#v 001

[lieshot]

@barnesandbarton

Some simple job, just be a bodyguard for some rich asshole politician dealing out secrets to other organizations. Barney could certainly LOOK the part of intimidating and, when push came to shove, he shoved right back. A criminal life wasn't exactly something he had ever PLANNED for himself, not since he was a teenager. And yet, jobs for the dead didn't come easy nor was he interested in declaring himself otherwise. Being dead meant no one was asking questions, let him make moves in the SHADOWS where he wouldn't be disturbed. It was easier that way, easier for the world to think Barney Barton was deceased some time ago.

Watching them go over documents, at some point Barney had become BORED. Mumbling something about scoping out the area was just an excuse to step away and check out the rest of the warehouse they had hidden away in. Let them have their dirty dealings, playing bodyguard when he wasn't NEEDED was one of the most pathetic jobs Barney could think of. No targets, no adrenaline, nothing to push right back at.

It was in another room, he could have sworn he had heard the shuffle of footsteps, a breath taken too sharply. Eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes moving towards the rafters overhead. Now his heart was racing, adrenaline COURSING through him. The promise of ACTION if he had heard right was just around the corner. Military training, FBI training, those fuckers' training, it had every part of him on EDGE. Listening in to the silence, taking in every tiny sound that might indicated the presence of any UNWELCOME guests.

He shifted, moving behind a pillar to take cover as nonchalantly as possible, trying to appear as though he were just leaning against it rather than moving out of sight. One hand reached for the compound bow strapped to his back, the other freeing an arrow to nock. Quiet, the droning of voices echoing from the other room. There was the DOUBT that perhaps he had misheard, that it was that good old paranoia eating away at him. The bow and arrow, after all this time, felt COMFORTABLE in his grip, an extension of himself. Years of training, of having it pushed into his hands time and time again had him reaching for it still rather than a typical gun.

Several moments passed before he finally let out a whistle. Something to call whoever might be there, a clear indicator that he KNEW they weren't alone. Come on out and play.

[neonbitemarks]

@lungsandlips

As far as Kitt was aware, he thought he'd been on his most perfect best behaviour all night, but he'd said or done something accidentally, though he didn't know what, and it had earned him punishment for it.

James had dragged him back to the apartment and knocked him around enough to leave some visible marks while reprimanding him before telling the pup that he'd lost his going outside privileges for a while, and that he was to remain locked in the apartment for the rest of the night while James finished handling business.

With nothing better to do, Kitt curled up in the living room with the lights off, only the tv for company and illumination, and tried to take a nap until his owner returned.

[justsurv1vor]

@homelander-rp-blog asked "Do I know you? You look so familiar. How long have you worked here?"

it was rare she knew why they were bringing her somewhere until one of the little vought worker bees met her at her destination, shoved a folder into her hands and began rattling off exactly what mess she'd been called in to assist cleaning up. this time seemed... different. she'd been preparing for bed when she'd gotten the call ( be at the airport in an hour ⸻ you're needed at headquarters ) and upon landing in the early hours of the following morning, she hadn't been met with a barrage of information, but silence.

they'd situated her in some room ( the freshly pressed coffee, flaky pastries and comfortable couches the only thing keeping her irritation in check ) and otherwise left to wait. cradling yet another cup of the steaming liquid to her chest, the woman was standing by the windows ⸻ blue hues observing the city below as it began to buzz with life, when the question startled her out of her thoughts. glancing over her shoulder, aiyla couldn't help the slight furrowing of her brow at the sight of the other supe, her gaze momentarily flickered behind the man ( curious if someone else might be trailing after him to brief them both ⸻ but even that would be an oddity, wouldn't it? she never dealt with the big faces up front ).

"i don't believe we've met." she eventually settles on, turning entirely to face him. "i've worked for vought a handful of years but i fear i'm not nearly as front facing as you are, sir. perhaps you've seen me in passing," the smile she offers him is light ( though it fails to meet her eyes ). "i ⸻ are we having a meeting? i haven't been told much since i arrived."

[theletterwsartflap]

MMV Week 2023... Mega Man the Animated Series... whatever you want to call it.

[notyetdeadkennedy]

@thespyinred has jokes.

❛ you look so pretty all tied up like this. ❜

ㅤLeon was having a bad day and literally nobody would have been surprised - Hunnigan sure as hell might make a passing attempt at sympathy before reminding him that he had a job to do, but there wouldn't be any surprise. The fact that this kind of shit was normal in his life would have made for a hell of a red flag if his entire 'recruitment' hadn't been the biggest, brightest red swath across the sky he could have found. Now, he was just used to it.

ㅤHe was also getting almost painfully used to one particular agent whose allegiance was murky at best (lies, he knew her allegiance was to herself above all, and who could blame her?) showing up at the absolute best and worst moments possible. It was almost like she was watching him and waiting for just the right moment, and given her apparent skillset, he wouldn't have put it past her. She seemed like the type to enjoy having that leg up on someone, or more accurately to seek out that advantage, whether it was combat or social situations. Luckily he didn't care that much. Just a little.

ㅤ"Ada. Just my fucking luck," he deadpanned, tilting his head back to regard her. She definitely had the advantage this time around, given his current state zip-tied to a chair, but it was really only a matter of time until he was free even on his own. That was good, because he was fairly certain she'd cut him loose, but there was always that small potential for her to do something wild card - like suddenly imply that she was working for the people who had him, if only on a contracted basis, and she wanted information. Could go either way, could change mid-conflict later on, and she wasn't really going to tell him, either. He didn't bother asking her to cut the ties because that was just as useless, and he wasn't giving her the satisfaction. "You must have a thing for me after I've been dragged through tunnel swamp and rot, cause that's the only time you bother dropping by."

[noiranamnesis]

A Weekly Tryst

closed starter: @retrograderesemblance for Lynn

...

Dim light cast muted shadows across his features, calloused fingers toying with an unlit cigarette. A vice he remained beholden to despite countless attempts at his sister’s insistence. In the end, however, he found it provided something seldom found- reprieve. With a flick of his thumb he lit a match, unwilling to waver in an aversion to lighters.

A single inhale filled his lungs, Rem easing his weight against the wall to observe random critters scurrying about in the final moments of daylight. Faint melodies carried on the breeze though he paid it no mind, unsure whether it was coming from inside or perhaps a neighboring house. His lips quirked in a fleeting smirk, amused by his ability to relax here of all places. Words came to mind yet he remained silent, another drag dampening thoughts deemed unnecessary.

Business is business. The phrase is little more than a ghost, less a thought than a principle long hammered in place. One which he can’t be bothered to rehearse this late in the day. Or, it’s what he tells himself at least. And such is his routine. Paying premium for an extended slot of time only to spend a quarter of it doing exactly this: standing in the yard finishing a smoke or two before stepping inside.

“Lynn.” His voice is dry, fatigue weighing on his eyes. “I’ll shower first to get rid of the smell.” A concession offered on every weekly appointment. “All’s well?” His fingers twitched, itching for another cigarette, yet he diverted it to loosening his tie.

[ourpretender]

— ❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜ @tragedyrich

oliver swallows, smile faltering into something forced when their conversation takes a sharp, angled turn.

"am i?" he says, tone modelled to appear disaffected. "i might be. sorry -- i was really hungover. i think -- i must've gotten them mixed up. mine, and yours." they had been awfully drunk the evening prior, drained from a long, long, night of hard liquor, cheaply rolled blunts passed around in a circle. and oliver had collapsed, safely, onto the floor of felix's dorm, a cushion and one of his hoodies utilized as a blanket. he woke before the alarms went off, bleary-eyed, and mussed hair pointing in every possible direction. oliver lingered unmoving for awhile, willing his torturous hangover to prove itself sympathetic before drifting away. except it too, overstayed it's welcome, threatening him in waves of nausea, until oliver exhaled, roaming eyes falling to a crumpled shirt. the makeshift blanket smelled like felix -- as did every other piece draped across his chair, stuffed messily into half-opened drawers. but this particular shirt, a colour blocked polo, already sweated through, drew an unmistakable arousal in him. the musk was potent, the scent of felix drained and warm circling the collar, and oliver -- without any resistance -- stripped himself of his own striped tee, replacing it in the swap. he'd tucked his chin down, lifted the blue rim of felix's collar up over his nose, and inhaled. oliver shuddered in the sigh that followed, mind in a frenzy as he took sharp breaths, hardly wary of the ways in which he wanted to suffocate. he'd predictably, gone half-hard in the process, eyes shut and blissful -- and then felix's alarm rang -- blaring like a siren. oliver jerked his head up, folding one arm over his stomach in partial covering (if not for the shirt itself, then for the stiffness between his crossed legs), nerves shot when even amidst a throbbing headache, felix clocked the details from the distance. presently, he tries to offer him a wider smile, a joke, self-deprecating and light. "don't know how i fucked that up -- sleeves don't even fit me properly."

[elecctricsugars]

@cvpidswings / closed starter ( feel free to ignore )

Willard was about to take his break, spotting his co-worker/fellow wrench-wrangler while on his way over to the employees only lounge.

"'You know I 'been meaning to ask, Harley... How do you feel about the store's new policy on WINE?"

[highkingborn]

@ellevenie liked for a starter !

ELIOT'S PACING is of epic proportions . he swears any moment now , the stone beneath his feet is going to start eroding into sand . fillory is - - - backwards in a lot of ways , including and especially medicine . when fen got sick , the doctor had called it HUMORS and recommended leeches . eliot's remarks had been unkind at best . and none of the other doctors had been any better .

it had been quentin's idea , really , and even then it had been an off - hand comment . something about lipson and the more times than were appropriate that she had to come to the physical kid's cottage to save someone from some mundane issue . like alcohol poisoning , and perhaps the quiet od or two ( though those were more rare . eliot tried to keep those vices of his from spreading too far into the other kids in the cottage ) . but it had sparked an idea and quentin had been immediately tasked with retrieving the good doctor .

and so pacing is what he's doing while he waits , until he hears the guards in the corridor, and an announcement of the person that comes along with them . he spins to the door and his relief is palpable when he sees lipson's face . ❝ oh thank god , ❞ he breathes as he goes to her . ❝ you have no idea how glad i am that you're here . ❞

[wantdead]

" can't say i'm surprised. " he remarked, eyeing the newly - turned demon. " i'm only shocked you didn't crawl outta hell sooner. " / @bitchboyblonde

[criticalfai1ure]

anyway, james being tossed overboard with little ceremony as elizabeth and her crew swim away, but one of them grabbing him before the water drags him too deep. a rough patch job. a little deal with tia dalma. and james appearing in shipwreck alongside elizabeth on feet wavering somewhere between unsteady and uncertain.

[lieshot]

@berylcluster | starter call

One mission, one kill. It was simple enough: take out some little former SHIELD agent. Not that Barney even really knew who that was. Some organization that had come and gone and then apparently risen back up since his years—— AWAY. But what did it matter? He'd been handed half the money, all in cash, so a deal was a deal and, generally speaking, Barney Barton wasn't a deal breaker. The targets or jobs never really mattered when a man legally dead had to find work somehow. FBI was out, like hell he'd go back to the military, so into the underworld as a merc he went just for his own SURVIVAL.

Clearly the man had been paranoid, glancing over his shoulder left and right as he walked through the street. What the man had failed to do was look UP where Barney had made his own little perch on the rooftops of the jampacked buildings. Pulling his bowstring back, the man now known as Trickshot steadied his aim. Former sniper, trained by both the circus and by HYDRA on bow usage, of course this was a walk in the damned PARK. The arrow flew from his grip, shot directly towards his target. So blissfully unaware until the tip was shot straight through his SKULL. Never even saw it coming.

What he hadn't known was he wasn't the only one making a NEST.

Barney had just been about to pack up, call his 'client' and leave when he had spotted the other figure. Even in the darkness of the night, the movement had caught his eyes along a nearby rooftop. Sure, some people liked their heights but that wasn't what caused him to PAUSE. No, it was the familiar face, one he hadn't seen in years and years but HYDRA had shown him photos. Over and over again, likely the only reason he even recognized him now. The years had changed him, now running around like a HERO last he had heard. The hero that had never come. The hero that had left him to rot in that hellhole with those assholes for years.

Could have saved you. All his fault. Little bastard running around playing hero instead of helping his blood.

Words whispered in the back of his mind, haunting him with blurred memories of a bunker and his own personal HELL.

It was too good to pass up. Nocking another arrow, Barney soon found him aiming towards the familiar face. Had he even spotted him? Couldn't be sure but if there was one thing Barney wanted, it was for Clint to see him in his last moments. Didn't matter if he recognized him or not, the elder archer didn't care about that. Teeth pressed to his lip, Barney let out a sharp whistle that echoed in the night to draw the attention of the other. Give away his position but let him see like a TAUNT.

A taunt just before Barney let the arrow fly through the air towards his new target.

[bcntbouquet]

@smolcuriouskitten // ren & dj, closed [plotted] starter

"... You drew these?" The young monarch remembered it vividly, the lazy afternoon depicted in the lovingly detailed sketches he now held between his hands, teal waters lapping at his feet, his hair cropped a tad shorter than it was now. Not included in the drawing, but taking place that same day, was a delightful banquet celebrating the engagement that would soon join the two once-opposing leaderships in marriage. It had only been a few weeks since the feast, and yet, somehow, Derward had felt a lot younger, then.

"I didn't realise... that anybody had been watching... I mean, our men are always supposed to be keeping an eye on me," he recalled with a smirk, "but they'd been so busy helping father prepare his speech, making sure your father had his special diet taken care of..."

Derward felt misty-eyed beholding his new bride, carefully handing the illustrations back to her.

"I truly believed I'd slipped away unnoticed."

He thanked her for showing him, for seeing him in a way that no one else had ever dared to. There was no royal stare, or puffed chest—Just a lad, not having yet fully become his father, enjoying the last of his rebellion while in the company of a few hungry feathered, finned, and furry friends. He knew this time of year was especially hard for the animals of the land, so he'd left his seat at the table to divide what he could among the small creatures.

[dagdasgodslayer]

@feralreason ❤’d!

[For a while now, Nanashi had doubted the accuracy of Cassidy's fuzzy memories. Purple men weren't exactly...common. As far as Nanashi knew, they didn't exist. He'd suggested that maybe her killer had just been wearing purple -- a suggestion he regretted when Cassidy then wanted to assault anyone wearing that color. The only way to calm her then was to remind her that they weren't British, nor did their voices remind her of her killer in the slightest. He'd been making progress with her, but curbing her violent impulses had always been near-impossible.]

[So today, when Nanashi actually SAW a man matching Cassidy's description of "a guy with purple skin," he felt Cassidy tug his limbs forward; he fought against it, but he stepped forcefully in the aubergine man's direction. A fire that didn't belong to him burned in his eyes. She insisted that this man HAD to be him, and frankly, Nanashi found little reason to disagree. Until today, he'd been sure that she was imagining the hue of his skin...weird.]

[Still, Nanashi painstakingly wrested control of himself from her. His violent glare dissipated, his limbs no longer tense, his stance no longer battle-ready.]

❝ Calm down, kid. We don't know that for sure. ❞ [She spat at this idea -- again, Nanashi couldn't blame her -- but he insisted on double-checking.] ❝ Let's just talk to him. You said his voice stood out. If this is your guy, then we'll... ❞ [Do something unsavory that he couldn't whisper to himself about. Not in public, anyway.] ❝ Y'know. ❞

[This finally pacified her. Nanashi got closer to the stranger, only to realize that he bore some painfully familiar scars. He felt at the ones on his neck; there was no way that they were both killed and brought back like that, right? There had to be a rational explanation, one that he'd only figure out if he actually worked up the nerve to speak. Just don't think about it.]

❝ Uh...hi.❞ [Okay, so maybe in all of the chaos, he'd forgotten that he needed to make conversation. He cleared his throat, reaching for a viable topic.] ❝ So...the whole "purple" thing. What's up with that? ❞

[Okay, this was the worst subject he could have ever come up with. Hopefully it wouldn't matter -- he just needed this guy to talk.]

[theletterwsartflap]

Inspiration from Carrot Weather strikes again

[victoriousfidelity]

"If anyone is going to understand this, it's me, so go on."

one line starter for @theresastargirl