#welcome to the not-so-covert op!

[bluegiragi]

cockatrice (part 1)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[brunchable]

Language Lessons || Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader

Themes: Funny? Steve trying to relate to you more

Summary: Steve wanting to impress you, goes on a little lesson about Millenial/GEN Z slangs.

A/N: AGAIN, my sense of humour is shallow. . . I was crying when I read the full story because I find my own thing so funny welp. But hey, I finally wrote a Comedy for Steve 😅

Steve stands in the hallway of the Avengers Tower, a crumpled piece of paper clenched in his hand like it’s a mission briefing for a covert op. The words "Intro to Modern Slang: How to Speak Like a Millennial and Gen Z" are printed at the top of the flyer, making him sweat more than when he faced the Chitauri. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of your mocking laughter echoing in his ears.

“I’m serious, Steve,” you had said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You can’t just say ‘groovy’ and expect people to take you seriously.”

Steve had taken that challenge to heart. He fought in WWII; he could conquer this.

As he steps inside the classroom, his eyes dart around the room. It’s filled with a gaggle of twenty-somethings, some in beanies and oversized hoodies, others with hair dyed in colors that defy nature’s palette. They’re staring at him like he’s a grandpa who wandered into the wrong building and refused to leave.

Steve steels himself. He’s Captain America. He fought Hydra. He faced Thanos. This… this is just another battlefield. He slides into a chair that creaks under his weight, pulling out a notepad and a pen like he’s preparing for combat.

“Welcome, everyone!” chirps the instructor, a guy named Dylan—according to his tag—who’s sporting a neon hoodie and a chain necklace that spells out ‘YOLO’ in gold letters. Earbuds dangle around his neck like he’s afraid to be without them for too long. “I’m Dylan, and I’ll be helping you unlock the wonders of modern communication.”

Steve nods seriously, his brows furrowed in concentration. He’s missing the confident nods and murmurs of agreement from briefings with the Avengers. Here, all he gets are side-eyes and a few raised eyebrows. But he ignores them. Focus, Rogers.

“Let’s start with something basic,” Dylan says, gesturing dramatically like he’s presenting a spell. “Say you’re excited about something… You might say, ‘that’s lit.’”

“Lit?” Steve repeats, his expression somewhere between confusion and fascination. It’s like he’s hearing about the Tesseract for the first time. He scribbles it down in his impeccable handwriting.

Dylan nods encouragingly, like Steve’s a kindergartener who just figured out the alphabet. “Right! And if something’s really cool, you can say ‘that’s fire.’”

“Fire…” Steve’s voice trails off as he writes that down too, then looks up, eyes narrowed like he’s running a complex equation in his head. “But… why would fire be a good thing? Fire’s dangerous.”

One of the teenagers snickers, and Steve glares, the kind of stare that once sent grown soldiers scrambling for cover. The kid immediately shuts up.

“It’s not literal fire,” Dylan explains gently, as if to a particularly stubborn toddler. “It’s metaphorical fire. Means something is awesome. Or really good.”

“Got it. Fire is good.” Steve nods firmly, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Okay. Fire.”

“Great!” Dylan claps his hands, clearly thrilled that Steve hasn’t run out the door yet. “Now, if you want to show support or agree with something, you can say ‘that’s a vibe.’”

“A vibe,” Steve repeats slowly. “Okay. That’s a vibe.” He pauses, trying to wrap his head around it. “So, like, if Hulk is calm for once and not smashing things… I could say ‘that’s a vibe?’”

The room falls dead silent. A couple of the students are desperately trying not to laugh. Dylan blinks, then flashes a thumbs-up. “Sure, man. That’s totally… vibey. Now, when you’re leaving somewhere, you might say you’re going to ‘dip.’”

“Dip?” Steve murmurs, brow furrowing deeper. He’s trying so hard it’s almost painful to watch. “Like, uh… salsa?”

“No, man.” Dylan can’t hide his grin. “Like��� you’re leaving. You’re out.”

“Oh.” Steve nods slowly, the gears turning. “I’m going to dip. Got it.”

“Yeah!” Dylan cheers, as if Steve’s just managed to take his first steps. “That’s a start.”

Steve looks down at his notepad, where the words lit, fire, vibe, dip are scrawled neatly, underlined for emphasis. “So, if I’m excited, I say something’s lit or fire… If I agree, it’s a vibe… and when I leave, I dip.”

“That’s the gist of it!” Dylan says brightly.

Steve’s head is spinning with unfamiliar terms. ‘Drip,’ ‘stan,’ ‘flex,’ ‘ghosting’—it’s all a blur of confusion. He gives himself a mental pep talk. He’s Captain America. He’s taken on gods and monsters. He can do this. He straightens in his chair, determination blazing in his eyes.

Dylan eyes him warily. “You, uh, feeling okay there, Steve?”

Steve looks up, a bit wild-eyed. “I’m Gucci, fam.”

There’s a strangled cough from the back of the room. One of the teenagers actually falls off his chair. Dylan just blinks at him, speechless.

“Good… job?” Dylan offers hesitantly.

Steve beams, mistaking the stunned silence for approval. He’s got this. For you.

× × × ×

The next day, Steve stands in the Avengers kitchen, carefully stirring his coffee. Bucky trudges in, still half-asleep, grumbling about the mission report he was up until 3 a.m. finishing. Steve looks up, a determined look in his eyes.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says with forced casualness. “What’s up, king?”

Bucky freezes mid-stride, one eyebrow shooting up so high it nearly disappears into his hairline. “What did you just call me?”

“King. Like… uh… ‘go off, king.’ It means… good job.” Steve’s expression is so earnest that Bucky can’t even bring himself to laugh.

Bucky blinks once. Twice. He glances around, half-expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and shout, Gotcha! 

“Uh… Thanks?” he manages, voice thick with confusion. “You good, man?”

Steve’s smile is too wide, too tight. “Oh, yeah, I’m vibing. Just… vibing hard.”

Bucky stares at him, “Right. You want breakfast?” He starts moving cautiously toward the stove, not breaking eye contact with Steve.

“Nah, I’m good.” Steve waves it off with the confidence of someone who has no idea what he’s doing. “Not gonna lie, your last cooking attempt was kinda sus.”

Bucky stops again, brows furrowed, “Sus?”

“Yeah, like… suspicious.” Steve taps his chin, as if that’s going to clarify anything. “You almost burned the Tower down, Buck. That’s not very poggers of you.”

“Poggers?” Bucky repeats slowly, the word foreign and clunky in his mouth. He squints, searching Steve’s face for answers. “Steve, are you having a stroke?”

“No, I’m just being vibey.” Steve shrugs, like that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. “You know, staying on fleek.”

Bucky’s face contorts like he’s bitten into a lemon. “Steve, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but it’s stressing me out.”

“Okay, boomer,” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes with all the sass of a TikTok teen. “Whatever, I’m gonna yeet outta here.”

And with that, he picks up his shield, and with the gravitas of throwing a grenade, he yells, “Yeet!” as he hurls it at the training dummy across the room.

Bucky watches the shield ricochet off the dummy, his mouth hanging open. 

“He’s completely lost it,” Bucky mutters, rubbing his temples. “This man went into the ice for seventy years and came out with a mid-life crisis.”

From the hallway, Sam pokes his head in. “What’s with Steve?”

Bucky gestures helplessly at Steve, who’s now muttering “That’s so fire” under his breath as he fidgets with his coffee. “I don’t know, but if he says ‘poggers’ one more time, I’m gonna throw him out the window.”

Steve glares at Bucky, “Weird flex but okay.”

“The fuck?” 

× × × ×

Steve finally spots you in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, engrossed in a TV show. He straightens his shoulders, trying to channel the cool, easy-going energy he’s practiced in front of the mirror for an embarrassing number of hours. He saunters over—or what he thinks is a saunter—and stops right in front of her, hands on his hips like he’s about to deliver a speech.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, voice a little too loud and too intense, startling you.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Uh, hey? What’s going on?”

Steve grins. He’s got this. “That outfit you’re wearing? It’s straight bussin’, no cap.”

Your mouth falls open, and you stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I—what did you just—?”

“Bussin’,” Steve repeats confidently, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “You know… like, it slaps.”

“It slaps?” You echo weakly. yousets down your water glass, fully focusing on him now because this—this has got to be a fever dream.

“Yeah, like… it’s on fleek.” He tilts his head, assessing your expression. “It means you look really good.”

Your lips twitch, desperately holding back a smile. “And where did you learn all these… colourful words?”

Steve shuffles his feet, looking almost bashful. 

“I’ve been educating myself,” he says, clearing his throat. “You know, so I don’t sound like such a boomer.”

You lost it. You doubled over, laughing so hard you nearly slipped off the couch. “Steve, you do know boomer refers to the generation born in the mid 1940s to 60s, right? You’re more like—”

“I know!” Steve cuts in, hands waving frantically. “But the class said I could use it as, like, a joke.” He leans in conspiratorially. “It’s ironic.”

“That’s not what irony means, babe.”

Steve frowns, clearly frustrated. 

“Well, I still think it’s valid.” He straightens again, as if recommitting to his mission. 

“Okay, let me try something else. Uh… Oh, right—” He points dramatically at the TV. “That show you’re watching? Total banger.”

“Banger?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “It’s a cooking show.”

“Exactly!” Steve exclaims, clearly not getting it. “All that fire food they’re making? It’s bussin’, right?”

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your burst of laughter. “Oh my gosh, you really did take a class. What else did they teach you?”

Steve brightens, as if she’s finally taking him seriously. 

“Well, if something’s bad, I can say it’s cringe.” He gestures to himself, a little sheepish now. “Like how I was talking before. But now? I’m all vibes, right?”

Your shoulders are shaking as you try to keep a straight face. “You’re definitely… a vibe.”

“Yeah, see? I knew I was getting the hang of it.” Steve nods sagely. “And if I want to agree with something, I just say ‘bet.’ Like—” He looks around the room. “—this whole conversation? It’s bet.”

You snorted. “It’s bet?”

“Yeah, like, I agree. It’s fun. And you know what? I’m not being sus, okay? I’m just being real. Keeping it 100.”

Your vision is starting to blur from the sheer force of holding in your laughter. “Uh-huh, sure you are.”

Steve leans in a little closer, voice dropping conspiratorially again. “Also, I’m totally shipping us right now.”

You choke. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he gestures between the two of them. “Like, us together? It’s goals.”

“Oh my gosh, please stop.” you cover your face, both mortified and utterly charmed. “You’re not allowed to ship us. You’re in this relationship.”

Steve’s face lights up, triumphant. “So you admit we’re a ship?”

You throw your head back and groan dramatically. “Yes, fine. We’re a ship, Captain Cringe.”

Steve takes a moment to bask in his victory, looking immensely proud of himself. He’s practically glowing. Then, with all the suave energy he can muster, he smirks and says, “So, what you’re saying is… I’m the GOAT?”

You let out a cackle. “Yes, Steve, you’re the GOAT.” you paused and then added, just for kicks, “But only if I can be the MVP.”

Steve’s grin widens, looking like he’s just won a war. “Bet.”

And with that, he whirls around, strides confidently to the door, and as he opens it, he throws over his shoulder: “Anyway, I’m gonna dip before I embarrass myself further. Catch you on the flip side, Y/N.”

“Wait, where are you going?” You call, struggling to catch your breath. “You live here!”

Steve freezes mid-step, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh… Well, I’m still gonna yeet.”

“Yeet where, exactly?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he awkwardly side steps out the door and half-jogs down the hallway, muttering, “This was not poggers…” as your laughter echoes behind him.

[rookiesbookies]

141 + their women who met their girl first

Masterlist pinned as always

Requests are open and welcomed!💜

Price:

His wife is his best friend. By the time she is introduced to the boys, she’s making Price lunches. She’s cutting sandwiches into shapes for him. She always sends him off with one good lunch before deployments. Soap was by far the most interested in meeting her.

He kissed the back of her hand, “hellooo, Hen.”

She giggled, “whar does that make Price?”

“Rooster would be fitting but I think I prefer cock.

Soap:

Price was the first to meet her. Johnny wanted protection places on her and later to get her permission to come on and off base. So Price had to meet her and got the best to do her evals before she was cleared. Now she’s a pretty common sight on base if Johnny is there. She brings him snacks and if he has the stay over night she’ll stay sometimes too. Kyle gets mad because he can’t find the forms to get his girlfriend allowed on base, but I suppose it’s different since Johnny is married now.

Ghost:

Johnny was the first to learn about his situationship by literally hunting Simom down while he was at his girl’s place. It was some covert ops shit and then he pulled Price and Gaz along with him. Johnny slipped and invite into the lady’s mail box to invite her to dinner with the team and their women. Simon was not pleased. Simon’s situationship was very pleased and begged to be allowed to go. Simon sighed and agreed.

Gaz:

Kyle was very open about his girlfriend. He was very open; he was skipping the usual post op celebration to see his girl. When she was finally joined them for drinks one night Price asked her how such a nice lady, dressed in a nice coat and outfit, could date some one like Gaz with a laugh. She now joins the team a lot for celebrations.

[ellswritings]

Sparks Fly

Steve Rogers x Reader

TW: Enemies to lovers, Steve and reader are both jerks to each other, Tony being a little shit, spicy near the end but no smut.

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

The briefing room in the Avengers Tower was already buzzing with conversation as Nick Fury strode in, trailed by a woman none of them had ever seen before. Tony Stark, as always, leaned back in his chair, sipping on a cappuccino with a casual smirk on his face. Natasha sat next to him, calmly tapping her fingers against the table, while Thor’s deep voice carried through the room as he recounted one of his many Asgardian exploits to Bruce Banner. Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, stood near the window, arms crossed, his gaze drifting toward the city skyline.

Fury cleared his throat, immediately silencing the room. "Team, meet Y/N L/N," he announced, stepping aside to reveal the woman standing beside him.

Her presence was palpable. She exuded confidence, her posture straight and assured, with an unmistakable glint of sharpness in her eyes. Energy seemed to hum faintly around her, like static electricity that hadn’t quite dissipated.

Y/N stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the room with measured scrutiny. "Nice to meet you all," she said, her tone steady but not overly warm. Her eyes lingered briefly on each Avenger as Fury continued the introduction.

"Y/N is a new addition to the team," Fury explained. "She’s got experience in covert ops, but what makes her stand out is her ability to manipulate energy—plasma, electricity, heat. I’ve worked with her in the past, and she’s someone you’ll want on your side when things go south."

Tony raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. "Energy manipulation, huh? That's gotta come in handy at parties," he quipped, already leaning forward with that trademark grin of his.

Y/N’s lips curved into a smirk, meeting Tony’s challenge head-on. "I could fry your circuits in a second, Stark. But I’ll save that for when I really need to shut you up."

Tony’s grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, clearly delighted by her response. "Oh, I like her already. It’s about time someone besides Pepper was capable of shutting me down."

Natasha gave Y/N an approving nod. "Looks like Fury didn’t just bring you here for your powers. You’re quick."

Y/N chuckled, a sharp, low sound that made Bruce smile faintly from his corner. Even Thor seemed intrigued, murmuring something about the strength of Midgardian women.

But when Y/N’s eyes landed on Steve, who still stood apart from the group, her demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t smiled, hadn’t said anything to acknowledge her presence, his jaw clenched tight.

Fury, ever the perceptive one, noticed the undercurrent and turned toward Steve. "Rogers, you gonna say hello?"

Steve straightened, walking over with that stoic air he always carried. His blue eyes flicked over Y/N with an unreadable expression. "Welcome to the team," he said, his voice polite but distant, as if her arrival was nothing more than a minor formality.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the half-hearted greeting. "Don’t sound too enthusiastic, Cap," she shot back, her tone laced with playful sarcasm, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

Tony let out a loud laugh, earning a playful elbow from Natasha.

But Steve remained stoic, his expression unmoving. "Let’s just hope you’re as good as Fury says," he replied, his tone clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Y/N’s smirk widened, but there was something colder in it now, a challenge flickering behind her eyes. "Trust me, Rogers, I won’t slow you down."

The tension in the room was palpable. The rest of the team exchanged glances, picking up on the brewing undercurrent between the two.

Tony, always the instigator, nudged Natasha with a smirk. "This is gonna be fun."

Y/N took a step back, folding her arms as she addressed the rest of the team. "So, what's the usual around here? Stark throwing more one-liners than punches? Or does everyone else get a turn?"

Natasha chuckled under her breath. "He’s definitely an equal-opportunity quipster. You'll get your turn."

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Tony. "Is that right?"

Tony shrugged, all amusement. "I like to think of it as part of my charm. Keeps the team morale up."

Y/N rolled her eyes, her tone teasing. "Right. 'Morale.' Must be tough for everyone else to keep up."

Bruce snorted softly from his seat, barely managing to suppress a laugh. "You’ve got no idea."

Thor gave a booming laugh, as though the banter between them were the most entertaining thing he’d heard all day. "Truly, Stark's tongue wields more fire than most weapons."

Y/N smiled, enjoying the back-and-forth. It felt like she was starting to find her rhythm with them—most of them, at least. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve watching her, his expression stony, arms still crossed. His silence was louder than anything Tony or Natasha had said, and it grated on her.

She locked eyes with him, folding her arms as she spoke again. "You don’t like people much, do you, Rogers?"

The question was sharp, and the room went a little quieter as everyone’s gaze flicked toward Steve.

Steve’s jaw tightened. "I like people just fine."

Y/N hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head. "You sure about that? You’ve barely said two words to me. Starting to think you don’t approve."

Tony leaned in, thoroughly entertained. "Careful, Capsicle. She's got you pegged already."

Steve’s eyes flickered to Tony, then back to Y/N. "I don’t need to approve. I just need to know you can do your job without putting the team at risk."

Y/N’s smile froze, her posture stiffening slightly. "I’ve been doing this for a long time, Rogers. I don’t need you to babysit me."

Steve didn’t back down, his gaze unwavering. "I’m not interested in babysitting anyone. I’m interested in keeping my team safe."

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, the tension thick enough to cut through. The rest of the team looked from Y/N to Steve, unsure of where this sudden hostility was coming from.

Natasha, ever the diplomat, broke the silence with a raised eyebrow. "Is this gonna be a thing?"

Y/N shook her head, exhaling slowly as she forced a smile. "Nope. No thing here. Just Rogers and I... finding our rhythm, I guess."

Steve didn't respond, his expression hard, but Tony couldn’t resist the urge to lighten the mood. "Oh, there’s definitely a thing here. This much tension could fuel my arc reactor for a week."

Natasha smirked, while Thor chuckled deeply. Bruce, however, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not enjoying the rising tension.

Y/N turned back toward Fury, trying to push the interaction with Steve aside. "So, what's the mission?"

Fury glanced between Y/N and Steve, his expression unreadable, though he certainly wasn’t oblivious to the friction. "We'll go over the details soon. For now, you’re getting acquainted. I trust you can handle that."

Y/N gave a nod, though the corner of her eye remained fixed on Steve, whose stony silence still irked her. Why was he being so difficult? It wasn't like she’d come in guns blazing. Well, maybe a little attitude, but nothing she hadn’t done with any other team.

As the team began to disperse, Tony, Natasha, and Bruce began chatting amongst themselves, but Y/N lingered near the door, her mind racing. She hadn't expected her introduction to go this way—especially not with Captain America.

Natasha approached her, raising an eyebrow as she glanced back toward Steve. "Don’t take it personally. Steve's a bit... cautious when it comes to new team members."

Y/N snorted softly, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, I noticed. Guess I’m just gonna have to prove him wrong."

Natasha smiled faintly. "Just give it time. He’ll come around. He always does."

Y/N tilted her head, looking over at Steve, who was now talking quietly with Fury on the other side of the room. "I’m not the most patient person."

Natasha laughed softly. "Neither is he. Should be interesting to watch."

In the following days, Y/N integrated into the team—well, most of it. Tony, as expected, took an immediate liking to her sarcastic sense of humor, and even Bruce opened up more around her. Natasha and Y/N trained together, and Thor respected her power and confidence, even suggesting that she spar with him one day to "test her strength."

The only hiccup in the team dynamic was Steve.

Their arguments became a regular occurrence. Whether it was during training sessions, tactical meetings, or even casual conversations, Y/N and Steve couldn’t seem to get through a day without butting heads. The rest of the team watched their interactions with bemusement, Tony and Natasha often making side bets on how long it would take before one of them snapped.

One day, during a mission debrief, Steve and Y/N clashed yet again, this time over strategy. Steve favored a more cautious, methodical approach, while Y/N argued for a direct strike, using her powers to neutralize the threat quickly.

"You don’t get it," Y/N snapped. "We don’t have time to play it safe. HYDRA’s not going to wait around for us to make the perfect move, Rogers."

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his voice clipped. "I’m not playing it safe. I’m making sure no one gets killed because of a reckless move."

"Reckless?" Y/N’s voice rose. "I’ve been in more of these situations than I can count, and I know when to strike fast. If we sit around and plan every detail, people die."

The rest of the team sat in silence, watching the heated exchange. Tony leaned over to Natasha, whispering, "I give it two more minutes before one of them explodes."

Natasha smirked. "I’m betting on Y/N. She looks like she’s ready to throw something."

Steve crossed his arms, his jaw clenched. "This isn’t about how many missions you’ve been on. It’s about working as a team. You can’t just go rogue whenever you feel like it."

Y/N scoffed, stepping closer to him. "I’m not going rogue. I’m making the call that’ll save lives. You can either get on board or get out of my way."

The tension was thick, and for a moment, it seemed like Y/N and Steve might actually come to blows. Y/N’s eyes flashed with that same energy she controlled, and Steve stood rigid, unflinching, his eyes locked on hers.

Tony raised an eyebrow at Bruce. "Think we should step in, or…?"

Bruce shook his head. "I think they need to get this out of their system."

Fury, who had been watching the entire exchange with a neutral expression, finally stepped in. "Enough," he said, his voice firm. "You two can hash out your differences later. Right now, we need to focus on the mission. Rogers, L/N’s got a point. Time isn’t on our side."

Steve clenched his fists, but he nodded, stepping back, though his gaze remained fixed on Y/N. "Fine. But we do this as a team."

Y/N held his gaze for a moment longer before she finally nodded, though her jaw was still tight. "Fine."

Fury gave them both a stern look before continuing the debrief. But the air in the room remained tense, and it was clear to everyone that Y/N and Steve weren’t done with their argument.

Later that night, as the team prepared for the mission, Y/N found herself partnered with Steve. Much to her frustration, Fury had insisted they work together on this one, despite the obvious tension between them. She wasn’t thrilled about it, and judging by the look on Steve’s face, neither was he.

They moved through the HYDRA base in silence, their communication reduced to clipped, professional exchanges. Y/N used her powers to disrupt security systems, her hands crackling with energy as she sent short bursts of electricity to fry the cameras and alarms. Steve moved ahead, leading the way with his shield in hand.

"Left corridor is clear," Steve said quietly, his voice coming through her comm.

"Roger that, Captain," Y/N replied, her tone laced with sarcasm despite herself.

Steve shot her a look, but he didn’t respond, opting to focus on the mission. As they moved deeper into the base, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the weight of his disapproval, like a constant presence at the back of her mind.

She hated it.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from down the hall. HYDRA agents. A lot of them. Without thinking, Y/N raised her hand, preparing to send a pulse of energy toward them.

"Wait," Steve hissed, grabbing her wrist. "We can’t just—"

Before he could finish, one of the agents fired a shot, aiming directly for Steve’s head. Without hesitating, Y/N yanked her wrist free from his grip and sent a wave of energy crashing into the HYDRA agents, knocking them all back like rag dolls.

The hall was silent again, the agents down. Y/N turned to Steve, her heart racing, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"You’re welcome," she snapped, her voice edged with frustration.

Steve glared at her, his blue eyes flashing with anger. "I had it under control."

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. "You had a bullet heading for your head, Rogers."

"I don’t need you to save me," he shot back, his voice low and angry.

"Could’ve fooled me," Y/N muttered, pushing past him as she continued down the corridor.

Steve followed her, clearly not ready to let it go. "You keep rushing in without thinking. One of these days, you’re going to get someone killed."

Y/N spun around, her eyes blazing with energy. "I’m not the one who nearly got my head blown off because I wanted to play it safe!"

They stood toe-to-toe, both breathing hard, the tension between them palpable. For a moment, it seemed like they might start arguing again, but instead, something else crackled in the air between them.

Y/N’s gaze flickered to Steve’s lips for a split second before she snapped her eyes back to his. She saw his eyes do the same.

Neither of them moved for what felt like an eternity.

Then, before either of them could think better of it, they were kissing.

It wasn’t gentle. It was heated, desperate, full of all the anger and frustration they’d been holding back. Y/N’s hands gripped the front of Steve’s uniform, pulling him closer, while his hands settled on her waist, holding her tightly.

For a few moments, the world around them faded away, and it was just them—no mission, no team, no arguments. Just the two of them, caught in the heat of the moment.

In a fury of teeth and heavy pants, Steve quickly swoops her up in his arms, Y/N instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist. He shoves her roughly into the wall causing a low whine to escape her lips. Steve growls lowly at the sound before nipping along her neck to invoke a similar sound. Y/N digs her fingers into Steve’s scalp, lightly pulling at the hairs there.

He returns to her lips and she wastes no time in nipping at the plush skin. He groans as she pushes herself further into him. Even in such a heated situation, they still happen to compete with each other, find something to beat the other at.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing heavily, they stared at each other, eyes wide with the realization of what had just happened.

Steve was the first to speak, his voice hoarse. "This… doesn’t change anything."

Y/N smirked, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

Without another word, they continued down the corridor, but the tension between them had shifted. There was still fire there, but it wasn’t just anger anymore.

Tony's voice crackled over the comms. "Everything okay over there, lovebirds? Thought I’d check in, seeing as it’s been awfully quiet."

Y/N rolled her eyes, glancing at Steve, who looked just as irritated. "We’re fine, Stark."

"Good to know," Tony replied, a grin evident in his voice. "Because I’ve got five bucks that says Cap’s blushing right now."

Y/N bit back a laugh as Steve muttered something under his breath.

"Oh yeah," Tony added, "this is definitely gonna be fun."

After the mission, Y/N and Steve continued to bicker, but there was a new layer to their interactions—something unspoken but undeniably present. The team noticed it too, especially Tony, who never missed an opportunity to comment on the "undeniable chemistry" between them.

Natasha, however, was the only one who approached Y/N about it.

"You and Steve," she said one day during training. "It’s… interesting."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Interesting?"

Natasha smirked. "Let’s just say, I’ve seen this kind of tension before. It usually leads to something."

Y/N didn’t respond right away, wiping sweat from her forehead as she caught her breath. "You think it’s that obvious?"

Natasha shrugged. "Obvious to the people who know how to look."

Y/N glanced toward Steve, who was across the training room, sparring with Thor. He caught her eye for just a moment, and she quickly looked away, feeling her heart race again.

"Great," Y/N muttered under her breath. "Just what I need."

Natasha chuckled. "You’ll figure it out. Or you’ll just keep fighting until one of you gives in."

Y/N sighed. "Something tells me it’s gonna be a lot of fighting."

Natasha patted her on the shoulder, her smile amused. "Just don’t let Tony see you slip. He’s got money on this."

Y/N groaned. "Of course he does."

[playertwotails]

Okay 4 things in the new Scrapnik Island Issue #3 I can't get over.

For #1:

Sonic is in danger and Tails immediately makes guns for himself and his new squad. Just no Sonic around and he goes straight to making lethal weaponry.

Bonus 1.5:

He blep when concentrating

For #2:

Tails went full Black Ops strike team with a little 'gamerish trying to sound cool' lingo there and I love him for it. "Stay Frosty you guys" is so cheesy and I love it. Look at him take charge and lead a covert ops team. He got whole outfit on too. It's a look not gonna lie.

For #3:

Mecha does remember Tails can fly right????...like he's not a character you can let gravity decide this with...he can fly. I feel like next issue is gonna have a moment with Tails where he basically comes back, looks Mecha in the eyes and is basically is like "...are you dumb???...cause I think you might stupid or have very poor planning....I can fly rust nuts remember"

Maybe the walls are too close for him to fly but this has to come back and bite Mecha in the ass. It's just shock value bait I'm calling it now you can't just drop a flying character and think "welp that's the end of that!!... dum de dum dee dum going about my day now" with no consequences.

And lastly #4:

I will never shut up about this. Look at Sonic he gets one hint Tails might be in danger or hurt and protective older brother instincts go into over drive. He get out of those restraints before Tails shows back up okay and he might be catching a metal body, forget any moral codes he has. Sonic just looks like he's about to go off on Mecha when he thinks Tails might be in danger.

Extra Bonus:

Do you know how much I would give if they let Tails go off here. You know Tails the character who canonically was living on his own as a tiny child in the woods and then found and practically raised by Sonic cause he had been abandoned and ostracized by his own village and possibly parents. Just when Mecha said this I wish they basically let Tails reply with a:

"Bitch join the club, you ain't special"

Cause like out of anyone Mecha could talk to that understands that feeling of being abandoned and forgotten....it's gonna be Tails. He chose the wrong person to try and use the "oh you could never understand me" trope on. Welcome to Tails whole backstory Mecha you empty soup can for a brain.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

First time I am using this and I am a lil unsure about it but you are one of my favoured writers out there at AO3 so here goes nothing:

#stucky Imagine a mute horny Bucky Barnes Post Hydra who tries to get 'lovesick and a lil dumb(when it comes to Bucky)' Steve Rogers to understand that he NEEDS... I just loved the thought of that slightly frustrated dynamic

Aw, you're real sweet. Thank you! Welcome to this side of the internet, lol, and thanks for sending an ask my way!

As for your idea--

YES!

I love this concept. It actually reminds me of two fics I've seen floating around:

"covert op" by mcwho

*this fic is more casual, almost a crack fic

"Beauty Lifts from the Dark" by the1918

*this fic is much more serious and contains omegaverse, pregnancy, and dealing with brain damage. But I think it relates to your ask still, so, check it out if you want!

Bucky isn't entirely nonverbal, and it's clear when he does speak that he is perfectly capable of both clear speech and clear thought. He just... doesn't seem eager to speak unless it'a necessary, and even then, it isn't eager, per say. More reluctant. Short sentences. Sometimes, just a single word or two. Information that can't otherwise be gotten across.

And Steve's not ever going to pressure him to talk more. If Bucky only ever wants to, every now and again, answer "yes" or "no" or tell Steve what he wants from the restaurant they're ordering from (as opposed to just pointing at the menu when they have physical or digital copies) then Steve can live with that. Steve will relish in simply having Bucky back with him. It's more than enough. Even if he does miss that smooth talking motor mouth he used to have. Sometimes. He can live without, though.

It's fine.

Sincerely, It's all good.

Steve can live with Bucky now being a quiet person--nonverbal, even. So long as Bucky is okay.

Sure, Bucky seems to have some trouble putting his emotions into words, but, hey, between growing up in the time they did, being told men couldn't express emotion, and all the emotions Bucky is feeling at any given time because of all he's gone through... Steve feels as if that's fair.

Bucky's therapist sometimes sends Steve emails--she knows he worries--and assures him that progress is being made, and, yes, Bucky does speak to her during their sessions. (And, no, don't take that personally, Steve. Bucky's connection to him is just as strong as it's always been, even if their conversations mostly consist of Steve motoring on and Bucky listening.)

Outside therapy, though, Bucky's just not too interested in speaking.

Sometimes it's a mental block, sometimes Bucky is too consumed by memories, sometimes Bucky didn't sleep enough or had to many nightmares, sometimes he's just exhausted, sometimes he wants to but can't, and sometimes he doesn't want to; there's a whole plethora of reasons Bucky can't or won't speak.

When it comes to voicing his need for... y'know. He wants to but can't.

He can't speak about how fucking wound up he feels these days.

An itch always under his skin, in dire need of a good, hard ranking with his fingernails to sate the urge. Electricity that just won't stop crackling, instead only getting worse and worse and worse. It sizzles and spits, vibrating through his veins whenever Steve looks at him, no matter how quick the glance is. Whenever their skin happens to brush--finger tips flirting as they walk, shoulders knocking in their little hallway, feet under the table, sitting too close together on the couch. Whenever Steve makes a suggestive sound, moaning about food, stretching in the morning or after a particularly good workout, or whatever. So many tiny things leave Bucky aching.

Desperately Bucky wants to just fucking spit it out, but his brain and mouth won't let him. The words get trapped in his body and bounce around, feeling it throughout. And. still. he. can't. say. it.

So, he sits. He stews. He waits.

He gets tired of waiting.

Bucky is a goddamn sniper, and he gets tired of waiting for his stupid boyfriend (is Steve even aware they're dating (again)?) to bring it up to him.

It.

Sex.

Bucky knows Steve wants it, too--he sees him looking, and more than that, he can feel Steve's ravenous gaze on him, following him like a predator eyes it's prey, but he never pounces. They have countless hours alone, there's only a few select people that are brave enough--stupid enough to come and see Captain America and his ex-assassin boyfriend. People who are especially loyal to Steve, either people that are like Steve (Sam) or like Bucky (Nat). So, it isn't like they have many interruptions.

So, the only conclusion is that Steve is stopping himself for some reason.

Fucking whatever. Reason. Steve's never had good reason. For anything. Bucky remembers that well. It might've been the first thing Bucky remembered about him.

Bucky assumes that the reason has to do with his inability to say the words. Fuckin' Steve--he always wants to, "talk it through," begging with those big blue eyes of his and the picture-perfect pout of his pink mouth.

Can't they just--

Just.

Do it?

What does a guy have to do to get some fucking dick around here? The more Bucky waits, the more he stews, the more frustrated he gets. He is not like food, stewing, and getting tender and soft, he is starved.

Apparently, a lot. Apparently, a guy's gotta do a lot, even though Bucky knows they're both frustrated. Steve might not show it, grumbly and stalking off when he can't get what he needs, but he's in the same place. Talking is hard. But that's gotta be it. That's gotta be the thing to give Steve the all clear because Bucky has tried everything else--

Skimpy clothing.

He figures the more skin he shows, the harder it will be for Steve to resist. But Steve is stubborn. Whatever he's waiting for, he doesn't get, and after an initial period of staring, jaw on the floor, cheeks pink, and eyes unblinking, following his every movement, he scrapes his eyes away and... doesn't look at Bucky anymore.

Nooo

Bucky tries to get his attention back when he's forcing himself to look away, but Steve has, at some point, mastered the art of looking just over Buckys shoulder instead of into his eyes.

Ugh.

Bucky will stare at Steve, trying to telepathically communicate, throw out your fucking morals and fucking ruin me, I know you want to, I am--I was very well acquainted with caveman Steve. Gimme that guy!

When it doesn't work, Bucky slinks away and growls, clenching his fists. He punches his pillow because he doesn't want to make Steve call someone to repair their wall (again).

Damn you, Rogers.

Showering multiple times a day.

Even when he hasn't gone to the gym, Bucky will take it upon himself to shower twice, sometimes three times a day. He's desperate, okay?

And there's nothing that should break a man like lounging around in a towel that's barely clinging onto you and nothing else for hours at a time, all exposed and wet. But. Steve isn't a fucking normal man, now is he?

Even when, with a towel low, low, low on his hips, Bucky brushes his fingers through his wet hair and then drags his hand down the side of his neck to his shoulder and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck, showing Steve the cut of his jaw, the curve of his exposed throat, and his hair. All things that Steve used to be obsessed with, or seems currently obsessed with. Even then, Steve doesn't do anything.

Once

ONCE he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs, and puts a pillow conspicuously over his lap but other than that-?

Nothing.

Bucky gets their couch, the armchair, and his own damn bed wet with all this lounging he's doing. Bucky, just to spite him, jerks off in the shower, rough and unashamed, leaving the bathroom door wide open, the water not hot enough to steam up the air. If Steve walked past, he'd be able to see everything.

If Steve sees, he doesn't comment. He doesn't turn more red than usual. He doesn't squirm more. He does do anything.

Bucky wants to growl at Steve. He wants to bear his teeth. He wants to roll over on the floor and show Steve his tummy and his expose his neck. He just needs it so bad. But none of those animalistic displays are productive. So. He doesn't. (See, Steve, the therapy is working! Ha!)

Fine.

Wordlessly, obscenely tonguing his cutlery during meals.

Bucky discovers that he doesn't have a gag reflex anymore with a spoon, sitting across from Steve at their dining room table--he doesn't want to remember where or when his gag reflex disappeared to. So he doesn't think about that. Instead, he just thinks about how Steve stares at him with that spoon in his mouth and his tongue flicking over the silver. Breathing so hard that his nostrils flare. Then, promptly choking on his own food, turning red from arousal and embarrassment and trouble getting oxygen.

Serves him right for not diving over the table and eating him for dinner instead, Bucky thinks.

Hmmph.

Intentionally eating with his fingers even when it doesn't really make sense.

Licking his fingers.

Holding little bites up to Steve to feed him, fingers in his mouth.

It all fits together, all the little things Bucky has started doing with food, trying to show Steve how bad he wants to be devoured himself. And when Steve stands his ground, it just escalates and escalates. Bucky goes from eating a little more thoughtfully, trying not to just hoark everything down like an animal, the serum demanding all too many calories, to basically fellating his food. More focused on getting dick than getting nourishment.

God, he's starved for it.

He's so fucking frustrated that he might just cry.

Would that get Steve to fuck him? If he broke down and cried and pawed at Steve's dick, would Steve finally break and fuck him until he was crying good tears. So far, anytime tears come out of him, he gets all of Steve's attention, but... it's mother-hen attention. Bucky doesn't want his back rubbed. He wants his hole pounded.

Jesus Christ.

Steve has a thick fucking skull. He just thanks Bucky for feeding him. He tracks the movement of Bucky's fingers and tongue and doesn't say anything. Anything at all.

Dammnit.

Bucky has to look away, desperate, frustrated tears burning in his eyes when Steve continues to not understand. He digs his fingernails into his palms and taps his fists softly against his thighs when he wants to punch something.

Grr.

It'd be amusing how much Bucky is grumbling and growling and feeling grumpy if it weren't so fucking irritated. He needs Steve.

Forming a sudden lip balm obsession, constantly re-applying it.

Steve likes his lips--he watches him when he talks, when he performs unspeakable acts on innocent food eats, when he licks his lips passively, when he's just sitting, watching TV.

Steve likes his lips.

So, he might as well give him something to look at.

Shimmery or glossy or matte lip balm. Flavored or not, scented or not. Bucky tries it all. He applies it without show or with an immense show. Testing Steve. What makes him react the most? What does he like to watch Bucky put on? What does he like to see Bucky wear.

Steve bites his own lip sometimes, watching. Steve swallows. Steve clenches his jaw. Steve sighs. Steve does nothing else. Steve doesn't put his fucking hands on Bucky.

FUCK.

Bucky's temper has run out.

Fuck this.

"Fuck me--" Bucky hisses, voice rusty, eyes narrowed like it's a challenge, and before Steve can even ask if he's serious, if he's absolutely sure, Bucky is there, beating him to the punch, "'m sure," he forces the words out, not because he doesn't want it but because words are still fucking hard. Not as hard as Bucky himself is, pressing tight up against Steve, crowding him in, and lowering his voice to an almost inaudible tone--impressive considering the both have enhanced hearing--"please?"

"Bucky," Steve murmurs, full of emotion, swaying into him, weak, as their their lips collide bruisingly.

Steve gasps. Bucky gets full body chills, tingles, shaking with it.

Y-e-s.

Every moment of this, the longer it draaaags out, the more he's on board with this. Kissing. Kissing. Lips sliding together wetly. Steve moans, and it feels like gold, liquid gold, sliding down Bucky's throat, and pooling deep in his belly. Inside him. He tastes Steve.

The way he moans.

God.

The way Steve bites Bucky's lower lip, the way he licks into his mouth, the way their teeth hit together accidentally when they get into it too much. Grasping as each other. Kissing.

JesusfuckingChrist.

Bucky is red-hot, glowing like molten metal. And every time Steve touches him, sparks fly. He's so affected that it's like Steve is the craftsman hammering soft metal, Bucky, changing its shape with every powerful strike.

Steve presses him harder into the wall. Punching the breath out of his chest. Tilting his chin up, fingers strong and demanding on his skin, and knocking their foreheads together. Eyes locked.

The hunger in Steve's eyes.

Christ.

Bucky's never felt so wanted.

Oh.

It makes him weak.

It feels like he's melting into the wall, fuck it, worse, like he's melting into the floor, knees weak, clinging onto Steve, breathless, soundless, and soaking in every wave of pleasure, barely keeping his head afloat in the ocean.

Steve's hands paw at him.

Bucky's mind whites out.

He rips Steve's clothes, unable to control himself. Steve moans, "yes-" drawn out and hot when Bucky's metal hand bites into his hip. Finally, finding purchase amongst the desperation.

His own clothes are torn off. Bucky arches into every pop of seams ripping, cloth, not clothes because it's now useless to cover anything, falling away. Leaving him naked, chest heaving, blood boiling, mouth agape, not a sound coming out. He's so overwhelmed. He can't breathe. He can't think. He can't--

He can't.

Steve is splitting him open.

Ah. Ah!

Steve is biting his shoulder, carving a space out for him inside his body, spit slick, burning alive with the stretch, burning alive--

Steve is alive.

Bucky is here with him and alive, too.

How-?

How is this real? It doesn't feel real. Too good to be true.

And this is--

This is all he wants forever.

Steve inside him; heavy, hot, throbbing, and fuck.

Oh, God.

Every thrust is better than the last. Hard. Deep. Bucky's jaw has dropped wider than he thinks is possible. His entire body is trembling. Vibrating. This is how he dies. Split open. Steve moaning and groaning and fucking whining, lips pressed hot and wet to Bucky's cheekbone. Sweat in rivers dripping down his skin.

Desperate.

Oh. God.

Bucky is sure his body is making a dent in the wall. Every thrust is brutal. It's exactly what they both need. Bucky's fingers are digging bruises into his flesh. His nails might be drawing blood. It feels too good to notice, though.

They're both feral.

The first audible sound that is ripped out of Bucky is a pant.

Then, a gasp.

Punched out of him by Steve.

Other than that, the evidence of his pleasure is almost entirely physical, shaking, drooling, limp, yet pressing back weakly whenever it's possible, too. It's not really verbal. It's certainly not loud. Somehow, it's very reminiscent of their days in the past, when they were always worried about getting caught because of the whole, y'know, being-gay-is-illegal thing. So, it doesn't bother either of them, just like old times, but caught up, at the same time, in the furious drum of now, now, NOW.

BUT

The near-silence from Bucky of is shattered all at once when as he's about to cum, dangerously close to the edge, his prostate getting beaten in the most idea way possible, bringing him to tears--Bucky lets out a rusty whine.

A whine.

High and needy and feminine. Coming out of his big, heavy chest. The antithesis of what this man should sound like. A pathetic little whine.

Fuck.

It's hot.

It works its way under Bucky's skin and under Steve's skin. Twinning. Tied together. Caught up in this mess.

Jesus. Fuck.

Bucky is too close.

He can't.

Yet, it only gets impossibly hotter when as he cums, entirely uncontrollable, there is nothing that could ever stop him, Bucky jerks and quivers and moans. Loud but wordless. Incoherent. Animal. Feral. This guttural, guttural sound of pleasure. Pleasure that's been ripped from his overwrought body.

He keeps cumming with Steve's answering bone deep groan of his name. It sounds so good to hear.

But Steve doesn't go soft even when he orgasms. He doesn't stop fucking Bucky either. He fucks Bucky through their orgasms. And Bucky's moan turns to helpless whimpers, but he clenches on. He's not going to let Steve stop. No.

No.

Keep going, keep fucking whines and moans and wordless sounds of pleasure from him.

Please.

Steve hears him loud and clear.

I hope you enjoyed 😘

[canonical-transformation]

Summary: a do-over of Chevreuse's "heads-up" to Wriothesley, with guest appearances from Sigewinne, Sonny the White Glove, Lumine, and more.

The morning after she arrested Veronique and Morris, Chevreuse was at Special Patrol headquarters dealing with the subsequent forms and reports and punch cards. The record-keeping was part of a fair justice system, so she wouldn't have it any other way, but it was a slog, and her hand was getting sore from all the writing.

There was a knock on her door. "Come in," she said.

Turenna entered and gave a crisp salute. "Special Security and Surveillance Patrol Trainee Turenna, reporting, sir!"

"Hey Turenna. What is it?"

"There's an Ultra-Black Clearance Level Intelligence Broker here to see you, sir."

"Uh..." Chevreuse could never keep track of Turenna's superlatives. Ultra-black meant important, right? "Chiori or Talochard?... or Emilie?"

"No, sir. Miss Emilie is Code Dusk-Red Clearance, sir."

"Turenna, who is it?"

"Chiori, sir."

"You could have just said that."

"Yes, sir." Salute. "Apologies, sir."

Hmm, Chevreuse had been writing for over an hour. She could use a change of pace.

"Send her in," she instructed Turenna.

A minute later, Chiori walked in, looking the same as ever. (Unimpressed. Devastatingly good. Et cetera).

"Morning, Chiori!" said Chevreuse. "You're a welcome sight, I'm drowning in red tape over here. What do you need?"

Chiori looked her up and down. "My gods, Chevreuse. I left before midnight; you stayed for the whole party. How do you look so..." Her lip curled. "...chipper?"

"Uh..."

"Not important," Chiori sighed. She dismissed the topic with a wave of the hand. "Look, I just wanted to check in with you."

"Sure," said Chevreuse, "what about?"

"Morris."

Of course: the ‘Baron’ to Veronique's Iris. When he'd learned his lover Elisa had carried their children to term, he'd arranged for her and the twins to be killed. He'd gotten what he paid for: the hired assassin hadn't been thorough, and the twins had survived.

Chiori went on: "You said last night you were going to give Wriothesley a heads-up. Has that happened yet?"

"No."

"Gotcha. And..." Chiori gave her one of those looks. "...how, exactly, is this heads up going to happen?"

"I'm surprised you want to know." Usually Chiori said the less details she knew, the better. "What's it to you?"

"Call it an... intuition." She motioned for Chevreuse to talk.

"Well," said Chevreuse, "I figured I'd drop by Meropide before the trials start, ask Wriothesley for a favour. Don't let Morris get too comfortable, so to speak."

Chiori swore.

"Is something wrong?" Chevreuse asked."That's so..." Chiori rattled off a string of disgruntled-sounding Inazuman words. "...blatant. Chevreuse, that's really gods damned blatant."

"I don't get it."

"Chevreuse, I've seen you on the job. You're good at being covert. Does it actually go out the window the moment the suspect is in custody?"

"This is a request, not a covert op."

"Plausible deniability, Chevreuse, ever heard of it?"

[...]

[starleska]

which song would the fandom choose to make vids with you and your f/o? 👀

the absolutely lovely @jennajaeger tagged me in this very fun ask game 💖 as someone who loves to make silly OCs to ship with my f/os, i thought i’d tweak it in an OC x Canon direction!! 🥰 

i tag @iriso-page, @heavensong, @venuss-ambassador, @femaleganondorfdragmire and @mollicutes - but everyone is invited to do this if they’d like to! 💖

Augustus St. Cloud x Quint S. Henchall - Partners in Crime by Set It Off

ah, is there a romance more palpable than that between an utter joke of a villain, and his seasoned, bloodthirsty henchperson? 👀 Partners in Crime is a great choice for these two, and for any V Bros selfshipper with a villainous fave!! i always saw Quint and Augustus developing a very ‘Jesse and James from Team Rocket’ kind of relationship: outwardly obnoxious and bullying (you can’t fix personalities like that 🙈) yet fiercely protective. it’s by no means an easy bond - after all, within 24 hours of meeting Augustus, Quint does what any of us would do and tries to kill him 😂 if they were in the show, i adore the idea of Quint, with years of experience and 12 other henches under their belt, picking up where The Monarch left off and attempting to turn Augustus into a semi-competent villain! imagine it: bringing the neck-snapping, covert-ops specialism of a highly trained professional into the absurd realm of pop culture collection feuds 😭 that’s not to say Quint is successful in coaching him...but Augustus and his uniquely petty, bitchy approach to villainy are not without their uses 😉 

Wally Darling x Cynthie Scribe - Fireflies by Owl City

oh, let’s inject a little whimsy into the world with this one - a love story between an artist and a writer 🥰

Fireflies is a song that evokes all this wonder and delight at the world...and i think that’s something Wally and Cynthie would instantly bond over 😖 Cynthie’s infectious enthusiasm charms Wally, and acts as a perfect foil to his relaxed, soft approach to life. much of their time is spent out in nature, finding fun things to look at and draw and write about - all whilst singing and giggling and occasionally letting their hands touch 💖 if Cynthie were included in the Welcome Home canon, i like to think they’d both be incredibly excited to watch the fireflies together. perhaps they creep out in the dead of night, hoping not to disturb any of their sleeping neighbours, and lie down next to each other on the soft grass banks. the blanket of the night sky, perforated with stars, shimmers above the cosy yellow flickering of the fireflies. entranced, Cynthie barely notices when Wally slips his fingers between theirs...but when they turn to look at him, they can see the fireflies’ glow reflected in his large, black eyes 🥺

'Big' Jack Horner x Aspen Branch - Fairytale by Alexander Rybak

the choice may be an obvious one, but i like it anyway!! 💖😊

Fairytale is told from the point of view of a passionate, emotionally volatile person - and what is ‘Big’ Jack Horner if not a man consumed by fairytales? 🔥 Aspen is initially only Jack’s mark: someone to capture and force the use of her magical, wound-healing voice. yet Aspen’s sweet, simple nature - so contradictory to everything Jack is and has forced to be true about himself - has Jack falling hard 😖 it’s Aspen’s consummate gentleness which leaves Jack caught between adoration and rage. he really is, ‘...in love with a fairytale even though it hurts’, because Jack can’t be in love - that’s a stupid, weak, small thing to be, a distraction from his goal of world domination. but Jack can’t deny himself: the painful twinge in his chest when he sees Aspen smile hurts more than he can bear. if he can’t beat this feeling, well then...he simply must have her 😳

that’s all for now!! let me know if you’d like to hear anymore - i have a few other choices for my other OC x Canon ships :3c

[spammmies]

sometimes i’ll see a vid and remember that cis ppl rly don’t realise that trans ppl r human.

context: i saw a video from a cis woman ranting about the “period debate” and how that made her feel as someone with pcos. she mostly just spoke about the very real horrors ppl w pcos go through. at the start, she briefly touched on how the phrase “periods don’t belong to women” means different things in different spaces- like in trans inclusive spaces it just acknowledges that trans men and some non binary ppl can get periods too.

but still. somehow. the op and all the commenters. forgot. that pcos is not exclusive to cis ppl.

trans ppl. can have pcos too.

trans ppl can be afflicted with the same shit cis ppl do.

trans ppl are

HUMAN

the vid really rubbed me the wrong way- almost like a centrist Trying to placate the trans community by giving us a shout out, but really she’s still speaking from a place of fear instilled by transphobes. she goes right back to centring herself as a cis woman- “sure we don’t own periods but we can’t disown them” first of all, no one is asking you to disown them. what does that even mean? and how does that help any of us? second of all, how does this relate to trans people?

there was a lot of “well if trans women want periods they can take mine lol” and “why would anyone want periods??? it’s hellish and oppressive” and while i’m not a trans woman, i can safely say that not many people actually Want periods. people Want to be affirmed. people Want to be respected. and that’s the thing cis ppl fundamentally misunderstand abt trans ppl. when a 11 yr old girl is excited for her first period, she’s not excited for the period. she’s excited for the symbolism- the womanhood or the coming of age. same fkn shit!! it’s not ABOUT the period!!!! literally all we want is to be seen and treated as human. even then, most of this “debate” isn’t ABOUT trans women or non binary ppl!!! it’s about the trans men and non binary ppl that still menstruate!!!!! it’s abt including us and improving trans healthcare and period care!!! which i KNOW is still pretty vague but forgive me i’m typing at 2am!!!!!

i’ve blocked the op now, because my insides kept getting itchy over how the vid felt transphobic but if i called attention to it, i would look silly or sensitive because it’s something only trans ppl are receptive to. the comments were FULL of cis women being super appreciative and agreeing wholeheartedly- which was weird because it also felt like op said a whole lot of nothing. 3 min vid: “pcos bad and Only cis women’s experience with misogyny is tied to it” comments: “WOOO PREACH YES FINALLY SOMEONE SAID THIS”

though i do wish i didn’t chicken out and i actually asked these guys something:

how are we mocking you for having periods/pcos? is it really mocking, or are you feeling defensive because people are trying to tell you you’re not the only ones that deal with this shit?

does being told that this experience isn’t inherently womanly somehow take something from you? does it somehow deny your reality? well it shouldn’t, you’re more than welcome to link your own period and reproductive capabilities to your womanhood! just know that period=woman or period=feminism is nowhere near universal.

finally, does realising that trans people are human, and that they share experiences with you, threaten you?

tldr cis ppl r irritating me bc covert transphobia is SO annoying when u cant do anything abt it

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Baying Dogs Rewrite; Chapter One: Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Okay! Take two! I hope you all enjoy reading this! If you have any nagging suspicions, feel free to argue your cases ;P.

I will put this up on Ao3 in due time but I am slowly getting busier and busier though so please bear with me!

Warnings for: Swearing, gore, violence

Word count: 4,757

Price peeked his head round the doorway and breathed a sigh of relief.

Ahead of him, at the very end of this long room, was exactly who he was looking for, knelt down in front of her bag, holding a crumpled list as she checked her gear.

He knocked on the doorframe.

She perked up, turning around.

The captain gave a shy wave.

Rolling her eyes, the medic set her stuff down on the ground and got up onto her two feet. She gestured for him to come in and he did so.

“How are we, rookie?” He asked, taking a seat on the edge of the examination bed.

She shrugged.

“So-so.” Was the reply.

Price nodded to himself, stroking his moustache as he rehearsed the sentence in his head. This one was a bit hard to figure out. Sergeant Burman-Douglas was guarded, much quieter of the two medics… when they had two medics. If he was honest, he wasn’t certain if she would have eve acknowledged him at the doorway just now. Price was glad she did but, he understood if she didn’t want to talk.

“I spoke with Shepherd.” Price began, gesturing for her to sit next him, “We can bury her here, but we can’t do much else.”

“But… Weir was a major. Doesn’t that mean something?”

He sighed, removing his hat, “Not here. Not when you’re on missions like this.”

The woman scoffed quietly, “I suppose no one even knows we’re here… bar Shepherd’s lot.”

Price chuckled, nodding.

“Yep. Welcome to covert ops, Dougs.”

“Jesus.”

She rubbed the sides of her temple, leaning forward. They exchanged a few weak laughs, before Price quietened her down.

“So, according to Shepherd we’re supposed to stay here until transport arrives. Then, we’ll be transferred to Northolt, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

“How long until transport arrives?”

“Didn’t say.”

Of course, he didn’t.

Dougs did her best to contain her disappointment, but Price caught on.

“Look,” he sighed, “I understand this is… sudden. But I promise we will keep our guard up so no one gets hurt… well, further hurt.”

Further hurt. That was a more accurate way of putting it. Poor Dougs and Weir had been busting a gut trying to patch those boys up. All of them had gotten it good: cuts, bruises, and disorientation from shock. The two doctors had a tough time trying to deal with the stubborn men either telling them they were fine despite bleeding all over the shop or being unable to recall the disaster which had rendered them like this in the first place.

Dougs’ mind turned to the reports each man gave. It seemed you could put them into two camps: they were ambushed by a group of men who used the cover of darkness incredibly well, or they were ambushed by dogs.

The majority had said men, including Graves who was part of a different team but seemed to bare the injuries of the killer’s M.O.

Sergeant Garrick, on the other hand, had said something interesting. Weir’s had chalked it up to the adrenaline high but the man had sworn up and down that he had seen animals. Whilst that would be the more reasonable assumption to make, Dougs couldn’t help but feel like he was onto something. The way he had said it, adamantly, with wide eyes and a determined brow. He knew what he had seen.

This all smelt fishy.

“Dougs?”

Price’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“You alright? You seem shaken up.”

That’s when she felt something wet trickle down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yeah. It’s… Weir and I… you know. I’m still grappling with the reality of it all.”

“I understand.” Price gave a comforting smile, “Well, if you need to talk, you know where to find me. I’m sure the others will be happy to chat too; they always do with medics.”

“Even Lt. Riley?” Dougs laughed.

“When that man has either lost too much blood or drunk too much, he gets awfully talkative. Trust me. He is relentless.”

She giggled a little and Price could see she was brightening up a bit.

The captain got up, rolling his shoulders.

“Now, I know I’m not really supposed to smoke here, so I’m going to the courtyard. See you later, rookie.”

“Bye, Captain.”

She waved him off.

As he left, Dougs let out a heavy sigh and flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Now, she was alone with her thoughts and those thoughts soured in the absence of company. As she closed her eyes, the images of yesterday flashed before her.

Getting into this line of work, you’re expected to well-acquainted with injury, danger and death and yet… Dougs couldn’t help but feel afraid. Maybe it was because this was her first ‘proper’ mission with a reputable task force but… she didn’t know. This all just felt wrong. Weir was an SAS-trained officer and a major, she had been doing this for many years. The woman shouldn’t have died.

No one could sneak up on a trained SAS officer like that, not unless they had let their guard down. 

It was one of them. 

It had to be.

Trust was taken advantage of and broken here.

Murder.

Dougs slowly rose up and hopped off the examination bed. Although a little sluggish, she walked over to her rucksack and rummaged around for a bit. Once her fingers landed on something promising, she pulled her arm out. The woman held a small, tan notepad. Taking a pen from one of the tables which dotted this room here and there, Dougs began to scribble down what she knew.

Weir’s had been found yesterday morning, dead, by Garrick. Large lacerations littered her body, coupled with a huge bruise to the right side of her head, which was the side facing down, on the ground. Her throat had been torn out and there were blood splatters on the wall. Dougs tapped the pen on her chin.

So, Weir had been clawed at, tackled, hence the bruising, and then her throat was torn out.

This seemed all very… animalistic.

However, Dougs realised she had forgotten about the peculiar marks she had seen on the wrists. They were almost like stripes, you could still see where the fingers had once been.

That indicates someone was holding her down.

And holding someone down was very… human.

Her eyes narrowed.

What about the tooth, though? A voice in the back of her head queried.

Something white among the red had caught Dougs’ eye as she had stared in shock at the dead body that morning, like a glinting jewel. 

Everyone had left by then, thank God, which gave her permission to do something… she really shouldn’t have done.

Quickly, she fished around for something to wrench it out with, gently moving Weir’s body aside so she could get at the rucksack the woman had slumped over, hoping not to disturb it too much to lose her prize. Putting on a pair of gloves and brandishing her tweezer, Dougs found herself conducting an autopsy. Squelches and other slimy sounds filled the silence of her lonesome, but that didn’t faze her, she was determined to get to that little curiosity buried in Weir’s flesh. 

Eventually, she got a grip on it and gave the thing a little tug. It didn’t move. She tried to twist it. The thing resisted like it was gristle on the bone- except it clearly wasn’t. It felt solid, buried deep within the flesh. 

Dougs hypothesised it was a dart of some kind. 

A murder weapon!

However, when the mystery item finally gave way, she wrenched it out, using a bit too much force which resulted in her staggering backwards and falling onto her bum, Dougs was surprised to find it didn’t really look like a weapon at all. 

It was off-white, stained red, and was curved like a sabre. 

A tooth.

“A bloody big tooth.” She thought aloud, bringing it closer to her face. 

It had strings of sinew still hanging to it, but not enough to obscure the obvious.

Dougs scrambled for a plastic bag, going through the medical kit once more like a hungry raccoon ransacking a bin. 

She found one and popped the tooth in. 

Dougs then stuffed the kit back into the rucksack and flung it onto her back as she got onto her feet. As she was about to leave, she looked back at the corpse. 

It was stupid to take this upon herself, to play detective when this was a matter of life and death and not some Agatha Christie novel… but Dougs felt an obligation. 

With a small sigh, she had left, gripping onto that plastic bag so hard her knuckles were going white.

The woman got out the plastic bag from her back pocket and looked at it once more. She scribbled down a drawing and noted her findings.

That tooth screamed ‘animal’.

And who had said they’d been attacked by animals?

It seemed Dougs had a few questions to ask.

Dinner was eaten virtually in silence. Dougs watched over her spoonful of ‘ready to eat’ Bolognese as Sergeant Garrick handed Lieutenant Riley packet to dump in the cooking pot’s boiling water. Steam rose from the pan which sat in the middle of the circle of soldiers, almost acting as their indoor campfire. This base was pretty much on the verge of crumbling, and the canteen had been out of use since they’d been here due to its collapsed ceiling.

She would have much preferred they’d been stationed at a functioning base, but she supposed being in a historical ruin was more… inconspicuous.

All part of the secrecy, I guess.

Besides, who would even want to consider raiding a dilapidated pile of brick houses and rubble? The enemy might not even be here.

This place was not built for long-term stay and Dougs really didn’t want to test exactly what this place deemed as ‘too long’ to keep them. She hoped transport would arrive soon.

As she continued to watch Garrick pack away his things, her eyes caught him scribbling something down.

Oh?

It could just be him keeping up with supplies, but it could also be him doing something else.

It was time to make her move.

***

Gaz had kicked back, using his rucksack as an improvised backrest, and began to tuck into the half-warmed slop that was supposed to be a chicken tikka.

Camping food… one of the finest cuisines.

It was so watery, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, right? It was either this or a ‘ready to eat’ full English and judging by Soap’s very evident disgust as he examined a spoonful of baked beans and painfully cheap meat, Gaz could safely say he had chosen the lesser evil.

“Hey.”

A quiet voice greeted from Gaz’s right.

He turned around to see Dougs, holding a steaming pouch of Bolognese.

Damn, he tried to conceal his envy, she got the best one.

“Hi.” He replied.

“Sergeant Garrick, right?”

“Call me Gaz.” The man smiled.

“Cool.” She nodded, “Mind if I sit with you, Gaz?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He scooted over so that she too could make use of his makeshift backrest.

They ate in comfortable silence for the moment, watching their lieutenant decant a canteen of tap water into a pan. The blue flames of the gas cooker below reflected in their brown eyes as they beheld Riley gently ease the pan onto the cooker with a delicateness that was surprising for a man of his stature.

“Can I ask you something?” Dougs suddenly spoke up.

Gaz raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“The night of the attack,” she looked around before lowering her voice, “you said that your task force was attacked by animals.”

“I did.” Gaz nodded, “And I still stand by that.”

“I think you’re right… or at least partially.”

He tilted his head to one side, cocking an eyebrow. She gestured for him to lean in.

“Meet me in the medical room after dinner, whilst everyone’s packing up.” Dougs whispered in his ear.

Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish elbowed his lieutenant as he watched the exchange happen from across the pot.

“Ghost!” He called, in a hushed voice, “Ghost!”

The man was about to scold the sergeant, just wanting to eat, but then, he saw what the Scotsman was pointing at.

“What d’you think’s going on there?” Soap had a gossip’s grin on his face, gesturing to the pair opposite them.

Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Something not relevant enough for me to care about.” He replied, prodding at the contents of his food pouch.

Soap shook his head, chuckling.

The two men heard footsteps behind them. They turned around to see Captain Price was back from his trip.

“How is Graves?” Soap asked, handing Price his dinner.

“Looks better. But… he’s still stiff.” The man shrugged as he took his food.

“He’s eating though, isn’t he?” Dougs asked.

Price nodded.

“Yeah, which is good.”

Silence once more fell on the group.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Price raised himself slightly to fish out a little something from his back pocket, “Night watch rota.”

Everyone groaned.

“I know you don’t want to hear this whilst you’re having your dinners but either I say this now or I forget about it because I am an old man and I’m on pain killers. So, let’s get this out the way.”

Price cleared his throat and unfolded the piece of paper.

“Ghost, Dougs, you’re on watch tonight.”

Dougs’ face fell and Ghost slowly turned to face Price.

The captain met his lieutenant’s inconvenienced eyes with a face which said, ‘no amount of protest is going to change my mind, sausage.’

Dougs watched Ghost’s hackles raised a little, but she knew nothing was going to come of it.

“Once you’ve eaten, check your weapons are loaded and take position out front.”

This was not good for her plan. Price had just chucked a huge spanner in the works.

Dang it!

Luckily, Gaz had an idea.

“I’ll be in the bathroom twenty minutes into your shift.”

Nice save.

She nodded and watched him wink at her, warranting a small laugh.

Ghost adjusted the strap on his chest plate and took his assault rifle from where it rested on the bedframe.

“Dougs is already out front.” Price’s voice announced.

“Paired me with the rookie, eh?” Ghost asked, almost challengingly, as he turned around to meet the captain’s blue eyes.

“She’s 141, now. And with Shepherd ordering us to remain stationed, we need to make sure we’re as tightknit as we possibly can be.”

Ghost just stared at him, blankly.

“Try not to scare her away.” Price sighed, patting his shoulder as he walked past to his bed.

Shaking his head, Ghost headed out and down the corridor, hoping that this night would go by quickly enough.

She was exactly where Price said she would be, kicking at a small stone and watching it tumble along the concrete.

“Evening.” Ghost grumbled as he arrived at her side.

“Hiya.” She smiled nervously, shrinking a little under his intimidating gaze.

Ghost let out another heavy sigh, swinging his gun round so it was now crossed over his chest and held by both his hands. He then looked back at Dougs who hastily did the same.

“Right,” he sniffled a little as the cold nipped at him, “We take at least two sweeps of this place. When we’re doing those, you’re on the radio at all times, understood?”

“Got it, Lt.”

“Just Ghost.”

“Copy.”

“I’m sure you know the drill. Now, can you tell me the points of entrance in this place?”

Oh no… Oh no, no, no. Dougs did not sign up to be quizzed.

Ghost stared at her as her face scrunched up in an effort to hack up an answer. She wracked her brain. ‘Points’ was what he said. There were several.

Come on! She was SAS trained! What was taking her so long?!

Eventually, after almost breaking a sweat, Dougs slowly pointed to the double doors behind them.

“Yes, the main entrance is one.” Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose.

His eyes could be seen squeezing shut a little through the holes of his skull-shaped mask.

 “Are there any others?”

Dougs looked behind her, again, to the crumbling World War II era fortress.

He watched her point to the garage.

“Uh-huh. Any more?”

“There’s a back entrance.”

“Yeah.”

“Are there any more?”

“You tell me.”

She wanted to kill herself. Like, she actually wanted to kill herself. This was horrible, nay, torturous. Why did Price put her with the lieutenant?! Why?! Dougs just wanted to get this over with, maybe catch an opportunity to meet Gaz and start trying to figure out which of those bastards killed her friend! And yet, here she was, having the whole of the English countryside watch her slowly lose brain cells as Ghost asked her some simple questions.

“Does the courtyard count as a point of entrance?” She finally managed to ask.

“Suppose. Maybe. But there’s one more you’re missing.”

One more.

Dougs tapped her chin with her index finger, her tongue clicking as she thought long and hard.

This was hardly rocket science, and to someone like Ghost, glaringly obvious. However, the poor medic was way too tired and still shaken up to think straight.

“Where do we eat?”

He hoped that would point her in the right direction.

“We ate in the barracks.”

Ghost knew he couldn’t have a go at her like he normally would.

“Try not to scare her away.” Price’s voice echoed in the back of his mind.

“Let me rephrase that, sunshine. Where do we normally eat?”

Her eyes widened as the revelation swept over her.

“The canteen!”

“Exactly.”

“Oh my God!”

Then, another revelation swept over her.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

She shushed him, and she thought back to where Weir’s body was. It was by the main entrance, just at the edge of the corridor leading to the part of the building that would be the dining hall. However, thanks to this place being built before the bloody Pyramids of Giza, there was no longer a functioning canteen. Instead, it was a ruin, but not entirely inaccessible.

So that could possibly mean the threat came from outside and from a part that no one would think to be wary of. Clever.

It didn’t entirely rule out the fact that the culprit could be amongst 141 but at least she had an idea of how they managed to ambush someone like Weir.

No normal person would want to go through the trouble of treading over planks of wood and fallen bricks but that is exactly why someone would if they wanted to spring an ambush… like a lion waiting in the tall grass.

She turned to Ghost.

“I think we should take extra care ‘round there.”

“Why’s that?”

“I have a hunch.”

That’s when her watch beeped.

Twenty minutes.

Before Ghost could ask her, she switched it off and began marching towards the building.

“Gotta go to the loo! Meet you at the canteen entrance!”

“Hang on-”

Ghost’s voice trailed off into silence as he just stood there, watching her disappear behind the rusted door, hearing it creak shut. He shrugged and muttered something to himself, turning to face the woods just yonder.

Dougs rushed down the corridor, breaths ragged and dampened by her gloved hand which she kept over her mouth. Eventually, she made it past the barracks and not too long, found herself, at the door to the toilet. Counting herself down, she knocked.

Gaz opened it.

Thank the Lord.

He gestured for her to come in and locked the door behind her.

“So, what is it?”

With brows furrowed, Gaz watched the young medic procure a small clear bag, containing what he initially thought to be part of a knife… only to realise it was off-white and curved in such a way that it reminded him of a-

“Is that a tooth?” He asked, gesturing for her to pass it to him.

She brought it forward, letting him have a close look, but it was clear she was adamant about keeping this in her possession; Dougs refused to relinquish this piece of evidence.

“I got it from Weir’s body.”

He recoiled.

“You what?!”

“Shh!” Dougs quietened him down, “I got this from Weir’s body, from one of her wounds. Do you-”

“What the fuck were you doing poking around someone’s dead body?” He whispered through gritted teeth.

“Look, if I see something in the human body that definitely shouldn’t be there, I’m going to take it out… that’s kinda part of my job.”

“This is different to removing bullets and glass. You just improvised an autopsy on your superior!”

“Who is dead now because someone murdered her!”

Her voice shook a little and he took that as a sign to pipe down.

Dougs took a deep breath.

“Look, isn’t this strange?” She shook the bag for emphasis, “What the hell was a tooth doing buried in Weir’s dead body? Someone’s left it there.”

Gaz looked to the door, praying no one was listening in.

“Okay…” He clicked his tongue, pausing to try and find the words, “This is going to sound insane, but I need you to hear me out.”

She leaned closer.

Gaz had once more reduced his voice to a whisper.

“I swear on my life I saw animals that night. And I heard… howling.”

“Howling?"

“Yeah. Just before the attack. Price chalked it up to some farm dog. But the howling stops and then they come out of nowhere. Everyone else is saying they saw soldiers… I didn’t. And they definitely weren’t dogs. Dogs don’t stand upright, and dogs don’t think like that. These guys knew what they were doing. They planned for us to get swamped by them, and only them.”

“Gaz, what are you suggesting?”

He chuckled wryly.

“What do you think I’m suggesting?”

Dougs leaned back, looking at him with a doubtful smile, which she desperately tried to repress. A little snort came out and she covered her mouth.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m sorry! I'm sorry!”

"You ask me for what I saw. I'm telling you what I saw!"

She sighed, "Maybe, you're still trying to wrap your head around what happened that night? I don't want to invalidate what you're saying but it just seems... you know..."

Gaz nodded.

“You’re the one holding the tooth, Sergeant, that's all I'm going to say.”

“Yeah but-”

“You tell me. How else can Weir get snuck up on like that? There is a person here posing as someone they're not because she didn't see us as potential hostiles. And I saw what I saw. And I think Weir saw the same before she was killed.”

She chewed on her lip.

“It’s someone here, then? If what you're saying is true.”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

Dougs looked away guiltily.

Gaz placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I already knew you had your suspicions the moment you saw that body. And I think you’re right to, it makes the most sense. I’m still in denial, though, but I've got a soft spot for these guys. It’s wise of you to keep your guard up, and I recommend you keep doing that. You’re not 141 and you should keep not being 141.”

“Why? Why are you encouraging me? Shouldn’t I be more open… you know, to help with team morale and all that?”

“Because…” He looked at her with utmost sincerity, “…Because we need someone professional to change our dressings properly.”

She hit him playfully, shaking her head as he laughed.

“Come on! I know we’re SAS and all that, but I once saw Soap struggle to open a plaster. We need a goddamn medic to sort us idiots out.”

As she was giggling away, her radio crackled.

“Dougs, do you copy?”

Shit.

Gaz muffled his breathing as Dougs pressed down on her radio.

“This is Dougs. Over.”

“Status?”

“Fine. Moving to the canteen, now.”

“Affirmative. I’ll see you there.”

She let out the longest exhalation. Christ.

“Well, I have to go.”

As she was about to leave, Gaz caught her arm.

“Look, you and I… we know something���s not right. The others probably do, but I don’t see them doing much about it.” He looked at her, seriously, “We can get to the bottom of this.”

Her eyes narrowed a little. He was an eager one, wasn’t he?

“What do you have in mind?”

“I think we should make a routine of this- not the whole squashing ourselves into the khazi- I mean, we need to meet on the regular. Can we do that in the med room? You know, to work this out together.”

“What?” She scoffed, “Like detectives on a crime show?”

“Who else is going to get justice for Weir?”

Dougs eyed him curiously.

“Why are you so invested?”

“Maybe the near-death experience has given me an epiphany but…” Gaz paused for a brief moment, “But something is deeply wrong here. It’s like my gut is telling me it’s only going to go downhill from here and I know you feel the same! I can see it in your eyes. Please.”

Weir had been murdered and had left Dougs alone. She was a one-woman army now, surrounded by strangers which seemed relatively friendly to her but friendly out of necessity. Still, though, they all had the potential of being guilty and she was already very much aware of the dynamic that they shared with her. Gaz was right to tell her to keep her guard up. Did that extend to him, also?

Better safe than sorry.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this. But promise me that you won’t breathe a word of what we’re doing. The last thing I want is people thinking we’re-”

Her radio crackled again.

“Dougs, I’m at the canteen, over. Where are you?” Ghost growled.

“Just rounding the corner, sir.” She replied.

Dougs unlocked the door and hopped down the step, crossing back into the corridor. Sighing, she turned back to Gaz, who stood under its flickering light.

“The last thing I want is people getting suspicious and starting to think we’re jeopardising the team, Gaz. We need to keep this under wraps. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, ma’am.” He smiled, “This’ll be our secret.”

She chuckled as he saluted her off, watching Dougs disappear into the darkness of the hallway.

Ghost had said he was at the canteen but as she stood by the remains of the doorframe… he was nowhere to be found. Dougs swallowed hard and flicked on her torch and had her gun poised and ready. No one was here.

The silence was deafening. Dougs looked into the broken ceiling, seeing the starry sky in the gaps between the clumps of concrete and steel. The moon was bright out, waxing gibbous.

She was about to take this moment to admire the beauty of the night but suddenly, a shiver ran up her spine.

And it wasn’t because of the cold.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood upright.

Like a sixth sense, something in her was telling her that she was being… watched.

It was behind her.

Fuck.

Does she call Ghost?

Her breaths quickened.

Or will that give herself away?

Her heart began to beat a little faster.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Weir’s glassy eyes flashed before hers. Dougs flinched, trying to keep her mind focused.

Behind you…

Behind you…

Behind you…

BEHIND-

“Dougs?”

Almost immediately she whipped round, gun aimed, finger on the trigger, ready for the beast to taste lead.

Only to be met with the widened eyes of a certain Lieutenant Riley.

He calmly moved the gun’s muzzle to the side with his hand.

Her creased brow soon softened.

She gasped.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry.”

She lowered the weapon.

“Good to see you’re alert.” He nodded courtly, “Even if you are a bit trigger happy.”

She chuckled nervously.

“Your safety’s on.”

Dougs watched him brush past her and down the corridor, heading towards the courtyard.

She rested her hands on her knees, letting her head drop downwards. Cold sweat ran down her forehead as her body endeavoured to stop her shivering.

Sucking the air through her teeth, she resumed an upright stance and followed Ghost half a league onward.

[tinyminer-eve-mining-bot]

Here's a (by no means exhaustive) list of tips to maximize profits while running missions with #TinyMissionsRunner, #EveOnline Multi-Account Missions Running Bot:

Choosing and fitting your ship:

- Needless to say, you want a ship with enough cargo space to fit even the largest mission-objective item (which is 7200m³ for level 4 missions although lower-level missions require much less cargo space).

- Any industrial ship will do for Alpha accounts while Omega pilots should focus on "Blockade Runners" for ultimate efficiency!

- When it comes to fitting your mission-running ship make sure to add any "Expanded Cargohold II" modules to achieve the required total capacity. Any remaining low slots should be filled with "Inertial Stabilizers II" to decrease aligning time. Of course, the "Covert Ops Cloaking Device II" is a welcome addition for "Blockade Runners".

- When it comes to rigs, warp speed is king so you definitely want as many "Medium Hyperspatial Velocity Optimizer II" rigs as you can fit!

- As for implants, there are some hardwirings worth mentioning such as the 'Rogue' Warp Drive Speed WS-610 and 'Rogue' Evasive Maneuvering EM-703.

Best skills to train or inject (as high as you can):

- "Social" and "Connections" provide a sizable boost to agent, corporation and faction standings.

- "Negotiations" and "Distribution Connections" contribute directly to your ISK and Loyalty Points payout so you definitely want to max these!

Check out the TinyMissionsRunner website for more!

[trickstarbrave]

this has probably been told to OP a million times but im saying it for my followers:

trad wives are white supremacists. the trad wife movement is a white supremacist one. thats why it is all white women pushing it and welcoming others into the fold. they are using dissatisfaction with capitalism as a social media recruitment tool to try and pull others into the movement who do not know any better. they promise "you are unhappy because you aren't supposed to be outside the home. wouldn't you be happier just baking beautiful bread and spending time with your children in your gorgeous, spotless home? why do you have to raise children AND work? how do you have time to get anything done? that's why you're so stressed. we have the answer"

and the "answer" is white supremacy. it is misogyny, racism, homophobia, transphobia, and everything else that is in white supremacy. they've been doing this for decades actually but have REALLY ramped up on using trad wives as the gateway now that capitalist dissatisfaction is on the rise and so many fucking white supremacist men can't get fucking laid.

women of color were already working when women's rights were being fought for. this movement also seeks to strip women of their ability to vote, their ability to love other women, their ability to divorce an abusive husband, and overturn marital rape. this "utopia" of a perfectly clean and spotless house while you bake bread and play with your white children does not exist in their minds without the violent oppression of people of color all over again.

i see a lot of fem queer women trying to get into the spaces or joking about it because they like feminine things and baking bread or whatever. i have had to tell them to get the fuck out because TRAD WIVES ARE A WHITE SUPREMACY MOVEMENT. the women who are trying to covert you are trying to lure you in with the stupid aesthetics you like but once you are in they are going to be shoving propoganda down your throat like "women's hormones arent designed for working a 9 to 5" followed up with other shit like conspiracy theories, racist remarks, and before you know it you either are being driven out of your new "community" or are fully indoctrinated into white supremacy and being treated like shit by the white men who swore they would "protect" you.

i could go on and on about why this shit in particular appeals to cishet white women but thats not really the point. the point is this is white supremacy trying to use people being fed up with capitalism to drag them into an ideology of hate and violence. you will not be free submitting to a husband anymore than you would be submitting to your boss. you will in fact be worse off. when you see it call it out for what it is: a white supremacy movement. enjoy baking bread and hating capitalism all you want but i swear to god we have got to actually combat this shit or its going to be gamergate for young white girls

man the weird new romanticization of tradwife/sahm stuff is honest to god so fucking depressing. its so fucking privileged and white and evil. imagine being given rights and then complaining about them when meanwhile there are little brown girls who cant even get an education.

there are women trapped in abusive relationships who literally cannot get a divorce and even if they could they couldnt support themselves because they werent able to get an education and have no outside work experience. very frustrating and upsetting.

like this is coming from the working wife of a stay at home spouse, like i am not the home maker, thats not what i want from my life and what makes me feel fulfilled and happy. but thats something weve heavily discussed. we have different wants and needs and priorities from our work and home life balances. my partner has options and chooses this. but it scares the SHIT out of me seeing this whole "why did we ever fight for the right to work? i want to be a brainless wifey who spits out babies and slaves away in the home and only speaks when spoken to!" bullshit actually pick up because of social media is absolutely fucking horrifying. like its unironically so fucking scary.

[realbadatpoker]

Welcome to realbadatpoker's crazy conspiracy corner! Today, we're talking about how Russia got Hamas to attack Israel to undermine international support for liberal democracy, and how idiots on this site are helping them!

First, Russia got a ton of weapons from North Korea

Then, Hamas attacked Israel a few days later *on Putin's birthday,* a very popular day for Russian not-so-covert ops

And some of those unexpectedly well-stocked weapons were unexpectedly *from North Korea*

And now social media is full of quick-turn bullshit and lies at every opportunity to make Israel look bad, another Russian MO

And then Putin leaves the country for the first time since he was indicated for war crimes to stand on an international stage with his dictator pal Xi Ji and bitch about how America is the real problem, not his rapist torturing child abducting army

And you dumb fucks are reblogging bullshit about Hamas shooting a rocket at their own fucking hospital and blaming Israel

Anyway, this concludes another realbadatpoker crazy conspiracy corner! Remember folks, the US may have made some stupid fucking mistakes, but we still have a democracy (for now!) so maybe try to hang onto that before the actual bad guys win!

[aahsokaatano]

i've been crazy busy this month for various reasons, so instead of doing a regular "once per day" bingo thing, I decided to do a bunch of five-sentence dumps. Enjoy!

@cloneshipweek

1. Keeli/Doom

The helmet recovered from Ryloth sat heavily in Doom's hands. It felt like it weighed more than the rocky planet itself.

He ached to speak. To say I'm sorry, I failed you, I wasn't there when you needed me.

But the words didn't come, and Keeli would never tease him about being lost for words again.

2. Fox/Fox

"The more you speak," Fox said in a low, threatening tone, "the closer I get to punting you off the nearest platform and letting you free-fall to the surface."

"Aw, Commander, you say the sweetest things," the Torrent that Fox refused to name simpered.

One of these days, he was actually going to kill the CT. The name they had picked was bad enough - did they also have to be so karking annoying?

"You know, I hear kissing is a good way to keep people quiet," they grinned, and Fox didn't give them a chance to say anything else, much to their delight.

3. Keller/Neyo

They didn't ever speak about anything important, really. Neyo could chatter about anything and nothing for as long as Keller would let him, filling up the quiet of the med tent as he stitched the Commander back together after yet another harebrained mission that Neyo and Bacara had taken on.

Proof of life, in the little things. Keller could see he was alive, sure, but the more Neyo talked, the more he could see the tension drain out of the medic's shoulders.

If the stitches got a little more painful towards the end, well, that was just Keller's way of saying he was glad that Neyo was still there to feel the sting of it.

4. Hound/Tup

Grizzer always beat Hound to the lamding platform when the 501st came to Coruscant, not that Tup minded too much. The massif was a package deal with his handler, after all.

Hound laughed and wiped the slobber off of Tup's cheek to press a kiss there. "Welcome back, cyare."

"Good to be back, cyare."

5. Vaughn/Wooley

Someone once described them as distilled sunshine twice over. Vaughn had laughed, all but sparkling in his delight, and Wooley had grinned and blushed, running a hand through his hair and making it fluffier.

The darkness that was spread throughout the galaxy seemed to have a harder time casting a shadow over them. They were just... happy. They had each other, after all.

6. Oddball (Davijaan)/Crys

"You were reckless again," Crys fretted, watching with a scowl as Davijaan climbed out of his scorched fighter.

"And I won, again," he added, getting both feet back on the deck. "Isn't that what's important?"

"No, coming back to me is what's important."

Davijaan rested his forehead against Crys', hoping the contact would say what he couldn't find words for - that he won for Crys, every time.

7. Blackout/Grey

Grey was dozing, just enjoying the warmth of the bunk and the man next to him. Blackout was still deeply asleep, half on top of Grey with his head on Grey's shoulder and his arm over his waist. Warm, and comfortable, and safe.

It was a feeling they didn't get to indulge in often. He was going to relish it for as long as they were able to stay here.

8. Longshot/Hardcase

Hardcase had once claimed he wasn't a very good sniper, which was why he carried pretty much everything except a rifle.

Longshot was now ready to call banthashit on that.

"A millimeter," he said for the tenth time, "a single millimeter of difference between our shots and you say you aren't a good sniper!"

Hardcase shrugged. "You're the best and I'm not as good as you, so -" He gave a muffled laugh as Longshot cut him off with an aggrieved kiss.

9. Bacara/Colt

Kamino was as deary and depressing as ever, but the welcoming party was a sight for sore eyes.

"Colt," Bacara greeted softly, nodding at the other Commander.

"Bacara," he nodded back.

Later, they would have a proper reunion, would catalogue the new scars on each other and kiss away the ache of loneliness that had built up since they had last seen each other. For now, a short nod would have to do.

10. Dogma/Wrecker

Wrecker had called him 'regs' the first time they met, and Dogma had taken it as a compliment.

Dogma had quietly told Hunter about killing Krell, which got him assigned to CF99, and Wrecker overheard and immediately developed a crush.

They really shouldn't click as well as they did - uptight Dogma, loyal to the point of rabidness, and loose canon Wrecker, who loved nothing more than making things explode in glorious fashion?

But they did work, somehow, and soon it was Dogma-and-Wrecker, a single unit rather than two. And they excelled for it.

11. Thire/Cut

"I'm leaving, going AWOL."

"I know." The signs had been there for a while, he just hadn't wanted to think he was interpreting them correctly.

"You should come with me."

"I... I want to, but I can't." I'm sorry.

12. Bly/Spar

Bly had once thought that Spar was everything he wasn't - big and strong and fast and the best of the best.

But now he realized, Spar was an attainable goal, in more ways than one.

He was still a bit taller than Bly, but the muscled arms that wrapped around Bly in the night were hardly bigger than his own.

As Bly snuggled in closer, though, he still thought Spar was the best of the best. Even if they were closer in size, now.

13. Free/Free (my OCs, Crasher/Steel)

"Don't ever do that again," Crasher whispered against Steel's lips.

"I'm sorry."

"I - I thought -" a lot of terrible things had crossed Crasher's mind when Steel had been publicly declared a traitor.

"I know," Steel said, holding Crasher tightly. "No more covert ops for me."

[guiltgoreglory]

Heat Waves (Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome)

(Very) Brief Summary: Reader is a government contractor joining the team in Benghazi.  (Eventual Tanto x Reader) (2,684 words)

Chapter 2

Foreword: In this series, the reader will be loosely based off of Nikita from the TV show Nikita (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikita_(TV_series)). The reader has an extensive background in black-ops and is currently an independent contractor working with the department of defense in coordination with the executive branch. If you have any questions about the character, feel free to reach out to me and I can clarify. The story will generally follow the plot of the movie with the exception of a few scenes. Lastly, the POV will shift throughout the story, a change in POV will be signaled by a line.

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I have a full plot already set up but it has been a long time since I’ve written a fic. I’m so sorry if the writing is kinda shitty but I really wanted to get it down in writing. I hope you like it!

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the headrest, trying to find an ounce of comfort in the cramped seat. The dull hum of the plane was cut through by various murmurs amongst the travelers. After a minute or two, you deemed the effort fruitless, letting out a frustrated sigh. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked out the window, watching as the monotonous view trailed by. For the next several weeks, maybe even months, you’d once again become acclimated to discomfort. This shitty seat is probably as good as it gets, you thought. The department will likely have you shacked up in some storage closet on a grimy 20-year-old cot. You have had worse and at least you’d be occupied. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Silva shift. You turned, watching him from a row back, across the aisle. He grimaced as he took off his wedding ring, putting it into a small metal container. He didn’t appear to notice your gaze as you turned your attention back to the window, the heat already radiating in. You felt sorry for him. Leaving people behind is never easy, especially kids. Luckily, you didn’t have that problem. 

As the plane began its descent you skimmed the team comp in your head. You’d been thoroughly briefed on the contractors, on top of all the research you had done on your own. You were joining alongside Jack Silva. A family man in real estate. Pushed to fly back overseas for the money to support his family. From all that you had seen, he’s a good guy. He seemed to be good company. It’ll be nice to not be the only strange face, you thought.

You readied yourself. Benghazi is far worse than most believed. Ever since the department even suggested you might be helpful here, you’d been keeping track of the chaos. It was only a matter of time before it erupted into a full-blown civil war. 

As the landing zone came into view you checked your hijab, making sure not a hair was out of place. You wore a casual white button-down shirt with a gray tank top underneath. You unfolded the sleeves, covering as much of your skin as possible. Given the heat, you’d love to run out in something a little more breathable, but the beige cargo pants would have to do. Next, you checked your “cello” case that sat in the seat next to you. Moving the strap towards you for a quick and effortless disembark. Being you had its perks, one of which was bringing some of your own firepower. 

You cracked your neck as a familiar ding came over the com. 

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

_

The two men settled into the car, watching over all the civilians walking past. Rone leaned forward, pulling a handgun out of the back of his pants. “It’s loaded.” Jack accepted the gun readily, cocking it within his lap. 

“How’s the team here?” 

“Good. Three ex-marines, one ex-army ranger. It’ll be nice to have some more team guys around.”

Jack briefly glanced back at Rone. “Guys?”

“Yeah. We’re waiting on one more before we head out.”

“You work with him before?”

“Nope. Defense department assigned her.”

Jack furrowed his brow slightly, pursing his lips in surprise. “Alrighty then, what’s she look like?” Jack looked more intently for another westerner standing out like a sore thumb. 

“No idea. I’ve been told that she will find us.”

“Oh how ominous.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lip. 

Rone hummed in agreement as he eyed the rearview mirror. Out of the crowd, a body began to beeline towards the car. “Think that’s her.”

Jack nonchalantly stretched, turning towards the back of the car to catch a look. 

_

You approached the dust-covered truck, already craving shade from the burning sun. Your sunglasses did little to protect your eyes from the glare off of the ground. As you got closer, you could see Tyrone eying you from the side mirrors. You adjusted the straps of both your cello case and your duffel, making sure not to make any sudden movements. You made your way to the driver’s side door, turning to face him. “You Tyrone?” you asked, knowing full well it was.

“Yes, Ma’am. And you are?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Hop in.”

You nodded, moving back towards the rear of the car. Swinging the back door open, you threw your stuff onto the ground next to the seat. Leaving just enough room for you to climb in. As you sat down, you angled yourself towards Jack so that you could have a proper introduction. He noticed your movement, turning back to face you. He reached out his hand for a handshake. 

“Jack Silva”

You took his hand. “Y/N.” 

He settled back into his seat as Rone started the car. “Just Y/N?”

“Just Y/N.” You affirmed. 

As Rone made his way through the city they began to catch up, making friendly jabs at each other. You yanked your duffel towards you, rummaging through the various clothes. You could feel Jack’s eyes peeking at you ever so often through the mirror, making sure you weren’t doing anything unsavory. Trust is earned.  Finally, you found your shoulder holster. You unbuttoned your shirt, throwing it on the seat beside you. You put on the holster, adjusting the straps as needed so that it sat comfortably. After you were satisfied you again began to look through your luggage, pulling out two black pistols. You loaded a magazine into both of the guns. The sound quickly drew the attention of both men as the conversation briefly paused before they returned to their conversation. You paid them no mind, knowing that any response would probably make them more antsy. You then cocked them before placing them within your holster. Grabbing your shirt, you put it back on, leaving it unbuttoned. It was opaque enough to conceal your firearms as long as no one looked too close. 

“So, Y/N,” Rone directing the conversation towards you, “The Defense Department didn’t tell me much about you. What branch you from?” 

You turned from watching out the side of the car. “Covert operations.” 

That definitely piqued his interest. Jack let Rone do the questioning, but it was clear he was just as curious as him. 

“Alright. SEAL Team?”

“Uh, no. It’s a little more complicated.”

“Oh I get it, you’re on some James Bond shit huh.” He chuckled to himself as you smiled and rolled your eyes.

“Pretty much.”

Rone left the questioning there, knowing he’d probably not get much more of an answer, at least not until you’d come to know him a bit better. The two of them shared a look before the car came to a sudden stop. 

“Shit. No, no, no, no, no this isn’t good.” Rone’s body tensed as he assessed the situation. 

Civilians began to run around the car, whimpering in fear. You straightened up, readying for a shit show. You positioned yourself in the middle of the back, between the two men so you could see as much as possible through the windshield. 

“Fuck.” Rone’s discomfort quickly seeped through his cool resolve. “Who the fuck are these guys?” 

“What do we got?” Jack stayed still, his eyes scanning over the various armed men.

“Brigade we coordinate with, February Seventeenth Martyrs. This ain’t them.” He looked back past you and he switched into reverse. Moving back a few feet, the path was blocked and the car jolted forward. “Shit we’re boxed in.”

You settled on your knees, carefully unclipping the straps keeping your guns in place, just in case. Both men leaned out of the window. Jack looking up towards the man on the balcony readied to run.

“We bailing?” He asked, voice calm and collected.

Rone, giving no response, pulled out his radio. “Base this is Rone. Come in, over.”

“This is Base, go Rone.”

“I’m in a Jam off Fifth Ring Road. I’m lookin’ at about 8 armed tangos here.”

“Copy that, sit tight.”

“Sit tight, that’s great advice.” Everyone in the car became increasingly more agitated as the armed militia made its way in your direction. 

You took a deep breath. “If we’re bailing we gotta do it now.” You glanced at your bags. You could leave the duffel. There wasn’t anything particularly important in there. The case on the other hand couldn’t be lost to a rampant terrorist cell, if you did, the government would be up your ass about it for at least another 10 years. You fidgeted slightly, knowing that the opportunity to flee was about to pass.

Jack clenched his jaw. “They got a KPV.”

Fuck this is bad. 

“Base we ain’t got all day.”

“Hey, Rone. They’re trying to get Feb 17 to back you up, but we’re coming.”

Deeming that transmission utterly useless, Rone whipped out his cell. “Oz I’m in a jam of Fifth Ring.”

“Ty.” Jack interjected as the men became uncomfortably close.

“Rone, 17 Feb QRF is being alerted.”

“Fuck that, the only Quick Reaction force I want is my guys.” Without an immediate response, Rone continued on. “Send them. I want my guys.” He said more adamantly. 

“Negative, Rone. Just hang in there.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear. I’m looking at multiple radical insurgents with AKs and a 50-cal technical set to blow my rover all the way back to Zimbabwe. Over.”

You watched as a man dressed in a disheveled suit made his way around the vehicles and debris. He’s the big guy.

“It’s not my call, brother.”

Goddamnit. Looks like we’re either talking our way through this, or we go out quick. The thought gave you the slightest bit of comfort.

Rone looked towards Jack frustrated. You could sense he felt an inch of guilt for getting his friend stuck in this hellhole.

“Here we go.” Jack said nonchalantly as he could given the circumstances.

You crossed your arms, giving yourself easy access to your handguns without looking too conspicuous. A man stood at the front of the rover, yelling something you couldn’t understand. He pointed his AK right at you, maybe it wasn’t on purpose but you couldn’t help but mentally scoff. Well, that’s not very nice.

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

The man in front banged on the hood as the leader moved towards the driver’s side window. Jack raised his hands up innocently as Rone smiled at the man. 

“Salaam.” Rone raised his badge up to the man in the suit as he gazed at him incredulously. “Libyan visa. Official. Libyan government.” The leader looked him up and down. 

The guy with the AK was now in Jack’s face. His gaze shifted forward, doing his best to remain calm despite the barrel of a gun being inches from his forehead.

“Friendly? Hm? Friendly?” Rone again gestured with his badge.

Rone whatever game you’re playing it better fucking work because last time I checked a friend of Al-Qaeda is no friend of ours. You did your best to blend into the back of the car, feigning as the harmless woman. 

“Pull over for inspection.” The leader said sternly.

Rone shook his head. “No.” 

“Pull over for inspection!” He was now angry, his voice shaking with every word.

Alright, this is how it’s gonna go. You crept your hands slightly closer to your guns.

Rone’s voice remained steady. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

The man at Jack’s door yelled once more. Banging his palm against the dirty surface. Then the slightest movement came from Jack. 

It’s showtime. You thought. You gripped your pistols and whipped them forward, pointing them as the secondary soldier positioned at the front of the rover. Jack and Rone acted similarly with Jack’s gun pointed across at the leader, and Rone’s gun pointed at the soldier beside the door. The soldier at the front adjusted his AK, pointing it more fervently towards the car. 

“Look up.” Rone pointed towards the sky with his empty hand, never moving his gaze from the leader’s eyes. “Go ahead, look up.” Some of the aggression left the leader as he looked towards the sky, confused. “You see the drone?” The man looked back down. “No? That’s okay. The drone sees you.”

Nice play, Rone. You thought to yourself. A couple of Americans? No problem. We don’t pose that much of a threat. But good ol’ American air support? Now that carries a little weight. 

“Sees your face. We know who you are.”

Jack, facing the soldier at his door, swallows hard. Keeping with Rone’s power play, he maintains eye contact.

“If anything happens to us, your home, your family, boom, gone. Give us the order to let us go.”

Jack, looking past the AK in his face, doesn’t flinch as the soldier gestures with his gun.

 “I want the car!” 

Within a brief moment, Jack and Rone switched their aim, with Jack now pointing his handgun at the soldier and Rone at the leader. You flinched ever so slightly at the movement, but you remained steady, watching for any worrisome movement amongst the militia. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You ignored the harsh metal of the rover digging into your knees. This was your guys’ only shot to make it out of this cramped alley. They had to think your little caravan of three had the power of the entire U.S. military revolving overhead when in reality, you were just three Americans with a couple of guns in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

“No, I’m not gonna do that.” Jack shakes his head, leaning forward towards the man. The energy around the car was beginning to shift. Despite the KPV having enough firepower to destroy your car, and about 5 cars behind you, you three possessed the upper hand. They recoiled at the barrel of your guns, not the other way around.

The leader’s eyes began to soften, his harsh exterior falling at the thought of losing everything. For a moment, you actually pitied him. “I earn the right to decide the future of my country.” You understood the sentiment behind his words. Once again the U.S. had shoved itself into the center of a country, with no right to do so. But you, and the men sat beside you, just wanted to keep others safe. You had no agenda.

“You’re talking to the wrong guy. How willing are you to die for your country? I’m ready to go right here, right now.” Easy, Tyrone. Don’t push it too far. 

The leader’s frown deepened as he considered the weight of Rone’s words. He slowly backed away from the car. “Leave here. While you still can.”

You stopped yourself from relaxing your figure even though it felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted off your shoulders. Rone leaned back into his seat, beginning to maneuver the car between the debris. Jack slowly lowered his pistol to the door as the car inched forward. You followed suit and lowered your guns into your lap. You could hear the leader yelling to his men, and their posture relaxed enough to show they weren’t an immediate threat. Air filled your lungs for the first time in what felt like 5 minutes, before you looked behind through the dusty back window, making sure the leader was true to his word and you weren’t about to get shot in the back. You settled back onto your seat, leaning back against the warm metal. You debated holstering your weapons but decided it was best to have them at the ready until you were within the walls of the base.

“We got air support?” Jack’s voice was calm but demanding. You knew the answer to his question but left Rone to give him the bad news. Rone didn’t take his eyes off of the road as he did his best to make it back to base in one piece. 

“We don’t have any fucking support.”

[emkay512]

Once Upon A Time

Chapter 1

Summary: This starts at the beginning of TRR book 2 with the Fydelia ball but with a different series of events. This AU is based off the show Once Upon a Time with Riley and Liam mirroring Snow and Charming. Characters belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: This is my FIRST EVER post and it’s literal trash 😅 I’ve never written before I found you all, and I’ve never had so much fun reading all the stories I found. If you read this please know I’m a complete rookie and I have no idea what I’m doing haha. I welcome and encourage any thoughts and feedback!

A/N 2: my biggest thank you’s to @queenrileyrose and @bbrandy2002 for pre-reading and giving me endless boosts of confidence!!! This first ever, cherry popping post, is in honor of you ❤️

Warnings: This will contain NSFW adult language and content. By reading, you acknowledge you are 18 and over.

I’m tagging those I’ve connected with and thought would be interested. Please let me know if you do or don’t want to be tagged!

@burnsoslow @ao719 @kat-tia801 @callmeellabella @charlotteg234 @neotericthemis

The welcome ball had been exhausting. Riley finally saw them, all of them, the good and the bad. Mostly bad with Liam being the exception.. except the fact that with him came his stupid fiancée. She was forced to deal with the Penelope’s and Kiara’s of the court, and got none of the Olivia’s and Drake’s of the world, with Olivia blackmailed and Drake most likely avoiding the court. Majority of the conversations she had to deal with throughout the night consisted of her rebutting all the allegations against her, most people believing that she had jilted their king. At least she had Maxwell and Bertrand, her home away from home. With the maybe two seconds she had Liam to herself and the amount of work and effort she had to put into her first public appearance, she was completely drained and changed from a gown and into more comfortable leggings and tank after she got back to her room of the Fydelia estate. Just as she was decompressing from the stress of her night, there was a knock on the door. She opened the door to see a particular grin on the face of one Maxwell Beaumont carrying a vase of two dozen roses.

“Greetings, little blossom! One of the staff members stopped me on the way of delivering these, asking what room you were in and I insisted on catching you myself.” Maxwell invited himself into her room after handing her the arrangement. Riley pressed the roses to her nose, inhaling the beautiful scent, and she noticed a note wrapped around one of the stems. She unwrapped the note and turned to Maxwell, who had already cozied himself up on her bed, clearly excited to hear what was on the note. “I noticed the paper in the arrangement too, it’s clearly from Liam isn’t it? You did so great tonight and he had the biggest puppy dog eyes on you, I knew his Prince Charming ass would pull off something like this.. well, go on! Read it!”

Riley quickly unwrapped and read Liam’s note, she had no idea the girlish grin she had plastered on and Maxwell was beaming. He had hated these past few weeks so much, he had been watching one of his closest friends, his makeshift sister, live in desperate torment, questioning her worth after hearing nothing from those she cared most about. She put the roses down and placed the note down next to them and looked up at Maxwell, “He wants me to meet him on his balcony in 20 minutes..”

“That is charmingly romantic, but did he slip in his royal socks and tumble down Madeleine’s overly buffed stairs?? He’s clear across the estate, it’s way too dangerous for you to get out of here alone.”

Riley sighed and collapsed onto the bed with Maxwell, “I don’t know Max, his note is sweet and remorseful, but.. maybe this isn’t about getting back together.. maybe I should just focus on helping house Beaumont and getting home..”

Maxwell stretched across to Riley and smacked her across her head, “Come on, Riles! You have been unable to go a single day without asking about him.. at least twice a day! You NEED to go meet him, otherwise I think both of your little fairy tale hearts will die.”

Riley smirked and rolled her eyes, “You’re so dramatic! And please tell me what fairy tale involved a half nude photo scandal and public humiliation leading to a bullshit engagement between a king and the only ice queen that would rival both Olivia and Elsa while singing let it go? Plus, didn’t you just mention that it’d be too dangerous for me to get to him?”

“Hellooooooo?? Ok first of all, literally all fairy tales are structured that way, couple meets and falls in love, and a public enemy curses them with a dramatic, heartbreaking lie, and then they defile all enemies and live happily ever after.. you’re just living the 21st century version of that! Nudes are basically the most vanilla scandal these days anyway. And secondly, have you JUST met mr covert ops extraordinaire, Maxwell Beaumont!? I said it’d be too dangerous for you to go out alone. Let’s just simply walk out together, and if we get any questions, we can just say we’re meeting my brother for.. you know.. this and that diplomacy reason.. whatever, I’ll wing it. Plus, look at you, you’re already dressed for stealth. I just need to get you outside, and then you can scamper over to Liam’s side of the building. Whaddya say, blossom?”

Riley was exhilarated. Maxwell always knew how to say the right things. She locked eyes with him, pointed straight to his chest and said, “You son of a bitch, I’m in.” They shared a mischievous smile and giggled their way out of her room, totally giddy without even shutting the door all the way. They were completely unaware of the royal guard that had been manning her room and slipped inside.

Thanks to Maxwell, Riley had successfully snuck out of the estate and crept to below the balcony of Liam’s room. She had to think fast as to how the hell she’d get up there, and then she spotted the flower vine growing on a trellis against the building, and she let out a small victorious, “Yes!”

But as soon as she took a step in that direction, a hand grabbed her shoulder and jerked her around so she was facing one of the royal guards. “I don’t think so, lady Riley,” he put a heavy sarcastic emphasis on the term lady, as he was clearly disgusted by her newfound tarnished reputation. “You’re coming with us.”

“Us?” And then from behind her, another guard bagged her head and she felt the grip of two men on each of her arms as they forced her to their destination, practically dragging her as they went. Riley’s heart was thundering in her chest. Where were they taking her? Back to the airport? A jail cell? A dungeon? A firing squad? She wasn’t at all expecting what she got. She was sat on a decently comfortable chair. The guards removed the bag and revealed to see she was in a study. A large one. And there before her on the opposite end of a mighty desk, was the king father, Constantine.

Constantine nodded a dismal to both the guards, and they took their leave. “Well, well. If it isn’t the disgraced American.” Riley was utterly confused and could feel the former kings command in the mood of the room. He did not like her, and she could feel his dislike radiating off of him. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, you foolish girl?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You had your exit, your out. You were scandled. Ostracized! I even had you as far as at the airport gates. But no, you came back. You came back and left me back at square one on how to get rid of you!”

Realization dawned to her, “It was YOU!” Riley leapt to her feet. She felt no fear, only anger coursing through her. “YOU staged those photos, YOU unleashed Tariq on me.. and you timed the release of those photos, at the most prime time allowing maximum humiliation and zero time in between Liam’s announcement. You’re despicable, I bet you’re even disappointed that Tariq’s attack on me didn’t end.. didn’t end up the way he planned.” She had deliberately slowed her speech as each new revelation came to play in her head, she had lowered her voice with disdain and disgust.

Constantine let out a scoff-laugh at what he considered to be a poor attempt of exerting dominance. “You’re right, and quite honestly I don’t care what that pompous buffoon would have done to you, but I must say, those pictures certainly did deliver.” Constantine was teasing and patronizing her, “And now you’re here, still trying to get to my son.”

Riley crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at him, “I don’t know what you’re tal-“

“Enough. I know everything.” He waved in front of her the very note that Liam had written inviting her to his balcony that he got from one of the guards. “You poisoned his heart, and now his marriage. And with that, the entire kingdom is poisoned, all because your feelings.” He spit the last word out as if he found it vile.

“I wish feelings could be helped, but they can’t.”

“Of course they can. Love is a disease, and like all diseases, it can be vanquished in one of two ways. A cure, or death.” Constantine stood and leaned both of his palms flat on the surface of the desk. “Do you know where your beloved is right now? He’s right down that hallway, he should be packing for his new life, prepared to take on his engagement tour to unify two Cordonian houses and assume the responsibilities and sacrifices it takes to be king. But no.. He’s pining for you. Awaiting your arrival.”

“And I suppose you intend to keep him that way? Waiting for me, only to be rejected, never knowing I came for him?” Riley’s voice was desperate, but still cunning in reality. She needed him to know her questionnaire was not doubtful, but challenging. That she hated his deliberate intentions.

“No. In fact, you’re gonna walk down that hallway. You’re gonna sneak in and tell him you got his note,” Constantine slid the note across the table, no longer wanting it in his possession, and Riley picked it up. “You’re gonna tell him why you answered his call.. Because you don’t love him. It’ll break his heart.. And that will cure him.”

Wide eyed, Riley could only assume the consequence if she didn’t do as he said, “Or you’ll kill me.” She stated with no question in her mind.

“Oh no. I’ll kill him. Killing you would only make him love you more. And the marriage and kingdom would ultimately crumble.”

“And what about your precious Madeleine? I know how this works this is all about mergers and business transactions. How else would you get Godfrey and his house to join with yours?”

“Please, if Liam were to die at an assassin’s hand, he would die a martyr. Godfrey would forgive, even laud, the death. And the merger would be complete.”

“You would do that to your own son?”

“I’m doing it FOR my son.” Love was once Constantine's weakness and it led to Eleanor’s death. It scarred him and he became brainwashed. Convinced love was the enemy. And now, the product of his foolish love, was Liam, who he groomed to be the perfect king. Constantine applauded himself all these years. It was clear as day that even Leo knew the job belonged to Liam, so Constantine did everything to assuage any of Liam’s hesitation into taking on his duty. He always planned on Liam being the logical one, ready to take on the duty and a loveless union. Then that damn New York trip happened. And that damn Riley came in the picture. Immediately Constantine couldn’t tell if he actually hated Riley, or if he hated the idea that Riley was basically the new version of Eleanor that he’d never have.