience, steadfastness, and perseverance, for this is a battle of patience and steadfastness to prevent the enemy from accomplishing their goals.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: We must work to end the aggression against Gaza and for the Resistance to emerge victorious. To the Palestinian people, this will take some time, but we are making one victory after the other, which will lead to the ultimate victory, just as in 2006.

Sayyed Hassan #Nasrallah: This is how the Resistance made its victories in 2006, in the West Bank, and in Gaza. Palestine will emerge victorious, and we will meet to celebrate this victory, which will come as a result of us handling our responsibilities with patience.

Turns out I was wrong about 2 things- that Iran and Hezbollah were involved from the very beginning and that Nasrallah would declare war. This was a Palestinian operation through and through and all the other parties were simply inspired to join by their actions on Oct 7th. As far as Hezbollah leadership is concerned, they have been part of the war from the beginning and they have been very effective, destroying an estimated $20 billion worth of equipment in Northern Israel (that number is a bit old).

That was a good speech. It highlights everything that happened since Oct 7th for those who have not been paying close attention, as well as showing that the Resistance will not be cowed by America and it does not plan on stopping any time soon. It's also a nice summary of everything Hezbollah has accomplished. I post updates a lot but that makes it hard to see the bigger picture.

After

Expect an increase in activity from the Resistance as it aims to force Netanyahu to halt the genocidal bombing of Gaza.

[cowgurrrl]

The Palace in Flames

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Author's note: okay two things 1) fuck it we ball on this timeline 2) i don't love how this turned out but I need to finish it otherwise I'm gonna stare at it for god knows how long so enjoy anyways

Summary: "I'm not a violet dog. I don't know why I bite." [3.8k]

Warnings: canonical violence and language, alcohol, a little bit of backstory, discussion of PTSD like symptoms, a touch of misogyny, canon events but slightly canon divergent timing i think

There's not a lot you can do at the scene of the car bombing. You and Javi talk to local police and take witness statements from frightened neighbors and anybody else willing to come forward with information while Steve takes pictures. From what you can tell, it looks like it was a crude C4 bomb, one of the easiest to make and detonate. All it takes is the right amount of pressure, and boom. A few unfortunate souls died right beside Jorge as they walked past, unaware of the explosion to come. A hit for one quickly turned into a hit for five. 

You're good enough at your job to recognize the fact that Steve and Javi went poking around for information about the person who ratted on you, and then a few hours later, he's dead, not even ten minutes outside of your neighborhood. Medellín is a big place. It could've been a coincidence, but you're almost certain it's not. You really hope you don't have to make good on your promise to return to the US if they go after you again. 

You, Javi, and a handful of other police officers finish with the witnesses and join Steve by the truck. All files and statements will need to go through the proper channels tomorrow, and it's too late to do anything else. You'll start fresh in the morning: follow through on the plan to send out CENTRA SPIKE to see what they can find, monitor movement, and stay vigilant. But tonight, you deserve to get a drink with your two self-appointed bodyguards.

The great thing about working at the Embassy is that everyone touts interagency cooperation and work, but in reality, you rarely want to see each other in the same place. DEA will hang out at one specific bar while CIA will go to another. You don't even want to know where soldiers and higher-ups go once the clock hits six o'clock. Every agency thinks another agency is fucking them over or doing their job wrong. Everybody wants a medal for being in Medellín and fighting the narcos and communists but rarely wants to work together. You like to think your agencies have the upper hand with the three of you being friendly and sharing information without going through official, classified paperwork. It's not the most recommended or legal way to go about it. But, you've been able to pass on valuable information Javi let slip in between rounds and shared cigarettes under the guise of a Confidential Informant.

You were friends with Javi first. He came to Colombia around the same time you did, and you worked the same hours. You did him favors, and he returned them. You learned not to ask each other too many questions and to take what you're given and hope it leads somewhere. You've gotten little victories here and there: guerillas extradited, kidnapping victims recovered safely, witnesses given protection and visas in other countries. It was nice to have someone you could rely on and bounce theories off of when the office was empty, and you two were puffing your way through a pack of cigarettes. The lines got blurry about six months in. It happened fast and without warning, and you swore it was a one-time thing. And then it happened again. And again. And again. Then, it just made sense to keep doing what you were doing instead of going through the cycle of fighting about it and giving each other the cold shoulder, only to end up fucking in his apartment before the end of the day.

Steve, however, got stuck with you. When he became Javi's partner, he was forced to know your name and seek you out in the office when he needed something. At first, he wasn't super keen about the idea of having to rely on CIA for things— something to do with that DEA machismo of not needing anything from anyone— and then he realized how good you are at your job. Once you helped them get an especially important collar, he opened up. He told you about the killing of his last partner and a little bit about his career up until this point. He practically begged you to talk to Connie when she started getting homesick and having doubts, and you came to care for her. Now, you're an inseparable trio (quartet if you count the nights Connie makes her way from the communa clinic and into the bar). 

You think Noonan knew that when she asked Steve and Javi to join the Colombian police on your recon. Something about friendly faces in an unfriendly territory. She was right. You stuck to Javi the entire ambulance ride to the hospital, and they each took turns at your bedside. Even Connie showed up to take care of you during those long few nights in the hospital. You were less willing to accept help once you were discharged, but Steve would knock on your apartment door every night and leave a covered dish on your doormat while Javi bought you groceries. You owe them a lot, though they'll never let you admit it.

Javi buys the first round to celebrate your reinstatement. He gives a brief, flattering toast to your work, and you roll your eyes but clink your glasses together anyway. You avoid talking about theories and leads in the bar, even though you probably could talk about those things in English and get away with it. Everybody already knows you work for the American Embassy. No reason to give anybody anything to report back. Instead, you talk about stupid things like Steve being unable to speak Spanish.

"I can understand a little," he tries to defend himself, and you and Javi share a knowing look. He definitely doesn't understand enough to quantify it as a little. He might pick up every tenth word and know enough commands to dole them out when he's in the field, but that southern accent anglicizes every single syllable he utters. "Alright, y'all can go fuck yourselves." He says at your silence, making you laugh.

"Don't worry about it, Murphy. Couple more years and you'll be running circles around Javi." 

"I don't know about all that, but she's right. You'll get better," Javi takes a sip of his drink. "Eventually." 

Over two more rounds, you talk about things back home, tell stupid stories, and whatever else you could think of. It's nice to see Steve and Javi acting like they kinda like each other outside of work. Lord knows they're at each other's throats most of the time. You enjoy hanging out with them, and even though you know you can handle yourself, you like feeling protected by them. Years of CIA training and undercover work don't mean shit when all people see is a woman alone at night. 

"Alright, I've gotta get home," Steve says as he drinks the rest of his whiskey and puts his cigarette out. He probably should've been home hours ago, but that's none of your business.

"Tell Connie I said hi." You say, and he smiles, nodding and mumbling a quiet "yes, ma'am." He loves her so much, even just the mention of her makes him light up. Your thought from earlier creeps up. A good man. And yet he's here, doing the same shit you and Javi are. It's a little funny how squeamish he still is about things, but you figure that's the last sign of his humanity. God, please let that linger for as long as possible. Javi takes a drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke away from your face.

"Yeah, give her a kiss for me." He says. Before Steve can even open his mouth, you smack the back of Javi's head and groan.

"Ay, Javier," you scold. "Malo, malo, malo." Javi smiles, a rare sight reserved for moments like this, as Steve bids you goodnight again and leaves the bar. The second he's out of sight, you reach over, snatch the cigarette from Javi's hands, and bring it to your lips. 

"Get your own," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind it. You roll your eyes and exhale. 

"Stealing from you is so much cheaper, though," you shrug as you hand it back to him. "You think he got suspicious when we showed up at the same time?" 

"We live down the road from each other and got the call around the same time. Even if he figured it out, he wouldn't say anything. Plus, I think your little attitude at work throws him off." He says, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"My little attitude?" You ask. You know he said it just to piss you off, and you hate that it's working. He smirks and you shove his shoulder, stealing the cigarette back from him. "Pinche cabrón." You mumble, and he laughs. He gets a new cigarette from his pack and lights up. A comfortable silence falls over you as you sit there, his hand finding a home on your thigh under the table. 

"So, how're you doing?" Javi asks, seemingly out of nowhere. You shrug and ash your cigarette into the half-full tray in front of you.

"'M fine." You say, and he hums. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and glances around like he's looking for something you can't see. He blows smoke away from you and leans in. 

"So, waking up screaming is fine for you?" He asks. You didn't want to talk about it when you woke up, and you especially don't want to talk about it now. You poke your tongue into your cheek in annoyance. 

"If you thought I wasn't okay, why'd you push for Noonan to clear me?"

"I didn't say I didn't think you're okay."

"Then, drop it." 

"Look, I know you wanna go all in again, but maybe you should take it slow—at least for a little while," he says, and you scoff.

"Give me a fuckin' break, Javi. Did you take it slow when you got shot?" You ask.

"Getting shot and getting kidnapped are two completely different things."

"And yet we both survived," you say, gesturing between you as proof of your survival. "The doctors wouldn't have cleared me to come back if they didn't think I was ready."

"Yeah? How much you pay 'em off for that signature?" He asks. You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek. You're not going to dignify him with a response but you so easily could. "C'mon, just... let your feet get wet again. Everyone knows you've already got the lay of the land, but they don't know that you won't freak the fuck out once you're fully back in the field. I think some of them are waitin' for it," he says. It would explain why everyone's treating you like you're a time bomb. "If you won't do it for yourself, at least do it because I'm asking you." 

"And are you asking me as a coworker or a friend?" You ask. He's staring at you in his weird Javi way: hardened brown eyes softening just enough to bring your guard down. It's not something he learned from years at the Academy or in the field. That's all him. 

"Would it make a difference?" He asks quietly. Answering a question with a question. What a cop.

"Not really." You say, and he sighs. He scrubs a hand down his face and picks up his drink, a cigarette lingering between his fingers. 

"I'm asking as someone who saw what they did to you." He says before taking a big gulp of whiskey. You haven't talked about it. Not about what he saw and knew before finding you or what exactly happened in that room over those few days. You spent hours upon hours repeating the story for doctors, depositions, agency paperwork, and even to the court-appointed psychiatrist who had to screen you before they could even let you back in the building. So, you weren't necessarily gunning for the opportunity to repeat it again when Javi asked you about it. There are only so many sympathetic looks and half-hearted reassurances one person can take.

Even though you relied on him to tether you back to earth during those first few days, he took the brunt of your emotions. You refused to answer his questions and pushed him away. "I'm just trying to help," he told you when he tried to take care of you. "Where was your fucking help when they grabbed me from the street, huh?" You snapped, exhausted and sore and a little out of your mind. It was mean and unfair. You know how hard everyone worked to find you. You know how he blames himself. You know how scared they were to find your body.

When he puts his empty glass down, you look at him and nod. You can't take back what you said, but you can soften it a little. You put your hand over his and trace the contours of his knuckles. They're a little bruised and cracked, but still a part of him. You take a deep breath and rub your thumb against his skin. 

"Okay," you concede quietly. "I'll slow down for a little while, but the second we have good intel, I'm all in again." He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes your thigh. 

"Thank you." He mumbles. To anyone walking by, you two would look like a couple having a drink after a long day of work before going to your shared home and sleeping it off. You indulge in the thought for a second longer than you meant to before you retract your hand and reach for your drink. 

"You're gettin' soft on me, Peña." You accuse, and he chuckles.

"God forbid I wanna see you make it outta here alive." He says, and you hum as you finish the rest of your drink. His eyes stick to the corner of your lips where a few drops of tequila spilled, his thumb twitching as he stops himself from wiping them away. "What're you doing for the rest of the night?" He asks. It's an opening. An invitation to finish what he started earlier. What happened with Alemán earlier in the day must've wound him up, made him tense and in need of release. Unfortunately for him, there are few things you like more than making him sweat.

"Well, I've got a dinner I need to pack away in the fridge and dishes to clean."

"I can help."

"I don't think you can," you say as you stand and grab your jacket from the back of your chair. "Besides, I'm supposed to be taking it easy. I should probably get some rest before my first actual day back, right?" He rolls his eyes as you throw a couple of bills down on the table for your share of the drinks, and you smirk. "I'll let you walk me home, though." 

"You'll let me?" He asks, but he's already standing and pulling his own jacket over his shoulder. Like clockwork, you think.

"Figured it's the least I could do." You say, and he scoffs, swatting at your ass when he passes behind you.

"Vámonos princesa." 

You get a warm welcome back to the office by immediately getting thrown into the chaos of the CIA. A corkboard with all known names of M-19 and other communist group members looks like a serial killer's wet dream with all the notes and grainy photos that stare you down as you talk about recent developments in the jungle. Honestly, you don't care what a group of kids are doing or planning to do, but everyone else in the CIA seems to think it's the most pressing matter.

Despite what the Agency and Reagan want you to believe, you know communists are not the most dangerous group in Colombia right now. Narcos are practically running the country and ruining countless lives with their rampant murder and exploitation. So even though Lou wants to sink a billion dollars of American taxpayer money into fighting guerillas in the jungle, you have one eye on the situation with the narcos. You're just waiting for the message to come down through the ranks that it's all hands on deck for taking down Escobar. Lou knows about your indifference and exacerbates it every chance he gets.

"Agent, I want you to work with Mil Group on tracking their movement to see if there are any patterns. I want to know where they're going and what they're planning." He says, pointing to you. You give him a look and cross your arms over your chest. You hate working with Mil Group. It's a group of guys with sticks up their asses and, somehow, never see the outside of an office. You catch Javi and Steve walking by through the windows, obviously going somewhere, and you lose whatever patience you have.

"All due respect, Colonel, but Ambassador Noonan took me off of desk duty effective immediately. I think I could be of more help in another area concerning M-19." You say, and he raises his eyebrows at you. You're also not fucking boss, you think.

"I'm sure we can find the time for you to show us how big and bad you are another time, sweetheart, but right now, this is where you're ordered to go." The nickname is abrasive in your ears, and you want to correct him, demanding your title as Agent, but Javi's words ring in your ears. They're waiting for you to freak out so they can send you home. They're waiting for you to blow up on somebody for a small thing. They want you to fail. You sigh and bite your tongue. 

"Yes, sir." You say before making your way to the Jarheads. 

For being off of desk duty, you still feel like you're doing mind-numbing work. All you're doing is plotting points on a map where satellite phones have pinged off of cell towers in an attempt to triangulate where they might be hiding out. Considering how there are barely any cell towers that reach that deep into the jungle, and even if they did, the calls drop after about thirty seconds, you don't have a ton of riveting information to work with. You listen to the recorded, half-legible calls and translate what you can to another agent, but nothing suggests they're planning anything. If they are, they're keeping it off your radar.

After wasting a stupid amount of time doing that, Lou draws up a bigger map and makes you replot all the points down with an estimate of where they might be. You're not CENTRA SPIKE or well-versed in how triangulation even works, and he knows this. It's a fool's errand at best, but he demands it by the end of the day. "So I can give it to the tech analysis guys." He says. You're about one more pointless task away from bashing your head into a wall, but you start on the map anyway. 

You're about halfway through when you hear Murphy calling your name, and you turn to see him and Javi walking through the crowded Mil Group office. 

"You're working with the Army now?" He asks, and you sigh. 

"For the day. Lou is on everyone's ass about this M-19 shit and thinks I'm the best person for the job, apparently," you say. "Please tell me you have something better than this." 

"We just got a sicario's son off the street. Dumbass was distributing in broad daylight in front of a cop." Javi says, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"We both know that's not a good enough reason for a cop to pick up a sicario's kid. What're you holding out on me?"

"Apparently, the cop heard him bragging about rigging a car with a bomb. He said something along the lines of, 'That's what happens to rats,' and then said something about going after La Golondrina next." Steve supplies. So this sicario's kid rigged the bomb to kill the informant who sniffed you out, said he also had a bomb for you, and now he's sitting somewhere in DEA custody? If Escobar's men weren't going after you before, they definitely are now. 

"Do you think he even knows anything? He might just be daddy's errand boy." 

"He asked for a deal," Steve says.

"Wheeling and dealing might not be grounds for extradition, but threatening to blow up a United States CIA agent just might be," Javi says. Something shifts in his eyes just enough for you to catch it, and you know it has to do with the conversation you had at the bar. You shake your head and break eye contact with him to look at Steve.

"Right, but you know how Wysession and Jones are. If it doesn't involve communist groups, they don't even want to look at it."

"The kid told us that some of Escobar's men have been talking with one of the leaders of M-19." Bingo. You throw down your marker, stand from the desk Wysession relegated you to, and all but march into his office with Steve and Javi close behind you. 

"How's that plotting coming along, honey?" Lou asks as he looks up from his paperwork, his face falling at the sight of the two men behind you. Lou might not like you, but he dislikes Javi and Steve more. 

"Agents Peña and Murphy have intel that Pablo is communicating with M-19 guerillas," you say. "That means there could be a joint attack coming, which means we can't keep separating the communist and narcos task forces." 

"Has this information gone through Noonan?" He asks.

"No, sir. We wanted to relay the information to our Agent here first since the intel involves her kidnapping." Steve speaks up, using your actual title, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking. 

"Is your intel good?" Lou asks Steve, ignoring you and Javi, and Steve gives him a look. 

"You think we'd be wastin' your time if it wasn't?" 

"Well, then, you better get a move on and go tell her." He says like he doesn't actually like the idea, but he can't think of anything else to say. You, Javi, and Steve quickly leave his office and start the trek to Noonan's office when Steve gets a call on his sat phone. He looks like he's about to ignore it before remembering it could be Connie, and even though she's supposed to be at work, he doesn't take any chances and answers it. You're close enough to him to hear her frantic chattering on the phone and saying something about M-19 and Escobar. The walk to Noonan's office turns into a run, but it doesn't matter. By the time you get there, thousands upon thousands of pages of evidence against Pablo Escobar are burning on the TV as M-19 takes over the Palace of Justice. 

This isn't just a singular agency fight anymore. You doubt it ever was. You know that the Palace of Justice Siege will change everything for better or worse, and you have to be ready for it. Promises made over glasses of scotch be damned.

TAGLIST:@abbyhaslongshorts@kiwiharrykiwi@sumsworldz@myloveistoolittle@anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @space-zaddy-din-djarin @rainy-darling (let me know if you don't wanna be tagged for this series!)

[pedropascallme]

When You're Lost in the Darkness

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: "It could be considered naïve; maybe joining the ranks, however low you might be, of an organization deemed terrorists by most who encountered them wasn’t the type of adventure you’d needed. Maybe you needed a new shift, a new hangout spot. But you’d always been the type to go big or go home, and at this point in your life, one could argue that you didn’t really have a home, anyway."

Warnings: Jesus, where do I start? Allusions to suicide, canon typical violence (including but not limited to murder), drug use, alcohol use, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) age gap (reader is implied to be 20s/30s, Joel is canon age), fingering, oral (f and m receiving), p in v sex, praise kink, degradation, hair pulling (a lot of it), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), creampie. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Woah. Ok. This started as “hmm what if I write some dialogue?” and it spiraled. It spiraled hard. This is the longest thing I've ever written coming in at about 7k words and I'm...proud? Reader essentially takes the place of Tess in this au.

You hadn’t been purposeful in your alignment with the Fireflies.

It had started slowly. You initially kept your head down when told to “look for the light,” and you kept curfew to the second, unperturbed by the gunshots that rang out as you closed your apartment door. But you felt a sort of itch—maybe it was the lack of enrichment in the QZ; the days crawling by and behaviors learned through repetition. There was a certain point where you knew that if you didn’t do something you’d end up dead—if not at the hands of FEDRA, or the scavengers that prowled outside, than in your own bedroom with a rope and a bottle of whiskey as the only sign you’d ever been alive in the first place.

It could be considered naïve; maybe joining the ranks, however low you might be, of an organization deemed terrorists by most who encountered them wasn’t the type of adventure you’d needed. Maybe you needed a new shift, a new hangout spot. But you’d always been the type to go big or go home, and at this point in your life, one could argue that you didn’t really have a home, anyway.

Marlene was a large presence. Despite her small frame, she commanded a room and could kill with a look, and maybe that was why you fell so easily into the grasp of the militia she fronted. It was Marlene who had approached you in the first place: you kept to yourself when you were out. You didn’t want to give anybody the idea that you were looking for something—or worse, someone—and the easiest way to avoid that was to avoid contact with other people altogether in your down time. Marlene had thought that was a good sign.

“What are you drinking?” She sidled up next to you in the far corner of a makeshift bar you had found yourself in one night.

“Same thing everybody else is.”

“Let me buy you another.”

“No, thanks.” You wouldn’t meet her gaze, washed over with an insecurity you hadn’t felt since you were young.

“Wasn’t asking.” She was smiling, but you heard the way she spoke, as if she was aware of the fact that she was already dominating the conversation. You finally looked up at her, making no expression and allowing her to continue whatever game she was playing and winning. “Anybody ever told you that you look lost?” She whispered into her beer. You offered a grunt of assent in response; you knew what was coming. You knew, and you felt your heartbeat speed up. You wanted it.

“You should look for the light.” Was all she said before walking away.

She never had gotten you that second drink.

You knew who she was then, and even before that; you’d seen her pulling her weight—and the weight of others—in the form of guerilla warfare, and yet she still managed to have a sort of maternal quality to her. As soon as she had spoken to you that night, you found yourself wrapped up in the conflicts that presented themselves around the QZ.

“You’re quiet. Unpredictable. Pretty, too.” Marlene had told you once, you were leaning against the door of her apartment while she sized you up. “We need a rat…”

“Mm.”

“You ok with that?”

“Mhm.”

And so you ended up funneling what little information you could to the Fireflies through seduction and mystique. You felt like the villain in the spy movies your grandfather had shown you; made up, dressed up, putting out—when you had to—for bits and pieces of intelligence (if you could call it that) from FEDRA agents that fell for your ruse. It wasn’t hard. It satisfied your urge to do something in your free time; call it a hobby.

Issues only arose when your trysts became attached; it had happened once before, and despite the lack of any real danger, Marlene had used the ignorance and lust of the soldier as an example. He’d been at your front door one night, and the next he was found with a bullet in his head. “Self-inflicted,” you’d heard someone say when his body was burned with the rest of the dead.

Yeah, right.

You approached Marlene after the fact.

“You didn’t have to kill him.” You were blunt, not offering any specifics because you knew she didn’t need any.

“I know.” She was scribbling something in a notepad.

“So why—?”

“Because he was getting in the way,” her gaze bore into you, “And on the verge of learning too much. And that was more than we bargained for.” She stood up in front of you, and you felt dwarfed by her size despite being ultimately the same height. “We don’t need any more than what we bargain for.” You didn’t answer her, only taking a deep breath and leaning your head back.

She grabbed the notepad she had been writing in, ripping out a page and pressing it to your chest. “Here,” she let go once you took the paper, “next target.”

You let out a whistle, “High rank.”

“That’s the point.” She sat back down, and you began to leave. She called your name, and you let the weight of the open door fall on your arm as you turned back to her.

“If anybody else falls for this,” she motioned over your body, “and gets too smart, it’s your turn to take care of it.”

~~~

The Captain hadn’t followed the protocol you’d wanted him to.

It started easily enough; he was powerful and in many ways all knowing. All you needed from him were a few details, some more specific, some less. And at first it worked perfectly, just as it had the few times before, save for the one victim of your allure. But after several nights of heavy drinking and messy kisses, you were still unable to break free from him. He seemed to be under the impression that the two of you were now an item—which, by all means, made your job as an informant much easier, but wasn’t something you were comfortable with. What’s worse, it felt too dangerous to break it off: He had the power to extort, torture, and kill in a way that even the Fireflies hadn’t progressed to, and one wrong move in how you cut ties with him could easily put you, and others, in genuine danger. What’s more, he kept asking questions. He wasn’t a smart man, by any means, but that didn’t make him stupid. You couldn’t take any risk.

“How do I do it.” You walked into Marlene’s makeshift office, rushing your question.

“Do what?”

“How do I…I need to make it look like an accident.” You found the right words, steadying your voice. Marlene was well aware of the situation. Everyone was. You’d received a fair share of teasing from the others, and some even suggested your new codename be the Captain’s own surname. “How do I make it look like an accident.”

“Depends on what he might accidentally do to himself.” Marlene smiled to herself, and you knew she had a plan—one that you would have to execute, no pun intended. “He a drinker?”

You scoffed, “They all are.”

“Top shelf shit?”

“FEDRA’s finest.”

“And maybe he drinks a little too much sometimes.” You started to see where she was going.

“Yeah, I can vouch for that.” Case in point, you hadn’t slept with him once. He was old, one drink and he was down for the count.

“Would be a shame if he washed down some pills with that high quality booze.” Marlene finished her indirect spiel.

“He’s not that stupid.”

“I’m willing to bet he is.”

“What if I just mix something into it?” You were trying to convince her to do this at least partially your way.

“As long as you get it done.”

“Ok.” You felt a bit of pride at the fact that she was caving to your will just a little. “…Where do I get pills?”

~~~

All parts of the QZ were trashed and semi-demolished, but something about this area was even worse. The overgrown weeds made even the crumbling brick buildings seem claustrophobic, and it was muggy. It didn’t even seem worth being here; Joel Miller was late.

You didn’t know Joel, you barely knew of him. You’d worked a shift with him here and there, seen him in some of the speakeasies around the QZ, but all you knew about him was his name. That was enough for you most of the time, but for some reason when Marlene had said his name, you were overcome with the same insecurity you had felt when she had first spoken to you. You chalked it up to the realization that the action of you killing a man was imminent.

You heard the squishy crunching of plants under boots. You watched on as Joel Miller approached you; He was tan, verging on burnt from the long shifts he worked under the sun, wearing a flannel despite the heat. You’d never seen him up close before, you’d barely seen him from afar, and you analyzed him from head to toe once he reached only a few feet away from where you stood. He was handsome, a thought that you tried to suppress. He looked as though he had just finished a job; slightly dirty, his salt-and-pepper hair mussed. If he was surprised to see a new face in his dealings, he didn’t show it.

“Joel Miller,” you put on a brave face, “you’re late.”

He didn’t even look at you, rummaging through his pockets for the goods you were here for. “How much d’you need?”

“Is it Oxy?”

“Hydro.”

“Uh…” For the first time throughout all of this, you realized you’d never made a drug deal before. The outbreak occurred before any form of teenage rebellion had fully cemented itself in you. “A good amount.” Joel just stared at you through a furrowed brow.

“Y’never done this before.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“A good amount.” He mocked you, and in any other circumstance, with any other person, you might’ve taken it as flirting. At the moment, however, you were too focused on getting this job done in order to move on to the next one.

“Gimme…gimme five pills.” You figured that five would be enough to knock the Captain off his feet for good.

“You don’want this.”

“Six?” You bartered.

“No,” Joel shifted on his feet, “I mean you don’t want these.” He spoke to you as if you were a child, explaining to you what you should and shouldn’t want. “Y’look too young for this. Inexperienced.”

“I’m plenty experienced.” You countered, and it was too late to take it back before you realized the joint meaning to the statement. “’Nd they’re not for me. They’re for a—a friend.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. You pulled out the ration cards you were meant to exchange and gave them to Joel, who placed them in the pocket of his flannel.

“That’s what they all say, sweetheart.” You felt your pulse quicken at the moniker. He took out a piece of foil to wrap the pills in.

“‘They all’ lie to you,” you reached out your hand for the pills, “I don’t.” You made a beckoning motion for him to hand over the tinfoil package to you.

“Gettin’ pretty cocky for someone exchangin’er hard-earned rations for drugs.” He grabbed your wrist and carefully dropped the pills into your hand.

“Maybe,” you felt like he was playing with you, and you couldn’t tell if you liked it or not. He was undeniably attractive, and his words seemed melodic as they dripped with his deep Texan accent, but you knew he must be well aware that he had the upper hand here: he was older, hardened…more experienced—whatever that meant—and he was the keeper of the goods you needed. Maybe not for the usual reasons people needed opiates, but he didn’t know that. You wanted to play, too. “But you’re the one paying,” you smirked, “aren’t you, Joel Miller?”

You turned and walked out of the small, barren field, leaving him for the next customer to find.

~~~

The Captain had a nicer house than any other you’d ever been in. Maybe even including pre-outbreak. The hardwood floors were fully intact and there was décor on the walls and mantle. You felt out of place every time you went in. The lace on the dress Marlene had provided you (one of three she had found to “sexify you,” she had joked) made your collar itch, and you pulled down the neckline to relieve yourself of the feeling.

The night droned on. The Captain was frisky, and you’d be lying if you said your mind didn’t wander to Joel when the man’s hand crept up your thigh.

“Let’s drink.” You managed to disconnect him from you before anything escalated. He poured you each a glass of scotch and you managed to make small talk with him for a while. You downed the liquor, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your hand shook the empty glass; you wouldn’t let your nerves get the best of you, but they were putting up one hell of a fight.

“Y’look beautiful.” He was already slurring his words.

“Thank you,” you forced a smile, but felt it form into a sort of awkward grimace, “I dolled myself up for you.” He honked out a laugh and you asked for him to fill your glass. He obliged, and you quickly pardoned yourself to use the bathroom. You hoped he’d be too distracted to notice that you brought your glass with you.

Once you were alone, you stared into the bathroom mirror. It was never meant to get this serious—not for you, anyway. You wanted to be part of something and reap the rewards, but this wasn’t worth it. You briefly considered the benefits: one more fascist down, one less authority figure in the way. But it didn’t really matter what you thought the pros and cons were; what mattered was that you did as you were told, that you supported the cause, even if that meant potentially putting a target on your back.

Breathing deeply, you pulled the foil package out from the layer of fabric sewn into the dress that was meant to act as a bra. You put the foil under your foot and ground the pills into dust, using as much force as you could muster. You picked up the packet, all the pills now more or less pulverized, and carefully, using a toothbrush, stirred them into your glass. The liquid turned cloudy, but the more you mixed, the more the powder dissolved into the alcohol, and you hoped the Captain was drunk enough by now to not care about what he ingested.  

You walked out of the bathroom and took your seat again. He was waiting for you, still drinking. You needed a brief distraction. Looking around the room, you spotted a medal hanging by a window behind him. You waited for him to put down his glass.

“What’s that?” You motioned towards the medal once he had rested his glass on the coffee table. He turned, and you swapped your lethal potion with his glass of scotch. You had to hold back a giggle, the situation reminded you so much of the Princess Bride movie you had watched so often that the VHS tape had gotten “lost” after your father had had enough of the word “inconceivable.”

“S’an old award.” The Captain began to brag. “Can’t even remember what I got it for, tha’s the only hard part ‘bout being decorated. But I remember the party we had afterwards!” He laughed at himself and picked up the glass you had placed in front of him.

“I’m sure.” You smiled. He downed the liquid.

~~~

“It’s done.” You stood in Marlene’s office again. It was dark, you didn’t know what time it was. You felt different. Worse, maybe.

“No witnesses?”

“None.”

“Good.” She hesitated. “How was Miller?”

“Joel?” You were caught off guard. “Fine. I guess…I don’t really know him.”

“Consider yourself lucky.” You couldn’t consider much of anything right now. Your mind drew a blank. You’d never killed a real person before. You didn’t count infected—to you, they weren’t real. Just shells.

“Goodnight.” You walked out and onto the street, ducking and running to avoid being accosted for being out after curfew.

~~~

The knocking on your door the next morning was headsplitting.

You crawled out of bed and called toward the person behind the door to cut it out as you walked across the room.

“Alright!” You swung the door open, and Joel stared down at you, his eyes so blown out they looked black. He began taking steps towards you, and you inched back. He shut the door behind him and grabbed you by the shoulders.

“You sellin’ my shit?”

“I—wh—?” You had no idea how he knew where you lived, or why he was in your living room.

“You sellin’ my shit!?” He got louder and you felt yourself crumple slightly in his hold.

“No!” You yelled back, and you heard your voice shake. He stared at you, brow furrowed the way it had been when you met him for the pills. Suddenly he pushed himself off of you, and you stumbled back. He paced back and forth, rubbing his face with one hand, the other hooked onto his belt loop.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to regain your composure, but it was hard to do so with Joel Miller screaming at you while you wore your pajamas. He didn’t respond. “Joel!”

He walked over to your window and pulled the drapes down over it. “Y’wanna tell me,” he growled at you as he walked back over, “why I’m hearin’ talk about a Captain who died? Using my supply?” You felt your blood run cold.

“I—how do they know it’s yours?” You felt stupid. It almost overshadowed the fear.

“Christ, girl,” he ran his hand over his face again, clearly trying to control himself. If you were anybody else, he’d kill you where you stood. “S’not hard to figure out who’s sellin’ when all anybody else has t’do is talk.” You just stared at him. “Fuck did you do?”

Your chest was tight and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You crumbled to the ground, heaving. You thought you’d throw up, or die right there. Joel stood over you, clearly unsure of how to deal with you.

“I’m sorry.” You wailed. “I’m so sorry, Joel, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I—”

“I can tell.” He crouched next to you, and you heard him sigh when his knees bent too far to be comfortable. He tentatively reached out for you, pulling you into an awkward sort of half hug. He grabbed your face in his fingers, and you could feel the calloused skin rubbing against your chin.

“Never meant for—didn’t want it to—” You struggled to catch your breath, still reeling and nauseous from Joel’s confrontation and the memories of the previous night.

Joel shushed you, and you felt helpless, although grateful that he was finally showing some poise. “Talk me through it.”

When you managed to get on your feet and stumble over to the couch, Joel kept you pressed firmly to his side. You told him everything. About Marlene. About the Fireflies. About your awkward attempts at becoming a femme fatale. Joel didn’t move, and as far as you could tell he didn’t experience a single emotion for the duration of your rant. You were trembling next to him, tucked under his arm, and taking shallow breaths.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel finally responded to your story with only those two words. You stared on, wide-eyed and genuinely scared for the first time in a while. He looked down at you, watching you curl into his body. In a moment of clarity, you remembered that your shorts and camisole left little to the imagination, and you felt yourself press into Joel further, hiding your face in the fabric of his shirt.

“What now?” You whispered.

“Well, ‘f they figure out where the pills came from, I’ll prob’ly get more than a li’l roughed up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I ‘preciate it, but it ain’t really your fault.” He sighed. “Marlene ‘nd her crew are good at puttin’ people like you in bad positions.”

“‘People like me?’” You pressed.

“Young. Hungry for more.” He explained. “She set us both up. ‘Nd you’re too good to waste your time trying to be a Bond girl.” He nudged you with his arm.

“Felt like I was in the Princess Bride.” You sighed dreamily, basking in his vague compliment. Joel bit back a smile.

“Knew when you bought those pills you were trouble.” He leaned back on the couch, spreading his legs. “Didn’t think you’d be this much trouble.”

“So, what now?” You repeated your earlier question, still needing clarification. Joel let out a long breath, like he was thinking of how to break some bad news to you.

“I can’t stay here.”

“It’s ok. Not like anybody else is ever here.”

“No,” he absentmindedly pulled you in closer, and you pressed your hands into his chest, “I mean here. In Boston.”

“Oh.” You felt yourself squeeze his shirt a little tighter.

“Didn’t plan on stayin’ anyway.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was because you’d spent an hour crying to him, throwing out every word and detail you could think of, but you were suddenly at a loss for words. And distraught, even, at the thought of him not being a fixture of the Boston QZ. “Could stay here.”

“Sweetheart,” he furrowed his brow, “that’s a horrible idea.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you getting’ into trouble for harborin’ a fugitive.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Marlene’s givin’ me a job.” He let the words fall out of his mouth.

“What…kind of job…?”

“Movin’ cargo.” He didn’t explain further.

“Take me with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.” You abruptly became frustrated with him. He bursts into your space, makes you lose control, tells you he’s a wanted man, and suddenly you were a burden?

“I know.”

You pushed against his chest and brought yourself eye-level to him. “Take me with you or I’m turning you in.” He grabbed your wrists and pushed you back.

“Nice try.”

“Please, Joel,” you stood up, “what’s the harm?”

“I’m not takin’ a kid dumb enough to kill a soldier in his own home across the country with me.” His words stung and you felt yourself grow angrier.

“Why are you being so mean?” Maybe he was right, maybe you were a dumb kid; you sounded like a child who wasn’t getting their way.

“’m bein’ honest.”

“Well do it nicely!” You kicked at his boot, and he stood up, grabbing you by the waist.

“You wanna come ‘cause you don’t like it here?” His nose brushed against yours as he spoke. “You’re gonna like it a lot less out there.” He smelled like smoke and leather, you grabbed at his collar. He was playing with you again.

“Think of what’ll happen if you leave me here,” you played with him, “I’m an easy scapegoat.” You held your breath while you watched him mull over your words. He knew you were right.

“They’ll go to the Fireflies.”

“Who do you think the Fireflies will blame?” You continued. “Think they’ll go after the gun toting terrorists, or the dumb little girl who killed their Captain?” You were playing dirty, still holding tightly to the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up over his chest. His hands hadn’t moved from your waist.

“Never said you were dumb.”

“It was implied.”

“You’re too much.” He scoffed.

“Then leave.” You challenged him. You could feel the strain between the two of you. How had your choices led you here? You didn’t really care, now that it was happening, newly content with the strange turn of events your life had taken as of late. Joel held you even tighter, and you had to stand on your tip toes to let him engulf you entirely. “Joel…” You spoke softly, afraid that if you were too loud it would break him out of the trancelike state he seemed to be in.

“Mm.”

“Joel…”

“That’s right.” He closed the final gap between the two of you, and the moment you felt his lips connect with yours, you felt a deep-seated hunger. He kissed you with such force that your head fell back. He crowded you and forced your mouth open with his tongue. You moaned when he bit your lip, licking into you again and then repeating the action. You moved your hands to the back of his head, pressing his mouth to yours, hard. His stubble scraped the skin around your lips, soothed by his open-mouthed kisses and the spit that worked its way out from between your tongues. When you separated to catch your breath, you grinned at him.

“Is that a yes?” You batted your lashes. Joel pulled your head back by your hair.

He growled and kissed you again, using his other hand to begin lifting your thin shirt up, exposing more of you to him. You felt his rough hand trail up your back and then down under the waistband of your shorts. He squeezed your ass and you whimpered at the sensation. You felt him rub the area softly before he squeezed again, harder this time. You moaned and he used it as an opportunity to push his tongue back into your mouth. You allowed your own hands to roam freely and ran them under his shirt. You could feel raised scar tissue on his back, and it made your head spin. One hand came to rest on his crotch, and he groaned at the feeling. You gave his bulge a light squeeze.

He pushed you away, grabbing you to keep you upright as he stripped you of your clothing. He lifted your shirt over your chest, squeezing your tits before pulling the shirt over your head and arms.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing.” He leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on the tender skin and nipping it with his teeth, massaging the other one lightly with his hand. You placed a hand on the back of his neck to steady yourself. “Where’ve you been?” He was talking to himself, caught up in the joy of being able to debauch you. He pulled himself from you and moved to take your shorts off; he sucked marks over your hips, pulling down your bottoms and tracing over the newly exposed skin with his tongue.

Standing, he picked you up and dropped you onto the couch, laid completely bare for him. He kneeled in front of you, spreading your legs and kissing just above your clit.

“Gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He looked up at you.

“Ple-ase,” you whined, not caring that it sounded so pitiful. “Please, Joel.”

He smiled, and you saw that his eyes had returned to the jet-black state they’d been in when he’d first come into your apartment screaming at you. “Atta girl.” He brought two fingers to your entrance, spreading you open to relish in you fully. He dipped a finger in before quickly withdrawing it and bringing it to your lips. You opened your mouth without hesitation, welcoming the digit past your lips and sucking.

“Get all wet arguin’ with me?” He cooed, “Y’get excited, gettin’ yelled at?” You nodded, still sucking, before he took his hand back and placed it on your leg. He pulled you forward by the thighs and pushed your legs as far apart as he could without hurting you. You felt his breath fan against your cunt; you felt his tongue against your clit before he pushed it into you, and you shivered at the feeling. You felt him fuck his tongue into you a few more times before he went back to licking over your clit, then sucking on it, hard. You squealed, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling, already feeling too much, too quickly. He didn’t relent, continuing his ministrations and sliding two fingers into your dripping core.

“Joel! Joel, Joel—” You chanted his name. He bent his fingers upwards, and you writhed around him, feeling heat pool in your stomach. You tugged on his hair again, and he repeated the motion of bending his fingers. He briefly gave way, licking soothing streaks up your clit and tasting your wet pooled around his fingers, until he once again sucked it back into his mouth and began pumping his fingers in and out of you faster. The sounds you made for him were pathetic, and it spurred him on even more.

“J-oel!” You felt your legs close around his head and hand, but he didn’t stop, moving into you harder now. “Cum—gonna cu—” You couldn’t finish the thought before you felt yourself begin to tremble, squeezing his fingers. Your head dropped back on the couch and you cried out for him, sensitive and soaking. After refusing to stop until he had drawn out your high for as long as he could, he finally relented. He brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted your juices, humming contentedly. You watched as he stood up, stripping himself of his shirt and jeans. You pawed at him, encouraging him to remove his boxers and bare himself to you.

“So eager, sweetheart,” he tossed his clothes to the side, “What’ya need?”

“Need it.”

“Need what?”

“You. Need you, Joel. Please.”

“So fuckin’ pretty when you beg f’me.” He removed his boxers, letting his cock spring free from its confines. You drooled at the sight: he was long and thick, absolutely perfect. His tip was sticky with precum, and you leaned forward off the couch, bringing yourself to your knees and wrapping a hand around him. He sighed, eyes closed as he let you stroke him.

“That’s it, darlin’.” He pulled your hair back out of your face. “Go on.”

You placed a kiss on the vein that ran under his shaft, working up the courage to do more. You spat into your palm and worked it over him, gaging what you thought he’d enjoy. You brought your lips to him. Opening wide and sticking your tongue out, you eased him into your mouth. You felt his grip on your hair tighten, and you took more of him down your throat. You focused your breathing through your nose, tearing up slightly at the stretch your felt in your cheeks.

“Fuck, good girl,” Joel watched you gag on his length, “y’can do it, sweetheart.” He began to guide you up and down his cock, effectively fucking your face. You felt spit and tears dripping onto your chin and cheeks, and it only encouraged you to take more and more of him. You choked on him, bobbing your head and wrapping your hand around the remaining portion that was simply too much for you. You cupped his balls in the other hand, squeezing gently in sync with your movements on his cock.

“S’good, baby,” Joel wiped a tear from your cheek and pulled you from him. You released him with a pop, looking up and delighting in his praise. He again moved towards the couch, sitting down with his legs spread. “C’mere.” He patted his thigh, stroking his cock with his other hand. You straddled him, whining at the way the head of his cock brushed against your hole. He held you by your hips, watching how you squirmed in an attempt to get more friction where you needed it.

“Did y’ever get this excited for those fuckin’ soldiers?” He demanded.

“N—no, never.” You felt a rush of excitement when his cock bumped against your clit as he lined himself up with you.

“Good.” He pushed you down onto him, and you yelped. The stretch was incredible, and you gripped Joel’s shoulders as you pushed yourself to take more of him. You moved your hips awkwardly, unsure of how to go about comfortably riding him.

“Poor thing,” Joel increased the pressure of his hold on your hips, “li’l slut can’t handle the cock she was beggin’ for?” He helped you slide down the rest of his length, groaning when he bottomed out. You moved your hips forward and back, rolling over him and adjusting to the feel of his cock inside you. You gasped each time your clit dragged forward on the skin of his stomach, unsure of how you’d gotten this far in life without feeling such pleasure. He pulled you down enough to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and dragging his tongue over it while you rocked back and forth on his cock.

“Please, Joel. Fuck, please bring me with you—let you fuck me like this all the time.” You babbled, arching your back to allow him better access to your tits.

“S’that what y’want?” He sucked the skin under your breast, working to leave bruises, “be my fuckin’ doll?” You moaned an affirmative as he took your other nipple between his teeth, toying at it with his tongue. “Y’wanna be a whore so bad, doesn’t matter who it’s for, huh?” He mocked you, mocked the way you’d gotten into this situation in the first place, and it made you even needier for him.

“No!” You objected. “Just you. Only for you.”

“That’s right.” Joel grabbed a handful of your ass, spreading you open and allowing him to lift you up on his cock. He fucked up into you, and you buried your head into his neck. “Look at me.” He ordered, and you brought your head back up, struggling to keep your eyes open and forward as he began fucking up into you. You whimpered, overwhelmed by the feeling but determined to follow his orders.

“Tell me again,” he grunted underneath you, “tell me who you belong to, now.”

“Y-ou. God—fuck! Joel, you!” He thrust in and out of you, giving it to you rough and fast. You felt his fingers dig into the skin of your ass, and you hoped he’d leave marks.

“Good girl,” he panted, “my good girl.” You fell forward onto him again, unable to support yourself against his pace. He wrapped his arms around you, tugging you to him.

“Feels s’good.” You murmured into his neck, biting and licking at the skin under his ear lazily while he used you. You were so fucked out, sore and overstimulated—you had never felt better. “You feel so good, Joel.”

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he leaned back, raising his hips to adjust the angle he was fucking you in; he punched up into you just right this way, and you clung to him when he repeatedly pushed against the spongy spot inside of you. “Perfect girl, such a good girl.” He eased up, letting you grind yourself over him and rubbing his hands over the spots on you skin where his fingers had been digging bruises. He pulled out of you entirely, leaving you feeling empty. You made a sound of discontent.

“I know, sweetheart.” He picked you up and lay you on your back, crawling over you and kissing you with fervor. You felt him plunge back inside of you, and your back arched for him. Still astonished that he could make you feel so full, you moaned underneath him, begging for more, wanting him to give you as much as you could handle, if not more.

“Own this fuckin’ pussy,” he growled, now opting for long, deep strokes. He reached down to rub two fingers across your clit, and you moaned in agreement.

“Yours! Yours, Joel—yours.” You were hurtling towards a second orgasm, wrapping your legs around Joel’s waist to coax him deeper into you.

“Gonna make sure you never fuckin’ forget it.” He applied more pressure to your clit now, massaging it in time with his thrusts. “C’mon, sweetheart, one more,” he smacked your clit before returning to his prior motions. You opened your mouth but no sound came out, and you reverted to silently begging. He began to speed up again, and you grabbed his forearm.

“Joel!” You found your voice again, and you were all but screaming when, with a deep, hard push of his hips, you came for him. You sunk your nails into his arm and heard him hiss, but it seemed to just spur him on. He didn’t stop, forcing you to writhe pitiably on his cock. You were completely at his mercy, unwound and so far gone.

“Fuckin’ tight, s-o fuckin’ tight f’me.” Joel’s hips began to stutter, “Where d’you want me, baby? Wan’ me to paint that pretty face with my cum?” You shook your head, whining. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Ins-ide,” you whimpered, an overwhelming feeling of pleasure coursing through you. You felt his fingers, still rubbing your swollen clit, and you wanted it to last forever. “Wanna be yours.”

“Oh, fu—yeah? Lettin’ me fill this pussy up?” You nodded enthusiastically, words still not coming easily to your pleasure-clouded brain. “You are jus’ a dumb li’l girl, aren’t you? Gonna let me cum in you? Paint that pretty cunt, make sure you know who you belong to?” He was rambling now, but his words still went straight to your core. You had no idea that there could be so much satisfaction from sex.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart,” Joel pounded himself into you, trying to last as long as he could before the inevitable. “Gonna—fuck, fuck!” He spilled into you, throwing his head back and pushing himself as deep as your body would allow him to. You felt the warmth of his spend spread across your lower abdomen, and you sighed happily.

Joel slumped over you, and you willfully accepted his weight on top of you. You traced a finger down his back, then up again, repeating the motion until you had to stop to focus on catching your breath.

“Heavy.” You whispered between pants, though it wasn’t as much a complaint as it was an observation.

“Mm.” He maneuvered the both of you, flipping positions so that you were on top of him.

“Better.” You muttered, and he took a turn tracing his fingers over you.

“You’re an awful informant.” He spoke in a hushed tone, maybe because the atmosphere called for it; maybe because he was hoarse from recent events. “Didn’ ask me shit.”

“Guess I’ll just have to kill you.” You quipped.

“Couldn’t if y’tried.” He rested his head on his arm, sitting up enough to properly view the curve of your ass and the mixture of his cum and your own sliding down your thighs.

“‘m coming with you.” You whispered.

“Yeah,” Joel squeezed your side before folding you into his free arm, “you are.”

[orangelemonsstuff]

Pets are similar to their Masters

Silver Bullet Au by @jackplushie (i hope im not bothering you haha 0v0; i just want to credit you haha)

Part 2

//Gender Neutral Reader//

bartender!Reader being wholesome with an elderly woman on the bus (kind old people are my weaknesses)

Summary: Crowley called you in for a meeting, as you do, you encounter a sweet old lady on the bus

Tags: Fluff and Small Angst

You bend your knees to pick the gray cat up and carry it on your arms, for some reason its calm on your touch this time but not to others who tries to touch it.

it always hisses and even scratches your costumers even leaving a mark on one of your "dangerous" patron that also reminded you of a fierce cat (more like a lion...)

but you do not know who's much more fiercer whether, its Grim or your usual costumers but... you are sure betting your money on the cat.

You tried to put the him inside of your oversized varsity jacket, trying to fit him in so he would be covered with your attire

well bringing him with you Crowley's turf would be a bad idea but, he needs to know who's keeping you out of danger.

ha, this would make the other old man happy, now that both of you had Cats... but probably not Dog Man, he would likely to scold you for trying to hide the cat in your jacket and complain about cat hair covering your suit

Grim wriggled in your arms to make himself comfortable (which made you uncomfortable since his sharp claws keeps scratching your clothed abdomen and chest)

finally, he found the right spot to settle so you could carry him, he purrs as he put his head outside the unzipped part, treating it as a window for you scratch his head and feel the wind.

you hum with satisfaction as you wrap your arms on the bulge of your jacket with head of a cat outside.

the cold wind of the night touched your face as you walked to the bus station, it wasn't even too far from your location yet it felt like hours trying to get there at this late hour, with an attire like this too.

you knew only few busses still operates at a time like this especially at this place since its a spot known for criminals and muggers to walk around.

so you strategized and observed your foggy windows during your work hours when a bus comes around, at what exact time and day. (well this only costed you a week of annoying overnights, long talks and questions from that tall weird stranger with a mysterious aura who always comes by at the specific late time, which you don't really mind since he is talkative and he tips well.)

now, the you, which is sleep deprived, tired, and groggy from those nights is trying to ride a bus to that crow bastard's place...

the reason why you are about to leave your precious bar and home, was because you were called by Crowley himself to personally go to his office tonight.

this must be important since he doesn't call you that much but to only discuss important things (especially financial issues which he doesn't really aid well)

of course he can just send a limousine or maybe even just a simple car from him to pick you up.

but, you need to keep a low profile as a modern citizen if you don't want your whole cover blown.

after all, one small mistake and it would cost you all of your hard work

he also inquired that you wear the "special outfit" one of his men sent you

you yourself well knew who that delivery man is, for he is the supplier of the beverages you use to make your drinks after all.

you just never knew that ShAdy Man also serves personal deliveries for Crowley.

the parchment box contains a grayish black leather blazer adorned with a dull yellow on the lapels, paired with a leather pants with the same color and same dull yellow line on the side,

a multicolored bandana for your arms, a plain white shirt, and a black and white striped tie

the attire itself looked like a school uniform more than what a yakuza or a guerilla would wear.

but to be fair the only reason you are wearing this voguish get up are so that the guards would let you in the building safely and don't take you to Crowley beaten up.

although...

you don't want anyone to know who you're actually working for, or attract any attention that might cause you trouble in the future.

that's why you wore a varsity jacket you used to wear before to hide your outfit (plus student discount even though you dont go to school anymore due to your situation and your job)

but perhaps the jacket is too big and had enough space to sneak a little gray cat in, plus, you worry for what might happen to Grim if you just left him outside or even, inside of the bar.

speaking of Grim, he is quite comfortable at the position he is in while silently listening at the taps of your shoes,

eyes closed, purring at the warm of your body and the jacket hugging him against the cold shivering night.

you arrive at the dimly lit bus stop, just in time the breaks of a yellow bus were pressed and the mechanic door opened right infront of you.

great timing, now you dont have to wait and get hurt by grim if he ever try to do something funny with that sharp claws of his

as you stepped inside you notice that there were only few people in here,

a sleeping worker guy on the left

a old lady on the right near

a group of suspiciously 5 hooded teenagers on the back

'they are probably in highschool or maybe college.' you guess (they look like hooligans, but it's not right to judge a person by their appearances)

for some reason you swear you saw them before but you can't get your finger where and when.

maybe usual costumers at your bar?

another weird thing is that the big Orange hooded guy scooted over so you could have a place to sit.

you eyed the empty spot as the other two which is Purple and Green tried pull their hood down even further so it would hide their faces completely.

but just when you are about to walk towards the empty seat besides the hooligans, Grim all of a sudden hissed at the five, turning their heads on opposite direction to hide their faces more now.

he seems really pissed off once you got near them, maybe their presence annoys him like those costumers in your bar?

a Red hooded fella seemed a bit irate at the cat and clicked his tounge for hissing at him but the Blue one nudged him with his elbow and grumbled.

not wanting to offend them any further you just turned your back and just sat with the old lady on the right instead

you were sure the moment you turned your back, the group started whisper-bickering to each other.

they're probably talking shit about Grim

as you sat, she turned her head towards you and nicely smiled, you smiled back in politeness, just like how you always do with your costumers

you position Grim inside of your jacket as he sleeps peacefully with the warmth you provide, the old lady notices it

"going to a vet? at this kind of time?" she asked with a kind voice

"a-ah no... I'm just going to buy him some cat food because our nearby pet store ran out..." you reply, yawning and wrapping your arms loosely on sleeping Grim.

"he doesn't go to the vet? he doesn't even have a carrier? cats like that can carry diseases you know..." the old woman, wide eyed expressed her confusion and worry on her wrinkled face.

crap, you didn't even had a thought of taking him into one nor even have a time to take him to one

"well... im also supposed to get a carrier for him toda-- i mean, tonight too so we can properly visit the vet tomorrow?"

you reply nervously

you are not sure if you can lie with a straight face infront of a innocent old woman like that but you managed to do so.

"ah... i see~" she sighed in relief as she patted her chest, she quitely eyed Grim's furry head

is she going to try petting his head?

you had seen other people trying to touch Grim and it did not end very well...

some people left your bar with scratches

other with bad mood and a paw print in their face

and others with disappointment who didn't get to pet the cat

you flinch as her hand moved towards Grim, fearing that she might get hurt by his sharp nail-knives

but instead it wasn't what you expected...

Grim was so docile and tame towards her as he gently rubbed his head for friction with her hand.

"why are you tensing up dearie?" she beamed at you as she continued petting Grim

"I'm sorry... i thought Grim would claw you like he does on other people" you fiddled with your fingers, embarrassed to look at the woman.

she's probably an expert towards animals like Grim

"you have a very sweet cat~ i do not know why he act so aggressive and erratic towards other people like you say" she chuckled, scratching Grim's furry chin as he purrs with delight

you could've sworn you heard a quick whisper of "that's not a sweet cat that's a fricking raccoon that bites and eats anything it wanted" from the behind seats.

must've been your imagination

You smiled at the the thought of the sweet lady just trying to pet Grim without any ill intent like those people who wants to get a bit of your information.

"you know... Pets are similar to their owners" she slowly raised her hand up to your height and patted your head instead

you surprisingly just sat there and took it

in normal sense if some random person on your bar tried to pull this move on you, you would've broke their arm perhaps it doesn't have to be you that have to break their arm.

"the little guy doesn't seem docile and open towards people who has bad intentions inside of them" she grinned, continuing petting your head

"maybe same goes for you..."she ruffled your hair for the last second she was petting you as she put her hand down to relax on her lap

your eyes widened at the statement

the bus stopped all of a sudden, shaking and breaking your moment of silence and retreated of what she just said

you finally arrived at your destination.

you stood up, carried Grim up swiftly and took a quick glance at the woman.

she was smiling softly at you with a rosy cheek

you nodded down as you carefully take your steps down the bus, walking fasr, not even trying to look back at the bus that just drove away or the people from behind it who knows where they are going to go.

•••

you looked from your left and right to see if someone was following you even though you only rode a bus with few people on it but you couldn't be more careful.

after few minutes of walking you finally arrived at your actual destination.

a sketchy old big building that almost looked like a palace wooms over you from the distance of how tall it is

there were two well built guards are waiting for your pass to enter the building.

you took a deep breath, taking off your jacket to wrap it around Grim who just woke up and struggling to break through the wrap

he doesn't seem angry but he seemed trapped

after you showed your bandana and confirmation pass, they nodded to each other and opened the gate for you as they bow their heads

"we shall inform Headmaster Crowley"

"please do." you confirm at them

radio statics was heard from behind you, you continue to cradle Grim who had free'd his paws from the jacket wrap and now scratching your clothed chest again like before you arrive but you don't seem to care

your shoes clacked on the concrete floor as you headed inside of the building

there are only several people inside yet everyone seemed to be bowing at your arrival as soon as they notice the bandana on your arm and formal attire.

"you know... Pets are similar to their owners"

Are they really?

"maybe same goes for you..."

if anything, you wouldn't want to be similar to him

because that would be bizzare and uncanny

"the little guy doesn't seem docile and open towards people who has malice inside of them"

it's not like you open to any of your costumers at all, they are all shady people who would use of the advantage of any dirty little secret you said to ruin your life...

"thats why you should keep your secrets to yourself, lock it in, and build a barricade over it so no one could ever break it or break you by using it " he lectured to you while you listen mindfully.

if anything you would just rather be a normal bartender of Silver Bullet instead of being a person with secrets just like your clients.

you opened the wooden oak door to the waiting room, 6 men are inside

2 are guarding the door very rigidly

as the other 4 were waiting and having some tea

well one of them is drinking beer but you know him well enough to pretend its tea for him.

all of their heads turn to you as you stepped inside of the scented waiting room.

a waiting room for a office where all of this hell began

you might never know if Crowley just sees you as a pet or just a tool to keep his legacy standing--

but...

you don't want to be the same as him

a/n: uhh well this is not what i actually planned but i have another idea on my drafts (and what i originally planned to write) and going to be the sequel of this fic so stay tuned (≧▽≦)

ps. i did not proofread this im way too lazy, I'm sorry you have to read this with a shitty writing

[vacuouslyfalse]

Listening to Blowback season 3 now. So far it hasn't really hit on much I didn't already know - I kinda wonder if they're using the same book I read in high school as one of their sources, or if the historical consensus is just quite strong.

Some initial thoughts:

It seems like more or less a given that the entirety of Korea would've been communist if there was no foreign interference from either the US or USSR. The capitalist class has delegitimized themselves by collaborating with the Japanese and the communist guerillas had gained a lot of popular support from being the fiercest resisters, and on top of that land reform was desperately needed. I think this is pretty close to the best conditions for communism anywhere in the world.

The North/South split seems like it basically delayed the revolutionary civil war - instead of having it out immediately and locally, counterrevolutionaries in the north left for friendlier territory in the south. This means that the initial revolution was pretty bloodless, but the ensuing civil war was absolutely massive, though the foreign intervention plays a bigger role in that.

I doubt the series will get into it, but as I've previously mentioned, I'm very curious about how NK went from basically a bog-standard ML state to one of the most repressive in the world. Kim Il Sung seems like a more sane leader than Stalin (not a particularly high bar tho) and the immediate aftermath NK state seems, well, not all that bad as communist states go.

[not-alpharious]

Angron is the most moral primarch, and that’s what makes him the most evil.

Like any primarch, he seems pretty easy to understand on the surface level, Perturabo is bitter, Rubberstamp Government is a dyed in the wool bureaucrat, Magnus is a nerd, and Angron is a blood drunk sociopath. But like any good psychotic, blood drenched onion, Angron has layers.

For one, to put it mildly, his childhood kinda sucked. He was enslaved by a brutal dictatorship to fight as a gladiator, even as he began to empathize with his fellow slaves and see them as his family. This would all come to a head when he would refuse to kill his pseudo foster father, Oenomaus.

As punishment for his humanity, he was implanted with the butcher’s nails, ancient technology that would cause him unimaginable agony for every second he wasn’t killing something. And kill things he would, murdering his foster father before he would even realize what he was doing. That would be the first time he broke, and it certainly wasn’t the last.

Eventually, he would breakout from slavery with his gladiator family, fighting a doomed guerilla war against the High Riders who had better weapons, more men, and more supplies than Angron would ever have hoped to have had himself. And so it was until the Emperor finally found him.

Unlike every other primarch before or after him, though, Angron would refuse to join the Emperor. he knew exactly who the Emperor was. Just another high rider, covering himself in gold and ideology as a shield to cover what he was. So, the Emperor kidnapped him, leaving Angron’s family to be slaughtered by the high riders thinking he had abandoned them in their last hour.

This would be the second time Angron broke. He had lost everything, his family, his purpose, even his will to live. All he had left was the nails, always silently digging into his brain. He would become a butcher for the Emperor, a bloody tool for the very same idea he had once put his life on the line to fight against.

All throughout the Great Crusade, Angron would be unique amongst his brothers in that he never had any illusion about what the Emperor was, no matter the rhetoric his “father” would use to cover it up. However, despite that, he was still the worst among all the primarchs, barring perhaps Curze. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that it was the very thing his family had died trying to fight, but he didn’t care any more. He knew what the Emperor was and hated him for it, and he knew what he was and hated himself for it, but by then all he wanted was for the pain to go away and to die a warriors death in the process.

Angron was the most moral of all his brothers, and that’s exactly why he was the most evil. He knew what he was doing was wrong but he did it anyway to sate his blood lust. So maybe its fitting that he was cursed for all eternity to stay the thing he had let himself become instead of dying to the Emperor in a battle to kill the greatest and the worst highrider of them all the very first day he was taken from his true family.

[tinfairies]

Psst. Consider garp finding out about koby and his pirate boo, but old man thought he's using her for marine cause. So when koby and meppo got summoned to the office, they thought the former is done for, but Garp ended up laughing his ass off and smacking koby's back, all while prasing him for his "guerilla move".

Also separately, koby getting his lady squirtin' for the first time

Meppo is having a panic attack and Koby is already prepared to go to jail for harboring a criminal. They get there and Garp tells them good job. They're both so relieved but now Koby is expected to lead a team to finally bring her down. Like full undercover SWAT style.

He knows he can't let her get away this time or they're both done for. He can't protect her if he's behind bars or dead.

[rainyfestivalsweets]

Grocery shopping/Food

Inflation is a huge thing right now and people keep asking how to lower your grocery budget. I grew up poor. Here are some tips I learned over the years. Just my opinions/tips:

There are alot of things a person can do to build food stability- IF you have the space and resources.

First one is gardening. An herb garden, a patio pot garden or a yard garden. I also did little stints of guerilla gardening, which is basically planting veggies in weird places. You can Google victory gardens to see how they used to do it back in the 40's.

Also, if you have a house with a yard, consider planting a fruit tree and some fruit bushes.

But as far as grocery shopping goes, if you have a limited budget & are on a weight loss journey, the first thing you should do is stop (or severely limit) shopping from the inside grocery aisles.

Why?

Because these foods might seem inexpensive, but it is really common to overeat those foods. They are designed to be hyperpalatable.

I recently saw an episode of Heavy where the person was cooking 3 boxes of some meal.... and eating them all.

If you buy these foods at all, you need to practice portion control with them. Check the box for the serving size and then divide it into individual servings before you start eating it.

It is really important that you don't beat yourself up for wanting this food. It is designed that way. Your body is a biological machine of sorts and it has evolved to *want* foods that have certain levels of fat, salt & carbs. It is because these are the foods that helped us survive.

When shopping the perimeter, I normally take a walk around to see what foods have volume so a low price. Some suggestions are potatoes, collard greens, radishes. But really, I will try anything that is low cost. Give it a shot and see if you like it.

That is how I starting eating collard greens. Walmart had huge bags of them for like $2. I bought a bag and threw in some greens with every meal. Why not?

You don't need designer greens that are $10 a pound.

So yesterday, the thing I would have bought for cheap and tried was fresh bunches of turnips greens for $1.29, and mustard greens for about the same (I am traveling tomorrow so I won't have time so cook it).

Be curious and explore. You may be able to find ways to stretch your budget using unpopular foods. Unfortunately, the internet has popularized some previously staple foods - eggs, cottage cheese, cauliflower etc. But do what you can with what you have, and use portion control so that you are making things last.

Sometimes you can find frozen foods for good prices- I found pags of peas at Walmart for $.84. Peas! Hell yeah! I added Pease to everything. Peas have some protein and a good nutrient profile.

In contrast, a box of weight watchers protein candy bars were $5 for 4 bars. ON SALE. Ugg. That is a treat option... but those food products are so freaking expensive per serving I am trying to limit those.

Other things I did was watch videos on how people got by in the depression...and try some of those meals. Read older books and see what they were eating.

Our food acquisition has changed dramatically in the last 100 years. People used to do alot more foraging, hunting, & fishing. We don't have access to some of those things anymore. And if you do have access, definitely try those things as well. If you have access to buy food from a farmer/rancher, do it.

Now we have food deserts. But that is a post for a different time.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Yumi I'm an idiot?? I've been interacting with your blog for the past couple weeks without really computing in my goldfish brain WHY I follow you in the first place, which was a grave mistake because EXCUSE ME??? YOU WROTE GUERILLA???

That story is honestly my fave yunho fic of all time 😭😭 had me screaming into my plushies when he called her 'my girl' (I am a simple woman... feminism would be ashamed of me...), I was absolutely WEAK for the scene where he went to apologise after flipping out about he knife (he is the standard but also holy crap the bar is on the ground hshshshs) and he just let her cry into him like pls I've been making so much dua where do I find me a man like this 🙏 and I loved the fact that mc had her own motivations and backstory! She wasn't a naive or passive character and I adore that!

I have so much more to say but I won't take up too much of your time, thank you so much for writing and sharing that story!! I have to check out the rest of your masterlist now...

hi idiot

omgg as one goldfish to another i totally understand you lmao but yes this goldfish wrote guerrilla :D

but omgg thank you 😭 yes idk where 'my girl' came from KJDSHFKJDJHG but it was a necessity bruh like i raised my own standards so high when i wrote that scene like??? how will i ever have what yunho and reader had in guerrilla?? im so mad??? i want my serial killer doctor biker husband??? (the bar really be 6 ft under but i'll have that too) (bestie get your duas straightened we'll have a man like that one day yes just not a serial killer we can't fix that 😭😭)

and yes i physically cannot write a simple mc they always gotta have that tragic backstory or some weird motivation 😤

thank you so much for dropping by with this ask, means a lot to me, and i hope you enjoy whatever you read next <33

[warrioreowynofrohan]

For the Choose Violence ask game: 22 for any of Tolkien's Middle Earth works? (Histories of Middle Earth included.)

Two asks for this one!

@nopewood: 22 for the ask game pleaseee ^^

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

It's not entirely ignored, but the poetic Leithian deserves way higher profile than it has! It's absolutely magnificent as poetry and also elaborates a lot more of the events of Beren and Lúthien's Quest than the text of the Silmarillion does (for example: the spell Lúthien uses to grow her hair is incredibly complex, cool, and rather spooky).

Another part that I really like that almost everyone ignores is "The Coming of Tuor to Gondolin" in Unfinished Tales. I love the characterization that we get of Tuor during his time as a outlaw and his journey to Nevrast and thence to Gondolin - he, well 'chill' compared to the other Edain we get, but he's not entirely chill and it's really not sufficiently recognized that he waged a single-handed guerilla war in Hithlum for about three years when he was little more than a teenager.

A specific bit of that that I like and that no one else seems (understandably!) to care about is the description of the gates of Gondolin. I love it. The imagery of the different materials, colours, the structure, the designs and what they symbolize/convey. And we're also told that the Elves created a lot of magnificent things, but they're rarely described in detail, and we get such great descriptions here.

Gates!

Thus they came at length to a wide art with tall pillars upon either hand, hewn in the rock, and between hung a great portcullis of crossed wooden bars, marvellously carved and studded with nails of iron. Elemmakil touched it, and it rose silently, and they passed through. "You have passed the First Gate, the Gate of Wood," said Elemmakil. ...Some half-league from the Wooden Gate Tuor saw that the way was barred by a great wall built across the ravine form side to side, with stout towers of stone at either hand. In the wall was a great archway above the road, but it seemed that masons has blocked it with a single mighty stone. As they drew near its dark and polished face gleamed in the light of a white lamp that hung above the midst of the arch. "Here stands the Second Gate, the Gate of Stone," said Elemmakil; and going up to it he thrust lightly upon it. It turned upon an unseen pivot, until its edge was towards them, and the way was open upon either side; and they passed through, into a court where stood many armed guards clad in grey. ...After a little space they came to a wall yet higher and stronger than before, and in it was set the Third Gate, the Gate of Bronze: a great twofold door hung with shields and plates of bronze, wherein were wrought many figures and strange signs. Upon the wall above its lintel were three square towers, roofed and clad with copper that by some device of smith-craft were ever bright and gleamed as fire in the rays of the red lamps ranged like torches against the wall. Again silently they passed the gate, and saw in the court beyond a yet greater company of guards in mail that glowed like dull fire; and the blades of their axes were red. Of the kindred of the Sindar of Nevrast for the most part were those that held this gate. [NOTE: Another reference to the Sindar using axes as their main weapon, something that I almost never see in fic.] ....Thus at last they drew near the Fourth Gate, the Gate of Writhen Iron. High and black was the wall, and lit with no lamps. Four towers of iron stood upon it, and between the two inner towers was set an image of a great eagle wrought in iron, even the likeness of King Thorondor himself, as he would alight upon a mountain from the high airs. But as Tuor stood before the gate it seemed to his wonder that he was looking through boughs and stems of imperishable trees into a pale glade of the Moon. For a light came through the traceries of the gate, which were wrought and hammered into the shapes of trees with writhing roots and woven branches laden with leaves and flowers and as he passed through he saw how this could be; for the wall was of great thickness, and there was not one grill but three in line, so that to one who approached in the middle of the way each formed part of the device; but the light beyond was the light of day...Now they passed through the lines of the Iron Guards that stood behind the Gate; black were their mantles and their mail and long shields, and their faces were masked with vizors each bearing an eagle's beak.

What the Fourth Gate reminds me of at the moment is Menegroth - trees carved in iron, as Menegroth is trees and birds and other animals wrought in stone, the combination of the love of nature with the love of craft through the work of two different peoples. And the sequence - the different materials (wood, stone, bronze, iron), the number of towers matching the number of the gates, the guards outfitted in a way that matches the gates - really appeals to me. The connection of Gondolin both with Ulmo, who showed Turgon the location and concealed his people so they could get here, and with Manwë via Thorondor (who is really Turgon's link to the outside world, and brings him news on more than one occasion) is just fantastic.

Then we have the gates of Silver and Gold:

Tuor saw beside the way a sward of grass, where like stars bloomed the white flowers of uilos, the Evermind that knows no season and withers not; and thus in wonder and lightening of heart he was brought to the Gate of Silver. The wall of the Fifth Gate was built of white marble, and was low and broad, and its parapet was a trellis of silver between five great globes of marble; and there stood many archers robed in white. The gate was in shape as three parts of a circle, and wrought of silver and pearl of Nevrast in likenesses of the Moon; but above the Gate upon the midmost globe stood an image of the White Tree Telperion, wrought of silver and malachite, with flowers made of great pearls of Balar. And beyond the Gate in a wide court paved with marble, green and white, stood archers in silver mail and white-crested helms, a hundred upon either hand. Then Elemmakil led Tuor and Voronwë through their silent ranks, and they entered upon a long white road, that ran straight towards the Sixth Gate; and as they went the grass-sward became wider, and among the white stars of uilos there opened many small flowers like eyes of gold. So they came to the Golden Gate, the last of the ancient gates of Turgon that were wrought before the Nirnaeth; and it was much like the Gate of Silver, save that the wall was built of yellow marble, and the globes and parapets were of red gold; and there were six globes, and in the midst upon a golden pyramid was set an image of Laurelin, the Tree of the Sun, with flowers wrought of topaz in long clusters upon chains of gold. And the Gate itself was adorned with discs of gold, many-rayed, in likenesses of the Sun, set amid devices of garnet and topaz and yellow diamonds. In the court beyond were arrayed three hundred archers with long bows, and their mail was gilded, and tall golden plumes rose from their helmets; and their great round shields were red as flame.

As I reread this...I had thought before of Gondolin, the image of Tirion in Valinor, being a symbol/indication of Turgon's inability to let go of his homesickness, and the images of the Trees being connected to that. But it doesn't feel like that now - it feels like a fusion, of the past in Valinor (the two Trees) and present in Beleriand (the Moon and Sun, and also the pearls of Nevrast and Balar; the latter indicate that Turgon must also have had a close relationship with Cirdan and the Falathrim) - and by the way, how did Turgon realize the connection between the Trees and the moon and sun, when as far as the Noldor know the Trees were entirely dead? It's an impressive connection to work out by himself.

These gates - and their matching flowers, which is an amazing touch - are more decorative and less military than the others, as though, having passed the gate of iron, the focus is now more on beauty rather than defence. And then we're slapped in the face with this:

The way was short to the Seven Gate, named the Great, the Gate of Steel that Maeglin wrought after the return from the Nirnaeth, across the wide entrance to the Orfalch Echor. No wall stood there, but on either hand were two round towers of great height, many-windowed, tapering in seven storeys to a turret of bright steel, and between the towers there stood a mighty fence of steel that rusted not, but glittered cold and white. Seven great pillars of steel there were, tall with the height and girth of strong young trees, but ending in a bitter spike that rose to the sharpness of a needle; and between the pillars were seven cross-bars of steel, and in each space seven times seven rods of steel upright, with heads like the broad blades of spears. But in the centre, upon the midmost pillar and the greatest, was raised a mighty image of the king-helm of Turgon, the Crown of the Hidden Kingdom, set about with diamonds.

This is grim and forbidding and hostile after the Gates of Silver and Gold - like passing from an intricately carved gate of a garden to a fence of razor wire. It's the only gate that Elemmakil can't open for them, and there's no elegant way to knock - you just have to bang on the bars. The pillars of steel might be the size of young trees, but they aren't carved to look like trees or anything else - they're just spikes. The other gates had images of nature, and sometimes of the world outside; this gate is hostile to the world outside.

And, after the three previous gates with Thorondor followed by the images of the creations of Valar - the Trees and the Moon and Sun - we have an image of Turgon's crown on this one.

This is a very clear warning to the reader - something is wrong in Gondolin. Turgon has grown proud and shut out the outside world, and is putting himself and his desires as of the foremost importance. This Gate tells us what Turgon's answer to Tuor's message from Ulmo will be even before Tuor delivers us. And the statement that Maeglin made this gate shows him symbolically as an influence upon this change of attitude in Turgon. Everything about this gate foreshadows the fall of Gondolin.

Thank you for indulging me on this super long post! Look, I just really enjoy imagery and patterns!

[mastcrmarksman]

616 / main verse + divergence.

Finally writing my 616 verse up. Most 616 centric comics up from Clint's original appearance in the 60s up until the 2016 era of comics are canon and then from 2016 onwards, we start going heavily canon divergent from Civil War 2 and after. Instances of my 616 verse are specific and separate between rp partners, each post, and ships but some things remain always canon.

-> CW2 is handled very different and leans more into Government/Corrupt Politicians versus Superheroes. Clint does kill Bruce Banner, he does go on trial, and his reasoning is a lot more personal to himself and his long friendship with Bruce Banner; no one but Bruce and him truly know why he did it.

-> Occupy Avengers is vastly divergent, but the team of Red Wolf, Clint Barton, Nighthawk, Tilda, and Wheels going around solving problems does happen.

-> We ignore Secret Empire's existence and other marvel events from 2016 to Devil's Reign.

-> Kate's West Coast Avengers does happen and is mostly the same.

-> Carnage event with Clint, Cap, Spiderman, Logan, and Thing does happen.

-> Hawkeye: Freefall is canon and mostly untouched in changes made

-> Thunderbolts 2022 is largely changed that should it even count as happening? Clint is not leader of this TBs, but he is on the team

-> The jury is out on Black Widow & Hawkeye (2024), but signs point to non-canon or heavily divergent.

-> The rest of this post is detailing the this blog canon-divergent events from 2016 comics to 2022 comics.

Following the events of his acquittal for the killing of Bruce, Clint Barton goes on a long trip across the country. He travels from state to state, bar hopping, and trying to solve every day problems of average citizens. He ends with small team of lost souls along the way. His roadside hero days end when Kate Bishop calls for his help in setting up her own West Coast Avengers. Eventually, the call comes in for him to help Captain America with a crisis which lands him back in New York, which he had been staying away from.

This goes poorly as the city has changed, such as Wilson Fisk is now mayor. New York and what has happened to Superheroes is a big trigger for him, and it leads to excessive drinking and vigilantism. The pardoning of a known crime boss he had just busted leads to Clint starting guerilla warfare, while masked as Ronin himself, against the Hood. After his defeat of the Hood, Clint flees New York ago and goes on another soul searching journey, now a pariah amongst many of his friends.

Leaving NYC, his Avengers card, and cutting himself off from everyone due to what comes out about him after Freefall. He goes back to bar hopping across the country, feeling ashamed, lost, questioning how far was too far, what was worth it, and waiting out the end of Mayor Fisk's time in office. While in Ohio, Clint gets kicked out of a bar for disorder, and ends up crashing his motorcycle in a farmer's field in the middle of the night. When awakens, he's still hungover and hurt. Clint ends up in the hospital and refuses to contact anyone about this. This is his bottom, evident he has an alcohol problem. He ends up listening to a nurse who suggests he seek help, check out aa or rehab, and confront the fact he's an alcoholic. Any of this time, is not something that Clint talks about but it leaves to him returning to New York.

Things have hopefully cooled down in the City, moved on from his Ronin stunts and Clint's trying to fix his life, cut back on drinking, go sober (he's barely managing four months), and make a real change with himself. Make amends with his friends, with the Avengers, and find his place back in superhero society. Luke Cage is now mayor and offers him a way to do superheroics by the book as being part of the reclaimed NYC Thunderbolts, in hopes to repair New York's relationship with superheroes.

After a relapse early on with his new Thunderbolts team and a very heavy phone call with Bobbi, Clint attempts going sober fully again and this time with help. Present day Clint is struggling still with everything, trying to get back on good diet and workout routine, manage sobriety and self care, as well as battle with the internal war of his feelings about being on a super team and pondering if street level vigilantism may be his path in life now, and making amends with his friends and the avengers.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

-> To keep with his sobriety, Clint has the help of his friends, and one of who he calls his sponsor, @danversiism

-> Lucky is with him most of the team instead of Lucky being with Kate; the dog has been trained by him after all to be a disability aid (hearing dog), given Lucky tends to let him know when someone at the door as well as helps him feel secure in his home (dog will alert to intruders if he is sleeping) or comes with him on when he goes out in the world without his hearing aids in

-> Clint has three therapists in total since trying to put his life back together, manage his depression and adhd, cope with his trauma, and stick to sobriety. The first one was Lynette, who eventually he had move on from, a second one who shall not be named because he was not a good fit, and this third, most recent one is Johanna.

[fleuraward]

things from dope show that changed the chemistry of my brain forever:

the outfits matching the characters to a T special shoutout to amprule and ryoga

everyone super in character

cool poses at the end of some songs

ryu's bouncy energy

in general tcw having darker outfit sand then ryu in White (matching 1nm8)

allen running around the stage literally carrying

allen and anne vibing to hajun's verses

better dayz live. need i say more

"we're the best together" and then drops where they at after the heartwrenching bop better dayz that makes me emotional

ryu robot intro in the mc bit

visty choreo!!!!! visty choreo!!!!!

shogo's absolute bars fuck it up king

shion did a spin when gokuluck was singing and his coat thing went Woosh a bit

1nm8's hand movement in the "oh oh oh" part of break outta here

rookies mc and visty's bright outfits next to amprule was vv funny to me

everyone coming on stage. playfully messing around.

"where's hajun" and allen and anne are like HAJUN :(

tcw life is beautiful choreo send tweet

when akyr sing in each others verses

"GONNA BLOW YOUR ASS" - real quote from allen from bae

the disco ball in rap guerilla

everyone hyping up eachothers verses

bringing in all the rookies in the final chorus to sing together

"bye visty" !!!

the chaos of tcw's exit

[baiika]

Originally, this was going to be about Momo's fighting style, & it still is to an extent, but it became more about how ruthless Momo is.

Momo primarily relies on guerilla warfare. I think most people understand what guerilla warfare is, but I'll give a rundown of what I've gleaned to be its basics: sabotage, raids, ambushes, terrorism, hit & run, petty warfare, etc.

Some of this doesn't apply to Momo. I don't qualify Momo as a terrorist the way white nationalist groups, Islamic extremists, or private security agencies like the Wagner Group are. I think the Gotei as an institution is Horrible, but let's be real, Momo hasn't had the opportunity to enact or be complicit in that shit the way Sousuke, Genryusai, Retsu, Kenpachi, & Mayuri would be, & I don't think she would knowingly do so either, given her internal conflict over fighting Toushirou in chapter 131.

I'll look at it later how this encounter is unusual for Momo. However, the point as of now is to ascertain Momo isn't blase about the use of violence. Why else would she be weeping when she wholeheartedly believes she's avenging a loved one? It's sufficient evidence for a conscience.

Her jail brake in chapter 127 lends credence to this as well. Like, look at what she did in chapter 129.

Momo very easily could've killed this man. She could've blown a hole through him as easily as she blew through several iron bars & left no witnesses. But she didn't.

I think it's safe to say Momo has a conscience & isn't a terrorist.

However, she does use guerilla warfare.

Momo set traps & ambushes. Most famously, Momo sets up a web of kidou to incinerate the Tres Beastias in 334.

Like, there's a lot that's impressive about this shit: the scale of it, the fact she's able to set it up where no one is caught in it before the right moment, the fact she's ENTIRELY undetected by like two dozen people while setting it up.

However, Momo is mostly seen ambushing people. We see in chapter 333 that her entrance is an ambush.

This is the first time we see her ambush, but it isn't the last.

In chapter 556, Momo ambushes Bambietta after Shinji is incapacitated.

We see her ambush, like, a half dozen Soldat to save Marechiyo in chapter 581 as well.

No forewarning. Just a remorseless, summary execution.

& like, as a small sidebar, this isn't out of character for her. In chapter 335, Momo explains her kidou net, but pay attention to her expressions.

Momo is entirely unbothered that she's incinerated three people. Like, she's smiling. I know she's unwell at this point & I know it's war, but she's in the same battlefield as someone who's made her life miserable for DECADES & she's smiling. Rangiku & Momo are confident enough that Momo's trap worked that their guard is lowered enough for some rumination. & Momo is bragging. After believing she's summarily executed three people.

Like, it's a fucking miracle the guard from chapter 129 where she breaks out of jail. Yes, she has a conscience but demonstrates no compunction with murder.

I think what's most impressive about Momo's capabilities as a guerilla warrior is her kyokkou.

Like, Bambietta is a competent person. We see in chapter 558, after her defeat, that the Femritter don't even approach her until after she's down.

I'm not an expert in Bambietta & I don't purport to be. However, I'm fairly certain that if Bambietta is more powerful than four Sternritter at their best, I feel like it can translate into notable reikaku.

Her skills in kyokkou are cemented early on, as seen in 335 where no one senses her or her trap, no one knows her position after her jailbreak in chapter 127, and Toushirou doesn't realize that she's busted out of his barrier in chapter 168.

Yes, it proves she's a master of kidou, but that's not the point of this post. The point is: why is she so good at kyokkou? It's because she's partial to quick & quiet. It's something she's deliberately nurtured.

Like, I think if it weren't for Sousuke arranging to have her graduate into gobantai, Momo would've been placed in niibantai or found her way into the onmitsukidou.

[rametarin]

Some US American Tankie: "THIS ISN'T WW3, IT'S JUST IMPERIALIST AMERIKKKA BULLYING POOW DEFENSEWESS WIDDLE SOCIAWIST BABY NATIONS AND BROWN PEOPLE, AGAIN. :CCCC STUPID WHITE SUPREMACIST FASCIST AMERIKKKAAAA!"

Some Eastern European: "Hey. Heeeeeeey. Yes fuck white supremacist evil stinkbad imperialist Amerikkka, but you tankies often defend the USSR and Russia! USSR were colonizers and imperialists too, but you weak westerners stan for it just because you hate Amerikkka!"

Hahaha. Yeah why do they do that, Sofia? It's almost like the imperialistic Russo-Supremacist Marxist totalitarian hellhole of Socialist republics and Russian satellite states ran around getting theater kids, smarmy pseudo-intellectuals, some bleeding heart intellectuals, counter culture creaks and junkies to run around screaming about how the USA is just a white supremacist colonial imperialist power, to contrast how they characterized themselves as anti-racist, anti-colonial, anti-inequality, or something. And you're still living in that funky, romantic bubble where the USA is just bad faith, greed and racism incarnate, while the other guy in the room is innocent to beneficent. The side closest to Russia is just burnt to char from exposure where what you imagined does not meet the reality. You're still parroting the brain dead rot that Russia used to positively publicize itself. You're still echoing the tankie and general leftist horse shit.

You're totally willing to buy into the rest of the Russian propaganda, just call out the stuff they say about Ukraine. Suddenly you can see through the bullshit and give nuance and contradiction to the party line when it affects YOU personally.

The facts are, Russia and agents/guerillas operating on behalf of Russia, or proxies operating on behalf of Russia, have been active across South America since Red Revolution was a thing. The people running around screaming about how the United States is a colonialist, occupying power are just the publicity wing for the red revolution sore losers, mad that there's any intervention there whatsoever.

And like complete god damned hypocrites, you can SEE, you KNOW the history of Russia doing that shit IN UKRAINE, and YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY to parrot Russia's disingenuous accusations and their sycophantic, tweed wearing burnt out Marxist faux-intellectual simps in every coffee bar or secret library of leftist repository literature across the world. You see your own situation as unique?! Get over yourself.

Fuck the curtain, pull it away. American "colonialism" since the Soviets became a thing, and a little before when socialist revolutionaries became cliches in beer and coffee houses internationally, has always been stopping Russian attempts to subvert, disrupt, suppress, bolshevize, destabilize and incite domestic takeovers across the world. Them screaming and reinterpreting history has always been the big game board equivalent of a dude cheating at cards getting mad when they're beaten at their own game, before banging the table, glaring at the USA and yelling, "YOU CHEATING FUCK! STOP GETTING IN MY WAY!!! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT STANDING UP TO ME!"

That's the tea. Fucking drink it and grow up. The last god damned CENTURY and change has been the USA sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly, getting in Imperialist Russia's way, spoiling their attempts at takeover and political and social and economic upheavel. And when it happens, they fire up the propaganda wing and scream, "America's being racist and colonialist again! Look!!" While omitting the dirty shit the USSR or unassociated socialist sympathizers are also trying to do.