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nastybuckybarnes · 2 years ago

Text

Comfortable

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky finds out that you’ve never climaxed during intimacy and he’s not happy about that.

Warnings: Smut, Crying during sex, Overstimulation (mental and physical), Language, Fluff, Minor Angst but not really

Word Count: 2.8K

A/n: Kinda based on life but without bucky coming in and setting things straight lol. I’ve also got the first like 5 parts of a new series written, so that’ll be coming soon hehe. anyway, I hope you guys enjoy, and I love you all very much!

~*~

“I don’t know, Nat, I just... I guess I’m just never... I don’t know. I’m in my head a lot, I guess.”

The redhead snickers, elbowing her sister and sharing a look with her before both of their gazes return to yours.

“Barnes lacking?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to clear his name.

“No! No, God no! He just... it’s not him, it’s me. I think too much, I’m focused on making sure it’s good for him, making sure he finishes that I... I don’t know.”

Yelena purses her lips, “does he know he hasn’t made you cum yet?”

You swallow hard and shake your head, dropping your gaze to your lap.

“I... I fake it.”

The assassins exchange glances again and you huff a sigh.

“He’s good, he’s really good and he makes me feel good and I get close but... I just can’t... I can’t cum. And it’s not like it’s just him, I’ve never cum with anybody I’ve been with. I just... can’t do it. Maybe I’m broken,” you whisper that last part mostly to yourself, but both women jump in and shake their heads.

“It’s an intimate thing. You probably just want to feel one hundred percent comfortable with the person before giving that last bit of yourself to them. Orgasming with a partner for the first time is... intense. You should talk to him about it, tell him the truth and explain it. Maybe you guys need more foreplay, maybe you need to be in control more, but you’ll only figure it out by talking to him about it.”

You bite your bottom lip and shake your head at Natasha, “I don’t wanna hurt his feelings though, Nat. I just... how the hell do I gently tell him that he hasn’t made me cum and I've been faking it the whole time?”

Two sets of trained eyes dart over your shoulder just as you hear the door to your apartment shut.

Tension pulls your shoulders up and you squeeze your eyes shut, praying that he didn’t hear you.

The way the two Russians in front of you press their lips into thin lines gives you your answer, and you drop your head forward, hating the fact that this is now a conversation you need to have with your boyfriend.

“Well uh, I think we should take that as our cue to leave,” Yelena says awkwardly, pressing on a smile and offering Bucky a small wave as she rises to her feet, Natasha following after.

You stay rooted in place on the couch, refusing to even acknowledge his presence as he putters about in the kitchen, waiting until your friends leave before finally making his way into the living room.

Your eyes don’t leave your hands as he takes a seat on the floor in front of you, his hands, one cold and one warm, finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to take deep breaths.

If you were to look at him, you’d see that his face is confused, not angry. Not a hint of anger could be found within him. If anything, he’s upset that you hadn’t told him before. That you didn’t feel comfortable confiding in him and telling him the truth.

The entire time he was under the impression that you were enjoying the sex and getting just as much out of it as he was.

“Why are you apologizing, sweet girl?”

You sniffle and shake your head, fear icing your veins.

You don’t want him to be mad at you and you don’t want him to feel offended.

“I just... I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and reaches one hand up to cup your jaw, raising your head enough so that you finally, finally look into his eyes.

Your beautiful eyes are filled with tears and it makes his heart ache in his chest.

“Why the tears, honey, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head and sniffle, dropping your gaze only to raise it when he squeezes your chin.

“C’mon, sweet girl, you can talk to me. I... I don’t want you to ever be afraid to talk to me, okay? What’s got you so upset?”

You take a deep breath and squeeze his hand, trying to muster up your courage.

“I just... I don’t want to make you mad.”

He furrows his brows and shakes his head, absolutely flabbergasted at the fact that you think he’d be mad at you for being honest.

“Why would I ever be mad, baby? If you’re upset, I wanna know what I can do to make you feel better.”

You take another deep breath then slowly nod.

“I just... I know that sex is a sensitive topic for a lot of guys. Especially... their performance. And yours is great! The sex is great and I love it and you’re amazing! I just... I haven’t... ya’know. I never have with anyone else either. I’m starting to think that I can only do it by myself,” you whisper glumly, your shoulders sinking in.

Bucky is quiet for a moment. He’d already heard every word you’d spoken to Natasha and Yelena, and, he’s not gonna lie, it punches at his pride to know that his girl isn't enjoying it as much as he is. All he wants is for you to feel your best in every aspect of life.

“Well, why don’t we talk about this a bit more, huh? You said that it’s not just me, but everyone you’ve been with?”

He knows this isn’t about him, it’s about you, but he really hopes that you’re not trying to soften the blow. If other people have made you cum, he wants to know how and when and then he wants to cut their fingers off for ever touching you.

You nod, sniffling. “Yeah, I just... I don’t know if I get in my head too much or if I’m... not comfortable enough, but I just... I can’t.”

He nods slowly, trying to gather his thoughts and figure out a solution.

“What can I do to make you more comfortable, honey?”

You shake your head and push to your feet, hating every word of this conversation.

“I am comfortable with you, Buck. I just... forget I said anything, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

His long fingers wind around your wrist, stopping you from fleeing like you so desperately want to.

“It does matter, honey. It matters a lot, actually. I’m not mad and I’m not offended. I just... I want you to feel the same intimacy that I feel when we have sex. It’s... amazing. And I want you to experience it. So tell me how I can make you feel better.”

Your glossy eyes raise to his and, when you see nothing but honesty and love, you nod slowly.

“I don’t know what’s missing or what needs to happen. You’ve got me really close, but I just.. maybe I think about it too much? I don’t know.”

He cups your cheeks and presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

“You’re gonna need to direct me, baby. Next time, you’re gonna need to tell me what you like, what feels good, okay? And when you get close, you tell me and I’m gonna keep going until you actually cum, is that all right?”

You nod again.

“Okay.”

He kisses your lips gently then pulls you into a tight embrace.

“Okay.”

~*~

The next time the opportunity to be intimate arises, it’s after a small get-together at Yelena’s place.

You’ve already had a sizeable glass of wine, and now all you want is your boyfriend’s hands on your body.

He pushes open the door to your shared apartment, a grin on his lips as you pepper kisses along his jawline.

“Hey, sweetheart. You want something? Hmm?”

You nod, lips not leaving his skin as you push his jacket off of his shoulders.

“C’mere.” His metal arm dips beneath your thighs, hoisting you up, while his flesh arm wraps around your waist, keeping you held tightly against his chest as you wrap your legs around him.

He leads the two of you through the apartment and into the bedroom, laying you down gently on the bed and pulling away to pull his shirt off.

You shimmy out of your dress and toss it to the ground, leaving you only in your matching black lace set.

Bucky’s eyes devour your figure and he’s quick to shed his pants and join you on the bed, crawling between your legs and smoothing his hands over your thighs.

“How you feelin’, pretty girl? You okay?”

You nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as he looks at you like you’re the only woman on the planet.

And to him, you might as well be.

“You gonna let me eat you out, baby? Please?”

How could you possibly say no to that?

When you nod at him, he grins, beyond pleased, and slides his fingers beneath the fabric on your hips.

He pulls your panties down your legs and brings them up to his face, holding your gaze while taking a deep breath through his nose.

“Fuck, you smell good. Taste even better, though.” And with that, he situates himself between your thighs and flattens his tongue against you, licking you from your dripping hole up to your throbbing clit.

You sigh happily, fingers tangling through his hair as he works his tongue over your clit and dips two fingers into your heat.

“Just like that...” you whisper, your head digging into the pillows as he plays you like a fiddle.

He continues fucking his fingers into you, pausing when you give a particularly hard tug on his hair then repeating exactly what made you do that.

You can feel it slowly building, each pass of his tongue and thrust of his fingers brings you slightly closer, and you can’t help but feel your heart begin to race.

“Fuck... just like that, Bucky...”

He follows your instructions perfectly, doing exactly what makes you feel good.

He watches your face scrunch, feels your heels dig into his back and your nails scratch at his scalp and - Goddamn is this what he was missing out on? This is what you look like when you’re really about to cum?

It takes all of his self-control to not grab his phone and take a picture of you.

Your chest rises and falls more rapidly and your eyes are squeezed shut as your walls start fluttering around his fingers.

Fuck, you look gorgeous.

It’s such a strange feeling, having him bring you closer and closer to the edge. It’s so foreign yet so right and you tug at his hair and roll your hips up to his face.

“Bucky, I... I’m gonna.... oh fuck, please... I’m gonna cum, please!”

God, hearing that is like music to his ears.

He continues, bringing his free hand up to yours when you reach for it.

You interlock your fingers and grind your teeth together as your release washes over you, far more intense than anything you’ve ever been able to bring yourself.

A sound that’s half-moan half-gasp falls from your lips and you squeeze his hand harder while your walls clamp down around his fingers.

Bliss fills you, sparks flying from every nerve in your body, head to toe, and Bucky watches in awe.

He’s not sure how he believed you before when you were faking. The way you look when you cum is something he’s never going to be able to forget now.

Your body is wound so tight, your thighs clenched around his head and your nails digging into his scalp. Your walls are pulsing and clenching and, fuck, it feels incredible. He can’t wait to feel it around his cock.

He continues slowly fucking his fingers in and out of you while working his tongue over your clit, only pulling away when you tug your hips back.

He smacks his lips together and pulls away, his eyes connecting with yours.

Your chest heaves and your forehead has a light sheen of sweat on it, and you look like the Goddess you are.

“How you feel, baby?” He asks gently, smoothing his hands up your sides and rubbing his thumbs over the soft skin of your stomach.

You only nod at him, your hands coming to rest on his wrists.

“Words, baby. I need words.”

You lick your lips and take a deep breath before speaking.

“I feel good, Buck. I-I feel really good,” you whisper, eyes prickling with tears at the intensity of the moment.

He smiles lovingly down at you and leans in for a gentle kiss.

You taste yourself on his tongue and it makes the moment even more erotic.

“Gonna let me fuck you, baby?” He asks against your mouth, trailing his lips down your neck and kissing your skin gently.

You nod, sighing softly as tears trail back into your hairline.

He pulls back for a moment, just long enough to situate himself comfortably between your thighs and align himself with your entrance.

And then he’s pushing into you slowly, making you feel every single inch of it.

Your mouth drops open and your legs wind around his hips, pulling him even deeper than before. He’s pressing against every sensitive spot inside you and it feels heavenly.

“Fuck, you feel good, baby. Feel so good... God... nice n’ tight... wet... shit you’re like heaven.” He rasps the words against your throat, lips trailing up over your skin to rest on yours for a quick moment before he pulls back to gaze into your eyes.

“I love you, pretty girl. I really do.”

Your heart swells and you lean up to kiss him, gasping against his lips when he pulls his hips back and slams them forward.

He starts a steady pace, smoothing one of his hands over yours and interlocking your fingers.

“I wanna feel you cum for me again. Wanna feel it on my cock, baby. God, you look so pretty when you cum. Wanna take a picture of it and frame it, I swear.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and whine softly, arching your back and groaning when he hits deeper inside of you at the new angle.

“Right there... oh fuck, please...”

He buries his head in your neck, peppering the skin there with kisses while his free hand travels between your bodies to find your clit.

He circles the bundle of nerves with expert precision, lifting his lips to yours to swallow your moans.

You’re barely kissing. No, it’s more of just breathing each other’s breaths and moaning in each other’s mouths, but the intimacy is unmatched and the passion is flaming through your soul.

You wind your free arm around his shoulders, pulling him down to press more of his weight against you, and you can’t help but feel more secure and more comfortable.

“I... Bucky... I’m gonna... oh fuck.”

He nods, showering your face in kisses.

“Cum for me, honey. C’mon, please. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

You can’t very well deny him when he’s asking you so nicely.

His fingers move against your clit faster and faster while his hips continue grinding into yours firmly, making your toes curl and your back arch further.

Your chest presses against his and you rake your nails against his back so hard you're sure you’re drawing blood, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Not when you’re falling headfirst into the most intense and powerful climax of your life.

Your vision goes white and your ears start to ring, and all you can do is squeeze around him.

Your legs tighten around his waist, your nails dig into his flesh, and your walls clamp down around his cock as fireworks erupt in your belly.

Bucky fucks you through it, keeping his pace steady as you tremble and convulse beneath him, your mouth open as soft whines fall from it.

God, the feeling of you, all hot and tight and wet around him... he’s ready to die happily now that he’s gotten to truly experience the glory that is having you cum around him.

His pride swells and he can't help the way his ego inflates when he pulls his head back to look at your pretty face.

He did that.

He made you feel that good.

He’s the only man, no, the only person in the world besides yourself that’s ever made you cum. And he’s going to be the only one.

And now that he knows how to do it, now that he's gotten you there with his mouth and his cock, he’s never going to get enough of it. He’s gotta make up for lost time, doesn't he?

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky/reader smut #bucky x you #bucky x reader lemon #bucky x you smut #Bucky Barnes smut #marvel smut #Steve rogers #yelena belova #Natasha romanoff #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female!reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #reader insert

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carpenterswife · 7 months ago

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HALF OF ME (ii)

SUMMARY: When Soldier Boy doesn’t return from Nicaragua, Vought creates a bullshit lie, talking him up as a hero who died in a devastating, world-saving accident. You’re handed down the mantle of leader as Payback, and spend your time trying to live up to how Ben had lead them, while also attempting to figure out what truly happened to him.

WORD COUNT: 2945

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Vought’s corrupt behaviour, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, death, gore, vomit, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, smut; descriptions of sex.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Ben didn’t come home from Nicaragua.

Blown to pieces by some Russian laser weapon (what the fuck?), the.. chunky remnants of his body were taken away in a helicopter. Presumably to be experimented on.

It made you sick. Ben might’ve been an asshole, a deep rooted cunt, but he didn’t deserve to have his corpse be defiled like that. Maybe you’d just gone soft for him, that’s all. Maybe his hushed, sweet words and gentle touches, in his last few days, had softened your heart.

But you spent nights grieving your loss, hyperventilating in your room as you felt his fingers tracing your hips again. If you closed your eyes tight enough, you could see him.

You’d never planned for Ben to die. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to do. He was supposed to be ageless; a man who didn’t die. Vought would hide him away when it became suspicious, and he’d live peacefully… as peaceful as he could get, anyway. That was what was supposed to happen.

But his guts were strewn across the base camp in Nicaragua, and you’d never see him again.

It only took Vought three months to create a bullshit cover story.

After all, they couldn’t tell America their beloved Soldier Boy was actually at the site of a cocaine smuggling operation when he was blown to bits. No, that’d taint his image that Vought had spent literal decades moulding. He needed to die a hero. A man that would live gloriously in textbooks and stories.

A nuclear reactor meltdown is what they came up with.

Fucking bullshit, really.

The man was practically immortal (which did raise the question of, how the hell did the Russians kill him in the first place?). Some radiation wasn’t going to take him out. You’d watched him take two full magazines from an assault rifle, and get back to his feet like nothing happened.

And now he was dead. You didn’t know how. You wished more than ever that he’d let you accompany Payback on this godforsaken mission. Because you were utterly clueless as to what had gone down, and no one was answering your questions, tearing up whenever you mentioned the place.

You wanted — needed — to know how this was possible.

You knew Ben, better than anyone else on the team, even Crimson, who stood up on stage, talking about how good of a man Ben was.

Ben was a good man — to those he thought deserved to see that side of him. He was reserved and harsh and rude. And, yes, he was naturally an asshole. But, there was a part of him capable of respect and kindness and love. It was just stuffed deep within.

You’d been drawing it, slowly and carefully. You’d dug your hand in and grasped onto it, worming that side of him out of his heart with every night you’d spent cuddled into his chest. And he’d been warming. His touches had been gentler, his words softer, his eyes more admiring. You’d made him that. You were the only one he’d deemed worthy of his love and trust and respect.

Crimson had never seen that side of him. She’d never even come close to opening him up, seeing who he truly was.

As she talked fake stories of their blinding romance, about how he was such an incredible boyfriend, you just rolled your eyes in the audience. The only time Ben spent with Crimson outside of the public eye was when he was balls deep inside of her. And, even then, he liked to say she was a terrible fuck.

He also liked to say you were a good fuck. It was his favourite compliment; as funny was that was. As he railed you against his mattress, his hands keeping you firmly where he wanted you, he muttered praises.

That was different to the Ben the other women got. He’d degrade them: call them every name under the sun as he practically broke their pelvises. With you, sure, he was rough, but he complimented you; whispering and grunting softly, making sure you felt pretty and loved as he violently fucked you into unconsciousness.

And he always made sure you were okay afterwards. Ben giving aftercare was not something you’d expected, but he was damn good at making you feel safe and secure. He was a man of many talents.

The country was honouring him, as you begged for any kind of rational answer from Payback, from Edgar, from Vought. You were close to falling to your knees and pleading. But they didn’t care. Too busy basking in the boost of popularity that came from Ben’s death.

So, they upped their game.

And, when Vought erected a statue of Ben outside of Vought Tower, you threw up in the bathroom. The night you were named the new leader of Payback, you threw up again.

Apparently, it’s what Ben wanted. Which was bullshit. He wanted you in his kitchen with a dinner plate (lovingly, he’d told you that night. How could something like that be a compliment? You didn’t know, but it was Ben, so you guessed it was possible). But, you couldn’t fight it. So, nearly exactly three months after the last night you saw him, you took his place.

It felt wrong, and disrespectful, and you were lost and out of place. You had no knowledge on how to lead a team of asshole supes, that didn’t respect you or really like you that much.

Ben did this so easily. He lead Payback like a natural born leader. You lead like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

But you did it anyway.

“Soldier Boy was a national icon.” You held the microphone with shaking hands, willing them to stop, staring out at the gathering of civilians. It was wrong; America was mourning a death they’d all been lied to about. You swallowed your bile and pushed on. “And I am honoured to be taking his place as the leader of our brave and dedicated superhero team, Payback. I will be leading in his image, and his honour, and I hope that my work would make him proud.”

It was all bullshit.

You hadn’t written a word of this shit.

Edgar had shoved it into your hands and pointed you onto the stage. No warning. No cooperation. No opinion. Just… here you go, now go put on a show.

But, the audience was eating it up, and Edgar and your PA were giving you a thumbs up from backstage. They liked your performance. Ben, however, would be gagging in his mouth hearing this. He’d probably mock you, and claim you’d be better off just blowing his dick. He’d be right. Every word that was coming out of your mouth was corporate propaganda.

Your hands curled tighter around the microphones, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to be here. You wanted to be home, as far away from Vought and these grieving people as fast as possible. “Soldier Boy was a respected, beloved hero, within your hearts, and Vought’s.” God, what cliche, sappy horseshit. “He was a good man, who lost his life saving millions.” You held back your scoff. “Vought will forever live in his shadow. We ask that you give us time and space to grieve our loss. Thank you.”

The audience applauded, loud and roaring, as you walked off stage.

The rage bubbling up in your chest was ready to burst, overflowing. This was all fucking sickening. No one was telling you anything. And they expected you to get on stage and do these speeches? To sit, cry and look pretty as you grieved the mighty Soldier Boy?

Fuck that. You were going to get answers.

There was some dark shit happening behind the scenes, and it had Vought’s grubby handprints all over it. The cover story. Payback’s silence. Edgar’s lack of care. None of it was adding up.

The moment the audience could no longer see it, your mouth curled to a scowl, heels clicking as you stormed up to Edgar. You were going to get answers, even if you had to physically get them. You’d find out what happened to Ben in Nicaragua, even if it cost you your head.

Stan Edgar, despite knowing he was now on the receiving end of your anger, stood tall. Cocky bastard. You could kill him with ease. But, of course, he didn’t care. There was only one person you’d ever seen Edgar cower from — Ben. To be fair with the guy, though, anyone would cower if Soldier Boy was screaming at you, inches from your face.

“What is going on?” Despite your rage, you kept your voice to a low hiss, not wanting to attract attention to your anger and frustration. “Can someone fucking explain to me, what is happening?” He began to walk away, and you followed. your words still flying out. “Why am I taking Ben’s place? How did he even die? You were in Nicaragua — what happened? Why did it take you so long to come up with that shitty reactor meltdown story?”

He turned to face you. You abruptly stopped, almost smashing into his chest with the suddenness of it, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I understand you’re upset.” You rolled your eyes at his professional tone, hands linked behind his back. Typical. “But I cannot answer those questions.”

“No, I deserve to know” You demanded. It was a losing battle, and you already knew that, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try your hardest. “What. Happened?”

You weren’t getting an answer from Edgar. And that became clear when he turned his back to you, engaging in a conversation with his secretary, and leaving you in the dust. Glaring at the back of his head, you muttered obscenities.

If you weren’t getting it from Edgar’s lips, you’d get it another way.

Namely, breaking into his office that evening.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Now, you weren’t a seasoned criminal, but Ben had taught you a thing or two. He was, very much, a criminal, and knew things you were never too curious to ask about. Like picking locks. Which was the most normal of his odd knowledge. (The fact that man has known the recipe to make a bomb was… terrifying.)

Picking a lock wasn’t in your expertise, but you remembered enough from what he’d shown you. Enough to kneel down in front of Edgar’s office door, and use a bobby pin to turn the lock until it clicked.

You grinned, internally thanking Ben for his… strange teaching techniques. Glancing down the hallway, both ways, you ensured it was empty; that no one was about to see you going against every rule in the book. Once it was cleared, you slipped inside the door with practiced ease, and shut the door behind you.

The sun was setting over the horizon — the golden hour hue lighting up the room enough for you to make your way over to Edgar’s shelves. You were determined to find something. Anything.

Something was going on. Something sketchier than Vought’s usual dirty work. And you were going to figure it out.

Your index finger skimmed the folders, peeking at the names. Until you found Ben’s — a cream folder with ‘SOLDIER BOY’ written across the front. Pulling it out, your eyes locked onto the bright red ‘DECEASED’ stamped under his name, your heart squeezing.

Swallowing thickly, uncertain, you flipped it open. Reasons over the contents, your eyes narrowed in concentration and then narrowed further in frustration.

It was nothing you didn’t already know. His past. The human trial experiment. Comp V. Ben had already told you all of this.

You glared at the deceased marker on the front of it, and then slid the folder back into the right spot. Alphabetical order, you noticed. You continued flicking through the files, trying to find something that could be labelled as suspicious.

Your ears perked at the sound of sudden buzzing from across the room. Like a dog to a squeaky toy, you rushed over, watching a piece of paper print out of the fax machine.

You snatched it up the moment it came out.

BCL-RED was the title word.

What the fuck was that?

You’d never heard of it before. It had to be an acronym, but your mind came up blank, as you racked it for any familiarity. Cursing internally, you scowled — damn fucking code words.

Before you could read ahead, a voice floated into the office from outside.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, suddenly very panicked. Returning the paper to the machine, you dashed for the door, poking your head out just enough to peek down the hall. You spotted Edgar just a ways down, facing away from you, talking to Black Noir. Quickly and silently, with expertise learnt on the field, you crept out of the office, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

All the way back to your room, you muttered the words to yourself.

BCL-RED.

… BCL-RED.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

It wasn’t in any folders documents anywhere. Not even your PA knew what a BCL-RED was.

You felt like a dog chasing its tail. Going in circles, trying to find any clues as to what happened to Ben. Every day your suspicions rose. Something wasn’t right. Edgar was having hushed conversations. Payback was having meetings that excluded you.

Your trail lead you to Grace Mallory.

The young woman handed you a cup of coffee, hands scarred and calloused from her days at war. Quietly, you thanked her, sat comfortably on her sofa, cradling the coffee. “I have to respect your strength. Putting up with Soldier Boy every day.”

You cracked a smile, sipping the steaming coffee. “He was a… acquired taste.” Your laugh was breathy and quiet, thinking back to Ben and his unique personality. “What happened in Nicaragua?”

Grace sighed as she settled back. She was pretty. No doubt Ben tried to get in her pants while he was there. “It happened quickly.” Your brows furrowed, sitting forward, elbows on your knees. “We were ambushed. Your team couldn’t find their guns from their asses.”

“Sounds about right.” You murmured. “I told Ben he needed me out there. The stubborn dick wouldn’t listen. Looks like it bit him in the ass, eh?”

“Big time.” Grace agreed. “There was an explosion. It knocked me out.” You listened attentively, frequently sipping the coffee. “When I came to… your team were in ruins. Half of ‘em were dead, the other half injured.”

You chewed your lips for a few beats. “Black Noir still hasn’t recovered. Doctors said he’ll never be able to talk again.”

Solemn, she nodded. “Not surprised. His face was more hole than it was skin.” You grimaced at the imagery. “Crimson Countess told me Soldier Boy was dead. He’d been killed by some… laser, his body taken by a helicopter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You sat back. “Huh.” You murmured. “She’s lying.” You decided. The story wasn’t right. Sure, it was feasible, under different circumstances. But, in battle? When Ben was on his A-game? No way.

Grace looked confused. After all, why would Crimson lie about something like that?

You didn’t know.

But you were going to fucking find out.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

That night, you didn’t return to your room. Instead, you slipped into Ben’s in the dead of night. It hadn’t been touched since he left for Nicaragua. Since he’d railed you against the mattress and left you bed-bound for two days.

The air was musty, with dust covering each surface. Crawling onto the bed, you tugged open the curtains, letting sunlight in for the first time in months.

Every surface was covered in dust. And there were still drugs laid about. Half snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table. Empty pill bottles decorating the floor. An ash tray that reeked of marijuana. God, this man had been like a teenage boy.

Flicking on the light, you gathered your bravery, and spent a few hours cleaning his room up. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to feel closer to him. Feel like you were doing something for him. Ben hated it when things were messy. And he loved it when you cleaned up after him. You hated feeding into that old, sexist mindset he had.

But, god, you’d do anything right now to hear him demand you fetch him a drink.

After you cleaned his room, you stripped his sheets, gagging at the old stain. Definitely your cum. And his. Gross. You stuffed it into a basket, kicking it away from you.

Okay… remember to not touch that again without gloves.

As you finished the last, final touches, a glint of metal on his bedside table caught your attention. Curious, you padded over, expecting a pistol.

Instead, you found a chain.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Delicately, you placed the necklace in the palm of your hand, brushing your thumb over the metal surface.

His WW2 dog tags.

Swallowing thickly, you blinked back your emotion. Why the fuck were even so sad? You weren’t even dating the man. Sure, you’d been his friend for years. You’d been protecting him. He’d been protecting you. You’d been his right-hand man practically.

But, still!

With a lump in your throat, you carefully placed the dog tags over your head. The dog tags were cold against your chest. You tucked them under your shirt, inhaling shakily.

With one last look around the room, you turned around and walked out, with a basket of laundry balanced on your hip.

You weren’t going to rest until you found out the truth. That was for sure.

A/N: sorry for the lack of soldier boy in this chap :( he makes his grand return next chapter !!! in all his sexist glory lmao. he’s so fun to write, tho i do feel like a horrible person writing some of the shit he says. definitely fun to explore this universe and all its fucked up possibilities. thank you guys for the support on chap one :’) <3 next chap will also be longer promise

banners in use by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity @mostlymarvelgirl @aaronhotchnerlover @delaynew @let-me-luve-you @yvonneeeee @livsh20 @thej2report @lostin-jensenseyes

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys tv #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #half of me

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mariacallous · 11 months ago

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On Boxing Day pro-Palestine demonstrators met customers at the Zara sale in the Westfield shopping centre, in Stratford, east London. They were not there to wish them the compliments of the season.

‘Bombs are dropping while you’re shopping,’ they chanted, as police stood by to make sure the protests did not turn violent. ‘Zara is enabling genocide,’ their placards read.

Quite what they wanted bargain hunters to do about the Israeli forces bombing the Gaza Strip, they never said. Lobby their MPs? Politicians are on their Christmas holidays. Join the Palestinian armed struggle? It was unclear whether the shopping centre had a Hamas recruitment office.

But on one point the demonstrators were certain: no one should be buying from Zara. Even though the fashion chain has not encouraged Israel’s war against Hamas, earned income from it, or supported Israel in any material way, it was nevertheless “exploiting a genocide and commodifying Palestine's pain for profit”.

Zara, in short, has become the object of a paranoid fantasy: a QAnon conspiracy theory for the postcolonial left.

The Zara conspiracy is an entirely modern phenomenon. It has no original author. Antisemitic Russians sat down and wrote the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in the early 20th century. There was an actual “Q” behind the QAnon conspiracy: a far-right activist who first appeared on 4chan message boards in 2017 to claim that a cabal of child abusers was conspiring against Donald Trump.

The Zara conspiracy was mass produced by social media users: an example of the madness of crowds rather than their supposed wisdom. The cause of the descent into hysteria was bizarre.

In early December Zara launched an advertising campaign featuring the model Kristen McMenamy wearing its latest collection in a sculptor’s studio. It clearly was a studio, by the way, and not a war zone in southern Israel or Gaza. McMenamy carried a mannequin wrapped in white fabric. The cry went up that the Spanish company was exploiting the suffering of Palestinians and that the mannequin was meant to represent a victim of Israeli aggression wrapped in a shroud.

The accusation was insane. No one in the photo shoot resembled a soldier or a casualty of war. Anyone who thought for 30 seconds before resorting to social media would have known that global brands plan their advertising campaigns months in advance.

Zara said the campaign presented “a series of images of unfinished sculptures in a sculptor’s studio and was created with the sole purpose of showcasing craft-made garments in an artistic context”. The idea for the studio setting was conceived in July. The photo shoot was in September, weeks before the Hamas assault on Israel on 7 October.

No one cared. Melanie Elturk, the CEO of fashion brand Haute Hijab, said of the campaign, ‘this is sick. What kind of sick, twisted, and sadistic images am I looking at?’ #BoycottZara trended on Twitter, as users said that Zara was ‘utterly shameful and disgraceful”’.

To justify their condemnations, activists developed ever-weirder theories. A piece of cardboard in the photoshoot was meant to be a map of Israel/Palestine turned upside down. Because a Zara executive had once invited an extreme right-wing Israeli politician to a meeting, the whole company was damned.

Astonishingly, or maybe not so astonishingly to anyone who follows online manias, the fake accusations worked. Zara stores in Glasgow, Toronto. Hanover, Melbourne and Amsterdam were targeted.

What on earth could Zara do? PR specialists normally say that the worst type of apology is the non-apology apology, when a public figure or institution shows no remorse, but instead says that they are sorry that people are offended. Yet Zara had not sought to trivialize or profit from the war so what else could it do but offer a non-apology apology? The company duly said it was sorry that people were upset.

“Unfortunately, some customers felt offended by these images, which have now been removed, and saw in them something far from what was intended when they were created,” it said on 13 December, and pulled the advertising campaign

That was two-weeks ago and yet still the protests in Zara stores continue. On 23 December activists targeted Zara on Oxford Street chanting , 'Zara, Zara, you can't hide, stop supporting genocide', even though Zara was not, in fact, supporting genocide. On Boxing Day, they were at the Stratford shopping centre.

Zara has apologised for an offence it did not commit. There is no way that any serious person can believe the charges against it. And yet believe them the protestors do. Or at the very least they pretend to believe for the sake of keeping in with their allies.

Maybe nothing will come of the protests. One could have argued in 2017, after all, that QAnon was essentially simple-minded people living out their fantasies online. Certainly, every sane American knew that there was no clique of paedophiles running the Democrat party, but where was the harm in the conspiracy theory?

Then QAnon supporters stormed the US capitol in January 2021. Will the same story play out from the Gaza protests? As far as I can tell, no one on the left is challenging the paranoia. I have yet to see the fact-checkers of the BBC and Channel 4 warning about the fake news on the left with anything like the gusto with which they treat its counterparts on the right.

To be fair, the scale of disinformation around the Gaza war is off the charts, and it is impossible to chase down every lie. But when fake news goes from online fantasies to real world protests, from 4chan to the Capitol, from Twitter to the Westfield shopping centre, it’s worth taking notice.

Sensible supporters of a Palestinian state ought to be the most concerned. No one apart from fascists, Islamists and far leftists believes that Israel should not defend itself. And yet the scale of its military action in Gaza is outraging world opinion. Mainstream politicians, who might one day put pressure on Israel, remain very wary about reflecting the anger on the streets.

They look at the insane conspiracy theories on the western left and see them as no different from the insane conspiracy theories that motivate Hamas, and they back away.

The Palestinians need many things: an end to the Netanyahu government, and an end to Hamas. But they could also use allies in the West who do not discredit their cause with dark, gibbering fantasies.

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redladydeath · 21 days ago

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A very vague summary of what was in the Hazbin leaks

Last night, part of what compelled me to seek out the leaks was the anxiety of not knowing what was in them and if any of my favorite characters were involved. Thankfully, there was only one huge bomb dropped, and the rest was stuff that we either knew would happen eventually or isn't too big a deal, plot-wise. My goal with this post is to give an extremely vague, factual overview of what was in the leaks so no one else feels compelled to search them out to assuage their own anxieties, or gets caught up in a game of fandom telephone.

The leaks contained...

The reveal of who Alastor got his power from. Includes one song. A mix of stuff that was already confirmed in pre-series content and new information. (Do not click on any B&W animatic clips that include Alastor unless you want to be spoiled)

Sir Pentious’ human backstory (it’s a little unusual, but nothing too wild, don’t worry)

Scenes of Heaven struggling to come to terms with Sir Pentious’ ascension; includes three songs (nothing huge or unexpected)

The introduction of two new Heavenly characters (they seem like they’ll be important, but aren’t anyone mind blowing like God or one of the archangels)

Very brief clips of the Vees trying to use the media to misrepresent the hotel (nothing huge or unexpected)

Various out-of-context storyboard frames and ref sheets

There are also two “leaks” that are confirmed to be fake: one frame of Husk and Angel Dust kissing, and a Russian script exert of Vox preparing to sexually assault Alastor. If you see anyone talking about these as though they’re real, please let them know that they’re not.

Note: The episodes that were subject to this leak are E2, E4, E6, E8. So far, the entirety of E2, ten minutes of E4, a few seconds of E6, and only two contextless frames from E8 are available. There’s still plenty of plot/character stuff that’s yet to be revealed. Hopefully nothing else will leak and we’ll be able to go into the season relatively unspoiled.

#just to be clear i am *not* trying to spread the leaks #i just don't want people to panic and start passing around misinformation about what was in them #especially since now that this happened #i'm sure people will be chomping at the bit to make fake stuff to cause even more chaos #redlady speaks #hazbin posting #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel season 2 #hazbin hotel leaks #hazbin hotel spoilers

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 3 months ago

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Timeline: Bullying Allegations, Rumors, Investigations, and Leaks

Unless cited, all links from the Daily Mail. Apologies, but all links are "active" webpages. There's just too many. I specifically chose the DM because they always TL;DR their articles, which I'm including here so y'all don't have to go click these links.

This is going to be a little bit of a differently-formatted timeline.

These items in bold red are critical rota stories that sort of blew things open, if you will. These ones will have excerpts.

These items in bold purple are Tumblr gossip.

Let's jump in! One quick disclaimer first: This isn't an exhaustive list. this is only what I've been able to dig up today.

10/28/2018: The real Charles revealed: William’s wild mood swings, Harry’s pre-wedding meltdown and how the Prince of Wales finally earned his boys’ respect, as revealed by his biographer ROBERT JOBSON

The weeks leading up to the wedding had been far more tense for both Harry and Meghan than most people realised. In fact, they’d both felt so stressed that they’d booked a series of appointments with Ross Barr, known as ‘the acupuncturist to the stars’. Whether these treatments had much impact on Harry is debatable. In the build-up to the wedding, says an inside source, he was ‘petulant and short-tempered’ with members of staff. Raising his voice on occasion, Harry would insist: ‘What Meghan wants, she gets.’

11/8/2018: ‘Meghan cannot have whatever she wants’: The Queen ‘had words’ with Harry over his ‘difficult’ bride-to-be’s choice of wedding tiara, royal insider claims

Meghan Markle reportedly wanted a tiara with emeralds for her wedding day

But stones may have been Russian so she had to choose another, it was claimed

Prince Harry allegedly 'hit the roof' when told the headpiece was off-limits

Queen 'had words' with Prince Harry about Meghan, a royal insider claims

Source said Her Majesty said: 'She gets what tiara she's given by me'

11/9/2018: MAJ RAPPED MEG The Queen warned Prince Harry over Meghan Markle’s ‘difficult’ behavior after row over bride’s tiara for royal wedding by Dan Wootton of The Sun

11/10/2018: CDAN Blind. This came out a couple of weeks after tumblr (the old TCD blog) got a massive dose of Aussie tea. Scroll down to August 2019 for those stories.

Apparently the diva behavior on a recent trip was nothing compared to the verbally abusive thrashing the employee took on that trip when things were not perfect. The employee threatened to sue because of how bad the abuse was which would have become public. The employee instead was given a check and an apology by the in-laws of the former actress turned abuser.

11/15/2018: Duke and Duchess of Cambridge join youngsters on The One Show sofa to speak about new anti-bullying app (with Kate in another recycled dress by Emilia Wickstead). This event was the day after Charles’s 70th birthday bash at BP, to which Meghan wore the blood earrings again and the gossip leaked that the Sussexes left early.

11/15/2018: Prince William accuses Facebook of putting ‘profits before values’ as he slams social media giants for being ‘on the back foot’ in fight against fake news, privacy and cyber bullying

11/17/2018: Prince Harry and Meghan Markle change plans to move into Kensington Palace apartment as resident Royal ‘doesn’t want to leave’ by The Sun. This was the first time that rumors of a rift between the Cambridges and the Sussexes over behavior/attitude were published by the printed press.

Kensington Palace isn’t short of luxury accommodation, with Prince William and Kate Middleton living in a lavish 20-room apartment in the grounds. And it is also the residence of The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, The Duke and Duchess of Kent and Prince and Princess Michael of Kent. The Queen’s cousin, The Duke of Gloucester, 74, and his wife Birgitte, 72, live next door to The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in their grand 21-room apartment. Prince Harry is said to have been eyeing up the property as the perfect place to raise a family. But a source claims Danish-born Brigitte is refusing to move. The Mail quoted a friend of Duchess of Gloucester saying: “Birgitte doesn’t want to leave. “And why should she? She and her husband are still full-time working members of The Firm and they were given their apartment by Her Majesty.”

Many blogs read the bolded section above as Harry and Meghan were pushing the Gloucesters hard to move out of KP #1. Not necessarily bullying them, but...not being nice about it either.

11/25/2018: MEGGING A MOVE Prince Harry told staff ‘What Meghan wants, Meghan gets’ as it’s claimed couple are moving away from Wills and Kate to flee ‘goldfish bowl’ Royal life by The Sun

11/26/2018: Is Meghan Markle and Kate Middleton’s rift causing tension between Harry and William and behind Windsor move?

11/28/2018: Meghan Markle ‘left Kate Middleton in tears’ over her strict demands for Princess Charlotte’s bridesmaid’s dress by Jack Royston, The Sun.

This is one of the earliest "admissions" that Meghan sends the staff emails out of business hours.

Rumours of a rift between the duchesses swirled after royal sources revealed emotional Kate, 36, ended up weeping. An insider claimed the incident followed a “stressful” dress fitting — just weeks before Meghan, 37, married Prince Harry. Royal aides did not deny the incident had taken place, amid claims that the duchesses are “very different people”. Princess Charlotte, three, had been trying on her outfit just weeks before Meghan’s wedding to Prince Harry. Meghan, 37, is understood to have insisted on “the very best” for her big day — but the fitting did not go according to her demands. Royal sources said the pressure of the “stressful” fitting became too much for her now sister-in-law, and that Duchess of Cambridge Kate was left shaken and in tears. An insider told the Daily Telegraph: “Kate had only just given birth to her third child, Prince Louis, and was feeling quite emotional.” The reported incident sparked rumours of a rift between Kate and the Duchess of Sussex. The duchesses are understood to have put the incident behind them.

and

Concerns have surfaced that American actress Meghan has at times struggled to fit into royal circles. Sources claimed she regularly “bombarded” staff with early morning calls and emails.

12/11/2018: How royal staff are calling Meghan Duchess Difficult as 2nd aide exits by The Daily Express. This is the first recording of "Duchess Difficult" in the printed press and the first hints that Harry may have confronted William about Meghan's red carpet welcome into the BRF.

The Duchess let slip recently that she's not sleeping well and has resorted to 4.30am yoga sessions to help her relax. However, her early starts, also said to involve firing off emails, aren't to everyone's taste and Meghan will soon have to find an aide more in tune with her lifestyle.

and

Kate was reported to have become upset by the manner in which Meghan speaks to staff and although this has been denied by Kensington Palace it has not stopped the chatter that all is not harmonious.

and

According to one insider, Harry, who is notoriously protective when it comes to his new wife and is desperate for her to enjoy her official duties, is said to be unimpressed with the welcome William has given Meghan. He feels his older brother could have done more, including ensuring that Kate took the American under her wing. Harry, 34, is said to be mindful of how isolated and miserable his mother, Diana, became. In a TV appearance in February, involving the so-called Fab Four of William, Harry, Kate and Meghan, there was an awkward moment when the group was asked about whether they had disagreements. “Oh yes," said William, while Harry tried to make light of the issue by joking that they came "thick and fast". But the insider says: "Harry won't take any criticism of Meghan and he is so sensitive that he often sees criticism or negativity when there isn't any."

12/18/2018: Meghan’s supposedly banned Harry from a traditional shoot, staff are leaving, and it’s claimed courtiers were aghast when this starry picture was (briefly) online. Now, RICHARD KAY asks…Duchess Difficult - or just defiantly different?

Meghan's appearances seem more flashy than other members of Royal Family

Two days after Fashion Awards show, Duchess of Cornwall posed with donkey

Photo from night was posted on Fashion Council's Instagram but quickly deleted

The Queen is said to be determined to 'not allow Meghan to feel unwelcome'

2/6/2019: Meghan Markle’s Best Friends Break Their Silence: ‘We Want to Speak the Truth’ (People 5 Friends article)

2/6/2019: ‘Please stop victimizing me, Dad’: Meghan sent her estranged father a letter after her wedding begging him to stop attacking her in the media - and he responded by asking for a photo shoot

Meghan wrote the letter to her dad, Thomas Markle, shortly after her wedding to Prince Harry

'I have one father. Please stop victimizing me through the media,' she wrote

Friends say Thomas Markle responded by asking Meghan for a photo shoot

'I think she'll always feel genuinely devastated by what he has done,' friends said

Those friends who spoke out said they are concerned about how the 'emotional trauma' of dealing with her father might be affecting Meghan's unborn baby

The five anonymous friends also rejected rumors she was feuding with her sister-in-law Kate Middleton

'There is nothing behind the feud with Kate,' they said. 'It's completely untrue'

2/6/2019: Samantha Markle calls out sister Meghan for ‘bulsshit’ story in which ‘imaginary’ pals praised the pregnant princess saying she is nothing but a ‘wealthy narcissist’ with ‘lie-abetes’

2/7/2019: ‘Harry will be the BEST dad!’ Meghan praises her husband - amid claims she is suffering ‘emotional trauma’ over feud with her own father - as royal couple dazzle at the Endeavour Fund Awards in London. (This is Meghan's cater waiter outfit.)

4/12/2019: The Meghan Markle ‘Duchess Difficult’ Rumors Just Won’t Stop - and This One is Bizarre by Glamour Magazine. I'm including this one because it cites a few Sun articles that are no longer accessible.

According to The Sun, staff members at Frogmore Cottage, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle's new home, have been "banned" from using the parking lot closest to the residence and instead must use the one a mile away. The sources who spoke to The Sun seem to confirm a change in parking permits is happening, but here's the kicker: It was reportedly the superintendent of the castle's decision, not Markle's. And yet all the tabloids reporting this story are making it seem as though Markle woke up and randomly decreed, "You know what would be fun? Forcing all the staff members to walk a mile to work each day." The headline in one article starts with "Not in Meg Back Yard," which is apparently the acronym insiders are using to describe this change. That makes it sound like Markle is the one behind the choice.

8/18/2019: Massive Aussie tea and bullying/rude behavior compilation thread posted on Tumblr by The Charlatan Duchess. Original Aussie tea was first published in October 2018 but I can’t find any of the original posts to verify a specific date - all those blogs seem to have been deactivated. Includes gossip/tea about:

Admiralty House/Australia tour

Rumors from Toronto days

Behavior towards customer service staff/industry

“Use and abuse” treatment of entertainment industry staffers

Morocco tour

Birmingham UK visit

Cliveden House/Royal Wedding Eve

Wimbledon 2019 clearout

Vogue and Met Gala

Michelle Obama’s book-reading

South Africa

Attitude towards nannies

10/2/2019: Instagram will roll out its anti-bullying ��Restrict’ tool to all users so they can avoid nasty commenters without being caught reporting or blocking people

10/28/2019: Author Matt Haig whose poem Meghan Markle included in her Vogue issue defends Duchess against ‘bullies’ - saying ‘you can be famous and struggle’

6/14/2020: Meghan Markle’s painful dilemma: They’re as close as sisters but will she now ditch her best friend Jessica Mulroney after ‘racist bully shame’?

3/2/2021: Royal aides reveal bullying claim before Meghan’s Oprah interview by Valentine Low for The Times - Archived link

(go ahead and give the whole thing a read)

3/2/2021: Buckingham Palace insists it DIDN’T smear Meghan after she accused aides of a ‘calculated campaign’ against her - after ex-staff claim she ‘bullied two PAs’ and ‘drove them out’ of Kensington Palace, four days before explosive Oprah interview will be aired

The Times reported a spokesman for the Sussexes vehemently denying the claims, saying they were 'the victims of a calculated smear campaign based on misleading and harmful misinformation'

A bullying complaint was lodged against the Duchess of Sussex by a senior member of Kensington Palace staff before she and Prince Harry quit as working royals

The Times reported it was made in October 2018 by Jason Knauf, who worked as communications secretary to Harry and Meghan

He is said to have claimed the duchess 'drove two personal assistants out of the household and was undermining the confidence of a third staff member'

Sensationally, the couple's lawyers told the newspaper it was 'being used by Buckingham Palace to peddle a wholly false narrative' before this weekend's interview with Oprah Winfrey

3/2/2021: Meghan Markle ‘Saddened’ by ‘Attack on Her Character’ amid Bullying Allegations from Palace Staffers by People Magazine

"The Duchess is saddened by this latest attack on her character, particularly as someone who has been the target of bullying herself and is deeply committed to supporting those who have experienced pain and trauma," a spokesperson for the Duke and Duchess of Sussex said in a statement obtained by PEOPLE. "She is determined to continue her work building compassion around the world and will keep striving to set an example for doing what is right and doing what is good."

3/3/2021: Buckingham Palaces releases a statement concerning the bullying allegations reported by The Times

3/3/2021: Royals’ Meghan ‘bully’ crisis: As Buckingham Palace launches an unprecedented investigation into sensational bullying claims against Meghan, make no mistake this is a crisis that echoes the Abdication, writes Richard Kay

Meghan Markle is the subject of bullying complaints from her former royal aides in a leaked email

Jason Knauf alleged she forced two assistants out of the household amid claims of 'emotional cruelty'

Buckingham Palace is launching an unprecedented investigation into the allegations, deepening the crisis

3/3/2021: Meghan makes jaw-dropping claim the Royal Family has ‘perpetuated falsehoods’ about her and Harry in Oprah interview teaser released just hours after Palace launched sensational probe into allegations she bullied staff

CBS has released a second clip previewing Sunday night's Oprah Winfrey interview with Meghan and Harry

In the clip, the Duchess of Sussex is seen sitting alone talking to the talk show host

She is asked by Winfrey whether she had worried about the consequences of speaking out

Markle replies that she felt she had no choice, because the Royal Family were 'perpetuating falsehoods'

She said that, despite the risk of 'losing things', she felt that 'there is a lot that has been lost already'

The clip, recorded several weeks ago, aired on the day Buckingham Palace announced a bullying inquiry

The inquiry was launched after The Times on Tuesday reported allegations of bullying by the duchess's staff

3/3/2021: ‘I can’t ever see those two back on the balcony’: Palace launches probe into Meghan bullying claims - leaving past and present Royal staff ‘shaken’ by ‘unhappy memories’ being brought up about a particularly ‘toxic period.’

Meghan allegedly inflicted 'emotional cruelty' on aides and 'drove them out'

Harry and his wife were both also labelled 'outrageous bullies' in allegations

'Broken' aides told of feeling humiliated, 'sick', 'terrified', left 'shaking' with fear

Buckingham Palace announced a formal probe into the allegations in statement

3/3/2021: Revenge of the Sussex survivors’ club: The extraordinary inside story of how a fairytale turned into a nightmare of ‘traumatised’ staff - by Royal Editor REBECCA ENGLISH, who saw so much of it herself

Members of 'Sussex Survivors' Club' worked for couple and lived to tell the tale

Include US spin doctor Jason Knauf & Aussie private secretary Samantha Cohen

Some even believe they may have form of post-traumatic stress from experience

But I have personally witnessed more than one member of staff driven to tears by the treatment they were subjected to by the duke and duchess before the couple acrimoniously quit as working royals. One person sobbed down the phone to me after a particularly harrowing day. They clearly felt emotionally broken and could no longer cope with the pressure they were being subjected to. Others have indicated to me they were being asked to behave in a manner they did not feel professionally comfortable with, particularly in their dealings with the media. Several aides have also told me that Meghan in particular was very good at 'drawing' staff into her confidence, flattering them as if they were the only person in the world she could trust and asking them to help her with various duties.

and

Toxic, hostile, distrustful, poisonous: all words I have heard regularly used over the past few years to describe people's experiences working in the Sussexes' household.

and

But I have since been told that this popular aide was deeply unhappy about her experience working for the duchess and had been 'desperate' to get out as long as she could professionally put a brave face on it. Likewise a third member of staff. Mr Knauf makes clear in his email, as reported by The Times, that he was also concerned about the couple's hugely experienced deputy private secretary, Samantha Cohen. She had worked for the Queen for more than 20 years and was personally persuaded by the monarch to stay on and help the couple navigate their first few years of royal life. He indicated that she was experiencing extreme stress and said: 'I questioned if the Household policy on bullying and harassment applies to principals [the term used to refer to a member of the royal family].' One source tells me wryly, with an eye to Meghan's much-hyped championing of female empowerment: 'Note that everyone concerned was a woman.' Another adds: 'Sam always made clear that it was like working for a couple of teenagers. They were impossible and pushed her to the limit. She was miserable.'

and

The Times also makes reference to an incident during the couple's tour to Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and Tonga in 2018, which was a particularly difficult one for all concerned, Meghan included. She was, of course, pregnant at the time. The newspaper reports how Meghan cut short a visit to a market in Fiji because she was concerned about the presence of a UN organisation promoting women, with which she had worked before and made clear she no longer wished to have anything to do with. At the time officials had suggested that it was because it was humid and the crowd was oppressive in the market. I was there at the time and witnessed Meghan turn and 'hiss' at a member of her entourage, clearly incandescent with rage about something, and demand to leave. I later saw that same – female �� highly distressed member of staff sitting in an official car, with tears running down her face. Our eyes met and she lowered hers, humiliation etched on her features. At the time I was unable to document anything as I couldn't conclusively link the two incidents together, despite my suspicions. I have subsequently found out from other sources that my instincts were right.

3/4/2021: Duchesses at war: Meghan ‘blamed Kate and Camilla for leaking stories about her’, claims aide amid raging royal war - as at least TEN palace staff say they will cooperate with ‘bullying’ probe

Meghan and Harry felt stories were briefed by Kate, Camilla or Charles' households, the Palace insider said

Claimed couple 'assumed men in grey suits were obsessed with destroying them' during in Kensington Palace

Revelations came after Meghan was accused of 'driving out' two PAs and shattering the confidence of another

One former aide branded Prince Harry and his wife 'outrageous bullies' in The Times earlier this week

Meghan said newspaper was 'being used by Buckingham Palace to peddle a wholly false narrative' about her

Comes ahead of Meghan and Harry's bombshell tell-all interview with Oprah Winfrey to be aired in the UK

3/4/2021: Meghan Markle’s ‘furious rows’ with aides over designer freebies: Staff warned Duchess it breached royal protocol to keep free clothes at time of bullying allegations, sources claim

Meghan Markle, 39, clashed with royal aides over freebie designer clothes

Sources revealed designer outfits were sent to Kensington Palace for Duchess

Insider said she 'had to be told it was not the done thing when you are a royal'

Duchess has been accused of 'driving out' two PAs and acting like 'a bully'

Said to shatter confidence of another member of Kensington Palace staff

Lawyers for the Sussexes have vehemently denied they have bullied or mistreated staff

3/4/2021: ‘We can FINALLY tell the truth’: Former Royal aide who claims she was ‘bullied by Meghan Markle’ welcomes Palace probe and hopes it will put pressure on her and Harry to provide evidence

Meghan allegedly inflicted 'emotional cruelty' on aides and 'drove them out'

Harry and his wife were both also labelled 'outrageous bullies' in allegations

'Broken' aides told of feeling humiliated, 'sick', 'terrified', left 'shaking' with fear

Buckingham Palace announced a formal probe into the allegations in statement

One alleged victim: 'We'll finally be able to tell the truth. It's not going to be easy'

3/5/2021: EXCLUSIVE: ‘What’s done is done!’ Friends of Meghan say she would never postpone tell-all Oprah interview and clam palace is using Prince Philip’s health as an ‘excuse to keep her muzzled’

Mounting pressure has been put on Meghan and Harry to push back the much-anticipated interview special out of respect for Prince Philip's health

'Even if Meghan had the choice to postpone the Oprah special she said she wouldn't,' a friend of the Sussexes tells DailyMail.com

The Duke of Edinburgh, 99, underwent heart surgery this week

According to the well-placed source, the interview 'has absolutely nothing to do with Prince Philip and that this is just an excuse by the palace to keep her muzzled'

'Meghan said now the whole world can see what she had to endure for months on end,' they added

On Wednesday Buckingham Palace announced an inquiry into Meghan's behavior after The Times reported allegations of bullying by the duchess's staff

'[Meghan] said these outrageous allegations confirm why she and Harry had to part ways and make it their mission to be a voice for the underdog,' they said

3/5/2021: CBS releases new clip from bombshell interview: Meghan claims she was stopped by Palace aides from talking to Oprah ‘personally’ when host tried to set up interview with her before her wedding and says that she’s now ‘ready to talk’

Fourth clip from Oprah interview airs on CBS This Morning ahead of premiere on US network on Sunday night

Duchess of Sussex claims royal aides blocked her from having a personal conversation with Oprah Winfrey

Meghan says she remembers chat with Oprah 'very well' and there had to be other people in the same room

She adds that it's 'really liberating to be able to have the right and the privilege' to say 'Yes, I'm ready to talk'

Two-hour interview which also features Prince Harry will have its UK premiere on ITV next Monday at 9pm

3/5/2021: Meghan Markle’s make-up artist BFF Daniel Martin shares a defiant poem claiming ‘the world cannot overcome her’ as he speaks out amid bombshell claims she bullied staff at Kensington Palace

Daniel, from New York, joined army of Meghan's pals who leapt to her defence

This week allegations were made that the Duchess of Sussex bullied former aides, 'driving out' two PAs and shattering confidence of another staff member

Daniel shared a poem by Lao Tzu, a 4th century Taoist author and thinker

He accompanied candid snap of him applying blusher to the Duchess's cheeks

3/5/2021: Meghan’s best friend from college Lindsay Roth defends her from bombshell claims she bullied staff and claims that ‘goodwill runs in her bones’

Lindsay Jill Roth, Meghan Markle's best friend from college, rushed to her defense on Thursday amid bullying claims

The producer said in an Instagram post that 'goodwill runs in her bones'

She also branded the Duchess an 'altruistic, magnanimous friend'

The pair met while they were at Northwestern University 17 years ago

Roth shared pictures from their graduation and her wedding day

Her comments came amid allegations Meghan bullied former aides, 'driving out' two PAs and shattering the confidence of another staff member

And ahead of Meghan and Harry's tell-all Oprah interview to be aired Sunday

3/11/2021: ‘Perhaps they can finally set the record state about me’: Meghan Markle’s biographer Omid Scobie quotes email he claims she sent to Kensington Palace over flower girl row with Kate - so who showed him the message?

Author of Finding Freedom claims Meghan emailed royal aide over the claims

She allegedly asked if Kensington Palace could 'finally set the record straight'

Meghan claimed this week it was Kate who made her cry in reported dress feud

3/17/2021: Givenchy Anon

Meghan made Kate cry.

Bullied Charlotte, mocked and made fun of her voice

Screamed at the staff

Slapped one of the staff who was fitting her

Meghan encouraged Ivy to pick on Charlotte, to the point where Charlotte was pulled out of the fittings and her dress was made based on Florence van Cutsem’s measurements

Flower crowns for bridesmaids was given at the last minute

9/25/2021: The Meghan Paradox: Royal author ANDREW MORTON explores how she preaches compassion, yet cast her own father into outer darkness and claims she’s the victim of uncaring Royals, yet in truth was welcomed with open arms

11/29/2021: Meghan’s lawyer denies the Duchess of Sussex ever bullied staff in bombshell BBC documentary - saying she didn’t ‘repeatedly and deliberately hurt someone’ but adds she ‘wouldn’t want to negate anyone’s personal experiences’

Meghan allegedly inflicted 'emotional cruelty' on aides and 'drove them out'

Harry and his wife were both also labelled 'outrageous bullies' in allegations

'Broken' aides told of feeling humiliated, 'sick', 'terrified', left 'shaking' with fear

Tonight her lawyer told BBC programme she did not carry out any bullying

But she added: 'She wouldn’t want to negate anyone’s personal experiences’

12/3/2021: Duchess of Cambridge was left in tears after confronting Meghan Markle over ‘bullying of Palace staff’ just days before the royal wedding, Camilla pal Kirstie Allsopp claims

Duchess of Cambridge was reportedly left in tears after row with Meghan Markle

The infamous argument came days before Meghan and Harry's wedding in 2018

Kirstie Allsopp has claimed the row was about claims Meghan had bullied staff

It has previously been claimed that the argument was over flower girl dresses

In her Oprah interview, Meghan had claimed that she was the one who had cried

12/10/2021: Is Meghan ‘bullying’ probe being kicked into long grass? Buckingham Palace inquiry into allegations the Duchess of Sussex bullied staff only interviews ‘a tiny handful’ of people who worked for her

Revelation prompted fears the investigation is being 'kicked into the long grass'

Palace aides announced in March that they were launching an internal inquiry

Staff were said to have been left in tears and feeling 'traumatised'

1/6/2022: Damaging bullying claims are used ‘very casually’ over allegations Meghan Markle mistreated palace staff, duchess’s lawyer tells BBC’s Amol Rajan

Meghan Markle's lawyer Jenny Afia of Schillings claims allegations of bullying are used 'very casually'

Miss Afia tells BBC that the word 'bullying' is a 'very, very damaging term... particularly for career women'

She spoke to Amol Rajan in podcast based on controversial royal documentary which aired last November

1/22/2022: Prince Andrew should be subject of bullying probe over ‘12 complaints’ made by Palace staff over ‘overbearing and verbally abusive’ behavior, according to a formal royal protection officer

Paul Page worked in the Royal Protection Command from 1998 until 2004

He has claimed he personally made three separate complaints to the Palace

Speaking to The Sunday Mirror, he said he is aware of 'at least a dozen' others

He alleged his complaints during his time working for the Palace were ignored

Mr Page has now called on the palace to launch an investigation into Andrew

6/29/2022: Meghan ‘bullying’ inquiry buried: Findings of Palace probe into claims duchess drove out two ‘traumatised’ assistants will NEVER be made public…and even those who took part ‘haven’t been told the outcome’

Meghan is alleged to have ‘belittled’ two female assistants out of Royal service

Royal aides admitted for the first time that findings will never be made public

Those who took part in the inquiry are said to not be told what the outcome is

Palace confirms that it's concluded and ‘recommendations' will be taken forward

6/30/2022: Palace aides’ refusal to publish findings of Meghan ‘bullying’ probe is an ‘olive branch’ to the Sussexes as royals face the prospect of release of Prince Harry’s memoir, say experts

Meghan is alleged to have ‘belittled’ two female assistants out of Royal service in claims that emerged in 2021

Royal aides who gave evidence have admitted for the first time that findings will never be made public

Palace confirms that it's concluded and ‘recommendations' will be taken forward but will not publish report

6/30/2022: Buckingham Palace faces questions over Meghan ‘bullying’ probe as it ‘revises’ its HR policies in wake of inquiry but keeps its findings a SECRET…with even those who took part ‘not aware of the outcome’

Meghan is alleged to have ‘belittled’ two female assistants out of Royal service in claims that emerged in 2021

Royal aides who gave evidence have admitted for the first time that findings will never be made public

Palace confirms that it's concluded and ‘recommendations' will be taken forward but will not publish report

6/30/2022: What do the Palace fear revealing about ‘Duchess Difficult’? Staff say they were ‘traumatised’ by Meghan’s behavior. But her defenders say she just had high standards. As a report into the episode is buried, RICHARD KAY examines the history of the saga.

9/21/2022: Ben Goldsmith claims Meghan Markle is disliked in Britain NOT because of racism but ‘because she is a manipulative bully who got found out’

Ben is a non-executive board member for the Department of Environment, Food, and Rural Affairs; brother to government minister Zac Goldsmith

9/24/2022: Palace aides take revenge on the ‘Difficult Duchess’: Insiders claim Meghan ‘moaned she wasn’t getting PAID for royal tours, agreed to Oprah interview SIX months before Megxit and reduced staff to tears with bullying and tantrums’ - in bombshell new book

Explosive extracts of Courtiers: The Hidden Power Behind the Crown by Valentine Low were published today

Meghan did not understand why she had to shake people's hands during a tour of Australia, they revealed

Sources claim Meghan bullied her staff who were 'terrified', 'broken' and 'destroyed' by her treatment of them

The book details a meeting where Meghan allegedly criticised a young female member in front of colleagues

9/24/2022: Meghan’s aides branded her a ‘narcissistic sociopath’ over her demanding behavior - and gave themselves the name ‘Sussex Survivors Club’, new book claims

New book claims that Meghan Markle's aides, the 'Sussex Survivors' Club', called her a 'narcissistic sociopath'

Courtiers: The Hidden Power Behind The Crown describes Sussexes' deteriorating relationship with staff

Book also claims that staff became convinced the Duchess wanted to show how the institution failed her

Some of Ms Markle's staff suspected that she left her Royal duties behind because she wanted to make money

10/25/2022: Meghan says ‘Duchess Difficult’ label was racist, connects it to the ‘Angry Black Woman’ archetype during a very special episode of her podcast

1/8/2023: Harry and Meghan’s 25-page rebuttal of bullying claims: Prince rails against royal staff ‘lies’ about his wife in book - and reveals couple filed hefty report ‘full of evidence’ to challenge claims

In his book Prince Harry says claims his wife Meghan Markle bullied staff are a lie

The Duke says he and Meghan produced a 25-page report to clear her name

She was accused of screaming and reducing royal household staff to tears

4/15/2024: Royal aide Samantha ‘the Panther’ Cohen confirms she was one of 10 courtiers interviewed over claims Meghan Markle ‘bullied’ Palace staff - as she reveals the late Queen ‘loved it’ when things went wrong

4/16/2024: Ex-Harry and Meghan aide Samantha ‘the Panther’ Cohen says palace staff struggled to find her successor as private secretary - and would-be replacement quit while ‘being shown the ropes’ on tour to Africa

4/24/2024: Buckingham Palace must release ruling over Meghan Markle staff bullying allegations, royal expert tells latest episode of YouTube talk show The Reaction

8/15/2024: RICHARD EDEN: The real reason Harry and Meghan have just lost their 18th staff member…according to my source

My first inkling that the Duke and Duchess of Sussex may have trouble holding onto staff came back in 2018 when I received a tip that Meghan’s personal assistant, Melissa Toubati, had quit suddenly, just six months after the American actress had married into the Royal Family. ‘It’s a real shock,’ a source told me at the time. ‘Why would she want to leave such a prestigious job so soon?’ Officials usually decline to discuss staffing matters, so it took me aback when a senior Palace source chose to pay tribute to her publicly. ‘Melissa is a hugely talented person,’ the source said. ‘She played a pivotal role in the success of the royal wedding and will be missed by everyone in the Royal Household.’ For someone to go out of their way to pay such fulsome tribute suggested Melissa’s colleagues were not happy with her departure. The fact she left so soon raised questions over the reasons for her exit.

8/26/2024 - Kensington Palace insider brutal first reaction to Meghan Markle amid bullying claims, by The Mirror.

Allegations of bullying were behind Prince William's decision to split his household from Prince Harry's in 2019, according to a royal expert. William was made aware of claims that Meghan Markle had 'bullied' palace members of staff, which both the Duchess of Sussex and her husband Prince Harry have always denied. After an unsuccessful phone call to discuss matters with his brother, William decided to 'throw Harry out', Robert Lacey revealed in his book, Battle of the Brothers. Lacey further quotes a Kensington Palace courtier as saying: "Meghan portrayed herself as the victim, but she was the bully. People felt run over by her. They thought she was a complete narcissist and sociopath — basically unhinged."

#sussexes #brf #bullying allegations #tcd #timeline

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xenosagaepisodeone · 7 months ago

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For the last 2 weeks I've been transfixed on a strain of lost media I've come to call "bad memory induced media", where the supposed media in question does not (or at least more than likely does not) exist, but there are swaths of people convinced that they have definitely seen it at some point. There is rarely anything more to go off of for the hunt than a vague summary outlined in a post on some forum, but the lack of specificity allows people to fill in the blanks with similar types of media that they've seen, giving them the impression that they've already experienced it. I've found that this is extremely common for alleged lost shock media in particular, which isn't surprising. I talked a little about this on my LOL SUPERMAN post, and I get the impression that a similar strain of logic applies on a smaller scale.

Anyway, 2 major cases I have been looking at for a while are Saki Sanobashi/Go For A Punch and Evil Farm Game. Saki Sanobashi in particular fascinates me because an urban legend like this should have crumbled to the wayside by like 2018 at the latest, since that's when anime more or less became demystified to normal people. The basic premise is that it is an 80s/90s horror anime about anywhere from 4-8 girls trapped in a bathroom. The girls talk about their lives, hopes, dreams and philosophies before slowly going insane and dying one by one. If you like horror stuff you probably are already getting the vague impression that it sounds familiar- which could be influenced by any swath of media artifacts from Saw to the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta to the Ikea SCP to ClockUp's Euphoria to snippets of Battle Royale to that one Grisaia no Kajitsu arc. OP insisted he found it fully subbed on the deep web (omegalul) and hasn't found a trace of it since, implying some kind of murky origin or legal status (the OVA is not pornographic btw). As you can probably tell, I think this is silly. Like, so much goes into anime production that it would be difficult to hide any traces of this thing's existence. Someone had to voice act those girls. Someone had to sit hunched over a desk and draw that settei. OVAs were such a new thing in the 80s and 90s that both sfw and nsfw series were advertised in magazines. The only way that this could be so lost that not even a MAL entry remains is if it had been a student/indie production or something made for a single comiket event...but even at that....you're telling me that someone still managed to rip this from a vhs and subtitle it? And then chose to upload it to the deep web instead of youtube? even the title sounds like something google translated but didnt format correctly ("Saki Sanobashi" being gibberish while "Saki-san no Bashi" translates to "Saki-san's Bridge").

And yet there are people who will say "I definitely saw this at some point" because they saw a reaction image similar to the alleged scene where the protagonist smashes someone's head into a mirror. "The neck scratching death sounds familiar...." because you watched a higurashi amv! And OP did too, and thought it was so creepy that he involved it in his fake story. It's almost grating how much you have to suspend your disbelief to embrace that something like this exists in the exact way that stories like this insist. While many people have accepted that the series is likely not real in the last 4 or so years, there still persists a cohort of people hunting for Saki Sanobashi, likely because they are kids who are now too old to believe in Squidward's Suicide.

Evil Farm Game gives me a chuckle because it goes like this: a redditor posts to r/tipofmytongue about an old flash game where you play as a farmer who kills his wife and then has to hide her body while going about his farm tasks. The setup is completely fine and actually kind of reminiscent of a few story driven flash games I played on newgrounds as a kid. Many people came forward insisting that they had played this as well, one person even producing a link to a file from their hard drive that they couldn't open, but strongly believed that the game was there. A subreddit was even created to support the search. The twist is that it was a misremembered joke from a vinesauce stream.

Everyone knows that memory is an extremely fallable thing; people can be coaxed into believing that they did or saw things that they didn't with the correct prompts. What gets me is that a lot of people on the hunt for "bad memory induced media" seem to largely be hyping themselves up. They want to believe there is something that exists against all reason no matter what. It's chuuni in nature. Do not get me wrong- the interest in finding a cool, mysterious, haunting piece of media isn't lost on me, but dog, the dopamine hit of finding a previously lost 1985 commercial for almonds in a box of vhs tapes you got from eBay is the same.

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velvet-vox · 8 months ago

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"Doll had no character arc"

"Her death was meaningless"

"We know nothing about her"

That is false.

This is a response to a post of user @rad10active-ketchup regarding (spoiler) Doll's death in the new episode of Murder drones, in particular to these replies:

These points are most likely rooted in the belief that Doll's death was handled poorly from a writing standpoint, and while I consider it a fair interpretation to have given that writing something to be intentionally disappointing will always feel unpleasant to a consumer, I believe that the reasons found to justify said feeling in the replies are disingenuous and flat out wrong, and I am going to debunk each and every single one of them independently.

Starting off with:

The character development

Doll has for the most part a flat character arc in all the scenes that she appears in, but that doesn't mean that she had no development at any point; first of all, there's most obviously her villain arc, caused by the death of her parents, the solver, the loneliness and lack of mentor figures and general mental illness, during the prom scene, she has reached peak villainy in the series, only saving Lizzie's life because she has mentally assessed the people to care about and the others and even when shot in the head she doubles down on her tendencies and keeps being a menace, but that's where she discovers that Uzi also has the solver and for the first time in ever she has someone who shares her pain but is on the "enemy" side. This starts a continuous chain of doubt in her mind that she overcomes only at the end of episode 6 when she completes her negative character arc by sacrificing Uzi for the cure in the raptor trap, spelling out her doom in the next episode where in her last moments she does her first and only step of a positive character arc by inciting her to fight back the solver with all her forces. Doll is given many chances to switch to the other side and stop being a villain, but she refuses every single one and her reality check only comes on her death bed when it's already too late.

The impact of her death

First of all Rebecca "died" in front of 4 other people while Doll dies only in front of Uzi, who outside of her genuine shock later swears to fake Tessa that it wasn't her doing but someone else, all while pretty terrified herself. Nori and N also come there, but they are too busy with everything else going on to notice, also, neither of them ever cared about Doll. And Cyn... come on.

What do we know about her

First of all, she is quite literally "Uzi if things got even worse" most of her traits are darker reflections of Uzi or an improved version of Uzi's skills, including her aura of mystery, there to be the cool factor that Uzi tries so hard to achieve but fails. She also has the same goal as Uzi, but without the hero complex part whose substitute by her belief of being the chosen one by the solver and fated to bring about the end of the world. She's sadistic, delusional, traumatized, stubborn, russian and a pathetic wet cat of a person whose inability to change denied her the answers that she so desperately craved.

Want more?

#murder drones doll #murder drones ep 7 #murder drones spoilers #murder drones n #murder drones rebecca #murder drones uzi #murder drones cyn #murder drones tessa #murder drones nori #murder drones lizzy #murder drones #murder drones analysis

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mockerycrow · 1 year ago

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Undercover I (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — next

Summary: You’re apart of an undercover joint task force between the CIA and MI6, meant to invade Makarov’s operations. Your entire mission goes up in flames once Task Force 141 takes you in for interrogation after finding you beaten and bloody in one of Makarov’s warehouses.

A/N: i hate the ending of this part but it issss what it isssss… This was originally a male reader so I might change it back to male!reader later on. the fake name is as gender neutral as possible. ALSO THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERS WTF??

[WARNINGS: Gore, descriptions of injuries, descriptions of torture, near death experience(s), mentions of drowning, near drowning/waterboarding, medical inaccuracies.]

The POV switches a couple of times!

The operation fell apart the second my boss did not bother to inform more than my task force of our mission. My death sentence was written into existence the moment I stepped into that conference room with several other high-end individuals—we all worked undercover operations before. We’ve all have had our deaths faked, our lives torn apart and restitched for the perfect narrative for any mission necessary. We have been called for a mission at the darkest of hours to do the dirtiest of work. If no one serves in the dark, then no one can live in the light, right?

We hold up this facade, this mask—for years. You go into an undercover operation with an estimate of a couple years as the duration, how quickly your team is capable, and by the time you’ve done a couple of these missions; you know you have to take the estimate and double it, at the very least. You learn to live with the mountain of bodies you collect over the years, a giant pool of thick blood slowly getting bigger at my feet. My shoes stain with the blood—we all bleed the same, no matter your creed, your race, your gender, your sexuality. If that’s the fact, then how do we tell guilty blood from innocent? Where do the lines blur together, everything looking the same?

It gets dangerous working undercover for so long, but we have to keep going.

Some people lose themselves to the faux identity they’re playing, the fake family, the head of the household—the fake childhood, fake friends.. Sometimes, the faked life is preferred to the real one.

Not me, though.

I remember exactly who I am.

With a combat knife in my hands, circling a table with a map on it, with several marked places—I am Zhenya Antonenko, surrounded by the very people I’m working against in secret.

When I’m alone, I’m myself. I’m me. One of the very few people burdened with the duty of collecting information and intelligence and surveying it back home—back to my Captain, Tyler Hudson. The one person I can trust through this entire operation.

I know I have to trust my other teammates to an extent, but when you’ve seen so many men and women fall to the other side? It gets rough.

Shooting someone who you previously trusted with your life is.. I cannot even begin to describe the feeling.

Melancholy, perhaps?

Even then, I have to be careful.

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful who we pretend to be.”

“..status?” “alive…”

Throbbing pain. Searing. Rough hands on you—

“..one of his..” That accent—it’s not Russian. What?

Did the.. did the operation go tits up?-

No. This accent is Scottish. You didn’t work with any Scots.

…You’re in rough shape, to say the least.

Soap’s hands untie the harsh ropes digging to the skin of your wrists, ignoring how the rope is stained with your blood. You’re one of his—And you’re alive. You won’t be for long if he doesn’t act fast, though. Your skin is paler than usual, you’re soaked in freezing water and your own blood—Soap didn’t wince at your wounds, though. He had no empathy for anyone working with Makarov.

“Let’s get them on our truck, let’s move.” Price said, his tone rough and serious as always. He watches as the rope falls away from your hands and feet, and Price chooses to walk over to your unconscious from. His hand grabs your chin and lifts your head to take a look, and what he sees earns a hum from himself. You took quite a beating, which made Soap curious. “‘Wonder what th’bastard had to do to earn all o’that.” He comments, taking a good look at your face.

Your lips are slightly parted; cracked and stained with your own blood, probably from accidentally biting your tongue. Your lip is split open, definitely requiring a few stitches. Your nose absolutely has to be broken, dried blood all over your skin, your chin—mouth, lips, down the front of your shirt. No one would be surprised if your jaw wasn’t broken—or at least fractured in some way. Your eye is swollen shut and your eyebrow is split open—your hair is damp, both from blood and water.

Soap left you untied; even if you woke up, you wouldn’t be a threat. He puts the sling of his rifle over his shoulder and he hooks an arm under your knees, the other supporting the weight of your back. He grunts as he picks you up, leaning you into his chest. “Light,” Soap comments.

Ghost and Gaz come from a different part of a warehouse, documents and a laptop in hand. “He left in quite a hurry, sir.” Gaz murmurs, holding up a few pieces of paper. “These were scattered around, we nearly caught them by surprise.”

Before Price can ask his question, Ghost answers it, like he can read his Captain’s mind. “Makarov was here.”

The silence is deafening as the four men make their way out of the warehouse, documents, technology and an asset in their hands—you.

Soap ignores the way your blood is soaking into his clothing as they get back their truck and hauling into in the backseats.

For a moment, I thought I died. I really did; I thought Makarov and his goons truly beat me to death, sending me straight to the fiery pits of Hell with every wound they inflicted on me.. And I kind of wish they did, honestly.

But that scares me—I’ve never craved death before. Have I lost it already?

Or is it the burning pain that’s bubbling under my skin?

Nothing in particular wakes me up, but when I do, my tongue is heavy and dry; cotton like. I can’t taste anything besides maybe some blood acts dried around my lips. It takes all of my strength to lick my lips and—nevermind, blood and a weird sour taste. Like the kind you get after sleeping for longer than you should.

My head feels.. fuzzy, like there’s electricity bouncing inside of my skull. Or is that the distant ringing I hear? Or is it the insistent pressure behind my eyeballs?

My body feels so heavy. I feel like an anchor from a ship, being dragged through the bottom of the ocean. Both the weight, and the relatable feeling of like it’s crashed into everything in my path because hOlyfuckpainpainpain-

“They’re awake.” A low and rough voice drawls out; British. Can’t place the region when my fucking body is screaming for relief—

My eyes.. scratch that, eye opens because the other is swollen shut and I nearly regret waking up at all because of the fucking luminescent bulb in front of me, burning my corneas. A gloved hand grabs my jaw which make some cry out because something is wrong, terribly fucking wrong with my jaw—oh, shit, this guy is scary.

I’m forced to peer at the tall man with stocky shoulders and a wide chest, wearing a black balaclava with a skull painted on it. His eyes—they’re brown, but, but they’re so fucking empty, like they’re peering into my damn soul and ripping apart every action I’ve ever committed.

These guys aren’t Makarov’s. What?

I take a sharp inhale as I try to look over any more part of this guy’s uniform, but his grip isn’t letting me. Skull-face holds up a black leather booklet—my fucking I.D. “Zhenya Antonenko,” He spits out, almost mockingly, looking between the small photo of me and me, myself. I can’t bring myself to do anything like I usually would to stay in character; spit, slur out a curse or anything. My body aches.

“Zhenya Antonenko,” Skull-face repeats once more, letting go of my jaw, allowing the burning pain deep in the bone to sizzle down to a dull throb. My head nearly falls forward but I keep it up with the little strength that remains in my neck muscles. “You’ve worked for Makarov for a number of years, hm? Makes me wonder what’a little birdie on his shoulder has ta’do to make the big man leave ‘em for dead.”

I keep my mouth shut. That’s something I had to learn early on when I joined my team—no matter what, do not. let. them. break. you.

Makarov didn’t break me, and I certainly won’t let these guys break me when the entire population of countries are riding on my shoulders. I furrow my eyebrows and maintain eye contact with the big man, mustering the worst glare I can at the moment which probably isn’t very noticeable.

Fuck, I want to puke. My head is swimming, my entire body is just—I only feel pain, and by this point I can only guess where the sources are. It’s all blending together into the worst concoction.

I gasp as a stinging sensation blooms over my cheek—he smacked me.

“Pay attention.” Skull-face hissed, walking over to a tray nearby. I let out a shaky breath as I follow him and then when I see the other men present in the room. Skull-face’s friends.

The first man I see has dark skin, fairly young to be in squad like this. Capturing folk, I mean. He has a noticeable scar under one of his eyes—or I think..? It’s a scar? I can’t see that far, especially with that blinding light in my eye. He’s kind of bulky, but his shoulders are nowhere near as large as Skull-face’s. One of the other men are across the room, leaning against the wall, watching me closely with a hateful glare—like he wants to gut me, watch my intestines spill out and watch me die. He has a bucket hat on, military fatigue colored. He has mutton chops and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but whoever he is, is the only person I’ve seen whose been able to pull them off.

The fourth guy, aside from Skull-face and his friends Mutton Chops and Basic Boy, is staring me down. He’s fairly average height, stockier than Basic Boy, you can tell he’s strong by the way his forearms look. His hair is shaved into a mohawk—the sides need to be a bit more shaved as it looks more grown out. He has a little more than a stubble type beard, but I can vaguely make out a scar on his chin.

I grunt as Skull-faces hand connects with my cheek again and fuuuck, my jaw—

“I won’t fuckin’ say it again. Pay attention or I’ll do what Makarov did to you but tenfold.” Skull-face’s eyes are dark as I look back at his face, the throbbing pain in my face subsiding again after a few seconds. My shoulders slightly tense under his gaze; he’s not kidding. I can’t afford another beating, especially not after.. what he did.

Fuck.

Being stuck between a rock and a hard place, I force myself to nod, not once do my eyes leave his form. No matter what, I can’t break. “What was Makarov doin’ in that warehouse?” He gruffs out, grabbing a few documents off of a nearby metal table that I didn’t notice before. He sifts through the documents as I purse my lips together, muttering a weak, “я дал присягу.” I took an oath. Look, these guys clearly don’t work for Makarov, but I can’t fucking afford to give up any information.

“Stick to your story, no matter what. Unless I intervene, you have to keep going. Even if you’re on the verge of death.”

Hudson’s words flood my brain as Skull-face doesn’t respond to me. I feel a bead of sweat drip down my temple and face—sweating from the pain.

My body just.. fucking aches.

“An oath, huh?” Skull-face mutters, turning back to me with a document. “You took an oath for a terrorist?”

Oookay, this guy does not like Zhenya.

Me. He doesn’t like me.

My eyebrow twitches in response, but I keep my lips sealed shut. Skull-face holds up a document in front of me, and of course it’s all in Russian. “You know what this is?” He barks, his deep, Manchester accented voice bouncing off of the walls, echoing. “This is Makarov making arrangements to get his hands on biological weapon warfare.”

I keep silent—I know that it is, and my heart drops to my stomach from the thought of what could happen if Makarov manages to go through with it. Skull-face stares at me like he expects me to answer, and of course, I never give him one.

I gasp sharply as within seconds, my shirt is lifted and his knife rips through some stitches they’ve must’ve given meeeEE—holy fuck, shit shit oh fuck—

Blood gushes from my stomach, earning a choked noise from me. Pain blooms in my abdomen, and I can feel the warm liquid of my own blood dribbling down onto the spandex of my pants that hold them onto my hips. I immediately feel like my world is spinning again, Skull-face borderlines multiplies in front of me. He grabs my jaw which makes me cry out again—fucking let go—and he leans in real close to my face. “There’s obvious context missin’, yeah? Fill in the gaps and we’ll let the medics work on’ya.”

I force myself to breathe through my nose, with every heavy breath I force out, comes another wave of nausea.

“Мне нечего сказать.” I have nothing to say.

“I don’t think ya understand the’situation.” Mohawk seethes, approaching me from where he was standing. Scottish. He was there—he took me.

I blink sluggishly in an attempt to focus my eyes on the man who replaced Skull-face. I get a clearer view of his face. Tan skin for a Scot, probably spends a lot of his time in the sun—his eyes are so fucking bright blue—I can see every detail of his face from how close he is. Mohawk is angry and he’s one beautiful man. Maybe if I was tied up in this chair for a different reason, I’d be willing give up some of that information—

I keep quiet and stare him in the eyes. The burning flames of anger behind his eyes towards me; thank God I’m not Makarov. I hear a door open and I glance towards it for just a second—Mutton Chops is leaving. I quickly look back at Mohawk and shake my head, although speaking my refusal was probably a smarter idea because now my head is swimming again.

“Do’ye not understand that ya fell fer a trap?” He barks, grabbing the front of my shirt. I wince as I feel the fabric pulling away from my open wounds. “Makarov does not care aboot you!”

My breath hitches as the door slams open, my eyes tracking to who it is—Mutton Chops is back, wheeling in a… big bowl of water. Big enough to hold a head under.

Fuck.

Fuck, oh fuck!

They must’ve caught onto my reaction, which I didn’t really notice them doing as all I could focus on was my pounding heartbeat, but I heard a vague laugh. Mohawk grabs one of the legs of the cart, carelessly pulls it closer and his other hand grabs a chunk of hair on my head, pulling my head back. My lips part and a faint noise of pain leaving them. He says something, which I don’t register—and then he pushes my head under the water.

I immediately struggle as I instinctively took a gasp for air under the water, the water filtering into my lungs, my body screaming that it isn’t supposed to be there, that it’s wrong, that you’re drowning, you’re drowningdrowningdrowningdrowningdROWNING-

The water rushing in my ears doesn’t make this any better, the pure fucking panic in my gut worsens by the second as I can’t fucking breathe, lET ME GO, I ALREADY WENT THROUGH THIS ONCE—

I kick my feet, trying to find the cart, Mohawk, someone, anyone, shit, hElp-

Suddenly my head is ripped out of the water and my eye is closed and I’m sputtering water, my body desperate to cough the remaining in my lungs up, the water from my hair soaking the top of my shirt again, dripping into my mouth—

I still can’t breathe. I think I’m fucking dying.

My lungs are begging for air as I weakly gasp for it, my hands that are tied behind the chair grasp at the air, for anything to ground myself. I weakly kick at the air like that’ll help me, I don’t even know what’s going on anymore—fuck, I’m dying, my chest aches, my abdomen fucking hurts, I can’t hear anything, are they going to just stand there and watch me die?

Like Makarov did?

Are they going to fucking resuscitate me like he did?

Makarov held me under the water until all of the air in my lungs was replaced with ice cold water. I only remember waking up and spitting water out all over myself, laying on my back on the concrete floor of the warehouse, with a dark chuckle from him, murmuring, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

He did it twice. Maybe a third time? If he did, I don’t remember.

My head is ripped out of the water and I gasp for air so harshly I choke, and then I’m suddenly out like a light.

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vestaignis · 8 months ago

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Русский художник, представитель символизма и модерна, Иван Мясоедов (1881, Харьков – 1953, Буэнос-Айрес) родился в семье знаменитого художника-передвижника Григория Мясоедова. Был внебрачным сыном художника Григория Мясоедова и художницы Ивановой. Еще ребенком Иван Мясоедов начал учиться рисованию в частной школе, организованной его отцом. В 15 поступил в Московское училище живописи, позднее — в Императорскую Академию художеств. Он мало чем походил на своего отца, и никакой преемственности в искусстве не было. Все, что было мило Григорию Мясоедову, Иван Мясоедов презирал (и наоборот). Его привлекали мифологические сюжеты, эпический размах, подвиги, боги, герои — все то, от чего бежали передвижники. Художник Иван Мясоедов был прекрасным профессиональным гравером, что стало причиной большой беды. Проживая с женой в бедствующей Германии в 20-е годы, он рисовал и печатал английские фунты- за что и был арестовыван как фальшивомонетчик. Три года Иван проводит в Моабитской тюрьме, где расписывает тюремную церковь. Выйдя на свободу, он пишет целый ряд ностальгических полотен и в 1938 году бежит с семьей в Лихтенштейн по поддельному чешскому паспорту (сам «нарисовал») на имя «профессора Зотова». В княжестве Иван Мясоедов стал придворным художником, создал великолепные эскизы почтовых марок. В Лихтенштейне художник вновь попал под арест за подделку государственных кредитных бумаг, а всю его семью лишили гражданства княжества. После непродолжительного заключения Мясоедов с семьей в 1953 году переезжает в Аргентину. По приезду в Буэнос-Айрес Иван Мясоедов внезапно тяжело заболел и умер от рака печени. Ему было 73 года.

Russian artist, representative of symbolism and modernism, Ivan Myasoedov (1881, Kharkov - 1953, Buenos Aires) was born in the family of the famous Itinerant artist Grigory Myasoedov. He was the illegitimate son of the artist Grigory Myasoedov and the artist Ivanova. As a child, Ivan Myasoedov began to study drawing at a private school organized by his father. At 15 he entered the Moscow School of Painting, and later the Imperial Academy of Arts. He was little like his father, and there was no continuity in art. Everything that was nice to Grigory Myasoedov, Ivan Myasoedov despised (and vice versa). He was attracted by mythological stories, epic scope, exploits, gods, heroes - everything that the Wanderers fled from.

The artist Ivan Myasoedov was an excellent professional engraver, which caused great trouble. Living with his wife in poverty-stricken Germany in the 1920s, he drew and printed English pounds, for which he was arrested as a counterfeiter. Ivan spends three years in Moabit prison, where he paints the prison church. Upon his release, he painted a whole series of nostalgic canvases and in 1938 he fled with his family to Liechtenstein using a fake Czech passport (he “drew it” himself) in the name of “Professor Zotov.”

In the principality, Ivan Myasoedov became a court artist and created magnificent sketches of postage stamps. In Liechtenstein, the artist was again arrested for forging government credit papers, and his entire family was deprived of citizenship of the principality. After a short imprisonment, Myasoedov and his family moved to Argentina in 1953. Upon arrival in Buenos Aires, Ivan Myasoedov suddenly became seriously ill and died of liver cancer. He was 73 years old.

Источник://kulturologia.ru/blogs/160919/44149/, https://dergachev-va.livejournal.com/86205.html,arthive.com/ru/artists/31745~Ivan_Grigor'evich_Mjasoedov/works/587071~Vid_na_SanSusi, /artifex.ru/живопись/иван-мясоедов-часть-1/, /artchive.ru/publications/4134~Zhizn'_i_udivitel'nye_prikljuchenija_Ivana_Mjasoedova.

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lizzie-is-here · 2 years ago

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lonely is a man without love

part i- the mission

“and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.” - mahmoud darwish

summary: you’re an ex-black widow, assigned to observe marc spector. instead, you find steven grant

wordcount: 1.4k

warnings: language, violence, idk british people?

a/n: and so it begins again :)))) this series won’t be very long, but i’m gonna have fun with a black widow reader. if you’d like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask! love you, hope you enjoy! <3333

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope

series masterlist | next part

“Britain? Come on, Rogers, seriously?”

You groan as you throw the file down on the kitchen counter. After several months of recovering from all of the shit with the Blip, Thanos, Tony’s recovery, and catching up after being fucking dust for five years, you finally got to go back on missions.

And they send you to fucking. Britain. London, to be more specific.

“Steve, the food is absolute shit. They eat like they’re still rationing their food for the war,” you rant. The man raises a brow at the mention of his past, but shrugs.

“It’s something easy to start you back up. We can’t send you guns blazing into space.” He sets a yogurt bowl and some fruit in front of you. “Eat your breakfast.”

You roll your eyes, thanking him as you grab the food. “Thanks, grandpa.” You flip through the file. “Who’s the mark?”

“Not a mark, a target,” Nat corrects.

You shrug. “Same thing.”

“He’s some vigilante called Marc Spector,” she says without looking up from her phone. She’s texting Yelena, no doubt. Likely planning the younger girl’s visit. You haven’t seen her since your own escape from the Red Room, but you’re more than thrilled to meet up.

The two of you had been inseparable, even with Dreykov’s strict rule. And now that Nat had gotten into contact with her again, it was only a matter of time before you got together to cause trouble.

And make mac and cheese. ‘Lena made really good mac and cheese.

“He used to be in the Army, but went AWOL and started working as a merc,” she continues. “Seems enhanced.”

Shoveling the yogurt into your mouth, you narrow your eyes. “So is this, like, a ‘Clint-style-recruitment’ situation or a ‘beat-his-ass’ situation?”

Steve hesitates, considering the question. “Uh, depends. Entirely up to you.”

“Great, you’re very prepared.” You set the bowls in the sink. “So, how long until I fly out?”

———————————————————————

You’re good at your job. Amazing, really. And you know it.

Of course you are. The Red Room didn’t make second-bests, and you’d been cycled through three separate times. You and Yelena headed missions, racked up kills, and obliterated organizations with ease.

When Nat had destroyed the Red Room back in 2016 and Yelena, Alexei, and Melina had left to free the other widows, the redhead offered you a place with the Avengers. You weren’t stupid, so you’d accepted.

Then you’d disappeared in Wakanda and woken up five years later.

This was very jarring (no shit), so the team had ordered a 3-month recovery for anyone who had been dusted.

No one else seemed very enthusiastic to get back to missions, but you were.

So, when you touch down in a bustling airport, you send the jet back to the compound, grab your ID, and sling your bag over your shoulder. TSA lets you by with ease, despite the absurd amount of weapons you have, and you work on blending in with the crowd until you can reach your rented motorcycle.

Your Russian accent makes it a bit hard, but you manage a convincing enough Cockney accent to slip under the radar.

Now to find the target. Your coordinates lead you to a small apartment building (you will NOT call them flats), and a fake enough smile and forged documents gets you a flat one floor above the target room.

Huffing as you unpack, you set out countless guns, knives, and weapons that would really suck to be killed by. A loud thump resonates from the floor.

You slip one gun into your waistband and a knife in your boot before listening closely. Annoyed British mumbling follows.

“Oh, jeez, I’ve gotta clean up. This is such a mess…”

That doesn’t sound like a mercenary. Maybe he’ll surprise you, you suppose.

You sneak down the stairs, finding the correct apartment and raising your hand to the door. A quick but effective knock later, the door opens.

“Uh, hi?” The guy is cute. A bit disheveled, but when you peer inside his home, you see no weapons, no signs of a violent hobby.

“Hi,” you greet, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “My name is (Y/N), I just moved into the apartment upstairs. Figured I’d greet my new neighbors.”

He looks shocked. “Oh, I didn’t know we were getting any new residents. It’s nice to meet you.” You notice that his accent seems a bit… off. “I’m sorry if I’m not the most quiet neighbor. I’ve got a sleep disorder.”

You nod, noting his posture and how close he holds his hands to his body. He notices your silence and jumps.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I’m Steven Grant. I work at the London Museum.”

Luckily, the team took enough precedence to give you a fake job. After explaining that you worked from home doing digital marketing, you exchange goodbyes and head back upstairs.

“Ах, дерьмо [Ah, shit],” you sigh, collapsing on the bed. Yes, you’re thrilled to be back in the game, but this?

This was a waiting game, not a hunt-down-a-target-and-snipe-them-from-the-roof kind of game.

And you’ve never been patient.

———————————————————————

It’s a long month, even with Steven becoming your sort-of friend. You’ve scouted out his routine, polished your weapons, and even kept some muggers off his tail.

After visiting him at the museum, you’ve discovered his passion for Egyptology. He knows more than the guides, but is confined to the souvenir shop by his asshole boss.

You offer to kill her, only half joking, and he declines. It’s a shame.

But you’re starting to think he’s the wrong guy.

He lacks any basic survival skills, much less any fighting prowess. A dude held him at knifepoint and he gave him his wallet and phone. Luckily, you’d been just around the corner to grab the guy and knock him on his ass with little fuss.

“Holy shit, how’d you do that?” Steven had asked, gratefully taking back his things. The thief had booked it after you’d judo-flipped him and tugged his arm hard enough to dislocate.

“Do what?” you’d asked, watching him laugh.

He had waved a hand down the street. “Beat that guy up! You were flipping everywhere, and-“

It was your turn to laugh. “I did lots of martial arts as a kid. Good to know they’re coming in handy.”

It’s not a lie. Not really.

Despite Steven’s apparent innocence, you’re still suspicious. There’s always noise in the apartment below you, and the door will open and slam shut at odd hours. When you inquire about it, your target/friend (it’s complicated) claims to have no idea.

Except he’s telling the truth. You know when someone’s lying to you. You’ve never been wrong. And Steven isn’t lying.

He really doesn’t know anything about the sounds from his own flat.

One day, you’re sitting at your table with mac and cheese and polishing your favorite knife, when the door below you shuts. A voice comes up from the floorboards, like it does so often.

Instead of Steven’s fishy British accent talking to himself about Egypt or his goldfish, something else comes up.

That’s a Chicago accent.

You shove a gun into the waistband of your sweatpants, hurrying down the stairs. Without hesitation, you pick the lock and kick open the door.

Clicking the safety off of your gun and gripping it with both hands, you step in the apartment.

“Shit,” you whisper, real accent slipping through as you revert to your training.

You clear the main room of the apartment, methodical and precise.

A sound comes from the bathroom and you see the familiar figure. Hiding your gun, you sigh in relief.

You lean against the wall. “Sorry, I thought someone else was in-“

The man whips around, clearly shocked you’re there. He grabs a knife.

Oh, shit.

When he lunges forward, you dodge, grab his wrist, elbow his shoulder to loosen his grip, and grab the tactical knife. With a flick of the wrist, you lodge it in the door you just picked.

“Who are you?” the man demands, readying his fists. He looks like Steven, but acts like the complete opposite.

His posture is confident, tall. He glares at you through the sweat and blood on his face.

“My name is (Y/N), I know Steven?” The man sighs, annoyed.

“Great. Fucking great, now there’s a civilian involved.” You don’t bother to correct him.

You wave your hands around. “Well, who are you? Why are you from Chicago?”

“Why are you Russian?”

“I asked first!”

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I’m Marc. Spector.”

Your target. The file scrolls through your mind. Ex-Marine, high ranking. Went AWOL and reportedly killed a whole team of archeologists and researchers. Born March 9, 1987. Not dusted. Suspected enhanced, unknown powers.

This just got a lot more complicated.

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #moon knight #moon knight x reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant #steven grant moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector #moon boys #moon knight system

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sapphic-coded · 1 year ago

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I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and did not choose her codename. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: When writer ADHD hits, it hits. Sorry for the wait friends. Been working on this for a comically long time. Thank you for all the love and support for this series. I love that you love this. Enjoy!

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox

Chapter Seven: You Don't Know Me

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You counted the small rocks in your black gloved hand. Neither one looked the same. All were varying shades of gray. A few were smooth and round while others were rough with sharper edges. It was the best of what you could find around the neighborhood. You looked up when you heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.

The ends of Nat’s blue hair spilled out of her dark gray knitted hat. Her black puffy jacket swallowed up most of her body. In her white gloved hands was a single stick. It wasn’t very long. Hardly more than four inches. Some pine needles still hung off of it. You watched as she approached while the chill that hung in the air after the first snowfall stabbed at your cheeks.

“Aren’t we supposed to use a carrot?” you asked as she came to stand next to you. You were also pretty sure that you were supposed to use coal instead of rocks.

“My mom already cut up the one we have,” Nat replied.

You certainly didn’t have any carrots lying around at home. Your refrigerator and Nat’s were so different that it was jarring the first time you saw it. You hadn’t realized how much food one refrigerator could hold when you didn’t have to make room for your father’s weekly experiments.

You looked at the headless snowman in front of you. You had spent the better part of the last two hours alongside Nat and her younger sister building the snowman in front of their house. The snowman’s base was large, round, and a bit lopsided. But it supported the slightly smaller packed ball of snow on top of it. You and Nat had done your best to brush off any dirt or blades of grass that stuck to the snow. Now you waited for Yelena to return with the snowman’s head.

You heard Nat shift next to you while you stared at the empty spot where the snowman’s head will go. You wondered what kind of person this snowman would be. It was a shame when your brother told you years ago that snowmen don’t actually come to life after they are built. There’s no singing or dancing. It was as your father put it when he overheard your conversation:

“It is a byproduct of man’s lust for godhood.”

But maybe they did come to life. In secret. Perhaps at night. You read about all kinds of supposedly fake creatures coming to life in secret in your sister’s books. If it was possible, would this snowman end up being a good person or a bad one? Would the lack of a carrot make a difference?

“Are you going somewhere?” Nat asked.

You looked at her and found her looking across the street. You followed her gaze. Outside on your driveway was your father. The trunk of his station wagon hung open while he shoved a couple large bags into it. His back remained toward you and you hoped it would stay that way. The freshly plowed street put enough distance between him and you that you felt like you could breathe normally without him noticing.

Your gaze landed back on Nat. “My father is attending a convention. It’s a tradition.”

“What kind of convention?” she asked.

You shrugged. “One for people like him.”

He would come back giddy from talking with his fellow scholars. You knew that when he returned you and your siblings would be forced to spend at least three hours trapped at the kitchen table with nothing to eat but plenty to listen to. If something particularly interesting happened, you would definitely be trapped at the table for five hours.

“You’re not going with him?” she asked.

You heard the trunk of your father’s station wagon slam shut. You looked over your shoulder and watched as your father started back up the driveway. You looked at Nat and shook your head. “Kids aren’t allowed.”

Yelena hurried around the house from the backyard carrying a mostly round snowman sized head. It was pretty impressive when she reached you guys. Since you both were taller, you and Nat carefully took the soon to be snowman head and set it on top of its cold, round body. You pushed one smooth light gray rock into the snowman’s left eye socket and then pushed a square black rock into its right. You let Yelena help you set the rest of the rocks into a wide smile. Nat pushed the stick into the middle of the snowman’s face. Then, all three of you stepped back to admire your work.

“We should give him a name,” Yelena said.

You tried to imagine the snowman’s rock eyes blinking. You imagined puffs of white mists slipping from between his rocky lips. You tried to imagine him with a carrot for a nose. “He looks like an Ian.”

You heard Yelena giggle and when you looked at Nat you saw the beginnings of a smile curling her lips.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

Being part of a team sucks. There are rules you have to follow. Sure, there were rules back when you were working for your father. But those rules were different. You could bend and shape them into whatever you needed. As long as the job was done, your father was content. Maybe he’d nitpick if the job got messy. But you had the freedom of choice. There were so many ways to kill people. Some days your imagination would run wild with new possibilities. You had yet to surprise a target in their bathroom and drop a toaster into their bathtub while they were bathing. Then there was the old classic you had yet to try. This idea demanded the perfect costume, but tying a target to train tracks and watching a high speed train obliterate their body into nothing more but tiny bloody chunks would be great fun.

You loved that part of the job almost as much as you loved watching your target’s life drain from their eyes. But now that freedom is gone. You don’t get to decide how you are going to do your job. You are told. Ordered. The worst is when you’re not even allowed to kill your target. You remember the first time you were given that bizarre job. You remember how punchable your target’s face was. You remember how easy it would have been to just push the ridiculous man over the edge. No one would have known. But you couldn’t. You watched that opportunity pass you by and you wanted to scream.

You did scream. At Rumlow. You cornered him and demanded to know why. Why did they keep fucking with your head?

He reminded you of your role. The chains that kept you bound to these nonsensical rules. You work for SHIELD. You don’t kill targets unless SHIELD wants you to kill them. You keep to your role and you don’t raise suspicions. You live out the story Rumlow crafted for you. He found you on one of his missions. He saw your potential and peeled you up off the ground like some frozen, sick, dying, abandoned mutt. He molded you into the weapon you are now. A weapon he happily handed to SHIELD.

You hate that story. You hate it more than the stupid suit he forces you to wear. The black tactical suit covers every inch of your body from your neck down to your feet. It had taken a while to get used to the added weight of the black body armor attached to the suit. You still don’t like it. It makes you feel as if you are a child running around with pillows tied to your chest and a foam sword in your hand. But it’s the mask that feels the most suffocating. Despite being able to hear clearly from within the black helmet, you feel cut off from the world. The black tinted visor that conceals your face is full of fancy technology that often gets in the way when you are just trying to watch your target die. You hate the stupid suit. You hate that you can’t do anything without having to wear it. The only time you can strip the stupid costume off and breathe in lungfuls of air conditioned air is in your bunk buried beneath all the levels of SHIELD and fake SHIELD and real HYDRA.

But if you could choose, you’d stick with the stupid suit if you could craft a different story. Preferably one that didn’t include anyone molding you into anything. But that freedom is gone, and all you have is a boatload of memories to distract you from how angry you are. That anger burns deep inside you. It fuels your every step as you walk alongside Rumlow down a bright, busy hallway. You ignore all the data that blinks across the inside of your visor screen with every SHIELD agent that hurries by. In the beginning you had been curious, but now all the data was familiar and boring. Mostly low level clearance agents with spotless records because they never did anything but sit at their desks or hurry around places looking busy.

You walk out into a large hangar and board one of the waiting Quinjets. You spy two empty seats in the cockpit and a black duffel bag resting on one of the seats in the cargo bay. Rumlow hands you a small, black flash drive. You roll your eyes despite knowing that he can’t see your face. If he let you take off the damn helmet you could read the mission briefings perfectly fine. You didn’t need to clog up your visor’s hub with all the unnecessary tidbits of information on your targets. You hate this role.

“This one is routine,” Rumlow begins as you insert the flash drive into the slot along the backside of your helmet. Almost instantly, information clogs up your interior visor screen. “Your target is Tomek Sikora. He’s an arms dealer that SHIELD has kept an eye on.” The picture of your target fills up your visor. Tall, muscular build. Short, dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes. Mid thirties. “We have good intel that he’s operating out of an abandoned storefront in Bardstown, Kentucky. His main clientele is HYDRA.”

Your visor floods with images of your target standing with or shaking hands with other important looking men and women. A few of the faces look familiar, but the images scroll too quickly across your visor for you to be certain.

“Your objective is to shut down Sikora’s operation,” Rumlow says. “SHIELD would prefer Sikora alive, but if you have no choice, do what is necessary.”

The coded orders hidden behind his words brings a small hint of relief. A nice simple kill. You know that if you read more into the file scrolling across your visor that you could piece together why real HYDRA wants Sikora dead. But you don’t care. All you care about is watching your target die. All you care about at this moment is that you won’t be forced to watch your target walk away breathing. A straightforward mission is exactly what you need. Something easy. Sikora will probably put up some kind of fight. You’ll engage and end it when it feels right.

You pull the flash drive from the slot at the back of your helmet. Your visor clears.

“Rollins will accompany you on this mission,” Rumlow says.

Eh. It could be wors–

“Slight change of plan.”

Both you and Rumlow turn towards the open cargo bay door. You see her clearly through your visor screen. You feel the chains of your boredom lift. That familiar energy that buzzes right beneath your skin awakens. You haven’t seen her since you put a bullet through Erik’s head. Even then, you can’t count that as your official last parting. You were buried beneath your costume. She didn’t know you were there. Because if she did, she wouldn’t have let you go like that.

The weight of the costume you wear now feels heavier as you watch her ascend up the Quinjet’s ramp. She’s dressed in civilian clothes. You love the black, leather jacket that she wears over her red shirt. Dark denim jeans cover the length of her legs, and a gun sits in a black holster strapped to her right thigh. You’re envious of her clothes. You want to look into her wardrobe. You want to strip out of this stupid suit and wear anything else.

“Agent Romanoff,” Rumlow greets.

Nat. Your teeth bite into your lower lip. You know you can’t say anything. The rules of your role have been drilled into your head. You don’t speak. You only act. If anyone asks questions, Rumlow has your pathetic sob story ready to share. You know all this. You know you must comply. But you really want to say something.

Her olive green eyes settle on you as she steps into the cargo bay. You instantly miss the recognition as she looks at you. Her eyes travel up and down the length of your body, taking in your forced getup. You want her to see right through it. You want her to say your name and rip the damn mask from your face so the chase can resume.

“What’s the update?” Rumlow asks.

Her attention shifts to him. “Rollins can’t make it. He’s in medical. I’m filling in.”

Now you really really want to say something. You watch as she walks over to where the black duffel bag sits. A smile stretches across your face. You had wanted to start slow. A coffee date scheduled on a day that neither one of you needed to even think about work. But if you can’t have that, then you will happily take this.

“That’s not necessary,” Rumlow replies.

Your smile drops away, and you turn your head to give Rumlow the most threatening glare he will never see. He ignores you as Nat zips up her duffel bag and looks over at him.

“I’ll get one of the other guys to fill in for Rollins,” Rumlow continues. “It’s a routine operation, and you’re needed for more Avenger missions.”

You wonder what would happen if you punched Rumlow in the face. If you swing hard enough, there is a good chance you could knock him out. That would give you a couple seconds to say something to Nat before all hell breaks loose. You’d definitely apologize for the stupid thing you said before. And if Rumlow didn’t go down in one punch, you could always follow it up with a solid kick.

“Fury disagrees,” Nat replies.

The name sparks two recent memories of the Director of SHIELD. Both memories consisted of you standing in this stupid suit and staring at the bald man with an eyepatch while he interrogated Rumlow about you. You played the part of a lost puppy well enough despite wanting to smash your head into the closest wall.

“Besides,” Nat looks first at you and then back to Rumlow, “I’ve been dying to meet your new sidekick.”

Oh god. That one hurt.

“They’re not much of a talker,” Rumlow says.

You have so much to say.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nat replies.

Rumlow shakes his head, but finally relents. He looks at you. “Stay focused. I expect results.”

You watch as he steps out of the cargo bay and descends down the jet’s ramp. For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You thought that Rumlow would have done just about anything to rip you away from Nat. He had made sure to keep you as far away from her as possible. But the reality of your amazing luck settles when Nat comes to stand next to you.

“Has he taught you how to fly one of these?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll fly. You fill me in on the mission.”

This is the greatest day of your life.

The Quinjet, Kentucky Sky – A Short Time Later

You pull the flash drive free from the tablet’s port. The tablet’s screen goes blank while the hub screen built into your interior helmet visor lights up with a selection of unnecessary data about the tablet. Battery at 68%. No security update needed. Software version 3.8.27. You don’t understand why you are forced to tolerate the random extra tech. Rumlow told you it was to make your story more realistic. You still didn’t understand how something only you see makes others believe you more.

You look up from the tablet, and the extra data clears. Bright sunlight floods the cockpit. The sky outside is so blue that it is almost painful to look at. You are sitting in the co-pilot seat. The various buttons and screens stretched across the dashboard mean nothing to you. Nat has been doing all the flying. All you’ve done is find a SHIELD issued tablet and plugged in the flash drive so Nat could review the details of your mission. So far she’s asked you easy questions about the mission. Your answers are simple nods or a shake of your head. You want to say more. You need to say more. But you stay quiet. You comply with your role.

But there is sweet happiness in your forced silence. You look over to the empty pilot seat next to you. Nat left a few minutes ago to change after switching on the autopilot. You are tempted to lift up your helmet and sniff the pilot seat. You want to know what she smells like. You want to peel your black gloves off and touch the cushions of the seat. Feel the warmth left behind by her touch. A couple different scenarios float through your head and each one is far more entertaining than sitting in silence. But at least you get to be near her. You don’t have to hurry off and leave her. Despite all these stupid rules, you’ve discovered a piece of freedom that kept eluding you before.

You turn your gaze forward when you hear Nat emerge from the tiny bathroom directly behind the cockpit. She settles back into the pilot’s seat. Her casual clothes are gone. You miss the leather jacket, but the black catsuit is a warm familiar memory. You tuck the flash drive into one of your suit’s many pockets.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” she comments as her green eyes dart across the various screens and lit buttons. “About fifteen minutes out.”

There’s a moment when you taste that bitterness of disappointment. You don’t want this to end. The two of you up in the sky without anyone else to distract you. But that moment ends when you remember what’s to come. For the first time you won’t be on opposing sides. Sort of. Not exactly. But it sends a thrill through you.

“So,” she looks over at you, “Silent Type.”

You frown at the stupid codename. You know she can’t see your face, but she sees something because she starts to smile. The tablet’s screen comes back to life as you navigate to the application you need. A virtual keyboard pops up along the lower half of the tablet. Your gloved fingers are quick as you type your message. You turn the tablet around so she can read it.

Rumlow’s idea. Not mine.

Your answer seems to amuse her more as she nods.

“That does sound like a name he would come up with,” she says.

You turn the tablet to face you again and delete what you wrote. Your fingers are quick to tap out another message.

Did you choose your codename?

Her smile falls a bit as she reads your question. “What did Rumlow tell you about me?”

It doesn’t take you long to delete your question and type out your reply.

Avenger.

“That’s it?” she asks.

You lower the tablet and nod. It’s not entirely a lie. Rumlow had spent most of his time preparing you for this stupid role. That meant filling your head with a bunch of random bullshit about fake SHIELD and real HYDRA. He trained you to remember your story. He did his best to polish off the grime of freelance and make you seem more refined. He rarely brought up Nat. And when he did, he never let you think about her for long.

“I guess we’ll need to get to know each other better after this mission,” she says.

More time with Nat? This day just gets better and better. Your fingers tap against the tablet’s digital keyboard again. When you lift up the tablet, you are very interested in her answer.

What did Rumlow say about me?

“You’re his pet project,” she says as her smile returns.

You frown. You want to somehow clarify that you are nobody’s pet project, but one of the buttons on the dash lights up and steals Nat’s attention. You watch as she turns off the autopilot and takes control of the Quinjet.

“We’re approaching our target,” she reaches up and flips a switch. “I’ll set us down somewhere close. With our stealth systems engaged, they shouldn’t be able to spot us.”

You turn your head and look out at the bright blue sky. While you love the quality time with Nat, you also need to come up with a plan for this mission. Rumlow’s coded orders had been clear. Kill Sikora. If Rollins had joined you on this mission, you wouldn’t have needed to do much thinking beyond when to kill your target. But Nat’s fantastic presence complicated things. You doubt that she’s part of fake SHIELD. Which meant putting a bullet in Sikora’s head outright wouldn’t go over well. Especially if your target decides to surrender.

Your plan starts to take shape within your mind as Nat guides the concealed Quinjet towards the ground. It’s a simple plan. Draw your target away from Nat and kill him where it is just you and him. It would ruin the foreplay. You probably wouldn’t have much time and would need to kill Sikora quickly. But you’d get to talk to Nat later which seemed like a generous trade.

The bright onslaught on sunlight fades as Nat sets the Quinjet down in a clearing surrounded by eastern white pine trees. Based on the data you had skimmed earlier, the abandoned storefront your target is operating out of is just north of your location. When the Quinjet’s engines fall quiet, you stand. You leave the tablet on your seat as you head for the cargo bay. You approach a metallic box bolted onto one of the walls. Your gloved fingers type in a code on the keypad fixed to the front of the box. The front panel unlocks and opens to reveal a small armory.

Smaller than usual. No fancy explosives. Your usual selection of guns has been paired down to one: a single black Glock. You suspect your limited selection is thanks to Rumlow. You figure this has something to do with your training, but you don’t really care. You’re more disappointed in how the gun feels in your hand. You miss your Beretta. You don’t feel the same without it.

You slide the Glock into the empty holster at your right hip and turn when you hear Nat enter the cargo bay. She holds the tablet you left behind. Her finger slides across the tablet’s screen, and you watch the way her head tilts slightly as she reviews the mission data. You imagine that she looked exactly like that whenever information on you ended up in her hands. Your smile starts to return as you grab the tactical knife left in the armory and slide it into place on your belt.

She turns off the tablet and sets it down next to her black duffel bag. She lifts her hand and speaks into her wrist. “Comms check.”

You hear her voice flood your helmet and you don’t want it to stop. When she looks over at you, you nod. Her smile threatens to break you. You want so desperately to say something. You want her to look at you like she knows you. Like she did before whenever she appeared on one of your jobs. But your mouth stays shut. You comply.

It’s quiet when you both exit the Quinjet. As you make your way through the cluster of trees, you can’t help but think back to your last freelance job in the middle of nowhere. The sound of gunshots ripping apart tree bark. The smell of sweat and blood on your target’s body. The feeling of her hand around your wrist.

You stop when you reach the treeline. Roughly fifty yards ahead of you is the bland backside of the abandoned storefront. The back door is unguarded. You don’t see any cameras either. It’s no wonder why HYDRA wants Sikora gone. The lack of security is almost offensive. It’s as if your target is inviting you inside.

“We’ll split up and sweep the area,” her voice is low and when you look at her, you nod.

Perfect. As long as you find Sikora first, this mission should be easy.

“I’ll take the upper floor while you secure the lower,” she says.

As you nod, you hope that you’ll find Sikora in the storefront’s basement. If you don’t, you don’t know exactly how you’ll get your target far enough away from Nat.

You both step out of the treeline and make your way towards the storefront’s back entrance. By the time you reach the back door and press your back against the wall, you notice that both you and Nat have drawn your guns. You bite your tongue to hold back a laugh at the thought that instantly springs to life within your mind. This must be the first time you both have a gun in your hand and you’re not pointing them at each other. Now would be a great time to take your helmet off.

Nat reaches for the door handle, and it’s unlocked. You decide that it’s your target’s inflated ego that left the door unlocked and not stupidity. Or a trap. You try not to let that last thought get you too excited as you follow Nat through the backdoor.

You enter a narrow hallway. Directly ahead of you is a wide open doorway that reveals a large empty room. Remains of what was clearly a counter mark the worn looking floorboards. Dark colored wallpaper peels from the walls. The room itself is lit only by the light that spills out from the hallway. Large, thin boards are nailed across the windows. Littered about the floorboards is trash, random dark wet spots, and the occasional clothing hanger.

To your right is a set of stairs leading to the upper floor. To your left is the remains of another door. You see the hinges, but the door that clearly once occupied the space is gone. Beyond it is another set of stairs leading down towards the basement. You turn to your left and start to descend the stairs. You hear Nat ascending the stairs behind you. You force yourself not to look back as you lift your gun and keep going.

Your footsteps are quiet on the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you find yourself alone in an empty room. The lights are on. Boxes and crates are stacked against one of the walls. On the other side of the room is another doorway, but this one still has a door attached to it. As you walk further into the room, you hear a loud thud shake the low ceiling. You feel a tiny spike of jealousy that Nat found her targets while you are alone in a basement. Another loud thud shakes the ceiling again. That lingering spike of jealousy flees when the door on the other side of the room opens.

You pull the trigger the second you see someone fill up the space in the doorway. You see the person drop and no one else comes out. You move towards the open door. One quick look down at the man dying on the basement floor at your feet confirms that they are not your target. You step over the dying man and into the room. It’s a small break room with a fold out plastic table that eats up most of the space. Sitting on the table, directly in the middle, is a small, square television. It’s on and playing an old western.

When you return to the dying man laying in the doorway, you find him dead. The man’s lifeless eyes stare up at you. His mouth is slightly parted. His hair looks greasy. He looks about as old as any average college student. The sounds of the western playing on the television fills up the quiet as you stare down at the dead man. The sounds of shouting pulls you out of your odd stupor.

You step over the dead man and hurry back towards the stairs. You quickly climb back up into the narrow hallway and start towards the stairs that would take you up to the upper floor when you see it. You are standing at the base of the stairs when you see a body falling. You see their arms first as they come up, and you see how their legs trip over each other. You notice a mop of dirty blonde hair right before it smashes into the first uppermost step. The body falls hard down the stairs with a series of sickening crunches. You take a few steps back when you notice the body picking up some speed. When the body finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, it rolls over once and stops.

Sikora lays at your feet. His neck is bent at a terrible angle. His blue eyes are wide open. You see a piece of bone poking out from his forearm. Your gun lowers at the sight of your target’s still body. You feel numb at the sight of it. No satisfaction. No sense of pride. Not even relief. You don’t know how to feel when you step over your target’s body and ascend the stairs. That strange feeling persists as you find Nat standing near a table. Littered across the floor are six bodies. You can’t tell if some are alive or not, but you feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. Nat doesn’t have a scratch on her. None of the bodies scattered across the room were a challenge for her and you just want to run up to her and kiss her and hug her tight because it makes sense. One piece of your life hasn’t changed. She’s still your friend even if you can’t act like hers.

As you walk further into the room, carefully stepping over fallen bodies, Nat closes up a black laptop that is sitting on the table. Her smile melts away any lingering numbness hanging on from seeing your target’s body.

“Good work,” she says. “SHIELD will be here in ten to clean up.”

You savor her praise before looking at the laptop again.

“Just a little side project,” she says after following your gaze. She picks up the black laptop and moves towards you. “You ever have bourbon from here?”

You shake your head.

“Then we’re making a quick pit stop before we head back,” she says.

You follow her, and you can’t help feeling like you are back in Ohio. It’s as if school is finally letting out and you two have the rest of the day ahead of you. You want this day to last forever. You’d rather her know it’s you, but if this is all you can have, then you’ll take it.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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